inner life

In the Middle

Image bethsbarthelemy, , Leave a comment

I’m surrounded by extremes. My physical world is one where I can take one street to see desperate poverty and drive a bit further the other way to find luxurious homes. There are streets littered with trash and swarming with vendors, and then there are wide lanes immaculately landscaped with the occasional white (always white) Land Cruiser. Even the physical landscape around us is extreme: a mountain range to the northwest and an ocean to the east. We are in the middle. Halfway up the mountains from the sea.

Politically, we find ourselves in the middle. I am solidly of middle age now. For goodness sake, I am even a middle child.

Let’s just say this is a familiar place for me. At the same time, it can be a strange and unnerving place to be. It’s like taking a long road trip. At the beginning, there’s excitement to be setting out and beginning an adventure. But after several hours, when you find yourself between home and the place to which you’re heading, you would rather just be in one of those locations. Enjoying the journey is not easy to do for very long.

And yet, the longer I am in my thirties, or rather, as I grow older and (hopefully) wiser, I see that much life is lived in this middle space. Childhood is a foundation for the lives we will go on to lead, Lord-willing. By the time we grow into maturity enough to realize what our lives are about, we are already in the middle of them. And the end of life can look very scary and intimidating, even if we have confidence about what’s after death.

Even historically, from a biblical point of view, we may not be in the Middle Ages but we are most definitely still in the middle ages – between creation and complete restoration – we are living the middle redemption story, waiting patiently (most of the time) for when God will finally make all things right again. But it can seem a long way off, can’t it? There is too much brokenness, too much darkness, too much evil. When we will just arrive, Father? How much longer?

There’s this moment, whenever we travel from South Africa back to the States, when we have left our keys with our house sitter, and we’re suspended over the Atlantic ocean – this moment when I truly feel homeless, or if I’m in a better headspace, between homes. It’s disorienting, it’s frightening. And in that moment, every time, I feel held by God in the suspended middle. If this plane goes down, he’s got me. In my passport home which doesn’t feel like home, he’s got me. In my actual home which is not my childhood home, he’s got me. Any which way it can go, I can rest in him.

But I am also tired of this messy middle place. I am tired of the residual grief, the secondary guilt. I am weary of the in between – home there, home here, but really, home nowhere. Sharing the resources we can with our poor neighbors, but is it enough? Of grieving another loss, of praying for yet more mercy and peace to reign. Of making a fire in my home and feeling guilt that we have a warm home when others don’t.

And yet (again), isn’t this part of being awake to the world around us as Christians? Of being keenly aware of the kingdom breaking through the darkness, but of the darkness that has not yet left? Maybe this is why it is so vital to look for the light, maybe this is why we must turn our faces to look up, to focus our minds on Christ, because there is no peace in this messy middle without him.

There is no peace without him. Hasn’t he told his disciples (and now us), “And surely, I am with you always, to the very end of the age?”

It will, no doubt, be glorious to arrive at our final destination in Christ. And many of us have some time in this messy middle before we arrive there. In the meantime, I can either wallow in the discomfort of sitting in this middle-place, yet again; or I can let it lead me to the heart of Christ. I can let it lead me into seeking wisdom from the Spirit for how to live well, in the middle of my extremes. Perhaps this is a holy discontent – the world is not yet as it should be. It’s not what you’ve promised, God! So we will wait for you, to make it new in your time.

“Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil.” Ephesians 5:15-16

On Perfectionism

Image bethsbarthelemy, , , , Leave a comment

I’ve never been a perfectionist; or so I thought.

When I think of perfectionism, I think of my sweet mother, who made certain her quilt’s corners were flawlessly square and cringed as I eye-balled all of mine; or, my brother adjusting every setting on his camera until the exact balance is achieved while I snap away, happy with any of my kids in focus; or, that writer who agonizes over every word while I write furiously in the cracks of my life and send it out to the world without (likely enough) scrutiny.

See? I am not a perfectionist. I have not cared for the externals of my life to be perfect, and I have been happy about that.

Recently though, at the age of 34, I was confronted with a woman I idolized. I loved how she patiently and gently mothered her children, the way she always looked beautiful, how she thoughtfully cared for her husband, how she cheerfully set the tone in her home daily, how her home was tidy and her children obedient, how much she could accomplish, and how calmly she handled the many stresses of her life. I could not get her out of my mind; her perfect life tormented me, and I felt I could not measure up.

It was the perfect version of myself; the version I can never quite seem to be. It was the woman I wished I was, and the one I measure myself against. Her existence is in some supernatural realm I never could quite access.

In Rising Strong, Brené Brown wrote something that undid me: “One of the greatest challenges of becoming myself has been acknowledging that I’m not who I thought I was supposed to be or who I always pictured myself being.”

For me, marriage and motherhood have been the avenues that have revealed the depths of my heart; both my capacity for deepest love and my innumerable shortcomings. My heart has broken many times over my own failures; I have tearfully repented, and continued to sit in my own self-condemnation, agonizing over my lack of all the things. This, friends, is not of Christ.

Looking through the virtual window into the world of another, and measuring myself against what I see there rarely leads me to greater godliness or contentment. Rather, I come away with a greater sense of inadequacy, a deeper sense of my lack, a stronger temptation toward discontent. We know that comparison is the thief of joy, and yet we do little to curb the thief. This, friends, is not of Christ.

If the gospel is the good news of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection for the redemption of my soul and for the restoration of the world, then self-condemnation, comparison, and perfectionism have little place for the gospel-clinging Christian.

Rather, the gospel-clinging Christian looks within herself, and rather than seeing all of her many inadequacies, she sees the adequacy of Christ.

Rather than focusing on her repeated failures, she rests in the gentle and persistent mercy of Christ.

Rather than sitting in self-condemnation, she fixes her gaze on Jesus, who is the author and perfector of faith.

Rather than imaging a perfect self, she clings to Christ, who is perfect already.

Rather than bearing the weight of her sin, she lays it aside, and runs with perseverance.

That woman I spoke of earlier? Her fictional self does not torment me anymore, at least, not on a regular basis. I have come to acknowledge that my inward expectation of myself was one of perfection, clouded with pride, and self-love, and far from godliness. I am more gentle with myself, reminded of Christ’s gentle and lowly heart, and his deep, unending love for me. I am remembering that I am doing my best, with the help of Christ, and slowly, slowly, being transformed into a greater likeness of him.

So, see? I am still not a perfectionist. 😉

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.

Hebrews 12:1-2

The Beauty of Lament

Image bethsbarthelemy, , , , Leave a comment

The slanting rain pounds the window incessantly; it’s been one of those days, where it rains the whole day. We awake to rain, we school to rain, we share dinner to rain, we head to bed to rain. The rain is good, so needed after our long, dry winter here in South Africa. It cleanses the air, it waters the soil and life within, it washes the dirt and dust away. It also reflects my heart today.

Since the passing of my nephew four months ago, I have spent a lot of time processing my pain in prayer. In the earliest days, when the prayers were more like moans, all I could offer was oh God, oh God, oh God, tears mingled with desperate cries of help them, help us.

On the very long, lonely trip back to the US, I copied Psalms into my journal, having no words or emotional capacity to form prayers of my own. A liturgy sent to my by a friend from the new Every Moment Holy Vol. 2 became my prayer for the next weeks:

Be nearer, O Christ, than I have ever known… comfort us, O God, in these hard and early hours of loss. Be to us a strength and light, for we are shocked, numbed as children spilled into cold seas… how can I make sense of this? Make peace with this? Have words for this? Though I scarce have words to pray, O Spirit of God, still let my tears, my groans, and my wounded silences rise as an incense of perpetual prayer, reminding you of my need… carry me. Carry all of us who grieve…

The last few months have found me awakening in the mornings to the Psalms, for a long while Psalm 77 in particular. I have noticed in a fresh way the honesty of these psalmists – the crying out to God, the questioning and deep doubts, the remembering of God’s faithfulness, the turning toward hope again. And this structure, commonly seen in laments throughout Scripture, has given me a way to pray through my own pain.

Crying out to God // In pain, the natural temptation is to turn inward: no one understands me or I’m so alone or everyone has moved on. It is an act of courage, then, to take the first step of turning to God and acknowledging his presence, which alone can conjure more pain. God is here, and yet this happened? In Psalm 77:3, the psalmist says, “when I remember God, I moan; when I meditate, my spirit faints.” It is not easy to acknowledge God in the midst of our suffering and grief, because in his omnipotence, he did not prevent this painful circumstance. And yet, we also realize in his omnipresence that we have never been, and truly never are, alone. He has been with us through the whole of our pain. It is courageous to turn to God in the midst of pain.

Voicing of complaints // Once we have turned our attention toward God, the pattern we see in Scripture is a vocalizing of questions, of complaints to him. We do not need to jump straight to hope, but rather honestly pour out our hearts to him. All of those disappointments, all of those questions, all of that pain – he is aware of it already, but like a knowing parent who waits patiently for his child to come to him, intimacy builds through honesty. “Has his steadfast love forever ceased? Are his promises at an end for all time?” the psalmist writes in 77:8. Well, that’s not very biblical, you might be thinking. And yet, biblical laments model for us a holy complaining, a pouring out of our hearts to our Father who wants us to.

Remembering God’s faithfulness // Once we have poured out our hearts to God, we recall how he has been with us throughout our lives, through the joys and pain of the past. Has he failed in his promises to me? Some laments at this point frame a request to God; Psalm 77 turns to remembering: “I will remember the deeds of the Lord, yes I will remember your wonders of old” (77:11). It may be that the goodness of God is obscured at this present moment, but I can recall his faithfulness in the past. Never once has his love failed; never once has he left me. Rather, he has been a shield for me and the lifter of my head (Ps. 3), my refuge and my strength (Ps. 9 and 18), my rock and my fortress and my deliverer (Ps. 18), the strength of my life and a very present help in trouble (Ps. 27 and 46), the strength of my heart and my portion forever (Ps. 73). This is what I know to be true of God.

Turning toward hope // This intimate honesty and remembering leads my heart to be renewed in hope. Through the tears, through the pounding rain, the relentless pain, my eyes again can look up to Jesus in deep hope and anticipation for his restoring work in my life and in the world. Recalling Israel’s exodus and Red Sea crossing, our psalmist declares, “Your way was through the sea, your path through the great waters; yet your footprints were unseen. You led your people like a flock…” Even when God’s way seems hidden to us, we trust his hand is guiding us, as he was guiding his people then, and has for all time. We turn our eyes again to the light, and we wait in hope, for him to make all things new, as he has promised someday.

The rain is still pouring down, my heart is still heavy. And so I will turn again to God, and in so doing, reject the narratives of my aloneness or the uniqueness of my suffering. Instead, I will join with the saints of old, the writers of Scripture, who have modeled to us how to pray through our pain. Give us courage, Father, to turn to you again today.

++ a book I found helpful on this topic is Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy by Mark Vroegop.

Turning to God in the Anxiety

Image bethsbarthelemy, , , , Leave a comment

One night last week, around 2:30am, I dreamt a horrible dream. No matter how hard I tried to turn over and dream of something happier, I could not. So I got up, drank some water, and sat in our living room with my Bible. “Help, God” was the only prayer I could offer in the midst of that paralyzing anxiety, prompted by an unwelcome dream. Eventually, I fell back asleep until morning, feeling nearly tangibly wrapped in the arms of the Father: “I remember you upon my bed, meditate on you in the watches of the night; for you have been my help, in the shadow of your wings I will sing for joy” (Psalm 63:6-7).

As often happens though, the morning after a dark night like that, I woke feeling fragile in mind and sore in heart. My emotions were raw, my eyes weepy. I felt almost violated, that in the peace of my sleep, such horrible thoughts can enter my mind and deeply disturb my heart at rest. It can be tempting to welcome the light of the sun, the dark night leaving; to enjoy the first cup of coffee, the sounds of our happy home, and attempt to push out of the fragile place on my own.

Trusting God isn’t about never experiencing anxiety – it’s about turning to him in the anxiety.

Though it’s easy to move straight on with our lives while anxiety lurks in the depth of our minds, the habit of addressing our anxiety can be deeply helpful. I’m learning that it is better if I take the time to sort out with God what is happening on these dark nights, with these unwelcome thoughts. I do not expect to ever completely resolve anxiety this side of heaven, but rather to learn better how to deal with it through the power of the Spirit. Trusting God isn’t about never experiencing anxiety – it’s about turning to him in the anxiety.

What does it look like to turn to him in the anxiety? Let’s look at Phil. 4:5-7 as we think on this:

“The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.”

+ we name our requests to God. Is this because he doesn’t know them? By no means; but in the naming of our requests, of our anxiety, we acknowledge our total dependence on him. It also usually helps me to name my anxiety to someone else I’m close to, and ask for prayer.

+ we pray, in everything. A former pastor of mine once said, from this passage, that “anxiety and prayer are opposites… instead of being anxious, pray.” From my experience, I cannot be actively engaged in grateful prayer to God and be crippled by anxiety at the same time. As I mentioned above, in acute anxiety, sometimes the prayer is as simple as “help, God.”

+ we focus on thankfulness, particularly for who he is: “to begin by praising God for the fact that in this situation, as it is, he is so mightily God—such a beginning is the end of anxiety” (Karl Barth). We can proactively address anxiety by engaging in prayers of gratitude.

+ we let peace rule in our hearts. This is easier said than done, no? I’ve found that setting good boundaries around news and social media help tremendously as I fix my eyes on Christ (Heb. 12:2) and my mind stayed on him (Is. 26:3).

We recognize that fighting anxiety requires strength from God and his Spirit in us. But just as we are spiritual beings, so too our physical habits matter.

Amy Gannett recently articulated the importance of daily disciplines to combat anxiety in a short Instagram post, and provides practical ideas to do during the day. She writes, “God has seen it fit that the choices that we make in our practical lives deeply affect our experience of the work he is doing in the world.” I recommend her list here; perhaps we each take a few minutes to articulate our own practices on days in which we are struggling with anxiety.

How have you turned to God in your anxious moments? What practices have helped you when you awake from anxious nights?

On New Years and Some of the Same

bethsbarthelemy, , , , , Leave a comment

It can feel as though not much has changed since the calendar turned, am I right? COVID is still raging in many areas around the world, the US is still highly polarized politically. We know many people who are suffering, and are still in varying levels of government-mandated protocols. Here in South Africa, our church is not meeting (again), we are staying home (mostly), and it’s tempting to look at 2021 with the same weariness in which we finished out 2020.

However, I can’t help but feel a sense of hope as we begin afresh. I’m reminded of one of my favorite Scripture passages, in Lamentations:

“the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” (3:22-23)

We have this framed on our living room bookshelf, and I am grateful for the daily reminder that God’s faithfulness has carried us through all these days before, and his love and mercy will carry us all the days forward. I am prompted to think through the ways God has shown his steadfast love to us, his unending mercies. Here’s some of what’s on my list from 2020:

  • the consistency of our already homeschooling life
  • sweet times of fellowship with our church family in November and December
  • a family getaway (rescheduled twice!) that finally happened in early December
  • regular craft and story times for the girls with my parents via Facetime
  • our new family routine of Sabbath every week
  • further developing our principles on wise technology use
  • the intentionality of making Saturdays fun (and a bit different than every other day 😉 )
  • our growing garden which has fed us well this season
  • forest walks and the extra urge to be outside

And so many more! What good gifts from the hand of God, even in a difficult year. I would love to hear what’s on your list for 2020, as you take time to see God’s steadfast love and faithfulness in your life this past year.

And what can we anticipate for 2021? Is our hope in vaccines, a new president, declining numbers, continued good health? No, we hope in God. We can expect that God’s love will continue no matter what, his mercies will extend beyond what we face, his faithfulness will be our safe place. Here’s to 2021, friends! He is good!

10 Books for your 2021 Reading List

bethsbarthelemy, , , , Leave a comment

I’ve always been a bookworm. Some seasons of life have made this habit easier, some not so much. But reading is important and life-giving for me, so I make time for it. Fortunately, this year I had more time than expected, which means I got through my list and far beyond. In total, I read 51 books this year. One highlight to 2020, no?

I read widely, across genres, worldviews, and topics. I do not agree with everything I read, and I am intentional about interacting with different perspectives, as you’ll notice. Without further ado, I thought I would share ten of the best reads from this past year.

1. With. Most formative book of the year, and most spiritual forming of my life. Author Skye Jethani outlines the ways we live our lives under, over, from, and for God, rather than according to the design of Eden, which was life with God. In the process of reading this book, I gratefully evaluated many foundational mistruths I’d held for a long time when it came to my relationship with God, and, from the core, reformed my fellowship with him. Ben and I have both led others through this book this year for discipleship.

2. The Remarkable Ordinary. Frederick Buechner was a treasured discovery for me this year. I listened to this book last Febuary, while we were in major life limbo before returning to South Africa. The timing was perfect, as I needed that reminder to stop, look, and listen. He writes whimsically, sharing life stories, and encourages us to see the hand of God in the ordinary events of life.

3. Between the World and Me. If you’re interested in truly trying to understand, to get inside the world of an American man of color, this is a great read. It was not comfortable, nor did I agree with all of it, but that’s not the point. I wanted to better understand, and Ta-Nehisi Coates helped me. I’m so grateful for that.

4. The Lord of the Rings series. I don’t read a lot of fiction, but it had been at least 15 (?) years since reading these, and I was eager to reread. They were the perfect companion in April when we were in the midst of our strictest lockdown. Tolkien’s writing requires attentiveness and his storytelling is brilliant. I cried at the end, naturally. This series forces you to read carefully, as the writing is old and intricate, unlike so much fiction today. But I also reread the Harry Potter series in May for my light fiction flicks, so, you know, balance. 😉

5. Subversive Sabbath. One of our family goals this year was to implement more of a Sabbath routine (more on that sometime soon). A.J. Swoboda, in ministry himself, powerfully reminds us, “Sabbath is an action of great purpose, one that demands feisty intentionality. It requires us to live in a rhythm that squarely opposes the dangerous pulse and the habits of our world.” Sign me up for this resistance movement. Observing Sabbath has been life-giving for our family this year, and honestly, I can’t believe we have gone so long ignoring God’s beautiful design for rest. I’ve read three books on Sabbath this year; start with this one.

6. Simplicity Parenting. While we come out very different worldviews, Kim John Payne and I see eye-to-eye on many parenting points, which is maybe why I liked this book so much. 😉 His gentle writing style and counseling experience help tremendously as he points out that many children today are completely overstimulated. He encourages parents to simplify their children’s schedules, belongings, and commitments, and rather choose to intentionally be together as families, to allow a child’s boredom to blossom into creativity, to create routines that support priorities (ahem, Sabbath. See how these books fit together?). He points us back to connection, relationship, love: “When your child seems to deserve affection least, that’s when they need it most.”

7. Digital Minimalism. If you’ve read my blog much at all, you will know that two of my favorite topics are minimalism and wise technology use. So naturally, when I saw Cal Newport’s book on both of these topics, the stars aligned and I added it to my library holds list eagerly. It did not disappoint – it’s one of my top books of the year. Newport proposes that we need: “a full-fledged philosophy of technology use, rooted in your deep values, that provides clear answers to the questions of what tools you should use and how you should use them and, equally important, enables you to confidently ignore everything else.” Yes and yes. He will help you to do just that, as he writes with conviction, interesting anecdotes, stories, and practical helps.

8. Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. This Barbara Kingsolver book was a reread, and it’s so fun. As a family, the Kingsolvers vow that they will only eat what they can grow themselves or source locally for an entire year. It’s written in memoir style, sprinkled with informative essays on the state of food in the US, recipes, and detailed, laugh-out-loud insights on turkey sex, if you ever need a resource for that. Our family deeply values eating locally, humane treatment of animals, and healthy cooking, and this read prompted us to think anew about making better consumer choices with regard to food.

9. Rising Strong. Ah, love me some classic Brené Brown. If her other writings are about being willing to show up and step into the arena, this one is about how to get back up after falling on your face. She addresses failure, self-righteousness, and the question that haunted me for weeks, “are people doing their best?” And of course, shame and vulnerability. It’s made me pause and think about conflict in my marriage, how I parent my children, and how I respond in other relationships. Brené reminds us, “The middle is messy, but it’s also where the magic happens” and encourages us to slow down, be aware, and let growth happen in those messy middles of life.

10. 31 Days to Great Sex. Full disclosure: Ben and I did not read this book in 31 days. In fact, we’ve stretched it the whole year. Recently in the Intentional podcast, Phil Comer points out that never in his years of pastoring and counseling has he come across a couple with marriage issues whose sex life is healthy and thriving. We have been thankfully reminded that this is a worthy pursuit in our marriage, and a fun one: “Sex is the physical acting out of… marriage. We become vulnerable with one another. We become naked with one another completely–and that means real intimacy, not just physical intimacy. We cherish each other. We protect each other. But we also have a ton of fun with each other!” Ben and I have been married for almost 12 years, and we are committed to continually investing in each other, and in our marriage, because it’s such a gift!

Bonus: Tartine. If one book got an award for most time spent in it, this would be it. We bought this gorgeous cookbook in February, and every week since then, I have spent hours learning the art of sourdough bread baking. We have a couple of children who are gluten-sensitive, so I’m highly committed; so much so that I may have snuck my sourdough starter through international airports in a pocket in one of our large suitcases (it made it, raise praise hands). Chad Robertson chronicles his engaging story to find the perfect loaf of bread, and proceeds to give the most detailed instructions to enable you to create your own (beautiful pictures included). *Fun fact: when Ben and I were in San Francisco in 2019, we stumbled into the Tartine café without realizing it was THE Tartine café. I may have geeked out just a bit.* To tie it all together, this year has been one of learning Sabbath routines; of minimizing digital input; of seeking connection and meaningful relationships; of the pursuit of quality leisure; and of the development of artisan craft. For Ben, this looks like woodworking (and I couldn’t be more excited about that). For me, it has taken me nearly ten months to perfect my sourdough loaves for my family, and the process has been a complete joy.

There it is: bread, Sabbath, routine, rest, connection. Our year in a photo.

Well, that’s a wrap. Hopefully you’ve been motivated to read a bit more this next year, to read something new. I’d love to hear what you’ve read recently!