Looking for Lovely

My mom was sick on picture day and I remember feeling INCREDIBLY happy with my self-presentation.

I love this precious girl so much!

Deep in my soul I long for those bright and simple days BEFORE someone mentioned she might need braces, BEFORE anyone commented on her "five-finger forehead", BEFORE she began to use people's opinions to nurture insecurities about her clothing choices and whether or not they cast unfavorable light upon her imperfections.

If I could go back to see 1978-Cari, I'd just squeeze her cheerful face and kiss her on the [spacious] brow and say, "You ARE lovely and so completely loveable just the way you are!!"

Since I can't go back, I'll do my best to love 2021-Cari, and to make the most of the kissable brows of beautiful girls all around me.

Atta Kid

Award ceremonies conjur the most vivid (slightly exaggerated) memories.

When I was in 5th grade I missed the memo and arrived at the end-of-year award ceremony in my school clothes. 

Lovely, little well-informed girls took turns lining the stage dressed in their delicate Easter frocks. 

And I, having endured a series of growth spurts, stood towering over their precious parade in my sky blue terry cloth izod polo tucked into Lee Jeans with a 4-inch cuff at the ankles because I was still rounder than I was tall. And because I rarely do things half-way, my sneakers were scuffed and my bangs were sweaty from safety patrol crosswalk duty after school. 

Award after award. Back up to the stage I trudged ...  to greet the principal with one hand, grab the paper with the other, force a smile toward the flashing bulb, and return to my seat. On and on it went.

Were there ever a year where mediocrity might have mercifully spared me. But no. Relentless excellence. "Cari Walker" clap clap clap clap. Oh.my.word.make.it.stop.can.we.go.now. 

This might be why I read EVERY word of EVERY email and save them ALL. And why I hate Easter dresses and crowds. 

Good night.

Enough Already

When I got married, someone gifted me a subscription to Southern Living. Oh my goodness, it was a gorgeous magazine... page after page of beautifully adorned spaces and scratchmade deliciousness. 

A couple times a month, I would fancy up my menu or suddenly became convinced that we needed different throw pillows.

I loved thumbing through the pages with friends and pointing out our favorite parts of each image, so I kept a few copies stacked cleverly on my coffee table. It was a welcomed little peek into a delightful dream world of decor and design, and it rested gently on our garage sale furniture surrounded by brown shag carpet in our vintage parsonage.

 

A few years into our marriage, Philip ordered DirectTV. I wasn't a fan of TV in general, but when they stuck an HG in front of it, I was hooked. All week long, there were shows filled with helpful hints and creative ideas for maintenance, decoration, and hospitality. 

Every week, I would reconsider an organizing strategy, or tackle a new project, or suddenly become convinced that we needed more throw pillows.

I remember laughing at myself in pity, thinking, "Before seeing this, I just figured my pillows were ok. But now I am distracted by the idea that they are probably not ok."

All these years later, is this what is happening today with [social] media? 

All day every day ... 

seeds of discontent are 

planted in beds of comparison

and fertilized with filtered fake and 

they are sprouting up

insecurity and despair 

into all the facets of life - 

not just pillows and puff pastries

but vacations, relationships, wellness, and every part of parenting. 

The inspiring information no longer arrives in a concise format once per month. The motivational campaign for more and more improvement isn't contained to the living room television. The onslaught of sirens - unsolicited excessivity and unrealistic expectations is everywhere every minute. Unless you tell it not to be. Dam it.

Make it stop. At least some of the time. We can be intentional about our rhythms and defaults. Construct a barrier that holds it all at bay. Design a system where you can access appropriate amounts of external stimulus that fuel your creativity and joy. Unless we govern our intake, the sheer volume will take us out. Dam it for good.

I struggle with this on the regular, so if you need a buddy, holler. But since we're here, I want you to hear me say this: you are great, I mean it. 

Of course you're not perfect, but I sincerely believe you are an incredible work in progress. I bet there are a couple areas in life where you are absolutely thriving. Remind yourself and high five! 

And it's also wise to identify something to work on, so that you can take a tiny step toward more freedom and joy today. You can do it, I know you can! 

Also, no matter what you suddenly notice, your throw pillows are terrific. I promise.

More or Less

Someone told me recently, "You have the capacity for this!" 

I wanted to punch her. Not really; it just made me uneasy because I know for a fact I do not. 

I feel AT capacity. I want less on my plate. I want margin and elbow room and breathing space. I want to relax. 

While there have certainly been times in which pushing pause was the obedient action, lately it seems that God is stretching me. He is asking me to pick up the pace, to find my stride in the fullness, and to push harder. I choose intervals of pause for quick recovery only to begin again.

And honestly things are a bit of a mess. This plan makes me uneasy. It seems UN-easy.

But today it occurred to me. Perhaps - in this season where my inadequacies are glaring and distracting - He is once again offering grace enough. Maybe He is simply asking me to invest all the energy I have toward emptying myself and surrendering to the stretch. 

He is establishing and optimizing my capacity.

I'm considering once more this divine engineering ... where more can be accomplished when we are not only containers for His purposes, but conduits for His power and love.

And to the people who happen upon my hefty sighs and to those who unfortunately observe the awkward complaints of all this stretching, I appreciate your mercy as well. I promise God is not finished yet. Hold, please ...

☑Approved

God sees us at our worst. 

But when He looks at us, it is through a lens of possibility and redemption, as though we are at our best - in the light of His forgiveness and favor. 

He is so firm in His assessment and so confident in His love that/because His Son, Jesus, paid our way and made a way. 

He IS the Way. Our acceptance of this gift secures our own acceptance.

Why in the world would we stoop to seek the approval of man?

☑APPROVED

Blame Game

Often, if I’m not careful, I flip the narrative in my mind and make my conflicts or challenges someone else’s fault. 

I call it the blame game, and I can be unbelievably great at it.

My bad mood?  Your poor choices. The change of plans. Lack of coffee.  

(Couldn't possibly have anything to do with my media-to-scripture consumption ratio)

My failure to succeed.  Past hurts. People's opinions. Present obstacles. 

(Couldn't be my fear, my pride, or my laziness)

My critical spirit? You should be better prepared.  You should be smarter.  You should be quiet.  You should speak up.

(Couldn't possibly be my own insecurities or my lack of compassion)

My coldness? Your hurtfulness. My inability to forgive? Your shortage of remorse.

You name it - not my fault.

But here’s the deal: stuff happens. I will fail. People WILL fail. We’re all to blame.

And here's the better deal: Christ offered Himself as a sacrifice, pure and blameless, so that we could become pure and blame less.

We can embrace ownership – or more accurately, stewardship - of this life that was purchased for us. God loves us and forgives us our shortcomings, so we can and should follow His lead as He gives us His power and His blessing to be responsible - to be capable of rational thought and merciful emotions, and willing to forgive.

Even when we are legitimately wounded, we can choose forgiveness again and again.

Even when things go wrong, we can work to make them right.

Even when people are unloving, or unlovable, we can take responsibility and choose love.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. 

1 Corinthians 13:4-8

Dear Lord, help us today as we own up to all that is ours, and offer You all that is not ours to carry. 

On This Day

Typically sadness taints the day of March 24th ... first in 1995, and subsequently every year since. Last year marked 25 years since dad died. It was also the year I reached the point of having lived longer than he had. And maybe that's all I needed ... a good quarter century of recurring grief to really see it through.

Because today was ok.

A lot of people who I love and admire opt for more gentler terminology for death, but I always say "Dad died." Because that's what it feels like to me. "Transitioned to heaven" sounds like it was a glide or pivot,  "went home" betrays my very real feelings of fatherlessness, and even "passed away" feels well-mannered and faint.

He died. He was alive and fun and wise and sarcastic and kind, and then, in an instant, he was not. He was not old. He was not sick. He was breathing and talking one moment, and then suddenly, he was not.

I know his soul lives forever and has merely "passed away" from this broken world. I believe he has "gone home", and because he lived his life with Christ's Kingdom as his aim, it could be said that he simply "transitioned to heaven".

But I also believe there is truth and beauty in the idea that "he died".

Every March 24th, the scenery outside is splotched with vibrant shades of green. Fields and lawns beam fresh and lovely. Trees flaunt foliage on limbs that are dotted with bright new buds. Flowering plants convincingly hint of bountiful things to come.

But in these same places, not long ago, there was death. A tearing away and a breaking down only to recede into cold, hard, darkness.  It was expected to some degree and unavoidable. Necessary even. And I'm ok with that.

Because winter isn't the end. It is the silent beginning to all that flourishes. Death precedes life in the truest sense.

For a follower of Jesus, one's own death is not a problem or concern. The apostle Paul claimed to much prefer it over life. But for friends and family, death, no matter how slow or startling, is tragic and overwhelming. There is a cosmic pause in which reality seizes and spews unrestrained until real time resumes and you become painfully aware that the pressurized facts and emotions have caused your own heart to rupture ... though it relentlessly beats within.

And yet, we do not grieve like those who have no hope. We know the truth. Death is not the end. It is the silent beginning to all that flourishes forever.

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?” -John 11:25-26

Rest Assured

Here are some of the texts from friends I'm praying with and for.

* he was admitted to hospital

* i got the job!

* he is responding to medicines! 

* our marriage is healing

* i didn't get the job.

* hospice has called the family in

As my inbox and my thoughts are forced to hold all sorts of sorrow and gladness crammed in the same space, my heart clings to hope. Not hope in an outcome, but hope in the One who comes near when we call out for Him. 

God is so good and kind, and He loves us. But He moves in mysterious ways.

I believe He is working to heal and provide, regardless of what we can see, because that is who He is. He faithfully walks with us as we walk by faith in Him.

I text one person "Praise the Lord! He is able!" because things are looking up. And within minutes, I text another person, "We can trust Him! He is able." because from this pit of heartache, all we can do is look up.

We pray for answers, but rest assured, communing moment by moment with our mighty and merciful God IS the answer. 

It is our only hope.

"Yet I will rejoice in the Lord. I will be joyful in God my Savior. The Sovereign Lord is my strength." 

Habakkuk 3:18

"Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you . . . and the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast." 

1 Peter 5:7,10

Rest assured. 🙏

Dear Teachers in 2020-2021

Dear teachers,

My kids are sprinkled around from elementary into college, so I'm talking to all of you.

You must be so tired.

Decision fatigue and going with the flow. All that rolling with all those punches.

The technical difficulties and germ warfare and doing more - doing more kinds of more than ever before.

I just can't.

But you can. And you do.

You keep showing up and giving it a go.

And my kids are good and well because of you!

Are you behind on content and syllabus timelines? I have no idea. Are you leaving stuff out and skipping to main ideas and taking breaks to breathe? I hope so!

Your ability to model grace (for yourself and others) and flexibility while you exhibit top-notch problem-solving skills and resilient enjoyment ... THIS is what my kids will have learned from you this year.

You are educating them with brilliance and grit. Shining bright and hanging tough.

Thank you. We can brush up on the spelling and algebra and speech and psychology another time. I promise. You are planting seeds of selflessness, determination, and knowledge. You are offering them a front-row seat to the thrill of remaining a life-long learner. You are the star of the show!

This is me cheering my guts out for you, clapping hysterically for the greatness I see in you. Bravo! Thank you.

Saving Sabbath

Life can break her down sometimes.

The monotony can be maddening, the chaos debilitating. She gives and takes while fewer and fewer things add up.

Even though solitude seems so helpful, deep down she knows isolation is not the solution.

She needs to connect and recharge with her Heavenly Father, to commune with her Creator, and find kinship with the Author and Finisher of her faith.

So she grabs a spiral and a pen and she brings a thought to life, weaving words to warmly wear and share. Sure enough an insightful story fills a space that seemed empty an hour ago.

She gets a bowl and begins combining loosely related oddities, folding in flavors, rolling out possibilities, turning up the heat until savor takes shape. Soon enough she samples the nourishment that didn't exist an hour ago.

She straps on a gas-powered leaf blower, shoulders strong, arms steady, stepping out and aiming low. As if she has harnessed a hurricane, she pulls the trigger, waves her arm, and becomes the actual winds of change. Insecurities are silenced by the roar of progress, and truth is revealed. When all that has fallen away is thoroughly removed, there lies bright, soft beauty that was not even visible an hour ago.

She is gloriously tired but couldn't be more rested. She recognizes her reflection of His image. She realizes His powerful abilities and chooses to taste and see His goodness. She gratefully abides in this chapter of His story because in His presence she is refreshed.

And, once again, she knows that life is abundantly good.