Tag: Be Brave

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Time to phone a friend…who will you call?

Debuting in 1999, Who Wants to Be a Millionaire challenged contestants with fifteen increasingly difficult questions and corresponding payouts. Answer all fifteen questions correctly, as twelve contestants have, and you win $1,000,000. Regis Philbin, always the charming host, offered struggling players a lifeline. And while there were at least a dozen variations of the lifeline, one that continues to roll around in my head is phone a friend. Of course, the hope was that your ‘friend’ had the chops to provide the needed answer, otherwise, it was their 30 seconds of fame. I’ve often wondered, given the same option, who would I call? And while game show star is missing from my resume, the need to phone a friend remains a constant part of life.

The playground – aka – The Hunger Games

Between age 8 and 14, I moved to a couple different town. Leaving the safe bubble that was Yosemite for 6 years and living in parts unknown. Transplanting a child from one school to another is increasingly challenging. I now contend that kids generally need to be in their spot by junior high which is the absolute worse phase in human history. Truly akin to The Hunger Games, kids vie for inclusion in the cool kids club. Like Katniss Everdeen, it’s about survival, where having allies is your best strategy.

Me? I was cool kids adjacent. Never the popular girl, I was on the fringe, with my posse of girls who made junior high survivable. Debbie, Michelle, Jennifer, Lisa (because in the 1960’s, the name Lisa reigned supreme and I literally had another 1-2 or more in my class throughout school), we were the smart girls who also dressed up like the band KISS in 6th grade for Halloween. Photos exist, it was…a look. Hence, cool adjacent. But we had each other. Debbie and I were BFF’s and through those years when hormones and boy crushes overtook our lives, we had each other.

Where did my friends go?

Time. Time and children, moves, life. Factors within and outside my control resulted in a slow diminishing of my core friends. I say this not in a woe is me way, but in fact. Remaining were a handful of women I’d known since high school and met through the years. I was friendly with dozens of people. The group I rode with, people at work, the clerk at my grocery store…I had people who knew me, and others to occasionally hang out with (while navigating the teenage years with my own children).

Another move, a marriage where I was encouraged to be with my husband above anyone else and again, life. The result? Core friends tapering off except for rare phone calls, and in a new town, I didn’t have that sense of being known.

The need to phone a friend

Once the marriage ran its course (I’ll leave it there for now), a near desperate need to cultivate friends arose. Perhaps due to the approach of 50, but also, the craving for human connection, I found myself randomly talking to a woman in Peet’s and kept having coffee with her on Saturday mornings until my recent move.

At the core of it, each of us wants to belong. I watch the ducks in the lake outside my kitchen travel in flocks, providing aid, companionship (in a ducklike way) and safety for each other. The ducks, and a majority of creatures in the animal kingdom, have their flock, herd, swarm, convocation (eagles – you can look it up), their place of belonging and protection. Friendship can provide that sense of belonging for you and me. In her book, Braving the Wilderness, Brené Brown addresses the nature of belonging.

True Belonging. Be vulnerable. Get uncomfortable.

Be present with people without sacrificing who you are.

True belonging is ‘being seen,’ it’s showing up authentically. I contend that by our late 40’s, if not earlier, belonging is the true desire for women. Perhaps for men to, but I can only speak to the female experience. We desire to be seen and are tired of fitting into a carefully constructed persona. The few friends I’ve had for a million years, and those few I’ve gathered in the last 5ish years give space for authenticity. We question and wonder and doubt the systems we’ve been ingrained to believe and not only does space exist for our conversations, there is no judgement. The result, belonging.

Will you be my friend?

The most terrifying question one child can ask another. Tentatively approaching a solo child on the playground and making the simple request, “Will you be my friend?” At 53, still terrifying.

In the busyness of preparing to move, moving, and settling, I haven’t thought much about friends. Absent the few women I know and call friends in my new town, I have family, which fills a gap. But yesterday, it dawned on me I need to cultivate my people. My people with whom I have belonging. Those friends and family are my people, but as I chatted with a fellow swimmer during my Saturday laps, one who’d also relocated from California, also done triathlons, had similar references…I found myself pepped up. A feeling of being seen, shared experiences…sort of… It made me crave ‘my people.’

We need our people. Catapult yourself back to Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. When given the choice to phone a friend, who will you call? Over coffee on a Saturday morning, are you working through your true thoughts or comparing the weather and books you’ve read? For me, the ability to admit the foibles and struggles of life without judgement, that’s the belonging I crave. That’s the friend I want to phone. We all want that friend and can be that friend, and if you don’t have those people, your people, you sacrifice your sense of belonging. I, for one, want to see you. Find your people, my friends. Be Brave. Lisa

 

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Does what you reflect create an impact?

Spectacular beaches of fine white sand… fascinating turquoise blue sea…so reads the promotional page for Cancun. A destination I visited…in another life…where I could have stared into the sea 1,440 minutes a day. Turquoise blue accurately describes the water that in fact, is perhaps only slightly blue, if not clear. Water absorbs light that is red, yellow, and green but it scatters blue light because the rays are shorter. Larger bodies of water appear deeper blue due to the larger concentration, but cupped in your hand, water will appear clear. Images cast on it are reflected, creating a mirror image. Not unlike people. We create dual reflections. Both of what’s happening inside and a reflection of the people who impact us most.

Family reflections

My grandfather turned 95 in April. And at 53, I considered it a gift to have a living grandparent. Throughout my life, he’s been a steady force. Humble, kind, patient…a caregiver to my Nana for close to 20 years as we walked through the slow goodbye of Alzheimer’s disease. Never complaining, never even remotely considering any option but keeping her at home. Her longevity attributed to his care.

As we gathered at his bedside last week, preparing to say our own goodbyes to this force, I thought about the reflections he’s cast. I have memories of him from the earliest of ages, visiting my grandparents in Southern California back in the 70’s. Those memories appearing in my mind as faded photographs. He was a strong, quiet presence, balancing my Nana. The impact he created within my family is immeasurable. In those moments, he talked about the past, the choices, the commitments, the shenanigans…I especially like the shenanigans…so much messing around, a la 1940’s. We laughed and smiled and said I love you over and over.

We said goodbye on Mother’s Day. A final gift to my Nana. Her beloved joining her in the forever. Those of us here on earth reflect my grandfather’s impact, evident in the memories shared over and over, slivers of a reflection which create a beautiful tapestry.

Inner reflections

As water absorbs light and glimmers, reflective of its surroundings, it also shines back, from its depths. If turbulent, we see commotion and waves, but when peaceful, the smooth surface glistens. We are not unlike the water. When we’re experiencing turbulence, get ready. I’ve been told that my face reflects each and every thing going on inside of me. And though I’d like to deny it…that would be a lie. My nose crinkles, my eyes might roll (which I’d like to claim is a medical disorder, uncontrollable…that would also be a lie), my mouth shifts…askew and twisted up as though I’ve tasted eaten something distasteful.

Time and age have tempered those reflections, but I know they’re there. Not unlike my son who told me recently he was agitated…aka perhaps not safe for human contact…and he wisely chose to be elsewhere rather than risk he and I bickering. We reflect what’s happening inside us.

Reflections can be a gift

And while we reflect the impact of the people in our live who impact our lives and what’s happening within us, we can provide others the gift of reflection. I’m often surprised by what my parents, children, close friends observe in me. I mistakenly believe they don’t see those aspects I carefully tuck away, but they do. Reminding me I’m seen and calling out what I need to see.

Those observations are a gift.

The water provides us reflection, and we can do the same for people in our lives. I’m not talking about unsolicited opinions, nope. Keep those to yourself thank you very much. Observations, considerations, attributed another may not have awareness of. Ones which offer insight and opportunity for reflection of their own.

We reflect the impact people have on us, which is observable, positive or negative. I look at my grandfather thinking about his impact and consider my own. What impact do I have on others? What do the people I care about observe in me and reflect of me? If it’s not what I desire, how can I change that? Those reflections, they are the gift that allows us to evolve and grow into the person we yearn to be.

What are you reflecting? What am I reflecting? It’s a question I’ll be pondering in the coming days, weeks. And perhaps it’s one we should always carry in the back of our minds. It’s part of our journey, you and me. Be brave my friends. Lisa

 

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Embracing the flow of water

Near the edge of the San Francisco Bay, just outside the Golden Gate Bridge, the incoming tide from the Pacific Ocean meets the outgoing flow from the Bay. During periods where both incoming and outgoing are competing for real estate, the water churns. Caught in it, you feel like you’re in a washing machine, not in the flow of water but fighting against it. On the one occasion I was in proximity to the Golden Gate Bridge, during an open water swim of the same name, our able guides gave warning to stay inside the bridge to avoid being tossed around. Believe me you, I listened. But in life, we often feel like we are being tossed around.

Water, water everywhere

I owned a Toyota Highlander for a solid 10 years. The color was Waveline Pearl. Unique, slightly blue, slightly lavender. Certainly, I wouldn’t see another vehicle that special color. But you know what? I did. Everywhere. An example of the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon, or, frequency bias. It’s the effect of you notice what you notice. It’s not that Waveline Pearl was suddenly all the rage, it’s simply that it was new to me and noticed more often.

Same with water this week. I begin each day reading a day in Mark Nepo’s The Book of Awakening. In a recent passage, he spoke of water. Big deal, you might be thinking, but I’m fascinated by water as it is. Having recently moved and finding myself situated lakeside, gazing upon it every chance I have, including this very moment. This passage was what I like to call, a punch in the gut. One that stuck with me and I can’t seem to get away from. Nepo spoke of water, citing that ‘Most things break instead of transform because they resist it…water, accepts whatever is tossed or dropped or placed into it, embracing it completely.’ Dang, I think I fall into the resist camp. I think I can maintain a tight grip rather than going with the flow of water.

Why should we embrace the flow of water?

Its possible water evokes my attention because it is my happy place. Beginning the day enveloped by the water at the pool brings me peace, quiets my mind and relaxes my body. But life…an entirely different story. Life seemingly calls me to chart my own path. I’m the ‘let me do it’ child, the one who does things her own way. Learning, as I get older/smarter that if I look for the currents, they’ll guide me. Showing me how to proceed and avoid the rocks. Or, if not avoid, flow over.

But I still resist. I believe, genuinely, that I can ‘figure out’ a solution to any challenge. Ok, any might be a bit extreme, but many challenges. And 95% of the time, that’s probably true. I noodle my way through it, using my past knowledge to craft the solution. It could be an easy ride, or a rough one, but I get there, I figure it out.  Best solution? Maybe yes, maybe no. Yet, if I flowed with the water, letting life unfold before me instead of examining it like one of those ‘fun’ brain challenge puzzles, I would find ease. Embrace the tide.

Instead, I, like so many of us, waste untold amounts of mental energy figuring it out on our own.

Embrace the tide

Since I’ve moved, every moment of every day has been filled with settled. It’s nesting, but out of a sense of control. I’m that person who does not feel internal settled until the space around me is in order. About a month before I moved though, I signed up for a half-day yoga/meditative ‘Pause’ put on by The Loft on Main, a local yoga studio. It was yesterday, about three weeks after the move. Turned out, forced stillness was required to remind me to let go and embrace the tide.

Near the end of our time, our leader, Angie, led us through Lectio Devina, a contemplative practice. The focus was a passage from a speech given by Howard Thurman at Spellman College. Thurman was an educator, philosopher, civil rights leader and theologian. The idea with Lectio Devina is that the passage is read four times, each with a different focus. You take from it what you need as the words wash over you. What stuck with me was, “Will all of your life spend your days on the ends of strings that somebody else pulls? Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” Ouch. I’ve been trying to hold the water.

Simply flow

Which is impossible. If you have found a way to hold water with your bare hands, tell me about it, because from where I sit, impossible.

Instead of white knuckling gripping, in the name of ‘figuring it out’ my way through life, what if I considered what strings I was holding? The ones that nagged in the back of my mind to do this and that. Figure it out. Water has been a wise instructor as it washes over me. Flowing. If we simply allow the flow of life without resisting, oh the places it would take us! To the discovery of our genuine self, which remains a recurring theme in this phase of middle life. I don’t know that we ever truly ‘arrive’ because, like water, if we’re not flowing, we’re stagnant.

Maybe allowing the flow of water, or more aptly, the flow of life, to mold and shape us, isn’t difficult at all. The shaping will leave us formed beautifully, precisely as we need to be for the moment. And time, the tide, will take us to all the places we need to be. Be brave my friends. Lisa

 

 

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I’m wrangling the voice in my head

I’m presently in Truckee, California, which is a stunningly beautiful pocket of the state. It’s what the skiers call a ‘bluebird day.’ Bright, blue skies and fresh, clean air. Temps in the 30’s but surprisingly not cold. Perfect for being outside. As a bonus, the town is filled with quaint shops to meander. Meandering would count for being physically active, which the voice in my head is telling me to get off my butt and be.

Because…six weeks. The duration of my recovery from foot surgery to repair a torn tendon. Equate that to six weeks of sitting or limping short distances once I started wearing a walking boot two weeks ago. You would think that I would have ants in my pants to get out and about. I think I should be ready to engage in any activity except sitting. But I’m not feeling the urge. I’m feeling perfectly content chilling, reading, fussing online, being a homebody. There’s this voice in my head though, it’s berating me for not being physically active when I’m finally reaching the stage where I can – at least in moderation.

The voice will not shut up

That voice, I’d like to drop kick it across the snowy field in front of the house. Genuinely, it nags and hassles me, and I’ve come to recognize it as one of judgement. Judging me for not conforming to my programming. The programming that relates to whatever current situation I’m in.

The active programming started early. From the time I could control skis, my parents had me on them. I’d say that was around age 4. Skiing, or active outside every weekend. My recollection was that we were a family on the go. Which holds true today for the bulk of the fam. In motion from morning to night. It was programmed into me. It’s taken me years to realize that there are moments I’m in the groove for the action, because I do love to be outside, and I’m equally content to remain low key. Skipping it.

The voice required programming

But the voice. It resurrects the programming. Perhaps you have a voice of your own. Reminding you of your “shortcomings”, keeping your insecurities front and center. That one. The programming. When you get down to it, it’s your ego. And your ego would rather go down swinging than watch you fall short of external expectations. It is responsible for regulating your self-esteem and identity. I sometimes believe it has a mind of its own.

Oh, wait though, that mind is mine. Damn.

Get a hold of yourself!

Why did examining the judgmental voice lead to a blackhole of dissecting ego? It’s the realization of the strength of the internal, judgmental voice, and that it is the ego’s voice. I’m also noticing it because, for the past 6 weeks, purely coincidentally overlaying my recovery period, I’ve been enrolled in a course – Positive Intelligence. The focus is to recognize the internal judgmental voice in addition to its minions who join the internal volley of jabs. Once you recognize and stop the team working to sabotage you from within, you access your internal sage. You get a hold of your internal voice – your ego.

The truth is the ego formed within to protect you. The voice in your head? Its J O B was keeping you safe. Based on what you learned in your family about expectations. Mine learned to please, to perform because whether that was the actual expectation or not, it’s what I learned brought praise from the adults in my life. Those early learnings? They stick.

At some point, they take a twist and become the judgmental voice in our heads instead of keeping us safe. Perhaps under the guise of safety, but a deterrent to making choices that possibly, maybe, conflict with what worked under a child. But choose we must, with wisdom. With intuition learned and experience. That voice in our head? The ego voice? It’s not our friend. It is scared and preys on our insecurities. So that voice in my head telling me to get outside? She will need to accept that I’m in charge now and am parked on the couch. Happily. With my computer open and a novel nearby. And I’m surviving. I’m safe. The world has not ended because I’m not on the go.

What is your voice saying?

What does the voice in your head tell you? Pay attention. I’ll bet you the $10 bill I found on the ground during my brief foray out of the house today, for food, your voice is not wishing you rainbows and kittens. More likely is it’s reminding you of those insecurities. But you can choose not to listen. Tell it to get lost, ground yourself in the present and remember the wisdom inside you. It might feel daring, and brave, because it is. But it’s our life’s work and I’m in it with you. Be brave my friends. Lisa

 

 

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The messy middle – it’s unavoidable

Pancakes and a girlfriend, is there a better combo for Saturday morning breakfast? No. Because while lingering over gluten free pancakes and eating ‘just one more bite,’ I’m fairly certain we solve the world’s problems. At least our world. During a recent breakfast, at the end of a particularly windy trail of topics, she made a comment,

“I’m not who I was then.”

Bam, Elvis has left the building. We paused for a moment realizing all the work we’d done from starting points that were ugly at best, but we wouldn’t have gotten there without the messy middle.

The part we want to skip

Already on my mind, the messy middle poked me earlier in the week during a book launch call. I’m on a team helping author Allison Fallon launch her upcoming book, The Power of Writing it Down. Honestly, being on the team is a gift because we spend an hour each week with Allison talking about the book, one chapter at a time. And the questions that arise are powerful. This week, we spoke about the question authors pose at the onset of a book that keeps the reader turning the pages, waiting for the answer, which doesn’t come until the end. Answer the question any sooner, you lack a compelling reason for the reader to continue.

But that middle part, it’s where all the juicy stuff happens. While I am not one of these people, I know there are some who skip ahead to the last page, jumping past the building suspense because they want the answer now. If only we could follow achieve answers that easily in our own lives.

The middle is where we narrate the answers

Thinking back to four years ago when my girlfriend and I began our pancake ritual (not every week mind you, we’d be diabetic by now from the syrup), our lives were like a yard sale after a tornado. I’d reached a point where tough choices needed to made and although painful, they launched me into a phase of self-discovery. Otherwise known as reaching midlife. Believe me, if I could have read a book or downloaded the answers that came to me during that phase, I would have. I was smack in the messy middle. The tears, heartache, learning, discovering, growth, joy, struggling, heartache… all brought me to today.

You see, the messy middle, or, the middle space, is where we think it through. At the onset, like the beginning of a book, we don’t have the answers yet. Experience is the road to the answers. The middle space is where we have time to examine and learn so that we can have a different answer. We’ve had time to think, process, feel the shift in our bodies and hearts and understand what our intuition is telling us.

It takes time

Depending on your reading speed, a day, a week, a month later, you reach the end of the book, and get your answer. Hopefully, if the author has done their job, it’s one that satisfies you, or perhaps provokes you – both are reasonable outcomes. If only we could zip through life’s lessons like we would a compelling novel. But we can’t. And if that’s not enough, we can’t project plan it out, setting the end date where we’ll put down our pen and be done. We cannot predict the duration of the messy middle. And truthfully, if we took a shortcut, we’d miss necessary lessons.

And then one day…

You have a situation, one which brings back the familiar guttural feelings from the beginning. But this time, you choose differently. Instead of listening to your thoughts as though they are truth, you ask yourself questions. You have new skills. You’ve developed new insights you understand yourself more completely. So, when you feel your throat tightening (in my case), or your stomach knotting (also in my case), you ask why. And you make a decision that reflects who you are today.

If you think about your own life and who you were four years ago compared to who you are today, are you the same person? Change is part of life and in fact, if we’re not changing, we’re stagnating. And the people around us, especially the ones who’ve been there awhile, they’ve had the privilege of witnessing our change. But I’d be remiss not to acknowledge that you might lose some of those people along the way because they aren’t comfortable with your change. That’s ok. Hard, but ok. Borrowing from Glennon Doyle in her newest book Untamed, we can do hard things, you can do hard things because, “You’re a goddamn cheetah.”

You have to go through the messy middle and know that I’m in it with you. One day, you’ll wake up and think, “I’m not who I was then,” and you’ll know it was worth it. Be brave my friends. Lisa

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Why exhaustion is NOT a status symbol

Looking forward to adulthood, I was chomping at the bit to recreate a nightly cocktail hour. As a child, I watched my parents partake and it appeared so debonair, so sheikh. A symbolic way to shake off the exhaustion of the workday. Proud of ourselves for another day and looking for a reward. For a time, I found my groove with a glass of wine after work. Admittedly, I enjoyed a great glass of wine with friends of family, particularly sitting near water or outside.

 

I’d say it was 7ish years ago – and by this time, no more frequent than during the weekend – when I noticed that after a glass of wine or two, a headache quickly emerged. As in, before I was done with my wine. Shortly thereafter, a naturopathic doctor advised me to try eliminating alcohol from my diet, along with sugar, dairy and a host of other foods. I recall driving home from that appointment feeling as though basically I’d been told to stop eating food.

 

When I tried a sip of wine a few months later, the result was disastrous. And since that time, my ability to consume alcohol in any form (and by any form, I mean any form, in food or otherwise), I immediately feel the headache and nausea arise. They will be my companion for at least a week. No exaggeration.

 

I finally got smart…a month ago… and went to a neurologist after having a headache from half a gluten free cookie. The culprit was vanilla extract (cue the doomsday music now). Turns out, the doctor told me, the headaches are migraines. For seven years I’ve sucked it up and suffered through the week-long, decently severe, headaches each time I inadvertently ate something with alcohol.

 

I’m smart now. Neurologist. Big deal, he gave me the 411, some meds, and I thought I was set. I was not.

Exhaustion becomes our pattern

 

Yesterday, when I woke up with pressure behind my eyes and throbbing in my temples, I was confused. I hadn’t eaten anything out of the ordinary. I experienced despair because I was following the rules. But what I hadn’t factored in was when my doctor switched me to a different medication, there was a transition period. Cue migraine.

 

You’re probably imagining I laid on the couch all day, in the quiet, not using my brain – since that only makes it hurt worse. You would be wrong. In fact, I worked all day. Not ‘phoned it in,’ worked. Instead, I had a fairly intense day, migraine be damned. As I write this, still have the migraine. And near the end of the day yesterday, I found myself wondering what compulsion kept me working even at this subpar level. I mean, come on, a migraine is a legit reason to stop working. But I didn’t.

Exhaustion as a status symbol – a false belief

 

Many of us adopt the false belief somewhere in our early working years that continuing to work when you’re sick or suffering was a status symbol. Never let them see you sweat, we were told. Not consciously, of course, the trickier ways we harm our selves are smarter than that, they’re covert. But subconscious whispers, keep going, you’re not that bad off, you don’t have COVID…you’re not dying. Get back to work.

 

If you share that subconscious thought pattern, let me tell you, it’s just plain stupid. And I say that to myself as much as any other person. If you’re like me and missed the lesson on resting, pausing when you feel like ‘crap on a cracker’ (which is, by the way, my new favorite line, not even going to pretend it’s not), it’s not too late.

 

Play and rest are critical, but too often dismissed in favor of proving something, to yourself or someone else. How tough you are, how you keep going, how you overcome. Dumb, dumb, dumb…I can say that because that’s my inner voice and I know it’s dumb even though I keep doing it.

Wholehearted living instead of exhaustion

 

Wholehearted living has shown me that working towards the Guideposts Brené Brown gives us is not a one and done. They take effort, daily, choices to give up our false narratives including ‘Exhaustion is a status symbol,’ and go a different way.

 

We will slip up. There will be days we arrive at 5 p.m. wondering why we didn’t stop hours ago when our head started throbbing. The hope is that the next time, we’ll choose differently. That instead we might rest or play or engage in whatever activity it is that brings your heart joy. If we make those choices, perhaps together we can shift the paradigm and rest will no longer be something people choose – it will be a natural part of living. For today, what will you do to prevent reaching exhaustion and know that taking care of yourself is the long run status symbol? I know you can do it, we’re navigating this journey together, friends. Be Brave – Lisa

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Why creativity within faith can be challenging

As certainly as the sun will rise in the east, it is known that fall leads to winter, followed by spring and finally summer. These things we know. We may compare the seasons to one another, but we know that each has its gifts. And with each, we also experience change. We are currently transitioning from spring into summer. The Summer Solstice.

Also happening in June

June has also become known as Pride month. The annual celebration of the 1969 Stonewall Riots in New York City.  It’s a time to commemorate the impact the LGBT+ community has had on the world. Just this week, the Supreme Court of the United States ruled that the 1964 Civil Rights Act protects LGBT+ individuals from discrimination ‘based on sex’ in the workplace. A significant victory and step forward for our country and for people who have been unfairly discriminated against for how they were born and who they love.

I could easily continue about the countless other serious, unjust, issues within the United States at this time, but those will be the subject of another blog, another day. I still have much interior work to be done on those matters. On the issue of LGBT+ and change, I have done significant work on many levels. Which circles back to the challenges of creativity within faith.

Getting to the point

Raised a Christian, I’ve attended church my entire life. Sitting in the pews, listening, not questioning. Ok, maybe not entirely listening, and yes, women submit to your husbands I may have questioned when I was a high-minded college student. But generally, I honestly didn’t think to much about it one way or another. Church, what was preached, it was. I didn’t think about the believing part, it was. There was no question of any other options.

For many people, that’s the way it is. You don’t think about. The teaching is that the Word is without error, so you do not question it. As you grow, you’re taught to read, to understand, to bring it into your heart, and I did. But you guys, there was stuff that began to not make sense to me. When you start to wonder if it could be different, if there’s another way to look at it, those questions can be scary.

Questions more than comparison

Asking questions within Bible study, at least the ones I was part of, for example…whoa, whoa, slow down. It was as though I was comparing what the Bible said to a three headed dog rather than asking what I thought were interesting questions. Or, told I was being disrespectful. So, I stopped asking.

That scariness feels like you’re on the outside. It feels as though if you’re not with us, you’re against us. Scary because it feels like judgement. And that? That feels like shame.

And not asking, accepting, that’s ok for the vast majority of people. It is. But it wasn’t for me. I had people within my life, my own flesh and blood, who are gay. Nowhere within my heart could I believe that, as written, God did not love flesh of my flesh. I could not. Yes, it was my gut. And yes, there were those who told me the Bible was clear. But that’s not what my heart told me. I could not understand that when those words were written 2000+ years ago, there was even a remote consideration of future circumstances and ongoing human evolution.

How to be creative within faith

Being creative within faith feels like you’re out on a bit of a limb. I cannot lie about that. Am I making stuff up? Absolutely not. I have consulted with pastors. I have read books, articles, listened to podcasts, followed websites. Talked to more pastors. Honestly, I continue to go to church, albeit one that is affirming of LGBT+ people because and would not, cannot do otherwise. But it took creativity, and not allowing the comparison from others, which is really a form of judgment, to stop me, to overshadow the work I was doing. Creativity in the examination of what I believe. It was an internal inspection, undertaken because it was too important not to.

And you may or may not agree with what I believe. That’s ok too. Our relationship with Jesus, with His love, which is intended for every single person is personal. We feel it, we take it in, we share it with others. How we do it? It’s up to us. No longer do I search the drawer for the cookie cutter. And tomorrow, it’s Sunday, and though I will watch the church I love celebrate ALL online, I will also go outside, in nature, where I believe Jesus will be with me, celebrating the change of seasons and the Summer Solstice.

Be Brave friends. Lisa