or is it "me"? Sadly, I'm a grammar nut and I still have to look up that rule.
I wanted to share with you all part of a prayer that really pried me off center. It's from a book of prayers by Ted Loder called Guerrillas of Grace. There isn't a prayer contained in that book that does not move my soul to tears, to action, to grace.
Pry Me Off Dead Center
O persistent God,
deliver me from assuming your mercy is gentle.
Pressure me that I may grow more human,
not through the lessening of my struggles,
but through an expansion of them
that will undamn me
and unbury my gifts.
Deepen my hurt
until I learn to share it
and myself
openly,
and my needs honestly.
Sharpen my fears
until I name them
and release the power I have locked in them.
Accentuate my confusion
until I shed those grandiose expectations
that divert me from the small, glad gifts
of the now and the here and the me....
...
O persistent God,
let how much it all matters
pry me off dead center
so if I am moved inside
to tears
or sighs
or screams
or smiles
or dreams,
they will be real
and I will be in touch with who I am
and who you are...
The Lord has most assuredly pried me off dead center in these past few months. But I would be at fault beyond words if I didn't tell you how beautiful it is to be moved. A good friend asked the other day how I was doing. I answered honestly that some days I woke up, threw a fit, and wanted everything back the way it was. But those days are getting further and further apart from each other.
I told her most days, I wake up and hear the Lord say "kid, dance with me".
JJ Heller sings about the wonder of invisible love. And it is a powerfully weird thing at times. But real nonetheless. The days when I lay aside my longing and pick up the hands of God, those days are good.
Part of Loder's prayer gets my heart each time. By the expansion of my struggles, I pray to unbury my gifts. Unbury them, He has!
I'll be away for the next week-ish getting to do what I love: wrangling the press and covering amazing stories. This one tells itself. 25 friends, teachers, students, people pried off their centers, are biking from TN to Austin, Texas. It will take 6 days and 1200 miles, but they will do it in honor of Catie. Along with having a cell phone glued to my ear in attempts to get media coverage, I'll be blogging the personal part of this ride. Feel free to follow along at vivacatie.blogspot.com
Be warned! The Lord just might pry you off center too!
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Gypsy Weekends
Several years ago, my very best friend and I started traveling to places we had never been to do things we had never done. For a few days every couple of months we became Gypsies. We danced, we sang, we laughed, oh gracious to Heaven do we laugh!
The rules of Gypsy weekends are quite simple: one person plans and the other person follows.
That's it.
The other person gets to know where they are going, but nothing more than a packing list shall be known to them. And let me tell you, sometimes those packing lists cause more fear than faith. But in all my Gypsy travels, I've never once been hurt. Well aside from that one time I sort of almost fell off a cliff-like structure and a little bit hurt my knee and hip. But I chalk that up to user error and not faulty planning.
Gypsy weekends have migrated into other relationships along the years, sometimes successfully, sometimes not. I've found the real key to these days where amazing memories are created is to be open, completely open to whatever is coming next.
This weekend is the first Gypsy weekend my friend and I have had in almost a year. As I was packing for this trip (and trying to find electrical tape as it was on the list), I could feel the Lord speaking into my heart. Despite my attempts to explain to Him that Gypsy weekends were not learning experiences, that I was done growing for the next 5 days, and that I wanted to finish finding everything on my packing list (including finding my fairy wings) and get excited about the things I didn't know were about to happen!
Let me get this straight. You are excited to race into the unknown with only a packing list and a destination, but you keep begging me to reveal the next step? That's not very Gypsy-like of you.
Huh. It seems the Lord just threw the Gypsy Gauntlet and He was right.
Then and there while looking for rubber ducks that would float upright, I was convicted. He has given me a packing list: avail myself of the Sacraments, spend time in His word, before His presence, and with Him, and walk in His passion. And He's given me a destination: Heaven.
The rest is just the journey.
Just as a true Gypsy would have it.
The rules of Gypsy weekends are quite simple: one person plans and the other person follows.
That's it.
The other person gets to know where they are going, but nothing more than a packing list shall be known to them. And let me tell you, sometimes those packing lists cause more fear than faith. But in all my Gypsy travels, I've never once been hurt. Well aside from that one time I sort of almost fell off a cliff-like structure and a little bit hurt my knee and hip. But I chalk that up to user error and not faulty planning.
Gypsy weekends have migrated into other relationships along the years, sometimes successfully, sometimes not. I've found the real key to these days where amazing memories are created is to be open, completely open to whatever is coming next.
This weekend is the first Gypsy weekend my friend and I have had in almost a year. As I was packing for this trip (and trying to find electrical tape as it was on the list), I could feel the Lord speaking into my heart. Despite my attempts to explain to Him that Gypsy weekends were not learning experiences, that I was done growing for the next 5 days, and that I wanted to finish finding everything on my packing list (including finding my fairy wings) and get excited about the things I didn't know were about to happen!
Let me get this straight. You are excited to race into the unknown with only a packing list and a destination, but you keep begging me to reveal the next step? That's not very Gypsy-like of you.
Huh. It seems the Lord just threw the Gypsy Gauntlet and He was right.
Then and there while looking for rubber ducks that would float upright, I was convicted. He has given me a packing list: avail myself of the Sacraments, spend time in His word, before His presence, and with Him, and walk in His passion. And He's given me a destination: Heaven.
The rest is just the journey.
Just as a true Gypsy would have it.
Monday, May 11, 2009
STS-125
The shuttle went up today. To be more accurate, Shuttle Transport System-125 Atlantis slipped the bonds of earth.
I am quite possibly the biggest NASA nut out there. Well, to be sure, the biggest NASA-nut republican out there. I happen to believe that money should come straight out of my paycheck, circumvent Congress, and go right smack into NASA's budget. I think it's a great idea. On on a side note, don't talk to me about privatizing NASA. The discoveries of science belong to us all, not to Boeing. I digress.
The shuttle went up today. And I couldn't bring myself to care. And for the biggest NASA-nut republican out there, this is a problem. I've been off my game for the past 2 days and I couldn't figure out why. Then I remembered, the shuttle was going up today.
STS-125 is the mission to fix the Hubble telescope. It was supposed to launch last fall. I know this because we were supposed to watch it. The mission was scrubbed and my heart terribly saddened. For as long as I can remember, or as long as those Internets have been broadcasting launches, I have gathered my friends, co-workers, enemies, people I meet on the street together to make them watch the launch either online or on the NASA tv channel. Don't laugh, it really is a great channel. So to get to see a launch in person! Holy rocket boosters, Batman!!!
But STS-125 wasn't meant to be for us. Instead, he got us in to watch STS-126 Endeavor. It was amazing. We made a big trip of it. We toured Kennedy Space Center. We rode on this amazing ride thingy that simulated launch. We walked around the people and the projects that would make their way onto the International Space Station. We saw Atlantis being re-tiled. I touched her underbelly. I prayed beneath her cargo bay doors. We went to the launch pad after midnight to see Endeavor in all her glory, ready to fly. It was the most amazing 36 hours.
Launch morning started early with a surprise walk on the beach, beautiful prayers of thanksgiving for the Lord bringing us to "us", and a promise of coffee. The clouds were rolling in and I was almost certain the launch wouldn't happen. Have a little faith, he would remind me. All day I kept stealing his blackberry to check the forecast. If cloud cover got about 35%, the launch was a no-go. But we made it to Kennedy. We got to the Administrator's building and I had to remind myself to breath! We listened to Administrator Griffin give his briefing before the launch, we were introduced to some amazing past astronauts, and we walked to the Administrator's balcony to await lift-off.
I'm not always the most patient person. But standing on the balcony, eyes glued on the shuttle, his arm around me, I couldn't wait any longer! I am surprised I did not come out of my skin.
We watched it. A flawless lift-off under a full harvest moon. It pierced the sky. Literally pierced it. It was amazing. I got to hear launch control hand over the shuttle to mission control. I got to hear Administrator Griffin pronounce that the beans and cornbread were indeed "on", and I told I couldn't believe in the past year I got to mark two things off my "bucket list": be loved by an amazing man and watch a shuttle launch. I couldn't believe I got to do both at the same time!
Many of you come here expecting deep theology and sometimes you get something near my inadequate attempts at it. But today...today I don't have much. Because, you see, the shuttle launched today. Two shuttles have gone up since that perfect night in November, and I haven't been able to bring myself to care about either of them.
Right now, there are seven brave men and women headed to orbit. They will get to see some of the most amazing things. They will be a part of history. And because of their efforts, we will be able to see into the vast unknown.
The shuttle went up today. And for a NASA nut, I should be out of my skin. As they touch the face of God, I find myself wanting to be very far from the reality of my world: of never owning, completely, my NASA memories again, of not being able to display pictures from that weekend, or tell my children about how their dad and I hung out on a balcony with Neil Armstrong.
Not a whole lot today- just prayers for a successful mission, the safe return of these wonderful heroes, and for some guidance on getting out of this orbit.
God-speed 125, we'll see you on the flip-side.
I am quite possibly the biggest NASA nut out there. Well, to be sure, the biggest NASA-nut republican out there. I happen to believe that money should come straight out of my paycheck, circumvent Congress, and go right smack into NASA's budget. I think it's a great idea. On on a side note, don't talk to me about privatizing NASA. The discoveries of science belong to us all, not to Boeing. I digress.
The shuttle went up today. And I couldn't bring myself to care. And for the biggest NASA-nut republican out there, this is a problem. I've been off my game for the past 2 days and I couldn't figure out why. Then I remembered, the shuttle was going up today.
STS-125 is the mission to fix the Hubble telescope. It was supposed to launch last fall. I know this because we were supposed to watch it. The mission was scrubbed and my heart terribly saddened. For as long as I can remember, or as long as those Internets have been broadcasting launches, I have gathered my friends, co-workers, enemies, people I meet on the street together to make them watch the launch either online or on the NASA tv channel. Don't laugh, it really is a great channel. So to get to see a launch in person! Holy rocket boosters, Batman!!!
But STS-125 wasn't meant to be for us. Instead, he got us in to watch STS-126 Endeavor. It was amazing. We made a big trip of it. We toured Kennedy Space Center. We rode on this amazing ride thingy that simulated launch. We walked around the people and the projects that would make their way onto the International Space Station. We saw Atlantis being re-tiled. I touched her underbelly. I prayed beneath her cargo bay doors. We went to the launch pad after midnight to see Endeavor in all her glory, ready to fly. It was the most amazing 36 hours.
Launch morning started early with a surprise walk on the beach, beautiful prayers of thanksgiving for the Lord bringing us to "us", and a promise of coffee. The clouds were rolling in and I was almost certain the launch wouldn't happen. Have a little faith, he would remind me. All day I kept stealing his blackberry to check the forecast. If cloud cover got about 35%, the launch was a no-go. But we made it to Kennedy. We got to the Administrator's building and I had to remind myself to breath! We listened to Administrator Griffin give his briefing before the launch, we were introduced to some amazing past astronauts, and we walked to the Administrator's balcony to await lift-off.
I'm not always the most patient person. But standing on the balcony, eyes glued on the shuttle, his arm around me, I couldn't wait any longer! I am surprised I did not come out of my skin.
We watched it. A flawless lift-off under a full harvest moon. It pierced the sky. Literally pierced it. It was amazing. I got to hear launch control hand over the shuttle to mission control. I got to hear Administrator Griffin pronounce that the beans and cornbread were indeed "on", and I told I couldn't believe in the past year I got to mark two things off my "bucket list": be loved by an amazing man and watch a shuttle launch. I couldn't believe I got to do both at the same time!
Many of you come here expecting deep theology and sometimes you get something near my inadequate attempts at it. But today...today I don't have much. Because, you see, the shuttle launched today. Two shuttles have gone up since that perfect night in November, and I haven't been able to bring myself to care about either of them.
Right now, there are seven brave men and women headed to orbit. They will get to see some of the most amazing things. They will be a part of history. And because of their efforts, we will be able to see into the vast unknown.
The shuttle went up today. And for a NASA nut, I should be out of my skin. As they touch the face of God, I find myself wanting to be very far from the reality of my world: of never owning, completely, my NASA memories again, of not being able to display pictures from that weekend, or tell my children about how their dad and I hung out on a balcony with Neil Armstrong.
Not a whole lot today- just prayers for a successful mission, the safe return of these wonderful heroes, and for some guidance on getting out of this orbit.
God-speed 125, we'll see you on the flip-side.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
The Marks of a Good Chef
Next to my dad, he's the smartest person I know. Next to me, he's the funniest.
Well, so he's probably funnier than me, but we're funny in different ways. It's an apples and oranges kind of thing.
At least let me think that, okay?
He is my brother and he also happens to be an amazing chef.
And he has the scars to prove it. Burn marks from grease on his hands, no fingerprints from testing sauces while they still simmer, and palms that can hold fire. They aren't the credentials of a great chef. Nope, that proof is in the pudding, or the risotto.
But the scars do matter. To the rest of the world, they show my brother has been through the fire. They show his wisdom comes from places other than a book- it comes from his living.
They aren't his credentials but they are his credibility.
Lately, I have been drawn to the writings of C.S. Lewis. He knew what we all should carry in our hearts. This journey, this walk with God is a battle. This world is a battle. We are engaged in a great war. Victory is assured, yes, Easter Sunday provided that promise. But that does not mean the battles will not be bad, be bloody, be strong.
Friends, this journey is not for the faint of heart.
Scars abound. Some on the outside, many more on the soul. And yes, they will all be redeemed.
They are not our credentials, those are found on the cross.
And unlike our vocations, those scars aren't really our credibility.
Not really.
But they are the marks of one who has held fire.
They are the marks of something else. They are the marks of having been a part of the battles. Day in and day out. Actively fighting in this war.
The safest road to hell is the gradual one - the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts. - C.S. Lewis
Well, so he's probably funnier than me, but we're funny in different ways. It's an apples and oranges kind of thing.
At least let me think that, okay?
He is my brother and he also happens to be an amazing chef.
And he has the scars to prove it. Burn marks from grease on his hands, no fingerprints from testing sauces while they still simmer, and palms that can hold fire. They aren't the credentials of a great chef. Nope, that proof is in the pudding, or the risotto.
But the scars do matter. To the rest of the world, they show my brother has been through the fire. They show his wisdom comes from places other than a book- it comes from his living.
They aren't his credentials but they are his credibility.
Lately, I have been drawn to the writings of C.S. Lewis. He knew what we all should carry in our hearts. This journey, this walk with God is a battle. This world is a battle. We are engaged in a great war. Victory is assured, yes, Easter Sunday provided that promise. But that does not mean the battles will not be bad, be bloody, be strong.
Friends, this journey is not for the faint of heart.
Scars abound. Some on the outside, many more on the soul. And yes, they will all be redeemed.
They are not our credentials, those are found on the cross.
And unlike our vocations, those scars aren't really our credibility.
Not really.
But they are the marks of one who has held fire.
They are the marks of something else. They are the marks of having been a part of the battles. Day in and day out. Actively fighting in this war.
The safest road to hell is the gradual one - the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts. - C.S. Lewis
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Helping My Unbelief
When this journey began a few months ago, I remember sitting across from a beautiful friend and pouring my heart out. In the midst of those snotty tears, I told her I knew the other side of this was the Lord glorified and me made stronger in Him.
I told her that. That was my stock line. I repeated it to several people.
But I didn't believe it. I didn't think I would ever be one of those people.
The night this journey began, I remember laying in the hotel room floor crying out to the Lord, begging Him to be real to me.
But I didn't believe He would be.
I've spent the past 24 hours packing up my apartment. The dishes, the clothes, the books (oh good gracious all the books) were, I thought, going to be horrible reminders. On the 10 hour drive back to my apartment on Thursday, I asked the Lord to shield my heart from the boxes.
But I didn't see how He would.
Standing (well, sitting) here now, I can absolutely attest to Him making me stronger, being real to me, and shielding my heart. He has never been more to me than He is now. I cried out last night in thanks- I have never been more in love with my Savior.
As I crossed the last thing off my list from yesterday (pack Christmas stuff. That's right, my nativity AND Christmas wreath were still displayed in my apartment!), I stood in awe of the way the Lord has picked me up and taught me to dance with Him.
For the first time in my life, I feel inadequate to praise Him. If only I could paint beautiful masterpieces, or sing in such a way that turned ears and hearts toward Him, but I'm me- clumsy, inartistic, and not the best singer. So I continue to do what I know to do. I write into the unknown about the grace and love of the one who has laid a claim to my heart. Not good enough, I know, but it's all I have.
I remember praying to laugh again. These past few days, I've done nothing but laugh. The ways He is answering my prayers continue to draw me into Him. And I don't ever want to leave.
That, I believe.
I told her that. That was my stock line. I repeated it to several people.
But I didn't believe it. I didn't think I would ever be one of those people.
The night this journey began, I remember laying in the hotel room floor crying out to the Lord, begging Him to be real to me.
But I didn't believe He would be.
I've spent the past 24 hours packing up my apartment. The dishes, the clothes, the books (oh good gracious all the books) were, I thought, going to be horrible reminders. On the 10 hour drive back to my apartment on Thursday, I asked the Lord to shield my heart from the boxes.
But I didn't see how He would.
Standing (well, sitting) here now, I can absolutely attest to Him making me stronger, being real to me, and shielding my heart. He has never been more to me than He is now. I cried out last night in thanks- I have never been more in love with my Savior.
As I crossed the last thing off my list from yesterday (pack Christmas stuff. That's right, my nativity AND Christmas wreath were still displayed in my apartment!), I stood in awe of the way the Lord has picked me up and taught me to dance with Him.
For the first time in my life, I feel inadequate to praise Him. If only I could paint beautiful masterpieces, or sing in such a way that turned ears and hearts toward Him, but I'm me- clumsy, inartistic, and not the best singer. So I continue to do what I know to do. I write into the unknown about the grace and love of the one who has laid a claim to my heart. Not good enough, I know, but it's all I have.
I remember praying to laugh again. These past few days, I've done nothing but laugh. The ways He is answering my prayers continue to draw me into Him. And I don't ever want to leave.
That, I believe.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Stories
I'm 25. Sure I should be able to conquer Disney movies but I just can't.
I still fast-forward when Belle is being chased in the forest by scary things.
I still cry when Stitch and Lilo both find "family."
No matter where I am, I am still overcome with missing my Mom when Eleanor sings "My Mother" to the baby penguin.
What can I say, I'm a sucker for a good story. Even when the parts are scary, or sad, or make me cry, I love a good story. So knowing how the story will end, and after I've seen it once, I fast-forward through the parts I don't like.
I love good stories in life. Life imitating art. Beautiful.
I got lost today driving to a friend's school. There were only 2 roads (that I knew of) and I traveled down both. No dice. Either road. Long roads. Long Kentucky farm roads. People on trackers. Next time I'll actually write down the directions.
On mile 16 of what was to only be 7 miles, I found myself talking to the Lord, wanting Him to write the next chapter of my story the way I wanted it to be written.
Lord, it would bring you glory. Bringing these things to pass would cause people to praise you. Everyone would know it was You that orchestrated this good.
Wow, what a pompous attitude from one seeking to bring the Lord praise. It is in these moments I am thankful the Lord doesn't smite me. In my car. On long Kentucky roads where no one would find me.
It was almost instant. The knowledge in my brain of what my heart has known for so long. Want a good story? Want a story that is full of every possible twist, subplot, and brilliant ending? How about a God whose love is so strong, He ransomed your heart with His son's blood.
Getting lost down those flat and perfect Kentucky roads was one of the most amazing things to happen to me. It was there I realized what the Lord had been trying to make me understand for so long now: He is my only story.
He is my only story.
His love, His goodness, His mercy are my stories. Anything else is just a blessing for me. He doesn't need my praise. I need His blessings.
But He is my story.
Belle makes her way back to the castle and to the Beast who is now her Prince, Lilo and Stitch find the family they both seek, and the Chipmunks make it back to safety. Good stories.
Good stories that don't hold a candle to the story He has written.
My story.
I still fast-forward when Belle is being chased in the forest by scary things.
I still cry when Stitch and Lilo both find "family."
No matter where I am, I am still overcome with missing my Mom when Eleanor sings "My Mother" to the baby penguin.
What can I say, I'm a sucker for a good story. Even when the parts are scary, or sad, or make me cry, I love a good story. So knowing how the story will end, and after I've seen it once, I fast-forward through the parts I don't like.
I love good stories in life. Life imitating art. Beautiful.
I got lost today driving to a friend's school. There were only 2 roads (that I knew of) and I traveled down both. No dice. Either road. Long roads. Long Kentucky farm roads. People on trackers. Next time I'll actually write down the directions.
On mile 16 of what was to only be 7 miles, I found myself talking to the Lord, wanting Him to write the next chapter of my story the way I wanted it to be written.
Lord, it would bring you glory. Bringing these things to pass would cause people to praise you. Everyone would know it was You that orchestrated this good.
Wow, what a pompous attitude from one seeking to bring the Lord praise. It is in these moments I am thankful the Lord doesn't smite me. In my car. On long Kentucky roads where no one would find me.
It was almost instant. The knowledge in my brain of what my heart has known for so long. Want a good story? Want a story that is full of every possible twist, subplot, and brilliant ending? How about a God whose love is so strong, He ransomed your heart with His son's blood.
Getting lost down those flat and perfect Kentucky roads was one of the most amazing things to happen to me. It was there I realized what the Lord had been trying to make me understand for so long now: He is my only story.
He is my only story.
His love, His goodness, His mercy are my stories. Anything else is just a blessing for me. He doesn't need my praise. I need His blessings.
But He is my story.
Belle makes her way back to the castle and to the Beast who is now her Prince, Lilo and Stitch find the family they both seek, and the Chipmunks make it back to safety. Good stories.
Good stories that don't hold a candle to the story He has written.
My story.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Palm Sunday, Bring the Rain, and Stellan
While not completely unexpected for those of you who know me, this is not a game of requiring you to pick the one thing unlike the others while I sing for you one of my favorite Sesame Street tunes. Which I sing very well. And do the dance. There wasn't a dance? Oh, well there's one now.
It's about faith, about waiting, about expectations. It's about hope and all those things we can't see but know when they are absent.
Of the whole Liturgical calendar, Palm Sunday is always the hardest Mass for me. The Lord always seems to use it in the exact way I need. And He uses the same part each year. The same reading. You'd think I'd be prepared for it each year. But nope, every Palm Sunday it sneaks up on me and usually leaves me covered in tears.
Several years ago, I was wrestling with who exactly was at fault for crucifying Christ. Was it the chief priests or was it Pilate? Legalistic, party of one, thanks. Being a big fan of the law and all things government, I had the best argument as to Pilate's non-guilt. Then came the Palm Sunday Mass and it's responsive reading. (the crowd's response in bold) "Then what am I to do with Jesus, the so-called Messiah?" Crucify him! "Why, what crime has he committed?" Crucify him!
It was then and there I finally got it. We did it. Pilate, the chief priests, Judas, they all played a role but it was us, our sin that crucified the Lord.
Fast-forward a few years to yesterday when I sat in the pew at my beloved Church and realized quickly what was approaching. I knew it was Palm Sunday but I had completely forgotten about that reading. All the sudden, I'm there all over again. This time as one of the crowd at the cross.
He saved others but cannot save himself! So he is the king of Israel! Let's see him come down from that cross, then we will believe in him. He relied on God; let God rescue him now if he wants to. After all, he claimed, 'I am God's Son.' "
Tears started to flow and as best as I tried to bite my cheeks and think of Lilo and Stitch scenes to stop the tears, I couldn't. Which is sad because honestly, Lilo and Stitch does the trick each and every time.
I might be going out on a theological limb here, but it struck me that I am just like that crowd. I believe the act of Christ overcoming death is the point, not necessarily the time he took to do it. I believe the saving and redemptive act of the resurrection would have been just as powerful had it been 3 min after His death instead of three days.
And I think of what a powerful statement, a powerful giving of grace to those in the crowd to die, rise again, and pull Himself off the cross. He could have done it. And those people in the crowd, those of us who wanted proof right now would have had it and some faith to boot.
But He didn't.
He waited three days. Three long days where His followers must have thought differently about leaving their nets. 72 hours where those who wanted to believe would have to hold what this Jesus had said in one hand and reality in another. He was dead.
Had they heard Him wrong? They didn't have the Gospels of Matthew or Mark or the Letters of Paul to remind them of His words of promise, words of comfort, words of wait. I am confident there were a few followers, like myself, who must have spent those three days in distress. They had given everything up for this Jesus. And He was gone.
And just when hope was lost, when faith might have taken its final breath, He overcomes the piercing finality of death.
After Mass, I came home to a new post by Angie at Bring the Rain and an amazing new song by Selah reminding me that though certain times feel unfulfilled and unrestored, they are really just times where grace is about to be amazing.
Then today after checking for updates on sweet baby Stellan, MckMama's post included the words to one of my favorite Casting Crowns songs calling us all to praise You in the storms of life.
Palm Sunday, Bring the Rain, and sweet baby Stellan. All chances for us to just wait. Wait in hope, wait in faith, wait in the total and complete fulfillment of all the things we know He'll do.
I believe it was the waiting those three days that made His resurrection all the more glorious. One the most incredible homilists I have the privilege of hearing weekly told us yesterday that Palm Sunday began Holy Week- the most sublime week of love in the history of the world.
Firmly holding to the belief that faith, that love, that deliverance means sometimes waiting for the tomb to open and death to be defeated so that He may be glorified all the more.
It's about faith, about waiting, about expectations. It's about hope and all those things we can't see but know when they are absent.
Of the whole Liturgical calendar, Palm Sunday is always the hardest Mass for me. The Lord always seems to use it in the exact way I need. And He uses the same part each year. The same reading. You'd think I'd be prepared for it each year. But nope, every Palm Sunday it sneaks up on me and usually leaves me covered in tears.
Several years ago, I was wrestling with who exactly was at fault for crucifying Christ. Was it the chief priests or was it Pilate? Legalistic, party of one, thanks. Being a big fan of the law and all things government, I had the best argument as to Pilate's non-guilt. Then came the Palm Sunday Mass and it's responsive reading. (the crowd's response in bold) "Then what am I to do with Jesus, the so-called Messiah?" Crucify him! "Why, what crime has he committed?" Crucify him!
It was then and there I finally got it. We did it. Pilate, the chief priests, Judas, they all played a role but it was us, our sin that crucified the Lord.
Fast-forward a few years to yesterday when I sat in the pew at my beloved Church and realized quickly what was approaching. I knew it was Palm Sunday but I had completely forgotten about that reading. All the sudden, I'm there all over again. This time as one of the crowd at the cross.
He saved others but cannot save himself! So he is the king of Israel! Let's see him come down from that cross, then we will believe in him. He relied on God; let God rescue him now if he wants to. After all, he claimed, 'I am God's Son.' "
Tears started to flow and as best as I tried to bite my cheeks and think of Lilo and Stitch scenes to stop the tears, I couldn't. Which is sad because honestly, Lilo and Stitch does the trick each and every time.
I might be going out on a theological limb here, but it struck me that I am just like that crowd. I believe the act of Christ overcoming death is the point, not necessarily the time he took to do it. I believe the saving and redemptive act of the resurrection would have been just as powerful had it been 3 min after His death instead of three days.
And I think of what a powerful statement, a powerful giving of grace to those in the crowd to die, rise again, and pull Himself off the cross. He could have done it. And those people in the crowd, those of us who wanted proof right now would have had it and some faith to boot.
But He didn't.
He waited three days. Three long days where His followers must have thought differently about leaving their nets. 72 hours where those who wanted to believe would have to hold what this Jesus had said in one hand and reality in another. He was dead.
Had they heard Him wrong? They didn't have the Gospels of Matthew or Mark or the Letters of Paul to remind them of His words of promise, words of comfort, words of wait. I am confident there were a few followers, like myself, who must have spent those three days in distress. They had given everything up for this Jesus. And He was gone.
And just when hope was lost, when faith might have taken its final breath, He overcomes the piercing finality of death.
After Mass, I came home to a new post by Angie at Bring the Rain and an amazing new song by Selah reminding me that though certain times feel unfulfilled and unrestored, they are really just times where grace is about to be amazing.
Then today after checking for updates on sweet baby Stellan, MckMama's post included the words to one of my favorite Casting Crowns songs calling us all to praise You in the storms of life.
Palm Sunday, Bring the Rain, and sweet baby Stellan. All chances for us to just wait. Wait in hope, wait in faith, wait in the total and complete fulfillment of all the things we know He'll do.
I believe it was the waiting those three days that made His resurrection all the more glorious. One the most incredible homilists I have the privilege of hearing weekly told us yesterday that Palm Sunday began Holy Week- the most sublime week of love in the history of the world.
Firmly holding to the belief that faith, that love, that deliverance means sometimes waiting for the tomb to open and death to be defeated so that He may be glorified all the more.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Four Years Ago...
...the world lost a great man, a true leader, and a servant of God.
His death prompted me to take a look at all the things I believed and eventually I made the journey home to Rome.
Occasionally I'll spend some time reflecting back on the influence he had on so many. His strength was found not in his might but in his weakness. He lived the real power found when you ask for the grace to suffer. His last few months with us were labored and hard to watch.
But his living forced us to ask questions about our dying. About how we look at who deserves to live and who gets to decide to die. Questions about being open and honest with our shortcomings, being real with our defeats.
For my faith, this man was the Vicar of Christ on Earth. Wearing red shoes because he walked in the way of those who were martyred for the faith. His death with dignity, but not without pain, engraved on my heart a profound lesson: Pain does not negate purpose.
Until recently, he was the only Pope of my lifetime. His impact is still felt today as seekers everywhere quietly roar through the doors of the Church, looking for the peace he so evidently possessed.
He'll always be il papa, and I miss him still.
His death prompted me to take a look at all the things I believed and eventually I made the journey home to Rome.
Occasionally I'll spend some time reflecting back on the influence he had on so many. His strength was found not in his might but in his weakness. He lived the real power found when you ask for the grace to suffer. His last few months with us were labored and hard to watch.
But his living forced us to ask questions about our dying. About how we look at who deserves to live and who gets to decide to die. Questions about being open and honest with our shortcomings, being real with our defeats.
For my faith, this man was the Vicar of Christ on Earth. Wearing red shoes because he walked in the way of those who were martyred for the faith. His death with dignity, but not without pain, engraved on my heart a profound lesson: Pain does not negate purpose.
Until recently, he was the only Pope of my lifetime. His impact is still felt today as seekers everywhere quietly roar through the doors of the Church, looking for the peace he so evidently possessed.
He'll always be il papa, and I miss him still.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
All of Me?
Many of you know a few weeks ago, I spent the weekend with a group of Dominican nuns in Nashville. A retreat had been planned there for months and there happened to be a spot for me. One of the things I loved the most about those three days was the singing of several prayers throughout the day. Morning prayers, mid-day prayers, Vespers, and Compline all sung to the Glory of God. Even a broken soul like mine could pray through the songs and not have to speak.
I love to read. More often than not, I have at least two books on my person. This Christmas, we didn't leave until Christmas Eve to come home. Rushing through the house that morning before heading off to 6:00am Christmas Eve Mass, then to the office to meet him, then to the airport to go home, I realized I was without my books. I grabbed the first two volumes of words on my staircase (i'm completely out of bookcase room - both room on the bookcases and room for more bookcases). Sitting in the airport terminal waiting to fly home, and laughing with my heart's traveling companion about how in several more Christmas breaks we'd be that couple chasing children through the waiting area, I could not put my book down.
For my very structured friends, you'll hate this book. Don't even check Amazon for it. Trust me. But for those of you who, like me, are attracted to the mystical aspects of faith, go right now and order it.
sevensacredpauses: living mindfully throughout the hours of the day is perhaps one of the best books my heart has ever taken in. It walks you through the prayers said at the seven most holy times of the day. This practice is not new to Christendom and isn't unique to His faith. It's about putting yourself, seven times each day, in the Father's hands.
Sitting with those beautiful Dominican Sisters, listening to them sing the prayers of the hours, finding myself moving in rhythm with their hearts, I knew this was a practice that would keep me grounded through this trial of my soul. I came back to my apartment yesterday and dug through pile of things from my suitcase I never unpacked after Christmas, (I traveled twice after that, moved a boyfriend across country, oh and packed an entire office and left a job- I'm okay with leaving piles in my living room) and found the book.
Opening it to the prayers for twilight, I paused and asked the Lord to show me the shortcomings of my day. As is a continual prayer lately, I begged Him to heal my broken heart.
Give it to me. Give me your brokenness.
But God! There isn't just one part of me that's broken. There isn't just one piece of my heart to heal.
Place your wounds in the wounds of my son. They will heal you.
I believe you, I do. But I can't just put this in a box and give you the box. It's my hands that hurt because they remember holding his. It's my feet because they were going to walk with him forever. It's my nose and ears because they'll never again nussle against his chest on my front porch at the end of the night. And they've got nothing on my heart and my soul. IT'S NOT JUST ONE PART GOD, I'D HAVE TO GIVE YOU ALL OF ME. I'D HAVE TO HAND OVER MY WHOLE LIFE FOR YOU TO HEAL. I'D HAVE TO GIVE YOU ALL OF ME.
Oh. I get it.
You want all of me.
Not just to pray with you seven times a day, and not just to walk in your precepts, but you want all of me.
Tears falling down every part of my face and covering the book held now forcefully in my hands, I read the Psalm for twilight prayers: Sustain me as you have promised that I may live; disappoint me not in my hope. (Psalm 119:116)
Giving You everything that makes me, I cling to Your promise- disappoint me not in my hope.
I love to read. More often than not, I have at least two books on my person. This Christmas, we didn't leave until Christmas Eve to come home. Rushing through the house that morning before heading off to 6:00am Christmas Eve Mass, then to the office to meet him, then to the airport to go home, I realized I was without my books. I grabbed the first two volumes of words on my staircase (i'm completely out of bookcase room - both room on the bookcases and room for more bookcases). Sitting in the airport terminal waiting to fly home, and laughing with my heart's traveling companion about how in several more Christmas breaks we'd be that couple chasing children through the waiting area, I could not put my book down.
For my very structured friends, you'll hate this book. Don't even check Amazon for it. Trust me. But for those of you who, like me, are attracted to the mystical aspects of faith, go right now and order it.
sevensacredpauses: living mindfully throughout the hours of the day is perhaps one of the best books my heart has ever taken in. It walks you through the prayers said at the seven most holy times of the day. This practice is not new to Christendom and isn't unique to His faith. It's about putting yourself, seven times each day, in the Father's hands.
Sitting with those beautiful Dominican Sisters, listening to them sing the prayers of the hours, finding myself moving in rhythm with their hearts, I knew this was a practice that would keep me grounded through this trial of my soul. I came back to my apartment yesterday and dug through pile of things from my suitcase I never unpacked after Christmas, (I traveled twice after that, moved a boyfriend across country, oh and packed an entire office and left a job- I'm okay with leaving piles in my living room) and found the book.
Opening it to the prayers for twilight, I paused and asked the Lord to show me the shortcomings of my day. As is a continual prayer lately, I begged Him to heal my broken heart.
Give it to me. Give me your brokenness.
But God! There isn't just one part of me that's broken. There isn't just one piece of my heart to heal.
Place your wounds in the wounds of my son. They will heal you.
I believe you, I do. But I can't just put this in a box and give you the box. It's my hands that hurt because they remember holding his. It's my feet because they were going to walk with him forever. It's my nose and ears because they'll never again nussle against his chest on my front porch at the end of the night. And they've got nothing on my heart and my soul. IT'S NOT JUST ONE PART GOD, I'D HAVE TO GIVE YOU ALL OF ME. I'D HAVE TO HAND OVER MY WHOLE LIFE FOR YOU TO HEAL. I'D HAVE TO GIVE YOU ALL OF ME.
Oh. I get it.
You want all of me.
Not just to pray with you seven times a day, and not just to walk in your precepts, but you want all of me.
Tears falling down every part of my face and covering the book held now forcefully in my hands, I read the Psalm for twilight prayers: Sustain me as you have promised that I may live; disappoint me not in my hope. (Psalm 119:116)
Giving You everything that makes me, I cling to Your promise- disappoint me not in my hope.
Monday, March 30, 2009
My Goal for Today
Outside the weather tells me it is about to be spring: new growth, new life, new shades of green. The symbolism is not lost on me.
Also not lost on me was the Gospel reading at Mass yesterday. "Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain."
Really Lord? Really?
I couldn't help but laugh. I do want to bear fruit so much like winter brings spring, suffering and waiting in hope brings new life. So in the hope of new life, I've set a new goal for myself today. Keep in mind I'm not sure I can make this goal for all day. But much like Thomas Merton, I believe the desire to please You actually pleases You.
Instead of being angry that the last 18 months of my life seem pointless now, I'm going to rejoice that I got to see a shuttle launch under a full harvest moon.
Instead of kicking and screaming that people in his world don't know the truth of this disaster, I'm going to be thankful I got to know a whole group of people I would have never met.
Instead of harboring bitterness that a family that claimed to love me and want me to be a part of them hasn't reached out at all, I'm going to remember the way his precious niece said my name and how she and I could make each other laugh.
Instead of demanding answers from the Lord as to why all of this happened, I'm going to (with every earnest attempt) say thank you.
No clue how long this might last! In all honesty, it is so much easier to live in pity. But spring is coming and that grain of wheat as already fallen, and I want there to be new life.
Also not lost on me was the Gospel reading at Mass yesterday. "Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain."
Really Lord? Really?
I couldn't help but laugh. I do want to bear fruit so much like winter brings spring, suffering and waiting in hope brings new life. So in the hope of new life, I've set a new goal for myself today. Keep in mind I'm not sure I can make this goal for all day. But much like Thomas Merton, I believe the desire to please You actually pleases You.
Instead of being angry that the last 18 months of my life seem pointless now, I'm going to rejoice that I got to see a shuttle launch under a full harvest moon.
Instead of kicking and screaming that people in his world don't know the truth of this disaster, I'm going to be thankful I got to know a whole group of people I would have never met.
Instead of harboring bitterness that a family that claimed to love me and want me to be a part of them hasn't reached out at all, I'm going to remember the way his precious niece said my name and how she and I could make each other laugh.
Instead of demanding answers from the Lord as to why all of this happened, I'm going to (with every earnest attempt) say thank you.
No clue how long this might last! In all honesty, it is so much easier to live in pity. But spring is coming and that grain of wheat as already fallen, and I want there to be new life.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Space for Stuff
My desks have always been a place of piles, of constant working, but also of me. I've always kept pictures of people I love, books that mean a great deal to me, and for those of you who know me well- yes, every desk I have every occupied also held a dictionary.
My desk at home is no different: cards from loved ones, the picture of my family with the president in the Oval Office, a beautiful letter written to me by a great friend.
At my last job, I had a massive desk. Honestly, the top was as large as a double bed. Lots of space for stuff. I liked to keep things my staff had produced for the President that meant something to me. A copy of his address to the Knesset, his words at Tony Snow's funeral, remarks from the Pope's visit all graced the area in my eyesight.
When I left the White House and set up my office at home, I wanted all of those things near me; things that remind me what it is like to serve such a noble cause. Because that corner of my desk "needed something" to hold the pages down and bring the space together, I placed upon them a cross engraved with the words from Ecclesiastes: He has made everything beautiful in its time.
Everything.
Not just the stuff that was good already or the things that were easy to make beautiful.
There it is, sitting next me, overlooked all this time. He has promised to make all things beautiful in their time.
These past 24 hours have been ugly. I've been angry. Please don't mention the steps and stages of grief to me or I might just put you in one of those boxes they tell me I pass through on my way to being "normal" again. Anger is not an emotion I handle well. It is hard for me and it always leaves me full of grief for expending emotional capital on someone or something that isn't affected by my emotions.
Nonetheless, I have been angry. Angry that the truth isn't winning out quite yet, angry that I have felt like this whole thing was my fault, angry that the other half of this situation doesn't have to take any responsibility for this, angry that after almost two years, after being so close to saying "yes" to forever, that I can be this invisible and be this forgotten.
But it's still there. His word doesn't change because my circumstances do. Praise Him for that!
He has made everything beautiful in its time.
My desk at home is no different: cards from loved ones, the picture of my family with the president in the Oval Office, a beautiful letter written to me by a great friend.
At my last job, I had a massive desk. Honestly, the top was as large as a double bed. Lots of space for stuff. I liked to keep things my staff had produced for the President that meant something to me. A copy of his address to the Knesset, his words at Tony Snow's funeral, remarks from the Pope's visit all graced the area in my eyesight.
When I left the White House and set up my office at home, I wanted all of those things near me; things that remind me what it is like to serve such a noble cause. Because that corner of my desk "needed something" to hold the pages down and bring the space together, I placed upon them a cross engraved with the words from Ecclesiastes: He has made everything beautiful in its time.
Everything.
Not just the stuff that was good already or the things that were easy to make beautiful.
There it is, sitting next me, overlooked all this time. He has promised to make all things beautiful in their time.
These past 24 hours have been ugly. I've been angry. Please don't mention the steps and stages of grief to me or I might just put you in one of those boxes they tell me I pass through on my way to being "normal" again. Anger is not an emotion I handle well. It is hard for me and it always leaves me full of grief for expending emotional capital on someone or something that isn't affected by my emotions.
Nonetheless, I have been angry. Angry that the truth isn't winning out quite yet, angry that I have felt like this whole thing was my fault, angry that the other half of this situation doesn't have to take any responsibility for this, angry that after almost two years, after being so close to saying "yes" to forever, that I can be this invisible and be this forgotten.
But it's still there. His word doesn't change because my circumstances do. Praise Him for that!
He has made everything beautiful in its time.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Why I Love JJ Heller
Go here and listen to her music.
No really, go now.
I'll wait.
I left lunch with an amazing friend today, got in my car, and sang with JJ.
"No matter how the wind may blow, it cannot shake the sun."
Sing it girl.
What a great reminder. The wind sure is blowing a lot lately. From every direction. So many prayer needs, so many burdens, so many questions to the sky.
But what grace! What stability! With every breath of my soul, I know it cannot shake the sun.
Let's rejoice in that today!
No really, go now.
I'll wait.
I left lunch with an amazing friend today, got in my car, and sang with JJ.
"No matter how the wind may blow, it cannot shake the sun."
Sing it girl.
What a great reminder. The wind sure is blowing a lot lately. From every direction. So many prayer needs, so many burdens, so many questions to the sky.
But what grace! What stability! With every breath of my soul, I know it cannot shake the sun.
Let's rejoice in that today!
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Dreams Over Coffee - Very Honest Dreams
A few nights ago, I had the true honor of sharing a cup of coffee (and a cup of grace) with two of my beautiful friends. The two of them are married, one with a child and the other struggling to have children.
As I sat there, listening to the things they are praying, I fought the urge to say "But you both have your match! You have someone to love every night. You have your Forever."That's when I realized the three of us are still seeking- one a job, one a child, and me, some moments it overwhelms me the thing I seek- the restoration of a dream.
We were all seeking something.
We all seek.
The beauty about what binds the three of us together is the seeking of God. My sacred scriptures tell me that I will find Him when I seek Him with all my heart. In the midst of dreams just beyond our reach, these beautiful friends of mine awakened my soul to the deep and purposeful need we all have to seek peace, Grace, love, to seek the face of the One who created.
These past few weeks have forced me to lean. Forced me to seek the face of the Almighty. Forgive me for my honesty, but I would have rather not. I know that I am learning and growing so much in Him. But in the deepest parts of my soul, I would still rather not be here in this place of my heart.
Don't get me wrong, I love the way He has wrapped His arms around me, the way He lets me scream and cry and beg for a redo, the way He hears my earnest prayers to change time and take me back to that day and let me try it again- this time with grace on my tongue and in my heart. I've told God countless times this week that He created the laws of space and time and He can bend them.
That's how much I've wanted this miracle.
But He isn't bending the laws of space and time. He isn't letting me go back to that moment in the car when everything changed. He isn't giving me a redo.
He is letting me know every day, sometimes every minute, how much I am loved.
And He's reminding me, over coffee, that we all continue to seek. This side of glory our hearts will be restless.
Which makes me feel not so alone.
As I sat there, listening to the things they are praying, I fought the urge to say "But you both have your match! You have someone to love every night. You have your Forever."That's when I realized the three of us are still seeking- one a job, one a child, and me, some moments it overwhelms me the thing I seek- the restoration of a dream.
We were all seeking something.
We all seek.
The beauty about what binds the three of us together is the seeking of God. My sacred scriptures tell me that I will find Him when I seek Him with all my heart. In the midst of dreams just beyond our reach, these beautiful friends of mine awakened my soul to the deep and purposeful need we all have to seek peace, Grace, love, to seek the face of the One who created.
These past few weeks have forced me to lean. Forced me to seek the face of the Almighty. Forgive me for my honesty, but I would have rather not. I know that I am learning and growing so much in Him. But in the deepest parts of my soul, I would still rather not be here in this place of my heart.
Don't get me wrong, I love the way He has wrapped His arms around me, the way He lets me scream and cry and beg for a redo, the way He hears my earnest prayers to change time and take me back to that day and let me try it again- this time with grace on my tongue and in my heart. I've told God countless times this week that He created the laws of space and time and He can bend them.
That's how much I've wanted this miracle.
But He isn't bending the laws of space and time. He isn't letting me go back to that moment in the car when everything changed. He isn't giving me a redo.
He is letting me know every day, sometimes every minute, how much I am loved.
And He's reminding me, over coffee, that we all continue to seek. This side of glory our hearts will be restless.
Which makes me feel not so alone.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Back
Friends, it's been a long day. It's almost too much.
It's this beautiful baby boy who needs our prayers.
It's being back in this apartment. Where every inch of this tiny DC space hold memories: the movie nights on the couch, the dinners I cooked that he pretended to enjoy and I'm sure went to McDonald's on his way home, the many trips I've packed for and unpacked from, the night I came in and slept so well because he told me he loved me and wanted me to be his forever.
It's listening to the Daniel Doss Band sing about the wide-open arms of God.
It's these stupid plastic ducks that are a part of my life. For our eventual wedding, I bought Bride and Groom ducks. I joked that they should be the centerpieces.
It's realizing how much I am loved.
It's knowing I have the strength to put one foot in front of the other.
It's my wonderful girlfriends who are calling to spend a night with me just because.
It's being so afraid of what happens next, but so confident that the Lord's grace and goodness and mercy will guide my heart.
Friends, it's been a long day. 34 of them in the making.
It's this beautiful baby boy who needs our prayers.
It's being back in this apartment. Where every inch of this tiny DC space hold memories: the movie nights on the couch, the dinners I cooked that he pretended to enjoy and I'm sure went to McDonald's on his way home, the many trips I've packed for and unpacked from, the night I came in and slept so well because he told me he loved me and wanted me to be his forever.
It's listening to the Daniel Doss Band sing about the wide-open arms of God.
It's these stupid plastic ducks that are a part of my life. For our eventual wedding, I bought Bride and Groom ducks. I joked that they should be the centerpieces.
It's realizing how much I am loved.
It's knowing I have the strength to put one foot in front of the other.
It's my wonderful girlfriends who are calling to spend a night with me just because.
It's being so afraid of what happens next, but so confident that the Lord's grace and goodness and mercy will guide my heart.
Friends, it's been a long day. 34 of them in the making.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Who Says You Can't Go Home?
Love that song. Love. That. Song.
http://http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e3FWgUbVzXI
And how true it is.
I've spent the past four weeks at home. A whole month in the house that saw my first dance recital costume, that still smells the same, that still wraps me in love. This time has been good, been healing, been holy.
But this town! This town has literally wrapped its arms around me. Women that taught me in Sunday School have caught my tears, people I worked out with at the Y have prayed for me, beautiful friends I walked through school with have heard my story in the aisles of Wal-Mart (or is it Walmart now?) and stood in the gap with me.
I shouldn't, but I remain surprised.
After almost four years in a town that starts each conversation with "now, what do you do?", it has been humbling to spend a month with people who knew me before the commas-
Ashley Elizabeth, employee of the White House
Ashley Elizabeth, girlfriend and part of the young DC power couple
Ashley Elizabeth, speechwriter for GSA
Ashley Elizabeth, baker of one mighty poundcake
The people here, the souls that make up my home knew me before the commas and now that nothing but empty space and the grace of God follow behind my name, they still love me.
Bon Jovi was right- there is only one place they call you one of their own.
Commas or not.
http://http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e3FWgUbVzXI
And how true it is.
I've spent the past four weeks at home. A whole month in the house that saw my first dance recital costume, that still smells the same, that still wraps me in love. This time has been good, been healing, been holy.
But this town! This town has literally wrapped its arms around me. Women that taught me in Sunday School have caught my tears, people I worked out with at the Y have prayed for me, beautiful friends I walked through school with have heard my story in the aisles of Wal-Mart (or is it Walmart now?) and stood in the gap with me.
I shouldn't, but I remain surprised.
After almost four years in a town that starts each conversation with "now, what do you do?", it has been humbling to spend a month with people who knew me before the commas-
Ashley Elizabeth, employee of the White House
Ashley Elizabeth, girlfriend and part of the young DC power couple
Ashley Elizabeth, speechwriter for GSA
Ashley Elizabeth, baker of one mighty poundcake
The people here, the souls that make up my home knew me before the commas and now that nothing but empty space and the grace of God follow behind my name, they still love me.
Bon Jovi was right- there is only one place they call you one of their own.
Commas or not.
Monday, March 16, 2009
My Cup
From a beautiful blog - thepipers.wordpress.com
I’m gonna drink this painful cup all the way down, just drain it. And I’m gonna ask the Lord to make it something beautiful.
Indeed. This cup hurts. Each day it hurts worse.
But each day, there is grace to drink.
And beg the Lord to make something beautiful.
I’m gonna drink this painful cup all the way down, just drain it. And I’m gonna ask the Lord to make it something beautiful.
Indeed. This cup hurts. Each day it hurts worse.
But each day, there is grace to drink.
And beg the Lord to make something beautiful.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
We Have a Choice
Consider this your warning. If you don't want to read a post heavily influenced by my faith, stop now!
Forgive my blog absence. It's been a heavy couple of days starting with a retreat with the Dominican Sisters of St.Cecilia's where the Lord showed up and completely moved in my heart. In the middle, my Mom had surgery - an important reminder of life expanding as a whisper. And ending with this very hard realization:
I am not blameless.
I. Am. Not. Blameless.
It's been a month. And still, whenever people hear the story, they always say that something doesn't make sense, doesn't add up, that a part of this is missing.
In the past few days the Lord has shown me what part of this story is missing- my actions.
At the retreat last weekend, one of the beautiful sisters spoke about the call we as women (sorry if by chance any men read this!) have with the relationships in our lives. We can act like Mary, showing love, grace, humbleness and choosing to make holiness our first thoughts towards others. Or we can live like Eve. We can complain, seek our own way, think of our needs first, and cause division in our relationships.
It took three weeks and countless tears to realize I spent the last month of our relationship acting more and more like Eve.
After a year and a half of loving him, praying for him, laughing with him, and resting in his kindness, I threw all of that away. We didn't fight. We never learned how.
1338 miles and a great schism came between us.
Silence. Instead of love, I gave him silence. Instead of patience, silence. Instead of prayerful words that could have healed the small fracture in our relationship, I gave him bitter silence.
Eve would have been proud.
Please hear my heart, please don't hear my words and think me a doormat. That is truly not the case. We both made mistakes. Mistakes that wounded me at the core.
Of my choice however, I am heartsick. Each day we make choices. My persistent choice those last couple of days to place my sinfulness above the Lord's call to holiness causes me great sorrow. And I continue to pray, as the Lord forgives my horrible deeds and makes me to grow more like himself and his mother, Psalm 119:175 Let my soul live that I may praise you.
Lord, let this relationship that you ordained and set apart, this relationship that your two children royally screwed up, let this relationship live if for no other reason than to bring you praise. And if your answer is no, Lord let me still praise you.
Forgive my blog absence. It's been a heavy couple of days starting with a retreat with the Dominican Sisters of St.Cecilia's where the Lord showed up and completely moved in my heart. In the middle, my Mom had surgery - an important reminder of life expanding as a whisper. And ending with this very hard realization:
I am not blameless.
I. Am. Not. Blameless.
It's been a month. And still, whenever people hear the story, they always say that something doesn't make sense, doesn't add up, that a part of this is missing.
In the past few days the Lord has shown me what part of this story is missing- my actions.
At the retreat last weekend, one of the beautiful sisters spoke about the call we as women (sorry if by chance any men read this!) have with the relationships in our lives. We can act like Mary, showing love, grace, humbleness and choosing to make holiness our first thoughts towards others. Or we can live like Eve. We can complain, seek our own way, think of our needs first, and cause division in our relationships.
It took three weeks and countless tears to realize I spent the last month of our relationship acting more and more like Eve.
After a year and a half of loving him, praying for him, laughing with him, and resting in his kindness, I threw all of that away. We didn't fight. We never learned how.
1338 miles and a great schism came between us.
Silence. Instead of love, I gave him silence. Instead of patience, silence. Instead of prayerful words that could have healed the small fracture in our relationship, I gave him bitter silence.
Eve would have been proud.
Please hear my heart, please don't hear my words and think me a doormat. That is truly not the case. We both made mistakes. Mistakes that wounded me at the core.
Of my choice however, I am heartsick. Each day we make choices. My persistent choice those last couple of days to place my sinfulness above the Lord's call to holiness causes me great sorrow. And I continue to pray, as the Lord forgives my horrible deeds and makes me to grow more like himself and his mother, Psalm 119:175 Let my soul live that I may praise you.
Lord, let this relationship that you ordained and set apart, this relationship that your two children royally screwed up, let this relationship live if for no other reason than to bring you praise. And if your answer is no, Lord let me still praise you.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
I Did a Dumb Thing Today
I looked through my emails.
I know, I know, I shouldn't have done that. But I did.
Just a week before all this happened, one week, there were the sweetest emails. They were funny and kind and telling my how much I was loved.
We had this inside joke about being undecided about the other person. It was our way of talking about marriage without freaking each other out. And then when talking about marriage didn't scare us so much, the joke stayed. Any time a request was to be made, it usually started or ended with "I mean, I know you're still undecided and all."
It always made me smile and laugh and giggle.
Now it mocks me. Gmail has proof he once once loved me. That we had been set apart for each other.
I know those emails weren't lies. Despite the last three weeks, he really used to be a very honest and kind man.
But now he is undecided.
And that doesn't make me giggle at all.
I know, I know, I shouldn't have done that. But I did.
Just a week before all this happened, one week, there were the sweetest emails. They were funny and kind and telling my how much I was loved.
We had this inside joke about being undecided about the other person. It was our way of talking about marriage without freaking each other out. And then when talking about marriage didn't scare us so much, the joke stayed. Any time a request was to be made, it usually started or ended with "I mean, I know you're still undecided and all."
It always made me smile and laugh and giggle.
Now it mocks me. Gmail has proof he once once loved me. That we had been set apart for each other.
I know those emails weren't lies. Despite the last three weeks, he really used to be a very honest and kind man.
But now he is undecided.
And that doesn't make me giggle at all.
Friday, February 27, 2009
The Box
The box came the other day. It had the few items I couldn't pack in my suitcase the night I left.
It came without writing. Not even the address label was hand-written. No note inside.
He told me he would put me in a box and never think about me again.
And there it is, straight from UPS. My stuff in a box. Me in a box.
It came without writing. Not even the address label was hand-written. No note inside.
He told me he would put me in a box and never think about me again.
And there it is, straight from UPS. My stuff in a box. Me in a box.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
40 days to a Lifetime
Today is Ash Wednesday. The beginning of Lent. The start to the most sorrowful time of the year.
Lent is always a really hard time for me. Not for what I have to give up, but for what this time means. My faith teaches me that Lent ends with the Holy Tridium; the three most holy days of the Liturgical year. Those three days before Easter, Christ is removed from the Church and everything bearing His image is covered. It is a real reminder to me of His death, and some years it hurts so much I can't breathe.
This year Lent takes on a whole new meaning. Finding something to give up certainly wasn't difficult. But giving over the pain and frustration in my heart was.
I've sulked about because I was rejected. For whatever reason I can give or can never explain, I was rejected by the one I loved.
And so Lent got closer.
A dear spiritual mentor spoke with me last night. I finally admitted my anger with the Lord for not stopping me from loving the man who didn't choose me.
And so Lent came.
I yelled at the God of creation for allowing this cup to pass through my hands.
And so Lent was real.
Lent is a hard time but it is a necessary time. It is 40 days of making yourself one with the cross. Something we should do every day but during Lent, it takes on a life of its own. This spiritual mentor happens to be a Deacon at my Church. He gently reminded me of the full weight and purpose of the Cross.
If you asked Christ, while being crucified, if He loved Judas, His answer would be a resounding "yes." Each time He fell, He loved Judas. He loved knowing He would be betrayed and rejected.
As matter of fact, He stills loves Judas.
Just as He still loves me.
Lent is always a really hard time for me. Not for what I have to give up, but for what this time means. My faith teaches me that Lent ends with the Holy Tridium; the three most holy days of the Liturgical year. Those three days before Easter, Christ is removed from the Church and everything bearing His image is covered. It is a real reminder to me of His death, and some years it hurts so much I can't breathe.
This year Lent takes on a whole new meaning. Finding something to give up certainly wasn't difficult. But giving over the pain and frustration in my heart was.
I've sulked about because I was rejected. For whatever reason I can give or can never explain, I was rejected by the one I loved.
And so Lent got closer.
A dear spiritual mentor spoke with me last night. I finally admitted my anger with the Lord for not stopping me from loving the man who didn't choose me.
And so Lent came.
I yelled at the God of creation for allowing this cup to pass through my hands.
And so Lent was real.
Lent is a hard time but it is a necessary time. It is 40 days of making yourself one with the cross. Something we should do every day but during Lent, it takes on a life of its own. This spiritual mentor happens to be a Deacon at my Church. He gently reminded me of the full weight and purpose of the Cross.
If you asked Christ, while being crucified, if He loved Judas, His answer would be a resounding "yes." Each time He fell, He loved Judas. He loved knowing He would be betrayed and rejected.
As matter of fact, He stills loves Judas.
Just as He still loves me.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Obama
No, not the president, the rooster.
A couple of months ago these two roosters adopted my parents. They literally starting camping out in Mom and Dad's backyard. Since the nation was getting new occupants at 1600, my parents decided Michelle and Obama were good names for said roosters. And being the good ark-keepers that they are, Mom and Dad started feeding them. So they stayed. And crowed. And roosted. Did I mention they crowed, a lot?
About a week ago, either Michelle or Obama (no one's really sure about this detail) was killed by a hawk. Out of respect to the office, they decided Obama was still alive.
For the past week, that darned rooster stood on the front porch and crowed. And crowed. And crowed. The biggest fit I've ever seen a rooster throw.
It seems he was seeing his reflection in the glass door and thought his other half was still there.
I know exactly how he feels.
A couple of months ago these two roosters adopted my parents. They literally starting camping out in Mom and Dad's backyard. Since the nation was getting new occupants at 1600, my parents decided Michelle and Obama were good names for said roosters. And being the good ark-keepers that they are, Mom and Dad started feeding them. So they stayed. And crowed. And roosted. Did I mention they crowed, a lot?
About a week ago, either Michelle or Obama (no one's really sure about this detail) was killed by a hawk. Out of respect to the office, they decided Obama was still alive.
For the past week, that darned rooster stood on the front porch and crowed. And crowed. And crowed. The biggest fit I've ever seen a rooster throw.
It seems he was seeing his reflection in the glass door and thought his other half was still there.
I know exactly how he feels.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Good News, Bad News, Who Is To Say?
At church this morning with my family, the minister preached an incredible sermon on the necessary things. It was such a blessing to my soul to hear his message delivered without judgement and full of love. He is retiring next week and will greatly be missed.
Per usual, I digress.
He told a beautiful story about life's happenings with a farmer in China. Events ebbed and flowed through the story and at each turn of fate, the farmer looked to Heaven and said "Good news, bad news, who is to say?"
Each piece of this man's story could only be understood within the rest of his story.
It pierced my soul.
Good news, bad news, the Lord is still sovereign, still loving, and still on His throne.
And still holds me in the hollow of His hand.
Per usual, I digress.
He told a beautiful story about life's happenings with a farmer in China. Events ebbed and flowed through the story and at each turn of fate, the farmer looked to Heaven and said "Good news, bad news, who is to say?"
Each piece of this man's story could only be understood within the rest of his story.
It pierced my soul.
Good news, bad news, the Lord is still sovereign, still loving, and still on His throne.
And still holds me in the hollow of His hand.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
I am every woman...really?
I spent last night talking with a beautiful, powerful, and amazing friend of mine. We shared the same lost dreams and have cried the same tears.
But the thing I couldn't get over, we both are incredibly successful in our chosen fields. We both worked at the tops of our games at such a young age. And we both found ourselves hiding our lights when it came to relationships.
Why?
Why do we, and by we I mean every woman who hasn't let her light shine in the homeplace like she does in the workplace, think we will be loved less?
In complete truth, he never asked me to dimmer my intelligence, my laughter, my dreams. I would like to think had I ever verbalized my thoughts, he would have been offended. But I thought I had to do just that.
I was wrong. I am intelligent, funny, and the way I view the world is perfectly okay because that's the way I have been created. To think any less, to act any differently, to hide even one fiber of the way we have been knit together is nothing short of sinful.
His plan for women has always been mighty. And I cling to being every woman. Every woman who has been here, who has overcome, and who has found herself at the foot of the cross.
And who has been redeemed.
But the thing I couldn't get over, we both are incredibly successful in our chosen fields. We both worked at the tops of our games at such a young age. And we both found ourselves hiding our lights when it came to relationships.
Why?
Why do we, and by we I mean every woman who hasn't let her light shine in the homeplace like she does in the workplace, think we will be loved less?
In complete truth, he never asked me to dimmer my intelligence, my laughter, my dreams. I would like to think had I ever verbalized my thoughts, he would have been offended. But I thought I had to do just that.
I was wrong. I am intelligent, funny, and the way I view the world is perfectly okay because that's the way I have been created. To think any less, to act any differently, to hide even one fiber of the way we have been knit together is nothing short of sinful.
His plan for women has always been mighty. And I cling to being every woman. Every woman who has been here, who has overcome, and who has found herself at the foot of the cross.
And who has been redeemed.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Yes...but
I am fairly certain that in the last 4 days of my life, I have uttered those two words almost more than others. Except for the Monday night in the hotel when I kept crying out to the Lord "you're sovereign"- my neighbors must have loved me. All week, these amazing women have cried with me, prayed with me, been angry with me, and overcome with shock with me. And each time they hear the story, they look into my heart and say "aren't you glad then the Lord brought you out?"
Yes, I am...but I still miss him.
Yes, I am glad I didn't marry him...but I still love him.
Yes, I know the Lord must have something better...but I knew it was him.
Yes...but.
My dad asked me some really humbling questions yesterday about the relationship and how it ended. I still don't have any answers. I still want to pick up the phone, call his office, and let him have it for being so cruel. But it wouldn't do me any good and I doubt he'd take my call. So i'm left doing what I should do all along, asking for the grace to get through this one moment right now.
And yes, I know I will get through this...but it still wounds.
Yes, I am...but I still miss him.
Yes, I am glad I didn't marry him...but I still love him.
Yes, I know the Lord must have something better...but I knew it was him.
Yes...but.
My dad asked me some really humbling questions yesterday about the relationship and how it ended. I still don't have any answers. I still want to pick up the phone, call his office, and let him have it for being so cruel. But it wouldn't do me any good and I doubt he'd take my call. So i'm left doing what I should do all along, asking for the grace to get through this one moment right now.
And yes, I know I will get through this...but it still wounds.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Blessings
I have been overwhelmed by the amount of people who love me. I know how attemptedly humble that sounds, but it is true. I had no idea I wasn't invisible to so many, that I mattered to so many, that so many hurt with me.
And it's the most amazing ways I find myself blessed. My car, my sweet, messy, never been washed car is now clean. I always thought he would do it- he always promised to do it- but never made time for it. And now, one of my amazing girlfriends cleaned my car- inside and out.
The little reminders- I am being taken care of- in the big and the small that make this process a little easier.
I am so very blessed.
And it's the most amazing ways I find myself blessed. My car, my sweet, messy, never been washed car is now clean. I always thought he would do it- he always promised to do it- but never made time for it. And now, one of my amazing girlfriends cleaned my car- inside and out.
The little reminders- I am being taken care of- in the big and the small that make this process a little easier.
I am so very blessed.
Hello...
I'm a writer. Both for a living and to make it through the messy pages of my heart, I write. Lately, I have found myself writing in my head just to make it one day at a time. So many women, and a few men, are walking with me, standing in the gap for me, during this time of my heart's brokenness, that I invite y'all to journey with me. Grab your Starbucks decaf skinny latte, Jenn, or your six shot expresso, Dad, and sit a spell with my soul.
For those of you who don't know the whole story, the details are not relevant. Know a relationship I cherished, I trusted, I dreamed towards is no longer. As of now, I am broken. But I have faith that at some point, I will move past being broken and move into a new chapter of my heart.
I mourn the loss of so many things and I catch myself remembering so few hours ago when my heart seemed so happily attached to another. I mourn the loss of the family we would have, the beach wedding, the forever of love I was promised.
But now, oh but now I am clinging in complete thanks, to the Father of my footsteps, who has spared me from a fate I doubt I will ever fully name.
For those of you who don't know the whole story, the details are not relevant. Know a relationship I cherished, I trusted, I dreamed towards is no longer. As of now, I am broken. But I have faith that at some point, I will move past being broken and move into a new chapter of my heart.
I mourn the loss of so many things and I catch myself remembering so few hours ago when my heart seemed so happily attached to another. I mourn the loss of the family we would have, the beach wedding, the forever of love I was promised.
But now, oh but now I am clinging in complete thanks, to the Father of my footsteps, who has spared me from a fate I doubt I will ever fully name.
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