Hands full.

During the week after my honeymoon I felt useless.  Nathan and I couldn't really dig our feet into unpacking all of our things and setting up our new apartment because we had a conference to attend at the end of the week and another conference to attend the following week.  And with traveling everywhere and doing all things wedding related, I was pretty slow at getting into work mode and preparing for the new school year on a new campus.

Reflecting on that week with some co-workers during our Regional Staff Conference (the latter conference) revealed how much I was hiding behind the craziness of the wedding planning and the limbo and stress of transitions.  Doing so reinforced the idea that I was strong enough to handle being busy with lot of things on my plate.  But now that the wedding was over, all of my things were in Rochester and I was adjusting to married life just fine - there were no major conflicts to justify my worth to others or excuses to say, "Life is hard."  I realized that I felt guilty for "not doing anything" that week after the honeymoon, that it was somehow wrong to rest or slow down by choice.  I wasn't being productive.  I wasn't planning, cleaning, organizing, or crossing anything off lists of things to do.  And it felt weird.  I felt empty, like I had nothing to show the world.  I had the subconscious mentality that I needed to be doing something worthwhile to prove that I deserved to exist another day.

A few weeks ago, the church Nathan and I have been visiting for several weeks made an announcement about the need for someone to help once a month with the powerpoint on Sunday mornings during service.  It seemed really simple.  They'd even teach you how to do stuff, and it would only be once a month.

It was so tempting to throw my hand in the air and say, "Me!  Me!  Pick me!  I can do it!" or, you know, just walk up to the person in charge after service and talk to him about it.

Thankfully, in a matter of seconds, I came to my senses and realized that Nathan and I had not actually committed to this church, so it would be silly to commit to something once a month if we weren't sure we would be around next week, let alone the next month.  It also occurred to me that we had made the commitment not to serve in any church capacity for an entire year.  It was a piece of wisdom we received as newlyweds from a number of wise couples we know, to give our marriage the attention it needs particularly in our first year together - which totally makes sense.  But it still feels really weird not to volunteer for things I think are important that I'm perfectly capable of doing

Things have gotten crazy again in my life, but there's a part of me that's hungry for more, as if I'm still not doing enough.  Part of that comes from having so many desires to do things:  I want to keep up with my out-of-town friends and family, build relationships with my neighbors and serve my community, try new things to feed my desire to learn and create good stories...they're not bad things to pursue.  But I think there's a subconscious part of me that cunningly takes all those (and more) desires and says, "Well, you're only really occupied vocationally right now, and most people don't understand how much work you do on a day-to-day basis with InterVarsity, so you need to commit to this, volunteer with this, and find more ways to stay busier than ever so that when people around you can see how important you're making a difference in this world and aren't just wasting you life by doing nothing. 

I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who does that.  And I'm not saying we necessarily do it on purpose, either.  I think part of it comes from growing up in a culture where the message is "more is better" - the more you're doing, the better you are because how much you do says how worthy and valuable you are.  I think another part of it comes from our need to be needed and wanted.  Volunteering and committing to work sometimes gives us a sense of purpose and security that we're doing something important.

And I think there's a healthy tidbit in there.  God designed us to build, to create, to work - and it wasn't always a dreadful thing.  But that's the kicker, right?  Since we are broken people part of broken cultures who dwell in a broken world with broken systems, we in America have twisted work into busyness and allow it to distract us from giving the proper attention, time, and parts of ourselves to the people and causes that are sometimes more important in the grander scheme of things.  It is our busyness, not our work, that has become the definition of our value and worth, justification of our existence, and excuse from facing more difficult, though meaningful, conflicts.

But if we truly believed in our hearts and our minds to the very core of our being that we are loved by God and there's nothing we can do to add to it or take that away, then what are we doing?  Why are we perpetuating an idea that steers us in the wrong direction?  I guess I'm just saying (mostly to myself) that we need to keep the proper perspective of why we do what we do and be thoughtful about the things we commit to and not feel guilty about resting.  We need to be careful about how we reinforce for ourselves and others the vicious cycle of overworking and need to encourage rest even more.  We need it not to be lazy or idle, but to take the time to reflect, gain some perspective, and remind ourselves that it's not where our identity lies when we are God's people.

Things are crazy, but no more hiding.

My hunt for a 20-mile march.

I attended a couple of conferences almost back-to-back in the middle of August.  First was the Willow Creek Global Leadership Summit, and the second soon after that was the InterVarsity NY/NJ Regional Staff Conference.  There were a lot of things I immediately gleaned from the prior, but it's been a bit tougher trying to figure out what I've soaked in from the latter.

However, there was something from the staff conference that I've been thinking about recently.

If I remember correctly, Bill Sweeting, our speaker for the conference, quoted something from John C. Maxwell who said, "The toughest person to lead is always yourself" (read about it here).  In the midst of a million things to do, goals to work towards, and feeling like I'm just moving backwards and will never achieve great things or simply do things I like or want to do, I recognize how incredibly undisciplined and faithless (unreliable) I am.  It takes me a long time to do things, especially when it comes to processing things that feel like they're really important or are really important to me.  And a lot of times in the process of pursuing those things, I end up completing the minimum to get by with what I can or it begins to look like a hanging carrot I just cannot physically reach.  

It's probably why I've always felt like I never had any big dreams.  Maybe the reality is I probably don't want anything bad enough to keep at it, or somehow I'm afraid of actually succeeding (isn't this sounding ridiculous and not at the same time?).  Here, take a look at some of the things I could potentially pursue:

Since I was nine years old I've always wanted to write and publish a novel.  It's a big dream, but not impossible.  But over the years I haven't been willing to practice writing.  I haven't written any short stories unless I had a deadline for a creative writing class, I haven't entered any contests, I haven't submitted any pieces for publications or just wrote some chapters or story ideas for fun.  I've been limiting my writing to blog posts.  I don't give my writing the time or space to grow and develop.  It's like any musical pursuits (which, by the way, I also don't really work on at all) - if you want to get better, you need to practice.  You need to make mistakes and learn your craft and cover the basics.

Look at my big dream to own and run a cafe/bakery/bookstore/gift shop/inn/community center combo thing.  You don't see me reading books about small businesses/non-profits, baking or designing greeting cards at every opportunity I can get, or asking questions to those who may have experience in those areas.  I can say, "I want to do that!" all I want, but if I don't actually put anything into motion, it's not going to happen.  I don't have a lot of drive or discipline.  And I'm aware of that.

But I want that to change.

During the Leadership Summit, Jim Collins gave a great talk based on his new book, Great By Choice, which addresses why some companies excel despite chaos.  One of the concepts Collins focuses on is the idea of a "20-mile-march," which encompasses the evidence that successful companies "embrace a paradox of control and noncontrol."  They're disciplined in their commitment (i.e., marching no more and no less than 20 miles) everyday, whether or not the circumstances are beneficial or not.  Collins provides the example of Roald Amundsen and Robert Falcon Scott, two adventurers who were on the quest to be the first to reach the South Pole.  While both explorers experienced the same uncontrollable climate issues, Amundsen "adhered to a regimen of consistent progress, never too far in good weather...yet pressing ahead in nasty weather to stay on pace," while Scott "would sometimes drive his team to exhaustion on good days and then sit in his tent and complain about the weather on bad days."  Amundsen stuck to his 20-mile-march and successfully reached the South Pole.  (Collins explains it a little better his article here)        

And so I've been thinking about I'm the toughest person I'll ever lead, and how if I'm going to leading others on a constant basis, then I need to really learn to lead myself.  And if I'm going to lead myself, I need to accumulate the discipline to really, truly pursue something.  I've also been thinking about what it means to live a good story, which requires wanting something enough to overcome conflicts.  The problem is, I don't know what I really want.

So maybe I should figure out what I really want first, but I can't help but think of some daily 20-mile-march ideas...  

• Write one blog post.
• Memorize one Bible verse.
• Practice guitar/singing for 30 minutes.
• Read a novel for 30 minutes.
• Run x miles (every week?)
• Bake something (every week?)
• Read 5 news articles.
• Write and mail a letter to someone.

I would say, "Feel free to pipe in with your vote/opinion on which one I should pursue or suggest your own," but I guess that's going in the opposite direction of trying to figure out what I want.

Harold and the Purple Crayon.

I like to read.  I'm not a fast reader, an avid reader, or the kind of reader I'd like to be, but I enjoy it.  I have a lot of books I want to read.  I also have a lot of books I believe I need to read.  For example, I am one of the few rare species that has not finished reading the Harry Potter series.  I got up to the middle of book number five,  and decided it was getting a bit boring or too dark or just simply decided I didn't have time to read it right then.  I also need to finish the Chronicles of Narnia series, the Lord of the Rings, a whole bunch of marriage books, and all the books I bought during one of Better World Book's awesome sales.  And then...because I married a nerd, I've inherited all these other books I've always wanted to read or am curious to stick my face in.

So, with this predicament at hand, you can probably see why I would have such a hard time walking into Barnes & Noble to choose a book in celebration of my husband's tradition of buying a book and eating banana split sundaes the day before the first day of school.  I look around and all I see are books I want to read, books I want to buy, and books I highly doubt I'll get a chance to read in the near future.  I don't know  how long I spent walking around the store just reading wonderful book titles, admiring pretty book covers, and then thinking of our stuffed bookshelves back home.  It was quite depressing, actually.

But then, I wandered over to the children's section.  I thought of taking a look around because earlier in the summer I jotted down an idea I wanted to do for taking sabbath where I would go to the children's section of a bookstore and spend hours just reading the books right off the shelves.  Then I came up with a brilliant idea:  what if I picked a children's book to buy instead?  I definitely wouldn't feel guilty about not being able to read it because duh, I could probably read it in a few minutes.  And it would serve other purposes - like having some books available for kids if we decide to do some babysitting or just have little guests over.  And on top of that, I thought it'd be a good investment to start picking up some of my favorite children's books to build a library for my (very) future kids.  No time like the present to invest in the future.

Well as it turns out, picking out one children's book wasn't any easier than picking out a book from the adult sections.  I found some lovely collections of children's books that I'd love to get my hands on, but they were over my budget.  I found a few books I was familiar with, but didn't think it was worth getting this time around or didn't think it'd be a children's book Nathan would necessarily enjoy as much, and I wanted to take his children's book tastes into consideration.  The closest B&N to me and Nathan is pretty small, so I thought it was a small selection that didn't have many children's books I was familiar with.  But after I convened with Nathan for a few minutes and returned to the hunt in the children's section I started hitting the jackpot.  I found book after book of stories I remembered my mom reading to me as a kid, or books I enjoyed reading in elementary school, or some favorites I remember learning about from Reading Rainbow.

It was a tough decision.  Finally, after who knows how long, I picked a book Nathan had mentioned a long time ago that he liked, which I had always heard about but had never read.  As you can guess, it was Crockett Johnson's Harold and the Purple Crayon.  It was perfect.  It was a book I had never read, it was a book I'd probably enjoy, I knew Nathan liked it, and it was a children's book.    

Nathan read the book to me tonight, and I really enjoyed it.  Harold's awesome.  He's got this great purple crayon and does great things with it.  And as I've been thinking about it, there are some things I admire about Harold that I wish I had myself.  You know it's a great children's book when it doesn't just apply to kids but adults can connect with the story, too.

Here are some of the things I noticed about Harold:

1.  He takes time to think.
2.  He's a visionary.  He knows exactly what he wants to see happen.
3.  He decides what he wants to do and goes and does it.
4.  He's not perturbed by mistakes or unseen events.
5.  He's a creative problem-solver.
6.  He acts quickly when it's called for.
7.  He's not afraid to climb hills that turn into mountains.
8.  He's not afraid to keep trying when he doesn't succeed.

I wish I had a purple crayon like Harold.  Maybe if I did I'd be more like him.