Pausing Time

I am expecting the birth of my little girl sometime in the next few days, and am officially beginning maternity leave.  That means that this will be my last blog post for the next few months. I will return to seeing clients and blogging regularly in mid-August. 

I have no idea what the next few days, weeks, and months will look like.  I don’t know precisely when this little girl will choose to make her debut.  I have no idea what it will be like to be the mother of two young children or how our family will make the transition from a family of three to a family of four.  In my hands I currently hold a great deal of excitement and quite a bit of fear as well.  But there are a few things that I do know about the next days, weeks, and months.  I know that there will be some really hard moments.  I know there will be some tears of exhaustion and frustration.  I know that there will be some indescribably beautiful moments.  I know there will be some tears of joy and love and gratitude.  And, I know that these next weeks are going to absolutely fly by.  Before I know it, I will be sitting here again, writing a new blog from a new season of life.

I have no idea what the next weeks and months hold for you, but I can guess that many of the things that are true for the season that lies ahead of me are true for the season that lies ahead of you.  Most likely the next days, weeks, and months will hold hard moments and beautiful moments, feelings of sadness and fear and feelings of joy and gratitude.  And most likely, the next weeks are going to absolutely fly by.

Some good friends of our have observed that this is almost always true of summer.  The days start getting longer, the temperatures start getting warmer, and suddenly time speeds up.  It’s Memorial Day, and then before you know it, it’s the Fourth of July.  Then suddenly the kids are preparing to go back to school, the nights have a chill to them, and fall is on its way.  While I would like to hold my friends personally responsible for this phenomenon, since they first verbalized its existence to me, I have actually noticed that this is largely true for life.  It goes by so fast.  At times there are days that literally seem to last forever, and even weeks that drag by.  But the seasons and the years fly past.

And I don’t want to miss it.  I do not want to look back and ask myself where the time went.  I want to know exactly how I spent my days and weeks and months.  I want to know the story that I lived out.  I want to remember the characters and the plot twists and the details.  I want to remember the events the shaped my life, to hold tight and savor the beautiful moments, to appreciate the growth-producing effects of the hard and painful ones.

I don’t think that happens without effort.  Unless we are intentional, we will miss this life that we are living.  I am certainly still in the process of learning how to do this, and probably will be engaged in this process my whole life.  The first thing I have learned is the importance of intentionally.  We have to keep our eyes open and put effort into remembering.  We cannot allow ourselves the excuses of poor memories or busy days. 

I have found that keeping art around somehow helps me intentionally take note of life.  Reading, listening to music, and enjoying the artistic creations of others in some way opens my eyes to beauty and helps me hold to the moments.  Plus, that art can become a marker for those moments.  There is a pop song that my son is completely infatuated with.  Whenever he hears it he stops what he is doing, smiles, and dances like a crazy man.  I love it.  And whether or not I agree that the song is art, for the rest of my life, that song will conjure up beautiful images of a joyful toddler bouncing, spinning, and dancing around the room with total abandon.

I have noticed that whenever something significant happened in the Old Testament, the people would either give a new name to the place where it occurred or they would build an altar there.  When Jacob wrestled with God in Genesis 32, he named the place Peniel, which means “face of God,” because in that spot he saw God face to face (Gen. 32:30).  We may not rename rooms in our house or literally build stone altars, but we can create special markers.  We can write things down in family histories, baby books, or personal journals.  We can take pictures.   We can take videos.  We can buy gifts or mementos.  A wedding ring is not just a ring.  It is a marker of a wedding, a marriage, and all of the moments tied up into the relationship between husband and wife.  That small circle can point to all of those moments, big and small, that make a marriage.  We can create markers of special moments to help us remember and hold tight.

And finally, and perhaps most importantly, we can live our lives with witnesses.  When we share the details of our lives with other people, we invite them to join us in marking our lives.  Every time we tell a story we strengthen the power of its memory.  This is true for big moments and small ones.  When my son was just a few months old, I had the news on while we were getting ready for the day.  The Vice President was giving a speech, and I told him “That’s the Vice President.  His name is Joe Biden.”  I have no idea why, but he cracked up.  In fact, for several days, every time I said, “Joe Biden,” my very tiny son would laugh and laugh.  He was just beginning to laugh and that was one of the most precious sounds I have ever heard. I don’t ever want to forget the silly, random things that first made him laugh.  So I told my friends and family.  I am writing it here.  And each time I share that moment, there are more witnesses to this small but meaningful moment in my life and my son’s life.

I can only imagine what this next season holds for you.  I hope that it holds much laughter, joy, and beauty.  And, I hope that you are able to briefly pause time and grab hold of some small moments to keep and treasure.  I hope that when you look back at this season of life, you are able to remember the days, remember the story you lived, and remember what mattered.

In Comparison

I don’t garden.  At all.  Not flowers, not vegetables, not berries, not anything.  Every attempt I have made at gardening inevitably leads to the death of a living thing.  I have quite successfully kept a child and dog alive, so I’m not too worried, but still.  I don’t garden.

I don’t sing well.  No one will ever ask me to join a choir or help lead worship at church.  My two year old seems okay with my version of “Twinkle twinkle little star,” but beyond that most people seem to prefer I keep my singing to myself.  I do not sing well.

And this is just the beginning of the list.  I could write multiple entries about things that I don’t do or don’t do well.  Some of these things are things I could learn to do if I needed to, but I lack any kind of natural aptitude or curiosity for them.  I believe gardening falls under this category.  Other things I just lack the natural talent for.  I wholeheartedly believe that voice lessons could help me out some, but I would never, ever score a record contract.  I’m just not a good singer.

I’ve been thinking even more about our tendency to compare ourselves to others and how much pain and heartache it causes us.  Last week I wrote about how we compare ourselves to other’s ability to handle life’s obstacles and trials.  I think many of us also spend a great deal of time comparing our gifts and abilities to the talents and strengths of others.

There are amazingly gifted people out there.  There are people who can cook delicious gourmet meals on a nightly basis.  There are people who can do really complicated math in their heads.  There are people who can create beautiful works of art.  There are people who can learn to speak foreign languages with very little effort.  There are amazingly gifted people out there, and it is tempting to look at them and their gifts and wonder why we are so lacking.

It is so easy to compare ourselves to others and find ourselves lacking.  Maybe you do this on a big scale, looking at star athletes, Grammy-winning singers, or successful politicians, and wondering what in the world you are doing with your life.  Or maybe you compare on a smaller scale, looking at the other moms in your neighborhood and wondering why your spaghetti sauce comes out of a can and you can’t do such cute crafts.

I believe that by giving into the temptation to compare, we lose.  And not only do we as individuals lose something, but our friends, families, and communities lose as well.  Because the truth is that we all have gifts.  Some of them are shiny and sparkly and obvious, like having a beautiful singing voice.  Other gifts are quieter and more subtle, like the ability to patiently and creatively engage a 2 year old for hours on end.  But both gifts are needed in our world, and if we compare our gifts and diminish their worth, we may hold back that gift.  And then everyone will lose.

We all have unique gifts that we were given.  We all have priorities that we choose to live by.  We all have struggles and obstacles that we have to overcome.  Somewhere these gifts, priorities, and struggles intersect and that is where we live out our days.  This intersection will change with the various seasons of life.  We can never fully know someone else’s gifts, priorities, struggles, and life season, so comparing is a useless, harmful game.  Giving in to the temptation to compare can lead us to withdraw the gifts that we have been given and diminish the worth of what we have to offer.

It’s not easy to stop comparing.  One way to begin this process is to think about what you do have to offer.  My friend Katie can make absolutely amazing chocolate chip cookies.  We are talking really, really unbelievably good cookies.  In one season of her life, she very effectively used this gift to bless, encourage, and cheer up many people.  Katie also has a beautiful singing voice, the ability to captivate the hearts and minds of the students she teaches, and numerous other gifts.  But how much would the world have missed if she hadn’t baked all those cookies?  One way to stop comparing is to think about what you do have to offer the world, and boldly and confidently step forward.  You may quickly find that you are so busy delighting in this work that you are not distracted by comparisons.

On the flip side, there is also a great deal of freedom acknowledging what you don’t do, or don’t do well.  Hence, my public announcement that I don’t garden or sing.  Perhaps in some season of life something will change.  Maybe I’ll decide I want to learn how to garden.  But, for now, there is great freedom in knowing who I am and who I am not, accepting it, and moving forward without comparison.

The Rest of the Story

I am 9 months pregnant with my second child, and it seems time to make a public confession.  I find pregnancy very difficult.  Through two pregnancies I have been very sick for the first 18-20 weeks, throwing up multiple times a day, every day.  The last trimesters involve physical discomfort, back pain, swelling, rashes, and other unpleasantries.  That leaves me about 8 weeks in the middle where I feel pretty good.  It seems like some great treason to admit this, like I am somehow betraying motherhood and my unborn child by this confession.

The truth is that I fiercely love my unborn daughter.  I love feeling her move and I cannot wait to meet her.  I had every reason to believe this pregnancy would be as uncomfortable as the first, and seeing the two pink lines on the pregnancy test was still one of the greatest moments of my life.  It is worth it, and I am tremendously blessed to carry this new life into the world.  And still, pregnancy is difficult for me.  It seems every other pregnant woman I see bops along happily and radiantly, somehow appearing more healthy and alive than ever.  Other pregnant women look so cute and make it seem effortless, but to my body it feels like a tremendous amount of work.  And it seems that seeing those other women manage maternity with so much grace only adds to my misery.

But not long ago a wise friend pointed out that most people probably don’t know that I am feeling miserable.  To others, it may appear that pregnancy is effortless and easy for me too.  Most do not know the rest of my story, just like I don’t know the rest of their story.  We only see glimpses of each other’s lives, and we do not know what happens in the quiet, private moments.

Many of us are constantly comparing ourselves to others.  We imagine that other people manage to keep their homes spotless at all times, respond patiently to their children, and handle stressful meetings with great calm and wisdom.  We see families at church, all clean and smiling, and we assume that this is how they live all of their lives.  We talk to friends and hear about their days, but do not hear about the fears and doubts that we ourselves are plagued with.  So we assume that it is just us, that everyone else has it all together and there is something fundamentally wrong with us.

But this is simply not true.  In my job I have the honor of hearing people’s stories, and not just the clean and smiling parts.  I hear about the fears, the struggles, the dark days, the hard times.  I hear what is behind the public presentation, and I know that the truth is that everyone struggles with something.  Everyone has areas of weakness and pain.  Everyone has hard seasons.  Everyone.

The problem is that we forget this, and because we think it’s just us, our pride keeps us locked inside ourselves.  We do not want to share our struggle because we think we’re the only one who is struggling.  Our suffering is compounded because we feel alone in it, alone with our pain, our fear, our insecurity.  Part of feeling alone is feeling like we “should” be able to manage.  If everyone else can handle the stress of life, I should be able to handle the stress of life.  And because I am not managing easily, there must be something wrong with me.  Instantly we have added a deep sense of shame to whatever struggle we are facing.

Please remember that you are not the only one.  We all struggle.  We all have weaknesses.  You, me, and every single person you ever encounter.  Being human means having limitations.  Life can be very, very hard.  And somehow, this brokenness and these limitations can draw us together in a powerful way.  It can be through our struggles and through our hard times that relationships are strengthened and deepened.  And, even more significantly, it can be through our struggles and hard times that we learn to turn to the Healer of All Wounds, the One who strengthens the weak and gives hope to the brokenhearted.

Not long ago I was with a group of women, and one friend shared a struggle that she felt very deeply and intensely.  One by one each person in the group admitted they too shared a similar struggle, that they had either been there or were there presently.  It was a powerful moment, as we let the curtains be pulled back and shared hidden parts of our stories with one another.  We looked to the Lord together. We encouraged one another and reminded each other that we are not alone.  And, we found comfort and grace by reminding each other of the rest of the story.

Work, Play, Rest

I went a little bit crazy while studying for my graduate school comprehensive exams.  I ate, slept, and breathed that material.  I turned into an obsessive studying machine.  One evening my husband convinced me to take a break and go out to dinner and a movie.  We were sitting in the theater watching the previews and he leaned over and whispered fiercely, “you are studying right now in your mind, aren’t you?”  And he was right, I was going through material in my head.  I had totally lost it.

We all need work, play, and rest.  If we spend all of our time and energy engaging any one of these activities, our overall well-being will suffer.  If we neglect any one of these activities, our well-being will suffer.  We don’t necessarily need an equal balance of each, and what we need shifts with the seasons of our lives.  However, at any given time, work, rest, and play must all be present in adequate quantities.

My definition of work is very broad- anything creative or productive, any investment of self into a project or job that requires exertion or labor.  For the artist, anything that aids in the creative process can be work.  For the stay-at-home parent, diaper changes, bottle feedings, and story time are work.  Planting a garden, vacuuming the carpet, and writing a blog are all work.  So is going to work every day and fulfilling your job description, whatever that may be.

When I was studying for comps, my life was all about work.  There was very little time for rest in any form, and virtually no time for play.  When people live like this, they stop feeling human.  They become machines, moving from one task to another without seeing the people or relationships in their lives and without enjoying the beauty in the world around them.  Inevitably, they become stressed, cranky, and generally unpleasant to be around.  When I get into this zone, I don’t even enjoy being around myself.

On the other extreme is people whose life does not include enough work.  I believe that we were created in the image of a God who is active, who creates, who moves.  We reflect this image when we work, and if do not invest ourselves and our resources in something, we start to feel off.  We feel listless and lazy, useless and irrelevant.

The next essential element is play.  I have found myself asking quite a few adults lately what they like to do in their free time.  Many have a very hard time coming up with an answer.  As adults, many of us lose our ability to play.  We spend our time working, then collapse on the couch with the TV until it’s time for bed.  I am not anti-TV, and I do think that watching a show that you enjoy can count as play.  But that can’t be your only type of play.  What are (or were) your hobbies?  What amuses you and brings you joy?  What excites you and makes you laugh?  Is vacation the only time that you play?  That seems like an unfortunate way to live.

The lack of play seems more prevalent than the over-abundance of play, but both exist.  People who play all the time, at the exclusion of work and rest, quickly become self-centered and can easily fall into addictive traps.  Think of the teenager spending all day and all night in his room playing video games, or the compulsive gambler.  We need play, but we need more than play.

And finally, we need rest.  We need to sleep, we need to recharge physically and emotionally.  We need to nourish our bodies by stopping and eating real food.  Our hearts and our minds need silence sometimes, time to be still and quiet.  Rest seems to be the first thing to go in our busyness-obsessed culture.  The first thing we cut out is quiet time of reflection and the second is sleep.  We are a sleep-deprived culture and a rest-deprived nation.

Some of the best parts of life come when the lines between work, play, and rest are blurred.  We are in our element when we find work that we enjoy and find rejuvenating.  We feel alive when we work hard, play hard, and fall into bed ready to rest.  We are happiest and most energized when all three elements are present in our lives.  When one of these elements dominates our lives, we begin to feel off, restless, and unsatisfied.  We need all three.

I challenge you to take a few restful and reflective minutes to think about work, play, and rest in your life.  Are all three present?  Are they present in a quality and quantity that you feel satisfied with?  If not, it may be a good time to make some changes.

Get Messy

I had no idea how messy children were until I had my own.  Cognitively I understood that babies and toddlers were not neat and clean little creatures, but the experience is so much more than I had imagined.  It’s stickier and gooey-er and wetter and dirtier and overall more tactilely disturbing than I ever could’ve dreamed. 

But as messy as children (especially toddlers) are, the truth is that they are no match for the messiness of relationships.  Relationships and love and commitment are incredibly messy, unpredictable, and complicated.  I have heard many people say that they wish relationships were not so hard, they wish marriage were easier, or they wish that having and maintaining deep friendships did not take so much work.  And truly, it would be nice.  But, it doesn’t seem to happen.  Almost anytime you care for and invest in another person, at some point there is hurt involved.

It makes sense, doesn’t it?  Each of us comes into relationships with our own history, our own expectations, our own personality and communication style.  This history, expectations, and personality meets a totally different history, expectations, and personality.  Together, we build a relationship that over time creates its own history, houses unique relational expectations, and has its own patterns and personality.  That’s a lot of factors, a lot of complexity, and a lot of opportunities for misunderstanding, selfishness, cruelty, and pain.

I know this.  I believe that this is true, and I have witnessed the pain that relationships can cause.  The shattering impact of betrayal, the empty brokenness of abandonment, and the unrelenting ache caused by repeated thoughtlessness.  Humans seem almost endlessly creative in the ways that we hurt one another.  And yet, I choose to daily engage and go deeper into the relationships in my life.  I encourage people to seek community and connectedness, to push closer into their relationships with one another.  Why?  Why risk the hurt and complication that seem almost inevitable?

Because I believe it’s the only way to really live.  We can pass through life alone, but it won’t be any kind of life.  We were not created for isolation.  We were not meant to live life protected in a solitary bubble.  We need each other, desperately.   I believe that relationships are the primary tool that God uses to shape, grow, and heal us.  Our desire and need for connectedness is a direct reflection of the image of God.  God is in constant, deep relationship with Himself through the Trinity, as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  We reflect the deeply relational nature of God when we pursue true relationship with one another.

This pull toward relationships is so deeply a part of our nature that we will suffer deeply if we deny it.  If we refuse to risk, refuse to engage, refuse to take part in real relationships, we will be destroyed.  C.S. Lewis wrote, ““To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.”

Refuse relationships with others, and you will refuse relationship with God.  Refuse relationships with others, and you may protect yourself from one kind of pain only to dive into another kind of misery.  You will also miss out on all the joy, all the beauty, and all the pleasure that relationships bring.  For just as surely as there will be hurt, real relationships bring joy, support, healing, and encouragement.   And it is worth it.

In some ways, it would be nice if children came without all the mess.  A part of me longs for a life with  fewer dirty diapers, spit- up stains, and drool.  And that’s okay.  It’s not unlike wishing relationships could always be pain-free and easy.  But neither wish is a reality, and I believe that if they were, we would miss out on some wonderful, quintessential aspects of both children and relationships.  As ridiculous as it sounds, there is something almost sacred about a drool drenched baby kiss.  When a sticky little hand reaches up for mine, there is something in that moment that is so beautiful it takes my breath away.  There is beauty in the mess.  And, I have seen beautiful things grow from very painful parts of relationships. 

And so, we risk.  We risk the pain, hurt, and heartache than can come, because we believe in the joy and beauty of relationships.  We believe we were made for this, for each other.  We were not meant to be alone.

The Middle

A few months ago I did something I almost never do.  I stopped reading a book in the middle.  It was a good book, one that I hope to get back to soon.  But, I set the book aside because I had a significant amount of reading to do for work and that felt more important than my novel.  Then someone lent me some books, which I wanted to read and return, and now 4 months have passed and the book is still laying unfinished by the side of my bed.

I was thinking about the book the other day in the car, and wanting to know how the story ends.  I found myself thinking of the characters, stuck there, hanging in limbo in my mind.  As far as I know, none of their stories ever resolve, they just stay there in the middle, problems and drama all set out with no resolution in sight.

I hate the middle.  The middle seat is always the worst seat in the car.  My sister claims it’s the hardest being the middle child.  I guess the middle part of an Oreo is pretty good, but you can always counter that bright spot by remembering apple cores and peach pits.  The middle is usually not that great. 

And the middle of problems can be the worst.  You can feel like those characters in my unfinished book, just hanging there, stuck in a never-ending trial.  Or maybe things are moving, but it seems like they are just getting worse and worse.   The middle of a rough season comes before you can see the light at the end of the tunnel, when all you can see is dark.  The happy glow from easier times has faded and there seems to be no hope ahead.  The middle is a very, very hard place to be.

When we are in the middle, we need a little perspective and a little hope.  We need to remember that we are in the middle, that this trial and this season will not last forever.  What we are experiencing now is just a chapter in our story, not the end.  There are times when searching for perspective can lead us a few hours, days, or weeks down the road.  I can remember times in my overdramatic adolescence when my mom would ask me if I would remember this particular disappointment, irritant, or struggle in a few days, weeks, months, or years.  At that stage in life I kind of enjoyed being melodramatic, so I found the question rather irritating.  However, I think that it’s a good indicator of my mother’s wisdom that I can clearly remember her question but not the problems that prompted it.

Yet there are many, many times when this kind of perspective-taking doesn’t help.  Our problems and pain and struggles are things we will definitely remember years down the road.  At these times we need to remember that though the pain and heartache may still matter months and years down the road, we do not yet know the meaning that they will hold for us, or what beauty may grow from them.  We have not yet experienced the work of time, as the passage of days and weeks smooths down the sharpness and intensity of pain.  We may need to mourn, and the mourning may last for awhile.  At these times, our perspective taking is mostly about realizing that we are not alone in the middle.  We can cling to the promise that the One who holds the beginning, middle, and end, holds us too (Colossians 1:17).  We can cling to the promise that He will never leave us or forsake us (Hebrews 13:5).  We are not alone in the middle.

My grandfather is a very wise man, and is one of the most gifted preachers I’ve ever heard from the pulpit.  I can clearly remember a portion of a sermon where he spoke about Psalm 115:150, “Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path.”  He reminded us that when we are walking down a dark path and holding up a lamp, the light usually only shows us our next step.  We take that step, and the light shines on the next step, and then the next.  Our whole path is not usually illuminated by a single lamp or flashlight.  We keep moving forward in faith, trusting the light that shines on each step we take.  When we are in the middle and cannot see the path in front of us, we can trust that He will guide and direct us with every step. 

Help!

The other day we were driving in the car and the Beatles song “Help!” came on.

                Help me if you can I’m feeling down,

                And I do appreciate you being round.

                Help me get my feet back on the ground,

                Won’t you please, please help me.

As I listened, I found myself wishing that people (myself included) would be that direct in asking for help.  It seems that somewhere around age two we develop the notion that “I can do it by myself,” and many of us never quite grow past that conviction. 

In fact, in some ways asking for help is counter-cultural.  We live in a society that prizes and values those who are strong and independent.  We admire those who seem to do it all and we harshly judge those who seem to lean too heavily on others.

But I believe that the ability to ask for and receive help is a crucial life skill, right up there with knowing how to genuinely apologize and looking both ways before you cross the street.  Actually, I think that the ability to ask for help is a lot like looking both ways before you cross the street.  It’s a skill that can keep you from getting smashed to smithereens. 

Life can be hard and painful and difficult.  Sometimes it’s huge obstacles and significant tragedies and sometimes it’s just the steady stream of daily hassles, but either way life can wear us down.  We are human beings with amazing gifts and capabilities, and we are also limited creatures with limited resources.  We were not made to weather the hard, painful, difficult parts of life alone.  We were made for community and connectedness, to be supported and encouraged by one another and to offer our support and encouragement to others.  Perhaps you could make it across that busy intersection without looking both ways, but you’d probably get to the other side stressed, anxious, and quite possibly a bit scraped and bruised.  Perhaps you could make it through this rough season without asking for or accepting the support of others, but you will probably get to the other side worn out and worn down, and quite possibly worse for the wear.

I imagine that some of you may be reading this and nodding your head in agreement.  Yes, it is important that people ask for help.  You may even be thinking of specific ways that you can help a friend you know is going through a rough season.  That’s wonderful.  Now, take it a step further.  How are you at asking for help?  How are you at calling a friend and asking for emotional or physical help during a difficult season?  Could you call a friend and just to talk and cry and seek support?  Could you ask someone to help babysit, pack boxes before a move, or provide a meal after a surgery?  Many of us find it very difficult to accept these offers, let alone ask.

Others may be reading this and shaking their heads in disagreement.  You may pride yourself on your self-sufficiency and independence.  The idea of asking someone for help when you know you can get through this alone seems ridiculous.  I challenge you to think about why the idea feels so absurd.  Is it pride?  Are you trying to do it all on your own because you don’t think you need anybody?  Is it fear?  Are you afraid that you will ask for help and no one will come through?  Are you afraid that people will see you as weak or needy?  Play your own devil’s advocate.  What would you say if someone presented you with these arguments? 

The truth is that we need help in order to live happy and healthy lives.  We certainly need help from God, each and every day.  And, we need help from each other.  I have found that the way that we view asking for and receiving help from other people tells us a lot about the way that we view asking for and receiving help from God.  And that is a really big deal.

We all need help and we all need support.  Let’s practice being as brave and bold as the song and reaching out when we are in need.