Voice

 

Isn’t it strange how our minds remember seemingly random things?

 

I vividly remember standing in the school gym last October, 

DJing the Fall Festival, 

Starting to feel a sore throat coming on. 

That sore throat turned into my typical cold, 

Settling in on my vocal cords, 

Leaving me without full voice for a month. 

I remember how frustrated I was not being able to talk and sing for so long, 

And I remember wondering if my voice would ever return.  

 

It did.

And it stayed with me until after my program on Friday night. 

 

I felt this year’s cold coming on last Wednesday, 

Tried to ignore it, 

Pushed through on Thursday and Friday, 

Opened my mouth to speak on Saturday morning, 

And bam! Nothing came out. 

I am voiceless again. 

 

Being voiceless is hard. 

Not only does my job depend on my voice, 

But I also like to talk. 

Being voiceless makes me think twice about what I really want to say,

Which can be good,

But it also makes me feel a bit powerless,

Which is not so good. 

 

As we all know,

This week is election week. 

To be honest, 

Election week leaves me feeling a bit powerless as well.

It’s all so big. 

And I’m so small. 

Yet I at least have the opportunity to vote and

Use what little voice I have, 

Literally and figuratively, 

To speak the truth of who I believe can best guide our local, state, and national governments. 

 

May we be a people who appreciate our voices, 

Who celebrate the fact that we have them, 

And who use them wisely to build community through love, hope, and encouragement. 

May we be a people who engage not in culture wars but in culture care, 

Especially this week and in the weeks to come. 

 

Amen. 

 

 

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

Butterfly Meditation Gone Awry

Every once in awhile, I attend a meeting, workshop, or worship service that teaches me something I cannot forget. Most recently, I had this experience at a young women’s meeting in my association. The leader, Jen, taught us about Lent and presented the concept of rending our hearts instead of rending our clothes—of tearing away all that is not needed in our lives—of freeing the heart from all that binds. I find this to be a beautiful image.

Another such meeting occurred during college. My friend Sally led our Bible study group through a meditation during which we reflected upon our lives and colored a butterfly. Afterward, she asked us to share our stories with a partner and then had us crumple our partner’s creation. When she asked us to do this, there was a collective gasp. But we did it. And Sally used it as an illustration of what we do to people when we don’t properly listen to them and/or when we break people’s trust.

That butterfly meditation was so powerful to me that I have used it numerous times since Sally introduced it. Each time I’ve used it, it has made a profound impact on the group with whom I’m working. In fact, I believe in its impact so much that I keep around 40 individual packs of crayons and a stash of blank butterflies with my retreat supplies in case I ever need to lead a group activity.

I had something odd happen over the weekend, though.

From the very first activity of the retreat, when retreat participants seriously considered their answers to some very “silly” questions, I knew the group was unique! They liked to laugh. They liked to talk. They liked to think and they thought deeply. So I guess it shouldn’t have surprised me when they absolutely refused to crumple their butterflies. Like Sally, I’m usually met with a gasp and often have one or two people who are hesitant to do as I’ve asked. Eventually, though, everyone has always ended up following my lead.

Not this group!

They stared at me in stubborn refusal for around two minutes. I did everything I could to convince them that I was being serious. I even did a countdown to see if they’d all crumple their butterflies at the same time. Finally, one of the women looked at me and emphatically said, “No. I’m not going to do it. She has entrusted me with her story and I’m not going to damage it.”

At that point, there was nothing left for me to say except, “Exactly. That is my point. You just got it in a different way than I expected! So I hope that you truly do get it—that you truly will refuse to damage someone’s story after she has shared it with you and that you’ll refuse to damage your own story by belittling it in any way.”

That is my hope for you, too, reader, as is it my hope for me. I’ve hoped it since college and I hope it tonight and I hope that you will use this season of Lent to render your hearts and make an effort to honor the persons in your life whose words and actions made a difference.

That being said…Thank you, Jen and Sally. Your lives and words have made a difference in mine.