My 2019 Manifesto

I am a reader. I will read books and stories that resonate in my heart those things which are good, true, and redemptive. I will better myself through knowledge and wisdom and through pure enjoyment in the use of language and the imagination.

I am a traveler. I will explore places, experience cultures, savor foods, enjoy music, meet people, and take in the scenery of places old and new. I will seek adventure with joy and intention.

I am a homemaker. I will live fully in the space God gives me, to make it into a place of love, joy, and peace, overflowing with art, beauty, good food, friends, deep cries, and belly laughs. My home will be clean and inviting. My home will be a refuge, a sanctuary, a retreat, and a place where deep growth happens.

I am an artist. I will dance, I will sing, I will write, I will create, I will practice. I will be mindful that all my work is creative work, and I will be effective in that endeavor.

I am a lover. I will lean in with compassion, I will listen to what others have to say, I will ask and do my best to understand, I will stand in solidarity and respect differences. I will mourn with those who mourn, rejoice with those who rejoice, bring comfort to those who need comforting, and share the love of Christ with those who need His tender love.

I am a peace pursuer. I will look for peace in the midst of chaos and uncertainty. In paying special attention to my body, mind, and heart, I will be still, listen, and trust. I will remember that to be whole is to be at peace, and so, I will continue in my commitment to wholeheartedness; I will remove the landmines, I will dig wells for living water, and I will invite the Holy Spirit to fill up all the empty places. I will work to resolve conflict in healthy ways; I will ask to be forgiven, and I will forgive.

I am a teacher. I will share the knowledge, truths, gifts, lessons, and experiences given to me, knowing that these are things not meant for me to hold onto for my own, but are meant to be given. I will be generous, but discerning, in what I have to say. I will problem solve and teach others to do the same, whether through word or example. I will not believe that I have it all figured out, and instead, I will keep learning and growing and passing on what I do know thus far.

I am a daughter of God. I believe in the truth that the Father loves me more than I can even fathom and that He has great plans for me. I will not undermine my worth by making unhealthy choices, but rather, I will see myself as He sees me— Christ has deemed me worthy of His eternal, extravagant love, and I will make choices that honor both Him and myself as His treasured possession.

If you were to write a manifesto for yourself, what would you include?

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Stepping Into the Arena

"I feel like the only person who believes in me is my coach," I said, though I used more colorful language. "I feel completely inadequate."

"Don't you know?" he said, matter-of-factly.

Fear struck me. Was he confirming this? Did he, too, find me inadequate?

"Don't I know what?" I asked.

"Don't you know that you can do it?"

He couldn't believe that I didn't believe in myself.

He and I talked often of motivation, hard work, and fearing versus not fearing. I always concluded that he is strong where I am not, and there he was again, being the strong one by speaking courage into my life.

In the previous 24 hours, I had been dealt a serious blow-- a career setback that left me reeling and damaged relationships that have yet to be repaired. I felt helpless. I felt like everyone was watching me fail. I didn't know who to trust. It was easier to place blame, but I reckoned with the truth that, in many ways, I was my own casualty. (About a week or so later, when he asked me what I was working on, I said, "Just practicing. I have some ass to kick." If he had asked me, Whose? I would have said, My own.)

The first thing I knew I had to do was take some risks and step into the arena.

In her new book, Rising Strong, Brene Brown defines an arena as "any moment when or place where we have risked showing up and being seen." The idea is that if we are going to be in the arena--- all eyes on us, letting our truth and our vulnerabilities be seen and known-- failure is not only possible, but probable. We are going to have "facedown moments."

Here's where it really gets tough. Over the course of several days, which then turned into weeks, I lost much more than I was ever prepared to lose. The cost was personally significant. One thing I gained, however, was ownership of myself as a dancer, and another: courage.

The first day out on the floor-- by myself, pushing myself-- felt terrifying. I trembled. I couldn't find my balance. I shook out my hands three or four times and clumsily placed my ear buds back into my ears again and again. I think I even bumped into someone. I struggled. I feared. I may have run to the bathroom and cried. But you know what? It got easier.

"...the process of struggling and navigating hurt has as much to offer us as the process of being brave and showing up...Rising strong after a fall is how we cultivate wholeheartedness in our lives; it's the process that teaches us the most about who we are...If we can learn how to feel our way through these experiences and own our stories of struggle, we can write our own brave endings." ~Brene Brown, Rising Strong

I have learned that there are two kinds of people: those who only believe in you when you "prove" yourself worthy by their standards and those who believe in you because you are worthy. Find the true believers, and believe also in yourself.

This is only one story among many teaching me about value and wholeheartedness. You can't show up and be courageous in the face of adversity without coming from a place of worthiness. And even when the words "It's not personal, it's professional" sting so sharply, I'm thankful that redemption always works the other way around. My story is not one of professional growth, but of personal growth.

What is your arena? What stories of courage do you have to tell?

Love, Value & Identity ~ Part I

One of my favorite places in Nashville is the Main Branch Library, downtown on 7th and Church. After dining outside on a recent, windy, Sunday afternoon, I stepped into the calm warmth of the library to 'find what I could find.' I had no plan except for the possibility of finding something I've never read before by C.S. Lewis (I recently finished re-reading The Four Loves). I stepped up to the catalog and wrote down a few call numbers, happy to find that one such number- 230.2- was right in front of me. What better place to start than right there! As I perused each book, each work, each colorful binder, I decided to pass on The Joyful Christian and slid from the shelf a book whose title and author both gleamed at me-- Love and Living, by Thomas Merton. I searched a few of the pages and stumbled upon this passage:

"Our conception of ourselves is bound to be profoundly affected by our conception- and our experience- of love. And our love, or our lack of it, our willingness to risk it or our determination to avoid it, will in the end be an expression of ourselves: of who we think we are, of what we want to be, of what we think we are here for."
~Thomas Merton, Love and Living


I've been through all four of these stages and am only now compelled- or perhaps able- to clearly define them and who I've learned I am because of them. Here, I'll begin with the last and briefly share them in reverse order.

In my mid-twenties I was determined to avoid love. It was the most selfish time of my life. I had no real desire to have children, nor felt the need to ever get married. Admittedly, it was wonderful, and I was carefree. I thought love was an obligation to those who chose it, and I, in my independence, had no desire to be attached to such a thing. But my heart changed forever about a month before my 25th birthday; my first niece was born. A love unlike any other affection I'd ever felt for my family or friends, and completely unlike Eros, led me to (if I may borrow an image from the Psalms) "the rock that is higher than I." This love was profound. This love swelled and breathed. This love made me think of something greater than myself. This love meant that Love is inevitable.

My willingness to risk love is trickier to define. I suppose hospitality is a risk. I've discovered that you learn who you are when you give of yourself because you learn what you are capable of, or not, your strengths as well as your weaknesses. It may energize me to express hospitality, to give joyfully- without expectation from another- but even I get worn out when I'm risking my heart only to receive little or nothing in return. The risk of love, largely, is not knowing whether you will be loved in return, or especially equally so. And there will always come a point when you have to decide whether or not risking it will be worth it.

To lack love, in particular areas, is something most of us seem to know all too well, and this, in our human view, is where we put too much emphasis on our identity. I know the pain of years lived without true intimacy. I know loneliness. I know how crippling it feels to fight, and fail, and fight some more against the lies that I'm not loved, or not loved well-enough, and that therefore I must be unlovable. God (who is Love Himself) knows love is necessary and important to our well-being-- so important, that when asked what the Lord's will is, He answers, "To look after orphans and widows." The second greatest commandment is "to love your neighbor." Because we are all in need of love, love must be shared. Love must fill us up.

Our love. The love we have, the love we give, the ways in which we are loved. These tell us the greatest truths about ourselves. Whether we realize it or not we are always seeking love. Our souls require it and demand it for our healing, our health, and our happiness. Too often we are confused into thinking we require approval when what we truly need is an acceptance that is so unconditional that we succumb not to the darkness which has crept into our being but that we raise up to the light that has always been there. We already have value. Accepting and being accepted in this way gives us the strength to believe in our own value as well as the value of the other person. Love is strongest in it's each-otherness.