Tag Archive for: Steve Carter

What do we assume?

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I think, like most of America, I am dreading the next few months ahead of the next presidential election. As a therapist and a living, breathing human living in the US, I have heard so many opinions, broken-hearts, hopes, concerns and torn up family systems because of the state of our democracy.

*Here is my disclaimer, even before I write this post: This IS NOT a political post. I will not make this a post about who you vote for, why or even the passionate reasons why. I won’t, because I believe and value each person’s right to choose. Even if I disagree and even with all the contentious dialogue and tension that currently exists….

We are a society that WANTS to explain our feelings, our reasons, for many reasons. None of that is inherently wrong. We believe in OUR beliefs and our reasons – each side. And, As I age, I am all too aware of the massive damage and cost of assumptions…

Last week, our family spent a week on vacation at a beloved small lake up north on the Michigan coast. It was a delightful week of connection, rest, relaxation, fantastic food, smores and unplugging from our normal routines. For our family of 5 (plus my parents and beloved family friends) this was the 11th summer and our last one before our E heads to college in the fall. We laughed, played endless Spades and Euchre games, snacked, read, floated, soaked in the sun, had blessed conversations and tried hard to avoid social media/devices. The one exception was my dad and 18 year old daughter’s request to watch the first presidential debate.

In a recent sermon, my friend Steve Carter talked about the idea of having one grand confession daily: how confessing to ourselves, to God and to our safe, core group of people can actually allow us to greater love and depend on God. I l have been trying to be brave and practice that, so here goes…

My one grand confession today…. I really struggle with politics, as I have since I was 18. Before that, I don’t know if I honestly paid much attention. At 18, I was able to vote, tried to engage in beliefs and reasons to vote but quickly felt like it was all fake. I felt like both candidates might say the things that voters want to hear in order to get elected, were profoundly mean to one another and the whole business seemed to cultivate ugliness. Sure, I also saw most tension go away after whichever candidate was elected, but the whole process felt like bullshit to me. I always tried to vote, to educate myself the best I could, but my tolerance for it all has been low and gotten lower the last two voting cycles.

Ok, I guess one more confession…

I am so afraid this time around will be so much worse….which is why, when my family turned on last week’s debate, I sat with my back to the tv (while beating my son and his best friend in Euchre) but still hearing the already barbed, cutting and deeply painful interactions between the two current candidates. I felt my body tense as they traded insults, avoided questions and generally had little respect for one another. My insides that hope with every day to become more like Jesus, felt profoundly sad as I listened/tried NOT to listen.

I heard the commentator direct a question to President Biden, then a long bit of silence. Suddenly, I felt the hair on my neck stand up…

It was a few months into President Biden’s tenure in the White House when one of my kids came home, distraught about a friend mimicking a recent stumble the President had, while going up the stairs into Air Force One. Months before that, there were videos of President Trump mocking a disabled reporter that also greatly disturbed each of us. We as a family, value respect, care and equality in many areas. Disability is one that hits us differently because of me. Still, I am proud of our conversations, feelings of injustice and values in this regard. But when things like mocking and disrespect rear up, especially from the leaders of our country, it also hurts us a bit differently as well. My daughter was so upset that a friend who knows our family well and knows about my disability would be mocking a stumble….

That day, I took a DEEP breath and knew this would be yet another tough conversation, that stumble on the stairs for President Biden. I was not wrong. And over the course of his presidency, that stumble has cast a shadow on his cognitive abilities, his fitness as a leader and been fodder for many. In other words, many assumptions.

It leaves a knot in my stomach because of my own disability. Cerebral palsy is defined as ” a group of neurological disorders that affect a person’s ability to control their muscles and movement.” It’s caused by damage to or abnormal development of the brain before birth, during birth, or in early infancy. The term “cerebral” refers to the brain, and “palsy” refers to problems with muscle use. (Mayo Clinic).

Whew, tough to read that my own brain is “damaged, or abnormally developed.” That leaves a lot of room for interpretation….

From the time I could read (but not yet grasp the definition,) I have been afraid.

Of what, you ask?

So many things…I am afraid that when I write CP on a form ( as required on job applications when I was 16), I wouldn’t be considered for jobs because someone might assume things about me.

I am afraid that when people are new to me, see me, meet me, or arrive in my office, they might assume I have cognitive impairments because I walk different.

I have experienced people freezing up when they meet or see me because they assume…something.

I babysat for a neighbor one time, but then was told they didn’t want to have me again because they didn’t feel comfortable when I was walking with their child.

I have had people talk louder to me, speak to my husband instead of me or offer to send a nurse to my house when I was making a medical appointment.

I have spent a lifetime being afraid…of assumptions; navigating a culture that assumes SO MUCH. I have made an art form out of anticipating how people might react to me and being preemptive in order to make them and thus myself, more comfortable. I, (thank you Lord,) I have a career in therapy which made it non-negotiable that I do my own inner work with the my own therapist. These fears are far less at 51 than in my youth and yet they are still very real sometimes.

I empathize, which, hopefully, makes me good at my job with those who are also afraid of assumptions, those who have their own fears about showing who they are. (In other words, all humans.) My goals, both professionally and personally are to offer the space of acceptance, care and understanding, to exemplify Jesus Christ, whether people know him or not.

I think it is one of the ways God has worked my CP out for the good is that I both get to and must do my own work and because of CP, have a deep awareness of pain in general. I KNOW I would not be who I am without CP and, though there are many days I would like to trade the pain, I would never trade the lessons learned or who I am still becoming.

But because of it all, (the both/ands of CP), the hair on my neck stood straight up during that debate as President Biden groped for the right words, moved a bit slower and stumbled. I knew the rhetoric in the days following would be critical, assumptive and cruel because of these issues AND the deep divide in the country. It made me profoundly sad as we finished our card game that night…

The next morning, I scrolled on my phone for a few minutes before I got up.

It was so swift and so damning, the response to his performance: “Get him skilled nursing care, not a presidency.” “When is someone going to tell him to just enjoy his old age in a rocking chair…” “He is not able to walk, let alone run a country.” “A president in a wheelchair, I think not!”

I understand there will always be opinions about candidates, things we agree or disagree on. I also understand the choice to put oneself in public realm, which invites public opinions. But these are only a FEW of the assumptions, statements that are not about President Biden’s character, record or career. Rather they are a cruel and damning commentary about his physical being. These feel like attack on something else rather than a dialogue about the political issues.

Then another thought hit me so quickly it took my breath away…”if people are this cruel after his stumbles, (both literally and figuratively), what might they say about me? Right back to those fears…

I fell a couple weeks ago. I was turning a light off in the kitchen and for whatever reason, my feet got tangled and I hit the floor, hard. I wasn’t hurt, (more than my pride) other than the wrench in my back because I twisted on my way down to protect myself. I used a wheelchair the next day in church and was so anxious about the well-meaning comments and worry that I saw on friends’ faces, that I spent the morning trying to downplay the whole thing. I wonder kept wondering what people might assume because of my fall, the use of a wheelchair and the way my body is functioning as I age.

The difficulty is, we will all age, Lord willing. Would any of us want the bar that is being used with President Biden to be used on us if we stumble, forget some worlds or get lost in a conversation? Would we want to be relegated to “sitting and enjoying life” as our bodies change or be considered “finished with our identity and calling” because our physical bodies are slower, less capable or different than others? I know many whose intellect, purpose and abilities had little to do with how or what their physical bodies allowed, some of whom are young.

It’s’ a tough bar and none of us really can control how our bodies will change over time.

I am all for discussion about the issues. I don’t even mind civilized disagreement. But oh my goodness, it seems unnecessary to crucify someone because of their personhood that is beyond their control. In our house, a regular phrase is “generous assumption,” a phrase that if you know Brene Brown, you know. If you don’t, here it is…Making generous assumptions means we enter the conversation with an empty notepad. It means not creating a narrative based on a storyline that we have already played out, assuming we know another’s motives and why they do what they do. It means assuming the best about each other…. Husband reminds the kids at home, “it takes a lot more effort to be mean to be kind.” The truth of that grabs me every single time.

I’ve been trying to shake those cruel comments for the last week, my own fears and my fears for our country. I am taking a break from social media and surrounding myself with hope in all the ways I can. I am not perfect and have made my own mistakes with assumptions. But I suppose this is my way of shedding light on how assumptions can hurt all of us and perhaps my earnest plea to treat others how you want to be treated. John Bradford said, “there by the grace of God go I.”

Amen and amen.

Much love,

Both/And

Psalm 13

Who are you, great mountain…that you should not bow low?

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I climbed the steep, wooden stairs, trying hard not to think about slowing down those behind me. I looked at the worn wood stairs, instructing my steps one at a time: step up, then again, then again. Some of the planks of wood were worn in spots to the point of seeing the path so many have used over so many years. As my nerves mis-fired, causing my muscles to tense further as I climbed those stairs up to the sanctuary I have seen many times on-line, but never in person, my toe caught on the second-to-last step and I stumbled.

My love was my oak, balanced and steadfast, did not let me fall. And though my face flamed at the thought, he smiled, reassuring me while he also held tight to my hand. We walked through the arched doorway and entered the sanctuary along with our beautiful daughter. My heart opened and I felt the presence of Jesus in the most tangible way…

Before I go further, I need to lift the curtain on the last few weeks….(actually, the last few years).

I wrote my last post on “lament,” a direct result of my own experiences in these last week, wanting to normalize the ache of lament and longing of so many others for peace and so often, at the mercy of an unanswerable “WHY.”

There is even lament this coming season of fall; so many both/ands: the lazy, easy days of summer swapping to the busy, schedule-heavy days of fall, school and sports seasons, the fullness of friendships and the aching desire to ease burdens related to health, crumbling relationships, caregiver fatigue and dessert-size void of grief.

Change, for the great majority of people is something to fear, in and of itself.

Our family is not immune. While I teach and assist with healthy coping, I also get to practice these myself. Did you see that, “I get to?” It is so hard to alter “I have to_____” with “I get to….” in an effort to remind ourselves that all things are a gift and that I do, TRULY GET TO: I get to walk up those stairs, where so many have walked, wanting, trying, pleading to meet God in that beautiful sanctuary. I get to walk at all, a gift not lost on me as I see another CP warrior in the sanctuary, moving in an electric wheelchair. I get to pray for dear friends, fighting infertility, another fighting for their very life in a long-suffering battle with depression. And I got to meet a dear friend who though we’d never met in person, has been the pastor, wisdom-giver and teacher for our family, especially during the Covid-19 pandemic.

For many of us, our relationship with attending and being a part of church communities became much more complicated in the last 5-10 years. While this is not a political post or even a judgement on “church,” the reality in my work and personal life could not be closer to the truth. Between the challenges of church attendance, financial issues and the ever-present fractures in relationships in the last decade for sure (if not before), our sense of safety and community even with church attendance has certainly become more tenuous.

About a year to the day before the world changed with the pandemic, our family faced a “crisis” of our own related to the church we called “home” for nearly 22 years, for many reasons. It was the church I was a part of since its’ planting, where I became an adult who loves her Savior, rather than a child of my parents who met, accepted and loved Jesus through their beliefs. They laid a rock-solid foundation of community, faith and love for the Lord Jesus. (They still meet with the same small-group of people, after nearly 40 years-absolutely incredible to me!) In my young adulthood, this was the church that gave me community, support and where I met my gift of a husband. It was the pastors here who assisted with the baptisms of our babies, and they were who we called in the happiest and hardest times of our lives.

But as time went on, the landscape changed and about a year before that mind-bending and life-altering pandemic, our church became unrecognizable to us and it seemed overnight, we knew it was no longer the right place for our family. To say that was a grief for me does not fully encompass the loss or the difficulty in finding our next church home. “Church shopping” is one of the biggest, most complex and emotional difficulties I personally and professionally have discussed with so many clients.

A dear friend and pastor told me about “a pastor on Instagram who is doing something on the Psalms, you should check it out.” This was just weeks before the pandemic, when we had begun to put roots down in another local church, but for some reason, I was dragging my feet in authentically investing. I did not look up the Instagram account immediately, even though I have ALWAYS loved Psalms. I was busy with a career, kids, marriage, and so many other parts of life.

Suddenly the pandemic was upon us and the entire world flipped upside down and seemed to zip up in an instant.

We were all a breathless as our way of life shifted in many ways, in mere hours. I was thankful for our kids youth pastor who was diligent about staying connected with students, but our church itself was unable to provide anything in the way of connection, support or even presence. While I felt completely unmoored, I remembered my friend John telling me about Pastor Steve Carter and the evening Psalms. From the first, “Good evening and welcome to the evening Psalms,” I felt the presence of Jesus as I had not ever before. Steve’s words were like the best glass of water, when I hadn’t realized I was even thirsty.

Steve began doing “social media live” videos almost every day, sharing his heart, wisdom, love for words and most importantly, sharing the love and relationship with Jesus Christ. His authentic, non-judgmental and humble presence was a new experience to me. He simply shared with such an authenticity and joy that I drank up those posts with a new desire to know Jesus better. It became my nightly ritual to savor those posts, listening and journaling at the end of my day and chewing on a phrase, verse or new perspective. I would text or call my husband and excitedly share with him new ways I understood the Bible, Hebrew words or some other way God himself was changing me. And because we did not have “a church,” we began to watch the evening Psalms as our church, our little family of five as often as we could.

By all rights, though he had no idea who we were, Steve Carter became our pastor as he wandered the dessert himself. (Literally and figuratively). He taught our growing teens about the “ok-ness of mid-rash,” the mountain top experiences with Jesus: my youngest has a FAVORITE – (emphasis hers). Psalm 8, where Steve describes going to the top of a mountain, covered with snow, spreads his arms wide and yells, “How can ANYONE NOT believe there is a God?” Suddenly, a skier comes flying by, and yells back, “I know, bro!” and sails down the mountain. (Paraphrased just a bit!) My daughter, cannot stop smiling as Steve smiles on the video, describing worship and the love of God the Father. “You get Jesus!” he joyfully states, explaining this relationship as the absolute GIFT that it is.

For two years, our family of 5 has listened, sought God in new and intimate ways because of Steve’s teaching and example. We are profoundly grateful and of course, because I value saying the things, (especially when we think the good things, because we don’t say that enough,) I reached out and shared our gratitude and hearts. We have found a beautiful connection. I joke at home with my family that we are “friends,” because I have so much respect and have learned so much, also because I often “make friends” with many. My family says they can’t take me anywhere, maybe this is my inner “Mr. Rogers, ” making friends in “my neighborhood.”

After this season of church together at home, learning from my friend, Steve, we all began to stir a bit to return to God’s house, to begin finding a “new” in-person church. I will readily admit that I was the one of our five who struggled the most with the “church shopping” ahead of us…for many more reasons than this blog has time for. The biggest, in truth was my fear of being hurt again by “church.” Not God. While many described a dessert or drought in their relationship with the Lord during COVID, my personal experience was very much the opposite. I am by nature, an introvert so the time of sheltering and safety brought in part, the opportunity to rest, to seek and to just be, with our family, but also with God. He used many, but especially Steve’s teaching to show me his pursuing heart in all together new ways.

I think this was part of my fears with returning somewhere to traditional worship, sometimes engaging with many at a time is challenging, both for my body, but also for my emotions. I am not a “floater on waves” but rather a “scuba-diver” in social interactions. I wantto make those I am interacting with feel any important and be heard. Truthfully, I am terrible at small talk…

God gently and consistently reminded me that there was a church waiting and kept putting my former childhood church on all of our minds. I am a bit ashamed to admit, I was resistant at first. I think most of us would like to distance ourselves from our “weird and awkward” younger selves, once we’ve become adults, would you agree? But God certainly had a plan and such a beautiful one.

The first Sunday of Advent did find us returning to the church I grew up in. I held my husband’s hand and his wise advice was, “walking in and finding a seat is success.” Success it was! The sanctuary was beautiful with an early December glow, we were greeted by my former pastors with hugs and genuine joy that we were there and instantly welcomed by acquaintances and a few special loved ones.

We have plugged in in beautiful, surprising, and holy ways, from our youngest (also an introvert) spontaneously asking to join the worship team, our teens finding community in the youth program, and for us, the blessing of new friendships that only God could orchestrate. This path is one of the richest and holiest of my life so far…

Steve Carter returned from he and his family’s own sojourn and is now preaching in Illinois. We’ve tried a few times in the last year to make it to his church and finally meet. It has been difficult to make a date work between our kids many activities. Until this past weekend.

My husband and I were taking our oldest to a college visit about an hour from Forest City Church. When I messaged Steve, he was indeed scheduled to preach. Throughout the college visit, time with our girl and listening to God’s leading over the weekend especially, I felt so much gratitude. I so thankful as well, to finally meet this friend who has so blessed our life.

He stood out in the sunshine, greeting guests as the three of us walked up. He leaned around the man he was speaking with and the recognition and smile we received was nothing but a gift. We all three understood the the blessing of spending a few minutes together. He offered coffee, directed us upstairs to the sanctuary and then went to get ready to share his heart.

Remember the beginning of the blog today?

Walking into the sanctuary after navigating those stairs had my heart beating a bit harder than usual, if I can be honest. I was afraid I would be “fan-girling” upon meeting our friend Steve, but truly, I think I was fan-girling more about how God himself just orchestrates every single step of our journeys for our good. To sit in that sanctuary, I was so humbled to know and love my Jesus SO much, to be in this space and could almost feel an intense anticipation at what the morning could bring. God took over my over-firing muscles and insecurity about climbing those beautiful but steep steps and almost whispered to me, “just wait, it’s going to be SO. GOOD.”

Oh my goodness. I don’t even have words. Worship was so full and tangible that I thought the roof was literally going to come off that decades old building, with beautiful arches, stained glass windows and scads of history. The first song had me in tears – Never Lost. But a few lines just leveled me.

“The night cannot whisper away what he said in the light.”

“Wind, listen to the sound of power on my lips…

“And who are you great mountain, that you should not bow low?”

Oh my Jesus, please remind those that need the biggest reminders, that the darkness is not stronger than even your whisper in the light – even when the dark feels so, so powerful. Please remind us that even the mountains, both majestic and daunting, MUST also bow to you. Remind us that even the wind, beautiful, frightening and fierce, CANNOT remain against how powerful you are.

The community, the worship and yes, Steve’s preaching was a blessing upon blessing. I am overjoyed that we able to be a part of it all, that God continues to put words and music from Sunday on my heart. I cannot stop singing, “never lost,” even the title of the song seems to be God’s way of whispering to me, “no matter what, I’ve GOT. YOU.”

Gratitude to Forest City, Elgin, for hosting and sharing all the beauty of your community. Steve Carter, thank you for being faithful to your calling, for being a pastor to our family. Hope to catch up again soon! You are a gift. To our dear “new church family,” you may never know how much we needed you and our gratitude for embracing us. Mom and Dad, for your love, legacy and faith that you pass on to each of us, I will never be able to say thank you enough.

Jesus, you are everything. Thank you for leaving ALL, never lost.

Both/And

Psalm 8