Too Lazy For Pie?!

The most disturbing verse in the Bible:

Some people dig a fork into the pie
but are too lazy to raise it to their mouth.

Proverbs 19:24 (The Message)

Today is the Day

This song was my pep talk today.

I was having a "reevaluate everything" moment a few days ago. I thought about the people I admire most: the dreamers, the risk-takers, the God-trusters. Conversations in the past month or so have been reinforcing my desire to fearlessly embrace life's great adventures. And while it's easier to say than translate into reality, I really do having nothing to lose. If there's ever a time when I can throw myself headfirst into the great unknown and madly pursue whatever it is that makes me tick, it's now.

Today is the day, indeed.

I putting my fears aside
I'm leaving my doubts behind
I'm giving my hopes and dreams to You
Jesus

I'm reaching my hands to Yours
Believing there's so much more
Knowing that all You have in store for me is good
Is good

I Love You, Too

Douglas Coupland - Atelier

(Read about his brilliance here)

I was walking down King Street with my mom. I was in a sundress, on my way to be charmed by the von Trapp family, and in a very good mood. A stranger, not watching where he was going, ran into me.

GUY: Sorry. I love you.

I smiled. And kept walking. And when he was out of earshot, I told him I loved him, too. Just not that way.

This weekend was a wonderful one, filled with laughter and heart-to-hearts and mini-adventures and challenging late-night conversation. Douglas Coupland's exhibit was involved. As was Scrabble. And new friends. And old friends. And YouTube. And lipgloss. And sunshine. And long walks. And streetcar rides. And patios. And plenty of coffee.

And everything kept coming back to love. Not necessarily that of the romantic variety (although it certainly came up), but love nevertheless. Friendships and why they grow stagnant. Needy individuals and why we're scared to invest in them. Failure to trust God with life and love and every tiny desire of the heart.

"Love takes the initiative." Church was so good today. So aligned with everything in my heart and head right now. The importance of the pursuit of God above every other pursuit. Stepping away from the bubble of self and choosing to actively love the outsider. Over lunch with my mom and two new friends, I saw the teaching come to life. It's not about me. That's not why I'm here, to just sit around and think about what I want and need and don't have. 

I've always loved the story of Ruth. But now I think I love the woman Ruth too. 

(If you've got 50 minutes to spare, listen to "The Odd Couple." All thumbs up. Not that I critique my Sunday mornings. For discerning sci-fi fans, Bruxy may have opened with, "On the eighth day, God created Battlestar Galactica.")

Preemptive Answer to Prayer

I couldn't find a rather important piece of paper this morning. I'm talking "medical-records important." (No, I'm not dying. So calm down.) I had approximately three minutes before I would miss the bus. Instant shift to stressed-out mode.

I wanted to swear and pray at the same time. Which can be awkward. Although it's very possible. Believe me.

"God, I don't--"

And there it was. I didn't need to finish the thought. And I caught my bus.

God and I need a date. Tonight. He finishes my thoughts, and yet I still so often fail to trust Him with them. ("God, it's not you, it's me." Always the case. And yet never a deal-breaker. He sticks around.)

One Year Later

Yesterday, my family gathered at Foster Memorial Cemetery for some general gardening/reminiscing. 

And then I went to an amazing worship service (filled with some of the greatest guitar solos I've ever heard) and sang "Better Is One Day." The morning after Grandma died, I sat at her piano and played that very song. 

A year ago today, my grandmother died. I still don't know how to talk about the grieving process, mostly because it's been so surreal. There's a real freedom that comes from watching someone die, looking directly at death only to see life. The first weekend of June, 2008, was probably one of the most significant in my adult life. (For multiple reasons, only some of which are bloggable.) It was a giant learning curve. Life, death, beauty, fear-turned-fearlessness. It was all there.

In looking back, I reread my journal from last year. And I'll share little pieces of it with you. 'Cause you're all family.

I want to die like that.

...

Yesterday, I understood, perhaps for the first time, "the peace that passes understanding." Because death shouldn't be so beautiful. But it was. 

...

It's like the very moment her spirit left this earth, my own fears dissolved away. The absolute assurance of her faith somehow seeped into my restless spirit.

~journal excerpts, 2008

I miss you, Grandma. But I can't wish you were here. No moment of mortal life is worth exchanging for what you have now.

Grandma-related posts from '08:

Jean

Love Lessons

300 (Scroll down. The Beth Moore quote still moves me.)

Moms Have Birthdays Too

Happy Birthday, Grandma

Back to Basics

I spent my morning with eleven preschoolers. Some of whom need a refresher when it comes to New Testament basics.

Teacher: Jesus was a real person.
Little Boy: He was?!
Little Girl: A long time ago.
Teacher. Yes, a long time ago. And then he died....
Little Boy: He did?! He died?! How?!

Church With Jake Gyllenhaal

It's no secret that I love my church. Which is a very exciting thing to type, as I spent my first year or so in this city wandering aimlessly between churches, often preferring to sleep in and watch Charles Price on TV rather than trek to a building of awkward mediocrity. Please, pastors of the world, stop trying to be Dr. Phil. And maybe test-drive your analogies with a trusted loved one. So many attempts = FAIL. (Just ask my brother Joel. There will be eye-rolling....)

Back to The Meeting House.

We've been talking about the early church. About community. And about how non-creepy real fellowship is, in stark contrast with the most brilliant clip below.

There is no better sermon lead-in than 3 minutes with Jake. This even beats the Shawn of the Dead Sunday....

(Watch 3:50 to 7:09)



There's a huge difference between authentic community and "bright and shiny." One is real and life-changing. The other is hilarious. From a distance.

Afflictions Eclipsed By Glory

I am not alone.

I fumbled through a conversation today, completely inarticulate and awkward, breaking eye contact as I searched for the right words that just wouldn't come.

But I told her that I don't believe that all I've got is me. I'm not the only one I can count on in this world of heartache. It's freeing, knowing my life is in the hands of Someone Greater. I'm free to love big. To risk brokenness. To know that if I fall to my knees, it's probably better that way.

And then I went to a worship service and sang my face off.

We are His portion and He is our prize
Drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes
If grace is an ocean, we’re all sinking
So Heaven meets Earth like a sloppy wet kiss
And my heart turns violently inside of my chest
I don’t have time to maintain these regrets
When I think about the way…

He loves us

His & Hers

I was going to post the most ridiculously amazing YouTube party here. But then my head got overwhelmed with things that actually matter. You know, the things of man, the mystery of God, the messiness of life. Home church has been really good for me. Scary, too, as these people I'm now trudging through life with don't really know me. I hear myself processing things aloud, repeating myself for fear that I'm not understood. And in hearing the stories of others, my little problems dissolve. I was instantly humbled just looking one woman in the eye.

It was a little bittersweet to wrap up the His & Hers series at The Meeting House. It was full of painful and enlightening "aha" moments that I will probably have to revisit to process properly. The series was also frustrating, as I'm only one half of every guy-meets-girl relationship I'm in. And none of the other halves with there. I would sit there, silently screaming, "Yes! That's me! Why isn't [some guy I know] here? Why can't I articulate this on my own?" Sigh.

I've also been revisiting some old John Eldredge stuff recently. I'll post again when I'm thinking more clearly. Sometimes the snob in me writes off some of the generalizations in his prose as a defense mechanism. Would I easily admit to you that "Am I lovely?" is one of the key questions I, as a woman, struggle with answering daily? No. But is it? Uh, yeah.

(Seriously though, if little girls in tutus are supposed to end up with bloody William Wallaces, clearly there's some hard work in store.)

But I think I like this thing called diversity. And the idea that abolishing gender roles doesn't necessitate that we ignore gender. I need to be more intentional about learning from the gender I'm not. Because I really do want to live a life that doesn't ghettoize. I don't want to only gravitate toward sameness, whether that's gender, race, socioeconomic status or age. (So I suppose I should befriend a rich old sultan....) Sure, male/female friendships can get complicated. But an absence of them creates another whole series of problems.

Oh, and tonight, I may have accused Jesus of "having a blast" with his resurrection. And I stand by it. I'll explain later.

And I'll share the YouTube awesomeness tomorrow. Probably.

Seacrest out.

P.S. Who wouldn't want to end up with a bloody William Wallace? I mean, minus the face paint, bad accent, historical inaccuracy and missing intestines....

True Lies

Lying has been on a mind lately. Not the telling of lies, but dealing with them.

I'm sure some of you have heard about the "Healer" thing. Or the Ray Boltz thing. If you don't walk in certain Christian circles, these things mean nothing to you. That's okay.

I'm not angry. I have no right to be angry. I'm just burdened, sitting back and watching God's children suffer. I don't know what it's like to live a lie. I've told lies, but never defined myself by an untruth.

I'm not easily shocked by imperfection. I expect mankind to be a big jumbled mess of screwed-up-ness. Not that I'm pessimistic, just very aware that this world is broken. And maybe because I'm preparing for a quasi-friend (someone for whom lies come all too easy) to see her world crash down on her, taking out a lot of innocent victims in the process, I am all the more ready to love a man who hit rock bottom first. (I wish I could elaborate, but she's literate. And this is cyberspace, where my words can live forever. And I don't think that her reading about herself here will be all that productive.)

I just pray that her lies will unravel into truth. Somehow.

It's easy for me to forgive Mike Guglielmucci. Sure, his cancer story moved me, but I wasn't personally connected or harmed by his tale. It's his wife I'm broken for. His family. Maybe it's so black-and-white for me because there is no course of action beyond choosing to love and forgive. Were he to walk through my door this evening, I would offer him tea, sit on the floor with him (more comfy than my little couch), and just listen and let him cry.

And while I can extend grace to a stranger, the real challenge comes when I'm face-to-face with a calculated falsehood that could obliterate the unsuspecting. Will it be as easy when it gets personal? When its time for fecoventilatory collision? When I may be called to participate in the cleanup?

I do believe that Mike Guglielmucci's lyrics still ring true. And that God doesn't walk away just because we do. I believe that a new kind of healing will come. One of heart and mind. One of eternal consequence.

Just because Mike was living a lie when he wrote it, I cannot say that God had nothing to do with his song.

I believe You're my Healer
I believe You are all I need

I believe You're my Portion
I believe You're more than enough for me
Jesus, You're all I need

Desert Song

There are no words.

Bring The Rain is one of my favorite blogs. Because it breaks me daily. It's raw. It's vulnerable. It's honest. And it brings me to my knees.

I've never lost a child. But lately, I've been learning a lot from those who have. Learning what it is to be broken without being defeated. Learning what it is to just be real. To scream at God and worship Him at the same time. Because He can take it.

Permission to Fail

I was going to respond to a recent comment, but realized my response was quickly becoming too long for the little comment box. So I'll post my thoughts here. Thanks, Walking Church, for identifying the burden of the pedestal:

I don't like that burden much - it seems so unfair - I am just a redeemed man who makes his share of mistakes - most of the time 'a great guy' but frequently humbled by looking at the 'jerk' in the mirror. I guess I believe I have tasted mercy and need to extend it.

Just for the record, I don't walk around assuming men are jerks. Although my motto in high school was "Not all boys are jerks; some are dead." Until a guy snapped back with "Not all girls are dumb; some can cook." In fact, I'm pretty good at giving guys the benefit of the doubt. And more often than not, I'm the one defending the boyfriend or the husband when the girl is frustrated (or homicidal).

Not all that long ago, I had to confront myself (which can be awkward) after making a rather uncomfortable assumption about someone. In a moment of painful honesty, I knew that my disappointment had absolutely nothing to do with him. I was merely comparing him to the man I thought he was. Or wanted him to be. And that wasn't fair. Because the version in my head DOES NOT EXIST. And no one wants to be weighed against fiction. It's brain porn.

It's easy to blame Jerry Maguire for what's happening to our expectations. Too often, women become the walking wounded after investing their hearts in anticipation of a "You complete me" moment that never comes. Because, quite frankly, no broken human is going to complete another broken human. Complement? Sure. But not complete. And one of the hardest things to do is accept that a certain level of dissatisfaction comes from a need for the eternal.

I love how Bebo Norman describes it:

Loneliness is really the issue here, and loneliness doesn't discriminate. It bites every soul created with that God-shaped vacuum inside. It's common ground, really. For believers and unbelievers alike. Because we all know, whether we admit it or not, that regardless of how beautiful and full the relationships in our life may be, there's something else we long for. Something even more beautiful. Something even more full.

One thing I've learned in recent years (I do learn on occasion) is that men are just as insecure as we are. That no one has any clue about anything. And as women cling to romantic notions of the perfect man, men stumble around, feeling more and more inadequate. I've had so many conversations with frustrated souls about how men can't step up because they don't feel they're good enough. He wants to have it all together first. He wants to be proud of his life before he can share it with anyone. He wants it figured out.

Secret of the day: No one has it figured out.

And that's not what I'm asking for.

I'm looking for that messy*, imperfect, vulnerable guy seeking after God's heart.

*Maybe not literally messy. Just we're-on-this-crazy-adventure-together messy.



I love this song. No pedestals. Just learning to love in spite of and because of failure. I think it's time to start giving each other permission to be imperfect. (I'm not endorsing the jerk, but I'm willing to forgive the man who acts like one.)

The end.