Positive Self-Talk

I loved the Olympics.

I loved the back stories of the athletes.

I loved the excitement of the medal winners.

I loved seeing sports that I could never play.

I loved pretending that I know what the judges are looking for.

I loved pulling for the underdog.

I even loved some of the commercials the first few times they’re played.

(Although they did get annoying after about the third time!)

 

Despite this year’s Olympic controversies,

My mom and I made it a habit to watch the Olympics each night.

My favorite clips were of American gold medal ceremonies when the athletes sang the SSB.

My second favorite clips were of the track and field athletes talking to themselves.

Some of the athletes remained focused and barely moved their lips.

Some of the athletes openly hyped themselves up.

Others of the athletes said nothing at all.

Still others of the athletes just talked aloud, as if someone were listening,

But I don’t think anyone was.

 

In their post-race interviews,

A couple of athletes mentioned that before their race, they told themselves

To trust their training,

To believe in themselves,

That they were the best,

That they deserved to be there,

That the race was theirs to lose.

 

In other words, they filled their minds with positive self-talk

Instead of the damning self-talk that many of us are used to.

 

Every once in awhile,

I could read, “Thank you, God,” on an athlete’s lips.

But mostly, I don’t know for sure what they were saying,

Just that they were talking to themselves.

 

I don’t think, though, they were discussing with themselves what people would think if they didn’t win.

I don’t think they were telling themselves how terrible they were.

I don’t think they were lamenting feeling unprepared.

I don’t think they were fussing at themselves for being unworthy.

 

I think they were pepping themselves up and

Telling themselves that they could do it.

Maybe we should do the same.

 

Dear God: Help us to take a cue from the Olympic athletes and to allow our self-talk to build us up rather than tear us down. While most of us will never be on a stage as big as the Olympic stage, each of us is gifted and called to be and do something. Help us to prepare and train to be the best that we can be at whatever we are gifted and called to do, and then to believe in our preparation and training and go forth in the steadiness of your strength and love. May, “Thank you, God,” become more than three simple words. May, “Thank you, God,” become the eyes through which we see the blessings of this life and world. Amen.

Names

 In a couple of weekends, I will be helping with a women’s retreat in Blowing Rock.

One of the things I will be talking about is the importance of names.

 

Evidently, I have a lot of friends who struggle with their names.

One only likes to be called her given name—do NOT shorten it.

One only likes to be called by the name she chose for herself—do NOT call her by her given name.

One doesn’t feel like her married name—she is her maiden name.

And one doesn’t like her first name, rather prefers her middle name—she feels no connection to her namesake.

 

Me, on the other hand, I pretty much answer to anything that starts with a D 😊.

I am Deanna, or Dee for short,

But I answer to Dana, or Diana, or Deana.

I don’t get offended when people say my name wrong,

And I don’t get angry when drive-thru workers spell my name wrong.

 

I do get angry at myself, though,

And when I do,

And I’m tired, or functioning under too-high-stress,

The names that I call myself aren’t very nice:

Dumb, stupid, worthless,

Ugly sinner saved only by grace—

Emphasis on ugly sinner, not on grace.

 

Idiot is a common name for Deanna in my mind.

Too Much, or Not Enough,

Are common names, too.

On one hand, I sometimes feel like I am too much for people—

Too deep, too thought-provoking, too intense—

On the other hand, I feel like I am not enough—

Not smart enough, not good enough, not worth sticking around for.

 

For too long,

Those ugly names were all I could hear—

Even on my best days.

But now, thanks to therapy and an ever-expanding view of God,

Beloved is the name I often hear.

Beautiful Child of God,

Created by God,

Loved,

Redeemed,

Enough…

 

Names are important.

Whether it’s the names that we are called,

Or the names that we call ourselves,

Names have power

Because they represent our identity—

And our identity is who we are.

 

What’s in your name?

 

What names do you call yourself?

 

What names would you like to live into?

 

Spend a few moments considering your names now.

 

And then be thankful that, above all else,

God calls YOU, too,

Beloved.

 

Amen.

**Listen on Spotify: https://spotifyanchor-web.app.link/e/k7y8Wq93bDb

More Than Good Enough

More often than not, I wake up with a song in my head. I often don’t know why the song is in my head. It’s just there…where I guess it’s been lurking in my subconscious.

This morning, I woke up with these lyrics in mind:

When I was younger,
My daddy told me I would never
Never amount to nothing special
He’d come at me from every angle
He’d say you’re the last thing I wanted
The last thing I need

This morning, though, I knew where the song had come from. Last night, I had received a text from a dear friend who is applying for a new job. The text said something like this:

“I just had an epiphany. What’s meant to be will be. If this is my door, then God will show me the key. If not, I’ll stay where I am until another door presents itself. I’m literally making myself sick with worry over an interview. It’s not worth the self-doubt of wondering if I’m good enough. I don’t think my worth should be determined by people who have a different story than I do.”

My friend’s story is littered with abusive words—with being told that she is not good enough—that she will never amount to anything special. It’s a script she’s heard her whole life—that colors everything she does. Yet it’s a script that’s a lie. In truth, she is one of the smartest, most gifted, most resilient, most loving people I know.

I went to bed last night praying for my friend. I woke up this morning thinking about her…and all of the other people in this world who carry the weight of lies on their shoulders.

Oh God…Speak truth into lives damaged by lies and help us to rest in the truth that our worth and identity are found in You…and that when you created humankind, you called us good. Help us to overcome the deception of this world, the brokenness of humanity, and the damning mistruths that suck life from our bones. You have come to give life abundant, and you have whispered truth into our very being. Help us to get rid of the noise of this world and to re-discover your truth and your truth alone. Amen.

And, friend, in case you need to hear it today:

You are
More than
Good enough

Love,
Dee

Breathe...Peace

Today is the International World Day of Peace. In preparation for the day, B had the 5th graders make Pinwheels for Peace and placed them in front of the school. I’ve been working with the 5th graders on songs of peace. We’re currently writing personalized verses to the song, “What Can One Little Person Do?”

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On Friday night, I had the privilege of seeing Plumb in concert. She was headlining a women’s conference in Fayetteville. I’d never before seen Plumb and knew very little about her life or music, yet I knew I wanted to attend the concert because I’d recently heard her song “Exhale” and immediately connected with it. In short, the concert was amazing and speaking with Plumb afterward was the same.

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In my example verse for the 5th graders, I wrote that I hoped for sustainability and made a plan to use reusable shopping bags to change the world. I want my students to know that standing for peace and changing the world doesn’t have to be a huge, instantly famous action. I want them to know that, really, it’s the little things that change the world and bring peace—things that they actually can do rather than abstract concepts that seem impossible. If I’d have thought they could fully understand it, though, then I would have written about my hope for mindfulness and self-awareness and my plan to breathe.

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During one of the most difficult emotional periods of my life, one of my friends consistently told me to breathe. I remember getting mad at her for telling me to breathe because, of course, I was breathing. But one night when I found myself in fitful tears, I realized that I was holding my breath instead of exhaling. In that moment, I understood what my friend meant. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Breathe. Steady breath calms us.

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After standing in line for at least thirty minutes to meet Plumb, I had the opportunity to speak with her for a few moments. As a formality, I had her sign my newly purchased CD, but I really just wanted to talk with her. So I did. I told her how appreciative I was of the honesty and wisdom in her music and how much I resonated with “Exhale.” She explained her hope that as she inhaled and exhaled grace, the grace would find its way to those around her and surround them with a hug. As she explained this to me, she touched my shoulders to demonstrate the surrounding.

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My first counselor, Jenny, gave me an audio-book called Good Medicine. In the book, the teacher, Pema Chodron, introduces a concept that I personalized to this: Breathe in darkness, stress, gunk, and all things bad; imagine Jesus (who, according to Christian teaching “lives” in the heart) filtering out and getting rid of all of the junk; then breathe out light, grace, hope, peace, love, and all things good.

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Just before Plumb told me her hope that the air she exhales will hug those around her, I shared with her the process that I learned in Good Medicine. I told her that I breathe in darkness and breathe out light for myself, my friends, my family, my students, the world. I presented the concept to her in case she wanted to do the same.

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What can I do to change the world? Live with mindfulness and self-awareness. And breathe… peace.
mi

He Was Himself

I like movies, yet I seldom actually see them. And when I do, I usually leave wanting to see more because the previews have drawn me in. Sometime last year, at a rare movie theater visit, I saw the preview for The Book of Life. I immediately knew that I wanted to see it and that I wanted to see it with Barb. She does a unit on Mexican art and culture and focuses on Dia de Muertos each year, so I knew The Book of Life would be perfect for us. But guess what? We didn’t get to the theater to see it.

On Tuesday night, I had the opportunity to hang out with some friends. After going to dinner and visiting every pet store in Sanford, we found a Red Box and rented…The Book of Life. I enjoyed it. Barb did, too. And you know what’s really weird? I wasn’t hanging out with Barb! Yes, dear friends, Barb and I ended up watching the same movie on the same night at the same time…completely unplanned and unbeknownst to one another…and it was the exact movie that I’d wanted to see with her!

As Barb and I briefly discussed the movie, she reported that the movie was “close enough” to actual tradition and folklore and I reported that “the story had a good message. He [one of the main characters] overcame his greatest fear. Being himself.”

[This difference in reports actually makes me chuckle. Barb’s is very factual and to the point. Mine is very much steeped in feeling and philosophical meaning .]

The character to which I’m referring and whose name I cannot remember came from a long line of bull fighters. While he, himself, had a true talent for bull fighting, he didn’t love the sport and couldn’t make himself end the fight by killing the bull. As a result, he became a disgrace to his family, and to add injury to insult, he openly shared his love for music—which was seen by almost everyone as a joke. In a pivotal moment in the movie, when a wager was placed that our beloved character could not defeat all of the spirits of bulls killed by all of his ancestors, he made a crucial decision: He decided to use his guitar and voice to sing to the final bull instead of defeating him with his sword. He sang a ballad to the bull and asked him for forgiveness for the sins of his ancestors. The bull forgave him and the spirits disappeared. He won the wager.

Throughout the movie, everyone assumed that our character’s fear was in the act of killing. But that wasn’t it. His fear was in disappointing his family by being himself. His family wanted him to carry on family tradition and live by the bull-fighting sword. He wanted to break family tradition and live by music—and love.

It was only when he chose to be fully himself that he truly faced life and overcame his deepest fear. And it was only in that moment that his family truly appreciated who he was—and they actually embraced him.

Now. For those of you who have seen The Book of Life, you might be wondering if you saw the same movie as me. I just made it sound very serious and meaningful—and that moment was to me—maybe it was to you, too? But the whole movie is actually bright and colorful and centered around a holiday and love story and full of humor. And I liked it. And Barb did, too…as we saw it in two different locations…together…each of us seeing it with eyes that reflect exactly who we are.

Defining Moments: Envy My Massage

If I were independently wealthy, I would purchase lake, beach, and mountains houses for use by my family and friends and I would invite teachers, social workers, and persons in the ministry to use the houses for either super cheap or free. I would also hire a counselor to offer super cheap or free counseling sessions to teachers, and I would hire a massage therapist to do the same. Teachers, social workers, and persons in the ministry are notorious for selflessly giving themselves to others while doing very little for their own bodies and souls. I’d like to see that change. If only I were independently wealthy…

Whether she meant to or not, Boss once let me know that I was wealthy enough to provide myself with one monthly luxury: a massage. I remember her telling me that she was a member at Massage Envy. She said that with as much driving as she did and the stress that she carried, she needed it. She liked the flexibility of the franchise. She felt that the monthly membership was a good deal. And she felt that taking care of her body was something God-honoring.

So I joined, too.

I did well at scheduling and keeping monthly my massage appointments for most of my time in South Carolina. I saw a few different massage therapists and enjoyed talking with them while they loosened the tension in my body.

During one particular massage with a non-Christian massage therapist, as I was talking through a breakout session on compassion that I was scheduled to lead the next day, I admitted that I have trouble having compassion on people who intentionally hurt and judgmentally damn other people. I confessed that I don't understand how God can be okay with this and then I heard a statement that I’ve remembered ever since:

"Maybe God has compassion on them."

Maybe God has compassion on them—on each of us, really—in the same way that I have compassion on my students who come from horrible home lives and act out of the only brokenness they know. Maybe God believes in each of our abilities to rise above our limitations and shortcomings and maybe that belief is God’s ultimate compassion.

After work today, I called my local-ish Massage Envy to see if they had any appointments available tonight. They did. As I lay on the table feeling today’s massage therapist work out the kinks and knots that have becoming increasingly more painful in the past few months, I had to make myself relax. I found my thoughts wandering back and forth between things I need to do, people for whom I desired to pray, and this line from a Sara Groves song:

“I’ve remembered the body and the mind but dissected the soul.”

I love this line. I love that it sings of the importance of a holistic approach to life. I’m mindful of it every time I get a massage, and I’m mindful that, for me, the line should read, “I’ve remembered the soul and the mind but neglected the body.”

I decided today that I’m going to attempt to be more intentional about not neglecting the body, mind, or soul. And I’m going to do this by making an effort to actually use the monthly Massage Envy membership that Boss encouraged me to get. I don’t make a lot of money and I can’t afford to buy vacation homes—but I can afford this. Thanks, Boss, for helping me realize that sometimes there are things we can’t afford not to do.

Should Be, Could Be, and Is

I confess. I posted on Facebook during church yesterday. But in my defense, I was listening to the sermon for the second time and I had been pondering what I wanted to post for a couple of hours. I surprised myself when I posted, though, because what I ended up saying wasn’t what I had originally planned.

What I posted was this: “…There could be no us against them—no we versus they. There could just be us. There could just be people…”

My initial statement was this: “There should be no us against them—no we versus they. There should just be us. There should just be people.”

The difference lies in just one word; yet the difference is huge.
One of my favorite passages of scripture says: “So in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise.” (Galatians 3:26-28)
Another of my favorite passages says: “For just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. We have different gifts, according to the grace given to each of us.” (Romans 12:4-6a)

In short: We are one in Christ, yet we are diverse. We are one in Christ, yet we are different. We are one in Christ, yet we are not robots. We are one in Christ, for what we stand for and live for is the same: redeeming, amazing, life-transforming Love.

Most of us know this. Most of us know that we should live as one. Most of us know that we should live in openness and affirmation rather than secrecy and condemnation. Most of us know that we should build up rather than tear down. Most of us know that we should being willing to sacrifice our own desires for greater good if sacrifice is what is needed.

We should. We should. We should.

But we don’t.

Yet we could.

We could.

It would take hard work and perseverance. It would take self-examination. It would take tongue-biting. It would take humility and willingness to change. It would take prayer. And time. And space. And it wouldn’t be easy. But it is possible. And we could do it.
So yes.

“…There could be no us against them—no we versus they. There could just be us. There could just be people…”

Forget should. We know we should.

We could. Really really, really could.

So let’s make it happen.

Let’s make it: “There is no us against them—no we versus they. There is just us. There are just people…”

Don't Let Anyone Tell You Who You Aren't

I’m not very good with the DVR. Sometime last week, in the middle of my fight with flu, I accidently told the DVR to record the whole series of The Mentalist instead of just the one episode I was trying to watch. I watch The Mentalist because of my dad. He was watching it one night and I got hooked. This tends to happen to me when watching TV.

At the beginning of this week, during my dad’s fight with a sinus infection, my mom told us that we needed to clean off some of our episodes of The Mentalist because they were was filling up recording space. Being the good daughter that I am, I have since spent every possible moment watching The Mentalist in an effort to clean off the DVR, even if it’s meant sitting beside a coughing, hacking dad.

Last night, as I was fitting in one final episode of The Mentalist before going to bed, a minor character said some really mean things to Jane, the mentalist. I like Jane. He’s highly intelligent and quirky and he always drinks hot tea. So when that man said something mean to him, it made me mad. In my anger toward a minor character on a fictional TV show, I posted the statement:

“Don’t let anyone tell you who you aren’t.”

I was talking to Jane, on a recording of a TV show from 2009, but I knew the non-fictional, real-life truth in the statement as I was writing it. I also know the truth of its opposite when the teller is speaking from fear or ignorance: “Don’t let anyone tell you who you are.”

When I woke up this morning, I found a short conversation between two very unlikely people on my wall. They had both responded to my statement to Jane, and then Dr. Colby, my college English professor, told Christina, one of my dearest friends from divinity school, that she looked fully alive in her profile picture. Christina simply said thanks.

What Dr. Colby doesn’t know is that Christina is fully alive—that her current profile picture, while demonstrating happiness and life, isn’t the happiest I’ve ever seen her. Christina is full of deep joy and a giving, hospitable spirit that has reminded me many times to breathe and to remember that I am exactly who God created me to be.

What Christina doesn’t know is that Dr. Colby made a huge impact on my life in college. While it’s true that I made my only B in Dr. Colby’s English class and that I couldn’t, for the life of me, write a thesis statement to her liking :-), it’s also true that the many hours we spent together because of my writing difficulties built a mutual respect that has stood the course of time. I suppose that in an ideal world I would have sailed through that English class, made an A, and graduated with a 4.0. But, in the real world, struggling through Dr. Colby’s class, having a crisis of belief in myself and my ability to write (a crisis lasted for well over a year), having a mentor to walk the course with me and teach me, and emerging from the crisis with my own voice, means way more than a perfect GPA. It's not like anyone walks around asking about my college GPA anyway! Through the ears of my perfectionist, people pleasing, self critical, self damning college self, I heard Dr. Colby telling me that I couldn’t write—that I was not a writer. But she wasn’t telling me that. She was trying help me be the best writer and self that I could be.

I am blessed to have parents with whom to watch TV and share these days of life. I am blessed with their DVR and sofa and electricity that allow me to see the world through different characters’ eyes. I am blessed to have friends like Christina and Dr. Colby—friends who believe in and support me not for who I’m not or should be but for who I am. And if you are reading this then I am blessed to have you, too. I am blessed that you care to read words from a girl with a blemished writing past and that you have given your time to my thoughts.

Don’t let anyone tell you who you’re not, friends. And don’t let anyone tell you who you are unless they are affirming what you know to be true in your spirit…that you are a loved and cherished person of worth and value, created in God’s image, redeemed by God’s grace, gifted by God’s spirit, freed by Christ’s forgiveness, and held in God’s love even when you do not know it is there. God’s love is there, my friends. It is there. Actually, it is here. It's what Christmas is all about. And it can never, ever be erased.

It's Easy To Lose Yourself

I have no sense of direction. For instance, I was riding in the car with a group of people the other day around sunset. When we got lost, I said, “I wonder which direction we’re going.” Another passenger said, “Looks like we’re going north because the sun is to our left.” Duh. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. I know that. But I didn’t think to use that fact to help determine which way we were going. Maybe that disconnect of fact to real life is one of the reasons that I often get lost…especially if my GPS refuses to work.

Thanks to the GPS and other global technologies, it’s becoming easier and easier not to get physically lost. But while it’s now relatively simple to locate oneself on a map, I would argue that it’s now just as difficult to locate oneself in one’s heart. With all of the “stuff” that we have and the “things” we are demanded (or expected) to do in all of the many roles that we are demanded (or expected) to play, I think it’s easy to lose ourselves and to one day end up wondering how on earth we got to where we are.

Over the weekend, I said to a friend, “I’m just worried that you’re pulling yourself too thin and not finding any joy in life.” She looked at me and said, “What about you?” After I realized that she wasn’t saying that I was a joyful part of her life :-), I fumbled with my words and attempted to explain how I was doing my best to find joy in life—even if I was exhausted and feeling like work had sucked the life out of me in recent weeks…

Before coming back to South Carolina yesterday, I stopped by my sister’s house to see her, my brother in law, and the kids. The family has recently done a lot of renovations to their house and back yard and the newest addition is a new play house/swing set for the kids…only…the play house is tall enough for an adult to stand in and the swings are high enough for an adult to swing on. Dana, my sister, said, “The reason it turned out so big is that I wanted the swing to be high enough for me, too.” A few minutes later, as I was pushing my niece “higher and higher,” Dana sat beside her and began to swing, smiling almost as widely as her daughter.

Having the play set built a little bit higher so that she could use it may seem silly, or selfish, to some; however, I would argue that it is one small way that Dana can be herself—that she can participate in one of the activities that she’s loved since childhood—that she can do to help not lose her own identity simply because she is a mom and a wife and a daughter and a volunteer and a friend. Yes, those roles are part of who she is, but they are not the entirety of her personhood. And she knows that. And so she built the kids’ play set a little bit higher.

This weekend, I visited one of my favorite places on earth. I listened to the rain and breathed in the cool, fall air. I saw some friends and celebrated that my best friend will soon have a baby. I bought Bullet a new toy and some dog treats and ate breakfast with my parents. I pushed a little girl on a swing while she giggled and squealed in delight. I watched a little ninja jump tree roots and hop on one foot—backwards :-). I made sure to do a few things that gave me joy—that filled me with life.

I did those things. Dana built a tall swing. What about you? What have you done recently that has filled you with joy and helped you not to lose yourself? Or if you find yourself lost, what’s something you can do to help yourself be found?