Chasing After Me

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.

I had a moment this weekend when I realized that the most in-depth conversations I have, I have with myself.

Seriously.

Admit it. Right now you’re picturing some woman in her car or walking through a store having a robust conversation…with no one. You know, the one where you’re convinced has a bluetooth device attached to her ear because there is no way she could really be talking to herself like that.

For the record, that’s not me.

However, if you could see what really goes on in my brain, you’d think even stranger things.

And, I’m convinced I’m not alone.

Constantly playing out scenarios, conversations, possibilities, ideas…nonstop.

That’s an awful lot of internal conversation for an extrovert.

And it’s sad.

When you talk with yourself, you really don’t have much in the line of diverse perspective to offer. When you talk with yourself, you can’t offer compassion or validation that really means anything. When you talk with yourself, you’re not getting any wiser, smarter or more enlightened.

That’s depressing.

So why do I do that again?

I mean, isn’t your life richer when you’re able to share your soul with others? Or share it with a higher being?

My challenge to myself this week is to stop the conversations with myself and share them with someone else. I’ve caught myself uncountable times this week. In some cases, I’ve shared the conversations with my closest friends. In other cases, it made sense for me to talk with God about them.

And, suddenly, I feel like I can breathe. Suddenly I feel like I can face challenges. Suddenly, I feel like I can let things go. Suddenly I see more opportunity.

We’re relational beings…why fight it?

Fear is a funny thing. It’s not always obvious. It’s horribly uncomfortable. And, it’s often taboo.

Relational rejection.

There. I said it. That’s my biggest fear. Now it’s out there.

It’s ironic really.

Ironic because I love being completely open. Ironic because I love the freedom to be real…raw…and human. Ironic because I love seeing those traits in other people. Ironic because I’m one of the most obnoxiously relational beings I know.

Yet, somehow, this fear has forced me to hide a piece of my soul from the world. Even from my closest friends. Not because of any lack of trust. But truly out of fear. Fear that if they knew every ounce of my maniacal thought process and pervasive insecurities, they would no longer want anything to do with me.

Frankly, it’s been so well hidden in my life, that I’ve literally forgotten those things exist. I’ve gotten so comfortable with sharing my feelings, that I’ve forgotten there are “whys” behind those feelings. And, convinced myself that no one really wants to know those things anyway.

Wrong.

Way wrong.

The friends who do care about those “whys” have somehow found me. And, their deep love cracked that hard core of fear…a place in my life where I feel most vulnerable.

I let my fear of being alone and being vulnerable limit what my friends could be to me…limit the love I’d allow myself to receive from them. But, thank God for their persistence. For their love. For letting God use them to show me another layer of his own unfailing love and grace.

In close friendships, people don’t see vulnerabilities as signs of weakness or dark corners where no one wants to go.

These deep relationships seek vulnerabilities to embrace them.

Once my friends drew the vulnerabilities out of me, I was reminded that if they desired to get that close to me, than Jesus wanted it more. He doesn’t care about dark corners, because he is light…because he embodies perfect love…because his perfect love casts out fear. Even fear of relational rejection.

In the New Testament, Jesus refers to himself as our friend. I’m convinced he does that so we can capture glimpses in our lives today as to how he wants to operate in our lives. How we talk with him. How we laugh with him. How we cry with him. How we debate with him. And, yes, even what we share with him.

Those friends know who they are. And, I’m indebted to their compassion, loyalty and deep love. And, mostly, I’m thankful that God could use them to remind me of how much I’m loved for who I am. Right now. Despite the flaws, insecurities and fears I see in myself. Because He doesn’t even see them. He only sees beauty…vulnerable beauty.

“Knowing and letting oneself be known require overcoming many ancient fears – but it’s worth every risk.” – Arianna Huffington in “On Becoming Fearless”

“My name is Natalie. N-A-T-A-L-I-E. I’m four-years-old. What’s your name?”

“It’s Dawn. D-A-W-N.”

“Hi Dawn! I’m going to call you ‘friend.’”

And she did.

In the hour I spent with that sweet little girl, she called me “friend” probably 50 times…every single time she spoke with me.

I guess if you need a quick reminder of what really matters you should just ask a homeless four-year-old.

She didn’t care about task lists, finances, work, material items or even family drama. She cared about relationships.

Relationships built on a Jesus kind of love. Maybe Natalie didn’t know it was a Jesus kind of love. But I have no doubt.

You see…Jesus loved me through Natalie tonight. Natalie decided to be my friend. She didn’t know me, but it didn’t matter. She smiled at me. She hugged me. She held my hand. She wiped chocolate from my sleeve. She carried my dirty dishes to the kitchen. She introduced me to her family. She shared a million stories with me.

When you think about it, it’s totally backwards. You see, Natalie is one of eight kids. Her family has been homeless since October. She and her family live out of their car and at shelters. She was excited about getting a pair of shoes today that actually fit. Her entire family has to believe in the goodness of people and the goodness of God working through people to see hope for tomorrow.

I was supposed to be there serving her! Yet, she wanted to be a friend to me. Take care of me. Love me.

She probably never will know how much I needed that friendship tonight. She probably never will know that she made a permanent imprint on my heart. She probably never will know that Jesus loved me through her.

Her unconditional love reminded me of the importance of letting what Jesus pours into me, pour into the lives of others…a love that is unconditionally compassionate…a love that smiles at strangers…a love that genuinely cares…a love not impeded by worry or selfishness.

Thank you, Natalie. Thank you for becoming a piece of my heart. Thank you for reminding me what really matters.

And, God, thank you for Natalie.

* * *

Natalie and her family just found out that they’ve got housing. They’ll be moving into a newly remodeled apartment within two weeks. Thank God. You should have seen how excited Natalie’s mom was…seeing her excitement nearly brought me to tears.

The Family Place is a day shelter serving homeless families in St. Paul, Minn. The majority of their guests are children. Forty-seven percent of the homeless in St. Paul are children and teenagers. Often, their families have lost their housing because of medical emergencies, job losses and even landlord defaults and condemnations. They’ve unexpectedly found themselves in a new and difficult world, a world where hope and dignity are pushed aside to make room for daily survival. My church, Bloom, partners with this organization to serve their guests without agenda.

Hey Tracie!

It’s been so long. I seriously don’t know how time flies by so quickly. I miss you tons, but, to be honest, it doesn’t seem that long since we’ve chatted.

I think you know how profoundly our friendship has affected my life, but I really feel like I need to publicly thank you for all you’ve sown into my life, whether or not you ever knew it.

I didn’t realize it during our high school years, but you inspired me to live joyfully. Even when we had boy problems, got in trouble for talking in choir or were sad about deeper and more complex issues in our lives, you’d find a reason to smile, then laugh, and then go grocery shopping and make cookies for the soccer team (or the basketball team…or the track team…). You showed me that the simple act of doing something for others turned things around, pulled out smiles and brought joy to everyone around you. Your joy made you shine. As teenagers, I think we took that infectious joy for granted.

You also proved to me in those years that courage shaped character. It wasn’t just because you had the guts to join the military, but you had the gall to join the track team as a senior when most people joined in junior high. You didn’t care that your best friend was younger than you (which was a big deal in high school). And, you weren’t afraid to befriend everyone, regardless of label. You were unashamed about what you believed. You had the courage to live life fully.

More than anything, you taught me about true friendship. Everyone had best friends in high school, and our relationship was no exception. But looking back, you showed me the fullness of friendship…a letter telling me you cared when you knew I was had a bad day…a trip to the grocery store for cookie-making supplies to celebrate successes…tolerance in moments of crabbiness…willingness to talk through tough times…an incomprehensible commitment to people you cared for (including me). After the last time we spoke, I wasn’t sure I’d ever have a best friend again. But, because you taught me how to be a friend, I now have several. I’m convinced my friendships now wouldn’t exist had you not demonstrated the real thing. In fact, my new friendships have now filled the void you left. I know that might sound strangely harsh, but I know you understand. And I know you wouldn’t want it any other way.

Sometimes I feel bad that you weren’t able to be a teacher liked you’d hoped to be. But, I believe you did fulfill that dream. You’ve taught. You’ve inspired. You’ve encouraged. I believe those are traits of the best teachers.

I know it’s been more than 14 years, but you’ve been on my mind a lot lately. No doubt it’s because today is the 34th anniversary of the day you were born. I even went to visit you today, but I knew you wouldn’t be there. Regardless, it meant something to see a little piece of the girl I knew back then.

Sometimes our time apart feels like an eternity. Yet, not a day goes by without me vividly remembering the last time we spoke. You wanted to know what I was doing home on a Saturday night. I laughed and asked you why you called if you thought I should be out! I was busy telling you about the new guy I was dating, you politely complained about having to “guard” the laundry room because people were stealing things. We even talked about the validity of a magazine article about the diminishing respect guys had for girls who put out too much. You know, important 19-year-old-girl stuff. In the moment, it all seemed so trite.

But our conversation that night taught me something I’ll never forget. Nothing is trite. Not words. Not love. Not life.

The day after our conversation I began regretting things. I wished I would have tried harder to listen to the unexpected muffled voice that interrupted our conversation. I wished I would have known something was wrong and called 911 when the phone went dead. But I honestly never knew anything was wrong. I’m sorry.

I’ll never be able to comprehend all you went through that night. I bet it felt like you were stuck in a nightmare – kidnapped, raped, beaten. But since I know what you believed, I know that somehow God gave you peace in the eyes of terror. I know that you spent all of your final hours praying. I also know you knew how much I loved you, even if I didn’t say it that night. Never again will I let anyone wonder what’s in my heart.

You inspired joy. You lived courageously. You taught friendship. Not just to me, but to thousands during your earthly life, and to thousands afterward. In fact, I believe that somehow the story of your life and how you lived changed the heart of the man who ended your life.

Even though you’ve got better things to do these days in eternal glory, I know you still love me, too. Ironically, your life helped fill the hole in my heart after you were gone.

My bestest friend in the whole, wide world…that’s what we called each other…and that’s always how I’ll remember you.

Happy Birthday!

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Today would have been the 34th birthday of Tracie Joy McBride, my best friend from high school. Her life was cut tragically short when she was abducted, raped and murdered in February 1995. Her life profoundly changed many lives, including my own. After 14 years of reflection, I’ve finally been able to articulate how her life contributed to my own life, and how it contributes more to it every single day. I hope that the lessons I learned from her life can be lessons for you as well…Tracie would’ve wanted it that way.