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Family, Friendship, Gifts, Grace, Hope, Laughter, Love, Prayer, Renewed

Friendship – The Real Stuff

For the times in life where I have struggled to catch my breath, friendship has served as my inhaler.  Stressed?  Better call the besties, because friendship can literally breathe life back into a weary soul.

Learning how to breathe is in direct response to calming my spirit. Calming my spirit is in direct response to letting things go, and accepting that there are just some things I cannot control. Who wants to live like a fish out of water, not knowing where their next breath is coming from? This is called anxiety – the feeling of standing on unstable ground.  During these shaky moments is when we reach for support.

Recently, our family went through a true crisis. I sent a text out to my friends asking for prayers and advice.  They recognized that I was at my capacity for handling the situation, my spirit was stretched and about to bust. What friendship did in that moment, is show up.  Showing up isn’t always literal, but it is always emotional. Sometimes it’s driving two hours to sit with you at the hospital, a phone call, a simple text checking on you or a funny meme to lighten your mood. Friendship is the scaffolding that supports and holds us up during the rough patches.

A gathering of friends for my 30th birthday…just a few months ago. Or 9 years. Same.

We were made to represent the love of God for our people here on earth, that each person we journey with may have a deeper understanding of God’s love for them.  It has been said that we are all just walking each other home.  I couldn’t love that thought more, healthy relationships remind us of the goodness of God, by bringing more divine into our lives.

Friendship can never be authentic unless you are honest and vulnerable. True friendship is the real stuff – not the artificial sweetener that attempts to taste like the real stuff.  True friendship is the pure cane sugar of life -messy calories and all.  When you find that tribe member, the building of a friendship begins.  Growing up, I never had a clubhouse, but this is how I picture the home of friendship.  When one shares something vulnerable, it’s as if she is handing you a brick to add to the building of the clubhouse.  You, in return, share or confide by handing her a stone to build on.  This goes on, in no specific time frame or rhythm, and one day you look up and realize your clubhouse is built.  It’s not a perfect clubhouse made of one single material or straight lines, but it is beautiful.  It is a place for both parties to be nourished under the shelter of friendship.

When one shows up for another, it’s like having a decorating meeting inside your well-loved clubhouse.  Pitchers in hand, ready to pour into whichever soul needs it at the moment.  If you look for fault in your friends, you will find it. We are all human. But if you continue to only look for the lovely, that’s what you will see.  If one can’t be there today, be thankful for the one who is.  They all have their own purpose in your life.  Your friendships will show up in all different ways, like a gorgeous rainbow.

There are few things better than a can’t-catch-your-breath-laugh with girlfriends.  Recently a group of us drove south to hear a beloved author, Jen Hatmaker, speak at the Austin Bass Concert Hall.   Afterwards, we walked outside to wait on our requested Uber.  We stood out front, waiting on Thor, chatting about where we should eat dinner.  I glanced up and saw Jen Hatmaker herself walking out of the building with her entourage, I really wanted to run and tell her specifically what her writing has meant to me, then I remembered the chapter called “Fangirl” in her latest book. She encourages us to fangirl Jesus and our friends instead of famous people who we don’t know. Inwardly, I rolled by eyes, whispered “fine”, and turned back to fangirl my gals.

Perfect timing, as a minivan pulled up, the driver got out and the automatic minivan doors opened.  What service Thor, you have earned yourself a rating of Uber excellence young man.  As Kristy and Patricia started to get in, the side door jammed while in auto mode, which caused a constant dreadful sound, kind of like a possum was stuck in it.  All four of us looked through the car to the driver, who was standing by his door just staring at us. “Sir, what’s wrong with your door?”  Blank stare.  “SIR, can you come fix your door?  Something is wrong with it.”  At one point, Marlo pushed through the other two and started trying to shove it open while saying through clenched teeth, “Oh. I. got. this!” – a word for each shove. Resolved that we weren’t climbing in on that side, we all went to the drivers side, got in and was buckling up when a random lady came over and said, “What have y’all done to the door?”  Not knowing who she was or what business she had in our night, we stuck to the Stranger-Danger rule and ignored her, continuing about the task of getting into our Uber.  Stranger-Danger-Lady wouldn’t give up with the questions though.  Sweet Patricia just kindly smiled at her as the rest of us ignored her.  She said something like, “This is my car.”,  Ugh, lady…go away.  In really slow talk so she would understand and quit asking questions, we replied, “No ma’am, this is our Uber, Thor is our driver.”  Done with the shenanigans she yelled, “THIS IS MY *&$%ing CAR and you broke my door!”  She was further thrilled when we sat there staring at her, as the situation took some time to soak in.  The situation of mistaking the valet guy for Thor, our Uber driver.  No wonder the Thor (who wasn’t Thor) just stared at us without words when we ask him to please fix his door. Just as we climbed into the poor sailor-mouth-lady’s car, we piled back out.  Back out into the rain to once again, to wait for our Uber – in the Valet line.

To be clear – the next car we got into was the correct one – Cliff’s car.  Which sounds a lot like Thor…

Send kindness out in big, generous waves, send it near and far, send it through texts and e-mails and calls and words and hugs, send it by showing up, send it by proximity, send it in casseroles, send it with a well-timed “me too”, send it with abandon.  Put out exactly what you hope to draw in, and expect it back in kind and in equal measure. Sow seeds of affirmation and goodness and grace into others, and you will reap the devotion of well-loved friends.”  Jen Hatmaker – Of Mess and Moxie

Put simply – it takes being a friend to have a friend. I’ve been on both sides of this spectrum. My first years into adulthood were some of the loneliest.  I was in a growth gap, past who I was and not yet grown into who I was becoming.  I don’t like the thought of growing out of a friendship, I’d rather be grateful for the season that we had it.  Not all relationships will make the duration of your journey, some are just meant for a season.

Pay attention to those who show up in big and little ways. Pay attention to those who support you, who defend you, who encourage you to rise above and be better in this moment. Surround yourself with honest and loyal people, those who know when to push you and when to encourage you to pivot.  Nurture your friendships, show up for your people, love on your tribe, and preserve that beloved clubhouse – it can always use another brick or decoration.  We cannot do life alone, we were made to connect.

Life is brutal and life is beautiful.  The brutal doesn’t break us because the beautiful sustains us.”

 

 

 

 

 

October 30, 2017 by
Family, Lessons, Love, Parenting, Prayer

The Endless Titles of Parenthood

Actual conversation in my house this morning.  Before caffeine or centering prayer.

Child who lives here, “MOM! Someone took my short, black socks that were tucked inside my shoes.”

Mom-trying-to-wake-up-and-channel-the-patience-of-Jesus, “Like who?  Which shoes?  When?”

Child, “I dunno, but they were there, and someone took them.”

Mom, “Bud, no one else wears those type of socks.  I highly doubt someone broke into our house this morning, while you were brushing your teeth, to steal your coveted socks.  Go look in your drawer or the pile of clean laundry on the couch.”

While throwing clean clothes all around the couch, “Nope, they aren’t here. Someone took them.”

Child finds another pair of short, black socks and heads to school.  Twenty minutes later, mom finds the socks on the kitchen table, where he left them.  Text a photo to the child of irritation, for him reply, “What are those?”  At that moment I was just thankful he was at school, under the protection of his principal, as I wanted to gently wring the bones in his cute little neck.

Bless my soul. Bless your Momma soul, since I’m pretty sure this type of conversation happened all over the globe this glorious morning.  Today, I am completely over my bratty children.  Tonight, I will gush over how precious they are.  This is Motherhood- the real kind, a perfect balance of adorable and frustrating.  A combination of zealous, superhuman love for the darlings and a continuous prayer line of inquires, and the occasionally begging of patience.  Parenting is a love so big that it requires the grounding of both feet just to manage it.

My darlings refer to me by several names; Mom, Momma, Mother Dear, Madre, and Brooke.  I don’t particularly care what they call me, just as long as I get to hear their sweet voices.  And that it is respectful, let’s be clear. Momma’s not raising thugs. I don’t necessarily need one politically correct title, this job is too important to be limited to one name.

I think God feels the same.  Father, Abba, Most High, Highest Power, Yaheweh, Jehovah, the Alpha & Omega, and so many more.  I think God would rather have our hearts reach for Him, than to have us tangled up in the specifics and rules.  God is into simplicity, and is too big to be packaged in just one name.  I don’t believe He cares which name from the list that we use, just as long as we call him.

I use Creator a lot, the thought of the Divine creating me to be exactly Autumn Brooke, is soothing to my heart.  On hard days, it’s also restoring to my soul.  I won’t pretend to understand the adult acne added into the package, but whatever.

A few years ago, my mind was flooded with uncertainty and questions.  This doubt was so unsettling that I drove two hours north to discuss it with the pastor from our “home” church.  I loved belonging to that church, something about entering those doors brought me a wave of peace.

I recently found the list of questions I took to the pastor.  Not that it was missing, as I’ve kept that paper tucked in my bible bag since that meeting. The list resembles questions that perhaps a kindergartener might ask. I got down to the basics and worked my way up.  He patiently answered my queries, never making me feel guilty for my doubt.  One answer he gave calmed my qualms and infused my faith, “I don’t know, but I’m kinda glad I can’t fully explain God and his mysteries.”  He went on to explain if God was a force that could be explained completely, then we would be able to put him in a box.  If we could understand everything about Him then we would know as much or more than He does.  Who wants to learn from someone that knows less than you do? Who wants a Creator who can be bottled like a genie?

Not this girl.  As much as I loved dreaming of Jeannie and her master, I want a larger, most divine Master Designer. With this in mind, I think I’m okay with not having all the answers.  I’m content being a small part of this grand plan.  Even on the days that I collect more questions than answers, I believe that God is okay with my questions, frustrations, and sorrows.  Even my anger.  I’ve even been known to throw up a prayer asking Him to please help me find my lost keys (aka short, black socks).  He is gracious enough answer without an eye roll, and will gently lead me to exactly where I left them.  Usually in the car.

He can handle it.  Because I am conversing with Him.  Talking and listening, giving and receiving.  It’s a relationship.  He can handle our words and labels, as long as He gets to hear our sweet voices and have our hearts.  Call Him what you will, just call Him beloved.

 

 

 

October 2, 2017 by
Hope, Lessons, Prayer

Clinging to Hope

“…Just give hope a chance to float up.”

Hope Floats was destined to be my favorite movie, simply because of the name.  The nuggets of humor and quotes found in it just sealed the deal.

The only thing I can fully understand about prayer and meditation, is how hopeless and helpless I would feel without them.  Hopelessness being a deep, dark cavern – with walls that seem to slowly close in around us, inch by inch. I can’t explain why some prayers are answered and some are not.  Most times for me, digging for answers only creates more questions.

I once was given a mind-opening visual on sin that I feel could pertain to prayer as well.  Place yourself on a sidewalk in the city, surrounded by the buildings that represent our needs and prayers.  Some being so urgent and desperate for us, they are skyscrapers reaching tall into the clouds.   Yet God has a different view.  Perhaps as He looks down on His beloveds, He sees our needs and prayers as the same height. He hears our conversational prayers, our desperate prayers, our mono-tone, memorized prayers.  He even knows our unspoken prayers.  Yet, He also has the aerial view of our location and the map of where we are going. He sees the whole picture, whereas we can only see our little corner of the world in current time.  He also knows that time is eternal, whereas we can sometimes be blinded by wanting more moments of togetherness, in our flesh suits.

We have a ritual of saying nightly prayers with our boys.  Before we dive into prayer, we take a minute for them to share what they are thankful for.  This gets a little habitual from time to time.  No matter the whole list, it always begins with, “Friends, family, animals, shelter, sports, parents…”.  (Apparently, parents are a completely different category from family.)  We sometimes give gentle reminders to really open their minds to ALL of our blessings.  Once, we threw out the idea of waking up in the morning with ONLY the things we gave thanks for tonight.   Which added a whole extra hour of air time, with long lists that included shoelaces, cheese graters, and football gloves. Well played kiddos, well played.

The hardest part about our family prayer time is taking out a prayer. Someone who has been on our prayer list and removed because our cries were answered in ways we didn’t choose.  Death leaves a void in so many places, our prayers included.  It is heart wrenching to hear the hitch in my husband’s voice as he gets to the part in the prayers where our loved one’s name was, to be reminded again that we are not in control.  As Shauna Niequist says, “We, in our humanness, cannot help but foolishly desire eternity in this life.”

In the past eighteen months, we have stood by three different friends as they have buried their sons.  I don’t know how they are still breathing through the magnitude of sorrow. It feels incredibly mean that they are still walking on earth without their son in their arms.  With each situation, we begged for God to heal their child.   Pleaded for their healing, claimed miracles in their names.  Only to later categorize these prayers as “unanswered” in my heart and on my list.  I believe there is a bigger plan, but sometimes life is just unbearable.

In May, we gathered to mourn and honor Madden Drew McCormick, his parents chose the beautiful song “Even If” to be sung.  As we sat there, tears streaming, it was the sweetest, most vulnerable feeling to absorb those lyrics.  It was as if the veil of comprehending was as thin as it’s going to be, and our Creator’s comfort was a soft blanket, tucking itself around all the aching hearts.  It was surrender – the sweetest version of Thy will be done.

“I know you’re able and I know you can, save through the fire with your mighty hand. 

But, even if you don’t, my hope is You alone. 

I know the sorrow, I know the hurt – would all go away if you just say the word. 

But even if you don’t, my hope is You alone.”

My hope is You alone…even when mountains remain unmovable.

Madden’s balloon send off. Photo courtesy of Madden’s mom, Jenny McCormick.

The opposite of not getting your hopes up is not harboring any.  A life without hope seems so bleak.  Hope assures us that we will see and hold our beloveds again. Hope keeps us afloat in the bitter times and bubbles at our feet in the sweet ones. Hope reminds us that the sun will rise again tomorrow.  Hope gently encourages us to keep walking and whispers “It is well with my soul” over and over, until we believe it enough to proclaim it.

Hope professes “earth has no sorrow that heaven can’t heal.”

And that, I can cling to.

Questions we can live with…hope we cannot.

 

July 26, 2017 by