The Faces across a Table
There are few things more satisfying than scanning a dinner table or looking across my kitchen counter to see the faces of people I love. Even when it includes those oddball characters no one quite knows what to do with (you know who you are).
You know the ones. They have a real knack for artfully–almost poetically–saying exactly the wrong thing.
Yeah, even them. Maybe especially them.
In fact, those are the very people who usually make things more interesting. Like the other night when one of my son’s friends went off on a rant about anti-depressants. He said, “Not to be graphic” (so we braced ourselves), and then he went on to describe scientifically (and graphically) why antidepressants take all the umph out of orgasms.
Really? Hmm. Didn’t know that. “Coffee anyone?”
Or there was the recent dinner when my nephew was home from college with two friends. I overheard one family member talking about the politics of homosexuality with one of the friends. (To his credit, the young man maintained a remarkable poker face. Didn’t even flinch.)
I sat for a moment that night taking it all in. I scanned the table, watching everyone joke and gesticulate, while they stuffed faces full with pizza and somehow still managed to share stories, tall tales, gross exaggerations, good-natured ribbing, and belly laughs—all without bringing soda up their noses.
Somehow it was all so….glorious. So wonderfully and beautifully imperfect. No matter what is being served or where, if I can look across a table or a room into the eyes of someone I love, it is all so very, very good.
Thorny nests, Dips, and Cul-de-Sacs
photo by Mr. T in DC
I once read that birds actually build thorns deep into their nests. Apparently, it’s a parenting issue. When Mama bird finds herself with a too-comfortable fledgling, reluctant to spread wings and fly, she says, “I’ll fix this” and begins removing downy layers, one by one, to expose those thorns. Baby bird says, “Hey–ow! That hurts! Ma! What’re you doing?!”
Suddenly, the nest is not so cozy. The idea of leaving seems more inviting.
Is it possible that God himself builds thorns into our nest? When we find ourselves in thorny circumstances, are we being prodded to leave because the nest has become too comfortable or, at least, too familiar? We refuse to budge, so God lovingly removes the cushioning, making it harder and harder to stay.
Maybe God just wants us to fly. Without exposure to those prickly barbs, though, we might never know the joy.
Over the years, when I’ve found myself in difficult situations, I’ve wondered, “Are these thorns? Is it time to go? Or do I still have things to learn here?” Very often, I knew the answer deep down. Admitting it…well, that often takes time…and more thorns.
In his excellent little book The Dip, Seth Godin reasons that times of conflict represent either a dip or a cul-de-sac. Every job, relationship, and circumstance has ups and downs. Sometimes, we’re just in a dip, and the right thing to do is to push through and grow from the adversity. But sometimes we’re in a cul-de-sac, doomed to endless driving in circles…unless we leave.
Dips. Thorns. Cul de Sacs. It takes time and a little cold, hard honesty for me to know when my struggle is a simple dip or a nasty thorn–poking me in such confounded ways that the idea of leaping off the edge sounds infinitely better than staying put. Seen in this light, I can let go of the struggle and come to a place of grace. No need to find someone to blame (though I admit I try). Truth is, the thorns were probably always there. They were just covered by God’s protective grace for a time. But he sometimes he removes that protection so that I will have no choice but to brave right up to the edge and take a flying leap.
And I suspect that looking back is not a good idea when in flight.
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A Time to Walk Away
Photo by Beni Ishaque Luthor
Jimmy Buffet’s “Margaritaville” isn’t exactly a pensive song. At first glance, it seems like nothing more than a celebration of a perpetual drunk fest on some Mexican beach. But tucked in the lyrics is a slow, somewhat poignant, realization: As he considers his Margaritavile demise, the singer first claims it was “nobody’s fault,” then “…it could be my fault.” And finally, the epiphany, “It’s my own damn fault.”
Oi vay. I can relate this slow grind to humility, especially when it comes to knowing when to walk away. When I was a young teacher, I was surprised to so readily see among my colleagues the ones who had stayed too long. I remember telling Barry, “Please remind me to quit when I don’t like the kids anymore!”
But sometimes we are the last to see when it’s time to go, aren’t we? Ecclesiastes says, “There’s a time to keep and a time to cast away.”
Wisdom is about knowing when.
When is it right to let go of whatever we are holding onto? A job? A person? A dream? A grudge? A personal war? I don’t always know, do you?
I do know this: Hang on too long, and the misery that ensues is often my own fault because I’m only hanging on out of fear, comfort…even laziness. I may even have legitimate grievances to pin my frustrations to, but the truth is that I have outstayed the grace I was given to deal with them. Without that grace, the weeds in any human interaction eventually wind round our necks and choke the living daylights out of us.
Knowing the “when” is hard, though. I’m often too close, too tangled in the weeds to see. I do know this much. It’s time to walk away if–
1) My only reason for remaining involves fear, laziness, or the desire to be comfortable
2) My “round” self just no longer fits the ever-tightening square hole of my circumstances
3) I’ve made a god of the thing or person I’m clinging to–and I’m trying to squeeze life, or affirmation, or provision from it, when I should be trusting God for those things instead. Ugh.
I’d love to know how others deal with this question, though. As you think about letting go, what determines your “when”?
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The Mornings Are For Waking Up
My breakfast ideas use to be bigger than this. My hopes of an authentic being were barely formed. Though, breakfast was always a delightful break in the bullshit of a day that I knew was coming like a semi down I-75. What happened to my taking pleasure in beginning my day? Is it my ill-tolerance for bread that shot me down?
A Better Story
There is something wonderfully powerful about STORIES.
Stories are universal – crossing boundaries of language, culture and age. We can all relate to stories, and it is in the context of narrative that the human heart truly responds. In fact, people have been telling and responding to stories since the beginning of time. It’s how most cultures pass on information from generation to generation.
Do What You Love. Or Maybe Not
photo by Jhon Alfa Tumbelaka
Is it really best to do what you love? Or is it better to just get a job? What if you want your passion to remain your passion and not your job? If you’ve ever actually tried to make money doing what you love (art, music, writing, teaching–whatever), you know that your passion can be sucked dry by the pressures and sticky details of actually earning a living. Even worse, that thing you love, that thing that was once a joy and release from the every day, has become part of the every day, so now you no longer even have your fun escape valve.
A friend of mine built a business around a passion of hers. After 14 years of running a successful but demanding business, she advocates keeping your creative passions for yourself versus wrapping your sustenance around them. Others say, “Do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.” I don’t know, though. I’ve been doing what I love for a long time, but writing as a business is a whole different animal from writing for the sheer joy of it. It involves nasty unpleasant things like taxes, bookkeeping, billing, negotiating, and contracts. I know. I know. This is all just reality. I get that. But is there wisdom in hiding a little piece of your creative soul away from your paycheck?
So, I’m curious. I’m really curious how others who work within their passions or creative gifts address this issue. What do you do?
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Elizabeth Gilbert’s Ideas on How to Survive Creativity
Just ran across this TED talk by Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love. Gilbert wonders aloud about whether creativity is internal and innate, or whether it comes from somewhere outside ourselves. The difference may be critical to the survival of the artist. As a Christian, I found myself nodding. Hmmm. I think this is what we call the Holy Spirit. The Spirit of God the Creator. The Spirit that was there at creation “hovering” over the emptiness like a brooding hen. (See Genesis 1:1) This 19-minute talk is well worth the time.
5 Things You Should Know about Creative Minds
photo by Alex Erde
Do you struggle to understand the artistic souls in your life (maybe even your own)? I’ve been surrounded by creative types from birth. My Dad? Artist. Grandmother? Artist. Husband? A musician. Oldest son? Musician and chef. Younger son? Artist. Believe me, I’ve had ample opportunity to think about how we creative types work. I’ve also got just enough left-brain functionality to understand that the creative personality completely confounds the rest of the population.
We don’t mean to. Honest.
But our very being is a source of consternation to those who believe that 2 + 2 should ALWAYS…and I mean ALWAYS…lead to the neat and tidy and oh-so-predictable sum of 4.
And it should do so in a timely fashion.
In sympathy with my orderly, logical, left-brain friends, I thought it might help to compile a few tips to help you navigate the universe of your right-brained loved ones. So here’s just five ideas.
1) We creative souls really do work better under pressure. Seriously, creativity thrives within boundaries–even the temporal kind! We’re not procrastinating. We’re waiting for the creative pressure to kick in. Give us too much time, and we’re staring out the window.
2) Speaking of staring out the window, we need to do this. Regularly. You’ll just have to trust us about this.
3) We respect you left-brain types with such disciplined routines. We marvel. We know we should be more like you. But I’m not gonna lie. In our world, routine is boring and overrated.
4) Feedback is fine. Collaboration is fine. Re-doing the work that you hired us to do. Confusing. You don’t, for instance, march into the kitchen of your favorite restaurant and say, “You know, this looks like fun. I’ve always fancied being a chef. Move over. I’d like to re-do that Chicken Marsala.”
5) We aren’t trying to make you crazy by changing the way we do things. We just don’t like doing things the same way twice. (See #3)
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Beginnings
Carolina morning. Photo by L. Kay Johnson
The importance of accepting new beginnings has become clear in recent months. I know I’m in a time of transition, but where there’s no road map or guaranteed formulas, every morning is like a new experiment..a “why not try it this way” kind of day. I’m learning to be okay with that. I’m also learning to rely on that “new every morning” mercy. A few practical routines and practices seem to help:
- Breathing: Sometimes taking the time to breathe is an act of trust.
- Gratitude: I’m reading Ann Voskamp’s 1000 Gifts. Timely stuff. (Highly recommend it, by the way.)
- Prayer. My favorite these days: Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done. Seems if I can keep these two prioritized, the rest is water under the bridge.
- Journaling: Forgive the analogy, but when my mind is roiling, journaling is kind of like throwing up on paper. Messy and gross. But you feel so much better afterwards. And somehow it all often magicaly transforms into clarity and useful ideas.
- Exercise. Don’t think. Just do. Amazing how much clearer my mind is when I give myself this gift.
- Sleep. Do I really need to give myself permission!? Apparently so.
- Sunshine. Seriously. Amazing what a few minutes outside can do for my attitude.
- Truthful Friends. No substitute for friends who listen when I wail and then tell it like it is.
- Trust. Like breathing, all of the above require trust.
One blogger captured some great ideas about how to start the day that I thought I would share as well. Good stuff. Now trust…and go for a walk.
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Daily Manna Gathering
Had coffee with my friend, Katy. While we shared the woes of mounting bills and diminishing funds, we talked about the daily manna or bread from heaven that the Isrealites were given in the desert. Katy reminded me that God opted for a daily provision. When the people tried to hoard enough for the week, or even for the next day, the food rotted. They didn’t like having to trust that God would come through for them tomorrow. I don’t like it either.
In fact, like the Israelites, I am often tempted to look back at “Egypt” and think it all looks pretty good in retrospect. Like the Egyptians, I sometimes find myself saying, “Yes, I was a slave, but I was a comfortable slave!” I keep forgetting that God loves me too much to leave me in places where I have become too comfortable. And he loves me too much to let me remain a slave versus pushing me to embrace my own freedom.
Katy also reminded me that it is just as silly to look forward into the future and allow ourselves to get all amped up with anxiety. She said, “Just lay out the bills and see which one is due today. Pay that one. For all you know, you’ll be dead tomorrow!” She’s right. And then I will have spent my last day on earth worrying about a bill that I will never have to pay.
See…this is why we need honest friends. Thanks, Katy.
Top 5 Ways to Get Over Writer's Block
I spend a LOT of time writing. Whether it’s my Life and Laughter column, an article for a magazine or newspaper, a press release or this witty blog, I’m ALWAYS trying to come up with interesting topics, fun words, brilliant sentences, blah, blah, blah. But there are SOME days (I call them “weekdays”) when my brain doesn’t engage and I stare stupidly at my computer screen, watching that irritating cursor blink in my general direction.
Soul Weeding: Clearing the Clutter
Photo by Emerson
I once read that you should get rid of the things that make you grimace every time you pass by. (I’m assuming this does not include family members.) Still, without external pressure, I’m sometimes more comfortable staying in the weeds than going through the painful process of extricating myself from them. In fact, I start to convince myself that while the view is lousy in Weedville, it’s not so bad. There are lots of other weeds to keep me company.
I read recently, though, about that moment when God calls out to Adam and Eve in the garden, “Where are you?” It’s like God kept a regular sunset-watching date with his friends, but this time they were missing…hiding, as we know….as God knew. I hear longing in that question: Where are you? Is it possible that God actually looks forward to my companionship, but I’m so buried in the clutter of my own ambitions or fears or anxieties or agendas that I don’t even notice?
What if stopped, listened, and I answered, “Here I am. Come sit with me”? I suspect I would gain perspective. Focus. Insight. Wisdom. I suspect I’d get rid of enough weeds to enlarge my view and find fresh perspective.
I don’t know why I hide from God’s call. I find it difficult to shut my chattering brain down long enough—even though I know it’s what I need more than anything. After all, if there’s space for God in my life, isn’t there space for everything else?
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Review: Someone Knows My Name
Someone Knows My Name by Lawrence Hill
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
If you are in a current funk of self-pity, this is definitely not the book for you. On the other hand, if you could use a vision of courage, Someone Knows My Name will not disappoint. This book explores what it means to be a slave and what means to be free. Through the central character, Aminata, we also also explore what it means to be human.
Lawrence Hill has achieved the remarkable in several ways. First, he successfully writes from the viewpoint of an 18th-century African woman, thereby ensuring we see the extent of how slavery affected “the least of these.” Second, his careful research guarantees just enough detail to facilitate our transport to the world of 18th-century colonization. Finally, and I think this is the most remarkable thing, Hill goes beyond simply indicting European slave traders, or even Africans who fully collaborated. He doesn’t shy from the truth that slavery exists wherever human selfishness, fear, and greed exist. In other words, he indicts us all.
Only after Hill has given the reader a real eye-full of the horrors of slavery does he allow his characters to discuss the issues surrounding slavery and the lies that slave-traders and their collaborators used to condone the industry. And only after ensuring that the reader sees the misery and cruelty as blatantly as possible does he show Aminata’s own struggle to identify the right people to blame. Is it the slave ship owners? Is it those who buy the slaves? Is it the Africans who participate and profit from the trade? Is it even ladies in the drawing rooms of London who can’t live without sugar in their tea? And how does she figure in the fact that her own village once owned a man?
Identifying the enemy was far more complicated that she imagined, and knowing how to fight slavery was equally challenging. At one point, she strikes a bargain with an African slave trader to take her back to her native village. She is pained to realize that this man and his followers, who are faithful Muslims, are actively engaged in profiting from slavery just as easily as those who called themselves Christians or Jews. She also soon realizes that she has participated in the threat of her own re-enslavement by paying for their services. Even worse, as she witnesses new groups of slaves being led to the coast, she is appalled to realize that she is just like the bystanders she had condemned so long ago for watching the captives pass by and doing nothing to stop the captors.
As she tells her stories later to fellow Africans, the chief of the village is incredulous when she claims that not all “toubabu” (white men) were devils. He asks, “How could it be possible to see good in some of them?” Aminata replies, “Do you not know the human heart?”
Aminata spent years associating her identity with her father, her mother, her language, and her Bayo village. As her dream of returning there fades, she begins to realize that Bayo and all that it held is a past that she must surrender. The thing that she cannot surrender and that becomes her new identity is her commitment to freedom.
Hill’s book is a striking illustration of how easily we can justify wrongs, even whitewashing them with words like “progress and prosperity.” He forces us to look at the price of greed and evil, while also considering the power that one soul, completely free from fear, possesses to effect change. Aminata’s ultimate commitment to the truth versus even to her own dreams is one we would all do well to emulate. As she so beautifully said, “I don’t govern my life according to danger.”
Addicted to Extraordinary
photo by schmense
Some things in life spoil you for the ordinary. Meaningful volunteer work, crisis situations, military service, even adventure travel—these kinds of things may lead to an addiction to the extraordinary, where our identity clings like seaweed to the “importance” of what we do. My “spoiler experience” was five-year stint as a young adult with a mission organization. I lived and worked with a pack of fired-up young people out to save the world. We worked in an inner-city mission in Amsterdam, and it seemed that everything we did had eternal significance. Nothing wrong with passion and a desire for meaningful service, but I made the fatal error of deeming that kind of work as “sacred,” while a regular job was merely “secular.”
Of course, now I see things differently. Everything is sacred. I read a book once years ago, whose title I have forgotten, where the author shared his struggle with ordinary life. He was attracted to a radical life of solitude, prayer and meditation, but this guy had a regular job, a wife and three kids. He could barely get in a quiet moment edgewise, much less hours for meditation! In time, though, he began to realize that before there were any monastical orders, before there was even a church, before the first apostles forged unknown territory to share God’s story, even before Jesus preached or healed or died on the cross—before all of that…there was a Mary and a Joseph.
A housewife. A carpenter. They didn’t do anything any more radical than raise a child.
They got up every day and worked, cleaned the house, paid the bills, and made dinner. It was all so very…ordinary. But without that ordinary, or as author Leigh McLeroy calls it, that “sacred ordinary,” the rest of the story could not have unfolded.
I don’t want to miss that sacred ordinary now. Do you? Whatever you are doing, give it to God who redeems all of our work, making it sacred through his grace.
Refrain from the Identical
JoDee understands that consternation. The creative eclectic feels it too! She recalls a conversation with her daughter, where they laughed, to avoid crying, about the frustration they shared over their wandering creative eyes.
“I can’t help myself,” her daughter moaned.
I stopped trying,” JoDee replied, and she went on to describe the creative process as something akin to childbirth, complete with post partum depression. JoDee encourages the reader to understand that there is a cycle of “rebirth” in the creative process. “Like a weary, worn-out new mother, the soul must regenerate and renew.”
Many creative souls fear this depression because they do not grasp the dynamic. As a result they run from subsequent endeavors. Instead, I encourage you to take the time to understand this process in order to mature as an innovator who can deliver many gifts to the world.
Author JoDee Luna with her daugher, Elya Filler
JoDee explores topics such as Exploring Your Creative Temperament, Aligning Your Creative Compass, Practicing Creative Self-Care, Overcoming Obstacles, Developing Creativity, and Refreshing Creativity through Excursions. Exercises at the end of each chapter encourage readers to push beyond their present boundaries. In her chapter about creative self-care, JoDee challenges the reader to “Identify something or someone who drains your creativity. Write down your feelings about this situation or person. Now decide on one positive step you can make to take care of yourself when encountering this activity or person.”
JoDee understands the dilemma of creative eclectics all too well. She is the poster child. She loves photography, writing, sculpting, gardening, floral arranging, music, home decor. Name the creative venue. She’s been there, done that, and has a closet full of supplies to prove it. For years, JoDee beat herself up about her meandering creative mind, but time and a tough divorce taught her the healing power of creativity for herself and, eventually, for her students. She gave herself permission to explore new creative paths. Good for us that she did. Her book offers invaluable encouragement and practical help to those of us who long to do the same.
My copy of Refrain from the Identical arrives in the mail!
From time to time, I do book reviews, and I’ve so looked forward to this one for two reasons. JoDee is an old friend. She was in my wedding, and we worked together in a creative arts ministry. Last year I reconnected with her through Facebook. She had already completed the manuscript for Refrain from the Identical, but she needed editing help, so I offered to help. We even met up for a writing retreat in Colorado. This week, my postman delivered my long-awaited copy of JoDee’s finished book. Writing a book is, indeed, like birthing a baby and, in some ways, just as painful! (I’ve had two. Without drugs. I know what I’m talking about here.) JoDee is to be commended.
If you need creative inspiration, I highly recommend this book, along with JoDee’s resource-rich website. JoDee will give you permission to let your creative self soar. She’ll also give you wings with fresh ideas, resources, and a feeling that “Maybe I’m really not so hopeless after all.”
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L. Kay Johnson
Having been raised in the South, I appreciate a good story, so that's what this blog is about. It's about life. It's about the things that make us human. It's about faith, and joy, and sorrow, and beauty, but it's also about the art of storytelling. I hope you will find a few here that resonate with you. I also hope you'll find ideas on how to share your own.
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