Tag Archives: Grace

1 Corinthians 13 for Me

21 Wednesday Feb 2018

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In an effort to promote an authentic and healthy love of self as many of us fail to do, I’ve taken 1 Corinthians 13 and made it into a statement that a person can speak to themselves.

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I could speak or write brilliantly in the language of humans and heavenly beings, but let’s be honest – if I do not have love for myself, all my words are just a bunch of noise.

And if I seek justice and peace for the world, and understand all and know all, and if I have an amazing faith on paper, which may look like I could move mountains,
ALL OF THIS…
But
do NOT love myself – you know, the unconditional way that God loves me –
my work is empty… even hypocritical.

If I give away all I own to appear as a fabulous philanthropist,
and if I dress up my body so that I may boast that I look young or hot,
but do not have genuine self-love of my essence and soul, I gain nothing.

Loving myself through all my errors takes patience.
Loving myself means that I am required to be kind to myself.

Healthy love of self doesn’t mean that I’m envious of others (which I am quite often).
It does not allow me to brag over and over of my accomplishments or become arrogant and rude to prove that I am better than others.

Love of self absolutely can not be shadowed in shallowness,
and it requires me to reflect when I’m irritable or resentful of someone else’s accomplishments or celebrations.

This unconditional love does not allow me to rejoice when someone else errs, and it leaves no space for me to berate myself when I make a mistake.

It rejoices in what is best for everyone.

In order for my soul to thrive, true love of self will seek help when life is harsh.
It believes that anything is possible.
It continues to hope for all things
It endures when love seems present no where else.

Authentic love for myself is meant to be permanent and eternal.

But as for the work I do, it will eventually come to an end as my body ages or my mind falls away.
As for the brilliant language that I write or speak- it’s all going to cease.
As for knowledge that I possess here on this side of heaven, it will come to an end.

Let’s face it, now I see myself and God and others only in part. All I do will always fall short because of that partial view I have.
But when the complete comes somewhere on that side of heaven, the partial will come to an end.
The complete view of me and God and others and the universe will be all I can see.

I remember when I was a teen. I spoke like a teen, and I thought like a teen.
I reasoned like a teen.
I was disgusted by myself the way a teen would be.
Since becoming an adult,
I’ve been working on not to look at myself the same way I did at 14.

For I must remember that I see myself in a dim, cloudy, foggy mirror.
But someday, somewhere I will see the true view of my face and heart and soul.
For I must remember that right now I only myself in part-
But at some point I will know fully, even as God knows and loves me fully.

When nothing goes right and the world seems hopeless and I’m thinking so little of myself, I must remember that these three pieces are my foundation:
faith, hope, and love.

And even when faith in myself weakens and hope for the future wanes, God’s authentic, unconditional love for me will guide me back to where I need to be.

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A Prayer for a Hot Mess

29 Wednesday Nov 2017

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God, who often works best in chaos, here I am – your child – a blessed hot mess.

I carry too many items in my hands, resulting in me dropping things as I walk along my path. Or I stumble into chairs or couches or tables or doors as I carry on my day. I say the wrong things as my mouth becomes a waterfall for wrong terms and awkward jokes. My stole often leans too long on one side or my hair is tucked into my robe. Or my hair falls into my face, and as I fix it, my glasses drop to the ground. And, don’t forget, my desk is swimming in too many papers.

While I would like be the model for grace and move about the earth with every kind of smoothness there is, I have failed spectacularly.

I’m imperfect and incomplete.

But maybe this isn’t failure. Maybe being made in your image means that “hot messes” are ones who shift the world’s trajectory in meaningful ways. Maybe it means that we carry the Holy Spirit’s fires and winds in our passion, and in doing so, our form is a little unconventional.

And so, Creator of Living Art, if possible, make my life smooth. Yet if it isn’t your intentions for my life, let me use my messiness to set the world on a more-loving path. May the fire within me shine a justice-filled light into your world. And may your grace splatter upon all of your creation – including those of us in a sacred state of hot messiness.

Amen.

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The Lesson of the Visor

25 Tuesday Jul 2017

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When I was in eighth grade in 1987, we were given the assignment to design our own visors for the annual school parade and picnic.  I was excited at the prospect of designing my own visor and gave the task much thought, but couldn’t decide what to paint.

When the time came to draw the design onto the visor, I ended up painting too many objects on the front.  My grand project turned into a mess!  The design ended up looking cluttered, and I was distraught when looking at it.

I’m sure some tears were shed after looking at the item.  My hopes in having a beautiful visor to wear were dashed.  And then came one of our room moms: Mrs. Morgan.  She had been my Girl Scout leader for many years and was the mom of my middle school best friend.  Mrs. Morgan came up, assured me it was going to be ok, and then began to take my visor and paint over the busyness of the design.  She left my rainbow and Ziggy and took the attempts I had made at painting balloons and outlined each of them in silver paint.

When she was finished the artwork became something magnificent.  Instead of clutter were clouds.  The design flowed together.  I knew that I would be marching in the parade with a masterpiece on my head instead of the disaster I thought I would wear.

On that day in 1987, Mrs. Morgan did more than redesign the image of my visor; she taught me a priceless lesson: when we have a project full of errors, this isn’t the completed design of our project. Our designs aren’t permanently ruined.  God gives us grace and wisdom to understand how to take the messiness in front of us and craft something beautiful.

I carry this lesson with me.  Whether I’m working on a piece of artwork or writing project, helping out one of the youth in my church with their project, or working on another assignment that may not be coming together smoothly, God is always infusing my work with grace and mercy, helping me understand that there is new life in messes.

May we each carry the grace-filled lesson of my visor into our churches, homes, workplaces, and communities.

Ash Wednesday and Human Fragility

02 Thursday Mar 2017

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imageToday, I was reminded of my fragility.

It didn’t happen at an Ash Wednesday service.  I wish I could have led one today, immersing my thumb in oil and ashes, looking into the eyes of fellow humans, and reminding them that we come from dust and we will head back there again later in our lives.

Instead, I got my own Ash Wednesday lesson in the form of pain, shots, and a nod to my human frailness from a nurse practitioner.

As I’ve mentioned on this blog a few times recently, I had surgery for my endometriosis.  While I was expecting the recover to go much like it did last time (SWIFT!), unfortunately, the amount of endometriosis and adhesions were greater so more tissue needed to be removed.  That usually means that recovery will reflect the heightened intensity of my endometriosis and what needed to be done during the surgery.

I didn’t return to work on Tuesday.  The pain was bad.  I had a low-grade fever.  And because of all of the discomfort, I met with the nurse practitioner in at the doctor’s office.  Tarodol shot #1 happend on Tuesday, but it didn’t help much.

Sleep was restless, but I was going to be a delusional hero and push through.  Even as late as Wednesday morning, I was intending to go to the Ash Wednesday service.  Earlier in the day, I was still in pain, having problems sleeping and then needing to sleep.  I called back into the doctor for a third day in a row.  They urged me to come back in for my second Tarodol shot in two days for the pain.

While in the office, I saw the nurse practitioner.  Reflecting on our conversation from Tuesday, she noted that I needed to take the extra time to rest.  “For the first surgery, taking one week off to recover makes sense.  For your twenty-fifth surgery (she meant third), you need a couple of weeks.”

Noooooooooooooo!

Laparoscopic surgeries for endometriosis aren’t like knee or shoulder surgeries.  You don’t have wraps or slings or crutches.  Under my shirts and comfy stretch drawstring pants are three fresh scars.  That’s all I see, and others don’t see any of that.  So I don’t look that bad.  And I still don’t know what my insides looked like during the surgery.  I’ll see pictures next week.  In the meantime, I just see three healing scars.  And what I forget is that I may have healed well on the outside, but my internal cells, tissue, and organs are trying to achieve full restoration. .

I look back at my previous laparoscopic experiences.  After my first laparoscopic surgery for endometriosis at the age of 30, I had a long weekend to recover.  Thursday was the surgery, and I was back to work on Monday.  Frankly, I wasn’t ready to return to work, but I mastered the art of pushing myself even when I was sick.

For the second surgery at 39, I took a week – maybe a week and a day.  Like the first surgery, I was still stage 2 endometriosis.

This surgery at the age of 43 – We are going on one week and two days.  I’m not 30 anymore, and based on the report of many adhesions, I’m probably beyond stage 2 endometriosis (the stage diagnosed during the first two surgeries).

Thankfully, my wonderful ecumenical colleagues in ministry were able to lead the service tonight without my presence.  This came in the form of a group email giving me grace and the permission to rest.

Ash Wednesday in pain.  And so I thought to myself out loud in a Tweet:

My pain and my inability to live fully on Ash Wednesday were more symbolic than any ash could give me.  I’m limited.  I’m mortal.  I’m fragile.  I can’t keep going the way I normally do right now because my human body is healing.  I need help.  God knows this.  Other humans know this.

Why can’t I accept this?

Sigh.

The Struggle with Grace and Impatience in Healing

26 Sunday Feb 2017

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pexels-photo-27335.jpgFive days ago, I had surgery.

It was the third surgery like this one I’ve had: a laparoscopic operation to remove some of the endometriosis from my pelvis.  Three small incisions were made in my lower abdomen in an effort to get to scope and treat my inside pelvic region.

I never look forward to procedures, but by the time I’ve made the decision to have surgery, I’ve been suffering with pain.  While I’m still working, my life beyond work is minimal.  For someone who is an extrovert like I am, this is not living.

So I had the procedure.  All seemed to have gone well.  But each and every surgery brings worries along with it as well as knowledge of post-surgery living.

In the days following surgery, I’ve noticed a pattern.  The first couple of days, I’m extremely exhausted, and my body is in healing mode.  My days are filled with nap upon nap.  Then I’ll move into the next phase in which I know I’m feeling better.  I can’t do much physically as I’m still very sore.  My body yearns to heal but my spirit wishes I could be among the living again.  My extroverted self is being crushed by the mandatory rest period.

So, besides sleeping, here’s what I’ve done in the past few days:

  • Watched television
  • Watched Netflix
  • Watched HBO Go
  • Watched whatever is On Demand
  • Watched YouTube videos
  • Watched a video I rented from Amazon
  • Watched Jeopardy each night
  • Read many, many articles
  • Tweeted
  • Colored in my Lisa Frank coloring book.

I’ve done a little work here and there as well – from designing some social media posts to making a few phone calls.  Yet I’m exhausted both physically and mentally, so my energy comes in small waves.

I’m not the only young-ish person I know trying to recover from illness or injury.  Friends of mine have been placed on bed rest, and I have this notion that it hasn’t been too much fun for them to rest either. We are “jump into life with both feet” people, and this necessary time off is against our nature.

What we must be reminded of is that the healing process isn’t an overnight thing.  In scripture, we see Jesus healing, and all of a sudden his ailing followers are completely well.  Jesus didn’t ask them to spend a week in bed after he heals them.  Lazarus didn’t take additional time to rest after his resurrection.  The woman with the hemorrhage didn’t need a week to gain back her strength after touching the hem of Jesus.  Their healing was instantaneous.

My healing is not.

In real life, the way Jesus healed is not how realistic recovery works.  When God gives us healing, our responsibility is to rest and follow medical advice as part of the recovery process.

Let’s face it: instant gratification is a drug in our world.  We consider the rest time as a luxury and not a mandate.  When we realize that we can not escape a mandatory rest period with an illness, surgery, or injury, then we often feel guilty.  Our work has always taken top priority – why rest when we should be carrying a normal work load only days after a surgical procedure!

This is when the Sabbath commandment is crucial.  Sabbath is not only about building our relationship with God, but caring for the relationship with ourselves.  Our self-care is needed for us to heal properly so that we can follow God’s call for our lives and work diligently down the road.

I’m trying not to feel guilty about all of the naps I’ve taken in the past few days or zoning out as I color in my Lisa Frank coloring book or rewatching old episodes of Parks and Recreation for the billionth time.  God needs me to take this time right now to build my body as God will need me to work hard a few days and weeks down the road.

The Grace Project

22 Monday Aug 2016

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image.jpgI give no grace to myself.

There.  I said it.  It’s been my reality for the 43 years I’ve been alive.  I’ve apologized millions of times for my existence.  My competitive nature does not play well with my graceless attitude because I compare myself with others and then give myself a tough time when I haven’t achieved the same.  I blame myself for not marrying in my twenties or thirties.  I blame myself for not having children or being at the top of my career.  I blame myself for my weight and all of my health issues (most of which I can not control).  I blame myself for the times when I fell short of my goals and dreams.

I blame myself when I forget something relatively small because I forget that I am human.

Because I am so hard on myself, I tend to really rob myself of grace when others give me a tough time about mistakes.  For some reason, ever since I was young, I believed that I needed to be my own worse critic, so when someone else is tougher on me than I am on myself, I raise my level of self-criticism.

I forget that my faith is one that is all about grace.  I neglect to acknowledge that God is pouring copious amounts of grace upon me even as I rob myself of the same. While I am generous in grace with others – mostly because that is the way I would want to be treated – I can not gift the same to myself.

Technically, living in my own critical, graceless head is hell because there is a wall between me and God’s mercy. If hell exists, it can’t be any worse than this, I now think to myself.

There have been times in my past when I’ve noticed that my soul is either filled with rage against me or completely empty.  My soul has lacked love from me, and now is the time to work on filling up that tank with something positive, not the negative it has become accustomed to.

So today I open myself up to the world of my greatest shortcoming: lacking self-grace.  Today, I move towards loving myself, knowing that I will continue to be human and continue to make mistakes.  And sometimes, what I will do will hurt someone else – not because I want it to, but because we all overlook others.  But now when I make those errors, it’s my call to begin the process of forgiveness, to extend reconciliation not only to neighbor but to self.

This new project of mine can be best summed up in the words of Florence + The Machine’s song “Shake It Out”:

And I am done with my graceless heart
So tonight I’m gonna cut it out and then restart

Dear graceless heart, it’s time for you to go.  It’s time to heal from your scars.  It’s time to embrace grace as a way of living.

Single in the Sanctuary: In Search of a “Normal Life”

10 Tuesday May 2016

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© 2004 Paramount Pictures and Dreamworks Pictures. All Rights Reserved.

True confession: I have had many moments when I wish I was a Stepford Wife…

Now, 90-95% of my life I wouldn’t want to be a cookie cutter girl.  And if you know me, you know that I’m far from being cut from the same cloth as everyone else.

In my twenties, I was a member of the Junior League.  As most of the members were wives with husbands who made upper-middle to lower-upper class salaries, my single self who made a lower-middle class non-profit salary felt extremely out of place.  There were more times in those early years when I wanted to have the lives of the women who surrounded me.

The harder I tried to have lives like theirs, the more I was being called away from that lifestyle.  I was a trapezoid-shaped peg attempting to fit into a round hole.

Since my twenties, I stopped caring about living the rich or semi-rich life and having a bazillion square foot house – especially now that I’m a pastor.  I appreciate being able to support myself and take pride in not “needing” a man to take care of me but rather having a man in my life to walk besides me.

Being single past your early-to-mid thirties is hard to swallow – mostly because we’re different than most of society.  Some days adapting to this is not exactly easy.  I remember questioning God and shaking my fist to the Divine.  Why can’t my life be as “ideal” as most of those around me, God?

Of course, ideal is what it looks like on the outside… We don’t know what happens offline…

Remember when Carrie Bradshaw says to her friends in a season two episode of Sex and the City “The world is made up of two types of women: the simple girls and the Katie girls.  I’m a Katie girl.”  The “Katie girl” is in reference to Barbara Streisand’s character in The Way We Were.  Carrie was another trapezoid-shaped peg trying to fit into a round hole.    There are people who follow social graces, speak well, dress impeccably, have perfect home and look like a polished human being.  That was not Carrie Bradshaw.

That is not me.  And at 43, I’m pretty resigned to the fact that it will never be me.

I wasn’t made to be a Stepford Wife or president of Junior League or a simple girl or a cookie-cutter life.  I wasn’t called to have a life that mirrors most everyone else.  I wasn’t made to be the same as most of my friends and colleagues.  I am quirky, nerdy, weird and wonderfully made.

I aspire to one day own a townhouse.  I hope to have a smaller wedding someday that reflects who we are as a couple and looks much less like a production.  I hope to keep preaching, keep writing, keep advocating and keep being just slightly more quirky than most people I know.

Simple Girls, Stepford Wives and normal people who fit the mold of a cookie-cutter (if they truly exist) are just as much made in God’s image, loved by God, used by God and are called by God.  And those of us who are “Katie girls” who don’t fit molds and are weird and nerdy and complicated in almost every part of their lives are also made in God’s image, loved by God, used by God and are called by God.  We are all just asked by God to share God’s love in a variety of ways.

In the words of Oscar Wilde “Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.”

 

 

 

Single in the Sanctuary: To My Never-Existed 18-Year-Old

28 Thursday Apr 2016

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merrygoround2When I was young, I thought I was going to have children.  I thought I was going to have my first child at 25 after getting married at 22.  I was so sure that this was the way that my life was going to turn out.

For years I wanted to have children.  And then something changed.  Maybe it was turning 40 before meeting an appropriate significant other.  Maybe it was enjoying my child-free life the way it was.  Maybe it was meeting someone who I could see spending time with as a couple… not a family.

As I see my friends’ children growing more and more as each year passes, I think to myself “there is no way that I could be a mom of a child of this age.”

And then it hit me: if I would have had my child when I planned on having one, I would have an 18-year-old now as I am now 43.

I would see her or him graduating high school and making decisions on where they would go for college.  I would see them getting ready for their senior prom.  I may be facing the beginning of empty-nest syndrome.  I’d be warning him or her about the dangers of drinking too much, setting your drink down at a bar or party, making sure to call when they got to where they were going and reminding them to be safe when it came to sex and driving.

I would think about how quickly those childhood years went and hoped it would have gone more slowly.  And a small part of me would be relieved that they were finally an adult and I could begin the next chapter of my life.

Instead, I don’t have any of this.  Do I wish I would have had these experiences?  Maybe?  Probably?  Do I feel sad that it never happened?  Not too often at all.

Will I regret the way my life turned out?  Probably not regarding children.  Occasionally, twinges of wonder rattle my soul.  And occasionally the musing that I may have missed something sacred.  But I’ve found mothering moments.  I’ve given birth to dreams.

And I look forward to watching my dreams grow from their infantile stage into mature realities.

 

Single in the Sanctuary – When the Ashes Remain

11 Thursday Feb 2016

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imageAsh Wednesday.  Dust donning our foreheads as we remember our frailty, our mortality, our mistakes.

But for those who have been through tough relationships in our younger days, the ashes upon our foreheads represents the residue left behind from past loves.

It’s not that we usually dwell on many memories or wish that life worked out differently with the one who is no longer in our lives.  But the matted dusty remains symbolize the tiny bits of grime left on our hearts from broken relationships.

The dust collects after someone has cheated.  Specks of dirt linger after hurtful words are hurled at us. The glowing embers of hope that once warmed us now shine no more.

Maybe we began with clean slates and pristine hearts.  Slowly over time, the fragments of dirt settled, leaving our souls just a bit more smudged.

So on Ash Wednesday, we not only remember our morality, we also remember how our spirits have been tarnished along the way.  And we remember how God can take our ashed pasts and transforms them into something that glows no matter what has happened and who hurt us.

My Annual Midlife Crisis

29 Tuesday Dec 2015

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Last night, I was watching Noah Baumbach’s recent film While We’re Young.  A forty-something childless couple begins to hang out with a twenty-something, spontaneous, energetic couple.  Being influenced by the junior husband and wife, the elder couple (which, of course, is only a year or two older than I am today) starts to change their activities to revive their aging lives.  Without giving much of the plot away, their new lifestyle finds its expiration date, naturally.

In the ebb and flow to life, the two Gen-Xers eventually face the missing elements of their lives with honesty.  Josh (Ben Stiller) says to Cornelia (Naomi Watts), “I’m 44 and there are things I will never do.  Things I won’t have.”

Josh’s words ring true to many of us who have crossed the threshold into our early middle-age years.  We begin to take inventory of what we’ve attained and what we haven’t.  We stop running from the mirror which indicates our current lives and our actual ages.

And, for the first time, we admit that there will be things that we’ll never do or have.

Each year, in the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day, I take stock of what I’ve accomplished in the past year as well as the mistakes I’ve made.  I try to offer myself some grace as I confront shortcomings.  But mostly I sit with the melancholy of not having certain things in my life and the achievements that I haven’t yet grasped.

Admittedly, there are always tears in the week between Christmas and New Year’s.

I’m 42 years old.  As much as I’m 19 years old in my heart, I’m a middle-aged woman.  There are some things I will never do and never have.  At this point, I probably won’t have a child and definitely won’t give birth to one.  I’ll never win any major awards, run a marathon, skydive (totally fine with that one) or become a US president, senator or congresswoman.  I won’t be a millionaire or a physician.  I’m ready to leave some of those possibilities behind, and others may take a while to toss aside.

But as I look ahead, there still is life.  I still have the chance to walk a marathon, write a book, influence lives and advocate for the voiceless.  I will sit with people as their life slows down.  I’ll meet new people and speak my truth in new ways. Life may not yet be quite half-over for me, so some of the things I dreamed about are still possible.  And while my body doesn’t look or work the same way it did 10 or 20 years ago, my mind continues to grow and my confidence blooms.

What 2016 will bring – I’m not sure.  But as my body ages and the expected aches begin to intensify and multiply, my vigorous mind and soul will continue to listen for God’s relentless call for my life.