Everyday Observations | Cookie Cawthon | product of a tenacious grace

January

The Un-Sexy Truth About Today

persistence

She failed her driver’s license test 959 times.

With almost no formal education and a lifetime in a remote village in South Korea, passing the written test seemed like an insurmountable obstacle to commanding the road on her own. For years she caught two buses to the test site multiple times a week. Spurred on by her desire to drive her grandchildren to the zoo, her persistence was dauntless.

Cha Sa-soon received her license on her 960th attempt. At the age of 69. She became a national celebrity, starred in a car commercial, and was given a KIA Soul in recognition of her tireless resolve.

I, on the other hand.

I’ve lost the same 7 pounds 3 times now. And am working on the fourth. If my self-improvement mechanism were working properly in my life, I would now be 21 pounds down.

Alas, I am not.

I have a thing wrong with me I like to call I-am-bored-easily-and-am-driven-by-results-so-I-need-to-see-a-payoff-pronto-or-it’s-a-wrap-friends. You may know it by its technical term: Aspiration ADD.

I aspire until I tire.

I don’t think there’s a pharmaceutical for that yet. But it does have an ICD-10 code. It’s actual.

I am addicted to instant gratification, and it has spoiled me. It has ruined my sense of longevity. I have been guilty of grossly underestimating the impact of simply sticking with a thing day after day. This is playing out in me regularly.

Persistence…….well…….it feels so obsolete. Like it dresses in a passive pallor. I mean, who has time to persist? If I don’t see results, cut bait and try something different. And faster.

After all, overnight success is sexy. And “in.”

Except it’s almost mythological.

A fabrication.

[insert sigh punctuated by pensive shrug and smirk]

We won’t escape the truth that hard, not glamorous, un-sexy work over a long period of time produces impact.

That’s why I only planned to keep my New Year’s resolution for one day. Today. Today, I will exercise. If I do, I’ve achieved my goal. I win [cue the ding, ding, ding & spinning yellow lights; my instant gratification meter jerks with accomplishment]!!!!!! My goal then renews each morning, independent of what happened yesterday or what will happen tomorrow. I’m about 75 days deep, and I’ve been more consistent than I have been in years. Because a whole bunch of todays stack up to create an impressive cumulative result.

So now I only require myself to commit to do anything for one day. Today.

This protects me from death by a-long-road-ahead syndrome.

keep walking

This is changing my mindset about making better food choices, exercising, and building Tenacious Grace.

Each morning I wake up dialed in on advancing the vision of our ministry. That looks like investing in relationships, growing our influence, cranking out resources, touching base with group leaders, studying and learning and researching, updating an inventory spreadsheet, praying for God’s direction and favor. The achiever in me would love to see us with fifteen years of progress at the conclusion of our first year. We’re not there.

We’re building a ministry today. And that call will renew itself at 5:15 tomorrow morning. Independent of what happens today or will happen in the future.

We can often think our “purpose” or our “success” is a resident of the future, but I’d argue it always inhabits the present.

This chameleon truth can wear whatever color your circumstances dictate.

Is your marriage a disaster? Commit to being a gentle, respectful wife or an attentive, considerate husband for one day. Today. Then allow that goal to renew tomorrow morning. Regardless of what happens today or what will happen in the future.

Are you chasing a dream? Rebuilding a life? Assembling a network of friends? Starting a blog? Adjusting to a new city or job? Reconnecting with God? Working towards a fitness goal? Trying to loss 50 pounds? Recovering from a divorce? Launching a non-profit? Writing a book? Parenting through a difficult stage….or decade?

You only have to win today.

You can do almost anything for one day.

Unload the pressure and the despair of the long road ahead. Feel free to beast today. Allow that to breathe rest into your bloodstream. Keep dirt under your feet and press on, fierce friend. I think I hear a treadmill calling my name….

What does winning today look like for you?

[Images: Brian Wolfe & blackyuuki]

January

My Big Fat Trust Issues

friends

“I believe people are wholly selfish. Why do I need them?” I asked with flat, thorough conviction. There was no quibble in my query. I wasn’t playing a game. He was a professional and the burden of proof lived on him.

After all, I was armed with forty years of evidence.

“Other people may need people. But not me. I have a vibrant relationship with Jesus, and He’s perfect and has no disguised agenda. He knows me completely, loves me anyway, and He is briefed on all facets of every circumstance of my life. Why would I invite other jacked-up people to drag their dysfunction into mine?” I sincerely continued.

I guess I’m a reformed loner. That dialogue was with my Christian counselor two years ago; I suppose he won the argument since I now find myself thick in genuine relationships. You see, my people are meeting at my house tonight. In fact, I should be vacuuming and hiding the disgust of our lives right now instead of this, but….

Last week I was five minutes late. And I was hosting. I ran in with 2/3 of my wet hair clipped to the top of my head, designated Meredith as the substitute hostess, and pointed them in the direction of the kitchen. I don’t think my dust bunnies will catch them off guard this week.

ladies group

These people are seventeen gals looking for a safe place for friendship and an honest pursuit of Jesus. We began meeting weekly a year and a half ago, and it’s ridiculous. I have cried, cussed, and gasped for air, suffocating from breath-snatching laughter. This is where I asked for prayer as I weaned myself off the anti-depressant. This is where we cry out for wisdom as we parent. This is where we admit we have lost the desire to read our Bibles. This is where we send each other heinous pictures of our morning carline attire and our mountains of laundry. This is where we have permission to be flawed.

laundry mountain

Our purpose is gritty. Because life is.

And then beyond that circle, there are a handful of people with whom I have no secrets. None. And there is no freedom that I have ever experienced like being fully known.

I have zero fear these people are checking out on me. If they had been that kind, I gave them ample reason to vamoose long ago. And they’re still kicking it around these parts.

So how did my counselor change my mind?

FOMO.

Fear of missing out. He sold me on the aspect of life I had never experienced – intimacy. He championed its benefits while acknowledging its risks.

“The real and probable risk of being hurt is worth the richness of relationship,” he lobbied.

I am no longer afraid people won’t love me if they really know me. I am no longer afraid people will use my feelings against me if I share them. I cannot remember the last time I intentionally walled people out to protect myself.

Am I speaking anybody’s language here?

As I learned through counseling, due to childhood trauma, some parts of me stopped developing at age 5. The ability to trust was one of them.

Now I still have some wonky defaults. I still automatically assume the worst about people. It’s my natural response, but I catch it almost immediately and recalibrate to truth and love. I still have to force myself to share with other people….even meaningless details about my life. Sometimes my internal exchange goes like this, “Cookie, you have to tell this. Not because it’s important but because you are committed to this relationship and sharing yourself in it. Now do it. It’s not optional. And it does matter.” I still have to bully myself into it at times.

I was recently told I had been described several years back as “a really neat girl that you’ll never get to know.” Absolutely nailed it.

And, fellas, after extensive conversations and expensive counseling sessions with my dude, you are often apt to live in this place too. Probably for different reasons, but the dangers of isolation are the same. You need other guys who will cut the BS and shoot straight. Who will challenge and support you simultaneously. You carry a weight we gals don’t acknowledge enough. You need the company of other men who shoulder the pressure to succeed and provide. You aren’t meant to be the lone ranger.

Because isolation is dangerous.

We need people to speak hope when our circumstances seem hopeless.

We need people to speak Truth when we are believing lies.

We need people to lend us strength and faith when we are thin.

And we need people to text us nutty YouTube videos and memes that make us snort cackle on a cold Thursday morning.

That’s how we’re built.

friends

So if your bicycle is stuck in the mud of distrust, and you’re exhausted from spinning that back tire and catching no traction, here are my suggestions:

Be wise about whom you trust. My counselor suggested I test the waters with a couple of people before emptying all of my closets and dumping a heap of skeletons at their feet.
EVERYONE needs at least one person they can tell EVERYTHING.
For the most part, people are doing the best they know to do. When you get hurt, be wise, extend grace, and move forward in a healthy way.
If someone breaks your trust, don’t allow it to negatively affect your capacity to trust others.
Everybody needs a group. I highly suggest a same-sex group committed to real dialogue about real life.
If you have trust/intimacy issues, Scary Close by Donald Miller is the best book I’ve ever encountered. If you don’t read, get the audio version.

As much as I hate to admit it – I was wrong. I do need people. And so do you.

Because YouTube wasn’t meant to be enjoyed alone.

[Feature Image: Mathias Klang]

November

Does Fear Make Me a Bad Person?

A Syrian refugee flashes a victory sign at Reyhanli refugee camp in Hatay province on the Turkish-Syrian border March 31, 2012. REUTERS/Osman Orsal

It looks like I’ll be enjoying turkey, dressing, and cranberry sauce with a side of fear and trembling this Thanksgiving.

I’m afraid.

The kind of fear that needles sleep and browbeats waking hours.

It takes my breath.

It steals.

I have slept through the night twice in two weeks. Mostly my brain tosses and turns. I imagine someone casing my home, determining its vulnerability. I obsessively imagine Amanda Blackburn’s encounter with her attackers. They have invaded my house every day since they broke into hers.

__________

Sunday night we scurried from a scrumptious dinner at an Indian restaurant to the theater across town just in time to catch the previews before Mockingjay, Part II. We dashed about, speed walking, and camped in perfect seats with our friends before the opening scene, giggling and giddy with anticipation, tickled to be kid-free and on a double date.

But when a character stuck a gun under Katniss’ chin, a panic flared in my gut.

And then a fellow moviegoer’s need to head to the restroom painted Paris all over me. My breathing shallowed and I was flush with a hot sweat.

I am afraid of seeing evil in the eyes of another.

__________

And for the first time, jail ministry has frightened me. After all, the inmates I’m in relationship with aren’t there for yanking the tags off mattresses. Recidivism is real.

Your enemy wants to handicap your love, He said.

I know……..but how is murder Your best for anybody?

I don’t get it.

I don’t author evil, He said.

I am incapable of sanctioning it.

__________

I was against allowing refugees into the Unites States.

Did I think refugees were terrorists? Absolutely not.

Did I think Muslims were terrorists? No.

Did I think terrorists could potentially hijack the sanctuary of refugees to advance their cause? I did.

There is inconsistency in your passion, He said.

You mean, how can I beat the drum of the marginalized and not have a heart for refugees?

Fear. That’s how.

Love trumps fear, He said.

Love trumps fear, I agreed.

I do now believe we should admit refugees to the US; I do believe we are under a Biblical mandate to assist the oppressed, but I needed a little grace to get there.

I’d like to think fear doesn’t make me a bad person. It makes me a mama with an unhealthy worry over her children. It makes me a human with a clenched fist around safety as an idol. It makes me an advocate tempted to coddle fear instead of pressing into boldness.

But I’m working on it.

It means I may love with wobbly knees, but this is me dragging the thing into the light.

Remaining free is a hard business. The weaknesses that threaten to sideline us are always at hand.

And when you write a Bible study extolling God’s goodness, His faithfulness and His safety, He makes sure you’re not a liar. That those Truths live in your belly, not just on your tongue.

Freeing Truth to Fight Fear

God is absolutely incapable of evil. He doesn’t need it to accomplish His purposes. Evil occurs because we live in a broken world full of broken people. (1 John 1:5)
God can use circumstances created by evil to accomplish great things. (Genesis 50:20)
God is angered by injustice. (Psalm 7:11)
God is always near. We don’t ever trod this messy dirt alone. (Psalm 62:5-8)
Our fears point to our idols. (Joshua 24:23)
We can be free of fear. (Phil 4:4-7)

So maybe I’ll pass on that side dish of panic on Thursday after all.

Free Stuff – As we prepare to launch the sale of Who’s Your Daddy? on December 1, we’re hosting Twelve Days of Giveaways on the Tenacious Grace Facebook page next week. Come back here on Monday to get all the scoop about how to win a bunch of free loot and kick off the month of December right.

Have the best Thanksgiving, friends.

[Feature Image: Freedom House]

November

The Smile of a Disposable Woman

marginalized women

A smile may be the most costly gift a woman has to offer.

I recently scribbled a message in a birthday card for a delightful young lady celebrating her 24th birthday. The cover was ornate, drawn by a friend, and the inside was filled with well wishes and love. The birthday girl spent her big day in jail. And given her charge, she may pass all of her remaining birthdays there.

I don’t know the circumstances of her life or the details surrounding the event that landed her in an orange jumpsuit. What I know of her is that she seems shy with bright eyes and a radiant smile. She is most often tucked in the fold of two older inmates I am especially fond of. We hug and cry and laugh and shoot straight and recite Scripture together each Sunday morning. All three are sitting under the heaviest of charges.

women

To the world, these ladies – with their mug shots and rap sheets – are disposable.

Most of the time I think, “It’s no wonder they are here. It’s absolutely no wonder…” And I even ponder, “Are we – to some degree – responsible? How have we reached down to the sector of disadvantage and loved like Jesus?” I’m not talking about episodes of charity; I’m talking about a commitment to deliverance.

This is the same weight I hauled back from Kenya. I was despondent for two months after my return. I was heartbroken by the likelihood that I would return to my middle class white girl ignorance. And I did. Mainly because I didn’t know what to do. How to be different in a world that defines hardship as having a PC instead of a Mac.

The problem is too big, I thought.

There isn’t enough money, I reasoned. Or enough time…

girl

But if I am honest I don’t think those excuses are going to hold water when we answer for our lives.

Something inside of me is broken for marginalized women. Disposable women. But my thing doesn’t have to be your thing.

God cares about orphans and widows, prisoners and the poor, the oppressed, the abused and the mourning. Pick one.

And I don’t think we get to throw money at an issue and feel released. Because if money were the answer, the wealthiest people in our society would be the healthiest. And that just isn’t so.

If we want to make a difference, we have to get out where it’s scary. And raw. And beautiful.

Jesus fought for the fringe.

He ministered to those in the margin.

He dignified the disposable.

girls

So as we wade into the the holiday season of gratitude and joy and peace, I’d like to suggest some ideas for a different kind of Christmas. The kind that might afford a smile to a disposable woman.

Buy Christmas gifts from organizations helping others. We’re going to spend the money anyway….why not choose gifts that directly benefit the disadvantaged?

Thistle Farms is a residential program in Nashville for those surviving abuse, addiction, trafficking, and prostitution. My daughter’s teachers are receiving candles poured and wicked by the ladies who benefit from this program. They sell an assortment of cool gift items, and my new favorite tee, “Love Heals,” came from TF.
Punjammies are on my own Santa list; they are pajama bottoms made by women in India who have escaped trafficking. Sudara also carries fun tees for girls, mamas, and dudes. And all purchases help keep women out of the sex trade.
This article highlights other brands fighting trafficking.
And if you are local to the lower part of SC, I direct you to De Baz in Hartsville. Your purchases can help empower women in Ethiopia, help fight poverty in Guatemala, support families in Ecuador, and provide income and safe work environments for women in Nepal – just to name a few.

de baz

Create a plan for getting involved as a family. Have a date night or family meeting at Starbucks – with red cups in hand – and discuss your passions and opportunities, do research and plan a next step.

Come alongside someone barely scrapping out an existence. Not so much where you supply Thanksgiving dinner and an overwhelming load of gifts. But where you invite them to your table. On a regular basis. A single mom. A teen mom. A struggling young couple. A widow. A divorced father. Get involved in their lives for the long haul. Build real relationships that provide legitimate support.
Get involved in the education of someone fighting for a chance. Education is a subversive attack on poverty.
Jump in at your local homeless shelter or soup kitchen and invest in people there on a regular basis. Hang out there on Tuesday nights and love them well. Help them make connections with job opportunities. Prepare and share a meal with them. Locals, Whosoever Community Church would love to have you there building relationships, especially since resident numbers will spike with the colder temperatures.

beautiful smile

PS. If this is going to be a difficult holiday season, I double dog strongly encourage you to dive in to helping someone else. On some of my darkest days of depression, I forced myself – quite unwillingly – to get up and help someone outside of my family. It is medicine.

Send some dollars outside of the US to help efforts abroad and to tender your heart for the world. There are tons of organizations doing great work all over the globe; you’ll encounter no shortage there. I personally know the world changer, Rachel Keefe, and know her to be an amazing steward of God’s call on her life. If you choose to donate, you will enable her to continue doing ministry – loving on beautiful kiddos in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. You can best follow her heart and her journey on Facebook.

vietnamese smiling

And I know the final point is a jarring conclusion to this list but, to me, it’s so in line with the heart of this post.

Please stop supporting the porn industry. Porn addiction has become a quiet epidemic. Even in the church. Among men and women. My words are saturated in nothing but love and grace. My own sin is great. Ladies, I know you abhor the clutch this addiction has on you, but it will not fill the emptiness gnawing your insides.

Porn is sex trade.

Fellas, the girl on your screen is being sold. You are the buyer. I am aware that its an addictive tool used by Satan to dismantle your faith, to trap you in secrets and shame. But there’s also more at stake. There is no chance that in the little girl’s heart that still beats beneath the charade she likes what she’s doing. There was a juncture in her life where she felt she had no other choice. Even if it was when she was five and somebody decided her innocence was theirs for the taking.

Please do whatever it takes to be free. For your sake and hers.

smile

Because…

Jesus fought for the fringe.

He ministered to those in the margin.

He dignified the disposable.

[Beautiful images: Rafa Puerta, himadri 48, Geraint Rowland, Adam Cohn, Rakesh JV, CiaoHo, Vee]

November

Dear Extrovert…

I am an introvert.

I am not shy. Shyness and introversion are not the same. Though introverts can be shy, for sure.

I love people. Like a lot. My heart is dialed to tender, and I am ubiquitously teary about the poignantly mundane. I get choked up over a kid I don’t even know struggling to cross the finish line at a cross country meet. I’m a softy.

I love people. All their words…..not so much.

I love public speaking. Though this is generally not the case for most introverts, I would rather speak to a thousand people than make small talk with one. I abhor it like nothing else.

I would rather sit and have someone pull out every hair on my head individually than participate in sorority rush again. Speed small talk with strangers; I have never done anything more contrary to my wiring than that.

But. If you want to immediately get to the guts of a conversation – without taking me through the hoops of drivel before we get there – let’s go. I think that may be part of why I love ministering to inmates; small talk doesn’t exist in jail.

I prefer group settings to one-on-one. In a group setting, I feel less pressure to interact. Because I can always count on you to keep the conversation going. You mask my withdrawal, allowing me time to think before I jump into the fray or allowing me to check out without much notice.

But, admittedly, I’m rotten in a fast-paced, high pressure meeting. The squeeze of the rapid-fire shuts me down. Often times you guys leave thinking we introverts had nothing to contribute. But if we were given a short window of time to process the discussion, the collective could benefit from all the ideas at the table. There is no research to suggest that the fastest speaker with the biggest personality has the best ideas.

I genuinely love being alone. I am not hiding or retreating. I am not insecure. I am reflective, and I have to think before I can express.

I have a low threshold for lots of interaction and stimulation. After a lot of activity – even bustle that is wholly fun and entertaining – my insides begin to vibrate. I feel like a juiced electric fence. I nap almost every day and it’s not so much because I don’t get enough sleep. It’s because I have to set aside time to shut down all stimulation and restore steadiness inside my skin. It doesn’t take long but without it I charge my family like the bulls of Pamplona.

So please don’t judge us as self-indulgent, selfish, or lazy.

Open work space is an introvert’s nightmare. I am less creative in an environment with more stimulation. The busyness and noise zaps and drains; it’s why I don’t write in coffee shops or with music.

I chase silence and allow it to insulate my thoughts.

So, your introvert employees/coworkers may go in search of a dark closet with a power outlet for a workspace. It doesn’t mean they aren’t a team player. It doesn’t mean they’re ditching you. It means their tolerance for activity is less than yours.

I often have to force myself to talk. And when I say force I mean I literally say to myself, “Okay, Cookie, you must share this. It’s unfair to the relationship if you don’t express this” or “This is a legit idea; you have a responsibility to share it. Ready, set, go.” It is especially difficult for me to share my feelings. That takes an extra firm internal nudge. Talking also takes extra resolve after I’ve been alone for an extended period of time. I can climb so far into myself that I have to push myself back out there.

Time and space for reflection is necessary. Even among you guys, our extroverted brethren. Our culture is built around extroverted ideals. We believe that aggressive sociability is imperative to success, so the introverts in the room are left feeling deficient. Like our wiring makes us inferior. That isn’t a thing. Luke 5:16 (emphasis added) makes time and space for reflection and prayer a wise priority for us all:

But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.

I am better in writing than I am in a conversation. When I can slow-cook my words, I have something worthwhile to add to a dialogue. The quality of what I can add on the fly is vastly diminished.

Chris, my husband, and I have learned to effectively navigate this in our communication. As much as you may disagree, he and I initially wade through a disagreement via text messages. We will always conclude it with an actual conversation, but in a text I have time to carefully and accurately compose my feelings and express them without the emotional charge of face-to-face. As the extrovert in the relationship, texting causes Chris to pause and think through his words before they are rashly released. It’s working really well for us.

introvert sign

Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can’t Stop Talking, the book, and the site, Quiet Revolution, are great resources for introverts and extroverts alike. Many years ago I prayed that God would help me understand how He made me. That He would nurture the aspects of me that are consistent with what He put in me and how He wants to use me.

In the same prayer I prayed that He would help me see what I have learned to be that actually is contrary to how He made me. I asked Him to help me “unlearn” anything that hinders His plan for my continued transformation. And I believe He’s doing that.

At 42 I understand more about how I’m built. AND about how my story and circumstances have taught me things that sometimes stand against God’s purposes for me. It is my quest to walk more confidently in the things that He mixed in – like introversion – that make me me and to allow the scalpel of Truth to remove the things that have crept into my nature as a result of fear, hurt, loss, and even cultural expectations.

I make no attempt to speak for all introverts. What’s true for me may not be true for all introverts, but we do all kind of live in the same neighborhood.

I am listening to the audiobook version of Quiet and I took an informal assessment in the book. I scored 65% introvert, 35% extrovert, which I think is really pretty accurate. While there’s no such thing as a 100% introvert or extrovert, there are traits we share that cause us to operate differently.

Most of the time, gregarious friend, we wish we could get after it with your quick assault on life; rock on with all your words and high energy. Just know that a lot is happening in our brains…you’re just going to have to slow down to hear it.

Kindest regards from the hermitage…

[Images by Nguyen Hung Vu, Merri, & Brett Jordan]