My chair. Your chair.

Goldilocks tried out every chair in the Bear’s home.  Some too big, some too small – until finally, the famous, “just right!”

We are all, at some point, on the quest for labeling ourselves and claiming an identity a fit.  It is unfortunate that many of us have spent too much time in a chair that was way too small claiming a perfect fit out of fear of the unknown.  Although painful, it makes sense that we’d find ourselves stuffed in a chair if the need for the label was more important than the journey.

And then, of course, I am sure we’ve all had those moments that we’ve felt placed in the largest of chairs with the pressure of filling the seat by spreading ourselves so very thin that we became unrecognizable.  Those moments can later lead to embarrassment as we recall the bullhorn we used to declare our worth or value.

Our chairs tell our stories.  How we approach them, how we sample them or not sample them, and most importantly – how we value them.  Do we place more significance on the label, the color or the size?  Do we look for the chair that best fits us or are we seeking the chair that everyone else wants?

Ironically enough for me, my chair turned out to be a bench.  It doesn’t have a designer label.  It doesn’t even have arms.  At times I feel like the most valuable player sitting on the bench after a great play and other times I sit on the bench as a peaceful park resident taking in all the natural beauty.  I have learned to, “go with it.”

Remember in college when your t-shirts told the story of your identity and experiences, and then you become a new, young professional and you wondered why you lived in those shirts for four years?  That’s how I feel now.

I am embracing the bench.  The lack of identity.  The lack of commitment to uphold an image.  The bench is good.  I know the Carpenter who made my bench, so I am confident that it will be stable and steady all of the days of my life.

What does your chair look like?

Everybody Needs A…

If you sat down and made a list of the top five most important things in your life, I bet you’d find they weren’t things at all.  Double, dog dare you to do it.

I bet they are people.

Everybody needs a posse.  Young or old, rich or poor, small or large; it doesn’t matter – you desire a posse. We all do.  We’ve been designed to crave a posse.

How do we judge a dead man?  By his posse.  Don’t tell me that you haven’t attended a funeral and made note of a lack of a man’s posse or revered a man by his posse.

The most emotionally healthy people I know have a posse.  My dear, sweet mother in-law has a church kitchen posse.  Women in her life that have cooked through raising kids, putting them through college, marrying them off, welcoming grand babies into the world, and so on.  Her posse is a representation of love, commitment and service.

My husband’s posse nicknamed themselves the “fruitcake society.”  That group went through an early mid-life crisis together and ventured out to enjoy crazy hiking trips and shirtless golf in sub-zero temperatures. Although they might have been misunderstood by older men during that time, they all found themselves supporting living fully alive.  All of them remain married and satisfied.

I heard a quote recently, an old Al Gore quote.  He stated, “If you are going after Jesse James, you ought to organize the posse first.”  What a statement.  What a concept.  My posse resembles that statement.

Our posse is tackling living in a fallen world and being a light worth following.  What we are about and after is greater than a here and now moment, so much more than being a posse of purses and shoes (although I can safely say we all enjoy them).  Our camaraderie is evident and our closeness is contagious.

The philosopher Aristotle said, “In poverty and other misfortunes of life, true friends are a sure refuge. They keep the young out of mischief; they comfort and aid the old in their weakness, and they incite those in the prime of life to noble deeds.”

Researchers are suggesting that lack of “friendships” could be the core issue of many of our societal problems.  Most would agree that mankind was meant to engage with one another.  Science and Scripture state the same concept; just consider the mission of Jesus Christ.  He came to gather…yes, gather.  Think of all the large gatherings and relationship building activities He initiated.

Everybody needs a posse.

Tom Hudson’s Posse

Whoa Man

Since the day I got married I have been inundated with advice of how to be a godly wife.  I attended numerous Bible studies opening my eyes to the concept of submission, and for a time, drank the Kool-Aid of the 50′s model of womanhood.  I got burned.

As I scurried around organizing pantries, meal planning and graphing our relational prayer request; I left my man wanting.  Noticeably too tired to make any kind of routine out of seduction and too guilt-ridden to relax, I found myself – well, alone in a clean house.

I wish I could say that weeks went by and then I woke up to realize what I am about to share, but that would be a lie.  More like…years went by, like lots of them, and then I slowly warmed to the idea that maybe my man knows more about his own needs than the women’s ministry leaders at church.

How many different ways can us woman hear, “position yourself under” without numbing to the concept and taking the easy road of just becoming numb and dumb?

Men don’t want your blank stares and apathetic nods.  Ask them.  If you have provided a safe environment for them to share their deepest desires, they will tell you.  If you haven’t, you will receive an answer that you’ve already pre-wired your man to say because he’s been reprimanded too many times for being honest.  (I speak from experience, for those of you who feel like I just put a dagger in your back.)

Do you know what men want?

No, not naturally, because you are not a man.

You know what a woman wants and I bet you marinate on those desires more than you would like to admit. We all do.

This past week I have been reading, Love & Respect, by Dr. Emerson Eggerichs.  In the book he quoted a verse in 1 Corinthians chapter seven talking about how a good wife is “concerned about what pleases her husband” and vice-versa.  Although the book took a different approach to the verse, I spent all night pondering what I thought my husband would actually say to what pleases him.

In the past, I would have looked at my notes from the numerous studies which would have alluded to the Titus verse of women teaching women how to take care of their homes, children and husbands.  Typically these studies are great manuals for those of us who grew up with working moms to see the logistics of how to run a home when you are the CEO of it.  Hats off to some of those applications; we all eat better because of them.

But according to my man, and I doubt he was created in a vacuum, what pleases him is not my “work” around the house.  What pleases him is not too different from what pleased the ancient kings – to be lured…to be seduced.  Not as an object, but as a woman.

Ruth did not fix Boaz a pot roast in hopes of getting his attention.  She dressed to the nines and positioned herself beautifully and most sensual at the foot of his bed.

In modern times, married ladies, that could look like reacting to your man with the same lure you used to land your man when you were dating.  Or possibly just choosing to ditch the sweats when you aren’t actually working out.

Obviously, I have only begun to scratch the surface of this topic and will continue to study the implications of a shift from a “woe man” (due to so many chores) and a “whoa man” (enhancing beauty and lure to make my man’s jaw drop).

the GYM remedy

The other day I was chatting with a friend who was talking about “the GYM” post.  As we  talked more, I told her about what the next morning was like after that post.  She laughed and said, “seriously you’ve got to tell…the rest of the story….”

So, here I go.

Like most things in my life, I was sharing with God my personal inadequacies about the gym.  And like most times, I wasn’t sure if He was listening or not.  (Shame on me for ever thinking that.)

I wake up the day after the post and brew my coffee and sit in my usual spot on the sofa in hopes of comprehending just a glimpse of wisdom or understanding as I slowly creep through the Chronological Bible.

To my utter shock I read a letter from Paul to the church at Corinth encouraging them not to get hung up on what they look like, but to be cognizant that they are in a temporary shell of what they will be one day.  He pleads with them to walk by faith and grow their hearts.  He concludes with why he wants them to grow in their heart concepts, so that…”you may have something to answer to those who themselves are boasting in physical appearance, and not in the heart.” (2 Cor. 5:12)

In the end, the heart wins.

So, this gal is going to throw on her mismatched clothes and head to the gym.  How silly that such things would even throw me a curve ball.

 

the GYM

Journaling through a crisis boost your immune system by 25% according to Dr. James Pennebaker, leading researcher and esteemed professor.

This blog has always been my “journal” – and well, now, I am having a slight crisis.  Our family joined a mainstream gym.

Brian needed an indoor pool for triathlon training.  Eden wanted  more workout options and well, I, took one for the team.

If you know me, you probably wonder why this would be a crisis considering I love to run and am pretty athletic, you’d think this would be my crowd…and maybe if I could put down the brownie and stop eating the cheesy enchilada that just left my fork to my mouth, I might just love the notion of being surrounded by fabulous figures and health nuts – and who knows, maybe I will love it.  But not today.

Today, I walk in and immediately compare everyone’s best to my worst.  I almost feel exposed, as if I have lived in a village where I have been Queen only to find myself in a kingdom of billions of queens.  (If you aren’t brave enough to express thoughts of insecurities, please, allow me to do it for you.  I have no shame.)

I think women in general are the worst for comparing themselves at personal lows to pedestal gals.  It is almost part of the female make-up.  A guy is more likely to want to throw down a physical challenge – a game of basketball declares their value, never mind the tube of fat hanging down to mid-thigh.

The other day some heavier, older ladies stood in the locker room totally self-deprecating to a point I had to leave or intervene.  Being the new kid on the block, I left, but it was painful.  Never mind that these two women were most likely incredible mothers and grandmothers, the GYM, takes no prisoners.

Another exposed insecurity is my lack of ability to dress for the GYM.  When I run out my backdoor and hit the trail, I typically haven’t brushed my teeth and my running clothes are a mis-matched, whatever feels the best and is clean, ensemble.  But the GYM, well, it requires actual outfits.  I can’t stand gym outfits.  I just want to wear a t-shirt that says, “My greatest asset is between my ribcage.”

I can feel my immune system elevating as I write.  Surely, I am not the only one who has gone to great measures to avoid a gym membership.

But now, it is time to embrace the new challenge of the GYM.  My vow to myself is this:  I vow to go to the GYM with an open mind and to give others at the GYM an opportunity to inspire me instead of condemn me.  I vow to treat the GYM as any other place I go, a place to meet wonderful people and hear their stories.

hmm….the GYM…

Free Love

If you’ve ever stepped foot in a church or read the Bible, you’ve heard, “love keeps no record of wrongs.”  It is part of the definition of love.

For most of my life, I assumed that definition meant that I was to forgive others.  Simple.  I forgive.

Oh, but the catch…if it suits me and is an account worth remembering to get my way or make someone feel as if they owe me, well, in those “rare” instances it is permissible to bring up a forgiven topic.

That is not free love.  As a matter of fact, love is found nowhere in that definition.  Love is keeping no account of a wrong suffered.  Love is freedom.  When we love, we are free.  When we take into account a wrong suffered or hang on to a story about being “done wrong,” well, we are weighing ourselves down.

I doubt very seriously that Jesus is going to sit around on His throne and say, “remember that time you had five husbands and I called you out at the well?”

Don’t get caught being a simple thinker.  Forgive and actually drop the offense.

Love is free.

Brian and I are about to celebrate our 18th wedding anniversary.  If we kept a record of wrong we would both be so bitter, so burdened that we would miss the best parts of our relationship.  Our love would be so darn expensive that neither one of us could afford each other.

Real love is free and forgiveness is a choice.  If you are going to choose it – forget.

Like many things in the Bible, most people assume that God is making our lives more difficult by putting down so many absolutes.  But actually, it is just the opposite.  God is giving us freedom.  By asking us to be like ducks and allowing offenses to slide off our back, He is actually freeing us from carrying the pain, hurt and mistrust.  He is also showing us grace and giving it to us freely.

If you are described as a great lover, if you are known for your love…well, then carry on.  But if you struggle in your relationships, may I suggest that you give away your love?  Maybe, just maybe, you will find that love is free after all and that you were just too expensive for others to purchase your love.

First Things First

Somewhere on an arbitrary list is an item labeled, “organize the 2009 pictures.”

If I had stayed on top of that list it would have had 2010, 2011 and a creeping 2012 added to it, but it doesn’t – because it is obviously not a priority.

First things are always first.  That’s the hard truth.  My calendar reveals the story of my heart and my passions.  Whether I like it or not, what I theorize about is only theory if it isn’t reflected in my actions.

Check out your own calendar.  Who gets your time and energy, not your “unplugged” time, but your engaged time?

(Huge pause because I am currently checking out my ten-year-old daughter’s Lego house that means a lot to her at this very moment.)

What, Who or Where is your first being spent?  Take an inventory.  The themes or reoccurring actions are what comes first.  These are your real priorities.

Sometimes we put things first to avoid guilt, shame or obligation put on us by other people.  Regardless of the negative motive, the result is the same – that behavior is first.  Avoiding is the priority.  What huge regrets we live with when we do that!

I don’t yet put all the first things first that I want right now, but I am learning how to pray about it.  My first step has been to quit praying that I would “be more to do more” and started praying that my actions and calendar would reflect the things that should be first in my life.

 

Run.

A few years ago I started dabbling in running.  Seriously, I did the “on” again, “off” again thing.  Some days when asked about being a runner, I would say, “well, I like to run a good 5k every so often for a good cause.”

At that point, running didn’t feed my soul.  It was an activity that seemed like the natural progression for anyone that was an athlete early on in life and had ignored whatever sport they enjoyed.  And for me, it seemed logical considering I have a husband that has been working toward running a marathon in all fifty states.

But once I realized the gift of running, things have dramatically changed.  Running is a big banner that says, “I can” for all of those times that you didn’t or couldn’t.  Running, if outdoors, is a reminder of how small we are in this world and how much beauty surrounds us.  Running is a hit of laughing gas at the dentist without any dental work.  Triumph.  Serenity.  Calm.

This morning, I laced up my shoes, grabbed my music and trotted across the grass to the trail.  As the brief crispness hit my face I thought about how the first few pounds on the pavement don’t hurt anymore and how I am so eager to get my half of banana down to get out there.  What a change.  Even my asthma inhaler sits unused.  What a blessing.

After reading, Heaven Is Here by Stephanie Nielson, I realized that I may not always be able to run and that while I am able I should enjoy it.  She survived a plane crash and eventually got the gift of running back, but for her it has been a long, hard road.  My road right now is primed and ready, my body is able and my head understands the need.

So, although I still sit and eat a bag of potato chips often and enjoy my chocolate chips and should not be heard when it comes to nutrition, I have found my voice as a running advocate.

If you can – Run.  My favorite shoes no longer have a two-inch heel to them.

The American Cell Phone

I am embarrassed.  My day was ruined by my cell phone.  What on earth?

This morning I ran a 5K.  I even spent time in the Greek studying Peter and his imprisonment and release, thanks to a fabulous angel that helped him escape.

Yet, at 11:30 a.m. I stood drop-jawed at US Cellular when I found out that my cell phone was D.O.A. and not returning to this life.  The rest of my day was spent in a daze.  I even began to cry as I realized that all of my contacts were lost.

Seriously, what on earth?

When did I get so reliant on my cell phone?  When did I get lonely without it?  Is this an American trend?

As I sat at Olive Garden waiting for my mom in-law and daughter for an hour, thanks to no cell phone to let them know I was there….I thought – long and hard.  I thought about once was and what now is.

Each ding symbolizes a task.  Each tone symbolizes a need.  I am needed and should perform instantly. Really?  It is such a reminder of a caring for a newborn.  Sounds equal work, work equals sleep deprivation, sleep deprivation means you are a good mom.  Really?

I am not always the sharpest tool in the shed, but I am sharp enough to realize that being inconsolable over a cell phone is simply wrong.  Has our culture become so obsessed with feelings of importance that we’ve forgotten what it feels like to wait?

Do you remember what it felt like as a kid to wait on your allowance?  Or to wait on the big game on Saturday?

Today, I forgot.  I am embarrassed to say that today I called my very best friend, Brian, my hubby and cried like a two-year-old that I lost my contacts and that my phone was D.O.A. and contained even my dad’s contact, whom has been gone for over five years.

No wonder other countries complain about us.  We are not always thinking clearly.  If you are one of the few of us that thinks clearly – congratulations – please teach us.

Tonight, like many things in my life, I am putting my cell phone on the proverbial alter to be sacrificed.  I was important before the dings.  I was important before the tones.  I was important because I was an original.

So, this original, will be going to bed a happy camper.  Happy because happiness comes from people not things and happy feelings come from knowing that God is in control and we are not.  My phone is D.O.A. and I am using a flip phone, but I am happy and content.  I do not need a phone to direct the course of my days.  I need a God who says it is okay to put the darn thing on silent.

 

 

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.