I had always said I would never get a tattoo. I had always told my tattooed friends that I had the ability to get completely naked, while they were claustrophobic-ally stuck behind their tattoo forever.

OK, maybe I was also a bit scared to commit to the artwork. I mean, what if I changed my mind?

But a friend of ours convinced me that a tattoo is not about your whole life, it’s about one milestone in your life. It’s about recognizing who you are at a distinct moment in time. I suppose in that way it’s kind of like sticking a stake in the ground. (It reminded me a bit of when I went to do this.)

Then I went and wrote a book. A book in which the sole purpose was to give me (and consequently others) permission to hear my own artistic voice and not just hear it, but trust it, believe in it, follow it where it wanted to take me.

There are times (almost daily I’ll have you know) where I have sudden lapses into fear, and I think, surely I must be out of my mind to listen to what is calling within me. To attempt big things. To rebel against convention to give my soul some breathing room. And so I decided it would be nice to have the ever present reminder close that though there is indeed freedom granted to me from a bigger Someone, if I don’t free myself to travel where I need to travel, then I will remain enslaved.

As I was looking for a way to celebrate my artistic voice and my book contract and my daily choice of self-evoked freedom, I came across these words that one of my favorite artists, Sabrina Ward Harrison, wrote in a personal message to me on the inside front cover of her book in 2008. The word “free” was really important to me then because it was my first time at picking a word for my year. Seeing Sabrina’s words made me realize how far I have come, and how much truth there is to that statement, “Free Yourself.” And I knew instantly I must celebrate my book contract with my first tattoo.

You can watch a short video here.

And so I did it. Quickly. Because I think you can over-think these sorts of things, and my soul was screaming yes, and I’m learning to listen to that. My favorite part is that the red is colored outside the lines.

The artist I used was Gage at Beauty from Pain. He did Tony’s tattoo as well, and I highly recommend him.

(The above photo is of a painting he altered.)

A side story to getting my tattoo is that my kids and Tony went with me to get it and while Gage was creating the stencil, my youngest son choked on a piece of hard candy and then puked it out. Gage helped me clean up puke off myself and my son and the floor without even balking. I told him if the tattoo wasn’t enough to bond us for life, the puking definitely was. Never a dull moment.

If you have tattoos, I want to see them. Stories behind them? I want to hear them. Leave links or stories in the comments please!

I can hear it mounting. The voices are crescendo-ing and sound more hostile, less playful. This is the point where it’s difficult to distinguish. Is it really fun anymore? Because there is still laughter, the occasional bellow, but the mom ears are trained and they recognize the bellow is faltering a bit. It is fueled more my uncertainty then by camaraderie now. There is a back-pedaling sound to the laughter, and then comes the word of clarification, “STOP!” The “STOP” gets intermingled with laughter, and so the attacker misreads the “STOP” from the attackee as playful banter. But the mom ears are trained and recognize the “STOP” as legit, though not well-developed in voicing itself with assurance.

The motion, the activity, the spiral of energy escalates, and I hear the pounding of little feet race from one room, to another room, down the hall of terror because the chase is on. The “STOPs” are interjected more often between heavy breathing, desperate little screams battling self-defense until the anger swells wide enough to stand its own ground. And the mom ears know if this should happen, there will be a lashing out, one vicious move to end it all, and it won’t end pretty.

My skin bristles at the chase. I am not fond of the threat. All too familiar with the racing heart beat and tumbling toes trying to gather speed because speed seems like the only ally. Fight or flight is begging to be answered, and too often I have answered with quick feet and shallow breath because of course I cannot defend my heart’s own silly assumptions of inadequacy and abandonment. I make it run. Oh why do I make it run?

It’s easier to ignore when it’s happening in rooms above me and the sounds are muffled and the geography removes me from a front row seat to the chase. I dismiss it sometimes, and let it run its course. Let it play out in 2nd-story levels, conveniently removed. But on the rare occasion where the flight alights down pounding staircases and flies past me with eyes drawn wide, glancing back over rigid shoulders in motion, when the noise rises in decimals because it is here and no longer there and the room elongates with sound waves I can almost touch they are so vivid, I fall victim to saving victim, and the mom mouth gets involved.

“Do you hear her saying ‘STOP’”? And then again, louder, more emotionally engaged in a fight that wasn’t mine to begin with. “Do you hear her saying ‘STOP’”?

“Yes,” the attacker says with one last lunge, as if the brain has not made contact with the ears, triggering delay in a proper response.

There is usually a “BUT.” Isn’t there always?

“BUT she did this.” “BUT she did that.” “BUT she was laughing.” “BUT we were just having fun.” They apparently have not developed mom ears and are not aware of the click over from laughing funny to laughing frightened. They apparently are not aware that two wrongs don’t make a right or that it’s entertaining until you are the pursued and not the pursuer. In an instant of energy mounted upon energy the logic is lost and in animal-like instinct they choose pounce over peace.

I return to thoughts of my own heart, which mirrors this chase so profusely. Of the times that some inward little girl feels the intensity of a situation and without pausing for perspective, gives way to the hall of terror, pounding her own little feet to the rhythm of her reverberating heart beat. Must run. Must find place to hide. Will not be safe. Will not be understood. Will not comply. Must take flight.

Who can help her, this shaking, knee-knocking child inside me? She lives there no matter how many birthdays I celebrate. Surely hitting 30 would have aged her, but she has intermittently drank from some fountain of youth, and her edges are still soft and her hair is still silky, and though it might embarrass the 32-year-old shell, this same 32-year-old shell would be wise to admit the tenant that she houses. Wiser still to realize no one else sees her but me. I can choose to adopt or to abandon, but like a stray kitty who has been fed, she will not be vacating the premises.

So I say to 32-year-old shell that is attempting to don the mommy ears for the victim fairy child with fluttering wings and silken hair, so fragile she could be damaged with mere finger pinch, I say, “Do you hear her saying ‘STOP’? Will you listen to the beating of her wings and the quickening of her breath Will you pay heed to her desperation? Will you notice eyes drawn wide, glancing back over rigid shoulders in motion?”

I put on pause, and I sit with the fairy child. I resist the one last lunge before brain registers ears. I bite my tongue that is longing to say “But she’s being a wimp.” Or “But she was having fun just a minute ago.” Or “But she’s wrecking our plans.” It would be far easier to choose pounce over peace, but haven’t I been here before? Don’t I know that forcing a screaming, fist-flailing, scared-of-the-dark-child always takes more time and energy then it is worth? It is this fight that robs us blind, this fight that ushers in that dreaded artist’s block, the loathsome block of living life to the full.

She is saying “STOP.” Do I have a heart for every victim but myself? Who do I think is going to calm her down if not I? She just needs a little reassurance that her voice means something. That the “STOP” will be honored, even when it comes out a bit squeaky and timid. I don’t want her shutting down. I don’t want her lunging with anger, lashing out in self-defense, ugly means to an ugly end.

I must let myself “go there” (with fairy child) and then I must bring myself back.

I must honor the “STOPS,” building trust so I can take her further then she’s ever been before. I realize I love her.

Sure she is dainty and needy, a bit clingy and flighty but she is beauty and vulnerability, freedom and curiosity too. She has things to offer me, and I can offer my protection in return.

“I hear you,” I say to her. I feel her wing-beat decrescendo and her heartbeat slows. She whispers her messy fears to me gentle.

“They want me to obey that rule, but I hate that rule.” Or “They want me to maintain this routine, and I hate routine.” Or “They are asking me to forgive that person who hurt me, and I don’t want to forgive.”Or “They saw me mess up, and they thought it was funny. I saw pleasure in their eyes at my failure.” Or “They disapprove of my passions and they say I’m a bit too enthused.”

Her words melt into me, melt holes right through me. She sees truth through vulnerable eyes and her insights are beyond her years. She holds keys I have been needing for years, and her whispers unlock exit doors in the hall of terrors.

She just wants to be heard.

You make your plans and then a great wind comes along and you begin again.

- Laurie Wagner

I don’t have any answers. Well not nearly as many as I used to anyway. In so many ways Christianity just isn’t working for me like it once was. And yet, despite that, I can’t explain why I want Jesus when I’m hurting or scared. But I do. I call for Him. I “make” Him come and sit with me. I give into His hovering (like Anne Lamott in Traveling Mercies) and say, “Fine, You can hold me for awhile, but only because I’m letting You.”

“And by the way,” I whisper to Him because I’m not sure I’m ready for everyone else to know, “I need You. I REALLY need You. I don’t know why, but I know I need You.”

When things are whipping around all fine and dandy it doesn’t occur to me that I’m a Christian. I’m an artist chasing God, stepping into His beauty after unfolding beauty. I’m a spirit, floating with, in and around the Divine’s free-flowing Spirit. A Spirit that flows right through thick concrete, man-made walls of religions, institutions, race, gender. A Spirit without bounds because God is in everything. I’m collecting gifts faster than my pen can document them. It’s enchanting and bigger than religion. Far bigger.

But when my heart is breaking, and I can’t help but feel all so alone, then I enter into the dark and sit on my bed with my feet pulled in tight so they don’t dangle over edge to get nibbled on by the creatures that haunt, by the unknown that growls. And here is where there is this odd, desperate thirst for Jesus. There is hunger for Savior. And there is peace that really does surround me and waft me in waves, right on past understanding, right on past human comprehension. Peace deep.

Tell me, how do you get to peace deep without Him? I know some of you do. Don’t you? I can muster strength for a lot, but the spiderweb cracks of my breaking heart just don’t respond to any other sort of first-aid than His. They want Him. Why do they want Him? I don’t know. But do I care? Don’t I want this full-life worse then I want to understand myself?

So I bend, and I beg Him, “Come to me.” He is already close, dabbing soothing in the spots that make me wince. I am already well. In an instant, I am well. I am well and I don’t understand why and I don’t have to. Just like I don’t have to understand why tears fall with the weight of the joy, every single time.

He takes me back to the freedom spot, and I dance on through the MESSY until the winds of the Spirit blow me back to bedside edge for revisited heart lessons revealing that grace is what sustains me. Grace that Jesus smuggles into me when the prison guards have all fallen asleep.

You know, come to think of it, so many people are falling asleep with guns strapped to their chests for safety. I think I’d rather be awake and vulnerable. I think.

Woke up this morning
And I heard the news
I know the pain of a heartbreak
I don’t have answers
And neither do you
I know the pain of a heartbreak

This isn’t easy
This isn’t clear
And you don’t need Jesus
Til you’re here
Then confusion and the doubts you had
Up and walk away
They walk away
When a heart breaks

I heard the doctor
But what did he say
I knew I was fine about this time yesterday
I don’t need answers
I just need some peace
I just need someone who could help me get some sleep
Who could help me get some sleep

This isn’t easy
This isn’t clear
And you don’t need Jesus
Til you’re here
Then confusion and the doubts you had
Up and walk away
They walk away
When a heart breaks

This isn’t easy
This isn’t clear
And you don’t need Jesus
Til you’re here
Then confusion and the doubts you had
Up and walk away
They walk away
When a heart breaks

Oh I forgot. I went and snatched it all in close again.

It’s easy to do that out here. Out here on the edge, where madness and greatness collide.

I sunk my fingernails in and said “This is mine and why should you have it, if it is mine?”

Eyes as slits, darting forth and back. Breath darkened down to jealous dissonant octaves.

Vibrations of my vocal chords shorting out the bulbs of light.

I heard my own voice whisper “my precious” like that cave and shadow-dwelling being, and I dripped with the slippery drops of my own fierce fury.

I am imprisoned by my own alone-ness in this greed.

It destroys me when I’m clutching.

God, oh God, though I have engraved my initials with the deep scratching of knife, I am aware now it is Yours, it is all Yours.

And because it is Yours and because You are love, it is ours.

All of ours.

Not just mine.

Free to all.

And if they found it some other way then by me, what elation that they found it at all.

Oh I forgot. I forgot.

Messy moist fingers release grip, and open wide

To failure’s lessons pouring in and trickling clean.

When other people see it, they call it obsession. They call it addiction. They use words with negative connotations. Sometimes they joke, but the joking feels real. You’re just too into that, they say. And I actually take pause and wonder if I am.

It has happened time and time again throughout my life. These pauses of wondering.

You know, I really don’t want to be like you, until you remind me of how much I’m not like you, and then I start to wondering if there’s something I’m missing in being me.

You’re reading an awful lot of Anne Lamott. That’s all you talk about.

Maybe you like bagpipes a little too much.

Can’t you ever just say something simply?

You read too much meaning into things.

I get embarrassed. Almost like they’ve pinpointed an abnormal addiction. A fetish. A secret pleasuring of oneself. Dirty. Ashamed. Raw. There is something there to poke, something that looks different then how they would do it, and so they poke. Poke out of curiosity or out of jealously or out of boredom. Sometimes they just poke in passing and they don’t give it a second thought. But I always give it second thoughts. And sometimes third and fourth thoughts too. The poking gets at a person. Enough pokes and bruises start to form and we become tender, sensitive. We begin to act a bit different, turning in a slightly different direction to protect that spot from more jabs. But now we’re a little more confused in who we are meant to be and what to make of this new direction we are headed. It doesn’t feel natural. It just has the illusion of being more safe.

I am intrigued by the men and women who don’t adjust when the poking continues. I am impressed by those who stand their ground. Who don’t seem to wonder, “Am I wrong and they are right? Is something a little off in me? Is there something that stands to be corrected?” I watched a film recently about a man like this. He shared some of the pokes that he had received in his eighty some years of life. I wonder when his skin got thick enough to endure them? I wonder when he became comfortable in his own thick skin and determined to do it his way anyway? I don’t want to wait until I’m eighty to have the humble audaciousness to say: even if you think it’s faulty, I think it’s the only way. It’s my only way. You may not understand me and something may get lost in translation from my heart to yours, but I don’t need to find someone who thinks and feels just like me in order to be me.

I believe finding one thing to give yourself to is a gift. A gift and not a misfortune. And poetry has become my coping mechanism, my confession, my survival guide written in blood and tears, in deep sighs and laughter. Beauty is the manna on which I survive. And words make sense of metal mess and are my refiner’s fire to push them into the alchemist’s realm of the gold beautiful. How can I apologize for this? Why have I wanted to? What joy wells up amongst the pages of books, amongst the meanings of art, amongst the inner-poetic eyes that have come to translate life into a way that is approachable, swallow-able, perhaps even rich and full. And who apologizes for a full life, even if it is a bit odd, a bit quirky, a bit, dare I say, obsessive?

It’s a great pleasure to collect, capture, document, express, create, and it bleeds into every facet of my life, not as something to be managed, but as something to alight everything else with beauty and meaning and love.

“How can you find the time?” They ask. But I look at them with hollow eyes, wondering deep inside if I’m broken. If what they mean by that question is that I’m doing something wrong. If what they are telling me is my priorities are skewed. But I must take notice to my initial response down deep, which is often the truest. When they ask “How can you find the time?” I answer, “How can I not?” I can’t afford not to. Do you even know what it means to survive? Have you never felt the smother of emptiness hovering? This is the humility that brings me to myself.

source: jerrodcreates.com

Yes, it makes me vulnerable. Yes, it leaves me feeling a bit exposed. Yes, I am often imbalanced, appearing a bit on the obsessive side. Yes, it leaves me in prime poking territory, cast under classifications I might abhor or simply made the butt of jokes or the target for questioning glances. But what is my alternative after I have come this far in an understanding of myself? Even after I ponder their pokes, I still circle back around to yes, but this is me. This is still me. And what am I to do with all this me?

When I finished watching the Bill Cunningham film, I whispered in prayer form, Oh God, to be able to give oneself completely and unapologetically to an obsession like that.

And the statement still stands. And the tumbling within me wonders, why not? And the prayer whispers come back, “love for who you are and grace for when you turn away with doubt.”

How strange it feels to be coming closer to yourself.

“We’re all going to fall. Fall with awareness and acceptance.”

Bryan Kest, Power Yoga

Guilt.

I have walked in it. Laid in it. Twisted and turned in it. Pierced & flogged myself with it. Wrapped myself in a blanket of it and put myself back to bed where I belong. The only place I thought I should belong.

I have lived stories of my guilt out loud. Here. On my blog. You may have walked pieces of this road with me through this post and this post and this one.

Guilt surfaces when I think I have done or am doing less than my best. For some reason, I think continuing to beat myself up about my “coming short” is supposed to help me feel better. I think throwing my feet at the religion (that tends to be my God) and saying, “Look at what a loser I am. I’m so sorry I’m like this,” is a holy choice. How long am I going to continue to crucify myself for something I can’t help but do?

It dawned on me a couple days ago that what I do in any given moment is the best I can do. If I could do better, I would have.

I think it is why my Dad always said “there is no such things as trying harder.” It used to infuriate me, but now I get it.

I think it is why Yoda says, “Do or do not, there is no try.”

We are timid to commit to our convictions and passions because we might fail and if we fail the guilt pours in, like the hallway light that blinds me at night when a little kid opens my bedroom door to tell me they can’t sleep alone. Like the tsunami waters that continue to rush in, wave over wave of a force that is destructive and disruptive, unstoppable by man.

Since we fear the commitment (because we fear the inevitable failure), we say, “I’ll try.” It’s our out. I’ll try to be a good mom. I’ll try to eat healthy. I’ll try to exercise. I’ll try to write consistently. I’ll try to love my spouse. But that try is always accompanied by a deep insecurity that we are not enough. “I’ll try” is what we say out loud, but inwardly the “I’ll try” echoes back to our hearts as “you do not have what it takes.” We are looking for a fix. Who can fix me because I am broken, and who wants to play with a broken toy?

I look to the heavens and scream, “God, would you just give me a new game piece? You can’t really expect me to win with this one, can You?!”

Guilt is the gut reaction of my Ego. And by reacting, I only serve to increase the tension I am already feeling. It is my Ego that is offended when I fall on my face. It is my Ego that cares about how my life looks to another. It is my Ego that is annoyed when I can’t finish a workout, an assignment, a project. It is my Ego that is wounded when I can’t do something someone else is doing. It is my Ego that has a childish logic that goes something like this, “Good parents don’t yell. You yelled. You are a bad parent.”

So what if I didn’t react? What if I stayed separate from Ego, stayed out of it entirely, and made “breathing through” my priority. (Does this sound like yoga yet?)

Yesterday I was talking to a couple friends, and in the passion of the moment, I admitted that sometimes I felt like not eating organic food was a determination of my eternal judgment. What I really said was, “I’m probably going to hell because of it.” I could sense that they were a little unnerved by the extreme way in which I presented it. In my mind, I felt my Ego starting to react to that. “You went too far. You shared too much. They think you are crazy. They can’t relate. They don’t understand you. They feel sorry for you. Why do you talk so much?” My Ego was reacting in guilt to the vulnerable way I had used my voice, and my Ego wasn’t going to stand for it. I let the Ego be. Like a little child throwing a tantrum on the floor, I let it pound its fists and scream and turn red-faced. Every now and then it would look up to make sure I was looking. I pretended I wasn’t. Eventually it ran out of steam, and I picked it up and said, “Everything will be okay. We did the best we could. If we’re misunderstood, that is okay too.” I didn’t engage with the Ego’s fury. I just let it run its course apart from me.

For years I’ve been wanting to know how to break free. I realize, I’ve got to stop playing in the mud of my guilt with my Ego. I’ve got to stop stepping in and trying to clean up what the Ego wants to roll in. I’ve just got to let my Ego use up its energy and then calmly gather it up in my arms so we can move on. My Ego is a part of me, but I’m it’s parent, and I don’t have to engage in what I don’t want to. And I won’t engage in this frolicking with guilt because I am aware of this thing called grace and love that conquers all.

You want to be free? You have to realize you are enough, now, today, in this very moment. It’s not a matter of “I will be fixed when…” It’s a matter of I am all I can be right now. It’s not a matter of things will be okay, it is that things already are okay. The dreams you have for your future are actually alive in you today. You are just learning how to call them forth.

When I know that I will love myself even when I fall down, the fall is far less scary and debilitating. It’s also far more easier to get up afterward.

And if you’ve got this covered, the next step is giving other people the space to wrestle their own Ego in the mud. To not harbor guilt on their behalf, holding it out before them as if it is a gentle offering that will help in some way. They need grace to you know.

I read this post recently by Ev Bogue called 1,000 True Equals. The basis of the post is that he believes the way we interact online is evolving because everyone is turning into a leader. If you have a voice, which everyone does on the internet, and if you are the king of your own kingdom, which everyone is on the internet, then you are a leader and you are wanting everyone to listen to what you have to say. This is all fine and good until everyone decides they are a leader and no one is listening anymore. Here’s a pertinent part of Ev’s post:

“When everyone comes into an understanding that they, and only they, can tell them the correct path to walk, the people who make a living saying “go here, do this” are in for a challenge.

A world full of leaders is a world without personal insecurity. You don’t need permission from me to be awesome anymore, instead you go out into the world and become awesome.”

I know this is true. But I have to take a moment to admit here that my ego was kind of wounded when I read the article. My ego doesn’t like to hear that you don’t need me. My ego doesn’t like to hear that you’ve discovered you can get by without my words of encouragement or my how-tos or my shining little pieces of wisdom that I package up and deliver from on high. I’m somewhat embarrassed to admit that it did take the wind out of my sails to realize I’m just like everyone else and we’re all leaders these days of our own little worlds.

So how do I move past my ego? How do I have the gumption to show up here again and write when I know you no longer need me to define your awesomeness? Is there anything left for me to do as an artist with a voice that is thrown out amongst hundreds of thousands of other voices?

Well, I suppose I could do what Ev has suggested. It really is no new revelation. It is the path of humility. The path of community. The path of true unity. It is the path many great leaders have chosen before me. But it’s a path that is decidedly difficult in the fact of having to give up my “platform” and come down among the people. That is if any people are left after I admit all this.

I’ve worked so hard to free up my voice that my reality is it’s just plain scary to think of sharing it with others. “These are my words,” I want to say. “This is my research,” I want to shout, grasping at my little measly blog posts and pulling them in close. “These are my ideas, and I am the one that has labored over them and fought for them. They are finished. They don’t need additions or subtractions or tweaks.”

But what my ego doesn’t realize is that in admitting my equality with other artists such as yourself, other writers, other philosophers, other spiritual seekers, I am not limiting myself or my voice, I am increasing it exponentially. I am pooling with a great cloud of creatives who are making great strides towards things that matter. I am collaborating with greatness and watching my little become a whole lot more. My open hands allow for conversations that unlock new doors to insight.

In this sort of world, I would not need you to be my fan, and why would you want to be? You have potential for so much more. In this sort of world we walk together and we discuss where we’re stuck or where we’re inspired and a blog post is just the start of a conversation with moving parts. It is art that is organic, moving, changing, evolving. You take this art and you make your own art. It becomes more then just regurgitating what someone else has said, but we began to learn how to build on each other’s findings and add our own perceptions.

I believe my ego would rather wall up here behind this white screen of blogging and pretend I have answers to sell you and pretend you cannot live without my answers. I believe my ego would rather take sail on a wooden-plank-for-one, sailing my flag of independence, safe in a sea where I can assure myself I really don’t need anyone because I am doing this alone. But my ego makes me tired because she’s all the time clinching her hands tightly around her property and bellowing to get credit when credit is due. I just soon give her a solid shove off that wooden-plank-for-one so I can join the dance party that is happening with a few trusted friends (and equals) on a passing yacht. I’d rather know I’m not crazy by collaborating with other artists that get me and are headed where I’m headed then live ever nervously glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one is going to steal what I’m working on.

Don’t get me wrong. It is important to know who you are, and I have taken great measures lately to research just that, but I think the truly strong leaders can step back into the collective conversation without sacrificing their individuality. And purposely surrounding yourself with equals can then only intensify your voice, teaching you things and taking you places you could never go alone. My ego doesn’t like it, but my FREE spirit is considering it anyhow. Ssssh, don’t tell my ego I told you.

Sometimes it is easier to think about myself in terms of who I am not rather than in terms of Who I Am.

We live in a world of labels. And lately those labels have been making me angry. What’s ironic is I am the one who is letting them stick. I don’t have to.

This morning I made a list of who I am not. There is great freedom in declaring that for myself, much like JJ Heller has done in her song (see video above).

Here are a few I wrote down:

I AM NOT

• The state I live in
• The man I married
• The kids I’m raising
• The blog posts I write
• The debts I owe
• The rules I follow
• The hometown I came from
• The exercise I do [or don't do]
• The messes in my home
• The peace I keep
• The services I perform
• The things I don’t complete
• The homeschool I teach
• The swearing I whisper
• The naps I take
• The churches I’ve gone to
• The comments others make
• The wine I drink

“If we are pigeonholed and labeled we are unnamed.”

“To be named is to be loved.”

- Madeleine L’Engle, Walking on Water

I think this is why it impacted me greatly to feel God brushing away the label Christian and giving me the name “artist.” Because the name “Christian” holds a lot of man-made labels that I’m breaking free from.  I think we need to let ourselves break free from whatever labels are holding us back. Give ourselves the freedom to not be who we’ve told ourselves we HAVE to be for so long.

Sure there is a danger that we will get off track. (Silently I may wonder, what if I become that estranged religious nut who falls into irreversible temptation?) But maybe a life worth living encounters terrible risks head on. Maybe that’s what it means to have faith. Maybe it hinges dangerously at all times between life and death. Maybe that’s exactly what we need. Maybe the people standing on the edge of the cliff and begging us not to jump and shaking their heads when we do, maybe they will never know that life to the fullest that Jesus has promised.

Maybe our problem is that far too much track has been laid for us and we’re the runaway train, wishing we weren’t stuck barreling down rails we have no choice about.

Maybe we need to bust off the track before it’s too late. Before we become too bitter. Before we start blaming everyone else for the metal ties that bind us. Maybe we need to raise our big heavy John Henry mallet above our heads and start busting up the track we’ve killed ourselves trying to maintain.

Maybe we need to be the thrilling train in Polar Express that rides roller-coaster-style tracks and when necessary leaves the tracks all together to twist and turn and dance adventurously on the slippery ice.

Maybe we need, as my friend Teresa reminds me, to pull down the blinds so we don’t have to see how fast and dangerous things are flying by outside and just focus on the new name we’ve been given.

The “Who I Am Nots” reveal all the things we feel we owe to people to keep them happy.

Maybe like George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life our life is falling apart because we never think about ourselves and our needs anymore. If we did, we might not be so scared to just jump off the rails and step into the name for which we’ve longed. It’s been there all along, we just thought it needed to look differently then it actually does.

“How many years can some people exist before they’re allowed to be free?”

-Bob Dylan

“I asked questions – and the theologians answered them all and they were questions which should not have been answered in such finite, laboratory-proof manner. I read their rigid answers, and thought sadly, ‘If I have to believe all this limiting of God, then I cannot be a Christian. And I wanted to be one.’”

- Madeleine L’Engle, Walking on Water

‎“So make your siren’s call
And sing all you want
I will not hear what you have to say

Cause I need freedom now
And I need to know how
To live my life as it’s meant to be”

- Mumford & Sons, The Cave

I’m reading Ralph Waldo Emerson’s Self-Reliance. I’m reading it over and over again, letting each word soak in and find its way to my heart. In the beginning he talks about how as adults we have a divided mind. We can’t just do the thing we would like to do because “we are watched by the sympathy or the hatred of hundreds whose affections must now enter into account.” But children, children haven’t learned yet to taken others into account. They act with one unified mind, to do the thing which they intend to do. They are not limited by protocol. They simply act.

I wrote down a list of some of the CHILDLIKE behavior of children:

• don’t think out responses
• don’t weigh decisions on account of others
• not encumbered by consequences
• not entirely conscious to the realities of our world (naive)
• naturally act as him/herself without apology
• good humored
• curious, exploratory, ask questions, research, challenge rules, authority, social structure
• nothing is sacred or set in stone
• no explanation or defense for actions

Now I am aware that some of this could be labeled as childish behavior. Emerson himself uses the word irresponsible at one point. But it can’t be denied that kids can act so freely because they are disconnected from rules and etiquette. There is an innocence as a child that allows a confidence in action that we as adults may never know again. And since they’re children they are awarded extra grace because of course “they don’t know better yet.”

As I look back over my year of studying and becoming CHILDLIKE, I realize that there are many times I have wished I could do away with the scale of “knowing better.” There is always a better to be known and the fear of that often keeps me trapped as an adult because I don’t want to be wrong. I don’t want to act and then be chastised, “How could you have done that? You should have known better.”

In the novel My Name Is Asher Lev, a grade school age Jewish boy named Asher (who is an artist at heart) draws a picture in one of his holy books. As the word gets out he is reprimanded by several adults and ridiculed by his classmates. When questioned he responds that he doesn’t know how or why it happened. He doesn’t remember drawing it.

This story in the book stuck out to me. Poor Asher couldn’t seem to explain or contain his own actions. In this particular scenario, he didn’t draw the picture because he was acting out of angry rebellion, he drew it because he was so freely being himself. When questioned he didn’t have a good explanation. Almost as if he was a newborn being asked, “Why are you crying? Why won’t you stop?” The actions were seemingly innate and out of his control.

There are so many times where I ask my kids in regards to their poor behavior, “Why did you do that?” and they respond with “I don’t know.” For them, there wasn’t a why to it. There was just an action on an impulse that felt true to them.

My biggest question that is coming out of this year of CHILDLIKE, is how do we be mature and yet still foster that spirit of CHILDLIKE freedom? How do we love others and yet not fall into the traps of people pleasing? The closest I have come to finding an answer lies in this quote:

“You learn the rules. You learn the discipline. And then you break the rules to find your freedom.”

-Finding Beauty in a Broken World, Terry Tempest Williams

The problem with rules and etiquette is that if we’re not careful we start to buy into what Emerson would call “the virtue of conformity.” We start to think and live as if we are all the same. We lose our childlike spark of confidence and forfeit the beauty in having a style all our own. “Every decent and well-spoken individual affects and sways me more than is right.”

I am at this odd place of trying to break the rules to find my freedom, and I feel like a rebellious teenager, testing my boundaries and questioning my authorities. I am not an anarchist, but I am no longer sold out to the rules that have been laid out for me to abide by. I am appreciative of order, but I question all of it before I accept any of it as my own.

To be an artist, a creator, a scientist even, there has to be some sense of self-reliance. Of doing something because you knew you had to do it, even if it doesn’t make sense according to the rules. It requires imagination. It requires a break from the status quo. It requires a disconnect from what others may have deemed holy ground: untouchable and unquestionable.

And all of this in turn means it requires mess. Have you ever thought about why children are so messy? It’s because they don’t operate according to the rules. If there were no rules, there would be no definition for mess. Things get messy when they seep past the boundaries of what should be, dripping dangerously onto the floors of what could be.

Even the law that God issued for the Jewish people in the Old Testament was not a law that He knew they could keep. It was a law to illuminate their mess. A law to foreshadow a Savior that must come. We are a messy people. Imperfect and wandering and sometimes downright hurtful. But it wasn’t within those rules of the law that God conducted His plan. He didn’t stand back and refuse to get His hands dirty. He jumped right into the middle of the mess and created a solution that existed outside of the rules.

I am an adult that has learned the rules. At the same time I am an adult in conversation with a God that stands above all rules, and I am saying to Him, “Which ones can I break? Which ones don’t apply to me? Which ones were but for a time? Which ones are man-made and life-sucking and which ones are God-ordained and life-giving? Which ones can be bent without breaking? Which ones are making me bitter and keeping me imprisoned? Which ones are beneficial if I am to become the person I want to become?” And He is giving me answers as I jump off the table and dive into the mess of what could be.

I am standing here watching my year of CHILDLIKE come to a close and knowing that I must jump into a year of MESSY. Because it is in the mess, outside of conformity, that I will find my voice and my art and my freedom and the grace to risk it all. There is no perfect formula in the messy. There is just experimenting and faith. Lots of faith.

The Cave by Mumford and Sons

It’s empty in the valley of your heart
The sun, it rises slowly as you walk
Away from all the fears
And all the faults you’ve left behind

The harvest left no food for you to eat
You cannibal, you meat-eater, you see
But I have seen the same
I know the shame in your defeat

But I will hold on hope
And I won’t let you choke
On the noose around your neck

And I’ll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I’ll know my name as it’s called again

Cause I have other things to fill my time
You take what is yours and I’ll take mine
Now let me at the truth
Which will refresh my broken mind

So tie me to a post and block my ears
I can see widows and orphans through my tears
I know my call despite my faults
And despite my growing fears

But I will hold on hope
And I won’t let you choke
On the noose around your neck

And I’ll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I’ll know my name as it’s called again

So come out of your cave walking on your hands
And see the world hanging upside down
You can understand dependence
When you know the maker’s land

So make your siren’s call
And sing all you want
I will not hear what you have to say

Cause I need freedom now
And I need to know how
To live my life as it’s meant to be

And I will hold on hope
And I won’t let you choke
On the noose around your neck

And I’ll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I’ll know my name as it’s called again

*Special thanks to my new friend Grant who shared this song with me.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

There is a book that I can’t get out of my head. I re-read the notes I took from it nearly everyday. I am grateful that a man name Brother Lawrence was able to put into words so much of what I’m feeling spiritually right now.

I’ve been meaning to take some time to really dive into and unpack my notes from this book The Practice of the Presence of God (link to free e-Book). I previously wrote here about how wonderful it is to be allowed to think of our relationship with God as a practice. To realize we don’t have to have it all figured out. There are many wrinkles I am still discovering, let alone trying to iron out. I want to explore some of those wrinkles and let you in on my thought process. I plan on blogging about it until I get some answers for myself. I hope you’ll join in the conversation with me.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

Questions I’m asking this morning:

• If I do it my own way am I being sacrilegious?
• Am I going off course?
• Can I hear from God equally through the words of the Bible as through the details of my life?
• Is what I’m wanting to do my will or God’s will? Could I trust the two to be one and the same?

Sometimes I can’t tell if I’m pedaling all alone in this practice of being in God’s presence or if He is actually there with me. He’s certainly not going to show up on a bike beside me. He’s more likely to be in the wind or the flowers He created then He is to be my literal, in the flesh biking partner on this journey. But sometimes when I’m on a dusty stretch of road all alone and I think I hear from Him, I wonder, am I really, or am I just making crap up? That explains why I still have training wheels on. They help me practice. But I’m thinking I might be rounding a corner. Maybe I’m ready to take them off. I’m thinking I trust Him to maintain my balance. I’m thinking I trust His voice, even if it is in my head, in my inclinations, in my emotions.

There is a concern with “allowing” human beings the privilege of intimacy with God because what if they aren’t prepared to hear from Him clearly? There is this strange divide of flesh and spirit that I can’t quite make sense of, and sometimes I do the things I don’t want to do while other times I do the things I want to do.  If I am so wishy-washy from one moment to the next, how do I suppose I have the capacity to clearly hear from God?

I start to doubt myself. I start to think I need a pastor or a priest, a mentor or a judge to rule and make decisions on my behalf, to tell me what the will of God is for my life. And I start to think that others do too. I start to want to control the methods of hearing from God or the message of God. It’s too messy to let people wrestle with God directly all by themselves, isn’t it? Letting others wrestle with God means we get books like this and like this and like this and some of us would scoff and say, “Those are just blasphemous.”

And yet, that is exactly what God desires of us. To wrestle with Him. To question Him. To dare to think that He might have a message for us.

There is great freedom in this. There is also great opportunity for abuse. This comes as no surprise to God. This accounts for holy wars and religious hate crimes, just as surely as it accounts for the works of Mother Theresa and the like. Freedom or free will can not be put behind bars. It has to have the chance to make choices, for better or for worse, or it would not be FREEdom at all.

In Christianity the Bible serves as a checkpoint. We can take our research we’ve accumulated in God’s presence and hold it up against the redemption story of the Bible and see if we’re on the right path. Is God the same God in my life that He was in the lives of those in the past? God doesn’t change. His character should be the same. The story of the Bible, how God has interacted with His people, is a very helpful plumb-line. Then we must be willing to return to the very details of our story in the year 2010, in the city we live in, on the street we live on, in the home we reside in, and see how God is interacting with us there. And we have to be willing to let others do the same, trusting God will reveal Himself to them too, intimately.

I find it interesting that Brother Lawrence said, “I don’t find books that tell about how I live and yet I’m certain I’m living as I should.” He goes on to say, “I don’t worry about my state of mind because I have no will but God’s will…If I’m deluded, God will correct me.”

There is such certainty in his words. Such a quiet, humble confidence. A contentment that even though he might not know of others who believe just like him, he is still okay because of his connection with God. He is still okay because of his connection to the Source. As long as he continues to practice being in the presence of the Source, He can trust fully that his will and God’s are the same, and that when they aren’t, he will be gently corrected in his spirit. I think these verses help explain more profoundly how our will and God’s will can be united:

21 The goal is for all of them to become one heart and mind—
Just as you, Father, are in me and I in you,
So they might be one heart and mind with us.
Then the world might believe that you, in fact, sent me.

22 The same glory you gave me, I gave them,
So they’ll be as unified and together as we are—

23 I in them and you in me.
Then they’ll be mature in this oneness,
And give the godless world evidence
That you’ve sent me and loved them
In the same way you’ve loved me.

- John 17:21-23

20 Christ’s life showed me how, and enabled me to do it. I identified myself completely with him. Indeed, I have been crucified with Christ. My ego is no longer central. It is no longer important that I appear righteous before you or have your good opinion, and I am no longer driven to impress God. Christ lives in me. The life you see me living is not “mine,” but it is lived by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.

- Galatians 2:20

In the presence of God your mind actually becomes the mind of Christ. You are given a new, purified heart. Your will is God’s will.

I am finding my own footing in the presence of God. I am trying not to be concerned with whether my intimacy is true or right or perfect. Instead I am trying to focus on loving Him, hearing His voice when I’m making breakfast, His voice when I’m driving in my car, His voice when I’m reading to my kids or ironing my husband’s shirt. Trusting that it is His voice I’m actually hearing, even if it’s telling me things that are different then what He must be telling other people. If I can just practice being with Him and feeling His love, then I can trust He will correct my paths. Instead of fearing what I might be doing wrong in my moment, I am delighting in a moment spent with Him and that is making all the difference.

It was 9:15 at night in Colorado. I arrived on a plane that afternoon and had just ended an evening with friends that formerly lived only on my Facebook page. I did not feel like an introvert that evening. I felt energized by our conversation. I thoroughly enjoyed talking over dinner which consisted of things like river noodles, an occasional too-hot red pepper, a glass of wine and fortune cookies, with a group of four other women who were artists at heart. I wasn’t ready to let the evening end.

As three of the four women left the house, I turned to my hostess and thanked her for letting me stay with her. She warmly welcomed me and told me to feel free to go to my bedroom whenever I wanted to. I felt conflicted. I should stay up and talk. I should glean all the time with her I can. I should…But I was tired, and the morning would come early. Thinking of the morning made my heart beat fast in my chest. I had to speak. Oh dear, I had to speak. I should practice my talk, again.

“I think I will go to my bedroom,” I said, shocked that I was making a good decision despite my desire to push through and squeeze even more into an already full day.

As I prepared for bed, I stared at myself in the mirror. “Who are you making me into God?” “What am I doing here?” “What a wild ride we’re on,” I thought, while the toothpaste foam grew in size and overtook my mouth. I spit and thought about what a silly thing spitting is. I remembered the message from my fortune cookie, “Someone looks up to you. Don’t let them down.” What if they could see me spit? That would surely let them down. I’m just human. I spit my toothpaste out just like everyone else.

I returned to my bedroom and as my body hit the bed I realized my fatigue. I pulled myself aside for a little team meeting. “You have two choices Mandy. You can push through hard tonight and practice your talk one more time, or you can get a good night’s sleep and get up early in the morning.

“You better practice so you don’t screw up,” I told myself. “People are counting on you.”

“I have practiced. I have prepared. I have done my part. This whole thing is in God’s hands.” I counter-offered myself.

I turned off the light, put my head on my pillow and was instantly asleep.

At 4:55 AM I woke up wide awake. I felt rested. I felt refreshed. I felt as if God was smiling, greeting me. As I settled into the beginning of a yoga workout, the thought occurred to me that He had not slept. The thought occurred to me that He had been working on me while I was sleeping. The thought occurred to me that the whole reason I was here in Colorado at all was because I had done my part to follow my dreams one teeny, tiny step at a time and that God had arranged these relationships and this speaking opportunity for me to step into. The size of my part in the whole thing was undeniably small. It was a choice to write, everyday. To keep up a blog even when it seemed silly, pointless and like the only one reading was my mom and mother-in-law (thanks you two . It was He that honored my small steps and made them into something, and He totally could have done that while I was sleeping. In fact, I like to think that He did.

I left Colorado to return to Oklahoma with a strange sense of peace that the achiever in me is not used to. I realized that if God could construct this opportunity, He could construct others like it. I am not required to kill myself to keep from letting others down. I don’t have to lose sleep, sacrifice my health or conjure up some magic bullet solution to instant success. I just have to do daily what my heart is calling me into next and then get some rest. It’s in the rest that the magic happens.

I like waking up surprised by all that He has done on my behalf, my foamy toothpaste spitting, imperfect human behalf.

“The person who lives in right relationship with God does it by embracing what God arranges for him. Doing things for God is the opposite of entering into what God does for you.”

- Galatians 3:11

I heard it said one time that there is a difference between conviction and condemnation. Conviction makes you excited about making a change because you realize the truth, while condemnation leaves you feeling guilty and embarrassed and worthless. By definition, conviction means “being convinced of the truth” while condemnation means “being proved guilty.”

I think, unfortunately, I have interchanged the words a lot. They mean the same thing to me. Conviction, which could be a very healthy and even necessary tool in my life, has turned instead into condemnation. I have wielded it around me like a sword, cutting back anything that might suggest freedom, and proudly wearing my cloak of guilt as proof that I am suffering for Christ. I would return to church or to my Bible in search of my new conviction. What am I doing wrong this week? What needs fixed in me this week? Where am I failing, falling short, not living up? I would find something every week:

• I’m not loving my spouse like I should.
• I’m not sacrificing enough for my kids.
• I’m not following God’s plan for my life.
• I’m not memorizing enough scripture.
• I’m not praying enough.
• I’m not having enough faith.

It kind of disgusts me now how addicted I was to finding fault with myself. Like a drug, I would search in a frenzy for my new wrong that I should try to make right.

I suppose it comes from an honest enough place. I want to prove my love for God and my reliance on God by continually announcing all the ways I have fallen short.

Problem is, I could never make any headway. I could never live my life. I was stuck in a rut of goopy, red mud and every time I would get some traction to find my way out, another church service or another Bible verse or another Christian book or song or conversation would come along and I would once again be left spinning my wheels to the tune of a new conviction, stuck in holes that were getting deeper and deeper with every turn. In retrospect, it seems that I was digging my own grave.

I believe God is constantly revealing new truth to us and convincing us of it (the proper definition of conviction). But God’s truth is not condemning. It is truth that liberates, truth that is showered with grace, truth that builds up, truth that sets us free, truth that beckons us into something beautiful and bigger than ourselves. That is not the sort of truth I was accustomed to finding. (My friend Teresa reminded me recently that His burden is light. If it is feeling someway other than light, I am making it more difficult for myself then it need be.)

Since reading Galatians for a few months, I have come to think of God and interact with Him quite differently. I am not searching for the “conviction of the week.” I am searching for an interaction with Him that reveals a truth that sets me free. I find myself guarding my heart against the “you shoulds” that I sometimes hear in Christian circles and instead focusing on where love and hope and freedom is springing up. There is NO condemnation in Jesus.

I have filled in the ruts that threatened to be my grave, and I have driven my car on down the road. I don’t have time, as David Crowder so eloquently puts, to “maintain these regrets.” I have art to make. And laughing to partake in. And nature to admire. And books to enjoy. And family to cuddle.

He loves me. It is for freedom He set me free.

It seems I’ve been dutifully tripping over religion in the name of Christ and missing out on true living.

But no longer.

We are free.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the books that have most affected my life. Perhaps they have come to me at just the right time or perhaps the authors and their woven words are just that fantastic. I like to think it’s a mixture of both.

To get to just five, I had to cut out a lot of wonderful books (like Bird by Bird, Writing Down the Bones, Blue Like Jazz, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, The True and the Questions, Messy Spirituality, etc.). But these five are so special to me. They have changed me, shaped me, helped me to step more boldly into myself. Here they are in the order I have read them:

THE LITTLE PRINCE – In high school I wrote my salutatorian speech based on this book. I painted our first child’s nursery with scenes from the Little Prince. I think it’s a book that allows my heart to believe in the CHILDLIKE spirit inside me, inside all of us. It’s a beautiful book.

THE SACRED ROMANCE – I was so fortunate to have John Eldredge as a professor my last semester of college. This book will forever mark a very personal step into my faith and a radical deepening in my relationship with God. It’s when my heart came alive again and color returned to life.

THE ARTIST’S WAY – Made me see “art” and “creativity” in a whole new light. Made me think about my heart, my dreams, my voice, my childlike soul and that believing in myself and who God created me to be was not selfish or conceited or foolish. It made me ask questions, take risks, dare to believe in more.

BOUNDARIES – I’m really still processing this one. I just finished it in January. And in truth, I don’t think I needed to read the whole thing. This book, for me, was really about catching the overall premise. Cloud and Townsend have lots of specific examples and stories of peoples lives, and not all of them were necessary to read, nor did all of them apply. But the overall idea, which I think is summarized here, is truly revolutionary to me. I’m in a stage of learning to say no and realizing that is okay. I’m also in a stage of learning that I can’t control others actions or responses, only my own. I ultimately am responsible for my life. This book, for me, is about learning to not be a people pleaser (basing my decisions on what others will think of me) and about learning to not control others. It’s about learning to be confidently responsible for doing the best I can with my own life and choices.

GALATIANS – I started reading Galatians, a book of the Bible, in November and I am still re-reading it in March. It’s written by Paul as a letter to the churches in Galatia. I have never in my life spent so much time in one book of the Bible. I just resonate with every word. Everyday it helps refocus me on what God is teaching me right now: FREEdom from guilt, FREEdom to be myself, FREEdom from comparison, FREEdom from rules, FREEdom from condemnation, FREEdom to talk to God personally and honestly, FREEdom from doing things the way they’ve always been done, FREEdom to trust discern and trust God’s Spirit as it leads me, FREEdom to do the things that I’m passionate about, FREEdom to make my life look like what I imagine it could look like, FREEdom from my IMPERFECTions, FREEdom to live CHILDLIKE.

I have felt silly sometimes, reading the same words over and over again, but I feel like God is asking me to keep reading them, until they sink in, until I believe them. Gosh, I may be in this book the rest of my life. It’s really good for my heart.

Please, tell me, what are the books that have changed your life? Maybe it’s one? Maybe it’s five? I’d love to have you share those with all of us in the comments below, or talk about them on your blog and give us the link.

I’m guest blogging here today about Entering In. I wrote about some of what I’m learning through reading Galatians. It certainly applies to everyone, but for you artist types who are seeking to use your creations to do something big for God, you might really enjoy it. I think it will take some pressure off of you, if you are in fact the type, like me, to heap a lot of pressure on yourself.

There are some great writers on this Church Online blog, so you might find yourself getting lost in reading other posts as well. For example, this one, called Willing to Be a Mess. You can imagine as an IMPERFECT person how much I like this post! I hope this blog inspires you. I’m honored to get to be a part of those writing there.

I’ve picked the word CHILDLIKE to be the focus for my life in the year 2010.

Becoming CHILDLIKE to me means:

Believing life is good

Living uninhibited

Creating magical moments

Having little to no worries

Believing tomorrow holds endless possibilities

Believing in happy ever after endings

Innocence

Free-Spirited

Joyful

Excited

Hopeful Anticipation

Girlish (Boyish) Wonder

Not bound by the rules of how things should be

Believing in the midst of tough questions

Believing the world is exciting and adventurous

Wearing Rose-Colored Glasses

Playing Hard

Getting lost in the moments

Being real and candid

Why do I try so hard to be so adult? And who said being an adult means I need to kill off my passions, stop taking risky adventures, drown my joys in miserable suffering and replace my desires with shoulds?

The book that I wrote, and am soon jumping into editing, has a working title of Childlike.

A new collection that I designed for Scrap Girls is also named Childlike.

The freedom that I’ve been feeling in reading Galatians makes me feel CHILDLIKE.

My desire to read classical fiction novels again, as opposed to the non-fiction books I’ve been reading for so long, feels childlike.

It’s as if this word has been chasing me down and breathing life into me. I love it.

This resurrection life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life. It’s adventurously expectant, greeting God with a childlike “What’s next, Papa?” Romans 8:15 (The Message)

This is where I am at at the beginning of 2010. What’s next God? You’re FREEing me up to do things I so long to do, you’re reminding me I can be IMPERFECT in the process, and now you’re inviting me to become CHILDLIKE. It’s so exciting.

I think it might be a year of looking utterly ridiculous. I think it might be a year of drowning out nay-sayers and tuning into “my Papa’s” voice. I think it might be a year of letting go of some of my calculated drive and embracing the playful next steps God asks me to take, even if they seem useless and a waste of time. I think it might be a year of doing lots of little things I’ve never done before (or haven’t done in years) and thus learning to live a fuller, richer life. I think it might be a year of studying my own kids and learning from them. I think it might be a year to fall in love with magical stories. I think it might be a year of breaking down legalism and rules and shoulds and have-tos in my life and trading them all in for the adventure of a lifetime. The adventure God is calling me on. I would love to share the journey with you!

We are all born children. The trick is how to remain one. – Picasso

Awhile back I was put into an awkward situation. I am still not quite sure whether I made it awkward or if it was just the environment I was in that was awkward. Either way, I was left feeling out of place, not myself, uncomfortable. After the awkward situation was over, it actually took me a few days to process and recover from it. During those few days, I had to re-think everything I have learned during 2009 about being IMPERFECT. For those of you who are new to my blog, I selected the word IMPERFECT as my word for this year. You can read more about that here.

I think it is timely that I would have to reprocess all that I have learned about my word. 2009 will come to a close before we know it, and with it God will usher in a new word for me. So what am I going to walk away with from this year? How have I been changed?

You know, in the days after my “awkward situation,” I have to admit I got a little scared. What scared me is that I was falling back into old patterns of thinking. I was playing old tapes, hearing old lies, recalling old doubts. Things I thought I had become “free” from.

Also, I felt this redoubled effort to try and better myself. I will improve myself so I fit in better. I will improve myself so I can feel joy. I will improve myself so others will like me and God will like me. I’m not good enough as I am, but I will improve myself until I am good enough. I will come up with a self-help plan of rules to daily live by, so I can avoid any future awkward situations.

We know very well that we are not set right with God by rule-keeping but only through personal faith in Jesus Christ. How do we know? We tried it—and we had the best system of rules the world has ever seen! Convinced that no human being can please God by self-improvement, we believed in Jesus as the Messiah so that we might be set right before God by trusting in the Messiah, not by trying to be good. – Galatians 2:16

{Thankfully, God has already had me saturated in reading Galatians. I’ve been reading it for about a month now. I just can’t leave it. It’s an incredible book all about our IMPERFECTions and God setting us FREE from them. It’s a book about battling legalism, which I constantly battle. It’s a book about throwing rules and religion out the window and believing in and running after a God of grace and mercy. It’s a book about letting your ego and your pride die away, so you can be set FREE.}

So back to self-improvement…I was baffled to read we don’t please God by our self-improvement. I mean, that’s what the Christian walk is all about, isn’t it? Getting better and better? But Galatians says this doesn’t please God. It is our faith in Him that please God (Hebrews 11:6). A simple childlike faith that says God is bigger than our imperfections, our awkward situations, our mistakes, failures, pride, hurts and habits.

Instead of spending my whole time thinking about what others thought of me and how I could better myself, I should have been trusting in God and letting Him do the work of bettering me. I couldn’t avoid the situation once I was in it, so I needed to trust God through it. And I needed to trust God afterwards as well, with all my insecurities. Being “myself” often means being “imperfect.” I have to be okay with that.

So how do I want to live my days…AND my awkward situations?

Christ’s life showed me how, and enabled me to do it. I identified myself completely with him. Indeed, I have been crucified with Christ. My ego is no longer central. It is no longer important that I appear righteous before you or have your good opinion, and I am no longer driven to impress God. Christ lives in me. The life you see me living is not “mine,” but it is lived by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. – Galatians 2:20

In this life, I will never fully recover from my hurts, hang-ups, habits. I will never be able fully to hide from or dodge awkward situations. From time to time, old tapes will resurface and Satan will remind me of old lies. But daily I have the choice to believe in a God that is bigger than me and my brokenness. And daily I have a choice to put on Christ, who IS perfection and covers my IMPERFECTion.

My prayer right now is “God increase my faith. Increase my childlike faith. Let me believe YOU are bigger than myself. Let me believe YOU are the answer to all my problems. YOU are bigger than religion, than rules, than self-help. Increase my faith. Help me believe you are THAT big. Big enough to be enough. Amen.”

In this holiday season where so many people are talking about “the magic of believing,” this prayer is all the more powerful to me. I hope it resonates with you.

Some thoughts I jotted down after reading the book Crazy Love.

—–

It’s not just about God’s crazy love for us. It’s also about our response to Him. A response that stems out of our love for what He’s done/is doing for us. A response that seems a little crazy.

Is anyone questioning my actions? Does anyone think I’m living a little too crazy?

I need to pray daily that God will help me love Him. Daily I drift away. Daily I want Him to help me see Him with fresh eyes. The danger is when God’s crazy love for me just feels common, ordinary, everyday. I want awe!

What am I doing right now in my life that requires faith? Anything? Hopefully.

What if Jesus wasn’t in heaven? Friends, beauty, no sadness or pain, but no Jesus. Would I still want heaven?

So often we live such a way in this life, as American Christians, that we seemingly don’t need God. We can pay off our own debt, we can work ourself into a great job, we can plan out our families to be just the right size, we can build up an emergency fund and a retirement fund and a college fund. We can go days, weeks, months, without really even needing to connect with God. We can be so self-sufficient it’s scary. Then something happens that rocks our world and we have no spiritual core to help us trust in God, lean on God, rest in God. We’ve lived without Him for so long, we forget what it looks like to live with Him. *Note to self: pray everyday that you’ll NEED Him and that you’ll RECOGNIZE that need.

Trusting isn’t comfortable. It flies in the face of everything we’ve been taught about proper planning. (Oh man, did this one hit me. I thrive on proper planning. My planning. My answers. My ways. So often I don’t stop to ask Him or is it that I don’t have the ears to hear Him.)

We are obsessed with safety. It has become our highest priority. We arrange our lives around what is safe. Safe is blending in. Safe is never risking. Safe is staying the same. Safe is comfortable.

Does everyone I know have enough? Do I know anyone who is poor? Do I know anyone that has needs I can meet?

Spend yourselves…give yourselves. The idea of servant leadership. To lead, is to serve others. (*Note to self – serve out of the right motivation, otherwise you’ll get burnt out fast.)

—-

When I read books like these it’s easy to start to feel guilty. I’m not doing enough. Or, I’m doing it all wrong. Or, I’m so far behind I’ll never catch up.

This time I didn’t let myself go to those thoughts. Instead I thought “I can’t implement all these truths instantly.”

It takes weeks, months even years to acquire the sort of strong spiritual core that allows me to serve those around me, help the poor, trust God, and love Him in crazy, radical ways. I’m trying to take bite-size truths and apply them.

Isn’t that what Jesus did for us in boiling down the commandments?

Because really, it’s just about two things, love God and love others. And if we’re loving God the best we can, He will make it apparent how we are to love on others.

In my mind I believe that intensely. Now to just give my heart time to catch up.

You might remember this post where I talked about taking a break from reading the Bible. Well, I’m back at it again, and I thought I should let you know some of my reflections on my three-week hiatus.

In typical Mandy preferred fashion, here’s a list:

• The minute I said I was stopping reading it, I had this deep urge to read it. No kidding.

• I couldn’t completely get away from scripture. It would pop up in conversations with people, in other books I was reading, in emails, twitters, on facebook or blogs, even in my own head from scriptures I have memorized. I found it interesting that the Bible is quoted so much that I could still have access to it without ever actually opening my own Bible. I think this has to do with our culture and/or the circles I’m in. I wonder if all this exposure to scripture doesn’t in some ways make it less amazing to us. We take for granted our easy access to God’s word. It becomes common place if we’re not careful.

• I did not feel condemned for not opening my Bible. I thought guilt might set in, but it didn’t. Instead I felt strangely free. As if I had shaken off a huge burden. I think this has to do with the fact that I had made it into a religious practice instead of a discipline fueled by passion.

• I did see God and feel God in other places in my life, but not anymore or less so than I usually do.

• I started to think about what version of the Bible I read and why. I decided when I did start to read the Bible again I would try something very different, like the Message version, in hopes that it would give a fresh perspective on scriptures I’ve heard countless times.

• I also started to desire a picture of God throughout the entire story of the Bible. In other words I started to think about the bigger picture, the broad scope of what it means to be human and to relate with our Creator. I started to think about the wealth of the Bible as a whole instead of just in the choppy bits and pieces it’s usually consumed. In college I read the entire Bible through. I decided I needed to think about doing that again.

• I was struck by this deep desire to have my faith mean something. It was as if taking a break from reading the Bible was allowing me a break from being a Christian, and I was taking an outward look in at myself. Really? Really you are a Christ follower? What does that even mean to you? I think taking a break challenged me to have purpose in what I say I believe. Mere motions and religious talk/actions are useless and they felt (and still feel) repulsive to me. It felt better to take a break from the Bible than to read the Bible just because I was supposed to. I felt like I was being real with myself and with God for the first time in awhile.

So this is where I’m at now. I’m reading the Message Bible. I’m reading in Genesis, working my way through. I’m specifically looking at the bigger picture of IMPERFECT people in the Bible and how God relates to them and works through them. I’m passionate about this topic of IMPERECTion (for obvious reasons) so I think this helps me be passionate about my time in the Bible as well. Also, I’m processing (and talking through with Tony) some of the questions I have about what my faith should look like lived out. I don’t anticipate there being any immediate changes made in my life, but I do get excited about thinking more purposefully about what a life lived by faith looks like.

There is so much power in God’s word. I don’t want to return to consuming it and fail to live it or share it. To me, that would be tragic.

Oh dear. Where do I begin? How do I fit a couple months of internal conversations into one blog post that sums it all up, neat and tidy. It’s times like these I am thankful for a messy canvas domain and the word IMPERFECT as my focus for 2009. I can only say it the best I know how, and hope, that in some way you might relate, or be encouraged or at the very least, just give me my space and not write me off as a misguided soul.

I don’t want to read the Bible. I haven’t wanted to for the past month at least. I’ve had minute efforts at picking it up and perusing it, but they are empty and merely guilt-induced. It feels dead to me.

Note what I’m not saying. I’m not saying “God feel dead to me.” Oh no, on the contrary. He feels very much alive. But, at the risk of sounding heretical and sacrilegious, He feels bigger to me than the Bible. I’ve thought about this a lot, and I think what I mean by that is He feels bigger than what has become my religion. He feels bigger than quiet devotional times, scripture memorization and Sunday morning church going. He feels bigger than prayer time, Christian music and the polished right answers for life’s hardest questions. I feel God wooing me, but it’s oddly outside of all the traditional Christian venues I have known Him to speak through. It’s as if my familiarity with Christianity is breeding contempt, and I’m not sure what to do about it.

I’ve been reading The Sacred Romance. This was written by John Eldredge, who was also a professor of mine my last semester of college. His “lectures,” for lack of a better word, brought my faith to life again during my college years. And since I am now feeling a sort of dryness, I returned to the book that once before gave me a fresh perspective.

“There comes a place on our spiritual journey where renewed religious activity is of no use whatsoever. It is the place where God holds out his hand and asks us to give up our lovers* (*mine would be busyness, control, discipline, competency, perfection, etc.) and come and live with him in a much more personal way…We are both drawn to it and fear it. Part of us would rather return to Scripture memorization or Bible study or service – anything that would save us from the unknowns of walking with God.

But “If we listen to our heart again, perhaps for the first time in a while, it tells us how weary it is of the familiar and the indulgent.” – The Sacred Romance

Let me clue you into how my blog is a window into this journey I am on:

There is this post where I was struggling with my guilt over not reading the Bible and spending quiet time with God.

There is the fact that I took a hiatus from leading the Angry Homemade Noodles LifeGroup because I didn’t have anything from the Bible to share. When the study on Rest came to a close I had to take some time off. I’m still working through what that group should look like now.

There is my deep desire, and I believe Holy Spirit-directed-longing, to try something different and to change things up in my life. I’m tired of my routine, tired of being in the rut I’ve somehow gotten stuck in, tired of the box I’ve kept God in.

And then most recently, there was the realization that I heard God loud and clear through Frankenstein, not exactly your typical reading material for Biblical Truth.

And it’s happened in other areas of my life that I haven’t managed to blog about yet. Every Friday this summer we have gone to see a movie with our family, and I have heard God’s voice loud and clear through these stories:

Nim’s Island

Kit Kittridge

Kung Fu Panda

Tale of Despereaux

I feel God’s peace when I smell my baby’s head (thanks Natalie for putting a name to the goodness I was sensing). I feel God’s love when my husband puts his hand on me warmly and whispers a prayer over me before leaving for work in the morning (especially when we’ve been arguing lately over stupid stuff). I feel God’s creativity when I stroke paint colors onto a canvas or see just the right colors mix together in the kitchen or in an outfit my kids’ wear.

I am being romanced, and I am baffled by the fact that it is not directly coming from the Bible or Church. I think God is chasing me. I think He is sensing my distaste for the mundane and recognizing that my heart is waning, and so I think He’s coming after me in the things that are speaking to my heart right now.

I love a God that is bigger than man’s religion.

I had a professor in college who advised me once about praying before meals. I didn’t understand why it was necessary and why everyone did it, and yet I kept doing it because I felt like I should. I felt guilty not doing it. It must be necessary to be a Christian, I figured. He advised me to stop doing it. Why do something if I was only doing it out of guilt?

So I’ve decided I’m just needing to outwardly confess that I’m not reading the Bible right now. I am taking a break. I am taking a chance. I am obeying, I believe, and choosing to hear God where He is speaking to me right now. I’m trying to fight off guilty feelings and resting in the fact that even when I try, I am ultimately not in control. It feels good to be real with these feelings and to stop pretending the Bible is doing anything for me right now. Isn’t life messy? I’m just glad my heart feels like living it again.

Where are you taking me God? You sure are unpredictable.

I am intrigued by the very idea of redefinition.

I feel as though I’ve been redefining myself for most of my life. As soon as I figure out one thing about myself, I embark on some new adventure, critiquing who I am and who I am meant to be and who I have yet to become.

I realize there can be a pretty fine line between redefining and posing. Let me share how I think they differ.

Posing is pretending you are something you are not meant to be. It’s full of falsehoods and masks and it’s fake. Posing is feeling forced to be something you are not in order to please others. Redefining is figuring out who you really are in an effort to live at peace with yourself and with who God has created you to be.

• We redefine ourselves when we take an assessment of our life and figure out if we’re doing the best we possibly can at living.
• We redefine ourselves when we allow change into our life, sometimes so big that it seems you are a completely different person in an instant and other times so small that not even your closest friend can notice, but change nonetheless.
• We redefine ourselves when we pay attention to what our heart is telling us and believe we already are (in Christ) who we so desperately long to be.
• We redefine ourselves when we quit bemoaning the fact that this is how it will always be because this is how it always has been. Instead we say, “Enough is enough. I am a new creation.”

• We redefine ourselves when we rip off the labels others have put on us that just don’t apply and walk around confidently with the knowledge of who God says we are.
• We redefine ourselves when we start to believe the things we hate about our life are things that we can actually radically change.
• We redefine ourselves year by year, month by month, week by week, day by day, even moment by moment. Read this great quote by Natalie Goldberg:

Watch yourself. Every minute we change. It is a great opportunity. At any point, we can step out of our frozen selves and our ideas and begin fresh.

• We redefine ourselves when we allow ourselves a fresh start. It is through grace we are set free. It is through grace we can begin again…and again…and again.

One thing I’ve learned with redefinition, is sometimes you have to force yourself to do what feels unnatural until it becomes natural. It can feel like you are playing a glorified game of pretend. This is because your tendency will be to second-guess and belittle yourself. But if you have a clear sense from God, and from close friends, that you are truly seeking to be true to yourself, then you’ll know in your heart of hearts that you are not posing, but redefining. In this case the “pretending” is not really pretending at all. Instead it’s retraining yourself to be who you really are. It’s putting an end to the agreements you have made with Satan about who you are. He feeds you lies, you know? He’s the Father of lies.

So your thought process might go something like this: I want to believe I’m beautiful, but just look at myself. I wear frumpy clothes. I’m out of shape. Why even bother to exercise anyway? I’ll never catch up to so and so (insert name of woman that you compare yourself to) in my fitness. I don’t have time to do my hair or wear make up or any of those things I think would be fun to do. I’m a mom now. Moms don’t have time for such frivolous things.

And in redefining yourself your thought process could start with something as simple as this: I think I’ll wear this pretty dress at the back of my closet today, just because I love it. I don’t have anywhere special to go today, but I just love how that dress makes me feel. And I’ll get up a few minutes earlier or ask my husband for help with the kids so I can do my hair and make up. I love having my fingernails painted. Why not do that? And you know? I feel better when I exercise. I think I’ll plan out a workout program that starts small for me, maybe I’ll even start today with a walk with my kids.

Redefinition can begin small. It can begin in our self-talk. It can begin by pretending you already who God has called you to be. What would your life look like? What would you wear? Who would your friends be? Where would you live? What would you read? How would you spend your free time? What would your family life look like? How would you treat yourself? How would you treat others? You may be surprised all you could put into action right away if you just would let yourself.

I’ve been on a journey of redefinition, specifically over the past 3 years. Through that journey I have learned to:

• dress differently, like wearing heels for instance
• wear makeup for fun

• wear big funky earrings and sunglasses and ribbons in my hair if i so choose
• have grace with myself and grace with others
• say no to some good things so I can…
• say yes to the even greater things

• follow my husband’s lead
• get my nose pierced
• call myself an artist (this has been HUGE in my life)
• try something different
• make friends
• be a teacher
• feel FREE

• seek help when I need it
• embrace IMPERFECTion
• give up control
• love on my kids & swoon over my husband
• take risks
• and the list goes on.

The list will always go on, because I am in a constant state of redefinition…

how glorious that we are given in every moment the chance to begin fresh.

A few weeks ago I got out for a much needed couple hours by myself in the evening. I was planning on hitting up Starbucks, where I could sit and think and journal in a familiar and comfortable setting. However, as I started driving, it was as if my car had a mind of its own. I knew where it was taking me, I just wasn’t sure if I was okay with it. After all, I’m not spontaneous or impulsive. I like my routines. I’m okay with sameness.

On a certain road, I had seen a sign for Bubble Tea several times. I’ve heard a lot of buzz on bubble tea and in the back of my mind have wanted to try it.

That’s where I was headed in my car.

To try bubble tea.

All by myself.

In a place I had never been.

I could feel my heart beating hard in my chest. Really? Am I really going to do this?

You may laugh that such a small thing could be such an adventure for me, but when you’re used to living a certain way, it can be hard to break out of that mold.

I entered the restaurant, was greeted warmly and told my greeter that I would be dining in, but didn’t want supper just a bubble tea. I told my waitress I had never had bubble tea and asked for a recommendation, which she kindly offered. Jasmine Green Bubble Tea it is then. I sat, drank and wrote in my journal. But mostly I just soaked in the “different.” Did I mention all the conversation around me was in a language I couldn’t understand?

The jasmine flavor of my tea was strong. It wasn’t my favorite, but that’s not what this post is about.

Here’s something I wrote that night:

“Maybe what I am desiring is not the rhythm and comfort of routine, but the pursuit  and education and adventure of the new. Maybe I want to taste it all – all of God’s amazing creation – on a global scale. Maybe I’ve been trying to do the same things when what I want is new and different. I get excited about this. The new. The uncomfortable. To see new, taste new, speak new. To explore with my family.

“If I feel God is small and boring then maybe I need to visit the vast ‘outside the box’ where He really lives. Maybe I need to go there.

“I’m scared of the IMPERFECT. If I try something new it will be scary, different. I might flub it up, make a fool of myself. But right now each day does not feel fresh and new because I live it the same. Nothing is engaging. Nothing new. No sense of adventure. This has to stop. I can change this merry-g0-round I am on.

“The predictable is safe. It is empty. God is not predictable. He is not safe, but He is good. I’m coming after you God, oh Romancer. I am coming after you. I am in love with you and feel you wooing me. The epiphany I’ve been searching for has hit me with a new drink in a new place.”

At this point I looked out the window of the restaurant and could see just the very corner of a banner blowing in the wind. All I could see on it was the word FREE.

“Thank you Jesus,” I wrote, “I’m coming your way.”

I’d like to tell you that my life has been amazing during the weeks that followed my bubble tea epiphany. I think I expected it to be.

It hasn’t.

I’ve tried some new things that have failed miserably, and I’ve been in a wrestle between listening to what I think I’m hearing from God and staying safe in the obedience of the rules of my religion.

I have not “arrived.”

But I feel like I am on to something, so I wanted to share it. I’m wading through the mess that comes with attempting to “soak in the different” and I’m not about to give it up just because it’s hard. I want to follow after God, and I know He’s bigger than me and my white, American, Christian, middle-class perspective. I’ve got to find Him, in all His Glory. Care to come along?

I am amazed how much fun dress-up clothes can be. This weekend we dumped out our three big baskets of dress-up clothes and had at it. I was just planning on helping my kids get in and out of outfits, until I realized that a few of the dresses would fit me. Then I got involved and we all started laughing really hard.

I’m now convinced everyone needs a basket of dress-up clothes in their home, to pull out now and again so you can magically pretend you are someone else, wearing things you would never wear, saying things you would never say. It’s FREEing I tell you.

The next step may be having the courage to leave the house in them.