The Heart of Thanksgiving... not the art.

I am writing this post because my daughter asked me to.  She and I are attending a Bible study on Tuesday mornings and we have been using this as an awesome excuse to spend Tuesday together.  Over lunch today we got in an intense conversation about something that came up via the facilitator of the group.  With Thanksgiving this week she was talking about the people coming to her house for the holiday.  Originally, she was just hosting her usual family but is now hosting her brother and his family and all that en-tales.  I do not use the term hosting lightly.  Here is the problem.  There were several references to how it was going to be different for 'their guests' as they have many rules in their home that all invited guests would need to adhere to.  The one that she chose to use as an example (more than once) was that in their home, there would be no alcohol, even though she knew that would be a problem for many of the guests... it is not allowed in their home.  Don't get me wrong, I understand that when "in Rome" but allow me to tell you what my problem with this was... really.

Just minutes before, she had told us a story about the same family members.  In her story she explained that she has never looked to spend holidays with them as they are so "materialistic" and their home is not family friendly.  Just so that you understand, she was clear that nearly everything in the home is white.  The furnishings are literally priceless.  They are art collectors and it is just not well... what one would call 'kid friendly'.  She then told how it came to be that they needed (not wanted) to come to their home for Thanksgiving.  Somehow there was an issue with a fuel delivery and their house was pumped throughout with soot.  For "normal" people that would suck but clearly for them... bad, bad, bad.  So, here they are at the mercy of someone who should be merciful. Maybe it is because I am a clean freak with OCD, but I get why it would be not only devastating to be unable to host your guests but even harder to call and ask for someone else to host them, especially knowing that they will not be treated or considered in the way that you had planned to.  When she told the story she was chuckling.  I get it.  I understand. I would be a liar if I didn't say that had I been in the same place I would not have been tempted to chuckled a bit myself.  It is still a sad irony.

The reason that Raven wanted me to write this is because after we talked it through, she felt that this was something people needed to hear.  I am a Christian.  I believe that God looks at the heart more than the behavior.  I think that there is a huge difference between hosting and hospitality.  Hospitality has a heart.  I believe that God is more pleased with someone who pours a glass of wine in a home where it is frowned upon (if you read the same Bible as me it clearly isn't sinful) because it is what the guest is wanting, then someone who opens their home with a smirk because (due to an unexpected hardship) someone is in need of help.  Thanksgiving is the ultimate opportunity for others to see what you value.  It is an intimate look into each others lives and traditions.  When you share that meal I think it is important to share it all... but if the rules and traditions are more important to you than the people they will not feel you shared anything. God looks at the heart.  I believe that so much could have been achieved by showing the heart of hospitality and not the art of hospitality.

Hospitality is offering what you have to someone else with joy and without expectation.  The art of entertaining is to further your own reputation and achieve accolades.  Hospitality can even leave you feeling like you gave something... because you did.  The art of entertaining leaves you feeling better about yourself... well at least until you read something like this.

Shame, Shame, Shame... Change.

This a line from one of my favorite songs (Murder of One), written by one of my favorite bands (Counting Crows), off my favorite of their albums (August and Everything After).  Shame is something that you experience when you know, want and believe better of yourself.  It is something that you honestly have to have a moral compass to even understand and it can be a powerful motivator for self destruction... or change.  I don't believe in coincidences and so when I found myself humming it this morning and then it came on my ipod, only to be followed by an overwhelming self slap of my personal feelings of shame in the face of truth, I was not left wondering if perhaps I was going to be learning a lesson today.

Sometimes I do shameful things.  I make choices that I know are wrong.  In most instances I look back and feel ashamed but in some I know it will come even as I choose to do it anyway.  What on earth do you do with that?  When you find yourself in one of those places where you know that you chose willingly to do something you knew was wrong and it brings you to this sick disgusting place where you knew you would be.  You can't blame anyone else.  You can't say you didn't know it would end this way.  It feels... shameful.

I was in a Beth Moore Bible study recently when she made the statement "You cannot shame someone out of sin".  It took me a bit to really grasp that.  She pointed out that when we (and boy do we as women, churches and especially church women, do this) try to pull someone out of sinful behavior by calling them out and telling them how ashamed they should be.  It only inevitably pulls them back into it.  You see, without a desire to change we are just drug back under with feeling like we simply are so shameful and damaged that we don't fit anywhere else but in our sin and shame.  I have at times sat in that shame and let it eat me from the inside out.  It has been the mainstay diet of many personal demons.  As I let the words of this song roll over my soul this morning I was reminded of the other choice.  Change.  You see the lesson I learned today is that the same truth applies to me.  I cannot shame myself out of sinful behavior.  Infact... the more I allow myself to feel and dwell on my feelings of shame the more likely I am to (you guessed it) be drug back under with feelings like I simply am so shameful and damaged that I don't fit anywhere else but in my sin and shame.  That's right, the self proclaimed preacher of the gospel of "thou are not the exception" must humbly admit... I'm not the exception.  There is still good news for me however.  I am not dead, so therefore I can still change.  I am not the first person who has failed.  Some people say that the only way to truly fail is to never try.  For me today, I will add to that.  The only way to truly fail is to never change.

I Blame Your Parents

I am a survivor.  I have never had cancer but I am a survivor.  I was not just teased as a child I was tormented.  My parents did everything that they knew how to do and then some until I just stopped telling them.  I was  a precocious child (understatement of the century) and the only girl of 5 children.  My life at home was amazing.  Spoiled was my first language and being the baby of the family was the runway to my success.  Unfortunately, my story didn't end at home.  I was enrolled in a private school at an early age.  This can be a good thing but for me it was not.  I was in a small class and I was the only overweight child most of that time.  I remember well the birthday party of a friend that began my downward spiral. I made a choice that I still struggle with today.  I decided that my value and worth had more to do with  my weight than with my talents, abilities or God given gifts.  When I eventually left the private school world (ok, I demanded my parents take me out or I would purposely fail all my classes) and entered the public school system I discovered a whole new set of challenges. I was called a slut, whore and opportunist.  I went from being the unwanted to the ultimate temptress. The families in our neighborhood did not want their girls spending time with me and certainly not their sons. Some of them took it upon themselves to call my parents to tell them my reputation and ask them to help keep their child away from me.

Tonight I heard and watched the story of a girl in her 16th year who decided to end her own life.  I saw, in her words, many of my own thoughts and experiences.  I know what it is like to beg people to love you. I know what it is like to be the one not invited... not just once, but over and over again.  I  largely blame the parents.  I know that so many people will disagree with me but hear my  heart first.  I have children.  There are kids they like and kids they don't. Sometimes they even have very good reasons why they feel that way.   My children have been taught that they are to either, invite everyone or invite a few and if by chance others find out about it... it is now an open invitation.  There will be no "uninvited" guests.  My children know why.  Parents (if they chose to listen) know their children better than anyone.  If you see that your child is making decisions based on outward appearance or social status... you know it.  You do.  If you allow it, you should be ashamed of yourself.  I know that we all want our child to be at the top of the heap but never lose sight of the ultimate goal.  We want our children to be better than we are.  We want them to love and give more than we have.  Our dreams for them should not be centered around the kind of success that fades and fades quickly. By applauding them for the the things that really matter we are teaching them to applaud others for the same.

I struggle everyday with the echos of the words people have spoken.  After I grew older it expanded from my weight to other things about me that people didn't like or find attractive.  Time and date do not matter when it comes to the heart.  Think about what you say.  Think about what you allow others to say in your presence.  Be better.  Do better.  Be the first line of defense and teach your children how to speak to other people and how to speak about other people.  Teach them not only respect but what really deserves respect.

Ask And You Shall Recieve!

Oh you know you've heard it a million times and occasionally you even hear the part before it (you know, where the catch is) that says it only works if you ask for something that is in God's will, but sweet cheeks I just went and lived it!  For any of you who were forced to read/wade through the heaviness of my last blog post you will see that even the cadence of my writing is different on this one.  I prayed (and you thought what you wished for was dangerous... oh, honey be extra careful what you pray for) that God would relight my pilot light.  I begged him (ok, I might have yelled a little too and you know there was some fist to the sky action as that is a specialty of mine) to renew a passion in me for SOMETHING!  I just wanted a renewed vision... a new set of eyes... a fire in my heart for His service... is that too much to ask?  NO! Apparently not!

If you have known me for awhile you know that I used to be a speaker.  I say used to because well, my life fell apart, my faith was shaken, I went through a very deep depression (I am becoming emotionally winded just typing this), we moved to the middle of nowhere, where I knew no one and to say the least, I quit all that. Full stop.  At one time however, it was the joy spring of my heart.  It lit me up like a Christmas tree in the community park.  There is not a doubt in my mind that it is what I was made to do.  I will spare you most of the details (although they are amazing and I will happily spill for anyone who wants the detailed version) and get to the goods.  God answered my prayer.  He not only answered it... I think He was yelling back.  I have been called back into speaking with a bit of writing on the side.  I know that down the road I want... no, will be writing a book based on some of the topics that I used to speak on.  In the near future I am hoping to be able to return to the "circuit" as we speakers like to call it.

Had this been the end, it would have been great but there is so much more!  That thing that was missing in my spirit... it has returned! That passion that used to wake me up in the middle of the night to write it all down before I forgot (instead of bad dreams) has awakened again!  The hope, the joy, all of it has come bubbling up like a long forgotten spring in a dry land!  I know it won't be easy and every day will come with the same challenges, dishes, laundry, bills and cries of "what's for dinner?" but the seeds of faith have been planted and if they are watered by my tears of sorrow or joy matters not, for they will be watered! Thank you Lord for not giving up on me!  I cannot believe you still bother to listen let alone to answer and give so freely!

P.S. I give this post a cheese factor of around 85% but it just cannot be helped! Sometimes one must give in and just serve it up on a platter with crackers and of course wine (you had to know that was coming)!

So... anybody need a speaker for a women's group, high school girls or the girl half of a college group? Bring it :)

The Cracks Are Starting To Show

I have just spent several minutes staring at this blank screen.  I have so much on my mind and weighing on my heart that I simply don't know how to even begin.  Is what I have to say something anyone even wants to read?  Will it do any good to try and put it into words? Maybe it will and maybe it won't but if I go one more hour without letting some of it out I very well may just have some sort of break down.

My daughter, who is 14, asked me the other day why we stopped doing everything.  "What in the world do you mean?" I asked.  "We haven't stopped doing anything... in fact I am pretty sure that our calender is going to break me."  She explained that what she meant was when did we stop doing all the things we used to do.  As she expounded my heart started to ache.  As she began to recall memories of her younger years and the things that she missed in our life now I relived the loss of each one.  Being the adult that made those decisions I knew when and why they had gone by the wayside.  I know that as an adult not everything can be fun.  I know that you have to do things sometimes because if you don't... no one else will.  We call them responsibilities and obligations.  My problem however is that my life feels as though it has become nothing else.  The things my daughter was looking for were the sweet fun moments and traditions that we used to enjoy together.  They were the reasons that I chose to home school  and stay at home with my children.  She is right, we don't do them anymore.  Over the years I have taken up responsibilities left and right.  The joy in the everyday has ebbed away.  There are so many things that I have to do that there is no time or energy left for what I wanted.  None of these things cost money. None of these things took away from anyone else.  All they required was my excitement, energy and of course time.   Unfortunately, I don't have any of those readily available most days.

Someone told me recently that the years your kids are growing up is just a blur and not to worry about it.  The problem is I didn't want it to be a blur.  I wanted to be intentional and be here in the moments with them. Instead I feel like I am in a chaotic mess.  I am weighed down by the obligations and worries of this life.  I am drowning in fear and stress.  You only get one shot at this and I feel like I am wasting mine.  I feel like everyone gets their piece of me except my children.  I am afraid to even post this because I will undoubtedly hear how bad it made other people feel but it still won't change anything because it's not like they don't still need me to do everything I am doing for them.  I don't need a break.  I don't need someone to listen and tell me it will all work out if I have faith.  I need it to change.  I need to change. 

I Haven't Changed Much...

     A long time friend got me to pull out my old yearbooks today.  Okay, it wasn't hard as they are on a book shelf, designated for my personal memorabilia, in chronological order (yes, I know I have OCD and I don't try to hide it).  As I read through the messages sent to the 13-17year old me I learned something.  I really haven't changed much.  I typed her messages to me and she typed my messages to her and as I read them it made me smile because I could still read the same cadence in my words.  I took some time to look over the other messages and realized, as an adult, the things I did then that I am fairly confident my peers did not do.  I saw the messages written by my friends but mixed in were sprinklings of teachers and staff.  As I read them, one stood out very clearly to me.  I saw where the janitor had signed my yearbook.  I remember asking him to and watching him blush.  I remember him asking why I would want him to sign it.... and I remember my answer.  He didn't just sign one yearbook he signed them all. He commented that he loved the times I would drop by his office (which was a glorified closet/locker) and bring him a surprise or lunch.  Many of my teachers and the custodian at my middle school said the same.  He said he would miss me just saying hello to him everyday. 
     Maybe it's because I was teased so much when I was younger.  Maybe it's because I remember what it is like to feel (to sometimes still want to feel) invisible.  My parents called me "Captain of the Underdogs" but I just wanted to stop people from feeling as lonely as I did most of the time.  It made me so happy to make other people feel special.  It still does.  I have changed in a lot of ways and I have had people who have wanted to change me in every way but I am relieved to see that somethings haven't changed at all. I still openly share my faith where ever I am and with anyone who takes time, to spend time, with me.  I still mean it when I say I will be there if you need me.  I still mean it when I say I love you.  As jaded as I have become (and some days it feels like my heart has gone rock hard) I am still the girl you can call because I really do care.  The people that God has allowed through my life have brought me joy, singing, heartache, hurt and healing.  I wouldn't trade even one of you. Not one.

My Life As a Medical Experiment

    When I say I will do just about anything for money I am usually speaking in vague and suggestive terms but not this weekend.  I was just released from a laboratory after spending the weekend being a willing (and paid) subject in a fatigue study.  I could bore you with the details of the deal but the long and the short of it is that I was paid to stay awake for a really long time and take tests every hour on the hour to help approve or disapprove a shiny new tool for pilots to test their ability to fly.  Although the tests and all that went with them were interesting they are clearly not my take home prize... and neither is the money. 
     If you have met me, you know that I am a people watcher to the core.  I love people. I want to hear their stories, see what they do and learn why they do it.  This experience was a dream come true for someone like me.  We were pre-screened, screened, drug tested, drug tested again and then locked in a lab together for three days.  There were meant to be 4 of us but one backed out literally at the door and so we went on with just three.  We had never met.  We were screened for safety not personality and so it is safe to say just about anything was possible. 
    Over the course of time we shared our stories.  We told the tales and opened up our lives to each other.  We may never meet again but their opinions on family, faith, travel, relationships, politics, government, organics, books, movies, music... the world, will forever be a part of my opinions and decisions on all of them.  A funny thing happens when you are forced to really BE with other humans.  We were allowed to play games and watch movies but whatever we did we had to do together.  There was only one room so you couldn't escape to your own space.  We did not have access to phones, computers, television or outside influences.  We had to be present, awake and together.
    What did I learn?  I learned that when you take away all the tools that we claim "keep us in touch" and "give us access" to each other the intimacy was nearly immediate.  Connecting on a deep level was simple and you could see how hungry, no... starved, for it we all were.  No one was in a hurry or late for the next thing.  No one put you one hold while they took an all important call.  No one used being tired, hungry or having different beliefs or priorities as an excuse to end the conversation.  We were all tired, hungry and had different beliefs and we supported and encouraged each other to stay present.  I really didn't realize how dry and empty my heart is.  I am so lonely for real intimacy and relationship.  So much of my life is spent in rooms full of people who are already gone.  They are already at the next place, the next conversation full of platitudes, the next task or scheduled activity. 
    I can't make anyone ignore their phone.  I can't make anyone value conversation with me more than a good nights sleep.  I can't make anyone get a cramp from laughing instead of putting their iPod in their ears and hitting the gym for their "me" time.  I can't change the speed of the world that I am living in but there are somethings I can do.  I can be there.  I can be present in the moment when I am with you and not look at the clock, phone, iPod, or door.  I can BE PRESENT when I am with you and if you choose to be present with me when you're with me then maybe we can finally get connected, be in touch, have instant access to each other and all those other things that we claim we are doing when what we're really doing is isolating ourselves. 
    Some of you may read this and think "well that was a downer".  Some may read it and scratch you head thinking "I have no idea what she's talking about I can text on the treadmill while my ipod is in and I'm like surrounded by my besties who's lives are also full and satisfying".  Some may read this and think "poor dear...".  What I wonder is, did any of you read this and make a choice to do the same for me.