push.
Brené Brown says it best:
“Faith isn’t an epidural. It’s a midwife who stands next to me saying, ‘Push. It’s supposed to hurt.’“
THIS.
This is what I wish I’d learned in church growing up. This is what I now know the faith-journey to be. And yet this flies in the face of the breed of Christianity I was raised in.
Faith was a balm. Salvation was a rescue plan. Jesus was a Savior from all things hard and uncomfortable and icky.
And then life happened.
And I discovered none of that was true.
Jesus didn’t come to immunize me against pain or grief or heartache.
He didn’t wrap me in bubble wrap and send me on my holy way, safe from harm and hurt. He didn’t say I wouldn’t (or—gasp!—shouldn’t) grieve, be uncomfortable, battle illness, or face insurmountable hardship. He didn’t promise that things would be easy or fair or fun.
What He did was assure me that I would never be alone.
God came down to the messy hell-hole that this life can be and chose to sit in it with me. He’s right here, sitting cross-legged beside me in the dirt.
He’s not trying to fix anything. He’s not spouting platitudes—”Let go, and let Me. I’ll work all things together for good.”—{GAH!}—or even trying to make sense out of the senseless. He’s just being present with me. Holding my hand and my heart. And assuring me I don’t have to do this alone.
I’m not spared. I’m held.
When I stop looking for Him to deliver a wonderdrug or bippity-boppity-boo me into a blessed life, I’m able to recognize the gift of His simple presence. His simple, powerful, heart-strengthening, more-than-enough presence right here with me.
Push.
It’s supposed to hurt.
And then I realize what it means to love like He does. What it means to be Christ to you as you face your own darkness and grief.
It doesn’t mean pretending to have answers or presuming I can fix things. It certainly doesn’t mean telling you what you should or shouldn’t be doing.
It means simply being willing to sit in the pain and discomfort with you. And just be.
What I can do is assure you that you won’t be alone while you push.
in my after life
My life today looks drastically different than it did 5 years ago. I don’t mean in the sense of growing older and the natural progression of life and circumstances. I’m talking about huge, radical changes—like living on a different continent with a new future after the old one disappeared like a shaken up Etch-a-Sketch drawing.
The enormous chasm of a three-year hell has left my life unavoidably split into Before and After.
photo credit: jeremy roof
Swallowed up in The Chasm is a pile of hopes and dreams, a life I once lived, and relationships lost. And part of my new After life is a grief that will always linger close. Grief not only for what was lost and what will never be, but also for the bankruptcy of those who’ve known me on both sides of The Chasm. So many people in my life now didn’t know me “back then”. They only know my now-stories (however few and far between) of life in Africa, as a wife, as a missionary.
I miss being known wholly.
My past, my journey, my loves and losses and joys and sorrows—all of it—are still the fabric of who I am, regardless of how different I may be in my After life. Even when it’s hard for me to see it. The shortage of others who can recognize that as well somehow makes it easier for me to forget.
I got an unexpected note from an old friend recently. She was, like me, a ministry Founder, pouring her heart and soul into the soil of hearts in Southern Africa. She, unlike me, still is. And she sent me a message out of the blue that basically said, “I still see you. You still matter to me. I believe in you and am proud of you. And your life still has value and purpose, though different.”
Reading it, the tears flowed.
She knew me in my Before life—young me, back when my eyes were filled with passion and vision and fire.
She knew that me—the me I now feel such a fraction of. And, with written words and photographs, she has followed my journey through The Chasm into my After, and she still sees me despite all the differences. She sees congruencies where I see only contrasts.
Reading it again, the tears washed away some of the blur.
With fresh eyes, I can now see that my life is not Before then After. It is Before and After.
Once again, I am forced to live in the tension of the ampersand. Not one or the other, but both. I am the sum total of it all, even here and now in my very much After life.
The same is true for you—no matter what your journey has held, how your story has played out, or how deep The Chasm has been. You are not the product of one isolated portion of it. You are the grand, courageous, magnificent, formidable total of it all.
That “and” means you and I are stronger than we think.
on his affair being my fault
The conversation started with, “Why do you think he had an affair?”
Between a string of “I don’t know”s, I spoke of it not being the first time… of the strains of ministry leadership… of a pattern that had been modeled for him… of the hardships in our marriage… of the choices that, one by one, little by little, led down a slippery slope. Her pursed lips and nodding head let me know it wasn’t the answer she was looking for, even before she reworded her question.
“How do you think you contributed to his affair?”
I swallowed hard and blinked back tears, to no avail. They were quickly streaming down my face.
… … …
Grab a cup of coffee and
join me over at Deeper Story
to read the rest >>
sterkte
Sterkte.
It’s one of my favorite South African-isms.
Its an Afrikaans expression used when someone is facing a challenging or difficult situation, or are about to embark on something that makes them nervous or anxious. The closest phrase we have in English would be ‘Good luck,’ but that comes nowhere close to capturing it. At all.
Sterkte.
It literally means, simply, ‘Strength’.
It’s used to wish someone the strength to persevere whatever hardship they are experiencing or whatever nerve-wracking situation they are facing.
It’s used to call out the strength you already see in someone’s heart, even when they can’t see it or feel it themselves.
It’s used to infuse strength by affirming that you believe in them and their ability to keep moving forward, by the grace of God.
That’s why ‘Good Luck’ would never suffice as a substitute.
Sterkte speaks courage.
Builds hope.
Demonstrates not-alone-ness.
And today, sweet Gritty family, it is all I have to offer to you.
Sterkte.
{guest post} when God doesn’t give you what you asked for
If you don’t know my friend Ally Vesterfelt, you need to. She is genuine and passionate, and a beautifully honest writer. She’s also the managing editor of Prodigal Magazine, one of my favorite corners of the Internet. I appreciate the ways Ally embraces the “grit” in life and invites God to meet her there.
:: :: ::
This last year I prayed big.
It started because I read a book by Mark Batterson called The Circle Maker. The thought of praying the way he prayed (persistently, for specific things) had never really occurred to me.
Usually, I liked to keep my prayers small and manageable.
I didn’t want it to seem like I was being greedy or anything.
But when I read Batterson’s book I started to see how praying for things I actually wanted (regardless if they were big or small) wasn’t being selfish, it was just being honest — and being honest was what prayer was really about, a dynamic, authentic conversation with God.
So my prayers went from being really “spiritual” all the time to sometimes not-so-much.
I would pray for things like a second bookshelf to house my growing collection. I would pray for warm weather for an outdoor picnic with my husband. I would pray for friendship with a person in a similar stage of life.
Maybe that sounds elementary, but for me it was ground-breaking.
Shocking, actually.
I would pray for a specific need to be met by a specific day, and sure enough, it would be. Or I would pray for something that wasn’t a need, that was just a luxury, and many times I would get the gift I had asked for.
But there was one prayer I prayed that wasn’t answered.
Granted, it was a big prayer. A little far-fetched even. One of those that, when you write it down, you think to yourself: I’d like to see you take on this one, God.
The request had to do with a specific financial debt I owed. I wanted it to be paid off by the end of the year.
So I wrote down the prayer and the specific number, just as I had been doing before. I started making payments whenever I had extra cash, or money left over in a particular budget. For a while, I was really vigilant about it. I prayed about it every day, and the energy to conquer the debt consumed my mind.
But after a few months the prayer slipped to the back of my journal, and while I did occasionally pray that the debt would be paid by the date I had set, I didn’t think about it with nearly the conviction I had when I first started.
So when the end of the year came, and the debt wasn’t paid off, I cringed a little.
Not because God hadn’t given me what I had asked for, but because He had reminded me that,
while He is a God who hears me and cares about what I want, he has something as much to teach me by saying “no” as he does by saying “yes.”
I know this, but sometimes I live like I don’t know it.
In fact, sometimes I think this is what kept me from praying “big” prayers in the first place. I was worried that if I didn’t say it right, or if my heart wasn’t in exactly the right place, I would never get what I asked for.
And when I act like prayer is about getting what I ask for, I miss the point altogether.
It’s okay to want something (even admit we want it) and still not have it.
The second thing I learned was that, when it comes to what I have and what I don’t have, I am a co-creator with God. God has more resources than I do, more grace, more wisdom, and far more patience — but I can’t expect Him to answer prayers I am not willing to answer myself.
I have to be willing to make the sacrifices, fork over the cash, go visit the friend, reach out to the person in need, stay up all night working —
All the while praying for God to fill in the gaps.
Many times in my life God has answered prayers i didn’t know how to pray, or that I couldn’t have dreamed up in a million years. Other times I have begged him for things, laid everything on the line, and he has said “no,” or worse, been silent.
There is no reward/payoff system, no formula we can use to make prayer “work,” for us, to help get us what we want.
But I think that’s actually the point I’m trying to make.
That prayer is its own reward, and that as my prayers change, I change with them.
And for now that is enough.
:: :: ::
How do you handle God’s “no”s or silences?
the best gift
I thought nothing could be more incredible than meeting the kids I sponsor through Food for the Hungry.
In July, I had the incredible privilege of traveling to Ethiopia with FH to see firsthand the work they are doing there. The whole trip was amazing and insightful — truly mind-blowing to see the depth and breadth of the transformative work FH is engaged in.
And the icing on the cake was getting to meet my kidlets.
Chaltu was so shy. I think the barrage of “whiteys” intimidated her a bit — understandably.
But she warmed up when se opened the small gifts I brought her. Nothing like Lip Smackers and pink sunglasses to get a girl to open up.
Chaltu’s mom was overjoyed by the visit, and continually expressed how thankful she is for the support of Food for the Hungry.
Nathinael was playing in the street when I met him. After quick, tight hugs, he led me inside his home. He showed me which bed mat was his and which was his grandma’s.
Nathinael was vibrant and engaging — he has such a sweet and joyful disposition, which stood in stark contrast to the drab one-room mud hut he calls home. Our visit went by far too quickly. I could’ve talked with that kid for ages.
And then there was Akliku.
I had chosen to sponsor him because of his cautious smile and inquisitive eyes — and also because of his age. At 16, I figured he was typically overlooked for younger, “cuter” kids. He had already been waiting for sponsorship for almost 2 years.
Because of his education level, Akliku’s English allowed us to fully engage in conversation in a way I hadn’t been able to with my younger kids. He told me about his love of soccer, his favorite subject at school (math), and about the impact FH is having in his life. It was my favorite visit simply because of how easily, naturally, and comfortably we were able to interact.
Fast forward 5 months.
I got Christmas cards from each of my sponsored kids. And when I read Akliku’s, my breath caught in my throat.
Did you catch that? “I learned about Jesus in Bible.”
My heart was overwhelmed with joy and gratitude, and I was more humbled and proud than ever to support the work of Food for the Hungry.
They gave me the best gift I could imagine by sharing Jesus with my sweet Ethiopian kidlets… And Aklilu got to hear the Good News before he aged out of sponsorship eligibility. My heart is full!
Join me in sponsoring a child >>
What’s the best gift you’ve received lately?
{All photos by David Molnar}
write now
Sometimes — more often than I’d like to admit — that old crazy-making feeling comes back.
And I feel as though I must be crazy because there’s no other explanation possible.
I must’ve done something wrong. I must’ve messed up somewhere. I wonder what I did to upset them? Hurt them? Cause them to treat me differently?
When I can’t figure out the answers — even when I ask — then I’m left with that age-old sense that I must just be crazy. It’s all in my head, I guess.
And now I’m forced to reconcile that with this whole “I am enough” thing. And I find it impossible to believe in my enoughness when I feel crazy.
Because crazy trumps everything, you know?
Or does it?
Even if I am crazy, am I not still enough?
Dang. That’ll get me thinking…
This post feels like an infinity pool — no clear end in sight. So all I can say is the same as always — I have no answers. No conclusions. No cloud-lifting “a-ha!” moments. Just a wrestling and a commitment to stay in the tension rather than run from it.
Crazy or not, here I come.
landing planes
{photo credit: josemanuelerre via photopin cc}
“The thing about big projects is that they tend to be less like one, giant to-do list, and more like landing planes – lots of planes – jet liners, twin prop Cessnas, helicopters – that just keep coming.
With large projects there are always things flying through the air that you must carefully place on the ground.
Some planes need to be coordinated one at time, and others come at you all at once. Some come down nice and easy, and some have turbulent landings.
The thing about landing planes, however, is that you never really feel ‘finished’ in the same way you do after checking everything off your to-do list, because you know that there is always another plane on the horizon.
Airports donʼt shut down and neither do big projects.
The planes just keep coming.
After auditions, you have to figure out wardrobe. Once you have the wardrobe finished, you need to walk everyone through their paces. Once youʼre on set, everyone needs to be directed. And then once you start you shooting, you realize all the changes you need to make.
Plane after plane after plane.
For a long time I felt defeated by the onslaught of planes. It seemed like nothing was ever really getting done.
And if by some off chance I was beginning to feel like I could breathe again, or like we were actually getting somewhere, inevitably some other problem would occur.
And then I thought,
This is the creative process, stop complaining! Itʼs messy! Itʼs rarely mappable! It is always dynamic and ever-changing!
Obviously you make plans, but factors outside of your control change all the time. Locations fall through. People donʼt deliver. Life happens.
So instead of holding my breath until ‘things are done,’ Iʼm starting to breathe while Iʼm ‘doing the things.’
I do my stretches and I turn into an air traffic controller. I do it with joy and excitement because, Iʼm getting to land planes!
As Seth Godin says, we should be so lucky as to be people who get to solve interesting problems.
Landing planes means weʼre not on the sideline of ideation but weʼre executing, which means weʼre getting closer to making our visions come to life.
It will always be hard, but it should also be fun.
Every landed plane deserves some kind of celebration.
Whether it be a quick toast or a high five, you absolutely must celebrate along the way.
One last thought on landing planes. As you put those puppies on the ground, know that you have a choice. Landing planes can be exhausting and defeating, OR it can be exciting and hopeful.
Each new plane coming your way can feel like itʼs driving you deeper into the ground of despair as you cry out, ‘No, not another one!’ Or, you can see these planes as yet another amazing chance for you to be better, to grow, to try, and to get you one step closer to making your dream a reality.
Breathe. Do your stretches. Donʼt freak out. Land those planes. Celebrate each one that hits the tarmac.
Then repeat, repeat, repeat.”
… … …
Above is my favorite excerpt from Blaine Hogan‘s book, Untitled. In ministry, I often felt exactly how he described—nothing ever really seemed “finished”. Each completion or victory would just bleed straight into the ongoing work that still needed to be done. I so appreciate Blaine’s challenge to breathe “while I’m doing the things” and to find ways to celebrate the accomplishments along the way. A good and timely word for my heart.
Anything stand out to you in this passage?
choose joy pendant
My heart is so full right now that my eyes are overflowing tears… There’s a bittersweet mixture of grief and joy in there, but if I’ve learned anything the past few years, it’s that both often reside together.
And no one modeled that for me better than my friend Sara. Despite illness, pain, and so much loss, she made the continual decision to choose joy. I’m not talking about a plastic facade of happiness. Sara had the kind of genuine joy that comes from the simple but oftentimes hard decision to trust that God remains in control even when everything is spiraling out of control.
In her life and also in her death, Sara taught me lifetimes’ worth about trusting Jesus, loving well, and choosing joy. I know she did the same for so many around the world. Being homebound only extended Sara’s reach, and thousands of people have continued to embrace and live out her mantra: Choose joy.
I’ve been working with the incredible artisans at Tag…You’re It Jewelry to create a custom pendant in Sara’s own handwriting. And I just got to see the finished product. What they came up with is beautiful and inspiring and completely Sara…
The pendant is formed from scratch out of precious metal clay; then stamped and fired in either bronze or silver. Its shape is organic and imperfect, and because they are handmade, each one is slightly different. Sara would love that subtle reminder of the beauty in our imperfections.
I’m so happy with the way these came out—such a beautiful token of Sara’s incredible life, legacy, and heart. And of course a constant reminder to choose joy.
Tag…You’re It is offering a 30% discount to Sara’s global community. Use the following coupon codes:
For 30% off the silver pendant: GITZENGIRLSILVER
For 30% off the bronze pendant: GITZENGIRLBRONZE
Visit Tag…You’re It‘s online store to place your order.
This one’s for you, Fritz…
hustling for worthiness
“As I conducted my research, I realized that only one thing separated the men and women who felt a deep sense of love and belonging from the people who seem to be struggling for it. That one thing is the belief in their worthiness.
It’s as simple and complicated as this: If we want to fully experience love and belonging, we must believe that we are worthy of love and belonging.
When we can let go of what other people think and own our story, we gain access to our worthiness—the feeling that we are enough just as we are and that we are worthy of love and belonging. When we spend a lifetime trying to distance ourselves from the parts of our lives that don’t fit with who we think we’re supposed to be, we stand outside of our story and hustle for our worthiness by constantly performing, perfecting, pleasing, and proving.”
