Reading Scripture Sideways: a new take on a very old book

I’ve been slowly, as in snail’s pace slowly, working my way through Rob Bell’s latest book, What is the Bible. I actually want to read it like the pages are on fire and I have to finish before it consumes them. I want to gorge myself on the clever, gentle, insightful ways of considering an ancient library. Scripture. I used to love it. Even now the word feels so weighty and mysterious when it sits on my tongue. I believe that’s because it is  weighty and mysterious, wrapped in thousands of layers of meaning and interpretation. Yes, I used to love scripture. I was so much more certain of everything then. Now, honestly, I’m afraid of the Bible, and that fear is holding me back from enjoying not only Rob Bell’s book, but scripture itself.

I know what you’re thinking: here comes the crazy again. It’s true. I have all the issues when it comes to church and church business. But through all this great big hairy church mess, somehow, I never believed that God lost her faith in me. Even when I stumble and flail and fall and swear, even when I push her away like an over tired toddler, she loves me still. She’s been faithful in every way and for that I am so deeply and powerfully grateful.

Religious institutions have not been so merciful or forgiving in my experience. Now I’m what old cowboys refer to as ‘gun shy.‘ Churchy words and situations make me anxious. I seldom measure up to expectations, and when I do it’s because I’m not being true to myself. And then there’s the Bible, the weapon most often used against me in religious altercations (also known as rebuking, church discipline and spiritual authority).

It’s true, I’ve used the Bible as a weapon myself, back in the days when together we were infallible. I can accept that about myself even if I don’t like it very much. Had I known how quickly that weapon would turn on me, I might have thumped more gently, perhaps not at all. For as long as I can remember, we’ve elevated scripture with superlatives: inerrant, inspired, ineffable. Words so high, I cannot attain them. I’ve learned to defend it, uphold it, revere it and memorize it, as though tongues of fire straight from Heaven itself licked words upon papyrus scrolls with nary a misprint or mystery in the process.

What I didn’t learn was how slippery millenia old stories of the Divine become as they slip through time. Or how entirely human the men and women who recorded the stories really are. Sometimes a very human agenda superimposes itself over a very divine story. I didn’t learn context, or layers or culture. Truth may be eternal, but the expression of Truth isn’t so easy to nail down in concisely neat terms once and for all.

So I’ve floundered.

My experience of God doesn’t fit so neatly on the pages as it used to. It keeps sliding off, bursting out, growing bigger than the neat little boxes I learned about. The God of my deconstruction is endlessly forgiving, but God out of the box can get you excommunicated (or perhaps even crucified).

I’ve avoided wrestling with scripture for fear it will disappoint me. It has a lot to live up to when you look at it as the very word of God. But recently, I’ve started to see it a bit differently. Jesus, Himself, is the very word of God, and to date, He hasn’t failed me. I think for me it’s time to let the words of the Bible be what they truly are – a very human attempt to describe a very indescribable God.

An immutable, inerrant Word of God is far too dangerous in the hands of someone like me. But a human attempt to unravel the Universal Christ in ways we can understand and embody, with all the mistakes and course correction that entails? That might just be the right fit for a heretic like me. And if it isn’t, I have a God who’s waiting to fill in the gaps. Because that’s the kind of God she is.

I’m grounded: choosing good tools to stay rooted in reality

Two-thirds of my progeny are currently away from home. Aside from double the dog duty when this happens, I also find myself with large, quiet swaths of unoccupied time. I never have much trouble entertaining myself (INFJ), but I have to be careful not to go too far into my head for too long. Discontent is an easy road to travel when my head insists I should be able to create an ideal existence. Unfortunately, very little in this world lives up to the kingdoms I create in my head.  I am a much happier person when I stay a little more grounded.

There are many ways I reground myself when I’m feeling cut-off and adrift, when my body and my reality are the last place I want to be. Meditation, exercise and working with growing things all pull me out of my head space and into my body space. A good wrestle with one of the pups anchors me in the physical present by engaging all my senses, including my sense of fun. But I get the most bang for my grounding buck when I’m doing some good, old-fashioned house work.

If you spend much time at all talking to me, the conversation will roll around to minimalism. I’m a die-hard.  But it wasn’t until recently that I realized how often I use minimalism to plant myself in a healthier reality. The act of evaluation forces me out of what should be, to what is right in front me.

Let’s face it; life gets messy. Relationships require work. Cars break down. College demands tuition. People get sick. There’s literally no end to the list of things which can send us spiraling off into the Land of Should.

This should be easier.
I should have handled that better.
They should know how I feel.
Should Should Should Should.

I constantly take the mental train to Shouldtown, shoulding on myself the whole journey.

That’s the head space I’m talking about, the idealism in which I am so easily trapped. Reality can never compare to all the ways I am certain things should be. Because of my personality, I can camp out for weeks in Should Town, wallowing in my discontent and disdain for the way things are.

Understanding what tools pull me out of that space and back to reality is an important part of my recovery. When I use them to get grounded, I can break out of that funky head space and see reality clearly. Dreams and aspirations are necessary components of happiness, but idealistic perfectionism is the enemy of emotional health.

This week, when I’m not reveling in a book, you’ll find me cleaning closets and sorting the storage area. I’m making meal plans and writing book reviews. I’m touching and working and feeling and sorting, all ways to push my emotional roots further into the soil of my precious reality. If I let myself stay in my head, I miss so much that is beautiful and wondrous right in front of me, already resting in my hands, just waiting for me to notice.

There are so many things I enjoy about my personality. But like everything else in this world, I have strengths and weaknesses. The more I learn about myself, the easier it becomes to pull myself back from unhealthy thought and behavior patterns. I am more than the result of what has happened to me in this world, I’m also what I choose to make from the things I cannot control. When I’m grounded, I can see past what “should” be to what can be, and what steps I can take to facilitate the possibility.

 

Bruce Hornsby makes me happy; an unlikely path to holiness

Right now I’m listening to Bruce Hornsby on Spotify. Do you remember him? He slips off my radar for weeks at a time sometimes, and then one of his songs pops up again. I think to myself, “Why don’t I listen to more Bruce Hornsby and the Range? He always makes me so happy!” So today, even though I have no idea what I’m going to write about, I’m happy.

I spend quite a bit of time thinking about happiness lately. Not just my own happiness (though I’m frequently the subject of my ponderings), but the nature of happiness.  I think happiness gets a bum rap in religious circles. We subscribe to dying to self, sacrifice, and piety but often at the expense of our own happiness. We say really holy things like, God is more concerned with my holiness than my happiness. It sounds good, very spiritual but honestly, I don’t believe this is an accurate picture of God.  The creator of quarks and sub-atomic particles is more complex than such a binary holiness equation. I’m not denigrating piety or sacrifice or even suffering. But maybe we’re cheating ourselves out of something by believing they are the singular signs of higher level spirituality or perfection.

I’m pretty sure Jesus was a laugher. I like to imagine a great, ringing belly laugh, the infectious kind. I can see him now, head thrown back, eyes twinkling, or bent forward, grabbing his knees and trying to catch his breath as His followers chortle around him. I’m not a historical scholar, but I know few things about life in Jesus’s time. First of all, for your typical Jewish man (which most followers were), life was hard. You worked hard; you paid a lot of taxes, and sacrifices, and offerings. I won’t even begin to detail the hardships women faced. As an oppressed people, day-to-day existence was fairly scrappy for the people of Jesus’s time. Anyone peddling more of the same- suffering, hardship, sorrow- probably wasn’t gaining a huge following.

So when Jesus spoke to them of something different, better, new, the expectation was a path that led to a better life, including, you guessed it, happiness. Here’s where I lose some people because you’ll say, well obviously Jesus was talking about HEAVEN, not life in the Roman Empire (insert eye roll if you’re feeling sassy). Except, Jewish people didn’t have a construct of Heaven the way we do today. That’s a pretty modern construct, and not entirely Biblical.

What Jewish followers believed, and a large part of what we need to understand is the Kingdom of God takes place here, on this very earth. On this very good earth as Abba has declared it, we usher in the Kingdom. Not an army of scowling, self-righteous followers, but a smiling, gracious, self-effacing welcome crew, pulling out chairs and passing out refreshments. When our joy is contagious, when what we offer is beautiful, we reflect the very heart of God. Those of us sitting around waiting with sour faces for the sweet-by-and-by are missing something – a very large piece of the Jesus picture.

This is what I am coming to believe as I deconstruct and reconstruct this wild and woolly faith. Happiness is part of the divine package. We were created in joy, for joy.  I simply do not believe the God who handcrafted penguins and kittens and sea turtles didn’t delight in the creation process. Why? Because it made Him happy and He knew it would make us happy as well! Why are strawberries so sweet? For our pleasure! Why does the autumn breeze smell divine? For our pleasure! Why are hand-holding, and hugs, smiles, and a gentle caress part of the universal human experience? Because the universal human experience is rooted in happiness. From the beginning of time our Abba, whose greatest joy is expressing His love, meant for love to bubble over with delicious, delightful happiness and joy.

Oh but the fall, you say?

But the CROSS, I respond.

If we are restored to our former glory (if we ever actually lost it), then why are we afraid to be happy? Why do we feel guilty when we pursue the things which tickle our souls? Why wouldn’t I turn on a little Bruce Hornsby and the Range simply for the simple thrill of delight it brings to my soul?

I’ve wasted too much time trying to twist myself into some pious image I cannot be. I’ve despaired to the marrow that I’ve failed to live up to some ideal I simply will never attain. But I’m learning now. Learning I can pursue happiness and be closer to the Man from Nazareth than I have ever been. My smile makes Him smile since no one across the universe desires my happiness more. Holiness is overrated if it comes at the expense of a belly laugh, a warm hug, a space at the table. I choose happiness, and I believe with all my heart, that holiness will follow quickly, if it can only follow the sound of my laughter.

Waiting on the wind to change

I met an old friend at the post office today. She is moving soon and was eager to tell me the news. While I tamped down my jealousy, we shared moving tips and ideas. She talked about her basement, and told her the best place to unload her stuff in town. we discussed packing and purging, two of my favorite things to do. I’m excited for her that everything feels like a whirlwind of change and newness. The smile on her face was absolutely contagious.

I’ve experienced change in the whirlwind fashion before. It’s equal parts exciting and terrifying, and often leaves you gasping for breath the same way running a hard mile will do. Given a choice I will always choose the rapid pace over the slower one, at least where big change is concerned. Right now, however, I clearly don’t have a choice. We’re on the slow train to change and there is no speeding this process along until the moment the pieces fall in to place. This month? Probably not. This year? Who can say.

Limbo, limbo, limbo.

Meanwhile we’re doing the things rooted people do: meal planning and school enrolling. We’re looking ahead while letting go, acknowledging the ends of seasons in healthy ways. I’m grateful for this. Grateful for the natural turning of time rather than the unexpected emptiness when the rug is yanked out from under you.

But gratitude doesn’t change the fact that I’ve got bag to haul to Goodwill in the back of my car.

We’re being stripped, right now. Down to the bare bones, the essential elements, carrying only the most essential parts of our soul – the ones we cannot give away and still remain ourselves. There’s a vulnerability and a rawness to this process. It’s damn near excruciating most days. Other times it’s wrapped around with golden threads of anticipation. Even when you don’t know what’s next. something is…something is.

So I sink my roots in portable things, routines and digital words, pictures grabbing moments and memories as they happen, in case tomorrow changes everything.

Because it could. It could for any one of us.

The generosity of letting go: Dana paramita

This morning my dear friend, Heather texted a photo from a book she’s reading about the intersection of Buddhism and Christianity. In it, she found the term ‘dana’ which is the word for the Buddhist pillar of generosity. My imagination piqued, I did a bit more research: Dana is a Sanskrit and Pali term meaning “generosity” or “giving”. In Buddhism, it also refers to the practice of cultivating generosity. Ultimately, the practice culminates in one of the Perfections (paramitas): the Perfection of Giving (dana paramita). This is characterized by unattached and unconditional generosity, giving and letting go.

I love Heather for her gift of thoughtfulness. (I love her for more reasons than this, but they are too many to list here).  She frequently sends little notes or texts or postcards when she encounters something that reminds her of me. She does this with all her friends, but knowing this makes it no less special when she does it for me. Every time she does, it’s nearly as good as a face-to-face hug. Nearly. Not quite, though.

Heather is also special to me because she and I stumble through this whole deconstruction thing together. We share questions and scars; we wondering pastor’s wives. Never quite fitting in anywhere, we lean on each other from time to time. It’s important to have people like this. They help you feel less alone.

Remember earlier this week, when I shared about a podcast that had me running and crying? Since listening to it, three other friends have brought it to my attention. ‘Have you listened? it sounds like you. That could be you.’ I felt this when I heard it, but it’s affirming to hear others say it as well. I hope to one day be as wise and generous as the woman who shared her story.  She, too, helps me know I am not alone.

In the podcast, she speaks of looking forward rather than getting trapped by looking back (she even mentions Lot’s wife in her story.) She, like me, is a questioner, a closet mystic, a system skeptic. We share a kind of grief for the system we relied on which fell apart when we looked too closely. What was supposed to be secure and welcoming instead became a weapon used to beat us into submission. Conform or leave were our only choices.

So we left. We all three left.

I can only speak for myself about moving forward, but, until now, I haven’t done it very well. I’ve clung to how things should be, or how I should be. I’ve blamed and avoided and tried to make myself disappear. Moving forward seems so difficult when everything you’ve ever been told screams, run back to what you know!

Known equals safety. Unknown is dangerous; the slippery slope looms.

I stalled, stagnated, looked back. For too long. I hurt myself more than I’d already experienced and damaged those around me with my sharp edges and bitterness. I regret that now, but I cannot change it. The only thing to do is make amends and move forward, into the mystic as the song goes.

Which brings us back around to generosity, the dana paramita. One of the most amazing gifts of this hundred day journey is finding permission within myself to move ahead. Unlocking this generosity towards myself empowers me to release it to everyone, to release the institutions and people which have caused me such harm. Not only to let go and look forward, but to feel generous benevolence for who they are and what they do. Perhaps that path isn’t for me anymore, but it’s not a bad path. For many, it’s a path towards healing and belonging as it one time was for me. The time I spent there wasn’t wasted, only limited.

So now I move ahead. Because it’s okay. Because everything belongs. My path doesn’t depend on norms someone else designates. There’s room for all our paths in this vast and beautiful universe, “Sometimes the moment at which it appears to the system that you have most checked out, you actually might be checked in more than ever before.”

That’s me. Checked in. Letting go. Practicing dana for myself and everyone else (most of the time – I AM a work in progress). Maybe my companions have changed from who they used to be, but I am not alone.

How to connect with your soul: Self-care adventures

Lately I am all about self-care. The more I journal about it, the more I realize it’s been years since I invested in myself. I don’t say this as a point of blame since I am solely responsible for self-care, from boundaries to application. Exploring ways to connect with my soul has turned into an adventure and a challenge this summer. Every day, I’m engaged in understanding myself better which in turn benefits everyone around me.

However, I  receive a lot of push-back when I talk about self-care with others. Most often I receive the ‘I could never do that‘ response. From healthy eating choices to the Month of No, there is a general reluctance to swim against powerful cultural currents.

Honestly, I believe we see self-care as a frivolous indulgence especially in religious circles. If we aren’t sacrificing ourselves to near burn out (or often past the point of burn out) then we certainly cannot be “good enough.” Or maybe it’s just me who absorbed this message.

Popular culture is no friend to self-care either. Our fervent pursuit of busyness, constant activity, pushing forward, get-ahead, stay-on-top, win-win-win mentality is quite literally killing us. Even though I stepped out of the consumer race several years ago, I still worshiped frequently at the ‘altar of should.’ Constantly working at things I should do, who I should be, ways my life should look, I lived the busyness mentality quite well even though I practiced minimalism.

Granted, some seasons of life simply are busier than others. Children, family needs or other personal responsibilities often make demands beyond our control. However, more often we make our loads into burdens with poor boundaries, ridiculous expectations and subscribing to the American dream. I don’t believe it’s only me who is guilty of these things. Ask the next person you see how they are, and it’s likely their response will be “Busy!

Oddly, I find it harder to answer people when they ask what I’ve been up to now that I can no longer claim “keeping busy.” How do you tell someone that occasionally, you feel downright bored. Mostly, I have enough to keep my mind working, but when I use self-restraint and stay away from time-killing distractions, I do sometimes find myself twiddling my thumbs.

What I do notice more often now is a general sense of well-being. Even when I am busier than I’d like to be, I can still feel it. By creating margin for my inner voice, my circumstances have less influence on my general demeanor. I haven’t perfected this state, but I am certain it will be second nature the longer I pursue this less-than lifestyle.

Recently, I actually made a list of things which I consider self-care. When I’m feeling overwhelmed or anxious, I choose an item, or two or three, and indulge in some self-care. I’m even incorporating self-care as part of my morning and evening routines. Creating self-care habits is high on my priority list this summer.

Some of my practices include:

  • Reading (who didn’t see that one?)
  • Browsing at the library
  • Taking care of my succulent garden
  • Meditating
  • Running
  • Snuggling the dogs
  • Drawing
  • Sitting outside, breathing deeply and doing nothing else
  • Burning candles
  • Yogi Tea
  • Journaling

As you can see, nothing is complicated or expensive. For a free practice, self-care may be as effective as a year of therapy was a few years ago. If nothing else, I like myself a whole lot more than I did six months ago. And I care a lot less about situations I cannot change or control as well.

What ways do you engage in self-care? How can you create margin to do them more often?

 

Live lightly: When your soul says it’s time to let go

Today I did a wild and crazy thing; I spent almost two hours purging books from my digital library. By purge, I mean delete forever. Go ahead: gasp, faint, recover. Occasionally, I need to lighten the load by whatever means I can find. Honestly, it’s slim pickings around here in the clutter department. After all, I’ve been purging for awhile. Today’s activity is brought about by a need to live lightly. It’s term that’s clanging around in my head recently: live lightly.

I’m considering all the ways that may affect my life. My desire to live more joyfully is one way to live lightly. Also, My on-going minimalism quest constantly reveals things I grasp tightly which only serve to weigh me down.  Even though it seems I should be as minimal as a person can be by now, I can always find new way to consider and evaluate my life. Perhaps that’s the gift of introversion.

Sometimes I play a goofy head-game with myself: could I pack this room up in an hour or less? We all know my addiction to moving to new living places. When I play this game I also ask myself, would I take this with me when we go. If the answer is no, it’s not likely to live here any longer.

But as I said, I’ve been living minimally for awhile. When I get the urge to purge these days, I have to be even more creative than when I began this journey. In my reality, we don’t even have a junk drawer. I know. It’s crazy.

Usually this urge means I am experiencing a sort of spiritual purge as well. This morning I listened to an amazing podcast. (Yes, I listen to one almost every day. What can I say?). Listening to the story of someone else’s spiritual journey, has me thinking about my own. There are many things I drag along with me spiritually that have outlived their purpose and then some. Basically, my urge to purge physically is a manifestation of something much deeper happening inside me.

Since learning this about myself, I’ve noticed that my emotional and spiritual health often mirror my physical environment. When my house is cluttered, my soul feels cluttered. It’s likely my need to lighten up digitally reflects a deeper need to live lighter emotionally and spiritually.

A few days ago, I shared about my need to make some lifestyle changes. As I think about them now, I realize they also are manifestations of this need to lighten up. Interestingly, they also relate to my digital life. Apparently, my soul is willing to use any means necessary to get this message through.

How will this need continue to manifest itself remains to be discovered. It’s tied up with the Month of No, in ways I can’t see clearly yet. But I’m listening, and purging, and sharing with you as new ideas and concepts reveal themselves. Perhaps God is making room to do something new in my life yet again. I’m so very ready. I think I’ll go purge something else to really prove it.

Not your typical New Year: life evaluations in high summer

Do you know how much I love New Year? It’s only 205 days until it rolls around again. I know this because I have a countdown app on my phone. I love it for several reasons. First, I love a clean slate. Whether it’s a new day, week, month or year, they all hold the magic of possibility. I also love starting something new. Granted, my record of follow through isn’t spectacular, but I am slowly changing that this year. Finally, I love it because after what tends to be a month of festivity and busyness around here, followed by a week of intentional rest nestled between Christmas and New Year’s Day, it marks a return to routine. I love shaking things up, trying a new thing, when push comes to shove, but I rely on routine to ground and settle me.

By now you are no doubt asking yourself, why in the world is this crazy person writing about New Year in the middle of June. Well, first of all, it’s the middle of June! You do realize this means the year is almost half over, right? How crazy is this nonsense? But perhaps more relevant to my current line of thought are changes I am considering for the rest of this summer season. Since I have a few personal projects ongoing, making changes runs the risk of experiencing overwhelm. Honestly, I think this is why most new year’s resolutions fail. We take on a boatload of change without considering the effort required to maintain them. I know this is my problem, anyway.

However, one of the benefits of this little writing project is better clarity of my life values. Writing things down helps me know myself better. Sharing them publicly makes me feel a sense of accountability, whether or not anyone is really watching (probably not). Writing helps me see and understand my values; the public forum makes me examine whether my lifestyle aligns with my words. Both are important steps in whole-hearted living.

So in light of this mid-year evaluation, and the self-awareness writing has brought about, I feel compelled to make a few shifts. Perhaps you might call them resolutions, but I prefer to think of them as experiments. After all, until I try them, there is no way to know whether the benefits I imagine will actually come to pass. They look good on paper, anyway.

So I’m making plans and arrangements to determine if these shifts are feasible and practical for me right now. Even the best idea is doomed to failure if it’s implemented at the wrong time, like starting a diet at Christmas. I need to determine if I am just grabbing at random change due to my restlessness, or evolving current patterns which work for me but could be even better. Anything generated from restlessness is likely to fizzle out anyway, so better to conserve effort for those things which matter.

So that’s what I’ll be working on this weekend. No doubt, as these shifts settle into routine, I will be writing more about it. In a month, my one hundred days of writing is over, and I’m already making plans so that shift happens smoothly rather than my usual all or nothing approach. How about you? What’s going on for your weekend? Do you think Mid-year Experiments will be as popular as New Year Resolutions? Or am I just one of those weird introverts who loves any excuse to lose herself in introspection?

*Speaking of shifts. I shifted a chunk of my book talk over to goodreads. You can follow me here. Eventually, there will be links to take you from here to there, but that’s a project in the making, and not one under consideration this weekend.

Loving the world as it is, no matter the news cycle

I never used to care about the news. Granted, this is a pretty short sighted way of living in the world. But I vaguely remember a time when I assumed most things would continue working as they are always have. This was before I became aware of a larger world view (I know this is privilege at its finest, but the best we can do is admit our weaknesses and mistakes and move forward). Suffice it to say, I lived blissfully unaware of so many things for a long time.

Perhaps, for some of us, this is the trade we make when we are in the trenches of parenting. When our family needs demand our attention for most of our waking hours – and many of our sleeping ones – there simply isn’t time or room or strength to face the world as it is. So we build mental constructs of how it should be so we can feel comfortable, and we live as though those things were true. Maybe that’s privilege speaking as well, I cannot say for certain. It has been my experience, anyway.

Last year arrived like a landslide, children becoming adults, and going off to school. Politics became…what they are now. And I? I found myself facing a whole reality which I hadn’t realized was keeping pace with my tidy little family life. my fairly uncomplicated existence.

Enter despair, uncertainty and, with a flare of trumpets, my codependency. When I can’t count on anything else she will fix, change or justify by any means necessary to make the world a peaceful place again. Honestly, I’ve spent most of my life trying to tidy things up so they look pretty in a box – with a bow. I practically have a PhD in dysfunction.

Fortunately, I’m learning to be more whole-hearted now, which means codependency has to take a back seat. She’s not so great at fixing broken world systems anyhow. It’s easy to cover up a few bad personal choices, but genocide and hate crimes are harder to explain away.

So here I am, looking at this great, big, beautiful world and all the people in it. I can’t fix it, these systems, the climate, the violence and hatred and war. I can’t explain away the despots and warlords, the nationalistic rhetoric of a handful of power hungry madmen – and a few mad women- who would shape this fragile globe according to their nightmare vision.

As much as I want to, I can’t check out either. I can’t pretend this isn’t happening. My eyes are open now. I can’t close them again and remain true to my soul. So the question I ask myself every day is this: how do I love the world without fixing it?

The Kingdom of God will come – not everywhere at once, not suddenly, but gradually, like a seed growing in a field, like yeast spreading in a lump of bread dough, like light spreading across the sky at dawn. – Brian McLaren

We can’t fix the world. But we can make it better. Each of us in small and not-so-small ways. This week do your part for love, truth and beauty. – Diane Butler Bass

Both of these quotes entered my life this morning in different ways and right on time. Maybe I can’t stay away from the news. And I’ll probably have to keep meditating on account of my rage. I’ll definitely keep contacting my representatives on the daily. But I am not powerless to enact change. Perhaps not on a global scale, but on an even more intimate level.

I can create change in the world face-to-face. I can give birth to mercy, kindness, compassion and inclusion here, on the very ground where I stand. The Divine in me can bleed out of my fingertips and off of my tongue into a world desperate for something beautiful.

Even if no one sees it, especially if no one sees it.

I can rewrite the curse of original sin with a reminder of deeper, more permanent truth: original blessing. Starting here. Starting now. Today.

The power of Possibility: What I learned in 60 days of writing

Do you know what I love? Possibility. The clean slate, the new page, the unwritten day.

Do you know what sometimes terrifies me? Possibility. The huge mistake, the wrong choice, looking silly, foolish, stupid, wrong.

I’ve been writing and sharing for sixty days now. Sixty. According to everything I’ve ever read about habit, I’ve more than established one here. (Though truth be told, this weekend I thought to myself, “ohmygosh I cannot wait to take a weekend off from having to write something.”)

For sixty days I’ve sat here and looked at this blinking cursor. Some days I can’t wait to use it. To share and consider whatever lays uppermost in mind this particular day. The space is mine; the internet is mine. The whole dadgum universe is mine to shape and create in any way I have the courage to shape it.

Then there are days where the cursor mocks me, daring me to speak, assuring me that someone, somewhere is waiting for me to say the wrong thing. Waiting to denounce, silence and shame. Each and every day is a coin toss daring me to open the lid and place my fingers on the keyboard.

Who will greet me and how will she feel about possibility today?

When I was in college, I minored in psychology. I loved learning about the ways we think and what motivates us to say and act and be who we become. As I have aged, that interest has evolved into a fascination with people’s stories. When someone allows me the privilege to see their life through their eyes, I understand a little better. I am able to climb into their shoes and walk around a little bit. Even reading a story from someone else’s perspective, fact or fiction, reveals a side of life I hadn’t known before.

It’s precious, this gift of story. When we share the hidden parts of ourselves, we often do so with someone we trust, who we hope will respond in affirming ways rather than condemning ways. I have those people.

It’s another type of risk to release a story into the world. Ask any author and they will tell you that words give birth to stories, and stories are as precious as a child. We weave from soul and air, and sometimes from blood and bone to create something we release into the world. But once we let it go, we cannot control whether the world will embrace or reject our creation, our story, any more than we can with our flesh children.

Perhaps it’s because I am in a season of releasing, launching children and letting go of expectations and dreams we cherished that I find the courage to release these words and stories every day. Maybe it’s easier to let go once we stop holding everything so tightly.

I wish I knew what the formula is which makes me embrace possibility rather than cowering under the covers certain that no matter what I do it will turn out wrong. Failure is always a possibility, right?

Sixty days of writing haven’t made me any more certain of the outcome on a day to day basis. Each day the cursor waits for me to sit down and begin while possibility unrolls before me.  I haven’t tamed my dread at all. But I’m learning to sit with it. There’s as much room for my discomfort as there is for my enthusiasm. I’m learning I’m strong enough to live with the possibility of disaster without being swept under to drown.

Hopefully, sharing my story will bring more joy than pain. Even if it doesn’t, sharing is the real point. Stories are how we connect, find belonging, and realize we are not alone. Other brave souls have rescued me with theirs, and now I’m adding my own voice to the song. It isn’t pain or failure or fear which negate the gesture. Only rejecting possibility can do that.

I’m telling the story to myself as much as to anyone listening. A story of hope, of change, of healing, of the possibility that all these things which have happened, were only ever meant for me to create something beautiful from the pieces.

Anything is possible, right?