happy weekend

First off, happy birthday to my “little” brother Kevo, turning the big 25 tomorrow.  (Here’s to lower insurance rates, kiddo!  Here’s to being a true adult!)

Justin is sitting next to me playing Oregon Trail on facebook.  Everyone’s getting cholera.  And someone just stole 60 bullets.

My dear friend Jules is in Europe right now (for three weeks!).  I decided on a closer adventure.  On Tuesday, Justin and I went and finally got our tattoos.  It was fun, albeit a little painful — though I was expecting worse.  I was thinking searing pain, and it was more like little bee stings.

I’ll be 28 in a few months, still, I was nervous to tell Mom.  I’m horrible at keeping secrets from her, though, so I called her on the way home to get it over with.  She said “I don’t like you anymore.  And I don’t like that husband of yours, either.  He’s not my favorite son-in-law anymore.”  And then she giggled.  For several minutes.  Justin: “Tell your mom that no matter how many tats she gets, she’ll always be my favorite mother-in-law.”

She called later on that evening: “Does it hurt?  I hope so.”

We’re thinking about getting her a gift certificate to a local parlor.

Here’s the design we got, based on something I made for Justin for his 26th birthday (our first birthdays celebrated together).  We still laugh at how sheepish he felt at getting this framed handmade gift.  He had bought me a Strongbad T-shirt. 

(This was right after the tattoo was finished, it will lighten up as it heals.  Also… could I have more freckles?).

Talking to our good friend Levi, he asked where we’d gotten them at.  Justin’s is on his shoulder, and mine is on my back.  “Oh…” he said, “where at on your back?”

I began laughing, realizing he was tactfully trying to suss out whether I’d gotten a tramp stamp, also known as a lower-back tattoo.  I set his fears at ease and let him know it was up on my shoulderblade, but had a good laugh at him all the same.

We have paper-writing to get to today, but we’re going to take it easy this morning, grab some coffee, head downtown to the Bagelry for some warm bagels (the kind with the huge granules of salt, like on a pretzel!  Yum!). 

Two more weeks… and then some sunshine in LA.  We’re coming, Chris!  (That is, unless you die of dysentery first).

[re-creating me]

And everything that’s new has bravely surfaced
Teaching us to breathe
What was frozen through is newly purposed
Turning all things green
So it is with You
And how You make me new
With every season’s change
And so it will be
As You are re-creating me
Summer, autumn, winter, spring
-Nichole Nordeman
***
So spring hit a bit early this year.

I’m always a bit in awe of how and when God chooses to do his work. Those of you familiar with my life this last few months know that I was expecting a long and cold winter. Broken hearts of all kinds have a way of narrowing your vision; for a while all you can focus on is the hurt. You know there is a tunnel from your present misery to “being over it” – a tunnel that you have no choice but to walk through. (Your suspicion, if you’re anything like me, is that it’s gonna be awful long and lonely and horrible. An optimist in most things, I am terribly jaded when it comes to this relationship stuff).

Sometimes, that tunnel IS long and lonely. I’ve been there.

But God’s timeline doesn’t always follow our expectations, and his seasons are on a far different schedule than the ones we plant our flowers by. Right now, for me, it’s spring. No one is more surprised than I am, that’s for sure.

(What’s really weird is that our actual winter here in WA seems to be mirroring my life. Yesterday it was sunny and nearly 60 degrees, as it’s been for the last few weeks – unheard-of for late January. My brother and I are happy to enjoy the savings on our heating bill in our apartment… the skiers and snowboarders… are varying degrees of bitter and angry).

It’s fully tempting to paint a happy face on the last month or so, to claim that my path through that tunnel was an easy one (or even to claim that I’m fully through it). Everyone loves an easy success story, right? It might be impressive, I might come off as strong and self-assured – but I’d be a liar, and friends who know me would call me on it (Julie…), so I might as well be honest.

Here’s the truth: Blue jeeps still catch my attention as I’m out and about (I never knew how many of them there were before now), and last week the thought of potentially bumping into the gent in question put me in tears – out of nowhere, when I had been doing great. It fully feels normal to be on my own again; I am happy; but there are still moments when it just kinda sucks (i.e., not having plans on a Friday night). These things just take a while (and they don’t always follow a practical line of thought). I’m allowing myself that time. Faking the process does no one any good. As much as I felt like it would make it easier on our group of mutual friends, I realized recently that more than anything – more than being able to hang out like old times, more than things being smoothed over – my friends want me to be healed and happy. And they’re gracious enough to give me that time (without a stopwatch). I’m close. What remains to be healed is right around the corner.

What has surprised me (once again) is God’s ability and willingness to work in me and through me even though I am fully aware that I don’t have it all together right now. He brought spring to my tunnel, basically (to mix two analogies horribly and inexcusably… I’m sorry). I can’t even put it into words fully, but there is new growth happening in my heart. I am more filled with hope than I’ve been in a long time. I am alive. There are some moments that being alive means I’m feeling pain, but more often these days, it means a joy that defies full expression.

I feel kinda like I did as a kid – remember those beans we all planted in styrofoam cups in elementary school? Every day, you’re running to the window, anxiously looking to find the cup with your name on it… amazed to see the leaves unfold, in awe of the change that took place even in the last 24 hours. You’re expecting a miracle every day, and everyday, there’s one right in front of your face.

That’s my life right now.

Like I said, you never know the exact timing of God’s seasons. They don’t always follow a prescribed pattern. He chooses what and when. I’m grateful for this time, but I think it’s important that I not lose sight of the work he does in other, tougher, colder ones, as well. I think it’s all about surrendering myself to the process; recognizing that God is God for a reason and that he knows more than I do; it’s about allowing myself to live out the little that I do know: in all seasons, in all circumstances, in all situations, I can live in the confidence of trusting that, seen and unseen, God is at work, for my good, for his purposes.

Whatever season you find yourself in today, I hope this encourages you. If you’re in the tunnel, be encouraged that it doesn’t last forever, and that you’re not alone as you walk through it. (Be encouraged, also, that God can use you, even there in that darkness). If you’re enjoying the sun, as I am, soak up every moment. It’s good.

new article!

hey kids… I just found out that Relevant published another article! Check it out at the right… “Coming Alive.” It’s the same post from a few days back, but it’s still cool to see in print. I might be a writer yet! heh heh.

In the meantime, keep on checkin’ in, my little chickens…

Name:
Age:
Location:
How you found me:
Come here often?
Vocation:
What you’d like to see a post on (and please don’t say “whatever you want”):

a very monday-ish post

Whelp, I blinked and it’s Monday again. Spent most of the weekend over in Seattle for Grace’s bridal shower, followed by a quick trip to IKEA, and then off to her bachelorette party… Italian food courtesy of Buca de Beppo’s (best chicken marsala EVER), and quite, um, fond memories courtesy of my first visit to Cowgirls, Inc. (think a Seattle attempt at Coyote Ugly)… all I’ll say is this: Gracie rides a mean mechanical bull. Some of the girls there were friends of mine from up in Bellingham, so it was great to catch up and reconnect. Sometimes you just need a good girls’ night out. (Mission accomplished).

Am hopefully going to have a good weekend out coming up soon… Jules and I are headed down to the Oregon coast soon for some R & R… making a few memories together before she ditches me for the glories of Bend, OR next month… something about following her dreams and all that. I am so proud of her for taking this step of faith. It has been amazing to watch this whole process, from the I-wonder stage, to the packing-bags stage. It’s been awe-inspiring. God is good. However, I’m not sure what I’ll do with myself once she’s gone. (one thing is for sure… Alias parties will have lost their joy forever).
***
So, to unabashedly copy Myles (and partially because I saw my name crop up a few times over there)… I will ask the question as well: who ARE you people? Time to ‘fess up, folks. (On a more serious note, I’d really like to know. Don’t force me to beg).

Name:
Age:
Location:
How you found me:
Come here often?
Vocation:
What you’d like to see a post on (and please don’t say “whatever you want”):

Alrighty, me to my Thai lunch with Julie, you to your work. Have a happy Monday.

(HEY HEY! U2 will be in Seattle April 24th! barring major disaster, I’ll be there too!)

chicks, part II

EASY THERE, tigers. I’m finding that you men are way more tough on the poor guys than I am! If any of you lived closer, no one would mess with me, because they’d have to risk severe beatings by my posse… heh heh. Lovely thought. Just kidding. Sort of.
****
The second approach that I came across as a SWF-M (single white female in ministry) was far more common and much less hurtful, but sometimes just as infuriating.

I feel the need to say that the people in the situations I write about here… they’re not sexist jerks. They are men who love God, who deeply care about people. Many of them have grown so much that it’s almost funny to remember how things used to be. I don’t look for a chauvinist pig behind every door, don’t always jump to “It’s because I’m a girl” as a reason for why some opportunities are denied; I don’t constantly look for excuses to be all feistified. Any girl can get ticked off and abrasive; can even be applauded for doing so, given our “you go, girl!” culture. It can sure feel good, but it’s cheap, and cheapens what you’re trying to articulate. My desire is that this would encourage women who find themselves in similar situations; and that this would also intelligently explain to the men what it can sometimes be like, maybe even stretch their perspective a bit. Healthy dialogue is the goal.

A situation from my early days of youth ministry (the Edge days… for those of you familiar) to illustrate my point: Six of us in our ministry were MIT’s (ministers-in-training)… it was similar to an internship, but less formalized. Four were guys, two of us were girls. Kirsten and I, although we were grateful for a place at the table, felt often that our voices weren’t heard, if we were a part of the conversation at all. Perhaps my perspective was skewed, but it sure seemed that opportunities to lead/be involved automatically went to the boys. Nearly every time. There was an unspoken boys club… something that we couldn’t break into.

I voiced my frustration a few times about being a part of things in name, but not being a part in reality (although I’m sure it was much less eloquent than how I’d say it today)… these were some of the responses:

1) Well, we (the boys) talked about (insert a particular plan) the other night when we were all hanging out in the hot tub. I mean, it wouldn’t have been appropriate for you girls to be there, would it? Sometimes these conversations crop up while we’re just hanging out, like after a basketball game or something. It just happens. You weren’t purposely excluded, but we do have to have good boundaries, obviously…

2) It’s not like we sit around for hours and hours talking about stuff. The guys need much less interaction to feel like we’ve had quality time. I can give Josh “the nod” or a high five as I walk by, and it’s equivalent to chatting with one of you ladies for about 10 minutes…

The thing that made it hard to respond to both those statements was that they were both TRUE. I couldn’t figure out what to say. I thought, well, I guess this is just how it goes. Boundaries are there for a reason. I guess as a female, you’ll just never really be “in”. OK. I can deal. I still know I’m supposed to be here, so I’ll do what I can. So I toughed it out. (And have never regretted it).

However, quite a few years down the road, I realize that it didn’t have to be that way. (The guys have learned this too, to their credit). The solution lay in two simple words: Being Intentional. Sure, we weren’t purposely excluded, but we weren’t purposely included, either. Yeah, we may not be able to all jump in the hot tub… but could we probably all grab coffee at Starbucks? Of course it wouldn’t have been appropriate to travel with a pastor one-on-one, but could the girls probably jump on the ferry and join the boys on that trip to visit that church across the water? No one was thinking, we really don’t want Kirsten and Stace to be a part… no one barred our way on purpose… it just didn’t cross their minds to invite us into situations where the unscheduled (often way more vital) talks took place. The natural default is what prevailed back then.

Regarding the second response… yeah, but no. If a five minute chat asking one of your female leaders what’s happening in her life is what it takes to make her feel connected, then do it. (You just saved all that time high-fiving that other dude, so you can spare it). The point is valuing people enough to speak encouragement to them in a language they understand. I won’t go all into the “Five Love Languages” stuff, you can read it elsewhere, but it goes a long way toward building up the people you interact with. (Again, it’s something that must be intentional, it doesn’t happen naturally).

I’m happy to say that things are much different now. Maybe it’s because two of the three interns in my current program are female, Wes would be down to one if he didn’t figure out how to intentionally involve us… but seriously. These things take time to learn. The boundaries are there for a reason, but there’s a lot of room within them to relate, to learn, to discuss, to plan, to dream. You just have to be intentional, create the opportunities on purpose. For instance, Lili and I got to go with Kenn and Wes to a retreat in Idaho last year. There were no planned talks. No meetings scheduled. But we went because we knew it created opportunity for the spontaneous deeper conversations. We went because we knew we’d have opportunity to serve and be used (which we did, all of us spoke to the students at the retreat).

Women: doors are open to us now more than any other time to be involved, to serve, to even lead. My advice: stick it out. It gets better. Continue to dialogue, continue to challenge, but do so in a way so that your voice can be heard. Above all, submit your service to God, let Him continue to work through you. I have found that those early seasons of ministry (even thought I felt excluded sometimes) really prepared my heart and character for later on, when doors were open to me. I never took my place at the table for granted, and treated the opportunities like the gems they were.

Men: we understand the boundaries inherent in working side by side with us. We’ll guard them. But don’t let those boundaries be an excuse for letting our unique gifts and talents fall by the wayside. Be intentional; open that door wide. Be just as good to women, just as progressive, respectful, kind– as Jesus was.

On being a chick in ministry: part one

Ok, I’m going to digress from my church story for a bit and, as Suzanne suggested, share a on a little bit deeper level about my experiences in ministry, being a single female in a world mostly filled with and led by married men. I’m going to share as honestly as I know how, trusting that 1) people know me well enough to know I’m not a feminazi; 2) I’ve dealt with forgiving those who may have unintentionally caused a few nicks and scratches along the way, and all of us grown up quite a bit since then anyway, and 3) this may be helpful for those who find themselves in my shoes.

I’ll start out with the dumbest-ever scenario, and work my way up to the healthy ones. This will serve to give you an idea of where I’m coming from (and hopefully will help some of you dudes in ministry know what NEVER to say).

PART ONE: Lord of the (wedding) Ring

During my days of high school worship ministry, there was a decision made to take one person out of leading the worship ministry (for various reasons, among them that his heart for people had not yet grown to match his heart for worship and music—all of which has changed now), and put me in. I didn’t seek this out, and to be completely honest, although I agreed with the decision, wish it would have been handled with a little more tact and grace, but it was done, and so I did my best to approach the situation well, honoring this guy in the process. We co-led worship one night, like we had often done before, and it went really well. Afterward, we were talking outside in the entryway, lots of kids around. I just wanted to be encouraging, wanted to let him know I valued him being a part of things. What I said went something like this: “It went really well tonight, it was awesome to have two people leading up there… Hey, I know things didn’t go down the best, but I just wanted you to know I appreciate you being a part, and that it’s a sign of your character that you’d—“

At this point he cut me off. He stuck his left hand in my face, waved his wedding ring in it, and said, “Stace, hey, I’m married.” He held both hands up in a back-off gesture and took a step backward. No laugh after, no I’m kidding face, nothing. Dead serious. The conversation pretty much ended at that point, and I left.

I cried all the way home. Sobs. Angry sobs. I felt stupid and humiliated. My efforts to try to make the best of an awkward situation… were reduced to something pitiful and pathetic and wrong. I do ministry for many reasons… none of which involve hitting on married guys. His words smacked of trying to get back at me… for a decision I had nothing to do with. One thing he had succeeded at: I felt very, very small.

I feel like I can get bumped around a bit, and be ok. I’d been in youth ministry for quite a while at this point… you either learn how to get bumped and not break, or you quit. I did the former. However… those few words went deep. It changed things. I felt like now, I really couldn’t talk to him at all, without risking being accused of something. I felt like I couldn’t even do the job I’d been asked to do. I for sure would never be caught dead talking to him one-on-one. Who would want to risk the damage?

Some things are not big deals, some are… to me, this was one. I talked to the pastors above us about what had been said and we sat down and had a meeting. (They were very supportive, very protective of me, and fairly stern with him). He apologized, saying that he hadn’t meant it like I took it; he just was uncomfortable communicating on that level, and had overreacted. (Memo to him: most girls communicate with nearly everyone on that level. It’s called kindness. Doesn’t mean we want you). Things eventually got better, but they were never the same, and I’m not sure they were ever comfortable. Not with him, not with his wife.

As a single female in ministry, no one is more aware than you that you need to be careful, have good boundaries. You’re always the first person to make sure doors are left open when you’re talking one-on-one, the first person to ensure that you’re not at the office alone with anyone… you get it. You guard it. No one is more cautious with your words, wanting to be sure that something you say won’t be misconstrued. When can joking (a staple in most ministries) be seen as flirting? Where’s the line between being real and being too close? These are questions we always have to have in the back of our minds. No one need remind us.

The worst part is, a good percentage of us would like to be married at some point. If you’re looking for a place where the wound will go deep… that’s the one. A lot of us, we would love to be married. Maybe not now, but it would be amazing someday. But should we be looked down upon because we don’t have the luxury of being married off already… somehow making us “safe?”

God calls all kinds of people. Married folks, single folks, young and old, he speaks to people, asks them to walk with him, to serve others and to build his kingdom. I will never feel that I need a “Mrs.” in front of my name before I have license to serve. Ever. And I’ll never be ok with others requiring that title before I have a place at the table, before I’m given opportunities to serve through leadership.

Apparently I’m still as feisty on this topic as ever. But that’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.
Tomorrow: part deux.

home, part two

I want to eventually go into why I found myself so at home in my newfound community, but first need to explain what probably impacted me the most while I was there – the pastors who I was for some reason privileged to hang out with during my year there. First up – Matt.

Matt, my worship pastor, helped me to grow probably more than any other single person there. I had basically given up on music by the time I arrived at CTK, more specifically, had given up on my desire to lead worship. A pretty voice and passionate heart I had; but I lacked confidence, and more specifically, lacked the Bible-college-boy rock star persona that seemed so popular. I was always better in the quieter, more introspective moments, sharing my heart from the piano bench, trying to help people connect to who they were singing to, and then singing my guts out. I’ve never been good at smooth and polished; I was always probably more raw than anything (and perhaps more open from the stage than some were comfortable with). I hadn’t found an avenue where that fit, so I figured it just wasn’t my deal.

I think I’d been attending CTK about two weeks when Matt asked me to come in to sing and play for him, see if I’d want to be part of the worship ministry. He let me know they were going to work on a recording project for Christmas, would I maybe be interested in being a part of it? I promptly laughed out loud, not thinking he was serious. I was used to having to fight so hard to be a part of things, and here, seemingly, was a wide open door, for me to do whatever my heart wanted to run after. (Even though I was a big softie with no rock-star qualities whatsoever).

So, I began singing & playing with the worship ministry. I grew by osmosis, basically. Here were these absolutely amazing musicians, who, if they had wanted, could have put on the rock-star attitude… but didn’t. I’d never felt like more of a rookie, but they were patient and helpful, and I grew musically just by practicing and playing with them. I grew spiritually just by being around them. I felt alive – often; felt for the first time in a long time that God could use me just the way he made me. I didn’t need to become someone else; if anything, I needed to become more myself. I knew that, just as I am, I was helping people connect in a real way to God through music. My confidence in all these things grew like crazy. And for once, I just felt like I fit. (This was confirmed in a scary way the Sunday we all showed up in variations on a theme: black shirts, dark jeans, and of course, our so-intellectual dark-rimmed glasses. We promptly mocked ourselves. What serious musicians we all were…)

Matt put together a small group that went through the book “The Heart of the Artist” by Rory Noland. This figured significantly into my growth as well, just talking honestly about what it is to be an artist serving the church. The book takes a blunt (brutal?) look at issues that artists of all pursuits face, such as excellence vs. perfectionism, servanthood vs. stardom, etc. I was humbled at certain places as I was made aware of wrong motives. I wished I’d have read the book five years ago. The main point, however, is that God made us as artists sensitive for a reason, there was no need to fake it or thicken our skin… we were made sensitive in order to see God, hear God in the everyday… and translate it, point at it, scrawl it out in big letters for those who perhaps have a harder time noticing. Good stuff.

I think the thing that made the biggest impact on my life was that, from almost the very beginning, I knew that Matt believed in me, thought I had potential, and was willing to invest time and relationship into that process. He basically put a “10″ on my forehead, as I’ve heard it explained before. I was so used to having to try so very hard to please my ministry “superiors”… and found myself able to just be myself. I was used to trying to find a way to fit in with my Bible-college-youth-ministry-major-guy peers (if you’ve been in ministry, you know exactly what I’m talking about), and for once didn’t have to. I was on the radar of those I worked with, even though I was different. I was used to especially not fitting because I was the token chick, and found myself included just as the rest of the guys on the team were. (Side note… I understand the importance of boundaries, and no one guards them more than I do. I was trained well in my years of youth ministry. But there’s a point at which it just gets ridiculous, where doors to opportunities end up shut just because the poor girl doesn’t have the luxury of being married off, and therefore, “safe.” I was impressed that Matt, and the other pastors there, weren’t afraid to talk to me like a normal person, unafraid to have deeper-than-surface talks about what was going on in my life.)

Everyone needs a champion at some point in their life. Someone who’s way further along, whether it be in skills, experience, or both… who sees something in you that makes it worth their time to let you come along for part of the ride. With lots of good talks (and good music) along the way. God, for some reason, saw fit to send me Matt for that all-too-short season before I had to move home from Bellingham. And however discouraged I sometimes feel, whenever I start to feel like “this just isn’t my deal”… I remember that season, remember some of those casual but life-changing talks. And then I go grab my guitar for a while, and let my heart sing loud.

(Matt and Wendy now pastor at a church near Seattle… sometime this month I’m going to head over and we’ll lead some worship together. Looking forward to it. Mentors never REALLY go away, I’m finding…)

stumbling upon home: part one

Just finished my second batch of small group materials… phew. One of these times I’ll quit procrastinating, quit playing chicken with my deadline, but… I don’t know. I think there’s some sick part of me that secretly enjoys the rush and the late nights and the ever-present question in my mind: How much mountain dew and coffee can I have before I actually risk heart failure? Anyhow, I’m happy to be done; we’re using outside material for our next series, so I have a break for a while. (At least, that’s the theory).
***
It seems to be all the rage lately (or at least here and here) to write memoirs of significant experiences in Christian community (church, Bible college, small groups, etc.). I think that the present season, for me, is going to eventually prove a deeply impacting one, but wrapping my head around what’s happening, as it’s happening, is difficult. I can’t quite see what the man behind the curtain is doing right now. So, I too am going to take a look back. I have stories probably much like any Christian does of scars that have been left by growing up churched, but it’s January, I’ve been melancholy enough as it is, and I want to think of a happy time. So here goes.

I remember the moment I decided to go to Christ the King Community Church. I hadn’t been to church regularly in about six months, lost in a typical college student cycle of I’m-lonely-and-don’t-know-anyone-and-church-”hi-my-name-is”-just-reinforces-that-feeling-so-I’ll-stay-here-and-get-lonelier-by-the-day-and-shut-God-out-while-I’m-at-it, etc. A guy (Chad the First) from work and I had been dating for about a month, which was a stupid thing to do for many reasons, the main one being that when I mentioned church, he positively bristled… I was so lonely that quite frankly I didn’t care. Even that fell through, as I sat on the couch in my apartment listening to him tell me why it wasn’t going to work (I had always known it wasn’t going to work, but what was funny was hearing his reasons why… none of which had anything to do with my reasons why). I hung up the phone, and sat on the couch without moving or saying anything for about ten minutes. Just let the tears fall.

I can’t really say why… but I grabbed the phone book and looked up CTK’s number. OK God. You win… (It didn’t feel so much a prodigal-running-home scenario… it was more akin to a grudging surrender at gunpoint). Still not sure why it was CTK, I didn’t know a soul that went there; I had just heard its name mentioned in passing. I got directions and service times, and that Sunday, I hesitantly walked through the big glass doors of a grocery store turned church.

When you walk in, you enter this big open commons area. The first thing you see is a round booth with people inside it who are there to help you find your way (and after service, they have the happy job of giving you a mug or water bottle for stopping by, and coupons for free espresso on your next three visits). Along both walls are trifold boards (think science fair) detailing how to get connected to nearly every ministry the church has (at least, on an official level). In front of those are people from each ministry, looking to meet you and get you connected to others. The third thing you see is coffee. Loads and loads of coffee. And, much to my delight, basketfuls of french vanilla creamer.

God, in his ridiculous grace toward me, saw fit to pretty much get me “adopted” right away. Trying to figure out where to go, I ended up talking with one of those people in the round booth, Pastor Dan (I seem to have good luck with Pastor Dan’s, I just realized). Dan asked me where I was from, I mentioned that I’d gone to church in Poulsbo, and it took us about two seconds to figure out that his uncle was a pastor at my home church. Dan’s uncle had mentioned me to him, asked him to keep an eye out for me. From that moment I had a church-dad who looked out for “the Rich girl” regularly. This was the first of many people I would meet there that would make my experience among the most joy-inspiring I’d ever known.

I can’t explain it, but I had a very strong sense in my gut that I had somehow stumbled upon home, a new kind of home, one that I’d never even realized existed. For once, I fit. I, Stacey, fit. You can’t understand what that means unless you’ve spent a really long time feeling like you don’t fit and perhaps will never fit, but it was a big deal. I felt that way from about the moment I walked through the doors. I had never known it before, and I haven’t known it since… but once you get a taste of it, you never forget.

TOMORROW: part II.

seattle… all its glory…

Ok, these are some pics I meant to post a long time ago, and I just now got bored enough. I love trips to Seattle, and use any excuse possible to hop on a boat and go goof off. Took my cousin there a while back… fun playing tourist with someone who’s never been.

Ahem, from the top: a picture of a ferry from our ferry.

View from the ferry on a pretty day.

Kevin and Cousin Dave riding one of the decorative carousel horses (they’re all over Seattle).

The ferry loading dock. Where cars drive on and off. It’s pretty sweet.

Pike Place Market. Love it.

Pike Place Market is a great place to buy flowers (huge bouquets for cheap!)

The ORIGINAL Starbucks.

Me (very tired) enjoying my Extra-Mocha Mocha.

The ORIGINAL Starbucks sign. Sinner.

Heaven. Absolute heaven.

Kevin found a friend.

Dave and I on the ferry ride home.

THE END.

Awakening Dreams

(or, How to Be a Dan)

It was supposed to be just another cup of coffee. That’s all I expected, and certainly all I was prepared for. I walked into Barnes & Noble, and waded my way through a group of bored high-school girls flipping pages of Seventeen in the magazine aisle as I headed toward the café. I promptly took a deep satisfying breath. Mmmm… coffee… I ordered my tall extra-mocha-mocha and sat down at the table, a little breathless. As usual, I was running a few minutes late. Nothing out of the ordinary here… I’ve had countless meetings exactly like this one.

OK, I’m ready to talk business. Let’s go. I was meeting with Dan, one of the pastors at my church, someone I’ve only recently begun working for. I opened my notebook, grabbed my pen, and was fully prepared to talk shop on what needed to be done on my current project.

“So first and foremost, how’s your life? How’s Stacey doing?”

Um, that’s not your line. Hmm. How am I doing? My holiday season was rough, even prior to getting dumped just before New Years, and vocationally, I’d been wondering if maybe the time for dreaming had passed me by. Things just weren’t moving forward like I’d hoped. I tried to think of a brief way to answer him, so we could get back to what needed to get done. No way he really wanted to hear this.

Dan crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, seeming to signal that he was okay with waiting on my response while I figured out what to say. I was planning on saying “great” or “fine” or another customary something-or-other, when I realized he wasn’t just being polite. He was in no hurry.

Thus began a conversation that, while probably commonplace for him, is now listed in my book as pivotal; influential; life-changing, even.

Apparently Dan didn’t know any of his lines. The next hour would be spent, not telling me what needed to be done, but asking me about what I love to do, what makes me come alive. He didn’t stop at politely inquiring about my passions – he point-blank requested a good reason for why I’m not currently chasing wholeheartedly after them. Even beyond that, he let me know that he already saw me as someone who is capable of doing the things I dream of, that he sees God at work.

Leaving our meeting, I walked out with a whole lot more than a nice caffeine buzz. I left with five million formerly dormant possibilities running rampant in my stirred-up brain. Quite frankly, he messed me up. I can’t sleep at night for how full my heart and mind are with ideas and what-if’s and wouldn’t-that-be-incredible.

It’s completely amazing, the power we hold in our words, in our time, in our taking notice of another God-created human being. We get so busy, we are so consistently pressed for time and so wholly engulfed in running our own agenda that we hardly see the people we care for the most, much less dialogue with them about what’s really important. How sad, that we so often miss opportunities to nudge people toward the callings that lie buried beneath the surface… the ambitions and desires people never speak about because, even in the abstract, they just seem so big and scary and unlikely.

Even as my own heart has been reawakened by this simple conversation (and others like it in the past), I’ve realized that I can have a similar impact on those that have been placed in my world. I’ve been looking at these life-changing exchanges from my own experience, trying to find a common thread. There are probably many, but I boiled it down to three. Three simple things you can do to basically ruin a person for safe, ordinary, resigned-to-their-fate living.

First, you have to be keenly interested in their story, in the chapters already written. Not only interested in generalities, but in details. Big moments. Key influences. Most people won’t unpack these things right away. Why? I think a lot of us are concerned, given our hurried culture, that we’ll take up too much time talking, so we’ll go with the Cliff’s Notes version unless someone proves they’re really and truly interested. How do you prove this? By asking questions that show that you’re attentively listening, in detail, to what they are sharing. By purposely trying to read between the lines and looking past the spoken words to the heart beyond.

[As a side note, I feel the need to prepare you for what will undoubtedly happen the moment you ask someone to tell you their story: You’ll have to fight this inexplicable urge to immediately jump in with some anecdote from your own story. You’ll want to compare. You’ll want to advise. You’ll want to say, “I remember when I used to think about life that way.” Please don’t do this. Let the moment be about them, with no agenda of your own.]

Second, you continue asking questions, except that you shift the focus from the past to the here-and-now. You start digging a little deeper, past the surface, trying to understand their aspirations. Dan did this by asking me questions like “If you could be doing anything…?” and “What makes you come alive?” and “What do you most enjoy doing?” I was kind of startled. It had been a while since even I had thought about these things. I’d been hiding from them, immersed in the safety of day-to-day routine and thoughts of “Well, that would be nice… someday,” and “It’s a cool thought, but…”

Then he asked the really big painful obvious question. “Why aren’t you doing those things? What’s in your way?”

Even though I hadn’t thought about the dreams themselves in a while, I had no problem rattling off a list of the barriers to them. He listened. Just listened. And seemed to understand. And then, after I’d exhausted my list, he told me what he sees. (This is the third step. This is where you finally get to talk).

There is nothing more encouraging than being told that someone already sees in you clear glimpses of the person you want so fervently to become. There is nothing more relieving than realizing that, in all your hoping, in all your wondering if you’d really heard from God, it wasn’t just you. I don’t care who you are, when someone sees in you God-given worth, potential, great opportunity to be used for something beautiful… and they take the time to say it… it changes you. The impossible doesn’t seem so out of reach. God’s whispers to your heart have now been echoed in a human voice, spoken by a human face. There’s a quiet power there in those moments.

For me, that hour spent over coffee, that simple conversation, brought renewed courage and faith when I sorely needed it. There are people in my world, and most likely in yours as well, who are in dire need of a conversation like the one I just had. Be that person who’s willing to slow down and notice what’s going on beneath the surface; who is willing to care about the details. Be a person who sees past the present; who sees what is yet to be.

Simply put: be a Dan (or a Julie, or a Matt, for that matter). Be you… used by God to breathe new life into those who are weary. Those in your world are waiting.