The Countdown

Yesterday was my birthday. I'm 29. 29 years old.
That number could scare me, I suppose. It means the decade of my 20's is almost over. Maybe it's intimidating because your 20's are your first full decade as an adult. You get to figure things out, all on your own. You get to do adult things and make the adult choices. No one looking over your shoulder telling you to do something different.
So you get comfortable in your 20's. They're a familiar place, a comfort place. You know your 20's. They're like an old friend.
So your 30's seem scary. Uncharted water. Places you've never been.

Now don't get me wrong. My 20's have been awesome. I met my husband, I got married in my 20's. I moved to Tucson. I've been to Brazil, to Europe. I've gotten to do incredible things. I've met incredible people. My 20's have been amazing. But it's like the book is closing, and a new one is opening.

And I refuse to be intimidated. I think my 30's are a beginning. A step into real life. Or, realer life, maybe. It reminds me of how I felt New Year's Eve, 2007. I knew 2008 was the year that was different. Every year prior I had been able to predict how the coming year would go. Nothing would change, it would all just be...the same. And it was. Until New Year's Eve 2007. I had nothing for 2008. Except that it was different. I knew I would meet my husband that year. And I did. It was just different than all the years past.

And that's how I feel about 30. Everything is gonna change. 29 is like the breath before the plunge. So now, I'm just getting ready. Things are gonna fall into place.
Another reason I love the Lord. He has this incredible way of bringing the right things at the right time. And the right things at the right time is chemical. It's reactive, it's cataclysmic. It's unstoppable.
And I really believe that's what my 30's are going to be. It's going to change everything. And I can't wait. It's only getting better.

So here's to the countdown.

September 11

It’s hard to believe it’s been 15 years. I still remember where I was. I was 13. Turning 14 in a week. I was woken up that morning to the startling news. Something had happened to one of the WTC towers in New York City. An explosion maybe? A bomb? A terrorist attack? No one knew. We sat in front of the tv and watched, desperate for news. Desperate for anything to clarify what was happening. I remember watching as a second plane came flying seemingly out of nowhere and collide explosively with the second tower. I remember the news anchor’s shock as they tried to maintain their composure on national television. 

I remember sitting in confused silence in our living room. I remember everyone trying to make sense of what was happening, trying to explain it or find a answer. 

I remember watching as you could see the people inside the tower, leaning out of windows. I remember the horror I felt as all of the sudden we realized that people were jumping. 

I remember the understanding that hit me when another explosion was reported at the Pentagon. I remember understanding that something evil was happening. 15 years later I’m still not confident we know all the answers. And I won’t waste time on speculation.

I remember being glued to the tv. Just wanting any news on what was happening. I remembered thinking about all the first responders that were rushing to the scene. Firemen, paramedics, police, random bystanders who knew something needed to be done. I remember swallowing my fear as I thought about what they were running into. 

I remember watching in shock as the first tower collapsed. All I could think about was the people. How many people were in the building? How many people couldn't get out? What would happen to the people in the streets? Would they be able to get away? Would other buildings fall as a result? I remember being mad that so many people couldn’t get out. I don’t know why I was mad, but it made me angry. 

I remember I couldn't think, as I watched that tower collapse. I couldn't get a hold on what was happening. I wanted to understand, to make it make sense, but it was all happening too fast. Everything seemed out of reach. There was no rational thought to be grasped. 

I remember desperately hoping that more people could get out of the other tower. I remember silently pleading that for some unknowable reason, the second tower wouldn’t collapse. I remember the shock when it did. 

Forgive me for being so morbid, but I remember thinking about the carnage. You see, I'd read the story of the Oklahoma City bombing. I was only 8 when it happened and didn't know much about it at the time. But I read the story when I was older because I wanted to know. I remember the accounts of the paramedics finding the fingers of toddlers in the rubble. It made me sick. Who could do that to children? But I couldn't imagine the carnage the first responders would find this time. I remember how sad it made me. How could they ever recover from what they would see that day?

I remember hearing the stories of the people on the planes. Calling loved ones, understanding their fate. I remember hearing the story of the heroes that didn’t allow the final plane to get to it’s destination. 

I remember sitting and listening to our president address the nation that night. I remember the sorrow on his face. I remember how many people hated him, but no one cared that day. I remember the words of courage he spoke to us. I remember that I was proud of him, because I couldn’t imagine having to lead our country that day. I remember that my heart was proud to be an American. 

I remember being angry that my country, in which I had always felt safe, was compromised. I remember laying in bed at night for months after and being afraid every time I heard a jet overhead. A childish fear, to be sure, but real nonetheless. I remember being afraid that every day I would wake up and hear about another attack. I remember watching every jet I saw just to make sure it was going where it was supposed to. As if me watching it somehow would make it so. I remember calculating what important landmarks and government facilities were nearby, just in case. 

I remember how people looked at each other differently. I remember how there was an unspoken brotherhood, a camaraderie; we were all in this together. Strangers, and yet, familiar at the same time. People just wanted to be kind to one another. I remember how first responders were national heroes. My, how times have changed. 

15 years later I still feel the sorrow at the horrendous loss of life. I can’t look back at the videos of that day. I can’t watch the horror of it all over again. 

15 years later. Fifteen years. 

I remember. I just remember. 

And I’ll never forget. 

The Tree

There was a girl who lived up in a tree
and when they asked her why
she smiled softly to herself
and said "because up here I can see."

In a town called Reality
where nothing ever changed
and it's people, Disappointment,
could only stay the same

They'd stopped it long ago
the curiosity of dreams
mindless, they carried on
stuck forever in routine

Now this girl was a Dreamer
different from all the rest
and so they didn't like her
for she wouldn't acquiesce

So she carried on alone
and much to her dismay
it wasn't time to leave
but she had to get away

So she found a tall, tall tree
with a view for miles wide
and there she dreamed of bigger things
and from Disappointment she could hide

And so there she stayed, up in that tree
and when they asked her why
she smiled softly to herself
and said "because up here I can see."

The Rules

I'm just trying to keep it all straight. There’s a lot of rules. Life is full of them, spoken and silent. Cultural norms and expectations. We like formulas because they create logical patterns. 

So we grow up in these patterns and live in them because it’s “normal.” Or because it’s “just what people do.” 

But there’s another side to the rules. The side where you realize that you’re meant to do something outside of the box of cultural norm and expectation and then you spend half your life trying to convince yourself of it and half your life trying to make it happen because the rules we’re entrenched in are surprisingly rigid. Even though we like to say that “anyone can do anything.” What we really mean is that “anyone can do anything as long as it’s logical and fits our description of normal.” 

So what happens then, to those who break the rules? I don’t know. But I’m about to find out. 

I grew up in a very specific family (nothing wrong with that, btw). My family is full of these incredibly organized, administratively gifted people. They carry planners, and live by them. They keep intense calendars and schedules and everything must fit within the planner. They’re incredible people. Most of them work in offices, in very important administrative roles, or executive roles. And it all makes perfect sense. 

So I grew up with an innate sense of that being normal. And I grew up with this idea that I must be that way too. No one told me to be that way, it’s just what everyone did. So I guess I assumed that that must be what I’m good at too. And so I lived my adult life working in administrative roles. Every job I’ve had, that’s what I did. 

Until my last administrative job. I was 25 when I realized that I’m not good at administrative work. Not even a little bit. Not only am I not good at it, but I loathe it. I don’t enjoy details. Actually I hate being hassled over details. I’m a big picture person and I KNOW that the big picture will work. Please don’t ask me to explain the details because I hate it and often see it as a waste of my time. Explaining the details makes me hate the whole idea. 

Guess what? Administrative work IS details. Details are essential to administrative work. Details are what will make or break something. In a nutshell- I am TERRIBLE at administrative work. I can do it, sure. But I chalk that up to my work ethic, not my giftings. I will always work hard. But it took me until I was 25 to realize I was working really hard at a job that I hated and wasn’t good at. 

I can’t believe that’s just how it’s supposed to be. I won’t believe that. Because I look around at the people I respect and they not only are good at their jobs, but genuinely LOVE their jobs. So, it must be possible to have a job that you are both good at and that you LOVE. 

So it started me on this journey. Trying to figure out what in the world I am good at. What I am passionate about. I’m embarrassed to say it took me 25 years to understand that creativity isn’t simply something I enjoy but it’s what I’m good at. I am a creative person. Which is a little annoying, to be honest. 

There is a stigma on creative people that creativity is nice but it’s impractical. Some people are successful as creative types, but it’s rare. And it doesn’t make any sense to pursue it. You HAVE to do the practical thing because it makes sense. 

So I try to make sense of that thought process. So you’re saying that I have to start out successful in order to validate my creativity? Ok, well, it doesn’t work like that. What if Robin Williams had never pursued acting? What if Bono had never decided to be in a band? Think of all the CREATIVE things we wouldn’t have in the world, if the creative people weren’t creative. 

I can’t be creative if it’s only contingent on success. Being creative is WHO I am. It’s as normal to me as being organized is to an administrative type. 

The point of all this, is that we HAVE to make room for creative people to be creative. I know, I know. It’s impractical. It's risky. There’s no guarantees of success or security. Well, let us determine our own success and security. Please stop putting us in boxes and demanding us to be like everyone else. Cause I lived a life where I wasn’t creative in my job and I hated it. I never stopped writing stories, and songs. I never stopped imagining all the things I wanted to do. I never stopped being creative. Because creativity is in my DNA. It’s who I am. 

And when you ask creative people to stop being creative because it doesn’t fit a box you need it to, it’s like asking us to stop breathing. Forgive the dramatics here, but it’s like dying slowly. We picture ourselves laying awake at night every day for the rest of our lives, regretting all the things we didn’t create and imagining all the things we could’ve done. 

Help us come out of our shell. Help us break “the rules.” Help us be creative. Believe in us. Believe that we can create something that matters and something that makes a difference. Give us a chance. Don’t relegate us to living someone else’s life. Don’t relegate us to sleepless nights filled with “could’ves.” 

The world is changing. I believe it needs creative people. I think the church needs creative people. Creativity allows us to express something that is in our hearts. And somehow, when we express something in our heart it often touches someone else’s heart. Interestingly, I think if you look at God's example of creativity I think you'll see that His heart was exposed in his creation. We expose our heart in our creativity. And when we love Jesus, I think we expose HIS heart in our creativity. It's a weighty thing. And we need it. Creativity matters. We need the creative people to be creative. 

Baton Rouge

We're in a crazy time. I can't remember the world ever seeming this dark, or hateful. My heart is so heavy. I feel the weight, again, of these few days. More death. More killing. More brokenness. I have so many thoughts. So many things in my head. So here's some of my thoughts for the day. 

How many officer lives will be enough? What's the magic number when the injustices they're accused of will be "paid back." How many lives? Give me a number, so we can even the score. Will that bring peace? No. It won't. Innocent people will still be dead. No one will be brought back, justice won't be served. Stop celebrating that people have died. This is tragic, period. 

BLM, we need you to speak up. You can't scream about one unwarranted death because it fits your cause and ignore another because it doesn't. Your silence is deafening. Yikes. I'm sorry to be so blunt. 

But you should know that most often silence is interpreted as agreement. So in your silence, you should know it's taken as agreement. That you agree with these brutal, pre-meditated attacks and murder of police. And if I can be so bold, I know you don't agree with what happened today. 

Forgive me, because the police matter to me in a very personal way. I'm married to one, you see. 

So please, society as a whole: Don't celebrate what happened in Baton Rouge today. This is not victory, this is not justice. This is an atrocity. Again. 

This is not to say that you (or ANYONE) should suffer injustice at the hands of police or anyone else. You should not. Your life is literally invaluable. Black lives matter. So very much, they matter. But it also means you need to help balance the scale.

Because extremism is always wrong. On any side of the scale. Extremism creates a void of understanding, of morals, and often law-abiding behavior and common sense. Extremism always divides and never unifies. It's incapable of unity. It never accomplishes the goal. It doesn't bring equality, it can't. Extremism is often a knee-jerk reaction because something has to be done NOW. That doesn't mean it's right or helpful. 

Extremism in its most basic definition means "the furthest most point from the center." 

So when we swing so far one direction, when we focus so heavily on one side, it's extremism. And it will only divide. It will never bring unity. 

And you know what? I genuinely believe that the heart of most people is not to be extreme. I believe that most people's heart and intentions are pure. But we can't ignore that extremism is still the result. And the further we go, the more extreme it gets because it polarizes people. But I digress. 

As someone who follows Jesus, I gotta tell you: The church in its best function is not an either or mentality. The church is not either or, it's both! It's not black lives or police lives, it's BOTH. It's not you or me, it's BOTH. 

We MUST hold the scale in balance. God is balance. I'm learning this more and more in my life. 

It's great to support the BLM movement. But please, support the police too. It's great to support the police, but please, support black lives too. Be equally vocal. 

This is unity. It's saying it's not either or, it's BOTH. 

Again. I'm reminded deeply of the scripture in Galatians 5:14 "For the entire law is fulfilled in keeping this one command: “Love your neighbor as yourself."

We have to LOVE each other. It's the ONE thing that sums up all the rest. We have to LOVE each other, weep with each other, honor each other, prefer each other, the list goes on and on and on.  

We gotta change, folks. I'll start with me.  

If You Must

We all have an opinion, thoughts, or sentiments that we feel compelled to share when an atrocity such as today happens.

Often we feel the need to turn to political arguments and ideologies.

But if we could, could we hold for a moment? Could we not rush to scream about policy? Could we not rush to scream our opinions? Could we not rush past the devastating loss of life, the gut-wrenching pain of those who mourn? 

Could we just for a moment, be human again? Could we just for a moment, weep with our brothers? Could we be quick to listen, and slow to speak? Could we be intentional with our words, instead of flippant?

It may seem like the days grow ever darker, so let our LOVE shine ever brighter.

For we are not of the kind who shrink back (Hebrews 10:39), but of those who have FAITH.

So.

If you must speak on the day's events:

If you must, Speak kindly of those who have been taken from us.

If you must, Speak love to those who are mourning.

If you must, Speak peace to those who are afraid.

If you must, Speak wisdom and courage to those who lead us.

If you must, speak life. 

To Nice, and all of France, we love you, we pray for you and we weep with you. 

Heart of Flesh

My heart is broken again tonight. 

Over the past two days, two men have been shot and killed by the police. Tonight, 4 officers were killed at a protest. I don't have adequate words to convey what's in my heart, or in my head. But I feel the weight of the past few days. 

More lives cut short. More death. 

Love is wrecking my life recently. And it’s a good thing. Opening my eyes beyond my ideals. Not shaking my convictions of right and wrong, but challenging my (at times) tunnel vision. It's easy to dehumanize these situations when we want to dig in our heels for our ideals. And sometimes, it's easier to ignore the problems than address them. And in so doing, we often forget that there are people on the other side of every story. People with families, and places they belonged. We’ve forgotten our humanity, it seems. 

Lives are being taken, right and left, all the time. 

I believe it so grieves the heart of God when the lives of his children are taken. He wrote our stories, you see. From beginning to end, every day was written out. Long before we born. He knows the whole story. He cares about the whole story. 

I pray we find our humanity again. Remember that no matter the circumstance, it’s about PEOPLE. Life is about PEOPLE. Eternity will be full of PEOPLE. We’re all the same, you know. 

We come from different families, with different values. Sure, we have different skin color, maybe even different sexual orientations. 

But when you strip away all the labels, we’re all the same. We’re people. With breath in our lungs and dreams in our hearts. With purposes and destinies to fulfill. 

It’s not about sides. We’re are one side. We’re human. 

Ezekiel 36:26

“I will give you a new heart and a new spirit; I will remove your heart of stone and restore your heart of flesh.” 

Oh God, take our hearts of stone and restore our hearts of flesh! That our hearts would beat for one another again. Let us leave our differences on the ground and weep with our brother. 

Let our hearts beat for one another again.