Such a time as this...

“And who knows whether you have not attained royalty for such a time as this.”

— Esther 4:14

When I entered my story for the first time I did so reluctantly and found myself quickly overwhelmed and under attack.  I tried desperately to flee and find my way back to safety and security, to the comfort of not knowing.  I didn’t want to see what I saw and yet I wanted nothing more than to see clearly.  When I first checked in at the lay leader training for grief and trauma my leader asked “why are you here?”  I said, “I want to see clearly, so that I can help others see clearly.”  Although this was my true heart’s desire, it seemed like an impossible task, because I spent my entire life shrinking back and hiding.  When I was small, I saw too much too soon and the things that I was exposed to caused me great harm.  I was extremely sensitive and didn’t have the tools to discern and process, I just took it all in.  In an effort to self-preserve, I learned very young to cover my eyes, divert my gaze, turn inward, and disassociate from the chaos and violence around me.  Although this was a helpful and necessary tool that protected me as I child, I began to realize all the ways it was causing me harm in my grown up world.

Mothers need to be fully tuned in and engaged so that they can protect and care for their young.  As I began waking up to the truth of my story and the ways in which God was inviting me to heal and redeem my story, it was like the scales fell off my eyes and I saw all the ways I was escaping my difficult reality.  Through the narrative therapy and telling my story in the context of a loving and caring community, my brain began to heal and it significantly affected my ability to stay present in the chaos and challenges of parenting four children of my own.  It has significantly impacted all of my relationships and for that I am so grateful.  This alone would be enough for me, but God continues to use the work he has done in me for his glory.

 This summer, I had the opportunity to serve at the Royal Family Kids Camp with my 17 year old son, Jeremy.  The camp serves kids age 6-12 who are a part of the foster care system.  These are children who know pain and suffering, they know what it feels like to be dismissed and abandoned.  They have seen too much for their young minds to process and their small hearts to feel.  I was given the roll of “Dean” which allowed me a unique opportunity to serve both the 100 kids that were there and also the 100 counselors and support staff who were serving them.  The role felt overwhelming and I was bombarded with anxiety as the camp approached.  I doubted my skills and began to think that maybe I was no different than those kids.  I felt way too broken and damaged to be ministering to 200 people in such a tender space.  Faithfully, I stepped over the fear and I showed up at camp with a heart burning with desire to be used for the kingdom, to serve “the least of these,” and to whisper God’s truth into their broken hearts.  I was committed to stay present to see the needs of God’s people.  It was one of the best weeks of my life.  The highlight was the last night when I was given an opportunity to share a part of my story with the young girls around the camp fire.

When the director asked if I would be willing the day prior, I felt honored and terrified.  I had no idea what to share as I hadn’t prepared.  I told him I would pray about it and if God revealed something to me that I would do it.  I went to bed that night praying and when I awoke, I had a discrete memory of hiding underneath my bed as a little girl.  This is a story in which I had run away and nobody even noticed my absence.  I felt invisible! It lead me to the story of Sarai’s housemaid Hagar in the book of Genesis.  I had already claimed this story as a part of my own because in it, Hagar runs away, just like I did.  What struck me anew as I prepared to share with these kids and counselors was this:  “The angel of the Lord found her by a stream in the wilderness, he called her by name and asked: Where have you been and where are you going?” 16:7-8My story of hiding and being provided for, pursued and redeemed by a loving God intersected with a larger story of the gospel and the story of these children who could identify with the pain of being used or mistreated, they knew about hiding and running away from problems.  My own story that I wish I didn’t have to suffer became a beacon of hope to kids in the midst of the wilderness.  I was able to encourage them to remember this camp like a stream in the wilderness.  A place where God chose them and brought them to provision and abundant care, but also to look forward to where they were going.  Just like Sarai they needed to return home and submit.  They have been chosen and called to shine light and to trust in Gods provision and care in the midst of the wilderness.

God is faithful to rewrite and use the broken bits of our stories to heal and redeem his kingdom.  I wonder where God is inviting you to step out in faith and be used for a moment such as this.

Mirror Mirror

What do you see when you look in the mirror?  The evil queen in snow white went to the mirror to get affirmation.  She needed to be told that she was beautiful.  When she didn’t get the desired response of being the fairest of all, she turned wicked with envy and wanted to get rid of her competition.

    
 When I was young, I don’t remember thinking that I was very beautiful.  I didn’t spend much time looking into mirrors. I would rather be running around barefoot and making mud pies.  Yet there was a time I was gazing into a mirror in the bathroom behind a locked door.  It was my brother who usually caused me to escape into the bathroom so he wouldn’t get into trouble for making me cry.  I gazed right into the mirror.  I noticed my bright red nose and my tear soaked cheeks. But what calmed me every time was looking into my eyes.  I saw no evil in my eyes but something about them put a stop to the sobbing and soothed my pain.  I felt the presence of God and I didn’t even know His name.  This makes me sad on one hand and incredibly grateful on the other.

 Our good and gracious God gave me access to him.  I found safety from the storm that was raging around me as I perched on the bathroom sink staring into my own brown eyes.  This is amazing to me!  I discovered the sweet innocence and simplicity of my little girl.  I found the presence of God dwelling in my eyes.

The other day, we were playing a game called “Mirror Mirror” at kids’ yoga.  Children began by leading and following one another childlike motor movements.  They laughed and delighted while getting swept up in the movement and music.  This reminded me of the ways that I learned to follow God.  As a child I lived my life without any real awareness or concern of Him.  He, like a patient father, followed closely behind.  He picked me up and dusted me off each time I fell, assessing the damages and making sure I didn’t cause too much harm.  He was calling to me and guiding me even in my fierce independence and ignorance.

This is what I noticed as the children practiced leading and following.  They became connected and were moving together in synchronicity.  There was surrender as the children danced.  They were caught up in the flow of the Spirit.  They were free to experience and enjoy the fullness of life.  The same life that is promised to all who believe. 

Now as an adult woman I want to reflect the love, grace, mercy and beauty of   God. I see it in the dance of children…I see it in their eyes.  It has been rich for me to recapture the goodness of my childlike brown eyes.  I remember the girl behind those eyes and the God who was present with her always.  Yes, she has grown up to so much more from and for Him.  The wicked witch has no foothold in my mirror as I capture the beauty of God’s presence.  My hope is that she has no place in your mirror as well.  Take a look and see the goodness God is reflecting in your own eyes.

It is Better Together

“Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down one can help the other up.”

— Ecclesiastes 4:9-10

If growth is necessary and good, why does it hurt so much?  I am on the growth edge; and it feels like death at times.  It feels like the best place in the world only moments later.  My heart is tender and dangerously exposed as I dare to dream and step toward the vision relentlessly.  When I try to understand what feels so terrifying about stepping into my calling, fear overwhelms me and the “what-ifs” chime in.  There is a voice that criticizes and mocks my brave stepping.  I know that it is not the voice of truth, because there is no kindness or love.  If I listen to this voice too long, I start to believe the lies and get paralyzed.

 
Every step I take toward the light and beauty of the vision feels extremely risky.  I want to shrink back, hide and find my way to the comfort zone of what is known. The pain and confusion that swirl in the dangerous places of growth feel like more than I can bear.  One critical step on the journey toward growth and stepping out in faith to move toward calling is to show up even when I feel like withdrawing because I am “messy.”  It feels dangerous to bring my face to the table when it is covered in tears or shame and yet it is the only way to become all that I am meant to be.  We are harmed and healed in community.

This week, when I went for a bike ride with my friend Kelly, she asked good questions and helped me see more of the big picture than I could see from my limited perspective.  I shared with her my hearts desire which is to be wildly successful, she asked me what that looked like and I answered in metaphor:

Like a tree…
Rooted and established in Gods love
Firm and stable, present and engaged with my family and community
Reaching out my branches to provide comfort and care for those in need
Bearing much fruit
Calm and still through the changing seasons and storms of life
Willing to release my leaves and trust the winter
Allowing the natural rhythms of growth and change
Celebrating and giving thanks for the sun and the people that make life possible

Later that day as I was thinking about the tree, I remembered the forest.  Just that week I invited my students to stand in a circle facing one another and practice tree pose in isolation.  Next I invited them to outstretch their arms and become a forest of trees.  After feeling the relief and comfort of connection I ask which feels better and the forest always wins.  Then in unison we say, “It is better together… EVERY TIME!”

To be human is to connect.  The best way to handle the growth edge or any other tricky spot on your journey is with community.  Practice reaching out and asking for what you need.  Share your heart and your dream and let wise and loving people breathe life into your vision.  Experience the gift of being held and supported as you become for one another the body of Christ.  Using each unique gift and talent to support each another in the becoming is a holy place to be. 

Valley Freedom

My mind races and I have the undeniable urge to run out of the room.  I grip the arms of my chair to make sure that I don’t.   I am about to share a painful valley experience with a group of near strangers who are all staring at me expectantly.   I have willingly agreed to do this but now it seems like a careless, almost reckless thing to do.  Something akin to how I might feel if I went grocery shopping naked.  Come to think of it, I would welcome perusing the produce aisle in the buff over this right about now.    Why would I choose to look back at such a painful time in my life and then willingly share it with others?  Was I crazy?  It seems so counter intuitive to everything I have been taught by my parents, by the church and by well-meaning friends.   As a society, it seems we are encouraged to put the past behind us and press onwards and upwards. “What’s done is done” and “don’t cry over spilt milk” are two refrains I’ve heard over and over again.  Even Paul in his book to the Philippians tells us to forget what is behind and strain towards what is ahead pressing on to the prize that is in Christ.    Yet, my spiritual walk had become anything but joyful and hope filled.   Instead, I feel weary, run down and just getting by with a low grade numbness invading the crevices of my soul.   Could it actually be possible that Jesus is asking us to enter some of the more painful areas of our lives that we would much rather keep sealed off never to be opened again?  What if maybe, just maybe, Jesus is really behind us too, wooing and calling us to our valleys so that we can find redemption from the pain, patterns and debris of our past that potentially keep us from experiencing the abundant life that we are promised as believers?

I had recently finished Dan Allender’s book To Be Told and it resonated deeply.  He states;   “Our own story is the thing that most influences and shapes our outlook, our tendencies, our choices and our decisions.  It is the force that orients us toward the future, and yet we don’t give it a second thought, much less careful examination.  It’s time we listen to our own story.” 
I guess it is my time.

 
My voice falters as I begin but slowly I gain momentum and start to recall specific details of my valley like the Bee Gee song that was playing on the radio and how the hot sting of the August sun felt on my adolescent skin.  We had been instructed by our leader not to narrate our stories as if bystanders casually observing the action from a safe distance, but instead to get back down in the dirt of the story.  So I was consciously using my senses to kick up the dust as I walk back through it.  I continue on and evoke the images of the characters involved and the feeling of my young heart beating so fast that I could hear it reverberating in my ears.  I keep sharing this way and as I do my jaw clenches and I feel a knot in pit of my stomach just as I did all those years ago.  The flush of shame rises in my body as I recount the intense feelings of powerlessness and betrayal that marked me in this particular valley.  Before I know it, I am once again walking in the valley of the shadow of death and it feels like hell.  Waves of grief come as I experience the pain and agony of this particular time in my life afresh.  I somehow finish but the sorrow is deep and the tears continue to flow.  After what seems like eternity, I catch my breath and gather the courage to look up cautiously making eye contact with my fellow story sojourners who have just witnessed my intense valley walk.  Their faces are brimming with tears.  Many of them seem to be as shaken as I am. 

There is a deafening silence and then something remarkable happens.  They begin speaking in to my sad and grief filled soul with curiosity, kindness and compassion.  They start making holy observations and pointing out beautiful truths that I had never had eyes to see before.  They ask insightful questions and we explore my story more in depth and then, through shared eyes, God starts to reveal himself to me; to us.  This stunning care towards me and my story starts to shake loose a new way of seeing and an unbelievable freedom is being born in its wake.  Through this process, I break strong-holds that my past had on me that I didn’t even know existed.  Jesus begins sewing a torn piece of me back up again.

 
I feel a shiver of joy rush through me and a lightness of being that I still can’t quite explain. 
Since that first time re-walking a valley experience, I have pondered, written and shared other stories from my past and have cried many tears in the process.  Each time, I am newly amazed at the transformation that happens when I re-enter my stories in this way.  It is in and through the valley that I have found freedom from some deep seeded wounds and vows that were keeping me from experiencing God’s full redeeming love.

Is it time for you to enter a valley and kick up some dust of your own?  It is hard, but God will meet you there.  He longs to hold you as you weep and patiently waits for you to join Him in re-narrating the painful parts of your story with His eyes and His healing insights. 
So come, spend a little time in your valleys-- the beautiful majestic mountains are just on the on the other side. 

“Mountaintops are for views and inspiration, but fruit is grown in the valleys.”

— Billy Graham

Birthing

This month feels like the culmination of the birthing process.  Not the birth of a child, but the birth of a dream.  Laurie and I began with a seed of a vision and we dreamed together and apart. We collaborated, researched, studied and committed ourselves to pray and open ourselves up to God’s calling for the next step of our journey.  The product of all this dreaming and hard work is coming to life this month as we launch SOW that… into the world in faith, hope, and love.  We believe the world needs communities of care and SOW that is our attempt to be the change we hope to see in the world.  So as we nurture and care for this tiny dream and help it grow and flourish into the fullness of our calling, we invite you to do the same.  Open your beautiful heart, acknowledge your truth and your deepest desire, and step out in faith!  If you feel stuck and don’t know which way to step, we can help.  Please sign up today for a free 30-minute consultation.

When we birth our dreams it is important that we have the safety of an authentic community.  I have made the mistake of over sharing in a way that was not honoring to my story.  One night, after playing Bunco and having too many drinks, when everyone was preparing to leave, a random guest, who was subbing for one of the regulars asked about our stories of birthing our babies.  It was so inappropriate given the time of night and the lack of prior relationship, but because of the cocktails, we went there.  We continued to talk for another hour, sharing way too many details of one of the most vulnerable pieces of our stories.  I wish that I could say it was holy, but it wasn’t.  It was just wrong. 

We all desire intimacy at the core of our beings.  It is who we are.  To be human is to connect.  In the African culture, there is a word Ubuntu which means me-we, or “I am what I am because of who we all are”.  Individuals are inextricably bound to the whole of humanity whether they acknowledge it or not.  When you pull on a thread of my story, it somehow impacts the larger tapestry.   Held within this desire is a dilemma.  People crave the depths, but they often can’t handle them, so they choose to swim numbingly across the surface in disappointed wonder.  Why am I not more fulfilled?  There must be something more!

I believe the solution to our cultural epidemic of disconnection is community.  Not just any community, but real and authentic community where you can take off your masks and stop pretending.  To see and be seen, to know and be known is what we are made for, but unfortunately many of us bare wounds that have not been healed in relation to our ability to connect and trust another authentically.  When you suffer harm, it is your natural reflex to fight, take flight, are freeze.  The last thing you want to do in places of pain is to open your heart and feel deeply.  To bring your tears and your precious heart’s desire to another is risky business.  But it is critical if you would like the freedom and abundance of life that you were created for.

When you open up your story to an individual or group that hasn’t earned your trust or are not capable of being with you in the valley, you may suffer more harm than healing. For this reason, it is critical that you choose your community wisely and allow a facilitator to help guide you in listening and to put some basic parameters around the space. Listening is a fine art and needs to be treated with reverence.  When you open up your story to another, it is like pulling back the curtain to reveal the inner sanctuary.  It is holy ground.  Take off your shoes, breathe deeply, bow reverently and open up your precious heart to receive the blessing.

I wonder what one step you could take today to move closer to the birth of your dream…

“When you do things from your soul, you feel a river moving in you, a JOY.”

— Rumi