Eleanor Roosevelt once said:

“Great minds discuss ideas;
average minds discuss events;
small minds discuss people.”

I think if we’re being honest, we all do all of those things…so let’s take the idea of “minds” out of it and assume that we’re all capable of discussing any of the above things. The question then becomes: Do we? Which category do most of our conversations fall under? And what makes one better than another?

C. S. Lewis talks about this same idea in his book The Four Loves, in the “friendship” section. Friends, unlike familial relationships, are chosen. They are chosen not because one person or another is “nice,” but because of mutual interests. When friends get together, their conversations may touch on events or people, but primarily they fall back on discussing the thing that bound them together to begin with–the idea that they both love. Maybe it’s theology, maybe it’s mathematics, maybe it’s knitting or hockey or writing. The “what” doesn’t matter–what matters is the discovery of someone else who loves it like you do. It creates a comaradery that forms the basis of the relationship; and though you usually end up learning everything else about the person too, and caring about it, that “everything else” (the people and events of a person’s life) are still somewhat incidental to the binding agent of ideas.

Case in point: my best friend is Stephanie Morrill, YA writer. We met at a writers conference. Up until then, we both had many friends from our general lives, great friends even, to whom we were bound by faith or shared experiences or other interests. But it only took a few months for us to become best friends, because we shared the same primary interest: writing. Now, that was thirteen years ago. Over those thirteen years, we have learned all about each other’s families, daily lives, beliefs, hangups, faults, strengths, dreams, fears…you name it. Our friendship certainly isn’t only about writing at this point. But even now, a huge percentage of our conversations are about writing in one form or another. We check in via a video app once a week to report on our work. We share nearly daily not only what’s going on in our lives, but what’s going on in our stories. We are best friends–but at the core of that is that we are writing friends. Because we each define ourselves primarily as a writer.

When I first shared the Eleanor Roosevelt quote with my husband (he’d heard it before), it helped us to put words to some of our thoughts about other conversations we encounter in our day-to-day life. Every day, we take a walk. The purpose of the walk is to share our thoughts and take care of any planning for the day, so that we can then both get to work without interrupting each other a million times for these things. However, inevitably our conversations drift away from the practical–who’s going to take the kids to youth group this week? What time do we want to plan this meal with so and so?–and to ideas. What is the purpose of art? Why do some stories resonate and others fall flat? Why do some churches scoff at transubstantiation and other hold it as the most precious and sacred thing?

I don’t think this says anything about our minds being particularly great–but I do think it speaks to the habits we have formed in our relationship…and the fact that our relationship has as its foundation a lot of shared ideas.

But let’s chat for a minute about why there’s a hierarchy of subjects.

Let’s start with people. Anyone can talk about other people, right? And to a point, we need to. I need to know that my grandmother was just taken to the hospital, and how she’s doing. I need to know when my parents will be out of town. I even need to know what Stephanie’s neighbor is up to now, in that it impacts Stephanie’s life. I wouldn’t call talking about people small-minded–but I would call it “normal.” Or even “ordinary.” It’s what anyone can do, and what comes all too easily.

It’s also what leads us into the sin of gossip. Because talking about people doesn’t usually just involve facts–it involves judgment. Lewis also observes in The Four Loves that “the human mind wants to make every distinction one of value.” Which is to say, we can’t compare without deciding that one is superior to another. You can’t even compare two colors of shirts without deciding which one you prefer. Well, the same goes for people. We can’t note a distinction between Mr. A and Ms. B without judging between them. We can’t compare them to ourselves without either feeling lacking or superior. We can’t see two lovely people without trying to decide who’s lovelier. Nicer. Smarter. Funnier. More faithful. You name it.

This doesn’t only lead us to gossip–it leads us to bullying. Sexism. Racism. Bigotry. Religious extremism. Terrorism. Genocide. So many of society’s problems come from comparing people.

Then we have events. We can view this as “just the facts.” The news. The things happening. Certainly not bad things to know…but as I’m sure we’ve all run into time and again, there’s really no such things as “just the facts” without a slant. This is, again, something we as humans just naturally do. We interpret facts. And how are we interpreting them? Through what lens?

One of the things my husband is most “famous” for saying is “Know your why.” This call to self-awareness is so crucial–if you know why you do something, why you view events the way you do, why you make the choices you make, why you view people in the way you do, then you can perform a self-check on whether it’s right. Whether it’s good. Whether it’s the way God views those people or events. If you know why an event is being interpreted in a certain way–whether by you or someone else–then you can guard against the slant. You are, basically, turning the event into an idea.

Let’s take the riots last year as an example, because they served to open my eyes to this in a lot of ways. If you view it simply as events–riots, destruction, violence–then you’re simply going to condemn those involved. But if you look past the events, to the ideas behind them–to the people hurting, to the desperation, the cry to be seen–then you could well view the event in a different way. A way that doesn’t negate “the facts” of violence, but which give them a broader context. A way that might make you ask, “What would it take to push me to that point? What can I do to help?” instead of just judging and condemning.

Ideas, you see, invite us to look at things from new perspectives. They challenge us. They make us stretch and grow. Aristotle says that “all men by nature seek to learn.” My favorite translation puts it this way: “All men, by nature, stretch themselves out toward knowing.” That’s the power of talking about ideas with other people who also like to talk about ideas–it stretches us out toward knowing. It invites us deeper into the events and people we know by asking the bigger questions about who they are, what makes them want they want, what fuels the events of the day, what we can do to interact with or change them.

Of course, if you only ever talk about ideas and never put action to them, you won’t ever accomplish much–even this requires a balance, right? (Something I’m so guilty of! I’m great at ideas…less great at following through on them, LOL.)

But the first step to going deeper in life, dreaming bigger dreams, growing closer to God is always to turn your own thoughts and conversations along that path. Expand it from people to events, and then from events to ideas. Ask why? Ask how? And approach every topic with an open mind and heart, always considering first “Are my assumptions wrong?” If you start there, you’re going to be amazed at the new ideas, the new Truths that become clear to you.

And soon you’ll find yourself making Eleanor Roosevelt proud. 😉 More, you’ll find yourself drawing ever nearer to the God of all Truth, who cautions us against judging others and viewing the world through human eyes. It will draw us ever closer to seeing things through His eyes instead.

We are officially in the Advent season. I love that this is the traditional beginning of the Church’s year–the time we mark, waiting expectantly for Jesus. Living as we do so long after Him, we obviously know that He came…but we continue to pause and reflect and await Him, because we also know He is still coming.

And we pause and reflect and await Him just as Christians have been doing since His first coming. That, too, is a thing of beauty.

For the last two years, my family has been doing a daily devotional together that aims to bring together Christians from all walks of life, from all denominations, through the liturgy. One of the things the authors said in the introduction that had a huge impact on me was that the “magic” of the liturgy is that it links us, first, to Christians all around the world–because on this same day, Christians everywhere are praying this same prayer. Reading this same Scripture. Meditating on these same Truths. And that second, it links to every other Christian throughout history who has done or will do the same.

I don’t know about you, but as a historical writer and lover of history in general, this makes me go, “Whoa.” That’s just amazing, isn’t it? We know that the Church is to be one body…but I’d never paused to think of it as one eternal body. That, however, is exactly what it is–and what is must be, because we are partaking continually of Christ Himself, who we know is eternal.

Our brothers and sister are not just the men and woman beside us in the pews. They’re not just the ones celebrating Christ and worshiping him down the street or across town or even elsewhere in our country. They aren’t even just the Christians around the world who are being persecuted or martyred or enslaved. They are the people all throughout time who have loved the same Savior. Who have waited in ripe expectation for Him to come again. Who have believed in Him for healings, for intercession, for mercy, for grace.

What kind of Savior is this? What kind of king?

Other men have saved people–physically, yes. Other men have contributed to society in ways that are lasting. Other men have sacrificed themselves for a cause. But no other savior has given everything and still promised more, still promised eternity.

Other kings have reigned, have built kingdoms, have created systems of justice that inspire us still today. But no other King has ever created a kingdom incapable of crumbling, incapable of being torn apart. Christ is the Eternal King. And we, my friends, are His eternal co-heirs. We and every Christian who has come before. We and every Christian who will come after.

This year, I wait with an eager heart. I will celebrate Him with expectation as we count down the days until He first came. I will pray, standing ever amazed that others are praying the same prayer, praying their own prayer, praying His prayer right along with me. I will rejoice, knowing I am part of something so much bigger, so much longer, so much more than any earthly thing, any earthly king could ever be.

He is the coming and eternal One. And we have been given the most amazing gift in the world–we get to be His people.

“Why do I follow you? Because you are who you are, Lord, and because I rejoice in having been called by you. Let the swiftness of my feet in following you be my unceasing thanksgiving.” ~ Fire of Mercy, Heart of the Word

When I read those words a few weeks ago, they resonated deep in my spirit. So often we view thanksgiving as something we have to pause to do, a state of mind that we have to work to get into. When Paul tells us to give thanks always, we think of it as something tending toward the impossible–at least if we’re not staying constantly conscious of it.

But I love this perspective, and it’s one I’m dwelling on this year as I celebrate our official Thanksgiving. That sometimes, the loudest praise is doing what God has called us to do. It’s abandoning our fishing nets and following after Him. It’s pouring our offering of perfume onto His feet. It’s rushing through the busy streets of life, just seeking the hem of His garment. It’s doing the work of the Kingdom. It isn’t a big meal or reflecting on all the “things” He’s given or even the people we love. Thanksgiving is about Him.

Obedience is thanksgiving. Honoring His call on our lives is thanksgiving. Rejoicing in the One whose path we follow is thanksgiving.

Lord, I thank you. I thank you with my lips. I thank you with my words. But I also thank you with my feet–may they be ever swift in chasing after you!

Those who are wise shall shine
Like the brightness of the firmament,
And those who turn many to righteousness
Like the stars forever and ever.
~ Daniel 12:3

Having not grown up in churches that strictly follow the Liturgy, I didn’t realize until recently that the Christian year actually begins with Advent–but how appropriate is it that we mark all our time by the coming of Christ? I love the beauty of this. And so, as this year draws to a close, I wanted to actually look at the liturgical reading for the week, quoted above. The old year ends and the new year begins with a focus on Christ’s return, before we shift our focus toward His first coming.

And that verse from Daniel really spoke to me this week. It’s talking about the final judgment, when the dead shall rise into eternity, some to punishment and some to glory. Now read those words again. Those who are wise shall shine … those who turn many to righteousness like the stars forever and ever.

Does that speak to you like it does to me? Shine like the stars. That’s what we’re called to do–to be wise, to turn many to righteousness. This, my friends, whatever our jobs or our vocations, is our ultimate calling. We should be pointing others, always, to Him. We should be leading them to righteousness. Our words, our actions, our lives should be a testimony.

As Christians, we never get a day off. It isn’t just that people are always watching (though of course they are). It’s that God is always watching. We know this, of course, but I think far too often we hide behind the adage of “Well, I’m only human.” Obviously this is true, and we’re going to falter and stumble and get in bad moods and snap at people and grumble. But then what? Do we say, “Who cares, we all do it? I’m only human.”? Or do we apologize and seek to repair any damage we’ve done? Do we make people say, “Well if they’re a Christian, then no thanks” or do we lead them to Him?

As the Christmas season approaches, we’re all going to see stars everywhere–decorations, lights, on top of our trees. Those stars are a reminder of the one that led the wise men to Christ…but they should also be a reminder of how we are to lead others to Him today too.

May we be wise, may we guide people in righteousness. My friends, may we shine like the stars.

One year ago, I shared about “The Day That Changed Everything…and Nothing” — the day my son was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. That day that, had we lived in the eras I so love to write about it, he would have died. I know I’ve mentioned this new life a few other times since, but I try not to inundate you all, LOL.

However, it’s November, which means Diabetes Awareness month. It’s exactly one year since I shared that super-long, super-vulnerable post linked above. It’s been 13.5 months since that Day. I thought it would be a good day to invite all of us to pause and look at the quiet warriors among us. Those with invisible diseases that they fight every day. Every…day. Those who wage wars most of us would never dream. Those who fight with faith and hope under burdens so very heavy. I’m not just talking about T1Ds here, I’m talking about all those quiet warriors.

I remember years ago, my best friend was getting her son ready for Halloween. He had epilepsy, and they were on the crazy-intense medical keto diet to try to give his brain a chance to heal itself (and it worked, praise God!). She was telling me about how, all around the country, there were people who put out teal pumpkins–something she’d never paused to think about until it was her kid who needed it. Teal pumpkins, you see, are filled with non-candy treats in consideration of kids with extreme food allergies. And since part of the diet is absolutely NO sugar, this was imperative for her son–candy was an absolute NO. As they hunted through their neighborhoods for teal pumpkins, she was so, so touched that people cared enough about these kids who couldn’t have candy to do that. I also remember her lamenting how her son looked perfectly normal from the outside, so people didn’t know how dangerous life could be for him. That at any moment, he could have a seizure and topple from the playground equipment and seriously injure himself.

That was when I first began to appreciate these quiet warriors among us. Maybe they’re the kids sitting next to yours on the bus. Maybe it’s the woman three cubicles over who has that annoying alarm going off all the time. Maybe it’s the older gentleman holding the door open for you as you rush into the store.

You can’t tell to look at them. But they’re fighting. They’re fighting diseases that are trying to silence them forever, and they’re doing it with bravery, with hope, with strength of spirit. They’re accepting the fact that there are all these lists of things that are “cannot”s for them. For instance, my son:

• Cannot eat without giving himself an injection
• Cannot eat without counting all the carbs
• Cannot eat without measuring everything out exactly
• Cannot go to bed without taking his long-acting insulin
• Cannot leave the house without his “go-bag” of insulin and sugar-laden supplies to bring up low blood sugars
• Cannot enjoy swimming or other activities without either pre-loading himself with sugar and protein or checking every few minutes to make sure he’s not dropping too low (low blood sugars can make a diabetic pass out or have seizures or, in extreme cases, die)
• Cannot take a shower within 30 minutes of taking insulin

These are just a few of his “cannot”s. These are the limitations that come with his particular war. It’s different, of course, for others. But no less a battle. No less a challenge.

Here’s the thing I’ve witnessed, though, in this last year. These warriors don’t focus on the negatives–they focus on what they CAN do. My son is stronger than he has ever been–physically and emotionally and mentally. He may sigh in frustration, but he does what he needs to do. I can count on one hand the times in the last year he has complained about anything diabetes-related. He gets up every day, and he faces it. He forgives me when I forget something he needs, puts on that stiff upper lip, and just waits for us to get home so he can eat. He laughs with me when we have to make an 8 a.m. detour to three different pharmacies in a strange town to try to find the needles that I didn’t put back in his bag. He learns. He adapts. He takes care of himself. He does not, for one minute, let this disease define him.

And that is the same sort of fortitude I’ve seen not only in other Type 1 kids and adults, but in so many others who have learned to live with what seems to us to be “too much to bear.” They do bear it. And they bear it with strength that inspires me…that inspires me not only to be strong, but to be considerate.

Because I never know what invisible war that person beside me is fighting. I never know if I’m putting them at risk with my actions. I never know if my assumption that they are “normal” because they look “normal” is adding a burden to their battle. I can’t know.

But what I can know is that everyone has some battle they are fighting. Whether it’s chronic illness or disease or depression, whether it’s any one of a thousand different things, they are a warrior. YOU are a warrior. And as a mom of such a warrior, I don’t just salute you–I support you. I will ask myself how I can protect you. How I can make your life easier. How I can consider what you need instead of how those needs may inconvenience me.

As a Type 1 family, we are praying for a cure, and we are so encouraged by the medical advances and studies going on even now (like this, as one example). We pray that someday there will be a solution that will manage this disease for my son, so that all those “cannot”s don’t always rule his days. But we also know that even if that day never comes, he will be a champion.

How do we know? Because we see all the champions that have come before. That are walking this same road even now. We see all the quiet warriors, breaking through enemy lines and seizing the day, chasing their dreams, trusting that even in the worst, there’s Someone holding them.

To all you quiet warriors, I pray God’s strength upon you. And I thank you. Your example has gotten us through this last year. And I can only pray that my warrior’s example will do the same for others.

Fight on!

The JDRF (Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation) is the nation’s leader in fundraising for this cause. They not only support research all across the country, they also provide networking and community opportunities for those living with Type 1.

This begins in a rather silly place, but bear with me. When we went on vacation to the beach in September and I was slathering on the sunscreen and noting the amount of tan I was getting each day through walking and spending the morning at the water, I realized something. I’d grown up in a family with a pool and who took tanning seriously. It was something we did, goals we set. My mom and sister still sit out in the sun just to get a tan, as do my nieces. There’s nothing wrong with that (morally, I’m not talking about risks of skin cancer)…but it’s not something I do anymore. Which is fine.

But occasionally I feel like I have to apologize to them for it, or make excuses for why I don’t. I don’t have time… or My skin type is prone to skin cancer, I need to be careful.

But…WHY? Why do I feel that way? Maybe in part it’s because people will say “Oh, you look so nice with a little color in your cheeks!” or maybe it’s because sometimes people follow it up with, “You know, if you just spend 30 minutes outside a day, you could keep that tan all summer.” But I think mostly it’s because sometime in my childhood, I identified it as good. Which meant it was something to strive toward. Something to seek. Something…virtuous.

Of course, when I state it so baldly, it’s obviously not. Looking a certain way has nothing to do with virtue. Neither does having a beautifully decorated home or regularly washing your car or exercising daily or adhering to a particular diet. These things are perhaps vanity, perhaps pride, perhaps discipline, perhaps health-seeking. But they are not moral questions in and of themselves. They are not by nature virtuous or unvirtuous (though our pursuit of them could be). And because they’re silly examples, they’re the perfect entry point to asking myself a deeper question:

What else have I mistaken as a virtue that isn’t? What do I pursue, thinking it a Good, when it as best a “good,” but most likely just a thing? Where do I have my eyes fixed on the earthly where they should be fixed on the heavenly?

The whole tanning thing started the question, but some other “things” I’ve found are:

Reading. I love it, and I can get a lot of good out of it. But it does not make me better than non-readers, morally speaking. My son learns just as much from YouTube videos as I do from books. Being a book-lover is part of my identity…but it is not a virtue.

Being outdoorsy. We live in a beautiful area with lots of mountains and forests, and I spent a lot of time outside as a kid, as did my husband. But enjoying the outdoors is not a virtue. I am not sinning when I sit inside instead, even on beautiful days. I always appreciate the beauty of God’s world…but I can’t always be out in it. My work is almost entirely indoors.

Holding particular political views. In this divided climate, I hear so many people equating belonging to a particular political party or holding to a certain political view as “right” and “good” and even “Godly.” But the truth is that Jesus never once encouraged people to engage in politics or take political sides. He invites us to keep our eyes on the Kingdom of God instead of the kingdoms of men.

I’m sure there are many other places that I need to separate “enjoyable” or “worthwhile” from truly VIRTUOUS, and it’s something I’ve begun keeping an eye out for. Because plenty of things really are worthwhile and can enrich our lives and our faith…but if we apply that “virtuous” label to them, then we think they’re good for everyone, because virtues ARE. But these things are NOT on that level. They can be good, yes…but they are not required for all. They can be good without being virtuous.

Is there anything in your life that you’ve mistaken for a virtue when really it’s a simple lower-case-g good?