During one of many rambling conversations with my brother-in-law on his recent visit from Washington, we touched on the “ideal” body image of the 90’s. I have no idea what the context was and we quickly moved onto other topics, but the thought pricked my mind and I left a mental bookmark to revisit it later. When I had a chance to ponder it, I got really ticked off.
You see, I was born in 1973 and was coming of age in the 90’s. The heroin chic look was in. The models looked unhealthy and unhappy, yet it was called beautiful and there’s nothing I wanted more than to be beautiful. The problem was that I looked nothing like those models. My body was fairly healthy and strong, my face full, my eyes bright. Something had to change. And it did.
Eating disorders entered the picture. As did drugs. I got too thin. And miserable. My light dimmed. That was the goal right? But I felt eons away from being beautiful. Instead, I felt weary and worn, like a bag lady weathered beyond her years.
Thanks to God, I shook the disorders and the drugs. My health and happiness returned. But it wasn’t until my brother-in-law’s comment that I realized how much I’d been manipulated. Duped. Yes, to a severe degree when I was young, but also since then – with greater subtlety – by all the iterations of beauty in the intervening years that dictate how I should look to be acceptable. It is, no doubt, the reason that my immediate response to my tight shorts last week was “I’ve gotta do something about that!”
Before taking it one step further, I stopped abruptly and questioned my statement. “Do I really?” And for probably the first time in my life, the answer was no. My body is stronger than it has ever been. After years of needing sleeping pills, it is finally resting deeply on its own. The fatigue that has plagued me since high school seems to be losing its power. This body that I loathed and abused is not only, by some miracle, still standing but has become a valued partner to live life fully. An increasingly harmonious relationship has developed. So why on earth would I want anything but freedom for it to do its part well?
That’s what I’m coming to: Freedom as the goal. Learning to live from the inside out, rather than the outside in. It seems to me that as I deal with the inside stuff – like the lies I’ve accepted as truth and the fear that has driven that acceptance, the outside stuff – like my restrictive and excessive behaviors – will work themselves out. That internal reality will take an external shape. Whatever that body looks like… that’s the one I want.
I’ve never been too far removed from the unseemly parts of my history; the terrible choices I made and the way I nearly self-destructed. It is why I’m so incredibly grateful for the good things I now experience, like community and hope, which I never thought possible back then. What I often forget, though, is the oppressive darkness that filled that time and drove those choices. Every once in a while, I get a glimpse again, as an internal bully assaults me in a vulnerable moment, shoving a pointed finger in my chest while telling me things like I don’t belong and I never will. It is a gift, albeit an unlikely one, which I hope to explain in this post.
First of all, I need to provide some context. We all have tapes running in the background of our lives; belief systems through which we filter our experiences. Some are good; some are decidedly not. This is why two people can experience the same thing, say a public failure, with very different outcomes. One might walk away with their sense of identity intact and ideas for what they could do differently, if anything, next time (because there will be a next time), while another might slink away covered in shame, making an oath to avoid being exposed in that way again (because there will never be a next time, if they can help it).
I have generally fallen into the latter category. The overarching fear is that I am disqualified from participating in life because I’m dumb, not good at anything and – the real doozy that squashes any hope of change – incapable of learning. As you can imagine, this sort of mindset doesn’t create a whole lot of desire to jump in and try things, so for most of my life I stayed nicely hidden, avoiding exposure of my lack so I didn’t have to face the shame on the other side. If I could have made myself invisible, I would have. But over the years, God displaced so many lies with his truth and showed me so much love that my heart – and belief systems – started to heal. As a result, I’ve been able to experience life in community with a growing ability to try new, uncomfortable things.
One of those things was pickleball. It started as an ongoing joke with a friend that culminated in a lesson, which turned out to be so much fun that we dropped the joke and jumped in wholeheartedly. At about the same time, several close friends and a group of neighbors had also taken it up. We were all new and terrible. It was a blast. But as time went on, everyone started getting better, myself included. It was even more fun. But then everyone else got even better. A handful of the more competitive ones joined a league and played against higher level opponents, which refined their skills further. My attempts to improve just weren’t translating at the same pace (or sometimes at all). Fear started to rise that I was indeed inept and disqualified and incapable of learning – just like I’d always suspected. I would be left sitting in my shame because I had tried my best and failed.
This dialogue reached a fever pitch on Tuesday. Instead of hashing it out with God and getting lined up with truth as I have learned to do, I leaned into the whole sorry narrative and guess what? It got dark. Dark like it hasn’t been in a long time. I was angry with God for his unfair gifts to other people and full of self-pity for all the skills I don’t – and may never – possess. I felt the old tug toward avoidance and isolation: To quit the thing that was causing the discomfort and hide out.
It was an ugly place that gave me a renewed compassion for those who are struggling, as well as a desire to hightail it out of the darkness. And so I did. I wrapped myself up in God’s truth where peace and hope reside; where I will always belong. Not because I will ever get a single thing right or perform well, but because I am loved. In this place success is simply showing up as me. As I leaned away from my own understanding and into God’s, darkness fled because it couldn’t compete with his light.
The gift in this experience was that the tape that had been running quietly in the background, as if it belonged, exposed itself like a neon sign on a country road. Not only was I able to see it clearly, but I was able to acknowledge that it did not belong and that I wanted it gone. Had I not been learning to live with joy and vulnerability, along with their inherent risks, I would have missed this valuable opportunity for growth and ultimately for freedom where this bully no longer has power over me. I have no doubt it will raise its voice again and try to push me around as it’s accustomed to doing, but I don’t think I’m the kind of girl who likes being bullied anymore. And I’m pretty sure I’m going to push back.
There are no guarantees that I will ever excel at pickleball, which is totally fine and entirely besides the point. I will play with joy and cheer my friends on as they improve. Not only that, but I’m going to continue to explore all the things my heart desires in this great big world, and I will learn – to live wholeheartedly, vulnerably and without shame.
“…and giving joyful thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of his holy people in the kingdom of light.” Colossians 1:12
Last weekend, we went to Mexico with our church to help build a house for a family of five who needed a permanent shelter. The family had purchased the land the home would be built on and we, alongside a local nonprofit, brought the materials and helping hands. It was an incredibly modest house by our standards – more like an exalted shed – with a foundation and electricity, but no plumbing, bathroom, kitchen or other luxuries we would consider essentials. And yet, based on the gratitude of the family, you’d think we were bequeathing them a mansion with a fenced in yard and a pool. Or at least a working toilet.
The trip was such an amazing experience for us. The people we went with, the ones we worked alongside and those we met along the way were all the kind of people that give you hope for this world. The joy of the Mexican kids, though, is what really captured me. They were thrilled with the new set of playmates, kids and grownups alike, who were happy to kick a soccer ball, do some crafts or swing a jump rope. There was so much I wanted to ask them so I could learn about their lives and interests but, alas, my Spanish was sorely lacking and created a divide that frustrated my attempts to connect in a more meaningful way.
I came home with every intention of going back for another build (well, mostly to hang out with the kids), but not without first learning a whole lot more Spanish so I can wholly engage and connect with their hearts. I’ve begun searching out resources and drawing up a mental plan to reach my goal and am also pondering the possibility of volunteering locally with Spanish-speaking kids at some point to test and improve my conversational skills. Learning Spanish has been a goal for quite some time and it hasn’t yet happened, so there are no guarantees, but having a motivation that comes from love rather than simply checking off an accomplishment might provide the necessary fuel that has been missing thus far.
As I was processing all of this, I couldn’t help but think of Jesus who came to this earth to share our language of humanity so he could connect with us. Our poverty did not diminish his view of our worth. It didn’t matter that he had to leave the comforts of heaven to be with us. It was in love that he pursued us and with joy that he encountered us. And yet what he imparted goes so far beyond a physical covering. It is a place of belonging and acceptance. A place of hope and shelter from the darkness of this world. A place filled not with electricity and plumbing, but with the brightness of his life and rivers of water pouring out so freely from his Spirit that our cups and pitchers and buckets can’t contain it. These kids carried this kind of water in a way that made me thirsty for it. I hope that I can go back and ask for a drink from their cups… in their language… and offer them a drink from mine.
On the last day, the climax of the festival, Jesus stood and shouted to the crowds, “Anyone who is thirsty may come to me! Anyone who believes in me may come and drink! For the Scriptures declare, ‘Rivers of living water will flow from his heart.’” John 7:37-38
I was feeling stuck in some old habits that kept me heading down the same old path to the same old vices when faced with emotional or physical discomfort. Volumes of journals chronicle the ongoing saga that could make my life look like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day in which he is stuck on repeat in the same day, trying his darndest to make things happen but failing to produce the desired outcome.
In the midst of that stuckness, I practiced my new habit of brutal honesty with God in which I tell him the very unvarnished version of what I am thinking and feeling, ask him how he sees it and then listen to what he has to say. Initially, I didn’t hear anything (and by that, I don’t mean audible words I can actually hear; more like a knowing in my heart), but I wasn’t really expecting any grand response and that was fine. I figured I’d keep the dialogue open and he could tell me what I needed to hear at the right time.
A short bit later, after a fairly taxing weekend, I had a conversation that got me riled up. It was with a friend I love whose personal narrative seemed lacking in honesty, the fallout of which affects other people I love. I took a walk to process and pray, and then handled the situation to the best of my ability, which could probably have used a far more gentle and less clumsy touch. After wrapping things up and walking away, I said aloud to myself, “I need a drink!,” believing with full conviction that I had earned one.
Immediately, the Lord spoke into my heart. “Are you being honest with yourself?” I stopped dead in my tracks as I saw my heart laid bare before me in a moment of profound revelation. There was absolutely no condemnation, but the truth was clear: My personal narrative has been based on a false premise. The foundational lie is that I don’t have what I need to face whatever is at hand. Believing this has created a sense of victimhood, which always requires someone to blame, and justifies any need to self-medicate.
Depending on the situation, the blame can fall in a few different directions. 1) Against God: That He made me wrong or has withheld something from me that I need to do life well. 2) Against myself: That I have somehow disqualified myself from God’s help and am on my own to handle things. 3) Against other people and/or circumstances: That things beyond my control have forced me into choices I otherwise wouldn’t make. The reasoning naturally follows that I am a victim and can therefore justify whatever choices follow.
But the Truth is that there are no victims in the kingdom of God. He didn’t make a mistake when he formed us and he has withheld no good thing that we need to do life well. There is nothing that we can do to disqualify ourselves from his help and goodness, because he’s the one who qualified us in the first place and willnever demand otherwise. While we may have no control over other peoples’ choices that affect us or the circumstances that surround us, God has promised provision for everything we will ever face, using even the most difficult trials to demonstrate his love and power – and to set us free. Which brings us back to the Truth that there are no victims in God’s kingdom.
I think it’s important to note that I wasn’t intentionally being dishonest (and neither was my friend). I would have vouched for the veracity of my narrative based on a bulging file of evidence collected over decades of experience, but believing something doesn’t make it true. If I want to get free, my own perceptions just aren’t going to cut it.
In Hebrews, Paul talks about the word of God being alive and powerful, separating our soul from our spirit with the sharpest edge, and exposing our innermost thoughts and desires… the ones we might not even realize are lurking there. Nothing in all creation, Paul continues, is hidden from God. He sees what we can’t. When he speaks and when we hear, we are able to see what had been hidden from us; what had been impeding our freedom. And then, empowered by the Holy Spirit, we can choose a new way.
The crazy part of this exchange was that the last thing I wanted that day – or for a few weeks after – was a drink. I felt liberated to live from the truest part of myself, which did not require self-medicating because it wasn’t sitting on top of the lie that said I deserved or needed it. I don’t expect this to be a one-and-done realization. This victim mindset has been with me for many decades. But I do believe it is an important shift; the kind that is changing my whole vantage point and causing me to want to lean in toward him and exchange more of my “truth,” which has never served me well for his, which has never failed me.
Today is Cole’s birthday. It is so hard to believe he would be 30. He has been gone for over 7 years and was away at the Navy for 4 years before that, so in some ways it feels like it’s been a lifetime. He didn’t have a chance to meet most of the people we’ve become so close to. Or our dog, whom he would have adored and lovingly teased for not being very bright. He didn’t have a chance to delight in the keen humor his little brother would develop as he grew. Or watch his sister graduate with her Ph.D. or poke fun at her boyfriends. He would never show up at this beautiful house we prayed and waited for, even though I had a dream that he did… in his navy blue peacoat with his suitcase in hand, ready to pick up where he left off, as if his absence had only been temporary; a misunderstood break.
I remember a patch of time when he’d been away at the Navy for a long while. I was missing him like mad and kept trying to get concrete information about when he would be able to come home, but he couldn’t say because he didn’t know. So I finally stopped trying to pin him down or put my hope in a particular timeframe. “I don’t know when, but I will see him again,” I told myself. And that was enough. That sweet knowledge wrapped its warm arms around my heart and held it tight.
The same truth holds my heart now as it did then. I may not know when, but I will see him again. All that we’ve missed together here will be made up in the blink of an eye. Because the reality is that time here is temporary, even for lives that aren’t cut short; barely a blip on the screen of eternity.
So today, Cole, I treasure the tender ache in my heart because it is where you belong, for now and always, and I wish you the sweetest of birthdays. I hope you know how much I love you and that I could not be more proud to be your mom.
Having taken a break this semester from the Bible study I was attending on Wednesday nights, Chase was missing his boy-only nights with John to watch Star Wars shows and eat ice cream. So one evening last week, I gave them some space and tucked myself away in my room to fold clothes and watch a movie I’d been putting off for a long while… The Biggest Little Farm.
If you haven’t seen it yet, I highly recommend it. Actually, you might want to go watch it before I give anything away… and then come back. It is about a couple, John and Molly Chester, and their dog, Todd, who move from a small apartment in the city to a barren 200 acre farm in the country, which they hope to turn into an organic biodiverse farm, thriving in harmony with nature. No big deal, right? Fortunately, they have a mentor to teach them the principles of regenerative farming and help them accomplish this task.
It takes months of stripping back elements that aren’t benefiting the land and putting necessary systems in place, at no small cost, before they can even begin planting trees and introducing animals. With their patience at last rewarded, it is thrilling to see things beginning to take shape with new life and all the hope and promise it holds. But for every bit of encouraging progress, there seems to be a discouraging setback, if not several.
One such duo of obstacles sticks out. A severe drought is preventing the flushing of duck droppings in the pond, leading to an algae bloom that is killing off life in the pond and posing a threat to the ducks themselves. “Another problem created by us,” John bluntly states. At the same time, a plague of snails descends upon the citrus grove, devouring leaves and directly thwarting the production of fruit. With their commitment to organic farming, pesticides are out, and their small army of helpers is no match for thousands upon thousands of snails. It is just at this time that Allan, their beloved mentor with a vision and a plan, passes away from an aggressive form of cancer. “This is overwhelming,” Molly laments.
It would accomplish nothing to complain about the setbacks, to ignore them or to wish them away. Instead, for every problem that arises, John learns to first step back and watch it. “Observation followed by creativity,” he says, “is becoming our greatest ally.” It isn’t too long until he figures out what ducks love even more than ponds: Snails. So the whole flock of ducks is moved to the orchard where they lay waste to the snails, consuming over 90,000 of them in a single season. Better yet, the droppings that were polluting the pond become life-giving fertilizer for the trees. The pond comes back to life and the citrus grove thrives as a result.
There are far too many spiritual lessons here to tackle in one blog post, but this story really tracks with what I am learning about life in God’s Kingdom: Problems and hardships aren’t meant to take something from us, but to impart something even better than we had before their arrival. They are the fertilizer that will cause our lives to thrive, which is probably why the Bible says to consider it pure joy when they come.
I’m sure that’s a stretch for most of us, but what if we take a note from John and Molly when problems arise? What if, instead of getting stuck in the futility of complaint, denial or envy, we step back and honestly observe what is going on? What if we lay our obstacles with all of their fallout and implications on the table and look at them without judgment? And throw all our known resources on there too? Here is where I depart from the story because we have a very living mentor in the Holy Spirit with the vision and plan to help us take the leap from observation to creativity… from problem to solution… from discouragement to joy. In walking out this process each time we face hard things, resilience, hope and wholeness will continue to grow and before you know it, we will have lives as beautiful and redemptive as Apricot Lane Farms.
It started with the head-on collision my family had when I was four. What was incredibly fortunate, especially since no one wore seatbelts back then and my mom was holding both an infant and a toddler, was that the injuries weren’t worse than my dad’s broken leg, a deep gash on my brother’s forehead and a bump on my own that remains to this day. A lengthy hiatus from car accidents followed…. until I learned to drive.
The very first week I got my license, I totaled my brother’s car (sorry, Christian!) and a year later, did the same to my own (which, for the record, wasn’t technically my fault). What followed was a string of fender-benders over many years, too many to remember really, as the cars in front of me halted too quickly for me to react. It’s hard to say if this was because I drove too fast, was perpetually late (and lost!) or drove crappy cars with inferior brakes, but whatever the cause, the result was a fair bit of damage and a whole lot of inconvenience.
The last accident I had was when I was pregnant with Chase, who is about to turn 13, so thankfully it’s been a good long while. The likely reason for this shift is that I now have a good car, drive like a grandma and ride my brakes like an over-eager jockey. The moment I see brake lights, whether they are one car length ahead – or twenty – I make sure I am nowhere near them. Not by a mile. I am not giving my car a chance in the world to slam into another.
My husband, John, is a very focused, conscientious driver who usually leaves plenty of time for travel, knows where he is going and gets there in a very reasonable fashion. His brakes are solid and his driving record is nearly flawless. One would think that I would feel extremely secure in the hands of such a capable driver and would rest easy when he is at the wheel. While that should certainly be the case, the reality is that I step into his car with baggage. Fear, to be precise. Of the brake lights ahead, flashing their evil grins at me, taunting me with their immediacy as John’s foot remains solidly on the gas without a trace of slowing down. My whole body tenses as I slam my foot on an imaginary brake and thrust my hand to the ceiling to brace myself for the inevitable crash; the crumpling metal and violent jolt I know so well; the silence that follows. But it never comes.
There was a time when I found his driving to be insensitive, unkind even. I thought that love would dictate that he alter his driving style to alleviate my fear. But the problem was never his driving. He is a good driver. He stops in plenty of time. He loves me well. The problem was that I was projecting my past experiences on him and misinterpreting reality.
I can’t say I’m now a super chill passenger who never overreacts, but I’ve gotten better (besides, who doesn’t close their eyes on the freeway like a little kid on a big roller coaster?). More importantly, I can see and acknowledge in those moments that fear is at the wheel of my heart, that it is never a good driver and that it can’t help but create a distorted lens through which current experiences and relationships are filtered. This is not the end of the story, because I am anticipating complete freedom from this fear, but it is a good start!
This whole train of thought got me wondering about how this idea translates to our relationship with God. I think it’s pretty likely that when we hop into his car, we bring baggage from past experiences. And it’s equally likely that this creates a significant distortion in the way that we perceive his heart and actions, making it easy for us to judge him as callous or unkind and, ultimately, as an unsafe driver at the wheel of our lives. If indeed the problem was never his lack of love or concern, but our own hurt and fear, then the kindest thing he could do is not to accommodate this growing pile of useless baggage, but to expose it as such so that we can stop lugging it around. And so we can rest easy when he is at the wheel because there is no safer place to be and no where better to go than the beautiful places he wants to take us.
After several years of trying to manage pool tiles that refuse to stay put, the pool company that installed them agreed to rip out the offending glass tiles and replace them with new, hopefully-more-durable porcelain tiles of our choosing. We happily headed out to check out our options and made a decision in record time. But giving a “final answer” is always hard for my non-committal self, so I figured I’d pop over to the tile store a second time to make sure there were no better options.
By the time I was ready to head out the door, it was mid-afternoon and closing time was quickly approaching. Already racing down the road, I asked Siri for directions and was told to turn left at the light. “Why on earth would I go the long way to the freeway when I’m in such a hurry??,” I thought. “So lame!” So I ignored the instructions and chose the quicker way, feeling very clever for outsmarting my ignorant technology.
Except, on that day and at that time, it was not the quicker way. Not only was the middle school getting out, creating a backup, but there was a fresh accident blocking off half of the road and creating additional chaos. I wove my way through some side streets, trying to make my way around all the offending cars without breaking (too many) traffic laws, and thankfully made it to the store before closing time. After choosing the very same tile we’d already agreed upon, it’s questionable whether the outing was even necessary, but I did learn a lesson about trusting my GPS to see a bigger picture than I can. There are no guarantees that this will translate to a smoother journey next time, especially since I don’t fall into the “quick learner” category, but one can always hope.
On the drive home, when I was feeling less rushed and enjoying the ride, I couldn’t help but think about getting to the destinations in life I’ve deemed important. I always want to get “there” quicker and often think I know how best to accomplish it. I definitely would have hustled my way right past my single mom role to become a married mom, rather than the journey of 14 years it took to get there. Despite my insistent urging for God to hurry it up, the many possible scenarios I provided to him (in case he was short on ideas) and the times I tried to create my own path, He saw the bigger picture and kept me on track. It turned out that the delay was essential for me to grow up, heal from some rough stuff and be ready for a lifelong partnership. I’m happy to report John was worth the wait! And the journey to get here was an adventure that bonded me to the Lord in the ways that only a long road trip can.
There have been other times when I was insistent on a destination, like the tile store, that turned out to be completely unnecessary. Fortunately God knows all that. He sees the big picture. He knows where we will get tripped up. He often lets us choose our own way so we can see it play out and acknowledge the limits of our humanity… and ultimately trust him to get us where we need to go at just the right time and in just the right way. But no matter where we go, how we get there or how many detours we encounter along the way, of one thing I am certain: Any road trip with the Lord is an adventure worth taking.
It’s been so long since I wrote a blog post, I’m not even sure I know how to do it anymore. But I really miss connecting in this way, so here I am, ready to try!
The last post I wrote was a year ago, after Chase had started 6th grade at the giant public middle school by our house. It was his second choice after the magnet school – which he didn’t get into – and the only other school he would have friends at. So John and I reluctantly sent him off each day and struggled to surrender all the things we couldn’t control… like the way kids treated him and the anxiety he was having to work through.
There were some beautiful tokens of grace, like a fantastic core teacher who really appreciated Chase, and a schedule that happened to line up with his only two friends at the school. But it was a hard year; no doubt about it. There were several instances when I was ready to pull him out because it was just too painful to watch him struggle. Yet, when I offered an alternative, Chase insisted that he could stick it out. And he did. He pushed through and as a result, grew in maturity, compassion and strength. I have never been more proud of him.
Shortly after the school year began, an opportunity arose for me to work at his old elementary school supervising lunch and recess each day. It meant that I was a district employee and would have first dibs on choosing a school for the following year. While it was a sacrifice at times to have my day broken up in pieces, it was such a joy to demonstrate my love for Chase in a tangible way. After shaking off some guilt, he gladly received it. The real surprise for me was how blessed I felt through this job, delighted by the relationships I got to enjoy all year with staff and students. Funny how that works.
The most amazing piece in all of this is that near the end of the year, Chase recognized his need for a savior and, by his own initiative, accepted Jesus as his Lord. It doesn’t get more significant than that. If it had been up to me, I would have chosen an easier path for him, but that just shows how short-sighted I can be and demonstrates God’s goodness in allowing His kids to go through hard things.
All of this is good for me to remember as we settle into a new school year. Chase is (thankfully!) attending the magnet school – exactly where he wanted to be – but everything is new and he is behind on some skills in their accelerated program and, let’s be real, change is hard. Once again, he is doing the hard work of showing up and doing his best and, once again, I am surrendering my own fear and control to the God who knows exactly who He is shaping Chase (and me) to be and knows exactly how to accomplish it. I can’t help but think that more growth, gratitude and other good things are on their way.
Hello there, friends! It’s been a whole long time since I’ve visited this blog… since the beginning of the school year, if I’m not mistaken. There’s so much to share and I plan to do that soon, but I wanted to send my mom the teaching I gave on Joseph (in Genesis) at my Bible study and this is the only way my non-tech-savvy self can make it work. So… if you happen to have half an hour and need a little encouragement on the trials you’re facing, you are welcome to give it a listen too. Hope all is well! I’ll check in soon. Kara
Bible study teaching on Joseph (in Genesis) and his trials (and ours):
where waves grow sweet 