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Jen Hale Christy

Coach and Writer

jenhalechristy

Say Something

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You may be close to giving up on me, so I’m saying something.

I took a break from blogging. For two reasons.

First, my already-full life became overstuffed and I had to let something go. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’ve missed it, too.

And second, as Dave so poignantly said the other night, this is “the season of Jen’s discontent.” It makes its first appearances in late October and hangs around through April/May. It’s the Portland Winter.

True, it’s not technically the winter season, but in the Pacific Northwest we experience seasons a bit differently. On our shortest day this year, “sunrise” was at 7:47 and “sunset” was at 4:29. And I use quotes here because many days you don’t actually see the sun, it just gradually gets less dark. And then more dark.

I knew that the “winter blues” was a thing. And it’s not exactly that I didn’t believe it was real, but I just didn’t worry about it until I made it through my first winter (and spring) and finally arrived at a different place emotionally when the temps were up and the sun was out more consistently and for longer hours. And I realized just how much I’m affected by the weather and sunshine.

But wait, there’s more. Each fall since we’ve lived here, I start daydreaming about moving. Somewhere warmer, dryer, brighter. At first, I also wanted to be near family. It was hard spending holidays and birthdays and normal days thousands of miles away.

And it grew.

While I LOVE the summers here (cool mornings and evenings, warm-but-not-too-hot days, tons of sunshine, and just gorgeous views), the wanting-to-move stays pretty constant throughout the year. I think the difference is I get really sad about it during the winter. And the desire turns to escapism.

Lately though, the pervasive desire has been to live near family. Mine and Dave’s. Spending this past thanksgiving in a big beach house with my parents, siblings, and their families was a dream come true. It was hard to even sleep; I just wanted to be with everyone all the time. I miss my family so much.

Oddly enough, the weather isn’t bothering me much this season. We’ve had a somewhat mild winter and I’ve been diligent about taking my vitamin D. But more than that, Beaverton really feels like home. We have awesome friends-like-family who live a few doors down, and the strength of our social connections is carrying us.

The Portland Metro is a great fit for us in terms of ethos, culture, values, and general vibe. We fit here. We like it here. We don’t really want to leave this place.

But there’s a deep yearning in me. It’s not a desire to leave. I don’t want to escape the winter or weather or lack of sun. I mean, it would be nice, but that’s not my desire. I just want to be near family. I want to have coffee with my mom, do yoga with my sister, take walks with my dad, play games with my brothers, and watch all the cousins get into mischief of one kind or another.

And I want to do these things on the regular. Not every few years.

I might be deceiving myself (I’ve been know to do that). But I really believe this is different than my previous longings. It feels more pure, more healthy, more true to who I am and what’s most important to me.

When I was a kid, we moved around. Not as much as some, but every five years or so. We never lived closer than a 9-hour drive from cousins and grandparents. We drove back often in those early years, and less often as we moved farther away. I’ve always had a relationship with grandparents and most aunts and uncles, but cousins feel farther away.

Ever since we started having children, one of the things I wanted for them was close proximity to and relationship with their extended family. It’s a lot to ask when the grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins now live in: Asheville, NC; Austin, TX; Beaverton, OR; Boston, MA; and Orlando, FL.

We are just so. far. apart.

All of this has been weighing on me lately and kept me in a funk. But I’m shifting gears. I did a thing last night just before the clock struck twelve. I bought a second domain name and started “dreamlining” (brainstorming and sketching out plans for something I’ve been dreaming about).

More to come on that soon, as well as goals for 2019. I’m super pumped about what’s on the horizon – stay tuned for more awesome. And thanks for sharing the journey. Here’s to our best year yet!

You Have To Be Better

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Trigger warning: it’s going to get ugly. I’m about to share some things that don’t make me look good. Which is hard for me. Because I want you to like me and think nice things about me and be my friend. But I’m trying to unearth some vulnerability in the hope that the incoming light will be healing. (Thanks, Brené.)

Here goes. There’s an ugliness I face every time I write a sermon: competition.

First, I compete with myself.

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Second, I compete with the guys.

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Continue reading this post where it was originally published here…

Guns Killed People

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Last week I absorbed, with horror, news story after news story of a gunman opening fire at a bar near where I used to live. Where so many of my close friends still live. Where we celebrated Dave’s 30th birthday with friends. Where one member of the Pepperdine community—Alaina Housley—and eleven others were senselessly murdered.

Although I consider myself a pacifist, I also recognize that I sit in a position that privileges me to hold those beliefs. I’ve never been forced to sign up for a draft or told I had to physically harm someone. I’ve never had to physically defend myself or those that I love. I’ve never been in a situation where violence seemed like the only option.

I have a hard time understanding how wars, violence, and killing are ever the best option, but I also don’t operate in the military world so my opinions are weakly informed. I acknowledge that it’s one thing to hold philosophical commitments, and entirely another thing to stand firm in those commitments when they are put to the test IRL.

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I’ve been wondering what I would have done if I had been there and there was a gun in my hand. If I had the opportunity, before or during the shooting, would I have pulled the trigger to kill the gunman and prevent others from dying?

Because those twelve people did not need to die. They shouldn’t have died. If I could have saved those twelve people by killing one, would I have done it? What if eleven were already dead and I could save one by killing one – would I have done it? These questions are keeping me up at night.

This thought experiment hurts my head and my heart. I truly don’t know what I would have done. Because just as Alaina Housley is someone’s daughter, the shooter is someone’s son. And as wrong as it is for him to take her life, isn’t it just as wrong for me to take his?

I’m not talking legality, I’m talking ethics. When the ethics get murky, my brain goes into overdrive desperately trying to push things into categories of black and white. It never works, but I try every time.

People might quote “an eye for an eye” here or refer to our criminal justice system, but those won’t deliver clarity or an answer. The “eye for an eye” clause was a protection against retaliation that was worse than the original offense. It was to protect the offender from suffering a fate worse than he/she had inflicted. It was a limit, not an allowance or requirement.

And don’t get me started on our criminal justice system which is based on retribution rather than reconciliation. Our system is not cross-shaped.

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I haven’t ever been in a “kill or be killed” situation. I pray that I never will be.

I have been in a number of situations where I could have chosen the way of self-sacrifice but didn’t. So I’m wondering if that’s a good place to start. Having eyes that are adjusted to opportunities to let others go first, have the best, or be the one. Having ears that are attuned to the needs and desires of others. Having a heart that is willing to lay down what I want for the sake of others.

Perhaps I’m asking the wrong question. Instead of asking whether I could take a life to save another, I should be asking whether I could lay down my own life for another.

Although I’m not any clearer on whether my pacifist beliefs can withstand our current world, this much is certain: gun violence is a horrifying problem in our country that we should absolutely be taking action to stop.

Guns were used to kill thirteen people last week in my hometown. And yes, one gun in the “right” hand at the “right” time might have killed one to save twelve. But is there another way? Are there lots of other ways?

Are there ways we can be unraveling the glorification of violence? More things we can be doing to promote mental health and strong communities? New ways we can offer safe outlets for pain and model healthy conflict engagement? Creative adjustments to practices around gun ownership?

Can we do better? I believe we can.

A Different Kind of Stormy: Part Two “Who’s In Charge Here Anyway?”

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Remember the story about Jesus calming the storm? I left out the thing I didn’t want to admit. It’s the part that’s undeniable but makes me squirm: Jesus, being God, has power over the natural world.

I don’t like thinking about or admitting God’s sovereignty.

I know some people are very comforted by it, but to me it’s just troubling. If I admit that God is sovereign over all, then I have to reckon with at least two things. First, all of the things God decides not to fix, heal, and make right. And second, it means I’m not in control.

Of course I know that I’m not *really* in control—that’s the good Sunday school answer. But also, I live almost every moment of every day as if I believe I’m in control. Indeed, I have considerable agency, making loads of decisions every day. I’m embarrassed to confess that I *enjoy* ruling over my little kingdom. But in a grand-scheme-of-things sort of way, God’s the only one with a legitimate kingdom.

Do you remember God’s snarky, long-awaited response to Job in chapter 38? Paraphrasing, God says: “I’m in charge. You thought it was you. But it’s me. It always has been, always will be.”

If that’s so, then why does God sometimes seem asleep or unaware of all hell breaking loose? We want immediate responses, swift action. We talk about kids needing instant gratification, but when we feel fear—regardless of our age— we want something or someone to fix it—like, two minutes ago.

So if Jesus, as God, is sovereign – then why is he sleeping? Jesus should be fixing this storm right now, but he is asleep. There are so many things that God *could* do something about, but doesn’t…

Why are women still being assaulted, dehumanized, and oppressed? Why are children being separated from their parents at our borders, sent to sleep in cages and told not to hug one another? Why are so many precious bellies going to sleep unfed, bodies wasting away? Why hasn’t God put an end to all of our wars and power struggles? How can even one more community endure the tragedy of needless, senseless violence?

We’re not on the other side of all these storms yet. The world still feels chaotic and hurtful and unjust, and at times it can feel like God’s asleep.

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And yet, our faith says the end of the story is that God *will* do something about it. God will set all things to right…

God has spoken peace and healing into countless storms, and those give us hope that the current and future storms of life will also be calmed. Things will be set to right.

And Jesus’ word to his disciples all those years ago is his word for us today:

I’m Lord over all. I’m not saying I’ll always choose to change weather patterns, remove diseases, or stop systems of oppression. But as a co-creator of the Earth and all that is in it, I’ve got power over all of it. And I see it.

It won’t always make sense how and when I choose to interrupt and intervene. And I know it will be hard for you when you wish I would break in and do something, but I seem to be asleep. Keep calling on me anyway.

You want deliverance and I do too – but we have different visions about what that looks like and how it’s done. But trust that I know what I’m doing. Keep calling on me anyway.

Have faith that there is a bigger picture than what’s right in front of your face in this moment. Have faith that I’m with you in this storm and keep calling on me.

And when you’re tempted to give up in despair, know this: I feel it too. I felt it in the garden and I still feel it today. I’m not standing at a distance watching the storms spin out of control. I’m weeping with you. I hear you. I see you.

And you likely won’t see it until afterwards, but I’m right here. I’m working with you and others through those storms. Keep calling on me. When panic begins to course through your veins, when anxiety threatens to overtake you, hear my voice saying “peace, be still” and join me in calming the storms.

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Just like we can’t live without water, storms are a necessary part of life. What are the storms of your life teaching you? What brings you hope?

A Different Kind of Stormy

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One time, Jesus was out on a boat with his friends and a huge storm moved in. I’m talking The Perfect Storm kind of storm – remember that movie? It gives me anxiety just thinking about those ginormous waves.

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The thing about water is: we can’t live without it. It brings life and healing and salvation. We need it to drink, to bathe, to grow crops and feed our livestock. Many of us have been immersed in it, cleansed of our sins and risen to a new way of being in the world.

But water can also be terrifying and deadly. It can flood, soak, overtake, and drown. And for thousands of years, God’s been using water to teach us.

We saw God part the waters in creation.

Through Moses, God parted the Red Sea.

God sent a big fish to keep Jonah in a timeout until he was ready to follow directions.

Through his encounter with the woman at the well, Jesus showed us that the kingdom is open to literally everyone.

And here we have Jesus teaching the disciples something through this storm on the sea…

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As the waves are winding up and crashing down, his friends completely. freak. out. They wake him up, desperately hoping he’ll save them. And what does he do? Using only his voice, he stops the storm and then chastises them for their lack of faith.

Um, what?

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This is one of those places where I think the disciples get a bad rap. I mean, if I was out in a boat and huge waves were crashing down on us and filling the boat with water, I would be completely freaking out!

You’re asking us can we be so afraid??? Master, the tempest is raging! This heap of lumber is about to capsize and bury us in a watery grave. How are you so *not* afraid right now? We don’t want to die tonight! We were wide awake, freaking out; but you were asleep!

We were afraid you weren’t powerful enough to do something about our situation. We were afraid you didn’t see or know or care enough to do something about it.

And why would you expect us not to be afraid “…after all we’ve seen?” We’ve never seen THIS before!!! Sure we’ve seen you heal a bunch of people and heard lots of teaching, but THIS?! This is the first time since we started following you that OUR LIVES are being threatened.

We didn’t know this was what we were signing up for. THIS—this is new. And scary. And we’re not sure if we can trust you. I mean here we were in the midst of a huge storm and you were sleeping! We’ve been struggling with belief up to this point but now you’re asking about faith??? We don’t even know who you are…

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Remember who’s among the disciples: the first four guys that Jesus called, Simon (Peter), Andrew, James and John – who were all fishermen. They spent long days out on the water and had weathered countless storms. They didn’t scare easily.

But on this day, they were scared.

And I’m wondering – what were they more afraid of: the storm, or Jesus’ power over it? He had already calmed the storm, so maybe he’s asking them why they’re still afraid. It would be terrifying to be in the presence of such power. There was the tremendous power of the wind and waves, and the even greater power of Jesus. And yet, there was still fear.

Yes, he had calmed this storm but what about the other ones, the bigger ones? They were still occupied by Rome and were not free to govern themselves as a nation. There was political turmoil. Already this Rabbi had proven more radical than others and was drawing negative attention from other Jewish leaders. Would he take care of all of the storms from here on out, big and small?

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Is there a storm raging in your life right now that you wish God would just come in and put a stop to?

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To be continued next week…