The view from behind the counter

Oh my life. Things have changed so much so fast in this past two months – I think I may actually have some sort of existential motion sickness. But don’t let that dramatic description fool you into thinking I’m on the struggle bus. I am doing surprisingly well accommodating the waves of adjustments and “new normals” that are part of my daily experience. In July, I left my job of over 12 years (a career, really. How am I old enough to have had a career already??). It was an organization I loved working for and still love being a part of, but over the past several years, I felt a growing sense that it was time to leave. So for the past few months, I’ve had the surreal opportunity to feel like a college senior all over again: full of bundles of excitement and anxiety that are bouncing back and forth between the dual certainties that I am going to change the world and that I am going to ruin my life.

I am currently pursuing a long-time dream of becoming a counselor, and in order to fund that dream, I have begun working at a coffee shop. Being a barista is also a long-time dream: I love coffee and I love coffee shops. So here I am, in this strange season of time, brewing coffee and slinging lattes for just over minimum wage. And I love it. It’s been really refreshing in unexpected ways and it’s also had its unexpected challenges.

Like everyone, and possibly more than many people, I like being good at things. And the learning curve for being a barista is quite steep: there is so much to learn and even after two months, I still have days where I’m barely bumbling along. It’s been an interesting adjustment to have supervisors who are almost half my age (again, how is it possible that I’m this old? I recently discovered that I am only one year younger than the MOTHER of one of my coworkers. I’m making her call me mommy. Obviously). But it’s been humbling in all the right ways. I would seriously recommend to anyone (especially those of us in vocational ministry) to work in a coffee shop or some other place where no one has any expectations of you and no one is impressed with you. It’s been good for my soul. It’s revealing that my performance issues had become camouflaged over time, hiding comfortably under the assumption that I had outgrown them. But now, I find them alive and well and it’s giving God new avenues to challenge and address them.

And that’s just one of the life lessons I’ve been learning. I will be trying to write more consistently. There is just too much material in my life to let it pass by! Stay tuned…

Welcome home

I’ve been staying with some old college friends this past week. I’m in a season of relative homelessness, with most of my stuff in storage and the rest of it crammed strategically in my car. The car actually feels like a lot of room compared to where I lived this summer: for about nine days, I lived in a closet under the stairs in the apartment of some friends of mine (shout out to K111!). I’m going to give some props to my Japanese heritage here and say that I’ve been genetically predisposed to use small spaces well. Anyone who has ever been to Japan knows what I’m talking about. They use every single centimeter (…because only Americans use inches).

But that’s not my point. The house I’m staying in now has five kiddos under the age of seven, so it’s not the most serene of living situations. One of the best parts though, one that more than compensates for the 7 am thunderstorm of little feet on hard wood floors, is the greetings. When you walk into a room and hear a chorus (and there are more than enough kids here to qualify as a chorus) of little voices cheering your name, how can you not feel special? Because you know little kids don’t pretend to like you – they are too young to be tainted by all the games we play as we get older, the popularity contest that life becomes some time around middle school. If kids are happy to see you, they are just happy to see you. It’s a simple pleasure that makes its way through the tangled mess of insecurities and fears and doubts, and hits me square in the center of my heart. Little kids are also too young to be impressed or intimidated by our reputations, those larger-than-life billboards we wear to attract people to us or to keep them at arm’s length. Or both at the same time, if we’re really good at it.

What would life be like if we loved like that? If as adults, we could look past the all stuff on the outside and push past all the stuff on the inside and just love people without reservation? What would it look like to know with certainty that the Creator of the Universe loves us like that? That when we walk into the room (issues of omnipresence aside), God Himself lights up and cheers loudly when He sees us? I think we’d feel more at home in the world, as welcomed and well-received as I feel in the midst of these crazy kids.

I'm afraid I can't think of a clever title, either

So, one of my fears in starting this blog was that I would start strong and then taper off. I really want to write consistently or else what’s the point? I knew it would be more of a challenge to write while I was in Colorado for the summer, but I still had high hopes. So here I am, almost eight weeks after my last post, and my fear has come true. But here’s the good news about a fear coming true: once you embrace it, it’s one less thing you have to be afraid of.

I remember one of the first times I realized that principle. I had just gotten into an argument with a friend over what I thought was a misunderstanding that she was blaming on me. As she was describing her perspective on what had happened, I had that sick creepy feeling that I always get when I realize I am wrong. It happens so rarely that the feeling is very distinct (insert sarcastic laugh here). To clarify, I’m sure I’m wrong a lot: what I mean is that my own acknowledgement that I am wrong happens more rarely than I’d like. Anyway, the point is that I suddenly saw a giant planet of selfishness that I hadn’t realized was there. One of my highest values in life is to be a good friend. Consequently, one of my big fears is that I will act in a way that contradicts that value. And as I was kicked in the stomach by the realization that I was in fact not being a good friend, I felt a Hand on my shoulder. “Well, at least you don’t have to be afraid anymore. Because it’s true. And now we can deal with it.” I felt the strangest sense of peace and freedom in that moment. In embracing the truth, I was able to receive the grace that God so greatly desired to give me, grace that I resisted and couldn’t even bring myself to admit that I needed.

Oh how we squirm to avoid facing reality. How much time do we spend fighting our fears about ourselves? How much energy do we consume hiding the glimpses we get of those fears being true?  We become masters of justifying, rationalizing and contorting our perspective to avoid the truth. And the truth is that sometimes we are selfish. Sometimes, we do have shady motives. Sometimes, we are acting just like the people we swore we’d never be like. The cost of embracing that reality is actually a lot less than the cost of avoiding it. Reality truly is our friend, and if we can steel ourselves to look it dead in the face, we may find that the our worst fear coming true may be the best thing that can happen to us. It may be the only road to the freedom we deeply desire and the abundant grace that God is waiting to give us.

Why take the easy road?

Tomorrow starts an old tradition that is one of my favorites: driving west to Colorado for the summer. It is all the more dear this year because I don’t know for sure when I’ll get to do it again. In the past few months, I’ve made some big decisions that will almost certainly change these annual routines of mine. I’m excited about my future, but I’m also experiencing how the decisions I’ve made about the future are affecting me in the present. It’s funny how time works like that – a decision I made in the past (last week) won’t change anything until the future (August), but it’s already affected how I experience this moment (right… now).

I tend to be unusually aware of these layers that exist over events. There are layers of sadness and appreciation and gratitude over this road trip to Colorado because it may be my last one for a while. Recognizing layers can be a strength because I am less likely to take these moments for granted. The downside is that it can also add a layer of drama to everything along the way. “This may be the last time I stop at a gas station on I-80” (ok, that is true. Is that really an event worth noting? Do I really need to go through some sort of grieving process over gas stations on I-80?). “There’s that old barn I pass every year. I should stop and take a picture of it” (should I stop at every landmark I recognize to take a picture? Will the other landmarks feel bad if I don’t?). I can’t appreciate or capture every single moment, and as hard as it is, I’m going to have to reconcile myself with that reality.

And, if I’m really on top of  my game, I recognize that there is a layer of irony (favorite concept in this blog so far) when my desire to appreciate moments adds so much anxiety that it can ruin the very moments I’m trying to appreciate. Are all these layers making your head spin yet? Welcome to my world, where there is nothing that I can’t make more complicated if I really apply myself. All I’m really saying is that I have mixed feelings about driving to Colorado tomorrow. But why say it like that when I could drag you through the process that I had to go through to get there? The ride may be bumpy and the curves downright scary, but the scenery along the crazy road is much more interesting.

Really?

“Because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you. I will praise you as long as I live, and in your name I will lift up my hands.”

Psalm 63:3-4, NIV

You know when you read a bible verse - and you’ve read it before - but this time, it catches you differently? I recently read the passage above and it snagged on my mind like a hang nail on a sweater. Hm. Do I really believe that God’s love is better than life? That’s an easy thing to say, especially in the strange little bubble I live in where the path of least resistance is to walk with God. Most of the people I know expect me to say those kinds of things. But I know, when I pause long enough to honestly consider what it means, that my life would be different if I truly grasped the magnitude of His love and the mystery that He chooses to love us at all.

In the next verse, the psalmist says that he will praise God as long as he lives. The more I thought about the preceding verse, the more the connection became clear. If His love is better than life, then what else would I do with that life than praise Him with it? He’s given me the gift of life and He has loved me with a mind-blowing, extraordinary and completely undeserved love. The only response that makes sense is to spend the time that I have been given - by Him - trying to live a life of praise in my words, actions and attitudes.

And now here’s a funny thing about praising God that completes this circuit even more fully: the more I praise Him, the more open I am to His love. Praising God, especially when my circumstances are not blissful or inspiring, brings me to a place beyond myself. By transcending my circumstances, even the good ones, I transcend myself and for a few brief moments, I am free. And it is in that space that the love of God is able to reach me and fill me and utterly have its way with me. In those moments, I know that I know that I know that God loves me (absolutely adores me, in fact) and that my love for Him means something significant to Him.

It’s a simple concept, but the application of it eludes me on a daily basis. My lack of praise keeps me from experiencing God’s love, which keeps the illusion alive that perhaps there is something out there that is better than His love. So I hold back, keeping myself at a slight distance from the only source of unconditional love in existence. There are many ways that God can break this cycle, but there is something that I can do, although I need His grace to do it: I can choose to praise Him. I can put myself in a position to receive His love. And by His grace, He will accept my praise (faltering and inconstant as it is) and “my soul will be satisfied as with the richest of foods” (Psalm 63:5).

Making Peace with Wapakoneta

I’ve become very familiar with I-75. Several times a year, I’m on that road for about four hours at a time, and it’s a great opportunity to catch up with friends on the phone… until I hit a certain stretch of road where my signal starts to toy with me. You know how it goes. My phone drops a call without warning, and I look down and see four bars going strong. “Hm. Must have been my friend’s phone,” I say to myself. So I call my friend back, and… the call won’t connect. I look down again and see the signal slide from four bars to zero bars and back again like it’s playing a xylophone. And then I remember. Wapakoneta. I must be driving through Wapakoneta.

Now, I’m not trying to be a hater. I know that it’s not Wapakoneta’s fault. It just happens to be the location of one of those mysterious dead zones that lasts for about 15 minutes and then is gone. In the grand scheme of things, it’s a minor inconvenience. It’s such a small thing to be momentarily unable to talk on my cell phone. But even when I’m expecting it, I have a strong desire to chuck my phone through my windshield in a fit of primal frustration. Little glitches like this serve to expose the selfishness and smallness of my perspective on life. The universe does not exist to fulfill my every desire and accommodate all my plans. The universe is also not out to personally thwart my desires and plans. There is no conspiracy aimed directly at me when I hit every red light. Win or lose, I’m just *not* that big a deal. And that’s actually really good news. It leaves enough room for there to be a bigger purpose to my life and to the lives of everyone around me (even people who walk too slowly in the grocery store). It’s an invitation to be caught up in something bigger than me, to serve Someone bigger than me who has a greater purpose for my life than I’m willing to imagine.

Last week, I was driving that familiar route on I-75, watching the miles flow by. I needed to stop for gas and a quick bite to eat, and I saw a sign informing me that the next exit was, you guessed it, Wapakoneta. I paused for a moment, and then turned on my blinker. It was a peace offering of sorts. It was an acknowledgement that my Meg-centric view of life is inaccurate and inadequate. And I’m hoping to take it even one step further. I’m trying to be thankful for the reminders that there is much more to life than me. So Lord, thank you for Wapakoneta. Thank you for drivers who dawdle in the fast lane. Thank you for neighbors who are learning to play the drums. Thank you for the daily opportunities you give me to find freedom from myself and the tyranny of my own perspective.

Of and about this second post...

Oh, the irony. I spent a decent amount of time this week laboring over what to write. This second post is tough – it sets the tone, establishes a trajectory. It needs to illustrate what this blog is going to be like. The problem is that I don’t really know what I want this blog to be like. And it really isn’t important to know right now. Is it such a tragedy if I start something that has the freedom to evolve over time? But it’s so like me to get stressed out by unnecessary expectations that I’m imposing on myself. If I waited for everything to be perfectly clear, I would never start anything (exhibit A as to why I dragged my feet to start this blog in the first place). And as I ponder that frustrating habit of limiting myself to the known, I realize that this train of thought would make a great blog post. Irony, table for two? Let’s you and I discuss this for a minute.

I don’t like uncertainty. I don’t like to start something unless I know where it’s going to take me or how it’s going to end. But that’s not an adventure. That’s a routine. Adventures are risky and require courage because we don’t know what’s going to happen. The thing that makes them scary is also the thing that makes them exciting. Routines are comfortable because we know what to expect. It’s not that routines are not bad – we need routines. It’s that they will not be able to take us somewhere new. They will not help us break out of a status quo that has begun to hold us back. And so, when it’s time to start something new, we have to (we get to?) gear up for an adventure. We have to step up to the edge of the cliff and jump. More often than not, I can get myself to the edge. Breathless, I stand there in awe of the potential, and then, I begin to contemplate. I start to make pro/con lists. I negotiate the time line of when would be a better time to jump. I think through contingency plans. I bring a recliner and my journal and a little table for my books and coffee and suddenly, I’ve become comfortable at the top of that cliff. I’ve actually (hello irony again) made a routine out of standing at the edge of adventure. Man, I’m good.

Lord, give me the courage to jump. Help me to realize when my routines have become tiny, comfortable prisons and to realize that you are offering me a chance to escape. Whether it’s what to write in my blog or what to be when I grow up, I want to trust You with the uncertainty. Because really, the things I know for sure far outweigh the things that are not able to be known. You are real. Your love for me is constant and unfailing. My identity, my worth, my acceptance are all firmly established. So, what am I waiting for??

Giddyup

This has been a long time coming.

I've wanted to start a blog for longer than I care to admit. I have danced around the idea, toyed with it like a cat with a ball of yarn, always finding more ways to avoid it (it's so much pressure, what if I can't think of anything to write, everyone will see how much I overuse commas, etc.). But my resistance was worn down over time, mostly by the growing desire to stop letting fear dictate my choices. So, here I am. And it feels right.

This process has been and will be shot through with grace. The idea of being given something that that I do not deserve and could not earn has always been an elusive concept for me. I prefer things I can control through my effort and competence. But grace is a cornerstone of the Christian life and I am confronted with my need for it on a regular basis. I need grace to comprehend my need for grace and I need more grace to accept the grace I've been given. One great irony is that the translation of my first name actually means grace. Good one, God. You got me.

The pearl has several meanings. It started as a fake middle name (long story) that became a nickname and has now become a reminder for me of the growth process that we experience this side of heaven. It takes a long time of being covered by layer after layer of God’s love and grace to bring forth the beauty inside of us. Part of the process is choosing to believe that beauty really is in there beneath all the mess, and that it’s worth discovering. The next step is choosing to believe that it’s worth offering to the world. I hope that I am able to share pictures of the work that God is doing in me and hopefully through me. I hope that my words point more to Him than to me. I hope to offer pearls of grace.