love Archives - Page 2 of 2 - Gina Brenna Butz

A Phone Call

Post author:Gina B
Post published:October 7, 2013
Post category:31 Days of Victory

I made a phone call.

That’s it. That’s my victory. It’s embarrassing to admit it, but that’s what I want to celebrate from day 6.

It might seem like a small thing to you, but it is not to me. I hate phone calls. I don’t even particularly like talking to my friends on the phone. If I have something to tell you, I would rather walk to your house and tell you than call you on the phone.

But this phone call was motivated by love. I had arranged a little get together for a friend’s birthday last night at a nearby restaurant (and that in itself I can celebrate because I am not an organizer of people). In the afternoon, it occurred to me that I should make a reservation. I argued with myself a little, trying to convince myself it was unnecessary, but in the end I decided that I wanted the night to go well for my friend, and that required a reservation.

So I made the call. Victory! Secondary victory: having the guts to admit that this is a significant victory to me. Double bounce!

What are you calling victory today?

Loving Me Through Her

Post author:Gina B
Post published:September 25, 2013
Post category:loved

One of the things that brings me the greatest joy is to hear my children talking to my sister. When they talk with her, they sweetly ask questions and patiently listen to her stories. They treat her with compassion. They make her feel loved. It’s like a balm to my soul.

Why? Because my sister is mentally impaired. Growing up with an older sister who is impaired, I had an acute radar for how other people responded to her. I vetted every friend who came over, watching to see if they would treat her normally. I eyed strangers in public, ready to give them the stink eye if they so much as smirked at her. You don’t want to be on the receiving end of my stink eye.

While my parents have encouraged her as much as possible to live an independent life, she will always needs others’ help and support. She is a perpetual child in an adult body; trusting, simple, open. She needs others to stand with her, to listen to her, to guide her, to do for her what she cannot do for herself.

As adults, I’m not as worried about her as I was as a child, but I still find myself wanting to shelter her. Last October, we needed to vote early, so I picked her up on Halloween. She came out of her house wearing a pink princess costume with a silver crown. I paused for a minute and then thought, “Ok, let’s go with it.” Of course we got stares and questioning looks at the voting booths. Part of me felt the need to justify why a 42 year old woman was wearing a princess costume, but another part of me wanted everyone to just act like it was the most normal thing in the world. Actually, I wanted more than that. I wanted people to feel the way I felt about her – that they would think that it was awesome that she was wearing exactly what made her happy on a holiday.

I wanted them to see her as the gift she is; a precious, God-given gift. My sister loves purely and wholeheartedly. She delights in little things. She loves to be part of everything. She trusts. She accepts. She gives me opportunities to grow in being compassionate, patient, gentle, loving, protective of the weak, accepting of the different.

And that’s why it’s such a blessing when others step in and love her alongside me. It says, “I see that she is precious too. I will stand with you in loving her.” It says we are not alone, that others will be the protectors, the helpers, the givers. They will recognize the value in her.

So if you know someone who is impaired in some way, know that taking the time to love them isn’t just a gift to them. It’s a gift to those who love them as well. Thank you.

An Open Letter to the World

Post author:Gina B
Post published:September 9, 2013
Post category:identity loved

Somewhere early on, I concluded that my heart was not important.

The world doesn’t often ask for our hearts. It asks for our cooperation, our performance, our silence, our strength, our appearance, our obedience, but not our hearts. So I set mine aside and gave what the world asked of me instead. We all do, in our own ways.

But we can’t live without our hearts, and God knows it.

So He started chipping away at the carefully constructed strategies I’d built around my heart to protect it; the ways I strive to impress, to perform, to be admirable. He talked to me about His love, His freedom, His grace. He told me that yes, He does want my heart. All of it. And not just the parts I find acceptable or pleasing or enjoyable. Not just the positive emotions, but the anger and doubts and fears and shame and grief and depravity. He has spent years stripping away the layers on the outside, while He fills me up from the inside, trying to show me that life is meant to be lived wholeheartedly, open heartedly, big heartedly. He’s been waking me up, bringing me to back to life.

I would love to say that trying to live with my whole heart is easy, but it’s isn’t. Often, it means living with an ache – of griefs recognized, hurts owned, desires unmet. It is living in the in between, a belly-exposed kind of vulnerability.

But it’s in this place that I am learning how important my heart is. When I own my whole heart, there is freedom, authenticity, a greater capacity to love and be loved. And it’s not only for me, but for others as well. When I own what is in my heart and share it, it draws people. It gives permission to others to bring their hearts too. As my heart grows, I cannot help but want to help others find the depths of theirs. My heart breaks when I see others numb, ignore, kill, and shame their own hearts. It is not how we were meant to live.

So my hope, my mission in life, is to be an authentic voice that calls others to wholeheartedly live our their true selves in Christ. We cannot be all that we are called to be in Christ if we leave our hearts behind. By God’s grace, I hope to continue on this journey of living with my whole heart, and helping others to do the same.

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