Chasing After Me

My House

Home is not what my house becomes when people are made comfortable there. Home  isn’t even a destination. Home is bigger than that.

Home is where we’re most vulnerable, but where we’re also the safest.

Home is a where we’re naked and where our dirty laundry piles up, but also where we become refreshed and beautiful.

My Home

Home is where we feel safe crying, but also where someone will be to wipe our tears.

Home is where we’re comfortable being all of who we are, but where we have a family encouraging us to follow our hearts, to take risks and help us grow.

Home is where we love and serve others.

Home is where community flourishes.

Home is where love abounds.

Home is something we experience…a state of mind…a community of friends…for me, home is a made possible by grace and powered by Love. A Love that overflows to, I hope, help others experience HOME.

Joy unites us. Tragedy unites us.

Why? Because, as Mark Twain so simply said, “We’re all alike on the inside.”

The great unifier? Humanity.

It’s no wonder we rejoice in the happiness of others. It’s no wonder we cry with those who are hurting. Because it doesn’t matter where you live, what color your skin is, what language you speak, how you dress, who you love, how you vote or what you believe.

Tangibly, our bodies work the same.

Intangibly, our hearts work the same.

Our hearts sympathize with others. Our hearts know the feelings of joy and pain. Our hearts long for wholeness, especially when we sense brokenness. And, I believe, it’s because we’re all part of the same body.

This past week, I’ve seen proof. I’ve watched from the sidelines as humanity rallied together to share their love, concern and tears with a friend holding out hope for the safe return of her missing husband and three children. Some people knew the family well. Some didn’t know them at all. (I didn’t know Luke Bucklin well. But I’m blessed to call his lovely wife Ginger my friend.)

The beauty is, it doesn’t matter who knew them and who didn’t. Humanity has felt the hurt and pain of the family. Humanity has fed the family. Humanity sent messages to the family. Humanity prayed for the family. Humanity hoped for the family. Humanity flooded the family’s home with compassion. Humanity rejoiced with the family during the high points of the past week. Humanity cried with them during the lowest points. And, beautifully, humanity stands unified in love with heavy hearts for the entire family after hearing the news that no one wanted to hear.

You see, I believe we were created in the image of God. The same God who came to this earth as Jesus. The same God who created not just one human, but dreamed up plans for an entire human race meant to live together, rejoice together and cry together. The same God who sent His spirit to live inside of those who’ve choose to believe in Him, and work through us so others can physically feel His love for us, as if we’re His hands and feet in the world.

1 Corinthians 12:25-27:

The way God designed our bodies is a model for understanding our lives together as a church: every part dependent on every other part, the parts we mention and the parts we don’t, the parts we see and the parts we don’t. If one part hurts, every other part is involved in the hurt, and in the healing. If one part flourishes, every other part enters into the exuberance. You are Christ’s body—that’s who you are!

We’re made for each other. We’re meant to love each other. We’re meant to laugh together. We’re meant to cry together. We’re meant to encourage each other. We’re meant to function together. In our uniqueness, we’re unified…because, in Christ, we share a body.

None of us are immune to disappointment. None of us are immune to frustration. None of us are immune to sadness. And, God isn’t immune to those feelings either. And, if we are the body of Christ, then He feels our pain and we can feel His comfort.

This I know: my God is not the author of pain.

This I know: my God is love.

This I know: my God is peace.

This I know: my God hurts when I hurt.

This I know: my God uses evil for good.

This I know: my God makes his love tangible for me through other people.

None of will ever have the answers we want in the face of tragedy. But all of us can choose to let God’s love flow from us into the lives of others who need to feel Him tangibly. And, I believe, that love is most important…that love wins…that love trumps answers.

We will be disappointed. We may even be disappointed with God. And, I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be disappointed with God than disappointed without God. I know he’ll love me through the rest of this body. I know that He will love others through me. I’m watching Him love the Bucklin family through humanity right now.

He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.

-2 Corinthians 1:4

…bound together by humanity…bound together in love…bound together by God…

I always apologize. For everything…seriously…FOR EVERYTHING.

Some of the things, I absolutely should apologize for.

But I also find myself apologizing…for speaking, for having opinions, for asking questions, for not saying enough, for not fixing something unfixable, for thinking I’m not good enough, for other peoples’ emotions, for my own emotions, for not doing something that was never expected in the first place…it really never ends.

Mostly, if I look at the big picture, I actually apologize unendingly for BEING myself…to the annoyance of the people in life who are most precious.

I always thought that trait was simply compassion…just how I’m wired.

Others might call it perfectionism.

My closest friends might lovingly call it an annoyance.

My (very wise) husband calls it ridiculously self-critical.

This week I’ve been reading Angry Conversations with God, by Susan Isaacs, and something LEAPED off of the page. I haven’t stopped thinking about it. I’m quite certain it was God Himself showing me something. Here’s the quote:

Susan, I think you keep apologizing (to God) because you haven’t accepted forgiveness (from God).

The thing is, it wasn’t the actual words on the page that got to me. When I read that passage over and over again, I saw something different:

Dawn, I think you keep apologizing (to those you love) because you haven’t accepted their acceptance (of you).

Wow.

The “Dawn” version screamed at me. The realization was startling. More startling, because I now realize I’ve rejected acceptance my entire life.

By rejecting acceptance, I’ve discounted the love that those closest to me constantly and unconditionally offer. And, by doing that, I’ve also rejected God’s attempts to tangibly love me through people who are His hands and feet.

It is the root of something that’s nagged me my entire life…something that has often made me feel lonely…something that has often made me feel insecure…something that could keep me from where I’m supposed to go.

Sorry for my mistakes…but no longer sorry for who I am.

One year ago I was packing up boxes at my desk.

One year ago I was meeting with people to let them know how much their friendships had meant to me over the years.

One year ago I did one most courageous thing I things I’ve ever done…I exchanged a life of routine and predictability for one filled with unknowns.

I left my amazing job of nearly 12 years to help friends plant a church…to start my own communications business…to learn more about myself.

Sounds cushy, right? Nope.

Crazy. Lost. Weak. Dense. Alone.

That’s how I’ve felt throughout the past year.

Stretched. Grateful. Loved. Fulfilled. Found.

That’s also how I’ve felt.

You see, courage doesn’t exist without risk.

Walking a path of unpredictability is hard. You end up tripping over yourself more than anything else. You doubt yourself. Question your decisions. You wonder who you are. And then you remember that it’s part of the ride. The courageous ride. The ride that shows promise of something great on the other side, even if you can’t see clearly what it is in the moment.

And, when you stop to remember the purpose, the ride becomes euphoric. It has meaning. You just need to put yourself in a place where you can see goodness and promise even in those dim moments.

My point? Opportunity is not painless. Even when it is what you know that you’re supposed to be doing. Even when you’re pursuing your passion and standing in your truth.

A year later, I’d make the same choice 1000 times over…even knowing all I’d feel. Because I’d also know the purpose found on the other side. The purpose to Bloom.

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Consider this a thank you note of sorts. A thank you to Best Buy and all of my amazing colleagues…for all you plant in your people…for all I learned…for all of your encouragement…and, dare I say, all your love. A year later I still feel it. And, it helped me discover purpose. I am forever grateful.

I wrote something on Twitter Sunday night…it said:

Something I hate more than seeing people putting others into boxes…people putting themselves in boxes. You are unboxable.

I was talking to someone in particular when I said that. I was talking to myself. Reminding myself. Frustrated with myself for not seeing that I’d done it again.

I could pretend that the journey I’m on is all sunshine and rainbows. I mean, it’s about chasing after God’s call on my life…how could it not be all smiles?

Insert sarcasm here.

Don’t get me wrong. I know that I know that I know that the journey I’m on is the right one. But that path still has ditches. Muddy ones. The ones where you twist your ankle and fall and get all covered in grime. But they’re just that. Ditches. Not chasms. They’re nothing you can’t climb out of. Especially when you have help. But you need to know who can help you. You can call to your friends for help. But they can’t reach you. They can’t reach you because they’re on different paths. Unique paths for each one of them. They might be able to see you. But they can’t reach. They can only point you to the one who can reach you.

I’ve realized something…when things get scary, when I realize I need to be strong and crazy enough to be comfortable being me…a me that will never be found on someone else’s path…and that no one else has a path that looks like my own…I look for a box to jump in and hide…somewhere that limits where God can lead me. For the record, those confining boxes are found in ditches.

I knew I was in a ditch. And I was looking to people on paths of their own to try to help me out. Don’t get me wrong. They would have helped me get out if they could have reached me. Problem was, they couldn’t reach me. They were on their own paths. They were busy trying to navigate the twists, turns and ditches on their own paths.

I knew what I needed to get out of my ditch: seemingly simple encouragement. Someone to say I was heading in the right direction…someone to tell me that my talents were useful…someone to say it was OK that I wasn’t like other people…someone to tell me that there is a plan…someone to remind me to seek rest. But, despite the efforts of the amazing people in my life, it wasn’t enough. A couple of days ago, the reason became apparent as I was studying…

John 5:44 (The Voice translation):
…you are consumed by the approval of other men, longing to look good in their eyes, and yet you disregard the approval of the one true God.

Fancy that. Didn’t I feel like an idiot. At that very moment, I realized what was wrong. I was so busy running so fast that I wasn’t listening to all God had for me. You know how sometimes you hear the first few words of what someone is saying and then run with it without listening to the WHOLE thing? That’s what I was doing. And in doing that, I was not listening intently enough to God to hear his affirmation, his love and his encouragement. God was waiting right there with the grace I needed, but I was so busy crying for help that I failed to see his pierced hand in front of my face. He was waiting there, ready to pull me out of the box that was in the ditch and to embrace me, despite being a muddy mess.

For the record, I’m walking again, limping a little maybe, but I know I can walk off the pain with his help.

I can’t believe I’m the only one whose ever felt this. It’s a lonely feeling. But my question for you is: where are you looking for help? Even those closest to you can’t reach the depths of your heart that need to be reached. They’re on their own paths. All of them different and unique. So slow down so you can hear ALL God has for you. Listen. There’s good stuff in there. He is the only encouragement, love and grace with eyes penetrating enough to find you hiding in a box…and with a hand strong enough to pull you out of the mud.