When I Don't Feel Beautiful

Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it.  -Confucius

I want this space to be somewhere where I can be real and honest.  I want to put my thoughts out there, as I believe there is power in making oneself heard.  Sometimes the hardest step is giving voice to a challenge.

What is it about how women are wired that we constantly find ourselves engaging in negative self talk?  I've noticed it more and more in myself recently and I don't like it.  Here's a [gracefully redemptive] example.

A few Fridays ago, we had our biggest fundraiser of the year at work.  This event brings in 1/3 of the operating budget of our organization, and there are a lot of influential people that attend.  This being my first year on staff, I had little idea of what to truly expect.  But I knew that I wanted to look the part.

We cancelled program with the kids for the day, since the event was moved to a Friday this year.  LA and I spent a few hours in the morning moving things and generally rushing around, getting set up.  My one job was the powerpoint for the event.  I was charged with creating two - one to play it in the background during the mix and mingle, and one to list the live auction items during the event.  They looked awesome [in my humble opinion] and I was proud of my work.  A few hours before go time, I'm at the computer reviewing and making final touches, only to discover the first show won't play and loop automatically.  Even now I don't know what the problem was.  I'm not especially technically minded but I can usually figure things out given enough time.  I realized I created the show on a newer version of software than what is on the computer I'm using, and I do everything I can think of to make it work.  Finally, after no positive results, I resolve to take it home and see if I can run it off my laptop.

During my two hour break between set up and the event, I find not only can I not fix the show, but the IT guy can't offer any help either.  I had spent about 45 minutes troubleshooting only to see I was going to have to recreate the 50 slide show in the older version of software.  Game, set, match.  Technology 1, me 0.

All the "excitement" set me back quite a bit in terms of time and I jump in the shower 15 minutes before I'm due back at work.  I wash my hair quickly and, rather than dry it like I planned, I desperately try and get it to stay in a bun.  At one point, as I'm twisting wet hair into a knot on my head, my arms aching from being above my head for a little two long, the clip I'm trying to use slipping from my damp fingers, I almost cry out in sheer frustration.  I drop my hands and plead aloud that this comes together quickly.  I'm supposed to be at work right now.

I finally get the majority of my hair pulled back and I'm pinning some loose pieces in place as I catch myself thinking:

"This isn't turning out at all like you planned."

"People are going to know you don't belong here."

"Everyone will know you don't know what you're doing and you're trying too hard."

"Your hair is wet and your makeup is rushed and you don't look pretty."

Whoa, stop right there.

I was lucky this time.  Finally, I am able to recognize these negative comments and know that they are not true.  I'm not exactly sure where the change and recognition actually happened.  It used to be that I would hear the negative and know that it wasn't ok, but I couldn't give voice to anything else.  The negative would just sit there, acknowledged as wrong but not truly defied.  It wasn't challenged; it wasn't corrected.  It was at some point during my trip to Nicaragua, and shortly after I returned, that I began to see myself as the Lord sees me.

When I look in the mirror, I see an average girl, with hair that needs a trim and bangs that are too long.  She doesn't have the best skin, but overall she's alright.  Maybe her clothes don't fit exactly right, a little big in places, and there's a slight fold throughout her middle when she bends at the waist.  I see a girl who has big dreams but isn't always sure how to achieve them.  And it doesn't matter how hard I try not to put any stock in physical appearance, I care.  Although I appreciate my body and celebrate what it does for me every day, I can be honest in saying that sometimes I want to look a certain way.  Usually this ideal image does not match up to reality [does it ever?].

I find more and more than I am quick to remind myself and take comfort in knowing that when my Father looks at me, He is delighted.  He is overjoyed at what he has created and he sees that it is good.  The complexities of our physical bodies is awe-inspiring, and the intricacy with which everything works together blows my mind.  I remind myself that He knows me so well that "without the will of my Father in Heaven, not a hair can fall from my head."  [Heidelberg Catechism].  He sees into my heart and knows my dreams.  He knows the places in my life where I struggle or lack discipline.  He knows my insecurities.  And He loves me anyway.

And in that moment, staring into the mirror, I work hard at trying not to find my worth in the frustration of hair that won't stay up and makeup that I use to cover up insecurities.  As I watch myself try and step into this role I think I need to fill, He stops me.  And He speaks to me in a way that I never expected, audibly, through my own voice.  I look at myself in the mirror and I say, "Thank you that I don't have to be beautiful to anyone but You, and to You I am always beautiful."

And I know it's true.

A Desire to Serve

At the end of life we will not be judged by how many diplomas we have received, how much money we have made, how many great things we have done.  We will be judged by 'I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat, I was naked and you clothed me.  I was homeless, and you took me in.'  -Mother Teresa

Let's suppose you were sitting in church one Sunday, any Sunday, listening to the sermon.  Perhaps you have to catch your mind from wandering every so often.  You're making a note in the back of your notebook as the service comes to a close, but you overhear the pastor as he shouts out one last announcement almost as an afterthought.  He says there is a bus outside, waiting to take whoever wants to go on a mission trip.

He does not tell you where you are going or when you will return.  You will need no money, no tickets.  All travel has been arranged for you.  You do not have time to go home and pack a bag.  You can not tie up loose ends at work, or say goodbye to your family.  To say yes, you simply have to board the bus.

Would you get on board?

This was a situation presented to me in a sermon this past Sunday and I haven't been able to get the scenario out of my head.

"Yes" can be a scary word.  It can open a lot of doors and take you a lot of places, but it can cause discomfort as well.  There's a level of trust involved and oftentimes we are slow to trust.

I think here I would have said YES.

It's well known to most of you that I have a huge desire to travel, to touch the world and make a difference.  More often than not I feel stifled in my hometown, pigeonholed by many of the comforts held so close by so many.  The desire to serve overwhelms me sometimes, a constant weight on my chest that reminds me that my heart craves something more.

Pascuala, Somotillo, Nicaragua

I long to be challenged, to go on an adventure and to learn to fully rely on the Lord for my needs.  No doubt, it would be the hardest thing I've ever done, getting on that bus.  But nothing about the idea turns my stomach.  While many of the people in my life might not understand why I said yes, I would hope they'd know how much I love and care for each of them.  I strive to live my life in such a way that if I was whisked off one day, there would be no doubt from anyone how I felt about their presence in my life.

I am currently searching for opportunities to serve overseas this summer.  My heart longs for the chance to hold and love on children who have no mothers.  I have seen the power a simple touch can have on another and I want to be the one to touch heads and hold hands.  I want to serve the least and the lost, and to me that doesn't just mean sending money somewhere once a month.  Presence is key, a willingness to share life. I want to alleviate suffering, to meet basic needs.  I want to be the hands and feet.

People often ask me why I don't invest my time in an organization here in the US; there is so much need here at home.  My answer - not everyone is called to go.  I have that desire, and I am capable.  What happens if no one goes?  What would have happened if Jesus stayed in his own hometown?

Pascuala, Somotillo, Nicaragua

It will not be easy.  An experience like the one I'm seeking, be it for a summer or for a lifetime, will challenge me every day.  Some days I think about how things could go and I don't feel strong enough, but I recognize that I am not the one who needs to be strong.  The Lord uses the weak and the small.

I am nervous, anxious, about how things could play out, but I'm also excited.  Currently I haven't found an NGO to serve with but I'm exploring some options.  I hope you will join me on this wonderful, life changing adventure.

Come visit!

I'm writing today over at 

 with Growing Up in the Valley!

Head over to read a bit about my recent trip to Nicaragua with Because We Care Ministries

and I'll be back here next week!

Exciting news

So...I've got some pretty exciting news to share.

Starting last week, I began blogging for a local family magazine called Growing up in the Valley.  This young company is family owned and highlights activities in the area devoted to families.  Make sure to check out the magazine here.

I've titled my blog...

While the gig is unpaid, I'm excited to get some exposure but most importantly, to keep writing!  I've been looking for a creative outlet for some time, something that doesn't take a lot of stuff.  I enjoy crafting and creating art, but my small living space (and budget) don't really allow me to collect much.  

Here's an excerpt from my first posting - 

I’ve lived in this town my whole life.  That’s 26 years of familiar streets and faces.  Being purposeful about the way I spend my time, and reflecting on the little things that present themselves each day, gives this city a magic I long thought was lost.  When I travel, it’s easy to marvel at the simplest of tasks, to see the new and exciting.  But to seek out the small within the familiar can often be a challenge. 

I want to notice and document the tiny gifts I’m given amidst the frenzied life I all too often find myself in.  Hours and days are lost in the quick pace our culture encourages, and it all can become mundane quickly if we don’t open our eyes to the small things that make up the bigger picture. 

I responded to Growing Up In The Valley when I heard they were looking for bloggers because I believe I have a unique view on the world.  Usually, it isn’t hard for me to notice the little gifts I am presented with each day.  But as life picks up increasing speed sometimes I forget to look.  I want to foster a habit of being aware and open to the tiny treasures that are too often overlooked.  Regardless of the haphazard construction of our “nests”, they are beautiful and each twig is carefully placed exactly where it needs to be.  Sometimes appreciation just means taking a step back, seeing how the small pieces fit together and create the big picture.

So there ya go.  Check it out every Saturday (and maybe more).  I will continue to write here and hope you will join me on this new adventure!

Rushing Into Stillness

I have felt the stress of busyness lately.  The weekend left no room for rest, and I started the week strung high on adrenaline.  There's a countdown to the end of this week.  A countdown to rest, to a break from the routine.  

I unexpectedly found a break this evening, returning home to my parents house to assess the meaning of a bright orange light on my dashboard.  The additional bonus was grabbing a sleeping bag to cover me while I sleep outside the door of 12 or so of my female students as we celebrate the end of the semester with a lock in.  

Guiding the car up the gravel driveway, feeling every inch of its quarter-mile length, I notice a bright light on the horizon.  I stop, thinking briefly that it's a neighbor's Christmas lights.  But my parents have no neighbors.  It's only once I fully stop, and even reverse a bit, do I see the source of the light.  The moon.

I hurry the rest of the way up the hill, put the car in park, and head to the back deck.  The night is still.  A type of stillness that I grew up with but that, lately, has escaped me.  The weight of silence is familiar yet foreign, the night seems poised somewhere between surrender and expectation.

The moon hangs low, bright and full.  I feel the weight of it and it glows a color that isn't quite gold but isn't quite yellow.  I have no name for the color and my inability to capture its beauty leaves me wanting.

There is no wind, the only sounds come from the occasional bark of a distant dog or the whoosh of a car.  The trees, bent by the wind, stand like old soldiers, keeping watch over the rising moon.  Their dark forms break up the horizon.  Even the sky is a consistent shade of indigo, scattered with stars.

The air is cool and clean.  I find not much other than my hands are chilled, a blessing as usually I am quick to be cold.  Just the act of breathing is renewing, and I feel somehow less burdened by life.  I watch as blinking planes carry people to far off places and think about my own upcoming adventure.

I am looking forward to being able to live in the moment, a task that somehow seems easier when one is outside of things familiar.  I have been keeping my eyes open for the small things, and have had a few returns on my investment.  But still I wonder - what am I missing in the daily living, not because I fail to look but because I fail to truly pay attention?

Why Shopping At Christmas Isn't All Bad

"There's nothing more contagious than the laughter of young children; it doesn't even have to matter what they're laughing about."  -Criss Jami

Recently I was reminded of the innocence and excitement of childhood.  The day had been stressful.  Full of lists, to do and otherwise; one of those days where you're scrambling to write things down on scraps of paper before they leave the forefront of your mind.  This feelings was amplified with the knowledge that LA is heading out of town and won't be at work.  So much to do, so little time.

My reminder for the true meaning of the season came as I wandered the aisles of Walmart.  I was shopping for work, well past my scheduled hours, fighting through the clutter and metallic wrapping paper.  My shopping technique is pretty standard - weave up and down every aisle, sometimes twice, looking for whatever is on my list.  It's served me well thus far, and although time consuming, it leaves ample time for taking in the sites.

This particular trip took me into the garden-turned-Christmas area, a little room off to the side at the back of the store.  I was looking for big robe boxes for coats for our students, and wrapping paper to cover a window during our holiday party next week.  There were rows of ornaments and bows, small villages and tabletop trees; and as it always happens, what I needed was in the last two rows.

But I couldn't have been more grateful for the delay, the wandering up and down as I searched for what I needed.  For it was here, in this small area at the back of the store, where a mom was pushing a cart containing, among various gifts and necessities, two little girls.  I heard them before I saw them.  They loudly announced their arrival with a chorus of "ho, ho, ho," trying to make their little voices as deep as possible.

As they neared my cart, I see one in the seat and one in the basket, both wearing their curly dark hair up and flaunting Christmas stockings on their hands.  They sing a made up song, "Merry Christmas to everyone."  Their excitement and wonder at the season is infectious and I can't keep myself from smiling.  They have no idea how much their sweet spirits have brightened my stressful day.  There is something beautiful about the innocence of a child and the energy they can barely contain during this special time of the year.  I wish I could bottle it and keep it around for the hard days, cracking open the sound of laughter and appreciate for the joy of life seen though the eyes of a child.  It reminds me to take time and be present wherever I am, not only in during this season of anticipation and excitement, but in the mundane and everyday.

Liquid Sunshine

"Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet."  -Roger Miller

                              "Being soaked alone is cold.  Being soaked with your best friend is an                                     adventure." -Emily Wing Smith, Back When You Were Easier to Love

The red canvas of my shoes is stiff and unforgiving as I pick them up, two fingers at the heel, and put them in my closet.

Yesterday I helped a dear friend of mine ship a few boxes of her life to Texas.  She is preparing to move this weekend, driving over a series of days to return home.  I rode the relatively short distance to her house with my windows half way down, watching the fog in the mountains.  The day was gray but warm, as if it took no notice of the date on the calendar.  My heart was light, in spite of the overwhelmingly long to-do list that loomed over me, and my free hand was keeping time to the music on the window frame.

I had known the day was coming.  Our relationship is unique and my life has been intertwined with Beks for a few years; we are alike in more ways than not.  I knew this little town couldn't hold her big heart forever.  She recently settled into the idea of moving and I never doubted her decision - it's time.  The last month has been full of excitement and preparation and bittersweet conversations as I know she'll only be around for a bit longer.

I arrived at her house about 9am, accompanied by a light sprinkle.  In the midst of packing tape, address labels and sharpie markers, little attention was paid to the weather.  Not long before we had prepared to load the cars, a loud clap of thunder drew our attention outside - a full blown rainstorm, blowing in suddenly, wasting no time with pleasantries.

Because of other obligations we couldn't wait long to move our packing party to the post office.  Despite the weather, we took multiple trips across wet grass and pavement, balancing boxes and tugging on doors, running and laughing, trying not to fall on wet leaves and concrete floors.  We both emerged soaking wet, tracking in leaves, water running down our faces and changing the color of our clothes.  I'll admit, I had to fight the urge to stomp through the little rivers that appeared down the sides of the streets, and I marveled at the movement of the water as it collected and spilled around the tires of parked cars.  What is it about rain that encourages the child within us to be silly, to laugh and dance?

I will likely not see Beks again before she leaves, but I couldn't think of a better way to send her off.  As we left the post office and the rain began to let up (of course!), tears made new trails on our already wet faces as we hugged and said goodbye.  I know it's not really goodbye - you can never say goodbye to someone who has left such an imprint on your heart - but rather "see you later".