Being Still

"Be still and know that I am God!
  I will be honored by every nation.
  I will be honored throughout the world."

The Lord of Heaven's armies is here among us;
  The God of Israel is our fortress.

(Psalm 46:10-11 NLT)



Every year I become more of a contemplative and (perhaps because) every year I have more to contemplate. This season has been no exception and, consequently, has properly worn my mind and my heart making both a little smoother, a little less defined. It has taken much longer to process what is happening in and around me, what is happening in and around our world.

With this information and sensory overload, I have had to take the advice to "Be still" quite literally. To intentionally create space in my daily path to stop and breathe. To sit. To process.

Because of this practice, I have been able to inhale a moment and the emotions that come with it. I have made it to a spot where I can start to see a little behind me. I can make out a little more of what is in front of me. And so I want to share. I want to share what I have made time to sit with this year and, when possible, what I have taken away from those moments of stillness:


My heart is too healthy to be replaced in my current state.

Perhaps the most [unexpected? unusual? un-hoped-for? un-something for sure!] part of my year came from starting the process toward a heart transplant. The dreaded T-word has been tossed around in appointments over the past few years without any definitive plan forward. My team at Cotton-O'Neil Heart Center in Topeka launched me to the next step of my heart journey by connecting me with St. Luke's Cardiac Center in Kansas City. All the testing, monitoring, and discussion over the past four months lands us in a grey area--I fall somewhere between a Person Needing A New Heart Now and a Marathon Runner. Stupid grey.

With the help of a strong team of doctors, transplant coordinators, insurance representatives, and cardiac rehab specialists I am inching my way forward. (Extra thanks go to Tinkerbell who has properly paced this vessel back into normalcy on more than one occasion.) My medications change frequently and we aren't sure if cardiac rehab is helping or hurting, but the plan is to keep my "Birth Heart" going into and through this next season.


My heart is too unhealthy to continue at my current pace. 

While my medical team praises my ticker for not collapsing under the pressure of an immediate upgrade, the fact is that I am still in Congestive Heart Failure and dealing with pretty harsh symptoms. I sleep about 12 hours a day--I spent half the year in Dreamland--and have limited energy and ability. I never know how I will function from day to day or hour to hour so it has been difficult to make and keep plans.

In January I was hired by a great organization called Parents as Teachers; I appreciate the work they are doing for local families and love the generous people on their team. It became apparent this autumn that my body was not keeping up with my assigned tasks and, after transplant talks and a handful of ER visits, I no longer resemble my job description. My boss has graciously allowed me to stay on as a volunteer so I am able to continue assisting this great group with projects I can complete at home.

After months of navigating the system and waiting for a response, I found out that I qualify for Disability through the state of Kansas.* My part-time income is almost made up in full from SSA and Ben and I are incredibly grateful. So I walk into this next season without a paying job but with things to accomplish and people to assist.

*I could write an entire blog post on receiving and relying on government assistance (and the emotional turmoil that comes with it), but that will come at another time.


I have so many things in my life that I don't need.

Because much of this year has been spent in my apartment in southwest Topeka (this is also where the entry gate to Dreamland tends to appear) I have been able to take stock of what is most necessary to keep me alive and entertained. Here is the short list:

Things I need: A warm bed! Amy's low-sodium microwaveable entrees! Sunshine! Enjoyable reads!

Things I don't need: High-heeled shoes! More things to dust! Irrational fear! Depressing movies!

I thank God and my husband and Cheryl at Caribou Coffee for helping provide the things I need. The rest I have boxed up for nonprofits or (in the case of fear and depression) stomped into oblivion. This season more than any other in my life has reminded me that more stuff to carry does not mean more stuff to enjoy.


I have so many wonderful people in my community that I rely on.

I have to talk about Ben because there is no way I would be here without him. There is no other reason I would have moved to Topeka. No offense to the Midwest, its just that I have always been scared of tornadoes and blizzards and hordes of white people and not being near the ocean.

I digress...

Ben has had his own season, which I won't write for him, but has also been there every step of mine. He has sat with me to hold news and spent time asking questions, Googling symptoms, and finding ways to make me laugh. I have spent more time with him this year than anyone's hours combined. This has been both a blessing and a somewhat-awkward "Stuck on an Island" situation--Bananagrams has come in handy in those times. He is my best decision and I am so thankful we signed up to navigate life together. I love him most.

My family and my friends continue to be a source of strength and hope. I am grateful to live in a time where I can easily connect with people far away via Skype, FaceTime, and text messages. Seeing my nieces and nephew grow up at a distance makes me even more appreciative for in-person cuddles and playtime. Our Cornerstone Community Church family and my gals at Parents as Teachers provide amazing emotional support and help meet practical needs on days when I can't get out of the house.

I would be less than me without all of you. Thank you.


God is for me. 

Perhaps what has come through most clearly in these times of sitting, waiting, and sighing is that God is for me. Ben and I had a beautiful conversation with the St. Luke's Transplant Chaplain about how God is for each of us in those hospital rooms. Therefore, my heart issues are not a punishment for wrongdoing or a way for the Divine to get my attention. This season of difficult decisions and stacks of paperwork is not a result of God trying to make my life story more or less interesting. Sucky things happen outside of God's hope for me and my life.

God is for my restored health.
God is for my meaningful relationships.
God is for my joy and hope and good work.
God is for me now and always.


God is for us.

And God is for you.

This has been an important year of stillness.
Cheers to a new season of life and hope for movement, however that may be.
Peace.

Gratitude

Oh Lord, our God.

I do not know how to express 

My gratitude

For your generosity, your love

For showing us favor.

Shall I use my energy to dance?

To paint a picture: swirling rainbows and splashes of gold?

Would it be best if I sang a song? 

Do I share someone else’s words or write my own?

What if I come into your Presence 

Kick off my shoes at the door and run

Throw my crown at your feet 

Press my face to the floor and whisper,

“Thank you.”

My heart is full of wonder and joy and 

Phrases like “But I don’t deserve this.” 

You know me so well

And you speak to me still.

Anticipation

I am not a procrastinator.

On the contrary. I am an anticipator.

If a task can be completed sooner as opposed to later I will always choose NOW. I like my assignments submitted with hours to spare. I like my chores completed well before the guests arrive. I like to buy my bananas green. I like to leave myself wiggle room for the inevitable hiccup that occurs right before the approaching deadline.

This season of my life, however, I have been trying to put off for as long as possible.



The summer started with renewed energy, fervor, and spirit for me. I was getting things done at work, hosting people well at home, and enjoying time with our church youth group. I was walking quicker and thinking clearer. It was a refreshing few weeks that overlapped with a much-needed visit from my cross-country driving parents and Gma. I am very thankful for those months.

Even during the good days and corresponding check-ups with my doctors, there remained a looming deadline. It was one I was given years ago when I was first diagnosed with heart problems. My cardiologist warned there may come a time when it would be harder for me to get out of bed, more difficult to breathe at night, a gradual slowing pace. There was no definitive date given so I worked to kick the day further down the calendar. I followed orders with prescriptions and diet and exercise which got me weeks further than I could have otherwise. I wanted to wait as long as possible.

As I watched the clock tick into a new day on August 29 I realized with certainty that we found the deadline. From my gurney in the ER I looked at my sleepy husband (who spent his energy finding happy animal videos to show me on his phone) and sensed it. I didn't feel overwhelmed with anger or distress or depravity. I felt anticipation. I was ready to shake hands with a season I had much wondered about.

I am starting my path towards a heart transplant.

My doctors respect my determination to live well and recommend we move forward with a more aggressive solution. This heart has worked as properly and as long as it could under the effects of cardiomyopathy. (And, believe me, I have used my heart with depth!) Now it is fatigued and its sluggishness is affecting my entire system.

Ben and I will check into the hospital next week for a few days' worth of testing to determine if I qualify for a transplant. If so, I will be ranked and put on the national transplant list. If not, we will look at other options to keep me going. Whatever the case, I have a great team of doctors, nurses, surgeons, and support staff who I trust with helping me feel better.

This is not a season I wanted to enter in my thirties (or in any decade) but I see there is hope for a fuller life ahead of me. This could be the most helpful answer to the many questions I have asked God about my health. This could lead to the healing people have prayed with and over me. I do not need to mourn that I can't push it further--we can flip the calendar pages with a new outlook on life.



So I walk forward with anticipation.
You are welcome to join me.

Present

I'm in a very uncomfortable season in my life.

After moving to a new place with high hopes of starting "fresh" I have felt anything but. I have spent the last ten months battling homesickness, ambivalence, and a myriad of physical problems from the exposure to new germs. I had hoped to find renewed purpose and instead have found grating unhappiness this year.

Which is a problem.

Not that I am dealing with very real emotions. That is a normal and healthy response to being uprooted and navigating life with chronic illness. Those kinds of life circumstances harbor fatigue and worry and anger. I am thankful I have the ability and resources (community, counselors, Christ-centered practices) to deal with those. Being emotional is not the issue.

No, the problem is where I keep finding myself: in the Past.

I have had an incredible time being alive. Seriously. I had the great and unwarranted fortune to be born into a loving family, raised by a healthy community, and given opportunities to flourish. When I think back on the past thirty years it brings to mind images of Nutcracker costumes, Yosemite trails, Sunday School lessons, and Nigerian thunderstorms. I have met and loved so many wonderful people. Seen and experienced so many beautiful places. My life has been rich.

It is wonderful that I have loved my life. That is not the problem.

I noticed a few weeks ago, practicing one of the centering activities my Counselor taught me, that when I close my eyes to breathe I always find myself in the same places:

Standing above a bowl of cloud in Big Sur.
Laying in the Timber Mountain field covered in snow.
Opening my lungs for pine needles and ocean waves and peach trees.
I always find myself somewhere else. Not here. Not now. 

That is the problem. I am not able to find calm in my Present.

My Present is filled with uncertainty and is seriously wanting routine (not for lack of trying). I found a job I enjoy but struggle to find the energy to work. I am part of a loving community but I desperately miss my friends who have known me for years. I am married to a wonderful man who is doing a good job of taking care of me but also has to do a good job of taking care of a whole flock of other people.

It takes me an hour to wake up. I can't eat or drink what I want to. I pee constantly. Most of my days are spent on the couch reading books or at my dining room table assembling jigsaw puzzles.

I feel like I fell asleep after an epic adventure and woke up forty years later; tired, confused, and pushing old age.



With the help of people like Kate Bowler, Courtney Carver, and (the man himself) Jesus, I have been able to find words I could not comprise on my own. I am thankful for fellow Struggling Optimists who believe the Past and Present (and Future) can all be good. Even if it sucks.

With their words and stories, I am able to live a little further into my Present and own the grit that comes with this time. I do not have to abound with happiness. I do not have to pretend that things are what I had planned. I can even escape to my Past when I need a breath of fresh air. But I need to own this part of my journey, too.

Cheers to the Present.
(Now get your s*** together so we can make this work.)

Cinematic

As I endure the second week of a viral infection (ah, the joys of having an unacclimated immune system) I have had a lot of time. To think. To reflect. To binge Netflix.

I am sure there is an equation streaming services use to choose what movies and shows to offer in a given season. Perhaps people want to laugh more in the summer and think deeply in the cold months. I assume people watch most horror flicks close to Halloween and Christmas episodes in December. I don't know what it is about this horribly awkward transition from winter into spring, but apparently it warrants biography season. And I am loving it.

I have queued up a selection of biographical films and (while I have the time) enjoy immersing myself in someone else's story. I watched the blossoming romance between Queen Victoria and Prince Albert in "The Young Victoria" and thought about how difficult private matters must be for public figures. I cheered on the talented chess players in "Queen of Katwe" and remembered similar dirt roads along the outskirts of Jos. I almost turned off "The Duchess" because I was so repulsed by the Duke of Devonshire (well done, Ralph Fiennes) who was never able to love the creative and caring woman he married.



[Note 1: I commend directors in the last decade who recognize women as worthy subjects and who don't feel the need to add unnecessary drama or sexualization to make them more or less powerful. In my humble opinion, mostly true stories are always better than mostly untrue.]


So it only seems logical that I would start to examine my own journey and wonder what my cinematic life would look like.

Would it be a chronology from birth or just a highlighted season?

Would it have a thematic purpose, try to push an agenda, hope to expose something unknown?

Would it be a sweeping epic or a low-budget indie?

[Note 2: I don't think or care much about who would be cast, but there is no doubt Wes Anderson would direct it. He is the only person I could trust with highlighting the many wonderful children who would need to be involved and the use of bold colors. All the yellows, please.]


As ridiculous as this all seems, it has actually been a necessary examination at this point in my journey. Because time changes things.

Ten years ago, at age 20, my movie would have been an indie documentary about my season working at Faith Alive Hospital. It would not be finely edited so people could get a better grasp on how a young woman experiences a new culture and is welcomed into a far-away family. There would be candid interviews from wonderful people and I would say a lot of seemingly wise things that don't really make any sense now.

Five years ago, my movie would have been written about the many hilarious conversations I have had wandering with kids in the forest. It would have been short and lighthearted, a G-rated episode for the times Mom is washing dishes in the kitchen and needs the kids to sit down. The Weepies would have written the soundtrack.

Today, I'm not sure what a movie of my life would be about. It could walk my spiritual journey, but a lot of that would be difficult to communicate. It could show the before and after of heart issues, but that is an unfair gauge of who I am. It could just be a Bloopers reel of all the ridiculous things that have happened to me. (I think the Dr. Pepper bottle scene would be especially compelling.)


There is one thing I have realized in all of this that will stay the same: in all these stories, it is not the main character who is most important. It is the people around them.

"The Young Victoria" was written not just about a queen but about the man she loved.
"The Queen of Katwe" would not have happened without her coach and team.
"The Duchess" is not as interesting a story without her (horrible) husband.


One of my high school bands, Cool Hand Luke, had a similar soul-searching experience. Instead of writing a blog, they put their thoughts into song. I sang these lyrics in my car on the way to Edison and I can sing them still:

I want to live in such a way
That when I'm gone my friends will say
That if my life was turned to film
I'd be standing on a mountain shouting victory in the end
But in my heart I know it's only true
If I'm supporting actor and the Oscar goes to You


It seems funny that in all this self-searching, I find You.
You, Ben Friesen.
You, my growing family.
You, friends near and friends far.
You, children at my church.
You, Jesus.

I hope one day, if my life warrants a film, You will find yourself on the screen.
... And I really hope they cast someone who plays You well.
You deserve it.

Hope

Hope.

But why Hope? I have heard all the "name it and claim it" commands. The best wishes. The thoughts and prayers. And I sometimes wonder if they have made any difference. Any change. Any Kingdom advancement.

But here I still sit, holding Hope's hand and whispering my prayers into his ear every time my heart skips a beat. Asking for peace. Asking for healing. Asking for stability.

Because I believe Hope can make progress. That Hope can bring Light that this place so desperately needs. Light for our world and Light for my darkened mind.

If I give up Hope then I will have nothing. Nothing except a bank account and a shelf of Other People's memoirs. And those will not be enough.

So I am for Hope.
Hope for an end to violence.
Hope for a healed heart.
Hope for a world's ignited love.

Hope for Light to break in and restore broken things.

Because that is what you do, Hope.
(Or should I refer to you in one of your other names? Redeemer, Prince of Peace, Good Shepherd?)
You allow us to join you and bring change.
And we so desperately need change.

You are Hope.
And I am hoping that I can be, too.

Home

The little rose bush outside our window is piling with snow this Halloween afternoon. As I sit and watch the flakes slowly accumulate on the little pink petals I am struck with a sense of familiarity, a feeling of home. Not to this rosebush. I have only known it a few weeks and not intimately; I let the groundskeeper tend it on his weekly rounds. I am also not well-acquainted with this snow, seeing as it is the first time we have experienced a flurry in Topeka. It is the quiet, grey-skies-covered peace that is recognizable. And it has been a long time since our last meeting.



My mother gifted me a book before Ben and I moved here to Topeka, Kansas titled This is Where You Belong: The Art and Science of Loving the Place You Live. The author, Melody Warnick, compiles scientific research, poetic essays, and personal conversations to help craft an in-depth look at "Place Attachment". She believes (as do many of her sources) that a person can choose to fall in love with the place they live and suggests active steps a person or family can take to become better connected with their city. It is an interesting and worthwhile read, especially for a recent transplant looking to connect.

I don't think I have ever had a problem connecting with a place. I have moved a number of times in my adult life--my parents still live in the green house in Fresno where all three of us kids were raised--and have always quickly adapted. Every place I have lived has brought incredible community and natural beauty that is unique from anywhere else.

Some would say it is the people who make the place but I am starting to believe a different opinion. People may be the most recognizable (and arguably most important) aspect of a location and should absolutely be taken into consideration when talking of a place. But there are certain non-human elements that I associate with a particular home and, when I happen to run into them elsewhere, I am immediately transported.

The smell of damp, spongy earth on an overcast Scotts Valley morning.

The loud crunch from fallen acorns walking Crestline trails.

The almost-too-warm sunshine that brightly reflects off of Oakhurst snowfall.

The taste of Fresno peaches, just washed in Grandma's kitchen sink.

A place gets to own its flora and fauna, its rivers and fields, its skyscrapers and Walmarts more than it gets to own its people. All those sights and sounds and smells are the truest form of place. And we get to choose what we own as our home. (Not "own" in the sense of possession but "own" in the form of confession or agreement. We own our feelings of home.)

Which is why Topeka and I now know each other. I owned that grey-skies-covered peace in every place I have lived, every place that has allowed me to do life well there. That quiet gentle spot has been a constant in varying landscapes among different people. Even when it lasts only for a few seconds I can find that place and rest in it.



Our neighbors, the Bookers, walk past the window, wrapped in coats to brush snow off their windshield. The peace dissolves as I listen to kids playing in our shared green yard and wonder where the squirrel I saw chowing down on our birdseed this morning has hidden himself. I realize I should get ready for our trick-or-treaters (do they still go door-to-door in freezing temperatures?) and make sure Helen got the package UPS dropped on her front step.

It's nice to be home.

Reflection

Last night I had a hard time falling asleep--which is a big deal for me. I tend to sleep well and (in this season) require ten solid hours of rest to function. So when I found myself awake an hour into my husband's rhythmic snoring I was a bit surprised. I could not shut off my brain with any force of prayer or willpower.

Round and Round and Round.

Thought after Thought after Thought.

Unlike my usual train of consciousness when I am trying to solve the world's issues, I was not thinking about the present or projecting into the future. Instead I spent all of my moments in reflection. Of this week. Of this season. Of this decade. A whole lifetime of experience found it's way to my head.

It was wonderful. And tiring.

As a slow mental processor it can be difficult to share my thoughts and reflections in a cohesive and timely manner. A sleepless night can be a gift to those of us who need quiet solitude to collect our emotions, questions, and colors. It gives us the chance to marinate and become richer, deeper versions of ourselves.

I invited memories to come, without any hope or need to make amends with myself. Free of the intention of piecing them together into a story. I just sat and let my mind bring forward what it felt like sharing.

Visiting our STARS (Seniors That Are Really Special) at Palm Village with the 3rd-4th grade Sunday School class. They shared talents from playing piano to telling stories. I doubled over every time Joshua began to laugh before he got to the punchline of his joke.

Listening to Mom's voice as she explained her breast cancer diagnosis over the phone. She talked me through steps moving forward, explained how it would all work out. I sat in the Subaru and audibly cried.


Staring out the car window at the mesas and cornfields that passed by as we drove across the country.


Laughing over Coffee Meets Bagel matches with Amber. It became our daily ritual in the hum of a busy summer season to look through the other person's potential suitors and try to guess who would be the best fit. We'd find a minute in the parking lot between camp activities to cast our votes.

Taking a moment to look over the sea of faces at our wedding. Jubilee was standing on her chair waving.


Sitting on the windy Capitola shore with Kevin.
Sitting on the windy Capitola shore without Kevin.


Singing Christmas songs led by our kids dressed as shepherds, angels, and barn animals. Nia hit every note perfectly. Nate surprised us all with a solo. Kendall, Mya, and Kinnedy delivered their lines with gusto and grace. I had both hands pressed over my heart as our congregation was led in "Hark the Herald Angels Sing".


Waking up in a sleeping bag our first morning in Topeka. I had no idea where I was... 



And sometimes I still have no idea where I am.

In the midst of transition and questions and fatigue I need these Spirit-gifted moments of reflection to better know myself. To better know others. To better know God. It is not a time to try to come to any sort of conclusion on those--to be able to give adjectives or make definitive cases for the people in our lives or the things we have experienced. No. Instead I think it is simply a time to be and to feel.

To know who is there with you.

There will come a time when I can reflect on these days, look back on now. The now of coffee with church ladies, snuggling with my husband, low blood pressure readings. The now where I am trying to figure out how to best spend my time without work responsibilities. The now of resting. The now of reflecting.

I'll enjoy that sleepless night.

Decisions, Decisions

I have a difficult time making decisions.

Not when it is an emergency situation, thankfully. I am a pro when it comes to quickly moving a group of children away from swarming bees or calling an ambulance for someone who has passed out or telling Ben that he is less than ten feet away from another vehicle.

My decision-making skills become less apparent when I am faced with, well, just about any other opportunity to choose. 

For the past twenty-nine years I have driven my father to the brink of insanity when he asks me to pick a restaurant for lunch. I think about the hundreds of options in the area (and narrow it down to the dozen that have good gluten-free low-sodium meals) then I sit with my choices for four or five minutes. Scratching my head, speaking menus out loud. In the end I always come to the same conclusion:

Anything sounds good.

This season presents me with some of the most difficult decisions I have had to make. Not because there are so many options or because it all sounds good. No. Not my usual pick and choose scenarios.

These are difficult because I know the best selection for each one. 

And I don't like where the best may lead.

---

I was diagnosed with Congestive Heart Failure last autumn and have made some significant changes to adjust to life with low energy, sore muscles, and fluid build-up. As I navigate this cardiac journey with my doctors and specialists, I choose options they present to me:

I choose to do research and talk to others in order to better understand my body. 

I choose to take daily medication to help with swelling and blood pressure. 

I choose to record my vitals and check-in with my medical team. 

But there is one choice that is incredibly difficult: The choice of employment.

The very first command I was given when I was diagnosed with heart issues in 2014 was to quit my job as a backpacking guide. My cardiologist said I would die on the trail if I continued. I had to call my boss from the doctor's office parking lot to tearfully inform him that my employment had ended. 

After we had figured out enough about my health to start feeling like myself again I was ready to get back to work. Which is what I have enjoyed the past few years as a substitute teacher, a Sunday School director, and a Children's Pastor. It is life-giving and healing and wonderful. 

But my doctors continue to pose the question of holding a job. They ask if it is necessary for me to work. Give me information about disability. Check in to see what physical and mental stresses come with my job description. 

Every time I opt to keep going.

For years I have chosen to devote my time and energy to students, to parents, to ministry. I teach, budget, discipline, train. I love well. I feel this is my God-given calling to work in ministry, to spend my employed hours working with people. This is my best choice.

This was my best choice.

---

Proverbs 16:9 says, "We can make our plans but the Lord determines our steps."

The plans I make and prayers I craft include a healthy heart, increased energy, the ability to do my pastoral job well. I fight and fight to try and make those things happen; to execute my plan. A few days ago, as I lay in bed trying to force my fatigued body to rise, I heard it:

You are fighting for the wrong things. 

I have been fighting and pushing my plan--as good as it is--without any consideration of other options. Without remembering that God will consider my plans and can offer a better selection. 

The children and families I walk with do an incredible job working alongside and supporting a fatigued fighter. I appreciate every step of growth and joy and heartache that comes with this role. I love these people with my whole oversized heart. And I now see that they will be blessed by someone whose plan lines up with the one I have made. They will be blessed by someone whose steps are leading right to them.

And so a choice has been made.

A painful, tear-filled, good choice.

I choose to leave my role as the Associate Pastor of North Fresno Church. 

I choose to allow my body and mind to rest and recover.

I choose to follow God into whatever big and beautiful and unexpected plans are best for me.

And I choose to do it well. 

Grey and cloudy

It's Saturday again.
I think I lost most of Monday and Thursday.
Well, not lost. Sleep does not count for loss. Neither does laundry.
I guess I just made it back to this day without realizing time was moving forward quicker than I was.



My counselor recently asked me to set an alarm to help me re-center every day, give me a chance to live in the present and check in on my heart and mind. So when the music starts up from my purse or the table or when I am making a call, I stop what I am doing and take a few minutes to walk through my routine:
- Check my heart rate
- Take some deep breaths
- Do something with my hands (write, sculpt, color)
- Give a word to how I am feeling in that moment

These past few days I have had the same feeling. It feels like this:

As I grieve Kevin.
And worry about my health.
And cancel plans to be with people I love.
And try to find the energy to get out of bed and do what I am expected to do I feel like this.

Grey and cloudy.



On our weekly night hikes at Thousand Pines and Calvin Crest, we engaged our human ability of night vision. We would walk into the forest without any source of light (except the occasional bright moon) and our eyes would adjust so we could see. The cones in our eyes, the way we detect color, would lose their ability to respond to light while the rods would work overtime, helping us make out shapes and shadows. We could discern what was around us--in a sense we could see--but it was a world of grey.

As we approached camp and its lights (or, in some instances, when a kid fell down and we had to pull out a cell phone or flashlight to make sure they were ok) the ability to detect color came back. The world went back to normal.



Right now, in a time of sadness and frustration and fear, my world has gone to grey.

However, as I prepare for a life of night vision, a season of sitting alone on an isolated cloudy beach, there are glimpses of light.
From a husband who wakes up next to me and reminds me I am not in this alone.
From a family who shows up and tells me it is ok to have days where it is a struggle to function.
From a staff who gives me grace and surrounds me with prayer.
From friends who send flowers and texts to bring (literal) color to my day.

So I know that this season of grey will end.
Because Kevin would hate a world without color.
And Jesus would, too.



"There's a darkness upon me that's flooded in light
And I'm frightened by those who don't see it."
- The Avett Brothers

Seasons

Everyone goes through different stages in life, takes on a dominant personality that influences your words and actions, your thoughts and feelings. I have been reflecting on some of my own distinct eras over the past fifteen years...

The 'Satan is a Punk' high school years. I was really into my Christian title and equally into all things music. I wore slangy Berean t-shirts and spent every Friday night at a show. My spirituality was just being defined as my own but I was heavily influenced by large-group gatherings that included 'winning' people for Jesus and 'taking back' culture. I was also heavily influenced by Emery and Anberlin. Thank God.

The Rosie the Riveter era. The years where I believed I could do anything! This was the season of finishing school, starting a career, traveling the world, trying new things, and befriending anyone who came across my path. I had discovered my God-given abilities and was using them to their fullest potential. Still, I struggled to define what I was most gifted in and most passionate about as I put my whole heart into everyone and everything I encountered.

The Outdoor Educator seasons. Times where walking, talking, and observing were a way of life. My work became my play as I spent hours on the trail with kids and coworkers alike. My soul dug a little deeper and I discovered the need to journal, sketch, and sing in the forest. I asked a lot of questions and was asked a lot of questions, many I still I have not found answers to. Jesus felt so close. Whenever I think of this time I smell dirt--rich, dark, loamy soil. My head still has not forgiven my heart for ending this stage of life so abruptly.

Over the past three years, it seems every season, every week, multiple times a day I am experiencing a different title: Broken Woman, Healing Heart, Grateful Daughter, Shepherd, Loved and Loving Wife. All of these times have been surrounded by a wonderful community of family and friends, some who have supported me through different stages. God has remained consistent though has been experienced differently in every era. I love that.

So what era would I say I am in now?

I have told Ben multiple times that I think he married a cat. Whenever he sits down I want to snuggle, I get cranky when I haven't been fed, and I sleep long hours. I am constantly cold and crave the sunshine. 

But I hope I am more than just that. 

I am in a season of loving and protecting the Least Of These in my community, including a host of amazing children. 

I am learning what my body needs and finding the difficult balance between work and rest.

I am prioritizing time with my family, my friends, and my incredible husband. 

I am growing in my knowledge and understanding of the world and finding the glimmers of Light to hold onto.

I am simultaneously weaker and more powerful now than I was before.

So I think this is my time to be a cat.

This is my Lioness era. 

Roar.

Energy

My husband made the discovery that my new initials, CHF, (Caitlin Holly Friesen) were the same initials written on my last doctor's note (Congestive Heart Failure).

It was worthy of a sucking-in-air-through-teeth cringe.

It was also worthy of a hug.



There is a part of me that still cannot comprehend that I have days like today. Days when I wake up and every ounce of me aches. Days when my heart feels like it is going to inflate itself so big it might pop. Days when I can't stand up without feeling like I am spinning.

I hate it.

My strive for positivity is overshadowed by reality. I am sick and tired of being sick and tired.



This past Saturday (the gift of a ''Good Day") Ben and I had the privilege to enjoy sunshine and soccer played by some of the coolest kids we know. Our elementary-aged friends ran and kicked and laughed and fell. I honestly don't know if their teams won or lost; everyone was just happy to have the space to play. It made me so incredibly thankful that my kiddos have the energy to do what they love to do.

I feel like that is something I am missing in my life.

Don't get me wrong--my life is wonderful. I am surrounded by amazing people who love and support me (including my incredible husband--happy first month of marriage, My Love!). I have a life-giving role in a ministry I feel called to. I have a lovely home, reliable transportation, more than enough to eat and drink and wear and share.

But there are things I love to do that I can't find the energy for. Things that CHF doesn't seem to allow.

Like backpacking on Big Sur trails.
Dancing in my cowgirl boots.
Jogging on tree-lined roads.
Pretending I know how to surf.
Staying up past midnight.
Making it to all the events on my calendar.
Waking up and getting ready for work by the time the office opens.



My wonderful Mother--who knows a thing or two about finding energy in a physically-draining season--sent me a text with an Ephesians reference.

A prayer I immediately felt.

And it will remain my prayer for you and for me and for those of us who need power. Who need roots. Who need energy to do what we love to do.

May you experience the Love of Christ this week, my friends.

Vows

My apartment is a mess, half-emptied cardboard boxes stacked in the living room.
My e-mail messages are read but not-yet replied to.
My husband is asleep on the couch, hugging a pillow tightly to his chest.

And I am so glad.



Ben and I are recovering from our first week of being Mr. and Mrs. Friesen.

Last Sunday, we had an incredible celebration of marriage with many of our favorite people up at Sugar Pine Christian Camps. There were cupcakes and bubbles and pine trees and conversations. We went just a few miles up the road to Tenaya Lodge who extended an incredibly generous offer for two nights in a luxury suite--complete with whirlpool bathtub and two balconies. After a rejuvenating start to our week we landed back in Fresno and continued the process of turning our white-walled space into a more comfortable home. Organizing clothes, washing dishes, and carrying loads of our stuff across the parking lot was a therapeutic part of nesting. I went back to work and Ben cooked meals. We watched "Baby Animals in the Wild" on Netflix. We kissed and snuggled.

It was bliss.



As a duo of People Who Understand Real Life, Ben and I spoke long before this week about how life together would not always reflect easy and lovable thoughts or experiences. There would be times to come that would be challenging and tear-filled and frustrating. It would not always be blissful. That is why we decided that we should put time and energy into writing our commitments to each other and share them on our wedding day.



Ben and I are recovering from our first week of being Mr. and Mrs. Friesen.

Last Sunday, we asked our family and friends to run around like crazy people setting up food and decorations and taking pictures at Sugar Pine Christian Camps. My sister and I got devoured by [fleas? bed bugs?] which left itchy red welts for days. We went a few miles up the road to Tenaya Lodge and came home earlier than anticipated because we were not feeling well enough to hike in Yosemite. After a tiring start to our week we landed back in Fresno and spent hours moving stuff around and trying to find parking. I had to drop my online class and Ben made phone calls. We watched my heart rate and took a trip to Kaiser. We worried and I cried.

It was tough.



As the Man I Love snores on the sofa and I look over my discharge instructions from the E.R. I feel at peace. Honestly, I don't think I would change anything about this first week of our marriage. If we only kept the blissful moments, the moments of color and light that will stick with us forever, we would be missing so much. Because these are the times we wrote our vows for. We get to start living out our promises to each other now!

I choose you through sickness, through health. Through good times and bad. Through feeling ecstatic being in your presence and through times when we may disagree or even fight. I commit my love to you, to be loyal to you, to protect you, serve you, to partner with you in the journey God has laid out for us.

Cheers to a beautiful first week of loving and living out our commitment to each other.
Cheers to five thousand more.

Ben, thank you for being my Home and allowing me to be yours. I cannot express how grounded I feel doing life with you. Let's continue on in goodness, in health, and in God's perfect love.

Fell

Increasingly over the past few years, people (those known to me and strangers who feel the need to share) have wanted to talk to me about what life will be like when I fall in love. 

You will figure out he is The One in the first conversation.

It will all happen so quickly; the whole story will unfold perfectly.

You will just know.

And, the most common phrase of all,

Soon. He will show up soon.

Perhaps these couples were speaking from their own blissful experience (or perhaps everyone was too influenced by Disney movies as children) but they all saw my potential for romance as so ripe; something that would happen in season and with little effort. They convinced me to wait expectantly each season for my knight in shining armor to ride in and sweep me off my feet.



I am happy to say that my love story has started, just like everyone said it would.

I am also happy to say that everyone was wrong.

Including me.



Ben and I met at the end of an Ash Wednesday service in February 2015.

...Wait, let me back up.

Two years ago, Simon Biasell and I were preparing for an event at Woven. He was sharing about his time at seminary and asked, "Do you know Ben Friesen? I feel like you two would get along really well." I told him I had never met the guy but would probably run into him eventually.

Nearly a year later, when I applied for a position at North Fresno Church, Louisa Tantraphol sent me this text:

So I totally have an idea about someone who might be a good dating match for you... He goes to our church, and he goes to seminary, is in the post college group we go to, and legit has a mennonite last name.

Three weeks following that text, Ben and I met at the end of an Ash Wednesday service in February 2015.

It was not love at first sight. For either of us.
We did not just know.
Our first conversation lasted all of thirty seconds.
And it was kind of awkward.

Unbeknownst to the other person, we had cheering squads for Team Ben and Caitlin on both sides. And while that made me more nervous about talking to this guy, it made Ben more resistant to spending time with me.

Which did not make anything happen quickly or seamlessly.

Weeks went by with little more than "Hi"s and head nods between us. We hung out in larger group settings and got to know each other second-hand. I figured out that I liked the guy--as a friend, he was too 'vanilla' to want to date-- and would seek him out at gatherings, sit by him at events, and enjoy his company. He was a nice person.

Everyone kept trying to push us together (in separate conversations) and we kept resisting (in our own unique ways).

Eventually the group we met in in got smaller and smaller. We didn't need as much of a buffer to communicate, as many people around to give in-roads to conversation. Still, I wasn't expecting much beyond having a friend at church and a familiar face at school. I figured he would finish up his time at seminary and move back to Oklahoma and out of my circle and out of everyone's expectations.



I don't know when things changed for me.



Ben claims things changed for him at a Super Bowl party when I tried to give him his coat--by putting it on him, mind you. He fell.

I don't know when I fell. Maybe it was when I gave him his coat. Maybe it was when we talked about cooking during a break at the PDC Conference. Maybe it was when I sat in front of the stage with our kids and listened to him talk about Easter. Maybe it was when we first shook hands.

Whenever it was, I finally realized who I was spending time with:

An intelligent and caring man with a passion for knowing people and understanding God. Someone funny, reserved, and inquisitive. A man who believes in pacifism and seeks shalom, desires justice. Who cheers on the underdog and is fiercely loyal to the people in his sphere. Who can name just about any kind of dinosaur. Whose compassion and integrity always shine through. A steady, wonderful, one-of-a-kind human.

And I was about to let him finish seminary and leave.



So on February Seven, 2016 I asked Ben Friesen out on a date.



I am happy to say that my love story has started, just like everyone said it would.

I am also happy to say that everyone was right.

Including me. And including Ben.

Saying Yes

Sometimes I worry I am not doing life well.

This is one of those times.



Growing up one of my favorite films to watch was the early 90s version of "Father of the Bride." (As a grown-up one of my favorite films to watch is still the early 90s version of "Father of the Bride.") Even as I child, I have always identified with Steve Martin's character, George Banks. He is loving, hard-working, funny, and loses his cool in dramatic ways. He looks like he has it together but is clearly on the brink of disaster as major life events unfold around him. Like George, I could hastily separate unneeded hot dog buns in the supermarket.

As George's inner monologue reflects on the events surrounding his daughter's wedding he keeps restating that all the chaos is worth it--as long as he can kiss the bride at the end of the evening. As fate would have it, he ends up in all the wrong places at the wrong time and has to keep things together behind-the-scenes. Because of all the commotion [SPOILER ALERT] he doesn't get to see his baby girl head out the door and into married life.

Nina, his wife, is shown with a pained expression as the bouquet is tossed down the staircase.

"He missed it."

And I would be lying if I didn't say that is how my life feels this season.




I was diagnosed two summers ago with an intense case of FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out). My most anxious moments come from circumstances where I am unable to see people I love and have experiences I was looking forward to. When I can't attend the celebration or line up my schedule with the visiting friend or make the journey I get completely let down. Not an, "Oh bummer! I was looking forward to that!" let down. An intense realization and frustration that the experience will never happen again, whether good or bad, and I was not a part of it. It makes my heart physically hurt.

This season of my life has been especially painful.

These past few months I have said "No" many more times than I have said "Yes". I have missed important life moments for family and friends. I have given up opportunities to see people that I don't get to spend much time with. I have excused myself from great fun, good conversation, and well-liked Instagram pictures. How many texts have I sent that started with, "I am so sorry but..."?

And for what?

For countless working hours and the things I am involved in at church.
For my family as we support each other through life and health highs and lows.
For my laundry and bills and vacuuming and groceries.
For much-needed sleep.
For my own sanity.

Any person with common sense would point out that these are healthy choices. Saying "No" in these circumstances is usually a wise decision with my body and spirit in mind. In the spirit of 'Self Care' I have to take care of me so I am able to take care of others.

But it is still saying that dirty word--NO.

Saying "No" sometimes feels like I am telling someone I don't appreciate them. Or that I am uninterested in activity outside my office. Or that I am dying. None of these things are true (...usually).

So why miss out on all these great experiences? If they are so important and will be so sorely missed, why not just buck up and say Yes to everything?!  



Maybe I am.

Maybe I am not saying "No" at all.

Maybe I am instead saying "Yes" to the less exciting, less conventional, and less appealing parts of life.

And maybe those "Yes"s will end up being the best choices in the long run. Because they will ensure that I am doing my job fully and loving my family well and allowing me to keep my car and wear clean clothes and eat.

They will make sure I don't end up in jail for grocery aisle meltdowns over hot dog buns.

Yes.

Significant

James Bergen, my pastor and teammate, is a man who uses his words carefully. He puts weight into what he says and does not waste his breath with rambling, gossip, or "thinking out loud". In his sermons, conversation, and witty banter you can tell he has thought through what he is going to say. He is in tune with what is going on around him and rarely repeats himself.

Which is why I find it interesting that, after a few weeks of repeatedly throwing out a particular word in my own conversations, I can trace it back to him.

That word is significant.

sig·nif·i·cant/siɡˈnifikənt/

adjective sufficiently great or important to be worthy of attention; noteworthy.

This autumn was an attention-grabber for me and many people around me.

My Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer in October and was immediately thrown into a season of consultations, procedures, and well-wishes. She has had to step out of her classroom, her community, and her normal routine in order to heal. Instead of wandering through the rows of desks in Room 52 and speaking about Japan or Islam or compound sentences she is trying to get comfortable in her living room recliner. It is a huge shift on all accounts. And not just for her but for her family, her coworkers, her students. 

Within my own community and around the world it seems there are recent events and conversations that have changed the course of history on an individual and global scale.

People have gotten married.
Had children.
Applied for grad school.
Broken bones.
Felt their city shaken with violence and fear.
Felt their neighborhood redeemed with warm blankets and a demand for reform.
Seen God move in ways they never expected.

This is an important time.

sig·nif·i·cant/siɡˈnifikənt/

adjective having a particular meaning; indicative of something.

In the Liturgical calendar, we have just started the season of Advent and, with that, the beginning of a new year.
(Are we supposed to sing "Auld Lang Syne" for this transition?) As a Church we talk about the birth of Christ and God's redemption story for the world. We sing songs, make crafts, and give gifts to celebrate this special season. For the kids I interact with, this is the highlight of their year! For some of the adults I spend time with, this is the most stress-filled and anxiety-producing time of the year.

There is a lot going on.

People are attending church services.
Buying presents and decking halls.
Serving food to the less fortunate.
Waiting in lines.
Complaining about the corporate approach to Christmas.
Praying with power for their community and world.
Seeing God move in ways they never expected.

This is an important time.

sig·nif·i·cant/siɡˈnifikənt/

adjective of, relating to, or having significance.

I am engaging this season with confidence and exhaustion. There are many big events and meaningful conversations that have occurred for me in a short amount of time. From writing papers to wandering trails I have seen God's ultimate authority and my own emotional and physical limitations. It is a beautiful season in my life but one that is still plagued with doubt and fear and distraction. But I believe it is going to be good. And I believe it is worth paying attention to.

This is an important time.

May your season be significant.

Single

I recently logged into my eHarmony account after many months of neglect.
And it made me laugh.

A couple of years ago some friends helped me decide that online dating was going to be worth my time (building a profile), my energy (re-reading that profile), and my finances (paying for said profile). I tried my best to describe Caitlin Baird and find pictures that showed my make-upped and natural faces, my hobbies and interests. Realism was my main goal. Forget the glamour shots or anything that showed me standing up on a snowboard--boys need to know I have frizzy hair and bad balance! When I was satisfied with all my answers, from Xavier Rudd to Salt: A World History, I put myself out into the technology-based dating world and waited to see what transpired.

Would Caitlin Baird's Love-Of-Her-Life be eHarmonious?

My first five matches were guys I knew from college.
My only correspondence was from some man in India.
My (few) sent messages were never returned. [Except that one organic farmer who told me he had just started dating someone he met at a coffee shop and used all the right forms of "their" and "there". Props to you, bro.]

So after three payments of nearly one hundred hard-earned dollars I called it quits and haven't logged on again since.

Until now.

Why now?

Because I hate being single.



Honestly, I never thought I would come to this point. The term "single" seems so trite. I prefer telling people that I am "not seeing anyone" or "spending lots of time with family and friends" or "home on Friday nights figuring out what the heck I am going to do with myself while all my family and friends are out having a good time." But not Single.

For one thing, Single is equated with lonliness. And I have never considered myself lonely. My life is overflowing with beautiful family, friends, and former strangers. My social calendar fills up weeks in advance, usually before my professional schedule, and takes precedence over chores, appointments, and sleep.

I'm not lonely.

Also, Single usually means you are dating but have not entered into a long-term relationship. As in, I am Single because the guys I've gone out with haven't turned into a boyfriend. But what if you aren't being asked out? The last date I was asked on--and they said it was a date--was when I was in college. Seven years ago.

PAUSE
This may be the point in this blog where I start talking about the fact that it seems my generation is not able to define what is a date and what is not. We won't go there...this time.
PLAY

I'm not turning down dates.

Lastly, and technically, Single is a tax bracket. Which I DO, in fact, check when I file my taxes every year.

I'm not defined by the IRS.

So why am I finally owning this title? Me who rolls my eyes when someone who has been Single for five weeks says they can't handle it any longer? Me who snorts when I am told, "God has the right guy out there for you somewhere. Be patient." Why now, right before my 27th Halloween, do I finally own up to my state of being?

Because I finally feel it.

This desire to make decisions with someone else.
To plan and pay double for trips out of town.
To have a shoe-in for weddings and parties and concerts.
To make use of the the other 75% of my king-sized bed. (I literally sleep on the edge. And don't move.)
To share life more closely with someone.

And you know what? Even if I hate the feeling, I am glad I am finally here.

Better start looking for some cute profile pics.

Day 20: Hey, Turn It Up! (September 23, 2008)

            Uncle Thomas took center stage this morning and gave a devotion based on how the Pharisees, a sect of religious rulers during Jesus’ ministry, were such hypocrites when they should have been godly men. He spoke on how we, as Christians, find ourselves so many times being individuals who can say wonderfully profound things but can’t find the passion within us to live out our convictions. Offering is a big deal in churches here so everyone in the congregation dances down to the plates on Sunday mornings. Thomas said that we like to do the dancing to the front of the church but many times only pretend to give a gift back to God. He does a great job of making things culturally relevant here.

            I started my new assignment today in the Monitoring and Evaluation section of the Clinic. It is the data processing group so my first job was to take the patients already put into the computer system and write them into a government directory which they will take in a few weeks. It is a bit tedious and, because of my attitude towards handwriting, really makes my hand hurt. Though my current task isn’t the most fun I really enjoy the atmosphere. The ten other M&E staff are my age, there is constant American and Nigerian hip-hop blaring from speakers, and all the girls wear heels. Basically I feel like I am back in my classes at Edison. I think I am going to have a more difficult time remembering everyone’s names since we don’t get to look at each other as much as other departments! This takes up my morning and afternoon shifts at Faith Alive so I will have to get used to writing hundreds of dates and names every day. If I wasn’t helping them out so much I would probably ask for a job that would allow me to step outside...

            Adrie started her task of calculating all ARV drugs given out over the past six months in the pharmacy so we were both really out of it by the end of the day. We ate dinner (Mac and cheese plus fresh papaya) and I started my first of several hundred loads of hand-washed laundry. It is pretty fun to try and wring out your jeans over a bucket in the bathtub. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that everything will be dry by next week! We decided there was not much we could do besides stare at the wall so we chose the next best thing and watched Across the Universe on my laptop. There is something very bizarre about finishing a movie and coming back to reality in Nigeria. Sometimes I forget that I am really here.

Six Months

After multiple Google searches I have discovered there is no symbol or gift that represents six months of a relationship. Which makes sense because, honestly, in the grand scheme of things, that isn't a very long time to be a part of someone's life.

Unless you have spent six months at North Fresno Church.

People who have worked in a setting that forces you to create a culture quickly--camp staff, fire crews, team teachers--understand there are some areas where you must discover your role and agenda almost immediately. You live in close quarters, do everything together on your work and social calendars, and maybe even split the cost of utilities/groceries/Redbox rentals. (I miss you, Wabern!)

This isn't quite like that.

This is more than setting routine with coworkers or accomplishing big tasks through team initiative.
This is more than creating goals, making lists, and following through with plans.
This is more than sitting on the couch every night and watching (or not) The Walking Dead together.

This is six months of making a community PART of your life. Not ALL of it.

And it is the best.

So in honor of this non-anniversary, I want to share six things I love about being a part of NFC:

1. The airport is a normal hangout spot. Whether a team is being sent on a trip, an out-of-town guest is arriving, or an individual is heading off into a new chapter of life you will find a large group standing in the terminal. Even before breakfast.

2. There is ALWAYS something going on. On any given day you will encounter someone in the office, a person fixing something outside, preschoolers and chalk drawings, a basketball game, arias from a practicing choir, and people having conversation in the parking lot.

3. Our kids understand who God is better than most professors of theology. From our preschoolers to our teenagers, it seems the best person to seek out with a Big Question around here is someone younger than you. These kids love being part of the Kingdom and will tell you about it. They will also tell you about the best dance moves and coolest superheroes.

4. People spend time together. Outside of church. On days other than Sunday. "Plancake" breakfasts, pool parties, and game nights are happening all over the place and it is the best way to turn your see-them-once-a-week friends into real family.

5a. Questions are encouraged. Everyone in this community is given the freedom to ask questions--without anyone rolling their eyes. There is no stigma to "question your faith" and individuals are able to think about the bigger facets of life with someone by their side. They are open to thinking through radical and sometimes contraversial thoughts...

5b. And no one pretends to have all the answers. But if you do want some clarity talk to a child. (See #3 above)

6. They love well. This is a community that is ushering in the Kingdom and strives to love God and each other in all they do. People don't see volunteering their time as an obligation, giving their resources as a charity, or serving others as work. Everything is done because of love. And I feel that love for me.

And I love them, too.

Happy Six Months, NFC Family!