When Jason and I first came up with the idea of creating a Christians Against Christians T-shirt, I thought it was brilliant, in that ironic, witty way we think we are brilliant at some point around midnight.

Not only does the slogan make people stop and think, scratching their heads and asking questions, it says something that I feel personally called to communicate: Not all Christians are like that. It’s deeply important to me—not that everyone decides to think Christians are great, but just that they don’t put us all in a box and dismiss us immediately because of what we believe. We’re not all socially conservative Republicans. We’re not all judgmental. Some of us are just trying to figure out what it means to try to live more like Jesus, because we believe that’s the only way to make ourselves—and the world—better.

Some people along the way have questioned my use of the Christians Against Christians phrase, but I have defended it, suggesting that it’s not an idea meant to be dissected, just one to grab some attention and propel people off into thinking more deeply about related issues and ideas.

But recently, I’ve started to wonder about it, myself.

A slogan that can too easily be turned around

In the small group Jason and I lead, we’ve been studying Ephesians; the last time we met, we looked at Ephesians 4, which has this as its overarching headline in my study Bible: “A call for unity in the body of Christ.” Harrumpf! I thought.

As I prepared the study, I was feeling pretty bitter about the possibility of that kind of unity. In fact, it was a Christians Against Christians moment for me. Earlier that day I had read two blog posts that made me furious. Both were written by Christians I feel some sense of alignment with, about other Christians who were attacking them in some way.

In a post at Adventures of the Called, Becca writes about a letter that arrived from another church in her community, regarding Becca’s upcoming installation service as a pastor in the Lutheran Church (ELCA). In the letter, the leadership of this local Baptist church quoted Bible passages about how women are to be kept silent; how Becca, by seeking to become a pastor, is “shameful;” and how the church that has hired her should cease to call itself a Christian church. It’s been a couple of weeks since I first read this post, but I still can hardly type these words without feeling a seething anger and even hatred for the men who wrote this letter, in the name of the God I believe in.

Immediately after I finished reading Becca’s post, I read a post (Escape from Zombieland) by Mike over at Awakening. He had just returned from Christianity21, a conference in Minneapolis I desperately wanted to attend, and described the way many other Christians were responding to those gathered at the conference:

Indeed, at that very event, there were folks gathered outside in the cold to ‘preach the truth’ over against (what they understand as) the message  of C21 (which they understand as a coherent, evil whole).

While these stories made me want to claim the Christians Against Christians slogan more than ever—they were perfect examples of the type of extreme Christian that is dominating society’s understanding of what Christians think and how they act—I also realized this: They, too, are Christians Against Christians. They, too, think they’re right, and are determined to show those “other believers” how they’re wrong. And it feels evil.

A different approach to unity

In Ephesians 4, Paul shows us what unity looks like, and it doesn’t necessarily look like a group of people who agree on everything:

Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace.  ~ Eph. 4:2-3

It’s about humility and patience, not proving right and wrong. It’s about relying on the Spirit to bring peace and unity, not on our own skills, intelligence and strategies.

I want to believe that approach—my own humility about my stance, and being more patient with other Christians—can change things more than my outspoken frustration and anger. But sometimes it’s really hard to imagine.

And at the same time, I feel called to speak out—not to condemn Christians who anger me as much as to open the minds of those who don’t believe. But maybe my Christians Against Christians approach isn’t quite the right way. Maybe there’s an approach that blends the speaking out with the humility and patience. In fact, it seems to me that’s what Jesus modeled.

Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.
~ Eph. 4:31-32

Photo by downing.amanda

Last week my ex-husband and I went to parent-teacher conferences for our sixth-grader, Q. By now, after years of hearing teachers describe our child, we pretty much know what to expect: She’s bright as well as kind, helpful, and respectful—the at-school version of herself that we don’t see quite enough evidence of at home.

But at our first middle school conference, we were surprised by a comment made by each of the four teachers we met: Q is self-assured and actively engaged in class. She freely offers answers, ideas and questions. She is emerging as an academic leader.

This surprised us because throughout elementary school, the single “complaint” teachers had of Q was that she wasn’t raising her hand or speaking out. She wasn’t the least bit shy in the lunchroom or on the playground, but she seemed shy and unsure of herself in class, even though teachers knew she had much to add to the discussion and the learning.

As Q’s mom, what I find most interesting about this is how quick we were a few years back to just accept “this is how she is”—socially outgoing but unwilling to be in the spotlight when it comes to performing, in the classroom or on stage. It didn’t occur to me to ask her sixth grade teachers about class participation, because I assumed I already knew the answer. When they offered the information, as one of their favorite things about having Q in class, we were stunned.

Total acceptance that doesn’t lock anyone in

Here’s the tricky parenting balance: We want to demonstrate to our kids that we accept and love them for who they are (and we definitely should do this). I’ve known many people over the years who clearly heard their parents telling them that they should be someone else, even if they never actually *told* them in so many words.

But in the process of saying “I love you just the way you are,” we need to be careful to not let all that affirmation put them in a box. Is it possible that we stifle them in the process of unconditionally loving them?

I was the unaffectionate child

My mom used to tell me stories about my toddler disposition. Rather than being warm, trusting and affectionate, I found most adults I didn’t know well highly suspicious. If they instantly wanted to hug me and lift me into their lap, I balked. My mom responded in the right way, I think; she told people (even my own grandmother visiting from California) to give me some space and let me warm up to them in my own way, when I was ready. Just think—by the very young age of two I had already developed a reputation for being standoffish!

When Q was a baby, I noticed some of the same tendencies in her, and was quick to explain it to myself and others as “just the way we are.” After Q’s very cuddly, affectionate baby sister was born, though, Q began to change. She watched baby sister sitting on laps, snuggling in, and being rocked before bed (things Q had never enjoyed the first two or three years of her life), and she decided “I’m gonna get ME some of that!” And she did. The person I thought she was hard-wired to be changed before my eyes. And years later, the “new” her has stuck.

Meanwhile, what about me? As it turns out, I was internally starving for a type of physical affection that I had always assumed wasn’t my style. I’m sure that misconception played itself out in complicated ways in my first marriage. Now, two years into my new marriage, physical closeness is the super glue.

Be accepting, but don’t carve it in stone

So here’s what I’m thinking: It’s good to be accepting of our kids, spouses and ourselves, and to not try to change everyone. But that acceptance should be penciled in, not written in ink and certainly not carved into stone. When we carve a personality trait into stone, we don’t leave room for new possibilities. It can also be an enabling device—an easy way to make excuses for ourselves or others.

Can you see how you’ve been impacted by someone being too controlling or two accepting? Have you written out too much of your own character in permanent ink? Do you see yourself falling into that pattern with others?

I have met many wonderful people on Twitter and through my blog. Some of those people have even crossed some invisible boundary into a place that feels like true friendship, even though I’ve never met them face to face. Meredith has become one of those friends.

It’s not that we share everything in common. I’m GenX, Meredith is GenY. I live in a small city in the Midwest, she lives in a big city in New England. I have gone through a divorce as a spouse and mother, she has experienced divorce as a child. Yet we have really connected through a variety of issues and interactions. I think, in large part, that’s a result of Meredith’s honesty, openness, and willingness to dig deeper. Once again, I was deeply moved by the words she was willing to share with us here as part of the Love List Project. Please welcome Meredith, and make sure to check out her blog, Ordinary Mer.

_________________________

by Meredith

When Kristin first asked me to write a guest post, she suggested—and I agreed—that I write about life being good and how important it is to recognize and deliberately hold on to the good things. For me, the Love List is a way to be very conscious of all these good things in my life.

Sometimes I have a tendency to focus too much on the negative and not enough on the positive. Over the last year, however, I made a few decisions and took a few steps that brought me to a really positive place. Life was great and I was happy and content. Participating in the Love List Project felt like a natural way to honor the happiness in my life and focus on the good.

Then, a few weeks ago, my grandmother passed away unexpectedly. In the midst of all of the family chaos and sadness, I found it difficult to concentrate on anything positive. My own Love List took a back seat to my grief. I wondered if it even mattered anymore.

The answer, of course, is that it does matter. Life moves on. We grieve, yes, but the good things don’t go away just because something bad happened. Deliberately holding on to the good things in life is just as (if not more) important now.

When my grandmother passed, my entire immediate family was together, either by coincidence or divine providence, on a previously-planned vacation. And though I think of it at the time, I was also in the middle of doing something I loved, something I put on my Love List: playing board or card games with my family, especially when we’re all crowded around a table together and there’s an equal sense of camaraderie and competitiveness.

Grief won’t vanish overnight, but knowing that I was doing something I loved, surrounded by the people I loved, has helped intertwine that sadness with joy. So has continuing to add to my Love List. When I initially started my list, I wasn’t thinking ahead. I was simply creating a catalog of the things I loved, adding to it organically over time.

To my surprise, my Love List ended up providing comfort and giving me a way to honor my grandmother. During the last few weeks, when things haven’t been so positive, my list has been a tangible reminder that (to quote a little red-haired girl) the sun will come out tomorrow. And while I may not be able to make my sorrow disappear magically, I can pay tribute to my grandma’s life by living my own life to the fullest—a life that doesn’t take anything for granted and celebrates the wonderfully good things I’m blessed to have.

It may only be words written on a sheet of paper, but my Love List has come to be so much more than just words and paper. It’s a visible symbol of the things and people in my life that are worth holding on to, in good times and in bad. And that’s certainly something to love.

What does your Love List symbolize to you? What has been the most surprising part of this journey?

Photo by Qfamily

Some things require fixing. The toilet that won’t stop running. The pedal on your bike that makes an annoying screech with every round. The soup that’s lacking a bit of spice or salt, to add interest and bring together all of the flavors.

Fixing is what you do to something that is inherently good and clearly on the right track, but just needs a bit of help—some tweaks—along the way.

When it comes to our stuff, sometimes it feels like my generation of Americans are too quick to toss out the old and replace it with something new. Shoe repair shops are becoming almost a thing of the past. It usually costs more to fix a DVD player than it does to buy a new one. And while I have many friends who know the proper way to darn a sock, I suspect that my collection of friends is somewhat…err…unusual.

Ironically, though, when it comes to societal and personal problems, we seem all too eager to “fix.” We’re especially fans of the quick fix. We love the band-aid approach—we’re more than happy to see if we can cover up the problem with a fresh coat of paint so we can forget about it a bit longer. When problems are mostly out of sight, after all, they can be mostly out of mind.

Are we misusing (or over-using) the word “fix”?

So here’s what I’m pondering: Maybe we need to stop using the word “fix” unless we’re referring to physical objects with minor broken aspects that can be made right. There are many definitions for the word “fix,” but I think the one we tend to have in mind in these instances is this: “The act of adjusting, correcting, or repairing. To restore to proper condition or working order; repair.”

(Maybe I’m being a bit nerdy about the semantics, but that’s what tends to happen when you major in English and make a living using words.)

Of course, our use of the word “broken” goes right along with “fix,” and should also be looked at more carefully. A marriage can be referred to as broken. So can a healthcare or education system. Trust can be broken, too. But not all broken things should be fixed. In some cases, they can’t be fixed. What do we do, then?

Fix it, toss it, or claim a third approach

I began mulling all of this over yesterday when someone I follow on Twitter, @RogueReverend, tweeted this:

Did you really think Obama was going to fix everything? Because some stuff ain’t gonna be “fixed.” It’s gonna be different.

I “retweeted” (or quoted) her statement in my own tweet, then followed it with this:

I like the distinction between *fixing* things & doing them differently. for so long I felt like I needed to *fix* my life, then I reframed.

What I meant by that is this: I saw all kinds of things in my life that I thought needed fixing, and other things that I thought were beyond fixing, and just needed to be tossed. If you have a broken DVD player, those are your options—try to get it fixed, or toss it and decide what to do from there.

But in life, with people and the messy situations we create, I’m discovering that we don’t have just two options. There’s a fuzzy third alternative, the one @RogueReverend referred to as “different.”

It isn’t going to be “fixed.”

It isn’t going to be trashed, and then replaced with a new version of the same old thing.

It’s going to be “different.” Re-framed and surprising—not the same old thing with just a fresh coat of paint.

That specific marriage or the idea of marriage? That health system intended to care for people who are sick and hurting? That idea of “church” or “community”? I believe they can all be seen in entirely new ways, from a previously blocked vantage point. It takes a bit more effort, but I believe it’s the only way we can begin to see what’s possible.

Photo of St. Mary Magdalene by antmoose

Yesterday was All Saints Day and today is All Souls Day. All morning I’ve been mulling over a group of images and ideas that are collecting in my mind. I was trying to sort through it all and tease out the red thread, so I could share something concise with you.

But then I thought about how much I love to see what emerges as I write, and to see what takes shape later, as all of you add your thoughts. So I’m just going to share my collection, laying it out before you to add to, sort through, rearrange and meditate on along with me.

Joy and sadness, side by side

This morning I went to my daughter’s elementary school for a Dia de los Muertos assembly. We were gathering to remember our friend & teacher, Maricela, who died in September of cancer (I wrote about that here). Maricela was quiet, but not shy. Her presence was strong, expressed mostly through her dark eyes, which spoke of compassion and love. Maricela listened with those eyes; she was someone who truly saw you—maybe even saw straight through to your soul.

After S sang with a group of kids, others read poems they wrote, and Maricela’s colleagues shared stories about her life. There was so much joy and sadness colliding in that gymnasium. How difficult it is to grasp it all even as an adult! I wonder if the kids can begin to fold the idea of Maricela’s death into their comprehension of her love.

Can we even begin to be saints?

In an email my mom sent to me Saturday, she mentioned that she was pulling together her Sunday School lesson for All Saints Day. “My SS lesson says that modern Christianity identifies a saint as ‘Any baptized Christian who prays well and loves well.’”

What does it mean to “pray well” and “love well?” What does that really look like? Could I work to become a saint—not in the way we tend to think of it, as a “good, long-suffering, selfless person,” but as someone who prays and loves in such a way that the world is changed?

Hate is easier than love

This morning I noticed an incoming link to my blog with the words “What’s on your hate list?” I panicked just a bit, thinking it was a cruel twist on my Love List Project series, but I quickly realized it linked to a post at one of my new favorite blogs, Newvine Growing. Colleen has been writing about the Love List Project as a part of a Month of Thanksgiving; today she looks at hate, in an amazingly refreshing way:

What comes easy is hate.

I hate how noisy our upstairs neighbor is, stomping around her apartment and apparently moving furniture and hammering on something at midnight.

I hate the trash scattered all around the subway stop near my office.

I hate that my cat has heart disease and probably won’t be with me much longer.

As part of the Month of Thanksgiving, I’m going to try to turn around some of this free-flowing negativity. I’m going to look for things to be grateful for in life’s frustrations and disappointments.

This has left me thinking. Can I truly love some things while I’m hating others? “How does hate affect my ability to love well?”

Only one thing can cover all the ugliness

Yesterday in church, this verse was read:

Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.
~ I Peter 4:8

I have heard it many times before, but never quite in the way I heard it yesterday. I’m not sure why.

Maybe because I have been feeling sad about how capable friends and community are of hurting one another—even communities that have joined together around the love of Christ.

Maybe because I was thoughtless and unkind toward Jason on Saturday, when he made a simple mistake. As I apologized later and he forgave me, I was able to see how powerful real love is, when time is taken to carefully, regularly tended.

Maybe because I have been aching with love for my girls as I watch them grow and change. I can see their shortcomings clearly, and sometimes I get so frustrated with them. But that deep, deep love is so much greater.

And I’m more certain than ever it’s not just the only thing that can bind together my family and unite my church community—that deep love that covers sin is also the only thing that can change the world.

Illustration by Jason Berg

Yesterday I spent the day in Springfield, Illinois with three busloads of third and fourth graders—well, I actually only spent the day with 10 fourth graders, which was much more manageable. We went to the New Salem historic site, a reconstruction of where Abraham Lincoln spent his early adulthood, and then the state capitol building and the state museum.

Our group was high-energy, so I had to be really “on,” (much like I described in another post about chaperoning a field trip), but I also just purely loved observing and interacting with the kids.

When I’m spending time with kids, I love seeing things in a new light, through their eyes. I love learning again some of the things I learned so long ago—both academic information and those important bits of knowledge about how the world works, and how social interactions and negotiations play out.

Perhaps what I love most is the opportunity to be transported back to my own childhood—to remember so many of the fascinations, fears, discoveries and confusions I felt. Being able to get in touch with the nine-year-old version of me is fun, and I also think it helps me understand more about my adult self.

The rewarding challenge of explaining the world, honestly & simply

As I interacted with the kids yesterday, I was also reminded how much I love thinking about how to answer their questions, and how to explain what certain words mean. When Laisha saw a sign and asked “What does ‘prohibited’ mean?” I responded “It means it’s ‘not allowed.’” Then she asked “Why don’t they just write ‘not allowed?’” I had to swallow my laugh and tell her that was a very good question—in fact, it’s one I spend much of my professional life advocating. “Sometimes big words do a better job explaining something, but a lot of the time people use them when they don’t need to, just to sound smart or official,” I explained.

As adults, we often fall into ruts, forgetting to question why things are done in a certain way rather than another, just as valid way. I love how spending time with kids can jostle you out of those ruts.

Before I started writing this post, I went to #thelovelist hashtag on Twitter to pull some recent additions for this post. A few of them, in particular, went right along with this theme:

@MoJoJules just got back from seeing my niece. she makes my heart complete and laugh. she is precious!

@jenluit I love that my daughter protests the idea of “girl” and “boy” toys.

@kt_writes Q, my 11-YO, just said “I love tea & books. I could live without computers & TVs & lemonade, but not without tea & books.”

@OSG Sent an email that I signed “Dad”.

Here’s to kids—not just for who they are, but for how they change us. If you don’t get chances to interact with kids on a regular basis, I really encourage you to find ways to connect at a church or by volunteering as a tutor or mentor at a local school or non-profit.

Now for some updates from #thelovelist over past week or so:

@MoJoJules Just helped my dad do the Halloween “boo” gift in our neighborhood. Never laughed and ran so hard in my life.

@bridgeout So grateful for the bright blue sky today and short sleeve weather after several days of cold and rain

@OSG Love when things on my #thelovelist are actionable. eg, love trees fall colors, reminds me of Delaware; Write M a letter.

@lje2me Losing myself in creativity in my craft room is so healthy for my heart & soul.

@kt_writes when writing a blog post becomes an active part of the thought & idea *process*, not just a way to record an idea/thought.

@scheidel I love that I work in an office in midtown manhattan where 30 out of 30 employees get excited about the fall lunchtime potluck.

@remtobreathe So glad I dragged myself off to church prayer last night … was awesome … and badly needed.

@mojojules I got to go into the “deep” with a new friend. Loved the honesty and rawness of the convo.

@cnewvine I’m grateful for sunny autumn days when the air is crisp and smells like leaves.

And I’m really excited about next Friday’s guest post, by my book-loving, Gen-Y friend Meredith. Here are some of her recent love list additions, just to give you a sense of who she is and what you can look forward to:

@McMer314 I love snuggling into oversized sweathshirts, burrowing underneath blankets instead of turning on heat when it gets cold.

@McMer314 Singing in my car along with the radio/ipod, at the top of my lungs, not caring if I’m in tune.

@McMer314 Sunday nights mean reconnecting w/ my family through phone calls. I like hearing their voices - makes the distance seem less.

@McMer314 Reading a beloved book again for 2nd (or 3rd, 5th or 8th) time is like catching up with an old friend - familiar and new.

Photo by Robert Lowe

A friend recently told me she thinks her marriage is over.

These stories always really sadden me, but I felt the effects of this tale deep in the pit of my stomach. As she described the state of her marriage, I felt like she was talking about the marriage I was in a decade ago.

I haven’t written much about that marriage, or what went wrong, for a number of reasons. It’s not that it’s some big secretive drama—it’s just that I feel called to focus on the redemptive, new creation that arose out of the mess more than I feel called to tell about the cumulative unhappiness that fed the mess.

It’s also true that these things are very complicated, and to try to explain what led to a marriage’s demise is almost always to oversimplify it, leaving out many important details, nuances and perspectives.

There’s much to be learned from looking back, though, and much we can learn from one another’s mistakes. As I listened to my friend share her struggle, I realized that what was at the heart of my unhealthy marriage is perhaps more common than I thought. Maybe it’s a story that needs to be told. Maybe it can help someone, somehow.

I don’t know what to tell my friend or anyone who’s in a marriage that seems unfixable. That’s always hard, and always a case-by-case matter.

But to anyone who isn’t yet in a marriage or long-term committed relationship, I will say this: Make sure you know yourself and your partner knows him/herself. Make sure you can each answer these types of questions for yourself, and then talk through how the similarities or differences in your responses might play out in a lifelong commitment.

- I feel content and most fully like the person I was meant to be when I am_______________. (This can and should become a list of many things, in the spirit of the Love List.)

- When I am in need of energy, ideas and a sense of joy, I turn to________________.

- When I am stressed, confused, sad, angry, or faced with a difficult decision, turning to _________________ helps most.

- I feel most loved by others when they __________________. (This question is inspired by the wise-but-cheesy book “The Five Love Languages,” which I’ve written about before, here.)

Now that I think of it, if you are already in a marriage or relationship that you consider to be for life, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to ask these same questions of yourselves and then talk about them together. The ultimate downfall of my first marriage was our fundamental lack of compatibility, but if we had each developed a greater understanding of the other’s perspective and needs, it would have gone a long way.

“A million New Yorkers are good without God. Are you?”

When I first saw the ads that are scheduled to be displayed in some New York City subway stations starting today, I bristled. I imagined the religious counterpart to the atheist ad: “Five million New Yorkers are good with God. Are you?” It felt snide and aggressive.

Then I realized that many God-believers are snide and aggressive on a regular basis—maybe they don’t advertise in subway stations, but they don’t need to. They have hundreds of other platforms available for spreading their message, plus strength in sheer numbers. I shifted from defensiveness to compassion to curiosity. What prompted the Big Apple Coalition of Reason to create and place the ads in the first place?

In the name of awareness and dialogue

According to this article and a statement from the coalition, the ads are “part of a coordinated multi-organizational advertising campaign designed to raise awareness about people who don’t believe in a god.”

That’s something I can generally get behind—raising awareness, along with encouraging conversation and thought. We all need more of that. We all need to be reminded that not everyone is like us, just like we need to be reminded that we’re not alone. These ads will do both of those things, depending of whether you read them as an atheist, a believer, or something in between.

That “in between” contingent, though, is one I can’t ignore. This is essentially what’s at the heart of my issue with these particular ads, and with many other aspects of religious and secular society: The human tendency to draw lines in the sand—to say I’m this, you’re that, and we simply don’t overlap. End of story.

What about the millions stuck somewhere in between?

I touched on this “in between category” in my recent post Telling Jesus stories at the KGB. Here’s the essence of what I concluded:

…I’ve long had a really narrow, either-or, all-or-nothing understanding about how people view faith. In my imagination, they either completely embrace belief or completely reject it. But this experience has proven to me, once and for all, that only a fairly small percentage of people fall into one of those extreme categories. The rest of us fall into a deep and wide category I’ll call “It’s Complicated.”

With that in mind, I would like to propose an entire series of subway station ads—not to replace the “good without God” ad, but to accompany it. Here are a few ideas to get the series going (disclaimer: I’m completely making up the numbers, here). I’d love to hear your ad concepts. After all, the goal is to increase awareness, dialogue and thought, right? Let’s do it as broadly as we can.

A million New Yorkers are good without God. Are you?

Six million New Yorkers are confused about God. Are you?

A million New Yorkers believe religious conservatism and social liberalism are not mutually exclusive. Do you?

Four million New Yorkers aren’t exactly good with God, or good without him, so they avoid him. Do you?

Two million New Yorkers have taken part of the religion they grew up with and blended it with other beliefs and traditions. Have you?

All eight million New Yorkers are love by God, even if his followers consistently fall short of doing likewise. Do you?

Today’s post, the sixth in my Friday Love List Project, is written by Lance Ekum. Lance, creator of  The Jungle of Life, was one of the first bloggers I connected with after throwing myself blindly into Twitter and the blogging world. I feel lucky to have crossed paths early on with someone who is so inspiring, encouraging and generous.

Lance not only embraced #thelovelist idea from the very beginning, he also wrote a post about it on his blog—as of today, the post has garnered 83 comments! Clearly Lance has gathered a community of big hearts and open minds around him, and I’m honored to have him sharing here.

________________

by Lance Ekum

“One touch of nature makes the while world kin.” ~ William Shakespeare

When I read Kristin’s first post about the concept of a Love List, I was drawn in by this idea that focused around the idea of publicly claiming what we love in our lives. How often do we go through our days not fully acknowledging those things/moments/people that really touch us in some special way? Well, as I thought about it…for me, it’s far too often that I just take for granted all that which I really do love.

Kristin and I talked about the concept of the love list, and after that I wrote, in general terms, what this meant to me. And I thought a lot about what triggers that feeling of love—from my family, to the smell of  coffee in the early morning hours…

One thing that came up when I originally wrote about the love list, was fog—more exactly, the settling fog on a cool autumn evening.

My thoughts go back to a certain September evening, just as soccer practice was getting done. And how we, as a team, watched as the fog started to magically settle into pockets on the field, just as practice was culminating.

Picture this with me. A still evening. The sun is just setting on a picture perfect autumn day. Sports fields that are now mostly empty. A slight chill in the air. The evening dew settling upon the blades of grass, moist to the touch. And then picture a child, maybe a couple of them, drawn in by this magical lightness of something white and fluffy, appearing seemingly from out of nowhere. In little pockets strewn throughout the field, this fog is there, settling in.

There’s something about this fog that feels especially magical, almost surreal.

Fog always has that draw for me. It’s just, I’m so much more used to seeing fog in the early morning hours, light outside, the fog rising—all of which is still very magical. This moment, though, it was different. It was the evening “settling of the fog.” Coming in to rest, to stay the night, on those fields—in the stillness, the darkness, the peacefulness.

I love the mystery it evokes. I love the peaceful harmony in which it rests upon the ground beneath.

“Life is a mystery to be lived, not a problem to be solved.” ~ Søren Kierkegaard

All that makes me think more deeply about my life. Does this settling evening fog mean something? Something more than the mystery it evokes? Perhaps.

See, I start to think about the mystery within my heart…as things began to “settle” there. Much like that fog on a cool September night, if I stop and take in with wonder that which settles upon my heart, I’m drawn to the magical feel of my heart connecting with something greater…something meant to settle there. Settle there, stay the night or maybe many nights. Stay until my heart is ready…ready to embrace the mystery and give it flight…much like the rising fog in the early morning hours. To come full circle, settle upon the heart, then rise and show its colors…

It’s easy to come here and talk about the love we have for family members, for some material possessions, for life. Today, though, let’s set these aside for just a moment, as important as they are. Today, I ask each of you—what part of our natural world do you love? Nature is a very connecting force for so many. What makes that connection for you?

photo credit: viking_79

Illustration by Jason Berg

Perhaps you’ve long suspected it, or maybe I’ve had you fooled. Either way, here’s the truth: I have almost no idea what I’m doing when it comes to social media.

Sure, I’m tweeting away on Twitter each day, I publish a blog and comment on other blogs, and I participate in the tertiary networks, like Facebook and LinkedIn. But I can assure you, there is no master plan or strategy here—unless you call trial and error and “making it up as you go” a plan.

I’m the person who ended up on Twitter because a friend told me I should have an account. (My first tweet was something like “Trying out Twitter. Not sure how this is supposed to work.”) I’m also the person who knows what SEO stands for, but has no idea how to leverage it to optimize anything when it comes to my blog.

I regularly second-guess myself, too. Is this blog headline really more enticing that the one I thought of 15 minutes ago? Should I tweet the link to my blog again, for the people who missed it, or will that be annoying?

The Facebook fan page conundrum

One of the things I’ve been hemming and hawing about for a few months now is whether to create a Facebook page for my blog. The whole issue came up when a stranger sent me an email asking if I had a fan page for the blog; I thought “why not?” and started to set one up. But two main issues kept me from publishing it: One was that I couldn’t really figure out the point of fan pages, and the other was that I just felt funny asking people to become a fan of my blog. It feels too much like asking them to be a fan of me.

A couple of months went by, and the page sat there unfinished and unpublished. Then I went to Portland, Chicago and New York to participate in readings for the book I’m a part of (Ask Me About My Divorce). At the readings, I met people who were interested in my blog and wanted to connect in some way, but they aren’t on Twitter and I’ve made a personal decision to not friend people on Facebook I don’t actually know (in a real-life way).

Finally, I decided to set aside my tendency to over-think things, and just get the page up there. I would have to figure out how to use it as I went. When the page was live I shared the link, and wouldn’t you know someone had to comment: “I don’t understand fan pages. You already have a page and post links to your blog from FB, why have a fan page?”

My real response was maybe slightly defensive. What I should have simply said was “I DON’T KNOW!” I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know where this blog is heading—I’m just experimenting and learning, and trying to figure out what works for me as I go. After all, there’s plenty of advice out there about these sorts of things and no shortage of opinions, but there are no rules. I get to decide what feels right for me and my readers.

I’m a fan of taking concrete steps

Less than a week later, some of the benefits of having a Facebook fan page for Halfway to Normal are beginning to take shape. Over a third of the people who have become fans of the blog are not friends of mine on Facebook—this is a way to reach out to those people, who don’t know me but are genuinely interested in what’s happening here. (And now I can reserve my personal Facebook profile for my own status updates, and use the Halfway to Normal page to let people know about new posts.)

Becoming a fan also gives people an easy way to share the blog with others who might enjoy what I’m writing about, or who need to know they’re not alone.

So that’s what I’m a fan of: Trying things out and seeing what works. Taking concrete steps even when you don’t know exactly where you’re going. Recognizing that there is no “one way” to do things when it comes to social media.

My next task? Figuring out how to spread the word that our #lovelist hashtag on Twitter has been co-opted by a rapper with more than a million followers. Overnight, it went from a tight community of people sharing what they love and want more of in their lives, to pages and pages of people I’ve never heard of sharing…well, I’m not quite sure what. Anyway, our new hashtag is #thelovelist. I suspect I’ll muddle my way through this little conundrum, too.