I have a great life
I have three kids who charm the pants off of everyone they meet. Seriously. They are all #adorbs when we are out and about.
I have a husband who adores me, and in his quiet nature he does his best to support whatever adventure I hurl our family down.
I work from home in pajamas, and since Paul is in school in the evenings, we spend most days together with our youngest.
We live in a pretty amazing house that we are currently renting, right in the heart of Minneapolis.
We found an amazing church, filled with people who are just waiting to get to know our little family.
Like I said. I have a great life.
And yet.
Yet I find myself tired. All the time. The kids tap into every ounce of self I have, and run me into the ground on a daily basis. I find that I am always spending my energy on them, only to get to the end of the day to feel like I missed it all, I messed up, I did it all wrong. I feel incredibly guilty that by the end of the day all I want in this world is a moment to breathe without someone asking me for something, or, heaven forbid, touching me anywhere for any reason. I find myself screaming at the kids for things that are disobedient, yes, but also just poorly timed. They catch the steam when my vent finally releases, and it's never pretty. Just the other day I blew up on my sweet, sweet Eli (who we have been butting heads with from time to time), and that episode ended with me crying on the bathroom floor telling Eli that I just didn't know what to do anymore. Telling him, my son, that mommy was tired, and that mommy just didn't have anything left to argue with. If I focus on one child, I feel ashamed that the other two might have ended the day feeling left out. I get so tired with the never ending cycle of housework, and at times feel so incredibly claustrophobic when I am knee deep in laundry that needs to be folded that I want to scream. I feel ashamed that I let myself get to over 200 pounds, but at the same time, just don't have the will or the energy to care. That leaves me feeling incredibly self conscience, and the anger I feel for myself comes out in waves to the ones I love the most. I struggle with eating healthy because food is the one consistent in my life. Take out will always make me feel good for the 20 minutes it takes me to eat it. And it requires no patience, no energy to make, I don't have to put it to bed, I don't have to struggle to get it to shower every other day, I don't have to try and keep it contained at a three hour long function when all it wants to do is run and play. It is well behaved and delicious and the sugar goes straight to my brain and my brain sighs in relief. It is an addiction because parenting is hard, and brutal, and tiring, and frustrating, and panic-inducing.
I work in a job that is reliant on my ability to keep up an energy level that is sometimes exhausting. Even though the women I work with are incredible, I find it hard to keep my own yearning for success in check. When I feel left out, my mind immediately reconciles it with my own lacking and OF COURSE no one would want to respond or chat or work with you. Why would they? You are lacking. You are lacking in your parenting, and your wifing, and your job. You cannot offer what people need because you don't even know what YOU need. You are nothing. And they all know.
I lay awake at night with my eyes closed and let these voices berate me. I let them sling the cruel words at me because I believe I deserve it. I believe it, because I see the other women. I see them succeeding in life, in mommying, in wifing, in their job, in their house. And I turn inward and see every bump that I have hit, every scar I have taken on, every bit of damage I have done to others. I see the hurt I have caused, and so I let the voices whisper their sweet lies into my ear, and I nod and cry and take it all in. Because I know the people I love would never tell me those things. But maybe they should.
And yet.
And yet through all that truth, there is Truth. There are whispers of Grace and candles of Hope. There is an acceptance of my brokenness and Love despite of it. There is a Voice that tells me that yes, you are broken, but you are Mine.
I say all this to tell you that I am me. I am broken and messy and living life the best I can at any given moment. What I put on Facebook is real, but it's not the whole story. But, though I know it in my head, my heart forgets that the same is probably true for you. And when I talk with you and hear you laugh about hard times and despair, a part of me shrivels back, because I am there, I am there, and the last thing I want to do is laugh.
Maybe we can do each other a favor. When I ask how you are, I will give you the space if you need to say, Not Good. And if I can, I will tell you if I have been there too. And I will tell you that the shame and frustration you are feeling are not uncommon, and that they are temporary. And I will tell you life is not blessed because of everything being tucked away nicely. Life if blessed because, despite the mess, despite the brokenness, we are Loved, and we are Cherished. And so maybe it would be easier to drop the appearance of it being neat and tidy, because we set the standard for ourselves when we decide who's messy is too messy or too real. And it just makes everything so much harder than it has to be.
So maybe today, if I am right and I am not the only one who is being choked by the loneliness that brokenness can bring, know that you are understood. And that you are doing a good job. And that even if the day ends in tears, that you did OK, and that tomorrow will come. And that there is a God who literally died to be with you, knowing full well every inner turmoil you are feeling. And that the ONLY thing he asks of us is to trust in Him not only in our mess, but in our beautiful spots as well.
And yet. Two little words. There is always another side to the coin.
Monday, April 25, 2016
Sunday, February 21, 2016
Not my water.
I was standing at church today getting my Worship on when it happened.
The couple in front of us (who we know, and were just talking with last night as a matter of fact) accidentally kicked over a coffee mug full of water. No biggie. The water spilled near them, and under the pew towards the couple in front of them.
Not a huge crisis. Both men went and got some paper towels, mopped it up, and it was done. The singing never stopped, no one else probably noticed.
Not a big deal, right? What's the point of the story? Surely there is no great lesson here.
But, oh, there is. And this lesson starts with me, because this simple exchange planted a small seed of conviction in my heart, which has since blossomed.
The water spilled, the couples who were directly involved in 'the crisis', whose feet were getting wet, first tried to assess the damage, then sprung into action to fix it, to 'save' their feet.
And I stood still. I watched it all go down. And I thought to myself, I should help, but I didn't. Because it would have been some trouble to get out of the pew, since I was neatly in the middle, enclosed on both sides by other bodies. Because they had already seemed to sort the problem out amongst themselves, and the actions to rectify it had already begun. Because I didn't want to seem unneeded or just in the way. Because it wasn't my water. Because it wasn't my feet.
And in this instance, it wasn't an issue. Truly, by the time I got out of the pew and figured out WHERE the paper towel was in the first place, the mess would have been gone. But how often do we stay back, watching a crisis, no matter how small or large, unfold, and because it isn't our feet getting wet, we do nothing? Because we aren't sure of the exact right thing needed at that time, we do nothing? Because we know there is someone IN THE WORLD who is more qualified to deal with this particular problem, we do nothing? Because we aren't sure of how the people who NEED help would react, we do nothing? Because it wasn't our water that spilled in the first place, we do nothing?
How many videos are there on the internet of some kind of injustice happening? We watch them and think of how AWFUL it was that it happened, and how if WE were there, we would have stepped in. But that's not true for most of us. There are some, yes, that despite the awkwardness or the inconvenience, will step in no matter what if they see a need. But that's not most of us. Most of us give in to that initial hesitation that whispers in our ear that that person doesn't actually need the help, or that other people aren't helping, so why should you, or that other people may think less of you if they see you reach a hand into the muck and try to help. It whispers that it's not your problem. It whispers that there are already people there, so why should you step in too? It tells you to take your phone out and record a fight instead of break it up. It tells you to avoid eye contact so you aren't drawn in. It tells you to give a homeless man a wide berth so you can pretend that his problems are not your problems.
And you know what? The biggest problem in the Watery Pew Of 2016 drama was not me standing still. That is a huge problem, yes. But my two oldest kids were standing next to me in the pew, and regardless if they processed it fully or gave it much thought, they watched mom and dad sit still while there was an opportunity to help. They watched us decide that it was not our problem, and did not even deserve an acknowledgement. They watched me stand and sing about Jesus' love, instead of living it right there.
And that is inexcusable.
There are problems in the world that we cannot help. There are issues that DO need a legitimate professional. But there are SO MANY that do NOT. There are so many that we see each and every day that DESERVE our acknowledgement, that DESERVE at least a question, regardless of how awkward it may make you feel... How can I help?
So when you see another human struggle, regardless of the scope of the dilemma, ask that question. I guarantee it will always be inconvenient for you. I guarantee it will almost always feel awkward. I guarantee that it will sometimes end with them saying they have it handled.
But I also guarantee that sometimes that person's sigh of relief at the hand offered will be audible, and the look in their eyes when they see that someone took notice of their struggle and decided to help, regardless of how big or small, will be thanks enough for you. I guarantee that you will have impacted someones life, instead of pretending that it didn't exist. I guarantee that the people around you, whether it is your kids or complete strangers, will see that, and it will plant a small seed that may or may not take root, that maybe they could have helped, and that maybe next time they see someone with a need, they can do their best to fill it.
And maybe you are thinking that the mess you see in front of you is too small. It can be handled efficiently by one person. But it doesn't matter. Start small, so when the big things happen, it's easy to yes. Because it's become your habit. Because you are used to saying Yes, How can I help?
It doesn't matter if it's not your water. It doesn't matter if it's not your feet. Help clean up the mess, because Lord knows we all have our own we could use some help with too.
The couple in front of us (who we know, and were just talking with last night as a matter of fact) accidentally kicked over a coffee mug full of water. No biggie. The water spilled near them, and under the pew towards the couple in front of them.
Not a huge crisis. Both men went and got some paper towels, mopped it up, and it was done. The singing never stopped, no one else probably noticed.
Not a big deal, right? What's the point of the story? Surely there is no great lesson here.
But, oh, there is. And this lesson starts with me, because this simple exchange planted a small seed of conviction in my heart, which has since blossomed.
The water spilled, the couples who were directly involved in 'the crisis', whose feet were getting wet, first tried to assess the damage, then sprung into action to fix it, to 'save' their feet.
And I stood still. I watched it all go down. And I thought to myself, I should help, but I didn't. Because it would have been some trouble to get out of the pew, since I was neatly in the middle, enclosed on both sides by other bodies. Because they had already seemed to sort the problem out amongst themselves, and the actions to rectify it had already begun. Because I didn't want to seem unneeded or just in the way. Because it wasn't my water. Because it wasn't my feet.
And in this instance, it wasn't an issue. Truly, by the time I got out of the pew and figured out WHERE the paper towel was in the first place, the mess would have been gone. But how often do we stay back, watching a crisis, no matter how small or large, unfold, and because it isn't our feet getting wet, we do nothing? Because we aren't sure of the exact right thing needed at that time, we do nothing? Because we know there is someone IN THE WORLD who is more qualified to deal with this particular problem, we do nothing? Because we aren't sure of how the people who NEED help would react, we do nothing? Because it wasn't our water that spilled in the first place, we do nothing?
How many videos are there on the internet of some kind of injustice happening? We watch them and think of how AWFUL it was that it happened, and how if WE were there, we would have stepped in. But that's not true for most of us. There are some, yes, that despite the awkwardness or the inconvenience, will step in no matter what if they see a need. But that's not most of us. Most of us give in to that initial hesitation that whispers in our ear that that person doesn't actually need the help, or that other people aren't helping, so why should you, or that other people may think less of you if they see you reach a hand into the muck and try to help. It whispers that it's not your problem. It whispers that there are already people there, so why should you step in too? It tells you to take your phone out and record a fight instead of break it up. It tells you to avoid eye contact so you aren't drawn in. It tells you to give a homeless man a wide berth so you can pretend that his problems are not your problems.
And you know what? The biggest problem in the Watery Pew Of 2016 drama was not me standing still. That is a huge problem, yes. But my two oldest kids were standing next to me in the pew, and regardless if they processed it fully or gave it much thought, they watched mom and dad sit still while there was an opportunity to help. They watched us decide that it was not our problem, and did not even deserve an acknowledgement. They watched me stand and sing about Jesus' love, instead of living it right there.
And that is inexcusable.
There are problems in the world that we cannot help. There are issues that DO need a legitimate professional. But there are SO MANY that do NOT. There are so many that we see each and every day that DESERVE our acknowledgement, that DESERVE at least a question, regardless of how awkward it may make you feel... How can I help?
So when you see another human struggle, regardless of the scope of the dilemma, ask that question. I guarantee it will always be inconvenient for you. I guarantee it will almost always feel awkward. I guarantee that it will sometimes end with them saying they have it handled.
But I also guarantee that sometimes that person's sigh of relief at the hand offered will be audible, and the look in their eyes when they see that someone took notice of their struggle and decided to help, regardless of how big or small, will be thanks enough for you. I guarantee that you will have impacted someones life, instead of pretending that it didn't exist. I guarantee that the people around you, whether it is your kids or complete strangers, will see that, and it will plant a small seed that may or may not take root, that maybe they could have helped, and that maybe next time they see someone with a need, they can do their best to fill it.
And maybe you are thinking that the mess you see in front of you is too small. It can be handled efficiently by one person. But it doesn't matter. Start small, so when the big things happen, it's easy to yes. Because it's become your habit. Because you are used to saying Yes, How can I help?
It doesn't matter if it's not your water. It doesn't matter if it's not your feet. Help clean up the mess, because Lord knows we all have our own we could use some help with too.
Friday, February 19, 2016
Fixing It.
Hello, my name is Laura, and I... Am a Fixer.
I like to fix things that are broken. And this unfortunately includes other people. If someone comes to me with a broken piece of themselves, I try to fix it. I try to Solution and Solve. I try to Summarize and Analyze and Come Up With A Plan. I do this because I love them. And to see them hurt quite realistically hurts me too. I am a Feeler. And a Fixer. And that can make for a pretty heavy combo. And sometimes not the best combo.
So when it's ME that is hurting, I try to fix it. I come up with a plan to salvage what I can and get the best outcome. I tick boxes and when everything is nicely tucked away, I nod and carry on.
But maybe, fixing is not the answer all the time. Maybe the things that I do for myself and others when I try to fix is not helping, and quite possibly hurting. Maybe Fixing is an entirely different entity than Healing. Maybe setting the bone and throwing on a cast may make the wound look better, but inside, that break is still there. It's just more appealing to me now.
There are a lot of things that I can't fix. And that is so incredibly scary to me. As a mother with little ducklings who are finding their footing in an increasingly scary world, I am terrified almost every day about the truths that are lurking just around the corner for them. And my gut instinct is to try and fix it. But how do I fix a broken world? How do I erase the traces of terror and bloodshed and cruelty? How do I fix that for them?
I can't.
How terrifying those two words are.
How terrifying to know that I am launching three tiny souls into a world that will do its best to break them down, to scare them into a certain mindset, to make them believe things about themselves that have never and will never be True.
So what CAN I do?
I can start with me. I can start with my husband. I can start with my kids. I can start with my friends.
I can start where I am. I can start where we are.
I can invite people over for dinner. I can show them laughter around a table full of food. I can show them the freedom in sharing your truths, even the messy ones, with people you love. I can show them what it is to build a community with people who Get It. I can show them what it is to know that some people won't understand and will not repay kindness with kindness, but that we do it anyway.
I can show them that despite a world full of evil, there is an undercurrent of Grace and Joy that will not be snuffed out, regardless of what happens. I can show them that there is a God that is bigger than all of this, that is not just a made-up theory to make living bearable, but a Living Vibration that stirs us to action, to kindness, to mercy.
I can show them that. I can do that.
I can show them the One who Heals, instead of trying to be the one who fixes.
I can do that.
Friday, January 29, 2016
The Tribe.
So... how is the weather?
Seriously. How do you follow up that last post? (Missed it? Come read about my broken nature here! Fun times!)
Well. I must say, following that post, which I was quite honestly nervous about making, even though I generally consider myself an open person, the amount of support I have received has been astounding. From people who get it to people who don't live in that dark place from time to time but still reached out, it's been amazing and incredibly heart warming to read. Trust me. Part of the dark comes from a place of extreme loneliness. So thank you.
We moved to the cities in August. I mean, I've mentioned that once. Or twice. Or A THOUSAND TIMES DEARLORDPLEASESTOPBRINGINGTHATUP. But because I am an introvert/hermit at heart it's been excruciating for me to find my people. And it's entirely on me. I know that. I have met some lovely people, been to some amazing groups, but if the setting I am in has me having to initiate small talk in group... I'm done for. I close up, shut up, and try to hide in a corner.
But I did a lot of thinking yesterday. And no, all of my problems were not solved in a day, but I made some progress on figuring out what my actual problems were... so... Progress!
I did something similar to a pub crawl yesterday... but instead of beers, I was sampling coffee and pastries at different cafes. It was just me, a great book, and my thoughts. It was lovely.
And you know what I figured out? Food is my passion. Feeding food to people is my passion. Feeding food to people while sharing and SHOWING the love of Christ is my passion. And all of my woe-is-me thoughts that centered on me not having a Tribe here began to show its cracks. I have People here. There are people hidden in this city that love good food, love quite talks in cafes, love curling up and reading, love getting together and enjoying the chaos. They are here. They just don't know me yet.
And I cannot tell you what that thought did to me. My perspective shot up from looking at myself to looking out into the city. Who is it? Where are my people? They are here. They are here. They are here.
I am blessed beyond belief with the Tribe I have that is literally spread out across the planet. They love me, they fix me when I am broken, they laugh when I accidentally run into poles in movie theaters while trying give a dramatic wave while dancing backwards. They are my People.
But I am so excited to find my People here. To have the capabilities of having a Tribe Member walk in my front door and see my chaos and be ok in it. So Friday Night Dinners are coming back. But probably not on Fridays. But that doesn't matter. All that matters is the Table, the Food upon it, and the People around it.
Seriously. How do you follow up that last post? (Missed it? Come read about my broken nature here! Fun times!)
Well. I must say, following that post, which I was quite honestly nervous about making, even though I generally consider myself an open person, the amount of support I have received has been astounding. From people who get it to people who don't live in that dark place from time to time but still reached out, it's been amazing and incredibly heart warming to read. Trust me. Part of the dark comes from a place of extreme loneliness. So thank you.
We moved to the cities in August. I mean, I've mentioned that once. Or twice. Or A THOUSAND TIMES DEARLORDPLEASESTOPBRINGINGTHATUP. But because I am an introvert/hermit at heart it's been excruciating for me to find my people. And it's entirely on me. I know that. I have met some lovely people, been to some amazing groups, but if the setting I am in has me having to initiate small talk in group... I'm done for. I close up, shut up, and try to hide in a corner.
But I did a lot of thinking yesterday. And no, all of my problems were not solved in a day, but I made some progress on figuring out what my actual problems were... so... Progress!
I did something similar to a pub crawl yesterday... but instead of beers, I was sampling coffee and pastries at different cafes. It was just me, a great book, and my thoughts. It was lovely.
And you know what I figured out? Food is my passion. Feeding food to people is my passion. Feeding food to people while sharing and SHOWING the love of Christ is my passion. And all of my woe-is-me thoughts that centered on me not having a Tribe here began to show its cracks. I have People here. There are people hidden in this city that love good food, love quite talks in cafes, love curling up and reading, love getting together and enjoying the chaos. They are here. They just don't know me yet.
And I cannot tell you what that thought did to me. My perspective shot up from looking at myself to looking out into the city. Who is it? Where are my people? They are here. They are here. They are here.
I am blessed beyond belief with the Tribe I have that is literally spread out across the planet. They love me, they fix me when I am broken, they laugh when I accidentally run into poles in movie theaters while trying give a dramatic wave while dancing backwards. They are my People.
But I am so excited to find my People here. To have the capabilities of having a Tribe Member walk in my front door and see my chaos and be ok in it. So Friday Night Dinners are coming back. But probably not on Fridays. But that doesn't matter. All that matters is the Table, the Food upon it, and the People around it.
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
The Bitch. (Did that catch your attention?)
Go ahead and take your shoes off for this one. Normally I don’t ask people to take their
shoes off when the come in the house, but this one seems like it needs to be
walked towards in feet with just warm socks on them. Curl up on my couch with a cup of coffee, or
a cup of creamer, or a cup of tea… whichever suits you. I will have a small cup of coffee… with
possibly a shot of whiskey in it. That’s
a Thing that people drink I think.
Depression.
There. I said it. I broke the ice. I got it out there for you to taste and sample before I serve you the whole dish.
It’s a scary thing. It’s a dark thing. And basically, it’s a Bitch. And it’s something that I walk the line on, going back and forth in unexpected and ever-changing patterns.
If you know me personally, perhaps your eyebrow is raising a little. Or maybe you are putting together pieces and understanding is blossoming in your head. I honestly don’t know how people will take this. But let’s just go ahead and keep going.
I had lunch with my ever-kind, ever-patient husband today. After a comfortable silence, I asked him if he ever gets stuck… if he ever gets caught up with depressing thoughts that he can’t shake. He looked at me as I tried to avoid his glace, and then we went there. Apparently it’s not as normal as I had thought. Or perhaps it IS, and people just don’t talk about it because they don’t see it for what it is, or decide that if they don’t mention it when they are feeling right in the head that it may just not happen again.
Or maybe being depressed is different than depression. Maybe being depressed is just Depression’s little cousin, who isn’t as mean but is still super awkward when you invite him over for dinner. Mostly because you don’t invite him. He just shows up. And he doesn’t even bring a bottle of wine.
Being depressed can look like a lot of different things. It can look like your kids, but just the worst version of them. The kind that you see when you are too tired and too busy, and too ashamed of the multiple fails that happened too quickly is succession. Or it can look like your husband, but the worst version, the one that you made up in your head that you keep disappointing or you keep feeling suffocated by, even though Real Him is just trying to figure out what is going on with his silent wife. It can look like your friends, but the worst versions of themselves. The versions that have decided that distance is too hard of a obstacle to overcome and have moved on, even though the real versions are There and Present and still love you. Or it can look like a twisted version of yourself, the version who knows your dark secrets and relishes in the power they hold over you.
Depression.
There. I said it. I broke the ice. I got it out there for you to taste and sample before I serve you the whole dish.
It’s a scary thing. It’s a dark thing. And basically, it’s a Bitch. And it’s something that I walk the line on, going back and forth in unexpected and ever-changing patterns.
If you know me personally, perhaps your eyebrow is raising a little. Or maybe you are putting together pieces and understanding is blossoming in your head. I honestly don’t know how people will take this. But let’s just go ahead and keep going.
I had lunch with my ever-kind, ever-patient husband today. After a comfortable silence, I asked him if he ever gets stuck… if he ever gets caught up with depressing thoughts that he can’t shake. He looked at me as I tried to avoid his glace, and then we went there. Apparently it’s not as normal as I had thought. Or perhaps it IS, and people just don’t talk about it because they don’t see it for what it is, or decide that if they don’t mention it when they are feeling right in the head that it may just not happen again.
Or maybe being depressed is different than depression. Maybe being depressed is just Depression’s little cousin, who isn’t as mean but is still super awkward when you invite him over for dinner. Mostly because you don’t invite him. He just shows up. And he doesn’t even bring a bottle of wine.
Being depressed can look like a lot of different things. It can look like your kids, but just the worst version of them. The kind that you see when you are too tired and too busy, and too ashamed of the multiple fails that happened too quickly is succession. Or it can look like your husband, but the worst version, the one that you made up in your head that you keep disappointing or you keep feeling suffocated by, even though Real Him is just trying to figure out what is going on with his silent wife. It can look like your friends, but the worst versions of themselves. The versions that have decided that distance is too hard of a obstacle to overcome and have moved on, even though the real versions are There and Present and still love you. Or it can look like a twisted version of yourself, the version who knows your dark secrets and relishes in the power they hold over you.
The only factor that doesn’t change is that
all of those things sit right in front of you.
Nose to nose. So there is no room
for you to lean over and see the Blessings just behind them. And so you start to sink, and the further
down you go, the less you can see, aside from that terrible version of whatever
is haunting you at the present moment.
You don’t realize that the storm has passed and there are rainbows all
around you (or perhaps that’s not right… you DO realize it, but you can’t look
away). A small part of your brain that
is still lucid is banging on the door and screaming about how the storm has
passed and all you have to do is lift your chin, but you can’t. That horrible thing has you nose to nose and
you cannot look away. And then that part
of your brain that was trying in vain to break down your door gets swallowed up
as well, and then there is silence.
Silence and that thing, pressed up against your nose. And then it starts to whisper…. Terrible lies
that in any other setting would be laughable and easy to brush off, but because you are knee deep already, they
are the only thing you hear. And they
make complete sense to you broken heart and your broken brain. And you nod and cry and decide that there
really is no way out of this.
Like I said, depression is a Bitch. And I have a feeling that more people ride the line than we realize. And I have a feeling that it’s hard to talk about because hey, I have a great life. That’s pretty selfish of me to be depressed. There are a whole bunch of people who have way more right than me to be sad. I should just suck it up and be happy, damn it. You should continue to make people laugh and hug it out and be ok, even though you are still reeling on the inside from your intense shifts in moods. And it’s even more confusing because you aren’t faking your happy emotions, so how can you trip and fall into that hole again so quickly? It doesn’t make sense so therefore it isn’t valid. It isn’t worth bothering people with. Because you have a great life.
So where do we go from here? What do we do with this? I don’t know. And I think that’s ok. I am not writing this because I have a solution, I am writing this because I think more of us NEED a solution than we like to admit. And maybe if we were all just a little more open with each other about our broken bits, we would come to that solution much more quickly. Maybe if I knew you were cracked as well, I would be more open about my own hurt, and perhaps just the sharing of the Thing in and of itself would be the balm we need. Maybe it’s just the simple recognition that you are valid and you know that people everywhere have trouble seeing that from time to time is what we need. Maybe it’s the sharing of it so when your People see the signs they can take you by the shoulders and go nose to nose with you until you see past that terrible old hag.
I don’t pretend to know what will help. And my palms are sweaty at the thought of it, but perhaps the posting of this will be the first step to taking the power from that intruder of my joy. So here goes nothing.
Like I said, depression is a Bitch. And I have a feeling that more people ride the line than we realize. And I have a feeling that it’s hard to talk about because hey, I have a great life. That’s pretty selfish of me to be depressed. There are a whole bunch of people who have way more right than me to be sad. I should just suck it up and be happy, damn it. You should continue to make people laugh and hug it out and be ok, even though you are still reeling on the inside from your intense shifts in moods. And it’s even more confusing because you aren’t faking your happy emotions, so how can you trip and fall into that hole again so quickly? It doesn’t make sense so therefore it isn’t valid. It isn’t worth bothering people with. Because you have a great life.
So where do we go from here? What do we do with this? I don’t know. And I think that’s ok. I am not writing this because I have a solution, I am writing this because I think more of us NEED a solution than we like to admit. And maybe if we were all just a little more open with each other about our broken bits, we would come to that solution much more quickly. Maybe if I knew you were cracked as well, I would be more open about my own hurt, and perhaps just the sharing of the Thing in and of itself would be the balm we need. Maybe it’s just the simple recognition that you are valid and you know that people everywhere have trouble seeing that from time to time is what we need. Maybe it’s the sharing of it so when your People see the signs they can take you by the shoulders and go nose to nose with you until you see past that terrible old hag.
I don’t pretend to know what will help. And my palms are sweaty at the thought of it, but perhaps the posting of this will be the first step to taking the power from that intruder of my joy. So here goes nothing.
Saturday, January 23, 2016
The Rest
I have been making a conscience effort to read my devotional
at some point of the day. I am not going
to say Morning or Night, because my days change constantly and I know if I put
a ‘time frame’ more specific than Sometime During the Day, I will eventually
fail, and then that is two quick steps away from not trying to get it
done. So. Anytime. During that particular
date on the calendar.
I am reading Streams in the Desert. It’s fantastic and I highly recommend it if you haven’t made that particular devotion a part of your book collection. Yesterday’s devotion was awesome. It compared our journey into our callings as part of a musical composition. And in particular, the musical rest. We know that Rests are a part of any good song… the space when you breathe in and prepare for the next note. You know they are coming, you prepare for them, you use them to launch yourself into the next stanza. But when we get to a Rest in our calling, we get restless. We forget that God may have placed a Rest there for a particular reason, because he is preparing to launch us into our next note. We see the other notes playing in other people’s lives, and we get restless and worried that we are missing our cue.
So if you are at that space in your journey, where things seem to have come to a standstill, put your ear to the sky and listen. You’ll hear it. The shiver, the breathing in. The purposeful rest that draws the crowds closer in anticipation. Don’t’ despair that you are missing your cue. You are where you are meant to be. Where you next note will harmonize with the rest of the chorus and send God’s name echoing out into the wilderness.
I am reading Streams in the Desert. It’s fantastic and I highly recommend it if you haven’t made that particular devotion a part of your book collection. Yesterday’s devotion was awesome. It compared our journey into our callings as part of a musical composition. And in particular, the musical rest. We know that Rests are a part of any good song… the space when you breathe in and prepare for the next note. You know they are coming, you prepare for them, you use them to launch yourself into the next stanza. But when we get to a Rest in our calling, we get restless. We forget that God may have placed a Rest there for a particular reason, because he is preparing to launch us into our next note. We see the other notes playing in other people’s lives, and we get restless and worried that we are missing our cue.
So if you are at that space in your journey, where things seem to have come to a standstill, put your ear to the sky and listen. You’ll hear it. The shiver, the breathing in. The purposeful rest that draws the crowds closer in anticipation. Don’t’ despair that you are missing your cue. You are where you are meant to be. Where you next note will harmonize with the rest of the chorus and send God’s name echoing out into the wilderness.
Wednesday, January 20, 2016
The Nomad (an update).
Life is so fascinating.
Life is so FRUSTRATING. Life is so confusing. Life is so… lifey.
When do I call myself a true Minnesotan? Is it when I dip into proper Norwegian slang while talking with people about baked goods? Done. Is it when I have to go full Eskimo gear to take the kids to the bus stop? Check. Is it when my kids are settled into their new schools? Got it.
Things are rolling. The transition has not been without its bumps, but that was to be expected. As (most of) you know, we made the leap from the Picture Perfect American Life (House? Check. Husband? Check. Kids? Check. Full time job? Check. Wifey at home for the most part? Check. 401k? Check. Pretty photos of FUN TIMES on facebook? Check.) to start a new journey, filled with much more uncertainly, but also much more TIME to be a family and invest in our passions.
We relocated from our home of five years in England to the heart of the city of Minneapolis. We paid a year’s worth of rent without actually seeing the house first, closed our eyes, and leapt. We knew going into it that the leap could mean some pretty incredible lessons for our kids in following your passions, but that it could also mean some pretty incredible lessons for our kids on not giving up something steady when you have it.
Here we are over five months later. So what’s happening with the Rinas’?
Well, the church we were planning on being a part of hit some bumps and, I believe, made the right call to sit tight and wait for God’s prompting instead of forcing it. That took us from the ‘have a church right away’ crew and plopped us into the ‘church finding’ crew, which if you have been there, you know it’s difficult. Church is a personal thing. It’s a personal thing steeped in community. It’s a balance of finding what works for YOU and also works for your HUSBAND and also works for your KIDS, while simultaneously working well for the COMMUNITY AT LARGE. It’s hopping from one building full of nice people to another building full of nice people, and trying to decide if the level of niceness and the level of worship band and the level of sermon speaking all met in that sweet spot in your soul. And then if not, it’s trying again the next week, consistently being the new family with lots of nice but not a lot of real coming at them. And that is no fault to any of the church goers, it’s just a fact of church hopping. People tend to react negatively if upon meeting you they are exposed to all of the cobwebs in your closet before they know your kids names. I know from experience. (Totally had a therapy session with one of the kid’s teachers yesterday at Parent/Teacher conferences… and I am not ashamed to say that as she was telling me about what she tells Alex when she feels lonely that I may have been sucking it up life water during a drought. And possibly tearing up… Totally not awkward. But also, maybe a little.)
We met a lot of great people at a lot of great churches, but it’s only been recently that I believe we may have found our church home. And the relief that comes with that is palpable. I will not cover up that one of the HUGE factors in our decision was the fact that Isaac is happy in their nursery during the service, because as lovely as the other churches were, as a parent, you can only be so in tune with the body of Christ with a tired, cranky and unhappy 2 year old doing his best to leave the confines of the pew and bounce his echo off of the ceiling. And as a parent I think it’s ok that that be a HUGE factor in deciding what to call your church home. Because for the most part, Paul and I would come home from church more frustrated and tired and a little bit more empty than what we were when we got there. And after an upheaval like our move has been, where we said goodbye to our church family where we had some VERY deep roots… that takes a while to heal. And it takes the right community to get it started.
All in all, the move has been hard, but maybe not as hard as I had expected… or perhaps it’s just hard in all the wrong areas… Paul and I are both still searching for our People here, and are in prayer that we find them soon. We are still trying to decide which way to face in terms of our impending move at the end of this summer. Where do you go when you can go anywhere? How do you decide where to put forth your effort for God’s Kingdom? Do you choose a quiet life in a slow town? Or do you choose to stay in the city, where life will most certainly not slow down?
The leap that we took, from our quiet All-American Life, to the life of a certain type of nomad… It’s the pin in our journey together as a family. Things will fall one way or another at the end of this summer. Decisions will be made, paths will be chosen. And so until that time, we will find peace in the little moments we get that would have been impossible in our American Life. We will sit and wait. We will hold our ears to the tracks, and listen for the whisper of Him who has formed us for such a time as this.
Because with Him, who knows what is just around the corner.
When do I call myself a true Minnesotan? Is it when I dip into proper Norwegian slang while talking with people about baked goods? Done. Is it when I have to go full Eskimo gear to take the kids to the bus stop? Check. Is it when my kids are settled into their new schools? Got it.
Things are rolling. The transition has not been without its bumps, but that was to be expected. As (most of) you know, we made the leap from the Picture Perfect American Life (House? Check. Husband? Check. Kids? Check. Full time job? Check. Wifey at home for the most part? Check. 401k? Check. Pretty photos of FUN TIMES on facebook? Check.) to start a new journey, filled with much more uncertainly, but also much more TIME to be a family and invest in our passions.
We relocated from our home of five years in England to the heart of the city of Minneapolis. We paid a year’s worth of rent without actually seeing the house first, closed our eyes, and leapt. We knew going into it that the leap could mean some pretty incredible lessons for our kids in following your passions, but that it could also mean some pretty incredible lessons for our kids on not giving up something steady when you have it.
Here we are over five months later. So what’s happening with the Rinas’?
Well, the church we were planning on being a part of hit some bumps and, I believe, made the right call to sit tight and wait for God’s prompting instead of forcing it. That took us from the ‘have a church right away’ crew and plopped us into the ‘church finding’ crew, which if you have been there, you know it’s difficult. Church is a personal thing. It’s a personal thing steeped in community. It’s a balance of finding what works for YOU and also works for your HUSBAND and also works for your KIDS, while simultaneously working well for the COMMUNITY AT LARGE. It’s hopping from one building full of nice people to another building full of nice people, and trying to decide if the level of niceness and the level of worship band and the level of sermon speaking all met in that sweet spot in your soul. And then if not, it’s trying again the next week, consistently being the new family with lots of nice but not a lot of real coming at them. And that is no fault to any of the church goers, it’s just a fact of church hopping. People tend to react negatively if upon meeting you they are exposed to all of the cobwebs in your closet before they know your kids names. I know from experience. (Totally had a therapy session with one of the kid’s teachers yesterday at Parent/Teacher conferences… and I am not ashamed to say that as she was telling me about what she tells Alex when she feels lonely that I may have been sucking it up life water during a drought. And possibly tearing up… Totally not awkward. But also, maybe a little.)
We met a lot of great people at a lot of great churches, but it’s only been recently that I believe we may have found our church home. And the relief that comes with that is palpable. I will not cover up that one of the HUGE factors in our decision was the fact that Isaac is happy in their nursery during the service, because as lovely as the other churches were, as a parent, you can only be so in tune with the body of Christ with a tired, cranky and unhappy 2 year old doing his best to leave the confines of the pew and bounce his echo off of the ceiling. And as a parent I think it’s ok that that be a HUGE factor in deciding what to call your church home. Because for the most part, Paul and I would come home from church more frustrated and tired and a little bit more empty than what we were when we got there. And after an upheaval like our move has been, where we said goodbye to our church family where we had some VERY deep roots… that takes a while to heal. And it takes the right community to get it started.
All in all, the move has been hard, but maybe not as hard as I had expected… or perhaps it’s just hard in all the wrong areas… Paul and I are both still searching for our People here, and are in prayer that we find them soon. We are still trying to decide which way to face in terms of our impending move at the end of this summer. Where do you go when you can go anywhere? How do you decide where to put forth your effort for God’s Kingdom? Do you choose a quiet life in a slow town? Or do you choose to stay in the city, where life will most certainly not slow down?
The leap that we took, from our quiet All-American Life, to the life of a certain type of nomad… It’s the pin in our journey together as a family. Things will fall one way or another at the end of this summer. Decisions will be made, paths will be chosen. And so until that time, we will find peace in the little moments we get that would have been impossible in our American Life. We will sit and wait. We will hold our ears to the tracks, and listen for the whisper of Him who has formed us for such a time as this.
Because with Him, who knows what is just around the corner.
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