what Disney gets wrong.

As a child, I remember loving Disney movies, for an extended period of my adolescence. My personal favorites were movies like Mulan, Aladdin, and Beauty and the Beast, because the heroines could pretty much beast the entire playground and my female empowerment days started young. I was not, and let's be honest, still am not really, a romantic.

But at the same time for me, as for many young women, there was something beautiful about the stories of romance contained within the fairy tales that Disney movies portray: Cinderella, pursued and rescued from her ashes by Prince Charming; Beauty, softening and winning over the beast, who then fights to rescue her; the Prince riding in on his white horse, and waking Sleeping Beauty from her death-sleep with a single kiss; and the happily ever after which inevitably comes. And, like it or not, I think in some way, many of us carry those fairy tale understandings of relationships into our real relationships.

We expect that we will be the Beauty who changes the Beast or the Prince who rescues Cinderella. We look for Love's kiss to awaken new things in us that will enable us to "live happily ever after." We expect that once we work out the legs/flippers exchange, that life will be hunky dory and singing seagulls will croon lullabies in four-part harmony to us as we sail off into the sunset. And we expect that we'll "know" that it's the "right one" when the conditions above (our fairy tales) are met, either in us, or the other person.

And those are not necessarily bad things to long for, to hope for: in fact, I think the fairy tale story often points to our holy longings for real, whole relationship, consummated only with Jesus (minus singing seagulls). But I think when we place those expectations on real-time, real-people relationships, or on our real selves, we often end up with real disappointment.

If I expect my significant other to be Prince Charming all the time, I am going to be disappointed when I wake up one morning and find out that he's Shrek, complete with smelly layers. And vice versa, if he expects Belle, the perfect princess (literate and feisty too), he's going to very disappointed when one day he finds out that he has the Beast instead. And, while I have a pretty healthy self-esteem, if I have expectations for myself that I will be Ariel, always giving up my gills for legs for the man of my dreams, always loving selflessly, then I set myself up for failure, and vice versa.

As my friend and former mentor, Alex says, it's the difference between hopes and expectations in relationships... Hope is good. Expectations can be quite costly.

Fairy tales are great, in that they spark our longings for a bigger story, with a happily ever after and the ideal play-out of all situations. But they make lousy guides for relational expectations. And they set us up for failure when we place those expectations on ourselves or our significant other.

Let me just cut to the quick:

You are messy.
So is your significant other [or future significant other].
We do not live in a Disney world and that's a good thing.
Placing Disney expectations on your relationship is not wise.

But, friends, there is hope! Because happily ever after does not come from you or your significant other or even your nearly perfect relationship. It comes from Jesus taking what is messy and redeeming, restoring, and renewing it. Our hope and our expectations come from the fact that we are part of a bigger story, one with the real Prince (Jesus) wooing the real Princess (the Church), winning the real war, and establishing his real kingdom on earth.

That is both our hope and our expectation.

living in hope

So a friend of mine has this theory that you feel more confident when you wear fun underwear. I'm not much of a dressy type of gal, so I've never really bought into the fun panties thing. But she recently convinced me to reconsider that stance on life, so I gave in and bought a few pairs of fun panties. Among the bunch I picked up a pair that have the word "HOPE" written all over them. Reminds me of being 5 or 6 and wanting to wear the ones with Disney princesses on them...

Too much information? Perhaps.

Why am I telling you this? Great question.

Because these days I am trying to live in hope. And I figured I could start with a literal translation of that life goal (Har Har Har!).

But seriously now... lately I've been thinking a lot about the idea of living in hope. Not as a groundless, idealistic, irrational idea, but as deep and life-transforming way of living.

Hope, to desire with confident expectation for that which is not yet had or seen, is something which is rather foreign to me. Hope, as my spiritual director puts it, is the opposite of worry. It is desiring or expecting good, rather than expecting and imagining all the things that could go wrong. It is the other half of a balanced, logical, rational approach to life: considering the possibilities of what could go wrong BUT ALSO allowing ourselves to consider the possibilities of how it could go well.

Hope is expecting good things to come. Worry and anxiety are expecting bad things to come. Hope is grounded in the fact that we believe in a good God who loves his children and acts for their good and his glory, not their harm. Worry and anxiety are grounded in logical questions, yes, but more deeply, a profound distrust that God is actually (a) good, (b) for us, and (c) capable.

I tend to live more in the realm of worry and anxiety. Let's be honest. But because I do believe that God is good, is for us, and is capable of acting, in recent days, I have been trying to live more in hope, even in the little things. Both tangibly and practically.

May that become more and more my mode of operation.

And no, I will not be pulling out the Disney Princesses any time soon.

running the marathon

So, for those of you who know me well, you know that I love to run. Hate it at times too, but mostly just love to run. But I am not by nature a distance runner. I run for the sole purpose of the sprint to the finish. I love running so fast that you cannot stop to breathe, feeling the wind rushing by, and the burn of muscles that you know will push you through and across the line. I've always been a sprinter, and have only in the past decade begun to train myself to be a distance runner.

Even so, I'm always in it for the sprint to the finish. That last tenth of a mile is my absolute favorite, and I will always sprint it, no matter how tired I am.

Not a patient one, this one.

But I think God has been teaching me a bigger lesson, as I change my running habits from sprinter to distance runner. I think, in many ways, I want life to be more like a sprint as well. Fast. Exhilarating. Breath-taking. Adventure-filled. Hill-free. Ache-free.

But life and love are not a sprint. They're more like a marathon.

The Boston marathon begins out in Hopkinton, a small, non-distinct town, 26.2 miles outside of Boston. The enthusiasm in the morning is indescribable and palpable, as runners begin their course. The marathon then runs through Natick and Wellsley, through Newton and then the Fens and the Back Bay, finally into Boston. Parts of it are flat and marked solely by large fields and trees, other parts are suburban and hilly. Parts are populated by posh houses or run down trailers, some with rows of people standing and cheering, others with no people standing and cheering. As it runs its course through Newton, near Boston College, there's heartbreak hill, the fourth of the major Newton hills, perfectly timed at the place that most runners "hit the wall," the painful and steep ascent of which sends many runners home. And then 5 more miles to the finish.

It is only after these 26 grueling miles, that runners hit the sprint for the finish, down through Copley Square and across the finish line.

Of course, there are some runners who can sprint a 5 minute mile pace for the entire 26.2 miles without literally having their legs turn into monkey poo and tumbling feet over head onto the ground. But for most runners, the marathon involves steadfastness, pushing through the pain, choosing to continue to run, committing to making it across the line, pacing ourselves, and continuing to engage in both the exhilarating moments and the painful moments.

Same thing is true with life and love.

There are moments of exhilaration and sprinting. But most of it is choosing to faithfully engage, to continue running, to enjoy the scenery as it passes, and to press in, rather than stop running.

A non-professional sprint is easy. You only have to engage briefly. A marathon takes work. It takes time. You are guaranteed to have heartbreak hills. But the reward of choosing to do it is life-long, defining, and character-building. And the finish line is that much more exciting!

After all, when's the last time you heard a non-record breaker, non-Olympian brag,

"Oh yeah? Well, I ran 100 meters the other day."

learning to love sushi and hate octopus

So when I around 7-8 years old, we discovered that I was allergic to fish. My family was never entirely sure exactly what kinds of fish I was allergic to, suffice to say we knew that in general, it ran the gamut from shrimp to crab to lobster, halibut, flounder, mahi-mahi, etc. Some more severe than others. Every type I tried, with the exception of canned tuna, I had some form of reaction to. Nothing life-threatening, I would just throw up or get severe stomach cramps somewhere between 3 to 5 hours later. Not pleasant, but it was what it was...

And every few years, I would try it again, just to see if the allergy was still present. And it always was. So I just wouldn't eat fish regularly... for the last 18 years.

And then [this is the part that is still slightly bizarre], near the end of November, I was wrestling through some pretty deep issues with God, while doing a quiet time, where I felt like he was really asking me to step out in faith and not fear... and still in prayer, near the end of processing through those things, I had a very strange image in my mind of a bright blue fish swimming along in really beautiful water, and I felt like God was saying to me,

"I want you to eat fish again, free from effect. This is my hand. No more fear."

Bizarre. Yes, I am aware. This is an allergy that I've had for 18 years... and what a weird thing to hear from God? Bizarre, yes. Potentially just my mind playing tricks on me? But, I made the leap of faith and gave it another shot. Albeit, very skeptically from the get-go, but still trying.

And, two months later, I am happy to report, I am fish allergy free. I am discovering fish that I never knew existed. I am trying things that I never thought I'd like, and loving it! And I have definitely found some that I'm not super fond of. Octopus, no matter what they tell you, not so tasty, definitely really chewy.

Maybe I just outgrew the allergy. Maybe New England fish don't contain the allergen that I had reactions to earlier. Maybe this is a fluke and it will end sometime soon. Or maybe this is actually a gift from God. Either way, the lesson still remained behind:

If the Lord calls you to step out in faith, step out in faith without fear.

Thankfully God has been just as faithful in the other areas where he asked me to step out in faith as he has been in this one... such is his character. Where he asks us to step out, he always meets us.

time to stop being a hummingbird

Did you know that, according to wikipedia, hummingbirds are the smallest of all birds, yet they can fly at speeds exceeding 15 meters/sec, they can hover motionless in the air, they can flap their wings 12-90 times per second, and they are the only bird that can fly backwards? They are called hummingbirds because of the "hum" their wings make as they flap so rapidly.

Why this needless information, you might ask?

I was thinking about hummingbirds this morning... and all the needless energy they exert, just to remain in the same place. Think about it. They flap their wings at 12-90 times per second, so that they can hover in the air, in exactly the same place. Not going anywhere. Just hovering. Of course, they can also fly super fast backwards and forwards (who wouldn't want to be able to do that), but they're most known for their ability to hover. Seems silly, really. All that energy expended, just to say in the same place.

Yet, how many of us do exactly the same thing?

We are constantly striving, running around, doing, just so that we can keep ourselves afloat. Just so that we can keep ourselves busy enough doing, so that we don't have to stop and face ourselves, as we truly are. We are terrified of what we will find, if we ever slow down.

So we flutter and flap, doing all sorts of good (and bad) things, in order to avoid silence, solitude, or facing ourselves. We attend meetings, we are part of committees, we save children, animals and the environment, we plan events, we work extra hours, we work too little, we play meaningless games, we tune out, we smoke up, we are constantly improving something or someone, we read self-help books, we avoid anything that makes us think, we plug in our ipods, we vent it out to our peers, we drink too much, we party too little, we proclaim everything permissible, we create restrictive moral codes, we surround ourselves with people, we avoid our friends, we fix others to avoid ourselves, we serve, we blog about it, we... the list could go on.

Guilty as charged.

All this fluttering, just to stay afloat.

Guilty as charged.

But I think the invitation that I've been realizing this past week is that just staying afloat is not what I hunger for. Being what I do, is not being who I am. Avoiding facing who I am is not a viable alternative. And I think there is an invitation, for both you and me, to something greater.

But that requires that we stop fluttering around like little bee-sized birds. It requires that we face who we are, in it's brokenness and beauty, and allow Jesus to rename, renew, redeem.

I want to be who I was created to be, not defined by what I do. Not kept afloat by meaningless efforts. But that requires that I honestly stop and face who I am in all of my brokenness and beauty, and invite Jesus to be the one who speaks identity.

It's time to stop being a hummingbird.

Shards of Broken Glass

Author's note: I wrote this poem almost exactly two years ago, as a form of intercession for a dear friend who was going through some pretty intensive and often times seemingly insurmountable brokenness. I pulled it out yesterday, in preparation for a seminar I was leading on using poetry and prose as a form of prayer. Re-reading it, I was reminded of the ways that God had done and is doing exactly what I prayed in this poem... for me and in me. It was neat to see the same piece transformed into a new moment of worship, years later. Jehovah Rapha. God is my healer.

shards of broken glass,
the mirror lies shattered upon the floor.
a pale and broken fragment,
slivers of what she is meant to be.
I stoop to the floor,
hands out-stretched to rescue the
pieces of her soul.
grasping, holding, gasping,
as my hand became bloodied,
and her image, no more whole.
i fall to my knees among the pieces,
knees and hands torn, I
plead to the heavens,
GOD, I cannot mend what has broken,
I cannot heal a broken soul.
then from above
as I weep for her entirety
I hear another weeping,
as my perfect Father sobs
for his broken daughter’s
shattered soul.
and yet,
as he weeps, I see
the blood on the floor transform,
disappear
appearing on his white robes instead,
while the fragments of image
disappear
and his whole, solid, beautiful
daughter stands.
not an image, always doing,
but a fully formed daughter, being.

Lord, I cannot, but you can.
by your stripes, we are healed.

in need of...

In the spirit of continuing to blog more regularly...

Simple observation of the day:

Women need a version of the fist-bump or chest bump (and of course, the double pat on the back).

Life really is duplicitous. and by that I mean vulpine. devious. slippery. and tricky.

[do you like how I'm attempting to use big words, only half correctly, just to honor/irritate my sister the English major?]

Case in point, if you're meeting someone for the first time, you shake their hand. If you know them really well, you give them a hug (unless you're from the UK or the northeast, and then protocol is slightly different). This is true regardless of gender, on either side.

However, should you intrepidly find yourself in the situation of "casual-but-not-deep" friendship/acquaintance, as a woman, you're in deep trouble. You know the relationships I'm talking about: the facebook poke-er, the gchat friend, that older co-worker (often of the opposite gender) with whom you have deep conversations but no shared experiences, your landlord who you repeatedly phone about fire alarms but really don't have a relationship with, your next-door neighbors that you don't really know, or your sister's boyfriend's sister-in-law. Whereas for the man, a simple fist-bump will suffice, a woman is left with no such options. Potential alternatives are:

• go for the hug and then awkwardly abort at the last moment, if it appears the other party is not going to reciprocate
• awkwardly shake hands, which feels far too formal for a borderline-almost friendship
• do the nod (Tilt chin up rapidly at a 45 degree angle. Beware of neck strain-age.) It's more effective when you can appropriately throw in a "w'assup?"
• just smile and nod and stand a good 5 feet away from them
• go for the hug and don't abort, no matter how awkward it is

Needless to say, all of which leave something to desire... So I will rest my case, women are in need of a version of the fist bump. Unless of course, you have suggestions?

Unleashing desire

As a part of my spiritual formation journey for this coming semester, I've been reading a book called "Invitation to Solitude and Silence" by Ruth Haley Barton, which I would highly recommend. I thought I would share a snippet from my reading this morning, that really struck me:

----

... desire is what stirs underneath our fear... many of us are not very good at acknowledging our desire. As Christians we tend to be skeptical and suspicious of desire, for it is not easily controlled; experience tells us that desire can be like a quiet little campfire that sparks a forest fire engulfing the whole forest. What if I let myself feel my desire and it gets out of control? What if I begin to desire things I can't have? How do I live with the pain of unfulfilled desire?

But the truth is that desire is the life-blood surging through the heart of the spiritual life. You may not realize it, but your desire for God is the truest and most essential thing about you. It is truer than your sin, it is truer than your woundedness, it is truer that your net worth, your marital status or any role or responsibility that you hold...

... when we cut ourselves off from awareness of our desire, we cut ourselves off from the very invitation of God into the intimacy we seek. And so desire, the very human dynamic that often confuses us and muddles our thinking is part of what we carry with us as we walk through the gateway to solitude. If we don't know how to attend to it, we may make the mistake of trying to set it aside or minimize it when instead we need to pay attention to it.

... when we pull back the curtain on our fears and resistance, we are left with our desire-- pure, naked, quivering desire-- which is the surest guide for the spiritual quest. In the end, the human soul will choose what it most wants. If we are brave enough to stay with this experience of wanting something we do not yet have, we discover that underneath all other desire is a desire for God, for love, for the true belonging.

"Invitation to Solitude and Silence" Ruth Haley Barton, excerpts p. 50-52
----

For me, it was actually really helpful to journal through: "OK, what do I desire? The good, the holy, the bent, the deep?" To be honest before God... scary, but good.

Letter to the Fire Department

Dear Three Friendly Firemen-

Thank you so much for responding to our phone call(s) so promptly, even though it was 6:30 in the morning. It is so nice to know that you can make it to our house, even though there are 4+ inches of snow on the ground, in under 10 minutes. Glad that you called off the second truck and your four slightly sarcastic buddies that came along last time; that might have been a tad bit of overkill considering there was NO fire. Oh and thanks for not using the loud sirens this time, the neighbors really appreciated that. And I am so sorry that you felt over-dressed in your full combat gear... at least you were warm in the pelting snow, right? And really, the gear is rather fashionable, albeit bulky (the axe might have been over-kill though?)...

We are so sorry that it was a false alarm yet again. Seems our fire alarms are well-versed in the ability to go off, but not so strong in its discernment gifts as to WHEN to go off. e.g. at 5am, 6:09, 6:32, 6:47, 7:56, 9:25 and 10:51am on a national holiday when there is NO fire might not be the best ideas. Rest assured, while we are not well-rested this morning and in fact rather bleary-eyed, we are very much on the same page as you- this needs to not happen again! We already called the landlord.

So, while it's been lovely seeing you twice in the past month-- please don't take this the wrong way-- I really hope that we won't be seeing you in our apartment (us in our PJ's, you in full combat gear) any time in the near future. Unless you would like to take charge of removing the pigeon tribe who seems to be nesting in our ceiling and literally obeying the divine mandate to be "fruitful and multiply."

Of course, if there ever is an actual fire, we are entirely grateful that you already know the way to our house and hope that you won't be so tired of false alarms that you will automatically mute our call button.

Sincerely,
the Residents of Suite High Life

"Do you want to get well?"

A few months ago, I had a conversation with a friend who has had a specific physical disability since birth. At one point in the conversation, my friend asked our friend, "would you ever consider asking for healing prayer, with regard to that specific physical disability?" Our friend's response has stuck with me since that time. They replied,

"Honestly, no, because I'm scared of having to re-learn how to live. I don't want to have to re-learn how to do everything that I've learned how to do with limited capacity. I am comfortable with my current means of navigating life."

It was striking to me, because it wasn't a fear that nothing would happen. Rather, it was a fear of what would happen if healing were to occur. It was a fear of wholeness, because it would require re-programming, re-learning, adjusting, not a fear of being let down. And I have to admit, I was very tempted to be judgmental. Why wouldn't you want to be made well, even if it required a new operating system?!

The book of John tells a story of a paralytic, that strikes a very similar chord:

Some time later, Jesus went up to Jerusalem for a feast of the Jews. Now there is in Jerusalem near the Sheep Gate a pool, which in Aramaic is called Bethesda and which is surrounded by five covered colonnades. Here a great number of disabled people used to lie—the blind, the lame, the paralyzed. One who was there had been an invalid for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and learned that he had been in this condition for a long time, he asked him, "Do you want to get well?" [john 5:1-6]

And here as well, I've always wondered... why would Jesus ask this question? Isn't it a given that you would want to be healed? But as I've sat with this question a bit more, specifically considering it in my own context, I think I've begun to see it on a slightly deeper level.

Let me be transparent. I had a conversation with my supervisors this past week, in which they challenged me to deal with some personal issues, relating to performance-based identity and fear of failure, during this coming semester. At one point in time, I made the comment,

"I just don't have a lot of hope to change in this because this has been my operating system for as long as I can remember. I know it's not ideal, but I've learned how to function and even thrive in this. It's been present for so long that I cannot imagine anything else. I don't know that I want to dig in here."

In a nutshell, "I'm pretty content with my method of dealing with things. It's working okay- not ideal- but okay. So, let's not deal with this right now."

In other words, I too answer "no, actually, I'm okay." Thanks, but no thanks. Go heal someone else.

But Jesus is persistent. He is not content with our mediocre solutions. He did not come to bring "moderately surviving" but sight for the blind and freedom for the captives. He said to the paralytic, "Get up! Pick up your mat and walk!" [john 5:8]

It must have been terrifying for the paralyzed man to get up and walk. No, really. I bet it was terrifying. And I bet it required a lot of life-style adjustments. Like, oh say, leaving the pool area. Getting a job. Buying shoes. Not being able to excuse things based on his inability to walk. I'm sure it was terrifying.

But I bet it was also one of the most amazing things that he'd ever experienced. Freedom. Walking on his own. Running. Leaping. Tripping, and then being able to get himself back up again. Being able to ride a camel without being specially belted on. Being able to kneel to pray.

And so the question returns to us: Kristen, do you want to get well? Dear reader, do you want to get well? Will you allow Jesus to press into those areas of brokenness, to call you to new things, to re-program your operating system, to bring life back to the ruins, and rebuild the places long devastated?

Terrifying, yes. What we need and long for, yes.

Faith. Hope. Love.

New year, new attempts to update the blog regularly? We shall see how long this lasts...

This morning, I was thinking about faith, hope and love.

So much of my job is about just that... having faith in the unseen and for the unknown; hoping beyond present reality, for what seems impossible by human means... and loving people and God in the midst of all of that. "Now these three remain, faith, hope, and love..." [1 Cor 13:13] In a nutshell, this is what ministry entails: faith, hope, and love.

... faith that God will act, is acting, and has acted on behalf of his people
... faith that God is who He says he is
... faith, for my students, when they find it impossible to believe for themselves
... hope for the transformation and wholeness of students that I interact with
... hope for things that are bigger than I can personally accomplish
... hope for the development, faith, gifts, and formation of my students
... hope for students who find themselves without hope
... love for who my students are presently, even as I hope for whom they will become
... love for my campus, even as I hope for redemption and transformation therein
... love for anyone I interact with, no matter how unlovable they feel, act, or seem

Faith. Hope. Love.

All of these require vision beyond our present tense. They require hope for that which is currently unrealized and perhaps impossible by human standards, faith for what is currently unseen and bigger than human comprehension, and love that runs deeper than just the situation at present and is beyond human capacity.

All three require transformation by God. None of them are possible on our own. Such is ministry. It cannot be based on our capacities. Otherwise, it will be shallow, limited, and kind of boring. We must be transformed before we have anything of real worth to offer in ministry.

So, that's my prayer for today: "God would you transform me? Would you give me your eyes to see today, seeing beyond what is in the present tense... seeing instead with faith, hope and love."

Death of a Plant.

Just got home from two and a half weeks of traveling, encompassing four states, three regions of the country, multiple modes of transportation, five different overnight locations, including one airport bench, many giggles, too many memories to count, and far too many clothes wrinkled from suitcase dwelling for too long. Must say, it's good to be home again, even though I wish I could be in multiple places simultaneously.

At any rate, I returned home earlier this week to find my plant-that-never-dies completely withered and dried up. Thus far, I have been unable to resurrect it. KG, the plant killer, strikes again. I suppose 2.5 weeks of no water, no light, and no love will do almost anything in, no matter how tough, weathered, or indestructible it might be.

I'm holding out some hope that it might rise again, because the roots still seem strong. But at the moment, it is deader than the lab rats that one of my mentors may or may not have baptized in liquid nitrogen and then thrown against a brick wall. Kaputz.

So why do I share this? What's the take-home?

There are parts of us that are incredibly strong. Parts of me that are incredibly strong. And often times, not always, but often, those parts are strong because they've had to be. They've seen abuse, neglect, absence, hardship, etc. They have not been sufficiently watered. And so they survive. Often times for years on end. Out of necessity, they are hardened, weather-worn, survivors who can endure, often times without appearing even to be fazed.

But life without water is no way to live. It is no life at all. And eventually those parts of you, those parts of me, like my plant, will wither and die unless healing actually happens.

Jesus answered, "Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life." [john 4:13-14]

I don't know about you, but I desperately want those "strong" parts softened in living water. What does that look like? I don't know. But I know that I need it... and I know that it will require changing mode of operation, vulnerability, lots of care and intentionality, and some hard re-programming.

But life without water is no way to live.