"All around me are familiar faces..."

Well, it was bound to happen. I think I am going to take a leave of absence from facebook for awhile. Of course, I will be around for ministry purposes, or to stay in touch with friends I don't get to see any other way, but other than that, I plan to be absent. I won't be posting my comings and goings, nor will I be keeping up with anyone else's.

I want to spend time with people face-to-face. While facebook has been great for getting back in touch with people I love and miss in my life, I also find myself watching people say things they probably wouldn't say to someone if they were right in front of them. I'm tired of the unnecessary anxiety I feel when I see people post thinly veiled comments about other people, the state of their own relationships, or the state of other peoples' relationships. I'm tired of my own reaction when I see people pass judgment, lash out, or passive aggressively attack other people. And since I'm calling it like I see it, I'm tired of my own passive aggressiveness, as well.While there is so much good that happens because of facebook, I generally walk away disappointed that more people don't use it as a platform to encourage and uplift each other.

Because I would so miss my favorite part of facebook--looking at everyone's pictures--you can now find me on instagram @stephkonvicka. I don't know why I didn't join sooner, but I'm there now!

Want to get together and hang out face-to-face? Me too. Give me a call. I'd love to sit down and visit. 

Truth Telling

Being thirty-nine has somehow managed to suck and be amazing at the same time. I made a commitment to myself this year to tell the truth more than ever. To myself, as well as to others. When I hurt someone and even more difficultly, when they hurt me. It isn't so much that I have gone out of my way to seek out these conversations--in fact, I have had to take a sit and wait stance on a few I would rather just go ahead and be done with--but I will say this: be careful what you say you are ready to do and be because what you will find is that you are scared and laid bare. And that is only the beginning. And yes, it sucks. But there is peace in speaking into the light the stuff that grows in the dark. 

The following is something I read that speaks loudly to my laid bare heart this morning:

"I believe that by being the best and most healed version of ourselves we can truly make a difference in the world. I’m not an activist or politician, and I’m not able to have any direct impact on the areas of the world where help is needed. But what I can do is make a difference in the small pocket of the world I call home.

I can live with integrity and be honest about my feelings, even when they hurt. I can put my whole heart into my work and pay forward the generosity that was shown to me when my world fell apart. I can look after myself, knowing that by healing my own hurts I won’t be passing them on to anyone else. In a society like ours, filled with so many emotionally wounded people acting out their pain, this is possibly the most important work we could ever do—heal our hurts so we don’t pass them on."

--Susannah Conway

The Waiting Place, Part II

Earlier this month I wrote about waiting. I went on and on about waiting with hope and peace. Then a couple of days ago I shared what I still consider to be an incredibly valuable video on a talk about vulnerability. And of course, I made this public proclamation of sorts on the value of vulnerability. I vowed to myself to seek to live in a way that is more wholehearted, walking through the good and the bad in a way that is real and honest.

Let's talk for a minute about what happens when you choose a posture of vulnerability for yourself. It may look like this: You find yourself in a situation in which you risk your personal safety to protect your personal property and hopefully, that of someone else. And as absurd as the interaction with a criminal who has taken too many Xanax can be, a couple of days later you find yourself afraid. You begin to deconstruct the actual events and you begin to realize all that could have happened. And despite reminding yourself the danger playing "What if" can do to a person, you can't help but wonder what is going to happen in the future. You dream about chaotic events and mugshots and you find yourself feeling exposed and edgy, completely vulnerable. And while you are normally pretty big on sucking it up, you cut yourself some slack, realizing that being vulnerable means starting with yourself. You show yourself some compassion.

Then there is the whole waiting thing. You want to sit reverently in The Waiting Place? It might look something like this: Your husband has a rountine doctors appointment on a Friday. After a short discussion, you suddenly find yourself on an accelerated course of treatment.  Radiation after Christmas isn't ideal, for sure, but after some thought and discussion, maybe it is for the best. Let's get this behind us. So the routine ultrasound a few days before Christmas is followed almost immediately by a highly concerned phone call from the doctor. Biopsy. Next week. And then you know that the door that closed behind you and the one that is yet to open leave you in The Waiting Place. So you cry a little bit because who wouldn't, right? Afterall, you are still counting your blessings from the beginning of this whole ordeal when you found yourself sitting in a waiting room holding your spouse's hand. Staring out the window, aware of the changing light of Fall, you asked of yourself and God: Is this what it feels like to have taken it all for granted? You realize once again that you aren't ready to know the answer to that question. So you hope. You promise that you won't rush the beauty and mystery of the humble birth of your Savior to get to next week. You will wait quietly. Actively. You will wait with hope, knowing that one day you will speak of this time as the time you learned to wait with peace. You cut yourself a little more slack and you share your real self, your fear and the questions that go with it in a public way, a way that let's people see you, because you remembered the truth as Brene Brown shared it: vulnerability is necessary. Perhaps you are learning. Just in time.