It's Harder Than I Thought

Dreaming every day is not as great as it sounds. And I'm not talking about dreaming while I asleep. For this next year-ish, I dream wide awake. 

It's an odd thing because the novelty of a dream a day keeps the thing going for a while. There is the starting of an idea, which feels like a lovely floating. 

Ah yes, like this. [Photo credit: www.drperrone.com]

After the floating, the novelty plugs a steam shot of adrenaline through me, kind of like a swimmer shoving off from the wall. But eventually, we all have to swim. Now I have to swim.

So here I am, Day 43 and I am swimming. Paddling along with the flabby, atrophied arms and legs, wondering when I will get the rhythm to make this work. Wondering when my imagination and altruism will kick in so I can dream away all the worlds problems. But to do this, I first have to face all the world's problems. So like going into labor and many other creative projects I start and commit to, I've pondered if 365 days of dreaming was really the thing to tackle. 

She looks a little angry. I can relate. [Photo cred: www.burnmybellyfat.com]

One must look far outside of one's own life to even get an idea of what is available for dreaming. Granted, I could simply dream up things for my own life. I could dream for getting all the way out of debt, which is a great idea - I will do that tonight. I could dream of better jobs, bigger houses, wider cars that take up more space, children who are geniuses and pay for my retirement, and neighbors who don't mind that our guests park in front of their houses. 

But why be so myopic? I can't handle that. I'm a social worker, pastor's wife and mom, for crying out loud. We bleed mercy and compassion and other gushy things like that. So I've taken to the news and the blogs and the .org sites to find out what is happening in the world. Exodus Cry, Live Action, Amnesty International or Heidi Baker's Iris Ministries are great places to see who needs the dream and the prayer.  

I read and lean into the problem or pain of the situation, pull on my own heart to do it justice by telling the stories. Then I add a picture and up goes the dream, in its own cyberspace balloon.

Some nights I am plain exhausted and don't feel much like dreaming. Even the drama or agony of unraveled relationships or a story I need resolved can not push me to dream.  Some days I feel confused about what to aim for in dreamland this week, what problems need dreamed away. And many days I feel like I just don't know if I can come up with 300 and some odd more of these crazy dream things. What was I thinking?

The (self-imposed) requirement to dream daily, to do anything daily, poses a unique challenge. A commitment that exposes my character in true and painful ways. I am learning much about God, life and self. Here's a few things:

1. God is always dreaming. I only need to ask him for ideas. He has plenty.

2. Dreams come first, then hope and faith. The dream actually grows the hope, which births the faith. Faith is the tangible certainty of the thing that I hope for. But it takes the dreaming before the faith and hope can come. The dream is always first. In this kingdom reality, dreaming inevitably gets work done. 

3. I am already starting to see the dreams take shape. Multiple dreams I've dreamed have led to responses from people - or myself - in unexpected ways where the idea, the Google-searched picture, becomes a real part of my imagination, then it becomes a conversation and a meeting on the calendar. Then it becomes a group of people who take a day or a week to talk and work and hang art or play with children. And then all of a sudden, the dream isn't a dream. It's real.

4. Dreaming is essential for life. Dreaming keeps us alive. Without dreams, we lose motivation. We have no passion. We lose the will to do, well, everything. No dreams, nothing to look forward to. Nothing to cultivate relationships for. Nothing to grow your bank account for. Nothing to write or talk about. Dreaming is where life starts. 
      -An important side note here: we stop dreaming when we move into anxiety/survival/panic mode. In that place of fear and orphan-heartedness, our worlds shrink and we can only think about what we will eat, wear, buy that day. We become obsessed with ourselves; hostile, bitter, angry alley cats, snapping at anyone who thinks about taking away our precious life preserver, whatever that might be. Instead of dreaming and optimism, we move to pessimism and addiction. We do what we have to do to stay afloat. It's a bad place. If you're there, get out quick. (Read #5 if you want to get out.)

5. Related to my side note, I always know I'm in a bad place when I can't write. When I can't dream. Writing is my passion. It lets me dream. If I have nothing to write about, then I'm not functioning. I'm stressed. I care about the wrong things. The only way to get out is to start it back up. Start writing. Start dreaming. If you don't feel like it, do it anyway. 

So this is my snapshot of the story, the journey and the inevitable struggle of the dream-a-day trip I've been on. Here's to the next 300ish days and the dreams and realities that may come. 

On All The Changing and Shifting You're Feeling

Many of us have been feeling the same thing lately, but it's time we talked about it. 

Good things are flooding in, and bad is crashing all around. There is wild success and fierce opposition. There are arguments with people who you want to have your back. There are slight and significant disturbances of the peace all around. And at the same time, there are wide open doors, breakthrough and blessing and dreams coming true. 

It's the best of times and the worst of times, as they say.

The first day of August I could feel it. Something is shifting. It's going to be major. Light is getting lighter and dark is darker. You know what I mean. 

[Continue reading on the 365 Dream Project here.]

How to Get Yourself Back

I am a conflicted human being. I value knowledge and productivity, people and noise and creatives, new ideas and getting things done. I also enjoy rest, quiet aloneness, and sleep. Something funny happens during the days though. All the busy makes me forget how much I love silence. So I get up and go with the sun's wake up, but run out of steam long after it's bed time. Well, not every day, but most days. Let's pick a Tuesday or a Wednesday.

• 6am: Wake up. Hit the snooze too many times.
• 6:40: Get out of bed with 15 minutes to get ready.
• 7: Meet the carpool. 
• 7:30-6pm: Working working.
• 6:45pm: Home for a minute. Load the toddler into the car and something with protein into my mouth.
• 7pm: Go to a meeting or a group or a session of some kind.
• 9:00pm: Home for the night.
• 9:30pm: Goodnight, little buddy.
• 9:45pm: Catch up with roommates.
• 10:00pm: Catch up with husband.
• 10:30pm: Writing, reading.
• 11:00pm: Thinking about sleeping.
• 11:30pm: Asleep.

So you can see how this routine would get a little exhausting. I am very fortunate as this is my schedule only four of seven days. The other three look radically different, more flexible, with travel time, leisure and creative time, play time, face time with people I like, time to clean a bathroom, call a mother. I am so thankful for these days. Of course, they also involve church gatherings, trainings and workshops, planning sessions, lunches, late nights with friends and roommates, all the while dreaming up new things for Manhattan, theWELL and the world. 

Exhilarating. Hard to take a breath. So even when it's all going great, it still takes all the energy I have to keep it moving. The tragic part is, sometimes I get the sense that I can't control my life. That my schedule isn't in my hands anymore. It's not true, but it feels this way. 


I'm learning to draw lines around my time and my possessions, my advice, my presence, my companions - not all things are equal. But it's taken me so long to get here.


Tonight Josh said something he says whenever he thinks of it. "Why I don't I keep John with me tonight, and you can just go somewhere." It sounds so nice. But I am skeptical. 
    Will there be enough time for me to clean up the wreckage of my brain? 
    Can I dust out the cobwebs, regain my sense of self and hear God in 120 minutes? 
    It's not enough time, my Panic shrieks, wringing its hands, swooping in to steal the precious time I do have. 


I reminded my Panic that I don't need 120 minutes to solve all the problems in the world. This is not my only night to figure life out. Getting away for any amount of time will do me good.


Oh. Right. 


I changed into clothes that would be comfortable perched next to a lake or on a patio and away I went. I took the back roads near our house, the roads lined with yellowing rows of corn, in which hover enormous but graceful, spider-like sprinklers. I feel like I'm smack dab in suburbia most days, but I'm so close to country, to farms and barns and vast expanses of sky. 


And my favorite part about living out here: the proximity to several peaceful bodies of water. Tonight I made my way to Tuttle Creek, just in time for the sunset. The two-lane roads dove and swooped through the green hills along the periphery of the lake. I shimmied along, getting a glimpse of sky and then, a glimpse of the water, my view changing every few seconds. It was delightful.


I wanted to get to the water so badly, but I realized, even the drive was healing. The space between me and the small, tiny things I call problems. It took only 30 minutes or so to regain perspective. 

[Tuttle Creek at sunset, iPhone, no editing]

I camped myself along a high bank near the southeast end of the lake. The crickets chirped an evening song, serenading the sun as it slid down the horizon, leaving a brighter and brighter sky behind in its wake. I wanted to take the moments home with me, to remind myself of how close this beauty is, only a ten-minute drive from the place I call home. So I did. But I'll get to that in a minute. 


My lesson for tonight: getting yourself back is simple. It takes only the slightest bit of intentionality and a little planning. 


Knowing what I love, what brings me back to me and God, is key. It's nature almost always. 

I scribbled down plans to do this again soon. Here they are:

Things to do to get alone:

1. An hour drive outside of town

2. Borrow Josh's office for an hour

3. Spend a couple hours at a local body of water or hiking ground

     

Make it happen by:

1. Scheduling time ahead with Josh

2. Getting a babysitter for John

3. Getting up early before the day gets going

Yes, it really is that simple. There are so many beautiful places to go, places with silence, nature and God, just waiting to be discovered, to be heard, to be enjoyed. And it was easy to uncover my soul, to breathe a little easier, a little lighter. 

Every mom, everyone needs time for this. Whatever it looks like for you. There are no excuses left when God is this close and it only takes an hour to reconnect. 

A little treat for you: 

I captured the setting sun, the bright colors in the dimming sky, sounds of nature singing, the water lapping, birds and crickets chiming in. You can hear and see what I saw here if you want. All images were taken on my iPhone, totally unedited, except for a little crop I made on the second one so it would match the horizons of the other photos better. But all the beauty is natural, and even a 5 megapixel phone can see. 


[A couple viewing tips: turn up your volume so you can hear it all - you have to listen close to hear the water, but it's there. Now imagine you're here too.]

And the night ended like this:

[This is low quality, but you can see the enjoyment, the ME I got back. Sitting on a patio, drinking root beer, eating chips and salsa, remembering all I have to be thankful for.] 

An Offer You Can't Refuse

The Siders House Rules is not one of those blogs that gives away free stuff all the time. I'm just not that kind of girl (yet, maybe?). 


But I've been doing this thing over at the 365 Dream Project every day for almost a month - and I have about 11 more months to go. Goodness. The deal is, I write a new dream for each day and post it there. It's really incredible that day after day, they keep coming to me. I didn't know that I could come up with all these ideas. 


Most of them are intangibles, like always having a glut of good ideas, swimming in creativity, nurturing love in my household, etc. Some have skin and latitude/longitude, like the dream about having another baby, or my longing to visit the ocean once a year until I'm dead. 


But I have 365 days here, and I've dreamed up so many of the things I want for myself and my little life already. I have lots more room to dream, of course, but I want to invite you in.


So here's my giveaway, my invitation:
I invite you to share your dream with me, and I will place a post on the blog dedicated to your dream. You don't have to share your name, but you can share your dream, your deepest, hugest longing that you're afraid to ask or wish for. Come on, you know you have one. One you forgot about from childhood, maybe. Or one you just think isn't for now because of the kids and the mortgage and the excuses you've created. 

For years, mine was a husband, children, India, writing. Some of these have come true; others wait in the wings. But they're mine for the dreaming - and the doing has to start there. 

So be brave. Dream on with me. Dig out your biggest, most unwieldly, impossible dream, dust it off, and share it. As in, write it, whisper it, yell it, sing it. But get it to me some time during the months of August or September.  


Mini disclaimer: Rest assured, if you share your dream with me, you're not giving it up. It's not going to be mine. I'm just going to dream it with you, give a little more umph as it launches into the sky. 


This is going to be fun!




[Now for some legal-ish babble: I am not dreaming about just anything over here; I have standards: The Siders House Rules and all affiliates reserve the right to select only appropriate dream entries that align with SHR values. Inappropriate or otherwise invalid entries will not be considered. Thank you.]

The Sacrament of Trying

I woke up this morning later than usual. I won't say what time, but there were double digits on the hour hand. First time in months, maybe a year since that's happened. It was so good. Thank you to my husband for that. 


As I rubbed my eyes and adjusted to light, I scanned my email for the usual ennui that makes its way in. Delete. Delete. But today, one caught my eye, a post by Randy Bohlender: The Sacred Try. 


I read, gobbling up the abbreviated version of his successes and failures. And what he thinks God thinks about all the trying we do down here. These words brought me to tears:


"I have come to think of starting things – of trying – as almost sacramental.  It is a sacred    thing to hear from God and go for it.  I actually even think it’s sacred if you heard wrong.  Your try is that honorable to Him."


This healed me, a cool, refreshing water of truth over the wound of failure and the belief that trying and not getting it right was not being right. That down there at the bottom of me, something was just wrong. 


The sanctity of the attempt is powerful. It is pleasing to God, makes him happy that I'm here doing something, dreaming, imagining, figuring it out alongside his spirit. 

{Boyacks.com}

Failure and success are funny things. I mean, I've seen all the trying and failing as such a curse. But what if I succeeded at everything I started? I would never have married Josh. I would've married that kid I dated when I was 15. Or the guy I dated in fifth grade. Oh boy. 


If I never failed at anything, I would have way more than one child. I would have written several books. I would have hundreds of friends. I would have multiple jobs. I would fall over dead from all the success. And I would never be able to do anything new because I would constantly be managing the couple things I started back in childhood that went viral in a day. Succeeding at everything, now that would be a real curse. 


Just for posterity, and because I like to laugh, here are a few of my sacred trys from history:


My friend, Rochelle, and I started a neighborhood newsletter when I was seven or eight. The idea was to interview our families and neighbors and get a pulse of what was happening locally. We created one, on paper, hand-written. It took hours. Got old quickly. The second edition never came out.  


At eight or nine, another friend and I were driving in the car with my grandmother and we overheard her talking about a crime that happened recently, a crime which was still an unsolved mystery. My friend and I decided for a few minutes to start a detective agency to get to the bottom of it. 


When I was eleven, I designed a placemat with my name on it, had it laminated and brought it to school for lunches. My friends liked it and wanted their own designed. Aware of the fiscal limitations of fifth graders, I set a low start-up price of $1 and began taking orders. Until my neighbor who laminated my placemat design said he wouldn't be able to do it anymore. I never gave those kids their money back - still feel bad about that. 


When we were 14, I could sing like Alanis and Jazzy could sing like TLC. She learned the guitar and I, well, I just sang. We decided to call our band NAVY, which I ripped off a popular perfume I saw on her dresser. Don't know if I ever told her that. We wrote a few songs, from what I recall, but I didn't read music so they were just words. Not set to music, that's all songs are anyway. And that's what they stayed.


These ideas feel like gold to me when they come. There are so many all the time. I've always been that way. These days, ideas often come to me as websites. They are usually places people can gather to interact and talk, share life stories of a certain idea, swap resources and support each other. I have yet to figure out how to actually create an interactive forum like this. But I need to get it quick.


I also think of neighborhood projects where I will meet all my neighbors. Because going up to them and introducing myself is too dull, apparently.  


Last fall it was the "Get to know your neighbor project," a plan in which I would meet three neighbors a week by baking them cookies and taking an hour to just chat with them. Josh wouldn't let me do it since I was too maxed. He was right.


A few weeks ago I thought of giving one of my neighbors an award mug that said "Good Neighbor Award". The idea is that every week, the person with the mug pays it forward to another "good neighbor" until it gets around the city. I wanted to plant at least 15 of them within theWELL and see what happened. This idea is not out of commission yet. On the side burner, if there is one. 


At the end of the year I bought a website as an experiment. It was supposed to be resource for soldiers on the issue of sleep, something I'm becoming quite well-versed in with my work with this population. Then I discovered a brilliant website that was doing everything I wanted to do, times 50, with prettier graphics and better sponsorship. I sidelined the project, naturally, and redirect people to the really good website when needed. Makes me smile now, the absurdity of it. 


And of course, my friend, Jessica, and I have been meaning to write this book on, um, relationships, and a particular complicating and little understood aspect to them. I'm starting to develop a survey on it now. It could bring healing to so many, to be able to share their stories and meet other women in the same situation. Ah, the magnitude of it is exhilarating and terrifying. As it always is. 


I'm gonna need a cool name for the book. And an interactive website. 


See, this is how I think. It's a wonder I get anything done at all. I just bought a website today because it sounded cool. The Colour of Justice (.com). It is cool, isn't it? What will I do with it? I have no idea. But I'm sure I will get one. 

Liberty is Superior

I am a human rights snob. And it's all Jesus' fault.


Two thousand some odd years ago, he was walking around, a respected teacher and itinerant preacher, a man of kindness and compassion. But rather than hoarding all the honor everyone bestowed on him, he overflowed it into the lives of everyone he met. He crowned them with the grace he carried and the esteem that others gave him. He just bounced it back out to others. 


To the chagrin of the Religious Right-All-The-Time, he notoriously elevated the status of every person he came into contact with. [How irritating.] 


There were the prostitutes, or women with shoddy pasts, to whom he restored dignity and gave the right of access to him in friendship and support. Healing and forgiveness.


There was the guy formerly known as crazy out in the hills and caves, running around naked, slashing himself with sharp objects. He left his encounter with Jesus cleaned up and with "a sound mind". 


There was the Samaritan woman, ethnically "inferior", per the Jewish line of thought, whom he was discovered chatting with, telling her her own life story, and converting her heart out of love and the draw of redemption.


There were those uneducated, teenage fishermen he befriended at the local seashore. He gave them 24/7 access to himself, taught them everything he knew, well, as much as they could handle, and commissioned them to wreck the world for the sake of beauty and reconciliation. And wreck the world, they did.


Everyone he looked at, spoke to, touched was better for the interaction. Can you imagine what it would be like to be this way? Of course everyone wanted to be around him. That kind of love gave him an incredible power because he had no plans, no desire to abuse it. He was nothing like the Pharisees, the legalistic, power-hungry leaders of the day, who sought to maintain control over the people by interpreting God's words in ways that gave them more authority. Jesus had no room for this type of thinking, this flagrant abuse of power. 


I've lived under the acceptance of Jesus and his honor toward people, particularly women, my whole life. I took it for granted for much of that time. But over the years, I've grown to understand just how counter-cultural his worldview was. Now, America and sadly, even the Church in America, has a ways to go in accepting women as equals to men, and even for women to understand that inherently because of their humanity, and no other qualification, they have destinies, callings and rights bestowed on them by a Creator who will hold all people accountable for their interactions with each other. However, I am overwhelmingly grateful for the rights women do have here. 


I am going to work today. I am going to drive my car there. I have a Bachelors and a Masters degree in fields of study that I chose. I selected my husband - well, we chose each other - and I married him on a date that I set in a location I chose. I am a co-owner of this home, a co-pastor alongside my husband in our church. I have so many rights, I don't know what to do with them. 

Saudi women playing soccer. It's not really a sport there since women are playing. [Photo courtesy of Amnesty International]

So when I see women in Afghanistan or Saudi Arabia struggling to obtain basic literacy, living completely covered as if to say "We are ashamed of you", without the right to drive, receive medical care or select a life partner of their own choosing, I am outraged. If you must oppress women, then you are giving away your fear of them. What would happen if these women had educations and drivers' licenses? What if they could vote? Or wear pants? Yes, be afraid. Women are a force to be reckoned with. Why else would history have enslaved us? 


Ah, but I digress. 


It is Jesus' way of life that has earned for me, for all women, the rights that we have. Jesus knows our destinies, and he honors them. He sets us up to succeed in them. He and Father God are the ones who have given us each a call on our lives that can only be lived out and fulfilled by each, individual one of us. In the skin we were given, male or female. He certainly would not want to repress us out of living in the beauty and creativity he himself designed us to live in. 


Christianity lived out as it was taught by Jesus permits not only this creativity and innovation of a unique person, but also true free will and freedom of choice for all people, yes, even women. I long to see these nations come to know this Jesus who will give them freedom from oppression in their government, relationships, and most importantly, in their hearts. Their interactions with Jesus will elevate them for a mentality of a slave, a fearful child without a voice, to an adopted, accepted, beloved daughter. A human of such worth that God was willing to send his only Son to redeem her. 


Yes, we have the best God. I will brag about him all day. The more I talk about him, the more rights, liberty and the pursuit of joy will be released in the world. 


If you want to do something really practical with me though, join up with Amnesty International and take a bit of real-life action by signing this petition to allow women to drive in Saudi Arabia. It's a small thing, but think of the access to the world they will have with this simple privilege. Please join me in sending this message to the people of Saudi. 


We see you, Saudi women. Because we love Jesus and we know how much he loves you, we cannot help but honor you and stand with you in your fight for civil rights.

The Invaluable Value of Real

Writing about authenticity over at the 365 Dream Project today.  As I wrote, it struck me, just how much I love this place of real, the people who can reside in the place of fearless transparency. It's so inviting. So beautiful. Here's a portion of the post. You can read more by visiting the post - the link is below.

[www.wrongtees.com]

I've only met one, two people who have it. Maybe five tops. 

It's authenticity. The rare, personality trait that doesn't seem to hate itself. Enjoys itself, in fact. The quality that has room for self and others, for foibles and genius and idiosyncrasy. Authenticity lets its gut hang out, but it doesn't mind too much. And when you're in its presence, you can too. And you don't mind much either.


Around the authentics, I feel this strange peace. My heart rate slows, and so does my tongue. I stop over-thinking everything. I am not about to lose a game of wits; there are no games to play. I get a chance to just say what is true, not what seems eloquent or intelligent. There's no competition. Just raw honesty, with real emotions, souls and selves out there for the viewing. But authenticity protects us from the world's clobbering competing, creates a safe place for hearts, whole or wounded. 

Lets us all just. be. {Click here to continue reading.}