Just Say No

Just say no. Although this slogan was a complete failure in the war against drugs, it could still serve a purpose. When my friend Anne decided to become a goat and chicken mother on a little plot of land that certainly resembles heaven, she didn't get transported there through magic fairy dust. She had to DO a lot of purging.

For months I watched Anne let go of paintings, outfits, jackets, children's tea sets, matchbox cars, extra dishes and furniture. She had to actively reject the doubters and naysayers who thought a woman of a certain age might consider a lovely retirement home but perhaps should refrain from daring to dream that life could be MORE with LESS. Anne ignored it all; she discarded the advice of those who knew her but did not know the inclinations of her heart. Anne finally learned how to just say no so she could say yes to her life - not her friends' life or her children's life or even her beloved husband's life - her life.

I wonder if sometimes she felt the weight of rejection when not every single person jumped up and down with glee over her news to sell the family home and move. I myself remember floating the idea of downsizing one time with my adult kids and our son Michael said, "Who's going to pack up my childhood memories?"

I didn't know how to answer Michael then, but I do now - thanks to Anne. Now I would say to my son, "You. You carry your memories in your heart. You own the ones you save and the ones you pitch. You get to take the memories you treasure with you everywhere you go. Dad and I will text you our new address when we move."

Now, unlike Anne, Pete and I chose a different path of reinvention which required a home renovation. This means that all my children's memories are still packed away in storage bins with regular invitations from us to come retrieve them any time they want. We're still waiting on Michael to retrieve his precious memories - I suspect there is a lesson to be found in that small fact.

The word "NO" looks different for each of us but it does involve rejecting one thing for another. If we are not willing to purge, how will we ever make room for the newer, better problems and joys that await as we get more clarity about who we want to be when we grow up?

“Hey, Who Pulled the Plug?”

“Sometimes it takes hitting that rock bottom to realize you’re done descending and it’s time to rise…”

Mandy Hale

Part of growing up involves learning stuff we think we should have known earlier but are only getting around to figuring out AND not blaming ourselves for what we did not know. When our kids were little we usually went to the beach on vacation. Eager beavers that we were we’d often end up at our destination before we could get into our rental.

We’d find some place to park and head immediately to the beach. One summer we arrived at high tide. The next morning, the tide had receded. One of our littles said, “Hey, who pulled the plug?” The only body of water that he knew of that acted like the ocean was the bathtub. It was a logical question for a three year old.

The truth is, there is stuff we just cannot know until we know it. Like the way our life is like the ocean, or a bathtub, depending on our viewpoint. Sometimes it feels like a mysterious hand pulls the plug and our joy drains from us. We lose hope and confidence. We doubt that anything will ever feel right or normal again.

This is life. Psalm 130 (you can look it up or wait until tomorrow when I post it in the blog) talks about this. It gives us an example of a group of people who feel like God pulled the plug. But it ends with “right remembering” - that inevitably God restores and rebuilds.

So when we’re feeling like we are at the end of our rope, let’s push off the bottom and kick our feet in an act of solidarity with a God whose intention is to eventually make things right. We wait. We paddle. We try to rise as an act of faith.

The Inevitability of Loneliness

Just to review, I’m (Teresa) exploring this idea that what we have historically thought of as wisdom and maturity and how to acquire it may be...not quite right. I’m suggesting that we rethink what the experience of spiritual growth is versus how we imagined we would feel once we achieve it. As an example, I am picking on loneliness and our notion that it is a bad thing. I’m going so far as to suggest that loneliness may be an inevitable part of growing up. The reason I suggest this is partially because the book of Romans keeps reminding us that our culture gets it wrong and we often go along with its current hypotheses about life without thinking.

So here’s what I want you to do, God helping you:

Take your everyday, ordinary life—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for him. Don’t become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God. You’ll be changed from the inside out. Readily recognize what he wants from you, and quickly respond to it. Unlike the culture around you, always dragging you down to its level of immaturity, God brings the best out of you, develops well-formed maturity in you.

Romans 12:1-2 The Message

Loneliness has become a cultural bad boy, like gluten or wearing hose (not leggings). In 2017 Theresa May (British prime minister at the time) appointed a “Minister for Sport, Civil Society and Loneliness. Health experts in Germany declared an “epidemic of loneliness” and called for an appointment of a commissioner for loneliness (to eradicate it, not promote it, I presume). Scientists are even working on an anti-loneliness pill to reduce or even eliminate the feeling of loneliness!

I wonder if we have all gotten just a titch off course.

Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed.

Mark 1:35 NIV