God, Make Me Brave (Part 2)

I’ve been haunted by the word brave all week. It was as if the moment I wrote about it, that cat leapt right out of the proverbial bag. Suddenly, I was watching the movie of my life play out, each scene devoted to a different moment in my past. I was watching how brave had looked different at various times in my life.

I saw myself as a child being left by my Mom at Montessori. I watched as I clung to my teacher, begging to go home. There were tears. Loud, messy, snot-covered tears. Is it still brave if you don’t have a choice?

I saw myself in grade school (pick a year, any year) wondering if there’d be a seat for me at any lunch table. I saw myself listening to chatter about another party I hadn’t been invited to. I saw myself trying not to notice the whispered discussion of an after school playdate I’d been left out of. Back then going to school every day felt like a brave thing. Kids can be cruel.

I saw myself standing beside my uncle’s hospital bed, having no idea what to do. I watched myself reach for his hand and quietly promise him I’d never stop looking out for my cousins, that he didn’t have to worry.

I saw myself in the hallway of my childhood home, watching my Dad walk through the front door in tears. I watched as I hugged him, my mind desperately searching for the right words. Words that fit the magnitude of the moment you tell your Dad that you're sorry he suddenly doesn't have his Dad anymore. I’m still searching for those words.

I saw myself in high school, afraid to take my road test… again. But knowing having a license would help my parents who needed to split their time between home and the hospital once my brother got sick.

I saw myself undergoing tests in the hospital to make sure I could donate bone marrow to my brother. Oh how I remember wishing it had been Nora or Brendan. I did not consider myself the brave one in the family. I still don’t. That's why I write about being brave but my siblings volunteer their time putting out fires, driving firetrucks, and helping save lives.

I saw myself sitting in the front pew at James' funeral, listening as my uncle spoke beautiful words about my brother. I remember thinking I’d wish I’d been brave enough to speak. It broke my heart that I couldn’t save his life. Maybe one day I could find my own words and put them in a place that allowed the whole world to know him and his heart. He had a good heart. He was brave.

I saw myself in college, losing friends because I didn’t know how to be sad in front of them. I also didn’t know how not to be sad. I’d lost one of the most important people in my world. Back then, breathing felt like a brave thing to do.

I saw myself admitting to my parents that college wasn’t working out, that I needed a change. I needed time to figure things out. Why does it so often feel we aren't given enough time to figure things out?

I saw myself sobbing into my pillow the first night in my dorm in San Francisco, not believing I could stay, wanting to get on the plane the next day with my parents and go home. Staying didn’t feel brave at the time. It just felt like not wanting to fail at another thing.

I saw myself in a classroom being told by a teacher that God wasn’t real. A few hours later I saw myself in my dorm room, replaying the moment over and over, wishing I’d been brave. Wishing in that moment that I’d asked God for the words instead of silently disagreeing and asking a question about the homework to change the subject.

I saw myself in Tennessee. In my apartment. At church. I saw the way I fell in love with this beautiful place. Living here never felt like a brave thing, it felt like I'd found home. I saw myself as I met my friends for the first time. And I saw all the ways I wasn’t able to be brave yet. 

That the little girl who’d been picked on all through school and never seemed to belong anywhere suddenly seemed to be preventing me from belonging here to. Where belonging finally felt possible. She wasn't letting me be vulnerable with these new friends. She was preventing me from being vulnerable and authentic with the world.

And I knew that wasn’t going to work anymore. She needed to go and in order to go,  she needed to heal, and in order to heal, she needed to be known.

And for the second time this week, I asked God to make me brave. I asked Him to make me brave in this moment and hit publish instead of save like I so often do. I asked Him to make me brave enough to share these moments that made me.

I don't know why these are the ones that came to mind. I don’t know if I chose them, or they chose me. Maybe I needed to be reminded of these specific things. Because so many of these moments felt small at the time and I walked away from them feeling more broken than ever.

But that gives me hope. Hope for the moments I find myself facing today. Those moments I still feel broken. When I still feel like a failure. Hope that someday I will be able to look back and see the start of something brave.

This is not what I’d planned to write today. But it struck me that it was only fair if I was going to tell you how I’m going to be brave, that you also know some of the reasons behind why that's hard for me.

I won’t always get it right. In fact I’ll probably get it wrong more often than not. I know there are more broken moments ahead on my journey. And I feel God using past moments to equip me for those ahead.

There will be hard things I want to write about. Things I need to write about. And I’ll still hit save on this blog a lot more than I hit publish. Because it's scary to share these things. But I won’t stop trying. That is my commitment to myself and to anyone else out their who needs encouragement to be their own kind of brave.

Xo, 

Lauren

God, Make Me Brave (Part 1)

I like to hide things.

I like to hide my insecurities, my fears, my doubts... basically the stuff we all want to hide. Except I don't think I hide it as well as I think I do. Don't get me wrong, I have moments of transparency when I share a great deal. But I'm not sure those moments count.

What I tend to do is share about my past, the things I've already been able to overcome. Perhaps I do this in attempt to hide what it is I'm going through in the here and now. 

In fact I find it easier for me to share about some of the hardest things I've been through than it is to share about what I'm going through. The stuff I don't have figured out yet. The stuff I'm still content to hide, especially when I can't control the outcome. 

The truth is, I don't want to hide anymore.

I've been on this journey of late, where I've been trying to pursue a more authentic life as well as authentic relationships. And it's been hard, really hard. It's meant admitting things about and to myself that I've done pretty well at avoiding up until now.

But what I'm beginning to learn is that the more honest I am, the more honest other people are, the more God allows us to learn from each other, and the more we grow as a result.

So I woke up this morning and I asked God to make me brave today. Brave enough to share where I'm at, in spite of being terrified of other people getting to have an opinion. Heck, brave enough to admit that I still care about other people's opinions.

Because I do, but I'm working on it :)

Part of this is ingraining in myself that not everyone's brave looks the same. Brave looks different on me than it does on you and that's okay.

God made us all beautiful and unique. We all have different goals, fears, things that bring us joy, things that steal it. That's why we need each other.

So that's what this is going to be, a place where you get to see me grow. A place where you see me be honest and authentic and absolutely a place where you can do and be the same.

Starting today.

So here's where I'm at. It's a Monday in April, the sky is blue, the sun is shining, and it's the kind of day where the world feels possible. You know the one I'm talking about. The kind where you wake up and immediately feel like you could conquer any task set before you. (Disclaimer: This kind of day is rare for me.)

I suppose it's a good day to feel this way because I am beginning my journey with a career coach this week. For me, this step is about dispelling with the notion I have my life completely under control. It's also about admitting my shortcomings and acknowledging when and where I need help.

And admitting this, is my first attempt at being brave and authentic with the people around me.

May you all enjoy today. May you find someone to be kind to. May you find new ways to be brave.


Xo,

Lauren

P.S. Check back next week for Part 2.

It's the "Little" Things...

I did this thing that seemed so simple. I brought a plant back from Florida. A patio palm to be more precise. I thought it was adorable, and how cool to bring a palm tree back from Florida??

When I originally got it, I looked at the box, thought how cute… a little six inch palm tree to put on my desk. Upon arriving home and rereading the box, I realized it said six feet, not inches. Oops.

I then really read the box and realized there was going to be a bit more involved in this whole “I now own a plant thing” than I originally thought. I made my way to the garden center at Home Depot. This was my first trip to any garden center that wasn’t a tag along. I wasn’t there to offer an opinion to my parents’ about flowers they were getting for the season or what have you, but I was the one making decision about the future of my aforementioned plant… tree.

Okay, so I relied heavily upon the help of those that worked there since in reality I had no idea what I was doing. They helped me pick out a pot, food (who knew plants needed to eat food?), and planting soil.

I left Home Depot with the food, clothing (the soil… it at least counts as the equivalent to a blanket), and shelter for my tree. That was fun, I thought getting back into my car.

A day later, I stood in front of my pot, the soil, the plant food, and Harold. Yes, I’d named him Harold. It was time to get him replanted in his forever home. Forever, of course, meaning as long as he fit in this particular pot.

It didn’t take as long as I anticipated and before I knew it, there was Harold, standing tall(ish) and proud.

Then it happened folks. I said something out loud… to my tree. I was talking to a plant. (Before you get too worried, he didn’t talk back. Not at first… kidding :)

I hear this isn’t unheard of, that people talk to their plants. I just never thought I’d be one of them. Pets? Sure. They have ears, they’re listening. But plants? I instantly wondered if this made me crazy, but then I remembered crazy people don’t know their crazy so thinking I was crazy was actually proof I wasn't.

I digress.

So there I was, talking to Harold and I realized this simple little plant, that I was now providing for, was pretty cool. I suddenly pictured him fully grown and wondered where life would bring me by then.

This was the first living thing that was coming along for this journey we call life. And I’m going to be the determining factor as to whether or not Harold has a successful one. (Prayers that I keep him alive, always appreciated!) Something I initially thought to be simple, is now something I am invested in for the long haul.

At that moment, I was left with an incredibly profound thought.

I really need a boyfriend. :p

In all seriousness, it’s been a few days, Harold is doing well, although doesn’t seem to be growing very fast. However, he IS still green, which means I didn’t over water him.

Everyone, meet Harold!

Xo,
Lauren