Velveteen Us

So. This is where we are now. Some of of us are depressed and all of us are anxious. Some of us are divorced or wish we were. Some have lost parents, while others have lost children. We all agree that marriage and parenting are nearly impossible. Sometimes we are too much. And sometimes, we are not nearly enough. We want to learn how to hold both.

Friends. Confidants. A soft place to land. Fellow warriors. Shoulders to cry on. And boy do we cry. A lot. We aren't the professional stuffers we were in our youth. We refuse to hold it all in and pretend we've got it all together. We've come to believe that feelings matter and strive to hold space for them. We laugh, too. In that loud, can’t-catch-our-breath kind of way that women aren't supposed to.

Over coffee in the garden, these women remind me that I’m worth holding and fighting for. They stay with me when I can’t stand to be with myself. They carry hope for me when mine is spent. They challenge me. They inspire me. They encourage me. They help me without fixing me. They offer me the grace that I so often deny myself.

We don’t always agree. True friendship doesn't have to. We are not clones of one another. We all bring something different to the table.

We journey together; helping to work out the puzzle pieces of our separate, yet connected lives. We remind each other that our voices matter, even when those voices are little more than a whisper. That even when we feel lonely, we are not alone. We help each other remember that we are all part of something so much larger. Our stories are all different and yet the same. We travel alone but somehow together.

We walk this bumpy road of becoming more real. Returning to ourselves; the selves we used to be before the world told us to be somebody else. We are softer now, and more grey. We are more settled into our own skin. Skin that sags and droops, growing more lined by the day.

Life etches itself into each and every wrinkle.

As though we are unfinished.  

Like the Artist is still working.

Like the Velveteen Rabbit, we are becoming worn and nubby and real. All because we love and are loved. We raise a glass in honor of friendship, and we have never been more beautiful.

“If you feel lost, disappointed, hesitant, or weak, return to yourself, to who you are, here and now and when you get there, you will discover yourself, like a lotus flower in full bloom, even in a muddy pond, beautiful and strong.” 
― Masaru Emoto, Secret Life of Water

I am Eve - My Messy Beautiful

I have believed the lie. Hook, line and sinker. I am Eve. Shoot. I thought I’d come so far, too.

March 5th, Ash Wednesday, began the Lenten season. I did not grow up observing Lent and don’t know that I really even understand it correctly. The word penance gets under my skin. I don’t believe that Lent is necessary nor do I believe that God requires it of me.

But last year I gave up Facebook and found that I really liked the space it opened up. The morning of Ash Wednesday, my local coffee shop invited pastors from First United Methodist Church to give the Imposition of Ashes, which is a fancy way of saying they put ashes on your forehead. So that morning I ordered a large coffee with extra cream no sugar, a greek goddess omelet, and ashes on my forehead.

I came home and found myself with time to drink my coffee and think and pray and just be. This time may have felt extra special because my four kids were back in school after being home Monday and Tuesday due to the ice and snow. And by snow, I mean a light dusting in which there was just enough powder to scrape off the deck and make snowmade ice cream.

During this time of silence and solitude, I became aware of a few things. When I take time off from reading everybody else’s words on Facebook and blogs, my own voice rises up and I discover I've got something to say. When I spend time in silence instead of watching The Today Show, there’s enough room in my brain for my own words to formulate. I am able to hear me. I’m reminded that my voice has value and carries weight. I can trust the deepest part of me that God continues to form.

Glennon Doyle Melon says it best in her book Carry On, Warrior.

“There is a divine spark inside me. I am worthy of the space that I occupy on this earth. No one deserves more respect, joy, or peace than I.  I have the right to speak, to feel, to think, and to believe what I believe. Those dreams in my heart, those ideas in my head, they are real and they have a divine origin, and so they are worth exploring. I am confident NOT because I am pretty or smart or talented or kind. Those things change and can be given and taken.”

There are plenty of lies I’ve fallen for. One is the lie that I really don’t deserve the space I occupy on this earth. I have lived most of my life trying to be smaller. Maybe part of it is that I’m so tall, but I think a bigger part is that I’ve believed that my voice didn’t matter. People in my life haven’t liked when I’ve spoken up, talked back, and disagreed. And that’s been hard since my personality type really feels a lot better when people affirm my decisions. But I’m outgrowing that old me. She’s still there of course, but the new me gives her permission to speak up, CLAIM HER SPACE, and dream.

Another lie I continue to operate from is the one that tells me that I can’t actually pursue my dreams until I lose 15 pounds. Those 15 pounds keep me from being thin. And I can only move forward when I’m that magical number on the scale. One of my dreams is to write. I have so many ideas for children’s books and have even gone as far as to write some. The father of one of my closest friends is a children’s book publisher. But I haven’t called him because my weight is heavier than I’d like it to be. WHAT?! I’m as perplexed as you are. I’m afraid to even bounce my ideas off him because he might be offended by 15 pounds…?? It’s even more ridiculous now that I’ve typed it out loud. It would seem that if I want to claim my space in this world, I’d be happy that my extra pounds allow me to take up even more room. Wouldn’t it?! And isn’t that I want for myself? And what I want to teach my kids?

Oh. And this is funny. I read so much, and talk so much, and join groups and go to counseling and all this leads me to another lie that I believe; the lie that I can single-handedly meet all the needs of my children. If I can figure out my stuff, figure out their stuff, check off all the lists in my books, follow all the formulas, THEN I can be a perfect mom and my children will have wonderful lives and never need therapy. Yes, really. I know logically that this is impossible, that I am human and can’t do it perfectly, but I still put all that weight on myself and ultimately, my children. The actual truth is that I am responsible for some of it, meaning parenting and teaching and guiding. But I’m not responsible for all of it.

As I become more aware of how naïve I am, which isn’t news to anybody who knows me, my mind goes to Eve. The poor girl has gotten a pretty bad rap and I think we are way too hard on her, especially since we've only been given the bare bones of the whole story. We pretty much place the entire burden of life on her shoulders. I think it’s easy to believe that I wouldn't have been that gullible, that stupid, that needy. But the longer I let those thoughts percolate in my head; I realize with certain clarity that I AM Eve. More sounds better. More sounds appealing. More sounds necessary. More sounds right. I get duped every single day. And I consider myself pretty savvy. Pretty stable. Pretty smart. And still I fall for that voice of certainty. Every single day. I fall for the new diet. The new workout program. The new parenting guide. The new church. The new, the better, the improved.

See why I do Lent? Yes, to identify with Jesus in His suffering. Yes, to be reminded to turn toward Him. But I don’t believe God’s love hinges on whether or not I join in the practice of following Lent for 40 days. I consider Lent an invitation to create more space in my life to contemplate and listen. I’m convinced that God’s love is the truth that can eventually obliterate these lies, and God is always speaking. Practicing Lent allows me to be a better listener. Today I find myself relieved to have a reason to say no to myself. The opportunity to fill a void with something good only arises when something gets taken away. Creating space for something better is my prayer for all of us, no Lent required.