Before and After (During)

Everybody loves a before and after. On HGTV, when they show the crappy fixer-upper side by side with the images of the shiny new updated version; on Throw Back Thursday, when everybody posts little babies, side by side of those babies now grown up; on the romantic comedies, when they make over the nerdy girl with glasses into the trendy hot girl: all gold. I love it cause it time lapse the long process that it takes to get to the end product. I also love it because even when you know change is happening, until you see it right next to the old stuff, it is hard to remember what things were like.
This season of my life, I have been enjoying amazing before and afters. Having lost 63 pounds, that contrast is vast and satisfying. It is so much of what helps me with my coaching, people see me and want to know,  What I am doing? How did I get healthy? What is the difference? The change is so visible, so clear. It is motivating for me, inspiring to those around me, and moves me towards being able to help people who need change.
This morning, during my Bible Study we were talking about spiritual growth, how far God has brought us and how sometimes it is hard to see just how far we have come. We don't often have that clear before image to hold up next to us and see, "wow, I have really made progress." People I run into out and about can't see how God has moved me toward less selfishness and more patience. My friends can't always see how much more I trust God than I did before; they can't see how I have moved towards wisdom and surrender. Even more frustrating, I can't always see what growth the people around me are experiencing. Obviously, growth results in fruit that can be evidenced in our lives, but not in same way as 60 less pounds looks in my Instagram posts. I know the people in my life are leaning in towards God and He is changing their lives- that's my king, it is what he does. I know that healing and growth are increasing, I know addictions and captivity are decreasing. I want to be able to celebrate this kind of change with the same zeal that I get surrounding a physical change. Because these are the changes that are lasting. This is the eternal. This morning, the sermon was around what kind of a difference Jesus has made in your life. What is our life like now that we have encountered Him?
So here is my idea:
I would love to do a Spiritual Before and After Project. Now we all know, that even the home improvement "before and after pictures" are actually "before and during pictures." We are in process. We are in spiritual process, we are in physical process. We aren't done yet. But we have had growth. There have been changes. Here is my encouragement: sit and think about what difference has God made in your life? What is your before? How has he transformed you? I'll go first:
Before:                                                                          
lack of faith                                                                    
trying to do things on my own
limited to emotional connections with God
beliefs based on my upbringing
selfishness- only seeking my own way

During:
relying on what I know to be true: God is who he says he is, and will do what He says He will do
Trusting that God knows better
Adding roots of character and tested faith to overcome the non-emotional times
Seeking out God as my own savior
pushing towards connecting to God in a way that keeps my eyes off myself

In a house all alone

I was talking to David the other day about his day off- see he takes Fridays off and while the kids and I are at school he rests, studies, cleans, and recoups from the long week of hard people focused work he does. He stays in the house. By himself.
I am jealous of this. I can probably count on my two hands the times that I have spent alone in this house.
Now here is one of the things that are fully part of who Bethany is as a person: an extrovert- every quiz, every time, all the points- extrovert. I love people. I love being with them. I can spend days talking to old friends. I delight at the thought of meeting strangers and making friends with them. I love meetings. I adore a room full of people, even if we aren't friends yet. I love my kids hanging on me. My life if full. of. people. At work. At church. At home. Especially at home. Around here most days, it isn't usually just our 2 kids- it is most often a small herd of neighbor kids too. Our house is the neighborhood house. This is fantastic.

However, every so often I wish for the chance to sit in a house all alone. I am not even sure that I'd know what to do exactly. Listen to the silence. And by 'the silence' I really mean an NPR podcast. Read a book uninterrupted. Watch whatever I want on TV.
As I wish for this thing, I am acutely aware that there are so many people who are living this way- this house by themselves- and are so desiring my existence. Having someone always around, needing, wanting, surrounding them. That being alone is an option instead of the only thing. Specifically, not 20 ft from where I sit is our neighbor's house. Frank. He is alone all the time. He is a widow and his son dutifully comes every other weekend, but this is the only visitor. Frank can't even drive any more so his life is fully isolated.
This is the paradox; in the same way that every curly haired girl has a straight haired counterpart wishing for the opposite of what they have- every time I want more solitude, there are people who are lonely and sad wishing for companionship- wanting to trade me places. To think of us all as extreme opposites desiring the other life is a little too ying and yang for my taste, but it is an interested reality.
I don't feel guilt over these longings, no shame in wanting them- in fact I have had too much of this thing I want in other stages of my life and will be there again sooner than I can realize it, but I do find the reality of it interesting. The psychology or sociology or people-ology of these simultaneously similar and dissimilar of human experiences. And further evidence to support the argument of a life lived in gratitude for the stage and reality I am in, and a life lived with empathy for the reality that I do not live in.


***side note: when I told David I was jealous of his alone time, he generously offered to take the kids to the park and grant me my wish, and my reply was- "oh no I want to be with you guys." :)

Packing up Christmas

David is off at work, the kids are playing at the neighbors, so I have a rare quiet evening to pack up our extensive Christmas decorations.
I love the wonder of this just-passed holiday. The magic, the glisten, the way things twinkle.
As I am packing the boxes to be put back up in the attic, I keep thinking about what it will be like when we bring these down again. What will happen in 2015? I can guess: we will still be in this house, I will be partially through my second year teaching 4th grade in my same classroom, my kids will be 8 and 10 and still healthy and kind and wonderful, David will be working with teenagers at Church on the Hill, our good friends will still be close and I will spend my down time similar to how I spend it now.
However a nagging part of me thinks that maybe I am wrong. I have run into a lot of trouble trying predict the future in my life before, so I have learned from those foolish mistakes. This is not a defeatist mindset. I know my God will still be big, good, and unpredictable. I could wake up tomorrow and He could say, "Go to Tanzania," and my Christmas boxes might have to go in storage. Or this year could be a hard one- our little family might face some tough things- real tough. I am not prophesying, I am however acutely aware that my life has been ridiculously, unfairly advantaged, and if God saw it fit to walk us through sorrow, pain, trial, or heart-break it would be His purgative; and He would still be big, good, and unpredictable.
At Ecola (the Bible school I went to right out of high school, 16 years ago?!), I remember there was this somewhat pessimistic professor who said something about life being either going through hardship or recovering from hardship. I am far away from that attitude- my optimism is still very intact, but I know that it takes a second for everything to change. I have seen my friends and heard stories of people whose entire lives change in the slip of an ankle, the swerve on a slick road, the visit to doctor, the loss of a job, the reassurance of the addiction. So I am not so naive to think all will always be well.
So as I say farewell to my stockings and tree skirt, I remind myself that I am overwhelmingly grateful for the gargantuan blessings I have in my life, and I remember that these gifts and wealth is not for me: I have been greatly blessed to bless others. And also I hope that whatever lessons God has for us this year- hard or otherwise, I will greet next Christmas with the delight that comes from knowing my God has got this and is far better at seeing the future than I am.

ENFJ crisis

I LOVE people. Seriously. All those personality test- I land heavy on extrovert side. I prefer people over task every day of the week. I could talk, meet, and be with people all day long and be recharged. Getting to know people, making friends: Adore it.

But lately, I've been feeling so frustrated with relationships. They are just so much damn hard work. Even the easy relationships eventually have to go deeper and stretch and grow and change. And I'm just tired of it. Today especially. Partially cause I'm just plain sleep tired, but also because I'm having to look at myself and my laziness and selfishness and the mirror of relationships is a particularly accurate/cruel one to assess your weaknesses through. I just get frustrated when friendships involve confrontation and then instead of getting better then get worse. I waste stupid amounts of energy thinking about other peoples business. I'm drained sticking my nose where is doesn't belong, trying to fix things I am rediculously under qualifies to solve. On days like today I just wish I could only work with people who are easy and simple and healthy all the time. People not all like me.

Additionally we just did a parenting seminar, which was amazing, but it sure made me bummed about parts of my relationship with my kids. Having to think about how often I say what I don't mean or worse- forget to say what I do mean, is a draining and disappointing endeavor.

Taking into account all my wife-ly shortcoming, makes me feel so murrose. Why are relationships so difficult?

Of course I know the answer to this and can take a positive spin of it, but as I've discussed that's not what this blog is for. This is not to be optimistic and brighter side and deeper meaning- this is to tell the truth about it not always being peach-y and edited around here. 

Hidden Brokeness

Imagine that you have this beautiful vase. It is ornate, large, and has the most gorgeous glaze on the outside- deep complex colors, rich hues, fine detailed patterns. It is your favorite and not just to display, although people always comment on what a excellent example of art it is, but also because it is practical- you can display things in it, it holds water, is actually pretty sturdy. Since this is something that you loved- wouldn't you want to know if internally it was broken? Wouldn't you need to know that it is just a matter of time before the thing crumbles to pieces or more likely slowly leaks water? I don't think you would love it any less if you knew it was compromised; I think you would fix it and until it can be fixed you wouldn't use it in the same, you would treat it more carefully, more appropriately.
***
As a church community, I am sad to say that it becomes very easy to assume that the people around us are simply as they appear. Either perfectly functional and impervious to interior faults, or broken beyond repair and the same way they have always been. One of my goals for this blog was to help dispel the illusion that instagram helps us create. We take pictures, edit them, and post them of times when we are smiling, surrounded by friends, creating beautiful things, being dynamite parents, gifting our spouses; therefore it so easy to assume this is the all-the-time reality of each of our lives. Even though we know our own realities are far more complex, messy, petty, and down right broken. Why is this? We are smart people. We know what happens when you assume something. Yet still we continue, the mother with the pictures of at home crafts must be patient and brilliant all the time. The couple affirming and snuggling must have got the marriage thing down pat. The teenager who post scriptures must be impervious to peer pressure. The boy complaining always must never appreciate his blessings. But this is not so.
But these illusion, these assumptions keep us from seeing the better, deeper truths. It keeps us out and away from each other. In church this is rampant. This place- this church community- should be where we can all be open and honest and free to communicate our brokenness. To bring it from hiding, knowing that hidden brokenness doesn't get healing. When we hide our cracks it is too easy to assume we can continue to hold water, continue to walk around isolated from people who likely are the same.
I think there are two major things are play here: the first being that it is scary as hell to tell the people around you that you aren't as together as you seem. It is takes such courage to say, "I am smiling on camera, but I was yelling a minute ago." or "This marriage thing is hard, and I don't know what I am doing." or "I hope I am not trying my best to be a good parent, because this is going terribly wrong." or "I thought I had this addiction beat, but it keeps whispering my name and I am not sure how much longer I will ignore it." Those are some of the bravest words. They take such power and guts and trust.
And that is the second thing at play. Trust. I am not here to bash church or the church community; these I love. I am here to say I am going to be a part of a change to make this place a safer place for people to show their brokenness and pray like heck that God can use me and transform and heal. There is no other place that is [could be, will be] safer to open ones self up for healing. God's grace is big and powerful and we have all received it. We just forget. We forget that we too are [were/ will be] in great need of his forgiveness. We forget that those people around us who seem perfect have in fact been touched by healing, will be again touched, and might now be touched with pain and hurt and self-induced foolishness. We are all here at the base of the cross. And we are all in need of healing.

snow many memories

In case you don't live around here or aren't friends with Oregonians on Facebook- here in the Willamette Valley we have been having uncharacteristically wintry snow fall for the past 3 days. Maybe once a year, we get snow and it is usually- from my Alaska grown eyes- a poor representation of snow, but this storm- it is the real deal. Big fat flakes falling, covering everything in the pillow white that my childhood was made of. My parent took Gabe and my nephew Logan sledding this afternoon while David and I clean the house (and by that I mean David) and bake cinnamon rolls (and by that I mean me).
This has made me nostalgic. Quick Bethany fact sheet: I was born and raised in Fairbanks Alaska. I lived in the same house that my dad build about 4 miles out of town for the entirety of that time. In fact, my dad (when he isn't commuting and working from Salem) and sister still live in a version of that same house today. It has greatly evolved- when I was born it was in fact in an entirely different location and about 1/4 of the current size, but they picked it up, put it on a trailer and moved it to its current home at the end of Tekoa Trail where it has been renovated, added on, adapted, and generally evolved.
In Fairbanks, we do winter really well. Coming here to Oregon and experiencing seasons blew my mind. Oh, Thanksgiving is at harvest time and Easter actually is spring! Since Fairbanks is in the interior of Alaska, the temperatures are pretty extreme: moderately hot in the summer and very cold in the winter. Now to be clear, I loved living in Alaska while I was there, but I was not a sport-sy outdoors girl. My dad basically made me and my sisters go cross country skiing, we didn't have a snowmobile, and Fairbanks doesn't have mountains too close for snowboarding or downhill skiing. So when I was there the 9 months of deep snow and cold temperatures didn't necessarily fill me with delight. But it was my reality and all I had ever experienced and therefore it was good. And my parents really made my childhood fun. When people ask me about Alaska and whether I will go back to live, I am unsure- it seems unlikely, but I say, "It was a great place to grow up." When I was a kid we didn't have cable- no channels. We would watch movies every Friday night, but the rest of our time was not taken up with TV at all. So as a kid my sisters and I were forced into books and other creativity. The aforementioned cross country skiing was a favorite of my dads and so we did this pretty regularly. Although despite the occasional forced activity and absence of television, much of my time- especially as a middle school and as teenager was spent on the phone or reading or being with friends or wanting to be with friends. But there was certainly big chunks of my childhood where I was an classic Alaskan girl- out tromping in the snow, building caves, sledding, playing in the snowy sparse woods with our neighbor. And those I remember fondly. The way that moose in the backyard was normal, seeing gorgeous Denali from our driveway regularly, the pride and craziness of going to school always- even at 40 below, the way a hot springs is the best when it is super cold outside, the way it looks gorgeous and epic all the time. Even though come January I was so over the cold and was going cabin stir crazy. Even though the static electricity was horrible and you have to warm up your cars for 20 minutes before you could go anywhere. Even though it got so cold that you couldn't breath and your eyelashes and nose hairs froze right away. I am grateful for that being the place where so many of my memories exist and when I see the snow fall outside my Oregon window, I just love that glimpse.

Books

Lately I have been thinking a lot about books. I love books so much. That may be a nerdy, teacher-y thing to say, but I don't much care. They are just so wonderful.
In my current classroom I spend the first 15 minutes after the kids come in from recess with the kids gathered around me, reading a chapter book. We are fully in Kate Decamillo's gorgeous Newberry winner, "The Tale of Despereaux." I have read it perhaps 6 times to different classrooms by now; I just adore sharing it with kids. In some teacher circles this 'old fashion' simple read aloud is falling out of popularity, but I don't care. I read to them a 300 page chapter book with perhaps 12 books, without a clearly explained learning target, far above their own reading levels, with complex themes such as forgiveness, empathy, and heroism. I try to really do it justice as I read it a loud- bringing as much emphasis and voices to the complex characters. Truthfully I am pretty bad at a french accent, but the kids don't seem to notice.
One of my uncles on my dad's side- now he could do voices. When we were little he used to read to us. One of the clearest and more formative books Uncle Rich read to us was "The BFG" by Roald Dahl. My mind is fussy about how this really happened. He didn't live with us and I don't remember if being a weekly thing, but he must have come over multiple times and read us this great chapter book with the best voices. I remember being so captivated by it. It shaped me. There is this line is "You've Got Mail," that I love: "When you read a book as a child, it becomes a part of your identity in a way that no other reading in your whole life does." This is true for me of Sophie and her Big Friendly Giant; they became a part of who I am, how I see and treat people. They are joined by "Mike Mulligan's Steam Shovel," "The Babysitter Club" girls, Tock and Milo from "The Phantom Tollbooth," and hundreds of other books that were read to me until I could read them for myself.
We usually buy our books from Amazon, but for Christmas I got a gift certificate for the local bookstore fantastically 4 blocks from my house, and I just love going in there. There is something fabulous about a huge room full of books. I love browsing and perusing. To touch the spines, read the backs, smell the edges (tell no one I do this): it awakens the imagination, opens my eyes to the possibilities, broadens my perspectives- and all of this even before I have actually chosen one to read. That is when the transformation takes place.
And this is one of the greatest gifts that I cherish about my job. I love teaching reading. Don't get me wrong, the wonder that science brings to a child, the safety and predictability of math- all good stuff, but reading! The way a book can teach a child that they are not alone- someone else has felt the way you feel- and simultaneous teach them that there are things that other people have seen, experienced, felt that they never knew about: these are the things of value. How a boy in my class, who struggles reading on his own, follows very clearly the deep and implied plot points in the chapter book he listens to for 1/24 of his school day. I love trying to find that story or author or series that will change things for kid; that story that will shape them. I love helping them find the story they will read over and over again and then in 15 or 20 years reach for it to read to their own child.
I just love books.