Growing Up

"I don't think that growing up should be synonymous with becoming stressed about life, though. I don't think it should have to mean losing patience on the freeway or running errands all weekend or dashing out the door for work without having eaten breakfast. "

i stole the above quote from my friend maggie's blog awhile ago now, but the words still resonate with me as much as ever.

i've been thinking about growing up a lot lately. (A. LOT. - as michele would say). and when i think about growing up, i think about stress and bills and travel (not for-fun travel, but business travel with briefcases and work to get done on the flights). i think that when i read the newspaper, as a grown-up, it is no longer acceptable that i turn to the comics first or get bored by the front page or don't even bother to look at the business section.

i confess these things: sometimes, to me, growing up means being busy, all the time. hopefully busy doing really important things. and i kind of know where i got this picture, because both of my parents are very busy people. they like to be busy. but i forget sometimes the ways they build in 'play' to their daily lives. i forget about the things that mom says to herself just to make herself laugh, or the quiet mornings with steaming coffee and good music my dad has, or how he wears vacation hats and makes up stories or she does strange dances to christmas music.

i confess that in the middle of preparing and expecting, i forget and i grow anxious. i think of adulthood as what maggie reminds me it doesn't need to be: stressful, rushed, lonely.

awhile ago, my dad asked one of his friends what he needed to do to be spiritually healthy. the friend replied with characteristic wisdom and brevity: "you must ruthlessly eliminate hurry from your life."
that phrase sticks with me, as i grow up.

i was in carmel with my dad last weekend, and went for a run that took me all along the ocean. i was feeling particularly anxious about growing up at that moment, and i detoured to some rocks and tide pools down the hill from the road. i saw a bunch of families out on a sunny afternoon, and watching the kids in their little-kid bathing suits with their little-kid floaties and little-kid bravado running up to wave after wave, i felt deep pangs of sadness for the little kid that i will never be again.

the more i watched, though, the more that i saw that it wasn't only the kids running and splashing in the water. their parents joined in. their too-cool older siblings got up and walked around, and their dogs ran and ran and ran until they could run no more.

the ocean is a great equalizer, and this is one of its ways. it is life-giving, and life-affirming, and reminds me that i am free to disregard whatever secret grown-up manifesto i keep thinking i have to embrace. Jesus does not stop doing his work in me because i am growing up; in fact, i expect that he will do even more. and isn't that lovely.

It's about that time

I should preface to anyone who has started reading this blog in the last few months: A few times a year, I take a break from my sporadic theological ponderings to review awards-show fashion. It is not the world's most serious endeavor, so feel free to skip this one -- or indulge the side of yourself that is sick of listening to me rant about Mark Driscoll.

OH, what a night! Ricky Gervais delivered on lackluster jokes about the celebrities in the room, George Clooney got away with the dirtiest joke of the night in his charming, I-stole-Brad-Pitt's'-cane kind of way, and The Artist and Downton Abbey deservedly won their respective categories. Of course, if you've been following this blog for any amount of time now, you know that this is all warm-up for the Oscars, which my family is absolutely religious about. So I'm on to a month of reading wacky prediction blogs, but before I go there, needed to debrief some of the Golden Globe fashions.

Loved Laura Dern's dress. Loved loved loved it. So classy, so 1970s Halston -- Sarah Jessica Parker would be proud. The color is so rich. It reminds me of Angie's Golden Globes dress last year, but I think I like Laura's even more. The V-neck adds something, and I love the contrasting colors of the collar and the belt. Her hair looks like she just read an article in Teen Vogue about putting it in two braids at night and then undoing it the next day for a fabulous style!, but it doesn't really do much for me.

Okay. Now that we've talked about her dress, can we talk about how she brought Ben Harper (her estranged ex-husband) as her date?! I love the two of them together, and the news of their possible reunification brings me great joy.









OH, Rooney Mara, I have a feeling that you love all the Lisbeth Salander attention you are getting these days. Since you've essentially transformed yourself into the character. Because they interview her all the time ("What was it like to get the role?" "When did you change from your seemingly sunny former self into a goth Method actress?"), I know that the most Commonly Asked Question of Rooney Mara is whether she kept her piercings from the movie. She kept a few. Consequently, all I could think when I saw her was, "I wonder if her nipple piercings are chafing under that dress." Because, I mean, ouch!

I would just like to say that Carey Michelle Mulligan Williams is looking very cute these days. Didn't you love when she sang "New York, New York" on Dawson's Creek? Or when she dated Shia LaBouef in Blue Valentine? What a gamine talent!

This one just makes me think of Jessica Biel, but looks ten times worse because the wearer did not just get engaged to Justin Timberlake, rendering her temporarily insane. What has Amanda Peet even been up to lately? Shopping Florence Welch's closet, apparently.

Zooey! You looked fantastic. Better than adorable, or 'adorkable,' which is a word I refuse to use, so let's pretend I didn't. Her Prada dress was gorgeous -- so different from what almost anyone else was wearing. I love that she had a pop of color on the dress and clutch, and the bottom of the dress totally reminds me of my wedding dress--except don't worry, it wasn't black, I'm not that weird--which is always a good thing. The only thing that really bothered by about this whole look was her hair. She looks like Liza Minelli (or, more accurately, the Andy Warhol image of Liza Minelli.) The fringe-y bangs combined with the oddly-layered hair makes for a funky combination. But overall, much more sophisticated than we might have expected. A victory. 

The winner of the night was, hands down, Charlize Theron. She looked absolutely stunning, and I know that the dress has a ton of stuff going on -- drapey bow, brooch, slit up to there -- but it just worked. The peachy hue was a gorgeous shade against her skin, and the headband and hairstyle and shoes all conspired to form a perfect Golden Globes look. Playful, stylish, not overly formal or elegant. She looked statuesque. The only thing I might have added was one of those backwards necklaces that are so hot nowadays. All jewelry should be worn backwards. 

This dress was also a great example of a skin-tone dress that was the right shade. Julie Bowen, bless her heart, gave it the old college try on Sunday night, and I LOVED the sleeves on her gown but the rest of it just looked like . . . pretty skin. Is that too Silence of the Lambs? 

Blergh! This makes NO sense, excepting the aforementioned temporary insanity plea. I mean, girlfriend. You are GORGEOUS. She looks like my friend Mallory from highschool, I think -- the prettiest girl next door/tomboy you've ever seen, so WHY are you walking around in an oversized doily with a scalloped center slit? Why do you want us, your loyal fans from the days of 7th Heaven, to think that you have a third boob somewhere on your chest? The phrase "Jessica Biel stylist" brings up a cadre of unrevealing results, so I can't tell if she was given professional advice to look like the Bride of Frankenstein or if she came to it honestly. Either way, blergh! ALSO, UPDATE, I just read that she was wearing a backwards necklace. So, you know, there's that. 

"Giddyup, ladies! I'm playing Annie Oakley in my next movie, Annie Oakley Sings!, a musical about a funeral singer named Annie Oakley who finally embraces her ancestral roots and impossibly high cheekbones. I -- I mean, Annie -- popularized the current phenomena of Dress Pockets, which you can see here by the way I have casually inserted my right hand into my Dress Pocket. An alternate title for the film was The Guns in My Dress Pocket: The Annie Oakley Story, but Lifetime didn't like it. Annie grew tired of excess material on the top of her dresses, so she replaced the top with whimsical mesh fabric and placed the extra on her hips, for an extra flattering fit! Oooh, my ponytail holder fell out! Must run!" 

I almost never post two pictures of a dress, but the back of Claire Danes's dress is what makes it. I was struck not just by how modern this dress is -- stark colors, simple design -- but how delicate it manages to be at the same time. The back, especially, looks held together by almost nothing, and the whole thing looks demure in the best possible way. Old Hollywood, if I dare trot out that old cliche. Her makeup was a bit much for me -- I get that people are loving a bright red lip right now, but it's not my number one favorite all the time. However, this was such a fantastic look overall that I can't complain much.  

Honorable Mentions: Reese Witherspoon, who was all vava voom with beachy hair and a mermaid red dress. Lea Michelle in a non-fishtail, non-little girl Marchesa number. Jessica Alba in a gorgeous lilac princess-y dress that was still sleek and elegant.

Dishonorable Mentions: Tami Taylor in what looked like a sequined linen napkin. Dianna Agron in a Valentino homemade Valentine (all that was missing were the dry macaroni noodles). Sarah Michelle Gellar in a tye dye experiment gone terribly awry. Angelina Jolie in what looked like another napkin, weirdly folded at the neck (and again with the red lipstick.) 

Madonna Mention: Madonna. I have no idea whether I loved or hated her dress, "The Punisher."

Whence real love?

There has been a lot of chatter online the last few days around the newly-release "Real Marriage" by Mark and Grace Driscoll. Reviews (both from those in the Reformed camp and outside of it) abound; you can find them here, here, here, here, and here. (Okay, so not the last one. But I thought you could use a little levity, and who doesn't love Steve Martin?)

While my own thoughts about Mark's theology are both widely available and probably quite evident, I wonder now more about the marriages that are going to be shaped by reading this book. The couples, old and young, whose behavior and attitudes and life together have been laid at the altar of the Driscoll's teachings.  

I haven't read the book, and probably won't, so this isn't meant to be a review of any type. And as much as I know I could go that way, this isn't meant to be a condescending portrait of a lost couple -- no "oh, poor things," or "they just don't know how to discern good theology from bad." I don't want to say that I feel sorry for them, because that assumes that I, on my high horse, have somehow managed a superior skill at living in a relationship. And that certainly isn't the case.

I do wonder, though. What must it be like to be a young woman, newly married, raised to find your own voice, lead your own life, only to be told that the home is the place where you must use your gifts. To learn that, as a young mother, you must first consult with your husband about your new haircut -- because no matter how many minutes you save in the morning by not having to dry, curl, and spray, no amount of time is more valuable than your husband's pleasure in glimpsing your long locks. To have grown in a relationship of partners, only to find out that perhaps your marital struggles are stemming from your 'disobedience' to God in wanting to work outside the home.

No, I don't feel sorry for them. I feel sad. And confused -- confusion akin to that I feel at the growth and attractiveness of a church like Mars Hill, under the teaching of Driscoll and others who teach that God hates you and that you shouldn't worship a Jesus you could beat up.

When will we be free? When will the time come that we don't need to have these conversations? It can't come soon enough, to be sure, but I fear that it will take longer than I hope. We have lived under false teaching long enough.

This year.

"When you discover in yourself something that is a gift from God, you have to claim it and not let it be taken away from you."

So says that modern hero of the faith, Henri Nouwen. And these words -- words that should excite, inspire, spur on -- these words scare the shit out of me.

Over the Christmas holiday, I had a long, rich conversation with my sister, dad, and aunt. We walked for hours through the terrain of growing up: setting goals, treating yourself thoughtfully and with care, loving others well, letting go of contempt.

I like writing. I am good at writing, and I want to do more of it. It is a gift from God, and I will not let my fear (so much fear!) stop me. Not this year, or the next, or this day. I will claim it and not let it be taken away from me.

That's all.

Right Roads and Wrong Roads

I discovered one of my favorite poems in the seventh grade. Most of you probably know it—The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost. I thought of it as I was out hiking in the hills above Woodside yesterday. 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood

And sorry I could not travel both . . .

I kept the first for another day

And that has made all the difference

Literary scholars have debated about the ending for scores of years. Is the author happy with the road that he chose? Or is it a nostalgic telling, a wish for a second chance, a second life? That ambiguity is precisely what I love about the poem.

There are two lessons to take away; First, we must make choices. We can’t avoid them, and we have to choose between several options – mostly without exploring each one fully. Second, there is no right road or wrong road. There is no road in the entirety of the world where God cannot meet us.

We all have threads – words – that mark our roads and make them uniquely ours. Part of my road, one of my threads, is anxiety.

I started college in the fall of 2003 at Westmont College, a tiny and lovely school 2,000 miles from where I had lived the last long chunk of my life. My parents had just moved from that place to Northern California, so my last vestiges of ‘home’ were gone. In the midst of one of the most anxious times of my life, I took a risk, trusting God in a moment-by-moment way. It was profoundly rewarding, an experience of clinging and abiding in fear.

I graduated college in the spring of 2007, and I was terrified. Terrified of the unknown, of the end of something familiar and cocoonish, and on a road that required very little work of me. I avoided pain with finesse those few months, and wasn’t willing to trust or be still.

God was no less present with me at the end of college than he was at the beginning. But that’s not how I felt. I’ve come to learn slowly something that Dallas Willard says well – that emotions are terrible masters but excellent servants. You don’t get to know at the beginning, most of the time, whether a road is a ‘right’ or a ‘wrong’ one. It is a mostly false distinction anyhow. My road is my road, and when I waste my time wanting someone else’s journey, I lose any ability to be faithful to God and to the present moment.

At that time, I had (many) long conversations with my good friend Michele. She asked me a bunch of questions, as is her wont, and I didn’t have good answers so I tried to fabricate what I thought were the ‘right’ ones.

“What do you want from God now?” she asked me.

“I guess . . . more of him, and less of me?”

“Okay. Why?”

Why? What does she mean, why? It’s in the Bible! It sounds great! I don’t know why.

“Try again,” she would say.

“Maybe I just want to find God,” I finally told her.

“You want to find God? Why can’t you let God find you?”

For someone who couldn’t sit still, couldn’t trust, these words were like an arrow to my heart. Immediately, I thought of Robert Frost and that poem. I thought of a million reasons why God couldn’t find me: I was on the wrong road. I was running away from him. I was terrified of encountering him, so I hid.

But what Michele said struck me as incredibly characteristic of the one who would go out to find his one lost sheep, the one who would come to dwell among the people he loved on earth. God is in the business of finding people.

Lest that sound passive, it is not. This endeavor requires no less than our very souls offered daily to God – it is a pursuit to which we are called body, heart, strength, and mind.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

We don’t get to come back, most of the time. Our lives are fairly linear, which means there can be growth, and what a good thing that is! And we can live in nostalgia, or in joy, or in some bittersweet comingling of the two. And that, too, is our gift – the coming of the God who finds us.

How could I know?

there is a scene in the movie 'soylent green' that kills me every time i see it. (maybe not the most appropriate turn of phrase, considering the ingredients of the titular stuff.) Edward G. Robinson plays Sol, a former federal agent who is trying to find the truth behind the propaganda related to the Soylent Corporation, a company whose rations are the most commonly consumed sources of energy in a world so overpopulated that trees and greenery have been bulldozed for row upon row of concrete tract housing. Charlton Heston plays Robert Thorn, the young up-and-comer to Robinson's aging Sol, and a winsome and important friendship develops.

a lot of stuff happens, and it isn't as sci-fi as it sounds, and you really should watch the whole thing. But the scene that gets me -- i think of it often.

toward the very end of the film, Sol is about to die. it is a choice he has made, and for doing so, he is rewarded. he is taken into a round room, surrounded by screens showing images of the world he once know -- a field of tulips being battered around by the wind, a troop of deer posing skittishly, wave upon wave lapping up on cliff, rock, beach. Music is piped in -- Grieg, Tchaikovsky, Beethoven -- and Thorn strong-arms his way into a viewing area. He sees a world totally foreign to him projected all around Sol. He sees the goodness of it, the beauty and diversity of it, the colors that have been wholly subsumed by wan, monochromatic gray.

"Isn't it beautiful?" asks Sol.

"How could I know?" replies Thorn. "How could I ever imagine?"

. . .

I can't think of a better scene to bring to mind, a better thing to talk about, when we talk about God. I was out of town when Dallas Willard came to Menlo Park Pres a few weeks ago, and tonight, finally got around to watching the video of his discussion of God and the problem of pain.

Everyone ought to have a Sol in their life. I am blessed (and I don't use that word lightly) enough to have a handful of people who point me to truth and beauty, who surprise me time and again with their wisdom. I do not know Dallas well, personally, but a bit. And more than that, I have read and heard and seen him whenever possible, soaking up the opportunity to hear what his mind is thinking. Not because he is a perfect person, but because when I hear him, I think, "How could I know?"

How could I ever imagine a God who is this good?

"We are living beyond death now as we identify with Jesus," he said.

Or this: "Could God have made a world where pain and suffering don't exist?"
"He could have, I suppose, made a world with only minerals. Or perhaps minerals and vegetables. But a world with persons such as us? No, he couldn't have. This is not a limitation of his power. The idea of a world with persons such as us that is free from suffering is contradictory, and a contradiction is not something you can fail to do."

there are some people who get it. they get God's goodness and power so fundamentally, and live out of that conviction so readily, and they are people I want to learn from. But lest I turn that into another form of Christian celebrity worship, it is all because (and only because) we worship a God who is unfailingly good.

and the people around us help us to see. help us to say, "How could I know? How could I ever imagine?"

"When we assign roles to any person strictly on account of gender, we miss out on an abundance of gifts that person could bring to the table by first paying attention to their giftedness."


I wrote a guest post for CT's Her.meneutics website today . . .