help wanted

I’m starting to think through a facelift for The Grit.

I am ready for something new. Something that more reflects me. And more reflects the community that I love here.

I’m working with the amazing people over at Cross and Crown who are designing and building my new site. And seriously, people… They do incredible work. You need to check them out. Like right now. A-ma-zing.

I’m not very creative and I can’t really envision something without seeing it. But I know I want my new digs to capture the essence of my heart for this space:

• To be warm and inviting. Welcoming.
• To feel comfortable and cozy, like your favorite couch.
• To look clean and simple, but somehow unique. Captivating.
• To express my heart for authenticity, transparency, realness. As well as the tension I feel in truly living that out.
• To communicate the broader story of me, not just the pain of the past couple years.
• To show the contrast of grit and glory in the design.
• To foster dialogue and community.

As for the specifics of how to do that and what it should look like… I need your suggestions!

What ideas do you have for The Grit’s makeover? From abstract thoughts to practical, specific things… lemme have it!

Hit me up with links of sites you love, and please tell me why. I also wouldn’t mind hearing what frustrates you or turns you off, so I know some things to avoid.

Nothing’s off limits.

Loves. Hates. Styles. Colors. Themes. Anything… And everything…

I wanna hear your thoughts.

Please? MmkayThanks.

dear god

Are You there, God? It’s me, Alece.

I know I haven’t been talking to You as much as I used to. I know I haven’t in a long time. I’m sorry for that. It’s just hard, you know?

You feel really far away, and life has sucked for a long time now, and I really just don’t know what to say. Maybe that sounds silly, but it’s true. My words ran out a long time ago—for myself, for others, and even for You.

I just don’t know what to talk You about.

Not because there isn’t anything to tell You or ask You, but because there’s so much. So much that when I open my mouth, tears come out my eyes. How does that work?? There’s a question for You…

I know I’m supposed to be talking to You. I know You want me to. I know You’re probably talking to me and I’m just not listening closely enough to hear what You’re saying.

So I guess in some ways, talking to You just reminds me of how much I fall short. Again.

And I’m tired of not getting things right. Of not being enough. And so I avoid the reminder that comes with talking to You. I know that’s a sucky thing to say, and an even suckier thing to feel. I’m sorry, God.

I know prayer isn’t about changing Your mind, but changing my perspective. But I also know You say that prayer can change situations. And honestly, I’m wrestling with my theology on all that at the moment.

Faith isn’t as easy as it was when I was a kid.

And now I question so much about how and what I used to believe… It feels like I don’t know what is true and right and You anymore.

What good would come of telling You that I’m crying (again), and how much I hate it? Or that I feel stuck but don’t have it in me to un-stuck myself? (And don’t even really want to?) What good would it do to tell You how badly I feel, and how much my body hurts, and how tired I am of being exhausted and in pain? You already know all those things. And I’m weary of saying the same things over and over, even if they’re just in my own head.

So yeah… I’ve grown quiet. Please don’t take it personally. I’m really pretty quiet with everyone.

But will You do me a favor? (Can I even ask You that?)

Will You please just let me know You’re still there, standing close? That way, when I’m ready to talk, I know You’ll be listening…

Thanks, God.

Opening up this space for you to scribble out
your own honest, conversational heart-prayer..
Will you let your guard down and pray with me—
no holds barred?

x marks the spot

One of my favorite things about the Old Testament is the stories of people building an altar to commemorate a moment with God.

Abraham did it when God promised to make him into a great nation.

Moses did it when the sun stood still so Israel could win the battle.

Joshua did it when the Israelites crossed the Jordan on dry land.

Gideon did it when God called him a “mighty warrior” even while he was cowering in fear.

They would make a pile of rocks and take time to acknowledge the moment.

It was their way of saying “God showed up, and I was here. And I don’t ever want to forget it.”

They would see it and remember. And others would see it and ask. And then they would get to tell.

It was their own personal “X marks the spot”. I love that.

I think of all the altars I haven’t taken time to build in my own life. I’ve forgotten countless moments where God’s faithfulness ruled the day. Where His hand pulled me from the mire. Where His voice calmed and strengthened me. Where He healed me, delivered me, saved me.

God showed up. And I was there. But now I can’t even remember….

When I was at re:create a couple months ago, God met me in a way that I knew I didn’t want to forget. And so this post serves as my altar. X marks the spot.

Because this…? This I want to remember.

During a time of breathtaking worship, an Anglican priest led us in the Holy Eucharist. And though I’m not typically one for liturgy, the beauty and wonder of those sacred ancient words and traditions were absolutely overwhelming to me. It was so holy and so intimate.

At one point, the priest asked us to say aloud the names of those we want to pray for. And while there are many loved ones dear to my heart who are consistently in my prayers, in that split second all that came to mind was… Niel.

Niel. My still-at-the-time husband. The one who had cheated on me. Left me. Divorced me… His was the only name I could think of.

No, God. No. I can’t say his name out loud. Not now.

I wrestled. I cried. And then finally, as the beautiful music continued to wash over me, I surrendered.

And as I whispered his name, the tears flowed harder than they had in a while. Words bubbled up out of me, sincere prayers for the man I’d loved… I wept as I prayed God’s grace over his life.

I’ve forgiven, and I continue to forgive, but in that moment it was as though I felt forgiveness a little more than I ever have. I felt sorrow over my own failings and the ways I’ve hurt him over the years. And I felt deep grief for where his heart has gone.

I don’t know what it all means. I don’t know that it means anything. But I don’t want to forget it.

So I’m bringing the stones.

I’m building an altar.

And I’m saying “X marks the spot.”

Because God showed up.

And I was there.

And this one…? This one I’m going to remember.

Would you build an altar? Here in this sacred shared space?
I would love to hear a God-moment you don’t ever want to forget it.

sleep

“Sleep good,” my friend called from her bedroom doorway.

“Sleep well,” her daughter replied.

Instantly — before I could even take a breath– the words flooded to the forefront of my mind. Right on cue, they were all I could hear.

“Sleep however you want.”

That’s what my husband would always say. And though I haven’t heard it, or even thought it, in a very long time, it crept up on me tonight. It took me by surprise and left me with tears. And a smile.

For all the hell the past few years have been, my ten-year marriage had a lot of good in it. And I am grateful for those memories, those instinctual thoughts, that still come. Though they sting, and though I am tired of tear-stained cheeks, there are some things I hope I never forget.

Sleep however you want.

Sleep however you want.

velveteen heart

I remember so vividly our Sunday morning routine when I was a child. There was screaming and fighting and swatting and tears.

Always tears.

Like an unseen bully, the volatile tension would follow us into the car, its presence thick and heavy and loud.

I’d hold my breath, and silently beg for a ceasefire. The words “please stop” would turn over and over in my mind. All the way to church.

And as we pulled into the parking lot, there came the inevitable instruction: “You better put a smile on your face before we get inside.”

I’d do my best to dry my tears. Wipe my snot. Calm my blotchy skin. With my plastic smile crookedly in place, we’d walk into church. Together. A happy family.

And so I learned to live a double life.

I don’t have much of a poker face — my eyes always give me away — so I tried my best to be invisible. In the church foyer, I’d scurry away from my family as soon as I could. I’d walk close to the wall, stick to the outskirts of the crowd, avoid eye contact. And when I inevitably still heard my mom’s voice from across the room — “Oh, praise the Lord!” — I’d recoil inside. I’d roll my eyes, let out a groan, and inwardly seethe with resentment.

I wanted to scream; I wanted to run and hide. I hated feeling like a genuine fake. But somehow I knew that exposed truth would hurt more than hidden truth. Besides, who could I possibly tell? And how would I ever find words that could explain?

So I became good at remaining unseen. Master of the phrase “I’m fine”. Proficient at simply being quiet. Skills I still excel at, even though I am desperate for different…

And so I live in the tension of my love/hate relationship with authenticity.

I despise artificiality, yet I find it strangely comfortable. I crave transparency, yet I cower away from it. I so deeply long for authenticity, but I am scared to death of being laid bare.

So I learned to be authentic in past tense. To speak of what I’ve overcome, how much I’ve changed, what I used to struggle with. But past tense authenticity isn’t really authenticity at all, is it? The present tense, bare-boned kind is vulnerable and exposing. Naked, with nowhere to hide. Just me, broken and battered.

Deep down, I want to be Velveteen-Rabbit real: threadbare and worn, and loved even more for it.

But I despise my own frayed edges, torn limbs, matted fur, missing whiskers. Afraid that if anyone really saw me for who I am, there’s no way they would love me… There’s no way they could love me…

Sigh…

In an attempt at present-tense authenticity, I don’t have a red bow to wrap this all together with. I don’t have a grace-lined ending or some nugget of Scripture that ties this all neatly together. Just an honest confession of my constant struggle to be really real.

And I keep thinking about that stuffed bunny who became real because he was deeply loved. And how I want the opposite to be true of me.

I want to be deeply loved because I am real.

Maybe not so much despite my flaws and failures and shortcomings… but because of them.

[Originally posted at Deeper Story...]

*photo credit

it’s done

I never imagined this moment would come at all. I certainly never thought it would play out like this.

By myself.

In a Kinko’s.

I print out the paperwork my attorney emailed me, and I just stare at it. With trembling fingers, I pick up the pen, and still… I just sit here. Aware of each breath. Fighting tears—and losing. Unable to swallow.

I read and re-read the letters on the page, trying to wrap my mind around the legal jargon. I worry there’s something I’m missing or misunderstanding. So I read and re-read again. And then… I just sit here. I sit here and stare. Motionless, save for the uncontrollable trembling in my fingers. And my legs. Yeah, they’re jittering as well.

I sigh.

I brace myself, steeling for the inevitable. I hold my breath as I put ink to paper… and sign. Painfully. Heart-brokenly. Yet peacefully…

Tears stream down my face and I try to make sense of this collision of emotions. There’s a deep unspeakable ache… and an overwhelming sense of relief. Neither stronger than the other, these emotional opponents are equally matched. Pain and peace, dancing together to the somber music of my heart.

It’s done.

And yet deep, deep down I know…

It’s just beginning.

 

taking shape

[click the image to see it larger]

You know what that is?

It’s not just a random mish-mosh of words.

They are your words. Our words.

Those are the One Words of our community.

And there’s just something amazing and beautiful to me about seeing them all together like that.

Together.

Just like we are.

How is your One Word shaping you?

eyes wide open

I’m living life with my eyes wide open this year.

Okay, if I’m being most honest—I’m trying to.

Sometimes.

Other times, it just feels too hard. Because I don’t like what I see. Because it leaves me with more questions than answers. Because it’s blurry and I crave clarity.

But sometimes… I get it right.

I force myself to look closely, and I see unexpected glimpses of His grace.

I see Him in the mail I open, filled with love from miles away. He shows up in hot frothy beverages, snow-capped mountains, a solid night of sleep. I spot Him in the soft, cozy blanket that keeps me company on a sick day. I catch His smile in the faces of my friends and in the music that makes me dance without even thinking about it.

He is here.

I see Him.

And He shows Himself to me so uniquely, so perfectly, so just-for-me, that I know… He sees me.

He sees me.

He. Sees. Me.

That puts a whole new perspective on my looking. It shifts my heart from seeking a God who is far-off to looking for Him in the most personal details of my life. It reminds me that He cares about my small things.

So today… Today I am definitely living with my eyes wide open.

I want to see the One who sees me.

 

Where have you unexpectedly seen Him lately?

start again

I haven’t not blogged for this long since before I started blogging. Five years ago.

It’s partially freeing and partially frightening. It’s comfortable… which is why I think it scares me.

It suddenly feels like hard work to enter back into a blogging groove. I feel all this pressure — that I know is only self-imposed — but still… I feel this pressure to write something of value, consistently. And until I know I can pull that off, I shouldn’t bother starting up again.

But I realized today that I will never feel like I consistently have something worth saying. Because, to be honest, I’ve never felt that way. And I certainly didn’t when I started. I just kind of… began.

Sometimes it takes more courage for me to start again than to start at all.

So this is me, taking courage. This is me, starting again.

Without promise or pressure… Just me.

Just like I’ve only ever done.