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How To Own Your Sh*t: A Series

A friend is in the middle of a DIY remodel and posted after a long day of work, “Why is it so embarrassing to admit we don’t know how to do something?”

The question struck me because the word, “embarrassing,” is a curious thing. It got me wondering…

First of all, this person is crushing their first DIY! It takes bravery and tenacity to try something you’ve never done! This friend has consulted youtube, friends, neighbors, and hashed things out on their own, as well as gratefully accepting help here and there.

This friend’s schooling, training, and work experience to some extent have overlapping themes which gave them foresight to take on such a project, but in practice, this person has never refurbished anything on their own.

Can we just pause and talk about what a feat it is to simply TRY!? 

Whether we are cognizant of our fears when trying new things, or if we try things blindly, the action of trying should be recognized, for sure…even celebrated.

Take note: Before this I didn’t know how to do “X.” Here’s what I’d do next time, here’s what I’d do differently.

This is called learning…and some learning can’t solely be done by reading books, listening to lectures or sermons, or being told, “This is how you do ‘X.'”

Much of life is made up of experiential learning…hands on…as it unfolds.

For example, growing up, I had parents, but when it came time to become a parent, everything was new…it was all a first time experience. Yes, there are many things my Dad, especially, told me to do, “Because he said so.” And, sure I had babysat and all that in middle and high school, but those kids’ parents came home at night and I got paid to walk out the door and get a good night’s sleep. Parenting, in practice, is just that: practice.

The sooner we can admit this, we’re able to experience empathy for our parents, grace for ourselves, and know how to cut the cord and not take everything so personally with our own kids.

These kids are new to us and we’re new to them. Their DNA has never existed on earth prior to this time and space and as a parent, there’s no manual with specific instructions or coding, other than: love ’em, feed ’em, and train them up. I mean, preschool isn’t even a requirement to do life on earth. Back up 1000 years and $500 jogging strollers, BPA-free bottles, carseats, safety locks, screen time limits, vaccinations, ACT tutors, prom after parties, and Wednesday night youth group weren’t even things. Running water and electricity aren’t even requirements.

And somehow, miraculously, humankind has perpetuated. Generation after generation has continued to live and learn, and personally, I believe every generation is doing it better than the one before them. At least, that should be the hope of every generation: not that they do it the same way we did, because, by God, we had our sh*t together, but that they graciously take note that we were doing the best we knew how with what resources we had, and they have permission to tweak, alter, and even radically overhaul the way they want to do life in the future.

This is the miraculous gift of critical thinking. This is owning our sh*t. This is taking responsibility for ourselves and not projecting onto others what we think they should and should not do, and how, or casting blame like they did back in the Garden.

We are all trying to figure it out as we go. And admitting we’ve done things wrong, or don’t know how to do something, though I don’t know if I’d use the word, “embarrassing,” is hard to swallow. Our pride and love and protection, and our declaration to do some things the same as our parents did with us and others the opposite, drive us to either draw a line in the sand and not budge, or to trust the process, and the One who breathed life into us, and our kids, in the first place.

This is sometimes excruciating as a parent who wants to protect our kids from pain and the stupid ass mistakes we made when we were younger.

So, we tell them, “Don’t do such and such.” But they do it anyway. You did it anyway. I did it anyway.

So, what if we make mistakes and do it wrong along the way? 

The fear that’s swelled over the last two to three generations in America’s Christianity has almost snuffed out the actual gospel, the Good News of God’s extravagant love and whole reason for creating of it in the first place: Love. Love. Love.

When we’re stuck in shame or embarrassment because we don’t know how to do something, don’t have the answer, or are genuinely, “wrong,” instead of staying there, being reminded of the power of our beliefs is key.

-Being wrong isn’t bad…believing being wrong makes us “bad” is destructive.
-Not knowing how to do something isn’t bad.
-Making mistakes isn’t bad…but believing making mistakes somehow usurps our God-designed worth, or someone else’s, is loathing and judgment.

 

Admitting we don’t know something, or admitting and owning we were wrong and want to do it differently next time is called learning. And when it’s received and extended between people, because it was first extended to us, is called grace. And there’s ample of that to go around if we give it a try.

 

It’s Modesty Season, Again…

A beach in Barcelona, pixabay user/tiburi

I’m heading out of town soon to celebrate 25 years with my esposo.

We’ll be near salt and sand, soaked in sun, and these things require a bathing suit and speaking my second language. So it made me think of the following post I wrote when we were in Spain for our 20th anniversary.

A lot has changed since then. Last time my parents and Jason’s mom tag-team cared for our kids. This time my parents are of no help at all…

Anyway, back to Spain…it was Gay Pride Week in Barcelona and all the colors were out. There was so much freedom everywhere I looked…

...and Freedom is Beautiful.

Here’s more of a post I wrote 5 years ago about modesty, swimsuit season, and freedom in my own skin. [Read more…]

It’s a Beautiful Day

Kissing Noah Goodbye, Audrey Imfeld, NILMDTS photographer.

Kissing Noah Goodbye, Audrey Imfeld, NILMDTS photographer.

Eleven years ago, it was bitter cold in Denver, Colorado. 2 or 3 degrees, if I remember right. The chill is still part of my memory, though most of me felt numb.

Jason went out to the parking garage of Children’s Hospital to pull up the car and let it warm up for a few minutes. I stayed behind on the 4th floor where I bundled up our 7 month old son, Noah, for a short drive across town. He had only gone outside one time during his 5 month stay at the hospital… [Read more…]

Are You Burned Out on Religion?

Since our son Noah died in 2007, I’ve been on a journey reassessing pretty much E V E R Y T H I N G.

People, things, involvement, passions, even thoughts or beliefs at times have met a death grip in my hands. Some days only purging keeps me grounded. Recently I attempted to strip down to few possessions, selling our home, even shaving my head, in search of the essentials. It was my outward reaction to an internal battle. I decided to apply this perspective to my relationship with God.

"Hope is where the door is, when the church is where the war is..." Lyrics by U2 from the song, Sleep Like a Baby Tonight, Songs of Innocence album

“Hope is where the door is, when the church is where the war is…” Lyrics by U2 from the song, Sleep Like a Baby Tonight, Songs of Innocence album

 

My experience in American Christianity had become a compass for measuring God’s pulse, as well as my morality, and truthfully, the morality of everyone else. I justified, “I’m part of ‘non-denominations,’ so at least I’m not religious, but I’m definitely more dialed into God’s Spirit than so and so.” [Read more…]

Sledgehammers are AWESOME!

Here’s the deal: We moved to Nashville in August 2016 to an Airbnb we thought we’d be in for 3 months. Between August and Easter 2017 we searched for houses on-line and in person, even making offers on some, and were out-bid 3 or 4 times. One house we spent 1.5 hours with an HGTV designer remodeling the whole thing mentally for a potential show, and as we left the house our agent got a call that the sellers accepted an offer while we were standing in it! To say the least, it was getting discouraging! [Read more…]

Sex Ed: 101

ME: “Sweetheart, do you have five minutes?”

Him: “I always have five minutes for you.”

My husband and I both work from home. During the week, he and I tag team the morning routine of kids, food, and hygiene moderation. Then, he usually drives them to school, a 30 minute round trip event, while I get in a quick workout. (Bonus: If I’m the one driving the kids to school, I love the 5 minutes on our local classical channel where the soothing voice of Garrison Keillor tells us word-nerdy things on The Writer’s Almanac.)

Anyway, either way, after we’re both back home before 8 o’clock even rolls around, Jason makes himself a little breakfast while I finish my squats and then we have a 5-minute stand up meeting to start the day. [Read more…]

Theirs Was a Love Story

Summer Lovin'

Summer Lovin’- Bebe and Bobby, circa 1963, Devil’s Lake, Michigan

Growing up with Bobby (Bob) and Bebe (Betty), we witnessed affection, heard loving words exchanged, learned tooshie pinching techniques we would then test out on our grandparents much to their utter surprise and shock. Of course the reactions we witnessed made us want to pinch tooshies, all the more…well, I guess I can only speak for myself, but anyway…

Bobby and Bebe, theirs was a love story

…and it started on a warm night at a lakeside dance hall in the summer of 1963. [Read more…]

Growing Up With Bobby and Bebe: A Series

Agree to Disagree

2015-01-04 13.30.53-1

When my parents moved to Colorado 6 years ago, they drove in from Phoenix and walked in my front door into the kitchen where I was standing at the sink. I heard in my heart (when God tells me something, it’s something smarter than I could have thought of…), “They are here for the rest of their lives and your job is simply to love them, not try to change them.”

I think I literally glanced up at the ceiling trying to get eye contact with God, as well as position my ear better to hear the response to my rebuttal, “Even my Dad?!”   [Read more…]

I Had a Dream

typewriter

Right before waking up this morning, I dreamt a friend and I were standing in the middle of a four-lane road with cars flying by in either direction. We were discussing the vital importance of practicing the act of writing for 20 minutes everyday, no matter what…

And then I woke up

Prior to waking up and prior to standing in the middle of the road, where I was, incidentally, holding a vintage typewriter under one arm, I had been at a beautiful gathering of writers and journalists who were sitting at tables together, sharing and listening. [Read more…]

Speak: Contemplation

Speak love. Speak it with, and without, words.

Speak love. Speak it with, and without, words.

I’ve been contemplating many things for quite some time and the more I keep it in, I feel I may implode.

Why have I held these things in rather than go with my usual mode of verbally processing my thoughts to whomever may be in the room or on the other end of the phone? To be fair, my husband would attest to me processing these with him over the years, and each time he reminds me, “Adrienne, THIS is the content of your book. Write it. Write it down. People need to hear.” I love him and need him to say this to me, especially since writing it down is part of the equation: In order NOT to implode I must write these things down and get on with living.

So, again, why have I shared these thoughts I ponder day in and day out with only a few?

Open confession: I’ve feared segments of Christendom. [Read more…]