the middle

One of the things I love most about writing is the fearless honesty it demands out of me. I could use this entry on this lovely last day in February to write of how to squeeze the most juice out of life or to enlighten others on a lesson I have recently learned, but today is different. Today I’m in the middle.

I find myself falling into the middle category quite often. I’m a middle child in order of birth, I’ve lived in the middle of the United States for a majority of my life, and rarely do I range anywhere from the middle when selecting the heat of my salsa. But today I’m in the middle of a decision. A decision so mentally, emotionally, and spiritually exhausting that I’m ready for a nap by 10 am. A decision so exquisitely cut down the middle that I’m finding a deeper meaning to the term “50/50.” A decision that can only be made with the aid, wise counsel, and divinity of the One True God.

I work with high school students. And even though I’m finding a new appreciation for texting an entire conversation, Vans that go with every outfit, and hearing the words, “oh my gosh you look like Taylor Swift,” I feel for these kids when it comes to decision making. For many, college is on the horizon.  I can remember with such clarity the mind-numbing process of selecting the ONE school, among thousands, that perfectly suited me and fit my criteria. (Palm trees? Check. Pool at my dorm? Check.)  I went back and forth so many times. Confused and in desperate need of wisdom.

And that’s where I find myself today. Confused and in desperate need of wisdom. The middle causes lists that run deeper than pros and cons. The middle produces scenarios that resemble reality because of how often they’ve been played out in my mind. The middle is scary and uncharted. Spinning, but eerily still. And after what seems like a marathon of back and forth there’s only one thing left to do. Decide.

Life is full of hard decisions. The ones that make your arms hurt from the equal pull of each side. And I’m finding that all I can do while I’m stuck in the middle is embrace this stance with my arms wide open. Reassured that true freedom comes from surrendering it all. And as I wait in desperate need of wisdom from my Wonderful Counselor, I envision the cross. And how a man followed through with a hard decision with arms wide open, nailed to a tree. Jesus came to rid this world of the middle. Eliminating with one loving act the shaky uncertainty of the future. So I could know for certain that only ONE decision truly matters. And that’s choosing Him.

And so even though when I was 10 years old I chose Him for the first time… Fifteen years later I choose Him again. I choose Jesus. And that, my friends, is far from the middle.

use your words

A friend asked me the other day why I like to write. It was a simple enough question, and at the time I thought I gave a simple enough answer, which was something like, “I don’t know, I’ve just always kept a journal, and writing helps me get all my thoughts together in one place…” I don’t think there is anything wrong with my answer, because both of those things are still true—I am just a much better communicator in writing than in any other medium. But even in the few minutes after I said it, I knew there was so much more to that question that I wanted to say.

Why do we write? I have no doubt that the answer to this question could change every week I tried to answer it. But for right now, I keep coming back to two things.

We write because words are powerful. Words can make your day or ruin it. Words can encourage or tear down. Words can be sincere or artificial. Words can make you laugh or make you cry. You can use your words to say too much, or not say enough.

We write because we really are all so similar with all of our differences. When we write, our desire is to put some sort of metaphorical, understandable spin on the commonalities of being human. And our writing is simply our spin, our opinions and viewpoints; never, ever, would we claim to have the final word on something, we just happen to enjoy the process of putting any words on anything that is on our hearts. I love Albert Camus’ thoughts on this aspect of writing:

“[The writer] has only to translate the sufferings and happiness of all into the language of all and he will be universally understood. As a reward for being absolutely faithful to reality, he will achieve complete communication among men. This ideal of universal communication is indeed the ideal of any great writer… For what is there more real, for instance, in our universe than a man’s life, and how can we hope to preserve it better than in our realistic writing?” - “Create Dangerously”

Couldn’t have said it better myself.

And finally, we write because it reminds us who we are. I spend a great deal of time reflecting on something and spinning it into “my language,” but in the process I am forced to focus on not just the creative semantics, but the actual meaning behind what I am writing. What I have learned through the intentional focus of the writing process is this: the words I am CAPABLE of putting on paper are gentle pointers to how INCAPABLE I am to living up to them without Jesus. I write about loving selflessly, listening well, focusing on what matters and living honestly. I fail to do these things each and every day. But I keep writing about the things I want to be, as God gently gives me the words to remind me.

For all of us, I hope that our words, spoken or written, are thought about before said.

I hope that our words bring life and joy and smiles to others.

I hope that our words teach and do not discourage.

I hope that today, we use our words for something really, really good. Write a note, send a text, make a phone call. Mama meant it when she taught you to, "Use your words."

love: the selfless truth

                                                                                                                         Love.

It’s on everyone’s mind. On everyone’s heart today. Valentine’s Day 2011.

This past week Austin and I had the privilege of speaking to a few different groups of students about relationships. I don’t know the secret, I’m far from having anything figured out and I am a baby in the arena of marriage and the mysterious complexities of combining lives… but here’s something grand I do know about the age-old idea of love. It’s not about me.

Those words describe everything I want to be and, sadly, everything that I am not.  Even on Valentine’s Day- a day devoted to showing others around me how much I love and adore them- I can’t help but be consumed of what I want, need, hope for, or deserve. Selfish is my default. And hate to break it to ya- but it’s yours too.

So why is it that in a self-centered universe there was a God that created relationship, partnership and even marriage? I believe the answer is simple. So we could fully experience Him. God longs to relate and be in relation with us. US! So much so that He decided it’d be a good idea for His son to live, breathe, and function on this earth. An earth filled with undying love of self met a man that perfectly defined selfless. He shared, and sacrificed, humbled and hurt just like us. But after 33 years of faultless action and thought He gave His life so that we could know what true love looks like. It’s not about us. It’s about this. It’s about Him.

So this February 14^th, even if you wrestle with this definition of true love, I encourage you to think deeply of your relationships. Nearly every single tiff, argument, or fight that has kept me from loving my loved ones was because of this debilitating lie that it's all about me. And it's not. It’s time for me to look in the mirror. It’s time for me to own up. It’s time for me to take my eyes off my stinkin’ self.

I have claimed to know a lot in these 25 years of mine. I could call myself an expert when it comes to volleyball, Friends episodes, lip gloss, things that go with peanut butter, and scarves for every season, but I'm finding that despite the knowledge that I've accumulated- I can only be certain of one thing. And that's Jesus. So. Be sure on this Monday that true love’s waiting. And that’s the selfless truth. 

once you know Him...

I recently finished a fantastic book called Tattoos on the Heart by Father Greg Boyle, an incredible collection of stories about Boyle’s two decades of work in South Central Los Angeles with both current and former gang members. Boyle’s life is one of faith and perseverance, and one can’t help but be touched by the devotion he has shown to the group of people God has asked him to give his life ministering to.

Of the many lessons I have taken away from Father Boyle, one of them has been echoing in my head since I shut the book: Once you know someone, you can no longer demonize them…

I feel an incredible amount of tension/defensiveness/conviction/guilt in this statement. As I think about how I go through my day, the amount of snap judgments I make, and the underlying feeling I carry that I am pretty much always right about someone, I am pretty convinced the words “once you know someone…” are for me.

This past weekend I was in Seattle with my mom and very dear friend. We were enjoying our day at an upscale outdoor shopping center, browsing windows and racks for cute things we definitely do not need, stopping for a coffee and meal whenever we wanted, keeping warm in our nice clothes and jackets. When we went to cross the parking lot, we walked past a middle-age homeless man sitting on a bench, rocking himself back and fourth, keeping his head slightly down, and looking worn, cold, exhausted from things I have been completely sheltered from. I am still thinking about this man. I can still picture him on that bench, sticking out in his dumpster-salvaged attire as Coach purses and designer jeans walked by him all day. And even more than that, I am remembering my thoughts as I walked by him: I know this man, I’ve seen hundreds of homeless people just like him… and all the stereotypes that so sadly accompany this human being and his appearance filled my head.

This morning I am humbled by the conviction that I do not know him, this man on the bench at University Village. I have no idea what his story is. He could be a war veteran who fought bravely for a cause he may or may not have even believed in, but did so out of a sense of respect and duty. He could have been married to a beautiful woman who he loved more than life, and one day tragically lost her and never recovered. He could be afflicted by alcoholism, addiction, depression, or myriad other psychological issues that I do not even understand. His story could be powerful, inspiring, tragic or even epic—this stuff movies are made of. Indeed, I have no idea who this man is or why he, today, is homeless and sitting on a lonely bench. So what on earth gave me the right to think I did?

Everyone has a story. Everyone. I have a story, you have a story, the woman who checks me out at the grocery store has a story, the young children growing up in abject poverty all over the world have a story… there are more than six billion stories in the world, all of them waiting to be told and understood. And I think there is something inside every one of us that wants to tell our story, because in some way telling it connects us to one another.

That man on the bench, he probably knew we all judged him as we walked by. And he probably wanted to scream out for everyone to hear, “I know what you are all thinking. You might see me as lazy or unmotivated, unwilling to get help, or you might even feel pity when you look at me. But did you know, I used to be a…”

Once you know someone, you can longer demonize them…

Once I know your story, I know why you are lonely, or depressed, or driven to drink.

Once I know your story, I know why you are afraid of marriage, why you are scared to death to be a parent, or why you have a tendency to make certain mistakes.

Once I know your story, I know why you are reluctant to believe in Jesus when you see and have experienced so much pain in this world.

Once I know your story, I can no longer put my own label on you.

Once I know your story, I can no longer ignore your pain.

I am challenging myself to see every person I encounter throughout the day as a real, interesting, challenging, happy and sad, twisted and turned around, sometimes tragic and sometimes redeeming story. And I am challenging myself to actually stop and ask someone her story every now and then, too.

God has always known our story.

Once we know His story, we kind of have to look at everyone else’s story differently, too, don’t we? To paraphrase one of my favorite authors: We are all trees in a story about a forest; and the story of the forest is greater than the stories about the trees.

I want to learn all the stories I can about all of the trees I can. It just might make the story about the forest even more amazing.