Me, My and Mine

Confession: I have a thing for C.S. Lewis.  (And I’ve already told Alex about it so it’s totally ok).  The man is brilliant, a spiritual giant in every sense of the word.  His thoughts so often are the bridge my mind takes between biblical truth and practical application.  I can’t even count how many times I have read Lewis’ words and thought, “Oh, THAT’S what God meant!  Brilliant!”  When I get to Heaven, I want to fall on my knees before Jesus, hug Elizabeth and Mary, shake hands with John the Baptist and Paul, and then have coffee with C.S. Lewis—in that order.

A few months ago I read The Screwtape Letters, and at the time I was digesting so much good stuff that not all of it sat with me.  But lately, what I have been learning is taking me back to something I remember thinking about when I read the book—my major overuse of a certain set of possessive pronouns: me, my, and mine.

And now I wonder: What would happen to my faith if I took those words out of my vocabulary? 

My time would no longer be mine but God’s time—with no detail escaping his notice and nothing happening that he cannot walk me through, my day would be spent actually doing what he asked of me.  I would be less concerned about my schedule and more concerned that how I spent the time I was given—even in the mundane—was kingdom minded.

My knee would no longer be mine but part of God’s workmanship.  Surgeries, rehab, and bad news have characterized the better part of the last nine years, and I have always viewed it is as my knee, my ability to move, and my comfort to lose.  I am wondering now that if I had seen my knee—and my whole body— as God’s gift to begin with, I might not have struggled so much to watch the athlete Katie turn into the always-limping Katie.  I might have taken comfort in the fact that God has always known what my body would be capable of, that He still knows what it will be capable of, and he has me right where he wants me.

My marriage would no longer be mine but God’s love story on display.  Pretty soon I am going to be a bride, and all of the language surrounding the preparations of the day have been about, well, mostly me: I tell people what my wedding colors are, where my wedding venue is, what my bridesmaids will wear.  But what if none of this day is mine but His?  What if I really saw this wedding as a party of gratitude that God gave me Alex so that He could teach me more about Himself?  And what if I stopped talking about marriage like Alex and I are the possessors of it but like we are the stewards of the amazing gift it is? It would probably have changed how I have prepared for it, and it will certainly change how I live it.  If I really believe it is a brief glimpse of the love He has for us, it becomes less about me right away.   And on that note…

My fiancé would no longer be mine but God’s son and the man He picked out to love me.  I would consistently treat Alex with the respect he deserves, and I would worry less that my needs are being met and more that his heart is safe and secure in Jesus.  I would pray for him in bolder, bigger, more faithful ways than I do.   

My house would no longer be mine, but the place God gave us to live where, hopefully, a family is raised with the truth of God as a foundation and friends are welcomed, cared for, and prayed for.

My money would no longer be mine but God’s blessing for me to steward and bless others with.

My opinions, my education, my friends, my goals, my possessions, my future…

What if none of this is mine?  What if I truly treated everything in my life like it belongs to the One who gave it to me in the first place?  That’s a humbling thought for me.

In the animated movie Finding Nemo, the seagull “characters” pop up a few times throughout the film and make everyone laugh as they all fly toward the treat that has been thrown at them, yelling, “Mine!” “Mine!” “Mine!” “Mine!” “Mine!”  We are certainly not seagulls, but I wonder sometimes if we are so different.  How often do we find ourselves competing for the money, the job, the reputation, the car, the clothes or the relationships just so that we can call them “mine?” 

Lewis writes it from the point of view of Screwtape this way (and remember in this phrase ‘the Enemy’ is referring to God and ‘our father’ is referring to Satan):  “we have taught men to say ‘my God’ in a sense not really very different from ‘my boots’, meaning ‘the God on whom I have a claim for my distinguished services and whom I can exploit from the pulpit—the God I have done a corner in’… And all the time the joke is that the word ‘Mine’ in its fully possessive sense cannot be uttered by a human being about anything.  In the long run either Our Father or the Enemy will say ‘Mine’ of each thing that exists, and especially of each man.  They will find out in the end, never fear, to whom their time, their souls and their bodies really belong—certainly not to them, whatever happens."

The sin nature in each one of us has a default mode of “mine”—and never on this earth will we master the art of complete selflessness and holding our hands open to blessings.  Without exception, everything under Heaven was given to us; but daily we have to fight down the pride that says "I earned it, I deserve, and it is mine."  But maybe we could just start by thinking about all the uses of me, my and mine in our day, and do our best to remember they are most certainly not ours, but His.

*The picture above represents the "everything under Heaven" idea- and it was taken by the amazingly- and humbly- talented, Katie Trayser*

the flipped side of familiar

I’m officially a Midwest girl again. I arrived in Wheaton on Thursday evening, without eye-makeup on and dressed in a certain numbness- part hopeful, part heartbroken.  My thoughts were jumbled. Loud and clear and then painfully distant. Polished and rational, then absurd and confused. I knew how to do life in Arizona. I knew what exit to take on the 51, I knew to wear a sundress to combat the 110 degree heat but to pack a sweater for the instant chill of indoor AC, I knew exactly how to order my drink at The Coffee Bean, I knew the layout of the Desert Ridge Target, I knew how to do my job, and I truly knew the people around me in deep and meaningful ways.  Arizona, in my seven years of residence, had become completely stable. Comforting. Familiar.

Familiar, in my life, is a coin that I’m constantly flipping. On one side, (let’s call it 'heads') familiar means family. It means being relentlessly surrounded by the people, places, tastes, and smells that make me tick. It means falling gently into a routine that breathes the breath of life into others and knowing where to go to fill up my own tank. It means having a schedule, a plan, and a backup plan. Familiar is knowing the good brunch spots, and always ordering the right thing off the menu. It’s warm, it’s inviting. It’s knowing and being fully known.

On the 'tails' side of familiar is the status-quo. It’s feeling underwhelmed and under-challenged. It’s realizing nothing scares me. It’s confessing that life has been folded and neatly compiled into a corner where I can keep my eye on it. It’s clinching with white-knuckles on the steering wheel of where my future is headed. It’s lifeless and mundane. Predictable and ordinary.  It screams for a trust in something bigger than myself, but relies solely on the strength that only I am equipped with. And here’s the part that is most dreaded about this side of familiar: it’s easy.

Don’t let it be too easy. Don’t know exactly what the day holds without some wiggle room for God to truly use you. 

Maybe you’re living a life so extreme and independent that you’re longing for some familiar faces that know you and love you. Or maybe you have those faces surrounding you and you’re longing for a life that is challenging and bigger than what you can dream up yourself. I’ve been there. Both places.  And God provides fellowship and he provides purposes when we have the faith to pray and ask for them.  (Sometimes he does even without us asking.)

One thing is for certain in my own life. The perfect balance is found only in making God my most familiar. In him I am home, I am fully known and fully accepted just how I am... today. In him I am challenged. I am moved, surrendered and trudging through a life that far exceeds my own limits. He yearns to cover us in his familiar presence. It is only there that we will feel safe. Safe… but with butterflies in our stomach knowing something BIG is about to take place. Something only the living God could dream up, something that may not make sense to those who don’t know him. Something unfamiliar to us, but carefully mapped-out by the most familiar hands we will ever know. 

college

At 18 years old, I thought I knew a lot about the world. 

At 26, I don’t think I know much at all. 

But I happen to know a few, beautiful, talented, fun, energetic, off-to-college 18 year old girls— and I am writing this partly because I can’t believe you are grown-ups and I am feeling nostalgic, but mostly because I love you and wish only wonderful memories for you during the next season of your lives… so, here are the things I do know about college.

1.   It’s hard.  The first semester in particular, because you will miss home (some moments more than others) you will miss having your own room, you might learn more than you wanted to know about your roommate, you will feel nervous about finding the right classroom, you will have a teacher that you cannot understand well, and you will probably have moments of loneliness—even surrounded by thousands of other students—because in those moments you wonder who really knows who you are…

2.   It’s testing.  I know I am not the first and certainly won’t be the last person to tell you that there is no shortage of not-so-good options in college.  You can find one on a Wednesday morning as easily as you can on a Saturday night.  And these choices will always be there, and you will watch a lot of people you love make them, and you will probably make some of them yourself.  But do whatever it takes to make more good choices than bad ones.  Pick church over sleeping in, Bible study over Happy Hour, homework over beer pong, people who have always loved you over the guy who won’t be there in the morning.  And by all means, choose those Frat parties sparingly!  Go to one, see that you are not missing anything, and never go again, ok girls?!

3.   It’s mind-opening.  College makes your world bigger, in all the best ways.  Until now, you have never been in a biology lab with a single mom of three kids trying to finish her degree.  You have never sat with 700 other students in the same class and been identified as a number.  You have probably never done a group project with a recently married gay woman, an Iraq war veteran, a Theology major, a volunteer for Ron Paul’s presidential campaign, and a sorority member.  But you will do these things, and you will learn that everyone has a different lens through which they see the world.  Listen to their stories, value their experience, respect their humanity.  And all the while, dive deeper into God’s word and hold on tightly to your own story.  Confidently believe in who you are, humbly accept who everyone else is. 

4.   It’s faith-shaping.  No matter where you go to school, you will hear people in positions of authority challenge the Bible, Jesus, and even the notion of God.  I dare you to not run away from the questions but to acknowlege them.  Explore your doubts—the world is scary, and the more you realize that the more likely you are to have them at some point.  Talk with pastors, mentors, and small groups about tough topics.  Don’t be afraid to say, “Hmmm, I wonder about this…” Because I believe two things will happen for you: 1) You will eventually emerge from your questions knowing that life does not make sense without Jesus, and 2) You will confront the hard realities of this world wanting to be someone God uses to do something about them, rather than someone who blames God for them. 

5.   It’s super fun.  There is not a time of my life that I enjoyed more than college.  Lots of freedom, not a lot of bills to pay, a ton of learning, meeting so many awesome people, eating cereal for dinner, planning for your future… it’s pretty cool.  Soak it up.  Go to the free concerts, get in line for the speakers that come to campus, join clubs and play intramurals, try to get all of your classes to fit in Monday thru Thursday and have a semester of three-day weekends, be a good friend, listen well to others and don’t give your time or your heart to anyone who doesn’t listen well to you.  Take lots of pictures, call your parents often to tell them you’re fine, and just enjoy being right where you are. 

You’re off to bigger and better things now.  No one else can make decisions for you, and no one else can live with the outcome of your decisions.  You have a chance to be whoever you want to, embrace that.  And remember that you are daughters of the Creator of the Universe, and that means you have everything you need.

And please, try to remember that frat parties are stupid. 

Wishing you smiles, blessings, lessons, and love each and every day. 


*Couldn't resist adding this one, mostly because of Erin.  Love you.*

loud hearts and The Help

I know I am a little bit late to get this one on the list, but I just finished reading The Help by Kathryn Stockett.  (Honestly, one of the Top 10 books I have ever read and you should hurry and finish whatever book you currently have opened and get this one- but that is not the point I am making).  Among the many, many thoughts this amazing piece of writing has left swirling in my head comes from a conversation early in the book between Abileen, a black woman working as a maid in Jackson, Mississippi, and Elizabeth Leefolt, her white boss.  The Leefolt’s have just built Abileen her own bathroom in the garage so that they won’t have a “colored” person using the one in their home:

“So, from now on, instead of using the guest bathroom, you can use your own right out there.  Won’t that be nice?”

“Yes Ma’am.”  I keep ironing… She keep standing there looking at me though.

“So you’ll use that one in the garage now, you understand?”

I don’t look at her.  I’m not trying to make no trouble, but she done made her point.

“Don’t you want to get some tissue and go on out there and use it?”

“Miss Leefolt, I don’t really have to go right this second.”

“Oh.”  Miss Leefolt lick her lips a few times.  “But when you do, you’ll go on back there and use that one now, I mean… only that one, right?”

I say what I know she want to hear: “I use my colored bathroom from now on.  And then I go on and Clorox the white bathroom again real good.”

“Well there’s no hurry.  Anytime today would be fine.”

But by the way she standing there fiddling with her wedding ring, she really mean for me to do it right now.

I put the iron down real slow, feel that bitter seed grow in my chest, the one that planted after Treelore died.  My face goes hot, my tongue twitchy.  I don’t know what to say to her.  All I know is, I ain’t saying it.  And I know she ain’t saying what she want to say either and it’s a strange thing happening here cause nobody saying nothing and we still managing to have us a conversation.

Now that is one beautifully written picture.  Not the blatant discrimination, and certainly not the humiliation Abileen feels to be told the white family she works for believes they will catch colored diseases if she uses a bathroom in their home.  But the tension in the conversation is so tangible and real, it puts you right there in the middle of it.  We know what each character is really feeling and thinking even though their words are not saying it.

I think about that last line, about nobody saying anything and the conversation is still happening.  Have you ever had that conversation?  Have you ever felt like there was so much being left unsaid?  Have you ever felt like someone was formulating an opinion of you on very little information?  Or, have you ever formulated an opinion of someone on very little information?  (Mmmm hmmm.)  Have you ever known that your heart was in a very different place than your words and actions?

The point is this: sometimes our hearts speak louder than anything we could say. 

There are no words that can be articulated well enough, no body language that can look perky enough, and no good-deeds done in bitterness that can look real enough— none of these things can mask our hearts quite enough to be believed as genuine.  And that seems to me to be the point.  If our hearts are not right, we know it, and others will eventually see it.

But more importantly, God knows it.  He is searching the whole world looking for the men and women whose hearts are fully committed to him.*  And we can’t hide with our words or our actions.  When our hearts are devoted to something much bigger than ourselves, and when they are truly humbled by the unmerited grace we are offered every morning, the footsteps of our day follow accordingly, and we love others well.  But the opposite is also true.  When our hearts are bitter, judgmental, anxious, overly opinionated, angry, or entitled, the footsteps of our day will still follow accordingly.

Our hearts really do speak.  And they act, and they leave impressions, and they show others who and what we value the most, too.  And that must be why, above all else, we are to guard them.  Because our words don’t mean much if our hearts can’t back it up.  So today, I want to think a little more deeply about my heart, about the places I let it go to, and about the Savior who has done, and will do, anything to win it. 

*2 Chronicles 16:9 

artwork

Sometimes when I’m smack dab in the middle of this world's radiant beauty, I picture God as an artist. Maybe as a painter, he creates with a color wheel of hues we don’t have accurate descriptions for.  Or maybe as sculptor, his hands flawlessly mold the texture of a pineapple and the delicate wings of a pelican.  With mere strokes of a paintbrush he can turn a nighttime canvas into a sunrise masterpiece, and with the mighty grooves of his hands, he can perfectly shape the ocean’s shoreline.

If you couldn’t tell by the jabber of pineapples, pelicans, and ocean tides, I was in paradise this past week. Paradise, in the form of Mexico, along the Riviera Maya. Thirty people from across the U.S. rolled in to a resort, retreated from a land with reliable cell phone service, and anticipated the night that Luke and Jess would become their own, little family. As the clouds slowly shifted inland, we shifted into a slowed pace of life. As the drinks re-filled in true, all-inclusive fashion, we refilled our emptied energy with sunrays and long naps.  And as the moonlight danced along the Gulf of Mexico waters, we danced under the stars to Etta James and Lady Gaga, toasting and celebrating the bride and groom.

The Johns’ got to have their first family vacation, Jess and her dad got to go parasailing, Kyle and Alyssa got to toast their older siblings, I got to spend the weekend with my husband, and half of the guests got a post-wedding bath as they jumped one-by-one into the nearby pool- still dressed in full wedding attire (for the record, I jumped and it was well worth the soggy mess.)

This weekend was one of God’s great pieces of art. And as I sat in the Cancun terminal, waiting to board my flight back to Phoenix, I collected and pieced together my most cherished memories.

I remembered the majestic creation that I described earlier. And it struck me that some of the most beautiful pieces of art I’ve been lucky enough to witness were not in a gallery or a museum, but living, breathing, acts of God painted and sculpted for my pleasure and his glory. I remembered the vows that Luke and Jess wrote and read to each other in their new covenant of marriage, and was brought to tears as they related it to the new covenant God scripted for us through the forgiving power of his only son. I remembered the prayers for no rain, for lasting memories, and fruitful friendships and closed my eyes and thanked God for answering them all.

The divine artist began sculpting this marriage close to a decade ago. The channels and lines of Luke and Jess speak of his great faithfulness, merciful kindness, and promising love for his artwork. And though they may not always feel like pieces of art, God updated pictures of Jess and Luke in his wallet and can’t wait to show off their wedding photos in heaven. Not because he’s bragging and not because he’s an artist in need of credit, but because he’s proud and because they’re his masterpiece. 

We are his masterpiece. We are his prized possessions. The God that the birds sing about and the oceans roar about chose us to be his framed focal point. So the next time you wander down the road of I don't matter, or get lost in the desert of it can't be true, be reminded that he finds the lost and creates opportunities for the deserted to jump in the pool of his GRAND love. And believe me, it's well worth the soggy mess. 

Score Keepers

I love Scrabble.  Maybe it is because I was an English major and I love words, maybe it is because I could almost always beat my mom when we played, and maybe it is simply because of the combination of brain power and creativity it takes to win.  Or, it could very well be that I am just a nerd.  But I’ll take a round of Scrabble over any other game any day of the week.

Scrabble is a game that needs very precise score keeping.  If the designated “keeper of the score” is not paying attention, not marking down every letter accurately, well, then all of the work your mind has done to draw up every possible word for the letters E-W-E-O-R-N-H  is all for naught.  Stingy scorekeepers, that works for Scrabble and every other board game.

But there’s a place that keeping score just does not work: life.

We live in a culture that disagrees, a culture that tells you coming out on top—with the most money, the best clothes, the kids with the most accomplishments, the finest things and the nicest home—will make you matter.  Those things are supposed to fill your soul and allow you to sleep well at night.  There are supposed to get you friends, status, and security.  They don’t.

We also are told that we “deserve” the best.  We are advised that if friends don’t call us back they are not good people and not worth our time.  And (particularly if you are a female), we tend to only remember the times that we have done something nice, left a message, sent a letter, wrote on someone’s facebook wall, or was the last person to send the text.  And by standing our ground and not being the nice one anymore, we believe we have taught the person on the other end of the relationship a lesson about being a good friend, and that we will feel better about our boundaries.  We won’t.

The most debilitating seasons of my life have been heavily monitored by my internal score keeping.  A friend got engaged and I did not: one point for them.  Another friend is pregnant and I am not: two points for them.  That woman over there is tall and thin and I am not: point against Katie.  A friend from college is volunteering in an orphanage for a year: definitely a three point advantage for the extra-spiritual part.  And the woman over there, she can cook, for goodness sake!  I am way behind at this point.

And, the most bitter and prideful moments of my life also happen when I am knee deep in the “score.”  I know I left the last message, I’m not calling her again until she calls me.  I have written her notes for months, it is her turn… and on and on it goes.  (I am so incredibly guilty of this, if you only knew!)  We all keep score of something—it is our way of feeling ok about who we are, the natural justification of ourselves we all do.

And then, we look at the Cross.

That man, that perfect man who hung there, he erased the score.  He said “You cannot possibly win, you cannot possibly earn what I offer you, you cannot create on your own a meaningful life, and you cannot manufacture a soul fulfilled.”  That’s Jesus.  He has never been interested in the score.  (If he was, we would all be in trouble, because he’s totally winning).  He has only ever wanted our hearts.  We can bring him a list of all the nice things we have done for our friends, he would tell us to throw it away.  We can show him our home and the nice boat we just bought, he would remind us of the woman who gave 2 pennies and stole his heart in the process*.  We can bring our framed diplomas, our bank account statements, and we can come dressed in our finest clothes as we present it all to Him, and I think he would tell us that the man who paved the way for Jesus’ ministry was practically naked and lived in the forest* (and I can’t imagine he knew how to cook much).  Jesus wants our love and devotion, not our lists of good deeds, our resumes, or our things.

I know that one of the biggest hills I am climbing in my walk with the Lord is this very thing—this tendency to keep the score.  But when I think about the only perfect man who ever lived, the only man who ever had the right to keep score, and I remember that he didn’t, I am brought to my knees in humility.  God gives us great things to take care of: homes, cars, children, friendships… but they are His things, on loan to us and in our care until the time He chooses to take them back.  We are not to compare them, judge them, make them our identity or be prideful because of them.  We have no ground to stand on when we keep score.

All we can say is “The Lord gives and the Lord takes away, blessed be the name of the Lord.”*

Score keeping is for golf, soccer, football, volleyball, and Scrabble.  It is not for life.  It does not bring us closer to the heart of God, it get us N-O-W-H-E-R-E.  Let’s drop the score, and count only the love spilling out of our hearts because of the fact that the cross gave us all the points we will ever need. 

*Mark 12:41-44
*Matthew 3:3-5
*Job 1:21

being human

In the past few weeks I have been witness to a move, an engagement, a graduation, a homecoming, a baby dedication, a wedding, a lease, and a funeral. Emotions ran wild as I joined others I love in the celebration of new life, new marriages, and new directions. Oppositely, I grieved old houses, old life, and old memories. Julie married Robert and vowed to be his forever, Kendra wore a big robe and waved goodbye to high school, Aubrie said yes to Lance on the beaches of Santa Barbara, and movers hauled our familiar furniture up multiple flights of stairs and into a new residing space just before the rain started to fall in Wheaton. Human interaction after human interaction left me feeling grateful to have a heart that beats in my chest and breath that gives life to my lungs. What a miracle it is to be human.

Human. Something I’m finding that is as debilitating as it is freeing. Something astonishingly easy, yet terribly difficult. Something so natural in parts, and yet so foreign in others. Something we all are, but tirelessly run from.  The past few weeks have proved and prevailed the 100% human nature inside of me.

I believe that one of life’s truest and purest gifts comes when we have the courage to be human. Exposing the most vulnerable, innermost parts of our rusty, robotic selves often births the most meaningful revelations and trusted friendships.

I don’t ‘lose it’ with just anyone. There are only a select few that get to experience Kristin in all her blubbering glory. Some, by total accident (wrong place at the wrong time- apologies extended here) and some because they’ve earned it. They’ve earned the trust, the time, the right to see what I previously insisted on keeping hidden. Austin happens to be one of those people. And this past week in Chicago, my human nature was exposed deeply to him. But here’s the thing about being human… I am. And so are you.

We are lost, and broken. Weak and wounded.  Fallen and burdened, hopeless in our humanness. And at the height of my own breakdown, I got this overwhelming sense that Christ LONGS for us to be human. Because it gives us a need for a savior and a reason to be saved.  Believe me, I’ve fully embraced the bionic life of over-booked calendars, tip-toed relationships, plan b’s to the preferred plan a’s, and forced smiles that bury unresolved hurt. That life only goes so far. Jesus became human with one item on his to do list, jumped head first into meaningful relationships, would not settle for less than God’s plan A, and died to redeem this world from any hurt it would ever feel.  He lived to expose the human in us and resurrected to banish the human out of him. So today, remove yourself from the most under-qualified job you’ll ever apply for (God) and run with me in the only race we’re qualified to run. The human race.