I’ve always carried an illusion with me. The illusion is that someday I will get things figured out and stop falling on my face, quit saying the wrong thing, and finally stop blundering my way through my days.

LOL. As if such a thing were possible.

There are people who seem so smooth, so knowledgeable, so not prone to falling on their faces again and again. These people make me think it’s possible. I’m just not one of those people, although I have a dream someday I will rise like the phoenix out of the ashes into some sort of calm, smooth, more beautiful version of Yoda.

When I mess up, it hurts…mostly my pride. I had a conversation today, and I felt like I said the wrong thing. I got home, and it began to haunt me: what I should have said, what I shouldn’t have said, over and over, round and round in my brain. The more and more I thought about it, the more upset with myself I became, mostly because I realized what I said hurt my image. I was afraid of how my words would make me look and how my words would make others think of me, whether they would like me anymore or not.

Do you know what wasn’t on my mind? Whether or not what I said really was the right or wrong thing, according to God. I was too caught up in my thoughts of what people were thinking of me that I didn’t even stop to consider the fact I had said the right thing.

This whole thought process got me thinking about my pride. I should be more afraid of it. Too often my self-image/pride drives my thoughts, words, and actions more than what God’s word tells me. It’s a scary realization.

On my own, my sinful nature is a twisted, twisted thing. It twists the truth. It twists my motivation. It twists my attitude. Left to its own devices, my pride quickly takes over as my mode of operation, a self-interested beast driving my life, my plans, and my decisions. Pride is not patient or kind. Pride envies and boasts. It’s rude. Pride is self-seeking, easily angered, and it keeps records of wrongs. Pride rejoices in evil, when it puts me on top. Pride will lie to save its image. And pride fails me again and again. But pride feels right because it comes naturally.

Pride also seems to make sense in this world. Look out for number one! If you aren’t watching out for number one, well, you’ll never be number one. In many cases, pride drives the beautiful to become more beautiful, the rich to become richer, the successful to have more success.

Humility and God’s ways often do not make sense. Humility and God’s ways often hurt my ego, asking me to give up my own desires, to sacrifice, and turn the other cheek. Humility asks me to say I’m sorry, to acknowledge my sinfulness and my weaknesses. In humility, I realize that this life isn’t about lining up trophies, winning awards for best-looking and most likely to succeed. And it isn’t about getting a little bit of fame or a whole lot of it either.

Humility readjusts my focus from this world to the next. What is see here is mostly smoke and mirrors, glittering distractions. Humility draws me to the realization that God is God, and I am not. But in that acknowledgement I also find comfort: I don’t have to run on the hamster wheel of pride, where there is never enough, where there is always fear. Where pride runs, humility can rest.

In humility, I know that I’m a sinner, and I mess up again and again. I know that I can never be enough. In humility, I know that Jesus is enough. He’s my “enough.” When I look to him, I see that my mistakes, my shortcomings, my sins are forgiven and removed. Everything I’m not is everything He is. Everything I need is found in Him. When I abandon pride, I can fully see the beauty of humility because it is the beauty of grace.

I love simple things, things that are efficient, streamlined, to-the-point. I love directions that are clear and concise, and writing that is so straightforward, it’s breath-taking.

But lately I’ve been wanting that too much. I’ve been aiming for a simplicity that isn’t realistic, especially in my writing. Sometimes I wish I could write a post that says if you do steps 1, 2, and 3, your problem will be solved.  But life is not simple. It doesn’t work out into a neat little package most of the time (any of the time?).

Some Christian books and articles that I’ve read actually lay it out that way. If you just pray this much, if you just trust this much, if you just give this much, then this and that will happen in your life. We’d all like it to be that easy, but it just isn’t.

There’s a very simple reason for this: we are not God. As much as I like to think I’m in control of my universe, I’m not. As much as I like to plan for the future, I can’t see it. As much as I check items off my to-do list, the results aren’t guaranteed. Sometimes this makes me very angry or frustrated or downright sad because life is full of so many questions and really hard situations. I’d love to find a way out of them myself.

But.

I find that when I’m pushed up against a wall, I realize how fully I’m unable to get out a situation by myself. I realize that I need help. These situations drive me to God, which is perhaps why he allows them into my life in the first place.

Life is full of problems and unknowns. I can’t change that, and Jesus told me it would be this way because this world is broken. Broken until the end of time. Daily struggles, hardships, burdens…they remind me of that this world is not my home. It’s a difficult, painful reality, but it is the truth that drives me to my God.

My God is wise and powerful. My God is all-knowing and all-seeing. My God can move the mountains and part the seas. He can change all of the things that I can’t. In fact, he’s changed everything I really need to have changed. He sent Jesus to conquer this world, to destroy death, and to defeat the devil. He changed me from a child of this world to a child of God. This world isn’t my everything. Heaven is, and it’s already been won for me.

I find myself so bent on trying to change things here, so afraid of what I can’t control. I focus so very much of my energy and time on my burdens, that sometimes I don’t focus anything on my blessings. I bring myself back again and again to these verses from Philippians 3:

“What is more, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them garbage, that I may gain Christ ⁹ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in^[a] Christ—the righteousness that comes from God on the basis of faith. ¹⁰ I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, ¹¹ and so, somehow, attaining to the resurrection from the dead.

¹² Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. ¹³ Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, ¹⁴ I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.”

I don’t need steps 1, 2, and 3. I need a change of perspective, a change of heart. This kind of change is what the truths of God’s Word bring. In His Word, God assures us that that he is indeed God, that our salvation is won, and that He working all things out according to his grace-infused plan. When I focus my attention on these truths, I find that everything becomes so much simpler than following steps 1, 2, and 3.

Press on!

It’s funny how this blogging thing goes. I start out, all revved up to write, all excited by the encouragement I receive, with millions of ideas. And that lasts just about three weeks for me, until all of the adrenaline from the beginning peters out and I’m just plain tired. The blank page looks more and more like an enemy and less and less like my friend. (That little blinking curser? I think it’s out to get me).

When I get to the heart of it though, it’s not that I don’t want to write anymore, it’s that I am afraid to write. The fear is overpowering the love of what I do. Now that people are reading and sharing, I feel the pressure of eye watching, minds judging, fingers wagging. I feel the desire to write something new and exciting. I feel the tug to start promoting and sharing, to come up with a media plan and start submitting proposals. I feel the fear that I will fail at something that I have always wanted to do.

Instead of motivating me, fear paralyzes me. I have begun circumnavigating my blogging, walking a wide arc around my keyboard. Every other activity seems more appealing. Last night I chose cleaning my bathrooms instead of sitting down to write a blog. The voices in my head have become so loud, I can’t hear myself think.

Pressure. Paralysis. Both come from fear. Neither come from love. Fear overwhelms my hope to share God’s word, to reach out, to connect, to live honestly, to be who God made me to be. When I look around at how I might fail or what people might say, I’m not operating out of hope or love. I’m operating out of fear.

Where else is this happening in my life? Where else is fear overshadowing love and hope and action? I can see it in my relationships with people. I see it in my relationship with God. Fear distracts me from what’s important, what’s true, what’s real. It is a horribly powerful emotion.

Saying no to fear is no easy task for me. It means saying no to my ego and pride. No to the devil and his distractions. No to the easy way out.

And saying no to fear means saying yes to other things: yes to sitting down and writing, yes to taking God at his word, yes to praying, yes to one foot in front of the other.

When I think about all the stories in the Bible, I love that God uses so many people who were afraid, just like me: Abraham, Moses, Jonah, the disciples. Their stories are full of trying and failing, but also following and succeeding. I love that God assures us that real success is not conquering all, but learning to follow Him in faith…to say yes…in whatever he calls us to do.

My daughter is learning how to play piano. As I watch her trying to translate what she sees on the page into movement in her fingers, it’s taking me back to my own days of piano lessons.

When I was learning to play the piano, I raced through the music. I was a little bit of a mad woman, playing loud and fast and according to my own beat. I was always good at sightreading, the ability to read and play the correct notes. I could tear my way through a song pretty well, but I was never good at slowing down. And I was awful at timing. I hated stopping to figure out a tricky rhythm, clapping it out against the tick-tick of the metronome or my own tapping foot. Timing drove me mad. Most of the time I ignored it because I simply did not have the patience for it. I just kind of forced the music and used the term “artistic license” pretty liberally (to the chagrin of my piano teachers).

I so often want what I want, when and how I want it. I want my life to play out exactly as I request. I force things. I push onward, instead of patiently waiting. When things don’t go as I planned, I’m upset about the resulting cacophony. I’m disappointed, frustrated, angry with God. I am also afraid. If this doesn’t work out, what then? If God doesn’t give me this, how will I make it through?

But life is so much more than my plans and ideas and desires, the notes I pick on out the keys, the way I think the song should sound. Life is about timing, and most of that belongs to God. He answers our prayers in the way and the time that he knows is best.

He knows best because he is God. I need to trust Him. He sees me.  He knows me, my desires, my dreams. He knows my strengths, my purpose. God also knows my limits, the length of my vision, the borders of my knowledge. He knows what tempts me, he knows my fears. He knows how I’ve made a mess of things. He knows what is best for me and my faith. He picks up my finagled notes, and he sets them to his timing. The result is music, the song that he is crafting out of my life.

I learning to appreciate timing more than I used to, the value of following the Master’s tempo, instead of my own. I know that trusting his timing results in a much more beautiful song.

Lord, sometimes I’m so afraid when things don’t work out the way I had planned. I’m sorry for not trusting you with my life. Please forgive me and help me trust your timing. Thank you, Lord, for the music that you make out of all my noise. For Jesus’ sake, Amen.

I’ve designated “fear” as this month’s theme. And perhaps the scariest thing is that I have so much experience in this area. In fact, it is taking my a very, very long time to write this first post on fear, because I have so much fodder.

There have been stretches in my life where my mode of operation was fear. One of those stages was in adolescence, and I wrote about that last month. I’m kind of going through another one of those stretches right now.

There was a period of a few years, not too long ago, when one bad thing after another kept happening. I felt like I was at sea in the middle of a storm, one wild wave crashing over my boat after another. Just as I would catch my breath, another wave would hit.

For the last year or so, though, things have calmed down. A little bit choppy, but no hurricanes, not even a lightning storm, really. But since the last storm has passed, I keep looking at the horizon, straining to spot the next one. Instead of relaxing, I find it eerily calm.

“What will happen next?” I keep asking myself. “Will my children get kidnapped or abused? Will I get cancer? Will my husband die in a freak accident? Will we fall down in some sort of financial disaster? Will world war break out? Will there be a school shooting at our academy? Will someone close to me go through something terrible? Will my children and grandchildren be persecuted? Will I? Will I lose someone I know, too young?”

I fear the next big, bad thing. I’m scared about what’s coming next.

There are a lot of things that help me:

1. God will be with me when the next storm hits.

2. God will work it out for my good when it hits.

3. No storm that happens here can separate me from his love.

4. God is bigger than the boogy man.

5. Yelling this in my brain: STOP IT!

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. These big scary crazy horrible situations that I cook up in my head? They are TEMPTATIONS. They are things that the devil whispers in my ear, late at night, to get me to take my eyes off of the TRUTH that God is love, that God is in control. When I start feeling myself hyperventilate, sometimes just saying STOP IT really works.

It’s why Jesus simply said, “Don’t worry.”

Don’t worry…that’s it. Don’t worry…end of story. Don’t worry…run the other way. Why am I so surprised when this simple direction works?

Lord, help me to listen to you, to cling to your promises, to trust your words, to flee from worry. Amen!

We made it to October 1st. Hooray!

Thank you for shuffling through September with me, thinking about how to live more peacefully, and pondering the peace that only God gives. The peace of his grace, forgiveness, and hope overwhelms any month, any circumstance, and any trial. That’s why it passes all understanding. Thank you, Lord!

I’m taking on a new “theme” for October. It’s something that I’ve been thinking about a lot actually, and it fits in really well with this month, home to Halloween and all things creep-tastic. No worries. I’m not going to approach the “should Christians let their kids trick-or-treat?” debate. I’m going to talk about fear.

The things I fear, I’m finding, are things that a lot of people fear. Sharing those fears with others and lifting each other up with the comfort of God’s Word really helps me abandon worry and embrace the love that drives out all fear.

I hope you’ll come along.

Yesterday, a friend asked me to take a survey. I think it was for a graduate class she is taking. It was two or three pages long, full of statements that I could mark as “never” or “not usually” or “usually” or “routinely.” Most of the questions were about my health. Do I eat 3-5 servings of fruit a day? Do I exercise for 30 minutes a day? Do I get routine check-ups? Do I feel emotionally able to handle my daily life? Do I spend time with people who support me?

One of the questions struck me. It was: “do you have problems accepting things you cannot change?”

My instinct was to mark the “not usually” bubble. I don’t rage against life too much or shake my fist at heaven too often. But then I stopped and looked backward for a few minutes. If I reach back into my past, I can find the anger and the feelings of injustice and the disappointment pretty easily. I can see myself wishing for different circumstances. I can see myself pouting. I can see myself wasting time and energy trying to change things or people I had no business trying to change. I know I’ve prayed for the Lord to change my surroundings instead of changing my attitude.

Accepting things I cannot change takes humility. I means that I have to shelve my ideas of what I think I should have or what I want to happen. It means that I have to get out of the way while God is doing his work in my life (or rather, the life that he gave to me).

I don’t like to get out of the way. I like to help arrange things…a little too much. I like to bring my list of requests to God and hear all yes-es. And when I don’t get the answers I want, I don’t find myself accepting. I find myself worrying and fearing and complaining.

This is not a peaceful existence, believe me.

One of my favorite quotes is quite familiar, but the application is forever a work in progress for me. It popped into my brain as I sat there contemplating whether to mark the “not usually” or the “routinely” bubble on my survey.

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

Sometimes we can change things, sometimes we can’t. But something we can always change is our attitude. We can focus on God and find the peace we are seeking because our God does not change. He is and always will be almighty, loving, all-knowing, all-seeing. He is always working things out for the good of those who love him. He always keeps his promises.

I marked the “I’m working on it” bubble.

Tonight I met up with my friend to start planning this year’s Advent by Candlelight program. Advent by Candlelight is a night at the beginning of December when the ladies of our church decorate the auditorium with candles and bring in the best kinds of Christmas food to share, potluck style. But before we eat, we get quiet. We read God’s Word, listen to a series of Advent-themed devotions, sing carols, and bow our hearts in prayer. Advent by Candlelight is like a deep, cleansing, centering breath before heading into Christmas. The evening is about getting our hearts ready for Christmas, as well as celebrating together.

My friend plans it every year, and last year she dragged me into it, too. Just kidding. I’m excited to help write the program again this year. I really, really am. So we got together tonight to decide on a theme.

You know what struck me? It’s not hard to come up with ideas, it’s hard to narrow it down to just one. The enormous, complex, awesome, mind-blowing thing that is Christmas is hard to distill into a 45 minute program. There are so many possible themes, so much history, so many angles (and angels), so many players involved. There is so much to talk about, so much ground to cover.

And Christmas is just one of the stories in the Bible, just one piece of our salvation. A big piece, yes, but just one. It makes me think of that verse at the end of John:

“Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written.”

You know what? That’s one of my favorite verses of the Bible. Always has been. It’s a plain statement with such reverb. I love how John just calls out at the end of his book, “Hey. There’s so much more to say, but I just can’t do it. No one could.”

So often I complain about how I don’t know enough about life or God or “his plan for my life” or “how this will all work out.” I focus on the idea of scarcity, and it makes me shrivel up with worry and fear. I complain that God hasn’t given me enough answers for my life, but I’m so wrong about that. He has given me so very much to know in his Word. Creation. Salvation. Grace. Forgiveness. Eternal life. Things I couldn’t get my mind around no matter how much I thought about them. In fact, the more I think about these things, the more amazing they become to me. Abundance produces more abundance.

It’s true what “they” say. It’s about my attitude. It’s about what I focus on. It’s about what I choose to see or not see. God invites me every day to wake up and see the abundance of Him: his forgiveness that stretches from east to west, his love that knows no depth or height, his mercies new every morning, his presence that has no beginning or end. This mighty, mighty abundance. His mighty, mighty abundance.

It makes an ordinary day like September 25th feel a lot like December 25th.

I’m the Director of Communications at a Christian school that runs a preschool through twelfth grade program. People ask me regularly, “What does that mean, exactly?”

I try to explain that the job is mostly marketing, a little public relations, a little human resources, a little bit copy writer, a little bit photographer/blogger, a little bit advancement, a little webmaster, and a lot of communicating with anyone and everyone connected to the school.

A shorter answer is, “I’m still trying to figure that out myself.” But I don’t always like to admit that.

All people seem to remember is that I run the school’s Facebook page. “She’s the Facebook girl,” they say. Which is okay, I guess. People don’t have to know what I do or how I do it, but I’d like them to.

Just last week, my husband found me in the kitchen, steamed up from something that happened over the course of my day. When he asked me about it, I threw up my hands and fumed, “No one knows what in the world I do!”

Of course, what I actually meant was, “I don’t know what in the world I do!”

I want the comfort of knowing. I don’t like the uncomfortable feeling of not knowing. I don’t like looking people in the eyes and saying, “I don’t know.” I want the assurance that if I do a, b, and c, then d will happen.

But that’s not real life.

We don’t get that kind of assurance when we parent or when we lead or when we change careers or start a new relationship. Life, unfortunately, doesn’t work that way. We don’t get a handout when we turn 18 that clearly and concisely lays out what we can do to be successful, fulfilled, loved, and happy. A lot of people disagree and encourage us to check certain boxes and for a successful and happy life. But, still, If we check all those boxes, we aren’t guaranteed anything.

As I was sitting in chapel last Friday, the PTO President tossed me a white t-shirt and called out, “I thought of you!” When I unfolded it, it had one and only word on it:

“Liked.”

I smiled for 10 minutes. This silly little reference to my role as the “Facebook girl” was one of the most spot-on gifts I’ve ever received. And it shifted my perspective.

Life isn’t about my job. Life isn’t about people knowing or seeing what I do. Life isn’t about figuring out how to be successful and well-liked. Life is about knowing that I am “liked” by a God who has it all figured out. When I get all wrapped up in what I’m doing, I lose sight of what God is doing (and what he has already done for me on the cross). I’m not the master of the universe. I’m a tool in His hands. I don’t have to worry about knowing how this all works out, because that’s not my job. It’s His. I don’t even need a job description, I just need to follow Him, one step at a time.

Daily accepting the fact that I can’t do anything on my own is a very good box to check, along with daily contemplating the fact that God loves me so much that he saved me. Other good boxes to check? Confessing my sin. Being thankful. Praying. Reading God’s Word. Helping those God has put in my life. Letting go of worry (Like, physically. Like, literally prying it out of my death grip).

Sometimes I have it all mixed up. I spend so much time trying to figure out this life that I forget that the most important stuff is all figured out.

The rest is just details.

Can I get a “like?”

I think people are a little worried about me. Since I’ve started writing again, I realize that all I’ve been writing about are my inner battles, which I think are pretty good fodder. The struggle, the problems, the figuring it out…that’s what’s at the heart of every good story. That’s why we watch movies and read books, to see how other people have made it through (or not). Even though we’d say it’s about entertainment, I think most of the time it’s about trying to find someone else who is struggling the same way we are and came out okay or even more than okay (there is hope!).

I’m pretty much okay. I’m just being honest about life as it is. I think most everyone will agree. We’re all pretty much okay. We are all struggling with stuff: family stuff, work stuff, relationship stuff, figuring-out-my-life stuff, health stuff, faith stuff. Everyone has their thing. It may seem as though some people don’t have a thing, but that’s simply because they are good actors. And if someone says they don’t have a “thing,” they are lying. This is one of the most important things I have learned since becoming a “grown-up.”

When I was a child, I was fearless. Very bold and smart and driven and active, with a hot, hot temper. I had a fierce sense of right and wrong. And then I hit adolescence.

When I hit adolescence, I began to think that I was all wrong. I was too tall and skinny with no curves, not even calves to hold up my socks (I have very clear memories of my trendy knee-length athletic socks drooped sadly around my ankles. I didn’t want huge boobs. I had bigger problems. I just wanted calves to hold up my socks). My conscience was sensitive, so I wouldn’t talk back or slack off or ditch responsibility. I also felt different. I felt too old, like a forty-year-old in a fourteen-year-old’s body. Who I was on the inside didn’t match up with who I needed to be on the outside to be “cool.” Plus, I was scared crapless of boys. Zero idea of how to talk to them.

I added up all these things in my head, over and over again, and realized that I was not pretty or cool and had little hope of ever being so. I decided that I was just plain “wrong.” I lost my boldness and fearlessness, I lost my confidence, and I lost my voice. This ushered in years of feeling unbearably self-conscious, hardly able to answer a question in class without blushing. I lowered my expectations of everything. I was surprised when anyone wanted to be my friend. I dated hardly anyone.

This part of my story makes me sad. Because I look back and realize that nothing about me was “wrong,” only the fact that I had put myself in this category. Convincing myself that I was “wrong” held me back from many good things. Feeling this way made me pretend to be things I was not. I learned how to be an actor, composing the outside of myself to hide everything that I thought was wrong or weird on the inside.When I first starting dating my husband, I was literally waiting for the moment when he would find the real me and go running. Certainly someone this cool and together could not love me.

But he did. He loved me, and in a lot of ways, this was a new beginning for me. About this time, I also met some really good, supportive friends. All these new people in my life seemed to like me. They were happy for me when I was happy. They invited me to stuff. They laughed at my jokes. I began to realize that I was maybe okay. I got a little of my mojo back.

I had so much more figured out when I was a child. I was the person God made me, because I hadn’t learned how to pretend. It hadn’t yet occurred to me to want to be someone else. I was trusting and open. I marvel at this now in my own children. Hearts on their sleeves, questions on their lips. So much personality to behold.

But then I hit adolescence. Suddenly I had this over-abundance of self-conscienceness, brought on by my awkward, growing, morphing body. I had this knowledge of people not just being different, but “right” or “wrong” or “well-liked” or “weird.” I had zero confidence. I began to think that if I wore the right clothes or knew the right people or was uber-successful, I would fit in and be “okay.” Or at least, I could fool people into thinking this. Any kind of acceptance or “rightness” was enough for me.

I’ve spent the last twenty or so years trying to get back to the child that I once was: bold, fearless, strong, trusting, unhampered by self-conscienceness. First, I tried to be something else by pretending and acting. Now I’m learning how to let down my guard and just be me.

I’m trying to do this because that’s who God made me to be. I want to be who God made me to be. I think when I get there, I’ll have a lot of peace, because my insides will match my outsides.

Honesty brings relief. Honesty brings peace. I know this because some of the most okay people I know are some of the most honest people I know. Plus, God tells me that I’m fearfully and wonderfully made. And mostly importantly, he loves me…me! The little one he created 32 years ago, the fearless child, the cowering teen, the always-learning adult, the recovering adolescent. The one he died to save. The one he wants to spend eternity with.