Lessons in Grace

Easter hit me pretty hard this year. For the first time in my entire life, Easter was more than a chance to finally wear white pants (I've been wearing them for months now. My fashionable friend says that rule is old school) and it was more than the chance to buy a new dress (I didn't buy anything new this year).

This year, Easter was a glorious day that celebrated the time a homeless, brown man, who was the son of God, came down here and without knowing me, for I would not be born for many more centuries, hung on a cross while his mother wept at his feet just so that I could know grace.

You should all read that run on sentence above as though you had written it. Because He came down here to give all of us grace. So, you, who would not be born for many more centuries, have grace because of a homeless guy who loved you more than words.

The fact that He wept in the garden and prayed that this would not go down, that He would not be humiliated and in excruciating pain and mocked, really got to me this year. Because I'm not a terrible person, but I'm not a great one either and yet, He did that for me. For us He watched his friend betray him, for us He gave his life, for us He died so that we may have grace without making a sacrifice, without having to ask for it. And so now, that I know what Easter is really about, I'm disturbed by how little grace exists in the world. Grace is the greatest gift any of us have ever been given and none of us ever deserved it, for one reason or another.

I never deserved it because I didn't believe in it for a long time, because I often catch myself judging a book by its cover, because sometimes I delight in other people's struggles when I think they deserve it, because I don't always give the grace I've been given. I'm sure if you thought about it, you would find you have reasons like mine. But they're really hard to admit. No one likes to admit that they are an asshole.

Sometimes I take up "personal enrichment projects" where I try to work on one particular thing that I've noticed I suck at in life. Sometimes the projects are "successful" but most of the time I fail because I need more help than my own willingness and willpower can give. About 6 months ago, my personal enrichment project was to not buy clothes for a year. I recognized in myself that I was chasing my value through the way that I clothed myself. And I also noticed that even though I thought my value was tied to my clothing, I was never happy with how much my clothes told me I was worth. I failed at that project. I have bought clothes. I still think about clothes. I have, however, stopped buying clothes just because they're trendy or because they look good on someone else. And I have started to really think about what I like and what I feel good in. I've also given away most of my wardrobe and am down to a few key pieces. I can fit my wardrobe in a suitcase if I needed to and that's not a bad ending to a failure of a project.

On Good Friday, which wasn't actually good at all for Jesus, I decided to make my personal enrichment project Grace. To give it freely and without reason.

Hours into this project, I learned a lesson: Grace gives Blessings. I was driving Fifi to school on a curvy back road that I really enjoy speeding on. Stop judging. I like to go fast. From the backseat, she asked if I would open her granola bar because she didn't have breakfast at home. We were running late. We're always running late so she routinely eats granola bars on the way to school. I never claimed to be a a good mama in the morning. My good mothering only comes out between the hours of 10am and 7pm and that's a long enough work day for me. The other times of day that I am called to mother are not good.

Anyway, back to grace. I slowed way, way down so that I could open her granola bar because we were going around a very sharp curve. As we rounded the curve, there were two baby deer standing in the middle of each lane on the road. Had I been speeding or if I had said "Wait until I get to a stop sign" we would have plowed right into those deer and who knows what would have happened. That was the only affirmation I needed that giving grace is a really good thing.

I've been given many opportunities since then to give grace freely and lavishly. I've experienced a lot of growing pains in trying to become a person who gives grace freely instead of giving judgement and bad thoughts freely. But I am convinced this is a personal enrichment project that has a lot of lessons to be learned and a lot of blessings to be had. It is a project worth my commitment, it is worth my persistence even when I suck at giving grace.

The world needs a whole lot more grace. If we all got together and decided to give grace freely to whomever exists in our own lives, just think of how much extra grace there would be to go around!

Please join me in giving free grace, grace without a price, grace without the expectation of reciprocity. We could all use a little more. And just think of the blessings you might find!

Coming Home

I have been saying for a year now that I didn't think church was a necessary part of faith and that I might never set foot in one again. I still believe that first half; I do not for one second believe that God intended for us to go inside our steepled buildings and shut the world out with stained glass windows. But that last half is where I'm eating crow. God loves to challenge my comfort zone and my assumptions; I think He enjoys doing that to all of us if we're willing to listen.

I'm not sure what made me decide to try church again for Easter Sunday. Don't know when I decided to try Trinity United Church of Christ but when I called to find out what time the service would be, I was already in. The person who answered the phone said it started at 10:30am. Not even a second after we hung up, it occurred to me that she may have given me the time for Sunday School and I am just not there yet. I don't want to be in a small room full of people where class participation might be expected. I just want to sit in a large sanctuary and have one person do all the talking. I called back and said "Was that the time for Sunday School? Because I don't want to come to Sunday School. I just want to come for the service and I don't want anyone to talk to me. I have so much church baggage its not even funny, so I'll be the one in the back pew crying like a complete moron." And she said "You won't be the only one. And you won't be a moron. The actual service doesn't start until just before 11am."

So, I went today and I prayed that I would hold it together. And I did. Mostly. Until everyone welcomed me so warmly. Until I looked around and saw a black woman at the front, a gay couple to my left and a lesbian couple behind me. Before the service started, everyone was just chatting and they weren't even whispering. I even heard someone say "shit."

This is it.
The place I was meant to be my entire life.
These people, in their irreverence, their acceptance of everyone, are being the hands and feet of Jesus.
They have a homeless ministry.
They have a ministry for troubled youth.
These.
Are my people.

The pastor said they would be passing out communion today. He gave detailed instructions for how it would go down for anyone who had never done it before. He said it didn't matter where you were in your life, on your faith journey, who you loved or what you'd done, you could take communion. And I think that's exactly how Jesus would have it. Jesus always knew that the way to draw people in was with a shared meal. I don't believe that he would exclude anyone from partaking in the body of Christ because of any of the things that usually excludes people before they even get started. Jesus never asked us to be perfect before we could follow Him around and try to emulate Him and He certainly never expected anyone to be perfect before they could sit down and eat with him.

Now that I have found a home, I know why God sent me to that tiny church just before Christmas. I finally know a few things. One: God did not allow that horrible thing to happen to me in church so long ago. But He is using it to His advantage, since it did happen. God uses all of us-the good, the bad and the ugly. Two: He told me to go to that tiny church where I felt free, not because it was the place for me, but because He wanted to show me that all of the things that kept me bound and kept me from achieving my purpose, my bliss and my freedom, were just that: THINGS. It was just a small church, just wooden pews, just a musty church smell, just maroon carpet. He sent me to that church to finally let it all go and to show me that I was being enslaved by someone I had not seen in 20 years by allowing what he did to me to define me.

I am free.
I will no longer be enslaved by the bad things that have happened to me.
I am not defined by the wreckage.
I am not defined by the things that I have done.
I am free.
Liberated.
Just like Jesus meant for all of us to be.

Easter

Growing up evangelical, I heard lots of people say "What is this world coming to? Please, Lord, come back soon." It always seemed so odd to me and I didn't really know why until I started reflecting recently.

As a child, everyone in my faith community focused on Heaven and how to get there. Getting there had nothing to do with how you treated people or how much you loved anyone other than yourself. God was an omniscient authoritarian and I also heard quite often "The Lord giveth and The Lord taketh away." I'm pretty sure that's a made up thing and doesn't actually appear in the Bible, which is kind of ironic when you think about it because the evangelicals take the Bible literally and yet, they quote verses that don't exist.

My very favorite uncle has struggled with demons as long as I've known him and even before I came along. His demons looked like drugs when he was much younger, but the effects have haunted him his whole life. The demon that has gripped him for as long as I've been alive is alcohol. Alcohol has become his personality. Awhile back he was sober and sick; so, so sick. Now, he's courting Alcohol again and he's the uncle I remember as a kid. But he has always told me that he doesn't care if I'm right or wrong, he is always on MY side. And that has been 100% true, always.

I think of him as God with skin on in my life. I think of Jesus and God as saying those exact words to me: "I don't care if you're right or wrong, I am always on your side." Doesn't he say that to all of us? If you're in doubt, let me remind you why we celebrate Easter.

Jesus, the only perfect human being to ever live, was a religious revolutionary of his time. People loved him because they weren't excluded from faith anymore. People hated him because they were no longer the religious elite.

 He came here knowing that one day the hate would win. He came here knowing that one day one of his closest friends would betray him. Came here knowing that one day, he would hang on a cross with nails in his hands and feet. He would hang with criminals, He would be taunted by the thief on his left, He would watch his mama cry at His feet.He came here knowing that one day the world would be full of people who never deserved His sacrifice. That we would kill one another with RPG's or that girls would be terrorized into staying home from school. One day we would make our faith an exclusive club for the religious elite of our time and use his name to elevate ourselves. One day children would take their own lives rather than face one more day of torture and pain at school. One day we would stand on sidewalks and condemn other people with huge signs written in red ink, for choices they've made or for loving the wrong person. He came here knowing that one day we would ignore the least of us, we would make our worship a song on one day of the week and nothing more.

And why would he agree to that?
 Because He doesn't care if we're right or wrong, He is always on our side.
He only asked us to do one thing in exchange for that monumental sacrifice-He asked us to be kind, love Him and love each other.
And even when we don't love Him or love each other, He loves us anyway.
Always.

This brings me to the point I was trying to make in the beginning. When we say to God "What is this world coming to? Please, Lord, come back soon and take us home" we spit in the face of the things He has done for us. It is the cry of a spoiled, exclusionary people. We say to Him "I don't care that you made the Heavens and the Earth, that you spoke the grass, sky, trees, clouds, rain and snow into being. I don't care that you made birds that sing on lovely spring mornings or that you gave us flowers that bloom in vibrant colors when the weather turns warm. I don't care that you sent us a son to be the Savior of the world or that He agreed to die an agonizing death so that we may always know how much you love us. I don't care that three days later, He arose and sent a woman out to the community to tell them He IS Risen. None of that matters because this place might as well be the pits of Hell. All I see when I look around is horrendous crimes, atrocities and hate."

And I imagine Him saying "Look a little harder. There are people working to change all that. There are people quietly loving. There are people silently joyful. Follow them. I'll meet you there."

Isn't that just the best news?
We often don't make it seem like it's the best news ever because we make it seem like following Jesus comes with lots of rules. But it really doesn't. It just comes with one: Say, be, do Love.

Resurrection:My Messy, Beautiful

I have written so many versions of this essay. I have typed and deleted. I have sat down and only written whatever I felt and left it all there to be edited and made cohesive later. I have cried. I have quit. I have rejoiced in my truth. But the for real truth about me is that it’s complicated.

My earliest, most vivid memory is being molested by the preacher’s son in the fellowship hall/basement of my very tiny childhood church. I can still smell him and I remember he had cold hands. I was probably about three years old.

My other very early memory, that is a little more fuzzy around the edges, is standing between my mother and biological father and begging them to stop screaming at each other. I don’t remember much of him. The only mark he left on my life was his absence.

My life is a series of deaths and resurrections, just like the Jesus that I denied for so very long. When I was seven years old, my mama remarried the man I will always call Dad. And out of that union, I got a stepbrother and later a half sister, a few extra sets of grandparents and aunts and uncles. We moved an hour away and to a different state than the one that I grew up in so that our new family could live united. It was death of what I’d always known and resurrection of what I’d come to know, all in one.

My feelings about my mama are so complicated I’m not even sure I understand them and I’ve been living with them for almost 29 years. My mama is my champion in a crisis, when my heart is broken, for the important things of my childhood, like skinned knees, dance recitals, prom, graduation, my wedding day, the birth of my daughter, my initiation into motherhood. But for the mundane days in between, she’s less of a champion, less of a friend. She’s consumed by her own demons, her own life, her own failures, her own triumphs. Every word she utters is loaded with feelings of unworthiness and depression. It’s exhausting.

I’ve struggled with body image my entire life because my mama struggled with her body image. Now that I’m a mother, I still struggle but I wish so desperately for my own daughter not to suffer the way I have so I put a smile on, I admire myself in the mirror, I don’t make disparaging comments about my weight, my thighs, the gray hairs that miraculously multiply overnight, my wrinkles and stretch marks. Its death of my self-loathing and resurrection of self love, even if sometimes most of the time I’m only pretending.

In high school I died a little inside by choosing to give my love away to someone who didn’t deserve it and consistently proved his unworthiness. I kept choosing it until after my first year in college. My love was resurrected by a boy who came into the retail store I worked at in the mall and tried on women’s sunglasses because he was funny and unconcerned with appearances if the outcome was humor. He’s still that funny. And almost nine years later, I still feel resurrected on the days that he puts his dirty socks in the hamper or washes the dishes while I put our daughter to bed.

When I became a mother I saw the death of a life full of naps, blessed silence, late nights with friends and solo trips to the grocery store. But I was resurrected the minute I gave birth to the most perfect girl to ever live.  She’s fire and light, sunshine and thunder all in one tiny little body. Suddenly I became incredibly sleep deprived and hormonal but also powerful and ferocious, stopping at nothing to give my girl all the best parts of me.

But then she became a toddler.  She learned to negotiate, she learned to defy boundaries, to ask an endless stream of questions that I tire of answering by 9am. On the day of her very first full on tantrum, I saw the death of what I thought were my perfect parenting skills. The death of my perception that I would be so good at this, my kid would NEVER act like all the little beesters I saw screaming in the cereal aisle of Wal-Mart. I was resurrected on the day that I dropped her off at preschool for the first time and she didn’t even cry. I was free. Free at last!

This is resurrection. This is revival.

As a child growing up in a Southern evangelical home, I died a lot when I heard constant judgments of others, myself, and when I heard the name of God used to justify it all. When I moved out of my parents’ home, I also stopped going to church. For awhile that felt like a resurrection but it was more like a purgatory where I could pretend I was in control of my life.

About the time my discontent with a life without faith collided with the shine wearing off of motherhood, I picked up a new friend, who had never outgrown her evangelicalism.  That period was a resurrection of my faith. When it became clear that our differences and disagreements about faith and religion could no longer be handled carefully and with love, I saw the death of a friendship. In exchange, I found the resurrection of a friendship I have carried with me for half a lifetime.

I continue to see deaths and resurrections in my life on a daily basis. Sometimes within the same hour. 

Everyday my opinions and assumptions are challenged by this new found faith I have. I hear God whispering in my ear and pushing me farther than I’m ever willing to go alone. Pushing me past my boundaries and out of my comfort zone. I’ve only promised to be open on this journey and it has taken me to places I never would have imagined.

A few months ago I found myself on the steps of a tiny church that had maroon carpet and wooden pews just like my childhood church. All because of that whisper I heard. When I almost chickened out, the whisper sounded more like thunder.

That same whisper takes me to a women’s homeless shelter once a month. It keeps me going back because I find so much joy there. I also see a lot of Jesus there. I see Him in their faces. The faces of women who are victims of circumstance, sometimes of their own making, forgotten or condemned by a society that values possessions over people. But just like God doesn’t forget or forsake me, He doesn’t forget them either and He won’t let me forget to have a look around.

All of the deaths I survived when I heard judgments of the homeless or the poor, the downtrodden, the forgotten,  fade away when I remember to look beyond the labels. I am resurrected over and over again when I remember to look, really take a hard look, at the faces of people I meet. Their eyes tell a story much like mine. Of deaths and resurrections. Of peaks and valleys. Of struggles and celebrations.

We are all renewed.

Sometimes multiple times a day.

This essay and I are part of the Messy, Beautiful Warrior Project — To learn more and join us, CLICK HERE! And to learn about the New York Times Bestselling Memoir Carry On Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life, just released in paperback, CLICK HERE!

Gifts

I have been giving a lot of thought lately to gifts and how we use them. It all started with this blog post by one of my very favorite women, who I wish I could pay to be my best friend, Jen Hatmaker. Then, one of my real life friends posted this entry on her own blog. And last but not least, my very good friend posted the nicest, most insightful thing anyone has ever said about me here. That's a lot of extra reading so I'll make this short.

When we talk about using our gifts to be the hands and feet of Jesus, we often don't know where to start. The problems of this world seem so big. The bureaucracy and red tape and money it takes to solve them all are so daunting. It seems like we couldn't possibly make a difference or be a blessing and so we decide to just leave it up to someone else who has more time or money or drive. Or so we think. But the truth is, if you find your purpose, find your race, the rest just falls into place somehow.

I bet now you're saying "But how do I find my purpose?"

Think about all of the injustices of this world. There are many so take your time.

Now, think about the one that grips you in the gut. The one that you find the most repulsive.

And then, think about one thing that you do better than anyone else or think about what your true passions are.

It is at the intersection of those two things, your disgust over the inequality and your enthusiasm for something you do better than anyone else, that you find your purpose. In that very place you will also find ecstasy, joy, and delight. It won’t always be easy. Sometimes it will be easier to quit. But it will always, always make you feel alive.

Multiplication

I'm not sure I even know where to start with this post. I had talked a little in my last post about the things that I received from some incredible women I know for my birthday party with Bright Blessings,  but I did not know just how much it would mean to me until Monday evening.

On Monday, I got an e-mail from the volunteer coordinator at Bright Blessings asking me if I could change my menu from lasagna to something else because another group was bringing spaghetti the night before. Because one of my amazing friends generously donated $30, I said "Sure. I can do tacos." Without thinking twice or worrying about how I was going to pull together a meal for 25 people by myself.

Tuesday night, my oldest friend (and I mean that she has known me the longest, not that she's old) went with me to buy taco stuff because she had so graciously committed to helping me with the party tonight. When we got to the register, I paid the $30 I'd been given and she paid $8 out of pocket. For tacos for 25 people.

But, I still have all of the stuff I needed to make lasagna.
And we have an April party.

Do you know what that means?

It means that the two times Jesus fed the multitudes in the gospels of the Bible were not isolated incidents. It means that God has some excellent math skills. It means that I don't have to worry about next month's meal and how I'm going to get it together because He multiplied lots of small acts of kindness into something greater. Isn't that just amazing?

He turned it into a math lesson, a lesson about giving, a lesson about kindness, a lesson about filling up the storehouse, a lesson about just showing up and waiting on something wonderful to happen. All I did was show up and He took care of the rest. It is shocking and astounding.

It's like affirmation that parties are a Jesus thing.

 I got to thinking tonight after we left that I think if Jesus were still here, He'd totally hang out at that house. As someone who still isn't sure about the church thing, this was a pretty important thought. We tend to think about church being the only place that Jesus hangs but in the Bible, He had more street cred. I learn more about the heart of God in a homeless shelter than I could have ever been taught by someone else in a church. Because that place is magical.

All of the bad in the world gets transformed into something lovely and beautiful. Women learn their worth and value. They build friendships that will likely last forever. Their children learn what it looks like to claw your way out of adversity. I learn the new rules for multiplication. I learn to never give up or give in because I know lots of women who don't give up or give in, so why should I? I learn what it feels like to accept help and how freeing it feels to not be in control all the time. I learn that when I get out of my own way, nothing is impossible because I have really, really amazing friends carrying me. I learn what a true community looks like and I learn that the things that make Jesus smile look a lot 27  people holding hands and saying the blessing around the dining room table. It looks a lot like a candle on a cupcake. It looks a lot like a 29 year old mother of 3 talking about her dreams in the kitchen.

It looks a lot like you.
It looks a lot like me.

Celebrations

A lot has happened to me this week and I keep saying that I'm going to sit down and write but then I don't feel inspired or I'm too tired or I sell our furniture on Craigslist without telling Daniel, but that's a story for another day.

 First, I got an email from the volunteer coordinator at Bright Blessings telling me that we have a party next week and there are now 19 residents because the shelter took in a new family after Christmas. I texted Sassy to tell her but our friendship hasn't been the same for awhile and she has a lot going on in her own life so I'm going to be doing this party solo.

Except, not really.

My heart belongs to a group of 1,013 incredible women on Facebook. So, this post is really about them and what they've done this week.

When I told them about the party and how I was going at it alone this time and how scared I was because I haven't done one alone, they all pitched in.

I got lasagna noodles for my dinner from New Hampshire, 12 boxes of cake mix and 8 cans of icing from Texas, delivered to my house and ordered through Amazon. And that was just the beginning.

Yesterday, our group got together all over the country to celebrate the life of a little boy gone too soon, born to one of us. His name was Jake and he was born at 29 weeks and lived 10 hours before he went to Heaven to have endless cake and dance with the angels. We celebrated and remembered all of the other angels who were gone before the world got a chance to know them. We pulled together a picnic for almost 40 people and we had cake and released balloons and it was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. We were all so blessed and honored to be there together and to be invited to grieve and celebrate one another's trials and triumphs.

When we left the party with our hearts full, I also left the party with a trunk full of things to make my own party happen this week. I got 5 pounds of mozzarella,  a jar of parmesan, 2 boxes of cake mix, 4 jars of pasta sauce, money to buy ricotta and hamburger for lasagna, party decorations, 48 bottles of water, 32 juices boxes and 8 two liter drinks. All because I said "I'm scared. I can't do this alone." And they said "You don't have to."

Just Friday, I told a friend that I used to think birthday parties for homeless children was my calling and it used to be the thing I thought I could do to make a difference but I had started to wonder if my calling were something else. Something "more important" because parties are such a "first world thing" and children don't really need big parties because they don't know the difference.  What I found out yesterday is that God thinks parties are just as important as mission work in a foreign country,  just as important as ending homelessness for good, just as important as building schools and hospitals, just as important as clean water.

Throwing parties can be God's work. Jesus, himself, loved a good party. He turned water into wine at a wedding so that everyone could continue to celebrate. And all of the wedding goers were astounded and amazed and thankful and Jesus was all "Oh, it was nothing, really."

But it's not actually "nothing."

Everytime someone would say we're so awesome for throwing parties for homeless children I would say "Oh, it's nothing, really." And in the back of my mind, I would think "It's not as important as what other people are doing."

What I learned yesterday is that to the people who are the party goers, the people whose life you are celebrating, the people who have invited you to share their joys, it isn't nothing. To them, it's everything. And that's all Jesus really called me to do. He called me to be everything to somebody, anybody, everyday. And being everything doesn't mean big, heroic acts everyday. It means noticing people. It means connecting. It means being there. It means listening. It means when someone says "I can't do this alone." I say "It's okay. You don't have to."

 And one evening each month, it means showing up with dinner and cake and saying the blessing and singing Happy Birthday.

The women who so selflessly contributed to Jake's Day yesterday and the party with Bright Blessings on Wednesday will tell you that it was nothing, they were happy to help, it's "just lasagna noodles" or "just cake," "just drinks," "don't worry about it." But I've come to learn that it isn't just any of those things.

It's the exact thing I think Jesus would have done.
It's a blessing.
It's a human connection.
It's love and grace and humility.
We all have a little.
Who are you going to share yours with?


***Update: I added pictures of Jake's Day but the fabulous photographer doesn't want credit even though she is amazing.***