While Listening to Hillsong...

I was listening to Hillsong’s “Not Today” on my way to work today…okay, more accurately, I was belting out with passion and maybe some choreography “Not Today” on my way to work (if you witnessed this on the freeway…you’re welcome), and the line “fear is a liar running out of breath” hit me, like it does every single time I listen to this song.

I love this line. I sing it, recite it, embrace it.

Fear is emotional, psychological, and spiritual. We mask it in words like insecurity, anxiety, or stress, but ultimately, it’s all fear. Whether it’s fear of the known or unknown, it whispers its threat of what’s to come and what we can’t control.

In my teens, there were so many things I didn’t do because I was afraid of failing. Somehow it was easier to keep it as a one-day dream or goal than to try and (gasp!) fail. Sadly, I missed out rather than allow myself to stumble and learn.

As much as I was afraid of failing, thankfully, I knew life needed to be lived and experienced. Going to college was a huge step in putting what I wanted above what I feared. There absolutely was a part of me that thought I would get there and find out I didn’t have the smarts to succeed. Turns out, I did.

I think that’s one of the reasons I love that line so much. So often fear whispers lies of inadequacy and doubt. I have found, however, the more I lean into what God has called me to do and lean on Him to get me through it, the more breathless fear becomes.

There are so many things that I have tried now that I just don’t think I would have been able to do had I not practiced pushing back against fear, had I not wanted to grow and be more than I was.

This past weekend I was on a mic in front of a lot of people for a women’s event, and I didn’t faint, vomit, or die. Twenty-year-old me might have done all three at just the thought. That same day, I led a breakout session and received good feedback…so yay!!

This is not to say that every time I try something or take a risk it works out. I don’t always master a new skill; I’m not always successful; I don’t always get the outcome I was hoping for. But even in the “failure” of something new, I grow. If nothing else, I learn the beauty of letting go.

Among the many wise statements of Ralph Waldo Emerson, one of my favorites is “Unless you try to do something beyond what you have already mastered, you will never grow.” This is one of his pithier statements, which is good because it’s a little easier to keep in your pocket and pull out when needed.

So, when Fear whispers its lies, I’ll remind myself its breath is running out.

The Struggle is Real

This phrase is used flippantly and used often. Either in spite of this or because of it, one of my favorite discussions I have with my students is about struggle. 

We wrapped up reading Ernest Hemingway’s Old Man and the Sea – if you’ve not read it, it’s about an old dude and, well, the sea, specifically his struggle to catch a fish after a dry spell, struggling when he hooks the biggest fish of his life, then struggling to keep the sharks at bay. Spoiler alert: he doesn’t manage to succeed at that last task and his prize is eaten in front of his helpless eyes.

Now some would argue that poor Santiago’s struggle was in vain; however, Hemingway’s underlying theme is not about the outcome, but rather the struggle and how one carries oneself in the midst of struggle. Regardless of the outcome, one can still be seen as heroic.

When looking at this allegorical little novella, we get a little philosophical in my class, and here’s why: we all struggle.

There are times when drowning in disappointment, discouragement, insecurities, or mistakes feels inevitable, and when the best we can do is keep our heads above water, we can feel like we’re failing. This is precisely why I make space for this conversation.

One of the main ideas I hope will stick with my students is that struggling is not failing. If we are struggling, it means we haven’t given up. If we’re struggling, we’re not drowning. If we’re still struggling, there is hope.

Sometimes we get discouraged by the struggle, especially if it’s something that we’ve been struggling with for a while. We may get frustrated with our circumstances or ourselves because we can’t believe we still have this same issue. Or perhaps we get blindsided by a struggle we thought we had overcome and the frustration is having to deal with this thing yet again.

This past week I was dealing with disappointment and that disappointment opened up the flood gates to past struggles. It’s no fun; it’s discouraging. I’d been there, done that. I was over those past insecurities and doubts, wasn’t I? Apparently not.

The good news? I didn’t hide from the struggle – I fully embraced it in all its ugliness. I literally cried out to God my hurt and frustration. I was honest with myself and vulnerable with those who encouraged me but also allowed me to feel my emotions. This is the thing Hemingway missed: we do not have to struggle alone. We have a God who cares, who listens. We have community. Despite how it may feel, we are not alone – we just have to reach up and reach out.

I honestly don’t know what lesson I’m meant to be learning in this latest go around, but I do know this, that’s okay. I can still trust in God and His plans while wrestling with the why and the frustration. I mean, Jacob quite literally wrestled with God and received a new name, a new identity (albeit with a limp).

I also know this: this too shall pass. I know this because I am still here, I am still struggling, and I am stronger for it.

In the waiting…

I’m reading Timothy Keller’s book Jesus the King and just finished a chapter on waiting. I’ve been thinking about this a lot since Monday (when I discussed this chapter with friends), and I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m pretty patient…until I’m not.

I feel I’ve gotten rather adept at exercising patience. I mean, I work with teenagers. (Okay, that’s a cheap joke – they’re actually quite wonderful.) In truth, I do try to give a situation time. I’ve even garnered more patience as a driver. Usually.

When I reflect, I’ve had a few things for which patience was required: my degree wasn’t earned overnight, fractured or strained relationships didn’t repair themselves, and the woman who stares back at me every morning is still a work in progress.   

What I have discovered about myself is that I do better in situations where waiting takes the form of tasks. In school, I had papers and classes and deadlines and more papers. I had smaller goals that I met along the way to the larger one. I could still feel accomplished; I could see and measure the progress. There is a patience exercised, but it’s easier when I have some control (or at least the illusion of it) over the progress, as I am seeing the goal come more and more into focus with each step, each task.

When there’s no more to “be done” but wait, however, that’s when my patience needs reinforcing. This is when discouragement can take root and overshadow promise or determination. The waiting, after all, is the hardest part (cue Tom Petty).

In these moments, I’ve come to realize I have to be more proactive than productive. I have to proactively remind myself I’ve never regretted exercising patience. In patience, my character has grown, my trust has been realigned, and my true source of contentment has come into focus.

I have also seen this in the lives of dear friends who’ve had no choice but to wait. They’ve waited for opportunities; they’ve waited for family; they’ve waited for reconciliation; they’ve waited for healing. There were times of discouragement, sure, but now there are times of rejoicing. New jobs, new babies, renewed relationships, clean bills of health. (This is one of the reasons I love having communities where we share the trials but also the triumphs – oh, those blessed triumphs.)

There are times we have to wait alone, times when others stand with us, and still other times when we get to stand with those close to us. And there are those of us still in the waiting, still ready for what’s to come.

So, in those times when no more is to be done, we wait. We wait, and we trust. Trust in God’s plan, His process.

But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint. Isaiah 40:31

Reflections from a year gone by….

This past year, I measured time differently: in firsts. My first birthday without my dad. First Father’s Day without my dad. Independence Day; Thanksgiving; his birthday; Christmas; a New Year without my dad.

There was the first time I realized a mundane Tuesday was the longest I had gone without talking with my dad and knowing every day after would break the record. Or the first time I couldn’t hold it together when a friend asked how I was.

There was the first time I avoided a neighbor because I knew he would ask after my dad, and I didn’t want to say the words that still sound so wrong.

In this year of firsts, there were also quite a few reminders.

I remembered past birthday dinners, Father’s Day car shows, Sunday mornings at church followed by a shared panini and conversation, and so many memories I have the privilege to cherish.

I was beautifully reminded how vital family and friends are in the ebbs and flows of grief, in the hot tears and the genuine laughter alike.

I was reminded again and again how big God is. His love and mercy and peace are bigger than all the firsts of this past year. His grace reached out to my dad and invited him to receive His love and salvation. And that same grace has covered me - sometimes in a supernatural peace and sometimes in the arms of a friend.

A year has gone by, and I don’t miss my dad any less, but I have learned the healing depths of love.