I used to drive by my high school boyfriend’s house almost every day. He doesn’t live there anymore, so it’s not like I was stalking him. It’s just that used to work near the house he grew up in and it’s on a street I would often take to go get coffee or have lunch at a nearby restaurant.

Back when I passed his house all the time, I thought a lot about both who I was and who I desperately wanted to be back in high school. I made many poor decisions in that particular relationship because I knew deep down that I liked this boyfriend more than he liked me. It may be in the teenagers’ job description to make stupid choices, but I still wince when I think about how much power I voluntarily surrendered out of fear that he would someday want to move on from our high school melodrama. To be fair, I also remember some wonderful times of significance and happiness and, of course, the words to countless 80’s pop rock songs.

Sometimes it seems like certain people from our past have a power over us that increases when we think about them and always makes us feel a little bit like the person we were when we were closest to them. No matter how much time has passed, a phrase or a scent can bring it all back in an instant. Often this phenomenon is associated with bad memories; “I feel like a little kid when she yells at me that way.” But it can also apply to good experiences, like how whenever I smell a certain perfume I think of nights spent at my grandmother’s house when she would come in after I went to bed and lean over me as she snuck me a cookie.

When I think about the Psalm that says: “As far as the east is from the west, so far has God removed our transgressions from us,” I think about my old boyfriend’s house. I think of it as if it’s a transgression, and like God drives by it sometimes. Probably not as often as I did, because I am addicted to guilt and to coffee, and to change my route to either would have required more effort than I could manage most days, but every once in a while he drives by my past. He knows what it is, and what it means, but it doesn’t affect him in a negative or debilitating way. It doesn’t change how he feels about me. If anything, when he looks at it he doesn’t see that house as much as he sees the parts of me that were even then, and are even now, being renewed and redeemed day by day.

People often say God forgets our sins, and can’t remember them even if we try and remind Him. I think this sounds nice in a Hallmark-card commercial kind of way, but also a little bit like God has a form of Sin Alzheimer’s, and that makes me nervous. My grandfather had Alzheimer’s, and he also couldn’t be trusted to remember the important things, like where he lived or the days his kids were born or the name of his wife. I want to know God remembers that stuff.  Also, a lot of my sins are not just what I’ve done, they’re part of who I am. I am a person who fears, who manipulates, who avoids and protects herself with humor. To focus just on the outward actions misses what is actually most important; the motivations of my heart. Sin is more than an awkward adolescent phase that can be outgrown. It’s not acne. It’s a sickness of bone, more than skin, and despite the illness that runs deep in our marrow, God loves us as a parent loves a teenager.

I want to get to a place where driving by my old boyfriend’s house makes me more grateful than regretful. Grateful in the “I-can’t-believe-I-won-the-lottery-twice” kind of way, because God knows everything about me and chooses me still. Both God and I remember this lopsided high-school relationship, yet God is able to see and even now carry out the bigger picture of what that relationship began in me. I want to see my growth and change like God does, as a process rather than an event.

When I drive by my old boyfriend’s house, instead of feeling ashamed about the night we took his mom’s convertible to buy schnapps and then “stargaze” on private property, I wish I felt the loved, powerful feeling that I feel every time I hear the song that my husband says reminds him of me. Instead of smiling ruefully as I pass that symbolic driveway, I could chuckle with the wonder of one who has been set free. Then that house could be an Ebenezer; it could be like a touchstone that reminds me of God’s redemptive grace in a visual and tangible way.

We are all in process. We travel the path of life without knowing exactly where it leads or when it will end for us. I’m so grateful that the map-maker knows the transgressions and the detours that take us past certain places (or houses) that he’d rather we not go. He’s never surprised by anything, and he’s available to help us re-calculate the route if necessary. Anytime.

What areas of your life are being redeemed, even as you pass them by?

Are You Leading The Life You Want?

Have you ever been fired?

Sometimes I forget that I got fired, many years ago.

Long story short, it was the right thing to happen for all the wrong reasons.

I was let go from my position as the director of a college fellowship group at a church, and by the time my final few weeks with the students came around, the grieving process was effectively debilitating me. I had no idea if I would ever get an opportunity to work with college students again, let alone any idea of whether I would ever have a job again period, so my emotions were running high and unpredictable for the last few weeks of my position. I have few clear memories from those final weeks. I remember feeling like my life after my last day at this job dropped off in front of me like a cliff, and when the ugly realization settled into my gut that my identity and my work were one and the same. I remember a few lucid moments in prayer, and I remember one or two kind words from friends that met me in moments of great sorrow.

And, I remember the night it happened.

It was one of the last meetings of the year for the college group. We met every Tuesday night in one of the lecture halls at UC Davis, and worshipped together as well as heard some teaching. I had been attending this night; as a student first, next as an intern in the college program, then as the director of the program, for over 10 years. And now I could count on one hand the number of nights left that I would participate in, before the group and ministry moved on without me.

I was sitting in a seat on the left hand side of the auditorium, about halfway between the front and back of the lecture hall. More towards the wall than the aisle. My dear friend and colleague, Lyndsey, was sitting next to me. I have no idea who else was around. I don’t even remember the program for the night; who spoke, what the topic or theme was, if there was a game or skit or testimony or other elements.

I mostly remember singing, and sobbing. I remember crying as if my heart was breaking, because it was. I remember asking what felt like hundreds of questions about my future and the students whom I loved so much as I wept and worshipped.

I also remember a voice inside my head that was trying to make sense of it all. It wasn’t a calm voice, or a peaceful voice, or a comforting voice. It was a voice that was constant; sometimes the volume would increase or decrease, but it was always there. Questioning, clarifying, critiquing, judging, evaluating- always with the goal of making me better, teaching me something, improving me.

On this night, I could hear that voice. Quiet at first, like contemplative music. Reminding me that I played a part in my own situation, that I definitely deserved some of the blame for how things went so upside-down in the end. Calling to mind things I’d said or done that lacked grace or professionalism or maturity. Repeating conversations and choices that I wasn’t proud of. Bringing up familiar wounds. Replaying scenes in my head that left me with regret and disdain for my behavior.

This voice in my head became louder and louder. I was feeling shame, condemnation, and despair as I contemplated all the responsibility that I bore for my situation. I was absolutely distraught by my circumstances, and was devastated by the truths of my own culpability and guilt.

I was a hot mess.

And then.

And then, it was as if the voice quieted for just a minute. The accusations lessened just briefly; enough for my spirit to catch a breath. And apparently, that was all it needed, because what happened next remains one of the single most profound moments of my life.

As the voice dimmed slightly, another spoke up.

(No, I’m not schizophrenic. But thank you for breaking the mood. Stay with me.)

This voice was not as well known to me, regrettably. It was softer, more melodious and gentle but not at all weak. I recognized it instantly, despite not being as familiar with it as I was with the previous voice. Whereas I trusted the first voice as the source of all accuracy and fact, this voice, as soon as I heard it, was the truest thing I have ever known. And it spoke; not to me, but to the first voice.

It said, simply: “So What?”

The first voice continued reciting its litany of my wrongs and transgressions.

And then the second voice said more: “Yes. All of that is true. You are right. And, that does not define me.” It went on: “Everything you say is correct. Irrefutable. And, that is not all of who I am. I am not simply the labels and descriptions you have applied. I am more than this.”

We are always more.  More than our circumstances, more than our failures or challenges. You are not defined by your defeats. You are more.

It  is helpful to remember this truth when I am tempted to listen to the first voice, the voice of judgment. Because the Bible says that there is no condemnation for me anywhere anymore, according to verse 1 in chapter 8 of the book of Romans.  I am set free, and I am more. And so are you.

What voice are you listening to?

Are You Leading The Life You Want?

Lent started last week.  It’s a big deal in the Christian faith; as one of my pastors said on Sunday: “Lent is to Easter what Advent is to Christmas.” It’s a time of preparing for Easter as we remember the 40 days that Jesus spent in the wilderness and consider the suffering that he endured in order to accomplish the intention of his life. Oftentimes, Christians choose during Lent to abstain from doing something they might normally do, in order to more fully identify with and understand the sacrifice Christ made for us.

There have been years when I have given things up for Lent– typical stuff, like chocolate, coffee, dessert, fries, sugar, gluten, donuts– are you sensing a theme here? And also the non-typical stuff, like one year when I gave up sitting where I wanted to sit, everywhere I went. If you’re ever looking for the most inconvenient and awkward thing to give up for Lent, try that one.

I’m not giving anything up for Lent this year. It’s not because I am going to not just give up coffee but also save the money that I am not spending on coffee and then donate it to a charity or something. Although if that’s your jam, good on you.

Instead of giving something up, I’m working on further knowing and appreciating parts of me that heretofore I have primarily rejected or denied. I want to see what happens when I (continue to) work on accepting qualities that I have been ashamed of or sought to hide.

What follows are three of the things that I am not giving up for Lent.

1) My fears and second-guessing (see previous post)

As you may have read recently, I am a defensive, guarded person by default. On my best day, of course, I am relaxed, flexible, and content. I think that’s been about 2.7 days of my life in total. Most of the time I am super far in my head– analyzing, processing,  and always always always preparing for the worst. My tombstone will probably say: “She had a Plan B.”

And, that stuff is not all bad. My high-anxiety personality has helped me in new situations and with unfamiliar people more than my car’s GPS. I don’t want to harsh on myself so much about my insecurities that I make them worse, adding to my stress and tension. So, for Lent, I will be gentle with my fears and my over-thinking about all of the things.

2) My self-doubt and insecurities

I am my own worst critic, and I have a relatively high-profile job. This means that I often feel more exposed than I, as an introvert, am completely comfortable with. So in addition to accepting my fears and second-guessing, I want to be more tender with my self-judgement, to remember that even when I fail or make mistakes, I tried my best and, as Maya says: ‘When you know better, you do better.”

The truth is, other people don’t think about me nearly as often as I think they think about me. Other people have way better things to do than figure out if my outfit colors clash or complement, if my hair looks better straight or curly, if I ate too much dessert. They don’t sit around debating whether my comment in the meeting was relevant, or whispering about the font I chose to use on my report. What matters to them is how interested I am in them. Do I ask questions and am I genuinely listening to the answers? Done.

3) My gentleness with my failures and mistakes

This is, of course, related to numbers 2 & 3. I am a work in progress, and it’s taken me a long time to learn how to begin to practice the kind of radical self-acceptance that Jesus says he has for me. I don’t want to erase that profound work by going all Jillian Michaels on myself now when what I need, deep in my bones, is more grace, not less. More joy, not less. More depth, slowness, peace, and trust. Not more driving, trying, striving, hustling.

So there you have it. And now that I share it here, I guess I am giving something up for Lent.  I’m giving up kicking my own ass just because I think I should, being generally way too hard on myself just because it’s only in my head, and desperately pushing forward just because I can’t let myself quit.

ARE YOU LEADING THE LIFE YOU WANT?

I recently finished the book: “An Astronaut’s Guide To Life On Earth,” by Col. Chris Hadfield. I reserved it at the library (best invention ever) after listening to this interview with Col. Hadfield on NPR. It was cool to learn about all that astronauts go through before they go to space, and the stories about the logistics of zero gravity (going to the bathroom, preparing food, exercising) were entertaining. But what interested me about the book was a chapter Hadfield mentioned in the interview that describes the question all astronauts ask themselves, constantly, when they are in flight. The chapter is called “What’s The Next Thing That Could Kill Me.”

For astronauts, vigilance is the whole ball game. Hadfield says:

Half of the risk of a 6 month flight is in the first 9 minutes, so as a crew, how do you stay focused? How do you not get paralyzed by the fear of it? The way we do it is to break down what [the risks are].  And a nice way to keep reminding yourself is, “What’s the next thing that’s going to kill me?”

And it might be 5 seconds away, it might be an inadvertent engine shutdown, or it might be staging of the solid rockets coming off, or it might be some transition or some key next thing, [for example] “We’ve already had one computer fail, and we’ve had one hydraulic system fail, so if these three things fail now we need to react right away or we’re done.”

So we don’t just live with that, though. The thing that is really useful, I think out of all of this, is we dig into it so deeply and we look at, “Okay, so this might kill us, this is something that would normally panic us, let’s get ready, let’s think about it.” And we go into every excruciating detail of why that might affect what we’re doing and what we can do to resolve it and have a plan, and be comfortable with it.

According to Hadfield, as hard as it is to think about the risks in very vivid detail, this makes sense. If you know what the risks are, you have already begun the process of dealing with them. If you wait until the equipment fails to identify the risk, it is too late. NASA has manuals full of solutions to every conceivable problem. They’ve spent countless hours thinking about problems – and then formulating solutions. But there is no time to write the manual when the emergency is in progress.

Having a high-anxiety personality as I do means that my default mindset is one of defense.

Self-protection, low risk tolerance, safety first. This is where I live.

But I don’t want to exist like that. I don’t want to be always scanning the landscape, constantly alert for the worst-case scenario. I want to trust. To believe the best. To be present. To give the benefit of the doubt, and to move in grace for myself and others.

With all due respect to Col. Hadfield, I am choosing to not apply this particular lesson of space flight to my life. As much as I crave the security and constancy implied in living that question, as much as sinking into that consciousness feels like snuggling up in the warmest blanket, it’s no way to live. The blanket becomes a stifling straightjacket, effectively shutting down growth and progress. The cocoon of certainty suffocates. It doesn’t set me free.

I read Psalm 46:10 (“Be still and and know that I am God”) this morning, and that is the kind of peace and rest I seek now. Not the false confidence of predictability and control, but the assurance that God is doing what He does best- being God. To trust that it will all be okay. Trust that I’m being guided. To trust, against all odds and evidence, that I am safe.

Because, to paraphrase Nietzsche and then Kelly Clarkson, the next thing that doesn’t kill me may just make me stronger.

ARE YOU LEADING THE LIFE YOU WANT?

I don’t know what to say about this, exactly, but I know that I have thought about this story countless times since I watched it. I’m sharing it here because I want everyone I know to have the opportunity to see it without me chasing you down and shoving a screen in your face and saying “Here watch this right now.”

Although, isn’t that kind of what I’m doing right now?

Anyway. Last week my 9-year old and I were talking about Martin Luther King Day, and he said: “I just can’t believe that white people used to be so mean to black people and treat them as not even human. I’m so glad that was a long time ago.”

And I thought, again, of this video. So here it is.

 

I had the privilege of being on a panel for female college student leaders last weekend at one of the most inspirational places I know, on the topic of women in leadership. I was a bit nervous beforehand and was fighting a wicked cold, but of course as soon as I saw the women I forgot all about that and just wanted to be immediate friends with every single one of them.

Three or four women approached me afterwards and asked if they could have coffee with me sometime and talk about what I do and how they may want to do it, or something similar, someday.  I said yes, of course.  They may want to talk about grad school, internships, entry-level jobs and LinkedIn.  I will want to talk about how they really don’t need a plan for their future as much as they think they do.

Don’t get me wrong. I totally endorse Meg Jay’s perspective about claiming one’s twenties, and not “wasting” time. Goals are great. Knowing your interests and going on informational interviews is admirable and proactive, and will most likely only help you on your journey.

But clinging too tightly to decisions or ambitions that you committed to at one specific point in your life can also prevent you from being open to other, better options down the road. Opportunities that you may not even imagine at one specific point in your 20th year on the planet.

Don’t assume that you will be the primary caregiver when you have kids and so pick something to study that you eventually could drop back to part time for, like teaching or nursing or vocational ministry or bookkeeping or writing.

Because maybe one day you will create a new kind of shoe and discover you have a passion for entrepeneurship. Maybe after your cat dies you remember how much you loved animals and want to be a vet.  Maybe you’ve always dreamed of becoming a pilot.

Don’t decide that you would rather be a full time mom so it doesn’t matter what you study in college or whether you go abroad or get an internship ever.

Not because I’m against full-time moms (I think all moms are full time, but that’s another post), but because you never know what will happen to that very worthwhile goal.

Maybe you will adopt a 12-year old who goes away to college when you are 35 and then you realize you’d love to live in another country. Maybe you will marry a man who already has children and the means to provide full-time childcare, so you find yourself with quite a bit of free time. Maybe you wake up one day and you’re 42 and single and you realize you’d like to get your MBA, and your work says they will pay for it.

Plans aren’t bad.

Rigid plans that allow for no deviation or change whatsoever are like the safest, most comfortable and well-decorated prison cells that you can possibly build for yourself.

In her book “Lean In,” Sheryl Sandberg confesses that she doesn’t have a plan. She says:  “The reason I don’t have a plan is because if I have a plan I am limited to today’s options.”

I know it feels like this is The. Time.  in your life to make The. Big. Decisions. And you’re not wrong if you get married at 22 (I did) or apply to grad school (same here).

Just remember that having a plan is not the most important thing you need as you graduate from college.

More important than having a plan is looking people in the eye, having a firm handshake, being prepared in an interview, and not dressing like a hoochie.

If you must have a plan, plan to dress like a grown-up and not a life-sized BRATZ doll.

That’s what I would tell those women over coffee.

Are You Leading The Life You Want?

Some of you have asked about my speaking engagements – when, where, etc. There is more info here and you can also contact me here if you have any questions. I love almost everything about public speaking — the travel to/from, the meeting new people, the energy of the room, and of course the actual content delivery part. I know it might sound weird that I love it since I’m an introvert, but I think I feel just enough in control when I am the speaker that I enjoy it more than I want to shrink into my turtle shell. I do get tired from speaking, though– exhaustion is pretty much a given after every time, no matter how long the talk. A trip to Target usually brings me right back to my normal self.

Here are links to two talks I gave recently at Pepperdine University Chapel. They call their chapel convocation, but it’s pretty much the same thing that most Christian colleges call chapel. This was my third and fourth time speaking at Pepperdine. I have no idea if they’ll keep asking me back, but as long as they ask, I will go. The people are super kind, the campus is gorgeous and the food is amazeballs.  Also my very dear friend-of-my-heart Sarah is there, and our talks are precious to me.

Enjoy!

10/30/13 – Chapel with Michele Mollkoy from Pepperdine University Chapel on Vimeo.

11/6/13 – Chapel with Michele Mollkoy (Part 2) from Pepperdine University Chapel on Vimeo.

Five years ago tomorrow, Westmont College was consumed by a raging fire that took acres of land; buildings, vegetation, trees, history – and no human lives. None of us who were there were ever the same after that, including the campus itself. Several weeks later I wrote the following as a note on my Facebook page (I didn’t have a blog yet, and notes were cool). For some reason it feels fitting on this anniversary of the Tea Fire to share it here. Even though I haven’t worked at Westmont for almost 3 years, I still miss chapel.

This past Monday, we had a behemoth of a chapel. (Wiki: “Behemoth is the largest and most powerful animal ever to exist. Metaphorically, the name has come to be used for any extremely large or powerful entity.”) If you’re on Facebook you most likely don’t live under a rock, so I’m going to assume that you know about the fire a few weeks ago that scorched more of our institution than you’d believe unless you were here. Monday we set up chapel like Baccalaureate and had firefighters, trustees, neighbors, community members, families, faculty, staff, students, police, alums, babies, and at least one dog come join us for worship. Wise words were said, standing ovations were given, stirring anthems were sung. It was classic Westmont, in the best sense of the word. Touching, inspiring, hopeful, true.

Today, Wednesday, was the first “normal” chapel. I put “normal” in quotes because I’m kind-of tired of everyone talking about “getting back to normal” like it’s this totally desirable destination and naturally anyone with any common sense at all would hightail it over there asap. I personally think there’s a lot to be said for the locations known as just friends, over it, and my personal favorite, denial. Anyway.

Today’s chapel was not normal, for a few reasons. First, Ben Pateerson was finishing his series on the 7 Deadly Sins by talking about sloth (go look that up on your own; I’m too lazy, HA). He totally nailed it. Also, we were doing the first part of the recording for the Chapel CD which comes out in the spring, which meant microphones were everywhere.

People seemed kind of nervous at first, I think because of the mikes, but soon we loosened up. And then there was The Moment. Any of you who have ever been in a Westmont Chapel know what I mean. When the music and the lights and the people coughing (quietly, today) and the other people PDA’ing or studying or texting just fades away, and you feel like time stands still and all you know is the worship. I don’t really even want to try to describe it because it is different for every person, but for me it happens when I least expect it; it sneaks up on me from behind and before I know what’s happening I’m like all in the midst of the glory and I can hardly breathe. And that’s what happened today.

Monday’s chapel was kind of too much for me; in big dramatic situations I tend to turn inward and not react hardly at all to what is being presented to my senses. There is often so much to respond to at once, it’s like I shut down. I don’t totally know what it is that makes me do that; maybe I feel like I have hit my emotional stimulation threshold, or maybe I am just so afraid of what will happen if I let myself feel the magnitude of the moment, but I never seem to feel things when everyone else does, and then “it” always hits me later, at a usually much less convenient moment. My wedding day was like that. Kind of a bummer.

But today, today was when the reality of the past few weeks came together and I felt myself so deeply moved by the hearts of the students. This generation loves to sing their worship, and it was like once they got going they wouldn’t–or couldn’t–stop. Their hearts had been waiting to express and release these emotions and it all came rising up and out in one powerful voice. I found myself fighting back tears when we got to the words:

So take me as You find me,
All my fears and failures,
Fill my life again.

I give my life to follow
Everything I believe in,
Now I surrender.

Saviour, He can move the mountains,
Our God is Mighty to save,
He is Mighty to save.
Forever, Author of salvation,
He rose and conquered the grave,
Jesus conquered the grave.

Shine your light and let the whole world see,
We’re singing for the glory of the risen King……Jesus

These students have been, in a literal sense, purified by fire. They have all been affected in different ways and to different degrees, but no one will ever forget the past two weeks. Even I, as vehemently allergic to drama as I am, can’t deny what we have been through as a family.

As a family. If Monday felt a little like Christmas, with all the relatives coming from far and wide, bringing luggage and expectations and hugs and many, many generous gifts, today felt like Sunday dinner. Today we weren’t trying to impress anyone, or particularly caring about what we looked like or how we came across. There were no television cameras or guests or printed programs. We were just us, in our flip-flops and Westmont hoodies, coming to the table together, saying thank you.

Thank you, Giver of all good gifts.

Thank you for saving our lives.

So the Whole30 challenge is finally donezo. PTL. I can’t say what I was really looking for, except a general kind of “re-start” to my eating/focus/attention/energy, and it totally did that. I also was excited to do it with Chris, and it was mostly cool and fun for us to actively support each other in making healthy choices, and to fight forgive each other when we were snarky and grumpy because we couldn’t eat what we wanted.

As the month went on, it became easier to resist certain forms of temptation. It became less and less difficult to say no to the bad stuff when we were so full of good stuff and experiencing the benefits of eating clean. Even when we were impatient or bickering or jealous of what the hobbits were eating, we had so much energy and focus we still could have kicked down about 40 doors.

That cumulative effect of good choices reminded me of some conversations we’ve been having in our small group from church regarding holiness. The book we are going through together talks about reasons to pursue holiness even when it feels inconvenient; even though it seems daunting and burdensome at times. The author says that “holiness begets holiness,” meaning that the more choices we make in favor of holiness, the more likely we are to make similar strong choices in the future.

There’s something that the hard core Paleo peeps call “Sex With Your Pants On” food. I know. Just stay with me. It means figuring out how to “Paleo-ize” desserts and junk food; basically shoving your old unhealthy diet into a shiny new Paleo mold. They say that Paleo-ified junk food is still junk food– Paleo pancakes, pizza, cookies and ice cream are not everyday food, and you shouldn’t try to recreate junk food with “approved” ingredients in some cooking version of gaming the (pre-historic) system.

At first, this made me sad. I love baking, and I was enjoying finding recipes for brownies/cookies/muffins that I could still make and enjoy when eating Paleo.

Even back when I started eating Paleo about two years ago, one of my main hestitations was fear that it would be too rigid for me– I’ve never really been a super black-and-white person, I don’t really do stuff all-or-nothing, and I don’t believe in ultimatums.

Yet, now I’m a believer.

Sex with your pants on defeats the purpose. It’s counter-productive. And it misses the point.

Said another way, it’s following the letter of the law but not the spirit of the law.

The point is to think critically about whether the food choices you are making during your Whole 30 fit the intention of the program, not just the technicality of the rules.

The idea is to be conscious; mindful and present of what you are choosing to put into your body. To be aware of what your goal is with the food that you are meticulously contorting into something vaguely similar to what you “can’t” eat now. Rather than eating a pale imitation of a “real” cake that has 4 different kinds of nut flours and 3 ingredients you had to order online and then remove from dry ice, remind yourself that your goal is to control your cravings and not let them control you.  Have some strawberries and hot tea and press on.

If I’d thought for 30 days only about how restricted my food choices were, or how many days/hours/minutes remained until I could choke down a cupcake, I would have been even more miserable. Similarly, when I go through my week just doing what I believe is my duty or obligation – serving my family, doing my work, crossing items off my perpetual to-do list – I miss the point and purpose with which I want to live my life. And just as my goals for health influenced my choices to eat whole food for 30 days, so I want my ambitions for my life to motivate me to live wholehearted.

Brene Brown talks about wholeheartnedness a lot, and I highly recommend you check out her stuff. The point I’m making here is that there is simply no substitute for living with your whole heart. In food, in faith, in life— the principle is the same: Don’t hold back. Go for it, whether it’s holiness or health or something else entirely.  Set your intention and follow-through, not just because you said you would but because you know that’s what’s best and you are reaching for your best. Now,  please pass me some rolls with butter.

Open up before God, keep nothing back;
    he’ll do whatever needs to be done

from Psalm 37:5 The Message translation of the Bible

What are you holding back from?

What do you need to commit to?

Are You Leading The Life You Want?

That’s what my colleague said to me yesterday over lunch.

“Trust Your Instincts.”

We were halfway through an all-day offsite facilitation. She was a (reluctant) participant; I was (mostly) observing a new consultant who was doing the facilitation.

“Your insight is so incredibly astute. I just want to encourage you, when in doubt, go with your gut.  Trust. Your. Instincts.”

We sat at a table outside;  her with her sandwich and chips and me with my grilled vegetables and snap peas and hard-boiled eggs. The sun warmed our backs as she spoke slowly and deliberately.  She shared examples of when she has seen me lead a roomful of people in a common direction, after they started out disparate.  She reminded me of a time when I pushed someone to take a risk in a group discussion, and another time when I didn’t push but allowed for space, and she pointed out how both choices proved wise in the end.  She told me comments other people had made to her about me;  how much they appreciated my presence and skills.

These were no ordinary compliments.  They were spoken from careful consideration, as a result of some tough (some might say brutal) work that I have been doing with a few people this colleague knows well. It’s been a long road, and we are not home yet.

But this colleague respects the power of words like few others, and she knew the effect that they were having on me.  She gave me some time to process what she said. Her words echoed in my spirit for the rest of the day, and here I am still thinking about them, trying to squeeze as much courage and faith and power from them as I possibly can.

Not because I want you to think I’m wicked awesome at my work, but because it was one of those moments when I didn’t realize I needed to hear something until I heard it.

Her comments reminded me of something that happened last year right around this time, when the older hobbit fell off his bike and hurt his wrist. It was broken in a few places, and one break in particular meant that he would have to wear a hard cast and thus wouldn’t be able to play soccer for 6 weeks.  He was devastated.

When I looked at the x-ray, I didn’t see the break that the doctor described as the one requiring the cast, so I asked if the cast was really necessary. We went back-and-forth for a while, the doctor and I, and finally agreed to do an MRI and let it decide. When the MRI results came back,  there was no break.

This is not a post about doctors being wrong, although that happens.  It’s about the idea that if I hadn’t trusted my instincts, my son would have missed half his soccer season.  When I went with my gut, I gave my son hope, and when he found out that he could play with a soft bandage, the look on his face was unforgettable.

So today I go forth, with my trusted associate’s words reverberating throughout my head and the picture of my son’s overjoyed face in my heart, and I trust myself a little more.  May you do the same.

In your next moment of self- doubt, when you are tempted to second-guess yourself or to not speak up– or when you are tempted to talk to fill the silence, to push or not push, to do or not do- trust your instincts.

Have a little faith in you.

Do what you would do, if you knew what to do.

What does your gut tell you?

Are You Leading The Life You Want?