Showing Up in the World in a Softer Way

“You do not have to be a fire for every mountain blocking you. You could be a water and soft river your way to freedom too.”

– Nayyirah Waheed

Sometimes at night, when the house has settled and all our babes are breathing sweetly with comforters pulled up tight, I sigh and pull my own covers over me and everything around me softens. I feel the pull as the weight of my body sinks into pillows and linens and I am reminded how I want to show up in this world: with fierce softness.

Because the world doesn’t need more people out to prove themselves or to dehumanize the “other” in the name of something good or holy; she doesn’t need more brutality or dividing lines saying who and what is better; she doesn’t need more splits and bruises and parched and rough patches – but, she could use a few more soft and safe spaces to rest her tired head.

We all could.

We all need someone

to see us,

hear us,

believe us.

We all need to be reminded of tenderness and compassion,

grace and transformation.

We all need to receive and see Love the way it is intended to be lived out – not selfishly, not to manipulate or convince, not to gain something – but before and through and under, something that lifts us and moves us and connects us to something Greater, something that we all have in common.

And it is hard to imagine the possibility of having something in common with certain people –

perhaps those on the other side of the lines we draw.

And it is even harder to think of facing these people with any form of gentleness.

Because we live in a place where we are told to move cautiously and not to trust too easily,

that opening ourselves up only leads to hurt and pain;

that some people are more deserving of hate than others;

where the strongest are celebrated and the weak are left starving and forgotten, and we are reminded every day how harsh the world can be; where it seems to be easier to find connection over what we hate than what we love and cherish.

It is hard to stay soft when that is the message.

But as I close my eyes and begin to drift off to sleep, accompanied by my privilege, which provides me with safe slumber and space to wonder – I ask myself how to walk this earth with softness and graciousness, somehow also with feet firmly planted, standing with the oppressed and broken, being a part of holy restoration in some way.

But we often believe a myth that we have been taught – somewhere –

that to be soft, is to be unstable and weak.

Part of this softening is letting go: of my own ideals, of my image, of what is expected of me. To do the hard things of speaking truth, but allowing it to be carried through love, not force. To let others see me as unstable, if they wish. It is a laying down and servant-like posture that hardly makes sense in our world. But oh, does it take strength.

These are hard things I don’t even understand, but somewhere in my gut, there is an understanding of what love looks like, and it starts with first embracing others with softness – with turning the other cheek, even – with something that might look a lot less impressive than how we are often told to show up in this world. This love is found somewhere between a reaction and a response, assuming and listening, ignoring and accepting. It is wrapped up in faith or something like it, and an old story of a Messiah and something he had to show us that shifts how we move in this world.

It is more than just thought and prayer and feeling, but it is also all of those things. It is an embodied experience of movement and grace and presence, full of intention. So today, at least for a little while, this is my practice: to move with my breath, inhaling and exhaling, slowing and finding grace and gentleness in my movements, remembering the soft and strong parts that can bring healing and connection, if I am only willing to let them be seen. 

-bec

 

 

 

 

 

 

it’s so simple

it’s so simple, just ignore the scars.

it’s so simple, just take time to heal.

it’s so simple, just don’t worry about what others think.

it’s so simple, just don’t say things that rock the boat.

it’s so simple, just loosen up and worry less.

it’s so simple, just believe in yourself.

it’s so simple, just stop trying to prove your wroth.

it’s so simple, just speak your truth.

it’s so simple, just accept things as they are and move on.

it’s so simple, just care a little more.

it’s so simple, just find your passion.

it’s so simple, just don’t be quite “so much.”

it’s so simple, just don’t waste your life away.

it’s so simple, just work hard and be like everybody else.

it’s so simple, just be the change you want to see in the world.

it’s so simple, just be realistic about what you can accomplish.

it’s so simple, just focus on what is in front of you.

it’s so simple, just don’t lose sight of the bigger picture.

it’s so simple, give up something for others.

it’s so simple, remember to take care of yourself.

it’s so simple, don’t let others walk all over you.

it’s so simple, life only comes with death.

it’s so simple.

-b.e.

Why I Won’t Be Making a New Years Resolution In 2019

The New Year has never really felt like a natural time to make a big change to me. There are other rhythms in my life that personally make more sense – for example, Lent and the start of Fall have always been significant for me. The last “new year’s resolution” I can remember making was when I was 13, when I gave up soda for a year (and I haven’t really had any since, so maybe they aren’t all bad).

But, one thing I have always been drawn toward on December 31^st, is picking a “word” for the following year. Some of the words I remember over the years have been: “expectancy”, “bold”, “growth”, “thrive”. It isn’t so much of a forcing of something new I want to have happen, but rather a theme that I have noticed creeping up over the past few months that I want to embrace and explore.

This year, I am feeling pulled toward the word “gratitude”.

This picture is of my first real tattoo (I’m not counting the small heart I got when I was 18 out of teenage rebellion that you can only see when I’m in a bikini): the word “eucharisteo”.

I was on an Ann Voskamp kick back in the day, and read her book “1000 Gifts” with a group of women. The book is about her own inspiration by this word to list 1000 things she is thankful for. Much of this book would probably bother me now, but she shares her finding of this word in an account of Jesus in the Bible, where he takes bread, breaks it and gives thanks (this last part, “gave thanks” is translated from the Greek, “eucharisteo”). The root of this word encompasses both the Greek for “grace” (Charis) and it’s derivative, Chará, for “joy”.  Voskamp explains it as a sort of noticing and giving of thanks and finding the gift and the joy to be had in it all. It serves for me as an incredibly simple reminder of thankfulness and joy in the everyday and mundane. This practice, the remembering and giving thanks, is a central theme and regular practice of Christ-followers: to come to the table and remember.

There have been many, many times when I have not wanted anything to do with the church or God or religion. And probably, there still will be. But, over the years, I have come to realize something: it isn’t that I don’t believe in it anymore, but rather, that I believe in it too much.

I believe in hope and redemption and healing.

I believe in light overtaking darkness and love winning out in the best and worst of circumstances.

I believe in gratitude and joy in the midst of suffering and I recognize that I have never really experienced this, because while pain has existed in my life, I have been born with privilege. I grew up in a world wading through a culture full of messages encouraging consumption and greed and wondering why everything seems and feels so fake, including the Western Church. It turns out that a lot of this is just that life is kind of messy and we may always run into things not turning out to be what they claim. But man, am I hungry for authenticity.

And if the church – not the four walls, not the programs and robes and chalices and banners, but rather the people ignited with and walking the world together with hope and healing in their chest and arms, ready to embrace the most rejected in the world with truthful compassion – is really a city of light bringing love and restoration to a world aching from hate and greed, I want to be a part of that. But it takes work to really enter into it – being a passive bystander doesn’t cut it.

And maybe, this act of gratitude, has a lot to do with that. Because when we are so distracted with what we don’t have, what hasn’t happened yet, what is making our own lives complicated, we forget to look around and see what is actually going on in the world.

And I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to live a life and look back and see how little most of it mattered and how little I did for others.

A life drenched in gratitude gives us perspective, and hopefully propels us toward whatever good is in front of us to engage in. Because maybe life isn’t so much about a measureable to-do list that some critical voice inside nags us to accomplish – but rather, entering into a way of living each day that gives us a greater capacity to really SEE and enter into beauty and bring some sort of healing to ourselves and the world around us.

Maybe this is being the church. Maybe this is embodying the message of a rabbi who broke bread and saw the gift and the joy and couldn’t help but walk the world with compassionate feet. Maybe if we can walk the earth with those feet, we will leave an imprint of love wherever we wander.

the unbearable raw

Rawness is hard and tender.

There is a draw, a pull to stare and at the same time, a compulsion to avert the eyes and look away,

because how can you look at something so unbearably chaffed and not try to alleviate the discomfort, to help heal the wound, to apply a sweet balm and make all the coarseness go away? Either you must try to forget it or do something to help. So, we try:

“you will get through this.”

“things will get better”

“just give it time”

“don’t give up hope”

“be strong”

but what about when the rubbing doesn’t stop and months and years go by and you are still living with the rawness, reliving the crude spikes of tenderness, like waves splashing over and over against the cliffside, taking away a little bit more and more and more, barely noticeable, but then, one day, it all splits and crashes into the sea.

And you swear you hear the waves roaring with laughter at another bit of you worn down and snuffed out.  A fresh new side now exposed to begin the process again, and you’re not sure how much more you can take before there is nothing left of you at all.

You ask yourself all the what ifs and feel the rubbing and the burning feeling again. What if I had said something different?  What if they hadn’t left? What if this pain had never come? What if I had reacted differently? What if I had been more? Less? 

There are always what ifs – past, present, upcoming.

What ifs don’t solve anything, though.

They don’t patch up tears in our hearts or seal lost moments away for us to forget about. We ask them, even though we know we can’t change the past. We open up the wound again and again, picking at the scab until we finally decide we really shouldn’t be doing that and pull our sleeve back over it, hoping for no infection.

At some point, we need to stop asking “what if” and begin to ask, “what now“.

What now provides a path to healing and real change. It invites us to lift our chin a little and brush off the dirt and step toward a new path. We can look at our past choices and acknowledge what has happened, allowing our life to be seen for what it is, and then turn, steadily, little by little, and move – somewhere.

What now involves us in the present.

Instead of being focused on the past or the distant future, what now asks us to look at what is right in front of us and determine what good thing there is to do next.

A simple question and practice and one that helps tremendously when we are trying to be mindful and at peace with what is going on around us on any given day. It helps keep us focused on goodness and love, on slowing down and taking care of others and ourselves.

It requires sacrifice and an openness and awareness of new opportunities that might present themselves.

And it is so freeing.

-bec

Taking Inventory

This weekend, I got away for a little retreat. Our friends own a cabin only about 30 minutes away from our home and I stole away for a night on my own, before my family joined the next evening.

And it was much less restful than I thought, once the kids joined.

But there were these moments, sitting in this simple cabin, remembering when we lived with much less and I felt more responsible for what we did have, what we consumed. And I found myself listing in my head the things I no longer wanted or felt like I had room in my life for.  Things like Instagram and physical items and trying to impress others and being too distracted to really listen to my own children. I thought about the boundaries I would want to set for my kids as they get older and begin to have more independence, especially when it comes to technology, and how I need to be ready to model what I set for them, show them the standards we set are actually valued in our life.

Now, today, we are home, and I am looking around the house and wondering. What do I bring into our home? Why? What purpose does it serve? How can we be more intentional? What about our bodies? What are we being exposed to, soaking in, consuming? How do we find the space to slow?

I feel a deep purge is coming.  A physical one, like a seasonal change, of letting go and making room for something fresh and new and full of new energy, and an inner change, as well.  These are so thoroughly connected.

Don’t Limit Your Worth and the Possibility for Expansive Growth

 

For most of my life, I’ve wondered.

Wondered what more there could be, how much more I could be.

Wondered if I was wasting time, moment by fleeting moment

or investing in something, making deposits myself or someone else would one day cash in on.

12 years (almost) of marriage, 3 kids deep, 1 year into my thirties and I am still wondering.

I feel like my adult life has only really just begun.  That I am only now finding out what my strengths are and slowly discarding the parts that don’t serve me, that actually weigh me down.

It has a lot to do with expectation –

my own and others –

and the never-ending comparison of arbitrary milestones and lines we draw; a measuring stick.

But a measuring stick doesn’t leave room for growth. A measuring stick just compares to what we have known, a standard rule so we can all aim for something similar, because as humans we like order and to know how we stack up in society.

So we limit ourselves.

Instead of an expansive model of growth, one that knows no limits other than the ones we set against ourselves, we find ourselves bound to both inner and outer critical voices.

But I am learning to measure a little differently these days.

I’m inviting a new standard, an expansive one, like a never-ending ribbon

one that doesn’t say:

“you need to do more, be skinnier, be more beautiful, hold everything with strength, cover all your bases, live like everyone is watching your every move, never make a mistake, always find joy”

but rather,

“look at how you are growing” and “see the good ways you influence your circle” and “you made a mistake, but that means you are trying” and “you feel uncertain and are showing emotions that make you feel awkward, but that means you are being real with others and yourself” and “you don’t have to do it all”.

As we learn to extend compassion to ourselves, we create a new space in which we can flourish, where healing can take place and we can plant ourselves on a new trajectory toward unlimited possibilities.

I hope one day I will look back at where I have been and say, “I never could have imagined…”

Or maybe, I can.

-b.e.

 

 

The Inspiring Devotion to Nothing

 

Are you familiar with the Chinese Bamboo Tree?

Once planted, it doesn’t break through the ground for 4 years.

During this time, gardeners tend to this seemingly bare spot of earth – water it, fertilize it, nurture it – with no visible display of what difference their care has made.

But then, after 4 years of “nothing”, in the 5th year, the shoot bursts through the ground and grows at an amazing pace.  In just over a month, it will tower over you at 90 feet high.

I feel like this relates to so many areas of life.

It resonates so deep within me right now.

Because sometimes, I give up tending to certain things I believe in.

Sometimes, we don’t see the outcomes of our kindness, generosity, patience, grace.

Sometimes, the grueling, gritty, every day work just doesn’t seem worth it.

Sometimes, we fail and instead of learning from our mistakes, give up prematurely.

Sometimes, we look crazy devoting so much time to something that gives us so little in return.

Sometimes, I look at everyone else’s bamboo trees and instead of enjoying their beauty and celebrating the hard work it took to grow them, I allow envy to settle in my stomach.

Then there are those moments – days, weeks, years – where incredible growth takes place.  It was happening all along, but you didn’t see it.  You couldn’t.  Maybe it is all timing.  Maybe you just weren’t ready.  Maybe someone else came along who believed in you and even did the hard work and tended to your garden for a time when you neglected it.  Maybe there are a slew of reasons.  Maybe you were so busy tending to that barren ground that it just sort of changed overnight and things are suddenly happening at a dizzying pace.

I feel like I have experienced these stages at different times in life.  Sometimes I give up and move on.  Sometimes I wonder and doubt and second-guess why I am even doing the things I am.  Or I am just lost and don’t know what is next or what I should be doing at all. And then there are times when I stand back and see the outcome and feel full and satisfied.

But you can’t skip the seasons and you can’t get the lost years back.

There is so much going on below the surface that we don’t see.

As a mother, this feels poignant.

I sense that many of us with young children feel like we are just getting through these early years with our kids.  We have lost ourselves somewhere along the way and feel like every drop of energy is devoted to their care and nothing is left. We just have to get through these years and things will change. It is both joy and hardship, but I have never found myself more than through the experience of having children.

It has loosened so many lies I believed about myself and others, about where I actually find my value and what is important in life.

Even those formative years in our children’s lives are like tending to a bamboo tree.  You might not see the outcome of what you pour into their every day, the sacrifices you make for them, for years to come.  And we bear the wrinkles and tired eyes from the laughter and frustration and sleepless nights and dim, early mornings.

But when I think about the bamboo tree and growing another year older and hearing the stories of others’ lives and the abrupt endings we can face…I also feel a broader call, an urgency.

Not to see change, but to work toward it.

Because sometimes, the work takes years and years and maybe I don’t even get to enjoy the shade that will one day come from the daily tending,

but

I can imagine who will.

And I wonder, what have I been tending to beneath the surface all this time?

-b.e.

Answer Their Questions – Even if You Don’t Have the Answers

We all know this truth: the world is full of sadness and brokenness and atrocities our hearts can’t seem to comprehend. It feels like there is always another story, another group being marginalized and abused, another people displaced and suffering, another disaster striking and destroying everything a family has and knows.

Right now, with all the brokenness accompanying what is happening at our borders, I have been wondering, how do we raise our own children to stand for what is right and break the patterns history repeats? How can we help them understand their privilege and raise goodness within them?

There may always be suffering and people choosing to inflict pain and oppress others with their power in the world, but there is something deep in each of us that knows we can’t allow ourselves to just get used to it, to begin accepting it as part of life as long as it doesn’t impact us personally. It is easy and natural to want to shield our children from it completely, to allow them to keep their innocence and not have to worry about what is happening in the world. And while I agree that discretion should be used in determining at what age and how much is appropriate to share with a child, I also believe it is essential for us to be preparing our children to take a loving and compassionate stance as they age and enter adulthood.

Many of us, as we watch our children grow, have hopes they will learn to navigate life with good judgment, choose to stand up for what is right, defend the weak, and speak out against injustice.

But how do we even begin to grasp at such a large task and how do we do it in a way that honors their emotions and sense of security and current developmental stage?

I think one of the biggest gifts we can give to our children is to answer their questions, even when we don’t have the answer.

We have probably all been hit with that unsuspected moment when your child asks you a question like, “What happens to people after they die?” or “Why would someone want to shoot someone?” and for a moment eyes freeze and lips numb, as our mind races to come up with the “right” answer.   Many times, as adults, we bring our own baggage with us to these questions. Personally, I have had sift through many dogmas and beliefs I was taught growing up and have often responded hastily, distracting and essentially shutting down the question, out of fear of indoctrinating my children the same way.

Yet, many times, children just need to know you are listening and holding space for them. Lisa Miller, author of the book, The Spiritual Child, writes how often parents respond with “I don’t know”, when we dont know what to say. But this can actually halt the discussion and dismiss the question. What if you really don’t have words? She suggests responding with a “what do you think?” and see what comes next.  The important thing is to not cut off the wondering, invite the questions and be willing to sit with the unknown.

As a parent, I have felt at times inadequate and poorly equipped to answer these big questions, teach empathy and work toward instilling the values in my children that I believe will allow them to care for others, contribute positively to their communities, lead others toward goodness, and be the most amazing human beings they can be. It has taken intention and work and listening and trying again and having grace for myself as I take this task on, to nurture and encourage their spiritual development, as an essential part of raising my kids.

But often, I find myself surprised by how much depth and understanding even the youngest souls offer when presented with these big and hard and complicated issues that adults can’t seem to wrap their heads around or find solutions to. Somehow, they manage to find the simplicity, point out the profound.

So, when they ask the questions, I have learned to do my best to invite more curiosity, to help them find the answer, or at least, enough for now.

They might answer the question for themselves,

or

you might offer just the right words,

or

there might be no words at all.

Maybe You will learn something from them,

and

maybe you will have to look into the answer together and continue the discussion.

But, answer the question and affirm the importance of your child’s thoughts, feelings and curiosity.

I am in this journey along with you and have no claim to expertise or perfection (far from it!), but I have found that in our life, we are given endless opportunities to nurture our children’s spirituality. They are found in the margins, in the every day and ordinary moments, we stumble upon these sacred moments and spiritual encounters.

While the way these opportunities present themselves and how we each uniquely relate to our children will be different depending on our own family dynamics and values, personalities, and where and how we live, every parent, regardless of their beliefs and background, are the ones with the greatest influence on the development of their children. 

So, I may not have specific how-to’s to offer, step-by-steps or concrete examples – I am no expert.

I am just a parent, like you, trying to remind my children of their privilege and grow in them a heart of compassion through practicing gratitude and learning about other cultures and imagining what it would be like to live in different shoes and giving up something to help others and learning stillness and sitting in silence and staring up at the trees and speaking truth and goodness and love and praying and allowing our hearts to be broken and knowing we have a responsibility to do more and love harder and look with intention outside of ourselves.

So, remember to breathe and that

• It’s okay if you don’t have all the answers
• If it feels like you have no time for anything more, you are not alone, breathe
• Try and look for space in the margins of the day, even if it is just a few minutes here and there
• No one is perfect
• Some days it will feel hard and like you failed
• Some days you will have all the right words
• We can only do our best in each moment we are given
• This is such important work you are doing, don’t give up
• You are exactly who your child needs

-b.e.

 

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Dear Exhausted Ones

To the full-time working parent, giving countless hours to taking care of your family, sacrificing your own self-care and desires just to get through another day, while the laundry and bills pile up and the fridge is looking bare and you’re trying your best to give your kids what they need and show them your love, but you feel the stretching and hit your limit more than you wish to admit. Exhausted you still pull yourself up after finally sitting down to help with that last minute school assignment and get your daughter to those piano lessons you stretch your grocery budget to afford.

You matter and life might be so different than you ever imagined it to be and not slow down anytime soon and all you do may never be noticed or appreciated like it should be, but you are seen. Remember to breathe and take even the smallest moments of rest as they appear.

To the postpartum mom in the thick of taking care of the littlest humans with the biggest needs and only experiencing life through a constant fog of exhaustion, you glance in the mirror and try to unsee the dark circles under your eyes and the extra rolls and marks you maybe know should be acceptable to be there after having a baby, but you just want some remnant of normal to be back in your life. But there is too much and so little time and the days go so slow and yet, every milestone your baby reaches has you wondering how so much time has passed.

You are doing such important work. It is hard, and some days you will want to quit. They say nothing lasts forever, but it’s not true – the impact you are making now will follow your child throughout their entire life.

To those still wrapped up in bedsheets hours after the sun has risen, paralyzed by something you can’t find words for, broken and afraid and overwhelmed with a sense of unworthiness and uselessness. Maybe you are surrounded by people who care and you can’t seem to show them the love you know you have for them. Maybe you are wondering if anyone ever thinks about you and just wish someone would show up at your door. The new day doesn’t bring the light you are missing, even when the sun is shining directly on your face.

Maybe no one will show up for your today, maybe not even yourself, and I can’t imagine that pain. You are enough. Time may pass, but even if it takes days and months to get out of that bed, to silence the voices that say there is no point, I hope you know that you are a gift and the party isn’t complete without you.

To the one who has been left in silence and unknowing, without any answers as to what the heartbreak was or how it happened, a relationship torn. You are left only with the interrogating voice in your head placing blame and the never-ending questioning, a self-inflicted torture. Your heart is longing for resolution and wholeness, but wonders if it should hold out or move on.

It is hard to not allow one person to determine your value. Maybe you were wrong, maybe they were wrong, too. Maybe we are all human and navigating conflict in love is one of the hardest things to learn. We all have the chance to do better, be better, love better.

To the under-served and unprivileged who I often turn a blind eye toward and don’t take the time to understand or immerse myself in your world, I am sorry for the way things completely out of your control – when, where and how you were born, the unfounded fears of our society – have been held against you, holding you back from flourishing, to support the convenience and wellbeing of others.

You would think we would stop to listen, that the crying out and deep brokenness would shake something in our bones to finally give up our comfort to do what is right and just, but instead we brush it under the rug and rearrange the furniture and rescue dogs and shake our heads, so disconnected we don’t really know how to change anything.

---

We all have a story, we are all journeying through life and doing our best and being our worst and letting tears fall and wondering if we are broken and why we don’t care more and how life can be so wonderful and how there is darkness around every corner.

Truth is, we can all do better, be better, but “being better” doesn’t change our worth.

If we don’t accept the basic worth of another human being, of life itself, the world will never change.

We will continue to hate the people that threaten us and draw lines around “us” and “them”.

It all seems too big and impossible, really, when you think about it.

But even in your workplace and as you care for your family and as you raise your children and as you reach out in love to those who have never experienced it and as you navigate your relationships and go to Thanksgiving dinner and get to know your neighbors and wash dishes and read board books and embrace your art and remind others of beauty and replace dignity and tend to the earth and hear the stories of those around you and see the sunlight filter through your bedroom window and say a prayer of thanks

remember that small things matter, too.

You can’t do it all and you definitely can’t do it all at once.

We all know there are big things going in the world and it is a matter of privilege when our problems hardly stack up to the devastation many individuals and families are facing.  I hate that I don’t have the answers and don’t know what to do. My heart seeps over the Palestinian deaths this past week and the families being torn apart and the countless atrocities all across the globe, and yet, I don’t even know where to begin.

Some of us can and will step out and do something that directly rescues those across the globe from us. I am so thankful for you.

Some of us may never have the resources or the opportunity to do something at a global level. But right outside of your front door, in your very neighborhood, even in your own home, there is so much good to be done, waiting to rise out of the cracks.

-b.e.

 

 

 

 

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to name the things that often go unspoken

 

One of the paradoxes of writing is the desire to be known and yet, at the same time, allowing others to interpret who you are however they choose. There is no controlling the outcome. I share my thoughts and you take it as you will. And that’s okay. For me, writing is about growth and wonder and questions and process and naming the things that often go unspoken and maybe even stringing words together that resonate with some other soul somewhere, too.

I have gone through a season where I have kept writing, but I haven’t been sharing much of it. Something about where I am and who is watching me (whether it is only in my head or not) has made me become more worried about how I express myself – which I already had enough anxiety about to begin with.

How do you release those fears and be who you are?

Because really, what is there to lose, anyway?

Perhaps a false expectation someone has of who I am, but I would rather lose something that wasn’t really mine to begin with than to never respond to the pull I feel to put words to what is difficult to name.

Like how lonely it feels to suddenly not know what you believe and wonder how you lived so much of life going through empty motions and begin to question who you are at every level. What did any of this actually mean? What was it for? What kind of person has it made me? How blind have I been?

The days that follow it all begins to taste so stale and like nothing more than meaningless words with hollow hope and no action to stand up for anything that actually mattered.

And for some reason, you feel like you are doing something wrong, you are something wrong, and no one knows quite what to do about you.

There have been moments where I have faced the void where I had always felt God before and wondered what would happen if I just cut myself off from it and never looked back. But I could never do it. I could never dismiss entirely this mystery or stop questioning the divine or neatly tuck in a box with hard parameters the many experiences and things that have happened to me along the way.

Instead, I felt stuck in a sleepy faith that maybe made me feel something, but hardly appeared to make any visible marks on the world for good.

Until one day, quietly and without much effort, I woke up.

And the colors around me seemed less dull and there was a hint of dewey hope hanging in the air and maybe, just maybe, I thought I had found myself or some remnant of faith or spirituality again.

And again I was faced with this Jesus fellow, the one thing I couldn’t let go of entirely about the faith I was brought up in. I have always believed that if we lived out the subversive, messy, heart-centered message of this eccentric man who invited us to be radical peacemakers and reach out – not just in charity, but in true relationship – to the ones no one wants to hang out with, the world would experience a new surge of hope, starting with the those who need it the most, those found at the lowest rung of the social ladder.

And now, I am here, working full-time at a church. I don’t know exactly how I got here. When I think about it, it feels like an unexpected wind came through and whisked everything into place and dropped us here.

But slowly, I am leaning into this reality and seeing something new – something like hope or purpose – growing inside. I wonder if it has always been there, this ember, just waiting. Waiting for the Wind to come and fan it into a blaze. Hardened layers from years of learning to hide so as not to disappoint is giving way to a soft and moldable human that wants nothing more than to receive grace and let it flow outward to others. It is a breaking that is good, a rawness that breathes hope.

I always have further to go in this journey. I am thankful for the mystery and for knowing that I am not required to have all the answers. There is nothing to lose and I am learning to keep a looser grip on the things that I can’t control.

-b.e.

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