the vulnerability of joy

Vulnerability is far bigger than owning my weaknesses. 

I've discovered that vulnerability also includes owning my joy.

On a deep level, joy taps into my very worthiness. I question whether I even deserve it. I can think of so many who are worse off, and it feels unfair that anything should go my way at all. Who am I to have good things happen? Who am I to be happy? Especially when so many I care about are currently going through their own challenging and dark times.

The contrast of joy against others' pain makes my heart ache. And I instinctively dim the brightness of my joy because fully feeling, acknowledging, and expressing it seems wrong. Immodest. Arrogant, even.

The battering ram of the past 4 years left my heart tattered and torn. Grif and heartache consumed everything for so long that, without even realizing it, I became afraid of joy. In its place grew a deep, underlying foreboding... a proverbial holding of my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

So when good things happen, of any variety, I find myself dismissing them. It's too good to be true. This won't last long. I shouldn't be happy. I don't deserve good things. 

Somewhere along the line, I unknowingly convinced myself that being happy in this "new life" means I'm glad my "old life" fell apart. That enjoying Nashville is somehow an acknowledgement of gratitude that I'm no longer in Africa. Saying it out loud, I know it's ridiculous and untrue. My own journey of the past few years has taught me rather vividly that joy and grief usually reside together. I can be completely joyful and grateful for today, while still grieving over yesterday. One doesn't nullify the other.

And yet, still, even when joy comes, I don't embrace it. Knowing just how fleeting it can be, I send it on its merry way and close my eyes, cringing, for whatever might come next.

This is no way to live...

So I am intentionally forcing myself to lean into the vulnerability of joy. To look it straight in the eye, pull it close, and hug it tight. To allow myself to feel it and own it. To smile, to lift my eyes, to give thanks.

I don't know what tomorrow will bring, or if there's another shoe waiting to drop, or how long anything in this life will actually last. But I do know that the God who gives and takes away wants me to be fully present in the moments He's woven into my story.

It's not up to me to control what happens. But it's up to me to choose to live wholeheartedly—honestly accepting and embracing all that comes my way.

And so today I'm leaning in, embracing the risk, and owning my joy.

[photo credit]

one word journey: enough!

A friend asked me about my One Word recently: Enough. I explained the significance it holds for me: my journey to know and believe more deeply that I am enough. After his initial response about how that resonated with him, he teased that he'd thought I was going to say it meant "I've had enough!" We laughed about how that meaning certainly works as well, especially after the past few years of my life. Enough!

And I've been thinking about that ever since.

Though the two meanings seem very different, I realized they are more related to each other than I would have first guessed. I will only set healthy boundaries for myself when I truly believe I am worthy of safeguarding. I won't declare "Enough!" to those situations and individuals that deplete me and attempt to diminish my worthiness until I think I'm worth more than how I'm being treated.

Learning to embrace my own enoughness gives me the strength, courage, and voice to say Enough! when I need to.

I have to believe I am enough in order to say "Enough!"

There's a vulnerability in setting boundaries. Deep fears rise to the surface as my inner dialogue kicks into high gear:

You are going to disappoint someone with this decision. Don't let other people down. Be a good friend. Make others happy. Do what's best for others. If you turn this down, you might not be included again. You'll always be left out. You have to make this work. You should be able to tackle all this and then some. You're being selfish by choosing what's best for yourself.

Embracing my enoughness means engaging with that vulnerability—leaning into it rather than away from it. It means making the difficult decisions and setting the hard boundaries, in spite of the risk, in face of the fears. It's believing that ultimately I'm worth it—no matter what.

So, surprisingly to me, part of my One Word 365 journey towards owning that I am enough, is learning to recognize, embrace, and own the boundaries I need to set and enforce in my life. Even while I still fail at this often, only realizing after the fact that a situation was an opportunity for me to set a boundary — a need to say yes or no to something for myself — at least I'm seeing it, even if it's in hindsight. That is already a step in the right direction.

I'm choosing to celebrate every sign of progress. Here's to each little step forward on this journey, friends!

... ... ...

I'd imagine I'm not the only one who's been surprised by where my One Word has taken me this year. Has your word taken on a shape you hadn't even anticipated or expected?

We are almost halfway through the year, so let's check in with one another. How is your One Word journey going? How has your word surprised you and taken shape in your life?  Write a mile-marker post on your blog and come back to link up. 

Originally posted on SheLovesMagazine. Read the comments there >

{i have} enough

all that matters

Some days are harder than others on this whole "I am enough" journey.

Some days it seems as though everyone is shouting at me with their words, their actions, and everything in between, that once again I don't measure up. I'm not enough.

Some days the demons grow louder, my heart grows quieter, and I feel myself shrinking inside. Cringing away from others, from hope, from myself. It's hard to believe — really, truly believe — that I'm enough when everything seems to tell me otherwise. And I crumble at my core—sometimes slowly, as if my foundation is being chipped away, and other times all at once, like a tsunami washed it out from under me.

And then I lay my head on my pillow at the end of another exhausting day, close my teary eyes, and ask Him for the grace to try again tomorrow. I mutter those three challenging words over and over and over:

I am enough. I am enough. I am enough.

Then I open my eyes, with the sun and my alarm, and at once, I have to fight the scarcity that immediately rushes in close — telling me I'm already starting the day without enough sleep, without enough time to do what needs to be done, without enough friends or family or purpose or plans. Already not enough before my feet hit the floor.

And I have to once again close my eyes and ask Him for His more-than-enough grace to carry me. Fill me. Uphold me. Remind me. Center me.

I am enough because I AM is enough.

And, whether I like it or not, whether I believe it or not, whether I feel it or not, that is all that matters.

sometimes

Sometimes prayer is simply the steadfastness of going about my day, doing what needs to be done—even—especially—that which I'd rather not do, or that which I feel unable, inadequate to do.

Sometimes prayer is simply one foot in front of the other. Sometimes arms raised in worshipful surrender actually looks like putting tired, aching "hands to the plough," not looking back.

My greatest, truest, most honest prayers aren't the interjectory conversations with God throughout the day. They are merely the faithful stewarding of what He's given me to do— who He's given me to love— today.

My intimacy with Him is measured not by the length or frequency or eloquence of my verbalized prayers, but in my active trust in the small moments of my everyday— in the quiet prayers of a life sought to be lived well.

Sometimes prayer is simply breathing in, breathing out, and doing—with moment by moment grace, integrity, and love —what's right in front of me.

[photo credit]