twenty five

This is a weird post for me. By the time you read it, the 8th will have come and gone. I will be on the downhill, back-end side of an emotional day. June 8 has been a significant date to me for my entire adult life. It was the day I got married - June 8, 1996. This year, we would have celebrated 25 years.

The last anniversary we celebrated together was number 20. We spent a couple of days in Walt Disney World - just the 2 of us. It was actually the first time since having kids that we had traveled alone together. And it was our last. He told me on that trip that we would go to Aulani for our 25th anniversary. Aulani is Disney’s private resort in Hawaii and one of my dream locations to visit. Who knows if we would have made that trip, but here I am at 25 and there is no spouse, no trip and nothing to celebrate. I have crossed a bridge I didn’t want to cross and found myself on the other side alone.

June 8 was always complicated. When we chose that date, we certainly didn’t consider the UMC calendar. Annual conference was always on or near our anniversary, and his attendance was required. We didn’t get to spend the actual day together very often. Celebrations were usually just a quick date night on whatever day he could manage. It was usually one of our only date nights in an average year. I asked each year for a monthly date night as part of my birthday gift in January, but it never really happened. So June 8 was usually bittersweet for me - feeling almost like an afterthought in many ways.

Since his death, June 8 has been even more complicated. There is feeling of heavy dread leading up to our anniversary, his birthday, his death date. The days were raw, visceral and overwhelming at first. I mourned for the life we lost, for my children, for the deeper sadness of what wasn’t. It is hard to explain unless you’ve lived it. Five years later, I can’t just let it slip by and not notice. My brain has June 8 engraved in its deepest places. But the pain is not as raw anymore. Now it is more a sad acknowledgment of what was and what will never be.

I just needed to acknowledge the day here in some way. I needed to voice the unspoken hopes and the grief that remains. There is so much growth and grace in my life, and I live in that grace every breath that I can. But this week, I’m paying compassionate attention to my heart, mind, and body.

Prioritize the date nights, the trips alone together, the special days that deserve to be marked. You will never regret that.

Be a listening ear and a loving presence for the ones you know who grieve a loss. Name it and remember with them whether it’s been 5 days, 5 years or 50 years. You don’t have to worry about bringing up something they have forgotten. You don’t have to be afraid of making them feel sad. The memory and the grief is always with them.They haven’t forgotten. You don’t have to fix the pain - just acknowledge it with them. They already know you can’t fix it. But they need you even if they can’t put those needs into words. Your presence and your steady love helps - I promise.

Voice

Finding our voice in this world can be a really difficult thing. We are wired for human connection, and our need for belonging often influences our words and the way we use them.

We are shaped from a very early age by the way we use our words. As infants and toddlers, we get positive reinforcement for cooing, making eye contact, and repeating what our caregivers say to us. A few years later, we recognize that our words give us identity - we become the funny one, the smart one, the quiet one, the rebellious one. As we grow up, our words help us fit in or stand out, and we recognize that they can bring us praise or criticism. We learn to alter our words to fit into the situation we are in. We speak differently to our parents than we do our friends, and we talk one way at church and another at school.

One year ago, I decided to follow a wild dream: I wanted to write meaningful words. I have always had a secret desire to write and for reasons I can’t fully understand, I jumped in with both feet. I joined hope*writers and began writing with the intention of using my words to influence and encourage, to teach and to share bits of myself and my story. But I wasn’t really sure what sharing my words would look or feel like.

Honestly, I have lived most of this life crafting my words to help me fit in. My need for belonging was stronger than my need to stand out. I used my words to be the good girl, the smart girl, the nerdy girl. I carefully chose my words to be the wise counselor, the dutiful pastor’s wife and the engaged homeschool mom. But I rarely trusted my voice. I lived feeling insecure and bound up, afraid that my words might make someone angry or dislike me. Honestly, I didn’t love myself, and I certainly didn’t trust and value my voice. And yet, I knew I was supposed to write.

This past year has been a crazy journey in every way possible - for all of us. But I have begun to find my voice through writing. I am beginning to know myself more deeply, and my writing is an outflow of that. Writing requires me to listen well - because in my life, I’ve allowed other voices to be louder than my own. It requires me to be disciplined - because I’ve often chosen busyness (and sometimes laziness) over sitting down to write every day. It also requires me to choose courage - because sharing my true self is scary work. I don’t always even know who my true self is. But I keep showing up. And slowly, very slowly, I am learning who I am without all of the other voices. I am discovering my true self and my authentic voice. And I am grateful that I said yes to writing and to hope*writers. Because when I said yes to writing, I was really saying yes to myself - to knowing myself and to finding authentic ways of belonging.

If this resonates with you, I encourage you to be brave and choose yourself. Choose to do whatever thing helps you to hear your own voice. Your voice matters.

And I am grateful to you for reading my words and coming along on my journey. Thank you for being here.

Wobbly Steps

Y’all, I am in this weird in-between space right now. Some things feel new and exciting - like restaurants reopening. But others still feel stuck: like the way I feel anxious sometimes when I walk into church with no mask on. We are coming out of Covid in many ways, and I am so grateful for that. But I also feel resistant to making new time- commitments. Honestly, for all of the months I wished for in-person connection, now I feel protective of my time at home alone. Am I just fickle? Or selfish with my time?

I’ve heard others hint at this feeling too though. We feel so happy to see restrictions lift, but we still feel nervous when we are in a crowd of people with no mask on. It feels like we are taking steps forward, but they are wobbly, unsure steps.

I remember when my boys started walking. They would concentrate very hard and wobble a few steps before collapsing to cries of joy and amazement from me - I just knew my children were the most remarkable walkers ever. They practiced over and over again - taking more and more steps at a time. In my family, we jokingly called this the “drunk uncle” stage. But I noticed something unusual happening: as much as they practiced their walking, if they really wanted to move fast, they dropped down and crawled like lightning. Crawling was a mastered skill, and they didn’t have to work so hard to get where they wanted.

I think we do this sometimes too. Sometimes what we are learning takes so much energy and brain power that we can only attend to it for so long before we need to take a step back. Sometimes the new places we are emerging take a lot of emotional courage, and we are not ready to jump in with both feet. I think it is really important to honor this need.

I am moving forward in a lot of ways. I am finding and trusting my voice. I am voting for myself in important ways. I am stepping into my calling. And sometimes I get really impatient and want to run ahead of my ability and stage. I have a hard time giving myself permission to go slow. I get a new insight or learn a new skill, and my brain rushes forward to all the ways I could fly. And really, I just need to take wobbly steps on the new skills and crawl fast on the old ones. Patience is not my best skill. But I am awfully stubborn.

I am trying to learn to take my time, to honor my limits, to be content with where I am. I often miss the grace and the peace when I try to rush forward and get where I think I should be. So in honor of where I am today, I want to celebrate the small wobbly steps by naming them.

We have finished the school year.

I completed my May intensive training for Metagem.

I made a choice that was really hard this week.

I have made it through 3 of 5 medical procedures to help my chronic back pain.

I led a song in worship this week that was really special to me.

I didn’t spiral out when a relationship situation didn’t go they way I thought it would.

I honored my commitments in a very busy and chaotic May.

I have to confess: it took me a really long time to come up with these small wins. They are just hard for me to see. But it matters that I keep working on this. It matters that I see my progress and don’t expect perfection. So tell me: what are your wobbly step wins this week? Let’s cheer one another on.

Looking for Grace

It is really easy to write as if I have it all together here. I am skilled in writing about my struggles in light of the lessons I am learning. Maybe it’s because I grew up a Southerner and we hang on to the steel magnolia mentality. Maybe it’s because I grew up in the church where it is easy to put on a fake smile and count my blessings. Maybe it’s just because I am a helper by nature, and I am sometimes afraid that having needs of my own is selfish. It is definitely wrapped up in my self image to be the one who takes care of others.

But here is my truth right now: the first half of 2021 has been hard. Like, really hard.

I have had more challenging seasons in my life. I have felt more desperate and more lost. It is so very easy to look back on those times, and to look at our world and tell myself, '“Suck it up Renae. You don’t have any right to complain because so many people have it much worse. You’ve lived through much worse.”

But I really despise the idea of comparing pain. There is no rating scale that says you can only feel frustration and overwhelm and sadness if you meet certain criteria. And also if the person next to you doesn’t have it worse than you. That is a lie that keeps me (and maybe you too) from processing our difficult emotions.

This spring I have dealt with some serious chronic pain. I feel like I have been in a revolving chamber where each door leads to a different doctor, a different medication, a different procedure. Our finances have been tight, and I don’t have an answer for how to change the situation. And my children have been in difficult places. I can’t fix what is challenging them, and I am struggling with parent guilt as a result. Surviving feels like a full time job again.

And I want to see the grace. I am looking for it - I really am. But it has been hard to find. It has taken so much energy and so much discipline to keep searching for it.

I have taken to writing down every tiny place I see it -

the hot cup of coffee Caleb brings me in the morning,

the way Cole likes to share his latest gaming conquest with me even though I have no idea what he is talking about,

the coffee nut m&m’s I found at Walgreens today,

the cooler days that have stretched spring out for us in Alabama,

the warmth of our puppy curled up beside me right now as I am writing this,

the harmonies and blend we achieve in praise team on Sunday morning that makes our worship extra special for me,

the quiet whisper of assurance that, even though I cannot still my mind in my centering prayer time, Spirit is still meeting me there.

I see grace in all of these places. But truthfully, right now, it is hard work to keep looking. And I guess that is okay. Maybe more than okay because I am building my grace seeking muscles. I am growing stronger even when I feel weaker. I don’t think grace seeking is like a Where’s Waldo endeavor. I think I am learning again that the grace is always there - we just have to notice it. It isn’t hard to find, but it is a discipline to look with clear eyes.

So maybe we can remind one another to keep our eyes open to the grace that is around us. I think that is part of what we are supposed to do as Christ followers - it is part of being in community. So here I am, being honest about how hard it is to see past the overwhelm. But I am also here saying that I am still looking for grace. Maybe we can look together. Where are you seeing grace today? Where do you most need to see grace today?

Change

Change, y’all. It is so very hard. And to be honest, I’ve had a pretty complicated relationship with it in my adult life. There have been times that I prayed for it desperately - that this time would be different from all the others. I have hidden from change too though - certain that I was not capable or ready for the season ahead. In both extremes and everything in between, the change was still hard.

Everyone I know is in a season of change right now. We are all re-entering a life that can’t and won’t be the same as it was before Covid changed us all. Spring is also moving season in the United Methodist Church. That means pastors and churches throughout our conference are going though change. For my church, both of our pastors are being moved to new appointments. Two clergy moves in the same year is really rare for one church, but here we are. We will say goodbye to 2 very loved people and their families in June, and we will welcome 2 new people with new families in July. Each of them are starting over, and each of the churches are too. That is a LOT of change and uncertainty! I feel like I am in a season of change personally too. I am in the process of deciphering God’s call on my life. My boys and I are in some personal transitions. And we are feeling the tension of moving into the unknown.

Reactions to change can range from excitement to grief to curiosity to sheer terror - sometimes in the same person and sometimes all within a 5 minute period!

When I am in the middle of change, I think what I want most is something steady. Something that reminds me that I will be okay. So how can I find that steadiness when change is taking over my life?

One thing that helps me stay grounded is being consistent with my routines - those things that I do every day with intention. I practice centering prayer first thing every morning. I end every night in meditation. I savor those few minutes of stillness and coffee when the house is still and quiet in the morning. These rituals connect where I am now to where I am going.

Another important thing I do is to be honest about what I am feeling. So often we put labels on our emotions and feel guilt or shame around the ones we deem negative.

“I shouldn’t feel grief about leaving my old life behind because I’m excited by my new job.”

“It is wrong to be afraid or anxious because it means I’m not trusting God.”

No, y’all! I have heard, felt, and been preached at with these statements. They are lies. It is okay to feel all the things. God gave us our emotions and we WILL experience the full range in this life. This is normal, and there is nothing wrong with feeling what is there. We don’t have to be afraid that we will stay stuck in them either. I promise, they will pass. Everything does. They are emotions, but they are not the boss of me. But I give myself time and compassion to feel what is there. And then I take the next step. I do the next right thing.

The most important way I cope with change is to remind myself of the steadiness of the God who loves me. My favorite phrase in the entire Bible is this: God’s steadfast love endures forever. It appears in numerous places throughout the Old Testament, but let me tell you about my favorite. Psalm 136 is a kind of call and response, a possible liturgical reading in Israel’s worship. The psalmist lists God’s movement beginning at creation and continuing to the time it was written. After each mighty work, the refrain is God’s steadfast love endures forever. Over and over, as the people repeated this psalm in worship, they were reminded that in every aspect and movement of their story, God’s steadfast love held them, pursued them, and sustained them. That is the steadiness I am looking for - the steadiness I so desperately need in times of change. God has been here, is here, and will always be here. I go through this process for myself - I list the places where I have seen God’s movement (or just survived a difficult season!) and I call out after every instance, “God’s steadfast love endures forever.” I need this reminder, whether I am in a season of calm or a season of chaos. Maybe you do too.

Take a moment now and remind yourself of God’s steadfast love - read Psalm 136: 1-9, the first part of this Psalm of praise and remembrance that God’s love is faithful and lasts forever.

1 O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good,

for his steadfast love endures forever.

2 O give thanks to the God of gods,

for his steadfast love endures forever.

3 O give thanks to the Lord of lords,

for his steadfast love endures forever;

4 who alone does great wonders,

for his steadfast love endures forever;

5 who by understanding made the heavens,

for his steadfast love endures forever;

6 who spread out the earth on the waters,

for his steadfast love endures forever;

7 who made the great lights,

for his steadfast love endures forever;

8 the sun to rule over the day,

for his steadfast love endures forever;

9 the moon and stars to rule over the night,

for his steadfast love endures forever;