with unveiled faces we reflect...

Even before the service I feel it. Intense purposelessness. Ugh. I'm virtually unsupportive. He needs no support from me. I hide behind needs: use the restroom, find a seat, get Olive settled... he sits next to me and I feel assured. A person to sit with intentionally makes a big difference.

Listening to his mother's introduction is so sweet. His mother struggling through tears to bless her son with a benediction that she's been praying over him for years and is so thankful to see a glimpse of that faith realized. Maternal labor pains never really cease. To see the bloody love of his mother over this man I've just barely started loving is humbling, putting me in perspective. And who am I really? And what is my purpose?

After the service I am met with their impressions of his grace-filled speech. How to respond? None of this is at all because of me, and really I have no part in it. I can agree with what they've said. That's the best I have to offer. No different than these acquaintances of his.

For the last 2.5 years I've been using my daughter as a shield of intentionality to give me purpose and distraction. She is my veil. Well, she doesn't need me now as she bounces around the room with his mother meeting people and begging to be chased. The whole room waits to talk with him and I'm just aware enough of my neediness to not insert myself into the conversations for fear that it would be to meet my own needs and not to encounter these people so eager to discover my beloved's wellbeing.

There are some introductions. Many well meant words of encouragement. I wonder if this relationship will ever feel permanent. I wonder as people who've experienced the temporality of marriage (be it from death or divorce) are introduced to me, his girlfriend if they wonder why I've flown out here. I am not him. I am not a part of him. And I realize that even with my baby, flesh torn out of my flesh, I am not a necessity to her "self".

In the next service there is a blunder. I am introduced over the loud-speaker sounds system as his fiance... oh no, self. Nothing so entwined as that. My finger is naked; my small, insufficient self exposed; and I am just me standing here as I've had to do for 26 years. I don't think that will ever change.

I think I tend to look towards outside circumstances to change the way I view myself. There is this fine balance between not esteeming yourself too highly (for instance being so consumed by how you feel to let it hijack your day), and viewing yourself to lowly. And all of this worries me.

I am in reality ill equipped to be a pastor's wife. How could God's grace make me secure enough to climb over my high plastered walls of self-doubt to bless another's life with love and reassurance? God, show me clearly my "role" because purpose and work are the only coverings under which I feel safe.

Naked Moments

I had a naked moment yesterday. One of those moments when the truth of the situation is so visible, down to it's core. When the outside cover of the activities of our bodies can do nothing to conceal what our soul is struggling through.

I have been given a voice and opportunity to speak truth into some of those moments on a regular basis by the virtue of being a teacher. Sometimes though, when I find words I'm met with fear.

We are each so vulnerable. Even when fully "dressed" we work so constantly at convincing everyone (even ourselves) that we're ok. I never want to tread heavily on a naked moment. I never want to use my words to crush. Even if they are words of hope they can be heavy and hard...

Still, there is beauty in seeing things as they really are. So without the back story, as it is not mine to share, let me remember the naked truth.

I tend to muscle through things. There is nothing too hard, just keep your head down and pull at the harness, and get it done. When I walk uphill, I tend to go faster to beat the challenge. I have had to struggle for years to undo bad habits in dance and in life caused by my tendency to muscle my way through things. I look behind me and see I've mowed down a task or phase in life that could have been beautiful and enjoyable because I felt a need to muscle through, to get it done and not complain.


Pointe work is one of those things that requires a ton of resistance to the natural impulse to fight. You have to use gravity to create awareness and turn it into a tool. You have to use even the fatigue of your leg muscles to create bodily awareness and muscle recognition to strengthen the rapid fire and reaction of muscle/brain connection. All of life is a constant gravity and I often get weighed down under it. I feel like I have to fight it and bear down under its weight to muscle through. It turns me in on myself and makes me feel isolated and attacked. But here's the beauty! This same gravity was given as a tool for my use. It makes me aware. It can awaken my senses to my own frailty and the "muscles" I need to focus on using. I have a choice; I can get crushed and contorted by the strain, or I can use it as a tool to climb up on. Oh, let me chose the beautiful way! Let me view all of life and it's many forms of gravity as a ladder to climb up on. That by constant reminding of my weakness I might find strength to abide in His grace.