It is a lot easier to discuss our mistakes when they are so buried in the past, they no longer apply to who we are today. What hurts, what stings with truth and embarrassing reality, is admitting the mistakes we are in the middle of.
The only thing worse than baggage is making the choice to carry it alone. One of my favorite TV shows is called How I Met Your Mother. Besides my crush on Ted Mosby [the main character], the show makes me laugh, a LOT. The writers must have had an inspirational conference during season 5, because in episode 23, Ted Mosby had some powerful words about baggage.
I think talking about who we are now, today, in this moment, may hurt, but it is real. True vulnerability breeds a kind of love into relationships that nothing else can. Instead of depending on ourselves, we give the people in our lives a chance to be needed, to be broken with us. Talking about the past us or who we want to be in the future is a cop-out. It is cheating ourselves and the people around us from knowing who we really are. It takes a brave heart and faith to allow the world, the people we love, the people who love us, to see the person we are today. I am not there yet, but I will be. I am learning to be brave with who I am now. I am learning to ask for a hand.
my question to you, what are you doing with your baggage?
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My freshman year of college I went home for Christmas like most kids. But I went home to another continent. I arrived in Urumqi, China to a BURSTING family. If you know me, you know I am a talker. Well times that by 3, because it’s genetic. Needless to say the car ride home was an exciting one with multiple conversations and stories happening all at once. Of course I arrived home and immediately had to pee. (Brace for punch line) Imagine my surprise when I open the bathroom door and there was a Unfortunately, I was in a hurry and did not see said turkey until I was in a somewhat compromised position on the toilet. As the turkey ran around the bathroom, I yelled, surprised, informing the household that there was a turkey ATTACKING ME WHILE I WAS PEEING. All I heard from the living room was a roar of laughter. Merry Christmas to Lily! My family had thought it would be funny to surprise me with Christmas dinner…live. After the initial shock, it was honestly the funniest thing ever. The poor turkey crapped all over the bathroom because he was so petrified. …What is the point of this story? Well #1, wild turkeys in bathrooms is just too funny. And as a secondary point, I love the humor and spontaneity my parents raised me with. As Amy Poehler said, “there’s power in looking silly, and not caring that you do." I grew up as a kid that never wanted to be embarrassed. I took myself too seriously to make goofy faces in pictures, I was too insecure to wear funny costumes, I always held myself back. Then I started leading with a group called YoungLife. YoungLife is where I learned the power of what Bob Goff calls “whimsy." Whimsy means “playfully quaint or fanciful behavior or humor." As a YoungLife leader I learned to not care about looking dumb, put myself out there, and act like the total goof that I was. There is something intense that happens when people get together, accept each other, and laugh their lungs out. Laughter breaks down walls and allows people to feel safe. I can say that with all of the fun and laughter I have experienced with my AMAZING YoungLife girls, the joy and whimsy has always been followed by true friendship. I think back about that turkey in the bathroom, and I just smile because my parent’s wild humor spoke so much love to me. Perhaps it is time to invite some whimsy into your life! Never underestimate the power of love and laughter. The age of the internet, botox, tanning beds, makeup, credit, loans, spandex, it is the age of pretending to be something we are not. To be richer, look younger, and feel better. There is something in our kool-aid these days that tells us we have to be a certain person to be perfect, adventurous, acceptable, and happy. I don’t like that flavor. First, because 100% of the people I know lead typical lives, and usually have at least ten lame things about them. Second, because if I am held to perfection, I suck. And the most exciting thing I did yesterday was clean my carpets. I believe that life happens in the most normal ways with the most lame people, and it is completely amazing. The Lancaster Mall is a prime example. It is a place for elderly mall-walkers, troubled youth, and Salem tourists. It is also my sanctuary. This is my secret, so please do not steal it, but an abandoned and pathetic mall is the best place to get work done. Home-work, mind-work, heart-work, you name it, I have done it at the Lancaster Mall. It is painfully regular, lame, and completely amazing. There is always good background music, air-conditioning, free samples, and I never run into anyone I know. Life is happening at the Lancaster Mall, and not because it’s anything better than an abandoned mall. Jesus was not Tim Tebow. He was not beautiful. He did not make millions of dollars. He did not have a pimped-out donkey. He did not have the hottest wife. He was a dude, and His life has a legacy bigger than anything I could dream of. He was perfect, he loved people, he was God, and he was ordinary. I think God works in life, real, bonified, every-day life, and makes it so big and crazy we can barely hold on for the ride. Look at who Jesus picked to be his disciples, fishermen! Fishermen did not lead glamorous lives. Throw-out the nets, catch the fish, kill the fish, sell the fish. Every day, all day. They probably had weird farmer’s tans, said a lot of curse words, and smelled like fish guts. God is not out looking for the hottest, richest, smartest, most-interesting people to change the world. First, because those people do not exist. Second, because what better way to show the love and glory of God than to use the lamest people in the most normal ways to accomplish amazing things? Right now, I am friends with the Mattress World guy that is always holding up a sign on the corner, I love my job, I have great calves, and I am obsessed with the tv show GREEK. I am lame, and it is amazing because God always takes the ordinary and makes it extraordinary.
Say hi to 17 year old Lily. My junior year of high-school was a rough one. I felt alone in life, I had many insecurities, and I was desperate for attention. This picture is one that always makes me smile. The spring of my junior year all of my acting out culminated to the ultimate grounding. Right after this, me and my parents left for vacation. I was in a state of misery where my parents were my only friends. For the first week, I watched Ice Age 2 eight times. One afternoon my parents found me in the position you see photographed above. Lying on the bed, with my snorkel mask on, using it to breathe from under my pillow. I was sunburnt and miserable. I remember singing muffled songs, mostly my sad song, through my beloved snorkel. And yes, I have a specific song I sing when I'm sad. I actually have two, one for when I'm mad sad and one for when I'm just sad. So there I was. The reason I love this photo is remembering how hard that season was for me, and how God brought me through it. I was so young. There are days like today where I feel like that kid again. I am so blessed by the memory of God's grace in my past, to help me hold onto the promise of His grace in the future. Philippians 2:13 for it is God who is at work in you, both to will and to work for His good pleasure. -Lily I’m not a reader. I wish I was. I am surrounded by intelligent people who love to read. They find value in written wisdom and are entertained by stories typed-up on paper. I like that. I like that a lot. My experience with books usually includes this routine: 1. Read chapter one 2. Skip to the end 3. Forget about book completely But occasionally, my extroverted, rabbit-trail, over-active mind is able to focus long enough to be completely captured by several pieces of paper bound together. I have a confession to make about the books that make it to my inner circle: I’m a literary rebel. Yes, my name is Lily Fairman and I am addicted to stubbornness and obscure books. I want to love a book because I love it, just me. Therefore I avoid books that I “must” read or are #1 on the market. I want to make a special connection with my book that I don’t have to share with 50 million other people. Book intimacy, is that too much to ask? Ironically no matter how adamant I am about being different, there is always someone just like me. Thus I have found, it takes more work to be different than it does to embrace being the same. Because of my literary rebellion, my reading list is odd and can seem made up. My personal favorite over the years is a book I picked-up at the Portland airport. Powell’s Books was having a sale so I bought “A Three Dog Life” for six bucks. The back cover explained a tragic tale of a woman with a brain-dead husband. Only Grey’s Anatomy can top that! I was prepared to cry, skip some pages, and throw it away at my destination. I have never been more surprised by a single piece of literature in my life. I read every word of that book like I knew her. I laughed more than I cried, which I did a good amount of. Frequently I re-read it just to remind myself of the joy and wisdom trapped between its pages. I even have a page ripped out and laminated. Abigail Thomas is the author. She feels like a friend, and in many ways I hope to grow-up to be like her. She wrote with joy, humor, and ground-breaking vulnerability. Her wit and vibrancy was toxic. When I read her memories and her thoughts, the words took me over. Her tone was freeing and humorous, not depressing and bitter. She titled her memoir “A Three Dog Life” because the Australian Aborigines on cold nights would sleep with their dogs, and particularly cold nights were called “Three Dog Nights.” Her story as she writes it is a beautiful record of pain, loss, strength, and finding freedom. A story of her “Three Dog Night.” The most inspiring part of Abigail’s memoirs is her love for her husband Rich. The two of them met from a personal add she put in the paper. She was 45 he was 56. They got engaged and then married a few weeks after their first date. Thirteen years later, Rich’s brain was shattered when he got hit by a car. He suffered from permanent brain damage. Soon after the accident Abigail was forced to put him in a long-term care facility. Abigail did not give up on Rich then. Even as he slipped in and out of an unreachable world of memories she couldn’t control, she learned to love him the way he was. She embarked on a new life with three dogs, lavender soap, shopping, loving a husband who could not always remember, and writing. The page I have ripped out and laminated is a beautiful declaration of love between a man and a woman. I want that page in my mind, I want it to inspire me and become a part of my story. This is what dear Abby wrote: “There He is, sitting in his chair, newspaper in his lap. I experience simultaneous feelings of joy and dismay. I have a sudden vision of life without Rich. It would not be like falling through space without a safety net, it would be like falling through space with a parachute but not planet to land on.” This is her writing to her husband who can not always remember her. A husband who is not aware of the world or the life he was a part of for so long. Every detail is irrelevant because at the end of the day, the man sitting there is Rich. She still loves him. There is more. Abby continues: “I bought myself a pair of costly running shoes long ago, and for a brief period (two days), Rich and I ran together -or rather I attempted to run and he jogged at my side- and I made it about two blocks before collapsing. It was fun. I forget why we stopped, maybe it got too hot. Rich kept a running log for thirty years. His entries included the weather, time of day, where and how far he ran. If he felt strong he said so, if he weakened he made not of when. Rarely did other details make it into his book- this wasn’t a diary, but on April 8, 1988, after the weather and other physical facts he wrote: tomorrow-
She remembers their love for them both. If I ever decide to be married, my goal is to love my spouse with this kind of love. My hope is to be this loyal to every friend I ever have. Don’t be a literary rebel like me. There is so much to be gained from a good book, it’s worth taking a gamble and reading a few bad ones.
I named this blog love unscripted because my dear friend and I thought it perfectly captured our view of love. Love flows like a river without boundaries, direction, or limitations. It is a rhythm, a pattern of love set into motion by God. We need this flavor of love in our lives. This love we need is often contrary to the love we are told to take. We need the insane kind of unscripted love that abounds from the doors of God's heart. But we are told to hold onto "man-made" love. Love that is altogether predictable and ordinary. This post is a battle-cry, an attempt at encouragement, to the women wounded by "man-made" love. Dear sisters, I have watched you surrender to a version of love that abuses your heart. The sparks in your eyes are fading. I see you are weary from the challenges of love. Take courage and keep fighting, because you are not alone. Do not let the world take away your tutus. Wear them proudly, dance, and embrace the wild whimsy God has given you. Let yourself experience the love you were created to exist in. I beg you to be stubborn. Refuse to listen to the tempting whispers of the lonely, the desperate, the selfish, and the weary. You are beautiful, be brave and allow yourself to feel beautiful. Take pride in your va-va-voom and shake those tail feathers. You are a girl, a woman, a daughter, a lady, a princess. Be you and just you. You have earned the right to love and be loved simply by existing. Do not accept the love you think you deserve. Because love is not deserved, love is given.
Traveling connects your mind with your soul. Without a culture or people to feel accountable to, without a language to lean on, you are left with…you. You begin to discover the innate commonality between all people. There is an identity to be had separate from the molding of society, organized religion, politics, even the people you love. Traveling is not a thorough enough verb for what I am talking about. Traveling is the simple task of stepping on foreign soil. I am talking about inhaling life one city, one person at a time. Going to where the people are and breathing it in as if it were oxygen. This requires an effort to be a part of a life you don’t understand yet. I guarantee you, most people in France could care less about the Eiffel Tower. It’s like going to the White House to understand America. We seek after colorful pamphlets and subject ourselves to long bus tours. We want to feel adventurous, educated, entitled, and experienced. But we loose the only thing worth gaining from our travels, and that is perspective. When you see the world through the eyes of a high schooler, or an old uuiger man in the countryside of China, you find a part of your humanity you didn’t know you had. A kind of life that fills you to the brim with questions and compassion for the people you’ve met and the ones you might never hear of. The most valuable moments of my life are moments where God shows me a peek of himself in His creation, in a person, in a new language, in a new culture. Little snapshots of God’s touch on humanity. Perspective. Recognizing people around the globe are all looking for the same answers. Seeking grace, peace, love, and acceptance. Go somewhere. Gain some perspective Traveling connects your mind with your soul. Without a culture or people to feel accountable to, without a language to lean on, you are left with…you. You begin to discover the innate commonality between all people. There is an identity to be had separate from the molding of society, organized religion, politics, even the people you love. Traveling is not a thorough enough verb for what I am talking about. Traveling is the simple task of stepping on foreign soil. I am talking about inhaling life one city, one person at a time. Going to where the people are and breathing it in as if it were oxygen. This requires an effort to be a part of a life you don’t understand yet. I guarantee you, most people in France could care less about the Eiffel Tower. It’s like going to the White House to understand America. We seek after colorful pamphlets and subject ourselves to long bus tours. We want to feel adventurous, educated, entitled, and experienced. But we loose the only thing worth gaining from our travels, and that is perspective. When you see the world through the eyes of a high schooler, or an old uuiger man in the countryside of China, you find a part of your humanity you didn’t know you had. A kind of life that fills you to the brim with questions and compassion for the people you’ve met and the ones you might never hear of. The most valuable moments of my life are moments where God shows me a peek of himself in His creation, in a person, in a new language, in a new culture. Little snapshots of God’s touch on humanity. Perspective. Recognizing people around the globe are all looking for the same answers. Seeking grace, peace, love, and acceptance. Go somewhere. Gain some perspective
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AuthorMy name is Lily. Archives
October 2016
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