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Holy Grief and Thanksgiving

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for Dave

I’m in my pantry, door closed, sitting in the dark, the glow of the computer screen illuminating the mason jar full of strawberry smoothie next to me. I like to close the blinds when I write. I like to create a cocoon of dim light because it helps me focus on what I want to say. Snowy days are the best writing days. But the sun is out today and I am much too sorrowful for the sun. The blinds won’t even do. So here I am in my windowless pantry because what I have to write feels much too sacred to have out in the light of day yet.

Grief is a terrible thing. What I didn’t know until today though, is that grief is also a holy thing. 

When deep sorrow comes knocking it always seems a little unfair, doesn’t it? Even though we know there is sorrow in this life. Even though we have always understood we will have to say goodbye, it still seems wildly unfair when it comes time to actually bear it ourselves.

Our family is being put through the ringer of grief right now. It’s potent—in the air. It’s uncomfortable at best, twistingly painful at worst. Each day is tinged with pain. And it feels like it will go on and on forever and never stop. Will we ever not be sad again? That becomes the question. 

I have a sign up in my house in anticipation for Thanksgiving. It reads “In All Things Give Thanks.” 

The other morning, after a night of fervent praying and overwhelm at everything going on and not knowing what I could or should do, I woke up and remembered the verse I memorized five years prior: “be joyful always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances, for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus” (1 Thesselonians 5:16-18). I decided when I don’t know what to do, this is what I will do.  

Thanks is a hard thing to give when we are in such deep grief. I’m supposed to give THANKS? Of all things, THANKS? It’s like this song that comes on the Christian radio station sometimes. 

So I’m thankful for the scars

‘Cause without them I wouldn’t know Your heart

And I know they’ll always tell of who You are

So forever I am thankful for the scars

Jeremy hates it. He’s always shouting “you are not thankful for your scars! You don’t say ‘thank you God for allowing this horrible thing to happen because now I know God better. That’s not the point.’” 

It’s true. The thanks is meant for God for being who He says He is in the midst of what will leave a scar. Our savior. Always near. Who will never leave us. Who will always, always work even the most bleak circumstances, for our good. Who makes beauty from ashes. Who binds up the brokenhearted. Our thanks is to Him *for* Him. That even in this, He is here at work binding up hearts. Comforting. Offering lavish displays of mercy. We shouldn’t give thanks to our pain just because there are silver linings. Rather, our thanks demonstrates that we acknowledge that even though we may not feel grateful for much in the midst of pain, we will choose to be thankful for who He is and trust Him to do what He says He will do—even in this. We will trust we are not alone. That all will be well. That we are held. The thanks is a proclamation of faith. And it’s for our own good or He wouldn’t tell us this is what He wants us to do “always”

While I’m talking about songs, you know that old one “It Is Well With My Soul?” 

When peace like a river attendeth my way

when sorrows like sea billows roll;

whatever my lot, thou has taught me to say

it is well, it is well

with my soul

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,

Let this blest assurance control,

That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,

And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

It was written by Horatio Spafford after his four daughters died when their ship sunk in 1873. After, as he himself sailed near where his daughters had died he penned the lyrics. In immense grief he said “thou has taught me to say, it is well with my soul.”

Somehow his soul could find respite, even in the face of this. That’s what great faith produces. There’s something about grief that pushes us deeper and deeper toward the heart of God. Not that we want the pain in order to get there, or that pain is necessary to the process—it’s not, but we find that in grief He fulfills His promise that he will make beauty from ashes. One of the ways he accomplishes this is when you find you grief pushing you further and further to Him. It’s a natural process. Our dependence grows as our independence and what we have control over fades away and what feels like a curse paves a way to be held and safe. He says “if you are in pain I will be near you and I will lead you closer and closer into faith and belief and comfort. He says “it’s okay, you can trust me. Whatever it is, you can trust me.”

Notice trust doesn’t promise a certain desired outcome but instead gives you a way through, come what may…come what may. 

It seems I am always asking “how does God exist in this?” My question is never does God actually exist?  I am never trying to suss out whether or not He is there. I am trying to determine how he is there—when he doesn’t provide the miracle for the people we love. How is He existing in the midst of that? And what will I do with myself then?

When CS Lewis’ wife was dying he wrote, “Not that I am (I think) in much danger of ceasing to believe in God. The real danger is of coming to believe such dreadful things about Him. The conclusion I dread is not “So there’s no God after all,” but “So this is what God’s really like. Deceive yourself no longer.”

He goes on, “Feelings, and feelings, and feelings. Let me try thinking instead. From the rational point of view, what new factor has her death introduced into the problem of the universe? What grounds has it given me for doubting all that I believe? I knew already that these things, and worse, happened daily. I would have said that I had taken them into account. I had been warned—I had warned myself—not to reckon on worldly happiness. We were even promised sufferings. They were part of the program. We were even told, ‘Blessed are they that mourn,’ and I accepted it. I’ve got nothing that I hadn’t bargained for. Of course it is different when the thing happens to oneself, not to others, and in reality, not in imagination.”

I read verses like “And I will do what ever you ask in my name” and “do not fear” and I wonder if some of us interpret this as a direct promise from God that all will be well. I’ve been a part of circles where the thinking is “God will make everything okay if we just believe enough.”

But we are never promised a certain outcome. We are promised that come what may, He is faithful, will wipe every tear, fight for us, and take care of us. He is not telling us do not fear because nothing bad will happen. He is saying don’t let your heart be troubled, come what may—this is how I want you to be. This is how you can live and find joy. This is how you move forward. Come ever back to me. I am where your help comes from. Before I came, death got the ultimate ending, but then I came and now death has lost it’s sting. 

Come what may. Come what may.

This is faith. This is knowing God. 

I still don’t know Him as well as I’d like. This is why I often get scared and then I have to remember how He is and what I am promised. I have to remember I am His. I have to remember that when people I love leave this world earlier than should be allowed, I am only a mere blink behind. Even if I live to a ripe old age, I am only 50-60 years behind. We are all going to the same place.  And if heaven is here and now and all around then it just like that Henry Scott-Holland quote: 

“Death is nothing at all. 

It does not count. 

I have only slipped away into the next room. 

Nothing has happened. 

Everything remains exactly as it was. 

I am I, and you are you, 

and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. 

Whatever we were to each other, that we are still… 

Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? 

I am but waiting for you, for an interval, 

somewhere very near, 

just round the corner. 

All is well. 

Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost. 

One brief moment and all will be as it was before. 

How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!”

 I may not know God as well as I’d like, but I am letting my pain push me further into the heart of who He is so I can be changed. So I can know how to be. So I can live and love and hope and not be in fear. So I can one day say “it is well with my soul” and really mean it.

For now, I practice returning back to Him. Again and again. As many times as it takes. Praying continually. Remembering where my help comes from. And giving thanks…not for the scar, but for who He is amid the scars and how He loves.

How he loves us. 

At the end of time it will be you and God. That’s it. That’s all that will matter. 

(The next few paragraphs I’ll be quoting  or summarizing from: http://kenpulsmusic.com/pilgrimsprogress131.html) 

In John Bunyans classic Pillgram’s Progress, The pilgrims realize that death is unavoidable. As they enter the river, which symbolizes the crossing over from life to death to life again, they are encouraged and accompanied by the Shining Ones. The allegory shows that the Shining Ones represent God’s work of grace in heart. And God send them to guide pilgrims in the final steps of the journey. The Shining Ones tell the pilgrims that the river will be shallow or deep depending on their faith. As the pilgrims enter the water, we see that they all experience death differently. Christian, the main character, is in great turmoil. His pride has long been his greatest obstacle, and even in death, his thoughts are of himself. He remembers his sins and ponders his failings. He begins to sink and cry out in distress. He quotes David in the bible: Deep calls unto deep at the noise of Your waterfalls; All Your waves and billows have gone over me.Save me, O God!

Death is a great trial. Doubts that he believed were long past, flood his soul again. Fear engulfs him. He fears he will never make it to heaven. The enemy’s he faced in life now return and seek to pull him under. This is Christians experience. 

But Hopeful, who is with him, is full of hope. He finds the river much shallower and unlike Christian, walks across with firm footing. He keeps his head above the waves and sees heaven on the other side when Christian is unable. It is God’s kindness that Christian and Hopeful walk together. Hopeful’s thoughts are of Christ. Even in death, Hopeful points his brother to the Savior and the promise of eternal life. Hopeful tells Christian that the trial he is facing in death is an indication of God’s grace at work. Christian is concerned for his soul, distressed by his doubts, and troubled by his sin. 

Every true pilgrim who sets out for Heaven will complete the journey. God will do everything necessary to bring us home to glory. 

“Being confident of this very thing, that He who begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ” Philippians 1:6.

But our awareness of His grace as we near the end of life and experience death will be strengthened or weakened by our faith, as we “believe in the King of the place.” We must exercise our faith now. We must learn to walk by faith, not by sight, and be grateful for every circumstance and providence that keeps us pointed to Christ and oriented toward eternity. This requires a radical shift in our thinking…What this world most prizes—status, privilege, wealth, youth and vigor—are things that bind us to this life. Sadly, they can prevent us from looking to Christ and yearning for the life to come. But what the world most fears—hardship, illness, poverty, old age and frailty—are things that cause us to grow weary of this life. Thankfully, they can serve us, if they teach us to value Christ and yearn more for the life to come.

Those most at home in this world will have the hardest time leaving it. It is difficult to face death when you are clinging tenaciously to the world. Those least encumbered by the world will have an easier time leaving it. When we realize that Christ and His promises—which for now are unseen (seen only with the eyes of faith)—are more real and more valuable than anything the world can offer, then we can greet death not as an enemy but as an entrance to glory.”

Until recently I have been at home in this world. I would have a hard time leaving it. Like Kara Tippets once said while in hospice “I feel like I’m a little girl at a party  whose dad’s asking her to leave early. And I’m throwing a fit. I’m not afraid of dying. I just don’t want to go.”

I don’t want to go. I don’t want anyone to go. And of course, my own fear drifts back to me. Do I believe enough? Am I earnestly trying to know God enough so that I can walk the river like Hopeful? I want to be like Hopeful. I fear I am much more like Christian, but I want to be like Hopeful. I will spend the rest of my time here tying to be Hopeful. Trying to trust. Trying to fear not. And I think this is why God designed grief to naturally point us back to Himself. Because he is the one who saves. He is the one who can save us from ourselves and our fear–if we let Him. That’s what free will is. We have to let Him. You have to say you want Him to.

Fear not, for I have redeemed you; 

I have called you by name, you are mine.

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;

and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you ;

when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,

and the flame shall not consume you

—Isaish 43:1-2

I vividly remember the day Jeremy told me about the Pilgrims Progress river story. I hadn’t read it but I was scared about dying. He said “you know, I don’t think there is any point at which the lights go out. There is no darkness. It’s a crossing over. In Pilgrims Progress Christian has to walk across a river to get to heavens side and he panics as the water rises up over his head but he keeps walking and right at the deepest part his head starts to reemerge and he can breathe again. He has not lost consciousness—he’s just gone from one consciousness to another. He is in heaven. He has crossed over, without any lapse in time. He was at one moment here and the next there. Nothing to it.”

My family is being put through the ringer right now. And despite my most sincere efforts, I cannot do anything about it. I have tried and there is absolutely nothing I can do but sit in my tears and uncertainty while trying to remember God’s promises that He will be near. And so I will continue with my instructions: be joyful always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances, for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus.

I will give thanks to God for who He is in this. And I will pray continually. 

The River Prayer, from Pilgrims Progress:

Lord, we pray for those now crossing

Through the River, death’s cold tide.

Help them through its flowing current,

Bring them safe on Canaan’s side.

We are all going to the same place. We are all coming. We’ll be there in but a blink.

I love you.

Find What’s Useful For You. A Life Lesson

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I know. It’s been…a while. 

And do you know why?

I’m writing a book. Cough! Let me rephrase that. I’m trying to write a book. It’s going to hell in a hand basket and everything I write sucks and it’s terrible—or—awesomely amazing, it’s really coming together, miracle of miracles, I have written good things.

All depends on the day.  

And I haven’t written here because everything I write is potentially book material and also because I don’t think anyone actually reads this blog. Except my sisters. And Gretchen. And Jeremy. And Craig. 

Hi Sisters!

Hi Gretchen!

Hi Husband!

Hi Craig!

I appreciate your support. It makes me feel loved.

Anyway enough about my insecurity. How are you?

You can’t answer so imma just go ahead and talk about me some more. Good? Good.

Here’s the haps: It’s snowing today. My son just came into the kitchen where I’m sitting writing this and Jeremy is typing up the highlights of The Divine Conspiracy, one of his favorite books. 

“Ugh, the snow” Jeremiah says.

“you don’t like the snow?” Jeremy asks

He shakes his head, sullen.

“Jeremiah, it snows here a lot. You know, the better thing would be to figure out the gifts in the snow. Like, figure out what you like about it or what it offers you so you can look forward to that thing when it starts to snow.”

“Yeah” Jeremy says “I’m sitting here relaxing because it’s snowing. It makes me feel like I just want to be at home and have some down time instead of going somewhere. I like that.”

I’ve been learning how to figure out the gifts of the less than desireable lately. 

My favorite author in the whole wide world, Glennon Doyle, announced the title of her new book a few days ago. 

UNTAMED

On the back cover? 

“What would you do if you trusted yourself?”

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Best because omg I love her and everything she writes and admittedly have an unnatural affinity for her. Worst of times because although I still have no real idea about what my book is about (it keeps changing), I do know a huge theme is trusting myself. I actually have written the words “I think I just needed to learn that I could trust myself enough to know how to take care of me.” And then once, when outlining what my book might be about I wrote “a memoir about learning to trust God, learning to trust myself, and how the two commingle . It’s a combination of dealing with faith and doubt and listening to myself. When I wasn’t sure what lessons I’d learned I’d ask myself “what did learning to trust God and myself teach me about faith and doubt?” And “how did I become who I’m capable of being through these things? How did I learn to trust?”

The answer would be the big idea of your story.

I did not answer what the big idea of my story was, by the way. Because from the time I wrote that to now, it’s evolved. My book is not really that so much anymore. It’s dang close, but I don’t think the God piece is so prevalent. Not because I don’t want Him to be! Just because it’s not the way it’s shaping up. I think maybe my book is about my mid-life crisis instead. How when I got pregnant with Ellie, I was sent into a panic about her going to school and feared my purpose (as a stay-at-home-mom) was running out with my role. This prompted me to ask a bunch of panicky questions like who am I? What can I do in the world? WILL I HAVE TO GET A JOB AT STARBUCKS?! Or maybe my book is about being a Housewife and roles. I don’t know. It’s also about getting an autoimmune disease and what that meant—how I’d have to heal myself in ALL the ways. I’d have to learn to feed myself well and move my body more and…and…and…It’s probably little bit of all of that but I don’t know the label under which all of that fits.

I DON’T KNOW OKAY? 

Diary Of An Overdramatic Hot Mess, maybe?

Just kidding, that’s a stupidly generic title. And too self deprecating. I had a REAL crisis, ya’ll!

The point is, trusting myself is the ONLY thing that I know about my book. And then my hero wrote a book about learning to trust yourself. It hurt a little because I knew that’s how I was going to feel when I read what she had to say about something I’ve been trying to articulate for three years to no avail (yet) and then blew whatever I had to say out of the water—hurt.

How can I be so sure of this? Because pretty much everything the woman has written blows everything I’ve ever read out of the water. 

Heres the thing about this though. In the writing world this whole “she wrote my book before I could get done” is a bizarrely common phenomenon. I’ve read many authors accounts about how the very book they were writing was written faster by another renowned author. Nothing new under the sun and all that. The lesson is always the same: there’s room for everybody at the table. We need your voice. We need their voice. Keep writing.

Still, I felt like I was just drafted to the junior high basketball team when I learn Kobe Bryant is coming to play with us. Like…do they even need me? Do I just quit now?  I can’t imagine I’ll add any value after he steps on the court.

Vulnerable, I decided I needed to send out a little SOS email to my editor, Kelly. I don’t ever write to Kelly about personal matters. I pay her to edit my work. She is not a therapist. She owes me no free advice. But I wrote her because being a writer herself, she was one of the only people I knew who would understand and because I kept getting this nudge–tell Kelly, tell Kelly. 

As I told you, I’m learning to trust myself?

So I sent it. I ended with this question: “today I fear somebody already wrote my book better than I can. That’s not true, right?”

 Then I went to lunch with my sister and told her this whole story. 

“I know it’s not true” I say to her “but I feel like my book has no place now. She’s going to do it better.”

“Unless you’re a doubter, a worrier, a nail biter, an apologizer, a re-thinker. Then Memoir may not be your play pen. That’s the quality I found most consistently in those life story writers I’ve met. Truth is not their enemy, it’s the banister they grab for while feeling around on the dark cellar stairs. It’s the solution.” —Mary Karr

So you see, all this self-doubt and worrying makes me a legitimate candidate for the line of work I’m in. 

Funny thing is, after the initial disappointment, all the worry suddenly propelled me to articulate what I needed to say and get it down on the page before Glennon’s book gets released into the world. The threat of her doing it better than me prompted me to ask “what am I worried she’s going to say better than me?” which allowed me to actually know what I wanted to say. You’d think a writer would know what they want to say, but you’d be wrong.

In one day I re-wrote two chapters and then a new prospective intro. (I say “prospective” because I’ve written what I thought were three separate intros before realizing they were all chapters instead–THE INSANITY!)

What surprised me the most was after I’d written the prospective intro I woke up the next day and read my words and…here’s the crazy part…still felt like they were true.

Here is what I wrote:

“Let me tell you about the women who interest me. 

They are the ones who aren’t afraid.

of aging

of their bodies

of feeding themselves

of what they want

of becoming more

Let me tell you about the women who interest me. 

They are the ones who know love.

of God

of family

of self

of neighbors 

of the unloveable.

They know that beauty isn’t found in the reflection of a mirror but in the reflection of a life. 

They know the wisest guidance is not out there, but inside.

Let me tell you about the women who interest me.

They do the work they were born to do the way they were born to do it. 

They let themselves be human.

They know to see the unseen

They know how to be.

They know. They know. They know.

Those are the women who interest me. 

And I want to be one.”

I don’t know if this is what my book is about but I know that the gift of disappointment pushed me to write true things with urgency.

A few days after I’d found new wind in my writing sails, Kelly wrote me back. 

She said that she acknowledges that sometimes what God does “for” us actually looks and feels like getting pushed out of a tree.

“I’ll tell you something I know for sure” she writes, “Glennon Doyle can’t write Krysta MacGray’s book. Only you are having Krysta MacGray’s journey. And there really isn’t anything more special about her OR her writing than there is about you and yours. I promise. Pinky swear.

My best advice is to find what’s useful for you here. This really feels like some kind of gift in disguise to me. Feel the feels. But when you’re ready, be willing to poke through the ashes of your worry/disappointment and look for that little sparkly gem that’s hiding there.”

Don’t you just wish you knew Kelly?!

I mean.

Sometimes what God does “for” us actually looks and feels like getting pushed out of a tree.

Sometimes it looks like the threat of your hero outdoing you. Sometimes it looks like self-doubt, or fear the the unknown.

My best advice is to find what’s useful for you here, she’d written.

I can’t change what Glennon’s book is about. I can’t change what mine will be about (because it’s my story). What I can do is find the gift in the uncertainty and doubt.

Find the gifts. Find the way. 

Otherwise, it can just look like a bleak struggle. 

When disappointment comes a knocking, look for the sparkly little gems hidden there.

I want to be a woman who knows these things.

On Bolognese and Italy

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I’ve prepared more than I thought I would for my trip to Italy. We are going in April and I admittedly bought a black versatile going out to dinner dress, three going out to dinner blouses, a going out to dinner jacket, sandals that will be comfortable for walking but also dress up a jean skirt, and two new pairs of jeans. I scheduled a facial three days before I leave. I will definitely get a manicure. I think I am just excited to go.

I have wanted to go Italy my whole life and I would like to feel good while visiting. It’s as if every day I’m there feels like it will be a momentous occasion. The way I’d plan for a big, high falutin’ black tie event is the same way I plan for my lifelong anticipated trip to Italy, it turns out. At the same time, I have a real desire to not over pack. I want to choose a “color palette” and this is not a sentence I ever thought I’d write since I’m more of a “eh–lets just wing it, it’ll be fine” kind of girl, but the thing is, I don’t want to have to pack too many shoes. The more colors and styles of clothing you have, the more shoes you need, so wanting to pack minimally requires MORE planning, not less. I find this annoying. To have my clothing choices be effortless, I have to put in a lot of planning up front. I’m judging myself for it, but it just is what it is at this point.

My sister went to Paris last year. She wore things there she doesn’t wear here. Black lace tights, red peplum skirts with a cream lace top and moto boots with buckles. I laughed about it. Why don’t you just go to Paris and look the way you look? I said. Why dress in Paris costumes?

Pot calling.

It’s not like I never buy new things for vacation. I almost always do. A new swim suit and cover-up for Anguilla. It’s just that mostly, I keep it to a minimum. Who am I when I get to go to Italy? Apparently the kind of nutcase that buys a whole new wardrobe and schedules facials before the flight. 

I’m regretting not booking more days in Rome. Too many people who’s opinion I respect, when they find out I’m going to Italy, have said “I loved Rome. Oh my gosh, you are going to love Rome!” Where were they when I was planning my trip? I had read that Rome was a dirty city and to not expect much magic there. To instead spend more time in Tuscany or Amalfi. So that’s what I scheduled. I will only be in Rome for a day and a half and regret is settling in hard core. But then again, how could I regret spending time in Italy, *anywhere?* You need to know who the type of people are leaving reviews. You cannot just decide because Harry and Martha and Leo from Michigan didn’t love Rome, that you won’t either. What if they are all uninteresting people who don’t find the majesty in the juxtaposition of a busy, modern city set in a landscape from a time gone by? That there could be a cafe with yeah, maybe some pigeons and trash  out front BUT also a stone pilar that looks like it was part of a building that got destroyed in 800AD, you know? I wonder about these things. Or what if the people who all said “stay in Amalfi” were too fancy for me? What if they were the people who dress in Gucci from head to toe and someone I wouldn’t ever take advice from anyway? My guess is I’m going to hopelessly love all of Italy. That I won’t fancy one thing over another but inhale it all like dessert—chocolate cake, donuts, hazelnut gelato, cream puffs, fig, chocolate and marscapone bread pudding—because how can you compare which is better? It just depends on your taste. And I never met a dessert I didn’t like. I’m already lusting over all I’ll miss in the North. Genoa, Bologna, Venice. 

My PT Ray, is half Italian with a penchant for Chianti’s. His family lives in north east Italy, right on the border of Austria, and he grew up visiting them. He also told me he makes a fantastic bolognese sauce. How do you make it, I asked? With very, very finely diced carrots, celery and onions. I don’t like a chunky bolognese and so it’s crucial you get the vegetables small enough. I use pancetta and bison instead of beef, red wine, cream, and a smooth tomato puree. Again, I like my bolognese smooth instead of chunky. You add  everything little by little and let it all simmer together until it’s rich and thick. He made sure to tell me that people from Bologna will tell you never to use cream—only milk. But he does it anyway because it’s just too outrageously good, he tells me.

Milk or cream, I didn’t care. All I knew was I got really hungry for Bolognese sauce. So I ran straight to the store and bought all the ingredients for it. I don’t have his recipe, but he told me enough. If I google the way Marcella Hazan makes it, I should be in business, I figure.

I’m going to make the tastiest bolognese sauce known to man, I thought, very pleased with my decision. I even bought real spaghetti pasta to layer below. Usually I make a quicker style bolognese for topping spaghetti squash with, but that will never do today. I’ve always fancied chunkier style sauces, but the way Ray describes meticulously chopping everything finely makes me hungry for a smoother sauce. I bought tomato puree instead of plum tomatoes for crushing between my fingers.

I’m excited about my tripe and the anticipation is building.

But I’m not leaving yet, and so I’m still in prep mode. So tonight I will render the fat from pancetta and add vegetables and wine and tomatoes and beef before simmering it away until it’s a tender, thick, succulent puddle of red. I shan’t forget the nutmeg. And then we’ll feast. 

If I’m going to over-prepare for Italy, I figure, I better include lots of feasting. 

6oz pancetta, chopped

2 large carrots, mined

3 large celery stalks, minced

1 yellow onion, minced

3 tablespoons butter

2 lbs ground beef or beef and pork combo

salt

pepper

1/8 tsp nutmeg

1/2 cup milk

1/2 cup heavy cream

2 cups white wine

1 28-oz can tomato puree (or 28-oz whole plum tomatoes w/ their juice and crush tomatoes through your hands before adding them into the sauce)

parmigiana reggiano for topping

buttered spaghetti for serving

Brown the pancetta with a little olive oil in the bottom of a heavy pot over medium high heat. Add butter, onion, celery and carrot. Cook about 5 minutes. Add ground beef, salt and pepper and crumble with your wooden spoon and cook on medium high until cooked. Add milk and cream and simmer until almost evaporated. Add wine and let it simmer until it has almost evaporated. Add tomatoes and nutmeg and another sprinkle of salt. Bring to a boil then turn the heat down to a low simmer and cook, uncovered for 3 hours, stiring occasionally. If sauce begins to dry out (fat will separate from meat), stir in a bit of water and keep cooking. Make sure all your water has evaporated before tasting for salt and adding more if needed (pro tip: it probably needs it) and serving. Serve over buttered pasta. Please butter it. Don’t be embarrassing.

PS- This is why I wrestle fiercely with editing. When writing, you are “supposed” to pick a subject and then write about that and nothing else so you don’t distract from the thing you are talking about. In this case, bolognese sauce and Italy. But then I go into over-preparing for my upcoming trip and then tell you a little ditty about my sister and how I’m a hypocrite and I thought “Krysta, you need to cut this part out, or just mention it briefly” but I just didn’t want to. Additionally, this PS address should be edited out as well. But you know what I love? Nuanced, rambley writing that leads you someplace by way of somewhere else—the long, scenic way. I like things layered and simmered and rich, like bolognese (see what I did there?)

One Reason Non-Disciplined People Resist Doing The Things We Know We Should

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I’ll save you the 19 minute story if you prefer, and let you know that the reason we resist disciplining ourselves in a daily, ongoing fashion is because we KNOW when we start, there’s no stopping. You are either on the road of a disciplined person, or you hop off. We know it’s better to be on it, but it just seems like a lot of work, you know? Deciding to discipline ourselves in a specific, focused area each day is like opening Pandora’s box to all the other things we could be disciplining ourselves in to make our life more functional. It’s like our subconscious recognizes what we are doing and gets all up in our face about the OTHER things we could be doing and it doesn’t end. A choice has to be made. For a long while, I’d choose the disciplined road only half the time—but only if it had a specific time period attached to it. In other words, I was fine disciplining myself if whatever I was doing had an end date and I could go back to my normal way of life. I dabbled in discipline. I didn’t continue to lead a disciplined lifestyle.

This doesn’t work for the long term. Not to get where you really want to go anyway. Steven Pressfield describes this as the pro mindset versus the amateur mindset. “The amateur is in it for fun. A dabbler. A weekend warrior. The amateur has the option to back down when faced with difficulties. But the professional gets up every morning and does the work. They take days off only in an effort to come back stronger next time. When the pro hits adversity, they simply rally. If a pro is hurt, they play hurt. It’s a whole different mindset. Turning pro changes what time we go to bed and what time we get up. it changes how we organize our day. It changes what we read and what we feed our bodies. The amateur tweets, the pro works.”

So when I discuss why deciding to discipline myself to work out every day was important to me, it’s for that reason. I know shying away from fully committing to a goal, taking days off and making excuses makes me an amateur. I know I need to think of myself as a pro. For so long I told myself I didn’t really NEED to because if I wanted to be pro I knew I could, anytime I chose…I just really didn’t need to go “all the way” yet. I was good enough.

But what starts to happen though is you feel like you’re not living up to your potential. I knew I had all this talent and drive and gumption inside of me, but I didn’t know what to do with it and so I always felt like I was trying really hard but getting zero results. Because in the end, talent does matter as much as self-discipline, self-motivation, self-validation, and self-reinforcement. Because we can’t control our talent. We can only control how hard we work.

So in this video, I just talk about what that feels like for me and what other work I need to do. I also sing a little ditty in the beginning, so if you want to laugh at me, be my guest.

Happy Weekend, everybody!

Xoxo (becuase it was just Valentines Day)

Krysta

Conversations with Jeremy: Physical Discipline

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Oh heyyy, look at me! I worked out…again.


Scene: Jeremy and I are in the kitchen after eating a delicious dinner of taco bowls. 

Krysta: I have a real question for you, but you can’t laugh

Jeremy: I might. If it’s a dumb question, I might. I’m an INTJ and that’s what we do, so prepare yourself for that.

He’s joking, kind of. He’s not rude, but since his personality profile describes him as “the most strategically capable” he does find certain questions amusing and often asks “how do people survive in this world?” when they ask them. 

Krysta: I signed up for a month long booty and ab challenge with Betty Rocker. She’s this workout guru in Denver…anyway, each day I get a new 30-minute workout video sent to my email. Every day. Like, EVERY DAY, except weekends because you have to have rest days but still, Monday through Friday I have committed to work out for a whole month. 

I have his attention. This is new territory for me. For the past three years I had weight trained for 45 minutes consistently 2 days per week with a little 4-minute high intensity tabata or HIIT session at the end. There was usually another day or two during the week when I’d hike or walk or jog as well but not quickly and nothing else.

Getting to this point, my friends, was a huge deal for me. I had gone from dabbling in a yoga or zumba class a couple times a year to a consistent 2-3 day per week workout without too much struggle. In my mind, I was already slaying.

Krysta: And Jeremy? These are high intensity workouts. It’s jumping cardio stuff in-between challenging deliberate body quivering things like planks. What I’m trying to convey is that it’s uncomfortable for me. I don’t like to work that hard when I work out. I like keeping a nice pace hiking, or gassing it on a jog for a bit before coming back to a comfortable pace and mostly, I do all these things so I can listen to podcasts and music and get lost in my thoughts. That’s what make physical activity enjoyable for me. But just working hard the whole time is not enjoyable for me. It’s hard and I don’t like what I’ve signed up for. 

Jeremy: yeah, you don’t like to feeling physically uncomfortable.

Krysta: Right. I discipline myself in other areas, but I always let myself off the hook when it comes to pushing myself  physically. I quit a workout early or skip days because I can’t remember what the huge deal is in completing it if I’ve done “enough” already. I don’t ever feel bad about cutting workouts short or skipping days if I’ve already given a solid effort and done more than I would have. I actually believe it’s not that important to finish so long as I keep doing good enough. I don’t know why. Being alright with good enough is healthy many times but when it comes to the subject of discipline, not so much. I recognize I haven’t put my hand to the fire in this specific area. That’s why I signed up but I’m scared because I know there will be many days I don’t want to do it. So my question is what should I do to make myself do the workout when I don’t want to do it? 

I’m asking Jeremy because he is the most physically disciplined person I know. He races mountain bikes and is always going on training rides when he doesn’t feel like it, when he doesn’t have time, when it’s -1 outside, you name it. 

Jeremy: Well, discipline is doing what you want to do when you don’t want to do it. In order to motivate yourself, I think you need an activity you love. Or at least an end goal. I make myself go on all my rides because eventually I have a race to compete in. Theres a race goal.

Krysta: Yeah, I don’t have a goal outside of just feeling like I should.

He lifts up a magazine. The picture is of a guy mountain biking through rough terrain by a lake. “Well it helps to be doing something you theoretically like doing even when you don’t want to do it. That activity for me right now is mountain biking. I love the sport but I don’t always want to go on rides. See this picture right here though? It makes me want to ride. I see this and I imagine biking through this place and instantly I want to get on my bike and go. Do any activities make you feel like that? 

Krysta: I know what you are talking about but I feel that way  about writing and cooking and a few other things. Sometimes I’ll read something that’s so inspiring I literally have to stop everything I am doing and write down my thoughts about it. Or sometimes I’ll come across an idea for an interesting recipe and I’m already half way to the store to pick up the ingredients to make it immediately. Never though, do I experience that in the exercise realm. I enjoy hiking or running on occasion if it’s not too hard and I can listen to podcasts and get lost in thought but—I don’t experience that with any challenging physical activities. Ever. And I could be wrong but I really doubt I ever will.

We live in a small town. There is no Soul Cycle here.

Jeremy: You liked skate skiing though?

Krysta: I enjoy it, but I’m not jonesing to get out and do it again or anything. I’ll go and enjoy what I can but after a while it’s sort of like, okay enough.

Jeremy: You know, every morning I come down and read  books for my quiet time but I don’t particularly enjoy it. I do it because I know the tremendous value of reading and the things I learn by doing it and so it’s kind of like a discipline for me each day.”

I gasped. 

“You don’t like…READING?!?”

I’ve been married to the man for fifteen years, and he reads every morning. We have rows and rows of books on our bookshelf that he’s read. He has never said this before.

Jeremy: I mean I do for a little while, but I burn out pretty quickly. I don’t want to keep doing it. I mostly discipline myself to do it each day, which is why some of my quiet time’s are shorter than others and maybe that’s what physical activity will be like for you. A discipline you can enjoy the benefits of but not something your all hung-ho to do over and over again everyday.

This for me, ladies an gentlemen, was like an Oprah A-ha moment. The second he said it something clicked together in my brain that hadn’t come together before.

THAT’S IT! I thought. That’s exactly the way I need to think about my workouts. Maybe it’s okay that I don’t get fired up all the time to be active. Maybe nothing is wrong with me. Maybe it’s okay that I don’t like to do it the whole time. When it comes to food that’s not our favorite we always tell our kids “you know, you don’t have to like it to eat it.” We do this because we know the value of eating something less than enjoyable and we take nutrient intake seriously.

Of course, there are also many enjoyable aspects to making a choice to workout daily. I feel energized and happy after a challenging workout. I feel proud of myself and inspired about life, about projects, about everything afterwards. This also leads me to make better food choices naturally because I WANT to. I don’t feel like burgers after I workout. I feel like salads with chicken and sprouts or smoothies with protein, greens, berries and avocado. This sets me up for the next meal and the next and it snowballs. I sleep better when I workout. I feel like connecting with people or slaying everything on my to do list with enthusiasm after I work out. I feel capable in all respects after a workout. I may not particularly enjoy the 30 minutes that I’m working hard but it’s thirty minutes. I can do anything for thirty minutes. Thirty minutes is nothing, really. It could be so much worse. It could be a 90 minute yoga class.

Maybe it’s okay that workouts don’t beckon and interest me like they do other people. Maybe other people don’t get pulled to the page to express themselves creatively like I do, or inspired to the kitchen to try a new recipe either. I’ve often been told it’s lucky that I like to cook since I have to do it anyway each day. 

I’ve always thought people who like to work out are lucky since it’s something that we are supposed to do everyday. 

I’d never considered that those work-out enthusiasts had to perhaps discipline themselves in the kitchen or another area that I’m much more inclined. 

My friend Ailini likes to clean. Serious. She LIKES it because it makes her feel calm. I’ve always thought that was lucky since again, it’s something we all have to do anyway. So I thought I’d try thinking of working out as something I had to do to—same as laundry or dishes or any other of the mundane tasks I loathe but regularly do because I have to. 

I guess this is what fitness people mean when they say “make workouts non-negotiable” but for whatever reason I never understood it that way. I never understood it to mean to make it something you have to do in order to keep your very life running. If I didn’t do the dishes, I could get away with it for a day or so but before long we would run out of forks. 

What the hell is it with missing forks anyway? Never the spoons, always the forks. 

The point is I would HAVE to do the dishes in order to move my life forward. It wouldn’t matter if I didn’t feel like it. I would have to stop whatever more enjoyable thing I was doing and wash the dishes already so that I could then eat dinner without issue. What if I approached it that way? I could get behind that.

Maybe it all just evens out in the end. Some necessary things are easy for us, and some necessary things are hard for us, and there’s a huge space in between that we feel sort of indifferent about, but disciplining ourselves to do what we ought, regardless of how we feel brings tremendous value, regardless. 

I’m lucky that the two areas I feel most inspired about is cooking and creative expression, mostly of the written sort. At first I de-valued the creative expression one. I mean, people don’t have to express themselves creatively. However, the discipline of writing teaches you many valuable things that make life easy in other areas. I was at a talk last week for Jordan Petersons Book 12 Rules For Life and he reminded me that the act of writing and editing teaches you how to think. This bleeds into all areas of life. Writers get to think about things more thoughtfully and carefully than the average person has time for. This is an advantage and a luxury.

All is not lost. We are all lucky. Bonus points if what you like has to be done daily, but even if it doesn’t every noble and creative thing has value and place.

I’ll see you in the gym tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that because I’m going to look at it as something the whole rest of my life depends on me to do in order to function well. After my month is up, I’ll have disciplined myself into a spot that’ll allow me to think only working out four days a week is luxuriant. But I just might keep going with this whole five days a week regime because it makes so much sense to me now and really, it’s 30 minutes. I think I used to think a workout = an hour minimum, but a workout could mean 15 minutes. It adds up if done daily and I think that’s what I’m sold on. The daily aspect.

I don’t have to love it to do it. What a revelation. I just have to do it regardless of how I feel, baring injury or sickness. It’s so simple. You do that in enough areas of your life and that’s what success is born of. It’s easy to do what you want to do. It takes someone with strength of mind to do what they don’t want, for their own good. 

That’s what I’m learning anyway.

I think this is especially true regarding physical challenges which require an output on your part. It’s not like I hadn’t had physical challenges before. I voluntarily chose drug-free natural childbirth—twice. I can withstand suffering. But to produce my own suffering voluntarily, over and over again is another story. 

But I guess it’s what I’m doing for the next month. I wonder what’ll be next? I mean, I’m only on day 3 and I’m already so sore I can’t bend down to pick up my dogs or walk down the stairs but you know, I think it will get better. It’ll get better. It’s got to get better.


Two Songs for Christmas

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I think Just Breathe was intended to be a song about somebody you love dying. But I sing Pearl Jam’s Just Breathe, to God. Because it’s all my fears, prayers, and all I could ever ask Him, in one song.

Yes I understand that every life must end, uh huh

As I sit alone I know someday we must go, uh-huh

Oh, I’m a lucky man to count on both hands the ones I love. Some folks just have one, yeah others they got none. Uh-huh.

Stay with me. Let’s just breathe.

Practiced are my sins, never gonna let me win, uh huh.

Under everything, just another human being, uh-huh.

Yeah I don’t want to hurt, there’s so much in this world to make me bleed.

Stay with me. You’re all see. 

Did I say that I need you? 

Did I say that I want you? 

For if I didn’t I’m a fool you see, no one knows this more than me, as I come clean.

I wonder every day As I look upon your face, uh-huh. Everything you gave and nothing you wouldn’t take, uh-huh. 

Nothing you would take. Everything you gave…

Did I say that I need you? 

Did I say that I want you?

For if I didn’t I’m a fool you see, no one knows this more than me, as I come clean.

Nothing you would take everything you gave. 

Hold me till I die.

Meet you on the other side…

Christmas is the season of perpetual hope. A thrill of hope, as O Holy Night reminds me, as the weary world rejoices.

I am the weary world. My hope is that Jesus came so that He might accompany me in my weariness, lighten the load with his presence should I have Him, and take me to Him and Love along with all the people I cherish and hold dear when someday it’s my time to go. 

A thrill of hope.

Oh Holy night, the stars are brightly shining. It is the night of our dear saviors birth. Long lay the world in sin and error pining, till he appeared and the soul felt it’s worth. 

My soul doesn’t always feel it’s worth. I question things a lot. I’d like to think God is okay with this because this is how he made me, but sometimes I wonder, does he think it’s okay? Does my questioning bring me nearer to Him or further away? At what point does it matter?  

 For yonder breaks a new a glorious mourn.

Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angle voices. Oh night divine.

Nat King Cole beseeches me to hear. To fall on my knees and to declare the night divine. To feel the sheer thrill of it. That we might not have to be alone with our suffering without end.

The night of our dear Saviors birth.  

I had a big ole Christmas party last Friday night. Many people came. We ate, drank and were merry. I celebrated many friends and health and happiness. I went to sleep in a warm bed, woke up to warm food, and basked in the warmth of my family. 

Yeah I’m a lucky man to count on both hands the one’s I love.

Then the restlessness started to creep back.  My constant companion as of late. Now what? it says. The party is done. What will you plan next? And it knows I must plan something next, or else the restlessness. The feeling of doing nothing, contributing nothing, being nothing and even more so, having no work to do that’s of any value—being a waste of space. Even though I am loved. Even though I love. Even though I am happy, I feel like I am not living up to my potential. That I am not doing the work I am meant to do. Not living my purpose. Not even knowing what it is. That I’m wasting my days, not taking time seriously, and what if when the “one day I must go” comes and I’m still living this way and haven’t figured it out? The regret. The sadness. And so I regularly lament in the midst of my lovely, wonderful life. 

It’s a strange thing. A waste of a lovely, wonderful life in a way. How ironic. Why not just enjoy my life?

Because something inside me prompts me to more. Prompts is a bad word. Invites. Something invites me to more. The “more” isn’t inherently bad, it simply keeps whispering that there is more than just enjoying your life. That maybe even just enjoying your life leaves you the most hollowed out and alone because there is good and useful work for me to do that merely enjoying doesn’t give. That maybe even just enjoying betrays. But “more” won’t say what that work is–not specifically. So I spend my days searching for it. 

Maybe it’s THIS. Maybe it’s THAT. Perhaps I’d be useful at this. Maybe that’s why I have these gifts, because I’m supposed to be using them this way. If I go and do this thing, surely I’ll find my purpose which will give me lasting fulfillment and I won’t have to pine after it everyday. I won’t have to wonder who I am or what I’m good at anymore because I’ll finally know and then I’ll just keep doing that. I won’t have to long for it anymore because it’ll be there.

I’ll do a thing or take on a project. I’ll like it. It maybe even brings value to people other than myself. I’ll feel good. I’ll feel useful and worthy of my life. I want to do it again so I search for the next project or thing to work on. But in between, the restlessness and sadness and doubt.

I know I’m looking for something that doesn’t bring lasting fullness. The thing I should be looking for, I know, is Jesus. I should be looking for God. Confusing since I thought I’d found Him. 

Do you ever really find God? When you do, do you ever really get to hold onto him or do you just have to keeping trying to find him hundreds of different ways, hundreds of different days? Him in plain sight, but I’m blind again.

Practiced are my sins, never gonna let me win, uh huh.

Did I say that I need you? Did I say that I want you? For if I didn’t I’m a fool you see, no one knows this more than me.

Jesus came to earth to be born as a baby.

A thrill of hope.

I am loved and doubtful and full of questions that never provide answers. I am taken care of and I take care. I am not worthy or living up to my potential. Perhaps I never will. I can’t seem to grasp how to do it—how to hold the stars. I’m too self involved and overly indulgent at times. I don’t give until it hurts. I fail over and over. 

And yet He came. One night in December, He came for me. He came for all my not enough-ness, and then also for the times when I believe I am EVERYTHING AWESOME. He came just the same. And I can question if it really happened, and ponder my doubt mixed with hope that it did, and pray to make my faith stronger so that belief could just be easy and tidy for me to accept. 

Or I can just decide to accept, in an audacious act of faith. 

Acts of faith like that are hard to maintain for me.

It’s not in my nature, I don’t think. I’ll surely forget again. Forget how to have faith like that all the time. 

But for this season of advent, and in anticipation of celebrating Christ’s birthday, the gift I will give is my audacious faith and celebration and thanks and praise that He came. I will show him a weary world rejoices—even if it’s a conscious choice rather than a genuine reaction because I’m so jaded and poor and not understanding.

This Christmas, I’m leaving space. I’m not filling it with another project to make me feel better, useful or relieved. I choose Christmas. I choose to behold the night divine. I choose God with me. Even if I don’t feel it all the time. Even if I doubt it will make a difference. I will let God be enough. Alas, He is the only thing that ever has been.

Hold me till I die. 

Meet you on the other side…

Sleeping Beauty

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I’ve only been around 36 years, but I’m getting the feeling that mostly, we women are all the same. We don’t have the same personalities or interests or lives, but deep, deep down, I think we all have this fundamental thing where we want to be loved and admired. We want to be done with the striving and just be who we are, in the best version possible, and then offer that to the world and be celebrated for it.

I think this is why women need to feel beautiful….

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