This week, I have found myself caught in a difficult place I have found myself so many times before.
To families I work with, I have often called myself a "nontraditional Christian". Perhaps that's prideful, perhaps it's a cop-out so that I avoid judgment, but I'm really not 100% sure of my motivation. A professor in college once called my personality "slippery". I didn't like that, but he's not wrong. I avoid, as much as possible, any and all definition, even though there's nothing more satisfying than feeling known.
I am a question asker. I am a person who needs to know "why". I am a fighter and a seeker, and that can come off wrong. Many times, people have judged that as not being a faithful Christian because they see it as a sign of doubt or disbelief. In my mind, I see it as a sign of faithfulness, of belief. Why fight for something you don't believe in? No, you fight for that you do believe in.
Throughout my life as well, I have been in puddles of "perfect" people while at the same time having a knack for collecting broken people. Maybe I love the broken because I know that we are all broken. Everyone is broken. Everybody has their fissures and canyons in their life. That's why we need Jesus. But there's something beautiful about broken people's inability to hide theirs. You can see Jesus better when you can't hide where he's working, or wants to be working.
Perfect people, people with rock solid testimonies and veneers, bother me. They bother me at some level because I distrust them and their stories. God is good; yes, all the time. But he is also working all the time. In true community, you share. If we are supposed to be in true community spiritually, then why are we not sharing? Why are we judging instead? I posit that we judge out of our own insecurity, out of our fear that we ourselves are seen as being imperfect. Because maybe we won't be respected anymore or get that job at that Christian foundation or be thought of as a "struggler."
Because we have seen how those labels have power and have seen their impact on lives, as people start to believe what they are called. We're responsible for our own development, but it is hard not to feel the sear of the rejections and the names.
My broken collective has all gone different directions. Some have become their labels, some have overcome their labels. All grow, just in different ways.
Have you ever sat down to "judge" someone's faith walk for one reason or another? Walk that line with prayer and petition. Just because one person has chosen to be vulnerable and share where they honestly stand does not mean that they are necessarily more or less "solid" than the person who stands in front of you and says that they're rock solid in Jesus. No man knows another's soul. No one has "arrived" in their spirituality or their walk with Christ. One man's plateau or peak period may be during another's valley. Give them six months. The man you thought couldn't be shaken might have proven himself weak and the "weak" man may still be standing strong.
We are called to love, to lead back to Christ, to be diligent and prayerful and gracious. We correct when we need to correct, but we should always start with love and with God.
I am a person with the propensity for very strongly worded opinions, This is something I am challenged about daily and something I try daily to be more wise about. However, with regards to this topic, I know that I speak truly when I say that above all other subjects, this one should be treated with more gentleness, wisdom, diligence, and prayer than any others before words come out of our mouths.
Paul writes, "may your love abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight so that you maybe able to discern", "approve what is excellent" "and may be sincere and blameless for the day of Christ--filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ".
The first definition that comes up for "sincerity" is "without pretense." Without our masks.
When I read this verse, I hear, "If you are following God with your whole heart, then he will cast aside all human-coated thoughts, leaving behind only what is true and good and holy."
Follow God, listen to his voice while turning yours off, and speak out with a voice that is not your own, one not coated all over with your pride, your position, your particular brand of sinful.
Showing posts with label authenticity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label authenticity. Show all posts
Thursday, March 22, 2018
Tuesday, July 11, 2017
First Year's Stones and Waffles
Marriage year one is in the books. There were so many firsts for me in our love story, but they were mostly seconds for Julius. Of course, every experience is different, but it feels really nice to say that our first anniversary was the first wedding anniversary he's ever had as well.
Our first year, I suppose, was very straight-forward. And, in others, not so straightforward. There's no "normal", though, so I guess we were normal.
We kicked it off with a honeymoon at Galveston beach, which is quiet and quirky and perfect for us. Then a week with my family at the lake.
It felt like I left almost as soon as we got home, however. Texas scooped me up for five straight weeks. In the moment, I really like travel season. Months before I start in with the anxiety and dread. Luckily, last year this manifested in packing up meals to freeze. By the time I left, he had a meal for each and every meal that I'd miss. Needless to say, the freezer was packed. Meanwhile, Julius played tennis, went to work, hung out with his friends, and went to graduate classes. I couldn't help but feel he had more fun than I did.
We had our struggles. Like me coming back from travel season to find the dishes not done for 5 weeks and a stench of a bachelor in every room. This was not aided by the old individualistic patterns that had allowed themselves to reinstate in us during our 5 weeks apart.
It took a while, but we got back into a groove. Meals started reappearing with consistency, the floors and bathrooms, dishes, were cleaned, laundry was washed and folded, roles began to establish in terms of who does what.
Winter sunk in, and with it, the darkness. It's hard to go play and do when the world closes in around you even before you leave the office. We learned hard lessons about togetherness and friendships. How, when your work and class schedules dominate your time, sometimes you have to sacrifice additional fun things with non-spouse friends because, well, you haven't seen your spouse in days.
We learned about grace and immediate honesty, how that generally bodes better than eventual honesty. We learned about unlearning.
Family was new again, as well. His who had been used to him living with them now had to share and relinquish. Mine who is used to me showing up often had to anticipate me less and for shorter periods of time. I experienced what only-child holidays are like, and he learned to cope with what I'm sure felt like repeat scenes from My Big Fat Greek Wedding.
We discovered that we get along best if I drive. He also learned the importance of packing snacks. Always.
Probably hardest was finding the balance between roommate and romance. He was used to coming home and disappearing away to be by himself for hours. I was used to coming home to a happy house of introvert women I loved with all my heart. Even if I was alone in my room, best friends were right outside. Marriage changed both those things. Julius had to learn to communicate with another person when he got home--and that coming home is an essential part of that equation. Meanwhile, I was alone. How does a reclusive introvert with an open office layout day job make friends and engage with others when she leaves work if she comes home to an empty house? How do you not attack your husband with love and a desperate need to connect when he arrives home exhausted and uninterested in connection? Where do those needs find balance?
At the end of the year, two very strong-willed, hot-tempered people found ways to compromise, to learn, and to love one another. We threw stones, we made waffles, we figured it out.
Our first year, I suppose, was very straight-forward. And, in others, not so straightforward. There's no "normal", though, so I guess we were normal.
We kicked it off with a honeymoon at Galveston beach, which is quiet and quirky and perfect for us. Then a week with my family at the lake.
It felt like I left almost as soon as we got home, however. Texas scooped me up for five straight weeks. In the moment, I really like travel season. Months before I start in with the anxiety and dread. Luckily, last year this manifested in packing up meals to freeze. By the time I left, he had a meal for each and every meal that I'd miss. Needless to say, the freezer was packed. Meanwhile, Julius played tennis, went to work, hung out with his friends, and went to graduate classes. I couldn't help but feel he had more fun than I did.
We had our struggles. Like me coming back from travel season to find the dishes not done for 5 weeks and a stench of a bachelor in every room. This was not aided by the old individualistic patterns that had allowed themselves to reinstate in us during our 5 weeks apart.
It took a while, but we got back into a groove. Meals started reappearing with consistency, the floors and bathrooms, dishes, were cleaned, laundry was washed and folded, roles began to establish in terms of who does what.
Winter sunk in, and with it, the darkness. It's hard to go play and do when the world closes in around you even before you leave the office. We learned hard lessons about togetherness and friendships. How, when your work and class schedules dominate your time, sometimes you have to sacrifice additional fun things with non-spouse friends because, well, you haven't seen your spouse in days.
We learned about grace and immediate honesty, how that generally bodes better than eventual honesty. We learned about unlearning.
Family was new again, as well. His who had been used to him living with them now had to share and relinquish. Mine who is used to me showing up often had to anticipate me less and for shorter periods of time. I experienced what only-child holidays are like, and he learned to cope with what I'm sure felt like repeat scenes from My Big Fat Greek Wedding.
We discovered that we get along best if I drive. He also learned the importance of packing snacks. Always.
Probably hardest was finding the balance between roommate and romance. He was used to coming home and disappearing away to be by himself for hours. I was used to coming home to a happy house of introvert women I loved with all my heart. Even if I was alone in my room, best friends were right outside. Marriage changed both those things. Julius had to learn to communicate with another person when he got home--and that coming home is an essential part of that equation. Meanwhile, I was alone. How does a reclusive introvert with an open office layout day job make friends and engage with others when she leaves work if she comes home to an empty house? How do you not attack your husband with love and a desperate need to connect when he arrives home exhausted and uninterested in connection? Where do those needs find balance?
At the end of the year, two very strong-willed, hot-tempered people found ways to compromise, to learn, and to love one another. We threw stones, we made waffles, we figured it out.
Wednesday, December 16, 2015
Into the Fold
I cried at work today.
We were doing our morning devotions, and today, we decided to do a devotional thought over "O Come O Come Emmanuel", which happens to be my favorite Christmas song.
It also happens to correlate with my favorite Bible verse, which had been weighing on me heavily for the past week or so. This is what I shared and what brought me to big tears of remembrance and of thankfulness and humility.
It re-appeared in my heart last Thursday. I was sitting there beside my boyfriend, our mothers, and our fathers, in the Candlelight service at my university.
As I sat there, I marveled at how far removed and redeemed both our families (and us) had been in the past two years. In the past two years, both our parents had been at places where they thought they had lost their children to darkness forever.
We had thought the same about ourselves.
And in the past two years, we have been restored to joy, to God, and to our families. Granted, more work is yet to be done, but God is so good.
My heart felt full to burst, and the words of Psalm 126 pushed their way into my thoughts:
That's the verse I shared this morning after we sang.
I reflected on my own "return from Babylon" two years ago tomorrow.
I was broken. I was ugly. I was beyond all reckoning.
And my parents opened their arms up and loved me. My aunt, my uncle, my cousin, my grandmother. They loved me and took me as I was: broken. ugly. lost.
And yet, and yet!! the Lord has done great things for me.
Though Decembers cause me to get way too deep in my head and heart and ache with the past woundedness, I know too of the deep joy of restoration to hope and light and life.
The Lord has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy.
We were doing our morning devotions, and today, we decided to do a devotional thought over "O Come O Come Emmanuel", which happens to be my favorite Christmas song.
It also happens to correlate with my favorite Bible verse, which had been weighing on me heavily for the past week or so. This is what I shared and what brought me to big tears of remembrance and of thankfulness and humility.
It re-appeared in my heart last Thursday. I was sitting there beside my boyfriend, our mothers, and our fathers, in the Candlelight service at my university.
As I sat there, I marveled at how far removed and redeemed both our families (and us) had been in the past two years. In the past two years, both our parents had been at places where they thought they had lost their children to darkness forever.
We had thought the same about ourselves.
And in the past two years, we have been restored to joy, to God, and to our families. Granted, more work is yet to be done, but God is so good.
My heart felt full to burst, and the words of Psalm 126 pushed their way into my thoughts:
When the people returned to Jerusalem from captivity in Babylon, they became as those who dreamed. Their hearts were filled with laughter; their tongues with shouts of praise. The people of Earth said to them, "The Lord has done great things for you." Indeed, the Lord has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy.
That's the verse I shared this morning after we sang.
I reflected on my own "return from Babylon" two years ago tomorrow.
I was broken. I was ugly. I was beyond all reckoning.
And my parents opened their arms up and loved me. My aunt, my uncle, my cousin, my grandmother. They loved me and took me as I was: broken. ugly. lost.
And yet, and yet!! the Lord has done great things for me.
Though Decembers cause me to get way too deep in my head and heart and ache with the past woundedness, I know too of the deep joy of restoration to hope and light and life.
The Lord has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy.
Monday, October 12, 2015
Struggles to Human
Let's talk plainly about social anxiety.
Personally, I find it frustrating.
Yes, also debilitating at times, but frustrating.
For me, I gt so angry with social anxiety because social anxiety feels selfish to me.
There's an event, usually very casual, that's designed to be fun and easy and you, because you just can't handle it and just can't help it, make it about you.
At the same time, I recognize that it isn't something that I can think myself out of, though I have indeed tried.
There have been some methods of coping that I have learned and have imparted to other of my socially anxious friends. Things such as going to check out that restaurant/school/baseball field/shopping mall before you have to go there with a friend or date.
Things like searching on the internet for a campus map if you're visiting a university friend or a museum or a hospital.
Knowing the name of the person you're dropping by to see: "Hi! I'm here to drop off materials for Angie Smith".
Doing anything to get acclimated to the new surrounding.
For me, a lot of my social anxiety is over-stimulation.
I can handle brand new location if I'm with someone I'm very comfortable with.
Or, I can handle a brand new person if I'm in a location I'm comfortable in.
I can even handle brand new location with brand new people so long as I have one solid person I know.
It's when everything is new, everything is unstructured, everyone is new that my ears drown and I can't hear what anyone is saying to me and I can't differentiate shapes and shadows and my heart starts racing and my nails start sinking into my palms and I have missed that gap in time where I can recover and cope and have disappeared into the dark place where I need to run away and cry and find solitude and silence.
It's embarrassing. It's selfish. And yet, at the same time, it isn't intentional even a bit, which is a key aspect of selfishness I think. More than anything, we'd like to feel like we were a part of the wallpaper, able to observe without the pressure of engagement. Able to exist without being noticed too much but still kind of noticed. Noticed enough.
It's a struggle I sometimes feel I've learned to manage.
And it's a struggle that still knocks me completely flat and bepuddled when it isn't on my radar to prepare for.
Personally, I find it frustrating.
Yes, also debilitating at times, but frustrating.
For me, I gt so angry with social anxiety because social anxiety feels selfish to me.
There's an event, usually very casual, that's designed to be fun and easy and you, because you just can't handle it and just can't help it, make it about you.
At the same time, I recognize that it isn't something that I can think myself out of, though I have indeed tried.
There have been some methods of coping that I have learned and have imparted to other of my socially anxious friends. Things such as going to check out that restaurant/school/baseball field/shopping mall before you have to go there with a friend or date.
Things like searching on the internet for a campus map if you're visiting a university friend or a museum or a hospital.
Knowing the name of the person you're dropping by to see: "Hi! I'm here to drop off materials for Angie Smith".
Doing anything to get acclimated to the new surrounding.
For me, a lot of my social anxiety is over-stimulation.
I can handle brand new location if I'm with someone I'm very comfortable with.
Or, I can handle a brand new person if I'm in a location I'm comfortable in.
I can even handle brand new location with brand new people so long as I have one solid person I know.
It's when everything is new, everything is unstructured, everyone is new that my ears drown and I can't hear what anyone is saying to me and I can't differentiate shapes and shadows and my heart starts racing and my nails start sinking into my palms and I have missed that gap in time where I can recover and cope and have disappeared into the dark place where I need to run away and cry and find solitude and silence.
It's embarrassing. It's selfish. And yet, at the same time, it isn't intentional even a bit, which is a key aspect of selfishness I think. More than anything, we'd like to feel like we were a part of the wallpaper, able to observe without the pressure of engagement. Able to exist without being noticed too much but still kind of noticed. Noticed enough.
It's a struggle I sometimes feel I've learned to manage.
And it's a struggle that still knocks me completely flat and bepuddled when it isn't on my radar to prepare for.
Thursday, August 20, 2015
Mind Your Mind
Today at work, it was my turn to do the devotion.
It is not my habit to sign up, but someone was covering a college fair for me, so I took his devotion day for him.
It is also my intent to choose a day for devotions in which I am feeling particularly holy.
This is not that week.
It has been nearly 7 days of stress and frustration.
Overlapping travel planning with the final details of student move-in is a lot more work than you might think. There are also people everywhere, and my introverted self is just not used to it.
I could give a series of excuses, but the end of the story is that I'm just being short with people because I feel a little overwhelmed.
Yesterday was really bad.
Work was bad, tried to go to yoga and came across an unexpected face so I left before it started, went to a girls' night with some people I didn't know, then ended up just going out with friends.
There didn't seem to be any sources of relief for anxiety.
So I wake up, right, and I have to come up with something inspiring and holy to say.
First, I checked Oswald Chambers, but that just wasn't really apt, so I glanced through my bookshelf and found Jill Briscoe and a section in one of her devotions entitled "Doing Yesterday".
It fit.
My devotion of the morning, using her words, was about the tendency of ours to replay yesterday over and over and over again, how we could have done different and said different and all the bad things. We avoid God and just try to talk with ourselves, knowing full well we do so just to avoid the words we know are coming to us from God.
It's over.
Move on.
As a writer, I recognize the capacity of one chapter to be six different things depending on perspective. I can change the entire story just by giving it a revision of outlook.
In the same way, each day we are given the opportunity to look back on our words and actions and the words and actions imparted to us. We are given the opportunity to filter them, judge them, color them however we do so choose.
I can look back on yesterday and see the aggravations and set-backs or I can look back on the hidden pieces--like the gem of a student who appeared last-minute and, despite his financial setbacks, is going to make college happen. Or like my sweet housemates who have become to me inseparable friends and confidantes. Or like church friends who seek me out. Or my sweet boyfriend who is willing to be gracious and give me the benefit of the doubt when my hurt communicates messages I don't intend them to mean.
In any situation, there is so much good underlying.
Jill's prayer is for the Lord to help her mind her mind and for the Lord to mind her heart.
It is up to us not to forget and move on or push out of our minds but actively choose to see the world just a little differently and revise our yesterdays just a bit more constructively.
Change what you can change, apologize for any misplaced words or actions, learn what you can, then look forward.
It is not my habit to sign up, but someone was covering a college fair for me, so I took his devotion day for him.
It is also my intent to choose a day for devotions in which I am feeling particularly holy.
This is not that week.
It has been nearly 7 days of stress and frustration.
Overlapping travel planning with the final details of student move-in is a lot more work than you might think. There are also people everywhere, and my introverted self is just not used to it.
I could give a series of excuses, but the end of the story is that I'm just being short with people because I feel a little overwhelmed.
Yesterday was really bad.
Work was bad, tried to go to yoga and came across an unexpected face so I left before it started, went to a girls' night with some people I didn't know, then ended up just going out with friends.
There didn't seem to be any sources of relief for anxiety.
So I wake up, right, and I have to come up with something inspiring and holy to say.
First, I checked Oswald Chambers, but that just wasn't really apt, so I glanced through my bookshelf and found Jill Briscoe and a section in one of her devotions entitled "Doing Yesterday".
It fit.
My devotion of the morning, using her words, was about the tendency of ours to replay yesterday over and over and over again, how we could have done different and said different and all the bad things. We avoid God and just try to talk with ourselves, knowing full well we do so just to avoid the words we know are coming to us from God.
It's over.
Move on.
As a writer, I recognize the capacity of one chapter to be six different things depending on perspective. I can change the entire story just by giving it a revision of outlook.
In the same way, each day we are given the opportunity to look back on our words and actions and the words and actions imparted to us. We are given the opportunity to filter them, judge them, color them however we do so choose.
I can look back on yesterday and see the aggravations and set-backs or I can look back on the hidden pieces--like the gem of a student who appeared last-minute and, despite his financial setbacks, is going to make college happen. Or like my sweet housemates who have become to me inseparable friends and confidantes. Or like church friends who seek me out. Or my sweet boyfriend who is willing to be gracious and give me the benefit of the doubt when my hurt communicates messages I don't intend them to mean.
In any situation, there is so much good underlying.
Jill's prayer is for the Lord to help her mind her mind and for the Lord to mind her heart.
It is up to us not to forget and move on or push out of our minds but actively choose to see the world just a little differently and revise our yesterdays just a bit more constructively.
Change what you can change, apologize for any misplaced words or actions, learn what you can, then look forward.
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Ghosts of High Schools Past
Today I went and guest spoke in an apologetics class full of high school seniors. Specifically high school seniors at my own alma mater Metro.
Did I prepare anything? No. The way I figured, I don't really have anything particularly insightful to share, so if the Lord had the audacity to stick me in a classroom full of preppy 18 and 19 year olds then he also has the audacity to stick an hour's worth of words in my mouth.
I can't say that the power of the Lord filled the room and all spoke in tongues, but I can say I had their attention by the end of my talk.
We went through several subjects, like my belief in the power of ordinariness, but they also wanted to talk about authenticity and relationship building. It was that particular answer that shocked them.
I brought into the conversation my aforementioned idea of failure vs. not yet able to succeed in relation to building deep relationships. Some people in high school (myself included) straight up aren't in a place where they are ready to or know themselves enough to make deep friendships or conversation.
And that's okay.
Then, they said that one of the main reasons why they would shy away from "big talks" is that other people might think they're weird, to which I replied, "high school doesn't matter." (you gotta make sweeping statements to snap out snobby snoozers).
But really, my point was (and don't worry. I expounded the point with them as well) that they're seniors. That means, they've got four and a half months left with people that they will probably never have significant interaction with again.
That means, it doesn't freakin' matter if they think you're weird and honestly, in the future, they will look back at your boldness and security in self and be not only impressed but a little wistful that they hadn't started living their lives earlier.
Joining Winter Guard (the most socially unacceptable move I made in high school hands down) was the first step I ever made in embracing my weirdness, flaunting it even. In a blue spandex onesie. I joined without knowing anybody, got made fun of by everybody, and I still look back and see that it was the most fun I had in school and am still thrilled I did it.
So I told them, they have a question to ask themselves: Deep down, do I really want (am I ready to) to live for me or do I really want to live for God?
If the answer is truly "me," then keep on walking down that journey of selfishness and shallowness. You wouldn't be able to hear God even if he tried to talk to you.
BUT, if the answer is "God," then those social things will stop mattering. He honors the requests of those who really do want to learn how to love him better and live out of their true selves. It takes work. And pain. And isn't socially acceptable or fun at times, but it's satisfying.
You can be good on your own. Good at activities, good at social-ness, good at life, really. But you can't be great. And it won't satisfy.
I left them with that option. They can either continue conforming to the social strata that they've set for themselves, or they can start living and creating and having fun fearlessly being themselves now.
Did I prepare anything? No. The way I figured, I don't really have anything particularly insightful to share, so if the Lord had the audacity to stick me in a classroom full of preppy 18 and 19 year olds then he also has the audacity to stick an hour's worth of words in my mouth.
I can't say that the power of the Lord filled the room and all spoke in tongues, but I can say I had their attention by the end of my talk.
We went through several subjects, like my belief in the power of ordinariness, but they also wanted to talk about authenticity and relationship building. It was that particular answer that shocked them.
I brought into the conversation my aforementioned idea of failure vs. not yet able to succeed in relation to building deep relationships. Some people in high school (myself included) straight up aren't in a place where they are ready to or know themselves enough to make deep friendships or conversation.
And that's okay.
Then, they said that one of the main reasons why they would shy away from "big talks" is that other people might think they're weird, to which I replied, "high school doesn't matter." (you gotta make sweeping statements to snap out snobby snoozers).
But really, my point was (and don't worry. I expounded the point with them as well) that they're seniors. That means, they've got four and a half months left with people that they will probably never have significant interaction with again.
That means, it doesn't freakin' matter if they think you're weird and honestly, in the future, they will look back at your boldness and security in self and be not only impressed but a little wistful that they hadn't started living their lives earlier.
Joining Winter Guard (the most socially unacceptable move I made in high school hands down) was the first step I ever made in embracing my weirdness, flaunting it even. In a blue spandex onesie. I joined without knowing anybody, got made fun of by everybody, and I still look back and see that it was the most fun I had in school and am still thrilled I did it.
So I told them, they have a question to ask themselves: Deep down, do I really want (am I ready to) to live for me or do I really want to live for God?
If the answer is truly "me," then keep on walking down that journey of selfishness and shallowness. You wouldn't be able to hear God even if he tried to talk to you.
BUT, if the answer is "God," then those social things will stop mattering. He honors the requests of those who really do want to learn how to love him better and live out of their true selves. It takes work. And pain. And isn't socially acceptable or fun at times, but it's satisfying.
You can be good on your own. Good at activities, good at social-ness, good at life, really. But you can't be great. And it won't satisfy.
I left them with that option. They can either continue conforming to the social strata that they've set for themselves, or they can start living and creating and having fun fearlessly being themselves now.
Sunday, January 19, 2014
Verbal Nudity
For the past four days, I have been in Siloam Springs.
A lot of people challenged me on this decision (for a variety of reasons), but I went because I graduated early, and all my friends are still on campus, not to mention my professor friends.
Three and a half absolutely packed days of meetings, friend dates, coffee, and Jenga.
There wasn't a friend specifically assigned to Jenga, but I've found over the years that if I ever have an awkward space of time on campus, if I sit in Walker Student Center for 5 or more minutes, someone I know and like (but unfortunately neglected to schedule time with) will show up.
And, because sometimes interactions with friends like that--the ones you really like but don't always know what to talk about with--can be a bit awkward, Jenga. It's the perfect amount of social distraction. Not so focus-necessary that you can't focus on your conversation but just enough that you can focus energy on it if the conversation feels slow.
In this way, my free time was enriched by several people I haven't been able to have a chance to speak with in months, and it added so much flavor I would have entirely missed out on.
Going to Siloam also offered me an opportunity to make a few new acquaintances, some I very much enjoyed making and a couple that were necessary to make. Both were a stretch.
More than that, though, the journey of the past few days was one of verbal nudity.
As far as the 5 Love Languages test goes, I usually classify myself high on Words of Affirmation. However, I am not usually a verbal affirmer. Instead, I write.
Most times, actually, when I need to address something particularly saturated with sentiment, I write instead of speak. Thus, this blog, and my letters and emails. Raw, but hiding.
It's not as though I think writing is wrong--indeed, letter receiving is one of the greatest things, and I love sending them. However, when all big conversations (or really any big conversation) is done via the written word, I think there is a problem.
70% of communication is non-verbal. So when I'm not forced to look in your eyes, weigh the immediate impact of my words and decisions on your heart, watch your body language, I miss out. And even if my letters or blogs are extremely vulnerable, they lack that intense intimacy that comes through individual communication.
Over three days' time, I had three different conversations with three different girl friends.
In one, I sought for forgiveness; in the second, I offered an admission of cowardice; in the third, I opened the understanding . In all three, I opened the door for rejection.
In a previous post, I defined "intimacy." With intimacy, there is a tension and an opportunity for the other person to either accept and grow or reject and let die.
Incredibly, all three chose the former.
It wasn't just that choice that impacted me so much, though. Rather, it was that I felt the power of having to fully engage, to admit some pretty deep and sacred feelings in the immediate presence of the ones capable of decimating my attempts. The result was access to depth that I didn't know was available to me in those friendships. Our God is an awesome God.
Thursday, December 26, 2013
Cheers to you, God and Serotonin.
Today I opened a fortune cookie: "Advancement is achieved through hard work." and my chinese word of the day was "europe."
...
Good evening, and welcome to the conclusion of the long-awaited 26th of December.
For a long while, I'd had this day marked as the day I had to "make it" till.
Here I am! Making it.
Wrong country, but same girl.
And also, not the same girl.
I received a letter today from my sweet friend Leslie (have I spoken of Leslie before? Surely. Les is my NI roommate from our Family and Human services trip summer 2012. and also my personal Charles Wallace. Invaluable human.)
I actually received two letters today. One which made my room smell of lavender but both marked with the name "Emmanuel." Emmanuel is God with us. To quote Les (sorry if you read this and are horrified. I'm probably going to do it again, though.): "Not only did God care enough about us to come down and be a part of humanity, but He also still dwells with us every single day. God is with me. And at the same time He is with you. How very special I feel when I remember I serve Emmanuel, who never leaves me."
I couldn't think of a better way to word that. Beautiful. Such beautiful truth. God is with us and through us and around us.
My two other favorite highlights from her letter are when she compared me to Frodo on return from Mordor (Her impressions of my person when she saw me in Siloam last week. Yikes. Re: "not the same girl.") and her comment just after.
The Mordor thing is meant to make you laugh, not deepen your worry for me, by the way.
Her after comment, though, was: "I saw you, and there were no layers to peek under to find you, as there sometimes have been."
I don't think I could receive a higher comment from a higher source.
All my life, I've been trying to hide or to become. When I finally realized what I was doing (a much more recent event than I'd like to admit), I honestly had no idea where to even begin to pull off the layers I'd built around me. Sifting through the actual and the constructed, impossible.
Will the real Jamie Odom please stand up?
I guess the real Jamie Odom wasn't standing up at all. She was kneeling. She was curled up in a ball on the floor. And I didn't even know there was anybody else in the room to see her. I didn't see her.
I guess the real you doesn't show up when you're looking for her; she shows up when Jesus himself rips everything else away.
I'm not really even sure what I look like right now. Have kind of a blind spot. But others seem to be able to see me, and they couldn't before. So whether or not I would know me in a crowd, praise God He and others can.
Today, I woke up kind of anticipating I'd want to be alone and hostile. I wasn't.
I actually woke up very cheerful. Jansie and I had a nice long chat, had lunch together, wandered a trendy part of town (decided neither of us are trendy enough to desire a return visit), and walked along the pedestrian bridge. It's supposed to be over the river but, in pure Oklahoma fashion, our river is dry, dry, dry.
After, I'd settled into an inverse parabola. Definite sink.
Spent the next three hours in a coffee shop with my cuz. Krissy, with (not despite of) all her craziness and her very definite, passionate opinions, makes sense to me. One of my most favorite people to be around and has a knack for shoveling me out of any foul mood. Half distraction, half no-nonsense "let's deal with this crap and move on" attitude. It works.
Day 2 in a row of almost total clearmindedness. I'll take it, with thanks.
...
Good evening, and welcome to the conclusion of the long-awaited 26th of December.
For a long while, I'd had this day marked as the day I had to "make it" till.
Here I am! Making it.
Wrong country, but same girl.
And also, not the same girl.
I received a letter today from my sweet friend Leslie (have I spoken of Leslie before? Surely. Les is my NI roommate from our Family and Human services trip summer 2012. and also my personal Charles Wallace. Invaluable human.)
I actually received two letters today. One which made my room smell of lavender but both marked with the name "Emmanuel." Emmanuel is God with us. To quote Les (sorry if you read this and are horrified. I'm probably going to do it again, though.): "Not only did God care enough about us to come down and be a part of humanity, but He also still dwells with us every single day. God is with me. And at the same time He is with you. How very special I feel when I remember I serve Emmanuel, who never leaves me."
I couldn't think of a better way to word that. Beautiful. Such beautiful truth. God is with us and through us and around us.
My two other favorite highlights from her letter are when she compared me to Frodo on return from Mordor (Her impressions of my person when she saw me in Siloam last week. Yikes. Re: "not the same girl.") and her comment just after.
The Mordor thing is meant to make you laugh, not deepen your worry for me, by the way.
Her after comment, though, was: "I saw you, and there were no layers to peek under to find you, as there sometimes have been."
I don't think I could receive a higher comment from a higher source.
All my life, I've been trying to hide or to become. When I finally realized what I was doing (a much more recent event than I'd like to admit), I honestly had no idea where to even begin to pull off the layers I'd built around me. Sifting through the actual and the constructed, impossible.
Will the real Jamie Odom please stand up?
I guess the real Jamie Odom wasn't standing up at all. She was kneeling. She was curled up in a ball on the floor. And I didn't even know there was anybody else in the room to see her. I didn't see her.
I guess the real you doesn't show up when you're looking for her; she shows up when Jesus himself rips everything else away.
I'm not really even sure what I look like right now. Have kind of a blind spot. But others seem to be able to see me, and they couldn't before. So whether or not I would know me in a crowd, praise God He and others can.
Today, I woke up kind of anticipating I'd want to be alone and hostile. I wasn't.
I actually woke up very cheerful. Jansie and I had a nice long chat, had lunch together, wandered a trendy part of town (decided neither of us are trendy enough to desire a return visit), and walked along the pedestrian bridge. It's supposed to be over the river but, in pure Oklahoma fashion, our river is dry, dry, dry.
After, I'd settled into an inverse parabola. Definite sink.
Spent the next three hours in a coffee shop with my cuz. Krissy, with (not despite of) all her craziness and her very definite, passionate opinions, makes sense to me. One of my most favorite people to be around and has a knack for shoveling me out of any foul mood. Half distraction, half no-nonsense "let's deal with this crap and move on" attitude. It works.
Day 2 in a row of almost total clearmindedness. I'll take it, with thanks.
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