I'm Just Sayin'

Church and I are taking a break. Just for a month, anyway. For the month of October, I’m trying to spend my Sundays, my Sabbaths, praying and reading and writing and wondering…what am I looking for in a church? What caused me to leave my last church? What has left me in tears at churches I’ve visited. What am I bringing to a church? What am I lacking.

It’s complicated, but sometimes, it’s not. This past Sunday, I jotted something down in my journal that I have been desiring when I’ve visited new churches here in town. I almost didn’t write it down. It seemed silly. But I did write it. And then I underlined it.

I want to go to lunch.

At every church I’ve attended, I’ve been invited to lunch. To share a meal with others. To eat and talk and laugh and fellowship. Lunch, to me, had become an extension of the Church. Just as important as the sermon or the music.

I went to a church in Nashville where I regularly went with a group to a local pizza place. The food was excellent and the fellowship is something I still crave.

I went to a church in Missouri where I often went to a Chinese buffet after the late service. The food was mediocre, but I loved feeling part of a larger family.

I’ve gone to Mother’s Day brunch with a family who saw how hard it was for me to not have family in town. I’ve eaten burritos and wrestled over theology. Slurped soup while sharing struggles. Pushed back from a friend’s table, my stomach full of roast and my heart full of belonging.

So when I leave church and go home to my empty house to eat a sandwich alone at my table, I just feel like something’s missing. Five times, in the five years that I’ve lived here, I have been invited to lunch after church. Once a year. I miss the fellowship of those shared meals with the people I worship with.

Please, please don’t think this is a pity party. And for the love of all that’s holy, don’t feel like you have to invite me to lunch if you see me at church.

But maybe invite someone. The person sitting alone. The single mother. The college student. The new family.It just might make their day.

“Food is our common ground, a universal experience.”

In no particular order:

-The perfect pot of coffee

-Spiced cider

-Laughing with Friends

-Sweet babies

-Wheat thins with laughing cow cheese

-A cozy fireplace

-Unexpected snow

-The yellow leaves on the tree outside my living room

-Sharing food with people I love

-Ponytails

-Pumpkin cream cheese muffins

-Naps

This past weekend I went to Nashville for a conference (which I will post more about later, as soon as I finish mulling it over).

Nashville holds a special place in my heart. And this trip back, in particular, felt very nostalgic for me. I drove down streets shadowed in memory, and thought about the broken, confused person I was when I first came to the city.

In May of 2002 I packed up everything I could fit in my green Ford Escort and drove alone down I-40, the windows down, my heart all at once heavy and light. My stepfather had died less than three months before, and I arrived in Nashville still saturated in that grief. It was the first time I had lived on my own, and I can’t help but feel like I arrived in town just a baby. Learning to walk, but careening forward with no balance. Crying for attention, but never able to communicate what I needed. Always unsure, always scared.

I think this was the first time I had visited Nashville and felt like a truly different person. Like I had shed so much of who I was as a 22-year-old. I still have miles to go, but I finally feel like I’m growing into myself. My heart feels more light than heavy now.

But on this fall weekend in 2011, as I drove past the spot where I had my first car accident, down the street where I used to drive slow to enjoy the sun dappling the inside of my car, I felt this deep, exceeding shame. As I talked to people who I had known nearly a decade ago, I felt my cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. I felt like I needed to apologize for that sad, lonely, awkward, hurting girl I was before. For the poor decisions I made. For my neediness and brokenness and awkwardness.

That shame laid heavy on me for most of a day. Made it hard for me to look people in the face. Stooped my shoulders and weighted my spirit.

Shame can do that to you.

But by the evening, I was beginning to feel some sympathy for that lost girl who came to Nashville. Sure, she was sometimes silly, and most of the time needy, but she loved deeply, and she laughed freely. Just like she does now.

She stared at the ground a lot. But when she did look up, she noticed the sunshine dappled through the trees. Just like she does now.

She needed the love of others, but didn’t always know how to receive it. Just like she does now.

She had a broken heart but light spilled forth from the broken places. Just like it does now.

So, to that little lost girl in Nashville. You will move. You will grow. You will lose friends. You will make friends. You will be awkward. You will laugh.

And you will find a place where shame has no place. Live there, lost girl.

Live there.

So last weekend, one of my very best friends in the world got married. I could not be more happy for her and her new husband.

But friends, I fail at toasts.

I had thought a lot about what kind of toast I would give at my friend’s wedding, if the occasion arose. Enough so that I crawled out of bed at midnight a few days before the wedding to put some thoughts on paper.

But then the day of the wedding arrived, and the reception came, and my little scrap of paper still sat in my car. I considered running out to the parking lot to get it when they opened the floor for toasts to the bride and groom. I listened to people say lovely words about this couple whom I love dearly.

But…what if I said something stupid? What if my words were not meant for public consumption? What if there was silence when I finished?

Or…what if I made this too much about me? What if I was too concerned with the presentation of my words than the heart of them?

You guys. I what-ifed myself right out of that toast.

So instead I wrote those words on a clean piece of paper and gave them to the bride and groom. And here, I will give a virtual-toast to Krissy and Spence. Because the world should know how much they mean to me

(And I like to pretend that they’re looking at me in this picture as I give their toast )

I Wish for You…

Let Joy into your home. Often he will fly in on the wings of laughter. Sometimes he will be the life of the party. But other times, Joy will limp in, battered and confused. When Joy flies in, celebrate. When Joy limps in, offer him a place to recover.

I pray that Peace will slip in your back door, walking softly through your home. Quiet like a mother checking on her precious children, her cool hand on your fevered brow. As Peace slips by in the night, grab the hem of her robe. Hold on.

Let Faith be in every corner of your home. Let him strip away doubt, boldly painting over it with the vibrant colors of hope. Sometimes you will not understand Faith. But trust him. Faith always has a plan.

When Grace enters the front door, selfishness will hastily exit through the nearest open window. The two cannot exist together. Make Grace comfortable. Watch her. Learn her language. Follow in her steps. Grace is a patient teacher.

But the greatest wish I have for you, of course, is Love. Fling open your doors, your windows, for Love. Let her fill your home until it is ready to burst. Let Love cover you, surround you, protect you. Let Love in, and she will never leave.

About a week ago I submitted my first writing packet for grad school.

It. Was. Terrifying.

The night I emailed it my mentor, I had a dream that she called me and told me I should drop out of school because I was a terrible writer.

Look. I know I’m not a terrible writer. I even think I’m a pretty good writer. But having someone read my writing still makes my stomach knot up. Yet I feel compelled to share my writing with others. It is a conundrum, my friends.

So anyway, today I got my initial feedback on that first writing packet. And the feedback was really good. The word “terrific” may have even been used. In my state of euphoria, I posetd on Facebook about my mentor’s kind words.

And when I checked Facebook again a few hours later, the majority of the comments were of the “I told you so” variety. Which kind of made me laugh. How are my friends and family so sure of something that I doubt on a daily basis? How are they so confident when I am so unsure?

But to me the real question is, is that fear, that uncertainty just part of the process? Does every writer deal with that? Does Stephen King have nightmares when when he sends a manuscript in to his editor? Does Danielle Steele’s chest heave when she meets with her agent? (Sorry had to go there.)

I guess I feel like if there were no nerves, I would feel like I’ve “arrived.” And I never want to feel like I’m the best I can be. I want to constantly be growing and evolving and becoming a better writer.

So I guess I will just have to put with lots of “I told you so” moments. I must need lots of telling

I’m at a bit of a cross-roads with my blog. For the past month or so I’ve been debating what to do with it. Kill it off? Hibernate? Extended vacation?

You see, fair readers, lately writing has absolutely consumed me. I write all day for work. I go home and write for grad school. I read my books for class. I write on discussion boards. Read, write. Write, read.

Please don’t misunderstand me. I LOVE my program. I love how challenged I feel right now. But I fall into bed with a brain full of words. I have nightmares about split infinitives and double negatives.

And to be honest, the thought of blogging has just kind of felt overwhelming to me. But here’s the thing. I really enjoy my blog. So while I thought about shutting ‘er down, I’ve decided not to. I won’t be blogging as much. Maybe not as well. But this little blog is here to stay. Hope you’ll keep reading!

It’s Sunday night. I am in my usual Sunday night spot–my couch, with the ceiling fan sending wisps of my hair across my face, tickling my nose. The TV is on, but the volume is down, and the murmurings of the actors on the screen blend in with the sounds of the dishwasher sloshing in the next room. I am a good kind of tired. The tired that comes from days filled with fun, from time spent with people you love.

This was a special weekend. It was a time of friendship and celebration. And as I sit here in the quiet, my heart feels full. It feels full from a day of celebrating a sweet friend’s upcoming marriage. Of watching her surrounded by people who love her. Looking back, I realize I was perhaps quieter than normal at her celebration. Because all I wanted to do was sit back and watch. Watch my beautiful, caring, giving friend be covered in the love and prayers and support of the people who love her. It was lovely to watch–and even lovelier to be a part of. My friend loves fully, and how I hope that she knows how fully she is loved in return.

And then today, another celebration. This afternoon I crowded into a house to celebrate the birthdays of one of the most incredible couples I know. Again, I stood quietly, watching. These friends are loved well. Dozens of people crowded into their home, the warm air thick with conversations and laughter. We fanned ourselves with paper plates, until the moment we loaded them with food. It was a beautiful evening of fellowship, celebrating two people I have the pleasure of calling friends.

And tonight, from my spot on the couch, I am thankful. For a life filled with friends. For moments of celebration. For showing love. For receiving love. For living love.

“The soul is healed by being with children.”

A few days ago, a friend of mine posted a list of myths/misconceptions about introverts. And I loved it. Because I am an introvert, and I’ve dealt with my own misconceptions around that. Heck, I’ve had misconceptions about it myself! So I’d like to just clear up some things I’ve noticed in my own life, when it comes to the dreaded i-word!

1. Introverts hate being around people. I think this is the biggest misconception, and the one I’ve had to process through in my own life. For a long time, I would never give myself the grace to feel lonely. I wasn’t supposed to feel lonely. I was an introvert. So not true! I need people, I need relationships! I just don’t need huge crowds of people all the time. There are times I absolutely want to be alone. But there are just as many that I need to be around people. I am fed by my relationship. I may not be energized by being around others–but I am certainly fulfilled.

2. Introverts are party poopers. I love to host things. I love to have guests. I love to throw parties. Hospitality is one of my spiritual gifts. So sometimes, people are surprised by the fact that I’m an introvert. But here’s the thing. I love to throw parties and have houseguests because I love to have my home filled with people I love. When I throw a party, I invite the people I want to spend time with. Now, going to another person’s massive party is a different story. I didn’t get to okay the guest list So while I enjoy gatherings that other people throw, they do tend me to exhaust me, much more than my own shindigs.

3. Introverts are socially awkward. Here’s the deal. I can be socially awkward. I just usually choose not to. It’s almost a “fake it ’til you make it” mentality. Do I always feel like being “on” in social situations? Absolutely not! But I can be. I know what social norms are, and I usually act within those. Sure, sometimes I’m tired and it’s harder. And sometimes I’m just not great at it. But those are the exceptions rather than the rule.

4. Introverts are shy. This kind of ties in with the last one. I actually get that perception a lot, of people thinking I’m shy. But I think shyness implies an uncomfortableness. When I’m in a big crowd, especially if there are a lot of strangers, I am admitedly quiet. But it’s not because I’m fearful or uncomfortable or shy. I’m just a listener. It’s my default. If I have something to add, a story or a comment, I will. But I don’t NEED to hear myself talk, so I often will choose not to.

So what about you? What are some misconceptions people have about your personality?

I didn’t grow up doing sports. Well, I played rec league volleyball for a few years, but that doesn’t really count. Because I was that bad at it. And no actual skill was required.

So I never really knew what it was like to have fans. At least not in the literal sense. Nobody cheered for me. Made signs with my name. Lifted me on their shoulders.

I always wanted that. To be celebrated in a tangible way.

Here I am, a girl in her 30s, no closer to athletic stardom. Much further away, actually.

But get this.

My life is filled with my biggest fans.

I have a friend who believes in me. She cheers me on when I have stopped believing in myself.

A friend who writes words of encouragement to me, who writes my name on a sign and waves it in the air.

And friend after friend who hold me up when I am too tired to continue. Who love me, not because I am an athlete, or because I am famous. They love me because I am me. Most days, that is hard for me to understand. But every day, I am thankful for it.

It makes me want to be my friends’ biggest fan too. Inspires me to support them in their ventures. To speak light into their darkness. To hold up their arms when their burdens are too heavy.

Who is your biggest fan?

And whose biggest fan are you?

One is useless without the other.