to the lovers and the haters.

I have a tab on the blog that says "Let's Chat." People use it. A lot. I get emails daily. I love it. 

Most of the time. 

I got an email this week from a stranger who took it upon herself to tell me that I am disgustingly prideful. She talked and talked about my "hubris", my vanity, my self-importance, my self-promotion. 

A while back a reader told me that my hallmark is my humility and willingness to be transparent about weaknesses. 

Someone called me an "uppity" woman, like we're stuck in the middle of the 18th century. 

Others tell me I'm too nice, too flowery, too kind. That I should learn to take a stand for something. 

Yet some believe I'm too passionate, too fire-y, too motivated. 

I've had people straight up tell me I'm a terrible follower of Jesus. 

Then others come and pick up those pieces and tell me I'm doing just fine, that they're praying for me. 

Here's the thing, you guys: 

My identity can't be found in the accusations or the accolades. 

My best friends can attest to the fact that I have agonized over the emails, the comments. I have cried sad, angry, hurt tears over the mean ones and cried joyous, overwhelmed, encouraged tears over the sweet ones. 

I just can't do it anymore. I can't listen to the one who thinks I'm terribly wrong or the one who thinks I'm spot on. Both of them are right, and both of them are wrong. I am refusing to find my identity or my voice or my worth in the words and opinions of others. 

Don't get me wrong or misunderstand me. I am absolutely open to criticism. There are faithful friends and beloved leaders who I value and trust. I love hearing their thoughts- harsh or not. (and trust me, they hold my feet to the fire sometimes.) But there's a HUGE difference between someone who speaks from an earned place of love and trust in your life, and the drive-by critics with an ax to grind against you and no genuine investment in the outcome. 

Here is the thing about standing up against something, or FOR something: some people would just rather you sit back down. 

People prefer status quo. Boat-rockers make us incredibly nervous. 

But I will not sit down. I will not back down. I won't be silenced by imperfection or opposition. 

My prayer in the midst of this is that my weakness will showcase the strength and power of Christ and His Kingdom. 

I will call attention to my feet of clay and my own frailty over and over and over again because no one is more aware than me that I was born sinful and have been saved by the blood of the lamb. I carry a priceless treasure, and I will gladly boast in my weaknesses so that His power may rest on me (2 Corinthians 12:9). 

The depth and validity of my writing and work can't be dependant on my ability to please everyone. My list of failures and short-comings are real, and number FAR more than the ones my readers enjoy pin-pointing. 

I believe in being a student, a sister, a daughter, a friend the way Jesus would be all those things. I believe in justice, in vulnerability, in truth. I believe that our HOW matters just as much as our WHAT and our WHY. I want everything I do to reflect the heart of God. I want to walk faithfully in His footsteps and be a good vessel for His Kingdom. 

From the moment man was spoken into existence, we have been called to be warriors. The Bible is flooded with calls to battle and descriptions of the necessary armor. We have in no way been called to the people-pleasing life, the approval-seeking life, the shrink-back-and-give-up life. Instead, we've been called to the peace-making life, the truth-telling life, the he-who-the-Son-sets-free-is-free-indeed life (John 8:36). 

We've been called to the Spirit-filled and God-breathed life, living out the ways of the Kingdom and the love of Christ in every corner of our humanity. 

We've been called to the life of the beloved, the life of the disciple. And sometimes that means people love what we do, while sometimes it means they hate what we do. 

But friends, you and I can't engage in life from a place of worthiness without having a core belief about that worthiness: We are loved. We are redeemed. We are whole in Christ. Your true identity is beloved. Start there. And then we can live out our lives and our callings from a deep well of love and freedom and wholeness. 

Even- maybe even especially- our imperfect, filled-with-weaknesses lives are singing a beautiful song of invitation to the lost and the hurting: Come. It's beautiful, this life with Jesus. Breathe free. You are loved. 

So, stand up. Even when you feel like sitting down. 

I promise it will be worth it. 

bless the merciful.

We have different gifts, according to the grace given to each of us. If your gift is prophesying, then prophesy in accordance with your faith; if it is serving, then serve; if it is teaching, then teach; if it is to encourage, then give encouragement; if it is giving, then give generously; if it is to lead, do it diligently; if it is to show mercy, do it cheerfully. Romans 12:-6-8

My junior high Bible teacher was amazing. I loved her. Still do, actually. She taught me more about grace and about boldness and about freedom in those two years than anyone ever before. Her classroom was inviting, safe, and always smelled good; I spent most days lunching on her corner couches. She was a rather unconventional teacher, focusing on heart and relationship much more than curriculum or agendas. 

We did a spiritual gifts unit one quarter. We came in the classroom, and she handed us a packet of questions to answer. You know the drill. I remember so vividly doing my best to pick answers that would lend a particular result: Leader. Evangelical culture values the hero, celebrates the leader, praises the head of the pack. In our weird little hierarchy of heroes, clearly the most spiritual among us would be the leaders, right? After repeated (and I mean repeated) multiple choice testings, my own results always came out NOT leadership. Of course. 

I was less than thrilled to say the least. 

So, the last several years have been an intentional pursuit of what it means to walk in my giftings, to represent Christ in the best possible way. 

Part of that journey has been a parallel intentionality to discover and appreciate the gifts of those around me. I am surrounded by helpers, encouragers, teachers and leaders. I am overwhelmed by others' wisdom and faith, and have been blessed time and time again by the givers. I'm grateful. 

But today, I'd like to say thank you to the Mercy people. To those of you that have been given such a sweet, yet often looked-over gift.

Bless the merciful. Those who refrain from giving us what we deserve.

Bless the hospital chaplains who cry and pray in trauma rooms with the scared and the hurting. Bless the elderly woman who folds the young mother's laundry. Bless the cookie bakers and the smoothie makers who deliver to the lonely or forgotten. Bless the father who scrapes puke up off the floor only after he's gently washes and dressed and comforted the sick child. 

Bless the ones who cry too much and feel too much. Bless the wounded healers. 

Bless the kind ones, who speak words of life and gentleness. Bless the benefit-of-the-doubt givers, the one-more-chance lavishers. Bless the holders and the kleenex-passers. Bless the walkers-in-another-shoes. Bless the wheelchair pushers. Bless the ones there waiting after the chips fall, and the edifice crumbles, and the truth comes out. Bless them for their grace for both the flyers and thud-ere, for the fury and for the glory. 

Bless the ones who pardon the unforgivable, and bandage wounds. Bless them for the dignity they somehow give the rest of us. Bless them for seeing us, and loving us anyway. 

Bless them for standing in our thin places between too-much and not-enough, the places where our hearts are breaking and our fears are manifesting and we are scared and alone. Bless them for showing up in the fault lines to hold our hands and pray. 

Bless them for weeping with those who weep. 

Bless them for their patience, for their supernatural ability to stop rolling their eyes, for their ability to be present. Bless them for their joy in the face of suffering, and their faith in our always-changing story. 

Bless them for their heart to smooth the edges and widen the roads. Bless them for their cups of cold water, their hot plates of food. Bless them for their prison visiting, their preemie-baby hat knitting, their nursery rocking so tired mommas can worship in community. Bless them when they smell of salty tears. 

Bless the merciful as they carry our own burdens with us, and we cannot know how low they are bowed with the grief of the whole world groaning for justice and peace. Bless the ones who love without fanfare or book deals or conference attention. Bless the ones running toward the hurting, instead of running away like the rest of us. 

Bless them because it takes more gut to be merciful, compassionate and kind than we could have ever imagined. 

Bless you, merciful ones. 

and dear Jesus, give me a more merciful heart.