conversation with myself

This has been my conversation with myself today. Any grammar mistakes don't really matter because when one is having a crisis of the heart, grammar comes secondary to survival.

Me, to myself:

OHMYGOD I CAN'T EVEN HANDLE TODAY. I am too stressed. Nothing is ever going to be ok ever. I'm not strong enough or capable enough or happy enough or balanced enough or patient enough or understanding enough. I am never going to be enough. But on the same hand, I'm TOO MUCH. I am too needy, too sad, too desperate, too stressed, too presumptuous, too dramatic, too much of a mess. This is too overwhelming. I QUIT. You win, life. You beat me. Congratulations.

I mean, what is life, anyway? We live and we die. That's it. Why does it matter? Nothing matters.

Life matters because of love. To live is to love and be loved. That is what makes life worth living. To live a life without love is to not really live. Without love, I am nothing.

But, what is love? Is it a state of being? Is it connectedness and community? Is love an energy, a power? Is love the giving of myself for another person or a community? Is love the continual hope of finding something good in the mess of life? Is love vulnerability and trust that is respected and reciprocated? WHAT IS LOVE?

And, most importantly, how can I love when I don't know what love is? I need to love myself, but most days I just honestly don't know what that means or what it looks like.

Deep breath. Deep breath. Sloooooooow deep breath. Don't forget to breathe.

Love means showing up. Always show up, even when it is messy and painful and confusing and hard. Even then, ESPECIALLY then. You owe it to yourself. You are worth showing up for.

Love, Becky. Just love. Love until it hurts, then keep loving. Forgive yourself. Let yourself make mistakes. When you fall, lie in the mud for a while if you need to, but always get back up. Keep trying. Fight for yourself, because you're worth fighting for.

You know who you are. You do. You need to do the things that you know bring you life--even if you don't feel like doing them, even when you don't remember why you like them--until you feel your passion for them coming back. Cook, read, play guitar, do yoga, have coffee with friends. Do them until you remember, because you will.

Life is messy now, but it will get better. Everything will be ok. Everything is already better than you think it is. Just keep breathing.

You are enough. 

______________________________________________________________________________

And so my conversation goes with myself, over and over.

At first, I am more panicky than not, believing that my whole world is crashing down. I say the things about love and being worth it and blah blah blah because that's what I should say to myself, not because it's what I believe.

But, each time I have this conversation, I calm down a little more.  I start to believe myself more. I am ok. I can do this. My breathing becomes easier.

I don't expect my panicky voice to ever go away, and that's okay. It is part of me. But, I do expect myself to learn to believe myself when I say to love and live and be happy. I will keep practicing strength until I am strong. I will keep choosing to listen to my encouraging voice because she is most right.

Be strong, friends. Love yourself. Let yourself be loved.

Becky
xo

cake

My life is a mess these days. I'm so stressed that I'm always at my breaking point; I'm stretched so thin that I'm transparent.

Today I cried three times. THREE TIMES. 

It takes all my energy to get through the day; to remind myself that everything will be ok, that I will make it. I give myself a running pep-talk--you can do this, Becky. Keep your chin up. You are alive, and that is reason enough to be happy. BECKY get your shit together.

Sometimes my pep talks get a little harsh when I get frustrated at myself for being such a mess.

I look at my happy list, my list of things that make me feel like me. Yoga, read, cook, sleep, tea, music. But, the list is confusing when I'm in this mood, because I don't want to do any of them. None of them make sense to me.

Except for one.

So, I go in the kitchen and pull out my mixer. I tie on my apron, and I start pulling ingredients out of the cupboards to make a cake. Flour, sugar, butter. As I move about the kitchen, I fall into a familiar, comfortable routine. Measure, add, mix. I can feel myself calming down, my emotions steadying. Beat the egg whites, fold. It's amazing to me, how this array of ingredients can blend together to make something quite different, something wonderful. And, as the cake comes together, so do I.

As I make my cake, I also make a mess. Flour spills on the counter, dirty bowls pile up in the sink, batter drips off spatulas onto the counter. It will take nearly as long to clean up from making the cake as it actually took to make the cake. I really don't like cleaning up the mess. It is bothersome and annoying and a chore and I would really rather just sit down and enjoy my cake.

But, no matter how much I hate the mess, I still make my cake because I know that out of the mess comes something good, something worth the mess. I know that I can't have my cake without the mess. I know that I will remember the goodness of the cake longer than I remember the annoyance of the mess.

Plus, cake.

At some point in this ritual, I remember that I'll be ok. The mess in my life is there because I'm alive and I'm living and I'm working to create something beautiful. The mess and and the beauty are hand in hand, always.

Sometimes, all I need to do is bake something to remember.

emotional tornado

I want to collapse in on myself. I want to curl up in a ball and sink into the couch until I disappear. I want to wrap myself up in a million blankets and be consumed. I want to find a cave and hide out until I am forgotten and until I forget. I want to be still and be nothing and let the world reset. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

I want to pick up my head and carry on. I want to play my guitar, I want to sing a beautiful song. I want to paint and read and write and cook and be creative. I want to climb a mountain and see the world. I want to cuddle my kitten and fly a kite. I want to live and love and be happy. Today is a beautiful day.

I want to stand in the rain until it fills me and drowns me.
I want to stand in the rain and let it wash my soul and cleanse me.

I want to mourn my life as it is and as it could have been.
I want to celebrate my life as it is and for what it can be.

I want to cry and cry and cry until I am empty.
I want to laugh and laugh and laugh until I am full.

The tornado of emotions is sometimes too much to handle, so I just rest in the eye of the storm and let my feeling swirl around.
I'm afraid to step out and feel, because feeling might sweep me away and toss me on the ground like the mangled up frame of a home that used to be full of love. But, my feeling might also sweep me away into the clouds so I can fly.

How can I feel so empty and yet so alive?
How can I feel so afraid and yet so full of hope?

my passions

[I am sorry it has taken me so long to post. I had finals, then January came and went without much hurrah, but lots of wasted time! I decided it is time to have a blog post about something that has been weighing heavily on my mind lately. So, read on.]


This world has so many things going majorly wrong, so many people hurting with no sign of relief, starving with no hope for food, suffering with no answers, dying with no one to speak comfort. People kill the enemy, abuse the innocent, bully the weak, condemn the different, take advantage of the trusting, sell the desperate. People eat themselves to death while others starve to death. So many people are outcast from society and forgotten, left to struggle absolutely alone. This part of the world looks nothing like the kingdom of God.  

Every ounce of my being longs for the kingdom of God to be fully realized on earth. I long for Christ to pull together the broken pieces of this world and make everything whole and new. I want to hear delighted laughter in places formerly known for wailing and mourning; I want to see joy in the eyes and hearts of those whose lives were once run by sorrow. I want the sick to get out of bed and dance a jig, the dying to be filled with vigor and life. I want the lonely to have friends, the orphans to have family, the outcasts to have a warm welcome. I want the hungry to have their stomachs filled with goodness.  

Until Christ comes again, I am not left alone to protect myself from the evil in this world, clinging to a hope of a distant kingdom with no sorrows, for the kingdom of God is already here! In the midst of this evil, people choose to forgive the enemy instead of perpetuating hate. People come alongside people living in a nightmare instead of focusing on the self and indulging in the great comforts of life. People share their bounty with those who have empty pantries, empty stomachs, and empty wallets. People speak for those with no voice, cry with those who have unending tears, mourn with those whose sorrows never cease. People give up the pursuit of acquiring status, fame, and prosperity to instead pursue genuine relationships are the foundation of a deep-rooted peace that pervades every aspect of life. These people are bringing the kingdom of God to earth.  One day, Christ will return and will fully do away with all evil and death, but until then, people bring and live the kingdom of God that Jesus established while walking among us.  

As a follower of Christ and student of theology, I am seeking to find my role in bringing the kingdom. Around the world, there are innumerable organizations and people who, through their daily work, strive to make the world a more peaceful, safe, loving, and equal place, and, in doing so, bring the kingdom. I could work with organizations who build wells in villages to provide clean water; I could work to help bring women out of sex trafficking and provide them with more healthy, sustainable lifestyles. I could work with children in the foster care system here in the United States, or I could even go work in an orphanage in some third world country rampant with disease and starvation. I could work to educate illiterate children; I could work with children stuck in home situations involving drugs and alcohol. This list is just a tiny portion of a list overwhelming in size.  

All too often I have hoped for God to tell me what to do, saving me from the stress of discernment and direction. Maybe this telling would be a still, small voice inside, or maybe it would be a bold headline on the newspaper that moves my heart. Maybe it would be a feeling settling in my stomach, or a thump on the head with a voice shouting, "YO!! Why are you waiting?! I want to you go do [something] over [somewhere]!" All this time while I was (impatiently) waiting for my life's calling to fall in my lap, complete with instructions, I have been wishing it were something related to food.  

Last October, in an attempt to find the direction of my call, I wrote this in a notebook:
     I am passionate about the ethics of and surrounding food.
     I am passionate about care of creation, especially regarding biodynamic agriculture and  sustainability.
     I am passionate about shalom, a deep, life-pervading peace.

The other day, however, I realized something. If I am waiting for a small voice, a newspaper headline, a settling feeling, or a thump and a shout, I have already had that and more. Why have I been denying my passion for the ethics of food, care of creation, and shalom? Why have I not been actively seeking to bring the kingdom of God through the ways people eat?

When I think about it, the main reason is that I worry. I worry that people will accuse me of being a "liberal hippy" and refuse conversation. I worry that people will ask why I am wasting my theological training by studying composting and the life cycle of tomatoes. I worry that people will say that I am avoiding the hard work of holding the hand of a person dying from AIDS or explaining to parents why God allowed their 16 year old to be killed by a drunk driver. I worry that people will say I am more concerned about the life of a chicken than the life of the church. I am worried, essentially, that people will say that I have no understanding of the kingdom of God and of participation in the body of Christ.

I am tired of not pursuing the passions God has given me because I am concerned about what other people may or may not say or think. I am tired of seeking a "higher calling" when I already have a calling. I am tired of not bringing the kingdom because I'm waiting for affirmation from other people. Part of my worries are legitimate; not all people will understand my passions and my call. I have already had some people who refuse to talk with me because of certain life choices, others who question why I do not engage in real ministry by working in a soup kitchen. However, being concerned with the ethics of food brings the kingdom of God in a very real way. Let me nutshell.

Food is a central aspect of life. Ideally, we have three, maybe four,meals a day, with snack and coffee breaks in between. Our most important celebrations involve food; just think about the centrality of food for Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, and Birthdays (cake!), to name a few. Food is more than the calories it contains, for the food we eat nourishes our lives as a whole. For example, a shared meal with a good friend can energize the heart as much as the very food energizes the body. Since food is something that impacts our live multiple times every day, it seems to me that we should eat conscientiously, bringing the kingdom with every bite.

How can I bring the kingdom of God when I overindulge on dinner while my neighbor starves? How can I care for creation when I eat a burger that comes from the flesh of a tortured animal, or a salad that comes from chemical-ridden soil? How can I hope for a peace that pervades all aspects of my life when I refuse to let that peace extend to my meals? How can the church be the church when ignoring the history of the bread and wine on the Eucharistic table?

These are the questions that churn in the back of my mind from morning to night. I refuse to ignore them any more. I refuse to be so worried about rejection that I withhold participation in the kingdom; I refuse to be so caught up in justifying my call that I cease to pursue it. I am going to read all I can, learn all I can, and prepare all I can so that I share all I can and do all I can. I am going to follow the call of God to pursue a holistic, sustainable worldview that brings peace to the dinner table. I am going to share my passions with the people around me whose lives depend on food.

May the peace of Christ be with you today.
May you share peace through your eating.

Love,
Becky


p.s. If you are in Kansas City, a few of us are starting a book club to read Food and Faith: A Theology of Eating by Norma Wirzba. If you are interested, let me know!

Preparing for our deaths

My sister left the country without telling me.  I knew she was going to leave because my father had told me, but I kept waiting for a call from her to tell me herself.  When my mom told me they had taken her to the airport, I turned to Daniel, saying, “why didn’t she tell me? What if she dies while in Honduras? What if something happens and I was not able to tell her how much I love her?”

She is back now, and she is fine, but I am still thinking about this.  My concern is no longer that she didn’t tell me, but that I knew but did not call her to share in her excitement, to pray with her, and to support her.

In a book¹ I recently read for a class, the author discussed the idea of preparing ourselves for our deaths, and preparing others for their deaths, through the way we live our lives.

This sounds morbid, doesn’t it? My first reaction to this idea was shock, but then I started thinking about it more, thinking about the preparation for death.

When someone is on his/her death bed, the family and friends gather around the dying one, sharing favorite memories, laughing together, sharing love, finding reconciliation.  Essentially, the deathbed scene is one of bringing a rightness in relationship, of leaving no words unsaid.

So, through my daily living, I should remember that my days are numbered, and I do not know my number nor the number of days for anyone else. I should live in a way that brings a rightness of relationship in every moment. I should tell my family and friends often how much I appreciate and love them, and I should live in a way that demonstrates my love.

I should have called Rachel. I should have wished her well, shared in her joy, her passion for missions, and supported her compassionate heart.

It would be foolish of me to say that I will never again argue with my husband, have petty fights with my siblings, or allow tension in relationships. However, I should not allow these things to linger in the relationship, but should seek to clear the air and find peace in relationships.

Since we do not know the day or hour of our deaths, let us live in ways that prepare each other and ourselves for our deaths.

1. Ronald Rolheiser, The Holy Longing (New York: Doubleday, 1999), pages 90-91.

I miss you.

I am here and you are there.

Hundreds and thousands of miles separate us.

I would give almost anything right now to be with you.

If we were together, maybe we would watch a movie, like High School Musical (humuhumunukunukuapuaa)or Roughing It (there IS something wrong with the gravy!). Maybe it would be one of those ridiculous Hallmark movies, although it wouldn’t matter which one since they all have the same plot.

Maybe we would watch a show, like Psych or White Collar or Gilligan’s Island. Maybe we would watch BTS or Steele or Monk.

Maybe we would play a game like Imaginiff and we would be so engaged in the game and having such a good time that we all be laughing crazily and shouting over one another to hear the questions.

Maybe we would play Disney DDR till our legs were numb, or at least until someone got hurt on the ceiling fan.

Maybe we would bake a pumpkin pie, or maybe a hundred sugar cookies. Maybe we would make and eat so much popcorn we explode, and drink so much coffee we jitter.

Maybe we would sit and talk about the future, sharing our hopes and dreams as well as our fears.
Maybe we would reminisce about the past, reliving our favorite memories.

Maybe we would laugh so hard our sides ache, stopping only long enough to catch a breath before collapsing on the floor with another fit of laughter.

Maybe we would draw mustaches on our faces and go to Pizza Hut.

Maybe we would talk about the troubles in our lives and help carry each other’s burdens.

Maybe we would get up ridiculously early in order to hit the Black Friday sales even though we didn’t need a thing, only going because we could do it together.

Maybe we would break into random song and dance and decide to make a ridiculous music video.

Maybe we would pull out the Christmas music in October, or maybe we would sing our hearts out to Disney soundtracks.

Maybe we would go play a game of frisbee, spending half of the time in the street fetching a stray.
Maybe we would give up and do handstands instead.

Maybe we would be rushing around in the kitchen making dinner with miscellaneous ingredients we have on hand, ultimately making the best meal we had ever tasted or the strangest thing to ever be put on the table. (Broccoli pancakes falls into the second category.)

Maybe we would look at old pictures, laughing at how crazy we used to be.

Maybe we would just sit around drinking coffee or hot chocolate, everyone playing sudoku in an undeclared race.

Whatever we would do, we would do it together.
Whether we laughed, cried, sang, danced, mourned, rested, played, baked, or reminisced, we would be doing it together.

Life without you is not the same.
I miss you.