The virtues of discomfort and how the world gets changed: a manifesto

If you want to change the world, you will never do it sitting down. Not there in that chair, all comfy and cozy. No, you don't care enough from that position. 

You will never be radical if you can’t embrace discomfort. 

You will be a safe, squishy slug no one is afraid of. You must hand over your World Changer title.

Comfort is you in control. 
It’s a place where you know what is best for you. 
Where you and I can be the gods of our own personal universes. 
See why it's so hard to give it up?

But being uncomfortable doesn’t mean you are unsafe, unprotected.

It usually means you are in search of truth, 
and the discomfort is the indicator you are closer. 

Discomfort is the ache we get when we grow, your guaranteed, without-a-doubt knowledge you are changing, evolving, becoming.

Your desire for comfort and feeling good could be the death of you. 
At least it wants to be the death of you. 

In fact, I would say discomfort is a good thing, and we can embrace it because we will always be safe. Really safe.

Safety is the place we live every day in the eyes and palm of a Father who loves us. 

[photo cred: www.armsaroundba.org]

Safety does not mean nothing bad ever happens. 

It does not mean our feelings never get hurt. 
Being safe does not mean we always get our way. 

But it means we are never alone. 

We can be in pain and uncomfortable and feel like we've never been here before 
and we never want to come back. 
But we can survive because we are with Someone.

We are not alone. 

Not alone is what makes danger okay. It's what makes discomfort bearable. 

And this is the truth of our existence. We just aren't ever alone. 
Father God put Jesus through the alone so we don't have to feel it ever again.

We no longer need to create our own safety; we are already there. 

So if you embrace discomfort, vulnerability and the pain of your own human existence, you will discover real truth, the gems and mysteries and hidden things of God and his creation.

And if you decide to give up your recliner and your right to the bubble wrap, 

you just might change the world.

“Happy am I to love a hungry life, 

and blessed am I to thirst. 

Disillusionment is a gift within; 

I am blessed among men.”

{Lyrics by Lovesick, by Misty Edwards}

The danger of safety

Word of warning: This post is about comfort. You may feel un-comfortable while reading.

Two weeks ago I wrote about living in between, about the unhappy space where I live, a place in which I have a dream, goal or destination floating somewhere in front of me, and yet I do nothing to move towards it.

This “ah-ha” led me to the conclusion my motivating values do not match my stated values, in that I am motivated by something other than what I claim to be.

For me, the values most true and evident in my life were fear, comfort and laziness. It was disheartening, to say the least, to realize these weak and powerless motives and desires were CEOs of my everyday existence. But ironically I’ve been too comfortable to change.

Over the past two weeks, I’ve been acutely aware of my love for comfort, and believe me, I am uncomfortable now. I think God is pressing the issue.

Last week I talked with a Soldier who grew up in an urban area in the South where violence was the norm, where gunfire and other life-ending measures settled disputes on a regular basis. He lost his first friend at age seven.

He told me it is unfair so many people in the world controlled their access to global unrest and poverty with the click of a remote. If they wanted to, they can simply shut off the TV and ignore the problems, he mused. “But some of us live there, and we can’t ignore it.”

I immediately saw in the mirror the many nights I’ve read news of atrocities committed on our soil and abroad. I signed a petition, retweeted an article, shouted a call to action. And then I turned off the light and went to bed. Outside my house no gunfire echoed through the streets, no screaming for help, no sirens.

But perhaps what is worse than my love of comfort is the safety I pack around me makes me safe. Creates in me a preference for the moderate, for 70 degree temperatures and sunshine, for the indoors, for well-manicured everything. My desires for comfort and safety weaken my ability to innovate and increase my whininess. They strip me of change agent status. 

They make me “un-dangerous”.

Most of us want to know we are not in danger as we walk around, that we are not about to get robbed or shot. I think this should be a right for all humans, although it certainly isn’t a reality for a majority of the world.

But what about all the other convenience features of our lives: dishwashers and warm showers, functional cars, indoor plumbing, a closet just for shoes, a cup of coffee every morning?

We claim we cannot live without these amenities, and we loudly bellyache if it is ever required. The inability to live without the extras, the things beyond food, water, shelter and air, seems to be more a sign of a maladaptive state of being than a badge of success.

photo credit: www.wyndsongwrites.com

In our middle and upper-class American bubble today, we are snugly unaware, insulated, bubble wrapped from a hurting world that knows the feeling of a dirt floor in their bedroom, and wonders if they will have enough food to eat tomorrow.

The sound of war and pestilence are foreign to us. We simply shut off the television. We can close our laptops, safe from the dangers of the world. 

But the safety comes with a price. Now that we are safe from the world, the world is now safe from us. We are no longer dangerous.

Think about it. What life-changing invention ever came from a man on a couch who said, "Ah, this is great. I have everything I need. I am perfectly comfortable"? 

Looking back at great innovation, we don't see a trail of people without problems at the helm. We clearly see lack, a sense of something missing, as a creation motivation. Pain and hardship are excellent inventors themselves.   

So I’m here writing this, painfully aware of my comfort, and suddenly, very uncomfortable. 

I want to be dangerous again, but I'll admit I'm still terrified of what it will cost. Because I know that on a good day, it will cost my comfort. I will have to hand over my complacency. But it could cost me more.

Is being dangerous, being effective, being an envelope-pusher, a creator, an idea-generator, a problem-solver worth it? These people stand out on the edge near the issues. And the issues are inherently uncomfortable. They feel like world hunger and look like war orphans and widows. 

There's no room for complacency here. There is only work to be done, and room for people who will do it. 

Something to think about: 

What are you compromising so you can be comfortable? 

What ideas and innovation have you missed because you have to start our day with coffee and the news? 

What parts of God do we overlook because it takes discomfort to see it?

{The topics of discomfort, waiting and the ability to change the world are eating me up this week. At least one more post is coming on this topic. Perhaps more. I am uncomfortable now. Thanks, God.}

Happiness is...

...being reunited with the love of your life the day after your 2nd anniversary after he'd been gone at war for nine months.

Oh my gosh, don't you just love it? Miraculous.

Congratulations to my two wonderful friends who got to be together again today after a grueling nine-month separation. (In case you don't recognize her, this is my favorite photographer, our family go-to, Emma from RoseWheat Photography with her lovely hubby, Jeff.) 

I wrote about another reunion of theirs less than a year ago, the beautiful waiting, the longing that built up and the moment of togetherness. How it feels like our yearning for Jesus. 

A few months later, I dreamed a dream he'd make it back to us, safe and sound.

And today, here they are, together, having conquered an entire deployment already. And now, back together and stronger than ever.

Aw, man. Will you look at that? Just perfect.

All the 1940's postcards I've seen in the bookstores pale in comparison to the heart-melting emotion of their reunion. I've been staring at these photos every chance I get tonight. Their incredible photographer from Hello, Gorgeous. Photography captured the intensity just right.

Don't you just love love?

What the Waiting Is For

I was thinking about my daughter the other day. 

I don't know her yet. She hasn't been born. But for Christmas, I bought her a pink polka-dotted tutu from JCPenney. It seemed appropriate. I practically lived in mine the year I was 6. 

There's also an antique pink rose headband waiting for her, along with a plush, white crochet coat hanging in her closet. And she hasn't even been conceived. I'm expecting her though.

As I gave John a bath the other night, I remembered that not very long ago, he too was just a dream. Three years ago in December 2009, I wrote about waiting for something I really wanted, and the wrestling with God that inevitably followed when I took a risk and hoped for something. 

Is God good while we wait? 

What is the waiting for? 

Why does waiting feel so empty?

Why is hoping so risky?

Photo cred: http://viraeya24.tumblr.com/

These are the questions we ask when we want something and are forced to wait, and I've realized, we often give up without really asking. The longing hurts too much. What if God doesn't come through? What does that say about God? What does that say about me?

I hate to say it, but that's what I did this time. With John, I didn't know if I could get pregnant or not. I never had before. I prayed and lamented and cried and begged. I wanted a child, and I only knew one person who could get one for me: God. 

This time, I've been more hands-off. I've disguised it as a laid-back approach to conceiving, but it's really lack of faith turned apathy. I've been afraid to hope. 

I wrote about it in the dream blog. I tell my friends about it. I even buy her clothes. But I don't talk with God about it. I don't plead anymore. Too much to lose. I remember it hurt, the sting of wanting something I was helpless to get for myself, only to wait and delay again. I would rather just pretend I don't want it. Maybe she will surprise me. 

So what do I really want? And what am I willing to do to get it? 

My friends and I are reading through Donald Miller's Storyline book, and these are the ultimate questions of our lives: 
Who am I? 
What do I want? 
And what am I willing to do to get it?

The Civil Wars were playing in the background while John splashed in the tub, and the album arrived at To Whom It May Concern. I wasn't paying too much attention to the words until this song. I pulled John out of the tub and wrapped him in his towel, and hugging him close, I listened. 

Maybe it's not just me waiting. Maybe she is waiting for me. 

Maybe this is how God makes our hearts and lives ready for the things we want. He makes us want them desperately. And the desperation, the longing, is what forges in us the humility and character and beauty to care for the gift.

Beautifully, hauntingly, the Civil Wars sang, reminding me a dream is just as real as the thing itself. I was holding living proof there in my hands, soaking wet and squirming.

"Why are you so far from me?

In my arms is where you are to be

How long will you make me wait?

I don't know how much more I can take

I missed you but I haven't met you..."

So I swung him around in his fluffy brown towel, and we danced across the hardwood as I kissed the tiny face of the boy who used to be a dream. 

What's a thing or person in your life you have now that only used to be a dream? 

For most of us, it's relationships: a partner, a child, or even simply a sense of belonging or knowing one's life purpose. What do you have now that was only a daydream not long ago? 

It's encouraging to see that dreams do take shape and come to dwell among us. I need to remember this pattern so I can gather up my courage to dream some more.

New Year's Vis-olutions: Learning to Dream Bigger

I know it's already Wednesday, January 16. And you think I forgot to talk about vision, goals and resolutions for the New Year. But I did not. I was quietly refining my hopes and dreams in my head and in conversations with God and with Josh. Because this is scary, grand and wonderful stuff here. And I don't take it lightly. 

I got nervous because resolutions always make me nervous. What do I want to change? Everything. I want so many areas of my life to improve. But that was the wrong place to start. And I always think too small that way. 

I decided to try something different this year, ask myself a new question. Below is an excerpt from my journal. his is basically a (clear) stream of consciousness on what I want my life to manifest, and what I hope for in this year, and in the next five years. As I wrote, my mind expanded. I let myself think bigger, dream wider. 

[photo cred: http://suhasagban.com/]

So for today, these are my goals, my vision and resolutions. I am going to be using Ron Edmonson's Life Plan steps to work out the details, but here you have it. This journal excerpt reveals what I want to be when I grow up. 

"I've been trying to figure out what I want to change, what I would like to be different in this next year. It's hard to start there. I guess I will start with the Miracle Question. 

What if I woke up in the morning and everything was perfect. What would it look like?

I would wake up in the morning EAGER to spend time with God. He would would meet me there. I would pray, worship, write, encounter him, and get great ideas.

I would not leave for work until 7:45 because I have a local office where I can go work on my book. I am writing a book and keeping my blog up to date. I have social media to manage part of the day. I have meetings. I have a trip to plan. 

My blog is successful. I find my niche and people are listening, getting impacted, lives changing, regularly having ah-ha moments. And they come to read because they know they will find hope and inspiration. They hear wisdom and get new insight. It's easy to write because I know what God is saying people need to hear. It's not a stretch anymore. 

And I dress like this. And look like this. [www.vi.sualize.us]

I would return home for lunch where I would have time with my family. 
OR

I would hunker down in theWELL prayer room and spend an hour with God.

I would come home between 3 and 4 to play with my kids - because my work day is done - and get caught up on their day. We would do basic life things: laundry, play and get ready for dinner. 

I have a meeting that night, but it is energizing: a conversation with pastors, an outreach to the poor, an art showing or concert. But God is present, always present, and I never want to miss it.

In the evening, I have quiet time with Josh and more time in the IHOP prayer room web stream. I end the day with the peace and presence of God, just like I started it. 

Our money is not tied up in debt (school loans or credit cards) so we can do awesome things with it: we buy wells for villages around the world, we send children to school, we back missions and justice movements around the world that we want to see thrive. We support the ending of abortion and the ending of human slavery. We sense the power of our finances and instead of choosing to eat out often or do frivolous things, we see that our money can purchase the freedom of a 10 year old girl in Cambodia. Our priorities are right on. 

Trips to the grocery store or restaurant are consistently intriguing. God shows up because I bring him with me. It's fun to see what he does. He heals, he speaks prophetically, people give their lives to Jesus.

theWELL is a fun place to be because the Spirit of God is evident. There is a thriving Prayer Room working towards 24/7 impact, with multiple ministries springing up from the burdens on people's hearts: partnering with other churches to reach out to the poor, single parents, family ministry, powerful counseling ministry, children who come Sundays and get powerfully impacted by the Word, by the Spirit and meet God. People who come to theWELL regularly encounter the presence and the Word. They are prophetically ministered to. Healings happen often. We staff the Prayer Room with little difficulty. 

theWELL is responsible for the development of the arts in the city. First Fridays is well attended with a good reputation and extends to the secular world as a ministry. People come because they know they will meet God, and the artistry is second to none. Amazing artists, musicians and writers spring up in the community and come to be near the creative God who is the source for all the best ideas. Some of them hear crazy stories of what goes on and they come. They are changed, and they stay, or are launched intentionally into their callings around the world.

Transformational art. [Work by Jazzy Chun Earl]

The Army of God's people volunteer in this day. Our church is well pastored, well cared-for, and volunteers are easy to come by. There is a strong purity and holiness among God's people. They know truth and easily identify deception. Division has no hold and leaves easily. Same with witchcraft, manipulation and control: out before they even get a hold. And bitterness, hatred and murder will all bow in the presence of Jesus, never taking root or causing trouble.

Missions is active and strong. The church does not know how to keep quiet. Stories of God's movement open doors. Everyone who is part of theWELL has a story to tell, and everyone wants to serve, innovate, be on adventure. It's easy to organize mission trips locally and across the globe. Prayer and missions are intrinsically tied and everyone in theWELL knows it and serves the cause."

Coming soon...

Developing your vision: If you're stuck and don't know how to create a life vision, or you don't even know why you're here on this planet, try these tips on for size. Check back later for more on this.

How Does She (Not) Do It?

I'm not going to lie. Sometimes when I'm in self-pity mode, I wonder why more people don't ask me how I do it. 

I am a hundred things to many people, or at least six things to hundreds of people. My weeks are planned before I even get to them. I don't really do spontaneous anymore. Or I shouldn't.

Me and then some. [Photo cred: www.heddalettuce.com]

At home, I am mom and wife. Which means I cook, clean, encourage, teach, shout, whisper, laugh, snuggle, tickle, entertain, chase, battle and bathe. 

At work, I am a calming voice in crisis. I am the motivator, the creative brain, the journalist. I am the fixer, the one with ideas, the marketing girl and flyer designer, the sleep expert, the one of loves moms and babies.

At church, I recruit, schedule, prop up and cheer on our Children's Ministry and Women's Leadership Programs, which developed frantically and messily out of my brain from sheer necessity. And sometimes I get to preach too while I'm on my way to getting my pastoral license.

At night, I am a writer, a blogger, an aspiring author and big-thinker. I am only in the beginning of finding my voice and learning what I am all about, but I'm traipsing down the path, discovering things. Learning to like myself. 

Maybe I'm just like any working mom, but it feels like I'm doing a lot. Like there is always so much going on. 

But no one asks how I do it. No one wonders how I balance it all.

I wonder if it's because I'm kind of an obvious mess. When I talk to people after church, I'm in a hurry. And I'm chasing my son out of the corner of my eye. Maybe everyone can see that all the stuff that gets done is smashed together with as love and limited time. 

The anxiety of life has been getting to me lately. It's like I used to be able to outrun the "too much" factor, but I am definitely slowing down. Or it's speeding up. 

www.thenextwoman.com

I want to be better, grow, stretch, expand. I want my writing to improve. I want to know God more, read more, fit back into my size 4s, get more time alone, get more time with friends, figure out how to teach and nourish my child's mind and soul, have another child biologically and adopt, encourage my husband, write a book, be brave and pray for more sick people for healing, finally get to India and power up some rockstar kids and women's programs at church. 

But I only have 168 hours a week. 

I'm trying to do it all, and I'm not doing any of it that well. I have great intentions. I really do care about people. I crawl into their shoes fast. 

But sometimes I care too much. And my priorities tilt against my sanity. I forget how to take care of myself, to value the voice of God and quiet with my family, to stop the spinning and sit in the silence for a few minutes. I lose sight of what I want on my tombstone: "She loved well". 

I just want to put it out there that I'm doing a lot, but at the end of the day, what I really want is to love. To love God, my family and the people I'm with. So when I'm talking really fast and when I tell you have a new idea for a website or a new book idea, just know I'm on my way over here, learning to love. 

You can remind me of what really matters if you want, but I promise my soul will bring me back to it. Remember to love. Love is the point.

And this is how I'm doing it, in this messy, "me" way. 

If you're feeling sloppy and slow, like you know where you want to go but you're so far away, there's grace for you too. God's not in a hurry so let's not be either. 

Let's just keep looking at Jesus, talking to him, and getting his feedback on this life. He's so kind, encouraging and gentle. He's not going to rub your nose in your failure. And neither will I. 

Let's be nice to each other as we figure it out. 

Why Risk-Taking Is So Hard

Most of the time for me, it comes down to this. I am not willing to be scrutinized, squinted at, gossiped about. I settle for smaller-than-I-am so I can just be understood. 

But am I really even being understood if the "me" I portray is smaller than the real version? In that case, what I am really settling for is not even being understood. I am simply deciding that not being rejected, scorned, kicked out, ostracized is better than courage. Better than making a difference. Better than pushing back. 

I shrink down tiny so they don't take my name off their guest list. 

Really? Is my birthright so cheap? Is my destiny so dilutable and trivial that I can sell it for acceptance by people who don't want to make a difference in the world anyway? Who don't even know who they are enough to judge my reputation with any accuracy?

I want to be big, make a splash, be brave and change things. But that awkward moment inevitably comes where I can take a stand or I can sit quiet, where I can leap on faith or stifle miracles with my doubt. Where I can pray for healing right then and there, or I can sympathetically inform them I will pray later. Not wanting to make a scene, of course. Not wanting God to disappoint us. Not wanting to be a fool. 

But as Rhett Butler told Scarlett O'Hara: "Reputation is something people with courage can do without." 

My prayer is only: Dear God, give me a hearty, sturdy soul so I can live with rejection, without reputation, in pursuit of your glory and your adventure every day. 

(I will be writing more on this. The topic of fearless innovation has snagged my soul more than most things right now.)

Photo cred: ouzouzouz.deviantart.com

Hello, Goodbye

Tonight I chased John like usual. Stuffed his slippery body into a towel after his bath. Tried to convince him of the long-term value of teeth-brushing. There was the bending, hugging, running and tiring that makes up any bed time story around here. It often wears me into complaining or unrest, but tonight I simply felt thankful for it all.

It hit me the other day that I am one of only a couple of my close friends who have kids yet. It's a delight to know we all tuck ourselves in beside husbands now, despite how long it took to get them.

But we are not all parents. In the same way we have so little control over when we find our life partner, it seems we have even less control over when we become parents. Sure, there are things we can all do to improve the likelihood of parenting or marriage, but we're helpless in the end to really force anything. We waited nearly a year for the "plus" sign on the pregnancy test.

It's been almost 3 years since the first baby prayer got answered, and I celebrated by giving John a bath while he splashed in his heap of bubbles. When he was dry and snug, we laid next to each other in our big bed, his head on my chest. And it's stuff like this that you know makes all the sweat and messes worth it. It's so rich. So full of life, the kind that I love.

Being a wife to Josh is much the same.
I don't thank him enough because maybe I guess I get overwhelmed by his husband resumé. But how does one properly thank a man for being trustworthy, faithful, dependable, a pillar of strong and someone to always lean on? What's the right way to appreciate someone who loves, or at least tolerates, my numerous idiosyncrasies and loves me just how I need to be loved?

I will just have to say it, I guess.

And I am bowled over with thankful for a God who fights for me. Who chase me with good, loving kindness. Who just won't give up.

I am thankful for this gigantic life and all the ideas and people who create a and think and make totally original things. I am so glad I get to be here to hear all about it and see the genius and beauty of humanity open up.

There are many things to fix and even more to grieve as we conclude this Mayan Baktun. But I wanted to put it out there that I am leaving this old age with thankfulness so I can start this new era with hope. Hope of more babies to hug, more falling in love with Josh and experiencing the transformational love of God. I hope for a breakthrough of courage and miracles. For good and glorious things that have never been seen before.

Here's to the beauty of the past and the majesty of what is to come. Too much to comprehend but knowing our God, it will be very, very good.

What I learned from quitting: Lessons from the Dream Project

On quitting the Dream Project

A few weeks ago, I quit the Dream Project. It was a slow, dragging fade. I lost momentum only a few weeks in, and it was so disappointing because 1) it was such a good idea. I thought. And 2) I was inspiring people. And I love to inspire people. In that two-ish months of writing, I had at least 2 other people tell me about dream projects they started. And others submitted their precious dreams to me so I could share them and dream with them. 

It was invigorating. And it was exhausting. And I never knew why until today. 

I avoided the topic because I felt guilty about quitting. It was the kind of guilt that made me want to forget I'd ever started it. I felt like a total failure starting something so important as dreaming of how to fix the world, and then just tossing it. As if dreams don't matter. 

But today I figured out why the Dream Project was so hard. And why I had to quit. And I don't have to give up dreaming. 

I found this new app called Unstuck. If you own an iPad, please get it. It's free, and it's genius. I used the app to work on a "stuck" area of my life, which for me was the dream blog. I just didn't know why I couldn't gather the will to begin again. I worked on my stuckness, and with the help of the app - seriously - I discovered two reasons I gave up: 

1. I was unfocused. My dreaming was all over the place. I was trying to save little kids for human trafficking, solve marriage issues, get babies for my friends, an arts district in Manhattan, and keep up the health of my family and friends. My dreams were big, and they were many. That's okay, but being without focus and vision is one of the fastest ways to lose momentum on a great idea. 

2. I could not dream honestly for myself out in public. My friends who started their own dream projects kept them to themselves. They were able to think up grand solutions and future visions for their families and the places in their lives that mattered most to them. As much as I trust readers, especially the small crowd that gathers here, there are some things that no one has the privilege to see. Sometimes not even Josh. Dreaming that has power, I found, is very intimate. Some dreams are just for me and God to see. 

So what now?

I really value authenticity so when I felt my inability to dream big for myself in the public forum of the blog, I lost my mojo. I still think dreaming is essential for people. I think it's a sign of health to be able to think about possibilities. 

Dreaming means you possess a properly functioning mind. It is both your right brain creativity meeting with your left brain problem-solving to arrange and form alternatives and options and ideas that have never existed. 

The iPad I'm using now to tell you about the value of dreams was once simply a dream in Steve Job's imagination. How much better an illustration can I give?

I am going to continue dreaming, but I will do it in two ways. The opposite of the Dream Project: 

1. I will dream big, but keep it to myself. Allow the safety of intimacy to allow the dreams to stretch and grow. 

2. I will stay focused. Narrow vision, with a telescope into the future. 

I hope this helps anyone trying to navigate this world of dreaming. These are my most profound lessons that I've taken from the Dream Project.  I don't like failure, but I value courage and risk-taking more than I fear failure. So I took a chance, and I whiffed on my original goal. 

But I learned how to dream through it all. And I think that's what matters most. 

On Burnside Writers: Hope, the Foolish Child

I was published for a second time on Burnside Writer's Collective, which is an honor, to be sure. This prose piece still moves me as much to read it as it did to write it, with shivers and chills and ringing truth of it all. It feels some days that Hope is nearly about to kill me. But somehow it proves true. So I commit today, as I try to do each day, to choose Hope, no matter how painful it is. Because I know it's worth it. 

[Photo found at keshavnarla.wordpress.com]

Hope, the Foolish Child

The child, Hope, is unrelenting in optimism;
Wakes up and says, “Today’s the day,” every day,
Even though It hasn’t happened yet.
With odds against the whole Thing,
Hope seems blind to reality.
A starving Pollyanna,
Hope is a survivalist.
In a concentration camp of pain,
Hope is a finger of grass, poking through the asphalt.

Sometimes you want to strangle her neck,
Silence this thing that seems only to bring disappointment.
But She walks blindly, dodging death and famine,
Evading what seems to be true,
Believing in something that is nowhere in sight.

Continue reading on the Burnside Writer's Collective. 

If I could just have one thing...

(Originally posted on September 28, 2012 at 365DreamProject.com)

As the birthday dream window slides gently closed, I wanted to reflect on the birthday-specific wishes and dreams I've had today as I've had time to drive and think and talk about them since. 

Anyone can get through life. Survive it. Breathe air. Do the cycle of things. Chase happiness, get bigger and more noticeable, move upward toward an arbitrary goal. 

But I want more than that, as we all secretly do. What is it though? What is this one thing I want? What fits in all the empty places?

I think I'm finally figuring it out. 31 years later.

Keep reading this post here at 365DreamProject.com.  

{twinkleberryfarm.blogspot.com}

31 Flavors, or a Baskin Robbins Birthday

Today is my birthday, which I traditionally love and hate for all the typical, American white girl reasons. The fact that I have to endure this attention that I'm not supposed to want, but I do want it, but then it's always disappointing since some lights are still red on your birthday and some people forget to call and inevitably your husband can just not do everything you imagined but never actually said. (Although the pink Chuck Taylors were a great touch.)

Birthdays are a strange sort of holiday, and I think they are the direct result of the Fall of Man. I mean, a day where everything is supposed to be about me, and I end up being the most unhappy I've been in months? Yea, that pretty much sounds like something Satan cooked up. He's mean like that.

But there are all these elaborately beautiful things about birthdays, and one of my favorites is that, when done right, it's a time to launch someone into the next season of their life. To bless them, bear them up and give them compliments and praises and identify the beauty and gifts and goodness they bring to the world. Because most of us are prone to forget all of that as we move so hastily through life. 

Thursday my friends brought me back down with a few simple things, a light lunch with my favorite candy treats, then a sushi dinner with more friends, and scarves and a journal and tea, and new shoes from my boys. And it wasn't even my official birthday. 

Afterward my friend handed me a list of dreams she dreamed up for me for my 31st year, and if I had read them a little more slowly, I would've just cried all the way home, but I read them fast. So I didn't. But I feel like I want to frame them and hang them up so I can remember what I want and what I'm supposed to be living for. She encapsulated it all so well. 

I wanted to start a little list of 31 things that I would like to see, experience, live this year. It's like a condensed version of the dream blog, birthday-specific. I feel like birthdays are an open door day where you can ask God for things, like heaven is having a sale or something, so it's just easier to get what you're asking for. 

So my 31 things are probably what I've already been dreaming for on the dream blog, but this is the concentrated version for the year. 31 is a weird number so I'm not sure what this will mean, but I want to at least see what happens. And now I'm suddenly having this trepidation that I can't think of 31 things. I really only want one or two. But here goes:

1. More quiet, alone time (indoors and in nature)
2. Start, read and finish one book a month
3. Prioritize silence and solitude and get it in daily
4. Weekly date nights with my Josh
5. Intentional enjoyment of my son 
6. Intelligent conversations with John about his thoughts and preferences
7. For reconciliation in my family and for all of us to know God fully
8. For a church home for my mom
9. For deep character and integrity for our WELL leaders
10. For an uncompromising commitment to truth and Jesus in our WELL community
11. For 24/7 prayer and worship in Manhattan
12. An appreciation for and contentment with simple living
13. Purpose and career goals, success and favor at work
14. A children's ministry that connects kids to God in new, mind-blowing ways
15. Miracles as a regular part of our WELL experience - Sundays and all week
16. Courage to follow God and obey him 
17. A baby girl, whose name might be something like: Anna Joy Sophia Eliha Redeemer
18. Real freedom from debt and heart freedom to be more generous
19. Love from God that I know, enjoy and live in
20. Boldness to pray for anyone anytime and effectiveness in seeing immediate healing
21. Love that is full of wisdom and inspiration, spilling out to others and bringing them joy
22. Love that doesn't try to prove itself but looks for ways to lift other people up
23. Love that doesn't get tired but serves and gets energy from it
24. Love that lets me like myself and take a break when I need it
25. Conversations with Jesus where he tells me what he's really thinking
26. An unquenchable, unstopping love for the Word and prayer
27. A son who prays, hears from God, and watches his prayers get answered
28. A husband who is loved, admired, effective, encouraged by his life's work and dreaming with God
29. To write with boldness, clarity, and inspiration that comes from God that will motivate a generation and bring them to a new level with God
30. A church community who knows Jesus, loves him and will follow him anywhere
31. For God to continue the work he started in me 

Hopeful Thoughts

I try to wear my wrestlings with hope and faith in sight. That way, other people who wonder if they can be spiritual and sometimes have questions and feel upside down can say, "Well, if she can, I can."

Today I wrote about a dream for my friends who want babies. And a few days ago, I sent up a dream balloon for another new baby for myself. A baby girl, since I'm feeling specific. 

When I think and dream about impossible things like babies, I feel the end of my arms' reach. I can tell this is precisely where my control runs out. And of course, a squirming discomfort ensues since no one, especially me, likes to feel out of control, flinging through space with a blindfold. 

But alas, we kind of are, aren't we?

I wrote tonight that, thanks to my friend, Kim, I've realized that Hope by itself is very small and frail and can't breathe dreams to life all by itself. It needs faith. Kim has faith and I guess I have hope because I write a lot of these dreams like I must. So I will borrow her faith as mine grows.

[Photo cred: destinednomad.blogspot.com]

I wrote this poem about hope as I fought with her. I hate to say that these were my thoughts, these violent, terrible thoughts, but this was me. I gave in to hope eventually, but it was rugged and a bit ugly at times. It still amazes me that something weak and vulnerable can win a bitter heart simply by being persistent. But this is exactly what hope did. 

And still, this is how I get some days when I feel helpless and fresh out of power. I get angry. Angry at hope for letting me dream myself into this mess in the first place. Angry at myself for being so gullible. Angry at God for not talking me out of it.

But dreaming is essential for life. I know it. I'm putting the hoping and dreaming out here for all of us to read, see, feel, experience. All I know is that hope seems to be worth it. And if you can add some faith, you will not be disappointed. 

Hope, the Foolish Child

The child, Hope, is unrelenting in optimism;

Wakes up and says, “Today’s the day”, every day,

Even though It hasn’t happened yet.

With odds against the whole thing,

Hope seems blind to reality.

A starving Pollyanna,

Hope is a survivalist.

In a concentration camp of pain,

Hope is a finger of grass, poking through the asphalt.

Sometimes you want to strangle her neck,

Silence this thing that seems only to bring disappointment.

But she walks blindly, dodging death and famine,

Evading what seems to be true,

Believing in something that is nowhere in sight.

What shall I do with Hope, this child I can’t stop feeding?

I want to kill her, but she says the sweetest things.

She knows my desire,

Keeps telling me it’s coming, it’s coming.

I start to think she might be a liar.

And just when I’m about to stop standing there like a fool,

Hand over my eyes,

Staring into that thin horizon line,

Just then she points, shouts,

“Here It comes!”

I squint into the light and sure enough,

Here comes my Longing.

I reach over to hug Hope, that bouncing child.

But she’s gone,

Gone to lay claim to a new desire.

I wonder,

What if I’d given her up?

What if I’d sold her for a clever book title,

Something for the cynics’ best seller list?
What if I’d held her down and shut her up,

Put my hand over her mouth and made her quiet for good?

Disappointment would have moved in.

Skepticism would have been my neighbor,

Resentment shacked up on the couch.

I wouldn’t have been at the end of the drive that day.

I would have missed my Longing as It rode by.

My Cynicism proven right,

I would have looked haughtily from my balcony,

Confident my Self-Righteousness saved me much wasted time.

I would never have known.

I would’ve been right, sort of, but I would have never held Joy.

I thought of all these things.

And then I stood there one more day,

Stood waiting with Hope, holding her tiny hand.

I was there when the Longing came by.

I welcomed the Longing, gladly,

Snatched It up and planted It in the yard:

A Tree of Life for all to see.

A Tree of Life to remind me.

For those who will wait,

Who believe enough to stand out in all that weather:

She does not lie.

No, and Hope does not disappoint.

[by Sarah Siders. Written August 2009]