So Many Thoughts

Has anyone ever asked you, through their words or through their actions, to accept crumbs from the table? Like the remnant of a lovely meal, these bits are extended as a token gesture of goodwill. Perhaps the offer arrives mingled with a hope that this morsel is sufficient to gratify. You're too valuable not to keep around, after all. And you guess at this truth, though you don't experience your value in that room and near that table. But, maybe the hint of the possibility of access to "the more" satisfies your appetite for a while. 

Here's the thing... You're worth so much more than crumbs from a table. You're worthy of sitting at that table, sought out, enjoyed and, wait for it, fed well. And before you know it, you start to realize that you really are hungry for a good meal. The crumbs aren't cutting it anymore. Nope. They're just not enough.

May I encourage you in something? Please accept the invitation to the other dinner party. Please. Don't delay. You are lovely and delightful and cherished, thought of... Oh, so thought of... The beautiful, astounding, attentive and meaningful thoughts of One so wonderful are for you. Infinite and surprising (in the most astonishing sense), there's no way to uncover them all. Imagine that! No crumbs here. Only deep, abiding affection and love. There's so much life cascading in.

It's time to know that it's true now. You're worth that kind of thoughtfulness. Really.

Kindly, tell the crumb-bearer goodbye. You're heading off to the greatest meal of your life and you just can't make the time to stay. Wish them well because genuinely, all is well. 

And hey, enjoy the other party. I, for one, can't wait to hear all about it...

Living My Purpose, On Purpose

Raise your hand if you feel like you have a strong handle on how to address all of the challenges we're facing right now? If you're like me, you're processing a lot of thoughts and feeling a lot of feelings about how we're moving ahead. All the while, taking notice of the way others are processing the decisions that have been made and those that are being made, as well. We're in a place where all of us, I repeat, all of us, are longing for genuine change and hope. Regardless of our varying takes on the "how" it seems to me that we are each fighting for something that matters to us (and probably others). 

I woke up this morning feeling exhausted. It has become my regular experience over the past few months. Many personal realities and decisions have been weighing on me. I've been working with limited margin in my schedule since September and I have made choices that have led me here.

Looking at it all again recently, I took fresh responsibility for where I am at. No one made choices for me. I made them myself. I've found myself owning my story again more strongly these past few weeks because the truth is, it's mine to own. In the midst of the exhaustion, I feel deep peace about my "why" for each part of my life right now because my decisions are leading me somewhere. And, I think it's really good—though certainly not easy every day. 

And perhaps this is where I'm heading as I write... Each of us is alive today and therefore, we have purpose in this moment. Your purpose is not my purpose. Thank God for that. Can you imagine all 7 billion of us running around the planet doing the same exact thing? What a disaster that would be... No, we are uniquely created. We have the privilege to offer ourselves to one another by living into our purpose. As we do, it's likely that others will join us in what we're doing and contribute their unique perspective and gifts to the work because, at some point, our purpose will align with the purpose of others. We're not meant to go it alone, you know? 

What a beautiful picture. Not every problem is mine to solve. Not every need is mine to meet. Not every challenge is mine to face. There are so many of us at the table and all must contribute. But, in order to do it well, we have to own our purpose. We have to see what it is that brings us joy, what causes us pain, who we're drawn to and figure out why... In the midst of this seeing, I think we also need to note what it means to live into our purpose in a way that brings life instead of death.

• Are we loving well?
• Do we listen and choose to empathize with all people?
• What solutions are we bringing to bear?

It's really easy to point out what's wrong. It's really easy to point the finger of blame without taking a good, hard look in the mirror each day. It's really easy to stop loving because we stand strongly opposed to a person, an ideology or way forward. It's really easy to speak death instead of life. 

I'm saying all of this to myself and perhaps to you, too. I keep coming back to it, actually. Am I any better than what I oppose if I do not live a life of love, hope, peace and joy? Am I any better than what I oppose if I only speak out against and don't take action on behalf of what I am for? Am I any better than what I oppose if I am unwilling to put myself in the shoes of those with whom I vehemently disagree when it comes to ideologies and actions, seeking to empathize and understand them as a human and their personal viewpoint? 

There are sure, tried and true measures for understanding how I'm doing in this process. I can look at the fruit I'm bearing through my thoughts, feelings and actions (including my words). My calendar and my finances are also good measures of the fruit I'm bearing and what I find important and valuable in my life. The way people reflect back to me what they see and experience when they engage with me is another good measure.

At the end of the day, I am accountable for myself. If I don't think, feel, say and do the things I expect from others, I am part of the problem. It's hard to look at this, really. If I have uttered one word from a motive that isn't connected back to love today, I am part of the problem. And, I'm not living well into my purpose.

This might sound overly self-aware, but it is the truth. I can only measure how well I'm doing at being who I want to be and living into my purpose by comparing me to me. I don't get to compare myself to other people and think better of myself based on what they do versus what I do. I get to look at what is true of who I am, right here, right now. Every day I have work to do to be better and do better. It's on me, not you. You? You're responsible for you...

My life is meant to bring life. I pray I have the grace, wisdom and steadfastness to stay the course in the midst of trying times and challenging days. I want to be the best me I can be. Today, and every day, that looks like making intentional choices to employ all that I am and all that I have to live my purpose. In so doing, it is impossible that my life will not be a blessing to others. This, to me, is motivating and wonderful all wrapped into one...

I'm Glad I Stayed

I thought about leaving my Orlando life behind last summer. Staying with friends in Colorado during a work trip in July, I imagined being grounded there again for the first time in what felt like a million years. Between and after meetings, I savored time with friends who have known me for nearly two decades. These friends have become my family and have loved me through and through for so many years. Returning to a regular rhythm with them was seamless and restorative. The trip bookends found me with Mom and Dad, taking in landscapes of summer green acreage and Rocky Mountain grandeur. I wondered what it would be like to build a life there—to return and begin anew.

My imagination took me as far as flying back to Florida, quietly packing up my things and sending them on a big truck, westbound. I'd hop in the car and hit the road. I didn't plan to say goodbye. I remember feeling like it wouldn't matter anyway. Work could be accomplished from a distance. Friends, well, I didn't know what to think about most of them. Feeling so disconnected and invisible, I figured I'd sort out any sore feelings on the phone later. Maybe I'd even come back to visit eventually, I reasoned. Maybe.

Nothing was holding me here and I could have gone, I suppose.

When my friend picked me up from the airport, we somehow ended up on the wrong road and took a longer way back into the city. I felt grateful to curl up in the passenger seat of my car as he navigated the course. A safe friend, indeed. The extended time provided by our directional oversight was so welcome. "I don't really want to be here," I told him. There were very few people I shared that with at the time and even since. I didn't really know how to be here and I didn't think I wanted to be here anymore.

A two and a half year journey down an unknown road was wearing on me. Work challenges felt heavy. Relationships, foreign. Deep loss from back-to-back shootings in the City Beautiful followed, weeks later, by the sudden death of a beloved friend rocked me into alertness and dropped me into an abyss-like grief. And I felt acutely alone and really, really lost.

My friend who died was a huge champion of me and a fresh direction I was moving toward in my career. Her enthusiasm and hope on my behalf meant so much to me as I continued to take baby steps forward. The loss of her and her presence in my life left an unmendable gap. She was gone and none of us could do a thing about it. (It's so true that our lives matter—so much more than we might ever comprehend...)

Looking back, I'm glad I stayed, though.

The forward path has looked a lot like this photograph, taken in the early morning on a rooftop not long ago. I think life is like this—there are many paths forward. We have choices and we make decisions. We can make them from places of pain or from hope. Often, I find we make them from a mixture of the two, honestly.  But prayerfully, we allow hope to carry us in spite of our pain. 

Pain has a way of dulling our senses and all at once, making us more aware. If we're willing to sit in it and really feel, I find that we can heal. Instead of running away, perhaps we stay. Instead of staying stuck, perhaps we take a step forward in one of the directions we're considering. Our motive in the choice is key. Why we're doing what we're doing matters. And, in the end, I know this is the reason why I didn't leave Orlando last summer. I would have been running away.

And now 2017 is here. I plan to do the inspired work of keeping my feet planted on the path I'm on right now. I anticipate there will be days when it's difficult. Building something from scratch brings its challenges for sure. I realize I have to keep letting people in—even when they appear disengaged or disinterested. What we've experienced in our stories influences the way we perceive the people in our lives. It's important to note that here, I think. Give people a chance to love you this year, if you would. I'm still learning. Maybe we can grow together in that way.

I told someone recently and I'll say it again here: I'm tired at the start of this New Year, but oh so hopeful. The sheer number of courageous steps I've taken in the past five months has really shown me how far I've come on this journey. I have felt surprised by my boldness and bravery. None of it has come without effort, though. And that's why I'm hopeful. I have seen my own ability to make hard choices to heal and to grow and I'm convinced that I will do more of the same in the days to come. For what it's worth, I hope you will, too.

A Legacy of Flowers

A friend of mine recently shared how she was asked to consider what gifts each person in her family had offered to her. These gifts had to do with what one generation passed along to the next. I noticed how each of the intangibles she identified felt personally meaningful and our conversation stirred a desire in me to uncover what I have received from my family.

One of my grandmothers was a painter. Oils were her go-to and though I never actually saw her paint, my family still displays several pieces she created. These days I wish I had witnessed her process. She often painted flowers and even as a child, I was amazed by the level of detail in her work. I wonder what it could have been like to show more curiosity and engage her about painting.

Growing up, I didn't feel very celebrated in creativity. And though I participated in choir and theatre, I didn't consider myself an artist in any capacity. I remember taking one fine arts class and feeling like such a failure when the things I'd paint or sculpt turned out terribly. (Truly, they did!) I ended my very feeble pursuit of art after that class.

For me, competence became my pathway to success. I wouldn't invest myself in areas where I saw the potential for a big fat mess outside of my wheelhouse. Because failure was so tied to my identity, I couldn't see how the simple attempt was a beautiful and fruitful endeavor.

A few years ago I was at the end of myself. The way I was living felt hollow. I was very competent in my work life but I wasn't really alive. The story is much longer, but suffice it to say it was time for a change. I had just moved to Florida and one day I had this idea: "What if I painted?" Inspired by a silhouette on a stage I'd noticed during a church gathering, I bought a canvas and some acrylic paints and sat in my room, door closed, trying to paint what I saw. Let's just say it was an interesting rendition. 

What I discovered in that place, however, was the freedom to laugh at myself and try. It felt great. I knew I might never become an amazing painter, but I found pieces of hope in those strokes. As I continued, I discovered I really loved painting two things: abstracts and funny enough, flowers. I regularly gave myself a hard time about the flowers, finding it a bit childish for some reason. I suppose it just seemed like, "Everyone can paint flowers..." It didn't seem challenging or special.

In the years since that time, I've mostly explored with acrylic and I've gotten better. Recently, a friend suggested I try watercolors because of the enormous (understatement) amount of paint I use when creating a new piece. (I really get out of hand! Ha!) And the photo I use today is a recent attempt. I actually like it.

As I painted this piece last night, I thought about my grandmother and her legacy of flowers. Our styles are completely different and her flowers don't look like this one, yet seeing it come to life is incredibly special for me. I realized she gave me something without ever telling me about it and without my ever asking about it. She passed along an appreciation for beauty and process through painting. This gift of hers has become such a sweet place of connection, reflection and growth for me--a tremendous legacy indeed. 

I wonder today: What gifts have your people passed along to you? 

Hope On

I get it. Whether it's an emotional, physical, work-related, relationship-altering shift, you've transitioned. You've done it. Or maybe mentally you've done it and the completion of the change is looming and incomplete. But in a significant way, you've stepped out into an unknown place. Been there? Are you there now? 

I've been thinking about these moments again recently. These places of challenge and risk. Growth springs forth in these transitions. All at once they can be exhilarating and terrifying. I wonder if that resonates with you? 

This will get personal. I'm there. I'm in the midst of another such leap in my work and personal life. I spent yesterday crying off and on throughout the day. There were moments I celebrated the tears because I was feeling the tension of this very good shift in my life. But there was another when I found Shame knocking on my front door. He wanted to throw a party and stay awhile. 

"Who do you think you are?" he demanded. "Do you really think you're going to be okay? There's no safety net for you... Haven't you thought this through to the logical conclusion?"

Fear followed him in. "He's right... You don't have it together." He quipped. "You're being irresponsible and there's no way this is going to work out."

There were others. My house felt crowded, the atmosphere heavier by the minute. I kept listening to them. It's no surprise, but the tears got worse.

But then, I had a moment of clarity. It was as though a fresh wind blew through my house and aired out all of the icky. (That was especially amazing because it's Florida and it's August and we do not dare to open our windows at the moment...)

All I heard was, "Step by step." This came gently, softly.

I cried again, but this time with hope.

"Step by step," I repeated. Yes, of course! I only need to consider the very next step and the reality is that's what I had been doing. (Before I let them take over my house and throw their party, I mean...)

It was simple. It was beautiful. It was a word filled with LIFE.  

If you're there, too I say this to you and once again, to myself: HOPE ON AND KEEP GOING.

You Learn As You Go, Not As You Stay

It can be paralyzing to feel like we need all of the information before we can move forward in our lives. And in our culture, we use this terminology: "Knowledge is power." While this can be very true and it can be extremely wise to gain more knowledge, I've also found that we remain stuck when we seek the guarantee of certainty through knowledge.

How will this work out for me?

How can I know this is the best decision?

What happens if I'm wrong? 

These questions, among others, are all normal and necessary. Asking them is part of the process as we move toward change. But if we rely too heavily on the answers, we may never move forward because the truth is, we can't be certain. Life is filled with unknowns and we live in the tension of not knowing. Some seasons of our lives cause us to experience this tension more strongly than others. What's amazing is how these seasons, these awkward moments, often afford us with wonderful opportunities if we don't miss them. 

One of the best ways that we learn is through experience. We grow immensely when we live with a willingness to step out with the awareness that we don't have it all under control. We take the knowledge that we have gained and we apply it in real life scenarios.

Do we make mistakes? Absolutely! Do we learn a ton? Yes! 

I'm living in this reality right now. I started a new project a number of months ago and if I could go back in time and adjust my approach I would change so many things. But the truth is, the hindsight has given me insight. Though that feels painful in some ways, I have gained a whole new set of tools to employ on my next project. This is GOLD.

So today, I wonder: Where are you at in the process? 

I offer this reminder and encouragement to you: You learn as you go, not as you stay...