Why You Should Spend as Much Time as Possible with Your Grandparents

My Gramma Peg was recently diagnosed with cancer. Ever since I can remember she’s had problems with her heart and hip and lungs, so this scary medical word didn’t rock the family’s boat too hard. But we learned, quickly, that with cancer comes a timeline. A due date.

“Myeloma tends to be a five-year cancer,” her chubby doctor said as we all sat around her hospital bed. She’d been admitted three days prior for Pneumonia; the next day, she’d sign out with Multiple Myeloma.

How do you imagine your next five years? I’m not one for thinking too far in advance, but with Gramma’s timeline I felt myself forced into the future. I know I want her at my wedding. Hell, I want her to make my wedding dress, I thought as I walked back to my car outside the hospital. I want her to meet my kids and rock them to sleep and crochet their first baptism caps. I want her to be around. 

So, now we’re here and I’m thinking about 2020 and Gramma starts chemo on Monday. What now?

I’ve made it a weekly meeting, now that I’m back in my hometown full time, to visit and sit and chat with Gramma Peg. To listen to her stories and worries and woes. To absorb who she is. And it’s honestly one of my favorite times.

My Gramma is an extraordinary woman. I know that we are all biased towards our loved ones, but Gramma Peg is one for the books. She gives the best back rubs, hems the straightest hemlines and has not one judgmental bone in her body. She’s honestly 5′ 3″ of hearty laughs and bear hugs. It’s common knowledge: Everyone loves Gramma Peg.

Now that I’m becoming an adult, I have a much more profound respect for the woman that Gramma is. One thinks a bit differently about the engine light on in her car or having to work late another Tuesday when she remembers her Gramma raised five children from three different (yet all alcohol-infused) marriages – alone and without child support. Yet, she raised five damn awesome children and continues to beam the brightest joy. Gramma Peg is literally a strong, independent woman who don’t need no man.

At the end of today’s time, Gramma handed me a bound booklet – her life in a 66-page manuscript, titled The Dreamer. “This is me,” she stated. “Read this and you’ll learn way more about your Gramma than you ever knew.”

So I just finished page five of her typewritten life, and this is what I know: Gramma’s middle name is Elsie. Her husbands were bad men. And at five years old, my mother was hardly afraid of snakes.

I wish I could say Gramma’s cancer wasn’t what propelled me to spend more time with her, but it was. In a way I’m thankful for Myeloma’s timeline. It could be a five- or fifteen-year cancer; I’m still going to spend as much time as possible with her. If I can’t have her in my future for certain, then I’m making the damn most of our present and her past.

LOVE

{Today I write on love; not gooey love, but on Godly love.}

I recently watched a movie called Stuck in Love. It’s one of those random, somewhat cheesy Netflix movies that fell (quite) short of making it into theaters. I enjoyed it, although I’m not sure I would recommend it. It’s about authors and writing and music and other things that I like. It’s also an interesting story about family and patience and love, although I don’t think these details were meant to resound as loudly as they did for me. But I noticed them. I also noticed that the characters were clearly not religious, yet they shared and showed no lack of love – towards family, friends, and fiends alike.

And as I noticed these things, one thought hit me: I’m astounded by how well people who don’t know/love Jesus love others. How? Why?

I’m not sure.

[Note: I know of people who don’t love or know Jesus and don’t love others very well. I know of people who love Jesus and love others very well. I’m making no generalizations or judgements here, only observations.]

I can speculate, though, on why people who do love Jesus sometimes lack in love towards others. I personally think that because we (I say “we” because I fall into this category) identify with Jesus or Christianity or religion in general, we think that fully loving others who are not like us translates into a validation and toleration of their lifestyles, that when we love these people we’re saying that we see nothing wrong with what they’re doing/saying/whatever.

It’s like we can love only those with whom we agree or to whom we are similar. It’s like we’re only capable of the arm’s-length, pat-on-the-head love.

Wow. That’s not right. We’re not right. We shouldn’t be showing what we believe in or with what we agree through who or how we love; we should be showing what we believe through how we live.

Our love shouldn’t be biased. There should be no one whom we love fuller or harder, lesser or lighter. I mean, what if Jesus only extended arm’s-length, pat-on-the-head love? Where would we be today?

We love because he first loved us (1 John 4:19). End of story.

Love isn’t pressing “conviction” by means of hateful words or unkind attitudes or “distance just in case your sin rubs off on me.” Love isn’t carrying the Bible as a tool to badger or belittle others.

I find it interesting that we as humans – dealing with our own laundry list of sins – find it necessary to evoke and pester others’ about their sins. I understand and wholeheartedly agree with Godly accountability and tough love and reliance on others to help us recognize when we’re wayward of God’s will, but (again) the root of this action should be love, not a lust to condemn or to criminalize or to feel better about ourselves. As a side note, here’s an excerpt from greatbiblestudy.com (LOL) about condemnation v. conviction.

Condemnation shouts, “Your past! Your sins! You loser!” But conviction shouts, “The Blood of Jesus washes away sins! Come to Jesus and be forgiven of your sins! You can be forgiven! Your sins and past don’t have to be a part of you anymore!” Conviction shows you the answer (the Blood of Jesus, which washes away sin), while condemnation shows you the problem (the sin, the past and your failures). Condemnation shows you the problem, but conviction shows you the answer.

Anyway, as relevant, active, and true as every word is (Hebrews 4:12), I don’t believe God intended His words to be used with ill intention or to make others feel like they’ve fallen short of worthiness. Yes, all scripture is God-breathed, useful for teaching, for rebuking, for correcting, for training (2 Timothy 3:16) – but can these tasks not be completed in love (1 Corinthians 16:14)?

Above all – compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, patience – we are to put on love, which binds everything together in harmony (Colossians 3:14). Above all, we are to love each other genuinely, for love covers a multitude of sins (1 Peter 4:8) – and thank goodness for this! God has given us faith and hope and love, but love is the absolute greatest of these (1 Corinthians 13:13).

Goodness, I feel like I’m rattling off scripture in the same way by which I’ve been exasperated in recent weeks. I realize the importance in supporting my claims with substantial evidence – and there is no better evidence than that of God’s own Word – but I want to be real in my writings, too.

I’m so incredibly far from perfect, it’s insane. I live consciously, intentionally, sometimes gladly in sin every single day. I live as a sinner and as God’s beloved every. single. day. (And thank God that His  mercies are new every single day.)

To those who know my specific struggles and sins: I want no part of this passage to be viewed as pretentiousness or as an effort to seem like I have it all together.

To those who don’t know my specific struggles and sins: My goodness, I don’t have it all together. I’m so incredibly broken and scattered these days, I can barely approach His Throne in gratitude, much less to ask for grace.

And on that note, I want to share these words from Matt Chandler. Seriously rocked my world.

“When you blow it, God still celebrates His Son in you. The litmus test of whether or not you understand the Gospel is what you do when you fail. Do you run from Him and go clean yourself up a little bit before you come back into the throne room? Or do you approach the throne of grace with confidence? If you don’t approach the throne of grace with confidence, you don’t understand the Gospel.” 

Also, this truth from Max Lucado. This is unconditional love. This is our Father’s love.

“You are loved by your Maker not because you try to please him and succeed, or fail him and apologize, but because he wants to be your Father.”

As I write on love and loving others, I’ve realized that I still count as one worthy of this love. And, as sad as it is, I believe that the one person from whom I’ve withheld long-overdue love is myself. I’ve let certain people and my mirror and Satan and my grades and – most of all – my disgusting, disheartening sins keep me from loving myself, from forgiving myself. Oh, how important this is. This is not humility; this is not selflessness. This is ignorance and fear and timidity and a gross misjudgment of the purpose of the Gospel and the power of God. If God invites me to approach Him again and again (and again and again and again…my goodness, I’m overwhelmed even right now), and invites me to do so with confidence, then I should do so.

We love [ourselves] because he first loved us (1 John 4:19). End of story.

This post has fluctuated in topic so incredibly much, and for that I apologize. Honestly, I’ve sat myself down today and have purged everything that’s been swirling and stewing for days now. It’s beautiful and painful and quite honestly not very much fun, especially when my words flow so quickly through my fingers that I accidentally misspell or commit a grammar mistake. Yikes. But I’ve needed to rid of this burden of thoughts and have somehow worked up the courage to share it with you. If I haven’t said it before, I’m thankful for you who care enough to read this. Thank you for walking alongside. Thank you for loving me no matter what.

FAITH, AUTHENTICITY AND FIGURING IT ALL OUT

The other day I overheard a conversation between two individuals about how they didn’t believe in God and Christianity because it didn’t make sense. Usually I tune out and remove myself from discussions about religion. I believe that shallow debates are rarely worth anyone’s time.

But this argument stuck with me, mostly because I was in full agreement: I don’t think that God and Christianity (always) makes sense.

Jesus fed 5,000 people with five loaves and a few fish. Jesus walked on water. Jesus rose from the dead. Let’s not forget about the tales in the Old Testament – 900 year-old men, a world-wide flood, Jonah inside a whale. And then we have Heaven and Hell, predestination and free will. The idea of giving up your life and desires for the will of a divine, all-knowing, invisible Creator.

No, I would definitely say that this really doesn’t make sense. But, you know what? I’m okay with it.

For something to make sense implies that one has to give meaning to experience, to figure it all out. There are so many things that I’m trying to figure out that I’m okay with not having to figure out one more. Seriously, it baffles me that people try to make sense of Christianity and the bible, of religion in general.

For me, life is complicated enough with having to figure out how to survive college. How to mix enough experience and impressive vernacular so that my resume and LinkedIn account make me at least professionally attractive. Having to figure out what it really means to be passionate about something, to look past what others want and what salaries say and truly find what makes me tick. With having to figure out how growing up happened so quickly, how life at home went from reality to memories in a blink. Having to figure out how to keep my friends around and happy without apologizing for or compromising who I am. Why you chose to leave us so soon when things were just starting to get better. Having to figure out why sometimes I feel sad, and other times I feel empowered beyond measure.

I already have so much on my plate and have never been good with portion size. If I chose to also be burdened with the (basically impossible) task of making sense of God and Christianity, I would surely break. It’s in my nature to figure out the world around me, to refuse to take anything at face value. It was easy as a child, to trust wholeheartedly God and the idea of Christianity, but as I grow older and am faced with more challeges and challengers, it hasn’t been as such. But, isn’t this what we call faith?

Faith. The most integral and most difficult part of being a Christian. Trying make sense of our faith is the mere opposite of it. And without faith, we are nothing. Well…we are stuck, bearing alone the weight of everything that we’re forced to figure out. For myself, this (very heavy and ridiculously long) list is mentioned above.

At this point, I could quote scripture. I could quote the well-composed, rightly inspired words of Beth Moore or Joyce Meyer or CS Lewis or Bob Goff. And these words would be true and encouraging. These words would do no harm.

But, for me to arrive at this realization and foundation of faith, I’ve had to craft my own words. I’ve had to craft my own way of faith, finding in myself a trust in God that is authentic and that feels right. It’s like rewriting and rewording your own notes for a class or exam: You’re only going to understand best your own reconstruction of something. (I’m not advocating making up your own faith or taking the best of what’s proposed and piecing together something that works for you. I’m only saying that one person’s presentation of and approach to believing in God is not the only one.)

This is how I established mine:

I’m five months shy of twenty and about a year and a half overdue for a real Sunday at church. Sure, I’ve attended, but I was hardly there. I hardly felt anything. I’ve stopped being fed. This is in no way a crack to the teaching I’ve heard, but it never resonates, stirring or stretching me. I’m also not claiming that I’ve reached the peak of my spirituality, but I feel full. Full to the point of being sick if I try to cram in anymore. So, I stopped going to church.

I was told before going to college that in order to maintain your faith, you’ve got to keep moving forward, and that if you stop and attempt a standstill or timeout, you’ll only fall backwards. Well, friends, this is true. College is a bitch (sorry…actually, not really). A rude, unexpected bitch that challenges you and pushes you down and thrusts a mirror in front of you so that you always have to reevaluate and be reminded of who you are and where you’re going. I’m thankful for this bitch, though, because she’s forced me to figure out who I am (amongst other things). That I hate Ramen. That I love being alone. That I’m not as smart or as disciplined as I thought I was. That my brother is my best friend. That I’d rather write for hours instead of doing work on which I’m actually graded.

I’m not saying I’ve enjoyed the process of figuring out these things about myself, but I’m thankful that college has forced me to. I’ve learned, too, that I yearn for authenticity. I thrive on genuine conversation and real relationships. And the one thing I wasn’t receiving in church or small groups or even faith-based conversation was this fundamental part of myself and how I grow.

I’ve tried so desperately to fit the Christian mold. The Christian who is good at church, who finds purpose and joy in the cyclical Sunday church-youth group-brunch combination, the quiet time, the “let’s get coffee” lifestyle. I succeeded pretty well in high school, but I’ve failed in college thus far. I’ve slowly lost interest in the hum-drum, forced Christian checklist of church and bible study and all of the motions that seemed to come so easily to everyone else and that I’d been told were requirements for all Christians. This isn’t a rebel yell or satirical slam against those things, just a statement that I’m realizing these things aren’t for everyone (me).

Honestly, I was fading fast. I was exhausted on every spectrum. I’d grown up in the church, so I knew full well what to say and how to act so that nobody knew I was aching.  I’d accepted apathy and had tossed around (pretty seriously) the idea that maybe, just maybe, Christianity wasn’t for me. I’d never once doubted God’s presence and love, but I began to feel faraway from faith and forget who I was when I (thought I) was close to God. I had no faith, no determination, no passion.

Please notice that I’m speaking in past tense. God never fails us, and His love can reach us in the most faraway places, even when we thought we were too far gone. This is what He did when I thought I’d pushed Him away for good. It started with stumbling upon this article on Medium. I was inspired to tear down and reconstruct who God is to me. I stopped trying to feel and do what every other Christian said they were feeling and doing in order to be close to God, and I found him for myself. I made a list of who and what I know God is, and I now feel closer to Him than I have in a very, very long time.

Faith is integral, but it’s also personal. I don’t believe that God wants every one who chooses to follow Him to be the same or follow Him in the same way. He created us to be different, so why can’t we believe differently? Regardless of what his children do, He is the same Father. His love is eternal and unfathomable. His protection and strength never waver. He also doesn’t just want us to lean on Him as we try to figure out everything in this life, He wants us to surrender up this burden to Him. He wants it all, and He wants us free of all.

What a wonderful notion, because I’m a tired gal.

Disclaimer: Church, fellowship, quiet time, etc. are still in my life. I’m not strong enough to do this all alone. But, I realized that those things were building blocks meant for an already-strengthened foundation. My foundation was cracked, deeply. I had forgotten who I was in God, so I found my way back to the source – my own relationship with Him. This had to be fixed if I was to grow at church and in fellowship.

EMERSON KNOWS

I’ve made a discovery: I know what I want.

This is big. From day one, I’ve always been encouraged to follow my head over my heart, to pretty much ignore what I really want because it’s probably based on fleeting feelings or fads, because I most likely don’t really know what’s best for me due to a lack of experience or wisdom or knowledge.

It was hard and unnatural, but I listened. I squashed everything (I thought) I wanted into a little jar at which I occasionally glanced longingly but eventually made myself push out of view.

Do you know what this has made me? I’ve become someone who looks to others for 100% of what she thinks she wants, someone who has always looked outward for advice and direction. It’s something that has taken me a while to decipher, but the other day this sudden truth hit me like a brick: I don’t trust myself. I don’t know how.

I’ve lost faith in my own desire. I’ve realized that I can’t lean on my own inclinations. I’m not able recognize anymore the call of my own heart behind the doubt disguised as common sense in my own head.

I don’t think I realized that I struggled with this until I came to college. I didn’t need to: Everything from grades K – 12 was laid before me, in the form of a clear avenue on which I only needed to follow (per everyone else’s directions) to reach the finish. College. I never once considered what was beyond the finish line.

Well, friends, I learned the hard way. I learned, and continue to learn, that my finish line was merely a checkpoint. I learned that what awaited me after was (is) nothing but a foggy, weed-ridden path that I had to traverse alone. Armed with my family, friends, and faith as a flashlight and myself to rely on, I was left to make through the persistent whisperings of so very many pressures: what life should look like, what success and the future should look like, what I should look like.

I’ve learned that turning to others is pointless. This is my journey, and looking for the validation and recommendation of others will only move me in circles. To move forward I have to do so on my terms, taking steps based on what I want and love, from majors to relationships to passions to pursuits.

It’s not easy, but it’s worth it. I’m not as scared of what I’ll find down my foggy, weed-ridden path because I know that I’ll be doing what I love. I also know that I’m not alone. We all may be going different directions, but we walk through this life together, lead ultimately by our faith in the Most High.

It’s strange and wonderful to finally hear what my heart is telling me; I implore you to stop and listen to your own.

In this, I’m reminded of some of my favorite words of Ralph Waldo Emerson:

“Trust thyself – every heart vibrates to this iron string.”

TINY BEAUTIFUL THINGS

Two posts in one day, you say? Unheard of.

I’ve actually stolen a few moments between advising meetings and classes to sit at this wonderful picnic table in the middle of campus on this flawless day and all I can seem to do is write. To write about all of the tiny beautiful things that I fail to notice in the middle of my too-busy days, as was mentioned in my earlier post.

To write about how perfect Brandi Carlile and Amos Lee and Tristan Prettyman harmonize with today’s breeze and sun and changing leaves. How my nose and toes are actually a little cold, and how I’m not bothered by this at all. How I wish it could smell like autumn always.

How I took a bath with candles and music and bubbles last night, and how I think that’s exactly what heaven is going to be like. How I’ve finally managed to make a meal not from a box, and how this gives me hope for my future. How I live with the most wonderful roommates who love Jesus and encourage me to do the same.

How lovely it is to write a letter, especially to a faraway loved one. How honest laughter, the kind that exhausts you like a balloon, is the best kind. How extraordinary it is to have a family that loves you, to the moon and back, a million times. How finding yourself lost in a novel is the greatest form of escape. How much better it is to be called “brilliant” than “beautiful.”

How being alone and being okay with it is empowering and liberating and scary. How change is to be embraced, not something by which to be chased. How truly simple it is to find joy.

Tiny beautiful things are everywhere. I refuse to let my days get away.