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a 14 year old writes a mission statement

I’ve been very unfair and judgmental toward one person in particular lately: younger me. I accuse her often of being naive, undiscerning, irresponsible. I blame her for many of my problems and struggles, utilizing variations of the tired formula “If you hadn’t done ‘x’, then ‘y’ wouldn’t have happened.” As if that will give me any solace from my anxieties, or free me from any trouble. It’s like, if I can’t jump back in time, then the next best thing is to, apparently, point out to tween/teenage/young adult Chris all the things she did “wrong”, which I know will hurt her. This is a tragic series of sentences to see reflected back at me right now. Honestly, I’m ashamed of this [ironically enough] childish behavior of mine.

Today I am, in theory, in the process of re-organizing my desk area at home. When it comes to paper or notebooks, I tend to keep a lot of things that are fairly old, especially my childhood journals. All my paper stuff including my journals are generally near my desk, so when I go to re-organize, I also want to take a “quick look” at my old journals…which becomes an event of reading through the entire journal and reflecting on the memories.

My re-org Achilles heel this afternoon was a prayer journal I had written primarily between the years 1999-2001. Reading through this journal was a humbling exercise for my currently proud, scorned, all-knowing adult self, who had expected to be re-acquainted with a boy-crazy, happy-go-lucky, self-centered pre-teen, who could’ve been helped greatly by my newly-acquired wisdom. What I found instead was someone who was thoughtful, earnest, and caring, who had questions and doubts, who loved God and her church, and who didn’t take hard decisions lightly. Sure, I was definitely hormonal and confused and a little flighty, but much more than that, I wanted to be a good person who honored God and brought out the best in others. I was also shy, and insecure, and afraid to make people sad. In the journal, I pray for specific people by name, that God would be with them during their hard times. I realized that, if young-me knew current-me, my name would’ve also been in that journal, because my struggles would have weighed on her heart.

Not only have I been short-sighted, but I have lost myself in the process of casting judgments upon myself. Instead of me teaching teen-me a thing or two, teen-me has had to remind me who I am and what the desires of my heart are. Because, as much as I may have changed or grown, the core passions of my life have remained relatively unchanged (with the exception of a few minor tweaks). Turns out, 14-year-old Chris needed to help me remember who I’ve been this whole lifetime, no matter what good or bad has come my way:

I need to apologize to myself somehow, and also move forward with a little more security in who I’ve been and in who I am now, knowing that I will continue to grow and learn and do my absolute best as I advance through this crazy and complicated life.

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the one where I re-purpose a perfect hymn

We sang “How Great Thou Art” in church today, the one hymn that has followed me from my more fundamentalist conservative church upbringing through the various congregations and para-church events I attended in college through the nine years I’ve been in Illinois. The chorus, “Then sings my soul…how great Thou art!”, gets me every time. It seems to find me when my soul is decidedly not necessarily in the mood to believe it (that God is great), let alone sing it. This song also reminds me, every time we sing it at church, why going to church per se is not for God’s benefit, but for our, for my, benefit. Sure, corporately worshiping God and learning about God glorifies Him, and that’s incredibly important. But the gathering of Christians in worship of God is a gift from God that truly benefits Christians.

Here’s a reason why: after a long week which often involves the seemingly-endless struggle of anxiety and depression, and conflict and fear of conflict, and strained and broken relationships, and a constant news-cycle shit-storm, my broken and tired soul needs to be fed the truth, spoken both by me and by others around me. I bring all this in with me when I go to church on Sundays, and so my heart is rarely in a place to believe how great God is when we begin to sing. But I read the words and sing it aloud anyway, while listening to those around me proclaiming the words as well, hoping for the grace to truly believe. Never underestimate the power of a beautiful song to affect the deepest places of your heart in such a way that nothing else can. More often than not, when my heart is in a state of unbelief yet longing to know God, grace prevails and the truth of the hymns or of the Bible do strengthen and refresh me, especially when there are 100 other people immediately around me also affirming these words.

I’m not a songwriter by any stretch of the imagination, but after singing “How Great Thou Art” today (originally a poem written by Carl Boberg in 1885), I thought it could be interesting and helpful to add some verses to personalize it a bit, especially as a way to meet my heart when it’s in more of an anxious and dark place. In the actual song, the first couple stanzas are in response to the richness and wonder of God’s creation, so this exercise was to try starting from the place of a hurting, near-sighted (and self-sighted) spirit and see if there’s a way to re-orient the focus of that [familiar] spirit to the greatness of God, even in the midst of worry and grief.

  1. Oh Lord my God, I’ve stumbled in the valley,
    I’m hidden from Your grace and from your peace
    I find myself so shaken and despairing
    And wonder if my soul shall find release

    Still sings my soul, my Savior God, to Thee: How great Thou art

  2. And when my head is full of lies and worry,
    I fail to grasp how generous You are…
    I see the birds and sun and moon and flowers,
    You care for these, much more so for my heart

    So sings my soul, my Savior God, to Thee: How great Thou art

  3. I’m overwhelmed by hatred and injustice
    That fills this earth, and cannot see You clear
    Hardships don’t cease, they fill my heart with anguish;
    I cry to You, it feels not like You’re near

    Still pleads my soul, my Savior God, to Thee: How great Thou art

  4. When bridges burn and on this isle I wander
    I look around, it seems like I’m alone.
    I search for You, I seek with cries and weeping…
    I beg of You to come and take me home.

    So wails my soul, my Savior God, to Thee: How great Thou art

  5. Forgive me Lord, when I believe the Liar
    And when they taunt, “sin triumphs over grace!”
    Please point me to the cross, the grave still empty,
    And lead me to the sweetness of Thy face

    Then sings my soul, Victorious God, to Thee: How great Thou art!

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phone calls with buddies (or, the joy of being on the telephone)

I don’t like talking on the phone. I just don’t.

This hasn’t always been the case. I talked on the phone a lot as a high schooler, when it was still attached to the wall. I’d chat with friends for hours on end, about homework and about boys and about…? What else? In my case, probably Weird Al.

When I entered the workforce, I initially ended up in jobs that required a lot of phone interaction. These conversations were hardly ever pleasant (as they almost always involved moneys owed), leading me to resent the whole mode of communication. Talking on the phone became a “work thing”, not a fun thing. Therefore my general default attitude regarding conversing with me is this: unless you’re calling about work, or unless it’s an emergency, just text me if you want to chat.

Lately I’ve been trying to warm up to the whole phone-thing, especially because, in recent years, I’m realizing more that I need people in my life badly and some of the people I need are also people who live far away from me. I do currently have a standing monthly phone call with a close friend; I, honestly, feel a lot of dread in the days and hours leading up to our scheduled time (because phones, NOT because of the person), but I come out of the conversation feeling encouraged and renewed and heard. Not to mention that this person is hilarious, so the call is always a hell of a lot of fun as well.

Just in the last few weeks I had a phone conversation with a very dear friend with whom I hadn’t spoken in a few years, though we had lately been exchanging emails and texts. I was really afraid that my dislike of phone calls would get in the way of everything, but it didn’t. There were sparks of joy at the very beginning (hearing each others’ voices for the first time in years!) and then a wonderful conversation that followed. I always wrestle with that side of me that hates the time I might “lose” by being on the phone. I instead felt renewed, again, by getting a chance not only to re-connect, but to be a part of her life again, in a way that text messages and emails can’t quite capture–phone calls are not isolated from the life happening around us: for her, that included a joy-filled toddler living their best life; for me, that included getting barked at by 4 silly dogs while their owners tried reining them in, since I like to walk around the neighborhood while I talk on the phone.

Just a few things I have learned or have been reminded of by being on the phone with a friend recently:

  1. If you can’t laugh together in person, laughing together on the phone is best.
  2. It’s so so so helpful to hear all the nuances of someone’s story, and the emotions felt in each part of it. You can’t hear another person’s shaking voice, smile, tears, determination, or uncertainty in an email (and when you do, it’s because *you’re* injecting it into the writing).
  3. Instant responses save a lot of time and build better understanding. There’s so much opportunity in a phone call to ask a question in the moment for clarification. For the other person, it’s helpful to let them know in the moment that you hear them, to encourage them to keep expressing themselves. When asked about my day, I let my friend know that work didn’t go quite how I wanted it to go, and she was able to respond right away by saying “That sucks, I’m sorry. Tell me more.” I was invited to get into the details and trust that someone was actively listening and caring.
  4. Phone calls with a friend are a reminder that time is not our possession and is not something we can control. Our time, like anything else that we have, is given to us by God and is to be shared generously. I’m saying this as someone who struggles with this IMMENSELY.

For book club over the summer, we had been reading Liturgy of the Ordinary by Tish Harrison Warren. She calls Christian friendships “call and response friendships” that involve conversations confirming to each other “the truth of who we are and who God is.” The phone call with my friend very much felt this, consistently affirming each other throughout, and speaking truth to one another when we heard the other one doubting themselves. It doesn’t get much more encouraging than that.

I think my default, unfortunately, is to treat calling a friend as a last-resort measure, out of fear of it feeling like work, and also out of fear that I’ll be conversationally steam-rolled (maybe a topic for another time). I wonder what difference it would make, especially going into the call, if I learn to trust God with the time he’s gifted to me and with the interaction I’m having. How will I grow as a result of the conversation? How can I use the call as an opportunity to encourage the person on the other line? What can this interaction teach me about being a better friend, and about trusting God with my resources and my words?