Be Brave Blog

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Ordinary Courage

Ordinary CourageThe energy contained in tiny humans never ceases to amaze me. We recently spent 3 days playing at Universal Studios Hollywood with my husband’s son and his family. The 2 grand kids are 6 and 4 and the energy contained within those combined 10 years is beyond description. We played in the park all day and they swam like fish at the hotel pool in the evening. No naps. I wanted a nap just watching them!

They’d never experienced roller coasters before and we weren’t sure what they’d be up for, but they are daredevils. The older one rode everything – even the Mummy – which races you at 45 mph, in the dark, with skeletons. That’s where he found his limit. After riding, he admitted it was scary and it wasn’t on our repeat list. He tried even though he was nervous about it. That’s courage.

Last week at work, I managed through a challenging moment with one of our leaders. Partway through, when it hadn’t played out as anticipated, she told me she was disappointed I hadn’t addressed the situation differently in the moment. We talked about it, I could see her perspective and we reworked our direction together. I appreciated her perspective and that she shared with me so that we could find a solution together. She expressed her true feeling in the moment, allowed us the opportunity to get on the same page, leading to a needed outcome. That’s courage.

It’s easy to roll past the ordinary moments in life where we show courage. Whenever you are vulnerable, share your heart, ride a roller coaster, those are moments of courage. When you have a tough conversation, that’s courage. It’s easy to equate courage only with moments of heroism. Where you fight a lion, battle an adversary, jump off a cliff – actions that are clearly courageous.

The ordinary moments though, those are the real deal. Brene Brown shares that the original definition of courage is to tell the story of who you are with your whole heart. In and of itself, that feels hard. Putting your heart out there, not knowing or being able to control the outcome, is terrifying. But once you’ve done it, even if it doesn’t turn out like you’d hoped, there’s a sense of peace because you’ve shared your heart. Being courageous doesn’t isolate you from hard feelings. But it leads to an authentic you. If you’re constantly being and doing what you think others expect, it’ll never lead to your authentic self. That only comes from courage.

If you pay attention, you’ll notice the ordinary moments where you are courageous. And once you do, build on them. Even if sharing your heart sucks and is hard (which it can be). Do it anyways. The discomfort you feel in the moment is preferable to not living authentically. You have it in you. We all do. Be brave, be bold and be yourself. You are courageous.

 

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Choosing your focus

Positive EnergyAt work, we describe busy times as “seasons,” except they’re less seasons and more all the time.  And while you adapt to the pace, every now and then there’s a tipping point. Yeah, that happened this week. I found myself standing in front of my friend/boss with tears in my eyes, overwhelmed. Only for a minute, but I tipped.

We were minutes away from beginning a training which I was leading and while I knew I’d make it through, the business caught up to me. Once we started the session, the material we walked our team through reminded me of the lesson I needed in that moment. Isn’t that how life is when you’re paying attention?

Bear with me on the HR speak for a minute as I explain the tool we were using. We use a 360 tool through the Leadership Circle to look at leaders through multiple lenses. Their leader, their team and peers. The results show the degree to which you operate in 4 spheres: Creative/Reactive and Relationships/Results. You receive a score of where others see you are in each area as well as where you rate yourself, showing any disconnects.

The idea is that when you’re operating in the Reactive space, you’re not as focused on the Creative side, which is where innovation, strategy and growth happen. The same is true with Results, if that’s where your primary focus is, you have less energy to invest and grow relationships, to work through and with people.

As we walked through these concepts, literally – we have a 12’x12’ version of the circle laid out on the floor – concepts from the coaching program I went through also came to mind. The Creative and Reactive sides equate to positive and negative pulls. When you operate in the negative space, that’s the energy you draw to you and the lens through which you see your circumstance. The negative/reactive side is a stronger force than the positive/creative. Once you can see it, you can make a choice.

That’s right, a choice. In my moment/meltdown, the focus was on the enormity rather than the opportunity.

When we choose to approach a situation from the positive/creative space, we see options, ways to look at the circumstance differently. Its no different when you’re working with people. If you approach a situation ‘armoring up,’ prepared for the worst, that’s what we’re going to look for, and likely, what you’re going to get. I’ve seen this play out in conversations over and over. The approach has a significant impact on the result.

The degree to which we can stay in the creative/positive space will influence the interactions in our lives. We can look for the positive, bringing it out in ourselves and in others. It’s a choice and sometimes armoring up seems safer, but it won’t produce the relationships we desire. The ask for you today is simply to notice. Pay attention to your interactions and be mindful of the way you interact. You’re likely to find that the energy you put forth is what will be returned to you.

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The mother within us

MotheringToday is Mother’s Day and I’m thankful to have both of my children with me. Whenever my boys visit, they shower me with love and endless mocking. Yes, you read that right, mocking. We were alone during their adolescent years and developed a way of interacting all our own. A little poking here and there, but all in love, all in fun. That’s continued as they got older, and I actually enjoy watching them collaborate and laugh about the typically mom things I do.

I’ve noticed, as they’ve gotten older, gone from being children to grown adults, that the relationship changes. Awkwardly. Any mom’s out there feeling that? They’re biologically wired to start pushing away from their mom in the later teen’s, and by then we might be ready to be done anyways, at least some of the time. They want to be an adult, they’re not ready to be an adult. It’s a push pull that can be hard to navigate. But we do. Because we’re mom’s.

Parenting an adult child can be challenging because, as mom’s, I believe we’re always slightly tethered to them. The feeling fluctuates, but, let’s be real, we grew them in our bodies. There’s a bond there like no other. But as adults, we have to let them live their own lives. There are lessons we can’t learn for them, that they have to experience on their own. It’s from those pains, the successes, that they grow, and become resilient, responsible individuals. Separate and apart from us. It’s their path.

It’s the same thing our own mothers went through, God bless them. I don’t know about any of you, but me, in the teenage years… I would have wanted to be done with me. Cranky, hormonal, snippy, not kind to my mother for several years. But she stuck in there. When I became a mother, I gained a new appreciation for my own. I also had a bonus mom, my stepmother, who was like a mother to me in an infinite number of ways. For both her and my own mother, I am beyond grateful. They put up with me, know me so well they call me on my crap, and love me, unconditionally. That’s what mom’s do.

At the same time, I am mindful today that not everyone has that experience. Mother’s are people, and they have their own “junk,” (yes, me too), that can interfere with healthy parenting. In this phase of life, midlife, each of us has a choice, to hold on to that baggage from childhood, or to forgive. Let go of the ongoing impact. I believe that people, mothers included, do not show up each day wanting to suck. They want to do their best. But sometimes they don’t know how, or they’re managing pressures we have no clue about, that we can’t even imagine. Forgive.

My heart also breaks today for those who have lost their mother. The natural progress of life leads us to that point as we age, but others lose their mothers far too early. In cruel and unexpected twists, mothers are taken, forever impacting the lives of their children. I think of Rachel Held Evans who lost her life last week after what started as a simple infection. She leaves two small children and her husband. Forever impacted. Because of her presence in the progressive Christian “space” (for lack of a better name), people are coming alongside her family, supporting them, loving them. But the impact will be long lasting. Our job, those of us who are fortunate to continue on, is to come alongside families like hers, and those who no longer have their mother. Because we have abundant love to share.

I’m reminded of the idea “it takes a village.” We celebrate our own mothers today or because we’re mothers, but it took a village to get us here. And it will continue to take a village. Women supporting other women, because that’s what we do. The circumstances may be different, but we come alongside, and we support. In a way, Mother’s Day is for all of us. I’m thankful for my village, for each of you, and wish you a happy mother’s day.

 

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Lean in to glory

Who we areI was born with a known problem in the way blood flowed to my left foot. Basically, I had too much blood in my foot (fancy medical term… arterial venous fistula) and by the time I was three months old, the doctors had told my parents that I would have to have it amputated, which happened when I was four. I don’t spend a lot of time talking to my parents about it, but there have been moments. One aspect that has stuck with me is that my mother has told me that there were people in her life who told her that my birth defect was a result of some sin she must have committed.

At the time of the conversation, I remember thinking that was a bunch of baloney, and I haven’t spent time thinking about it. Until the other day when I read this passage in the book of John.

John 9: 1-3: As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus, “but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him.”

As I read it, I found myself connected to the words in a new way. I’m not of the mindset that people are sinning, doing wrong, constantly. I don’t believe my mother, or anyone, committed a sin and that God thought, “yeah, I’ll show them for that one.” I just don’t. I believe people want to do their best. Are we a hot mess on any given day, yes. Do we struggle with issues defined as sin, yes. But I simply believe the vast majority of people wake up each day, and strive to do good, not sin. So I connected to the shift. Did you catch it?

Instead of focusing on a sin, Jesus looked at the man and healed his blindness. He focused on the glory in the healing.

Here’s how the rabbit trail connected to me as I read those words. I was born with a condition which put me in a unique position to God’s unique works in me. Because, after my foot was amputation, it was essentially back to business as usual. Meaning, I grew up doing normal kid things. I learned how to ride a bike, ski, hike, ride a horse, dance (albeit poorly) … with my prosthetic leg. But as I got older, particularly when I was cycling avidly, I noticed that people would make comments to me. Encouragement. When I was racing triathlons, people would tell me I encouraged them being out there. It seemed so weird to me. Truly. I was just doing my thing. But I thought about it. And I began to see that maybe God was working through me, encouraging other people to try, because that’s what I was doing, trying.

Because I was simply born this way. It wasn’t the result of anything but the way I was formed in my mother’s womb. The same way my own children were formed in my womb. They were each born uniquely. Born the way they are, the way God made them, perfectly. And I believe there is glory being worked in and through each one of them.

Just as there is glory being worked through you. If we put limits on it, thinking there is some sin, or some barrier to the glory, we’re not living our full life. Lean in to the glory working in you, through you. Every single one of you, and know it’s all part of the plan.

 

 

 

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Feeling and Release

Know what you feelI often watch, with curiosity, scenes on TV or in the movies where the person is upset and lets it out by screaming in the car. Pounding on the steering wheel. Emitting a string of profanity that would curl paint at the top of their lungs and, at the end, peacefully returning to the day’s agenda. Even writing those words makes my stomach turn, just a little bit.

Don’t mistake me, I have no judgement about it, honestly. But the thought of engaging in that type of release (because I get that’s what it is), feels like a forbidden fruit. I’m intrigued by it. I can see the value but imagining myself doing it is uncomfortable.

I had this conversation with a friend of mine the other day. She and I are wired differently, and she didn’t even blink an eye before saying that she has used this technique before. Cathartically. She challenged me to try next time I was in my car.

I did.

And felt like an idiot.

The first words that came into my mind after my half-hearted yell were “hell no, that’s not happening again.” So far out of my comfort zone I nearly had to adjust to a new time zone. I relayed the experience back to my friend who laughed, and she said I’d probably write about it.

She was right.

Because the experience continued to roll around in my head as I thought about why I was so uncomfortable. First of all, yikes, that sure felt like a loss of control. It wasn’t, but that’s what I experienced. While I continue to work on loosening up, at the core, I’m wound tight. Yelling, screaming at the top of my lungs was, to me, anything but in control.

Second, I’m conflict adverse, I tend to ignore my own anger (a whole other story) and yelling felt like conflict. Yes, even alone in my car. I’ll be honest, I’ve tried it at home before and that didn’t work out so well either. I waited until I was alone in the house and then I tried, came out more like a whimper if I’m being honest.

Despite my own aversion to yelling it out, alone, I accepted that it’s simply not me. I think we often try to force ourselves into a strategy that works for others, but not for us. “Everybody’s doing it,” it not a reason to do something that doesn’t work for you. Culture can press up on us, working to convince us we should give it a try, but none of that matters if it doesn’t work for you.

That said, with respect to the release of negative feelings within yourself, within me, find a strategy.

The first strategy is to recognize the anger is there in the first place. Sitting with it, wresting and determining the source. I’ve learned that it’s often not what I think at a surface level. And then figure out what works for you. Negative feelings are akin to a cancer within our bodies. They take a serious toll on our health. This is not an alternative idea, it is fact. It is critical we find a way to process and release those feelings. Whether you scream in the car, or alone in your house, talk through it, burn sage, go to Taekwondo, or whatever it is that works for you, let it out.

I’ve had the Brene Brown The Call to Courage on Netflix on repeat. And while I am not a stranger to her work, I’m a devotee, I love listening to her talk about vulnerability. Vulnerability is courage. For me, at least, the release of anger is vulnerable. Vulnerable because it’s not an emotion I like or want to admit that I have. It feels “bad,” it’s not, but that’s been the story I tell myself. My life’s desire has been to keep ad promote the peace, so you can image my discomfort with anger.  But for mental, spiritual and physical health, when it’s there, I need to talk about it, let it out.

While I still don’t see myself leading a vocal yoga class, or taking up yelling in my car, I do see myself being vulnerable. And although anger isn’t at the top of most people’s minds, or maybe it is, it’s a valid emotion that each of us have to one degree or another. An emotion that needs a release valve, preferably not in the form of incinerating another person in the process. I challenge you to think about where the anger may be coming from and then find a way to let it go. A way that is authentic and boldly you.

 

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Resurrection Happened in the Dark

ResurrectionWhen I was a teenager, I can recall having an unspoken bedtime of 9 p.m. It’s when my Dad went to bed, and I never thought to stay up any later. As a result, I’ve never been (ok, there was a short stint in college and my early 20’s) a late sleeper. I rise early and as time has gone on, early has been redefined to, what some would call, the middle of the night. 4 a.m. I get up, work out, spend quiet time…over three hours of me time before heading to the office.

Maybe fifteen years ago, in the height of my cycling life, I started riding with a girlfriend in the early morning hours. We’d log 40 miles before going to work. As a result, I became familiar with the signs of the night shifting into dawn. Studying the stars as we pedaled through the countryside and watching as they faded, and the horizon turned from inky black to shades of indigo, to red, orange and eventually – if we were out long enough – we’d see the edges of the sun.

I came to love this time of day and it’s stayed with me. Experiencing the dark, the stillness of the early morning. There’s a renewal at that time of day, palpable in the darkness, a time of newness and possibility. The possibility of restoration of life.

I recently read Barbara Brown Taylor’s book, Learning to Walk in the Dark, well worth adding to your list. In it, she explores what we can learn in the darkness, but to do so, we need to learn to walk in the dark. We must “sign a waiver that allows you to bump into some things that may frighten you at first.” We must practice. Already having a love of the actual darkness of the early morning drew me to her words.

And then I ran across a line that caused me to stop, reread, and revisit once I moved past it. “Resurrection happened in the dark.”

As a Christian, I reflected how we focus on the fulfilled promise in resurrection with our eye on the third day. But the second day…a day of darkness…that’s where the resurrection was taking form. We don’t know what happened that day. It’s darkness. But it’s a critical day for what follows. There would be no resurrection without the darkness.

In our own lives, the darkness often causes fear. Darkness represents a side that we often want to avoid. Except…it’s necessary. For growth, we must wrestle through the darkness. It’s a space of learning, growing, expanding. And it can be scary, we bump up against things we may not have expected or want to face. When I think of the literal darkness I willingly embrace every day, and the learning that comes from spending time reflecting on the metaphorical aspects of what’s taking shape in the dark, it causes me to pause.

In what ways could we expand our understanding if we are willing to explore the darkness. What would come to life, be resurrected, if we spend time listening to what darkness will teach us? Darkness can be uncomfortable, we may be confronted with different ideas, understandings…and those could creep into the light. So be it.

We can, and do, celebrate resurrection. But don’t rush past the darkness. Darkness that looks different for you than it does for me. Has a different learning for you than it does for me because we are made uniquely and have different areas of ourselves to develop in the darkness. What we’re bringing to light through our journeys in the dark may bring joy and a deeper understanding. Our own resurrection.

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You are loved

For God so loved the worldToday marks the beginning of the biggest week in the life of the church. Palm Sunday. The day that Jesus entered Jerusalem for the final period of his life leading up to Easter. When I visited Israel last year, we walked down the same path Jesus would have walked on that journey. Down a hill with a beautiful view of the gates of Jerusalem. It’s the beginning of the week that symbolizes the fulfillment of scripture, and brings to mind the verse, “For God so loved the world.” The verse continues with “that He gave his only son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have everlasting life.” (don’t get lost in the details if I don’t have that 100% right. It’s from my sleep hazy, coffee fueled mind – but you get the point).

For God so loved the world. I found myself getting stuck right there yesterday. It rolled around in my mind while I meditated. We’ve heard it said over and over, but I think we lose the essence of it. It gets watered down, or we focus only that later part of the verse. Don’t get me wrong, that part is critically important, I believe it and find peace in it. But God so loved the world.

Loved the world. That means every single one of us. He loved us. That means me, that means you.

During my meditation as I listened for the still, small voice, I sensed the deep meaning of God loving us. It’s more than we could ever fathom. It’s as we are, in the moment, each day. He formed us in our mother’s womb. To me that means He knew what was coming next. He knew how we’d turn out. Me, with my birth defect and later amputation – check – knew it was coming. He knew our wiring, it’s how we were made to be. From the beginning. And He loved us.

As those thoughts rolled around in my head, I felt that still small voice telling me, “now you’re getting it.” And I listened. Knowing that the love is for all of us. Without exception.

What if we believed it? Those of us who feel unlovable. Who feel like we need to be someone different that who we are to be loved. Who engage a practice of holding off loving ourselves until we reach some magical state. The right weight, a level of success, a point in our relationships where we have it “just right.” We don’t allow ourselves to feel love that is freely available to us because we condition that love. We listen to other voices telling us there is something else to it. Something else to that acceptance.

If you truly believed that love what would you do differently? Knowing that you are loved beyond measure – a concept which our minds lack the ability to truly comprehend. But even if you do, just a little, it’s a game changer.

The message that God so loves the world gets lost in a puzzle of rules or conditions, but the message is simple. Let it sit in your heart. God loves you. Feel it in your heart. Now…share that love with others.

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Slow the internal narrative

Conversations in my headIt’s a party! Seriously. Every day. In my head. The left, right, frontal, amygdala, all getting in the mix, spinning in so many different directions I get dizzy. I could label the voices, there are those that are what I suppose other people would be saying, a couple that swirl in ‘what if’ land, a few more that believe they’re in acting school – walking out a variety of conversations and situations at any given time… and then there are those that are quieter. The little girl inside me, the still, small voice of God. Those voices get drowned out most of the time by the others that are arm wrestling for front and center, but they’re there.

I began to hone in on the voices, the tornado of thoughts, a few years ago, realizing that all the noise (because that’s what it is, loud, obnoxious noise) is nothing more than that. It’s not actually what’s happening. It’s easy to convince yourself that the way you play things out in your mind will happen, but still, it’s not truth, not fact. Yet, the voices are so distracting. They can divert us from life right in front of us. In our minds, we can make situations so much worse.

When I started to become aware of the runaway train in my mind was around the same time I began learning about mindfulness. The practice of being present. Of eliminating the distractions so that I can be present with myself or with others in the moment. It made sense to me. But in practice, was not quite a simple as it presented itself to be.

For one, the voices in my mind still would not shut up. Determined to create more stillness, I turned to  meditation. Years ago, I would meditate daily, truly helpful I believe. But it fell away as my time became tighter. To quiet my mind, I tried a meditation app, one that had guided meditation. If someone else was talking, there was a much higher likelihood that my mind wouldn’t. By and large that worked, not entirely, but slowly it got better. I found that 15 minutes a day can be carved out and the stillness has a trickling effect throughout the day.

Another idea I was encouraged to try was eating without distraction. No book, no phone, no TV – even when I was alone. Ummm, seriously? When I was with another person, no problem. But alone? What would I do with my mind? That was the point. Nothing. Focus on the food, the texture, the flavor, the experience.  I started experimenting with it. I can not promise you I’m a poster child for it, but I’m working on it.

Mindfulness would have you stop multi-tasking, which is a sham anyways. You can’t effectively focus on two things at a time. You’ll end up half focusing, or less, on both. I find I have an advantage here because my mind has less capacity to multi-task than it used to. The desire is there, but less so because my brain straight up doesn’t want to work like that. So, one thing at a time.

Ok, so a few mindfulness tactics worked in, and they help. But the internal narrative is still there. The difference is I can see it happening. I began using a strategy last year of naming the voices. Is it the voice of fear, or perseverance, maybe joy? And I would ask myself, what is it trying to tell me? I also started asking the voices questions. What was the little girl in me trying to tell me, to remind me of? Truly listen to what I was hearing.

If we’re honest, most of us have the voices. The question is how can you be the one calling the shots instead of them? What mindful practices can you put in place to quiet them? What are they trying to tell you? Just for a moment, take a breath in, hold it, gently sigh out. Do you feel the stillness? I encourage you to engage that practice, or another mindfulness practice several times during the day and still your mind. And when you’re ready, listen carefully, your wisdom will be ready to talk to you.

 

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It’s a big deal

you matterIt’s not infrequent for me to meet someone and months later, they realize I have a prosthetic leg. Maybe it’s winter, or they never see me in a skirt, and I certainly don’t start my elevator speech with “Hi, I’m Lisa and I have a prosthetic leg.” In fact, it’s something I rarely mention, so often goes unnoticed. Until it is.

And when it is, the uncomfortable conversation ensues. They ask, I have my synopsis, birth defect, amputation, and without fail, I end that explanation by saying, “it’s not a big deal.” Partially, I say it so that if the conversation started awkwardly, I let them off the hook. But I also say it to minimize it and move on.

But it is a big deal.

It’s a big deal that I overcame. With help, but I overcame it. When I was a little girl, it was amputated and I spent a few months in the hospital normalizing it, i.e. playing, swimming, learning to walk with a prosthetic, getting me back up to four year old speed so I could launch back into the world. My parents were fantastic and treated me as though nothing was different, my friends honestly never knew me without my prosthetic, and life continued.

But it is a big deal.

I find it fascinating to watch people who’ve experienced a hardship in their life. Perhaps medical, maybe relational, financial, job loss. You can see the discomfort they feel when someone comes alongside them. To sit with them in the middle of the “stuff.” You’ll hear that familiar phrase, “it’s no big deal.” The brush off. Nothing here to see.

We minimize and, in that moment, lose an opportunity to connect on a deeper level. To allow ourselves to be close up in life with another person, to allow them to share our story. We want to be soldiers, like the one I was as a little girl. Or like a stubborn child who says “I can do it myself.” People, we’re not wired like that. We try, I try, oh do I try. But we’re not fundamentally wired that way. Others want to come alongside us not out of pity, but because they care about us.

It’s a big deal. What’s a big deal is that some of us do it in hard times, AND we do it when we’re rockin’ it. When we have crushed our goals, or a project, or an accomplishment. We say it’s not a big deal, we deflect, we play small. Why do we do that? Honestly, I know you’re out there, person like me who falls into this camp. Why?

What would it look like to stop deflecting? To stop making light or small of our life? What if I could say, “My foot was amputated when I was four due to a birth defect,” and stop right there? What if when congratulated for an accomplishment, we said thank you, and stopped right there? If I’m telling the truth, I feel a bit squirmy thinking about it. But the opposite of making ourselves smaller isn’t boasting, or being grandiose, it’s simply being. Acknowledging. Accepting. Being grateful for our journey.

Standing in our own space, it’s a big deal. It feels bold. It’s who we’re called to be. Thanks for being on the journey with me.

 

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Be Still

Be StillI recall a time when I could not be in my house without having noise. Usually, I’d come home from work and turn the television on. Not to watch it, but to have the background noise. To have silence felt deafening and uncomfortable. Uncomfortable with my own thoughts, which could simultaneously be headed in a hundred different directions and reminding me of the ways I needed to do better, do more. I can recall visiting my mom’s house and there was no television, no music, nothing. Silence. It felt oppressive.

Over time, the balance has shifted and now, my preference is quiet. In a way, it’s a chance for my mind to stop being over stimulated. Which, let’s be honest, happens to each of us every single day. If we’re not listening to something, we’re viewing. Our phones provide non-stop entertainment and options. Literally, every second we’re awake we can be occupied somewhere other than within our own mind.

There are days where that’s honestly the preferred alternative. Our thoughts meander in a million directions and being alone with ourselves can be intimidating.

But…

The advantages to being still are immense. Consider a few: increased immune function; lowered blood pressure; lowered heart rate; increased awareness; increased attention and focus; increased clarity in thinking and perception; lowered anxiety levels, the list goes on. If we know the benefits are there, why are so many of us resistant? Seriously, I desire to be still, to be mindful, but I have to consciously focus to simply eat breakfast without simultaneously checking my email. Mind you, not if someone is sitting across from me, but if I’m alone, multi-task is the name of the game.

Except that multitasking is a scam. Held out as a skill, it’s virtually impossible to effectively multi-task. Our attention is not fully with either task, not our best work. So why do so many of us continue to juggle so many balls in the air? Wouldn’t it be better if we narrowed in on one thing at a time?

Be still. Several times within the Bible we’re told to Be Still. It’s as though we’re being told to ‘take a breath,’ ‘slow down,’ a command to remind us that God’s got us. If we don’t take time to be still, we miss that. Our own thoughts, activities, drown out the inner stillness that comes from being alone with God. Alone with ourselves. With our dreams, with our desires. We miss connecting with that part of ourselves because we’re busy. Miss the still small voice of God because we’re busy all…the…time.

Over the last few years, I’ve consciously begun practicing stillness. And you know what? I love it. Love being alone with myself. Not because I don’t want to be with other people, but because I like being alone. Later today, I’m headed to a one-day women’s retreat held a few hours from my home. I chose to come over a day early so that I could have alone time. Could take a breath and be still. I’ve gone away for an alone weekend each year for the last few and have found it restorative. It’s becoming easier each year to not overpack the time. And as much as I’d like to relax at home, and I do, it’s not the same. When I’m away, it’s out of my environment. There are no floors to mop, dishes to clean. The regular distractions are removed.

Later today I’ll connect with other women, but last night and at the moment, I’m in the presence of no one I know. Other than ordering coffee, because…honestly…coffee is necessary…I haven’t talked to anyone today. It’s a chance to take a breath. Slow down and be alone with me, with God. I find clarity in the stillness because the cobwebs in my head are brushed away.

If you haven’t incorporated a practice in your life to be still, to silence your mind for moments during the day, try it. It can be as simple as focusing on a word, saying it silently to yourself as you breath slowly and close your eyes. Or it can be focusing on a symbol an object you love and letting your eyes rest on it, breathing in the beauty. Being still. Each of us could afford a few moments in the day to be still and connect with ourselves. You’ll find when you do, the inner connection will carry with you through the day. Take a breath friends, listen to the still small voice and know, you’ve got this.