Learning to Enjoy the Beauty

My default mode is to look for error. I have been a perfectionist my whole life, and so my sharp eyes examine carefully to spot flaws. I easily see what’s wrong, what’s ugly, what doesn’t work. This mistake-radar serves me well as an editor and writer; it’s less helpful as a mom, a wife, a friend.

Over the years, I’ve been reminded again and again of the need to take a second look. I must learn to see — my own life, others around me, the world at large — through a lens focused on grace. If I am skilled at finding fault, I want to become even more adept at finding beauty. This world is full of ugliness, to be sure, but it is also full of people made in God’s image, full of His handiwork, full of His gifts.

My newest article at Ungrind is about how and why I'm learning to see and celebrate the beauty in people--check it out!

On Seeing and Being Seen

“Mama, watch!”
“Mom! Watch this! Watch me!”
“Did you see that, Mom?”

Little boys dangle upside-down from playground equipment; they leap from ledges and hurtle down slides. And this is their constant refrain, repeatedly called out to where I sit: Look at me. Watch me. Do you see me?

I may be decades older than them, but the cry of my heart is often the same. I plod through the never-ending tasks of homemaking, and no one is watching while I transfer laundry to the dryer or scrub the shower on hands and knees. I struggle to navigate how to use my gifts and passions for God’s glory in my particular context, and sometimes it feels like I am sitting on the sidelines, whispering to the coach: Do you see me?

*          *          *

God’s answer to that heart question begins in Genesis with an unlikely character. When He reveals a new name of His for the first time, it’s not Enoch or Noah, not the “big three” of Abraham, Isaac or Jacob, who meet Him. It’s an abused, despised slave-concubine: Hagar.

I have an article up at Ungrind today reflecting on Hagar’s story and the present-day testimony of Sara Hagerty. So often, I have recognized that in my various struggles with sin, my main problem is that my eyes are on myself. I know I need to fix my eyes on Jesus--I wrote a 31-day blog series about it two years ago, for crying out loud!--and yet often I'm still not even sure how. I know that He is beautiful, but I don’t delight in His beauty. I know that He is good, but I do not taste His goodness.

These two women--one ancient, one modern--have been helping me think about seeing Him. Click over to read "Seeing the God Who Sees."

Is Messy More Real?

When a friend of mine visited last week, I welcomed her into my cluttered house, its floors badly in need of vacuuming, by saying, "I'm not even going to apologize for the mess--this is just what it looks like at my house. I'm keeping it real."

That was the truth, and it's good as far as it goes: Let's be honest about our messes, instead of putting on a front. But while my desire is to be authentic and encourage others not to fake it, I sometimes forget that this mindset can also carry a frustrating subliminal message. If "messy is authentic," then "you're only real and authentic if you're a mess." And is THAT the truth?

I don’t want my friend to clean frantically before I come over; I want her to remember that I’m interested in seeing her, not her house! But so often, it doesn’t stop there. My healthy perspective morphs swiftly:

“I want your house to be messy because it will make me feel better about my own messy house.”
“If your house is clean, I feel threatened, inferior.”
“If your house is clean, I’m afraid you will judge me.”
“If your house is clean, I will preemptively judge you for being fake and trying too hard.”

How do we break out of this gross whirlwind of comparison and competition? I'm asking and attempting to answer such questions today over at Ungrind. Click over to read my thoughts on "Chasing a Standard We Can Meet."

Needing to Be Needy and Fighting Together

Breastplate of righteousness. Belt of truth. Helmet of salvation. Shield of faith. If you’ve been in the church a while, you’ve heard more than one call to “suit up” with Ephesians 6 armor. And if you’re like me, you’ve imagined yourself as a solitary soldier, dressed head to toe and ready for spiritual battle.

It wasn’t until much later that the obvious dawned on me: A lone soldier is a sitting duck. 

Last month at Ungrind, I wrote about our need to be honest about our physical needs and the glorious glimpses of grace seen in helping and being helped. Today, I'm over there discussing spiritual battles--because if it’s hard to ask for help with practical needs, it feels downright impossible to reach out for support when we’re emotionally or spiritually low. We’re embarrassed that we’re still struggling with the same old sin; we’re frustrated by how stuck we feel, maybe even too cynical to believe a friend’s words could make any difference. Yet we need each other even more here, in our most tender places of vulnerability.

Click over to read about how I'm experiencing grace when I'm needy and grace to help others fight. 

The Beauty of Serving and Being Served

In recent weeks, as friends of mine have faced various trials, I’ve had occasion to marvel at the beauty of women asking for, giving, and receiving help.

And I've not always been on the giving end; my servant-hearted husband frequently gives me food for thought and reasons to be thankful as I receive gracious help from him. 

We hate to feel needy; we don’t want to burden others. But when we are ashamed of our weakness, or too proud to admit our need, we commit robbery.

Click over to read my article at Ungrind today about the glimpses of glory that can be seen when we cast off our pride, admit our weakness, and ask for help.

Parent Tantrums and Merciful Love

Six-thirty a.m. on a school day. No amount of sugar-coating will make it less ugly, so I'll just be frank: I threw a colossal temper tantrum. Complete with name-calling and kicking a kitchen cabinet. I yelled. I slammed dishes around. I shamed and belittled a seven-year-old. Just seeing this description of myself in black and white makes me want to crawl in a hole...but there it is.

By the time we needed to leave, I wasn’t yet truly feeling sorry. I hate to admit it, but I didn’t have a sincere desire to repent and reconcile with my kids. I was still angry—a combination of anger over the original trigger, and anger at myself for acting so irrational and out-of-control. Mercifully, I had a moment of clarity, realizing that if something happened that day, and the last interaction I had with my son was this shameful tantrum, I’d never be able to live with myself.

So I knelt down and looked in his eyes. I told him that although I had been angry, that didn’t make it OK for me to yell at him and call him a baby, and I was wrong to treat him like that. I apologized and asked him to forgive me.

Elijah didn’t hesitate to extend forgiveness. It frequently blows me away how quick my children are to accept my apologies, even when I’ve been horrible to them. I hugged and kissed him, and also hugged and kissed my four-year-old (who had suffered collateral damage from my tantrum, receiving a few harsh words of his own for minor things that ordinarily wouldn’t have been such a big deal), and we got in the car.

While the instant forgiveness was beautiful and impressive, that wasn’t what struck me hardest. The really remarkable thing happened later that morning.

[Head over to Ungrind to read the rest!]

Made for More: Author Interview

Hannah Anderson's book had me shouting YES! out loud as I read. I repeatedly scribbled "wow" and "AMEN!" in the margins. I think Made for More: An Invitation to Live in God's Image is a deeply important contribution to the church's conversation about gender roles, femininity, and identity.

I am delighted to direct you to Ungrind today, where you can find a recent interview I did with Hannah about her book--and a giveaway from her publisher! Hannah begins by saying:

When I first entered adulthood, life was pretty easy; I had my nice, neat categories. I knew who I was and where I belonged. And then life happened.

Ten years later, the roles and categories that had once given me security weren’t working anymore. I felt uncertain, out of sorts, and restless. When I looked around, I saw my friends going through very similar struggles. So I started asking myself, What have we missed? What has been absent from the conversation that would explain why so many of us are longing for “more”? It turns out that the “more” we needed wasn’t more opportunity or different roles; the “more” we needed was God Himself.

 Head over to Ungrind for more, plus a chance to win one of two copies of the book.

...And stay tuned, because I'll be revisiting this next week with more of my thoughts about the book and some "bonus material" from my interview with the author!

What to Do With Mom Guilt

October is my first month writing for Ungrind, a website dedicated to "churning out encouragement for women." Ungrind founder and editor Ashleigh Slater describes it this way:

Let’s face it, sometimes the daily grind of life leaves us discouraged. We desire to effectively serve God, our families, and our communities, but we often feel like we aren’t doing enough. Well enough. We find ourselves in desperate need of a word in due season.

At least, that’s been true for me.

Here at Ungrind, I hope you’ll find that word. It’s our goal to churn out weekly encouragement by being honest and transparent about our struggles, but in a way that inspires hope, faith, and perseverance. Consider us friends. The kind you feel comfortable sitting across the table with at the local coffee shop.

Due to all the writing I had to do for last month's women's retreat, my first submission was a revision of an article previously published here--full of truth I know I needed to hear again, as I so easily forget. The title refers to mom-guilt, but while the examples may be motherhood-specific, there's hope here for ALL kinds of guilt--I think men, singles, and those whose kids are grown can benefit from it, too!

Click on over to read about two kinds of mommy guilt...and a solution for both that provides far deeper and lasting hope than simply, "Stop feeling guilty; you're doing a great job, mama."