Reminders

I am visiting my oldest friend, Nicole, in California this weekend.

We've been friends for 15 years and don't see each other as much as I'd like.

This is what I love about being with Nicole:

We never have to explain anything.

We've been friends for so long and with such intensity, that we can connect in a breath.

When we were younger we would cry over our tormented lives together. We were incredibly melodramatic and obsessed with anything heartbreaking.

Although we were weird, we were also incredibly sensitive and in tune with what is Spiritual.

Our experience of God and life was beautifully woven.

Since then we have both experienced painful and debilitating things.

And when we are together, and we remember who we have been and what has led us to this more fearful existence, something loosens.

The tight grip I have on my life is almost powerless...

Because I connect to the freedom I once had to just BE.

She is my altar of what was.

Her presence reminds me of who I have been and of who I wanted to be.

I am thankful for the chance to look back and let the memories affect me again.

I am thankful for the chance to look back and be so thankful for the decisions that I DIDN'T make; boyfriends I didn't marry; places I didn't go.

We are who we are.

All of us.

Our lives are always full of turns and upheavals.

Hopefully, we all have someone who has seen the weird, melodramatic versions of ourselves, and can still connect to the heart underneath that teenage angst.

This is the power of an altar; of a remembrance.

There is freedom in being reminded of who we have been and of what has led us to who we are now.

It is like taking a full breath; feeling the fullness of your lungs and holding it there for a moment.

Just being in a space of expansion and bursting for as long as you can hold it.

And then exhaling.

That breath rushes away and it is gone forever.

There is freedom in your exhale; in emptying your lungs.

This weekend is a purging breath for me.

I am full to overflowing of memory; of reflection.

When I go home I will exhale and the poignancy of my remembrance will rush from my lungs.

And I will be cleansed by this full breath.

I will be more centered.

I will be more connected.

I will be more truthful.

And I will be reminded to stop and breath through my memories more often.

I will be reminded to be thankful for what has carried me here.

Jesus.

Jesus.

Jesus.

Jesus.

I Am Peter

I'm standing on fountains and waves of moments.

Beneath my feet is a sheet of glass.

The world is so transparent and clear...

I can see through it.

And that is what is frightening.

This ocean of life is trembling underneath me.

And, though clear, it is deep.

Though I stand over it,

It rises up under me.

Dark skies sit on top of me.

Wind, like a hurricane, beats against me from every side.

Fear, like a beast, grips my throat.

I choke on my humanity.

I cannot take one more step.

I cannot face the consequences of slipping through the sheet of glass.

The clear water below laps over my feet and asks for my life.

Who I have been, Who I am, dances and glides through the depths below.

My blood rushes through my veins like the hurricane over my body.

All I can hear is my heart pounding in my ears.

And then You whisper.

It's not that the wind grows silent or my fear dormant.

It's just that you whisper.

As you have been whispering.

It's the wind that carries your voice into my soul.

The sound is sweet and the words are tender,

"Your faith is fragile...."

"Don't you know who I Am yet?"

And then it seems silly that I am frightened by the massive ocean of life beneath me.

It seems small that I am bullied by the wind.

When this is actually nothing for you.

Why shouldn't the One who formed every drop of water command it to be firm beneath my feet?

Storm or no storm, I stand.

On a sheet of glass or thick concrete, I walk.

Blinded by tears or embraced by glory, I live.

Strong or weak, I breath.

I breath.

It's All Connected

This morning I woke up and forced myself to practice yoga.

I've had horrible allergies all week and anything physical has been torture, but i was determined to connect today.

Part of my lack of energy is coming from my disconnection to God and to my own breath.

So, I plopped down on a mat in the yoga room with my Bible and randomly selected a verse to meditate on.

But there is nothing random in the Spirit of God.

Isaiah 32:17

"The fruit of righteousness will be peace;
the effect of righteousness will be quietness and confidence forever."

I felt fragmented and disconnected through my entire practice and even since then.

But when I had finished I looked up the Hebrew definitions.

"The work that creates the right way will be wholeness; the labor and task of the right way will be rest, silence, calmness, safety and security."


And I've been chewing on those words all day. They keep rolling around in my head; striking at the little pieces of my existence. Everything that is fragmented in me has been pulling on the hope of wholeness.

About an hour ago I was in the backyard cleaning up dog poop (cause that's life people).

I was suddenly aware of how beautiful the day was.

So, I set aside my hard work and grabbed my mat.

I unrolled it on the patio by the pool and I practiced.

No, I mean I really practiced.

My mind connected to my body; my body connected to my breath; my breath connected to my spirit.

My heart opened towards the warmth of the sun and I was overwhelmed by the vastness and beauty of creation.

Have you ever noticed how huge and open the sky is?

No, have you ever stopped to look at it?

Have you ever been so caught up in the power and ability of the One who actually formed the sky; sculpted every tree; breathed into the clouds sweeping the sky; built the mountains with a Word; and placed us - small, and tiny, and fragile - in the very midst of it?

It was in this beautiful and surrendered moment that I caught the depth of Isaiah's words.

The way to wholeness and rest and silence and calmness and safety and security is the Right Way; THE WAY.

The Right Way is God's Way.

And the way to doing the right thing; to being connected to God, is in wholeness, rest, silence, calmness, safety and security.

This is utter dependence.

This is us - human, fragmented and disconnected.

This is a choice.

This is sitting still instead of rushing around.

This is meditating on the Word of God; waiting for the breeze of His response to awaken our dry and broken hearts.

This is simply breathing.

And breathing to the glory of God.

THIS is our work - to choose the Right Way; to allow ourselves to be humbled and corrected; to choose others over ourselves; to choose love over self defense; to choose hope over despair; to look into the eyes of the forgotten and despised with mercy and an outpouring of acceptance.

This is our challenge - let's be still and calm.

Let's pursue nothing short of wholeness.

Let's make our life's work the Right Way.

And let's all do it together; connected.

Mind to Body.

Body to Breath.

Breath to Spirit.

I Am Weak

But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.

2 Corinthians 12:9



I am weak.

It's just who I am.

I am weak in a lot of ways.

I am physically weak.

I hate to run (although when I was younger I LOVED to run).

I hate to sweat, so I despise physical activity in the summer (or in Alisa's holy yoga classes - I have no idea WHY she likes to make the room a sauna).

I don't like moving the furniture around when it's time for a change.

It's too much pushing and pulling.

I would rather sit and meditate.

I would rather sleep.

I am also emotionally weak.

I am frail.

I'm this tiny little whisper of a breath.

One little push and I'm over the edge.

I feel things in the very depths of my soul.

I will mourn and tangle myself up over any loss, on any level - even if it is not my own.

But this is why I am strong:

I will do it anyway.

I force myself to keep moving because it is good for me.

I move the furniture when I am the only one here because it has to be done.

And when I am grieving and tormented I will look my sorrow in the face and let it come.

I am very, very emotional.

Most women are.

And I am glad for it.

I'm glad that I can be so easily tripped.

It reminds me that I am still pressing my feet into the earth.

I am human, and alive, and breathing, and full of soul.

I am glad that I make myself push my body.

It reminds me to honor the life that God has created in me.

I am glad that I am weak.

It means that I can never propel myself into holiness.

It means that I can never be my own god.

And it means that I will never have to bear the weight of my humanity.

So this is my heart's cry:

Find your weakness! Celebrate it.

Surrender it.

Find joy in conquering it to the glory of God.

Be glad that we are weak.

And that He is strong.

Be glad that his invitation is to the weak and to the thirsty.

"Come."

"Drink."

"Be filled."

We Know The Way

This morning my daughter went next door to my parent's house for breakfast and I sat out on the front porch with my 14 month old son, Judah.

We ate breakfast.

We marveled over the neighborhood cat strolling past our yard.

We laughed.

He chattered away in his baby language.

I was completely overwhelmed with the beauty of the moment.

The weather was perfect and fresh.

There were sounds of life everywhere.

It was so simple and so serene.

I was, again, reminded to just BE.

So, as it is now my "mantra", I leaned my head back and whispered, "not my way, God, but your's."

I am full to bursting with joy.

With love.

Love is everywhere.

It's like winter disappeared in the middle of the night and springtime is suddenly everywhere.

It is powerfully real.

And then my little man stood up from his little chair, waved his pudgy hand at me and said, "ba" (which means "bye").

He set off down the sidewalk towards the street and I stood up to follow him.

I was curious to see if he knew where he was going.

He would walk a few steps and stop to turn and look at me, as if he were thinking, "why are you following me? I said bye."

I followed him all the way down the sidewalk and across the prickly grass in my parent's front yard.

He walked straight to their front door and looked up at me as if to say, "Well? Are you going to open the door or what?"

This may sound like just a silly little story, but it was actually very moving to me.

Judah knew the way.

Somehow, he knew the way to his grandparent's house.

He wasn't afraid of leaving me behind or of being alone on his little journey.

He just knew that he was headed to a place where he is loved.

He must have thought of them and immediately set out.

It didn't occur to him to wait, or to ask, or to be afraid.

Judah knew what path would take him to love and he just took it.

How often in my life have I thought of the One who loved me and let fear or uncertainty keep me from running into His arms?

The Way is so simple.

It's not complicated.

But I don't always follow my heart's first instinct - to just wave goodbye and place my feet on the sidewalk that will lead me there.

Because I am so surrounded by love right now, it humbles me to wonder how long this joy has been available to me.

If I were more like Judah I may have found my way to love before now.

So, today, I am going to be like my little Judah.

Today, I'm just going to go where love leads me.

I'm going to let it pull on my heart and draw me straight into peace and hope.

I'm going to go where I'm loved.