Elsa's Not the Only One who Needs to Let it Go

We've all been there – you make a decision, be it carefully considered or spur of the moment and it turns out to be the wrong one leaving you holding nothing but regret.  And the wish that life came with an ‘undo’ button.

It doesn't. Elsa could tell you that.

You know, Elsa from that little known movie (ha ha...) that every girl under the age of ten can quote from memory and every parent was regretting purchasing within days of buying it? (Just kidding, it’s an awesome movie! And I'm pretty sure I love it just as much as my two daughters – although I don’t go performing song and dance routines from it in the middle of otherwise silent blood test collection centres like they do...)

You can’t undo regrettable decisions, no matter how much you wish you could. But here’s what I learnt from Elsa –you can let it go and move on.

Of course, you could also spend the next few hours (days, years, the rest of your life...) beating yourself up about it and calling yourself every type of fool for making it – you totally have that right.

But you also have the freedom to let it go. Admit your mistake, learn the lesson for next time, and let it go. Stop holding on to what could have/should have/might have been, and move on to what is.

I lost count long ago of the number of times I've watched Frozen, and the song ‘Let it Go’ in particular (thank you YouTube!) but there’s one bit in particular that always strikes me as profound (okay, so there are a lot, but for the point of the exercise, we'll focus on one). It’s when Queen Elsa throws off that long, heavy purple cloak.

I know, I know, it’s symbolic of her throwing off the responsibility of royalty and all that goes with it but I wonder how much regret she let go with it. I’m sure the decision to play with Anna that fateful night as a child was a great one, but I’ll bet she regretted it plenty of times as she spent the next  however many years hiding behind closed doors in that lonely room of hers. And all that time she didn't get to spend with her sister growing up.

Maybe she regretted even putting on that purple cloak. Can you imagine how much trouble that long cloak would have been? I mean, it’s great for sitting on thrones and warming your toes maybe but dragging along in the snow like that? It would have been sodden (if not frozen solid) in no time, and quite potentially strangled her.

Kind of like regrets do.

As much as we like to harbour regret, cradling it as we remind ourselves over and over of our failures, doing so only strangles our future.

Let it go.

Mirrors are a Girl's Worst Friend (especially on Sundays)

I think uniforms should be compulsory – every day of the week. Especially for people like me who practically have a panic attack every morning when they realise they have to choose another outfit to wear (didn’t I just do that yesterday???). And especially on Sundays.

I don’t know for sure where it started or what the thinking behind it is but every Sunday as I dress for church, I feel this pressure to look good. ‘Sunday Best’, I believe it’s called. Suddenly outfits that were fine every other day aren’t nearly good enough. After all, this is church! Outfit after outfit gets thrown on the floor in frustration (and quickly put away, in case my husband happens to walk in and see how many I’ve tried on and laughs at me for being such a girl...!) as I look in the mirror and see all the reasons they’re not good enough.  Before long, I’m trying on things long discarded at the back of my wardrobe in the hope of finding ... something. Anything.

The thing that makes it worse is that I don’t even go to a ‘dressy’ church. Looking around, it’d be easy to believe most of the people there had stopped in at church on their way to the beach or an afternoon kicking the footy around with family. There’s everything from sparkly high heels and designer clothes to singlets, shorts and Spiderman suits. It’s awesome! I love it! And yet, still I feel this pressure – purely because it’s this thing called church.

Some weeks, it’s enough to make me not even want to go.

Maybe it started with people wanting to look their best for God, but for me, the ingrained idea of ‘Sunday Best’ has become a huge distraction from God. It’s ridiculous. Just imagine how much better prepared for worship I would be when I arrived at church if I spent the ten minutes ... ok, half an hour ... (fine! I’ll admit it! It might occasionally have been an hour...) reading my Bible or being thankful for all God has given me, rather than wasting so much time stressing about what I’m going to wear. Working on getting my heart right with him, rather than worrying over which earrings match. Earrings which will probably be hidden by my hair anyway.

Both the Teen Missions trips I went on as a teenager were short on mirrors. I don't think it was purposely (unlike many of the other strict rules they have!), just not a high priority in the Thai orphanage we stayed at, or in the middle of the Amazon jungle. And I loved it. I have never cared so little about my appearance, yet, looking back over the photos, I've also rarely looked happier. I was far more focused on God and what he was doing than what I looked like.

Now I'm not saying there's anything wrong with looking good. Far from it! Nor do I think that God doesn't care what we wear. I just think that I need to get my focus back onto what church is supposed to be about - God. Not me.

What if I looked in the mirror of my Bible, rather than the one in my bathroom? What if ‘church’ and the focus on God that I find so easily there began hours before the service?

It’s a challenge for me. Who knows? Maybe God’s challenging you too.

 

 

Watch out ... She's good!

Much as I love sport, I’ve never been particularly athletic. I do my best, train hard and am totally committed, but some people just aren’t sporty. Believe me, I’m the one who turned up to the softball tryouts in primary school only to – literally – have a room full of chatting students turn around and stare at me speechless for ten very long seconds before one bold person felt the need to point out to me that, “you do know this is softball, right, Hannah?” Um, yes.

I laughed it off awkwardly and somehow managed to lob a ball straight enough to make pitcher on the B Team. (I only found out at the first practice that I’d done tryouts with the catching glove on my wrong hand. Oops. See? Not sporty! Though I guess getting into a team using my non-preferred hand has got to count for something, right?)

I loved playing and training and being part of that softball team but I’m pretty sure I either struck out or got run out on my way to first base every time I batted – except once. And it was entirely the other team’s fault.

That particular day, as I was coming up to bat, I heard their pitcher yell out, “move out, move out everyone! This girl is good!” I laughed a little, figured they were kidding as my terrible reputation must have preceded me, and watched in absolute astonishment as the outfielders moved further out. I couldn’t believe they were actually serious!

Now, I’m fairly certain they had me mistaken with another girl on my team around about my height who actually could bat, but their belief that I was actually that good made me want to be. I stood there on that base, staring the pitcher down (hiding the amused smirk) and when that ball came toward me, I smashed it – all the way into the next field. It felt awesome! (Ok, so I’ll admit, my aim was tiny bit off and it ended up being a foul, but only slightly.) I had them totally convinced. I hit the next ball too and made it to first. I honestly don’t remember whether I made it home or not but I’ll never forget the thrill of that bat connecting so perfectly with the ball.

And all because that girl told everyone I was a batter to fear.

Words have power.

Believe in someone and they will become that person. Believe they’re good and they’ll live up to it. Unfortunately, the opposite is also true. You can bring them down with your words just as fast.

Whether they’re said jokingly, in the heat of a fight or with the best of intentions – words are powerful. They can instil with courage and make someone more than they are, or they can eat away bit by bit at someone’s confidence until they don’t even have the courage to stand.

Good or bad, truth or lies, tell someone something enough and they will believe it. But more than that, it will become part of who they are.

The mistaken words of a grade six girl I didn’t even know gave me the courage to be better than I was. For that moment, that ball, I was an amazing batter. And there have been so many others who have done the same at different points in my life – believing and seeing in me a strength I hadn’t yet seen and instilling in me the will to be that person they saw. I will forever remember those moments and the encouragement of those people.

But I will also remember, and often regret, those times I have lost faith in myself  because of the hurtful, disbelieving words others have said. Some of which, unfortunately, have taken years to recover from. If not for my faith in God and his belief in me, I wonder if I would have ever recovered from them. And those people who said them probably didn't even know they'd hurt me.

Your words have more power than you will ever know. Take care you use them well.

When God says Wait

I discovered something a couple of weeks ago. And it's this - my most productive writing is done between 10 and 11 at night. You might wonder how, after writing seriously for the past four years, I've only just discovered that. It's easy really - I'm usually asleep then. With two little kids who've only recently decided to sleep past 6am (yay for 'sleeping in'! An extra thirty minutes anyway...) and a disease which tends to make me pay for skimping on sleep, I'm usually in bed by 10pm. Until I realised that I could write 4 times as many words with far less effort at 10pm than I could at any other time during the day. And sleep much better because of it.

 

Whether it's the lack of distractions or the fact that my brain has already switched off for the night giving the characters free rein to do whatever they like, the words flow and I just write. It's easy. Effortless almost. It's like I'm watching a movie in my mind and I'm just writing what I see and hear.

And yet, I can sit for an hour during the day, even when my kids are asleep and there are no distractions, and force out a whole 300 words, most of which I end up rewriting (or deleting) later. I occasionally wonder why I bother...

Timing is everything.

I remember thinking the same thing so many times over the years as I’ve tried to make things happen instead of waiting for God. When I think he’s moving too slow or maybe I should help him along a bit – and all I get is tired, grumpy, and the feeling that I’ve been completely foolish. Again. Like when I decided to take it into my own hands to find myself a boyfriend rather than waiting for God. I won’t say God laughed at my pathetic attempts (because I’m sure he’s much too loving to do that!) but he would have been justified. I think it’s pretty funny myself ... now.

God’s timing is perfect.

We can spend years of our lives forcing things to happen, thinking God has forgotten us when all he's waiting for is the right time. When all the pieces he’s holding onto come together. I have this picture in my head of God as an artist, getting all the pieces ready for his masterpiece. Only they’re not all ready at the same time. One piece just needs cutting out, another painting. Another a coat of varnish after the paint. The first piece sits there, wondering why it’s taking so long. “I’m ready,” it thinks. It doesn’t realise that the one with the varnish still needs to dry before they can all be joined together in the great masterpiece.

Wait. And trust. God knows what he's doing.

I'm not saying we should always just be sitting around waiting for God to do what he's already asked of us, or that there aren't times when it's the right time despite being tough. I still sit down and write every day (ok, most days!) for an hour or so because I want to write a book. But I've learnt that that time during the day is better used editing, plotting, typing my handwritten notes, doing research or learning about writing rather than coming up with much. Then, late at night, I can just write.

Maybe that's part of the waiting on God's timing - the preparation bit. Being there, praying, learning, studying, allowing him to work in us, so that when the time is right, we will be ready.

If God's asking you to wait, or if he simply seems silent, then wait. Be patient. All the forcing of his plan will simply wear you out. When the time is right, God will bring it all together. Of that I have no doubt.

 

Ps. Tried cooking damper again today. New recipe, new disaster. I give in. Damper wins.

 

What's wrong with my Damper???

I like to think I’m pretty good at baking. At the very least, I really love it. Not cooking, mind you. When it comes to cooking, I’m a disaster. Just baking. You know – cakes, biscuits, confectionary, bread – that kind of thing.

But there’s one thing I’ve never succeeded in baking – damper. Oh, I can cook it okay on a bonfire, twisted around the end of a stick, but I can’t make it from scratch in the oven and I have no idea why. I follow the recipe. In fact, I’ve followed numerous recipes over the years, blaming the recipe each time it goes wrong.

One year it came out dry, the next year burnt around the edges and still uncooked in the middle. The one year I did get it to hold together, one bite told me it was inedible – too much flour, or milk, or salt, or ... um, something. I hid that one in a bag and took it all the way out to the wheelie bin, washing up and putting away all signs that it had even been attempted. Destroy the evidence, and all that.

I’ve finally realised that five different recipes can’t be wrong. Nope, it’s me. I can’t cook damper.

And why tell you my woeful tale? Because, of course, I learnt a lesson from said damper.

You see, my mum makes exceptionally good damper. Hers comes out of the oven smelling (and tasting) so tantalisingly good that it’s all gone before it even cools. Mine comes out looking and tasting like a brick. I doubt even crows would eat it.

The thing is, we use the same recipe. I know, hard to believe given the difference in results, but we do.

The same goes for our chocolate chip biscuit recipe and our choc fudge cake recipe. Yes, I can cook those (as can all the women in my family) but they all come out tasting different.  Six different people use the same recipe and have totally different tasting results. You’d think it was a completely different recipe we were all using.

I know, I said there was a lesson and here it is: God gives us all the same task – go and tell the world about Him – but the way we do that will look different to each of us.

Now, I’m not certain, since I’ve never checked for sure, but I’m guessing the difference in our results with the same recipe is because the females in my family all have very different temperaments. When it comes to baking, there’s the perfectionist, the experimenter, the ‘hmmm...that would definitely look better green ... or blue, or purple’, the follow the recipe (ish), and the ‘bake because people have to eat’... We’re all totally different, and maybe – just maybe – that’s why our results look so different.

God might have given us all the same task, but it’s going to look different to each one of us because He's made us all different to start with. Some will be boldly out there knocking on doors of strangers, others prayer walking while talking to no one. Some God might ask to spend years growing a relationship with someone before even mentioning Jesus’ name. Others will be talking about Him every chance they get. Some are up the front preaching to thousands. Others, telling a lonely person at school that they’re not alone.

Same task, different look.

And God needs them all.

Others might disagree, but I happen to think that I’m no less Australian because I can’t cook damper. And nor am I any less needed by God because my part in His Great Commission looks different to someone else’s.

Go out there and do what God’s calling you to do. And don’t worry if it looks different to the person beside you. Who knows? A few purple biscuits might be just what God needs to change someone’s life.

Happy Australia Day all!

 

 

Nike had it Right

I follow a lot of blogs. Mostly writers I like and publishers of their books but a few others as well. Without fail, the topic of every single one of them this week has been the New Year. Aspirations, dreams, reflections, prayers – they’re all there.

I laughed aloud when I read one this morning, not because it was funny but because it summed up my week so exactly.

‘I must have started this blog fifteen times. I’d write a word or a line, then delete it. All because I’m trying to think of something new and clever to say about the fact that we’re facing a new year.’

(Karen Ball, ‘Start the New Year Right’, The Steve Laube Agency Blog)

I knew just how she felt. I’ve been working on this particular post for the past two weeks. It started off as a Christmas reflection, turned into 2014 gratitude, then a celebration of the New Year, my thoughts on Fear v Faith... On a happy note, I now have five completed posts ready for, uh, sometime.

I realised this morning that I have to just sit down and write. Ignore the perfectionist inside me (which seems to only come out when I’m creating) and just write.

Just do it.

Whether I have the words or not.

Whether it comes out perfectly or not.

Whether it makes a profound difference in anyone’s life but mine or not.

Just write. Write because I committed to do it and because it’s good for me. And because it's my dream, and the only way I'll see it come true is to start.

Looking into 2015 for me is both incredibly exciting and utterly terrifying. I know there will be huge challenges because I’ve pretty much set myself up for that, but I’m also excited to see what God will do through it all. And I know he will work because I saw him do it in 2014 (and every year before that!). Over and over and over. Me flailing and Him faithful.

But I won’t see any of it if I sit and procrastinate. Come rain, come shine, come blank page before me – I will step out in faith and write.

So here’s my encouragement for you today – just do it. Stop thinking about how it will work, whether it will work, whether you’ll fail or fly or what the outcome will be and just step out in faith and do it.

Whatever it is you dream of – just do it!

 

 

Remembering Christmas

I absolutely LOVE Christmas! And no, I’m not ashamed of that in the slightest.

Yup, I’m one of those people who starts playing Christmas music long before December, delights in choosing and wrapping gifts, thinks fairy lights are one of the most beautiful inventions ever, wears jingly-bell earrings and gets super excited about days spent with family and friends.

Best. Time. Of. The. Year.

But also, unfortunately, one of the most stressful. Getting everything done on time, finding the perfect presents (at the perfect price), figuring out how to fit one more bowl of salad into the already stuffed full fridge – and how to fix the ‘roast’ chicken which is burnt on the outside but still raw in the middle because it didn’t defrost in time and the oven is temperamental at best...

This year, I had one more thing to add to my to-do list – teaching my four-year-old the real meaning of Christmas. It’s not that I haven’t in the past, just that she’s old enough this year to actually start to grasp it. I want her to know that Christmas is about giving, not receiving. Sharing, not clutching. Jesus’ birthday and God’s love, not Santa’s sleigh.

I planned and planned and researched and planned some more. I put together advent calendars and meaningful activities and searched (unsuccessfully) for mini candy canes so I could teach her about it being a J for Jesus with the red being his blood and white being us washed clean ...  and honestly? I stressed so much about getting that message across to her that I made myself sick. For a week. Which, of course, meant I got a week behind with the advent calendar and didn’t have the energy to do anything...

I realised as I sat in church one Sunday crying and feeling like an absolute failure as a Christian mother that I was so stressed about doing it all ‘right’ and teaching my daughter that I’d forgotten myself what Christmas was about.

Joy. Peace. Love. Family. Grace. Giving.

I had to stop trying and just be. Stop stressing and just show my daughter every day what Christmas was about. Teach her about gratitude as we decorated gingerbread together to give away. Let her help wrap presents for her cousins and make a special bracelet for her little sister. Watch Christmas lights together. Sit and enjoy time with family instead of rushing around making sure everything’s done. Answer her questions about what different carols she hears mean instead of brushing her aside because I’m trying to get the next activity planned.

Slow down. Relax. Show her what peace is. Let her see me giving, praying and sharing joy with others. Because, as God reminded me that day as I cried, she will learn far more from what she sees me do than anything I could ever tell her.

Even if it comes with a paper plate angel stamped with star shaped potato prints.

I challenge you this Christmas to slow down and remember why you’re celebrating. Take some time each day to not just get everything done but really focus on the One who made this season special.

And have a great Christmas J