On rusting & breaking bread

Last week, I baked bread.   I nourished yeast and sugar together and floured my hands until what I had was dough.  And then I let the dough rise.  And misbehave.  And mature... because that's what you let dough do.  It's not as good if you don't allow the dough its process.  And its process can be messy...  there is such truth in the bread.

Last week, I was invited to join a panel of brilliant women at a national conference.  I backed myself into a corner and wanted to say no, because I was intimidated... instead, I floured my hands and kneaded anxiety, fear, and lies into the dough.  And then I let myself entertain the idea.  I let myself believe that maybe I am smart enough and good enough to get up in front of some people I don't know and say words worth remembering... or maybe, simply considering.

Last night, I couldn't sleep.  I fed my own demons in the dark-- my fear, my sadness, my doubt-- until all I had left was to shut my eyes.  There is a certain amount of courage that comes with facing what's locked away, but what led me to it wasn't bravery at all... it was fear.  Fear that floured my hands, fear that rose up in the darkness, and fear that misbehaved until the process was, in and of itself, a mess.

There are a lot of things that I am afraid of.  But there are deeper things that I dream about.  And my dreams are not always more powerful than my fear, but they are more rooted:  they come with hope.  A hope that begs that question, always:  what are we afraid of?  When everything seems dark, it is that hope that flours its hands, and refuses to let the darkness stick... and rather, coaxes a testimony out of it.

And this is the lesson that I have found in the bread... fear shouldn't coax us out of our foxholes with weapons and words for wounding.  If our hearts are made of such things, then we're all just rusting each other, really.  But if our hearts having living water in them... then the Holy work is to bring fear to the table-- to flour our hands, to work it out, to coax the process out of our fear.  To break bread.  Together.

Swords down

I'm competitive by nature.  I love to win.  I will fearlessly throw down with anyone who hates on the Georgia Bulldogs, the US Olympic athletes, or my favorite Food Network competitive chefs.  I have a fierce loyalty to the competitor of my choosing, and I will sit firmly at their side-- win or lose.

But there is a problem with this... see, sometimes I allow my competitive nature to bleed into my faith.  And all of the characteristics that make me an excellent fan are superimposed onto the things that I believe, and they make me an awful Christian.   Wow, even writing that hurt.  But, sadly, I believe that it is true.  And I believe that it is not only true for me, but true for many in the faith community.  We cling to what we believe like a cause-- and we will battle beneath our flag to the detriment of community, mutual respect and love.

I've seen this present in my sphere for a while, but it has become more evident with the passing of time... and so, I (reluctantly) am trying to release my flag.  Lay down my sword.  And embrace that it is not how I fight, but how I love that most represents my convictions.

I am tired. I want to believe for better. I want to hope for better. It feels better than winning.

{Sleeping at Last- 101010}

{Grey is not a compromise- it is the bridge between two things}