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Is this exactly the life I want?

May 4, 2023 | Sovereignty

Is this exactly the life I want?

My answer is sometimes a definitive and enthusiastic “yes,” and other times, just as definitive but far less enthusiastic, a “no.” So many aspects of my life have far surpassed what I would have imagined for myself . . . and . . . I am not the same woman I was twenty, ten, even five years ago. What offers meaning has changed. What matters has changed. What I want has changed. At the same time, there are realities (within and without) that are not exactly what I want; there is so much room to grow and change, so much with which I both struggle and hope.

Years and years ago, I would have pondered this question and been extremely frustrated. “Why am I not further along? Why am I not more satisfied? What is wrong with me?” I am pretty sure I felt an implicit and explicit demand to get my s**t together – harsh, contemptuous, self-critical. I don’t particularly like admitting this but somehow, remembering and acknowledging it is like opening the windows for the first time in Spring, the freshest breeze, a fragrance that wafts through the room and carries the memory of so much healing and growth during the seasons of darkness and cold.

Years and years ago I would have been determined to come up with an answer that was specific and detailed and lofty, I now feel no need to come up with an answer at all – which is an answer in and of itself.

I’m far more compelled by the life that I have than wondering if I’m living the one that I want. 

This is not to say that the question is not relevant. It most definitely is! Years and years ago and still today. It’s the asking that matters. 

*****

Is this exactly the life you want?

Your answer offers you crystal-clear insight into the life you have right now: all that you can honor, all that you can change, and all that remains yours to take agency in/with on your own behalf.

Your answer gives you profound perspective into the life you have right now: what you know and experience in relationship with others, what might be missing, what needs to be said, what needs to be forgiven, what is yours to do and say and celebrate.

Your answer ushers you right into the center of your desire right now: no ignoring it, no toning it down, no compromise or compliance. And that is a VERY good thing!

Your answer calls you home to the truth of what “is,” to the life that is already yours, to the day-in-day-out reality of here and now. Which feels like the point of even asking the question in the first place. It is an endless and arms-wide-open invitation to live boldly, period. Not perfectly. Not adeptly. Not even consistently. Embracing struggle and hope, painful setbacks and leaps forward, old stories of self-contempt alongside increasing moments of self-love, loss and celebration, grief and joy. This IS exactly the life we want, yes? For ourselves, for others, and for our world.

May it be so.

The struggle that IS worthwhile

Jul 30, 2021 | Hope & Encouragement, Women's Voice & Power

I love Leo Tolstoy’s opening line in Anna Karenina: “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” 

He’s right: it is our unhappiness that is unique and distinct to our own personal story. And while that’s significant, even important to acknowledge, there is a danger here, as well.

We make our pain so much our own that it becomes woven into the warp and woof of who we are – often to the point in which we find comfort in it, maybe even pride. 

Or maybe it’s only me… 

Over time and for a myriad of reasons, I internalized the belief that life is hard. The influences that reinforced this were legion: Western culture. Capitalism. Protestant Work Ethic. Patriarchy. My family of origin. My own experiences and stories. 

I believed that my pain was of value; more, that my value was directly proportionate to how much I suffered. 

Struggle became my badge of honor. “Hard” was the marker that I was taking things seriously, not being remotely frivolous, and proving yet again that I was made of solid stuff. 

I know. It sounds crazy. Because it is! The good news is that I am aware of such! (To be this crazy and not know it is highly problematic.) 

My truth? It has felt natural, even desirable, for me to suffer and struggle. 

  • Who would I be, if not burdened and heavy-laden with worry and concern?
  • How else could I remain alert in relationships so as not to be taken advantage of or hurt?
  • How could I possibly expect to earn money (even meager amounts) if not willing to grit my teeth and soldier on?
  • And my writing? How in the world could I possibly believe that what comes easily or naturally, would be worth reading? No! It has to be far more difficult!

Crazy, yes.

And completely unacceptable!

When I was in grad school, I remember one of my professors saying it was much easier for us to accept sadness than joy, much easier to settle for less than desire more, much easier to accept our depravity than our dignity. He was right. I’m living proof. 

I’m also committed to changing that story, and rewriting that script.

This is the worthwhile struggle: to choose joy over sadness, to desire more instead of settling for less, and to accept my dignity over my depravity.

 

This is hardly a silver-lining, pollyanna-esque way of viewing the world. Sadness and “less” and depravity are real. But they are not everything. Learning to believe that, to live that is more-than worthwhile. It is everything.

How about for you?

Can you name some of the beliefs you’ve inherited and reinforcd that now feel part-and-parcel of who you are? Here are a few examples. Definitely add to the list!

  • I must prove my worth.
  • My value is measured by the income I earn (the grades I get, the promotions I gain, the FB/IG likes I receive)
  • Money is the root of all evil.
  • Self-care is selfish.
  • I’m too much.
  • I’m not enough.

You can see how these beliefs, these unhappiness-es, these struggles, are not natural…nor necessary to cling to. Right?

It is a struggle to reimagine them – and ourselves. But no struggle will ever be more worthwhile. A lifetime’s effort, to be sure, and the most amazing and important work (and privilege) you could possibly undertake.

May it be so.

 

*****

 

Part of being 100% ourselves, 100% of the time is naming these stories and internal texts/beliefs that have shaped us. It’s also demonstrating the wisdom, agency, and courage needed to craft and live the story that is uniquely yours – unhinged from struggle that no longer serves and committed to “struggle” that strengthens and sustains.

Registration is now open for the next cohort of SOVEREIGNTY: the 9-week program.

Filled with my teaching of content I love, community and conversation with other amazing women, and practical, even sacred tools to help you live an empowered and amazing story that is completely yours. Filled with joy. Desiring more (and more). And accepting your dignity, to be sure. Learn more.

Coexistence: Goodness AND Struggle

Jun 13, 2015 | Mothers and Daughters, Women's Wisdom

Emma Joy graduates from high school today.

For the past few weeks, nearly everything she’s done or said has provoked a flood of memories: holding her for the very first time, unable to take my eyes off of her as she slept, weeping at her miraculous presence in my arms, at my breast, in my life. I remember her first laugh (and how I repeated my same actions over and over again, just to hear that sound one more time), her first steps, her first day of school, her first time on stage, her first solo, her first heartbreak. And by the time this week is over, I will remember her cap and gown, her honor chord, her walk across a platform, her handshake, my tears, her smiles, her photographs with friends, her presents, our celebratory dinner, and her diploma in hand.

As glorious as every one of these moments are, not one of them cancels out my memory of the agony from which she came.

Our proclivity is high to only focus on the good, to  fix our gaze on the beautiful, to disallow anything that darkens our mind or heart’s door. I feel that temptation and lure, believe me, but somewhere in the mix of my life I have learned something else, something more.

It is the embracing of the complexity of life that makes it that much more glorious to behold.

My experience of becoming a mother was preceded by nearly  five years of infertility. Nearly 60 cycles of hope, waiting, disappointment, despair, and summoning up hope yet again. It exhausted me. It shut me down. And it pulled me apart. I held firmly to my faith on the one hand – longing for a miracle, and on the other, I threatened to throw the baby out with the bathwater (only there was no baby) – wanting to walk away from a God that so blindly turned away from my heartache.  Every 28 days I transitioned. Every 28 days another emotional rollercoaster ensued. Every 28 days I bargained again, prayed more, promised everything. And every 28 days I raged.

Admittedly, I was filled with ecstasy beyond-compare when I found out that I was pregnant. But way beneath the surface (and not revealed until some time later) was an awareness of loss. That pink bar on a home test meant I would no longer be able to say, “I understand” to the women in whom I’d found such profound solidarity and respite. The doctor’s eventual confirmation meant that I could no longer question God’s faithfulness or care. Both of these realities disturbed me. The honesty I’d been able to express – with women who shared my pain and with a God who allowed my anger – was raw and strong and powerful.  I didn’t want to let go of those experiences or the woman I’d birthed into being through what was one of the hardest seasons of my life.

Emma’s presence in my life and every bit of joy she’s ushered into my world is made that much more glorious because I feel (again and again) the grief, the sadness, the lost-solidarity, the rage and the over-the-moon pride and happiness and glee and satisfaction of watching her this very day.

Nothing is taken away from the goodness because the struggle coexists. Nothing. This is the stuff of life – recognizing, naming, allowing, holding all of it – not just the parts we prefer.

Even Emma’s graduation is complicated. It’s joyous beyond-belief and it means that soon, very soon, she leaves me. Goodbyes are imminent. Separation and growth are inevitable. Risk and challenge and trial and error and failure and learning and heartbreak and celebration will be what both of us will step into in the weeks, months, and years ahead.

In truth, this very day, Emma’s graduation day, sits me right smack in the middle of all my emotions, all my memories, all my hopes, all my fears. To run from the harder ones in the hopes of only experiencing the good ones is not only naïve, it lessens the depth and poignancy of all that’s worth honoring; it lessens my honoring of her. Every bit of this day is worth cherishing. Every bit of it is what makes it so real, so true, so alive (which is sometimes painful and always perfectly fine).

This post hasn’t gone quite where I expected – wanting it to wildly-affirm Emma on her incredible accomplishment, milestone, occasion. And I hope I have honored her by recognizing that in all the complexity of my story and hers, she has made it to this day with complexities of her own (and more to come). These are what make this day and this young woman so incredibly glorious.

In mere hours I will behold her in awe, in gratitude, and in the profound awareness of all that makes her who she is, all that has happened to get us to this day, all the messy, brilliant, excruciating, blissful stuff – past, present, and future.

This does honor her: every bit of me showing up – rife with feeling, fully aware, and real-true-alive (which is sometimes painful and always perfectly fine).

Step bravely and beautifully into all the life that awaits you Emma. Let yourself be real-true-alive (which is sometimes painful and always perfectly fine). And remember that you are loved and loved and loved for all the complexity that makes you, you: glorious, magnificent, my very heart.

The Unanswerable Question of “Why”

Dec 10, 2014 | My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Writing

Every day we are confronted with realities that confound us, enrage us, and break our hearts. We sift through their rubble for the smallest shard of meaning. We search for clues, breadcrumbs, anything that will put our tired minds at rest. And for all of this striving, it is rarely with measurable result.

We know Frederich Buechner’s words are true, but we’re loathe to admit or accept them:

“Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Do not be afraid.”

Still we fight, wrestle, and do battle with the unanswerable question of “Why?” We are ravenous for an answer.

I am no different than you. I see things I cannot reconcile, no matter how hard I try. Too painful, too diffcult, too impossible, too violent. I can’t shrug my shoulders and move on nor take a dogmatic position that enables me to rail at all who disagree with me. I have to find a way to hold ambivalence, to stay, to allow (though not accept) what I hate and hold on tenaciously to hope.

The only way in which I know how to do such a thing is to go to stories.

Stories of others who have asked the same questions – even more, have somehow lived without their answers. Stories that offer me perspective and wisdom – even more, companionship, kindness, and support. Stories that name and normalize my own – even more, remind me that so many have persevered and survived; that perhaps I will, as well. Stories that remind me that despite so much evidence to the contrary, grace, hope, miracles, and love endure – ever more, ongoing, infinitely, no matter what.

“All sorrows can be borne if you put them into a story or tell a story about them.”
~ Isak Dinesen

Stories are hardly an escape from reality; rather, a visceral and poignant reminder that one profound truth supersedes and wins out over all others (despite evidence to the contrary at times): Stories reveal all that we have in common, all that we share, all the similarity found even (and maybe especially) in difference. When we listen to an ancient myth, though far removed from our day-to-day reality, we see aspects of ourselves. When we hear a fable or fairytale, though hardly the stuff of our lived experience, we see aspects of ourselves. When we watch a film, whether drama, romance, or sci-fi, we see aspects of ourselves. And we see each other.

We must tell stories to be reminded that we are more the same than not. No matter the time period, the culture, the politics, the religion, the lens, the perspective. We are one.

“To hell with facts! We need stories!”
~ Ken Kesey

So let us tell stories. And let us listen to them. Our own. Others’. Any and all we can get our hands and hearts on. Those that break us open and those that bind us back together again. Most of all, those that bind us to one another – again and again and again.

When we do, the inexplicable, unanswerable, and ever-nagging question of “why,” loses a little bit of its power and grace, hope, miracles, and love gain back so much more of theirs. As it should be. As it must be.

May it be so.

 

 

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Life with Popcorn

Jan 29, 2008 | Hope & Encouragement, Mothers and Daughters, Women's Wisdom

Life is tough. It’s filled with disappointments, unmet expectations, hurt, grief, frustration, on and on the list goes. I’m not saying it’s not also filled with amazing beauty, celebration, life, and love. I’m all for that and know much of it. But as I’ve been in conversations over the past few days, I’ve been increasingly touched by the levels of difficulty and struggle that pervade.

Did we somehow expect something else? Is that what makes life feel so unjustly hard? Or is it that life really is unfair?

Here’s where I’m landing this Tuesday evening:

Of course life is bizarre; the more bizarre it gets, the more interesting it is. The only way to approach it is to make yourself some popcorn and enjoy the show. (Unknown)

Emma, Abby, and I made and then consumed popcorn tonight as we watched another round of American Idol auditions. Perhaps not the highest quality choice, but in the midst of so many stories that are painful, I was grateful for an hour of dissociation, popcorn, laughter, and an occasional surprising moment of amazing beauty.

‘Might be a good metaphor for life: in the midst of our own and others’ painful stories may we know some gracious moments that help us gain perspective, laugh even for a bit, and find beauty in unexpected places – all accompanied by more popcorn.