Mother's Day Unspoken

For so many years Mother's Day was a hard day. A day of wonder. A day of sorrow. A day of pain. A day of longing. A day of questioning. A day of conflict. For so many years this was a day a little girl wrote a card to her mom who held her tight and kissed her goodnight and then went to be alone in her room to cry.

Through quiet tears she asked herself, "Who am I? How did I come to be? Why was I even born? What's wrong with me? Does she love me? Does she think about me? What does she look like? Does she look like me?"

This little girl loved her mom who held her tight and kissed her goodnight but there were so many unanswered questions flooding her aching heart. She wondered why her first mom let her go. She longed to know her too. Longed to be with her. Longed to hear her voice. Longed to tell her Happy Mother's Day.

For so many years this was a day of silent heartache, shame, conflict and even guilt. But this year it is a day to celebrate all of the Mother's Days unspoken. No longer having to wonder. No longer having to question. No longer having to be silent. This year, through tears, I am full of joy for the chance to get to know her, too. To have had the chance to be with her and to hear her voice telling me, I am loved. I am grateful for the privilege of telling both of my mom's Happy Mother's Day and thank you for my life. I am honored to be loved by two beautiful women. I wouldn't be who I am without both of you, and I love you dearly.

If you are someone that was separated from your birth mom and Mother's Day is a hard day I want you to know that it is ok to wonder. To experience pain even in the midst of being loved greatly by others in your life. It is a loss in your life that cannot be made up for by someone else loving you enough. Allow yourself to grieve, but know this: there is nothing "wrong" with you. Never think for one minute that you weren't planned. You were fearfully and wonderfully made. You are loved and you are thought of every day!!!

The Incredible Gift of Authentic Wealth

Several years ago my family had the opportunity to talk with a young man at a skate park in Fullerton, California. If you don’t know anything about Fullerton let me first start by saying that it isn’t your typical showboat community of Orange County. The skate park was covered in graffiti and gang activity is definitely present throughout the community. As we approached the skate park this young man befriended us and took to enjoying my son Brady “shredding it” on the ramps.

It was easy to notice he wasn’t your “model citizen” (whatever that means). However, this guy was authentic and had an ability to be real and share like no one I have ever met. As he began to share where his life was at, it was very clear that drugs were in his system. He began to share of his dreams to be clean and sober and how he had been using for quite some time. He was able to kick his two year heroin addiction by skating all day long to keep himself busy. He still, however, struggled to stay away from pot that so frequents the skate parks and places he hangs out.

We learned that he had lost his job because he had to go to jail for a misdemeanor and was now living in a cold weather shelter. He was hoping to get into a 6 month program soon and had applied to several. He had been in and out of the hospital 6 or 7 times in the past year because he struggles with bipolar manic depression.

Yet, there among all that he had faced, was hope. There was faith and there was love in this young man more than I have ever seen.  By the world’s standards he had nothing. By the world’s view he was nothing. But he was richer than most would ever dare to be.

He began to show Brady some moves on the skate park, and his face lit up as Brady successfully tried the things he was teaching him. He was giving Brady free skate lessons wanting nothing in return. He was happy to share his passion with Brady just to see the joy on Brady's face. As we talked with him more, my husband asked him about his dreams and what he wants to do with his life. He had an overwhelming desire to teach kids not to do what he did and to stay away from drugs. He missed out on the birth of his sister’s first child and his grandfather’s death because he was in jail. We had the opportunity to listen to his plan to go into the Marines after he is done with a 6 month program.

Before we left he said “I have something for you, be stoked!” All this time we were talking to him I kept asking God to show me what we could do for him. I wanted to help him, but every way I thought to tangibly help I knew would only cause him more temptation. He walked away and a few minutes later came back with his own skate deck he had set up with larger wheels. It was his way of getting around town. He insisted we take it for Brady and we assured him that Brady had decks and didn’t need it. He was so excited to give it to Brady because he loved watching Brady on the park, and he believed that if he gave of what he had that something good would come back to him. He was giving all he had, trusting that he wouldn’t be without something better if he did. After much pushing by him and refusing by us we finally relented. We decided we couldn’t refuse this young man’s joy of wanting to bless Brady.

We then asked him if there was a place to get food close by thinking the least we could do would be to buy him lunch or something. His response was eye opening and honestly it rocked my world. He began offering to take us to the store and buy us groceries and stuff for sandwiches. This young man, who had “nothing” was richer than anyone I have ever met. He was ready to spend what little money he had in order to feed us. What an incredible gift to give yourself away in this manner. I pray that our friend does find sobriety and manages to fulfill his dreams. I would say he is a lot closer than most of us who appear to have it all together. Most of us won’t think about helping those who really need it, let alone those who don’t. Our closest friends often don’t get the treatment that this young man gave to us.

As for the rich in this present age, charge them not to be haughty, nor to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly provides us with everything to enjoy. They are to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share, thus storing up treasure for themselves as a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of that which is truly life.

1 Timothy 6:17-19

Becoming a Mosaic

I had no idea that I could love this deeply. I had no idea that I could feel so full. I had no idea that I could look into the mirror and ever be proud of what I saw. As I opened it up I had no idea my life was about to change. That a figment of my imagination was going to all of a sudden have skin. Have a heart beat. Have a story. Have so much love for me all of these years.

It is not what I imagined. I was familiar with a different voice. A voice that spoke: unlovable, rejected, unwanted, abandoned. But as I began reading, each word unraveled the thoughts that had entangled me all of these years. Each sentence lifting the weight of the feelings that had once crushed me. Each paragraph bringing light to why. Each page healing my broken identity. A selfless love that had to let me go. A relentless love that would not stop searching for me. A desperate need to know that I was alright. The journey was long and painful but there would be no giving up until I was found. Until the shattered pieces of a broken relationship were restored.

In the blink of an eye years of wonder were gone. My life giver had found me and wanted a relationship with me. I never thought I could feel so deeply for someone. Someone I had never met. But I couldn't deny it. I couldn't deny the lengths gone to find me. I couldn't refuse the proof as I stared at the script. It was there in black and white. I was wanted. I was searched for. I was loved. And I had been found.

I sat there shocked. I was afraid. Elated. Fearful. Happy. Nervous. And I was desperate for more. I once thought that I just needed to know how. I thought I just needed to know why. I thought information would be enough. I thought it would fulfill the missing pieces but I was wrong. The very core of my being desired a relationship that went way beyond knowledge and facts. I wanted intimacy. To meet face to face. To be embraced. To look into eyes that resembled mine. To hear the strength of character and to see the ways I reflected that image.

Shock gave birth to guilt. How can I feel this way? I am a traitor to the source of my life long love and provision. Like a two-timer in a love affair gone horribly wrong. I felt trapped in a triangle forcing me to choose. Like a hypocrite to a life once held. How can I admit a part of my heart was always reserved? I longed for it to be unlocked. To feel whole. To feel free to return this deep love that was now inviting me.

Powerfully overwhelmed yet haunted by familiar voices. What will happen if I turn around and welcome it all? Will I be a disappointment? Will I cause pain? Will I be enough? Will I be rejected? Will I be found to be who I was desired to be? A paralyzing feeling washed over me. Swimming in fear of not living up to an expectation, or worse, driving it all away.  Did someone really find me worth losing a part of themselves for? Did someone really find me worth longing for? Worth searching for? Worth loving without condition?

Dare I risk confessing my inner thoughts of doubt? Should I keep hiding them in the secret places of my heart to protect myself? From the fear of not measuring up? From the fear of losing what I finally regained? The answer was unmistakable as I read the words I needed to hear. "I love you. You are my child. You could never disappoint me."

I must choose to believe it. I must choose to be unraveled. I must choose to let go in order to be set free. I must be patient as the voices overlap. I need to hear those words again. I need to be reminded of them over and over until they become my new familiar voice. I need them to heal me and bring me a new identity. The one I was meant to bear.

My story is beautiful. My past is not erased. I wouldn't want it to be. It is all a part of who I am. Even the broken pieces and painful scars serve as a reminder. They have made me stronger. They have made me wiser. They have made me brave. They have brought me to this place. Ready to receive my portion. Ready to receive peace. Ready to receive healing for the ache in my heart that will not go away despite being loved greatly by so many.

And so it begins. My life is being changed. My story now becoming a mosaic of a once fractured fairy tale. The figment of my imagination now has skin. Has a heartbeat. Has a story. Has so much love for me. It is more than I could have imagined. A selfless love that had to let me go. A relentless love that would not stop searching for me. A desperate need to know that I was alright. A journey long and painful that wouldn't give up until I was found. Until the shattered pieces of a broken relationship are restored.

Passionate Fire

I often hate that I am passionate. It causes me to wrestle and my soul burns like a fire that is trying to escape a fireplace. It often feels like the glass doors are shut tight just trying to keep me contained and I desperately want to be let out so I can spread and grow. I find that I have to apologize at times because my passion overwhelms me and I forget not everyone feels the way that I do.

It is impossible to fully comprehend what drives another person because we all have different backgrounds and experiences that have brought us to where we are. We unsuccessfully try to put ourselves in the other person’s shoes after filtering it through our own boxes of values, morals and reasoning based on what motivates us. We try to understand another person’s motives, but if ours are skewed then we assume the same about someone else’s.

We must consider another’s point of view from a place we have never been and that is impossible. I learned this a few years ago when I tried over an over to explain my passion to someone and they failed to understand where I was coming from. I was crushed by it because I thought people knew what drove me. But every time I tried to express how I was feeling it went through the filter of their scope and intentions. Each conversation left me feeling worse because I was completely misunderstood.

My passions and desires were not my own. I was more than my performance and more than the opinions of my peers. I was not interested in making a name for myself but making a difference. I wanted my life to bring value and encouragement to someone else and be given a chance to do more of that. I learned that it is hard to express outward focused passions and desires to an inward focused humanity. I desperately wanted my dedication and service to simply encourage these same values in others, but these conversations were filtered through pride and fear.

So how do you respond when someone tells you that maybe your mission means too much to you? What happens when someone sees your act of service as an act of self-promotion? What happens when you sacrifice yourself to protect and serve someone else and you are accused of self-protection? What happens when your motives are misinterpreted through someone else’s filter?

You must remember who you are and whose you are. You must continue to sacrifice even when accused. You must remember to forgive and reconcile even when people don’t deserve it. You must continue to protect people even when they don’t fight for you. You must remember to die to serve even when people hurt you. You must continue to fulfill the mission that God has for you, even when no understands your motivation is deeper than yourself. You must remember to consider another’s point of view from a place you have never been, even when it feels impossible. And you must never lose your passion and desire, even when someone tries to shut the doors to your fire so they can keep you contained. You must remember to spread and grow because the mission means “too much to you” for a reason.

Somebody's Kid

Several years ago when my oldest was playing high school baseball my family and I were sitting in the stands enjoying yet another perfect example of youth sports when one of the infielders made an error on a difficult play. One of the grandparents from our own team starts in with how terrible it was that he missed the play and began shouting all kinds of nonsense on the field. Like at most youth sport events the parents and grandparents alike sit there critically analyzing every move their maturing kids make as if they could do it better themselves.

I found myself appalled that someone from our own team would treat one of our own players with that kind of ridicule. As my heart began to ache for the young embarrassed player one of the dad’s spoke up and respectfully told this worked up grandfather that his rant was unnecessary. The grandfather fired back, “Oh, Is that your kid?” and the father replied, “No. But he's somebody’s kid.”

Those words have stuck with me for years. I wish I could say that I have been perfect in this myself but the truth is I judge other people’s children and am plenty guilty of whispering things that are much worse than what this grandfather had shouted onto the field. I have disrespected and harbored hatred for teachers, co-workers, friends and their children, church family, even perfect strangers without a second thought to the fact that they are somebody’s kid.

Every human being was created by God and for God and I could just stop this blog right there and have said enough but unfortunately I still don’t get it yet. I think God really wants to show me that all of humanity is His. Not. Just. Me. That each child whether lost in a sea of brokenness and despair, found in Christ with life and love, or drifting in between in a state of wonder and doubt, they are somebody’s kid. And when I judge the lost, broken, dying or anyone for that matter I am saying I can play better on the bench than the Creator of the universe.

Sometimes God wakes me up gently and other times I go through deep hardships and I get to see His love for humanity in a greater way. He has used unemployment for me to learn to be generous and to teach me that he is the great provider. He has used unfair treatment to allow me to learn how I want to treat others because I would never want someone to feel like I was made to feel. And He has used my own children. And that is the worst. That is never gentle because as a parent I would do anything to give my children life and keep them safe. I wish I could keep them from making painful mistakes and from suffering. Watching my children enjoy life brings more delight to my heart than my best moments. And watching your children suffer is far greater than suffering yourself.

But if my children were perfect would I ever feel the ache in God’s heart for His lost and dying children? Would I feel that sucker punch to the gut for the world around me that is desperate and hurting? Or could I look right at my co-worker with hate, walk by a smoker and scoff, roll my eyes at the young people hanging around the mall half-dressed or make comments about the errors being made all around me? If my children were perfect would I have heard God speak through the suffering of my own son? That the ache in my heart that I feel right now for my own child He feels for every one of His. That is why He would leave the 99 and go and look for the one who is lost.

I want my heart to ache deep for those who are lost, broken and dying. I want to show compassion to the marginalized and empathize with the hurting rather than judging them for making mistakes because at the end of the day we are all somebody’s kid. 

Playing Well With Others

I often wish I could go back to the days where I was a carefree kid making mud pies and eating cherries in the backyard. I love what I learned about myself through the failed attempts of trying to grow cherry trees with the pits every summer. I learned that I loved to get my hands dirty and that I was someone who never gives up. I often wish I could go back to the days where I was a carefree kid but the truth is I love responsibility and I love being more self-aware.

When I was in Kindergarten I embarrassed my parents probably every day. I wasn't afraid to do or say anything and that really got me into a lot of trouble. One night at my Christmas program there I was on stage all dressed up like a sweet innocent girl. All the smiling parents including my own were looking on, proudly awaiting their child’s moment of fame. As I took center stage the kid that was supposed to be on my right was on my left. That was not how we were supposed to be standing, so being the incredibly sweet innocent girl that I was, I helped him get to where he was supposed to be in the way that every successful leader does. I yanked him by his arm across the stage. Now we could move on with the show.

I still have not lived that moment down. It is one of the stories my mom will be telling about me forever. I remember my parents asking me afterwards, “Why didn't you just do the song with him on the other side?” It just didn't make sense to me that way. I didn't understand the big deal about me taking charge and setting things right. It was the way the teacher wanted it. It was the way we rehearsed it and so it was the way it needed to be. I took responsibility and I really thought I should be thanked for helping the show to go on. However, what I learned over the course of my childhood, after many failed attempts to take charge, was self-awareness.

I likely gained most of my self-awareness through the countless hours I spent grounded in my room thinking about what I had done. I often wish I could go back to the days where I was a carefree kid but the truth is I love being almost 42 years old. Through many poor choices, and a few good ones thrown in, I have learned to pay attention to the way people react to the way I treat them. This has helped me greatly in my leadership development and has made me more aware of the way I work. But the most important aspect of being a leader is not actually self-awareness, but rather, how you use your self-awareness to impact the people and ultimately the world around you. Because lets me honest, you can be self-aware and not change how you respond. And that is tragic.

The next year when I was in first grade I hit boy over the head with my metal Kermit the Frog lunch box giving him a big goose egg. Before you judge me let me assure you, he had it coming. In my mind I was put on the earth to take charge and set things right and he was making fun of my sister’s best friend who was born unable to walk like the rest of us. Again, he had it coming. However, how I chose to respond was quite possibly wrong. I have days where I still have to remind myself that it isn't always appropriate to say what I feel or do what I want. If I am being transparent and honest right now I will admit that I wish I could go back to the days where I was a carefree kid who hits people over the head with a metal lunch box. Thankfully for some, I was never allowed to have another metal lunch box after that day.

It seems transparency and self-awareness are new buzz words, but they are only the beginning to helping us see who we are. The next step, the one that will actually help us to succeed as leaders, is how we use our self-awareness to better respond to the people around us. Just because I am aware that I want to hit you over the head or yank you across the stage, and I am willing to admit it, doesn't mean I will change my behavior. So what is the winning combination?

Becoming self-aware and being transparent are great starting points of becoming a successful leader. If you don’t know who you are and are not in tune with your strengths and opportunities you won’t play well with others. (Just like my grade school report card said.) But as leaders we need to consider how we fit with the strengths and opportunities of the people we work with. It becomes less about taking charge and setting things right and more about how your skill sets help to complete a team. How you can put someone else on the right instead of the left without yanking his arm off. It might be that you even give him center stage and let him be in the middle. You learn to hit yourself over the head with the lunch box, sometimes repeatedly, before you teach someone else how to respect others. It becomes about taking responsibility and not blaming someone else for our behavior.

Our families, churches, sports teams, and companies need to be full of people that can play well with others. It starts with transparency and self-awareness but grows into a total awareness of how we respond and choose to play with others. Now we can move on with the show.

Duck Face

I would say it is safe to say that in today’s society with plastic surgery and Botox readily available to anyone who wants it, what looks like a duck may not be a duck. Personally I am terrible at making the duck face but with a little editing software or the right filter who would ever know? We are definitely a generation that prides itself on life hacks that help us cover up our eye sores and make our lives look better. We use fake rocks in our yards to cover up water pipes, drawers and garages to hide all of our junk and decorative wraps to go around our garbage cans so even our trash looks pretty.

What happens when that mentality starts creeping into the church? When we turn the lights down low to create an emotional response and it provides a mask to every tear shed. When we put professional signs up all over directing people to each ministry we have to offer. When Easter Sunday rolls around and we clean up our church buildings, make sure the grounds are freshly mulched and remind our volunteers to be on their best greeting behavior. When we have a woman’s conference and we try to hide our ordinary garbage cans by wrapping them in pink flowery paper. When we meet in a theater, elementary school or warehouse and we try to make it look more like a church building by hiding everything behind tall black curtains. I mean what would happen if the people saw the popcorn or graffiti as they came through the doors. I bet they would never come back. And I know they would be way too distracted to ever meet God in there. Unless…

Unless we as a church really took a look at what God is calling us to. He came to pull us out of hiding and into a marvelous light. To uncover our trash cans and reveal how truly messed up we are. So what if we become so captivated by what He is doing in our lives, how He is restoring us as we let Him tear down our curtains that we shout all the more? We hear His call to invite those around us in. We stop needing sign boards to direct newcomers because the people of God are in rhythm with the beat of His heart. We take others by the hand and show them the way. If we as a church were so beautiful in our display of His love and reconciliation that when we open wide the doors no one even noticed the building. They had no idea they even entered one because inside and outside the church was the same. What if we stopped our pretending and engaged the people around us and showed them even our trash isn't pretty? What if we took off the filters and masks and displayed what God is doing in our lives despite all of the garbage?  Let us not be like the fake rocks in our yards. Let's be the people that invite God to hack into our lives and reveal the inward workings of our hearts and not be surprised when what looks like a duck ends up not being a duck.