Divine Imperfections

Five Minute Friday: Broken

 

I always hated broken. Mismatched. Torn.

I was quick to throw away, to replace, anything with a flaw.

 

 

Into the trash stuff went, at the first sign of wear.

I wanted shiny. 

I wanted new.

 

I wanted, perfect.

 

 

And I still struggle with wanting perfect.

That's not something I outgrew with my teens.

 

But the older I get, the more I catch myself craving character instead.

 

I want the actual antique, with dirt and rust.

Not the shiny replica I can buy much cheaper from a big brand store.

 

 

I want the real thing. Authentic. Vintage.

Cause there’s a story there. There’s beauty there, in the cracks and imperfections.

 

 

How I wish I’d developed this taste much sooner. Before so many bruises and scars marred my own skin. 

Skin I thought only held as much value as Glamour magazine deemed fit.

Skin that was best if it was flawless.

Clear.

Void of any “imperfections.”

 

 

Only now am I beginning to see my skin, like all the stuff contained within it, as better for the “imperfections.”

The stuff that makes me me.

 

 

The chicken pox scar. And the new one from the burnt caramel.

The spot above my elbow, from when I fell off my bike.

And the scars you can’t see, from the broken hearts, and the wayward years.

 

Those things make me unique.

Unlike any other.

 

 

All that brokenness I was so afraid of.

The stuff I tried to hide for so long.

 

It has shaped me into the person I am.

Just as future hurts, and falls, will continue to make me into the person I was meant to be.

 

 

What I once saw as weakness. As faults that would lessen my value…

I now see as character. As stories worth telling.

 

Each scar represents a necessary part of my journey.

Each broken bit is the result of some step I had to take.

 

 

 

Some were painful.

Some were scarring.

But all were necessary, every single step.

 

 

Brokenness is not a bad thing. 

It’s beautiful in fact. 

Because it reminds us we’re vulnerable. Just flesh and blood.

 

It reminds us we’re human.

People.

Each of us.

In this together.

 

 

We all have our own scars. And our own stories.

And those broken bits are what send us all in search of healing.

 

The brokenness is what reminds us to keep searching for the Healer.

 

 

I haven't written in a very long while. And while I've missed it, I think it's been good for me to take a break.

I also think it's fitting that my "return" would be this, talking about brokenness, a subject dear to my heart, especially now.

 

I spent a lot of time trying to outrun my own brokenness. A lot of time.

But I didn't gain much ground.

Instead I kept running into the same struggles, which summed up simply, centered on my fallibility.

 

I've spent most of my life knowing a lot about how to be a good Christian. That's not to say I've been one, only that I've known the "how tos." 

I felt secure in my knowledge of spiritual things.

Where I've struggled, and I mean really struggled, is with my humanity. My pesky fleshness. 

I have hated how prone I am to wonder. To worry. To get caught up in all my limitations.

 

But this past month I've been learning a lot about what it takes to be a good human.

What is required to be a person, fully functioning, in flesh and in Spirit.

 

It sounds crazy, to be pushing 30, and only be beginning to learn how to live on this earth.

But that's where I'm at, in a nutshell.

Learning, how to bloom here.

Where I'm planted.

In dirt. And earth.

With flesh. And blood.

 

I have so very much to learn.

 

Maybe someday I'll come back and talk more about embracing my brokenness, as a way of moving forward, finally.  

For now I'll say that I'm more and more convinced with each passing day, and each conversation, that we - as people - have far more in common than anything that separates us.

 

And I'm hoping that moving forward I'll be bolder in sharing my own stories, both the happy and the sad ones, as a means of reaching out and connecting with others.

Mostly because I know now how helpful it's been for me to hear the stories of courageous friends and frontrunners.

People that have gone before me, and people alongside me in this life journey. 

People brave enough to share their brokenness.

 

How I admire their courage.

Music Monday: How To Become An 'Overnight Success' & An Alternative to More Bieber

 

I heard and loved the song below after hearing it on Good Morning Texas recently.

 

It's a lot more twangy than I usually listen to, but the lyrics are spot on.

Knowing that the artist lives in good ol' McKinney, Texas makes it even cooler.

 

 

 

Before I married a musician I had no idea what it takes to break into the industry.

When reporters talked about musicians busting onto the scene, or becoming overnight successes, I believed them.

 

Now I know it doesn't really work that way (unless you're the child of a famous pop star, or one of only a handful of reality show contestants that actually become the superstars they're promised they'll be).

 

For most musicians, most artists in general I dare say, success comes neither quick or easy.

It must be clawed for, pined over, and worked at for years.

 

It requires literal blood, sweat, and lots of tears.

Loading cars. Booking gigs... and untold hours of behind-the-scenes and unglamorous work.

 

But that's precisely why I have so much respect for people like Zane (we're on a first-name basis now).

And people like my husband.

People who are willing to do whatever it takes, to use both the talents they were born with, and also all the skills painstakingly developed over time.

 

People that aren't in it to make millions, or land Pepsi endorsements.

But to share stories, through song. Because that's what they were created to do.

 

In very related news, The Sparrow and The Clay EP is so close to completion I can almost smell it.

And while it smells like burnt plastic and the other ins and outs of CD packaging and production, it also smells like a lot of hardwork and dedication finally coming to fruition.

 

It smells like patience about to pay off.

And a celebration to be had, very very soon.

 

 

Now, go spend the whopping $1.07 and go buy Zane William's single.

'Cause it's good to support good artists.

 

It lets them know their work has been worthwhile.

And it reminds you that despite what the radio indicates, there are alternatives to listening to Justin Bieber all summer long. 

 

You're welcome. ;) 

Five Minute Friday: FALL

It’s terrifying, falling.

 

Realizing you’ve lost your grip, your touch with the world, and that there’s nothing you can do about it.

 

 

It’s scary, knowing you’re bound to face plant on concrete. And that even when you do manage to stand again, you’ll never be the same.

 

 

There will be scars. There will be bruises.

 

There will be permanent reminders of that time you lost it.

 

 

That time you did the thing no one wants to do.

 

The time you fell.

 

 

But sometimes falling can be exhilarating too. It can mean accepting your fragile state, your humanity, and accepting that you can’t always have it all together.

 

It reminds you that sometimes you need a break.

 

And when you’re too busy, or stubborn, to take one, life often throws one your way.

 

 

 

Giving up control is never easy.

 

Whether it be by choice, circumstance, or unfortunate accident.

 

That’s probably why so few people ever do so with any semblance of grace.

 

 

But along with the discouragement, the feelings of failure…

 

A fall brings a reset.

 

A chance to start again.

 

 

It brings an opportunity to choose bravery.

 

And bravery is always required to get back on the bike, or the proverbial horse.

 

Stepping back out into the world, where more failure undoubtedly awaits, takes courage that often goes overlooked.

 

But it’s so crucial to reaching for success.

 

 

Success, like faith, requires a willingness to fall.

 

A willingness to be made a fool.

 

A willingness to try again, even though you’re likely to fail.

 

Not only because you want to succeed, which you do.

 

But because that’s the only way to learn anything in this wonky life.

 

 

By trying. And failing.

 

By stepping. And falling.

 

And then stepping again. Wobbling as needed.

 

 

As you go through life, not gracefully, but surrounded by abundant grace.

 

 

Standing, or falling, you are accepted.

 

You’re more than fine.

 

 

Because you’re in unshaky arms.

 

You’re held in the steadiest of hands.

 

 

 

Hands that aren’t human, but know well what it’s like.

 

To be a girl, against the concrete.

 

 

Just a girl, stumbling along.

 

Afraid of the fall, but more afraid to remain still.

- - - - - - - - - - 

This is what came out of my brain in five minutes of thinking about "Fall."

It's part of a writing group I've enjoyed participating in called FIVE MINUTE FRIDAY, in which a bunch of people freewrite about a new prompt each week.

Learn more about it at Lisa Jo Baker's lovely website.

What to Watch: What Not To Wear

Since I started working from home I have logged a lot of hours of TV watching.

And while a lot of the viewing has been pointless and stupid (do not get me started on last season of Grey’s… a plane crash? Really?)… some of it has actually been – dare I say it – beneficial.

I saw a few episodes of What Not to Wear in college, but I never made it religious viewing.

But since reruns come on right about the time I’m working on the mindless task of sorting emails, I’ve made it a habit to try to catch it.

It’s funny, and a bit cheesy, but it’s also oddly informative.

And yes, the show always starts with an ambush. Some poor sap is singled out for her bad style, usually caught completely off guard and absolutely mortified.

But, and this is what makes me appreciate the show so much, whether they’re teaching a skinny young mom how to look less skanky, or a plus-sized grandmother how to flatter her figure, the hosts (while impeccably stylish and enviably thin themselves) always keep the focus on making the style target feel her best.

 

They don’t tell women the key to happiness is to lose twenty pounds, or to hide all their freckles. 

They don’t tell a vintage-lover to chase every new trend, or a tomboy athlete she should always be in heels. 

They teach her, each individual (who they really seem to get to know and appreciate) to feel her best. To embrace her own beauty. And to reflect who she really is, by dressing in a way that fits with her truest self.

The style remedies aren’t one size fits all.
They’re as unique as the women being made over.

 

Sometimes the focus is on finding great-fitting jeans and sweaters and sometimes it’s cocktail dresses and stilettos.

But whatever the clients take home as part of their $5,000 new wardrobes, it pales in comparison to the real gift the show provides.

 

Confidence.

 

The hosts, Stacy and Clinton (I like to pretend we’re on a first-name basis now) force the women they help to take a deep, long look at themselves. 

And they teach them to focus not on what’s wrong, but on what’s right.

 

When it comes time for haircuts and makeup, even some of the most austere “victims” often lose control. 

And while I’m sure there are impervious women out there, who don’t know why a poor sap would start weeping about side bangs or lip gloss, I’m always glad to see the meltdowns.

 

Not because I'm a sadist, but because I know (from having watched so many episodes of WNTW now) that the other side of that meltdown is wonderful.

 

It’s a woman embracing her inner beauty,
and letting that shine for the world to see.

 

Smart and shy? They’ll teach you to come out of your shell.

Dressed like a hooker ‘cause you’re scared your man will lose interest and leave?

They teach you to dress classy sexy (which I’ve learned does not involve green Spandex as pants, or any amount of side cleavage).

 

Basically, they teach people to play up their best features, and to look past the flaws they can’t change. 

They encourage healing and moving past deep wounds, by putting one’s best foot forward, in a stylish shoe no less.

 

And I know a haircut can’t fix all a girl’s problems.

A new jacket won’t make your career dreams come true.

But I think there is something to be said for a message that encourages you to strive to be your best, while accepting yourself where you’re at.

 

In a culture saturated with skeletal models, and with airbrushed movie stars looking down on us at every grocery store checkout, it’s nice to see real women learning to appreciate their unique beauty. 

It’s nice to see real people accepting themselves, and becoming braver in the process.

 

I've learned a lot about fashion from What Not to Wear, but it's the lessons in bravery that I value the most.

*You can click either photo above to visit its original source.

It turns out Stacy knows a thing or two about learning confidence the hard way.

This story about her past and future is super inspiring. Make sure to check it out!

 

By the way, the initiative to finally publish this post that's been in draft stage far too long came from Anne the Adventurer's blog linkup.

She's encouraging others to write about beauty and body image, their own stories and what's inspiring them.

 

The show and this blog linkup (and maybe my birthday) are just a few of the things inspiring me lately.

What's inspiring you to be more accepting of yourself?

Five Minute Friday: Brave

Brave is first-responders. And new moms. 

Brave is skydiving, and saying “I love you” first.

 

Brave is scary. Brave is awesome.

Brave is necessary, so necessary.

 

Brave is breaking out the art supplies, when it’s been so long you’re not sure you’ll know how to use them.

Brave is riding a bike for the first time.

And brave is being the proud, anxious papa letting go of the handlebars.

 

Brave is making your own choices.

Brave is making mistakes.

 

Brave is getting out of bed, when the covers are calling. 

Brave is daring to stand out, when it’s easier to fit in.

 

Brave is bold.

Brave is awe-inspiring.

 

Brave is such a good word, such a good trait.

 

Brave is getting getting back in the ring fter being knocked down.

Brave is trying again after failing miserably. 

Brave is embracing the unknown, all kinds of unknown.

 

Brave is anyone that faces life with hope, and a refusal to quit. 

And Brave is what I aspire to.

 

Brave is what I most want to be.

Brave is beautiful.

 

Five minutes went really fast this week. (Heck, Friday went really fast this week, hence my late post.)

 

If ever you're looking for an excuse, encouragement to write, this is great.

Freewriting has a way of opening your mind up to what it really wants to say.

Also, it's become one of my favorite parts of the week. (Then again, Friday has always had a special place in my heart. ;) )

 

Happy weekending friends.

But wait! There's more!

Life Lately: Overwhelmed by Adulthood, Becoming Brave

Brave ( A Five Minute Friday Post)

Five Minute Friday: My BRAVE Daughter - God's BRAVE Child

Five Minute Friday: Brave

Five Minute Friday | Brave

Dreams Do Come True: On Being a Band Wife

Five Minute Friday: JUMP

I want to jump up and scream.

I want to do anything at all. 

I want to react. I want to move.

 

But instead I sit, glued to the tv.

 

I'm scared the phone will ring.

 And I’ll be forced to fake a smile.

 

When there is no being professional today.

There is only spontaneous sobbing.

 

As I watch the news.

As I wonder what this world is coming to.

As I put myself in the shoes of wives whose husbands never returned home from the fire... 

Mothers tucking their babies into makeshift beds on cold gym floors at night, instead of the warm, safe cribs they are used to at home.

 

Life is so unfair.

It is awful, what has happened.

 

What continues to happen.

Daily it seems.

 

Tragedy.

Heart break.

Catastrophe.

Disaster.

 

My heart is heavy. 

The flags at half staff. 

 

And there’s no escaping it.

 

In my newsfeed. On the TV.

It’s all anyone is talking about, and I know why.

 

Because we can’t believe it, what has happened.

 

Some people are quick to help, to run in when trouble arises.

 

But others are jumping on bandwagons. 

And jumping to conclusions.

 

Jumping ship, before their political party goes down in flames.

 

Some want to shift blame. To cast stones. To name call.
 
They're chomping at the bit to make this a topic for debate…

 

While others are just trying to figure out where there next meal will come from. 

Or if they’ll ever walk again.

Or how to make their kids feel safe, in a world that seems to have fallen from its axis.

A world that has jumped course.

 

 

I hate not having answers.

I hate not knowing when things will get better.

 

So I pry myself off the couch, anxious to be doing something.

Anything.

 

Even if it is throwing sample shampoos and not-so-new tennis shoes into a box slated for donation. 

Even if it is hugging my husband every time I pass him in the hall.

Even if it is muttering humble, stunted prayers...

 

Why? How? What do we do now?

 

I can’t bring back lost loved ones, but I can be grateful for my own.

I can’t provide a home for those who’ve lost theirs, but I can offer a few of the comforts, the luxuries really, that I so often take for granted.

 

I can’t turn back time, or put the world back into an orbit that doesn't involve daily violence, and unspeakable tragedy…

 

But I can drag myself out of bed again tomorrow.

And I can utter those same small prayers.

 

And I can trust that will be enough.

'Cause it's all I can do...

 

With a heart this heavy.

And with hands this small.

Music Memory Monday: I Need a Hero

My initial response to tragedies, big and small, is almost always the same.

I want to curl up in the fetal position and cry, preferably under a blanket, so I can shut out and hide from the world.

 

When this is physically impossible, or after I’ve worked up just enough nerve to brave life outside the blanket, my secondary responses kick in.

 

Sometimes (like today, in light of the Boston Explosions) I turn to distractions, to take my mind off the troubles.

I spent the evening soaking in the sun and shopping for new plants, a chance to focus on new life, instead of tragic ends.

 

Sometimes I zone out instead, and become completely numb to anything and anyone.

The problem with this method of “coping” is that it’s hard to pull out of a zombie-like existence. And living on auto-pilot for any length of time, seems like a waste of precious breaths.

 

But ultimately, when the distractions cease, or I wake back up to reality, or I pull the blanket from over my head (or it gets taken from me), I must face whatever woes the world has thrown my way.

 

And it sucks. Can we say that? 

Sometimes, facing this messed up world we share sucks.

 

 

Don’t worry. This isn’t where I post a picture of a cat and say something about hanging in there.

Those words are too trite to touch on a hurt of this magnitude.

 

What I will say is that I’m thankful we don’t have to face hardships alone.

I’m thankful for heroes that run in when they’re needed most, like those we saw today.

And I’m thankful there’s A Hero we can call on any time.

 

(Yes; the graphics are cheesy. But I love the lyrics.)

 

Weeks ago I listened to this song on repeat, while going through a tough time personally.

Tonight I’m so thankful it’s written about Someone who cares enough to hear each of our small, silent struggles, yet powerful enough to offer healing for the deepest wounds throughout the world.

In this quiet living room. In Boston. And beyond.

 

We may not know why bad things happen. I sure don’t, and I won’t pretend to.

But I am thankful that deep in my soul I know the bad stuff isn’t the whole story.

 

Above and beyond heinous acts,
there is always bravery and goodness and HOPE.

 

Hope is the result of seeing heroes in action.

And Hope exists in knowing that eventually Love always wins.

 

I pray that something here, in this song or even this confession of my own cowardice, might give your heart some hope.

 

Hope to face tomorrow.

To cry as needed.

To cope...

 

Knowing you're not alone.

 

"A hero who'll dare to find me, fly to my rescue and crash through the wall. 
Announce my freedom, bring me to my senses. 
Gather me into His strong arms, and carry me on to safety."
               - Chris Rice


 

Life Lately: Overwhelmed by Adulthood, Becoming Brave

 

Life lately is going really great. In so many ways things are on the upswing.

I should be ecstatic.

 

Mikael recently landed a great new job. I’ve gotten to spend a lot more time with friends and family since both our cars are working now. (That’s a blessing not to be taken for granted.)

 

I’ve carved out time for working on several craft projects I’d been putting off for ages. And found a whole community of writers that seem like kindred spirits.

 

We’ve found a church home we love.

I’ve made dinner a few times with minimal supervision, and without cutting off a finger or setting the kitchen on fire. (Double score!)

 

Things are good, really good, and yet…

 

I can’t help but feel incredibly overwhelmed.

 

 

I don’t know why.

And I’m kind of mad about it, actually.

 

I mean, it couldn’t come at a worse time. Spring is here. Life is going well.

And yet… here I am.

 

Completely and utterly overwhelmed.

 

 

This may be the very definition of the word, so forgive me if it’s redundant, but…

It’s not one thing, it’s everything.

It all seems so overwhelming.

 

 

It’s not just work. Or just  this. Or just that. 

It’s everything, combined.

It’s too much.

And it's getting me down.

 

Like I said, I don’t have a clear culprit. 

I can’t determine precisely why I feel this way. 

But I think it has something to do with feeling, very suddenly, like a full-fledged adult.

 

It’s as if I went to bed one night a goofy twenty-something,
with plenty of time to figure stuff out,
and woke up with a fire under my butt, a new last name,
and a still unfiled IRS form (ughhh!).

 

And this isn’t baby fever I’m talking about.

This is an unexplainable, sudden urgency to live up to my potential.

 

Potential in the creative ideas I have, which I’ve tried to outrun, or give up, for most of my "adult" life…

Potential I see in the relationship I have with my husband, and in our future together…

Potential in our fridge…

 

There’s so much potential. And so relatively little time.

 

And when I start thinking about it all, I get awfully overwhelmed.

(Think about the first time you logged into Pinterest! Lately I'm feeling that kind of overwhelmed.

Or the way your computer feels when you open one too many windows, and the "spinning wheel of death" appears. That kind of overwhelmed.)

 

Some days I just want to relive the carefree days I enjoyed in my youth. 

I ache for simpler times, when so much of life seemed to take care of itself.

 

Before days were complicated by insurance forms and security deposits, and the struggle to remain professional while wearing pajama pants…

Before trying to merge two lives, and pursue or eradicate creative passions…

 

Lately I'm wondering if everyone else has stuff figured out by now,
or if they're just better at going through the motions.

 

This is not a rhetorical question.

Do you ever feel like a kid lost at the mall?

 

Part of my struggle lately has to do with what I do and don’t share in this space.

Even now it feels weird to make a public confession of this sort.

 

Why bother? Who cares? And, isn’t this the sort of thing a good adult keeps to herself?

 

These are the kinds of questions I’ve been battling on a nearly daily basis.

 

And while I know I must be cautious about what I do and don’t share...

While I know some things are better worked out in private…

 

I’m also realizing I can’t spend my whole life shying away from things that scare me.

 

And this - writing - blogging - putting myself out there - it scares the poooop out of me.

But I'm realizing how important that is.

I'm realizing how much I need that.

 

 

For years the creative people I have most consistently admired have been those that are brave. 

Some in fashion. Some in painting. Some in home design. Some as authors.

 

Some have swapped jobs a dozen times since I've been following them.

Some have transitioned into stay-at-home mothering.

Or launched their own lines.

 

What they all have in common, though, is that they are exceptionally brave.

They are people willing to forego a little pride, in order to spend their lives connecting with other human beings…

And they're connecting with their own innermost thoughts and their truest feelings in the process.

 

I really want to be one of those people someday. 'Cause I see the value in their courage.

Actually, I want to be one of those people everyday.

'Cause the world needs people that are willing to be brave.

 

 

Maybe, in a roundabout way, this post is me committing to do just that.

 

To write a little braver.

To share a little braver.

To live a little braver.

 

Nerdy as it is to end this post with something I must attribute to watching The Princess Diaries, it seems fitting to include the sage advice I learned watching it.

Only my Google search went slightly wrong, and instead of sharing the quote from the film, I'm gonna leave you with wise words from Nelson Mandela instead:

I can’t tell you how much I needed to read that.

Just like I can’t explain why I needed to write this.

 

I can only say I did need those things, like I need to grow up a bit more gracefully.

I need to stop beating myself up, and trust my instincts a little more.

It's time to take more chances, and show more courage.

 

I can't thank you enough, for making it to the end of another rambly post.

In fact, thank you precious precious friends, for making it to the end of so many rambly posts.

 

I truly hope this is only the beginning, of a brave journey we can embark on together. 

A journey towards what is true and beautiful. 

A journey towards that which makes courage necessary, worthwhile.

 

It'll be a journey of overcoming the overwhelmedness, in order to experience life fully.

It'll be scary, but it'll be good.

 

It'll be wonderfully good.

 

Related articles

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Thoughts on Being Brave

Perfectionism

Growing into one's self

Go...

Usually he stands there, begging with his irresistible puppy eyes.

"Play with me," he's screaming, without making a sound.

Well sometimes there's a high-pitched yip/shriek/awful noise. But mostly it's silent, persistent begging.

 

And he knows the powers of his persuasion.

So he waits confidently, with baited (stinky) dog breath. 

He waits until he hears the signal, the metaphorical gun shot in the air.

 

He waits, for the ball to drop.

And then he's off like a flash.

To fetch his most coveted toy in the world.

 

But this time is different.

For once, he doesn't wait for the crash.

 

Instead he trusts that I'll do exactly what I always do, when faced with his sweet puppy dog eyes.

And he takes off, in excited anticipation.

Determined to find his trusty, yellow ball.

 

Nothing will stop him. And nothing will slow him down.

He's a man on a mission.

 

He proudly brings it back, like he always does.

Dropping the slobbery thing at my feet.

 

That signals it's time to start again. And again.

"Oh the fun we'll have," he says. (They're very expressive eyes.)

 

Oh the joys of fetch. 

And oh, the faith of a dog.

 

Especially one who's only ever known loyal companions.

Faithful friends that are always up for a good game.

 

He's awfully adorable, this puppy nephew of mine.

But he's also a breath of fresh air, in a world full of cynics and skeptics.

 

Most of the people I know have been let down or burned a time or two, or two hundred.

We all have reasons for hesitating like we do.

 

There are reasons (some good) behind much of our mistrust.

There is logic behind many of our fears.

 

But my puppy nephew reminds me that you can't always wait for the ball to drop to take action.

Sometimes, you've just got to go for it.