White Horse Myth

This morning I was listening to Dr. Brené Brown from the University of Houston speak on “shame and vulnerability.”  In her talk she made a remark that struck me at the core.  She said that a man at one of her book signings stated that ladies would rather see their men die on the white horse than for their men to truly reveal their shame.  I have no doubt that men believe this.

What a fabulous psychology to keep men and women from living fully alive together in harmony!

Men, real women do not believe this.  For those of us who adore our spouse and want to share our lives and hearts with them, well, it goes like this…We desperately want to be in the vault with you.  Our greatest, most fulfilling moments in the relationship come at points of sincere vulnerability.  Whether it be a moment of intense failure or sadness, a moment of riding to great heights or even just a moment of impulse – we want to be there.  We want to feel the emotions, hear the sounds, know the intent – we want the whole experience, not the modified version from atop the horse.

Women who do not know themselves well or have not come to a place of wholeness might desire an outreached arm pulling them from the mud pit, but that desire should be fleeting – it isn’t a relationship builder.  Jesus is the perpetual white knight that pulls society and His children from the pit daily, not a man.

Real men, you beautiful creatures that work hard for your family and spoil your children with your presence – YOU are enough.  I can assure you that the white horse is a myth.  No man looks hot straddling a white horse. Seriously.

My husband has been to some incredible mountaintops of achievement.  He is the type of man that could assume a lofty position, but let me be clear – when his hazel eyes see into my soul and connects to my most vulnerable of ideas and emotions and declares, “me, too” there is no white horse moment that could trump such an experience.  His reality is captivating.

I do not want to gaze upon my man on a white horse.  I desire to meet him in the vault every evening, just the two of us.

Accept Love

The hardest lesson I have ever learned as an adult is to accept love.

The more that I listen, the more that I experience – the more I realize that I am not alone in my lack of acceptance of love.  It is so much easier to give when you’ve been trained.  It is so much easier to sacrifice when you know that as the expectation.  But who teaches us to accept love?

Look to the Toddlers.  Meet Ella Kate…

she loves wearing a tiara to school (it makes her feel special), she loves to receive hugs, she loves when you bring her a treat, she loves when you push her on the swing, she loves when you are there to greet her when she comes down the slide, she loves when you snuggle with her when she is tired (never apologizing for your sacrifice of all that you could be doing), she loves when you draw her a picture, she loves when you listen to her, she loves celebrating her birthday every month.

Ella Kate knows how to receive love.

I struggled with my closest of friends throwing me a birthday party last month.  I struggled with my mom taking me out for a rich gal lunch and treating me to a day of excess just because she loves me.  My birthday this year was a shower of kindness, goodness, extravagance and luxury.  Birthday brunch, birthday messages, birthday outfit, birthday shopping spree…how does one receive so much from so many?

Jesus says to come to Him like a child.  Children know how to receive love.

One of the saddest sights to see is a child, broken, unable to receive love or affection.  The tragedy of abuse is the lasting imprint it leaves on a child’s heart.  Just like wet cement when a leaf settles on it while it is drying, so is a heart with an imprint of abuse.  Toddlers were meant to receive love.

We are all toddlers.  We are all designed to receive love – some of us have just been targeted by the enemy and are hearing the false message, “you must always earn what you get.”

In March an accomplished teenager who gave way more than she was able to receive decided to hang herself. At her funeral the theme was simply, “she was not able to receive love.”  What a tragedy.

Today, a forty-six year old woman lost her battle to cancer, but she did not lose the battle of receiving love. She, like many cancer patients, remembered the ways of the toddler – relishing the moments, accepting the hugs and believing the intent.

Don’t wait to get a horrid diagnosis to learn to receive the free gift of love from others.  Look to the toddlers, and don’t forget to say, “thank you.”

Honesty Among Men

If you’ve known me at all, you know I speak candidly about the importance of our humility before God. Throughout the Bible you see example after example of man’s greatest asset being, “to walk humbly with our God.”

But what about with each other?  What is our greatest asset with one another?  I believe it is to live honestly. Our nature is to gravitate toward the soul in the room that is comfortable in their own skin.  Who really makes it a quest to find the loud, storytelling idiot at the dinner party that begins each paragraph with an “I”?  If you are on a quest to find him or her, you know full well that is it to laugh hysterically at the antics later with your date.

Mother Teresa lived honest.  She walked humbly with her God and she lived honest.

Honesty fosters intimacy.  No one holds the answers to a perfect life or full-time happiness.  Those brave souls willing to pull off their masks look directly into the eyes of their listener – transparent intimacy.  Mask entertain, but will never connect, they are not living creations – only colorful distractions.

Honesty promotes reality.  We live in a world of images and messaging.  It is unfortunate that so many have become a Facebook icon and lost the art of presenting themselves in light of reality. Images have to be maintained, honesty lives in the present – taking each moment in for what it is and what it feels like to walk through it.

Honesty encourages healing.  I am blessed to be a part of an intimate group of women that share directly from their hearts.  Through our stories and our experiences we’ve been able to help each other heal our common wounds.  Our leader took off her mask of togetherness and her high-society image to replace it with a story of pain and redemption.  That night changed our climate – it created a safe environment for honest healing.

Honesty is freedom.  Our American culture has created a breed of working men and women stuck in the spider web of lies.  The corporate do’s and don’ts is a book never read in college yet practiced widely among our workforce.  Check out the push back.  How many movements of simplicity and freedom have come from the rebels not willing to submit to this cultural phenomenon?  Too many to mention.  Honesty is the umbrella over simplicity, without it you can never arrive at simple living.  Yet with it, you are free to roam in any genre of life.  Your occupation is no longer confining because regardless of what collar you are sporting, you live fearlessly honest.

Honesty provides a goodnight’s sleep.  I am embarrassed to admit the number of evenings that I laid awake hoping that the timing of my comments or conversations landed so perfectly as to not expose my flowery rhetoric simply called white lies.  You need not expose yourself here.  I will do it for both of us.  It is painful.  It is frightening.  When you’ve chosen to be dishonest in your conversations, you’ve chosen to have a sleepless night or two.  You’ve chosen to lose your own respect and battle the ugliness of the human spirit.  An honest day provides a goodnight’s sleep.

Honesty under its hierarchy of humility engages humanity.  How can I say that?  How could I not, really. When our lives are under the direction of our Creator, we cannot help but to love His creation.  With downed defenses, we are no longer competing with our siblings we are free to love them. Free to look at them through the lenses of value and purpose.  With honest reflection, we are all one poor decision away from being in a position of need.  Honesty tells us that we are privileged if we have no apparent needs.  Only a fool believes that life is constant and that their needs will always be met.  If you are that fool, please change.  Please realize that you live in a world of uncertainty and that if you are blessed –  it is in fact a blessing.  Many peoples and populations have unmatched skill sets, yet they find themselves in need.  An honest person, under divine authority, recognizes their own mortality and insignificance outside of a universal hierarchy.  If you are a CEO, you remain, as insignificant as the rest of us outside of the purpose of your own creation.

“I hope I shall possess firmness and virtue enough to maintain what I consider the most enviable of all titles, the character of an honest man.”  

George Washington

Me, too, George…me, too.

the Butterfly

The butterfly leaves behind the work and pain of the caterpillar.

I have an interesting relationship with the butterfly.  When my dad passed away the first sign of his lingering existence came in the form of an orange butterfly.  I know that seems crazy, but bear with me.  When Eden was only five we discovered she had an amazing talent – she shined at the piano.  Mind you, my dad played the piano for a living and I have no clue where to even begin when I sit at a piano, but not Eden.  Her tiny fingers glided over each key as she confidently knew the sound it would make.  I was enamored.

One special, beautiful day I pulled up to her piano lesson and found a gorgeous, orange butterfly circling our car.  Almost with an unmatched enthusiasm to say, “I cannot wait to escort you, little child, to the piano.”

At first, I dismissed the butterfly.  Although curious, I was not an interpreter of signs or wonders – just a mom dropping off her kid at piano lessons.

The next week, the butterfly was there again, greeting us in the same fashion and again, escorting the apple of my eye all the way to the piano.  By the third week I was open to interpreting the significance of the butterfly. Orange?  Hmm…my dad was an Oklahoma State University fraternity boy that someone had just mentioned seeing his picture in the basement.  Piano lessons…hmmm…my dad made his living from his talent of playing the piano.  Dad?

The orange butterfly brought tears.  The orange butterfly brought questions.  The orange butterfly, most importantly, brought a life lesson.

As I studied the butterfly I began to realize that it spent more time as a caterpillar than a butterfly.  What an example of hard work and struggle, preparing for the biggest change known in the insect world.  The caterpillar must strategize for change.  The caterpillar plans for a full body change knowing that it is the last two weeks of life in full glory.

Aren’t we the same?  Isn’t it years of life focused on ambition, titles, and significance…only to find that freedom is more important?

The butterfly leaves and never returns, unlike the salmon.  The butterfly spends two weeks relishing in self-actualization on display.  The butterfly is not only beautiful, but free.

My daughter and I are training for a run right now.  As we left the back porch ready to embark on a two-and-half mile run the orange butterfly joined us.  I was instantly reminded of my dad’s spirit, one of freedom, one of pursuit.  As we ran, Eden decided it would be fun to run through a muddy puddle.  I laughed at my cautious child wishing to be rebellious, even if for only a moment, and looked back at the footprints.  Two sets, mine and hers.  Two butterflies running freely.  Two girls given the privilege of freedom from what the world would tell us we must be.  Two adventurers willing, if only for a brief moment, to fly.

Our Father gives us that privilege.  Our Father causes us, the once struggling caterpillar, to shed the unwanted struggles and forget.  He causes us to fly.  He creates the beauty.

The butterfly leaves behind the work and pain of the caterpillar.  The butterfly is known by the Creator.

Meeting in the Middle

Commercials making me aware of the intense poverty that exist in our world today brings tears and then an overwhelming sense of guilt.  Why was I given so much?  Where are we different that I should live so free and comfortable and those in need live so fearful of not being fed or clothed?

“But the brother of humble circumstances is to glory in his high position; and the rich man is to glory in his humiliation, because like flowering grass he will pass away.”  James 1:10 (NAS)

How amazing that James, the brother of Jesus, gives a perspective of meeting in the middle through eternal perspectives.  On the one hand, those who are hurting financially need not feel less than those who are not. They are only humble in their circumstances.  With an eternal view – they are princes and princesses in a pauper world waiting for their glory and crowns to be witnessed by the world at the end of the age.  Where as on the other hand, those who are not in humble circumstances are to be cognizant of their own mortality and the fate of every human being – death.

Take note if you are not in humble circumstances financially; Jesus himself tells a story about a rather rich man.  He enjoyed his riches so much that he decided to build bigger and better to contain his riches, banking on them for tomorrow and sealing his own fate.  He died unexpectedly.

Why didn’t he share?  Maybe had he been aware of his own morality, he might of thought about giving to the royalty among us instead of hoarding to keep himself on his manmade throne where he was able to be his own god.

Poor?  Don’t forget your high position, those of you who have obtained it.

Rich?  Don’t forget that you are not better, “He who mocks the poor taunts his Maker..” Proverbs 17:5

Thank you, Beth Moore, for helping me realize that guilt should not be the emotion that comes to mind when I see a commercial or drive through a rough part in the city…eternal perspectives that have us meeting in the middle.  We are more alike than different.  Maybe those in humble circumstances have much more to give than those of us that serve a meal or donate our clothes.

A Man’s Power

Don’t tell my husband, but I believe he is the emotional hub of our home.  I am fully convinced that his mood, his affirmation and most importantly, his affections, directly impact Eden and I more than any other physically present factor.

The two of us, Eden and I, pull into the CVS parking lot where I am meeting Brian so that the two of them have plenty of time to get to Stomp, it is playing downtown.  Eden flips the mirror in the car, looks at herself, looks at me and promptly ask, “do you think I look pretty?”  My heart melted.  My sweet nine-year old is wanting to look pretty for her daddy.

I remember that feeling.  My parents were divorced, so often as a child, my dad and I dated.  He picked me up, usually took me out to eat and sometimes bowling or a movie.  I would spend time in front of mirrors and getting second opinions on outfits or hairstyles.  His perception of me became my reality of me.  He held such power in his words.  Most blessed was I that my dad was an affectionate man.

Eden has that same affection.  Eden also has a daddy that is able to tuck her in at night and make her feel safe when she believes that noises are coming from her closet.  Eden also has a dad that shares with her truth and reason.  His intelligence is beyond his PhD, he posses wisdom – understanding of God.  He teaches her what has been taught to him.

Men, you are so powerful.  You have no idea the power you posses in the homes you live in.  Seldom have I heard that a women shaped a child’s view of God.  Use your power wisely.

a Christian Question

My mornings begin, when done right, with a soothing cup of coffee and a longstanding engagement of getting to know God.  Sometimes, I walk away from the encounter bolstered and excited about what’s next; and sometimes I walk away questioning my very nature and state of understanding.  A few mornings ago, I felt like I was handed a question.  I have been chewing on this question since it was asked, so I have decided to share it with you.

Jesus taught that the kingdom of heaven can be compared to a treasure hidden in a field; which when a man finds it, he conceals, and for the joy of finding it, goes and sells everything that he has, and buys the field. (1)  Or, like a precious pearl, with again, selling everything to buy it. (2)

The question I was asked, “What did you sell?”  ”What was everything to you before you met Me?”

Often in church we camp out on losing our life to Christ or denying ourselves to follow, which is in Scripture;  but how often do we nail down what that loss was to us?  How often are we vulnerable enough to confess what we sold for that precious pearl?  And even more vulnerable – how many of us are pawning off parts of that great field we bought to buy back some of what we’ve sold?

If you have not bought the field, well, this question is not directed at you; but for those of us who had that moment when we sold it all…well, let’s really nail down what we sold to make sure we aren’t trying to buy it back.

Jesus could have said that the kingdom of heaven was like a big ol’ gift of a pearl given to you from your Daddy, but he didn’t.  He said, “..what shall a man give in exchange for his life?” (3)

We all know that there is nothing we own that could buy this kind of love and life, but maybe it is time to survey the cost.

(1) Matthew 13:44

(2) Matthew 13:46

(3) Matthew 16:26

 

W.O.V.E.N

“The greatest explorer on this earth never takes voyages as long as those of the man who                    descends to the depth of his heart.”  ~Julien Green

We all have stories.  We all have scars on our heart from experiences that brought us pain, as well as beautiful, red plump areas from intense joy and happiness.  In this respect, we are all on the same page.  But some of us are brave enough to go deep into the valley of our heart – the dark, sometimes distorted, areas of the journey of life.

My bravery comes from taking the journey with a group of women who have become sisters.  We all share the same Daddy.  We all share a passion to be what our Daddy created in His image.  And we all share love. God is love.  We hold nothing more sacred in our group than that love.

Now, we are becoming warriors.

You might be baffled with my statement and it just might seem silly to you that a group of women could become warriors – after all, aren’t groups of women typically emotional and involve coffee?  Sometimes.  But sometimes women are brought together to fight in a battle that is much larger than the crowds at the mall in December.  Sometimes, women are asked to fight in the epic battle of good vs. evil.  Sometimes, women are asked to fight against whispers of hate from the enemy robbing them of peace, robbing them of acceptance…robbing them of God’s best.

My platoon is in training; becoming equipped with truth and honest reflection of what has been and what could be with understanding.  My sojourners are gorgeous.  Each one of them carries a flame that has been lit and a perseverance that is contagious.

I cannot imagine crossing enemy lines without my sisters.

“Strength and Honor!”

http://thepathlesschosen.com/books/to_be_told/to_be_told_kit.html

No U-Turn

Ever put on an event that everything went off without a hitch?  The flowers arrived and bloomed thirty minutes before the guests started arriving.  The balloons staggered with near perfection.  The moisture in the cake had everyone begging for the name of the baker.

Well, this blog is about the exact opposite.

Last night my sister and I threw my mom’s 60th birthday party.  The cooler holding the drinks had a major leak.  The icing on the cupcakes looked like a five-year old did them.  The guy who did the balloons never tied them off, only used string – so wilted black balloons….The room was smaller than expected.  And of course, my personal disaster and favorite, the photo is of the party supplies that were so painfully ordered on-line that arrived just as soon as the party was over.

As I pulled away this morning from the hotel with my car jammed with leftovers and lessons of last night, I reflected. Apparently, too much, because I found myself headed to Arkansas.  Trapped on a highway that only had “No U-Turn” posted everywhere and, of course,  no noticeable exit signs; I felt a surge of panic.  At what point had I taken a wrong turn and not noticed until now?

As the adrenaline flushed through my veins, I found myself pontificating about how this is a perfect illustration of life and the hereafter.

We are ALL just one bad decision away from going the wrong way!  Maybe that is why God speaks so clearly about not judging each other.  For part of the journey, I didn’t even know I was lost yet.  Isn’t that how life is sometimes?  We get so far gone that we don’t even realize that we’ve taken a wrong turn – all we feel is the panic.

When I finally found an exit, I wailed with excitement.  I got to turn around – fresh start.  And as I headed in the opposite direction, I curiously eyed each driver I was passing going the other way – were they lost?  Were they as excited to see the exit as I was?  Maybe they still hadn’t realized they were lost and wouldn’t even see the exit.  Who am I to judge?  I’ve been lost.

As soon as I started seeing landmarks that let me know I was on my way home, I felt this enormous amount of peace. I was headed home.  I was on the right road, going the right direction.  I thanked God for the epiphany and thanked God for the road that leads us ALL home.

Going home is always the shortest distance on a trip….because our heart knows the way home and praise Him who puts up “No U-Turn” signs all the way home!

the Guitar

This weekend, I cried.

Tears for my friend who lost her mom.  Tears of gratitude for a host of beautiful, talented friends who shine with God’s Spirit; and all of us throwing a big bash in our friend’s honor.

Then, I got the call.  A sweet lady that I have never met named Judy on the other end saying, “hey, we are on 1-40 and I’ve got your dad’s guitar, where do you wanna meet?”

This isn’t just any guitar.  This is the guitar that laid across my knees as I sat in my daddy’s lap while his fingers gently strummed melodies that I translated as complete adoration for me.  I don’t remember my life with my dad without this guitar.  Seems ironic that my dad played the piano for a living, but yet his guitar encompasses our closeness.

“How about the Memorial exit?” I said.

Sitting in the car, waiting, I thought about how many years it has been since my dad passed away.  I thought about how young he was to be battling cancer and how courageous he fought it.

He wasn’t my hero until it was too late to tell him.  Every little girl wants to be the apple of their daddy’s eye.  In that respect, I was like every little girl; but unfortunately, I didn’t see that his world had always revolved around me until I moved out of his world.  That is one of the ugly truths about divorce; sometimes, the children move away.

Judy steps out of the car, happy and hyper.  I loved her instantly.  She hands me the guitar in its case.  I smile and politely say thank you and get back in my car.  I cried the whole way home.  Some tears just ran down with no explanation, just a heart overflowing.

After sharing my latest prize-possession with my family, I busted out the ol’ video camcorder and promptly played a video of dad playing the guitar to Eden.  She sat curiously in my lap watching her granddad play a tune and reaching for the strings.  She was all of nine months old.

So, I have given you where I have been with this guitar and where I was as I got it, but now…let me tell you where I am going.  I am going to learn to play this dearly beloved guitar so that I can someday put Eden’s kiddos in my lap and play them a memory.