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Why We Should Fall More Often

Post author:Gina B
Post published:March 24, 2015
Post category:courage faith grace growth

When It's Good to Fall — photo by Gina Butz

“I don’t want to fall.”
“I did it without falling!”
“I can’t end the day on a fall!”

These are the kinds of phrases that frequently came out of our kids’ mouths last week as we braved the ski hills of Vermont. To them, the goal is not to fall. In fact, a fall in their minds negates anything that came before it. Falling is ruinous.

I confess, that’s often my main objective too. At the very least, I don’t want to fall when small children are deftly skiing past me. Or watching me from the chair lift. So I happily stay on the hills that boast “Slow. Ski Learning Area” signs. No shame.

But when our focus is on not falling, something happens to us mentally. Fear increases. Enjoyment decreases. We take fewer risks. Stick to the smaller hills. We miss out.

Our falls begin to define how we view the day, rather than being blips in an otherwise fun time. They tell us we have failed, rather than informing a better way to ski.

I wish this problem stuck to the ski hills. Too often we take this stance in life. A fear of falling gives us tunnel vision. We don’t want people to look, laugh, judge. We want to do it well every time. Looking at the risk causes us to pull back. We forget that we’re still learning to do life, and that with bigger challenges comes bigger potential for mistakes, failure, and stumbling. Most of all, we forget that falling is actually a good sign.

Falling means we’re trying. It means we’re going out of our comfort zones. We’re braving the harder paths, forging new places where we’re not sure. Falling is a natural part of learning to do anything – walking, running, biking, skiing, parenting, loving, writing, friendship, life. Falling is good because it is proof that we are living openly.

So where do we need to risk falling today?

“Dear, dear Corinthians, I can’t tell you how much I long for you to enter this wide-open, spacious life. We didn’t fence you in. The smallness you feel comes from within you. Your lives aren’t small, but you’re living them in a small way. I’m speaking as plainly as I can and with great affection. Open up your lives. Live openly and expansively!” 2 Corinthians 6:11, The Message

Rejoicing in New Life

Post author:Gina B
Post published:February 28, 2015
Post category:gratitude transition

This week I fed our kids brown, free range eggs I bought from a neighbor, the first batch of regular eggs we plan to buy from her. Nothing wildly amazing about that on the surface (except oh sweet mama are they good!) but to me it is a victory. Why? Because it is one more small way I feel like I can see a good future here.

I have never witnessed the aftermath of a major storm, but I imagine that the first focus must be pragmatic – get the electricity running, the houses back together, the cracks filled. Do the things that must be done for life to function. What often cannot be rushed is for it to feel normal again, and for life to return. I’m talking about the animals rebuilding nests and the foliage coming back. It take time for a place to feel life-giving again.

Lately, I feel like I can look around and see the buds appearing. I see places where I can see a future. Our son started a new sport at school that he hopes to do all four years until he graduates. He came home from the first practice and said, “Mom, I finally feel like part of a group again.” And the people rejoiced. I walk into church and I know the majority of the people. How did that happen? The straw bales are in place for our garden and have decided to start growing grass without my permission or encouragement. Hey, at least they can grow something! I’m in a project at work I hope will continue long term. It feels like everything is coming up green.

The best part of losing something is that when you get it again, it tastes sweeter. That’s how this feels. I am doubly thankful because I know what it’s like to have been without. There’s new life all around.

Seeing the Growth

Post author:Gina B
Post published:February 3, 2015
Post category:growth word of the year

Have you been wondering how my mint plant is doing? I’m sure you have. I’m sure that question occupies much your time.

Well, it does come to my mind often. If you’re new here, you might be thinking, “Are these the rantings of a crazy woman?” No, they are the follow up to this post about keeping our souls well, which were inspired by this plant coming back to life:

Since this time, I have been diligent about keeping this plant (and my soul) well. I have an app that reminds me every few days to make sure this baby is watered and thriving.

This morning, this is what it looks like:

Actually, it’s looked like this for awhile. I’m happy these two stems have grown so much. Their leaves are bigger than they ever were during the Time of Negligence it endured through the summer and fall. I confess, though, when I looked at the earlier photo, I thought, “Wait, where did the rest of the green go? And why only two stems? Why isn’t the pot full?” I want more. I want it faster. Grow faster, plant! Be more impressive!

I feel a lot like my plant these days – I feel like saying, “God, I can do more than this. I could be more significant, more influential.” And He says, “This is enough. Do this much well.” Ok, I say. I will do this well.

But can I tell you? This is coming:

Do you see it? That little green bud in the midst of those dead sticks? There’s more life to be had from this plant. This gives me hope, makes me want to be faithful, makes me want to keep being diligent about doing what it takes to keep this plant (and my soul) well.

“I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.” Psalm 27:13

Starve the Ego, Feed the Soul

Keeping Our Souls Well

Post author:Gina B
Post published:December 11, 2014
Post category:growth

“It’s alive!” This thought, like the ravings of a mad scientist, leapt to mind when I saw this yesterday:

Keeping Our Souls Well

It doesn’t look like much, but trust me – I had inadvertently done my best to kill this mint plant all through the summer and fall. Completely unintentional, I assure you, it’s just that I am not a good keeper of plants. The fact that it isn’t dead is nothing short of miraculous.

I bought this plant last summer at a farmer’s market in Minnesota. I dragged it with us to Colorado, then back to Orlando, where I put it on our front patio. In the Florida heat, it struggled to survive. I often forgot to water it. When I did, I might have drowned it a little. It wilted, and parts of it even died, but I didn’t take time to prune it. It seemed to want to survive, though its leaves were never as large as they initially were. It grew a little crazy, but not strong.

I finally wised up and looked online to see what mint plants actually need to survive. Turns out they need morning sun and other environmental factors I wasn’t providing. In fact, I could have been writing a book on how to kill a mint plant in 10 easy steps. I was not treating it well.

So I moved it to our lanai, where it drinks in morning sun and where I see it often enough to remember to water (but not drown) it. I had to cut it back to its roots essentially and hope for the best.

And now, weeks later, it is sprouting.

It’s no coincidence that I was reading Soul Keeping by John Ortberg when I saw my plant. God felt I needed a visual.

This mint plant is my soul. I can so easily be careless about the environment I put it in. I feed it what it doesn’t need and neglect to give it what it does. I forget about it. I think maybe it will just grow and flourish on its own. My soul wants desperately to thrive.

I’ve been thinking a lot, as I read this book, about what I must do to keep my soul well. I want to be a good keeper of my soul. There is pruning that needs to happen, a change of environment perhaps. Certainly greater diligence to its health and care, putting it in a place where I am aware of it more often. I made a list of what feeds my soul and what does not. I hope to shape my life more and more to fit that environment, so my soul can be fully alive.

How is your soul today?

Two Battles

Post author:Gina B
Post published:April 17, 2014
Post category:faith

Two Battles – from Thailand, January 20, 2012

I’ve been trying to think of how to share what we’ve been doing this week here in Thailand (aside from trying not to get sunburned, reading Kindles by the pool, and searching in vain for Coke Zero). We’re at a conference called re-LEAF (Leadership Evaluation and Formation). It’s a time to revisit the process that God started when we all went through this conference the first time.

So how do I summarize what it is we talk about here? I thought this excerpt from The Magnificent Defeat, by Frederick Beuchner might do it. He’s talking about “The Two Battles” Forgive me if it’s a little long – I cut a lot out!:

“The first is a war of conquest . . . All our lives we fight for a place in the sun . . . we feel that we must conquer a territory in time and space that will be ours. And that is true. We must.

“What is the armor to wear in such a war? Not, certainly, the whole armor of God here but, rather the whole armor of man, because this is a man’s war against other men. In such a war, perhaps, you wear something like this: Gird your loin with wisdom . . . put on the breastplate of self-confidence . . . let your feet be shod with the gospel of success . . . above all take the shield of security . . . and the helmet of attractiveness or personality or the sword of wit.

“The other war is not the war to conquer but the war to become whole and at peace inside our skins . . . it is the war to become a human being. This is the goal we are really after and that God is really after. This is the goal that power, success, and security are only forlorn substitutes for.

“(What we must be set free from is) the darkness in ourselves that we never fully see or fully understand or feel fully responsible for, although Heaven knows we are more than a little responsible. (Paul identifies it as,) ‘I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do.’ . . . The evil in ourselves as individuals is greater than the evil that we choose, and that is great enough. This is the darkness which we need to be liberated from in order to become human.

“It is for this war, not the other one, that we need the whole armor of God . . . He is the truth about who man really is, about what it means to be really human, and about who God really is . . . In the great war of liberation, it is imperative to keep in touch always with the only one who can liberate.

“Even if we do not find our place in the sun, or not quite the place we want, or a place where the sun is not as bright as we always dreamed that it would be, this is not the end because this is not really the decisive war even though we spend so much of our lives assuming that it is. The decisive war is the other one – to become fully human, which means to become compassionate, honest, brave . . . (this) is the war which every man can win who wills to win because it is the war which God also wills us to win and will arm us to win if only we will accept His armor.”

So I guess we are talking about the battles in our ourselves, and where we are putting our energy – are we still putting it into fighting the first battle? Or are we learning more and more to trust in God and His armor to become who we were really meant to be in Him?

What about you? Which battle are you fighting?

It’s All Him

Post author:Gina B
Post published:October 5, 2013
Post category:31 Days of Victory

It’s hard to find a clear victory in a day when all you did was sit in a chair listening to a speaker for 8 hours. It might be my victory is that, despite less than 5 hours of sleep, I did not fall asleep. Ok, I only fell asleep for brief moments. But I did not fall off my chair. Victory!

So instead I was going to ride on our daughter’s coattails for the day, because while I was fighting off sleep she was not only scoring her first goal of the season, it was the winning goal for the first win of the season. Victory!

Erik said I can’t steal her victory, but I feel victorious so I still think it should count. Just as I was sitting down to type though, our son peeked over my shoulder and said, “I like it when you do things like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like since you started writing about victories, you’re . . . . nicer. You seem happier. I wish you could be this way all the time!”

Oh boy.

Me too, kiddo. But who says I can’t? I feel like the places where I’ve seen victory this week have just been the times when I was cognizant enough to say, “Hey, God can give me what I need in this moment” and then I asked him for it.

So really, it’s all Him. It’s His victory in me. And that someone else can see it? Victory!

Where are you calling victory today?

Out of Our Comfort Zone

Post author:Gina B
Post published:September 21, 2013
Post category:courage

Confession: I played on what might have been the worst high school soccer team ever. We didn’t score one goal my junior year. We lost one game 0-21. That’s a bad football score.

So it was with great joy that I watched our daughter’s team leave a trail of wins in their wake as they blazed through a spring season undefeated. Girls from the other team sometimes walked away crying. I felt sorry for them – I was one of those girls back in the day.

Our team worked well together. It came easily. The question wasn’t, “Will they win?” But “By how much?” If the other team managed a goal, our girls were disappointed.

That fall, everything changed. They were the same team, with a few new girls. There wasn’t a weak member on the team. But they moved up to playing club level, and since they were the only U-11 team around, they were playing U-12 teams.

They were suddenly out of their comfort zone.

Being Out Of the Comfort Zone

We kept trying to convince them this is a good thing. It was hard to believe when they spent most of their games simply trying to fend off the other team. Their games were so intense I thought about bringing valium. (For me, not them). We told the girls, “You will grow from this. You’ll be better players. This is how it happens.”

Easy wins are fun, but they don’t stretch us.

It’s a good reminder for me, when I’m tempted to say, “easier, please, God.” I know that it is not the easy paths that strengthen me, stretch me, move me closer to where I want to be. To quote from Josh Irby, “In the Discomfort Zone there is insecurity, fear, pain, confusion. But, from the Discomfort Zone come life, hope, change, passion.”

The discomfort zone in our lives is where God is at work. He pushes us there out of His great love for us; He loves us too much to leave us where we were. Our challenge is to be content to stay in that place while He shapes us.

What about you? Are you willing to be in places of discomfort in order to grow?

The Real Me

Post author:Gina B
Post published:June 7, 2013
Post category:culture transition

It happened yesterday at the dentist. I was myself. I mean, really truly, like just how I would be if I were with someone I’d known forever. I was chatty. I made witty comments. They laughed. It felt comfortable, and normal, and I thought, “Hey, I’m being me! With people I just met!” This is progress.

You’d think I’d always be me – isn’t everyone? – but I’m still getting there. A friend of mine here reminded me lately that when someone has gone through a major transition, you should assume for the first year that you don’t really know the real them.

Ah, how true.

It was good to hear that again because I know that my traditional transition stress reaction is withdrawal. I usually don’t realize I’m doing it until people make comments like, “Gosh, I thought you were so reserved and quiet, but . . . ” (It’s ok, go ahead and finish that thought, “but you’re actually kind of goofy and don’t stop talking.”)

The first time I did it was when I got married, and everything in my world changed – new city, new job, new home, new roommate, new church, new friends. I met one of my good friends that year, and she thought I didn’t like her the whole year. Meanwhile I was saying to my husband, “I really like her! I hope she’ll be my friend!” Sigh. I had no idea.

Since then I’m at least aware of it (the first step is admitting you have a problem). I think I am doing better here, but I think it’s partly because there are people I am myself with because they already know me. Or people who are just so inviting they make me want to show up all at once. There are others though who still think I’m the quiet type. Just wait, I want to say. A person who has just gone through transition is a bit like a new house plant. You can give it the best environment, but it’s probably going to wilt a little at first. Give it time. It’ll perk up. Pretty soon the real Gina will show up and the “I just played Dizzy Lizzy* with my life and I can’t walk quite straight” Gina will fade away. I’m still just a little shell shocked and not so sure of myself here so I shut down the non-essentials and just focus on getting through. I’m triaging. But as we say in the middle kingdom, “yue lai yue” – it’s coming gradually.

Like at the dentist. The prospect of major dental work somehow drew me out. Who knew?

*Dizzy Lizzy, for the uninitiated, is a game in which you place your head on the top of a baseball bat, spin around several times while maintaining contact with the bat, and then attempt to walk toward a destination in the distance. It seems like it should be so easy but it is hard. Very, very hard. Like, “walk sideways until you fall down while your friends laugh hysterically” hard. But oh so fun.