community health & wellness

Now go do something about it.

Tonight was the last night of Holy Yoga training, which feels so crazy. It’s been a short and long nine weeks. I’ve read and meditated and stretched and journaled more than I have in years, and it still doesn’t feel like enough. But that’s okay. This is just the beginning of the journey. I didn’t sign on to yoga instructor training because I knew it all or had it all together. I didn’t even sign on in order to learn how to teach yoga. I signed on to learn more about the Lord and myself. I signed on to learn more about my body and heart, and about taking care of others’ bodies and hearts.

Anyway, tonight was the last online class before our retreat, and the instructor sure didn’t let us off of the hook. Even though there are always more than forty people on the call, the instructors always expect us to engage. Tonight was no different. We were asked to share what we’ve been learning over the last week through our personal practice and our Scripture study.

Although I’m not shy about sharing and I’m comfortable with technology and I sure enjoy a good discourse, conference calls make me so stinkin’ nervous. The delays, the silence, the awkward interruptions when three people speak at once. It all makes me sweat. I’ve talked maybe once or twice during this training, but I typically just stay quiet and take notes throughout the evening. But this isn’t a story about me speaking up; it is a story about the Holy Spirit speaking up.

As the regulars (you know, the few solid students willing to share or give feedback to keep things moving) began to speak up and participate tonight, the instructor took a new approach with our nearly-graduated class.

How would you incorporate that into a class?

It was very practical, encouraging feedback. But even as the words came out of her mouth, I felt convicted in the most beautiful of ways. The familiar whisper, the nudging of the Spirit. The part of the Trinity who sees the good work Jesus has done in me and longs for me to share it with my world. Even if it’s not complete. Even if it feels like it isn’t enough.

My little children, don’t just talk about love as an idea or a theory. Make it your true way of life, and live in the pattern of gracious love. There is a sure way for us to know that we belong to the truth. Even though our inner thoughts may condemn us with storms of guilt and constant reminders of our failures, we can know in our hearts that in His presence God Himself is greater than any accusation. He knows all things. 1 John 3:18-20, The Voice

He’s given us an easy yoke, a light burden. He’s given us good news. He’s blessed his kids with gifting and anointing, platform and resources. When He works on us, He does it for His glory and our good… and then the good of others. There’s one sure-fire way to know that we belong to the Truth, and that is by living out the abundant life we’ve been given.

As a daughter of the Most High, I’m invited to victorious living in just a few simple steps. It’s as simple as brushing off the enemy’s accusations that I am not enough. I don’t answer to him, and I sure as hell don’t belong to him. It’s as simple as putting on the armor as my Father instructs me, because I know his voice to be true and trustworthy. I can attest that his presence is the gift. It’s as simple as going out into my world and quite literally loving people’s faces off (thanks Jess).

Here’s what I heard from the Lord tonight… I love you. I paid for you. You’re enough because I say so. Now go do something about it.

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life lately racial reconciliation

What I can do – a day in the life of a white woman with privilege.

How do you tell people one of your 2016 goals is to see more racial reconciliation? How do you quantify unity and healing when people ask about your aspirations for the year? How do you put words to something like that, and keep it from looking hollow and trite when it’s written down on the same piece of paper as “read thirty books?”

I don’t know. I don’t have answers for avoiding the discomfort of the discussion, just like I don’t have answers to the problem of racial inequality in America as a whole. But I do know that I want to be part of the solution. I do want to hold this whole thing up to Jesus. I do want to lock arms with a generation that ends racism once and for all, by standing on the shoulders of the generations who have fought the good fight before us.

So how do I respond when people ask why Beyonce and Kendrick Lamar made me weep this month? How on earth can I encourage other people with my baby steps? A day in the life snapshot, perhaps? A day in the life of a thirty year-old white woman with privilege who longs for racial reconciliation in her community and beyond? You want a bullet point list? Because that’s all I’ve got these days.

I can talk about race on a regular basis, with my friends and family. I can address phrases and lingo and headlines head-on with my children around the dinner table. Yes, all lives matter. And they’ll matter even more when black lives matter.

I can cross the tracks. I can literally drive my truck across the railroad tracks one town over and frequent a barber shop where we’re the only white people. I can sit in that uncomfortable feeling, exchanging side-eye and shy smiles, and realize that it’s what my black neighbors endure every day of their lives, depending on the situation. I’m just here for a haircut.

I can use emojis with diverse skin tones on my iPhone. Because black is beautiful and nobody’s actually that bright shade of yellow and those little brown fists were a long time coming.

I can open my home to people who don’t look like me. I can cook for my neighbors and ask them to get a little awkward with me because I’m doing my best and I just don’t want to live in a bubble forever.

I can pray. I can pray for hearts to be healed. I can pray for eyes to be opened. I can pray for a renewal of our justice system, redemption of relationships and restored reputations of people – red and yellow black and white, for they are precious in His sight; and Lord Jesus, please make them all precious in mine.

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community life lately the whole & simple gospel

Preaching to myself – first, loudest, most.

There’s a beautiful movement building amongst the women of my generation these days. Unlike the days of old, female friendships have become an acceptable idea – celebrated, even. There are #squadgoals and gal pal celebrities cheering for each other at awards shows. There are events and clubs and organizations centered squarely on the mission to help women find community with one another. There are Instagram accounts devoted entirely to cheering women on in their homes and families and workplaces and seasons of life.

I’m a cheerleader by nature. Captain in high school, remember? I love a good team dynamic and I’ve always tried hard (too hard) to get along with the ladies in my life. So recently, I asked the Lord what he wanted me to do with my gifts and my platform and my current season. He answered me crystal clearly.

Your world doesn’t need another woman who’s preaching abundant life from afar. Your world needs a woman who’s actually walking it out, just a few steps ahead.

He told me that my generation and the one coming up behind me will be far more blessed by a woman who’s preaching to herself first, loudest, most.

He told me that when women look at me, they should see a woman who’s tripping on the regular – and getting back up. They should see a woman who’s digging into the Word just as deeply as she’s digging for new ways to say the same thing so people’s eyes and ears will perk up. He told me that his Good News does the job just fine. I ain’t even gotta open my mouth.

Besides, all of that cheer and pep just doesn’t ring as true if it isn’t shifting things in my own life and relationships. If the only Bible verse I’m reading is the one I’m sharing on Instagram, then we have a problem. If the only women I’m leading are my age and on the Internet, then we have a problem. So what does that look like, to walk out in abundance just a few steps ahead of the ones hoping to learn from me? I’m not sure of much else other than it will be messy and full of life. I’m going for it.

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health & wellness life lately

What dying feels like.

I know what it looks like. Skin goes gray, blue sometimes, and people sleep a lot. They stop eating and talking. Family paces and medicates and dotes and laughs nervously in the corner. Sometimes there’s singing, and there’s almost always crying. I find myself answering the same questions over and over. No, they won’t starve to death. Our bodies know to stop taking food in once we can’t do anything with it. Yes, they can hear you. Right up until the very end, they can hear your voice. It cuts through the fog. No, I don’t know how long they have. I’ve gotten pretty good, where I can usually estimate a matter of days or weeks. But only God has our days numbered.

But I don’t know what dying feels like. And this week, the day after my thirtieth birthday, I got the rare chance to sit with a woman who was still alert and oriented enough to tell me. Most of the time, during the final phase, folks are really sleepy and incoherent. It’s like a very peaceful, not-scary coma. But this lady, man, she’s tough. She’s a retired nurse and a no-nonsense wife and mother and I can’t help but see glimpses of myself in her, down the road.

When I saw her last week, she was laughing and talking and walking around her house – slowly, gingerly, but moving nonetheless. I found a different woman in bed on Monday. She was gray in color and her speech was slurred. But she recognized me immediately and waved me over. “Get your butt in here,” she whispered. “I want to tell you about the colors.” I looked at her husband and he just smiled. I sat down and grabbed her hand, resting my chin on her hospital bed side rail as she began to take me on a journey to a thin place between heaven and earth. Quite honestly, she herself was a thin place, with one foot there and one foot here.

She saw people who died twenty years ago, and they looked happy. She reported that they all had full heads of thick, luscious hair. She saw the people who were actually in the room, too, like me and her family, and she could switch back and forth easily. The colors and sounds were vibrant, she said, peaceful even. She heard a rumbling sound and saw flashes of lightning sporadically. She wasn’t scared. This was the beginning of the end, she said. “I’m dying, right?” I nodded. I asked her if it scared her. She smiled and closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m good. This is good.”

And then I rubbed her feet with essential oils and she asked me to pray for her, two things I’ve never done with a patient. Tears rolled down our cheeks as she thanked God for me and I for her. Because in that moment, I touched heaven and it touched me back.

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health & wellness life lately politics & leadership

I just lay there and wept.

I finally got back in the gym this week, after a few months of scheduling issues and what felt like a whole lot of excuses. It was my first public yoga class after starting instructor training too, so I was particularly interested to see how I felt about it. I didn’t even make it onto my mat before the tears came, so I just gave in. I just lay there and wept.

I wept for the Lord’s goodness and favor. I wept for my death arrested. I wept for the women in my city forced selling their bodies that night, even on Human Trafficking Awareness Day. I wept for my kids, that they might one day experience the Love washing over me in that moment. I wept for my country, for my President preparing to address us for his last State of the Union. I wept for the mamas in boats on the Mediterranean Sea, clinging to babies and praying to get to freedom. I wept for the mamas of color right here in my state, clinging to babies and praying to get to freedom. I wept for the revival I’d seen in my marriage over the last year, revival that spurred me to be in that yoga class that night. I wept for the women of the Influence Network, that they might fully realize the power of the gospel in their lives. I wept for His faithfulness.

And if that’s what I have to look forward to every time I take off my shoes and step onto my yoga mat, Jesus and I are going to have quite the adventure.

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health & wellness life lately

Reaching for comfort in 2016.

I plan on it this year. Reaching for comfort is actually a New Year’s resolution, of sorts. Notice I’m not saying chasing after comfort. I’m not talking about indulging. I’m talking about acknowledging what’s already here, soaking up the goodness from the Father that exists around me. I’m talking about an extra five minutes in bed with my husband, laughing and preparing for the day. I’m talking about locating and bringing my raincoat with me to work when I hear that it might be storming.

I’ve talked a lot about self-care in the past, and Shauna Niequist did a fantastic job with this post (a year ago exactly, in fact). Like she says, it’s important for us to know and believe our worth. It’s important to take care of ourselves so that we can care well for others. If we’re Jesus followers, it’s important to physically and emotionally and spiritually care for the temple his spirit calls home.

But I’m not really talking about self-care, at least not in the ways I used to. I’m talking about good old-fashioned gratitude. Thanks, God, for this pocket of time to take a bath. I’m gonna use all of the oils and bubbles. Thanks, God, for a job that allows such flexibility. I’m gonna pull over and clean out my car and wash the windows. Thanks, God, for lining up Holy Yoga instructor training this year. I’m gonna put a fancy warm blanket on my hard desk chair, and light a candle for every class. Thanks, God, for a husband who loves adventure in our home. I’m gonna keep buying bottles of wine until we learn to like one.

Here’s to every single candle of mine getting burned to the bottom by summer. Here’s to a couple of extra throw blankets purchased and left meaningfully around the house. Here’s to an empty bottle of the fancy shampoo. Here’s to a commitment to wearing winter gloves. Here’s to running out to my car late, coffee sloshing, because I braided my girls’ hair for school. Here’s to reaching for the goodness and favor of the Father, manifested in small moments of comforts sprinkled around my life.

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health & wellness

To the mat we go, in 2016.

I grew up hearing and learning and thinking and believing that yoga was evil. After all, the poses were based on Eastern religions. After all, Harry Potter was about witches and Pokemon glorified magic and violence. After all, wearing all black was indicative of someone’s preference for the dark side. It wasn’t my parents’ fault. It was just the way things were in the Church in the 80’s and 90’s. I didn’t question it. Instead, I grew up dancing competitively, with the fake eyelashes and the gyrating and the provocative costumes. And like a good girl, I avoided yoga like the devil, until a few years ago.

A few years ago, I met Brooke. I was introduced to Holy Yoga through the Influence Network. Quite simply, there was just no way to justify the argument against yoga once I’d experienced it for myself. God uses whatever and whoever he wants to bring people to himself. I believe the Creator has the right to use his own creation to reconcile, reclaim, and redeem. He’s not scared of anything, and we shouldn’t be either. And if people’s lives are being changed for his glory and their good, well, then the proof is in the pudding.

My life is just one example, but it was changed nonetheless. During the darkest point in my journey through postpartum anxiety and depression, I found Holy Yoga TV. I became a monthly subscriber and still support it to this day, even though I’ve since begun taking yoga classes at my local gym. Moving my body while meditating on God’s word, while someone sang Truth over me in the form of worship music was indescribable. It was so life-giving. It was healing. Transforming.

And so two years later, here were are. I’m ready to continue my journey in the form of Holy Yoga instructor training and I couldn’t be more excited and expectant. Like Brooke said on our first call tonight, “The only way I can know who I am is if I know who God is.” So I plan to spend the next few months asking God over and over who he is and what he thinks about me, while I read his word and get a little stronger and more aware of my body on my mat. Thank you, Jesus. To the mat we go, in 2016.

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