We're All Stories

Both Netflix and my daughter have been trying to get me to watch Doctor Who for quite some time now, but despite my geeky ways, I spent a long time resisting the recommendation. But a few weeks ago I finally gave in and started watching the show. And of course, they were all right. I have absolutely loved it.

As we were wrapping up our viewing of the fifth series, one quote grabbed me. The story-line is convoluted, but basically The Doctor is speaking to his future companion while she sleeps as a little girl. He's telling her the story of their travels through time and space. He's about to step through a crack in time that will mean that he never existed, that he will just be a figment of her imagination, a story that she made up.

And then he said the line that made me run back the recording.

We're all stories, in the end.

The only way for him to exist again was for Amy to remember the stories and realize that they weren't her imagination, but that they actually happened.

The stories are what made him alive.

I love this. 

When I think about those closest to me, it would be easy to classify them and move on. But what has enriched my relationships with them has been discovering their stories. Taking the time to sit with them and hear about their childhood. To listen to what their upbringing was like. To discover not just what they think, but why they think it. Spending time together, learning about their opinions, their convictions, their hurts, their dreams, their joys, their disappointments, their lives. Their stories have made them more real to me and have deepened our friendships in countless ways. 

Much of the time we attach labels to one another, sometimes as time savers, but often as ways to simply dismiss people. Oh, he's a conservative. Oh, she's a feminist. Oh, they're Christians. Whatever group that we can use to categorize and cast off.

But we're so much more than that. We're the stories that brought us to this viewpoint. We're the experiences that shaped our thoughts. We're nuanced, intricate, winding tales.

You're more than a label or a classification or a brand. You're a story.

We're ALL stories, in the end.

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Have you taken the time to find out the story behind the label of someone else? How has that changed them in your mind? And what's your favorite Doctor Who quote?

Thanking my Critics

Tuesday started out in a hectic manner. My oldest son couldn't find his shoe and my oldest daughter woke up eight minutes before she had to leave.  The older kids missed the bus, so I had to run them to school before I drove the younger two in. My youngest daughter couldn't find her watch, and we ended up leaving later than we expected (how everyone got to school on time is beyond me).

But I was still in a pretty good mood because despite the crazy around here, something that I wrote was being syndicated on a pretty big site for Christian leaders. Which, for a little mom blogger like me, was kind of a nice boost. The post had received positive feedback the previous day, so I didn't really think much about it.

Then the comments started rolling in. And despite the positive feedback I had received the previous day, this was almost exclusively negative. I was jealous of Tebow. The piece either missed the point or was pointless. I was trying to bask in his reflected glory. I was judgmental.

Mostly, I was just sitting here in my living room absolutely floored.

Why didn't they get it? How could I have written it better? Why didn't they like me?

I focused on a few negative comments and completely lost sight of one of the first questions that we're supposed to ask ourselves when we receive criticism.

Is it true?

I don't think it's wise to simply brush of criticism or disagreement. This is how we become better. Better at our craft. Better at our lives.

But not all criticism is equal. When my husband tells me that what I wrote wasn't very clear, that is worth examining. When my writing friends tell me that my story is muddled, I will go back and re-write. When those close to me tell me that I overuse a phrase or am not writing in my own voice, I'll take that to heart. And it's not just people close to me who offer constructive criticism. I've reexamined some phrases that I use based on responses by folks who read and comment who have no other relationship with me.

Then there is the criticism that is offered as a result of not reading carefully. Or coming to a piece with a bias against it already. Or of just being a generally critical person.

Most of the time I can suss this out pretty well and can be reasonable about criticism I receive. But not on Tuesday.

Because I became the person I was writing about - I made an idol out of my piece.

I got excited about the response it got. I was happy with the hits that it generated. I was proud that two different editors contacted me about running it on their sites.

So when I didn't get the accolades that I thought the piece deserved, I was completely thrown for a loop. I had placed my writing on a pedestal and when others knocked it down, I cried about it. The weight of the criticism was extra heavy because I had already given the piece itself too much weight.

It's hard to judge truth when our perception is already distorted.

So thanks to those who offered criticisms the other day. Not because I think you're right - I still don't. But you did knock over my self-constructed pedestal and helped me gain perspective again. That's a gift that I needed.

What If...

What if...

     ...you auditioned for that play?

     ...you made the first move in pursuing friendship?

     ...you took a pottery class?

What if...

     ...you sang out loud the song that's in your heart?

     ...you let the words in your head bleed all over the page?

     ...you danced with your whole body?

What if...

     ...you spoke up when you saw injustice?

     ...you celebrated small victories?

     ...you questioned the status quo?

What if...

     ...you forgave more?

     ...you laughed more?

     ...you believed more?

What would you learn about yourself? How would your life change?

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If you've overcome the objections, the worries, the fears about a "what if..." moment, I invite you to share your story in the upcoming Not Afraid: Finding Stories of Significance book that I'm compiling with Civitas Press. I am accepting submissions through January 31, and I would love to read how you overcame fear and what it taught you about yourself. 

Should-ing Myself

The first post in the new year. It feels like it should be a momentous occasion. I mean, in the past two weeks, I've only written two new posts, so it's definitely time to pull out the big guns and write something that is profound and hilarious and proves that I didn't completely lose it while I was resting.

Except that's not really how it works.

Inspiration doesn't seem to know when it should strike. It doesn't wait for a new year or a birthday or a new blog or whatever milestone I've got planned. Inspiration does NOT follow my time tables. Which is really inconvenient on days like today when I feel like I should be bringing it.

At the beginning of the new year, it's easy to look back over the past year (or past mumblemumble years) and think, "I suck. I should have given more. I should have exercised more. I should have read my Bible more. I should have created more. I should be more."

When I start should-ing myself, I find that I just shut down. I'm not good enough, I'll never be good enough, so why bother trying. One place where I am quite talented is in the realm of talking myself out of doing things.

Something that I've discovered about inspiration is that it actually does show up rather often, but it requires me practicing the discipline of doing to reveal itself. When I sit down and write every day, I can see a bit more clearly the story behind the story that might be worth our time (mine in writing, and yours in reading). I stop worrying about what should be happening, and focus on what is happening.

Something that I'm learning about myself is that when I stop worrying about what I should do and just focus on what I am doing, I have greater success. Because I can build on what I am doing. Recognizing areas where there can be improvement doesn't negate progress already made.

Part of my do year is to stop should-ing myself.

You should I invite you to join me.

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How do you deal with the "should-ing" that you do to yourself? What one thing are you already doing that you can make small improvements on?

Repost: Lessons Learned

This was a post that didn't get a lot of play when it first ran, but it was an important one to me. It was good for me to think back of the season we had just been through and evaluate what I had learned from it. Jon Acuff is promoting that Finish Year at his blog. I encourage you to go check it out and share what you want to do with others. But while we keep our eyes on the goal, don't forget to enjoy the journey as well and take as much from that as you do from the result.

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photo © 2007 Michel Filion | more info (via: Wylio)
I intended to blog yesterday. I had a topic picked out and was starting to work on a post (I know, I'm supposed to be ahead here. I get it.). I got a few paragraphs in and got a call from Jason.

About a month ago, he applied for a new job and we've been waiting anxiously to see if it came through. He was calling to let me know that he did indeed get the job. In that moment, my day was pretty shot because all I wanted to do was celebrate this achievement. That good news was enough to pretty much set me in a happy place all day long. (Also, not having my own laptop makes me a little crazy. Why is it so hard to concentrate on writing while using a different computer???)

I haven't written a whole lot about Jason's year and a half of school, since that's more his story that mine. But after yesterday's good news, I did start thinking about what I want our kids to take away from that long, difficult season. I came up with a few thoughts that I think are probably good reminders for me too.

1. Education matters. Despite my hubby's excellent work ethic and job loyalty, because he hadn't finished college previously, a number of jobs that he was well qualified for were unavailable to him. Finishing a degree allowed him opportunities that he simply didn't have before. But even if the previous 18 months had not resulted in a new job, learning is never wasted. Jason's degree doesn't really have much to do with his former or new job, but the knowledge that he has still has great value.
2. Dreams don't have an age limit. Many of Jason's classmates were very, very young (possibly embryonic) when he was in school the first time. He had some professors who were finishing up doctorates who were younger than him. But this has been something that he has wanted to do since we've been married. I'm so proud of him for not allowing his age to be an obstacle for pursuing his degree.
3. Dreams require sacrifice. The past 18 months were hard. Working full-time and going to school full-time would be hard already. Add caring for a family to that mix and it's damn near super-human. The end result though was definitely worth it, but the season was hard on everyone and it's a good reminder that dreams don't happen without some blood, sweat and tears (or at least, the tears part. I don't think we had much bloodshed.).
4. Other people are important for success. This year was tough, but none of us did it alone. We had to support one another right here in our family. But beyond that, we had the encouragement and help of our family and friends. The only person who could do Jason's work was Jason, but I don't believe that any of us can achieve our full potential without the help of others. We need community.
5. Achieving your dreams is fun. Despite all of the work and sacrifice and loss of sleep and all of that, when you see something that you've poured yourself into come to life, it is exciting. It's easy to lose that sense of joy in the midst of the difficulties, but when we're pursuing our passions, we need to remember to have fun as well. To quote Dr. Seuss, "These things are fun and fun is good."

What dream are you working toward? Do you have any lessons that you have learned in pursuit of your goals?

Repost: Living or Dying?

I originally posted this on February 21. I don't necessarily always feel the same way even a year after I post something, but this one still rings true to me. I hope it will for you as well!

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In church last week, I was sitting with Rich and Misty before the service started. There's always music playing during that time and one of the songs was "Live Like We're Dying" by Kris Allen. We were talking about the song and got to talking about the message a bit.

Now, I really like the idea of living fearlessly. A lot. We spend a lot of time living cautious, careful lives and as a result, we miss out on a lot of opportunities to form relationships, to pursue dreams, to extend grace. So in one sense, I totally get behind the message of the song.

But I don't think I like the title.

One of my favorite movies is The Shawshank Redemption (and it's another reason why Stephen King will reign supreme in my heart, even though the short story isn't nearly as powerful as the movie - still pretty amazing). I love the whole idea of freedom (physical, emotional, spiritual) and this movie just deals that up in spades.

My favorite line in the movie is said by Andy Dufresne and then repeated by Red, "Get busy livin' or get busy dyin'."

There's something about that sentiment that resonates much more closely to my heart. That we have a choice between living and dying.

I think the reason I don't want to live like I'm dying is because that seems to have this ulterior motive. I'm only making these choices because I have a limited amount of time available. I'm only being nice because I'm trying to make good before I'm judged. Not that any of those are necessarily bad things, but I just wonder if there are better reasons to do things.

To play with my kids just because they asked me to and they're pretty fun to hang out with.

To talk to my husband because I love hearing what's on his mind and finding out all of the new ways that he can amaze me.

To grab tiramisu with a friend because we love the way it looks and tastes.

To make music because it's fun and it feeds my soul.

To write because it might make someone look at an issue in a way they hadn't considered before.

To live like I'm living.

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How can you "get busy livin'" today?

Rolling in #KloutBoogers

I joke regularly about Klout. Of all of the ways that we measure our online influence, it is, by far, the most ridiculous. One tweet about a terrible product from JCPenney somehow translated into me being influential about Justin Bieber. My latest obsession has been to become influential about boogers (and after a discussion with my friends Joy and Tamara, more specifically, #kloutboogers).

For the most part, I can look at things like this and understand that it's all ridiculous. That my influence has nothing to do with how many retweets I get or how many Facebook likes I have.

The fact is, I care about those things way more than I should. And if it were just my own need to know, that would be one thing. It might be crazy, but at least it would be the kind of crazy that is mostly harmless.

But it's not.

My caring is heavily tied to comparison. How do I measure up, positively or negatively, to others? How are my stats? How are my comments? Who is retweeting me? How many shares on Facebook? How do I become as popular as him? How do I stay more popular than her?

But the problem is, it will never be enough. Never enough subscriptions or comments or hits or shares. Never enough book sales or interviews or guest posts. There will always be someone who has more #kloutboogers than I have (you know, if that ever becomes a thing).

One of the dangers of all of this comparison is the risk of watering down my story. Of only showing the parts that make out to be the hero (or the victim, if that serves my purpose better). Of writing things that I think other people want to hear rather than what I know I should be sharing. Of chasing numbers instead of relationships.

In the Revised Alise Standard Version, Mark 8:36 could read, "What does it profit a blogger, if she be rolling in #kloutboogers, but lose her own soul?"

I think maybe my soul is worth more than some #kloutboogers.

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Where is a place where you feel like you don't measure up? And if you could invent a category to be influential in on Klout, what would it be?

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I'm linking up today with Joy in this Journey for Life: Unmasked. You can read more submissions and add your own here.

Come By Here

My cluttered living room has me completely overwhelmed.

Kumbaya

I'm bullied every day because I'm different from everyone else.

Kumbaya

My spouse told me he doesn't love me any more.

Kumbaya

I'm depressed and no one understands or cares.


Kumbaya

My best friend lives across the country and I miss her.

Kumbaya

I don't know how I can afford to pay the mortgage this month.

Kumbaya


I don't fit in at my church.

Kumbaya

No one will ever want to marry me.

Kumbaya

My child screamed "I hate you!" at me.

Kumbaya

My parents kicked me out of the house because I'm gay.

Kumbaya

Alone. Weird. Ugly. Stupid. Unlovable. Worthless.

Kumbaya

The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son,

and they will call him Immanuel

(which means God with us).

~Matthew 1:23, NIV

Results Not Typical

Last night I was watching some Adult Swim on the Cartoon Network. I tend to do most of my television viewing online, so I rarely see many commercials. Which is why I missed the one for InventHelp until last night.

The commercial talks about a guy who invented a water toy that he pitched to Wham-o with the aid of InventHelp. He's now a big successful inventor. But the part of the commercial that really grabbed me was at the 20 second mark.



Did you catch that?

"Bill's experience is not typical and most inventions are not successful."

I admit, I went back and listened to it again because I was sure that I hadn't heard that correctly.

Like everyone, I'm used to hearing disclaimers at the end of a commercial uttered at break-neck speed or watching them scroll across the bottom of the screen in barely legible type. "Results not typical" is a pretty common phrase in advertising.

But I don't know that I've ever heard an advertisement come right out in a normal, personable voice and say that the consumer probably won't be successful.

Unfortunately, many of us live by that ideology regularly.

No use to start that exercise routine, I probably won't be able to follow through with it.


No use writing my novel, it probably won't get published.


No use learning an instrument, I probably won't be any good at it.


No use pursuing that friendship, they'll probably reject me.


No use going back to school, I'm stuck in this job no matter what.

This week my daughter was voted "Most Likely to Succeed" by her eighth grade classmates. I (of course) tweeted my pride in this accomplishment and my friend Katie posted this:

That is a powerful statement. I think we need to be willing to apply this to one another and also to ourselves. We need to kick the "no use" comments to the curb.

No, maybe we won't be hard-bodies or sign a 5 book deal or become a multi-millionaire, but we can be more fit or leave a story for our families to read or learn something new. We can expand our view of what it is to be successful. We can recognize the greatness in one another.

And I would say that when we do that, our results will not be typical.

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How can you help recognize the greatness in someone else today? What "no use" idea do you need to jettison?

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If you have a story about overcoming fear, you can submit it to the Not Afraid project that I am compiling. Check out this link for more information and to download the project document.

Forget to Freak Out

Two summers ago, we went on vacation to North Carolina with my extended family and while we were there, we visited Chimney Rock. It's a beautiful location and everyone was looking forward to it.

Except for my oldest son.

He has a sometimes crippling fear of heights. Even with clear boundaries that he knows will protect him from a fall, he will often keep his distance. When he was younger, even minor elevations could cause him to start shaking. So the thought of climbing to the summit of Chimney Rock at 2480 feet was downright terrifying.

But his sisters and his cousin and his dad and his grandfather and his aunt and his uncle were all making the climb and he wanted to be with them. And they all wanted him to be a part of the experience as well. So he made the choice to ignore his fears and climb to the top.

Later, when he was recalling his climb, he would tell us (and anyone else who would listen), "I forgot to freak out!"

His eyes were so focused on the goal that he forgot to be afraid.

We are currently accepting submissions for Not Afraid: Stories of Finding Significance and I would be thrilled if you would consider adding your voice to this project.

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Have you ever experienced a moment when you realized that you were so engrossed in what you were doing, you forgot that you were supposed to be afraid? 

I Think I'm Schizophrenic

Okay, probably not actually schizophrenic. But the alternative is to go with the spiritually depraved "double-minded" and I don't want to do that.

What's causing this? Oh, it's been around for a while.

Yesterday I updated my social media pic with a new one that I had taken not too long ago. Now, I think this picture looks pretty damn good. Which is why I picked it. Because I think it looks good.

I have remarkably kind friends who have complimented me on the pic. And my first reaction is to say that it's probably too severe, that I should have one that's of me smiling. And to note that my arms still look pretty fat in this one and are hopefully a little less so now. And that I probably needed to touch up my roots before I had my picture taken. (Remember, I like this picture.)

Another example. I'm tremendously excited about the Not Alone book. I am thrilled that an idea that I had was considered worth pursuing publication, that I was able, even as a small blog, to gather enough stories to fill a book, that I was able to offer suggestions that actually made some of the essays better than they were. I worked hard at this project and I am proud of the result.

Yet every time someone congratulates me about the book, I want to blow it off. My part was small, I didn't really do much, I just got lucky, it's not that original.

I want attention, but I cower if I actually get it. I want praise, but deflect it when it happens. I want grace, but would rather wallow in my guilt.

This week I finally gave a listen to the new Gungor album, Ghosts Upon The Earth and the song Crags and Clay has been jumping out at me. I don't have to be double-minded. I can accept compliments because they are a praise to the One who made me.



We are fearfully and wonderfully made.

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Do you have an area where you are double-minded? Go ahead and compliment yourself in the comments today. I want to know what you're doing well so I can join you in the praises!


This is a part of Joy in this Journey's Life: Unmasked link-up. Head over to Joy's site to read more and to add your own!

The Distance Between

I was the girl who was everybody's friend. I was funny and nice and smart and loud and weird. I played the saxophone in band, the piano in chorus, and the hussy in school musicals, but in real life, I was completely chaste. I'd like to say it was because of my strong moral fiber, but mostly it was because there weren't any inquiries. It was easy to maintain my virginity when no one was interested in procuring it.

Most of the time I could convince myself that it didn't matter. I embraced my weirdness. I did things that would insure that I would still have friends, but that any lack of interest in me wasn't because I wasn't pretty or desirable, but instead because I was just too much for a regular high school boy. I joked with the boy I liked at the cast party, but I went home and cried after because he confided that he wanted to date my friend, not me.

I wasn't exactly rejected...I just wasn't pursued.


The distance between 16 and 30 is almost indistinguishable sometimes.

I was sitting in a living room with two people who had told me that they loved me. They had told me that they supported me. They had told me that they wanted me to be a part of what they were doing.

But when I showed a little bit of who I was and people in their congregation were frightened by that, these people reneged on everything.

Oh, they didn't say that. They didn't kick me out of the church. They still said that they loved me and that they supported me. I just wasn't submissive enough. I wasn't embracing the vision of the church. I was just a little too different, too loud, too weird. I could go to church there, but I couldn't do the one thing that I was created to do. That was for other people, not for me.

I wasn't exactly rejected...I just wasn't pursued.

These stories are not the full measure of me. I have been pursued. By a faithful husband. By an unfailing God. By people who refuse to allow me to be counted strictly by what I can provide for them, but rather for who I am. I cling to these relationships because they allow me to know that my value is far greater than what I can see on my own. But the pain of lack of pursuit still gnaws at me.

The distance between being ignored and being rejected is almost indistinguishable sometimes.

Not Afraid Book Project

I'm the worst finisher ever.

I cannot tell you how many projects I've started and not seen through to the end, but it's a lot. When I was contacted about turning the Not Alone series into a book, I hesitated. It just seemed so big. Even though I was just in as the editor, it still struck me as an opportunity to fail. Or worse, an opportunity to succeed and have that taken away or undermined. Despite believing deeply in the importance of the project, I was sure that I was ill-equipped to head it up and my initial response was to give it a pass.

Fortunately, my husband pointed out just how often this has been my response. And with all of the love and honesty that I have come to expect over the years, he told me to stop being a baby and do the damn book. (No, he was way more awesome than that. But he was definitely not letting me out of doing it, no matter how much I cried about how scary it was. And oh how I cried.) So I took a call with Jonathan Brink and said yes, I'd like to do it. And here in just a few weeks, the stories of these brave writers are going to have a chance to make a difference in lives.

It took that moment of staring fear down and saying that it wasn't running the show. Encouragement from others is essential, but it doesn't do the work for you. At some point, I had to just say that my idea was good, that I had the tools organize it, and relationships with people who were talented and committed to this project. At no point did I have to do it alone, but I had to do it. Fear was not an option.

And I found that as I faced down my fears, I was left with a greater sense of self. I discovered what I was capable of doing. I saw that people didn't scoff my dreams, but were instead supportive. And in the midst of all of that, I found that I could believe that I had significance.

When we live in fear, we cannot see our value. But fear and love cannot coexist, so as we break down our fears, we are free to give and receive love. Love from those around us, and love from God. In this we find our value. In this we find our significance. As I continue to find this for myself, I want more and more to hear other stories shared about this topic.

I'm so happy to tell you today that I'm partnering once again with Jonathan and Civitas Press to work on a new collection of stories. This time we will be exploring Not Afraid: Stories of Finding Significance.

Thank you all for your amazing support for the Not Alone book. It has given me so much courage to begin work on this project and I can't wait to get started. Head on over to the site, download the project document and tell me how you have become Not Afraid!

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What's your least favorite part of a new project? Getting it off the ground? The long middle part? Trying to wrap it up? Let me know in the comments!

And I'm Worth It by Cathy LaGrow

I think Cathy is one blogger who might be even more eclectic in her topics than I am! As a fellow pianist and wearer of "in front" headphones, I have felt a connection with Cathy for some time, but her post today makes me want to give her a huge hug and tell her thank you. If you've ever felt like you had no worth, please take your time and let the truths in this post sink in deep.

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I remember so vividly the moment I first realized that my worth as a human being had nothing to do with my performance as one. It was a moment that changed everything.

Growing up in a volatile religious household, I’d been taught that a person was only as good as their next “A,” their next blue ribbon, their next superb performance. Achievement and behavior were given the highest priority in our world. So I excelled at school, and in sports (as much as my non-Olympic body let me), and in music, and I was the most obedient child you’ve ever seen.

But it was still never good enough, as I heard repeatedly, relentlessly. Not by a country mile. So at 18 I got married, and moved across the country, and promptly went to pieces.

After spending a couple of years in a suffocating black depression, during which I cried nearly every day (sometimes for hours), I emerged into a kind of spiritual no-man’s-land.

I’d believed in God all my life but had never felt connected to Him. My concept of God was (as Anne Lamott perfectly put it): “God as high school principal in a gray suit who never remembered your name but is always leafing unhappily through your files."

Even prayer had become a chore for me, a mental battering of fists against a solid barricade. Finally, I couldn’t take it any more. You’ve given me no choice, God.  I thought. I’m going to run in the opposite direction.

By 1997, at just 26 years old, I’d reached the tattered end of my rope. I’d become so dead inside I never cried anymore, not even when I had reason to. My marriage was virtually over. “Running in the opposite direction” had worked – I’d screwed up so badly, I’d been asked to step down from my position as church pianist, the only activity for which I still felt any passion at all.

No longer caring what happened to me, I stopped wearing my seatbelt, a small act of listless defiance. Speeding along the Atlanta freeways at 90 miles an hour, I played a cosmic game of chicken with God. Take me, don’t take me, I thought. It doesn’t matter.

One evening at home, I walked into our spare bedroom looking for some papers I needed. Rifling through boxes, I came across a book I’d been given years earlier during counseling sessions – a book I’d never bothered to read. It was titled The Search for Significance, by Robert McGee.

Sitting on the beige carpet in that cluttered room, I opened the book up and started to read. And when I got to Chapter 6, all Heaven broke loose.

“I have great worth” (I read) “apart from my performance, because Christ gave his life for me, and imparted great value to me.”

Say what? I read it again. I have great worth apart from my performance…

Completely stunned, I read that sentence at least a dozen times. Tears started to pool in my eyes, then spill down my cheeks. Eventually, I moved on to the next sentence.

“I am deeply loved, fully pleasing, totally forgiven, accepted and complete in Christ.”

Deeply loved? Fully pleasing? I had never heard such a thing. I read the words over and over – I would have scraped them off the page and eaten them, if I could have. They shook me to my core.

Before long I was curled up on the floor, sobbing. I lay there for a long time, holding the book sideways on the carpet, next to my face, so I could re-read those mind-bending, heart-mending words whenever the tears eased up. This wasn’t Grace soft and demure – this was Grace as a tidal wave, Grace that bellowed, Grace that smashed through the ugly lies that had paralyzed me, the lies that said that I was worthless. Not good enough. Unloved.

Over the next few months, I repeated those two sentences to myself hundreds of times, until the message was chiseled into my heart: My fundamental worth had absolutely nothing to do with my behavior, and everything to do with a beautiful God nailed to a rugged beam over two thousand years ago.

With his death, Christ had absorbed every worthless thing about me, and from his ruin, I’d gathered the only descriptions of myself I had ever needed, would ever need.

Worthy. Accepted. Loved.

I do not just believe this to be true – I know it. I would die for it. It is the revelation that has let me finally, truly live.

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Cathy is a reader/writer/mother/wife/runner/pianist who adores learning new things. You can find her at (http://windowsandpaperwalls.wordpress.com/), where she usually writes about great books, or geeky science stuff, or church stuff, or old buildings, or pop culture. As it turns out, she has a little trouble focusing. Follow her on Twitter.

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The Lie of Insignificance by Chad Jones

This is Chad's second visit to the blog. He has written before for the Not Alone series. He's a funny, caring, hateful guy and I'm glad to have him back on the blog, especially talking about a difficult issue like significance.

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I admit: I do it. I'll bet you do it, too. (No, I don't mean sex). Comparison. If you're a writer, or a blogger, I've a nasty habit of comparing my efforts up against yours. (I'll bet you do it, too; it is, after all, an entirely human thing to do).

And somewhere in that equation, I always come up short. Life experience, personality, what have you, predispose me to buy into the lie of insignificance.

What is this lie? It's that I'll never measure up, that I'll never accomplish what you have, that I'm too old to pursue my dreams. (I said on my blog recently).

None of this is true. Look at Moses, look at Joshua, look at Caleb, look at Paul--look at the whole host of misfits in Hebrews 11 (the "Hall of Faith").

And yet, knowing this, I still falter. Knowing that almost nothing is irredeemable, I still doubt myself, and my contribution.

I want to say here that I don't doubt God, that my biggest problem with doubt is self-doubt, but that's not true. If the Scriptures are true--and I believe they are--that God "grants us the desires of our hearts," then doubting myself here, in this way, is tantamount to doubting Him.

Because in essence I'm saying "You can't use me, God, who am I to think I have something to say?" That's like saying "Eff You, God. You don't know what you're doing!"

How did God answer Moses when similarly doubted: "Who made the mouth?"

Well, who made my heart--who made your heart?

I'm not saying any of this is easy--this changing of a lifetime's worth of mental tapes--but (as Wilford Brimley would tell you) "it's the right thing to do."

A big part of what this looks like for me is separating myself from unsafe people; as an example, I'm in a season of my life where, for my health, and my family's well-being, I have nothing whatsoever to do with my dad. It's sad, painful, and frustrating, but was entirely the right thing to do. (Please note: this is not about me blaming him for my choices, but taking steps to break free of long-lingering patterns that have existed since childhood). Chances are, you know who the "unsafe people" in your life are, and I would encourage you--hard as it may be--to consider breaking those ties (even for a time).

How can I--how can you--give God any less than the best?

Where do you fight the lie of insignificance in your life?

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Chad Jones hails from Erie, PA, but has lived for over 30 years in the Arizona desert. He has been married to his wife, Lisa, for 20 years, and has two children, a boy and a girl. They being 12 and 4, respectively, keep their parents busy. Toughest job they've ever loved! Chad has always wanted to be a writer, so he started a blog in 2004, but didn't use it. He has been actively blogging at Randomly Chad since last October. He would be happy if you would read his ramblings there. You can also follow Chad on Twitter.






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A Little Late by Vernon Harmon

I met Vern through a mutual friend of ours. We would often comment on the same Facebook updates he posted, liked one another's comments and just generally seemed to have a fair amount in common. He sent me a friend request because we seemed "friend compatible" and that alone was reason enough to get to know him. He's a great source of info on They Might Be Giants and running and I'm so happy to be able to share his writing with you today!


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For various reasons it occurred to me this morning that I've never said thank you for all the help you gave me when I first started. I wouldn't be where I am today without your help getting on my feet. So a 13 year belated thank you. Hope things are going great for you and your family.

When I logged into Facebook one day a few years back, I was met with the above message from an old work colleague. To say I was taken aback would be an understatement. This was someone who was always very driven and has since gone on to create his own business with at least moderate success. I know I liked him when he started, but I can honestly say I don’t recall going out of my way to help him.

After some consideration, I rattled off the following response:

Thanks very much for the sentiment, but I think you'd have been fine. You were always on the ball, very focused, and creative. I remember being impressed with how quickly you took to the job. I appreciate you looking past me often being a jerk back then, and I'm glad we've kept in touch, even if we haven't been really close.

You see, when we worked together, I was quite a hot-head, with poor social skills and an over-sized opinion of myself. My explosiveness was even captured in a nickname a different co-worker gave me: Verno the Inferno. The thing is, though, I never wanted to be that person – the butt of jokes, the living caricature. But once you get a label, it’s not only hard for others to see you in a different light, it’s hard to see yourself differently, too. You get stuck in the rut of expectations, however unpleasant.

Photo by Vernon Harmon

I changed jobs in 2000 (and, not coincidentally, also met my future wife) and took the opportunity to re-invent myself: I became humble, outgoing, cooperative, and calm – and a lot happier. Qualities once called out as areas of weakness for me now became cited as strengths. I make this sound easy, like I simply awoke one morning and decided to be a different person, but it took a lot of soul-searching and a lot of focused effort. In the end, though, I discovered, interestingly, that it was much easier to be this person than the Angry Young Man. (Yes, I just dropped a Billy Joel reference.) As a result of this change, though, I often found myself looking back on my previous self with some amount of shame, hence my self-effacing comment about being a jerk.

My friend’s unexpected expression of thanks touched me, but I assumed that my response would be the end of the conversation. It wasn’t. I soon received the following response:

Sure I may have been fine, but we'll never know about that parallel universe. I guess that's what I meant - I may still have wound up in the industry via some other route. I might have been productive on [X] if you hadn't been working on the project. But I'm here because of the things that did happen and the people who were involved. And for that, I am thankful. 

As for you being a "jerk", you know I learned a lot from that experience as well. And after working in the industry a while, I realize that even at your worst you weren't a bad guy. I'm glad you were able to reflect on your experience and improve yourself because of it. I'm not blowing smoke when I say that it's been at least a little bit inspirational for me. I don't think a lot of people can look at themselves that way and then follow through on changing what they don't like. I struggle with it myself.

Wow. I was blown away. I knew what my transformation had meant to me, but it never occurred to me that it would mean anything to anyone else. And the recognition that “even at [my] worst” I was still a good person flew in the face of that long-held, deep-rooted, secret fear that people cannot look beneath the surface to see the truth of your intentions, your compassion, even when your actions seem to run counter to those ideals.

I wept.

I wept long and hard.

I felt like I had been granted forgiveness, like I had been given permission to let go of my shame over the old me.

I doubt my friend had an idea what his words would mean to me any more than I did about how my actions would affect him. But whether he meant to or not, whether I meant to or not, we both had an impact on each other simply by doing things that felt right to us, and by the very act of interacting.

We do not exist in a vacuum. Relationships are at the core of the human experience. Virtually everything you do can, and probably does, have an impact on someone else, whether or not you or they realize it – and I don’t mean that in a Butterfly Effect kind of way; I mean a direct, tangible effect on someone else.

I found myself so inspired by this experience that during the years since, when I find myself thinking about some old acquaintance, occasionally I will send them a note about a particular recollection of them that means something to me, or a note of thanks for some kindness they showed me, or even an apology for an old wrong that I regret. The results are frequently revelatory.

Have you considered telling someone thanks for having a positive impact on your life? Or apologizing for an old slight? What’s stopping you? You may be very surprised by the results.

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Vern is the last of the great Philosopher-Kings. He ponders the meaning of life in his Fairport, NY, castle where he dwells with Queen Wendy and two princesses, as well as three black panthers, the protectors of his grounds. He is an inspiration to some, an annoyance to others, and a friend to all. He loves clever wordplay and music. He has considered creating a blog many times, but has been unable to narrow his wide range of interests down to a single topic of focus. You can read some of what he has written here and here, and
he can be found on Google+ here. You can alsofind him on Twitter but that account is mostly used to autopost his running exploits.



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Post at The Well Written woman (6/22)

photo © 2009 Ged Carroll | more info (via: Wylio)
I've got a new post up over at The Well Written Woman.

I particularly enjoy “gadget” commercials. There is something delightful about watching someone get Very Excited about how much easier their life is because this piece of plastic helps them crack open eggs in a way that they never could have managed with just their bare hands! (read more)

I'd love it if you'd stop over and give the post a read and let me know what you think!




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Beware: Fat Girl Buying Running Shoes!

Even though I know you're not supposed to run with terrible shoes, I ran with terrible shoes my first time out. And while I knew that I was going to have some pain after running for the first time ever, I really didn't expect to be in that kind of pain. So my husband packed me into the car on Saturday afternoon and he took me to buy real running shoes. Like, that runners wear. When they run.

Now, in general, I don't mind shopping. I'm not like super girly about my desire to shop, but I don't hate it. And I do love shoes as evidenced by the vast quantities of footwear strewn about the house that belongs to me. And I hate being in pain, which was definitely the case after running on bad shoes. So one would expect that I would be stoked about this outing.

Yeah, except not so much.

See, I couldn't just walk in, pick up something, pay for it and walk out. I don't know anything about running and I really don't know anything about running shoes, so I was going to have to talk to someone about the best shoes for me. People who work at stores that sell running shoes tend to be athletic-type folks. I am a decidedly non-athletic-type. So this overweight, middle-aged mom was going to have to go and tell some kid who probably did an Ironman Triathlon last week that she needed running shoes. The imaginary laughter ringing in my head was absolutely deafening. I had visions of him pointing me next door (seriously, who designed this???) to the Great American Cookie Company. I mostly just wanted to cry and not do this.

For a long time I've put off any kind of exercise because I've just seen myself as too fat to work out. I've assumed that if I even suggested to someone that I'd like to get out and do something active, I would be met with eye rolls and jeers and snickers. Not because this has ever happened. Nope, it's just that the voices in my brain are downright mean. They like to tear me down and keep me from making positive changes. Depression, even when it's not full-blown, can have a voice louder than even me, and that is really something.

Anyway, when the salesperson came over, I rattled off that I needed help finding shoes because I was just starting the Couch to 5K program and I didn't have anything safe to run in and I don't know anything about shoes so just tell me what to do and I'll buy it. And you know? He didn't point and laugh. He didn't sullenly guesture the door with a look that said, "Seriously? Leave now." He didn't make any barnyard animal noises. He just congratulated me on starting to run and helped me find shoes that will help me stick with the plan. In fact, he helped me pick these shoes:

My Brooks Adrenaline running shoes

They are a dream. I love running on them. Well, at least to the degree that I love running, which is to say, enough to keep doing it for the seconds when I'm done and feel freaking awesome, but cursing the whole time while I'm actually doing it. Plus, they're purple and I do love purple.

And in that same "it has some really horrible and bad and hurting, but also some awesome" way, I love finding that, in order to change myself, I have to look to other people for help. I had to go to the store and pay for the shoes. But I needed help to get the right shoes for me. I have to get up and drive to the stadium and put my feet to the track, but I have a massive stack of people cheering me on.

I have to look at my fears and negative thoughts and say, "I'm not going to listen to you today," but I have a Heavenly Father who wants to drown out those bad voices with words like, "I rejoice over you. I dance over you. Come rest in my love."

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Are you facing any fears (real or imagined) that keep you from pursuing something good for you? How do you overcome those negative voices? What are your favorite shoes?




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I Dream of Soup

photo © 2005 Paul Hart | more info (via: Wylio)

It's funny. When you pop around the blogosphere, sometimes there will be totally unintentional themes. This week I saw a bunch of my bloggy friends writing about dreams and perfectionism. Tons of good thoughts from folks like Tony Alicea, Jason Vana and Jon Acuff about dreams and Jen Luitwieler and Kristin Tennant wrote about perfectionism and allowing things to be good enough.

And in my muddled brain, I started wondering if my dreams are good enough.

Last week when I did my interview with Knox McCoy, I said that in 10 years I wanted to be going to a soup dinner with my husband and our friends. Of all of the things I could have been dreaming about to happen in my life in 10 years and I pick soup?

Am I just not ambitious enough? Should I be thinking about things bigger and more important than soup?

I'm not sure.

Part 1: Marriage

Interfaith marriages fail at a much higher rate than similar faith marriages. There are way (way) more interfaith marriages now than ever before, but the divorce rates for those in interfaith marriages is somewhat abysmal. I don't intend for that to happen. I love my husband passionately. I intend for that to continue regardless of where our faith journey leads us. I don't think my dream of a happy marriage is too small.

Part 2: Friends

One of the things that I've missed in the past couple of years with Jason working nights and being in school has been the opportunity for us to develop friendships together. So something that I look forward to in the coming years is time for us to find people with whom we both connect. I'm sure we'll have our own friendships with people that are separate (and we're both completely good with that. I'm crazy needy so I don't think Jason will ever complain about my friendships with people apart from him.), but I really look forward to having the chance to make some "us" friends as well. These people enrich our lives and I don't think that is a small thing either.

Part 3: Soup

Soup is good. So good, in fact, that the best show ever did an entire episode about just how amazing it can be. If loving soup is wrong, I don't want to be right.

Maybe I should have bigger dreams. But really? If in ten years a soup dinner with my husband and friends is on tap, I'm going to be in a happy place.

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What do you dream about that might not seem like it's very big, but might in fact be huge? What's your favorite soup?

Rerun: The Beholder

This is something I posted over on my old blog back in October. It got some good responses there and I thought I'd recycle it today.

"People often say that 'beauty is in the eye of the beholder,' and I say that the most liberating thing about beauty is realizing that you are the beholder. This empowers us to find beauty in places where others have dared not look, including inside ourselves." ~Salma Hayek, attributed

Photo by prakhar

My husband is not a liar. Really, he's probably the most honest person that I know. Yet for the longest time when he would call me beautiful, I simply couldn't believe him. I would trust him on everything else, but for me, beauty has a certain look and I do NOT have that look. I would say that even today, that is the thing that he says to me that still is hard to swallow. Most of the time I want to say, "What are you talking about? I think I'm funny and kinda' smart. I write okay and I'm not terrible at the piano. But beautiful? No, I believe you're thinking of someone else there."

But this quote really just knocked me on the head. For the most part, I think I'm able to see beauty in other things, and not just "typical" things. I loved the quote from the Brad Yoder interview when he said, "Some of those things are lovely and joyful and beautiful and some of those things are incredibly sad and there is something also equally amazing and beautiful about having the privilege of experiencing some of those sad things too." Life is truly full of beauty and I don't want to overlook it.

I don't want to sound like I'm advocating narcissism, because that's not it. Heavens knows, I'm a selfish person. But I also don't want to miss the beauty that is inherent in me as well. I think when I do that, I miss part of what God has placed in me. When I look down on my gifts and abilities, I'm looking down on the One who gave them to me in the first place. I don't want my children to see themselves in a self-deprecating way, why would I think that my Father would want that for me?

For we are God's masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago. (Ephesians 2:10, NLT)

Do you struggle seeing beauty in the world around you? In yourself? What do you do to appreciate beauty?