When you wonder if you measure up

The chairs were arranged in an inviting circle and the coffee was sputtering cozily in the corner. On the door was a sign saying "Welcome to the 24-hour prayer meeting"

I walked around, fluffing pillows and making sure that the keyboard was plugged in. I checked my watch: 5:34. Maybe they're all still getting off work. 

Over seventy people had been invited, but I knew that it was Memorial Day weekend and I might have only a handful show up to pray.

At 6:45 the room was still empty, so I sat and held out my similarly empty hands. Lord, I said, this is for you. You asked me to pray with other people, so here I am. I've sent the invitations, but I can't make them come. I hope you like this. I hope you can use this, even if it's just me all night. 

Suddenly, into the expectant space, I felt these words:

"It's already a success. It's already a victory."

I sat up straight and opened my eyes. Really? You aren't disappointed if no one comes? You like it already--before anything happens--just because I obeyed? 

In that moment, relief blew through my heart and the anxiety I didn't know I'd been holding dropped on the floor. I sat there for a minute or so, just enjoying the realization. He was pleased. He even called it victory! Wow.

I felt like Samuel, learning that man looks at the outward appearance while God looks deeper. (Check out 1 Samuel 16:7 for the story)

Things that look"unfruitful" or "a waste" may tip the scale in unseen battles that we will never know until later.

If He calls it a success, who am I to call it failure? So why is the prospect of Christ being formed in me somehow less significant in my eyes than twenty people showing up to a prayer meeting?

Friends did come to pray with me :)

The thing is, we live in a culture pretty obsessed by numbers, stats, and feedback. 

At school, we measure success by grades.
At the gym, it's the number on the scale or the pounds lifted.
At work, we are evaluated on a sliding scale in dozens of categories designed to measure output, growth, and efficiency.
In online dating, it's the number of winks or likes.

So what if the grade is borderline, the scale doesn't move, and the winks don't roll in? 

In the absence of measurable, positive feedback, we can easily conclude that the effort was a failure. Like that age-old riddle about the tree falling in the wood, we ask, if the Instagram post didn't get any likes, was it any good? No, we conclude, it wasn't.

This formula is dangerous and inaccurate. Inaccurate because numbers are only a partial measure of value, often dependent on the human dolling them out. And what if that human is having a bad day? It is dangerous because the value of something--or someone--may be wildly mis-represented.

Now, please don't misunderstand--numbers are good, helpful tools. I use numbers every day at work to help me reach targets. I learn from feedback and rankings. And, in the world of social media, the number of clicks can give helpful clues as to what stories mean the most to readers.

But when the numbers become the only feedback that matters to me, or when I become unwilling to obey the Lord's leading if it flies in the face of those numbers, my heart needs to be re-aligned. 

These are questions that I've been asking myself:

• Do you feel discouraged when no one notices your efforts? 
• Do you get the urge to quit when you feel like your best try just did a bellyflop? 
• Do you hesitate to embark on something that you know won't have a tidy accompanying list of accomplishments to check through?
• Does the thought of being graded--in school, at work, or by friend's opinions--make you nervous?

Oh, yeah, been there. Still there, friend. The good days are the days I choose to step back, and purpose to remember truth.

And the truth is that our God is a God who sees. He sees holistically, accounting for the state of my heart, not just the tally marks on my list. (Genesis 16:13)

Faithfulness in little things matters to him immensely. He notices when you turn to him, try that brave thing, choose to obey--even if no one else is impressed. (Luke 16:10, Matt 25:21)

He does not break the broken--he lifts and heals. Failure or depression or mental illness or addiction do not disqualify you from his love or from serving Him. In fact, He tends to choose weak things and people over the strong ones. (Romans 8:39, 1 Cor. 1:27-29)

The economy of the Kingdom sounds backward. The weak and lowly--even kids--are rulers. The King bends to serve his subjects. The poor are rich and the rich are poor, and the small, weak things are chosen over the strong so that God will be magnified.

It sounds so crazy...but maybe we are the ones living topsy-turvey.

Spring Break: short but sweet

I now sincerely appreciate any and all student holidays. Like, really appreciate.

Even if they're not the long, luxurious swaths of time they once were.
Even if they're just a glorified, embellished weekend.

I am so thankful.

The University gave me two whole days off for Spring Break! The hubs and I savored Thursday slowly, puttering around the house and yard, doing laundry, meeting friends at coffee shops and parks.

Speaking of coffee shops, I tried out a new one for the first time on that beautiful day. As small as our town is, it can still surprise me! 1541 is a quiet, cozy little gem tucked away behind WallyWorld. Truly, it doesn't get as much traffic as it deserves. The Mexican couple who own it bake all the muffins and other goodies from scratch each morning and just look at the artwork they make of their cappuccinos!

If only they didn't close at 6pm each evening! If not for that small detail, I would make them my regular study place because of the low prices and quiet atmosphere. Regardless, I've resolved to give them some repeat business on weekends if only because I love supporting family-owned businesses.

Friday morning we were packed and on our way to my family! That evening Mom spent her gift card and treated Dad, Hubby and I to the Cheesecake Factory for my first time ever.

Can you tell we were pumped?

*Cue sugar overload for the next five hours*

The real centerpiece of the weekend, though, was the wedding of my dear friend, Jessica. Ever since we were kids, I've admired her for her ability to roll gracefully with imperfection and make the unplanned fun--laughing her contagious laugh the entire time.

Rain at an outdoor ceremony? No worries! Umbrellas make things cuter anyway.

Rain also has the power to give spectacular rainbows. What a stunning reminder of God's faithfulness on the day they promised theirs.

John Locke and morning people

Are you a night person or a morning person?

While I have a bad habit of hitting the snooze button a couple times before finally trading horizontal for perpendicular, mornings are my favorite. Whatever exhaustion or stress last night held—it’s gone, replaced by the sense that today is fresh, clean, and full of potential for awesomeness. I feel new. I am full of thought and conversation. I get urges to sing like a Disney princess and twirl around the kitchen with the cereal box. As I drive to work, the reborn sun glints on my steering wheel, the radio is loud, and my foot can’t stop wiggling a little.

And obviously, this is all VERY annoying for non-morning people.

I’ve had to learn to tone things down, if only for the sake of being loving to the nocturnal people in my life. One such person is my husband.

Mornings are slooooowwww for hubby. He’s not a grouch, but jokes are not funny before 9:00 am, and loud noises are less than welcome.

On the flip side, evenings are tough for me. I lack energy, optimism, and sometimes common sense. While we were first dating, the euphoria of being around him was enough to make me a temporary night-owl, able to stay talkative until the wee hours. Later, I realized that this was his natural state. My natural state is sleep at 10:00pm.

John Locke’s Treatise on Government said a lot of things, but the idea that stuck with me is this: only when we choose to limit our own freedoms will the rights of others be protected. I may have the freedom to dance and sing loudly in the morning, but it doesn’t make my sleepy husband feel loved. To protect each other, we must lovingly choose to limit ourselves.

So in the name of love, I am learning not to bang pots and pans or discuss complex things in the morning.

And in the name of love, hubby is gentle with me as the day wanes. 

Invisible Gardening

Buried in darkness, the germ of life waits in secret. So much potential packaged so tiny, lost in the loam, out of sight.

Under the heat lamp and the peat and the dark, the first finger of growth presses through membrane into the earth and tiny fibers take shape. Cells add themselves to each other feverishly, exploding quietly.

But above the lamp, I hover. I'm impatient. I see none of the growth below, and the dirt is just dirt, and I wait.

You might have noticed that I haven’t blogged. Normally, I’m not one to lack words, but the creativity seemed buried as well this Christmas. In many ways, my heart has been like a seed in one of my peat trays, growing invisibly, even to me. 

Most mornings I’ve had to take a deep breath, releasing my desire to perform and achieve and produce, trusting that even in the darkness, the Gardener was doing something good in me.

Out my back door lies a freshly dug hole, wide and shallow. My biceps ache, but I’m happy. In the hole rests a new wooden box I made, open to receive compost and the baby plants that now stretch green toward my desk lamp.

So much preparation, weeks in advance of any growth.

For the past few months, I have plugging away doggedly at the things I know are good for my heart. I’ve been reading a challenging book, asking myself the challenging questions, choosing to be vulnerable. And honestly, the lack of visible growth been frustrating.  I’m a more patient gardener than I am a garden, it seems.

But last night, a friend told me that I seemed less anxious and more trusting than I was in the fall. A tendril of green that I had overlooked!

Even when our hearts feel like bare dirt, He is good, and He is at work.

Italy: Written somewhere over Greenland...

Waiting for the plane in the Milano airport

The introvert inside me craves a week of quietness in which to wade through all my thoughts. Since I can't have it, I really feel thankful for this long plane ride. We are following the sun, retrieving the hours we lost when we left two weeks ago, and the quietness is so welcome.

My thoughts, first of all, are thankful! So thankful. God answered so many prayers and carried our team through jetlag, cultural differences, discouragement, migraine headaches, and changing plans. No luggage was lost except for a suitcase full of gifts, and it was delivered painlessly to our hotel two days after arriving in Milan. We didn't get food poisoning. Students from previous years came back. English clubs were a hit! And now Italy will never leave my heart.

The GPS on the plane, showing that we were over Louisiana!

While I look back over these two weeks in Italy, another part of me is already racing ahead to our apartment, making the re-packing lists so that we can leave in less than two short days for Summer Adventure Part II: Colorado!
Yes, this is a crazy summer. But I have such an awesome God. Even if I feel overwhelmed, I can relax because He's got me in His arms.

Please take a moment and pray for:
1) The long-term missionary couple in Milan as they come back to the states for the summer and raise their support.
2) Helena, our new friend who decided to follow Jesus--that she would grow in her new relationship with God and get involved with other Christians in Milano.
3) ​For hubby and I to get over jet lag quickly and be super efficient on Monday, the "re-packing day"!
4) ​For a safe drive to Colorado on Tuesday.

Italy: My sick day

"Even to your old age and gray hairs

I am he, I am he who will sustain you.

I have made you and I will carry you;

I will sustain you and I will rescue you." (Isaiah 46:4)

I've always been touched by this verse, but always for someone else. Someone who had gray hair. Each time I read it, I would tuck it away in a mental filing cabinet with a little post-it note that said, "For one day when I'm a grandma." After my kids are grown, and I sit, fragile, next to an African Violet in a sterile-smelling nursing home, that's the day I'll need it.

Well, I needed it today.

I woke up late and groggy, with crumpled hair and eyes that refused to open fully. My normal jolt of morning adrenaline kicked in as I showered, but it seemed watered-down somehow.

I wasn't the only one who was feeling bad; Lindsay was fighting sinus issues. The team prayed for us, but as we began to sing, all I could do was sit with my hands open on my lap as if to receive. Jesus, fill me with energy, I prayed.

The previous day's devotion about faith was bumping around in my head like shoes in a dryer. I wondered foggily, would it be more obedient to plunge into the day as usual, trusting God to provide the strength, focus, and energy I lacked? That would definitely take faith.

Or would it be more obedient to lay my tired head down upstairs, trusting God to help the English Clubs go well even if I wasn't there? That would take faith too. And humility. I'm not essential. God can do fine without me. 


At the urging of wise friends, I reluctantly and tearfully rode the tiny red elevator back up to the room. I felt useless. Why am I even here?

I slept for four solid hours. When I awoke in the dim, cool room, I lay there feeling miserable.

Then words from God's Word began to crowd softly, tapping at my memory.

Does God break bruised reeds? No. Does He snuff out smoldering wicks? No. 


"Even to your old age and gray hair, I am he who sustains you..."


In our culture, the helpless are despised. Unwanted babies are discarded daily. Elderly people can't contribute to society. They drool too much. Put them somewhere else. They are smoldering; snuff them out.

How different from the way God sees them!

And today, I was like an old woman. I was fragile, exhausted, and emotionally drained. I was the one who He carried.

"I have made you and I will carry you..."


I think I'm beginning to see the truth: that my value has nothing to do with how much I contribute. It has everything to do with the fact that I am His.

P.S.
Today was our 11-month wedding anniversary! (Yes, we're still celebrating each month...stop rolling your eyes.) He was so incredibly sweet to me today. :) 

24 Hours: Unplugged

Did you miss me? Probably not...I only went "unplugged" for 24 hours, so it only really affected the three people who tried to text me.

My English professor has been lecturing about Postmodernism, and she issued a challenge for extra credit: get rid of the "white noise" of gadgets, texting, and other modern distractions for twenty four hours. Afterward, she wanted us to write a summary of our experience.

Today, I took the challenge. And here is what I wrote:

[warning; this is a slightly longer post than usual. :) ]

I was excited when you issued the challenge to unplug ourselves for twenty-four hours. I reserved the right to call someone on my phone and to work on the computer for school, but I decided that “unplugged” would mean no Facebook, no YouTube, no TV or movies, no texting, no email, no blogging, and no radio. I warned my friends: Don’t text me on Tuesday; I’m going unplugged.

The day started off well, but I had to remind myself that I was not allowed to check my IPhone for the weather forecast. I guess I can just walk outside to see if I’ll need a sweater. It felt a little strange to eat breakfast without checking my email and blog statistics, but as I ate and looked out the window, I remembered again how much I love the tangy sweetness of strawberries. I also left for school on time, which has been rare in the last few weeks.

Between classes, my phone seemed to wink at me from my backpack’s side pocket. My husband and I usually text each other throughout the day, and I had to fight back the urge to send him a message several times. With my hands and attention strangely unoccupied, I began to notice details about my classmates that I’d never seen before. I felt conversational, but most of them were texting and I couldn’t catch their eyes. It made me wonder whether I put off the same vibe of inapproachability when I am fixated on my own phone’s screen.

I went to the library, and there I spent one of the most productive hours of the past month. I chose a table that had no computer so that I would have no chance to “accidentally” check my blog or email. In one hour, I wrote two letters, copied two recipes onto index cards, studied for my next class, and completed an entire Bible study. 

My mind felt calm, sharp, and focused. Usually, I am the queen of multi-tasking. I can cook dinner, do laundry, study for a test and text a friend simultaneously without breaking a sweat. But after Tuesday, I wonder if my mind was designed for single-purposed attention.

I biked home and arrived feeling hungry, thirsty, and restless. I would usually check Facebook at this time of day.  

I feel disconnected from the real world.

A split second after the thought crossed my mind I realized just how ludicrous it was. Here I was, enjoying face-to-face interactions with my husband and the solid realness of my home around me, and I was calling facebook the “real world.” And missing it. When did I make that shift?  At what point did a virtual interface with a blue and white color scheme become more real than the pile of dirty laundry in my closet or the people sitting next to me in class?

Maybe this hurry-scurry lifestyle of production, day-planners and social media has contributed to the postmodernist’s skepticism toward anything claiming to be true or authentic. If they themselves are so enslaved to the busy treadmill, so spread thin that they are unable to give themselves in a genuine way to any one thing, why would they expect something different from society at large?

After a day of being unplugged, I have mixed feelings. 

On the one hand, I enjoyed the calm that settled over my mind in the absence of “white noise”. I felt more productive, more aware, and more relational than usual, and I can see that a constant stream of media and gadget use would almost certainly insulate me from a genuine experience of real life. 

But on the other hand, I felt downright rude to ignore texts from my friends. Unless your phone is lost, or you’re dead, our instant-feedback society has come to expect near instantaneous responses when you text someone. The access we have to any person at any time has become normal—our new reality. To experience the collective reality of our interactive culture, one must forego some depth of interaction with the objective reality, and vice versa.

Since I cannot be a hermit, total absence of white noise is impossible. But in order to avoid the hopelessness and isolation of an in-genuine existence, I am determined to periodically step back, turn off my phone, and taste the strawberries. 

Risks worth taking

I fervently wish I was a better listener.

I've been trying to keep my mouth shut more often, to listen more intently and remember details. I've been asking God to help me really hear what people are saying.

To that end, this blog might be working against me. Learning to listen is rarely accomplished while delving into my own thoughts. But at least it forces me to honestly examine what I find there, and honesty—if it pricks me in the right places—might pop the pride bubbles that I blow for myself.

Two weeks ago, the whole Italy Mission trip team met in our tiny blue living room for cultural training. As we discussed the many ways that we could embarrass and be embarrassed in a foreign culture, I was struck by the realization that I don’t dedicate nearly enough effort to the study of my own culture.

And culture isn’t the crux of it, as if I could buy a guide book and sail through without snags. The heart of the matter is people.

Sometimes I think, wouldn’t it be great if every person you met came with a user’s manual?  

This is what this person means when they say X.

Here is a list of this person’s likes, dislikes, etc.

Here is how to avoid offence.

But a person is too beautifully nuanced to reduce to a spreadsheet or chart. They are not static, as if the same words would affect them in exactly the same way next week, let alone next decade. They are living, growing, reactive, infinitely interesting persons, and fully worth the risk of embarrassment inherent in getting to know them.

On the flip side, being known is risky too.  I think both are risks worth taking. 

Beach Living

I love travel and adventure, but I could have been content to continue puttering around my house for the rest of this vacation.  For example, I have a certain closet that REALLY needs de-clutterization, as well as a truck-load of research to do for a paper due next Thursday.

But instead, I’m sipping a Dr. Pepper while looking at this view:

(Actual pic)

Yes, you city-dwellers. Be jealous.

Sometimes my own sense of obligation to productivity would rob me of treats like this.  But we promised hubby’s family that we would join them at the beach house, and I’m so thankful we did! God really knows how to give me rest when I need it.

We arrived Thursday night, driving through a thick, salty fog that made a granular paste on our windshield as we neared the coast.

We stayed up with our nieces and taught them how to play Monopoly Deal—a card version of the traditional game that has the advantage of being both packable and faster to play. They loved it, and I loved watching my sweet, patient man explain the rules and encourage them as they learned. He will be a great dad someday.

Since then, we’ve been purely, delightfully lazy:

• Waking up after 10 in low-beamed bunk beds to the aroma of coffee.
• Dancing to the CD of our wedding music with my mother-in-law (hilarious!)
• Laughing at the squabbling seagulls as they fought over an unidentified piece of food near our porch.
• Eating homemade caramel corn.
• Stealing kisses from my hubby while the nieces were busy with crafts.

Yes, it's been wonderful. 

Some observations: 

The culture here in this beach-side community is slower, sunnier, and even more individualistic than most parts of America. I say more individualistic because it’s a perpetual vacation. Most residents are retirees, enjoying their golden years in a golden zone of sun, surf, and sand.  Hurricanes are never mentioned except in hushed tones, as if mentioning them aloud will jinx the paradise they enjoy.

There is one main street, one grocery store, and everything is festooned with the same ship-styled paraphernalia. The color scheme reminds me of a Mexican restaurant: coral, aqua, yellow and mint green. Shame on the beach-home owner who dares to pollute the neighborhood with a color like brown or tan!

Salt makes a gritty slime on all the windows. It makes you imagine that the waves have actually come close enough to spit their froth on the homes and cars. The salty wind turns even flat-ironed hair into an organic cloud of untamed curls—my nieces wear them permanently.

Conclusion--Beach living is a lot like sleep: a total escape from all responsibilities. I need it periodically, but only to recharge for the demands of everyday life.  

I feel refreshed, and but today I’ll be glad to go home.

Quieting down

Who has been eating delicious peanut butter cookies, sleeping in, working out, reading encouraging stuff, watching movie marathons with her awesome hubby, and being generally spoiled on her Spring Break? Me. J  Ahh, vacation is always sweetest when it’s needed the most.

It’s interesting: I’ve had less interaction with my laptop in the last three days of vacation than I had during the three prior weeks when I was actually trying to cut back on media. Go figure.

I’m discovering that periodic times when I avoid the normal definition of “productivity” can sometimes actually produce the best results. One result is that it is definitely effective at cutting back on all the “noise” that fills my head most of the time.

I’m realizing that I need stillness.  Even in the flow of necessary responsibilities and the inevitable crush of deadlines and to-do’s, my heart needs moments when I simply

Sit.

Or belly-laugh with friends.

Or lift my hands in silent adoration to Jesus.

Or stand still in the WalMart parking lot to admire the streaming colors of the sunset.

When my heart quiets down, when I stop the volley of anxious, ping-ponging thoughts for a moment, then—surprisingly—I start hearing the smaller noises that usually don't make the “urgent” list. 

I notice the tone of my friend’s voice and the tremor in her mouth as she shares instead of just taking mental note of the bare facts. 

I remember that another friend has a birthday coming.

I allow myself to giggle over a pair of squirrels being…um, frisky in a tree next to the Physics building on campus. 

I hear the voice of Jesus saying “Come talk with me”, and my heart answers “I’m coming” (Psalm 27:8)