dark chocolate

I have been thinking about the complexities of love lately. Not in the endearingly romantic “we love each other but we can’t be with each other!” way, nor in the “OMG! He’s a beautiful vampire and I can’t believe he’d ever love me!” way either. I’ve been thinking in terms of the complexities of navigating everyday life with another human being who I love and respect.

I was planning a lesson for the youth group about forgiveness. Navigating the murky waters of various stages of development but using the parable of the Lost Son for both groups. With the junior highers I was planning on talking about the differences between the father and the older brother and asking them which one of them represented a forgiving God. However, the senior highers I was taking a different track. I was thinking in terms of the son, and the journey that the son had to take to realize that he needed forgiveness and the need for all of us to realize that we are the youngest son, we need to be forgiven. And we are often stopped from seeking that forgiveness because we are afraid. We are afraid of the consequences, we are afraid of what lies on the other side of forgiveness and we are afraid of honesty.

I was going to lead into 1 John about how God is love and how that perfect love casts out fear and even as we face the consequences or what comes in our lives on the other side of forgiveness (are we afraid of space? Of emptiness? I know that I sometimes am) that there is a complex love that will carry us through. Which brought me to Splenda. I had heard somewhere (and where was that? That’s a secret I’ll never tell. xoxo.) that Splenda is about 98% nothing and about 2% sweetness to the nth degree. We don’t want Splenda love in our lives. If God’s love was Splenda it would be rainbows, sunshines, neon colors and CareBear Stares around the clock. Too sweet, too artificial, too intense. Instead, we need a love in our lives that is more complex, more able to handle the nuances of humanity (because, in fact, it is the source of humanity).

We need a dark-chocolate kind of love. Complex. Satisfying. Good for your heart. We need a love that confronts us with our crap, forgives and steadfastly remains on as the fallout and consequences of our actions (both good and bad) unfold. Splenda doesn’t stick around and it’s lasting effects have yet to be tested (I am aware that I am stretching the metaphor here).

So, as I sat in my comfy chair, in one of my new favorite spots, I was contemplating my current partnership. The more we walk through life together, the more the complexities show themselves. Not only is he wonderful, he is exasperating. As much as I learn more about him, the more I realized he is deeper than I anticipated…and the more I find myself being stretched into being an equally honest partner. Complexities aren’t easy, but they are good. And for a fleeting moment, I realized that what I was going to be teaching needed to be true in my life as well. Any concerns about how we exasperate each other shriveled up at the idea that I was thinking about a Splenda-level love.

The more I learn about myself, the more I discover how afraid I am. The more I continue to come back to the need for honest, for authenticity and for longevity. I am tired of fear, tired of running, tired of dissatisfaction. I am left with the question “what are you so afraid of, girl?” The more I uncover these layers of myself, the more I am thankful for my God and my partner for one will sustain and the other will continue to grow with me. I am blessed.

Thoughts at the three-year mark

I've had lots of thoughts lately. I started my job and my relationship with Dan on the same day (because I bring these things on myself, of course). And, having hit the three year mark, it's been interesting to look back and see some of the changes and reflect on where I am today, versus three years ago.

Some changes are obvious and sweeping. Our relationship grew fast and moved fast once we acknowledged it. Within my first year we were engaged, within 14 months we were married. Now we are closing in on two years. I am thankful for the sounding board, stability and companionship that Dan's brought to my life and ministry. He is these things and so much more, he is funny and silly and has a song for every occasion. We are both still learning, learning how to be in a relationship with each other, how to treat one another better and love more fully. We have a lot to learn, but I am thankful for the lessons we have under our belts so far.

Other changes are obvious, but less sweeping. We added cats, added a larger television, upgraded some technology and storage systems. We have rearranged rooms, closets and expectations. The cats have brought some gradual extra responsibilities and expenses, but we are - by and large - pleased we asked for forgiveness instead of waiting another six months (or more) for permission.

And some changes...some changes have been profound and internal. I am less exhausted by the youth. One of the clearest signs that I had that I was an introvert was coming home the first two months from youth group and collapsing on the couch for 20 minutes before I could process, much less talk or do anything. So many new people, so many high energy kids, so engaging and exciting, but until I became acclimated to it, so exhausting for this introvert.

I am less scared, less anxious. I know, to some extent, what to anticipate and what questions to plan for. My stomach is no longer in knots at the prospect of serving communion or getting a stage whisper to "talk into the mic". I adjust, move on, and know that I am still learning, still trying to figure out how to juggle so many balls at one time. I used to look out of the window in curiosity to see who was already at work. Then, I looked out of the windows to make sure I wasn't the last one in. Now, well I look a lot less. And rarely is it with that knot of anxiety in my stomach. I can stand up for what I believe to be right in my programming, I know what I won't budge on (release forms, , seatbelts and no playing red tower are at the top of the list). And I have banked my credibility and trustworthyness.

And, I have learned and realized, that the changes that matter most are the ones that take three years to develop. A youth ministry that is a growing community of wacky teens who seem to love each other. A team of volunteers committed to working together. Stability. Routine. Reliability. Trust. Appropriate intimacy and space to speak truth. My work is far from done, but at this point in the journey I can appreciate where we are and where we have yet to go. Every day is a new journey, a new chance to succeed/fail/carry on. The biggest changes, the best changes, the transformative changes are the ones that need room to grow and time to develop. Changes happen in me, in ministry and in us all -- if we open our eyes to see them.