Adventuretime

We've been contemplating a move recently, and I confess that the mere thought of packing up and leaving our home of 10 years raises quite a bit of anxiety in me. Anxiety is often stalking me, waiting for me to allow it to dig in. It's never good when I give it such permission. It's not a welcome friend, but rather a nasty parasite, like a tick, that sucks the peace and joy from my heart and life.

So, recognizing the sight of this all-to-familiar foe, I began to pray against it. As I laid in bed, thinking about the move and being honest about the emotions that were stirring within me, I had this thought: "It wouldn't be an adventure if it wasn't at least a little bit scary."

That's true. By nature, an adventure requires that we step out in faith, that we take a risk, that we leave the known for the unknown. That is unsettling and scary. And it's not a bad thing.

I could chose a life of comfort and determine it's better to stay in the boat than to rock it. Yet, that is not the life I desire or the life I am called to. It's not the life that any of us are called to. We are called to follow God where he leads...and that is oftentimes surprising, unsettling, and scary. Think Abram. Moses. David. Ester. Paul...

We have heard of a local family who recently followed the call to move their family to Ghana to minister to the people there. They were obedient, and now their family of six is adjusting to this new home in a very new and different land. We have friends who are moving their family, including four little ones, to Guatemala for the next year. They will minister as they work to provide clean water to the village that they will call home for the next year.

Our upcoming adventure is nothing like these two brave, faithful families who have left everything for the sake of the call. After all, we are not leaving town, changing jobs, or trading schools. Yet, their example encourage me to live with courage, move forward (even in the uncertainties), and embrace the unknown as part of the adventure.

What a gift to have visible reminders in faithful friends of what it means to live by faith, not by sight.

44 Hours

Three years ago this month I went on my first international mission trip. And it lasted 44 hours.

No, that wasn’t the plan. Our small team from Providence intended to spend five days in Haiti ministering to a group of orphaned children. Instead, I spent one day traveling to Haiti, one day with the children, and one day traveling home. You see, a member of our team became seriously ill on our second night in Haiti, and two of us had to accompany her back home.

As the drama of that event unfolded, it looked like I would be able to stay in Haiti to complete the trip. Then, only minutes before reaching the Port Au Prince airport, I learned I would be leaving too. My bag remained at the hotel; my goodbyes to teammates left unsaid; my hugs to the children not given. Luckily I had taken the sage advice of my husband and had my passport and identification in a pouch around my neck. I was homeward bound.

I confess the days immediately following the trip were filled with grief for what I had missed. For my all-too-brief time with the lovely, loving children. For my inability to “do more.” In time, however, God brought clarity and revealed how much he actually accomplished through that brief experience.

The first lesson I learned prior to leaving for Haiti. You see, I was battling anxiety as I thought about leaving my two young sons to go on such a trip. What if something happened to me? What would happen to them? Who could love them, affirm them, cherish them as I could? As I considered questions such as these, God asked, “Do you trust me?”

My immediate response was, “Yes, of course I trust you.” His reply struck me mute: “Do you trust your children to me? Am I enough for them?” I had to wrestle with that one. Did I trust that if something happened to me the boys would be okay? Did I believe God would care for them and nurture them? In the end, God helped break a stronghold of fear in the heart of this mother.

The second lesson was an insight regarding the qualifications for missioning. Henri Nouwen asks it best: “What is required of a man or a woman who is called to enter fully into the turmoil and agony of the times and speak a word of hope?” Recently I revisited my personal blog, where I found this post dated May 23, 2009:

“As children of God, believers in Jesus Christ, and His disciples on this earth, we often find ourselves asking this same question. I know I do. And the word God has kept bringing me back to over these past several weeks is COMPASSION.”

Brennan Manning defines compassion, “The etymology of the word compassion lies in two Latin words, cum and patior, meaning to suffer with, to endure with, to struggle with, and to partake of the hunger, nakedness, loneliness, pain, and broken dreams of our brothers and sisters in the human family.” Manning’s words affirmed my mission and my qualifications for the Haiti trip: “To live in the name of Jesus Christ is to bear the name Compassionate One.”

The final lesson is one I was recently reminded of as I read through the story of Ester. As Ester ponders her situation in the palace of King Ahasuerus and the choice before her, Mordecai says those familiar words, “Who knows whether you have not attained royalty for such a time as this?”

For such a time as this. As we read the Scripture or examine history, we see people who God appoints for certain tasks: Moses, Ester, King David, Paul, Martin Luther, Jonathan Edwards, Hudson Taylor to name a few. When we think of these giants, we don’t feel adequate, do we? I learned through my trip to Haiti that God does appoint us for certain times and specific tasks, and it doesn’t take a giant to fulfill his charge. Just someone surrendered to his will and obedient to his call. He provides the power.

Looking back, I realize that it doesn’t take five days, five weeks, or even five years for God to accomplish his will. He operates outside of our notion of time. Most often it seems he operates like a farmer, cultivating crops that take time to mature. Yet, if he desires, he can bring forth a harvest in as little as 44 hours.

Dwelling Place

Preface: This year I am editing a blog for our church's website. It corresponds to the special journey we are taking as a church: reading through the Bible together being one aspect of it. From time to time, I also write for it. Here is the blog posted today...thought it could serve double duty by appearing on Tucker Tracks too.

If you say, “The LORD is my refuge,” and you make the Most High your dwelling, no harm will overtake you, no disaster will come near your tent. For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone. Psalm 91:9-12

It’s so tempting to read Scripture in isolation. To take a passage and make life application with no thought to author, audience, context, or what the rest of the Bible says. For example, in reading Psalm 91, I can celebrate the fact that I can look forward to a life free from harm, disaster, and even stubbed toes!

Hmmm. Wait a minute…If that’s true, then why did my son whack his big toe on his dresser last night? Ouch. And why has my husband been struggling with illness these past eight weeks? And, come to think of it, why did last week’s storm damage our roof?

What’s one to make of the promises of Psalm 91 when we can look around Providence on any given Sunday and see faithful believers suffering and dealing with disasters of their own?

That’s part of the beauty and benefit of reading through the Bible, as we are with The Journey. We are thoroughly immersed in context and can, thus, interpret what we’re reading through the lens of the rest of Scripture. No verse or passage is examined in isolation like a lone star in the sky. Instead, we’re seeing the constellation surrounding it and the bigger picture it reveals.

So, let’s consider Psalm 91, because I confess it is a difficult one for me to understand given what I see around me and experience in my own life.

First, who wrote Psalm 91? If you look for an author to be named, you won’t find one. Many biblical scholars suggest, however, that Moses is its author based on the fact that he wrote the preceding Psalm 90. Also, a bit of unique phrasing in Psalm 91 is similar to a phrase in Deuteronomy, also written by Moses.*

What difference does it make to consider the author when reading Psalm 91? Well, clearly it’s not crucial, or God would have inspired a byline; however, I find it helpful to consider that these are likely Moses’ words. Why?

Well, as we conclude our reading of the Pentateuch (the five books authored by Moses), I feel like we’ve gotten to know him fairly well. We’ve been fortunate to see his story unfold from babe in a basket to hothead in the field, from murderer to exile, from reluctant follower to faithful servant to humble leader. And we’ve certainly seen him deal with challenges, disappointments, and disasters.

Moses, who dwells (yashab: to abide, to remain) with God, speaks of a rescue and a rest that one experiences only in God and even in the midst of hardship. His eyes were fixed on God and set on a Promised Land beyond Canaan.

In fact, I often wonder why Moses doesn’t get upset when he is told he will not be entering the Promised Land. Here I confess my self-centeredness when I admit that if I were Moses, I might have argued with God’s decision and pleaded my case. My heart aches for Moses to enter into the land himself and complete the journey. Clearly, though, Moses doesn’t grieve this loss.

Why? He has seen God, talked with God, and experienced God like none other. He has witnessed the power and glory of God, and he wants God, not land. He knows the journey is about something much greater than an inheritance of land.

Perhaps if Moses did pen Psalm 91, the deliverance and salvation promised in its lines refer to something more, something greater. Perhaps it refers to our ultimate homecoming, when we will be given more than an inheritance of land, but a kingdom to rule? More than an encounter with God, but an eternity with him?

Spending the past three months with Moses as we’ve read through Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy, I have come to marvel at his courage, his patience, his humility, and his faith. I’m reminded by Psalm 91, whether he is its author or not, that I want to make my dwelling place in God so that in the midst of this life I can experience peace knowing he is my rest, my refuge, and my deliverance.

* Some biblical scholars suggest that David is the author of Psalm 91. In either case (Moses or David), both men dwelled (yashab) with God.

Shame Gremlin

Brene Brown recently presented a second TED talk, in which she continued to discuss her research in the areas of vulnerability and shame. Again, I found myself mouth agape as I watched her speak.

Yes, I love her stage presence...vulnerable and funny and smart. She explains, "It doesn't matter if we're on a stage, sitting at the table with our family, checking out at the grocery story, or at a party - the people who matter the most are the ones right in front of us." She connects with her audience as she speaks honestly and eloquently about areas that I have and continue to wrestle with (as does all humankind, I'd guess).

So, how about second cup of tea? Take 20 minutes and spend them listening to Brene Brown talking about shame.

Vulnerability Ted

When we were children, we used to think that when we were grown-up we would no longer be vulnerable. But to grow up is to accept vulnerability. To be alive is to be vulnerable. Madeleine L'Engle

Last year my sister sent me a link to the following video, which captured me. I immediately sought out information about the speaker, Brene Brown, as her emphasis on living wholeheartedly generates a huge "YES!" from me. It's a word I've come to understand and appreciate in the past seven years.

In this video, Brene displays such authenticity and vulnerability - two traits that are the core of her research and teaching. She writes, "When I'm standing at the crossroads of fear and gratitude, I've learned that I must choose vulnerability and practice gratitude if want to know joy."

Please fix a cup of hot tea, settle in, and take 20 minutes to watch as Brene speaks about "The Power of Vulnerability."

Rooted in Fear

Yesterday during a conversation a friend told me he is afraid to fly in an airplane, and he will never fly. He recalled a story from his only experience when the flight got off to a delayed and then bumpy start. His utter fear of flying began at that moment...and he was four.

He's now a 28-year-old man who has never stepped foot back onto an airplane. Now, I know a lot of people have a very real fear of flying. I confess that each time I fly I feel a surge of adrenaline as the engines prepare for take-off. And I feel a sense of panic if I sit too far back in the cabin or we idle on the runway too long (especially after landing).

What struck me, though, is how this young man is letting his fear deprive him of some really wonderful things in life. He has a job that would allow him to travel fairly extensively and visit many amazing places, but he won't go. He has started dating a lovely woman, but he admits the relationship probably won't last because of his determination not to travel.

It's not that he doesn't want to go to these places and experience these things. He wants to go; he is just gripped by fear.

As I have journeyed into my own story these past few years, I have realized how deep and far our fears can reach. How the crippling began sometimes when were too small or young to even remember when it took root. And how difficult it is for us to remove it from the soil of our life.

In my own weeding, I've realized that when I'm living in fear I'm missing out: on joy, on experiences, on relationship. Scripture tells me that it is a God-less place: "There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear" (1 John 4:18). The enemy of my heart would have me live ensnared in fear the rest of my days. Jesus warns, "The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly" (John 10:10).

Where fear is ruling, God is not allow to rule. When fear is ruling, life is not abundant. Thus, my journey began and so it continues... because I want God and this life He offers. Abundant life, not gripped by fear but graced by love.

I write all of this as prologue. To lead you here, to this beautiful post written by singer/writer Andrew Peterson. Please click here and continue reading: The Rabbit Room#more-5656 Peterson titles his post "Fearless Faith"...Yes, please.

Tanking

Tanking: to purposely lose a match, because of poor mental game or other reason...

Delete the word "purposely" and there you have it: my last tennis clinic. I tanked.

I didn't just play poorly during the 1-1/2 hour lesson; I collapsed. I couldn't move my feet, couldn't make contact with most balls, and couldn't look my instructor in the eye. I had one goal and one goal only: to make it through the clinic and to my car before I started crying.

It started so normally. This was my third clinic (meaning I was playing with several other ladies and my coach), so I didn't feel particularly nervous. It had been a good morning. And I was actually looking forward to playing after a couple of weeks off.

However, within the first few volleys I realized that things were not going well. The lobs my coach hit my way seemed to be in fast forward, and my feet were moving in slow-mo. My timing was off. And it spiraled down from there.

Now, every time I go to my tennis lesson or a clinic Tim encourages me, "Just have fun." Sounds simple enough, but for me...ugh. Not so simple. As my thoughts descended from frustration to failure, I watched the other ladies laughing at their gaffes and heaped more contempt upon my already slumping shoulders.

I wish I could just have fun with it. I wish I could silence the criticism. I wish I could see it for the tiny thing it is...but the fact is it doesn't feel so tiny. It feels huge and hard and true.

When I decided to take tennis lessons, I honestly knew this would be a part of the process. I was stepping into a fearful place and knew the journey wouldn't be one only of sunshine and success. However, the first few months have been utterly encouraging and hugely redemptive. So, when I found myself standing on the courts in the middle of this thunderstorm, I felt ambushed.

I dreaded my next lesson, facing my coach, and talking about the clinic. However, I scheduled it right away (gotta get back on the bicycle, and all of that...). When I arrived at the courts, I discovered that God had already arrived before me. The outdoor courts were full, so my coach and I found a quiet sanctuary in the empty indoor courts where we could enter into a spacious time of talking and teaching.

My coach is a young man who doesn't understand the weightiness of what's happening with me on the courts. And that is okay. It's surprising to me how God can use even those who are unaware of His purposes to accomplish them. But He can, and He is.

In The Healing Path, Dan Allender writes:

Disruption of shalom (peace) is the soil God uses to grow us to become the people we are meant to be...We will not move to become like him and know the sweet joy he desires for us if we are comfortable where we are. When our peace is shattered, the resulting doubt and confusion send us on a deeply personal search that can transform us and lead us to abundant joy...When the disruption compels us to search, we eventually find ourselves in a corner where are forced to turn and stand face to face with God. When will we encounter God? We can't predict. How will it change us when we do? We can't explain. But we remember moments when the search led us not to find, but to be found. We all know odd moments of epiphany that shake us to our bones with his presence and his words for us. And those moments lead us not only to trust him (a little bit more), but they serve as the foundation for our growing sense of who we are and who we are meant to become.

Allender's words resonate with me, and though I think of my next clinic with apprehension, I also feel expectant. I began tennis with the knowledge that I was entering into something much larger in my story. I was inviting this disruption for the sake of transformation. So I must choose, whether my next lesson ends in triumph or tears, to stay on the courts and keep swinging.

Pseudonym

This morning as I was helping out with a project for church I came to the moment that is always tricky for me: the moment when I am asked to declare my title (or occupation). Generally it happens at the doctor or school as I am filling out the patient/parent questionnaires. In my flurry of scribbling down the usual facts, I come to this one and pause.

I know many women who gussy up the term "homemaker," feeling it doesn't properly reflect all we stay-at-home moms do ("domestic engineer" being the most common that leaps to mind). My pause this morning, however, came not from a hesitation to label myself a homemaker. It came from a resistance to label myself something else entirely.

Writer.

My kind friend who was working with me on the project stated matter-of-factly that this is what it would say under my name. Instantly my stomach churned and I felt warm. I had to correct him. To admit that it felt untrue. To suggest that we stick to something that I know to be true: "Wife, mother, friend." Yes, yes, and yes. This is who I am. But writer?

Long after he was gone and the project was finished, I was left thinking about my hesitancy to label myself a writer. Why? Well, first of all a writer writes. And I have to confess I haven't been doing much of that lately - at least pen to paper (or more accurately fingers to keyboard). My head has been busy cataloging story ideas and blog entries, but that seems to be as far as I get these days.

What would give me the confidence to call myself a writer? If I were published? If I posted fresh material faithfully to my blog? If I had an audience of readers?

Truth be told, I've known I was a writer since my high school crush admitted my letter made him pull over his truck as he read it on the drive home. I've know since my essay was published in our senior yearbook. I can still remember the response of my classmates. I've known since my first college English class when the professor (notoriously tough to please) praised my first essay. I've known as I've worked with student writers, edited professional writers, and mentored (and been mentored by) aspiring writers.

To say that I am something doesn't mean it must be my occupation. Wife, mother, friend...not my occupations, but essential parts of who I am. In the end, I see that adding "writer" to this list isn't a deception but an admission - I am a writer. It is part of my gifting and part of my glory.

It takes courage to say it; it takes even more courage to believe it. But here it is (I'm not sure the fill-in-the-blank is long enough to hold it all): "Daughter, sister, wife, mother, friend, seeker, student, believer, mentor, teacher, leader, listener, encourager, worshipper, ponderer, and writer." I'm sure that answer will merit a double-take at the doctor's office.

Advantage Susan

What is the bravest things you've done lately? Well, for me, it is tennis.

Yes, you read that right. I began taking tennis lessons just over a month ago. I started partly so I could learn to volley the ball back and forth to the boys, who have been taking lessons for the past six months.

However, I admit that the larger reason I began taking tennis lessons is to face a deep fear of mine. It's not a fear of tennis exactly (now that would be silly, wouldn't it?) It's a more complex fear that looks something like this:

Neophobia (fear of anything new) + Scopophobia (fear of being looked at) + Ataxiophobia (fear of muscular incoordination) + Atychiphobia (fear of failure) + Enissophobia (fear of criticism) + Xanthophobia (fear of the color yellow - admit it, those small yellow balls whizzing toward your head are terrifying!)

When I parked at the courts for my first lesson I sat behind the steering wheel fighting back tears. One might think I was about to single-handedly face the Williams sisters. I told my coach to teach me just as he would Reed and admitted how terrified I was. He smiled, encouragingly, but I knew he really had no clue how much baggage I was bringing onto the court.

Then something amazing happened. My coach tossed me the first ball...and I returned it. He tossed me the second one...and I returned it too. Forehands and backhands, I hit more balls than I missed. And with each whack, I sent a painful memory, a physical agreement, or a low expectation back over the net.

Over the past few years, I've seen that sometimes I enter into situations just to prove that I am brave. Those moments usually leave me trembling and terrified. Other times I enter into situations to face a fear, and I find myself seeing more clearly, breathing deeper, and smiling wider as I pass through to the other side still standing. I don't know how to explain it, but there is a difference - perhaps it is simply in my motives.

I no longer want to be held captive by fear. And I've found that life offers surprising invitations to face our fears for the sake of healing. For me, this has meant speaking, leading, running, writing, and so much more. And now the path of healing happens to include a racquet and little yellow ball. (And maybe, someday, a cute little tennis skirt.)

Beautiful Blog

A friend recently encouraged me to check out the blog "Bring The Rain." (Click here.) Wow, thank you, Rachel.

Angie is a beautiful, courageous writer, and I cannot stop thinking about her story ~ one that is both heartbreaking and healing. Her words have stayed with me. In particular, I keep thinking about her entry on February 6, 2008, titled "Teacups."

I'm tempted to share an excerpt with you here, but I want to urge you to visit the blog, and read her story from the beginning (start with January 2008: close your door, turn off the phone, and make sure you have a box of tissue nearby).

If you are heartbroken, afraid, or weary, then you'll find encouragement for your own journey on this blog. I know I have. If you wonder if God is near, if He is in control, and if He loves you, you'll be reminded that He is and He does.

Summit or Plummet

Have you ever looked back at an experience and thought "Oh, so that's what that was about!" I had one of those "A-ha" moments on my recent trip to Colorado. First, some backstory: last year my friend Jennifer and I thought it would be great fun to drive to the top of Pikes Peak (well, maybe not "great fun," but at least something someone visiting Colorado Springs should do). When we arrived at the start of Pikes Peak Highway, however, we discovered that it had closed 10 minutes prior. Our adventure was thwarted.

So, this year as we looked toward our trip, we knew that our drive to the summit of Pikes Peak was a must. Once we arrived in Denver, we picked up our new friend, Krissy from Seattle, and informed her over lunch of our afternoon plans for adventure. She was game. In fact, she probably wondered why we were so excited. After all, it was only a 14-mile drive.

When we arrived at the toll booth that marks the beginning of the journey up Pikes Peak, we were greeted (I use that term loosely) by a woman who barked information about the drive time to the top and the time we must begin our descent. We paid our admission, drove on, and wondered why she had such a stern tone in her voice. After all, it was only a 14-mile drive.

About this time, I started recalling a conversation with my mother just a week before. Sitting in my kitchen, Mom urged me to reconsider the drive up Pikes Peak. She had a tone of great concern in her voice that gave me a moment's pause. Had she had a premonition, or what? I had blown it off ... after all, it was only a 14-mile drive.

I soon realized that this was unlike any road I'd ever driven. I thought of drives through the winding roads of the Smokies, trips up and down Lookout Mountain, and even the few times I'd held my breath on the hairpin curves of the W road of Signal Mountain. They were nothing compared to this. This was much more than a simple 14-mile drive.

Jennifer and Krissy switched between exclamations regarding the beauty of the view and the condition of the drive. I remained firm in my growing terror regarding the drive. My hands clenched the steering wheel, and my eyes never veered from the road ahead of me. Mile markers would tick by ever-so-slowly. Mile 6 ... Mile 7 ... "You've got to be kidding? We're only halfway there?!"

Finally we reached Mile 14, four miles from the summit of Pikes Peak. We could go no further because of the weather, but that was more than okay with me. However, when they said the road closed at mile marker 14, they meant it literally. I don't know what I was expecting -- a cul-de-sac, perhaps? -- but the two-lane road came to an abrupt end. Now what?

I sat with no idea how to maneuver the car to face the other direction. Was I supposed to back down this mountain? The only way I could fathom turning around was to post each of my friends on the edges of the mountain road (and thus, the edges of the mountain itself). In about a nine-point turn (an inch this way, an inch that way), I had the car pointing toward our descent. I knew, however, that I could not drive us down. It was beyond my capability, so now what?

Thankfully Krissy saved the day. "Do you want me to drive down?" ... "YES!!!" After the necessary photo taking, she took the wheel and we began our descent -- at 30 mph. Now that doesn't seem speedy to you, but on that road and in the state I was in, it felt like we were racing down the mountain at a Daytona 500 pace.

I fell apart. I mean it. I was shaking, sobbing, and if I could have assumed the fetal position in my seat, I would have. I was terrified! My mother's warning kept playing through my mind. "She was right, she was right! I should have never driven up this mountain."

Krissy noticed my reaction (How could she not?) and asked, "Am I driving too fast?" "YES!" Jennifer replied (my hero). So, Krissy slowed our pace, and we slowly wound our way down the mountain. Gradually my breathing steadied and my tears dried up. By the time we reached the bottom, I was relatively composed. We shared a few laughs about the experience, and we were on our way.

Yet, I couldn't stop from wondering, "What was THAT about?!" I knew it was a significant experience. So, I asked, "What WAS that about?" Call it a prayer, I really wanted God to give me some clarity on why I had such an extreme emotional reaction. Was it about fear? Hmm ... yes, of course. Control? Yes, that too. Fear of losing control? That sounds about right.

I like to be firmly in control ... of situations, of plans, of my life. As I drove up that winding, narrow road, I realized how little I am in control. Sure, I can steer the car and try to maneuver the turns, but there was ice, wind, gravel, and oncoming vehicles that I had no control over. There was no guardrail to offer a boundary or an assurance of safety.

I also tend to push myself. I felt like turning around at mile 12 (okay, mile 7 if I'm going to be perfectly honest), but I didn't want to let anyone down. I didn't want to be a wimp. But, in pushing myself, I completely ignored what I needed and drove myself to a place of panic. Completely afraid (and embarrassed by my fear).

I see that I cling to control and face my fears on my own. I also see in that scared, sobbing woman descending from Pikes Peak how it's working out for me. Not well. I can't control my destiny or conquer my fears; I can only give them over to God, who has the power to comfort, to assure, to lead, and to empower.

Am I glad that we made the drive up Pikes Peak? Yes. Would I do it again? No (well, maybe...) . Did I enjoy the view? Let's just say that I'm thankful we took those pictures so I could finally see just how majestic the view from the summit really was.

Reality Rambling

I wouldn't say that I'm a "reality junkie." Sure, I've been a fan of Survivor, The Bachelor & The Bachelorette (I hate to confess that!), The Apprentice, The Biggest Loser, What Not to Wear, and Project Runway, but not at the same time. Well ... not all at the same time! Really! (Who'd have time to watch all of those programs in a week?)

Right now, however, I watch the latter three fairly faithfully (we just got Tivo -- love it!). I was wondering why I'm drawn to these three shows specifically, when there are so many reality fixes available. Here's what I came up with:

I enjoy watching people step into their own. To see the blinders come off as they really see themselves. To watch as they surprise themselves with their talent or beauty or promise. I like watching as they deal with challenging situations with creativity, tenacity, and vulnerability. And I love watching them succeed.

It's harder to see this in real life. Perhaps it's because our challenges aren't concentrated and edited neatly for an hour-long viewing. Maybe it's because we're not often challenged or we fail to share our successes. Or it could be that all-too-familiar enemy, fear, that keeps us from giving it a shot.

But when I do see it, it's glorious. I think of Charlie and Debbie after they finished hiking the entire Appalachian Trail in 2003. And the women who brave the journey to Colorado to attend Captivating. And Seth as he hits a baseball. And Reed as he reads through an entire book on his own.

I think of my first 5K with Jennifer. As I crossed the finish line, I felt like a mask had been removed, my excuses broken into pieces, and my true and brave and capable self evident to all -- even myself. It was overwhelming and glorious.

I cried then (boy, did I!), and I cry often as I watch these shows. I know, it may seem nuts. But it's really a beautiful thing to watch these people, whether they are reaching a goal, winning a challenge, or seeing themselves in a new light.

To get there requires risk, courage, and vulnerability. The reward? Much more than a title, cash prize, or runway show. It's a moment of glory, when your true self and abundant strength shine through.

Excuses

This afternoon I've been making excuses why I can't write the two articles I need to complete for my latest freelance assignment. The boys are home on summer vacation...I need to pack for the beach (we leave tomorrow)...I don't know what to write about... . On and on the excuses leap to mind. So, I finally at least sit down at my computer and get as far as my home page when the title of this news story catches my eye: "Tenn. woman, 61, dies in iron lung after outage."

I think, "What year is it?" and confess I didn't realize that these apparatus were still used in health care. I click on the link and read about this woman, Dianne Odell. Striken with polio when she was three-years-old (three years before the vaccine was available), Ms. Odell spent her life in the iron lung. The article says, "Though confined inside the 750-pound apparatus, Odell managed to get a high school diploma, take college courses and write a children's book."

It continues, "The iron lung that she used was a cylindrical chamber with a seal at the neck. She lay on her back in the device with only her head exposed, and made eye contact with visitors using an angled mirror above her head. The lung worked by producing positive and negative pressure on the lungs that caused them to expand and contract so that she could breathe."

How does someone trapped in such a situation see beyond her confines? How does she dream, pursue, and accomplish? Yet, she did. The article explains, "A voice-activated computer allowed her to write a children's book, 'Less Light,' about Blinky, a tiny star who dreams of becoming a wishing star. In a 2001 interview with The Associated Press, she said she wanted to show children, especially those with physical disabilities, that they should never give up."

I am humbled by her courage and determination. And I am ashamed of my own tendency to put off, to give up, and to make excuses. So, as I sit here, I take a deep breath and savor the amazing gift of being able to do so in my own strength. As I set to work on my articles, I decide to shed the shackles I've allowed to restrain me (excuses) and write with deep thanks for the flow of words and ideas, the opportunity to express myself, and the freedom and ability to stand up and walk away from the computer when I am finished.

The Screamer

You're probably well aware that I'm not an adventure junkie. I like my feet firmly planted, to obey the speed limit, and to remain well in control of my situation. So, something called "The Screamer" normally wouldn't attract me. But on this, my third time to Frontier Ranch, I knew it was something I had to do. It wasn't my first attempt. Two years ago when I attended Captivating with my friend Jinda, I stood in the line with her, waiting to do The Screamer. After watching one pair of ladies do it, I said, "Who am I kidding?" and walked away.

Let me explain: The Screamer is a massive two-person cable swing situated in a grove of trees, with a clearing just wide enough to pass through. To do it, you don a harness and helmet, climb up on a platform (I wish I knew how high...let me just say VERY HIGH), and get tethered to a partner. A plastic swing (much like on a child's swing set) is put underneath each of you, a rope is attached to the front of your harnesses, and you hold on to a trapeze bar with both hands. And then, on the count of three, you both step off the platform into thin air.

Why? Good question. Many ladies assured me "It's great, fun, a blast, ...." And so I suppose that is why many folks do it...for the thrill. Well, as I have already explained, I'm not a thrill seeker. But I felt, as I approached this fourth Captivating, that God wanted to continue deepening a work He began last year when I was at the retreat -- the whole idea of living fearlessly. And I knew that The Screamer was part of this deepening.

So, Thursday afternoon, with much trembling, I donned my helmet and harness and climbed alongside Jennifer (and dear David from Young Life) to stand on the edge of a platform high in a grove of pines. David counted "3...2...1..." and I stepped off into thin air. For a moment I felt like I was hovering, and then gravity took hold and we plunged, WHOOSH! (See photo, Susan on left; Jenn on right.)

I wish I could say I enjoyed it, that I am transformed into an adventure-loving woman. But to be honest, I will NEVER do it again. I was TERRIFIED and confess I kept my eyes closed almost the entire time (except when Jenn told me it was safe to open them. Silly me, I trusted her and found myself face-to-face with the trunk of a pine tree -- no truly, what an amazing friend to take such a leap by my side!)

But, in retrospect, I don't feel disappointed that I didn't love it or ashamed that I couldn't open my eyes. I realize that the whole experience was about this: "3...2...1...step." In that moment, as I stepped off of the platform, I felt no fear or hesitation. I was completely and utterly brave.

There's something larger in this: I think it is such a metaphor for walking with God, at least for me. I am learning to completely trust, even though it may feel like free-falling, that He is able, that He is good, and that He will catch me. And so I am called to be courageous, even when the initial step is a doozy.