On Tenderizing Meat

It's been about a month since my last post (this sounds like some kind of warped confession), but my lack of activity in the blogosphere isn't due to a lack of activity in my world. In fact, too much has been going on and I've been unable to grasp or place any of it well enough to squeeze it into a blog entry that anyone might ever attempt to read. But yesterday I played hooky: After an overly intense weekend and a few days of scraping by on scraps of sanity, I decided to bite the bullet and call in "sick". (Well, I actually called in "overwhelmed". Smooth, right?) I spent the day being still - being present - and some far-fetched pieces fell into place at least enough for me to write about it.

So it's like this...

Remember those e-mail surveys that used to get forwarded and filled out and forwarded again? You know, the ones that are all, "What's your deepest regret? Sunrise or sunset? Where do you see yourself in five years?" Yeah, you know. Well some of them used to have a question like, "What are three words your friends would use to describe you?" Okay, well even if you gave my friends twenty words, one that would never come up is "tender". Neither would "soft". Or "gentle". Not so much.

I never even thought I wanted to be identified that way, but I think I just didn't believe it was possible. I was too busy building an identity on "brutally honest" and "witty" and "feisty" to consider that there was a part of me being ignored (at best) and squelched (at worst). But there was. And it appears that God, in his precise timing and perfect wisdom, has decided to recover the parts of me I spent years trying to push down.

He's softening me.

As lame of an analogy as this is, the process reminds me of tenderizing meat. Either you can soak it in vinegar or you can bash it with metal. If you're the meat, I'm imagining that neither of these is much fun. And the thing is, I've been the meat. (Okay, the analogy is worse than I feared, but I'm forging on anyway...) The past few months I've been bouncing back and forth between soaking in unpleasantness or feeling bashed around by it. Ew.

But God's also been speaking to me. Simultaneously, he's whispering love-words into my heart, providing clarity that's always been out of reach, and breathing courage into me that enables me to take steps into my true identity. He's softening me. Yes, it's happening through a process that makes me feel slightly pulverized, entirely undone, and a tad bit terrified. But he's oh so faithful - hand in mine, speaking truth - through it all.

The hard shell is cracking and falling apart. The wax mask is melting off. I'm facing emotions full-on these days, without the buffer of the collection of coping mechanisms I'd become so adept at using. I could mix and match those tools into a killer cocktail of denial and escapism that would dissolve my anger and dull my grief. But no more. I'm being a little braver these days, accepting the presence of those emotions in all their intensity, trusting in the Father who brought me this far to lead me into a restoration I've never known before. And into the tenderness, softness, and gentleness that he created me to be in the first place.

Here's a song I wrote this week: Tell Me

The Danger of Space

One of the things I love most about my life right now is how much space I have. I don’t mean, like, square footage… but, you know… space. The kind that married people and parents and roommates all crave because they can’t find any, no matter how hard they look. That kind of space.

I completely get that *sometimes* desperate need for space to just be and breathe in. I spent years in YWAM (read: six women in one room with three sets of bunk beds and one bathroom with a tub – no shower – that drained verrry slowly) and NYC (read: crazy expensive apartments made affordable only by cramming too many people into tiny spaces so we could divide the astronomical rent several ways). I craved alone time and coveted privacy. I learned the value of it, learned to fight for it – to find it and build it into my life despite the impossible-ish circumstances. But it always required an intentional effort.

Now I’m swimming in space. Life has done a 180 and my intentional efforts are now focused on getting out with other people so that I don’t become “creepy, never-wash-my-socks, recluse” girl. I come home to an empty apartment, no one (except *maybe* my boss) expects me to be anywhere regularly, I have hours to myself in the evenings and weekends at my disposal… oh the luxury! When I first moved into my apartment, I spent the first couple of months on cloud nine relishing in my newfound space. It was automatic and available and I soaked it all in. In a sense, it truly does feed my introverted soul. It breathes life into me. It is freedom and peace and sanity.

And then, sometimes, it isn't.

Sometimes it feels like... well... it feels like isolation. There's something about the forced intimacy of "family" - whatever that looks like in different stages of life - that is super safe. When you live together, have expectations of one another, cook together, check in with each other when you’re going to be late - it can feel oppressive, sure. But it can also feel like relief, like belonging, like security. I've come home many times to roommates (even on nights I would've preferred to come home to no one) who powerfully met me in that very natural way that only the people you see every day can meet you. With food and drinks and smokes and laughter and the ease that comes with soaking in the presence of the people who sleep in the bedroom next to yours, who drink from the same carton of milk and shop at the same bodega across the street. I don't care if it sounds trivial and insignificant... there is something to that.

And the thing is, I’m missing that. I think my “swimming in space” has turned into “drowning in space” and I'm seeing the value of forced community like I couldn't before. The in-your-face-and-space reality of people, the safety of knowing that at the end of the day you have a legitimate spot waiting for you... it’s actually a privilege. I'm bumping around in my oh-so-glorious, much-coveted-by-many-of-my-friends space, thinking maybe I made too much out of it after all. Maybe I was wrong.

(At this point, I realize that all my friends with spouses and kids and all my friends sharing bedrooms in mini-apartments in the city are shaking their heads and muttering to themselves, "She has no idea what she's talking about. That girl's got it made". Don't misunderstand me. I do appreciate what I have at this point in my life. And yet...)

Our obsession with having our own space, our personal bubbles, our independence – it’s so North American! I’m not saying the option to tap into all of that isn’t necessary. It is. I need access to alone time (read: dance-party-in-my-underwear time) in order to recharge. But I’ve realized that the option of not-space is just as necessary.

Because not-space is where life happens - in the small moments, the unplanned gatherings, the spontaneous meals. It happens when you've had a shit day and you're hiding out in your room and someone shows up at the door with a beer and a brownie. It happens when a few of you go out on the deck for a smoke and don't come back in for three hours. It happens when you pool your edible resources and have a picnic feast on the living room floor. These are the moments I miss as I meet friends for drinks in bars, for dinners in restaurants, at previously determined times and locations. I miss the sweatpants moments, the real moments that suddenly appear - unscheduled - as you're moseying along through day-to-day life.

I need not-space. I need the presence of people in my life who remember how grand and glorious my shine is, who remind me of what all I can be. That's the danger inherent in too much space: I start to feel like I have nothing to give when really… I've just forgotten how valuable I am because it’s been far too long since I’ve been met.

I am WISB

I'm a list-maker. I make lists in Word documents on my computer, on post-it notes at work, in tiny notebooks I carry in my purse, in the memo pad application on my Blackberry... you get the point. I make lists because for some reason, creating them relieves my warped brain of having to contain everything that swirls around inside of it. As a result, I have small scraps of paper scattered around my apartment and mini digital agendas cluttering my desktop. Sometimes the lists actually help me accomplish things. Most of the time they just bring me a taste of the aforementioned relief.

I come by it honestly – my mom has been making lists for as long as I can remember – but I'm starting to realize that it's not a healthy habit. See, this *slightly* compulsive list-making tendency of mine has made its way into my emotional and spiritual worlds and that's actually not okay.

I remember as a kid dealing with this pattern of feeling convicted about something-or-other, being completely broken up about it, and responding with a grit-teethed (huh?) determination to change. Self-discipline. Get better.

So I made lists.

HAVE QUIET TIME

APOLOGIZE TO BROTHER

JOURNAL

HELP MOM WITH DISHES

READ BIBLE

BUY BEST FRIEND A PACK OF SHOCK TARTS*

Cute? Um no. Actually not. Actually, it makes me cringe to see how I responded – even as a kid – to the deep-down knowledge that I was operating from a place of weakness instead of a place of strength. Formulas. Plans. Decisions. Now I see that for what it is... LAW.

I'm stepping out from under the law and dipping my toe in the vast ocean of Grace that the whole Jesus-on-the-cross thing paved the way to. And it's fantastically freeing. But. I still want to make lists.

Last weekend, my friend Amy spoke some powerful words (you know, the kind that come from The God of the Universe) to me. They were about my true identity, about the version of me that is real because it is how God designed me. She encouraged me to rediscover this part of me, to abandon all the damage in that area and turn my back on all the ish it caused and instead, embrace those aspects of myself which I've shut down and pushed out.

Wow, right? Right! Except for that the crazy list-maker that lives inside my head immediately saw an opportunity to take over and before I knew it, I was responding to those Life Words with a bunch of "to dos".

DO THIS

TONE THIS DOWN

FIX THIS

STOP THAT ALTOGETHER for flip's sake, you stupid...

DO A BIT MORE OF THAT

And that.just.sucks. Because looking at that list puts a bunch of pressure on me, it makes me feel like I have a long hard road ahead of me, a lot of work to do to get myself where I should be. And there is no freedom in that.

Here's the thing. I already am Who I Should Be. That was confirmed as a part of the redemptive work of the cross. It was done, once and for all, by a God who doesn't leave any piece of his work unfinished for me to deal with. I may not be operating out of WISB (I love acronyms) and I may not have been for a long time… or ever. And there may be a lot of junk clouding WISB, and I may have to reclaim WISB (so glad I’m not typing this out each time). But I am WISB. I always have been. And that cannot be reversed, no matter how much damage I've experienced.

So I'm forging ahead with a new approach: Burn the lists (figuratively, of course) and adopt a new "plan" of action... JUST BE. From here on out I'm going to intentionally be WISB. Walk in it, speak from it, believe that my agreement with the truth of WISB will close the gap between who I've been being (huh?) and WISB.

(Okay I’m tired of saying “WISB” now. I think I’ve made my point. The End.)

*My childhood best friend, Emily, and I did in fact consume an alarming amount of these candies.

Staying put

I arrived home late Sunday night to an envelope hanging from the binder-clip-hanging-from-a-nail-hammered-into-my-door-frame contraption my apartment complex calls a mailbox. It had my apartment number scrawled across the front, and the logo of the apartment management company in the top left corner. My initial thoughts went something like, "I paid my rent, didn't I? I did! Do they evict people via envelopes? Dear God, I can't move back to Texas". Yeah, paranoid much, Lauren?! The envelope did not, in fact, contain an eviction notice, but rather an invitation to re-up my lease. Whew! I was relieved for two whole minutes. And then the panic set in.

As is standard in these situations, the cheapest (read: only affordable) option for re-upping requires that I sign yet another 12-month lease. And this realization is what brings me to my current panicked state. In this state, a year-long commitment might as well be a decade-long commitment, and my mind goes crazy with all the possibilities of all the things that might come up in such a vast period of time that might make me wish I wasn't tied down to this 700 square foot apartment in Lakewood, Colorado. I start to think thoughts about how I'm living in the suburbs of North America - Is this seriously where I want to be?! Am I okay being that person?! - thoughts about how I could be saving boatloads of money if I didn't insist on living alone in a place that offers luxuries like 24-hour maintenance and a fitness center and two (two!) hot tubs. And, inevitably, I started fantasizing about returning to South Africa or working on a cattle ranch or inhabiting one of the other countless worlds I'm convinced I'd rather be in. Thus, I spun... out... of... control...

And yet. I have school loans, and a car payment, and *ahem* other debt I'd rather not discuss. And a coffee habit and a thrift-store t-shirt fetish to fund. And 11.7 miles from aforementioned suburban apartment is a job that (almost) pays me enough to keep my head above water in the "finances" area. So there's that.

Also, there's something small and still in me suggesting that maybe I need to stay put for a while. I moved from Texas when I was 17, went to South Africa-back-to-Texas-for-a-few-months-then-back-to-South-Africa-again, then after a few more very enlightening months in Texas (read: I decided once-and-for-all I would never ever live in Texas again), moved to New York City. Two apartments in midtown Manhattan, a summer in a basement in Queens, an apartment in Brooklyn, one in Jersey City, a summer back in Texas (oops), and then a year in the Bronx rounded out my college years. Then came the "crap-I-have-no-other-options" nine months in Texas (double oops) before I managed to get myself to Denver. Where I wanted to be. Where life got rich and sweet and yet! - 11 months later I'm balking at the idea of another year in this place. The first time since I graduated high school that I don't have to move after a year and I'm hesitating?!

The still small thing is forceful, suggesting that maybe I have a *slightly* unhealthy restlessness thing going on. Maybe I don't know what it looks like to find rhythm, pattern, ease, and contentment in staying put... in not moving. Maybe that scares the ish out of me. Maybe I'm afraid more than one year in the same place will cause me to forget what I ultimately want... that the images of the ideal will fade behind the fog of comfort and familiarity. And if they do, that I’ll doubt they were ever real in the first place.

Basically I'm a big ole' scaredy cat who needs to take a deep breath, grab a pen, and sign the damn lease...

*gulp* Okay, yes, but maybe not right now...

*Community*

I’m relearning everything these days. One of the most dramatic overhauls is happening in the area of community. It’s always been a buzz word for me, representing an ideal that isn’t actually attainable, but one that the Christian world glorifies. However… I’m starting to come around...

My problem before was that my idea of community was based on the assumption that we’re all a bunch of broken, helplessly ruined people using one another to scrape by. And I think that’s a popular mindset, one we cling to when we feel broken and helpless, and can’t see a way out of that without assistance. It serves as a security blanket for us and creates a sense of intimacy. But if the people in our lives are simply resources to be grasped at in a desperate attempt to meet our needs, fill our gaps, patch up our shattered selves… well, I’m starting to think that’s a little bit pathetic.

Because the truth is, we’re not broken and helpless – we are glorious and empowered thanks to the nature of Christ in us. And that means we aren’t lacking or needy, but actually filled to the brim with beautiful and amazing things to share. As a friend told me recently, Grace allows us to receive from one another – always and abundantly. Suddenly, community looks like a big glory fest, a massive collaboration of blessing and joy, of wisdom and grace, of power and truth. Now that I can get excited about… that I can believe in.

Friendships shouldn’t be about commiserating in brokenness, or about striving to fill one another’s gaps. I’m experiencing an entirely different version of relationship that honors the truth I’m now defining myself by. And it’s a richer and sweeter flavor of community than I ever imagined was possible.

True friends swoop in to help when you haven’t asked for it. They pick up the phone when you call too late at night. They call you family for no good reason. When you inconvenience them, they somehow make it sound like their privilege. They invite you into the safe space of their presence when you’ve forgotten how to love yourself. They are loyal and dependable to a point that blows your mind. They tell you when you’re wrong when you need to hear it, and they support you when you’re wrong when you need that instead. They make themselves your comrades, seamlessly coming alongside you in your “doing life”, and take for granted that your burdens are theirs and their happiness is yours. They urge you to receive when you feel unworthy. And when you’re being too hard on yourself and feel you deserve a reprimand, they let you off the hook with an abundance of grace you can barely handle.

I'm rereading one of my favorite stories from childhood, The Wind in the Willows. Rat is my favorite character, because he's such a faithful and unassuming friend. But Badger is amazing in this one scene, where Mole and Rat have taken refuge at his home unexpectedly after being caught in a blinding blizzard in the Wild Wood - somewhere they never should have been in the first place. In the midst of their distress, they are fortunate enough to happen upon the Badger's home, and he welcomes them with a graciousness and generosity that reminds me of what I'm receiving from my friends right now. Mole and Rat come inside, get warm and dry, get in comfy attire, and sit down to a beautiful hot dinner. And they begin to tell Badger the story of how their foolishness got them into this predicament in the first place. Kenneth Grahame writes of the Badger: "He sat in his arm-chair at the head of the table, and nodded gravely at intervals as the animals told their story; and he did not seem surprised or shocked at anything, and he never said, 'I told you so,' or, 'Just what I always said,' or remarked that they ought to have done so-and-so, or ought not to have done something else."

That's Grace. That's what I see in the faces of my friends every day. It looks like Jesus. "It smells like love." It is entirely and purely beautiful and powerful. And I am blessed beyond measure to receive it from the amazing people in my life.

Divorce

The dress arrived today. The website advertised it as "sweet cantaloupe" but I'd call it "electric tangerine". It's pretty, though. Not bad as far as bridesmaids dresses go. Brides always claim, as they reveal their choice, that you'll be sure to get loads of wear out of this particular dress. I've never re-worn a bridesmaid dress and I doubt this one will be the first. It's pretty, like I said, but I live in New York City… where the hell am I ever going to wear "electric cantaloupe"?

But it's a nice dress. It fits with the theme of an August wedding under a pavilion on the lake in Texas. It fits with the couple. It will fit me, I hope…

I call the bride, to tell her I've received the dress. She asks me what I think of this menu: roasted garlic chicken, mashed red potatoes, steamed asparagus… It sounds good to me. We talk about the wedding a lot these days. And the marriage. She tells me she's scared; afraid she won't be a good wife, mother, and partner. She's scared she'll screw it up. I tell her of course she will, and so will he, but if they mean what they say when they pledge those forever vows, the strength of that commitment will carry them through the screw-ups. I believe this, and so my words are sincere. I tell her this with conviction.

Around five o'clock I arrive, ring the bell, get buzzed in, press the up arrow for the elevator. On my brief ride to the 5th floor I try to prepare myself. I'm not exactly sure what it looks like, when divorce hits a home, but I try to prepare nonetheless.

Apparently it looks like a collection of subtleties. Kate is shockingly thin. Too thin. She wears the trauma on her body like an extra skin. There are spaces on shelves. The PlayStation 360 is missing. All photos of him have vanished. There is less clutter in the hall; empty slots in the shoe tree. No beer in the fridge, but a half a dozen half-full bottles of wine on the counter. The kids seem okay. Perhaps Aaron is a bit more mellow, a bit harder to send into hysterical giggles. Or maybe I'm imagining it, over thinking things. I tend to do that.

Then it's bedtime, and we always pray at bedtime. I ask him if he wants to pray, and he says he wants me to. He always says he wants me to. I then ask him what he wants me to pray about; who he wants me to pray for. This is also a part of our ritual. He'll name the usuals – Mama, Dadda, Sissy – and often adds someone else like Batman or Speed Racer. Once he asked me to thank God for "Mama, Dadda, Sissy, and chocolate". Which of course I did, with genuine gratitude of my own. Tonight he asks me to pray for the usuals, but mid-prayer, when I get to "Dadda", he interrupts.

Pray for Dadda, he says.

I brace myself. What do you want me to pray for Dadda about, Aaron?

He's at work, the little voice in the dark says.

Has he been at work a long time? My throat starts to close up.

Yeah.

And you miss him?

Yeah… but one day I might get to have a sleepover with him. His nightlight-lit face brightens when he says this. Hope.

I continue the prayer, grateful that the Lighting McQueen nightlight doesn't give off enough light for him to see my twisted face. And I pray for Dadda. In a faltering voice I ask Jesus to be close to him, to be his best friend. And I pray that Aaron will get to have a sleepover with his Dadda soon.

Amen.

I love you Jesus, Amen. He completes his part of the prayer. Then, God is everywhere in the world.

Yes… ?

So he is close to Dadda. And close to me too.

You're right, Aaron. He is. I believe this, and so my words are sincere. I tell him this with conviction.

I'm done now. Have to get out of the room before I lose it. I tuck him in, plant a kiss on his forehead, and bolt for the door. I spend the next hour crying on the sofa in the living room. Kate comes home after one, drunk.

I share a cigarette with the cab driver on the way home. Before bed I check my voicemail. It's the bride: Call me when you have a minute. I want to talk to you about the bridesmaids bouquets.

For Ginger

I wrote this several years ago for someone very important to me. I was watching her maneuver through a ridiculously hard time in her life and was so amazed by what I saw. She's an example for me - the kind I won't ever forget.

Watching her story play out over the months has changed me. When all pretension is stripped away by tragedy and paralyzing fear, the core of someone is exposed. What I've glimpsed of her core is what's changed me. Not because it dazzles, and not because it hasn't been shaken, but because it is what it is what it is. Her core permeates every word she speaks, every prayer that escapes her lips, every moment of her every day. That kind of honesty and integrity in the midst of terrifying circumstances continues to stun me.

It's changing her too, in subtle ways. We close the door now, to avoid exhausting interrogations and chit chat. I do my best to stay between her and whoever she doesn't have energy for; we sneak around campus, taking the long way in hopes that we won't run into anyone. And she blows kisses towards his empty office when we pass. I know she wants to see him sitting there.

Her role has changed: she fills in the blank spaces in his speech, she reminds him of the words, of the stories, of the names of those they share their life with. She's dropped everything to play this role. And as she picks pieces back up again, she does so slowly and selectively, and eases cautiously back into what she calls "normal life".

She lives on the edge of prayer, the slightest thing sending her plummeting into the ongoing conversation she's having with the Creator of the universe. The unabashed way she approaches Him inspires me. She's had countless moments of intense loss, when he didn't get the joke or couldn't share the memory. It is in these kinds of moments where we truly meet ourselves, and where we truly see God, not for what we've made Him to be, but for what He is. As I watch and listen to her, it occurs to me that I'm in the presence of a woman who's leaning into that God, the God who can't be touched by the best efforts of our wildest imagination. And I wonder what it will take to make me that kind of woman.

On Love

I’m convinced that knowing how to love well is of utmost importance. God IS Love. And his Love is the only thing, in my experience, that really effects change. Transformation occurs at the hands of Love. Greatness blossoms where Love abounds. Walls crumble and souls are enlivened in the face of Love.

And I, as an object of the deepest, purest, most powerful force of Love in the universe, sure as hell ought to be able to turn some of that around, to own it and release it with wings anew… to transform and empower and light up the lives around me. I actually want nothing more than to love well.

Lately, though, I’ve been failing.

It’s impossible to be a source of love until you’ve been a recipient. And the thing is… receiving love – I mean really receiving love – just isn’t as easy as it should be. At least not for me. I have these lies embedded in me, these skewed ideas about myself, and they keep me from letting the influence of Love trickle into the crevices of my being. They keep me from making my home in Love.

And in the face of the ever-formidable lies, I’ve settled for an imitation of Love... Appreciation. Appreciation feeds me because it speaks to me of value, of usefulness and helpfulness and ability and strength. It assures me that I will always have a place because I will always be useful to someone. I’ve spent countless hours of my life in the pursuit of Appreciation. I’ve given people in my life permission to walk all over me, take advantage of me, and undervalue me… all for the sake of the token of Appreciation.

Appreciation is important. Being recognized as a wise and loyal friend, a capable helper, an impactful writer… those are all good things. The problem with Appreciation is it’s based on performance. And if I make it my goal, I am forever striving to be and do more and better. That forever striving is forever exhausting, forever frustrating, and most damaging – forever lonely.

We are only truly met in Love: in pure esteem and gratefulness; in selfless care and gracious sacrifice. When we are delighted in, cherished, held, and seen – that is when the shackles of need, insecurity, and self-preservation fall off. I long to reflect Jesus in this way: to love in such a way that people know their inherent worth and beauty entirely separate from their gifts and talents – from whatever they have to offer. But I’m not very good at it, because that message hasn’t sunk into my own heart yet.

Loving well depends entirely on being loved well. Our Father is the originator of Love – it is perfected in him! And he is ever-abundant in his generosity, ever-patient in his persistence, and ever-relentless in his pursuit of us. I’m looking forward to finding the courage to choose Truth over lies, so that I can overcome every obstacle to accepting all that Love offers, and become the lover of souls I’m meant to be.

The land of the living

I grew up in Texas, and while it’s not somewhere I have any interest in going back to, it has built some things into me that aren’t going anywhere. I still think Blue Bell is the only ice cream worth having, will never give up country music and football, and love me some beef BBQ. When I graduated high school I went to South Africa for a while. I picked up some Afrikaans, learned to bring my own raw meat when invited to a braai (cookout), and operated on African time. Then I went to college in New York City, where I learned to walk unreasonably fast, avoid eye contact with all strangers, and be anonymous while constantly surrounded by people.

The point is… I’ve always been pretty adaptable. I’ve been a lot of places for someone my age, and everywhere I’ve landed, I’ve soaked up the culture, the environment, the practices and the language. I’ve been a chameleon, doing everything I could to look and sound like the world around me. It wasn’t a conscious choice, it was just how I responded to being somewhere new – adapt, learn, adopt, and blend in. I’m not sure there’s anything wrong with it; it just isn’t me anymore.

My most recent re-location to Colorado has been entirely different. Instead of adapting to the world around me, I’ve been building a world made up of my own choices. This time, my reality isn’t based on an external environment, but on the one I’m creating for myself. I’m collecting the things and the people I value and finding home within the world they form. My lifestyle is made up of pieces I’m extracting and bringing into a cohesive rhythm that matches the one that pumps through my veins. It’s not as simple as learning to jive with an already-existing pulse, but it makes more sense to me than that ever did.

So this is good. It’s flowing from my new understanding of my identity. It’s yet another working-out of all the New I’m swimming in these days. It’s also creating some questions, some discomfort, and some intolerance. As I understand better who I really am, what’s important to me, and what kind of world I want to live in, I’m realizing that some aspects of my life aren’t consistent with that. It’s requiring some difficult things out of me: that I stand up for myself and protect my self-built world in ways I’ve never had to before. It’s causing me to face who I am and who I am not. And it’s demanding that I pull away from identifying myself with other people.

Operating out of the truest version of myself is amazing. It’s freeing and it’s joyful and brings me so much peace. It also necessitates the shirking off of inconsistencies, and that’s not always easy. But it is one more step into the land of the living… the only place I care to be.

Slaying the pessimist

I’ve always thought Peter was a bit of a schmuck. He’s asked flat out – three times! – if he’s spent the past few years chumming around with Jesus and each time he completely denies it. So I’ve figured I’m doing better than Peter: I’ve never out-right denied that I’m a follower of Jesus like he did. I’ve always been open about who I am and why I live the way I do. I haven’t been ashamed to admit that my relationship with the Father is the single most influential thing in my life. And yet…

I’ve built an entire persona around negativity and skepticism. My initial responses are programmed to be cynical and pessimistic. I’ve hesitated to portray any trace of optimism for fear that I’ll come across naïve and idealistic. So instead, the words that came out of my mouth consistently paint the worst scenario, the most dire of circumstances, the least possible amount of hope. And I’ve carried a reputation for being the unenthusiastic, rain-on-all-parades, Negative Nancy killjoy. This tendency has actually been celebrated as nitty-gritty-real-and-raw insight. And what’s more… I’ve relished in it, fancying myself wise and savvy in a world of silly out-of-touch romantics.

Wow. What an insult that lifestyle is to the work of the cross. What a stupid choice, picking doubt over faith and doom over hope when the message of the gospel is the restoration of all things optimistic. The true reality is more hopeful and positive than I can even grasp on most days. It is a life of inexplicable favor and blessing, a constant opportunity for loud and lavish displays of overwhelming goodness. In short, the gospel justifies all optimism and proves all hope. It enables me to declare favor, protection, and blessing with confidence that my child-of-God status has me primed to receive it all in droves.

So I’m abandoning the old Debbie Downer persona and adopting the ever-positive and expectant stance appropriate for a daughter of the King. And I can’t wait to see how quickly and powerfully God moves when I pave the way with bright-and-shiny joyful expectation.

Back to basics

I've been writing a letter this week that's caused me to communicate some profound truths on a very basic level. Here is an excerpt:

In the past, I always considered it important to identify with my brokenness as a sinful being. I made it a goal to get to the place where I could look at all my flaws and mistakes and wounds and own them and be at peace with them. I understood enough about grace to believe that it was greater than my entire lifetime of shit - that it overcame everything - but I still ultimately believed I was a broken, weak, and tainted person. And because I believed that about myself, that’s who I became. My choice to believe that untruth limited me and made my life about survival, about barely making it, about "hanging in there" and doing whatever I could to keep my head above water. And that's all I thought I would ever have. Then a new revelation of truth invaded my life and it turned all of that upside down.

What I understand now is that Jesus died for me to live a life of fullness right now – not sometime in the future, not "in the sweet by and by". And fullness looks like complete freedom from sin, darkness, and brokenness. I understand that because I believe in Jesus, I have received the Spirit of adoption, and can choose to live empowered by the Spirit instead of by the flesh, just as Jesus did. That's possible now, not by any righteousness I can achieve, but simply by believing that the Spirit enables me and by choosing to agree with that truth. It has changed everything for me: what I believe about myself and God and what is possible in this life. I'd been buying into this false reality, where I was still subject to the power of the flesh, believing it to be the real thing. Sin makes us overly conscious of ourselves – like it did to Adam and Eve in the garden – and my over-emphasis on the power of darkness in my life left me swimming around in pools of brokenness, believing myself to be making progress. My mindset was that being fully aware of and comfortable with my sin and weakness would bring me to healing and maturity. But I was ignoring the reality that Jesus died for me to have: where sin is irrelevant and the Spirit has space to flourish. Now I get that. Now I'm liberated from having to think about myself all the time. Instead, I am finding so much freedom and fulfillment walking in the true reality, where I'm entirely focused on the Father and what he is doing, and how I get to partner with him in his work.

This makes a monumental difference in the way I look at my past. Until I understood all of this, it had some lingering power over me. I felt marked and had accepted that I would always be dealing with aspects of my mistakes and of the wounds I’ve received. I believed I was healed, but also that healing was a never ending process that would perpetuate throughout my entire life. I've believed, until now, that my life was forever tainted by the past. But my new understanding has blown that up entirely.

Through believing this truth and walking in it, I can be completely free of every trace of darkness and pain. I am whole and healed and 100% restored - and I am not just saying that because I want it to be true. I’ve done my time processing and sorting through and facing all the implications. And it helped me to understand and accept things, but it didn't ultimately set me free. Then all of this became clear to me and suddenly I realized I didn't have to carry any of that anymore. Just like that I was able to shed it and walk in a fullness and a freedom I never thought was possible before.

The New

New understanding necessitates new language. Words I rarely used before are becoming favorites – integral parts of my daily vocabulary that take on deeper and broader meaning all the time. The phrases that used to make me cringe now make me grin a big-wide-super-dorky-grin. Song lyrics that used to make me roll my eyes are getting replayed again and again. Scriptures I used to pass over are taking root. Life words are replacing death words; darkness is yielding to light… and it’s coming out in a bajillion different ways.

I’ve decided on a few things: Gratefulness, celebration, peace, and shadowlessness. These things mark me and they are my message. Stepping more into them is a constant adventure. Gratefulness and celebration are the appropriate attitudes for a child of God. I have been given so much, my life is so sweet and so rich, and remembering and expressing this awesome reality is what keeps my heart in the right place for all God is speaking and working in me. Peace and shadowlessness are the Spirit’s outworking in the depths of me. They define everything differently, and fly in the face of old patterns, creating crazy amounts of freedom for me to operate in and out of.

New themes for being me, new words for speaking Truth. New understanding of forever reality – just waiting to be jumped into.

Shadowless and empowered

I am shadowless. I am empowered. These are my words for now, as I embark on a new year. They are not goals, and they have no limits. They are promises, from my God to me, that will stretch and expand as I continue my walk in Grace this year.

I recently got sucked back into Old Living – recognized some things in me that still have heat, still hurt, still haven’t been fully transformed… and it freaked me out. I started catching whiffs of the Old Lauren, of the helplessness, weakness, and neediness, and it rocked my core. Something about that brush with the Old catapulted me into a mode where I was trying to force breakthrough, grasp at clarity, and obliterate unpredictable emotion. I was paralyzed by the fear that if I couldn’t “figure it out”, I would sink back into darkness in my mind and heart.

But I was forgetting all the things I’ve been reading and talking through and learning – about being non-resistant and letting those “heated” issues pass through me. I was forgetting the power of being fully present in the Now, of being the most current version of myself – with all the revelation and new identity I’ve been given – in the midst of any trace of Old I might feel. I was overwhelmed by the taunting familiarity and forgot all about my new reality. A reality of Truth, of Strength, of Peace, of Power.

So I stubbed my toe, got held up on my journey, and had to reorient a bit. And this is what I’ve resurfaced with… shadowless and empowered. The nasty truth is that I still have the tendency to victimize myself, to subject myself to the possible power of old wounds and of symptoms of my dysfunction. And the beautiful redeemed side of that is that I always have a choice to step out of the shadows... and the Power to make it.

Right now I know this much: Some lies and broken places are still enjoying some room in me, for whatever reason. I don’t know why, at the moment, and that’s okay. This means I'll still feel the pull towards defensiveness, fear, and hiding away. But I will fight. Because I have a choice.

And in the face of all of this I will choose Truth, I will choose Life, and I will choose Peace. I won’t be robbed of what God has handed me by the brokenness and dysfunction of the world. I will claim Light and Power, knowing that I have been enabled to walk in fullness and health despite the remnants of the Old that threaten to surface. I will keep taking steps in the direction of fulfillment I’ve been promised, trusting in Grace to be always more than enough.

Choosing the present

Every deep breath I suck in expands my capacity for knowing goodness in the most intimate way. Raindrops taste like honey. The space I exist in is cozy-safe and yet holds infinite possibility. I release deep-rooted desires from their hiding spots, and they take on form as my words lift them to the ears of the One who's always listening. My limbs are teeming with life... it rushes through them like the most powerful, loudest-roaring river you've ever stood on the banks of. My gut has a pulse, it's a truth-throbbing in the very core of me. This is what it means to be me - to be alive, to be free, to be empowered, to exist on substantiated, extravagant hope.

The lesson I'm learning today: it is worth everything to shake off the dust of your past and the fantasies of your future in order to be present today, right here, right now. Cliché? The words may be... but the REALITY is far from it.

The reality is that the realm of possibility brewing in this day is far beyond what I can even comprehend.

The reality is that the vibrating tension of the moment shared between life-controlled, truth-obsessed, freedom-dwelling people is divine energy that doesn’t happen anywhere else.

The reality is that I am living out eternal life right now, with each breath I take, and that all glory and power associated with the promise of eternal life indwells in me currently.

The reality is that every experience from my past that has defined me and all the hopes I’ve used to build my future are superseded by the rich fullness of NOW. And so I release my grips on past and future and immerse myself instead in the freedom available this instant, as I lean into and agree wholly with the TRUTH that is being ever-revealed to me in vast grace and deep love.

An answer (part 2)

My answer is based on the GOODNESS of the truth found in Romans 8. I am no longer in the flesh, but am now in the Spirit... He is my new identity. Therefore all that reeks of sin and death is overcome and replaced with all that shines with life and peace. There is no striving or waiting for fullness - it is mine for the taking immediately. My role is only to agree with truth, to align myself with the Spirit, to acknowledge my true identity. That is goodness and power and beauty all for free because of what Christ did on the cross. What he did through his crucifixion and resurrection eliminates the need for me to bear through process, to struggle, to dwell in a place of tension and conflict. Jesus' work means I can step into all that the Spirit is today, right now, completely and fully.

That's reason for hope, for joy, for peace that doesn't make sense in present circumstances.

An answer (part 1)

There’s that verse in 1 Peter about always being prepared to give an answer for the hope that is in you. I’ve heard a lot of sermons and youth group talks and small group discussions on this, and they always left me wondering “does everyone else get asked about their hope a lot?” Because I didn’t. Until recently. These days I’m fielding a lot of questions about why I’m so positive, so content, so unfrazzled, so “happy”…

My answer is simple and yet so deep. The reason for my hope rests in my identity as a child of God. I am who he sees me as: whole, strong, pure, delightful, powerful, capable, and beautiful. I am not weak, needy, broken, damaged, tainted, useless, or draining. I do not have to wait or work for blessing, goodness, and fullness; I can claim it all right now. I have much to offer, and do not have gaps to be filled. I am not a sinful lump covered by a translucent cloak of grace; rather I have been gutted and reborn and I am now a divine expression of life and Spirit. The Spirit who indwells and defines me knows no boundaries. The Father who designed and seduced me never stops whispering promise to my heart. And the Jesus who bought and restored me did it so completely that he enabled me to exist in utter freedom every moment of every day.

More on my answer later, because it’s just too big and great for one post…

Breaking up with limits

Limits. Somewhere along the way we all “grow up” into the “understanding” and “acceptance” that limits are a part of life. They’re natural, they’re realistic, and our best chance at happiness is learning to operate within them. It’s terribly practical, insanely reasonable, and painfully “mature”.

I have no need for limits anymore.

Call it what you will, but I’m breaking up with limits. We’re through. Limits look like things I tell myself over and over, that I begin to believe about myself, that don't even remotely resemble who God says I am. Limits look like fears that keep me “reigned in”, so I don’t embarrass myself by being too “naively ambitious”. Limits make me friends and earn me their esteem and acceptance as they drain me of the LIMITLESS ESSENCE OF THE SPIRIT.

So I'm going another way. I’m owning dreaming instead. I’m drifting into imagination. I'm claiming desire. I’m listening to the faintest whispers of my heart, those that have been “hushed” and swatted aside for many years. I’m calling to them now; “Come out of hiding! Find your voice again! Remind me how awesome possibility is!”

I’m embracing the childlike big-dreamer who doesn't worry about the balance in the bank account or the “necessity” of skills and a career path. I’m shrugging off the frantic grasping at “stability”. I’m choosing life in the Spirit… led by the promises of the God who fashioned me to be uniquely creative and hopeful and enthusiastic about the opportunity that life in Him offers.

Old pain

I went on a hike yesterday. I was with friends, out in gorgeous weather, and greatly looking forward to it. About a quarter of the way up the trail I became aware of a dull pain in my bad right knee. At the halfway point I was in serious pain. And then I started thinking about how going downhill on a bad knee is more painful than going uphill, and how each uphill step I managed meant an even more painful downhill step on the way back. So I decided to stop. I let the group continue, and I found a place to sit and enjoy beautiful scenery while I waited for them to come back down the trail.

This isn’t abnormal – the knee has been injured since my sophomore year in high school and I’m used to it flaring up and messing with my plans for physical fun and glory. I came to terms with this a long time ago. It’s just the way it is, for me, with my bum knee. But yesterday, it pissed me off. A couple of minutes after my group left me alone, the tears came. At first I thought it was just the pain that was causing me to cry, but I don’t cry from pain often, and these tears felt different anyway – they were hot and they stung. And then I realized that I was angry… like… super angry.

I think I was okay with my knee ruining my activities before because of my mindset. I believed that, in every aspect of life, my old stuff – the pain and wounds and sin patterns and JUNK – was just a natural part of me I had to learn to accept and work with. It was just reality to me, and the best way to deal was just to come to terms with it, submit to it, and do the best I could despite it. But I no longer think that way. And as my world has been blown open by a revelation of grace, I have – apparently! – lost my tolerance for being limited by old pain.

Obviously, I didn’t sit on top of a massive boulder halfway up that trail crying for an hour because I couldn’t make it to the top. But my inability to complete the hike and see the view reminded me of all the other things I’ve been missing out on because of old injuries… Injuries to my heart and my soul that have yielded power over me for so long. The longer I sat there the more infuriated I became that my experience of the goodness of God has been so limited due to those old wounds. My former apathy has been replaced with a burning desire to eradicate all constraints on the freedom Christ died for me to have. I’ve realized it’s not the “norm” to operate with those limitations… and I’m no longer okay with submitting to that warped idea of reality. So I’m moving forward expecting the Spirit in me to overcome all the old junk that’s been limiting me so I can step into complete freedom, unlimited possibility, and overwhelming goodness.

My blueprint

I’m trying to get this truth to sink in:

The blueprint for our individuality is unchangeable and perfect. Expertly designed and just as it should be. There’s no need for CHANGE. He bought back the original at the cross. The original you was founded in I AM. Perfect. Complete. Unique. An expression of LOVE.

(thanks, Ashley)

So here’s (part of) my blueprint:

I love the wind – especially the hardcore kind that whips tree branches and swirls leaves in upward spirals. In a crowd, I sit on the outskirts and take it all in. I’m completely comfortable with this position as long as there is still room for my thoughts. It only becomes oppressive if I can’t find that space. I have a thing for fireworks; they are magical to me because they’re one of the only things that can transform me back into an 8-year-old. I notice the small things. I exist at a deeper level than a lot of people ever even visit. I will ask boundary-blowing questions in order to go there with people. There aren’t many of those kinds of questions I won’t answer fully and honestly. I love any body of water – I’m drawn to it and I have to have to touch it. I prefer cold weather and nighttime. My mind never stops. There is always a plethora of thoughts and questions and wonderings dancing around in there. It takes me ages to fall asleep every night because they require my attention before they’ll calm down enough for me to sleep. Music is almost always a soul-stirring experience for me. I don’t scare off easily – depth and intensity and complexity compel, instead of repel, me. I want to ride in a hot air balloon so so bad. Once someone has worked their way into my heart, I am fiercely dedicated and loyal to them, even when others say it’s detrimental, but I rarely regret it. I am an "excerptor" - I lift words from books, movies, songs, overheard conversations - and save all the snippets in a notebook. I communicate really well; both verbally and through writing. I like myself the most when I’m around kids – they bring out good parts of me that don’t get much exercise otherwise. I’m always looking to learn – to expand my understanding and reach deeper levels of truth. I love well. I’m good in crisis – I stay calm and strong and wait until everyone is taken care of before I lose control. I am a good listener; I ask good questions and I remember what is told to me...

... to be continued when I am able to swallow a bit more revelation...

A stern talking to...

Hey Lauren, you know what you need? You need to stop trying so damn hard. Even in this, this gift of freedom and peace, you’re striving. In every spare moment you are strategizing; preparing your attack. Stop it! Stop analyzing; stop trying. Just step into it. Just move in it. It’s not as difficult as you think – hell, that’s the whole point, kid! For the first time you get to STOP STRIVING. It’s not about succeeding, and it’s not about getting anywhere or becoming anything. It’s simply about being and breathing and moving into this new truth you’ve found. DO it! Stop thinking and figuring and planning. Take a risk, give it a shot, begin to live differently. Shake off the shackles of struggle and analytical process. They’re paralyzing you! Just DANCE, Lauren. Go easy on yourself for once. Take a sledge hammer to all those boxes you’re trying to fit this in – turn them into big fat splinters and let the truth explode beyond the shape they once were. Back off and give it some room: let it weave throughout the minutes of your day; let it pop up unexpectedly and expand and change form and seep into your pores and your eye sockets. Just rest in it… it’ll do more on it’s own than you can ever manipulate it to do with your willpower. You need to be brave and let go of your way of working things out. Give it over to the Father this time… let him work it out while you just remain fluid. Stop bracing yourself! Stop pushing and fighting. Can you just be? Because that’s all He’s asking of you – just BE in the midst of this knowledge. He’ll do the rest.