Love, C

I have a cynical friend. She's lovely. I adore her. We have the BEST conversations. and I am deeply encouraged by her raw desire to know truth. and I pray for her searching heart often. 

She called me last week. She asked me if she could write to you. All of you. Here, in this space. Asked me if I would be afraid to hit publish if I copied her possibly-offensive-not-how-Lyss-would-normally-write post. 

I said no. I wasn't afraid of her thoughts or her heart. 

... and just maybe some of you need to hear what she has to say. Just like I did. 

It is with great love and great anticipation that I introduce you to her bold self. Be encouraged. Be challenged. Be convicted. Be hopeful. 

Hi, blog readers.

It's C, here. and I just wanted to write an open letter to the church. But before I get going, you should know something: there's no quick fix here. There's not ten steps. There's no program that needs to start. There's no class that should be implemented. It has nothing to do with your big huge building, your amazing music, or your trendy PowerPoint slides. 

Honestly, there's not a fashionable enough foyer in the world with the power to lure me back. 

I mean, truly, there's not much you can say to me that I haven't already heard in some Sunday School classroom somewhere. I already know the Bible stories. I've heard them over and over and over, year after year after year. Somewhere along the line, they became a part of my blood, a part of my bones. 

I've heard sermon after sermon. I recited verse after verse at Awana every Wednesday night where I earned shiny little jewels for my ridiculously cool plastic crown. I know the Ten Commandments by heart, and I can sing the Fruits of the Spirit. I can lead someone to Jesus in three minutes flat, using five Bible verses and a quick telling of my own testimony. 

I left quietly at the ripe age of 14, when I joined the basketball team, and it felt more like family than youth group ever did. I left again in a huff at 17, angry and rebellious, slamming the church door behind me. Then I left at 19 when I gave into passion in some parked car in the middle of nowhere. I left after a dozen sermons and well-intented speakers told me that in surrendering my virginity, I had surrendered my worth. I was broken beyond repair. 

I stayed the course for a long, long time. I led small groups, played piano on the worship team, and heard you say I would change the world. I went to a Christian university, where people looked at me wide-eyed and dared me to prove my faith. I turned inward. I faded out, faded away. 

I left after hours, days, weeks, years of praying for a family that never came. I left when the Good, Godly girls and the Mean girls were the same girls. I disappeared. Into depression, into loneliness, into wandering. I walked out of a funeral service of someone way too young, and I never stepped foot into a church again. 

I left for a hundred different reasons, none less real or more important than the other. 

Once upon a time, I believed quickly and entirely, my faith in the church people and in Jesus all tangled into each other. I believed that those who loved Jesus would somehow be different, but no one ever told me it was okay that Jesus-lovers are broken, too. I felt the knife-stab of hypocrisy at some point, and it's a wound that never really healed. 

So I sit, arms crossed, hypersensitive to your hidden failures, secret faults, and desire for perfectionism. I have spent the last several years critical and cautious, constantly aware of the darkness: yours and mine. 

I hear your bewildered conversations about how so many have left the church. I see you scratching your head, writing books, trying to pinpoint the problem. 

I see you look at your church bulletin, wracking your brain, trying to figure out what you could possibly offer us to make us come home. 

But it's just not about the programs. I promise you we will see through all the flyers in our mailboxes and the attempts to rope us into "night church" because it's somehow cooler than the morning. We've all been baited before, and I'm suspicious this time around. I was raised on a steady diet of ads and commercials, and I know when you're just trying to sell me something so you can log your daily quota as fulfilled. 

We need you to fight for us. 

We need to be more than a number, more than the attendance card in the offering plate. More than a statistic. 

We need you to come to where we are. 

Come out of the church offices and the Christian bookstores. Turn off the perfect little act you try to keep up, and just hear us. 

*Sometimes, I really do think that's all it would've taken. Some church stranger to just sit down next to me, and say "how are you really doing?" Not "you really should join the women's ministry". Not "just get plugged in!" Just someone interested in listening. Just someone to mean it.

We really can see through all the little tricks and phrases up your sleeve. We're not looking to be someone's success story. This won't be some quick fix; you can't just slap on a little of your Sunday niceness on this mess and call it good.

We need you, I need you, to sit with us in the mad, wondering, hoping, healing, crying season for as long as it takes. We need to hear your stories- the real ones. The messy ones, with their hard parts and their imperfections and their "thistles", as Lyss would probably say. We need you to tell us the pain and the sin and the icky instead of just skipping ahead to the happy ending.

Because that somehow makes you real. less scary.

Because maybe then we can face our own darkness, if you're willing to be truthful about yours.

We are weary. bitter. deeply broken. and we can see through just about everything.

Except for maybe love. Real, raw love.

And the thing is? It might not look like the revival you imagined. It might not look like much at all. and in this appearance-driven world, it would be so lovely if the Church was the place that was okay with baby steps.

We need you to measure your success not in "results" of some kind, but in faithfulness. It's God who does the saving after all, not you. You just get to be the vessel. You're doing great things, just by drinking coffee with us and answering our late night phone calls. You're doing great things by being so incredibly persistent, but gentle. You're doing great things by never failing to remind us that you're praying.

We, I, need every single one of you. We need you brave in the face of our anger, kind in the midst of our acridity, persistent in our cautiousness. We need you every day.

We are tired and we are cold. And we just need to be told it's okay to come. Just like that.

But we can't do it alone.

Don't be afraid of us.

Don't be afraid of me.

Take our hand, and walk with us.

Remind us what Jesus looks like: arms open, eyes full of love.

Help us. Love us. Join us.

And maybe, just maybe, one day we'll find our way home.

Love,
C


Be the love this week, friends. Love to you. 

Take it.

I pray I will never be the "I-blog-every-single-day-of-my-life-just-so-people-visit-my-site" kind of person. I write because I have something to say. I write because I enjoy it. I write because Jesus fills my heart and my mind with big huge dreams, big huge thoughts, big huge questions. I write because I love people. 

I don't write for the numbers. I don't write in a hope to make money or gain any kind of fame. I don't write because I think my opinion is the best opinion and I don't write because I'm looking for a debate or an argument. 

I just write. 

I have learned to come to this space with a freedom similar to that which I carry when I come to Jesus. 

I just come to Him. I just come here. That's it. 

I had a friend say to me recently, "I just don't know how to approach God. It scares me." 

So I started to think about what it looks like when I approach God. What it looks like when I talk to Him, when I cry out to Him, when I am upset with Him, when I listen to Him. 

And I realized this: I have no special advice or words of wisdom when it comes to being with Jesus. 

Just come to Him. That's it. 

Come to Him like you come to your best friend, your favorite teacher, your biggest supporter. 

Come straight from your comfy bed with your morning breath and your baggy sweatpants. Come with your wild hair, your unwashed face, and last night's dishes still sitting in the sink. 

Come as soon as the alarm goes off, or after three or four (or ten) smacks at the snooze button. 

Or you know what? Maybe mornings aren't really your thing. But somewhere along the way, someone told you that this was the best way to meet with God. That bright and early meetings with Jesus are the best time, and you need to start your day with God. So you keep trying to muster up some sort of excitement at 6 am. 

*Friends, there is no best time. There is you- your individual, beautiful, particular heart- and there is God, His love a deep and wide river. And it doesn't matter when you step into the river. All that matters is that you come.

Come with your mind skittering a million different directions. Come with your impossible to-do list, and don't feel one bit guilty when your mind keeps drifting back to the day's impending demands. Just take note of it, and make your back to the quiet. It's okay. There will be many trips back and forth while you're there. From worry to listening to planning to speaking to singing to writing to hoping to wondering and then back around again. That's part of life with Jesus. and it's okay.

There have been so many moments in my little life where Jesus has reminded me of this. Me who doesn't need help, thankyouverymuch, and will do it all by myself even if it kills me. He reminds that stubborn pride in me that I need Him. I will be weak. I will be weary. and that's okay.

Maybe all this time, you've been trying to come perfect. You've been trying to come wide-awake when you're just exhausted. Maybe you've been trying to work up some kind of super faith when you're heart is sinking deep in the throes of doubt.

You don't have to hustle for approval in His presence. Come weary. Come beloved. 

Come reluctantly or expectantly. Come half-asleep or half-alive or broken into a thousand pieces.

Stare blankly at your dimly lit walls in the chilly, dark morning and say nothing. Or say everything. Rant and rave and whine and cry and bare it all to Jesus- your whole fearful, thankful, jealous, hurt, angry, hopeful heart.

Just come.

Tell Him what's on your heart. Even if the words sound unholy or unacceptable in some way. I promise God can handle it. He can handle impolite. He can handle wild. He can handle your temper. He can handle tears.

Come. Just come.

Come with a stone cold heart and sitting in silence. Come bitter. Come distant.

Read in His presence. or don't. Journal in His presence. Or don't. Sing in His presence. Or don't.

Just come. Honestly. Honestly sit at the feet of Jesus, bringing the entirety of yourself with you.

Maybe you won't feel anything. Maybe you'll feel nothing but the cold seeping through the floorboards and a weary dread for the mundane tasks of another day. Another week. Another year.

Come anyway.

Come even if you're not one bit sure about Jesus in the first place. Start simple. Just come. Look for the open arms, the ones that are welcoming the weary. Start with Jesus, just sit with Him, the one who loves to invite the imperfect: the mad-at-their-kids. the burnt-outs. the sick-and-tireds. the pissed-at-their-spouses. The one who sits in traffic, feeling rage she can't understand. The one who doesn't know what to do, what direction to go. The one who can't balance home and work and family. The one who can't stop crying. The one who's full to the brim with happiness.

Just come. Start with Jesus, who welcomes the overwhelmed. The hopeful. The hopeless.

He's looking at you. You who doesn't have one scrap of their life together, and He LOVES you.

He's looking at you. You who likes to pretend like you have every scrap of your life together, and He LOVES you.

It's just Him. and it's just you.

Just come.

The first step. Really, the only step. Take it.

It's so worth it.

and it's the one you will keep taking every weary, heavy-laden, joyous, hopeful, normal, average, noisy, lovely day of your life. 

i'm the ugly duckling.

It happened when I was ten, a chunky little fifth grader with mousy brown hair and a stubborn soul. I'm not exactly sure what I was told to wear that morning, but I know what I ended up wearing. Because it is there, memorialized in color, on a 5x7 school picture. I was accustomed to glasses at this point, and had picked out blue plastic frames; I was ten, but still? Really? I wore a pattered blue dress, blue socks, and blue sandals. I apparently thought this meant I matched. 
When the pictures were sent home, as they were every year, in that big white envelope, I stared back at the face peering at me... and that's when it happened. That's when I knew for sure: I was ugly. 
It was the comparison of the beautiful girls beside me. Hair in ribbons and their pretty coordinating outfits ironed and perfected. It was the day I realized that my hair would never be sleek and shiny or blonde. It was the day I knew that my features would always be bigger or smaller, while friend's features would always be more lovely, more feminine, more anything than what I could ever be. 
So I carried that with me. For years and years. I was ugly. Maybe someday, I would be a swan. But not anytime soon. I was surely the Ugly Duckling.
So when a dear friend of mine asks me to resolve to be thankful for my body this year, with all its nuances and its imperfections and its perfectly crafted pieces, I balk. I don't think I can do that. Loving others comes so naturally to me... but loving ME? That's always a resolution for next year. 
When another dear friend suggests I write a blog on whether "looks" matter in relationships, I tell her that I am most definitely the LAST person to be writing that post. 
When I'm knee deep in a conversation with a mommy friend of mine, and we're discussing the doubt in my soul regarding so many things related to beauty... she stops me mid-sentence and says, "What are you afraid of?" 
What am I afraid of. 
Here's the raw answer to that. I'm afraid of two things: 
1. I will miss the beauty that is right in front of me.  2. I will never be found beautiful. 
Whew. There's vulnerable for you :)
I suddenly had this burning desire to know- what is beautiful? and does is matter?
I say it often enough about nearly every single person I know, every piece of scribbled children's art, the pouring out of emotion, the sunsets that make me gasp, the conversations I have with friends. It has never been difficult for me to find beauty in everything I know. I'm prone to finding beauty. 
But what is beauty outside the eye of the beholder?
What is beauty when it is separated from the shiny magazine covers and the billboard ads, the television sit-coms and the computer screens in a midnight bedroom?
What is beauty when seen through the lens of the gospel, and nothing less?
I don't have all the answers. and I will never claim to. 
But I do know this: Jesus spent his earthly time and energy teaching His people to turn a kingdom of classes into a kingdom of completion. His concern and interest was in the poorest, the lowest, the outcast AND the richest, the most corrupt, the most beautiful. 
So how do we blend these?
Here's the argument I'd like to make. Where beauty is concerned, I don't care if you're swimming in money, wear designer everything, and get your hair cut and colored every six weeks. And I don't care if you're living paycheck to paycheck, have a week's worth of outfits, and throw your unruly hair into a pony-tail every day. If we are not satisfied with the self we have been given, if we do not love the self that was made just for us... we are exercising serious ungratefulness toward the perfect God who created us in His perfect image. 
And I would like to add this, which seems equally important to me: when we choose to reject what God has called beautiful in others, even if we ourselves do not find it instantly attractive, we are denying what God has perfectly created in them. 
When I call that fifth grade picture ugly, I look at the imago dei, the image of God, and I curse what He has called good. 
When I look with a critical eye in the mirror tonight as I wash my face and brush my teeth, I curse what He has called good. 
*Hear me loud and clear when I say that simply because God called it good does NOT mean that it hasn't been broken by the fall. There is a brokenness that comes with each day spent in the human realm, doing its best to hang onto our souls like a trained monkey. But sometimes, we chain that monkey to our own back. We feast our eyes on even more brokenness, even more corruptness... in hopes that we can attain what? More brokenness? WHY?! Okay, rant over.*
So, do looks matter? 
Yes. Oh, my goodness, yes they do. 
Praise Jesus they do. Praise Jesus that He put us here on earth with a garden to tend. and I pray that we tend it well. I pray that we tend our own plot well and I pray we are attentive to the plots of others. Praise Jesus that He created different sizes and shapes and colors and genders. Praise Jesus for His relentless creativity in design. Praise Jesus that we find anything lovely at all. 
Paul says in Philippians, "Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things." Oh, I pray I am able to find beauty wherever I find these things. 
So, do looks matter?
No. No, they just really don't. 
No, they don't matter here on earth where we will all grow giant bellies or waste away to nothing, where the grey hair eventually goes white or disappears completely, where wrinkles grow exponentially, boobs sag, and strength fails. 
Beauty is so fleeting, so temporal. A vapor. 
Gone. 
Even more so, looks don't matter because one day everyone who has made a home for Christ in their hearts will be worshipping at His feet. Everyone. That means every sag, every wrinkle, every mark, every love-handle. Every perfect nose, every straight tooth, every sculpted muscle, every six-pack abdomen. Every health nut and every couch potato, every beauty queen and every street child. We will sit and worship Him. Together. 
My fourth grade me, and my twenty-one year old me. My best version of me and my worst version of me. My joyful reflection of Him and my mirror's sickening reflection of me. All of it will glorify Him when it is transformed into perfection. 
So, I realized this: the question is so much more than What is Beautiful? or Do Looks Matter? 
The question I should be asking is, Am I valuing what God values in me and what God values in others?
No matter what that fifth grade picture instilled in me, He is the standard of my beauty. 
And the real raw beauty in that overwhelms me. There is nothing good in me but what He has redeemed for His glory. So I get to be the ugly duckling that was claimed even in my ugliness. He didn't wait for my inner swan to appear. He's not waiting for some "future me" to materialize. He's not looking for me to match a magazine spread. He's not even looking for me to match the wealth and beauty that lives down the street. 
He's after me being aware of the depth of what He's done in me. Through me. With me. 
For His glory. And His alone. 
He's after me seeing Him in the mirror. 

100.

I have a little sister. And today, she embarks on a crazy wild journey. 

Senior year of high school. 

I also have a little brother. And today, he embarks on a crazy wild journey, too. 

Senior year of high school. 

Wait, what?! How did this even happen?! 

My beautiful, bold, tender-hearted sister. I love her as much as she loves shopping, story-telling, and pedicures. 

My handsome, bold, rough and tumble brother. I love him as much as he loves four-wheeling, guitar solos, and combat. 

It's changed everything, having siblings. My heart aches to give them a head start in this Pinterest, Xbox, photo-shopped world. 

I'm certainly not going to get it perfect, but you better bet I'm going to give it a wild and wonderful go.

Brother isn't best loved through words. He'd be the first to tell you that words of affirmation isn't his love language. He'd rather go hit a round of golf balls or just sit and create music. That's love to him. and I love that :)

But sissy? She's a lot like me. Words are a big, big deal. And this space is one of the best ways I can highlight her as she begins her last year of high school.

So, baby sister, this one's for you. Here's 100 things I desperately want you to know as you step into your very last year of high school. As you get ready to leave the nest. 

Yep. 100. I love you that much. and more. 

1. Beauty is a state of mind, not a state of body. Sissy, claim your heart beauty. Jesus gave it to you, so wear it proudly; it shouts His goodness.

2. The benefit of the doubt is sometimes the best gift we can give our friends. 

3. There will always be mean girls and mean boys. That doesn't mean we find a tower and Rapunzel ourselves away from the world.

4. DO NOT TEXT while you drive. Seriously. It can wait. 

5. Don't you be settling. He better open the car door for you.

6. Sissy, you are always welcome in my wardrobe. 

7. The world needs your point of view. Share it. 

8. I'm just really thankful that you like avocado now. I have prayed and prayed that you would come to appreciate it. and you have. you make me proud.  

9. You are capable. Of WAY more than you can imagine right now. 

10. Write. You're good at it. Really good at it. 

11. Cook, clean, organize, serve because you love to. not because someone tells you you're meant to. 

12. Music makes everything better. and I will always dance with you. 

13. Academics are important. Work hard. Really hard! But don't let it consume you. God's agenda is way more than the school's agenda. 

14. You'll never be too old for me to embarrass you. Just get used to it. 

15. Nothing you could ever tell me will ever make me want to stop hearing from you or claiming you as sister. 

16. We need your story. 

17. No prayer request is ever too small, too silly, or too embarrassing to share. 

18. It's a good idea to wash your face and brush your teeth every night. 

19. Stinkin wear sunscreen. I saw your burns this summer. Be smart. 

20. Your eyes melt hearts. There is joy there. Purpose there. Hope there. 

21. A drive to the top of the world with your best girls make for a perfect evening. 

22. Find one spot to put your keys when you get home everyday. You're less likely to lose them. 

23. Words can build bridges between people. So can hugs. 

24. Home isn't where we live. It's who we love. 

25. Get the app Heads Up app. and play it as often as possible. It will make you laugh harder than you have ever laughed before. and it might just force you to get over yourself and step outside your comfort zone.

26. You can do it. Whatever "it" is, you can do it. 

27. Caitlin means "pure." Your name carries special, significant meaning. 

28. Inevitably, I will splinter your heart. But I promise we will tweeze it out together. 

29. I love more deeply and more recklessly because of you. Thank you. 

30. Staying up late to read is never wasted time. 

31. Good girls and good boys aren't boring. 

32. A good mascara is always worth the investment. and a good hand soap, too. 

33. Plan on eating three times a day. Waiting until dinner each day and trying to make it through senior year is never gonna work. Get up earlier or stay up later to plan appropriately for the day. 

34. Saying sorry first is a sign of strength, not weakness. Don't make forgiveness a game. 

35. I'm so on your side. even on the days when it doesn't feel like it. at the end of the day, I'm always in your corner. 

36. Your body is priceless. A wonderful gift to be shared with your spouse. And I desperately pray you will unwrap that gift together with your husband, cait. But if you don't, don't be afraid to be honest. I will always be here to sit in the trenches with you and speak that big anointing over you full of creativity and purity and beauty. 

37. The movies lie. I am convinced that passion isn't a contorted exercise on a marble staircase; it's doing dishes together at the end of the night and lying with your feet touching in bed at the finish of a long day. When I get married, I'll be sure to report back as to the validity of this :) 

38. Always fight fair. But don't be afraid to fight. 

39. God says He has made all things beautiful. That means you, sis. 

40. Lunch dates with you? They are precious to me. 

41. A good cry is great therapy. 

42. Jesus-loving women aren't immune from cliques. Love on regardless. 

43. Bad hair days are inevitable. 

44. A strong man isn't threatened by a strong woman. 

45. Go big even if it might mean failing big. Especially then. 

46. Sissy, be the friend you wish you had. 

47. Travel. Lots and lots. to the ends of the earth.

48. You cannot control what others think about you. Let it go. Be you. 

49. I will be your best friend. But I will be your protective big sister more. and sometimes that means you won't like what I will have to say. #sorrynotsorry 

50. You can sing. Don't be afraid to belt it out. 

51. You can't go wrong with some Kari Jobe, T-Swift, or lullabies. 

52. Stop for sunsets. Always stop for sunsets. 

53. You are going to be the best auntie. and my boys are going to geek out someday when they see how great you are on a long-board. 

54. Husbands need a wife. Not another mom. 

55. Patience. You might just have to consciously ask for this every day. Because it's hard sometimes. 

56. Instagram your life. It's fun and I like to see what you're up to. But don't JUST Insta your life. Live it. 

57. I have never been the one to help you with any kind of project that involves drawing. That will not be changing this year. Bring me a paper to edit. I'm all over that. 

58. The only thing holding you back from making a difference in the world will be yourself. 

59. I will always share chicken fingers and fries with you. 

60. If you keep your room clean, life will stress you out less. 

61. Sometimes, stepping out and doing the impossible for Jesus looks foolish to others. That's okay. Be foolish. 

62. Real life is always better than online life. 

63. A good friend loves at all times. Period. 

64. The generic peach-o's taste better than the brand name ones. 

65. I'm more interested in your growth than in your happiness. 

66. I will earthquake wide open when you hurt. and I will always come when you call. 

67. You don't always have to do what mom and dad tell you to do. There is a respectful way to disagree.

68. Challenge yourself. 

69. Don't let your Spanish classes go to waste. Use the language you've learned!

70. Dramamine, Advil, and a good multi-vitamin: always a good idea to have around. 

71. We need each other. 

72. You will love again. 

73. The painful truth is always easier than a messy lie. 

74. Jesus loves you, this I know. In my heart, my bones, my soul. 

75. Find joy in what you have. Right here, right now.

76. The next time there's a thunderstorm, go stand outside. barefoot. and feel the electricity pulse through your soul. It's exhilarating.

77. Don't let the child in you die. Nurture the huge imagination and the belief in the impossible. 

78. The world is a full of beauty but often a few things can make it seem harsh. Open your heart to goodness and gladness and gratitude. The choice between being an optimist or a pessimist will remain right there in front of you. Choose one, choose wisely!

78. You have GROWN so much this last year. and I couldn't be more proud. 

79. There's no such thing as perfect. Except Jesus. He's perfect. 

80. Nothing will make me love you any less. You're family. 

81. You're the most brave when you're the most scared and choose to keep going anyway. 

82. I'm never tired of being your sister. 

83. Soak up every single day of this year. every.single.day. 

84. It's scary to stick up for what's right. I know that. I validate that. But sissy, it's so worth it. 

85. God loves you because of who He is. Not because of anything you did or didn't do. 

86. Oh, my darling sister, the best is yet to come. Truly. The best is yet to come. 

87. Yield. 

88. It's rude not to be on time. So do what is necessary to be where you need to be, when you need to be there. 

89. If we all threw our issues in a pile and saw everyone else's, chances are we'd grab ours back. Find gold in the thistle. It's always there. 

90. Don't audit life. Make the most of it. 

91. Be eccentric now. Don't wait until your old age to be cooky and crazy. Life's too short not to have fun. 

92. Overprepare, then go with the flow. 

93. Burn the candles, use the fancy dinnerware set, don your fancy party dress. Don't save it for a special occasion. Today is special. 

94. Get rid of things that aren't useful. Clutter weighs you down. 

95. Life isn't always fair, but it's still good. Life can always be good. Shift your perspective when needed to find the goodness. 

96. Stick with the iPhone. It's a good call. 

97. Be extravagantly generous with your love. 

98. Claim your identity as the King's daughter. 

99. Jesus will always come through. He is your biggest, most faithful fan. 

100. You will always be my favorite baby sister. and I am so thankful that God chose you to be a part of my family.

Happy last first day of school, little one. 

I love you there and back.