One More Truth

Reflections on faith, truth, and being human

Stuck. What You Can Do. (And What to Do if You Can’t.)

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The school auditorium smelled of brand new carpet and buzzed with the energy of a hundred unjaded teenagers. My sister-in-law and I sat in the row furthest back, because even though we came for the presentation on career tracks, school spirit, blah, blah, blah, we really came to whisper back and forth. We listened to the school rules and both of us agreed we were glad to be adults. We talked about our summers, our kids, our appreciation for vacations AND routines. Somehow, the conversation turned to being stuck – the physical kind – quickly escalating into psychological stuckness, a stuckness mothers of teenagers know very well.

I’ve had many a conversation with a teenager in a slump. I ask what’s wrong and they don’t know. I encourage them to identify the stuckness because it’s the only way to find their spot on the map of unfamiliar territory. They groan. I ask what they want and a litany of what they don’t want erupts.

I assure them ruminating on solutions will eventually help them ‘see’ a path out. Then I hope for the best. One day, the teenager organizes their closet, unloads their dresser, fills half a dozen trash bags with toys, knick knacks, and clothing that no longer suits them, and magically, they come unstuck.

My sister-in-law confirmed she’d witnessed this unsticking process with her own kids as well and we both agreed the physical process of cleaning does wonders for unraveling mental and emotional stickiness. But surely there was a more defined process for coming unstuck. We decided an acronym might help us, and quite possibly, help all of humanity. (We were solving the world’s problems that day.) Being the child of a teacher and a preacher, I knew I was genetically wired for creating acronyms, so there in the back of the high school auditorium, during a PowerPoint presentation on Chromebooks, STUCK was born:

Symbolically, Seriously, Systematically, or Systemically

Trapped

Under

Constraints, Conflicts, or Comparisons of

Knowledge, Kinesthetics, Keeps, or Kindness

Yes, friend, this acronym is yours to use freely and often. Is it wordy? Sure. Complex? Clearly. But one thing is for certain – this acronym’s multitude of combinations will sum up your ‘stuck’.

For example, I’ve been stuck in my workout routine, or to say it better, I’ve been procrastinating because I’m bored with my home gym options. I was Symbolically Trapped Under Conflicts of Kinesthetics, I guess, so I rejoined my gym and I’m back to enjoying fitness classes. I named my stuck issue so I could tame it and move toward a better sense of wellbeing. My sister-in-law was right – an acronym helps.

But I had an epiphany shortly after my Ash Wednesday post. What about the stuck places that are intended for me, the times when I’m Spiritually Tested, Uniquely Conditioned – Knowingly? This is the stuck that scares me most, and I have to admit, moving in faith is an attractive topic because the opposite – sitting still in my faith because I must – is so absolutely frustrating, so contrary to the adventure I picture faith to be.

I savor the Bible stories of courage and action. I cringe through the stories where years pass, adversity comes, and plans go unfulfilled. But just as in the stories of Joseph, Hannah, David, Job, and the many people healed by Jesus in the gospels, ‘stuck’ points have a purpose on the timeline. These are the points where patience gives way to fully surrendered trust. These stories of patience aren’t indicators of tepid faith, but faith on fire.

When grief, loss, upheaval, and suffering come, when conditions are out of my control and problems won’t budge, when there are closed doors and dead ends, and I simply cannot move – how do I move in faith? By actively trusting, patiently waiting, expectantly watching, and firmly relying on God to move. I move my lips in prayer and make it my habit. I do what I can, accept what is, and continue hoping. I stay awake, alert, and grateful, so that when the ground moves under my feet, I’m ready.

—————–

What’s your stuck look like? Maybe it’s something you can solve on your own and a long walk or closet purging session will bring your ‘aha’ moment. Maybe it’s something outside your limits and you’re familiar with prayers so deep, you never say a word. Maybe it’s unclear if you’re in a procrastinating place or a patience place. Answering the following questions often helps me identify my sticking points and the shifts I need to make. Praying through the questions helps me even more.

What am I thinking? (What’s playing on a loop in my mind?)

What am I feeling? (What emotions are being fueled by my mindset? What mindset is fueling my emotions?)

What am I doing – behaviors, actions, patterns? (Are they coping, numbing, avoidant?)

What am I praying?

 

 

Prayer of the Wholehearted

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When I was ten, my dad accepted a pastorate position at a church in central Ohio. It was a plain building surrounded by cornfields, with a massive steeple that pointed high above the crops. During growing seasons, that steeple was the only evidence of the little church in the middle of nowhere.

Our move away from my grandparents and friends made me restless, so my dad invited me to come along on his Saturday adventures of running errands or visiting church families. Sometimes we’d pass a quiet afternoon at the church, situating rooms and chairs for service the next day.

One of my favorite things to do in the empty church was stand behind the podium like my dad did every Sunday. Trying to see what he saw, I’d strain my toes for a look at the rows of seats, but I was a small kid. I had a great view of the podium, but nothing else. A yellow Post-It note was stuck there, a memento from the former pastor. He’d written on it, “We want to see Jesus”.

It took me decades to understand the significance of those words…(Finish reading at Joy of It.)

 

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Routine, Challenge, and a Prayer for Lent

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During my late twenties and early thirties, I worked at a gym. It was a fantastic job for me, particularly at that time in my life. My kids were small and leaving them with my husband a few times a week so I could have grown up conversation and make a little money was a nice break.

I worked a set schedule every week, so it didn’t take long to learn the routines of our members. On Monday mornings, I knew the arrogant swim coach would be standing at the door waiting for me to open the club. On Wednesday evenings, after 6 o’clock, the effervescent sleep doctor would smile his way in, all kindness and gratitude. On Fridays, the basketball boys would come in, as would the woman who always read a new library book on the recumbent bike for exactly 30 minutes.

Humans are creatures of habit. I learned this in motherhood, first and foremost, but seven years working at a gym reinforced this lesson all the more.

But as much as we humans like our routines, we also like a challenge. The annual challenge the gym hosted was more popular than the first two weeks of January, when resolution makers would pour in, pump iron in quantities beyond their capabilities, and then fizzle out. Why? Because the challenge was well-defined, short term, and with a little extra effort, it was achievable. Do the specified activity for a set number of days and you win the right to say you did the specified activity for a set number of days.

Routine is good for us. Challenges are good for us.

The season of Lent blends both, giving our souls 40 days to reset. We may slow down our faith routines or change them, or we may challenge ourselves to go without something so we can stretch our understanding of who God is and how to trust Him more. Lent is a challenge with more benefit than bragging rights. Because when I reflect on the love of Christ’s sacrifice and the hope of His resurrection, one thing becomes perfectly clear: the gospel is indeed Good News. I can’t sit still on it and do nothing. I have to respond with faith that moves, trusts, and shares. Always a challenge.

That’s where I’m at this season. I’m not wildly disobedient and I’m guessing you aren’t either, but sometimes my faith is tepid. Hesitant. I sit still too long, get stuck reflecting rather than moving. When I’m challenged to trust and take action, I want to accept that challenge every single time. So this is my prayer for Lent 2021:

“Lord, remind me You are enough. Remind me all You provide is enough. And remind me I am enough for the purposes You have planned for me.”

During Lent, we’ll take a look at the reasons why we sit still, the challenges that prevent our faith from moving, and ways to overcome these obstacles so we can live like we believe Christ’s love and salvation really are as extravagant as we say they are.

 

What routine or challenge have you committed to for Lent this year? Share it in the comments. And as always, One More Truth is for everyone, so if a post resonates, share it freely!

Saying ‘Yes’ & Occasionally Feeling Like a Failure

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When I was asked to facilitate a recovery support group at the crisis center where I work and volunteer, I hesitated. My life was full and confusing already. I said ‘yes’ anyway.

The first week, COVID was paying my home an uninvited visit, so I facilitated the group over Zoom. I introduced myself and then asked the masked faces to introduce themselves. Nothing. Undeterred, I dove right into the first step of recovery and the supporting verses from the curriculum. Nothing. Thinking the audio might be an issue, I resorted to writing key words on separate sheets of paper, holding each sheet up to the tiny lens on my laptop.

Blank stares.

I wanted to believe the disconnect was caused by Zoom screens, my congested voice, or possibly, my illegible handwriting, but before that long hour ended, I’d figured out the reason behind the uncomfortable silence – every woman in the group spoke Spanish. Most of them knew a little English and some knew as much English as I knew Spanish.

I’d committed to facilitate the group under the assumption it would be effortless, but it would not be effortless after all. The leader’s guide had acronyms for English words – useless. The tabbed and organized supplemental material stuffed in a binder thick enough to stop a speeding bullet – useless. My conversational style of teaching that includes one question every five minutes – useless. The French I’d learned in high school, because I guess I thought I’d be spending large portions of my adult life in France – useless.

I’d need to employ small words and concepts, big gestures and facial expressions (with a mask on, Lord help me). I’d need the woman in the group with the best English to be a translator. I’d need the Spanish leader’s guide so I could write out acronyms that would actually benefit the women attending. All of this would burn far more mental calories than I had to spare. But when the center manager asked if I’d please give it a try, I said ‘yes’.

Again.

I’m a hopeful person.

I’m also a glutton for trying new things.

I’m also, like any normal person, highly motivated by positive outcomes.

Not sure what I thought these positive outcomes might be, but they did not include having my limits and weaknesses on display week after week while standing with a smile, a dry erase marker, and an infantile Spanish vocabulary. I love my ladies, let me make that clear. But I’m better suited for ‘jump in, jump out, move on’ kinds of things. At the very least, I’m better suited for work that doesn’t make me feel like a failure.

Nope. Not God’s plan. Instead, He places me in long game work where I can practice the plodding of diligence. I’m not the plodding type, but I value diligence, so last week, I prayed while driving, “Lord, I’m showing up in body with a little bit of heart. Please fill in the rest.” (And then I counted the remaining chapters in the leader’s guide next to me. Two more weeks of plodding.)

Ironically, grace was the week’s topic. It was a surprisingly easy topic to teach with only a body and a little bit of heart. We looked up verses that define grace (they looked up verses that define gracia) and I wrote the definitions on the markerboard.

Grace = not earned

Grace = paid by Christ

Grace = unending

I could have written, ‘Grace = Lord, please fill in the rest’, but I wasn’t sure it’d translate.

The discussion wasn’t electric by any means, but we were getting somewhere. Then my translator, a big-hearted woman who leaks joy, said, “God’s grace is…uhhhh,” she paused to find the English words. “Too much love!”

Too much love: the remedy for a lost perspective. Such good words to rally the wandering pieces of my fragmented soul.

When I live like God’s love is too much for me, I see diligence through the lens of hope. I see that plodding work is really planting work – and I’m grateful to do it. My work is obedience and God works the outcomes. In my weakness or strength (but especially in my weakness), I give Him my best and He makes it good.

I’m prepared for the lesson this week. Ironically, it’s about Gratitude. I’m sure I’ll butcher the Spanish language on accident, but I’m sure I’ll also hear some incredible stories and a beautiful prayer or two from the ladies. They call me ‘teacher’. Mmmmm…too much love.