Dwelling on Sin Versus Reclaiming the Weeds

I’ve been learning a lot about shame these past few months—mostly that shame and sin are often so intertwined, it’s difficult to peel apart and define the two beasts. This may seem obvious on the surface, but I promise you shame is more engrained in our culture and in our personal lives than we would ever want to admit. I’ve noticed the subtle knocking of shame, how it invites itself into the many layers of our lives, how it surrounds brokenness, even when we dwell on sin that has grieved us in the past.

As Christians, we’re uncomfortable with dwelling on sin because we don’t want to throw a pity party, right? I’m especially thinking on past sin (sin that grieves us or sin we commit). What good can come from reflecting on pain and sin? For some reason, many Christians believe that regeneration should take away the effects of sin—either quickly or permanently—when in reality, there are thorns; there are weeds.

Dr. Dan B. Allender, author of The Wounded Heart, spoke into that dark place in my heart that was afraid to admit that some things still hurt—even through the work of the Holy Spirit. 

“Facing the reality of the Fall and beginning the process of reclaiming the land covered with weeds is the marvelous work of the God-ordained Kingdom gardener. It is labor eminently worthy of every believer to reclaim the parts of one’s soul that remain untilled and unproductive for bearing fruit. And the denial of the past hinders this work of reclamation.”

These words draw something out of me; they cause something to leap out of my heart: something unrecognizable . . . something emerging that is fragile but beautiful. It’s strange to feel this sort of tapping at my heart, to experience or outline God’s vague finger print on my life.

We experience many trials in this Christian life, and we are all suffering in one way or another—whether it’s illness, financial burdens, the loss of a loved one, being enslaved to something that is slowly chipping away at us, fear. . . . The different kinds of suffering are endless because we live in a broken, fallen world. And I don’t dwell on this to be morbid, I dig it up to remember that denial is not “putting it behind me” as a follower of Christ. As Dr. Allender puts it, “‘Where was God?’ is a legitimate cry of the soul to understand what it means to trust God. Irrespective of the answers, the question is not to be avoided. If God is trustworthy, He can be trusted without our efforts to distort or deny the past.”

Often when we think of sin and how Jesus washed us white as snow, we cheapen forgiveness with the “forgive and forget” mentality. But forgetting—hiding the past—always involves denial, and “denial of the past is always denial of God. To forget your personal history is tantamount to trying to forget yourself and the journey that God has called you to live.” Yes, we are new creations in Christ, and no, sin does not have a hold on us, and praise be to God for this truth. But living with the effects of sin is a reality in a broken world, and sometimes we have to sit in the weeds. It often feels like I am juggling those dark areas of my soul that are full of weeds—the suffering—along with the joyful, fruitful parts. It’s uncomfortable to sit and wait, to struggle; it seems idiotic to be vulnerable enough to explore the deepest damage. Yet Dr. Allender warns those experiencing shame that the “first great enemy to lasting change is the propensity to turn our eyes away from the wound and pretend things are fine,” adding that “the work of restoration cannot begin until a problem is fully faced.”

Our culture tells us to avoid the wounded heart—to create a little fence around it and to never assess the damage. But there is something freeing in Dr. Allender’s words. If we admit without shame that regeneration does not remove the effects of sin, we are free to face the damage without feeling like we are denying the gospel. We let Christ enter in! Our fragile, wounded hearts are safe in his hands, and better yet, we can trust that this good news is in fact true.

Last night, I sat with some friends and talked about a miraculous encounter in the Bible: when Mary Magdalene first witnesses the risen Jesus. It seems ludicrous that someone so close to Jesus—someone who adored him and called him teacher—wouldn’t recognize the resurrection. It is only until Jesus says, “Mary,” that she believes (becoming the first ever Christian witness) that he in fact rose from the dead.

Why doesn’t she expect it? Jesus mentioned to his friends several times that he would conquer death. Tim Keller in Encountering Jesus suggests that Mary, like all of us at some point, was looking for the wrong Jesus. For a dead Jesus. But “He comes to her, gently works to open her heart. . . .” And that is why it is okay to sit in the weeds. We can inspect the damage and own our story because Jesus redeems it. He is alive and he gently calls our name, even in our grief.  And do you know what Mary does in the presence of the risen savior? She cries out, “Teacher!” and tells the disciples, “I have seen the Lord!” Keller compares Mary’s conversion story—of hearing her own name on the lips of the risen Christ—with the words of Annie Dillard when she wrote, “I’d been my whole life a bell, but I never knew it until I was lifted up and rung.” And so my call for you, dear reader, is to lift the shroud of shame, as Dr. Allender urges, and to peer deeply into the wounded heart—knowing that Jesus is alive, knowing that he is enough. 

Vacation

A snapshot of the brewing storm, taken by my lovely sis-in-law, Lydia Grace.

We are huddled on the condo porch overlooking the ocean and sky and everything in between. My skin is pink from the sun and my face hot from rubbing sunscreen under my eyes, which are also pink from splashing into chlorine, like the thin rim of watermelon. When I plummet into the clear glass water, I am breaking something, spilling out; I am calm and remembering—perhaps nothing worth retelling, but a kind of rebirth that sounds like a million little hands clapping under water. I hear the popping sound; I squint and swim downward from the center of my belly. Deflating, I push off the slippery bottom to the surface of this sun-filtered water, this sun-drenched honey, just as a writhing fish pops on the line—shimmering coins in the sun. 

And now I am here with them, rubbing my pink eyes. Some of us standing, some of us sitting, all of us listening to—baffled by—what should never escape us: the glory of God, the power of his mighty hand, cutting through a summer storm. 

Summer storms at the beach are ghosts that demand to be reckoned with; but this one is different. I could hum on about the way it shakes us—the fear that bubbles up when we remember just how human we are, the gushing sheets of rain that rip through the dark, billowing on rooftops and pavement, setting the street lamps on fire, as if each pelt against metal sparks and erupts: a fireworks display. I could recount how the music is sweet, how we are peeling back the edges of sky and ocean with each bolt that lights up our view, as if I would need to, when God himself is composing the flash of a photograph, reminding us where the tide and black blanket sky divide. But my words are short-lived, like the jellyfish in the sand, like the popping in my ears, the quiet pounding of feet on wet tile. We are listening to Simon and Garfunkel, the words homeward bound crackling in our ears, and that's when we know that it is all true and beautiful. 

Making it [life] count

Everything new blossoms in summer; we renew old aspirations, embrace new ideas and hobbies, and try to make room for what's coming -- which for us, in Florida, pretty much consists of sweaty walks to the farmer's market, afternoon rain storms, and travel plans. I have an ever growing TBR list and Aaron's fiddling with the mandolin; we are experimenting with fun new cocktail drinks and summer pasta salads. Despite the heat, I want summer to be a time for exploration and returning to a place of peace and curiosity. 

I find myself caught between two (strong) emotions: fear of plunging into the unknown -- which truly is just around the corner -- and excitement for all of the changes and growth, particularly entrepreneurial growth. When I was dreaming up my freelance business last year, I knew there was so much to learn and do. It's overwhelming at times, but I'm learning to stop and appreciate each little moment as it comes, no matter how terrifying it can seem at first. I still feel like a middle schooler with a serious crush when I get editing inquiries: nervous butterflies in the best way. And when it all feels like too much, I stop, take a deep breath, and remember to cry out, God, come get me. 

On my mental health journey these past few months, I finally discovered a name for one of the monsters I've been battling: Anxiety. The anxiety I struggle with reveals so much about my heart. I understand my need for emotional boundaries to protect my own health and Aaron's health, and my need to stop grasping after this illusion of control. There's still a lot I need to dive into on this road to healing and freedom, and unfortunately, naming my anxiety doesn't make it go away. Some days I'm convinced I have all the answers I'll ever need, and other days I'm slapped in the face with the reality that my mental health story isn't about finding solutions as much as it is about going through the process and grieving or dealing with certain things along the way; my journey has more to do with allowing myself to sit in this space and becoming self-aware. 

If I had known I would be thinking this way or writing these words about "healing" and "self-actualization" a few months ago, I probably would have responded with cynicism. It's not that I necessarily bought into the negative stigma of mental illness, but I can be very self-critical and, admittedly, it all seemed kind of hoax-y on the surface.  I think that's partly why God put us where we are now, in Orlando, surrounded by all of these awesome RTS students and counselors. The things I've learned from people here -- about myself, family, and community -- are things I will never forget.

That said, right now, I'm in the business of making life count. I'm tired of anxiety owning me, of fearing what's around the corner. Sure, a lot of what I feel on a day to day basis is a healthy dose of nervousness mixed with excitement and feeling my way through the dark; but it's time to start enjoying moments in life. I don't want to be absent all the time because I'm consumed with work or thoughts about the future. So here's what I plan to focus on this summer -- a challenge, really -- to be present and generally enjoy life more:

Reading (Together): I already mentioned my personal TBR list is growing, but what I'm most excited about as a reader is the nerdiness of reading with Aaron. Gah. I know, it's so geeky, but I don't care. We decided to tackle a series together, and I'm going to go ahead and say it: It's probably going to be The Lord of the Rings. Go ahead and judge me, but Aaron reading to me? It's dreamy, folks. DREAMY. I'm so looking forward to putting our phones away and getting lost in a good book together. We're already such an old couple; the next thing you know, I'll be telling you we like to play board games together (I mean . . .  because we totally don't like board games or anything. . . . ahem.)

Limiting screen-time: This goal totally ties in to the first on my list, but I am convinced that getting away from the computer, phone, and T.V. screens will help me to be present, especially in the evenings. When I am intentional about this, it totally frees up my time for reading, cooking, or spending quality time with A or friends. It's so hard to get me away from the screen, but once I unplug, it feels amazing. I already deactivated my Facebook and guess what? It helped me take that busy feeling down a notch. 

Repeating my new biz motto: Lately, my biggest temptation to be absent throughout my day/evenings is being consumed or overwhelmed by client-relationships and freelance projects. I'm constantly learning and there's always more I feel like I should be doing. That anxiety perpetuates, and I've realized I don't actually relax, even when I think I'm relaxing, because my mind is elsewhere. If I want to have a healthy work and life balance, this has to end. For me, the best approach to nip this in the bud is to adopt confidence and genuine enthusiasm for new editing projects. 

Most of you know I live in Winter Park, home of the beloved Rifle Paper Company. I watched a talk on Creative Mornings featuring Anna Rifle Bond, the creative director and co-owner of Rifle, on how the husband-and-wife duo started their stationary business. Something she said really resonated with me: They never said no to an opportunity. "One of Nathan's biggest things is never say that we're not ready," she said. Anna admitted that this motto often put them in tricky situations, but that ultimately it was worth it. 

Rather than freaking out about new things in my own business, I find myself repeating something Aaron said to me lately: "You miss 100% of the shots you don't take." I want to leave the work anxiety behind and remember that there's no harm in striving after something, even if you fail. In a similar vein, when confronted with challenges in my personal life, my counselor recently reminded me of a quote by G.K. Chesterton: "Anything worth doing is worth doing badly." Now, I can't completely translate this particular advice to my professional life because I do want to uphold a standard of excellence as a freelancer, but Aaron's sentiment of what do you have to lose? is a push toward optimism and chasing worthwhile efforts.If it matters to me, it's worth pursuing. You miss 100% of the shots you don't take!

Drink coffee with two hands: One of my favorite bloggers (who happens to be a fabulous foster mama) recently directed me toward another blogger's challenge to "drink coffee with two hands." The idea is simple: when we drink coffee with two hands, we slow down and savor the moment more. (Just another reason why coffee saves lives here, people.) We reflect; we take the time to talk and think about what's going on around us. What a wonderful challenge to be intentional in the every day, small moments!

Choosing Peace and Not Neglect (And a Glorious Understanding of Life Eternal)

In the Christian life, I am convinced there is something that ties us all together, despite our unique callings, sufferings, and life choices: When the Spirit draws us near, we cannot resist the call -- whether at 3 in the morning at a Waffle House, late in the evening circled around a community of other Christ-followers, or alone in your quiet house, sipping coffee as the light pours in like honey. When He pricks our hearts, He can fill us with emotion; dread or joy bubbles up -- a numbing or a hurt, an intense serenity or resilience can well up in the most trying of circumstances. Sometimes it comes in waves or showers of blessing, restoration, hope... hours pouring over His Word or long, drawn-out evenings spent in prayer. Sometimes He whispers so quietly we barely notice it at all, except for a few small moments we stop to take a couple of deep breaths. No matter how He draws us near or why, the Holy Spirit has a way of wooing us, reminding us of our first love, and tending to our hurt, even if we don't see God's purpose in sight or trust ourselves in His hands. 

I'm beginning to see how God softens the hearts of man, and how He chooses to reveal Himself in moments we do not realize are "molding moments" -- slowly refining us according to His divine purpose and His promise to never leave us. Sometimes I will realize I've been sleep-walking through life, unaware of just how much I need His living water, until He wakes me up to comfort a friend in mourning or a friend expectantly waiting in the patience of faith. Suddenly, I am entirely aware of myself, aware that God is using me like an instrument in the lives of His children to wake them up too. He does the same for me in the lives of other people, and He calls us to Himself so we can pray, "Fall afresh on me. Come wake me from my sleep." There is something so compelling and victorious about a God who wakes us up and draws us near, allowing us to play a part in building for eternity -- as if we are flying high above ground, looking down at ourselves, because no soul has any right to claim where he or she shall be put. 

Lately, I have found myself fighting back as He wakes me from my sleep, time and time again, feeling the hurt and sting of my own abandonment to my first love. I feel the heaviness of living intentionally, because it is unnatural to recognize prayer and faith at the core of my being. If you've been reading this blog for some time, you know (however obscurely) that this is a year of healing for me, and in many ways, I am shocked at how true it is -- in more ways than I ever dared to imagine. 

But recently, I have tried the pause button on this whole healing process. I don't know if it's from exhaustion or fear of what I'll discover, but I somehow convinced (and deceived) myself into thinking that real rest follows this neglect -- neglect of all the hard things, neglect of Christ, wooing me back to Himself. A counselor friend once told me that a healing journey is a lot like re-breaking a leg -- "Some people are more content to hobble around in their pain on a bad leg than to go through the painful process of re-breaking, which is necessary for the leg to truly heal properly," she said. The process of restoration involves letting in the hurt and feeling the weight of that brokenness more profoundly than you would ever want to, but it's well worth it in the end. We cope as best as we can with our brokenness, and this -- perhaps the most -- is what continues to break my heart. 

But God does not leave us in our brokenness. Take heart, if you are reading this, and you are waiting for the patience of faith. Here is a passage from My Utmost for His Highest (May 8th) that the Spirit pressed on my heart this morning, to woo me and to wake another dear friend: 

"Patience is more than endurance. A saint's life is in the hands of God like a bow and arrow in the hands of an archer. God is aiming at something the saint cannot see, and He stretches and strains, and every now and again the saint says -- 'I cannot stand any more.' God does not heed, He goes on stretching till His purpose is in sight, then He lets fly. Trust yourself in God's hands..."

The devotion continues to map out the true reason we cannot resist the Holy Spirit, and a clearer picture of life eternal, for "God has ventured all in Jesus Christ to save us, now He wants us to venture our all in abandoned confidence in Him. There are spots where that faith has not worked in us as yet, places untouched by the life of God. There were none of those spots in Jesus Christ's life, and there are to be none in ours. 'This is life eternal, that they might know Thee.' The real meaning of eternal life is a life that can face anything it has to face without wavering. If we take this view, life becomes one great romance, a glorious opportunity for seeing marvelous things all the time."

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes: Growing a Freelance Biz Baby

Well, the secret is out: I'm officially celebrating the beginnings of Mohr Editing, an editorial freelance business that I am over the moon about. It feels a little strange writing about it, and even stranger talking about it. Nevertheless, "courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen," as Brené Brown puts it in Daring Greatly. I'm learning that none of this is easy, but the rewards of launching a business I am passionate about far outweigh the challenges. 

I never dreamed something like this could happen in my wildest imaginations; and to be quite honest with you, I still have my doubts. There's something terrifying about having to believe in yourself to push forward. Sometimes it's overwhelming to think about where I want to be in one year, five years, ten years... but I know any successful freelancer takes baby steps, especially in the beginning. So far, everything feels right. I am so blessed to have a husband who schemes and dreams with me.... having Aaron by my side has been absolutely essential to chase any of my dreams. 

I'm thankful to be able to grow at a pace we're both comfortable with and to have access to the wisdom and resources I've been given. This is—without a shadow of a doubt—a season of learning (in more ways than one). I'm enjoying my editing classes and getting acquainted with professional editors through a number of awesome associations. Honestly, I've been blown away by how God is leading me toward this direction. There are days when I don't feel "enough" and other days when I feel like I could conquer anything. Throughout the doubts, there are tiny moments in which He gently nudges me to keep moving forward. I've received a lot of encouragement from professional freelance editors over the past few months. That means the world to me.

In the midst of excitement, fear of failure, and a whole mix of other emotions, I know the Lord is my strength and my song. I am clinging to Scripture and powerful words of affirmation that happen to find me at the right time. Here's another piece of truth from Brené Brown's Daring Greatly. I hope it encourages you to unlock your vulnerability, creativity, and potential. 

“Wholeheartedness. There are many tenets of Wholeheartedness, but at its very core is vulnerability and worthiness; facing uncertainty, exposure, and emotional risks, and knowing that I am enough.” 

Thanks for joining in with me on this adventure! If you want more editor talk, follow me on Twitter: @mohrediting or follow my professional blog. It's all so exciting. Happy Wednesday!

The Gap by Ira Glass -- And Why I Can't Doubt Myself

Currently? I am resurfacing --feeling my way through the night and finding my grip. I am hiding, or perhaps knocked off my feet, waiting for the sun to rise, and I know it will. When it does, I will surprise myself and take a breath because I am waiting at the edge of something beautiful. This is a growing season -- a learning season. I take it all in, along with the insecurities and the doubts, and I am ready to create. So far, this year is exhausting because I am desperately trying to cling to what I know and expand those walls a little more. Learning something can be both exciting and disheartening, especially if you are relentless at making what you are learning your identity. I'm trying to find the boundaries here. I'm ready to hold my ground and take in this view, because I have climbed and fallen. It's time to trudge on, to move forward. In need of inspiration, these words from Ira Glass found me at the perfect time. I hope they encourage you as well.

Happy Monday. xo

CURRENTLY Loving

Here it is, folks... my favorite time of the year. November is full of thanks and giving, birthdays and - this year - the birth of my new nephew. We're absolutely on cloud nine waiting for him to come. Since October came and went so fast, I thought I might share a few things I'm currently loving:

• Living around the block from The Rifle Paper Co.
• Journaling my heart out and writing fun hand-written notes (because of Rifle)
• A Thousand Mornings by Mary Oliver
• Watching classic movies. 
• Learning my passions and inspirations via the blogging world.

It's true; living next to Rifle is dangerous and fun, but mostly, it's helped me be a little more creative. Mary Oliver's words are ten times better on an airplane, and A finally decided enough was enough after talking about how much I live under a rock when it comes to movies. He made me a movie list, and so far I have LOVED watching all of the Star Wars movies, The Big Lebowski and the Matrix -- all for the first time. I'm learning what I'm passionate about and what I want to learn more about through my obsession with Feedly... browsing blog after blog from writers I admire in the online community. After categorizing my favorite blogs on Feedly, it's fun to recognize where my heart is or what interests me: The Christian faith, marriage, writing, design, foster care (one day) and health + fitness. It's also fun to live vicariously through others on Feedly, like through my sub group: The van life, which is full of outdoor enthusiasts traveling America in their vans. It really makes me want to buy a VW vanagon, y'all. So anyway, November is already full of dreaming and that's how we like it over here. What's on your "currently" list?