risk

I smashed a mug on New Year’s Eve. We waited until half time of the Georgia game. And with all my might I threw that mug to the ground. As I watched it shatter, I felt more whole. I left the shattered pieces there and walked away.

2021 left me feeling shattered. My word for the year was courage. Being courageous meant asking for help and walking away. Stepping back and resting. It wasn’t what we normally think of for courage, but it was exactly what I needed. I looked at my life, seemingly in pieces around me, wondering when the mess and pain would finally be cleared up.

2022 was going to be different. The year of risk. It wasn’t a word I would have chosen, but I am grateful that Erin chose it for me. 2022 would be the year I took risks, following the deep passions and dreams that my heart held. I was going to be bold and step in directions I didn’t think of, or take bigger steps than I normally would dare.

I was hoping that would mean some big dreams would come true. Hoping that maybe there would be some big changes in 2022. And while there were some changes, much has stayed the same. But I look back on this year knowing I took risks, knowing I took some steps in faith, both big and small. Like Ms. Frizzle suggested, I took chances, made mistakes, and got messy. And in the process I discovered more of what I want from my life.

In 2022, I picked up the jagged pieces from 2021 that I was too scared to touch then, the brokenness I wasn’t ready to face. It hurts to look your pain in the face, to look directly at the harm caused. But I took the risk. I was honest with myself and those I trust deeply, willing to sit in the midst of the mess with me.

As I began to pick up the pieces of my smashed mug, I began to think of all the jagged pieces I picked up the past couple of years. And as I looked up, I saw Natalie picking up the pieces with me and I thought of all the ways that she, and others, have picked up the pieces with me over the years. It has been incredibly difficult, but I’ve done it anyway. And I am so incredibly proud of myself. There have been so many tears. But there has also been an abundance of laughter. Joy can always be found and for this I am immensely grateful.

Taking risks has certainly paid off this year. I started a new job that I absolutely love.I had my first piece published in a magazine. I found healing and wholeness in some pretty unexpected places and ways. They weren’t the risks I expected to take, but I’m glad I took them anyways.

And that’s why I felt more whole as I watched that mug shatter. It was connected to the past, to pain. And those parts of me have been on the road to healing. A smashed mug was one last risk, the belief that the past is behind me and that what’s ahead will be far better. So here’s to 2023 and all it will hold. And if you decide you need to smash a mug this year, I’m here to cheer you on.

margin

Perhaps the most repeated conversation I have is about maintaining margin in my life. I know it all began with Erin - she was Sunshine's Mom. And she had a cottage filled to the brim with young women doing it all. I'm fairly certain that between the 10 of us we touched almost every aspect of Berry College. But doing it all meant that most of the time we were doing too much. Most of us were absolute pros at filling our calendars and planners to capacity. Erin was the first person to ever ask me about how much margin I had in my life. She was the first person to wonder how I created space to breathe, to rest, in the midst of everything else I was doing. Honestly, it felt like a foreign concept.

And some days it still feels like a foreign concept. I never got good at maintaining margin in college. I tried. I made some small steps but it was a long journey I was embarking on. What I didn't realize then (and what I honestly fully realized a few weeks ago) was that the reason I didn't rest is because I didn't feel like I deserved to rest. I wasn't good enough to rest. Busyness and over committing was simply the price I had to pay. Maybe if I was thinner, kinder, and smarter I could rest. But I wasn't there yet so my calendar had to stay filled.

Learning to rest, working to create margin, has been an integral part of the journey I have been on to love myself, and my body, well. There's no way Erin could have known that all those years ago when I was sitting in her office.

But when you actively care for a whole person you are teaching them how to do it for themselves, and that is a gift that lasts forever.

I've begun to wonder if learning to make margin was how I've been able to learn to fully love myself. Making margin isn't just about creating time and space to breathe, though I am deeply grateful for that. But it can also be about actively working to re-charge.

I am worth taking the time to recharge. My body is worthy of rest. Productivity and busyness will not enhance my worth. These are the lessons I wish I had learned sooner.

My worth has never once been found in my intelligence, my character, or the size of my body. I never once had to earn the rest I needed. I am not sure where I learned that my ability to rest was tied to my intelligence, character, or appearance. Perhaps it was the media I was consuming or what I was viewing in the world around me. But the belief was deeply entrenched and though I have been working against it, I didn’t fully realize it was there. I am grateful for the clarity I have now. I am even more grateful for Erin, and others, who have called me to a life that has margin, that has rest built into it.

Learning to care for myself, mind, body, and soul, has been a sweet gift. It has meant that I say no when my calendar gets too full. Sometimes I cancel plans when weeks have gone differently than I planned and I no longer have the capacity to do what I thought I could. It means taking time to be by myself. And the more time I have spent by myself the more I have been able to better love who I am, who I have been, and who I am becoming. In creating margin, I have cultivated the space I needed to better love who I am, completely. The journey has been long, and it isn’t over yet, but I am deeply grateful for the lessons I have learned and the way I am able to live now.

rain and repeated prayers

I find great comfort in grey skies. There is something about a storm that I find deeply reassuring. I know most people would say the opposite. For many storms bring fear and anxiety. But for me, there is something about the flash of lightning and boom of thunder that fills me with wonder and peace.

And every time it storms I decide that it's storming just for me. That God has sent a storm just to make me smile. Lately, I feel like there have been far more storms than normal. Or maybe I have simply found myself in a season where I am keenly aware of how God sees me. And as a result the storms seem far more frequent. I can’t say I’m mad about it.

Being seen, being heard, is abundantly important to me (hi my name is Mallory and I’m an enneagram 9). I have spent much of my life quietly moving through my days, often going unnoticed. This is not to say there haven’t been plenty of people along the way who have seen and heard me. And there have been plenty of times I wanted to go unseen. It is interesting to go through life on the edge, unsure of whether or not you’re being noticed. But recently it has become more clear to me that I am seen and heard.

I think that’s why I love the story of Hagar so much. We read about a woman who is cast aside but so clearly seen and helped by God. She then declares that God is the God who sees. The first person to name God is a woman who thought she was invisible. That is a story I want to sit with. That is a God I want to know.

My life is nothing like Hagar’s. But, I too know this God who sees. A God who sees and who does not forget. A God who knows I love thunderstorms. A God who is keenly aware of what I am experiencing in life. Each storm has been a reminder that God has and continues to see me. That God has never once forgotten about me and what I am experiencing.

And this has been a gift in a year of what feels like repeated prayers. I spoke with a friend recently about how it seems we are each praying the same prayer over and over and over again. At times it feels exhausting. At this point God should know my prayer well. Honestly, there are days when I am tired of saying it again. And yet every time I begin to feel this way it seems a storm rolls in, a reminder for me that I am seen and heard.

So I will continue to find great comfort in grey skies, in knowing I am seen and heard. And for me, that matters deeply. So I will continue with my repeated prayers, my big dreams, and deep hope for what is to come. Even though I don’t have all the answers I may want, I know I can dance in the rain while I wait.