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 »

After yesterday’s post about Christian Hipsters and Hymns, I know that a lot of you walked around for the rest of the day worried. I know you were asking yourself, “Shoot, am I a Christian hipster? I like hymns, but I’m not sure if I classify as a hipster! If only there was a way to find out!”

Look no further my friends, because today in the voice of my dear blogging friend, Jon Acuff of Stuff Christians Like, I have devised a way for you to tell if you are a Christian Hipster or not.

You Might Be a Christian Hipster If:

1. Your church resembles a cross between Ikea and  Urban Outfitters (2 pts). Raw beams are hanging around, it feels like a loft with all of the exposed building interiors, and there are trendy wicker chairs in the lobby. 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.

Lately a few close friends in my life have gone through some pretty heavy breakups. I’m talking about the two-year-I-thought-we-were-going-to-get-married kind of breakups. The kind where they need to get new music, new friends, and even change their perfume to escape the memories of their ex.

And of course, part of being a girl is sitting around and hashing through their feelings with them, why things didn’t work, and what they should do going forward to help the pain stop. Most of these conversations have involved lying on the couch, stroking their hair, lots of tissues, drinking beers and Yogurtland (hey, I’ve dated a lot and had my heart stomped a few times…I know the tricks of the trade).

Aside from the ways that my friends have been hurting, it has been an interesting process for me as well. Part of working through their heartbreak is to affirm their emotions with similar experiences that I have had in my own dating life, and share stories of my own mistake and heartache. It has been surreal to look back on my early twenties and the kind of men (or arguably boys) that I was attracted to and the kinds of relationships that I had. Part of me looks through those years of my life can’t help but feel awe. Primarily, because I survived. I’ve had some deep cuts to this little heart of mine, and it is constantly surprising to realize that I’m still here, that I’m not jaded, and that I still believe in love.

Last night while standing in my kitchen, my brokenhearted girlfriend says to me, “Dang Jenni, you are so smart about this stuff. How do you freaking know all this?”

I honestly laughed so hard I almost spit out my beer. “If by smart you mean I’ve learned through my own many and painful mistakes, then maybe…” I suppose that dating is something that I’ve done a lot of, and hadn’t realize how much I’ve grown over the years, how much I’d changed, and how much I’d healed until I went back through it in my kitchen last night. It was almost astonishing. Read the rest of this entry »

I just had a weekend that is in the process of wrecking me.

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?

As my readers know, I have been struggling with some frustrations lately and feeling very stuck. One thing that has helped me feel like I am moving forward is to remember where I am going. In the words of a wise friend of mine, “Jenni, you are a go getter. You just need to know where you’re going and getting.” So, in light of a new found effort to rid myself of my frustration-shell, I am committed to two new things: 1) Setting specific goals, and 2) being vocal about what’s going right in my life. Saying positive things out loud remind me that life is moving, even when it doesn’t feel like it.

So, here’s a first list of why today is a good day:

Today is a good day because:

1) I have smart friends that know how to speak wisdom into my life in context of my strengths and passions. Not to mention that they let me cook authentic Mexican food for them, and then laugh with me over tortillas, conversation, and beer.

2) I’m going to the mountains with friends on Sunday. Something about pine trees and mountain horizons that make my soul free.

3) I’m thinking about starting to paint. I have no idea how to paint. Not a single clue. But I’m convinced it will help with releasing creative juices.

4) I have a growing stack of books on my bedside table. Including “Make Success Measurable” which is a workbook about defining and achieving your life goals.

I can’t help but feel like today the world is my oyster. Between a few bottles of paint, some time in the mountains, and a new perspective on success…I’m ready to go for it.

Why is today a good day for you?

So there are baseball games.

There are local bands.

There are Colors.

There are Chords.

There is feel good music.

Thursday night. Go out. Dinner and shows.

There is soul poetry and making it all count.

In in complete sentences.

Publishers demand a whole thought.

However, at this point and in this day, I just cannot bring myself to give you capitols and periods and semicolons.

It’s a little more free than that.

Free.

It’s words.

And periods.

In places. Where they might not belong.

It’s colors.

It’s chords.

It’s feel good music.

It’s diddies of the late great Michael Jackson.

That bring us no guarantee of a 9 to five.

So you stay, and you order yourself another drink and you clap your hands and give into the soulful noise of letting go, and letting it be ugly.

And smile.

And you put those periods wherever you want.

Because this is the only way it counts.

I recently have discovered that I have a fascination with the word frustrated. Lately I say it a few times a day. Mostly under my breath while saying fleeting prayers, begging God to change the parts of my life that I don’t love.  “…God, I’m so frustrated…”

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). Read the rest of this entry »