the party of deep and wide: nurturing an atmosphere of growth

Posted on by August 11, 2022

My friends, here’s what I’ve learned over the last month or so:

The key to overcoming a fear of public speaking is to do it early in the morning, before you’re lucid enough to know you shouldn’t be standing in front of a bunch of people. Inhibitions are pretty low when you’re semi-conscious.

the party of deep and wide: nurturing an atmosphere of growth

It seems to be working. When I first heard about this class, I was torn between two gut urges.

One: God has been nudging me about speaking for the last couple of years, and this is an amazing opportunity to pursue it.

But also, two: Speaking in front of people and getting up early are equally miserable endeavors, akin to eating octopus while listening to terrible 80s music. Why would I put myself through that?

I almost didn’t. Too much work, too many things already going on, way the heck too early. I wasn’t sure I could operate a blinker that early in the morning, much less speak coherently in front of people.

But I knew I needed to. And when I argued with God about waiting until next year when the class was (maybe) offered again, He shot back, Hey Love, do you want to wait until next year for breakthrough, too? Oh yes, He did. So I stopped whining about it and signed up.

It’s something He’s told me to grow in. And growth is what we’re called to.

It’s a crazy vulnerable thing, though, standing in front of people, giving them your voice and your content, offering your perspective. It’s similar to writing here, but different in its aloud-ness – our very presence, standing in front of others, hoping they will be kind and gentle as we try not to make an idiot of ourselves.

But it’s a safe place. The people in there with me are old friends and new friends, and we all need encouragement, feedback, and grace. We’re not competing; we all want to do this better. Because none of us wants to look like an idiot when the time comes to be vulnerable.

We do the same thing with our social media, our relationship with people, our attendance in church, our efforts toward some Big Thing, or our approach to Jesus:

We clean up a little first. Not everything, of course, but just enough to look better than we are at the moment when inspiration strikes.

I should post that picture on Instagram…but I’ll straighten up the couch first.

I should go to church next Sunday…but I should try to stop swearing by Friday, first.

I want to invite those people over to dinner…but first, I need to rearrange the living room.

I want to write a book, but first I should brush up on grammar and spelling.

I’d love to reach out to that group…but they are more fill-in-the-blank (spiritual, educated, attractive, funny, gifted, whatever) than I am, so I want to be a little more fill-in-the-blank, too, first.

So I can fit in. So I don’t disappoint. So I’m good enough.

The internet is currently loaded with trendy articles about how ridiculous our culture is, haranguing the insincerity of a superficial society that merely puts up a good front. And to some degree, they’re right. Some of it is ridiculous.

But, you know what else? It’s normal. And…it’s also moderately healthy.

Record scratch. Yep, I heard it, too.

Hear me out. It’s not the insecurity or the desire to inflate our ego that is healthy. It’s the desire to grow, to be better than we currently are, to always pursue improvement. If our efforts are sincere and genuine, and not simply a façade to impress others, we are on the right track.

Do we only clean our house for our Instagram photos, or are we genuinely trying to be a better homekeeper, and this is part of our efforts?

Do we recognize we should behave better on a day-to-day basis, or are we just putting on a show around certain people?

Are we trying to prepare for a big new step, or are we just putting it off?

Are we inspired by others, or just trying to impress them?

Are we compelled to greater things by our friends, or are we just competing with them?

The articles and media try to fit us into one of two opposing camps: the unpretentious hot messes versus the polished, have-it-all-together types. But none of us are that black and white – we all excel in certain areas while faltering in others. We are pushing through challenges and learning.

I propose we draw a new party line.

We are the party of deep and wide: Growing. Leaning further in our giftings, and stretching into unfamiliar territory. Looking at ourselves with a holy discontent, grateful for our progress but not satisfied with the status quo. Humble, genuine, imperfect, and refining daily.

This is the camp most of us actually fit in. The culture can try to pit us in factions against each other, but we don’t have to step into the ring. We’re too aware of our own growth to point fingers at the lady who has spit up on her pants – or to raise our eyebrows at the lady who ironed perfect creases into hers.

We’ve heard that Jesus loves us as we are, but He’s not content to leave us there. Our own desire to do more, be more, know more, grow more, is something we’ve inherited from Him. It’s what He wants for us, too.

So we fumble our way through, hoping those who see us will be kind and gentle as we try not to make an idiot of ourselves. There is so much to learn.

The real human division is this: the luminous and the shady. To diminish the number of the shady, to augment the number of the luminous – that is the object. That is why we cry: Education! Science! To teach reading, means to light the fire; every syllable spelled out sparkles.

– Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

Let’s be the people who cheer the efforts of others instead of projecting our insecurities onto them. Show us the amazing meal you cooked, and tell us how it took you four times before you managed to get the cornstarch to thicken correctly. Tell us how great your kids are, and also the ridiculous way you had to remind them not to suck their underwear up the vacuum hose. Give us your church notes with messy handwriting, your gorgeous living room with imperfect furniture, your efforts at reading classic lit and your struggle to follow the intricate plot.

Show me your artwork, your craftsmanship, the amazing new technique you’ve been trying to perfect. No shame, no apologies to the peanut gallery. No internet lectures for showing off because you’re more gifted in this one area than most of us.

I want to see that project you nailed, and how you killed it at your last performance. I want to see your victories because they kindle more of mine.

It’s only our insecurity blending with resentment and jealousy – expressing itself in the disdain of judgement – that keeps us from cheering others on, just as it inhibits us from growing more in our own deep and wide.

On a bad day when my own struggle boils to the top, frustrated beyond sanity at fighting special needs behaviors and broken pasts, I admit that I probably won’t want to see your child’s perfect certificate of achievement when one of mine spent the morning feigning confusion between the letters L and J (and he is confused, but not about the letters). I promise the madness will pass and I’ll be in my right mind again shortly, soon enough to praise your victory. Because when we’re not in competition with each other, it’s my victory, too.

Rather, speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body, joined and held together by every joint with which it is equipped, when each part is working properly, makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love.

– Ephesians 4:15-16, ESV

We can be genuine while still inspiring each other to press on and be greater as we grow through this together.

So post your mess-in-progress. Don’t apologize for where you’ve pulled it together. Show us where you’re still stumbling, trying and fumbling, stretching out in your deep and your wide. We’re called to growth, and this is your party.

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This is an excerpt from Work That God Sees: Prayerful Motherhood in the Midst of the Overwhelm.

house hunting: what we pull out of dry ground

Posted on by July 28, 2017

We are still here, still looking at houses.

We go through the listings and check off their disqualifications: Too far away, too expensive, too small, too ratty. Not enough bedrooms, not enough bathrooms, no room for our dining room table, no privacy, soooper boring. Has restrictive covenants. Has an HOA. Doesn’t allow chickens, rabbits, domestic cats, wild children, sheer curtains, antique furniture, croquet sets, kayaks, kombucha, water guns, Nerf guns, real guns, or people who can shoot guns.

house hunting: what we pull out of dry ground

We’re not waiting on perfection, but it feels like it, and we use the term “perfect” very loosely. We know what we’ve prayed for, and we know what He’s said. We just haven’t found the match yet.

House hunting has become like scavenging for food in the kitchen when you’re hungry but too tired to cook: You go to the fridge, reject everything; go to the cupboard and reject everything there; then you go back to the fridge with lower standards and hope something jumps out at you with some virtue you hadn’t noticed before. Oh, peanut butter and apples. Hmm. I could maybe go for that.

And that’s sort of what we’re doing now as we look for houses. Oh, a one-acre lot that’s full of weeds and in the wrong area, but it has enough bedrooms and pretty nice flooring. Huh. I guess that might work.

But we’re also still waiting on a buyer for our house here, so we have time. We have another showing tomorrow morning, and though I won’t have time for any mercenary baking, I’ve leveraged it to get tons of extra chores out of all the older kids – vacuuming, dishes, straightening bookshelves, you name it – while I sit here and type this post, eating bonbons and sipping a martini.

(Every bit of that’s entirely accurate, except the last part. Pretty sure I don’t like martinis. And I already binged on chocolate last night, so that’s not really true either. But, you know, everything else. Gospel truth.)  

We are beyond ready to move on, be done with showings, get where we’re going, divide and conquer the bedroom situation, and unpack our books. If this showing tomorrow results in an offer, I might do cartwheels and dance the funky chicken. I may even try a martini. Though it would probably require several of the latter to facilitate the former…so I digress.

This season of transition has been long and unsettling. There are more than just physical moves afoot, and we have a lot of questions we’d like answers to. We are in a season with kids, work, and mission where we’re at a loss for what to do in certain areas and we need Him to just move some situations for us.

In a non-physical sense, we clearly know where we are supposed to go. We just have no idea how to get there.

…Command them, saying, ‘Take twelve stones from here out of the midst of the Jordan, from the very place where the priests’ feet stood firmly, and bring them over with you and lay them down in the place where you lodge tonight.’ – Joshua 4:3, ESV

We need Him to part the waters so we can pull stones out of a place we could never access in our own strength and ability. We’ll be happy to put them on display for the world to see once we’re safe on the other side.

He’d done it for the Israelites before – different river, different crossing. Different battle. And He’s done it for us before, too.

The people came up out of the Jordan on the tenth day of the first month, and they encamped at Gilgal on the east border of Jericho. And those twelve stones, which they took out of the Jordan, Joshua set up at Gilgal.

And he said to the people of Israel, “When your children ask their fathers in times to come, ‘What do these stones mean?’ then you shall let your children know, ‘Israel passed over this Jordan on dry ground.’

For the Lord your God dried up the waters of the Jordan for you until you passed over, as the Lord your God did to the Red Sea, which he dried up for us until we passed over, so that all the peoples of the earth may know that the hand of the Lord is mighty, that you may fear the Lord your God forever.”

– Joshua 4:19-24, ESV

Though, they weren’t really safe on the other side, and we weren’t either. The other side doesn’t mean ease and comfort. It’s just that once you’re on the other side, you’re all in – committed, no turning back, the water fills in the gap behind you and the only way to go is forward. It was true for them, and it will always be true for us.

And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that having all sufficiency in all things at all times, you may abound in every good work…He who supplies seed to the sower and bread for food will supply and multiply your seed for sowing and increase the harvest of your righteousness. You will be enriched in every way to be generous in every way, which through us will produce thanksgiving to God.

– 2 Corinthians 9:8, 10-11, ESV

They had proof that He was mighty. So do we, if we choose to recognize it when it happens, and remember it when we face the river.

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from one hermit to another

Posted on by June 21, 2022

I was baking and it was completely mercenary. We had a showing in one hour and I wanted the house to smell amazing.

(Pause: In spite of the amount of cooking I do, I want to reaffirm that this will never evolve into a foodie blog, as I’ve mentioned before. Not because I don’t like cooking, or because I’m bad at cooking, or because I don’t like writing about cooking. It’s just that the everyday level of chaos here is more satirical than informational, and…well, you’ll see. Okay, resume.)

from one hermit to another

Last week we had three house showings in a span of twenty-four hours. Craziness. It’s what my nightmares were made of back when I used to think of putting the house on the market: How do we get the house clean enough (and empty enough) to make it look sterile and appealing to strangers? How do we get all the kids and cats to cooperate? How do we make it look like a normal family lives here, instead of one that outnumbers the Brady Bunch and also comes with a small cat farm?

We’ve learned a few tricks. We hide beds trundle-wise. We clear as much surface area as possible. And we take the cats with us – which upgrades the “how many clowns can you fit into a circus car” joke to the rank of how-many-Guerras-can-you-fit-in-a-Stagecoach. Turns out, all thirteen of us do: each cat gets a carrier, each person gets a seatbelt. Two of the cats go on kids’ laps while the other two cry and hiss at each other in the back.

It’s awesome. Exactly what I imagined when Vince promised me years ago that he would lead me on adventures. Sort of.

So that day last week, I was baking hermit bars. Have you had these? They’re a spongy, spicy, not-too-sweet, completely euphoric blend of cloves, molasses, cinnamon, and nutmeg. See, I told you. No mercy.

They’d been in the oven for a whole two minutes before anyone smelled smoke. Detritus in the bottom of the oven from a few meals back had started to smolder, and instead of wooing buyers with the smell of spicy sweetbread, we frantically threw all the windows and doors open to air out the house.

It, too, was awesome. Just like I’d planned, except the exact opposite.

We put the hermits on hold in the fridge, and got ourselves, the cats, and the smell of smoke out of the house just in time. We loaded the Stagecoach and went down the road to the park to wait it out.

Strange vehicles pulled into our driveway, and strange people walked into our house.

It’s a weird feeling, wanting them there, wanting them to fall in love with what you’ve prepared for them, and yet at the same time feeling a little violated. I didn’t feel it so much during the first two showings when we were out running errands, but this time I felt the whole gamut of excitement and unsettledness because I kept spying peeking checking from the shelter of the twisty slide. Which, now that I think of it, isn’t really isn’t that unfamiliar of a feeling as an introvert.

After forty minutes the strange cars left. Once home, I threw the hermits back in the oven, determined to eat enough of them to ruin my dinner.

They take all of ten minutes to throw together and 17 minutes to bake. I’ll give you the recipe and they’re worth making as soon as possible even if you’re not trying to coax people into buying your house. This isn’t official, fancy, or fussy; there’s no sifting, separating eggs, etc., though you could do any of those if you really enjoy that sort of thing. This is how I make them, quick and dirty, and it’s as foodie as I’ll get. Promise.

In a medium bowl, mix 1 ½ cups brown sugar, 2/3 cup olive oil, ¼ cup molasses, 2 eggs, 2 ½ cups flour, ½ teaspoon salt, 1 teaspoon baking soda, and The Magical Ingredients: 1 teaspoon each of cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg. Grab hold of the counter and refrain from swooning. Some recipes call for raisins, walnuts, or currants, but I love my family and leave those out.

Now is a good time to preheat your oven to 350. Fahrenheit. You knew that, though.

Once you’ve mashed everything together with a rubber spatula, the results will be more like bread dough than brownie batter, and you’ll need to plop it into a greased 9×13 baking pan and use that spatula to spread it out in a thinnish layer.

Throw it in the oven and bake for 15-18 minutes. Once they’re cool enough to eat without burning yourself, devour at least half the pan while your kids aren’t looking and ruin your dinner like I did. No shame.

That night our Realtor texted me. She said the family loved the house but they thought it was too small for them. And I confess I responded with some thoughts that were rather, uh…expletivey…as I thought of our baker’s dozen of humans and animals, and longed for a little more space, too.

We’re keeping the house sterile (mostly) and I am exhausted. The adrenaline rush has worn off. While part of me is loving the minimalist white space around here, the other part of me wants to fling laundry all over the floor and leave dirty dishes in the sink to ferment.

But not tonight. We have another showing tomorrow, so I’m back to mercenary baking. It’ll probably be hermits again, because how can you not love a treat that shares its name with extreme introverts? But this time I’ll remember to clean the oven first.