Let me take that back. I am a winter person for exactly 5 days. Christmas Eve, Christmas, New Years Eve, and the 2-3 days it actually snows in East Tennessee and we get up early to start the fire. This feels like a monumental step for me because, previously, I was not a winter person at all but it is my lot in life to have married a winter person. Those 5 days are a sign that I’m capable of growth and change.

I can’t decide if I’m a spring or summer person. Truth be told I love them both and if no one is making me choose then I won’t.

The firsts of spring make me giddy. I try to keep track of all the new growth and blooms at first. “Look at you!” and “who are you?” I think as little green shoots pop up in early spring. I love the signs of new life, the warming days, how it seems like nature and people alike wake up from the long, cold, dark winter. The wild violets always feel like spring’s calling card. They look like they’re having a party, all massed together throughout the grass, and when I see those little dots of deep purple my soul genuinely seems to smile.

There is one part of spring (aside from the pollen assaulting my olfactory system trying to rob me of my joy and convincing me I have COVID every other day) that stresses me out. In early spring, just when things seem to be going good and we’re out of winter’s bony grasp, it makes one last desperate attempt to pull us back in. You know how in a horror movie you think the protagonist is finally about to escape but then the bad guy comes out of nowhere and pulls her back in kicking and screaming? Winter just can’t seem to let us go and sends one final chilling frost or, even worse, an unexpected snowstorm to freeze us out.

This stresses me out every. single. time. As happy as all of these new flowers and early sprigs of green make me I also want to run around telling them “Wait! It’s too soon! Not yet! You’re not gonna make it.” The daffodils, the wild violets, the dogwood blooms, I just know after the frost they’ll be goners. I desperately want to protect them and shelter them because I want them to last. Sometimes I actually do shelter them (because I’m a plant lady now) and sprint around the backyard throwing blankets over what are now “my azaleas.”

And every year, without fail, they’re fine. They make it. They get knocked down under the weight of the frost but then they bounce right back up. The frost fades or the snow thaws and there they are, those resilient tiny little beacons of springtime hope. They’re a reminder that life isn’t always sunny and 70 degrees and yet you can still survive. A reminder that, in fact, they were growing their hope all throughout the darkness of winter and one off day isn’t going to knock them out.

And every year, without fail, I’m reminded of a Bible verse when I see those little flowers. “Look at the lilies! They don’t toil and spin, and yet Solomon in all his glory was not robed as well as they are. And if God provides clothing for the flowers that are here today and gone tomorrow, don’t you suppose that he will provide clothing for you, you doubters?” - Luke 12:27-28

I am a doubter. I’m an anxious person. I’ve always got worst case scenario creeping around the corner. Maybe I can get to a place where I start to think that the frost will come and never end and it will just be winter forever like in Narnia and then all the flowers will die which means so will the bees and we can’t live without bees so I guess all of humanity will die too.

I believe this is called catastrophizing.

When I’m anxious, stressed, or worried I’ve found myself whispering the mantra “Even the wildflowers.” It’s my way of remembering that I will be taken care of. That I am taken care of. That this too shall pass. That even the thing I’m really stressed or worried about (like all the flowers in the whole world dying) is completely out of my control, so why spend precious energy ruminating on the unlikeliest of scenarios? In the end, everything will be okay, and maybe I didn’t need to be in control in the first place. It’s a reminder that, much like the flowers, I too can come out on the other side of life’s unexpected frosts with hope and resilience. A little stronger, a little taller, a little more beautiful for having weathered the storm.

I use it almost like a breath prayer. I breathe in and on the way out I whisper “even the wildflowers.” It grounds me. It centers me. Sometimes, even the smallest twinge of a smile will creep into the corners of my mouth remembering those tough tiny flowers. I gather strength from myself, from those floral inspirations, and from the knowledge that there is Someone much bigger who cares deeply for me and about me.

Even the wildflowers. Even the wildflowers. Even the wildflowers.

I really do believe it’s the most wonderful time of the year. In a month that would otherwise be cold and dark, the Christmas season has the ability to bring light, joy, and maybe even a little bit of magic, regardless of one’s age.

And yet, for all of us, the holidays can bring a deep sense of sadness and longing. They’re pinpoints on the calendar reminding us of the pricks upon our wounded hearts.

My dad passed away on December 23rd.

What a terrible day for someone to pass away. The 23rd-26th is a roller coaster of emotions in our family. His passing on the 23rd followed by Christmas Eve, Christmas, and, my mom’s birthday on the 26th. Talk about a wild ride. To be sad? To not be sad? The absence of sadness can generate its own unique and special sadness called guilt, which is maybe even trickier to navigate than the actual sadness itself. All of that to say, it can be a lot.

And for the past now 8 years I’ve found myself wondering, why did it have to be the 23rd? I’ve found some solace in the fact that we were together on that day and, because of the proximity to the holidays, will more than likely continue to be. Though slightly comforting, this justification didn’t seem to hold enough weight given the magnitude of the timing and the event. I understand we aren’t owed any explanations for why things happen to us in this life. But at the same time, humans are notoriously bad at the mysterious.

But now I realize, we’re all missing someone at the table.

And that is why the 23rd will always be hard. It is a physical reminder of the loss and sadness that each of us feel leading up to Christmas day. It is the universal grief we all carry knowing that someone will be missing from the dinner table, or the breakfast table, on that glorious Christmas morn.

Some of us are missing the parent who passed, who left, or who we felt we never knew. There are spouses who are gone, who were either taken too soon and those who we chose to leave. We’re grieving the loss of a child we had and the child who still isn’t there to run down the stairs and wake us up too early. The child we keep praying for, only to hear for another year of Mary’s miraculous pregnancy and remind us of the difficulty of, or lack thereof, our own. We’re longing for the spouse or significant other we so desperately long for, looking around the table to see couples and families, the Christmas cards on the fridge, reminding us yet again of our singleness. We’re missing friends we wish we had, or still had, grandparents, cousins, exes, and more.

We might even be grieving ourselves. We’re missing the person we thought we would be this time next year- skinnier, more successful, smarter, happier. We find ourselves looking at the same person in the same chair at the same table, wondering if things will ever be different, longing for hope and change.

If you’re sad this Christmas, you’re not alone.

And I believe that is the gift of Christmas. Only when we fully enter into the grief and sadness of our longing can we uncover the true joy of Christmas- the gift of presence. The real, all encompassing, joy-filled gift of the presence of Christ among us. It is great suffering that leads to great love and that great love allows us to experience real presence. By missing my dad at the table I’m able to look around and see the incredible people who have taken his place. I can pause and sit in the presence of the moment, to understand that this one spectacular moment, will never happen again. I can hold space for both the deep sorry and the unspeakable joy of that present moment. I’m able to have genuine gratitude for the love I feel for him, the love I felt from him. While I still miss him deeply I understand that the longing I feel is also love, and that love comes from somewhere. It comes from within me, the people around me, Love itself.

The sadness we feel is the opportunity to reach out and experience presence with those around us, those who are just like us, and suffering from a longing we may never know. It is the chance to connect with something so much bigger than ourselves.

Our grief creates space. Only you can choose who and what fills it.

I believe that when grief enters in it creates space. I also believe that space is constantly expanding and what we put into that space continues to grow. We can choose for the self-generating space caused by our grief to create more Love and presence. Or we can allow it to create more distance, bitterness, and division.

It is the hardest choice to make, but I want to keep choosing Love in the midst of my sadness. Not just this Christmas day, but every day. May our hearts and tables grow with Love this holiday season.

‘Tis the season for holiday parties, Christmas movies, and my personal favorite Christmas album, Chance the Rapper’s Merry Christmas Lil’ Mama. It’s the season of Advent, a time of waiting, longing, hoping for the joy of Christmas and the promise it brings.

Not the promise of presents, but rather the promise of presence: the presence of an incarnate God.

I feel like I miss Advent every year. I get so wrapped up in wrapping up work projects or travel plans that I don’t feel ready for Advent until it’s already over. This is a pretty consistent theme in my life: looking ahead only to realize I’ve missed the very moment in front of me. Or maybe I’ve placed such huge expectations on myself for Advent that I felt like I missed it. I have yet to magically transform into a patient contemplative zen person over the course of 4-5 weeks each year. But this year feels ever so slightly different. Maybe I’m slowing down as I get older (unlikely) or maybe I’ve lowered my expectations for the season (more likely).

I’ve been thinking a lot about Mary.

Mary was just minding her own business, probably running around trying to plan her wedding to Joseph, when all of the sudden her world was turned upside down. An angel bursts onto the scene (I like to imagine angels kicking down doors, which would explain why everyone loses their minds when they appear) and tells her God likes her a lot and she’s going to bring his son into the world. I love that Mary doesn’t just instantly jump to “This sounds totally realistic- sign me up!” No, Mary earns some extra points in my book because her first question is all about logistics. Her hesitation makes me like her even more. She wants to know how exactly God plans on making this happen. She hasn’t had sex yet, on purpose, and she has some questions. The angel gives her a rough outline of the plan, that God’s spirit would make everything happen, and reminds her “Nothing is impossible with God.” Mind you the angel isn’t giving timelines or specifics here, I would’ve lost my mind, just a vague understanding of next steps. And here’s the best part, Mary says yes. She agrees. She is completely overwhelmed and doesn’t understand how all of this works but she’s open to the process.

Advent is an invitation to join Mary’s journey.

I definitely think that Mary was a real person, but I can’t help but wonder if she is also a metaphor. What if each Advent season is an invitation from God to join in the journey that Mary started? The incarnation, Christ coming to dwell among us, was not a one time event. It is a continual phenomenon, one that we as human beings are invited to participate in time and time again. Mary set the tone but we get to join in her chorus. Advent is the opportunity to remember that God approaches each of us and says, “You, you are so special to me. Will you join me in this great plan?”

The shame of religion is to think that the incarnation happened once, or that God is any less present or invitational now than he or she was back then. Christ is already within all of us. The key, like Mary, is to say yes to the invitation and allow this Love to grow within us. The details of this Christ expression don’t matter. As Richard Rohr says, “God is not in competition with anybody.”

There weren’t any time frames, specifics, or details. Just an invitation to show up and be present in the process. Maybe Mary thought the whole thing was a dream, a hallucination from being exhausted from wedding planning. When things remained silent and still I wonder if she thought she messed it up, that God had changed his or her mind. Even when her stomach began to grow she might’ve doubted the entire thing until it was too obvious to ignore. It was a quiet behind the scenes plan. Nothing flashy or extravagant, just a whisper to an ordinary person to keep letting Love in.

It would’ve been so easy for Mary to discount God. Up until this point, this was NOT how God had shown up in the world. She had preconceived notions, expectations, and limitations. God showed up in the tabernacle. God looked this way or talked this way or was only for these certain people. But the beauty of Advent, of the invitation to Mary, is for God to move into a completely unexpected place yet again.

Will are all Mary.

We are co-authors in this remarkable story, if only we will allow the Christ and Love within us to grow. The specifics don’t matter. The timelines don’t matter. All that matters is an openness and willingness to participate in the incarnation, day in and day out. To allow our understanding of this Love to get bigger with each passing day. With each day and Advent season, Christ reminds us that he is moving into unexpected places and wants us, like Mary, to simply say yes. He is showing up in different neighborhoods, under a new name, and breaking out of the box we prefer to keep him in.

Is it so hard to believe that God approaches us and reminds us that we have already found favor with him or her? That we simply need to say yes to experience the incarnation of Christ already present within us because we are made in the image of this Christ? Could it be that we are being called to go further and deeper into our truest nature and experience our truest selves? Unfortunately for many of us, the most challenging part of this theory could be that God finds us favorable just as we are. I am ashamed to admit that the thought of God approaching me and saying, “I already really like you” is much more difficult to fathom than “will you bring Christ into this world?”

This Advent season my hope is to just say yes to the gift of the incarnation, to this expansive and mysterious journey. If you’re tempted, like me, to think that Christ is not within you, that you don’t matter, or that the incarnation and Christmas story are stories of yesteryear, may be remind ourselves:

“For nothing is impossible with God.”

The fight attendant gave me more than one concerned look as I cracked open the pages on the airplane. I’m sure she was wondering how I made it through security with a book like that. I don’t know about you, but I would typically want security to keep an eye on someone who’s reading a book that implies one is a hilarious sex deity.

After both the flight attendant and my seat mate started throwing shade, I decided to remove the cover of the book.

The author, Pete Holmes, is a comedian who grew up Evangelical and, like many of us who grew up with the Bible’s Samson and Delilah as our first exposure to romance, had some difficulty reconciling faith and sexuality. I thought the book would be mostly about comedy, some sex, very little God. But it turned out to be mostly God, some sex, little comedy. More surprising than the chapter titled “masturbator” (which I felt compelled to hide from the middle aged woman in the seat next to me), was how spiritually enlightening the book was.

You can only image my shock to discover a book on laughs really brought me a lot of perspective on life and faith.

Without spoiling the full plot, I can say that once Evangelical Pete goes through a crisis of faith after a tragedy and enters a deconstruction process. Whether you’re spiritual or not, you’ve gone through deconstruction. You find out Santa Claus isn’t real and have to decide for yourself what you believe going forward, how those former beliefs served you, and are relieved you no longer have to stay up late on Christmas waiting for a strange intruder. You likely had to deconstruct the idea of your parents as these all powerful robots- that they are real, flawed, humans who were also your age once, who were simply doing the best they could.

There’s a tiny piece of one chapter that I can’t seem to get out of my head. Pete, as he starts to reconstruct post-tragedy, realizes that the best episodes of TV or a movie are the ones full of conflict.

We don’t turn off the TV when everyone loses their head on Game of Thrones.

No, we tune in to see what happens next. When the hero is trapped or beat down, we don’t say “Oh no- fear! This isn’t going the way he/she planned. Time to check out.” No, we get on the edge of our seats and expect this person will rise to the occasion. When a character we love goes through a divorce or loses someone, we are trained to wonder what will happen next.

Yet, when life doesn’t go according to plan, when something hard or hurtful happens, we tend to tune out. We think we’ve done something wrong, that the universe is cruel and punishing us, that everything is supposed to be easy and pain free.

At least, that’s what I think.

I’ve spent so much time trying to engineer a pain-free life. I methodically plan out my days, my calendar color coded and time stamped, my brain always 1, 5, 10 steps ahead anticipating any hiccups along the way. I plan for worst case scenario to avoid it at all costs. And then, when life inevitably does throw a curve ball or, even worse, when I get rocked in the face by a fast pitch, I am distraught. Shouldn’t I have known better? Why didn’t I plan better? Why didn’t I see this coming? I’m a failure, I’m trapped here, this will last forever.

But no. These things are designed to move the character forward. Get the plot going. Spin in some action. While I can recognize, appreciate, and root for this kind of development in a good movie, I’ve viewed them as tragic setbacks in my own life.

But it turns out that good lives, like good episodes, are riddled with conflict.

I love what Pete says about his life. When he encounters these difficult situations he has started to ask himself the question, “What will Pete do next?” It’s the question we ask when we are hooked into a show and we know, we just know, this character will figure something out.

I have a front row seat to the best show in town: my life.

So now I find myself asking, “What will Hannah do next?” Where will she get the money? How will she figure this one out? Can you believe it? I can’t wait to see where this thing takes her.

Obviously I’m not going to yell, “PLOT TWIST” in the middle of an argument with my husband. Of course, I’m not going to say, “Wow, this just got good!” if we lose a client. This isn’t an unrealistic endlessly optimistic approach to life. When things are hard, they’re hard, and it’s necessary to feel and experience them.

The key is, when the time is right and we’ve acknowledge our grief, to ask how this move the story of our lives forward. To wonder, in awe, how this moment has the power to grow, transform, and inspire us as the characters to the next big scene. These conflicts, these setbacks, they are the things that good episodes are made of.

I’ve never been moved by a good story absent of challenges. I don’t know why we expect life to be any different.

The hard stuff is the good stuff. The good stuff is still the good stuff. They serve different purposes but they’re designed to add to the story of our lives, not to detract from them. These moments, each moment, thickens the plot and brings it to life. It brings us to life. I don’t know about you, but I needed to wake up to see that the very best story is playing out right in front of my eyes.

I can choose to tune out. Or I can choose to sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.

Or 8 or 2 or 7. But, let’s be honest, of course it’s the 3.

I kid.

The Enneagram, an ancient self-discovery and development tool, seems to be the topic of just about every conversation these days. There are entire Instagram accounts, podcasts, clothing lines, dedicated to the Enneagram. There are coffee cups, journals, workshops, prints, you name it, all numbered off with quirky sayings and comforting mantras. Christmas is coming up after all, can someone send a girl a 7 travel mug? Because, as you know, Enneagram 7s just love to travel.

The Enneagram, a once mysterious and sacred tool, is now ennea-where and everywhere.

I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. But seriously, how did this little known framework with deeply religious and monastic roots, suddenly explode in popularity? One might argue that anything with a religious, and especially Christian, history wouldn’t or couldn’t take hold in popular culture. And yet I would say that aside from politics, the Enneagram could be one of the most widely discussed topics of conversation. So how did we get here? This tool seems to cross religious boundaries to permeate the hearts and conversations of millions of people. Could it be time to learn not just from the Enneagram’s numbers, but from the Enneagram itself?

What is the Enneagram? Where did it come from?

The Enneagram is a personality test that categorizes personalities into 9 different types with core motivations, fears, and paths for growth. Think Myers-Briggs + Astrological Signs.

As mentioned, the Enneagram is an ancient tool with components and influences from the desert monastic communities, Pythagoreans, Sufis, and mystic Judaism. It was popularized and formalized by Oscar Ichazo, who may have been high as a kite when he finally connected the Enneagram dots. It made its way to America when Claudio Naranjo studied under Ichazo. Naranjo is responsible for bringing the Enneagram to Catholic communities, who quickly embraced and taught the self-realization tool. Cue Father Richard Rohr, currently considered one of the “fathers of the Enneagram.” From the Catholic communities it spread out into evangelical communities (the Catholics always seem to get it first, do they not?) and then into popular culture.

The Enneagram’s history is messy, trippy, and gives us hope.

Hello, yes, hi, did you just read the above? If you skipped please press rewind. Any history is convoluted at best, but we’re talking about the Enneagram’s history potentially tracing back to Jews, Muslims, Christians, (some say Buddhists as well) and a guy tripping on acid. This is phenomenal, the stuff movies are made of. This tool is one of the few things out there with a multi-religious background, something that seems to transcend religious lines and doctrines, to permeate and provide growth. In a world that is increasingly divided, how can something like this not provide us hope?

Sadly, I’m wondering how many Christians will read this and want to throw the baby out with the bathwater. We Christians are notorious for doing this. But rather than try to stake a Christian/Catholic claim, or sanitize the Enneagram’s history to make it one that feels more palatable and less mystical, or did away with it completely, what if we embraced the Enneagram’s ability to provide connection? The Enneagram has something, regardless of where it came from, that allows us to connect and grow. Is this not the point, regardless of the faith, regardless of the lines?

The Enneagram works because it’s rooted in compassion, empathy, and love.

The Enneagram starts from a place of connection rather than isolation. All of the numbers are somehow intertwined, they all move towards one another, bolster each other, and need each other. No one number or group has it all figured out, they all equally make the world a better place. And the Enneagram shines a light on shame- those ugly dark sides of each of us that we’ve traditionally locked away. But it doesn’t allow those dark parts to exist or justify themselves, it provides a path of growth. Once the realization of the shame is there, only then can we move forward and start to heal.

I believe that the Enneagram’s success lies in the fact that it chooses to embrace the hard parts, celebrate the good parts, and allow empathy to flow in. C.S. Lewis so famously writes that “friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another, ‘What! You too? I thought I was the only one.’ “ Rather than hide alone in our stories, the Enneagram helps give common language to our shared struggles, shared passions, shared desires.

Regardless of how annoyingly popular it might be, thank God for the Enneagram right now.

This is exactly what we need at a time when it’s so much easier to discuss our differences than our similarities. So much better to be able to say “You too?” than to stay alone in our darkness and shame. It’s no wonder that the Enneagram has exploded in popularity. We need this thing right now. Rather than a place of judgment, fear, and shame like many previously held religious notions, the Enneagram provides a tool for connection, empathy, love, and growth. Again, it’s just a tool. It’s not the end all be all. The Enneagram is flawed just like any tool out there (more on that later), but for now I think it’s exactly what we need.

More conversation, less condemnation.

If only my Evangelical upbringing had encouraged me to own my messes rather than hide from them. If only I had learned to look at others in celebration rather than condemnation. I could go on and on, but let’s just think about the fact that for the first time in a long time, people are moving together over something rather than apart. People are having conversations about their trauma, their desire to be better, and finally using a common language to understand each other.

I don’t know about you. But that’s a beautiful thing to me. It’s no shock that the Enneagram is blowing up Instagram. My hope is that we continue the conversation, continue to grow together rather than use this thing to tear each other apart. For those of us with a spiritual leaning, maybe it’s time to take the Enneagram’s lessons of compassion and empathy deeper and farther than just the numbers go.

My husband and I are now accepting applications to counsel all of the less evolved marriages out there. 1 whole year under our belt pretty much makes us experts, so gather round for all of the hard earned wisdom we have to offer. I am the peak of perfection as a wife! My house is spotless (no tumbleweeds of dog hair floating across the floor for us!), our conversations flawless, and I’m shocked Netflix hasn’t called me to do a documentary special about my superb culinary skills. I would never, under any circumstances, let us eat just string cheese sticks and chips for dinner…I am much too prepared for such a thing!

The first of anything is always transformative- kindergarten, your first boyfriend or girlfriend, freshman year of college, your first job. The first year of marriage is no exception. Like anything you do for the first time, the learning curve is steep, the stakes feel high, and you have absolutely no idea what the hell you’re doing. This year was no exception. While it feels like I’ve learned a million things this past year, here are some of the things I learned.

For the record, these aren’t just marriage learnings. I’ve started the learning process with roommates, coworkers, friends, etc. Being in community and deep relationship with another person is what makes us better, and that is not ever exclusive just to marriage.

1. Just because you do something differently doesn’t make it wrong.

   This is the big kahuna. You’ve spent your whole life doing things a certain way- from folding laundry to grocery shopping to how you handle conflict- and now there’s this other person who does those things their certain way. You’re both convinced that you’re doing it right because obviously said tactic/strategy/MO has served you somewhat well over the years. 99.9% of the time It’s not wrong, it’s just different, and if we could apply this principle to the rest of our lives (politics, work, religion, etc.) the world would be a much better place.

   Instead of viewing differences as opportunities to be right, I’m learning to see them as opportunities to be enriched.

2. It’s okay to have alone time.

   Still working on this. Still working on all of these, always, probably for the rest of our lives. When we first got married we did everything together- chores, errands, hobbies, TV, you name it. We are in this TOGETHER! I like to call this the marriage hole and everyone goes into a hole sometimes (dating hole, work hole, baby hole…okay that word is weird) but suddenly I looked up and realized I hadn’t taken some time for myself in a while. I was also paranoid that if that if we didn’t spend every waking and sleeping moment together our marriage would fall apart. But this is silly and unsustainable. We have different interests, needs, and are different people (see above) and it’s so important to be yourself in marriage. We finally got into a rhythm of being a part while also prioritizing coming together.

   We implemented weekly “introvert night” (or extrovert night in my case) along with weekly date night. It’s wonderful and helpful- we look forward to both equally as we learn to care for ourselves and each other.

3. Sometimes don’t talk about it. Sometimes talk about it. Always talk about it.

   Marriage is just weird sometimes. You have an off day or week or you’re PMSing and cry about buying the wrong almond butter from Trader Joe’s. I’ve heard these things can happen.

   As an extrovert I prefer to talk about those weird moments and process them out loud together. As an introvert, my husband needs time to think about what’s going on and process internally alone to know where' he’s at. I couldn’t comprehend that he didn’t know how he felt in the moment and he couldn’t comprehend why I was ready to take a deep dive into our childhood wounds immediately after a miscommunication.

   Now we talk about things sooner than he would on his own, slower than I would on my own. There’s equal value in thinking about it and talking about it in a timely manner. But we always, always talk about it. Communication is key.

4. Don’t be fine.

   Gosh, I felt so much pressure to be “cool wife” when we got married. Cool girl is the worst girl- she keeps so many women from being their truest selves, the self that has thoughts, feelings, preferences, and God forbid emotions. She says things like “I’m fine” or “It’s fine.”

   I was so afraid to show up in our marriage as myself- messy, vulnerable, honest, and sometimes just a complete dumpster fire. I hid behind fine. Hiding those parts of me doesn’t make me cool, it makes me a robot, and unless you’re Joaquin Phoenix in Her, I don’t know of many people who actually want to be married to a robot.

   I don’t want a fine marriage, I want an extraordinary one, and that requires both of us to be ourselves.

5. Play together.

   Life is intense. We go to work, we pay bills, we try to figure out what on earth is happening with insurance. It’s really easy to fall into the habit of only texting about the grocery list or who’s picking up the dog from the vet.

   Playing for the sake of playing is one of the best things we’ve learned. I spent a big part of our marriage trying to be responsible (read last post) and forgot to play along the way. Things like watching sending each other memes (I don’t care what anyone tells you this is the deepest joy of marriage), being spontaneous, or taking a trip together prove to be some of the best things we do for our marriage.

   Playing together doesn’t have to be extravagant. We’ve learned how to have a kick ass date night at home. Sometimes I’ll think: can we afford (money, time, energy, schedule, etc.) to play? The answer is we can’t afford not to play.

I am a work in progress. A year will only take me so far, us so far. There’s a million miles and lessons left to go. But what a ride it’s already been, I can only imagine where it will take me next.

-LL Cool J

I don’t know about you but sometimes I get lost. Not physically lost, Google and Waze have made sure that I’ll never experience the crippling defeat of driving around in circles again, but I guess I lost myself for a while.

I do that every couple of years. It’s with strange relief I can say my anxiety is the first friend to show me that maybe, just maybe, I’ve lost my way. Anxiety for me feels a lot like being lost in a dark forest. Part of me is panicked and desperately trying to find my way out. Fear kicks in and I begin to wonder, “Will I be stuck here forever?” Then shame manages to creep in to berate me. “I never should’ve gotten lost in the first place. I know better by now. I’ve been to counseling. I should be better than this.”

The tailspin of my anxiety is wading through a pile of my own “should”.

All of that to say I’m surprisingly grateful for my anxiety. I am too stubborn, busy, unaware, whatever you want to call it to notice some of the smaller steps along the way. It takes my anxiety to really grab my attention and open my eyes for me to discover that I don’t know where I am, who I am, or where I’m going. Which explains all of the low key fear, shame, panic, stress, etc. I don’t know of many people who suddenly feel anxious when they’re confident in who they are and where they’re headed.

I think it’s easy for all of us to get lost, especially women.

I got lost because I let expectations and responsibilities get the best of me. I stopped listening to the voices that mattered, my own and my creator's, and started listening to the louder ones. I was in the woods after all. I followed the loudest voices only to realize they took me further and deeper into the very places I did not want to go.

Some of the voices that get me lost look like:

• Sacrificing self-care because it seems selfish

• Taking on too much responsibility in order to seem capable and responsible

• Mistaking rest for laziness

• Replacing said rest with more productivity and efficiency

• Not taking risks or trying new things for fear of failure

• Downplaying my needs or desires to be perceived as the “cool” wife, friend, coworker, etc.

• Discarding activities I love if they didn’t fit into the productive/responsible/self-improvement matrix

Those voices are very convincing. I thought they would take me where I wanted to go but in reality they pulled me further and further away from myself.

In the name of self-improvement I sacrificed the “self” part and only kept the improvement.

At the end of the day I was left with nothing but that pile of shoulds and a laundry list of ways I could wrangle all of the sucky parts of myself out. But like I said, I lost myself along the way. I wasn’t all bad, you know, I had some really good things going for me. They didn’t seem good enough to make the cut and so I cut them out, deeply, ferociously, trying to carve myself into something I’m not.

But after being lost for so long I’m grateful to say I am making my way out of the woods. I’m slowly coming back to myself. I’ve put the knife down and am trying, I mean really trying, to find my way back. It’s not perfect, I still loop back onto those shame trails, but it is progress.

Maybe we should call it a comeback.

My comeback gets easier when I ask myself the question “What do you love for the sake of loving it and nothing else?” I’m not allowed to add caveats or filter it through whether or not it will serve me in the long run. I just need to answer whether or not I love that thing. Obviously we can’t only do the things we love, but some of us spend so much time on the to-do list above that we need to spend some time getting back to our old selves to decide what should come with us as we grow rather than casting it all aside.

I love being in nature. I stopped doing that because “it took too long to drive to the mountains.” I love going to the movies but stopped because it felt financially irresponsible and selfish. I love deep conversations, good food, and a delicious bottle of wine. It’s easy to see why I let those go- too much time, too unhealthy, too expensive. I love reading books but felt silly reading a good story when I could be reading how to better myself or the world. These things seem so simple but I cannot describe the freshness and relief I’ve felt by making my way back to them.

What do you love? I mean really, truly, deeply love? What brings you life and helps you find your way in the darkness? What keeps you from doing them? What would happen if you tried, just once, to speak up for the things you want and need? What if you listened to the voice who tells you who you really are, not who you should be?

Where would the path in the woods take you? I don’t know. But I do know this path feels a lot like coming home.

The keyboard that once felt so familiar now feels foreign. Don’t get me wrong, I get plenty of quality time on this computer. In fact, that’s part of what has kept me away. When you spend your days staring at a screen or building websites for other people the last thing you want to do is plug away on your own.

I tried to talk myself out of it. I promised that I would do it tomorrow, or maybe the next day. That I really should vacuum or spend time with my husband or watch another episode of Game of Thrones or play with my dog or anything, anything, to keep from opening the door of my deepest and darkest place. But grief is funny like that. It demands to be felt, touched, heard, and seen.

It’s been 7 years since my dad died.

7 years. Lucky number 7. 7 years and also just yesterday. Every year is different. There have been big, bold, ugly years. There have been quiet, simple, and silent years. Years when it snuck up on me and years when it got right up in my face. There have been years when I laughed and joked my way through it and others when I knew people could hear the ache of my voice, a thin layer holding everything together, liable to break apart at any moment.

They say these things get better with time and in some ways they do. You develop this new sense of normal- everything that was turned upside down somehow seems rightside up. Despite your best efforts (or as a result of your worst fears) you move along because you have to. You move on because they would’ve wanted you to. You try to mine the depths of your memories to remember how he talked or smelled or said or taught you. You simply forget because you have to make room. Room for the good things, the best things, the way it feels to be truly alive.

And in some ways they’re much worse. Worse because everything becomes so normal that grief feels like whiplash. It grabs you and yanks you so hard backwards that everything starts to spin and where once you got used to the tightness now you feel as though you’re choking. It’s harder because you wonder what he would think of you now, or of your husband, or what it would be like to share a glass of wine together. You long for what could’ve been and what should’ve been and it hurts maybe even worse than it did the first time.

Every year something else dies too.

Usually it’s the death of a dream. The places you’ll never go, the conversations you’ll never have, the moments you’ll never share. But sometimes you lose something else along the way. Sometimes something good dies too- the bitterness, the sadness, the frustration, the devastation.

This year I can feel my anger slowly but surely starting to die. And it is almost as painful as the death itself.

For the longest time I was angry at just about everyone. Angry at my dad for becoming someone he wasn’t before he died. Angry at myself for the way I handled it. Angry at doctors and timing and even God himself.

But this year the very grief whose tentacles worm their way deep into my heart to take me back to those final days, that hospital room, those conversations, the same grief brought those memories into technicolor view.

Grief and time are giving me the best things they can offer: perspective.

For the first time instead of an angry young woman I see a scared little girl who wanted her best friend to be okay. I see a terrified man who didn’t know what was happening to him. I see a wife who’s afraid of losing the love of her life and her very life itself. I see doctors who are just as devastated as we were. I see things differently, as painful as it may be.

Anger had occupied so much of my heart that now, for the first time, there’s a place for something new to grow. Compassion is starting to take root. I can feel it, slow and wobbly, trying to break through and make room. Compassion for the girl who didn’t know what else to do, compassion for the father who must’ve been so scared, compassion for the mother who was trying her best and the brother who processed things differently.

Anger is easy, convenient, and maybe even justified. It is compassion that is leaving me completely undone.

And that is why I call it lucky number 7. As painful as it is, as brutal as it’s been to sit in my grief and experience those things all over again, I am starting to feel grateful for this grief. Grief is like a river, shaping and molding us over the years into something different, something better, something new.

Those are just a few of the dietary lifestyles that people (namely myself) subscribe to. The holidays are over which means I'm no longer elbow deep in casseroles and cookies and January stands as a beacon of hope to alleviate my winter weight woes. I often joke that my dog would leave me in a heartbeat for another owner because he is subjected to kale and spinach for scraps while your average American pup gets to enjoy pepperoni and cheese droppings. 

For the record, I used to be so hard on myself come January 1st. Standing on the scale each cold January morning seemed to carry not only my own weight but the weight of the past 365 days worth of dietary decisions. Whatever number the scale read paled in comparison to the weight of the judgment and shame resting on my shoulders. 

This year was different. Thanks to a new holiday tradition, one that involves reading Shauna Niequist's Bread and Wine starting around Thanksgiving, sure, there was a little extra weight on the scale but there was also something else: grace. 

The healthiest and most sacred rhythms of life involve both feasting and fasting. 

So instead of second guessing every Christmas cookie or holiday treat I enjoyed, no savored, every last bite in the name of feasting. And much in the same way that every buttery and carb-loaded bite from the holiday season fed something deeply spiritual within me, each day of clean eating and fasting feeds something spiritual too. I am now reminded that I'm not meant to have it all, that my occasional physical hunger is an exercise in my humanity. That I am meant to feed my body and soul more than empty calories and mindless (often emotional) meals. We were designed for intentionality in everything we do and that includes the way we fuel our bodies. 

What in the actual health? 

You saw the list. There are a million options, plans and programs out there. A few months ago my roommate and I decided to have a bonding night where we grilled some chicken and after some mindless Netflix scrolling we ended up deciding on What the Health, mostly because we had heard chatter about it and as health-conscious individuals it sparked our curiosity.

After grilling pounds of DEAD BIRDS we watched a documentary about vegetarianism. It was, how do you say, the world's worst timing. 

As I sat there watching a familiar feeling began to creep up the back of my neck. I could sense my anxiety rolling a deep pit within my stomach. Did I need to become a vegetarian? Was I doing everything wrong? Should I be vegetarian AND Whole30 WHILE trying to count macros? Could vegetarianism be the lifestyle that finally made me feel like the superhuman goddess each dietary lifestyle promised to bring me?

It's easy to shame oneself into eating healthy but it's also easy to shame oneself into eating healthy the "right" way. Just plop a paleo person down next to a vegetarian and watch them try to convince each other that their way of eating is scientifically more sound.

What in the actual health? Does anyone have the answers? No wonder people give up on eating healthy. With so many options, messages, studies and stories it's almost impossible to choose.

But, a girl's gotta eat.

Not only do I have to eat but I want to eat. I go to bed at night as early as I possibly can just so the night will pass by quickly and the promise of breakfast can awake me in the morning. I know what I plan on eating Friday night when it's a Tuesday afternoon. I simply love food. But the food-shaming of eating plans, the restrictions, broken promises and unmet expectations had me more discouraged by food than excited about it.

Keto made me sluggish and exhausted, macros felt like a prison, Whole30 wasn't a longterm sustainable option, and I love protein and meat too much to go full vegetarian. 

Was there a way to eat that worked not for the masses, not for a documentary or a brand, but just for ME? I've experimented with enough of these eating plans to have a wide variety of knowledge on a number of different ways to eat, why did I have to ascribe to one plan when I could just build my own? 

Food Freedom

I did a crazy thing. I got a Helix DNA kit and EverlyWell Metabolism test and spit in some tubes, pricked my fingers, and mailed a tiny piece of myself off to a lab to get examined. Nothing would've made me happier than to get a low metabolism test result. Don't we all want to blame something? My metabolism would've been the ultimate excuse as to why my body wouldn't cooperate with a number of eating programs. But, alas, my metabolism was in tip top shape. 

However, the information I did learn was invaluable. I discovered that first and foremost, I do have 2 out of the 4 genetic markers that make me predisposed to obesity. In some ways, that offered me an immense amount of grace and allowed me cut myself some slack. I am fighting biology to a certain degree. It also keeps me motivated knowing that if I relent in my health biology will take over.

I also found out that I have a hard time processing fats and don't struggle with glucose. In less scientific terms, low-carb and high-fat diets don't do me any favors. What a relief. I can finally eat the way my own God-given body was designed to eat, not the way that works for thousands of people. It removes the pressure to try some new style of eating if I see it revolves around cutting carbs or higher fat content because my poor cells are just going to batten down the hatches and store every ounce of fat they possibly can. 

For the first time in my life I feel educated about my dietary decisions because they're informed around my own unique combination of proteins and codes and everything else that makes me unique. And remember that thing I just said about the sacred rhythm of life? Few, if any, past or present eating trends are sustainable. They're meant to be experimented with, learned from, and tested. I don't regret trying different styles of eating because each of them taught me something about who I am as a person, what works for my body, and helped influence my relationship with food. 

There is no perfect prescription.

And, don't worry, if you aren't ready to experiment with your DNA just try out a few different dietary options until you find a combination that works best for YOU. Don't be afraid to be a Paleo-Keto-Whole30er or a Weekend Vegetarian or a Mostly Vegan. Ultimately there's no perfect prescription for the best way to eat. Your body is fearfully and wonderfully made and deserves to be treated that way and that starts first and foremost with what you put into it. Start small, don't be afraid to try different things, and most importantly listen to your body. Create time and space to observe what your body tells you and know that these things take time.

I've partnered with Helix DNA to give away a FREE DNA kit over on my Instagram page. Head over there for a chance to win! 

I’m glad it was dark. I’m glad I could hide my face as he rolled out of bed and sauntered into the kitchen for a glass of water, because for the first time in my whole life those words made me feel empty. It was an emptiness I would feel for months, no years, and an emptiness that’s tempting to creep up on me from time to time. In a breath someone and something had sucked the life out of me.

You see, I’ve always been hungry.

 Hungry for more- more time, more adventure, more friendships, more food and drinks and experiences. For as long as I can remember I’ve wanted it all. Being full was a foreign concept to me, one that I would pretend to understand when out to dinner with a group of girls and social cues allowed me to lift my eyes up from my plate long enough to notice everyone was slowing down and maybe I should too.

And I’ll be honest, I’ve been one of the lucky ones.

I didn’t grow up very body conscious. I played sports so rather than needing to look a certain way I just needed my body to perform in a certain way. Aesthetics off the field took a back seat to achievements on the field and though I wasn’t exactly comfortable in my own skin I knew what it was capable of and that was enough to help me put my head on the pillow every night.

I would venture to say body image comes for us all in one way or another. For some of us it’s an immature middle school kid in the locker room, hurling insults just to feel big and powerful and secure. For others it’s the moms around the pool who don’t have the scars and the cellulite, who can’t wait to take off their cover up and expose what appears to be the exact opposite of a mom bod.

For some of us it’s a dumb ex-boyfriend who didn’t have a filter.

Thanks to Facebook memories I actually saw a picture of myself from around that time. I was skinny, I mean really skinny. For months I was unaware that what my roommates and I affectionately called “Hide-n-Seek Stomach” was actually anxiety. I would lie awake at night with both my mind and my stomach churning, too worried to sleep and too nervous to eat. Something plagued my mind and my heart but my body seemed to be reaping the benefits.

I looked at that picture and the girl on the screen seemed foreign to me. Though skinny and smiling on the beach I knew she was a mess inside. I wish I could’ve taken her by the hand and whispered, no screamed, some truth in the middle of her lies. I wish I would’ve known the truth about my body, about how to treat it and what it’s capable of, about how the person locked inside of there matters infinitely more than the shell who holds her.

So that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

Dear Me,

I saw a picture of you in a bathing suit the other day. I won’t lie to you (we’re done with that), you looked skinny. But you didn’t look good. I didn’t need to zoom in to see the hurt and pain behind your eyes, the empty feeling crawling around under your skin.

First and foremost, hurt people hurt people. He wasn’t kind and I wish he would’ve been more gentle with you. You’re already so hard on yourself, your inner critic tends to speak to you harshly and then for someone else to come alongside that monster and give it life, well, lies like that can be problematic to say the least. I wish you would’ve been brave enough not just to tell the truth of what he said but most importantly the truth of how it made you feel and all the lies you were prone to believe.

But that’s what I’m here for.

Your body is beautiful. I know that’s hard for you to hear, don’t make a joke right now or brush away the compliment because you need to believe this before it’s too late. You’ve got bright eyes and quick hands, do you remember how you used those hands to make a save, to hold a friend, to scratch a back? You are strong, I mean really really strong. One day you’ll be able to do a pull-up. A PULL-UP. You'll help your team row a boat and you'll surf into shore with the waves crashing down around you. Those are incredible things, things you’ve always dreamed of, but if you aren’t careful you will have lose so much of yourself that those dreams will slip away with the rest of you. The smaller you try to become the more you chisel away at who you truly are and wouldn’t that be such a waste?

Stop chasing the numbers. They’re no indication of your happiness. I’ve seen you at your skinniest and it also happens to be your emptiest. The scale is a demanding and terrible mother- she will bleed you dry and then come back and ask for more.

Instead of asking yourself what is the right thing to do start asking yourself what’s the kind thing to do? The answers will surprise you. You’ve spent so much of your life doing what is right that you’ve forgotten how to be kind to yourself. Sometimes the right thing is to just sit on the couch or take a nap or eat a cookie.

Speaking of, eat a damn cookie. No one wants to hang out with someone who can’t eat a cookie and I know how hungry you are so just do it already. Stop trying to control and manage every aspect of your life. It’ll make you anxious and exhausted and if people don’t want to hang out with hungry people they sure as hell don’t want to hang out with hangry people. No one cares about the way you look because they’re all so busy caring about the way they look. Be healthy in the general sense- pursue your physical health but more importantly your emotional, spiritual and relational health should get your first attention.

Eat a cupcake, go rock climbing, try something new, eat good clean food from the ground, drink some wine but not all of the wine (because we know how that goes). Make space for other people and stop freaking out about how much space you’re taking up on the scale. 

You are big and strong and those are good things. Anyone or anything that makes you feel otherwise isn't deserving of your attention let alone your affection. You are capable. Not so capable that you don't need people (you do) but capable in the sense that you don't need to live like a victim anymore.

You have a beautiful and a meaningful body capable of amazing things. You can have a beautiful and meaningful life capable of even greater things.

Go get ‘em tiger.

Hannah

Photo by Daniel Eastwood Photography

It was New Years Day and we had a 6 hour drive ahead of us. For the record, if someone says this, you should run. Anyone who finds joy at the thought of forcing another person into spending time with them could be certifiably insane.

But alas, my boyfriend couldn’t run! He was stuck in the car with me and I locked the doors as we cruised at an unmentionable speed down the Interstate.

Being New Years Day and all, I was excited to talk about our hopes and dreams for the upcoming year. New Years Day is almost, if not more fun than Christmas for me. The possibilities, plans, goals and future brim with potential for me. It’s a day filled with high hopes and optimism about what the next 365 days could possibly have in store.

I live for this shit.

I was excited to hear about my boyfriend’s hopes, dreams and plans for his future and if I’m being completely honest, our future as well. As I began to poke and prod him about what he wanted out of 2017 I was met with some resistance. What started as slight avoidance began to grow into someone annoyance as I watched him start to crash. His energy levels were fading and they were fading fast.

Mayday, mayday, abort the mission!

Eventually I gave up on peppering him with my 20 questions. Grateful that I had abandoned the crusade he turned his attention on me and volleyed the same questions in my direction. What had been draining for him was life giving to me. My enthusiasm grew exponentially as I talked about the upcoming year- goals, trips, adventures, friendships- the possibilities were endless! My anticipation was palpable, so much so that I eventually managed to stand up in my seat (while still belted mind you) and rave about what was to come.

I am a 7 on the Enneagram. New Years Day is my bread and butter. My boyfriend, on the other hand, is a 9. His feelings about New Years are about as intense as his feelings on root canals.

What Is the Enneagram?

Threes, Fives, 8w9, integration, stress. If you’ve been around a large group of people lately you might’ve heard these terms get tossed around. They’re talking about the Enneagram, a personality typing system that categorizes people into 9 different types or numbers based on their core motivation and fears.

The Enneagram is both ancient and mysterious. Many trace its roots back into ancient cultures where it was passed down as an oral tradition. It resurfaced in a more official capacity in the 60s as people started to write down its wisdom and gained interest again in the 80s and 90s in spiritual and therapeutic circles thanks to people like Father Richard Rohr.

Now, there’s no science or psychological findings behind the Enneagram. As writer and teacher Mike McHargue likes to say, “All models are flawed, but many are useful.” And so it is with the Enneagram. While it’s not perfect, many people (myself included) have gained invaluable insight and self-knowledge from its wisdom. It’s been a tool, a guide per say, in spiritual, emotional, and relational transformation. By first and foremost understanding oneself, one can move out into the world and seek intimacy with God and others.

Unlike other personality typing systems such as Myers-Briggs or Strength Finders, the Enneagram cuts straight to the gut. While other systems tend to describe the symptoms of our personalities the Enneagram seeks to reveal our core motivations and fears. Those fears motivate us both positively and negatively and form our worldview.

The first time I read my Enneagram number I remember feeling slightly nauseous. It were as though someone had published my most vulnerable journal entries for the world to read. I felt exposed, raw and even a little wounded. After the feelings of fear and shame finally subsided I was overwhelmed with what I could only describe as relief. I felt understood, known and seen. I wasn’t the only one. It explained so much of how I operate in the world.

What are the Numbers?

I’m no expert and I definitely lack the time and patience to go into too much depth about each of the 9 different Enneagram numbers so here’s a brief summary of the types:

Ones: The Perfectionist. Ones seek to establish structure, order and are most likely to come behind you and re-do your work.

Twos: The Helper. Twos love lending a helping hand and need to be needed. Twos are your go-to people when you need a hug or someone to volunteer to clean up after the party.

Threes: The Achiever. Threes are success and appearance driven. They will be the best of the best as they’re most likely to occupy the corner office.

Fours: The Individualist. Fours feel a deep need to be unique and an individual though their core desire is to be accepted and known. They’re your quirky and maybe a little too dramatic friend who probably says something inappropriate a little too often.

Fives: The Investigator. Fives tend to hang back and watch the drama unfold (see above). They have limited time and energy so they’re guarded and intellectual folks who are content to be alone.

Sixes: The Loyalist. Surprisingly enough, Sixes are the most prominent Enneagram number. Sixes are your ride-or-die partner in crime who maybe tends to stress out a little too much as they’re heavily fear based people.

Sevens: The Enthusiast. Sevens love life but have a hard time staying in the moment as they’re always off chasing the next best thing. Think of the song “Everything Is Awesome” from the Lego Movie or your friend who has to try one of everything when you go out to eat.

Eights: The Challenger. Eights are intense and a bit rough around the edges though they’re total softies underneath. They enjoy conflict and as bizarre as it might seem they’ll pick a fight with you just to feel closer to you.

Nines: The Peacemaker. Nines are laid back, steady Eddy, go with the flow type of folks. They’re slower moving and conflict avoiding individuals who want everyone and everything to get along.

If you don’t know your type or are curious about learning more about the Enneagram be sure to explore the resources listed at the end of the blog.

What Does It All Mean?

Remember the New Years Debacle of 2017 I mentioned earlier?

Without the Enneagram I’m not so sure there would be a boyfriend to speak of, or at least not the same one, because pre-Enneagram us would’ve lacked the empathy and understanding to see what was happening. Old me would’ve been offended that he didn’t want to think about our future together. Old him would’ve dug his heels in and avoided me to no end. Thankfully, because of our Enneagram work we were able to see where the other person was coming from and empathize with what they were experiencing in the moment.

Essentially, the Enneagram makes us more compassionate.

It allows us settle into a place of genuinely assuming the best about each other. In the event of disagreement or hurt we’re able to recognize the triggers that could cause the other person to act out of stress or an unhealthy space. The Enneagram also gives us the courage to do our work- when we’re aware of the unhealthy ways we react to situations or stress we’re able to grow and hold each other accountable. God has called both of us to our best selves and the Enneagram is a tool we’re using to move towards those people.

The Enneagram helps us put language to our thoughts, feelings, fears and motivations. Rather than just assuming the other person sees the world the same way we do we’re able to use statements like, “Dreaming about the future is important to me. I know you enjoy being in the moment but because it’s important to me I would like for you to participate in it with me,” or “I need a night where we just chill and don’t make plans because I’m feeling pretty drained. Would it be okay if we rented a movie?”

Old us would’ve lacked the language, or at least the confidence, to voice what we need and why we need it.

The Enneagram also gives me a deep appreciation for the gifts he brings to the table as a 9 and as a person- his steadiness and consistency that I inherently lack, his ministry of presence that has allowed me to feel so loved and known.

Enneagram specialists Ian Cron and Suzanne Stabile say the Enneagram is like trying on 9 different pairs of glasses. You’re able to briefly see the world the way someone else does.

When we move towards each other in understanding rather than away from each other out of assumptions and unmet expectations we’re finally able to cultivate a spirit of compassion. If I know anything about dating it’s that a relationship built on compassion and deep friendship are foundational. 

Do you know your Enneagram number? How has the Enneagram impacted you?

Resources

Take the Enneagram test: http://www.exploreyourtype.com/details

Listen to The Liturgists podcast describing the Enneagram.

Read The Road Back to You or listen to the podcast. https://www.theroadbacktoyou.com/enneagram/

A few summers ago there was a catchy song and that was the chorus. While there was a time in my life when those lyrics may have been applicable I seem to be singing a different tune now.

“All my friends are pregnant…”

Or at least it would appear that way. We’re coming down off of what I like to call peak announcement season. Peak announcement season is the time of year (December) when everyone announces they’re engaged, they’re pregnant or reminds everyone that 2016 was the BEST. YEAR. EVER. complete with a wedding photo. So many people were getting engaged I started to wonder if they were getting re-engaged since everyone else was doing it. Why not! 

“Didn’t you just have a baby? Are you having another one? Is it the same one but a different picture? Can I get a Venn diagram or family tree or something so I can figure out which baby goes with who? Maybe some sort of flowchart?” That’s what I found myself thinking as I scrolled through Facebook on December afternoon.

But seriously, it does feel like all of my friends are pregnant.

It’s exciting! My friends are beautiful and glowing and I love celebrating them. I love cherishing the new life they’re stewarding. I tilt my head to the side and try not to stare too hard when they walk by, but I’m truly in awe of them.

Women, particularly pregnant women, are the bravest people I know.

They’re doing the scariest thing one could possibly ever do. I’m sure they’re terrified and yet they handle themselves with such grace and poise that one might forget how this is all brand new to them and they’ve never done this before. In fact, they’ve never done anything like this before because, I don’t care who you are, nothing could ever prepare you for pregnancy, for birth, and then for parenting. There are no books or classes or dogs that could ever convey the magnitude of what’s happening to you.

I admire my friends for their courage. I adore them and their showing and/or secret pregnant bellies. When they let me, which they’re often kind enough to do, I kneel down next to their stomachs and gently place my hands on the tiny little human they’re brewing and I’m overwhelmed by how excited I am to meet this stranger inside.

And yet he or she is not a stranger. I know him or her because I’ve known and loved his or her parents. I feel an intimacy with this miniature version of my friends that I’m positive will only grow as tiny human grows.

It’s all also quite sad too. When I come home from the baby shower or the party or the coffee date I feel a burden in my own belly too.

I wish I could tell my pregnant friends I feel left behind.

It all feels so selfish. Here they are focusing on bringing new life into the world and the last thing they need is their selfish single friend bringing them down. And yet I can’t help but feel as though they got a golden mushroom in Mario Kart and they’re speeding by, full steam ahead, while I drag behind hoping to catch up.

I think my sadness is two-fold, I think on one hand I’m sad that they’re moving on and I’m chugging along. I think I’m also sad that we won’t get to do it together, that this is yet another aspect of our lives where we will feel like strangers and, if we aren’t careful, it will push us further and further apart. It’s one less place to connect, one less sphere of common interest, one more “you couldn’t possibly understand…” to enter into our friendship.

It’s not anything to fix or to pity or to wish away. It is both beautiful and tragic.

These friendships are strong enough and wide enough to hold both at the same time.

I believe that with all my heart, I really do.

So to my pregnant friends, don’t run too far ahead and leave us single people in the dust. You need us and we need you too. You need us to babysit and change diapers and give you a break. You need us to remind you of who you really are when you strip away the poopy diapers and the sleep exhaustion. You need us to talk adult things that don’t involve breastfeeding or vaccinations, like who’s getting voted off The Bachelor and to ask you how you’re really doing.

And we need you too. We need you to pave the way and show us how it’s done. We need to watch you fall apart and come back together so that if and when it happens to us we aren’t so scared anymore. We need you to teach us which bottles are the best and how to assemble a crib. We need to watch you be selfless so that we can turn around and do the same. We need your humility, your vulnerability and your willingness to sacrifice.

We need each other so let’s not go anywhere. At least, not yet.

Every year I stare at my notebook on January 1st with the best intentions. I plan on eating less junk food and reading classic novels and watching less TV. All of my plans and goals come from a good place, really they do, but they last approximately 45 minutes at most.

I am many things but I am most certainly not resolved.

If I start a diet I blow it. If I sign up for a class I quit it. If I make a promise I’ll usually break it. Some of this is part of who I am fundamentally as a person. I simply have so many interests that it’s hard for me to stay focused in one area for an extended period of time. When I’m into something I’m into it (like my extensive Ralph Lauren Polo t-shirt collection in middle school) but then I’m quickly onto the next thing.

Some of this is my generation. We’ve grown accustomed to multiple tabs, browsers, devices and stimuli for so long that our brains genuinely struggle to connect with any given person or thing for more than a few minutes, even seconds, at most.

The odds are stacked against me when it comes to New Years Resolutions, but that’s no excuse to abandon them altogether. Instead, I’m making the New Years Resolutions that I need, not the ones that I want. Will I break them? Sure. Will I perfect them? Absolutely not. But they’re what I need this year and I’m confident that even just acknowledging that I need these things will shape me and form me into a different person this time next year.

These are resolutions for the quitters, the slackers, the forgetful and the scared. These are the resolutions you can actually keep and even if you don’t it will have been worth it to try. These are the goals worth setting, the memories worth making, and the space worth creating. So, these are 10 New Years Resolutions I wrote to myself earlier this year straight from my journal to your screen. If you like them, use them. If you don’t, find some that you do because I’m learning that is the whole point.

10 New Years Resolutions for the Non-Resolute

1.     Less Is More

Do less shit but do the shit you are going to do better.

2.     Pick 3 Things

You can only focus on 3 things at any given time, so this year it’s personal growth/my relationship with God, community, and building a business.

3.     Press Pause

Odds are you don’t need it right now and you don’t have to jump at every chance you get. Good things have a habit of repeating themselves.

4.     No More "Brain Picking"

If someone wants to "just grab coffee" to "pick your brain" that is called consultation and people pay money for that. For the love of adulthood you are a grown ass woman with talents, skills and abilities so charge them accordingly and stop undervaluing your services. Treat yourself like the competent and capable human being you are. Swap secrets with friends but not with strangers. 

5.     Be Kind

Rather than asking yourself what is the “right” thing to do ask yourself what is the kind thing to do. Often what is kind is actually the better choice after all.

6.     Make Space

Create space for you to be yourself and for others to be themselves. Welcome them into your home and into your life by clearing your calendar.

7.     Be Still

You don’t have to always fill the silence. What are you so afraid of? Basically, shut up more.

8.     Go On Adventures

You love whimsy, adventures, and spontaneity, so just GO! Your bank account won’t thank you but your memories will.

9.     Eat A Cookie

Good grief a cookie is not going to kill you. Keep your appetites in check (see #1) and don’t eat ALL the cookies but it’s time for you to pursue health, which includes your mental health and start redeeming your relationship with food rather than trying to be skinny.

10. Remember Your First Loves

Do what you’ve always loved. Read more. Write more. Spend time with the people you enjoy. Cultivate community. Crack open a bottle of wine. Spend time with God and in worship and make sure you go outside. These are the things you once loved, it’s time to begin the journey back to them and ultimately back to yourself. You are buried deep within yourself and you're worth unearthing.

Five years.

People ask if today is harder than most and rightfully so. In some ways today is easier than expected. I woke up. I cooked breakfast. I walked the dog. And in some ways today’s simple tasks are the hardest thing I’ll do all year.

Grief, I would argue, is akin to God in the sense that he moves profoundly and shows up at the most unexpected times.

I told a friend recently that maybe today would be hard but maybe it wouldn’t. It’s good in the sense that it’s a day to force me to reflect, to remember, to remind myself of who I was, who he was, and unlike my dad who I have the chance to become. I said that today is just a day in the same way that every day is a day and you learn to live with it.

To which she responded: “You know, just because my husband and I got married in September that doesn’t mean we’re any more or less married the rest of the year.”

And I couldn’t have said it better myself. I’m grateful to my friend for putting words to something in a way I certainly couldn’t.

Just because my dad died today doesn’t make the rest of the year any more or less painful. It just is what it is. It’s the burden I bear and the grief that I know and sometimes it will overwhelm me during broad daylight in the middle of a walk. Sometimes the grief comes for me in a song, in a memory, in a small quiet voice. Sometimes it feels like a wrecking ball that rocks my world on a Tuesday and leaves me undone. But just because today is the day doesn’t change the reality that it’s something to live with for the rest of my life. I have good days and bad days and the whole spectrum between.

Losing something or someone leaves you with two options: you can either shut down or you can show up.

At this point I’ve tried both. At first I shut down, rightfully so, because it all felt so unbearable and overwhelming. I was shut off from myself, from community, from God. If you think death is lonely then think again. I was dead among the living because I was terrified to unearth the pain blistering up inside of me. I thought it was too ugly, too painful, too awful to shoulder. But I can firmly say that the only thing worse than losing someone or something is losing yourself in the process.

And so, when I reached the end of myself, when I was at my unhealthiest and angriest I started to show up. It started off slowly. It was the quiet revolution inside of me that rebelled against my better judgment. It looked like asking for help or calling to talk or simply letting myself actually feel something.

The road back to myself is a long one. I know I’m not finished, in fact I know I’ve only just started. I can say that on this journey to reclaiming who I truly am I keep tripping over a few artifacts, a few dusty old relics on this timeless road. When I trip over these things they cause me to stop, to reflect, to investigate and time and time again I discover that those bits and pieces are my dad. When I’m willing to do the hard work of showing up for myself I find my dad under the surface.

As silly as it sounds, it’s like in The Lion King when Simba looks in the pond and Rafiki touches the water only to see Mufasa staring back at him.

“You’ve forgotten who you are.”

And I think after having forgotten for so long I’m finally starting to remember who I am. I’m finally starting to see who I could be if I’m willing to do my work and if I’m willing to let work be done in me. As an adult on this journey I’m discovering that my dad was by no means perfect. For the first time in my life I’ve taken him off the pedestal to investigate him as the flawed human being he was.

He was both sinner and saint.

I am both sinner and saint.

Author and pastor Nadia Bolz-Webber reminds us that we’ll always be 50/50. In this life we’ll never reach a place where we’ve “arrived” by any means. I’ll never be 55/45 or 60/40. Always 50/50. Always sanctified and always suffering. Always half of him, half of my mom, yet fully me.

And on this road back to myself I must remember where I come from. I was born in a hospital, yes 25 years ago, but also a short 5 years ago. I was born in the waiting room, waiting for the news. During a season of Advent what could be more fitting than to wait for God to show up?

Spare him. Spare me. Spare us.

And yet there was nothing on the other end. Silence. The gates of heaven felt as though they had slammed shut and God had grown cold. Despite my fervent efforts, despite my most profound prayers God fell silent.

Save him. Save me. Save us.

Is that not the Christmas miracle? To sit in the waiting room in deafening silence begging for a Savior to save a life? I wish I could’ve known then what I know now. My request did not go unanswered. My prayers were not in vain. God did not stay silent. His answer was vastly different than the one I could’ve planned or the one I could’ve hoped.

A few days from now it will be Christmas. What a gift. What a reminder. What a hope.

“The thrill of hope, the weary soul rejoices…”

I wish I could tie it all up nicely and put a bow on it. I wish I could let you walk away with some simple saying or a quick reminder. But all I can do is put you with me in the waiting room wondering if God would make good on his promises. All I can do is remind you that we’re all scared little kids in the hospital room wondering if God is who he says he is.

And all I can point you to is Christmas.

He sent him. Send me. Send us. 

It’s officially December which means it’s finally socially acceptable to commit to Christmas music (sorry I’m team post-Thanksgiving. Can’t we all just give Thanksgiving a chance??) and watch Elf on repeat.  

With talk of Christmas also comes talk of something else, something called Advent. Growing up we had an Advent calendar that made an appearance every December 1st. Each morning we would run to the kitchen with excitement as we checked off the next box, anxiously counting down the days until Christmas. I assumed that an Advent calendar simply meant a calendar counting down to Christmas which, in theory, is sort of true.

But Advent is so much more than waiting for cookies, movies, lights and everything else that comes with the Christmas spirit.

Advent is an anticipation.

Advent (noun): the arrival of a notable person, event, or thing.

I think the reason we love Christmas so much is because it’s the only time of year we’re able to fully embrace our longings and our wants. It’s a time when we can admit our neediness, that we don’t have everything we want and we’re missing something. It’s a time when we can actually communicate exactly what we want and need. For some reason Christmas gives us a free pass to finally and clearly express our expectations. While they’re not always met (because I’ll admit most of them are a little unrealistic) at least they’re expressed.

The Christmas season seems to be a sigh of relief as we're finally able to admit we're so desperate for more. 

Unfortunately, most of us we express those needs in the form of a present as we think, “If I could just get ___ then I would finally be happy.” If I could just get that laptop, that camera, that outfit, that game then and only then will I be happy.

The excitement builds and the anticipation rises as we picture ourselves with our needs met and our dreams finally fulfilled. We look forward with hope to Christmas because we’re so sure that whatever is under the tree will save us. It’ll save us the time, the money, the stress, and the frustration. Christmas morning seems to be the sigh of relief that we’ve been building up towards all year long. We exhale and think “Ahh, finally…”

And it’s good, it’s so good, but if only for just a minute.

I think if we’re honest, honest enough to get quiet enough and still enough, we know that whatever’s under the tree won’t give us what we’re actually looking for. When the Christmas music fades, the outfit rips and the camera breaks and the gift cards are as spent as we are then we realize something’s still missing.

 I don’t know what you’re waiting for this Advent season. Maybe you’re waiting for Christmas morning. Maybe you’re waiting for that present you’ve always wanted. Maybe you’re anticipating the arrival of Jesus and really tapping into the reason for the season.

The question hovers in the air more fragile than the first frost...what are you really waiting for?

Are you waiting for him, for her? For the date, for the proposal, for the wedding day? Are you waiting for the promotion or the interview? Are you waiting to stop feeling so lonely and to really feel understood? Do you have your fingers crossed with baited breath waiting to finally feel noticed? Are tired of being tired? Are you waiting to stop feeling as though you’ve been passed over? Are you hoping this could finally be your year? Are you waiting to lose the weight, to make the grades, to know where you’re supposed to go or what you’re supposed to be when you grow up? Are you waiting for everything to finally click into place?

Maybe. Almost. Not quite.

 And yet, even these things still aren’t enough. Even if we’re brave enough to get here and admit that these are our hearts desires there’s a deeper groaning, a further longing just under the surface of these hopes and dreams and desires.  

If we want to sum it up nicely and tie a bow on it I think we’re all ultimately waiting for three things:

We’re waiting to be seen.

We’re waiting to be restored.

We’re waiting to be loved.

Maybe you’re not into the whole God thing. And trust me, I totally get it. Christians are doing a lot of confusing shit right now so I don’t blame you one bit.

But if you walk away from your computer or your tablet or your phone knowing anything right now I want you to know that you’re not alone in your waiting. Everything in your entire being is waiting, hoping, and anticipating for something bigger and that’s a good thing.

You're just participating in the great chorus of your purpose.

“Let heaven and nature sing.”

And I want you to know that if being seen and loved and restored sound like the very things you’ve desperately wanted then they’re possible. Entirely and wonderfully possible. However many years ago God broke through the waiting to come and be with us, I mean actually be with us in all of our humanness and brokenness and our longings, to ensure we would finally know what it feels like to be fully seen, fully loved and fully restored in every sense of the word.  

I hope we wrestle with the waiting this year. I hope we wrestle with the wanting and the longing only to wrestle with a God big enough to take the heat. I hope we find comfort in the fact that we couldn’t be unseen, unloved, or unrestored no matter how hard we try. God, infinite in his goodness, saw us before we could’ve ever even seen ourselves and simply had to come and be with us.

If that's not love then I don't know what is.

So, what are you waiting for this Christmas? 

You know those moments when you think to yourself, "This is it. Nothing else matters." Well, mine happened right in the middle of an interview on The Radiant Podcast. 

I had the privilege to sit down with one of my heroes, Kelsey Chapman, for the latest episode of The Radiant Podcast and it all felt like a dream. 

I'll give you a sneak peak: I basically talk about my obsession with Halo Top, Gilmore Girls and my tendency to not shower so you've been warned. 

To listen to the full podcast click here. 

It was awkward to say the least.

Not for her, at least I sure hope not, but it was for me.

It was a Friday night and I was tired of spending another night scrolling in vain through Netflix titles. In a moment of pure desperation I did the unthinkable.

I asked someone to hang out. On a Friday night. At the last minute.

It was a recipe for rejection.

What have you done?! You’re exposed! Now she’ll know you don’t have any plans you loser! Surely she’s busy because she’s cool and cool people have plans. Just check Instagram if you’re ever in doubt.

I texted her and I immediately regretted it. Surely she would decline my invitation.

My hands were sweaty, knees weak, my palms were heavy. I didn’t vomit on my sweater, thankfully, but I was in panic mode as I anxiously awaited her response.

Turns out, she was sitting on her kitchen floor eating cereal, secretly hoping not to spend the rest of the night alone. We hopped in the car and discovered a hole-in-the-wall beer market and swapped stories at a picnic table under some string lights by the river.

Which, last time I checked, is what friends do.

I know it sounds trivial, stupid even, but it was a really big deal. I learned a lot that night, not just about my new friend, but about making friends in general.

If I’m honest with myself I have to admit that making friends as an adult has been hard.

I thought it would be easier. I thought I would be better at it by now. When I pictured my life in my mid-twenties I imagined myself surrounded with deep, rich community. I thought my husband and I would have couple friends that we vacationed with and stayed up way too late with sharing our favorite bottle of wine. I thought my girls and I would have each other over for dinner and talk about work while swapping new recipes. I thought I would be in a huddle or community group or a pod or whatever the hell Christians are calling it these days.

Do I have great friends and people who know me well? Absolutely. I’m so grateful for them and for their willingness to put up with me as I stumble along this adulthood journey.

But things don’t look the way I thought they would. Maybe I had too high of expectations. Maybe I’m just awkward. Maybe making friends as an adult takes more time, energy, and patience than I initially expected. But just because things aren’t going according to plan doesn’t make them bad. It just makes them different.

And I’m learning that’s okay.

But just because it's okay doesn't make it easy. Honestly, why is making friends as an adult so hard?

Making Friends Feels Foreign

For starters, I must admit I’ve never really had to make friends before. My friendships came pre-programmed because I spent all day every day with the same people who were interested in the same things who also happened to be on the exact same schedule. If that’s not a recipe for community I don’t know what is. While not diverse (which is not good) it did offer a common space and place to interact with people and forge friendships simply out of convenience.

It’s easy to say there’s not a good place to start but unless you work from home and order all your groceries online and are therefore a modern-day hermit then there our lives are brimming with people. While they might not share the same passions, interests or schedules we do have a few things in common. We’re all lonely, we all want to be known and we all want to be loved.

We’ve lost the art of making friends because we never really had to practice putting in the time, energy and effort it takes when those surface-level commonalities have been stripped away and we have to work a little harder and dig a little deeper to connect in the places that truly matter.

We’re new at this whole friendship-making thing. If it feels foreign it’s because it is and we can either lean into it and get comfortable being uncomfortable or we can run away and hide. But hiding is only fun for so long. Isn’t it always such a sigh of relief to finally be found?

You Have to Put Pants On

Making friends as an adult isn’t convenient. You have to put pants on and no one wants to do that after a long day at work. It’s so much easier to come home and zone out on the couch or fake being social via social media. I’ll be honest: I’m exhausted. The last thing I want to do is meet new friends when I could just as easily spend time with F.R.I.E.N.D.S.

On top of that, just getting to the restaurant or the bar is an entire work of art in and of itself. Adult friendships require genuine effort and commitment on both sides to make plans, clear calendars, and initiate intentional conversations. I don’t know about you but none of those things come naturally to me and sometimes I get discouraged before I even start.

But here’s what I am learning: Adult friends aren’t convenient because they are a choice. Choosing another person time and time again, despite schedule conflicts or tired eyes means we’re already one step closer to the deep, rich friendship that’s brimming right under the surface. It means that when you spend time together it’s no longer out of obligation but out of necessity.

When we sacrifice our time and energy for one another we’re looking at each other and saying, “You matter to me. You’re important. You have value.” Sacrificing our time is the greatest gift we could possibly give one another.

Relationships Are Risky

Ultimately making friends as an adult is hard because the stakes are so much higher. We now know what it feels like to be rejected and wounded and called out. It’s terrifying to take the risk of being vulnerable enough to invite someone in let alone invite them out for a drink.

So we hide behind our curated Instagram content, our Hulu subscriptions and our “I’m good, how are you?” comments. It’ll always be easy to choose those things because Netflix won’t show you where you suck. Curling up with a book won’t call you out. And Instagram will definitely make you insecure, but at least not in front of a group of people.

Relationships are high risk high reward. The value of something is determined by how much the other person is willing to pay. How much of ourselves are we willing to risk to be known? What lengths and commitments and awkwardness are we willing to endure to cultivate relationships?

The answer is different for everyone. But I’m starting to find out just how much good community will cost me. It will cost me my time, my energy, my insecurities, my fears, my hopes, and my dreams. It will more than likely cost me everything and I’m slowly settling into the fact that it’s a price I’m willing to pay. 

Today Donald Trump became the next President of the United States of America.

A lot of people woke up this morning with a whole string of emotions. Some woke up confident in what the next four years will bring while others awoke fearful of what’s to come. Either way the entire country found itself letting out a huge sigh- whether of relief or in agony.

So, now what?

After nearly two years of debating, campaigning, arguing, and supporting, the election is finally over. What do we do with ourselves now? Where do we go from here? How do we proceed?

No matter what side of the aisle you’re on, politically or religiously, let’s remember people are hurting.

Making America Great Again

For the past however many years, Trump supporters have felt hurt, neglected, overlooked and outcast in the past. You’ve felt as though your voices weren’t heard and you looked to a leader who promised to hear you out. Well, last night your voices and votes were heard. The responsibility of the great America you’ve anxiously hoped for now rests on your shoulders.

The greatness you await starts with the graciousness of your response.

Would you be kind and generous and humble going forward. Would you reach across the aisle not to gloat or to brag but to offer a helping hand to those who now feel the exact same way you did four or eight or however many years ago. Once you strip away the competition and the lines drawn in the sand you’ll find that we’re all quite wounded underneath. Come alongside those who feel lost and lonely and show them an unmatched kindness and humility.

If You’re Still With Her

You likely feel disenfranchised, cheated, fearful and hurt. You’re feeling as though your voice wasn’t heard, or if it was it still wasn’t loud enough despite your best efforts, and now you’re left wondering if you’ll even have a voice at all.

Grieve. Mourn. Take some time. You’ve lost something and it deserves to be felt. You lost the culmination of hopes and dreams, many of which you've waited for for years or decades or even a whole lifetime. Today was the death of a dream for many. Though you may not feel like you have a right to anything, you do have the right to grieve and you’re the only person who can take that away from yourself.

Lick your wounds. Get some rest. Take inventory of how you feel. For you, there’s still much work to do. You get the hard and burdensome task of choosing love in the face of fear. You get to dig deep and scrape around to summon every last bit of courage for the difficult task to be loving and kind and supportive.

There’s a legacy on the line.

Whether we’re up to the task or not we must remember that we’re leaving behind a legacy. When our grandchildren read history books, when people look back and reflect on this time in America, there will only be a sound bite or two that survives.

Our legacy can be one of competition, comparison, and corruption or it can be one of compassion, cooperation and compromise.

Those are our options.

So what legacy do we want to leave behind? There’s an incredible amount of potential brimming right underneath the surface. We are defining what it means to be an American. If we’re smart and careful and willing to put in the extra work then we could leave a profound mark that communicates volumes of exactly what it means to be American.

We have the incredible opportunity and honor to switch from a mentality of scarcity and fear to one that says there’s more than enough room for everyone at the table.

Hey, by the way, we’re all so tired.

Let’s not forget we’re exhausted. We’ve been going at each other’s throats and scrapping in the mud for years now. Both sides have fought long and hard. It’s been an emotional rollercoaster because we’ve invested so much of ourselves into our respective campaigns. We’re so worn out from the political opinions and posts.

So let’s give each other a break.

My friend and writer Allison Fallon says that sometimes you just need a nap and a sweet potato.

A nap and a sweet potato, that’s all it takes.

Take care of your body, your soul and your mind. You’re exhausted and it’s time to invest in some self-care. Walk away from the computer or the conversation and take a minute to simply rest. Everyone put your fists down, they’re not helping anyone. If anything, they’re just wearing us out even further. Let’s listen to our bodies, our weary spirits, and simply take a breather.

Rest up and then rise up.

There’s much work to do for all of us and we’ll never get to start building anything, not a country or ideals or programs or reforms or bridges or relationships or hope or peace or progress or any of those good things we’re all desperately longing for, if our hands are too beat up from all the fighting.

Just think of the goodness inside of us and the goodness awaiting us if we focused all the energy we’ve spent fighting against one another and started fighting for one another.

Fists down. Hands out. Arms open.

Then and only then can we reach across the aisles to take one another’s hand. 

I’ve spent the majority of my life running.

Running from one job to the next, one event to another, from appointment to activity to coffee date to work and to the gym. The hustle felt good and productive and it kept me safe. It kept me warm as I worked up a sweat to prove I belonged on the planet.

I wasn’t born to run.

Some people are, but not this girl. I have short legs and an awkward gait. I never really know where to put my hands and I don’t enjoy running in the slightest. I only enjoy having run and seeing just how much ground I’ve covered.

So I’ve found myself longing for stillness and solitude. I’ve grown weary of running a race that was never mine to run in the first place. But I was so accustomed to sprinting that I forgot why I started running at all.

That is, until this morning.

This morning I was so tired from sprinting that I finally gave in. I listened to my weary body when I couldn’t drag it out of bed. I tried my usual tactics- the shaming, the guilt, the reminders that if I didn’t accomplish the day’s tasks then people would be, dare I say it, disappointed. But there was simply nothing left to give and I was forced into a morning of rest, excited to finally sit still for a minute and catch my breath.

I should’ve known what was coming. All the signs were there. The exhaustion, the loneliness, the aches and the growing pains. They were all bubbling under the surface but they couldn’t catch up because I thought I had learned to outpace them. If I could just keep going then eventually my sadness and grief would grow weary and I could leave them in the dust. I could shake them between activities and lose them in the woods as I learned to bob and weave between the people, places and things I look to for distraction.

It turns out you can’t wrestle on the run.

As I slowed down this morning the darkness caught up with me and it stuck to me. I couldn’t shake it, not this morning. I wish I could find the words to describe the darkness of loss, the ache of grief and my need to sprint away from it but words always fail me. The closest I can get is to say I can feel it coming up behind me and chasing me down. It is black, pure black and I know that if it catches me it will bring with it all the feelings I’ve worked my fingers to the bone to try and erase. It is black and sticky and it managed to get caught on my shoes and slow me down. Like bubble gum on the sidewalk it pesters me and it pulls at me, ever so lightly at first, until I try to shake it off. As I wrestle and shake myself free it just gets stronger, messier, thicker. It’s the tar of my hurt and pain from the losses I saw coming and the ones I never knew existed. It grows blacker and my legs feel like lead until eventually, exhausted, I let it come for me and swallow me whole.

I fear the darkness because I’m afraid it will never end.

I’m afraid that if I lie down I’ll never get up. I’m terrified to cry one tear because then I’ll cry them all. I’m desperate to stay positive, to be happy, to keep moving because what if this is my forever?

But everything, even life itself, comes to an end.

The darkness can’t keep me forever. Eventually it will spit me out and while I’m a little banged up from the fall, scratched and bruised from the wrestling, I know that I’m free to go once more.

If you’ve lived you’ve lost something. You’ve lost a loved one or a job or a relationship. You’ve lost yourself somewhere along the way, the unashamed child with a glimmer in her eye who wasn’t afraid to speak her mind or make a friend or pursue her passions. Maybe you’ve lost bits and pieces of yourself to people who thought those parts of you were theirs for the taking. Maybe you’ve lost a baby or a marriage or the very life you thought you would live. Maybe you’ve lost some joy in the midst of unmet expectations or harsh words exchanged with someone you once loved and it broke open your insecurities and you’re wondering if you’ll ever be able to lead or love again.

Those are all loss, all little funerals, all part of the darkness that will chase after us.

Darkness’ greatest lie is to trick us into thinking of forever.

What darkness doesn’t want us to know is that grace gives us seasons. Grace ushers in summer, fall, winter and spring. Grace gives us a new day with new people and a clean slate with a fresh start. Grace is the promise that the darkness can’t last forever, that every single morning there’s the tiniest beacon of light scratching at the surface. Grace is the ability to slow down and sit in the darkness knowing it cannot and will not win out.

Grace is the unimaginable gift of knowing it’s okay to fall apart.

We don’t have to keep it all together. We get to let the darkness come after us and slow us down so that things like love and mercy and forgiveness can be ushered in.

What are you running from? When will it catch up with you? Are you willing to be brave and fall apart or are you going to spend this next season with a closed fist and a closed heart in a dead sprint?