beauty bought with pain.

"The joy and beauty of freedom and love must be bought with pain"
Gerald May, Addiction and Grace

Beauty. They say it lies in the eye of the beholder, and I think this may be true. I've seen it in the trash dumps of Nicaragua, where orphans selflessly saved their scavenged food to take home to their families. I've seen it in my at-risk city kids, resilient and fearless as they performed on stage during a camp awards ceremony for their peers. I've seen it in my special needs classroom, where laughter was always the first and best medicine. Beauty is everywhere, you just have to know where to look.

I think the thing that we forget, however, is that beauty must come at a cost. Not a monetary cost, though some do try to buy it. But a personal cost. A fight. An interaction with pain. And mostly, we don't like this. I know I certainly don't. In the fast paced world that we live in, we want things now. We want them to be easy and quick, we want them to be free. But light cannot come without darkness, and true beauty is not always immediately attained.

To me, beauty is often about the struggle. Why are we moved to tears by soldiers coming home to their families or Olympians winning their first medal? Cancer survivors and excellent teachers? Kids who are heroes...really anyone who is a hero? We are struck by their example of love and sacrifice. Their choice to fight for purposefulness in the place of being complacent. It means something because it took something to get there.

Sometimes it means giving up a dream, and other times it means fighting really hard for one. There is no formula, no typical and perfect example. But we all know it when we see it. We are moved, we are full...we feel a certain amount of freedom and love. It is the truest form of living, and we are blessed to experience it. It gives us hope for the future, and something to strive for in the present. It's real. And we need more of that. More genuineness and truth. More light. More beauty.

And it doesn't always have to be extreme. We are beautiful just by being who we are--flaws included. By choosing to acknowledge someone who is suffering, or by striving to be different than the status quo. And that can take work at times. Mustering up the courage to be authentic in a culture that is frequently fake is no small task. We are likely to experience failure, haters along the way. Change is a process, and pain is often part of the deal.

One of my favorite verses says this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. The land of the living. That's here--that's now. There is goodness to be found this side of heaven. There is redeeming work being done every day, both big and small. You have your own handful of beautiful moments already, I'm sure. You also have your share of pain. Take heart. The beauty that comes from brokenness is not wasted. But you get to choose what you do with it.

Beauty bought with pain. May you find the courage today--it's worth it.

naked and unashamed.

Some people really don't like nakedness. Some people do. I have always been indifferent to it. As a child, I had quite a few health problems. Being in and out of hospitals and doctors appointments were synonymous with being unclothed. There really wasn't much of an option there, and so I learned to be unashamed in my nakedness.

And I think that is always the way I operated with others--physically, emotionally. There were some things that were out of my control, and so I learned to be OK with showing others my proverbial naked parts. I could talk quite eloquently about my problems, about my pain. I was open in who I was because I figured at least then I had some control over how others perceived me. I could dim the lights on my nakedness, hide the parts that I wasn't so proud of, soften the edges and angle my heart so that what was reflected was that which I had carefully constructed for others to see--and nothing more.

In short, I faked nakedness.

I figured that sharing my scars, being willing to show them up front and warn people of them beforehand was equivalent of the same vulnerability that comes with nakedness. I thought that if I could just tell people who I was--negative aspects and all--I could achieve the intimacy I wanted. That I could explain away my issues and perhaps fool them into thinking about me in the way that I needed them to. I wanted to be naked and unashamed, but really I was neither of those things.

I didn't even know how to be naked, and I was constantly ashamed.

And I was afraid. Aren't we all? Aren't we all terrified that we aren't good enough? Normal enough? Unique enough? And so we hide in our nakedness. We do it in lots of ways and convince ourselves that we aren't. We think that if we are exposed, we will be rejected.

And there is some truth to that. Not everyone is worthy of our nakedness. Not everyone is to be trusted. But that doesn't define our worthiness, our beauty despite our shame. True vulnerability comes when we are able to accept ourselves as we are. There are people who help us with that, who help us to see that our shame is uncalled for and that it is OK to be naked. But ultimately, it is up to us. We have to learn to love ourselves with grace and kindness, we have to learn to be naked and unashamed with ourselves. 

If you are like me, you may have entered a season where you don't really have much of a choice. You may be tired, broken down, and unable to hide it as well as you did before. You may find yourself completely bare--scrambling to cover yourself up and ashamed by your nakedness. You may feel painfully vulnerable. My advice--embrace it.

Be naked.

And learn to be unashamed. Love yourself, your good and bad parts, because they make up who you are. Be compassionate towards yourself in the same way you would to those around you. Recognize that it is within our nature to be imperfect--we were born that way and will be that way until we die. Don't rush to clothe yourself or try to cover up your shame. It's OK to be naked. It's not anything that everyone hasn't seen before. You aren't alone.

Naked and unashamed.

the bees have it.

My backyard has an alarming amount of bee activity. Whenever I am reading a book or trying to enjoy a meal on my porch, those bees are determined to ruin my experience. I used to think that they were vindictive--out to get me for mowing down their pollinated flowers. And really, their persistence has no bounds. I will be sitting INSIDE my house, and hear those gigantic bumble bees thumping up against the window...over and over again.

This is always rather amusing to me. Observing from the safety of my kitchen table, I will see the same exact bee flying directly into the window pane without ceasing or much regard for bodily harm. Either they are incredibly resilient or increasingly dumb. What are their motives? Can they see me? Do they just have no better sense of direction? Do they enjoy the pain?

And then it hit me--I am not much different than those bees. Human behavior seems to have a tendency to fall back on what is the most comfortable and the most safe--the most predictable, really. For me, depression has always been a constant. I know what to expect from my depression--what to expect from myself. I know who I am in the midst of pain, and I know how to handle it. I define myself within this space, and readily RUN smashing back into it as soon as I become afraid. I know to expect hardship and sadness. I know how to harden my heart in anticipation of disappointment.

I don't know what to do with joy and vulnerability and hope.

And so, I am very much like those bees. And while I think that I am protecting myself by running back to the safety of the wall, I'm failing to see the bigger picture--the picture that my friends are able to see and point out to me. I am so concentrated on running to what is familiar--the pain, the depression, the Sarah that is her problems, that I fail to see the destructiveness of my actions. I am so focused on being safe, on guarding my heart from being hurt, that I miss out on the joy of the moment. I am trying so hard to brace myself for the worst to happen, that I forget the possibility of hope and goodness.

In an attempt to be comfortable and safe, I embrace the discomfort of pain as reality.

The thing is, those bees have a whole backyard to explore. They have a whole world to get to flying to. They have chosen a reality (unfortunately the reality of death by house siding) because they can't see the bigger picture. They run into that wall over and over and over because they won't chance trying something new. They refuse to consider other options. And so they are smashed to pieces--slowly, bit by bit, until they can no longer fly at all.

I don't want to ruin my chance at flight. I don't want to be like those bees. I want to live out of hope and anticipation of joy, not depression. I want to start believing in my ability to fly, to expand my borders to a larger area than just my backyard. I want to choose to acknowledge my own goodness because that is what is real- that is who I really am. My behavior, my all too often decision to run into the same wall over and over--that's not me. That's my choice. And it's a bad one at that.

Next time you find yourself going back to the same negative thought, pattern of relating, or general life choice, remember--you can change your flight. You can head in a different direction.

Cultivate hope simply because there is hope to be found. Within your world, within the people around you, and most of all within yourself. You are worth your set of wings--don't destroy them just yet.

the absence of fear.

Lately, I have been thinking a great deal about fear. What it is, how it affects me. What impact it has on my life. Fear is everywhere. I used to think that because I was so afraid, it meant that I was weak. That there was something wrong with me because so much scared me, because I lacked courage at times, because I ran away from situations when they got hard. My fear ate away at my soul because I thought it was an indicator of my worth. 

 I have known some truly courageous people in my life. Some people who have beaten the odds, who have ran forward when others told them to stay back. People who have put their whole hearts into overcoming fear, who have refused to give up even when it seemed the dark would eventually win. These people know what it means to struggle well. They look at their obstacles as opportunities, and don't listen to the voices that bring discouragement. 

I used to think that these people didn't experience as fear as much as I did. That it was there, but it was something they could push aside because they knew they would succeed. Something that was an afterthought, an emotion that was easily conquerable. 

Here's the thing. That which brings us the most joy, the most fulfillment, the greatest success? They are the victories that almost always began with fear and a dream. 

And chances are, they didn't work out the first time. They may not have even worked out the second or third time. They were most likely frowned upon by others, most likely not rational or realistic from the start. They may have had to be modified as time went by, pruned in the same way you would a plant to make it grow. The process would have been messy, unpredictable, and certainly not glamorous. 

And almost always, there would have been fear.

Nelson Mandela said the following:

I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.

I have come to realize that if I want to effect change I am going to have to be courageous. I'm going to have to be willing to fail, willing to upset people, willing to not try and convince people I'm perfect. I'm going to have to embrace the feeling of fear, to welcome it as knowledge that I am doing something right. 

Courage doesn't come easily. It's not something you have or you don't. It's something you practice, that you gain little by little as you face daily challenges. It's a decision to commit to something you believe in, to run after the beautiful things that have been forgotten. It's the choice to be different in order to make a difference. It's hope in the most practical form. 

This year, I want to practice courage. I want to feel the fear and do it anyway. I want to fail big, to know that I didn't go down without a fight. I want to remember that there are things worth being courageous for, that the fear is an indicator of value--not weakness. 

Courage is not the absence of fear. Thank goodness for that. 

Dying to yourself.

As Christians, we have these really funny phrases we like to use often, with a great amount of certainty as to what they mean. We throw them around here and there, convinced that they help us to lead a holier life. Looking at those around us, we painstakingly attempt to mirror the performances of those we believe have somehow perfected perfectionism--hoping to catch a bit of the goodness that they so effortlessly seem to radiate. We push and prod and change ourselves until we are no longer sure who it is the person we are trying to become. We are certainly reflecting something, but I'm not sure its the someone that ironically founded the process in the first place. More often than not, we trade who we are for who we think we are supposed to be, and our souls are less beautiful because of it.

One such phrase I have been thinking about this week is "dying to yourself." A good friend of mine prompted  me to reflect on this idea, asking what I felt it really meant or even looked like. There was of course, a very typical Christian answer that popped into my head, one that I'm sure most people would be apt to respond with. However, as I have been working to achieve my degree in psychology and counseling, my thoughts have slowly been changing on this subject.

I think sometimes I like to get caught up in my "badness". To an extent, I think this is often what we are taught through our communities. We are reminded to show ourselves grace, but not too much. To love ourselves, but to not be selfish. To be whole and healthy, but to put others before ourselves. I don't know about you, but sometimes it seems like these messages don't exactly go together. Even worse, it is incredibly easy to be shamed into thinking that we aren't doing enough, giving enough, or just plain being enough as we are. We claim our depravity but not the goodness that comes with redemption. We convince ourselves that our value comes from what we are doing and not from who we are, because deep down, we feel that we are not enough. Take away our successes, our deeds, our acts of kindness, and what is left? We are so afraid to go there that we do everything in our power to prevent having to sit alone with what we perceive to be our inadequate selves.

Tim Keller, one of my absolute favorite pastors, said the following in regards to repentance and grace:

"A discovery of your sin and weakness is going to lead you to despair. In other words, repentance leads to despair if you don't understand the gospel, and repentance leads to joy and love and a birth of energy and growth if you do...because repentance leads you to a greater appreciation and thrill at what Jesus has done for us...[so] on what basis do you believe God loves you?"

Here's the reality--we are enough. Because of God's grace, because of God's love, and because of His hope, we are more than enough. He doesn't want our deeds--He doesn't need them. He wants our heart. My thoughts then, on dying to yourself, is that it really means to live into grace. To abandon your performances. To love who you are in this moment, to appreciate the value that God has place on your life before you did anything to deserve it. Because that is what is worth believing, that is the gospel that we were meant to operate from. And the truth of it is, we won't be able to love others well until we can fully rest in this fact. Our work will become exhausting, or hearts will be hardened, and we will always, always come up short.

Dying to yourself is to grab hold of life--to hold fast to the honest reality that you are loved exactly as you are  without the things you cling to in order to justify your existence. Love yourself well because you are supposed to--don't discount the grace that was painfully wrought on your behalf. You were made to be rejoiced over. I hope that sinks into your soul today.

Emily de la bronx.

I'm from the Bronx...WOOF.

This is what Emily does when she gets hit on by men she doesn't like. Just kidding, she has never once done this, but we always joke that it would be funny if she did. It's really actually ironic, because Emily is one of the sweetest, kindest, most genuine people you will ever meet. She would never be this aggressive towards anyone, although she has had to learn quite a few tricks to keep the men away because she is straight up BEAUTIFUL.

She is one of my best friends, and I feel beyond privileged to dedicate this post to her.

Emily has to be one of the most interesting people in my life. Born and raised in the Bronx with an affinity for cooking, she brings more than the flavor of NYC and her Puerto Rican roots to the table. Her willingness to invite me into her community and her patience with my white person ways has truly turned my world upside down. She has taught me to listen with great care and humility, gently reminding me that we all have a story worth sharing. Never once has she judged me, never once has she hesitated to walk with me through a difficult season. Her love has always been open and true, allowing me the freedom to be who I am, where I am--with no expectations of perfection.

I think one of the things I love most about Em is her earnest desire to know me and my life. We have been friends for over five years (isn't that crazy, Em?!) and neither distance nor time has managed to diminish  the strength of our friendship. I know that no matter if a week or two months go by, we will always pick up right where we left off. We are constantly learning from one another, and I never walk away from a conversation without feeling encouraged. She makes people feel comfortable, and from that, I think they feel known.  They can be silly or serious--she loves and accepts it all.

As I mentioned before, Emily is most certainly a pretty girl. But more than this, I can honestly say she has one of the most beautiful hearts of anybody I have ever met. And I can say this because my own heart has been enveloped by hers. If love is indeed an action, Emily has already mastered its aim. Just by being who she is I feel loved, and I could never replace or replicate the impact she has had upon my journey. She is real, she is honest, and I am far better for having known her. Though she will often tell you she is shy, her readiness to make friends often discounts this--I really don't think you will ever meet a person that doesn't like her. She is warm in her spirit and authentic in her manner, and I know this will never change.

She is Emily de la bronx, and we will always be tethered at the heart.

To be attached.

I used to dislike babies. It's true. I never knew how to handle their vulnerability, their affection. I always felt really awkward and incompetent around them. They spit up, they pooped, and were perpetually sticky. I'm not an evil person, I just lacked maternal instincts at the time. The uncertainty of their movement paired with the fear of dropping them on their head was enough to keep me away from babysitting all together.

Over the years, this has changed considerably. I think working in the multiple disabilities classroom had something to do with it. My comfort level with those who could not care for themselves was tested quicker than I would have liked, and I was forced to be nurturing with absolutely no practice whatsoever. This provided some hilarious, albeit frustrating moments. I am forever thankful to the students of that classroom, for the grace that they showed me on the most difficult days, for their patience. The unwavering trust they placed in me was always surprising, and little by little they managed to bring out my soft side. It was there I learned the value of attachment, the need that we as humans have to depend on one another. 

Before this time, it was hard for me to be attached. I didn't want to have to be close to anyone, to require help. I wanted to be self-sufficient, strong and able to take care of myself. But here's the thing--attachment is a need that we all have, it's like water to survive. You can not separate love from being human, being alive from relationship. They go hand in hand. If we want to experience happiness and light and hope, we are going to have to be willing to deal with uncertainty, sadness, and failure. 

There is a quote that says, "the deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain". And I have found this to be true. If I wanted, I could avoid people all together. I could be alone, I could be safe.

I would be increasingly unhappy. 

The relationships I had with my kids in the MD classroom were tough, messy, and undeniably draining. And yet, looking back on my moments with them, I realize they were some of the most fulfilling ones. We fought for life together. We trusted each other because we had to, and we learned to  co-exist despite our lacking qualities. We were attached.

Because they often could not move by themselves, I moved for them. I knew when they were hungry, when they were in pain, when they were bored. I knew exactly what their cries stood for, their funny noises. I knew when they didn't like people, and when they liked people too much. I learned to be an extension of who they were, to act on their behalf. And (for better or worse) they had to depend on me to know them. 

Isn't this what attachment is all about? Being known and knowing, no matter what is brought to the surface? Because I can tell you, they saw the side of me that I am not always proud of. They saw my lack of patience, my selfishness at times. Yet they remained steadfast in their affection, equally joyful to see me no matter the circumstances of the day before. Our love was blind to flaws--we cared for one another because we were human, because we saw inherent value despite what the world said about our ability to be successful. 

To be attached is to be vulnerable. It is not safe, and a positive outcome is not always guaranteed. It takes active courage, constant reminders that we will be let down by those we love. It takes sacrifice. But if we can push past the fear, I am convinced that we will be rewarded with the richest of loves. 

By the way...I like babies now. 

f*ckin' problems.

OK. We have all heard it on the radio. Unless you only listen to K-LOVE...in which case the title of this post may be offensive to you. But if you are a regular listener of today's hit stations it is most likely you have become familiar with the song "F*ckin' Problems." It's not necessarily the most morally uplifting musical masterpiece butttt....

Let me tell you something.

I LOVE this song.

Like, I really love it. I don't know if it's that the majority of the hook is bleeped out, leaving the avid listener to question whether 2 CHAINZ actually has tourettes OR Drake's misplaced reference to the Lord mid-song that gets me most. Either way, I am sold. I blast that beat in the buick like I'M the one with the f*ckin problems.

And you know what, I think that's the reason I (albeit unhealthily) play it on repeat these days. A$AP Rocky has a point. We all got f*cking problems. And while some may shy away from admitting it so blatantly, this song does not. With bold and rebellious authenticity the truth is declared--YEAH, I got a f*cking problem.

No apologies.

No shame.

I don't know about you, but I work pretty hard to be perfect. Or to at least to give the appearance of being perfect. Hell, on most days, I would settle for just being good. I want to be the first draft when it comes to the dodge ball game of life. I want to be accepted. I want to do everything right the first time, to be so excellent that I never need help, to fall asleep resting in the fact that my life has no f*cking problems.

But above all, I think I want to believe that there are no problems in me. I'm tired of wrestling with anxiety and depression. I'm tired of broken relationships, daily reminders that there is no love without pain. I'm tired of failing. I'm tired of trying really really hard and coming up short.

This thing that we call life is a crap shoot sometimes. We want so badly to experience heaven here on earth, and sometimes it seems so far out of reach. We try our best to hide it--to go on and pretend that we can achieve perfection. We convince ourselves that it is a crime if we arrive at anything less than our very best. We beat ourselves up for not being what we feel we should be by this point in our lives.

Until one day you wake up and realize with mild surprise and a great amount of certainty...you got f*cking problems.

And it's kind of a relief. The tension between the real self and ideal self is abruptly broken and we are all the better for it.

I don't think that I particularly have a lot in common with Drake or Kendrick Lamar. I maybe have even less in common with 2 Chainz and A$AP Rocky. But one thing is certain--we both have f*cking problems. The difference in who I was before this song and after is that I am much more apt to claim it now.

It's OK to have problems. It's OK. The sooner you accept that about yourself, the sooner you will be on your way to wholeness. You can't fix what you don't believe or acknowledge to be broken.

Part of life is the peace that comes from realizing things will never be exactly the way we want them to be, or how we think they should be--or how we think we should be. It is from this point that we can feel the freedom to believe that our value does not come from how perfect we are. Our value is the same whether we are drafted first or not.

And the beauty of it all is that there is hope. No matter how bad we feel we are or how effed up we find ourselves to be, there is always hope. That is part of who God is--who God made you to be. He knows we have f*cking problems. And you know what, it doesn't surprise Him. It doesn't make Him give up on you, and it certainly doesn't make Him stop loving you. And I think he even rejoices a little bit when you figure it out, because it allows His grace to do the work it was meant to do.

So today, say it loud and proud: YOU HAVE F*CKING PROBLEMS. Own it. Be OK with it. Understand that it doesn't make you less beautiful, only really human. Treat yourself with kindness, allowing your heart to move into a more gracious and undefined space.

Embrace the problems and believe the hope.

You can thank A$AP and Jesus for that.