Category: Resilience

Mi Hija…

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There’s a lovely phrase, in Spanish or in any language, “Mi hija…my daughter.” I’ve always loved how Spanish-speakers pronounce it as though it were one word instead of a phrase, like two notes to the same beautiful song. Now it is mine! I am a mama to THE most amazing and beautiful baby girl (not that I’m biased). Almost three months old now, I fell in love the moment I knew she had arrived in the womb. But this is nothing compared to the love I felt meeting her for the first time, or have felt every day since. It’s as though I have always known her, and yet, how wonderful it is to get to know her still more and more each day. 

This all has me thinking a lot about the kind of woman and mom I want to be. Recent months have provided ample opportunity to refine my character and expose its weaknesses, yet it feels like real growth for me to be able to say there are some things I like about myself. As an older first time mom, I’m confident in who I am and what I want out of life. And even if I can’t always achieve or obtain those ultimate goals, I know how to sit with that too. I know to delight in the preciousness of this time despite its challenges, to treasure each and every single moment. Even in the difficult ones, the words of an old country song by Trace Adkins often come to mind, “You’re gonna miss this.”

But I’ve also realized how difficult it can be for me to be present, how easily focused I can become on looming to-do lists, how inclined I am to look at the glass as half-empty, and how rapidly I become irritated. I’ve become more aware of how prone to anxiety and compulsiveness I am and of how much I STILL need to grow. Above all, I see how self-critical and perfectionistic I am. 

I want my daughter to know me as hopeful and humble and kind, a woman at peace and at rest each day. I hope she’ll witness strength intertwined with gentleness, wisdom with wit, patience with perseverance. May she learn from a mama who works hard but who also knows how to quit…one who can play and laugh and dance, especially with her. May my daughter see someone who can forgive herself and who has a growth mindset. As she watches me with others, may she witness integrity, joy, and a generous spirit, someone who listens well and truly gives love and presence.  Of all this I fall far short, a reminder that a profound sense of failure is one of the emotions I did not expect to arrive so quickly in this journey of motherhood.

It’s easy to get ahead of myself…to become so full of ambition for what I want to be that I lose sight of and gratitude for what IS. But that’s just what a dear friend encouraged me towards recently, to be “…a lover of what is.” She encouraged me to take God at His word that I have all that I need…to INHABIT my fullness and completeness. I think I’ll be sitting with all of that for quite some time to come.

When I think of the women I admire most, real women who have blessed me with the opportunity to be a part of their stories, they’re not perfect either. They are humble and patient with themselves as they journey. How grateful I am to have wonderful examples in my friends, most of whom have shown me generosity and kindness beyond measure in this season. And above all, I have an amazing example and a constant companion in God, whose strength and grace I am dependent upon each and every step of the way. 


Once again, although I know what I want, I’m not always sure of how to get it, which brings to mind the words of the great Wendell Berry, my favorite author: “What we must do is this: ‘Love always, pray  continually, in everything, give thanks.’ I’m not always capable of it, but I know those are the right instructions.”

“In Over My Head…”

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In the old Sandra Bullock movie WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING, the protagonist Lucy begins her narration by stating that her dad had told her as a child that life doesn’t always turn out the way you think it will. She wishes she had realized at the time he was referring to her life. Isn’t that the truth? We all hear similar counsel when we’re young, yet somehow believe our lives will be the exception to the rule. This reminds me of what an old gypsy proverb tells us, “We are ALL wanderers on this earth. Our hearts are full of laughter and our souls are deep with dreams.”

When life takes unpredictable turns or we choose the road less traveled and find that our path has led us in unexpected, even painful directions, disillusionment, even despair, can follow. What can we do with these overwhelming emotions except to look outside of ourselves for answers and peace? 

The only comfort I have found is in God. Though He didn’t promise an easy or predictable path, He did promise an abundant life full of His constant companionship and the strength He provides. Though my emotions and circumstances are constantly in flux, He never changes or wavers. There have been many times it’s been difficult to trust His hand, but He keeps drawing me in, assuring me of His heart and His tender care. Jenn Johnson of Bethel Music sings a song called “In Over My Head (Crash Over Me)” describing a similar journey of faith:

“And you crash over me, and

I’ve lost control but I’m free.

I’m going over, I’m in over my head.” 

These lyrics bring to my mind images and memories of swimming in the Caribbean ocean at high tide. As I head towards the surf and the tide crashes in, I’ll be lost and swept away if I try to fight. The more I’m willing to go with the tide and dive into its depths, however, surrendering to something stronger than myself, the better chance I have of getting to the other side. And on the other side, a view like none other awaits…a multi-colored horizon, a clean slate, a new beginning.

In “I Could Sing of Your Love Forever,” the band Delirious? sings,

“Over the mountains and the sea,

Your river runs with love for me,

And I will open up my heart and let the Healer set me free.

I could sing of your love forever….”

The sea is His love. Up to now, I’ve done little more than dip my toes in its water or wade in ankle deep. Today, I wade in and surrender. I release my expectations of what life is or will be and cling to His strong arms. May His goodness lead me in over my head and to the other side.

“If I Could Just Sit With You Awhile…”

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Despite my best intentions to be present and stay balanced, the hustle and bustle of life inevitably draws me in. Just a few extra commitments or stressors within the week can overwhelm. Instead of operating from a place of calm or sitting with the anxiety in a productive way that would move me forward, I often revert to striving and dwelling in a state of near panic.

Part of this is a natural introversion. When exhausted and overwhelmed, it’s only through quiet alone time that I recharge and recenter. But feeling groundless also means that I have lost the deep connection with my Saviour that nourishes and sustains me day by day. In busy times, I’m often still sitting down to be with God in devotions, albeit for less time, but struggle to free my mind and heart from all that weigh on them. The to-do list presses in on the time my soul most needs. 

Songwriter and singer Dennis Jernigan has an older song called, “If I Could Just Sit with You Awhile.” In it, he discusses the merits of getting quiet with Jesus when life’s demands and concerns press in. Though reading the Word and praying are normally the ways I do this, with a crowded mind, just getting still and turning up the worship music works best. Sometimes, I picture crawling up in the lap of my Good Father and being welcomed into His arms. If I meditate on this, all else fades. As Dennis Jernigan sings, 

“If I could just sit with you awhile,

If You could just hold me.

Nothing could touch me,

Though I’m wounded, though I die.”

Oddly enough, when I’m craving life, death is often what’s needed. To return to a state of peace, I must die to the pride I take in completing things well or keeping up or even reaching out to others. I cannot pour out until I allow the Holy Spirit to pour into me. Once I’m filled by Him and resting in His presence, just as the song says, nothing can touch me. The act of surrender returns me to equilibrium.


In her book CAPTIVATING, Stasi Eldridge explains that most women struggle with the simultaneous yet competing ideas that they are both not enough and too much. This resonates with me. But would I struggle if I didn’t buy into the lies that I should attain perfection in so many different areas of life? Instead, I must surrender the ideal and accept and embrace what IS. I must forgive myself for falling short and give thanks to the One who lived and died in perfection for me. Then, my weary soul can breathe easy, for it isn’t all up to me. I will focus on loving God and allowing Him to use me to love others, but trust it is ultimately His work. After all, as the Apostle Paul says, I am only a jar of clay.

“Walk Down This Mountain…”

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Though I walk each day on a flat country road, I live in a land of mountains and valleys. They parallel life for me—a life that is a journey, but one that feels like a roller coaster more often than not.

I make the arduous climb to the top of various mountain peaks, some of them relationship or personal struggles, others life or professional goals, and others various lessons or faith journeys. The reward is often a breathtaking vista and the wind in my hair—exuberant joy and renewed passion, even if only for a few moments in time.  These summit moments might be among my favorite memories, but mountain peaks are cold, dangerous, and lonely places to dwell. It’s hard to stay there. Eventually, I must descend.

I walk down mountains, knowing that my journey will end with a return to valleys. Often, my heart and mind and body feel weary and dread the new low valley experiences, the new climb that will need to be made before I can summit again. 

Third Day, one of my favorite bands, has a song called “Mountain of God.” In it, author and lead singer Mac Powell says, “I thought that I was all alone, helpless and afraid, but You are there with me—You are there with me.” In the chorus, he continues,

“Even though the journey’s long, and I know the road is hard,

Well the One who goes before me, He will help me carry on.

After all that I’ve been through, now I realize the truth,

That I must go through the valley to stand upon the mountain of God.”

As the song implies, the valley experiences are necessary to prepare us for climbing and summiting mountains. In the valley, it’s easy to feel we are alone. By the time we reach the mountaintop, having made our way through the clouds, we know we have been accompanied all along. Despite difficulty, we were never abandoned. Through the journey, we learned, grew stronger, realized the depth of our hunger for relationship and growth, and eventually, we were rewarded. The panoramic view that filled our senese at the peak also gave us the companionship and understanding we longed for and a vision for the future. Even more, it filled us with confidence that we are in fact, strong enough to be equal to such journeys. What we’ve done before, we can do again. God has been faithful before and He will be again.

So there’s no need to fear the next valley or climb. We must bolster our own hearts, as Julian of Norwich did when she said, “All is well…and all manner of things shall be well.” As Bebo Norman sings, we can…

“Walk down this mountain with your heart held high. 

Follow in the footsteps of your Maker. 

And with this love that’s gone before you and these people at your side, 

You offer up your broken cup. 

You will find the meaning of true life.”

This Moment…

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This moment, I’m struggling to be here now. My thoughts, as usual, are running quickly ahead of me, attempting to rush me on to the next place and the next phase, all without allowing me to slow down and arrive in the place that I’m in. So slow down, beloved. It’s up to you to choose.

As Thoreau said, “Live in each season as it passes.” I slow, remembering that haste makes waste, attempting to be mindful of simple pleasures—washing my hands w/ sweet smelling soap and hot water, a pleasure around seventy percent of the world doesn’t have. I take in the beautiful fall colors as I walk—stunning hues of browns, golds, and reds in the tundra and trees. I breathe in the cool fall air and autumn scents. I thank God for the breath and life he gives, for legs that move and walk and a body that allows me to get out of bed and outdoors each day.

This moment…this moment…is a gift. Each holds possibilities of wonder and joy, or perhaps sorrow or grief. As most often happens, each will hold a mix of things. I have no control over what the next moment may hold, but I do have the power to accept and embrace it—to allow myself to experience it, come what may. If I don’t allow fear to rule me regarding the many difficulties that may come, I may find I am more equal to greeting them. I may encounter a greater capacity for celebrating and enjoying the good ones—abandoned to joy instead of holding some space for anxiety of the future or regret for the past. The ability to be present will fill me, recharge me, strengthen me.

There is so much my mind, heart, and body are holding at any given moment, especially at this season of life—family, finances, relationships, work, and a pandemic world struggling with conflict. Balance feels elusive. If I look around at others, it’s easy to feel they have it mastered, but most people freely admit they struggle too. What would it feel like to let go…to release the burden of trying to measure up and figure it all out? This is the ideal, yet something I’m not sure I know how to do. “God, give me the strength to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference” (Serenity Prayer).
Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called  the present.” May I live this day with the knowledge and acceptance of the gift of every moment. And moment by moment, may I live this day. As the wonderful Celtic poet John O’Donohue said, “May I live this day/Compassionate of heart/Clear in word/Gracious in awareness/Generous in love.”

“Just As I Am…”

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Mistakes and failure seem to be a part of venturing bravely and wholeheartedly into this great big world, or just staying at home. I can’t say I’m thrilled about it. Over and over again, I come to the feet of God, the plea of Charlotte Elliott’s old hymn on my lips:

 

“Just as I am, without one plea,

But that Thy blood was shed for me.

And that Thou bidst me come to Thee.

O Lamb of God, I come. I come.”

 

As many times as I think I’ve accepted the fact that I’m going to make a million mistakes in this human adventure, the ugliness of failure hits me anew each time like running into a brick wall. Like author Anne Lamott, I must tape Hillel’s line on my wall, “I get up. I walk. I fall down. Meanwhile, I keep dancing.”

 

Nelson Mandela said, “The greatest glory in living lies not in never failing…but in rising every time we fall.” And I have this blessed hope. As I pick myself up and dust myself off, my loving Father greets me with His arms wide open. He looks at me tenderly, telling me without words that all is well, and all manner of things shall be well. He whispers that He has loved me with an everlasting love (Jeremiah 33:3) and I am completely right with Him through the blood of His Son (II Corinthians 5:21).

 

I walked yesterday, a few things troubling my spirit, the weather windy as a storm rolled in. As I rounded the corner to my house, a warm sunset greeted me. Pastel purples, pinks, and yellows stretched thin across the western sky. Just then, a small wren landed on top of my wind chimes and sat there bouncing joyfully in the wind. As he began his song, accompanied by both the stormy breeze and the chimes, silhouetted by the mellow evening sky, part of a favorite song came to me: “I sing because I’m happy, and I sing because I’m free. His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.”

 

That night I read a portion of Bill Holm’s poem Ann Lamott quoted in her book BIRD BY BIRD called “August in Waterton, Alberta,” and it connected these musings on failure and songs in storm:

 

“Above me, wind does its best

To blow leaves off

The aspen tree a month too soon.

No use wind. All you succeed

In doing is making music, the noise

Of failure growing beautiful.”

 

Though perhaps my time for success in certain realms has not yet come, if it ever shall, and the wind may blow all the while, my roots grow deep and my colors turn bright and beautiful. “Meanwhile, I keep dancing” (Hillel).

Embracing Uncertainty…

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Kenko said, “The most precious thing in life is uncertainty.” That’s not quite how I would have phrased it. I might have said the greatest certainty of life is uncertainty or that it is the most difficult thing to accept, but the most precious thing? Really? That certainly puts things in a new light and gives me much to ponder.

 

A dear friend who lost her mother last week and her father just a few years before told me that the more she lives the more she realizes how much we have to cherish each day, for our lives can change in an instant. She’s also battled cancer and knows this all too well. On a national level, we see this in a country suddenly inflamed with acts of racial hatred and violence the likes of which we haven’t seen in over fifty years. Another beloved friend received devastating news about her husband’s health a few days ago. My heart breaks for them and I know that God weeps with me. What a paradox that the God who sits on the throne with all things under His feet allows these hard things yet comes to sit on the floor with us and help us (Leeana Tankersley). 

 

Events such as these remind us that control is an illusion. There are few things in life that we truly have authority over–our attempts at striving to control have limited if not damaging results. Author Leeana Tankersley writes, “Urgently fixing is not acting out of wholeness, it’s acting out of brokenness…. Working hard and working out of a place of anxiety are not the same thing…. If you can’t breathe, stop. Never move or act out of that place. Wait until you can breathe.”

 

One of the most life-changing lessons I have received is from author Brené Brown in The Power of Vulnerability where she offers ten guideposts for wholehearted living:

 

  1. Cultivating authenticity and letting go of what people think;
  2. Cultivating self-compassion and letting go of perfectionism;
  3. Cultivating a resilient spirit and letting go of numbing and powerlessness;
  4. Cultivating gratitude and joy and letting go of scarcity and fear of the dark;
  5. Cultivating creativity and letting go of comparison;
  6. Cultivating play and rest and letting go of exhaustion as a status symbol;
  7. Cultivating calm and stillness and letting go of anxiety as a lifestyle;
  8. Cultivating intuition and trusting faith and letting go of the need for certainty;
  9. Cultivating meaningful work and letting go of self-doubt and “supposed to”;
  10. Cultivating laughter, song, and dance and letting go of being “cool” and always in control.

I notice that to cultivate each of these wonderful and admirable qualities requires letting something else go. In order to inhale love and light, we must exhale all that would lead us toward darkness. As Leeana writes, “We let go with a long, forceful exhale so we can get what our soul really needs on the inhale: space, love, broad grace, therapy…. And watch [Him] be God. Watch [Him] set a table of glory. You show up and let [Him] show off…. All other ground is sinking sand.”

“Invincible Summer in the Midst of Winter…”

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Okay, so it’s late April and  officially spring, but in southwestern Colorado, it can be hard to tell in the month of April. Admittedly, we’re officially spoiled here–our state sees the sun shine an average of 360 days per year. This month, a couple hours a day is often all we get. The wind, cold, icy rain, and occasional snow give it the unmistakable feel of ongoing winter. With a global pandemic and the isolation of sheltering in place, it’s easy to let the doldrums of the season overcome. 

And yet, the red-winged blackbirds who arrived over a month ago sing their spring song and balance on the thinnest of branches regardless of the storms. They remind me of the thoughts of great thinkers of long ago. Albert Camus wrote, “In the midst of winter, I finally discovered that deep within me lies an invincible summer.” Transcendentalist Henry David Thoreau encouraged, “Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influence of each.” What lovely reminders that wherever we’re at, there are pleasures and beauty to be found and enjoyed, moment by moment. Summer can always be cultivated within us.

In my own winter mentality moments, I continue to grieve for the loss of a career I loved due to poor health. Although it’s been a couple of years since I quit teaching full-time, I struggle to find my place in the professional world. For the second year in a row, I applied for a job I hoped might be the solution and didn’t get it. As I lamented to a friend the difficulty of no longer being valued or known in this professional realm, she reminded me of the TRUTH. I am absolutely valued and known, seen and heard. My God has not forgotten me and will walk with me through this season. Psalm 18:19 assures me He brings me out into a place of abundance because He delights in me.

 
In Lamentations, the prophet Jeremiah, writing in a time of great personal and societal suffering, said, “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness” (Lam. 3:22-23, NIV). Brother Lawrence, a saint of old, saw all men like trees in winter, stripped of color, leaf, and anything of value–yet loved unconditionally. Though I am a humble tree in winter, struggling toward warmth and light, I will “…live this season as it passes…” knowing “…within me lies an invincible summer.”

“Your Love Awakens Me…”

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I’ve noticed that when I can’t be still, when my OCD tendencies kick in and I’m operating on overdrive when I’m spinning in circles in a wild attempt to fix everything, that I need to stop and pay attention. Something is going on under the surface. Instead of numbing through activity and efforts to keep things under the illusion of control, I must be willing to sit with the discomfort. And this…this is hard.

 

As author, researcher, and speaker Brené Brown says, we all have ways of numbing. For some, they come in the more blatant form of substance addiction. For most of us, it’s subtler. We escape the pain of conflict, life, or difficult seasons or relationships with Facebook, food, television, or shopping…even cleaning. Not that any of these things are bad. They are all necessary and good in moderation. But the question is…are they bringing us pleasure and rest, or are they deadening our senses so that we feel we can cope?

 

Although I often retreat to unhealthy spots, God continually calls me out of these places, reminding me, “Come out of hiding, you’re safe here with me…You’ve been on lockdown and I hold the key…..(Steffany Gretzinger & Amanda Cook, Bethel Worship)” He is perpetually opening my eyes to the world around me, helping me learn that it’s connection, not escape, which helps me survive. Brené Brown also states that letting go of numbing and powerlessness is one of the ways we cultivate a resilient spirit and embrace wholehearted living.

 

This reminds me of what the great poet Rumi said, “Your task is not to seek for love, but to see and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.” It also brings to mind a recent worship song, by Phil Wickham, but also sung by McKenna Sabin, “Your Love Awakens Me,” which states:

 

“There were walls between us,

By the cross you came and broke them down…

You called me out of the grave. You called me into the light.

You called my name and then my heart came alive.

Your love is greater. Your love is stronger.

Your love awakens, awakens, awakens me.”

 

It’s a continual process, but I ask that this day, moment by moment, I can allow His love to lead me out of the darkness and into the light, to break every chain, to awaken me. As poet e.e. cummings once wrote,

 

“I who have died am alive again today…

now the ears of my ears awake and

now the eyes of my eyes are opened.”

“Always We Begin Again…”

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As I walked my dogs the other morning, I looked out onto a world made new. The crisp azure sky highlighted jagged mountain peaks covered in a dazzling fresh coat of snow. Cat Stevens’ song rang out in my mind, “Morning has broken, like the first morning. Blackbird has spoken like the first bird. Praise for the singing, praise for the morning….” Creation is continually sustained and remade, just as we are.

 

The new year and decade remind me that no matter where we’re at, whatever regrets we have or roads we may wish we had taken in the past, whatever has us feeling trapped or stuck, it’s always possible to find redemption for the areas in which we fall short and start over. As the great poet Rainer Maria Rilke prompted, “Let us believe in a long year that is given to us new, untouched, full of things that have never been.”

 

Leeana Tankersley writes about the prayer of St. Benedict used to call the saints of old to the holiness of repetition, “Always we begin again.” As an intention for each new year, day, or moment, it reminds us that all of life is about the openness for continual renewal. As Tankersley writes, “…that’s what so much of life is–learning how, and learning how again, over and over.”

 

Colombia has one of the oldest standing guerilla armies in the world and a long-standing internal conflict that has killed hundreds of thousands, affecting over nine million. Executive Jose Miguel Sokoloff and a group of peacemakers led their native country in transformation over several years during the holiday season.* Initially, they covered a path from the jungle where the guerillas hid with Christmas lights and left a message stating, “If Christmas can come to the jungle, you can come home. Demobilize. At Christmas, everything is possible.” The message worked and soldiers began to lay down their arms. The next year, Sokoloff’s group put bouncy balls that lit up into the rivers with personal messages inside from families who had soldiers fighting. Several soldiers a day returned home. Eventually, as many as 17,000 laid down their weapons. 
If this kind of societal transformation is possible, what is conceivable within our own individual stories? Will we allow the things that break our hearts to also crush our spirits? Will paths that fizzle out become dead ends or opportunities to forge a new road? Will each new day be a reminder of the time we’ve lost or of all that awaits? Emily Dickins exhorted, “The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience…DWELL IN POSSIBILITY.” If we are open-hearted and open-minded, willing to embrace a life that will consistently surprise us and a Creator that will continually transform us, the possibilities are endless. We can always begin again.

*(1) Lisa Shipley, “Christmas after Christmas: How a Colombian ad exec helped demobilize guerrillas by advertising peace,” The Bogota Post, December 3, 2017.