The Captivating Woman

Designed with purpose.

Be Brave, Trust Jesus, Repeat.

Be brave.

If I could tag that on every wall in my house, write it on all of my mirrors, and ink it on my skin, I think I would.
Be. Brave.
Not living a life devoid of fear, but choosing to live boldly in spite of it. To look the things that scare me – with my sweaty palms, racing heart and anxious nausea – straight in the face, and step out into big, hard things anyway. Anxiety is crippling if you let it be and if you aren’t aware enough of your own triggers and reactions, you can spiral hard and fast and be miserable and not know how you got there.

It’s also rather talkative if you know what you are listening for. It whispers that you are so much safer here, in this little sterile bubble. You don’t need to have that hard conversation, set boundaries and hold people accountable to them, love people when it’s hard and you want to quit, keep showing up when it’s not easy to be there, or have the courage to finally walk away when there isn’t any more you can give to a thing. It whispers that you aren’t enough to be brave. Or bold. Or courageous. Because even if you manage to make it look like you are, it’s only a matter of time until someone comes in and exposes you as a fraud.

And it all feels so true. So the terror that arises from the fear of being exposed encloses us into these little boxes that are all at once comforting and suffocating. These boxes that leave us afraid, restless and resentful, because we know that other people are living and breathing and free, and we have no idea how to be them. We chalk it up to the idea that those people, those people who are doing big and exciting and terrifying things are just brave people. There are two groups then, the brave and those of us who are terrified of situations whose odds we can’t stack in our favor.
Except that if the last couple of years have taught me anything, it’s that there aren’t brave people and terrified people. Well…there are, but it’s not because of the inherent differences in people. Brave people are still often anxious and terrified. Because bravery isn’t embodied as those who are never scared.

Bravery is the people who are scared and anxious and refuse to stay home in their little safe boxes, even though the whispering voice of anxiety says they should.

You, whoever and wherever you are, can be brave. If I were to guess, most of you show glimpses of it every day. Every time you do something that makes your stomach clench, or that makes your heart pound when faced with it. It is not something you have to fake, because bravery may be the most genuine thing that exists on this planet.
I’m going to say that again, because goodness gracious it needs to be heard:
You do not need to fake bravery. If you are faking it, I would go so far as to say that it’s not actually brave.
Bravery acknowledges that you are fearful and anxious and unsure, you are just determined enough to take the chance anyway. You are brave when you admit to someone that you are terrified and need help. Or that you failed and need forgiveness and to make amends. Or when you show up again to things that you have failed at before.

Bravery and vulnerability are the kind of best friends that you rarely, if ever, see separated.

When you are brave, you are almost always also in positions to be vulnerable. And when we divorce them, we cheapen bravery somehow.

This stance has forced me to re-evaluate what definition I give to vulnerability. I used to think it was getting up on a stage or platform and telling the horrors of the mistakes of my past to a collection of friends, family and relative strangers. By airing every piece of dirty laundry that I’ve ever had, even when it felt like rubbing salt in road-rash – I was being vulnerable. And I hated it.

That is a brand of vulnerability, most definitely. And sometimes, I’d even say that the Lord asks that of us. But 99% of the time, the way I now define vulnerability is radically different.

It looks like asking for what I need (which is different from the things I want) from the people I love.

It looks like showing up to places and relationships and letting myself be seen, even when I feel woefully inadequate, undesirable and useless.

It looks like valuing people and relationships more than my desire to appear together.

It looks like inviting people who have earned it into the parts of me I’m not proud of – both to hold it with me and to keep me accountable.

It looks like asking for help when I know I’m spiraling, reaching out for wise counsel and therapy when I see myself honestly and recognize what I have defined as normal is not always healthy.

It’s so much smaller to the outside observer, but it’s an every day practice. It’s also really difficult, scary and easy to do poorly.

Do you see why bravery and vulnerability are best friends? That kind of vulnerability requires so much bravery. So much. It also requires so much grace. Because when we do things that are bigger than us, or involve interacting with other people, or taking chances on things that are uncertain, we are bound to fail. I could say we may only fail a few times until we get it all figured out, or until we really embrace Christianity…but that would be a lie. That’s a tenant of the fake it until you make it ideology.

 

The reality is that this life is riddled with failure and missteps and missing the mark. Granted, the kind of sin and failure we experience may look different with Jesus than without Him…but we still fall and fail. Often. And so we rest in grace. Even though it’s uncomfortable, and makes us feel useless to God, we are called to rest in it. And then to admit that we feel lacking and are scared, and to be willing to stare that fear in the face and show up anyway. And then, just as we think we may have found the balancing point, we trip and need forgiveness and grace. And it begins again. We need to be brave, be vulnerable and be utterly dependent on grace. And then do it all over again, and again, and again.

That is bravery. At least this brand of it.

It’s scary, and difficult, and riddled with doing it wrong until you don’t. And doing it right until you don’t, and clinging to grace like a life raft because it’s our unshakable security. It’s worth doing, even when that little voice whispers that it isn’t.

Be brave. Trust Jesus. Repeat.

DIY Shower Cleaner

I have a love/hate relationship with cleaning my bathroom. I love having it clean and sparkly, and I know way too much about the bacteria that want to grow in there to leave it for too long. Clorox wipes are my best friend for wiping down my sink and vanity area, and I have a set system for keeping the floors, mirrors and toilet clean. The shower is where I notoriously have trouble. For a long time, no system worked that was affordable and quick.

When I already don’t have enough time to get everything on my to-do list done in a given week, chores that take significant time can easily get pushed off another week. This may have translated to weeks (months) where I rinsed what I saw, but I didn’t deep clean my shower more than taking a Clorox wipe to the bottom.

Like any good believer in retail therapy and the wonders of sales at Ulta, I have a thousand and one shampoos, conditioners, hair masques, body washes, lotions, scrubs and other products that take up too much space in my shower. And admittedly, they often like to find their way in little globs on the shower itself or on the shower curtain. I have discovered the hard way that if you don’t catch them in time, that stuff will harden and it takes a pickax to get it off all of the way.
That is, until I discovered the wonders of Blue Dawn Soap and Vinegar. I’m sure there are other products that do the same thing, and you’ll often pay a decent amount for them, but guys. Seriously. Blue dawn (and don’t ask me why that works better than another color/smell of dawn but it really does) and normal old white vinegar can clean anything from my bathtub.
 
I buy one of those dish scrubbers, you know the ones that have the spot in the handle for the soap with the sponge on the end?
I take that and fill it half and half with the BD and Vinegar. Turn it over a couple of times to mix it up, and scrub away. I have to touch nothing but the handle (because let’s be real, that’s the grossest part), I’m not dealing with anything crazy chemical wise, it makes it smell fresh and clean when it’s done, and that stuff cuts through grease and my little globbies that want to take up residence. Though you may have to work at it a little depending on the product, how long it’s been living there, etc.
Sometimes (though be careful not to splash it up on yourself) I even go ahead and clean it while I’m still in the shower. And when I’m finished, I’m clean, my shower is clean and I don’t have to give it a second thought.
It’s less than $5 (depending on sizes, brands and what you already have on hand) and it lasts for a long time, making a cleaner that works.
Great life choice in my book.
Disclaimer: Depending on the quality of scrub brush you buy, some of the liquid mix may spill out when it’s being stored. I leave mine on the lip of my tub and whenever I use it, I just rinse the BD and vinegar away. I’ve never stored it on anything that wasn’t able to be washed, so I can’t speak for that, but if you’ve never used that kind of brush before – know that it can leak a little. I just take it as par for the course with that tool, and keep on keeping on.

Sufficient Grace

I have a confession to make: I am terrible at grace. 

Terrible at accepting it, terrible at resting in it, terrible at trusting that it really is sufficient, terrible at being quick to extend it to others.

I don’t know that I struggle with anything in the Christian sphere like I do grace. How much is enough, how generous with it do I really have to be? At what point is the God of the Old Testament going to make the ground open up and swallow the crazies? At what point am I going to fail for the thousand and 1th time and discover that grace was sufficient up until a point, but I have officially used all of my life. At what point should we be calling people out on their sin and bad choices because Romans is pretty explicit about the fact that we shouldn’t continue to sin so that grace may abound all that much more freely.

I want to expect perfection from myself. I want to be known for always getting the job done, exactly right, and on time. I want to have perfect grades so people will love me and look at my academic career with a little bit of awe and jealousy. I want to always be right in my interactions with people. I want to feel like the righteous one, who doesn’t really need grace, because grace makes me uncomfortable.

It’s the blank check that leaves way too much unanswered. I need boundaries. I need an end to how much forgiveness I can expect, so I can make sure to always stay just this side of the okay line. I need to be able to tailor my behavior enough that I don’t accidentally wander out of the fold. I need control. And grace takes every bit of the control I crave, and responds with:

“My grace is sufficient for you, and my power is made perfect in your weakness.”

It doesn’t give me a free pass to do whatever I want with no repercussions. Laws of nature still exist, laws of the land still exist. I can (and do) still hurt people with my words and behaviors when I focus too much on what I want, need and am trying to accomplish. Grace instead looks at me and says, “That was a crappy thing to do. The honorable thing to do would be to make it right, and not do it again – but regardless of what you do next: you are more loved and treasured than you can even begin to understand or calculate.”

It’s the reminder, when I’m the woman who meets Jesus at the well thinking I’ve done a really good job at hiding the shameful things, that I’m seen and truly known – and the One who sees and truly knows still wants me. That One is still claiming me, for the world to see, even when I’m the prostitute washing His feet with my tears and drying it with my hair. That One who heard me loudly exclaim that I would never deny Him, only to then listen to me deny Him not once but three times, still places a call, that is infinitely bigger and more wonderful than I deserve, firmly upon my life.

It’s the knowledge that on my own, I am entirely capable of being selfish, arrogant, prideful, lustful, jealous, quick to anger, spiteful, unforgiving, unkind and vengeful – and am still somehow found worthy of love. And because I have been given worth and identity that far exceeds what I deserve, I am not defined by or stuck in any of those things.

It’s the gentle nudge, when my first instinct is to be angered or disappointed that someone let me down, that they are doing the best they can and deserve just as much grace as I do. The small voice that reminds me that I can’t begin to give enough grace to others until I can trust that there is more than enough for me. That reminds me that to love like Jesus means to go to my grave giving so much more of grace away than anyone can expect. And is quick to remind me that when I fail at that, over and over, I am still called worthy and loved by the Creator of the Universe. By grace embodied. By the One who coaxes me up from each and every fall, every face plant into the dirt, with gentle words that comfort me and remind me that this is not the end of my story. Who waits patiently with me while I get up and brush off the dust, before encouraging me to try again, to keep going.

It’s the driving force behind any ability of mine to be gracious, kind, patient, forgiving, selfless, honorable and loving when it isn’t easy or convenient to feel that way. It models what true, real, lasting love looks like. Because I was first so loved, I too can love. It strips the power from the fear that wants to swoop in, because I am firm on my foundation and sure of my worth and value.

I may fail, I may fall, I may lose respect, esteem and the popular opinion – but I cannot lose grace. I cannot fall too fast or too far to be outside of His reach, or beyond what grace can redeem.

Settling For Normal

“I know that you aren’t fearless, but the fact that you routinely set your sights on things that are big and a little bit outlandish, even when they scare you, is one of the things I love most about you. It’s one of the traits that I’m most proud of you for.”

So said my mother last week. It may have been the very best compliment I’ve received from anyone, ever.

Bravery is so hard. It gets even harder when we give fear more power in our lives than we should. Fear is one of those things that multiplies when left alone in the dark, and takes root much more broadly than it first appears. Kind of like mint. Mint is delicious, and I love having fresh mint on hand for things, but if you put it in the ground, you had better be vigilant about making sure that sucker doesn’t spread. It has these creeper vines that just move outward from where it’s planted, and when you see those vines spreading, you can bet they’ve already put down roots to wherever they’ve gone. And from there it keeps getting bigger, and taking over more space and sending out even more vines that set down roots until every available amount of space is covered – both above and below ground.

I may have been naive in my assumption, but I never thought of myself as a fearful person. Sure, social interaction when I don’t know at least 3 people in the room freaked me out, public speaking, anything where people can weigh in on my performance and by default my ability, singing the melody freaked me out if I’m flying solo, having too many people look at me, being alone in the dark, being vulnerable and having my attempts at connection rejected, failure in general, letting down the people I care about, giving bad advice…and probably a good amount more.

I think for a long time I avoided as many of the above situations as humanly possible, I kept the “mint” as contained as I thought I could, but I missed out on the fact that there was an entire network system under the surface that was alive and well. I am part of a generation that often wears anxiety disorders and insecurity like a badge of honor, and it becomes so much easier to write it off as normal, rather than address the fact that it may not be healthy. I was plenty brave in the things I was willing to let Jesus into, but kept a tight grip on the parts I’d rather not deal with. It became something I didn’t even need to pray about really, unless I was in the thick of an extremely difficult situation, because it was my normal. Normal and healthy are not interchangeable. Normalcy is not the same thing as wholeness. And I wonder if, like me, many Christians settle for their “normal” rather than running to Jesus to be made whole.

If that is the case, I have news for you friends: Jesus doesn’t call us to things that don’t scare us. It’s just not the way He operates. Frankly, it should scare us, because we can’t do it properly when we do it by ourselves, and relinquishing control is always a scary thing.

I want a life that is so much bigger than just me, but that won’t happen if I keep letting my fear convince me that Jesus smaller than He is. When has He ever cut and run, leaving me to deal with it myself? Never. When has He ever let a situation break me? Never. When has He ever asked me to let go of something that didn’t ultimately benefit me? Never.

So why do I instinctively respond as if He has? Why do I resort to such a pitiful attempt at self-protection that all I end up doing is hiding from things that I know I’ve been called to do? I want to live bravely, and be known as one who did things that scared her, even if they sometimes crashed and burned along the way. I want to respond with trust in the fact that Jesus routinely calls us out on the water, even though it’s weird, hard, scary and uncomfortable when we are in the thick of it.

Lord, make me braver than I feel right now. Even if the fear never fully dissipates, let me trust You enough to step out of the boat anyway. I trade my normal for your wholeness. Call me to scary things, and teach me to respond with trust before I have a chance to freak out about the details. Put me in situations where I have to talk about what you’re doing, even though I can’t fully explain it or my role in it. Make this life about so much more than just me, draw me deeper and reveal more of yourself to me. Let me be overwhelmed with thankfulness, quick to repent, quick to forgive and firm in my faith in you.

The Lost Art of Confession

 Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective. – James 5:16

My junior year of college, I found myself in the midst of a frustrating dilemma. I had unknowingly crossed over from feeling spiritually fed in my college fellowship, into a place where I was a leader and wasn’t there to be taught, but there to pour into other people. I had to start self-feeding if I wanted to continue to see growth in my own life.

I was admittedly at a loss.

One of the beautiful things about your first couple of years in a college town is that relationships with other people, especially once you’ve found a church, require little to no intentionality. The entire environment is largely conducive to making friendships almost by accident. You make friends with classmates, with people you intern with, with people on your floor, with people who go to your fellowship, with people who work with, with people who are routinely at the gym/dining commons/laundry room the same time you are – pretty much everywhere if you’re open to it. There wasn’t much about that season of my life that was intentional, I often jokingly refer to it as the EAC (which, if you’ve seen Finding Nemo, is this big current that if you can hop on to, takes you incredibly far without any real effort from you).

And then all of a sudden, I was booted out of the EAC. For the first time in my relatively young adult life, if I wanted growth and connection, I had to ask for it. I had to make time for it. And while I balked at that at first, once I reached out to a couple of friends who I knew were in similar places, we found a pretty large group of girls who were praying for the exact same thing. It was like the cartoon light bulb had been switched on over our heads: we schemed, planned and excitedly dreamt up what we would study, where we’d meet, and what God would do.

We didn’t even come close to dreaming big enough.

We had planned to meet for the first time just before Christmas break ended, except that meant that only about half of the girls who had expressed interest were able to show up, myself included. So the next week, when we were all finally able to be there, my friend Sara had the idea to go around do introductions. Again, in a town where everything revolves around the university, this is not a new thing. Your second day in the dorms your freshman year, you’ve pretty much got the “name, major, where you’re from, and random fact” narrative down pat. You repeat it a lot. It’s not actually vulnerable at all, nor does it require really connecting with anyone, but it gives you something to answer with your TA’s ask it every quarter, or you’re in a study group, or new at a fellowship.

Sara’s introduction went for the kill. Instead of the blasé 3 line introduction, she said, “Tell me your story” and then launched into 10 minutes of genuine vulnerability. Then Amanda went, and if anything went more deeply into vulnerability. And for the next 3 hours, we told each other the ugly, bumpy, broken parts of who we were. 12 of us bared our souls in the most terrifying, tear-filled night of my life.

I had gotten really good at doing this fake brand of vulnerability, the church version of the “name, major, where you’re from and random fact”, and the real thing made me want to throw up. I hated it. I actively avoided it. I engaged in fake vulnerability, which for me, looks like sharing things that God has already done and fixed, so I could say “look at this big, messy thing that isn’t actually a problem for me anymore”, and pretend that I was being real with my struggles.  And here I was, in this bible study I had prayed for, planned for and helped to organize…and I couldn’t escape it.

I could probably do an entire series on what made that night at bible study so life changing. We were all empathetic and kind with the stories the rest of the group felt the most shame for. Being gracious in response, being genuine and kind, when someone has had the courage to share the parts of themselves they’d rather forget existed…is one of the most life-giving things you can do for another person. It cuts the shame that’s waiting in the wings to swoop in and beat them up, off at the knees. We were all a little bit desperate for community, which put us in a unique place to be willing to go further than we might have otherwise to get it. We were all invested with parts of us we weren’t proud of, so it didn’t feel like anybody walked away holding all of the cards. We were meant to be in that apartment in East Davis that night, and like Esther, I honestly believe we were all in the position we were for such a time as that.

We definitely weren’t perfect. And I wouldn’t even say that three years later, we are all even still the kind of friends that we were in that season. But it was the best bible study I’ve ever been in. I’ve never witnessed the Lord do signs and wonders and miracles like I did in that 8 months and I formed some of the best friendships I’ve ever had in my life. Not just because they were exceptionally wonderful girls, (which they really were) but because in that night, we confessed our sins and shame to one another, and we found healing. It wasn’t all instantaneous (though my friend Katie was completely healed from arthritis just a few hours later) but healing from physical, emotional, mental and spiritual wounds reverberated through the group and touched each one of us.

There is so much power in bringing somebody else into your pit. Into the parts of you that are ugly and hard. The voice in your head is convinced that if anybody else knew, they wouldn’t look at you the same. They would judge you, and then word would get out, and everyone would know. It’s the shame equivalent of those dreams where you go to school in your underwear and everyone points and laughs. But the reality of it is, when you trust Jesus in sharing those parts of you with other people He brings in front of you, there isn’t pointing and laughing. There’s grace. There’s acceptance of who you are, exactly where you are. There’s healing.

I wish I could say that everyone you’ve ever been tempted to tell a secret to would keep it. But I think we all know that that isn’t true, and is often a reason I’ve heard from girls as to why they can’t share the real stuff with people. And I do urge you to be selective. Don’t shout it from the rooftops unless the Lord has said very plainly to you, “Go, and shout it from the rooftops” (or in my case “Go, put it on the website”). But don’t let those experiences be what walls you in from vulnerability, real connection and being genuinely known by people who love you.

Vulnerability is scary. It’s hard and sometimes you wish you could stuff all of it back into your mouth once it’s out there. But I’ve never walked away from trusting the Lord, when he’s asked me to be vulnerable, more damaged. Ever. I’ve walked away so steeped in fear that I was convinced that everyone I’ve ever known would know and look at me differently, because the truth of it would spread like wildfire. I’ve walked away and hidden in my house for days because I was terrified of the world. I’ve walked away and wanted to cut off all connection with those people because now they know the real me, and I can’t pretend to have it all together. But each time, I’ve walked away a little more whole. With shame having a little less power. Trusting Jesus with my ugly and hard parts a little more. Finding a little more healing.

If I could give a single piece of advice that I believe would change your life, it would be to trust to Jesus in confession. Because you’re not alone, and the Lord isn’t the only one who will see the depths of how broken you are and love you anyway. Your life will be infinitely richer having let people in on who you are.

In the words of my favorite author Brene Brown:

“You are imperfect, you are wired for struggle, but you are worthy of love and belonging.”

Love and belonging require that we be real with who and where we are. That we have the courage to show up and let ourselves be seen. It can be one of the hardest things we decide to do and keep doing every day, but there is such sweet freedom in knowing that the people who know and love you, have seen the worst of you and aren’t running away.