“Some things never change,” I said, laughing with a life-long friend. We were talking about things I’d done as a child, how spunky I could be. And as much as I can still act like that feisty little girl sometimes, I’m not her any more. There’s so much more to who I am (literally and figuratively, I suppose). Sure, I can still be pretty spunky in the right circumstances, and I certainly have been known to throw an epic temper tantrum or two. But I haven’t thrown myself on the floor in a middle of an aisle in Target in a fit of rage…yet. (I may have wanted to, but I didn’t.)

I have been doing a good bit of introspection lately, though, and it may sound conceited to say this but I’m going to say it anyway: I really like the person I am right now, this person I’ve worked pretty darn hard to cultivate. I’m amazed at how much I’ve grown and changed over the past few years. Somewhere along the way I managed to move from pretending to be an adult to actually being one. It’s weird, that. (Or maybe it’s just me. I don’t know.) 

But even though I really like NowBridget, I sometimes still struggle. Being an adult is hard. And it’s nothing like you expect it to be, is it? I can eat cake for dinner if I want to (which is awesome, I assure you) but I also have to wrap my still tiny little brain around some great big issues, ones that I never could have dreamed of as a child. I wrestle with my wants, beliefs, morals. Things that were once seemingly concrete simply aren’t anymore. I feel nudges in my heart that can only be divine. Yet as I stand on the edge of doing what my heart calls me to do, I never fail to get nervous. My heart starts racing. My voice wobbles. Tears puddle on my lashes. My body tells me to cut and run, but my heart says, “Stay! Stay! Stay!  It won’t be easy, but stay!” Sometimes staying is harder than going, but it’s worth it in the end. Because staying means facing my demons. Staying means asking the hard questions. Staying means looking for answers, even if I don’t always like what I discover. And it’s in these moments – these moments when I feel stuck – that I strain to sift through wrong and right, good and bad. And those moments? The ones that send me searching, grasping for truth? Are the moments that truly define who I am, who I will be.

And as much as I like NowBridget, I hope she doesn’t stay around for too long. Because if there is no change, there is also no growth, no learning, nothing new. I hope that BridgetToBe will look back at NowBridget and be proud of her for stepping out when it would have been easier to stay in line. I hope BridgetToBe will be proud of NowBridget for pushing herself to dig deep and ask why and actually be open to responses, even those she might have a hard time swallowing. But mostly I hope BridgetToBe will look back and say: You tried hard. And even though you stumbled a time or two, you didn’t trip anybody else up. You held hands and wiped tears. You listened more than you talked. And you gave more than you took. You didn’t look down at some and up at others. You just saw what needed to be done, and you did it. You loved when it was hard to love, and forgave when it was hard to forgive. You opened your heart and your head to different ideas, beliefs, and standards and rejected a one-size-fits-all faith. You got hurt a little along the way, but you handled it with grace. You fought the good fight, and you kept your faith – even if it didn’t look like what you thought it would.

I glanced back through  my archives and I see over and over again where I’ve tried to lasso time, tried to slow it down. I say I want to savor it all, even the bad…because without the bitter, the good doesn’t taste as sweet. And it’s true. I want to bundle it up and keep it all for a rainy day. I want to be able to look back at these years and see things like they really were. Some days are undeniably awesome, others ridiculously hard. Some days full of joy and laugher, others bleak and dreary. I try to capture it all here in this space, try to give the big picture. I try to write it all down because I know I won’t remember it all. The way she says “bap-le” for apple, the way the big two grin when I wink and they realize that they know something that the little kids don’t, and even the nightmares he has when he thinks ants are crawling out of his toes. I want to remember it all, but I know I can’t. And so I write as much as I can. But even at that, I bend to the light. I tell more of the good than the bad. Is that self-preservation? Am I trying to re-write my own history? Am I doing myself, you, and my children a disservice by not chronicling the bad? Or is it just not kosher to talk about the muddy stuff? It is, after all, the muddy stuff that helps define who we are. It’s the underbelly of our souls that shape our hopes and plans. Shouldn’t we be analyzing that? And not only savoring the happy? (Could I possibly use any more ? in one paragraph)?

I recently re-read the play “Our Town” by Thornton Wilder. I’ve never seen the play or read the book when Emily’s words in the graveyard didn’t knock the wind out of me:

EMILY: Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?–every, every minute?
STAGE MANAGER: No. Saints and poets maybe…they do some.

Do we realize life as we live it? Do we see each moment for what it’s worth? Or do we focus so hard on what’s coming next that we don’t see the now? Are we so focused on getting it all right that we get it all wrong? I don’t know. I just don’t know. Although I do think that maybe I’m over-analyzing it all. Stop, Bridget. Just stop it. Stop and realize life – right here, right now. Every, every minute.

I’m certainly no saint, but I’d like to be a poet – even if it means getting a little muddy.

I know for a lot of people “church” is a painful word.
For some, church is a symbol of hypocrisy and pain.
But for me, church means something different.

Church is loving – even when it’s hard.
Church is giving – even when it hurts.
Church is caring – even when the world has turned away.
Church is remembering – even when it’s easier to forget.
Church is remembering – even when it’s hard to forget.
Church is showing kindness – even when it won’t be returned.
Church is quiet patience – even when it’d be easier and faster to just do it yourself.
Church is keeping on keeping on – even when you are tired and weary.
Church is being ready, being willing – even when you really just want to take a break.
Church is having a family who take up your slack when you just can’t keep going.
Church is having a family who puts out their hand when you need it most.
Church is having a family who loves you – even when it’s hard.
Church is knowing you aren’t alone.
Thanks be to God!

*****

As I was writing this post, I learned of the death of Brennan Manning. His book Abba’s Child* was suggested to me by a friend when I was really struggling with the angry voices in my heart and head, and it helped me come to realization that God loves me no matter where I am or where I’ve been. And he also loves you and commands me to love you, too. No matter where you are. A different friend posted this video link in which Manning says: Is this what Christianity is all about? Is this the good news of Jesus? Is this the kingdom that He proclaimed? A community of men and women who go to church on Sunday, read their bibles now and then, vigorously oppose abortion, don’t go to X-rated movies, never use four-letter words (especially when girls are around)? People who smile a lot, kid around, hold doors open for people, root for the Chiefs? And get a long with everybody? Is that why Jesus went to the bleak and bloody horror of Calvary? Why he emerged in shattering glory from his resurrection? Why he poured out his Holy Spirit upon the church? Was it merely to make nicer men and women with better morals? The gospel is absurd and the life of Jesus meaningless unless we knew he lived and died and rose with but one purpose in mind: Pentecost! To pour out the Holy Spirit upon the church. Not to make nicer people with better morals but brand new creations, a community of prophets and professional lovers. Men and women who would surrender to the mystery of the fire of the Spirit that burns within, who live in ever-greater fidelity to the omnipresent word of God, who would enter into the center of all that is, into the very heart and mystery of Christ and to the center of that flame that consumes, purifies, and sets everything aglow with peace, joy, boldness, and extravagant love, which is really what it means to claim the name Christian.

My prayer is that both you and I will boldly live with extravagant love.

I want chickens.
And a screen door that goes THWACK and bounces - bomp.bomp.bomp - three whole times before it’s finally closed.
And a sleeping porch that’s a little uneven & rough beneath my feet, with a bed full of down pillows that hug me when I sleep.
I want open windows and an attic fan pulling the smell of love and sweat and home through every inch of my house.
I want laundry dancing on the line, and sunshine warming more than just clothes.
I want music and laughter to be the soundtrack of our days.
And our nights.

I want to toss out all the clocks and let sunrise and sunset guide our days.
I want to sit on the front porch in rocking chairs just watching time pass.
I want to listen to the cricket and frog symphony as dusk fades to dark.
And maybe, sitting in the darkness, sing a hymn or two with a quiet guitar.

I want chickens.

Is that too much to ask?

I am convinced that sometimes life is so good and so happy and so wonderful that I just can’t stand it.
And so I have to do something to mess it all up.
No, really. I really, really believe it.
Call it the curse of the twisted soul or something equally sinister sounding.
It’s not intentional.
(Or at least I don’t think it is).
(I don’t mean for it to be).
But I’m skipping along, singing some bright and airy show tune and then…
BONK!
Stupid mistake.
Poor choice.
Bad judgement.
Something.
It’s not always something big.
(Although sometimes it is).
But either way, it steals my joy.
And tears crash down my cheeks.
And there’s no shortage of sobs or snot.
I begin to empty out my aches, one drip at a time…
And they race to fall the fastest, the hardest.
(Even my tears are over-achievers).

*****

I rarely cry without thinking about a book I read years ago.
It spoke of pain as if it were a blessing, reminding us that without pain we wouldn’t know relief.
Without grief and sadness, we couldn’t ever really wrap our minds around what is good and wonderful.
Without tribulations, we couldn’t really comprehend joy.
And – in some ways – I hope that it’s true.
I hope that my tears remind me of what I have that is good.
And that the physical release facilitates an emotional one.
I pray that with each tear that falls, a pain is washed away.
And with each shuttering gasp, I am taking in a gulp of goodness and grace.
Because goodness and grace are ours for the taking.

For from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.  John 1:16