On fabulousness

I haven’t felt fabulous in a very long time.

I realized that when a dear soul recently told me I will always be fabulous. And I doubted those words.

I do remember feeling fabulous. You know that feeling when you’re wearing the right clothes and you’re with the right people and you’re saying the right things and it’s a sweet spot and it’s just all coming together?

Sometimes I miss feeling fabulous. I wonder if I will ever feel that way again, or if the fabulous quotient diminishes after 42.

I feel other things – needed, loved, mature, wise, valued. But fabulous? Not so much anymore.

And part of my woman’s soul, if I’m totally honest, would love to feel fabulous again. Like I felt when I was 37. That was a good year for me.

But another part of me doesn’t care as much about being fabulous as I used to. Maybe because I see how fabulous the people around me are and I want the world to see their fabulousness more clearly. Maybe helping others shine in fabulousness is more important to me now. Maybe I’m getting over myself a little bit.

And maybe I’m still fabulous and I’m just not aware of it because I have other priorities now. Yes, that would be nice. Maybe that’s what I’ll choose to believe. 

To a friend in a different place

Do you recall when we had our last authentic conversation? I believe it was over a drink. As we talked and sipped, I remembered. I remembered that time when our friendship was growing, when we had a place and a purpose in common and an exchange of ideas and experiences and passions that made our relationship blossom.

I remember when we locked gazes as we realized there was an important connection between our hearts. I remember the thrill of realizing you liked me as much as I liked you. I remember when we did life together for a while and it was sweet, even though it wasn’t destined to be for a lifetime.

I also remember how you entrusted me with your pain and how honoured I felt. Your vulnerability was a precious offering that I still treasure.

I miss that. I miss you.

I remember when you had those words of wisdom for me, when you gave me the affirmation I needed. I remember when your words were the very words of God for me. Your insight and encouragement have kept me going more than once.

Our paths have diverged; our contexts separate us. I feel the absence of you in my life. I think about you in quiet moments and I wonder how you are… How you really are. I wish I knew more about your daily routine.

Bless you, my friend. Maybe someday we’ll share a place and a purpose again. Or maybe not. Either way, I want you to know that I’ve never found anyone else like you. Only you are you to me. You are still in my heart.

Rise up again

I’ve been reading “Rising Strong” by Brene Brown. It’s a book about coming back from a fall and overcoming disappointment. 

Reading Brown has forced me to admit the feeling that’s been hovering over me for months now. It’s a feeling of failure. 

If I’m completely honest, parts of 2015 felt like failure.

Many of you who know me and what happens here at the Ranch might disagree. You might say, “Look at how good God has been to you” or “So many positive things have happened.” And I agree. I am so thankful.

But to deny my sense of disappointment in multiple arenas — socially, professionally, creatively — would be inauthentic. The grand vision of giving everything up to follow Him more fully didn’t look like this. At least I didn’t imagine feeling like this.

Brown’s thing is that if you live a life of vulnerability and wholeheartedness in which you “show up” and put yourself out there in the arena — be it creatively, professionally, relationally and, I would add, spiritually — you will occasionally fall. You will be criticized and disappointed. The trick is being brave enough to get back up and try again.

Recently I spent several hours in prayer ministry. I forgave people for hurting or disappointing me in small ways, here and there. The kinds of small ways that add up and become a heavy weight, like a backpack full of textbooks in high school.

Mostly, though, I spent time forgiving myself. I needed to forgive me for letting me down. For not being the rock star I want to be in various capacities, for small failings and larger misses. Amidst spilling tears, I forgave myself for losing some of the fervour and passion I felt two years ago for building the Kingdom.

I needed to extend mercy to myself, because He does. He has so much grace for my process, for my learning curve, for falls after glory moments. His perspective is eternal.

It’s time to rise up again.

Eyes that haunt me

I wish I could make sense of his suffering, this wee little pup. Curled up in a tight fuzzy ball in the hay with golden-grey eyes that warily followed our movements as we tried to get a better look at him without getting too close, he was obviously too weak to defend himself.

He probably got chased out of his pack, said our trapper neighbour. His mange was so bad that he had chewed scabby holes in his skin. When mange gets bad enough it can kill the animal.

What got me though, was the floppy ears. He wasn't even old enough for his ears to stand up as prick ears. Also the puppy look on his face reminded me of my own young dog. His eyes didn't plead, though, they just watched.

He had no idea that we humans have medication that could end the torturous itching. He had no clue that we have the ability to alleviate the suffering of animals, that I work every day to prevent pain and discomfort in my canine, feline and equine charges. If we had tried to capture him or give him food or medication, we would have likely gotten bitten. Or at the very least risked spreading disease to our own animals. We tried calling the humane society, the wildlife rescue and the Ministry of Natural Resources but nobody was available to help us help him.

And so we ended his suffering in the only way that seemed responsible.

Yet those eyes haunt me. Those intelligent eyes knew abandonment, left to suffer on his own with nothing to curl up next to and nobody to help him. They were eyes that knew mostly suffering in his short life.

I know the suffering of an animal is insignificant compared to the millions of humans across the globe who live in pain every day, from victims of war to child slaves, but somehow this little guy's eyes reminded me of that dark sea of suffering out there, a suffering I can't fathom or fix. I had trouble sleeping last night.

Come, Lord Jesus. Give me the compassion and courage to fight suffering and pain where I can, and the grace to still live a life of joy.

Breathe

I love how horses breathe.

Yesterday I was filling the water trough and a young horse came up to sniff me. He delicately and tentatively breathed me in - my glove, my sleeve, my cheek. I stood still. It would have been more efficient to leave the trough to fill on its own, but in his investigation of the various strange smells of me, a wonder filled me as the water line crept up the side of the trough. I am as mysterious to him as he is to me, this 600-pound creature who is so powerful yet utterly vulnerable.

He stopped sniffing to just stand beside me and breathe and together we watched the trough fill. Then I looked at the sky and wondered why God would give me this job that is so busy with people and tasks and responsibilities and concerns when all I long to do sometimes is look at the sky and listen to a horse breathe.

Then came the whispered answer, which made me lightheaded with that mysterious Presence and Love. "I gave you this job so you can look at the sky and listen to a horse breathe."

December has been so lovely. It's been quiet here at the Ranch. I had writing projects and house projects to do and I have puttered at them a bit, but mostly I've found joy in simple activities like filling troughs and scooping grain and sweeping barn floors. And listening to horses breathe. And talking with my family. And reading. And gazing at the fire in our fireplace.

And I think I feel like me again.

And I'm a little scared. I'm kinda scared of January's to-do lists and budgets and people issues and more things to do in a day than I can do and challenges that are way bigger than me.

But maybe, just maybe, there are more moments than I think in 2016 to just look at the sky and listen to a horse breathe. Maybe He loves those moments as much as I do. Maybe more.

Those hands

My father has big, thick, wide, meaty hands. One of them can wrap up your hand and make you feel safe and loved. I have memories of my youth, memories in which my little hand was swaddled in his. Daddy’s capable hands could play the rhythms of my childhood on his guitar, turn pages in my bedtime storybook or help me put on my snow boots. Even now I love watching one of those big hands pet a dog, because it rubs the dog's head and ears messily all over, the dog leaning into the tender tousling.

I left home almost 25 years ago. Then I got married and had children. Those big hands cradled my newborns and caressed their fuzzy little heads, then held my todders’ hands as they set off on preschooler adventures like a trip to the park. Now those hands grip growing shoulders as he hugs my teenagers. I still love when I get to see those hands every few months, even hold one now and again. 

Last night, after saying goodbye to my husband as he headed off to a conference, the kids and I had a passionate conversation in the car. In that conversation there were deep emotions, raw feelings. As the conversation dwindled, I felt such conflicted emotion over my children’s process of sorting out their evolving relationships and changing social connections and trying not to hurt each other, even though the hurting seems inevitable in these connections bound by such strong love.

Then something magical happened: a big, thick, wide, meaty hand found mine. It wrapped up my hand just like my father’s used to. It used to be a chubby little mitt, this hand, and now it’s the hand of my father, the hand of a man.

And my heart swelled with pride and love and pain: Pride because he is a gentle, funny, capable, caring, smart and sensitive young man who still wants to connect with me by holding my hand. Love because how could a mother do anything else? And pain because of the process. It's the joyous pain of time passing and transformation and being both a daughter and a mother, of seventeen years that went by in the blink of an eye, and my son’s hand becoming my father’s.   

First at the gate

When I was younger, I used to think that horses were distant creatures, willing to submit to human whims like riding and grooming, but would always rather be out in the field eating with their buddies.

Then I met Ariana.

Or rather, I bought Ariana. She’s a young, black paint/quarter horse with the cutest white star on her forehead. I bought her because I hoped she’d be good quality Ranch horse someday. In the meantime, I figured working with her would give me a chance to get more training experience.

Ariana being her cuddly self

Ariana loves people. At least she does now. She didn’t when she first came. She tried to kick me whenever I went near her back end. She acted scared most of the time. But with time and patience, she not only picks up her back feet for me, but now when we arrive at the barn, she's the first at the gate to say hello. If we’re working in the barn, she comes and sticks her head over the door to see what we’re doing and if there’s anything she can do to help. She’d happily follow us around like a puppy dog. She’s curious and sweet, outgoing and willing to please.

And Ariana’s not the only horse I’ve watched come alive with individual attention. We have quite a few camp horses here at the Ranch and most of them don’t have their own one-on-one person. But I’ve noticed that when someone starts spending a lot of time with one horse, the horse’s personality blooms. With love and affection and time, a formerly reserved horse develops an in-your-pocket personality.

If you watch most horses, they spend 99 per cent of their time eating, drinking, occasionally rolling around on the ground or napping in the sun. However, after spending the last seven months with this herd daily, I realize that horses are wired for friendship much more than I ever thought. They form deep bonds with each other. And not just with each other, but with their master.

Horses are kind of like people. We were made for relationship. We were formed through and for connection. When we live independently, not sharing our hearts and experiences with others, we’re only half alive. Intimacy and community bring us fully alive, make us bloom and become transformed into the glory we were created for. Just as the animals were originally created as companions for us, so we were created for deep friendship — with each other and with our Master.

I’m so grateful to have a God who cares about more than providing enough for me to eat and drink. I’m so thankful that my Master wants to know me, wants an individual relationship with me. His attention, words and affection for me make me want to be the first at the gate to meet him, nuzzling his hand, drawing near.

At the feet of the Master

When we moved to Arden, we decided that 300 acres would be enough for a second dog. When I reserved our border collie puppy with a local breeder, I imagined this cuddly ball of furry submission. Border collies love to please, right? They live to make you happy?

Not this one. Not Page.

Our Pagie is the feistiest dog I’ve every owned, and that includes a Jack Russell and an Aussie. She is busy, busy, busy. She’s all about creating entertainment for herself. She’s way too preoccupied looking for the fun to stop for a cuddle. If you try to have a snuggle with her, she wiggles and struggles and finally pushes away, then races off for the next good time.

Early in the morning, it’s usually just Page and me awake. I sit by the fire, drinking my coffee, reading my Bible and listening to music. Page has a different agenda. She chews mittens, steals firewood, tries to eat my pen and barks at her own reflection in the window. Sometimes I laugh out loud at her mischief, and occasionally rescue items from certain destruction.

However one morning recently, she took her chewy toy and curled up next to me. She wasn’t touching me, we weren’t snuggling, but she was within a few inches of me. I was so pleased that with all the potential fun and games all over the house, she chose to lie next to me. I stroked her cheek gently and enjoyed her warm, puppy presence.

That’s like God and us. We’re awfully busy running around, amusing ourselves with this thing and that thing, chasing our tails and looking for a good time. And I think He enjoys our shenanigans. After all, we were made for relationships and activities. But when we do slow down and curl up quietly next to him, it brings Him such great joy.

Like Page coming close and resting next to me melted my heart, so we move the heart of the Father when we draw near to Him. He so enjoys even a few moments of our attention, of our devotion.  In those moments, he wants to shower His affection on us and remind us how much He adores us. 

“You’ve captured my heart with one glance of your eye.” Song of Songs 4:9

I could judge Page for being busy. I could decide she’s a bad dog. But she’s not. It’s just who she is. It’s how she interacts with the world. And so I take pleasure in her antics. And little by little, she’s learning to enjoy quiet times of communion with me. As am I with my Master.

“Be still and know that I am God…” Psalm 46:10

The finer points of friendship: Fun is fun

This seems like an obvious one, doesn't it?

But my posts about friendship have been kind of heavy so far. And I'll admit it, I love to sit down with my dear ones and have a good old D&M (deep and meaningful). I want to know what's going on in the inner sanctum.

However, a close friend pointed out to me this past summer that shared experiences build relationships in ways that talking can't. That's a good word. She's right. After she said that, I began to notice how much my summer friendships grew while mountain biking, doing crafts or jumping off the high dive wearing life jackets as diapers.

My new friend Sarah and I decided to go for a walk last Friday. We picked the Sacramento River Trail, planning to compare notes on our school experiences. She and her husband, Steve, have asked us to be their mentors, so many of our conversations have been intense and thoughtful.

On our walk, something magical happened. We came across this prayer labyrinth, a maze of stones forming circular pathways with prayers painted on rocks and sticks. Some were decidedly Christian prayers; others were generic words of life and optimism. There was even a tribute to a long, lost beloved black Labrador. Beside the labyrinth was a ribbon tree decorated with strips of fabric blowing in the sparse California breeze. People had written prayers on these multi-coloured strips  and tied them to branches.

Sarah and I marvelled at the beauty of these strangers' prayers blowing and tangling together in the wilderness. We each wrote a prayer and tied it to the tree. We explored the various painted rocks and read them to each other.

One of the greatest joys God has given us in this world is shared experiences, opportunities to explore this wondrous world together. I am so grateful for friends who share my love of adventure and spontaneous experiences. And I'm grateful for how fun connects us.

The finer points of friendship: Know yourself

In my novel, Breaking the Ice, both of the main characters, Sam and Carly, find there are things in their personalities that  profoundly affect their relationships. And not always in good ways.

Isn't it true that your greatest strength can also be your greatest weakness?

But ouch. It actually really hurts to find that out the hard way.

I am currently awake in the wee hours of the morning, smarting from the last 24 hours in which I discovered some parts of my personality that really hurt people. I inadvertently betrayed a confidence at school today. I had a conversation with a leader who pointed out some broken ways in which I relate to people and the potential downfalls of my leadership style. And finally, I received a painful message from a friend, from which I'm still reeling.

So it feels ironic that I'm writing a series on friendship.

However, through a series of mistakes I've made recently, I'm learning that God has grace for my mistakes. More than that, I think He actually wants me to learn to push through my mistakes--even my relationship mistakes--without crashing emotionally.

And I would rather learn more about how I hurt people so I can do something about it. I don't want to go on hurting people.

I think when you get to know all sides of yourself, even when the process is painful, you'll be able to save others some pain.

You can only make improvements in your game if you're honest about where you're starting from. Delusions about yourself only lead to more mediocrity - Carly in Breaking the Ice

The finer points of friendship: Quality beats quantity

I feel like I'm wandering alongside spreads of food in one those enormous buffet restaurants. There's so much food of so many types and my stomach is growling but I don't know where to start. How will I ever choose? So I just hug my plate to my chest in anxiety because I know my time and appetite are limited.

But the buffet isn't food, it's people.

There are phenomenal people all around me in the here in Redding, California, in the ministry school program my husband and I are in. These people are fascinating, compassionate, influential people and I've had coffee dates with a bunch of them.

But I'm lonely.

Yes, I admit it, I'm lonely for community, for friends who truly know me.

We've only been here for 18 months. And I'm realizing that relationships take time. And I'm also realizing that perhaps I made a crucial strategic error: I tried to be friends with too many people.

Choose your people. Commit. Go deep. 

I know other people who picked their friends in the first few months of school last year and have reserved their coffee times and weekend social slots for these people. And I see that 18 months later, they have deep community.

I, on the other hand, was fickle. I wanted to get to know a lot of people. And now I find myself running from party to coffee date to group meeting to lunch date, still getting to know amazing people, but not feeling like I belong with anyone.

If I have one pearl of wisdom to offer from this experience: don't try to be friends with everyone. Choose your people. Commit. Go deep. Because having a few good friends beats having lots of friends. Community beats popularity. I know that firsthand now.

The finer points of friendship: Learning to listen

I love to talk. Love. To. Talk.

Talking helps me figure out how I feel. When I'm able to express my thoughts and feelings, it gives them order, makes them understandable and manageable and safe. Words give structure to those scary or uncomfortable or joyful things inside me. For me, the tangible formation of words takes some of  the negative power out of negative emotions and increases the celebration of the good things.

Words are my love language. If I'm testing the waters in a new friendship, I'll tell you what I've been thinking and see how you handle it. The more I like you and trust you, the more words I'll share with you. If I really love you, I can talk to you for hours. Like literally. Ask Andrew.

A few years ago when we were living in Guelph, one of my best friends and I would drive to hockey every week. The drive was about half an hour and sometimes we'd be pulling up at the rink and I'd realize that I'd been talking the whole time.

Part of it was that she's such a good question asker. Bonnie can draw anyone out, but especially a verbaphile like me. So it got that I would have to almost look at my watch and stop mid-sentence halfway through the ride to ask her how her week was. It took all my self-control to do that. Not because I didn't want to hear from her, because I did. But because I had so much to tell her. Over years of driving together, Bonnie taught me so much about being a listener.

Some people find all my talking overwhelming. We were learning about communication styles in class the other day and found out that some people consider interruptions the sign of a good conversation. When I'm so excited about what you're saying that I'll interrupt you to build on your thoughts, we are truly connected. (Me.) Other people need pauses in conversation to feel like they're welcome to speak, like there's space for them to think and express themselves. (Not me.)

So here's what I've learned about listening: Sometimes silence in a conversation is the most important moment. And sometimes a good question is far more meaningful than my very best wit or wisdom.

Despite how much of a gift I feel it is to offer up my inner world to my friends, it's an even greater gift to my friends to value their inner world enough to listen well.

This is the first post in a series called "The finer points of friendship."

Keep your love on

T

If I were to tell you what I'm best at and what I'm worst at, it would be the same thing: relationships. 

I have lots of relationships. I make friends easily. I make good friendships quickly. I love intimacy. But I still feel like I'm deeply broken when it comes to loving well. Especially my closest people. As a consequence, some of my relationships go through periods of difficulty. And this troubles me. 

But I want my closest relationships to be real love, not just being nice or getting by. Because my people are worth it. 

A recent school assignment was to read the book, Keep Your Love On by Danny Silk. The book helped me to realize sometimes relationships go wrong when we feel powerless or fearful. Out of our own struggles, baggage, anxiety or areas of need, we may end up inadvertently criticizing, hurting or neglecting each other. 

So when things hit a rough patch in a relationship, the solution is not to try to win the argument or be right or even do all the proper behaviour, afraid to offend. The solution is to love. Fearlessly. Determinedly. But what love looks like in a given situation can be elusive.

First of all, I think love looks like choosing to forgive, letting go of offence or hurt. Sometimes that starts with being completely honest with yourself about how hurt you are. I recently was able to forgive someone after I wrote them a letter in which I was brutally truthful about something that hurts me in the relationship. But I will never send that letter. I just needed to get it out of my system. The person had already apologized for what they'd done, but I was having trouble getting rid of the frustration and pain. Right after I wrote the letter, I deleted it and felt tremendous freedom to forgive the person. 

Sometimes love looks like pursuing and lavishing radical acceptance, encouragement and grace on someone who doesn't have the capacity to love, honour, encourage or pursue you back. Other times it looks like having hope for the relationship when the other person doesn't. Sometimes it's choosing to believe what God tells you about the person more than what you see in front of you. Love can mean bravely, lovingly and gently telling them how hurt you feel. Or it can even look like saying to yourself, "I am a child of the King. I am not going to subject myself to disrespect. But I choose to maintain an open heart for when this person is ready to respect me." 

I want to be a radical lover. The litmus test of that love is not the relationships that are easy, casual or still in the honeymoon stage. The test of my commitment to love is in the face of annoyance, insult, neglect or even rejection. In those moments, love is a choice. In those moments, love is a cloak I choose to wrap around myself. It’s the royal robes of my Prince of Peace, the ones He lets me wear when my own are ragged and threadbare. 

His love is bigger than my petty irritations, my sensitive self image or my need to be right. His love enables me to love from the reality that He romances my heart with a love that renders me speechless. And because I am loved beyond all reason, I can love when it seems too hard to love. 

I am thankful for the people in my life who tick me off sometimes. I celebrate those who push my buttons. I rejoice over the ones with whom I’ve searched the deep places of the heart and we’re still in process. Because they're worth it, and they're the people who will grow my heart. These are the people who will send me to the foot of the cross, asking for more capacity to love. These are the people who will set my heart on fire with the precious refiner’s fire, and the result will be pure gold. 

"Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends." John 15:13 

One more thing: I have an extra copy of Keep Your Love On by Danny Silk. If you feel like this is an area you want to grow in, drop me an email at anne@annelebolddouglas.com. I'll draw a name to send it to.