Talk is Cheap, Grace Isn't

There's an old cliche: put your money where your mouth is. We can all talk, and talk is cheap (there's another, for you). The value of what we say is exemplified in a few phrases, which came from where I'm sure there are many more. The things we stand for will be challenged, and there will be times when we lose our focus. It is completely human and it happens to everyone. The key is what we do when we realize we've gone off track.

The last time she saw me, a cousin of mine who reads much of my writing said, "You're always trying to define yourself." She said it like it was a bad thing, but it's something that, in being hyper-self-aware, I know and am on good terms with. I am someone who likes to know myself, which is a challenge as we are ever-changing beings. So I am constantly trying to define myself. I would almost go so far as to say I fear finding myself at a place where I do not know myself well. It's not necessarily that I pride myself on it, but that I think it's important.

For as much as I aim to know myself and be self-aware, I too am prone to the occasional one step back. I did that recently. As I've talked about before, I went through a partying stage after returning from YWAM (of all things). I call it a stage because there aren't many stupid things I've done that I really care about, but this - this was a stretch of being really stupid. Basically I drank a lot. Thankfully (believe me) I survived said stage relatively unscathed, save for the fact that you can't un-have experiences. I'd realized after a patchy night of celebrating a party-friend's birthday, it wasn't even close to smart and definitely not worthwhile. Ever since, I haven't disappointed myself.

Finally this fall, in spite of out of character isolation in reaction to stress, I felt like I was moving forward, almost exponentially. I was re-entering a heart-understanding of where God has me and what He wants me to do. This amid heights of anxiety and...then I cut loose, a little too hard. Nothing detrimental further than disappointing myself in a way I've been very done with. I don't often wear guilt, but I never want my talk to be cheap; I mean to mean what I say. So I brought it to God, this isn't who I am anymore, how did I do it again? He kindly reminded me of something that He had kindly told me several years ago when I was similarly at a loss on account of my weakness:

You can fail a thousand times, and still...

It wasn't to say there's a limit, but the opposite! That my imperfection isn't a hindrance to His grace; there is no hindrance to His grace.

So I have been lounging in something; not quite guilt, but...a tension. There is this tension of recognizing my imperfection but moving away from it to the best of my ability. There's no promise I won't fail again; that I won't eat my words and swallow my convictions, but because of Grace I can aspire to move forward.

Many people have a misconception about the biblical meaning of "repent". It doesn't just mean to feel sorry, but to turn around and go in the other direction. It's so tricky that Grace allows us to turn around and change that which we would not otherwise have the opportunity, let alone the will to change.

Thoughts on Doing What You Live For

Have you ever asked yourself: what do I live for? Not some morbid question of why am I alive, or even asking The Point - just: what do I live for? What gets your gears turning? What can you pour into yet walk away filled-up? What do you dream about? What do you long to grow in? What fascinates you?

So often we sell ourselves short thinking we don't deserve to do what we love. Whether it's because we deem it irresponsible, or because there's something seemingly more important to do...or several things more important to do. I myself am guilty of this; I sit down for a Writing Day - as I've affectionately and cleverly dubbed them - and do everything but.

See, for a lovely season, I would take my only untouchable hours of the week (my Saturday morning and afternoon) to just write. Whether it be blogging or journaling, or - in rare shining moments - working on a story. It's my introvert activity; when I don't want to be social but I want to be active, I go to write. I'm an ideas person, but not in the entrepreneurial way. Concepts. I'm also a verbal processor. I like stories. I love written communication; it's this complex tool, yet sort of like a Rubik's cube but with multiple solutions. In recent months, this sacred Saturday morning tradition has fallen by the wayside.

I get there, and it seems there are plenty of better things to do...yet when I wrangle myself into doing it, it's exactly what I need. I've had a few conversations here and there about writing. I've had some with folks who are doing what they love and have a passion for, about the leap it takes to prioritize it. These conversations have been encouraging and for lack of a better word, convicting. They help subdue the commit-aphob in me that says I should probably try to learn how to be [a million times] more responsible before I aim to be more creative or invest time and money into learning more about relationships. These conversations silence the voice of insecurity that doesn't even want to try because I'm still learning.

The thing is that when I write, when I problem-solve in relationships, or when I photograph - whatever it may be, if it's life-giving the responsibility falls in line. When I give myself time to do the things I love, I find I have more space and less anxiety when it comes to doing the things I have to do that I have less or no excitement for. And when I'm in the habit of doing these things I love, I'm consistently better at them.

I have spent the last few months bartering my time for low-stress activities, and yet have been neglecting some of the things I really love. In that, I have concluded there is no easier way to come to a stand-still in growth and progress toward your goals than to put the things you love on the back-burner. There's a trendy phrase that my generation and millennials love and I detest, but in spite of my distaste for it, it makes a good point: "If not now, when? If not me, who?" I tend to think of it as inspirational fluff, but a part of me admits here that therein lies a truth. At some point, if we truly want to achieve the things we aspire to, we have to grasp the courage to begin. And beginning requires even the tiniest action...followed by another, and exponentially more. The remaining pieces will fall in line.

[Spoken like a true optimistic idealist.]

The Impeccable Insight of Mom

I can't possibly be the only one who's mom has impeccable insight into their life, right? I could be stubborn as all get out, and here she comes at me with this stone cold truth, smack to the face. I'll begin to argue, but my brain snags the train of thought - wait, this is MOM, she might have a point here; after all, she does know a thing or two about me...

Moms have that strange knack for cutting through the crap, and telling you exactly what you needed someone to break down for you. Mine did that for me this week. "You need to decide what's actually important, and let the other things go." It felt like a zing at first. Then I went with it for a few hours. Oh, my attitude affects my circumstance? Nahhh...

Here she whips out this simple yet powerful wisdom, like a hunter would pull an arrow from the quiver; at just the precise moment. It pierces: let the other things go.

I began to think all those little things made up something big, and I just needed to be told different. Take a step back, take a breath, take it in. Sometimes I mix up taking stock and analyzing. I'm big into analyzing. However, the tendency toward picking things apart and answering the "Why?" can get in the way of knowing where things stand, whereas broadening the frame of view might allow the reality to jump out.

For instance as a photographer, I could nitpick so many things (and I'm sure better ones do), but I often decide upon my subject of focus, frame my shot, open my other eye, adjust the frame, and shoot. Decide, frame, see the rest, re-frame, shoot. The little things tend to just work.

I think often our blind spots -- or maybe rather, the places and things we choose not to see, require others to open our eyes to.

Hope Amid Darkness

Walking through or into darkness, it is often hard to find hope. Moving through turmoil and turbulence doesn't seem to lend aid. You find yourself hungry for the change, but despairing that it might not come. Where in this darkness are you likely to find light? Where in the turbulence is the steadiness?

Though it seems melodramatic to say, as this is hardly comparable to other much darker difficult places I have known, I have found it difficult lately to have hope; to be joyful. This state isn't typically noticeable to those who don't know me all that well. While I've grown more blunt as life has taken the edge off my timidity (I'm sure some would read this and think, "What timidity?"), most people say that I'm always happy.

Case in point, in a very normal occurrence for me, last weekend two strangers remarked at it. One man I met interrupted the flow of conversation to indignantly inquire as to what I was "giggling" at. Of course, not only was I largely unaware I was even doing it, but hadn't a clue as to its inspiration. Not in a crazy, get-her-help sort of way, but it's just something I do all the time - not to mention get called out for regularly. I suppose it's peculiar to not withhold ones outbursts. The other instance was with a French man I met (less surprising that he should take note of my abnormal happiness, as the French tend to be more reserved in their expressions). After hours of conversation, most of which had been translated triangularly due to my out of practice ear, he told our friend he noticed that I smile all the time. I remember explaining this to others when I was in Paris with a cheerful shrug, "Je suis heureuse! [I'm happy!]".

I have been so out of sorts that I have been retreating to be alone as much as I can stand, being a rather undeniable extrovert. Subconsciously yet consciously avoiding that, when in the company of people, they want to talk about things. Further irony is that I'm a verbal processor... This is all exactly what I do when I shut down: isolate and muse. Though it may sound strictly negative, (and maybe someday I'll decide that it is,) I know I'm doing it and yet I'm fairly certain it's just what I need.

There are a few gems of activities where I can distract myself. Thankfully, sleep is still one of them. Running. Volleyball. Prayer. That's the big one. Currently, the idea of sitting down with the Bible is exhausting. Worship has felt a little dry. I felt like I couldn't lead people when I barely have the capacity to ponder my own circumstances, so I put down my small group. But prayer...it's this bizarre space where I'm focusing my energy and my communication with God on others, yet I feel alive and whole. That is my zone right there.

It simultaneously scares and excites me, because I do worry that I'll say the wrong thing, but it's also so great when somehow I say exactly the right thing and I can see the person before me being encouraged. I leave those interactions with more fuel than I came into them with. God showed up, and met someone where they were at, getting at me in the process! It is the only beautiful battle, one where freedom is truly bestowed; that is a sacred space. There, there is joy and there is hope amid whatever darkness.

That is not specific to just me, which I think may be the best part.

Eyeliner Alicia

Recently I was thinking about my adolescent self - who I was before I learned to make decisions without caring what people thought of me. In my mind, to myself, I refer to this as Eyeliner Alicia.

See, not long before high school, I started wearing makeup. I think the "rule" was not before 14. I was thankfully exiting my awkward stage, and transitioning to public school after my initial nine years in private grade school (not as glamorous as it sounds, believe me). Freshman year, I would style my hair every day, sometimes blow-drying it before straightening it. Me factoring an hour into my morning just for my hair! I would put on my makeup, usually during the bus ride to school. I felt plain, and somehow discovered that eyeliner made my eyes more dramatic and hence stand out. It became my staple; I felt naked without it, which only made sense because I was embarrassed of what was underneath: plain old me.

Now, I'll only clarify this once here: I don't say any of this to shame people who wear makeup or like doing their hair - rather to tell the story of how I grew out of it, I suppose. And make no mistake, it was only in recent years that I received the vote of confidence I needed to call it quits.

On some off day sans my usual face, a few of my family sat down to dinner together. My brother Shayne is not really one to dole out compliments or flattery, one might think that the idea wouldn't cross his mind as he only expresses the reality he beholds. Among the smattering of dinner conversation topics with a family of busy-minds, Shayne commented, "You look really nice, what are you doing different?" Not wearing any makeup...and I was sold! Granted, it took a while for people who saw me regularly to stop asking if I was feeling okay, but it was liberating to not have to worry what someone might think if they saw my real face.

Sometimes I think about how many consecutive days of my young life were spent wearing eyeliner; how many hours were totaled up applying the pristine stroke of black crayon under my lashes; how much stock was put in thinking that doing this would make others value me...

In reality that's what it came down to. I can't even say subconsciously because that's not true - if I'm honest with myself, for so long I was afraid of not putting on a face and I knew it. There's nothing inherently wrong with makeup (at least that's how I feel at this point in my life), but I don't like that my security was ever found in a daily work of art other than my natural self. It was wildly freeing for me to stop buying eyeliner - though, scary at first, I should add.

There's something about that piece of my life and the subsequent putting down of the pencil that I see as being a part of my understanding of self and growing in confidence. In my head, Eyeliner Alicia is the same one who was afraid to do so many of the things that I have done since I primarily gave up the ritual. She is the one who got walked on by people. She's the one who was afraid to speak up for herself...or in front of a crowd or even a group! She was the one who needed to know so much more firmly who she is, so as to move forward unshakably into bigger things than she'd imagined.

This evening, I saw a commercial for an anti-aging cream. The woman said she would embrace all that life would bring, except for wrinkles (she called them "frown lines"...okay...). I thought, whether it be baby-weight, age-spots, or laughter lines, I can't wait to embrace whatever life brings me, without pretending that I'm something I'm not.

For My Heart of Hearts

I am someone who can quickly become insecure about whether or not I'm loved by someone. Panic sets in. What are likely irrational thoughts swirl through my mind in a stormy vortex. It is a place I don't want to revisit, but my memory returns me to at the slightest familiarity.

It's not unlike when I was 17 years old, I was in a car accident. It was my first car, and I loved that car. I was driving through a green light, where someone was turning right onto the road I was on, but rolled through the light and turned out wide just as I was passing through the intersection. I saw it happening, but was in slight denial. The comparatively-gigantic, teal Chevy suburban annihilated the front right fender of my tiny '91 Mitsubishi Galant, leaving me with a flat and totaling it. Most who know me well would say I'm a confident driver, but still over seven years later, I flinch and hesitate when someone takes a right turn into the lane next to me.

Everyone will say they love deep; I say I love deep. I love deep within my many limitations. I am the kind of person who when I say I'd do anything, I really would. There have been times in my life where deep love has withstood the pressures of great intimidation. (I say this not to brag, but to help make a point; bear with me.) When I love someone, I want to make sure they know it. Those closest to me are the people I'd do anything for, and I'd like to think they typically know who they are.

One of the hard lessons I have learned in my yet-young life is that of rescinded love. That is love that was once there, though only seen in hindsight as shallow, suddenly dissolved. When it happens to you, it's earth-shattering; reality altering, truly, because love felt so secure. The overwhelming sense of admiration for another person. The place where differences aren't disparities at all, rather glowing elements of near magic that you awe at. You can't imagine life without them if you tried, because it puts a knot in your stomach.

And it happened.

Even having recently received all the answers, it was inexplicable. My heart never hurt so bad. The thought of the pain now, makes my eyes well-up. I can sincerely say, nothing else has hurt like this; to have someone I loved walk away without reason or word, or seemingly care. I have acknowledged it, - do acknowledge it, but the mark this left on my life seems unshakable. I carry that with me into every friendship I have; every relationship in which I deeply invest.

I believe love means never finding a reason good enough to throw in the towel. Some may think that's naive, but it's not. I wish I could go back and live that out, when in times past I've failed to because my experience conditioned me to, and I adapted...whether or not it was right.

Someone recently told me they thought that everyone should get fired once, - spoken like a true person who's probably never been fired, because it's awful. You spend some time wallowing in self-pity, then in the next job you miraculously manage to land, the time that isn't specifically spent doing your job, is spent wondering if you'll get yourself fired.

Having your heart broken teaches you some things that take some unlearning, - like to be afraid of loving deeply because it might get you hurt - but it also teaches you through experience how not to love poorly. This has been a five year lesson for me, and it still aches; it's still awful, sometimes. It also helps me not to give up on the ones I love, because I know how terribly it hurts to be given up on. I strive not to let my love be so weak.

The Baggage We Carry & Intentionality

Relationships are tricky. Supposedly there is a science to them, but they're so unpredictable. They affect who we are. There's nature, and there's nurture. There's some ambiguous time called "The Formative Years" that people will refer to, - whoever knows what that even means - but I think it's a lot longer than it implies...that's a whole other animal.

Relationships. We cannot do without them, and they alter us for better or worse. This is an arena I can speak to only from my own experience. I've always been someone who craves relationship (okay, yeah, who doesn't?), and it's taken me a long time to realize where I have been unhealthy about it. And because relationships are always in the forefront of my mind and generally a facet of life, I have been thinking lately about how ones in my past have affected the me of the present. There are two in particular that have been on my mind.

I will start with the one I messed up. I had this friendship that, if it were still on-going, would be my longest friendship. There's something that when you're immature, you can't appreciate about a lifelong friendship. I have been mourning this relationship again as I near two years that it's been gone. I thrive when I'm known well by a handful of close friends, and conversely I tend to suffer when I feel like I'm not known well by a handful of close friends. Thinking about that, brought thoughts of this relationship back to me. I recently reached a heart-breaking conclusion about the demise of this friendship: I failed. When it happened, and for so long after, (and if I'm honest, still from time to time) I thought I was justified in throwing my hands up and walking away. The truth is that I didn't have enough grace. I didn't want to keep letting my hurt go, so I ran with it. I am officially done letting any part of myself believe that I didn't have a role in things.

Such a realization has helped me. It's humbled me; it does humble me. Granted I carry the predisposition that asking to be treated well may result in another severed friendship, it's taught me to tread those waters lightly. It's taught me that losing someone altogether is a lot worse than struggling to find patience and grace. Among many other things.

I guess I can't say that I didn't mess the other one up either. I had this good friend in high school, two good friends; a guy and a girl, who dated at the time. We were like Three's Company - except I don't think that was ever a love triangle. Anyway, we were all three best friends, one of us a little more...difficult to tolerate than the other two. *Ahem*! I don't want to sound like I'm justifying myself or my actions, but we clicked. Being a naive 16-year-old, I continued having hours-long phone conversations and hanging out late at night with him, letting him try to learn my favorite songs on the guitar - unwilling to acknowledge, or maybe blind to the fact that I was walking into a world of hurt. It wasn't fair to me, but I wasn't wise. I got my heart all tangled up, in a way that an older, wiser me is all too aware was incredibly stupid. One day, I called. They had a talk and were going to be serious about making their relationship work. Cue heartache.

Everything about it had seemed perfect, save for the fact that someone else was his girlfriend...

Ever since, I've been gun-shy. I sit somewhere in wanting most of what that relationship was, and viewing nearly every relationship with a guy through the muddied lens of that one. Pieces of how it affected me only occur to me now. And I'm sure more will come out if ever I do bother with a romantic relationship.

These are just two of the experiences that have marked me. Everyone carries their own experiences, hundreds of them. Some big ones whose impressions take some serious undoing, and some smaller ones that only scrape our surface or buff our hard edges. Thinking about my experiences in relationships on all levels makes me constantly think about the places I have impact and what I choose to do with that.

They have me thinking about the weight and importance of intentionality in relationship. I can do what feels the best or the easiest, or I can intentionally make a choice to do relationship well. We can either constantly live under the weight of our baggage, or we can learn from it and walk forward with intentionality into better, life-giving relationship. A lesson I'm sure I will endlessly learn.