Sleepless in Lisbon

my love in travel and life

I have sleep issues. Unlike my husband, I cannot fall asleep one nano second after climbing into bed, while a siren blares on the street outside and dogs bark outside our window. No. I must be in the perfect “sleep” position, pillows in strategic locations, my mind at rest and filled with peaceful thoughts. If I start planning the next day’s schedule, bye-bye sleep.

Now throw in a different continent, different time zone, strange bed (same pillow because I’m not stupid and that thing goes everywhere with me), an outrageously loud elevator banging and clanging right outside our door and an amazing Airbnb apartment with floor to ceiling windows on two sides and a city that never sleeps, where apparently the lights literally never go out. Where is the darkness? It is night and night is dark! This is me in Lisbon, Portugal. Sleepless for two nights. On night two I found sleep at 4:30 AM. This does not make me an appreciative traveler. It makes me cranky. It makes me think Lisbon (a beautiful city) is stupid. It makes me think the people here (who are polite and helpful) are mean and rude for speaking Portuguese. Why can’t they speak words I know?! The only Portuguese I’ve learned are “good day” and “thank you,” and everything else comes out of my mouth in French, which makes me feel stupid because it’s not even good French! The other day I said, “merci” to a woman followed immediately by “sorry” and that didn’t feel awkward at all. . . 

Travel is like life on steroids. Your eyes see things in HD. Noises are different and louder. People are closer and there are more of them (okay that’s actually true in Europe). It’s harder to hide feelings when you’re exhausted and fears have a way of jumping to the surface.

Don’t get me wrong. I love travel and new cities and seeing how other people on the planet live. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve stared at a toilet in a strange country wondering, "How in the world do I flush this thing?" That’s why we travel, right? To experience different plumbing? Okay, maybe not.

Finally, though on night three in Lisbon, I slept EIGHT hours. Eight hours of sleep is heavenly. Eight hours of sleep makes me happy. It makes my husband happy and not scared to spend the day with me. Eight hours of sleep helps me appreciate the view from our ninth floor apartment.

a room with a (fabulous) view

Sometimes I let ridiculous things steal my joy. I let small things distract me from the world around me. I forget that once this day is gone, I don’t get these experiences back. This happens at home too. It’s not just a travel thing. I wonder how awesome each day could be if I didn’t get sidetracked by what I think isn’t fun or good.

On sleepless night one in Lisbon as I lay in bed I was frustrated and then mad and then afraid and then very, very lonely because insomnia, wherever you experience it, is a lonely business. I prayed and repeated my “insomnia mantra” which is a Bible verse I have tweaked for myself. It goes like this, “The Lord is my refuge in sleep.” (Shawna’s revised version). I said this over and over and still was filled with anxiety.

The next night I didn’t find sleep until 4:30 a.m. but fear didn’t fill me. I lay sleepless, but not afraid. I let peace find me. I didn’t get mad at myself or beat myself up about my inability to sleep. I’m pretty hard on myself. I don’t often give myself a break for messing up, and I don’t forgive myself easily. 

books in any language captivate me

Last week Kevin and I attended the Storyline Conference in Chicago (three days of awesomeness), where I heard Glennon Doyle Melton speak. She was amazing. I think we should be best friends. I immediately downloaded her book Carry On, Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life on my Kindle. I read her book in two days and here is my big takeaway. Accept grace. Forgive ME. Accept grace for ME. Forgive ME. I’m not good at this. I want to be. I think God wants me to forgive myself easily, to accept grace for myself as a natural thing. I know that’s what he does. He forgives every time I ask. Every time I mess up, there he is saying, “Shawna you are forgiven. I love you as much now as I did on that day when you were filled with such a deep depression you didn’t want to wake up anymore. I love you as much today as I did on the days you spoke hurtful words to your children.”

I am not all the way there yet but I will be, because God is bigger than my mess. His grace is bigger than my unforgiveness. I’m living into a day where I truly believe God thinks I’m just as amazing on my bad days as he does on my good days. I hope you’ll join me on this journey. I hear the ending is awesome.

When Everything is Not Okay

There is a scene of my life that plays back vividly in my mind. Twelve years ago my dear friend Carline and her sweet family moved from the house next door to ours in sunny Boise to rain-drenched Seattle. It was a hard day. We had become everyday friends, beating a path between my backyard and hers. We had removed a shrub from the hedge separating our backyards so our families would have quick access to each other. It was to her back door I ran at 6:30 in the morning when my husband was stuck in Boston the week of September 11, 2001. It was in her kitchen I learned the real love of cooking. We shared afternoon coffee together each day on my patio. It was the first time in my life I had let a friend into my heart that closely. It was good, and I am so grateful. 

And then she was gone, and it was a hard goodbye. We hugged and cried and she got into her car with her family and they waved goodbye. As we stood in our driveway watching them go, my sweet husband pulled me quickly into the backyard so we couldn’t see them disappear. It was his way of protecting me, of pretending this wasn’t happening, that everything was just fine. But everything wasn’t just fine, and we were pretending.

Today, I try not to run away from sorrow. I’ve learned to keep my heart open during the hard times. I think it’s okay to sit a while in our sadness when pain shows up. I mean, look at all those lamenting Psalms in the Bible. Those were written by men sitting - nay wallowing - in their grief and giving God a complete rendering of their fear and sadness and anger.

I decided a few years ago I would not automatically try to avoid pain and grief, but would allow myself to lean into it for a time. It feels healthier to do so. Whatever is happening to cause me pain is there whether I embrace it or not, and things happen in life that deserve our pain and sorrow. When my children move away, that deserves my sadness. It’s how we know the love is big. When my friend is diagnosed with cancer (again), that deserves my pain and sorrow and anger and questions. It is only as I work my way through those darker emotions that I can get to a place of peace.

It is a huge relief to know I can be real in life and real in my relationship with God. He already knows how I feel, and pretending everything is okay only creates a barrier between my God and me. And in the hard times, especially, I want permission to be myself and sink into God’s embrace. He can handle whatever emotions are churning inside me. He’s there wanting to walk me through the pain.

Today, Carline and I continue to find joy in our friendship, albeit a friendship that now crosses half of the United States. I learned something new even in our out of sight friendship. I learned how to stay connected to someone who is no longer a part of my every day life. That was another first for me. But that’s another story.

“With my voice I cry out to the LORD;

     with my voice I plead for mercy to the LORD.

I pour out my complaint before him;

     I tell my trouble before him.”

Psalm 142:1

"Part of spiritual maturity is ceasing to think 

that everything that is hard is bad." 

Beth Moore

When Does Compassion End?

When do we decide to withhold compassion? Where is the line I wonder and what is the tipping point? How do we go about deciding who deserves our compassion and for how long?

Last week I read Gregory Boyle’s book Tattoos on the Heart, the Power of Boundless Compassion. This is perhaps the most beautiful book I’ve ever read. Gregory Boyle shows us how to love and just never stop. Here are a few quotes:

“The strategy of Jesus is not centered in taking the right stand on issues, but rather in standing in the right place - with the outcast and those relegated to the margins.”

“Compassion is always, at its most authentic, about a shift from the cramped world of self-preoccupation into a more expansive place of fellowship, of true kinship.”

“Meeting the world with a loving heart will determine what we find there.”

“Sooner or later, we all discover that kindness is the only strength there is.”

This week as I’ve watched the sadness and loss and tragedy unfold in Ferguson, Missouri, I have been asking myself to feel compassion - to deep inside myself care - for everyone involved. All sides. I have not lived their lives. I cannot say what I would do in their shoes - not Michael Brown’s shoes, not the police officer’s shoes. Not their mothers’ shoes. Not the protestors' shoes. I have lived my life and have my own experiences, and it is this life and these experiences that influence each decision I make every day. Each action I take is a reflection of my past and who I have decided I will be today.

I hope I grow into a place that loves more and judges never. I hope I grow into a place that sees the world and all its brokenness and instead of blaming, shares the blame and sees the sadness and doesn’t look away.

Gregory Boyle writes, “Close both eyes; see with the other one. Then, we are no longer saddled by the burden of our persistent judgments, our ceaseless withholding, our constant exclusion. Our sphere has widened, and we find ourselves, quite unexpectedly, in a new, expansive location, in a place of endless acceptance and infinite love. We’ve wandered into God’s own ‘jurisdiction.’"

Holding on and Letting Go

Ten years ago I was watching my 15 and 10 year old children race towards adulthood and life away from me. And I was terrified. I thought about my son and my daughter living their lives outside of my protection, and my imagination would run wild with fear. I thought of my own life without their constant presence, and it was impossible for me to see how that life could ever be good and full of joy. I had made them my security blanket, and I was holding on with both hands. 

Parenting requires such sameness and yet such fluidity. You must be always constant and yet ever able to change and grow along with your children. 

Growing into relationship with your adult children means remaining who you are and yet daily becoming a more grown up version of yourself. I recognized that if I wanted to maintain the close bond we shared, I was going to have to grow up right along with them. 

When Caleb turned 13 I remember going into his bedroom and saying, "Caleb, your dad and I have never been parents of a teenager before. We're going to mess it up. We're going to forget you’re not a little boy, and  we’re going to hold on too tightly sometimes. But we love you so much and we're doing our best. Please be patient with us."  

Be okay with being wrong as a parent. Be quick to apologize, because, honestly, we know when we've messed it up and hurt our children. Our children don't think we're perfect anyway, and it is only by being honest with them and humble enough to admit our mistakes that we keep their respect.

Be okay with your children choosing a path different from your own. I began to realize if I wanted my children to enjoy spending time with me, I must let them be who they are. And not only that but love who they are. I don't need to enjoy everything they enjoy, but I need to be okay with our differences. 

In our insecurities we often think if others don't like what we like, then our way of living is not the right way. It's why so often we become friends only with those who mirror us, because being with people who believe everything we believe, makes us feel we're doing it right. If our children grow up to have different likes or dislikes or lifestyles or beliefs, it can make us feel the life we have chosen is wrong. We need to get to a place where we are secure in who we are, so we can let our children be who they are. 

Authentic love and joy is found in knowing who we are. 

The Illusion of Finishing

On Fridays I (sometimes) link up with Lisa-Jo Baker for a writing flash mob. I write for five minutes on the topic Lisa-Jo has chosen. Today's writing prompt is finish.

Yesterday I had lunch with two dear friends. We have watched our children grow from first graders to college students. As women are apt to do, we talked about everything under the sun - summer travels, clothes, exercise, church, our work and, of course, our children. After a good, long talk I commented that being the parent of adult children is so much more complicated than parenting babies and grade schoolers. 

When we are young parents, we think we have it is so hard. Juggling school schedules and sporting events, and field trips and birthday parties, dentist appointments and keeping our growing children in shoes that fit. All of this requires so much energy we fall into bed each night exhausted thinking it will surely be easier when they’re older. And honestly it is easier in that it requires less physical energy. But yesterday we laughed at the naiveté of our younger selves. How could we have known being the parent of a twenty year old requires so much more brain power? It makes those younger years seem simple.

Perhaps there is no such thing as “finishing.” We are never finished parenting. We are never finished loving. We are never finished laughing so loudly we embarrass our children (some of us). We are never finished crying. We are never finished finding the beauty around us. We are never finished being brave or making hard decisions.

Finishing is an illusion. For every day is new. Every day is a gift. Every day is an opportunity to grow a little further into that person we were born to be. And I really never want to finish parenting.

The Courage to Bloom

On Fridays I (sometimes) link up with Lisa-Jo Baker for a writing flash mob. I write for five minutes on the topic Lisa-Jo has chosen. Today's writing prompt is bloom.

Sometimes the biggest obstacle to blooming is - well me. To bloom, to grow, to create - this is not always easy. Writing requires me to be very brave. To be vulnerable. To share thoughts and emotions and fears and dreams. Some days this is easy - okay that's not true - writing for me is never truly easy but some days it is easier than others to be vulnerable and translate what is inside of me into the written word.

"It takes courage to not only accept our limitations but embrace our potential. To deny our creative nature is to choose a life where we are less and thus responsible for less." Erwin McManus, The Artisan Soul

Somehow I have convinced myself I should write only when the writing comes easily. And so I will remember the brave me I have the potential to be. Words are powerful and in a world where cruel words are becoming ever more acceptable, kindness matters even more.

"You are powerfully gifted by God. He prepared in advance for your contribution to this world." Beth Moore, Children of the Day.

A Messy Kind of Community

"We all want community, but the best community happens when we pick a cause or pick some people to help. Christian community happens only in a community with people who actively follow Jesus. And if you get some friends to pursue a common struggle, you will find a level of community that you could never find by just looking for friends. Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, 'He who loves community, destroys community; he who loves the brethren, builds community.' His point is that when people focus on finding Christian friends to huddle together with, they generally destroy the utopia they’ve built up in their minds, but those who simply love people always create genuine, deep community." (Flesh: Bringing the Incarnation Down to Earth, by Hugh Halter)

In January of 2013 a small band of Jesus followers huddled together in our living room to discuss a kind of triage. A single mom from our church was being evicted from her apartment. Knowing what was about to happen to her and her three children, we could not do nothing, and from that impromptu meeting was born a community.

A few days later we helped our new friend move from her apartment into a homeless shelter. And when I say helped I mean we showed up en masse at her apartment and started packing. And it was chaos. We couldn’t communicate with our friend because at that time, her English was nearly nonexistent, and our only translator was a nine-year-old boy. Packing and moving is not fun, but packing for someone else is just weird. “Do you want to keep this receipt? This broken toy? This half used box of tissue?” Oh that’s right I can’t ask you because I’m American and I speak only one language. I remember saying that evening, “Ministry is messy.” And it is. You want a ministry that isn’t messy, then volunteer to shelve books at the public library or model for a local charity fashion show. . . but personal ministry is always, always messy because we’re all human and we bring our brokenness into everything.

So it was out of that messy evening a community of ministry was born. Three of us took the lead. We are three working moms - a doctor, a social worker and a business owner/former paralegal. And let me just say, that with our determination and professional backgrounds, we can get it done! We don’t always know what we're doing but we know how to find answers. We have fumbled and overreached, but we have learned to be humble and to recognize when to lean in and when to pull back. Eventually we termed ourselves the Surprise Squad, because in spite if our best efforts at planning and organization we were continually surprised at what came our way.

We have done a lot of good together and probably some harm. We’ve walked together through sadness and fear and joy and success and frustration, always believing God is good and he put us on this path. And we have been so very blessed. Blessed because we get to be part of restoring hope and a future to our refugee friends. And blessed because of closer friendship with each other. This community born out of need, has made us into a community that is more than ourselves. More than our own enjoyment. The bond is stronger, more purposeful, holier. And I am grateful.

"You need a fight so that people will see God as He truly is. The best witness isn’t telling people concepts about God. The best witness of the gospel happens when people see an entire community sticking up for people who are nameless, voiceless, or powerless. Every Jesus follower should be an activist an abolitionist, or at least an advocate.” (Flesh: Bringing the Incarnation Down to Earth, by Hugh Halter)

Love - It's Not Just a Word

Last week Kevin and I went to lunch downtown, something we do often being empty nesters, working from home and living just minutes from downtown. On this occasion, however, a woman was stopping people on the sidewalk and asking for donations for something. I don't know what. She made her pitch to the man waiting beside us at the crosswalk and by eavesdropping I could only tell that she was asking for donations. When he declined she said, "God bless you."  She then moved on to Kevin and me. We gave a passing, "No thank you" and walked on, receiving a "God bless" from her as well. I can't say exactly why but I cringed a little. Her words seemed so automatic. I feel a bit the same way when I hear, "You're in my prayers" uttered by some. 

I don't know that I can explain this well, but sometimes we Christians operate too much on autopilot. We have our bits well-rehearsed and we play them well. 

I take notes on nearly everything in my life, so if I hear or read something meaningful or thought provoking, it's likely to end up saved in the Notes app on my iPhone. Today I read this note, saved months ago, "Don't tell them Jesus loves them until you're ready to love them too." This song by Steve Camp resonates with me. 

I spend a lot of time with people who have little by way of material goods. People who have lived with one meal a day for most of their lives. People who are immeasurably grateful for where they are today and at the same time sorrowful for loved ones left behind. 

Don't tell them Jesus loves them until you're ready to love them too. Because love is an action. We can see it. We can eat it. We can wear it. We can sleep on it. It is food and clothes and beds and homes. It is a ride to the grocery store or a trip to the doctor, and it is helping children with their homework. It is laughter and it is tears and it is more beautiful and joy giving than I can ever describe. And if you're missing out on this, I am very sorry. 

People say to Kevin and me all the time how lucky these people we help are to have us in their lives. That is fine and a natural way to think, but it is backwards. We have been invited into these beautiful redemptive stories, and I feel so incredibly spoiled that God let us in on this.

You want someone to know they are loved? Then do something. Take action. Be helpful. Make a difference. Jesus didn't just say, "I love you." He did stuff.

"If you want to know what a person believes, watch what they do." Brennan Manning

And in defense of the woman asking for donations, she was doing something. 

Oh the Things I Could Be

On Fridays I (sometimes) link up with Lisa-Jo Baker for a writing flash mob. I write for five minutes on the topic Lisa-Jo has chosen. Today's writing prompt is willing. 

I wonder if all of life can be summed up in the word “willing.” Every choice I make, every action occurs because I am either willing or not. Am I willing to wake early to study and exercise? Am I willing to keep the house in order (sometimes)? Am I willing to return emails and turn in expense reports so my desk doesn’t look like a train wreck? Am I willing to make hard relationship decisions, even those that bring pain? Am I willing to forgive harsh words spoken in my direction? Am I willing to let go of my selfishness?

Few things worth celebrating in life happen unless I am willing to give of myself. I listened recently to Shauna Niequist speak about being willing to let God heal us. Her words resonated deeply with me. When I am hurt, when I am scared, when I am in the pit of depression, I must get to a place of willingness before anything else can follow. A willingness to lean into that pain, that hurt, that fear and dig down to its root. Am I willing to walk with God into a place of healing? Honestly, sometimes I am not and I sit in my pain.

Ready or not life is coming at me - in an ever faster and in a hurry world. Every day life requires my response. Some are simple. Some are complex. Am I willing to make hard choices? Am I willing to walk with Jesus in gentleness, patience, peace, goodness, love, joy, kindness, faithfulness and self-control.

Sometimes it is hard. Some days I am more willing than other days to be who I am in Christ.

God, please help me be willing.

A Radical Kind of Love

Last weekend Kevin and I had the joy of attending church first with our sweet girl in Spokane and also with our Caleb in Portland. It gets even better.

When in Portland, we love attending A Jesus Church, located smack downtown and attended by a multitude of twenty-something hipsters. They let us attend in spite of our age and lack of “hipsterness.” Imagine my excitement when I discovered the speaker that evening would be David Lomas, author of The Truest Thing About You, a fantastic new book I had finished reading just that day on the plane.

Lomas writes, “Amid all the true things about you, there is one thing that is the truest.”

You see, who I am doesn’t change based on my ideas or actions or the words I speak. Who I am has always been fixed. I am God’s child, beloved, made in his image, made to walk with him – in love – through the mess of this world. This is who I am always. It is the truest thing about me. And I am perfectly happy believing this about myself, but do I also believe this about my “enemies”?

Because I am not made to only walk in love with my God. I am not made to only walk in love with those who agree with me, with those who look like me. I am made to walk in love with all people. Even when I don’t want to. Even when we are unbearable to each other. Even with those who choose hate over love. Mostly, I don’t feel like walking in love with those who think hate is acceptable.

You've noticed, I'm sure, that there is a surplus of hate in this world. Well, that hate, that darkness has been right in my face this week. There has been no avoiding it, no pretending it isn't there and directed at those I love. When the darkness is that close, it's easy to let anger creep in. It's easy for me to let kindness and love drift away.

I so desperately need Jesus to teach me how to return hate with love, forgiveness, gentleness, kindness, patience, peace and that oh so difficult one for me, self-control.

Author Oz Guinness says, “We are never freer than when we become most ourselves, most human, most just, most excellent, and the like. Yet, if this is the case, freedom has a requirement: To be ourselves, we need to know who we are.”

I want to make my way through life in a way that shouts, “Do you know you are loved? Do you know you are valuable? Do you know you have a place in this world?” I don't know any other way to dilute hate except to flood it with love.

“Define yourself radically as beloved by God. This is the true self. Every other identity is an illusion.” Brennan Manning, Abba’s Child