A few weeks ago at Lisa Whittle’s site, she encouraged us to share a “get real” moment. Those are the moments where we share what is really going on in our hearts and minds and souls. I thought I would share some of what I shared there and maybe elaborate a little.

My get real moment is “pretending it doesn’t matter.” I do this in a variety of ways. One of the quickest things to come out of my mouth is to say “I know that’s stupid or silly” about something I have said or done or thought. I don’t judge others this way. It never crosses my mind to do so. But with myself, it is second nature. I’m trying to watch it and not do it so often (or someday at all), but you may need to call me on it. The reason behind saying it at all is that if I say it first it might hurt less if you say it.

I don’t know that I hear others say those words about themselves to the extent that I do. However, I also think that women (and probably men too) are great pretenders. We play the game of It Doesn’t Matter Anyway.

In elementary school, we are not asked to play and we say, “It doesn’t matter, I didn’t want to jump rope anyway.”

I went to exactly one dance in junior high and high school. It was in junior high and even though I didn’t have friends to go and hang with, I bought the line from the teachers that it was for everyone and anyone could come and it wasn’t a date kind of thing. I still remember the cafeteria being emptied of tables and chairs and the beat of the music. I think I lingered in there watching everyone dance for about an hour. I was too shy to just join in what even seemed like a group dance. I spent the next two hours sitting on the curb outside in a patch of darkness waiting for my mom to come pick me up. Though I told her I’d had loads of fun, my mantra in my head those two hours was “It doesn’t matter anyway. I didn’t want to dance anyway. I don’t like dancing anyway.” Since I had never really danced, this was pure presumption on my part.

By the time high school rolled around with “Homecoming Dances” and later the prom, I had made myself so busy running a thriving babysitting business that I could easily say, “It doesn’t matter anyway that I wasn’t invited. I couldn’t have gone anyway. I’ve been booked 3 months out to sit for so and so.”

It mattered to my mom that I didn’t go to the prom. Even though the arrangement my parents had worked out with me was that I got a certain amount each month that I budgeted for lunches or clothes or school supplies or gas or whatever, she offered to spring for a dress for the prom my senior year. I was actually mildly amused by how seriously she took it because I was so versed in it doesn’t matter anyway that going was never an option in my mind. She could take care of the dress, but it would have been a dress that hung in my closet. No group of girlfriends and certainly no boy was planning on including me. So, I told myself, “It doesn’t matter anyway . . . .”

I was in chorus my sophomore year. There was a special singing group for juniors and seniors. I sang second soprano. Even though it felt like a risk, I tried out. And when I didn’t make it, it confirmed the belief that I couldn’t sing and that it was silly to try out and what had I been thinking and I didn’t want in it anyway because it would take away from my studies and I wanted to get into a good school. I didn’t want it anyway.

As an adult I have the same mantra about various things, “It doesn’t matter anyway, I didn’t want the house with a white picket fence and the kids would ruin the carpet anyway and a husband would drive me nuts. It doesn’t matter GOD because I didn’t really want all that anyway.“

Or it doesn’t matter anyway about that job. It doesn’t matter anyway that a friend is moving because we weren’t that close anyway. It doesn’t matter anyway . . . .


Or sometimes I say, “Okay, I wanted all that but God, you are enough anyway” and that is a pretend too. I say it because it sounds more Christian and accepting.

But when I pretend in whatever way, I wall off bits of my heart. While I shouldn’t wallow in things, when I pretend — or perhaps lie — to God and others that it doesn’t matter anyway, I squash hope. I forget to let myself dream. I close myself off to possibilities. I refuse any comfort because who needs comforting when it doesn’t matter anyway? Squashing hope and dreams is spirit deadening because it limits life to what is immediately before you and it forgoes any real communication with God about what is really going on.

God would rather hear me say, “I want it all — the kids, the husband, the dog, the in laws everyone complains about, the very best friend I can call at 2:00 AM. And God I know you are suppose to be ENOUGH, but sometimes I want it so and it doesn’t feel like you are enough.” When I’m honest to say that, He invites me on his lap and tells me He knows and reminds me that He is enough but it is okay to have those feelings. They are longings He built in me. And He invites me to wait a little longer to see what He will do — not a promise that all those things will come the way I think they will but how He might use my hands, my life, my heart and meet me in a way I can never imagine.

It is best not to pretend those things don’t matter anyway because when I pretend like that, I wall off my heart and do not let Him comfort me. And I risk falling into the pit of doubt that says He is holding out on me, keeping back the best. But God doesn’t do that. He knows it all matters. He wants to hold all the things of my heart. But He needs to be free to meet all those dreams in anyway He chooses. I need to trust that any which way life goes, God has my best interest at heart.

• I would have held your hand more often
• I would have called you more just to say “Hello” even if we would be seeing each other in just a few hours.
• I would have laughed when you tried to tame my crazy kitty Katy into coming to you no matter how late it made us for dinner
• I would have pressed to meet your family sooner
• I would have let you help me with more things instead of trying to be independent
• I would have snuggled more
• I would have told you more about my thoughts and feelings. Oh, it wasn’t that you didn’t it ask but just that I am not a natural talker.
• I would have made you more cookies and peanut butter pie.

If I had only known that you’d be leaving here so soon, I would not have been so shy. I would have loved you out loud.

If you were here right now:

• I’d let you help with flowers for the yard
• I’d actually cook for you
• I’d tell you how hard it was to have you go so suddenly
• I’d laugh with you about Mali’s antics. She would have you wrapped around that tiny paw.
• I’d let you comfort me on some of the strange turns my life has taken
• I’d tell you about the book I hope to write
• I’d drive you crazy holding your hand
• I’d laugh more
• I’d smile more
• I’d be the one to try and sneak the kiss
• I’d count every second as a treasure

And, yes, I would love you out loud . . . .

Bill died April 23, 2007 from an aortic aneurysm. We had met at church. Our first date almost turned into a group outing. I was standing with Emily when he approached me and asked about a concert in Peoria that night. Assuming he meant a group outing, I turned to Emily and asked her if that sounded like fun. He graciously said that more people would be fine. But Emily caught on more quickly than I did and she declined.

When he picked me up he noticed that I didn’t put the garage door down. I explained that it was broken and I had no clue what to do with it. The next day he came by to fix it for me. I was making cookies, so he stayed for some . . . .

He fixed that sill garage door 3 times! Third time was the charm. It hasn’t broken since.

But I suppose instead, it’s my heart that got broken to have him leave so suddenly. It’s been a year and I still remember. It’s been a year that was really hard in places, but my heart is healing. I’m making it through.

Bill brought me laughter and a feeling of connection that before I had only ever dreamed could happen. Without Bill I might have given up that the connection even really existed. While it hurt to say a sudden “Goodbye,” there is hope in knowing that mystical connection is fact not fiction and even I can dare to reach out for it.

I dread it when I hear that a stretch of road I normally traverse is going to be “under construction.” In theory, these projects are meant to help in the long run. In the short run, they are headaches in the making. And if your part of the world is anything like my part of the world, “construction” on even a tiny segment takes forever.


Roadblocks was what came to mind as I was reading for the on line study at Lelia’s of Lysa Terkeurst’s book, What Happens When Women Say Yes To God. (If you want to join the discussion or read other’s thoughts, just click the button at right.)

I even had a bit of a stumbling block/roadblock on Monday. I had a doctor’s appointment and was using my lunch break to accomplish it. (To my credit, I had let them know I might be a few minutes late coming back.) Sigh, maybe that was a prediction. But I’m usually in and out. It’s a routine kind of thing. The fall of 2006 my iron was extremely low and for whatever reason, my body wasn’t absorbing it from food or pills. I had to get it intravenously like eight times! At which point, my iron count was probably high enough to set off a metal detector! Now I go in every 4 months or so to see how much ground has been lost (usually 60-100 points). It was so high when they gave me those treatments, that while it is still dropping it is now in the “normal” range.

But my usual in and out turned into a sit and wait. I don’t do sit and wait well…. Part of it for me today was, “What were they thinking at work?” I had already told them it might be a possibility, yet I felt myself get more and more anxious about it. And God brought to mind Lysa’s words where she spoke of the gatekeepers Acceptance and Rejection. Rejection, criticism was what I feared if I lingered to long even for a necessary appointment. Acceptance is what I craved. As Lysa so aptly wrote, both gatekeepers require a lot (the fear of not being able to continue to perform or the lure of being constantly let off the hook because I don’t measure up).

Lysa challenges us to choose worship over worry. Worry is a great roadblock to me. I can find worry in everything. When things are hard, the worry is ten times greater. Lysa writes:

When we worship in these hard places, we are reminded that none of this is about me — it’s all about God.

I want to have a heart that automatically looks to worship instead of worry. But a lot of my worry comes from where my eyes — physically (counting the dollars and balancing the checkbook), emotionally (what are people thinking or saying about me), and spiritually (my own inability to be “good enough,” worthy enough for God) are looking. I look at storm rather than the storm calmer.

Lysa uses a beautiful illustration of her youngest daughter Brooke. Brooke is Lysa’s child who most needs touch. Once, she was in a dance recital and the part she anticipated dancing got switched. In tears, she searched out her mother. Lysa knew she couldn’t be on stage with her daughter but she said, “Lock your eyes on mine and Mommy will touch you with my smile. Don’t look at anyone or anything else . . . . It doesn’t matter if you mess up. What matters is that you keep your eyes on me the whole time. We’ll do this together.”

I need to lock eyes with the heavenly Father. It has been a difficult few days and that seems hard to do. I’d like to hide and pull the covers over my head. But I am choosing to lock eyes with Jesus and choose hope by doing things like taking spring pictures over the weekend or calling a friend when I need it or reading all the antics and wise thoughts of my bloggy friends. In these ways I am locking eyes with hope.

And not only am I trying to dance, God is dancing and singing over me. The smile never leaves His face when my eyes are locked with His.

The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.” — Zephaniah 3:17 (NIV)

It seems like it has been a long time in coming, but it appears that we are finally trading winter for spring. That feels like hope to me! So, I thought I would share a few pictures from this winter and my outing today into spring!

The playground down the road is silent and lifeless during the winter.

Today, the playground was teeming with life and a pick up basketball game.

There are no flowers in the winter. Well, this is my yard. With a friend’s help, I had flowers for the first time last year. I’ll have to see what I can muster this year.

But I found these beauties dancing in the slight breeze while on my walk.

These have been my valiant allies when I shoveled what seemed to be our every 7 to 10 day snow storms. While I welcomed their comfort and warmth, it is time to retire them to the basement for a season.

My toes are excited to trade them for these pretty pink sandals. Alas, they are not suitable for days at work, but I suspect I’ll make good use of them in the off hours! I felt pretty and fun in them today at church!

As much as I am enjoying the change in seasons, I am also aware of restlessness in my heart. As all Christians are continually being transformed to be more like Jesus, I pray the same is true of my heart. Though it has meant some tears the last month or two, I hope it means that spring and new growth are abiding there as well.

What is your best picture of spring? Post it and leave me a comment and I will come see!

I have high expectations for myself. In school it was A+ type work. In terms of relationships, it is being trustworthy — let your yes be yes and your no be no kind of stuff. I am also a completely confidential person. This is probably a mix of things. In my family growing up, everything was a secret so I learned not to share. That probably wasn’t so healthy. But then there is also the piece that I worked in ministry for 11 years and dealt with student’s private lives so there were things that had to be kept confidential. And then I got my MA in counseling, so everything is private there! But it also slips into my relationships. I just don’t tend to repeat things — not even to say, “Don’t tell anyone else but . . . .” We all know how that works.

I am also intensely loyal and tend to go out of my way to help people. Until last weekend, I thought this was mostly about helping people I knew well and cared for. A friend pointed out that I tend to respond that way to everyone. For example, there is a single mom in my community group. I do not know her at all. We’ve never said much more than “Hello.” Part of it is the timing when she joined, I had to miss several weeks, so there hasn’t been much opportunity. She recently told the group she was looking for a sitter because her regular sitter is going to be out of town for a week. I immediately said that I might be able to help because of the odd hours of my work schedule but that I needed to look at my schedule.

I looked at my schedule and found that I had some things already scheduled. I could definitely help one day and possibly rearrange life on a second day…. I began to problem solve how I could totally meet the need — even considering using some vacation time. My friend pointed out that I respond that way to a lot of things but it isn’t necessarily my job to meet every need that comes my way — do what I can but don’t turn into a Chinese acrobat with all kinds of contortions. I cannot be all things to all people.

All of that sounds somewhat positive, doesn’t it? Loyal, caring, confidential, helpful. It is but there is a catch. Those are expectations of myself but I am realizing that I put those expectations on others as well. When the need isn’t met or confidentiality is broken or whatever . . . I am extremely hurt.

I believe that God has given me a tender heart. It makes me see things that other wouldn’t see and respond in ways that other might not respond. But a tender heart can also be easily hurt. I am finding the need to sift through what appropriate expectations are and where I perceive a slight when there might not be one.

The Velveteen Rabbit is a great book. In it the Skin Horse explains real and why it doesn’t often happen to toys that break easily or have to be carefully kept. Real is when you get shabby in the joints and your fur has been loved off. My thought lately is that I may have to be “too carefully kept” to develop the friendships I long for. So, I’m praying that God would help me with my expectations, that I can give to my heart’s content but not have the same expectations of others. I think the tender heart is a good thing. I just don’t need it so easily broken.

I am doing an on-line book study with some other women. It’s been great. If you want to join or just read comments, click the button at left to go to Lelia’s site. We are reading a book by Lysa Terkeurst called What Happens When Women Say Yes To God.

Here are my thoughts:

If you are a Christian you have had to say “Yes” to God at some point in your life — “Yes, I am a sinner and yes, I need your salvation God.” But saying “Yes” on a daily or even moment to moment basis is a difficult, even a monumental task. Given everything that God has given us, you might not think it would be so hard, but when I am honest, I have to admit that it is.

In chapter 4, “You Never Know How God Will Use You Until You Let Him,” Lysa writes, “Only the pursuit of God’s righteousness leads us to His best.” God always wants the best for us. When we seek God — pursue — God’s righteousness that leads us closer to God. But sometimes this can be a scary place.

Jesus went to the poor, the weeping, the sinners, the prostitutes. They aren’t places that I normally want to go to. But God calls me to those places.

As I was reading, I was reminded of a woman I worked with whose two boys were in foster care and she was 8-9 months pregnant. I did fairly well with many of my clients even if I didn’t agree with their choices. But this woman grated on every nerve I had.

We were not obligated to transport parents. In fact, it was common to expect them to make their own way to visits and appointments. For many of my clients this meant the bus. Even though our city isn’t huge, getting from point A to point B could take and hour or more. They were dropped off down the road and then had to walk the rest of the way to our facility.

It was hot and sticky and after the visit, she had to walk back down the road and stand and wait for the next bus. She asked me if I would drop her down the street. It was not one of my better moments and I said, “No.” I rationalized it as a natural consequence for her choices. I rationalized it that I didn’t have extra insurance and I was using my own car and if something happened she would undoubtedly sue for every dime she could get. But really, it was just that I didn’t like her.

I didn’t like her. Ouch. That haunted me the next several days. The next week, I asked her if she wanted me to drop her at the end of the road. But God said, “That’s not quite enough.” Though it lengthened my day, I began to drive her across town and then transport the little ones to the foster parents’ home.

I can’t say that anything miraculous happened. I left the agency before the case closed. But, in saying “Yes” to God in those moments, I began to see her not simply as a client — and one I didn’t like — but as someone who was made uniquely in God’s image. If it were Jesus who needed a ride, would I hesitate? But then God reminded me that it was Jesus who needed the ride.

One of the things that struck me was Lysa’s comment that Satan’s name means “one who separates.” Indeed that is what he does. He is constantly pulling and tugging and enticing us away from God and His best for us.

In church today, the altar is usually in plain sight. My church doesn’t even necessarily have an altar per se. (We use a horse trough for baptism!) In Jesus’ day, a curtain separated the altar from public view. When a priest would go in, they tied a rope around his foot in case something would happen and they would need to drag him out.

But when Jesus died on the cross, the temple curtain was torn. It is so specific that it says from top to bottom rather than bottom to top. We could not rip it up and reach up to God. So God, reached down and made the way.

Lysa writes, “The truth is the name of Jesus causes us to pause and redefine ourselves. The truth is that love compels us to embrace the calling to be Jesus’ ambassador. The truth is freedom to soar above this life and learn to live beyond ourselves and our circumstances.” I sense the dangerousness of it, but “Lord, make me pause in that redefining way. Lord, help me choose to embrace your calling on my life and to say ‘Yes’ every moment.”

It’s easy to say and harder to walk out. There are some situations right now that aren’t very pretty in my life. I won’t air them here, but please pray that I would say “Yes” in a moment to moment way and that I would choose that over separation from others and, most importantly, separation from God.”

One last thought from Lysa that touched my heart:

With God’s amazing love settled in our heart, we have His power to keep our faith steady and to experience lasting hope and joy independent of our situation.

It’s true — God wants it all. and it’s in exchange of what we want for what God wants that we experience the adventure and freedom and power of saying yes to God.

I rarely answer my cell phone when driving, but when it rang that April afternoon, I answered. I almost didn’t have to. I answered, knowing instinctively what the news was. My friend asked me where I was and I explained I was driving back in town from an appointment. She told me to call her when I was back in town.

When I had left the hospital for an appointment in a nearby town, Bill had been “relatively” stable and I had planned on going right back. But I drove home instead because I knew, as my friend would confirm, that Bill had died.

Bill and I had dated for several months, spending daily time together and talking about the future. At the end of March we took a break, but I anticipated getting back together. In April, Bill (at the age of 41) had an aortic aneurysm. He lingered for a few days, but never regained consciousness.

Recently, I came across a book, Amish Grace by Kraybill, Nolt, and Weaver-Zercher concerning the West Nickel Mines Amish school shootings. I fell upon a passage regarding the Amish and the grieving. It explained that in public settings, Amish who are grieving wear black. The length of time that they wear black depends upon their relationship to the one who has died. What struck me was the reason behind the wearing of black. Simply put, they wear black to remind others in their community to take special care of grieving.

How different from our fast paced society! We don’t say it, but there is a compartmentalization of those who grieve. While the grieving may be intently cared for a few days after the death and funeral, it is a struggle for us in our busy lives to care well for the grieving over the long haul. And it is a long haul. Experts estimate that grief takes 18 months or more.

Bill was not the first person in my life to die. I’ve lost all of my grandparents at various ages and my mother when I was just twenty-three. I’ve lost people quickly and have experienced death that has lingered. Neither is easy. As I’ve grieved Bill, I’ve gone to a grief support group and met others who are grieving. Here are the top three things I’ve learned about those who grieve and how to help them.

Keep asking how you can help. Better yet – don’t just ask but pitch in. Your friend may not know at first how to tell you to how to help, but keep asking or think of things and offer specifics. This could be helping go through belongings or writing out thank you notes. It could mean making phone calls. I’ve learned from those in the support group that death is complicated. There are forms to fill out, names to change, wills to find, people to contact. If you have the time and energy, help with those nitty-gritty details even if you have never done it before. Your friend may not have done it before either, but it will help to have someone to bounce ideas off of.

Stay connected and have a ready ear. Especially if your friend lived with their loved one, the sudden isolation can be staggering. For those who have lost both parents, there may be the sobering realization that even though they are adult, they are now an “orphan.” Be willing to listen to stories about the loved one or even the death over and over. Be patient. This talking it out is part of “framing” the grief. Eventually, this part of grief moves from something handled daily to that which can be hung on the wall. It’s still there, but it no longer takes center stage. Rather, it can be taken down periodically and good as well as sad remembrances can be shared.

Care for the grieving over the long-haul. Write down the date of death and write a reminder in your calendar 1 month, 3, months, 6 months, 9 months, and 12 months out. On those dates, send a note, make a phone call, or have a cup of coffee. For some reason the “threes” are particularly hard. While no one can tell me why that is, those who work with the grieving and those that grieve know that it is. My theory is that those come with the changing of seasons in most areas and are a reminder that the loved-one is no longer present.

When we walk with the grieving, we walk in the footsteps of Jesus. Isaiah 53:3 describes Jesus as “a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief” (KJV). In John 11, Jesus learns that his friend, Lazarus, has died. When he sees Lazarus’ sister Mary weeping, it says that Jesus was “deeply moved in spirit and troubled” (John 11:33, NIV). And in versus 35 it says, “Jesus wept.” (NIV).

I am fascinated that Jesus wept even knowing that he would raise Lazarus from the dead. He was moved by Mary’s grief and wept with her. I think we often shy away from the grieving because we don’t want to feel such raw emotion and don’t like not knowing what to do or say. Be yourself and let yourself be moved by your friend’s grief – to weep with them, to listen to them, to serve them, to be Jesus to them.

Bill died April 23, 2007. As might be expected, he has been on my mind a bit lately. I’ll probably share more about him over the next week. He was a special person in my life — a gift even if I only had him for a short while.

Sorry if this is a bit more “article” sounding. I wrote it to submit for publication, but I thought I would share it with you as well.

I have known for a while that the time was coming, that soon a piece of my life would be no more or at least not in the same form. Even though the cover had been loose for a time, it was hard to see the cover completely torn away from this much used book.

With most things in the kitchen, I make do. I cobble things together, sometimes shooting an email to a friend to find out what is really meant by “browning” or “saute” or any other cooking type word. However, I do really well with baking. My specialty is chocolate chip cookies. Though I’ve given the recipe with explicit instructions to numerous people, aside from my sisters no one has ever managed to duplicate them. Someone with whom I reguarly share my cookies, recently bemoaned the fact that I had brought them. She is on a “plan” and cookies aren’t part of them.

The book in question is my mother’s old cookie cookbook. It has her name and the year, 1979, signed on the opening page. While there are hundreds of recipes in the book, it naturally falls open to the stained and dog eared page that announces “Best cookie of 1945″ and my blue sticky note doubling the recipe.

I am not a great collector of things. But when my mother died many years ago, I snagged her cookie book for my own. There is always a bit of nostalgia in using it.

The thing that makes it precious are the memories it evokes. My mother was hard to please and I often wondered if I was ever good enough. She rarely said, “I love you.” But the one way I knew her care was in the baking. When we were young she would tease that the cookie or brownie fairy had come while we were playing outside or at school. We would eat them warm, oozing with chocolate.

My sisters and I are far flung. They have married and have children of their own. There are in laws to see on holidays and no one wants to travel at Christmas — prefering that their children wake up to see Santa’s presents under their own tree.

I am graciously and warmly included at a friend’s. But at times the talk will turn to “remember when . . . .” At times like these it seems to me that when one goes home it is to where the memories are kept. Home is where the shared memories, the shared past, binds hearts together.

The last time I was involved in a tug of war was when I was a college student at camp. We did it in the sand by the bay. Everyone kept yelling, “Dig in! Dig in!” While this was probably good advice, it wasn’t all that helpful in sand unless you had a pretty good size trench. The whole time we were stepping on each other and falling down. I have no clue which team won but I do know I didn’t enjoy it at all. Later when I went to camp as a staff, I opted out of that event!

Today I talked to Julie about a conflict I’m in with someone. She made the observation that we appear to be in a bit of a tug of war. She had some great advice. She said, “If you want to end a tug of war, you can lay down your rope and walk toward the other person.” I struggled with that a bit after she said it. My emotional gut level reaction said that I should “dig in.” When I dig in, I don’t usually just do it with my feet. My trench has to be at least waist deep!

Julie is one of those people who can say things softly but still get the point across. Much of the time, I spoke about not feeling “safe.” SAFETY is HUGE for me. I think there is some element of that involved. But Julie just said, “I cannot tell if you aren’t feeling safe or if you have dug your heels in.”

Honestly, I think it was some of both. I’m still not feeling totally safe regarding the situation. But, tonight I sent an email in an attempt to “lay down my rope and walk toward the other person.” We’ll see what happens.

Even though it doesn’t feel totally safe, some of the angst about the situation dissipated in sending that email. Perhaps, it is simply because I am choosing not to tug back. Depending on the response I get, I may have to keep choosing to let that rope lie there rather than pick it up. Even if the other person tugs it a few more times, there shouldn’t be much harm (as long as I don’t grab it back) because tug of war by yourself is completely useless and I can’t imagine anyone keeping at it when no one is pulling back.

So, I’ve laid down the rope and now I have to wait and see about a meeting in a few days. Please pray for me to let that rope stay right there on the ground and be able to trust God for the sense of safety I need.

Are you in a tug of war? What do you think would happen if you stopped tugging?