There’s just too many words right now. As the days wear on (we’re now in week 10 of quarantine in Maine), there’s an endless stream of advice, opinions, theological arguments… there’s no shortage of diatribes about isolation or quarantine, reopening and reintegrating, making the best of these days or feeling desperate, about the end of days and heresies. It’s exhausting. It seems to be a distracting swirl of contradiction. While I grapple to make sense of most things, I just can’t right now. And I am generally a lover words and reason.
Mary Oliver said: “Poetry is a life-cherishing force. For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry.”
So instead of lofty thoughts and wordy ideas, I’ve returned to my first & most elementary form of writing- poetry. It’s my loaves & fishes in this time, where survival & grief coexist.
Hope- by Jessica Briggs Hope is a whisper- God is here.
Near. With. In grief In confusion In failure
He’s not in some lofty place Full of choirs Gilded with worship
Immanuel lives in my grief For the thing I can’t even Speak about Think about Understand
Mother’s Day isn’t always quite the Hallmark holiday full of flowers and greeting cards for many.
In fact, in no other role in life is there more judgment and shaming than motherhood. Today, the best gift we can give to one another is the gift of full acceptance.
To those with Mother’s who listened, loved and nurtured you, who have a confidant and friend in her- you are wanted & loved.
To those with mother’s who were absent, detached and unknown, who feel the sting of independence- you are wanted & loved.
To those with mother’s who were abusive, damaging and manipulative, who inflicted wounds into your soul- you are wanted & loved.
To those with mother’s who were obsessive, shaming and perfectionist, who could never live up to the standards- you are wanted & loved.
To those with mother’s who are complicated, hard to gauge and difficult to manage- you are wanted & loved.
To those with mother’s who’s mind is gone, and struggles to remember her own name- you are wanted & loved.
To those with mother’s who have passed behind the veil into eternity, who you wish you could call one more time- you are wanted & loved.
To those injecting, tracking, swallowing pills, and praying for a miracle so you can become a mother- you are wanted & loved.
To those who have tried every single fertility treatment, cried innumerable tears in loneliness and still cannot bear children- you are wanted & loved.
To those who have carried life within only for it to slip away unexpectedly, snuffing out your hopes and dreams- you are wanted & loved.
To those who held and loved and looked into your baby or child’s eyes, only to close the lid to their casket- you are wanted & loved.
To those who handed their children over with hopes someone else could love them better, who never got to see them change and grow, who may not know you exist- you are wanted & loved.
To those who had to make the choice to terminate a baby’s life, who cannot even admit it aloud for fear of judgment- you are wanted & loved.
To those who are being both father and mother to children, with little support and mounting exhaustion- you are wanted & loved.
To those who are filling in as mother’s to struggling children, foster kids or orphans, taking in their hearts and their hurts- you are wanted & loved.
To those who don’t want to be a natural mother but still nurture others in countless ways- you are wanted & loved.
To those with odds stacked against you, with diagnoses and appointments, with little empathy or understanding- you are wanted & loved.
To those with no support, far from home, with no one to call or to come babysit and give you a moment of relief- you are wanted & loved.
To those with littles undertow, who have endless wants and needs, require constant supervision and direction- you are wanted & loved.
To those striving to do and be the best mom, to give your children kindness, affirmation, safety and fun- you are wanted & loved.
To those who manage their homes, have little glory or recognition for “just staying home” or educating your children outside the norms- you are wanted and loved.
To those with mouthing back young adults, who think you couldn’t relate to their angst or apathy- you are wanted & loved.
To those with adult children who look back on those years with regret, and wish to change your mothering moments- you are wanted & loved.
I see so much anger and finger-pointing in the midst of the Covid-19 pandemic right now. I believe blame requires less effort than looking in the mirror. I remain resolute to not entangle myself in politics and arguments, choosing not to parse or judge people’s thoughts or opinions, actions or inaction. I have thoughts of course, yet I know all those pursuits lead to is division. So instead I’m focusing my efforts within. I’m doing the hard work of looking in the mirror during these days of isolation. Yet the most glaring thing I face during this pandemic is myself.
I see my physical limitations in ways I didn’t recognize only weeks ago. I once boasted about how much I could handle- the many hats I could wear without letting things fall to the wayside. I once considered myself to be a decent and striving wife, Mom, friend, daughter, Pastor, writer, home educator, leader… and here I am, barely holding daily life together.
Somewhere, in the midst of COVID-19, I misplaced my bootstraps. My courage has diminished and my capacity seems to have been drained, as if someone pulled the plug on the pool of busy-ness that kept me afloat. These endless days “safe at home” are hard. I’m floating now, but in a new reality, one that seems to be above the shallow waters, where I am privy to observe my life, without actively participating.
As I gaze down into the telling waters, I see my fears staring me in my face. I find my self-worth threatened unlike other days and find insurmountable doubt arise. Questions come through my thoughts like: Am I really good enough? Am I worthy of love? I have no feedback coming from others, like I normally do. I’m left to mull these things over… alone.
I’ve had to ask hard questions like: Who am I when I’m exhausted? Who am I when I am afraid? Who am I when I cannot serve others? Who am I when I can’t seem to string words together to write? Who am I when I can only seem to take care of my immediate family, and have low capacity to shepherd and care for others?
I don’t like the answer to most of those thoughts. I find myself impatient, restless in ways I cannot describe. It’s not for lack of purpose or motivation, either. I’ve had to face the fact that I’m not superwoman or super special in any way. Things I would’ve described myself as seem to fall away indiscriminately.
“The Homeschool Mom” Today, it’s taken all my energy to ensure my children gained education. I love the ability and journey that homeschool has given our family. I love the literature we share, the languages and beauty we study in art and music and nature. We are arithmetic-ing, language arts-ing, reading, and learning, but it feels so much like drudgery instead of freedom these days.
“The Home Chef” It takes all my energy to feed my family these days. I’ve never made so many “easy meals” as I am right now, and I normally love to cook. I don’t even seem hellbent on organic, GMO free products. I’m just happy to get some food in my pantry each time I head to the grocery store.
“The Neat Freak” It takes all my energy to tidy up a room in the house…again. It takes all my energy to keep up with the washing and folding, the scrubbing and cleaning, even though I’ve always liked and maintained an orderly home environment. I see myself turn away from the mess and clutter, writing it off as no big deal and that I’ll get to it when I get to it. I would normally love these stay-at-home moments to reorganize a closet or redo my pantry or some other Pinterest-led project, but I just can’t.
“The Engaged Mom” It takes all my energy to find creative ways to keep my children happy, even with the countless spreadsheets and resources available. My inbox overflows daily with ideas. Normally, I’d delight in playing a game of cards or snagging some snuggles and a story. I love putting together projects or activities my children can do to grow their mind and hearts, but these days I’m letting them do things I’d normally say were off limits, like video gaming. The hours just drag on and on and I can’t seem to fill them without our library visits, museum days, beach walks or hikes.
“The Family Planner” It takes all my energy to cook another meal, light another candle at the dinner table, have another tea time together- usually, uplifting moments in my daily life, but seemingly laborious these days.
“The Serving Shepherd” It takes all my energy to host a few weekly online gatherings to check on the relational and spiritual well-being of many people whom I truly love and care about. I normally love to support and walk with people through hard circumstances. I have many good ideas of ways to show love to others, yet my ability to execute seems null. Prayer is the only thing that seems a companion during these days, an outlet for the daily list of sadness, bad news and sorrow so many of us are feeling.
“The Confidante” It takes all my energy to have conversations laden with talk of quarantine, disease or what the future holds after this. It takes all my energy to check in with those dear to me, to say “let me know if you need anything,” when I doubt I can really step-up in the ways I normally could. Dropping everything to come alongside a friend seems much more difficult when there is no “everything” to drop any more.
I think this time has shown me that *this* is it; this is reality when everything is stripped away. Who I am when everything is stripped away is not who I thought I was. I am not as strong as I thought I was. I am not as brave and courageous as I thought I was. I am not as needed as I thought I was. I am not as gifted or called as I thought I was. I am not as spiritual as I thought I was.
So as I face myself in the mirror, it boils down to this: I am human. All these mantras I’ve chewed on to find meaning and purpose in life have simply come up to mean absolutely nothing in these days. All the personality tests, spiritual inventories, memory verses, theology… it just doesn’t fill my heart in this time of sorrow.
What I really need is grace. To know that despite my shortcomings, or the fact that every hat I once wore proudly has fallen off, grace makes a way for belovedness. Grace marches me into the truth that I am loved for just being a human. God doesn’t shy away from my mess; instead, He gives me His Presence as a companion. In my need and desperation, in my exhaustion and scaled-down efforts, Jesus reassures me just as He did the doubting Thomas. He gently opens his cloak and shows me his wounds- his humanity.
You see, Jesus was God in flesh and he was stripped down, too. He was shamed. He couldn’t pull himself up by his bootstraps, either. He didn’t rise up in power and show his ability or divinity. He couldn’t put on a happy face and be a stoic hero in the last days of His lives. He wept. He mourned. He felt things in his soul. And while I’m still sorting out what this all means about me, I find immense comfort in knowing He is with me. He’s been here before, and the grace I find is helping me survive moment by moment.
You see, grace isn’t something you “get.” There’s no spiritual practice that gives you the outcome of grace. Grace is the person of Jesus, in all His humanity and divinity. It’s both the mess and the beauty. Life isn’t categorized neatly in black and white, good and bad, right or wrong. There are no dichotomies, but rather it’s both. So when I ask for grace in all my glorious weakness, He gives himself to me freely.
God’s grace is the only thing that redeems our past and gives hope for the future. It’s the hope that in all my mess and failure and doubt, there’s still more to come. Grace leads us to love, but we only get there when we look in the mirror and acknowledge our suffering.
Maybe you need a new heart to live with during these days, too. <3
We find ourselves in anxious times. COVID-19, Social Distancing, empty shelves in our grocery stores… We are left wondering if there’s any end in sight, if things will return to “normal.” As the thoughts surmount, the anxiety increases. But let me reassure you: anxiety is human and natural. It’s a response to change. Anxiety is about the “what mights” of life, not the what IS.
How do we manage anxiety? I think the key to helping us manage our anxiety in this time is to focus on the “what is” of life in the form of spiritual, life-giving practices. Below are four ways to bring our thoughts into the present, and stop the spiral of thinking too much about the “what mights” of life.
NAME YOUR ANXIETIES
What is your #1 anxiety right now?
We cannot cope with our anxieties unless we name them. Whether you do this privately through journaling, in prayer form, or share your concerns with another person, identifying and discussing our anxieties is usually a great place to begin.
Naming our anxiety brings our thoughts and fears into the present moment. It anchors us to see that the things we may be anxious about are “what mights” and not “what is.”
RELATIONSHIPS
Yes, relationships are a spiritual practice. We cannot share our anxieties and vulnerabilities alone. We say a life centered in Christ- in Love- is the pinnacle of being a Christian. After all, GOD IS LOVE. But love is a lived experience and has to be lived through relationships. We are in a time where we must learn to live love, to BE LOVE, instead of trying to prove our worth through doing. We simply cannot be very productive right now. This is a time of learning to lean into love and relationship. The noise of life may have protected you up to this point from your anxieties, feelings and thoughts. But Love doesn’t allow hiding when the feelings seem overwhelming.
I see this time of social isolation as an invitation from God- a time to come out from hiding. A time to deal with our relationships. Love isn’t scary; instead, it gently covers and encourages us. Love doesn’t leave people alone in their anxiety. Love invites whole selves and whole stories into the light.
God created community to partner with us in love. As we support each other in relationships, I want to remind you healthy relationships come with good boundaries. Relationships that emulate authentic love should be mutual and reciprocal places of encouragement. One-sided relationships lead to further anxiety.
Ask yourself during this time: who do have that can carry the anxiety with me? Who can I support similarly?
STORYTELLING
Storytelling can be a wonderful spiritual practice that keeps us tethered to the present. The Bible itself is a collection of stories, a place of great comfort to many during anxious times. We have many biblical stories and examples that help us mitigate the “what mights” we currently face. The unknowns we face in life can be mirrored often in these stories. In trying times, we don’t have to “get in our Bibles” for answers- it’s not a fortune teller. Instead, we just need to read stories of comfort and hope.
If you’re not into reading passages of scripture, then many other stories can be comforting while you’re coping with anxiety. Pick up an easy-to-read devotional, a favorite fictional book, read a picture book to your children or listen to other people tell stories.
Stories help us focus on the reality of now. C.S. Lewis said that stories help to “not retreat from reality, but to rediscover it.” A hero’s tale, fairy tale, Bible story or fictional read is really an ordinary tale of humanness. We try and fail and try again. We face defeat and disappointment, but can emerge stronger and ready to choose bravery. We are always being invited to adventure and change, to challenges and triumphs. Stories help us assess where we are on the story arch right now.
GRATITUDE
The practice of gratitude is shown even in mental health and non spiritual practices to be life giving. Gratitude help us to usher in peace, stillness and calm. Gratitude is the echo of grace pulsating through the human heart.
There are innumerable ways to practice gratitude, whether it’s listing a few things daily in your journal, having your family say a gratitude around the dinner table, or using thanksgiving as a part of your prayer life. Regardless, gratitude anchors us to see the realities already present in our life, and to name them and be grateful for them, instead of being focused on our fear of lack.
I hope these four practices can be sources of strength and comfort during this time. For more ideas of staying in the what is, and for spiritual encouragement, please follow me on Instagram: @eyestoseeblog.
The mystery of Lent lies in grief. We make time to see the truth of our lives- the chaos, the misplaced energies, the losses we glazed over. It’s easy to get lost in the darkness of Lent, to feel overwhelmed by all the things we’ve ignored or brushed under the rug. During the Lenten season, time is built in to practice confession.
Confession is one of the most misunderstood disciplines of the Christian life. The Greek word for confession is homologeo, which means “to speak the same.” In other words, to confess means I concede that something is factual or true.
Confession is NOT a promise never to commit sin again. It is also not a way to receive forgiveness- the finished work of the cross produced forgiveness! Confession is never dependent on me, but it’s always dependent on Christ.
Psalm 32:5-7
5 Then I acknowledged my sin to you and did not cover up my iniquity. I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord.” And you forgave the guilt of my sin.
6 Therefore let all the faithful pray to you while you may be found; surely the rising of the mighty waters will not reach them. 7 You are my hiding place; you will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance.
Confession helps us be rid of guilt. It’s the practice of repentance. To repent just means to turn around. When we turn around we see the truth, that Jesus doesn’t leave us even when our life’s a mess. Jesus is our hiding place when we are in trouble. And all along, He was singing over us. Confession is the art of celebration, the art of opening our eyes and ears to see the Presence of God with us, and the heart of God singing to us.
Confess- by Jessica Briggs
I just need to turn And see your face of Love As I doubt When I am fed up When I am harsh As the anger fills me up.
I just need to turn And see your face of Love As i make verdicts When I sort them When I am hate-filled As the hurts blind me.
I just need to turn And see your face of Love As I’m free When I don’t deserve it When I am unworthy As the grace washes over me.
I just need to turn And see your face of Love As I’m made new When I hear your songs When I see you’re near As the guilt leaves me.
Many people in the Christian tradition follow the practice of Lent. Traditionally, lent involved giving up of something, so many modern versions usually involve fasting from social media, instead of food.
But what if we decided not to avoid or give up things this season, but rather to open our eyes to the Presence of God in our everyday, ordinary lives- online and off?
I put together a resource to help do that- a simple photo a day challenge on Instagram, along with a daily complimentary scripture. I’d love to see you join me in this! I can’t wait to see the ways your eyes see Jesus this Lenten season.
Follow me on Instagram: @eyestoseeblog and post your own pictures for the daily themes, using hashtags #lentphotos2020, #lentthruthelens2020 and tagging me! I’d love to feature you in my daily stories <3
The moms with wiggly, noisy toddlers who blush red when people turn around to eyeball you.
The elderly with feeble knees and fragile backs who couldn’t quite walk all the way up to the front seats as once able.
The homeless persons finding warmth, refuge and a few moments of safety.
The former pastors and church leaders who haven’t walked through the doors of a church these past couple years after the great hurt this Bride brought.
The couples who’s marriage is crumbling but came thinking this would be a place to find help or hope or both.
The teenagers texting and giggling, with fresh cuts across their forearms hidden under their trendy clothes, wondering if they belong anywhere.
The questioning and riddled with doubt who come in after the music service and leave before dismissal, avoiding judgmental glances or probing questions.
The family who’s father is happy clappy and friendly, but drinks himself asleep each night.
I see you.
And if I could, I’d sit right next to you and tell you this: You are so loved. You are so wanted.
You don’t need to come here to get right. Jesus did that for you.
You don’t need to come here to make amends for those things you did. Jesus made amends for you already.
You don’t need to find a dress in the back of your closet and go to church with your best face on like your grandmother once did to earn the title of “good.” Jesus made you in his image and calls you good, anyway. Take the costume off and be real.
You don’t need to sit here anymore and wonder if you’ll ever be good enough, if you’ll ever feel better, if you’ll ever not be ruled by shame.
I’ll sit right next to you and tell you the guy in the pulpit doesn’t have a magic wand or a remedy or a formula to fix you or heal you. And if Jesus were here in person, he’d be sitting with us, too.
Jesus wouldn’t get up front and brag on his skills, ability, spiritual growth or title. Jesus wouldn’t tell you that your failures make you unworthy. Jesus wouldn’t open the scroll and use the words on the page to cast judgment and demand conviction and repentance.
No… Jesus would get off the stage. He’d walk down the aisle that separates. He would sit down with you and He would listen. He would not be ashamed to sit with you. He would love you without conditions or money put in the offering plate.
It’s time we do this, too, church. The people in the back rows and out beyond our walls don’t need more offerings or nicer carpets. They need connection. They need someone to see them- to look them in the eye and feel their sorrow and weep with them. No more side glances of judgment. No more “good mornings” with a half-hearted smile. Get up and sit with them. Because the nice song at the end of service that makes us feel good isn’t cutting it for those in the back row. They walked out of service before the happy notes could numb their soul. Because these are the souls looking for real love, real hope- and many cannot seem to find this in your space on Sundays.
America has more brands of Christianity than jeans. You can find a space to practice your faith whether you like liturgy or line upon line, contemporary or traditional worship music, liberal or literal biblical interpretation, and everything in between.
I’ve had a unique exposure to many of the camps of Christianity. I spent the early years of my life in fundamentalism at a small, independent Baptist church. While I have moved past many of the rules and regulations of those days, I knew the people who influenced my faith truly loved Jesus. They did the best they had with the faith they knew, even if my childhood experience was cloaked in wrong purity messaging and cheesy flannel board stories complete with Bible songs with hand motions. Yet, that same small community showed up, week after week in the pews and sparsely populated Sunday schools. They showed up year after year each summer to host VBS, whether there were 100 children or 20. They brought casseroles and hosted coffee and desserts when our community felt the sting of loss or the shock of tragedy. I learned in those little walls set among farm fields what commitment looked like.
But then life changed.
I spent my early adult years in evangelical and charismatic faith spaces. I lifted my hands in worship. I knelt on my knees and wept and confessed my sin at the altar. I prayed to speak in tongues. I’ve been prophesied over, received words of knowledge, and seen God do miracles through every day moments of life. Like that one time, when friends handed us a Christmas card. When we opened it hours later, we were dumbfounded to find exactly enough money nestled in that card to cover our mortgage. Literally no one knew Art and I were broke and both unemployed- but those little moments bolstered my faith in Christ. I learned from a decade in that community to keep the faith, to believe in a God who is bigger than we can fathom and to never be afraid to take Him out of the box.
But then, life changed again, and it was a painful adjustment in my life.
While everything crumbled around me, I just couldn’t find a place of worship that felt right. You see, God led me to the desert and even though I came kicking, screaming and hurting, I graciously found springs of living water. Those life-giving waters were women who through their humanity, shared pieces of their shattered hearts so freely. Those warrior women were healing and balm to my heart. They encouraged me to continue the race and keep the faith. They were my Christ. They were my church and their testimonies and struggles restored in me strength to forgive, desire to grow, and bravery to throw off entanglements. I began to walk on the waters slowly, trusting God even in my uncertainty. Each little step, women encouraged me profoundly, cheering me on and giving me the joy. My church encouraged me to lead, and even honored my words and leadership with mutual affection. Some of those women took the torch from my hand and continued the race when life again brought change. They walked me to the edge of the desert and into a wide open space through weekly rhythms of singing together, praying together, wondering and doubting together, confessing, praising and rejoicing together. I realized after two and a half years in my desert, that God led me there because He was there. His presence was with me in the gentle faces and hugs, just as tangibly as He was present with Jesus in the desert. God showed me his loving kindness. He restored in me the joy of my salvation. He reminded me that I had value even though my identity and everything had changed. He gave me companionship with those women, never leaving me alone. I learned what God alone looked like, tearing down the idols I had been so comfortable with, like traditional church and ministry and busyness and distraction.
And life changed, but this time for the good.
I find myself currently in more open, affirming faith circles. Practice of stillness, time in awe of nature and quietness are vital to my journey with God. I enjoy using ancient paths and prayers to connect with God. I find liturgy and tradition to be like a familiar old friend, walking alongside me to provide great comfort to my soul. I have found God in unexpected places, even deep within myself after suppressing my inward thoughts and being. In this season, I am learning to truly believe God is good, and His goodness can be seen everywhere and in everyone, if we only have the eyes to see.
The fact is, there’s a common denominator in my story, and likely in yours, too. There isn’t one way to walk out faith. The accounts in scripture aren’t meant to be a dictating rule book; they are meant to show that each person is free to live and encounter God uniquely. Each story isn’t replicated. How boring would that be if everyone got swallowed by a great fish? Or if everyone got met at a well? The diversity we find in the pages of scripture and time show us that each expression of faith, each human heart, cannot be ranked as “better” or “best.” They are simply pilgrimages, all unique as they pass through mountain tops and valleys. Our lungs and souls experience the climates and elevations differently, and that’s okay.
I’ve learned, and will continue to learn, that the Divine is so tremendous that the Trinity will never fit in our little theology boxes, denominations or understandings. They show up in a variety of places, spaces, voices, people and practices. We must stop railing against each other, arguing about our opinions and stances, our way of scriptural interpretations or our ways of worship. We have to stop saying who’s in and who’s out. We cannot tolerate casting people away from our fellowship and faith groups because they are more conservative or liberal than we are. If the church will survive, then it’s up to each of us to lay down the weapons- yes, even the Bible verses- and to wave a white flag of peace. It’s time to yell ”truce” and see we are not enemies, but brothers and sisters. We’re on the same side. It’s the side of humanness. It’s the side of good.
We are each free to live, move and have our being. It’s time we cheer each other on in that, even if our mountains and racecourses are markedly different. We must change from I focused faith groups to WE focused. After all, it’s what the church is called to do- to deny self and take up the cross of Christ. Follow the Leader, who is gentle and humble in heart. He gives grace upon grace, and even cooks dinner for those who blatantly oppose and deny Him, giving the benefit of the doubt and countless second-chances. Go and do likewise.
I recently read a line in a book that I can’t get out of my head. In the book, Present Over Perfect by Shauna Niequist she says, “one never changes until the pain level gets high enough”
This is an impactful thought for our military community. Just last week news broke about another one like us- an Army wife, Tristen Watson– who reached her pain level. Her heart-breaking story ended in tragedy, as she chose to end her and her unborn child’s life by suiciding, after also murdering her toddler.
Do you know why thousands of us feel this loss in our bones? Because we know what burdens she was carrying. There’s many invisible weights military spouses carry on their back. That may sound strange, since we grow up and stop believing in invisible things. But I feel these things acutely; many of you wear them, too.
My weight is loneliness. My weight is doubt. My weight is hopelessness. My weight is fear. My weight is sadness. My weight is feeling overwhelmed, incapable, soul-weary, empty, tired… The list goes on.
We are juggling big things- independent parenting, less than ideal circumstances, moving and uprooting, experiencing constant grief cycles from losing friends and communities, being far from family, unrest in our marriages and managing the emotional health of our spouses after their war experiences.
This all equates to one simple word: trauma. Our lifestyle is nothing short of traumatic. If we look at the reality of our past, the circumstances of our present and the unknowns of the future in this lifestyle, it is far too easy to become hopeless. Add in many of us, who have pasts full of trauma, whether it be sexual, emotional, physical or a life-altering event, and it’s the recipe for a perfect storm.
Trauma rears it’s head in ugly ways. It’s the voice that always shames. It’s the accusations– I’ll never be better, healed, whole, happy. It’s the driving force behind feeling constantly on edge, waiting for the shoe to drop. Trauma rewires our brains to think unreasonably, obsessively and to make our bed in a place riddled with constant depression and anxiety.
The solution for handling trauma is multifaceted. We know resiliency plays a role, although there’s much nuance with how we gain resiliency. We know this for a fact: resiliency is not entirely built in. We have to let go of stigmas that are imprisoning real souls. It’s not enough to pull yourself up by the bootstraps. You can’t just be “Army strong.” We don’t need to suck it up, buttercup. We don’t need another “well you knew what you were getting yourself into.” We need to start having real conversations about the reality of mental wellness in our armed forces and spouses.
The most believable mantra in our culture is that “people never change.” We believe that we can never change, either, so we stay in cycles and battles and addictions and pain until we feel like the only way to end it is to stop breathing.
I’m here to tell you today that you can change. You can change your mind. You can adjust the sails for the course of wind. You can follow your heart. You can change the inner dialogue that always leaves you feeling defeated. You can fall apart, and reassemble yourself into a more beautiful mosaic. So as you might be falling apart, broken into pieces, handling burdens too heavy to carry, and at the very end of your rope, it’s not the end of your story.
This needs to be a battle cry from within the heart of our armed services. No matter how dark and daunting, we need the affirmation and permission from one another to change. To remake and recreate our reality, until we feel peace. We need the support and acknowledgement, the resources and the hearts willing to help us move toward change, both inward and outward.
We all have high pain levels, which is already the impetus for change. So, brave one, do it- spread your wings and make your life yours. Uncle Sam may control some things in your life, but he doesn’t own you. You are free to be who you are meant to be. And I am here to cheer you on as you discover, heal, put down burdens and make yourself. No one else can do it for you, and that’s the beauty in it all. You can be authentically you- and that’s who the world needs you to be, too.
RESOURCES:
For free, personal Counseling: Military One Source 1-800-342-9647 If you’re having thoughts of ending your life, call the National Suicide Hotline- 1-800-273-8255
The tradition of faith I grew up in was full of rules- how to dress appropriately, how to treat people in authority, and the longest liturgy of what not to do. No dancing, no alcohol, no this or that. So, I learned the rules and it made me into a near perfect performer. I could act my way into rightness in most scenarios, mostly because I learned the morals of my community. I was a good, Christian girl and I really liked that label.
As I matured into young adulthood, I went through the normal stages of rebellion- nights full of dancing and drinking and playing cards. But by my early twenties I was back on the straight and narrow, operating by those rules that I learned made me right.
Yet the more I followed this rule-making God, the less alive I felt inside. It felt like being paranoid all the time. Did I forget to pray for all the sins I did today? I carried around a god that fit into my spreadsheets and checklists. It heaped guilt on me over and over again when I didn’t read my Bible for 15 minutes a day, or I didn’t write a check tithing exactly ten percent, or I grumbled about someone instead of devoting myself to praying for them.
I handed these rules out to others, too. It was like a pamphlet- come be like me! Just follow these steps and you can find your way to being a good Christian, too.
After a period of feeling discouraged, I began exploring the idea that the Divine isn’t a rule-follower. God is wholly unpredictable. Just when you thought he was going to punish Israel in the Old Testament stories, God would show compassion. Just when you thought, “Surely, Jesus wouldn’t condone sleeping around,” He spoke life-giving, loving words to prostitutes. Just when you thought the Ruler of the Universe would climb off the cross and chastise the onlookers, Jesus died in quiet humility. And even upon His resurrection, He didn’t appear to every government power and authority to be like “look at me now!” Instead, he connected with his beloved friends.
Of course I knew the facts already- Jesus is a relationship, not a religion. I knew he came to fulfill the Law, but how do you be a good Christian without the rule book or the 10 Commandments?
A glimpse of glory tells me that God himself, in all his fullness, exists as Creator. Creativity never comes with a manual. Artists know this to be true- you don’t create within a set of rules; instead you’re always pushing the boundaries to make more beauty. You try and try and remake and rebuild and reimagine things in ways to make beauty shine forth.
I’ve sat in enough Bible studies the past two decades listening to people debate law vs. grace. I’ve heard a litany of reasons why Christ-followers must have moral compasses, to be a good example to the world. But maybe we should give up those pursuits- the bone-exhausting trying and the nitpicking way of judging others and ourselves. Maybe we just need to get messy and create. Throw the rulebooks away and make beauty. Splatter paint colors of love on walls and floors and our clothes and see what emerges.
Beauty attracts wonder more than a book of rules ever will. Beauty makes us see and connect with awe to a loving Creator. Never in my life have I been more enamored by artistry. The skillful violinist dancing across strings that reverberate within my heart. The strokes of painters who have left us masterpieces to gaze upon. The words that flow like honey through poetry into my soul. The smell of a fresh cut orange as you squeeze it into a dish you’re about to savor. The outdoor world with it’s creatures and waters and plant life that we pass by, often without noticing.
There’s beauty everywhere rejoicing, pointing us to Creator if we would only get our heads out of the rule book. We don’t need to fill our buckets full of knowledge to dump on others, showing them how to perform. Piaget once said “Everytime we teach {someone} something, we keep them from inventing it themselves.”
If we want to see a revival, a people passionate about Christ, living out His love and grace, we must stop rule-making. The buzz word in our community is discipleship, but the way we go about discipling is laden with rules. We can’t make mini-disciples who follow the rules exactly how we do. Being right or being wrong is not what the gospel is about. We believe more in tearing down and arguing than we do in the Gospel. We spend our time teaching disciples apologetics, how to have an answer (read:argument) in all seasons. If defending our faith is all we have, then we’ve abandoned the work and worship of Jesus. We have missed the forest for the trees.
Jesus didn’t die to make us his defenders. He died to give us freedom and peace and joy- true beauty. We must follow Jesus’ lead in disciple-making. First, Jesus taught through parable and story, without giving clear cut guidelines, always giving the hearer freedom to make and create and invent. Secondly, Jesus never micromanaged his disciples. He breathed Spirit fire upon them and released them. That fire awakened them to beauty, as we can also awaken to beauty. Awakened, we see the undeniable Truth staring back at us. It’s in the eyes and heart of another human being where beauty exists. We are all worthy of love- a love that’s messy, creative and wonderful. That beauty and love is the only force capable of changing hearts, and thus, the world. May you have eyes to see…
