The little things are important.

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Many of my conversations with others share this common theme; this need for purpose, excitement, newness. The hum drum tasks of life just don’t quite cut it and we are constantly searching for more.

When I break it down it’s all quite confusing. I’ve heard my whole life how Jesus is rest for the weary, and there have been times in my life where I have felt that so strongly. But hand in hand I have also gotten the message that I must do and achieve and work hard for his kingdom. In the Christian culture, aren’t missionaries idolized? We don’t look at stay at home moms or businessmen and say “wow. Look what they are doing for the kingdom of God”.

What a mistake we are making. To promote this culture where doing more equates to serving Jesus more. I just don’t buy it.

And so I’ve been on this mission in my own life to really sink my teeth into the sweetness of every single moment. To treat the little tasks in my life as if they were a great adventure with so much purpose and meaning. Because even though it may not always look like it, everything we do has promise.

Of course serve. I’m not saying that we shouldn’t do things for others or get out of our comfort zone, but what I am saying is that the little things are important. Grand gestures and big ideas aren’t always the best ones.

I guess the key is, are we listening to Gods voice? Are we so in tune with that greater plan that we can feel content in every moment because we know what we are doing has a purpose beyond what we can imagine? It’s so hard to live in that peace. But that’s what I want for my life. Not the certainty that I’m doing everything right, or that Im impressing anyone, but the acceptance that everything I do has a purpose and it’s never not enough.

When Beau Was Born.

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Never in my life did I think I would give birth without an epidural. Mostly because I’d rather not be in more pain than I need to be. But also because I really didn’t think I could do it. And when my baby’s head was inching its way out of my body in the triage room bathroom, I was more terrified than I can ever remember being.

My labor with Lilah was odd. It wasn’t like how I’d been taught in my birth classes. “5-1-1” was what they told me and then head to the hospital. But my contractions were never that way. One minute, 30 seconds, three in a row, a few minutes between. They were all over the place. And in the early hours of November 19, it was just the same.

Around 4:30am, Eric urged me to call my doctors office after I announced that I felt like my pelvis was splitting in half. “Doesn’t sounds great, Lizz”, he said and handed me my phone. The doctor on call assured me we had time, after all my contractions were all over the place. Even after sharing my previous birthing experience, she told me to wait until 7am to come in. To be honest, I wasn’t even convinced of my own labor, and was afraid I’d be sent home, so I agreed. A half hour later I hobble down the stairs amidst intense sweats and bouts of nausea, stopping every few seconds to get through another wave of pain. This baby was on its way, that much I knew. I just had no idea how “on its way” he really was.

We pulled into the hospital around 5:20am and parked on the roof. I refused to let Eric drop me off at the front door. I was terrified to be left alone. My contractions were now one big block of pain. As we exited the elevator a surge of pressure caused me to wonder if I was about to give birth right there on the sidewalk. We waddled a bit faster and I collapsed in a wheelchair at the door. Up on the 8th floor I could barely give them my name. They wheeled me back to triage with the promise to check me in properly, once I got settled. We sat in the hallway while they prepared the triage room for us. A janitor reminded me to breathe through the pain as I contemplated how I was ever going to make it an hour until the anesthesiologist could get there.

Once in the room I decided to try and pee before the poking and prodding began. No sooner had I sat down, I felt this undeniable urge to push. I couldn’t have stopped it if I tried. It was like my body had taken over and I was just a crying, blubbering shell. Eric thought my cries of “he is coming now” were just my dramatic nature (which in his defense is completely valid). But once he realized there was indeed a head coming out of me, he ran to the hall. A few nurses flooded into the bathroom, took one look at me and began shouting instructions. I remember telling one of them “I can’t do this” and she said to me “but you already are. You’re doing it!” *mental note to find that nurse and buy her anything she wants*

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror before they waddled me out into the room and onto the bed. I looked straight into my eyes, those same eyes that have overcome so much deep fear and many dark days. I remember thinking in that moment, “I think I’m going to die or at the very least pass out”. But the body is an amazing thing, the female psyche is an amazing thing.

Somehow my shoes and sweatpants made it off and there I was, my head hanging off the bed, pushing my baby boy into the world. 3 big pushes and he was out. I have never been so relieved in my entire life. I have also never been so proud of myself or so certain that I can do hard things.

I don’t always believe that I can get through hard things without breaking. But all signs point to the fact that I have, and I can, and this little guy will always be a symbol of that. In the weeks since, I have already been hit with moments I don’t think I’m strong enough to face. I don’t always believe that I can get through hard things without breaking. But all signs point to the fact that I have, and I can, and this little guy will always be a symbol of that.

 

When your joy has jumped ship.

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What a loaded season. For all of the joy and festiveness, there is equally as much pain and sadness. Wounds are that much deeper around the holidays. The loss of loved ones, sickness, mental health struggles, financial struggle, relationship hardship, loneliness. The holidays seem to open the wounds and pour salt directly on them. For many, the holidays are a time of memories and tradition, so when that is lost or doesn’t feel like it used to be, there is much pain.

I’ve experienced both types of holiday. The ones where joy and laughter abound, and the ones where I can’t keep my head above water. But as a general whole, I always feel stressed around the holidays. Expectations are high, and consumerism is rampant, and my heart gets bogged down with it all-trying to find balance, rest, and peace in the midst of it.

What happens when our joy has jumped ship? When we’re trying to find that bubble of wonderment in everything we do but it’s just gone missing? The messages around us are clear-do more, be more, buy more. I wonder what would happened if we moved into the lack of joy. If we didn’t find fear in it or judgment, but just acknowledged its presence. Could we find the bittersweet? That place where pain, joy, and gratitude meet? Could we honor the journey and not wish it was something different?

It’s okay if your joy has jumped ship. In fact, it’s normal. Most of us are faking our way through the holidays in one way or another (and life for that matter). Its just not human to keep it together all of the time. I would even argue that we were created to journey, not just to arrive.

Having joy in every circumstance is a tall order, one that gets a bit misunderstood I think. It’s more than a smile and a warmness in your belly. Joy can be a distant understanding of Gods ultimate goodness, or a fractured memory of a loved on peeping through the darkness. It might not look like you have any joy, but I bet it’s there-looking so much different than the Christmas decorations say it should look. It might be tattered, broken, dusty, dirty-but it’s there!

Your joy hasn’t jumped ship, it’s just in a different package than expected.

Love you guys, wishing you true peace and rest this holiday season and throughout your lives.

**special note. Let us be sensitive and overwhelmed with awareness and empathy for those around us suffering this holiday season.**

Fear in Faith.

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I feel vulnerable, afraid, unsure. Am I doing it wrong? Am I searching too much, learning too much?

For years now I have been exploring my faith on many different levels. And I don’t just mean, tearing through my bible with a highlighter. I mean studying other religions, following the lives of people whose beliefs differ from mine, pushing myself into corners that are uncomfortable for me.

This morning as I lay in bed with a book in my lap, I realize that I am terrified. I thought I’d already done it-already entered into the scariness or doubt, seeking, not knowing- and yet I am finding myself in yet another layer of seeking God. One that feels entirely new to me. I feel like a vulnerable lamb in the middle of a forest.

We know faith is scary, right? It’s believing what we cannot see and cannot fully know. But even more than that, the exploration of faith, of God, of our own humanity, is so incredibly scary. And to be honest, I don’t really want to know anything else. I don’t want to explore anymore, I don’t want to know myself better, know God better. I’m just exhausted. Terrified. I could really just throw a temper tantrum about it all.

But something in me is bigger than all of that fear. This desire to know God so deeply that it pours out of my very energy. And in order to do that, I MUST journey, ask questions, doubt, meditate, swim in the unknown. It’s the only way.

I hate this feeling. This feeling of falling through the air. I’m a control freak, a perfectionist. This goes against everything that keeps me sane. But I don’t want to sit in a bubble of comfortability. I want more. We are called to more.

You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. -Jeremiah 23:19

When Setting Boundaries Is The Best Way To Love.

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We have big ambitions.

We want to love every last person on this earth.

We so badly want to reach out to those in need, to be the hands and feet of Jesus, to rescue the broken.

But sometimes guys, it’s not our job.

Sometimes the best way to love is to take a step back.

Relationships are powerful things.

Sitting in the presence of another is a powerful thing.

We are human beings, and we can greatly affect each other.

I have a tendency to melt into people.

I soak up their pain, their sorrow, their brokenness. I soak it in until it is weighing me down like an overfilled sponge. I am no help to anyone when that happens.

And so I am learning to say “no”. I am learning to know my limits when it comes to being in relationship with others.

When someone we love is in pain, we just want to fix it. We want them to know they are not alone, and so we do anything and everything we can to show them they are loved. That we will be there no matter what.

But at what cost?

Do we ourselves begin to crumble under the toxicity of the relationship? Do we begin to lose sleep, our own sanity?

You see, we can love without melting into the other person.

We can say “no” and still care for them.

We can hold boundaries that are necessary for us, and still be loving like Jesus.

In fact, Jesus said, “Love your neighbor as yourself (Mark 12:31)”.

It is just as important to care for our own emotional needs as it is for the needs of others.

And sometimes that means trusting God enough to take a step back. To let go of our need to control the other person’s situation. And to trust God to lead the way.

It’s easy to get so caught up in what we think we need to do to love others, that we forget to listen to God’s voice. We say, “no worries. I got this”, but we forget that we’re not the ones driving the car.

Let’s stop trying to save the world on our own. Let’s stop trying to mend broken hearts in a frantic frenzy because we feel like we need to. Let’s sit back and be still every once in a while, and let the Savior lead us where he needs us.

Let’s relax into the same arms that are holding the world. He’s got this.

Are You There God? Seriously…Are You?

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Ever felt this way?

Standing on a mountaintop shouting into the abyss hoping there’s someone out there greater than you that will hear you?

Jesus himself even felt that way in Gethsemane. He cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me (Matthew 27:46)”.

If Jesus can say that kind of stuff, then why can’t we?

If Jesus can sit in the midst of pain and suffering and the messiness of life and challenge God, then we can too.

We’re allowed. We don’t have to pretend.

I fight against my humanness tooth and nail.

I want to be God.

And so I spend a lot of my life standing on metaphorical mountaintops screaming into the abyss.

I am a loud screamer, not always a very good listener.

“If I can just control this one last thing then It will all make sense”, I tell myself.

And then I find myself in these places where I am screaming and screaming and wondering where God is.

And then He tells me that I was too busy trying to be Him, too busy running my own life, too busy perfecting my own life to pay Him any attention.

Crap.

He’s listening to me. He’s sitting with me in my sorrows. He’s walking beside me in my triumphs. But I’m too busy screaming on mountaintops and running my mouth to notice.

I all too quickly forget that when I’m face down on the bathroom floor shaking fists at the sky, He’s sitting there next too me waiting for me to turn around and notice Him.

“Who are you shaking your fists at?” He would say, “I’m right here.”

Lies Anxiety Tells Us.

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Anxiety is ruthless.

And while this post last week was an encouragement to respect our fears and listen to where they come from, we do not have to listen to the lies they spin.

Anxiety is a nightmare.

Someone once told me that if I truly believe that God is bigger than anything and everything, then I wouldn’t have such crippling anxiety.

She obviously doesn’t struggle with anxiety.

It’s a war zone. a series of battles inside of myself that are sometimes won and sometimes lost.

Some days I wake up and I am ready to take on the world, and other days going outside seems like an outrageous task.

Anxiety spins lies in our brain like “You are not good enough”, “you can’t do this”, “you are a mess”.

It takes a seemingly simple work party, or a trip to the park, or a grocery store run feel like climbing Everest in bare feet and a bathing suit.

It steals precious moments from our lives without us even knowing it.

Most nights when I come home, I sit on the couch and take a deep breath and realize my shoulders have been clenched up to my ears all day.

Anxiety. The silent dictator.

A wise person once told me to let fear ride in the passenger seat, but not to let it drive.

I love this imagery.

I imagine this faceless person next to me in a cute convertible, they reach to change the station and I say, “no way. you can ride along, but I’m in charge of the details”.

I know It may sound incredibly weird to actually give your anxiety permission to be a part of things, but really all anxiety is, is a part of ourselves that wants to be heard. That doesn’t mean that we have to live our whole lives enslaved by it and it is a frustratingly ongoing process. But by letting our anxiety sit in the passenger seat, we can keep an eye on it and allow it to feel heard, while still driving the car.

I know sometimes the burden of anxiety seems too great, and it feels like there’s nothing you can do to get off of the hamster wheel. Sometimes the last thing we feel we can do is muster up a corny pep talk.

So when that is the case, and you’re missing one more social event because you’re in panic mode, tell yourself that you’re doing the best that you can, snuggle up on the coach or draw yourself a nice bath, and give yourself a break.

Anxiety sucks you guys, and the least we can do is be on our own side.

The thorn in my side

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This thorn in my side anchors me to Jesus.

My eyes wander, my heart flutters to other things to fulfill it; but my anxiety, that thorn in my side, it is the most uncomfortable blessing. It keeps me clinging to Jesus because I have no other choice. Even when I’m unsure of my faith, the theology surrounding me, my place on earth-there’s this still small voice experiencing something greater than myself.

When I was a teenager I was sure I wouldn’t live to be 21. In fact, I didn’t want to live to be 21. For someone whose life felt like constant turmoil, It seemed like an absurdly long time to be alive. Childhood trauma had festered into wounds I had no idea how to heal. I was self-medicating and limping my way through life. Christianity was a muddle of “dos” and “donts” that I couldn’t keep up with. I felt deserted by the God that was supposed to be with us in our pain. But regardless of it all, I still found myself clinging to Jesus in the recesses of my subconscious, on the off chance that he actually existed and cared. And so it’s been my whole life.

I’m 28. I’ve lived well past my 21st birthday. In many ways, I am so different than I was 10 and 15 years ago. But even though I’ve worked through so much emotional pain, I will always be an empath, sensitive to others and the world. Earth will always feel a little unsettling to me. But when I find myself seeking comfort in things that ultimately give me no true joy- like endless shopping, seeking the illusion of perfection, self-medicating. I am reminded of the gift that I’m too much of a mess to ever think I can do it on my own. Thankfully. If I didn’t wrestle with daily anxiety, emotional ups, and downs, chronic OCD and perfectionism, I can’t say I’d cling to God in the same way or be able to acknowledge my need for that relationship regardless of whether or not I am angry at God in that moment.

I’m not in love with Jesus all the time. I ask lots and lots of questions and demand answers from God which may or may not include a few expletives. I am daily confused by modern Christian theology and cannot stand the constant use of Christian buzz words.

I’m just figuring it out. Still navigating through past traumas and shame, still experiencing panic attacks and dark days and lots and lots of messiness. But I do know that whoever God is, whatever he or she is really like. It resonates deeply in my soul. So when nothing else makes sense and I don’t know quite where I belong, I just cling to that.

When It’s More Than We Can Handle

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We’ve all heard that sweet saying, “God never gives you more than you can handle”. But I have come to wonder about this. It sounds so nice and safe by worldly standards, but is that the God we serve?

Sometimes, I have found, it is more than we can “handle”. Can anyone really “handle” a terminal diagnosis? Or the news that their child is dead? Or the pain of abuse? Or even the day to day struggles that we all face? Can we really “handle” anything?

We are given more than we can handle all the time. So what happens then? What happens when you are given more than you can “handle”? What happens when your life seems to be crumbling all around you and people keep telling you that you can handle it because “God doesn’t give us more than we can handle”. What then?

That is where the beauty of our relationship with Christ comes into play.

I want you to take a moment to navigate from this page and read a blog post written by an incredibly faithful woman who is dying of cancer.

http://www.mundanefaithfulness.com/home/2015/2/10/if-i-tried

I read this, this morning and immediately my wheels began to turn. I realized as I read, that this journey Kara is on is WAY more than she can handle. But thankfully we are not called to handle the pain that life has in store, we are only called to trust in our savior’s goodness and let him take the wheel.

I don’t want to believe that I am never given more than I can handle. That is meaningless to me. I want to be given more than I can handle constantly so that I am always in need of Christ in the deepest way possible. I don’t ever want to fool myself into believing that I can “handle” it without Him.

-Psalm 23:4-

“Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.”

Being Raw

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I like for people to see me as
strong and confident, a blonde-haired Eleanor Roosevelt. And while this may
come as quite a shock to some of you, I don’t always feel that way. Sometimes I
do and on those days I feel like I could take on the world, but more frequently
are the days when I get up and have no idea what to wear, and no energy to
smile at the people who won’t smile back. And I have decided that it’s time we all
stop pretending that we have it all together.   For so many of us, the most
precious parts of ourselves are buried deep beneath a façade. Every inch of us
itches to express all the things that are so carefully hidden, locked away in
the depths of our souls. We find ways to release those parts; maybe when we are
drunk, or through an annual emotional breakdown, or binging until the wee hours
of the morning. But what would it mean for us to welcome every sad, fearful,
weird part of ourselves. What if it didn’t take an overdose, or a panic attack,
or a suicidal thought to start listening to our hearts. Somewhere along the
line, we have forgotten how to be raw. We have forgotten how to deeply connect
to each other, ourselves, our God. We have created this world where it is not
okay to be completely human and thus have denied the deepest parts of ourselves
in order to fit into it.    This past January, almost the entire
U.S. had the flu. Some had the achy, coughy, fevery flu and others had the
nasty stomach flu. In both cases, I kept coming across people who claimed they
had “food poisoning” or “seasonal allergies”. So that got me wondering why it
is sometimes so hard for us to admit when we are sick. Not only that, but there
are so many things that are so hard for us to come to terms with; For instance,
getting older. We spend so much time, energy, and money on creams and dyes and
laser treatments to pretend that things aren’t sagging or wrinkling or falling
out. And the truth is that I also don’t want
anything to sag and I don’t want to admit that I am sick or weak. I am afraid
of what people will think.    That’s the underlying fear, right? What will people
think of me? Will I be rejected if I am a real, vulnerable person? Is there a
place for me in this world if I don’t have abs, get the stomach virus, don’t
whiten my teeth, and can’t afford highlights?    And so I leave you with this. You don’t have to create your place in this world, your deepest self perfectly fills the place that you were created for. So welcome that deepest self with open arms. After all, Jesus already has.