{Daughter:: Human}

{Underneath this skin there's a human... and despite everything I'm still human.}

But I tell you, love your enemies

I forget sometimes.  I forget that we are all human.  That we bleed.  That there are things that wound us far deeper than blades or falls or car crashes... I forget.  For that, I am guilty.  I forget that my enemies see through hearts just as broken, just as fallible, and just as tender as my own.  I forget that they want to be loved, too.  Seen, too.  Wanted, too.

It's easy to tear someone down, isn't it?  The right glance can say a thousand words of hatred.  The right words can lead to a thousand tears.  Making an enemy is easy.  Keeping an enemy?  Probably even easier... we are not built for forgiveness.  Which is what makes knowing Jesus so hard . It's hard to turn a cheek, walk an extra mile, dine with an enemy... pray for an enemy.  Forgiveness is a difficult yoke.  It is weighty.

But, fueling the fire might just be more costly.  And I am certainly guilty of fueling fires.  There are furnaces with my name on them.  Entire forests demolished because of my own cruelty.  There is a poison in my being that is nourished by the destruction of others-- not physically-- but perhaps far more damaging.  I am not built for forgiveness.  Which is what makes knowing Jesus so necessary.  It's hard to wash the feet of those who betray you... but dragging them through the mud simply makes us all dirty.

It is easier to forget, sometimes.  It is easier to spit on my enemies than it is to pray for them.  Easier to build up my wall of words, of slights, of imperfections against them... than it is to love them.  Love is vulnerable, gentle, close-- it doesn't belong in the hands of those who could so easily pervert it.  Which is what makes knowing Jesus so humbling-- because that is exactly where Jesus placed his love.  In the hands of the one who betrayed him.  I am not built for forgiveness, but Jesus embodied it.  And following Jesus means following all of who he was-- not just the parts I like the best, or the parts that make me look shiny... and to embrace Jesus, I must embrace forgiveness.  Being broken and having the self-control to let it happen.-- and then, do the unthinkable:  love in spite of all that has been said, or done, or both.

I am not built for forgiveness.  But I believe in the One who was.  And I ache to know what it means to follow him... perhaps it begins with praying for the people I would rather drag through the mud.

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}

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.