Reflections

At church, we have recently been discussing how we tend to live our lives based on the mirrors in which we see ourselves.  The image we see depends greatly on the perceptions we have about who we are, how society views us, and how we perceive that God sees us.  This morning I have been thinking a lot about the mirror I am holding up to each of my children.  What is the image I am projecting to them?  Do they look into the mirror I am holding and see a beautiful, talented, unique being created by God in His image and for His glory?  Or do they see the deficits and flaws that we and society have projected onto them based on the so-called "norms" we have created.  If they fail to conform to these norms, do they feel unique and gifted or weak and ashamed?  

I am almost forty years old and I still remember a distinct moment in my life when a teacher held up a mirror that made me see myself as just average.  Up until that moment, despite having grown up in a home filled with fear, abuse and dysfunction, I thought I was gifted.  All these years later, that memory is so vivid and so painful.  I do not want to be the one to hold up a mirror of negativity to anyone, especially not my children.  Instead, I want to hold up a mirror that reflects the strengths, gifts and unique talents and purposes God gave to each of my children.  It is our job as parents to help our children discover who they are and how they can contribute to this world and fulfill their God given purposes.

Angry Words

Why is it that the ones we love are the ones we hurt the most?  Why do we wield our angry words like a medeivel sword at the very souls that we would fight to the death to protect?  There's a fine line between love and hate, or some say.  I have a slightly less distorted view, I believe that love is really all about trust and when that trust begins to erode, fear sets in.  Fear is powerful.  Even more powerful than love, at times.  Fear can propel a mother to lift a half-ton car off the leg of her child.  Fear can make a raped and batter teen seek solace in the arms of her abuser.  Fear can also cause us to question everything we know, even who we are.  Once we let fear in, it consumes us.  It drowns us in a cloud of darkness that suffocates our joy.  Flailing and gasping only wear us down and we become tired.  Tired of fighting to breathe. Soon it's quiet and we're left with despair.

Starting Over

What is that is so hard about starting over?  On one hand, the possibility of creating a new identity is intoxicating.  On the other hand, the unknown is terrifying.  No matter how many ideas we have or what number of opportunities, delving into undiscovered territory can be overwhelming to say the least.

Although I am bursting in anticipation of what lies ahead, I find myself paralyzed at the idea of this new creation. There are days that I work feverishly to sort through the details of this new venture.  Yet other days, I am frozen.  Fear and panic set in and I begin to wonder if any of it will ever come to fruition.  I begin to wonder if I have what it takes to make it happen.

Today I am fearful, but I am clinging to the hope that the calling is what matters the most.  I realize that I don't have what it takes, but I'm not alone.  I believe that if God called me to this purpose, He will provide the strength, the courage and the means by which I will succeed.  All I have to do is show up and do the work.

In Stephen Pressfield's book the War of Art he asserts that "none of us are born as passive generic blobs waiting for the world to stamp its imprint on us. Instead we show up possessing already a highly refined and individuated soul." I believe this to be true. The idea that we are who we are from the time we are born, is a very freeing concept. At the same time it presents a unique challenge. However we are born, we are soon poisoned by society. The challenge is to sift through the garbage life has heaped onto our souls and discover our true selves. Most of us are at least somewhat aware of the true self we have inside. We hear that little voice inside calling us to create, to lead, to nurture, it's different for all of us. We're the most content when we listen to that voice.

For the first time in my life, I saw the perfect articulation of who I am in print. Pressfield wrote "if we were born to overthrow the order of ignorance and injustice of the world, it's our job to realize it and get down to business." That's it! That's the quality I have inside me that has been there since I was created. That's the reason I have always found a way to point out the ignorances and injustices around me, in every environment from school to church to work. It's no coincidence that I constantly find myself being the voice of dissension. It's who I am and was born to be. I feel so validated! No longer will I fight my true self. From this day forward, I will embrace who I am. Now begins my quest, not to discover who I am, but to find the best way to express it.

First Day

Today is my first official day as a professional writer. It's after 1 a.m. and I couldn't sleep. This journey has been a long time coming, and so I begin.

The last few months have been an emotional rollercoaster. I could feel this change welling up in my like a wave working itself up into a monsoon. At times, it was overwhelming. I could hear God calling me, first in soft whisper, then like a dull roar in the back of my mind, and finally like a piercing scream not in my ear, but deep in the pit of my soul.

I knew I had to step out. I knew I had to take that leap of faith that so many have been called to make. But I lacked the courage.

I was like an eaglet clinging desperately to the edge of the nest squeezing my eyes shut knowing full well that I was about to be pushed over the edge. The only way an eagle can learn to fly is to be forced out into the open air. And then it came, that violent shove out of the safety and comfort of the nest and into the wild blue yonder.

I open my eyes and the ground is rushing toward me. The wind is pressing at my face and I start to flap my wings wildly. Then I look upward, up toward the heavens and I feel the sun warm on my cheeks. A rush of calm pours over me. Everything is still and silent. I look around and see the tops of the trees gently blowing in the breeze. I look down again and this time the ground is flowing beneath me like a slow stream. There’s no longer panic, no longer even the slightest effort. I am soaring. I never look back or return to the nest again.

Thank you, Lord for your faithfulness. Thank you for knowing my heart and for stepping in when I lacked the courage to step out. You have promised to complete a good work in me, and I am ready.

How do we know who we are?

We each have so many versions of ourselves. Some that we share with our families, other versions we share at work or in academic circles. Parts of us are artists and writers and poets and visionaries. How do we know which one to be on any given day? How do we decide who to let dominate? When do we decide to nurture one version, and neglect another. Is any of it intentional or are we all just unfit to care for any of ourselves?