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 >

{Guest Post} When Your World Comes Crashing Down

Jeff Goins and I connected a few years ago via Twitter. We both have a heart for missions and started brainstorming ways to partner our organizations together. He quickly became a friend, and it's been a joy watching his journey unfold the past few years. He is a solid guy—wicked smart, gifted writer, and passionate about not only telling great stories, but living them as well. His new book Wrecked is poignant and inspiring. You definitely need to read it! I've asked Jeff to share one of his experiences of learning to embrace the messy grit of life.

It was senior year in college, and I thought I knew a thing or two about life. I thought I had it all figured out, that I knew the direction of my destiny. Everything, I thought, was going according to plan.

I was wrong.

My plan was this: study Spanish, learn the language, graduate college, and move abroad. My best friend had moved to Guatemala, so I thought I'd follow him. What could be better?

But then one Saturday afternoon, I attended a church service where a gentleman was sharing about the 10/40 window and the needs of people all over the world — not just in Latina America.

He messed me and my little plan up.

The more the man talked, the more uneasy I felt. And the more I realized this was my bright idea and maybe not God's. Finally at the end of the day, I approached him, asking the question that was burning in my heart.

"I speak Spanish. Shouldn't I go to some place where I already know the language and culture?"

He smiled and shook his head, full of grace. I prodded and asked and wanted to know why, why he was ruining all my wonderful plans.

Then he said something I won't soon forget: "The gifts never precede the call."

But that wasn't enough for me. I wanted specifics: charts and graphs and whatnot. He told me it was good that I knew Spanish, but that I couldn't go to God with my abilities, asking him to merely bless them.

Instead, I needed to follow him, to go where I felt called, and trust that what I needed to serve would follow. He explained that one approach (mine, I gathered) was prideful, asking God to baptize my preexisting plans; and the other was the way of faith, of trusting without seeing.

Days after that meeting, I started watching videos about China and got excited. A year later, I spent a month in Taiwan.

I'm still figuring it out, but this is the tough part of pursuing our life's work. Things don't always go according to plan; sometimes, we don't get what we want. And maybe that's what a calling is all about.

... ... ...

Jeff Goins is a writer who lives in Nashville. You can find him on his blog at goinswriter.com and follow him on Twitter at @jeffgoins. His book, Wrecked: When a Broken World Slams into Your Comfortable Life, just came out. Find out more at wreckedthebook.com.

How have you seen God show up in your own life when things didn't go according to plan?

more than money

Bona is 17. When I met him in Ethiopia last week, I was immediately caught up in his handsome face and soul-stirring smile. Hearing his story and heart only endeared him to me even more.

His mom passed away when he was in first grade, and his dad died last year. There was a visible sadness in his eyes as he talked about loneliness, his older brother living several hundred kilometers away.

The social worker bragged on Bona for a bit. He is first in his class. In fact, he's been first in his class throughout his entire school career. Bona smiled, and I know his heart must have swelled in that moment, hearing all of us say how proud we are of him.

He's been sponsored through Food for the Hungry for five years. With their help and the grace of God, he's pressed on with perseverance and hope in the face of countless difficulties.

Next year, Bona ages out of the sponsorship program. All kids do at age 18. Food for the Hungry will continue to help him with his educational costs and supplies as he goes on to university. He wants to be a doctor, and he has the grades and the drive to actually do it.

I asked Bona how he feels about his sponsorship coming to an end next year. He told me that he really appreciates the tangible benefits of his sponsorship, but wishes he felt more connected to his sponsors. He said he feels as though he's missed out on the relationship aspect of sponsorship. "I wish they would write to me more. And even send me pictures of themselves. I don't even know what they look like."

Man, that hit me like a ton of bricks. Up front, we think the biggest commitment is the $32 a month. But ultimately, writing the monthly check is the easy part. And that's not even what the child is most hoping for. They want to feel connected—like they belong.{Don't we all?}

They don't just want our money. They also want our love and affection. They care more about the letters, notes, and pictures we send because those make them feel loved, cared about, and valued.

I felt so challenged and inspired in that moment to write to my sponsored kids more frequently, and to send pictures of myself, my family, my city, and things I enjoy. That takes more time and effort than writing a check, but these kids are worth it.

If you have sponsored children—through any organization—make some time this week to strengthen your relationship with them. Write a letter. Print some photos. Have your kids draw some pictures. And put a reminder on your calendar to do it again next month. And the month after that.

Let's not just be generous with our finances. Let's be generous with our hearts and our time.

For that's the most life-changing sacrifice we can make.

Originally posted on Deeper Story. Read the comments there >

ask a storyteller

Wow! The questions that came in for my Ask a Storyteller post on Deeper Story were good and hard all at the same time. Why didn't I get easy ones like What would your superpower be? or What's your favorite Starbucks drink? Nope. I got none of that.

You guys asked some seriously tough stuff, which demanded challenging, heart-level answers from me.

So brace yourself.

My Ask a Storyteller post is l - o - n - g. Way longer than any of my posts here have ever been. Feel free to skim it for just the questions/answers that interest you. Unless you're bored enough to read the whole thing. ;)

And I'll keep answering questions in the comments there all day, so feel free to keep the conversation going if you want.

Read my answers here >

on trust

Trust has always been a challenge for me. After my husband had a long-term affair with my friend, and then decided to leave... well, let's just say my trust issues multiplied. Exponentially.

When sharing with a friend about how hard it is to bounce back from that, and to learn to trust again, she said, "Remember the people you can trust and focus on them."

Solid words.

BUT...

Five years ago, I thought I could trust my husband. And I did.

See, my problem with trust isn't when it's misused by people I know I can't trust to begin with. My problem is when those I believe I can trust, end up abusing it.

So I find myself living in this tension of the desire to dig deep, live all-in, and trust those closest to me, with the reality that all of us are fallible and anyone can fall. Myself included.

I'm not really sure where it leaves me, except in a place of wrestling with who and how I should trust. What does healthy trust look like? How do I keep putting my heart out there after it's been trampled by the untrustworthiness of those who should have been trustworthy?

As always, I have more questions than answers...

Have you dealt with this in your own life? How do you navigate trust after it's been broken?

Originally posted on A Deeper Story. Read the comments there >