Vision

Lately I've been having dreams where I can't see. My lids are so heavy that I don't have the strength to raise them. In one dream in particular, I had a military rifle in my hands. I was a sniper and my co-snipers had been protecting me, due to my blindness. But then my fellow snipers (what do you call a group of snipers, anyway?) left and asked me to guard the fort. Me, with the lead eyelids.

Like WHY would you put ME in charge of THAT?

After they left, I strained and struggled to open my eyes. I would get them open a tiny crack, and then they would slam shut again. I heard our enemies approach and I panicked. There was no way to fight them without being able to see. Even with my fancy-schmancy John Reese rifle. So instead of defending the fort, I hid behind a dumpster in the alley. I hid and waited until my allies came back and secured victory. 

This dream, this visitation from a group of angel snipers, was speaking to me about the importance not of sight, but of vision. I can have the most amazing and powerful rifle ever, and be surrounded by the best and strongest friends, and have something important worth fighting for, worth defending. But if I refuse to see things as they really are, if I can't find the courage to face my enemies, I will always be cowering in the alley, hiding, waiting for someone to come and save me.

I can never develop a sense of my power from behind the dumpster.

The truth is, I don't like fighting. Who does? I am actually surprised that I even had a dream about being in a war, it's so unlike me to use such a violent analogy. But I think that was probably the point of this divine communication. Like it or not there are conflicts all around us - within ourselves, between ourselves and others, good and evil, compassion and ignorance, fear and love. Refusing to be engaged isn't an option. You're either fighting or you're hiding, slamming your eyes shut against the truth of the world in which we live.

If I can't see who I am and what I'm about, if I don't know what I believe in or what I would give of myself to protect and uphold I truly am defenseless in this world. Watching everyone else do the work that I must learn to do for myself.

But as I open my eyes and enter the battle, perhaps my presence, the very energy of my courage, the fact that I stand at the ready willing to step into the fray, will steady others, will make the world just a little less afraid, and more will awaken and emerge.

Yes, let's do that.

Peace,

Julie

Julie Scipioni is a writer, speaker, and the co-author of the #1 Amazon bestselling novel, Iris & Lily.

Lighten up Ernest

I saw this guy on a social media site who posted, "The best perk of being a writer is having alcohol with breakfast."

I am a writer, and have been most of my life. I have never had alcohol in the morning. Except for maybe one or two bridal showers where they served mimosas. In fact, I drink very little at all - even at night. I have been truly drunk maybe twice in my life. Once when I was around 13 and my brother got married, someone thought it would be fun to give me champagne and to keep filling my glass all day. And then once at the 2001 Club (yes it was in the 70s and that was a disco, with a shiny mirror ball and everything) I was doing the hustle all night and drinking rum and Cokes just because I was so thirsty.  I've never even gotten drunk enough to vomit. Unless you count that time in 2014 when my novel debuted in Italy and I - ignorant of the fact that I am allergic to vodka - drank a vodka martini and then proceeded to engage in many gastronomical hijinks in general on the Italian Rivera, but specifically all over my sister's patio. But these have been exceptions.

Writers are not a tortured, hypersensitive lot who cannot cope with real life and so must escape by either making stuff up or inebriating themselves into oblivion. That's just bad behavior, and you don't get to do that and then say that we are in the same club. Why would you want to brand yourself that way, and then plaster it all over the Internet? It doesn't make you more talented. It actually only makes you look like you lack individuality.

And yet we all do a version of that. We do it to others, and we do it to ourselves. It's a form of stereotyping. When we stereotype other people, we merely limit the way we see them. But when we stereotype or label ourselves, we limit what we can become. We draw a circle around ourselves with everything that we do not think we are on the outside of that circle, and then we refuse to step over the line.

What labels are you living up to? If you are honest with yourself, you'll probably find them - at work, at church, at home.

If you ever say to yourself, I am __________ so that means I should (or shouldn't) ____________ then your labels are running the whole show. Some examples might be "I am over 50, so I should wear my hair short," "I am a stay-at-home Mom, so I should be a better housekeeper," "I am not musically inclined, so it would be a waste of time and money to take guitar lessons," "I am a female executive so I have to learn to play the game,""I am a Christian, so I should know how to recite fancy Bible verses," "I like yoga, so I should be OK with spending $100 on a pair of synthetic stretch pants," or, like my writer friend, "I am a writer so I should have a penchant for alcohol."

Labels do make life simpler, negating the need for all that thinking and self-discovery and compassion and communication and other such nonsense. Let's face it: It's much easier to make choices when you can clump yourself together with other people who have placed themselves into the same category. Instead of saying, "What is the best thing for me to do in this situation?" you can say, "What do other people like me do? What am I supposed to do?" But when we do that, we are acting as though our roles ARE us, that they define us. How much cooler would it be if instead we allowed our uniqueness to define the way we carry out our roles? Instead of using labels to limit yourself, use your own personal beauty and individuality to shatter the labels themselves.

I challenge you to be the "soccer Mom" who drives a Mini Cooper, the artist who is good with money, the CEO who doesn't compromise her integrity in the name of business politics, the IT guy who is an extrovert, the Christian who is isn't afraid to say, "I don't get it," the 50-year-old who wears long gray hair, the 20-year-old who knows that "ur" isn't really a word,  the writer who doesn't get sloshed every day and who posts a profile photo of himself smiling.

When we let our labels dictate our choices, we miss out on most of the fun, and all of the adventure that comes with forging our own path.

So, to the guy on social media with the I-must-be-a-really-good-writer-because-I-look-like-I'm-in-pain-all-the-time profile photo: I challenge you to stop posing so you look like a writer and just be who you are.You might even enjoy yourself. Sober. So lighten up, Ernest.

And you lighten up, too. Go make it fun. Go make it yours.

Julie

Julie Scipioni is a writer, speaker, and the co-author of the #1 Amazon bestselling novel, Iris & Lily.

My favorite Jesus

Look, I'm not even going to get into it with you. The best Jesus ever was the one from "Son of God." Hands down. I won't even discuss it. Yes, I know he had medium brown hair and he didn't look like he was from the Middle East, but there was something about the way he looked at people... with a sort of an affectionate amusement.

There was one scene where Jesus kept telling Peter to cast his net and Peter was like, "Dude - I've been fishing all morning. There are no fish."

Jesus was like, "Humor me. Whaddya got to lose?"

So Peter cast the net and he got so many fish he couldn't even get them into the boat. Peter was utterly shocked and amazed, as if Jesus had just pulled a quarter out of his ear. And Jesus just looked at him with this smile on his face, as if to say, "You are so adorable when you are being human."

As a human who loves Jesus and is attempting to obey his directive, "Come, follow me," I hope he does have a good sense of humor about my bungling efforts to do so. 

And why do I bungle so much? After all, Jesus only asks me to do a couple things. Love your neighbor. Love God. Forgive everyone. Never judge. It's not a long list.

But of course loving our neighbor includes not flipping off the guy who cuts you off in traffic, and not gossiping about that weird guy three cubicles down. So in its granular sense, it gets a little more challenging. Because really everyone will say they are all for love. Who's against love? It's the stuff of angels and heaven and all that. It's just that what that looks like way down here among us isn't all that romantic. And we think we are expected to be naturally good at this and we think if we struggle with our sister who drives us up the wall every time we see her, then we are hopelessly flawed.  

Part of our humanity is to be ashamed at how awful we can be at this following Jesus thing. Maybe we think if we allow ourselves to be vulnerable about our experience of following The Way we will be exposed as phonies or failures. No one wants to talk about that with raw honesty. We talk about what we should be experiencing, or what we wish we were experiencing, not so much what we are actually experiencing. The longing, the frustration, the confusion of unanswered prayers, the shortcomings we can’t seem to overcome, the regrets that are stuck to the bottoms of our shoes, the hope. And the struggle that hope brings. The tension it creates. It can be agonizing. 

I am moved by Jesus’ compassion, inspired by his power, touched by his surrender, in awe of his wisdom, and humbled by the truth that no matter what I do or how hard I try, since my goal is to imitate Jesus, I will never be able to live up to my own standards. That's no fun. 

And then there’s the part where that’s OK, where the failing is the whole point. We fall and we fall and we fall. Like when you learn to ice skate. It’s a given and no one expects to learn to skate without wiping out over and over again. We don't consider it a character flaw.

I think it would be cool to experience following Jesus with that expectation: To accept that I’m going to fall on my butt repeatedly, and then not consider each wipe-out to be some kind of disaster, but rather a natural expression of my humanity. And maybe it makes Jesus smile to know that at least I'm trying. 

So let’s just strap a pillow to our collective arse and have at it, huh? 

Let's give Jesus something to laugh about.

Peace,
Julie

Julie Scipioni is a writer, speaker, and the co-author of the #1 Amazon bestselling novel, Iris & Lily.

I can see your life from up here

So, President Obama and I were on this scaffold. Well, to be honest, it wasn't really a scaffold. It was more like a rectangular surfboard kind of a thing, and it was suspended in mid-air. We were both standing on it, and there were no railings, no ropes or anything to hold onto. The surboardy-scaffoldy thing was level with the top of the Empire State building and we were looking down on the Macy's Day Parade as it passed below us.


As dreams go, this one was emotionally vivid. I distinctly remember looking down at the parade floats and seeing them as toys, and then coming slowly to the realization that they only looked tiny because I was so incredibly unbelievably terrifyingly high off the ground with nothing to hold onto except a powerful leader.

Hmmm.

He said to me, "As you look down there, can you come to an appreciation of how high up you are right now?" A toy bus passed under the surfboardy-scaffoldy thing.

"Yes," I replied. "And it's making me sick to my stomach and making my knees weak... Can you please just lower me? I want to be back on the ground."

Slowly the scaffoldy-surfboardy thing floated down and I got off.

You see, I've been very impatient as of late. Frustrated because things I've been hoping and praying for haven't been developing quickly enough for me. I've been arguing with God about His timing. I'm 55 years old for Your Sake. What the heck are we waiting for? 

So God - disguised as a powerful presence for which I hold great affection and respect - took me up really, really, high, and invited me to look down on life the way He might see it. When you can see both the beginning and the ending of the parade at the same time you don't see it for its individual parts and pieces. When you're on the sidewalk watching, all you can see is a humungous floating SpongeBobSquarePants, then a squad of veterans, then a beauty queen, then a giggle of clowns, each one monopolizing your view in turn. But from up there on the scaffoldy surfboardy thing, you see the parade's entirety, its holism. And the passage of time takes on new meaning; time grips more tightly when you are standing up close, and exhales a bit when you gain distance. The older I get, the more I appreciate that. I was in a bad marriage for 15 years. When I was 35, that accounted for nearly half of my time on this earth. Now, I see it as a difficult relationship from my youth. Hopefully I will live long enough to see it reduced to a diminutive float in the parade of my life. I can catch glimpses of that even from where I stand now.

From His eternal perpective I imagine that God sees the whole of my life. And it all makes sense, it all flows down a perfect boulevard to a place that I can't see because I'm down here, marching in the parade. And I think that through this dream, He was telling me that I wouldn't like it if I could be up there, seeing things from His perspective. It would make me dizzy, and frighten me to have the kind of vision reserved for God and his angels.

So with my feet on the ground, I will wait and trust that God-bama knows exactly what He is doing. Left, right, left, right, left, right...

Peace,
Julie

Julie Scipioni is a writer, speaker, and the co-author of the #1 Amazon bestselling novel, Iris & Lily.

Don't let go, Mr. Compertore!

Sometime around 1964 - I don't remember exactly when because I was four years old and I forgot to mark it on the calendar - I learned how to ride a bike. I don't remember my parents being involved. They had 11 children to look after, so unless you were bleeding at my house, you were pretty much on your own. But down the street lived my best friend, and her father helped teach me. At one point, he was holding on to the back of the seat, running along behind me, and I was calling out, "Don't let go, Mr. Compertore!" The next thing I knew, I was sailing down the sidewalk, albeit wobbling and terrified, with Mr. Compertore nowhere in sight.

Riding my bike is one of the few pleasures I discovered in my childhood that I still enjoy. So today when I woke up to a sunny Thanksgiving with the temperatures in the 50s, I decided that the best way to express my gratitude would be to go for a spin on my old Schwinn, aka "the cruiser."

Someone in the neighborhood was burning a log fire and the smoky sweetness of it tickled my nostrils. I turned up the music and pedaled a little faster. I let go of the handlebars, just to see if I could keep my balance. I did. I rode across the bridge that goes over the highway and I waved to all of the motorists below, just to see if they would wave back. They didn't. I sang out loud. I stopped at the playground and went on the swings. I closed my eyes, imagining what it would feel like to fly. I brought my swing to a stop and did that twisty thing with the chain, releasing myself into a wild spin.

Today, I felt free in a way that I haven't in a very long time. It was like going back in time and reliving a morning of my childhood with nothing in sight except the sky and the road and the open day ahead. It seemed a little like heaven. Jesus once said that unless we become like little children, we will never enter the kingdom of heaven, so I guess that means if we can become childlike we'll get a glimpse into life the way God intended it to be. Joyful and free.

One of the greatest freedoms we experience as children is the freedom from carrying the emotional burdens of others. But it doesn't last very long. At least it didn't for me. I learned very early on that if someone around me was unhappy it was quite possibly because of something I did, and even if it wasn't, it was still my responsibility to try and fix it. Along the way here and there I picked up problems that weren't mine to solve and worries that I had no power to ease, and by the time I was an adult, I was like a pack mule for the lame and brokenhearted. This burden violated my sense of fair play, but I didn't know how to give any of it back. So I trudged along, backed bowed, feet on fire, hoping that everyone would one day take back their crap and go home.

Needless to say, they didn't. Why would they? Why carry your own load when someone else is so willing to do it for you?

Over time, by Grace, and through many painful experiences I finally learned how to give people back their own burdens, how to release them in love, how to allow them to face the consequences of their own choices. My childlike joy and sense of freedom this morning was a celebration of my saddle bags, finally empty except for the few things I carry for myself.

As I look at the road behind me, I can see how futile was my effort to be anyone's savior, and even how foolish the desire to do so. Like if Mr. Compertore had listened to me, if he had worried too much about my temporary well-being to let go of the seat of my bike, and just agreed to run behind me until I was no longer afraid. Which, by the way, never would have happened. The longer he would have held on, the more afraid of riding on my own I would have become. It is the prospect of doing something scary on your own that is the source of fear, and it is the sailing on down the street that triumphs over it and leads you to the next great adventure life has to offer. It is not my place to deprive others of that accomplishment, of that joy.

And so I let go, and so I ride on.

Peace,
Julie

Julie Scipioni is a writer, speaker, and the co-author of the #1 Amazon bestselling novel, Iris & Lily.

I'll show you mine (Even if you don't show me yours)

I have very few physical scars. When I was 10 years old, I tried to use my bicycle to boost myself up into the apple tree in our yard. The bike slipped and I followed, scraping my shin on the chain, ripping a gash down to the bone. I still notice the mark it left every time I pull my socks on. It reminds me that new ideas need to be thought through. Then, when I was 29, I gave birth to a gorgeous baby boy by Cesarean section. When I notice that scar, I am reminded of my sweet boy and all he's been to me in my life.

So basically, with just the two scars, I'm in pretty good shape. However, if you could look at me and see the scars of my emotional and spiritual life, I would be a hacked and bloodied mess.

I am a warrior. I don't actually remember signing up (I'm pretty sure I was drafted), but at a very early stage of life I found myself deeply embroiled in battle. The string of challenges has remained fairly unbroken. I can speculate and philosophize until the end of time about the how and why of ordinary human suffering. Some would say I attracted troubles to myself with my thoughts. Others would say it's karma, the fee for the piper's song that still reverberates from another lifetime. Some simply say, "That's life! Stuff happens because we're human and it's all a big ugly crap shoot."

I suppose if I had to try and answer the "why" of my own trials it would be a combination of those factors. Suffering is inherent in the human experience. I also can't deny the influence of time, place, and culture on my individual circumstances. And truthfully, I haven't always sowed seeds of peace and harmony, so it would stand to reason that at least a limited harvest of pain would crop up through the soil of my life by my own hand.

Don't get me wrong - I have been richly blessed and there have been many ecstatically happy times, too, but I'm just one of those people who seems to have met with my share of trials, and (I suspect) maybe even some that were intended for someone who just happened to look like me.

But I'm not unique. Not by a long shot. There are countless people all over the world and throughout time who are experiencing and have experienced everything that I've been through - and much worse. So why is it that when we are walking through the shadows that we feel so utterly alone, as though no one understands and that no help is near?

For one thing, when we are in pain, we become afraid, and that fear not only shuts us off from others who would offer help and encouragement, but it also blinds us to the good that remains, and it is that good that can fuel our will to fight our way through.

Yet there's another reason why we feel desolate in our suffering. It's because we are ashamed. We think our troubles are a reflection of our value, of our worth. After all, if we were smarter or more lovable, a better wife or mother, if we were more talented, or more favored by God, we would be sitting at the cool kid's table laughing and making plans for Saturday night, not sitting alone in a pool of our own tears.

The greater the pain, the greater the shame and the guilt, and the greater the loneliness and fear. And on and on it goes.

That's why I'm willing to show my scars. They don't make me unlovable or inferior. I am not ashamed of them. My scars are the badges of a life lived, of a spirit forged, of wisdom gained. I don't share them to garner pity or to aggrandize myself in any way. Quite simply, my beautiful scars are the evidence that healing has taken place. If I go through a trial and I come out on the other side alive, the scars I collect in the process tell the story of courage, faith, hope, and the grace of God. I know it's a story that someone else needs to hear.

Remember this: Regardless of what you see on TV and in the newspapers, not all human suffering ends in tragedy. In fact, more often than not, people are saved. Every moment of every day, we are snatched from the lion's jaw, pulled from the fiery furnace, rescued from the mouth of the whale and released from the grave. Our scars signify triumph.

Life prevails. Love saves. God heals. My scars are proof. So are yours.

Peace,
Julie
Julie is the co-author of the triple-decker novel "Iris & Lily."

Stay the Course

When we're facing difficult times - whether we are working to overcome adversity or to accomplish a cherished dream - it's important to see past today's pain and to keep the longview of hope. While things might not look great to us right now, we are on a path. As long as we act with faith and integrity, we can expect to one day find ourselves standing on the cusp of a brighter day.

A few years ago, my husband wrote this song and I recorded it. If you or someone you know is facing challenges, share this with them. Sometimes all you need is to know that you are on the right track and that there is always hope.

Listen to Stay the Course.


Stay the Course

I had a dream I was a starship driver
I met the man in the moon
He said to me, "I know you're cold and tired,
But there's still so much to do.
And I know sometimes, it seems you're out there on your own
But there's much more going on than you can see
You may believe in happenstance
But nothing happens just by chance
The right time and place is where you'll always be.

Just Stay the Course, you're on the right track
Trust in your heart, no, don't look back
Watch for the signs along the way
The road ahead leads to a brighter day."

I met a man on the way to somewhere
He had that look in his eye
I don't know how but I could tell he'd been there
Around the block once or twice
And he said, "You may not know me
From the man in the moon,
But I've a feeling you've got something on your mind.
You might think that it's absurd, but I'm giving you my word
What you're looking for won't be so hard to find."

Now I don't know what makes the world go 'round
The sky blue, the grass so green
And I don't understand serendipity
But I do believe that dreams come true
So if you're open to the clues
There's no end to the possibilities