Real Life Marriage: Behind Every Standing Woman

"Behind every good man is a good woman," or so the saying goes. Maybe, but I am here to say that I think behind every standing woman, there is someone propping them up. For me, that is my husband.

These past few months have been quite the roller coaster, physically, emotionally, relationally, and spiritually. Pain limited my capabilities and capacities. I grieved lost opportunities, as well as the (hopefully temporary) loss of my sport. I had many, many days, where I just wanted to throw in the towel, quit my physical therapy program, and either sit in a heap and cry, or just go out for a long, long, run knowing I'd break myself again.

Thankfully, my husband talked me out of all of my extreme ideas. I did cry, but he also took me to places like the rose garden and the Mogollon Rim to get my mind of what I couldn't do and onto what I could. He told me he still found me beautiful on days when my clothes didn't fit like they used to and I just felt awful in my body. He reminded me that I had hired experts to help them, and I needed to follow their advice.

It hasn't just been through this injury that my husband has supported me, though. I have an emotionally and mentally taxing job, and he's the one putting dinner on the table most nights. He's often getting our groceries when I feel too spent to retrieve them. He's the one telling me my value after I've been chewed out or berated by yet another person who is dsyregulated. He's the one giving me an out if/when I need to take a break from this line of work.

Women tend me to more emotional than men, and hi, I am that woman. I need my husband's steadiness to keep me grounded. I need his savings on days when the waves of life threaten to undo me. Behind this standing woman is one very strong man. I wouldn't be who I am today without him, and after this summer especially, I'm not sure I'd be standing without him. 

Heartbreak

Heartbreak hurts. Caring about someone or something only to lose it or have it taken away is exceedingly painful. Yet heartbreak is good in that it shows the ability of the heart, that it can care. Heartbreak can also show what is in the heart, though, and that can be good, or bad.

Heartbreak tends to reveal the best and worst of people. It binds together, or it divides. It shows strength of character, or it shows the utter depravity of man. Heartbreak is so painful that it seems there are few in-betweens, only the extremes.

Heartbreak is also an opportunity, though. It is a chance to shore up weak vessels, to strengthen resources, to deeply soak up what really matters. Anne Lamott tells the following story in her book, Further Thoughts on Faith, and it has stuck with me. “There's a lovely Hasidic story of a rabbi who always told his people that if they studied the Torah," she writes, "it would put Scripture on their hearts."

"One of them asked, 'Why on our hearts, and not in them?'"

"The rabbi answered, 'Only God can put Scripture inside. But reading sacred text can put it on your heart, and then when your hearts break, the holy words will fall inside.'"

I don't like heartbreak any more than the next person, but what if I saw it as an opportunity: not just to see "the real me," but to soak up the good stuff, to soak up God's love and grace and wisdom and healing. I don't want to pursue heartbreak just for this sake, but since it's bound to come to me, why don't I look for God in it? Why don't I study the Scriptures that tell me of God more? Why don't I ask for and even invite God to come in?

Heartbreak, sooner or later, comes for all of us. We can decide what to do with our broken hearts, though. We can decide how we tend to them, with the medicine of the world, or the medicine of The Word. May we make the best choice, for God's glory and our good. Amen!

Reference:

Lamott, A. (2000). Traveling mercies: some thoughts on faith. First Anchor Books edition. New York, Anchor Books, a division of Random House, Inc.

What I Can Change

There's a lot of things in life I would like to change right now. Most of these things I can't change. My husband likes to say that he can't change the situation, but he can change his attitude about it. I'm not even sure I can do that. I have a lot of emotions, and too often, they can get the best of me. I have realized one thing I can change, though. I can change the direction of my thoughts.

When there are things I would like to change, I usually ruminate on them. I think about how unfair it is that the things won't change. Or I dream of what life might look like if the things do change. Or I blame someone (or myself) for the situation. None of these trains of thought are helpful. They just entrench my sadness and anger and anxiety. The emotions overwhelm me and can lead me to states of near (or actual) panic.

As I have learned more about attachment, I have realized that God is the only true security I have in this life. He is my refuge (Psalm 16:1). I can rely on Him no matter how life or life's situations change. Therefore, I have been seeking to direct my thoughts towards Him. When things come up that I would like to change, things I would like to be different, I am choosing to think about God fulfills my longings for security. I am endeavoring to meditate on God as my perfect helper, God as my peace, God as the one who always approves of me (because of Jesus!). Ultimately, nothing I can do in this life really matters. Jesus changed the world, and thinking of Him matters, and helps my life matter.

Directing my thoughts towards God and His attributes does not change situations. It does not change my emotions. I still feel them, all of them. Thinking of God and His perfection, though, disrupts my negative thought spiral. It keeps my brain out of panic mode because I am reminded of my eternal safety in Christ. It helps me look less towards people to meet my needs and more towards God.

Have I perfectly initiated this change of thought pattern? No, but it's a change that I know I can make with the Holy Spirit's help. I've tried a lot of quick fixes before. This one, I hope is permanent, because it directs me to the One who cannot change. Secure in Him, I pray I weather changes better, however and whenever they may come in this life.

Needy

I wrote some time ago about needing my husband and how it hurt my pride. Now I'm writing about how I need more than him. In general, I'm just needy. I have written about that before, too. It is an ongoing struggle.

I like to think of myself as self-sustaining, as the Wonder Woman who could do it all. I know I'm not her. I just don't want to admit my utter and complete weakness. In the past, I used some unhealthy coping mechanisms to mask the pain of my weakness, to actually inflict pain on myself and thereby draw away my focus from what I really craved. I don't do that anymore, and now my needs loom large. I recognize my pain not only for basic needs like food, water, and shelter, but for companionship, emotional support, self-care, and self-actualization. I can try to meet them myself, but it just doesn't work.

I carry around some guilt about having needs, about being weak. If only I was better, or could make myself better. I mean Jesus emptied himself out to meet the needs of others. (See Mark 10:45; Phil 2.) Why can't I do that? The only real need I see Jesus taking time away to meet was his spiritual need, and to meet that need, he went away to the Mount of Olives to pray. God was enough for Jesus, so I ask myself why God is not enough for me.

I talked to my husband the other day about trying to be Jesus, versus trying to be like Jesus. We should always be aspiring to be like Jesus. ("Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect," Matt 5:48). I cannot be Jesus, however. God created me as human, with physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, and creative needs. While my greatest need is for salvation, the other needs I have are what make me a whole person. They are what effect my spiritual connection, as well as usefulness to others, the people to whom I am called to go amongst and make disciples (Matt 28:19). I can't very well make disciples on this earth if I am hungry and can't focus, or if I have no support and am overly emotional. I need some basic things, and some non-basic things. I am needy.

Recognizing that I am needy, quite frankly, sucks, but it also opens up new opportunities. It opens up opportunities to allow Christ's strength to be sufficient (2 Cor 12:9). It opens up opportunities to rely on the strength of the husband God gifted me. It opens up avenues for me to connect with others in the body of Christ. It hopefully grows my humility, as well as my empathy. In a lot of ways, recognizing my weakness is a spiritual discipline, one I don't like, but one I nevertheless need to grow in. 

I Need Him.

I remember the moment clearly: standing at the edge of my kitchen, mop in hand, tears rolling down my face. Swish, swish, swish went the mop back and forth as I pondered. I had recently recovered from what seemed to me to be a life-threatening bout with the stomach flu. And as I stood there, alone in my house, mopping my floor, I realized something: I was alone, and I would always be alone. I lived away from my family. I had lost all prospects and hope of marriage. I had my housemates, but not for long, and certainly not forever. I was alone. Utterly alone. And one day, I might get sick again and have no one to call other than emergency medical services. And that really scared me.

Fast forward to now. I am not alone. God graciously gifted me with a husband whom I love and adore. I feel that I have come to need him, and though I longed to not feel alone, sometimes I hate my neediness. I always pictured myself as a strong, independent woman. As a wife, I want to be the, strong, stalwart woman who supports her man in everything and always gives all that she can. That just isn't me. I am weak. I am emotional. I hunger for connection. I need my husband.

I both preach and struggle with the idea of team in marriage. Don't get me wrong. I want to be part of the team. I just don't want to need the team, to have to depend on the team. But I do. I need my husband to help talk through theological issues with me. I need the logical balance he provides. I need his electrical knowledge to deal with house issues. I need him to unscrew hard-to-open jars. I need his affection and pursuit and care. I'm just not me without him.

Interdependence should be part of marriage. I know that. I just didn't expect it to hurt so much. I didn't expect how hard and humbling recognizing my own needs would be. But this is part of the sanctification process in marriage. This is what God has given me. My ultimate need is for Him, I must accept, and even embrace this journey of marriage, needy as it may expose me to be.

Marriage Misnomers: Happy Wife, Happy Life

"Happy wife, happy life." It's a saying I've heard too many times to count. To some extent, it's true. And it goes right along with the family version of the saying, "If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy." Emotions do have a way of bleeding over. When one person is sad, or mad, or happy, others often join. But in marriage, is this true? Yes, and No.

The Bible says that marriage makes two people one flesh. One flesh has one brain, which connotes one set of emotions. So in the sense that marriage people share life and love together, they share feelings. So if the wife is happy, the husband should be happy, too. Right? Well in theory, yes, but in practice, no.

There are many times that I am happy and my husband is not. For example, I may have a good day at work while he has a bad one. When we convene at the dinner table, our emotions differ in response to our circumstances. My happiness can't fix what happened to him. They might make him happy for me, but not make him actually happy for himself. Similarly, if he makes a ground-breaking achievement at work while I get called in to talk to my boss, he may be happy and I may not be. As a result, our life together may not be as happy as either one of us would wish it.

"Happy wife, happy life" is usually aimed at a husband, inferring that if he can make his life happier if he makes his wife happy. That places a lot of burden on the husband. That infers that the husband actually have power to make their wife happy. That just isn't true. Sometimes the wife just isn't happy. It's that time of the month. Her friends have been mean. She has had a bad day at work. She is sad, scared, lonely, hungry, angry. A husband can help his wife process. He can try to cheer up his wife. He can love his wife. That might lead to more happiness, but he can't make her happy.

There is a second part to the saying, too: "Happy life." This is the conclusion that a wife is happy, the husband will have a happy life. Husbands have more going on than marriage. They have hard days, too. No matter how much a wife may do for or with them, sometimes they are just unhappy and that is part of life.

"Happy wife, happy life?" No. Happiness is more than just one spouse. And life is more than happiness. Joy-filled marriage, joy-filled life? That might be more like it.

Real Life Marriage: Anger

(Photo by Roberta Pommert)

I have never considered myself an angry person, at least not a regularly angry person. Until this second year of marriage. And man, I have been angry. Not the yelling, throwing things, cursing kind of angry, but the quiet, brooding, cry-my-eyes-out, "I'm so frustrated, I can't stand it," kind of anger. I find myself wanting to express anger towards my husband more often than not, but each time, the Spirit convicts me that I am not really angry at him. No, I am angry about other things. 

I am angry about unmet expectations. I had expectations that marriage would give my husband and I more time to spend together. I had expectations we'd still go on dates and have fun. We do have fun, but many of our meals these days turn into business meetings. We spend the time we're not at work doing chores around the house. Planning date nights is work. I don't want it to be this way. 

I am angry at myself. I thought I would have energy to work and do all the things a "good" wife should. Work alone exhausts me.  I expected I would have more tolerance for little irritations. No. My tolerance is low. I want to fix bad days for my husband and make him feel better when he is sick. I can't. My inability to help makes me angry, too. No, I'm not angry at at my husband. I'm angry at life. And if I am angry at life, I am angry at God. Dangerous territory.

I got really angry the other night because I did all of my husband and I's chores and had time to make dinner. I was so proud of myself and hoped we could at least spend a little bit of time after dinner: talking or watching our favorite show or something. My husband had to work late, though, so I ate dinner alone. He had more work after he got home, so we only talked enough to get him dinner and back on his computer. I recognized that the situation wasn't his fault, but I still felt so upset. I was quiet. Then I brooded. Then I got sad. In the end, I realized that my anger was trying to tell me something. My anger was trying to tell me how much I cared.

The opposite of love is not hate. It is indifference. I am not indifferent towards my husband! I love him very much. I want to spend time with him. I want our marriage to be what God intends in to be, to reflect Christ and the church. And it's so stinking hard. That's why I get angry. Because it shouldn't be this way. And that feeling is accurate. We were designed for perfection, for perfect unity with God and with each other. Righteous anger shows me that that unity doesn't exist, at least not here and now on this earth. 

I get angry. I'll probably keep getting angry. But I hope the Holy Spirit will keep convicting me. I hope God will keep using marriage to hone me more and more into his image. Instead of getting angry at my husband, myself, or others, I hope I get angry at sin. I hope I get angry at my selfishness. I hope I get angry at my pride. I hope I pray for my heart, for my husband's heart, for our marriage. I hope I confess and repent and turn from sin more and more to Jesus. He got angry, too, but he had righteous anger. That's the kind of anger I want.

When My Heart Doesn't Believe

Do I admit that I've felt hopeless? Do I confess that my heart is not in what I preach right now?  I normally don't write when I'm in the middle, when I have no resolution to a situation, but here I am, feeling compelled to write....now. Why? I don't know. Maybe someone else feels the same as I do.

I feel hopeless. In my head, I know that God exists, that the Bible's promises are true, that God can do anything. I don't feel it it my heart, though. I feel dead, numb, sad, sorrowful, pained. The waves of emotion vary day by day, but they beat the shore of my life with the same dull message: "It's impossible." It's impossible that the stress will end. It's impossible that life will get better. It's impossible that my health will improve. It's impossible that I will overcome my selfish habits and be a better wife. It's impossible that we will have the type of marriage I want. The list goes on and on. The roar is deafening. And amidst the roar, I still hear more: the emptiness of God's promises when I recite them to family, friends, coworkers, and clients; the messages of guilt. The cacophony is intense.

Even with all this, another message has been tapping against my heart lately, squeezing in between the larger waves and gently lapping at my shores: "Hope that is seen is no hope at all" (Romans 8:24, New International Version [NIV]). "Hope that is seen is no hope at all." What is hope? Waiting for something to happen? Expectation? A heart thing? Or is it a head thing? Is it faith, even against all odds? I'm starting to lean towards that last one.

I see nothing at times. I feel nothing at times. I believe only because my belief is all I have left. If God does not exist and His promises are not true, I am of all people the most miserable (1 Corinthians 15:19, King James Version [KJV]). I truly have nothing to live for. But if hope is not hope until it is in the unseen, maybe I am on the right track. Maybe the hope I thought I had in the past truly was not hope. It was in tangible things, things I could see. Now those are not there. All I can do is hope the unseen, have faith that God can do the impossible. It's all I can do. All I can wrap my head around. Maybe my heart will follow in due time.

September Deja Vu

September has been bringing up a lot of feelings for me. When I look back, I think that September was when I really started falling for him. If you know much of our story, you know that we had a little bit of an atypical dating relationship and really didn't officially date that long before we got engaged and married. But we were friends last September and definitely talking a lot. I am sure I liked him then, but I was afraid, very afraid. I was afraid of my feelings. I was afraid that I would misstep and lose the tenuous friendship that I had with him. I was afraid that whatever happened would be very hard.

September was hard. It was good, but hard. He came hiking with me on Labor Day. (No, I didn't admit that he was with me when I posted about my hike.) He came with me to a coworker's music event. I introduced him as a friend. 

I felt very caught about his' birthday. I valued him and wanted to celebrate him, but didn't know what I could do without crossing the "friend" line. He ended up inviting a bunch of friends, including me, over for dinner, and we ate and played games and had a great time. But I was utterly convinced that there was no way he had any feelings for me other than friendship, so when it was time to leave, it was time to leave, and I said goodbye and walked out to my car, figuring it would soon be time to say goodbye to even other friendship. (I strongly believed that guys and girls could not be friends long term if they had hopes of ever getting married. Because in my opinion, strong opposite sex friendships can harm a marriage relationship.) But then he walked out with me and said we should go hiking again. I told him of my plans to go hiking that Saturday. Guess what? He came. It was a fun hike, a good hike, but there again were those confusing, hard-to-deal with feelings.

Other things happened in September-more conversations, maybe other get-togethers. I don't totally remember. What I do remember very vividly are the feelings. Looking back to then and seeing where I am now, I feel pretty incredulous at where God has us today: definitely committed, very much in love, and married almost three months.

Why do I share all this? To say that facing hard feelings will end up with fairy tale results? No. Although God did bless us by working out our love story, that is not everyone's story. Many people feel for people and it doesn't work out. Many people have hard feelings and fears period, and sometimes those fears materialize. 

No. I share all this because I think it's important to recognize our feelings. It's important to face hard feelings, especially when they make us afraid. Because when we pull back, we miss opportunities to live and learn and love and grow.

September is a reminder for me of the past, of where I've been, and a marker for where I am now. September is a reminder that God can do a lot in a short amount of time. September is a reminder that fears can reveal to us what's important, and what's worth fighting for.

Do I have September deja vu? Yes. But it's a good thing.

Ride the Waves

I've been telling myself lately that emotions are like waves. They come, and they go, and then they're over. This perspective has helped me, until it didn't.

One Thursday night after work, exhausted and tired, overstretched and overspent, I hit a wall and descended into a really dark place . I didn't feel good enough. I wasn't thinking positive thoughts. I honestly wanted to give up on life, though I had no plans to actually end my life. I couldn't stop crying. It was awful. Miserable. Isolating. Alienating. Lonely. It wasn't a wave of emotions. It was a tidal wave, or maybe even a tsunami.

The people in my life didn't abandon me or give up on me. They didn't pressure me, but they didn't leave me alone, either. They were there for me and with me. That gift of presence and acceptance was a blessing. But even though I knew I could talk to them, I struggled to do so.

The breakthrough for me came Monday morning when I read Romans 12:6, “We have different gifts, according to the grace given to each of us” (New International Version, NIV). The Spirit showed me that I was comparing myself, comparing myself to others, to my ideal self, to the person I thought I should be. And that's not the way God's economy works. He made me, me, and I need to live in and walk that, "with all the energy Christ so powerfully works in me” (Col 1:29). That realization was so freeing for me. It totally changed my perspective and brought me back to my real self.

Ride the waves. That's a good perspective, until the waves are too big to ride on your own. That's where reaching out for and accepting help come in. Because when you can't ride the wave, you need someone to tow you to shore, to bring you home.

Repressed Feelings

I work with children in the behavioral health field. Something we talk about time and time again are seasons and how they affect kids. We often find that kids get dysregulated around certain times of year, not because of the times of year specifically, but because of the things associated with those times of year. Guess what? Adults are the same way!

I've had several times recently where I've found myself unknowingly upset about something. I've despaired about a move, even though it was exciting. I've been sad around a holiday, even though there is no sadness this year. I've felt trapped by weather, even though I'm not actually trapped. In each case, the emotions I felt were associated not with the actual events or seasons, but were brought up by associations with previous events and seasons. I've had moves that were traumatic. I've had sad holidays. I've been trapped by snow, tornadoes, and other tumultuous weather. The brain is a powerful machine, and the external stimuli associated with current events are bringing up unpleasant feelings associated with past events.

Why do I share all this? Because I think a lot of us have feelings that upset us. We judge ourselves for the feelings without realizing where they might be coming from. We think we should be past the past and we give ourselves no grace to feel the way we do. And in so doing, we miss the change to reprocess times and seasons of our lives so that they might become good again.

So in this new year, if you have some unpleasant feelings, I encourage you to acknowledge them, to sit with them, and to see if you can find out where they come from. If you can, process those feelings. Let yourself feel them. And then resolve to redeem the current seasons and events. And if you don't know where the feelings come from, still let yourself feel them. Let yourself grieve. And then move on. This is the way to authentic living, to living in the moment, to feeling the joy, even if there is some associated pain.

Hiking Is My Therapy.

Don't get me wrong. I believe in counseling, in the power of processing life with a paid professiona; in order to get back on track and move on in life. I've been to plenty of counseling in my own life and I am a counselor. But I've also found my own form of therapy: hiking.

Life's been heavy this year. I can't totally pin it on any one thing. Rather, this heaviness is a mixture of hard work, and tiredness, and sickness, and life events, and country events, and world events. Whew! The overwhelm I've felt is pretty immense. I can't ever quite seem to escape or process it all.

But then there's hiking. It's my new favorite form of self-care. Being outside is like a mental detox. I see the stillness of nature as I walk, and I become more still. I talk to people I care about and I'm reminded that I'm not the only one with struggles. I breath in. I breath out. I sweat. I get tired. And somehow, afterward, the world seems bigger and better and brighter.

There's legitimate science behind hiking being therapeutic. The physical activity causes crossing between the left- and right-brain, resulting in new connections and new learning. New insights can be found and events reconsidered. Pretty cool, right?

Is hiking the be-all, end-all therapy? No, but for me right now, it's working. And if/when I decide to go back for traditional counseling (because at some point I might want to get married, face trauma, or have burn-out), I'll still keep doing it, because I know it will accelerate my processing and growth.

So without further ado, a few pictures from recent hikes:

 Clark Spring

 Constellation Trails

 Mount Humphreys

Praise God for His beautiful creation and its therapeutic value!

Vulnerability is a Verb.

I've been thinking lately about feeling vulnerable, about how I use feeling vulnerable as an excuse. I use it as an excuse for not getting out and being social. Being social risks too much, I tell myself. I use vulnerability as an excuse for hiding my emotions, even from myself, because the depth of my emotions scares me. I use vulnerability as an excuse for not telling people how much I care about them because I don't want to risk loving and losing. But you know what? Without vulnerability, I'm hard, stoic, and cold. I'm inhuman and inanimate.

Vulnerability requires action, either on the part of others, or myself. And since I believe I'm responsible for my own feelings, I don't think anybody can actually make me feel vulnerable. That's a choice I have to make for myself. And I don't think I can feel vulnerable as much as I can be vulnerable.

Failing to admit my hurt and pain and rawness is part of my perfectionism. And it sucks. It keeps me scared and afraid and trapped. I don't want that. I want to connect and learn and love and grow. All those things require movement, choice, decision-vulnerability.

Vulnerability is a verb, folks. It doesn't happen in a vacuum, and it doesn't happen without some pain and agony. So here's to being more vulnerable, come what may....

Life is Hard.

I was somehow under the impression that life would get easier at some point. That at some point, I could just celebrate and have some sadness lingering over me. Maybe I wouldn't arrive. But I could at least be content and not want more. Nope! Life is hard. It just is.

I'm an ISFJ, and I feel things deeply. I feel it when a kid gets removed from their parents. I feel it when coworkers argue. I feel it when friends and family members are struggling. I feel it when the seasons change. I feel it when the skies are gray. I feel it when the country is in a state of upheaval from the latest terrorist act, school shooting, or court case.

But I also feel the joy when adoptive homes open. When people reconcile. When family and friends succeed. When hopes springs anew. When the sun shine. When there is redemption. 

Life is bittersweet. And as Brene Brown says, “We can't selectively numb emotion. Numb the dark and you numb the light.” I am finding that to be true. I can't feel the joy without feeling the pain. I can't feel the gladness without feeling the sorrow. I can't celebrate without having wept.

So if I'm going to live life, I guess I'm going to have to accept that life is hard. Because I have to see that life is hard to feel that life is also good and worth living.

Filling My Heart

I told someone recently that it's been a rough several years. It is not that my life is bad. In fact, I am very blessed. I have a job and a home and family and friends. But emotionally, life been tough. There have been a lot of highs and lows and everything in between. Sometimes I just feel emotionally beat up and bruised and don't know how to recover.

I've been telling myself lately that I need to find a life. It's not that I don't have a life, but that I need to be more diligent in trying to things to do other than sleep, eat, work, and repeat. And the things I choose to do need to be sustainable and attainable. They need to help fill my heart so that I have energy and life to live and give. These past few weekends, God has given me the following activities to fill my heart:

1) Hiking: This requires some planning and exertion, but the sun and the effort and the stillness of nature calm my spirits and promote rest in my body.

2) Quality conversation: I don't have a lot of friends here, but when I actually make time for the few I have, it's worth it. Sometimes quality conversation looks getting creative with time differences to schedule a phone date over the distance, too. I don't really need a lot of friends, just quality ones who will be iron sharpening iron and speak truth into my life.

3) Cooking: It's a simple thing, but therapeutic in its own right. It's so fulfilling to chop or knead or stir or bake something into existence. And the eating of the food is enjoyable, too.

Self-care isn't all about activities. Sometimes it's about rest and alone time and quite frankly, plain old isolation or hibernation. But for me, I'm realizing that I need to balance effortless activities with some efforted activities. May God continue to show me the way....

I Choose Joy.

It's no secret that For King and Country is my favorite band. And I do get super excited when they put out a new song. (I'm eagerly awaiting the release of their new album October 5th.) But the reason I like their music so much is that it resonates with me. Take for example, their new song, "Joy."

"And I choose joy" is the central lyric of their chorus. My life is not terrible by any means, but I have been struggling. I get tired and exhausted and somewhat despairing of life more often than I'd like to admit. And multiple times lately, as I've been feeling this way, I've turned on the radio and heard, "Joy." Through it, I heard the Holy Spirit gently asking me, "What will you choose, Sarah?"

I truly believe in the importance of honoring and acknowledging feelings, but I also know I can't dwell in the feeling realm. Nancy Wilson, in her book, Learning Contentment, writes that “Ruminating on your troubles makes you grumpy, increases your lack of thanks for what you have, and 'stresses you out' so you can't enjoy your blessings” (p. 47). She states that the direction of our gaze fixes the contentment of our hearts. As I drove into Prescott last weekend after a particularly frustrating morning, I had to ask myself where my eyes where, and they're weren't on God or on expressing gratitude. They were on myself and my troubles. As God worked on my heart, "Joy" came on and the Spirit once again asked me, "What will you choose?"

So as I work to fix my eyes on Jesus, I'm giving myself a little challenge. I'm starting an #IChooseJoy hashtag campaign for the month of September to remind myself to look for the good, focus on Jesus, and express gratitude. 

Want to join me? Just use the #IChooseJoy hashtag and feel free to tag me when you post. I'm at MyArizonaAdventure over on Instagram and you'll see I started the campaign with my September 1st photo. My goal is to post at least once a day all month long, because I truly want choosing joy to become a habit.

Crazy-busy

"‘Crazy-busy’ is a great armor, it’s a great way for numbing. What a lot of us do is that we stay so busy, and so out in front of our life, that the truth of how we’re feeling and what we really need can’t catch up with us."

~Brene Brown

This quote is perhaps another way to explain where I'm at in life. I've been crazy busy for so long. And now, as life slows a bit, all the emotions are hitting me in the face. I feel lonely. I feel scared. I'm angry. I feel sad. And I find myself trying to fill time instead of feeling. I go on more walks. I take on more projects. I try to sleep more. None of these things are necessarily bad, but they're just other ways I keep myself numb. They're ways I stay a human doing instead of a human being.

What I really need right now is to sit with my feelings, to ask God what He is trying to tell me through them. But I don't want to. Admitting my feelings makes me raw and vulnerable and real. And that's not comfortable, or painless. It's pain-full.

I know God made me a feeling creature for a reason. My emotions help me connect to other people. My emotions help me experience the richness of this world God has made. My emotions remind me that God is God and I need to be still and know Him (Ps 46:10).

So here's to letting down the armor a little bit, to feeling the feels, to trying to enjoy life a little more instead of numbing myself with busyness. Jesus, hold me close.

Feeling the Feels

"No pain, no gain." I think that's the way of authentic living. But man, does it hurt.

I'd venture to say that these fast few years have been some of the hardest and most painful I've had. Why? It's not necessarily because the worst things in the world have happened to me, but because I've actually felt the grief associated with church changes, the fear associated with family struggles, and the terrible sadness associated with world tragedies. I now work in a career where I have to feel the feels all the time in order to be present, and it's an exhausting and hard task.

In the past, I used to think that strength was forcing down the feelings and keeping on. Now I think it's feeling the feels, being honest about them, and choosing to go on. And although I don't like it, I think I'd make the argument that feeling the hard stuff, voicing it, and figuring out how to acknowledge it and integrate it into my life experience is actually what makes me stronger. But it's still no fun.

Nikita Gill wrote, "Let it hurt. Let it bleed. Let it heal. And let it go.” When wounds bleed, the blood washes away toxins and brings fresh oxygen to help the wound heal. I think it's the same when I feel the pain of suffering. I can actually learn from it and let it go. This new ways of living feels dangerous, but no good things or important lessons seem to come easy....

I'm linking up with Amanda at Running with Spoons for this Thinking Out Loud post.