21 Days: Day 20 and TWENTY-ONE

It is with great relief that I’m writing this last installment. I honestly couldn’t bring myself to write yesterday after suffering from a serious bout of second guessing. It’s crazy how sometimes a little tiny bit of negative can infiltrate so much positive and make you question yourself.

Today, I went to the Niles campus of The Movement to hear my favorite Niles Campus pastor speak and was greeted with love, hugs, and several people thanked me for writing this blog and told me that reading about my struggles helped them. That mattered more than any criticism that had me kind of second-guessing if I was being self-indulgent or oversharing.

I strive for self-awareness, but I’m a work in progress. It is usually far easier to see flaws in others than it is to recognize them in ourselves. So I struggle on putting one foot in front of the other and praying for clarity and wisdom.

1. Each day that I woke focused on gratitude, my awareness of the goodness, grace and love around me was heightened, and I will continue to count my blessings day and night.

2. In the worship experience today, one of my favorite singers sang an amazing song. And as her beautiful voice singing the most powerful words sank into my heart, many of the experiences of the last 21 days washed over me, the good, the bad, the trying … they all choked up in my throat and finally spilled out of my eyes and down my cheeks. I wanted to run out of the building and curl up in my car and cry. I’m usually pretty private and choosy with my sharing, but I have opened up my heart, mind and life in this tiny little space and in return, I’ve gotten grace, commiseration and so much love. I’ve also gotten criticized and psychoanalyzed. Most importantly, I’ve gotten chased down by people who told me that my words made a difference to them. Thank you for chasing me down. You made a difference for me.

3. Thank you for reading this and encouraging me. Thank you, Brad Bell, for being patient and long-suffering as I put my neuroses and our life on blast. Thank you, my girlfriends, for being supportive and amazing superwomen. Thank you for every like, comment, text and email. Thank you, my church family for every hug. You all have no idea how much you touch my heart.

Putting all your crazy out there for public consumption sometimes blows up in your face, but all of your love, all of your me too’s, all of your hugs and winks and high fives matter. Thank you for being my people.

I’m feeling pretty raw and overexposed, so I’m gonna crawl into my shell and recover.

I realize listening to that song today that it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks about why or what I write. God sees my heart, and He knows my motivation.

“Through it all; my eyes are on You, and it is well with me.”*

*This isn’t my favorite Movement singer performing; still, the song, the performance, and the message are awesome.

Thank you!

xoxo

Fast On.

For 21 days, we are joining our church family in the Daniel Fast (we started Monday, so this is day 3). If you aren’t familiar, this fast involves eliminating meat, dairy, animal products, sugar, coffee, tea, leavened bread and more. You basically eat fruits, vegetables, and nuts and drink water.

Historically, people have fasted for many purposes: clarity, peace, closer relationship with God, an answer to a prayer and so forth. My fast is about surrendering deeper to God’s call on my life. I didn’t make New Year’s resolutions this year for several reasons. First, resolutions feel a lot like rules, and I don’t like rules. In fact, I have spent a good part of my life breaking them. And second, I have quit all the things I want to quit, and I don’t intend to take up any new bad habits. If I do, then I’ll rethink this next January 1st.

What I do, however, is start every day with the promise of being kinder, more patient, more compassionate. I really believe turning 40 changes you, and I feel now more than ever that I can really be in the moment. I no longer get all worked up about a stain on the carpet or a broken glass or any other sort of material loss that would have unhinged me before.

Things aren’t as important anymore. I used to want new furniture and new clothes and new stuff (we did just get a new car, but that was a necessity not a luxury), now, I am outrageously happy with what I have. My kitchen table scarred with glitter, nail polish, paint, and more. My sofa worn from three kids bouncing on it. Our house and our stuff is more than good enough.

And in that same vein, so is my body. This morning, when I looked in the mirror, instead of seeing hair that desperately needed to be washed, I saw little fingers twisting that hair to fall asleep at night. I saw the one perfect curl that falls beside my face every morning because my husband twirls it around his finger when he falls sleep. And I am enough. My unwashed, uncolored hair is good enough.

Instead of thinking what new exercise I could pin (yes, pin, someday I will actually do them, maybe) to flatten my stomach, I remembered the three times that same stomach had been stretched to outrageous proportions as my most precious gifts grew inside. My not-as-flat-as-it-once-was stomach is good enough.

I looked at the lines on my face and thought not of what new wrinkle cream would come in my Birchbox, but instead of all the experiences etched in those lines. I might have considered the wrinkle cream for minute; give me a break I’m in process. I thought of eyes that winked at my little athletes so they knew I saw their play and lips that had kissed so many boo boos and feverish heads. The face in the mirror doesn’t look the same as the face in my mind. The face in the mirror doesn’t look the same as it did 10 years ago, but it’s good enough.

In my 20’s and 30’s, I wanted to take pictures and make scrapbooks of every single moment (not that there’s anything wrong with that) but now, I just want to live in those moments. The memories are all ready captured in my heart and my mind.

So today, hungry, 15 pounds away from my goal weight, with dirty hair and a cold, I’m good enough. Good enough for my beautiful husband, my amazing little loves, my friends, and most of all for God. So, if you are looking in the mirror and seeing flaws, please stop. Look at what’s right. Be as kind to yourself as you are to your best friend. See yourself as the person who loves you the most sees you. You are more than good enough; in fact, you are wonderful, and you are loved.

One Heart at a Time

Here’s my unfortunate experience with church people: They are fake, judgmental hypocrites. The people who were most revered in my growing up church beat their kids, cheated on their wives, gossiped, judged, hated, and looked down on people. Ain’t nobody got time for those folks and their God.

At The Movement, I encountered different people. Loving, accepting Christians who had kind non-judgmental hearts. However, even some I thought of as my kind of Christians show me their humanness if I mention hot button topics such as: Brad and I drink alcohol, my brother committed suicide or my sister-in-law is a lesbian. They don’t judge me to my face. Honestly, if I weren’t observant of body language I might miss their judgment. See, it is so subtle: an averted glance, an uncomfortable shifting in their seat, a quick, “Excuse me,” as they hurry away from me.

Honestly, there is a part of me that kind of enjoys making people uncomfortable. Not because I’m sadistic, but because I much prefer those who are just right out in the open with their hate to those who pretend to be loving and accepting. So, when I tell you my feelings about homosexuality and suicide, I’m probably trying to gauge if we have any chance of being friends, and I’ll know very quickly based on your reaction.

I am an open book. If I’m mad at you, I will tell you. If I think I offended you, I will apologize. If you say something that I don’t agree with, I will listen to your point of view, but I probably won’t change my mind. If you say something outwardly hurtful to me, I will be hurt, but I would rather be attacked to my face than gossiped about behind my back.

I try every day to be kinder, to be more patient, not to say unkind things about anyone, but I’m a work in progress, and I mess up.

This weekend, people showed up in a church in a bar not knowing what to expect. People who might have felt judged or looked down upon in church because of their clothes, past, or sexual orientation. But I think they felt loved and accepted. I saw them smiling and sharing their stories with others that they may never have met if not for a church in a bar in downtown Warren.

Some people mock God, church, and me, but that is okay, they’re works in progress too. They might have been raised to believe that God is vengeful and punitive, and Christians are phony. We’re all works in progress. But, I’m super grateful to a crazy redheaded pastor who trusted God enough to trade good for a chance at great. I’m grateful to my pastor/brother-in-law, who is the first Christian I ever met who loved and didn’t judge. I’m grateful for my sister-in-law, who in her quiet unassuming way is gonna change the freaking world.

I’m outrageously blessed that I get to love and be loved by my beautiful family every moment. But today, I am overwhelmed by the opportunity to bring love to a community one heart at a time.

P.S. I don’t really know how to spell judgement or judgmental, so I have relied solely on spell check and apologize for what I’m sure is a lot of inconsistency. Also, I promise this isn’t a passive aggressive dig at any person. If you feel called out, it might be because God is telling you to check yourself.Follow my blog with Bloglovin

Serve God not people

Sunday, I did not feel like going to church. I have been sick for a week. I cried all day Saturday because Chloe was going back to school Sunday. I really wanted to crawl into my turtle shell and hide. But, the Holy Spirit whispered, “go…” that’s it. No big earth shattering signs. No hawk flying at my head. Did I tell you about that? Seriously a hawk flew right past my head. I still don’t know what that meant. Chloe gets dreams, and I get crop dusted by a bird of prey. Awesome. But I digress, the Holy Spirit whispered, “go.”

So, even though I felt crappy and sad and stuffy, and I stomped and pouted a little about it, I went. We had a guest speaker, which really didn’t make me happy: “Great, a 20-something-hipster without a lick of life experience to help me in my walk with God. woo hoo.” I didn’t feel good so my inner critic was even nastier than her usual nasty self. The Holy Spirit whispered, “Shhh.” That’s it. Just, “shhh.”

So, I went and listened to the hipster guest speaker. Sometimes. I studied his bow tie. I wondered about his dialect, “Where is he from again? Phoenix? I bet it’s warm there…” I wondered how old he was, he looked like a young kid, but he mentioned his wife. And why aren’t the bible verses up on the screens? Of course today I wouldn’t get a message map. Today, when my OCD is out of control, and he kept saying, “You might want to write this down.” All right, dude, I would but I can’t.

But then he interrupted my nonsensical thoughts by saying, “Serve God not people.” Wait. Say that again. “Serve God Not People.” Now that made sense to me. We tell our Impact team, “You’re not serving us; you’re serving God.” That’s what made me go to church Sunday, that little whispered, “go,” that reminded me that it’s not about me. It’s not about my family. It’s not about The Movement. It’s about God. It’s Him that I serve. And how do I serve Him? By loving His people. Boom. Darn little hipster in his bow tie.

I’m a Mess.

1 Corinthians 13:1-3 If I could speak all the languages of earth and of angels, but didn’t love others, I would only be a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. If I had the gift of prophecy, and if I understood all of God’s secret plans and possessed all knowledge, and if I had such faith that I could move mountains, but didn’t love others, I would be nothing. If I gave everything I have to the poor and even sacrificed my body, I could boast about it; but if I didn’t love others, I would have gained nothing.

 

Again today, I felt our pastor spoke directly to me. It’s a gift he has–I realize, after discussing with other people at our church who have also felt singled out. It’s kind of creepy. Anyway, today’s topic was the condition of our hearts. How God doesn’t care if you are carrying a Louis Vuitton bag or a garbage bag, or if you have $100 shoes or holes in your soles. He isn’t impressed by the airs people put on. He cares about our hearts. So, if we feed the starving, shelter the homeless, and clothe the poor, but don’t do it with love, we might as well stay home and watch tv, because we missed the point. Well, I guess the poor, homeless, and hungry people benefit regardless of our motives, but you get the point, right?

So when your patience is thin, when your kids are arguing for the 65th time, when your husband has forgotten to take the garbage out for the fourth week in a row, how you react then shows the true condition of your heart. Not when everything is rosy. Not your Sunday morning shined up for church look but how you act when no one is looking. Well, I will be the first to admit: I am a mess, and I am ashamed of some of the ugly things that are in my heart.

I came home from church today thinking, “Why do you even try?” Because I do try. I try really hard to follow Jesus, to love God above all else and to love others, but I fully admit that when Lily calls my name for the seventh time in 10 seconds while I’m trying to read an email or send a text or whatever ridiculously important thing I’m doing, my response is not, “Yes, my love, what can I do for you?” Nope, it’s more like, “WHAT DO YOU WANT? CAN’T YOU SEE I AM IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING?” Ugly.

I will fully admit, when I get in the car to take Peyton to school tomorrow morning if the garbage cans are not at the end of the driveway, I am going to say ugly things about my husband. Maybe just in my head, maybe under my breath, and maybe fully aloud so that the skunks, oppossums, and whatever else might be wandering around in our yard in the early morning hours can hear. And they will undoubtedly think, “That’s ugly talk, Mary Bell.” But even if I don’t say anything out loud, God will see the ugliness in my heart.

So, before I beat myself up any further, I decided to spend a few minutes mindlessly reading what people were grateful for today on Facebook. Unfortunately, that backfired. WOW! Add bitterness, and resentment to the ugliness in my heart. Good grief, so I took to the safety of my bed to pray, write, and sort things out.

On our message map today, it said, “Examine the condition of my heart.” My heart is a wreck. But as I sit in my bed typing this a sweet little curly-headed girl crawls quietly in and snuggles up against me. Her presence pulls me out of the self-depracating depths and back into reality. And as I take a moment to feel her soft little cheek against my arm, I hear the still small voice of my God whisper, “Yes, you are a mess, but I love you anyway.” And so I’ll get up and try to do better.