Hard Won

Our love is hard won.

I get emotional every time I think about it. Maybe because we're not quite out of the woods yet. Maybe because I'm afraid we'll have another fight and we'll go back to being distant. Maybe because I'm afraid you'll leave like my parents left, like the people I thought would be my friends left. I don't want to be the one being left anymore. If anyone is doing the leaving it's going to be me. Because that's what the strong, decisive people do. They leave. And the weak ones stay, heaps of inadequacy and unwanted-ness. I think that is such shit. I'm not buying it.

Sometimes love warriors stay. I'm the staying kind. I know you are too. You could have left when our sex wasn't what you expected. You could have left when I was a shell of a person for over a year, crumbling under the weight of anxiety and depression, calling you almost every day to talk me down from panic attacks. You could have left when I got pregnant only six months into our marriage. You could have left when I couldn't hold a job because I was too overwhelmed. You could have left every single time I spiraled into the meaning vacuum and wanted more from and for my own life. You could have left when I started making bold moves to show up for myself and speak my truth even though it caused a million conflicts between you and me. You continue to make space for me. Sometimes it's really messy. I yell and throw a fit because things aren't going my way and my needs aren't being met and then you throw it back at me and say your needs aren't being met either. It makes me sad to hear that, but I do hear you. I make space for you too. Because you're worth it. I don't want to do today or tomorrow or the next ten years if you're not with me. We've done all the hard growing up things together. I grow with you, process with you. You're with me in everything.

Thanks for asking me to date you. Thanks for telling me you'll take me anywhere with you. Thanks for asking me to marry you. Thanks for our first treehouse apartments. Thanks for our daughter. Thanks for my new car. Thanks for working hard for our family every day. Thanks for saying yes and doing the hard work of marriage counseling with me. Thanks for being patient with me. Thanks for giving me space and grace to become more myself. Thanks for taking me on dates and trips. Thanks for dancing with me. Thanks for being honest with me. Thanks for making me laugh at almost everything. Thanks for encouraging me to write. Thanks for this home, our first actual house. Thanks for holding my hand through it all.

We (accidentally) walked down the aisle to "love is not a victory march; it's a sad and it's a broken hallelujah." I think Geri was still a little hungover. I also think it's time we redeemed that walk. You know Touching Heaven by JOHNNYSWIM, I know you do. Well, I won't be holding my breath for chariots. I'm not just waiting for skies to part. You've been my glimpse of Kingdom right from the start. And you got me touching heaven. You're my hallelujah, babe.

I love you, Dan- more now than ever before. Thank you for picking me over and over again every day, for saying "I do" every single morning when you make me a cup of tea and kiss my cheek. Thank you for turning toward me, for learning with me. Thank you for hearing me and valuing me. Thanks for speaking up and caring about important things. Our love is hard won, but we really are winning. We are strong. I love my life with you.

Forever and ever and ever more, with my whole heart,

Leah

whatever

Finally beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.

Philippians 4:8 

Good morning, lovelies. I need my people today. I'm having a hard time believing in resurrection. I think it's because I'm tired, because change is slow, because I feel lonely, because Emma has been sick and/or on antibiotics for three weeks now. Today is her sixth birthday and she is home sick. She missed her own birthday party on Saturday because she was sick then too. How many absences is too many? We're up to six now. I just want to make her well already so she can run and play with her friends, so we can all sleep at normal times at night, so she doesn't have to see the doctor again (we've been three times in as many weeks). I don't want to be quarantined anymore, for my own sake. I need hugs and face time and understanding from my people. Being shut up in my house mostly for the last five days has me feeling a little crazy. So I'm here today. Showing up, asking for kindness and understanding. 

Dan and I talked a little bit this morning before he left for work. We talked about things that frustrate us and the things we dread (there are kind of a lot of those things). I think it's important to share things in marriage. It's important to be honest with one another. We do that and it's good, but it's important to be honest about other things too- about what you love and what you hope and what you're good at and what you'd like to try in the future. And that's where Paul's reminder to the Philippians comes in- "whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things." Does this mean we ignore the things that are horrible and false and hurtful and an absolute mess? Absolutely not. Please don't be ignorant. But that shouldn't be the place where we focus our attention. It's like strengths-based research says, play to your strengths, the things you do well. Spend your time and attention on those areas and you will be more successful in developing meaningful relationships and engaging in fulfilling experiences. When we focus on our deficits we spend all our time and energy trying to develop areas we may never excel in and exhaust ourselves with unrealistic expectations and taunt ourselves with missed opportunities (which is the opposite of success, meaning, and fulfillment, guys). 

I hate the meaning vacuum. I feel it now. And I hate it. Today I'm reminding myself of true things, beautiful things, pure things, excellent things. I picked this hibiscus and it's next to me while I write. I love this variety because as they bloom, they unfurl like fluffy, tiered princess dresses and that makes my heart happy. I'm listening to Audrey Assad's "Even Unto Death" which I may have recommended before but I don't even care because I love it so much! It's piano-driven and that's my favorite; the piano coveys such emotion. And the way all the other instruments fill in and swell... it's perfect. I can't sing enough about how Jesus is the lover of my soul and just the thought of him fills my heart with love. I downloaded a bunch of podcasts to listen to today, most of them by women because after being in church my whole life I'm kind of sick of listening to men be the experts on everything (sorry, gentlemen). I've read some of the Psalms and some of John and also Philippians today too. I really want to think on the good things. Some of my closest and favorite friends are coming over tonight. I'm looking forward to hugging them and snuggling up on the couch and being understood. 

I have more I want to say, so much more. Another time, I guess. Tomorrow, probably. Thanks for meeting me here. Something to think about in preparation for tomorrow's post: what do you do when the structure/institution that facilitated and sustained your fledgeling relationship with Jesus doesn't seem to do that/be necessary anymore? What if Jesus has proven himself faithful to you in the hardest times and he's the one who sustains the relationship now and everything else feels superfluous and weird? Help me unpack those ideas tomorrow.

I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!

Leah

lover

Anxiety is a funny thing and by funny I mean awful. I remember being in my last year of college, laying the driver's seat back, feeling like I couldn't inhale enough air, thinking I'm going to die here in my car in the Sun Dome parking lot and because USF sucks and everyone sucks and life sucks no one will even come to help me. Just saying it again makes me sick. I was having a panic attack. I'd had them before but I didn't know what they were (I just thought I was crazy) and they were never that bad. I had been experiencing numbness and tingling sensations in my arms and legs. I wasn't sleeping well. Nothing made me happy. I felt lost, alone, purposeless. I was living at home still and after a year of feeling this way my parents finally decided to make me one million doctor appointments. I saw the pediatrician first, at 19 I saw a pediatrician. He wasn't the normal one I saw, but he was kind and liked my jokes. He referred me to a neurologist who sent me for an echo of my heart, an MRI of my head and neck, and a ton of blood work. Good news- everything came back fine! Bad news- I still felt like shit.

I'm not sure exactly when I started to feel better. Dan and I got married a few months later and there would be nights in our first apartment when I couldn't sleep and I felt frantic and we'd walk the blocks around our house late into the night. At some point, though, I started to feel better and so I moved on and didn't think about anxiety. I had a baby less than a year after that so all my attention went there, to Emma and to trying to sleep and to making sure I kept her alive. I was fine for four-ish years except that I never addressed any of the anxiety I had felt and I had very few emotional supporters besides my husband and I still tried to live the life I was "supposed" to live- happy, working/contributing, super-mom, world's best wife, cleanest house, rested, full of energy. BLAHBLAHBLAH. So, as to be expected with anxiety it showed up unexpectedly again in January 2015 and tried to take my life.

I traveled to Missouri in January to visit some old, very dear friends. I flew ALONE for the first time. And I even had connecting flights. I made it. I was a little nervous I wouldn't given my emotional and mental state, but I made it. Another thing about anxiety, it robs you of all other feelings. And when you feel anxious all your attention is there on the things that make you afraid, not on the actual, beautiful things that are right in front of you. Anxiety robs us of the best gift we have in life- the present moment. And I hate that. Over a year of my life was stolen by anxiety. Panic attacks by day, fearful thoughts about this being the end of my life at night. Nothing made me happy, nothing made sense, nothing added meaning to my life. I was anxious, depressed, and suicidal. Me. A 26 year-old stay-at-home-mom living in sunny Florida.

At the time we had one car and I was trapped at home with our then four year-old daughter most days. I would get a ride most Thursdays to church to attend a women's Bible study group. There was childcare and there were other adults to talk to- I was in! One of my favorite people was there too, friend of my heart, more like a sister than anything. We sat together, huddled, talking about the things that were most important to us and the things that hurt us. It was the best part of every week for me during the high anxiety time. In February my sister-friend asked me to see a therapist. She always prefaces her requests with "no pressure" because she knows I need permission to say or do whatever I want when it comes to making hard calls. She gave me the name and number of her therapist, told me she was local and I could get in as soon as possible. I held onto the number for another month in denial. The mental mixtape playing songs like, "I shouldn't be having a meltdown because I have a beautiful life" and "What will my family think when they find out I'm going to therapy?"

Aside: this is 100% difficult to write. I'm not that far removed from the high anxiety time. I'm afraid that if I write about it and remember it and feel all the feels, anxiety will overthrow love and grace and rule over my life again. I literally just asked Dan to pray with me. When I don't feel strong enough, I rally my people. Usually we pray. Prayer is my first line of defense in the war to believe truth over lies. I am safe, held by God because Psalm 139:5 says, "You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me." I am not ruled by fear because 2 Timothy 1:7 says, "God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind." So, I continue to do hard things. Because God is with me and he will never let me go.

Back to therapy. I finally called after holding the therapist's (let's call her Erica) number tight for over a month. I filled out ALL the paperwork and scheduled my first session online. The day of my first session came and I was beyond nervous to say to someone Hi, I have a problem and then ask for help. I waited for Dan to come home from work and then I drove myself in our one car to therapy. When I got there Erica was still with another client so I sat in the waiting room, sweating and stressing about all the things that could possibly go horribly wrong during my session. You know, normal people things. But Erica came to get me wearing a big snuggly cardigan and the kindest smile and I knew I'd be ok. I think I cried more than anything else during that first session. I remember focusing my attention on my senses and detailing all the things I could hear, taste, smell, touch (my eyes were closed). At the end of that exercise I felt so relaxed. I even asked if I could sleep on her couch in her office. She got me. And at a time when I needed a support system but didn't have a very functional one in my real life, Erica stepped in for me. We did battle together. We prayed and fought against "the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places" that oppressed me (more on that later if you have questions). She helped me get my life back.

I went to see Erica every week in the beginning for the first two months, I think. In one of those first few sessions we talked about my name. I'm sure I was rattling off all the things I was upset about with my life, how nothing was fulfilling, how trapped I felt. Erica did this thing that she doesn't normally do- she interrupted me. She said something like, "I think you're being called by the wrong name. I want you to ask God what name he's given you. All these things you're focusing on, all the things you're trying to be and do, they're ill-fitting. They're not what he has for you." So I did the eye roll thing I do and I was like, "Fine. I'll ask him." And she was like, "No. Do it right now. And ask aloud." So I rolled my eyes again, believing that God would hear me but probably not give me a straight answer because sometimes following God feels like stumbling through a labyrinth in the dark. I asked aloud what name he had for me. Erica said we'd wait as long as it took, but that didn't matter because I immediately knew what my name was. The one God gave me when he was forming me in the dark and in utter seclusion, as he knit me together in my mother's womb (see Psalm 139). Lover. I heard it so clearly in my mind and felt it so strongly in my heart. Lover. And when I said it aloud it felt a little silly, like true things often do after you've been mucking about in the lies for so long. But my name is perfect. It's so fitting. Of course it is; God knew. He continues to know what he's doing even when I don't.

As I become more of myself, more Lover and less everything else, I see that the high anxiety time was necessary. It was necessary for shaking off all my old identifiers, all the pressures and expectations that had been heaped on me by others or often by myself. God's been holding my hand the whole time while the old, untrue things fall off and away. The one thing I'm left with is my unshakeable core, the truth that undergirds everything- I am me, no more, no less, and I am God's, held and loved by him forever. Sometimes I still feel afraid. Some days are long and I crawl to my bed exhausted by 7:30 pm. But now I am brave, which means doing hard things even if I feel scared. And now I am empowered because I know God is making me more and more into my Lover-self, he's making me new. My new creation-self is my Lover-self is my self. And I'm so happy about this I could cry (I mean, let's face it, I probably will cry). I'm so grateful God didn't give up on me. Neither did Dan or Erica or my sweet sister-friend. And I couldn't have done any of this without them. Thank you. THANK YOU!

Maybe believing in any god at all is hard for you. Maybe believing that the God of people who claim to be Jesus followers is hard for you. I hope that wherever you wander, your heart finds peace. Sometimes you have to just wait and let the truth wash over you and over you and over you. This song has soothed my heart and been my prayer almost every day for the last month. Maybe it will be yours too.

I love you, friends. Go bravely and listen carefully for your true name.

May grace and peace be with you today.

Love,
Leah

day 2

You know what's sexy? Day 1 of everything. DAY 1 ALL THE TIME!!!!!!!!!!! You know what's not sexy? Day 2 of anything. There's nothing glamorous about day 2 and all the other days that come after that. I know because I woke up this morning exhausted and thought maybe I should go back to sleep (but I didn't because I'm not a quitter- hahaha). I washed my face and tied up my hair just like I did yesterday but I didn't feel like my unicorn self anymore, I just feel like my dear God someone tell that woman to put her feet up and tuck her back in self. I started Yoga Camp with Adriene the day before I started my writing adventure so that makes today day 3 of yoga camp. And my body is not thrilled about this decision, not right now. After getting up early, writing, and knocking out day 2 of yoga camp yesterday I felt like a superhero. Today, not so much. I feel empty. At least now I'm paying enough attention to know what that feels like before ALL the internal warning bells and whistles sound (my therapist continues to help me with that). I know I need to fill up, to rest, let go of the try-hard-life. It makes sense why I woke up with Matthew 11:28-30 on my mind. Jesus was addressing a crowd about how God's truths are revealed to little children and hidden from the wise/learned. And then he said, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." I need the rest for my soul. I need the easy and light part too. Why does it often feel really heavy to be a person?! That's my job, right, to be a person? Why is it so difficult?

I spend a lot of time in church. That's where we have our vocation now. It's protestant and contemporary and big-ish. There's a stage and lights and a fog machine or two. We have talented people in prominent positions. But sometimes, like last night, I walk through the doors and I want to do a little dance in each office and yell BE AN ACTUAL PERSON!!!!!!!!! I just want them to engage with me in a meaningful way. Like could we just talk about how hard life is sometimes? Does it always have to be about church services and what part we play in them (which for me is none) or the latest movie you saw or how you broke the printer (again)? Why else would Jesus offer his people rest for our souls if our souls weren't troubled in the first place? CAN WE PLEASE STOP ACTING LIKE EVERYTHING IS ALWAYS FINE?! I think I know why this happens. I think it centers on identity- who and whose we are. I know that's where it starts for me. I've been paying attention to and asking those whose and who questions for over a year now. I know if I live from the place where I am held, loved, cared for by God and where I lean into my hippie nature, my lover name (I'll tell you that story tomorrow), my values then I am secure. I know who and whose I am and I can be honest about that. If you're not sure or you just flat out don't know the answer to the whose and who questions, I think it's hard to be honest about anything. It's easy to blame so hear me, church people, I'm not blaming you. I just want an awareness, an awakening to actual life- the one where we all take a collective exhale, stop comparing, and just show up and tell our truth. Show up for yourself and let yourself be seen. We need your voice, your unique contribution to our world. I know I do. Maybe this morning you feel like me and you want to be tucked back in and you want it to be less hard to be a person and you want other people to try being a person with you so you know you're not alone. This song came on while I was writing and I needed the reminder God's mercies are new every morning, for me and for you. Grace and peace to you, friends. Go out and be a person today. I'm with you.

Love,
Leah

P.S. Shout out to my people (some pictured and a lot of them not) who help me be a person. I love you more than words could say.

writing to publish

It's dark outside. You guys, I'm awake before the sun even is! This is a big deal. I woke up a little before my alarm (which was set for 6 am) because I just couldn't sleep anymore. I felt like I used to when it was the first day of school- so nervous/excited I could throw up (I didn't throw up today, don't worry). I got dressed, tied up my hair, washed my face, and prepared my space. This morning I started something new; I started writing to publish. I was inspired by Glennon Doyle Melton (whose blog is as AMAZING as she is and you can follow it here at http://momastery.com/blog/). I listened to an old RobCast yesterday, episode 80, where Rob Bell interviewed Glennon on her back patio. Amidst birds chirping and cars passing by, she told the story of how she began writing and what it practically looked like for her. She said when she started it was because she had to tell the truth and because she was sober and couldn't tell the truth through her addiction anymore she had to use her words (WOW, just let that sink in for a minute). She disciplined herself, woke up every morning at 4:45 (so she wouldn't be interrupted by her small children), wrote whatever she wanted for an hour and a half, and then hit "publish" at the end of every writing session. Glennon said it helped keep her from perfectionism.

I don't know exactly what it was about her interview, but it felt like a challenge. And today I accepted the challenge. I just feel sick of saying, "I started a book," "Dan built me a website but I can't figure out how to get the content on there," "I don't have enough time to write every day." Excuses! I'm done with excuses, especially for the things I care a lot about. I have a lot in me. If you know me at all you know this to be true. Sometimes I feel like I'll burst from all the feelings and ideas I carry inside me. I know it's exhausting at best and overwhelming at worst for some of the people I talk to the most. I know this because sometimes their eyes roll around or they fall asleep or they just sit and have zero response afterward. Hahahaha! I'm more ok with it now, taking it a lot less personally. So, I'm writing because I have to, which is why I even started blogging five years ago when my girl was a baby and we lived in the treehouse. But I'm also writing as an experiment/adventure of sorts. I'm out to find my people, the ones who my words resonate with and who have things to say back. I love conversation and being together and understanding. That doesn't happen too often with people in my real life. I think it's because they value other things.

A couple weeks ago, I completed this REALLY hard Brené Brown exercise where I had to define my personal values. From a list of 50+ important things I had to pick my top three. TOP THREE?! I love words, all the words, more is more, and I can only pick 3 out of 50?! What kind of cruel injustice is this?! Welp, after an hour I was able to incorporate a lot of the words into my top three and I'm happy to report I didn't die. My top three: faith, honesty, love. And they're perfect, really. They sum up everything that I really care about and want to work hard for in my life. The cool thing about tools like this values exercise is they don't tell you any new information. They tell you what has always been true all along, but they illuminate the truth and give you language for things that were just amorphous concepts before. So, I'm pretty serious about my values and by "pretty serious" I mean I'm using them as a decision filter, to borrow a term from Donald Miller, for literally everything I have to make a call on in a day. It's hard, but it's worth the awareness and the peace, freedom, and joy that comes from being a integrated person. To me, an integrated person is so secure in her identity that her words and actions reflect her values. I want to be that person. I value faith, honesty, and love. A lot of people in my real life right now aren't too concerned with the honesty part, which for me includes beautiful things like vulnerability and authenticity and connection. So, I'm out to write because I have to tell the truth and I have to find my people. This is my internet message in a bottle. Wherever you are, I love you. I can't wait to hear from you.

Love,
Leah

P.S. I'm hitting "publish" now. <3

For the lonely and the ones who ask questions and the ones who wander

From Easter:

I went to my happy place today- the one where the roads are made of bricks and there are street cars and bars and tattoo parlors and cigar shops and my favorite local tea place and people. There are all kinds of people in this city. A lot of them offering warm smiles or even free chocolate milk for my girl. There's a lot of pain in this city too. Street corners lined with homeless people. Some of them look like me- young, white. I overheard a girl telling stories about her tattoos. "This one here? It used to be a ruined city to remind me of my shitty childhood." She laughed wryly at the end. I know it still hurts. And I hurt too- over things that haven't happened and things that have. But I feel happy here in this city. No one's pulling any punches with me here, not yet. They answer me straight and ask me hard questions and dare me to engage. I always feel more human when I do. My afternoon such a stark contrast to my morning. How is it I feel more safe in the arms of the city than I do in the arms of the church?

Honestly

I think a lot of people are taken aback by my honesty. I sat across the lunch table from some pretty excellent people today. I told them all they were invited to my house whenever they wanted, but I am pretty picky about who I spend my time with. I instructed them not to bring anyone over that I wasn't absolutely sure I liked. And there it was. Blank stares. And slowly the hesitant oks rolled in and I felt like an idiot. I did that thing again where I said something that people don't normally say. It was an honest thing, a vulnerable thing. I didn't really think about it before I said it. I always say what I mean (unless I can't find/don't have the words then I just say that instead).But as I sat with these people whom I love and enjoy I noticed their sideways glances and half-smiles at my comment and felt alone. Am I the only who thinks these things. I sure as hell must be the only one who says them. I feel like I'm too much and not enough all at the same time. I wonder if any of those people will ever sit on my couch and eat popcorn and drink weird beer and talk and laugh and cry into the night. Where are the people like me? There are a few. I know because they're already my friends. They already sit around my coffee table and let me snuggle their babies and help me do my dishes and laugh/cry/sing with me. I'm grateful for my friends and I wish for deeper connection and understanding with my friend-hopefuls. Maybe that's just me or maybe it's not but I'm the only one saying it.

Honestly,

Leah