I come alive in the summer. Vibrant. The humidity melts my cynicism unlike anything else has ever been able to. Today, my infatuation with summer lives on for these 3 reasons: (Disclaimer: Items are subject to change slightly tomorrow but for today, this is it!)
Summer Fruit
Happy Summer… off to pick my husband up from the airport.
“A Rest Stop Keeps Honey Bees From Dropping Dead From Overwork” was a recent headline in a Fast Company Co. Design article. I could probably stop typing at this moment and let you ponder that line for as long as your brain wants. Are you in ministry? Are you doing life? Do you work? Do you volunteer? Are you a parent? Could you use a rest stop?
“A Rest Stop Keeps Honey Bees From Dropping Dead From Overwork” was a recent headline in a Fast Company Co. Design article. I could probably stop typing at this moment and let you ponder that line for as long as your brain wants. Are you in ministry? Are you doing life? Do you work? Do you volunteer? Are you a parent? Could you use a rest stop?
Tonight I’m going to do something different than usual. I’m going to make dinner. (As i write this, Brandon tells me- you can’t write that unless you’re actually going to do it). He knows me.
Tonight I’m going to do something different than usual. I’m going to make dinner. (As i write this, Brandon tells me- you can’t write that unless you’re actually going to do it). He knows me.
In the middle school I went to students had two options: 1. Sing in the choir or 2. Play in the band. I choose band and my thoughts drifted me into dreams of being Kenny G. In that dream, I could play a continuous note on the sax because like, Kenny G, I mastered breathing in through my nose while still playing the instrument. Yeah, that was a skill I wanted.
But I got my grandmother’s dainty hands – with unusually long skinny fingers. They were not big enough to play the sax. So, I got stuck with the typical instrument for a growing-into-her-hips-middle- school-girl: the flute (at least it was bigger than the oboe).
I stunk at it. My teacher was mean, I didn’t do the homework, and unfortunately she wasn’t intimidated by me so she kept making me play in front of the entire band. I stopped exerting effort. It was too hard. I was too embarrassed. I sat last chair in the entire district.
Any student was accepted in the band (hence how I was able to get in). But in some crazy plan to get better, I was actually supposed to exert effort and practice so I could play Hot Cross Buns in 4/4 time. I was supposed to do work to improve.
Is that how the spiritual life works too? God invites anyone into relationship with God but there’s actually some work required for us.
Grace not opposed to effort. Grace is opposed to earning. –Dallas Willard
I’m practicing. I’m working on getting better in really following Jesus. I’m exerting effort knowing that there’s nothing I can do to earn God’s grace.
In the middle school I went to students had two options: 1. Sing in the choir or 2. Play in the band. I choose band and my thoughts drifted me into dreams of being Kenny G. In that dream, I could play a continuous note on the sax because like, Kenny G, I mastered breathing in through my nose while still playing the instrument. Yeah, that was a skill I wanted.
But I got my grandmother’s dainty hands – with unusually long skinny fingers. They were not big enough to play the sax. So, I got stuck with the typical instrument for a growing-into-her-hips-middle- school-girl: the flute (at least it was bigger than the oboe).
I stunk at it. My teacher was mean, I didn’t do the homework, and unfortunately she wasn’t intimidated by me so she kept making me play in front of the entire band. I stopped exerting effort. It was too hard. I was too embarrassed. I sat last chair in the entire district.
Any student was accepted in the band (hence how I was able to get in). But in some crazy plan to get better, I was actually supposed to exert effort and practice so I could play Hot Cross Buns in 4/4 time. I was supposed to do work to improve.
Is that how the spiritual life works too? God invites anyone into relationship with God but there’s actually some work required for us.
Grace not opposed to effort. Grace is opposed to earning. –Dallas Willard
I’m practicing. I’m working on getting better in really following Jesus. I’m exerting effort knowing that there’s nothing I can do to earn God’s grace.
I started this post a long time ago but Googling “lizard brain” took me clicking from website to website like a hungry learner on crack. I’m proud to finally be writing something. Over the weekend I read, Poke the Box. In the book, Seth Godin refers to some work by Steven Pressfield and what he calls the lizard brain. I have one. We all have one.
Scientists can identify precisely where your lizard brain lives. This is your prehistroic early being, the same brain that’s in the lizard or the deer. Filled with fear, intent only on reproduction.
Steven Pressfield gives the voice of the lizard brain a name. He calls it resistance. And the resistance is talking to you as you read this, urging you to compromise, to not be a troublemaker, to avoid rash moves. For many of us, the resistance is always chattering away, frequently sabotaging our best opportunities and ruining our best change to do great work. (Poke the Box, page 18)
Sometimes my brain makes me mad. I don’t want a dumb walnut sized brain running my life-but I think it is. In small thoughts (bigger than a walnut though), I’m finding that I’ve been telling myself I’m destined for mediocre. I tell myself I’m below average, or worse: average.
But what if I’m not? What if you’re not either? What if we really-REALLY- believed that we could ninja kick our lizard brain and do great things?
I wonder how my life would look different if I were able to overcome the resistance, the self doubt, and the unsure voice.
I will beat you lizard. Maybe not this week, but each day I will take a step to overcome you!
love,
lizard fighting Hanna