It is both the blessing and curse of the introvert to mask her feelings to others.  My whole world may have imploded, but my demeanor would never betray this. I'm so good it's scary sometimes. I wish I could be better at emoting, but the retreat of my inner world is far more alluring. It's safe and protected. My pride remains intact. My vulnerability is hidden. I can't be judged or rejected.

In this effort to so carefully craft my disclosure, there results a weariness I did not intend. If we are to share in each other's burdens (Galatians 6:2), it's best to make known that there are burdens I carry (tightly, and close to my heart). It's an exercise of faith that works against every fiber of my being. But it points to the One who ultimately bears our burden, and I can't hold back the emotion which comes from that.

I do not pretend to be liked by everyone, but I certainly want to be liked by everyone. How to be winsome? The Apostle Paul said that he made himself a servant to win more people (1 Corinthians 9:19). It's clear Scripture has principles that we can lean on for being winsome, with the purpose of more being saved. 1. Realize first that people can be won over. In an age of relativism and political correctness, we sometimes ignore that people can be persuaded towards the gospel, and our behavior has something to do with this (cf. 1 Peter 3:15).

2. Understand that being winsome is something made, not something had. The Apostle Paul stated that he had to make himself a servant - I take this to mean it was a conscious decision to be all things to all people, and not automatic.

3. Know your motivation. "I do this all for the sake of the gospel, that I may share with them in their blessings." (1 Corinthians 9:23). My selfish motivation to win people must be checked. Because if I'm honest with myself, I need people to like me because it feeds my need for acceptance. It's only when we are caught up in a greater vision that our winsomeness finds its deepest purpose.

I was (gently) told in grad school that my writing was too lofty. It was the kind that made for sublime prose as an art history major, but was far too pretentious for writing on classroom discourse. "Be concise and concrete," my professors said (i.e., cut out the flowery stuff). But I loved my long, meandering sentences and found them hard to abandon (still do). Stripped down to less made me feel exposed, bare. Yet in the rationing of words, I was forced to say what I meant, and say it directly.

I can be largely evasive when it comes to saying what I really mean. I'd rather you love me for my eloquence than to be frank about what truly is. But what gain do I have in pretentiousness, only to mask my imperfections? Quite concisely, I'm messed up and broken! There, I said it!

(Run and cover...)

As a child I had a world of pretend that spanned an empire of retail, restaurant, hotel, and banking, which also featured, of all things, a library (all this the product of growing up without a TV). I was at the helm of the entire operation, running each with the deftness of a skilled CEO. That was my personal, private world at home. Reality was much different as in public I was a timid child who couldn't manage the same confidence with her peers, stifled by the need for approval.

Somewhere in college I got over myself and started to move with greater faith. I made decisions in my early adulthood that intimidate me now. It seems that stakes grow higher with age.

There are seasons where dreams are more easily had, but there are also those where our dreams are just that - the hoped for but never pursued. Opposition to our dreams can been fierce, taking various forms from ourselves to that outside of ourselves.

I want to dare to dream with the faith that propels me forward to action. I want to dream knowing that the kingdom of God is certain, and that Jesus' return is imminent. And I hope that others (you!) will dream with me as we wrestle with this tent called our flesh, the sin which so easily entangles, and the Enemy who would discourage us.

Being courageous is largely subjective - meaning what takes courage for some is old hat to another. For someone as fearful as I, courage is always in tall order. There's a want to shrink back and avoid something all together than risk failure, and ultimately, rejection. Needless to say, there are things I need to work out. But there are moments when I feel a rush of adrenaline and have new found courage to face the things that once were fearful. I remember thinking that I could never ride a bike with proficiency in China. But one week into my stay I was biking twenty minutes all the way to school, and pretty soon after steering my two-wheeler in the middle of sandstorms and stealthily behind moving livestock. Or I think of smaller successes of initiating conversation in a room full of strangers (scary!) - as a recent graduate and new hire in the business world, I was faced with a lunchroom (well, more like fancy lunchroom) of mostly high level execs, and me the junior ranking marketing manager. It was worse than high school, but I stumbled my way through it.

At present I'm trying to feel more courageous about following through on my convictions. I feel so lame because convictions should be easy to act on - after all, they are convictions for a reason. But I often get so timid and can't muster the courage to push through, and end up waffling in a sea of indecision. Sigh.

"Therefore do not throw away your confidence, which has a great reward...But we are not of those who shrink back and are destroyed, but of those who have faith and preserve their souls." Hebrews 10:36, 39

One of the things I've learned as an adult is that life never slows down. We anticipate seasons that will free us, but the tyranny of the urgent is ever lurking, demanding our time and attention. When someone remarks "you're so busy," I take slight offense. This has largely to do with my own neurosis, as what it translates to me is "you don't have time for anything else." It's true - I'm busy. In fact, I'm always busy. I don't often have nothing to do. I just don't like people telling me I'm busy. It reminds me of all the things I want to be doing but can't. And that bugs me. Cue the perfectionist.

Jesus didn't allow Himself to be defined by being busy. The story of Christ withdrawing from His busy ministry only to encounter a crowd of 5,000 and have compassion on them intrigues me (Matthew 14:13-21). But He also didn't do everything. He made choices. I'm always tempted to resign myself to busyness and then I remember I have choices to make, and these choices are daily, hourly, and sometimes by the minute. By grace, I will make choices that move beyond my own pride and selfishness, and approach the clarity of mission that Jesus had.

Recently the Gospel Coalition published an article on "Why the Church Needs Intergenerational Friendships." I'm a big proponent of gathering generations of believers together in the church. It makes a statement about the breadth of the body of Christ, and it is also how the Apostle Paul prescribes Titus to preserve sound doctrine within the church (with older women teaching younger women, and older men teaching younger men - Titus 2). I agree that you have to push through discomfort to make these intergenerational connections work. We do not naturally gravitate towards those of different generations, and I still have to get over my own intimidation issues in my mid-30's (with younger women being way cooler than me, and older women being way too busy to bother). I find too that younger women often have an idealistic picture of what an "older" woman should look like (never flawed, abounding in wisdom, the perfect wife and mother) and older women convince themselves that they are too broken for younger women to want anything to do with them.

Yet when we get over ourselves, there is something all together redemptive and beautiful when men and women of different generations gather. It reminds us that we are all in need of Christ, in every generation. And it encourages us to live "self-controlled, upright, and godly lives in the present age, waiting for our blessed hope, the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior Jesus Christ." (Titus 2:12b-13) The coming kingdom inaugurated by the return of Christ will have a fullness that we only now have in part. Generations worshipping together gives us but a glimpse!

I wish I could seal vacation in a bottle and take it home with me. The most depressing part of my vacation is that once it begins, I start counting how many days I have left before I have to resume reality. It's no way to relax, I know. But it's my desperate attempt to savor it, and soak up all the goodness it has to offer. That being said, I'm pretty bad at relaxing if I'm already envisioning my return. I realize that if I live believing that I'm never going to have something again, it's a pretty poor existence, much less means to relax. Perhaps the greater issue here is that vacation reveals a more cynical me that can't muster the faith to lift the cloud of responsibility that seemingly hangs over my head each day. Instead of living in the frailty of my own strength I ought to take heart in Him whose burden is light. This, I'm convinced, is a far better way to relax.

It's the beginning of a new year, and according to statistics, about half of us Americans make resolutions. By definition, resolutions are firm decisions to do or not do something. They are made with intent and require determination to pull off. No wonder the success of achieving resolutions is quite small. I don't make resolutions. At least not officially. As a perfectionist I can't be bound to something unless I can guarantee its success. Such is my downfall. I boast about how fast I am at making day to day decisions, but when it comes to something very personal, I hem and haw - mostly out of fear.

I realize that without being resolute about anything, there is no need for faith. I admit that the faithless life is attractive at times - faith is work! But I take comfort knowing He who began a good work in me will carry it to completion. The perfectionist in me would work it out on her own accord, and ultimately fail, joining the rest of the 92% who resolve each year without success.

This is the time of the year when I get an extended break from school and work - three whole weeks! Once on break, it's as if my body rebels against all the demands that I make of it during the semester, and for the second year in a row I find myself sick at year's end. I usually pride myself in mustering through illness or fatigue - one sick day in 10 years of teaching is quite a record (which I proudly recite to any student who is "sick" for the umpteenth time). It's interesting how when sick I become sharply attuned to all my needs. It's indicative that perhaps I'm not as well as I think I am. In a deeper way, it reminds me that Christ came not for those who are well and have no need of a physician, but for those in need of repentance. I hate being sick - it's no fun. But I suppose pretending to be well when I'm really not is much worse.