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.

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.