Listen...

I'm joining the Gypsy Mama for her Five Minute Friday Challenges. We write because we love words and the relief it is to just write them without worrying if they’re just right or not. No editing, no back peddling. We take five minutes on Friday and write like we used to run when we were kids. On Fridays we write like we believe we can fly. Won’t you join us? Today's subject: Listen. 

***

We sat across from each other, sipping on lemon flavored drinks, eating cupcakes and queso--my mom and I.  Father's day is this weekend and I could tell it was weighing heavily on us both, the seventh father's day he had been gone. We started to talk, to reminisce, to open up about the good, the bad, and the uncomfortable. We laughed, we talked about family history, and then my mom told me something I'll never forget.

'You know, your dad was a great artist, he just never let anyone know it.'

I stared back, mustering the only words I could, letting the truth of that statement wash over me...   'I never knew that... '

I knew my dad to be many things. He read Stephen Hawking (and understood him),  loved to work with his hands and could teach himself to do just about anything, and was passionate about anything history related. He was logical, analytical, and demanded perfection from both himself and others. When I decided I wanted to be a singer and go to The Boston Conservatory, he was the one who lectured me on the dangers of choosing a career that provided no security.

And it was his voice that led me right out of that life.

Because I think for a long time now I've been trying to please my dad, seeking security and comfort over a life of passion. Trying to be logical, analytical, and steady-- except that in reality he was none of those things himself. 

As she continued to speak, my image of him began to shatter. And in the shattering, a peace. I'd always thought I was too much, too different, too weird. I had often felt like a square peg trying to fit the round hole that was my family. But it turns out, that artsy personality I've been squelching all these years....I come by it honestly.

So if you could do it all over, would you both go after your passions? 

I can see the answer before she says it.  

Yes, I think I would.  She nods slowly, eating a last bite of frosting.

She stares for a bit at our mashed banana cupcake that we've destroyed as we've talked, and I can see the truth in her eyes.  Don't give up your dreams for what looks like security. 

And for once, I'm listening.

Boundaries:: When I'm Not You

I'm guest posting today at one of my sheroes' blogs:: Elora Nicole. I'm in her Story Sessions Course and when she asked for guest posters I began to peruse the topics she'd set each week. Then I felt that familiar tug, the one that says I'm about to ask you to do what you don't want to. So, I chose the boundary week and if you know me, that's a miracle in itself. Boundaries are not something I've been good at--they're unfamiliar territory. Traversing them has been like hiking in the wilderness without a compass, just the sweet sound of  God's voice calling me out. Part of this journey too, has been learning to give credence to my voice. Learning to live out of vulnerability and authenticity has been the hardest thing I've walked through yet, and this post, it's a part of that. But I'm bracing myself because it's sure to come with a vulnerability hangover!

“What do you need right now?”

The counselor looks at me with her eyebrows raised as I started and stopped, trying to find words to a question I’d never considered. 

“I don’t….know.” Was all I could manage. 

“Okay, what do you want right now?” 

“I don’t…I don’t really know.” My cheeks turned red with frustration. This was getting ridiculous! What woman didn’t know the answer to these simple questions. How had I gotten this way?

Continue here...

Love.

What do you think about women in ministry?

I realize I'm headed into dangerous territory. It's politics and religion, all wrapped up in one messy ball that the church itself has been trying to unravel since Eve picked that piece of fruit. And I'm asking a man, which automatically gives him a different world view than mine. 

His wife looks nervously at us both, not knowing what to expect,  and although I'm a little anxious, I'm genuinely curious how this will go. He's more conservative and I'm an idealist (sometimes to a fault). Those who've gone before us set the precedence of what to expect, but we're determined to have a different outcome.

He gives his opinion, gently and honestly. There is no agenda in his reply, just a genuine want to understand. I respond in kind, and what happens is more than a debate about theology and ideas. Honor happens. Respect happens. Love happens.

Everyone breathes a sigh of relief, because this is no more than two friends talking. Friends who want to understand and process. Friends who want to live in unity. 

This. This is the gospel. And I suddenly understand Paul's admonition that "If (we) have the gift of prophecy, and know all mysteries and all knowledge; and if (we) have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, (we are) nothing.^{"
 
We end our night with a late night Sonic run, and as I look at two of my dearest friends, I thank God for them. For their love, and for their willingness to enter into hard subjects with gentleness and purpose. 
 
Because as much as I love a good debate, without love--it's all just chatter and clanging gongs.}