what I learned from letting go of social media

This Lenten season, I took a break from social media. That’s 45 days in a row without scrolling through news feeds and observing the life events and photography skills of friends, acquaintances, and—let’s be honest—several people I haven’t spoken to in years. More so lately, I had found myself mindlessly perusing these pages during moments of waiting, moments when my attention span felt especially short, moments when I felt the need to seem occupied, and moments when I wanted to avoid contact with other humans (as an introvert, I experience those quite frequently). I wanted to challenge myself in a small way to embrace those moments and engage with them differently. To pay more attention to the world and the people around me. So I put it all away—all the photos and posting and newsfeeds and likes—and made a decision to be more present in my reality.

            A few days in, I realized that I didn’t miss it as much as I thought I would. I didn’t have any “cravings” for the updates and notifications. I was enjoying the break. As the weeks went by, I got to hear from friends about their lives in person….the big things and the little things. I stayed up to date on world, national, and local news through actual news outlets. I wished friends and family happy birthday with a hug or call or card in the mail. I started to realize that, despite what I’d come to believe, social media wasn’t a necessary aspect of my life. I could remain connected to others and the world without it.

            I had also decided that in those moments when I had been drawn to scrolling through social media, I’d instead commit to reading some of the many books that have been sitting on my shelf, just begging for their spines to be bent. Now, I didn’t make it through my whole pile….in fact, I only finished one book completely….but it was the first book that I read from cover to cover in a very long time. My (very frustrating) habit is to start a book, discover another interesting one, unintentionally ditch the first partway through, and repeat. With every. single. book. But I finished this one, and I am so, so glad I did, because it was amazing. (Check it out--The New Friars, written by Scott Bessenecker.)

            Don’t get me wrong—I wasn’t always great at paying attention to my surroundings and other people, or always grabbing a book instead of looking at a screen. Many times I fell into the dreaded Netflix trap, or lost myself in pointless blog articles, when I had a perfect opportunity to soak in all of the real life that was happening around me. 

            But in my best moments, I found creative ways to engage with the world. I chatted more with strangers at the bus stop (a favorite pastime), I deepened relationships with my coworkers, was more attentive to the beauty of spring emerging, and wrote more letters to far-away friends. I will not be swearing off all social media, but I have started asking myself, "why am I choosing this over something else in this moment?" And though it’s not always a wrong choice, asking the question allows me to better evaluate how I am living into the things that are important to me. 

this is a story about Mary

So, this is a story about Mary. And about Jesus, and about me.

I met Mary when I was on my lunch break. I walked down the block to the little burger joint on the corner (they have the BEST milkshakes, so on particularly exhausting weeks I like to treat myself). I was waiting by the curb after I ordered. Waiting at one of the tables were two women, at another table two men. There were a few people in line, a few standing around like me. The wait is sometimes long, but I don't mind, because I enjoy observing the people who come and go from the place.

After a few minutes, a woman walked up to the table where the men were sitting. She spoke to them, they quietly responded, and she walked away. Then she turned and started walking toward me. She said hello and started telling me about some of the difficulties she'd been facing recently. When I asked her name, she said "I'm Mary." I told her my name, and listed awhile longer to the pieces of her story that she was sharing. Finally, she asked if I could help her pay for lunch. All I had was $5.00, but I thought it might be better than nothing. We talked a bit more, and before she left she gave me a hug.

Here's a confession, y'all. Normally, I don't give out money. Sometimes, especially if there are a lot of people around, or I feel like I'm on a schedule, I won't even stop to listen. Sometimes, I'm afraid of what people will think of me if I take the time to listen or talk to a person who is asking for money.

But there was something about Mary that made me step outside those fears and listen. I don't know if she was telling the truth or not. I don't know what she might use the $5.00 for. But I know that when I asked her name, the look on her face showed that she felt seen. And when she addressed me by my name, I felt seen, too.

A few minutes later, I heard the women at the table loudly mocking some of the things that Mary had said, calling her "crazy," and laughing. Suddenly I realized that I probably looked "crazy" for talking to her, listening to her story, and helping her. Those women, and maybe everyone else waiting nearby, might have been thinking that I was stupid for even paying attention to her, naive for listening and believing her.

But surprisingly, I didn't care. I didn't care if they thought I was stupid or naive. Maybe I was. But I also shared a moment of connection with a woman who seemed like she was feeling pretty disconnected. It brought peace to my own disconnected soul, too. 

I guess that sometimes, loving people makes you look stupid. Or silly. Or naive. But Mary taught me that it's worth it. It's worth it to love, to care, to listen. To be interruptible. It was a challenging and humbling thing to learn, but I couldn't help thinking that it must have been a feeling that Jesus experienced a lot. He was probably mocked all the time for paying attention to the people who he paid attention to. And yet, he kept paying attention. 

Chances are, I will miss more opportunities for connection because of my own fear or selfishness. But I hope that I remember Mary when I am afraid of what others might think of me. I hope that I remember her smile, and that brief but powerful moment of connection. 

sometimes, I don't want to choose joy

Over the past several months, our Mission Year family has talked a lot about seeking "deep joy" over "cheap fun," and when we gather together, we share the ways that we've experienced joy during the week. Sometimes, these are real challenges. Sometimes, "cheap fun" just seems more fun, and sometimes there are weeks when it seems like everything went wrong and I just don't have anything joyful to share.

There are a lot of sayings out there about "choosing" joy. I've always thought that it sounds nice, but seems unrealistic most of the time.  I mean, if someone is sad, why can't they just be sad? Or angry? Or hurt?

....what about depressed? 

....anxious? 

Why do we have to choose joy when things are difficult? Can't things just be difficult?

Living in community, I've learned a lot about choosing love. When we're having the same tense conversation about dishes for the thousandth time, when one or two or all six of my roommates are getting on my nerves, when I can't seem to find just five minutes of peace and quiet, I have to choose love. We have to choose love. Do we do it perfectly? Nope. But we are committed to each other, and so we stay. We choose each other, we come back. Over and over and over.

So, if I can choose love, can I choose joy? Can I choose joy when I'm frustrated? Can I choose joy when I really just don't feel like it? When everything going on around me seems anything but joyful? I think that I can. Joy doesn't have to mean walking around everywhere with a huge smile on your face all the time. I am learning that for me, joy is the feeling I get when I think about the future that I will get to spend with Christ in eternity. That is my truth, and it's my truth even when I'm not feeling particularly "happy." 

So, for me, choosing joy means living as if I really believe that truth--even and especially when things are difficult. Feeling sad or angry or anxious or whatever I'm feeling is important--I don't want to replace those feelings with artificial happiness. What I do want is to start practicing choosing joy. Choosing to feel and know and believe, deep down, that I am loved and valued infinitely by the God of the universe. 

I think that when we start to figure out what our truth is--who we are and who we're becoming--we find a place for joy, right alongside grief and heartache and even just the mundane. We can choose joy even as we choose sadness. 

I hope that I can remember to choose joy, just like I need to remember to choose love.

I am terrible at remembering to write blog posts.....

Hey friends!

I have SO MUCH to share with you, and have not had much time recently to really get it all out. I'm sorry that I've been so silent over the past months, but stay tuned--new posts are coming soon!

Thanks for your patience :)

In the midst of hurt

Yesterday, I started a blog post about the difficulties I’ve been facing recently. I decided that I was tired of telling stories that somehow tied up nice and neat and made it sound like even though such-and-such a challenge came along, I learned such-and-such from it and everything was smoothly and beautifully redeemed. Now, that’s not to say that brokenness isn’t redeemed, or that we shouldn’t express our experiences of healing. I was just desperate to communicate that sometimes, hurts keep on hurting even when we can see their purpose. And sometimes, we don’t get to see their purpose at all. Sometimes, hurts and doubts and fears and brokenness drag on, like a small pounding in your head that is still there, even after all the tears have been cried and all the prayers have been prayed.

That’s the kind of story I set out to share. Then, just as the words were starting to flow, I had the sudden urge to turn the page in my notebook and make a list of everything I have been thankful for in the last couple of days and weeks. So I did.

Making that list did not cease that small pounding. It did not heal my brokenness or cast out my fears and doubts. It did not tie a nice little bow at the end of my story of hurt.

It did, however, point me back to the importance of gratitude. It reminded me that when I am having the most trouble seeing and experiencing God, gratitude can be the strongest lifeline. Though it may not calm the storm, it can provide an anchor in the midst of the wind and rain.

So, instead of sharing the story of my recent struggles, I am going to share my list of recent graces.

My struggles are still very much present. My hope is that I can learn how to practice gratitude in the midst of struggle, when I don’t feel like the problems are resolved, and when I don’t particularly feel like being grateful.

Recently, I have been grateful for…

• hugs and high-fives from awesome kids
• rare and sacred quiet time
• sunny, 80-degree weather in November
• a chance to catch up on letter-writing
• holding a neighbor’s adorable kitten
• extra sleep and time to rest
• laugh-so-hard-you-cry (or start hiccuping) moments with dear friends
• difficult but important opportunities to learn from people who see things differently
• fears and tears shared on a bedroom floor
• a beautiful meal and quality time shared with three generations of strong, loving women
• strangers becoming family

What small graces can you find in the midst of your hurt?

In the insignificant

Change of one sort or another is the essence of life, so there will always be the loneliness and insecurity that come with change. When we refuse to accept that loneliness and insecurity are part of life, when we refuse to accept that they are the price of change, we close the door on many possibilities for ourselves; our lives become lessened…. Life evolves; change is constant. - Jean Vanier 

 The last two months have been marked by deep and lasting change. My surroundings have changed, my daily routine has changed, the people I live with and near have changed, and my lifestyle has changed. Amidst all this change, it has been difficult to identify any constants. At times, loneliness and insecurity have threatened to overtake me. When I don’t feel known, when I don’t feel equipped, when I have trouble remembering why I wanted my life to look like this. 

At these times, when I feel like my eyes are barely above the waves, God reminds me of His faithfulness. My roommate gives me a hug out of the blue, saying “I just love you.” Our next door neighbor comes over to drop off mail that he picked up for us and remind us to turn on the porch light. I hear the sweet squeals of a happy baby.  

God shows up for me in those little, simple moments. Even when I want to turn off my alarm in the morning and sleep through the responsibilities. Even when I snap at my roommates out of exhaustion or frustration. Even when I question all of my reasons for being here. When I turn around, He is there, holding His arms wide open to welcome me into His loving, merciful embrace. There are many things that He is inviting me into in this new season, and one of them is opening the door to change and uncertainty. Though it is extremely challenging for me to let go of my desire for security and control, God is showing me the abundant life and love that He wants to give me when I loosen my grip. 

If it weren’t for my new city, my new neighbors, my new housemates, my new job, and all of the new experiences I am encountering, I would be stuck with the same image of God that I had before. But, because I am way outside my comfort zone, living and loving in a way that is unfamiliar to me, I can develop and grow my image of God and my relationship with this constant, loving Shepherd. He shows up in the joy and laughter, and He shows up in the sorrow and tears. He is there in our doubt and our insecurity and our hesitant steps.  

This life is not perfect. It is messy and trying and confusing. But there is so much beauty in drawing strength from God's faithfulness and mercy in even the simplest of things, and realizing that the insignificant moments are often the most significant.

Life, as told by a fortune cookie

Three weeks ago, I graduated from college. It still hasn’t totally sunk in that I’m no longer a student, and it doesn’t help that I’m still living in the same city, in the same apartment, just a few blocks from campus. However, this stage of my life is filled with the most change I’ve experienced since I came to college.

In about three and a half months, I will be starting my time with Mission Year, an incredible one-year ministry program for young adults [learn more about it here]. I committed to the program almost 6 months ago, and that time has flown by. It’s so hard to believe that in such a short time I will be moving about 1400 miles away from my current home in Pittsburgh, PA to Houston, Texas. During my time in Houston, I will be learning about what it means to love God and love people through living in community with other MY team members, getting to know my neighbors, and serving in the neighborhood. I am beyond excited for this adventure and new chapter in my life!

However, I’ve never been very good at change. I tend to resist it, pretty much at all costs. Several months ago, my best friend and I had a conversation that served as a major catalyst for many things in my life to begin changing, including my ability to define myself by my status as God’s beloved. That night, we picked up some Chinese takeout for dinner, and as I was wrestling with all of the exciting and painful things we were discussing, I unwrapped the fortune cookie I got with my food. Normally, I only read them so that I can make fun of the silly (and often pointless) little messages. However, this one was about to speak some serious truth into my life. It read:

“Welcome change.”

It might seem a little far-fetched, but I truly believe that that little fortune cookie’s message was God splashing water in my face, telling me that even though it can be painful, with change comes incredible growth and opportunity to love. That the changes that were staring me in the face needed to be embraced and welcomed into my life, not pushed away.

Once again, I am facing changes that seem incredibly scary. I feel a little like I’m jumping off a cliff with no idea how far down I’ll fall or what’s at the bottom. But, God has shown me that when I welcome change (or, at the very least, don’t fight it tooth and nail), amazing things happen and He remains faithful. So, during this season of intense change, and throughout the next year as I encounter countless new and scary experiences, I want to try my best to welcome the changes that God brings into my life, and consider them blessings.