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}

Bear's Den:: Above the Clouds of Pompeii

Sinking my words.

I used to blog for everyone.  I used to pick my words carefully- bouncing them around like a racquetball to see if they would fly back at 100 miles an hour and bruise.  I used to share this page with people.  I used to be proud of my eloquence; that I had done my due diligence to make this place nice...

But now?  Now I'm more jaded.  A few more months weathered, and I do not care to share this place anymore.  If you've found it- that's fine.  Maybe your heart feels as heavy as mine does so often.  Maybe you're wordless and adrift.  Maybe you're kind.  Maybe you're cruel.  Maybe, like me, you find yourself caught in the web of both and the gamut of spaces in between.

And if you're here, you are welcome.  But you should know that I am far less careful than I used to be.  I am far less bright-eyed.  I am far more jaded...  I have lived in fear, and I have wished for bravery.  And recently, I have sought out words in the darkness and my vocabulary has failed me.  See, lately, I have been in a season of drought.  A season of restlessness.  A season of anger and insecurity and fear... a season where words have wounded me far more than they have watered the ground of my soul and given me life.

I am in a season where I am wrestling with the Angels.  With God.  With spirituality.  With a sacred sense of self... I'm not sure who I am right now, where I fit in, or what my purpose is.   Even though I know that I know that I know that I have purpose... I'm caught in a sea of wordless panic, and I don't know how to describe who I am, what I feel, or why I'm afraid.

So this morning, at 4am-- when I got up to pee because I'm getting old. I couldn't shut my brain back down as it turned and spun and panicked and feared about tomorrow, and the next day, and the next year, and when will I get married?  When will a sense of God return to me?  What if I'm just faking?  What if I'm not being my whole self?  What if I'm 80 and I have regrets?  I worry that my vulnerability will turn others away.  But I'm afraid that my strength would do the same.  What is the balance?  Is there balance?  Where is God?

So, for today, I'm going to settle.  Settle for unanswered questions, for fears unnamed that stir in my spirit, for grace that I believe that I believe that I believe that I have but I'm not sure I know it, and for failing to have the right words sometimes.  Sometimes, settling doesn't feel like settling.  Sometimes it just feels like letting go... and surrender feels like it might just be a good place to start again.

{The Vespers:: Sisters & Brothers}

{We gotta take care of each other}

Relationship over Rivalry

This is the eve of one of the greatest rivalry games in the South.  Tomorrow, the glorious Georgia Bulldogs take on the GT Jackets.

I am a UGA graduate, and therefore, a fan of the Georgia Bulldogs.  I love UGA and I really like cheering for the Dawgs.  And in that light, I have things to say about this day...

The first is this:  tomorrow is one of my least favorite days of the year.  Why, you might ask?  Because tomorrow, the talons come out, and people show their hide instead of their heart.  Tomorrow, people forget that we have all worked diligently to acquire collegiate degrees from esteemed universities and we reduce ourselves to spitting demeaning words over social media to spite each other.

I have lost friends over this day.  True, I could have risen above-- but one can only take so many remarks of how UGA graduates are dumb, end up in jail and work beneath GT graduates, or how UGA is the "cesspool of the South"  before the heart begins to hurt.  These people who knew me, claimed to love me, and yet, demeaned something that I worked incredibly hard for.  That's not right.  And that's not friendship.

Let me be clear:  I worked hard for my degree.  Did I have to take Biophysics or Advanced Calculus?  No.  Because my degree is in social sciences.  I wrote papers upon papers upon papers and read volume after volume after volume and I earned my degree. I'm proud of my degree.  And I know what it means to stay up all night studying, worrying, pouring over notes-- if you graduated with any degree of higher education-- I have nothing but respect for you!  I remember those long nights.  And I'm rooting for you to succeed!  Whether you're goal is a degree in Aerospace Engineering or Romance Languages or Communications Studies; whether you're an Owl, a Dawg, a Jacket, or a Panther-- I'm rooting for you!

Finally, let me set the record straight:  I work at a church.  I don't work for a GT graduate.  I work within the expertise of my degree-- and I encourage students whose desire is to go to Georgia, to Georgia Tech, to Georgia State, to Auburn, to Florida, to Valdosta State, to GCSU, to Berry College, to Elon, to Armstrong, to SCAD, to Furman, to Samford, to Kennesaw State... and I'm rooting for them!  And I hope that you, GT fans, would be willing to do the same in my position.

I'm not interested in "wrecking Tech."  I am, however, interested in being proud of my team-- the team that represents a place and community that I love and am proud to be a product of.  I'll proudly wear my red & black tomorrow, and I hope that you proudly wear your gold & white... and I hope that if we were sitting in a room together, we could congratulate each other on hard work done, and amicably root for our own team to bring home a win!  And since we know that there can be only one winning, I hope that we can win humbly, lose humbly, and humbly care for each other-- even in rivalry.

So tomorrow, I hope that we can put relationship over rivalry... and I hope that we can leave it at football.  Don't demean my degree or my character or my diligence simply because I don a different set of colors and went to school in a different city.  Be my friend first, and be a fan second.

And with that, I wish Georgia Tech well tomorrow, and I say:  Glory, Glory! Go Dawgs!

Be Brave.

It has been my experience that bravery is not subtle.  It is not quiet.  It is not always neat.

It shakes.  And it rattles-- and that is how bravery makes space.  Every person I know that embodies bravery is a shaker.  A rattler.  The kind of person who runs through freshly-made sandcastles, snow angels, and Lego towers.  The kind of person that disrupts things in order to create space for new things.  Bravery demands a certain kind of whimsy, a certain kind of confidence, a certain kind of honesty.  Bravery does not necessarily require a particular brand of person, but it does call upon a particular circumstance... out of which, a particular brand of person emerges. 

This week, I have to be brave.  I have to do something I don't want to do.  Pull my head out of the ostrich-sized hole in the sand and speak.  And I desperately want to be brave.  But I'm not sure that I am.  

However strange, though, this is how I know that the Lord is good.  But also quite funny.  See, I have a classroom-sized whiteboard in my office.  I don't use it.  I don't have much need for it-- I'm left-handed, and we all know how left-handed people are cursed with wet writing utensils.   So I basically leave it alone.

My students, though, they don't.  They write on it- leave me messages, notes of encouragement, reminders of their love... it's my favourite thing in my whole office.  And I have a lot of cool stuff in my office.  But as I was sitting here today, utterly stuck: stuck in my own mind, in my own fear, in my own desire to stick my head back in the sand and sleep until next week-- I looked to my whiteboard.  And they reminded me.

My students reminded me that I need this.  Because stretching myself makes space-- and growing is generally uncomfortable. But being brave means making space.  And if it means making space for them, then maybe I can do it... maybe I can be brave.  So here goes nothing.  And here's to shaking and rattling and being the person I want to be.  Here's to being brave.