What If: Our Doubts & Questions Give Us Deeper Faith?

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Eastertide. That is our season for the next 50 days. We have moved past the inward journey. We have moved to a season of resurrection. As a way of celebrating this season of new growth, I will be examining 50 ‘What If’ questions over the next 50 days. Resurrection is not always synonymous with joy. It does not always come in the face of happiness. Sometimes the most honest resurrection takes places in the hospital waiting room, the treatment center or the jail cell. Resurrection is a mysteriously glorious experience of life existing in the face of death. That is our season, may we begin…

What if our doubts and questions give us deeper faith?

Years ago, I read a book called The Sacredness of Questioning Everything by David Dark. I was not ready for all of the gifts of this book, but my journey began. One of the biggest struggles in asking the questions that were mulling in my mind and heart came back to my role as a leader in a faith community. What happens to the people that I am leading if I begin to question (in some public way) all the things? What you must know about the Christian church world that has been my home for more than four decades is that we like answers. Western Christianity finds hope and security in the things that we know. I have been taught that over and over again. The best leaders are the smart, studied, sure ones that know how to reassure the people. This was a foundational lie that defined my ministry. Because here is the truth:

I don’t know.

I said it. And this time, I am saying it from the deepest depths of my gut. The things that I know today are very rarely things of the Spirit. Actually, I am more and more comfortable with the not knowing because rather than running away in fear of the unknown, I am more excited than ever to explore the better questions. That is the heart of my ‘What If’ journey. How can we ask questions from a deep desire to grow rather than a place of embarrassment and shame about our lack of knowledge? How can we open ourselves to conversations with people who see life and faith and education and family and sexuality and addiction and mental health and hate and hope and so many other things from a world that is unfamiliar to me? And with more questions, how can our own journey and questions introduce a deeper understanding of life?

Can I tell you a secret? I really think I would have loved being born into the Jewish faith. Every time I read about the deepest faith moments of the Jewish people, they come through questions. To be Jewish is to question. Even in the deepest rituals of their faith they not only welcome, but invite and expect (especially the children!) to question as a way of claiming and developing their own faith. ARE YOU KIDDING? I need more of this in my life. So, let’s go there. Let’s question. Let’s ask and talk and dream about the things that are stirring inside of us.

I would love to hear from you. I have a list of things that I want to explore, but I would love for you email me if you have a question that we should ponder together. I promise to honor your questions by looking in all directions for truth. That means that there is a good chance we will disagree. I love that. We need more grace filled conversations with people that don’t think the same. We are better when we bring all the thoughts and questions to the table. May these conversations bring new life in the next 50 days.

Holy Week 2020: Resurrection

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It started this morning where I left things on Friday morning at 2:30am. I sat in the darkness on the porch. As a storm was blowing in, I could feel the shifting wind and see the trees being pulled. I have not felt rain yet, but I know it is coming. The metaphors are not lost on me. The hardest part of my Holy Week “retreat” was trying to find the experience of this morning that was honest and true to where I find myself today, and yet marked that even in the midst of the struggle, there is a message of new beginnings.

There is not one bit of trumpets and white shoes that felt authentic to me this morning. The very last thing I want to do is turn on a TV and “watch” Easter. Kanye and Mariah have not one thing on my quiet, dark, fire burning, uncomfortable and complicated inner quest for hope. So here I sit, in my “Equally Human” sweatshirt and plastic sandals to greet the sun.

After decades of being a good church leader, I know all the right songs to welcome this day. I have the playlists to prove it. And yet today they felt hollow and insincere. There was only one thing that felt holy today: authenticity. I have a few places that I go for these musical expressions. One of them is Audrey Assad. As I sat in silence trying to begin my resurrection experience, these were the only words that seemed to fit:

After everything I’ve had.

After everything I’ve lost

Lord, I know this much is true,

I’m still drawn to you.

Friends, that’s all I have today. I don’t have the ‘magic’ words that make it all ok. I don’t have all the assurances that have felt so black and white in many seasons. What I know, what I really, really know is that I cannot walk away from the reality of the pull toward something so strong I cannot explain it. The best way I know to describe it is gravitational. It holds me down. It keeps me pulled to center. I cannot see it. I cannot explain it. Most days, it is confusing and frustrating. There are days that I want to escape it. But I can’t. Because there is a deep, deep, deep drawing that brings me right back.

So on this day of resurrection, I will celebrate that pull. I will not fight it. I will not run. I will sit in all the discomfort and questioning and lack of answers and trust that this act of stillness is the exact kind of new life that was intended for me on this Easter Sunday.

Holy Week 2020: Saturday

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I almost did not write today. There is a huge part of Saturday that is about the silence. The darkness needs to sink in. We need to have no answers. That needs to be the journey of the day. However, my friends, this particular season in our world seems like a never-ending Saturday of Holy Week, so I think we need to tune in today. We need to set our intention on what could, and can, and may be, when we chose to look for a new resurrection.

I have a bit of confession to make. This lenten season has been a train wreck of sorts in my spiritual journey. The momentum has been building for years, but the impact occurred in a very real way when I begin to step into my annual pilgrimage with the added invitation to reexamine my priorities in light of a global pandemic. In some bizarre and mysterious way, my soul needed permission to dig. I needed the ability to take off the edit button of my normal “routine” approach to faith. There is nothing like the feelings of grief and anger and loss and the aching of a stoppage of life to allow us to look long and hard at the path of connection.

I have allowed myself to say things like does this matter? Can I really connect with this? Is there beauty in this truth? Am I afraid to look at this one aspect of this story because if I do then it all unravels? Yes. The answers to these questions are all ‘yes’. And I have processed and written about this more in the past 3 weeks than I ever have in my life. This has been a season of watching the waves of awareness and questions come over me and go out with the tide of grief and doubt. This forced season of social distancing has refused to let me run from my heart and thoughts. And this is freeing me to surrender.

I have spent the last few weeks prioritizing my questions. One of my most important questions has been, “Who are my teachers?” I have let go of the need to have teachers give me answers. I have based so much of my understanding of the Divine on a regurgitation of other teacher’s favorite foods. This system has failed me in the quiet of my heart, because when I reach the moments of absolute hunger, what other people order as a main course will never satisfy my soul. I must be brave enough to seek the beauty of the feast for myself. Without the willingness to seek out and approach connection without the baggage of shame and should’s, I have no connection to the work of my growth. There is no way of placing God in a box. Actually, I have finally admitted that there is no box. And that is wonderfully and terrifyingly freeing.

I find myself on this Saturday sitting in the waiting. And while resurrection will look very different this Easter, I am thankful. There is nothing about my journey that can be divorced from the promise of new life. Even on the days when I don’t feel new. Even on the days when the story of hope seems so distant that it hurts. What I KNOW, really know, is that out of great pain comes great growth. That is the comfort of this long season of Saturdays.

I discovered a new Podcast last night that was a gift. A warm virtual hug for someone that wants no one to touch her in everyday life and yet now misses the physical connection of humanity. For those that need a soothing voice of meditation and calm today, I highly recommend Turning to the Mystics. I’ll close with a thought that is paraphrased from the Holy Week Mediation:

This pandemic has the ability to recalibrate our spiritual priorities and assumptions and rebirth a more generous clarity.  -James Finley

Friends, may we seek the light of tomorrow with all of our being.

May we know that hope does not always come in a neat and clean package.

May we look beyond the expected path for the miracle of resurrection.

Holy Week 2020: Good Friday

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I stayed in the “garden” until almost 3am last night. My throat still tastes like the smoke from my fire. My head burns from a lack of sleep and emotion. Somehow, I feel like this is the appropriate hangover that surely accompanied the reality of the morning. When I woke after just 4 hours of sleep, I wanted to turn back over and sleep. My body was exhausted, and yet I knew what today brought.

For many years, the Stations of the Cross have been my literal guide to Friday. Walking the steps of the Via Dolorosa in Jerusalem is one of my greatest memories from my time in Israel. But before I stood in the streets of the story, I permanently linked my flesh to this journey. In 2012, I joined a group of friends to tell this story on our skin. Each choosing an image that depicted the station to which our heart was tied, we tattooed the stations on our skin. I chose the 10th station. This is the moment that Jesus was stripped of his clothing just before he was nailed to the cross. It is the moment of absolute humiliation. It is the moment that Jesus was completely defenseless. He is stripped bare. His humanity and vulnerability is on display for all to see.

These are the scariest and most raw moments in my life. The times when I have no guard or place to hide. I also know that the moments when I allow people to see me in the raw are the very moments that I grow. I fall and bleed, but I grow. I hate these moments. And yet I know this is where the growth comes from. Until sunrise on Sunday, I sit in this space. I commit to allowing the presence of darkness and the raw grief of death to transform me. I will not skip over the waiting. I will not. I will not. The tear in my dead stump is my icon for these hours. I wait.

Holy Week 2020: Maundy Thursday

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I have done the work of explaining and giving words to the traditional aspects of this day in previous posts, so for today, I am going to draw near to my favorite, but less discussed aspect of the day. After the meal. After the bread and wine. After the foot washing. That is when my heart for Jesus connection comes alive.

I am wired to be connected. But deep connection with humans has always been a very tough reality for me. I want friendship. I want to know and be known. But these things require a level of vulnerability that I struggle to embody. I have done enough internal work to answer the ‘why’s’ of this, and yet it still does not make it any easier to apply. As much as I love the table, and I REALLY love the table, that communal act is not where my heart is drawn today. It’s the garden.

After Jesus and the disciples left the room, they went to the garden. This space is called the Mount of Olives and the Garden of Gethesmene. I have been to this place. I can honestly say that the experience of standing in that space, filled with ancient olive tress, as I looked over the old city of Jerusalem is one the most precious moments of my time in the Holy Land. That day was a quiet quest. It was an emotional connection to a moment that transformed my experience with this day.

There, deep into the night, Jesus went with those that were closest to him to experience his last moments of freedom. As a night owl, I get this need to simultaneously disconnect and reconnect in the darkness of night. I understand the need to take the few, the ones that I really trust to sit (or sleep) alongside me as I try to bring some clarity to the struggles of life and death. I don’t see a day (notice that I have given up saying ‘I won’t ever’ do something) when I would wash my friend’s feet after dinner. But, I can absolutely relate to the need to take a late night walk to one my favorite quiet spots. To go to a place where I can see the city, but be outside the chaos. To try to explain to my people what is going on in my soul and yet know that some cannot understand, some will go to sleep and some will deny me. All of these things happen in the garden. The garden is my jam. Not because I am a sick and twisted person (well, I guess I am) but I am also a person that needs honestly. And there is no more honest and desperate and authentic moment in all of scripture to me than the encounters that night in the garden. Those moments are as real as they get.

Tonight, there will be no communal meals. Churches are not meeting, large groups will not be breaking bread and pouring wine as communities. This is bizarre season. But, can I tell you what you will find if you go looking? The garden. The garden will be in your closet, bathroom, kitchen or backyard. For me, it is going to be a night of darkness (maybe a small fire if I can make it happen), the sound of the birds and lizards from my back porch. I am going to read the stories of that night. I’ll start around the table, but my heart will be in the garden. Specifically the prayer that Jesus vulnerably lifted from a place of questioning and pain. Those words are the heart of John’s gospel for me. That’s the Jesus that I can get behind. I will allow the darkness and the uncertainty to linger. I will meditate on the moment when they came to arrest him. There in the garden, in his sacred space, he was betrayed and taken into custody. This is the night that things changed.

It feels very strange to be on this journey from a place of solitude this year, but I really believe this is exactly what I needed. I have explored and questioned and allowed myself to feel this story in new ways because of the chaos of the world. I am sitting in the solitude that I’m not sure I have ever noticed before. In some divine way, I believe this is the exact Holy Week that my soul needed and didn’t know to ask for.

May you find a piece of today’s story that you have never encountered before and hold on tight.

Holy Week 2020: Wednesday

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Looming uncertainty. It seems eerily appropriate that we find ourselves in that same space. As I sit on my back porch writing (trying to divert my eyes from the endless news loop of the television), I find my spirit troubled. This familiar phrase is used, especially in John’s gospel to reveal the heart of Jesus on many occasions. We see it in his response to other’s grief (ch 11). We see it as he predicts his death (ch 12), and this exact phrase is used to describe the heart of Jesus as he explained to the disciples that one of them was going to betray him (ch 13). This last text is today’s lectionary reading. As I read and reread these words, I’m curiously thankful.

I’m thankful for the humanity of Jesus. There are many ways that I struggle to relate to the divinity of Christ, but I get the humanity. I get the struggle. I get the fret. I get the troubled spirit, because that is exactly where I find myself today. When the world is not as we planned it. When the changes are frightening. When you know in your troubled spirit that this is not the desired outcome. Jesus understood that feeling. I think I can safely say that we all need this message of understanding today. For many of us over thinkers, we feel terminally unique on a good day. In this global chaos, I would classify my soul as terminally troubled.

I can safely classify this season of my own faith exploration as one that is filled with questions. One of the most beautiful parts of faith for me is the journey. I have learned that life is anything but stagnant. That goes for the growth that takes place when we experience uncertainty and change in our spiritual life. There were many times in decades past that these seasons came with judgement. When I would experience a season of a “troubled spirit,” I struggled to allow my unsettled soul to just be. I fought it. I shamed myself for doubt and questions. Today, I sit in this place with a strange since of welcome.

What if having a troubled spirit is but an invitation for change? Jesus gave us a model for this life. Not once, when presented with a season of soul stirring, did Jesus quit. He never walked away from the discomfort. He did not change the situation so that he felt more at ease. I don’t recall a time when he chose to drink it away or rage at people that did it wrong. And at the same time, he didn’t always have the answers. Even when he knew the path forward, he was honest about the pain that the truth would bring. One of my favorites of these moments takes place tomorrow night. Let’s just say that I get the garden. I get it in the deep places of my soul.

When I think about authenticity, this is my model. That’s what Wednesday is about for me this year. I will not ignore the uncertainty. I will not deny the unrest. I will allow my spirit to understand and accept discomfort and pain and grief. I will listen with a desire to learn from the inner voice that is speaking to me in this season. Rather than resisting or fighting the feelings that are sometimes easy to push away, I will invite the wisdom of revelation to teach me in the unease. For the record, I think this is like praying for patience. By being willing to lean in, we have to be willing to experience the hard. But here is the thing. We are ALREADY in the hard. What if by opening ourselves to learn from it, we are only admitting that we can grow and thrive because of these moments, not in spite of them?

May we shift our posture as we enter the weight of the week.

May this be more than a hump day of sorts, but rather a choice to change positions.

May we prepare for the hard, because it is coming.

Holy Week 2020: Tuesday

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Hard conversations. I feel like this was the central theme of the week. It matters not which account you chose to read, every single one of them tells of Jesus trying with all that he had to communicate and explain what is about to happen without giving up. But there were moments that he had to want to scream, “You idiots! What don’t you get?” When I pulled up the text for today, I read a familiar story of one of those conversations. The account is found in John chapter 12. It begins in verse 18 and is a lengthy passage. And while I tried to find the truth suggested, or at least an interesting new insight, I struggled with familiarity. Until I arrived at the last line: After Jesus had said this, he departed and hid from them. (verse 36). That was the truth I needed this morning.

Jesus understood. Jesus was human. Jesus was like the worn out mom in the midst of quarantine. He, too, need to get away from the people and hide. Because being a coordinator of chaos is a heavy job. Because all the questions. Because we all have moments when we reach the end of our ability to be calm and kind and rational. We all have the moments where we just need to depart and hide.

Two nights ago, I knew in my gut that it was one of those nights. I went away for a bit (aka locked the bathroom door and prayed that no one would start bleeding or feeling). I took a break in my homebound sanctuary. But even that was not enough. After a long bath, I found myself sitting on my closet floor. The closet is inside the bathroom, inside my bedroom. I had 2 sets of door between me and the next human. I departed and hid from them. I texted a friend. I said some fu* and sh* words. I had a moment where I just needed to let the weight of the day jump the heck off my back. These moments are hard for people like me. I want to be the tough and capable type of human. I want the world to think that I have the answers and the serenity to face what may come. But the truth is, I don’t.

There is an added challenge for those of us that are holding on to sobriety in these days. It has been a while since my last drink, but please don’t think that I am not immune to the deepest desire to have some wine to wash away the day. I know that fast acting anxiety meds would work wonders for the wiggles and the need to run that I feel. These days are long. These feelings are big. The solitude is painful. And at the same time, the excessive words are maddening. One of the biggest signs of struggle in my sobriety experience has been drinking dreams. Multiple times in the last weeks I have woken up in a cold sweat because in my dream I was back at it. And for a moment it feels good. And then you wake up. You feel the misery. It is a painful way to “rest.” Actually, there is not much rest to be had in these moments. I was taught in early sobriety that sleeplessness does not kill you, but a drink can. So how do we keep moving?

I get my ass out of the bed when I wake up in that panic and I go for a long walk. I depart and hide from them. If I have learned one thing on this journey, it is that I need to work through the feels. Which I ABSOLUTELY hate. But they will kill me. They will suffocate me in the name of shame and resentment and fear. They will paralyze me from breathing. I have to get away from the voices that are filling my mind (my people, the TV) and I have to listen to my own Spirit. Some mornings, that means that I am walking around the neighborhood crying. Others, I am listening to a podcast and filling my inspiration tank with Brene’ and Glennon and Mike. And still other days, I am having an anger fit with my favorite musicians.

I feel like this week is a unique and holy moment to recognize the many ways that we are wired and called to not just read the stories but experience the journey. I am already planning some unique connection points for the days ahead. I can assure you that the other 3 humans in my house will want nothing to do with my pilgrimage, and honestly that is more than perfect. This is for me. I have spent most of my adult life preparing Holy Week for others. I don’t think I knew just how much I needed to travel this road without a to-do list.

Here’s a challenge for you. What does remembering the meal, the garden, the trial, death, Saturday and the first light of resurrection look like for you this year? Let me let you in on a secret that I’m finally embracing: there is no wrong way to do this. But, you miss a holy opportunity if you don’t.

May we depart from the ideas of should, and hide in the unique opportunities we have been given to walk this road with Jesus this week.

Holy Week 2020: Monday

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The last week in the life of Jesus is something I have tried to wrap my mind around for decades. Knowing that the end was near. Walking alongside the people you love. Pressing to say all the words that you need to speak before time is up. I can only imagine that the conversations felt important. I can hear the passion in the words and instruction in the tone.

The Gospel text for today is the story of Mary anointing the feet of Jesus with costly perfume. To those at dinner that day, the group perception was waste. Why would you pour such a costly gift on someone’s feet? Mary used her hair to rub the oil on his feet. If you know my fear, hatred, abhorrence for feet, you can feel my body recoiling from this part of the story. But I need to tell it. We all need to see this. Mary did something so extravagant and overtly attention grabbing that people called her out for the crazy, for the unnecessary and wasteful act.

Have you have ever done anything that caused those around to question your crazy? Something that others perceive as unnecessary, wasteful, out of line or reckless? While I will never rub feet with my hair, I have had many a moment that my feelings, passions or need to speak up and out have caused me to move past the point of “acceptable” behavior. The number of times that I have been told to calm down, take a breath or just walk away are many. So, I get Mary. I get the kind of disrupted soul moment that all I can do is break that jar of oil and sit at the feet of those that have taught me that my passion is worthy of being trusted.

Recently, I have be writing extensively about listening to and trusting my inner voice (which I call Spirit). For many women, we are taught that our feelings are too much. We are led to believe that our passion and drive is too emotion based. I can see many of the comments that I have received in years past being said that day by the disciples to Mary. Yet Jesus had a different approach. He let her feel. He let her demonstrate and give action to her passion. He let her trust herself to respond in that moment to the whispers (and perhaps even the yelling) of her insides to cling to her teacher.

This leads me to a challenge for you today. Who are you clinging to? Who are you listening to in a way that expressing their worth in your life, as a voice of truth to you, is right? This is a bizarre season of separation. But like I said yesterday, we have a unique opportunity to slow down and speak words of affirmation and thanks for the teachers in our midst. Is it your friend? Is it a podcast host? Is it your child? Maybe all of the above? May we use today (don’t wait!) to lavishly express the place of honor that our people hold in our hearts.

Holy Week 2020: Palm Sunday

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“When they neared Jerusalem, having arrived at Bethphage on Mount Olives, Jesus sent two disciples with these instructions: “Go over to the village across from you. You’ll find a donkey tethered there, her colt with her. Untie her and bring them to me. If anyone asks what you’re doing, say, ‘The Master needs them!’ He will send them with you.”

This is the full story of what was sketched earlier by the prophet: Tell Zion’s daughter, “Look, your king’s on his way, poised and ready, mounted On a donkey, on a colt, foal of a pack animal.”

The disciples went and did exactly what Jesus told them to do. They led the donkey and colt out, laid some of their clothes on them, and Jesus mounted. Nearly all the people in the crowd threw their garments down on the road, giving him a royal welcome. Others cut branches from the trees and threw them down as a welcome mat. Crowds went ahead and crowds followed, all of them calling out, “Hosanna to David’s son!” “Blessed is he who comes in God’s name!” “Hosanna in highest heaven!”

Jesus went straight to the Temple and threw out everyone who had set up shop, buying and selling. He kicked over the tables of loan sharks and the stalls of dove merchants.

He quoted this text: My house was designated a house of prayer; You have made it a hangout for thieves.

Now there was room for the blind and crippled to get in. They came to Jesus and he healed them. As he made his entrance into Jerusalem, the whole city was shaken. Unnerved, people were asking, “What’s going on here? Who is this?” The parade crowd answered, “This is the prophet Jesus, the one from Nazareth in Galilee.””
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Matthew‬ ‭21:1-14‬ ‭MSG‬‬

This is my 45th Palm Sunday. With very few exceptions, I have been in church on this day my entire life. I have read this story countless times. I have walked on this street in Jerusalem and imagined this scene. I have participated in waving, displaying, collecting, drying and preparing the palm branches. And yet it took this long for me to see it. I read this story this morning in my pjs at home. Before I did, I intentionally took a deep breath, as if I knew I needed oxygen that I didn’t have.

I wonder if you can relate today? My breath has felt shallow at times these past few weeks. I have struggled to allow oxygen to feed the rational and stillness producing cells in my being. In these moments of chaos, my words have been erratic. My tendency has been toward panic and my thoughts have become blame filled and destructive.

There are times that I am proud of my holy discontent. It has been used for good in shaping more open spaces, more inclusive circles and more generous actions. I have used many of the stories of and the teachings of Jesus as my basis for righteous indignation. One of those stories is this moment in the temple. What I had failed to connect until today is that in Matthew’s gospel this happened on Palm Sunday. Jesus went from the branch waving party “straight to the temple” and got his fiery rebel-rouser on. I have always focused on the party of this day. But as any good challenging advocate will tell you, parties are short lived when there is work to do.

My insight hardly stopped there. Keep reading. Now there was room for the blind and crippled to get in. I know that this is a paraphrase version of the text. I know. But, I needed THESE particular words today. Especially the first one: NOW. It was because of Jesus’s table turning fit, because he kicked out the thieves and deceivers, NOW there was room for healing.

I sit on Palm Sunday of Holy Week in a season of spiritual house cleaning. I have had the fits. I have had the anger. And because I do those emotions and feelings so naturally, I know they are not gone forever. They will return. In the meantime, because I have turned over some tables and kicked some of the thieves out of my soul space, I have room for the brokenness. I have room for the questions and doubts and the healing. I now have space to drag my tired and worn out body into the temple.

I’m going to sit in the house of prayer that I have created space for this week. I may not have words. I’m sure I won’t have answers. I may not understand the reasons, but I will be there. And this is only possible because I have made space. So if you need permission to flip some tables, my friends, you have it. This day is not just about crowds and parades and celebrations. On this day, while the kids ran through the temple waving their branches, Jesus was deviating from the social norms and cleaning house. May that be our call today. Flip that shame table over. Kick over that belief that you are not smart enough, religious enough or faithful enough to be in the temple. YOU BELONG. I BELONG. And If anyone tries to tell you that you don’t, send them my way. I still have enough holy frustration to break a table over their thieving back.

Hosanna!

RELEASE: 2020

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I am horrible at making resolutions. I find myself hating them before the first week is out. Years ago I was introduced to the idea of a word for the year. Over the past few years, I have identified words like JOURNEY and JOY and WHOLENESS. Words that have been turned into jewelry and vision boards and prayers. It is one of the only “resolutions” I have. I resolve to pick a word.

My intentional movement towards a word for the year begins at the beginning of the liturgical new year, Advent. By the time we reach January 1, I comitt. Since it is now, 11:36pm on December 31st, there is no time like the present.

There are many reasons that I have chosen RELEASE for 2020, but there are a few that I want to share publicly:

1. Let’s start with the obvious. My oldest leaves home this year. If that is not RELEASE, I dont know what is. My word is always about me. It is about what I need to center and grown into in the coming year. I’m not sure anything can teach you like the journey of motherhood, so launching my girl into the world has once again wrecked me. I just can’t think about all the things that I have to RELEASE with this one, but it is for real.

2. I am an Ennegram 8. I am bold and oppoinionated and damn right. All the time. To say that I have some serious RELEASING to do in the “my way or the highway” department is an understatement. And I do. The Divine is teaching me this in all kinds of neat ways, so I will lean in. And probably fall on my face. You have been warned.

3. And at the exact same time, I will celebrate four and a half DECADES of life this year and, guess what? Some things never change. I am who I am. I am a big personality. I suck at keeping in touch with people. I basically hang up the phone on everyone who calls me. I have a wicked sarcastic streak and I am really fond of fu and sh words. I am also the kind of parent that lets my kids say fu and sh words, correctly of course. So, there you have it. I also love to talk about the Spirit and redemption and faith and recovery. I have come to the amazing realization that these things are not for everyone. More interestingly, the circle where all of these things can coexist seems even smaller. Therefore, I know that the time has come to do some more RELEASING of expectations.

I tell you these things in the hope that you will join me breathing life to a word as you enter this year. If you have one already, please send it to me. I love to know how we are all journeying together on our own paths. If you want to explore this idea more, reach out, I would love to process the journey of intention with you.

Happy New Year