Just Practicing

Fifi caught this fish. We were camping in the Sierras near Mammoth Lakes. I heard the squeal coming from around the corner, the crowing of a little girl who had stepped out in courage and got a shocking and delightful return on her investment. As her dad lifted the trout for her to hold in her pudgy and uncertain hands, it sprang out and onto the dirt, trying to escape its destiny for the frying pan. Gasping for water, the satiny, spotted fish flopped around splattering mud all about. The deciding moment between tears or triumph. And yet, as dad picked it up with deft hands, as Fifi presented it to the camera, all was well. The courage of a little girl, trying something new—intoxicating with possibility.

If there’s one thing I know, it’s that rarely do we get stuff right the first time we give it a try. I’ve been thinking lately about all the facets of my current life, all the things I want to do and do well: mothering, writing, wifing, walking with God, and friendships. I keep mulling over the fact that for many years I expected myself to just know how to do it. To just do it right every time and berate myself if I dropped the ball. I should know how to guide my kids, I should know how to care for my own and others’ souls and bodies. I should know how to communicate what God is teaching me, I should know how to forgive. I should know how to speak life, how to give grace, how to walk in freedom. I should know how to behave, how to show respect, how to experience emotional health. I should know these things.

But this week, as I grow one year older, I feel brand new at so much of it. I see how I’m just practicing. We all are.

All the loveliest things in life, all the most imperative and indispensable things are not something we just know, but are things needing to be learned. To be learned then to be practiced, to be done over and over until mastered. I have yet to master grace. Forgiveness. Right thinking. Presence. Courage. Kindness. Contentment. I must practice.

And while we would rather be effortless in everything we do, and while it sounds exhausting and insurmountable to have mud splattering about while the thing we are practicing wildly flops, I’ve found it’s actually the opposite. Refreshing. Restoring. The most life-giving thing about it all is found in the practice. In the doing over and over—the I’m sorry’s. The kind words. The uninhibited prayers. Repeating a worthy thing until the edges have worn smooth, until it’s ingrained in our being and becomes second nature. We practice, even while hitting the wrong note. We do, even while wobbly. We speak, even while stuttering.

It seems to be a two-way street. Because even while Fifi catches one of her first trout, her daddy holds the slippery, shimmying fish still in his practiced hands. We must not do life alone. What can we hold firm in our hands for those we love? Is it time? Words of love? Is it courage? Is it bringing peace? What can you hold for another, who can you get your hands dirty for while they stand with you in partnership? We are all practicing.

And of all the things I practice, professionally, personally, relationally, I am finding that I want to practice one thing most. The Apostle Paul (in 1 Corinthians chapter 13) tells us that love is like this:

Patient and kind.

Not jealous or boastful or proud or rude.

Not irritable.

Keeps no record of being wronged.

Doesn’t rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out.

Never gives up, never loses faith.

Always hopeful.

Endures through every circumstance.

And so I practice. We practice. And while sometimes the trout slips out of our hands and we get some dirt under our nails, with each try we become more loving. More courageous. More kind. More true.

Don't be afraid to get your hands dirty, don’t be afraid to get it wrong. Let there be a shocking and delightful return on our investment.

Love,

kate