On Coming out of the Lonely Places

I feel as if I have been paralyzed and lost to wander around life a small child. Why? Because my beloved Macbook died over a week ago. So we rushed it to the Mac Gods, prayed over it and it rose from the dead just like Jesus (okay, not really). But alas, I sit here in Ugly Mugs typing upon my long lost love of a Mac who has been beside me for the better part of 6 years storing my memories, love notes, and ramblings. It’s good to be back, with my Mac with a almond latte’ beside me and a dozen of dirty East Nashville hipsters surrounding me. Yes, life is normal again.

I need to be honest with you. With myself. A few years ago, I took a class that forever changed me, the way I see the world, the way I view myself and the many layers of Sydney. Spiritual Formation. Sophmore year. Dr. Curtis. That class tossed a stone in the water which cast a single ripple that continues to multiply and span out every day of my journey. There is no shore in sight to stop it either.

Here’s a summary of what I learned about myself:

I am a natural Introvert. 

I was pushed (by others but mostly myself) to be an extrovert. 

I am an expert at convincing myself that I am fine, strong, okay, unhurt, unbothered, peachy keen at times when I am not at all any of those things. 

So, therefore, I  am good at convincing others of this too. I’m a terrific actor. 

Until this realization, I was doing okay (or so I thought). There are times when I find myself sweeping the sh!t under the rug and going back to my typical coping mechanisms. Here they are:

I shut myself off.

From myself,

From others,

From people I dearly love.

I disappear.

Why? Because sometimes, when I feel most vulnerable it is much easier to maintain and control if I barricade myself in.

But, that is such a lie. It is of no help. Because when I barricade myself in, I allow the fear, the feeling of unworthiness, and guilt to manifest within my soul and I loose the chance of community to be a part of my healing.

I am learning that as a new found introvert that I do require a lot of time to myself. I start feeling overwhelmed when I have been around a lot of people for an extended period of time and just like Jesus, I feel the need too get away from the crowd and find a quiet place.

The difference between Jesus (and just a couple of other differences ) and I though is that he used that time to gather his wits, recharge so that he could go back to the needs of others. With me, I find so much comfort in the quiet place that I do not want to leave, I lock the doors and stay way longer than I should. I don’t answer my phone, I don’t go to events, I distance myself as much as possible and I get in a rut. A serious rut. I start believing that I have I am not good enough to go back to the people I love or that they have marked me off.

Friday morning I got a text from a dear friend. Claire invited me to go to a First Friday service where a group of our dance friends would be performing. Now, you must realize that I have been in a rut, a serious rut of shutting off others and building my cocoon. For whatever reason, I had this sudden realization and felt the need to break the cycle. I had a friend who thought I was worthy enough of sharing an evening with her. I could pass it up. I could just go home, put my sweats on and drown my long work day with Friends re-runs but I knew I had to break the cycle. I said yes. And I meant it. I didn’t want to flake, I couldn’t because it was my time to break the cycle.

I’m glad I did because as I sat in that larger than life cathedral and watched God in the dance and heard God in the music, I sought God in my heart. I was moved. I cried. And for the first time in a while I felt alive and a lot more like the Sydney I was made to be. Claire, if your reading this I prayed during that service a prayer of thankfulness for your loyal friendship. Thank-you for being a friend who is honest and willing to hold my life up to the light for what it truly is and allow me to help you with the same.

So, my encouragement to you because I know I need to hear it too, is realize that we are worthy. You are worthy. Of friendship, of love, of joy. We all need times to go away from the crowd and gather ourselves but let us not be stuck there. May we not suffocate in the lonely places. May we have the courage to say yes, to go, to share with the ones we love. And may we be the Claire who simply invites the friend out of the lonely place to share an evening with them.

-Sydney

You are my witnesses

You are my witnesses.

We are not witnesses because we saw God in the sunlight that filtered through the tree branches, or because we heard the most beautiful harmony of voices or because we read words from ancient scripture. We are witnesses because of the God spark that was fanned into flame when we experienced these moments. We are witnesses because these holy moments stirred our souls so much that it convicted us to do something, to be the person we were called to be, to share something worth sharing.

As of lately, I have been witness to a whole lot of spiritual abuse committed by Christians. These Christians feel convicted, passionate and called to “save” the lost in ways that can only be called abuse. When we hear about Christians on the news, it usually isn’t about the good they are doing but because of the radical methods of witnessing. It is loud, it is discouraging and it is truly heart breaking. It is at times hard for me to associate myself as a Christian when I know of the hateful evangelical ministries being carried out on a daily basis. There are days when I feel like these types of Christians are too loud, too powerful and that they might just ruin any chance for the ones of us who only want to join in community with others and love. However, there have been more days as of late that hope has won out in my heart. The more I challenge the hate and nervously lift up the vail, the more voices join with me. The more I ask “Is this really what Jesus desired?” the more I hear of others who desire his mission- to love all, accept all and join in community with them.

Jesus has become more and more supernatural as I have grown up. For some reason, perhaps because of our media driven culture, Jesus’ divinity has taken precedence over his humanness. I don’t know about you but the Jesus I resonate with is the very human one. The Jesus that got angry with injustice, the Jesus that wept of the death of a friend, the Jesus that was harassed by religious leaders, the Jesus who got weary and had to be alone to gather his wits, the Jesus who took time to talk to the lowly woman, to the insignificant children, to the diseased, to the hard to love, and to the man hanging beside him on the cross. I can relate to that Jesus. I can be challenged by that Jesus.

In Matthew 24 we truly see his humanness in the most unlikely of events:

³⁶While they were talking about this, Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, “Peace be with you.” ³⁷They were startled and terrified, and thought that they were seeing a ghost. ³⁸He said to them, “Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? ³⁹Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.” ⁴⁰And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet. ⁴¹While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering, he said to them, “Have you anything here to eat?” ⁴²They gave him a piece of broiled fish,⁴³and he took it and ate in their presence.

It wasn’t a ghost, a supernatural being. It was a man who had real wounds, flesh broken and apparently a hungry appetite. Broiled Fish. Eating is a human experience we can all relate to, and I love that the author included this little tidbit of information. The fact that he asked if there was anything to eat and picked up a piece of broiled fish first made me laugh but called my attention to the nature of Jesus. He was real. He was broken. He was hungry. I know that Jesus.

Later into the passage it says:

“⁴⁵Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures, ⁴⁶and he said to them, “Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, ⁴⁷and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. ⁴⁸You are witnesses of these things.”

Now whether you actually believe that he physically rose from the dead (because there is much debate about this in theological and exegetical studies) we can all find common ground in that Jesus might not physically exist anymore but he is resurrected and alive in each one of us when we stand up for the marginalized, or when we celebrate the life of another or when we do the harder right over the easier wrong. Jesus is real and it is made evident when we weep over the loss of a friend, when we get angry at injustice, when we take time to heal the heart of a broken hearted family member, when we feel weary of living out our calling and have to walk away and be alone for a while, when we get criticized in how we minister to others, when our flesh and bones are broken and wounded. This is when we fulfill Jesus’ calling of being witnesses. We don’t need smoke and mirrors or a supernatural message to reach out to those around us. All we need is the courage to act out real love in real situations to real people.

Have you ever been a victim of extreme evangelism? (Street corner, Billboards, Bumper Stickers, Radio, Emails, Flyers etc.) If so, what type of emotions did you experience?

What does it mean to be called to witness?

In what  ways do you feel called to witness?

Has your ways of witnessing evolved and changed throughout your journey?

Faith I Can’t Hold

From a Freshman design project about spiritual abuse and sexism.

I envy the type of faith and theology I used to uphold. It was so much easier. Black and white was far more comforting. I could write it down, list it out, define it and show it to you. Here, see? Chapter 3 verse 16.

Now, I hardly can keep up. I can’t get my hands around it, I can’t hold it. It spirals out of control, whizzes around, transforms into something even more elusive before I can find it again. But I can’t stop chasing it even though I know catching it isn’t an option and one I don’t even want. I revel in catching glimpses though, I glory dance. I get hungrier for more so I run faster, harder; I leap. I sometimes fall.

I always get back up.

Wanting more.

Needing more.

Knowledge, truth, understanding, love.

More God truth.

More world truth.

More me truth.

More purpose.

And I find it, in places I don’t expect, in people I don’t expect.

Not in steeples

Not in robes

Not behind pulpits.

So, I run, tumble, fall, dance and rest in this glory filled journey.

Tags: christianity, church, doubt, faith, God, questions

[More than a Wedding] On Building a Marriage

I was never that little girl who doodled about her dream wedding. I never thought about what colors I would use, what type of dress I might wear or the man I would marry.

I was far too busy playing under the trees that were scattered over 11 acres around our 150 year old farm house. I would choreograph countless dances and pretend the wind was my music. I would boss my little sister around and pretend school among the fallen leaves and tree stumps. I would go on adventures, pack up the red wagon with sandwiches, juicy juices and walkie talkies and head down to the bottom less spring that was on the other side of our field. I never stopped dreaming, imagining, pretending, dancing. I was told I could change the world. And I whole heartedly believed it.

 Now, don’t get me wrong, I loved to plan. It became a hobby. I planned every one of my birthdays since I was five. I planned my own baptism like it was a wedding. Carefully I  chose  the appropriate invitations, paper and guests and the pool party that immediately followed. I suppose I thought if I was going to go down in the water I should invite everyone else too as well. Even now, I plan. I plan youth group events, I plan dates, I plan what I am going to wear tomorrow and the goals I want to accomplish for the week.

Never did I plan on falling in love. I didn’t even try. Actually, I ran as fast as I could from it in the beginning. Falling in love required me to be vulnerable, self-aware, other-aware, co-existent with another. I was fearful of losing my natural born independence and sassiness. I struggled with allowing someone to take care of me. I was hesitant to share my my flaws and my unique talents with someone. No longer was I choreographing a solo beneath the trees; I had to learn to partner, to trust another with my weight. The fear of being dropped hindered me us. I had to become familiar with the words us, we, together. I wasn’t sure I wanted to grow up…with someone else.

Lucas danced in and graciously and patiently helped me vulnerably peel back my layers as I tried to do the same for him. He never tried to tower over me. And when he tried to pay for all of our dates I sassily pulled out my purse; he used to hate that. He wanted to be the best man he could be for me…and he was and is. He quickly learned that being the best man for me wasn’t doing everything for me but allowing me to join in and do things together. Being the best man for me didn’t mean he had to lead me, direct me, or be the headship of our relationship. We found rest and peace in equality. Becoming his equal and him becoming mine is the most important life breathing act we have, has and will continue to live out. When we consciously made had that conversation at the beginning of our love falling we drastically reduced the opportunity for competition, control, hierarchy and manipulation. We decided to dance with sweet abandon. We said hell to a led waltz. We wouldn’t be slaves to submission.

Now, of course, we have our struggles. Oh, have we had our struggles already. But we struggle together and not under the heel of one another. We find the embrace of our hands and the locking of our eyes and remind each other we were made to do this together. Us, we, together. Those words have made themselves at home in my heart now and keep making more and more room to do so every day of marriage.

Someone, who I unfortunately can not remember told me something very, very important at the very beginning of our engagement. This person told me that planning a marriage was far more important than planning a wedding. Planning a wedding was easy in comparison to planning a marriage. I could imagine, envision and dream up the most beautiful wedding (which, although I am biased, our wedding was so breath-taking and spirit- filled) and I could easily put those plans into action. Whether if it was collecting broaches for my broach bouquet or trying on dresses I could fulfill that plan with little effort. But planning a marriage that rests on equality, breathes love in and breathes forgiveness out, holds pain and struggle up to the light and remembers the words us, we, together takes more than dollar bills, a wedding planner or a hot glue gun. It takes back breaking work, an extreme amount of vulnerability, honesty and unconditional forgiveness. Sometimes, it seems impossible and sometimes it just is. We fall short of forgiveness and we lit bitterness creep in. We break down. But we break down together. Us, we, together.  

So, although planning my wedding was a time I will always cherish and adore; I hope planning our marriage takes precedence. I hope that love always wins even when it doesn’t seem it will. I hope equality always reigns. I hope that our children will better understand real love, God, forgiveness, compassion, communion, service, selflessness and adoration because of the love they see us share with one another. I hope we always value each other’s worth, talents, gifts, flaws and uplift and celebrate them. Together.

Us, we, together.

Dear Lucas, 

           You are my beloved and I am yours. I can close my eyes and remember how much God’s Spirit enveloped me as I walked down the aisle to meet you. The wind was spectacular and it literally took my breath away- I felt God. The wind reminded me of the the days when I used to dance solo under the trees as a little girl, I felt God then too. When my eyes met yours, no longer was I fearful of abandoning my independence because with you, I knew I didn’t have to. You embraced it. You celebrated it and encouraged me to become more of the person I was created to be- you still challenge me to do this every day. There were so many holy moments on our wedding day- the wind, the spontaneous slow dance during our ceremony, the tears on your cheek, they way you watched me walk to you under that God filled tree, your hands in mine and mine in yours, the whispers you breathed into my ear. May we take these holy moments into every single moment of our marriage. Grunt. 

Us, We, Together

Mrs. Hutson

                                                                                                                                 

                                                                                                                                                   

Marching into April (ooh, see what I did there, ay?)

Ha! What a ridiculous subject title!

Well March Photo A Day Challenge is over. I did pretty well I think, only missing a couple of days when I just plum forgot. Now April has arrived, and so has the new photo challenge list from fat mum slim!

Join me, won’t you?

April 4: someone that makes me smile:

 

he also makes this southern woman swoon.

We have been together four years and married for less than one. Some of you may know of the terrifying news we received a few weeks ago. A lot of you know the story but I would like to vulnerably share the layers under it. This is very personal but I feel the need to share honestly about we’re going through, because this life is real and what we are going through is real. 

Friday I hold one of the eight babies and dream and stir about the upcoming weekend. The chance to soak up time with my other half and fill my tank so that I can run the next week when I only have a few hours with him each night. By Friday, I’m sputtering. I remember feeling unsettled all of a sudden, so I check my purse for my phone. Missed calls. A text. It reads “Hey honey, I am on the way to the doctor’s. I accidently pricked myself with a needle at work. Call me”. I freeze. Breath is hard to find. The room whirls and closes in. I call with shaken hands. He seems so cool. So unbothered. So him. I in turn, become more me. My imagination sweeps me away and I envision the worst. I get frustrated that he seems so okay and unaware. I try my best to self soothe. I ask. I ask questions. I ask a lot of questions. He has no answers. he calms me. (so backward and selfish I think to myself)  I wait. I consume myself with the babies or at least I try. I smile at them and laugh but it seems so fake and so shallow because it is. I wait to hear if the patient has HIV. Co workers assure me that it will be okay. I nod. I cringe because I know how real life can be. The phone rings. I cry. I wish I hadn’t tried to convince myself that the patient wasn’t because it made it all the more dramatic and painful that the patient was and is. I run to the bathroom and sob. Feeling more scared than I ever have. Fear didn’t creep in, it raided through setting up camp in every corner of my head and heart. I called my mom. I cried some more. She prayed. I breathed. I splashed cold water onto my blotchy, red face. I looked like hell. I felt it too. I collected myself. Went back to my babies. They smile at my arrival, not caring that I look like a crazy women. I talk with the other women, one compliments my earrings and I remember thinking how earrings were useless and stupid right now. I wanted to rip them out. Instead, I thanked the compliment and realized that she was trying to soothe and love me. He feels so far away. Like he flew to Australia and left me here. I need to see him. feel him. hear his voice in the same room. We go to lunch and I bask in his presence. The world is right again. We are together. We can rule this world. This mountain. This Hell. I ask a million more questions. I want to know not what just the doctor said but what he was like. Did he have good character? Answers are vague with no assurance. We won’t know a thing for six months. The waiting is awful. That is a long time for fear to hang around…it’s already building mansions in my mind. We have changed. Together is different. No longer can we be spontaneous or flitty. We are over cautious.We are nervous. We are fear stricken. We think I am pregnant. I wonder if this was our last shot. I take a test. I take 5 tests. 3 look positive. 3 blurry crosses. 2 vertical lines. I throw up. I wait. I really become angry at having to wait. 4 days late. 5th day I sob at the sight of hope dashed. The red reminder is so cruel. Everyone else goes about normally, while I silently scream. People celebrate their new bellies all around me. I morn the loss of hope, again. I become paralyzed, emotionless. I wander around. I sleep a lot. I cry when no one is looking. I try my hardest to be happy for others. Fear is so loud. Six months is so far away. I cling to him more than ever. We wait. 

The Extra in the Ordinary

If you are a Facebook friend, Twitter or Lightbox follower then you might have noticed an abundance of photos pouring out from myself.

That would be because I’m on a mission.

A challenge.

An endeavor to find holiness in the mundane. To capture beauty in a cup of morning coffee or hope in the crook of a smile.

We walk by miracles. We pass by the extraordinary in pursuit of getting things done. By the end of the day most of our tasks are completed but our souls, our creative minds, are left unfulfilled; thirsty for a drop of awareness. We are wandering blind.

So my mission is extravagant but the means are ordinary and simple. I ask you to join in with me if you go to sleep dehydrated from the mundane and thirsty for holiness.

This is what you will need:

A camera (most of us have them in our pockets and purses- pull out that cell phone!)

An aware mind and open heart.

This guide:

[Source]

You do not have to use this, but I find that it helps me focus and gives me inspiration. I also find that it has just been a starting point for me- I am pulling out my camera phone all the time now!

If you have an Android phone like myself, than I highly recommend the app called Lightbox. It is Android’s best version of Instagram.

If you do decide to join me, would you let me know in my comment box below with your Twitter handle, Lightbox & FB username? I would love to follow your journey and pictures! Don’t forget to hashtag # your photo with #marchphotoaday and @fatmumslim (she created this list and has a fab blog).

So, to sign out this post I will leave you with today’s challenge.

18. A corner of your home 

My other findings:

 

 

Beauty in the mess. 

Baby Scribble

Source

Some of you might know that I have been writing another blog for my future child(ren). Love letters to them if you will. I know to many, this might sound crazy but Lucas and I have talked about what type of parents we want to be before we were even engaged and married. We really feel called to be parents and really good ones at that. I thought it would be neat to write letters to my baby before it was even thought of so that one day it could know what was going on in our minds and hearts as newly weds. I plan to keep this blog private until I become pregnant. However, from time to time I will give you a little preview. So, without further due, here is my most recent post from my “not-just-yet” blog: 

Dear not-just-yet baby,

Right now mommy is snuggled up in her favorite robin egg blue throw, candles lit and her Civil War’s station playing on Pandora. Daddy is sitting at the table sketching lighting designs and asking my opinion. He works with a furrowed brow and a steady hand. He stops for a break with a pencil behind his ear. He doesn’t realize it, but he’s making me fall more and more in love with him. He goes back to the table, erases, wipes the dust away and sets his pencil back in motion, co- creating with God and inspiring me all the while.

This is a typical night in the Hutson home. I wonder what you will bring here with you- some tears probably and hopefully giggles too. Joy will abound while our wallets become deeper black holes but we won’t care too much because your love will fill and spill out into all the empty crevices and holes around this house. We won’t care too much about the insomnia ridden bodies and minds, the lack of washed hair and abundance of sweat pants because we will have you. you sweet sweet baby you.

No sketches or designs on a notepad could draw you up or sum up this co creation. We can’t wait for you much longer but we know we have to. So, with furrowed brows, steadied hands we scribble love notes to you, about you. We proclaim your name in a dusty no. 2 marking hoping these paper rants will subdue our desire to put you into motion.

Love,

The not-just-yet Mommy.