grace

Manna for the Moment

Manna for the Moment
Photo by Nicholas Barbaros on Unsplash

 

It’s safe to say we’re all worn a little thin these days. As Bilbo Baggins said, “Like butter scraped over too much bread.”

Sometimes it’s just because we’re looking down the road and we see all that’s ahead. We’re at the beginning of diagnosis. Getting our kids to college feels daunting. We wonder how we’ll keep our heads above water with all the work we have to do.

Sometimes life comes at us hard. We’re reminded of our frailty, of how little we can actually control in our lives, or in the world.

I felt that way a few weeks ago, burdened by the weight of a situation in my life. I realized the anxiety I felt was because I wanted the grace, not just for this moment, but for all the moments. Looking ahead, I wanted all the grace for all that might happen in this area of my life.

And God said, “I only give you manna for this moment.”

What Is Manna?

Manna, the bread the Israelites were given as they wandered in the desert. The bread that literally made them say, “what is it?” I mean I’m not a foodie, but the thought of that same old same old every day for years sounds blech.

And yet it sustained. It was enough. From the hands of a God who knew what they needed, it was just right.

But it was daily provision. Not “store up for tomorrow” or “store up for when you really need it” provision.

Manna for the moment.

So when that anxiety tried to creep back in, I went to God to remind myself that I don’t need now what I will need then. I only need Him to give me what I need for where I am right now. And a few hours later, still-manna for this moment.

I thought of it again a week later when I stared ahead with anticipation to a new project I started at work. It was to start on a Thursday. I worried about it on Monday, and God said, “Are you doing this today?”

“No.”

“So I will give you manna for today. And when we get to Thursday, I will be there too. I will give you the grace you need when we get there.”

Manna for Each Moment

It’s such an invitation into trust that not only will God be there but His grace will be too. It doesn’t run out. His storehouses don’t empty. We don’t have to store up out of fear that we will lack later. Perfect provision for the place where we are.

But gosh, it’s hard, this moment-by-moment dependence. It keeps us close to our need, aware of our lack. But it’s also this amazing opportunity to turn our eyes off our weakness and onto His strength, His sufficiency.

Whatever circumstance we’re in today, God will give us the grace we need. Not for what comes tomorrow. Just for what we see today. Because then tomorrow we get to wake up and do this dependence dance all over again.

This dependence disciplines us. It humbles us. But it also frees us to live in the moment. Why do we worry about tomorrow? His grace will be there.

This is how we traverse the wilderness; one manna moment at a time. We walk with God as He feeds us His grace.

 

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Living with a Slow Drain

Living with a Slow Drain
Photo by Pedro da Silva on Unsplash

 

In so many of my conversations with others, I heard phrases like, “I don’t understand why I’m so tired,” or “I’m not usually this impatient,” or “Why does this seem so much harder?”

I have a simple answer: we’re not living at full.

By that, I mean that there is a slow and constant drain that keeps us from living at a full tank every day.

When we lived overseas, we became aware of this dynamic. We likened it to our lives as a bucket of water, the water as our life energy. The challenges of living cross-culturally were not poking huge holes in our buckets that drained us. Then why were we so tired?

Because the challenges, while often small, still made holes. They were just little pinprick holes. From those holes, life drained.

One pinprick, OK. A few, no big deal. But we had a thousand pinpricks, and that adds up.

Living with the on-going challenges of the pandemic is like a thousand pinprick holes in the bucket of our lives. Constantly adjusting to a different way of living is exhausting. No, it’s not as big as in the beginning when we were stuck at home. But think of the mental and emotional energy that a series of small events in one day can take:

What Drains Us

Remembering to bring a mask with you everywhere.

Awkward social greetings because you don’t know if your friend is OK with physical touch.

The isolation of working from home.

Being surrounded by family while you’re trying to work.

The kids need you for their calls.

You forgot to mute yourself.

Or you forgot to unmute yourself.

Hours of trying to read people over zoom.

Zoom butt (my husband complains of this daily)

You just got exposed to someone with the virus.

Watching people argue on social media.

You are the one arguing on social media.

We don’t see eye to eye about the pandemic.

We don’t see eye to eye about politics.

It’s unclear where either of us stands on the pandemic or politics so now it’s awkward to have a conversation.

Another event date that should have happened passes by.

And all that on top of normal life events that would be a challenge even without a pandemic.

Every day there are a thousand little things that drain us. A thousand ways life is different, not the way we knew, not the way we hope.

We could pretend it’s fine. Just look on the bright side. Console ourselves with, “Well, it’s better than it was.” But those thoughts don’t fill holes.

So what do we do about the drain?

We need more filling. So much has drained us this year, and few of us have taken the time we need to refill. It’s hard to find the time, honestly, between zoom calls and online learning and navigating new social situations.

We can’t control the situation we live in, but we can be kind to ourselves by recognizing that this “new normal” isn’t normal. It’s not the way we are meant to be. And we are human. It wears on us to live like this.

We need this grace. Grace to acknowledge that we’re not operating from full tanks right now, and that’s normal. When we’re impatient and tired and it’s harder than we think it should be, we need to remember that we’re running low. Deep breath.

These days, our buckets drain more quickly. We need to go to the well of God’s grace or the well of relationships in our lives more often. Not just daily but even moment by moment. Every hour we need Him.

We need more of God. We need more kindness. More grace. More of that which fills us up while the world drains us. In that sense, there’s something good about this season. It can make us more dependent, keep us closer to that which ministers to our souls. We may not be able to stop the slow drain, but we know where to get filled up again.

 

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Cancel Culture and the Gospel

Cancel Culture and the Gospel
Photo by Markus Winkler on Unsplash

 

These days, as I said in my last post, I avoid social media most of the time. It’s just not good for my soul. Every once in a while though I will jump on Twitter and see what’s trending. All too often, I see a hashtag that includes the word, “cancel.”

We like to cancel people these days. More often than not, it’s a comment or an action from that person that offends in some way. Sometimes it’s justified-we need to call out wrong behavior.

But more often than not, it seems, it’s something that person simply didn’t think through well enough before it happened; if they had, they might have refrained.

Worse yet, maybe it happened years ago. Decades ago, even. Back when their brains weren’t fully developed, or before they carried the cultural gravitas they have now. Back when they were unknown, or before they changed their mind on an issue (yes, we can change our minds and our behavior). Certainly, before everyone’s every movement could be documented and displayed for the world to see.

But too late! It doesn’t matter when or why, it’s in the world now, and enough to make a blanket judgment about you. You are voted off the island, eliminated from the crowd, erased from existence. And not only you, but anyone associated with you.

I’m all for holding people accountable for their words and actions. There’s a growing recognition that much of what happens in our society has been and continues to be damaging to many. That must change. On certain issues, we cannot remain silent or we add to the problem.

But this idea that we will cancel someone because of one moment-this I cannot reconcile with the gospel.

Cancel Culture in the Bible

Cancel culture paints the world in black and white. You are good or bad, weighed on a scale. You tip out of favor with one wrong move, and there’s no coming back from it. The gavel has come down and you are irreversibly in the “bad” category.

The good/bad split doesn’t account for the reality that we are complex people, capable of great blessing and harm, each of us. It doesn’t account for redemption. It doesn’t recognize the gospel.

I think of Zaccheus. There’s a man we would cancel today. He betrayed his own people in his job as a tax collector. The woman caught in adultery? Canceled. Peter denying Jesus three times? Canceled.

When we don’t have the lens of the gospel, it makes sense that we would cancel. We create our own moral code, a tenuous assumption of goodness until we prove otherwise. The world waits with its scarlet C, ready to judge.

The Gospel of Grace

But the gospel says there is redemption. There is hope for those who fail. Grace for the fallen. New life after the wrong-doing. It says our goodness isn’t measured on a scale, that forgiveness is possible, and change can happen.

The gospel says there is no one good, not one. Instead, there is One who has come and done what we cannot do-wiped the slate clean, broken the scales, torn the veil that separates us from love and acceptance and freedom from top to bottom.

Don’t think I’m suggesting we not call people out on their sin. There is good accountability, a higher standard being raised in areas long excused. That is important.

But in all ways and at all times, we are called to treat people as Jesus did and does.

What would Jesus say to the person today who commits a cancel-worthy crime?

Jesus Doesn’t Cancel Us

I think of the woman caught in adultery, of Zaccheus, of Peter. I think of how Jesus responded to them. He did not excuse their sin. He knew exactly what they had done.

But in his response to them, there was no shame. There was no dismissal of them as people. He looked straight at them with compassion. He clearly acknowledged their sin and then invited them away from it.  There was hope for restoration.

And restoration happened. Zaccheaus paid back all he took and then some. Peter became the foundation of the church. Jesus calls out sin, and then He calls us out of it into new life.

With the gospel, there is hope. With cancel culture, there is only condemnation. It goes against our sense of justice, but in God’s eyes, no one is unredeemable.

We ought to hold people accountable for their actions. Sin should be acknowledged. We must invite people to repentance. And yes, that might mean consequences-loss of position or influence. But it should not involve condemnation. Shame has no place in the gospel.

God Doesn’t Cancel Us

Full disclosure? I’ve been afraid to write this post. So many times I’ve seen people take issue with something a writer says or does, and the result is, “We aren’t going to read anything she writes anymore,” as though that one comment or action negates all the goodness or truth that person has written. I fear being canceled.

But I don’t want to live under that tyranny. I hope I never sin against someone in what I write. It’s possible I might ignorantly offend. If that happens, I would hope someone would come to me and invite me to repentance. I would hope for the opportunity to set things right.

May we be like Him, speaking truth to sin, but with a kind call to turn from that sin. After all, it’s His kindness that leads to repentance, not shame.

God never cancels us.

“Jesus straightened up and asked her, ‘Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?’ ‘No one, sir,’ she said. “Then neither do I condemn you,’ Jesus declared. ‘Go now and leave your life of sin.'” John 8:10-11

 

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Why We Need Kindness Right Now

Why We Need Kindness Right Now
photo by Priscilla Du Preez

 

Sometimes as I think about this strange season we’re in, and how much longer it’s going to be I wonder how we will get through (honestly, it’s good they’re doing this in stages. We need to be eased into the reality of it). What I keep coming back to is this: we need a lot more kindness.

Why We Need Kindness

We need to be kind to ourselves, and we need to be kind to others. In stores, online, in zoom calls and on the streets (from a safe social distance, of course). Our world needs more kindness if we’re going to get through this well.

We need kindness because we’ve never done this before. And when we do something for the first time, we don’t know what we’re doing. Which means we’ll feel lost and uncomfortable and incompetent. And the last thing we need right then is to put unrealistic expectations on ourselves to know what to do and be able to keep going just as we did before. No, we need someone to be kind to us. We need someone to be patient while we learn this new season.

We need kindness because this is scary. And when things are scary we get anxious. That’s normal. Some of us are more anxious than others for a lot of really good reasons-our health is poor, or our parents are old, or we have to work in hospitals. Whatever the reason, whether it makes sense to us or not, it’s understandable. When someone is scared, it doesn’t help to tell them not to be scared. They need empathy. They need someone to listen to their fears and tell them we’re with them.

We need kindness because it’s just too much sometimes. And when it’s too much it’s not because we’re weak or we did it wrong or we stink at this. It’s too much because we weren’t made to live this way. Adrenaline is only supposed to last us so long-just enough to get away from the danger. We can’t get away from this danger. When we hit the wall (and we will) we need to be kind to ourselves about it.

We need kindness because this isn’t normal. But this is the only normal that we’re going to get for a long time, and that’s hard. Learning to live with that is discombobulating, which is a fantastic word but something none of us like to feel. We’re living with little “t” trauma all the time. A lot of us feel disregulated. Kindness helps get us back to a healthy place.

We need kindness because we’re sad. The big, obvious losses we’re incurring are easy to note, but we tend to ignore the little ones. We did a zoom call the other night with old friends from overseas, and while it was a delight, the fact that they are here in my city and I can’t see them grieved me. Those little losses are like pinhole pricks in the bucket of our life; after a while, we’re drained and we don’t know why. Kindness acknowledges the holes and says, “no wonder you’re sad.”

And all of this makes us really tired in a way that surprises us a lot. Why are we so tired? Because of all the things. Because of unexpected homeschooling, and ridiculous amounts of pivoting, coupled with less positive relational connection than even the most introverted among us need. We need to be kind to ourselves when we’re tired. Of course we’re tired.

Kindness for the Journey

So we carry all of that on us, often without realizing it. And that’s a heavy load, especially to carry for a long time. Extending kindness is like someone coming alongside us to acknowledge the impossible weight, lift the pack off, and give us permission to rest. Yes, we need to keep walking, but we need to give ourselves and others the space to sit in that grace from time to time.

Maybe you’re taking this all in stride. Maybe you’ve moved through the grief and confusion and you’re in a place of acceptance. That’s good. But others are still struggling. Or will be struggling (including those of us who are doing well today-it might hit us again tomorrow). We need kindness because even though we’re all in this together, we’re not. Each of us is experiencing it differently, for a million reasons. And when someone else hits the wall in a way we don’t understand, they need kindness. Kindness gives everyone the space to be on their own journey in responding to this.

I hope we give it to them. Because kindness grows kindness. And when we are in a practice of extending kindness to ourselves in difficult seasons, then it’s our natural response to extend it to others.

As hard as this season is, that’s my hope-that this could be a time when we grow kindness like wildflowers. May this be a time when our ability to look each other in the eyes and simply see “beloved of God” before us grows exponentially. Kindness will help us get through it.

 

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Grace for the New Year

Grace for the New Year
Photo by Lina Trochez on Unsplash

 

I woke up one morning soon after Christmas break all ambitious for the day (the 5-word title of my biography will read Maybe She Was too Ambitious). I planned a few hours of writing, a few hours of talk planning.

But then we had an unexpected doctor visit (all’s well, thanks for asking). That’s alright, I thought-a little less writing, a little less planning.

And then I realized how tired I was. So I decided on a 20-minute nap.

4 times in a row.

While I went in and out of sleep, I felt that old nagging friend, Anxiety, whispering, “You’re not getting things done,” and her companion, Guilt, “some start to the new year. I mean seriously, it’s day 3 of being back to productivity.”

But then, Grace showed up. And Grace said, “Apparently you need sleep. Good thing you’ve got time next week. It’ll be okay. It will happen. One day that doesn’t go as planned does not derail your life.”

It doesn’t take long into a new venture for those old voices to start whispering to us. Maybe we bit off more than we can chew. It might be too hard. Do we really need to go to the gym? How important is that habit I wanted to start? Is that dream actually worth pursuing?

It’s easy to fall into an all or nothing mentality. If I’m not doing it well, maybe it’s not worth doing. If I skip a day, fall short, miss an opportunity, maybe I shouldn’t have tried in the first place.

But that’s a life without the voice of Grace. We won’t get far into our adventures this year without it.

What Grace Says

Scripture says the righteous person falls seven times and rises again, but the wicked stumble in times of calamity (Proverbs 24:16).

The wise woman hits repeat four times on her alarm and then rises to try again, but the foolish one lets the negative voices tell her she’s disqualifying herself.

In the pursuit of the goals, habits, and dreams we hope to accomplish this year, we will stumble. Grace is the voice saying, “get back up, you’re not done.”

Grace says one day doesn’t take us out. Or a week of days. Or even a month. It says we can still hope, and God doesn’t desert, and this is all part of being human.

Grace might be the best companion we have all year. The best workout buddy, the greatest accountability partner, our biggest cheerleader. Share on X

So let’s bring Grace along this year in every endeavor.

Let it be the voice that speaks loudest in your mind whenever you get sidetracked.

Listen to it call you to freedom and rest.

May it be the voice that encourages you to keep going.

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Grace Will Take Us Where Hustling Can’t

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Grace Will Take You Places Hustling Can't
Photo by frank mckenna on Unsplash

 

If you’ve been to any kind of sporting event, you’ve likely heard (or said yourself), “C’mon, let’s hustle!” Move faster, stay ahead of the game, git ‘er done.

Hustling is a high value in our society. Those who do get ahead. They win.

But hustling pays a price. When we do it for too long, it becomes the way we feel we must live in order to survive. There’s no peace, no finish line.

We begin to believe we are what we do. We depend more and more on our own strength. The hustling defines us.

And then probably somewhere along the way those who hustle fall down exhausted, because no one is meant to live that way for the long haul.

But then there’s grace. Imagine yelling that at a sporting event, “It’s all grace, baby!” Think what that would do (aside from stink eye from other parents).

Hustling might take us faster, but where does it leave us?

Maybe grace could take us farther.

Where Grace Takes Us

Grace takes us to freedom. It lets us fail, and get back up again, and in the process, we learn more.

Grace says slow is an acceptable, maybe even preferable, pace. It might take longer to get there, but we have stamina for the long haul.

Grace opens the door for us to be ourselves in ways hustling never allows. It tells us that we are a gift just as we are, not as we think we ought to be.

And grace invites others to join us on that journey. As the African proverb says, “If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.”

We were made for grace, for a way of life that says, “you’re okay. Stop trying so hard. It’s been done for you. Relax into it.” So when we live in grace, we live like we’re home.

It’s hard to undo patterns of hustling. Hard to shut out the voices around us that say, “Prove your worth.” Grace sometimes feels too good to be true, like we’re letting go and just treading water.

But instead of treading water, maybe it’s learning to grab hold of the liferaft that’s always been there. It’s letting go of striving and resting in what’s been done for us. We stop our desperate swimming and walk to shore. 

So today I want to see where I’m hustling-working hard to earn my place and prove my worth. And then I want to remember that grace is the better option. Let go. Be yourself. We’ll go farther this way.

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Choosing Slow

Choosing Slow
Photo by Alex Blăjan on Unsplash

If you’ve read my blog for any length of time, you know I like efficiency. (It’s the hallmark trait of an Enneagram 3).

The faster I work, the more I get done. If I get more done, I’m more likely to be seen, recognized, successful, valuable. Or so the logic goes.

And so, I move quickly.

I drive, as I like to say, like I’m trying to lose someone. Not super fast, but fast enough.

Despite never taking a typing class, I type quickly (and with terrible form I imagine, but it gets the job done).

Each week, I speed through my housework like a Tasmanian Devil.

I dare you to keep up with me at the airport. Or anywhere, for that matter. I’m short, but I’m fast.

Grocery shopping. Packing my bags. You name it-I guarantee I am mentally calculating how to get it done as fast as possible.

It’s like I’m playing a game of “whoever does more wins.” Faster feels better. It feels like winning.

I don’t do slow.

Or at least, I historically haven’t. God started me on a journey in the spring of reclaiming space in my life. Turns out it’s more than just doing less. It’s doing less at a slower pace. Living an unhurried life.

I’m learning that having less in my schedule doesn’t necessarily mean my soul is taking life at a slow pace.

As Mark Buchanan says in The Rest of God, we are meant to sabbath, “not just a day, but as an orientation, a way of seeing and knowing.” Slow is not just about time, but it’s an attitude, a way of living.

So lately, I have to ask myself, “What’s wrong with slow, Gina?” What do I gain by all this hurry?

Maybe the better question is: What do I lose?

When I make it my aim to drive as quickly as possible, my body stays in a state of tension. Slow drivers irritate me, my patience wears thin. Other people become nothing more than obstacles. My focus is on my pace, more than anything else around me, including those with me.

When I type quickly, I feel myself ramping up. The, “more is better” lie whispers in my ear.

A day of housework at top speed leaves me exhausted, depleting me of reserves I could have spent elsewhere.

When I race through airports and stores and down the sidewalk, I miss life along the way. I miss the people around me.

And all for a few extra minutes, one more task completed, another email sent.

All this speed makes my soul feel left behind. There’s no space, no rest. Getting more done, getting there sooner, doesn’t guarantee more life, more love, more anything. I’m left impatient, exhausted, and irritated.

For the sake of my soul, I’m choosing slow.

So I’m choosing to drive slower than I could. When someone in front of me is taking their time, I often change my speed to match theirs. There’s a long stretch out to our neighborhood where the speed limit is 55. Recently I found myself barely driving 50 down it. (I used to hate people like me).

I’m slowing my typing too. It’s hard to do-fast habits are hard to break. But there’s a release of tension when I intentionally do slow (bonus: I mistype things less too).

Recently, I flew to Little Rock, Arkansas. When the people in front of me walked like they had all day to get to the gate, I was tempted to swerve around them. Instead, I took a breath and kept walking with them. It was good.

As I make these choices, something unwinds in my soul. Breathing comes easier. I remember I’m not as important as I think I am. I find peace I didn’t know was there.

Now I’m looking for other places where I could do slow. When I feel the temptation to speed, I ask myself what I hope to gain from it. And what I could gain from an unhurried pace instead: patience, gentleness, grace, rest.

Where do you need to be slow?

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Permission to Make Mistakes

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Permission to Make Mistakes
Photo by Daniel Tafjord on Unsplash

A friend of mine called one afternoon, in tears. She messed up. No way around it, no sugar coating. She made a mistake. It left her feeling disqualified.

I resonate with the feeling. I’m an Enneagram 3-failure is my kryptonite. The accompanying shame is my greatest fear. That’s the kicker, right? The shame. The sucker punch in your gut that you can’t shake. That feeling not just that we did something wrong, but that there’s something wrong with us. 

Mistakes happen. We all know that. We all make them. But there’s this pervasive sense that we shouldn’t.

If only we had planned better, worked harder, been smarter, caught ourselves sooner, it wouldn’t have happened. Mistakes feel like an indictment.

Lies, all lies.

We are too hard on ourselves

Gosh, I wish we could let ourselves make more mistakes. I wish I could let myself make more mistakes. Later that afternoon I texted my husband about a decision I made that resulted in us missing a deadline, and I told him, “now I’m questioning all my life choices.”

It was a $20 mistake.

His response, “So you’re questioning all your life choices over $20?”

Yes! Yes, I am. Let me have this! It feels proportionate!

But it’s not. I’ve said it before, and I will say it until my dying breath-we are too hard on ourselves. We are harder on ourselves than anyone else is. What feels disqualifying is just evidence of being human. It’s an opportunity to brush ourselves off, laugh, keep going, and maybe learn something in the process (like pay closer attention to deadlines).

When my friend called that day, she said, “It feels like grace has run out for me.” (One of those, “I know it’s not true, but right now it feels true,” statements).

I get it. That $20 mistake came on the heels of a much larger, much more life-changing mistake we made a few weeks prior regarding our son’s housing for college that stung. Hard. We’re understandably a little gun shy. It feels like grace could run out any minute.

But it won’t. It doesn’t. Not for us. Not for her either. Cause grace doesn’t run out. (say it again, this time with feeling!)

Grace. Doesn’t. Run. Out.

[ictt-tweet-inline]Mistakes don’t shut the door to grace-they open it. [/ictt-tweet-inline] They are an invitation to others to come alongside us and speak the kindness and gentleness we need. It’s easy to believe that people stick around because we’re doing it right. Every time we fail, we give others the chance to prove that those who really love us stick around regardless.

Look to The Source

Oh sure, the reality is some won’t. From some people, grace may run dry. But (and I say this with great love for all the people) people are not a reliable source of anything.

A source, yes, but not THE source. And those who can’t offer grace usually don’t because they struggle to receive it for themselves. People can’t give what they don’t have. So while we may hope for grace from others, we can always rely on the Source.

The Source of grace never runs dry. God is overflowing with unmerited, never-ending grace.

So let mistakes be a reminder that our souls are thirsty, and the well is never empty. Let them lead us to admit that we’re human, limited, fallible, weak, and needy. Failure humbles us and causes us (hopefully) to reach out for just a little more grace.

Be a grace giver

And friends, we need to grab that grace. Not only for ourselves but for others. The more we give ourselves permission to make mistakes, to be human, to stumble and fall and get back up, the more we let the people around us do it too.

Then we end up living in a world where we’re all less afraid. We take risks because failure isn’t fatal, just humbling. When we learn to live with mistakes, we become the grace givers. And the world needs more grace givers.

So where did you fail today? How will you give yourself permission to make some mistakes? There’s more grace for you. There’s more grace for all of us.

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Learning to Walk (at an Unhurried Pace)

Learning to Walk (at an Unhurried Pace)
Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

 

I shopped at Costco recently, and I realized, “I’m casually browsing.”

I don’t remember the last time I casually browsed anywhere. Most of my shopping expeditions are like ninja missions, “You have eight minutes. GO!”

This is one of the by-products of reclaiming my life.

It began a few months ago when I made the decision to step out of one of my roles at work. It was a tough choice, but one made from a place of humility: I was simply doing too much.

I felt called to slow my life to a walking pace.

In the months since it feels like my soul suddenly has space to breathe. You know that feeling after a big meal when you go switch into your elastic waistband pants? That feeling.

I’m finding margin in my life again. It feels good, for the most part. But it’s not without its challenges.

See, I’m used to running through life. So this invitation to walk, while inviting, is foreign. Walking is easier, and more sustainable, but I am not very good at it.

I know how to run. During my brief stint as an actual runner, I remember the challenge of faster, farther. No matter how hard a run was, the minute I finished my first thought was, “I bet tomorrow I could improve.”

It’s addictive, that kind of living.

Faster. Farther. More. Better. Longer. Squeezing every ounce of life out of every day, pushing the edges of our capacity, filling the margins until there’s no white space. After a while, we don’t know what it looks like not to run.

So in this process of learning to slow down, I’m finding I need to wrestle with two parts of me: my body, and my mind.

My body simply isn’t accustomed to breathing space. Just because your body slows down it doesn’t mean your heart rate does. In other words, just because you make space on the outside doesn’t mean your heart and soul know how to be still on the inside.

In this slower pace, I’m aware of how amped up my body can get. What used to feel like energy I realize now was anxiety, my body gearing up for a fight. I’m relearning how to breathe regularly, to notice when my body tenses involuntarily. Yoga helps.

And then there’s the mental battle. I find myself thinking, “But I could do more. Look! Open space in my schedule. I should fill it.”

It’s all fueled by deeper voices.

Some of those voices say, “See? I knew you couldn’t hack it. You’re just average.” Others say, “But people need you.” And still others, “They’ll be so disappointed.” And the worst for me, “Lazy bum.” The voices whisper that running is better. Faster. Farther. More.

The voices are wrong.

I recently read Present Over Perfect by Shauna Niequist, which in many ways gave me the courage to move this direction. In it, she says, “I’m going to find a new way of living that allows for rest, as much as I need, not just enough to get me through without tears, but enough to feel alive and whole, grounded and gracious.” 

This is what I hope walking through life will do for me-I will feel wholly alive, grounded and gracious.

I want to walk at a pace that allows me to keep time with the slowest person in my life. Lingering with, resting alongside, listening to, and seeing others. I have a suspicion that the more I do, the more grace I will give the person inside me who needs to be slow, weak, needy.

Walking helps me love.

It’s hard to love well when we’re running through life. I might wave as I pass you by, but I can’t be fully present. My hope is that as I rest, so can you. As I live in the space God has given me, not striving ahead or pushing the edges, I hope my life gives freedom to others to do the same.

I’m not there yet. Living an unhurried life is a battle in this world. But I’m encouraged by the ways I already feel more available and present for the people and passions that hold my heart.

So feel free to ask me how my walking is going, or pull me aside when you see my pace start to pick up too much. It’s a journey. I’d love for you to join me.

Related posts:

Warning: Don’t Forget to Breathe

Keeping a Sabbath Heart

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Continue ReadingLearning to Walk (at an Unhurried Pace)

How to Have the Perfect Christmas

How to Have the Perfect Christmas
photo by Ben White

 

One year, I almost ordered 300 Christmas cards from, “The Carter family.”

We are not the Carter family.

Every year, I chase this elusive idea of a perfect Christmas.

In my scenario, all gifts (and I mean all) are purchased by December 15th at the very latest.

One day of baking suffices for all the places and people who require me to give them creatively arranged sugar.

No child ever asks me to help them get a gift for a classmate/outreach/teacher by tomorrow.

All the cards and gifts for friends are doled out early on, leaving plenty of time to simply enjoy the holidays, drink chai latte, and let Alexa play me Christmas carols all day.

I want beautiful family memories, traditions we all love and embrace.

I long for harmonious relationships, the Norman Rockwell family gathered around the fireplace. There is unity, love, and warmth.

But sometimes you almost order cards with someone else’s name on them.

Sometimes you try to make a gingerbread house and it nearly drives you insane.

There are more cookies to make, more gifts to buy, things are out of stock, there are too many parties, and the tree falls over of its own accord (I’m looking at you, tree of 2014).

There’s the awkwardness of unreciprocated gifts and cards, stilted conversations with family members, tiptoeing around the topics we know ruffle feathers.

There is a new empty space at the table.

There are missed flights, disappointed expectations, stressful coordination of schedules and outright painful interactions.

You start to wonder if you could just not participate in Christmas this year.

But there’s still a perfect Christmas to be found.

After all, the first Christmas was an imperfect one, but it still ended well.

I’m sure the Christmas story was not what Mary had planned.

She didn’t want to be an unwed mother, traveling during her last month of pregnancy, forced to give birth in the stench of animals, far from her family.

Joseph never wanted the stigma of his fiancé being pregnant.

He didn’t ask for the hassle of traveling to his hometown.

He wouldn’t have chosen to become a refugee in Egypt to protect his son.

But this is how God orchestrated sending his son to us. And in the end, it was all good, because we got Jesus.

The perfect Christmas is one where we find Jesus.

We do not owe the world a beautifully decorated house or a slew of Christmas gifts.

We can send them a picture that claims we are someone else, and they will still know who we are.

The tree can be lopsided. We can skip parties.

Say no to the strained relationships because they make it too hard to focus on enjoying Jesus.

Go ahead and risk what others will think if you don’t participate in sending Christmas cards or go to another party because your soul needs time to breathe instead.

Step away from the bustle and let him speak to you.

The perfect Christmas is one where we are lost in the wonder of what He has done, and our souls feel their worth.

It’s a Christmas where we search hard for Jesus, and when we find Him, we cling to Him like nothing else matters. Then, in a weary world, we can rejoice.

Let’s chase that with more energy than we chase the outward appearance of it.

So let your Christmas be imperfect to make room for Him.

Leave off one more gift to enjoy His presence.

It’s ok if the ornaments break because He’s still coming.

Step away from what is trying and rest in His peace.

Let yourself soak in the reality that you are loved more than life.

Look for Him, and you will find the perfect Christmas.

 

Related posts:

Death by Gingerbread House 

Do You Know What You’re Worth?

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