Honest, washington whimsy

a loss of lovely.

I had a breakdown today.Lies were piling on from left and right and all I could see was a barren, dry, dusty road.

I felt like all of a sudden I’d been tipped over and shaken up.

My friend Glenalyn chose today to text me about a book about my soul.

I ended up talking to her via text for an hour or two. It, of course, made me ever so thankful for this tribe I have found myself grafted into. It made me know that even when I feel the most alone, I am not that thing.

But in that conversation I realized that there are two things that I’ve lost the ability to do.

Somewhere, I believe in the last 8 months, I forgot how to tend to my soul.

As I’ve come back to the hustle and bustle of working, of doing a job that has substance as opposed to one that was monotonous, as I’ve come back into community and church and having a social life I’ve lost my ability to soul care.

I can tell someone else how to do so, I know what used to work for me. But now, everything falls flat. It’s like charging a phone that always has to be plugged in. It needs to be connected to the source at all times. 

So, tonight when I told Glenalyn that I was going to doing something lovely before I went to bed I sat on my couch and opened my hands up and had no freaking idea what to do.

I (feel as if) I’ve lost the loveliness in my life. I feel like it’s been trampled in and kicked while it was down. 

And in a brutally honest moment I’ve realized tonight that I don’t know how to sit with Jesus especially where it just feels like nothing wants to settle down.

I’ve been posting a lot of words that feel like that don’t have solutions, words that feel like fruit basket upset.

Words that don’t feel like peace.

And I know in my knower, in the depths of me, that I am ok. I know I am peace, I am lovely. I know the answer is tucked deep within me.

And I know Jesus is here. Right now. On this couch with me, even when it seems I can’t look him in the eye. Or when I want to stand tall and carry my own burdens.

That’s the best part of it–he knows me.

And I know I won’t run.

I’m not lost, I’m not on the wrong path.

Even when I don’t feel it, I am that thing.

And so are you, when you feel like you are grasping at straws, grasping for breath, grasping for wisps of peace, you are still who you are. Who you were created to be.

You are lovely, even when it seems you can’t find it.

hope is a verb, Spain g42

don’t drink my coffee

Due to the fact that my friend Santiago has a countdown to traveling to see his girlfriend that happens to fall on the same day that I leave Spain for the states I know exactly how many days I have left.

But I’m going to pretend I don’t.

Let’s just say I don’t have a lot of time left here and I’ve realized something very, very important:

I have some SERIOUS giants to slay in the next (insert how many days I have left here).

I guess I should go back.

January 2012. The first sermon of the new year was about the giants in the promised land and how Joshua & Caleb were “of a different spirit”. That was my, “Oh crap. I need to quit my job. I need to move on to the next. I need to jump” sermon.

And that was not the last time I’ve heard that message over the last 2.5 years. It peppered talks on the World Race and now here in Spain it’s laced into most week’s topics. Being of a different spirit. Stepping into the river and taking what’s mine.

The last 2.5 years in my life have been wilderness years. They’ve been full of adventure, provision, wisdom and an immense amount of preparation.

At this very moment I’m standing on the edge of the river bed and I can see the Promised Land.

It’s terrifying.

And I think part of me has already touched the water. I might be standing ankle deep. And I can see these giants.

From far away they look scary. Gnashing teeth and fierce eyes. They are ready to kick me down and tell me that I’m not meant for greatness. That the land isn’t mine. That I’ve survived on garlic and onions and I should keep it that way.

They have names written across their chest.

Unworthiness. Lack of trust. Invisibility. Independent. Stubborn. Burden.

These words scream at me daily.

These words need to go to hell.

These words are “fundamental truths” in my life. They pepper the foundation of who I am. They are the scope of which I view myself. They are words from which I’m able to emotionally detach myself. I pretend//act like, they don’t effect me in anyway. I’m able to get beyond them, but in reality they are still there.

May I repeat?

These words need to go to hell.

I don’t want to live cowering in the shallow end of the river not walking the rest of the way to the Promise Land because these giants are kicking back and drinking my good coffee in the place I belong while I sit sipping instant coffee.

I don’t want to leave Spain with these giants still in front of me. Now, I’m not saying once I slay all these giants my promised land won’t be have hardship or hurt or I won’t struggle with lies.

But I won’t struggle with THOSE lies anymore.

They are going to find a final resting place in the south of Spain.

That’s what I’m going to be doing these next several weeks.

Continuing the process of choosing to slay giants because I’m choosing to see and claim my promise land.

 Two and half years ago I realized I wanted to be of a different spirit.

And today, sitting in a cafe, drinking my good coffee, I choose to make that decision again.