Life

on failing well

i heard catherine rohr once say, “failure is really redirection.” that is so powerful, if only i could find a way for my heart to really grab onto it. ::

i feel like i fail a dozen times a day in a dozen different ways. while some of it is genuine mess-ups, some of it—i know—is really just that sense of not-enough-ness that hangs over me like a cloud. (i close my eyes and see that dirty little boy in the charlie brown movies—what's his name??—the one with the dust cloud that follows him everywhere.)

if i could really grasp failure as redirection, maybe just maybe that cloud would lift some...

::

not redirection to avoid what i’m facing. but rather to deal with what’s going on in my heart as i face it head on.

::

the old testament has always given me a great deal of hope. i think it's partially because those we consider men and women of faith have so much failure throughout their stories.

it makes me remember that they didn’t see themselves as people of faith in the way that we do now, gifted with the ability to look at their lives in their entirety. i bet they were just like me and—right in the midst of their grit—found themselves wondering if God could redeem their failures.

because we see their stories all the way to the end, we know He can.

i need to remember that He can see my story all the way to the end, and trust that He can redeem mine too.

::

perhaps failing well means choosing to trust that the story isn't finished—that the Author is still writing.

wall of thanks

My Thanksgivings the past few years have looked (and felt) very different than they used to. Granted, I've celebrated most Thanksgivings of my adult life across the ocean in a country that doesn't even recognize the holiday. But it didn't matter. We made them uniquely special, and always a memorable celebration of giving thanks.

My favorite tradition is one I began in Africa. Every year, we build a Wall of Thanks.

I place out Post-it notes and markers, and throughout the day, people write down things they are thankful for and post them on the wall.

I always make multiple trips to the wall—to read and to add more things I am grateful for—and love watching others do the same.

It is heart-filling to stand and read the gratitude plastered on that wall. Deep, meaningful, significant things as well as the humorous, inside-joke-only kinds of things.

The wall stands as more than a list of what we are collectively thankful for. It holds memories, hope, promises, truth. It holds what was and may never be again, but also what will someday be. It holds the joy of loving and being loved. It holds... me.

And this altogether new and different and somewhat strange Thanksgiving, I'll surely have my Wall of Thanks yet again.

Will you join me?

Maybe it's a new tradition you can start with your own loved ones. And together we can build our Wall of Thanks wherever we are...

If you post pictures of your Wall or your Post-its, I wanna see them! Tag me on Facebook—and on Twitter and Instagram, use the hashtag #WallOfThanks, so we can celebrate with each other.

No matter what is going on in our lives—no matter the season we've just endured or are currently crawling through—we can choose to say "Thank You" to the One who understands even when we don't.

And please know this... YOU, my Gritty family, will certainly be a Post-it note on my Wall of Thanks.

Will you join me with your own Wall of Thanks this year? What's your favorite Thanksgiving tradition?

autumnal hope

Hands down, autumn is my favorite season. And I'm fairly certain October is the most perfect month. I love the rich, bold, warm colors of fall. The landscape comes alive like a wildfire, and my heart catches some of the sparks. Bright blue chilly skies contrast the golden hues. The temperature is just right... Sweater-weather.

Cinnamon and cloves and all things pumpkin dance through the crisp air. Autumn just smells warm and inviting. Like homebaked apple pie. Gingerbread latte. Chai tea. Chicken tortilla soup.

But mostly, I love autumn for its symbolism. The vibrant colors come alive in the process of dying. Leaves fall. Days grow shorter. The dark, overcast, cold days of winter are slowly creeping upon us. But the trees don't surrender without a statement.

Even in the dying—of dreams, of hopes, of relationships, of seasons—there is still beauty. There is beauty in the brokenness. In the transition. In the change.

The new life of spring actually begins with the dying leaves of autumn.

And the leaves' final shout of stunning color helps me to never forget.

What's your favorite season? Why?

[photo source]