Monday, April 27, 2015

I just don't care if I die...

I stood there, facing the bathroom mirror, wrapped in a towel and attempting to detangle wet knots of hair.

A half hour earlier, Nick's phone rang and thankfully interrupted our heated argument over a sink full of dirty dishes. But, my attempt to totally escape the topic by running to my mom hide-out (the shower) had apparently failed. There, behind me, stood Nick with a frightened look on his face.

"Liv. Don't talk that way. You scared me to death. I started to argue with you because I was so scared.  What I said about getting sick- I was just joking. But I could tell you were serious. Please don't think that way."

It's certainly no secret, by now, that I have visited a counselor several times throughout my life. And, there is always that awkward moment, at the beginning of the first session, when the counselor asks you THE question.

It's one of the only questions that they are required to ask. If your words are chosen incorrectly, the counselor must alert the authorities outside the walls of her small office filled with the obligatory couch - a meager attempt to make you feel at home and comfy while you spill out your guts to a stranger.

"So, Olivia. Have you ever thought about dying?"

Of course, a person of any intellect can see right through the question shrouded with a cover of philosophical thinking.  It's the SUICIDE question. 

My answer almost always remains the same.

"I never want to kill myself. But, I often just don't care if I die..."

Once the counselor is assured I pass the "suicide test," the true discussion can commence. And I try not to ever mention my somewhat apathetic point-of-view regarding death in the conversation again.

But, a few days ago, Nick walked into the kitchen after a stressful day of meetings and many attempts to sit and study.  His computer desk taunted him with a view of a beautiful sunny day that could not be enjoyed.

"Liv. I know this is weird. But, I've had this thought recently that if I became very ill, I wouldn't be that sad. I would finally have an excuse to sit down and rest with no expectations being put on me. There is something just wrong with that."

I looked up from the dishes and walked right through the conversational door I had kept shut for so long. He had opened it widely for me to walk right through.

"I know. I've been having a similar thought for weeks now. I am NOT suicidal. But, I keep thinking that I've lived a good life, and that if I were to die today, I'd be ok with that- maybe even relieved. I trust that God would take care of you and the kids - even find a better mother and wife. I'm pretty tired, and I just don't care if I die. Sometimes I pray to God, 'Just take me home.'"

Nick sat down on a teal green kitchen stool he had painted just for me. His voice rose as he tried to tell me I was being self-centered and overly dramatic - the curse of the genetics I inherited from an artistic family filled with musicians, Shakespearean actors and writers.

I can handle words of truth when I hear them spoken. But, he had not hit the mark.

Then there was the escape to the aforementioned steamy shower room and Nick's words that begged me to change.

We hugged and I reassured him that I would not say such forbidden things again. I didn't want to ever reacquaint myself with that scared face staring me in the mirror. But, my feelings remained buried and the same.

****
This past weekend, I went on our church's (Focus Church) weekend retreat in the forests of Estonia. This was an Alpha Course weekend - a place where people who are not Christians can explore the greatest questions concerning faith.  I knew what my role was for the weekend: to pray, to listen to people's stories, to lead and to help them truly worship for the first time.

I stood in front of a keyboard and microphone, and loved hearing voices raised and singing:

"Lord, I need You. 
Oh I need You.
Every hour I need You.
My one defense. My righteousness.
Oh God, how I need You."

Then the completely unexpected happened. Somehow in the midst of juggling the massive task of simultaneously reading music notes, words, singing, and worshiping, God spoke to me.

God doesn't speak to me through thunder, lightning bolts and audible words. It's not some spooky phenomenon. Rather, it feels as if the one person who created me and knows me better than anyone else, whispers to my spirit. And, it's undeniable.

One moment, I am in control and leading; singing. Then I feel His voice.

"Olivia. How dare you tell me that you are ready to die!
I love you.
I have invested so much in you. I have been with you since the very beginning.
I have given you a voice. I was there when you learned to play the piano, write and worship me.
I have walked with you your entire life; developing your character.
For 36 years, I have been molding you and investing in your design so that you can be here, leading these people.
To me, you are irreplaceable. I don't want someone else here doing what you're doing.
I want you."

And again, that word echoed inside of me: "Irreplaceable."

The problem is that this goes against everything I believe. When I look at the generations of people who have lived before me and will continue to live after me, I feel like one dot in the mass of humanity. Amidst the billions of wonderful people on the planet, I feel totally replaceable. I hear greater singers. I get to experience the grace of greater mothers. I see better lovers. I daily can read more talented writers. After all, NO ONE is irreplaceable. It's prideful to think otherwise.

But, there I stood with tears running down my heated, red cheeks. I had 30 people staring at me as I choked up and could no longer sing. And, in that moment, I did what any good worship leader would do in a similar situation, I continued to play the keys and said, "Let me hear YOUR voices sing it out to God."

I then leaned back from the microphone and played as a vocal chorus of these first time worshippers filled the room.

Irreplaceable.

Really? Is it possible that the God of the universe and the masses of humanity, at this moment, sees me as that valuable?

The answer is a clear YES.

"What is the price of a pet sparrow?
Some loose change, right?
And God cares what happens to it even more than you do.
He pays even greater attention to you, down to the last detail-
even numbering the hairs on your head!
So don't be intimidated by all the bully talk.
You are worth more than a million sparrows." - The Bible -Matthew 10:29 (MSG version)

Can we really allow ourselves to believe that God knows each one of us so intimately that He knows our current hair count? If He notices when a bird falls, how could He not notice us?

And if He knows such an irrelevant fact about us, how much more does He know our history, our dreams, our hurts, our situations, or even our silent wishes to just leave it all?

And it's not by chance that you are a piano player, a singer, a professor, a waitress, a soldier, a CEO. He created you with specific giftings and for a purpose. A purpose that no one else can fill. Why? Because you were designed for it; for this specific place and time.

And if I, with all of my imperfections and private struggles, am irreplaceable, then so are YOU.

In my 20s, I had this picture framed and hung on my wall. It's a satellite image of the earth's lights at night.



I don't know why I liked it. Perhaps it reminded me, in the midst of the self-centeredness that attempted to consume me when I was young, that the world was bigger than my university final exams, love life and nerve-wrecking recitals.

But now, in my late 30s, I see it differently. Sure...from afar, all that we are and have created: our civilizations, our homes, our lives - they're like one big mass of light. Our single light shines seemingly unnoticed amidst the thousands.

But, your one light matters. It matters to the one person walking, lost, down an unknown darkened alley. It matters to the child who finds peace in the nightlight as it keeps fear from jumping out from under his bed or closet. It matters to the surgeon urgently working to meticulously rescue a life worth saving.

To those walking the path of life beside you, your light is vital.

So, don't you dare think about extinguishing it.

Even if you have yet to find your purpose or feel the strength of your beams, be sure of this-

You, bright star, are irreplaceable.

Simply irreplaceable. Never doubt it.

{While writing this, I can actually see how God began leading me up to this point months ago when I wrote this poem "In A Sky Full of Stars." Read it here. And remember the promise: "You, my bright one, illuminate grace."}






Saturday, April 18, 2015

An American Cooking from Scratch in Estonia - Whole Wheat/ Fresh Blueberry Muffins

It's Saturday and Spring is in the air.

We have a tradition of a big family breakfast every Saturday morning.  But, this morning started with a two hour interview with the landlord of a possible new apartment in Tallinn (Yes...we are trying to move).  Therefore, the pancake tradition was abandoned for today, and I am now making this nice, healthier version of the traditional comfort food, blueberry muffins, as an afternoon snack.

To improve the health value of these, I use whole wheat flour instead of white flour; coconut oil instead of vegetable oil; 100 percent pure maple syrup instead of sugar (lower glycemic index than sugar), and some fresh blueberries!


Whole-Wheat Blueberry (or Banana) Muffins

Ingredients:

1 egg
1 cup of milk
1/4 cup coconut oil
1 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 cup white flour (to make these a bit less dense so my kids will eat them)
1/2 cup of 100 percent maple syrup (only use pure syrup)
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon of salt
1 cup of blueberries or smashed/ sliced bananas

For those living in Estonia, this is the organic whole wheat flour I buy and can find in most grocery stores:




I also find 100 percent maple syrup in Mark and Spencer's, Solaris and Stockmann.  Here is the M & S version:




Directions:

1.  Mix egg, milk and oil together, by hand, in a big mixing bowl.
2.  Add all dry ingredients and continue to mix until the batter is blended and moist.
3.  Finally, add in the fresh blueberries or bananas into batter and gently stir.





***My son does not like berries, so I separated out 1/4 of the wet batter and added bananas to that and then added blueberries to the remaining batter.  So, we get two types of muffins from one batter base.



4.  Fill muffin cups 2/3 full.


5.  Cook at 400 degrees F (200 degrees C) for 20 - 25 minutes.

These are great fresh-out-of-the oven!  Happy weekend everyone!



***Estonia tip:  Since blueberries are only fresh in the market when they are in season, I always buy them in bulk from the summer outdoor markets when cheapest and freeze them in plastic bags to use throughout the year.***


Monday, April 13, 2015

I Didn't Marry the Right Person - The Counseling Sessions Part 2

{First off, I want to thank my husband, Nick. He has given me permission to post this, and is a person who truly understands commitment. He married me at the young age of 21 and has never looked back. Our counselor says I am one of the lucky ones- to have someone care for them the way Nick does for me. I know that is the truth. He's not the lucky one; I am. We share our story believing that there are more like us who will be inspired to not give up and work hard towards their own realistic version of  "happily ever after."}



"I don't feel like being married anymore."

Nick was sitting in the waiting room of our counselor's office, clueless to the forbidden words I had just tearfully spoken on the other side of the door. Words that had been burning a hole inside of me spilled out of my lips, and suddenly I realized that my secret was now bouncing off the walls of her office waiting to damage Nick, myself, and everything I believed about true commitment.

The counselor looked at me calmly, as if she had heard this all before. Her reply was simple, "Really? Why?"

I went on to explain how I married too young and had felt like I had matured and changed. He had changed. And.. I feared that I had not married the right person. I had spent months telling myself that I shouldn't have these thoughts. If I was a better person, I would never feel this way. The guilt had built up and only magnified the fear.

Her response was simple: "OK. You cannot stop the way you feel. There is nothing you can do to change your feelings. We have reached a very normal point in a relationship. In almost every long-term marriage, at least one of the partners comes to this point."

As I sat there, listening and collecting a large pile of damp, used tissues on my lap, she explained what should happen next.

"When a couple comes to this juncture, there are two courses of action. You can allow yourself to keep secretly feeling this way, building a wall up between you and Nick, and this will cause your paths to move further and further apart until you one day divorce. And believe me, people think divorce is easy, but it will be one of the most difficult and destructive things you will ever go through.

The second option is the difficult and correct one. I am going to bring Nick in here, and you have to tell him the words you told me. You can't stop the feelings, but you can learn to work through this."

I quickly interrupted her.

"No, no...I can't do that. He's had the most stressful year of his life. He already feels down and vulnerable. I can't add this to his plate. I just can't do this to him. He has been so committed to me."

She was relentless in her advice.

"Listen. He deserves to know the truth. You have to tear down this wall and join your paths once again. Yes, it will hurt. But, finally healing can begin."

You can't imagine how it felt to tell the only boy I ever dated and kissed those dreaded words - words I wish I could have somehow been "good" enough to never say. I wish I could have always kept a healthy perspective on life, love and change. I wish I had never begun to see everything through a lens of negativity rather than a lens of truth.

We left the counselor's office feeling like we had just run an emotional marathon. My head pounded. My eyes seemed to have permanent red puffy circles from hours of crying. All we could do was stop by a Starbucks drive-thru, hold hands and drive home in silence. We were almost too tired to read the one simple article the counselor had given us as that night's homework.

But, as we emerged from our emotional hangover, I read aloud the assigned chapter of Timothy Keller's book The Meaning of Marriage. The words met us in our situation. Here are some of our favorite quotes from that book:

*****
Some people in our culture want too much out of a marriage partner. They do not see marriage as two flawed people coming together to create a space of stability, love and consolation, a "haven in a heartless world," as Christopher Lasch describes it. Rather, they are looking for someone who will accept them as they are, complement their abilities and fulfill their sexual and emotional desires. This will indeed require a woman who is "a novelist/astronaut with a background in fashion modeling," and the equivalent in a man. A marriage based not on self-denial but on self-fulfillment will require a low- or no-maintenance partner who meets your needs while making almost no claims on you. Simply put—today people are asking far too much in the marriage partner.

The Bible explains why the quest for compatibility seems to be so impossible. As a pastor I have spoken to thousands of couples, some working on marriage-seeking, some working on marriage-sustaining and some working on marriage-saving. I’ve heard them say over and over, "Love shouldn’t be this hard, it should come naturally." In response I always say something like: "Why believe that? Would someone who wants to play professional baseball say, ‘It shouldn’t be so hard to hit a fastball’? Would someone who wants to write the greatest American novel of her generation say, ‘It shouldn’t be hard to create believable characters and compelling narrative’?” The understandable retort is: “But this is not baseball or literature. This is love. Love should just come naturally if two people are compatible, if they are truly soul-mates."

The Christian answer to this is that no two people are compatible. Duke University Ethics professor Stanley Hauerwas has famously made this point:

Destructive to marriage is the self-fulfillment ethic that assumes marriage and the family are primarily institutions of personal fulfillment, necessary for us to become "whole" and happy. The assumption is that there is someone just right for us to marry and that if we look closely enough we will find the right person. This moral assumption overlooks a crucial aspect to marriage. It fails to appreciate the fact that we always marry the wrong person.

We never know whom we marry; we just think we do. Or even if we first marry the right person, just give it a while and he or she will change. For marriage, being [the enormous thing it is] means we are not the same person after we have entered it. The primary challenge of marriage is learning how to love and care for the stranger to whom you find yourself married.

*****

You never marry the right person. Perhaps the only marriages that survive are ones who recognize this truth, and see marriage for what it truly is: a commitment; a covenant. You sacrifice a bit of your freedom to ultimately experience a well-lived life and a relationship that is a unwavering, trustworthy safe-haven in a roller coaster world.    

I am not a person who believes much in haunted houses or fairy godmothers. But, during this process I had the weirdest thing happen to me.

When I was grappling with these feelings and secrets alone, my mother called me and said she had experienced a recurring dream, for several nights, featuring her deceased mother.

In the dream, a younger version of my Grandma Grace (you can read more about her here) was standing next to my Grandpa Roger and worrying over a handwritten letter. My mother looked at the lines of the letter and saw my distinct cursive handwriting on the paper.

As my mom told me this over Skype, there was a sudden pause on my end. I was hoping she couldn't hear my tears through the voice call. She was completely surprised and apologetic when she realized it upset me so deeply. Despite all my beliefs, over the previous several weeks, I had internally wished I could talk to my Grandma and feel her strength and advice.

My Grandma Grace adored Nick from the moment she met him. They had flown from New York to Missouri for Christmas. We were sitting in their Holiday Inn hotel, enjoying a nice meal, and she loved how any time I would even try to move my chair, a sixteen year old tall, blonde Nick would quickly jump up and awkwardly help pull the chair out for me. She always believed he was kind and made for great things. She believed I had married the right person.

She once told me that when she was in her 30s, that she almost left my Grandpa Roger. She considered divorcing him because he was too predictable, too quiet, and lacked ambition. He was happy simply going daily to his job as a chemical engineer and returning home to play with my mom while washing and drying the evening's dishes. My grandmother was bored out of her mind. But she then told me that her Jewish mother, Sarah, always knew that Roger was the right man for her.

I don't know what happened. She never told me how she overcame that struggle. But, she stayed. And as my grandparents aged, the Crowells were known around town for their complete love and support for one another. At my Grandma Grace's funeral, their financial advisor got up to speak, and said that the thing that stood out most to him about my grandparents is that even when they were in a meeting about taxes or investment, they would sit quietly close, holding hands. They had become true life partners.

When the sparks had left. When their life roads and goals seemed to be diverging, they had chosen to stay on the same path.

One day, in the 1940s, Grace and Roger stood on her parents' lawn in Massachusetts and said these words.

On May 23, 1998, Nick and I stood on a church's stage in Missouri and echoed the same.

"I, Olivia, take you Nick, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part."

Last year, 2014, I finally began to understand grace. And perhaps after reading these words, this blog post about Christmas, grace and Nick's gift to me gains clarity. It was during that Christmas trip back to America that we spent a week with our counselor.

I am confident that 2015 is the year that I learn about self-sacrificing love. I am thankful for my grandparents' example and for the victors of self-sacrificing love I have encountered around the world and throughout the decades. To join the ranks of these victors is the challenge of a lifetime that creates the most beauty in us, in our relationships and in the fulfillment we will experience the final years of our lives.

As I write this, I realize the risk and am aware that I have been completely vulnerable in a way that can truly hurt me. But, life is too short to pretend. If our story can help one couple take the necessary steps to merge the roads of their weary marriage, then go ahead and crush me; pulverize my reputation. 

I'll still be standing as the luckiest woman on earth - beside my faithful, kind-eyed Nick. I will rest in the arms of someone who has seen my beauty and my ugliness, who has kissed my sixteen year old lips and my wrinkles, and is deserving of a love that never walks out and leaves.

I first memorized the passage below when I was 12 years old. I didn't understand what it meant then. It was like the plot of a romantic novel - a love I would some day experience full of butterfly stomachs and soul-mate ease. Now, after a counseling session in Ohio, I can truly understand the beauty and pain of the true love expressed in these words.

"If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don’t love, I’m nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate. If I speak God’s Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, “Jump,” and it jumps, but I don’t love, I’m nothing. If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don’t love, I’ve gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I’m bankrupt without love.

Love never gives up.
Love cares more for others than for self.
Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have.
Love doesn’t strut,
Doesn’t have a swelled head,
Doesn’t force itself on others,
Isn’t always “me first,”
Doesn’t fly off the handle,
Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others,
Doesn’t revel when others grovel,
Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,
Puts up with anything,
Trusts God always,
Always looks for the best,
Never looks back,
But keeps going to the end.
Love never dies."
                                                - I Corinthians 13- The Bible (MSG version)


Hold on. Wait. Tear down walls. Share. Jump on the same path. By all means...don't let love die.

And if you're still holding out for marriage until you meet your perfect astronaut/ novelist/ past New York fashion week model...just don't. Don't let yourself settle for the selfish, lonely life. Dive into the imperfection with a truly good person, and even when the butterflies fade, you'll be safe at home.







Tuesday, April 7, 2015

An American Cooking from Scratch in Estonia- Recipe Kolm (3)

Recipe Kolm (3) - Easy Snack Edition

I remember the moment, as a teenager, when I realized how unhealthy one of my favorite snacks was. One of the most popular talk shows in America was attacking our addiction, as a nation, to movie popcorn.

Oprah stood on her well-lit set as a nameless guest dietician flashed a cup full of fat and a huge number of calories on the screen. The propaganda and Oprah's convincing tone was enough to keep me from ever buying popcorn at the movies again.

Since moving to Estonia, however, I decided to try to make my own popcorn from scratch.  No microwave bags.  No special air pop or whirley pop devices would fit in my suitcase from the States.  

So, I've been making this recipe for two years now, and my kids (and their friends adore it) for play dates and game nights.  We even have a special huge bowl, reserved for popcorn, that Nick and the kids sit down with whenever they have a chance to watch a movie at home.





Ingredients:

1/2 cup coconut oil (In Estonia, I buy it from BioMarket) *This is a healthier option than traditional vegetable oil
1.5 - 2 teaspoons of salt
1 cup popcorn kernels
Butter (to taste and optional)

*Tip 1:  In Tallinn, popcorn kernels can be difficult to find.  I get bags of popcorn kernels from Mark & Spencer's in Kristiine or Rocca Al Mare malls.



*Tip 2:  I love to keep my popcorn in a clear container on my kitchen windowsill. I think it's practical and adds a cute/ fun aspect to your kitchen. I keep it in this glass storage container I got from IKEA.



Directions:


  • Take out very large soup pan with lid. Heat stove top to medium heat, and add coconut oil and salt.  Adding salt at this stage helps distribute the salt better throughout the popcorn.  Each kernel will get an even amount from the coconut oil.


  • Heat until all coconut oil is melted.
  • Add only 4-5 kernels of popcorn into heated oil and cover with lid.

  • Wait for 4 kernels of popcorn to pop, then remove pan from heat (but keep heat source on).  This allows you to get the oil to the correct popping temperature with just a few kernels.


  • Add the rest of the popcorn kernels into heated oil and let sit (off the heat source) for 1 minute.  Shake the kernels 2 or 3 times during this minute.  This technique allows all the kernels to heat evenly before putting them back on the stove to pop.  This helps prevent the common problem of some kernels popping too soon and burning while the other kernels pop.


  • Place pot back on to stove top heat source and cover with lid.  
  • Shake the kernels every 30 seconds or so until they start to pop.
  • Let them pop until the sound of popping kernels becomes random and a few seconds apart.

  • Remove from heat and immediately pour popped popcorn into large bowl.
  • If you desire buttered popcorn, immediately add butter into the heated popcorn pan (no need to make another pan dirty) and let it melt.  Once melted, pour it on to the popcorn and stir/ mix to evenly distribute the butter. The healthy option would be without butter, of course. But, we all have our vices. ;)

As parents, I think one of the funnest things we can do for our kids is to create memories and traditions they always associate with home. I can imagine Oliver returning one day from college, crashing down on the couch with his long legs propped up on the coffee table, and asking for a bowl of homemade popcorn - something that reminds him of childhood Friday nights with family and friends.  

Go out there and create your own memories and traditions that remind you of home!  And...if popcorn helps at all, by all means, get poppin'!











Wednesday, April 1, 2015

I am Iron Woman

My daughter is Iron Woman.





If you look closely into her long-lashed, soft blue eyes, she is not unlike a heroine of a Marvel comic. She may not be able to shoot red laser beams from her pupils, but in those eyes, you catch a glimpse of her iron will.

Any one who has observed our five-year-old Ava (pronounced like Eva in Estonian), has also given me a look of pity.  It’s the look that reveals another fellow parent’s thoughts.

“Glad God didn’t choose to give me one of those!”

 Then there is the occasional over-confident parent who sends me a glance that says:

“If I were her parent, I’d have her under control.”

Well, if you are one of the few who have ever truly lived with a Super woman, one with the determination and ability to someday dominate the world, you may realize that the process of teaching such a person to surrender is long.  It is a journey of loving them so deeply, kindly, uprightly and patiently that one day, they CHOOSE to imitate you. 



People often assume that Ava gets her strong spirit from Nick.  After all, he is the outgoing and talkative one.  Every Sunday he gets up to speak at Focus Church and is known for his passionate and energetic speeches, marked with heel bounces, big hand gestures and pacing.

But, in our household, we all know the truth.  Nick and Oliver can sometimes be heard lovingly muttering in some distant, hidden corner of our living room, “We live with the two most stubborn human beings on earth.”

Yes, folks…she gets it from me. 

My parents thought they had broken my strong will when I was a child, and I’ve kept it very well-hidden for years.

Then my counselor had me take a well-respected, researched and very official psychological exam to test me for all my neuroticism.  And there, amidst the dips and heights of the results bar graph, my iron will once again emerged for the entire world to see.

There I sat on her flowered couch- legs crossed; wide, gentle-eyed; peaceful; quiet; smiling. The counselor looked at my calm, innocent presence again, scratched her head, and traced the result’s pattern with her finger one final time to confirm the test's finding.

“Here it says you have a hidden pattern of rebellion. You do not like to be controlled and you have issues with authority.”

Nick (a bit too eagerly) nodded his head in agreement and laughed as my long attempt to hide that strong core had finally been revealed on paper.  It was still there, buried under years of trying to be good, submissive, and doing whatever I had to do to prevent people from staring at me the same way they do Ava.

I don’t know if it was that counseling appointment that made the difference- that my secret was finally exposed- or just the stress of life. But over the past two years, my strong will seemed to be released and reappeared with a new adult fervor.

I have fought for my independence, my dreams and my voice – tempted to follow it even if it could possibly crush every one around me.

On Sunday, Focus Church had our very first baptism service.  I got to stand at a piano behind the baptism pool as eight people stood in front of their church, friends and family to publicly show their faith.

And as I sat playing the keys, I saw a paradox. 


There stood our five-year old Ava at the edge of the baptism pool – doing the one thing I asked her not to do.  Just minutes before the service, I firmly sat her down and lovingly whispered to her my expectations for the service. I needed her to be good during the service – stay seated in her chair, draw on her chalkboard, listen to her babysitter's rules, and not come forward to the front.

I looked up from my keyboard and realized Ava had thrown off her shoes and socks, and slipped her way into the forbidden zone.  She placed her hands in the water, playing as her babysitter looked helplessly on.  The iron woman had won one more battle.

But, as she stood there, exercising her free will, I saw each person enter the tank to surrender theirs.  One by one, they stood knee deep in water.  They proclaimed their love and new-found belief in Christ in front of friends and family (many who thought they were crazy for doing something so ancient in a modern world that doesn’t need God).  They went down in the water and rose up, make-up less and smiling, clothes dripping wet and plastered to their bodies, as a new person. 

Baptism has been practiced in the church for centuries, and it symbolizes your decision to leave your old self in the water, and come out as a new person – someone who walks with God. 

Each of them came willing to surrender, and in front of a room filled with 110 people, they did.  And amidst of all that relinquishing, there stood my Ava – defying everyone with her hands in the waters of their surrender. 

A few days before the event, one of my friends who was baptized on Sunday sent me a link to a song. Baptism was a big and scary step for her; yet one she knew she wanted to make. I can imagine her playing this song, listening to the words, and preparing her heart for the act of surrender.

Take a moment to listen to it.  It is crucial to understanding the rest of this blog.

Click here.  

My heart beating,
My soul breathing,
I touched the sky,
When my knees hit the ground.

There are two distinct times in my life where I felt my strong-willed, hardened knees hit the concrete ground of surrender. 

  • When I met God on my porch swing in the midst of battling anorexia. Read more about it here.
  •  A week ago, when I realized that everything within me did not want to surrender to the path God had chosen for me.  And yet, deep inside I realized that the only way I could experience true freedom was to die to my will and trust.

Find me here at your feet again,
Everything I am, reaching out, I surrender.
Come sweep me up in your love again.
And my soul will dance on the wings of forever.

Through painful tears, my spirit crashed down in front of God, as I finally rose my arms with the white flag of surrender.  A part of me started the process of dying last week, and a part of me finally felt free.

"Anyone who intends to come with me has to let me lead.  You're not in the driver's seat; I am.  Don't run from suffering; embrace it. Follow me and I'll show you how. Self-help is no help at all. Self-sacrifice is the way, my way, to finding yourself, your true self. What kind of deal is it to get everything you want but lose yourself? What could you ever trade your soul for?" - Jesus in Matthew 16 - The Bible

People often say that Christianity is only for the weak-souled; those who need a crutch. We are too feeble to live in this world without a higher power.

That is pure fiction.

This Christianity thing is the hardest and most rewarding thing you will ever do.

Our relationship with God requires us to forgive when forgiveness is not deserved.  We love those who are unlovable. We pull the roots of bitterness, hate and selfishness out of our lives. We give to the poor. We serve others instead of ourselves. We even follow God's narrow road for our lives, when everything within us wants to run down the wider path. We die to ourselves daily. And as we die, we finally see the things that truly matter and last.

This is no path for the weak.

I've tasted and know well the desires of my true, weak self.  And although very pleasurable, many of those things would ultimately destroy me.

And I come back to a recurring theme of my blog and my life.

You were made for more.

Upward falling,
Spirit soaring,
I touch the sky
When my knees hit the ground.

We need to force ourselves to experience the ultimate irony of the universe. As we raise our white flag and dive into the waters of surrender, we finally soar.