Sunday, June 23, 2013

Seeing beauty in the brokenness.

There's always some beauty even in the most broken of places, isn't there? In my opinion, New York City is one of the most beautiful places in the world, but it's also incredibly broken. You could be standing on the most dangerous and drug-ridden street in the city and also right next to a beautiful and one-of-a-kind piece of graffiti art, all at the same time. Beauty in brokenness. I've never been to a third world country (I will one day), but when I hear from people who have, I always here the same thing. Amidst so much poverty and pain, there is so much beauty. Beauty in the people, beauty in the culture, and beauty in the contentment they have with so little. Ironic isn't it?


I think the same goes for our hearts. There's always beauty to find in our own brokenness. I have a handful of friends who lend a listening ear when I need to process things. One of those friends is Miriam, and she always says to me... "Just BE. Let you're heart do what it needs to do. Don't rush the process." She's a smart lady and let me tell you, she's been through some STUFF. 

When my heart is in a broken place, my instinct is to push through the pain, to get frustrated with the way I'm feeling, or to try and fix whatever is wrong, as fast as I can. And those aren't necessarily bad responses all of the time but I think sometimes we just need to BE so that we don't ignore the beauty in the brokenness. 

May I keep my eyes open through the tears. 

May I keep my ears open to His voice. 

May I keep my heart open to His plan. 

And may I rely solely on God to make my heart whole like only He can.

Thursday, June 13, 2013

If we love them well, they'll never feel like a project.


I grew up in a single-parent household. My biological father was only around until I was about a year old and then he was gone. My mom raised my older brother Josh and me by herself. My mom was and still is (at the age of 60) an incredibly hard worker. When my brother and I were young she often worked two jobs just to make ends meet. She somehow seemed to always find a way to get us what we wanted for our birthdays or Christmas, and it wasn't easy because we were the bratty kids who wouldn't be happy with anything less than name brands. Our tastes were fancy, what can I say? I guess a "Sorry Mom" would be appropriate. We received help from the government for a little while because we needed it, but my mom never took advantage of that. As soon as she could make enough money to pay all the bills again, she stopped accepting the welfare. 

(Side note: back in the late 80's and early 90's, food stamps came in the form of paper that looked like actual dollar bills but they were different colors. That was kind of an exciting thing for an eight year old.)

When I was in third grade I was chosen to attend a summer camp. Only one kid from my whole elementary school was chosen to go and that kid was ME. What an honor, right? I had no idea why they had chosen me but I was stoked! And here's the thing... the camp was totally free. AND... before I left for camp someone was going to come pick me up to take me shopping for everything I would need at camp. Clothes, shoes, backpack, sleeping bag, personal hygiene items, flashlight, etc. What!? 

I remember being SO excited when the shopping day came. And then the day I went off to camp was even better! I spent a week swimming, playing games, making friends, and feeling loved. I can't remember the name of the camp but I've never forgotten the name of my counselor. Her name was Dana. Dana was great and she made my experience at camp so amazing. 

Here's why I'm sharing this story. Many years later I found out that the camp was for "underprivelaged kids". The elementary school gave the camp my name and one of the music teachers at the school sponsored me to go. But my little third-grader self had no idea. And that's a beautiful thing. 

I never once thought they felt sorry for me. I never felt under-privelaged. I never felt poor. I never felt like I was just someone's project. What I did feel was loved and cared for, in a safe environment. 

For the people in our lives who really are under-privelaged, poor, marginalized, or falling through the cracks of society, may they never feel like we're only helping because we feel sorry for them. 

If we love them WELL, they'll NEVER feel like a project. 

Is there anyone in your life who might feel like a project? How can you love them better?

Thanks for listening, friends. 


Wednesday, March 20, 2013

How vulnerable is too vulnerable?


Considering my last two blog titles have been in the form of questions I guess you could say I've been asking a lot of questions lately. I tend to be a 'question asker' by nature. It helps me learn and process. If you've ever met me you can probably confirm that I like to ask questions. Hopefully it's a good thing more than it is an annoying thing.

I've been in a season lately in which I feel a little extra vulnerable. A little more broken than usual. I mean we're all broken right? But some days the 'broken meter' seems to be higher than others. And when the broken meter is high, I struggle with this question... How vulnerable should I be? How much should I share? How much CAN I share without turning into a complainer? 

Here's one conclusion I've come to recently... I don't think we (as Christians) do a very good job at allowing each other to be vulnerable. Why? Because we don't ask. We don't dig. We only ask the easy questions. We just assume that everything is all good. At least sometimes I do. Can you relate? 

When was the last time you asked a friend how their weight loss journey was going? 

When was the last time you asked a friend how their marriage was going? 

When was the last time you asked a friend in a dating relationship how they were handling the "physical stuff"? 

When was the last time you asked a friend what they're passionate about? What keeps them up at night? 

When was the last time you asked a friend who just adopted how they were feeling? 

I know these are hard questions to ask (and maybe even to answer) but if we want the people in our lives to be vulnerable with us, and us with them, then we have to ASK. And if you find the courage to ask, brace yourself. Because the friend who you thought had a perfect marriage, probably doesn't. And the family you thought had it all together, well, they're probably a mess. And the friend who struggles with food addiction, well she's probably just waiting for someone to believe she can do it. 

In my life I've only had a small handful of friends who've asked me the hard questions. Two of them are Greg and Caroline TeSelle. I'm thankful that they didn't choose comfort over conviction. And I'm a better person today because of it. 

May we be the kind of friends who ask the hard questions not because we're nosey but because we care. 

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

How well do I listen?


This morning I was driving with Cooper to go meet a friend. I was on a two-lane road, in between towns, and there wasn't much to see for miles. Until I saw a man. I saw him from behind, he was walking on the side of the road in a grey sweat-suit and carrying a book-bag on his back. I would've guessed he was in his early twenties. My mind immediately started racing with questions... "Where is he going?""Why is he walking on a road with no sidewalks?" "It's like 25 degrees out, why isn't he wearing anything more than a sweatshirt?" "Should I stop and offer him a ride?".

I was so confused and partially concerned as to why this young man was walking on this long road with no civilization in sight, and in 25 degree weather for that matter. The only thing I could think of was that maybe he was walking to the YMCA but that was still a good five or six miles down the road. I did not immediately stop but as I kept driving I couldn't stop thinking about him. I felt something in my heart whispering "Go pick him up". I argued back. I had my two year old in the car with me. I'm a woman, and a small one at that. I'm on my way to meet a friend and if I turn around I'm going to be late, and I hate being late. This "conversation" went on for a few minutes.

I'm not sure if it was God's whisper or just something in my own head but the prompting wasn't going away and I felt like if it was after all, the voice of the Holy Spirit, then I'd better listen. So now that I was closer to my destination than I was further away, I turned around and drove back towards where I saw the young man walking to see if I could give him a ride.

(For all of you who just went into freak out mode...just keep reading. And listen, when you've lived in the hood of New York City, you're just not scared of people. Not trying to brag, it's just reality. And yes, I would do anything to protect my son. And no, most people are not killers. That's all.)

As soon as I turned around the anxiety over the decision was gone. I just needed to do it. I needed to obey. I drove for a few miles and I didn't see the man. In fact, I never saw the man again. Ugh. Now I was a little frustrated. I just wasted 10 minutes of time and gas for what? I hope the man ended up someplace warm.

As I turned around AGAIN to head back towards where I was meeting my friend I felt God say, "Courtney, sometimes I just need to see if you'll listen." Ouch. 

When it comes to my relationship with God, I'm not always the best listener. Sometimes I pretend like I don't hear Him. And sometimes, honestly, I hear Him and then I say no. Because I'm afraid. Or because I feel like He's asking too much of me. Or because I'm selfish and I just don't want to.

I may have had a mini Abraham and Isaac experience today. And by mini I really do mean TINY. I'm not sure it was ever about giving the man a ride... I think God just wanted to see if I would listen and obey.

May we be great listeners to the one who loves us the most. 

How well do you listen?