October 2014 archive

I am Not a Life-Coach

b3d1adc8683229e588e088378530cf7fWhat I’m learning in my new life is that, basically, I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to control everyone. (Shocker for those who know me.) If I can keep everyone doing what I would do (you know, because I’m God), then I can control the way my life looks and I can PREDICT what will happen next. No surprises = happy.

So today, I read this from author and psychologist Dr. Shefali Tsbaray: “Do you see me or do you see what needs to be fixed?”

I am really only just learning how to allow everyone in my life to be exactly who they are. No more are the long conversations about how I can help them IMPROVE or CHANGE or DO BETTER. Because I’ve always been an advice-giver. I’ve always been the “life-coach” to those closest to me. Just ask any of my friends. I have exhausted myself on more than one occasion trying to help other people to control and live their lives “just like me.” But in doing so, I haven’t SEEN them. I’ve only seen what needs to be FIXED.

My partner and my son are the two best ways for me to practice letting everyone be who they are:
My son is loud. Louder than me even. He is non-stop energy, constantly pushing buttons, very excited about EVERYTHING until he’s not and then the world as we know it eeeeeeeeeeeeends. He doesn’t think like me. He doesn’t enjoy snuggling or sitting in my lap. He doesn’t do any of the stuff I DREAMED my child would do. He is a whole, separate person from the one I dreamed up. He is my ultimate challenge in accepting EXACTLY who he is everyday and guiding him to be the best version of him without controlling his every move. And every time I try to get him to be more like me, he gets less like me. A LOT less.

Bear is spontaneous, fast-thinking, joy-seeking, and UBER loving. I am planned, deliberate in my thinking, joy-but-order-seeking, and loving when I’m loved first. There has not been a DAY of our relationship where he asked me to be something different. He never says, “Hey, stop vacuuming and come watch football with me.” He just pauses the game and lifts his feet. His ability to accept everything about me, including the stuff that is SO very different from who he is, is inspiring. And I’m working on being more like him in that way. I heard Pastor Steven Furtick from Elevation Church say the other day, “Stop looking for the one. BE the one.” And so instead of looking for Bear to be anything other than what he is, I am learning to BE the things he needs. (And mostly ALL he needs is for me to be who I am and let him be who he is.)

I am not a life-coach. And I never should be. Not even on TV. At least not until I have learned that people get to be exactly who they want to be and I don’t get a say. I get to decide how involved I want to be, but I don’t get to make changes. What would it look like for you if you let the people in your life be EXACTLY who they are, all the time?

 

Ode to my Four Year Old – A Poem

4e448d46b2497b18f59aeccabc83b59fSaucers.
Two big, brown saucers hovering towards me, blinding me with sparkle and joy. My joy.
Eyelashes flapping, an unnecessary length, giving me intermittent solace from those sun-bright eyes that seem at any moment could
FLASH
And my sight would be gone.
Who could help but mention those two juicy, rosey lips that bulge, kissable, even when he stretches them into smiles?
Those gorgeous, chubby little hands (which aren’t so little anymore) reach long for my face and that makes me feel like a damn superhero.
I grab the squishy part and kiss it because I have to.
Luscious, scraggly, piles of curls. Why did God give them to you but for me to oogle them and smell them like a weird creep only mothers understand?
Shiny curls that beg for a haircut but what can I do when the barber shop is always so busy?!
Just let them continue to swirl and climb around in endless circles on that perfect little head.

In these moments, witnessing your charm, your perfection, your shining little soul hovering before me, there is no other place in the universe, known or unknown, I would rather be.

And then you say, “But, mommy, could maybe I just not eat anymore of the chicken…”

And you ruin everything.

Selfish Moms

During the weeks I have my gorgeous little nugget of a son, my life revolves around him. I wake up in the morning and make him breakfast. I pack his lunch. I plan his outfits and get him safely to school.
While he’s at school, I tidy up his toys. I work and run all my errands so I don’t have to run them with him.
After school, I give him a snack and cook his supper. He eats and then we sit on the couch and practice drawing letters and sounding them out. Bath time, snuggle time, books, songs…I’m a pretty typical mom.

Yesterday morning while I finished packing his lunch (pears, sweet potatoes, dairy-free gluten-free grilled cheese, and a little bag of gluten-free snack mix), I patted myself on the back. Well, this looks good enough to eat! I thought to myself. Heh! I’m such a hoot.
Then, like a BOLT of lightening from the blue sky above me, another thought shocked my thick skull.
Why don’t I make myself breakfast and lunch like this?

91ae3d543ea91b38c7f3d17d72822117We are moms. We make food for everyone else. We draw baths for everyone else. We pick out and wash clothes, tidy up, and run errands for everyone else. There are days we even feel resentful, especially you married moms, wondering why you have to do EVERYTHING for EVERYONE and no one is doing ANYTHING for you. I MEAN ISN’T THAT WHY YOU HAVE A SPOUSE?!
So I ask you: is it possible that when you don’t do anything for yourself, you don’t indicate to anyone else you even need anything anyway? You eat the extra piece of pizza on the go while everyone else is eating homemade soup because it’s easy and you don’t want it to go to waste. You throw on the leggings that still fit and a t-shirt to get your kids to school after painstakingly dressing them in appropriate and adorable clothes. You fit in a shower between school meetings (IF you shower) before drawing a beautiful bubble bath in which the princes and princesses can clean their delicate little bodies. All day, you demonstrate to everyone around you that their time is more precious than yours, that their nourishment and self-care is more important than your own. Why WOULD anyone step up to do anything for you?

I put the finishing touches on Abe’s lunch (including silverware and a little note) and then decided that on this day, I would make myself lunch. My lunch would not be eating out of a cold tupperware while I worked or dried my hair. My lunch would be a complete, balanced meal eaten while doing nothing else. Then, after getting some work done, I decided I wanted to go for a walk. And so I did. I didn’t worry about whether or not I would have to run errands later with Abe because I was choosing to take a walk while he was at school. I just walked. And it was glorious.
As moms we are kind of selfish. (Hear me out.) We’re selfish in that we think eventually someone will notice we’re completely depleted and they will fill us up. But you know what? It’s not their jobs to fill you up.

Sorry. It’s not.

And furthermore, it’s not their jobs to GUESS you need filling. It’s is so, so easy to put everyone ahead of yourself as a mom. It’s practically IN the job description. But the fact of that matter is that most of us signed up for this job. Fair or not, we do have to put the needs of other people at the top of the list. It just doesn’t mean that we put ourselves at the bottom and hope that eventually someone near the top of the list notices us. So put yourself on the list. Care about yourself as much as you care about your kids. Make yourself breakfast that consists of more than your children’s leftover eggie bits. Plan a lunch for yourself, including INGREDIENTS. Take a shower, dress yourself, and for heaven’s sake, read a bedtime story. If you don’t do it, no one else will even notice you’re a person in your family who needs stuff, too.

6 Months

13654a37d9e0a97f8c08eebae9914b24I went for a walk today.
I try to walk everyday, but there are plenty of days I don’t make it outside.
But today, I walked. I walked for 45 minutes a path that used to take me 20. I stopped to rub muscle spasms and the spot on my knee that feels like a teeny, tiny knife. I walked through a limp until the tendons loosened up enough to walk straight for a time, before one of them strained and pulled and struggled to maintain itself length-wise and gave up, pulling back into place and giving me back my limp.
It’s been 6 months since my accident. There are still days when a full inhale triggers a little pain in my ribs. I have grown very used to feeling deep pain in my leg and knee, so used to it that on the rare occasion I stand up without pain it is such a noticeable difference that I usually walk somewhere I don’t even need to go just to feel what it’s like for a while.

There are days that I am damn sick and tired of being in pain.

So while it’s not fair that I have to deal with it and it’s not FAIR that I can’t get into another doctor because my insurance is giving me fits and it’s not FAIR THAT I HAVE TO BE GRATEFUL AND JOYFUL AND ABUNDANT WHILE I WALK THROUGH THIS PAIN, I do it.
Why?
Because this is what I was given. And there’s a gift in the pain.

I hate that phrase. It’s so cliche. I hate that I even wrote it.

But there are gifts in my pain:

There is a man who smiles as I wear heels for the first time and, instead of telling me to be careful, tells me I look amazing and insists that he will hold me up.

There is a God who has revealed himself to me with such compassion, such grace knowing that I needed all these lessons but that I needed a partner and friends strong enough to watch me experience them (and occasionally give me vodka or macaroni and cheese).

There is a person inside of me who is learning that just because there is pain doesn’t mean you don’t keep walking. Because you do. You keep walking. And every single time you walk straight through that pain, you get to look back and realize you did it. You’re alive. You survived.

I do get angry, but more often than not anymore I get fierce. I get stronger. And wrapped up in all that strength is this newly-born, vulnerable woman who allows herself to cry because of the safety and love she’s been given in which to do so.

It’s not what happened to me. It’s what I tell myself about what happened to me. I tell myself it happened to change me. It happened to strengthen me. It happened to whip me out of my funk and belief that I didn’t deserve more than I had.

So, it’s been 6 months. It still hurts. I still punch stuff. I still wish my thighs were the same size. But I’m starting to let the message behind the pain sink in. I broke my leg. And I’m kind super, unbelievably, incredibly blessed.

Swarms

b37f27a48d1d8ebcb06ba78c0a445ae3As I get older and gain little (and big) bits of life experience, it gets harder and harder to…speak. Just speak. In my 20s I spoke my mind to anyone, anytime, all the time. Whether y’all like it or not. 

I was told people didn’t like that. So I stopped.

Years went by and I adopted OTHER people’s way of speaking. I listened to their tones, their nuances, their favorite words. And I parroted.

But as soon as those people were no longer in my day-to-day life, I didn’t know what to say. So I stopped.

My voice squelched, and no one to model my voice after, I got quiet. And I stayed quiet. I turned into a chameleon, adding other people’s colors to my own words so they would think they sounded pretty. I blended in. I never spoke too loudly nor too quietly. I charmed when the situation called for charming, I impressed when the situation called for impressing. And all of the people were dazzled.

Except for me.

It took the whole world falling down for me to realize that I was going to have to learn to talk all over again. Only, of course, this time it would be learning to talk according to what I actually had to say. I remember one day saying to my then-husband, “My blog is sort of just my alter-ego. It’s never anything I’d REALLY say out loud.” I’ve been so scared for so long to admit this is really me, to speak the way I write, to be the me I am.

I watched this tonight. (Relax, it’s 3 minutes.)

Looking around life now, I see that I’m surrounded by my Barn Owls. I speak and they speak back. I am no longer consumed (all the time) with what people will think and unconsciously “chameleon-ing” into what the situation calls for. I am a little bit louder than I’ve been for a while. And the louder and more authentic, original, unique my voice gets, the more of my Barn Owls I find.

I think there may be swarms of them.

That was kind of a test. And you kind of failed.

Listening to a podcast this morning, I got super fired up about an awesome message from Elevation Church (my latest obsession). I sent the message to a few lovely folks I thought might need it. I considered writing about it in my blog, but I felt like it was overkill. I mean ever since this whole God Reads my Blog realization, I have been trying to avoid overtly referring to God or scripture (even though that’s the total opposite of why I wrote that blog in the first place). So, that’s that. I’m not writing about that message I received this morning. That powerful, far-reaching, highly-healing message. I’ll just keep that to myself. Because. You know.
God.

See, here’s the thing. God is super persistent. I mean, eerily persistent. The guy who says he wants to take you on a date and won’t leave you alone until you let him. (Oh wait, that’s Bear. Hmm…well, if it worked for him…) The point is that about 4 hours after I listened to that message and felt overwhelmed with desire to share it that I promptly squelched…a dear friend tagged me in a link to a Unity Church Daily Word article that, get this, was referring to the EXACT SAME SCRIPTURE I was delighting in this morning. There are, what, a gazillion scriptures to choose from?? And the same one came to me TWICE in one day?!

This is cray.

So now I feel like I have to share the freaking message.

(Just so you know this is an EXACT translation of the Bible. EXACT.)

cb897debaa204c595920c0eb93a417e8The story goes that Jesus was hanging out with his disciples on a boat at the shore. When he was finished telling them all kinds of juicy stories, he asked them all to cross the lake with him. Everyone hopped in their boats and Jesus, kind of sleepy from all the talking, decided to take a nap in the back of the boat.
Meanwhile, out of NO WHERE, a huge storm kicks up and big waves and crazy winds are knocking the boats all over the place. The disciples try to keep cool, but eventually they get a little annoyed that this guy TOLD them to cross the lake in a boat is now SLEEPING through all the drama. Eventually, one of them convinces another one to go wake Jesus up and tell him there’s this huge storm and they may not make it across. And that it’s kinna-scary.
Jesus wakes up and looks around and gets a little snippy with the disciples. He’s all, “You guys. Chill. Out. I’m not freaked out about the storm! Look at me! I’m so relaxed that I’m napping! I told you all it would be fine, it would always be fine, so there is no point in getting all uppety about it.”
Of course, this doesn’t really calm everyone down because the winds and the waves are still sloshing everybody around. Jesus sees that the guys are still super anxious, so he says (and this is an important part), “Peace. Be still.” He says it to the storm, not to the guys. And the storm just…fizzles out.
Everyone’s super glad Jesus was there to calm the storm, but Jesus is like, “Guys. Guys. Remember how I said to have faith and trust in me? That was kind of a test. And you kind of failed. Because I can calm the waves and the winds outside any day of the week. I can even promise you that you’re going to get through the wind and waves. But I can’t control the storm inside of you.”

Ya get it?

To me, the point is that when the winds outside of you start blowing all your crap around, take it as a cue that it’s time to take a look at the storm you create within yourself. What are the words you use to describe your day, your situation, your life? Are there storms in your life, or are you creating storms by telling yourself stories about what MIGHT happen? The disciples thought the boat MIGHT tip over and they’d all drown and then their families and friends would all be left without them. The thing is, the boat never tipped. The storm never took them out. It was their own THOUGHTS that took them out and broke their faith.
I’ve never been homeless. I’ve never been without a car or even without a savings account. But I still agonized over whether or not I would survive after I got divorced. I told myself story after story about how I should can’t spend a DIME outside of the absolute necessities…just in case.
But I was always covered. I have always had enough and I always will. What I have to learn to control is whether or not I THINK I have enough. God controls the outside. I control the inside.

Are you controlling your inside? Or are the stories controlling you? (And why do I keep hearing these same kinds of questions OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN?!?!?!?!)

 

Be the Xanax

It has come to my attention that I am an anxious person.

Those of you who know me and are laughing out loud, I’d appreciate it if you kept it down for the others.14a047dad26615483fb38a6370d03214In an attempt to control most everything, I exhibit more than one anxious behaviors/symptoms. In no particular order:

Chest tightening
Hand ringing
List-making
Obsessive online bank-checking
Pacing
General exhaustion
Panicking whenever possible by way of eye-widening faces and gasping
Crying and/or raging
Excessive researching

Yeah. I’m a blast to live with.

So today, I’m listening to the Elevation Church podcast (if you are REMOTELY interested in an updated version of faith, you’ll totally love it). I hear the Pastor quote Philippians: “Be anxious for nothing.”
ARRRRRRGHHHHHHH!!!!!!
He goes on to explain how, with faith, there is no reason for anxiety. It’s meaningless. Because you have zero control over anything anyway, even if you don’t believe in God. There will ALWAYS be more things you can’t control than things you can. And adding anxiety to the mix does nothing to help or change your situation.
When I was a kid, my best friend and I used to carpool to school. My mom picked us up, her mom dropped us off. On more than one occasion I remember her mom, cool as a cucumber, mentioning, “Hang on. We’re about to get in a wreck.” No emotion. No terror. No nothing. Just a little update on the world around us…about to come crashing down.
Casually.
We all know that person who doesn’t bat an eye when they drop their phone and crack the screen. The one who burns an entire dinner and then orders pizza instead. The one who takes Taylor Swift’s song “Shake it Off” literally. Just a go with the flow, non-reaction-having, even finding the good in everything people. THOSE are the “Be anxious for nothing” people.

I’m not those people.

But I’d like to be.

It’s things I don’t even notice. Worrying about choosing between the $12 carwash and the $14 car wash. Pacing about how long I should wait before Ieaving so I don’t get to the party too early OR too late. Overthinking what MIGHT happen when I go to the doctor. I am not even AWARE when I’m worrying about these things. In fact, I’m not aware how MUCH I worry until I take a Xanax and realize how incredibly lovely life can be!!
And so, my goal now is the BE the Xanax. To give up the worry. To “be anxious for nothing”. First, of course, to begin noticing the anxiety. Then, to choose NOT to be anxious. I’ll simply decide that everything in my life has worked out well up to to this point, and so why wouldn’t it continue to do so?
Then. I’ll just be fine. I’ll just…not be anxious. Simple as that.
I have no idea if this is going to work, but please check back every now and again to see if I’m still here. If I’m still here…it’s working.

Vote Fan. 2014.

I’ve always had a weird sense of humor, but I gotta tell ya. My friends and I took it over the top yesterday.

It all started yesterday morning when two lovely Jehovah’s Witnesses came to my door with literature. Now, I’m a big fan of God. He reads my blog. But I don’t know that he necessarily wants people interrupting my sacred morning coffee to receive his word. Besides. God knows me. He knows I can’t READ before I’ve had coffee. So, I politely thanked them for their pamphlet through my bleary eyes and crusty-cornered mouth, and promptly set all the literature on my roommate Jason’s bed. You know. Just to see if it would catch fire.

Anyway, it got me a little tickled.

Then I finished my coffee and opened my computer. I read about Fan Gate. If you’re not from Florida, you probably haven’t heard about this. And that’s a good thing. Because…Oh, Florida. Basically Charlie Crist and Rick Scott, both candidates for Florida’s governor, were set to have a debate. However, it was REPORTED that Rick Scott refused to take the stage because Charlie Crist had a fan blowing beneath his podium and I guess Mr. Scott thought that was against the rules. A few of my friends laughed about this on Facebook because even if it’s not true, it’s a hilarious story. And it was hilarious. All fun and games. Until one friend posted what was the become the focus of my entire day.

Screen shot 2014-10-17 at 3

And therein, “Vote Fan” was born. We began simply by making puns.

Vote Fan! You’ll be blown away!
Vote Fan! Fanning the flames of the future!
I’m Florida’s number 1 Fan fan.
Vote Fan! He’s so cool!

Then, one of my friends went as far as making a campaign poster for Fan. (We all have jobs, I swear.)

10659386_10203641624773721_1423442071019265878_n

You read that? “The winds of change are blowing?” Please tell me you chuckled.

As we sat on the back porch of my neighbor’s house later that afternoon howling with laughter over the ridiculousness of actually taking the time to create a campaign poster for a fan, we also took a moment to recognize the BRILLIANCE. We were ON to something. (Have I mentioned that me and my friends are certifiable?) So as we continued coming up with pun after pun regarding Fan’s campaign for governor, my neighbor left the porch.
He came back with FOUR floor fans. And guess what?

We were having a Fan 2014 campaign rally.

10422959_10204515462919374_2775724008858521331_n

I feel like I should mention that we werent even drinking.

Soon, though, it became the first interview with the family of Fan, of “fan-ily”. We gathered around and asked the fans questions. In case you can’t see in the picture, one of the fans is holding yard clippers because he believes Fan is going to “cut spending”. Another has on gardening gloves because he believes Fan is ready to GET HIS HANDS DIRTY. The American flag is of course draped across the seat. After all. ‘Murica.
And, please. Don’t ignore the fact that Fan’s grandbaby was even in attendance.

10734218_10204515463039377_3344767808002882029_n

Sweet little baby Fan fan.

By the end of the ridiculousness, we were all walking away from the “interview” singing, “We are Fan-ily!”

Again. WE WERE NOT DRINKING.

I tell you this to remind you that there are MANY MANY important things you need to do everyday in your life. Many times you will find work is upon you and you must focus your energies on making money and making a home. But please…consider that some days should be thrown to the wind (see that? I added another pun) and given up completely to things that make you laugh uncontrollably like you’re in high school because, well, you’re acting like you’re in high school. Find a reason this weekend, find the right people this weekend, and just be silly. Cut out the serious and have a Fan fan rally. Just laugh and enjoy laughing for a while. It’s totally worth it.

Vote Fan. 2014.

You Go First

96d685e4ad52ffb12174f838583889d6A mom is making pancakes for her two young sons. She places the first finished pancake on a serving platter at the table and both boys immediately begin to argue over who gets it. 
“It’s mine because I’m older,” the older boy says.
“It’s mine because I’m hungrier!” the younger boy says.
The mom decides this is a teachable moment. She looks at her children and says, “Boys, you know, if it was Jesus, he would give the first pancake to his brother.”
The two boys sat quietly for a few moments until the older one looked at his brother and said, “You be Jesus.”

I heard this story on a podcast the other day and I laughed out loud. The point of the story was to ask where in your life you’re waiting for someone else to do the right thing. A parent, a partner, a best friend, a child…whoever it is, you’re waiting for someone else (usually someone who is very important to you) to go first. At what point did you decide that it’s not your JOB to step up to the plate and apologize, take responsibility, or make the first move? Getting stuck in the “shoulds” of life (“He did it so he should apologize first.” or “She is the one who is wrong so she should have to come to me to start the conversation.”) is totes normal, yeah? It’s pretty easy to decide YOU deserve to sit back and wait for someone else to step up.

In clearer terms, and in the grown-up world, giving up the first pancake is akin to eating the shit-sandwich. Sorry, but it is. No one wants to put their own ego and baggage aside and just eat it. We want someone else to do it, someone who DESERVES to eat a shit-sandwich. Because WE don’t deserve shit-sandwiches. WE are the good guys!!

And then we all have to put on our big-kid pants and realize that sometimes the good guy eats the shit-sandwich. Actually…most of the time he does. The good guy goes into the black forest first, the good guy says “I’m sorry” first. The good guy, the guy who deserves a grilled cheese with pickles and a cup of tomato soup, has to swallow a big cup of pride instead and not necessarily do the RIGHT thing…but do the HARD thing.

It’s hard to give up the first pancake. It’s SUPER hard to say “I’m sorry” when you were both wrong and SHE started it. It’s even a little hard to be the first one to say “bless you” out loud in public when someone you don’t know sneezes. And you know what? You don’t have to do ANY of those things. You can pick the easy thing and just continue on with life. But what happens when you choose the hard thing is you learn, you release another little piece of your ego, you demonstrate to someone else how to eat the shit-sandwich so maybe they will do it next time. More than anything, though, you GROW UP and realize that the world isn’t here waiting around to see what it can do for you. You need to do the right thing, the hard thing. You need to eat the sandwich and stop waiting for someone to eat it for you.

Yes. You. EVEN YOU, the one sitting here reading this saying to yourself, “Right, but she doesn’t know what HE did to me…” Yep. I even mean you in your horrible, nobody-understand, worst-ever situation. You need to give him the first pancake.

You go first.

 

God Reads My Blog

So I had a HOLY WOW moment Monday night sitting at the dinner table with Bear.

2b25a55243e10a53ffa695a74ef8ab60We were chatting about our days over a lovely hunk of grilled lamb, some kale greens, noodles, and a salad. He’d just finished a exuberant explanation of his day, which I always find interesting. Bear manages a staff of people who are, well, unpredictable. As soon as one shows up, another calls out. As soon as one completes a job, another throws a fit about working with an “idiot” on his team. This all happens while he’s on the phone listening to one of his other workers, a grown man, trying to work out his girlfriend issues with his boss (Bear) before coming to work at 6:30am. It always makes for lively dinner conversation listening to him “You’re not going to believe THIS!” and “As if it couldn’t get more ridiculous…” while he gnaws on a lamb bone.

“How was your day?” he never fails to ask once the diatribe ends.
“It was great! I was deciding whether or not to take a nap and…” My day is always less lively than his, but on this particular day I was very excited to share one part of it. “…I was feeling less than necessary since Abe is at his dad’s this week and I thought maybe instead of taking a nap I would ask God what I should do. And God said, ‘You should get up and take a walk.'”
“Mmmhmm,” he listened.
“So I got up and walked and I listened to a podcast and I just felt so invigorated and re-energized by it all. My blood got moving a bit and the podcast was really powerful and…” I stopped. I looked at his face. It was…weird. “What?” I asked him.
“Nothing. I’m just listening.”
“No. Really. What?”
“Nothing. I just never hear you talk about God.”
“What?! I talk about God all the time!”
“Ok. Not really,” he said as he scanned his brain looking for examples of me talking about God. “I didn’t really even know you believed in God.”
“WHAT? I feel like I’m in The Twilight Zone! Seriously? You don’t think I believe in God?!”
“I don’t know! I just know you don’t really talk about him that way. You say ‘Universe’ or ‘Higher Power’. Never just…God.”

Hmph.

He was right. I really don’t say that…word. So I started asking myself why I don’t.

Hey. Self? Why don’t you talk about God?

So me and my Self had a conversation:

I am an open, loving, compassionate individual and I want to reach as many people as possible using my words. I don’t want someone who is Buddhist, Muslim, Atheist, Spiritualist, or anything else to feel they can’t access my blog if I use that word. I’m scared to use that word.
Why are you scared?
Because that word might shut someone’s brain off.
Why on Earth would that word shut someone off?
Because it shuts my brain off.
Why?
Because I grew up with a God who was rigid, literal, and who I didn’t relate to. There were right ways and wrong ways and people JUDGED other people based on those right ways and wrong ways. That’s not who my God is anymore. I am a progressive, forward thinker and my God is, too.
Well…What if those are the very words other people need to hear?!
Oh. Well. You have a point there.

I’m coming clean. I’m scared that if I use the word God in my blogs I will scare away the people who don’t like that word and/or I will offend the people who only use it in a certain way. But at my core, I know I’m trying to share good and honest lessons that I learn day-to-day and, sometimes, those lessons include God. I don’t need anybody to believe what I believe, and I don’t need to be convinced of what anybody else believes. My God is mine, and I should probably start referring to Him by name.

So there you are, people. God. God. God. God. God. Call him what you want. Think of him how you want. Worship him how you want. Talk to him how you want. Love him how you want. Call him a her, call him Universe, call him Love. I don’t care. And while you do, I’m going to give myself permission to do the same.

I believe in God.
I know God.
I talk to God.
I’m learning about God everyday, and there’s a LOT left to learn.
There are lots of ways to experience God and no single one is “right”.
God blesses me all the time.
God even reads my blog.

If that turns your brain off, all the use of that word, I get it and I accept it. If it doesn’t, then keep reading. ‘Cuz I think my relationship with God is changing, for the better.

 

 

 

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