I Guess I Haven't Learned That Yet: Discovering New Ways of Living When the Old Ways Stop Working

by Shauna Niequist

Oh my darlings, you’re not dumb—you’re new. We’re all new. And we’re not failing. But we’re learning, and it’s exhausting and humbling and fun and hard.

I had been wearing an expert hat for a long time—as a parent, as a writer, as someone who had lived in her hometown for a long time. I was the expert. The answer person. But I don’t have all the answers anymore. I have to ask for help or direction every single day, and you know what? I like it.

I believe in seeking out beauty absolutely every chance we get, as an act of prayer, as an act of worship, as an act of resistance. I believe in going out of our way if it means getting to see the water or the mountains or the sky streaked with colors.

Look for the good, even in the dark—especially in the dark. Once you train your eyes for tiny glimpses of goodness, you’ll get better at seeing them, and you’ll see more and more and more.

Healthy, whole people don’t become healthy and whole on accident; it’s because they make the small, daily choices that build on each other.

One of my goals is to be a person who is easily delighted, who can find great cause for celebration in a fig or a familiar face. If you need fireworks and perfection in order to crack a smile, you’re going to be disappointed over and over when life fails to be spectacular on command. I want to live with an extremely low bar for delight. It takes almost nothing at all—a good song, a ripe piece of fruit, a perfectly packed tote.

Empathy stitches us together when a thousand loud things act as seam rippers, shredding the fabric of our connectedness. Empathy simply picks up a needle and begins stitching again—together, together, together.

What do I need to walk away from or walk toward?

We’re responsible to help create a world that values questions more than answers, that celebrates learning and not just knowing, that sees failure as a part of the process of success.

The world is still good, still beautiful, still dazzling and interesting and worth tasting and finding and savoring. God is still good, still faithful, still kind. There’s a lot I don’t know, but there’s enough that I do.

My faith is one of the most nourishing, healing, restorative parts of my life, and I’m unwilling to go without it as a protest. I see the church’s failings. I’ve seen many of them up close, much closer than I’d like. But show me something that hasn’t been corrupted by human hands. And my hands are as fallible as any. I still believe that the way of Jesus, even poorly done, is a better way than any other.