it all comes down to choice

Someone asked me the other day where I'm at in my journey. She was talking about the traumatic loss and transition I've endured in just about every single area of my life over the past few years. "Do you feel like you're on the other side of it?" I didn't really know how to answer that question because I don't think she fully understood what she was asking (though I know she certainly meant well.)

I'm in a much better place than I've been in a long time. Although I'm painfully aware of how fragile it all is, life feels good right now. And I haven't been able to say that truthfully in years.

But that doesn't mean I've gotten over—or even through—my loss.

I think the idea of "recovery" from loss is a harmful and misleading mirage. It's unrealistic to expect that life could ever go back to normal after catastrophic loss of any kind. In a way, life will be forever divided by before and after. And to strive to go back to normal—to return to how things were and how you felt before your loss—is like trying to get somewhere on a treadmill: exhausting and impossible.

I don't know if I'm meant to come out on the other side of my heartache. At least not in the usual sense.

I'm discovering what it's like to live in the delicate tension of sorrow and joy. What we deem to be opposites are not actually mutually exclusive. They can be—and maybe they should be—embraced together. We don't move out of sorrow into joy, as if we've recovered from our heartache. Instead we learn to choose joy even when that seed of sorrow remains ever present.

Jerry Sittser, in A Grace Disguised, said it so beautifully:

"I did not go through pain and come out the other side; instead, I lived in it and found within that pain the grace to survive and eventually grow. I did not get over the loss of my loved ones; rather, I absorbed the loss into my life, like soil receives decaying matter, until it became a part of who I am."

What happens in me matters far more than what happens to me. It's not my experiences that define me, but my responses to them.

So instead of making it my aim to get through what's happened to me, I am learning to focus on my response to what's happened to me. As with most things, it all comes down to choice.

That's the reason "choose" is my One Word for this year. Because I need constant reminding that even when I have nothing else, I always have the power to choose.

While I can't control what's going on in this world or in my life, I do have control over my responses to those things. So today—same as yesterday and the day before—it's entirely up to me to choose how I will respond to pain and sorrow and loss. I need to continue to choose to face, feel, and work through it, rather than to avoid it. And I need to continue to choose joy and trust right here, right now.

So if you're wondering where I'm at in my journey, know this: You can always find me right here, in the middle of the tension between joy and sorrow, grief and gratitude, weakness and strength, questions and faith.

Join me here, won't you?

Originally posted on Deeper Story. Read the comments there >

the grace of fragility

Cozied up in my comfy chair—still in pajamas, coffee in hand, snuggled under a blanket—I close my eyes and take a deep breath. And I can't help but smile. I have a home, a job, an income. I have friends and family who love me. I have health insurance, a car, a closet full of clothes. I have all I need, really. I shake my head in wonder. All gifts. All grace.

And I whisper a "Thank You"...

I open my eyes and breathe in deeply again. This nagging thought—the same one that's been hovering just beneath the surface for weeks now—scratches again and reminds me it's still there. It lingers close, threatening to steal my exhale and my smile. Like a funhouse mirror, it plays tricks on my mind, distorting hope into a frightening creature and making fears appear larger than they really are.

The thought I can't seem to shake is how fragile everything in my life feels, in a way it never used to. I'm painfully aware of how quickly it all can vanish. How in an instant, everything can be taken away.

Realizing life's fragility is ultimately a good thing. It keeps me mindful that nothing and no one ever belongs to me. It forces me to hold things (and people) more loosely. No matter how strong my death-grip, the concept of "mine" remains a mirage. Nothing is mine. And I'm not in control.

The constant reminder of fragility also leaves me feeling unsettled... insecure... unstable. It makes it difficult to invest in relationships, trust wholeheartedly, and put down roots. It feels harder to dream, to laugh, to enjoy the good that's present right now. Joy takes more effort than it used to and anxiety comes more easily. Hope often seems like a cruel joke. Remember Lucy and the football?

Sometimes that's what hope feels like, and I'm left feeling stupid that I fell for it yet again.

Even as I say all this out loud, I know how ridiculous it sounds even in my own head. I hear the nudging reminders not to worry about tomorrow as today has enough worry of its own. I see the "choose joy" on my arm and feel the heart hug of my ever-present friend who showed me what it means to live that out. I hear God calling me to hope. Again. No matter what.

I want to believe that eventually dreaming will feel easier again, that life—though fragile—will feel more secure, and that thoughts of the future will breed more hope than fear. I want to.

So I close my teary eyes again, and take a deep breath. I hold it as long as I can, and as I let the air out I shake my head. All gifts. All grace.

And I whisper a "Thank You"...

always and always, fritz

My friend Sara was affectionately known as Gitzen Girl -- a nickname coined by her dad (who I am so thankful to have spent some time with before he passed last year). Everyone knew her as Gitz.

But to me, she was Fritz.

She was Fritz. And I was Frass. (Short for Sassafrass, of course...)

And this Frass? Misses her Fritz like crazy...

Ohmyheart...

When I was asked to speak at Sara's memorial service, it felt like an incredible gift had been placed in my hands. One I held gently and tenderly. An honor I didn't take lightly.

I didn't want to speak about our history or friendship, although I could've talked for hours on that alone. I wanted to somehow try to capture and express Sara's amazing heart and the incredible way she lived her life. I wanted to explain what Choose Joy meant to her, as so many have picked it up as their own life mantra. I wanted to paint a picture of who Sara really is...

I hope my feeble attempt to find adequate words achieved that even in the slightest possible way...

Here are the words I shared at her service...

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There are so many things I could say about my sweet Sara. So many that I don’t even know where to start. Or harder still, I wouldn’t even know where to stop. She has been one of the greatest gifts in my life, and her friendship has truly changed me. Forever.

And I know many---literally around the world---can say the exact same thing about her.

It is absolutely mind-blowing to think of how far-reaching Sara’s impact has been. From the tiny confines of her condo in Iowa, her life and love wrapped around the globe.

Because of her illnesses, her way of life had to change. But her way of living didn’t.

Sara continued to live well. To love deeply. To trust God unswervingly. She continued to choose joy. To love Jesus passionately. And to run her race well... All the way to the end.

Through her words, Sara shared her faith and her heart so genuinely and authentically. Sara was real. Velveteen Rabbit kind of real. And in her realness, she made it easy for us to be real in return. Real with ourselves... With others... With God.

And in that place of threadbare honesty, she challenged us to choose joy.

Choose joy.

Those two words ran deep for Sara. They weren’t just a pick-me-up statement... Those words truly shaped her life.

Sara taught me that choosing joy doesn’t mean living in denial of reality. It doesn’t mean pretending everything is okay when it’s not. It doesn’t mean not allowing ourselves to grieve or acknowledge our own heartaches in life.

It means being honest and authentic with where we are... And from that place, still lifting our eyes Homeward.

Choosing joy is acknowledging that while I don’t understand what’s going on, God does. Choosing joy is remembering that while life seems to be spiraling out of control, it is never out of God’s control. Choosing joy is remaining mindful that while my circumstances may feel anything but ideal, God still has my good and His glory in mind.

Because like Sara said, “It’s not about me. It’s about what He can do with my life.” That statement holds the very essence of her lifestyle of choosing joy...

Sara lived her life by six simple goals she set for herself. She had these scribbled on her wall in that amazingly beautiful handwriting of hers. But more importantly, she had them scribbled deeply on her heart. She set out to do six things with her life:

1. To not be ashamed to stand before God.
2. To fulfill God’s plan by living the best life I can with what I am given.
3. To be aware and present in every moment.
4. To love what I have and not yearn for what I lack.
5. To spread the joy, not the fear.
6. To be intentional in all things.

I read that list, and I can’t help but smile. Even through the tears. Sara so faithfully lived out each one of those things. And we would do well to make these goals our own.

Sara lived well.

She loved well.

She finished well.

And she taught us to do the same.

I love you always and always, Fritz...

Memorial Service for Sara

Tonight is the memorial service for our beloved Sara at St. Stephens---the church in Cedar Falls, IA where she served for so many years. We would love to have you join us as we mourn her passing and celebrate her life---together as her community and family, each in our own corner of the world.

Just as Sara would have loved it.

The service is at 6:30 PM Central Time. Please join us if you're able. (And help spread the word online...)

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Update: The memorial service was recorded... Watch here.

Choose Joy Ink Link

This is a space where you can share your Tribute to Sara Tattoo for all to see... If you decided to get a Choose Joy tattoo, we would love to see it! Please link up to the tweet, blog, pic, or video you post on the Interwebz about it, so we can all celebrate Sara's life and legacy together.

[Be sure to link to the specific post and not your blog homepage.]

If you have chosen to use any of the Choose Joy designs, please email Trevor and let him know. He worked into the wee-hours of the night doing this for Sara. Such a gift. I think it would mean a lot for him to hear and see what became of it all...

I'm grateful for my reminder. God knows I need it...