The last gal in our group is a mom. She has several kids, the oldest of which is six. She laughed with us and said, “You know girls, it never goes away. You never get that feeling that you know what you are doing.”

She the went on to tell us that a few weeks ago, she wasn’t sure how to discipline her six year old for something he’d done. Feeling frustrated, she grabbed her head and said to him, “I don’t know what to do with a six year old!” Calmly, her son looked back at her and said, “It’s ok Mommy, can’t we look on the internet? We can just Google it.”

If Only It Were That Simple

After laughing at how cute, honest and innocent six year olds can be, I couldn’t help but agree with him. Why can’t life be that simple? You cannot even imagine the sense of relief I might have right now if I could simply type into my computer “How to do really great at my job, have my boss and my coworkers all like me, and not screw it up in the process.” And because the whole world knows that Google’s secret algorithm is like a magic spell that brings all correct and relevant information to the top 10 links on my results page, I would simply have to click around and Voila! I would know how to do the rest of my life.

The interesting thing about Google is that I use it for more than answers. I use it as my spell check – that little link asking “Did You mean…?” keeps me from all sorts of wrongs (in fact I just used it for voila, because I almost wrote viola, which is a kind of a violin, thanks Google!) I use it to find dates on the calendar when I can’t find my phone. I use it to help me explain things, like last week when my roommate didn’t know what caprese salad was. Thank you Google Images.  I use it for maps, phone numbers, email…the list goes on. But I am assuming you know all of this because if you’re around my age, your probably just as addicted as I am.

Now the question for me is, how is it that a six year old’s knee jerk reaction to life’s questions is simply to Google it? He grew up with Google ingrained in his worldview as “The answer to all of life’s questions.” At least I was in college or something before Google really came barreling into the market. In some semblance, I did know life before Google. But this kid, he has no clue. In his mind, that’s what we do for all of life’s question, simply run to the computer and look them up.

I suppose his mom doesn’t really have to sit him down and explain life to him. Eventually over time all of the kids who grew up on Google will have to sort the tough stuff out for themselves just like the rest of us. And in the mean time, it seems cruel to say to a six year old, “Honey life is hard, and sometimes there aren’t any good answers. Even Google can’t solve them.“I can tell you this though, I really wish he was right. Life would be a whole lot easier if we could just “Google It.”

There is a part at the end of the book that really has stuck with me. He’s talking about a sculptor and her love hate relationship with her art. How it’s tumultuous, painful, and agonizing. Yet she is so emotionally connected to her work, it is like its a part of her soul.

And when it is all finished, it is the pain that gives it meaning. It is the struggle for the art to come out of the clay that makes it beautiful. That the parts of the art that are tarnished and ruined are the very parts that make it valid and valuable.

It is then that Bell poses the question, “Was this sculptor really talking about art? Or is this life?”

Right in the Middle

This season has been interesting in that it has been painful. Or maybe I need to knock the words “this season” from my vocabulary, because maybe that’s just life. It’s painful. It asks a lot from us. Good lives do anyway. They’re scary. Art is scary. Doing something worthwhile is terrifying.

But I think Im in a moment where Im on the fence between beautiful and painful. I see both. I feel both. And this is one of the few moments in my life where I wouldn’t change the painful hard parts. They are so integral from this view. Taking them out of the picture would render the whole thing meaningless. The beauty has validity because it was painful.

The View from Here

Being here in the space between beautiful and painful, this is what I know.

Art is important. Create it if it kills you. Foster it, take care of it. Go to museums, paint, shut your self in your room and create beautiful music, stay up late and go to Indie shows, and support your local film director. Make friends with people who love it too, do it together and create it for the community.

Adventure is important. We weren’t meant for freeways and concrete jungles. Go to the mountains, the forests, the beaches or the deserts. Carve out a time in those meeting notices to make it important. Feed your soul with fresh air, great hikes, and camping under open skies. Remind yourself that you are just a part of something bigger than yourself by standing at the foot of something natural and majestic.

Love is important. Make a place in your heart to love people who are hard to love. It makes you a better person. Loving those who love you is easy. That doesn’t require vulnerability, just reciprocation. But go first, love first, extend your heart to those who might break it. Remain soft. Don’t let the word jaded enter your vocabulary. Carve out a space in your life for good friends who know your heart well and love them. Make space for memories and wine. Don’t get swept in the dailiness of live, create breathing room to love and be loved.

Risk is important. Do the things that scare you. That’s what life is for. Sure, it’s painful, but as I said before pain is what gives life depth and meaning, so if you’re not in pain your doing something wrong. Make a list, find what scares you, and start checking things off. You’ll be more alive than you were yesterday.

Most of us view God like He’s our personal drill sergeant. Now, initially you might think that sounds a bit too harsh or not quite right, but how often do you hear your friends or yourself saying things like, “God please just tell me where I should go, what is your will in this situation? I’ll follow you wherever you lead me.”

Sounds like a good christian prayer right?  I’ve heard people say things like this more times than I can count. But when you think about what is really being asked we are saying, “God just give me orders, and I will do exactly what you say.“  I.E., we want to be passive participants in our lives, (”Jesus take the wheel”  …thank you Carrie Underwood) and let God do the ordering and thinking. I can’t help but think that methodology is bit off. Or if it was the right approach, I would understand why so many people think religion is a crutch.

But what if God is more like what the bible depicts, what if he is a Father? What if it played out a bit more like this, “Hey Dad, I thinking about going to college to majoring in film and trying to make it in the movie industry. What are your thoughts? Do you think that’s my strength, or should I try something else?‘”

How many of us got to college and called our dads and asked, “Hey dad, should I go to class today? I just want to do what you think I should, so please tell me what to do today.“

Could it be that if God is more like a father, that it makes sense that he gives us choices? So instead of simply saying, “You will go to this college, take these courses, major in this study and become this professional…” I’m beginning to believe that I’m a bit more involved. Maybe God has given us all kinds of strengths and as long as we say within those, we’re in his will.

So, maybe for someone that means they could be a teacher, or a lawyer, or an architect because all of those professions use part of that person’s strengths. And maybe God didn’t whisper in that person’s ear which one to choose.

The notion that I’m an active, responsible participant in my life turns that “lead me I will follow” methodology on it’s head.  Suddenly life is much more exciting, and yes most definitely a whole new level of scary. Making choices, telling God what I want, going after dreams and not expecting God to miraculously land it on my door with a heavenly bow…that’s a life that is bigger, riskier, and more adventurous than God simply bumper bowling me through the choices. And frankly it sounds more like a life crafted by a God I want to spend time with.

As some of you know, I’m coming up on the midst of some really cool life changes. I have options, which are really fun and make me feel like I’m wearing my big-girl pants. But they’re very different. I almost feel like it’s a Choose Your Own Adventure novel. Or, like I told my own dad, “Dad, I feel like God has taken me down the toy aisle and said, ‘You can have roller skates, barbie dolls or a bike, it’s your choice.”

Uhh. Those are all really killer toys. And they are all very different. And all of them end well. Unless, I ask for the barbies and in the midst of playing wedding with Ken, her head pops off…that could be not so fun.

Part of me really hates that God doesn’t lean down and tell me, “Go with the bike. You can go off really cool jumps with it, and it’s the most fun toy out there.” Instead He is standing back and letting me choose. And if I’m being honest, there’s a part in my stomach that feels like I’m about to throw up. This is an instance where I wish Carrie was right, and I could simply say, “Jesus take the wheel!” But I know it doesn’t work like that.

So what do I do? What do we do when we’re faced with big choices, and there is no God to write the answers on the wall? I’m not quite sure, but if you do, I’d like it if you could tell me please.

Even still, I think most cool Christians go through a phase where they really love hymns. And I have hesitated writing on it because I think the classic branding of a “Hipster Christian” is if you are wearing dark skinny jeans and telling your friends that God really “touched me to press into him…because you know, I want my soul to pant-eth after him like the deer…”

I don’t wear skinny jeans, and I match my clothes too much to be considered a hipster, so I’ve avoided the topic. But I can’t deny it anymore. I’m sorry if this means you have to re-categorize me in you mind from “real edgy writer” to quintessential  hipster Christians who find deep meaning and beauty in hymns…but I’m joining their team. I’ve had hymns running through my mind for literally 3 weeks on end. Morning, noon and night. I play them on YouTube when I think that no one is watching. Maybe I feel better indulging myself when I think that no one knows that I rock out to music that’s written in New King James-ian speak.

It is Well With My Soul

Ok, as long as we are in confession time, I have to tell you…I’ve loved this song for a long time. A really really long time. You see, a few years ago I’d heard the story with this song. Apparently the man who wrote the song had his entire family tragically killed in a boating accident or something to that effect (it was much more complicated, but did involve a boat and death). One minute he was a happy man, 3 hours later his wife, kids, everything…gone.

In response to the dark night that ensued he wrote these lyrics:

When peace like a river attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll,
Whatever my lot, thou hadst taught me to say,
It is well….It is well….With my Soul

I can tell you right now, that story added some perspective to those words.  But even within the amazing meaning of surrender in the face of adversity, there is another part that has come to be meaningful.

“Thou hadst taught me to say”

Yep. Taught. Meaning that being at peace with your circumstances in life is something to be learned. Continuing to trust God when you are disappointed is something we don’t automatically do. Being in the midst of a dark night and knowing that it is well with your soul is something that comes over years, experiences, heartbreaks and gray hairs.

It doesn’t come right away. It isn’t easy. Or natural.

To me that puts a pictures in my head of God being some sweet and understanding person. Someone who delights in watching us learn and grow, even though its hard and we get it wrong. That he jumps up and down and yells with excitement the same way you would if your kid was learning to ride a two wheeler for the first time. That he smiles and is proud when we say through teary eyes, “Ok God, I’m going to try to be well in my soul. I don’t feel it, but I’m going to give it a shot.”

I suppose it just makes me feel less guilty for thinking that things being “well with my soul” isn’t always a reality. Sometimes it’s not. And yes over time it has gotten easier, but it has been something I guess I’ve learned to do. And I think it makes me feel better that when things go really really wrong, that I actually get angry and mourn. I’m not like this plastic person that can have my life or dreams dashed and then turn and say at bible study, “Praise be to Jesus, He’s in control. He knows what He’s doing and I just don’t understand because His ways are higher than mine.” To me, saying that always had a feeling of synthetic mindlessness that I couldn’t stomach.

So I really like this hymn. It makes me feel human. It makes me feel good about God. I listen to it when no one is watching. Don’t tell anyone, but I have 3 or 4 different versions of it on my ipod. And maybe that makes me a hipster. Someone who loves organic coffee, quirky breakfast nooks, guys who wear plaid shirts, Toms Shoes, and underground indie music.

Now that I’ve given you my confession, what hymns do you listen to behind closed doors? You can comment anonymously if you want to, I know you don’t want to ruin your cool.

It’s interesting that I spend half my time writing about how God is absent, how He doesn’t provide, and how I’m questioning if He really is who he says He is. Then, I’m proved wrong. He shows up, changes things more quickly than I’m ready for, and I’m frantic, just now it’s about what I’m supposed to do, instead of who God is.

This weekend I cannot help but feel like the gauntlet was thrown. Like the year that stretched out behind me was leading to decisions, and suddenly someone walked into my somewhat suspended life and said, “Jenni, it’s time.”

As in time for me to get up off the chair and start doing what I have been crying to do all year. And you know what my response is? Is it joy, and thanks, and relief? Wouldn’t that make me a nice person? Nope. I’m not nice. Instead, I cling to my chair and stammer, “But wait, this is all happening so fast! I don’t know if I’m ready! I don’t know what this is going to look like! Can’t I have more time?”

Don Miller Packs A Punch

As many of you might know, Miller’s new book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years comes out this week, and he is in the midst of his book tour. I’m a  fanatic, so I went to two of their shows. HNB, playing his role as the amazing boyfriend, got me a signed copy of his book. Which, I did start reading last night, and I can tell you it’s going to surpass all of our Miller expectations. And if I can enter one advertisement, if Miller and  Susan Isaacs ( I did a book review of her book, Angry Conversations with God: A Snarky but Authentic Spiritual Memoir) if they are coming to your city, please go. They do not disappoint.

At one moment in Miller’s presentation, he is talking about the makings of a good story. When we make movies, there are certain principals that have to be there. One of them is plot line. And he said this phrase that has been stuck in my head since Friday.

He said, “In any movie there is a moment, when the hero looks toward the horizon, and decides that he wants something. He has a goal. And there has to be conflict to get there. He’s going to have to fight for it. It has to be a goal worth the fight.”

Why do those words haunt me? Because for the last year I have been fighting and grappling for my plot line. There have been seasons in my life where the plot and the goal was obvious: I went to college and got two degrees in four years and walked out with honors. Good job Jenni. I recklessly bought a ticket to New Zealand and spent 6 months overseas after college without a blink of an eye. It changed the trajectory of my life.

But this season, dang I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve been floating. I’ve been wrestling for a year. And not just the professionalism part. Not just for a job to make money. For a direction, for a story, for a plot that is worth the fight.

So why is it then, that when I get a good hard look at that beautiful horizon line that I simply want to run back to my arm chair? I don’t want to speak the words out? That deciding to pick up the script and have a beautiful role in this story just seems too grandiose? That there is a real possibility of failure and hurt?

I don’t think I could look at myself in the mirror if I stayed in the brown armchair. I know I need to get my cahones about me. But, wow, does that thought wreck me.

What is wrecking you? What does your horizon look like? Are you in the midst of a great story? What are you waiting for?

In a flight of curiosity, I typed each letter into dictionary.com. F-R-U-S-T-R-A-T-E-D. As I read the responding entry, I couldn’t help but feel the pit in my stomach growing larger and larger with each line.

frus⋅trate:

[fruhs-treyt] -trat⋅ed, -trat⋅ing, adjective –verb (used with object)

1. to make (plans, efforts, etc.) worthless or of no avail; defeat, nullify

2. disappointed

3. having feelings of  or filled with frustration; dissatisfied

thwart:

–verb (used with object)

1. to oppose successfully; prevent

2. to baffle ( a plan or purpose).

From a 10,00 foot level the specifics that have been causing my frustration are a moot point; I think I’m in a season where life isn’t coming easily. I push and try, and my plans are worthless and to no avail. I have decided to not try, and I am still disappointed and successfully opposed.

Things don’t turn out the way that I want them to be. My professional life just hasn’t come together in the way that it should. There are moments where I look at my family and say, “I never asked for this God. This is not what I wanted.” There are even places in the writing when I feel like it’s a silly pursuit and easily thwarted.

The frustrations come and go in waves. There are days like yesterday when the frustration gets to me and makes me furiously angry.  My prayers sound much like, “God where are you? Have you left me to fend for myself? Do you even care? They call you the God who provides, but to me that is just hearsay.”

Then there are days where I feel at peace even though the tension is still there. On those days the prayers sound more like this, “God I know you are there. I don’t  feel you or see you, but they say you provide, so I am going to sit knowing that you are bigger than my frustrations.”

The feeling of frustration never leaves, it’s just that some days bothers me a lot more than others.

I imagine that this flux between being frustrated and ok  is just what life is like. School doesn’t work the way it should, there’s surprise classes that you didn’t know that you were missing right before graduation, there are cars that breakdown when you are late, there are husbands that pick fights with you when you don’t have a shred of patience to give.  At least thinking these things happen to other people makes me feel like God isn’t singling me out. Like he isn’t starving me of my plans or progress simply because He’s mean or wants to teach me some sort of lesson.  I hate it when people tell you that.

I was having this conversation with HNB last night, where he says to me, “Jenni, I don’t know why these things haven’t settled. Maybe God wants to make you learn something.” The problem that I have with this idea is that it makes God seem like the parent that starves their child so that they can learn to appreciate vegetables. Not feeding a child, and simply giving them snacks for several months might keep them alive, but I certainly don’t feel like it’s loving. And if God is not loving, then I don’t know that I want to do this anymore. “Thanks God, I really wish we could have stayed friends. But I can’t continue to trust someone who is so mean sometimes. Frustrating people isn’t nice. Friends just don’t do that for no reason.“

Pragmatism and Dreams.

The other theme that has been coming up this week is the idea of dreams. Unmet dreams. Impossible dreams. Dreams that burn your insides. Dreams that you look at and say, “Yeah, that would never happen.“

See, the problem is that I am a true pragmatist. When someone gives me an idea or dream my knee jerk reaction is to say, “yeah, but HOW?” I want to know how much money it’s going to take, and where is that going to come from, how much time do we need, and how many people do we need to get on board. What are the areas of expertise and how do I get those people on my team. I want to chart it, plan it, schedule it, budget it, and put it on a spreadsheet.

VS.

The problem is, this mentality takes dreams and literally smashes them at the kneecaps.

I have recently been awakened to the notion that I do not know how to dream big. I drown myself in questions. Instead of letting myself have big ideas, grandiose dreams, and  fantastic speculations I crush them upon  conception. Dreams are something that need to have a impregnation, an attachment, a nurturing, and a birthing. I discovered that I have a knack for stifling the process.  I question and rationalize and scrutinize them to death. It’s as if I implement a process of harsh criticism that results in spontaneous miscarriages.

I have been realizing that in doing this I don’t let myself to be free. I complicate the process.  It is just like running or dancing.  I am not free to run when I let the technicalities of physics and movement take over. There is no leaping, falling, jumping, bounding, or flinging when there are meticulous calculations.

Part of me is convinced that I have simply been so frustrated with the plans I have that have continually gone unmet, that I have forgotten how to dream. Dreaming takes an element of trust and vulnerability. In some ways I think my heart has become a bit hardened to dreaming. It almost feels like a waste of time. I hate to say that out loud because it makes me jaded, but part of me thinks that it might be true.

Frustration is a heartbreaking emotion. It is angry and hurt. And it is tired. Its hard to convince yourself to dream, and run, and breathe, and be risky when you are heartbroken and hurting.

So, my question is, “How do we start?” How do we leave the land of overwhelming questions  and find our way to the land of frivolous dreaming?  How do we stop planning? How do we hold frustration in one hand and hopefulness in the other? Do we have to re-learn how to dream? Is it even  possible to dream when you are this disappointing and frustrated? How do we look at your friends who are being catapulted forward in the same areas that frustrate you, but still know that God is a provider even when it doesn’t feel like it?

Ive decided that for me it is going to start like this with one simple statement:

“God, I am so frustrated by unmet passions that I have forgotten how to dream. Help me to dream. Show me what it is to dream wildly, and not to worry about if they’ll happen or not. Let me dream. ”

Im still wildly frustrated. I still have loads of unmet needs. But this is the only way I know how to get out of the corner Ive somehow been painted into.

This Sunday, a good friend of mine and I headed down the coast for a good hike in the Canyon. You can’t beat a view like this:

What I like about this particular friend is that our friendship has been like a smooth wine or a sharp cheddar cheese in that it has gotten significantly more valuable to me over time. We have grown into one another, which has felt like an unexpected surprise and I like that.

Aside for my growing affection for this person,  I love that recently she has had a growing sense of self-awareness. She is asking some really hard questions about herself, including, “Am I hard to get to know? Am I a warm open person? Am I friendly? What type of  experience do people have when they first get to know me?” She isn’t asking to be affirmed, but really wants to know if there are areas where she needs to grow.

On our hike, she was mentioning that over the past few years she’s really battled a long and hard war with loneliness -constantly feeling left out, forgotten, not connected, and anxious about it. It’s like that feeling of junior high never left. However, in the past few months she’s  come to a place of acceptance in her war with loneliness.  It’s like a ghost that follows her around. A ghost that used to scare her. And now she simply turns to it and says, “Hi Loneliness. I know you’re there. And that’s ok.“

As she was telling me this on our hike, the only words I had were “Wow.”  It seemed like such a upper-handed place to be. And I’ve been thinking about that all week.

Birthdays, Weddings, Life and My Own Ghosts

Recently I’ve had my own series of whirlwind life events. I threw a surprise party for HNB a few weeks ago, I’ve recently had a close friend get married, I’ve been to countless engagement parties, bachelorettes, and baby showers.  And as I have checked the celebrations and events off of my calendar with each passing week, there has been a silent ghost that has settled on the periphery of my consciousness.

There have been moments where I am with my friends and they are beautiful, radiant, laughing and enjoying life as it passes us. We have been in beautiful dresses, tuxes, and sitting in great restaurants. There have been smiles on all of their faces. And as the moment fades, as I go home and wash my make up off and change into pajamas, there it is – I become acutely aware of the ghost.

The last time I felt this clearly was after coming home from a wedding reception. I’d showered and begun to unwind for the evening. I climbed on to the couch with HNB and sitting in that spot between his arms, I slowly began to feel the tears sliding silently down my cheeks. The ghost was here.

“What’s wrong?” he asked me.

I sat in silence for a long time.

Finally I whispered back, “I  just feel…pressure.”

As we sat there whispering in the dark, I told him how the ghost shows up and I feel like there has been someone sitting on my shoulder, watching and making tick marks at everything I’ve done. I told him that I’d realized that although I have great friends that I love and cherish, there are moments where I can’t help but feel small and left out ( or too young, or under developed, or inexperienced, or juvenile, or unimportant… sorry, still searching  for the right word).

There are moments where I look around and feel pressure to be simply fabulous. To look stunning, to love my life, to be in love, and to be whizzing by in the journey of life – quickly approaching destination of bliss. Maybe it’s just that when I look around at my friends, they all seem to have such glamorous lives – they’re getting engaged, having babies, moving overseas, traveling to exotic places, and taking risks at their dreams. And it’s not that I’m jealous, it’s just that I don’t always feel like my life measures up.  But, at the time, sitting with HNB in the dark,  I couldn’t get those words out.  I sat in silence, trying to figure out how to not sound crazy as tell him that I had a ghost that followed me around and measured how fabulous I was in comparison to my friends.

“It’s just that all of our friends are getting married….” I started.

Nearly choked, he asked me, “So you want to get married?”

(Poor Guy.) “No,” I clarified, “It’s just that…”

I sat there and tried to tell him what I meant. I choked on my words. I stumbled. I reached for a comparison to help give a clear visual.

“The best way that I know how to describe it was this: I feel like I have this cup. It’s mostly full all the time. But this weekend I felt like I went to a wedding with other people carrying their own cups. And I realized that I might be full, but I was the smallest cup in the room.”

Right. Clear as mud. I’m at least lucky that I have a man that kisses my tears off my cheeks even when I’m still grappling for words.

Dangerous Games.

I don’t know if any of you had to read the short story The Most Dangerous Game by Richard Connell. I remember doing some sort of language arts project on it when I was in the 9th grade. It was a story about a main character who is literally hunted by the antagonist. The antagonist set up the exchange as a game or a way to raise the stakes on traditional hunting.  The story is worth reading and I could recommend it simply in terms of being a literarily complex individual.

With the all of the events of this past summer and the ghost who has decided to become my emotional squatter all echoing in my mind, suddenly this title seems to be of utmost importance. The Most Dangerous Game could be hunting people or it could be comparing your life to others. It could be looking around at a wedding and wondering who your bridesmaids would be and if they liked you enough to ask you to be theirs. It might be wondering if you even knew 100 people to invite to your wedding. It could be looking at your girlfriend and her boyfriend and wondering if it’s ok that you’re not as in love as they are. It could be holding someone else’s brand new baby and hoping that you are as happy as they seem when you have your first kid.

See, it’s not that I’m unhappy. I am happy. I am pursuing my dreams, dating a great guy who gets me, creating my own schedule, and finding out who I really am. Those are all great things. It gets dangerous when I start asking, “Yes, but am I as happy as THEY are.”

The Three Part Irony

The really interesting thing is, even as I am having these thoughts, I become keenly aware of a few things:

1) That even beginning to embark on this game with myself, I am already giving myself disclaimers. “Jenni don’t do this. You’re always going to lose. If you compare and aren’t as good – you lose. And if you compare and come out on top, your happiness is based on someone else’s life – which is a huge lose. Stop right now. You’re happy. Stop stop stop stop….”

2) This second point is the one that I never seem to expect or understand. That when I don’t stop and I play the game, it really gets under my skin. I always feel shaken for a few days. I feel left out, insecure and small, which amazes me every time. For all of the growth I have done, all of the things that I have endured, and all of the parts of me I have discovered and love, it seems odd to see that in reality my ego is very fragile. I get left out of a few things and suddenly I’m questioning my friend’s love for me. I experience a few hours by myself and suddenly the ghost of loneliness feels like is reigning from heaven and might overtake me. And it is at this point that I have to stand back, metaphorically grab my own shoulders and give a good shake. “Honestly Jenni, get a stinking grip!”

3) I know I’m not alone in this. In talking to my good friend, it was SO good to hear that she has battled with various ghosts over the years too. And they get at her as well. It felt good to know that other people come home, take off their dresses, wash their faces and suddenly become aware of the ghosts of loneliness, or depression, or anxiety, or frustration, or unimportance.  And while there are times  I can greet the ghosts, saying “Hi, I know you’re there. It’s ok,” there are seasons when I can’t help but crawl into bed and let the tears slide – and it shocks me the same every time.

So why do we do it? Why do we play dangerous games? Why does there seem to be times when the ghosts sneak in and hover over your shoulder? Why do we look at other people’s jobs, bank accounts, cars, thighs and abs, teeth, and boyfriends? What makes us unable to stop? We have a thousand reasons why we do it. And most of us know them in our heads. But we cannot help but ingore the warning signs and plunge into the Most Dangerous Game anyway. Why?

Knowing this I have wanted to do a follow up post, but for a long time I didn’t have anything new or profound to say about it. Last week however I read this really interesting article in Christianity Today by Mark Regnerus (which was sort of a big deal because normally I find Christianity Today WAY too conservative for my tastes). His article was called A Case for Early Marriage, and you can read the full piece here.

Regnerus takes the whole conversation of single Christian sexuality and adds an interesting twist, refocusing the conversation into something different than mere sex.  He points out that as a Christian culture, we are highly focused (and maybe over focused) on physical conservatism before marriage, but we are missing the larger issue. Instead of being focused on how to be able to wait longer and longer to have appropriate sex within marriage, he argues that we need to see the value of, and support young Christians entering into marriage. He illuminates the shift in culture away from marriage and commitment, happening both inside and outside of the Church.Yet at the same time, we haven’t allowed for any shifts in our thoughts surrounding sexuality. We have been left with an entire generation of Christians who are trying all of the virginity commitment gimmicks they can muster, while needing trying to abstain for a continually elongating period before marriage. And in the midst we are wondering why the Church’s 80% sexuality rate isn’t that much behind the world’s 90% rate.

In a single statement, Regnerus says that we don’t need to learn how to be more pure, we need to learn how to get married.

To follow up this statement,  it should be explained that if marriage is God’s display to the world of how Christ loves the Church, then we should be focusing on how to create supported and strong marriages between young Christians…not how to keep your hands to yourself until you are nearly 30.

“I am suggesting that when people wait until mid to late 20s to marry, is IS unreasonable to expect them to refrain from sex. It battles our Creator’s reproductive design. The data don’t lie.”

Right here let me clarify that Regnerus does indicate that young marriagedoesn’t mean that we should be telling high schoolers to think about wedding rings. He is focusing on the 22-24 year old crowd. Which, yes does seem a bit young to us, but even 35 years ago, that was the average age to think about marriage.  Regnerus clarifies our struggles with sexuality and marriage with the following statement:

“…yet in surveying the scene, many Christians perceive a SEXUAL crisis, not a MARITAL one. We buy, read and pass along books about battling our sexual urges, when in fact we are battling them far longer than we were meant to.”

Can I get an amen from all the single 20-something Christians out there? I have to say, it was a bit vindicating to have someone else see the problem here. We aren’t sinful for touching each other…we’ve just lost of the focus of commitment.

To be clear here, the advice is not that we all go out and touch each other because we are in our mid 20s and single. Let’s not throw the baby out with the bath water. Instead, the focus of the argument and solution to the sexual “crisis” is on the idea of having the Church support and build healthy marriages between young people. He does argue that we should try to wait for sex. But we should not be putting off marriage.

“Table For One”

Quoting some statistics about marriage, Regnerus points out that we have 65% more single households than we did in the past 35 years. Also, it surprised me to read that less than half of all households in America are married couples. It doesn’t shock me or any of my single women friends to read that we have 120% more single male homes than we did 35 years ago. Women, the reality is that it IS harder to get married these days.

Why is it that we are waiting? Why is it that most of my friends that got married this past “wedding season” were closer to 30 than to 20? Because we’ve changed the way we think about marriage.  We think that we need to have it all figured out before we get married; that it’s not ok to be in process and want to be married. That we have to be fully formed, worked through our demons,  and know who we are.

I know that I have struggled with this one a lot. I have even written about it. It seems that we need to have a good job, know who we are, have our identity and issues worked out, make good money, and worked through and professional crisis before we are ready to be promoted to the “major leagues of dating”…the kind that might have a ring involved. Before that, we were just dating for company while we had fun, traveled, and went to school.

What I really found hysterical was that Regnerus points out that the Church as lost its ability to SHAME men that cannot commit. HA! Can you imagine that!?

3 to 2 Ratio

Regnerus also has another home hitting point that helped nail a suspicion from nearly all of my Christian girlfriends. We often sit around dinner tables asking each other, “What happened to all of the Good Christian MEN?” Well, statistically speaking, we’re working on a 3 to 2 ratio – 2 men to every 3 Christian women. Meaning, that 1/3 of all Christian women out there WON’T have a good Christian man waiting to find them. So, as we sit around and tell our girlfriends who have fallen for the really great non-Christian guy that she is going to “unequally yoked,” we should also know that this advice is hard to follow when it is statistically impossible. I suppose that throws a wrench in the argument that, “God has the perfect man for you honey. You just need to wait until he brings him to you.”

Now Regnerus doesn’t conclude on what this 1/3 of women should do. And to be honest, I don’t have any good thoughts either. I wouldn’t want to commit to a person who had no faith, no knowledge of God, and couldn’t understand the spiritual parts of my heart. But it was amazing to see the numbers there in black and white - women we are dateless because the men are literally NOT THERE.

Ideology vs. Reality

I love that Regnerus makes this clarification: We think that we need to be fully formed to be ready for marriage, but we forget that marriage is a formative institution. It makes you mature. It makes you practice good communication. It creates responsibility.

Now, Regnerus does go through a series of arguments of why people wait to get married. And they are all of the reasons we have told ourselves and our friends: economic, maturity, independence, making the right choice, chemistry, etc. And he does outline good points for each one. But the overwhelming point that I took from his arguments is that as a Christian community we view marriages entirely too independently. When a young couple chooses to get married, we think, “Well, they’ve made their bed, now they have to lie in it.” And that can mean financial struggles, communication or intimacy struggles.

But here’s is a different way to think about it: what if as a Church, we came along side of marriages and supported those people? What if just because you were a young married couple didn’t mean that you were doing it all on your own? What if parents were still willing to financially support those couples in times of economic struggle? What if mentors and older Christian couples were to come along side seriously dating couples and help them to make a founded decision based upon common values and wise group decisions? What if we were in support of young married couples as they mature into their roles of husband and wife? What if we took on the responsibilities together, as one body? Doesn’t that seem much less risky than simply telling a 21 year old college kid that he should marry his girlfriend so they can finally have sex?

After all, God’s kingdom is all about loving on one another, supporting each other, and creating dependence. God’s kingdom is about growing each other, and being in this together. If marriage is suppose to mirror God’s love for us, then we really have it wrong to think that we need to get your life together, wait until you have the maturity, finances, and perfection to be able to enter into commitment. “Come just as you are?“ That may apply to Jesus, but getting a husband seems a bit more tricky.

Good On Paper – But Really?

Ok here’s the catch, even as I am sitting here telling you all  about how getting married is a great thing…I am still questioning if I really believe it for myself. I am 25. I am glad I’m single. I have lived overseas. I have gone to counseling. I have faced my past. I’m hashing out my professional passions and my future. I almost got married at 23. I can tell you that I’m REALLY happy I didn’t. So, on the one hand, while I champion all of Regnerus’ ideas, part of me says “Yep they’re great…for someone else. I’m glad I’m waiting.” So, I get it, I am in your boat. I’m not telling all of the Christian women out there to drop of of school and hang up their ambitions to be barefoot and make bread for their husbands. In fact, the thought of that just made me throw up in my mouth a little bit.

But what I do think is interesting is this: what if marriage is less being perfectly ready and finding the perfect man? What if it is more pragmatic than that? What if it is simply finding our core values, and then using a team of people who love us and know us to help us make a good choice for a spouse.  And then simply saying yes to that commitment every single day. Part of me believes that this has to be more realistic.

And, I do love how the sexuality struggle has been validated through this article. It IS ridiculous to expect us to be 30 and single and not want to intimately connect with our partners. I do still think we should strive for puritan ideals, but in a way it seems that Regnerus has given us a more holistic view of what is going on.

So, with all of that said, know that I stand in the center ground on this issue too. I am still concerned with my friend who just got engaged at 21. I worry they won’t be happy.  I do like the idea of starting to have kids around 30. But I also have seen my share of problems with approaching sexuality and marriage the way we have been.

I’m interested in seeing how this resonates with my readers. In talking about this article this week, it seems that it has hit different people in very different ways. Some were angry, some felt the thoughts were too old fashioned, or some women were screaming “hallelujah!”at the idea of us needing more men to commit.

But as you think on your own opinion, I will close with a quote from Regnerus that I believe sums his whole argument very well:

“While, yes, sex matters…marriage matters more.”

And while I pumped out all of my energy from the day, a memory resounded through my mind. A few years ago I was in the midst of another dark night lit by only the moon. I remember this moment very vividly – not only for the emotional significance, but for the astonishingly sharp visual that seemed to pair with it. It was the middle of the night when I was en route to New Zealand. In leaving LA, I was leaving behind a host of problems, my life was essentially in wreckage, and I was holding it all together with McGiver-style bubble gum and tape. Little did I know that when I landed in New Zealand I would promptly be deconstructed and begin the process of slowly piecing my life back  together. That moment on the plane was probably one of the darkest, more anxiety ridden nights of my life.

As I flew through the dark night, thousands of feet in the air, the darkness was piercing black. But the moon was soft white, illuminating the ocean as a blanket of sparking diamonds. The night was so clear that even from my height, I could make out the tiniest islands down there in the in the massive blue, and I could see the white caps of waves washing over beaches. It was honestly one of the most beautiful sites I have seen in my life. I remember specifically with tears in my eyes I whispered under my breath, “God I don’t know where you are, and I am scared sh*tless, but here I am.”

Running along the bay tonight, it was the first time I had recalled this memory in years. And yet, tonight was a night much like the one I had on Air New Zealand almost 3 years ago. The night was black. Purple. Blue. The bay was black, and yet the moon shone it’s warm light down on the water, making little diamonds sparkle down the current. And all of the homes and cars on the other side of the bay all shone like little cafe lights in a far off place.

I had to smile. I can’t help but feel like in life we always come full circle. Here I am again, lost and a mess. This time not in my identity, but rather in my career, passion and profession. I’ve just decided to pursue freelance writing, and I can’t lie; I feel like I have given up safety to chase ghosts. Here I am standing in the midst of the moon light whispering, “God I don’t know where you are, and I am scared sh*tless, but here I am.”

But here is the cool thing: I’m not scared the way I was before. The night can be a very terrifying place if you let it be. The first time in my walk through the dark night, I remember being gut wrentchingly anxious, scared, unsure and looking at all of the long shadows and unknown sounds like they were going to over take me. This time, I feel like I have have come to love the dark night. The air is cooler. The colors are astounding. the lights seem to sparkle in a way that captures my heart. And you know, moon shadows are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. The idea that we can play with our shadows in the darkness of night is a notion beyond my own mind.

This time around I realize I have learned to relax in the darkness, to enjoy the night. I know last time I saw this vision, it marked the beginning of the most adventurous, beautiful, terrible, growing, stretching, rewarding journey I had been on in my life. This time I have slowed the anxiety and I can see the signs for what they are. And I can only hope that I am standing on the brink of something half as great as the story I embarked on en route to New Zealand.

1) Indescribable.

2) Hades.

Let me start with point two:

Yes, this is the one of the coolest days. The heat of the day is 127…and it’s 113 at night. Basically, you lay on top of your sleeping bag and try not to be miserably drowning in your own sweat until sleep over takes you.

Ok, onto the first point, which is obviously the better of the two.

Have you ever had a moment when you realize that you just stumbled upon something bigger than yourself? Talking to these kids this weekend was an experience that could be described as just a glimpse of the massive story that God is writing. It was for all intensive purposes…chilling.

I was sitting in church the weekend before when I got the inspiration for what I wanted to talk on. I had been praying for days, “God what do you want to tell these kids? Because I really don’t have much to say and it would be really embarrassing to just stand up there for four days.” Well, inspiration came like a flood.  Sitting there in the midst of a service, my mind began spinning, and I started asking complete strangers for a pen before I drowned in my own thoughts. I scribbled on bulletins – my own and other people’s as I desperately grabbed whatever I could get my hands on.

Flash forward to a few days later where I was flushing out the wire frame of my talk. I seriously looked psychotic. I think my roommate walked in one day to find my computer on, music blaring, books open, papers everywhere, notes scratched all over the place, and me – desperately scribbling on our sliding glass doors with dry erase marker. I’ve learned through this experience that I am a visual person, and I need to be able to see the entire thing…so I quickly moved from computer to small whiteboard, to entire sliding glass doors. Clearly it was like a scene from A Beautiful Mind.

It was only after several hours of this creative flow and filling my entire windows that I had to step back and take a breath. Seeing the writing fill both doors, I just stood there and tears filled my eyes. It hit me that this was not a story and a small talk for one weekend. This was something that God had been writing for years and years and years. Seeing it all there together, the joys, the struggles, the pain,  the anger, the hope…it all made so much sense. God was big. God was really big. And God was in charge.  God had been in charge. And had known of this moment for so much time. And I had blindly struggled through pissed and frustrated, and stumbled into this awe of realization that my story was not random. It had been there the whole time.

Where the Rubber Meets the Road

Getting to camp I was excited. I knew I was equip with a talk that was going to grand slam these kids. I knew because the content that had filled my sliders was well beyond my own brain’s capacity. But here is the funny thing – as I began the talks, it was incredibly harder than I thought it was going to be.  The second talk that I did was on anger and abandonment. I told the kids about parts of my story that contained pain, injustice, and the moments where I had seriously questioned God’s deity and character.

Walking out of that talk, I felt like my words had left my mouth and hit the ground like an anvil. No one had said a word to me upon finishing. I walked right out the back door and into the dark 113 degree night. Tears pressed my eyes.

“What the hell God? You brought me all the way out here to be hot and uncomfortable and vulnerable in front of all these kids – and they stare at me like I’m in idiot. Are you kidding me? Why did you bring me here? To hear the sound of my own voice? Does this even matter?”

Let me flash forward several days. Stories began pouring out about the kids at the camp. Stories of hurt, physical abuse, sexual abuse, drug abuse,  abandonment, anger, and pain. And maybe not all the kids were running up to me to tell me what was going on in their hearts and minds, but their leaders began giving me an idea of where they were at. And as story after story after story of how these kids were just like I had been.  They are  experiencing things that I experienced when I was there age, and grappling with the very same ideas that I was smashing with each talk.

There was no epic conclusion. I didn’t have ever single kid come up at the last alter call and proclaim that they loved my friend “Jesus the Hippie” and wanted to follow God everywhere. But the sound of their stories resounded in my heart. LOUD.  Their stories pounded impact into my mind because they showed me the grandiose nature of God. A few of the leaders told me that they were blown away at the weekend. I agreed with them. I was blown away too. And not at my speaking ability. I was blown away at God’s ability to catch me up in a story that is bigger than myself.

In light of all of this I can just say this, “Thank you God, for letting me play in your symphony even though all I saw was random notes.”