Cookie Cawthon

June

What Does Your Hurry Say About You?

My hurry manifests itself as sweaty anger accompanied by furrowed brow and deadly scowl. I turn the air down when I hurry to postpone the impending detonation we all expect.

It’s quite reliable.

My hurry has two volumes. Loud. Curt. Highly flammable. Or it whispers, violently hushed through clamped jaw.

My hurry isn’t very nice.

Life is overloaded – with work, young children, school events, exercise, kids with different school and extracurricular schedules, home maintenance, laundry, church, volunteering, travel, friends, date nights, errands, projects – so hurry has become our pace.

And we’re crabby and perpetually spent because of it.

To some extent, busy isn’t the problem. Hurry is.

When we’re a blur of hurry everywhere, all the time, from sunrise to sunset, then we’re too busy.

That’s the test.

We can do busy well. It’s not easy or ideal, but it is doable.

But we can’t hurry well.

Hurry is not of the devil. Hurry is the devil. – Carl Jung

As an achiever, impressing and making other people proud has been a staple in this girl’s existence. As a deliberate (a.k.a. “slow“) achiever who can only do one thing at a time (a.k.a. “horrible multi-tasker“), I take on numerous commitments that I will do conscientiously – which will require me to hurry and stress like a freak from one obligation to the next.

….And we’re back to sweaty anger and imminent eruption.

As a slightly reformed hurrier, here’s what I’ve learned that my hurry says about me, and I’ll venture may be true for you as well:

1) Most of your hurry is driven by what you want other people to think of you.

When our people pleasing is in balance, we say no more than we say yes.

Alina Tugend touches on this undercurrent of hurry in her 2007 New York Times article,

Although those who are overworked and overwhelmed complain ceaselessly, it is often with an undertone of boastfulness; the hidden message is that I’m so busy because I’m so important.

2) Your sense of value and purpose varies by the day.

When, in fact, both are constants. When I close my eyes on the pillow each night and say, “Father, thank you for this day.” I imagine that He evaluates the day according to two questions:

Did you point people to me every chance you had?

Did you love well today?

Every single day, that’s the standard. Regardless of whether you champion literacy programs for the poor before Congress or clean dirty bottoms all day, the measure is the same.

3) You think everything on your schedule is non-negotiable.

When, in fact, everything is negotiable.

Every item on your calendar is a result of a choice you have made.

In the conversations I have had about this, people feel frustrated about always being so rushed but are usually unwilling to make difficult changes.

4) You don’t feel creative or understand how people find the time to pursue their dreams.

Or how they even have time for dreams.

Dreams live in the margin – in the free space in your brain. It’s also where creativity lives.

And I don’t just mean the creativity to write or paint or pursue photography; I mean the ability to think creatively about how you do life, how you solve problems, and how you spend your money.

5) Your family reaps the consequences of your hurry.

Years ago we hosted a married small group at our home, and it was not at all uncommon for me to absolutely terrorize my family during the mad-dash afternoon cleaning…..as we prepared to minister to people in our home.

How noble.

If you’re awful to your family while trying to love someone else, that’s never a win.

6) You wonder why you experience a lackluster relationship with Jesus.

If you’re giving Jesus a head nod in the morning or late at night while the rest of your day is the worship of activity, that’s not a recipe for success in any area of your life.

Solitude well practiced will break the power of busyness, haste, isolation, and loneliness. You will see that the world is not on your shoulders after all. You will find yourself, and God will find you in new ways…..Silence also brings Sabbath to you……It completes solitude, for without it you cannot be alone……Far from being a mere absence, silence allows the reality of God to stand in the midst of your life……God does not ordinarily compete for our attention. In silence we come to attend. – Dallas Willard

Ways to Eliminate Hurry

Prioritize margin. Margin is the sweetener to life. It allows us to hear and see and dream. Hurry dulls our senses and kills our ability to dream.

Define what you value. Nothing is inherently “evil” as an addition to your schedule – if what you get from it lines up with your values and is greater than what it costs you. But acknowledge that everything you add has a cost.

Be willing to make hard choices based on protecting what you value.
- Chris, my husband, gave up all social media to buy back time, focus, and brain space. It wasn’t worth the cost to him.
- Because Carson chose to attend a school on the other side of town, known for its academic rigor, she had to ride the bus home and not participate in an extracurricular activity the first year. I have always valued picking up my children from school every day, but this year, the greater win for all of us was for me and my youngest to be at home, rested, homework underway, preparing for the evening and dinner, when Carson arrived home. Her bus driver is also a pastor who saw his riders as part of his ministry. A blessing she would have missed ’cause, I can assure you, I would not have been in the ministry frame of mind after two carlines and an hour and a half in the car with Campbell.
- Campbell takes horseback riding once a week. She would probably get much better, much quicker if we took two lessons a week. And it would probably grow her passion for it. However, that would come at great cost to us. We are allowing her to drive how involved she wants to be, and for now she’s content. That’s not to say we won’t do more lessons, buy a horse, compete in horse shows, but she will initiate that. And we, as a family, will have to create space by giving up other budget items and time commitments.

Be a shrewd tester of truth. Our culture has a lot to say about what you SHOULD do. You, however, have a responsibility to test the truth of every expectation you are willing to accept.

Stop.

Breathe.

Listen.

Dream.

It’s time.

[Feature Image: Nikos Koutoulas]

June

Orange Is Not Her Color

I recently spent the night in jail.

The door in front of us unlocked as we approached. We were passed through a metal detector, briefed, and sent to booking where we were patted down and surrendered our keys.

The institutional white coated the hallway that stretched half a mile. Immaculate distance. It was cold inside.

Maximum.

Pod A.

Pod B.

Pod C.

Pod D……

We walked past, on and on. Past solid doors with small, square windows.

At the last solid door, we awaited entrance. We heard it click and pulled its heaviness open to reveal another locked door six feet inside. Again, we waited. It clicked and we pulled again to enter the women’s pod. The inmates knew one of the ladies in my group, so they quickly emerged from their cells, joining us in the common room.

“Do you remember me?” one girl asked in my direction.

??????????

“I don’t. Remind me where we know each other from.”

“NewSpring,” she answered. And right in that moment I learned that small talk fails in jail.

“Good to see you again.” No.

“What you been up to?” Nope.

“We’re sure having crazy weather.” Not so much.

“How’s your mama and ’em?” Just no, no, no.

“Well……if you can’t come to church…..we’ll bring church to you,” I finally pulled myself together enough to spit out. Lame and awkward, Cookie, lame and awkward.

Nineteen ladies in orange jumpsuits and orange slides; some with socked feet, others bare. They filled in chairs at the small round tables, chatting with their friends, smiling, and looking our way.

Their eyes.

Their eyes surprised me most. They were soft. Not at all what I expected. They were kind. They were young. Very young. Most in their early twenties.

Their eyes teared easily. So did mine.

As an observer, I followed the lead of my experienced companions. Kim, the primary speaker for the evening, invited the ladies into the course of life that led her to Jesus; she challenged and encouraged them, not skirting the reality that these ladies had made destructive choices; these ladies were incarcerated. I valued that honesty – as did the women.

Let’s not all pretend we’re attending a prayer meeting in the church social hall. Okay? Thanks.

As I listened, I buzzed inside, the likes of an internal electric fence. I wanted the chance to speak. Kim’s boldness fed my own. My soul fidgeted with animation, as I prayed and heard Scripture echo off the pod walls.

This may be one of my favorite places.

When Rita asked if I wanted to speak, I sprang out of my seat like an amped up kangaroo and dove in. We talked about a Jesus who dared dignify a despised and hopeless woman. The Jesus who refused to allow her to slink away unnoticed. That same Jesus who frees from suffering and authors freedom.

Just as we were concluding, another member of the ministry team arrived through the slamming door with his guitar and flute.

We worshiped in that place.

And I thought to myself, “This beauty is not lost on me.”

We offered to pray with the ladies, and to my knowledge, they all responded for prayer….and some even more than once.

I held their hands. I peered into their faces. I said their names and fought for them before the God of the universe.

And it was powerful.

For me.

As I have worn that night on my heart since then (I get to go back Sunday!), I wonder if some of them ever had a chance. Do they even now?

I found myself not wanting them to be released….back to the call of pimps and pushers and violence and needles and all manner of destructive escapism.

Not all walls are bad. They can be protective.

Not all prisons are government-run.

As a little girl, did she ever have a chance?

Who fought for her?

Who told her she was lovely?

Who put aside their own jacked-up self absorption for her?

Who?

Not even me.

This is when I want to shake middle-class Christian – myself so included – accessorizing our church fashion with Starbucks and yell…

Fight for somebody!

Help somebody without a chance!

Put aside your self-indulgence and stand for what’s good in the world!

That’s the full life He means.

Not the spiritual obesity of comfort and luxury.

The guard called me over to the control station and said, “Central just sent me a message and they’re all waiting for you guys in the front.” We thanked her for allowing us to stay longer – though we had no idea we had been at it for two hours. No clocks or watches. We were on guard time.

After collecting our keys and rejoining the team, we held hands and celebrated all that the God of the universe had decided to do that night behind slamming doors.

Who knows how many different churches and denominations were represented in that circle of fifteen. More importantly, who cared? All of the trappings of man were irrelevant.

There was only one. Who loves prisoners and despised, hopeless women, and little girls who never had a chance.

[Feature Image: angus mcdiarmid]

June

What You Don’t Know about the Woman on the Beach

I am often afraid. Like “a belly on simmer” afraid. It’s not uncommon for me to awaken from a dream with fuzzy edges, blanketed in disquiet.

Even in the last days of 41, sometimes my skin doesn’t fit. It wears like a borrowed jacket.

And it’s a heavy endeavor to believe that good lies ahead after a season of tempest.

Expensive hope.

Dangerous faith.

They arrest me and pretend to hug while strangling. With a smile. They often stalk my solitude and prey on silence.

So, naturally, they stowed away in the side pocket of my duffel for a writing weekend. With a suitcase full of books, provisions for days, and all the beach accouterment, I didn’t notice the extra weight.

While most of my time was coated in a tranquil hush, pierced only by rowdy sunrises…

There were instances of lonely unease. Because the quiet that makes room for focus and wonder can be hijacked by lies. Have you been that hostage?

So I took a walk. To breathe fresh air and to feed wonder and to wet my toes and to watch dusk steal the remains of the day, and this happened.

And just like that, the God of the universe had an audible voice.

I forgot to get her name. To ask where she was from. And then a week later, a dear friend sent me a link to the following blog post. “I’m pretty sure it’s about you!” she said.

The Woman on the Beach

Trevor and I arrived on Saturday to the beach for a week alone. It had been an absolutely awful, stressful week. Stressful to the point where I wondered why I hadn’t had an anxiety attack yet. After an afternoon of getting our groceries together and settling into our home for the week, we decided to take a walk down the beach. We walked and talked for a while, then I said that we should sit. So Trevor picked out the perfect spot on a dune, up away from the water and the wet sand. We sat and we talked while the coastal breeze blew our hair all over the place. We talked about how much we miss our kids and all the things they’d love here (because isn’t that pretty much all parents do on vacation alone??). Then we took a selfie- because we did.

As we were sitting on our dune, talking, this woman sat down in front of us. She was far enough away, that I couldn’t see anything about her, aside from the fact that she was a “she” and was sitting facing the ocean. As Trevor and I talked, I couldn’t stop glancing over at her. Before long, I realized that she was crying. Every now and then, she’d grab her own sleeve and wipe her face. Then and there, an intense need grew in me- I had to talk to this woman. Beyond what I could have ever drummed up on my own, I knew God was prompting me to say something to her. I had to tell her. I immediately told Trevor “we have to talk to her.” He had the reaction typical of a sane person and said “what?!!” I told him “she’s crying. I am supposed to talk to her.” He sat there, obviously about to offer up an excuse, when she stood up. And I jumped. Instead of making an excuse to stay seated and comfortable like I would almost always do, I pursued this person, step after step, a woman compelled. I said “ma’am??” she glanced and kept walking (poor girl, probably thought I was nuts). Then I said “Ma’am??” again and she stopped. I said, “I know this is weird, but I just had to tell you that you are not alone. God is with you in this.” I told her the very words that filled my head and that I knew were for her. Her face just exploded in a smile and she said, “that is so cool!” and laughed. Then she said “So I take it you’re a believer?” I said “yes, I am.” Then she told us, “ I am called to ministry. I was just sitting here- I am writing an online bible study for the fall- and I just said ‘God, please just speak to me.’ That is so cool,” she laughed, as tears welled up in her eyes, and I knew that right then, I did exactly what I was supposed to do. Thank you, Jesus, that I didn’t ignore that still small voice and the forceful push of a God that loves me, you and that woman crying on the beach. Our God is huge. He is amazing. And his attention to detail blows my mind. Never doubt that you can be a part of something bigger than yourself.

He is real.

And affectionate. Personal. And powerful. I know the supernatural seems crazy flaky. I know that you question God’s character. But there IS a loving God. Who has been so misrepresented by…………………………us. There has been a time – in ministry – when I gave up on Him. When I railed against Him through gritted teeth and squinted eyes.

Because I believed the lies that hijack the quiet.

And when I crumbled in a heap under the weight of it, He filled the vacuum of my despair with His compassion. He whispered in my ear…

I love you in the ditch, Cookie, as much as I ever have.

Because you’re mine.

I’m here.

I never left.

This is relationship. Not religion.

He is not distant. Aloof. Angry. Or formal.

We are in real danger of being so bound by what we can see and hear and taste and touch at the expense of what we can’t. For all my tall wedge-wearing, seventeen bangle-sporting, sassy mouth, all-put-together garbage, I’m a wobbly, scared farm girl whose only strength, integrity, and confidence is borrowed from my God.

The relationship more real to me than any I’ve experienced with people wearing skin.

How have you experienced His nearness in your life lately?

The God who made the world and everything in it—He is Lord of heaven and earth and does not live in shrines made by hands. Neither is He served by human hands, as though He needed anything, since He Himself gives everyone life and breath and all things. From one man He has made every nationality to live over the whole earth and has determined their appointed times and the boundaries of where they live. He did this so they might seek God, and perhaps they might reach out and find Him, though He is not far from each one of us.

Acts 17:24-27 (HCSB)

Epilogue: Jessica and I connected on her blog and are now friends on social media.

#WhosYourDaddy

[Title Image: Amarit Opassetthakul]

May

How to Sabotage Your Very Own Self

If you are a DIYer, this post is for you. It hails hot off the press from my own daily existence. From the most recent scribblings in my journal. From the blocks on my calendar. As I put hands to the plow each morning to eke out a dream, a calling, these are the ways I’m bungling it on the regular.

Find a routine that works and marry it. I am a person very given to a rut. Without intentionality, I will veer to the familiar and plug along dutifully until the cows come home (I’m in touch with my inner farmer today). Now. In my brain, when you find what works, logic says keep doing it. And there’s some truth in that; however, creativity doesn’t play that game. Fresh ideas are rarely born out of stale circumstances. Innovation is a prerequisite for winning at anything, so change it up and regularly schedule some play, some rest, and some new.
Heed the skeptic in your brain. Hogwash. Negative, pessimistic, suspicious, ungrateful people make lousy dream chasers.
Find someone who’s doing what you want to do and do what they did to get there. Again, there’s a grain of wisdom in that line of thought, but it’s more often a trap than a recipe for success. Someone else’s path won’t be yours. Like it or not, God has you in a process that is ripe with purpose, and His process won’t be hacked. Furthermore, no one is doing what you want to do. Because if someone’s already doing exactly what you want to do, then you don’t need to do it. If someone’s already saying/doing/selling/building what you want to, you haven’t honed in closely enough on what only YOU can say/do/sell/or build.

Know when to fold ’em. Know when to walk away. Know when to run. Discouragement is to be expected. You’ll want to hang it up. Almost every day. You’ll feel foolish for attempting to lug around a massive dream that doesn’t fit in your arms. You’ve got it strapped to your back, both arms hugging what they can in the front, a basket full of hope balancing on your head, and you’re kicking what won’t fit down the sidewalk. You’ll grow weary of looking like a spectacle with your grand ideas drawing all kinds of attention. This is where dreams get relegated to the storage units of our lives. Where they dust, out of view of others and occupy space we don’t really need. That’s what they get with their big selves. They get forgotten. And not only are they cumbersome, they smell too. Dreams are steeped in the odor of impossibility. So real deal dream chasing demands a high tolerance for the foolish and the impossible, the oversized and the stinky. Tenacity required. And don’t even get me started on patience…
Read everything you can get your hands on and implement best practices. With regards to this blog, I have researched best days to release posts. I have found trusted information suggesting that a blogger can capture the best traffic on a Saturday post. And in the same interval of time, I read a different respected source that stated you should never post on Saturday. I have encountered the same with the optimal times of day for posting. All of that to say, you can waste a lot of time reading about contradictory best practices and land in confusion. There’s more merit in researching what’s working best for you and going with that.
Hyper-focus on making it happen. Wreck your marriage, cheat your children, and ignore your friends. That always goes well.
Hold your focus loosely and your plan tightly. While I’ve definitely stepped in the puddles of the aforementioned challenges, this is where I’m currently residing. I am a deplorable multi-tasker. So I try to stand in the middle of my life and run in seven different directions at once. Jesus-follower, wife, mama, daughter, sister, friend, small group co-leader, blogger. Where exactly does dream chaser fit in? I am having to get militant, with my very own self, about protecting the time I have set aside each day to dream and work and pray towards what God has called me to do – to help believers find Truth, strength, and hope in Jesus. Now my plan for doing that is an open-handed component because nothing in my life has ever gone as I planned; why would I think this will be different?

So what is that dream you’re paying storage fees on each month? What’s hindering you from pursuing it? Go free it, air it out, belt its largeness back on, and give me a head nod as we pass on the street. I’d wave….but……you know…….my hands are full. Carry on, friend, and I’d love to hear about your journey.

[Feature Image: Chris Devers]

May

Mind the Gap: All Christians Are Not Created Equal

The cell was rank with the acrid stench of urine; a searing spear of blinding torment pierced both temples. Bile rocketed up his throat as he swallowed hard to force it back down. A single tear escaped the corner of his eye; he swiftly wiped it into his hairline. Head down, facing the concrete floor, he silently mouthed, “God, I need you….please help me….please save me….”

_____

She bit the side of her cheek as she thought through what she should do. The goldfish in her belly plunged and soared as an audience went wild in the splash zone. She hadn’t expected to feel nervous. Or afraid. She could hear the dull drone of the mower which meant her daddy was home now. Mom was wiping up a glob of butter from the kitchen floor as she entered. She would just blurt it; that’s what she would do. Ready…ready…set….ready………..”MamaIjustaskedJesusintomyheart.”

_____

Why am I crying? Why the hell am I crying? Oh my God, I’m sorry. I’m cussing in church, I’m crying, I’m standing up and all of these people are looking at me. God, I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry for all that I’ve ever done. These people don’t know what I’ve done. They have no idea, God, but I don’t want to live this way anymore. I want to be different, God. Please help me be different….please forgive me…..I am so sorry, God…..I want to follow you……I want to do better…….I want to be better…….I want to be a good person…..

_____

Are all three equally in right relationship with God? I say yes. Are all three completely forgiven? Yes again. Going to heaven? Yep. According to Scripture, are all three new? Yes. Second Corinthians 5:17 says so. Do all three still retain unhealed wounds at this transaction? Sadly, yes.

Because new doesn’t mean whole.

New doesn’t mean well.

And new doesn’t mean healed.

In my brain, it’s kind of like a heart transplant. At the conclusion of the surgery, the patient has a new heart. No one disputes that. And this gives him life when death had been his prognosis. But as they wheel him from the OR, is he whole again? Well, healed, and ready to grab dinner with the fam? No. There’s a grueling road ahead. And a lifetime of anti-rejection meds. The threat of the immune system attacking the new organ will require constant watchfulness. Forever.

So. Can we, as the Church, just acknowledge this to folks new to the faith?

Hey, you got a new heart and with that comes new life, but there also may be a grueling road ahead. A lifetime of anti-rejection efforts. Those hurts you brought into this…….they still hurt. That sexual abuse, that addiction, that divorce, that loss, that abortion – those things still hurt even after you begin a relationship with Jesus. Even when they aren’t inflamed and raw to the touch, they’ll still be weak places until they are healed in every way and in every realm of personhood: emotionally, relationally, spiritually, mentally, and physically. Jesus is completely able to heal you, but it’s going to require hard work on your part. And until those places are healed, they’re like land mines that may go unnoticed…even by you. Unnoticed while you lift your hands in worship. Unnoticed while you dress for church. Unnoticed when you pass the offering basket. Unnoticed when you pack the family into the minivan for Sunday lunch. Unnoticed…until your faith fails and you have an enemy that knows all the right buttons to push.

Can we just look eye-to-eye with a new believer and with the grace and compassion of Jesus admit, “The hurts still hurt, and they can’t go unattended”? So folks new to faith don’t feel like failures when the old crap isn’t gone. So they don’t give up on Jesus because they think He didn’t work. Or give up on themselves as Christians because they think they can’t do it.

Can we stop dumping everybody into the saved bucket and stop acting like everybody’s equal once they meet Jesus? We are equal recipients of grace and salvation, but our journeys with Jesus are more affected by what happened BEFORE we met Him than we are acknowledging.

Annually, more than 100,000 US parents experience the death of a child.
40-50% of first marriages end in divorce.
27% of children live in single parent homes.
18% of US women have been raped during their lifetime.
Approximately 1 in 6 boys and 1 in 4 girls are sexually abused before the age of 18.

People are bringing a lot of garbage to their relationship with Jesus; this paltry list is but a thumbnail of the comprehensive hurt around us. Is Jesus able to heal? YES! No one believes that more than I do. But, can we as believers stop using the Parable of the Sower to tell hurting people to just be good dirt? When believers lose against their former battles, can we stop watching them walk out the back door and stop labeling them as uncommitted? Maybe today – at this point in society and at this time in history – the whole idea of loving our neighbors as ourselves means helping them remove some thorns and weeds. Getting dirty. Speaking Truth. And administering a lil’ anti-rejection meds…

[feature image: raghavvidya]