Dear Students,

Recently I discovered a wonderful blog with some beautifully-written prose and poetry: littlebootsliturgies.blogspot.com. This poem was especially timely as I am in the midst of my first semester of teaching in many years, and it expresses so powerfully the truth I yearn to communicate to the high school senoirs sitting in my class. Read, enjoy, and visit Becca's blog for more of her stunning writing.

Dear Students,

My dream for you
has very little to do with grades
or test scores.

Alone, they are nothing.
They are marks on a page
that filter into systems
where marks on a page
define too much.

For the eternity I have seen
is vast and wild,
and percentages could no more capture
what I have seen in you
than a formula of space miles
could capture the glory of a million fire suns
spinning blue and gold
in that cold, far silence
where the angels dance.

My fear for you
has little to do with those raw things
people your age tend to think aloud.

On the contrary, I am thankful that you are defiant
of convention for convention's sake,
of a flat, white, faux-Jesus,
of insufficient answers,
of a life without passion
and adventure.

I am thankful because these things tell me
you have not let the drowsy drone of earth
quell your newborn scream.

You are unsatisfied, child,
as you should be
with these clay-bound earth-breaths.
Be so always.

My only grievances are these:
you do not realize how beautiful you are,
or how powerful,
or how loved.

You have given up too soon
on yourself.

You have allowed sixteen years of

flat, red marks on flat, white pages

to name you;

and you ask me to nod while you toss out words

and scratch at equations,

absently,

half-heartedly.

This I will not do.

For I have heard your true name

whispered by the great Lion,

the One Who spoke worlds into being.

He showed me
the manner of royalty you are,
men and women created for greatness.

I will expect nothing less.

~ Becca, Little Boots Liturgies

Hearing the Music

Last night Tim posed the question, "How do I express my individuality?" He's part of a men's group, trudging through a fairly hefty workbook, and sometimes questions like this will bump into a dead end in his brain. He'll turn the question to me, hoping my response will kick start his own. (It often does.)

As I reasoned through the various things that I believe express my individuality, I realized that it would be easier to answer the reverse question, "How do I suppress my individuality?" This moment was an epiphany for me. Mostly because it has not always been true.

I spent a lot of my youth (as most youth do) wanting desperately to fit in. Then, somewhere in college, that shifted to a quest to discover who I was. Finally, out of nearly two decades of marriage and a dozen years of parenting, I have been stripped of pretense (most of it) so that the real me is exposed. (Who has the energy to maintain pretense in the midst of marriage and parenting?!)

As an observer of my own children, I realize that they ARE. They are who they are, and they always have been. Seth entered this world with a laid-back posture, kind demeanor, quiet soul, merciful spirit, and keen intelligence. Reed arrived with an energy and spirit, wit and creativity, spunk and sass very different than his brother. And as they have grown, these traits have continued.

It's my delight to nurture and protect these traits in them...this individuality...and to build them up when others want to tear them down (be like us, look like us, act like us...). It's fascinating to think of someday launching two adults who know who they are, whose they are, and what they have to offer this world.

As for me, I no longer apologize for my spunk and sass (wonder where Reed gets it), I cherish my creative bent, and I am grateful for those God has sent who cherish me and don't want to change me.

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."

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.)

Reed-ism

Apparently Reed doesn't agree with writer and philosopher Eric Hoffer, who said, "A man by himself is in bad company." On Monday, Reed was sitting in the playroom watching a DVD. When I walked through the room, I asked, "Reed, do you need anything?" He answered, "Yes. Privacy."

I halted mid-step and smiled. If I didn't know better, I probably would have wondered if I heard right. But, I knew better. In his six, nearly seven, years, Reed has often caught me off guard by his unexpected and utterly frank responses to my inquiries. An example? A request for a kiss received the declaration, "No, Mom. Your breath smells." (How's that for honesty?)

So, Reed wanted privacy. When I shared this story, someone asked if he takes this after Tim. I thought about it and realized that if Reed has inherited a need for solitude, it has come through both his parents. Both of us are true introverts, who rest and recharge through alone time. Now, I'm not sure that Reed is an introvert - he's much more of a people person than Tim or myself - but I love how he recognized his need for privacy and wasn't afraid to ask for it.

I found many interesting thoughts as I read about this idea of solitude. Blaise Pascal believed that “All men's miseries derive from not being able to sit in a quiet room alone." Thomas Edison mused, "The best thinking has been done in solitude." And Martin Buber wrote that "Solitude is the place of purification." Hmmm ... all good, encouraging ideas for a person such as myself.

I really like Aldous Huxley's belief: "The more powerful and original a mind, the more it will incline towards the religion of solitude." If Huxley is correct, then I believe I'll hear Reed's request for privacy a lot more in the coming years. (Who doesn't believe their child has a "power and original mind"?)

However, I know that if I pressed the issue and asked Reed why he wanted privacy, he'd most likely channel H.G. Wells and offer this utterly frank yet simple reply: "Go away, I'm all right!"

Aging Gracefully

Ten years ago when I worked at Southern Living, I had a postcard tacked to the wall of my work space. It featured a quote by Major League pitcher Satchel Paige: "How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?" I was struck by this idea then, and I continue to be today.

Some days, when I wake up with an achy back and knees that pop and crack, I feel ancient. I try to run a mile, and I find myself gasping for the next breath. I visit my dentist or doctor and marvel at how they could be at least a decade younger than me. I find I'm singing along to a favorite song ... and it's playing on the "Oldies" station.

Other days, I feel like I'm still a giddy, goofy teenager. I feel silly, funny, carefree, and I share silly, funny, and carefree moments with Tim and the boys. An opportunity comes my way, and I feel the thrill of trying something new. I get lost in a book, in a conversation with a friend, or in a moment of freedom, and time slips away.

Yesterday was my birthday ... number 39. Just one year until the big 4-0. Seriously?! For some well-adjusted folks, this may not be a big deal. For me? Right now it seems like a major milestone, and I wish that wasn't the case. I want to learn to share Paige's ageless mindset. Because, like him, I know that our age is truly just a number, a mile marker, but not a statement on the vitality of our life.

There is a bigger story being told -- one that goes on and on and on, and I am part of that story. And it isn't measured in years, decades, or even centuries. Donald Miller expresses this idea beautifully. He writes, "I am early in my story, but I believe I will stretch out into eternity, and in heaven I will reflect upon these early days, these days when it seemed God was down a dirt road, walking toward me."

There's relief found in understanding that truth, in accepting that, and in anticipating it. Freedom even. Freedom from counting the days, fretting over the years, and worrying about the future.

So, as for this new year? I greet you with a smile. And when 40 arrives in 364 days, I seek to face you without dread and without fear, but with this same timeless smile.

Honesty of a Child

This morning I was saying goodbye to the boys. When I hugged Reed, he said, "Whew, Mom. You need a shower." Okay, I've learned I just have to laugh and marvel in the incredible honesty of children.

Last night we were at dinner, and I said to the boys, "Tell me something you like about your mom." (Yes, I know I'm setting myself up in that moment for a fall.) First on Reed's list: "You're not funny..." I cracked up. I'm not sure why he likes that I'm "not funny." Maybe my mere (and apparently failing) attempts at humor somehow entertain him. Who knows?

A couple of years ago, I asked Reed for a kiss. He came toward me to bestow it and stopped short. "Mom, your breath stinks!" he declared. I looked into his angelic face and considered the zing that had just escaped from his little lips. I even asked him to repeat it ... I couldn't believe he was refusing me. But he was -- even a four-year-old has standards! Brush your teeth first, please Mom!

I tell you, engaging with your children can be risky. You're likely to get an honest reaction or a truthful opinion, so you need to be prepared to take it. I know that in times like these, I get delightful practice in accepting criticism with a smile, seeing humor in my flaws, and learning to laugh at myself.

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.

Fireball Fun

Backstory: In 2006, I decided that I was going to start running. I don't really know why. I've NEVER been a runner or an athlete of any form or fashion. But I'd recently lost quite a bit of weight and was feeling healthier than I had in long time, so I felt inspired to push my body and see what I could do.

At first, I could only run a few feet. In fact, I set my goal to run from one light pole to the next; then, past two light poles. Eventually I increased my goal to run from my neighborhood to the neighborhood just up the street. I thought I'd never get there. After I achieved this goal, I wondered, "Could I run a mile?" I'd clock it on my car's odometer over and over -- the firestation. I had to run to the firestation.

Well, after much training with my friend Jennifer, we ran to the firestation. Then we set a new goal: to run a 5K. We trained for four months last year for our first race, the Turkey Trot, and last November we ran every step of the 3.2 miles. I just can't tell you how amazing this was for me -- to accomplish something so athletic, to push my body, and to reach my goal.

Last Thursday (7/03) I ran in my second 5K -- the Fireball -- with Tim. It was a 9 p.m. race, thank goodness! The July heat and humidity was tough enough, even at that late hour. Tim ran the Turkey Trot with me too, but since I had my running buddy Jennifer then, he went to the front of the pack to make good time. This time he committed to run with me the whole distance.

One thing I love about these races is the start: the huddled crowd waiting for the start, full of adrenaline and nervous chatter, and then the view of the runners slowly spreading out along the race route, a constant stream of people moving in unison. However, I quickly try to block out the other runners so I can establish my own pace and stick with it. And for the first mile, I do well. I love having Tim right by my side, matching my steps.

Then, a side cramp hits. Ugh. This didn't happen at the Turkey Trot. I try to push through and keep running but I can't. I have to slow down and walk. And I'm upset. I feel like a failure. I urge Tim to keep running, but he won't. He stays by my side and encourages me every step of the way. "You're amazing," he says, over and over again, whether I am walking or running (I do more of both). And my heart swells because I know that he believes this to his core. I may not be running a glorious race, but I feel glorious because of Tim's words.

In the end, we ran more than we walked, and we completed the race by running across the finish line (only 3 minutes slower than my Turkey Trot time). I find that I learn a lot about myself in my running, but on this night, chief among the lessons I learned was how blessed I am to have my biggest fan beside my side every day and every night -- keeping pace with me, urging me on, and inspiring me to keep running.

We're not sure when our next race will be, but we do intend to run the Knoxville 1/2 marathon in the Spring of '09. I can assure you that Tim and I will not keep the same pace in this race, so if anyone wants to be my running buddy, I'd love to have you join me! And if you've never run before, begin in the morning by running from one light pole to the next -- it's a start!

Indiana Jones and the Soccer Mom

Okay, so I'm not actually a "soccer mom," in that my boys don't play the sport. But I am a woman who stays at home, whose time is primarily devoted to domestic life. My place in this world has been the object of much consideration since electing to stay home with the boys eight years ago. And lately my place, in terms of my age, has drawn a good bit of my attention.

I'm 38, and 40 is looming large as I celebrate this milestone with my best friend and my sister this year. Many other things have sharply brought this reality to me. One is the reflection in the mirror -- when did I get those lines beside my eyes (do I really have to call them wrinkles!)? When did Miss Clairol become an intimate acquaintence? And how many lotions and creams are required in just daily maintenance?!

Pop culture dates me as well. I remember when the previous three Indiana Jones movies debuted. I remember Jimmer Rogers wearing a fedora to class in homage to Indy. I remember when Michael Jackson's Thriller was #1 for 37 weeks straight, and boys wore zippered jackets like MJ wore in the "Beat It" video. I remember when Tom Cruise slid across the floor in "Risky Business" and serenaded Kelly McGillis in "Top Gun."

I feel like this was all yesterday, and it's impossible to wrap my mind around the fact that Tom Cruise has been making movies for 25 years, Indiana Jones (i.e. Harrison Ford) is a 60+-year-old man, and Thriller is 25 years old and Michael Jackson is ... well, what can I say there? Wow, all of the cliches are true -- time marches on, time flies, time is of the essence...

But even as the reality of all of this sinks in, I marvel at the goodness of today, the blessings of my life, the mystery of growing up (a continual process), and the fun in being a child of the 80s. Another cliche rings true: There's no time like the present. Indy's on yet another adventure, Tom is still making movies, and I'm learning to age -- sometimes grudingly, sometimes glumly, and sometimes (smile) gracefully.

Choices

I've been thinking a lot this week about choices and what they can tell us about the state of our heart. It seems to be true, no matter how big or small the choice. My choices can reveal where I am abiding (in Christ or elsewhere); how Satan is attacking me; and how aware I am of the larger story I am a part of (the story where God [not me] is THE central character).

An example: food. Many of you know my weight has been an issue for the past several years. When losing weight back in 2006, I realized how I was turning to food for more than a physical hunger -- I know I am not alone in this tendency to fill a void through the immediate gratification of a milkshake, chocolate bar, cheetos, or all of the above. I was turning to food rather than turning to God. Food had become one of my "abiding places."

Food was also one way the enemy took me out. I was so focused on my weight, my changing body, my lack of energy, and everything else that came along with my struggle, that I failed to wholly offer myself to others. And when we are hiding, we aren't fulfilling our calling: to reveal the glory of God.

My weight also became my main preoccupation and distraction, and often it was the story in which I was living as the central character. And ohhhh, there is so much more. There was (and is) a larger story unfolding all around me that I was invited to participate in, but I failed to step into my glorious role.

So, the choice. What to eat for lunch today? The combo with waffle fries and a cookies 'n cream milkshake or the grilled chicken wrap with Diet Coke? I know it seems small...really inconsequential...but I know it's actually not. I know each time I choose wisely, I am caring for my body, disarming the enemy, and staying focused on the bigger picture of my LIFE with God.

Of course, some choices seem weightier than others: where to live, work, go to school, etc. And some choices seem easier: what to wear today, what to do this weekend, etc. But they all require something of me -- I have to decide if I will impulsively follow my own desires, or if I will consider what my choice reveals about the condition of my heart.

I believe our choices should bring us freedom to walk with God and teach us how to do this more wholly, more intimately, and more fearlessly. Oh, and by the way, I had the wrap and Diet Coke. In one way, I'm still hungry, but in another way (the way that truly matters) I am filled.