Beauty in the Patterns - Georgia Coats

Beauty in Patterns

Georgia Coats

Jeremiah 33:3 ‘Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.’ 

Tears streamed from the corners of my eyes and dripped boldly onto the sterile paper that covered the examination table.   As I lay in fetal position whispering a desperate prayer, I could feel the numbed pressure and intense inner pain of the thick metal needle probing deep into my hipbone.  I had stopped counting bone marrow biopsies after a dozen. They had become routine over the years of chronic leukemia treatments. With a thick layer of gauze under an over-sized Band-Aid, the doctor patched up my tiny yet deep bone wound and sent me on my way.

My husband hugged me tight, handed me my coat, and ushered me out the door.  I still had time to make it to my absolutely favorite graduate Spanish linguistics class.  Being an already awkward, over-achieving, non-traditional grad student, I decided limping in late with tearstains and a bandaged backside was still worth it.  I slipped into my front row seat and began to copiously copy the tree diagrams sprawled all over the whiteboards in the room. Syntax. I couldn’t decide if I loved syntax or morphology more.  Good thing I didn’t have to choose—I just love the one I’m with.

My profesora gave me a sympathetic look and proceeded with her lecture.  Compassionately, she had offered that I could take an Incomplete for her class if I needed to during this uncertain time of changing leukemia treatments.  That was unthinkable.  It wasn’t that I needed to “stay busy” during a difficult time, it’s that I needed to be part of something meaningful.

Who knew that la lingüística could provide such purpose?

Within the field of linguistics, the goal is to discover patterns in language.  Once the patterns are discovered, linguists search out evidence found in natural speech to describe the rules and identify the boundaries of such defined patterns.  I find comfort in the certainty of patterns that allow us to explore deep mysteries of minds and cultures.

Did you know that there are universal principles found in all the world’s languages that set human language apart from animal communication?  This is where geeky meets inspirational. According to my favorite textbook, Introducción a la lingüística hispánica, creativity in a linguistic sense is the ability to take a finite number of items (a set of sounds, letters, morphemes, or words) and to produce an utterance that has never been said before.  We have the power to create.  This creativity allows us to make friend a verb, and to invent novel combinations like un-Google-able and stay-cation.  Prevarication reflects our human ability to fabricate, that is, both to deceive and imagine other possible worlds.  Recursion is how we use a finite number of language structures and patterns to produce infinite possibilities:  

This is the house that Jack built.  This is the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.  This is the rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.  This is the cat that killed the rat that…

Patterns help our finite human minds fathom infinity.  

We can ponder impossible things.  We can process the past and hope for the future.  Our language capacity allows us to imagine, to weave together a story—whether it is to fabricate a brilliant excuse or invent a fantastical new dimension.   

Patterns are discernable and predictable structures that repeat and could potentially go on forever.  They are God’s eternal fingerprint on our temporal world. He set eternity in our hearts and gave us the tools to process and express His everlasting essence.  He has wired us to marvel at the divine mystery and to comprehend great and unsearchable things.

In the midst of life’s unknowns, I have learned to cry out to the One who knows me.  To seek the one who penetrates marrow and searches souls. To search for His beauty in patterns.  And not just in language. God has scattered discernable patterns all over this world for us to discover and describe and fathom and imagine.

Meal:  

Maybe you have Taco Tuesday.  We have omelets on Fridays.  Embrace the rhythm of routine, but pause to savor it.  Make your favorite omelet, but tweak the ingredients just enough to stir your culinary imagination.  Add smoked Gouda or sundried tomatoes. Top with sautéed mushrooms and onions. Try a side of roasted sweet potatoes drizzled with olive oil.   

Song:  

I love patterns in music—both the tune and the lyrics.  With hands opened towards heaven, listen, notice, and discover; surrender to His design.

NeedtoBreathe, Multiplied https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fGF-MGGLpB0

Prayer:  

Lord, you are infinitely loving.  You set eternity in our hearts that we may comprehend unsearchable things.  I call out to you today. Reveal yourself to me through the patterns in this world.  Transform me out of the rut of life-depleting routine and into the unforced rhythm of your grace.  Thank you, Jesus.

Time:  

Take time to play with words and play on words.  Marvel at the morphemes that make un-fathom-able possible.  Listen closely to the whispered words God has for you. Try to keep track of unsearchable things.  Get lost in a pattern and imagine new possible worlds. Share a good word from His Word with a friend.  

Contact: www.onmymindbygeorgia.wordpress.com / @OnMyMindbyGeorgia on Instagram

Beauty in the Memories - Casey Tygrett

I recall a moment that occurred around 6 years old – give or take, it is hard to distinguish ages during my corduroy-bowl-cut years. I recall looking down at my feet. The same feet I have today, though different after significant time and mileage. I wore my dark brown Buster Brown’s, clean and tightly laced.

I see the memory as if I am still living within its grasp. I smell the smells. I feel the scratchy high-necked sweater against which I protested, with my mother insisting “You WILL wear this sweater.” I had learned enough to know this discussion was over.

Under my feet is a worn beige linoleum, the kind that you might find in any building or space furnished near the Carter administration. The flooring was familiar like family; sacred, even. It was the linoleum of our church’s basement, often called a fellowship hall which suggests something festive (a hall where you have a ball) but in all honesty it was a place for simple potlucks and achingly-long committee meetings.

My itchy sweater and dark brown shoes could only mean one thing: something had happened. Indeed, two things had happened. Within the course of three weeks this particular November both my great-grandfather – whose enchanting cherry tobacco continues to be part of my long-term memory – and great-uncle had died.

I don’t remember my great-grandfather’s funeral. He was a tall, quiet man, more noticed than heard as he glided from room to room in the farmhouse he and my great-grandmother lived in for as long as I knew them.

I knew my great-uncle even less, though I knew him to be my dad’s favorite. As a kid I would handle fishing rods and unloaded, uncleaned rifles in our basement that belonged to my great-uncle and my dad would tell me stories. The glint of transcendence would come into my dad’s eyes: his uncle was one of those who stood beyond, one who held that sort of gritty divinity that boys give to those men who capture their imaginations.

My only memory of this great-uncle was his impersonation of Donald Duck. The trademark squealing, throat-stultifying voice came out of a man who bore no resemblance to anyone or anything that could create such sounds. Other children within earshot would laugh, turning their heads to catch just a glimpse of this great magician who conjured their favorite character.

I remember walking the fellowship hall, the ladies of the church putting casserole after casserole in the church’s commercial ovens. The chatter was light, and any laughter that pressed beyond a certain volume was immediately quieted. This is a moment for solemnity, not joy – not mirth. Someone brewed coffee in large metal pots. Someone set out plastic silverware and nearly-paper plates. Others peeled back plastic wrap and presented the cold foods as fit for the royal event of passing form death to life.

I walked to the darker half of the hall. No tables were set, but instead rows of chairs faced a large wooden pulpit where on Sunday someone from our community would teach from the pre-written Sunday school curriculum. Local tradesmen and retirees would doze on the back row. I walked down the aisle between the battered metal chairs.

Then I saw him.

As clear as I can see today, I saw my great uncle. He stood at the end of the aisle, in front of the pulpit, smiling. I walked towards him with no fear, coming close enough to hear his soft voice. No one else was around and I was grateful for that.

He quietly gave his Donald Duck impression, confirming for me that this was in fact a real thing happening. Squealing and throat-stultifying as ever, I listened. I smiled. I looked down at my Buster Brown’s and looked up again.

He was gone.

It would be years before I would mention this to anyone, this memory. A memory I collected like a sea shell and put in my mysterious neuron-fired jar. In that memory, death has a certain beauty. The presence of my uncle, however that presence came, was a moment where I realized God reached beyond what I knew or understood.

Our memories are narratives of ache and glory that remain in us and shape our responses to everyone and everything. Memories are spiritual because without them we would not know how to be ourselves. Is it possible that my love for mystery and contingency is tied to this encounter with my uncle, now 30 years down the path? Who would I be without that memory?

Without the beauty of our memories, we lose the beauty of ourselves. We lose the beauty of God. Without a memory of a God who accompanies little boys through encounters with something “other” – without a memory of a God who stands with as we clasp our hands together and watch our parent leave – without the ability to recall those pieces of our story, we are lost. There is no formation without memories, even those that twist and burn us at the core.

We remember so as to find the beauty of God’s redemption in memories that we considered irredeemable or insignificant.

Even when we look down, look up, and then they are gone – the memories are never truly gone. They are beautiful pieces of who we are, and who our redeemed selves will be.

Twitter: @cktygrett

Instagram: @cktygrett

Website: www.caseytygrett.com

Beauty in the Memories - Alisa Walterich

WORD

It’s late at night and I’m poring over flashcards and I have a 10-pound pathophysiology textbook in my lap. It’s nothing new, except that I’m currently in a hospital room crammed into a recliner that is too big for the room; but some kind soul brought it in because they knew the patient’s daughter was spending the night.

My dad has had a third back surgery after being diagnosed with cancer only days before. He is pale and has spent several more hours in the recovery unit than he should have normally, receiving IV fluids and supportive medication to keep his blood pressure within a normal range. Keeping him alive.

Tubing, IV pumps, equipment, computers…this is all familiar territory to me; except that I am now on the opposite of what I am used to, this is another dimension entirely. But in my gut, I know exactly what this is, I know exactly what this looks like…the day shift nurse told me his lab values, my dad is a whisper away from dying.

My massive textbook doesn’t have to tell me this—I’m an emergency room nurse. I know these medications, I know what all the numbers mean, I know that his blood pressure is too low, and I can only assume what the nurses and doctors had to do to get him here. I selfishly pray for more time while holding his hand in mine. He told me before going into surgery that he was ready, it was his time; but I am not ready, not even a little. I mentally criticize myself for spending so much time studying, so much time away from my family while in school and working, for not seeing the signs of his physical deterioration sooner.

The next two weeks are tumultuous. My dad goes on dialysis to stimulate his kidneys and the doctors talk about treatment options for his cancer. I remember having conversations with my father about wanting my advice for a ‘Do Not Resuscitate’ order in his hospital file, about where all the passwords for his accounts were, and who to call about financial things when he could longer make those calls.

Suddenly, it’s the day before my first pathophysiology exam of the semester, because unfortunately when you’re getting your master’s degree—there’s always an exam. I’m studying at the library and then at Starbucks—because more coffee, always more coffee. I glance at my phone and I’ve missed a call from my mom; I call back, and by the way she answers, I know it’s time.

As I drove to the hospital one last time, all I could think is, “just still be there when I get there…please, please, please,” sending my dad messages through metaphysical space, willing him to be alive when I arrived.

He was barely conscious when I got to his room. I could not believe that just the night prior would be the last time I would talk and joke with him, or the last time I would hear him say, “goodnight, ‘Lis, I love you too.”

I’m still not ready. But every strawberry Twizzler I eat; every Fleetwood Mac song I hear; every time I wear his class ring; every time I smell Brut aftershave; and every time I watch a sunset over Lake Michigan, I remember my dad.

MUSIC

Rivers and Roads by The Head and the Heart

https://youtu.be/Q8yLwuDi2mA

To me this song is the epitome of remembering a loved one.

--

New York by The Milk Carton Kids

https://youtu.be/HW_07a0zZlI

This became my lullaby when I visited my parent’s house, as my dad would practice this song late into the night.

MEAL

Linguine with Turkey Meatballs* and Quick Sauce
http://cookingthisandthat.blogspot.com/2008/09/linguine-with-turkey-meatballs-and_04.html?epik=0_Z4tE_IWn4x3

*My dad made these smaller in diameter, approximately 1-1.5 inches diameter. Trust him.

TIME

When I was little, my grandma had started a tradition of fancy salads and hot fudge cream puffs for lunch in the restaurant at Hudson’s to celebrate your birthday. Spoiler alert: my grandma died several years ago. But I took my mom to Hudson’s Macy’s for a birthday lunch this year (we hadn’t celebrated this tradition in a few years), and we shopped and stopped at the Clinique counter and got free makeup bags with our purchases (one of my grandma’s favorite hobbies).

Later that day, my mom thanked me for lunch and told me that she always hated traditions a little, because she thought it sucked when somebody died and you couldn’t celebrate them anymore with that person. She said she missed her mom that day, but instead of thinking how much it sucked that my grandma wasn’t there, she had fun imagining what we would talk about, what she would buy just to get the free makeup bag, and what she would write about the day in her journal later.

Memories of the people we love and the things they loved have a strong, beautiful power. Take stock of your beautiful life, and share your memories and traditions. Don’t let fear of missing someone or something ruin the memories you have, or have yet to create.

PRAYER

“When life is sweet, say thank you and celebrate…when life is bitter, say thank you and grow”  (Niequist, Bittersweet).

God, help us to be the kind of people who can say “thank you” in all situations while being kind, patient, and wise—to live a full life, one worth remembering.

Beauty in the Memories - Jordan Emmons

Word

The week I committed to writing about memories was the week of my grandmother’s funeral. I had it all worked out that I was going to write an emotive, vulnerable piece about reminiscing lost loved ones, the years I’ve spent attending far too many funerals, and my journey through seasons of grief and pain. It was all quite poetic, but it’s a story I’ve written before. It felt too easy. I could do better.

Later on in that same week I spoke with a dear friend of mine, Lauren. It became clear throughout our conversation that I needed to scrap everything I had written, because I was right; the tale-of-woe story was too easy, and I could do better. Lauren and I have never taken the easy road. Our roads have led us to different schools, different goals, even different countries, and it hasn’t been easy. We’ve seen each other through graduations, break-ups, deaths, and everything in between, and it hasn’t been easy. I’d like to hope, though, that we’re better for it.

Lauren and I met in preschool. It was one of those introductions where our parents knew each other and thrust us into a friendship so that we would each know someone in class, and luckily it worked out. Even more luckily, it has continued to work out for more than 20 years.

I have always struggled to make friends. You wouldn’t necessarily know it if you observed my social interactions; I can get along with almost anyone, I’m cheerful and bubbly in public, and I have a wide assortment of very kind acquaintances. It doesn’t take long, however, to find that I’m an analytical introvert with a tightly-closed shell that takes a significant amount of effort to pry open. Most people move on before I allow them to truly know me.

Lauren knows me. Being vulnerable has never been difficult with her. Her heart is wide open to receive anything I have to offer, and her encouragement and wisdom has been a primary, driving force in my life.

It hasn’t been all intimate, life-giving moments, of course. We started out as awkward children who played dress-up and danced around the living room singing “Matchmaker” from Fiddler on the Roof. We have since upgraded to singing Hamilton, sans the dress-up and dancing.

Some of my favorite memories with Lauren are the simplest ones. People in the church like to throw around the phrase “doing life together,” but I don’t think many understand what that truly looks like. It doesn’t have to be groups of people getting together for fellowship or theological conversations over coffee. To me, it looks like a text from Lauren during our college years that said,

“I’m doing laundry. Want to come over?”

And I did.

Meal

Grilled cheese. Make it however you prefer it, but as Lauren and I determined one New Year’s Eve with at least 4 types of cheese, a cutting board, and a dream, we discovered the three secret ingredients to grilled cheese perfection: pesto, avocado, and mozzarella.

Spread butter on each slice of bread, pesto on the other side. Place in a pan butter-side-down. Place sliced avocado on one piece of bread and sliced mozzarella on the other. Toast to your optimal level of toastiness. Once toasted, close your sandwich and microwave for 15-30 seconds for the mozzarella to melt and reach supreme gooey-ness.

Tomatoes and Bacon are optional (but exceptional.)

Music

“For Forever” from Dear Evan Hansen.

Prayer

Lord God, thank you for creating friendship and community. Thank you for understanding our deepest needs of belonging and to create others we can belong to. Allow those in need of a fulfilling friendship to find it. Allow our friendships to thrive and grow closer with each day as we grow closer to you.

Amen.

Time

When you know someone long enough, time bleeds together until it doesn’t exist. Lauren and I often text each other questions like “When did we do that/see that/go there?” that take legitimate research to answer. It’s good for us to put in the work to remember so we don’t take our friendship for granted.

Do the work. Push each other to be better. Don’t always do what’s easy. Cry together. Laugh together. Eat grilled cheese together. Do laundry together. Remember all the things you’ve experienced with your significant others, good and bad. Take the time to do them all over again.

Contact

www.jordanemmons.com / @joremmons on Instagram and Twitter

Beauty in the Small - Hannah Dormeier

Word:

Dandelions.

The bane of suburban yards everywhere.

They’re small but powerful weeds that require constant vigilance by proud lawn owners to keep at bay.

People will do just about anything to be rid of them. And even if you yourself don’t mind the bright yellow clusters that pop up, daring you not to notice them, you don’t want to be THAT neighbor: the one that lets dandelions gain a foothold in an otherwise immaculate grid of houses and green, thwarting the hard work of people who just want some order amidst the chaos, some tranquility and control while running this ratty race.

I didn’t hate dandelions until I realized we were becoming THOSE neighbors. We bought our first house in an established, well kept neighborhood. The kind where older couples walk their dogs, and younger couples walk their toddlers. The kind where a school sits two blocks away and you can hear kids playing and shouting at recess. The kind where people cross the street to say “Hi" after a long winter of being shut away.

One day, a neighbor came to say “Hi.” and I suddenly became aware and insecure about the dandelions in our yard.

I used to love when they would pop up, small and happy, and as the summer goes on, they change into little irresistible orbs begging you to make a wish and scatter the seeds to the four corners of every yard.

It doesn’t take much to disturb the immaculate grid of green in a subdivision.

No, I didn’t used to hate dandelions, but after that day, we began a campaign to exterminate them.

This last weekend was warm and we spent it outside. We planted 30 daffodils and a couple trees and several shrubs & ornamental grasses. We moved earth and heaved out roots. We did big work to shape our yard into something that looked like a respectable yard and not like the owners have two small kids and a dog and lack all sense of propriety.

But our 3-year old didn’t care about any of this. He wanted to find the “blossoms of the wishing flowers”. He wanted to find those irresistible yellow flowers that turn into “wishing flowers” by some magic, with seeds that scatter every which way.

Every morning, he asks to go outside to try to find the dandelions. The other night, he wept when we told him there wouldn’t be wishing flowers for at least a few more weeks. We didn’t have the heart to tell him that when he did find them it wouldn’t be in his own back yard.

You see, like dandelions, children are small and unpredictable and difficult to shape and harness. It doesn’t take much for their “chaos” to spread. The work to weed out what makes a kid a kid takes years…until they’re adults and can be taught to hate the unpredictability of a dandelion. They ARE dandelions in a world of grown ups that want all things predictable and ordered and controlled.

Which is why I think kids loved Jesus. He was a dandelion, too. He was unpredictable and irresistible and just his presence dared people not to notice God’s profound beauty and love. And he was and is begging for us to scatter those small seeds into the world and invite people to notice.

A tulip bulb can be dug out, but just try to recapture all the seeds that a dandelion gives over to the wind.

God has been asking me to let my big plans be inconvenienced lately. Some of them over the last year have been dismantled entirely. He’s asked me to give over all I have planned to accomplish in order to turn my attention over to the small (and big) people in my life asking me to put my big things away, so that I can be present with them. As someone who wants to get stuff done, it’s been hard for me.

Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”

To listen to God’s still, small voice, to let the chaotic, unpredictable children come to Jesus and to let Jesus disrupt our plans, is to give up our own power and become the seed, not the landscaper. Instead of determining who and what belongs where, our small selves are spread to all the yards, all the corners of our neighborhoods, daring people not to notice God’s deep love in and through us.

Music: Durufle’s Requiem Op. 9 Intoit

Prayer: God, you’re the landscaper here. I’m the seed. Whether I’m a bulb that is specifically placed, or the dandelion seed being spread by the wind, let me show Your beauty wherever I am. Amen.

Meal:

Vietnamese Spring Rolls (howhound.com/recipes/vietnamese-style-summer-rolls-with-peanut-sauce-10641)

This is a meal best assembled with friends/family. Each ingredient is small and powerful by themselves, but are harmonious together, just like a room of friends. You can’t help but notice each element and the meal engages all of your senses. It’s worth the effort!

Time: Get herb seeds (basil, mint, whatever), and plant them in the ground or in a pot. Nurture them and watch them grow. When they arrive, clip some and share them with a neighbor. (OR use them to make the spring rolls and invite your neighbor over for dinner!)

Beauty in the Small - Brian Lowery

Word

So many of my mornings offer up a sherbet’s swirl of sky, and many a morning I’ve pointed my daughter’s eyes upward to point out a truth that moves me: God could have just given us sky, but he worked hard to make it beautiful. When he wove the world together, he was sure to sweat the small stuff, punctuating the larger things of life with smaller gifts in form and appearance. And the sky is but one example of this, of course. Think on how God’s gone one mile more with so much of creation. He could have just given us fish, birds, grass, and soil – the wind and the rain and the trunk of a tree. But he gives us –     

the rainbow sheen of a fish’s flank

the iced hue of the blue jay’s hood

the tear of dew at the tip of every arced blade in the morning

the hopeful kelly green of the shoots teased from the earth by the sun after a cruel winter and a fickle spring

the careful spacing between reedy fronds, encouraging bands of light to dance on a wall when the sun pushes its way through some swaying fern

the way an afternoon rain interacts the surface of the pond, creating rich rhythm – a lullaby when a single measure of music can’t be played  

the trembled lines of a trunk’s rings, marking each year of the tree’s existence and wooing whomever counts them to think back five years – ten – to what was said then, what was done then, how life was lived then

All this and as the shades are drawn on any given day – another sherbet swirl.

And when the shades are drawn altogether, a billion pinpoints of light, winking at us as we blink ourselves to sleep.

Nothing big in our world was left by God as merely serviceable. He made it all stunning, taking up the mantle of a rather determined artist, brow creased in concentration, always touching up the edges of each work with smaller hints of vibrancy and verve. And these smaller things are no small thing, really. Because God’s sweating the small stuff – that each day our breath might be taken away, our eyes filled with tears, our hearts left racing, our very being, being drawn back to him – is perhaps, aside from his Son, the greatest apologetic we have for his love of us.

Beauty in the small, indeed.

Meal

Brownies are in no way a meal, but they are of the Lord. So, I’m going to talk brownies with nary a blush. Not too long ago, my wife started adding a small touch (see what I did there?) to an otherwise simple batch of brownies that is nothing short of wonderful – and it’s terribly easy to pull off. All you and I have to do is grab an ordinary, run-of-the-mill brownie mix, mix it all up according to the instructions provided, and pour half the mix onto an eight-inch baking pan. And here, my friends, is where the “small touch” comes into play. Cover the initial layer of spread brownie mix with tiles of Hershey chocolate bars. (If you want to go next-level, cover the initial layer of spread brownie mix with tiles of Hershey Symphony bars to add a touch of toffee to the whole affair.) Once you’ve covered that initial layer of brownie mix, pour the remaining mix over top it, and follow the rest of the box’s instructions with regard to baking. When you eat the finished product, I suspect you’ll find that this small touch is no small thing.       

Music

Any time I think on creation’s endless capacity to show both the glory and charity of God, I think of Rich Mullins’ “Calling Out Your Name.” I will never grow tired of this song. You can give it a listen – and watch some stunning time-lapse imagery – here:   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z_enljD4380

Prayer

God, you could have made creation merely serviceable, but you made it stunning. For this I give you thanks. And I ask that you would give me the eyes to see the smaller touches of your creation, and as I see, help the eyes of my heart know the depth of your love for me and my neighbor. Amen.   

Time

Your assignment is simple, really: Step outside the walls of your living space, and take in the swath of creation before you, looking for those smaller touches that stun you silent with their loud messages of God’s glory and charity. It’ll be good for your soul. But don’t keep the discoveries to yourself. Either today or tomorrow or someday soon, invite over a neighbor or two – for a meal (or Brownies) – and in a manner that feels wholly natural, point out the smaller beauties that blur together to form a vast and hopeful statement. It’ll be good for their soul, too.    

Beauty in the Small - Valerie Morris

Word

I never heard the term “fourteener” until I moved out to Colorado.  When you grow up in the Midwest, you don’t think too much about these towering mountains.  Even after moving to Colorado, it took me a few years to work up the nerve to hike up to the top of one of these monstrous hills.  However, a charity hike up a mountain finally gave me the framework I needed to decide to tackle this challenge.

My first ascent was to the top of the highest fourteener in Colorado:  Mt. Elbert. Go big or go home, right? Now, before I dig in too far, I don’t want you thinking I’m some amazing athlete here.  I got my moment of glory at the top of the mountain, but it was quite the ordeal to get there.

When you’re hiking a mountain this high, it takes most people between 6-9 hours of steady hiking to get up and back down.  Hiking a fourteener in Colorado also involves going up through a thick forest until you hit something called the tree line.  This is the elevation where trees no longer grow and it becomes more rocky and full of boulders. This is also the point where the mountain tends to feel, at least, like it’s going up faster than you can keep up with it.  Oh, and by the way, the air gets noticeably thinner too.

By this time of the hike up Mt. Elbert, I had no idea what I was in for.  So when we hit the ascent past the tree line, I was surprised to note that I could physically feel the lack of oxygen.  I couldn’t take a breath deep enough to move forward. My legs were also jelly from hiking up for hours already and we still had a long way to go.  It was here that I developed what I liked to call the ’Twenty-Five Method.’

The ‘Twenty-Five Method’ involves counting twenty-five steps in my head and then stopping, catching a few deep breaths and a few swigs of water, glancing ahead to a rock that I guess to be about twenty-five steps away and then repeating this process.  The last mile of the mountain was conquered with this sophisticated method. It was not glamorous, brag-worthy, or even athletic, but I made it up.

I’ve made it up two other fourteeners since then, each time using the ’Twenty-Five Method.  Each set of twenty-five small steps were often painful, labored, and just as much a mental challenge as they a were physical challenge.  

Most times in life, we follow the ’Twenty-Five Method’ as well.  We’re doing everything we can to get one step more to make it through and finish strong.  Sometimes we’re enjoying the steps and feeling good about the process, and sometimes we’re barely catching our breath.  Just like my steps up the mountain, it can be just as much a mental challenge in life as it is physical.

If you’ve ever hiked a mountain before, you know the feeling when you reach the very top.  All that hard work has paid off and you’re rewarded with views that go on for days. I’ll be honest, when I reached the top of Mt. Elbert, I was pretty stoked.  It’s amazing to realize that the hours of hiking you just did, and the thousands of steps, and the blisters on your feet, all equated to reaching the summit.

Thousands of little steps.  

In my case, they were teensy, tiny steps.  Remember my sophisticated method? I wish I could say I was making huge strides, but they were often twenty-five small steps before I’d stop and wheeze a little bit.  But as non-glamorous as I looked shuffling up that path, a bunch of little steps got my body up a mountain. And, a bunch of tiny steps each day get me closer to fulfilling God’s purpose for me.  

We all take tiny steps each day in our homes, jobs, families, friendships, and even in the encounters at the checkout line.  These moments are often not glamorous, Instagram-worthy, or something we probably give much thought to. These are the moments, though, that get up our own mountains in life.  Be faithful in these moments.

The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.

Deuteronomy 31:8

Be encouraged that wherever you’re taking your twenty-five steps today, God is walking right with you.  Not only that, your thousands of little steps put together are getting you to your epic destination with God.  He’s got a purpose for your life and as you are faithful in taking the little steps, however painful or mundane or silly they feel, they are part of your purpose.  

Meal:

One of the tricks to hiking (and frankly, a normal day) is to keep eating regularly so that you fuel your body  to keep going. I discovered this simple recipe for homemade granola/power bars. The recipe explains them as energy “balls,” but I like to form them into a bar shape and put one in a small sandwich bag.  Freeze them and pull them out whenever you need one. They’re great to take on the go!

https://www.cookingclassy.com/no-bake-energy-bites/

Music
Oceans (Where Feet May Fail), Hillsong

Prayer:

Father, may we walk faithfully today whether the steps are easy or hard.  May we keep moving with trusting faith that you know the ultimate plan for us, even if we can’t see yet.  May we trust you with every step we take today.

Time:

Make a list of the things you are taking steps in today.  What are the hard steps to take today? What are the easier steps? Now list out who may benefit from your faithful obedience in taking these steps.  How are you fitting into God’s bigger plan?

Contact:  Valerie Morris www.simplelifevibes.com

Beauty in the Small

Word:

Luke 12: 6 & 7- 6 Aren't five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten in God's sight. 7 Indeed, the hairs of your head are all counted. Don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows!

When I was a child, I was small for my age. I was constantly asked if I was a year, sometimes even two years younger than my age. As with every child when you do not accurately guess that they are six and three quarters and they’re practically seven already how can you not TELL, it frustrated me regularly. But being small didn’t. Being small was my joy.

I loved that I had to climb on counters to open up cabinets. It meant that it was easier to swing on the uneven bars at gymnastics. It meant I could (and did) cartwheel everywhere and almost never ran into anything because I wasn’t too big. In fifth grade I was able with minimal effort to get out of the handcuffs they showed us in the D.A.R.E program on their smallest setting. They’ll never catch me, I thought, though I obeyed authority compulsively at that point. Trees were easy to climb, I could swing on a handful of willow branches without fear, and I made the smallest splashes when I dove into the pool during the summer.

I was obsessed with miniatures, with Polly Pockets, with small worlds that I got to imagine and create. My imagination did not consider little things to be a disadvantage. Another reason I adored it had to do with most of those who were bigger than me not using it to hurt me. Being small felt safe and I could curl up for a remarkable amount of time on my mother’s lap, wrapped up in her arms. When puberty and illness came, I mourned being of slightly above average height and certainly above average size. It was a legitimate identity change.

For many, feeling small is a hateful experience. To feel less than, or not enough. It feels like weakness. I understand that, and have been made to feel that way myself, many times. Despite that, feeling small feels safe to me. I spent a long time taking solace in the fact that God is bigger, the biggest in fact, and that my singular life has a purpose and a plan. I can’t say I always feel I live up to that purpose. After all, what’s one person, one life?

One person is everything. Jesus was one person (and, admittedly, a whole lot more). But big things like revolutions tend to start with small things, like one person or one idea. The people who had to meet and live and love for you to be where you are, right now, reading this and living a life that belongs only to you? That’s the opposite of small.

These days, as I’m someone who isn’t, I especially adore the moments when I feel small. When I’m part of a project and I get to take pride in something as a group. Times when my husband wraps me up in his arms, and I get to feel little and safe. When I’m caught up in worry, but able to pull myself out of it and take solace in the fact that God, who is so much bigger than me, is the one really in charge. Those are the moments where being small is still my joy.

Meal: grab a snack for this portion. Olives, or grapes, probably not both together (but it’s your call). Think of these small fruits and how Jesus also likely ate them. Here they are, in your life now, different than they would have been in ancient Israel, but still here. Small…but important none the less.

Music: I’ve listened to more versions of ‘His Eye is on the Sparrow’ than I can accurately remember as a person who grew up in the church. The version I go back to without fail is by Lauryn Hill & Tanya Blount. I can happily chalk that up to watching Sister Act 2 approximately one thousand times, along with the awe that comes from listening to their incredible voices together.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H74FBgOZTDw

Here is where I’m going to cheat a little and also recommend ‘The Prophet’ by our own Common Year contributor Abby Rajasekhar. It’s a favorite album of mine, with this song focusing on how David as a young man felt that he was too small to be important.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c7O40OKhFOY

Time: Think about something you can do today for someone else. It can be simple, it can even be easy. Find something small you can do to make someone around you feel loved and important. Take a moment to appreciate the little things and how lovely taking a moment can feel.

Prayer: Lord, you seek out the small. The children, the ones that society deems unimportant, the ones others pass by. Thank you for your unconditional love that you have for every single one of your children. For even when we feel that we fall through the cracks, you see and know us.

Beauty in Change - Justin Gill

Word

Over the last four years since I graduated college, our family has experienced a lot of change. In our plans to move to the Chicagoland area for my graduate school education our willingness to live a nomadic lifestyle has been taxed to the extreme. But learning to cope with the changes of life happened for me in the first year. Looking to save as much money as possible, we lived with two different friends in two different locations for a year. In the last couple of weeks before the move to the western suburbs of Chicago we found out our housing plans had fallen through. We were at a loss. Saving for more than a year, we had only been able to scrape up a few thousand dollars based on a particular budget for those housing plans. Housing plans that were well below market value for the Chicago area. The truth is we weren’t going to make it.

I distinctly remember the feeling I had in that moment. The moment realizing there was a dead end to my plans. There was a sickness in my gut, a nausea I have rarely experienced in my life since it is usually staved off by an over exaggerated sense of self-confidence and long-term optimism. Yet, it all fell away, and I don’t mean just my common personality traits fell away. I felt all of my work slip off the edge of a cliff. A conceptual cliff I dutifully denied the existence of even while never fully able to banish it from my mind’s peripheral vision. The years of study, the years of working multiple jobs and doing ministries, the sacrifice of so much time with my wife and the children we had in college; all of it seemed to empty out of all meaning or purpose.

It was here, at this moment, when doubt made its critical strike. Why should we be uprooting our family from our friends, families, and community? We have no jobs or means to survive so far from the security we have here in our homeland, what business do we really have there? Few people value academic work in the churches anyway so how you helping them by wasting time and money? Why is it okay for you to continue to sacrifice your family for your goals?

I am thankful that my years of training for ministry in college had given me the time to experience events of tragedy alongside godly men as professors and pastors. They each had taught me, by explanation and example, that such moments would come. Such questions must be answered—never ignored. Changes in life create moments of transformation for us, but as Christians we recognize transformation is an act of resurrection and part of the process of resurrection life is the weakness and pain of a cross. Death is always a part of the changes made in our lives in order to reach the fuller life beyond the present. Death, felt and experienced in the turmoil and pain of change, cannot be denied but must be embraced so that through it we might find resurrection.

Even more than my education, I was, and am, grateful for the communal reality of Christian life. I was never alone in this moment. Besides teachers and pastors, my mentor was a voice of clarity to sift through the options before us. Our intentional community, while I had stepped away from actively leading, supported us in our despair but continually reminded me of God’s work in our lives. They led me to contentment by reminding me of who I am among them; a leader, a teacher, a pastor, a friend, a brother.

In all of this change that was occurring, for good or for bad, whether it felt like a torrential hurricane of chaos or the shockingly silent abyss of empty space, I was still there. Surprisingly enough, even to me, I had not lost myself over that cliff. My identity was being held intact, even as I watched all that I had done and all the possibilities of the future I had worked for come to an empty end. In all of this experience with change I felt a deep sense of being with the Holy Spirit. I met him in the people he inhabits; my teachers, pastors, community, and family. Their voices were his voice. Their words were his calling to me. A call to remember God’s goodness, to seek my place caring for the people of God with the gifts he had given to me, and to recognize the work I had already been allowed to enjoy. Work which was preparing my future. The Spirit was using the pain of change to remind me of his promise to lead and care for my family, and the inadequacy of my ability to do that without him.

When I realized this change was not going to overwhelm us, and that I could trust the Spirit was with us, it was like everything changed even if the circumstances were not magically fixed for us. The vortex of chaos could be harnessed and ridden as an adventure. The silent abyss became a place of meditation and prayer. There was beauty in the change. The beauty of life with the Spirit.

Meal

The perfect communal meal for finding beauty in change is a taco buffet. Set out a variety proteins, cheeses, salsas, and random vegetables (and even add citrus fruits if you’re feeling adventurous!). Invite a number of friends and challenge them to try as many combinations as possible. Let the conversations be guided by the eclectic tastes, always asking “Why do you think you enjoy or dislike it?” People will begin to open up about childhood foods, surprising preferences, and wild tails of family recipe combinations!

Song

Black Smoke Rising by Greta Van Fleet

Time

Part of the experience of being finite beings is time is change for us. We have a beginning, and we will have an end. In the midst of the changes we experience prayer is not only a time of celebration or petition but is a time of active reflection. Reflection on the Spirit moving through the changes of time that shape our daily lives. I encourage you to take thirty minutes a day this week to use prayer as a time to reflect on the changes throughout your life and find the Spirit’s presence redeeming even the toughest and most painful events.

Prayer

Know this! Every person is either empty or full. For if the person does not have the Holy Spirit, then they have no knowledge of the Creator. If they have not received the Life, who is Jesus Christ, then the person does not know the Father, who is in heaven. If the person does not live according the reasoning of the heavenly teaching, then they are not of a sound and purified mind, nor do they act virtuously. Such a person is empty. If, on the other hand, the person receives God—who says to us, “I will live with them, and walk in them, and I will be their God,”—such a person is not empty, but truly full. (May we reflect on how we are filled by the Spirit!) –Irenaeus

Beauty in Change - Spencer Schluter

Word:

The world didn’t suddenly become so chaotic, unstable, and unpredictable. If it seems that way you were just unaware of what was going on before. The past wasn’t any better, we have just had time to weave what sounds like a coherent narrative from it. The idea of order and normality is a comforting illusion, but it is only an illusion. The reason prayer, mindfulness, meditation, and other contemplative practices bring peace of mind is that they allow you to be in the moment and handle each novel stimulus as it arises. If you seek homeostasis, which is always transient, and are upset by change you will always be upset because change is inevitably constant. Finding peace in the whirlwind of arising chaos is the escape from suffering that the teachers of such spiritual practices speak of.

We have a word for things when they cease changing, growing, renewing, that word is death. The moment you stop developing is the moment you start to die. We spend so much time and energy trying to check off boxes on a checklist that society has told us will lead to happiness, as if checking them off will allow us to reach some plateau of existence where everything is taken care of and our cares will melt away. There is always another box to check, and if there weren’t we would feel a sense of overwhelming despair and lack of purpose, not fulfillment.

I learned these lessons, then forgot them, then remembered what I had known as a young man and have gone through a very lengthy and painful metamorphosis as I try to incorporate them into my everyday life. I spent many years trying to check off boxes on the road to homeostasis, college, career, home ownership, accumulating the material possessions I aspired to own, having a child. Once I had checked all those boxes I realized I was no more satisfied than I had been at the outset. My life stretched out in front of me already preordained, I knew what I would do each week, what I would eat, how I would spend my weekends. I was 100 pounds overweight and gaining, I was overwhelmed by stress, had I continued along that path I have no doubt I would be dead by now.

 The most frustrating thing about making the decision to change this path was that I had attained a sense of contentment about who I was as a person and my purpose at a young age and I lost it. At some point on my path I decided to start pursuing the list of things society and family told me were necessary even though I knew better. I ignored the inner voice that had guided me towards being the man I knew I was capable of being in favor of chasing homeostasis, normality, and stability when I knew full well and very consciously that to do so was to embrace death, both of the soul and literally.

So now I accept change. I embrace it. Change is life. Life is chaotic, messy, unpredictable, it sprouts through the cracks in the sidewalk and overgrows walls. It finds a way, it evolves, it blooms eternally. It is by embracing change, learning to love it instead of fearing it that we grow spiritually into the beings as God intended. We will enter the Kingdom of God when we accept that God doesn’t want us to fritter away the gift of life he gave us chasing cars, riding lawn mowers, empty relationships, and a bland, predictable, grey, soulless existence. He wants us to revel in the spectacular beauty in every moment of our lives and reflect that beauty in what we put out into the world.

Music:

KRS-One. "4th Quarter - Free Throws." I Got Next. 1997


Meal:

As I passed through the crisis that ended my previous life and began my new one I faced poverty and starvation. For the period of about four months I lived on approximately 300 calories a day, while walking sometimes 20 miles a day. Over those months, I lost over sixty pounds and towards the end I became weaker and weaker. This experience has entirely changed my relationship with food. A half-eaten pizza slice left behind on a restaurant’s patio table became a welcome meal, expiration dates on food from the food bank lost all meaning. Before I was always a foodie, now it’s very hard for me now to turn my nose up at food that isn’t gourmet or expensive. It’s also very hard for me to see food the way it so frequently is by individuals. restaurants and grocery stores. Every time I see perfectly good food thrown away all I can think is that I know for a fact I could find someone who would gladly eat it within ten minutes no matter where I am in the country. So, rather than describe a recipe or dining experience, I would ask the reader to consider this sentiment the next time they’re about to throw some food away or see it being thrown away.


Prayer:

By the end of the day, make a change you have been afraid to make and observe that how you feel before and after making it.

Time:


Remember each moment of your time you exchange for money, that in turn you will use to purchase the things that ostensibly will make you happy, you are sacrificing a moment spent with your loved ones or doing something perhaps not profitable that will make the world a better place. The realities of survival at the moment necessitate working to provide for yourself and your family, but carefully consider how much of your life you are devoting to work. Your children will be grown and gone before you know it, your parents will pass away, your friends will grow distant, your dog’s life will pass by in a flash. When you look at your television or your furniture try to imagine how many hours of your life you traded for that object, how it really contributes to the quality of your life, and what you could have done with the same amount of time.

Contact:

http://www.yggstudios.com

scschluter@gmail.com, @ygg_studios on Instagram, @scschluter on Twitter

Beauty in Change - Heather Smith (Wk 2)

WORD

The last year of my life can be defined by one word: CHANGE

April 9, 2017: I lost all of the things I dreamed my life would be in a matter of days. This was the day that we decided to get a divorce. At first, I felt a sense of relief that the pain I had been dealing with was over, but I was unaware of what the next year would have in store for me.

April 12, 2017: I found myself without a home, sleeping in a house with six other people, not sure how long I would be staying. That was the day that I had to begin the gut-wrenching process of surrendering all that I’d imagined my future would hold. I was a mess, emotionally, mentally, and physically. I lived with my generous new friends for three months while I struggled to figure out where my life was supposed to go next. I will forever be grateful for the generosity of these people who had only known me for a few months before letting me crash in their house for an undetermined amount of time. June came and I managed to find a reasonably priced apartment that I could afford with a little bit of help from my parents. This was when the real healing process began. I had to adjust to a new normal and then begin to sort through the brokenness of my failed marriage.

I spent months being angry with God and confused, because this wasn’t how marriage was “supposed to” happen. I stopped going to church and became heavily involved in the night life of my town. I even reached a point where I wasn’t sure that God was real anymore. Alcohol made things feel better for a time, but I always ended up empty and sad after a long night out, usually having made poor decisions that didn’t benefit me or help me to feel whole again. My life had gone from vibrant and alive in Christ, to making foolish decisions in a desperate attempt to feel like I belonged.

It wasn’t until recently that a series of events played out in my life and led me back to Christ and my church family. A friend I hadn’t talked to in months emailed me and asked me to babysit for a church event. I needed money so I went. Not for God, but for financial reasons. Afterwards, I unexpectedly ran into another friend I hadn’t talked to in months. He invited me to service the next Sunday. I went and God met me there. My life started feeling like it had purpose again.

Slowly, my desire to go out and spend my nights up late drinking just to feel something, has dwindled, while my desire for community with other believers is back at a high point. I know that my life is far from perfect, and I will make mistakes in the future, but I can say that it is infinitely better than it was. There have been many changes in my life, but the one thing that remained constant is that God never gave up on me, even when I gave up on Him and myself.

Meal

The year before my divorce I began working out religiously and eating healthy, I lost 40lbs. One of my favorite meals to cook was chicken fajitas with a homemade spice seasoning. After I moved out of my house I didn’t cook for months; and then right around the time I found my apartment, I decided that I was going to cook a meal all on my own. I made chicken fajitas and the 2 hours I spent cooking and running to the store multiple times because I kept forgetting about ingredients that I needed and no longer had in my kitchen cupboard were so healing, and showed me that I was capable of picking up the pieces and doing life, on my own.

Chicken fajitas: https://www.spendwithpennies.com/easy-chicken-fajitas/

Fajita seasoning mix: https://www.thepinningmama.com/fajita-seasoning-mix-paleo-whole30-compliant/

Music

She Used to be Mine – Sara Bareilles (https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=40&v=53GIADHxVzM)

Prayer

Papa God,

Walk through seasons of change with those who find themselves lost in a sea of difficult circumstances that they never imagined they would have to face. Help them not to lose hope and faith in you as they navigate the choppy waters of change. Draw those who have drifted far from you back into your loving arms.

Amen

Time

Reach out to someone that you know is going through a difficult season of change, or someone who has experienced the joy of a new change in life. Let them know that you are there. Invite them to have coffee with you. Go over to their house and have a movie night. Have conversations with others without an agenda, and see where God leads the conversation. You never know the struggles others might be facing mentally, emotionally, or spiritually in a season of change. Sometimes it’s nice to be reminded at these times that you are not alone, that you are loved, and that you have not been forgotten.

Beauty in Change - Jill Marklin (Wk 1)

WORD

I've never been afraid of big change. Big change is fine. Big change means times and dates and checklists and moving boxes and plane tickets that are purchased in order to complete those big changes. Big changes are tangible, even if not yet defined. 

It's those little changes that get me. The teeny, tiny barely noticeable, the slow as a sloth movement, that isn't clear. It's the morning you wake up in the mirror and realize that you're forty-one, and it's showing; in that line, just above your left eyebrow and bridge of your nose. In the streaks of grey that don’t really make you look old just yet, but definitely mark you as gone from days of youth. It’s the stuff that's been with you all along, but makes you feel like it just snuck up on you.

I got married. I committed to one person with whom to partner in the big and little changes. That, monumental step I could do. The better part of almost a decade in, and the little change, or the change that hasn't happened, is the change that frustrates and scares me. It's not the house that we haven't bought, or the retirement plan that we're behind on that freaks me out. It's that I'm still learning how to communicate my thoughts without being a jerk, and constantly eff it up. It’s that the socks on the floor drive me bonkers.

I had a baby. A baby who is now almost five. And, hot damn, if you want to know the combination of feelings from big and little change, you start planning a fifth birthday party and register your kid for kindergarten and listen to her thoughts about dinosaurs and outer space. If you want to know instantaneous, enormous change, it's all there. The big, dramatic moment that heralded her existence through birth, produced uncountable moments of small conversations on cartoons and trips to Target and first swim classes. All of these are supposed to be little. They’re huge. They’re really, overwhelmingly gigantic and important. Pre-k graduation will come and go, but my kid practicing her letters and numbers will travel with her forever.

I moved back home. It’s weird. Having lived overseas, and cross-country and back home, the hardest changes back home are seeing your parents and family age, after having been gone for over a decade. Initially it was startling, when I’d visit for a few days. Now, I see it in the everyday conversations and the movements and reality.

I turned forty. Seriously? I don’t know what forty is supposed to feel like, but other than my chicken arms, slightly saggy neck, specks of grey hair and new wrinkles, I totally feel like pre-forty me. OMG. OMG. OMG. But ya. Body change is the most obvious, and it totally comes out of nowhere.

I question faith (and I’m okay with that). It kind of snuck up on me, but has been growing for years. This is not a drastic change for me, but it is for others. This is the stuff that makes people from your former circle uncomfortable.  It’s shocking to them. “How did this happen?” “I thought I knew you.” “If you wouldn’t have gone out to the West Coast.” The small moments. The moments where I said, “That doesn’t make sense” in the middle of a sermon or reading a blog or over coffee.

MEAL

When the sweet tooth calls (which is pretty much daily), I answer with a scoop of Cherry Amaretto Chocolate Chip or Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream. What’s your favorite dessert? Treat yourself!

MUSIC

This is totally embarrassing (but I’ll own it), Sting has been one of my favorite musicians since I was in middle school. His music has been with me through the big and small. I go back to some of his oldest work to re-center me. What’s a song or band that you’ve loved through it all?

PRAYER

The mystery of peace, clarity and love. May we always be open to change; big and little alike. May we cherish the process of growth, in hopes of growing our capacity of loving ourselves and others better.

TIME

Where are places in your life that you see large and small changes? Have those changes been realized as they were happening? Or after the fact? How did those changes make you feel? Do you prefer big, fast changes to smaller but slower changes?

Beauty in Tension - BONUS

Last year the question that kept coming back to me was, “what is the point? What is the point to life and what is the point to creation/humanity when it’s all going to end anyway?” I would wake up thinking about these questions, go to bed thinking about them and all day in between.

Part of what was causing these questions were the experiences we were in and the fact that so many people I knew were going through so much loss.

My husband and I have been pursuing stability for our family and still haven’t settled on something long term.

A friend from high school died in terrible car crash in Nepal. His older brother was driving and his younger brother was a passenger in the back. They survived.

A couple months prior, another acquaintance lost his life in an accident driving home to his wife and seven year-old daughter.

A few months after that, a friend lost her brother to a very complicated case of pneumonia right around thanksgiving. They spent the holiday at the hospital hoping for their 26 year old son/brother to pull through the infections. He didn’t make it.

Around the same time, I read about a friend from college losing her husband in a sudden health issue. Reading about her loss was devastating for me. She has four children and was living in a country far from her family. Her story ran through my head over and over. It made me question everything so much more. How could life just end like that, so suddenly, leaving broken threads behind?

I began listening to Ecclesiastes around this time. It articulated what I was feeling. This tension of life and death, of joy and sorrow, of wealth and poverty, of health and sickness: is there even anything to hope for at the end of it all?

The verse that stuck with me was Ecclesiastes 3:12 - “I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live.”

In the midst of all this tension and not knowing whether everything is all in vain or for naught, I began to realize, “I can choose to create joy even in the smallest of ways.”

This has given me a new focus, where I can now see that I don’t need to focus on the future. I need to focus on the now and how my actions are a reflection of the past and can give direction for the future. More often than not, I’m learning to live with tension instead of always seeking to resolve it. Does it ever really get resolved? Maybe not. In the meantime, I choose to create joy, even in the smallest of ways.

Above all, trust in the slow work of God.

We are quite naturally impatient in everything

to reach the end without delay.

We should like to skip the intermediate stages.

We are impatient of being on the way to something

unknown, something new.

And yet it is the law of all progress

that it is made by passing through

some stages of instability—

and that it may take a very long time...

...Only God could say what this new spirit

gradually forming within you will be.

Give Our Lord the benefit of believing

that his hand is leading you,

and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself

in suspense and incomplete.

—Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, SJ

excerpted from Hearts on Fire

Meal: There are so many meals that bring me joy. Today I want to share with you a How to Charcuterie because this meal is a fun for all kinda meal.

Song: Hard To Be by David Bazan (album Curse Your Branches)

Prayer:

God grant me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change;

courage to change the things I can;

and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;

enjoying one moment at a time;

accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;

taking, as He did, this sinful world

as it is, not as I would have it;

trusting that He will make all things right

if I surrender to His Will;

that I may be reasonably happy in this life

and supremely happy with Him

forever in the next.

Amen.

Time: It should be fairly easy (at least here in the west) to buy some acrylic paints and canvas and a few brushes. Pick some colors that you like or go on pinterest and look for color palettes (It makes it easier to see which combination you might like). Then pour dots of paint directly on to the canvas in a random order. When you begin to brush strokes into the paint you’ll begin to see which direction you want to go with the paint.

The feel of the brush smoothing the paint onto the canvas is a very soothing feeling to me. It is in that moment that I feel a release of whatever tension I have been holding on to. And at the end of that time I have something of beauty that I can choose to share with others or keep for myself.

Beauty in Tension - Wk 4

THE COMMON YEAR – BEAUTY IN TENSION

WORD:

I sat in bed cross-legged, Bible resting on my lap, and tears streaming down my face — a release of sorts — simultaneously anger, confusion, and even relief.

I was reading about a group of young men out at sea that found themselves in the middle of a massive storm. Waves crashing into the boat, ready to envelop them at any moment. Fear palpable, I’m sure of it. Out of desperation, they wake their one friend who somehow managed to sleep through this traumatic chaos. “Don’t you care that we’re going to drown?” they cry out in raw desperation.

Drown. That’s what was happening. Surely, I was about to drown. “Don’t you care that I’m going to drown?” In a season that scripture seemed incapable of sticking in my mind, these words, in contrast, struck something deep within me. These men, Jesus’ disciples, gave words to the inner turmoil I’d been wrestling with. Not only were they terrified but they felt abandoned by The One whom they trusted.

This season of my life was repeatedly marked by wondering if I too had been abandoned by The One I trusted. Lonely, confused, and consumed with the tension within me — a wondering, yet urged to persist and trust. Hearing the word “tension” evokes images of wood beams bent to cracks and splinters. We often feel this same fracturing in our hearts and souls. At this time, I’d been surrounded by circumstances contributing to painful and uncomfortable tension — affecting my inner self, just like those wood beams, to the almost-breaking-point. Tension within a relationship, a circumstance, or any other form tends to make us squirm, and this is only amplified when we read and hear about a God who is “supposed” to offer joy and peace.

As a believer in Jesus, I’ve come to find that faith is filled with far more tension than I’m typically comfortable with. It’s almost never black and white but some shade of gray, which often makes us uneasy. Jesus, on the other hand, seemed very comfortable with this in-between tension. He was at ease enough to sleep in the midst of a fierce storm, one that created immense tension for his friends around him. When the hemorrhaging woman broke laws to experience his healing touch, Jesus actually drew more attention to this tension, calling out this woman for what she had done in front of a crowd. And maybe the most extreme moment of tension is when Jesus prayed in the garden, in such distress that he sweat droplets of blood, begging his Father to save him from this tragic death he was soon to face. Yet in his pleading, he sat in this unbearable place of desperately wanting one outcome, yet fully submitting to another that he was dreading to his core. All moments that seemed black and white to his community, he viewed as gray.

Another way we regularly experience “tension” is when we encounter an artistic work — we see opposing elements coming together to create a single piece. This beautiful art form is made possible only through opposing forces at work.  We see this idea of tension in music, design, story-telling, and other creative outlets. Consider The Greatest Showman (and if you haven’t seen this movie yet, stop right now and go watch it). Without the turmoil Barnum experiences regarding fame, his friends’ self-acceptance wouldn’t have been solidified to the same degree. Without this tension, it may hold beauty, but we’re able to experience it to greater depths from the tension created by opposing forces. And not unlike this counter-intuitive perspective, something strangely beautiful is created when Jesus willingly enters into tension, as he readily chooses to do every time. The waves and wind that induced crippling fear are replaced with calmness that inevitably evokes awe.  The broken, forgotten woman experiences not only physical but wholistic healing, being reinstated into her community. And the hopeless death on a cross Jesus faced was transformed into unimaginable hope for the whole of humanity.

I know I’m not alone in experiencing this gut-wrenching tension. Mine was rooted in fear of being abandoned by the God I trusted, against the promise of his presence. Without this storm and the overwhelming fear it produced, I would’ve missed the beauty and awe that came once the storm was calmed. Our years, seasons, and moments of tension may not play out how we expect them. But I trust that as Jesus stepped into some of the messiest stories in his lifetime, he continues to enter into our internal and external tensions. Through the confusion, hurt, and weariness, he is weaving together something wonderful; therefore, without tension, we’d miss the beautiful work he solidifies through it.

MEAL:

I live in the tension of loving food and hating to cook Because of this, I’m obsessed with the convenience and delicious meals prepared in my Instapot. Quick, simple, and always delicious, it eases my dislike of cooking every time. My favorite is chicken tortilla(less) soup: http://40aprons.com/whole30-instant-pot-chicken-tortilla-less-soup-paleo/.

MUSIC:

A Prayer, Kings Kaleidoscope — includes some explicit language, but tackles the tension of deeply seeded fear and truth in a vulnerable and honest way.

PRAYER:

Apophatic prayer — an ancient style of contemplative prayer that breaks down our limited understanding of God, beautifully expressing tensions within both language and faith.

The Liturgists lead listeners through an apophatic prayer: https://open.spotify.com/track/0pcLKAZlOWmUBoCNJBn1AM?si=64Mx7RmHRGWVFUfcHFsoKw.

Like most spiritual practices, apophatic prayer on its own is insufficient and can be frustrating — it’s unlike many forms of prayer! Yet I challenge us to humbly and open-handedly approach this prayer, trusting what the Holy Spirit wants to do through it.

TIME:

Acknowledge areas of tension in your life currently. Write them down, go for a walk, share them with a confidant — simply give yourself space to fully bring them to light. Naming something is inexplicably powerful. It won’t fix it, but fear starts to lose its grip when we call it by name.

Beauty in Tension - Wk 3

Word:

Human beings are wired to anticipate. We are wired to worry. We are wired to see the worst case scenarios flash before our eyes before we take that first step that may lead us to that place we have always wanted to be. This is a God-given gift for our our safety and self-preservation. Without the fight or flight response, our ancestors would not have survived, and we wouldn’t be here today.

We are also wired to have that desire to find that place where only we fit, the role that only you or I were made to fulfill. We are wired for purpose. We often view our inner tensions in a purely negative light. We pathologize our inner tension as maladaptive and try to push it away. We ignore it. When they become a big enough problem, we may act out or medicate them. We ignore those voices inside of ourselves that are telling us how amazing we can be by surrendering to the fear that we can never be “enough.”

I know I’ve done this. I’ve suffered with clinical anxiety for years; I’ve worn all of its ugly masks, crying, hiding, avoiding, and living in a constant state of panic and fear. I am a musician and have had many performances ruined by my uncontrollable shaky hands and choked-up voice. I’ve run off stage. I’ve cursed myself. Blame myself. Seen myself as less than even good. But, what really is tension? Is it really a devil to be avoided? Is comfort truly good and discomfort truly bad?

After two decades of this, and a lot of emotional and spiritual work, I had the epiphany that the inner tension is not a curse. It is a gift. It is meant to be the fuel to our fire to push each one of us into the unknown. I found that when I began to see tension as a part of life and accept it for what it is, a temporary state. I was able to harness it, to use that adrenaline to focus. In doing so, I am able to actually perform better, not worse. When I accept the tension and allow the music to flow through me, I allow myself to be what God intends, a vessel for lifting up others and telling the stories of those who can not tell their own.

Music is a temporal art; it happens in real-time. Music brings stories, images, and feelings to life by harnessing tension. It is up to me, to each of us, to harness the tensions of our own lives to sing the song only our lives can sing.

Meal:

Tea is the perfect antidote to a stressful day. Steeping tea is a meditative process. There are many ceremonial ways for serving tea such as the Japanese practice Cha Dao or “The Way of Tea” and Kung Fu or “Hard Work” tea Chinese ceremony. Herbal tea is not tea in the traditional sense, but the process of making it can be approached with the same mindful attitude. Lavender, chamomile, and lemon balm are all known to be naturally calming. Sip them together or blended with your favorite black or green tea.

Lavender Herbal Tea

1 teaspoon culinary lavender flowers

1 teaspoon chamomile flowers

2 tablespoons fresh lemon balm leaves

Bring eight ounces of fresh water to a boil. Let the water cool for two minutes before pouring over the leaves and flowers. Let steep for five to ten minutes. Serve your tea with a teaspoon or two or honey if you like, or make an herbal latte with frothed almond milk.

Music:

I encourage you to listen to non-musical sounds as music. Listen to where the tension builds and where the sound reaches resting points. How does that build a story? Tension and release is how music creates concrete images in our mind. As the song builds are mind and body respond. We experience relief after the music reaches its climax and releases the tension. How does this happen? Sometimes the tempo changes; sometimes it’s the notes the composer or songwriter chose. It could be the volume or instrument choices. Listen to the sound of traffic; hear the way the tires interact with the pavement. Listen to the wind through the trees; hear how the movement of the leaves create percussive sounds. Listen to non-musical sounds this way. Hear the symphony around us everyday.

Prayer:

I am grateful for the tense times in my life. I know that I am being molded into who I need to be to live a purpose-filled life through my trials and tribulations.  I am thankful that I am able to be here now and use this opportunity to create a better world. Without tension, there is only stasis and that does not lead to change. I may not always respond in the best way during tense periods, but I know that God is on my side and I allow myself grace.

Time:

While your tea steeps, take this time to reflect (and not judge) your responses to the tensions you face in your daily life. What are you doing right? What needs to change? Take the time to fairly evaluate where you are.

–Janae Jean Almen

contact: janaejean@me.com, www.janaejean.com, www.perennialmusicandarts.com, Instagram @janaejean, Twitter @janaejeanmusic

Beauty in Tension - Wk 2

Word:

Upon hearing the words “Oh, and I cheated on you…”, during a walk mid-April three years ago, my world as I knew it and the life I had spent so many years building and creating, fell apart. In an instant, everything changed. Reality was not what I had thought it to be.

In the months to follow, as I struggled to understand, grasping for hope and reconciliation in the midst of the chaos and new truths being brought to light, I found myself thrust into a world of uncertainty, having to deal with things I never thought would be part of my story.

As I struggled and dealt with the uncertainty, betrayal, loss, grief, anger, desperation - and six months later, divorce - I found myself fighting with defiant hope, striving to not lose myself in the midst of life’s storms. There were days I mustered all the strength I had just to go to work and make it through the day without bursting into tears. There were days where it felt as though nothing had changed. I would find myself talking, sharing a meal, and laughing with friends.

The truth is, when I caught myself feeling happy during those times, I began to feel guilty. Shouldn’t I be sad all the time? I mean, my life is falling apart, how can I be laughing right now? This can’t be okay…is this okay?

But in allowing myself to feel all of the emotions, no matter how seemingly polarized they were, I began to see the beauty within the tension. We were not created to be robots. Being present and allowing ourselves to truly feel whatever it is we may be feeling in a present moment is a beautiful gift.

It is okay to fall to the ground sobbing uncontrollably, feeling the piercing dagger of betrayal, and the next afternoon to be playing games with a group of friends while laughing to the point of tears.

What do we do with these seemingly polarized feelings and emotions? How do we cope? How do we hold them together at the same time? The tension is here.

This is where life is lived. And this is where we have the choice to push through, to carry on, to live in the in-between and to invite others to come alongside us and to enter into the cave of uncertainty with us, in search of the infinite beauty to be found here.

We all live with pain and hurt, joy and pleasure. We may have or may be experiencing grief, sorrow, betrayal, loss, anguish, despair, anger, uncertain circumstances and intermingled and woven within, somehow experience happiness, joy, contentment, love, goodness, and even inexplicable peace.

The difficult task we have all been granted, is to lean in and feel the tension of this gloriously messy life, and to seek to find the beauty within.

Meal:

During this tense time, I struggled to want to continue to eat healthy while at the same time wanting food that brought some sort of comfort. I also lived in the tension of wanting to eat alone, and wanting to be around people and share a meal. One meal that I often found myself making, and sometimes making at friend’s apartments with them, was Zucchini Lasagna. Even friends who may otherwise not have enjoyed lasagna made with zucchini instead of pasta, enjoyed the meal!

I always modified the recipe, as I don’t do dairy, and added Italian sausage and olives, but I encourage you to make it however you see fit, and share it with people in your life and community who are there with you, living in the tension and seeking the beauty alongside you.

http://thekittchen.com/zucchini-lasagna-with-bolognese-sauce/

Music:

Two songs I found myself listening to and singing over and over during this time:

Even When It Hurts, by Hillsong United- https://youtu.be/hrSJwO5dJXg

Your Love is Strong, by Jon Foreman- https://youtu.be/G-g4uwQlXKw

Prayer:

Heavenly Father, we need you. We love you.

Be with us in the times of uncertainty and sorrow.

Be with us in the times of joy and rejoicing.

Help us in the times of sorrowful joy, to be present and to fully feel the tension that is found here. May we press into you, and into community, knowing that even in the darkest and tensest of times, your love and presence radiates an undying light.

Teach us to hold the seemingly polarized feelings and emotions together, as we lean into you and those you have placed in community with us.

Thank you for showing us how to live life within the tension, and to see the beauty that may be found here.

Amen.

Time:

I encourage you to take some time this week, to allow yourself to be still and fully feel whatever it is you may be feeling. In a society that tells us to “suck it up” and “go it alone”, we often lack truly experiencing the tension of holding and feeling joy and pain together. We may be okay feeling these on our own, but I encourage you to ask a close friend or group of friends to sit with you in whatever you may be going through, and allow them to enter and feel and pray with you in this tension. Entering the tension with community is a truly beautiful gift.

Beauty in Tension - Wk 1

Word:

Tension is, by its nature, uncomfortable. Pull two ends of a string and you create tension both in the string as it stretches and in your hands as the string pulls away from you. When we grow into adulthood, our bones lengthen, pulling muscles and causing growing pains; uncomfortable but necessary. However, if tension were merely uncomfortable, why do we also seek it out? We resign ourselves to the unavoidable tensions of growing up but we also take pleasure in the tensions of our favorite television shows and movies.

Tension on film is similar to the example with the string - it’s about pulling and stretching. Filmmakers pull your emotions until you can feel it in your chest or the pit of your stomach. It’s different from suspense which is how much you care about what happens next in a story. Tension is how much you care about what happens to the characters in a story. Filmmakers know how to make you care and then they use your emotions to keep you engaged. Sure, it’s manipulation, but a kind we enjoy. Why?

Humans are a social species. We didn’t evolve to live in isolation. Some people, myself included, are introverts who enjoy and need their alone time but we still require social interaction. With people, come problems. “Where there are no oxen, the stable is clean.”

Tension is a force that wants resolution. When you hold both ends of a string and pull at one end, it pulls your other hand along with equal force. A film’s tension will usually peak at the climax then release, freeing you from its pull. Socially, we can experience tension when we care about people. This kind of tension is resolved through interaction and communication. We evolved to care about one another. Tension is an indicator that something is wrong and the only way to resolve it is to be a part of each other’s lives.

Therein lies the beauty of tension. It exists to unite. It’s a stretching that pulls us together. It’s uncomfortable by design so that it’s difficult to ignore. Ignoring it won’t make it go away. Resolving it does so much more. Films, like all good stories, provide catharsis, a release of pent-up emotions. Relieving the tension between yourself and a loved-one is a truly healing experience.  

Time:

Examine your relationships. Odds are, you already know at least one person with whom there’s tension. It’s not always possible to remove that tension. Sometimes it isn’t wise or safe to attempt a resolution on your own. But tension wants resolution. Decide what relational tension in your life is worth resolving, then do it. Matthew 5:23-24, “Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to them; then come and offer your gift.”

Music:

Most songs build to a climax. That is, they increase tension to a crescendo then release it. I think the following two songs do it beautifully. Carl Orff’s O Fortuna from his cantata Carmina Burana, and Maurice Ravel’s Bolero.

Meal:

If you decide to take up the challenge proposed in “Time”, then perhaps a meal will serve your needs. Meeting someone over food can be disarming. We all eat. Maybe eating that person’s favorite food will disarm them further and reduce the tension. Humans have long connected over food, from our days roasting meat over fire. It’s where story has its beginnings, where we learned the importance of tension and resolution in storytelling. It was the first movie theater where we watched the fire cast shadows into cave walls. Sharing a meal with someone is intimate and powerful.

Prayer:

Thank you for tension, Jesus. Thank you for drawing our attention to the areas of our lives that need it. Thank you for the strength to admit where there’s tension and the strength to address it. Thank you also for the discernment to decide which tensions to try and resolve. Thank you that you are the God of resolutions and that you provided the ultimate resolution to the tension between life and death.

Rayne Warne

Beauty in Freedom - Wk 5

Word

Friday night and I found myself in the basement of the church I pastor at a Narcotics Anonymous (NA) meeting. There were young faces, old faces, scared, nervous, hard and tired faces filled the fluorescent room that doubles as a preschool. I sat trying to be invisible. I didn’t really belong there, I was simply observing.

The next hour I heard stories celebrating 30, 60, 90 days of sobriety. I heard stories of revelations, family visitations, new jobs, and even the irony of wanting to spend a Friday night in a church basement. I was overwhelmed by the stories of relapse, of loss, and guilt. I heard a young mother say she wanted to want to quit, but she was not ready. I heard more confession in one night than my entire life.

What overwhelmed me most were not the stories, but that the stories were shared. I couldn’t help but think “why doesn’t this happen more often?” No matter the heartbreak, no matter the sense of failure, everyone felt free to share. Sometimes their voices shook, other times tears and sobbing interrupted their testimony, and even anger could be seen in others. Nonetheless, people shared deep dark truths. Even in a poorly lit church basement, I saw relief on the faces of those who shared. I saw lightness, as if they were able to put down a heavy load for the first time all week. Everyone who shared were greeted with words of affirmation, pats on the back, and hugs. Not once did someone try to fix their problem or shame them. They were free to share because they were supported, and heard.

I was so touched by this experience. I kept wondering why this doesn’t happen more often. Everyone in that room was free to share, they were free to mess up, they were free to not have it all together, and they were free to try again. The affirmations they received were a cutting of cords and unshackling of chains. Those listening refused to allow their brother and sister be shackled to the brokenness of the past. They refused to allow each person who shared to remain locked in defeat. They were heard, they were loved, and they were set free.

The ancient church was built on this tradition of confession. James, the leader of the early church, says,

“Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective” (James 5:16).

Since this experience I have been blessed to meet weekly with a group of people who share our brokenness, our shortcomings, and our triumphs. Some of us are addicts, some are not, but we all struggle with the imprisoning power of our own fallenness. Our confession keeps us free to try again, it keeps us free to grow. It was hard at first. It took time to trust each other. After doing it for a year, we have changed. I can say that this group of friends have become some of the most spiritually life-giving people you could ever find. I believe it is because through confession we have experienced freedom.

Meal

My oldest daughter and I love hard-boil eggs, and we eat them nearly every morning. Eggs are full of protein and they fill you up. Yet, no matter how you eat the eggs, you have to break them first. Eggs are not good until they are broken. I know I am like that. My pride and ego have to be broken to really get to the good stuff of who God made me to be. I often spend time during the day meditating what to do, and what not to do. Because a shell in your scrambled eggs, is never good.

The Perfect Hard Boiled Eggs: Boil water, then put the eggs in (making sure they are completely covered in water). Bring back to a boil and cook for 2 minutes. Turn off heat and let sit for 15-20 minutes. Cool them down with cold water, place in the fridge, and take out whenever. Not only will they be easy to crack, but the yolks will be a glorious bright yellow.

Music

Little Richard’s “Freedom Blues” from the album The Rill Thing

Prayer

God of freedom, I know you want to set us free. I like to try to control my narrative, how people see me. I like to look perfect. I don’t like to open up. But the more I hold on, the more I see that I’m chained down. I confess I don’t want to confess. Help me trust you, help me find others to trust, help me confess, so that I may be free. Amen.

Time

Give it a try. Find someone you can confess to. Don’t try to fix each other, don’t extend advice, don’t tell people they should have known better, don’t even tell them that it will be ok. Simply confess, listen, and pray. It will be hard at first and it will require a building of trust. Push yourselves to share more each week. Share not only what you have done, but what has been done to you, how has life affected you, what do you feel, what do you struggle with. Talk about the past, the present, the future. Listen. Pray. Then do it again.

Beauty in Freedom - Wk 4

Words

I always tell my friends, I think God had me in mind when He created mountains.

They say He may have created them for more people than just me.

I’m not so sure.

I sat in the backseat of a car zooming down the road, coming home from a weekend road trip across the country with some of my closest friends. My sister was driving and everyone else had fallen asleep.  

Except for me.

My eyes drooped. Hard. My sister looked back at me in the rearview mirror and said, “Hannah, it’s ok. You can close your eyes. You can fall asleep.”

To which I stubbornly responded, “No. This is my last glimpse of the mountains before we return to the flat land of Chicago….I don’t want to miss it.”

My sister chuckled and nodded. She knew better than to argue with me when my deep stubborn streak combines with my passionate love of mountains. It would be fruitless to try and convince me to go to sleep. Because I wasn’t about to miss a minute of drinking in the magnitude, and the majesty, and the might of those mountains.

Not. Even. A. Moment.

Do you ever feel like you are sleeping through your life? Like you have forgotten that on the other side of your eyelids lies the magic and whimsy and beauty of your life? Like you know you could will yourself awake to experience life in all of its magnitude but it’s so much easier to just allow your eyes to droop and to sleep through another day of your life?

We live in a world that is in the midst of waking up. Millennials ushered in a whole new way of living. where adventure is chased and beauty is celebrated. And now, Gen Z is benefitting from this new, waking-up-world we are creating.

But, we are so far from fully awake. We have so much farther to go.  

Because, when Jesus described this life of following Him in a radical way, He wasn’t talking about an eyes-half-closed kind of life. He described an abundantly open, free life.  An eyes-wide-open life.

Galatians 5:1 says. “Christ has set us FREE to live a FREE life. So take your stand!”

In other words. WAKE UP. OPEN YOUR EYES. Life is being lived all around us.

Flowers are blooming and hills are rolling and waterfalls are roaring. There is injustice to be solved and people to be loved and good work to pour yourself into. There is beauty to be seen and laughter to be had and journeys to be taken.

So wake up. Keep your eyes open. Don’t miss the moment. Don’t fall asleep. Instead live boldy. Live loudly. Live free. wake up.

Music

Called Me Higher by All Sons and Daughters

Meal

For better or worse, I’m not a rule follower.  I thrive in the new, in creating, in crafting.

Therefore, I rarely follow recipes. Rather, I grab handfuls of vegetables and splash oil in pans and throw spices like confetti.  

Create something beautiful. Use bright colors. Try bold flavors. Smell rich scents.  

Embrace the freedom of creating something with no rules or boundaries or wrong ideas.  

Prayer

Jesus,

Wake me up.  Create a spark within my soul.  Alert me to the wild world and it’s pure beauty.

Open my eyes to the people who are unseen so I may see them.

Open my eyes to the injustice around me so I may fight against it.  

Open my eyes to the magic of life so I may delight in it.

Open my eyes to Your work in the world so I may join You.  

Open my eyes to see Your heart so I may know You intimately.  

Unleash me to experience the freedom you have called us to. Equip me to be an ambassador of Your freedom in this world. Send me to carry Your freedom to every place I journey.  

Align my heart with Yours so I may fully live the story You have written for my life.

Time

Brainstorm what you could do if you were free because you are. Start with these and see what you can add to the list:

You’re free to love without hindrance.

You’re free to live with great intentionality.

You’re free to laugh as loud as you’d like.

You’re free to lead with remarkable courage.

You’re free to travel far and wide.

You’re free to stay home and spend time with people you love.

You’re free to create beautiful art.

You’re free to fight for justice around the world.

You’re free to confront the injustice in your hometown.

You’re free to dress in bright colors.

You’re free to speak boldly for truth.

You’re free to preach the Gospel in back alleys.   

You’re free to preach the Gospel on a stage.

You’re free to create relationships across divides of race and culture.

You’re free to start world-changing initiatives.

You’re free to provide a meal for the hungry man in your city.

You’re free to design beautiful spaces for community to happen.

You’re free to write soulful poetry.

You’re free to raise funds for children across the globe.

You’re free to pour into the lives of children in your own neighborhood.

Beauty In The Freedom

Hannah Gronowski

Beauty in Freedom - Wk 3

Word

I suffer from the fear of missing out (FOMO) which leads me to say “YES” to more things than I can handle. Most of the things I say yes to are worthwhile and even enjoyable but recently I have been looking at the cost they incur on the most important relationships in my life; my family. I have never really suffered with paralysis by analysis (although I always struggled with choosing the right movie at blockbuster). My issue was living life reactively, having minimal specific goals and consequently no filter for which to screen new opportunities and possibilities through. My plan was to just say YES until my schedule is fuller than a plate at a buffet while I neglect the things that truly matter.

I was a prisoner of my own choices.

Ask anyone to list their top 5 priorities and you’ll get the same 5-7 responses ( Partner, kids, work, God, friends, health, service to others…blah blah) because that is what we are supposed to say. Look at how we spend our time and the pie chart is 60% work, 30% social media and 10% shoving food in our faces across from our loved ones. Long story short, where we spend our time and money is where our heart is and I was fed up with the momentary choices that deducted from my available resources. But for me, I needed to create an environment that funneled me towards a life of deliberate intention rather than rely on will power and choice.

Steps that I took to limit my imprisonment of choice included http://offtime.co/  on my phone and laptop, to-do lists with ranking of tasks, accountability meetings with my staff, weekly dates with my wife scheduled 2 at a time and pre-determined goals that are made public so I can’t back out without the shame of failure. Through this re-structured environment I have found freedom to pursue only the activities on my list (Be, Do, Have and Go broken down into daily, weekly, monthly and quarterly timelines). Sticking to this list allows me to grow deeper in those activities rather than take on more, albeit less, significant activities.

The single most impactful action I have taken has been to stop saying “Yes” to anything that I can’t enthusiastically say yes to. I say “no” when I used to say “maybe” because let’s be honest, it was always going to be a no or a reluctant yes anyway. I follow the Eisenhower Decision Matrix to guide my goals/tasks for the week so I can again, achieve my freedom from worry, stress and constraint by staying on course.

If it is on the list, I WILL do it. Not on the list and it might as well be dead to me. The full article can be found here (https://www.artofmanliness.com/2013/10/23/eisenhower-decision-matrix/) and comes highly recommended. Not all priorities are weighted equally so they must not be treated as such.

We are given a spirit of love and a sound mind so we have no business watching 5 hours of watching tv a day (https://www.nytimes.com/2016/07/01/business/media/nielsen-survey-media-viewing.html) while the things we say that matter get the bare minimum investment from us. Hopefully my post will inspire you to establish what freedom would look like to you and start making decisions that preserve that goal from any threats, foreign and domestic.

Meal:

Cliché I know but, in a world where anything you want is a click away, I find it redeeming to choose fasting for the first 8 hours I am awake. I choose disciple over hunger and in some small way, strengthen my ability to withstand primitive cravings for foods that are inconsistent with my health goals.

Song:

Matisyahu, a Rabbi by trade, spits fire in this simple message about the life that awaits us if we simply choose to stop fighting. Liberation starts with our intention to love.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WRmBChQjZPs

Prayer:

I’ve become a big fan of the 1 breath meditation movement and use it as my prayer anchor when I feel myself overwhelmed or entering territory where I am no longer the captain of my ship. Basically, many times a day I will breath in, repeat a simple prayer and find my feet again. Ongoing intimacy with our creator is more valuable to me than 1 dedicated time in the am/pm.

Time:

6am. I have so much I want to learn, be, and do that it must be done at 6am or my personal development comes at the detriment of my family time which I am increasingly coveting.  A good day means I hit 3/5 of these before I leave for work; Read, do my prehab, sprint at the park, X number of pullups, cold shower. A great day is all 5.