Last night I was out with some friends, chatting about new things that are going on in each of our lives. Within the last six months, one of my friends left her design firm and opened her own business. Another friend of mine started a new job at an Interactive Agency five months ago, and just found out last night that she is getting promoted. And of course, I just started a new role a few days ago where I am finding that trial by fire is going to be my course in learning.

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.”

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I recently read Rob Bell’s newest book Drops Like Stars for an interview that I’m doing. It is undescribebale. It’s actually a coffee table book, with bold pictures and artistic placement of words, and very real stories from interesting people.

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. Read the rest of this entry »

As I have grown in my relationship with God, I have become very aware of a mistake that most of us make as Christians. I owe this though in most of its entirety to Patrick Dodson, because I’m pretty sure that he thought of it first and then told it to me.

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. Read the rest of this entry »

I think most cool Christians go through a phase where they really love hymns. You know, the old stuff that they used to sing in churches that had wooden pews. Maybe your church still has wooden pews, but mine has cushy red chairs. There is no wooden shelf in the row ahead to hold a bible and a Hymnal. There is no leader at the front telling us to “turn to page 117” and we can find prayers that were probably written by monks in caves. We assume they’re English because we can understand about half of the words, but the other half we have to guess at, or we can just add -eth to the end to make it fit the vernacular (panteth, shareth, understandeth…see?)

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. Read the rest of this entry »

I don’t know if you felt it, but something shifted this past week. I think I even felt the change before it happened, because I remember turning to HNB and asking, “Do you feel that? Change is coming, I can feel it in the air.”

As predicted, today that shift shouts gently in the background. To me it seems almost as if there is a light crispness in the air. I’m still searching for the right words to describe it, but I think it has something to do with the fact that we have officially left Summer and have entered the Fall.

Autumn has always been my favorite season, and every year my mind spins to try to capture why. I’m not sure if it’s the gorgeous reds, yellows, and oranges. I don’t know if it’s the pacifying feeling of pulling pea coats out of the closet, or if it’s the aroma of sweet and spiced coffees in the brisk mornings. It could be the contented excitement that washes over me when I think about how many meals need to be prepared in the next few months. There are spiced loaves, turkey dinners, prime rib Christmases, holiday drinks and parties to be had.

I don’t claim to be a Betty Crocker, but I have been so excited for Fall cooking that I have already started looking up recipes. I’ve been telling HNB for a few weeks now that I’m excited to cook Thanksgiving dinner and to host our friends for an evening of relaxation and eatery.

But the feeling in the air is bigger than excitement to cook. It’s a feeling of change. Maybe even good change. It’s a feeling that laughter is on its way. It’s a feeling that there are memories to be made, friendships to be strengthened, wine bottles to be opened, and champagne bottles to be popped. There are engagements to be had, weddings to go to, and Christmas parties to attend. There are scarves to be worn, fall boots to be purchased, and coats to be wrapped in.

And even more than this, there are thanks to be had. Thanks that the fall is here and the world is about to be stunningly beautiful in crisp colors and scents. Thanks to be given that the darkest parts of the economic crash might be behind us, and that our nation is forging forward. Thanks that in the trying parts of this last year we were able to hold to what was important, to grow with our families, to spend our money on things that mattered, and give our time to things that were noble.

There are stories to be written this fall. There are beautiful stories begging to leap off of the pages and into action within our days. There are daring stores, sacrificial stories, and epic stories. And for me, in my mind, these grand stories and adventures are embodied in the leaves that fall, crisp and brown, reminding us that change has come. Autumn is here.

Tonight while on a jog  around the bay, the night was so clear that the moon made mirror images on the water. Seeing that it’s a full moon at the moment, it was bright and the night was purple and blue and black – some of my favorite tones.

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.” Read the rest of this entry »

I have had lots of friends asking, “So how did the talks go?” since I have been back from speaking at Summer Camp this weekend. I have two words to describe this weekend:

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. Read the rest of this entry »

Yesterday I was attending one of my networking groups that focuses on public speaking.  No one signed up to give a speech that day, so I sent an email out to the group indicating that we were each going to do “Mini Speeches.” The assignment to the group was to bring in their favorite book and we would take 3-5 minutes to speak about why you liked it, what touched you, and maybe read a small excerpt out of the book. The point of the exercise would be preparing content and delivering the speech in a clear concise way.

When I started looking through my books, I knew right away what I wanted to talk on. Don Miller happens to be my favorite author and celebrity crush. I have all of his books and love his unorthodox version of pursuing Jesus with a tender and open mind.  One of my favorite of Don’s books is Searching For God Knows What.  One of my favorite chapters in this book is called “Children on Chernobyl.” This particular chapter was really impacting because it describes a picture Miller keeps on his desk of a small five year old boy whose body was grossly mutilated by the horrors of the nuclear leak in the Soviet Union in 1986.

Miller explains it may seem drastic to compare this boy’s pain to humanity’s pain, but there are parallels that are somewhat striking. This boy’s body was the result of a terrible tragedy. And yet, our soul are terribly disfigured by tragedy. That we are all distorted by the war between God and evil, and even though we appear to be fine on the outside, our souls have really become very damaged and pained.

As I was researching what to say in my mini-speech, it hit me how spiritual this book really was. I imagined myself standing in front of my club, telling them that their souls were damaged because of an unseen spiritual war. Which is just perfect because it happens to be the fastest and easiest way to be classified as the Crazy-Christian lady who you shouldn’t be friends with. Being confused, I did what I always do when I can’t decide something: I called my mom. I loved this book, but really didn’t want to preach or offend my friends that don’t believe in God…or Miller. My mom said a quick prayer, and I decided “what the heck – I’ll give it a try. I mean the worse thing that can happen is that they’ll all think I’m nuts..and I’m pretty good at convincing people of that on my own anyway.” Read the rest of this entry »

Just today, one of my good friends asked me to speak at the Summer Camp for her youth group. My knee jerk reaction was to say yes. So, I said yes. Then the questions came. I found myself realizing that I don’t know if I have much to say to 16 year old kids. “Drink beer kids, it’s great!” or “Have sex, just wear a condom!” Right. Maybe not the best place to start. (And for the record, I wouldn’t actually say that. I know after the Sex Post, some of you think I stand outside the school yard gate and hand out condoms to Jr. Highers. Haha.)  But after telling my friend that I would speak, I legitimately sat down and freaked out thinking, “WHAT IN THE WORLD AM I GOING TO TALK ABOUT?”

Ironically, just yesterday my mom swung by my house. She and my dad have been cleaning out their house and attic, sorting through old things, and throwing away old junk. Buried deep in the attic, my mom came across a few boxes from my high school era. Being my wonderful mom, she figured that past memories could inspire some good creativity, so she promptly left the boxes on my front porch. Nothing beats coming home to find a box inscribed with your 16-year-old boyfriend’s name, and the contents of high school youth spilling down the porch stairs.

So, as I grapple with what Jesus and God want me to tell these kids, I have been doing my homework by walking through memory lane of my own high school experiences. Read the rest of this entry »

For those of you who don’t know, a few years ago I almost got engaged. Through a series of various circumstances, we didn’t quite get that far. But, in the process I did learn quite a few things on life, love and relationships. And I’m not talking about “How to Avoid a Douche Bag” kind of things (I’m a lady and wouldn’t say those kinds of things on the internet), but I’m taking about how to be a brazen unapologetic woman in the midst of all life’s twists and turns.

You see, this guy that I had been with, I thought he was brave. I thought he was adventurous. I thought he was the greatest adventurer that I had ever known. And in response, I became brave and brazen, and an adventurer. I knew to keep up with this guy, I needed to be a woman who could handle the end of the earth and more.

But then, something happened. It turns out we weren’t in the story I thought we were. No rings would be exchanged, and we wouldn’t have the ending I wanted at that time. The story as I knew it needed me to be brave in a different way than I had imagined. 

But something I learned didn’t go away after the idea of the wedding had passed. The bravery didn’t leave. The brazen woman that I had learned to become didn’t go away. I couldn’t turn off the idea that I was going to be adventurous.

This leads me to a movie. Right, I know. Most people don’t think of their life stories in turns of Disney Movies. Or, if they do, you tend to think that they are pathetic people. But I remember, back in the time when I was thinking that I was going to get married, there was a particular movie that really displayed the kind of woman that I had decided to become.

I had just gone to the midnight showing of The Pirates of the Caribbean, At World’s End.  There was a scene in the movie that literally made me tear with ambition. I remember driving home from the theatre and making an international call. I had been so inspired from the image of bravery and womanhood that I had witnessed, that I felt like an international call was in order, even though it was expensive. I had caught him late at night, but he was willing to listen to my thoughts.

The scene I am talking about is below:

The thing that got me about this clip back then was the idea that the girl wasn’t waiting to be saved. If you notice, she was just as up and prompt with her sword as he was. He would lean on her and hold her for support as he reached to fight his own battles, needing her as much as anything. And like wise, she wasn’t wearing a dress – she wasn’t waiting in distress, she wasn’t literally needing to be saved. Instead she had her own weapon. She knew how to fight. She was just as much apart of the romance and drama as he was.

The funny thing  about that particular relationship is that it didn’t work out. I learned how to be brave, and yet, I’m not married. Which, if you ask me is just fine. But I did learn something that lasted me much longer than the relationship. I learned how to be an Elizabeth Swan. To be brazen. To have my own sword. To take off the dress and engage in the fight of life. To hold my man with as much support and strength as I could muster, knowing that the fight and the adventure were my part as much as they are his.

So, in light of the pirate ways, I toast to Elizabeth Swan. Cheers to the woman who inspired me to be a real woman long before I needed to be one. A woman who showed me feminine strength even before I knew what I was going to be strong for. Women, we are needed with spines of steel -  but yet spines of steel clothed in flesh and softness.

Let us not forget that. In the stories of adventure, we have a key role to play out. Yet, we have to brave and graceful. Not simply brave alone – but brave and beautiful…even while holding a sword and wearing pirate pants.