Put Your Bat in the Holster

“When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.” You’ve probably heard this numerous times over the years. I have anyway. I googled it this morning to see who actually said it. Wasn’t Buddha. Wasn’t Ghandi. Wasn’t even Obi Wan Kenobi, which was my guess. In fact, I lost interest before I could finish the article that divulged true authorship, but the sentiment is right on.

I’ve been noticing more and more that when I focus my energy and take steps in a certain direction, interesting people show up on my path. I listen to podcasts, order a book and then run into someone who is reading the same book. Or, I listen to a TedX talk and then one of my favorite podcasters mentions the speaker even though I’d never heard of her before and I’m a Ted junkie. So while I’ve always believed that coincidences were almost always divine appointments, sometimes synchronicity can be downright spooky.

Life has always brought me the people I needed. Even though sometimes I didn’t realize at the time, when I look back at memories, experiences, circumstances, I realize that God–or whatever you want to call the omniscient, omni-benevolent universal energy source–always sent people to help me through. Sometimes those people vanished shortly after; some are still here. You know…reasons, seasons, lifetime.

But recently, it has been a different sort of energy. People seem to bring a specific idea or a very obvious lesson. I meet people who are exploring similar ideas or reading the same books or writing a book…whatever it is, it seems each day someone crosses my path with some nugget of wisdom or truth or love.

So this begs the question, “Has this been happening all along and I was too oblivious to notice?” Perhaps. I might have walked past hundreds of everyday gurus missing them and their lessons. I’m not going to ruminate on that because I want to focus my energy on being awake and aware to the new lessons–even painful ones–that each interaction brings.

I’ve always believed that my kids are my greatest teachers, and when I am present enough to step back from imposing my will on them and instead follow my current feeling to its origin, it’s nearly always transformative. I’ve been trying to apply that beyond my precious offspring and onto others and to allow myself to be open and vulnerable enough to accept without seeking acceptance.

And I think all of this is possible because I’m no longer giving away my time and energy to people and situations that don’t bring me joy. I have more room in my mind, my heart and my life for positive energy, good people and life lessons. Not the same ones you have to keep learning over and over because they don’t sink in, but the good kind. The kind that make you get up and take an actual physical step toward your goals.

So, I would encourage you, if you’re reading this, stop swatting the proverbial bee’s nest because you’ll just keep getting stung. Take a step back from situations or people that don’t bring you joy and take a big giant leap toward something or someone that makes your heart sing. I’m going to as well. We can do it together. I’ll encourage you.

You’re so…DELETE.

Every once in awhile, someone sends me a handwritten card. Out of the blue, my sweet Chloe will send a beautiful, touching, or sometimes silly card but inside are her words, handwritten, which seem ever-so-much-more personal than a text or email or facebook post. A few other friends also do this, and I treasure these little keepsakes. Yes, I love the ability to communicate instantly, but there is something about those cards … like there is a little piece of the sender’s heart in there.

Spurred by my own affinity for receiving them and my constant pursuit to find unique and different ways to encourage and love people, I bought some beautiful note cards and decided to handwrite notes to a few people in the hopes that they would feel as touched as I always do to receive one.

Here’s what I didn’t bargain for: I have become dependent on delete. When you are handwriting a letter, especially on an expensive note card, you’re committed once you put that ink on the paper. Ughh…I tried saying sentences over in my head before writing them. Still, upon re-reading, I felt, “Oh no … that sounds stupid. Did you misspell that word? Honestly? That looks like an m but it’s really an r. Does that make sense? Is this legible? Jeeze, are you illiterate?”

I may have mentioned before that my inner voice is a nasty shrew.

I am by nature an editor, not a writer. I’m way more comfortable fiddling around with words that are already on the page than actually putting them there. I really like to edit and proofread. It makes me giddy to make writing sound clearer and more concise. It’s like polishing silver. I like that as well. I’m an odd duck.

Anyway, when I do write, it’s usually a lot of nonsense–kind of like having a conversation with me. If we have spoken in person, you may have considered me snobby or not very bright or even pondered if English was my native language. True. I promise I’m not snobby; I’m not a mensa member either, and I’m certainly not bilingual. I’m way more comfortable listening than talking. And since my tongue is usually tied, I’m going to spend the rest of my day–or week, depending on how significant the perceived flub–analyzing what I said and how stupid it sounded and perhaps if it was even offensive. Oh no, I hope not, but maybe?

My head is a dark and exhausting place to reside sometimes.

Anyway, my saving grace with typing is edit, delete, cut, paste, read, reread, does this make sense, reword that; it’s already not all ready already. I usually spend twice as much time editing as I do writing, and even then sometimes something will slip through the cracks, and my brother will put me on blast.

So, handwriting is like jumping without a safety net. I’ve become so dependent on all Word’s great tools to optimize my writing and only reveal it at its best that it’s a bit unnerving sending anything out unpolished. (I wasn’t showing off using its and it’s there, but you’re welcome if that particular grammatical conundrum has been vexing your mind.) This is also why I’m tiptoeing into the water with great trepidation trusting my raw writing only to people I am pretty confident aren’t going to smash my heart with the hammer I’ve just given them.

All of this brought me back to something my young friend, who happens to be an amazing speaker and championship encourager, said last week at church, “When negative things come into your head, simply say, ‘Delete.'” We don’t have to own negative self-chatter or criticism from others any more than we need to let an extra letter or a rogue apostrophe go. Just … Delete it.

Try it. It’s more fun than polishing silver. I’ll give you an example from my own inner shrew:

“You didn’t even make it to the gym today. You’re lazy and worthless” Delete
“You should have gotten more accomplished today. You’re irresponsible.” Delete
“You didn’t even manage to do yoga. You’re never going to be in better shape.” Delete
“You should wash your hair…” DELETE!!! Sometimes, that b#$%h really hits below the belt.

While I have been using the delete button to make writing sound better for a long time, I’m just learning how to use it to make myself feel better about negativity from outside and from within. Now that I know this tool is at my disposal though I plan to wield it like my trusty red pen.

What nonsensical negative chatter do you need to delete?

It’s like this and like that and like this and uh*

I recently read Crash the Chatterbox, by Steven Furtick**, about quieting inside (and outside) voices so that you can hear God’s voice. It was a great book and helped me to isolate and silence some pretty destructive voices. And through engaging with my inner voices, I learned another powerful lesson: Whatever purpose we are here to fulfill? We already have everything we need. 

For instance, God gave me an English teacher mother, above average spelling and grammar acumen, a pretty sordid childhood, and a voice with which people can identify because He intended for me to share my story. 

BUT, you knew there was gonna be a but, didn’t you? In the process of sharing my story, here is some chatter I have heard in my head and from well-intentioned friends:

You’re writing a book?

There’s nothing really special about your story.

You’re not that good of a writer.

Who would want to read your story?
Only famous people write memoirs.

What’s it gonna be about?

Who’s gonna buy it?

Your daughter is a better writer. Maybe you should have her write your story. (She IS a way better writer, but she has her own story to tell.)

You’re not good enough. You’re not interesting enough. You’re not smart enough. You’re not important enough. You’re not special enough. You’re not skinny enough. You’re not blonde enough. You’ve never been enough and you never will be enough. Those voices are so mean; good grief!

Except a funny thing happened in the midst of that though. The aforementioned book landed in my lap and told me: 

• You are doing better than you think you are. 
• You matter more than you think you do. 
• It’s less about you than you think it is.  
• God says you are enough. 
• God said He gave you everything you need. 
• God says you can.

It told me that the voices in my head were just that: Voices. I could tell to shut the @#$% up. If someone tells my kids they can’t do something, I say, “That’s their opinion, and their opinion doesn’t matter. God made you, and God says you can.” So what if the people who should have encouraged  or complimented me or believed in me didn’t. God gave me everything I need to do what He intended me to do.

Who cares if other people don’t believe my story is important? I think everyone’s story is important. We can all positively impact someone by sharing our experiences and our heart; isn’t that why we are here? To love God and to love people?

If I share my story, and one person walks away feeling less shame about her own childhood, deciding to make lemonade out of the lemons life handed her, realizing that she already possesses everything she needs to fulfill her highest purpose, then it was worth everything to reach that one person. It was worth every embarrassing story. It was worth every agonizing question I’ve ever asked and will ever answer. It was worth losing every person who will no longer make eye contact with me because they never really saw me anyway.

My sweet friends, what voices do you need to quiet today in order to hear a still small voice that speaks only love?

*Nuthin’ But a G Thang (What up, Dre)

** I think Steven Furtick is an extremely gifted pastor, speaker, writer and teacher and couldn’t care less about the size of his house or how many people got baptized at Elevation on any given Sunday.

Then What?

The first few days of my social media fast, I got a lot accomplished, but now as with many things, I’ve come to a place of: NEEEXXXXXTTTT! Just yesterday, I invented a fake syndrome and promptly diagnosed Chloe. While her next few months are filled with exciting study and research trips abroad, then there’s next semester and then next year, and then she graduates and…Then What?

After discovering this disorder, diagnosing Chloe and then listening to Brad, who has been in his own waiting room of sorts, I realized that I had a relatively mild case as well.

My goal in giving up social media was to focus the extra time on my family, writing, reading, praying, and that has all been successful. However, since Brad and Peyton still use social media, after Lily goes to bed, my brain is on F, and I can’t bring myself to do one more productive thing, they are still plugged in. Now, I watch TED Talks and Orange is the New Black* on Netflix.

In the past, I would have gotten on Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter. I would have commented on some adorable babies, prayed for all the people with prayer requests, encouraged friends who were feeling down, liked pictures of salads, sushi, smoothies, and sunsets, Amen’ed a couple witty musings, and gone to bed.

That brought this alarming realization: The solitude I craved when too many people pulled pieces of me in too many different directions is really lonely. I am not designed to be by myself on an island (unless it’s a warm beautiful one, I could chill there for awhile), writing and reading and making my brain ache. I’m meant to interact with and encourage people. And…guilt: I basically walked away from my mission field by giving up social media.

Ughhhhhhhhhhhhh.

So, I miss you guys. A lot. I could walk away from this fast, but I’m too stubborn to quit before the 40 days is over. I have an issue with finishing things, often muddling through mind-numbingly boring books, yawning and complaining through wretched movies, and torturing myself to varying degrees in the name of not quitting. I haven’t come up with a name for this disorder yet, but I will. I’m gonna have to write my own makeshift DSM to keep track of my newly minted psychoses. The ironic other side of that coin is that my word for 2014 is: Persevere. Turns out, just as I can’t quit the dumb stuff; I can’t finish the important things. Go figure!

Stay classy, San Diego. I’ll see you in 17 days.

*If you are unfamiliar with OITNB, it’s kind of like the old HBO series Oz but with women. It’s about women in prison and has graphic language and sexuality. If that makes you squeamish, it’s not the show for you. 

NEWSFLASH: I’m not Skinny, Fast, or Crafty

Recently, I’ve gotten to spend time with some of my favorite people that I don’t see regularly. Women who inspire me, teach me, understand me and accept me. Women who are confident, independent, comfortable in their own skin and encouraging of others. Women who are amazing mothers, writers, researchers, advocates, friends and sisters. I love them all and am so grateful for their presence in my life.

A few weeks ago, I read The Prayer of Jabez by Bruce Wilkinson. It was a short, very interesting read that detailed the story of Jabez in Chronicles, his powerful prayer, and how to live a fully blessed life ourselves. So, I started praying the prayer of Jabez every day for myself and my family, for our church and our pastors, and for everyone who asks for prayer.

Right now, I’m gonna pray it for my dog as she is emitting an odor that suggests she may have consumed a cadaver. I sometimes pray for my animals. Some people think that is crazy, and maybe it is. I don’t think God censors the things you can talk about with Him though. “It’s Friday, and I, the Almighty ruler of the universe, am not taking prayer requests for stinky dogs.” When I say that I imagine that God sounds like the Wizard of Oz, you know, behind the curtain before we know that the Wizard’s just the door guy. That’s how the God from my Catholic childhood sounded. And sorry, if you haven’t seen The Wizard of Oz, I just kinda ruined that for you.

Phew. Sorry, imagine that, I strayed off topic.

Refocus. My beautiful friends help me realize that it’s okay to be okay with where you are and who you are. I don’t mean settling for mediocrity, but for instance, I think I’ve mentioned a time or two that I don’t like to run. Yet, in preparing to turn 40, I set a goal to run a race with my family. Chloe loves to run, and Brad runs but doesn’t really love it. In a recent conversation with my pastor’s mom (who is my age; my pastor is 18–kidding), she said that her workout consists of meeting a friend at the gym and casually using the elliptical and talking. “Sometimes we don’t even sweat,” she said. Wow. I don’t like to sweat. I don’t like to run. I will make a sign and cheer for Brad and Chloe and my brother, and I will drink coffee and snuggle with my little kiddos because I like to do that. And I’m good at it. Yes, I’m good at drinking coffee and snuggling. I’m not trying to be a runner anymore.

So, I’m gonna give myself permission to be better at the things I’m good at and to let go of the things (most Pinterest crafts) that I generally suck at. Fortunately, my dear little friend from church is super creative and talented. She makes beautiful crafts, and for a nominal fee, she’ll make something fabulous for me, and I remain free from glue gun burns.

I’m also giving myself permission not to weigh 110 pounds. Ya heard. My friend, Jen, is very thin, has two kids, eats like a 300 pound man, and has an underactive thyroid (yes, I know the difference, and no life is not fair.) She runs too. Not on a regular basis, but like, “Oh, I think I’ll run a half marathon,” every once in a while. And she does. The more I type the less I like her. (Kidding, again. I brought my A-game, Rivera) But, I am not made like that. I like to eat, but my body flaunts my love for food. That is O.K.

Initially praying the prayer, I believed that I was going to be stretched in all sorts of ways: running, crafting, writing, gardening, building, redecorating. But what I found instead is that God narrowed my focus. He gave me more people to talk with, listen to, and learn from. He gave me more people to encourage, pray for, and, gulp, forgive. He reminded me to focus on my gifts not someone else’s.

One more thing. For years, we have prayed for Peyton to grow. He went to high school this year and told me, “Mom, I’m the smallest kid in the school.” That hurt my heart. Over the years, we’ve prayed, bought nutrition shakes, set eating schedules, taken vitamins, and then, as I prayed the prayer for him over and over, God impressed this on my heart: “I made Him exactly how he is supposed to be.” When I shared that with him, I was rewarded with a full mouth dimpled smile, and we changed our prayers–not that he would grow but that he would be comfortable in his skin and that God would accomplish great things through him, exactly the way he is.

Please don’t mistake this is my attempt to start a slacker movement where we all give up trying to better ourselves. I’m just trying to be a better me and encouraging you to be a better you. But I’m not trying to be you. And please don’t try to be me, even though my mad snuggling skills are enviable. Be you. God Bless.