Joy and Pain

Our lives beat with the pulse of joy and pain. These two emotions are braided into the roots of our being, mingling together and spinning us in an erratic dance called "life." Within this dance, joy and pain swing us high in arcs of euphoria and drop us deep into suffering. There is no birth without pain, and the deepest joy is birthed from pain. When an infant enters the world, it slips into the light from the darkest place. . . (join me, here, to read the rest?)

So, Who Will You Be?

It's university and I'm eighteen years old and attempting to construct some plan my future, but I'm caught in a tension. The dilemma is whether I should do what I want to do, what I think I should do, or if there is any difference at all between those two questions. I say that I want to make the right decision to get myself a good job, but since when did I ever care that much about getting a "good" job? That's already a signal to me that I'm trying to hide something from myself.

The problem right now is that I'm only half doing what I want- the other half is doing something that I want to do too, but for completely different reasons. It feels a little bit wrong. The tension is whether I want a degree in business, which I hate, or a degree in english, which I love. There are many other variables to this issue (trust me), but this is the basic core of it.

The question that keeps circling in my head is: "are you just taking business so that you sound smarter?" I think that I might be walking right back into my old habits without even realizing it. I might be back to wishing that I was the logical math genius rather than this complicated, creative personality that I've been given. Is it because I always want the quick answers and rather, I am the one who must explore, uncover and experience things the hard way before realizing what I knew all along? That is what makes me myself, and I do love it, but I also think that I am wishing myself, pushing myself, into a mold that doesn't quite fit me. I can slip into it and wear it, but it doesn't flatter who I really am or highlight my best qualities. I'm not my best self here.

The reason this is risky- switching programs- is not because I'm so worried about my future career path. I trust that that will unfold somehow. That's not the point. The risk is that I feel like I'm about to let that elusive math and logic "self" beat me again. This means that I'm letting go of an ideal, trusting a lot (and giving up a job that might sound "smarter").

I have to trust that God did not create me to be naturally systematic and logical for a reason. There is a reason why I've been gifted with this specific skill set and why this is my true passion.
I was walking to make an appointment with my academic advisor to talk about switching my program when suddenly I felt like I had put it off long enough. I needed to sit under this tree right now and write, for heaven's sake.

Because something great might come from this; and how can I give up english for business? I'll go further doing what I love than cinching myself into something I hate, something I know I'll never really excel at. Maybe quitting business isn't allowing it to trump me at all- maybe it is saving myself, freeing myself. Maybe it's allowing myself space and energy to invest into doing what I love. I'd rather fight later for english and a job in that field than fight right now for an economics grade that I don't even care about.

So, true to my usual self, nothing ever happens in any kind of conventional way for me. Nothing is very linear in my life. I think, though, that at some point honesty has to take over. I have to be willing to risk doing what I love for the sake of my sanity and my calling. I can't fight the truth forever.

On Community and Why I Love Story

I haven't written here for a while. It isn't for lack of wanting to, but sometimes there are more intense seasons we walk through in life that require rest and recuperation after we experience them. As much as I hate to admit it, I have limitations and seasons of rest are just as important as seasons of productivity. I've intentionally paused from writing here for a couple of weeks.

I have been writing outside of this space, though, and I've been so honoured at the response I have received from those who have read either my stories or the stories that others have graciously allowed me to tell. It is a blessing to me. The reason I love to write other people's stories is because sometimes we can't see the meaning or depth of our stories, especially the painful ones, until someone else tells it for us. I love to be able to give that gift through my words.

The following is an excerpt from a longer essay I wrote recently about learning and how it extends far beyond the classroom. Community and story is what is really teaching us, however subtly, and prodding us toward a deeper understanding of ourselves, our lives, our world. Story teaches us something about being human. When someone is brave enough to be transparent, the impact an be huge. Story moves us.

Community can be an amazing place to learn and grow together but it can also teach us hard lessons in very painful ways.

". . . The truth is that there can be deep hurt within a community and some people draw back from this. I've been this person; the one with the broken trust and guarded soul, wary of groups and people because I've watched good churches split and good friends become cold. I've had the privilege of being wrapped in a wild, gracious, loving community with friends like brothers and sisters to me and I've had to say good-bye to them and break away. I've watched beloved family members die slowly. Through all of these experiences my heart closed a little bit more.

In Writer's Craft class this year my teacher handed me a specific quote after reading a short story I had written and it screamed at me like a siren.

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries. . . .  Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket-safe, dark, motionless, airless-it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable."
-C.S Lewis (The Four Loves)

I know I've missed out on rich relationships because I've kept people at arm's length. I can list names of the people who have reached out to me, yet I turned a cold shoulder because I couldn't take the risk. I was wrestling with this issue when I was given this quote and it loosened the noose around my heart a little. It put a crack in the walls I hide behind . . ..

We start each Writer's Craft class with prayer and the moments that we share prayer requests together have become a kind of holy space. Here, we share the burdens we carry or the burdens we see others carry. We spread the load a little between us all and it forms a connection, a shared bond. We sit in a circle and as the burdens and joys are spoken, I always see them falling in the middle and resting on the web of laughter and tears that runs between us and pulls us closer. We learn from the raw experience of others . . .."

I've been learning to be transparent with my own story because so many people have been willing to share pieces of their own honest stories with me. These people have been brave enough to show me the more hidden, broken parts of who they are. This is rich to me and I've learned so much from their truthfulness. I have to be fair and allow you to see what I've learned from my own messy, beautiful story. We weren't made to walk through life alone, but so many people live in isolated pain, breaking from the inside out; it is healing to share the fractured pieces of our narratives as well as the good parts. Sharing our stories is healthy and needed. It strengthens our bond, builds community, and it might even allow us to see a new dimension of purpose to our lives. That is the power of story.

On Vulnerability and Surrendering the Hard Things

Sometimes I walk wide circles around writing here because it forces me to be vulnerable. I view writing as an art form and I think that as an artist creates, they pour something of themselves into their work. Each piece of art is a tiny slice of the soul that has been scraped back and offered to allow others to engage in something deeper. I have scraps of half-finished thoughts scrawled all over the place, sandwiched in my school notes or on scraps of paper in my Bible, that have never been developed because they pull me open too far and it is my natural human instinct to avoid that place at all costs.

I'll share something with you now, though, because I think it is important. This past month has been an endurance test for me. It has been a rich time of growth and learning and deepening many valuable relationships in my life, but it has also been weighted by heavy questions, inner wrestling and many sharp disappointments. This is one of the "scraps" I wrote when I was in the centre of it all. The rug of certainty had been pulled out from under me multiple times and I was re-evaluating my future plans for writing, school, and where I thought God wanted me to be. I wrote this in the middle of it all in an attempt to ground myself and find the thread of truth running through all of my chaos:

Some of my dreams have been shaken up, splayed, and washed out lately. Intensity has rolled over me heavily in the past few weeks, extracting everything strong within me and replacing it with a humbled sense of what now? I'm starting to realize again, in very real ways, that nothing is certain except God. My sense of control is being wrenched from my tightly closed fists along with my dreams and I'm at the point of full surrender.

I'm wondering if I've been trying to package God into my goals; looking ahead with starry ambition and good intentions and trying to fit God in, justifying it all because it seems so good. I built my dreams with God alongside, but now they are breaking apart and God is rebuilding it all. I think He's reclaiming His rightful position in my life. He isn't only at the centre of my dreams but within, permeating, encompassing them entirely. I am reduced, yet elevated, to a vessel for His use. He has a larger vision for me than I have for myself.

Sometimes I have to die to my dreams before they can be realized. I must pray the prayer of relinquishment and sincerely surrender my own wishes in order to keep God and His plan as my focus. As much as I want my own dreams to be realized, I want to live for God above all else because I know that He is good, and His plans for me are better than anything I could come up with.

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." Romans 8:28



*Side note: This doesn't happen in every situation of surrender, but almost all of my dreams and goals that were obscured or taken away from me for a short time were given back shortly after I released my control of them to God. In my situation, this has been a continuing pattern of God showing his power to me through seemingly impossible situations and leading me to a deeper trust in Him through a long process of healing. Sometimes what you surrender will be given back to you when the time is right, but some dreams will not be returned. When this happens, it is so important to be praying, listening, and paying attention to God and where He may be directing you. Keep an open mind and heart to the vision God has for you. He is good.

Becoming

I've always wanted to be older.

Part of this stems from my personality, I think. I've always been a bit of an old soul; quiet and thoughtful, reading books I barely understood because I was too young and always sitting in on adult conversations just to listen. When I was younger, I had a picture in my mind of who I wanted to be when I was eighteen. It was a blend of all the best parts of the people I admired and what I thought I wanted to become. I naively assumed that simply growing older would change me into that person; I thought I would achieve it with maturity.

Now that I am eighteen, I'm thinking of that image, that girl I was supposed to become, and she seems so foreign and untouchable to me. If I had tried to become her, I would have compromised who I am at the core of myself. I wouldn't be myself anymore, and something about that doesn't appeal to me because I actually like who I am becoming. It's a subtle development and yes, I have flaws, but I realized that I'd rather become more of myself than turn into a bad imitation of a fabricated image. It was a mental shift: focusing on who I am and how to develop that rather than focusing on who I am not and how to obtain it.

In a little over a month, my time as a high school student will quietly close. Lately I've been thinking back over these past four years, drawing up old memories and wondering what I would have done differently. I hated most of high school, but this past year has been so different and I'm discovering why. At the beginning of the year, I knew I wanted to end well. Previously, school had been a place of tension manifesting between me and myself. It was a battle ground in which I subconsciously set impossible expectations and failed to live up to them, lending to a subconscious feeling of failure (because a 100% average is an unrealistic goal that, now, I am not ashamed that I never achieved). I wouldn't think of judging others by their GPA, but somehow I didn't escape my own criticism.

With a subtle shift in focus, this has become one of the best years of school so far. I slowly gave myself permission to be genuine, lowered my expectations a little, intentionally tried to focus on other people and, in exchange, I gained personal freedom, achieved the same GPA without all the pressure, and had so much more fun. I love setting goals, but only goals that are attainable and in keeping with who I am and who I want to become. At the beginning of first semester, I prayed about very specific areas of school and life that I knew I wanted to change and I've been surprised and blessed to watch them take on a new dimension and depth to me. It was a process: I didn't wake up one day completely changed and I'm still not completely changed, but it's a healthier way of living.

Now I am finally the age I always wanted to be and it seems silly now, because it's just an age. It will fade away like all the others and my spirit, the core of who I am, will be the same. I can't change that. I interact with elderly people on a regular basis, and many of them will lament to me about growing old. In some, though, I can see a youthful spirit shining through their eyes, the energy that vibrates within, and I tell them that they are only as old as their spirit feels.

I should listen to my own advice.

For Mothers

The song of your past
can still be heard;
the ebb and flow
of a melody
on some distant wind
that ushers you
into now.
Now,
a string of mothers
have led us here.
Birthed and grown
to birth and grow.
Raised to flourish
to flourish in the raising.
Give rise to the future:
that is your calling
stretched out in the long hours,
bound by your words and
carried by your example.
You can sweep the home clean, but
you can't sweep away the home.
We filled you and
emptied you
repeatedly.
Blood and spirit and life
poured out
from you, tangled in us.
Birthed,
grown,
raised to
flourish
from you.
You are the song and
we are the harmony,
lingering on,
casting foreword
for you.





*Written for my own mother.

For When You Feel Like You've Lost Control

The weather has broken open lately and now, finally, the days are warmer and the smell of spring rises from the ground. Lately I've been finding myself in parking lots in the early mornings, or as dusk falls, and I'll cut my engine so I can listen to the silence as the sun climbs higher or the moon illuminates. I'm not always sure why I do this; sometimes it is an unconscious reminder that there is a grander story than the small details of my own mundane. It is a fallback on natural rhythms; I can run as fast as I want to in a day, but a miracle edges it open and a miracle pins it closed again. Every time. Ultimately, I don't have control.

I need to remember that sometimes because so often I fight for control. I might not look like the average control freak, though. My life usually looks more like a collage or mosaic than a linear progression of events. I don't line up anything in neat rows; I prefer stacks. I like some chaos and unpredictability in my daily life and I only use an organized calendar so other people know where I am. My preferred method of schedule organization consist of scattered, random lists ranging from remembering to send an email to "don't forget pens" to reminding myself to lighten up a little. I have friends who organize their closets and desks at home with special containers and jars with labels because it clears their mind and allows space into their lives. I maintain basic levels of organization because if I organize things too well, I just lose them. A little while ago, a portion of my wardrobe mysteriously migrated into my car (always be prepared for impromptu sleepovers, that's my theory). I like the "lived in" feel of a space. Not like a tornado just ripped through, but "lived in." Also, if I ever wear socks, they probably won't be matching. Some things are just a little more important in life.

I still like to feel like I am in control of the bigger issues in life, but I think that this is a natural and universal human desire. At my last doctor's appointment for my back and digestion issues (or Ankylosing Spondylitis, if you'd rather be fancy about it), we determined that my current treatment was making the inflammation and pain worse rather than controlling it. She advised that I do a four week trial in which I would not eat any gluten, dairy, eggs, soy, sugar or peanuts to rule out allergies and Celiac disease because, apparently, where there is one auto-immune disease, there are often two. I seem to be a prime candidate.

A stone overturned and suddenly my road stretched longer and I felt impossibly old and out of control. Two diseases in one body and I'm only eighteen? What will I feel like when I'm seventy? Will I even be able to move? What will I eat for four weeks? Why did this happen on the day I decided to stop drinking coffee? God, why is there so much pain and brokenness twisted into our bodies? The questions burn and I'm standing in the middle of the flurry, attempting to regain balance and bearings and ward off the anger that sits in the wings, waiting to press in.

How do I navigate this one? The truth is that I could stay perpetually trapped in my "why" questions and shake my fist at God or dissolve in self-pity. I could fall apart because I can't see the future and there's nothing that I can do to prevent it from coming. My other choice is to trust that God holds my future and do my best to effectively, even creatively, overcome this hurdle by His grace. Worrying too much about the future stunts the present and I can only live moment by moment, day by day. I think that this is why I intentionally pause for the sunrise and the moon's debut. Rise and fall. This day is a gift, this day is past. Breathe in and breathe out. I am still here...

Where are you now? Where are your feet? It's so easy to become overwhelmed by the tangle and pull of life, but we live through a string of small moments. Start here, where your feet are planted. You can choose to walk on holy ground and pay attention to how God may be working, moving, through your life. He's in the details, he's in the life-altering events. He's intricately woven through every moment. He's above it all, in it all, and through it all. Sometimes it may seem like he is distant; I've known this too. He may not always feel close. In times like these, I try to think of Job who did not say, "I feel that my Redeemer lives," but rather "I know that my Redeemer lives." (Job 19:25) Pursue God with your questions, release the doubts and rest in him. He sees and knows more than you can even conceive.

If nothing else, my physical pain keeps me humble and dependant on God. I see his strength working often through my weakness. I am thankful that my health isn't any worse. In the grand scale of life, my health problems are comparatively minor. I've seen suffering to the death, and that keeps my perspective healthy. I have prayed for personal healing, though, and I've been given small answers to prayer in the form of temporary pain relief. Small gifts of grace are signposts of His faithfulness to me; new mercy unfolds with every sunrise.

What you should know about my story

 Two years ago, when I was sixteen, my family and I uprooted our lives and moved from a rural country town to the city. I've been thinking back to that lately because it was a tipping point in my life. It broke all of the shaky foundations I had been leaning on and shattered me. I don't talk about it often and I think it's because I learned too many things the hard way. I'm still emerging from, growing from, the wreck that used to be me.

Recently, I found a short-term "bucket list" of sorts that I wrote in youth group when I was fifteen, standing on the brink of that life-altering change:

1. Push yourself to do things you think you can't do
2. Blaze some new trails
3. Read the Bible more intentionally
4. Don't be afraid to be genuinely, authentically yourself
5. Stand up for yourself
6. Be artistic in different ways
7. Invest in relationships that count
8. Rest your brain! (aka- quit overanalyzing everything)
9. Invest in prayer
10. Keep laughing-keep telling stories

I couldn't have known what was ahead, yet I've grown in every one of those areas over the pat two years (and I'll expand on these in future posts). It was a process of relinquishing old ideas and misconceptions about myself, life, God and rebuilding again around my identity in Christ. It hurt. It still hurts at times.

A buildup of callous will numb feeling; moving ripped away all of what I thought were the most important pieces of myself, my identity, and constantly threw me in the face of all of my pent-up fears. I needed it. My security had been wrapped up in my friendships, my grades, my church, affirmation from others and so many other things that were not God. I knew my Bible and my theology well, but I had a  shallow relationship with God. When all of my "security" disintegrated, I became an open target and fear pounced; I became incredibly insecure because I had no identity left. I became afraid of rejection, failure, honesty, close relationships; things that had been laying hidden and dormant in my life until my support system collapsed.

Fear is a strangle that steals joy and the sense of a deeper meaning in the experiences of our lives. It keeps us riding a hard edge and we could reach out and into all we have been called to experience and to be, but fear draws up a barrier. It has the ability to keep us safe in a fundamentally destructive way. What you've missed, in the end, will cheat you out of  what you could have been. Change, surrender, is an avenue of faith.

It isn't easy. It's a long journey and the tearing away may leave some scars. Surrender is painful, but necessary in order to experience God fully in your life. I'm still walking my own journey and sometimes old fears creep up to confront me, but I'm more grounded now, rooted in faith. I can't stress enough the impact and importance of prayer and surrender during that time, and always. Praying through the fire, keeping eyes locked on Christ, builds trust and deepens relationship. God can handle anything you have to say, anything you are struggling with. That said, don't wait until the fire to pray. Build a strong relationship with God now so your foundation will be firm. Don't allow open, unguarded loopholes for fear to crawl through.


And so, I'll end with these words, which speak better than my own:

"Finally, be strong in the Lord and in His mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against . . . the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God so when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm, them, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.

And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord's people."

Ephesians 6:10-18, NLT

On Signposts and Trusting in God

So often when I read, I stumble across an idea that snaps open and breathes; like scraping away a bit of frost from a window, looking outside, and realizing that there is a vast expanse of world beyond the glass. The other day I was filling in a gap of time with Annie Dillard and came across a paragraph that melted a bit of frost from my own window:

"The books I read are like the stone men built by the [Inuit] of the great desolate tundras west of Hudson's Bay. They still build them today, according to Farley Mowat. An [Inuit] traveling alone in the flat barrens will heap round stones to the height of a man, travel till he can no longer see the beacon, and build another."
-Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

At first I didn't know what was so significant about this quote to me. I kept nudging back to it, rereading the words, allowing the fogginess to settle.

It's really the idea of signposts, or markers, along the journey. Significant events in our lives rise up to mark where we've been and direct where we may be going. As we press foreword, these events may recede from sight into memory and suddenly we find ourselves in a new season, building new pillars to mark our path. Endings slide into beginnings and sometimes we need to make an altar to remind ourselves of where we've been; to acknowledge the place and allow it to be a point of reference.

A friend and I were talking recently about trusting in God and how we sometimes fall into the trap of tunnel vision. We trust God as long as life is relatively normal and we can see the clear path from point A to point B. Often, though, clinging to this mindset will cause us to run aground when difficult events or tests in our lives press in because if God and His goodness are defined as the ease of your life, who is God in the hard times?

Often the journey from point A to point B looks less like a straight line and more like a zig zag. God could have led the Israelites straight from Egypt to the Promised Land but instead he took them on a 40 year detour through the wilderness. I don't believe that grief and brokenness always origionate from God, but I do believe that He can always use these "detours" to form us and shape us and lead us into a fuller, richer dependance on Him. He can and will redeem the dark wildernesses we walk through if we are open to it. Muscle is never built without resistance, and we grow through challenge. God's vision for you is not to remain stagnant, but to pull you higher, deeper into relationship with Him.

To trust anything implies that there is an acknowledged ambiguity involved. If we, as humans, understood everything about God and his plans for our entire life, we would reduce Him to something less than ourselves. Because our world is fallen and sinful, it is inevitable that you will encounter suffering in your life. The question is, will you allow God to walk with you through it and redeem it? Even to wrestle with God in the darkness is healthier than resenting him and standing still. As long as you wrestle, you are engaged, moving, building muscle and relationship. Wrestle, but don't forget Who you are wrestling with.

How does this connect to signposts? During these times of wrestling and darkness, I've marked my own path with pillars as reminders of God's faithfulness and grace amidst the mess and the brokenness. Some have been physical altars, most have been an intentional recognition of Him in times when He seems particularly close. They are points of reference; reminders of where I've been and where I'm going. It's a rising history of God's faithfulness and promises to me. Sometimes walking through suffering strips you of old, ugly pieces of yourself and the signposts mark the places they were shed. To look back on these pillars is to see your story marked and transforming as it expands. It's a testimony of faithfulness of which you are a blessed witness.

Why I Write

If I'm honest, there is a long list of reasons why I write, but the top two are as follows:

1. I love it
2. It scares me

 Writing does make me nervous sometimes. I don't know if I've ever sat down with a definite outline of what I'm going to write about. It's always an idea that can tumble and spin into so many directions. Really, for me, writing is a balance of control and giving up control.

Usually I run around life with my arms open wide, gathering up experiences and conversation and images. When I write, I throw them down at my feet, a wild pile of ideas and inspiration and I pick through that pile in my writing. My brain normally flies in ten directions at once, constantly humming and circling thoughts, processing them and kneading them and writing funnels it all into organized thought. It clears some space and quiet in my head, because when the jumbled pieces fit and the dust is blown off, I gain some clarity of vision. I understand more as I channel the chaos and spin it all into a string of written word.

 I write to unscramble my own thoughts, invite others to engage in my own experience, and to probe deeper themes of life and faith. I always think of my mind as a junk drawer and writing is sifting through it all, examining it, and maybe finding a gem or two in the process. I write for myself, but I also write for others because words, especially honest, grounded words, are powerful.