My Door and My Resolution

I realize the title of this post is super dramatic.

But so is the situation.

A year ago, a friend of mine was helping me move something into my new apartment.  He said, "This would be a great place to have an outreach".  Let me tell you about my neighborhood.  Across the street are some more run-down looking townhomes, in dire need of a paint job.  My apartment complex (I think) looks nicer: fresh paint, landscaping, picnic tables, and a general feel that people care about where they live.  I cannot remember the last time I went more than 2 days without seeing a child in the street.  It's mostly the higher end of low income or the lower end of middle income people who live here.  There are families (my married neighbors have two kids), singles (um.. hello.. ME), young couples, single parents, college students, older adults, and at least one gay couple who live in my neighborhood.  They are Asian, Hispanic, African American, and White.  Basically, I live in a super diverse neighborhood that is ripe for the harvest.

Since moving here, I have had two visits from 7th Day Adventists (or perhaps Jehovah's Witnesses... they weren't super clear) and literature left from Jehovah's Witnesses.  Tonight, two nice young LDS (Mormon) missionaries came to my door.  Super nice fellows who braved the cold and wind to share what they believe is super important news.  We had a great conversation on my stoop (my house is a mess and it didn't seem like a good idea to let two strange men into my house, no matter how wholesome they look) and they were super attentive.

As I shut my door, I realized something very startling... not a single evangelical Christian has come to my door.  We talk about missions almost every Sunday.  There are HUNDREDS of evangelical churches in Norman.  There is ONE LDS (Mormon) church.  I don't believe there are many 7th Day Adventist or Jehovah's Witness churches.  So in a city where evangelicals outnumber these three groups by about 100:1, why has the majority never made it to my door?  Either a, we're very bad at timing or b, we just aren't going.  I know evangelicals are sharing.  I know I have tried to share with some of my neighbors.

Tonight I'm thinking about the dozens of people who live in my apartment complex.  I wonder if the only Jesus they've ever heard of has been filtered through these people who know a very different man than I do. My heart breaks to think perhaps I am their only chance and I haven't told them.

I don't make New Year's Resolutions; I believe we should make life changes as needed and not just when a certain date rolls around on the calendar.  I'm reminded of an older song.  A part of it says, "And all of life comes down to just one thing and that's to know you, Oh Jesus, and make you known" (One Thing by Charlie Hall).  For 2013, I am resolved to know Jesus and make Him known.  

Laying Down Your Life

Let's be really clear:  this is not one of my favorite posts.  This post was convicting and it didn't make feel all warm and gooey inside.

This post reminded me of my selfishness.

Since Monday I've been thinking about John 15:13:  "There is no greater love than to lay down one's life for one's friends."  (NLT... my favorite, usually).  So often we think about that verse in the context of dying.  I imagine soldiers in a bunker WWII movie style, one going on a suicide mission to save the life of another.  Honestly, I think (okay, hope) there are a lot of people I would die for.

But then I started thinking about who I would live for.  By that, I mean who would I inconvenience myself for?  That list is a lot smaller.

Tonight, I was thinking about this again in context of a particular situation.  I felt like God asked, "Who would you lay down your rights for?"

Master-of-the-Universe-say-what?!

For who am I willing to give up my right to be right?  My right to be understood?  Am I willing to sacrifice my "right" to have things go as I planned?  Who is important enough that I will lay down my right for justice or fairness?

Friends, that is tough.  T.O.U.G.H!  It's difficult when friends hurt you to ASSUME they didn't mean it.  It's difficult to choose what you know to be true over actions.  It's not easy to do something for someone else when it means you don't get to do what you want to do.  It is hard to rejoice with those who get what you want and weep with those who didn't get what you did.

But isn't that friendship?  Isn't that the very essence of love?  That's what Jesus did for me 2,000 years ago.  He left Heaven, where everything is perfect, to come here... where everything is anything but perfect.  He left His seat at the right hand of God to be born in a manger, raised as a carpenter's son, mocked, ridiculed, and put to death.  He was misunderstood.  He was treated unfairly.  His closest friends betrayed Him, yet He forgave them.  He did miracles when He was tired.  He loved when it was inconvenient.

I'm not suggesting we all become doormats.  I'm not suggesting there is never a time to rest or to fight for justice.  What I am saying is that we need to die to our "RIGHT" for these things and we need to put our lives in the hands of the Creator.  We have to trust that He holds all things together and works ALL things for our good and His glory.

So come on, friends, lets go together to lay our lives down for each other.  Just imagine how different the world would be!

A Change in Perspective

I was having a "moment" in church today; one of those moments where I feel like I'm failing in at least one major area of my life.  Let's be honest, we probably all have them.  Let's be equally honest, we're probably not failing; we're probably actually succeeding so much that the Enemy wants us to believe we're failing.

I digress.  That happens a lot.

So, I'm having a bit of a pity party.  I mean, that's what you do when you feel like you're failing, right?  In the midst of this, I asked God, "What's wrong with me?!"  Yeah, I can be a little dramatic with God.  We're friends:  He can handle my drama.  Obviously you should imagine what I said in the most dramatic girl voice possible.  Then, in the kindest, softest, sweetest voice you can imagine, He said, "Quit asking Me what's wrong with you and start asking what's RIGHT with you."

Whoa.  Game changer.

My natural instinct is to want to be perfect.  Well, at least to my own standards of perfection.  I don't have my dishes done all of the time nor do I floss.  These things don't bother me.  But in some places, I want to be perfect.  I want to love people perfectly (yes, you can laugh).  I want to respond perfectly.  I want to be a perfect small group leader.  I want to be the perfect friend.  So when I'm not perfect (which is ALWAYS), I want to know how I can be perfect.  Taking a meal to a family who just had a baby?  I want it to be their most favorite meal, nutritionally balanced, and be cooked to perfection.  Oh, I was 20 minutes late.  WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?!?!  Did you see that?  What that family saw was that I took the time to sign up, I made a meal I thought they would like, made an attempt at it being nutritious, probably researched to think about what they would like, and delivered it.  They probably really didn't care that it was 20 minutes late.  I don't think I'd care if a free, hot, home-cooked meal was delivered to my door 20 minutes late.

My point is that I, along with so many others, miss the many good parts of myself because I spend a disproportionate amount of time gazing at the imperfections.  Yes, we want to be more like Jesus.  No, staring at imperfections does NOT make us look more like Jesus.  Staring at JESUS makes us look more like Jesus.

This evening, I was having another pity party.  I asked God what was wrong with me.  He gently reminded me the question I needed to ask.  Shockingly enough, He had a whole different outlook on the situation.  When I asked that question it caused me to stare at Him.  It was a game changer.

So, I encourage you to do the same.  I even more so encourage you to ask God what's right with you when you AREN'T having a pity party.  Go ahead, I bet it will blow your mind away.  You are fantastic.  

God is extravagant.. even with our wants

So at church you often hear about the kindness of God and His extravagance.  Maybe you've had a better revelation than I, but I sort of think this means with our needs.  I feel incredibly selfish asking God for something I WANT.  I mean, yeah, a 2 bedroom apartment is nice.. but I could live with a roommate and support a starving child in Africa.  But I also kept hearing about how God guarantees He provides for our needs and loves to be extravagant in His giving.  (Don't get me started on the theology of why then some people are poor and their needs aren't met.  I don't get it.)

I was asking God who He wanted to be for me in this season and what I am learning.  One of the things He said was that I would learn about His kindness like never before.  Let me be clear, some of the most apparent ways I've seen God's kindness is in the midst of incredibly painful times (like my dad dying).  He is kind, He is kind, He is kind.  But He's been reminding me He's extravagant (I know, I've said it 8,000 times) and He gives awesome gifts!

If you know me well, you know my phone saga.  Last October (2011) I got a new phone.  I got an HTC Evo.  With Sprint.  For the past several months, I've had more problems than successes.  One end of my couch has great service; the other end drops calls.  Standing at my stove is fine, but leaning over to put something in the oven or in the fridge (right next to it) means I drop calls.  Group text conversations are over before I can read all of the messages.  Problems problems problems.  Sprint says they fixed them, but I wasn't convinced.  Plus, honestly, I want an iphone.  My phone problems have about been the proverbially straw to break the camel's back with how stressful the last few months have been. I can't tell you the number of times I've almost lost it because of the phone or about thrown it in the river.

So I've felt like God said at the end of October I could break my contract and get a new phone.  It feels foolish.  It'll cost money.  Yesterday, specifically, I felt like He said to go get a new phone.  This is the cool part.  I asked how I was going to pay for it.  I mean I have some money left from my tax refund, but I was reluctant to use it.  He reminded me about dog-sitting (thanks, girls, for paying for part of my phone).  I was like "Um, thanks, but it doesn't cover the cost of a phone" (felt like I was supposed to get an iphone 5).  Told my sister about the phone.  She reminded me she had $100 for me from a refund for a deposit at our old apartment. Awesome!  Today, my mom said she was cleaning out a desk at her house and found an envelope with my name on it and about $100.  She said it was obviously Christmas money I had put in there for safe-keeping.  (Or perhaps God just put an envelope with money and my name on it in the desk). Then I remembered some Christmas money.  All said and done, I have enough that if I can't completely cover the cost of breaking my contract, getting a new contract, and getting a phone... I definitely have enough covered that I can easily afford the rest.

God is an extravagant giver of our wants.  :-)  

You are Interesting!

So.. as you've probably realized, it can be a bit feast or famine with my blog.  Since I warned everyone in my first post ever that it might be that way, I really don't feel bad.  :-)

Recently, I've had a couple of experiences that make me want to shout (lovingly) in someone's face, "YOU ARE INTERESTING ENOUGH!!!"  I've had multiple friends say they want to start a blog, but they don't seem to think they are interesting enough to have their own blog.  Generally speaking, I find it's people like me.. who are single and childless.  I know those thoughts because I've had them.  I wanted (and felt called to) start a blog a long time before I ever began one.  I didn't think my life was interesting enough for a blog.  Most of my friends blogged about their husband, their kids, their crafts, or these super deep profound thoughts they could back up with 30 Scriptures.  Others had a blog because they live in a foreign country.  Let's review:  I'm single, have no kids, don't craft a whole lot, feel pretty good if I throw in A Bible verse, and live in Oklahoma.

Then I realized there are THOUSANDS of women (and men) out there JUST.LIKE.ME.  Maybe they needed to know you don't have to have any of those things to have a blog.  Maybe they were interested in hearing what God is teaching me and my so very random adventures (do we remember dog-sitting THREE chocolate labs, friends?).  Maybe someone else was dealing with grief and needed to know they weren't alone.

So here it is friends.  You are enough (we'll talk about that in a different post)!  Your life, however plain it may feel, is interesting to warrant a blog.  Why?  First, because you were created by an infinite God with a unique purpose, perspective, and calling.  No one else can do what you do.  You can speak to hearts in a way no one else can.  Second, life does not begin when you get married, have kids, craft every pin on Pinterest, or move overseas.  Third, there are t.h.o.u.s.a.n.d.s of people like you!  There are people in your stage of life who enjoy reading about someone else facing the same things.  Fourth, you have unique and original thoughts.

So.. go out and start that blog.  Who cares if you only have 3 readers?!

And if you need someone to read or follow your blog.. let me know.. I'll be happy to.  :-)

Love One Another.. Yup.. Even the Presidential Candidates

I had to do it.. I finally HAD to write a political post.

Let me be clear, this post will NOT be endorsing a candidate and I don't mean to even endorse a political party.

There is something that has bothered me about elections for a very long time.  In fact, I get really, really furious about it.  Lack of candidates I want to vote for?  No.  Political commercials and ads all over the place?  No.  Lies upon lies?  No.  Facebook feed filling up with political stuff?  Closer, but no.  Mudslinging?  Closer, but no.

What really gets my blood boiling is when my fellow Christian brothers and sisters start spewing hate.

What happened to John 13:35, "And by this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another,"?  What happened to 1 Timothy 2:1-3: "I urge, then, first of all, that petitions, prayers, intercession and thanksgiving be made for all people— ² for kings and all those in authority, that we may live peaceful and quiet lives in all godliness and holiness. ³ This is good, and pleases God our Savior,"?  

Filling up your social media with hateful things about the current President is not love and is not praying or giving thanks for him.  I'm sorry if you voted for someone else 4 years ago.  I'm sorry you don't agree with him (I don't always agree with him, either).  But, please, can we at least show him human decency even if we can't show Christ's love?  When you call him the anti-Christ, it does not show love nor does it make me think poorly of him.  You know what is accomplished when a Christian's social media is filled with hate?  It gives credence to the lies and half-truths non-Christians already believe:  Christians are judgmental and hypocritical.  How can you tell someone to love their neighbor when you show someone else a complete lack of respect?  How can you tell your children to be kind and "live peaceably with all men" when you are stirring up dissension?  

A co-worker once said, "I will pray for him because I am supposed to.  But I will not listen to a single address he makes or watch a single thing he is involved with".  Whoa, I don't think that's at all what God intended.  

So, regardless of who you think is the better candidate or your feelings about who becomes our next President, I simply ask one thing:  reflect Christ in your response.  

Sandpaper People

When I was in college, I went to Antioch Community Church in Waco, Tx.  At the time, Robert Herber was the college pastor.  I remember very clearly Robert talking about sandpaper people.  In case you aren't familiar with sandpaper people, they are those who are rough around the edges (at least in your eyes) and refine you.  How do they refine you?  Most often by being different and annoying you. 

Here's the deal:  we ALL have sandpaper people in our lives.  Somewhere, someone in your life refines you because they cause you to be more patient or somehow become more like Jesus.

Today, I was thinking about a current sandpaper person in my life.  I was thinking about how the person drives me insane; I mean really crazy.  Sometimes I think about how different life would be without this person.  My imagination tells me I'd be calmer and happier.

But let's be honest.

This person would be replaced by another sandpaper person.  So... unless I want to live on a deserted island (which, honestly, sometimes sounds AMAZING), I'm stuck with at least one sandpaper person in my life. 

Then.. It hit me.

What if I am someone's sandpaper person?

Wait, what?  I, Leah Gatlin, could be that person that another person feels their life could be better without?  I am that person who is refining someone because I drive them bananas?  Whoa.  More than COULD is a PROBABLY.  There is PROBABLY someone out there who I annoy.  Thankfully, said person is super gracious and kind.. because I don't know who he or she is. 

So, in case the person for whom I am sandpaper is reading this, thank you for choosing grace, love, and patience with me.  Thank you for not losing your mind and telling me exactly what you think of me and how much easier life would be without me.

Now I'm going to go try to have a little more grace, love, and patience for my sandpaper person.  I'm going to ask God to show me how HE sees this person.  There is something unique this person has to teach me; there is something of Him that I can only get through this person.

That changes everything.  Sandpaper person, I love you and am thankful for you. 

10 Years Later: 10 Lessons from Losing a Loved One

In keeping with the recent theme of, "Until today I've never ________", I'm breaking a habit of 10 years.  For 9 years I didn't tell anyone when the anniversary of my dad's death was.  I would tell them maybe in passing when I told them the story, but rarely do I tell more than 3 people the significance of August 11.  So, "Until today, I've never made a public announcement it's the anniversary of my dad's death".  Here's a picture of my family the night I graduated high school (the last picture I think we have of my dad):

Why this year? Because this year is 10 years and it feels like a big deal.  This year I thought perhaps other people might want to hear what I've learned.  So, here are 10 lessons I've learned from losing a loved one, in no particular order.

1. It's never enough time.  People always say things like "It was just too soon," or, "I wish I had more time".  I've learned that it never feels like "enough" time.  Things always feel left undone.  You can choose to be bitter about that or be thankful for all the time you did have.

2. Shortcomings matter much less.  As an 18 year old girl, I could tell you all of the ways I felt like my dad wasn't perfect.  I had quite the list of things he could have done better and a list of places where I was right and he was wrong.  My dad wasn't perfect, no one is.  :-)  For the record, that man loved me like CRAZY and was a GREAT dad.  What I realized is that after he died, those shortcomings rarely matter.  I'm much more prone to remembering my dad's good traits than his bad.  All of my list of reasons my dad wasn't perfect seem really insignificant now.

3. Sometimes I mourn more for what I will never have than for what I have lost.  I have lots of great memories about my father and lots of things I really miss.  At the same time, I get even more sad and angry at the memories that won't happen.  Harvey Gatlin (my dad's name, in case you didn't know) will not be walking me down the aisle of my wedding.  Any future kids I have won't know him.  Two whole sets of friends have never met him.  The exciting thing is how I get to reframe those memories- such as listening to people tell my kids stories about my dad.

4. Grief is rude.  Let's be honest, rude was NOT the word I wanted to use here.  :-)  Grief comes at the weirdest times and makes happy moments sad.  It hits you in the middle of the grocery store when you almost burst into tears because Buy for Less doesn't have kalamata olives.  Eventually, it becomes more manageable, though.

5.  It gets easier... and it doesn't.  This might be the biggest paradox.  Grief doesn't feel like it's about to suffocate me anymore; it is not my constant companion.  However, it's still hard sometimes remembering what I have lost or will never have.

6. Well-meaning people say or do things that do not feel kind.  For more on this issue, see my blog Here.  I cannot tell you the number of ridiculous things people have said to me in an attempt to make me feel better.  Please hear my heart:  I'm so thankful people care.  I understand they're trying to help.  Sometimes help is just saying you're sorry for the person, that you're thinking of/praying for them, and letting them just be who they need to be.

7. There's a club, I'm not alone.  When you lose someone you love, it's easy to feel like you're all alone and that no one understands.  I remember wishing I knew someone who lost their parent at a young age.  I wanted them to tell me how to get through this and that I WAS going to get through this.  Since August 11, 2002, I have been able to talk to at least 4 friends who had someone close to them die (3 dads and a sister).  I'm so thankful for them that they don't have to feel as if no one understands.

8. Everything (almost) is normal and everyone is different.  I've known people who seemingly fell apart when someone they loved died.  I've known others who you would never have known anything had happened.  Feeling paranoid another loved one would die?  Normal.  Wanting to escape reality?  Normal.  Guilt?  Normal.  I also find that the outside world (who is not experiencing your grief) often times wants a 10 step guide on how to love and support those grieving.  Sorry.  We're all different.  I said before that I don't usually post what today is on my FB.  Other people need for their world to know the milestones.  Neither is bad- they're just different.  Take your cue from the person.

9. I'm not sure closure exists or what it looks like if it does exist.  People talk about "closure" a lot.  If I just knew this or we had just finished that, I would have closure.  If closure means I can rationalize what happened, then I don't so much believe it exists.  If closure means I can make peace and move on, then it totally exists. It's different for different people and different people get there in different ways and at different times.

10. There is good in every thing.  I'm an optimist.  It's really part of my nature.  I constantly look for the good in everything.  Right after we found out my dad died, I thought, "Well, at least we don't have to keep coming to the hospital every day."  In the midst of sadness, I watched friends and the community pour out love on my family.  During that time I saw the best in a lot of people.  At the same time, God proved Himself incredibly faithful.  I prayed that I would have at least one friend at college (for which I left just a week after my dad died).  God gave me an army.  Through grief (not just in my dad dying, but in a lot of things), I've seen the kindness and goodness of God.  Yes, even through all of this, I know that I know that I KNOW that God is infinitely more kind and gracious than my little human mind could ever comprehend.

Well... there you have it.  10 lessons.  10 years.  I'm so thankful for all I've learned.  I'm so thankful for the community that has come around me and loved me.  I'm thankful for relationships that have been restored because of my story.  I'm thankful for the moments (such as talking with a friend whose dad just died) that give meaning to my situation.  Above all, I choose to be thankful for the 18 years, 4 months, and 15 days with my dad instead of being bitter about the years without him.

Adventures in Dog-Sitting: Part 2 (The Girls)

 Meet "the Girls"

Above is Abigail.  Abby for short.  She also goes by Abbers and pretty much anything else similar.  She is the lightest colored and biggest of the group.  She is the oldest and the leader of the pack.  It is impossible for her to be too close to a human being.  It is also impossible to play fetch with her for "too long".  

This is Wrigley Anne.  Generally goes by Wrigley.  Sometimes Wriggles or Wriggers.  The seeming quiet one of the group, she will lick your face off if you let her.  She also is the only one with curly hair.  She has a blonde V on the back of her neck.  

Sophia Rae Petrillo.. and those are all names before her two last names (which have been omitted for privacy sake).  She goes mainly by Sophie.  Sometimes Sophers.  I might also use Sophs (like Sofes).  She is the darkest of the group.  I also know which one she is by process of elimination- if she doesn't have Wrigley's V, she must be Sophie. :-)  She's  the youngest of the group.  She's also my bedmate for the trip AND a bit (okay a lot of) a bed hog.  She looks tiny in this picture.  She's not.  

This was Sophie deciding she was a lap dog.  Abby, however, objected.. mainly because SHE wanted to be the lap dog.  

Adventures in Dog-Sitting: Part I

At some point, I'll take a picture.  Three full-grown chocolate labs.  One sitter.. well.. plus the person who comes like a fairy during lunch and lets them out.  I digress.

If you know me, you probably find it hilarious that I am dog-sitting.  If you don't know me, you should see the previous post.  :-)  I promised my sister and Courtney some entertaining posts.  Ladies, you'd better comment.

Tuesday:  Everything seemed to be going pretty well.  Played with the girls (what I, and their parents, call the labs), went to the grocery store, came home and cooked dinner.  Had a friend over.  Warned her the girls would be rather excited to see her.  I'm pretty impressed with how well they did.

As a funny aside not related to the girls, I decided to take a bath in the huge soaker, jetted tub.  I used bubbles.  I turned on the jets.  I had MOUNDS of bubbles.  Lesson.learned.

Then, it was time to go to bed.  I knew Sophie would sleep with me.  Luckily it was a king-size bed.  Extra bonus: I picked the correct side.  When I went to bed Sophie claimed the right 65% of the bed.  I got in on my side.  I moved.  Sophie moved.  Apparently I moved too much because Sophie went to the foot of the bed.  Then she came back.  And nested.  How dare the human want to be fully covered.  Silly human.  Finally we went to sleep.  Like a new parent, I'm pretty sure I woke up every.single.time Sophie moved.  Girl moves a lot.  :-)  At 5:30 the girls decided they needed a potty break.  Fair enough.  At 7:20, they decided it was time for me to get up.  Not as cool, girls, not as cool.  I had a nice leisurely breakfast, did the dishes, fed the girls.. have to admit, it was kinda nice.

Wednesday:  Apparently the girls are used to me.  They no longer jump on me when I come in.  They do, however, greet me and follow me wherever I go.  Adventures today included filling up their kiddie pool with water.  A little later came the biggest adventure:  poop scooping.  Lots of poop.  Lots of scooping.  I should sell tickets.  Then, I was sitting on my computer and there was a reflection on the wall that Sophie insisted on barking at.  It was hilarious.

Now, I'm sitting here blogging with Abby laying contentedly at my feet.  She's a lover, that one.  Well, really all of the girls are super affectionate.  Abby, however, can never be too close to a human.

Well.. that's enough for today.  Stay tuned to see what other adventures lay ahead for myself and the girls.

Update:  Just like a new parent, I totally messed up what the days are.  Thanks CMac for correcting me!

Adventures in Dog-Sitting: Preamble

In order to truly appreciate this post, you have to understand my history with dogs.

Birth- early high school:  Terrified of dogs.  Ter.rif.ied.  Somewhere in high school, I got over this morbid fear and downgraded to great disdain.

Junior year of high school:  Family I was a nanny for got a dog.  Dog later attacked my best friend.  Dog and I got along fine.

Fall, 2007: Consider getting a dog as I had just moved into an apartment by myself.  In God's infinite kindness, my friend gets a dog.  All desire to have a dog is now gone.

January, 2008:  Dog-sit two dogs via just checking in on them.  One, a spiteful peeer.  The other, a pup.  Within 3 days I had cleaned up a wet mess and had the pup poop on the carpet and drag his rear through it.  Called friends in Florida.  They assured me they would take care of it.  At the same time, friendships were dissolving, my then-boyfriend was in the hospital, and I later found out I had a stomach virus.

Spring, 2008:  Go over and check on a dog.  It had gotten out of the gate in that apartment.  For weeks you could still smell the evidence.  The dog also howled for hours when I was gone.  Vow to never again dog-sit.

June, 2012: Go over one night and feed/play with 3 dogs.  Couldn't get the alarm to set. Had to call the alarm company.  Forgot to lock the house (in Moore) until I got back to Norman.

July, 2012:  Co-worker says, "Sure seems like you dog-sit a lot."  Me:  "Um.. really.. no."  Talks about me staying at her house to watch her 2 dogs and a cat.  At the end of the month, it falls through.

August, 2012:  Former professor asks me to dog/house sit.  Luckily, I like his dogs.  Plus, it sounded like it could be fun.  Enter:  adventure of 2012.  

I should have known...

I find myself saying this a lot:  "I should have known."  I mean, a lot a lot.  For whatever reason, a couple of weeks ago I wondered what I meant when I said that.  I mean, there's the obvious- I should have known.  What I really wondered was what I was implying or what was behind that statement.  So, I started thinking about when I (or other people) say this phrase.

"I should have known [fill in name of a person] was going to hurt me."  "I should have known [insert situation] was going to end up this way (which I only say when it goes poorly)".  "I should have known this was too good to be true".  "I should have known better".

Here's what I realized I was really saying.  "I should have expected this person is not capable of change or of loving for me as I want them to".  "I should always predict disaster".  "I can't trust that God has good things for me or that I deserve good things".  "I should have run through every possible scenario and braced myself for every possible situation by putting up walls".  Basically, I was saying I should be constantly skeptical and pessimistic; I should never trust God or trust people.  Because obviously pain and disappointment are bad.

Then I thought about someone saying those things to me.  I was sad about them.  Generally speaking, I consider myself to be an optimist.  I legitimately feel sorry for people who are pessimists because it seems like a terrible way to live.  I realized that I never want to be a person who assumes the worst.  I don't want to assume the worst about people and I sure don't want to assume the worst about God.  More and more I'm realizing how feeble my own attempts at avoiding pain and disappointment are.  We are all imperfect humans living in an imperfect world.  We're gonna let each other down.  That's hard.  We're not going to lover perfectly or meet every expectation.  So hard.

So, I (with the rest of the human world), have an option:  I can give in to pessimism and try to protect myself or I can risk.  It's a big risk.  Assuming the best about people and circumstances sets me up for one of two things:  I will be right or I will be let down.  If I am let down, I have two options:  Meet the Lord in it while I forgive others or dive deep into a sea of bitterness that slowly eats away at my soul and takes me back to pessimism.  See?  I even made you a cool little graphic.  (You may have to increase your browser size to see it).

  In the end, I choose risk.  I'd rather be hurt ten times waiting for the one time where believing the best about someone proves to be true.  I'd rather assume things will work out (because they ALWAYS do), then presume disaster.  From now on, I want my "should haves" to be like these:  "I should have known God would show up in the precise moment I needed Him."  "I should have known that HE will protect me".  "I should have known His purposes would prevail".  "I should have known that change is always possible".  THOSE are the things I should (and should have) known. 

Over and over again

This post is perhaps one of the most difficult I've written yet. See, everything else I have written has predominantly about stories already written (a project I completed, a movie I saw, experiences I've had). This one is a bit like an author giving someone a book that is only three-quarters of the way finished. Actually, it would be more like a character from that book handing the book over. The point is, the story is still being written. This post is also difficult because it talks about a difficult season of life... a season that is happening right now.

Forgive me for being vague. I write this post because maybe it will help someone. I write it because I feel that I am supposed to. At the same time, I want to be as honoring & covering as possible while still being vulnerable.

So, here we dive in. A good friend had a good phrase for this season: "patient endurance". She told me about that phrase in May. I don't think either of us thought it would be so apt. Right now, over and over, I am getting opportunities to be patient and steadfast. Most of those I can't really explain. Sorry. Here's one that I can. In five days one of my close friends is moving to Alaska. If you know me, you know that my best friend lives in Alaska. It works out. See, the two friends are engaged.. so it kinda makes sense they would want to live in the same time zone. :-) One friend moving to Alaska? Hard. A second friend moving to Alaska? Super hard. At the same time, God decided it would be a good time to build the gift of faith. How is God choosing to do that? By asking me to believe for things I cannot see. Over and over the Lord keeps asking, "Leah, will you still trust me? Will you still believe what I have said?" Of course. What else can I do?

A friend of mine wrote an amazing story about a really hard season of having a miscarriage. You can read it here. It's long, but I promise it is worth every word. In the midst of great heartache she said, "“No matter what happens I won’t blame you God. I won’t blame you or myself. I won’t give in to self-pity; I won’t waiver on who you are, on your kindness towards me, on your unwavering goodness. I won’t! I won’t!”. Let me tell you, that hasn't necessarily been my first thought or cry in the midst of several difficult circumstances. It is, however, where I've been landing. See, anger at God doesn't get me very far. He's too good, too kind, and too faithful. I know Him well enough to know His character and I have countless stories to back them up. I'll never forget within moments of finding out my dad had died, I heard the Holy Spirit whisper, "For I know the plans I have for you... Plans to prosper and not to harm you, plans to give you a great hope and future." THAT is the God I know. When I have mourned, He has comforted. When I have been confused, He has has brought clarity and meaning. In the midst of pain and confusion, the words He has spoken are what gets me through the day. I'm so thankful for friends and community to walk with. I cherish their kind words and am so thankful for all of their prayers. But theirs are not the words that necessarily resound in my head. What resounds in my head when I feel hope waning and I'm convinced I cannot make it another step are the promises that God has given me.

I was emailing a couple of friends and explaining one particular situation. I was explaining how even though I could see very little hope with my eyes, I would continue to put my hope in the Lord, believe for what He promised, and trust that He would not only get me through this but that I would see His glory and it would all be worth it. They responded telling me that I was encouraging to them. I finally said to one friend, "Haha.. every time someone says I'm being encouraging in this whole process I want to be like, "Do you remember the part where I said it was hard or where I'm a little whiny?" Her response, "To encourage someone is to help "put courage IN" a person. So that means your life or response to a circumstance or timely & true words help them to do the very thing that God is asking of them....it helps out courage in them to walk in faith; to walk with the Lord." I don't say this so you think I'm an amazing human being. I'm not. I promise. I don't have a special super power. I say that because I think sometimes what people need is a little more vulnerability. My vulnerability encouraged her. I also say that because I am normal. I'm just a normal girl who fell in love with Jesus. I'm a normal girl whom God has shown over and over and over again His kindness, goodness, graciousness, steadfastness, and faithfulness.

So you see, the story isn't over. None of those things that God has asked me to believe for or do are complete. Sometimes I feel like I'm standing in the middle of a desert believing for an ocean. It seems crazy. But, you know, sometimes when you think you're staring at a desert, you're really staring at the beach right next to the ocean.

Father's Day Part 2: A Tribute to My Many "Fathers"

And now.. the the fun part of Father's Day.. all of the people I can choose to celebrate.  I told an ex-boyfriend, "You probably think you have it easy because you don't have to go through my dad.  What you don't know yet is that rather than gaining one man's approval, you have an army's approval to gain."  See, I have an amazing community and have had so many great "fathers".  I am so blessed.  Many men have stepped in to fill my father's shoes.  This post is to honor them.  

When I went to college one uncle (who happens to be a truck driver) drove my car down so that I could ride with my mom and we'd have two cars.  His brother (they're both my mom's brothers) picked him up in Waco and drove him to Dallas to fly home.  The second brother's home was a haven during college, my home away from home.  Both brothers would give me the shirts off their back.  My dad's brother is like talking to my dad.  In many ways they are day and night (I mean, literally, my dad had dark hair and my uncle has light hair), but there is a life blood that beats through both of them.  

There's my youth minister (and his wife.. but, sorry Kari, you're not a guy ;-)).  I couldn't tell you how much he taught me about myself and the Lord.  He helped lay foundations that have been pivotal for me.  The man laid down his life for us time and again.  He was there through some hard times.  He also taught me how to punch a guy (only when necessary) in such a way that it wouldn't hurt me.  I clearly remember two of my best friends and I sitting in a church van with him while he was taking us home, and him telling us to NEVER.EVER.SETTLE.. we were too valuable for that.  He instilled value.  

If it wouldn't potentially weird them out, I'd list all of the male friends I have walked with over the last 10 years.  In their own way, each has been a protector and each has taught me something about men and about myself.  They have set high standards of integrity and honor.  They've loved me well.  There's no day set aside to honor male friends, so I choose to honor them today.  :-)

Finally, I want to honor one last "father" currently in my life.  He is my zone/section leader (don't worry about the terminology).  The guy is married, has 3 kids, is an elder and pastor at our church, and recently finished law school.  He has a capacity like no one I've ever seen.  He's perhaps the busiest guy I've ever met.  But I never felt it.  He's amazing at being very present and attuned to the person in front of you.  The man is for people like no other. He is SO interested in what is going on in people's lives and hearts.  He's that guy you want at every party because he (and his wife.. but, again, Ashley's not a dude) is so crazy fun and is an amazing gatherer of people.  You also want to sit down and have coffee with him because he's super encouraging, carries others' dreams well, and is passionate about everything he does.  He covers people so well.  He is a father to many.. even though he's only a few years older than I.  

I could never say thank you enough to all of you.  Thanks for loving me well.  Thanks for reminding me that I am by no means fatherless.  Thanks for stepping in for a man many of you never knew.  You all are treasures and have many rewards in Heaven.  

Father's Day Part 1: I'm not Fatherless

If you know me, you understand why Father's Day is not one of my favorite holidays.  If you don't know, this was the 9th Father's Day I've observed since my Dad died.  Something within me wanted to write about
Father's Day.  Perhaps I wanted to feel included.  Perhaps I want a group of people (those who have fathers who are still living) to understand what they never can (what it's like to celebrate Father's day when your father is in Heaven).  When I started writing this post in my head, it was a how to on how to love the fatherless (more on this later) on Father's Day.  Then I realized that goes against everything I believe about grief because it implies there is a manual or a one-size fits all way to help.  So.. that post isn't here.. because I don't like to contradict myself. :-)  

I'd be lying if I said that Father's Day is never hard or that I'm never angry.  If you would have asked me 9 years, 10 months, and 8 days (I used an online calculator) ago if I would till be angry, I would have said no.  But I am.  Not every day, by any means.  Not even every Father's Day.  But sometimes I'm angry.  I'm angry because my dad is dead.  I'm angry because it happened when I was so young.  I'm angry for the memories that will never be made.  I'm angry that I'm angry.  (Hey, I'm a girl.. it makes sense).  Oh, and I'm angry that life feels normal without him.  I get angry that I can go a day without thinking about him.  It feels wrong sometimes.  (For the record, the angry days are few... I'm just saying they exist).

For the record, I do not consider myself fatherless.  Weird, I know.  But come on, you probably know me.  Did you expect anything else?  My dad was a great man.  He worked hard to provide a good home for my mom, sister, and I.  Although he had no concept of time (meaning my mom had to remind him several times), he made it to almost every single Little League game I played... no matter how good (or terrible) I was.  Without a doubt, I know he loved me.  So I get a little worked up when people think I'm fatherless.  I also have a heavenly Father who loves me better than my earthly father could in a million years.  Especially since my dad died, I have seen God as my father.  He is the One who comforts me.  He gives me guidance.  

My Mom

Okay, so, I was reading a post on my friend Michelle's (yes, the one the post below is about) blog.  It was a letter to her mom.  It was incredibly sweet.  I loved being able to read it and read what she loves about her mom.  I also think it's so honoring.  So, since I consider copying to be the highest form of flattery, I'm writing a post about my mom.  Sorry, Mom, it's not a letter.

Let me tell you a bit about my mom and where she comes from.  My mom grew up on a fruit orchard in Mt. Hood, Oregon.  Her family didn't have a lot of money, so they canned and "put away" all sorts of fruits and vegetables.  When she was a kid, her dad was diagnosed with cancer.  Early in her teenage years (sorry, Mom, can't remember how old you were- like 14?), her dad died.  My mom left beautiful Mt. Hood (I've seen it- it's breathtaking) and arrived in flat, dead-looking Oklahoma during the winter.. the WORST time to be introduced to our state.  She helped her mom raise her 3 younger brothers.  When she was in college (I think), my mom was in a car crash that killed one brother and her grandmother and almost killed her mom.  During college, my mom went home on the weekends and helped her mom with all sorts of chores.  Why?  Because that's what family does.  I tell you all of this so you understand that my mom is one of the strongest women that I know.  These experiences would have broken many women or made them bitter.  Not my mom.

Fast forward to me.  The woman endured something like 36 hours of labor (with no epidural) and a C-Section (two weeks after my due date) just to bring me into the world.  (For the record, my parents had already decided to only have two children... it wasn't a decision based on how miserable the experience of bringing me into the world was).  Some women act or feel as if their children owe them something.  My mom NEVER acted as if I owed her anything.  When I think about my childhood, it is filled with memories of my mom.  I don't think the woman ever missed a school performance, Little League game, or church activity.  She carted me all over kingdom come.  She also put up with a rather.. curious.. child.  My mom taught me to dream.  To this day, she will tell you how she didn't give me coloring sheets as a child because she read "they inhibit creativity".  She gave me paper and crayons.  She read me probably thousands of books.  I can't tell you the number of "ideas" I had and told her about.  Whenever I told her about them, she listened- she didn't squash my little dreams- even when they entailed having 8 sets of twins as my children.

My mom has inconvenienced herself more times than I care to imagine for me.  Really, the woman taught me what sacrifice is.  I can't remember the last time she had both my sister and I home for Mother's Day.  Normally, she was with us because she was moving me out of college.  The ONE time I moved without my mom helping me?  She'd had major back surgery 2 weeks before and felt guilty about not being able to help.  The woman has spent the majority of her Christmas/birthday money taking my sister and I on trips.  She's lived on a much tighter budget so she could help me get my Master's.  For a long time, I thought that's what every family did- you sacrifice when someone else needs something.

I'm realizing how incredibly weird my family is.  My mom cooked dinner most nights out of the week.  Like, legitimately cooked.  Even when finances were tight, my sister and I felt UBER celebrated on our birthdays. (Yup friends, she's the one you can thank for teaching me that birthdays are a BIG deal). From the night I graduated high school, I am quoted in the local newspaper as saying I would miss my mom making me toast every morning.  Because my mom made me breakfast every.single.morning.  Even now, she spends her breaks coming down and helping my sister and I.  No matter what, I always know my mom will be there for me when I need her.  I know she would drop everything to be with me if I needed her.  The woman updated her own passport when I went to Morocco to make sure she could be there if I needed her.  Because of her, I also know that I can call my sister in the middle of the night and ask her for Sprite when I'm sick and she'll bring it to me.  My parents always said family comes first.

One last thing.  I'm so thankful for a mom who believes in me and is always for me.  When my dad died, my mom assured my sister and I we would make it.  She was always sympathetic and let us cry to our hearts' content, but she made sure we knew we would make it.  When I thought there was no way I could make it through school, she assured me I was smart enough to do it.  When I was scared, she calmed my fears.

Thanks, Mom, for everything you've done for me.  Thanks for every sleepless night, dollar you spent on me instead of yourself, every inconvenience, and for not losing patience with me.  Thank you for being the person who will always pick up and who's always glad to hear my voice.  Thanks for loving me, even when I'm a flake and forget to call you back the night before Mother's Day.  Thanks for being the "weird" mom; thanks for sacrificing and teaching me how to be a better human being.  I love you more than words (or a really long blog post) could ever say.

~Leah

P.S. Does this make me your favorite?  ;-)

Michelle the Brave

In an hour, it will be Mother's Day.  My goal is to write a post about my Mom, because she really is wonderful.  However, right now, I'm writing about something (okay, someone) that's been on my heart.  I'm writing about Michelle.

I really couldn't tell you when I met Michelle.  Her name was one of those that seemed to float around me for many months before I met her.  I kept hearing about Kevin and Michelle Leach.  I swear, the girl was everywhere.  It's funny because I also remember this very clear picture of seeing Michelle and Kevin before I had any idea who she was.  I'm guessing I really got to know Michelle after I started leading a Lifegroup.  I watched her from afar.  I've told her this before- I thought Michelle was WAY too cool for me to every be close friends with.  It seemed no matter where she was, people flocked to her.  When she wasn't around, people talked about her.  Last May I was looking at some fabric at Hobby Lobby.  I had somehow gotten Michelle's number.  I texted her to tell her this particular fabric was on sale and I thought she would love it.

Then, I hung out with her for the first time.  I found out later that Michelle's life was a bit chaotic.  See, her mom was battling cancer and her baby girl had a heart problem.  We sat on Michelle's couch and she asked me about life.  Michelle met me in a really difficult season- when lots of friends had moved away.  For the couple of hours I was there, it seemed like I was the only thing that mattered.  It's one of my favorite things about Michelle.  She lives life like a saying she has in her house:  "Wherever you're at, be all there".  I saw Michelle once or twice more over the next few months.

In January, she started discipling me.  Basically, that means she's super intentional about living life with me.  She's for me and she asks me the hard questions.  Usually, we hang out once a week.  It's a highlight.  The girl oozes life, joy, and the Holy Spirit.  I know that no matter what I tell her, she is for me.  I also never have to wonder where I stand with her, because she is such a good communicator.  She's direct and honest.  It makes me trust her all the more.  She asks me the really hard questions.  She doesn't let me get away with anything, but she is so kind about it.  A couple of weeks ago, I told some people, "It's really easy to hold someone's toes to the fire; it's much less easy to stand there and possibly get burned with them".  Michelle is one who stands with people.  She is loyal beyond loyal.  She's a great friend.  Oh, and if you're having a party- I PROMISE you want Michelle there.  She brings so much life and is SO fun to be around.

About a week ago, Michelle's mom was sent home from the hospital.  You can read the story on her blog Leachlove.  Her mom started hospice.  Michelle moved in.. because that's what Michelle does.  She stands with you and makes sure you know you aren't alone.  Yesterday, towards the end of saying good-bye to her mom, Michelle sent me a text asking about something that PALES in comparison.  Why?  Because Michelle doesn't live in comparison.  Michelle loves people well.

Today, Michelle said good-bye to her mom.  Tomorrow, Michelle will celebrate her mom's life on Mother's Day.  I can't even imagine how hard that is.  But here's a secret about Michelle:  she is extraordinarily brave. She wouldn't necessarily say that about herself.  In fact, when she reads this she'll probably think about all the times she feels like she's wavered.  But those who know her know the truth:  Michelle is brave because she has chosen to partner with the person of bravery, who is the Holy Spirit.  Michelle will stand there on Mother's Day and celebrate her mom, who is now in Heaven, because Michelle knows her best friend, the Holy Spirit, will be there to comfort and celebrate with her while God gets to dance with her mom.

So thankful that I get to call such a brave woman friend.  

Covering... and I don't mean the stuff over or on your head (Part 1)

I knew I wanted to write a blog about what I've been learning about the idea of "covering".  So, I did what any child of the Information Age would do... I looked it up online.  Here are some favorites:

"something laid over or wrapped around a thing, especially for concealment, protection, or warmth"
" to serve as a substitute for someone who is absent"
"to hide the wrongful or embarrassing action of another by providing an alibi or acting in the other's place"
"anything that veils, screens, or shuts from sight"
"to cover completely; enfold. to keep secret; conceal"

I tried to look it up in a Bible dictionary to an epic fail.  Oh well.  :-)

Let me back up and explain a bit of my story.  I grew up Southern Baptist.  At the same time, I grew up with parents who told me I could do anything I set my mind to and that I could do almost anything a man could do.  I'm so thankful for parents who raised me to be independent.  Somehow, this all got confused in my head.  How was I, an independent woman who didn't need a man, supposed to submit some day to a husband?  Did that mean I gave up everything and became a June Cleaver at mercy to the wills and whims of my husband?  I knew that was most assuredly NOT me.  As with a lot of things I don't understand, I decided to shelf it until later... whenever I really NEEDED to figure it out. 

Enter my only adult boyfriend.  In dating him, I realized I had probably better start to get a grasp on this whole submission thing.  By this point I had figured out that I did not have to be a doormat.  Okay, if I'm not a doormat what am I?  Add to that my boyfriend's love/hate relationship with the fact I didn't need a man.  I can't tell you the number of times I heard that I was "too independent".  After we broke up, I started asking the Lord if I really was too independent.  I felt like He said, "Leah, it's not that you're too independent.  You just couldn't trust [insert boyfriend's name here] with your heart".  Enter sigh of relief.  Okay, so submission has something to do with trust. 

Fast forward four (wow, it's really been that long?!) years to last weekend.  Again submission is coming up.  A couple of weeks ago, I was at an event and I saw this man from my church.  We didn't know each others' names.  The only thing I knew was that within my two interactions with this man, I felt incredibly loved and covered.  Hm.  Covered.  The next day I saw another man at my church and realized the same thing- he most assuredly did not know my name.  Yet every time I see him, I feel incredibly loved, valued, and covered by him.  When I told both men, they acted as if it was the best compliment I could ever give them.  I was walking back to my seat when I felt like the Lord said, "Leah, you were made to be covered".  What?  Then it seemed to click.  I, as a woman, have it written into my DNA to be covered (in the safe and proper way) by a man/men.  Yes, the world has taken this and distorted it, as it has done with most godly principles.  Being covered meant that someone else was at least partially responsible for protecting me.  As women, we like to feel safe.  It seems men, at least the godly ones, like making us feel safe.  Duh.  Making us feel safe is as much in their DNA as it is in our DNA to be covered. 

I've finally realized that I can value covering without being a doormat.  It all comes back to trust.  Stay tuned for the next installment in covering... and eventually some musings on trust.