Walking Away From Fear

We are a strange people and that is the truth. We say variety is the spice of life, but we don’t often like people who are different than us. They make us uncomfortable. They make us squirm. They make us wonder if we’re doing something wrong. And so we judge. We say your way is wrong. Your way is stupid. Your way is going to hurt me. Your way is going to ruin this country. Maybe this comes out in glaring judgment, “You are wrong and what you are doing is bad.” Or maybe it comes out as criticism, “Why would he get that tattoo? That is not going to look good in forty years!” Or “Why does she let her kids run wild like that? She must be a bad parent.” Maybe this originates in the fear we let make a home inside us, or maybe this stems from jealousy. Still, it’s all judgment and it’s really, really sad. 

We have become a people who think because I disagree with you, I must hate you. This is horrible. Perhaps you and I disagree about politics, about our view of God, about which movies are the best, which music is best, about skinny jeans or wearing stocking hats all summer. But does that mean we must hate each other? Why? Why can’t your views of politics enrich mine and push me to dig deeper into why I carry my set of beliefs. Why can’t your different views of God push me get to know my God better. Why can’t I disagree with your view of gay marriage and yet still love you? Why can’t I disagree with your view of caring for the planet and yet still love you? Who made these rules that say I must hate you because. . . 

Hate is birthed out of fear and why have we chosen to live with fear as our favorite child, when Christ has told us there is no fear in love? From a purely selfish way of looking at it, wouldn’t we be happier, if we weren’t always afraid?

What if we choose to love instead? When we hear a news story that scares us, what if we decide to love instead? When neighbors move in next door who are different than us, what if we love them? What if we really believe God is who He is and does what He says He will do? “I keep the Lord in mind always. Because He is at my right hand, I will not be shaken” (Psalm 16:8). If we believe in God, why aren’t we living these words?

What if we all tried to out love each other? I want to live in that world, in a world where we set aside our pride, our fear, our need to be right and get our own way, and just love each other first.

If we choose to live in fear, afraid of the world around us, afraid of the differences between us, then we don’t believe God. We’re calling him a liar and walking away from his truth.

“There is no fear in love; perfect love drives out all fear. So then, love has not been made perfect in anyone who is afraid, because fear has to do with punishment.” 1 John 4:18

I am deeply loved by God. You are deeply loved by God. God’s love is bigger then our differences.

Who you are I do not know, and yet perhaps I know something. I know that like me you wake up each morning to a day that you must somehow live, to a self that you must somehow be, and to a mystery that you cannot fathom if only the mystery of your own life. Thus, strangers though we are, at a certain level there is nothing about either of us that can be entirely irrelevant to each other. Frederick Buechner, The Alphabet of Grace

The Day I Was Mean

Yesterday was not my favorite day. I woke cranky and disagreeable and warned my husband it could be a dangerous day for him. Yesterday I felt angry inside and mad at everyone and everything. This is super fun for my family. Except no.

It was a beautiful and weirdly warm day in Boise, so I stopped my complaining about the inability to cross country ski long enough to ride my bike to our favorite cafe for lunch with Kevin and Rebecca. They are brave. During lunch Rebecca commented, “You’re really disagreeable today.” Whatever! On the ride home, the wind had really picked up, which was great because I had one extra thing to be mad about. Riding into the wind is way down the list of my favorite things.

By late afternoon I was coming out of the fog of mean feelings and was grateful nothing catastrophic had occurred. No big fights. No horrible words I would later regret. But here’s what was missing in my day. I didn’t throw myself on the mercy of Jesus and ask for help escaping the stranglehold of anger filling me. Sometimes, when I’m in that hard place I think, “I should ask God for help and just throw all these awful feelings to Him.” But then pride jumps up and blocks my path, and I decide I’m not ready to let go of the mad. I really wish it weren't like this. I wish I could say I was a more mature person, a more mature follower of Jesus. Maybe following Jesus is just one long walk of baby steps, spent teetering along and grabbing onto His hand.

I want to get to a place where I fall on my face before my God who loves me in all my crankiness and mean thoughts. I want my first response to be falling face down, crying out in confession and humility, begging God to help me, to take the hardness from my heart and fill me with patience and forgiveness and faith that these mean and cranky feelings are temporary and not who I really am.

I am praying 1 Peter 4:8, “Above all, maintain an intense love for each other, since love covers a multitude of sin.” Today, I’m praying these words over myself. That I will love and forgive myself, knowing my Jesus loves me intensely and forgives me always. Even when pride won’t allow me to grab onto him, he loves me still. And today is a new day.

Of Laughter and Life - My Auntie Evelyn

My Auntie Evelyn died last week. On Sunday we remembered her in a memorial service. Auntie Evelyn was my mom's older sister by 14 years and the oldest of six siblings. 

Mom and Auntie Evelyn were close in love, even though they weren't close in age. Until I was eleven years old I lived with my parents and older sister in Madras, a tiny dot of a town in central Oregon. Auntie Evelyn lived in Portland. In the big city in a house in a neighborhood lined with even more houses. She worked in a hospital. My sister and I thought she was fancy. And rich.

Auntie Evelyn with my
son Caleb in 1991

My dad was a truck driver and gone for weeks at a time so it was just my mom and sister and me. But many weekends Auntie Evelyn would make the two hour drive over Mount Hood to visit. 

To say those were good days is a small use of the word "good". Mom and Evelyn shared a special sister-friendship. They laughed a lot! It is from them I came by the embarrassing trait of laughing when someone hurts themselves. I don't especially appreciate this gift, but if you were to trip and scrape your knee while hiking with me, it is likely you would hear a bit of nervous laughter. 

Fortunately, I learned other useful things. Like never make more than one trip into the house with your groceries. Simply load all of the bags into your arms at once and hobble your way up the steps to the kitchen, because why waste time when there are other things to be done. 

But mostly I learned about laughter. I remember long summer days spent floating on air mattresses in the lake with mom and Auntie Evelyn. There were always snacks. They would take a bunch of grapes in a plastic bag and float them in the lake to keep them cool. And there was always, always chocolate. Somewhere. Hidden in a purse or under the seat in the car or tucked away in the back of the refrigerator. Chocolate was an absolute.

We were always doing something silly and crazy with Auntie Evelyn. I remember how amazed I was at her water skiing skills. I mean she could ski on ONE ski and take off from the dock and glide all the way back into shore without ever getting wet. This was a fantastical feat to my young eyes. 

Living in rural Madras we were horse people but, of course, because she was from THE CITY, Auntie Evelyn was decidedly not horse people. She would ride my little Shetland pony and was never able to stop when she wanted. She would yell, “STOP! STOP!” repeatedly and to no avail but to the roaring laughter of my sister and me. I'm sure we were her favorite nieces. . .  

There was so much laughter and when the weekend came to a close my sister and I would hide her keys so she couldn't leave us. She was that kind of auntie. I hope she knew it. 

As I grew older I came to see that my fun and funny Auntie Evelyn wasn't perfect and life didn't always treat her kindly. As a younger person I didn't understand why she sometimes left the house quickly for a good brisk walk. Tears in her eyes and sob in her throat. But now I do. Now I know because I've taken that quick brisk walk myself on occasion when life is painful and a solitary walk is sometimes the best place to let the hurt spill out. 

I hadn't seen Auntie Evelyn much recently. In 1999 my little family moved to Boise, and I saw her only on our visits to Washington. I'm grateful to have seen her one last time in July and get from her a good hard hug. 

Her memorial service showed me the purpose of such events, because today my memories of her are brighter and stronger than they were yesterday.

I'm so grateful she was my Auntie Evelyn. Perhaps more than any other person, she showed me that laughter can always triumph tears. 

I will hear her laugh again someday and my heart is glad. 

When Life is Hard

Last week was hard. One of my hardest. My sweet Auntie Evelyn died after being hit by an SUV while crossing a grocery store parking lot. She lingered three painful months. My dad was admitted to the hospital with complications from a six way heart bypass he had this summer. And I experienced a hard battle with the depression that continues to nip at my heels. Still, I continue to be amazed at the joy waiting for us in the midst of sorrow and tragedy.  I wonder if the scary times in life are there to open wide the door to love.

Saturday night I was able to attend the Mountain West Conference Championship football game with my husband and children, and we wildly cheered our Broncos on to victory. We happily rushed the field with other fans from this crazy Bronco Nation. Earlier in the week a sweet friend who is fighting her own hard battle, dropped off a bag full of goodies for me of lotions, food and tea, which she followed up with a loving email.

There is a sweetness in the painful times of life. That circling of the wagons by those who love us and hurt along with us. When life is humming along happily and the bumps are small and easily maneuvered, I don’t need to be taken care of so much. I can do more of it on my own. But when the bumps become mountains and the road barely navigable, I need the people who love me to drag me out of the pit, pull me over the mountain, and be my road map. No matter how many times I forget I can’t do it all, I keep falling back into that mindset. It's the hard times that keep bringing me back into community. Back into the fold of love my family and friends always have for me.

I’m grateful God has put in my life men and women and even little boys and girls, who love me so well and remind me I am not alone. Because life was not made to be lived in insolation but together and messily.

I wonder which of our friends and family are hurting and needing extra love and attention. I hope I learn to pay better attention. To check in regularly and care enough to put a little more of myself into ensuring they know they are loved and valuable and hold a big space in my heart.

Act Justly, Love Mercy, Walk Humbly

It is ridiculous for a person like me to write about the racial divide in our country. Part of me says be quiet white woman who lives in white Boise, Idaho and has no point of reference for what is happening in Ferguson. But there exists that other part of me who woke up this morning and read the news and read comment after comment on Twitter from people who are living the fear and pain of this racial divide that is real in our country.

What spilled onto my prayer journal afterwards were these words:

How can I be a helper of change in this? There is so much history and blame. I am so removed from it and yet it hurts. I pray humility in us all. We will never care enough about the pain of others until we let humility live in us, because it is only in humility that we get outside ourselves and let go of our self focus long enough to see the pain of another. And especially to see the pain of another who looks different than us.

That is all I have. Just a very real desire to see each person as God sees them. Could we all do that? Could we all just look at each other and see each person as loved, as worth dying for. Because that person you’re spewing hate towards - Jesus died for him. Jesus died for her.

When Christmas is About Other People

Winter came early to Boise, and we have taken great advantage of the eight inches of snow blanketing our world! Snowshoeing, cross-country skiing and yesterday, sledding with seven children from the weekly small group Bible study we have in our home. Success is seven children sledding and no injuries! I had to scramble to outfit the kids in outdoor gear, sending the kids outside in oversized snow pants, boots and gloves belonging to various members of our family. 

I’ve spent the last week at Target and Costco, trying to find gloves, hats, boots, coats, and snow pants so these kids can be warm as they walk to school. Some of them walk almost a mile to school each day (one way) and in the last week Boise has broken three long held low temperature records. So in case you were wondering. It’s cold!

Our little church here in Boise is home to about thirty Congolese refugees and is growing almost weekly as more friends arrive from Africa. We love the diversity our friends bring and were thrilled when this summer they started their own weekly Kinyarwanda language church service.

For the last several years our church has raised money to share Christmas with families in our community who need a little help. We call this endeavor Christmas Star, and it is a lot of fun. We provide grocery store and department store gift cards as well as gifts of toys and clothing and have a lot of fun wrapping and delivering it all.

This year we have more friends than ever to share with and we’d love your help!


If you would like to donate to the Christmas Star, please write a check payable to Oasis SDA Church and write on the check “Christmas Star”. You can mail the check to me at Shawna Benedict, P.O. Box 9741, Boise, Idaho 83707 or to the church directly at 501 North Curtis Road, Boise, Idaho 83706. All donations are tax deductible.

Things that Make Me Want to Scream

A scene from one of my favorite movies reminds me of myself. In the film French Kiss, Meg Ryan is trying to get the concierge at a posh hotel in Paris to assist her. He is playing straight into the French snob stereotype by ignoring her and treating her like American riffraff. In frustration she leans over the silver bell sitting on the counter and repeatedly hits it while she grits out, “Makes me want to scream!” Not surprisingly, the concierge quickly becomes more attentive.

Sometimes I feel exactly this screamingly frustrated with myself.

In January 2014 I set a reading goal for myself of 48 books. Four books a month. It seemed attainable and, indeed, it looks like I’ll reach my goal. I read a lot of books about spiritual growth. A lot of God books. Yet I noticed something in this year of reading. So often it feels like I’m reading and highlighting and agreeing or not agreeing with an author not so much because I want to grow in my spiritual life, not so much because I want to know God more fully, but because I want to prove someone else wrong. I want to be able to say (or at least think behind your back), “See! I’m doing it right and you’re not. So there!” It was when I realized this yucky fact about myself that the French Kiss scene popped into my head. I wanted to scream in frustration at myself and my sad need to be right.

Beth Moore writes, “Humility is the truest sign of intimacy with God.” I realized I was in desperate need of humility, so I began to daily and repeatedly ask God to fill me with humility. I don’t want to read and study simply to know a lot. I want to be gentle in my knowledge and when I share, I want it to be done only ever in kindness and not out of pride or an attitude of, "I know better because I read those 48 books this year. . that you didn’t!"

The know it all life is a path I walked for too long. I love to read but coupled with my insecurity over not having a college degree, means I have (had) a pretty annoying desire to prove how smart I am.

In his book, The Truest Thing About You, Dave Lomas writes, “Slowly, achingly slowly, I was learning to understand that I am deeply loved by God, and because of Jesus, God is well pleased with me. . . Every other identity I create for myself is an illusion.”

And so I began to let go of the fake me. I loosened the grip I had on my identity of being the “well-read” one, and began to see myself as deeply loved by God. First. Before anything else. Before anything I do (or read) - good or bad - I am deeply loved by God. There is no need for me to be right or well-read or know more than you. God just loves me. Period. The end.

Lomas writes, “There is a fundamental difference between who we are and what we do” but, “We believe that we are what we do.” That has been me most of my life, but no more. I am living into and believing God loves me before I become worth loving. But hear me when I say, “THIS ISN”T EASY.” Letting go of the try hard life is - well - hard. Living more than forty years earning the right to be loved doesn’t fall away overnight. It’s a bumper car journey at best. But it is still best.

I’m so grateful for books and a love of reading. I never want that to change. I just want my purpose, my end goal to be different. I want to read and learn and grow and share and be always becoming the truest me. The Shawna God sees.

"Knowing who God says we are and following Jesus into this new way of being human will change everything about our lives." Jonathan Martin Prototype.

Thoughts on Life from a Three Year Old

Sometimes I think I should write a blog dedicated to the hilarious and profound sayings of my three year old friend, Simbi. It would be a big hit.

I just returned from two weeks away so maybe she’s been saving her words for me, but she was especially memorable last week.

Here are a few gems:


After waking from a nap she sat up and said, “I’m done sleeping.” In case I wasn’t sure. I mean perhaps I looked confused.

We talked about her Uncle Chris having a birthday last week and she said, “I want to go to his house and find his cake.” Pretty sure she was afraid someone was eating cake without her.

When I told her my son Caleb would be flying home from Portland where he lives she responded with, “I will be so happy to him.”

While she was singing, “The Books of the Bible,” (which not surprisingly is a song intended to teach children the names of all sixty-six books of the Bible), I mistakenly joined her. She stopped abruptly and shared these not so gentle words with me, “I don’t need help.” Well then.

I thought once my children were grown, travel would become easier, that I wouldn't miss home so much but that was an illusion. Now I just have more people to miss, and I am grateful.

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