Come Fly With Me

It’s Tuesday, and I’m sitting in the airport as I write. The guy across from me keeps looking over at me every time I pause in my writing. I promise I’m not writing about you, I try to communicate with my eyes. Well not really.

The past forty-eight hours have blended together. Me, sitting at the airport, hoping to get back to New York and back to the routine of life.

My flight was originally scheduled for Sunday and was delayed and delayed until eventually completely cancelled. I re-booked for a flight this morning, only to see it was cancelled when I woke up. That means I am waiting and sitting around a lot. I am doing what I can with my job. I was able to work remotely all day yesterday and that was helpful. My coworkers are wonderful. Most of all, I’m so glad I was able to spend the weekend away with my family. It was truly special, and I’m beyond grateful I could be there.

Except today I am tired, and I am bored. I feel restless after sitting in terminals and staring at suitcases.

Clearly my last two days were meant to look differently than I anticipated.

Flight delays and severe weather are a very tangible (and often occurring) reminder that I am not in control. I cannot calm the storms. I cannot clear the runways or streets. I cannot do anything to make this plane take off. All I can do is be.

I think God is saying, Hey, Mags, I got this. You just leave it to me.

He is the one navigating my journey.

I write this from the airport, unsure of exactly when I’ll get out of here. I snagged one of those cushy leather chairs with a cup-holder in the armrest, and I have ample leg room since I’m not sitting on the plane. So there’s that.

In my previous post, I wrote about bad habits of mine that I continue to go back to. Just a few days ago, I was explaining how one of my bad habits is planning. Yes, planning. I strategize. I schedule. I plot. I do what I want to do. I planned to fly into New York City on Sunday evening. I was going to pick up a few groceries, order takeout, do laundry, and go to work Monday morning bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I might have hit up a yoga class after work and then I’d be drinking wine and watching “The Bachelor” with girlfriends.

Obviously that did not happen. (Although my sweet golden retriever provided excellent company for Ben Higgins and me.)

I glance up at my flight information at the gate. I am delayed. Again. For those of you keeping score at home, that’s two cancellations and countless delays. My body is getting tense. I feel my shoulders creeping up, my jaw clenching. I am angry, frustrated, and stir crazy. I am ready to get out of Le Club de Airport and back to reality.

I breathe in. I breathe out. In. Out.

I am not in charge here. My to-do list is not getting tackled today. I am sitting in the airport alone, while the man with the salt-and-pepper hair and goatee next to me talks to someone named Brenda about Heath bars and how he’d like to go to Mexico right about now. You and me both, dude. You and me both.

But for now, we’re at the airport. Plans shattered, calendars completely moot.

Why does that bother me so much? Why do I cling to my calendar, my goals, my plans? Why does that unexpected almost always produced expected distress?

I think it comes down to security. I want security, comfort, and happiness. If my goals are accomplished, if my plans come to fruition, I am happy. Right? Isn’t that how it works? The life plan is engineered to secure happiness and fulfillment.

I stroll (as much as one can stroll while wearing a down jacket and carrying a duffel bag and overpacked purse) to the airport bookstore. The most prominent shelves are lined with books on success, power, happiness, fulfillment. The bestseller list is generally a pretty good indicator of what we humans as a whole are concerned with—ever notice that? I like the security and comfort that comes from taking matters into my own hands and making plans for myself. Judging by these hardcover bestselling tomes, I’d say I am not alone.

“'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord.”

I keep hearing that as I write.

“Plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.”

His Word rings true.

I’d rather boast about tomorrow than rest in that truth. I’ll tell you about my plans and my schedule—and then they can be completely erased in a mere moment. They don’t provide security. Not really. They feel safe, stable, comforting until a snowstorm blows them away—and I am reminded of the insignificance of my worldly plans.

In its own way, that’s comforting. More comforting is knowing there’s one thing constant and stable through it all.

I’ve written in my testimony how God’s hand of protection has been on me my whole life—through hospital visits, through broken relationships, through multiple moves and a layoff and a job change. His hand is on us during the big stuff. Why would it be any different for our ordinary day-to-day lives?

I can tell you that God cares about the minutiae of our lives. He really does. Even when your flight is cancelled and you're alone at the airport, He's there and He cares. I may not believe this all the time, but it's one of the things I am certain to be true.

No matter where you're at right now—in the airport, on the train, or sitting in your bed after a really long, really hard day—

God is right there with you.

This is know. 

I suddenly hear a muffled sound come over the loudspeaker at my gate. A young flight attendant’s soft voice grows loud and clear:

“Those flying to New York, please return to your gate. Your aircraft is here and will begin boarding shortly.”

Walking in the Light

When I started this blog last year, I decided to call it "Light and Grace." I wanted to distinguish my writing from the thousands of other blogs out there. I hoped that by creating this title, I would stick with those two words as a common thread throughout my writings.

You might notice that I’ve recently given the site a mini-makeover. I’ve dropped the title and instead called the website by simply my name. These are my musings on life and faith. I’m giving you a window into everything I’m experiencing, right here and right now.

I wanted my site to look softer and almost ethereal in a way. I want the images to evoke the deep-rooted joy I have in my life. While the header on my site no longer says “light,” I’d like the images and the content to still feel illuminating. I loved the old images on my site and when I initially created it, they were the right fit. They felt moody and a bit more serious. And last summer, that’s how I felt in my life—more serious, more somber, and less content. Today I don’t think those images fully capture who I am or how I feel about my life. I’m more hopeful and content now, and I’d like this blog to be a place where you can come for hope, encouragement, and truth.

“For at one time you were darkness, but now you are light in the Lord.”

— Ephesians 5:8

Because the truth is that the author of my story is far greater than I am, and He's writing a tale much better than I could ever try to plot out. There’s grace weaved throughout that narrative, in times of joy and peace but also during period of suffering and anxiety.

I believe this with my whole heart, and as I move forward I want my posts to continue to reflect the ideas of light and grace.

I try to live my life full of light and grace. But, last night, as I sat in an old, drafty, candle-lit church for Ash Wednesday, I started to ask,

How much am I really walking in the light?

I don’t say that to get down on myself, and I don’t say it because I expect perfection. I’m not asking this question because I think I need to be perfect in my walk, or because I think being a Christian means never making a mistake. None of those things are true.

I genuinely wonder how much my life, especially my past year since my baptism, has been spent walking in the light. I launched this blog, where I've talked about being a light to others. It’s something I strive to do—yet I know there are parts deep within me still embattled in darkness. There are those habitual things I do that I know are wrong, but I’m turning a blind eye to light and resting in the familiarity of darkness.

And truth be told, it doesn’t even feel that dark anymore. I’ve let the dark seep in through the tiniest of cracks, dimming the light every so slightly and happening so that I don’t really notice it all. I won’t notice it until the dark is overwhelming.

So I ask that question. How much am I—are we—walking in the light?

In many ways, 2015 was a hard year for me. It was refining and beautiful, a time of serious pruning. I experienced such good growth, even though some of it came through pain and hurt. I also started to be honest about my struggles. I talked openly with friends, with community, and even with readers on the Internet who I’ve never met. I built up this bubble around me of light and life-giving relationships.   

At the same time, there was a lot of mess brewing in my heart. The struggles with comparison, perfectionism, control, and pride were not just in the past but very much alive and well in the present.

I could say things like “the struggle is real” and embrace that culture of authenticity we New Yorkers love so much. Authentic living is the gold standard. (I’m looking at you, Socality Barbie.) Love your flaws! Embrace who you are! Do you.

In the midst of all the “doing you,” we can forget that there is such a thing as right and wrong. There is a law—one full of grace—that governs our lives. Yes, being who I was created to be is absolutely important. Uniqueness is a gift we each are given, and loving myself is so very valid. But I don’t want to just be who I am—I want to be like Jesus.

There’s no doubt in my mind that I was meant to hear a particular message on light and darkness in church last night:

“'The struggle is real' is not repentance,”

said my pastor. 

Well, shoot.

I’m all about admitting my struggles. I think part of me almost views them as a way to say, Yeah I’m not perfect. Look at all the ways I’ve screwed up, and look at ways I’m still a mess. But God loves me. I know this is 100 percent true. I struggle and God still calls me back to Him.

Except I forget about the part where He redeems and heals. Instead I take that struggle and set it on a shelf—a very high shelf that’s rather dark and dirty. The struggle just sits there, like an old library book collecting dust. It’s part of the collection and it’s in the system, but it’s never really checked out.

It’s time to check it out.

Acknowledging the struggle is great, but I think we’re called to do more than that. Lent is a reminder that we are made anew. We have hope—our God is one who heals and who brings us back to life. His mercies are new every morning. We get to experience true restoration. But we have to be willing to walk in the light.

I’ll be honest: I have been walking in the shadow.

I’ve been completely open about where I’m at, but I don’t know that I’ve really repented. I’ve let certain struggles become habits, and as habits they quite frankly don’t bother me that much anymore. They don’t seem like that big of a deal. It’s that feeling of complacency that scares me. I'll tell people, hey, I struggle but it’s part of who I am, and I know I’m still a good person. God still loves me.

God, I don’t want complacency.

I want the darkness to appall me. I want it to be so unappealing that I can’t help but to turn away. I’ve let the “struggle is real” become my fallback, and I’m sorry. I’m ready to make a change.

I’m praying that my eyes would be opened to darkness—that I would actively decide to step out of it. I believe real freedom, healing, and hope are available for us if we choose to embrace it.

This Lenten season (and beyond), I’m praying Psalm 139.

If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me

 and the light become night around me,”

even the darkness will not be dark to you;

the night will shine like the day,

for darkness is as light to you.

For you created my inmost being;

you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

your works are wonderful,

I know that full well.

And I’m choosing to walk in the light.

Reflections From the Snow

A snow-blanketed Central Park may just be my favorite place on earth.

Not only does it look like Narnia, but it also feels more serene than any other time of the year. There’s a sense of stillness that covers the Park along with the snow. Fewer people are walking or running. Biking is nearly impossible. Even the dogs have stayed indoors. The whole Park seems suspended in a moment in time. Everything moves at a slower pace—it’s one of those rare times where you can actually hear the wind whistling through the tree branches. And call me crazy, but the Park even smells better with the snow. Fresh, clean, crisp.

It is truly magical.

During this weekend’s epic winter storm Jonas, I spent my Saturday morning reading and writing in bed while watching the snow fall outside my window. As I sipped on my coffee, I kept hearing the words:

Be still and know that I am God.

The snow forces me to stop.

To just be.  

To know that I am not in charge.

That is really hard for me to do. I had three different activities planned for Saturday, and I had no choice but to cancel all of them. Being able to do nothing for an entire day in New York City is truly a practice, one I’m only just starting to get the hang of.

Resting is the opposite of the world's current favorite mantra: hustle. Take a look at Etsy, and you'll understand exactly what I'm talking about.

"Good things happen to those who hustle."

"Hustle today. Enjoy tomorrow."

And my personal favorite:

"Pray, hustle, repeat."

I looked up hustle in the dictionary—“to quickly move or push someone often in a rough way.” Also see, “to make strenuous efforts to obtain (money or business).” That actually doesn’t sound fun at all.

We're told to work harder, and even to play harder. We have apps that satisfy our every needs: from dry-cleaned underwear on-demand to people who will wait in line for Cronuts for you. We’re busy, and we have more important items to cross of our lists than undergarments and pastries. We're generally expected to get stuff done and to be aggressive if that will make us more efficient. Being busy is something to strive for; being busy is an accomplishment.

We wear busy like a badge of honor.  

Maybe I’m just preaching to myself here. Maybe you are able to set aside all the invitations, goals, and tasks to simply be still. Maybe you have a backyard with a hammock where you spend quiet time every day. In that case, I salute you. I hope to be more like you. Feel free to skip over the rest of this article.

But if you’re like me, you can easily get caught up in the allure of busyness. It’s a constant cycle of more, more, more.

So I have to ask, at what point is life simply enough? When we can we finally stop to take a breath?

After three years in New York City, I can tell you that the hustle will never truly satisfy.

Rest is ultimately so much better. Thankfully, we can find rest wherever we are—even in the city that never sleeps. We always have the choice to lift our heads and look to Him for true restoration.

The snowstorm reminded me of that this week. It was a gift. Whenever I see snow, it feels as though a bit of heaven has floated down for all God’s creation. We get to appreciate it and enjoy it until it melts away. We’re left with the comfort of knowing it is just a glimpse of the beauty that is to come one day.

We’re given a season of hibernation and quiet during the winter months— an opportunity to do less with the shorter daylight hours. It’s yet another way God cares for us, so much so that he naturally provides periods of rest like this one.

Not every day will be a snow day—I’m working on cultivating more stillness in my everyday. Fewer events on my social calendar, fewer freelance projects, fewer Instagram posts. I’m figuring out what my life looks like when there are moments to simply be.

I’ve started taking a slightly longer commute. By taking a different train than usual and spending 10 more minutes travelling, I am able to almost always find a seat. That means I can read, listen to a sermon, or close my eyes. I used to use those 45 minutes to catch up on emails and start the work day before I had reached my desk. Now I make a point to leave my phone in my bag until I am in the office.

In the same vein, I’ve gone back to using a real alarm clock. My body was so accustomed to waking up to the iPhone “marimba”—the sound of a mallet hitting wooden keys that we all know so well—that it took a little time to get used to the classic alarm clock beep again. I set my work phone and my personal phone on “do not disturb” mode (total game changer) and tuck them in my purse around 9 or 10 p.m. The hope is that’s where they’ll stay until 9 a.m. the following day.

Separating from my phone gives my hard-working thumbs a break; it also allows my brain to actually focus on the here and now. I noticed that while I’m excellent at multitasking, my comprehension level has gone way down. I miss the things that are right in front of me. If I’m reading or writing but continually glancing at the light or the vibration of my phone, then I’m only half-tuned in to what I’m reading and writing. For me, fostering rest often comes with setting boundaries and saying no. I’m still learning how to do that, but the times when I have, I’m refreshed.

This January, I began a Bible in a year plan. Mornings look like waking up a bit earlier so I can read and reflect on the passage for the day as I eat breakfast. I’ll be honest: Sometimes I am scrambling to get out the door and don’t read until I hit my bed that night. Sometimes it’s the next day. And that’s okay. When I’m digging into the Word, though, I feel more at ease for the day ahead.

I’m rooted in the reality that peace comes from Him alone.

I see how I’m much more content when I build real rest throughout my week. I can catch my breath and think clearly. It’s good for my body, mind, and soul.

This weekend, I’m heading back to Central Park to take in the snowy scene while I still can. I want to breathe in that cold, fresh air and listen to the peaceful sounds of nature, completely insulated from the rushing city streets just a short distance away. Who knows, I may even take off my watch, turn off my cell phone, and walk for as long as my feet can carry me.

Less hustle. More stillness. More grace.

A Word For 2016

I’m not really into new year’s resolutions. I usually hear resolutions like “lose 10 pounds” or “run a marathon” or “cut out dessert”—you get the gist. For a lot of people, making resolutions such as those is super helpful, motivating, and inspiring. But for me, a recovering perfectionist (yes, that’s a thing), it's harmful. It can set be down the path of striving and pushing myself in a way that becomes detrimental. I have the personality where when I set my mind to something, I achieve it. I am my own harshest critic. 

At the same time, I believe change is one of the most beautiful parts of life. Setting goals and dreaming big are two beautiful ways we can live our lives to the fullest. I hope to be continually growing and changing throughout the year. Transforming into a better person, not because of a new year's resolution but because of God's grace in molding me into His image. 

So instead I’ve adopted a new way to take on the new year: with a word or phrase that I’m holding close as I live out the coming 12 months.

I’ve thought about a number of words that could fit.

Courage. 

Strength.

Peace.

Freedom.

This one seems to have stuck. With word after word floating around, this is the one I come back to. Freedom. Freedom to make mistakes. Freedom to be vulnerable. Freedom from the slavery of depression, anxiety, worry, comparison, addiction. Freedom from judgment. Freedom from fear. Freedom to write on this blog and share my story as it unfolds. Freedom to be myself. Freedom to be who God created me to be. Freedom to have ups and downs and know God is still good.  

“Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is there is freedom.”

— 2 Corinthians 3:17

I'm continuing to be set free from the idols I've held too close, the things I've let control me. That freedom has come after a lot of struggle. As I look back on 2015, I see how much change I've experienced. I moved apartments and neighborhoods. I gained two new roommates. I attended a new church congregation and joined a new community group. I was baptized and gave my testimony in front of more than a hundred people. I started a new job in a new industry. I closed the chapter on a relationship and felt the pain of a broken heart. I met someone new and began to heal—and when that season ended, I was able to stand firm by myself, just as I am.

I struggled, and I hurt. Yet I learned how to hope again. I grew more this year than I ever thought possible. I saw that I could suffer—and still be free. God is at work in all the mess. Truly, greater things are at stake. I get to be free from the expectations and desires I have because there's so much more to life than what happens here on earth. This life is fleeting; knowing that sets everything into perspective. It frees me up to be exactly who I am, in this very moment. 

A current of freedom has made waves in my life these past few years. I didn't notice it in the moment, but I see it so clearly as I look back on my old journals. Last night I opened up my journal from 2012. I had recently graduated college, took an internship in a tiny Pennsylvania town, and then I packed up my whole life in a rusty black 2001 Ford Taurus to relocate to New York City. I was chasing my dreams and working so hard to make them come true. On the surface, everything was exactly how I envisioned it should be. I had everything I thought I ever wanted. But deep down, I was lost. Living for things that would never really satisfy. Idolizing success, status, my body, my relationships. 

I didn't realize how I was living my life until now that I can look back on it, and I see I've been freed from my past. Reading the words from 2012, 2013, and 2014 sound like a different person. I’ve been freed from the yokes of perfection and performance. Those old journals tell such a different story than today’s does. And it's a continual process, happening day after day, year after year. So please hear me: I still wrestle with perfection and performance. I still desire approval and affirmation. I still want to control the path of my life.

But when I see how much God has moved and shaken my life in the last three years, I get excited. If He can do all that He has done in such sweet and unexpected ways during this time, I cannot wait to see all He will do in the next three years. I have freedom to not plan everything or have it all figured out.

I have freedom to trust Him, even when it is hard.

That's the sentiment I want to carry with me into the new year. I hope true freedom will permeate my life in 2016—freedom to know I am right where I am supposed to be.