every day grace

Some days grace is extravagant, elegant, and noteworthy.  The kind of grace that you write books based on, compose lyrics for, and tell all your friends about.   But most days, at least for me, grace looks remarkably less... well, remarkable.  The everyday kind of grace that we're called to practice, whether anyone notices or not.

The kind of grace that's less rewarding to practice, rarely noticed in its presence, but is radically noticeable in its absence.   The kind of grace which sometimes I practice, and sometimes I willfully or unknowingly omit, excuse, and pass by - and almost all of the time, resent.

... grace to listen to the long-winded caller share their life story with you, even though you gave them the information they needed in the first minute.  Grace which gives empathy and a kind word rather than a terse reply, even though you have your own deadlines that you're struggling to meet.  Grace which treat him with dignity and respect, and doesn't joke about him once you get off the phone.

... grace to see the struggle in her eyes and voice, rather than just patiently dole out the policy-line and the procedure she needs to know.  Grace to offer a cup of coffee to a stranger and invite her to sit down, rather than turning her away because you can't help her professionally.

... grace to give up your seat, for the man with the cane, struggling to stand on a moving metro, even though your feet are tired, your back hurts, and there are 6 other people who are more able bodied than you who notice but do not respond.  Grace which doesn't bitterly scowl at said able-bodied people or resent them or judge them in their inaction.

... grace to smile at the old woman who scowls at you every day as you pass her on the street.  Grace to smile with your heart, not just your lips.

... grace which sees professionalism as a baseline, not the bar.

... grace to give your neighbor credit for turning the music off at midnight, rather than continuing to play it until wee hours of the morning.  Grace which stops bitter judgmental thoughts at the door and says no, not today.

... grace which gives benefit of the doubt.

Everyday grace.  Not extravagant, rarely beautiful, not worth the space to remark upon.  But daily, hard grace.  The kind that, in daily observation, builds a character of grace, not merely a characterization of grace.  This is the kind of grace that is not desirable to me, but in the long run, that I want to espose.

washing nasty stinky feet

A long long time ago, before Jon and I had even started dating, our relationship almost didn't get off the ground.  Almost tanked before it began...  for a very small, but very undeniably nose-worthy reason:

I have/had ridiculously smelly feet.  True Story:

We had already had a DTR, we knew that the like-age was mutual, but being super long-distance, we wanted to take it slow, and figure out where this all was going before we jumped in feet first... so we talked a lot, planned some intentional hang-outs, and racked up some ridiculously high cell phone minutes.  

And then I came down to visit Jon in VA, in the midst of a long fund-raising trip, and many other travels.  And at the end of the visit, we, wisely or foolishly - we consider it both, decided to road trip up the east coast together - he had to go to his cousin's wedding, I had to go home.   During that 10 hour car ride, which both of us describe as one of the longest and most awkward of our lives - my smelly feet quite literally made Jon cringe, pray, and long for the ending of the voyage.  Likewise, I took his silence and visceral reaction to something (wouldn't know what the something was until months later) as a reaction to me personally, and figured that after I dropped him off - as he jettisoned himself from the car as fast as he could - that I would probably never hear from him again.

When we talked about this the other night, that hadn't been outside of the realm of possibilities (so great was the stench).  Lucky for me, he gave me another chance.  Called me again.  Got to know me, not just my smelly extremities.  Now, three and a half years later, we're happily married, love each other more than ever, and, yes...  despite every best effort, my feet still sometimes smell.  Although I have gotten better at recognizing that YES, other people can smell them too.  Farts too, shockingly.  Yes, this was a life-changing realization.

I was reminded of this the other night, after a long day of tromping around, when I finally got home, finally jettisoned the shoes and socks, and sat down on the couch next to Jon to relax... and Jon wrinkles his nose, yet again, and says, "Wow, your feet really stink!"  True fact.  Yes, duly acknowledged.  And you want me to do something about it?

I was feeling tired, pregnant, somewhat feisty (what else is new), so I replied, "Fine!  If they stink, how about you wash them."

And so he did.

Now, ladies, before we turn this into some hyper-romantic moment, where my husband lovingly, tenderly washes and caresses my feet, let me just clarify - it wasn't.  It was loving, and gentle, but it wasn't one of those super romantic moments - it was a place in which my smelliness was negatively impacting both of us, and Jon was willing to take the initiative to help me de-stink, for the sake of the health of our marriage - and the possibility of our cohabiting the couch together in peace.

But as I've reflected on it afterwards, I think there is actually a symbolic aspect to it - more to marriage that anything else.  In my infant-stage knowledge of marriage, I can say truthfully, marriage is hard - it takes work.  Not always.  Not every day.  But the reality is, it does not fix your issues, and in fact, often times it reveals them.  You cannot hide your stinky-ness in the close proximity and intimacy that is marriage - sharing life, space, time, bodies, and lodging with another person.  Every day.  And by stinky-ness, I don't mean the things about the other that just irritate you.  Or the things that by matter of preference, we wish were different.   I mean the things that are actually sinful.  Bent.  Wrong.  Broken.  Destructive.  Not okay.  

But I think the choice in marriage, on a daily basis, is will I let my spouse's stench drive me away, lead into me into resentment and criticism of them, or will I actively participate in washing their stinky feet?   And I think the reality is, in real life, this isn't always a beautiful, symbolic moment or act.  Sometimes, it a matter of choice.  Reluctance.  Servanthood.  Necessity.  Hard work. Repetition. Choice.

Will I absent myself from the process, giving myself the freedom to criticize and critique without partnering with them in the process?  Will I see their stench as "theirs" and miss the opportunity to love them in the process - whether by washing their feet or pointing them towards Jesus who can actually wash their whole beings, by speaking truth in love, by challenging them to press into those places, walking alongside them, by forgiving them... again, or by naming sin and pressing in rather than pulling further away. 

Each person has responsibility for their own sin.  And no, you and I are not responsible for the sin or brokenness of others - ultimately, if someone is not willing to own and repent of sin, it does not fall on us to fix them, heal them or make them whole, or repent for them.  That is a false burden to bear, and leaves way too much room for abuse.  My stinky feet are my own.  I have to own that and deal with it and maybe invest in some serious odor eaters.  They are not Jon's responsibility.

However, I think we miss the point, if we somehow miss that marriage is a partnership in processing through both the good and the bad.  If we point fingers, rather than join hands.  If we demand changes and fixes, rather than figure it out together.  

Maybe it is actually an invitation to us to wash each others' stinky feet a little more often.  

I do not want your Jesus

i do not want your Jesus -

the one who is simplified,

beautifully easy to understand -

palatable, relatable, desirable,

marketable.

i do not want your Jesus -

who simply requires that I say "yes" to Him,

no explanation of the very real cost of following.

he is kind, merciful, loving, sacrificial,

the fulness of perfection - yes -

the solution to every woe - and promises that everything will be okay.

one size fits all.

but like most one-size fits all -

this Jesus comes unravelled at the seams.

sometimes he doesn't fit, solve or explain in ways that i see or understand -

he feels 2-dimensional.

oversimplified. palatable. marketable.

pocket-sized.

i DO want Jesus - just not the 2-dimensional form.

that one collapses under pressure or investigation.

the real Jesus is challenging - he says hard things.

i don't always understand him,

i cannot easily explain him.

he does not fit in my pocket

or any other 2-dimensional diagram or explanation.

he is divisive and hard - i don't always feel like singing.

he split history and nations: in his name, people died and die.

he loves radically and recklessly - while entirely logical, not my logically.

his answers to my woes - while i believe them to be good -

 are not always now, not always fathomable, or even likable.  

he hates my sin and with real authority that requires response

says no more.

at his authority - which all must eventually obey - hell quakes

and rebels - as often do i.

he shows mercy to people that i wouldn't;

people i don't like or think deserve it.

his judgment is always just - but sometimes it's hard,

unpalatable.  unmarketable.

he calls sin what is sin - and rightly so -

sometimes things i would prefer to excuse.  and do. and wish he would.

his grace is unfathomable; his mercy unexplainable.

he is 100% good.  loving. merciful.  Father.  just. holy.  Savior.

he is LORD Almighty.  Creator. judge, jury.  Yahweh.  Alpha and Omega.

he is worthy of praise.  and must be praised - I think with joy.

but when Jesus becomes condensible, pocket-sized,

palatable.  marketable.  fully explainable.  always desirable -

that is a cheapened imitation of the real Jesus -

and one that i do not want.  

Father, help me to see myself today as I truly am...

Reflection of the day:  I think the next step for me is to realize again, and mourn, my own sin and brokenness.   And I have no idea where to start with that, but I think that's the next step.  In the midst of anger and bitterness and work-faith-life-work that has been too closely intertwined, I think I've lost a sense of my own need for God.

... My own ingratitude, in the midst of pointing out others'.
... My own sense of entitlement, in the midst of bemoaning that of my peers.
... My own arrogance and sense of unholy pride.
... My own unholy anger.
... My own running away.
... My own culpability in this season of dryness: the ways that I have rejected water, and rejected Jesus and run away from what feels hard or difficult, rather than ask for His help.

Don't know where to start with that, but my hunch is that it starts with asking God to help me to see.

So, knowing fully that this is a dangerous prayer, my prayer for today is:

"Father, help me to see myself today as I truly am."

Without a lens of self-accusation or shame or self-loathing or even just a desire to feel guilt or something, but also without self-excusing, without arrogance, without blinders, and without blame shifting.  Truly loved, truly known, truly delighted in, but also truly in need of you.  Truly received by you.

Amen.

holy vs unholy anger

Yesterday was  day of lots of anger for me - mostly aimed at public transportation and transportation in general.  Couple a really long work day, with lots of walking up steps (30 flights in all), with achy pregnant body, and then put that combined hot mess into the following transportation situations:

1) Getting yelled at and honked at, in a crosswalk where I had right of way, and told to "hurry it up."
2) The T running 30 minutes late
3) Having to stand on the T, next to an elderly very hunched over man using a cane to stand, while at least 10 able-bodied young college students stared at us, but made no move to offer a seat.
4) Nearly getting hit by a car, in another intersection where I had right of way, as he ignored a stop sign

Let's just say that I was pretty hot under the collar by the time I got home - frequently uttering my favorite phrase - "it's not okay!!" to my very patient husband attempting to calm his hot, tired wife.

Got to love it.  And the hormones don't make it better.

However, all this talk about anger - both yesterday's fun times - and processing through anger this weekend (see Partnership), has made me want to stop briefly and reflect on this idea of holy versus unholy anger.  Because I think both are part of the equation for me these days.

See, I was raised to think that anger is bad in general.  Period.  One shouldn't get angry.  In fact, anger as an emotion should be minimized at all costs.  Never expressed.  Which is ironic, because I saw my parents angry all the time.  But that's another story... the point is, it wasn't until recently that I began to actually delineate, or try to, between holy and unholy anger.  And I think there is a difference.  And I think it's an important one.

There is hurtful, harmful, damaging anger, which lashes out at others - whether out of self-protection, perceived threat, bad day, hurt feelings, self-vindication, entitlement, or even just holy anger gone bad, which has been allowed to grow bitter roots, leading to spiteful outpourings.

This is most likely what majority of my transportation anger was about yesterday - a sense of entitlement, my own tiredness, desire for vindication, and just a long day.  Let's be honest.

But there is also another side to anger,  and I think we when look at the instances where Jesus got angry - because shockingly, he did get angry - I think we get a little bit of a picture of what that holy anger looks like.  See I think holy angry is two things:

1) It is an appropriate response to injustice and sin.  Holy anger says, "It's not okay."  "This is not right; this is not how it was supposed to be." "This is wrong."  Holy anger (should) drives us, not into lashing out, but into a place of mourning, repentance, forgiveness, and longing for Heaven.   Holy anger drives us into action for the sake of something other than ourselves - be that Jesus, the Kingdom, the state of our souls, or our brothers or sisters.

Which leads me to,

2) Holy anger is compassion in action.  Justice in action.  Holy anger is a response to injustice, that says, "This is not okay, and I will strive - in what is my role (and role actually is important in delineating holy from unholy anger), and my ability - to see healing and justice in this place." Again, it's not a damaging lashing out, but rather an acting on the behalf of others (if they're okay with it) to protect, to advocate for, to create space for healing.

For years, I've thought that I am not a particularly compassionate woman.  I don't cry well with others - the touchy, feel-y side of empathy and compassion is often lost on me.  Sitting beside hurting individuals in silence, mourning with them, does not come naturally to me.  I've grown in that area - but it has been as a result of practice, work, and asking Jesus for mercies that are not mine naturally.  And by God's grace, He has been growing me in those areas.

However, what I'm learning about myself, is that that compassion for me often looks more like holy anger.  I do feel great compassion for those who are hurting, who are suffering injustice, or in need of healing.  But often times, my compassion looks more like standing in protection over the hurting individual, as a shield between them and their accuser.  Of weeping in anger over the injustice and longing for Jesus' return when He will set all things right in true justice.  Of advocating for change in unjust policies, or being the voice for the voiceless.  Of calling injustice what it is, and feeling deeply the wrongness of it.  Those are not often what we think of, when we think of compassion, but I think they are compassion none-the-less.

You see, I think the difference between holy and unholy anger is not just the impact - unholy is destructive and damaging, whereas holy seeks wholeness and healing and ultimately should lead there - but rather, holy anger is in response to true injustice or wrong, unholy anger is often times related to entitlement, a need to be vindicated or made right, or self-protection and/or not wanting to deal with the real issue at hand.

Which is where my current processing comes in.  Recap: KD has lots of anger which she's realizing that she needs to deal with.  Not all anger is bad.  How we process through this relates to discerning which anger needs to be repented OF, and which anger needs to lead me into a place of mourning, action, and forgiveness.

My two cents for the day, as I continue to process all that anger junk... :)

really big breakfast

Awkward moment of the day? When a random acquaintance, who we hadn't told that we were pregnant, came up to me and asked, and I quote,

"(pointing at my stomach) So... what's going on in there?!?  Are you guys pregnant or did you just eat a really big breakfast?"  ...  really?  No, this was not asked in a joking manner.  Totally serious.

Yes, I'm pregnant.  But supposing that I wasn't... how is that okay in any way? Come on, people.

And out of curiosity, would you still rub my belly if it was just a really big breakfast?

partnership

So, this weekend, I got two messages that gave me a small glimpse of some of the anger that's still unhealthily residing in my gut.  Both were from folks that I worked with indirectly for several years while in ministry.  Neither were directly involved in the ministry I worked for - as coworkers, friends, supporters, or students.  Both were very well-meaning individuals who I think legitimately sought to bless me and advocate for me at various points in time.  But at the same time, despite good intentions in both of their "blessings," I more often than not felt belittled.  Made smaller.  Criticized.  Questioned.  Told how to do my job better.  Not trusted.  Insufficient.  And wounded deeply by words marked by pleasant tones and kind motivations, and I honestly believe kind hearts, but distrustful content and hurtful "help."

Things like... correcting me for doing my job, the way that I was supposed to, because it didn't fit with what they thought was best.  Asking me if I, as a woman, as a para-church ministry, as a para-church ministry other than theirs, as a Caucasian, as a non-ordained minister, should really be doing _____.  Shouldn't I let them or someone else do it instead?  Which, sometimes there are times where that is valid - and I'll be the first to admit that.  The issue was that these requests were not based on my qualifications or even a particular situation - and never actually evaluated or considered those - but rather, started carte blanc with what was considered "best" and what were seen as my 'handicaps.' "Because of who you are, and who you work for, you may do this, but not this."  Asking me to come to meetings, but please not speak, because your opinion is different and it might cause confusion.  Verbally articulating full and complete partnership, but never fully treating me as a trusted and complete partner.  The "how are things going?" question, with the underlying tone of distrust, always looking for how they, the wiser, could instruct me or correct me.

And as a result, both messages, rather than being pleasantries that were taken at face value, triggered a deep sense of anger, "shutdown," distrust, and insufficiency in me - and a deep desire to avoid them at all costs.

Clearly, I have some processing, forgiving, and potentially even confrontation and reconciliation to do. I'll keep you posted on how that goes...  I haven't really started that yet.  Pretty sure that avoiding isn't necessarily the best option.  So let's start with what I wish I could say to them about partnership - what I think partnership looks like - and why the kind of partnership I experienced felt off:

True partnership expresses trust and, even when it's hard, acts into that, rather than in distrust.  This is absolutely foundational.  If there is not trust - even hard-fought, continually re-given, wrestled-through, Jesus-help-me-trust-today trust - then it's really hard for there to be a partnership.  

True partnership is starts from a place of equal ground, not a hierarchy.  It always acknowledges, that regardless of age, gender, race, or background, that each can learn from the other.  Both partners take the role of teacher and student at varying times.  If there is not some equality, it isn't actually a partnership - not inherently a bad thing - just call it what it is.

True partnership does not pray sermons directed at the other or use spiritual things to minimize or belittle the other. 

True partnership acknowledges that difference is not a bad thing - and is open to learning a different way than their own.   Partnership by nature implies that we are not the same, do not think the same way, do not operate the same way necessarily - but that we believe that there is strength in working together.   And because we're different, true partnership always requires asking for forgiveness, giving it, and receiving it.  It is an active and continual work in process of building and rebuilding trust.

True partnership advocates for the other - and out of trust in the other - does so in moments of strength and weakness. 

True partnership doesn't 'handicap' or silence someone into or out of certain roles, but together considers well what the best way to proceed is, mutually listening well to the heart and desires of the other.  One person is not the standard for what "best" is.  True partnership strives to see strengths and abilities in the other, and call those out, that the other might not know, see, or believe.  While partners do correct and seek bettering for the other, that is never the extent to which partnership plays out... if it is solely that, it's called critiquing or consulting not partnering.  

Kind hearts and kind words and even a desire to "help" the other do not necessarily indicate true partnership.  They are good things, but real partnership requires more than that.  Real partnership requires that we be for one another, even at cost to ourselves.  That we trust one another, even if that takes continual work.  That we entrust important things to the other. That we say thank you and bless the good with joy and rejoicing because we know that ones success is not detrimental or threatening to the other... as well as strive for greater mutual strength and improvement in places of weakness.   

What would you add about real partnership?