Let’s try this again, shall we?

Over the course of the last year, I’ve thought several times about penning blog entries. I thought, “The byline of my blog is adventures in mental health, theology, and cats. Wouldn’t 2020 be the perfect year to explore all of that? To build a platform?” Yes, yes, it would.

But I didn’t do it. At times I couldn’t bring myself to write, whether that was not knowing what to say or feeling too overcome and depressed to search for words. At other times, it felt cheap, like I would be taking advantage of a difficult year; it didn’t feel right to write. Other times still, I just didn’t want to.

I still don’t want to. I feel internal pressure to do some sort of year in review for myself, to highlight the good and bad of my year. It is not lost on me that the last thing I wrote here was an Advent reflection, and now we have come to another Advent. But I don’t think I will.

There is the temptation to say “Well, that was terrible” and move on to 2021 as if the changing of the calendar page will cure all our woes. Opting to move forward without a recap is not that, though. I think all of the things I experienced this year were meant to be experienced privately, away from the eyes and ears of the Internet. And since I am still processing this year, it would not be best for me to begin to share.

I am hopeful that in the months to come, I can revisit this blog and begin sharing pieces of my inner world again. I have a tendency in myself to scramble for social media for a knee-jerk response to, well, anything. This year has greatly squashed my need to speak immediately. In fact, I have been chewing on this post itself for about a month. But not writing doesn’t mean I haven’t had a lot going on. The Lord has been at work in me all year, but right now I don’t have the words or the desire to share it.

I do not have a wide readership here. Perhaps someday I’d like to. But that is a question for another day. Today, I am here, I am alive. I am pressing forward. I think that’s enough for right now. That’s all I can ask of myself today.

Perhaps I will pen an Advent reflection or two as we make the final hike to Christmas. We will see. If not, I wish you all a tender, sweet holiday, filled with all hope, love, joy, peace.

Per aspera ad astra,



Advent Reflections: Love

There are times when I scorn English for not having a wide enough variety of words for the many concepts bundled into the word love. Maybe it used to. Older translations of the Bible give us charity where it means “care for one’s neighbor.” Christians, especially those of a scholarly persuasion, like to refer to Greek’s multitude of words for the different concepts of love: eros for romantic love, agape for unconditional/divine love, storge for familial love, etc. Modern English, however, has just the one word with countless meanings, covering everything from intense emotional bonding to simple preference (e.g., “I love pizza,” to which I say, same).

But I’m not here to discuss the linguistic shortcomings of one word of my native language, as much as I enjoy words and the study of them. I’m here for an abstract concept that is so difficult to puzzle through: Advent is about love.

And before you think I’m about to make a hard left turn directly into Hallmark movie territory, let’s think about this.

John 3:16 tells us “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.” It’s an easy verse to skip over. It’s so well-known among churchy folks that we tend to just zone out. “Yep, I know this one, moving on.” But do we know it? Do we get it?

Do we recognize that God’s love for the world is an active choice on his part? When Adam and Eve chose Satan’s fake promises over God’s real ones, God could have said “Screw it, this was a mistake. You’re on your own.” Even when he destroys everything but Noah and the contents of the ark, he chooses not to let humanity wander off with no hope of restoration. “For God so loved” is an active decision. It is not some passive squishy feeling, some vague sense of fondness. “For God so loved” does not represent anything we did, only the active, engaged choice of a good God.

This is the first way that Advent is about love: this divine rescue mission, where the only SEAL team that will suffice is God himself, given human form in Jesus Christ. The second way is in how God so graciously allowed the very humans he was en route to rescue to participate in the story.

“Greetings, O favored one, the Lord is with you!”

The fourth Sunday in Advent focuses on the Annunciation. We know it well from Luke 1: Gabriel appears in little Nazareth and walks into Mary’s living room, and human history changes forever. I could spend all day talking about Mary’s beautiful responses, how she is the prime example of godly womanhood, and on and on. But let’s stop for a second and think about this:

God oversaw and orchestrated all of history to get the right place, the right time, and the right woman.

Everything from Adam and Eve’s failure was caused or allowed to happen so that Mary would be the one. There’s no indication in Luke that God sorted through a Rolodex of candidates. Just, boom, directly to Mary’s house, right on cue. “You have found favor with God.” Not earned favor. Not deserved favor. Found it. A gift given freely, asking her “Will you be a part of this?”

He asks us the same thing, though maybe not as impressively as an archangel showing up on our doorstep. When we get opportunities as believers to extend hospitality to the lonely and forgotten, to feed the hungry, to clothe the naked, to warm the cold, to heal the sick, these are gifts from God, opportunities to participate with him in the birth of grace in this world–opportunities he is under no obligation to give us, except that because he chooses to love us, he wants us to choose to love others.

What a thing to ask of Mary, we think. And indeed, what a thing. “This is a big deal and a big job. Will you do it? Are you willing?”

God, in his goodness and wonderful wisdom, found the ideal candidate, because he formed her from the beginning. He knew she would be the mother of Christ, yet he still stopped to ask her, “Will you do this?” And out of what must be the purest love for her creator, Mary says “Absolutely.” She doesn’t know what it will entail. She knows it’ll be scary, will probably ruin her social standing. But God is worth it.

And speaking of love, we can’t leave out Joseph. I 100% believe he loved Mary–maybe not in a squishy romance-movie kind of way, but in the selfless way Ephesians 5:25 commands of men. He was preparing to take her into his home, to protect and care for her, when this bombshell drops, but instead of doing the “right” thing and throwing her under the bus, Matthew 1:18-25 tells us he planned to be discreet so as not to hurt her too much. Yet when the angel drops by to say “Hey, it’s all good, this is God on the move,” Joseph jumps right back into protecting and caring for the baby Christ, undoubtedly tossing his entire reputation out the window in the process.

Matthew tells us Joseph was a righteous man–upstanding in his community and a faithful adherent of Levitical law. We can assume Mary would likewise be called a righteous woman. God asks these two upstanding people who have the world before them, getting ready to grow their community by creating their own family, to throw it all away. And they do. Because they love God with heart, soul, and mind. And because they love God, they also love each other enough to stick together to do his will.

It didn’t have to be this way. It really didn’t. It’s confusing and almost seems sloppy. After all, God has the power to just beam Christ down from heaven in his full royal glory. But we know God never does anything (or lets anything occur) without a purpose. Would we have paid attention if Jesus had showed up like he does in Revelation, on a white horse with crowns, plural? Nah. I wouldn’t have. There’s nothing to relate to in a god you’ve never seen before showing up like, well, a god. But a God who says “Hey, I’m on my way to live like you, to redeem your brokenness, to show you the path home”? That’s show-stopping. It’s easy to write off powerful people. But Miryam and Yosef’s kid? He’s doing miracles? He’s… God? Why?

Why, indeed. For God so loved the world. He chose the hard route to demonstrate his goodness and mercy. He picked the messy route, involving fallible mortals, to show us the road to come home. He came to our level to get us because we’d never make it otherwise. (I don’t know about you, but I screw up and sin so much. Every day. All the time. But God is good to offer me salvation and to develop me in Christ’s model every single day.)

Advent–and by extension, Christmas–is about love: the love of God, unmerited by us mortals, entirely merited by Christ but shared with us. When we respond to this love and accept Christ as our road home, that’s when we start building hope, faith, peace… and love. Through his mercy and kindness, he makes us conduits for his love into the world, even through simple things like feeding the hungry and comforting the distressed. Christ tells us that when we do things like this, we are doing it for him.

Advent shows us that the overpowering love of God must be met with repentance and belief, and our further response to receiving love is to give it. The world needs love, but not in the ways it thinks it does. It needs open displays of the love of God, which is so foreign to how mortal love and reciprocation works that it can only provoke a question of “Why do you do this?”

Because God so loved the world.

Merry Christmas.

Per aspera ad astra,


PS: God is so good to even tell us his plan in the names of the main players. Mary (Miryam) means “their rebellion.” Joseph (Yosef) means “God will add another son.” Because of our rebellion, God adds another (even the ultimate, the only) Son. And the name of this Son? Jesus (Yehowshuwa), meaning “God is salvation.” DIVINE MIC DROP.

Advent Reflections: Joy

Am I a happy person? Yes. No. Sometimes. I don’t know, it sort of depends.

Am I a joyful person? Yes.

Wait, what? How can I be joyful if I’m not always happy? Aren’t those the same thing?

Surprise: they really are not! Happiness is an emotion that can rise and fall like the barometer (and, honestly, is often tied to the same). Joy runs deeper than that. Joy is a fruit of the Spirit. You know–love, joy, peace, patience, and all the rest? The virtues of Advent are virtues that only the Spirit of God can truly, fully give us. The world’s experiences with and definitions of these things are but dim reflections of the real deal.

I know, I know, it’s confusing. But in summary: happiness is a tenuous emotion, while joy does not fluctuate like emotions do.

The third week in Advent is a beautiful time to remember this. Often called Gaudete Sunday, or Rejoicing Sunday, the Sunday of this week breaks through the gloom of our Advent ponderings to say rejoice, rejoice! Rejoice? What do we have to rejoice about, in a world of chaos and darkness? Well, a lot, actually. Let’s take a peek at this week’s lectionary readings, shall we? (Side note, I am using the ACNA 2019 lectionary, Year A. This may be different from other lectionaries.)

From Isaiah 35:

Strengthen the weak hands,
    and make firm the feeble knees.
Say to those who have an anxious heart,
    “Be strong; fear not!
Behold, your God
    will come with vengeance,
with the recompense of God.
    He will come and save you.”

This passage goes on to talk about the blind seeing, the deaf hearing, the mute singing. Water in the wilderness, streams in the desert. The highway of God, the Way of Holiness.

And the ransomed of the Lord shall return
    and come to Zion with singing;
everlasting joy shall be upon their heads;
    they shall obtain gladness and joy,
    and sorrow and sighing shall flee away. (Isa. 35:10)

Yeah, okay, that’s a lot to rejoice about. But for us in the 21st century, doesn’t it all seem a little… far-fetched? Like, “pfft, yeah, that’d be nice.” The world seems to be more chaotic than ever before, more filled with anger and destruction. Our leaders are weak, our people are miserable, our planet may literally be dying… How can you say “Be strong; fear not!” and tell me God will arrive with vengeance to save?

I can say it because it’s true. Psalm 146 tells us it is true. (I’m posting the whole thing, get ready.)

Praise the Lord!
Praise the Lord, O my soul!
I will praise the Lord as long as I live;
    I will sing praises to my God while I have my being.

Put not your trust in princes,
    in a son of man, in whom there is no salvation.
When his breath departs, he returns to the earth;
    on that very day his plans perish.

Blessed is he whose help is the God of Jacob,
    whose hope is in the Lord his God,
who made heaven and earth,
    the sea, and all that is in them,
who keeps faith forever;
    who executes justice for the oppressed,
    who gives food to the hungry.

The Lord sets the prisoners free;
    the Lord opens the eyes of the blind.
The Lord lifts up those who are bowed down;
    the Lord loves the righteous.
The Lord watches over the sojourners;
    he upholds the widow and the fatherless,
    but the way of the wicked he brings to ruin.

The Lord will reign forever,
    your God, O Zion, to all generations.
Praise the Lord!

We can have joy in a dark and desolate era–whether a personal era or on a global scale–because the Lord sees. He sees and helps and reigns.

This is where we build on the previous themes of hope and faith. Hope holds out that one day all broken things and people will be healed. Faith says, “I believe you will do this, God, even if I don’t see it right now or it doesn’t happen the way or when I want it to.” Joy says, “God, you are good, you are mighty, and I praise you.”

Joy can very much exist in great sorrow. In fact, there are times that it seems like that’s the only place joy can grow. It is in suffering that we learn to see and rely on God’s goodness. James tells us, “Be patient, therefore, brothers, until the coming of the Lord. See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth, being patient about it, until it receives the early and the late rains. You also, be patient. Establish your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is at hand. […] Behold, we consider those blessed who remained steadfast. You have heard of the steadfastness of Job, and you have seen the purpose of the Lord, how the Lord is compassionate and merciful” (5:7-8, 11). Hope breeds faith breeds joy because God is good.

I could write for days on this topic, but all I could say would boil down to those three words: God is good. He is not good in terms of human comprehension. He sees the big picture, the eternal picture. He knows that something that sucks for us right now will grow us into stronger Christ followers later, if we but exercise the faith to let him work on us. He knows that things we might desperately want may not be good for us, or if they are, maybe the timing is wrong, or we aren’t ready to receive it. Only he knows. But we can trust that he sees us, he hears us, he knows our pain and complaints, and he is busy behind the scenes.

No one on Earth has the power to make things right–or even the desire. No political figure, activist, governing body, doctor, lawyer, whatever can give people the hope, faith, peace, and joy they really need. Nobody can do that except God, who is the ultimate and purest Good.

God is good. He literally embodies goodness. Even in his vengeance, even in his justice, even in his mercy, even in his difficult lessons, he is good. He is good in my bad times and good times, when I am happy and when I am stuck in a depressive spiral. He is good when people I love are in pain and when they have the best day ever. He is good when the world is too much to bear and when it is heaven on earth. He is good when your favorite politician fails and when there’s too much plastic in the ocean. He is good, because he exists outside the limited human comprehension of good. His goodness is not dependent on his mood or our attitude, like our goodness is. We cannot jinx his plans. He is not startled by our mistakes or overwhelmed by our sin; he has already seen it all and knows it all, and he chooses to love us anyway. He is goodness. His goodness is the source of joy.

That’s it, that’s all I can say. It’s such a simple lesson, but one that I have to repeat to myself and will repeat until I act like I believe it, until I can pray fervently the way James 5 says to do, until my peace is not shaken by the tumult of the world, until I do not put my hope and faith in mortals.

God is good. He sees me, he knows me, he loves me. And he sees YOU and knows YOU and loves YOU. Individual you. Individual me. If, as Christ tells us, a sparrow can’t fall out of its nest without God noticing, how much more does he watch over us?

God. Is. Good. Rejoice, rejoice!

And that’s all there is to it.

Per aspera ad astra,


Advent Reflections: Faith/Peace

Sometimes I get confused by churchy things. Namely, why have I always heard the candle for the Second Sunday in Advent named as the Peace candle, but sometimes it’s called the Faith candle? At my own church this past Sunday, the theme of the candle, the lessons, and the sermon were all faith. So I sat there in the pew getting bogged down in seasonal minutiae and thinking, “Well, which is it? Is it faith or peace?”

The answer that came to me in the middle of a gentle, shepherding sermon that made me cry was “Yes.” Yes faith. Yes peace. Maybe the candle can mean either one because both are true. Perhaps peace comes from faith. Faith builds peace.

One thing that has always struck me as odd about American evangelical Christianity (the only form of which I have any intimate familiarity) is how it takes faith, a gift of the Spirit, and turns it into a to-do item on the Christianity checklist. It becomes mere mental assent or worse, something in par with willpower. “If I/you/we just have enough faith!” people sigh. “Things would work out then.”

Well, as it was pointed out to me in Sunday’s sermon, faith does not mean wishing really, really hard for our magical sky fairy to grant all our wishes. Faith is not bearing down and funneling all our strength into force of will. Faith, as Hebrews 11:1 tells us, “is the reality of what is hoped for, the proof of what is not seen” (CSB). It is not the same as hope (1 Corinthians 13 tells us this by listing faith and hope as two separate virtues) and is definitely not wishful thinking. Yet for all these definitions, faith is such a hard concept to grasp.

I don’t know about the rest of you, but I find it easier to cling to faith as a sense of “Well, if I just believe hard enough.” It’s easier because it’s something that I myself can do. If I can fix my own problems, then I will know they are fixed because I did the work with my own hands. You see this in a lot of Christian-ish self-help material. “You have problems and you worry because you don’t have faith!” these things chirp. “This is all your fault! You could fix all your problems if you just have faith!”

You see the problem further illustrated when faith becomes synonymous with religion. “He/she is a person of faith,” we say. The federal government sponsors faith-based initiatives for community development. This further conflates the biblical concept of faith with the societal expectations of religion, which, again, puts the onus back on you to fix your own life by doing and saying the right things and just believing enough. And if something terrible befalls you, you get people on Facebook tut-tutting “You just didn’t have enough faith.” You didn’t, you don’t, you haven’t, you, you, you.

Oof. When did faith become a baseball bat with which to hit suffering people over the head? Even when the Bible talks about not worrying and instead having faith, it’s not meant like a baseball bat, and it certainly isn’t meant the way I have always taken it to mean, involving exhausting levels of personal effort. This is where understanding it the way it is meant to be understood becomes more and more difficult.

It’s difficult because it would be so much easier to say “Well, if I just believe hard enough, then X will happen.” It would. And it would be easier for us as finite mortals if it worked that way. Faith becomes difficult because it forces us to rely on someone we cannot physically see to handle issues that, for us, are immediate and pressing. So because I can’t get instant results, I stop asking. Then I wonder why my reliance on God falters and why I become jaded.

If faith is the reality of what is hoped for, then I assume faith begins with hope. Hope is that tiny voice that says “Things will be better someday maybe.” Faith builds on this, grows it, by saying “[A]ll things work together for the good of those who love God, who are called according to his purpose” (Rom. 8:28, CSB). Even when it sucks. Even when there are no immediate results. Even when things go sideways and everything hurts and the world is upside down and oh God where are you? Hope says “Maybe things will get better.” Faith says “Even if they don’t, God is good and kind and he loves me, and this is working together for my eternal good.”

This is where I get tripped up most often. I have zero problems believing that God is good and kind–to other people. I see it in their lives and rejoice in it. Miraculous healing? Thanks be to God. Specific provision at the exact moment of need? Thanks be to God! Absolutely! Where it becomes tricky is thinking “God is good and kind to me.”

Sorry, what? Who am I that he should be mindful of me? He sent Christ to die for one speck of mortal existence whose time on this planet is but a blip on the timeline of all history. I’m not worth that. I’m an Enneagram Four; I am literally first in line to tell you that I am flawed and worthless, don’t bother with me, it’s not worth it–I’m not worth it.

But God’s kindness and goodness do not rely on my strength of will, my emotional fortitude, my good character, or my best behavior. God is kind and good because… he is kind and good. This is what faith, a gift given by his Spirit, helps us see. Even in our mortal suffering, God remains kind and good because that is his nature. Even when I feel inherently flawed, he continues to take my weak humanity and remake it to follow the pattern Christ made. I am flawed on my own, but Christ has given me immeasurable worth and given me his flawless nature. I know that I am invaluable to God, not because of anything I can offer but because of all that Christ has offered me. Even when it’s hard to believe it, to have an emotional connection or response to this truth, I still know it is true.

If hope forms faith, then this is how faith forms peace. It is in learning how to rely on God to be kind and good, to expect him to dispense his grace freely in all scenarios and seasons so that you will grow as a disciple of Christ, that peace arrives. I am constantly praying “Lord, help my unbelief,” and bit by bit, peace comes. Little by little, I learn that he will look after me. If he notices the wildflowers, which Christ tells us he does, then he notices me. Even if things don’t work out the way I want or I don’t get something I think I should have, I can be assured that he has seen and heard and is already on the move. He hears me sob the words of Psalm 70 and is on the way before the words leave my lips.

O God, make speed to save us. O Lord, make haste to help us.

I make it a point here to say that faith, unlike what prosperity preachers will tell you, does not mean you or I will have a pain-free life of wealth and comfort. Christ himself tells us not to expect this. In John 16, he tells his disciples what to expect of a life of following him. He promises several things: the Holy Spirit will be our comforter and guide; we will weep and lament while the world rejoices; our sorrow will turn to joy; we can ask the Father for anything; we will be scattered; we will have tribulation. But, he says, “take heart; I have overcome the world” (16:33). He also commands us to ask for what we need in his name, and we can expect that a Father who gives good gifts to his children will always give us exactly what we need, with some unmerited goodies besides.

If we pray for faith, he will grow our faith.

If we pray for peace, he will grow our peace.

If we pray for our daily bread, he will meet our needs.

This stuff is complicated and difficult, and I don’t profess to have any expertise in it, but he is faithful in all things, even when we don’t see the result immediately or it turns out differently from how we expected. We–I–can trust he sees the whole picture and always operates with the end in mind, which is the formation of us into mini Christs, sanctified and holy, glorifying him.

May we always respond with gratitude to our kind and good God, who gives us faith and peace, in Advent and always.

Per aspera ad astra,


Advent Reflections: Hope

Christmas decorations caught my eye earlier than usual this year–not literally, but the discussion of them blew through social media like a tornado through a haystack. Questions abounded: Is November 1 too early to decorate? Are people who think so nothing more than mean people that hate happiness? Do people who don’t think so deserve to get sick of the lights and glitter by the first week of December? And what about Thanksgiving? Are we just going to forget a day of turkey and football?!

I have always been solidly in the camp of withholding Christmas decor until at least Black Friday. I like to enjoy each holiday as it comes. But what I noticed this year was that, over and over, people arguing for early Christmas decorations came back to one theme: It makes me happy to decorate. I need to be happy.

Oh my God, I realized, that’s it, that’s exactly it. It’s not a question of when is “too soon” to decorate; the problem is that so many people are using Christmas and its baubles to numb pain they may not even realize they have. “The world sucks! Let’s put up tinsel!”

But this isn’t a solution to pain. It’s narcotization. It’s leaning on something external to soothe an internal misery, and I don’t think the vast majority of people realize they’re doing it, as they stand in the check-out line at Hobby Lobby, their carts overflowing with green branches and red ribbons yet their faces sour and grim. The world sucks. But is a red bow going to fix that? Maybe for a minute. Maybe for a month. But not forever.

Enter Advent, an oft-forgotten season of the church year that many Christians don’t even know exists. I know I didn’t for a long time. I knew the word, and I had heard of Advent calendars as a means to count down to the big day. But Advent the season? My low-church Protestant background didn’t account for that, not with Christmas trees going up the day after Thanksgiving and carols jumping in the song lineup for the following Sunday.

It’s hard for me to explain Advent in a nutshell. If I tried, it would go something like “It’s a season to prepare our hearts for Christ’s arrival, both as the baby in Bethlehem and as the King of Kings on the last day.” It’s not an incorrect summary, but it’s so weak compared to what Advent is and what Advent does. (My point in this post, however, is not to get into the liturgical technicalities of Advent. You can check out resources on that here and here, and some resources for marking the season here.)

Advent is a longing, waiting time. It is a time to beg God “How long will you delay?” It is a time to remember that he, in the person of Jesus Christ, has already touched our world and will return one day to fix everything. Advent holds the wailing and grief of our shattered world in one hand and the brilliant hope of “thy kingdom come” in the other. Already and not yet.

Advent forces us to slow down, to look our pain in the eyes, to see it and name it. No longer is our grief and suffering veiled behind smooth jazz renditions of carols at the craft store. There are no glittering lights in Advent to distract us from what hurts. There is no narcotization in Advent.

But there is hope.

The first candle of the Advent wreath is, fittingly, the Hope candle. We light this candle, knowing our brokenness, knowing the agony of human existence, and also knowing that we are seen by the One who entered this world once before to be just like us, to come screaming into the world he was meant to save, the Lord of Light dressed as the illegitimate son of a teenager and her carpenter fiancé. The hope of Advent forces us to look at Christ and see that he has saved the world through his death and resurrection and is currently saving the world through his Spirit, left behind to be our Comforter until Christ returns to reign on Earth.

“That’s great and all,” you say, “but what does that mean for me right now?”

It means it won’t always be like this. It won’t always hurt. The tears we cry now will be dried up in the kingdom to come, soothed forever. Through Christ, we have hope that our pains and struggles, while yeah, they suck, will not stay with us forever. Some of them will be relieved here on Earth. Others, we have to wait, and wait, and wait, yet with the promise of complete redemption. We have been saved. We are being saved. We will be saved. Already and not yet.

Advent forces us to embrace the tension of this. It asks us to acknowledge the bitterness in ourselves and in our world, but it asks us not to wallow in our misery but to put it in the hands of Christ, to say, “This hurts, this sucks, please fix this.” And the hope of Advent gathers us up warmly as we hear Christ reply, “I will.” Then we, bursting with this hope, go out among our neighbors to share hope and grace where we can, how we can–with a smile, a dollar, a meal.

Advent is not a season for rejoicing, and yet it is. It’s for lamenting the hurt of existing while also looking forward to a day when all is made right. It’s not for singing Christmas carols, but it is for singing songs of waiting, of longing, of hopeful anticipation of our current and final redemptions.

O come, O come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel, the words go.

O come, O come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Stephanie, too.

Advent takes this refrain and pleads it, over and over, until we are screaming it, replacing “captive Israel” with whatever we need to be ransomed. We do. I do. And Christ is faithful to do so. This is our hope, the hope of Advent.

I pray you sit with this during a season when the rest of the world tries to hide pain behind shopping, feasting, and decorating. I pray we are all able to look at a world that lives in the painful tension of Advent all year long and say, “Christ is hope. Let me show you him.”

In him was life, and that life was the light of men. That light shines in the darkness, and yet the darkness did not overcome it. (John 1:4-5)

Almighty God, give us grace to cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light, now in the time of this mortal life in which your Son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility; that in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the living and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal; through him who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. (BCP 2019)

Per aspera ad astra,


How Not to Suck at Being a Human

I’ve dealt with a lot of toxic people in my life, as I’m sure most of us have. Please note that when I say “toxic,” I don’t mean people that have disagreed with me or who I just don’t like. “Toxic” here refers to people who, among other things, have consistently negative personalities, don’t correct their mistakes and behavior even when repeatedly called on it, and/or give no thought to whether their actions impact people they claim to care about. There are other things wrapped up in the word toxic, but those are the ones that come to mind right now. Here are some other things that define toxic people:

  • DARVO (Deny, Attack, Reverse Victim and Offender)
  • Gaslighting
  • FOG (Fear, Obligation, Guilt – emotions you feel when around this person)
  • Manipulation, including guilt trips
  • “You never/you always” statements
  • The sense that you have to walk on eggshells around them
  • Feeling any lack of safety for yourself or people you love

And many more. Let’s be real, you probably know a toxic person when you see one.

The biggest challenge about toxic people is they don’t realize they’re toxic. (Can I say toxic any more? It’s becoming a non-word.) They typically have zero self-awareness of how awful their behavior is. In my experience, these sorts of people think themselves the victim in every situation they meet. It’s not them; it’s you. It’s like a parent who thinks their darling child can do no wrong, except the parent and the child are the same unhealthy person.

By now, you’re definitely thinking of a toxic person you know. You might be wondering now how to avoid becoming one of these people. Well, I’m no shimmering angel of perfection, but I do have some thoughts on the subject, having seen and experienced several toxic people over the years.

Step 1: Develop Self-Awareness

Self-awareness is a difficult and often painful skill to learn, because it involves looking at yourself objectively and learning to recognize negative (and positive!) things you do. According to this article at DevelopGoodHabits.com, “[Self-awareness] typically means having a deep understanding of your values, strengths, weaknesses, habits […] While you accept your faults, you […] focus on different strategies for self-improvement.”

Pop quiz! Which occurs first, a thought or a feeling/emotion?

Answer: the thought.

Is that surprising? What you think (and think about) informs how you feel. Most of our thoughts are unconscious, flitting by so quickly that we don’t even see they’re there until we’re spiraling out of emotional control. Self-awareness is the process of slowing down, studying your thoughts, and developing the ability to challenge and correct the negative ones.

How do you develop self-awareness? This article is a great launchpad.

Step 2: Challenge and Correct

This is a phrase my own therapist taught me, which I have now blatantly stolen and will pass onto you as wisdom. As you develop self-awareness and learn to “slow down” your thoughts, you become able to stop negativity/toxicity in its tracks and redirect it. An example from my personal life:

My parents recently moved out of my home (yay!), but while they lived with me, my mom was buying groceries and keeping the fridge full. After they moved out, I opened the fridge and saw it was mostly empty.

Immediate thought: “Aw man, there’s no food.”
Second thought: “No, challenge and correct!”
Third thought: “This is a great opportunity to go to the store and buy things I like to eat.”

As you can see, you challenge the initial thought by stopping it. Say no aloud if it helps. Then you can correct the thought. This prevents your brain from going down a miserable rabbit hole.

Step 3: Ask for Honest Feedback

It is helpful to have a third party give you insight into your personality. It can also be terrifying to be that vulnerable with people, but vulnerability and open discussion is so important for personal growth.

Find someone you trust and ask them to objectively point out areas for your personal growth. When they tell you, listen without rebuttals. This is incredibly crucial. You may feel attacked or called out, but you have to shut up and listen. Push down those defensive feelings and note what the other person is saying. Ask the other person for clarifying examples of your behavior if you’re not sure what they mean. And lastly, make sure to spend adequate time in reflection, asking questions such as, “Did this person have a point? What can I learn/how can I grow from this?” Whatever you feel about their feedback, note those feelings and explore where they come from and why you feel that way. Be sure to sincerely thank them for taking the time to help you grow.

We all have ways to grow, me included. I’m not sharing these things as some guru on a mountaintop but as someone who has had to work on all this. I’m sharing what I have learned from in the hopes of it helping someone else.

Step 4: Make Necessary Changes

Just like it says on the tin: fix what needs fixing. For example, I have a tendency to immediately jump in with advice whenever a friend expresses a problem to me. Instead, what I need to do (and have started trying to do) is ask some variation of “Do you need me to get involved or do you need me to just listen?” Or I might respond in a way that would be helpful for me but not necessarily for them; instead, I should be responding in ways helpful to them.

This is a short section because I can’t tell you what changes you should consider making unless I’ve seen a problem. That will be up to you and the people you’re working with for your growth. However, you MUST become comfortable with recognizing you have flaws. You MUST acclimate to seeing and owning up to your own faults and mistakes. You will immediately stunt your growth if you deny or reject ever wronging someone else, which leads us to…

Step 5: Get Over Yourself

Ultimately, not being a toxic person comes down to not thinking so much of yourself that no one else matters. Your ego is not that important. Mine isn’t either. Like I said earlier, shut up and listen. You may not have any issues to work on (but I kinda doubt it; after all, you’re human). But if someone comes to you with a grievance regarding something you did or said, realize they may have a point. You’re not perfect. Apologize for hurting them with your behavior (yes, even if you didn’t intend to hurt them; apologies only cost a little of your ego, so just do it).

I cannot emphasize enough how much you’re hurting yourself and the people around you if you behave like nothing is ever your fault, as if you’re always the victim, as if everyone around you is out to get you. If you’re hearing the same thing from multiple sources, there is probably something to that, and it’s your responsibility to practice self-awareness and deep introspection to sort out true and helpful critique versus somebody just being spiteful. Once you become accustomed to doing that, it’s really easy to separate the hateful statements from the true ones. It’s just that sometimes the true statements are scary. Don’t take things so personally. Grow from it.

Step 6: Never Stop Growing

Obviously, there are so many resources on personal growth and development out there. Find good ones that work for you as you make sure you’re not toxic. Expose yourself to different theories of personal growth as well; read widely and research deeply. Find the core “you” and always be willing to grow.

That’s it. That’s all I’ve got for how not to suck as a person. It’s all things I’ve learned in my own journey; I didn’t make anything up and I don’t claim to have done so. I hope you find something helpful in it.

Never stop improving!

Per aspera ad astra,


You Gotta Do the Work

If you’re familiar at all with this blog or with me as a person, then you know two things about me: one, I have struggled with mental health issues since at least 2008, and two, I am passionate about recovery from those issues. Not just my issues; everybody’s issues. All the issues.

Here’s the deal. Mental illness is ultimately the same as a physical illness. Whether acute or chronic, all illnesses can be treated and, if not outright cured, then managed, so that the person with the illness can live a healthy life. An odd thing I’ve noticed about the discussion about mental illness, however, is we talk about it and treat it as if it’s the end, as if having depression or bipolar or whatever else means that you will never again have a healthy life.

As if having a mental illness suddenly means you are excused from taking care of yourself. Or making good choices. Or taking responsibility for your actions and their consequences, good or bad.

All of this is bullshit.

I have a mental illness. I have a psychiatric doctor’s diagnosis of depression and anxiety. Even if I didn’t have that official diagnosis, I would still have depression, and I’d probably be able to self-diagnose it. But here are two things that a mental illness diagnosis does not do:

  1. It does not mean that I am weak, fragile, incapable of taking care of myself, or excluded from being happy and living my best life.
  2. It does not mean that I have no control over my actions, that I am absolved from the consequences of my choices, or that I am a victim of my circumstances.

In the first paragraph, I said I am passionate about recovery from mental illness. Now’s the point where I qualify that and say that I am passionate about active recovery. Let’s get some definitions in here. What do I mean when I say “active recovery from mental illness”?

Recovery: Moving from a place of being controlled and defined by your illness to a place where you choose to make healthy decisions to improve your life. Whether mental illness or substance abuse, the concept of recovery involves taking charge of your life and choosing to improve and grow. Which brings us to…

Active: YOU GOTTA DO THE WORK. To recover from any illness, you can’t just sit back and hope it goes away. People suffering from cancer go to their doctor appointments and receive medicine and intensive treatments. People suffering from mental illness are supposed to do the same. While rest is important in any healing period, active recovery is not passive in that it doesn’t hope someone else does the hard stuff for you.

Active recovery from mental illness doesn’t mean you go to a therapist once every couple months and expect to see results in one session.

It doesn’t mean you have a bad day, a lousy depression spiral, and throw up your hands in defeat.

It doesn’t mean you shrug and say “That’s just who I am.”

It doesn’t mean you never trip up or have bad days or get hung up on something you used to get hung up on, but it does mean you try.

It means you put in the sweat equity in your own health and wellbeing.

You do not foist it onto someone else.

You do not force your friends/support network to serve as your therapist, your crisis counselor, or your suicide hotline when there are professionals available, ready to help you.

You have to get to a place where you are tired of falling back into old patterns and habits and you are ready to get better.

You. Do. The. Work.

Y’all, active recovery is hard. It’s work. And there are so many days when I wonder if it’s worth it. I mean, hey, every counseling session is $65. Maybe I should save that money and just cancel this week. Nope. No. Absolutely not. I put in the work, I do the hard things and have the difficult conversations, I struggle against my own brain at times, because I know that I have more to give to the world than my bad days and my spirals.

“But I don’t have anything to offer the world,” you say. To which I say, you’re wrong.

If you have a friend, you can offer your love and support. If you have a pet, same deal. If you have a favorite houseplant, same deal. Each of us has the capacity to contribute to the world, even if it’s something as small and seemingly insignificant as feeding a pet goldfish every day.

Live for your goldfish. Get better for your goldfish.

Put in the work to get to recovery.

I will always be in recovery. For the rest of my life, which I hope is long and sweet, I will be working on myself. When I finish this round of therapy, I do not expect it to be the last time I ever see a counselor. I don’t anticipate never taking medication again, but I hope I don’t. But even though recovery is difficult and takes so much time and energy, I will not stop.

God did not make me to get lost in my struggles. I have learned so much about grace and suffering through this. I have also learned that, by his grace, I can get better.

Depression is not who I am. I am not excused from the consequences of my actions, any of my actions. I still have a responsibility, both to myself and to God, to make good choices and to put in the work of active recovery. I mean, I don’t want to be miserable for the rest of my life. Why would I let the shadow monster have that kind of power over me?

You gotta do the work. But trust me, it’s worth it.

Per aspera ad astra,


Grownups, Take Yourselves to Disney

The first week of October, I went to Walt Disney World with my friends Kristen and Rachel. We had been planning this trip for the better part of months. I, much to my own amazement, paid for the trip entirely with cash, no credit cards at all. (Not the point of this post, but I wanted to brag.)

Going into this trip, I knew there were two main things I could not miss: I had to see the Indiana Jones Epic Stunt Spectacular at Hollywood Studios, and I had to meet some characters, especially Belle, my favorite princess of all time. I knew I was going to have fun, but what I didn’t expect was that I would spend so much of the trip engaged with and even healing my inner child.

“Inner child?” you ask. “Isn’t that just some New Age pop psychology mumbo-jumbo?”

You know, you’d think so. I thought so. I thought so right up until I met my inner child. In the little bit of reading I’ve done on the subject, it sounds like one method of recovering from adverse childhood experiences (ACEs) is to connect with your inner child and give him or her what is lacking and needed.

I’ve got some ACEs. I think more people do than don’t these days. I spent the bulk of my prime developmental years socially isolated. I did not have real, in-person, face-to-face friends from ages 11 to 19. (I made a single friend starting around age 15, but I met her online and it was another year or two before I had the joy of meeting her in person.) I have always been pretty introverted, but there’s a difference between introversion and isolation, and that difference is not good. I’m pretty sure that that’s part of why I developed depression and got stuck in my own head in emotional spirals. But during this period of my life, to medicate my loneliness, I turned to fiction: writing it, reading it, studying it.

I’ve also always loved Disney movies. I grew up with them, I wore out my VHS tapes of them. Beauty and the Beast was my favorite as a kid, but it remained my favorite as I grew up and began to see myself in Belle: socially isolated, taking solace in books, wanting something else for herself. I adore(d) her. I watched that movie to death. I requested the special edition Blu-ray for my 16th or 17th birthday, and it was the best gift ever.

Fast forward again to this trip. We had decided early on that we were going to Disneybound for our trip, so I picked Belle for Epcot day, since you can find her in France in the World Showcase (obviously). We had also agreed early in the planning stages that we would use the trip to do everything we had ever wanted as kids, including meeting our favorite princesses. Whenever people ask me what I want to do, I get into a mode of “Oh, whatever you want is fine, I don’t want to be a bother.” It’s not humility that drives that. I think it’s fear. I’m working on it. Luckily, when I pulled that (“We don’t have to find Belle if it’s gonna be a problem”), Rachel called me on it and insisted that, no, we would.

On Epcot day, we met up with our friends Ben and Lauren who live in Orlando and are Disney cast members. Late in the afternoon, we realized we were running out of time for character meet-and-greets. Ben held our place in line for Belle while Lauren ran to see if Mary Poppins was available in the UK. She wasn’t, so we all met back up at the Belle line. By that point I was nervous and shy, and my inner child was poking her head out.

Let me pause and say that I can legitimately feel and am aware of Little Steph’s appearance. I noticed myself looking around at the park with wider eyes, more wonder, and a higher-pitched voice. I cannot explain why this happened, but it did. It’s not multiple personality disorder or schizophrenia, because it is literally just a younger version of myself, stuck in my psyche, looking for something.

So standing there in line, I felt it happening. I felt myself moving a little more childlike, swishing my skirt and fidgeting. I looked toward the end of the line where Belle was, eyes big, and I kept softly squeaking “You guys, you guys.”

“We’ve got to get a picture of just you and her,” Rachel said.

“But it’s not a big deal if we don’t,” I said shyly. (I get shy when I meet famous people. Like, zoop, there I go, into my turtle shell, bye.)

Then we got there. Lauren went with us, and the four of us girls met Belle and chatted, and I legitimately could not tell you a thing she told us, except that as we gathered around for our group picture, she said she loved my rose earrings. I was so very shy that all I wanted was to scurry away and hide, because I could feel myself choking up. The experience of meeting my favorite princess was really amazing and overwhelming for Little Steph.

Then, at the end of our meet-and-greet, as we started moving away, Rachel said, so softly and sweetly, the most loving tone, “Wait, can we get a picture of the two Belles together?”

Oh geez, man. I thought I was going to fall apart right there. Belle and the photographer agreed, and I shifted back into place. In those pictures, you can see my face is so, so red, both from sunburn and from blushing profusely–from trying not to cry. We took the picture, I started to move away, and the next thing I knew, Belle had reached out and enveloped me in a massive hug.

I am tearing up just writing this.

In that moment, something deep in the inner child portion of my psyche broke open, and so many unrealized childhood dreams all came rushing out at once. I almost burst into tears on her shoulder. I felt the tears welling–you know, that terrible choking feeling you get where you can’t breathe because if you do, you’ll cry.

I don’t know if I actually finished the hug and moved away before bursting into tears. Good tears, of course, but it was such a rush of emotion that I needed a few moments to collect myself. I stood on the bridge from France to the UK, the wind whipping my hair and my dress, with my friends huddling around and comforting me, and all I really remember was Lauren exclaiming “This is why I love my job!” And I remember crying too hard to speak and then, in a very small voice, saying “You guys, I met Belle, I met Belle.”

Whatever dam broke inside me in that moment needed to break. Five-year-old me needed it. Twenty-seven-year-old me needed it. I couldn’t put words on it until later that night when, alone in the shower, I realized that out of that moment, I felt healed. I might not have felt that way if I had not (cautiously at first) allowed my inner child to emerge, to see and feel and experience the trip for herself. I would not have had this experience if I had not gone with friends who give me the loving space to be emotionally vulnerable. I probably would not have had this experience if I had gone to Disney as a child.

Grownups, take yourselves to Disney. It doesn’t have to be a Disney park specifically, but it does have to be a place or an experience that your childhood self would have died for, something you never got growing up. As an adult, you now have the power to give yourself what you missed out on, and you now (hopefully!) have the maturity to meet those needs responsibly, safely, and healthfully. You are in sole command of your time and your finances; the ability to reach out to your inner child and say “Hey, let me give you this thing you’re missing” is an incredibly beautiful gift.

I recognize that some people might not be comfortable at first with the concept of an inner child. That’s okay. I think a lot of people do have one, though, because there is something unresolved from childhood left lingering in the shadows. I see how immensely healing it is to find that inner child. Whenever Little Steph was “out,” I made sure to take time to stop and provide affirmations: you are safe, you are loved, you have friends who care about you, you matter, doing what you want to do is not a burden, we are all having fun together. What resulted was that I was able to more fully enjoy the magic of the trip–all of me, my whole self–despite the sunburn and the heat and the sore feet. I was able to have a more fulfilling vacation because my whole self was involved.

I also recognize this that I might not have been able to get to such a good place with myself without therapy. I’ve been seeing a counselor probably since March, and that has done wonders for changing how I talk to and about myself. Before therapy, I would never have been able to stop and affirm myself. I would never have been free to embrace my inner child and give her this beautiful experience. If you can, please, please seek out a qualified therapist. There is a dearth of available mental healthcare in this country, but you owe it to yourself to try.

And while you’re at it, find your Disney and go there. Your little you will thank you.

I hate Christianese

Maybe hate is too strong of a word. Perhaps we can think of it in the sense that Biblical Hebrew uses hate: as a phrase that indicates turning away from instead of the harsh emotion associated with the word in English. In that sense, I turn away from Christianese.

What is Christianese? Any time you hear a phrase that doesn’t occur outside of Christian circles, you have encountered Christianese. For example:

  • Doing life together
  • Intentional/being intentional/intentionality (I hate this bunch most of all)
  • Digging into the Word
  • It’s just not God’s timing
  • Quiet time
  • Singleness is a gift
  • Anything involving discernment
  • Set on fire
  • Washed in the blood (in the soul-cleansing blood of the Lamb–you know)
  • Fellowship
  • God is sovereign
  • Living in community/anything about community
  • Get saved

And so on. You get the idea. The point is, Christians, especially in the evangelical realm, have their own language. And it’s really weird.

I have been a Christian for 20 years, since I was 7. I spent 16 of those 20 years in Baptist churches and attending a Southern Baptist university, so I really got an earful of the particular dialect occurring in American Christianity. So, in the interest of saying how I really feel… STOP IT.

Christianese is pretty ridiculous, if you think about it. On the one hand, it tries to distill disciplines and complex doctrines into pithy one-liners. On the other hand, it’s cliché and confusing to anyone outside the Church. Shoot, it’s confusing to people in the Church. The heck does “doing life together” even mean?

(This is inevitably the point where someone gets their feelings hurt and pushes up their glasses and goes “Well actually…”)

Here’s the thing about Christianese, though–my real point, not ragging on Baptists or evangelicals or whatever else: Christianese is an excuse not to talk about difficult things.

When you reduce complex topics to a one-liner, you’re basically saying “I don’t understand this enough to discuss or explain it, so I’m going to brush it under the rug and hope you don’t notice.”

It feels dismissive: “I don’t know how to respond. Here is a generic answer.”

It feels distant and uninvolved: “I don’t want to take the time to give a well-thought-out response, sorry.”

It feels cheap.

I don’t think people do this on purpose, though. I don’t think Christians are being purposefully rude or shallow when they use Christianese phrases. Many times, I think they don’t know any better. It is so ingrained in American Christian culture that getting away from it can feel next to impossible, like breaking any slang habit. But I propose that we re-learn how to speak with clarity. We need to try not to hide behind safe phrases. We need to speak with purpose.

Words are cheap because we as humans use so many in a given day, but words are also incredibly powerful. Christians of all people should exercise caution with their words. Christianity is already a foreign language to people who are unfamiliar or unexposed to the gospel, and Christianese is like using slang on someone who doesn’t speak the speaker’s language.

Let’s just go back to purity and clarity of language. Let’s not hide behind easy one-liners anymore.

Let’s all hate Christianese.

Per aspera ad astra,


New name, new look!

You know those times that you go to the store, and you’re on the cereal aisle, and your favorite brand updated their marketing? New look, same great taste! Only you’re not sure you really believe them?

This is kind of like that. (But hopefully I am more trustworthy than a box of cereal.)

You can see I’ve got a new name! From Into the Void to Into the Wilds. “What’s the significance?” you wonder. Glad you asked!

Into the Void was always a distant, somewhat sorrowful title–and purposefully so. When I started this blog as a personal rant catch-all, I envisioned it as shouting into the abyss just so I could get it out. I could keep a diary–and I do (sometimes)–but it was more helpful to me to have a semi-public platform, abyss though it was.

Into the Wilds is borrowed from a quote in The Fellowship of the Ring (movie). It’s as Aragorn and the hobbits set out from Bree. Aragorn tells them he’s taking them “into the wilds.” The phrase is enigmatic, intriguingly devoid of details. Will it be a good adventure? A scary one? It turns out to have lots of good and bad in it, but ultimately that doesn’t matter because the hobbits are safe with Aragorn. They are following the king, and he protects them.

In this, I think of Christ. He is the King leading me through scary and good adventures, and I follow through the wilds, despite swamps and Nazgul and everything else. Hence–my blog title.

It also speaks to the fact that my mind veers all over the place like an off-roading four-wheeler. Following Jesus; following my meandering trains of thought.

I am hopeful that rebooting the blog will cause me to keep up with it more. I doubt I have any more of an audience than I did last week, but I like to pretend I have one to write for!

Per aspera ad astra,