Giving up....

For the forty days during my fast, the only word I heard from God was "no". When I pondered my treatment course, He said no. When I thought about being involved in additional events, He said no. When I questioned if I should extend myself in a new way, He said no. When I asked it I should take my hurt and questions to other people, He said no. Over and over, as opportunities arose, His answer to me, was no. As a person who is perpetually tempted to make my self worth equivalent to my productivity, this is not at all shocking. My way wasn't working. Doing more was not making me satisfied. My "yes" that lived at the tip of my tongue was silenced and in turn, He gave me exactly what I needed - He gave me less. He gave me quiet. He gave me space. And time. And peace. And rest.

In Mark 10 a blind man shouts at Jesus over and over again, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me." When brought to Jesus, Jesus asks the blind man what he wants. The blind man says, "Rabboni, I want to receive my sight." Jesus asks the obvious question and receives the obvious answer. The blind man wanted to see. Just like many miracles before this, the bleeding woman wanted to be healed, the lame wanted to walk and the sick wanted to be well. Why does Jesus, Lord of all, ask us what we want?

I think it's a beautiful statement of faith when we are able to confess our need, to the One who can provide. While Jesus already knows, by us stating the obvious, we have to humble ourselves and admit out loud, I can't get what I need on my own. All my effort has still left me lacking. Only you can provide. The physical healing are indicative of the condition of our soul, which is why the Lord graciously forgives sins for many of the people He also physically heals. He knows the obvious need, but He also can heal the very deepest longing of our hearts; the places of desperation that we haven't been willing to address in ourselves. Asking Jesus for help puts us in the right relationship with Him. We acknowledge who we are and we acknowledge who He is. He is not a doctor, but he is the Ultimate Healer. He is not a therapist, but He is the Wonderful Counselor. He is not a teacher, but the very Word of Life. Asking Jesus for help demonstrates a faith that says, I'm broken on my own and ONLY YOU can fix me.

Audrey Assad sings in her song, The Way You Move,
I know that the hardest part of love is not the thing I have to give
It's what I give up, I'm giving up ground
And I'm trading in my solitude for safety now
All my pride, it doesn't stand a chance against the way you move
You're tearing up roots and breaking down walls
And I don't stand a chance at all, against the way You move.

We have to give up our thoughts of self-sufficiency and independence. We have to give up the walls we build around ourselves and our ego-centric thoughts. It isn't about how what I think I can get from Jesus, it is coming open handed for what only He can give. Sure, there are maladies that I'm looking to be addressed, but He isn't going to stop there. He won't stop until He gives me His best, regardless of what I have to give up to receive it.

My fast temporarily gave up food - but the real intent was to begin in me the daily practice of giving up. Giving up my way, my plans, my will, in exchange for the His best for me.

Depression Series - Volume 2

Depression does not mean sad

It’s not surprising that so many famous artists are depressed. Be it actors, comedians, musicians, painters, dancers or poets, many of those who have created the most moving works have also openly battled with depression. Being an artist doesn’t make you depressed – but if you are depressed and you can find some medium for expressing those emotions, I think you cling to it like a life preserver. For me, it’s writing. In putting pen to paper, so much of the swirling in my brain takes shape and I can release some of the tension pent up inside of me. The words, in black and white in front of me, have both more and less power. While only in my mind, they taunt me, ridicule me and tell me that I am trapped with them. Once on paper, I see them for what they are…versions of reality, half-truths, temporary conditions and past hurts and traumatic experiences. On paper, I can evaluate these fractured emotions and partially formed thoughts with a little more distance and a little less gravity. For me, this is a form of therapy.

Artist convey much of themselves onto their canvas of choice. The emotion flows from a deep place within and can bring wonder and delight to those who experience their art. Artist can move others to catch a glimpse of the depths within their own souls. And it isn’t all a feeling of sadness. While depressed people may feel sad, we might also feel happy or have fun or enjoy life. When depressed,  there certainly might seem like the balance has shifted to being sad more often, but there is an underlying current that remains that is deeper than sadness.

What is this underlying state that colors everything else? I honestly can’t tell you. I’m pretty sure it’s different for everyone and I don’t think I can put a name on my own, but I do see a common manifestation of depression – hiding.

Hiding can be done under the covers or by never leaving the house or by standing in a corner alone in a crowded room. Hiding can happen in a conversation where you keep the conversation light and plaster a fake smile on your face. It’s found when people ask you how you are and you brightly smile and say “I’m fine”….because you know in your heart that being fine is the only answer people want to hear. So, behind fake smiles, “I’m fine” responses and closed doors, we hide.

My son, who has serious issues about trying to play video games when he was supposed to be doing other work, literally sat in the living room, right in front of me, with a blanket covering his whole body, head and all, while he was “reading” on his chrome book. The whole “I’m going to read on my chrome book” was plausible, as they have several online books they are supposed to be reading, but the fact that he needed to cover himself with a blanket made the entire scenario suspect. It’s like in Genesis when God calls for Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden. They knew they broke the rules so they went to find some figs leaves to make clothes and hid. Adam says to God “I heard the sound of You in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked; so I hid.” (Genesis 3:10)

Shockingly, when my son heard me walking towards him, he quickly closed the video game tab. Just like the garden: I know I’m going to get caught doing something wrong so I will hide.

With depression, there is always an undercurrent of something being wrong. We might think it is wrong with the world, but I would guess more people feel the way I do – that something is wrong inside of me. There is a world of people out there who are actually, legitimately fine – and yet I am not. And so we hide. It doesn’t mean we are sad. But exposing ourselves seems like a particularly dangerous thing to do. We can either be exhausted by the fake, socially appropriate interactions or we can function in small safe places with most of our walls down. But, for me, and maybe others you know, there is always an element of hiding. I may not carry a security blanket around the house, but I certainly don’t leave home without a solid barrier between my heart and the world. Only a very, very, very select few are allowed in.

Francesca Battistelli’s song “If We’re Honest” begins:

The truth is harder than a lie

The dark seems safer than the light

And everyone has a heart that loves to hide

If we’re honest, we all hide in some way or another. We all deal with fears and insecurities. We all have a feeling that something inside may be wrong with us, especially compared to the beautiful Facebook lives carefully crafted and dutifully liked, showing just how blessed we all are.

And yet, inside my head, a constant uneasiness remains. A quiet condemning voice. A whisper of fear. It’s a dark place to be. But sometimes the dark seems safer than the light.

The work beneath the work

A few days ago when reading the gospel of Mark, I was hit with this image from Mark 5 of the hemorrhaging woman who received healing from Jesus. While another person comes and asks Jesus for healing for his daughter, the woman presses through the crowds and touches Jesus' cloak, confident that she can be healed. There was a huge testimony of faith in that moment that struck a deep cord inside of me - she believed that all she really needed was to be near Jesus and she could be well. He didn't have to speak. He didn't have to touch her. She just needed to be near Him. I felt a stirring inside as I weighed the hypocrisy of my fasting to be near Jesus and then making appointments with doctors and counselors for my treatment. I felt like I was hedging my bets - like I would go to Jesus, but it didn't really matter if I couldn't find Him because I was taking care of the problem on my own anyway. In that moment, I knew I needed to come to Jesus for healing. While I am not against doctors or medicines, I knew that in this moment in my life Jesus was asking me to be all in - totally dependent. No fall back plan. No effort of my own power. Trust Him alone.

I sought counsel and prayed before canceling my appointments, but each day that passed confirmed my call to be reliant on Him. And boy has He shown up!

At this point, I really have more questions than answers, but for the first time the questions are going deeper than the momentary struggle. I've been reading Tim Keller's The King's Cross, which is a work showing the life and person of Jesus through the gospel of Mark. Since Mark was the gospel which has been reaching into my heart so deeply, I wanted additional insight into what I was reading. Once again, Tim Keller has put into words so much of my personal experience.

I am like the paralytic, desperately seeking the Lord's healing for my heart and mind. Yet Tim writes of Jesus' response in first offering forgiveness, instead of physical healing. Keller says (pg. 28) "By coming to me (Jesus) and asking for only your body to be healed, you're not going deep enough. You have underestimated the depths of your longings, the longing of your heart."

Oh, I wanted to crumble in tears and shout with joy - this was it. I'm asking for Jesus to heal me, but it was still on my terms. I wanted to define to my Creator what was broken. It's like the people who come to the ER and tell my husband what is wrong with them and what medicine they need. They want help, but only on their terms. This limits our receptiveness as to what our true need actually is and how to treat it. In Lean terms, we aren't seeking the root cause, but only focusing on the symptoms.

Today, it happened again. Keller writes about Jesus interacting with the Pharisees and addresses their self-righteousness.  While we might not all turn to religiosity, we all have areas where we are trying to establish our identity in ourselves. I've done this more ways than I can count. I thought being popular would make me happy and tried to establish my identity on keeping all my friends happy and excited. I thought if I was the center of it all, then I would feel loved. And yet, I would die a little inside every time I heard about an activity where I had been excluded. It wasn't enough to have a marvelous time with them - I wanted every one of their great experiences to be with me. If they were my identity, how could they still have fun if I wasn't around? So I turned to work - aimed at being the best, the brightest, and desperately needed by my coworkers. If I was indispensable, then I was confident that I had worth. My titles and paychecks and meeting minutes validated my existence. Or what about being a Mom? No greater call exists than the rearing of another person, right? So I poured myself into my kids, wanting to nurture and support and guide and love in the ways that only a mother can. No one else can be there mother - they were born from my body and forever mine. Except that they are independent people. And each day they become more independent. And they don't need me - not how they did before. That will keep changing. And they do things I don't like. They don't always agree that I know what is best. They have their own thoughts and ideas. And so they should....but what about me? So I work, and I work and I work trying to find the place where I finally feel at home.

Hiking in the woods with my husband, I cried out to him, "I am so lost." For years now I have been spinning as each place where I go deeper just leaves me more empty. My restlessness grows and the fears and anxiety of the awful truth remains looming in the distance. I'm not needed. I'm not special. I'm not loved. It's so draining to find validation of your worth. There is always someone better, smarter, funnier, prettier....someone who is a better wife, better mother, better friend, better daughter. Someone who quilts better or cooks better or exercises more consistently. I was even jealous of my husband's love for the Cubs, thinking, "I don't have anything I'm that passionate about.". I lived a life of petrifying comparison, because in this neighborhood, you don't have to look to far to find someone more accomplished. It is exhausting, depressing, and totally demoralizing. Why do anything at all? Why even get up this morning?

And today I read in the Kings Cross (pg 43) "On the cross Jesus was saying that the work underneath your work, the thing that makes you truly weary, this need to prove yourself because of who you are and what you do - that is finished."

Jesus doesn't want me to take a pill and feel better, because He knows I have never truly held on and clung with both hands to the freedom the cross offers. A physical healing of my mind is so much less than He wants to offer me. He wants me to experience Himself. And nothing less will do.

Depression Series 1 - Depression and Drowning

Drowning.

When thinking about my depression, I often think of drowning. I was caught in an undertow as a small child in the Atlantic Ocean, off a beach in Rockaway, New York. The water is physically pulling you down, while waves are crashing overhead. Salt water stings your face, your eyes, and begins to fill your mouth. Your legs are treading water trying to keep yourself up, but they are getting more and more fatigued with each kick. The shore is tauntingly close and yet you have no means on getting there on your own. For someone drowning, help does not come in the form of simply being stronger, fighting harder or being a better swimmer.

No one would suggest that the way to save a drowning person is to stand on the beach and shout encouraging things like, “I don’t know why you are out there drowning when being here on the sand is so much better.” Or, “Come back to shore, where the rest of us are, it’s more fun.” Or, “See, that’s why I don’t go swimming.” And yet, with depression, a lot of well-intended people do exactly that to their depressed friends. “Come out and have fun, you’ll feel better.” “You know, I read that a good diet and regular exercise are great for people suffering from depression.” “You can’t let yourself think these thoughts, you need to look at the world from a glass-half-full perspective.” “I don’t know why you choose to be like this…it seems miserable.”

I’ve heard all of these – all from people I love and who I know love me. And yet there is a big disconnect between understanding depression as an illness compared to being just a moody person. For those who battle depression, it’s probably a struggle that will ebb and flow most of their lives. Several studies have linked depression with specific genes and genetic deficiencies in processing serotonin, meaning, you probably have other people in your family with depression as well. While depression looks different in everyone and can manifest itself in a variety of ways, science agrees that those suffering from depression can be treated. Treatment can take on many different forms, dependent on the type and severity, but treatment exists. Just as you wouldn’t tell the person with the chicken pox that they should just think positively and get better, the person with depression is not going to be able to just swim to shore on their own.

When someone is drowning, the lifeguard jumps into the water with his rescue gear and goes to the person in trouble. They aren’t saved from the shore. This picture is the first thing I think is critical in talking about depression. We have to be willing to get into the water. For some reason, the topic of depression is taboo and spoken about in hushed tones in dark rooms. People with it are scared what other people will think about them if they knew – like it’s a big moral failing rather than an illness to which you are most likely genetically predisposed. And if you are in the church, heaven help you. Literally. Because there are some churches that basically equate depression as a sin. Well, I am very comfortable saying that it isn’t a sin, but it certainly carries a stigma with it.

But if you know someone well enough to know about their struggle, you are a potential lifeguard. Not that you alone can save the individual, but you can certainly dive in the water and help support them as they get help. Shannan Martin writes in her amazing book “Falling Free”, “We’re all hurting, to varying depths. Some wounds bear more indelible manifestations; these scars can’t be covered. We don’t need fresh air or increased personal space in order to heal. We need the gentle compression of each other, living in close proximity with certain kinship. Hurt people heal people.”

No one has it all together and no one has it all right. But in gentle compression, we can press into the hurting situation and be part of that lifeline. Whether introvert or extrovert, we all need people. From the earliest stages of humanity, people bonded in tribes for safety, security, and prosperity. And yet for those who are suffering, depression can be one of the most isolating times of your life. People are afraid of saying the wrong thing. People are afraid of how you will react. People are afraid… we’ve made depression such a social faux pas that we have lost the nerve to dive in.

So let me assure you right now, while idle chit-chat, small talk or large public functions may not sound great to a person battling depression, the care of a true friend is always welcome. If you know them well enough to know they are struggling, then you know them well enough to be an encouragement.

I’m no doctor, therapist, counselor or expert of any kind. Just one gal looking out at the world covered in a grey haze from the recent rain. And maybe these words can be something positive amongst the clouds and drizzle.

Next installments:

-       Depression does not mean sad

-       Depression and joy – nearly everything you learned in Sunday School is wrong

A wilderness of depression and pie...

Ten days ago I set out to walk in the wilderness with Jesus. I intended to join Him through 40 days of prayer and fasting, as He had at the beginning of His ministry, and leave behind my wilderness of depression; pursuing peace and rest with Him. (I want to note that I am also pursuing medical treatment and counseling for my depression - while I believe Jesus is the author of peace and rest, He also equips people with counseling skills and doctors that can help care for people in need.)

My fast was to have no solid food (including milkshakes or smoothies) before 5 pm each day. The goal was to have my hunger point me to being fulfilled in Christ instead of food. I wanted to see Him as having everything I need, instead of trusting in my own ability (or sugary carbs) to make me feel complete. My emptiness was not a condition of my stomach, but my soul and through prayer and contemplation I wanted to experience neediness in a way that would not be cured by my own hand.

After successfully completing a quarter of the fast, I wanted to reflect on my experience and I have noticed a few interesting things. First, your body can very quickly adjust to not eating. After only a few days, the lethargy, stomach cramps and crankiness went away. I was able to drink coffee and water and broth until 5pm without too much difficulty. Actually, the hardest part was smelling the bacon my husband fried up for his breakfast every morning!

For ten days I waited until 5pm on the dot, in spite of Christmas festivities and special activities. I could make a special breakfast for my kids and not snitch a single crumb. I was downright legalistic about the execution of my fast and felt very proud of myself.

Until I started noticing the change in my eating habits. Since I was fasting, I allowed myself the occasional loaded latte from Starbucks and called it coffee, thinking "sure it has lots of sugar in the flavor syrup, but I'm fasting. A little sugar and fat won't hurt me." I started eating things like Christmas cookies and pie at 5:01pm because I had gone all day without food. David and I went on 2 dates in 3 days because I was super hungry. I was fasting, of course we should get extra trips to our favorite Mexican restaurant (complete with margaritas and bottomless chips and salsa). I realized, I wasn't exercising a fast of going without - I was living a life of delayed gratification.

I'm not against holiday baking and I'm certainly not against margaritas, but my fast was initiated with the specific intent to experience neediness, want, emptiness, hunger, even pain. I wanted to be dependent. I wanted to stop looking to food as an emotional band-aide and find true healing in Christ. But after just a few days, I was back to my old mental practices of duct-taping my heart together with food and treats. My focus was no longer on the Good Shepherd, but on the green grass that could be found at 5:01pm just over that hillside. I was still wandering away from the Shepherd to fend for myself, rather than trusting Him to provide.

It's the age old problem with any type of sacrifice done from the wrong motivation. In Matthew 6 Jesus points to the hypocrisy of fasting, giving alms and prayer that are done out of a heart of self-righteousness and pride. When we do things to look good, looking good is our only reward. Ananias and Sapphira hold back part of their monetary gift and lie about it, bringing instant judgment from God in Acts 5. David speaks to the condition of his heart Psalm 51 stating that God didn't want his sacrifices and offerings, but "a broken and contrite heart".

The natural, fallen condition of our heart is one that wants to be able to claim self-sufficiency. Adam and Eve wanted the one thing God had not given them (for their own good), in a perfect garden where all their needs were supplied. The Israelites were saved from slavery and death and demanded a god their size, rather than a holy God that could shake the mountains with smoke and fire. Pharisees and scribes wanted a law with checkboxes rather than a true Savior. We would rather be white-washed tombs and die, than live a life of dependency.

I think a lot of us somewhat resent the imagery of being sheep. We think of sheep as stupid and clumsy. We resent the idea that Jesus might have to pick us up and carry us home or break our leg to keep us safe from ourselves. Yet all of history shows our inadequacy to be complete on our own. Even while experiencing perfect provision, we find a way to be discontent with God's best. But I don't think being a sheep means being stupid and clumsy. In the parable of the lost sheep (Luke 15) Jesus tells of a man who searches for one lost sheep and celebrates its return. The sheep is still uniquely created by God, given a purpose for its life, intentionally chosen by the Shepherd and celebrated when returned. Being a sheep doesn't mean we are stupid and incapable of expressing our purposes or ideas. Being dependent does not mean that we aren't gifted and talented.  Being a metaphorical sheep doesn't negate that we were created in the image of God Himself, full of love, creativity, intelligence, reason and beauty. Being a sheep just means that left to our own devices, we will choose to wander. And every person on the planet has proven it to be true.

One of my all-time favorite hymns reads " O to grace how great a debtor daily I'm constrained to be. Let Thy goodness like a fetter bind my wandering heart to Thee. Prone to wander, Lord I feel it. Prone to leave the God I love. Here's my heart, O take and seal it. Seal it to Thy courts above."

The answer to my fasting dilemma is not to give up. It is not to further legalize my food intake ("just say no to chips and salsa and pie"). Rather, it is to bind my wandering heart to Him. It is to reaffirm my neediness and my wandering tendencies to my Good Shepherd. In Him are riches better than cookies and pie - in Him there is peace and rest. For this life and forever.

An uncommon call to follow

Richard Rohr writes in his daily devotional: "Christians prefer to hear something Jesus never said: "Worship me." Worship of Jesus is rather harmless and risk free; following Jesus changes everything."

I was completely blown away by the truth of this sentence. I think most people enjoy worship. We feel good about ourselves. We enjoy the group of people we are with. We hear, see and experience something that helps us feel recharged and better about facing the next week. Sometimes its the comfort of the ritual. Sometimes its the message of love and grace. Sometimes its the singing. Whatever connects to that person individually, Sunday morning worship is a gratifying experience.

Richard Rohr continues saying:
"I have often thought that this "non-preaching" of the Gospel was like a secret social contract between clergy and laity as we shake hands across the sanctuary. We agree not to tell you anything that would make you feel uncomfortable and you will keep coming to our services.....The discernment and call to a life of service, to a life that gives itself away instead of simply protecting and procuring in the name of Jesus, is what a church should be about. Right now, so much church is the clergy teaching the people how to become co-dependent with them. It becomes job security instead of true spiritual empowerment."

While I would not say that this is true about my specific church, I would agree that it is the feel of the American christian church. This idea of worshipping Jesus in corporate fashion (sponsored on the basis of those who attend) cannot help but involve some question of "what does my church want to hear, what add-ons (coffee, donuts, childcare, summer camps, social events, etc) will incentivize more people to come, what comforts do the people need to make this a priority in their weekend, when we are competing with sleep, sports, TV and a million other activities. As church has become another form of entertainment or at least a feel-good activity, the co-dependent relationship becomes a fundamental element of a church's priority. Does the bible make you feel uncomfortable, well, we don't have to read from that. Do sermons seem to drag on too long, we can shorten those up for you. Not exciting enough? We can renovate our space for bigger stages, more lights, better speakers and large glowing screens with streaming graphics and videos. Church becomes more like a concert or movie theater and less of a place that challenges you to live a life of sacrifice and submission.

But following Jesus.....wow. This is a call to complete dependence, not co-dependence. We bring nothing and look to Him for everything. We give up our false impression of control and depend on Him for setting our direction. His call dictates our actions. And He may call us to somewhere we don't want to go. He may speak to us things we don't want to hear. He may lead us places that make us uncomfortable. Following is the ultimate form of self-sacrifice. Once we have given up all control to Him, He can call us into those places where He will use us for His glory. In this place, it isn't about our comfort. It isn't about earthly success. It isn't about things that feed my pride and sense of self worth.

My son once said, "I'm not sure what that sin (referring to adultery) means, but I think I can avoid it by following Jesus. Jesus will never lead me to sin." He was probably 9 or 10 at the time but was able to translate the gospel into the simplest truth. Jesus will never lead me to sin. I don't need to be dependent on my own wisdom, I just need to follow. I don't need a list of do's and don'ts, I just need to follow. I don't need to see the bigger picture or understand my place in the grand design, I just need to follow.

Everything in our world tells us to avoid this type of dependence at all costs. Be your own person. No one can tell you who to be or what to do. Claim your own truth. Do what makes you happy. Take care of number one. The only person you can trust is yourself.

And yet, people end up in unhappy marriages, addicted to substances, working their lives away in jobs they don't like to buy things they don't need. The whole model of being a self-made person is lonely, empty and accumulates things that can be taken from you.

Jesus' model sets out to free us from ourselves - to free us from the lie that all we need is that next accomplishment, possession or relationship.

Worship is easy.

Following is simple, but not easy.

My Nana's Nails

I was looking in the store for the perfect color of nail polish the other day. I knew exactly what it was, as I had seen it on my Nana's nails all my life. Her perfect self made manicure was always fresh, never chipped and worked in every season.

I remember my own progression of nail polish going from bubble gum pink, to hot pink with glitter, to the requisite black of my teen years, to red hot during college and then an overpriced French manicure after landing my first real job. Throughout all of these transitions, Nana's nails remained the same; a mauvish dusty-rose color. This bottle of hers sat on an end table next to small fingernail clippers and an Emory board. At this same table her hands would pick up a juice glass of blush wine while reading the latest Dick Francis novel. These fingers would dog-ear the pages of her daily Guidepost devotional. They mended clothes and quilted in perfect little stitches. These fingers tapped on the steering wheel in time to the latest Michael W Smith cassette tape in her car or took notes on her seemingly endless yellow legal pads that covered nearly every surface of her dining room table. These were the fingers that rub the stain out of anything while a soft concentrated whistle escaped her lips. These fingers wrote letters and cards to her loved ones, tightly gripped a zip line over her brothers lake and held boarding passes to Costa Rica and Paraguay to visit her family who were serving as missionaries overseas. Later in life, those fingers gently stroked her cats, turned pages in quilt magazines and cheered Derek Jeter with each run scored. In her last days, in hospice care, my mother-in-law kept those nails manicured, knowing that it kept a part of her present, even though she was slipping away from us. It’s amazing how thinking of her hands reminds me of so many things she did. She was a woman of amazing accomplishments, but what she did was not the same as who she was. 

When I think about the choice of color, that subtle mauve lacquer, I think about who she was. She was a woman who spent most of her life working in a man’s world. Long before it was cool to be sexy and smart, she could manage with strength in an Anne Taylor suit paired with slingback heels. She could stand shoulder to shoulder with the male leaders in a Fortune 500 company, dressed in timeless suit separates, elegant jewelry, and a perfectly coiffed perm. She wasn’t vain, but in her wisdom, she knew she was being judged not only on her work, but on her work “as a woman”. She would never be viewed (or paid) equally with her male counterparts, regardless of how consistently she performed her work at the highest caliber. She knew she had to look feminine enough to be the token woman when required, but most days she was simply doing her job well. She needed to portray grace and strength. Femininity and authority. Every inch a woman, but just as professional as a man. Navigating these elements in the 80’s and 90’s looked different than it does today, although I’m not sure the glass ceiling has budged that much. She was my role model as a professional woman, a business woman, a female leader even in male dominated industries. 

I’ve worked in engineering, management and leadership in academia - each surrounded by men and often in positions of authority. There are countless times that I’ve faced a situation at work and thought to myself, “what would Nana do?”. When I first started in industry, Nana spoke frankly into my work life, boldly telling me when my skirt was too short, my heels to high or my attitude too cocky. She gave me healthy doses of realism to counter my utopian text book view of the world. She gave me wisdom for interpersonal relationships, from the lowest paid part timer through the CEO. She wanted me to learn from her success but was humble enough to share with me her mistakes. Her nail polish choice is a perfect example of how she found balance in so many situations throughout her life.

I painted my nails mauve with a smile on my face, with wonderful memories of my Nana and hopes that I have made her proud.