Paying Attention

How much attention are you really paying to your life?

If you read last Friday's post about the woman I was supposed to pray with but didn't, you might think this has to do with that. But it doesn't. Not really. 

This is another post about my newly-blind best friend. (My dog.) 

See, one of the things that has taken me most by surprise in all of this transition is how little attention she seems to have been paying to her life for the last 11 years. 

She has lived in the same house. With the same floors. With the furniture in the same places. With her food and water in exactly the same place. Going up and down the same 4 steps off the back deck and the front porch. Walking the same neighborhood streets. Crossing the same crosswalks. Peeing in the same little piece of easement at this one neighbor's house. (We even call it her potty spot.) 

Yet, she lost her sight, and she seems to have absolutely no clues remaining as to where she is. 

She's constantly walking into things. Things that haven't moved in 11 years. She can't find her food and water bowl. Like her nose doesn't know to alert her to these things. She skitter-foots every time she crosses the threshold from the laminate flooring to the old linoleum, like it's something weird and new. Like this whole big world she lives in, even this little part of it that I would have assumed she would be intimately familiar with, is completely foreign. 

Like her eyes have been literally the only thing she's been paying attention to for her whole life. 

Now that she needs her other senses, it's like she's never used them before. 

I can hold a piece of cheese in front of this dog's face, right in front of her nose, and she will still move her nose in a bunch of circles before she figures out where it is. I can put her at the edge of the stairs, and she won't know that the edge means it's time to step down. (She's learning....we're getting there.) I can take her for a walk and verbally identify landmarks for her - houses where other dogs live, fences she likes to sniff at - and she'll walk right into them anyway, like they aren't even there. Like she's never noticed them before in her life. 

It makes me think. 

It makes me wonder what the dominant things have been in my life that I've been depending on, what I trust to guide me. It makes me wonder how many other ways I'm experiencing the world at the same time without even paying attention to them. It makes me wonder if I'm paying attention at all, and how much attention I'm paying. 

I think it's a good time to stop and think about the ways I'm living and what they mean for the life I'm living and what they mean, most importantly, if the life I'm living somehow changes in some dramatic way.

Linda

I was supposed to pray with you. 

Add it to a long list of regrets in my life that come from the moments that I know that God has stirred my heart in a certain direction, but I let my flesh hold me back. My insecurities. My distractions. My expectations. 

God had crossed our paths in the most unexpected of ways. There I was, and there you were, and there was this moment, this sacred moment. I could feel it in my bones. And I let it slip away. 

Or maybe I made it slip away. 

Because there was that nagging in my spirit more than once. I knew I was supposed to pray with you. Or at least offer to pray with you. It kept coming back into my heart, over and over and over again. I kept trying to figure out how I was supposed to bring it up, how I was supposed to make the offer, how I was supposed to guide the moment. 

What I didn't realize until later was that God had already guided the moment. 

And if it was on my heart, it was probably on your heart, too. 

Aside from the sting of knowing my own disobedience, that plagues me most - wondering if you felt it, too. Wondering if you had the same stirring in your heart. Wondering if you knew that I was supposed to pray with you, and if you were just waiting for it. Like a breath of fresh air. Like someone reaching out to hold your hand at just that moment when you needed that physical reassurance. I wonder if you heart knew, just knew, it was coming and if all the hope that you needed in that moment was supposed to come through my feeble words. 

I wonder if you know that I let you down. I wonder if you know that I failed in my faith. 

I wonder if there was something in you that would have called me out on it. 

I wonder...if you were just as hesitant to ask as I was. 

And that's the thing about faith. We can be standing there, two individuals who love and are loved by God, who believe in His good promises, who know His amazing grace, each of us feeling in our hearts that thing that God is doing, that thing that God is about to do, but it takes one of us to take the first step into that holy moment. 

In the case of you and I, it was supposed to be me. And I let too many things stop me. Even one thing would have been too many. 

It is a moment I missed that still lingers in my soul. 

But it lingers as a reminder that I don't want to miss another one. Never again. 

May I embrace the bold kind of faith that follows that still, small voice. That steps out. That interjects into the moment and says, "Hey...." 

Linda, I was supposed to pray with you. I don't know if you know that as profoundly, as certainly, as painfully as I know that, but I'm sorry I didn't. I'm so sorry I didn't.

But I will never let that moment pass me by again. 

Believe

The question we have to ask in each of our lives, then, is the question we ask so frequently about Saul's: 

At what point do we believe God? 

What does He have to do that would be enough for us to understand just how much He loves us? 

The tragedy is that so many us, if we were to read our life stories back the way that we get to read Saul's, would be screaming at ourselves. We'd be screaming at multiple junctions. We'd be wanting to jump through the pages of the story, grab ourselves by the neck, and shake us. Look at what God has done. How can you not believe Him yet?

Sometimes, it's the big things. The big, obvious things - like the oil that was running down Saul's head and dripping onto his face. How do you not believe a moment like that? But then, how do you not believe a moment when your money stretches just far enough, when the medicine works, when the apology restores, when the door opens? Here we are, not believing it. Continuing, hilariously, to pray for the very sorts of things God has already given us and we have not believed. 

Sometimes, it's the little things. The small, almost-imperceptible things that fly right under our radar. Like someone offering us the little bit we need to find our courage, or someone writing off the expectation entirely and offering us a free gift. 

How many things in your life have you received unexpectedly, freely-given, at just a moment when you needed them? How many quarters have you found on the sidewalk? How many exceptional clearance deals? How many well-timed sales? How many perfect books for the perfect season in the little free library? 

How many little graces? 

My guess is that if we would go back and read our own stories the way that we read the stories of others like Saul, we would find so many of the same patterns that frustrate us when we see them in others. We would see our own propensity to miss the signals and the cues and the blessings and the graces and the gifts entirely. 

It may not be true in the most concrete sense of the words, but I'm betting there are a great many of us who have been found, more than once, hiding among the luggage even while our head still shimmers in the sun from the oil that has just never quite washed out all the way, no matter how many showers we've had since then. 

And that, my friends, is also a tragedy. 

So the question for us is the same question we have for Saul: at what point do you simply believe what God is doing in your life and start living like it's true? 

May the answer be as we know that it is: at any point. 

How about now?  

At What Point

Saul's insecurity, the root of his downfall as God's anointed, is an absolute tragedy. If you'll read through his story carefully, you'll see that he had a multitude of opportunities to believe God for even one thing; the fact that He could not seem to believe God for anything is a great caution for the rest of us. 

Saul could have believed God when Samuel, the prophet (and priest), told him plainly that God had chosen him and anointed his head with oil. Hey, Saul, you're going to be king; this is what the man of God has to say about you, so it must be what God says about you. 

If not that, then perhaps Saul could have believed at least that the man of God might be onto something. After all, Samuel also told Saul that the donkeys he was out tracking had already been found and returned home. And, indeed, they had. So if Samuel can be right about donkeys he's never physically seen, how much more should Saul trust the prophet/priest when he has something to say about the man standing right in front of him?

If not that, then perhaps Saul should have noticed that at a moment when he wasn't sure he had anything of value with him, when he hesitated to try to track down the seer (Samuel) because he didn't think he had any worthy gift to bring to receive an insight from God, the servant who was with him scrounged together a very little bit - enough of a little bit to encourage Saul to go and see if the seer would be gracious to them. The fact that he had just enough of a little bit to risk it should have been a sign that God was providing for him. 

The fact that the seer didn't, apparently, require even that little bit from him should have been yet another sign still. 

But at no point in this part of the journey did Saul actually believe God. In fact, he was hesitant to even tell anyone else about it because he just didn't trust it. Which is how it comes to be that when all Israel gathers to actually appoint their king, Saul - the anointed, for whom God has already provided at least 4 times - has to be sought and found, where he is hiding among the luggage. 

You'd think that the persistence of the prophet and the people to keep searching and looking for him until they found him among those bags, then all the cheering that ensued, might have been enough to convince Saul that God really was calling him. But again, no. 

He is anointed king, and then he just goes home. 

God gives him several early victories. Key victories. Decisive victories. He leads Israel into battle against their enemies and comes out absolutely dominant. Which, again, you'd think would be enough to make him at least start thinking about believing and trusting God. But again, no. He is still more superstitious than faithful, as evidenced by his unauthorized offering of the sacrifices when he thinks Samuel is running late. It's not God's favor that is with him; it's the ritual sacrifice that earns him the favor. Right? 

Wrong. 

And so it's here, at Saul's seventh or eighth or ninth instance of just not getting it, of Saul's dozenth time letting his insecurity speak louder than God's voice, that God finally gives up on Israel's first king and pivots toward a young shepherd boy named David. 

And the tragedy, as I said to start this post, is not just that Saul could not seem to believe God; the tragedy is that he had literally dozens of chances to do so and missed every single one of them. If, at any of these points in his story, Saul had just opened his eyes and seen what God was doing for him, in him, through him, and trusted in that, the whole story could have been completely different. 

We read the story in 1 Samuel, and we can't help but think to ourselves - at what point is Saul going to finally get it? And our heart breaks when we realize it could have been really at any point. It just wasn't. 

Tragic. 

Insecure

When we talk about Saul (Old Testament Saul), we have to remember that when all of Israel gathered to select and appoint their first-ever king, 1) Saul knew it was going to be him; the prophet Samuel had already told him but 2) he was still hiding among the luggage when they called him out. 

Think about that for a second. This guy's head is dripping with the oil of anointing. He can probably still smell it in his nose. He's been told by the prophet that it's him, and the prophet is the one running the show at the public anointing. There is absolutely no reason for Saul to expect to be able to hide for very long. 

In fact, in an age of bold individualism and an emphasis on showmanship and achievement, it's hard for us to believe that the guy who knew he was the one about to be anointed king wouldn't come strutting in, making a show of himself, clearing a path through the crowds, and boasting about this incredible opportunity. At the very least, a humble brag. We picture a guy who would have to be a little like Prince Charming in Shrek - almost full of himself, standing tall, walking confidently. 

After all, God's already anointed you. What else do you need? 

The short answer is: you need to believe it. 

That was the biggest flaw of the first king of Israel, his fatal flaw: he never could get himself to believe what God said about him.

God had chosen him. God had led him through a long journey all the way to the prophet, who not only assured him of the safety of a few donkeys, but poured oil on his head and anointed him king of Israel. God had proven faithful in early battles, securing the victory for Saul. God had laid out a plan for Saul to continue to lead this people and to keep winning battles and to be the king. 

But Saul struggled to believe it. 

He was hiding among the baggage because he couldn't wrap his head around the idea that God might want him. 

He kept his spear always close at hand because he believed it was up to him to hold onto the kingship, that he had to always be ready to protect himself against anyone who would come for him or his throne. 

He offered sacrifices himself, instead of waiting for Samuel, because he didn't trust God was going to show up on time if he didn't. 

Everything in Saul's life shows us that he was constantly working to alleviate the threats that he saw all around him instead of living in the promise poured out on his life and tucked into his sadly-decaying heart. If you read Saul's story with an eye toward the humanity of it, you see a man who never did believe God. Not really.

And as a result, he spent his entire anointed life battling his own insecurities. 

Insecurities that led him to always be ready to defend himself. 

Because he wasn't sure that God - the same God who called, anointed, and affirmed him - would do it. 

The Spear

My annual Bible reading has me in 1 Samuel lately, and something is jumping out at me that has never struck me in this way before. 

If you want to have some biblical fun, go read 1 Samuel (it might take a couple of days) and take a closer look at Saul, the first king of Israel. Specifically, look at how many times the Bible tells us he had his spear. 

You may remember the stories. King Saul is at a dinner, and David is there, and a tormenting spirit is there, so sometime in the middle of the meal, Saul picks up his spear and hurls it at David, intending to peg him to the wall. 

A bit later, there's another dinner. David is absent this time; Jonathan is using the opportunity to gauge Saul's actual hatred for the son of Jesse, and Saul, in his anger, picks up his spear and hurls it at Jonathan, who takes off running to go tell David that what he's feared is really, actually true. 

A few chapters later, there is a scene where Saul is sitting under a tree. Sitting under a tree. And the Bible tells us that he had his spear next to him. 

It was at this point in my reading that I actually made a note in my journal - Does Saul just always have his spear with him? Seriously. He has it at dinner. Twice. He has it while he's sitting under a tree. It's starting to give me a whole new impression of this king of Israel. 

Then, just a few mornings ago, I'm still reading, and Saul has gone out with his men to chase David...again. And David sneaks into Saul's camp, where everyone is in a deep sleep (as provided by the Lord), and Saul has his spear stuck in the ground near his head. 

At this point, I just laughed. 

I mean, c'mon. Go ahead and read it for yourself if you don't believe me. But every time we see King Saul, his spear is certain to be somewhere nearby. 

Now, you might be tempted to say...he's the king. He's the commander of Israel's army. He's often in battle. It only makes sense that he always has a weapon with him. But at dinner? 

The truth is, we don't see this detail added for any of the other kings we read about in the Bible. No one else we're talking about has a weapon always close at hand. None of the other commanders are eating with their fork in one and and their spear within arm's reach. 

Just Saul. 

It's worth it, then, to ask...why? Why can't Saul go anywhere or do anything without his spear? Why is it so near and dear to him? 

It's not because he is a warrior. I'll tell you that much.  

David

I stood there, barely 4-foot-tall and fifty-few pounds, staring up at the 180-foot wall in front of me and the zip line that crossed the whole length of the small lake. I knew instantly there was no way I was ever going to be able to do this. There wasn't even a small part of me that wanted to. 

About a year or so before that moment, my life had been rocked by the development of severe cervical vertigo and an offset in my vision that only made things worse. It would be several decades before I would understand this; until that time, everyone would just call it a "fear of heights" and tell me that I needed to "be brave" and "get over that." But I was young and small and still new to the way that the world was spinning, and I couldn't. 

David was explaining how we were all going to be hooked into these harnesses and connected to this long rope for our own safety and then, one at a time, we were going over that wall. After that, we were flying on that zipline. In between, there were half a dozen other obstacles in this high-ropes course that we were going to tackle. 

Every. single. one. of us. 

I was trying to figure out how to get out of it. I was trying to figure out how to explain that there was no way I could do this, that those ropes better be strong enough to catch me because I was going to fall. I was dreading the moment when I knew that David, like so many other persons in my life, was going to tell me to just stop being scared and believe in myself. Or something like that. 

But then, he said - "We're going to need one person to stay on the ground and hold the ropes." He went on to explain how this person was called a "belayer" and would be the anchor for everyone else as they conquered the course. The belayer had to be strong, he said, because they would literally be the thing that kept anyone else from falling and hitting the ground and becoming majorly injured. 

He couldn't even finish his talk before I was eagerly thrusting my hand in the air. Me, the smallest kid in the bunch. Maybe one of the youngest, too. I was freshly 11 years old. Still, I was practically leaping with excitement, at least inside my head. Outside, my body was holding its hand as high and straight as I could possibly get it, trying to make sure I was in his line of sight, and pleading as strongly as I could with silent eyes. 

It has to be me. Pick me. 

He was surprised by my eager volunteerism. Didn't I want to run the course with everyone else? I was known for being adventurous, for being stubborn, for not saying no. I seemed like exactly the kind of person who wanted to tackle a 180-foot wall...I was also the kind of insecure kid who needed that kind of victory and accomplishment in my life.

But I insisted. I want to be the ground guy. 

He looked at my small size, compared to everyone else, but I insisted here, too. I can do it. I'm strong. 

So David let me be the ground guy. He let me be the belayer. He taught me how to hold the ropes, how to wrap them around myself so that I could maximize my strength and minimize my effort. 

He was one of the first persons in my life to let me say what I needed and listened to me when I did. 

This is such a valuable skill in life. We are always trying to fix others. When we come to help, we always try to encourage victory and accomplishment and all the other things, and we don't often listen to someone who is telling us what they need. We don't often listen to someone who tells us what role they can play in a bigger success because we want some massive thing for them that they don't really want for themselves. 

Would it have been cool to do that high ropes course? Obviously, yes. I still have fantasies of doing a zipline one day. But I understood the way that my body gifted and cursed me in those days, I knew what I was capable of actually doing, I knew what I offered to the team. My willingness to accept my limitations - and David's willingness to let me accept them - gave every single other kid the opportunity to conquer their fears, expand their horizons, believe in themselves a little more, and defeat this high ropes course. Not a one of them could stop talking about it for weeks. Everyone kept asking when they could do it again. 

I just smiled. 

I've been the ground guy a lot in my life. It's a position and a function I know well - being strong, standing firm, holding the ropes that give others the confidence to succeed. 

But I have also learned to listen while I'm doing that and to let others tell me what they need and then, to believe them. And do my best to give them that. 

Thank you, David, for teaching me two big lessons that day. Lessons that have shaped so much of who I have become.  

God of Good

I was in my local (name the store) the other day, when I saw a man who looked strange. He seemed to be following me. So I turned down an aisle that I didn't really need to go down and sure enough, he turned down the same aisle. A few aisles later, I turned again, and he was getting closer to me. I clasped onto my purse a little tighter and started looking around to see if anyone else might be noticing, but then a woman who seemed to know the man was coming at me from the other side of the aisle, and I just knew they were trying to abduct me. I didn't call the police or take any photos with my very convenient phone/photo device, but I came home and posted about it on social media. 

You've probably read this story a thousand times by now. 

Or some version of it where someone leaves a flyer on your windshield wiper. Or doses your door handle with drugs while you're inside the mall. And not a single one of these stories has ever been corroborated by an actual police department, and yet, they scare us anyway. That's the goal. 

Here's a story that's actually true:

The other night, I was coming home from work and saw a young girl (13-14 years old) walking her dog down my street. Wanting to make sure they passed safely before I backed into my driveway, I pulled over toward the curb and waited on her to pass. As soon as I stopped my car, she stopped like a deer in headlights and just stared at me. I attempted to gesture that I was waiting to back into my driveway and wanted her to keep walking, but every time I raised my hand, she frantically shook her head "No" and her eyes got even wider. My heart broke as I wondered who made her so afraid of this world. 

Little girl, I just want us both to get home safely. Please keep walking your dog so I can go in my house and feed mine. 

This sort of thing is happening more and more in our world. I remember when I was a kid and it was just seeming to get started. Back in the day, we ran around half the time and our parents didn't even know where we were. Then some kid went missing on the other side of the country, and all of a sudden, it seems we all had a leash on. Then, we got obsessed with true crime, and the whole world became full of monsters. 

We are so afraid of each other, especially persons we don't know (when, in fact, it is the persons we do know who are most likely to hurt us the most deeply). We live our lives scared of chance encounters because "you just never know." 

But here's another story that's actually true: 

A decade or so ago, I was traveling by myself - a 30-something female - through the wide-open countryside of Illinois. Due to my unfamiliarity with the roads I was on, I had been in desperate need of a restroom for approximately, oh, 40 miles, when I finally came upon a lone gas station literally in the middle of corn fields. There was nothing - and no one - else around. But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. 

This gas station was janky, and that's putting it lightly. The rows, if you could even call them such a thing, were so cramped you had to shimmy sideways through them. When I walked in, no one was there, but then a man emerged from the back somewhere. He was a very tall white guy with very thick dreadlocks and a moderate country drawl. I asked for a restroom, and he laughed and asked me how long I'd been on this road, then pointed me toward the back, where the passages were even narrower and a thick grey paint covered an office door and a small bathroom door. The bathroom also apparently served as a broom closet. (The toilet, though, was surprisingly clean.) But it was every bit the kind of place you'd see in an episode of Criminal Minds. 

After using the facilities, I went back out and chatted with the guy for a bit and he turned out to be one of the nicest, friendliest guys I'd ever met. Genuinely happy, genuinely glad to be of service, to be in the right place at the right time. I walked away from that encounter thinking deep in my heart something that I have known to be true ever since: 

Most persons really are just good persons. 

And the Bible confirms this. Ecclesiastes tells us, God made people good. He really did. The world breaks some of us, but at our core, God has made us good. 

As much as the world tries to scare us, as much as it wants us to be afraid of one another (and of everything, really), the truth is much different. The world is, overwhelmingly, a good place full of good persons. 

So just keep walking your dog. Okay?

God Satisfies

Ecclesiastes is a strange sort of book. On one hand, there seems to be a fairly valuable reflection on this earthly life that we're living, but every time you start to feel like you're connecting with some of the wisdom of the Teacher, he shouts out, "Meaningless! It's all like chasing the wind." 

Okay, now what?

There are a number of Christians - not a small number, unfortunately - who think that God wants us to be miserable. That if you're not miserable, you're not spiritual enough. That God is all about calling us to the hard things that are nearly impossible, that He wants us grinding out His days, that if we have anything left in the tank when the sun goes down, we didn't live that day fully enough. We missed something. We disappointed God. Something along those lines. 

Then, we have the Teacher, and he says stuff like, "Eat, drink, and be happy in your work." He says this more than once, at least some version of it. He seems to keep coming back to the idea that God wants us to be satisfied - physically, emotionally, existentially satisfied. That is somehow the ultimate goal of this human life. 

A few generations later, we end up with Jesus, and Jesus says He's come that we might have life, and have it abundantly. His life is that we love God, love one another, forgive our enemies, go the extra mile, pray, and carry our cross. 

Worldly wisdom says if you love what you do, you'll never work a day in your life, although this may be more a reflection on a reality than a prediction of it. 

So...what is the deal? 

I think the Teacher is right on par with the Rabbi. I think what God offers us is life abundant, and that life abundant is deep satisfaction - physical, emotional, existential satisfaction. 

This probably sounds crazy to those of you who have not experienced this in your life yet. It brings a tingle of deep grace to those of you that have. And as I say that, let me also say this - remember that God's timing is not our timing. 

I have done some really cool, really good things in my life. I have had some awesome seasons that I would not trade for the world, seasons that I would call wholly and thoroughly good. But at the same time, I would tell you that those were not seasons of deep satisfaction for me. They were seasons of struggle, of insecurity, of questions, of growth. They were times in which I learned to love Jesus more deeply and to know His heart for me. They were times in which I spent a lot of time wondering and some time wandering and never really knowing if those times were the times or not, though I could not have said they were not good and rich and full and wonderful. 

I am blessed now to be in a season where I'm starting to experience the kind of deep satisfaction that the Teacher talks about. What God wants for me - to eat, drink, and be happy in my work. When my soul just breathes more freely and more deeply and there's this completely content sigh that just sort of seeps out slowly. If you know, you know; if you don't, I pray that one day, you will. (And God is good and faithful to do so, if you keep following Him.) 

It's been in the most unexpected places, in the most unexpected ways, but every time I start to feel a little dissatisfaction start to seep in, a little curiousness about whether this is it or whether there is more, a little guilt about not doing more, being more, having more, whatever, I feel this little tug of God that pulls me back and asks me settle here. At least for this season. Draws me in and reminds me to simply let my soul be satisfied. To eat. To drink. To be happy. 

It's okay to do that. God desires this for you. Listen to the wisdom of the Teacher. 

And if it so happens to be chasing the wind? Well, my friend...sometimes, the wind simply needs to be chased. 

God of Truth

I am an honest person. Most everyone who knows me would say that about me. 

Yet, I confess that I am also very skilled at the human art of spinning the truth to an angle that is most flattering for it, when such a spin is necessary. I won't lie to you, but sometimes, I will have you look most directly at the part of the truth that is most applicable to the situation or the outcome. I try to do this non-manipulatively; that is, NOT so that I can control the outcome, but rather, just knowing who you are and understanding how things hit you, I try to make sure the truth hits you right. 

We all do this, to some extent. It's part of being social beings in relationship with one another and our community. It's simply how we communicate. 

There are, of course, outright liars among us. There are persons who will turn the truth for their own ends, who will always try to tell you straight like it needs to be for them to accomplish or receive whatever their end game is. There are persons who are so good at lying that they even convince themselves that their lies are the truth. 

Everywhere we go, we know...there is a truth, but we're only getting some version of it. At our best, we're getting the best a fallen human can do from a limited perspective; at our worst, we're getting a trick of the devil. 

God, on the other hand, isn't limited by the things that we are limited by. He doesn't have a limited perspective; He sees and knows everything. He isn't bound by social obligations; He has mastered the art of simply being who He is and letting His creation deal with it. He doesn't have to play with niceties and political correctness; He speaks, and there is light. 

Proverbs says every word God says is true. 

Every single one of them. 

That leaves us, then, as creatures of limited perspective, trying to figure out what we want to do with it. And the key comes in how we shift our perspective to understand.

Remember when I said that I'm always trying to figure out how you will hear a truth before I speak it? (I said this a few paragraphs ago in different words.) The aim is to put the best face of the truth toward you so that you are receptive to it. 

As limited beings trying to understand an infinite God who speaks absolute truth, we have to do something similar. We have to look at the face of the truth that God has given us, the one He's put toward us, and re-orient our lives accordingly. We have to accept that the truth is exactly what it looks like, exactly what He's shown us, and then figure out what direction that means we have to face to see it. We have to accept that it is the truth, whatever it is, and live like God means what He says. 

Because every single word He says is true. Perfectly, purely, infinitely true. 

We just have to wrap our finite minds around that. 

God's Vision

In just the past few days, my beloved dog, Sister Mary Thunder, has gone fully blind from diabetes. I've known for a bit that she was starting to lose her vision and then, there just came this moment when it was suddenly, completely gone. 

It is an adjustment we are still trying to make. 

But it has put a new perspective on a verse that I had marked to write about this week. 

The verse is in Proverbs 29:13, and the message is that God has given eyes to everyone, that all may see. In other words, God wasn't hiding anything from His creation; He's given us all we need to behold Him in the world. 

As I sit here with my newly-blind best friend curled up at my feet, I can't help but think about those without eyes. Those whose eyes don't work. Yes, there is a physical blindness, and that is a big part of where my thoughts are. But there are other things in this broken world that make our eyes not work. 

Trauma, for example. Trauma can blind us to seeing the goodness of God. Poverty, for another. When you're giving everything you've got every day just to have not enough, it can really limit the way you see things. Physical illness. Grief. Loss. Betrayal. Abuse. There are all kinds of things in this world that were never meant to be here, and they have this way of taking our eyes away from us. Making it so that we cannot see, even though God has, indeed, given us eyes. 

Sister Mary Thunder has other things that can guide her through this world. Her sense of smell is still one of her favorites; it takes us a bit longer now to walk the same sidewalks we've walked her whole life, simply because she has to slow down and get her bearings through her nose. Her ears also still work. The other day, she didn't see the squirrel cross right in front of her, but as soon as it touched a branch, that branch bent just enough to make a small noise, and my blind girl took off after it, like maybe today was the day she'd finally catch one. 

But perhaps the greatest advantage my now-blind best friend has...is me. I have become for her a still, small voice. A voice of calm. A voice that sees what she no longer can. I talk to her constantly while we are walking now, even though the sidewalks are familiar to her. For example, Thursday was trash day for part of our trail, so I had to tell her there were trash cans blocking the path and give her a little tug to go around them. She stumbles a bit and struggles to walk in a straight line, so I have to tell her there's a curb there or a step. When the storms knock a tree branch down, I tell her that we have to go another way. 

God has given us eyes to see, yes, but they aren't just physical eyes, and we aren't just talking about physical sight. God has given us all of the tools that we need to behold Him in the world - five senses, to grasp a fullness that our eyes alone could not give us. Things to help us keep our bearings when in one way or another, our world goes dark. In the grips of trauma, when you cannot see, perhaps it is a smell that sets you free. Or in poverty, maybe a sound. You just never know. 

But perhaps the greatest gift God has given us...is the Holy Spirit. That still, small voice that becomes our eyes when we cannot see. That tells us what's ahead and where we are and how to navigate a world that seems to have gone dark. It talks to us constantly, guiding and tugging on us to keep us on the path. 

That we may witness, in one way or another, the goodness and glory of God. 

Crystal

Of all the folks I could have run into, in all of the places, I wouldn't have expected it to be her. I was pretty sure she had dropped off the face of the planet. Or maybe she was in jail somewhere. Certainly, I didn't expect to find her where I did, but we walked right into each other. 

"You look so familiar," she said, beaming. "I remember you!" Then, she told me who she was. 

Crystal. 

I looked right at her for a minute, straightened my face, stared into her eyes, and said, "Oh yeah. ...You used to beat me up all the time." Then, I just continued to look right at her. 

She recoiled a bit, shocked that I would say such a thing. "No," she said, waving her hand, as though I had gotten it wrong. "I was the quiet kid." 

No, ma'am. You were not. 

You were the kid who made up vicious rumors about everyone who didn't fit your mold. You were the kid who spread malicious messages about anyone who didn't bow to your authority. I didn't wear makeup. Didn't wear dresses. Didn't care about all the vain things that teenage girls are typically into, so you, ma'am, made it your daily mission to tell the entire population of our high school that I was trash. 

You followed me around, catching me around corners I never would have suspected you. You followed me out the doors at the end of the day. You shoved me, knocking me off balance because of the weight of my backpack (which, by the way, you never carried yourself). You took several swings at me. And the one day that my mom drove her car down the street to pick me up, solely for the purpose of protecting me from you, you leaned your head far into the driver's window, across her lap, and sneered, I'll get you tomorrow, *****. You can't hide behind mommy forever. 

Neither my mother nor I have ever forgotten that day. 

And yet, somehow, you seem to have blocked out an entire four years, at least, of your own existence. That is some impressive kind of denial right there. 

I wouldn't have imagined that of all the persons in all the places in all the world that I would ever run into you again, but here we were. And it makes me think. 

It makes me think about the things in my life that I'd rather forget. My worst moments. My bad seasons. My brokenness that made me do things that weren't consistent with the way that I want to remember myself. It makes me wonder the kinds of memories that others have of me and whether I'd be willing to listen to them, to let them be truth, too. It makes me wonder about the kind of person I am today, the kinds of experiences others are having of me right now, and whether I'd be willing to listen to those, either. 

Am I a person who is capable of handling someone else's truth about me? Am I someone who wears blinders to my own faults and weaknesses? Am I someone who can accept that I am not always my best, that I am not always the person that I claim to be...or even want to be? 

Or am I someone who falls back on, "Me? No. Not me." 

I think about how differently I would have felt about running into Crystal if she had not been so dismissive of my experience with her so many years ago. I think about how differently that exchange could have gone if she had not blocked out the truth about who she was as a young person. 

I wonder how my own social experience might change if I could embrace the kind of raw honesty that, I realize, something in my heart wanted from her. 

I am not perfect. Never have been. Never will be. Not in this life, anyway. 

Am I the kind of person who can admit that?  

So-Called Faith

We are a people who want to look rich without investing all that money (that we often don't have), so we fell in love with our knock-off brands and now, it seems, the whole world has trended toward cheapness. The same is true with our worship - we created idols in our own image so that we could look like faithful individuals without the sacrifice that comes from trying to live truly righteous lives according to the standard of God. And we have seen the way that our cheap idols have given us the opportunity to make worship about us, about what we're doing, instead of about who God is - because our idols have no character of their own. 

And if you need more evidence of this, look no further than the content of our so-called worship services. Listen to the language of today's church and ask yourself: 

Who is the center of our attention? 

Most often, it is...us. I. Me. We. 

Look at the language. We used to sing hymns about the greatness of God, about amazing grace, about His power, love, goodness, favor, blessing, mercy, and all of the things that make Him truly the Lord of all the universe, Lord of all. 

Today, we sing about ourselves. We sing about how we stand up in His presence, or bow down. How we love Him. Not how He loves us, but how we love Him. We sing about our faithfulness. Not His; ours. We sing about our own lives, how chains have been rattled and health restored and life redeemed, but we sing about the redeemed themselves (us)...not the Redeemer. 

Slowly, but surely, we have shifted our emphasis, even in our most holy places, away from the Lord and onto ourselves. 

Have you listened to anyone pray lately? 

Jesus taught the disciples, and through them, us, to pray - a prayer that begins with an emphasis on the Lord: Our Father in Heaven, hallowed be Your name. Your kingdom come. Your will be done on earth as it is in Heaven. 

But the most common word in so many of our prayers today? "I." We. God, I come to you because I want something. God, we seek your favor. God, here I am. Here we are. We want, we need, we desire, we deserve. I beg. I plead. Have mercy on me...but no acknowledgement that the God we are praying to is actually the God of mercy. Just, you know, it'd be nice because I really need mercy right now. 

The trouble is that so many of us have adopted this language without even really noticing it. It never occurred to us. We think that because we mention God, it must be holy language, but here we are and the very clear emphasis is on ourselves. 

Which is exactly what happens. 

We create the knock-offs to make ourselves feel richer, to keep up appearances, to create an image. And then, we create idols in our own images. We start to worship these things with an emphasis on ourselves, where the primary concern is the worshiper. And all of a sudden, even the real thing becomes lesser. Becomes cheaper. Becomes idolatrous. 

We have replaced the true God with our idol of Him and have begun to worship accordingly. Our whole language has changed, and we haven't even noticed it. 

Until one day, we look up and start to lament that things today just aren't the way they used to be....  

Ya' think?  

The Worshiper

Once we created idols - cheaper versions of our God, diminished to lower-case gods - it didn't take long before the focus began to shift. 

See, the thing about idols is that they have no personality of their own. They have no will, no volition, no ability to act except in accordance with how we have formed them. If you look at the way that humans have engaged in idol worship since the very early days, one pattern emerges: 

Tit for tat. 

It's not raining? The gods of the crops must need more food. Let us make more sacrifices. We aren't fertile? The fertility gods are mad at us. Let us make amends. And on and on and on, and all that really matters in your relationship with an idol is...what you do for the idol. 

The gods of the nations have always rested firmly on the actions of the people who worship them. The people believe that if they do this or that, then the god must respond in this or that way. If something is happening, it is the human's behavior - not the god's desire - that changes the outcome. 

So as we have replaced the Lord our God with cheaper idols designed to give us just what we want without all the expectations of a holy God, we have also, slowly, but surely, replaced the Worshiped with the worshiper. 

It's all about us. 

Which is exactly what we wanted. 

When we started this conversation, we were talking about how we, as humans, especially in the last few decades of mass production, have always craved the status symbol of certain things, but at a price point that we can actually afford. That is, we want to appear richer, happier, stronger, more successful than we actually are. That's how the whole knock-off trend got started. 

So we did it with our gods. We created cheaper gods in our own image, turned it so that the worship is all about us, so that we control what happens and not any character or volition or action of the god itself, and then, we manipulated our idols so that we come out on top. 

We live the blessed, favored, glorified, good life, and we credit it to our worship, to our god made in our image, who we have somehow satisfied by our own righteousness, faithfulness, holiness, whatever, and wow! Our lives look so impressive! This is the kind of faith that everyone should aspire to...isn't it?

Believe it or not, many of these men and women are the role models of our faith. They've done so good at their knock-offs that most of us can't even tell the difference any more. We think, just like they tell us, that it's real worship of the real God. 

Kind of like how you sometimes can't tell a knock-off from the real thing until you get really, really close. 

Idols

The imposter syndrome that ushered in the era of cheaper products at lower prices has not been limited to  the economic realm. Indeed, discovering that there is a way to make ourselves feel bigger without investing the actual amount of whatever it takes to get there has permeated every aspect of our lives. 

Including our Christianity. 

This is, at its heart, idol worship. It's the same thing man has been doing since the dawn of time - trying to find a way to have God, but without all of the discipline and expectation that the Lord has of His people. We have been trying to figure out how to live in favor without having to live with integrity. 

Just think about some of the ways that ancient Israel worshiped their idols, their false gods. 

They burned their children alive as a sacrifice to Molech. Remember, the Lord has asked for the sanctification of all of the firstborn. But it's a lot easier to burn a child than to raise one; it's a lot easier to physically sacrifice one than to set one apart and make sure he doesn't stray. 

They used to visit prostitutes at the shrines of various so-called deities. The Bible is full of stories of the shrine prostitutes of other gods. Remember, the Lord has called us to be holy in our sexuality, counting as sacred the ability that we have to create life and remembering the bond that we are meant to have with one another, as evidenced by the first relationship - Adam and Eve. But it's a lot easier to just go out and have random sex and to be able to say we are dedicating it to the Lord than it is to actually dedicate our sexuality to the Lord in the ways that He requires of us. 

They used to dance around the Asherah poles, an act of worship as required by that particular false god. Remember, the Lord has called us to live joyful lives but also to walk in His ways. It's a lot easier to go out and make a show of a dance every now and then to live every day the kind of joyful, holy life that God wants for us. 

So you see how easy it is to start making substitutions that seem, on the surface, to be almost the same things - the dedication of our firstborn, the sanctity of sex, a bit of dancing - while at the same time, completely missing the heart of true worship. While still calling ourselves religious persons. 

We have simply swapped out our Lord, our God, for a cheaper version, for a mere facsimile, for something that we think has power - something that we've given power in our life - but that doesn't require as much from us. 

We get to live the "blessed" life without all the trouble of being actually faithful. 

Don't we? 

But most of us aren't burning our children, visiting prostitutes, or dancing around weird poles. So where does that leave us? 

Our modern-day idolatry, tomorrow. 

Knock Off

The other day, I was lamenting (as I sometimes do) that things just aren't made the way they used to be. Nothing in this world is durable any more. Nothing even lasts the full measure of its use; everything breaks, and quickly. 

I was wondering how we got away from quality to where we are now, and the answer is pretty quick: cost. Simply put, we found a way to make things more cheaply and more quickly, so we started doing that. 

But why? The next question I had for myself was: who wants something that is lower-quality? 

The simple answer is: imposters. 

As I thought about this question I was having, I thought about the times I grew up in. We could call them the "brand name" wars. I'm not sure if this was going on before my time, well before my time, or if it really did explode back in the 80s-ish when I entered this world. I suspect that some version of it has been going one for quite awhile, perhaps as long as human history, but that the sophistications in manufacturing and the explosion of mega corporations in our most recent history massively fueled the fire. 

See, I remember what it was like to hear grown folks talking about whether we could have the name brand. Whatever it was. The foods, the furniture, the clothing, the whatever. No, you can't have the Bagel Bites, but you can have the frozen miniature pizza bagels. No, you can't have Kraft Macaroni & Cheese, but we can afford mac n' cheez. You can't get the Levi's, but look over here at these Matthew's. (That's a Bible joke. C'mon, people.) 

As companies got bigger and their products grew with them, there became an increase in what we call "off-brands" - similar, if not exactly-the-same, products at a lower price point. Usually with cheaper ingredients or materials...or more water. And people loved the off-brands because it seemed, at least on the surface, to narrow the gap. 

If you can't see the tag, a pair of Matthew's looks an awful lot like a pair of Levi's. At least, they look more like the real thing than the homemade denim pants of yore. Open and prepare the box of mac n' cheez and put it on the table in a big bowl, and it almost looks just like Kraft. 

You could feel rich without actually being rich, and quick glances from the outside looking in couldn't tell the difference. 

Oh, we loved our knock-offs. 

But the knock-offs became so good that it wasn't worth it to make a quality product any more. It became clear that what the market - most of whom were middle class or lower, statistically - wanted was a cheap product that made them feel rich. And, well, if what they're looking for a cheap product, anyone can do that! So the name-brands started lowering their quality in favor of affordability (aka - cheapness), using cheaper ingredients themselves, then sending out marketing slogans - "New lower price! Come back and try us!" and slowly, but surely, over time, the cheaper versions replaced the quality versions. 

And everyone started to feel rich. 

Do you see, then, how we get there? We trade quality for cost, or what seems to be cost, and it makes us feel rich. 

But cheap stuff actually makes us poorer. 

Joe

For the youngest part of my life, I was not fortunate enough to spend much time with my mom's side of the family. I was blessed to know my great-grandmother and see her fairly frequently, but the rest of the family was sparse. (This was not their fault, but the full family dynamics are not really for this space.) 

So it was strange to me as an adult, as someone well into their 20s, walking into my uncle Joe's house for the first time ever. He was having a family breakfast, which I heard he had been holding for many years, and I had been invited. 

I looked around the big table in his open farmhouse, looking at the faces of family that I barely knew. I looked at a plate piled high with bacon and eggs and biscuits and gravy and whatever else you could ever want for breakfast. I listened to stories being shared, prayers being prayed, memories being made. I was completely overwhelmed by the way this family came together - aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, nephews, grandkids, all of them. Every single one welcome. 

When the meal was over and the fellowship was starting to wind down, as well, and folks were starting to trickle to their cars, there wasn't anyone who thought this was something special. There wasn't anyone who was wistful about when the next time would be. There wasn't anyone who didn't fully know and expect that this very same table would be set again the very next week and that this family would come back together. 

Except me. 

That breakfast was magical for me. But what happened next was even more magical. 

My uncle Joe made a special invitation and told me, specifically, that I was welcome for breakfast any time. Any time. 

I remember asking him how I would know when they were going to have breakfast, and he said something to the effect that they had breakfast every day. And if they weren't having breakfast, they'd sure have lunch or dinner. Just come on down, he said. 

There's always a place for you here. 

I was an adult, but I carried the weight of a lot of trauma from my childhood, trauma that told me there may not be a place for me in this world. Trauma that told me that when invitations were offered, they weren't really for me. Trauma that kept me from believing in moments like this, from trusting them. And yet, something in me so wanted to believe Joe's invitation. 

I will tell you that I don't know that I ever went to another family breakfast at Joe's house. I don't think I did. But I thought about it often, and that breakfast - and that genuine invitation - hold a special place in my heart. 

There's something about having a place at the table that just cannot be fully measured or weighed. There's something about just knowing that place is there, that someone's holding it for you, that if you ever decided to just walk in, they'd scooch around and make sure there is room for you. (That's what we call it - scoochin'.) 

I missed an opportunity. I missed hundreds of them by never taking my place at that table again. That's a regret I will have to live with, and I understand how it was nothing but my own insecurities that make that my story. 

But the echoes of that breakfast, the memories of that farm table, the continued whisper of that invitation reminds me to make space at my table for whosoever will come. Whosoever. And the insecurities that kept me from taking my uncle Joe at his word remind me that there are folks in this world who will need to be reminded again and again and again and again until they can fully and wholly believe it: 

There's a place for you at my table. 

Any time.  

Accountability

I struggle to share my goals because I want to keep my motivations pure. I want to be motivated by the things that set me on the path after these goals in the first place, and I don't want the fear of failure or the possibility of shame weighing me down and making me heavier. It can seem so silly to care so much, especially when I know that I care so little, except that I recognize that even the Lord understands this tension - it's the same one Moses used in the wilderness to keep Him from destroying His people. 

At the same time, I absolutely believe in accountability. I believe it's important to have folks in this world who hold you to it, whatever it is. Who hold you to your promises, even the ones you make to yourself. Who hold you to your word, because words are life. Who hold you to your pursuits, because they understand what drove you in the first place. 

I believe in having folks around you who will remind you what you're doing, why you're doing it, and how it's supposed to be making you feel when the going gets tough. I believe it's important to have those voices on the hard days that remind you that even though you feel weak right now, you're doing this because you believe it will make you stronger. 

It kind of goes back to what I said a few weeks ago about having someone who will stand in agreement with you. 

This person will never use shame as a motivator. They'll never remind you that you aren't allowed to fail because someone might get the wrong impression. They'll never mock you to motivate you. They'll never tease your dark side. This person calls out your light and reminds you of everything you'd remind yourself of if you weren't in a funk right now. 

I am fortunate because I am really good at latching onto the things God puts in my heart and motivating myself. I'm good at letting the Spirit nudge me forward and keep me going. I have ways of making notes to myself that encourage me in the ways that I need to be encouraged, of keeping track of things so that my progress keeps me going. Of reminding myself that if I quit now, then I came so far only to come so far...and asking myself what I would tell myself tomorrow if I quit today. 

I have a book where I track certain things. And on the days I don't feel like putting in the work, on the days the discipline is hard, on the days I'm not sure I want to keep going, I recognize that if I don't do it today, then I have to look at that blank space forever. That's enough to get me to do it. 

But I am also thankful for the small group of friends that I have that remind me that I'm growing. That remind me what I'm working toward. That know what's going on and neither push nor pull, but walk along beside me as I go after those things in my heart. 

And that's really the thing. That's the accountability we all need - someone who is walking alongside us on the road God's put us on that keeps us motivated not to quit. That keeps reminding us what's at the end of this road and all the stuff we're going to see and do along the way. That stays excited for the journey even when there's been a rock in my shoe for the past mile and a half. 

We should all be blessed with such folks. 

We should all be such a blessing to others. 

So not everyone knows what I'm working toward in this seasons - my goals, my projects, the "things" I am "doing." But a few folks do. And they keep my heart going.  

Reputation

It seems almost silly to me to admit that I am sometimes motivated by what other persons might think about me. I don't want to share my goals because I don't want to fail and have anyone conclude, erroneously, that I am a failure. I don't want to have to spend my life justifying myself, trying to explain, trying to illuminate the heart that I have that isn't troubled by failure (necessarily), but that embraces a spirit of growth and the challenge of trying again. 

There's this certain tension because on the one hand, I am strong enough to not really care what others think of me and at the same time, there's part of me that absolutely cares what others think of me. 

Then, I realize that I think God can relate. 

This is the exact argument that Moses kept making with God as Israel traveled in the wilderness. God was frustrated with His people. He was trying to do a thing, and they were messing everything up. It looked like things weren't going according to plan. So God kept saying you know what? I'm done. I'm gonna wipe this slate clean and start over. I'm going to build up a generation that won't be so darned rebellious. 

And Moses says...maybe You don't want to do that, God. 

Maybe You don't want to destroy Your people in the wilderness. Maybe You don't want to fail to bring them into the Promised Land. Maybe You don't want to turn Your back on them, even though they've turned their back on You.

Why? 

Because if You do, the world will say You couldn't do it. The world will say You failed. The world will say You aren't as good, as powerful, as loving, as gracious, as merciful, as capable as You claim to be. The world will think less of You if You change Your plans now. 

And all of a sudden, that pressure I feel that the world is watching doesn't seem so silly after all. 

At the end of the day, it's not really about me. I recognize this. I live my life in a bold declaration of faith. I give the glory to God. (I hope.) I make claims about who He is and what He's doing and how my soul comes to life in the goodness of His amazing grace. 

So if I fail, it's not just that the world will think I'm a failure. It's not just that they won't understand that I don't view failure as final. It's that maybe they'll look at my life and not understand that even though this looks like a loss, I still believe in a win. I'm still waiting on God to do it. I'm still actively pursuing it. 

I worry what the world will think of me, but that is - at least in part - because I worry what the world will think of my God, who gets all the glory for my life. (Yes, of course, I am a fallen human and self-centered and do consider myself, too. I'm not pretending that I don't.)

I read these scenes in Exodus, where Moses uses the same argument I'm wrestling with in my own life to convince God that maybe He wants to reconsider, and I think...maybe it's not so silly after all to care what the world thinks about what it sees. 

Maybe...it helps me understand the heart of God a little more. 

Motivated By Shame

Yesterday, I said that I was hesitant to share some of my goals. At first, I thought perhaps it was a fear of failure, but that's not quite it. Not quite. 

The more I thought about what it is that makes sharing my goals feel so burdensome in my soul, the more I came back to two things: 

Motivation and shame. 

The things that I'm doing, I'm doing because they are meaningful to me. Because accomplishing these things helps me to understand something better about myself, to grow in a way that I want to grow, to demonstrate a strength I wasn't sure that I had. I am doing these things because of what my soul gains from having done them, which is often immeasurable and sometimes seems silly, but it is ingrained in my bones in a way that maybe Jeremiah understands best. These things are meaningful to me. 

If I share those goals before their time, before I'm ready, while I'm still putting in the discipline and work to accomplish them, all of a sudden, a second pressure is introduced. 

It's the pressure of having to succeed. 

It's the pressure of knowing that the world is now watching. That someone out there, maybe many someones, is judging my progress. That someone may be waiting on me to fail. That if I do fail, everyone will have a theory as to why. The world will be watching, and if it doesn't work out, I become the scapegoat in my own life - my body is too frail, my will too weak, my discipline lacking, my eyes set on the wrong thing. 

If the world is watching and I don't meet my goal, all of a sudden, not only have I failed, but I am a failure. 

(That's just the way the world judges.) 

And as I sit around and think about the things I'm working toward, I realize that if I keep pushing myself toward them because of the watching world, I am living in fear of failure, rather than excitement about accomplishment. I am living not to win, but to not lose. I am motivated not by all of the good, glorious, sacred, holy things that set me on this path in the first place, but by shame. 

Real or perceived, explained or unexplained, understood or misunderstood, I am working toward my goals now because I don't want those who know about them to ever have reason to think of me as a failure. 

That's not how I want to live. That's not the story I'm writing. 

I know that in my own heart, I'm not afraid to fail. But I don't want to become a failure. I know that a watching world puts its own interpretations on everything and that no amount of my insistence, my persistence, my explanations, my rationales, my whatever will ever convince this world of anything it doesn't already think about me. I know that if the world is watching and I fail, I will spend the rest of my life trying to justify myself, trying to justify this moment, when I know - though the world may torment me into forgetting - that when this whole thing started? It was supposed to be beautiful. 

That's what shame does. It takes away the beautiful. 

That's why I'm hesitant to share my goals before their time. Because I want to keep them beautiful. I want to keep them motivated by the things in my heart that called me to pursue them in the first place. I want pursuing them to make me feel stronger, lighter, better...not heavier. Not weighted down by anything, but free to go after them. 

So I don't always share all my goals. Not too early, anyway.  

Sharing Your Goals

I'm currently, as the kids say, "doing a thing."

But you don't know what that thing is. 

Because I haven't shared it. 

There's something in my spirit that is reluctant to share some of the goals that I have, some of the projects that I'm working on, some of the "things" that I am "doing." I want to share them. They feel worthwhile to me, and meaningful in some way, shape, or form, or I wouldn't be attempting to undertake them. They are important to this season of my life. But something about sharing them feels...wrong. 

It feels weighty. It feels burdensome, as though sharing these goals or projects or "things" might somehow make them heavier to carry. 

At first, I thought that perhaps I was reluctant to share because I know my own history of failure. I know how life gets in the way of the best made plans. I know how the brokenness of this world so often steps in to interfere with even our best intentions and the things that are most meaningful to us. 

I have lived a broken enough life to understand that failure is always an option. Not because I might give up on myself (although, I have before and I might again). Not because I might not be disciplined enough (I might not be). Not because I might not be strong enough (my body is weaker than I like to pretend it is sometimes). All of these are options, even if I'm pretending they wouldn't be. The life I have lived has proven to me that they are. I can't deny or ignore that. 

But the other side of that reality is that I have failed in my life one fewer time than I have gotten back up and tried again. 

It's true. My life is a story of failures. Of falters. Of missed opportunities and times I've let myself (not to mention God and others) down. If you read through the story of my life, it's not perfect. It's not one victory after another after another. I have never been one to only accept challenges I know I can meet. 

Nobody grows that way. 

And my failures...a lot of them have been very public. They aren't secret. I don't think they have to be. 

So no, I'm not afraid of failure. I'm discouraged by it sometimes, but I'm not afraid of it. Because I know that my story is one of getting back up one more time, of trying again, of starting over, of learning a hard lesson, of moving on. Of growing. 

That can't be, then, why I'm hesitant to share some of my goals, my projects, my "things." 

But it didn't take me long to figure out what's really going on here....