First Fifty or Second Really - Day 1

I woke up easily even though the night's sleep was rough, my body slightly on edge with my radar up to hear Mateo's cry. He had cried out multiple times in the night, he was unusually restless and when I picked him up to comfort him I noticed his check was damp from tears and his body let out a different cry than I was used to hearing. I wondered if this precious brave boy was trying to process the many many hugs, high fives and goodbyes that were offered to him that day. The fourth grade boys who have been like big brothers to him had one by one picked him up and put him back down with words of missing and departing. As an adult it was a very dear leaving sight, but who knows what his nearly three year old mind and body were feeling through it all. And now he was attempting sleep in a pack n play in another new location surrounded by others carrying heightened emotions. Sleep often seems hard to come by when you are most desperate for it. 

After quickly downing a cup of coffee I laced up my tennis shoes for the final time on that coast. I saw the early morning light streaming through the windows and felt glad to not close out this season with a run in the rain (although that would make sense). I had only hours left before we would be boarding a flight to return to the East Coast and all I knew how to do was run what had become a pretty sacred loop for me. As the sound of crunching gravel began and my lungs started to find its breath, I thought about my first few runs around the lake and the joy I felt that we got to move to close to this beautiful water and trail. Then I thought about some of the funny sights I had encountered while looping including a woman walking her pet turtle on a leash, a man rollerblading in his underwear only, unicycles and dogsled practice, cats in strollers and everything in between. My mind then wondered to the times I ran when I thought my heart might break and the way the faces and the water and the Spirit met me to give me strength for that day. Running became space for me to be and to care for myself.  I remember when we faced the crushing and surprising unemployment and my adrenaline was high as anxiety coursed through my body and I ran so fast.   Then there were months when I would find myself crying as I circled the lake holding all the images of caring for my mother and then letting her go. And then the season came where I had to reintroduce running with a stroller as we welcomed Mateo to our family, and I prayed like heck he wouldn't scream the whole loop and I showed him every dog and duck I could spot. 

As I ran that final loop for this season of life, I felt surrounded by so many memories that mirrored the years we had journeyed in seattle - full, complex, beautiful, heartbreaking, stretching.... rising. And as terrifying as it all felt at time, I hope the rising continues as the paths change. 

not disqualified

Nothing can disqualify me from how Jesus loves me. I read that this morning and I wanted to overlook it like it was saying something I have heard 100 times. Except then I heard it for today. Just for today. And I thought, you mean if I totally blow it with my bitterness today, you mean if i curse under my breath, you mean if i have to apologize to both of kids at bedtime for my lack of patience, you mean if I attempt again to control my house, my body, my family image... then still I am loved. Like still loved, like deeply loved. Thank you Jesus. 

And here I am closing out the day with way less spiritual thoughts but still important notes I don't want to forget. 1. Carolina won the National Championship tonight. It was not a pretty game. Its slightly hard to feel excited even. Maybe they had Jesus too because it didn't totally seem like they "deserved" it and yes still they did. And I can't ever hate a W. 2. Hannah is really growing up. And I am delighted and terrified. She's gonna outsmart me in a second so my A game is back on plus I gotta start reading more again. I cannot miss opportunities to engage her heart. 3. When the sun is out, people are happier. PERIOD. It was a glorious day and I saw it on a lot of faces. 

That marks the random thoughts for day one of our new gigs. 

always learning goodbye

Saying goodbye is usually quite complex. There are the times when you are actually waiting to leave. There are times when instead of saying goodbye you hold on to the next time so there is no real goodbye. There are times when your insides turn because you know what you are leaving is precious and significant and even if you return you can never return in this way. 

Stephen is beginning our goodbyes as he heads for Charlotte in two days. I basically want to sit in his lap constantly for the next 48 hours because I cannot get all the warmth and comfort out of him to carry me until we are together again. This time it actually will not work to focus on the next because it is too long to hold onto these last days and hope that they can take up enough space in the ache of his absence. As we have anticipated his going first, we have come to realize so much more of all that he offers to our rhythms and our home.

As Hannah so knowingly said, "so things are going to get hectic around here." Containment and strength are headliners of the way he offers himself in this home. So even as her 8 year old heart anticipates the weeks without her dad, she knows, things are a little less calm and bound without him. Its a second pair of hands and much more its a second set of arms to hold and hug and care and nurture these kids. Its another pair of eyes that offer love and adoration. 

It feels crazy to be realizing that the first step in this particular move, this particular goodbye is accepting that we will face much of it without Stephen's presence. And we are all a little apprehensive and already longing for him. Much of this unbelievable significant life out here I will try to close out myself with the help of friends and family.  Again, as my wise daughter said the other night as tears streamed down her face, "this is one of those times when it would be really really good to have SuSu around. She would just know how to help me." Yes. yes. You are right. Exactly right. So here we go wanting to soak in every hug, every meal, every eye connection before we start our train of goodbyes. We adore you Stephen. 

I see you 39

It was a crisp perfect northwest day and we decided to take a last minute Saturday adventure. We got onboard the ferry heading to Bainbridge island with the sun warming the dock. I took a selfie with Hannah while we were sailing. I wanted so badly to post the photo because Hannah's face glowed, but i was stopped in my tracks as I looked at my face. The lines and creases I hadn't noticed before, suddenly seeming so obvious and pronounced. as did the baby gray hairs poking out under hidden layers of chocolate hair. I felt both distraught and proud. But still, not quite brave enough to share as the face still seems somewhat new to me. So I took a second picture of just myself that I could bear. One that I try to be more gracious towards. As I looked out at all the creative beauty around me, I asked myself again if I could include myself in that unimaginable good design and beauty. Even with those deep lines. 

I tell that story today because it resembles so much of what my 30's have felt like to me. Today I am 39 and i know that is not 40 but I am feeling particularly nostalgic to this decade of my life as I step with great intention into this last year of my 30's. Here's a quick snapshot of the 9 - I gave birth to my first child at age 30 setting the tone for a very new decade indeed. We have lived in 2 cities, Charlotte and Seattle, and 5 houses in the last 9 years. I've had 3 significant job moves between launching a new department at a large public university, my first go at being a stay at home parent, and directing philanthropic efforts for a small graduate school. We've been to Jamaica, DisneyWorld, Palm Springs, Victoria, Vancouver Island, Hilton Head, Asheville, Portland, Vancouver, BC & Mexico, on fun adventurous trips of which i am incredibly grateful to have experienced and shared. I've run two half marathons (one homemade and the other with a bib). I met an incredible woman who chose Stephen and me to parent and raise the son she gave life to and we grew our family to 4. Cancer moved into our lives in too prominent a place with my mother and I said goodbye (for now) to the most meaningful influence and presence of my life thus far. I attended my 20th high school reunion, celebrated my 15th wedding anniversary, and marked the 12th year of life around a dinner table with our beloved Grub Club. I met incredible new people in a foreign city, joined meaningful nonprofit boards, and witnessed the wildest ride of politics in the last 9 years I could possibly imagine. 

Here's the thing, I feel embattled in my 30's, and for that I am proud of every mark on my face because I have spent a good deal of the last decade in unknown territory  And also my palate is as refined as I could have ever dreamed as I have tasted and seen goodness I had not imagined on this side of heaven. I enter this last year of my 30's feeling the very sweetness of knowing both death and life in tangible molding ways. I cannot be the same and will not be the same and my life is only speaking louder and louder to what I hope will be the good I may uniquely offer back into the world because of each story I hold. This last year in particular has been a regular tension between wanting to lay down and surrender and rising with others so tall beside me that I found I had room to stretch out and up too. These 9 years have led me away from the concern of comparison and need for acceptance from those around me to a deep desire for understanding and acceptance within for my guidance and strength. And for that, I am immensely relieved and strengthened. 

I see this 39 and I hope I get to meet it with intention to keep taking up space I am meant to occupy for the reasons that match the stories that have led me to this time. And only those. I'm hoping for less distraction, good boundaries, real presence, more risks, continued opening, dreaming and strong movement. I hope for space to stretch out and up and a little less time down and scrambling. So today, I found myself around a table of woman enjoying grapefruit mimosas and dark coffee and we laughed and shared stories that mean something to us and we received them from one another with delight. And I think, yes, 39, yes closing out this decade, let's do this! 

Legacy thoughts on her Birthday

When my mom starting getting sicker and my dad wrote a post about it on a mighty oak blog, a colleague of mine at the time, came into my office and said, "I feel for you because I have this sense that you have both the privilege and burden of legacy." I'm not exactly sure what he said before or after, but that line continues to ring in my ear providing me guidance and understanding.

This are the ornaments Stephen and I made this year in her honor and gave out to friends at the party we hosted on her birthday. 

Over the last year there have been mini moments I've held that legacy close where for example i looked up from the frenzied mess of my house and saw my son's longing in his eyes for play or my daughter's direct invitation to play and I got down on the floor and entered in with the mini's in my home and let the mess stay for an hour longer. And then there have been other big moments I've held that legacy close like saying yes to The Allender Center's lay counseling certificate program this year (which i am now half way through). I find so much strength for the soul work there while imagining my mother's smile and nods as she sees me enter into my own story and pursue more understanding and healing for who and how God has woven me together. And today, what would have been her 68th birthday, I feel amazed as I think with more depth on the incredible redemption story her life told. I am allowing my mind to be full of images of her and memories of her and feeling such awe and grief as I give over to them. 

Although i do believe many individuals get much sweeter in their death, as I consider my legacy whenever I talk about my mom is to honor the fullness of her story and not to offer some picture perfect image of her life or my childhood. In fact, that cheapens the whole to deny parts of the reality.  So let me state clearly that I believe that I was raised by a incredibly good woman who had the capacity and heart for her family and community because Her God was MIGHTY to save and was THE source of strength, healing and passion for her days in very tangible ways. She was not perfect and harm was not evaded for her or for any of us. 

When I think about the whole of her life I am in awe of the reversal, the grand redemption story that her life tells. I wish I had asked more questions of the years I was scared to know about in her life. I wish I had asked for permission to share the pieces I do know. In light of both of those things, all I can say is that I am a daughter to a mother who embodies tender care, strong sight, logistical prowess, deep faith, unencumbered curiosity, truth telling.  A mother who also grew up in fear and learned to take care of self and siblings very early in order to stay out of the way of addicted and abusive parents. Knowing that I grew up with a woman who delighted in me, who sought repair with me when any harm or conflict came, who honored all my uniqueness and cheered me on my discoveries every step of the way. A mother who especially later in life could not be bothered with all the culture rules for girls but who always wanted time to dream and wonder and connect with my heart. 

On her birthday, as is the case with most days, I would give just about anything to be with her, hug her, ask more questions and thank her. I think on what life has looked like since I lost her and I sometimes worry she wouldn't be so proud. The burden of the legacy feels too much and I am curled up in a ball instead. And even then, i hear her voice telling me that she loves me, that I live with that same MIGHTY God and if I am connected to Him even balled up in a corner, then that is exactly where I should be. All legacy for His glory not ours. And as I think on those words, I smile, imagining that the angels must be really whooping it up celebrating her life and the glory indeed that was given to God in her lifetime. 

Happy Birthday mom, miss you much and still, you are with me. 

Advent Thrill

Every advent i have this strong drive to not miss a morning of getting up early. i tiptoe down the stairs and turn on the Christmas tree lights, pour a cup of coffee and sit by the quiet glow before all the hustling begins. Allured by the light and the extra sense of invitation I covet more minutes to wander. Most days right now when i close my eyes I just say God what, what am i missing?

My days feel especially recycled right now and the weight of the monotony gets to me. I have to wrestle down to my kindest settled self to know this season is not forever although it has felt so long. My dear friend gave me this beautiful card and the front just says A Thrill of Hope. I keep staring at it feeling the utter disconnect with the word thrill or hope related to this season. Last year this season was covered in dark. I have countless memories of pouring rain drives to visit my dying mother and then back to town for some festive event for my daughter. It was an impossible stretch. There was no thrill and actually very little hope. We were staring death in the face and in the very last face I wanted to see it on - and so I have no clue how to revisit the very season that is about anticipation and light and life when right now it only floods my head with memories of darkness and loss. 

and YET generously I am receiving this lure to relationship with God in a way I am actually unfamiliar. Because I haven't been given many words at all for understanding it. I am tripping over my own senses as I begin to reach out for this hand that is much softer than i imagined, the grip less overwhelming and gentler to get hold of me as my body wants to drop on the floor.  and I even get the sense that this God will sit right next to me and keep holding my hand if the floor is where i need to be. I picture showing to be with God barefaced and still being beautiful. It is one of the very few times in my life I see myself with God and it is not a productive scene, meaning we aren't accomplishing, saving, rescuing - I am learning again. I am curious and longing to know more intimately God.  

And so i keep showing up in the early morning by the lights with what is actually quite A Thrill of Hope - to shed and to receive more and new imagination for relationship with God. A relationship with one who can bear my condition and sees the dark I hold this season.  To hope that we may soon be up to much good work, and also that their is much more healing for me. 

Advent invitation

The season is inviting me to allow the space to pull the words that are circling my head and heart at a wild pace. I will need to make this space to stay alive this season, and by alive i mean remotely in my body through the days. I found myself floating through so many moments over the last 10 days that I literally had to tell myself, “your daughter is talking to you, your son is crying in the other room, you are in public at the store….” i sound a little crazy writing that down but I am coming to know the truth of grief again. It seems it can take you so extremely far into yourself or so very far out of body but either way, you do not sense a ground below you. 
As I was quieting myself this morning to welcome what may be out there for me this Advent season, i read from Communicating Across Boundaries Blog and stopped on this:
“It strikes me that there’s a profound difference between burying my head in the sand and lifting my eyes up to see above the muck. Both refuse to focus on the crud and horror of what’s happening. But one gives me permission to welcome what God is doing. Looking up allows me to make eye contact with a broader perspective and with Hope itself! If I look up I see above the landscape, I see the horizon, wide and eternal, stretching beyond what I now know, making way for what’s to come.” 
and i thought - YEEEESSSSS.  I devoutly committed a lot of good energy and years waving my flags of ignorance is bliss, I'm on a need to know basis, why focus on the past….my head in the sand. And in the last decade as i attempted to lift my head, I have felt like i have been facing oncoming traffic going 80 miles an hour then leading to an eternal red light. And as groundless as I felt for the last 340 days of living in a motherless world, staring nowhere, I am now resolute in my eagerness to lift my eyes. Even as I write that I think, no, you don’t get to do that yet, the pain is still so strong it will pull you under like quicksand. Looking up is denial Ashley, stay at the red light. Face nowhere while the grief rides out its endless loops through your body. 
And a deep breath later, I think, there is a horizon - wide and eternal - stretching beyond what I know, making way - you can get a glimpse Ashley. The glimpses are part of the healing. The hope that there is light out there - could I dare to believe with all my body is holding that there is goodness in the landscape ahead - goodness for me? Goodness to remind me that a MIGHTY God and LOVING son Jesus exists. And even to imagine a feminine MOTHER spirit that is beckoning me to look up, to receive the comfort of embrace, to be washed over with encouragement so that I may find footing again. Very much like a  waddling child, stuck in the sand, up again, seated for a long while with hopes to put one foot in front of the other, to stand without wobbling quite so much. 
Words do not seem apt to share the shakiness of my legs to near the mark of a year without my mother. Typing the words dries my throat out and soaks my eyes, it cannot be. Desperation runs through my shoulders as I deeply miss the comfort of her arms, her powerful words, her kind face… and there it is that I hear the faintest voice calling me towards new names for the God I’ve known since a little girl but haven’t called forward ever in this way - a MOTHER God? A comforter on my behalf? She who wants to give me goodness for goodness sake, A God that offers me rest and that looks at my face and smiles in delight? I can hardly believe this invitation, this new horizon that is so softly calling me into this Advent season. And my response is, “Thank you Jesus. Thank you. I had no idea.”

a note to my 16 year old self

It was 70 degrees in mid October and very few leaves had even changed because of the warm North Carolina fall. As I looked around the table I found myself wanting permission to stare longer at each of their faces. Even though they may say the wrinkles and dark under eyes are unbecoming I found the age in their faces powerful and lovely. I’d known these women since I was 15 years old; A lot more life has been had since we were last together. 

I returned to my high school hometown of Greensboro, NC to attend my 20th high school reunion. Mostly i returned to sit with a few faces and know them again even if only for 48 hours to allow the nostalgia to seep into our older frames. Events I had stored in all parts of my brain and body from those formative years were bubbling up the instant I sat down with these women. Towards the end of our meal and after many other questions, i asked, “Do you have peace with your 16 year old self?” The answer in full is much longer than our lunchtime date but I so appreciated what they had to say. For the rest of the weekend I found a way to ask something like that to other classmates i was spending time with and found that by Saturday afternoon hours before the actual reunion party, I was wondering this for myself. 

After all the festivities ended, I boarded the plane back to the West Coast and I realized there is so much I wish to say to my 15,16,17,18 year old self.  So here goes one effort of peacemaking with her:

Dear girl, Do not be so afraid but in your curiosity be as kind and protective of yourself as a young girl can possibly be. There is much to figure out about the world, so don’t rush and don’t push it away and don’t jump in both feet without a clue what it looks like on the other side. Be kindly curious. Be patient to know that the world will teach you so much in time for now you are continuing to learn yourself and others. Finding your own self is a much darker, awkward and deeper journey than maybe anyone let you know. Yes, you are beautifully wonderfully made in Gods image as your parents told you many times, and you are also still young and human in a world with many many people and ideas - many of which have great appeal but will not always serve you. And with all that advice then I would say this: 

You were lovely even still. And I want to greet your young face with kisses on both cheeks. I want to hold you close and bring comfort and grace to all the days you disconnected further and further from yourself. First as you came to know that all the verses in the world couldn’t always hold the desire in your body to be known and seen and loved. That trusting a God to be your everything in those growing up days was hard when the world felt so wide open. You feel you fell so far from His love and path for you that you weren’t still worthy to be held and deserving of His mercy. Actually I see now part of the splitting was the real learning of how much you needed someone bigger than yourself, a real hope outside of that wide opened full optioned world that gave such fleeting tastes of love and acceptance. In receiving that mercy maybe you will learn something of the real kindness to yourself. Its not the kindness that is ignorant and glossing over but the kind that sees and still offers love. You dear girl have always been worthy of love, and not because you made all the right choices. Im sorry for the many years that truth felt so shaky. 

i am sorry for the war on your body as a young girl. the barrage of messages that quickly and insidiously communicate to you the one path to beauty. With each message you received you got further and further away from your own body and began labeling each part with new names with a lot less acceptance. By the time you left high school you actually were so disconnected from your own body after so many harsh and untrue labels that a mirror became pointless. You could not even see the reflection. i want to hold the body that spent hours hugging a toilet to release the enemy of food. Rather than nourishment or joy, hunger for food felt like betrayal to yourself and the wicked force to keep you from being what you desperately need to be, thin in a disappearing kind of way. and also in an appearing way - a way in which you could be noticed and wanted. I’m sorry you felt shame for that desire that is built into your person. I'm sorry that friends held your hair instead of told you you were already beautiful - no real fault of theirs, they were so busy figuring it all out too, we could hardly rescue each other. 

I see you now. more clearly. and you were fighting so many battles in your days. and somedays you fought valiantly with the protection of angels. and other days looked more like lying down in surrender. and i want so badly to say to you now, no more regretting those years of split turns, they now are a part of your wisdom. Don’t hate the 16 year old you, she was trying so very hard to navigate the world. It was beautiful and awkward and fun and full of discovery and stupid and dangerous and big hearted.

You were still very you in a navigating a crazy maze but those days offer shape to the women you are today. The woman who entered the 20th year reunion confidently with all the turns of the past that her mind body and soul are rich today. not perfect, not all figured out, but down the road a bit further. a lot more life has been had yes, there are gray hairs and lines to prove it.  However, there has also been kindness to self that has radicalized your days to more fully live into what you hope to offer the world.

I’m not sure I could be this 38 without that 16. Maybe, but I’m done being mad at her. Peace to you young girl. 

Saying goodbye to summer

A note to my kids - saying goodbye to summer

As the last summer evening of family backyard teeball ended my heart dropped a bit knowing we were walking inside and closing out another season.  Truth is, I did not want to be full-time at home this summer.  I was nervous going into it wondering how I would muster the energy to be a daily activities director. I was so jealous of your dad so many mornings heading out of the house to another world while i stayed in this one repeating the often monotonous chores of the home.  I imperfectly as I can possibly imagine lead you two kids through this summer. And here we go into a new rhythm  - all still in tact AND even with surprising and unimaginable memories and growth.  Mercy Be. 

This summer you two have taught me so much. I wasn’t anticipating all I would witness.  I watched the way you looked at each other first thing in the morning. Mateo’s joy the second he heard footsteps that “Tissy” was awake! Hannah, your heart for him grew from lime size to an elephant - you doted on him, laughed with him, read to him, encouraged him - I could hardly believe what was unfolding before me was this beautiful sibling relationship. Last year was too traumatic and intense to give you bonding space and this summer it felt like more beautiful than I could have imagined the many years we prayed for you Hannah to have a sibling. And listen, it wasn't all perfect because becoming siblings also came with the hitting, frustration, jealousy, and room boundaries that can make any momma crazy. 

Coming out of a deep season of grief, I learned more about myself than I probably wanted to in how I took on the days. The waves of grief still floundering through my body caused impatient, distracted and sometimes unkind responses. I thought i might throw something if i had to meal plan and go to target one more time, never mind the time at the sink or baskets of laundry that seemed to always need me. I was more bitter than i wish. i am not proud of the way that i let the repetition defeat me. There were days I frustrated quickly with your spills on the carpet or sharpie on the new dining table, or the sound of the whine got so deep under my skin, i screamed too. I also found myself longing for distraction and activity so we spent a few weeks so over scheduled that we were all exhausted -  which then led a week of nonstop Rio Olympics.  A few times staring at my phone, wanting to escape into something adult, smart, affirming and got lost reading horrible news headlines and unrealistic Instagram envy. 

What I really found this summer was how much each of you enjoyed exploring but equally thrived in the quiet moments. You both continued to beg for my face and my attention. You both wanted to sit near me, shut my computer or turn off the TV, and read or talk or play. You both really wanted presence of a mother - and you wanted to be seen and enjoyed. Each of you responded to the moments I delighted in you with such obvious joy and rest at times it was like you were waiting for me to indulge you with tickles or a book or a long chat. There were days you stretched me all the way out where I watched the clock until dad’s bus was coming home to exhale for a slight moment. And there were days were i wanted to hold you both so close, stay out in the sun past dinner and live in eternal summer mode together. 

As I send you Hannah to start second grade, my mind is like a slideshow of our days. And while I love remembering Hannah catching her first fish at Cama Beach or Mateo experiencing East Coast beach with unabashed joy for sand and water, the Outer Banks cousin dance routine, the water ballon fight at grub club in CLT, family kayaking at South Lake Union, the thrill of watching the Olympic gymnasts… what I hold closest to my heart were the still moments around the house where you came and snuggled, or the times in the car when I looked in the mirror and saw you two holding hands in the back seat, or the pre dinner dance parties when we shook out all the crazy from the day and laughed with each other.  I’ll remember tearful conversations trying to figure out friendships and Hannah's determination after 50 falls to get one back-walkover. I remember swimming and eating and screaming and crying and praying and singing. All of it. As ragtag of a crew as it felt somedays, you two gave me an unbelievable privilege this summer to be full-time at home and witness all the beauty of your growing up and growing together. Now, I'm nervous for FALL and will miss our days so very much. Who would have guessed?

Stay on the dance floor. Or the in the boat.

Then Jesus turned to his wind-torn friends. “Why were you scared? he asked. “Did you forget who I Am? Did you believe your fears, instead of me?”

Jesus’ friends had been so afraid, they had only seen the big waves. They had forgotten that, if Jesus was with them, then they had nothing to be afraid of. No matter how small their boat - or how big the storm.  

I got choked up and looked at the cream cheese stained faces of my kids as I was reading the end of this story to them this morning from the Jesus Storybook Bible. For the pages before I found myself nodding my head and a little mad, thinking yeah, JESUS, WAKE UP. QUIT SLEEPING! Don’t you see I am in this little boat being blown and buffeted and tossed and turned back and forth and up and down and left and right and round and round??

Hannah looked at me the way I looked at my mom hundreds of times when i was so confused why she was crying and then she asked if she could go watch a show (i.e. escape the crazy lady talking to herself over the bible story). And now here I am many hours later thinking about the last dang sentence. No matter how small their boat or how big the storm - nothing to be afraid of if Jesus is with me.
 
WHY DOESN’T IT FEEL THAT WAY? Because actually I am very afraid. Actually my body is tied in knots wondering where my kids can lay there heads in 30 days. I feel like I’m in a small boat and completely adrift at sea. I feel like the compass was lost, i’m  sailing with strangers, we are low on resources and then a nonstop relentless never slowing storm begins… and it is feeling like Jesus is snoozing. No calm, no recovery, no flashing lighthouses telling us where to pull in, no excess jackets or fish or rest - just constant waves. 

This is what the last few years have felt like. How then God can you be surprised if I am afraid or if I am mad or weary? How am I supposed to consider worshiping my way through the constant nature of flying debris around me? Im TIRED. I want to RECOVER from the last few years. I cannot hope or dream or scheme or wait or anything right now. I only want to be but i’d like to be without lightening and thunder. I’m adrift without a compass and I can survive that, but not while also watching the boat fill with water. Is that too much to ask, that’s a real question? Am I wanting too much or all the wrong things? 

The following morning, Stephen read a chapter from A Sacred Sorrow and I came to realize that I am in a stage of lament.  Lament is defined as a passionate expression of grief or sorrow. Turns our I have been lamenting for a while now, but it is coming to light for me now as I recall much groaning in the last few years. The chapter talks about Job with more amazement of what he endured and that still, somehow, he continued to cry out to God. And that in his weeping and screaming to what felt like a silent God, that was actually worship. It says, "He will stubbornly cry out in the groanings of this lament which is worship until God answers.  As Brueggermann would say, he refuses to leave the dance floor until the dance is done." Because he still believed in his most desperate place that God was His only hope.

I have had a hard time singing at church or praying prayers of gratitude recently, and I am amazed to consider that there is a place within worship that includes my groaning. Because indeed while I struggle to sing of God’s goodness and never letting us down, I do still in the depth of my exhausted wind torn body carry the belief that God is my hope. So, back to the boat. Stay on the dance floor. I can cry out at what feels like the sleeping Jesus, and beg God to protect my family from the relentless storm - and try my hardest to not be afraid until He answers.