obstacles and opportunities.

My mom was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer two years ago. There have been many uncertainties during this time, but only one thing has stayed consistent--my mom is alive. Despite everything, despite the statistics, the questioning, the status of her health--she is still with us. Still breathing, still encouraging. Still fighting for her life.

None of us have the answers. We don't know what's ahead of us, what there is to come. But my mom has hope. She has faith. She has not given up, not thrown her hands in the air in despair. She has accepted the challenge in front of her and resolved herself to surviving, and because of this, she is alive.

I've been thinking a lot about obstacles and opportunities, what it means to step up to the plate and take responsibility for what's been placed before us. Our time on earth can be so daunting, and at times it takes everything we have to uncover our eyes and ears to see and feel all the pieces of life--full of chaos and frenzied brilliance. I often find myself running away from the weight of all that is mine to carry, mine to fulfill. For some reason I thought that most people ran towards the option  of more--more power, more control, more recognition. But as I look back on my nearly 28 years, I have found that at every chance I had, I hid.

We tend to look at people in leadership positions and think that they always wanted to be there. That they fought for that promotion, carefully planned out their rise to success. Recently, one of my bosses reminded me that in history, God rarely chose men and women who wanted to be leaders--more often than not, those chosen resisted a great deal. They were too weak or too old or too disabled or too poor, they pleaded with God to pick anyone else. Now, I always knew that God chose the humble, the least likely to succeed. He chose those from whom his power could be displayed, and the idea was that their shortcomings demonstrated his grace and mercy, his ability to change the game from hopeless to eternally hopeful. And this was true--Moses had a stutter, Abraham and Sarah were old, many of his disciples were fishermen. Jesus loved the lowly.

But.

The lowly were not always excited to be chosen. They didn't want the perks that came with leadership, because the risk was too great, because they were afraid they would fail. Because it hurt, to carry people along with them, it hurt caring for the cause of the oppressed, for those stuck in slavery. It was uncomfortable and inconvenient and uncertain and couldn't God just find someone else?

He could.

But he chose them.

So.

I'm trying to stop fighting against who God is calling me to be. And while I may not know how or when or where I do know who. And the responsibility is heavy. But as much as I may feel it, I'm not carrying it alone.

I'm not walking alone.

Though there may be times I look ahead and behind and see nothing but desert and emptiness--

I have not been abandoned.

And  I take great comfort in this. I take comfort that though there will be times I am physically by myself, that impossible decisions have to be made, decisions that involve lives that hang in the balance--I am still not alone.

God is with me.

In one of his sermons, Tim Keller talks about how the hero of a story never wants to own up to the responsibility of his destiny--the kingship, the rescuer, whatever. As a whole, we are afraid.

And he goes on to say, Jesus himself was afraid. He begged God to let him skip out on the cross. He sweat blood, real actual, stress induced blood. The responsibility of what was ahead of him caused him to be under such extreme duress that his physical body reacted.

But he went.

And we too, must go.

We must remember that though the weight is heavy and the risk is high, our call remains the same. 

Stand up a little straighter.

Look up a little farther.

And see the promise of heaven shining on the other side.

The promise of hope.

You may have to cross the desert.

But you will never walk alone.

Because:

"The one who has called you is faithful,
and he himself will do it."

1 Thessalonians 5:24

the companion of pain.

Pain has a way of repeating itself, though the circumstances often change. I had a good friend once tell me that I gravitate towards depression, that I enjoy it in some way. At the time I was offended, confused even. Why would someone choose to be depressed? Why would I want to feel this way? 

As I got older, I came to understand what he meant. The depression wasn't willfully brought on, but I certainly felt a natural pull towards it, a need for it its familiar borders. My life has been sorrow after sorrow, grief upon grief. It's been the constant of my soul, this settling into pain. Like an old companion that comes up to greet me, all the politeness faded away from years of friendship. And I welcome it in, with little fanfare and no surprise, because I have always known suffering as intimately as I know myself. 

I think this openness to pain has been helpful in my field. Hurting people are everywhere, and mostly they want the affliction to stop. I find it interesting that so often, our suffering is a reflection of the state of our being, of the core of who we are. This is not to say that we are our suffering, just that it serves as a mirror for what lies beneath the surface. And because of this, we often suffer the same thing twice, though it may look different from the outside.

Suffering, then, is rather circular. 

I am learning that so much of the pain I have experienced in life goes back to the same source--back to my fear of abandonment, back to my feelings of shame and vulnerability. The people may change, the setting may evolve, but the suffering stays the same.

None of us are free from ourselves, as much as we may try to deny it. We are our own prisons, and we keep the lock and key just out of reach because avoidance is so much easier. Because trying to fix it from the outside is so much easier, because we want to believe that it is not us who are broken.

But I am broken.

And this attraction towards pain, this tug towards the well-traveled path of desolation? Well.

Maybe it's just a call for healing. 

So often, I look outside of myself to fix what is wrong.

I ask myself questions that reflect my powerlessness, because the truth is I have given my power away. I have let myself fall into patterns of depression and worry and fear because these things are familiar to me. They make sense, they let me know how to survive. 

They tell me what I want to hear--about myself, about what to expect from others. 

What a defeating game we play, this circular suffering. It can feel like we are moving backwards, or like we haven't moved at all. It spins us around and confuses us, it leaves us in the dark.

And sometimes, we convince ourselves that we have just enough light to see. 

But.

Suffering can only steal what we let it. 

And the pain of life is the promise of hope waiting to happen.

I want to live out of the promise. 

These wounds, these scars that keep opening back up over and over again are just a sign that I haven't cleaned the wound out properly. They are telling me that there's something I'm missing, that there's a place I'm avoiding and covering up. And I don't want to circle around to this place again anymore--I don't want to live haunted by the sorrow of a shadowed life.

Suffering, then, is just the pathway to peace. 

When I turn around to look into the face of that which I have been so careful evading, I am forced to come to an understanding of myself--I am made to tenderly examine my hurting places, I am allowed to be broken and that brokenness is allowed to heal.  

I spend so much time convincing myself that depression is a part of life, but comfort is not. 

That I don't deserve the healing, but that I am deserving of the pain.

Life hurts.

But I do not need to hurt myself to go on living. 

My suffering does not have to be circular. It can be linear, growing and changing as I learn to accept and care for myself. As I learn to speak softly to my broken pieces, as I learn to let others love me well.

Do you believe it? 

Can you perceive it? 

That you are worthy of healing, of compassion and grace? 

You have permission to be broken.

And you have permission to heal. 

So let yourself go.

The freedom that was bought for you was made for such a time as this. 

Soak it in. 

Let it fill you up.

Pain will always be apart of life. 

But so will grace.

So will love.

And I want my sorrow to reflect the great hope that swells within me--

rippling ou, bringing the dead to life once again. 

Resolutions and rubber bands.

"The dark does not destroy the light; it defines it. It's our fear of the dark that casts our joy into the shadows" Brene Brown

2016 stole more from me that I intended it to--in little ways at first, and then all at once. It was a year of loss, a year of struggle, and a year of troubled chaos. I was in crisis for most of it, sometimes as a result of circumstances, and sometimes, as a result of me.

Every year has the potential to bring us down. I can think of a handful of ways I almost let life destroy me this year. I stumbled through it, stricken and blinded by the confusion, desperately seeking a way out. At times, I didn't think I would make it. I learned that when I am hit hard, I don't hit back. I crumble. I start to disappear, and I get sucked under. 

Have you ever felt your brain slipping away from you? It's an unsettling experience, drifting farther and farther from your own soul. You try to grasp hold of anything, everything. But your hands just miss the strands of wholeness that would ground you to yourself, and you watch in horror as it all floats away. 

You turn up empty handed, when you were trying to hold on to so much. 

What I am finding is that life, yours and everyone else's, is like a rubber band. You are stretched and stretched and stretched, and as you expand you're just trying to hold everything in. But the thing about elastic is that once it's stretched, it never goes back to it's original shape, and you are bound to lose some things in the process.

You think you are going to snap, being stretched like that. And you think all the important things are going to fall out, fall away forever and ever, and never come back. So you keep shoving more things in, trying to fill the space but also trying to hold yourself together. 

And this is life:

Stretching and filling.

Fearing and falling. 

The thing about rubber bands is that if you stretch them too far, they pop.

And if you don't fill them enough, everything falls out.

So you have to find a balance, and you have to be wise about it. 

This year, I let way too many things in that filled space in an unhealthy manner.

Stress. Worry. Chaos.

Fear.

And I let too many things drop out that would have kept me together.

Love. Hope. Joy.

Grace. 

My rubber band teetered between popping an collapsing,

and I was not better for it.

Because I was not careful enough about what I let in.

So.

In the spirit of the new year, I am not going to make new years resolutions in the traditional sense.

I'm not going to decide what I'm going to do.

I'm going to decide what I'm not going to do.

Because this year, I made a mess out what was already messy.

I made everything more confusing, more stressful, more toxic. 

I want to let go of the things that drove me into darkness. 

You see, I didn't have much control this year over the things that happened to me, and sometimes they felt like a cruel, cosmic joke. But. I did have control over how I reacted to them, how I chose to acknowledge and clean up the mess, how I decided to move forward.

Over what I decided to add and what I decided to take away.

I don't want to walk into a storm and stir the waters.

I want to calm the sea. 

I want peace. 

I want my rubber band to expand in great expectation, and to hold what's good and right and pure.

Because once my rubber band is stretched, I get to choose what to let go of, and what to keep. 

I get to decide what I'm going to let push me, 

and what gets pushed out.

So.

Rubber band your life. Let yourself  be stretched and pulled and pushed towards growth.

But don't fill the space with what doesn't need to be there.

And when you are ready, get rid of what's heavy.

What may cause you to pop.

Because when there's enough space for more, it might as well be what's going to fill you up.

What's going to light you up, from the inside out.

What's going to make you whole. 

Stretch, grow.

Let things fall out. 

And then do it all again.

Except, this time, differently.

This time, with unwavering peace.

We already know you can make it. 

So this year, make it good.

sunshine and social commodity.

This week, Chris Martin from Coldplay visited the Bowery Mission. In case you don't know, the Bowery is a shelter as well as a transformational program for men and women to move out of homelessness. There's so much I could write about what happened, but truly my favorite part was just the simple humanity of it all.

The Bowery Mission is the great equalizer of life.

I have the honor of working with all sorts of people, from all walks of life. Believe it or not, there is not a type for those experiencing homelessness. It can affect anybody, at any time. And when someone like Chris Martin walks through the door, this doesn't shift. People remain who they are, where they are.

But there's an exchange that takes place when people gather in this manner, a collaboration of spirits that cannot be labeled by fame or power. There is no helper and helped, there is no us and them.

It's just love, given and received without a price.

The only expectation is that you bring yourself, as you are.

You see, when Chris came, he brought with him everything he was, in as simple a way as possible. But because of who he was, with his music and his words and his connection to the world, he brought many people joy.

And the people in the community, those experiencing homelessness, they brought everything they were, in as simple a way as possible. They brought their history and their hard earned wisdom, their faith and their hope.

And they brought Chris Martin joy.

They each had social commodity that they could sell but they chose to lend it instead.

In a world where people are trying to get ahead and money rules the market, we forget that some of the most influential moments in life happen because someone decided to lend out their social commodity.

Someone decided to share the gift of connection, and it didn't matter if that person was more or less, what mattered is that they became equal.

Equal in compassion, equal in friendship.

Equal in joy.

I think sometimes we become fearful of connection, either because we feel we have nothing to give or because we don't want to spend everything we have. We don't want to lose our commodity, we don't want to come up broke.

But the truth is that the more you spend the more you receive. This is the oldest wisdom in the book. It doesn't matter how much money you have, or how many people you know--if you are alone, you are broke.

And if you hoard your social commodity, it will turn up tarnished and rusty and diminished in its beauty.

Our lives are richer when we share what we have, whatever it is. It's hard and it can be uncomfortable and it may even be out of our usual routine.

But when we do, it can change everything.

It can take people coming from an experience of homelessness and place them next to one of the most influential and well-known musicians in the world.

And it can take one of the most influential and well-known musicians in the world and put them right in the middle of a shelter.

And this moment, it doesn't matter if you are from the hills or the valleys, we are all on level plane.

The same sun shining out of our souls.

And this is what it means to be alive.

This is what brings us meaning and purpose and....

Joy.

Our worlds get a little brighter.

And a little bigger.

And our hearts do the same.

So.

In this new year, if you have a chance to spread your social commodity only a bit farther...

Just do it.

You won't regret it.

And I think you'll find that the more you give the more you can receive.

Add a little more value to the world.

We need your sunshine yet.

suffering and common denominators.

Life is mostly pain, and what you decide to do with it. There are some other things mixed in too, love...sometimes hope. But mostly, we suffer. It's the great common denominator of life.

Suffering.

You may not experience it as strongly or intensely as the next person, but it's there. I don't know what form your pain takes or how exactly it impacts you, it's different for everyone. Pain is personal like that. I remember my first supervisor telling me that you can't measure people's pain, that it can't be quantified because what's painful for you may not be as painful for him or her or them. But it's theirs nonetheless, and it weighs just as heavily as yours, even if you don't understand it.

Someone recently asked me why there is suffering in the world. The question was really a round about statement, laced with bitterness and a sense of "what's the point". And truly, this is a question for the ages. We have all sat, numb and listless, staring into the vast, emptiness of sorrow wondering how in the hell we ended up here. Wondering, if life was really worth it after all.

After all the let downs.

After all the injustice.

After all the sickness.

After all the death.

Is it still worthwhile?

Still possible to maintain?

Still meaningful? 

Can we endure the suffering and reach for hope, no matter how excruciating it may be?

I think this is the question.

For some people, their heartbreak will always be there.

There are some wounds this side of heaven that will never be whole.

But there is also infinite joy.

Not necessarily happiness, because we all know happiness is fleeting. But a deep sense of pride, an experience of unbridled joy that comes in the form of emotion, gift wrapped in moments that can never be taken away. This is the gold of life, sacred and priceless and nonexchangeable.

And if you think about it, our days are sort of like an equation. Things get added and things get taken away, and we are just trying to make it to a hundred percent. But what if a perfect score was not the goal? What if it didn't matter what the answer was, as long as it wasn't zero?

Here's the truth.

Life will make subtractions, big and small and anywhere in-between. And that's OK. Suffering is a part of life. I'm not sure that there is an answer for why suffering is that would satisfy my weary heart and erase the aftermath of pure, unfiltered pain. Pain may not have an answer, but it does ask a question:

What are you going to do about it?

Because the only thing to really do is to keep adding more to your life.

More joy, more hope, more love, more laughter. So that when subtractions come knocking on our door, our reserve is ready and in place and able to keep us afloat. It is far too easy to let our numbers slip into the negatives, to close ourselves off to the sweet, stickiness of life.

We are so afraid.

Afraid to add on more, because what if.

Let me tell you, that what if is never going to go away. Life will always be scary, messy, vulnerable in every possible way.

But we cannot give up.

We cannot let darkness win!!!

Numbers are INFINITE.

They can go on forever and ever, as long as we keep adding more to our equation.

Which means that even if you enter into the negatives, it's OK because there's always a way to go up from there. Keep holding on--it takes as long as it takes and will come to you when you're ready.

But the only real way to lose is if we stop living all together.

If we stop feeling.

Tempting though it may be, it is not the answer.

So, can you manage the pain?

Can you bear it enough to push your way through it?

Some days it will be easier than others.

It's not a contest.

And remember, it's personal.

But you can do it.

You can get through this.

It may be more painful than you could ever imagine.

And you may be burdened beyond recognition.

But your purpose is infinite. 

And your suffering matters.

So let it matter for good.

Let it change you, grow you into a person that appreciates more, settles for less.

Just don't let it harden you.

C.S. Lewis once said, "The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell."

Don't create your own personal hell. 

That's the devil's job.

Don't beat him to it.

Let your pain have purpose.

Stop trying so hard to avoid it.

Go through it.

You aren't alone.

Pain is the common denominator.

And you don't have to solve for x!

Because the answer is yours, and yours alone.

But not yours alone to carry.

So go on.

Head towards infinity. 

I pray that hope will meet you there.

And that one day, you can add it on to someone else's equation. 

magic and privileged spaces.

I like to observe people. Many refer to this activity as people watching, but for me it's deeper than that. I think what I like most about seeing people interact (or not interact) is the effect that one person can have on so many. I'm always struck by those individuals who seem to light up a room, who can make everyone around them feel special in one way or another--who know how to engage in an almost magical way. I say magic because honestly it can look like a spell is being cast on the crowd. Whatever this person is made of is unique and specific to him or her, but almost always people remember the way that person made them feel.

What I like most about connectors (that's what I call them) is that they don't have to be loud or gregarious or quintessentially cool. The thing that draws others to them is that they are completely themselves. People aren't always used to that I don't think--this ability to let social norms go and just be comfortable despite how those around you are conforming. It's particularly hard to do when an environment is toxic or not conducive to growth. To stand up and stand out when so much is trying to tear you down is no easy feat, but I've seen people do it so beautifully.

I think that sometimes we believe we don't have the ability to enact change unless we are in a position of power, but this is simply not true. One of my absolute favorite people in the world is an employee of the Greyhound bus services. Every time I head home, he is checking the tickets and luggage of the typical, weary New York  traveler. We are not a always pleasant bunch, worn and rugged from the constant bustle of the city and tending towards a healthy dose of cynicism. But this guy--he is relentlessly positive. He is not particularly noticeable at first, there's nothing necessarily striking in his features. He is quiet, very humble in his presentation and incredibly polite. But here's the thing--he notices everyone. I mean this guy takes the time out to talk to every single passenger, even if it's just for a moment, even if it's just a simple hello. He genuinely cares about the people he is encountering and the people can feel it. For me, he has become the comfort in going home, sending me off with a warm smile and caring hand. He doesn't know my name and I don't know his, but I can honestly say I have been changed by knowing him.

When you get to experience this type of person in this type of place, it is a little oasis in the difficult terrain that is everyday life. I call these people and these places privileged spaces. In counseling we refer to the relationship between the client and therapist as privileged and confidential, meaning that the client is coming into a space in which she can feel completely free to be herself--no judgment, no fear of condemnation, and no relational danger. The space is safe, and because of this, the client has room to heal.

I think that when people have the ability to make other people feel safe and warm and welcome, they are creating an every day privileged space. For just a moment they are letting others know that it's OK to come as they are, it's OK to be where they're at. They are changing the nature of the environment completely, changing the terrain.

Here's the thing--connection is a team sport, but it's made up of many players, and we've all seen how one player can change the game. In the smallest way, in the tiniest moment, the game can be won.

I want to be a game changer.

I want to be a connector.

I want my life to reflect the sacred ground of the privileged spaces.

Because life can be cruel and rocky and full of pitfalls.

And we are not alone.

We have people around us, whether we like it or not.

We hold the magic.

So, are you using it?

Are you sharing it?

Are you taking the time to reflect the good inside of you despite what terrain you are in?

I'm trying, person by person.

It doesn't take much.

Be thoughtful.

Be purposeful.

And most importantly, be yourself.

Look for the privileged spaces.

Thank those who have gone before you,

and then live it out yourself.

free to create, creating freely.

There are days I wish I didn't exist. Don't get me wrong, I place a high value on life and consider it to be an extraordinary gift. And yet, this knowledge does not take away from the fact that we are often asked to bear things that we simply cannot, so much so that we sometimes reconsider living. Call it depression or call it suppression--either way, we shove the feelings down and grimly wade our way through the muddy waters of another day.

I think for me, I've always experienced things so strongly, so acutely. I can't bear to feel the sting of loneliness or insecurity. I hate to see the vulnerability of others. It's not that I lack compassion. I just can't manage to sustain eye contact with the hurting places, the deep spaces that are dark and full of fear.

I worry if I go there, I won't be able to come back out.

Recently, I was asked what type of box I would place my fears in--what it would look like, feel like. How I would secure it and make sure those fears couldn't get out, how I would ensure my own safety. I realized my box would be clear. I would want to know at all times where exactly my fears were lurking. But the more I thought about how I would lock that box up, the more I came to the conclusion that it was not the fears I was afraid of.

It was myself.

That I couldn't trust myself.

Couldn't keep myself safe.

That I would maybe even let the fears get out and get to me.

Or that perhaps, I was the scariest thing in the room.

That my clear, safe box was actually a mirror.

And that my fears were simply a reflection of my worst self--

that I was afraid of my darkness.

my shadow.

You see, it is not the things outside of me that scare me most--it's what's inside, what's at the core. That I won't be able to stand up and stand out, that I won't be able to stay. That I will live in cowardice and crawl into the corners of my soul, wrapping myself in the trappings of insignificance so that I cannot be found to be a fraud.

So you see,

I am also afraid of my light.

I am afraid that I can't keep it going.

I am afraid that when all is said and done, the furious beating of my fragile heart will cease to exist all together.

It is a terrifying thing to live with the thought that you may not have lived at all.

So what do we do, when what we fear most is our own self destruction?

Because the only person that can stop us is ourselves--

And we are our own Achilles heels.

We know which pieces of us are tender and prone to bleeding.

We know our dark.

But we also know our light.

So what if we fought back with not who we see in the mirror, but who we have the potential to be?

What if we believed that we were strong and capable, though flawed and fragile?

What if we believed we could be afraid and still be strong?

What if we believed that it was OK to face our fears and fail?

Because the failure did not indicate a battle lost,

but a battle fought?

Before the war is won?

What if all of our little battles were leading up to something great, and the losses were just minor in the grand scheme of the overall victory?

Is it possible that we aren't really losing at all?

But that we are gaining just a little more light in the fight?

That even though the outcome was not what we hoped for that we still won something that can never be diminished? 

Here's what I'm learning: when we are free to create we create freely.

Our fear of ourselves tarnishes our gifts.

It makes us doubt ourselves and place ourselves inside of a box.

A box that beckons to us with seductive words of false security, a box that kills our dreams and leaves us safe but dead inside.

SO, who's stifling your soul these days?

Well?

Is it you?

Are you the one responsible?

Have you let fear win over creativity?

If so, it's time to GET OUTTA THAT BOX.

And go forth in battle--

for the war has yet to be won.