"What? You Too?"

"Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: "What! You too? I thought I was the only one."   - C.S. Lewis

I must say, I've got it good when it comes to friendships.  This past week I took a little road trip out to Missouri, back to my alma mater to spend a few days catching up with some of the dearest people in my life, and to also witness a friend's wedding. 

It's always a whirlwind returning to Missouri for such weekend excursions, but every moment winds up being so valuable.  As soon as I landed on Wednesday afternoon, I met up with a friend for dinner and then spent the evening with Ed and Debbie.  I can't even begin to express how much that couple has influenced my life, particularly Debbie.  I imagine college would have looked very different without her guidance. 

Thursday was spent drinking and eating my way through conversations - and by drinking I mean French Vanilla cappuccinos and strawberry smoothies.  I made a pit-stop back on campus to see former co-workers, people I consider dear friends.  Friday was similar with a surprise visit from a friend that I wasn't expecting to see, but was so grateful to spend time with her.  Just so many good conversations, the ones that just feel so right.  The ones where it's a little bit like coming home.  The ones that are exactly what C.S. Lewis was talking about, where you remember the moment when you first met and said, "Yes!  Someone who gets me.  It's nice to know I'm not alone in my zany-ness and quirks and insecurities." 

It's nice to know I've got kindred spirits who are willing to laugh along with me, who know not to take ourselves too seriously.  It's nice to know I've got a friend close by who will move with me into a convent when we've decided we've had enough of boys and their shenanigans.  (We're totally joking, but we often say we're going to join a convent when we want to take the easy way out and just avoid boys all together.  It's happened frequently as of late.)  It's nice to know I've got friends who can talk Mizzou and Ohio State football as well as they can talk about theology, Tozer, and whether I should go with this nail polish color or that one.  It's nice to know that everyone else's family is just as crazy as mine.  

So, to my "other family" in Missouri - I am blessed because of you.  And so very grateful.       

Here Comes Friday With a Script I Haven't Seen

It's amazing the timeliness of some recent events here lately.  Just small things that have come at just the right moment.  Maybe it was something that someone said, or an act of kindness that someone went out of their way to complete, or a sweet text message, or a bouquet of flowers from a dear friend, or an email from a respected pastor that spawned all sorts of possibilities and ideas.  The little things that have added up to the big things and made me all the more grateful.

One of those timely small things was the poem below.  I snatched it from Travis's blog, which seems to be a habit as of late.  I happened to read it the morning after I had a minor meltdown about life and relationships, basically having my own pity-party and feeling like I was "ill-prepared for the privilege of living."  I think it hit me at just the right time and spoke to so many of the emotions that were running through my head and my heart. 

Performance without rehearsal.
Body without alterations.
Head without premeditation.

I know nothing of the role I play.
I only know it’s mine, I can’t exchange it.
I have to guess on the spot
Just what this play’s all about.

Ill-prepared for the privilege of living,
I can barely keep up with the pace that the action demands.
I improvise, although I loathe improvisation.
I trip at every step over my own ignorance.
I can’t conceal my hayseed manners.
My instincts are for hammy histrionics.
Stage fright makes excuses for me, which humiliate me even more.
Extenuating circumstances strike me as cruel.

Words and impulses you can’t take back,
Stars you’ll never get counted,
Your character like a raincoat you button on the run -
The pitful results of all this unexpectedness.

If I could just rehearse one Wednesday in advance,
Or repeat a single Thursday that has passed!
But here comes Friday with a script I haven’t seen.
Is it fair, I ask
(my voice a little hoarse,
Since I couldn’t even clear my throat offstage).

You’d be wrong to think that it’s just a slapdash quiz
Taken in makeshift accommodations. Oh no.
I’m standing on the set and I see how strong it is.

The props are surprisingly precise.
The machine rotating the stage has been around even longer.
The farthest galaxies have been turned on.
Oh no, there’s no question, this must be the premiere.
And whatever I do
Will become forever what I’ve done.

Wistawa Szymborska

One Year Ago Today...

...I was on a plane headed to Nairobi, Kenya.

And I've spent every day since then missing it. 

I know, you're probably tired of hearing about it.  :P

Because God Is

This is what I hold onto in days when I'm just not sure I'll ever get this thing called life "right":

"Because God is almighty, we have been set free from thinking that we need to manipulate circumstances, maneuver people, manufacture resources, or move ahead of God in order to bring to pass what He has for our lives. God has everything to see to it that it is done. He will do it perfectly, in the perfect way, at the perfect time. When we let Him bring to us what He has for us, we can receive it freely and enjoy it fully."

To The Loving Eye

To the fearful eye, all is threatening.

To the greedy eye, everything can be possessed.

To the judgmental eye, everything is closed in definitive frames.

To the resentful eye, everything is begrudged.

To the indifferent eye, nothing calls or awakens.

To the inferior eye, everything else is greater.

To the loving eye, everything is real.

From Travis's blog

Where to Go from Here

Sometimes my brain gets on overload and I get overwhelmed with all that floats around in my head.  Too many thoughts.  Too many books.  Too many questions and not enough answers.  Too many doubts.  Too many fears.  Too many what ifs and hows.  Too many uncertainties.  Too many "to do's."  Too many longings and too many dreams. 

I'm haunted every day by the thought of Africa.  Haunted every day by the question of "What am I supposed to do next about this magnificent dream that is all wrapped up in terrible fears?" 

I've been on this binge of reading a handful of books that are slowly - and radically - changing how I view poverty, my role in it, and my thoughts on Africa.  I dove headlong into Dambisa Moyo's book Dead Aid:  Why Aid is Not Working and How There is a Better Way for Africa.  Far too many thoughts on that book to include in this post, but let's just say it's completely changed my view on how to appropriately respond to the needs in Africa. 

Then I picked up Deborah Rodriguez's book Kabul Beauty School: An American Woman Goes Behind the Veil.  It's about a woman who for all intents and purposes has no practical skills to offer the women in Afghanistan (or so it seems), where she goes to work with an NGO.  She's not even sure why the NGO sent her - she's a hairdresser and everyone else on the team was either a doctor, lawyer, or nurse.  What did she have to offer?  It's the very question I wrestle with.  What do I have to offer a world, a country, that is so desperately in need of practical skills?  I don't teach, can't build things, can't heal people, and don't understand the first thing about what it really means to "live bent low," as Katie says.  Rodriguez would go on to a open a beauty school that teaches Afghani women how to run their own salons so that they can lift themselves out of poverty and into a better life.

Add to that, Muhammad Yunus's book Banker to the Poor: Micro-lending and the Battle Against World Poverty.  The guy founded the Grameen Bank in the 1970s.  If you don't know what the Grameen Bank is, do your homework.  It's staggering the impact his simple economic plan has had on the impoverished.  Oh, and let's throw in Jacqueline Novogratz's book The Blue Sweater for good measure.  The woman has a favorite blue sweater that she wore all the time as a kid.  She eventually donates it to charity.  Years later, while running through the streets of Uganda, she sees a little boy wearing a blue sweater.  Her blue sweater.  She now spends her life devoted to the Acumen Fund and to bridging the gap for the poorest of the poor.  I want to work for someone like her someday.  Heck, let's just work for her.   

Now you can see why my brain is on overload.  So many thoughts crowding in and around, over and underneath.  And I have no idea what to do with it all, or even where to begin.

I wrote in my journal the other day - after I had printed out Katie's (see link above) blog post about living bent low:

"Am I willing to live bent low?  I want to, but I'm afraid.  All I know is that Africa burns within me."

What are you supposed to do with the fires within?

The Good Ol' Days

I'm sure we all have those small-town traditions that we get weird looks for when we mention them to friends.  Like that Gator Fest my sorority sister went to once, down in the hollers of Texas.  They just string up gators off a pole and don't think twice about it being odd.  It's odd to me.  Or the Rattlesnake Fest.  I don't need a festival to celebrate snakes.  I realize, however, that we all have our favorite events that we attend in our hometowns - or wherever - that conjure up great memories. 

I think I have gotten my share of such Smalltown USA moments as of late.  Last week I went down to the county fair to watch the annual rodeo.  I remember the clown being much funnier.  I imagine you can only be so funny, though, when a 1200-lb animal is about to poke you in the fanny.  (Okay, it's probably more than a poke most of the time.)  But my cousin and my brother's soon-to-be mother-in-law had never been to a rodeo.  When you go to things like that, it's always great going with people who have never witnessed the spectacle before.  It's way more fun to see it through their eyes.   

Then there was the Steam Thresher parade.  Granted, this year I missed the parade, but I have spent more than enough years at that parade to make up for missing a year or two.  I always thought it was the world's longest parade as a kid.  Pretty much if you had a tractor you could get in line.  And two hours later, that line was still going.  

Now, I come from a family of tractor pullers.  Tractors are great.  Good for all sorts of things.  But I'm okay without them.  I have just learned how to cope accordingly.  I can speak the lingo and can tell you that diesel tractors blows black smoke while alcohols burn clear.  I can tell you that some tractors have Allison jet engines on them (those really are pretty spectacular to watch, I must admit).  I can tell you that there are modifieds, light super stocks, pro stocks, light pro stock, etc.  Am I going to be driving one anytime soon?  No.  Could I write a book on it?  No.  But if I'm going to take part in family conversations, then I gotta have a clue.

But my favorite part of the Steam Threshers was always the draft horse pull.  For some, that doesn't sound that entertaining, but I loved it.  Well, years ago, the Threshers stopped having the pulls.  But I discovered last week that another local county fair was hosting a draft horse pull.  It was hotter than blue blazes yesterday but I was determined to go.  

Draft horse pulls are typically divided into two classes - lightweights and heavyweights, heavyweights being anything over 3200-lbs, give or take.  Some of the heavyweight teams were weighing in at a combined weight over 5000 lbs.  Talk about some big boys.  I'm pretty sure their necks were six of me combined, and their bellies would have been the size of a Smart Car.  But it's kinda crazy to watch those teams pulling 6, 7, 8000-lbs of cement bricks and doing it like they were out for a Sunday stroll.  And what for?  Just to say my horse is the best.  

I love Smalltown USA.                

Enough

Once upon a time, horses were my life.  I had no identity apart from them, no identity apart from riding, showing, training.  I was that little girl that always wanted a pony for my birthday.  The only difference was that I actually got one.  And I still have her, 16-17 years later.  She'll probably live to be 40 just for spite.  

There were a lot of lessons learned from the back of a horse.  When you're riding a 1,000-pound animal, you better have a pretty good idea of what you want and when you want it.  Horses are not dumb animals and they know when they can take advantage of your fears and hesitancy.  A few tumbles down their backsides taught me that lesson.

But one of the hardest lessons I ever learned took me nearly 10 years to figure out.  

I started riding when I was about 9 years old.  Some trainers had moved into the area, having just built a new facility, so I started taking lessons with them.  I would never use the word "natural" when it comes to describing my riding abilities.  I wasn't one of those people who intuitively picked up on proper riding form from the get-go.  I had to have it drilled in me, time and again, lesson after lesson, year after year.  After a year or two, I started showing in some academy shows and down the road, I eventually started showing with the amateur and professional ranks.  

Summer after summer, I would go to horse shows, entering this class and that class. Junior Exhibitor.  Open.  Show Pleasure.  Country Pleasure.  Western Pleasure.  Morgan English Pleasure.  Equitation.  Maybe over 50 classes that I was in over the years. 

But do you notice what's missing from the picture on the right?

There isn't a single blue ribbon.

And no, I don't have them stashed on the side somewhere just to prove my point.

There are literally no blue ribbons of mine to be had.

I never won.

In all those years of showing, not once did I leave that arena with a blue ribbon and garland of flowers draped around my horse's neck.  Even if there were only two entries in the class, I still managed to lose.

I poured my heart and soul, blood, sweat, and tears, into that sport, convinced if I did everything just right, I would hit the big time and then actually be "somebody," convinced I would somehow "be enough."

I used to be so angry at myself, at God, at my horse, for never winning.  I think it's the primary reason why I am not a competitive person today.  I literally had it beaten out of me.  I won't fight for people's attention, I won't fight in board games, I won't fight in simple games of volleyball.  Ten years of showing horses and never winning took any and all desire out of me to ever win again.  

But you know what dawned on me several years back?  I had this really profound epiphany while watching Cool Runnings.  I know, not the kind of movie you would think such a moment would come, but it did.  There's a scene when John Candy, the coach of the Jamaican bobsled team, is talking to the driver, Darice.  They are getting ready for the Olympic qualifier and Darice is in his hotel room studying all of the turns in the course.  They are talking about winning the gold and how bad Darice wants it.  Then John Candy very quietly says to Darice, looking him right in the eye, "If you're not enough without the gold medal, then you'll never be enough with it."

I don't pretend to understand the ways of God, but there is no doubt in my mind that He specifically withheld any success in the show ring for me to learn this very simple, but difficult lesson: If I'm not enough without the blue ribbon, I'll never be enough with it.  

For so long, my self-esteem, my confidence, my life hung on that one little thing: a blue ribbon.  And when I never got it - bitterness would probably be an understatement to describe what I felt.  I felt worthless.  I felt like everything had been in vain, years wasted.  I used to think about how my trainers, my parents, my family, must be so disappointed with me.  Always a failure.  I felt like I wasn't enough. 

But then God began pulling back the curtains and revealing to me just how valuable that lesson would become. 

Because I realized that it wasn't just the blue ribbon. 

If I am not enough without a boyfriend or a husband, I will never be enough with him.

If I am not enough without the dream career, I will never be enough with it. 

If I am not enough without the accolades and the pats on the back, then I will never be enough with them. 

Because the simple truth was that without Christ, I would never be enough.  No matter how hard I tried, no matter how bad I wanted something, apart from Him, everything was and is futile. 

It just took a lot of broken dreams to figure that one out.  But I wouldn't trade that lesson for anything.  I used to be so ashamed of my ribbons.  For awhile I had them all displayed in my bedroom, hung from every ledge possible.  Then I got really angry one day, just looking at them made me sick, so I took them all down, stuffed them in a box, and put them in the basement.  I don't think they had seen the light of day in over 8 years until yesterday morning when I went to find them.  

But now, I'm a little older and a little wiser.  I can look at those ribbons, and instead of seeing all that I wasn't and all that I never became, all I see is this:

I am enough. 

Summer Sunsets

There are just some images of which I never tire.  Sunsets overlooking our fields is one of them.

Doggie-Paddling

As you may well know, I love journals.  Love writing in them, love going back and reading them, love selecting just the right one at the store.  I even started the habit of writing in a journal for each of my nieces and nephew. I have no idea when I will give each to them, but some day down the road, I will when I think they can appreciate the significance. 

I recently got out all of my old journals, going through each one and reliving the years.  It's always a little scary to flip through the early ones and see "I ♥ NSYNC" written all over the place. (I have since moved on.)  Or to see the list of Beanie Babies I happened to buy that day. (I got rid of those long ago, thankfully.)  Or all the reasons why I hated the horse that I was currently taking lessons on. (Some of those horses used to make me so angry.  Why can't you just do what I want, you big tub of fat?!)  Or which guy I had a crush on (those are always embarrassing, especially ones from high school and before.  What was I thinking?!).  I try to flip through those pages quickly.  Some moments in life you just don't want to relive.

But other moments, you want to linger over and savor just a bit more.  Sometimes I take notes on my own notes, because I'll read an entry and think, "Dang - that was a good line." (Clearly those lines did not include N SYNC.)  There was one line in particular that recently stood out to me, written exactly three years ago today:

It's like trying to doggie-paddle in a mud puddle when the whole ocean is on the other side of the hill. 

I don't remember the exact context of the entry.  I'm sure it was relaying thoughts on my then-spiritual state of my mind, this feeling that I'm somehow always missing something, somehow, somewhere.  But it's as true now as it was then.  Sometimes I feel like I'm doggie-paddling in that mud puddle, completely missing the fact that the ocean is just on the other side.  How often do we do that - get so wrapped up in what is right in front of our noses that we all together miss out on the flip side?  I clearly must have been channeling C.S. Lewis as he once stated a similar concept:

It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half hearted creatures, fooling around with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy in offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.

Doggie-paddling can be so exhausting, though, after awhile.  It's not a very efficient use of energy.  But some days that's how I feel in my attempts at following Christ, like I'm somehow missing the greater work because I'm so wrapped up in making sure my mud pies look just the way I want them to.  

I think it's time to find the ocean.