Seek First the Kingdom

Several years ago I attended a scripture study about the Kingdom of God. This is one of my favorite topics (because who doesn’t love the idea of a kingdom) but its also one of the most elusive. Most of the times when I look up verses about the Kingdom of God, I read the words of Jesus that start with “The Kingdom of God is like…” It reminds me of Paul’s words about love in 1 Corinithians when he says: “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.” Its almost as though he can’t directly define love. All he can do is say, essentially, “I know it when I see it. Its like this and like that…”

Which is why I love reflecting on this moment several years ago when the Bible study leader asked us: “when’s a recent moment when you felt that you were participating in the kingdom of God?”

I knew my answer right away as I’d seen it in real time the weekend before. I had been working my job as a family services coordinator at Habitat for Humanity in Baltimore. We had just completed the rehabilitation of a row house not three blocks from the one my roommates and I were sharing just out of college. The homeowner I was working with was a single social worker who had adopted her twin daughters through the foster care system and was seeking a stable place in town to raise them.

As the build came to its completion and Ophelia prepared to purchase her home, the high school students that had banded together to help build the house arrived with their parents and dozens of other volunteers who had put in countless hours on this once abandoned house, making it whole and habitable again.

As Ophelia’s family and pastor gathered beside her to bless the home, I turned around and realized that this quiet city street had filled within the previous hour with cars and taxi cabs. There were a couple of BMW’s and a Mercedes as I recall (announcing the presence of the major donor’s who had been involved) alongside the pick up trucks and beater cars from our Americorp volunteers who worked for minimum wage during their service year to help transform these houses on Baltimore’s up and coming east side.

As the house dedication ceremony began, I saw volunteers and neighbors sitting up high, looking down, from the scaffolding across the street. Wealthy individuals in suits crowded the streets below alongside construction workers covered in dust. And lastly, there was Ophelia, the star of the hour, standing on her very own stoop with her two beautiful girls, smiling from ear to ear in front of a house that she had helped to build, enjoying every minute.

Gosh, if I’ve not said it here, let me say it now. Habitat for Humanity is my favorite charity. Hands down. I’ve never seen an organization so effectively bring together the wealthy, the poor, the skilled, the unskilled, democrats, republicans and everyone in between. That is to say, I’ve never seen an organization so effectively reflect the kingdom of God. I remember every aspect of that morning and it was some 15 years ago at this point.

Jesus has trouble defining the kingdom of God because it evades definition. Its mysterious, like love is mysterious. But I think we know it when we experience it, just as I did that morning when all of those people came together to help a woman raise her children in a stable place. Jesus tells us that the kingdom comes from humble beginnings like a seed, or a bit of yeast (Luke 13) that of their own merit don’t look or seem like much but that transform into a tree for the birds to sit in or a delicious loaf of sustaining bread when the work is done.

I’m thinking about this now as I consider what’s next in life. For me and for you. I’m sure, like me, you are wondering where the world is headed. Maybe, like me, your community has fallen apart. Maybe you’ve lost a job. Maybe the people you thought you could count on got caught up in the stressors of this experience and showed their true colors. Maybe you’re the one who’s changed…so much so that you need to leave a community or a friendship because its no longer healthy. If this is the case, I am so sorry. These are real losses and it can be destabilizing at best. Crushing at worst. I am with you in this as I am also in the swirl of all of this, wondering where the heck I am going to land.

Here’s the only thing that has gotten me through times like this. Christ’s words in Matthew 6:33: “seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”

What are “these things?” Its all that we’ve either lost or fear we will lose. What we will eat, what we will drink, what we will wear, what we have stored, what we have labored for, who we can count on…These are all legitimate things to want and as Jesus points out in the verses before the 33rd one in Matthew chapter 6, “your Heavenly Father knows that you need them.”

This is such calming news to me. I trust the Father. I have more reason to trust him than I ever have and that’s after two really devastating years. Because in all of that devastation I have not failed to have what I’ve truly needed: His provision and Fatherly care.

So how do we seek the kingdom? I don’t know what this looks like for you but for me it looks like seeking out the things that stir up my heart towards the fruit of the spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness. Friendship, family, time alone, time in nature, beautiful meals, beautiful spaces. A kingdom life post-apocalypse will look much like tending to the seeds that God and I have identified for future planting in the past and wondering if now is the time to put them in the ground. And really, I’m finding by the hour that the answer to this is “Yes. It’s time” Why wouldn’t we put them in the ground now? The field we had been tending has burned down and its time to start over.

One particular seed I am planting is starting a little instagram account called “Likeamother_interiors.” Check it out! I think the spaces we live in can nurture and invite kingdom-like life when we tend to them and so I want to connect with other folks who feel the same. I picked the title “Like a mother” because God is working something out in my spirit around the concepts of motherhood and distinctly feminine leadership that I want to spend time considering. Also, truthfully, there have been some days in this pandemic where I’ve wanted to shout “like a mother F$%*@!” At the top of my lungs because I’ve been so mad I can’t stand it. Pandemics make me mad. Injustice makes me angry. People behaving selfishly makes me want to scream. I believe this little account could be a healthy channel for some of those feelings as I look around at the space I am inhabiting right now and find that God has been in it the entire time.

So here’s our homework, as far as I can see it. Think of a time when you felt most alive. Think of a time when the flow of an experience was so profound that you forgot about yourself for a hot minute and were really in the moment. Now plant a seed from that experience and put it down in the new soil you find yourself standing on. Then, share what you’re doing with a friend. This is how we will start over. Small steps towards big trees and loaves of breads that sustain and provide rest for ourselves and for others at the same time. Isn’t that magnanimous? (My favorite vocabulary word this pandemic) Of course it is. I believe we can have more streets filled with rich and poor, skilled and unskilled. It appears Jesus thinks so too: “Seek first the kingdom of God and all this will be added unto you.”

Live Your Life and Live it Joyfully

Hi, there. Courtney here.

I’m pissed off.

Shall we take a deep breath together? Yes! Yes we shall.

Despite my concerns that I am turning into that dreaded “angry woman” that the world seems all so concerned about holding at bay, I must admit…that feels really good to say.

Its been two years since I was last able to write in this space. There are many interconnected reasons for that and they can all be summed up in the word “pandemic.” So much has happened, and NOT happened, in the two years since I last wrote here. I am grateful for some of it…I’ve learned alot. But if I am honest, I have spent most of the pandemic with a low grade simmer of anger in my soul over HOW all the people have reacted to this tragic, tragic time. I feel self righteous saying that. Its not as though I have handled each of these days with honor and courage. But there’s one thing I’ve just not been able to let go of in this entire season of death and peril. I’ve never been able to let go of the inkling that we could endure a difficult time with laughter and joy and hope for the future. Something in my soul just will not let this go. I believe we can live well in tragic times and I am pissed off that everywhere I turn we’ve succumbed to a spirit of doom and despair. I do not understand why the people I am most intertwined with, people of Faith, refuse to live lives of joy in the midst of all this difficulty. What other options do we have? Walking around in circles like children who “want to go on making mud pies in a slum because [they] cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea?” (C.S. Lewis, we thank you for your words)

Sometimes I wonder if I am just refusing to grieve. This is possible. I am trying to remember what it looks like to grieve well. In college it looked like a lot of time alone and a lot of decisions that didn’t make sense to others but that made a hell of a lot of sense to my inner being. I took really long drives in the best car that was ever made for a college student – my Dad’s handed down navy blue Isuzu Rodeo. I quit the rowing team. I rode a bicycle across the United States one summer, ocean to ocean. I spent a lot of time with a cute guy I’d met who was more bookish than anyone I had ever dated but somehow kept wiggling his way around the circles I spent my time with. I swear I looked at him the other day and thought: “we have two children together!” like this was the first time since that second kiddo came around that I’d actually noticed how things have changed.

Grieving won’t look like it did my junior and senior year of college, this time around. I can’t buy a $400 bicycle and take off for two and a half months like I did back then. But there can be similarities. I can follow my gut and do one small thing that feels right, and just for me, on a given day. I can carve out space with friends and that cute guy and we can walk the grieving road together. Back in college I remember attending (or not attending) parties because I felt like I was the only one in pain. This time will be different as now we’ve all experienced loss and we’re all trying to feel our way back to a stable center. We can grieve collectively. I have faith that will be really beautiful.

For now, I can’t stop thinking about a moment that happened in the late night hours of October 5, 2019, the day my mom passed away. It was about 8:00 and Andy and I had just walked in the door to my Dad and step mom’s place after a long day of saying goodbye at the hospital and gathering with family who’d driven south to support my sister and I when we asked the doctors to turn off the machines. I hugged my Dad and after sitting shell shocked for a time I asked him if I could take a bath in the giant tub in his master bathroom. The one with the jets that overlooks the lake in their backyard. “Of course” he said. “I’ll go up and get it going for you.”

I met him upstairs with my towel and shampoo with the tub half full of water. “I can’t seem to get the jets to work for some reason, Court.” He told me, apologetic. “I’ll have to figure that out later but at least you can have a warm soak. Take as much time as you need.” And with that he left the room and I hopped into the warm bubbly water, quickly drowning my body head to toe in water as it filled the tub. I’d come up for air and then soak back down again as I reviewed the shockingly final six weeks of mom’s life. Six weeks that changed so dramatically and so quickly I never could have imagined it unless it had really happened. I reviewed our collective response, my sister’s and mine, and I wondered if we did it well. Was there anything I could have done differently? Did I fly up at the right time? Should I have listened to the doctor after they put her on the ventilator and promised Mom I’d return? Did she know I was planning to come back for her? I had told her this…but did she know it? Could she hear the transitions of visitors we’d arranged who came to be with her while she slept and Kristin and I figured out how to manage our households from a distance before the next trip to the hospital?

These were the questions that I drowned up and down in that tub on the night she died until the most curious thing happened, 10 minutes in.

The bathtub jets started working. In an unexpected instant, everything around me roared to life. The bubble bath soap that dad put in before I got there met the power of the bath tub jets and within minutes I was sitting in a tub overflowing with bubbles around my face and arms and legs. Within a minute, after I got my bearings, I started laughing and couldn’t stop.

This is totally something my mother would have done to knock me out of a funk. I can still hear her telling me to leave my college dorm room and go out to the bar with my friends. She was the person who told me every summer vacation to stop reading books about injustice on death row in America and to pick up a “trashy romance novel, for God’s sake.” Mom was never one to sit around and sulk. Quite the opposite she had a literal pep in her step most days that the people who knew her were quite familiar with.

And so I feel like I had my marching orders, straight from Mom that night. “Do not sulk. Live. Live your life and live it joyfully. I’ll see you soon enough.”

If she were with me today I want to believe that she’d tell me to grieve but to grieve creatively. Go for a walk. Paint a room. Quit doing something you hate. Make a new friend. Cook something delicious with an old one. Write.

“Stop reading books about injustice on death row.”

Not because injustice on death row is not important but because it is a reality. Just like pandemics are a reality. And we should engage with these realities not to feed the little devils in our hearts that tell us to live in despair over our inability to affect change in such massive spaces but to inform how we should play our part in righting the wrongs.

Which brings me back to my initial point dear readers. I am pissed. Really, really pissed. Not because we’ve lived through a pandemic. Not because my parent passed away. I am pissed because we’ve all been content to sit around the slums that these experiences have created around us and have forgotten that we are called to a holiday at sea. I keep thinking that if I can see this on the day that a parent passes away than can’t we all can see this?

And so today, that’s my question…Can you?

The Arena of the Artistic

Several years ago, I had the opportunity to attend a salsa dancing class. I’ll admit that at the time, this “opportunity” felt more like an obligation. It was early in our years in Galveston and Andy and I were subletting a room in our “too large for one couple” rental home to a UTMB exchange student who had recently come to the United States from Poland. Ola wanted to learn everything she could about the United States and we took her along with us to the many places that we went and taught her the basics of life in our seaside town. Her English was pretty rusty and so we spent many afternoons with Ola’s Polish/English dictionary attempting to explain various items in a grocery store or the aspects of getting around. It didn’t take long for Ola to begin making her own friends at school and before we knew it, she was inviting us to activities that she had learned about too.

For weeks, Ola wanted to know if Andy and I would join her in Houston to learn Salsa. The classes were free at a Mexican restaurant in the city on Wednesday nights and Ola was desperate to try. At over an hour away in Houston traffic, I was less than thrilled with the idea of attending this class in the middle of the work week. After weeks of requests however I started to feel an obligation to give Ola the ride she needed to the class and so, on an evening where Andy had to study for a test, she and I headed north to Houston to learn how to salsa dance.

The class was well attended with 20 or so guys and gals ready to learn some beginning dance steps. Two professional male and female dance instructors lined us up on the dance floor in pairs and showed us the first simple steps. Without fail, over the next hour of practice, the instructors would stop us and remind us: “In dance, you must remember this: The man leads, the woman follows.” We would start again only to be stopped soon thereafter. “In dance, the man leads, the woman follows.” Then we would trade partners and start again. We ladies were assured again and again that we could lead in every other facet of human life, (and we absolutely SHOULD, we were told) but on the dance floor, the man leads and the woman follows or the dance doesn’t work.

They said this over and over again for an hour straight because its likely the hardest part of the entire dance. Learning to lead and learning how to follow. This is not necessarily intuitive when you’re trying to express art with your bodies and yet here we were regardless. If you want to learn to dance gracefully you have to learn this basic dance instruction first, regardless of the type of dance class you are practicing.

Midway through salsa class we all stopped to take a break for water and conversation. At this point I was happy to be there, despite general end of the work day weariness. I chatted with Ola and her dance partner and then grabbed some water and wandered to the corner of the dance floor to wait for class to resume. As I turned around, I’ll never forget what I saw I next. The music we’d danced to during class that night remained on and the instructors were using the time to practice their craft. I was stunned. I’m pretty sure my mouth hung wide open. This man and this woman were just so beautiful. I don’t know how else to describe it. The man was strong and confident and, quite frankly, so was the woman. He used his hands to guide their steps and she twirled and swayed with such authority that you wouldn’t have known who was leading and who was following. And I don’t know if it was the lighting or the music or just God turning the experiential volume all the way up but I swear to this day it was one of the loveliest (and dare I say sexiest?!) things I’ve ever seen to date. I just kind of wish you all could have been there to see it too. You would have been blown away.

Ola and I went home that night, tired and warm, inside and out, from a great time out in the city. And to this day, years later, I can’t help but shake what I saw. Two people submitted to their craft in different roles, making art for the world to enjoy.

I don’t really know what it was about that experience that struck so close to my heart that day. Or what to make of the fact that I can’t stop thinking about it to this day, years afterward. I think it was the confidence that both dancers displayed and the fact that I, as an onlooker, didn’t actually know who was “in charge.” Sure, those things were important when these two professionals first started out. Like us baby salsa dancers that night, they too needed to hear over and over again that “the man leads and the woman follows” or their dance career couldn’t move forward. But this couple had clearly moved beyond the basics of dance instruction. They were in the arena of the artistic, and everyone watching them knew it because what we were watching was beautiful.

So what does all this even mean and why can’t I get it off my mind in a time of such sorrow as 2020. I guess I just believe that we people with brains full of smarts and hearts full of desire (which is my audience of readers as I’ve known them to date, btw) are called to make art with the resources we’ve been given. The world is so polarized right now. We’re either pro abortion or anti abortion. We’re pro capitalism or pro socialism. We’re pro healthcare for all or we’re pro private insurance for the few who can afford it. God forbid we recognize that these problems are hardly ever clear cut. God forbid we lean in and ask for a healthy dose of nuance and creativity to solve our problems. It all makes me fear that we’re really more comfortable standing on the sideline attending a lecture about salsa dance or viewing a slideshow of people dancing than we are with strapping on our shoes to give the dance a try for ourselves.

But maybe that’s really the case. Maybe we really are just afraid. If I put on those lenses, things start to make perfect sense. Life is scary and if historically we’ve taken the dance floor only to be laughed at or told we’re too fat/short/skinny/lanky/ugly (insert your own shame story here) to dance then who wouldn’t remain seated and want more information before sticking out their necks. I totally get it and I’d be lying if those things haven’t taken me off the dance floor before too. The hecklers on the sidelines are loud and sometimes its just too hard to hear the music.

I guess in the end though, if we can’t hear the music than we just have to move closer to the speakers. I don’t have the energy to compare myself to others any more. Nor do I want to make a habit of comparing you and your story to mine any more either, so help me God. I really just want to know what it feels like to dance in a way that feels beautiful. And at some point, I happen to know, I’ll get tired of dancing on my own. I like to dance not because I want to know who’s in charge or who needs to follow me but because, dammit, dancing is really just SO. MUCH. FUN. Right?! Of course I’m right. You know it, I know it, everybody knows it. Ha!

Its Election day in America and that reality is not insignificant. Leadership matters. The last four years have proved that to be true and I have a certain preference for how this election turns out, thank you very much. But when I wake up tomorrow (or later this week?) and find out who my president is, my plans will not really change all that much. The Lord has given me a body to take care of, a marriage to build up, a family to serve and a community to love with the gifts he’s given me to use and I’m prepared to follow His lead as we step out on the dance floor for the next four years and beyond.

He’s so supremely confident, our God is. He knows exactly what he’s doing. I just really hope my feet can keep up. And I hope you will join us out on the dance floor too. The music here is kickin’ and the people who’ve dropped their guard with me are the most enjoyable and interesting people you’d ever want to meet. We’re in the arena of the artistic and while we don’t always know the next right moves we’re committed to figuring it out with the help of each other and our instructor. I sure hope you’ll join us.

Life is too short to listen to lectures about dance. And looking at photos of other people having fun gets old after a while too. If we’ll be honest with ourselves for once we’ll realize that we all want to lead lives of significance and deep joy. And those things happen in the sweat filled, people packed, awkward but ridiculously fun-filled dance halls in cities and communities across the country. So put your shoes on. Or if you’re like me, take them off! However you show up just show up. Its just really not much of a party unless you show up.

Keep it Together

Keep it Together

By: Courtney Beck

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How do we keep it together

When the ones we love go missing?

Their physical presence, surely.

But mostly, I’m afraid,

the idea of those we love.

.

What do we do when those go

in the ground too

and we’re tired

and alone

and out of ideas…

.

.

.

.

Hey! I have an idea.

Let’s take this table

stacked high with plans and papers

Let’s flip the whole thing over

Like a god-damn savior, in a temple

Let’s be confident and full of fury

Let’s start to deconstruct

.

I’ll snap pictures as the pieces fall

You’ll expose the film

We can work, together, to determine what to keep

Because I can’t keep it together anymore

And you aren’t keeping it together anymore

.

But I can sound the alarm for our Help

You can offer cover from the smoke

We can drop to the floor with our plans

and crawl out to the tree for safe keeping

.

The flames will die eventually

The smoke will clear eventually

I want you to hold my hand

I want to remember what we’ve loved

.

Because I cannot keep it together

And you cannot keep it together

But Maybe, together,

we can see what’s worth

keeping together.

Running Under Water

running shoes

Dear friends,

I miss you. I miss talking to you. Writing to you. Having a moment even to THINK about you and the things we’ve enjoyed discussing here. There’s just no way around it as I type these words.

This pandemic – and all the things that led up to it and all the things that are exposed by it -its all so hard. We are such vulnerable people, are we not?

Recently, I heard a quote from a book that is just the little granule of light and life and wisdom that I want to push forward into the world today. And, I’ll be frank here, every day of my whole entire life.

In An Altar in the World, Barbara Brown Taylor says this:

“One night when my whole heart was open to hearing from God and what I was supposed to do with my life.”

God said, ‘anything that pleases you.’ 

‘What?’ I said, resorting to words again. ‘What kind of an answer is that?

‘Do anything that pleases you,’ the voice in my head said again, ‘and belong to Me.’

Friends, I honestly think this is what I was put on this earth to hear. And then to share.

I told a friend recently, that if I were to die tomorrow, I would want it to be said that Courtney “went after what she wanted.” And I think she knew what I was saying. I think she knows me well enough to know that what I want had surely better be wrapped up in capital “J” Joy or I’m not interested. Joy, in my experience, is a settled and confident delight. Joy is worth fighting for every time. And joy, at least for me, is grounded in the love of a whole-hearted parent or spouse who understands his beloved from the inside out enough to say: “Go do what you feel led to do. Just stay connected to me while you do it.”

There’s a part of me that grows irritated as I consider these things during a worldwide pandemic. I know in my bones that this way of living is what we were created for, and yet so much of the living of it feels like trying to run underwater in these difficult days. Every single thing is difficult. No tiny thing is easy. What gives?

I don’t really have any good answers right now other than an inkling somewhere up in the foggy distance that there are people in the world right now who don’t understand what its like to truly belong, to God or to people. And they don’t understand what its like to belong because its taken a pandemic to realize that they’ve lived among people their entire lives and are suddenly unbearably alone and unknown. Its the kind of alone that can happen in a room full of people. The kind of alone that only God can expose (now, at large, through a pandemic) and that only God can start to fix (through his extraordinary means of grace).

So, while I don’t really have any choice, I do think this makes all this running underwater a potentially valuable strength building exercise for me, and perhaps most importantly, for my community. Maybe we’re just building the strength to hope. Maybe we’re just building the strength to trust this difficult process. And maybe we’re just building the strength and muscle that we’ll need when this crisis finally passes over us and we can start to build our communities back up again. Maybe this time it will be a little more joyful and a little more communal. Maybe this time we’ll know what its like to belong to God and to each other. Maybe this time we truly will be able to do what pleases us with full confidence and great delight because we will belong to the Lord and each other so fully that we won’t have to suspect each other any more. We can just live freely, together, in pursuit of the good things God wants to show us.

Maybe this is all a little naive and its likely good and proper to remain realistic.  But I don’t think I’m aiming for utopia. I understand our human condition a little too well at this point to shoot for that. I think its just that I happen to know what pleases me and what it feels like, if only in moments and brief seasons of my life, to belong to Him. And what compassionate person wouldn’t want that for her neighbors if they could have it too in this difficult and lonely year?

So each morning this fall, I’ll put on my shoes and my suit and wade into the proverbial pool for the workout this season requires. I don’t really get it. I thought we were ready to fly in 2020, I really did. There have been times, and there will be more, when I’ve wanted to pull the plug on this whole endeavor. But God has other plans and I’m willing to stay in the gym if it means we can throw a few more friends into this boat we’re building at the end. I don’t really know what its going to look like when we’re done. I’ll just hold onto the hope that its what we would have wanted if we’d known we could have had it this way in the first place.

Be well,

Courtney

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poetry: This Easter Pilgrim’s Prayer

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This Easter Pilgrim’s Prayer

By: Courtney Beck

 

To the Lord of the life I’ve always wanted:

On our walk to the empty school last week

I passed the oak tree the workers had cut down

the week before. We watched them do it

my kids and I. We had hurried quickly by in

fact, to avoid the noise of the chainsaws and the

cars that distracted us from Springtime pinks and greens

we felt sure would unfold before us, just for us.

 

We hustled to the abandoned school

But the workers were there too, cutting

the grass in perfect lines that would, for a minute,

absorb my daughter’s heart as she sang to the

walls and the bees and her baby brother.

And for that minute we were all so blissfully

unaware of that oak tree up the road,

cut to the root for no apparent reason

but that it’s life was in the way of someone’s progress.

 

Our apartment is too cramped and the school,

we now know, is too empty and so

I’m left wondering how you intend to help us?

The children are clamoring, the chainsaw’s roared to life

and we lie down like dead oak trees with the sap

dripping down the record of our endurance.

We wait in dimmed and depressed concern for that

life we’ve always wanted

but found cut down, cut back and left for dead.

 

It must rise from the earth someway, somehow

like the Springtime, just for us.

And also for these children at this

empty school who would surely sing about the trees

if they came to life before their very eyes.

If they came to life despite us.

If they came to life like a miracle,

just for us.

Whats Saving Your Life Right Now?

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Greetings All!

I hope everyone is muddling through alright in these crazy times…One of my favorite Christian podcasters is the hilarious Jen Hatmaker, who quotes Barbara Brown Taylor at the end of each of her interviews with the following question: “What’s saving your life right now?”

As I attempt to find a few spare brain cells amidst the chaos that is two children under 4 amidst a pandemic (WHY?!), I wanted to share some resources that have “saved my life” in the past as I’ve dealt with anxiety. These are anxious times and I think its a rare person that doesn’t need some additional support to make it through. Here are some helpful resources!

Mindfulness Resources:

Mindfulness is a trend that I think should stick around for the foreseeable future. These practices help us to stay in the present moment with our thoughts rather than race ahead to an unforeseeable future.

Sarah Bessey’s “Breath” Prayers – prayer can be a mindful experience. I appreciate Sarah Bessey’s take on this.

The Headspace App – This Phone app saved my life a few years ago, when I had a job that I felt I could not handle. Every day at lunch I would do my 10 minutes of mindfulness and it would help me get centered again for the second half of the day. I still just use the free trial version and find it so centering.

Counseling Resource:

One of my mother’s wisest sayings sticks with me to this day: “Don’t be cheap with your mental health.” I think this is one of my top five lessons from my mom and I pass that along to you in the form of a connection to my personal counselor, Janice McWilliams. Janice has offered herself as a resource to my readers in the form of “virtual counseling” if you live in the Maryland area. If you DO NOT live in the Maryland area, you can reach out to her for a one on one virtual “anxiety assessment” OR you can purchase her new course that she has just released TODAY that will help you specifically manage anxiety during this pandemic. Y’all, Janice is the best. Reach out to her if you need a partner or download her course.

Spiritual Resources: 

Sunday Services: The Village Church of East Atlanta (my home church) is doing a virtual Sunday service each week during the pandemic. We “attended” last Sunday morning from the comfort of our home and found it quite edifying. All are welcome this Sunday morning! Just log in here from your couch.

Sermons worth Listening to: There are dozens of pastors out there that will be helpful to you in your journey. I think though that in a time like this, you cannot go wrong with Pastor Tim Keller from New York City. Many of his sermons are posted on his podcast page located here.  I like to listen to sermons when I’m doing chores around the house and I think you will find Keller’s teaching insightful, encouraging and enlightening. Have a listen! It’s like listening to a wise grandfather speak directly to your heart.

Bible Study: I have been studying the book of Isaiah for lent, and I am amazed at how incredibly timely this has been. If you are the “studious” type, I’d highly recommend Ray Ortlund’s study of the book. It can be a bit heady but I have found it quite instructive for this Pandemic!

Book Study: Last year my friend Heather and I studied the book of Jeremiah, thanks to a book entitled “Run with the Horses” by Eugene Peterson. Frankly, any book by Peterson is a gem, but I REALLY enjoyed this one. It was an engaging read that explained the book of Jeremiah well for people who are not theologians. That would be most of us. Highly recommend!

These are the things that are coming to mind this lovely Friday. I hope you find them helpful. So, what’s saving MY life right now? Well, at this very moment, my husband is. He’s attempting to work from home with our two children while I sit in our empty church office and write to you fine people. Truthfully, we are exhausted by the needs of our tiny people right now and we are doing our best to handle this thing well. There’s just no getting around the difficulty though.

Additionally, though, what’s often saved my life is a statement that Janice shared with me eons ago that I come back to again and again: “It takes a 100,000 mindful moments to create a new neural pathway in the brain.”

Folks, our brains and our societies have tread some strange ground in recent decades. We have become more like widget counting robots than the creative humans we were meant to be. I think the pains we are enduring now are opportunities to tread some NEW ground. It’s taken 100,000 tiny acts of faith for me to trust that God knows what he’s doing. Its taken 100,000 breath prayers for me to not panic at every possible assault to a peaceful mind. Its taken 100,000 podcasted sermons for me to form a knowledge base for the way God works in the world and with his people. And its taken 100,000 Sunday services for me to realize that the people of God are my people and the house of God is where I will find the strength to do what the Lord has called me to do.

The actions we take over and over again create pathways for change. What are the things you can be doing with your heart, mind and body, over and over again, to create changes that bring you and the world some joy? Let’s start creating environments of spiritual, mental and physical health, even in our quarantined spaces. 100,000 moments from now, we may turn around and realize that we are different than we were before.

With love,
Courtney

How We Can Navigate a Pandemic…

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I believe it was Anne Lammott who wrote a story about a friend of hers who rented a cabin to complete some time sensitive work. As I recall, her friend was a single mother to a young son at the time and she believed that by renting this space in the mountains for a few weeks, she could work, while her son (who as I recall was less than 2) slept at nap times and in the evening.

One afternoon during this small family’s time away, Anne’s friend put her child down for a nap in the cabin’s one bedroom and set herself up to complete some work. Unfortunately, as children often do, the child awoke from his nap and went to open the door only to accidentally lock himself in the bedroom from the inside where he had been sleeping.

The son started to turn the knob this way and that such that Anne’s friend, hearing it jingle from her work space in the other room, went to go see what was going on. At two years old, the little boy did not really know how he’d locked himself in. The mother, realizing suddenly what had happened, started, calmly at first, to tell her son that it was ok. She tried explaining to him how to turn the lock on the door knob. This, as you can imagine, was ineffective. Two year olds don’t follow directions. They run on pure emotion and have a limited vocabulary.

The situation unraveled from there. The little boy got more and more panic stricken and started to scream and cry for his mothers help. The mother became frantic herself on behalf of her terrified boy and ran for the phone only to find that she could not get through to anyone for help. Either the lines were down or no one would pick up the phone. The mom went back and forth between the phone and her now screaming son behind the bedroom door, as she tried to yell louder than his screams to assure him that he would be ok just as soon as she could figure out how to get to him.

I do not remember how the mother eventually got access to her child. What I remember from the story is this: in her moment of panic, the only thing this mama could think to do was to put her fingers under the door as an offering of touch for her terrified boy. At some point, the child became aware of his mama’s fingers in the crack between the bottom of the door and the floor and he put his tiny fingers under the door too. In this instant of brief touch, the boy began to finally hear his mama’s voice of reassurance that she would get him out, and the little boy calmed down.

My friends.

This is us.

We do not know how the Lord will get us out of this pandemic and its after effects. We do not know how he will open this door that is closing in on our faces, and making us feel so alone. But, I swear on my mothers literal grave, that his fingers are under the door. His voice is on the other side, and his plan is unfolding on our behalf.

Listen for his voice.

Reach out and feel his touch, even if all you’ve got are the tips of your fingers touching the tips of His.

The point is that He is there, and he WILL help us. We must only learn, in our season of trial, however it unfolds, that he’s the only one we ever actually wanted in the first place.

With so much love,

and a commitment to write and encourage as the Lord will allow in this season,

Courtney

 

The Household of Cosmic Trust

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The Household of Cosmic Trust

By: Courtney Beck

 

Oh

My

Soul.

 

What if I told you, that you could be free.

What if I told you that the doorways of pain

and the doorways of delight

over whose thresholds you have shimmied

and squeezed these last dozen years

have ushered you, quite capably, to this specific place:

 

your household of cosmic trust.

 

Here you stand naked, its true.

Yet somehow you are clothed, in comprehensible power.

In this place, the forces of despair

and the forces of delight

lie impotent and incapable of anything but a nudge,

in the direction of the One that you now know

you’ve always wanted.

 

Oh

My

Soul.

 

What if I told you that the only thing

that needs doing is to

trust the process of your unmaking,

open the door

and be free.

 

A Particular Faithfulness

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Something I’ve noticed about small kids: They operate in the particular.

On an evening last week, Andy arrived home and asked Ellie to get involved in the clean up of her toys. He had promised to take her out for dinner but our place was a disaster and we had some time before they had to leave. So he kept saying over and over again:

“We have to clean up or we won’t get to go out to eat.”

Ellie wasn’t picking up on what we were after. She’d say, “OK! I want to go out to eat” and then a few minutes later as we were all jumping into our respective chores I’d notice that she would get distracted. She’d move a toy from one side of the rug to the other. At times, she’d scatter objects around, making the situation worse. She didn’t seem to understand that the clean up process starts with putting one toy back where it belongs, and then following that up with another one, until all the pieces are put away.

I’m thinking about this very concept as I consider 2019. Or maybe I’m just asking for this small situation to shed some light on a really, really difficult year.

On January 1st, 2019, I was clear on my marching orders for the months ahead. God had thrown the word “faithful” in blaring lights on our path and I felt, albeit cautiously, that I knew what he meant. I wanted to believe that he was saying HE was faithful. That we hadn’t gone down this road for nothing. So beginning in January I forced myself to sing songs about faith and faithfulness, while heading into the new year with a timid and uncertain excitement.  I could feel there was something off about my interpretation, but I didn’t know what that was. Maybe if I sang about God’s faithfulness long enough, we could finally get to the things that I’ve really wanted in life.

This is kind of ridiculous in hindsight. I’ve never really believed in a God that caved to my every whim when I wanted it. I don’t think I could trust such a deity and frankly, most days I don’t really know the particularities of what I really want anyway. Which is why he has used the particular moments of this year to turn this call to faithfulness back around as our year has come to a close.

In February, we welcomed our son into the world. His birth story had its own challenges but his arrival was right on time and just as joyous as I remembered with our daughter. What a gift. He was seven pounds, seven ounces and has been such a fun kid to get to know. As wonderful as those first few weeks were, it didn’t take long for the hormones to settle down and the sleepless nights to follow along. Things get particular pretty quickly when an infant and his toddler big sister have continual and immediate needs for their sleep deprived parents.

We were just coming out of a summertime funk related to the stretching of our parenting muscles when my mom called to tell me she would be admitted to the hospital with pneumonia. Within two weeks her treatments would fail to stop pneumonia’s progression into her other lung. A few hurried round trips to Virginia and back had Andy, my sister and me sitting with her doctor for a very tearful conversation about the death process. What a complete and unexpected shock. We would now be required to help her home. What an ultimate particularity.

I don’t know that I have many developed thoughts on the death of my mother at the age of 64. I know that I wish she could have spent Christmas with us as she had planned. I know that on most afternoons I want to Facetime with her and the kids. I hadn’t realized that this was a common ritual of ours until I couldn’t do it anymore. She always had something up her sleeve for her grandkids, even if only an afternoon chat over the phone. I know that I cried through the Sound of Music while watching it with Ellie over Christmas break. We watched Maria sing on the hilltops of Austria over and over again as children. It reminds me so much of that beautiful season between two kids and their beloved Mom.

I suppose I am learning about the particulars of a loss. They are not insignificant.

As 2019 comes to a close I consider the word “faithful” and realize that it has not so much been a word about the Lord as it has been a call to me. To keep my eye on the prize in and through the particularities of my life. We are called to this because we follow a God who is already faithful. The scriptures tell us it is his nature and my experience shows me this too. And so we clean diapers at 2AM and clean the dishes for the thousandth time because we are committed to the story that God is telling through and around those very things.

Last week, with frustration building around the ambiguous “clean-up process” that was unfolding in our home, I pulled up next to Ellie who was getting frustrated too.

“Lets put the Legos in the box,” I suggested, and she began to finally engage.

“Lets put these books in the basket,” I said next.

Soon, she got the hang of what we were asking for and with a job well done she, Andy, and Ethan headed out for Atlanta’s finest chicken nugget and waffle fry dinner.

We are a generation of people that want big things: Justice, Community, Peace, Joy. It appears these things start with a commitment to follow a faithful God in the particular paths he has prepared for us. What a great reminder that he can and he will show us the way forward. I don’t know about you all but I have big hopes for this next decade. Can we hope for the “Roaring ’20s?” I think so! If the 2010s taught me anything its that we can avoid getting blown off course by keeping an eye on the map, or tending to a busted sail. Let’s keep alert. Let’s stay attentive:

“He who calls [us] is faithful; he will surely do it.”

1 Thessalonians 5:24