The Untold Story

There once was a girl, not too different from many other girls. She was neither drop dead gorgeous nor unattractive. She was not brilliant, but school wasn't too hard. Sometime early in life, this girl learned how to please. She is not sure when it happened, but she began to tell a story with her life that cultivated praise. She worked hard enough for good grades, she looked for ways to help others and she knew how to 'behave' to fit into most any crowd. This story made her feel good and so she never thought about the story she wasn't telling.
This girl got older. She met a boy who saw her untold story and loved her anyway. But most of the time, the story she was creating went on. She continued to fit in, continued to help others and continued to thrive on any "Atta girl" she could earn. She became a mother and for the first time, she could not act her way through to gaining approval. Upholding her story and the act of parenting three small children became more and more stressful. She began to look forward to her nightly glass(es) of wine as it allowed her not to care quite so much about the story. She wondered if this was all a part of getting older. She worked harder to 'do good'.
Thankfully, while she was born with this desire for approval, she was also born a seeker. She was surrounded by people in her life that showed her the way to the spirit through prayer, meditation and gratitude. She began to hear, "Come as you are." And slowly, oh so slowly she began to desire to tell a different story. One that might not be the one everyone else wanted to hear. One that would lead her to days where sitting with the brokenness of the world was all she could muster. One that often required more listening and less doing. One where she could feel the presence of the spirit and that was enough.
Her untold story is still a quiet one. She has lived the other story for so long. Most moments, that story is the easier one for her to tell. It is like an old coat that still fits, is second nature to put on, but is now too weathered to provide true warmth.

She has begun to wonder about the untold stories of others.  A different story from the one they often show the world. A different story from the one she has written about them in her own mind. She desires to listen for these stories. She knows she will find beauty there. And that it is there in these beautiful, untold stories where she will find God.

A White Mom's Confession to Her Black Daughter

I have never told you that you are black. I have told you, you have brown skin and that you are beautiful. I told myself it was because I didn’t want to make race an issue in our family. That was stupid. It is. You are black. I am white.

You doing what you love best. Playing in the water.

 I have no idea what it is like to be black in this country. In the south.  I have told myself that is ok, because we live in such an educated area. People are wiser here than the rural south. That was stupid. I must find black women that can come along side you and teach you about being black.

I once stole a pair of shorts from a department store in high school. Not because I needed them. Not because my parents didn’t provide everything I needed and more. Just because. I don’t’ even know why. I only wore those shorts once. I didn’t wear them because  I was afraid. Afraid to get in trouble. But I was never afraid of being shot for stealing. Because I am white.

You are so beautiful and I love your brown skin, your curly hair and your bright brown eyes. But when I am walking alone and an unknown man with the same brown skin is walking towards me, my heart quickens a bit. And I hate that about myself.

A prize from the soda dive at the pool July 4th.

I am thankful you are a girl. I think it is harder for the boys. But I still worry. Will you have a parent that won’t allow you to date their son only because the color of your skin? Will you be turned down for that job you really want? Will all of our family and friends honor your role as our beloved daughter?

I do not claim to know what happened last weekend with Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri.  But I know that race issues in this country are still very hard. I know that we are not treating each other with love. 

I sit staring at this blinking cursor because I am not sure what else to write. What are my next steps? I’m not sure here. I think the first step for me is to start being real with all of this. Acknowledge my own role in fighting these racial divides. Stand up to say, “Daughter, I love you. I will not accept that you and all the other black people in this country should live in fear. “   AND  “White people- we have to do better. Love better. Stand together better.” 

The Best Day: Thoughts from Camp

I wrote a piece to share with the folks at my church about camp and thought I would share it here also:

“This was the best day,” said June.  June was sitting at a picnic table finishing up a craft she had made with her counselor.  She had spent the day singing, swimming and horseback riding.

June is 8 years old. The same age as my daughter. She has brown hair and bright blue eyes. The same as my daughter.  She loves to dance, shoot basketball and swim. The same as my daughter.

But June and Sarah Bess live very different lives. Sarah Bess lives with two parents who provide all she needs. June does not. Sarah Bess was born in Apex and has lived in one house all eight of her years. June has lived in 6 different homes this year. Sarah Bess is able to go to sleep at night knowing she will be in her house with her family tomorrow. June cannot.

June is one of the almost 400,000 children living in foster care in the US. There are over 600 children in foster care in Wake County alone.

This past week I had the amazing opportunity to be a counselor at Royal Family Kids Camp. Apex United Methodist Church and our Family of Faith Communities supported this effort through sponsoring a child to attend camp and donating sheets and other supplies for campers ($500 from our pastoral discretionary fund, and over $400 for supplies).

Royal Family Kids Camp began as the dream of Wayne and Diane Tesch 23 years ago to provide a life changing camp experience to children in foster care who have experienced abuse, neglect or abandonment. In 2012, Royal Family Kids Camp served over 6,000 children in 160 camps in 35 states and 11 countries. This summer a total of 200 camps will occur.

I could share stories of 36 children that attended camp this past week. I could tell you of my two twelve year old campers. One who missed almost 50 days of school this past year. Her mother needed to keep moving them because she couldn't pay her bills. This made for an unsuitable home environment landing my camper in foster care. She was one of 10 sibling sets that attended camp, the oldest of four girls all separated into different foster homes.  Or I could share about my 12 year old camper who cried when she learned that this will be both her first and last year at camp as a 12 year old. Girls who remain in foster care until they are 18 have life stacked against them according to statistics.

Children aging out of foster care often become homeless, incarcerated, trafficked or experience post-traumatic stress and other mental disorders.  Royal Family Kids Camp aims to change this one child at a time.  And while I can’t give you their real names or show you their faces, I can ask you to pray for them. And to pray for the children that will be coming to camp next year.

Before heading out to camp, I asked people to pray for me. In response, several very kind friends told me it was a wonderful thing I was doing. With respect to those friends, I would rather not put this on me. Because then it is about me and not about God. When it is about me and not about God, it makes it not about you. And it is about you.

“God calls us to do  thanks. To give thanks away. That thanks-giving literally be called thanks-living. That our lives become the very blessings we have received. I am Blessed. I CAN bless.” Ann Voskamp.

Next year I hope to come back for a week at Royal Family Kids Camp and I hope to bring some of you with me. There are many needs at camp…counselors, activity assistants, photographers and cooks. There are even opportunities for those that can’t come for an entire week to pray for those attending, help with registration or the Wednesday night carnival. I desire for us to be a community that creates ‘best days’ for many children.

At 519 we say, “Love Well. Live Differently”. To live this requires Action. To Do Love. To Be Love.

According to Richard Rohr, a Franciscan priest, the essential religious experience is when we come to know that God is a process more than a conclusion and that God is more a verb than a noun.

God is a verb. We are vessels filled with his spirit to carry him into the world.

The Broken Picture

The little girl hoped desperately to please them. She knew they were still angry with her for what she did last week and that their trust was gone.

There were many family and friends coming over to celebrate. It was Christmas Eve and her mother was no longer sick. The house was decorated with lights and fresh green wreaths. She loved the smell of those wreaths. Everyone was hurriedly making last minute preparations in the kitchen. She thought it best if she stay out of the way.

She sat quietly in the living room staring at the tall tree when her eyes were drawn to the picture. The one of her grandmother she had never met. The one everyone said she looked so much alike. She slightly hesitated, but knew she would be careful and wanted a closer look. Nothing could go wrong when she was trying so hard to be good. Right? She was five now after all.

But she slipped and she dropped the picture. The glass shattered. Her first reaction was to look around. Did anyone see it? Did anyone hear it? But they were all too busy. She gathered up all the pieces and ran down the hall to her room.

If she could only fix it. Put it back exactly as it was before. Then they wouldn't be angry. Disappointed in her. They would still love her. She desperately looked around the room for something...oh yes, tape! She ran to the kitchen and grabbed the tape unnoticed. She ran back to her room and oh so carefully began to put the picture back in the frame, placing the clear tape on top of the glass.

"Perfect.", she thought and held it up to inspect her work. But when she held it up a piece fell out and it didn't look like before.

There was a slight knock at the door. "Are you ready for the party?" It was her father. The man whose mother's picture she had broken. The one she had lied to last week about another broken item. The one she wanted so much to please.

She began to cry. As her father opened the door, she ran to him and held up the broken picture. And she began to cry harder.

Her father took the broken offering in one arm and in the other he scooped her up. "It's OK little one. I can fix this. Together we can make it better."

He went to his room and came back with another picture frame. The one with a place for two pictures. One space held her picture and the other was empty. Her mother had bought it with such excitement and hope for another child before she got sick. The one that had been tucked away in a drawer once it began to bring tears instead of joy.

"Let's put it in here", he said. "We'll use your tape." 

Connecting the Dots: Off to Camp

I leave for camp on Sunday. Many of you know this has been a journey for me to arrive at this place.


In May of 2011, Jimmy and I boarded a plane to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia to meet precious Gabre Meti for the first time. I made a big mistake on this plane ride. I prayed, "God, please break my heart for what breaks yours." And I said it several times, just in case he didn't get that I was serious. Well, he got it.

The 3 months between our first trip and our second were a difficult season for me. I was grieving the time without Gabre home and I was grieving this new found personal awareness of God's broken heart. I felt overwhelmed with so much 'to do' and not sure where to start.

In August, after we had heard the US Embassy did not approve our visa again,  we set off for the beach. During this trip, I was walking on the beach and crying out to God when I heard from him about a retreat for orphans. And as crazy as it was it didn't go away. I wrote about the details of that vision here in I just can't hear you and again in I've Got This. God was saying to me, (Fear Not). For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord. Jeremiah 29:11

In just a few weeks, it will be three years since this dream was first born. I have done many things over the past three years to find ways to start a camp. The process has been slow...the whole family and job and lots of time for play can get in the way. But it remained for me a task 'to do'. More about checklists and less about people. I knew God was calling me to this, but I just couldn't get anything going.

But I wasn't ready yet. I didn't know that I needed to work more on Love Being instead of Love Doing. Jennie Allen said in a post yesterday, Quit trying to change the world and just start loving it.

And on Sunday, I will get the opportunity to do just that. I will be leaving to be a counselor at Royal Family Kids Camp. A counselor of two girls currently in foster care. My only job for the week: love those girls. It is not about doing love. It is about being love.

The verse from camp... yep Jeremiah 29:11. And now, I can look back at all of this and see where God is connecting the dots. He is telling a beautiful story with each of our lives. We just have to be a willing participant.

So while I am at camp, will you consider doing two things for me:

1. Pray for me
I could use some prayer during this week at camp. While I have no doubt that this is exactly what I should be doing, I am still very nervous. I will not be in contact with my family for the entire week. I have never gone this long without talking to Jimmy since we met in 1996. Sounds sappy? It is- but very scary for me.
And I know these girls might need some big love. So pray that I know it's not about me, but allowing them to feel the love of God through me.

2. Pray to see the dots in your own life
Not sure where they are yet? No worries, just love the person in front of you and they will begin to appear.
Be love this week.

Oh...and you might want to check on Jimmy-  make sure he has plenty of wine! 

Dear Swim Team Mom,

While I am no veteran, with almost 3 seasons of swim team under my belt, I am beginning to learn some things. I can now use (and understand!) words like heat, main event and medley relay. I know that every swim meet requires many snacks and even more towels. I know that swim team is much like church in that you have your favorite places to sit, and many of you will get there early to save your spot. And I know that ‘kid pushing’ does not involve actually pushing screaming children into the pool.

There are a few other things I have learned that I thought we might all consider together as we sit in the trenches of 5 to 6 hours at the pool on meet nights.

Look for the New Moms

They aren’t hard to spot. They are the ones without a sharpie, only one towel per child, and actually arrive after all the ‘good’ places to sit are gone. Help this mom out. She has no idea what is coming. I will never forget the mom that helped me.

Teach Your Child Grace

Instead of arguing with the line judge, the coach and even the ribbon hander outer about what place your child came in take the time to teach your child about grace.

Perhaps you could say. “Honey, you may be right. You may have been first and not second. The line judge may have made a mistake. We all do. He is just doing the best he can. I am proud of you for swimming so well. I just love to watch you swim”.

      Turn That Frown Upside Down

Some of you come equipped with your own stop watch. After a swim your child comes to you, not to beg for more money for something else that will rot his teeth as mine do, but to get that time. You reply 21.5 seconds with a disappointed face. Your child walks away, defeated.

Or  when your 8 year old daughter gets out of the pool, after winning first place, the first thing you say to her is not ‘good job’, but what was your time? When your daughter doesn’t know, you tell her to go back and ask. When she comes back with her time of 23.8, you scrunch up your face and say ‘not good’. Your child walks away, defeated.

Perhaps you could try, “Great job. I just love to watch you swim.”

(these are actual stories but made up times. This is because while these children are always the best swimmers, I have no idea what is good.)

As adults we compare. Who has the better job? Who makes more money? Who is looking great after losing all that weight? And we do it with our kids. I do it all the time. Two of my children are less than a month apart in age and in the same grade, same swim team level, same basketball team. I do this. Fellow swim team mom, hear me say I am not trying to judge this, I just think we might consider the implications of our actions.

I wonder if children already know their self-worth should not come from the outside or if it is our job as parents to teach them. Instead of saying through our actions to our children “if you are not the fastest (prettiest, smartest, richest), you are not good enough”, we say, “just be you. I love you. You are the only you and therefore you will ALWAYS be enough”.

And perhaps, we should also be taking notes from the kids at swim meets.

Sometimes Our Place is on the Sidelines

I am a doer. I live my life wanting to be the one in the pool. I can become focused on the ‘good job’ and ‘way to go’. I have never been one to easily find my role on the sidelines.At one swim meet there was a little boy around 2 years old cheering for his big brother, John. John is new to the swim team and was significantly behind the others swimming backstroke.But this brother, he never stopped cheering. “Go John. Go John. Go John”. For the entire swim he cheered with his entire being for his brother. It wasn’t about him. Isn’t wasn’t about winning or losing.  It was about rooting on someone he loved. And you know what, I don’t know his name. I don’t know if anyone else noticed his intense cheering for his brother. And that’s the point. He knew at that moment, his place was on the sideline.

Simply Show Up

Glennon Melton from Momastery writes about this often on her blog. That our job each and every day is to just show up and in just showing up we can do hard things.Davis was put on the list to swim butterfly for the first time at a recent meet. He was extremely afraid. He was scared he would do it wrong and be disqualified, even asked not to be on swim team anymore. As I stood there with him holding his hand his whole being wanted to quit. We talked about how we can do hard things. With God’s help, we can be brave. And we quietly prayed for God to help Davis feel brave. And that Davis could not do this swim wrong. If he just got in the pool. he would be a winner because he would have done something hard. And you know what…he did it. And at bedtime, the child that very rarely has a prayer to offer up himself volunteered when asked if he has any prayers, “For making me brave.”

Watch for Kindness

While standing in line with Davis prior to his butterfly swim, it was obvious he was upset. From behind us in the girl’s line we heard, “It’s OK Davis. You’re gonna do great”. After her swim, she specifically looked for Davis again. “Great swim, Davis!”  Kindness. It doesn’t take much, but a few words and an awareness to those around us.

Hang in there swim team mom, just a few meets left. I look forward to learning more from our children and each other. 

The After

"When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” Fred Rogers

Here in the south, we pride ourselves on our ability to jump in and help.

Your getting married- I will throw you a shower.

 You just had a baby- I have organized a meal train.

 You've adopted a child- hello, here I am with an airport sign.

(dear church new baby ministry, these people would REALLY love your dinner too please)

You lost a loved one- and I've got a casserole.

 And if God forbid you have made a social faux pas, we've  got a saying, "Bless your heart". 

All of this is well and good. Essential to survival in these times actually. But the past couple of days, I've been thinking much more about 'the after'...

The after of  friends struggling through marriage many years down the road. The after of personally experiencing the work it takes to keep a marriage strong. The after of trying to raise a daughter  in comparison to that newborn we brought home almost 8 years ago. The after of children still learning trust and acceptance after spending their first months and years without parents to show them love. And most recently, thinking of the after for my dear friend as she mourns the sudden death of her young brother. 

So I am asking myself, who am I in The After? Who is wading in it right now and needs that phone call, that offer to babysit, that extra prayer,  that spontaneous act of kindness? We are surrounded by people drowning in the after. Let's go beyond helping and just sit with those that need us.

Stand Awhile

I have all the wrong words. There is nothing to say.

I only have sorrow for your pain. 
We text, we call, we offer to pray. 
And yet it remains.
So I will stand here beside you, from miles away.
In the days to come, we will try.
Flowers delivered. Casseroles made.
Prayers unending
And yet it remains.
So I will stand here beside you, from miles away.
I will stand here awhile.
As long as you need it friend, I will stand.

What If? You've Got A Home

A vision for the church...

We had just moved into a very old log house in the country with woods surrounding us. I'm not sure how long we had lived there, but I knew it was new to us as we were talking about the first big storm that was heading our way. As the storm began, it came as heavy rain. The walls of our home began to leak water, but we were thankful that we were still very warm. Our home was located near an area with many hikers and as the rain turned to snow and ice, the hikers began to seek shelter. A group of them knocked on the door. As we answered, they said, "Oh, I'm sorry. Our guide book says this is an old church. We didn't know it was your home and we were just looking for shelter out of this storm." I hear myself say, "No, sorry. There is no church here." They nod with understanding and turn to go back into the raging storm. And then the spirit moves. "Wait", I shout. "Our home can be a church for you. A church for anyone who needs it." 

As I awoke from this dream that felt so deeply like a vision, I began to ponder what it might mean if we view our home...our workplace...our car...as a church to welcome anyone in from the storm?



"You've Got A Home" by Christa Wells
Mountains melt into valleys and you suddenly find yourself in shadow lands
where all of life seems out of your hands.
Don't think you've got no one left.
Here's a key to my front door.
Got a pillow if you lost yours.
You got a seat at my table.
You've got a home.
Here's somebody who believes you.
Let the truth remind you, you've always got a place to go to.
You've got a home.

jdkfasdk;askdfj- My Messy Beautiful

Life is both messy and beautiful. It is both beautiful and brutal. It is both joy and pain. And while most of us live our life in the land of Either/Or, thousands and thousands of people are gathering to be a part of to the community forming at Momastery  and the writing of Glennon Melton as she reminds us that life is a both/and. She has invited people to write about their messy, beautiful lives in honor of the one year birthday of her book, Carry On Warrior.

And in truth, I hesitate to join the voices of the many sharing about their own messy, beautiful lives. The doubt seeps in...is my life beautiful enough? messy enough? And am I even a writer.

I first started blogging more as an 'updater' than a 'writer'. We wanted a way to keep our family informed while we were in China to bring home our son. I kept the blog up for several years through bringing home our daughter home in 2011 from Ethiopia.

- kids with special needs/ their voice is louder b/c of their silence

how I will bring out the voice
- in myself: simplify

-in others: listen more, talk less










This post is part of the Messy, Beautiful Warrior Project — To learn about the New York Times Bestselling Memoir Carry On Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life, just released in paperback, CLICK HERE!

5000 Acts

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” Martin Luther King Jr. 

I initially had no desire or intention of writing about this weeks World Vision situation. There are many that already have and I really have nothing else to offer. To those that have no idea what I am talking about and don't feel like reading an article to catch up, I will try to sum it up. World Vision, one of the largest international relief organizations, announced this week that they had changed their policy and were now hiring employees who were in gay marriages. 

Richard Sterns, the CEO of World Vision, wrote "The Hole in the Gospel" which has had a profound impact on my life. I had no idea that World Vision had such a policy, but I was pleased to hear that they were changing it. But I was shocked by what occurred in the days that followed.

I was not surprised by the Christian right and their open disdain on social media with their cry of "Love the sinner, hate the sin." I was not surprised by the support of World Vision from bloggers like Rachel Held Evans and Kristen Howerton or the call for peace in the response by Jen Hatmaker. 

But when I learned that World Vision had reversed it's decision, I could not believe it. But the shock, the real shock came when I discovered that within 24 hours of the decision somewhere between 2000 and 5000 people dropped their child sponsorship at World Vision. Their CHILD sponsorship. The child they were praying for, providing water, food and an education for. My heart pounds right now that so many, so quickly, responded this way. 

I do not write today to influence your stance on gay marriage. But I am writing because I am sad. Heartbroken really. And with this heartbreak I feel a call from the spirit to do something. To show a different face to what it means to be a Christ follower,  "to love your neighbor as yourself". When somewhere around 5000 people chose to make a point over the love of a child, I believe they chose hate. And I want to choose love. I want to be a part of 5000 acts of kindness to others. And I hope to not be doing it alone. Let's rally love towards others in the coming days and together create 5000 acts. 

Maybe you choose to sponsor a child, make cookies for a neighbor or call a friend you haven't talked to in years. It doesn't matter what the response, just as long as you are choosing love. 

Together, let's start a list! Ways you can share:

1. Email or message me if you would like your acts to remain anonymous
2. Comment below
3. Post on twitter or instagram with #5000acts
4. Share on facebook and tell us how you showed love today 

*Our list can also include how we have received love from others! 

 Once we reach 5000, I will post all the ways we can show love to others. Will you please join me? 

Getting Rid of "Or"

Although he is now a boy of 7 with much more time here with us than the two years he spent without us, those two years-the ones he can’t consciously remember- continue to impact what he thinks about the world. What he thinks about himself.

Several days after an experience that showed me he still struggles to trust at times, I try to probe a bit more on how he was feeling. There were many layers there, but one we peeled away was this…he wasn't sure it was OK to cry. This unknown does not apply to falling down or scary dreams…we have seen those tears plenty of times. But the tears he is unsure about? These are tears of sadness, of fear or of failure.

I tried to reassure him. I gave examples of others in our family that cry. His Daddy. He seemed not to believe that although he has been a witness to this act numerous times. His mom. “Only for happy things”, he says. And then I realized, he had created an ‘either…or’. Either you could be loved or be vulnerable. 

I do this too. I am full of ‘either…or’ statements.

I am either successful, or I am a failure.

It was either a good day, or a bad one.

I am either pretty, or I’m not.

I am either right, or I’m wrong.

It’s either your truth, or mine.

These either…or statements do not bring joy. They do not bring unity. And they do not bring peace. I want to look at life, at others, and at myself with a lens of ‘both…and’. 

Richard Rohr describes this kind of thinking as “our ability to read reality in a way that is not judgmental, in a way that is not exclusionary of the part that we don’t understand. When you don’t split everything up according to what you like and what you don’t like, you leave the moment open, you let it be what it is in itself, and you let it speak to you”.

I am both successful, and I am a failure.

It was both a good day, and a bad one.

I am both pretty, and I’m not.

I am both right, and I’m wrong.

It’s both your truth, and mine.

This means boys can be strong while crying. This means the moment can be both good and bad. That I can be both right and wrong. That both our truths can be true. So today, I am trying to throw out the ‘or’. 

What ‘either…or’ in your life is causing suffering? How can you make it a ‘both…and’?

P.S. I am claiming the right to keep this word for my children .”You either XXXX, or you lose screen time.” This works for me folks so it is staying. Both…and, right? 

What If...The Ocean is Calling

He had lived a full 82 years. He had seen marriage, war, birth, and death. And he had worked hard. There had been times of much sorrow and times of deep joy. But living far away from any coast, he had never seen the ocean. Never smelled the salt air. And never swam in her cool waters.

His granddaughter had gone off to college near a beach somewhere and told him he just must come to visit.

 “You won’t believe the ocean granddad”, she continued to say.

For a few years, he put her off. What was so special about this ‘ocean’. He had seen it on TV, read about it in books, and swam in the pond behind the house millions of times. But one morning he woke with an urge to get on an airplane for the first time in his life and journey to the coast.

As he walked out on the deck leading to the beach, there was an anxious anticipation. He could already smell it. Hear it. And when he reached the top to look out on the beach, he smiled. He even laughed. He was filled with a joy he had never felt before. He had never seen something so beautiful. And then and there he decided to move to this coast. To see this view everyday for the rest of his life. And so he did. The view, the smell and the sound continued to bring him much joy and he would call his friends back home and say “You must see this. You must feel this.”

One day his granddaughter encouraged him to come off the deck. “Granddad, it’s not the same unless you feel the sand between your toes.”

“How could it get any better than this?” he thought. But he remembered his doubt of coming to the ocean for the first time and he walked out onto the sand. And again his body, his soul was filled with a new joy. He loved the way the sand felt between his toes. The joy of laying down in it to take a nap or build a sand castle. He would call his friends back home and say “You must see this. You must feel this.” He would yell to his new friends up on the deck, “You must see this. You must feel this.”

One day his granddaughter encouraged him to get in the water. But the waves seemed too big. He was afraid. But he remembered his doubt of coming onto the sand for the first time so he waded along the shore line. The sound was so much louder here and the water so much clearer. And he was again consumed by an intense joy. He loved to watch the waves wash the sand off his feet and he began to collect shells along the shore. He would call his friends back home and say, “You must see this. You must feel this.” He would yell to his new friends up on the deck, “You must see this. You must feel this.”He would tell his friends in beach chairs on the sand, “You must see this. You must feel this.”

And finally his granddaughter asked him to come for a swim. “Granddad, please swim with me..” He felt the most intense fear of his 82 years. Was he a strong enough swimmer? What would happen if he got knocked down. But he remembered his fear of putting his feet in the water for the first time, and he followed her in. The waves, they did knock him down. But he got back up and went a little further in. It took him weeks of trying each day to get all the way out. Out to that place where there are no more waves. And this time. This time there was joy. But there was also tremendous peace. A peace he felt so deep in his soul that he never wanted to leave those waters. He would call his friends back home and say, “You must see this. You must feel this.” He would yell to his new friends up on the deck, “You must see this. You must feel this.”He would tell his friends in beach chairs on the sand, “You must see this. You must feel this.”  He would call to the people wading in the water at the shore, “You must see this. You must feel this.”

But as much as he would have liked to, he could not remain in the water. He had to go back to the waves, where he sometimes got knocked down again. He had to walk out onto the shore and step in the sand. And he had to walk back up on the deck to go home. At first that made him sad. Sad that he couldn't stay in the peaceful ocean all the time. But the more time he spent in the depths of the ocean, the more he realized it was changing him. He was beginning to leave the ocean for his journey back to the world more peaceful. He was bringing the ocean with him. He could help others who could not yet swim, see and taste and feel the same peace while encouraging them all the while to dive in themselves.

What If...the Ocean is Calling

The Flip Flop

Chances are if you have heard of the NFL and are aware that a big game called the Superbowl is happening in a couple of weeks you have heard about Richard Sherman from the Seattle Seahawks and his after game interview/rant on Sunday. (And if you haven't, this is not actually about sports so you can feel free to keep reading. If you want to catch up- here is the interview).

And perhaps if you even cared enough to listen to Colin Coward on the radio yesterday or read a post on your newsfeed or follow the hastag #RichardShermanHadMeLike, you know A LOT of people have an opinion about the whole thing.

I have always been a big fan about the whole opinion thing. I LOVE to have them, argue them and defend them...just ask my parents...or Jimmy...or my children. Who can argue that cheese is the best food out there or that Camp Cherokee is the only place to even consider sending our kids for the time of their lives?

And so it will come to no surprise to those that know me best that I too had an opinion on Richard Sherman- one during and immediately after watching Sherman's interview. "Whoa, dude. Your are repulsing poor Erin Andrews. Cocky much? How about you Chillax." (Yes, I do actually still use the word chillax). And yesterday morning I nodded my head as I read those posting supporting arguments to my position. I noticed there may have been other things out there in opposition, but why would I read them?They don't support what I think.

Fast forward a couple of hours and if you are riding to the park with your family and your husband has on The Herd with Collin Coward you might have heard THIS. If you don't want to listen, he basically said that we love our sports but want a certain behavior from our athletes. That we don't even take into consideration this guy just won a huge game and got a camera and mic stuck in his face immediately after a huge play. My favorite quotes were, "Do you want your wife to tell you she loves you, or do you want her to actually love you?" and "We want the two dollar pair of socks, but don't want to know about the sweat shop they were made in."

And there it was. The Flip Flop. I agreed exactly with what he said which was the opposite of what I had just believed, fairly strongly, just minutes before. This my friends is by far not the first time I have quickly changed an opinion. 

I am learning these days a lot more about opinions. We base them on our experience and knowledge at that moment. When we are reading something, Schema Theory teaches us that we use our existing knowledge to add new knowledge and understand what we are reading. This means that two people reading the same passage may not remember the same things, or view the things they both remember in the same way. No two people can have the same exact schema or experience. Many things make us have similar experiences- culture, gender, race, religion, marital status, parental status- but we all look at things differently. 

All different. But does that make them wrong? If we are bringing our schema, our experience to a situation, can we be wrong? And when we draw a line that someone is wrong, does that cause us to use our experience to divide instead of unite? Girls vs. Boys. Blacks vs. Whites. Conservatives vs. Liberals. Us vs. Them. 

What if we Flip Flop that? What if we listen to someone else sharing their experience and instead of saying: "No, But." we say in the words of Richard Rohr, "Yes, And." How would that change our world? Heck, how would that change our day? 

I follow a page called Buddhist Boot Camp. Yesterday they too were talking about opinions:

Our opinions and beliefs tend to change depending on time, place, and circumstance. and since we all experience life differently, there are multiple theories on what’s best, what’s moral, what’s right, and what’s wrong.

It is important to remember that other people’s perspective on reality is as valid as your own. this is why the first principle of Buddhist Boot Camp is that the opposite of what you know is also true.
No matter how certain we are of our version of the truth, we must humbly accept the possibility that someone who believes the exact opposite could also be right (according to their time, place, and circumstance). this is the key to forgiveness, patience, and understanding.

"What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly" —Richard Bach

I am not naive enough to believe that all opinions are as simple as what you think about the Richard Sherman interview. But what if our conviction to be right actually is?