Darrell is now officially outnumbered, 4 to 1.

One of the first things we had the interns do when they arrived was answer this set of questions Darrell compiled.

These questions came from a few books we had been reading, and the Love Does conference we just attended, and they’re questions Darrell and I have been asking ourselves about who we are and what we want to help us determine the steps we need to take moving forward.

These questions have been really helpful for us (see my answers below) and I hope they’ll be helpful for you.

If you like the questions, answer them for yourself and post them on your own website. Then, link your posts below, so we can be encouraged and inspired by others who are living great stories.

What are the qualities I value most about myself?

I value my adventurous spirit, my gumption, my passion. I value the way I’m curious about everything, all the time. I value that I’m a learner and a teacher, and how I’m always open to new things. I value my sense of humor, even though it often gets overshadowed by insecurity.

What would l like to say I truly know in my life? About my life?

I would like to say I know God is real, that he loves me, and that we have a relationship where we talk to each other, back and forth. I would like to be able to say I’m okay with the unknown, that I’m comfortable with the questions. I want to be the kind of person who does hard things, doesn’t quit, and allows them to shape my character.

I would like to be able to say my life has purpose, meaning and direction.

How would I like other people to perceive me?

I want them to say I care deeply for others, and that something I said, or wrote (some words I used) helped or changed them. I want people to see me as someone who listens well, and who is wise.

What would I change about my life’s current circumstances?

Not much, truthfully. I wish I had a little bit more freedom financially. I wish I could pay off my school debt.

What would I add?

I wish I had more time for doing the things I love. I wish I could work out more often, and have more time to prepare good food. I wish I had deeper friendships (although I just moved to a new place, so I’m giving them time to grow)

What would I take away?

Anxiety. Insecurity. I’ve made so much progress in the past year, but sometimes those things have to get worse before they get better. I’m tired of letting them rule my life.

How do I wish my life to be on a day-to-day basis?

Pretty simple, actually. I want to write books until the day I die. I want my home to be a place that is open to all kinds of people, all the time — not because I’m the perfect host, but because I want to live my life in a way that shows others the power of feeling invited.
I want to read a lot, travel often, explore, exercise and rest well.

I want there to be good coffee and good food.

What would I like to be doing in 2 years? 5 years? 20 years? At the end?

In 2 years, I hope our business is sustainable, that it doesn’t rely on us being there to function. I hope this means we get to hire people, and give them an opportunity to discover their gifts while living on mission with us. I hope my second book is published, and that I’m working on my third. I hope my student loans are paid off. I hope we’re living (or have already lived) for a short time in another country.

In 5 years I could see us having kids, although the thought sounds terrifying to me right now. We may adopt, we may have our own. It doesn’t matter. We’ll love them just the same. I think we could also live somewhere other than Minneapolis.

In 20 years — this one is hard for me — I don’t know that I care what I’m doing so much as I care who I am. I have a few women in my mind who I want to be like when I “grow up.” I want the character and the wisdom they have. I want to pray like they do, a continuous, daily conversation with Jesus. I want the peace of mind and spirit they have. I want to help younger women, like they do, grow as women and as lovers of Jesus. I also want to mentor younger writers.

At the end, I hope I’m surrounded by people I love.

What will it take for me to accomplish these things?

It will take a commitment to do the hard things, even when I don’t feel like it. It will take a commitment to confront insecurity, and anxiety, rather than surrendering that “this is the way it will always be.”

It will take learning and mentorship, in all areas of my life.

It will take planning, and executing.

It will probably take prayer, and grace.

Will you write your own post answering these questions? You can share the link HERE!

Photo Credit: Ángelo González, Creative Commons

I can’t tell you how many people I meet who want to live a life of meaning, want to do something that matters, but they feel like they can’t because they’re racked with school debt.

I wish I could say I have no idea what that feels like.

But I do.

Just to be totally transparent, I have just under $50,000 in debt after graduate school —

and, according to American Student Assistance, I’m in the top 10 percent for students with my level of education (needless to say, I’m curious how many of the people in my 10% have a degree they’re not using — because that’s me).

I’m a huge advocate for education (my graduate degree is in education) but I also find the conversation about the debt we so willing take on to get our degrees (with the promise “it will be worth it”) really compelling. I’ve had my fair share of moments where I’ve wondered if my debt was “worth it.”

I guess there are some things I wish I would have known before I took on my debt.

I wish I would have known school debt cannot be compartmentalized to one part of my life.

When Darrell and I first started talking about getting married, I hadn’t told him about my loans yet (we were only dating, after all, and I rarely told anyone about how much debt I had). I was actually nervous that, when I told him, he wouldn’t want to marry me.

Of course, my fears were unjustified. When I finally did admit to him the size of my total debt, he barely blinked. But the point is I didn’t think about how debt would impact other parts of my life —

My relationships, my day-to-day work, and my ability to do things like travel, or change jobs.

I wish I would have known how a degree isn’t the only way to get an education.

I don’t know that this would have changed my decision about how I got my education, my undergraduate degree at least, but I wish I would have thought about how far $1000 could go at a bookstore, or for online courses, or for an apprenticeship.

I wish I would have taken into account less expensive options.

I was so set on going to “the best” universities (relatively speaking) I didn’t think about how/if my choice of institution would really impact my long-term career goals. I don’t know if I really thought about my long term career goals (I know, that sounds crazy, but I also know I’m not alone).

I just wanted to get a degree for a degree’s sake.

I’m just not sure I would do it the same way over again, given the hindsight I have now. I’m not sure if my degree has paid for itself.

I wish I would have known this was not Monopoly money.

I came from a family culture where everyone just goes to college. My dad was highly educated, and education was a high value for my family, so there was never any question if I would go to college or not.

And there was never any question about where I was “allowed” to go. The sky was the limit.

On the one hand, I’m indescribably grateful for that mentality. I can’t imagine what it would be like to live without the unconditional support of my parents. On the other hand, sometimes I wish I would have thought more practically about what it actually meant to take on that much debt.

I wish every time I received a statement, I would have thought about it as actual dollar bills, rather than just numbers on a piece of paper. I wish I would have thought to myself:

This is $20,000 real dollars I will actually have to pay back later.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Mostly because I’m thinking it too. You’re thinking, “All this hindsight is great, but it doesn’t do me much good if I’m already in debt.”

“What am I supposed to do now?”

What if I’m in a dead-end job I hate that’s promising to pay off my debt in 10 years? Do I have to stay?

What if I want to go to Africa and work on a clean water initiative? Should I defer my loans?

What if I want to quit my full-time job to start my own business? Do I have to wait?

What if I want to move overseas and teach at a school? How am I supposed to do them with this debt looming over my head?

These are questions I’ve asked myself, too, and I keep meeting people who are wondering the same things. I wish I could just wave a magic wand and get rid of your school debt for you so you could go do the amazing things you want to do with your life.

(Okay, I guess I wish I had a magic wand for mine, too).

But unfortunately it doesn’t work like that.

I’ve tried all kinds of different options.

I’ve worked a job I didn’t like that promised to pay my debt (I only lasted three years). I deferred my school debt to go on a crazy year-long road trip. Now, I’m trying something new. I’m actually paying it off (revolutionary, I know).

I’ve felt so trapped by my school debt in the past, I’ve tried to find ways to skirt around it, to duck out from under it, or to just get a break from carrying the heavy weight for a second.

But the thing I’m finding is that the best way to get rid of the debt is to get rid of the debt — FAST.

That’s the only way I won’t have to carry it anymore.

So I’m taking jobs I don’t really want to take. I’d rather be writing or working on something creative, or starting something of my own. Instead, I’m taking a realistic look at the assets I have (a graduate degree) and using that asset to pay off my loan.

Also, Darrell and I are living under our means.

We could move into a bigger apartment, but we don’t. We could buy new furniture, but we don’t. We could update our wardrobes, but we don’t. I’m not saying this to brag. I’m saying this to paint a realistic picture of what it looks like to attack debt fast.

Gazelle like intensity. That’s what Dave Ramsey calls it.

And I think, for the first time in my life, when it comes to my school loans, I might actually have it.

Do you have that? What are you doing about your school loans? To reply, Click HERE.

Photo Credit: epSos.de, Creative Commons

“Do you ever feel like you’re trying to be cautious, and it’s costing the Kingdom of God something?” — Donald Miller

Darrell and I just got back from Bob Goff’s Love Does Stuff conference in Tacoma, Washington and the experience was incredible.

The day started off with donuts and coffee, then a bunch of blow-up kitty pools filled up like ball pits, then of course a bounce house (because why not?), a drum line, a MILLION balloons, a slam poet (Propaganda) and then Bob himself, explaining how if you walked into this room and didn’t wish you had a pellet gun you aren’t alive.

There’s no one in the world like Bob.

Then Donald Miller shared why he thinks most of us (himself included) don’t do the stuff love tells us to do.

We’re scared.

I’ve been thinking about that ever since. I’ve been thinking about how I’ve spent most of my life trying to be cautious and about how, if anyone who knows me well read that last statement, they would laugh out loud, because they’ve spent most of my life trying to reign me in, get me to slow down, sit down, calm down, and have a realistic perspective about how dangerous the world really is.

I’ve always had this insane risk-taker living inside of me.

And maybe that’s why I’ve spent so much of my life trying to be cautious, because I was scared to “learn the hard way” like everyone said I would, scared to fail and prove them all right. I was scared to live out the ideas that came into my head, scared to take a crazy risk and have it come back void.

And also, I think, I wasn’t exactly sure what I was risking for.

Risk-taking felt like it was this innate part of me, like something I had to stifle and subdue (if I were going to be the “careful” person I should be), like if I were left to my own devices, without discipline, it would come spilling out of me —

But it also always felt sort of empty.

So as I grew up I learned to put it aside.

I learned to sit down, calm down, stay in the country, plant roots, and (“for heavens sake”) put a buffer in my bank account. But you know what’s really weird? Being cautious felt shallow too.

Being cautious actually felt like I was costing the world something, like there was this important part of myself I had put to sleep because I was scared of what it would become. I didn’t have words to say it that way, but the minute Donald Miller shared those words I knew what he meant.

The question I’ve been asking myself now is, “so now what?”

Do I just start taking risks?

How do I measure them?

Am I just supposed to start doing things that make me look crazy?

Here’s the thing. I’m don’t think taking risks just for the sake of taking risks is as glamorous as the movies make it seem. I guess sometimes it can be a good thing. I jumped off a waterfall in Costa Rica once, despite the fact I was terrified, just for the thrill of it.

I lived to tell the story.

Sometimes risks have intrinsic benefits, like a courage muscle we flex as we lead up to the bigger risks life brings.

But ultimately, when we take life risks, the kind of risks where we put everything on the line, I think it matters what we’re risking for.

Jumping off a waterfall is one thing. Selling everything you own and traveling across the country is another.

Adopting two special needs children from another country is still another.

Love will cost us something, and our willingness to take risks, I think, is equivalent to our belief that what we’re risking for matters. We have to want something more important than just ourselves.

I think most of us are risk-takers at heart.

Some of you may cringe at the term, or think I’m wrong. Maybe your whole life you’ve felt scared, or people have blamed you for being too cautious, but I believe we were all made to take risks. I jump off waterfalls and sell my things and move across the country, but maybe you’ve been faithful to the same people or thing, in the same place, for a decade.

That’s risky.

I think, deep inside of us, we all want to be a part of a more important story being written, a story bigger than us.

But I think before we can really understand our role in the bigger story, we have to know ourselves, know what matters to us, to know what we’re committed to, no matter what. We have to know what keeps us and grounds us when everything goes to hell because, when you’re taking big risks, everything will.

Are you a risk-taker? What are you risking for? To reply, Click HERE.

Photo Credit: A.Futlilini, Creative Commons

God, will you make it stop hurting?

This is the simple prayer I prayed a hundred times at least over the past six months, sometimes a small, gentle whisper at the end of the day — the last breath I have to give before fading into sleep. Please God.

Other times a bit more aggressive, a sort of desperate raise-of-voice to make sure he’s heard me say it.

“God, will you make it stop hurting??”

The pain started just before Christmas, right abound the time everyone was setting up trees and wrapping up presents and completing obligations for weeks off of work to hunker down and spend time with family. At first I thought it was just a strained muscle, and then maybe a pinched nerve, but then when the pain lasted, and lasted…

I didn’t know what it was.

I wonder if the fear, the confusion around why my body was betraying me, made it hurt even worse.

And see, the thing with chronic pain that should seem sort of obvious is that it’s chronic. As in, it doesn’t stop. It doesn’t take a break so you can finish your deadline, or respond to that e-mail, or move across the country, or because you’ve had a rough day. It’s commanding like that, all-consuming. It’s relentless.

I reasoned with God.

This is really not a good time for me to be in pain, I told him. There’s too much happening, too much work to do, too much going on. I need to be healthy so I can write books and travel and help writers and publish content at Prodigal Magazine.

How am I supposed to do that if I’m in pain?

God, will you make it stop hurting?

You start to see a new side of yourself when you’re in pain — a desperate side, a selfish side, a side where every thought, all the time, revolves around you. At least I did. Anything to make it stop hurting.

Pain changes things. It changed me.

I started doing stretches, and yoga, and then going to acupuncture —

which taught me what a crucial role we play in our own healing, and also how we can’t do it alone. It taught me that sometimes, to get away from pain, we have to relax into it, submit ourselves to it.

It taught me how sometimes, our bodies betray us. Sometimes our nervous systems need rewiring.

I praised God for the way he used the pain to teach me.

But even after all of that, the pain didn’t go away.

It was better. Manageable, even. With a handful of iburpofen and a little bit of aspercreme I could make it through the day. But each time I tried to imagine living another six months, or even (heaven forbid) years of my life like this, my heart would race and I would keep praying:

God, will you make it stop hurting?

Finally, my body is nearly back to normal.

As I type these words, I feel nothing more than a small kink in my neck, and even that feels like it is daily getting better. It wasn’t one thing that healed me. It was a dozen little things, a small army of people and techniques I have to thank for feeling better.

But the one thing that tipped me over the edge was this: vacation.

I just stopped, for two weeks.

I stopped striving, stopped trying, stopped tweeting and facebooking (mostly) and blogging.

And thinking back now it makes so much more sense why, even when I begged God to make it stop hurting, he didn’t answer — or he answered with “no.” Because pain is meaningful, it’s useful. It’s our body’s signal telling us something is wrong.

And in that sense, pain is a good thing. We can’t ignore it (it won’t let us).

We have to keep listening until we figure out what it is saying.

Healing is complicated. And if you’re in pain, I can’t promise there is one thing to fix your problem.

There probably isn’t. For me, it’s taken several months and several different approaches and, if you want to know the truth, I don’t know if my right shoulder/arm will ever be the same.

It will probably always be a little more vulnerable, a little more tender than it ever was before.

But pain is not arbitrary. You can’t ignore pain. It won’t ignore you.

What’s the worst pain (physical or otherwise) you’ve ever experienced? What did it teach you? How did you find healing? To reply, Click HERE.

Photo Credit: jjpacres, Creative Commons

Months ago, a blog reader asked me a question and it has stuck with me ever since. She asked:

If everyone stopped reading your blog, would you keep doing it? 

It was a good question, good enough that I hadn’t thought about it before, and good enough that when she asked I wasn’t sure what to say. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more my answer would flip-flop back and forth, like a fish fighting for air on dry land.

Would I keep writing?

Why do I write anyway?

The simple answer, I’ve decided since, is this: There’s a difference between writing and blogging. No matter who read or didn’t read my blog — no matter if blogs even existed — I would write. Not every blogger feels this way, but writing is like oxygen to me. I can live without it for a short time, but soon I start to gasp for air.

But what about blogging?

My short answer doesn’t really answer the original question, if you look closely. Because the question was about blogging, not writing. Would you (would I) keep blogging if no one read it?

It’s an important question, I think, because those of us who blog know how much time and energy blogging takes. And asking ourselves why we do what we do helps us uncover motives, which (I love what my husband says about this) are the driving force behind everything we do, and if we don’t understand them, may unknowingly be steering us off course.

This includes our motives for blogging too. So I hope you’ll bear with me for a second.

I want to share my motives for blogging — the good, bad and ugly

I’m shooting from the hip here, trying to be as candid as possible. So please have grace for me and these words. Here it goes.

• Power. Blogging gives me a sense of control where it may or may not exist. I’ve found words to be powerful in my life and blogging affords me the opportunity to channel my words toward a cause, a subject, or an idea I think is important.
• Space. Blogging for me has always been a little bit about owning a little bit of space on the Internet, a space where I could speak up, say what I thought mattered, be myself, and not have to apologize for it (ironically, this has always been an area of anxiety for me. ie: “What will people say/think about me when I’m honest?”).
• Conversation. One of the unexpected “rewards” of blogging for me has been the way people respond to what I write. When I first started blogging my favorite part of the day was reading and responding to blog comments (it still is, in some ways. I just tend to get overwhelmed by it at times).
• Connecting. I met my husband because of blogging. I found my church because of blogging. Some of my favorite people and closest friends are those I’ve met on the Internet.
• Understanding. One of my biggest insecurities in life is “no one understands me.” I’m not sure exactly where this comes from, or if I’m alone in feeling this way, but blogging has helped me feel like I had a way to explain myself — explain why I act, feel, or think a certain way so no one would misunderstand (unfortunately, seeking approval through blogging in this way has set me up for disappointment and even more insecurity, because there are as many opportunities for misunderstanding in blogging as there are in life.)

So would I stop writing my blog if everyone stopped reading? Based on the list above, maybe.

It’s not a bad thing, necessarily, but maybe it does explain some of the frustration I’ve been feeling with blogging lately. Maybe it’s an opportunity for me to check my motives and alter my course.

That’s the hard thing about making a list like. It reveals all of the selfish, and unhealthy, motives behind why I do what I do (and is probably why I’ve avoided it until now). But the good news is it gives me a chance to notice motives, which would otherwise remain unconscious, and to adjust them so they don’t steer me off a cliff.

I’d encourage you to make a similar list yourself. Why do you write? Why do you blog?

Or if you don’t write or blog — why do you do what you do? To reply, Click HERE.

Photo Credit: Ollie Crafoord, Creative Commons

I never wanted to be known as the girl with the eating disorder.

And now I’ve got a book with chapters and paragraphs and sentences stating that I am that very girl, the one who starved herself from the ages of nine until 13, and nine? People ask. Why so young?

But I tell them, I didn’t feel nine. I felt very, very old.

And sometimes it’s hard to remember (as I put down words like Hospital and Calories and Mirror), that I am more than that now. That I have always been more. That we are all more than our reflection.

But you couldn’t have told that to the girl with the mushroom cut and the big plastic glasses who stared into the long mirror in the dim-lit hallway while Dad typed away in his office, the door that was always closed because he was a pastor, and why do churches keep their entrances locked?

And Mum in the kitchen cooking supper in her apron.

I really don’t think it had much at all to do with eating, and does it ever? Do we sneak bags of chips or cookies or bowls of ice cream because we love food? Or because we hate ourselves?

And I think it’s because as women, as, mothers, we put ourselves last so often, that we don’t believe we deserve goodness. We feel we don’t deserve beauty or gifts or to sit down and enjoy a good long meal with a glass of wine because there are children to be bathed and put to bed, and clothes to be folded and toys to be put away and, and…

And this is what I saw stretched across my mother’s face, as she stood weary by the stove in her apron. And she tried to love us the only way she knew how: by homeschooling us and dishing up heaping plates of food and sewing us clothes, but all I wanted was for her to hold me and tell me I was beautiful.

But she’d never had anyone do that for her, not her mother nor her father nor my father.

We all need someone to be love, incarnate, , so we can put our faith in it.

My husband leans in on the pillows and I ask him to tell me, just one more time. “But why?” he says, this farm-boy that walked me through my relapse when I was 23.

“Don’t you know?” I shake my head.

“Tell me again,” I say.

“I love you.” He pulls me close. “I’ve never stopped loving you,” he says. “And I never will.”

I let him kiss me then.

And I’m learning to stand up for myself this way, to treat my body with kindness. And I know it has nothing to do with me. I know it has everything to do with me being a product of God’s genius. His hands molding dust into skin into breath.

He’s the one who makes me beautiful. So I sit boldly at the kitchen table in the afternoon light and eat a bowl of ice cream, my sons beside me, eating theirs, because we need to do this together, this life. This learning to eat, this learning to be gentle with ourselves and others.

Because lies can’t grow in the light.

And light is love.

***
I’m giving away a copy of my new book today, Mom in the Mirror: Body Image, Beauty and Life After Pregnancy, co-authored by Dr. Dena Cabrera, and foreword by supermodel Emme.

Here’s an excerpt from the book:

Giving birth produces life in more than one sense. It’s the baby powder, milky-breathed spirit found in the softest limbs you’ve ever felt, and it’s the respect a man feels for his wife as he watches her give up her body for another.
And it’s the deep-rooted soul satisfying feeling of knowing you were born for more than the mirror. That you were born to see the face of God in your child, and to know, you yourself are a miracle.

I want you to have this book! Tell me ONE thing that you love about yourself, and you’ll be entered into the draw! To reply, and enter for your chance to win a copy of Emily’s book, click HERE.

Otherwise, you can order it through the book’s website, here: www.mominthemirrorbook.com.

_____

Emily Wierenga is a mom to two beautiful boys, wife to a handsome math teacher, and author of Chasing Silhouettes: How to Help a Loved One Battling an Eating Disorder (www.chasingsilhouettes.com) and Mom in the Mirror: Body Image, Beauty and Life After Pregnancy (www.mominthemirrorbook.com). To learn more, please visit www.emilywierenga.com

Photo Credit: mikebaird, Creative Commons

What if I did whatever I want?

I’ve been tossing this question around lately. I’ve lived most of my adult life pretty disciplined. I’m artistic and a little bit spacey by nature and I think in high school and most of college I felt like if I didn’t get my act together, I would never be successful.

So despite the fact I am naturally a little more disorganized than organized, a little more free-spirited than disciplined, I got good at pulling myself together with an on-time assignment, an early wake up call, and even a clean room.

I took up running, which took discipline (at least until the endorphins kicked it) and before I knew it I was addicted.

Addicted to discipline, that is.

After over-drafting my bank account nine times my freshman year of college, I mustered up the discipline to keep a “zero balance” (that wasn’t actually zero) in my account at all times.

I read a few books about healthy eating and realized my eating habits were not great and so re-ordered that part of my life, too (which basically meant I quit living on diet coke, sugar free jello, and cheerios, my three staple food groups).

I started waking up at 5:00 to get writing done — just another notch in my belt of discipline.

And I’m a huge fan of discipline. It’s changed my life. It’s given me more control and helped me to hone and develop my gifts and as I’ve practiced it I’ve grown into a more functional, happier, healthier me.

But lately I’ve been wondering: Is it possible to be too disciplined?

What if I just did what I want?

What if I just did whatever I wanted, instead of being so careful all the time. Honestly, for awhile, it might mean I ate ice cream for lunch a few times a week (I consider this often) but would I eat ice cream three meals a day?

I doubt it. Because I know, if I did that, I’d feel sluggish and sick to my stomach all the time.

What if I woke up whenever I wanted to wake up?

In graduate school I started waking up at 5am. For a long time after that, I was so attached to the schedule, I couldn’t sleep in past about 6:30, even on a weekend. If I did, I would feel guilty — like I had just wasted valuable hours of my day.

But was I really “wasting” my day? What’s so bad about sleeping in?

And if I let myself sleep in as late as I want, would I really sleep half the day away? I just don’t think so.

Sometimes I think discipline is a crutch for me, or at least my attachment to it is. I worry if I quit being disciplined, quit mustering up the strength to do the things I know I’m “supposed” to do, I’ll go off the deep end.

I don’t trust myself.

But here’s the thing I wonder. If I just did whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, just for a little while, I don’t think much would change. In fact, I wonder if I would experience a more alive, more open, more vulnerable version of me.

I’m scared to test my theory, in part because I don’t trust myself and in part because I do believe there is a value in discipline.

But is freedom as important as discipline?

I wonder if, in my freedom, I would discover new things about me — my motives, my character, my deepest desires. And I wonder if discovering these things is as important as being disciplined to change.

If I could eat whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, I’m convinced I would still eat vegetables.

The discipline I’ve practiced of eating healthy has taught me to love the things that are good and nourishing for my body.

If I could work whenever I wanted to work, I’d probably work about eight hours a day, not because anyone is forcing me into my chair in front of my computer but because discipline has taught me how rewarding and completely satisfying it is to show up, every day, to the same project and see it through to completion.

Discipline has shaped me into a new person, and for that I am grateful.

I know I’ll continue to practice discipline in my life.

But lately I’m thinking of loosening the reigns of discipline, trusting myself more, and learning to live less out of obligation and more out of delight.

What do you think? Are you disciplined, or not? Do you need to be? To reply, Click HERE.

Photo Credit: Creative Commons

I have heard it said before that moving to a new city is a great time to reinvent yourself, that moving gives you freedom to choose who you are going to be, and what you want people to think of when they look at you.

Well, I am going to blatantly laugh at the next individual who mutters such nonsense to me. Because reinventing myself is not as easy as moving away from the place where the original me was, who I am goes much deeper than the people I hung out with, than the church I attended.

Who I am runs as deep as every piece of story, as every hurt and insecurity I have been cursed with, who I am is embedded in my reactions to an off handed comment.

Even if I didn’t move across the country —

I could toss out my wardrobe and start dressing only in runners clothes (which would fool people until I tried to run). Or I could buy an expensive mixing board and tell everyone I was a DJ, but eventually I would attempt to do a mash up of Bob Dylan and Ke$sha, only ending in painful, awkward silence.

A fake cover can not change who you are. I like to tell my sister to imagine people are all giant books waddling around, each ‘sleeve’ is different, but there is so much story compacted between the binding. Some people wear mysteriously blank sleeves, others print an entire synopsis on theirs, still others try to fake us out with flashy neon print and scratch and sniff bindings.

But the story beneath is what makes a person. Moving won’t change the story, and neither will pasting a “Woman’s Health” page to your cover.

Wherever I go, there I am.

For the longest time, this idea felt like a curse. Because who wants to hold onto their fear of commitment or evangelical cynicism?

However, I am learning how valuable it is to find myself wherever I go.

Because along with the quirky flaws, there are the hard earned lessons. Yelling out “Lie” in the middle of an 8th grade lecture on evolution is not something I want to repeat. It is a tough lesson in tact I am glad to have under my belt.

Learning to tell a boy, “Hey, I like you!” and then experience the heartache of unrequited love is an experience I am glad to have already gone through —

Thank goodness I don’t have my memory erased every time I moved to a new city.

Can you imagine me, standing in line at Starbucks, belting out “Lie!” when some opinionated nut was rambling on in front of me?

Yikes.

We have to take the bad with the good I guess. In a way, moving does give us an opportunity to be different, it gives us a chance, not to reinvent ourselves, but to carry on becoming the people we are growing into.

Wherever I go, there I am.

A little more self aware, with a little more tact, and more willingness to try new things. And a few more pages in my story.

Have you ever tried to reinvent yourself? Did it work? To reply, click HERE.

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Krisi is a twenty-something social media consultant, writer, travel nut and avid crafter. She graduated with more school spirit than should be allowed and is currently writing and working for Prodigal Magazine, based in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Read her blog here. (Krisiruth.com) Or follow her on Twitter  (Krisiruth)

Many of you know this, but this year, I turn 30 on May 30th and instead of a big party or presents, I’m hoping to raise $30,000 to build a classroom in Gulu, Uganda with Bob Goff and Restore International.

One of the ways I’m raising the money is by hosting this remote 5k. I’m calling the event LOVE RUNS.

What the heck is a remote 5k?

I’m glad you asked. The beauty of a remote 5k is you can run the race WHEREVER you are. I’m in Minneapolis, Minnesota, so I’ll be getting some runner friends together to run with me, but you could run (or walk) in your own neighborhood, with your own friends.

The other beauty is you can run (or walk) at whatever pace you want!

So how does it work?

It’s actually pretty simple. You purchase your ticket here if you want to participate. The cost is $35 and includes a “Love Runs” t-shirt we can all wear while we run (inspired of course by Bob Goff’s Bestselling book Love Does).

All proceeds go to to support my goal to build a classroom (half of a school) in Gulu, Uganda (If you would like to opt out of the t-shirt, the total cost of your ticket will support this cause)***

Here’s the best part. SIGN UP NOW and I’ll give a free copy of Love Does to the first three people who e-mail me (allison@vesterfelt) a copy of their receipt, saying they heard about the race from this post.

The day of the race, take pictures of yourself in your shirt, running and walking, and post them to Twitter, Instagram and Facebook. Use the hashtag #LoveRuns and feel free to tag me (@allyvest), Bob Goff (@bobgoff) or Restore International (@restoreintl) to help raise awareness.

What is Restore International?

Restore International is an organization started by Bob Goff, literally to restore justice in the world. For ten years Bob has been using his legal expertise to rescue and rehabilitate, lead investigations, and release people from slave labor.

He’s been bringing justice to the childern of Uganda by providing freedom, legal help and education. You can read more about Restore International here.

Where did this idea come from?

When I realized I was turning 30 on May 30th this year, I knew I wanted to do something special for my birthday, but I also knew I didn’t need more stuff (I just wrote a book called Packing Light, and I’m committed to living with less).

So I reached out to Bob Goff and asked him what I could do if I raised $30,000 (seemed to make sense — 30th birthday, on May 30th = $30,000). When he said we could build a WHOLE classroom in Uganda, I was sold.

I can’t think of a better birthday gift than the gift of education to kids who wouldn’t otherwise have access to it.

How else can I help?

If you want to help in other ways, here are a few things you can do. You can make an additional donation to the project (tax deductable) by clicking this link:

http://www.restoreinternational.org/happybirthdayallison

Also, you can share this event with your friends! If you have a running (or walking) buddy, invite them!

Can’t wait to run with you. Glad we’re in this together.

Click here to tweet about this event.

***If you live in the US, we’ll cover the cost of shipping. If you live outside of the US, additional shipping charges may apply.

Photo Credit: spaceabstract, Creative Commons

“What would it look like for you to befriend your anxiety?” I recently asked a client in the course of our therapy work together.

They looked at me with a stunned silence as if I was asking them to do something unspeakable. But I didn’t stop there. “What if you were to sit on that couch and imagine your anxiety as a friend that you have a relationship with?” The client still stared at me. So I continued, wondering if I was starting to sound crazy myself.

“And as you imagine this friend I want you to start talking to them…ask questions…develop a relationship with them…see what they are about?”

Maybe I am crazy, but I continued.

“For so long this friend has really been an enemy that you have tried to hide from, but what if you tried to invite it back into your life to see what they had to say…to see what they wanted. I wonder if they might teach you something?”

And as we sat in silence for a few moments looking across the room at each other I was reminded myself that it is a strange thing in our culture to befriend something that often causes us so much discomfort.

There are several reasons why I have been so involved in the work of anxiety in our lives.

First, I have struggled with anxiety almost my entire life—beginning with my mom’s breast cancer when I was six and her impending death when I was 11. That brought on stuttering, which is an anxiety that I still wrestle with.

Second, as a culture we often see anxiety as a negative thing, and if you are part of a Christian community, then add a double negative to that. So it was not a surprise to me when so many Christians started showing up in my office saying they have anxiety, but someone questioned their faith because of it. The Church was no longer safe for them to talk about their anxiety, so they sought the solace of my therapy office.

Third, nothing has transformed my life in a more positive way than anxiety. Anxiety is the catalyst that helps us grow and no one summed it up more for me than the great existential philosopher and theologian Soren Kierkegaard, than when he wrote in the The Concept of Anxiety,

“Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom.”

So as you sit and think about anxiety in your life or the life of someone you know, I want to offer to you three simple practices in how you can deal with anxiety in a more healthy manner. And though I said they are simple practices, they take a lot of work and courage in facing our fears.

Practice #1: Simply pay attention to it.

Notice how it makes you feel. Does it cause you to tense up? Do you feel short of breath? Do you get panicky? Do you try and pretend it doesn’t exist? Do you try to escape, ignore, or soothe it by becoming busy or numbing yourself out?

That is it—just pay attention to it in the beginning. Don’t struggle to try and fix it, instead try to recognize how it impacts you.

I see anxiety as God’s way of telling us, “Hey pay attention…something is up in your life…don’t ignore it.” Otherwise we ignore anxiety at our own peril as well.

Tip: Don’t forget to breathe. Anxiety in the Latin literally means to “choke off” or “push together” so it’s no wonder people feel like they can’t breathe when anxiety hits.

Practice #2: Befriend it.

We often fear the things that we don’t know or understand and that is one of the reasons why anxiety is such a powerful negative force in many people’s lives. The minute we experience it we run and hide from it.

But what if you began to befriend your anxiety?

What might it teach you?

You can start by asking it questions. What is my anxiety saying to me right now? Is there something in my life that I’m avoiding? Is there some fear that God is asking me to face?

Is my anxiety a warning that something is amiss in my marriage? God…what can I learn from my anxiety?

As we begin to ask questions of our anxiety it seems less and less like an ominous force, and rather something that wants to help us grow. It takes time and practice to get to this place, but trust me you can.

Practice #3: Use it as a catalyst to grow.

This practice is really the culmination of the first two practices. Once we have paid attention to our anxiety, and begun to ask questions of it, this new friend of ours—anxiety–begins to direct us in ways to grow.

One of the best examples of this in my own life is my stuttering and public speaking.

As I have paid more attention to my anxiety and ask questions of it, I continually hear God speak through it, often telling me to take a speaking opportunity even though I am very fearful. And it is these speaking opportunities—ones where I literally wanted to throw up and pass out at before—that God has used to grow me as a person and develop me as a disciple.

If I hadn’t begun to pay attention to my anxiety and ask questions, I would have continued to bury it and avoided opportunities for it to be used in positive ways.

What ways is God using your anxiety to encourage you to grow? To reply Click HERE.

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Rhett Smith is a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist (MDIV, MSMFT) in private practice at Auxano Counseling in Plano, TX. He is also on staff at The Hideaway Experience marriage intensives (www.intensives.com) in Amarillo, TX. Rhett is the author of The Anxious Christian and his newest book, What it Means to be a Man. He lives in McKinney, TX with his wife Heather and their two children. You can follow more of his work and writing at www.rhettsmith.com