Never Covered With Shame

I am now officially allowed to write what I think about Brené Brown's book Daring Greatly. A few weeks back, I broke one of my own sacred rules and commented on it when I hadn't fully read it yet. Don't you just hate it when people do that? Yeah, me too. 

But now I have read it. Cover to cover. Even the appendix about her research methodology. It is as good as I said it was. (Whew!) It connected the dots on so many puzzling, hard, painful relational experiences I've had. And it is soooooo hopeful.

Kicking Shame in the Teeth

A few weeks ago, I discovered Brené Brown and liked her so much I posted her TED talk. I have since ordered her book, Daring Greatly, and I'm reading it faster than I've read anything in a while. I know I've got some things to write in response, but I was trying really hard to wait until I'd actually finished the book.

Except today I was angry in church.

I Have Just Discovered...

...Brené Brown.

And I like her.



Thanks to Ashley Boyer and Kelly Flanagan for being introductions number one and two to this sharp lady!

Making an Example of Myself

It's been 4 days since I posted Against My Better Judgment, and once again, conversation in the comments both on the blog and on my Facebook has prompted a follow-up post. 

Douglas, Megandy, and timbarjenbruch all posted related arguments about my last point—the idea that we don't really know what social consequences same sex marriage will have, so Christians (and others who oppose it) are justified in raising concerns that it could turn out badly.

Basically, they caught me red-handed, doing exactly what my post was urging against. I spent considerable time building a case that when we're feeling vulnerable and defensive, we tend to offer arguments that are just a little bit removed from the real issue that concerns us. And that's exactly what I did.

In Vain

Easter thoughts:

My mindset this weekend very much followed the arc of the Easter story. Friday and Saturday were heavy with the weight of the dark things in this world. And weird, scary stuff happened too, such as Josh getting into an icy highway accident while towing two Jeeps back from Moab, Utah, in our pickup. (Thankfully, it was a very low speed accident, and he's fine, though the truck is not fine yet.)

I was hungry for a real taste of Easter today, and I got one.

How I Read the Bible

Yesterday, I opened a can of worms. 

Of course it's dangerous to post something like that and ask for comments, because you never know what people are going to say and who is going to take it personally. For the most part, I decided I'm just going to let the conversation run, because I want people to feel free to say what they really think. This is all about trying to listen well and understand each other better. I will step in if I think that people aren't listening well or aren't trying to take the perspective of those they disagree with. And I might ask some questions if I personally need to hear more to understand well. 

And then there was one question that was so good, it needed a whole post unto itself:

For This We Need Jesus

My freshman year at Taylor, Jill Briscoe was the speaker for spiritual emphasis week. She's a graceful, silver-haired Brit who says British things like One Corinthians and ah-gape with the emphasis on the first syllable. I only remember two things she said that week, but one of them has sunk so deeply into my life that it's the first thing that comes out when tragedy and pain hit. Like they did today.

"For this we need Jesus. 

But for this we have Jesus."

The truth didn't register when Jill first spoke it. But then she kept repeating it. To be honest, I thought it was a dumb thing to repeat. Isn't it obvious? Isn't it the most obvious thing in Christianity? I didn't feel the weight of it like she did. Looking back now, I think I know why.

God and Country

Because I am a good Presbyterian, I am on a committee. :)

Had a worship committee meeting this afternoon, and I loved the thoughtful discussion we had there. I won't transcribe the whole thing, but I wanted to post a few thoughts, because the conversation was so good.

We were discussing worship in relationship to Memorial Day, which just happened, and Independence Day, which is coming up (and happens to be on a Sunday this year).

Observations:

• We have a multi-generational church. And therefore, multiple very different perspectives on the relationship between patriotism and worship.

• The WWII generation seems to have a sense of reverence for God and a sense of reverence for our country that exist very comfortably together.

• My generation, on the other hand, is largely perplexed at the thought of worship and patriotism living in the same space.

• Many in my generation feel that religion (evangelical Christianity in particular) has been hijacked and is now being used as a political tool. To the degree that this is true, it is genuinely offensive. And it makes patriotism in church feel offensive too.

• Unfortunately, the fact that we're offended makes us resistant to thinking about what Scripture says about country. And it does say something. Many somethings. About the role of the State. And our role as citizens--dual citizens of both an earthly country and a heavenly country.

• All of this is complicated by the fact that we're in a military town. How do we honor young soldiers, many of whom have done multiple long tours during the current Middle East conflict (a responsibility that we have not asked of any previous generation of soldiers)? What do we make of the fact that many of them are highly trained to do their job as soldiers, but not at all equipped to put their wartime experience in any kind of spiritual context? (A pastor friend of mine was asked by a soldier if God could still accept him because he had killed someone in combat.) How do we do all of this thinking about God and country while also tangibly loving the soldiers and airmen in our town?

We didn't reach any conclusions, but we wondered together how we can start a conversation between generations about this. I love that this is happening in our congregation! Would also love to hear your thoughts on the subject.

Not Burying My Talent

Recently, my coworkers and I read Matthew 25 together. I think it's the first time I've read that passage since Lorien was born, and it got me thinking about a conversation I had pre-kids. Pre-marriage, actually.

I was working at Plugged In at the time, and this discussion probably occurred on a day when I had put in about 6.5 hours slogging through a pile of Seventeen magazines or something of the sort. I don't remember precisely what brought on my ennui, but I know I was feeling really discouraged by the state of our culture. Now, I am not a Chicken Little, and I won't be making any doomsday prophecies here. I find plenty of things in this world that delight me. But I also find plenty of things that make me weary and sick. And frankly a little worried about the challenge of raising kids and helping them stay childlike for the duration of their childhood. It was that feeling that prompted me to admit to my editor, "I'm not sure I want to raise kids in this culture."

I have never forgotten his one-line reply: "Wouldn't that be like burying your talent?"

I didn't reply because I couldn't reply. I knew he was right. The admonition to invest my talent, rather than burying it, has been working on me ever since. Raising kids to thrive in this world won't be easy. But that doesn't excuse me from the responsibility.

I want to raise kids who get to keep their innocence for as long as possible. I want to raise kids who know how to think—not just what to think. I want to raise kids who aren't afraid to ask good questions and actively seek out the answers. I want to raise kids who have strong biblical moorings, but who aren't afraid to interact with others who believe differently. I want to raise kids who know God—not just ones who know about Him. I want to raise kids who love Him with all their heart, soul, mind and strength, and love their neighbors the way they love themselves.

All of this was part of the thinking behind Lorien's name. Josh and I love the way J.R.R. Tolkien described the woods of Lothlorien as a place of light in a dark world. It's a place of refuge. Rest. Beauty. Light. The rest of Middle Earth may be growing darker, but Lorien is a land that has a healing effect on all who enter it. I pray that if we invest our talents well in raising her (and, someday, her siblings) the same will be said of her also.