The things that make me feel able

 

Hi, Friends. I've been working my way through a set of 52 lists, and I've been stopped in my tracks for months at this one:

 

List #13: List the things in your life you are actually able to control

 

Why?

 

Because I hate talking about control.

 

I don't believe I really have any, to be honest. I think God's in charge. I mean, I am aware of how my body feels and what my thoughts sound like in my head and how my emotions feel in my chest, and I know that I make decisions about what to eat, and how many times to press snooze and who to call "friend," etc. etc. and that all these things affect how my life turns out. I don't feel like a robot being controlled by a remote. I feel like I make decisions that have consequences, good and bad.

 

But I also think that everything in my life is a gift, and that Someone's watching over me, no matter what I eat, no matter how many times I press snooze, no matter who I call "friend."

 

I totally understand, for the sake of conversation, that I could say: "I have control over picking out what I wear today, but I don't have control over whether this airplane lands safely on the ground."

 

I mean, I get that.

 

It's still just not my favorite conversation to have. I just don't care to pick apart this concept of control. What can I say? I wasn't a philosophy major for a reason.

 

So neither is this my favorite prompt, amongst these lists so far, either.

 

So I'm trying to reframe it.

 

What about this?:

 

List the things in your life that make you feel able.

 

Ahh, that's better.

 

OK, let's get started:

• Writing.
• Listening to my friends in crisis, and offering advice if they request it.
• Pulling through, being kind, and getting things done (even tiny things) on a difficult emotional day.
• Lifting weights.
• Speaking publicly.
• Explaining something to someone.
• Remaining calm in a stressful situation, particularly when someone is choosing to be mean.
• Conquering an athletic feat.
• When I set a goal and meet it.

That seems like a rather meager list. :/ But I don't know that I walk around feeling particularly incapable of things. My self esteem could use a boost these days, sure, but I've been working on that, and making progress.

 

Anyway, I'm glad we steered away from the control stuff. Because that's annoying. I hope you're feeling able today.

How I feed myself

 

I don't love to eat.

 

Sure, sometimes a basket of hot fries is brought to my table, and I dip the day's stress into vinegary ketchup, chatting as fast as I can with a girlfriend, gobbling down strips of potatoes who so selflessly gave their lives so that I could have this moment of salty, wonderful goodness, punctuated by the laughter of me and whatever awesome friend is sitting across from me.

 

In those moments I can raise a glass to potatoes and Idaho and all that.

 

But to be honest I'm more focused on the glass. I've always been more of a beverage person. I feel like the most common complaint you hear from children is: "I'm hungry!" but I don't remember saying that to my parents for most of my childhood. (And not just because I was so lucky to never have to be hungry as a child).

 

I do have vivid memories, though, of coming inside from riding my bike in the driveway, pressing a giant plastic cup against the fridge's ice dispenser, watching frozen blocks fill the space inside, then impatiently waiting for the tiny stream of filtered water to fall into enough of the glass so I could yank it away from the spout and pull it to my greedy mouth.

 

For most of my child and adult life, I've always had a beverage close, but food has always been an afterthought. I forget to eat. I make myself eat so that my moods don't fall off a cliff. I don't eat for the fun of it. As my friend Courtney says, I eat to live.

 

Jill asked me to write about how I feed myself, and to be honest the prompt has my head reeling. I feel like there's so much to say, and it's all over the place and wow I don't eat vegetables!

 

Well I've sat with my thoughts for a while here, and I've tried to organize myself a bit. So here come some headings, in bold. Look out, friends. Grab a snack, and enjoy the ride.

 

1. I am the queen of snacks, and all things processed.

 

The vast, vast majority of what I eat comes from a box or bag. I make excellent Kraft mac 'n cheese, and I have purchased many bags of Cool Ranch Doritos at gas stations for emotional support. I do currently have some vegetables in my freezer, but I haven't heated them up recently.

 

2. I love to feed others more than I love to feed myself.

 

I don't say this as an overarching metaphor for who I am as a person. But I really do enjoy cooking for other people. I love cooking for Alex, whom I call my Enthusiastic Eater. He is the most excited, appreciative audience for my lentils and curries. I do it very rarely, but I really do love making soup, or tacos, or rice and beans for friends, and hearing them gush and ask for seconds. I love playing the mother hen.

 

3. When I do cook, I go for the extreme (ish).

 

I almost always follow recipes with a Middle Eastern or African bent. I don't do this to be some cosmopolite show-off, but because I really enjoy the flavors, and the more I can get excited about the food, the more likely I am to follow through with the actual preparation of it. Sometimes things flop, but luckily, a lot of things turn out really well. Some faves are here and here.

 

4. I crave a full table.

 

(This is a metaphor for who I am as a person.) My family of six always ate dinner together. I didn't realize until high school that this was considered strange by some of my friends, and it was at that point that I began to consider it laudable. That was a lot of work for my parents, both working full time, to come home and assemble a meal and all their kids around a table for 30 minutes. With this as my base, I don't think I've ever recovered, and I think honestly this is why I struggle to eat like a "normal" person as a single adult. Since I'm never crowded around a loud table, with several people trying to get a story in edgewise, eating just never feels right, I guess. Which explains a lot, I think.

 

5. I admit it: I eat in bed.

 

Yeah. Like pretty much all the time. Unless I'm over at Alex's, where we eat on the couch. I only eat at tables when I'm at a restaurant (and I request a booth when I can).

 

6. I eat like a distractible bird.

 

I have a hard time finishing a bagel, Friends. This comes back to the eating alone thing. I always have TV or music going, or I'm writing or talking on the phone while I'm eating, because I can't bring myself to just sit and only eat. So unless I'm feeling ravenous (ironically, a raven is a bird), I just peck at things and forget that they're there.

 

7. I guess I'm a weird eater, but I think most of us probably are?

 

For as much lack of ritual and routine I have with my eating, I feel like there are others who are irrationally tied to theirs when it comes to food. I don't know. I guess, in writing about this, I've realized this is more complicated than I thought. I didn't feel the need to break down and cry, but I also realized that there is more emotion underneath the macaroni noodles and the Dorito crumbles than I thought. Eating is something I like to rush through or past or around, and that wasn't always the case. I feel like maybe I should work on that, since I have to do it for a long time yet.

 

What about you? How do you feed yourself?

Prayers: I love you.

I finally got a Loren hug today. It had been a few weeks -- we just kept missing each other.

Philip walked Luise down from the communion rail, because someone always offers Luise an elbow to hold for support. It's one of my favorite things about Bethel.

I sat in the back, with Sam and Aaron. We giggled some. Well, me and Sam did. Aaron should be protected, as the innocent person that he is.

I went to the grocery store after church, always an act of bravery. I wore my headphones, my new coping skill for grocery shopping. It helps tremendously.

Max is passed out next to me in bed right now. I'm going to try and tinker with a poem that I've been tinkering with for so long that I figure it's either a) slowly, slowly getting better or b) just not good.

I started my Sunday where I start most Sundays: in my office, at Panera, writing prayers. For the church I love. To bring us all a little hope, and happiness, and peace. Pray along with us if you please.

Xox

For another day of life, we give thanks. For a chance to be caught off guard by laughter. To eat potato chips with our bestie. To take a nap, or maybe catch up on laundry, if folding things into colorful squares, hot from the dryer, helps to soothe us. We thank you for this week, for a day off from work to celebrate the freedoms we have in this nation. Freedom to speak the things on our hearts, freedom to vote for our leaders and policies, and above all, freedom to worship You without fear. May you continue to hold Bethel and all houses of worship up as safe havens, where people can rest their tired hearts, unload their heavy minds, and hear a voice that says, “You. I love you.”

For those of us who are down on ourselves today, lift our chins. Lift us from the land of self-punishment, rinse the mud from our legs where it’s caked because we’ve pushed ourselves down into it for so long. Remind us that we were not made to lie with the hogs in the barn, but you have set a place at your table to break bread with you. Let us know, deep in our bones, that we don’t have to hide from you the disappointment we feel when we snap at our kids, when another year goes by and we didn’t get that promotion. Let us know we can talk to you, always and forever, and you will pour more wine and say, “You. I love you.”

We ask this morning for continued peace in our city, our country, and our world. With missile tests and airstrikes, with homelessness and temperatures both on the rise, it is hard to know which way is up. May we continue to be moved as a congregation in the direction of social justice, to follow Your word and fight for the underdog. May we not be afraid of downtown, may we not be afraid of downtown traffic. May we not be afraid of that part of our heart that’s afraid of the stranger, the neighbor, the fellow child of God. May we not be afraid to go to them and tell them: “You. We love you.”

Now for the hard part. When we look in the mirror. When we confess to our therapist. When we apologize to our sibling for our years of silence. When we eat allll the leftover pie. When we look at our vision board and see our visions are still just cut out pieces of paper, and we still don’t have the dream job or the dream boyfriend or the dream house. When we write in our journal and tears fall hot on the pages, obscuring our words even as we’re trying to make sense of those. Help us. Let us know, with all your out-of-this-world power, that you CAN and WILL help us. You will lift us, and take us to that glass, splintered by our shame. You will lock our eyes with our reflection, and open our mouths, and help us say the words to ourselves: “You. I love you.”

As we go into this week, may we all feel some true love from somebody out there in this giant space. Whether it’s our kiddo, our spouse, our friend in Boston, our hilarious coworker – may we all feel wrapped up in some cozy human comfort. And like a double rainbow, may we not miss it when it happens. May we rush outside, call others to join us, to look and see! Let us feel the relief of the stressful storm behind us, the cool humid air holding us aloft, recognizing the miracle that someone is saying to us and we get to say in return: “You. I love you.”

An open letter to my 15-year-old self

Dear Bailey,

Hi. :) This is you, 17 years in the future. You write a blog now and you're sitting here on your boyfriend's couch googling (that term will make more sense in about two years) writing prompts, and one that you came across is the idea to write an open letter to your 15-year-old self. 

That seemed intriguing to me/you, so I thought I'd roll with it and see what I might have to say to myself/you in the past. It might not "make a difference," but then again, it might, to present me. 

So let's see. 15...So you live in St. Louis. You're a sophomore. You have braces, and you tend to go for the glow-in-the-dark bands because that's just plain fun. You've never been kissed, not even close. You have a sizable crush on Devin. You're on the track team, which was a brave thing to do. You also did the pit orchestra for the musical. You've really put yourself out there this year, even though it's only your second year in this new school, this new city, this new state, new friends, new everything. Good for you. 

Well I can go ahead and tell you that you're moving again next year, because you already know that. You know that Dad's going to finish his schooling at seminary and he'll get his assignment for his year-long vicarage placement. I won't tell you where, though, because that's cheating and you'll find out soon enough anyway. 

Bails, more boys have crushes on you than you think. They'll tell you eventually, after the fact. Inconvenient, I know, but it'll feel good to hear it all the same. 

I know you won't believe me, so I won't consider this a big reveal of your future, but you will eventually like chick flick movies. I know you haaaaaate them now, but someday they'll actually be your go-to genre. 

I know. 

You're also going to wear dresses. 

And make up. 

I know. 

You're going to do some things you didn't think you'd ever do, but some things about you will never change. 

Right now you're having a hard time getting along with your brother, but that won't last forever. In fact, your rough patch with him is gonna end pretty soon and you guys are gonna be great again. 

Life is going to feel like a swing from one extreme to its opposite, to be honest, a lot of the time. There will be seasons that you'll be totally at ease, going with the flow, and then there will be times when your anxiety turns everything into something to fear. You'll be really stressed and over-scheduled for months, and then all of a sudden you'll be bored. Some of this is your Brewer blood, some of it's your personal chemistry, some of it's just being human. 

Sorry.

But here's something I can tell you. You're, like, super tough. (You also haven't kicked your habit of using "like" as conversational filler at the ripe age of 32.)

(Sorry.)

But seriously, though. On some of your hardest, darkest days, those are the days, Bailey Kathleen, that you're going to pull through with the most gladiator strength. I'm from your future, I've lived it, so I can tell you this for sure. 

I feel like I'm probably frightening you, talking about dark days and anxiety and make up. Let's talk about some of the good things coming your way. 

Bails, you're gonna have some of the BEST people come into your life. I won't tell you their names, because I know how much you love surprises, but you also know how hard it is for you/me to keep secrets, so I am going to give you initials:

N, M, C, C, L -- to name abbreviate a few. 

And A. 

You're gonna whine a lot about the homework -- like, a lot -- but you're gonna love college. All that self-consciousness of being the new kid (twice! Agh!) in high school is going to melt right off of you. Like buttah, my sweet girl. Like buttah on the hottest Kansas day you can imagine, disappearing into the crevices of a perfect ear of corn. 

In fact, this shedding of shyness is going to turn into a full on talking-to-strangers epidemic and it's going to serve you in some great ways, so never ease up on that urge to mingle. Just go for it. Always go for it and enjoy the heck out of it!

Oh! Those DC Talk CDs you have? Hootie and the Blowfish? Selena? 

Guess what? You still have all of those. And they're hardly scratched. Pretty cool, huh?

You're a music FREAK, and concerts are now your favorite thing. 

You also still have your troll doll collection, but you're thinking of selling it. 

I'll let it remain a mystery whether you're going to kiss your crush, Devin, but I will tell you that he is going to do something very sweet for you that will give you a story to tell for a lifetime. 

***

Bails, very, very, very little in your life is going to feel chronological, or logical. You're going to feel different a lot. You're going to love that a lot of the time, sometimes even feel arrogant about it, but wade cautiously into such waters. When you isolate yourself too much into being one-of-a-kind, you can find yourself feeling very alone. 

When you start to feel pangs (hint: you'll feel these around your mid-twenties) to join into seemingly boring group activities, go for it. We were made for community. Just trust me on this. You won't lose Bailey by being in a group. You need those other people. 

Anyway, almost everything is going to feel a little off. OK, fine. A LOT off. Prom, graduations, dating, your career. I mean, I hardly even need to tell you this. You're already in your third school district/state, and you're only 15, for crying out loud. 

Oh, speaking of crying, you're gonna become a cryyyyyBABY. But you've got some time. The waterworks won't kick in until after college. 

You're going to look around, over and over, and you're going to feel like everyone else has a schedule, a plan, reinforcements, and that you don't. 

If I can tell you one thing, though, it's this: you have all of those things, too. They just may not seem so obvious. But in hindsight, they will look like the mightiest of mighties. They'll be different from everyone else's, but they'll be yours. And you'll get to tell the stories of how these mighties landed in your life -- the people, the experiences, the connections. You'll love telling stories so much you'll decide to write as a hobby. 

Yeah, I know. Weird. 

Like I said, life isn't going to seem logical. So buckle up, Bucket.* Be open to what can come your way, even if it seems unfair, or scary. Your prom may not look like anyone else's prom, but it's an experience you can have if you want to at least try, and let me just suggest that more often than not you should do what you can to have an experience rather than wonder what it would have been like to have one. (And hey, Devin might be involved in that prom thing, so maybe you should go after that). 

All righty, I think I've talked your ear off long enough, and you're probably a little freaked out reading something from the future, so I'll sign off so you can go process that. 

Xoxoxoxox,

Your older, still blonde, still cat-obsessed Self

*For those who don't know, this is my Dad's nickname for me, since birth. Bucket, like a bailing bucket, to bail water. Like Bailey. 

Prayers -- Love is greater than fear

Max got a bath this week. That was fun. He was so stressed out that he was panting (between the excessive and dramatic bouts of yowling). He's forgiven me, as evidenced by at least two 20-minutes-or-longer-on-the-lap snuggle sessions. He is napping as I type, and all is good in his catterhood. 

I had my own anxiety, though not bath related, this week, and I breathed through it and came out the other side. Today my pastor Scott preached about love being greater than fear, and we talked about that great Bible verse that says, (oh yeah I forgot, again): "perfect love drives out fear." 

I sat there in a back pew worrying and relaxing and worrying and relaxing and every once in a while thinking, "Bails, are you actually listening? Try and focus on the loooooove, to dispel some of that worry."

Anyway. 

There were hugs. There was a perfect temperature outside. There was no rush. There was catching up with some people I haven't seen in quite a while. There was me in my red hoodie, looking like Elliott from E.T. 

I got a spicy chicken sandwich on the way home, and ate it while watching One Day at a Time, which I love love. Then I journaled and now I'm over here, dropping today's prayers off for you to pray along if you so desire.

Thanks for being here in the world with us. Thanks for being you. For being funny, for being creative, for being quiet, for being loud, for liking pictures of my cat on Instagram. Much love to you all. May the temperature be temperate for you this week, and may you be well. 

Xox

For another morning to awake, though we may be weary, let us say thanks. For the delicious layer of light grey you pulled over our heads this morning, to give us a break from the 100 degree days and hopefully quiet some of the rat race in our heads, let us say thanks. While our American minds are inclined to think of all the things we didn’t accomplish this week, let us pause for a moment to count the things that did happen for us. Prescriptions that were automatically refilled, a load of laundry done, a very consternated cat who was more or less successfully bathed. For all this and more, we say gracias, danke, thank you.

As we say thank you, the reality is that all kinds of anxiety may still be coursing through the bodies in these cushioned rows of seats. It may seem at every turn we are diapering another baby, taking another desperate phone call from our grown kid, or maybe we’re the one always making the desperate phone call. We thank you that for whatever reason we have felt called to come rest in these pews, to turn our eyes and voices to You. And we thank You for each other; may we continue to be Support with a capital S; to wrap up and sway in grief together and to squeal over shiny engagement rings and pregnant bellies. And to pray and sing through it all.

For the many moving parts of this church, we pray that you keep them well-nurtured and loved. For the ministries at Penny Lane and the San Fernando Valley Rescue Mission, who help our neighbors feel less alone. For our preschool, which takes the tiniest but most robust minds and grows them to live purposefully to love in this world that needs all the love it can get. For our safe campus where other faith communities, Al Anon, and Financial Peace groups can meet to work on all the nooks and crannies of their hearts throughout the week. We ask that you lift up all of these, along with our loyal staff and volunteers who send emails, unlock gates, and light candles so that we are never in the dark here at home.

It is no secret that there is much to fear in this life. If it were easy, we maybe wouldn’t be spending our Sunday mornings here. But one of the most beautiful things that brings us inside these doors is Your word, and one of the most timeless passages from that mysterious book says that perfect love drives out fear. Guide us this week, when we are crippled with the thought that we will have no love life, to think of the downright incredible friends you’ve put in our lives. When the credit card statement stack is about to topple, send us rushing to our daughter for a hug. Make us look her in the eyes, and as we focus on the speckles of green and blue, let us get lost in love, and let our fear get lost. As we hold our people in love, hold us in yours.

As you send us out today, may we each feel precious, and valuable, and oh so loved. It is so easy to tear ourselves down, but you designed us to be great. If we are scared to start that business venture, to ask that girl out, to buy that canvas at Michaels and slap some paint on it, give us the courage. Let us know that you will be right there with us, your big giant God fingers laced between ours. Help us to trust that if we make a misstep you will reset our footing. And if our feet get dusty, cracked, and blistered, you will rinse all the wear and tear right off, pour on your best perfume, and, always, call us Yours.