Breathe Out

 

On Monday, I wrote about showing up.

Today, I’m going to share a practice that I often employ

When showing up for those I love.

 

Whenever I sense that someone is struggling and

I want to help them,

I simply breathe in and breathe out,

Letting my breath be my prayer.

 

Only, it’s not so simple.

 

Upon breathing in,

I imagine sucking in the

Darkness, heartache, pain, loss, and hurt—

Taking it away from them and putting it inside of me.

 

Inside of me is Jesus,

Who then takes the

Darkness, heartache, pain, loss, and hurt

And transforms it into

Light, love, strength, happiness, peace, and everything good.

 

I do this over and over,

Breathing in the dark, stank air,

Breathing out the light, fresh air.

Breathing in what I want to take from those I love,

Breathing out what I want to give to them in return.

 

I don’t know if it “works.”

I don’t have any scientific evidence saying that it does or does not.

All I know is that it “works” for me,

And it helps me sit in the midst of darkness, heartache, pain, loss, and hurt

And not be consumed by it all.

 

Is showing up always easy?

No.

Is breathing in darkness always easy?

No.

Sometimes it hurts.

But Jesus is there.

In my heart.

Working to hold it,

Working to purify it,

Working to transform it,

Working to do what I cannot,

And leaving me to do what I can:

Send out light, love, strength, happiness, peace, and everything good.

 

Regardless of whether this practice works for you,

I encourage you to find something that grounds you

And connects you to your breath, to others, and the

very Breath of Life.

 

Remember:

There is a lot we cannot do in this world.

There is a lot we cannot afford to give.

But just as surely as the sun rises and sets each day,

We can show up for one another.

And we can breathe.

 

Amen.

Sweet Moment: That Dog

Last Tuesday, I took Bullet to the knee-replacement rehab facility to see Dad. He quivered on the way there because he didn’t know where he was going, but once he got there and saw my dad he was overjoyed. He jumped onto my dad’s leg and practically danced around the room singing, and my dad was so happy to see Bullet that he endured the pain of claws digging into his still-healing wound.

Mistakingly thinking that Bullet needed to pee, I put him on the grass on the way to the car. As soon as I put him down, though, he bulleted straight back to the institutional door. He longingly looked in the window while he scratched on the door, seeing a long empty hallway keeping him from his favorite person in the world…

Fast forward to Saturday:

My brother and two of my nephews surprised my mom and me by driving down to help get my dad home. After going to the Chinese buffet per Dad’s request, we met at the house in our separate vehicles. My plan was to go into the house and roll up any carpets that might be a hazard and to help my dad get safely settled in the house before getting Bullet.

As I headed toward the front door, however, my dad, slowly turning himself to get out of my brother’s van, looked at me and said, “Are you going to go get Bullet?”

I said, “Well yes. But I was going to go into the house first and make sure everything was safe.”

“You should go get Bullet…I want to see him…like—now.”

And so I went to get Bullet from his porch. In between barks, he was speaking so loudly that I could hear him in our yard. He was also scratching at the door, wagging his tail excitedly, and jumping up and down in anticipation of his emancipation all at the same time.

And Bullet bulleted over to my dad.

And they talked to one another as if it had been weeks since they were together.

And Bullet kept trying to kiss my dad.

And the two have pretty much been inseparable since.

Sweet story, huh? And it portrays Bullet as a sweet little loving dog, right? A dog you might like to meet?

Here’s the truth: To everyone other than my immediate family, Bullet is a mean little sausage dog that has been portrayed as a grumpy old man. In his protectiveness of my dad and his neuroses of being abandoned and abused as a pup, he comes across as a ferocious fat ball of fur. He will hesitantly let you feed him with one hand while he growls at the other, and he will allow you pet him if either my dad or I am around. But…if you wanted to visit him today, you’d be out of luck. He’d bark at you. Non-stop. Today. Tomorrow. And many days to come. After all, it took him a solid year to learn to trust me.

Sometimes he’s embarrassing. Sometimes we just want him to hush. Sometimes we wish he were a more welcoming dog. And yet…still…we—especially my dad—love him…just as he is.

I suppose that this is how it is with people from time to time. We get hurt. We find ourselves abandoned. We become defensive. We act out of the need to protect. We grumble and act hypocritical. We take a long time to let down our defenses. We act ridiculous. We make too much noise. We pretend to be stronger than we really are. And yet we need to be loved and we find that love is the single greatest change agent in the world.

Thanks, Bullet, for teaching us about love once again…even if you did just pee on my mail.

That Statement Again

A few years ago, my friend Kay and I started sending each other statements seen on church signs around North and South Carolina. What started as a mission to find funny sentiments to decorate her apartment has become an enduring purpose of communication. We may go months without writing but then one of us will find something worthy of sharing…and then we are connected again. That happened today, actually, after I rode by a sign that said: No bunny loves you like Jesus. Find us on Facebook. I laughed aloud. Then I wrote Kay. And we both agreed that the sign was a little late for Easter and that it was an interesting marketing strategy!

Because of this long-enduring connection with Kay, I find myself reading church signs every time I can. While there are a lot of signs that could stand improvement, there are some that are really good. I’ve found one sign on my way to and from work to be particularly encouraging this year. For instance, at the beginning of the year, when I wasn’t certain that I would adjust to being back in the classroom, I’d drive by and read, “You can make it.” It never failed. When I read those four simple words, I felt them making their way into my heart. God was speaking to me. And I knew that I would make it.

So I suppose that I shouldn’t be surprised that the church sign in mention gave me goose bumps yesterday. After a frustrating Monday and Tuesday, and memories of a really rotten Wednesday last week, I wasn’t overly thrilled about going to work. Yet as I drove that familiar road to school and passed that familiar sign, I found myself reading, “Pray grace over your situation,” and I literally chuckled to myself because I had been wondering how I was going to let go of the aggravation I’d been feeling all week and there was the church sign answering my wonderings. Pray grace over the situation, Deaton. Remember: “I love youregardless of how well you’re performing.”

Ah.

There’s that statement again.

“I love you regardless of how well you’re performing.”

Or more specifically this week: I love YOU, as a person, because you ARE a person, and there IS something good in you, even if I cannot find it right now BECAUSE of your performance which is basically not a performance at all and I don’t understand how you can not do your job and play the martyr and take and take and take. Yet. I (must) love YOU because you are a PERSON. And I am a person, too. And we are all worthy of love simply because we are people.

Love. Joy. Peace. Patience. Kindness. Goodness. Faithfulness. Gentleness. Self-control.
Pray for your enemies and love those who persecute you.
Do not become weary in doing for at the right time you will reap a harvest if you do not give up.
I love you regardless of how well you’re performing.
Pray grace over your situation.

And then somehow,
With time and with breath,
Frustration will begin to fade away,
Light will begin to filter in, and
People will be seen as people...
Thanks be to God,
(and church signs)
Amen.

Well Done, My Child

The first time I remember appreciating silence was the summer after my freshman year of college. I worked as a camp counselor that summer and filled my weeks with the sounds of 12 elementary-aged girls in my cabin and hundreds of other girls around the camp. While I enjoyed my work as camp counselor (it actually took root and transformed my life), I also distinctly remember walking back to my cabin in the hours after campers left and taking in the beautifully sweet sound of silence. It was outdoor silence, so it was punctuated with birds singing, leaves rusting, and squirrels running. But it was beautiful. And in its echoes, I could hear the sounds of little girls laughing and praising God, and that made the silence even more beautiful.

Still, I struggled with silence. It made me uncomfortable. 15 seconds of silence felt like an eternity. I couldn’t understand how my parents could ride in silence for an hour or more at a time. I assumed it meant they were mad. It didn’t. It just meant that they were comfortable in their silence.

The other day, I heard someone say: “Only speak if your words can add to the silence.”

I also read the chapter on solitude in Richard Foster’s Celebration of Discipline. Foster highlighted the fact that too often we fill time with anxious words of explanation. We want people to like us. We want to be understood. We don’t want anyone to upset. We don’t want to be thought ignorant. So we talk. And we try hard to win the affection and accolades of those around us when sometimes less is more—when sometimes our yes really does need to be yes and our no just needs to be no—when sometimes we need to release control of what others think of us and allow our spirits and intentions to speak for themselves.

This is something that I am learning.

This is something that is growing my faith.

When we slow down and let life catch up with us, we are often bombarded by thoughts, words, deeds, actions, guilts, desires, hopes, dreams, and everything in between. When we open ourselves to silence, we are often overwhelmed by the noise that fills our heads. It’s in the those moments that we are tempted to return to outer noise—music, white noise, television, conversation, constant activity—because it feels normal and numbs our soul.

But if we just wait? What if we push through those initial moments of inner chaos and let the silence surround us? What if we allow our thoughts to pass through our minds with grace rather than giving them permission to play like a broken record? What if we breathe in “Jesus Christ, Prince of Peace” and breathe out “Come sit with me now,” and let our breath hold us on a sacred pillow of silence?

Our souls find rest.

God calls God’s people to be different. God calls us to be set-apart. Counter-cultural. Light in darkness and salt where there is no flavor. Maybe what this means isn’t so much that we are to take a stand on issues of morality and create for ourselves a narrow-minded, hateful reputation. Maybe what this means is that we are to be a people of silence. A people who, at our cores, are at peace with God and ourselves and do not need the constant motion and noise of this world to fill the gaping hole that is Needy Beast.

I’m on a journey toward embracing silence, toward allowing my soul to find rest.

I pray that you will join me and that together we will hear echoes of God laughing and saying, “Well done, my child. Well done.”

Loving Others, Transforming Self

In 2007, after many years of running, I hit rock bottom and entered into a dark depression. The deep shame that I felt for being myself crept to the surface and consumed me with a pain that I could not deny. In my utter brokenness, pushing through an almost paralyzing fear, I found just enough strength to begin counseling. Counseling changed my life.

Over the past six years, I have learned a new way of being. Through countless hours of hard work and many buckets of prayerful tears, I have begun to live through the lenses of loving-kindness, authenticity, mindfulness, and unconditional friendship with myself. I have also gained a new understanding of compassion. My view of God has opened and expanded, and my belief in humanity has become less rigid and more organic, allowing me to live with a hope and peace that I had never known. I have realized that all of life is connected and that through this connection we are never alone.

Mark 12:28-34 (NIV) says:

One of the teachers of the law came and heard them debating. Noticing that Jesus had given them a good answer, he asked him, “Of all the commandments, which is the most important?” “The most important one,” answered Jesus, “is this: ‘Hear, O Israel, Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength. The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no commandment greater than these.” “Well said, teacher,” the man replied. “You are right in saying that God is one and there is no other but Him. To love Him with all your heart, and with all your understanding, and with all your strength, and to love your neighbor as yourself is more important than all burnt offerings and sacrifices.” When Jesus saw that he had answered wisely, He said to him, “You are not far from the kingdom of God.”

According to Jesus, to be near the kingdom of God is to love God with everything that we are and to love our neighbor as ourselves. As. Ourselves. If we are fully to love others, then we must fully love ourselves. And if we are fully to love ourselves, then we must fully love God.

This Lenten season, my prayer for each of you is that you will allow God to love you and to speak to your spirit by transforming your emotions, spirit, intelligence, and body through the spiritual disciplines. As you look inward and see yourself as you really are, may you not pass harsh judgment on what you see but acknowledge that your reality is much the same as those around you. We are all broken individuals in search of wholeness through God’s redemptive grace. May you catch a glimpse of that wholeness and use it to reach beyond yourself in love.

Peace and joy be yours…
D

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This weekend, I'll be leading a women's retreat at Luke Gaston. I’m currently finalizing the retreat curriculum and working on participant booklets, trying to get everything finished before my next on-call on Wednesday. Today, in between meetings at the hospital, I’ve worked on the booklet introduction, and that introduction is what I have shared with you tonight.

Power In A Name

I took a car load of stuff to Goodwill last Wednesday.

As I drove up to the drop off site, I was greeted by a weary Goodwill worker. She rolled out a large cart into which we loaded my stuff. I talked to her about what I was donating but she didn’t really make an effort to respond.

When we finished unloading the car, I said, smiling, “Have a good weekend…What’s your name anyway?”

She said her name but I didn’t understand her. “Vanessa?” I said.

She said her name again but I still didn’t understand her. “Tressa?” I said.

She said her name one more time and I finally got it. “Cresa! How do you spell that.”

“C-r-e-s-a. It’s short for Lacresa but it’s easier to just go by Cresa,” she said.

“Well, have a good weekend, Cresa,” I said.

Smiling, with a complete change of body language and attitude, she said, “You too. What’s your name?”

I told her my name and that I’d try to have a good weekend, that I’d be moving to NC and that it’d be busy. We talked a bit about where I was moving and what I’d be doing and the conversation was nice…but only after I’d asked Cresa her name.

There is power in a name.

There is power in looking someone in the eyes and asking her name.

There is power in looking someone in the eyes, speaking her name, and seeing her.

Oh God…help me to see people…and love people…and call them by name…like you have called me by name. Amen.

Me and Valentine's Day

I didn’t realize how much I disliked myself until my world began to unravel around Valentine’s Day 2007. I remember the date because Valentine’s Day is supposed to be a time of joy, but for me it was the beginning of a long period of darkness. Along with the depression that had been lurking for years, feelings of intense self-hate, -doubt, and -insecurity had been lingering for quite some time, but I had stuffed them deep inside and tried to cover them with work and relationships. I knew that something was wrong when I had to begin taking blood pressure medicine at age 25, but even then, though I was able to restructure some of my work habits, I didn’t stop to consider the deeper issues of why I felt the need to work so hard. The bottom line? I was ashamed of myself; therefore, I tried to hide myself by focusing on what I could do instead of who I was.

I grew up in Smalltown, USA, the youngest daughter of the preacher of the most prominent church in town. I lived in a fish bowl where all of my actions were watched, so I felt the need to be perfect. I saw how people talked about anyone who transgressed in any way and I heard how important it was to be holy, blameless, and pure. No one ever said it in so many words, yet I knew: being different and having my own thoughts was bad—it was wrong—hence I, as the good little preacher’s daughter, grew to believe that I had to do everything “right” lest I became bad and wrong as well.

I figured that if no one knew how I felt inside—that if I made perfect grades, was a leader at church, excelled in academics and music, demonstrated wisdom beyond my years—then no one would know that I felt bad and wrong. I would be accepted. I would be adequate. I would be celebrated and applauded and people would think that I was great. No one had to know that I was starving inside. No one had to know that I was miserable and desperate for companionship. No one had to know that I feared rejection and failure. No one had to know my real thoughts and beliefs.

And so I did my best to live, but I basically lived two lives—a public life and a private one. Over time, I got tired of hiding my thoughts and beliefs—which really weren’t bad, if you want to know the truth—and desired just to be me. And yet, I was afraid. I was afraid of being me. I carried such a deep sense of shame for being me that I felt bad and wrong. If anything bad happened to me, I deserved it. If anything good happened to me, it was just a fluke because…“if they only knew who I really was.” If only they knew, then they would reject me. They would think I was weird or radical. They might turn their backs on me or stab me in the back. They might not be able to see Jesus in me. If only they knew…

Around the time life began spinning out of control, I started counseling, and in counseling, I realized:

There is a disconnect between what I know to be true and what I actually live out in my life. I know that God loves me. I know that God wants me to love myself so that I can be most fully self and love people. But there’s just something inside of me that won’t allow me to fully love myself and fully embrace myself.

(struggling through tears) I am an authentic being…and a whole self. And I have to recognize what I’m feeling and how things affect me…and when I’m hurt and when I’m angry…and not always just try to feel for other people and try to make them better.



This struggle to love myself has been life-long, and it has been hard. It has led me to make many poor choices. My inability to love and have compassion for myself has caused me to question both God’s and humanity’s ability to and reason for loving me and it has profoundly affected my work and ministry—often causing me to work and act not out of a sense of call but out of a sense of the need to be wanted or needed. Yet, my inability to love myself, I believe, has given me a direct point of understanding between so much of humanity. I dare say that many people struggle to love and have compassion for themselves. Like me, they may not realize the struggle for what it is because it may lurk in the shadows of hyper-functioning. But I believe it’s there in the eyes of so many people—people who are running from themselves for whatever reason—for fear of rejection, hatred of sexuality, pain of abuse, grief of loss, heartache of confession, guilt of mistakes, yearning of acceptance, for uncertainty of call.

Somehow, in the midst of loathing myself, I developed a theology that believes that God created each one of us wonderfully and uniquely—that before we were born, God whispered into our ears who we were supposed to be and that it is our quest to live into that design while we are on this earth. I believe that the world (including parents, friends, schools, partners, and the church) tries to make us into its image but that our challenge is to live into the fullness of who God alone created us to be—just as Christ alone lived into the fullness of his being.

As a result of my journey, my desire in life is to support people on their journeys by helping them discover who they are and encouraging them to live into their gifts and passions. Just as my counselor created a safe place for me to be fully myself, I want to create a safe place for others to be fully themselves. I want to be a healthy presence at all times, in joy and in hardship, but especially when someone stops running from himself and/or God. In those moments, I want to show the love and grace and compassion that I know, now, are life-transforming. I want to hold a light in darkness, yet when light is too bright and my companion is unable to embrace its presence, I want to wait patiently until she can allow it to illuminate her life.

Valentine’s Day is marketed as a joyous day of love, but for five years, Valentine’s Season has been the marker of my spiral into darkness. Today, though, I am humbly proud to say that I can finally celebrate the Hallmark Season again without re-spiraling into darkness (I’m a Hallmark Platinum member, after all) and that I can celebrate life and love and live with the courage, strength, purpose, and compassion to help others build their lives on the Love that never fails. What an amazing journey of grace…

I Love Gem Mining!

The first time I did it was in 1998. I was on a summer mission team in the southwest mountains of NC. On our days off, we drove around and did touristy things. We visited local stores and ice cream shops and Gold City. We went to Santa’s Land and Cherokee and Dollywood. We went to Nashville and Bryson City and tubed down the French Broad River. We did a lot of really cool things! But my very favorite thing was gem mining. I loved it! And to this day, I still do.

I love the dirt and grit and literal connection with nature. I love the water that runs to clean the dirt and grit off of the rocks/gems and my hands. I love the mountain smells and breezes that accompany the experience. I love the reality of an ugly rock being transformed into a beautiful gem only by being cut and chiseled and shaped by a master gem cutter—not by remaining in its raw form. In fact, a few years ago, I wrote:

Gem mining is one of the most pleasurable experiences that anyone can have. Take a bucket of “special dirt,” a sifting pan, a gentle stream of water, some old clothes and a lot of patience, and there’s no telling what you will find. And it’s easy! Simply wash away the dirt and watch the rocks—the gems—appear.

Sometimes I think that we’re all just buckets of dirt. On our own we don’t look like anything special, but when we surrender ourselves into someone else’s hands we find that we are full of precious gems—precious gifts and talents that are vital to this world. These hands, of course, are Jesus’ hands—hands that have the power to wash away all of the dirt—all of the hurt and pain and suffering—that covers up our beauty.

So the next time you hold a gem, remember that you are precious. Just like the gem, however, in order to be manifest into your full beauty you have to be willing to be broken, cut up, and polished. Being found is easy—just let Jesus hold you. But being made into the most beautiful self you can be is difficult. When God finishes working with you, though, you will be the most precious gem in the world—the gem that you were created to be.

No need to write anything new tonight. I think that says it all.

Whole (Colors Of Our God)

On Wednesday night, March 28, 2007, I walked down the driveway to get the mail. As I walked, my feet drug the ground and left a path in the pollen behind me. When I got back to the house, I sat down at the piano and started playing. One hour later, a song had emerged.

Just three weeks prior to that night, I had started counseling. I had begun to rewrite my script and to view myself with different eyes. I wrote this on March 9, 2007:

(struggling through tears) I am an authentic being…and a whole self. And I have to recognize what I’m feeling and how things affect me…and when I’m hurt and when I’m angry…and not always just try to feel for other people and try to make them better…

Anger tends to be a mask for something deeper. Umm…it’s an indication that you’re feeling something but there’s usually something beyond that—umm…rejection, misunderstanding, something deeper so…be able to think through the anger and understand what I’m feeling. I mostly feel rejected and used and…like I don’t matter.

There’s a difference between throwing out a lifeline and jumping in and drowning with a person. Usually, you always throw in the…the line first, umm…try to pull somebody out and keep your own identity before you actually jump in with the person and kind of become as one with them. It’s the same thing with a pit—when you jump into a pit with a person and identify with them then you lose yourself and it’s harder for you to be able to get yourself out of the pit. And I tend to…jump in with people and become that person and identify with the person…rather than throwing in a lifeline.

Jesus was pretty good at taking care of himself. He went off by himself and surrounded himself with friends and laughed and ate and drank and…took care of himself so that he could be the best for everybody else.

Taking care of other people is second nature to me. I probably learned it a really long time ago—just to always take care of the other person rather than thinking about what I’m feeling.

Maybe part of the reason that I get wrapped up in other people’s lives—and try to influence or control what they do…is because I feel like they’re worth it while I feel like I’m not. Maybe I identify with other people…because…I feel like there’s an emptiness inside of me…that says that I’m not worth working on—that I’m not worth taking care of ultimately—that I should take care of other people because they have more to give and more to offer than I do.
Now read the words to the song that emerged that Wednesday night. I was far from believing these words when I wrote them…yet they were my declaration of becoming…whole.

Whole

A cloud of yellow comes and settles on my soul
Replacing sheets of white—cold
Nature has been waiting for this yellow on my soul
Agonizing in the pains of death

Tender, warm, new buds they bloom and yellow floods my soul
Bitter, stale the old passes away
My throat is scratchy from the yellow on my soul
My words are hoarse from the dark night

But listen now: this is my voice
It’s bursting into life
Singing with the colors of our God…

Three short months extended into countless draining years
Deceiving lies leading astray
Destructive screaming from this world created chaos here
Whispers of the truth could not be heard

But listen now: this is my voice
This is who I am
Created in the image of our God
Loved not for the things I do
But loved for who I am
And who I am learning to be

I’m not perfect—I will fail
But I believe in God’s grace
I am gifted and unique
I am worthy of God’s grace
I’m authentic—I’m okay
And I stand upon God’s grace
I’m on a journey—not alone
I’m a member of God’s grace

So listen now: this is my voice
This is who I am
Created in the image of our God
Loved not for the things I do
But loved for who I am
And who I am learning to be

Yes, listen now: this is my voice
It’s bursting into life
Singing with the colors of our God…

A cloud of yellow comes and settles on my soul
Replacing broken sheets—whole…
God...Thank you for transformation. And thank you for making brokenness whole.