A Selfish Confession

I have felt extremely selfish lately.

I was sharing with a friend of mine that because of the season that I am in and coming out of that I feel like I am taking (x100) from the people around me. For almost a year, I have sought out those that I am closest to, seeking their comfort, encouragement, sanity checks, life, wisdom, and love. In all honesty, I don't know how I would have gotten through this journey without each of them. It has been a wild ride, but knowing that at every turn someone would be there to to keep journeying with me was the strongest source of hope and motivation to keep going.

My friend graciously offered that those things have completely been reciprocated from myself back to them. That is hard to believe, knowing the lack of energy and excitement I have had; knowing that I have done much more of the talking and processing; knowing that safe community has never felt more necessary than right now. However, it was a very gracious thought.

Here's the thing, I am not the only going through whirlwind stuff right now.

My friend Christina (affectionately known as "Mia") told me yesterday, "This whole season is just so weird. This whole life thing is just so weird. Ugh."

Yes. Yes, it is.

And since I am not the only one going through things, and since I feel extremely selfish lately, I leave you with a note of gratitude, a small offering of moving toward selflessness once more. Hoping and needing to care for more than my small little world, remembering that life must be knowingly reciprocated.

Dear Friends,

Thank you. You have reminded me that life can still be lived in the midst of excruciating pain, both physical and emotional. You have shown me how to never give up, even when the rug is completely swept out from underneath you. You have stayed close, asking hard questions, engaging in and carrying my burdens with no hesitation, with no limit. You have pointed me to truth, to what is beautiful in the world, to hope. You have allowed me to be fully myself, the brokenness, the questioning, the struggling, and then kept believing in me.

I see in you, who I want to be.

So I set my aim high. To love people, to taste life, to shed the cloak of me, and awaken the heart of we. To forgive and to feel, to choose humility and service over self-promotion and affirmation. Also, to say, "no" and to care for myself, especially when not doing so could bring harm to those around me. To operate out of my true self, of who I have been created to be, rejecting the lies of perfectionism and acknowledging my woundedness, yet choosing to continue growing.

I see in you, glimpses of the Kingdom to come.

And I pray, that hand in hand we carry on, for you, for me, and especially for a world in need of experiencing the transformation of community at the table.

With all of my love and gratitude,

Lindsey

Lessons in Making the Bed

You should be proud of me because I made the bed this morning. In fact, this is the second day in a row that I made the bed. High fives and back pats all around!

When I was little I didn't make the bed very often, if ever. It felt like a waste of my time and my day. I take a long time to get ready and to ensure that I have everything I need, so all of my energy is dedicated to simply getting out the door clothed and being semi-prepared.

(One time in middle school my parents wrote a note excusing my tardiness because I left my shoes on the roof of the car. We quickly drove to school, since I am often, okay fine, always, late. The shoes flew off. We drove 15 minutes to school. I arrived at school with no shoes. We drove back home and I surprisingly found my shoes in the street in tact. Then we drove 15 minutes back to school. I handed them my extremely odd and hardly excusable note. My dog ate my homework? Nope. I just can't get my life together.)

There always seems to be better things to do than making my bed.

My roommates in college happened to be incredibly gracious (or maybe avoided confrontation) because they rarely, if ever, said anything about my bed, or my mess. I would pile everything onto my bed so it was off the floor during the day. At night, I would pull it off and shove it along the border of my bed to not take up too much space. The next day, repeat procedure.

At some point in the last week or two, I must have grown up a little bit. I realize that in starting my day by making the bed, I am setting myself up to get things done, to make progress, to challenge myself, to achieve goals (or at least attempt to). I mean, if I actually made my bed this morning, then I must be destined for greatness!

Then if my day feels like a waste, I find myself exhausted, and I feel incredibly defeated, I can at least walk into my room, look at my bed, and be reminded that I'm not a complete failure.

Because after 29 years, I have started to make the bed, and even that can be considered a victory.

It's only been 2 days though, and tomorrow I might fall into my old pattern of an unkempt sleeping space. But for today, I get to crawl into a neatly wrapped bed with a down comforter, slightly dirty sheets, and pillow shams. Nothing beats crawling into bed when you get to turn the covers down.

And that can only happen if the bed is actually made.