write now

Sometimes -- more often than I'd like to admit -- that old crazy-making feeling comes back. And I feel as though I must be crazy because there's no other explanation possible.

I must've done something wrong. I must've messed up somewhere. I wonder what I did to upset them? Hurt them? Cause them to treat me differently?

When I can't figure out the answers -- even when I ask -- then I'm left with that age-old sense that I must just be crazy. It's all in my head, I guess.

And now I'm forced to reconcile that with this whole "I am enough" thing. And I find it impossible to believe in my enoughness when I feel crazy.

Because crazy trumps everything, you know?

Or does it?

Even if I am crazy, am I not still enough?

Dang. That'll get me thinking...

This post feels like an infinity pool -- no clear end in sight. So all I can say is the same as always -- I have no answers. No conclusions. No cloud-lifting "a-ha!" moments. Just a wrestling and a commitment to stay in the tension rather than run from it.

Crazy or not, here I come.

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landing planes

{photo credit: josemanuelerre via photopin cc}

"The thing about big projects is that they tend to be less like one, giant to-do list, and more like landing planes - lots of planes - jet liners, twin prop Cessnas, helicopters - that just keep coming.

With large projects there are always things flying through the air that you must carefully place on the ground.

Some planes need to be coordinated one at time, and others come at you all at once. Some come down nice and easy, and some have turbulent landings.

The thing about landing planes, however, is that you never really feel 'finished' in the same way you do after checking everything off your to-do list, because you know that there is always another plane on the horizon.

Airports donʼt shut down and neither do big projects.

The planes just keep coming.

After auditions, you have to figure out wardrobe. Once you have the wardrobe finished, you need to walk everyone through their paces. Once youʼre on set, everyone needs to be directed. And then once you start you shooting, you realize all the changes you need to make.

Plane after plane after plane.

For a long time I felt defeated by the onslaught of planes. It seemed like nothing was ever really getting done.

And if by some off chance I was beginning to feel like I could breathe again, or like we were actually getting somewhere, inevitably some other problem would occur.

And then I thought,

This is the creative process, stop complaining! Itʼs messy! Itʼs rarely mappable! It is always dynamic and ever-changing!

Obviously you make plans, but factors outside of your control change all the time. Locations fall through. People donʼt deliver. Life happens.

So instead of holding my breath until 'things are done,' Iʼm starting to breathe while Iʼm 'doing the things.'

I do my stretches and I turn into an air traffic controller. I do it with joy and excitement because, Iʼm getting to land planes!

As Seth Godin says, we should be so lucky as to be people who get to solve interesting problems.

Landing planes means weʼre not on the sideline of ideation but weʼre executing, which means weʼre getting closer to making our visions come to life.

It will always be hard, but it should also be fun.

Every landed plane deserves some kind of celebration.

Whether it be a quick toast or a high five, you absolutely must celebrate along the way.

One last thought on landing planes. As you put those puppies on the ground, know that you have a choice. Landing planes can be exhausting and defeating, OR it can be exciting and hopeful.

Each new plane coming your way can feel like itʼs driving you deeper into the ground of despair as you cry out, 'No, not another one!' Or, you can see these planes as yet another amazing chance for you to be better, to grow, to try, and to get you one step closer to making your dream a reality.

Breathe. Do your stretches. Donʼt freak out. Land those planes. Celebrate each one that hits the tarmac.

Then repeat, repeat, repeat."

... ... ...

Above is my favorite excerpt from Blaine Hogan's book, Untitled. In ministry, I often felt exactly how he described—nothing ever really seemed "finished". Each completion or victory would just bleed straight into the ongoing work that still needed to be done. I so appreciate Blaine's challenge to breathe "while I'm doing the things" and to find ways to celebrate the accomplishments along the way. A good and timely word for my heart.

Anything stand out to you in this passage?

Buy a copy of Untitled >

choose joy pendant

My heart is so full right now that my eyes are overflowing tears... There's a bittersweet mixture of grief and joy in there, but if I've learned anything the past few years, it's that both often reside together. And no one modeled that for me better than my friend Sara. Despite illness, pain, and so much loss, she made the continual decision to choose joy. I'm not talking about a plastic facade of happiness. Sara had the kind of genuine joy that comes from the simple but oftentimes hard decision to trust that God remains in control even when everything is spiraling out of control.

In her life and also in her death, Sara taught me lifetimes' worth about trusting Jesus, loving well, and choosing joy. I know she did the same for so many around the world. Being homebound only extended Sara's reach, and thousands of people have continued to embrace and live out her mantra: Choose joy.

I've been working with the incredible artisans at Tag...You're It Jewelry to create a custom pendant in Sara's own handwriting. And I just got to see the finished product. What they came up with is beautiful and inspiring and completely Sara...

The pendant is formed from scratch out of precious metal clay; then stamped and fired in either bronze or silver. Its shape is organic and imperfect, and because they are handmade, each one is slightly different. Sara would love that subtle reminder of the beauty in our imperfections.

I'm so happy with the way these came out—such a beautiful token of Sara's incredible life, legacy, and heart. And of course a constant reminder to choose joy.

Tag...You're It is offering a 30% discount to Sara's global community. Use the following coupon codes:

For 30% off the silver pendant: GITZENGIRLSILVER For 30% off the bronze pendant: GITZENGIRLBRONZE

Visit Tag...You're It's online store to place your order.

This one's for you, Fritz...

hustling for worthiness

"As I conducted my research, I realized that only one thing separated the men and women who felt a deep sense of love and belonging from the people who seem to be struggling for it. That one thing is the belief in their worthiness. It’s as simple and complicated as this: If we want to fully experience love and belonging, we must believe that we are worthy of love and belonging.

When we can let go of what other people think and own our story, we gain access to our worthiness—the feeling that we are enough just as we are and that we are worthy of love and belonging. When we spend a lifetime trying to distance ourselves from the parts of our lives that don’t fit with who we think we’re supposed to be, we stand outside of our story and hustle for our worthiness by constantly performing, perfecting, pleasing, and proving."

-Brené Brown

tabula rasa

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The pessimist in me (or as I prefer to call it, the realist) struggles to see a new year as a fresh start. Because really, the only thing that makes January 1st remarkably different than December 31st is that it lies on a new calendar. It's just another day.

But the longing-to-hope part of me acknowledges the new beginnings that come with a new year. I can see the tabula rasa — the blank slate — of a new calendar. It's a blatant opportunity to leave yesterday's baggage behind and move forward with a clean start.

And yet I find myself instinctively clinging to baggage like a flotation device.

Baggage like my deeply-rooted feelings of shame, rejection, and not-enough-ness. Baggage like my insecurities and fears—of failure, of abandonment, of not measuring up.

I cling to them like my life depends on it—when in actuality they're not life preservers, but deadweights that keep me fighting to stay afloat.

So I close my eyes tight and repeat over and over: I am enough.

And with each whisper, my fingers ever-so-slightly start to loosen their death grip.

A new year. A new day. A new moment. Tabula rasa.

I am enough.