I vow to let go of past failures and strengthen what remains so I can be a better version of myself each day. Not let go of them completely, as in forget them, but take my fear, shame, mistakes and misgivings, and put them under my feet.
Our wedding day was perfect – if by perfect you mean borrowed folding chairs from the Baptist church and a catering team that consisted of grandmothers, aunts, and best friends. We were so busy dancing and mingling that we didn’t even get to eat our own wedding potluck. After the guests dispersed, we sent my husband’s best friend down the street to Subway, the only place still open in rural Alabama at that time of day, for a sandwich and chips.
In the nine years since that day, my husband and I have loved hard, fought hard, and earned some hard-won wisdom along the way. But I still love to browse Pinterest, and in doing so, I’ve found 3 myths of the Pinterest-perfect marriage.
The struggle with anyone who chooses a more public life is that the fishbowl concept consistently comes into play. People stand around to watch you swim. The thing is, most folks don’t know enough about fish to know if they are swimming or drowning until the fish is floating at the top of the bowl.
Yet the fishbowl struggle is often a blessing.
As most of you know, Robert Vore and I launched the CXMH Podcast: A Podcast at the Intersection of Christianity and Mental Health a few months ago. We are so excited to announce what we hope will become an amazing annual event, “Liturgy of the Forsaken: A Night of Stories and Struggle,” which will take place […]
I blog often about how the power of vulnerability and transparency has changed my life. But it’s only because a lack of those things created an environment of toxicity and shame that nearly killed me. I was recently interviewed by Jon Fuller for the R U Real Podcast and in our talk, we cover the power of vulnerability for the Christian and anyone recovering from abuse, addiction, or a suicide attempt.
As a writer, I am constantly submitting some part of my soul to someone else for approval. It’s a bizarre feeling. To some extent, it’s an occupational hazard, but it isn’t just writers who experience it. We’ve all been criticized by difficult people at some point. Most of us can think of that one bad boss, most ministers I know have experienced critical congregations, and if you’re a parent, surely you’ve felt the glaring stare of a stranger in the grocery store. We’ve all been asked to share some part of our personal lives with people, only to have it picked apart by less than gracious folks. And for me, it is part of the daily grind.
This is my world.
I long for the Church to echo the words of Christ, who said, “Come to me, tired ones. Come to me in your dysfunction. Come to me with your disappointment. Come to me and bring your exhaustion with you. Come to me without production or pretense and rest.”