love beats fear

I pull a sharpie from the mug that sits to the left of my monitor, removing the cap and securing it on the back of the pen.

“Love beats fear.” The sentence fills my mind as I stare at the blank canvas that is my left wrist.

I write the words slowly, carefully. Each letter the same size and width as the last.

Love beats fear.

For all my confidence and self-assurance there is an underlying current of fear that runs through me.

Am I enough?

Am I too much?

Can I really hang academically?

Am I sacrificing one set of dreams in order to achieve the other?

Does He really know the desires of my heart?

Do I understand His goodness so that I experience it as such?

Do I truly believe He is good?

Love beats fear.

I breathe deep those words, attempting to flood my fears with the truth that His love is bigger than my fear.

His love beats fear.

His love has already beaten each and every one of the fears I have ever or will ever encounter.

And still I write this phrase on my wrist. Always finishing it with a box around the words. Because it communicates a finality that I need to know exists.

That His love has already beaten fear.

That His love will continue to beat fear.

That His fear beating love will remain consistent in my life as it has remained consistent since the first two hid behind fig leaves and among trees, fearful of what they knew, overwhelmed by the love of His calling to them.

He calls to me as I hide amidst my fears. Overwhelmed by each of them both individually and collectively.

“Where are you?” He asks, knowing full well I have taken my eyes from Him and from His love and become mired in the details of questions that seem to lack answers--which means the outcomes are out of my control and isn’t that really the issue here?

“Where are you?” His tone is gentle and firm. Both a call to take His hand and a grace-filled reproof.

I look up from among the trees, away from the fears that seem so true.

“Love beats fear,” He says as He envelops my hand with His.

Israel Cries Out To The Lord

This is the fourth post in a five part series. It is inspired by the Book of Judges and my studies of that book. Posts will appear here and on A Deeper Church.

Read the first post.

Read the second post.

Read the third post.

“But the Israelites said to the Lord, ‘We have sinned. Do with us whatever you think best, but please rescue us now.’”

Can you hear them, the cries of Israel, can you hear them?

Crying out in the clefts and caves of the mountains in which they have taken refuge from their oppressors.

Sobbing prayers of longing for the days their ancestors wandered in the desert, homeless, but with God.

Muttering words of the Lord’s slow anger and abounding love in hopes that He might show Himself to be those things as they find themselves enslaved in a land that was supposed to be theirs.

How long before these cries and prayers and muttered words passed through Hebrew lips did these same Hebrews realize their distance from the One who called them to be set apart?

Days? Weeks? Months? Years?

Decades?

Were the compromises big from the beginning? Was their turning from Him one giant step at a time? Or did they start small?

Does it matter how big or small the compromises were?

Does it matter how far away from Him they turned?

Does it matter how big or small our compromises are?

Does it matter how far away from Him we turn?

To do anything but directly face God is to face something else entirely.

And the more we turn away, the longer it takes for us to realize we are no longer looking directly at Him.

A glimpse of Him in our periphery is not a life focused on the Lord.

And then suddenly, like Israel, we cry out. We realize He has passed outside of our field of vision. Unsure of which way to turn, for Him who is to guide us is no longer visible, and so we cry out.

We cry out in hopes that He will be faithful to answer even though we have been unfaithful in our turning away.

We cry out in hopes that we will be rescued, as Israel was, again from our sin, again from our turning, again from our idolatry.

We cry out.

Does it matter how big or small our steps away from God are?

unique and unrepeatable

Each one of us is a unique and unrepeatable miracle of God’s grace.

But I do not always feel like a unique and unrepeatable miracle of God’s grace. More often I behave as though God puts up with me because He made me and now He is stuck with me.

I'm posting over at Deeper Story today. You can read the rest of the post there.

it is about us

So often I think it is about me. About us. About women.

Probably because I am one.

I think of our broken hearts, shredded and lonely, waiting and wondering if anything but Christ and loneliness will ever live here.

I think of tears cried in the darkness and at empty kitchen tables, and smiles forced over cups of coffee pretending stories of others’ togetherness are simply a source of joy.

I think of how it feels to wonder who and to wonder why and to wonder why no one ever just asks, because you never know unless you ask.

But I rarely consider the responsibility you bear, brother.

I rarely think of what it must be like to be the one to ask the question, to make the first move, as your broken, lonely, shredded heart beats a bit faster as you wonder what she will say.

I rarely think of what it must like to face the choice of relationship instead of independence, to choose to love another as Christ loves the Church. For the rest of your collective time on this earth.

Brother, that must be so daunting.

I do not know if I could handle that responsibility.

Of course I have my own responsibility to bear in that same agreement, for the rest of our collective time on this earth.

But, brother, I rarely consider your side.

I rarely wonder what you think or feel late at night in the darkness or at empty kitchen tables or over cups of coffee, or perhaps for you it is pints of beer and cigars.

Brother, I am sorry for thinking it is just me, it is just us, just women.

It is about us, men and women, with hearts on the mend, waiting and wondering if anything but Christ and loneliness will ever live here.

This post is also featured today on Good Women Project. Please take a second to check out their site.

st andrews + lady gaga

Okay. I love St Andrews. As you may or may not know, I studied abroad there for my junior year of uni*.

Also as you may or may not know I kind of like Lady Gaga**.

You can then imagine HOW FREAKING STOKED I was when I found this little gem of a video. It combines the beautiful setting of St Andrews with the melodic delights of Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance". Oh. AND. It's a cappella***.



*That's short for university kids. It's British. Deal with it.

**That is an understatement.

***TOTAL nerd for some good a cappella. Isn't that right Lizzy?

prone to wander—a deeper story

I'm posting over at A Deeper Story today, wrestling through adultery...or at least attempting to.

As a single, Christian woman it would be false to say I do not spend time thinking about marriage, both the overarching concept of the sacred union and the specifics of daily life marked by private rituals that would go unnoticed by anyone but the husband and wife. And as that same single, Christian woman, it would be false to say that I do not spend time thinking about adultery.

Not committing it, but about its prevalence. About how it doesn’t discriminate. About how it. is. everywhere. Stories shared by women on blogs I read. Conversations across small tables in coffee shops and living rooms. And once in a tattoo parlor while my skin bled with words of do not worry, her skin bled the name of another woman’s husband.

Read the rest over at A Deeper Story.

enough

photo credit

it's kind of nice, talking

My lips are tight, and I cannot smile. Not a real smile, not a Haley smile. Just to the left of center on my lower lip, pulling the skin taught, cracked and aching, and the other almost perfectly centered between the corner of my mouth and the middle of my upper lip, five days closer to healed, a dull ache. I don’t know where you’ve come from or how you got here. There is nothing to do but wait.

Each time I try to smile, each time he makes me laugh, each time I start to speak, they pull. Serving as physical reminders of what I fear. You’re only pretty on the outside. You are ugly inside, and now everyone can see it. This isn't real. He won’t want you if you don’t have something to offer him physically.

But last night, last night I spoke the light of truth into that darkness. Confessed fear and insecurity. And was met with listening ears and more light. “It’s kind of nice, talking,” he smiled, glancing up at me while he diced tomatoes.

thankful on a thursday—people

A father daughter date. That's what it was. We sat across from each other at a little cafe, my latte warming my hands, his green tea still too hot to drink. "I feel like I'm in a rut," I say, "like I've gotten into this routine and I don't know how to get out. It's comfortable and safe, but what I want is adventure." It is freeing to say these words. It is healing to confess them to him, to one of the fathers I've been blessed with, to have him listen, to have him offer words of kind intention. "What about teaching English somewhere?" He asks, "you said you'd always wanted to see Japan."

I consider his words, consider uprooting myself from this place–from these people, and it hurts. "I don't think moving is the answer," I reply. "It would feel like running, and there is nothing here I want to run from."

Weeks later I am on the phone with a friend, recounting this conversation to her. "You can run or you can dig in," she says, "those are the two ways to get out of a rut." Her words are true, and they confirm the direction I have chosen to go. Not that it was a hard decision.

I choose to stay. I choose to dig in. I choose to invest in the people, in the relationships that seem to multiply weekly. How did I get here? How am I suddenly surrounded by so many incredible people? Though if I consider consider the road I've walked, these people have not appeared so suddenly. Looking back I see how many different intersections I've crossed, the ways our paths have joined and continued on in the same direction. I wonder if this is how Paul felt when he would sit down to write his letters to the churches, thanking God for them and for their faithfulness. What a gift it is to be surrounded by these people, to love and be loved by these people, to serve with these people, to simply encounter them, even if only briefly.

This week, I am so very thankful...

1. For the high school leaders and the way they love the students.
2. For the high school students, for their beautiful hearts and the ways they struggle to love and serve the Lord.
3. For friends, new and old.
4. For a run with Sarah around a beautiful lake, and for all the conversations we had.
5. For an upcoming visit to see my Dad.
6. For how different my relationship with my Dad is only a year later.
7. For all the different fathers my Father has blessed me with.
8. For a place to share my stories and my mess.
9. For getting a card in the mail from Kath.
10. For the most wonderful weekend with Erica, and all the subsequent phone calls, emails and texts.
11. For the way he holds my hand.

fabulous friday video goodness—the weight of lies

My love of The Avett Brothers should not really be a surprise anymore. [Unless you're new here, and in that case, hi, my name is Haley and I LOVE the Avett Brothers.] They posted this the other day and I just about lost it.

Seth and Scott on their family farm in North Carolina singing the weight of lies. As someone who's struggled to speak truth [both to myself and to others] this song is one I really love.

Please to enjoy.

thankful on a thursday—jump and roll

You know when life starts going too fast and all you can think about is how you want it to slow down. Then you think about slowing down and it's like when I think about what I would do if I were kidnapped, shoved in the back of a car, and facing certain death / danger and try to imagine at what point the car would be going too fast for me to try to jump out of the car and roll onto the shoulder [at which point I would jump up and run into the woods]. I think about that analogy and I think I'm past that max speed. I don't think I can jump out of the car and survive the landing.

Work is crazy. Life is crazy. Running is crazy. I have too much to do [then why are you blogging, Haley?] and it seems like there is never enough time to do the things I want to do and still slow down enough to just REST. I am not a fan of this breakneck pace, and friends, I want out of this car. I keep telling myself it will slow down, and after October 10 it will a little. A lot of anxiety and stress goes away after that day [why do I want to do this marathon again?]. Have I mentioned my hip is bothering me again?

On top of it all, September has begun to turn rainy, and rainy autumn weather [I know it's not technically autumn yet, and I know we barely had a summer] is my favorite. It reminds me how much I love to slow down and rest. I hear the rain out my window and imagine curling up on the couch with coffee, knitting, and a movie and NOTHING sounds more appetizing right now. But I can't. Because I have to be at work early to finish the day's to do list so I can leave work early so I can go for a run before I go to a meeting to discuss the fall teaching series on Ruth for youth group.

Right now it feels like the only thing that could evoke real gratitude would be a broken leg or a case of pneumonia.

1. Waking up to the soft patter of rain outside my window.
2. The quiet, thoughtful, thought provoking music of Thad Cockrell and the person [whose blog I totally creep on and you should too] who introduced me to his music [through aforementioned blog creeping].
3. Knowing that in this world I will have trouble, He has OVERCOME the world.
4. New, square, metal double pointed knitting needles that wait patiently for life to calm down so we can spend hours on the couch with coffee and unfinished socks.
5. Canning tomatoes.
6. Clean, delicious water right from my tap every day.
7. Long drives and the way they lend themselves to good conversation.
8. The chance to pray for others, and how, in that mysterious way I don't think I will ever understand, it underscores my Father's love for me.
9. My high schoolers, watching them discover and experience life.
10. A warm cup of coffee first thing in the morning.
11. Flowers and a card from my boss after a very long week.

they toil not

It's tattooed on my arm, so why doesn't it live in my heart?

I have food to eat.

I have clothes to wear.

I have friends and family and so much love.

Why doesn't it feel like enough? Why don't those things and those people feel like blessings? Why won't this wanting, this needing, this loneliness be quenched?

What is left undone? What is misunderstood?

Grace.

LOVE.

What does it look like to rest? To trust that it doesn't matter that I'm not enough, that I don't have it all figured out?

How do I JUST LIVE in this place? No striving to make it better / easier / prettier. Just live. Just be. How do I stop trying when it's all I can think of to do?

fabulous friday video goodness—how He loves us

In the midst of anger, struggling with resentment and a self-imposed, stubbornly narrow-minded understanding of blessing, I know He loves me.

these are my confessions

Nish and her good blogging ideas...first it was Thankful on a Thursday, which I look forward to every week, and now it's public confession.

The first time I encountered confession outside of Catholicism was in Don Miller's Blue Like Jazz. I admired the way he wrote about it from a distance, never considering I'd experience it for myself. Fast forward to May of 2009 and, with two strangers during a prayer meeting at church, I confessed my sins out loud for the first time ever. After my confession, one of the women in my group affirmed my forgiveness, saying, "Haley, in Jesus' name you are forgiven." It was an incredibly powerful experience.

So, after reading Nish's blog today, I thought a bit of public confession might be in order. It's one thing to confess in the privacy of my own head, or in prayer with a close friend or two, it's another thing to post them on the internet. This is by no means an exhaustive list, but some of these confessions are relatively new discoveries. Putting them out there, being honest about them, is part of forgiveness and part of the freedom I want to live in.

• I am selfish.
• I have serious entitlement issues.
• I have a terrible relationship history.
• I am judgmental of others and myself.
• I listen to Lady Gaga, loving every minute of it.
• I use humor as a way to diffuse uncomfortable situations.
• I have a hard time forgiving myself.
• I am a prideful person.
• I have serious control issues.
• I struggle to see others as individuals, not projects to be fixed.