old books and altars

I do not give this title out lightly, but my favorite book of all time is To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee.  This book, and a handful of other classics, made me love to read.  It did not hurt that I had a fantastic teacher who brought it alive {thank you, Mrs. Stein}, but in the end it was Atticus Finch that sealed the deal.  In our generation of literary trials and bravery, my opinion holds firm that Harry and Edward and Katniss have nothing on the hero that is Atticus Finch.

I went to the library last week and found the oldest copy I could of TKAM.  I wish I could describe the euphoria: an original 1960 first edition, with the most lovely old book smell and slightly yellowing fragile pages.  I own an iPad and I have an almost brand new printing of the book at home, but for some reason, I wanted the realest, oldest, closest to how Harper Lee wrote it edition that I could get my hands on.  I just wanted to be reminded of my love for that book and those characters, to go back to being sixteen years old and remembering the moment that I really loved reading, and back to a place and a memory that something really good changed in me. 

What are those places for you?  What are the moments and who are the people that bring you back to something really good in your life?  Where do you know, without a doubt, that God was there?

In the Old Testament, when God showed up in the lives of his people, they built an altar.  There are probably not a whole lot of us today who can just grab some large rocks of out the nearby river in order to build a symbol for the memory of that day.  But I do know that in my own life I want to remember, and I don’t have enough of my own altars.

My faith falls into periods of doubt, question, anxiety, and at its very worse, apathy, when I let one really easy thing happen: I don’t remember…  I don’t remember the thousands of answered prayers, or unanswered-because-His-option-was-way-better prayers.  I don’t remember the cards that came in the mail at the perfect moment.  I don’t remember the scripture that promises He will never leave or forsake me.  I don’t remember that this really is not my home.  I don’t remember who He is- the God whose complexity and simplicity defies language in such a way that he is all, but He is simply, I AM.  When I fail to remember the ways that the steps of my life have been wholly directed by Someone other than me, I grab on to the illusion that I am doing ok on my own.  It never, ever, lasts long.  

    

Sometimes, I think we all need to go back to the really good places in our hearts so that we can live in light of that goodness today.  This may be as simple as a box of kraft macaroni and cheese or as lavish as renewing your wedding vows on the beaches of Fiji.  Maybe it means looking back at old pictures or journals, perhaps it is listening to that sermon from a few years ago that was just amazing when you first heard it.  It could be simply making a list of all things we are thankful for.  Our lives are so full of altar moments, altar places, altar people, and we should fight to bring the best of our past with us to our present and future—that might really be why it was given to us in the first place.  Let’s be really, really good at celebrating and remembering the joy we have lived in so that when life does get dark it is never outweighed by light.  Let’s not be known as the generation who could never have enough, get it fast enough, and never be enough… but as people who stopped to remember that all God created was good, and is good, and He is more than enough.      

friends and nature tunnels

May in Glen Ellyn just might produce some of the loveliest daysI’ve yet to be a part of. There’s something about an old neighborhood. Thetrees, in all of their wisdom, gently lean toward the road in a way thatcreates shady, green, nature tunnels. Pockets of natural light poke througheach little crevasse and wind moves the branches at a slower speed, nodding toboth the weight and the age of each tree.

Glen Ellyn is home now, but the times Austin and I get tovisit Phoenix, we are greeted by some of the most familiar smells, sounds, andfaces. Often I feel like a member of the Rolling Stones on a reunion tour(minus the obvious rock concerts and drug usage). But in a whirlwind ofsqueezing my favorite people, eating my favorite foods, and soaking in themighty sunshine, I sometimes forget to slow long enough to breathe, converse,notice and sit in wonder.

On the last day of my trip two marvelously, beautifulfriends stopped by. We sat at what will most likely always be known as ‘theconference table’ and shared hearts, prompted hard questions, and listenedintently into the wee hours of the morning. I love conversations like thesebecause true friendship is born there. I love the parts of friendship thatdemand more honest answers than the ones you give to your dentist. I lovetears, in a weird, non-creepy way because frequently, they give insight intothe deepest soul-driven places that we don’t visit quite enough. I love thebelly laughs that only happen when friends have ventured long enough togetherthat polite laughs simply don’t cut it anymore. I love friends. Actually, Ilove my friends. I love them because the condition of their hearts would win ina beauty contest against what they see in the mirror. I love them because ofthe inside jokes, the awkward encounters, the full disclosure and commitment tobe better. But most of all, I love them for what they teach me.

On Saturday night, well, actually the very beginning ofSunday morning, after questioning and encouraging two of the best in my life,the tables were turned and they asked about me. And this is where the lessoncomes in.

Sometimes friendship is just as much about allowing othersto be there for you as it is being the friend that’s constantly there forothers.

I had prayed that day for God to encourage my soul, and Ifigured it would come when I went home. A few hours later, I found myself, soul-bared, tears cried, while two friends stood above me and prayed. I was wideopen, vulnerable, completely unguarded and it was the most free I have felt ina long time. I think I always would say I need friends, but in that moment,those friends were my life source, the pointers to hope, the bridge from emptyto fulfilled, and I am learning the power that comes from soul bearing of that kind.It’s how I feel truly known, and somehow, that truly known feeling may just bewhere peace puts up its residence.

God says in his word that he knows how many hairs are on my head. He knows when I rise and when I lie down. He knows my fears, he knit me together, and he thinks that I am his masterpiece. I crave the feeling of being fully and truly known because there is a God that knows me as his own. I long for freeing community because in his presence rests the pinnacle of communion. I desire to be a great friend because Christ alone is my advocate. Beyond cute clothes, funny stories, and common interests, my friends point me to the cross. They bear his image beautifully and reflect his love in ways that seem to beam straight from heaven. So to all you lovelies, and you know who you are, thank you for letting the most Kristin parts of me be enough.  

a fruit-full life

Is what I am doing today a reflection of who I really want to be tomorrow?

My small group asked this question of one another last week, and it still sits at the front of my mind every day.  There are dozens of things that will happen to all of us on a daily basis that we have no control over, we can only react and respond and hope that we do so with grace.  But punctuating our days are a hundred choices that we do get to make, small ways that we determine by our decisions what our day might look like.  We are co-creators of the story of our lives, and that is a beautiful thing.

If I want my life to be characterized by humility and gratitude, I will recognize the amazing gifts around me each day… the sunshine, the amazing blue of my niece’s eyes, the letters from friends, the clean clothes I put on, the books on my coffee table, my husband’s smile.  Too often I see the agenda for the day and make a beeline towards accomplishing each and every task listed.  But the pace of fruitful gratitude is much slower than the obsession with the means and ends I easily get caught up in. 

If I want to be a woman confident in her faith, I will really study and know it.  I’ll have conversations about things that matter and I will engage the hard questions with people who want to do the same. 

If I want to be a better friend, I will really pray for you.  I won’t merely tell you I am and then go on with my day, I’ll care about your hurt or your longing like I would if it was mine.  And when I really walk with you in prayer, I can really celebrate with you when it is answered, or cry with you when it is not.  But either way, I’m with you because we need each other, and between me and you it is only authentic, only honest, only grace. 

If I want to be a faithful wife, a better mom, a dedicated teacher, a strong athlete or anything else tomorrow, I’ll do things differently today.  I’ll make a hundred choices that reflect those desires, and then I’ll do the hard thing… I’ll let them go and remember that becoming that elusive woman of God is not about my striving but about my understanding grace.  It is the hardest thing in the world to walk that paradox but such a relief to know we are not doing so alone.   

I do not pretend to be a theologian nor an expert on the sovereignty or will of God.  I don’t want to debate Arminianism and Calvinism and I have no idea if bad things happened because God is punishing us, disciplining us, or just because bad things happen.  But I do know that God is just and good, and that He wants all of us… and every day I make decisions that reflect whether or not I really believe those things.  It gets harder to do that all the time, as our worlds grow bigger—and sometimes scarier— with dollars and houses and properties and new things and new kids and new cars and new friends.  But at the end of the day, we all get to decide who we truly want to be, and we all have the chance to do the hard, messy, grace-filled work of living in to that person.  We were created to live lives that bear fruit—not for ourselves but for Him, the One whose life was given for us… that is a privilege I don’t want to miss.      

Please Pass the Cheese

I saw an old and dear friend in the O’hare airport this past week. A flow of easy, poignant conversation crammed our two hour limit and I left incredibly filled up and thankful for the good in each day.  There is much to be celebrated, and lately, I’m the one that gets to celebrate others. Austin had a golden birthday, Katie got into her dream school, Jaymee got engaged, Jess landed a new job, Karly’s current job wanted even more of her time and talent, Kathi ran a marathon, Chase is graduating, Allie’s officially full-time, and my sweet neighbor, Madeline informed me that she can do a full turn in her ballet class. I mean, come on… a full turn? Let’s get ice cream.

If I learned one thing under the Trayser family roof, it was how to celebrate others in their times of triumph. So much so, that we’ve officially coined the words ‘good job’ as our family motto. Celebration was everywhere. It was cheesy, all-out, and glorious. My dad would bring home vehicles that needed to be driven from work, and before we could say “Dairy Queen,” the Willow Creek Community Church short bus was picking up neighbors and going through the DQ drive thru.  

This past Sunday, we had close to twenty high school and college-aged girls in our house. What others might deem nightmare, I deem dream.  Stories of prom, future, graduation and favorite parts of summer swirled around the room. The personality generated by this group could provide our little house electricity for the next three years. I have learned great lessons from them. I’ve been honored with the trust they so willingly give, and have prayed countless prayers over them. They are to be celebrated, not just because of what’s next, but because of what’s behind. I have sat on the sidelines of God’s coaching in each of their lives over the past several months and found myself growing by osmosis.

Even though I grew up a Trayser, I’m still often shocked by the value and importance of intentional celebration.  Moments stop. Joy is no longer fabricated, and the good that is available from God in the everyday is maximized. So even if it feels unnatural, overboard, or cheesy, we all need to celebrate the true gift that is buried beneath the hurried, worried, seriousness of today. God gave us freedom and delights when we are delighted. True abundant life demands the magnificent gift of Emanuel. God with us.  Forever and most vibrantly in the art of celebration.