Books and the Pursuit Greatness

I've been reading a lot.

Well, actually listening a lot.  

Overdrive's library of e-audiobooks is my favorite technological discovery.  I've listened to an embarrassing number of books on Overdrive during my commutes and the brainless data entry part of my job.  To the point where I am having a hard time getting into the several hardbound books awaiting my attention on my nightstand and end tables.  (Side note: Why must I always have at least three books going at once?  It's a thing with me.  Counseling may be in order.)  

Through this period of winter reading binges, I've come to a few realizations.

Neil Gaiman is my spirit animal.  

I wish I had a British accent.

Stephen King's books, as well as his book recommendations, are unwaveringly amazing and never fail me.

It is still my favorite book of all time - the characters, story development, nostalgia, scares and weirdness speak to my soul.  But American Gods now runs a very very close second.  

I'm actually starting to enjoy biographies.  This must be a symptom of me "being in my 40's".  Great.

Another symptom of me "being in my 40's" is a heightened appreciation of and attraction to authenticity in all its forms.  I dig people brave enough to bare their souls, to be true to who God made them to be, with all their pecadillos sticking out and their freak flags flying through the waves of mainstream.

That's real.  That's life affirming.  That's greatness.

I'm tired of trying to live up to the image of my 41 year old self that my 16 year old self (who evidently had a dangerously inflated sense of reality) dreamed up.  This doesn't mean that I have given up.  I still have goals and dreams and continue to strive for them.  But I'm not a famous singer or an acclaimed writer living the fame and fortune life.  I haven't unlocked the secrets of the universe.  I'm not and never will be a size 2 or somehow miraculously continue to grow to achieve my ideal height of 5'8".  And I have not stumbled across a magic item/substance that will gift me telepathy or the ability to fly.


To my 16 year old self I say there is nothing wrong with striving for greatness.  We all should hold ourselves to a high standard and push ourselves to try harder.  But my youthful dreams of worldly greatness have been replaced by internal, soul and God-honoring greatness.

Authentic greatness.

I have moments of authentic greatness.  Like when I light up my husband's eyes.  Or when I fuel my kids' imaginations or catch glimpses of goodness in their souls.  Sometimes I write something that sparks someone.  Sometimes I sing something that moves someone.  I always listen to a friend.  And sometimes I hold my tongue against all urges to yell (this is a significant achievement of greatness for me).

When I was 16 years old I thought greatness was a sustainable degree of being that, once achieved, would remain and life would sail smoothly along.  But greatness is actually much smaller, more precise moments weaved throughout someone's life.  Good decisions made. Selfless actions given.  Using the gifts God has given only to you to make changes in the world, in one life or many, that only you can make.

This kind of greatness is internal.  It's harder and smaller in scope than you anticipate.  It's clumsy and ungraceful.  It's soul filling.

That's what makes it authentic.  

Calling Bull on a Misguided and Hurtful Christian Sentiment

A friend shared this blog entry on Facebook today.  And I want to shout it from the rooftops!  Please click on the highlighted words and read this pastor's message.  It's truth.  Plain and simple.

His blog post perfectly debunks the "God won't give you more than you can handle" sentiment that so many well-meaning, but misguided Christians utter to friends going through rough times. 

It's a sentiment I have always loathed and never use.  It's a sentiment that can send a non-believer running for the hills or add further pain to a believer who isn't handling hard times well.  And it can often make the person saying it seem cruel and dim when spoken to a child of abuse or a victim of a violent crime or a genocide survivor...

Christians carry a heavy burden.  Our words and deeds are scrutinized more than most.  Every educated kind word has the capability of sparking God's light.  And every stupid insensitive flub could extinguish it.  I've been on both sides, giving and receiving both helpful and hurtful sentiments.  And I can attest to the effects of both. 

This pastor's blog is a reminder to me that when someone is going through crisis, I as a human, as a woman, as a mother...and especially as a Christian, need always to be thoughtful and gentle with my words. 

Because words have power.

To Cuss or Not to Cuss

A couple of years ago I gave up cussing for Lent. Last year it was bacon (Jesus and Bacon) but this year I’m revisiting cussing. It worked two years ago and made me more aware of my words long after Lent had blessedly come and gone. But those little words have pushed themselves out again, and the sacrificial symbolism Lent provides is the perfect motivation for me to rein them back in.

This may not seem like much of a sacrifice for a Christian woman, but believe me, for this Christian woman, it is wonderfully difficult.

I curse like a sailor. Always have.

It started in high school in hopes that it might bump up my coolness quotient, which admittedly was in need of some major elevation. But once I started, I began finding beauty in a perfectly placed cuss. It became like an art form for me; using an ordinary cuss in an uncommon way became fun and made people laugh and, darn it, just felt good sometimes.

I also love words and enjoy peppering my writing and speaking with good examples of such. Unfortunately, some of my favorites are not, shall we say, proper for use in certain company or situations.

As I rediscovered my faith years ago and, later, became a mother, I began noticing others’ and my own language more and more. And though I have attempted many times to hold my tongue in whatever company I may be; old habits die hard. And this one just keeps resurfacing like a movie monster’s inexplicable and inevitable resurgence (see Friday the 13th parts 1-12).

Part of me has always thought that the fact that I cuss and am Christian made me more accessible to my non-Christian friends. I figured they could see that you don’t have to be seemingly perfect to love Jesus and to believe in God. That he loves each of us, faults and all, just like we love our kids…even when they cuss like sailors. And I still hold onto that belief to an extent.

On the other hand, I also think that people who know me, but don’t know me well, might hear how I speak on any given day (especially if it’s a stressful one) and be surprised to find out that I’m a Christian. And that’s not cool either.

Let’s face it. I cannot be bubbling over with joy every moment of every day; I wouldn’t want to be that way because it would be phony and just plain annoying. And though I am normally a joyful person and believe that is what often draws people to me, I also know I need to be more careful with my words, especially because I have the responsibility of representing Christian-kind to many people in my life.

Like everything else in life, I suppose there is a balance to be found here. I honestly don’t feel the need to extricate every last cuss word from my vocabulary for the whole of my existence. But maybe the hard-core kind. Maybe the more cutting kind. And giving all of them up for Lent (as a hugely disproportionate shout-out to Jesus for everything he gave up for me) is the perfect way to give weight to every one of those words so, later on, I can intelligently and spiritually strike the proper balance with them in my life.