There I stood – cars on one side, a thin metal railing on the other. I had to keep walking forward and couldn’t go back. This is supposed to be fun? I thought. The view was so breathtakingly beautiful that even a quick glance made me feel like I was falling even as I felt my feet hitting the ground.

And I wished to be a different person – a braver, less afraid of heights, and comfortable with the future. But the fact is, I was born more of a writer than a fighter. A swing set was too much of an adrenaline rush for me as a kid. There was a short window between the ages of 17-21 where I jumped off a couple cliffs and one or two rope swings. But then I hit the ground emotionally – and realized just how vulnerable we all are. All the things we think are important (grades, jobs, and planning the perfect vacation) sink pretty quickly beneath bigger waves.

“The ground is just fine, thank you very much.”

– Katrina’s brain and heart

Where do you go to make your soul feel alive? For me, I realize that my heart leans more towards a quiet meadow with a barn. Or a strawberry field with a gentle breeze. For others, walking (or running) across the beautiful deception pass bridge is life-giving to them (I’m looking at you my crazy daredevil siblings). We can get caught up in the lie that we should constantly chase experiences that are instagram worthy or that make our heart race, when in reality I think we should be living with our souls on fire. Souls that are burning with a desire to be free of this place and simultaneously unafraid to live the best life we can in this place.

Your identity can’t be placed in pictures, likes, awards, or even what people say about you. Because if those are the places you/we/me look for identity that’s a much more precarious place to be then a narrow, but very stable, bridge tourists like to walk over. We need to have vulnerable hearts to the hurting of this world – but be tough enough to not take this world too seriously. It’s a tension that I hate and love.

We are our souls on fire
We are reaching higher
We are our souls on fire
When we come alive

-Switchfoot, “When We Come Alive.”

 

Ok, so back to the bridge. There I found myself finally crossing the first deception pass bridge, only to realize that there are two bridges. TWO BRIDGES?? what maniac thought this idea up?? (Probably a brilliant engineer who isn’t afraid of heights or being close to cars). And I had to turn back because I was feeling woozy and disoriented and not at all mentally prepared to keep going. I think if I went back now I could do it because I’d have enough time to think it through. Sometimes it’s ok to say “This is too much, I have to turn back.” We live in a culture where you must push the boundaries and break records and where setting limits can be seen as a failure. But there is beauty in agency. In choice. In knowing how far you can go before you try again.

I like hearing Bible stories because they’re not fairy tales. The story of Joseph is one of my favorites.  Joseph was a slave for years and years and years. He is kind of like Cinderella, but instead of finding true love at a ball, he ends up running away from his owner’s wife and finding himself back at the bottom of society again (prison). He also gets to save a whole country from famine, only to be faced with his family’s own brokenness in the end.  Cinderella never has to face her evil stepmother and decide if she’s going to forgive her.

I relate the most to the Joseph who is enslaved. The one in the pit waiting the slavers his brothers are selling him too. The Joseph who is imprisoned. Becoming “successful” only to lose it all over and over. Thinking “I’ve made it!” only to discover my own heart has become desolate wasteland. Joseph didn’t give up, or if he did we don’t know about it. He remembered God’s promises to him over and over again. Joseph faced an uncertain future over and over again as his fates constantly changed. Maybe we can face uncertain futures with the hope that we follow a God who rules with certainty. A God who doesn’t want us to be someone else or hide from who we are but to fully accept grace. Grace-filled souls that accept our weaknesses but carry on nonetheless. Souls on fire.

“We are fire
You and I

Strength, heart, soul, mind.”

Switchfoot, “When We Come Alive.”

 

-Katrina.

My college pastor always said “readers are leaders.” But how about readers make better baristas? Or the fact that there’s something intrinsically fun about the act of reading? Books, especially hard bound ones, have come to represent a poetic statement, saying “I resist progress, convenience, and will have more toned arms than you because I’m carrying and reading this heavy dinosaur.” A phone can never say that much. Well, unless someone calls you. But you don’t have time for that, you’re reading!

My sister told me about Agatha Christie mystery novels and I’ve been hooked lately. She always does a nice little twist at the end that you don’t see coming, and you are ALWAYS wrong about who the murderer is. But the main character usually figures it out.(Spoiler alert) or the main character ends up being the killer. (WHAAAAAAAT!!!) There’s something enjoyable about a trivial story, and I have to occasionally silence the pretentious English Major in my brain (Shakespeare! Chaucer! Austen!) and just enjoy a story for a story’s sake. You can’t eat cheeseburgers every day, but neither can you afford a 5-star dinner night after night.

After my mom passed away I decided a great way to spend the long bittersweet summer days was to lose myself in a good book – lighthearted chick lit or breezy paperbacks. But I forgot that even the most simplistic mind-numbing story arcs require conflict, loss, someone coming to town or someone leaving town. A surprise twist of the loss of a favorite character, or an unforeseen illness, or a person running away in the middle of a thunderstorm (a little heavy-handed, I think). Like the Western movie my dad likes to quote, a younger cowboy laments around the campfire “I just want a normal quiet life.” And the older, wiser Cowboy just replies, “there’s just life. Just life.”

I started to feel sorry for myself “Why can’t I just read a happy book?!” I deserved to escape for just a few minutes, maybe an hour. But I forgot that books are works of art, and art is supposed to touch on the deepest emotions of life – even poorly written books attempt to address what it means to be human. Even children’s literature, where happy endings are readily welcomed, the main characters are usually orphans (I’m looking at you Harry Potter).

Pity is very different from compassion. Pity is closely related to guilt, which proves useful if it moves you to action or to compassion, but soon proves useless if it’s sets up camp in your soul. When I practice self pity is tries to drown me in thinking about myself, and wallowing in what I’m missing. Compassion lets me sit through the uncomfortableness and acknowledge its presence and to set boundaries. Pity scrolls though pictures on Facebook on Mother’s Day, compassion goes for a walk and talks with a friend. So I have to tell myself “Don’t feel sorry for me, me!” (You talk to yourself too, I bet 😉

So extend compassion to those around you. Don’t judge a book by it’s cover, life circumstances, education level, style, or weight. We can’t all be a sleek e-reader, in fact, some of us feel like the musty hardback at the bottom of a soggy cardboard box at a yard sale with a 25 cent sticker. Sometimes I’ll catch myself scanning a crowd and thinking “I wouldn’t do that with my hair.” “No one else is wearing a skirt, why am I wearing one?” “Why are they walking/talking/acting like that?” I call it “middle school syndrome” where you are simultaneously judgmental and self-conscious. The worst part is, you’re only hurting yourself by entertaining snap judgements. I think it’s easiest to get caught in this trap of being self-conscious and pitying yourself when you’re going through a transition. Life’s all topsy-turvy so you want to complain. You feel like you have to find your identity all over again.

What if we threw more celebrations of life’s milestones instead of indulging in a pity party? I read an article talking about how we celebrate marriage anniversaries, but do you ever stop to celebrate being friends with someone for many years? I think that a good way to be thankful and to move away from focusing on yourself is to celebrate someone else. Lend a book to a friend and ask them what they thought. Give a compliment without expecting a “You too” in return. Send a text saying “Thank you” for many years of friendship that you might be taking for granted. Keep track of other people’s accomplishments like a Grandma bragging about her grandkids.

 

Off to read a book. Or an article. Or maybe the ingredient list on the back of a cereal box. Don’t judge me 😉

 

Katrina.