sewer rat-sorta hope

Hope.

Let's take the glittery filter off what we consider to be "hope." In order for our hope to be more than just wispy, frail wishes, it needs grit. Moxie. Neither grit or moxie come easily.

Hope can't be some dainty, sickly flower that only survives in particular environments, with particular watering needs and specific sunlight requirements. It's gotta be like a dandelion; a weed, capable of surviving any and all conditions.

Oh, you think you got rid of that dandelion because you mowed the lawn? Surprise, mother-grass cutter: it's back.

Hope can't be that winter cardigan with super-explicit laundering instructions ("Wash Cold in Distilled, Filtered, Non-Tap Water, Turned Inside Out, on Delicate Cycle. Once cleaned, lay flat to dry across bamboo-infused slats. Use organic latex gloves when laundering for best results").

Hope needs fortitude.

Hope needs to be the sturdy, well-constructed t-shirt that be be washed hot, cold, with any other clothes. You can spill on it, bleed on it, and it'll get clean. It can be dried in hot or medium heat, or not at all. Over and over. For years.

Hope can't be the affluent house cat that only eats organic canned food from the most expensive pet store in town, and also only poops on cat litter that's comprised of fair trade, spongy, peat moss-sourced debris. Where's the moxie in that?

Hope has to be like a sewer rat: capable of digesting anything, willing to forage and subsist on scraps. Willing to live, if necessary, with the gunk and sludge of life to find a way through.

You get the idea.

The hope of God needs to be able to hold onto us when we lack the strength, the resolve, or the willpower to hold onto it. Hope kept away in a safe glass case is not hope. Hope needs exposure. The gnarly part of this is that the only way hope gets to be this tough and rugged is by enduring setback after setback, disappointment after disappointment, interrupted occasionally by glimmers of progress and love.

We like the look of a battle-tested warrior sage when she's resolute, standing firm, a little winded, set about by a few old scars, digging in. She only got that way by enduring countless smaller blows, past disappointments, and much training.

Are you in such a rut these days? You absorbing the setbacks and the defeats, trying to stand up underneath them? This is what forms the sort of hope that can endure and withstand. It's not sexy at all. But it's what fortifies us.

We get knocked back, and not gently. We take a few moments to get our wind back, to get our bearings ... clear the stars from our eyes. We rise, and we push forward -- again.

"Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope..." -Romans 5:3-4

a la carté kills

How I learned a valuable lesson about self-respect, dating, and relationships.

When I was in college, this girl and I developed a friendship that, through time and conversations, became more. Talking with her on the phone once or twice a week morphed into talking on the phone every single night (pre-text messaging).

Texting on these phones took commitment.

 

We lived in different cities, but within easy driving distance. We'd confide about our life hopes, dreams, funny stories, day-to-day details, worries. We'd known each other for years, knew we had similar values and beliefs. We became each others closest emotional supports.

 

It didn't take much for my heart to want more. She told me I was the best, someone she could trust ... someone she loved. "Wow," I thought. "This seems so good!

 

And it was so good ... save for one detail. One singular detail.

She had a boyfriend.

Of him she spoke some.

 

What she did share with me: she knew they could never work out long-term. He wasn't much for meaningful conversation. He wasn't what she sought for her future. How she had all this time to talk with me while literally dating someone else, I couldn't figure. This unspoken question rattled around my skull: "then whyyyyy are you still with him?" In my uncertainty, I never asked this question. 

 

I reasoned that if I showed myself to be an obvious step up, that she'd ditch her boyfriend.  Then, we could continue what we'd started.

 

So I kept on, allowing myself to grow closer. Talking, sharing life, sharing laughs, sharing dreams. We poured more of our hearts out onto one another. I did my best to ignore the pesky "one detail" (which annoyingly remained a detail). Sooner ... or later, I reasoned, she'd end it with him if I kept sharing pieces of my time, energy, my heart.

How could I have believed this would work? Contrary to the saying, I do not think hindsight is always 20/20 ... but hindsight can offer clarity and perspective that wasn't visible at the time.

Thank God for friends who love us enough to tell us the truth.

 

Thank God for friends who love us enough to say hard truths we must hear.

 

My best friend Matt's wife was (and is) wise beyond her years. In talking with them about this girl and situation, and my hopes for how this would work out, she leveled me with a perspective I hadn't yet heard.

"You are a la carté-ing yourself," she told me. "You should not do this. You're gonna get hurt."

"A la carté-ing ... myself?? What does that mean?" I thought.

 

I knew what 'a la carté' meant: it's a term often heard at restaurants. It refers to a menu or list of items that can be ordered separately, rather than altogether. I hadn't yet heard it about dating, or relationships.

 

"Here's what I mean," she replied. "Right now, you're offering pieces of yourself, in hopes that she'll end up wanting more. But that's not how it should be. God made us to be loved completely, not piecemeal. None of us as whole people are ever too much for one person. Someone should either get all of you, or none of you. That's self-respect. As it stands, she's got you for emotional support and camaraderie, but then there's this boyfriend who's somehow still around. Why would she commit to wanting all of you, and ditching this other dude, if you're available a la carté? Don't devalue yourself, do not a la carté yourself. Connection without commitment is not stable, and you're gonna get hurt."

 

This perspective changed my life, y'all. I'd never heard this from the vantage point of standing up for myself and my worth in an appropriate, respectful, and resolute manner.

It's been more than two decades since I heard this. I share this wisdom a few times a year with people in similar scenarios, and it's absolutely right. If it's true for me, it's gotta be true for you as well.

Don't offer a la carté versions of yourself when it comes to dating relationships.

You're worth way more than that.

the silence of God

The silence of God can unnerve, agitate. You ask God about something, and you wait for an answer.

It's the prayer screamed against a mirror that's fogged with our frustrated breath. It echoes, but no reply. The room is still.

It's the fading ambulance siren as it drives away with a shattered dream. Now what? What now, Lord??

Why would God ever be silent when we call?

There's this story about Jesus. The apostle Thomas (unfairly nicknamed 'doubting Thomas') hears from the others that the risen Lord visited them, and he says, 'Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe' (John 20:25).

A bold statement. A not-unfair statement. He's calling Jesus out.

The next verse (John 20:26): "Eight days later, his disciples were inside again, and Thomas was with them ... [and] Jesus came and stood among them and said, 'Peace be with you.' Jesus proceeds to respond to, and reply to, Thomas' confusion.

I've read this passage more than once. The perplexing part of this verse (for me) always sits in the first three words:

Eight. Days. Later.

For Thomas, eight days of silence from God.

Imagine playing a game of tag in a pool. You call out 'Marco!' -- only for someone to reply eight ... days ... later ... with 'Polo.'

Imagine leaving the most crucial voice mail, or sending the most important text message of your life, to someone important to you -- and hearing nothing back in the first hour. You wait one hour for the reply text. The call back. The news about the diagnosis. The job opportunity. The grade. The relationship. The future plan. The news.

Then it becomes eight hours of waiting. Then, you fall asleep waiting for a reply to ping your phone.

You wake up the next morning and check -- no notifications.

One day of waiting becomes two.

Why have they not yet replied? Your imagination and nerves imagine every worst-case scenario. You wear yourself out with worry. You cry. You scream. You feel numb at times. You try to stay strong. You can't eat. Your sleep suffers. For seven days.

But then let's flip it.

Say you've known someone for years. The waters of your friendship run deep. These years and the history have built in you both a certainty that you matter to one another.

So when there's a delay in responding, you don't sweat. "My friend won't let me down," you say. "If I haven't heard back, it has to be for a good reason. They'll respond to me when they can." And your friend does get back to you. The silence becomes evidence of a trust, a relationship deep enough to not require instant responses, instant soothing, automatic replies, realtime responses.

What's this built on?

Trust.

Could it be that God trusts you with the silence? Could it be that's God's trying to show you how to trust him more deeply? There's a point -- in every friendship, every relationship, every collaboration -- where the trust gets stretched just a bit more, so that it can handle more.

It's when you've waited a few days to hear back from someone -- but you don't fret -- because you've waited longer for them before, and they've come through. When you loan a friend some money, and you've never loaned them money before ... and then they do pay you back in a reasonable time.

We trust, and give grace to, the silences we experience with our dearest loved ones and friends.

So what can we infer from the daunting, unnerving silence of God? I guess that question has multiple possible answers. Ergo, one possible answer is this: it's possible that God's trusting you with silence because God trusts you, wants that sort of connection with you, that you're able to handle the waiting.

Anyway, as you wait in your silence, give this some consideration.

make your bed, text a prayer, love the day

Committing to life changes feels so daunting. Where should I start? 

It's mentally, emotionally paralyzing to try to answer that question. 

For what it's worth, it helps me to think of the smallest possible change I could make until I figure out the bigger changes. 

Lord, I don't know what big changes to make just yet, but surely I could make a small change -- help me take a tiny step in that direction.

But sometimes, the most minute, minuscule of changes causes giant improvements.

The littlest rock, once removed from your shoe, will remarkably improve how you walk.

The tiniest smudge, once wiped from your glasses, remarkably improves your ability to see.

Sending a text you've put off sending will do wonders to improve how you feel about yourself and your productivity.

Moving your phone away from where you sleep will remarkably improve how rested you feel when you wake up.

For me, I always feel like I could pray more. 

 

ALWAYS. 

 

Yet a friend of mine recently commented that when people asked Jesus about how to pray, Jesus gave them the Lord's Prayer. Which ... is not a long prayer. Jesus also talked to them about the uselessness of heaping empty words into a prayer. 

 

A longer prayer doesn't automatically mean a more valuable prayer.

So maybe short prayers are the point. Like text messages. When you text with close friends, you rarely send a verbose, gotta-scroll-down-a-few-times-to-read-it-all text. 

 

It's short statements. 

 

It's incomplete sentences.

So talk like that with God. Doing a short prayer beats doing no prayer. 

 

And it's a minuscule change to the routine. I could pray while brushing my teeth. Or pray while walking to my car, or stepping into a meeting. Or when I put shoes on, or take them off. Whenever and whatever keeps the dialogue going.

Anyway, adjusting the slightest little routine can alter the course for an entire day. Or week. Or month.

Or life.

I've done an experiment lately: I make my bed just after I wake up. Before I pour myself some coffee, I make the bed.

If only it was this simple

And then: whenever I make or look at my to-do list for the day, I always write 'make bed.' And I strike a triumphant line through it to signal its completion.

 

Just helps set a tone for the day, I've learned.

Commit to some incremental adjustment. It often precludes huge strides forward.

We all have giant, gargantuan dream lists of what we'd like to see be different in our life. To lose weight. Renew our faith life with God. Smile more when we meet people. Stop snacking after midnight. Talk back to our anxiety to let it know who's boss. Pursue the dream. Stop obsessing over perfection. Talk to the crush. 

It all seems so out of reach. Where to start?

Start by making your bed. Start with a short prayer. 

Also, what other little step(s) can you take?

but have you asked about it?

Have you asked God for what you want?

Sure, you've talked about it ad nauseam ... to yourself. To your friends. Again to yourself. Searched social media for reels about what you want. Maybe you've talked about it with God.

But have you asked??

Ask. 

 

Put yourself out there, and ask.

It's a simple step, but too often glossed over. We want, we want, we want, we want want want want want want. Wanting isn't always wrong; it isn't always right. Depends on what we want. Yet we scheme, strategize, plot, maneuver, overthink, obsess to get what we want. 

Why should we ask God for what we want? What does asking God do for us?

1) It reminds us that so much is out of our control. We're not in charge.

2) It's vulnerable to ask. It means we might hear a 'no.' And some of us would rather do anything than risk hearing a 'no.' Truth be told, sometimes what we want is something we know we know is not good for us, that would do us harm. But we still want it. Hearing no can hurt.

 

3) Asking can show how much and why we want something. When we have to ask, we may have to explain why we want what we want. Luke 11 has this parable about asking God for something. "...yet because of his persistence he will rise and give him whatever he needs (Luke 11:8)" 

You know this to be true. You ask your parents one time for something but never bring it up again, they would reasonably infer that didn't want it too badly. So it wouldn't matter much if you did not receive it. 

But if you asked. And you asked again. And you asked again. And you talked about it, heard questions, answered questions, and still kept asking. What does this demonstrate? It shows that this is something you really, really want. It matters enough for you to show persistence. 

So ... what do you have to ask God for? What do you want?

Speak up, and ask. And keep asking. 

you see what you look at

[Apologies to my late grandma for the blog title; she heartily disliked any sentence that ended with a preposition!]

 

When my best friend turned 16, he acquired (for $1,000!) a 14-year-old BMW. Given its age and mileage, he perpetually performed maintenance on that car -- for him, it was a labor of love. It looked sleek.

I, on the other hand, knew nothing about BMW's. If asked, I wouldn't have been able to identify them from any other brand of car.

But here's what began to happen:

 

Once I began to ride with him in this car, and listened to him talk so much about his car, I started noticing other BMW's everywhere on the road.

 

The distinctive headlights-

That logo-

I had no idea how many people drove this kind of car, until I knew what I was looking at [apologies again to grandma - another preposition!]. 

 

Once I could identify them, I could see them.

 

Isn't that how it normally goes for you and for me? What we look at, we tend to see. But until we know what we're looking at, we don't see it.

 

Some examples: 

-A friend will play you a song they love, and will point out a note sung (or instrument used) at a particular moment in the song. They'll tell you why they specifically love that part. You never noticed it before. But after it's pointed out to you, you can't not hear it.

-You love a particular snack. But until you told your friends about this, they'd never heard of nor seen it sold anywhere -- but since you told them, they see it all the time. They even will send you a message when they find it somewhere. "This makes me think of you"

 

So: 

 

If you're anxious, discouraged, disheartened, cynical -- I'm not going to say there's no legit reason for this. The world puts us all on blast every moment telling us what sucks and what's getting worse.

 

But I will ask: if you want more hope, more encouragement, less anxiety, less cynicism ... what are you purposefully looking at that'll point out to you those sources of hope? What are you looking at that'll show you why there's reason to feel encouraged? Where are you looking to that's committed to lessening your anxiety or cynicism? 

 

Who in your life reminds you of these things? Who in your news feed shows this to you? 

 

It's naively idealistic to think we can thrive without intentionally looking for what's hopeful, encouraging, authentic, true, or noble. If your social media feed is 15% encouragement and 85% doom and gloom, it's reasonable to presume your mood and mindset would correlate to this.

  Perhaps this is why the apostle Paul writes (while he's in prison) to the church in Philippi about this:

 

Truth is, our minds will fill with something. Ergo, we gotta watch what we think about and put into our minds (just like we gotta watch what we eat and drink to maintain our health). 

 

We see what we look at. What are you looking at?

what is, what was, what could be: thoughts on transferring

I vividly recall a college conversation with my friend Rachel not long after starting college. Rachel, college junior, was one of the few people I already knew when I started.

"I'm thinking of transferring to another school," I told her.

Why did I think this? The first month of college took its toll. The fluctuating yet persistent loneliness. 

The awkward meals sitting alone; I struggled with "putting myself out there." I missed my girlfriend back home. I missed family. I missed my friends. I missed my old job. I missed the routines of the old life. 

But I didn't just miss what used to be.

Attempting to adapt to college brought a steady supply of challenges. Everyone seemed like they adapted better, faster, more genuinely than me.

-Attempting to adapt to living with two new roommates wasn't comfortable; we politely shared our space, but we didn't bond.

-Attempting to adapt to pushing my introverted self out there to meet people felt forced, wearying.

-Attempting to adapt to timing my showers in the floor's communal bathroom stayed subtly bothersome.

-Attempting to adapt to my poly sci professor's incomprehensible,  jargon-stuffed, no-notes lectures left me feeling like I didn't belong (spoiler: I dropped poly sci as a minor).

All this attempting to adapt enticed me toward one idea: I should transfer. Even though I'd only recently planted myself in this fresh soil of college, I wanted to uproot. This reactivity did not satisfy my dear friend. "You just got here," Rachel breezily said. "Slow down; give it some more time."

Truthfully--I didn't like her feedback. Sometimes hearing a logical, sensible answer just annoys me.

And yet ... transferring seemed like a fair amount of extra work.

So, I stayed in the fresh, awkward-feeling soil, hoping these roots would acclimate and grow deeper.

Within a few month's time, Rachel's advice seemed begrudgingly wise. I did acclimate. I did make friends. The girlfriend from home and I broke up (so, in an abrupt way, that situation worked itself out). I found people to share meals with. Thought we had different schedules, my roommates and I got more comfortable with each other, and stayed friendly.

I settled in to this new life.

And so, I re-learned an important lesson: my initial feelings often mislead me. Maybe your initial feelings can often mislead you too.

 

It's like this: sometimes the familiarity (and our memories) of what was can fool our imagination's ability to accurately forecast what could be.

 

Don't stay fooled by the cross-fade of what was and what could be.

 

It took every bit of the "give it some more time" my friend Rachel suggested.

 

I met people my first few weeks of school that seemed like they could be my friends all through college. It didn't work out that way. But I met other people, and found another crowd or two by the next semester that ended up introducing me to lifelong friends. And by the end of that first year, I eagerly looked forward with joy to returning the next fall.

 

My friend Rachel's advice guided well; it helped me to be skeptical of my skepticism. A prayer I have for you is that you have someone who helps you to be skeptical of your own skepticism.

 

I never did reacquire poly sci as a minor, though.

can't God just ask someone else?

  

One of my pet peeves about TV shows and movies (now that we're on the subject) concerns the dialogue. 

It irks me when scripts have none of the casual, reactive conversing or life happening that occurs between regular people having an interaction.

To my dismay, no superhero -- before they zoom off to fight to save the galaxy -- ever engages in the necessary chore of first clearing their schedule, or getting someone else to cover their shift at work ("Uh yeah, we were supposed to get together for lunch tomorrow, but now I have this thing I sorta GOTTA go do -- any chance we could move this to another day??").

No one called to a quest in a movie ever has to first:
-double-check when their flight leaves -- 
-fold/put away clean laundry --
-charge their phone --
-empty the dishwasher --
-pack any bags --
-use the bathroom one last time --
-or most importantly, try for awhile to talk their way out of having to do the thing -- 

They're just ready to drop all of life, and get after it.

Yes: I realize I'm nitpicking about ... the realism ... of Hollywood scripts that do this (no one said pet peeves had to be reasonable).

So this is my roundabout way of expressing gratitude for Bible verses such as Exodus 4:13, the one above. The Lord gives Moses this new challenge: he's gotta go corral the Lord's enslaved people and lead them to freedom. Moses has to tell their captors to let them go. Their captors will resist. Moses has no army, no regiment to back him up.

If this were a movie script, Moses might respond by dramatically walking forward, gaze steady. He'd nod, the music would grow with settled determination.

And we'd know that he was committed.

But that's not what happens here. Moses gets to talk it out (today, he'd get labeled a "verbal processor").

Exodus 3-4 recaps the conversation between the Lord and Moses. What can we glean about God from this conversation?

a) It's actually a conversation. The Lord is not one to give an order, and then treat follow-up questions as a lack of faith, insubordination, or a waste of time. 

 

Quite the opposite. 

 

Some of us may have experienced this vibe when receiving tasks from our parents or other authority figures. Our only acceptable response was to listen and obey. We had no space to ask questions, or share input, or protest. That is not how the Lord interacts with Moses.

b) The Lord doesn't dismiss Moses' valid concerns. Moses notes that he lacks skill with public speaking.

Some of us, when we admit insecurities to our friends, can predict their overly-optimistic comeback: "Oh, that's preposterous! You're awesome at [whatever task you suspect you're not awesome at doing]. You're totally gonna do fine!!" And we may feel unheard.

The Lord doesn't try to correct Moses. There's no brushing off the concerns. The Lord says, "I will be with you, and will teach you what to say."

c) Then, the truth. Moses says, "Oh my Lord, please send someone else."

Moses knows the task needs doing, but he'd rather someone else take it.

Be honest: sometimes the Lord calls us (or asks us) to step toward situations we'd rather avoid.

But we gotta go do what the Lord asks us to do.

Don't hear what I'm not saying: I'm not saying that every conflict or every wrong that breezes across your attention span demands you drop what you're doing to intervene. "Whoever meddles in a quarrel not his own is like one who takes a passing dog by the ears." -Proverbs 26:17 If it's not our situation, then we should consider the cost of involving ourselves.

And yet ... this was Moses' people, and the Lord gave him this task and situation to fix. There'll be times when the Lord will call you to speak (with love and respect) what needs to be said. Or to do (with love and respect) what needs to be done.

Or to confront (in love and respect) that which you hope goes away on its own.
 

Or to care for (with truth and love) that which you'd rather disdain, or remain indifferent toward.

Or to reach out (in love and respect) when you'd rather stew in your feelings and avoid.

It's understandable to not be wild-enthused about every single thing the Lord may call upon you to do. If you gotta first talk it out with God, by all means, talk it out.

God's clearly OK with talking it out.

 

making it up as you go

Data about our home planet tells us that the earth's surface curves at about eight inches per mile.

Ergo, IF: 

a) your eyesight is top-notch, 

b) it's a clear sky

c) and your view is about five feet off the ground, 

 

you would -- AT MOST -- be able to see about three miles away.

Which is not that far at all.  

 

We can see only so far ahead.

 

This is true, not just in distance, but in life. We can only be prepared ... so far in advance. We can only be usefully anxious ... up to a certain point. Past that, we have to trust God that he'll equip our future self to creatively work with whatever will be before us.

There's this scene from the first Indiana Jones film that shows this ethos.

Indy's on a mission to stop the stealing of a historical artifact (yes, I know there's way way waaay more to the film ... I'm trying to not spoil it ... work with me here). 

 

When all appears lost, the following conversation ensues between Indy and his companions:

 

Indiana Jones: "Get back to Cairo quick and get us transportation to England -- a plane, a ship, anything. I'll meet you at Omar's. Be ready for me. I'm going to get that truck."

Sallah: "How?"

Indy:

This plan contains sufficient detail only up to a certain point. And then: "I have no idea, but future me will think of something." This is a life posture that I'd love to more naturally adopt.

Jesus sometimes teaches this way. He says, "Therefore, do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble" (Matthew 6:34). Such a non-sentimental posture.

 

The first bit would look glorious on a motivational poster, amiright?

But if that poster shared why Jesus says to not be anxious, it pierces that pithy vibe straight through.

Like a skunk set loose in a boutique candle shop, it trades pithiness about anxiety for something more grounded.

Jesus is pragmatic: don't be anxious about tomorrow.

Why? because today has enough to occupy our anxieties.

This sounds like advice from someone who actually knows how anxiety can -- in a matter of seconds -- hijack a day, a meal, a moment, a mood, a conversation, or a night.

… that feeling of trying to will your heartbeat to settle down (and it beats ever faster)
… that feeling of trying to corral your thoughts from cycloning into a a mess (again)
… that feeling of trying to steady your breathing in the middle of the night (when worry pries open your eyelids)
…. that feeling of trying to not send another text or message, when all you want is to hear back

In those moments, someone telling you to ‘just stop being anxious’ or ‘just stop worrying’ does no good. But someone helping you redirect the anxiety to a sensible time frame … this shows compassion. Understanding. Grace. Attainability. This helps.

This is why, when someone offers us sips of this sort of hope, our fears seem a little smaller, and a bit less inflamed. It reminds us that future anxieties don't have to belong to us just yet.

So, is some situation causing you anxiety?
-Probably.

 

Is it a today thing or a tomorrow (or someday after) thing?

-Your answer determines how much weight to give it today.
 

Ergo: is all lost?
-Hardly. You’ll be amazed at what--when you ask God for help and wisdom--future you will work through. So pray about it. Give it some thought, then take a break from thinking about it. Talk to wise people you trust. Pray some more.

After all, we’re sorta making it up as we go, aren’t we? 

 

Prioritize today's anxieties over future ones.

tyranny of the new

Some new stuff I like, some new stuff I don't like. 

That's true for for most people. New doesn't always mean better, but it does almost always mean different.

New music from your favorite artist? Like.

New food allergy? Don't like.

New, free shirt? We like.

New, free haircut? We might not like.

New life path? We might like.

New anxieties that come with new life path? We might not like.

New razor for shaving? We like.

New skin scrapes because we got used to our dull razor? We don't like.

 

Starting college? We like.

Figuring out new routine, starting new friendships, battling loneliness? We don't like.

No one says their first year of high school is the best. No one says the first weeks at a new job are the best. No couple says their first year of marriage is the best. No one says the first days of adopting a new pet are the best. No one says the first few days of a new workout are the best days. 

 

Quite the opposite. 

The social inertia of keeping up appearances wants you (and I) to pretend that 'new' is only awesome.

But let's be real:

'NEW' can feel wearying. 

 

'NEW' often includes feeling achingly lonely. 'NEW' will leave us feeling behind the curve a lot of times. 

 

'NEW' will interfere with a decent night's sleep. 'NEW' will cause us to doubt we belong. 'NEW' will make us miss what's familiar. 'NEW' could cause a panic attack or two.

 

'NEW' will feel constricting at times. 'NEW' will tempt us to compare what we feel inside to how others appear on their outsides. 

So, let's remember this: we do like (some) new, but we always like new stuff more once we're more used to it.

 

If you're in a new season, know that it takes time. So give it time.

About Kindred Fuel

These are some of my writings, sketches, impressions, stories. My intended audience are those in the throes of navigating life's transition times of becoming an adult.

Please feel welcome to meander with me as life continually moves forward. I'm married, with a family. I've worked as a reporter, outdoor landscaper, restaurant manager, health care worker, and minister. Life is and has been varied. Even though I'm terrible at it, I am a Jesus follower.

We learn the best life lessons from the times we really screwed stuff up, so I share some of mine to help you out. I love to share a good laugh. I keep forgetting my Enneagram number.

My hope would be that you'd come away from reading this with some resolve and hope as you grind away at everyday living. Plan thus far is to publish regularly, maybe bi-weekly.

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