In Between

Here we are, midway into December at the end of a year that has been full of chaos and loss and grief. We are weary. We have experienced loss in unfathomable ways in the past 10 months. Our eyes have been opened in new ways to injustice and to our own mortality.

There are memes portraying 2020 as a dumpster fire. And there are 2020 bingo cards floating around cyberspace that include things like murder hornets. We laugh at the images because they are ridiculously true - and maybe because we don’t know what else to do to quiet the anxiety we are feeling.

Given all we have seen and experienced and lost this year, we feel understandable trepidation heading into the unknown future of 2021. This month feels a lot like an in-between space. We are in the middle of a massive spike in Covid19, and the vaccines are not yet widely available. People we know are dying of this awful disease, and we have no idea what 2021 holds. That is a lot to take in and process, but I will share what is helping me breathe right now.

I didn’t grow up celebrating Advent, but it has become one of my favorite parts of the year. Advent is the beginning of the church year; it begins 4 Sundays before Christmas and ends on Christmas Eve. It is the in-between space that marks the time connecting the coming of Messiah as a baby and the return of the triumphal Christ, when all of our broken world is redeemed. Advent is the liminal space between the already and the not-yet.

I have been digging deeper than ever before into the season of Advent this year because this “space-between” feels really relevant. God is teaching me new things as I dwell quietly in this season. Honestly, it is not a place I enjoy - this waiting space. I’ve been here before - too often in the last 3 1/2 years, honestly. But here I am again - with all of you - as we wait for what comes next.

I admit that some days, life -and the unknown future - feels unbearable.

But in Advent, I am finding moments of a quiet hope. This morning, I found it in my alone time with God. I was studying a passage in Isaiah 41, verses 6-7. Let me share it with you.

Now I am revealing new things to you. Things hidden and unknown to you Created just now, this very moment

As I meditated on these words, it struck me that God is still at work - creating new things. I sometimes think of creation as what happened in Genesis, or what happens at a birth. But God reminded me this morning that creation is still happening all around us, at this very moment.

Beloved, God isn’t finished with us or with this world. We live in an in-between space where suffering happens all around us. 2020 feels like a daily parade of brokenness. But God is still creating in this very moment, revealing new things to us as we look with weary, yet hopeful eyes.

We are a people of hope, with a God who is still creating and transforming. Keep watching and waiting. Keep looking for hope, my friends.

Darkness and Light

So, I need to confess something: I put my Christmas decorations up without fully cleaning my house first.

Truthfully, I do this most years. I know, I know. There are some of you who will judge me for that. But I imagine there are others of you who share this secret with me.

I wish I was the kind of housekeeper that my Mawmaw was. Her house was always so clean that I would feel 100% safe eating off of any surface, including her floor. The few Christmas decorations that I remember her using were always classy and immaculate - and so was everything around it. My decorations are beautiful, but if you look closely enough, you will see dust nearby.

Less than perfect housekeeping aside, the dust and the Christmas sparkles together say something to me. They reveal something of the imperfections of this season. We put on a really good show this time of year. We decorate our house and yard. We look for meaningful gifts. We cook and prepare meals and treats. We do all the things in the name of a perfectly joyous Christmas season.

But the harder truth is what we cover up. In the twinkling lights and merry-making, we fail to admit our painful places. Like the dust around my decorations, there is pain behind my picture-perfect Christmas.

The holiday season is hard for me, and I know I am not alone. It is hard for many - even more this year after the devastation and loss that 2020 has brought.

The first Christmas after being widowed, my pain was visceral and raw, and it was all I could feel. In each holiday season since our loss, there has been pain and sadness present among the celebrations. Even 4 Christmas seasons in, this time of year is still laced with pangs of regret and sadness and loss. But the pain doesn’t always hijack our story anymore.

Here is the thing - both joy and pain exist in this season. Loneliness, sadness, loss - they all hang out in the same places that lights are hung and carols are playing. Some of us cover it up better. Some years are less painful. But the pain is still there even if it only shows up in the dark hours of the night.

I think we do ourselves a disservice when we pretend that the holidays are only about joy and magic. The twinkly lights are just as beautiful in years when they are hung with tears in our eyes. Maybe they are most beautiful in those years. They are a reminder that hope creeps in even in the darkest times.

Dust and decorations exist together. Darkness and Light coexist in the same spaces. All of it is part of the human experience - the sadness and joy, the pain and the hope.

The thing is - we don’t have to pretend that life is perfect, that the jolly Christmas tree is the only part of the story. We can share our vulnerable places with one another. It is a risk. It feels scary as hell. But I am learning that the risk is worth it. We can only be truly seen when we share both the light and dark parts of ourselves.

I am learning to hope in the darkness. I am ready to risk sharing my painful places along with the happy ones. I am recognizing that tears and laughter can have equal value and beauty. I don’t have to be perfect or happy all the time or pretend that the sadness doesn’t exist.

Now, maybe you could remind me of this next time I forget.

Perspectives, part 2

This is a hard one for me. I am about to share publicly that I absolutely DO NOT HAVE IT ALL TOGETHER.

So let me tell you a story. Once upon a time (last week), I shared a beautiful narrative of an adventure I had while hiking, and how I recognized the importance of enjoying the journey we are on. That is all still true. But there is a second chapter to the story - one that is more painful and vulnerable to share.

So, a few days after I wrote Perpectives, I took the boys on a hike in Oak Mountain. It was Cole’s birthday week, and I wanted to see the autumn leaves during their peak. So off we went to the Peavine Falls trail. I had researched and knew the falls were accessible from a specific parking lot. As we drove, the views were absolutely spectacular! We took a ton of pictures and exclaimed that the drive alone was worth it.

Once we parked, we glanced at the trail map and took off. I had waterfall fever, and I knew this was going to be amazing. The early parts of the trail were easy, and the woods were an autumnal wonderland.

Soon though, the trail became more difficult, and I took a fall on some rocks.

I have a couple of autoimmune diseases that involve my joints. I had a stroke in 2016 that affected my visual field, which in turn affects my balance and depth perception. I deal with these things daily. But here is the thing: I am very stubborn and I hate admitting my weaknesses. So we kept going, despite the boys suggesting that we might should turn back. I desperately wanted to see that waterfall.

The trail got steeper and more difficult, but I was determined. Shaking from the adrenaline of the fall, and battling my joints and vision challenges, we climbed for another half hour.

Then, stepping over a rocky place, my foot got caught and I fell again. This time I was lucky I didn’t break my ankle.

We had to turn back, and the tears came as I cursed my body for its weaknesses. The hike back was long and painful; I didn’t make it to the waterfall; and I really wanted to just sit down and cry.

During that long walk back, I thought back to the post I had written.

My first inclination was to criticize myself - my physical limitations, my stubborn need to push myself to my breaking point, my refusal to back down, and the way I turn to shame when I fail. It is all a part of who I am.

But so is courage and resilience and hope.

I spent a lot of my life pretending to have to all together, only showing the world a made-up picture of myself and my life. I’ve been afraid that if people see my weaknesses and failures, I will be abandoned and unloved.

But the people I admire most are not perfect. They try and fail. They are honest about their struggles. And I admire them even more because they aren’t perfect. I can relate to not-perfect.

So here I am - bruised & battered, having to rest more than I want because I pushed myself too hard.

Here I am - risking vulnerability and being seen.

I don’t have it all together, and that’s ok. You can like me, or not.

I would rather risk rejection than offer you a fake perfection. I’d rather be seen and loved as I am.

And I know there are people who love me with all of my failures and weaknesses and quirks and aggravations. And that is enough. I am enough.

Oh, and as we were hobbling out of the Peavine Falls Trail, I saw this sign:

Perspectives

A few weeks ago, the boys and I went hiking at Noccolula Falls. It was somewhere I have been intending to take them for a while. And, I’ll be honest, I was desperate to see a waterfall and get up close to it. I really wanted to get one of those cool photos from behind the falls. Because…. you know, the backside of water.

We left our house early, got there before the crowds, and headed for the trails. I had done my research and knew there was a trail that went down into the gorge and allowed access to get up close and personal with the falls. I couldn’t wait. The recent rain made the falls wild and full and powerful, and I was so excited.

As we started down the main trail, we found the access point to the “secret” back-side-of-water path. But what we found was less of a path and more of a rock face that needed rappelling equipment. It was a LONG way down y’all!

I can get really excited and pretty stubborn about chasing adventures. I don’t want to miss out on anything, and I have been known to get pretty feisty about it all. I struggle against the limitations of the diseases my body fights. Sometimes, in the moment of my adventuring spirit, I try things that are really not very safe. But on this day, even I knew this was beyond me. I was not up to scrambling down slippery rocks. My joints would never allow it.

We shifted our expectations and stayed on the main trail. I was disappointed though. I had visions of conquering nature and seeing something amazing. My perspective was clouded by what I was missing.

As we walked the 2 mile Black Creek Trail that follows the curves of the river below, my perspective began to shift despite my disappointment. I started noticing what was around me, and nature showed me her charms. The waterfall we first encountered was wild and powerful, a little terrifying when you looked down into the gorge. We could hear the loud pounding of the water from the main falls long after we left them behind.

I began to think about the places in life that seem terrifying and wild at first - parenting, moving to a new city, starting a new job, a new relationship. We jump in and try to take the most direct path to get to where we want to be. But sometimes, direct doesn’t come together for us. Sometimes we are forced to take a roundabout way. We can hear the river roaring and know that is the place we want to be. But we are stuck listening and waiting.

How often do we miss the charms of what is directly in front of us because our hearts want to be on the most direct path? I know I have been there. I am impatient, and I want to get immediate and perfect results in everything I do. Taking the “long way ‘round” is not my first instinct. And very rarely am I on it by choice.

But sometimes…

Sometimes, the long way holds rewards too.

As we made it to the end of the 2 mile trail, we came to a bend in the river. It was peaceful and beautiful. It hardly seemed like the same river, but I know it was. We sat for a while and meditated and talked together about the ways the river had changed.

I almost missed the beauty and charm of the trail I was on. I wanted adventure and a rush of accomplishing a big task. What I got was a roundabout path that was (I am pretty sure) just as beautiful in its own way.

When we got to the very end of Black Creek Trail, we turned around and walked back the way we came. I noticed a lot more this time. I wasn’t so lost in the fog of missing my ideal adventure.

So often, my heart is in a hurry. A hurry to be healed. A hurry to know. A hurry to learn. A hurry to find perfection. But I miss a lot that way. There are a lot of beautiful things to experience when I slow down and notice the grace around me. I am learning. I will keep making mistakes and trying to scramble down the rocks to get to the end goal. But I will also keep breathing, keep learning my limits, and keep looking for beauty in what’s around me.

Oh, and the end of our hike that day? It was totally worth the wait.

Where do you find yourself rushing through to get to the end goal? How can you be more intentional in your journey? Where can you slow down and notice the grace around you?

Traditions and the Now Normal

We are in such an uncertain time. The pandemic has been shaking up our lives for eight months. The routines that once were so entrenched in our daily lives have fallen away. And somehow, November is half over and the holiday season is upon us. Nothing looks the same, and I have to wonder what the next 6 weeks will even look like. Certainly not like it has in the past. Everything from how we shop to visiting family is up in the air. I will confess, it makes me anxious and sad.

We have all been wrestling with our routines and rhythms. “Normal” is gone, and maybe it was never really a thing at all.

I should tell you that I despise the term “new normal.” I heard it a lot in grief circles and from people trying to help me cope after I became a widow. All I could think was, “there is nothing normal about anything in my life any more.” How do you find normal when your whole life has been blown to hell?

This year has felt that way for most, if not all of us.

My pastor has started using the terms “now normal” and the “next now.” The idea is that what is normal today may not be normal tomorrow. The choices we make today may not even be possible tomorrow. It makes so much more sense to me, in these Covid days, where everything changes in the blink of an eye, to keep flexibility in the front of our minds.

However, we are creatures of habit. We like to know what to expect. It gives us a sense of safety and control. The months of uncertainty have taken their toll, and we long for security. This is especially true in our holidays. And the holidays are upon us.

So how can we give ourselves the security we long for - especially during the upcoming holiday season - and still make room for flexibility in the “now normal?”

I think it ultimately comes down to learning to recognize what we can and can’t control. We cannot control what the virus does to our holiday plans. But what can we control?

What rituals in our history can we maintain in the uncertainty of right now? What traditions are still possible to continue in Corona-tide? What can we tweak that will still feel familiar? What new traditions can we adopt that will bring us joy this year?

I am still working all of this out for my family, but let me share an example with you.

We decorated our house last weekend. Our family has decorated for Christmas on the middle weekend in November since we were in seminary (usually this is also the weekend that Alabama plays Mississippi State in SEC football, and for many years that was also a part of our weekend decorating tradition.) Once Cole was born in mid-November, we used his birthday as the pivot point. We always decorate the weekend after Coley’s birthday. The boys and I make peppermint hot chocolate, turn on some Christmas music, and put up the tree together. It might seem too early to some, but it works for us, and it is a favorite tradition for the boys and me.

Decorating for Christmas this past weekend felt familiar and comforting. It was something I could continue that helps us feel safe and happy. We also celebrated our first “holiday” drink at Starbucks. It’s another small act that brings us a lot of joy.

Think about the traditions in your family. How can you make space for new ones and treasure the old ones? Those places matter more than ever this year. Things will be different. There is no way around that. But we can work to find familiar routines where we can and hold them extra close. As we strive for “normalcy” in a year that has brought so much change to all of us, familiar rituals and traditions can make all the difference.

So tell me, what traditions are you holding tight to this year?