White Horse Myth

This morning I was listening to Dr. Brené Brown from the University of Houston speak on “shame and vulnerability.”  In her talk she made a remark that struck me at the core.  She said that a man at one of her book signings stated that ladies would rather see their men die on the white horse than for their men to truly reveal their shame.  I have no doubt that men believe this.

What a fabulous psychology to keep men and women from living fully alive together in harmony!

Men, real women do not believe this.  For those of us who adore our spouse and want to share our lives and hearts with them, well, it goes like this…We desperately want to be in the vault with you.  Our greatest, most fulfilling moments in the relationship come at points of sincere vulnerability.  Whether it be a moment of intense failure or sadness, a moment of riding to great heights or even just a moment of impulse – we want to be there.  We want to feel the emotions, hear the sounds, know the intent – we want the whole experience, not the modified version from atop the horse.

Women who do not know themselves well or have not come to a place of wholeness might desire an outreached arm pulling them from the mud pit, but that desire should be fleeting – it isn’t a relationship builder.  Jesus is the perpetual white knight that pulls society and His children from the pit daily, not a man.

Real men, you beautiful creatures that work hard for your family and spoil your children with your presence – YOU are enough.  I can assure you that the white horse is a myth.  No man looks hot straddling a white horse. Seriously.

My husband has been to some incredible mountaintops of achievement.  He is the type of man that could assume a lofty position, but let me be clear – when his hazel eyes see into my soul and connects to my most vulnerable of ideas and emotions and declares, “me, too” there is no white horse moment that could

 trump such an experience.  His reality is captivating.

I do not want to gaze upon my man on a white horse.  I desire to meet him in the vault every evening, just the two of us.

the Butterfly

The butterfly leaves behind the work and pain of the caterpillar.

I have an interesting relationship with the butterfly.  When my dad passed away the first sign of his lingering existence came in the form of an orange butterfly.  I know that seems crazy, but bear with me.  When Eden was only five we discovered she had an amazing talent – she shined at the piano.  Mind you, my dad played the piano for a living and I have no clue where to even begin when I sit at a piano, but not Eden.  Her tiny fingers glided over each key as she confidently knew the sound it would make.  I was enamored.

One special, beautiful day I pulled up to her piano lesson and found a gorgeous, orange butterfly circling our car.  Almost with an unmatched enthusiasm to say, “I cannot wait to escort you, little child, to the piano.”

At first, I dismissed the butterfly.  Although curious, I was not an interpreter of signs or wonders – just a mom dropping off her kid at piano lessons.

The next week, the butterfly was there again, greeting us in the same fashion and again, escorting the apple of my eye all the way to the piano.  By the third week I was open to interpreting the significance of the butterfly. Orange?  Hmm…my dad was an Oklahoma State University fraternity boy that someone had just mentioned seeing his picture in the basement.  Piano lessons…hmmm…my dad made his living from his talent of playing the piano.  Dad?

The orange butterfly brought tears.  The orange butterfly brought questions.  The orange butterfly, most importantly, brought a life lesson.

As I studied the butterfly I began to realize that it spent more time as a caterpillar than a butterfly.  What an example of hard work and struggle, preparing for the biggest change known in the insect world.  The caterpillar must strategize for change.  The caterpillar plans for a full body change knowing that it is the last two weeks of life in full glory.

Aren’t we the same?  Isn’t it years of life focused on ambition, titles, and significance…only to find that freedom is more important?

The butterfly leaves and never returns, unlike the salmon.  The butterfly spends two weeks relishing in self-actualization on display.  The butterfly is not only beautiful, but free.

My daughter and I are training for a run right now.  As we left the back porch ready to embark on a two-and-half mile run the orange butterfly joined us.  I was instantly reminded of my dad’s spirit, one of freedom, one of pursuit.  As we ran, Eden decided it would be fun to run through a muddy puddle.  I laughed at my cautious child wishing to be rebellious, even if for only a moment, and looked back at the footprints.  Two sets, mine and hers.  Two butterflies running freely.  Two girls given the privilege of freedom from what the world would tell us we must be.  Two adventurers willing, if only for a brief moment, to fly.

Our Father gives us that privilege.  Our Father causes us, the once struggling caterpillar, to shed the unwanted struggles and forget.  He causes us to fly.  He creates the beauty.

The butterfly leaves behind the work and pain of the caterpillar.  The butterfly is known by the Creator.

A Man's Power

Don’t tell my husband, but I believe he is the emotional hub of our home.  I am fully convinced that his mood, his affirmation and most importantly, his affections, directly impact Eden and I more than any other physically present factor.

The two of us, Eden and I, pull into the CVS parking lot where I am meeting Brian so that the two of them have plenty of time to get to Stomp, it is playing downtown.  Eden flips the mirror in the car, looks at her self, looks at me and promptly ask, “do you think I look pretty?”  My heart melted.  My sweet nine-year old is wanting to look pretty for her daddy.

I remember that feeling.  My parents were divorced, so often as a child, my dad and I dated.  He picked me up, usually took me out to eat and sometimes bowling or a movie.  I would spend time in front of mirrors and getting second opinions on outfits or hairstyles.  His perception of me became my reality of me.  He held such power in his words.  Most blessed was I that my dad was an affectionate man.

Eden has that same affection.  Eden also has a daddy that is able to tuck her in at night and make her feel safe when she believes that noises are coming from her closet.  Eden also has a dad that shares with her truth and reason.  His intelligence is beyond his PhD, he posses wisdom – understanding of God.  He teaches her what has been taught to him.

Men, you are so powerful.  You have no idea the power you posses in the homes you live in.  Seldom have I heard that a women shaped a child’s view of God.  Use your power wisely.

a Christian Question

My mornings begin, when done right, with a soothing cup of coffee and a longstanding engagement of getting to know God.  Sometimes, I walk away from the encounter bolstered and excited about what’s next; and sometimes I walk away questioning my very nature and state of understanding.  A few mornings ago, I felt like I was handed a question.  I have been chewing on this question since it was asked, so I have decided to share it with you.

Jesus taught that the kingdom of heaven can be compared to a treasure hidden in a field; which when a man finds it, he conceals, and for the joy of finding it, goes and sells everything that he has, and buys the field. (1)  Or, like a precious pearl, with again, selling everything to buy it. (2)

The question I was asked, “What did you sell?”  ”What was everything to you before you met Me?”

Often in church we camp out on losing our life to Christ or denying ourselves to follow, which is in Scripture;  but how often do we nail down what that loss was to us?  How often are we vulnerable enough to confess what we sold for that precious pearl?  And even more vulnerable – how many of us are pawning off parts of that great field we bought to buy back some of what we’ve sold?

If you have not bought the field, well, this question is not directed at you; but for those of us who had that moment when we sold it all…well, let’s really nail down what we sold to make sure we aren’t trying to buy it back.

Jesus could have said that the kingdom of heaven was like a big ol’ gift of a pearl given to you from your Daddy, but he didn’t.  He said, “..what shall a man give in exchange for his life?” (3)

We all know that there is nothing we own that could buy this kind of love and life, but maybe it is time to survey the cost.

(1) Matthew 13:44

(2) Matthew 13:46

(3) Matthew 16:26

Female Warriors

“The greatest explorer on this earth never takes voyages as long as those of the man who                    descends to the depth of his heart.”  ~Julien Green

We all have stories.  We all have scars on our heart from experiences that brought us pain, as well as beautiful, red plump areas from intense joy and happiness.  In this respect, we are all on the same page.  But some of us are brave enough to go deep into the valley of our heart – the dark, sometimes distorted, areas of the journey of life.

My bravery comes from taking the journey with a group of women who have become sisters.  We all share the same Daddy.  We all share a passion to be what our Daddy created in His image.  And we all share love. God is love.  We hold nothing more sacred in our group than that love.

Now, we are becoming warriors.

You might be baffled with my statement and it just might seem silly to you that a group of women could become warriors – after all, aren’t groups of women typically emotional and involve coffee?  Sometimes.  But sometimes women are brought together to fight in a battle that is much larger than the crowds at the mall in December.  Sometimes, women are asked to fight in the epic battle of good vs. evil.  Sometimes, women are asked to fight against whispers of hate from the enemy robbing them of peace, robbing them of acceptance…robbing them of God’s best.

My platoon is in training; becoming equipped with truth and honest reflection of what has been and what could be with understanding.  My sojourners are gorgeous.  Each one of them carries a flame that has been lit and a perseverance that is contagious.

I cannot imagine crossing enemy lines without my sisters.

“Strength and Honor!”

http://thepathlesschosen.com/books/to_be_told/to_be_told_kit.html

the Guitar

This weekend, I cried.

Tears for my friend who lost her mom.  Tears of gratitude for a host of beautiful, talented friends who shine with God’s Spirit; and all of us throwing a big bash in our friend’s honor.

Then, I got the call.  A sweet lady that I have never met named Judy on the other end saying, “hey, we are on 1-40 and I’ve got your dad’s guitar, where do you wanna meet?”

This isn’t just any guitar.  This is the guitar that laid across my knees as I sat in my daddy’s lap while his fingers gently strummed melodies that I translated as complete adoration for me.  I don’t remember my life with my dad without this guitar.  Seems ironic that my dad played the piano for a living, but yet his guitar encompasses our closeness.

“How about the Memorial exit?” I said.

Sitting in the car, waiting, I thought about how many years it has been since my dad passed away.  I thought about how young he was to be battling cancer and how courageous he fought it.

He wasn’t my hero until it was too late to tell him.  Every little girl wants to be the apple of their daddy’s eye.  In that respect, I was like every little girl; but unfortunately, I didn’t see that his world had always revolved around me until I moved out of his world.  That is one of the ugly truths about divorce; sometimes, the children move away.

Judy steps out of the car, happy and hyper.  I loved her instantly.  She hands me the guitar in its case.  I smile and politely say thank you and get back in my car.  I cried the whole way home.  Some tears just ran down with no explanation, just a heart overflowing.

After sharing my latest prize-possession with my family, I busted out the ol’ video camcorder and promptly played a video of dad playing the guitar to Eden.  She sat curiously in my lap watching her granddad play a tune and reaching for the strings.  She was all of nine months old.

So, I have given you where I have been with this guitar and where I was as I got it, but now…let me tell you where I am going.  I am going to learn to play this dearly beloved guitar so that I can someday put Eden’s kiddos in my lap and play them a memory.

2012

This year I am vowing not to sit down and spend countless hours creating spreadsheets charting a year of resolutions pertaining to personal growth, spiritual growth and a play-by-play of how to change the world.

I am learning what is important now.

Laying in bed with my daughter, both snuggled up with books we cannot put down.

Dancing when I hear a great song and engaging whomever is with  me to do the same.

Griping finger for finger the hand of the man I love.

You know, I could never put all the car rides with Eden after school listening to her day in a spreadsheet, yet – wouldn’t that fall under at least one of the 12 areas of focus?  Sure it would, but why spreadsheet it when I can just live it.

If you’ve had the privilege of changing diapers, building sand castles, swinging a child for hours, holding sticky fingers, dressing a moving target, reading the same bedtime story over a thousand times…or have ever heard, “I love you!”  Then you don’t need to be making resolutions, you need to be keeping a gratitude journal.

2012 nights are going to conclude with a thank you prayer.  I will be thanking God for all the moments of the day and asking Him to direct the next if He so desires to give it to me.