A Forgotten Task

Today I spoke with a dear friend who straight up knows how to encourage. And in this Jesus-orchestrated, time-stopping, raw and completely unpolished conversation, I was reminded of something important.

Celebration.

Too often, we as humans find ourselves trapped in our own isolated, lonely, and often meaningless (that’s right, I said meaningless...) world of To Do Lists and Goals and even Disappointments that we simply forget how to celebrate. We forget what it means to step back and breathe and say, Wait a second. I’m actually growing. Good things are happening. Things are changing.

Sometimes it actually takes someone else to pull us aside and say these things to us, to allow us to really go there, to boldly and deliberately step into that terrifying place of… here we go… reflection.

And as we begin to step back and let go of the control that we think we have over our own lives, may I dare say… we gain awareness. With each step back, we gain a keen and valuable insight into our own stories, our own personal moments and experiences worth celebrating. And it is in this place that we begin to leave room for the very voice of God to enter into our perceived failures, our perceived shame.

Here’s the Truth: Our Creator celebrates your utter existence. He celebrates each breath that enters and leaves your body. He celebrates each eyelash, each fingernail, each brain cell. Our God is a God of celebration.

And it is time we join in.

Think Again.

I remember when I could do a backhand spring.

Tumbling Tides.

Tuscaloosa, Alabama.

8^th grade.

Ribbon in hair.

Ready.

Go.

And now just the thought of doing such a thing makes my wrists throb, my lower back ache, and my head spin. But REAL LIFE yall. I could do me a backhand spring. In fact, I could do several if I had the momentum for it.

I loved that feeling.

Upside Down.

Arms straight as arrows.

Back fully extended forming the perfect St. Louis Arch.

Feet in mid-air.

Body bent like rubber.

Speed building.

Wind in my ears.

Every joint in perfect unison coming together forming
a Choir of Movement.

Yes. Backhand spring at its finest everyone.

My teacher Chris told me I was a fast learner. “You’ll have your standing back tuck in no time,” he affirmed. But just a month later, something began to happen, something peculiar. You might have heard of it…

FEAR.

That’s right, little 8^th grade me got scared. I started to second-guess myself about everything. And I mean everything.

Wait…

How much do I bend my knees before I jump?

What do I do with my hands?

What am I supposed to look at?

How long should I be in the air?

I know, ridiculous right? Here I was, well on my way to the Promise Land of Tumbling Champions and then it hit me like an unexpected snowball to the face. It’s as if my bones and muscles went on strike refusing to do anything the least bit productive.

And if I did try to do a back handspring, the worst of all worses would happen. Well, I would make it over, at least. But my once frame-it-on-the-wall, back-fully-extended arch became an unbearable mess of undercut. Undercut. That was my new word. This meant that mid-air I second-guessed myself and cut under so much that my hands would bend back to where my feet had just been, hardly making an arch at all.

And come to think of it, I second-guessed myself in horseback riding too when it came to jumping my horse. I went through a miserable, not so fun phase where I would psyche myself out and lean forward too much too early, causing me to mess up my balance and I would in turn, mess up my horse’s steps.

Hmm… I’m beginning to see a trend in my used-to-be hobbies.

And if I let these memories really sink in to the depths of me, I am drawn to a truth that stretches much further than a backhand spring catastrophe or a hunter jumper paranoia. I am drawn to a reality that reaches far beyond this awkward, self-conscious 8^th grade or even elementary version of myself.

How often I over-think the most beautiful of things, the things that aren’t meant to be fully understood nor fully analyzed. Believe it or not, some things, many things, are not meant to be drained out like a sponge, becoming so dry that all its original shape is forever lost and forgotten.

What would it be like for me to take part in a process in which for once, my mind is at rest… a process where I freely yet consciously submit to my senses. A process where I let the healthy emotions settle in, learning how to feel with my being instead of thinking and over-thinking and then thinking again. I am learning more and more that what often seems like a crucial necessity can just as often be a hindrance.

A hindrance to beauty.

A hindrance to raw experience.

A hindrance to life.

As human beings, we have a unique power to very easily paralyze our greatest strengths by over-thinking and therefore producing doubt and fear. And in this act, we become smaller.

Please note: We are not made for such small things as doubt and fear. We are made for participating in a world so divine and glorious that we as humans cannot help but stand in awe of its God-ordained details. We are made for participating in a world of risk-taking, grace-giving love, a world of creation simply in awe of its Creator.

I don’t know about you but that’s the kind of world I want to live in.

He Sings

I’m telling you, God is so kind. I just feel like I’m sitting on His lap right now and He’s singing to me like a Father singing His child to sleep. He sings right into my ear. Right into my scattered, fragile, don’t know what I want half the time kind of life.

I sit.

He holds.

I sit.

He sings.

I sit.

He embraces all the parts of me I never want shown.

And then He calls those things beautiful.

I sit.

He sits.

Even when I fail to notice His presence.

Even when I go all day without even saying His name.

Even when I am pounding fists at my steering wheel because my car won’t start or I’m at a standstill on I-65 or because I want to be anywhere but where I am at 

This 

Very 

Moment.

It is in these moments I fail to remember where I am. And where He is. I tune Him out. But He just keeps singing. His voice is like water. Falling onto a bed of rocks that are as hard as… well, rocks. Like a majestic waterfall, His voice draws all kinds of attention… except mine. My heart sits like a rock at the bottom of the waterfall, His waterfall.

Yet He still sings.

Car for a Day.

The waitress just called my feet feminine. I’ll drink to that.

So today I got a chance to drive away from camp for a while which is always a treat. I have some very kind friends and coworkers that loan me their cars without hesitation when they know I’m feeling ancy and need some space. I must say, I have been tremendously blessed by their giving spirit this season.

And let me tell you, I forget how much I miss driving. I look forward to these next two months where driving will be more accessible to me as I plant one foot in the rolling hills of Tennessee, the other in Home Sweet Home, Alabama.

Something about the hum of the wheels beneath me as I glide along the terrain is beyond satisfying to me. As I wind around these Redwood trees, following the Yellow Brick Road to Hippy-ville… I mean, downtown Occidental… I feel connected to the earth in such a tangible way, deeply rooted and intertwined into her existence, memorizing her movement with every twist and unexpected bend in the pavement. I feel myself sinking deep into her lap with every mile, every left turn, right turn, stop, and yield. It’s like I belong in that very place. Resting on the knees of our inconceivable planet.

And then there’s always those night drives when I am alone in the car and yet for some reason or another, I never truly feel alone. In fact, on these night drives, sometimes I feel more alive than ever and more connected to the world around me than if I were standing in the mid-day glorious sweat of Bonarroo.

I’m just going to go ahead and claim it: Jesus is there with me on these drives. His presence is incredibly, exceptionally thick. Just imagining it, I am suddenly wrapped in the heat of summer, standing barefoot on the noise-creaking, splinter-giving dock with Lake Tuscaloosa at my toes. Humidity at its finest. That’s what His presence feels like to me. So thick, you feel twenty pounds heavier almost immediately.

During those night drives, I hear the voice of God so clearly, it’s incredible. As I pray aloud, I literally feel God swarm around me. Tears fall effortlessly as I thank Him for the blessings He has lavished on my life as of late.

I mean, my goodness, I’m about to be an aunt! Life is overwhelmingly beautiful to me sometimes. Every once in a while, I actually do pause and take in its raw, indestructible beauty. Every once in a while, I become truly aware of God’s goodness that He pours out on me at each waking moment whether I recognize it or not. And every once in a while, I thank Him.

So. 

How about we call this a “once in a while” kind of moment as we pause and remind ourselves that God is good. God is SO good. I wish I could take this time to write out every single blessing I have received from Him during this season of adventure in the Redwoods (which will continue in January) but I do not have the appropriate time or space to even contemplate such a task.

But since this is one of those once in a while opportunities, I shall share just a few…

     An Abbreviated Thank You List-

For trees that grow so tall I cannot see their peak.

For mornings off where I have nothing better to do than practice Blue Moon on the

   ukulele.

For socks so dirty after just one day of playing outside.

For the most majestic of bike rides to the Russian River AKA my Sanity Sustainer this fall.

For bright blue nail polish on my fingers and toes that I never seem to get tired of.

For Psalms.

For Madrone trees.

For skype.

For gardens.

For chacos.

For morning yoga.

For waking up but not getting out of bed for another hour thanks to some good ole

  morning day dreams… always the best kind.

For adventurous, child-like runs through the forest.

For the mere fact that sending kids off ziplines and swings is part of my current job description.
And then for the sweet blessing of watching them smile as wide as the heavens when they touch ground.

For spontaneous prayers with roommates.

For my boyfriend becoming my best friend.

For the incredible God-given grace that feeds my heart, my mind, and my soul daily 

   whether I notice it or not.

Ok now it's your turn.

He said No.

So. In case you haven’t heard… I work with 5^th & 6^th graders in the Redwood forest at an outdoor education center and it’s kind of the best. I do lots of facilitating, leading, guiding, and teaching. But little did I realize how much they would do the teaching and I would do the learning. These kids are teaching me how to be kind, patient, and bold.

Take Eric for example, A.K.A. the cutest little boy I’ve ever seen. A little bit of pudge. A little more bit cross-eyed. And the sweetest, most innocent smile in the whole wide world. Oh, and the most beautiful brown skin straight out of Mexico.

Adorable.

I loved that kid… wish he was still around. But here’s the thing, Eric was terrified of anything more than 10 feet up in the air. He refused to climb the trees or do any of the ziplines or swings. And I mean, RE-FUSED. I was lucky if the boy even put a harness on.

So there I was, up in the tree sending kid after kid off all kinds of exciting “rides” as they like to call it, my ears practically bleeding from all the spontaneous screams and uncontrollable laughter as each wild eyed participant took their first step or “scoot” off the wooden platform.

Then almost out of habit, I would find my eyes back on Eric, his eyes larger than ever, just gleaming at each participant with such an innocent, child-like hope and determination. I just knew he wanted to fly and wave from the sky like all the other kids. Or did he? Didn’t every kid want that? 

You know, there were actually a few times where Eric would come close to maybe, possibly, potentially, in an hour’s time… attempt to climb, zip or swing from the trees. And each time I would get so excited. In fact, on his last full day of camp, I was certain it was going to happen.

WHAT?!! Eric has a harness on!

He’s moving toward the stairs!

Heart pounding.

Feet grounded.

Carabineer ready.

Eyes locked on his.

After only one step up, Eric casually yet intently looked back at his even more terrified friend, Christian, the only other kid who had not yet attempted the the zipline. Desperate for an Ok, a nod, maybe just maybe, some sort of approval from his loyal comrade. But Nothing. Just the same familiar fear staring back.

Still Eric moves forward, terrified and full of doubt.

Man.

We tried everything. Eric’s father-like figure chaperone, David, stepped in and together we were ready to Conquer. We had Eric close his eyes and dream about his puppy. I explained our equipment set up and our inspection process… told him those carabineers can hold the weight of a baby elephant. We even had him repeat after us,

I know I can do this. (I know I can… do…this.)

This is not scary. (This… is not… scary.)

It’s going to be super fun. (It’s going to be super…. fun.)

Then tears. Lots of tears. We’re talking major waterfall.

Quick sidenote: I’m beginning to become pretty comfortable with kids crying next to me up in the trees these days. Shoot, I almost expect it. And then there’s the uncontrollable shaking. And the petrified, toddler-like screaming. Oh and let’s not forget, the mere shock on the kids’ faces as they look down for the first time and practically swallow the entirety of the height at which they are going to fall from. Although I never use the F word with kids… at least not that F word.

"Not fall, Rebecca.

FLY. You are going to FLY."

Anyway, back to Eric. Here we are, desperately trying every possible technique in the whole wide world of Challenge Course Counseling. At one point, we even picked him up on both sides of his harness so he could feel the support of the cable.

But after about 10-15 minutes of doing everything but pushing this kid off the dang platform, he looks us both in the eye and says without a stutter,

I can’t do it.

Hands officially and forever out of the handholds.

Head shaking profusely.

And without another word, we both know there’s no way he’s letting down this time. Eric’s done.

After catching his breath and wiping the remainder of his tears on his sleeve, he and Christian walk down to the field and wait in silence for David to walk them back to their cabin. All the other kids had left at this point. Free time had begun and they were tired of waiting on Eric to make a decision.

“Well, we tried. That’s too bad. These kids sure are missing out,” Military Man David says to me in a rather depressing tone. Then he turns around to go back down the stairs, ready to give the boys a Growing Up Talk on their walk back to camp.

But you know, as I think back to that day at the zipline, I begin to realize something: Maybe Eric has more courage than any of us. Maybe he is the bravest one of all.

Eric said No.

A ten year old. A mere ten year old. Still afraid of girls. Still learning how to hike without tripping over every possible root in the forest.

He said No.

How often I say Yes because people expect me to. How often I...

Do this. 

Do that. 

Go here. 

Go there.

All because I’m supposed to or because everyone else is doing it. Or because I don’t even know there’s another option. How often I stand at the edge of the platform internally terrified and more than overwhelmed, trying to calm myself down but failing miserably as my breathing soon evolves into disappointing attempts at inhalation, forgetting for the life of me how to exhale.

Harness: Check

Helmet: Check.

Clipped in.

Handholds On.

Step. Forward.

And…

Gone.

If only I knew I had a choice. 

The choice to say No.

To step back.

Get unclipped.

And walk away. 

There’s always a choice.

An Invitation

So I am learning that I really enjoy being 24. While it is somewhat disturbing to move further and further into adulthood and watch the years of my youth slowly fall through my fingers like sand, I am, in very tangible ways, rediscovering myself. For the first time in a long time, I am folding inside out and becoming comfortable in admitting my own weakness, hesitations and doubts.

And in this process, I am seeing and tasting and discovering more beauty than I ever knew existed.

So here I stand at the beach of self-discovery. I visit this place often in my internal explorations, as it quickly becomes my necessary escape. It is here that I linger in reflection and collect memories like shells in the sand. It is here that I speak kindly to myself in a calm and motherly tone.

Today I play in the sand like always as I painfully allow each tiny speck to drift from my hands back to the ground until suddenly it seems, my childhood and college years become a closed chapter. The story must go on.

But with the sand forever set free, I sense something new in my hands, something invisible but heavy. I experience the weight of it in my palms all the way down to my feet. I feel it dance within each strand of my hair. I feel it nudge at my limbs and tickle my eyelashes... 

Wind.

I welcome the wind in all of her playfulness. Boldly, brilliantly, she sings a majestic sound, like music I have never noticed on this beach of golden sand. With time, the wind becomes stronger in her movement, more intricate in her choreography, until she completely and deliberately turns me around. At once, my eyes are in shock at what they see.

A body of blue perfection.

The ocean in its raw and fiery blue, is the most calming yet inviting piece of creation I have ever seen. And like a magnetic pull, it draws me in and never wants to let me go.

In this great big ocean of blue, moments combine into days and days into weeks and weeks into years and over time, I discover, this is what it means to grow up... 

To weave in to the waves of the majestic. 

Yes, the years of playing in the sand are most beautiful, I must assure you. But may I invite you to swim in the sea? May I request your arrival at this ocean of glory? Come discover yourself in the waves of desire and swim toward her horizon. And as you swim, I dare you,

Invite your Creator to pull back layers of your heart. 

Layer after layer… in all of your past, in all of your confusion, in all of your doubt, He peels. In all of your very fragile and human moments, the moments you thought impossible to forgive, He peels. So for once, let each year of your life serve as just one more layer being peeled back as you are given a deeper awareness of yourself with all of your kinks and quirks, cravings and aspirations.

The ocean is behind you. Let the wind carry you home.

Tears of Gold.

So I got my first taste of homesickness yesterday. It stung a little and still stings now if I’m telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Wow…just had a sudden flashback to the magical slumber party game every girl dreams of known as… wait for it… the legendary, the timeless…

Truth or Dare.

I remember that feeling like it was yesterday. We would all be in our pajamas by this time of the night. And we had (of course) already completed the other tasks on our To Do List of Sixth-Grade Fun including a 3hour-long series of MASH, make-overs, dance performances, scary movies, raiding the fridge… and NOW. It was everyone’s favorite.

Pillow in lap. Here we go.

And before you could say Backstreet’s Back, everyone was sitting in a perfectly flawless circle, Indian style and all, silently comparing PJ’s. And I swear you could actually hear hearts beating heavily around the room like rocks gloriously tumbling down the Carolina mountainside. And the longer the silence lasted between players, the louder these hearts of rock would become until suddenly, the moment when you equally love and hate your name…

Mary Margaret. 

Truth or Dare!?

At once, as if all N’sync (ha, see what I did there?), a chorus of giggles and glares would leap across the circle as each girl internally analyzed you to death, looking you up and down trying to figure out what your puberty-stricken self is made of. In retrospect, it is a bit creepy how each individual tween's eyes would gleam like diamonds as she would silently predict your answer better than a weatherman predicts the day's mood.

And as fun as it was to be the brave soul that took on the Dare every round and be forced to rush to the garage and shove a bowl of Dog food down your throat against your own Limited Too will, you do know that, most times that was the easier route. I mean, seriously, what middle school girl really wants to open all doors to any question which she is required by Slumber Party Law to uphold to in all honesty? Um… sorry, but No Thanks.

Ok so we’re on the same page? Truth is the new Dare. Just go with me for a minute…

So back to yesterday…you know those moments when you crave nothing more than familiarity? This was one of those days. Shoot, you could have thrown me in a ditch in Nashville or Tuscaloosa (take your pick) and I would have been one happy little camper. Either place would have sufficed. Just give me a voice I recognize, a face that knows my past so I don’t have to explain myself anymore. Just give me that Alabama ground, a tree at Centennial. Anything.

It’s quite hilarious, though, how upset I get at myself when those feelings come. I find myself saying things like, Just tough it up Mary Margaret. Come on. You’re a big girl now. And then low and behold, the real battle exists between a clean cheek and a wet one. And let me tell you, if those tears come, all hell breaks loose.

I get so mad at myself.

Each tear becomes one more avalanche reminding me I failed. I failed at being grown-up. I failed at putting on the happy face that people so easily associate with me… or at least that’s my desire. Tears mean soft, weak, pitiful. And this is not the time. At least save them until you are by yourself, I tell myself. Save it for a decent writing session, a lonely night before bed.

I was in Rite Aid when it happened. The battle had begun. Two of my new coworkers/friends scurried around the store to cross off their lifelong list of items… or so it seemed because it had literally been years since I purchased my one necessary item for the day: a watch. I was putting it off as long as possible. I hate wearing those heavy, ugly things on my wrist. And more than that, most days I hate knowing what time it is. It makes me feel like I live in a box… but I guess that’s part of being grown-up too.

So I was sitting in a cheap, raggedy looking chair in the front of the store that I’m pretty sure was for sale since it was in the middle of Nowhere-ville, Rite Aid. Yes, I was feeling a bit on the lazy side but I was certainly ok with that. I know I probably looked a bit silly and out of place sitting there but I somehow felt entitled to such temporary and unusual comfort, I guess because, “I’m not from around these parts.”

I’m using that line as long as possible.

And then it hit me: I’m not having fun. I feel stuck in this town, in this store, with no car and no desire to be the slightest bit social. And I just bought a watch. Really?! A watch.

Ok so mission accomplished. I didn’t cry. My new friends who are coming to know me for my quirky humor and Alabama twang never even knew I was hurting inside. But should that have been my goal?

It’s such a natural instinct for me to not let myself “go there” too many times than not. As soon as I get the shaky voice and the stuffy nose, I just want to crawl into a hole and die. Ok that’s a little dramatic but I think it’s safe to say I quickly turn into somewhat of a drill sergeant inside demanding this way, then that. This feeling, not that.

And you know one thing I am beginning to realize? While I spend all my time and efforts to withhold being vulnerable with people (A.K.A. when my heart turns plastic like a McDonald’s hamburger), I hurt those I am closest to because I don’t let them in. I don’t let them in to that sacred space where God actually dreams of me living. Because it is there that He gets to be God and we get to be human. He gets to be Father and we get to be child. He gets to be Creator and we get to be creation.

Simpler version? We become what we were made for: Weak.

I know, it’s a bit unsettling. I still struggle with the concept myself but God is opening my eyes to a new day, a new reality, where I actually can begin to trust in His goodness. He is inviting me to a new place on the map, an island of liberty perhaps, where He can actually hold my frail and fragile heart and let me be me.

Messy messy me. Tears and all.