Sacred Sunday: I will not be Silenced

I want to feel safe on the page. Really, I want to feel safe everywhere. Don’t you? I have not felt particularly safe lately. I have so much I want to voice, and still I hesitate. I long to be seen and understood for who I am. I wonder if that is an impossible task to ask. I know it really is, especially since I am the one who knows myself the best and there are still many doors of unopened rooms in my life. Nonetheless, I long for safety, understanding and a strong voice.

Lately, I have been highly aware that people often choose to see others through their limited experience and have little curiosity towards a fuller view. But I am who I am because of ALL my experiences. I can be totally present to a single person because of all the others who have gone before. I can know his/her abandonment, because I have been abandoned. I will fight to stay, because I was left. I will hold, because I was not held. I seek clarity, because I have been misunderstood. I choose to see, because I was not seen.

My heart shares joy, because it is full and it has been emptied. I know a whole range of emotions and whether I like it or not they become real through experience, instead of staying abstract. My heart knows deep roots. I seek this alongside others, because I seek it for myself. I offer care, because I know the importance of self-care. I also know its absence. I know the pain of sorrow and what it is like to sob until I cannot breathe – to pound a chest and wail a primal scream until the wind has left my lungs and only sorrow remains.

I know the freedom of belly-laughing until snot runs out my nose and burns my nostrils making me cry “ouch” and then I roll over and laugh some more. I know the freedom of music filling my body and lifting me off the ground. I also know the weight of paralysis because the voice of my timid fool speaks loudest and commands me to stay where I am even when I yearn to dance.

I am perfectly equipped to listen and because of my humanity, I am equally equipped to fail. But I am strong and tenacious and I will get up again and again, because failure has not worked for me. It has instead taught me to be stronger. It is only a failure if I choose to stay down and let “it” win. I can choose to transform my failures – my weaknesses – my hurts. Failure wins if I choose to silence myself. Today I say, “NO, I will not be silenced.” Not in this moment – hopefully not ever.

On this sacred day, I wonder where are the places you long to feel safe? What is the voice that keeps you from living fully? How will you choose to speak? Perhaps in the smallest prayer, that says “Help!” Perhaps by taking the first step onto the dance floor of your longings. I hope you will join with me today and say for yourself, “No, I will not be silenced!”

fun friday

So, both of these things came into my mailbox today and I couldn't resist putting them together.

"Whatever you give a woman, she will make greater. If you give her sperm, she'll give you a baby.
If you give her a house, she'll give you a home. If you give her groceries, she'll give you a meal.
If you give her a smile, she'll give you her heart. She multiplies and enlarges what is given to her.
So, if you give her any crap, be ready to receive a ton of shit."

So...do you think there's a woman on the other side of that window?

early morning musings

I write to live - anything less is death.

The human heart carries so much pain. It’s capacity for joy is unlimited. We shield ourselves from ourselves. We try to hide from god. Our pain runs deep like hidden riverbeds beneath rock surfaces. We become brittle until we break or explode or implode. Without meter or rhyme, we forge on never knowing if tears or laughter will burst forth. It is tenuous—this life. To embrace the moments. To feel the depth and agony of pain while soaking in a perfumed tub. To experience gales of belly laughs while playing a silly game. To fill my stomach full to bursting with too much wonderful food. To know the ache of my head from stress and a little excess wine.

The capacity of the body is immense. The capacity of the heart – infinite. Just when we think it will break, joy emerges from the ashes. How? Why? I do not know. It is grace. The grace of God. Learned. Given. Received. I do not understand this God. This life. I need to feel it. I need to share it. This depth. This groundedness that I do not understand. The both/and. Not either/or. I am not sad or happy. I am both. I am filled with delight AND terror & grief. Both/and. I don’t understand yet I know it to be true. I have been described as Full. Full of shit—maybe…sometimes. I am also full of Love. Delight. Laughter. And a capacity to not only endure, but also Live a life that others might shrink from or shut down & back away.

My capacity is immense. My pendulum swings far and wide. The depths sink beyond comprehension. The word from the Lord says, “Others would have given up long ago. I chose you for this life. You will dare to stay there. You will dare to risk life. You will give your life to live it.” I would not trade this life for any other. Nope, this one is mine. I might, however, trade a few moments ☺. My tapestry is rich. I do not understand it and I do not have to understand. When I come to this still place—I Know. Pure and simple.

Lead me into Advent, Lord. Let me celebrate the incarnation. It is life. New birth. It leads to death and resurrection. Let me celebrate all of it. It is the gospel. It is the cycle of life. Birth. Death. Resurrection. Over and over and over again. The capacity of the body is immense. The capacity of the heart – infinite.

Be sure to order your own copy of Grace Unbound. Check it out here.

freeze frame

A moment in time. Sunday with my son. Beautiful. Slow. Steady. His glorious smile lighting the day. But first, a sharing of his heart. His fears. His struggles. Authentic and true. There is a humility about him. A realness. A maturity.

We talk over eggs and sausage. I smile. He is my son. We are so much alike and we are so different. We spend the day driving together. He, practicing to get his license. Me, learning to let go. He, becoming more relaxed and consequently me too. (I wonder if the relaxation is with the car or with each other? ☺) The day goes on. A stop by Sunset Hill. “Mom, will you take my picture?” We pick up his sister and drop her off at soccer and then IT happens. The icing on the cake of an already perfect day.

He starts to sing along with the stereo. The Beatles. “Let it be.” He sings aloud. Playfully. Not really in tune. We are so much alike ☺. He is performing. No, he is singing to me—to us. I am holding my closed hand as microphone to his mouth. We laugh. I sing a little myself. Time stops. I want to freeze frame this moment. This day. Let it be. It has been a long time coming. It has been well worth the wait if only for this moment.

out of the mouths of babes

This smile was just too good to pass up! found at L Squared:

"mesa is new to the brace-face look...she wasn't too happy when she had to get "grills" last month and is still adjusting. on sunday, after taking communion at church, she leaned over and whispered to me "mom...jesus just got stuck in my braces." try staying reverent at that moment."