Monday, August 5, 2013
it's just for you.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
new name, new look, same me.
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
but he called me a stupid head.
"Even though it's really hard, when someone is mean {when they call you names, steal your friends, don't express gratitude for your efforts, stop talking to you, gossip about you, kick you on the playground, decide someone else is more important, pretend you are invisible, spread rumors about you, don't apologize, etc.} we need to try our best to be nice."
I looked at my favorite little five year old in the rear-view mirror after I picked her up from swim lessons last week. She frowned and looked out the window.
"But uh-LYSSSSA," she whined. "He called me a stupid-head. So I smacked him." The teacher had gently informed me at pickup that there had been an "incident" in the pool that day. Thank you for telling me, I nodded. I'll make sure we talk about it.
And we did.
But as I formed the words in the car I thought about them as I spoke them. How can I tell this sweet little one how to act when I have deep hurts in my own heart and sometimes all I want to do is smack someone in line? And when someone hurts us deeply (dare I admit it?), sometimes it is all I have in me not to be cruel in return.
So I tell her. Even when someone is hurtful, over and over and OVER again. Even when they betray you. Even when they call you names. Even then we still must love.
I tasted the bitterness as it came off my tongue. Because large parts of my heart struggle to believe my own words.
Because seriously, how many chances does someone get?
How many chances did Peter get? I recall Peter asking Jesus something similar. Almost like a kindergartener (or a 21-year-old college student) he was. How many times, Jesus? How many times do I forgive? Surely not more than I have days in the week?
And then Jesus said, "Hey, Peter? Times whatever number you have in your head by infinity, and then you'll have your answer."
How many times do we allow someone to hurt our feelings, betray us in the most intimate of ways, or call us a stupid-head during swim lessons without going all wild woman crazy on them and returning the hurt?
Infinity times infinity.
It's a drastic type of forgiveness. It's a radical, weird thing that doesn't feel good all the time. It feels weak and subservient. It feels like I'm losing my pride, that I'm losing my footing and confidence. It's so much stronger to be cruel in return, right? This kind of infinity-times-infinity forgiveness doesn't make any kind of real sense.
It's the kind of forgiveness that goes way beyond stupid-head.
It dips into the arena of forgiving the lie-spreaders, our abusers, the ones who murder and steal and take things in life that never belonged to them. And sometimes? It's forgiveness over and over and over again. But as I think about it and I think about Peter, I don't think Jesus asked anything less.
It's the kind of gracious forgiveness that seems NUTS to those who don't know Jesus. Like jumping in a freezing pool or walking on a tight-rope over the grand canyon. Once you're in, you're all in. There's no going back.
And then once we've forgiven today {because forgiving today is a bit easier than trying to forgive for all eternity}, we wake up tomorrow and we do it again. Whenever the sting rises, we consciously choose to jump full feet into radical forgiveness. Infinity times infinity, if it comes to that.
And sometimes, that forgiveness will be a quiet whisper in the still of the night. When the anxiety and the hurt has woken us up once again at 2:17 with no hope of falling back asleep. It's the whisper, the name of the betrayer and a "Jesus, please help" added to the end. Speaking the small, weak prayer is one of the strongest things we can do. It's a huge step of grace. A huge surrender of control.
The people that wound us? They only hold as much power over us as we allow.
Taking those excruciatingly hard, tiny steps toward drastic forgiveness is the ONLY way I can teach the little ones in my life that even if he calls her bad names forever we still have the opportunity to practice mercy.
Because Jesus asked us to.
And because anything less keeps us in chains to the person who has done the wounding.
Jesus, help me. Wash over me and wash over them with your infinity-times-infinity quality of grace and radical forgiveness.
And please help sweet little love to know she is not, and never will be, a stupid-head.
Love,
Lyss
I looked at my favorite little five year old in the rear-view mirror after I picked her up from swim lessons last week. She frowned and looked out the window.
"But uh-LYSSSSA," she whined. "He called me a stupid-head. So I smacked him." The teacher had gently informed me at pickup that there had been an "incident" in the pool that day. Thank you for telling me, I nodded. I'll make sure we talk about it.
And we did.
But as I formed the words in the car I thought about them as I spoke them. How can I tell this sweet little one how to act when I have deep hurts in my own heart and sometimes all I want to do is smack someone in line? And when someone hurts us deeply (dare I admit it?), sometimes it is all I have in me not to be cruel in return.
So I tell her. Even when someone is hurtful, over and over and OVER again. Even when they betray you. Even when they call you names. Even then we still must love.
I tasted the bitterness as it came off my tongue. Because large parts of my heart struggle to believe my own words.
Because seriously, how many chances does someone get?
How many chances did Peter get? I recall Peter asking Jesus something similar. Almost like a kindergartener (or a 21-year-old college student) he was. How many times, Jesus? How many times do I forgive? Surely not more than I have days in the week?
And then Jesus said, "Hey, Peter? Times whatever number you have in your head by infinity, and then you'll have your answer."
How many times do we allow someone to hurt our feelings, betray us in the most intimate of ways, or call us a stupid-head during swim lessons without going all wild woman crazy on them and returning the hurt?
Infinity times infinity.
It's a drastic type of forgiveness. It's a radical, weird thing that doesn't feel good all the time. It feels weak and subservient. It feels like I'm losing my pride, that I'm losing my footing and confidence. It's so much stronger to be cruel in return, right? This kind of infinity-times-infinity forgiveness doesn't make any kind of real sense.
It's the kind of forgiveness that goes way beyond stupid-head.
It dips into the arena of forgiving the lie-spreaders, our abusers, the ones who murder and steal and take things in life that never belonged to them. And sometimes? It's forgiveness over and over and over again. But as I think about it and I think about Peter, I don't think Jesus asked anything less.
It's the kind of gracious forgiveness that seems NUTS to those who don't know Jesus. Like jumping in a freezing pool or walking on a tight-rope over the grand canyon. Once you're in, you're all in. There's no going back.
And then once we've forgiven today {because forgiving today is a bit easier than trying to forgive for all eternity}, we wake up tomorrow and we do it again. Whenever the sting rises, we consciously choose to jump full feet into radical forgiveness. Infinity times infinity, if it comes to that.
And sometimes, that forgiveness will be a quiet whisper in the still of the night. When the anxiety and the hurt has woken us up once again at 2:17 with no hope of falling back asleep. It's the whisper, the name of the betrayer and a "Jesus, please help" added to the end. Speaking the small, weak prayer is one of the strongest things we can do. It's a huge step of grace. A huge surrender of control.
The people that wound us? They only hold as much power over us as we allow.
Taking those excruciatingly hard, tiny steps toward drastic forgiveness is the ONLY way I can teach the little ones in my life that even if he calls her bad names forever we still have the opportunity to practice mercy.
Because Jesus asked us to.
And because anything less keeps us in chains to the person who has done the wounding.
Jesus, help me. Wash over me and wash over them with your infinity-times-infinity quality of grace and radical forgiveness.
And please help sweet little love to know she is not, and never will be, a stupid-head.
Love,
Lyss
Friday, June 14, 2013
several cups, a couple tablespoons, a teaspoon, and a little pinch.
On Wednesday, I celebrated my 21st birthday.
Here's 21 lessons I've learned in these 21 years on earth. From friends, from family, from the children, from strangers, from Jesus.
*Adding this in after I finished writing the post. This might sound a bit different from what you normally read in this space. My dear friend said it best when she said, "You just wrote like you talk. I really wish more people could hear your tone." So for those of you who don't know me well, I'll try to describe my tone to you. Several cups of love, a couple tablespoons of awe, a teaspoon of wit, and maybe a little pinch of determination.
My 21 pearls of wisdom to you, friends.
In random order.
1. People are hurting. Err on the side of kindness. Kindness makes a difference. When you tweet, when you post a status, when you blog, when you visit family, when you send a text, when you change a diaper, when you're in traffic, when your dog pees in the house, when you have zero words for the exasperation you are feeling: Be kind. Play nice.
2. Just because you're a good student, a good writer, a good house-keeper, a loving wife, a long-suffering husband, a conventionally pretty or handsome person, a hard-worker, a wonderful nurse/dentist/mom/dad/teacher/lawyer/artist, or ______ or _______ or _______, it doesn't make you better than anyone else. As soon as you possibly can, get over yourself. Value others for who God created them to be and take joy in putting Him on display.
3. You can never ever eat too much avocado. ever.
4. The Bible. It's majorly confusing and deserves diligent time and attention to understand well. It's beautifully rich and life-changing. Study it. Often. By yourself. and with others.
5. Seek after God's best for you and ask Him to equip you with the tools to live to your absolutely fullest potential.
6. Read.
7. Embrace vulnerability. There is so much beauty in being raw.
8. God absolutely loves poor people, mean people, sick people, displaced people, emotionally abused people, mentally-ill people, train-wrecks, immigrants and lesbians. You should to. And it should be tangible.
9. Dream big. So so big. But don't step on others trying to achieve it.
10. It's better to just fight than to be passive aggressive. Sometimes, you just have to embrace tension and step into it together. (right, bec? :))
11. Look people directly in the eyes and say hello or smile. Or go really crazy, and do BOTH! Seriously. It does wonders.
12. Children are the most vulnerable population on our planet. We have the huge opportunity to honor them, protect them, and love them. In my humble opinion, this includes children who are not yet born. All children should be protected. Loved. Cherished. Valued.
13. You're not likely to flourish without taking some risks. You jump, I jump, Jack.
14. Whether it will take five minutes or five years, decide that you will forgive those who have deeply wounded you.
15. There is a place for rebuke. We don't like to think so, but there is. Though so so hard to give out, rebuke is absolutely necessary and quite effective when given in love.
16. Great leaders, great visionaries, great change agents always have accountability. Don't let yourself hide away where no one can put you in your place when you act like a crazy, wild mess. Allowing yourself to be disciplined and shaped and sharpened isn't cowardly. It is so so very brave.
17. How you treat those who can do nothing for you says a lot about your character.
18. Ask God questions. It's allowed.
19. Let your "yes" be "yes" and your "no" be "no." What if we were forced to follow through on everything we said "yes" to? Everything from lunch with a friend to staying married even while unhappy? Would we think more clearly about what we agreed to if our lives depended on our follow through? Let your "yes" be "yes". If you agreed to it, promised to it, then do it. Oh. and also? You might need to say "yes" less often.
20. Audibly thank God. Acknowledge his artistic expressions, moved mountains, and perfect heart.
21. You are loved. You are seen. You are known.
...and there we go. done.
21 lessons in 21 years.
Really excited for this year and the dozens of lessons that await.
A big thank you to all of you that have journeyed with me!
Much love,
Lyss
Here's 21 lessons I've learned in these 21 years on earth. From friends, from family, from the children, from strangers, from Jesus.
*Adding this in after I finished writing the post. This might sound a bit different from what you normally read in this space. My dear friend said it best when she said, "You just wrote like you talk. I really wish more people could hear your tone." So for those of you who don't know me well, I'll try to describe my tone to you. Several cups of love, a couple tablespoons of awe, a teaspoon of wit, and maybe a little pinch of determination.
My 21 pearls of wisdom to you, friends.
In random order.
1. People are hurting. Err on the side of kindness. Kindness makes a difference. When you tweet, when you post a status, when you blog, when you visit family, when you send a text, when you change a diaper, when you're in traffic, when your dog pees in the house, when you have zero words for the exasperation you are feeling: Be kind. Play nice.
2. Just because you're a good student, a good writer, a good house-keeper, a loving wife, a long-suffering husband, a conventionally pretty or handsome person, a hard-worker, a wonderful nurse/dentist/mom/dad/teacher/lawyer/artist, or ______ or _______ or _______, it doesn't make you better than anyone else. As soon as you possibly can, get over yourself. Value others for who God created them to be and take joy in putting Him on display.
3. You can never ever eat too much avocado. ever.
4. The Bible. It's majorly confusing and deserves diligent time and attention to understand well. It's beautifully rich and life-changing. Study it. Often. By yourself. and with others.
5. Seek after God's best for you and ask Him to equip you with the tools to live to your absolutely fullest potential.
6. Read.
7. Embrace vulnerability. There is so much beauty in being raw.
8. God absolutely loves poor people, mean people, sick people, displaced people, emotionally abused people, mentally-ill people, train-wrecks, immigrants and lesbians. You should to. And it should be tangible.
9. Dream big. So so big. But don't step on others trying to achieve it.
10. It's better to just fight than to be passive aggressive. Sometimes, you just have to embrace tension and step into it together. (right, bec? :))
11. Look people directly in the eyes and say hello or smile. Or go really crazy, and do BOTH! Seriously. It does wonders.
12. Children are the most vulnerable population on our planet. We have the huge opportunity to honor them, protect them, and love them. In my humble opinion, this includes children who are not yet born. All children should be protected. Loved. Cherished. Valued.
13. You're not likely to flourish without taking some risks. You jump, I jump, Jack.
14. Whether it will take five minutes or five years, decide that you will forgive those who have deeply wounded you.
15. There is a place for rebuke. We don't like to think so, but there is. Though so so hard to give out, rebuke is absolutely necessary and quite effective when given in love.
16. Great leaders, great visionaries, great change agents always have accountability. Don't let yourself hide away where no one can put you in your place when you act like a crazy, wild mess. Allowing yourself to be disciplined and shaped and sharpened isn't cowardly. It is so so very brave.
17. How you treat those who can do nothing for you says a lot about your character.
18. Ask God questions. It's allowed.
19. Let your "yes" be "yes" and your "no" be "no." What if we were forced to follow through on everything we said "yes" to? Everything from lunch with a friend to staying married even while unhappy? Would we think more clearly about what we agreed to if our lives depended on our follow through? Let your "yes" be "yes". If you agreed to it, promised to it, then do it. Oh. and also? You might need to say "yes" less often.
20. Audibly thank God. Acknowledge his artistic expressions, moved mountains, and perfect heart.
21. You are loved. You are seen. You are known.
...and there we go. done.
21 lessons in 21 years.
Really excited for this year and the dozens of lessons that await.
A big thank you to all of you that have journeyed with me!
Much love,
Lyss
Friday, May 10, 2013
sex, perfection, and spit.
These thoughts have been on my heart for a WHILE, but I just didn't really know how to approach the subject. I have zero credibility in the area. I'm young. I'm not seasoned.
But I listen.
I listen to chapel speakers at school. I take note of podcasts online. I hear sermons. I watch tears roll down friend's faces as they share their experiences and stories.
and I form my own thoughts. I sit in the wee hours of the morning with my Bible and journal. I read. I write. I listen to Jesus.
Then yesterday happened. I sat at the table and heard yet another story. Another story that made my heart cringe. I held my breath for a second, trying so hard to not let rage take over at the evil work of the enemy in our world. doesn't she see how loved she is?
and I knew it was time. time to write out a rebuttal.
I texted yesterday's coffee date this morning and said, "how would you feel about me blogging about our time yesterday? I won't put your name or anything, and you can obviously read and edit it before I post it. No pressure at all!"
This was her reply: "Please. Please blog it. Anything that I said if fair game. I trust you."
Seriously?
Her selflessness astounds me.
Anyway. Here we go. Let's step into the trenches together.
This is one of the first sentences I remember from yesterday. It made me cry. She looked at me and said, "I was nineteen years old and crazy in love with Jesus when a pastor stood in an auditorium and told me I was damaged goods because of my sexual past."
I sat there and just started to cry. While I'm sure that pastor was making every effort to encourage this crowd of young adults to stay pure for marriage, he was also shattering the hope of new life and identity for any girl who has a history.
I've seen them. I've heard them. I'm sure we all have. They are passionate. They are well-intentioned. They are good speakers. They are incredibly convincing.
She continued: "he stood up on that stage and just shamed me. over and over and over again. He didn't call me up to the front or name my name, but he stood there and talked about me with such disgust, like I didn't belong worshipping in that church. I felt like there was a spot light on me, singling me out amongst the holy. I'm sure my face was so red it announced by guilt to everyone."
Then she went on to explain that he passed a cup of water around, asked them all to spit in it. Some boys horked and honked their worst into that cup, sending everyone into a fit of laughter. He held the cup of cloudy saliva up and asked, "now, who would like to drink this?!". Gagging noises and shouts of "NO WAY", and "that's disgusting" and "never" followed the inquiry.
The pastor's response: "This is what you are like if you have sex before marriage," he said seriously, "you are asking your future husband or wife to drink this cup."
Honestly, I was having trouble catching my breath. I just wanted to hug her. Tell her she was loved. That she had purpose and promise and worth.
Over the years that I've heard messages on purity and sex, the words have melded together into a common refrain:
1. You're virginity is a gift. Don't be foolish and give it away.
2. If you have sex before marriage, you are throwing away your virtue for a moment of pleasure.
3. You have twisted God's ideal of sex and love and marriage.
4. You will never be free from former partners, and the boys will haunt your marriage like soul-ties.
5. Your virginity belongs to your husband. You stole from him.
6. If you get married, you will now bring tremendous baggage into your marriage.
I've heard it over and over. and over and over, I've watched girls take that message and bury it deep in their souls.
"No one honorable or godly will ever want to marry me."
"I am just damaged goods."
"Since true love is supposed to wait, I have been disqualified from true love."
and I'm so so tired of hearing this. I'm just tired of it. Not because I don't LOVE hearing stories. Not because I get bored. Not because I've heard the same thing over and over.
I am tired of it because it's absolutely absurd that this is the love (or lack of it) that we have cultivated.
In the face of our sexually-dysfunctional culture, the church as a whole longs to stand out as an outpost of God's ways of love and marriage, purity and wholeness.
as it should. God DID design sex for marriage.
But somehow, we twist that until we treat incredible, beautiful women as if their value and worth is tied up in their virginity.
I'm a seriously empathetic person, and I have sat across from woman after woman... and I've felt this with them. I've felt like the dirty little secret, the not-as-good, the easily judged example. I've painfully watched and felt my heart endure the shame that comes from their soul battling against the lie that sexual choices are the barometer of righteousness and worth.
"I couldn't let anyone know. So I just kept it quiet. I didn't want anyone to discover that I wasn't a virgin. I didn't want to be the object of disgust or pity or judgement. So in the silence, my shame- and the lies of the enemy- grew."
Tears ran down both of our faces.
I was frantically searching my brain for the right words to say. I felt Jesus gently nudge me and say, "put yourself there."
So I did. As I already had, but even deeper this time. I sat in that packed auditorium with her. My heart began to race, my wrists started to ache, my eyes stung. I felt it. Really felt it. Every bit of beauty I might have felt was quieted, and I was silenced by the imposition of humiliation masquerading as ashes of remorsefulness.
and then I knew exactly what to say to her. exactly what needed to be said here. exactly what I would wish someone to say to me if I was in her shoes.
You are loved.
Really, it could stop there. But I'll keep going.
Yes, you had sex before you were married.
Nothing about that changes the fact that you are perfectly loved. for all eternity.
There is NO shame in Christ's love. You are so much more than your virginity. so much more than your sexual past.
Your marriage is not doomed because you said yes to sex outside of marriage. Your husband will not hold it against you. Because he's not that weak and ego-driven. Choose a man marked by grace.
It's likely that you would've made different choices if you could go back. if you knew then what you know now. But beautiful daughter of the Most High, don't let anyone silence you or the redeeming work of Christ in your life that brought you out of shame and into beauty.
You have been made NEW. In Christ, you are clear, like fresh spring water, rushing and alive, quenching and bracing, in your wholeness.
For I am convinced, right along with Paul, that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any other power, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus. Not even “neither virginity nor promiscuity” and all points between can separate you from this love. You are loved- without condition- beyond your wildest dreams.
I don't know what your "auditorium day" looks like. or maybe there's been lots and lots of them. But no matter what that pastor said that day, no matter how many purity balls are thrown with sparkling upper-middle-class extravagance, no matter the purity rings and the purity pledges, no matter the judgemental Gospel-negating rhetoric used with the best of intentions, no matter the “how close is too close?” serious conversations of boundary-marking young Christians, no matter the circumstances of your story, you are not disqualified from life or from joy or from marriage or from your calling.
So dear young one burning with shame and hiding in the silence, listen now: Don’t believe that lie.
You never were, you never will be, damaged goods.
You are loved,
Lyss
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
It's okay to be little.
My dear friend sent me a text today that said: "You should write a blog today."
I laughed, and replied, "maybe I will."
and I've sat here for the last several hours with no thoughts. zero. I never have zero thoughts. But that's where I'm at today.
So, naturally, I tried to think of a story I could tell.
And I immediately thought of this one:
I laughed, and replied, "maybe I will."
and I've sat here for the last several hours with no thoughts. zero. I never have zero thoughts. But that's where I'm at today.
So, naturally, I tried to think of a story I could tell.
And I immediately thought of this one:
I sat next to my very favorite eight year old on his bed, gathered the duvet around him and rubbed his forehead to help him calm and quiet. As we talked he told me he had questions about life. About God.
He asked me what heaven would be like, when we’d get to heaven and then who was in heaven now. Then he asked me if I get sad, and who makes it better since I don't have a husband yet (thanks, kid. haha). He asked me if I love a lot of people. He asked me if God gets mad when he gets scared.
I realized then that so much of how I answered was based on the fact I knew he believed everything I said.
He did not question that I was correct or that God was possibly not going to do what I said He would do, nor did he question me when I told him of God’s promises in the Bible.
When I told him God was going to provide all our needs, he didn’t doubt me for a second. When I said all who choose Jesus will have eternal life, he believed those words. When I told him that he would never be separated from God, he knew it was the truth.
It struck me how many times I’ve questioned those same truths. How many times I’ve struggled in my faith to find answers that stuck with me. How many times I’ve wondered if God was really there, really loved me, and really would never leave me.
Lately I’ve been feeling like during prayer God keeps reminding me to have childlike faith. To just receive what He wants to give me, with simple faith. Sometimes the thought occurs to me – imagine if I believed everything God said?
I have come to know that questioning is okay, and I have a faith in Jesus that can certainly be questioned and still stand strong. His Truth is a tower. I cling to the Holy Spirit that confirms Jesus’ words. However, I know when my head is believing but my heart is struggling.
And in those moments- when I don’t necessarily question the facts, but still struggle to have faith- those are the moments when I remind myself that I can be little. It's okay to be a child.
I can let go, fall back into childlike faith, and let Jesus catch me.
Love to you,
Lyss
Saturday, April 27, 2013
we can laugh and play and ninja kick.
I love kids.
Broken record, I know.
But seriously. I love them.
Yes, they are adorable and spontaneous and completely random. But most of all? They are free.
Spending thirty seconds in the presence of a thriving child is like wiping nasty gunk from the lens of my life. Kids never cease to remind me of living in fullness, of refusing to conform to social standards, of pursuing radical ideals and big dreams knowing that failure doesn't mean you've reached the end. Weight and pressure and worry find no corners to occupy their precious little minds, and there are few things I love more than watching their curiosity and thirst for adventure run rampant.
I'm remembering a particular scene tonight. I was living in Sacramento, and the red-headed brothers were out front with some neighbor boys. I could hear them loud and clear with all the windows open, and continued to rearrange the furniture in my freshly painted room. Ankle deep in bedding, picture frames, and dirty clothes, my city momma swing opens the door with a huge grin on her face and an impending message in her eyes. She had gone for a quick run (literally, she was running. on her feet. she's my hero.) to pick up the littlest from daycare several streets down, and while turning the corner back home, had been mobbed by all the kids in our front yard.
"They want you out there," she said.
"Huh?" I retorted, slightly surprised they were asking for me. It looked muddy out there.
Apparently the following conversation had taken place when she turned the corner:
four year old Evan: "Henry, where's your sister?"
Hen: "She's not my real sister. She's just my sister for now. She's really my cousin."
E: "Oh."... long pondering pause... "well where is she?"
Hen: "She's in the house."
E: "Why?"
Hen: "She's working on stuff."
E: "Well, can you tell her she needs to come out?"
Hen to momma: "Can you tell Alyssa she needs to come out here?"
I giggled at the exchange. Didn't matter who I was, they just wanted someone to play. There really was no choice- I was being summoned by a four year old so what I could I really do? I put on flip flops and grabbed a sweatshirt just in case. I trooped down the hall and out the door. I saw my little friends huddled on the sidewalk dancing around a new toy car Charlie had just received. Their eyes fell on me, and the next thing I knew I was dancing too.
I spent over an hour with these five little cowboys, playing and racing. Tag came along naturally. Red face and wind chapped, I was having the time of my life. I can picture every single second of it in slow motion like it was just yesterday. The boys demonstrated their ninja kicks, and three year old Sam's declaration that "I'm good at everything I do" set me into a fit of laughter. Of course he wasn't the best at tag or ninja kicks, and come to think of it, I'm sure he came in last on every race. But losses don't define greatness. So in my heart, and in his, he was great. No argument there.
Departing the scene to head back inside, smiles and contentment were in order. My heart was filled with something beautiful, magical even; but whatever it was in that moment, I was relishing, not analyzing. However, as I look back today, it's filled with more introspection. How could playing tag and racing small little souls bring me so much joy? And then I was reminded of Jesus' words in Matthew 18:3 when he said "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven."
Somehow in the span between childhood and adulthood something begins to choke us, to take a part of our very core, to deform the freedom inside of us. I would surmise that God isn't exactly a fan of this chokehold. In fact, bondage isn't even an option for a child of God, for He is committed to setting the captives free.
Kids seem to lack fear, anxiety, and depression for the most part. My goodness, I've seen kids leap into a pool when they don't even know how to swim. But they're fearless because they know daddy is waiting with open arms to catch them. That's what God is reminding me today. He wants us to know Him so well, that we can simply rest. We can hang up our fears. We can laugh and play and ninja kick with the best of them.
If God is telling us to become more like children, then I think it's honestly really simple. Laugh more. Let go of things more quickly. Be confident in who we are, even when we're not the best. Embrace life. Cherish others. Get up and scrape our knees off when we fall down.
If I'm a child, then I know my daddy is there. and if I know my daddy is there, then there is just no reason to fear. at all.
Let's be kids again.
I think it will be way more fun.
And maybe, just maybe... we will begin to approach Jesus with new eyes to step into the most creative way we can run this race for Him.
Love,
Lyss
Broken record, I know.
But seriously. I love them.
Yes, they are adorable and spontaneous and completely random. But most of all? They are free.
Spending thirty seconds in the presence of a thriving child is like wiping nasty gunk from the lens of my life. Kids never cease to remind me of living in fullness, of refusing to conform to social standards, of pursuing radical ideals and big dreams knowing that failure doesn't mean you've reached the end. Weight and pressure and worry find no corners to occupy their precious little minds, and there are few things I love more than watching their curiosity and thirst for adventure run rampant.
I'm remembering a particular scene tonight. I was living in Sacramento, and the red-headed brothers were out front with some neighbor boys. I could hear them loud and clear with all the windows open, and continued to rearrange the furniture in my freshly painted room. Ankle deep in bedding, picture frames, and dirty clothes, my city momma swing opens the door with a huge grin on her face and an impending message in her eyes. She had gone for a quick run (literally, she was running. on her feet. she's my hero.) to pick up the littlest from daycare several streets down, and while turning the corner back home, had been mobbed by all the kids in our front yard.
"They want you out there," she said.
"Huh?" I retorted, slightly surprised they were asking for me. It looked muddy out there.
Apparently the following conversation had taken place when she turned the corner:
four year old Evan: "Henry, where's your sister?"
Hen: "She's not my real sister. She's just my sister for now. She's really my cousin."
E: "Oh."... long pondering pause... "well where is she?"
Hen: "She's in the house."
E: "Why?"
Hen: "She's working on stuff."
E: "Well, can you tell her she needs to come out?"
Hen to momma: "Can you tell Alyssa she needs to come out here?"
I giggled at the exchange. Didn't matter who I was, they just wanted someone to play. There really was no choice- I was being summoned by a four year old so what I could I really do? I put on flip flops and grabbed a sweatshirt just in case. I trooped down the hall and out the door. I saw my little friends huddled on the sidewalk dancing around a new toy car Charlie had just received. Their eyes fell on me, and the next thing I knew I was dancing too.
I spent over an hour with these five little cowboys, playing and racing. Tag came along naturally. Red face and wind chapped, I was having the time of my life. I can picture every single second of it in slow motion like it was just yesterday. The boys demonstrated their ninja kicks, and three year old Sam's declaration that "I'm good at everything I do" set me into a fit of laughter. Of course he wasn't the best at tag or ninja kicks, and come to think of it, I'm sure he came in last on every race. But losses don't define greatness. So in my heart, and in his, he was great. No argument there.
Departing the scene to head back inside, smiles and contentment were in order. My heart was filled with something beautiful, magical even; but whatever it was in that moment, I was relishing, not analyzing. However, as I look back today, it's filled with more introspection. How could playing tag and racing small little souls bring me so much joy? And then I was reminded of Jesus' words in Matthew 18:3 when he said "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven."
Somehow in the span between childhood and adulthood something begins to choke us, to take a part of our very core, to deform the freedom inside of us. I would surmise that God isn't exactly a fan of this chokehold. In fact, bondage isn't even an option for a child of God, for He is committed to setting the captives free.
Kids seem to lack fear, anxiety, and depression for the most part. My goodness, I've seen kids leap into a pool when they don't even know how to swim. But they're fearless because they know daddy is waiting with open arms to catch them. That's what God is reminding me today. He wants us to know Him so well, that we can simply rest. We can hang up our fears. We can laugh and play and ninja kick with the best of them.
If God is telling us to become more like children, then I think it's honestly really simple. Laugh more. Let go of things more quickly. Be confident in who we are, even when we're not the best. Embrace life. Cherish others. Get up and scrape our knees off when we fall down.
If I'm a child, then I know my daddy is there. and if I know my daddy is there, then there is just no reason to fear. at all.
Let's be kids again.
I think it will be way more fun.
And maybe, just maybe... we will begin to approach Jesus with new eyes to step into the most creative way we can run this race for Him.
Love,
Lyss
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