It's the beginning of a new year. Again. I love the new year. I revel in the holiday season that starts at Thanksgiving and ends on New Year's Eve. For me, it's all one big holiday celebration, that six week period. I listen to Christmas music during the whole time, I watch Christmas movies, I love the lights around my living room and honestly would love to leave them up all year (but somehow I cannot convince my husband that the lighted tree in the corner would be a nice touch year round). My husband and I take the last two weeks of the year off from work, because we are blessed to both work for employers who shut down the last week of the year, and we add a week of vacation to that and have a real time of relaxation and rest, time with family, time to recharge.
And once it's over, once the first day of the new year has arrived, I am filled with a sense of anticipation, of the promise of the new year, waiting to unfold before me. It's a chance to start over, to reboot, to make changes, to rethink what really matters. It's an unwritten chapter.
I don't make resolutions in the new year, because I know myself and I would make a list of unrealistic resolutions that I know I cannot keep, and then beat myself up because I failed to check them off my list (you've met me, right?).
But there are some big changes coming for my husband and I, changes to do with our faith walk. We are taking a huge leap into the unknown, because we feel God calling us there (more about that in a future blog). And so I have been doing quite a bit of introspective thinking, reading a book called Greater, and just generally pondering my life as it is, and my life as I'd like it to be. Not in a huge, paradigm-shift sort of way, but in the day to day moments that make up how I live my life.
So this year, I want to be more intentional in how I spend those moments. I have a habit of letting life carry me along, going from one obligation to another - work, household chores, paying bills, church responsibilities, family time, various social events - feeling like I have so many things that I "must" do that there is no time for what I want to do. Honestly, that's just a sad excuse I have built to keep me from feeling disappointed about all the things I don't seem to get around to doing. And I avoid starting things because I figure I won't ever finish them, so why bother. Pretty pitiful, and no one to blame but me. I am my own worst enemy.
There is a list of things I really want to do. Things like reading the huge stack of books I have amassed. Like making the lap quilt for my granddaughter, the supplies for which I purchased a year ago when making the baby quilt for her little brother when he was born. Like making a real effort at writing down the story that has been living in my head for a couple of years. Like printing and framing photos from our amazing beach vacation last summer. Like sorting hundreds of photos and putting them in albums or a least in photo boxes. Like cleaning out all the accumulated junk in our house and just having less "stuff."
All things that are important to me. All things that I tell myself I wish I could find time to do, but instead I aimlessly surf the web, read Facebook, read blogs (okay, I find some really great stuff on blogs), and watch more TV than I should. Nothing wrong with watching good TV, there is a lot of great stuff out there, but even when there is nothing on to watch, I surf. I mindlessly escape, because it's easier than actually starting something. Something that I probably won't finish or will fail at. It is this kind of thinking that is the real problem. Not so much the doing or not doing, but how I think about the doing.
So what's the deal? Why am I not doing? Because I have to make time, intentional time, for what matters to me. So that is my plan for this new year. And I will not hold myself to a list that can make me feel like a failure. I will instead stop and breathe and give myself some moments to think and dream and decide what I really want to do. I will still have to work, and clean, and pay bills, those things will never go away. But the rest of the time, I am making a promise to myself to spend some moments every week doing something that makes me happy, that I enjoy, that makes me grow, that makes me a better person, that feeds my creativity. I will live my moments intentionally as much as possible.
What is your intention for this bright, shiny 2013 spread out before you like a fresh, blank canvas, waiting for your story to cover it? What change or changes do you need to make in order to live your greater life?
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Monday, December 31, 2012
It's the End of the Year As We Know It (Part 1)
As 2012 is drawing to a close, I am finally going to write a couple of posts I've had swimming around in my head for a month or so. Today's post is one borne out of a conversation I had with a dear friend a month or two ago about home.
Home. Such a cozy, comforting word. A word with so many meanings to each person. The house you live in. The town you grew up in (or the country you are from, in some cases). The place where your parent(s) still live. Your family.
Our conversation was about the upcoming holidays, and how stressful it can be when you are the family member in charge of planning and executing all the family gatherings that happen at Thanksgiving and Christmas. When what we really want is to just pack up and go over the river and through the woods to grandmother's house, where she has cozy beds and delicious food waiting for us, and we just have to show up and wrap ourselves in the love.
My friend expressed a feeling that I think many of us probably having during this time of year - that longing for "home" that is a place we can go back to, the house we grew up in, where parent or parents welcome us into the familiar warmth and the surroundings that are an integral part of who we are, where we can drop all our cares at the door and just "be" for a while.
My friend's personal situation is such that she is, in her early 40s, already that person, the person whose home is the "home" that the family comes to for holiday gatherings. Her parents are long-divorced, grandparents gone, one parent living with her and other parent and various siblings living out of state. So the holidays for her family here are celebrated at her home, which means she is the one everyone looks to for whatever meals and gatherings may take place.
I have a similar situation - both parents gone, all grandparents gone, only my mother in law left. We celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas on my husband's side at his mother's tiny home, because it's what she wants, and so for me, that is my holiday "home." But it's not "my" home. There hasn't been that sort of home for me in many, many years (not since my grandma passed away, as her house was the one where my father was born and every Christmas of my childhood was spent at her house).
My parents divorced when I was 10, and so from that age forward, my "home" was several different places, as my mom and I moved several times before she remarried. My dad remarried when I was 13. So I had two homes, but neither were the home I grew up in, as we moved so much when I was a kid. My friend had a similar experience growing up, living in several states and numerous homes.
I still get emotional when I hear Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. I'm not sure why, but that song brings up fond memories of my mom and I wrapping Christmas gifts and decorating the house and baking for the holidays. My childhood had a lot of baggage and dysfunction, but there were some wonderful memories and great times and many of them are around Christmas, so those memories are a bittersweet reminder of what I miss when I think of my mom during the holidays. Because, messy and dysfunctional as our life was, my mom was "home" to me.
So when I read of people going back home to the house their parents have lived in for 40 years, where their childhood bedroom is still intact and they can sleep there on Christmas Eve, I feel a twinge of sadness that I was never able to experience that. I love to watch holiday movies where families have that kind of "home." But that is Hollywood fiction, and the reality for most of the people I know is that their "home" at the holidays is rarely the kind we see in movies.
I hope that our house is the place where our kids and grandkids think of as "home" for Christmas. We all live near each other (except the college son who still comes home for a couple of weeks from out of town), so there is no extended stay. And we have built a tradition of Christmas breakfast which used to be at our home each year, but now is rotated between our home, our daughter's home, and her in-laws' home. So our Christmas morning tradition is not always at my "home" but it is alway with family so it is "home" for all of us to be together.
Life seems so transient these days. People marry, divorce, move around, change jobs, change homes, change cities. Life moves at a faster and faster pace. And so how do we find "home" in the midst of life as it is for us now? I think we must create "home" where we are. We must redefine what "home" means to us. Perhaps home is not so much a place, a geographical location, as it is a feeling, an emotion, a connection, a grounding. The indefinable feeling that comes when you are with those people who are your family - the ones who have to love you no matter what. The people who know you the best. The ones who don't care if you doze off on the couch and snore, who tease you when you make a mess trying to bake cookies, who mock you mercilessly for your love of Christmas movies and music (and I love them anyway, so there), who look forward to the family traditions you have created over the years. Home is where they have to let you in.
For me, more than anything else, "home" is my husband and children and grandchildren. We laugh together, we cry together, we know each other so well. It is the one place where I can totally be myself, and have no fear that someone will stop loving or liking me because of who I really am.
So if you are like so many of us of my generation and don't have the storybook home to go to at the holidays, with mom baking pies in the kitchen and dad building a lovely fire and reading the Christmas story from Luke in front of the tree with all the family gathered round just like every year, then make your own version of "home." Create your own place of refuge and comfort, with the people who make you feel most yourself and most comfortable, doing together whatever it is that makes you happy. Not what you see in a magazine article or on a home or cooking show, those places that present a ridiculously unrealistic picture of what home for the holidays should look like.
No one's life really looks like that. Life is messy. Life is unpredictable. Life is painful sometimes. Life rarely goes the way we wish it would - if it did, I'd be living in Leave It to Beaver-land and wearing my pearls all day long and I'd be practically perfect in every way. But instead, I'm messy, and foolish, and clumsy, and joyful, and silly, and fearful, and insecure, and curious, and full of love for the people who are my home. We all long for "home." It is part of who we are created to be as human beings - we crave connection, we crave stability, we crave belonging. But "home" is sometimes hard to find, sometimes disappointing, sometimes complicated. So we have to resolve to find "home" where we can and make it what we need.
I'm blessed beyond what I deserve, and though it is a total cliche, for me, for today, it's the most true thing. Home is where the heart is. My wish for you is that you may find your own version of "home" and that it will bring you comfort and joy, not just at Christmas, but all year long.
Home. Such a cozy, comforting word. A word with so many meanings to each person. The house you live in. The town you grew up in (or the country you are from, in some cases). The place where your parent(s) still live. Your family.
Our conversation was about the upcoming holidays, and how stressful it can be when you are the family member in charge of planning and executing all the family gatherings that happen at Thanksgiving and Christmas. When what we really want is to just pack up and go over the river and through the woods to grandmother's house, where she has cozy beds and delicious food waiting for us, and we just have to show up and wrap ourselves in the love.
My friend expressed a feeling that I think many of us probably having during this time of year - that longing for "home" that is a place we can go back to, the house we grew up in, where parent or parents welcome us into the familiar warmth and the surroundings that are an integral part of who we are, where we can drop all our cares at the door and just "be" for a while.
My friend's personal situation is such that she is, in her early 40s, already that person, the person whose home is the "home" that the family comes to for holiday gatherings. Her parents are long-divorced, grandparents gone, one parent living with her and other parent and various siblings living out of state. So the holidays for her family here are celebrated at her home, which means she is the one everyone looks to for whatever meals and gatherings may take place.
I have a similar situation - both parents gone, all grandparents gone, only my mother in law left. We celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas on my husband's side at his mother's tiny home, because it's what she wants, and so for me, that is my holiday "home." But it's not "my" home. There hasn't been that sort of home for me in many, many years (not since my grandma passed away, as her house was the one where my father was born and every Christmas of my childhood was spent at her house).
My parents divorced when I was 10, and so from that age forward, my "home" was several different places, as my mom and I moved several times before she remarried. My dad remarried when I was 13. So I had two homes, but neither were the home I grew up in, as we moved so much when I was a kid. My friend had a similar experience growing up, living in several states and numerous homes.
I still get emotional when I hear Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. I'm not sure why, but that song brings up fond memories of my mom and I wrapping Christmas gifts and decorating the house and baking for the holidays. My childhood had a lot of baggage and dysfunction, but there were some wonderful memories and great times and many of them are around Christmas, so those memories are a bittersweet reminder of what I miss when I think of my mom during the holidays. Because, messy and dysfunctional as our life was, my mom was "home" to me.
So when I read of people going back home to the house their parents have lived in for 40 years, where their childhood bedroom is still intact and they can sleep there on Christmas Eve, I feel a twinge of sadness that I was never able to experience that. I love to watch holiday movies where families have that kind of "home." But that is Hollywood fiction, and the reality for most of the people I know is that their "home" at the holidays is rarely the kind we see in movies.
I hope that our house is the place where our kids and grandkids think of as "home" for Christmas. We all live near each other (except the college son who still comes home for a couple of weeks from out of town), so there is no extended stay. And we have built a tradition of Christmas breakfast which used to be at our home each year, but now is rotated between our home, our daughter's home, and her in-laws' home. So our Christmas morning tradition is not always at my "home" but it is alway with family so it is "home" for all of us to be together.
Life seems so transient these days. People marry, divorce, move around, change jobs, change homes, change cities. Life moves at a faster and faster pace. And so how do we find "home" in the midst of life as it is for us now? I think we must create "home" where we are. We must redefine what "home" means to us. Perhaps home is not so much a place, a geographical location, as it is a feeling, an emotion, a connection, a grounding. The indefinable feeling that comes when you are with those people who are your family - the ones who have to love you no matter what. The people who know you the best. The ones who don't care if you doze off on the couch and snore, who tease you when you make a mess trying to bake cookies, who mock you mercilessly for your love of Christmas movies and music (and I love them anyway, so there), who look forward to the family traditions you have created over the years. Home is where they have to let you in.
For me, more than anything else, "home" is my husband and children and grandchildren. We laugh together, we cry together, we know each other so well. It is the one place where I can totally be myself, and have no fear that someone will stop loving or liking me because of who I really am.
So if you are like so many of us of my generation and don't have the storybook home to go to at the holidays, with mom baking pies in the kitchen and dad building a lovely fire and reading the Christmas story from Luke in front of the tree with all the family gathered round just like every year, then make your own version of "home." Create your own place of refuge and comfort, with the people who make you feel most yourself and most comfortable, doing together whatever it is that makes you happy. Not what you see in a magazine article or on a home or cooking show, those places that present a ridiculously unrealistic picture of what home for the holidays should look like.
No one's life really looks like that. Life is messy. Life is unpredictable. Life is painful sometimes. Life rarely goes the way we wish it would - if it did, I'd be living in Leave It to Beaver-land and wearing my pearls all day long and I'd be practically perfect in every way. But instead, I'm messy, and foolish, and clumsy, and joyful, and silly, and fearful, and insecure, and curious, and full of love for the people who are my home. We all long for "home." It is part of who we are created to be as human beings - we crave connection, we crave stability, we crave belonging. But "home" is sometimes hard to find, sometimes disappointing, sometimes complicated. So we have to resolve to find "home" where we can and make it what we need.
I'm blessed beyond what I deserve, and though it is a total cliche, for me, for today, it's the most true thing. Home is where the heart is. My wish for you is that you may find your own version of "home" and that it will bring you comfort and joy, not just at Christmas, but all year long.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Unto the Least
I have been participating in the 30 days of thankfulness thing that goes around Facebook this time of year. It's a great exercise in really being mindful and giving some real thought to the blessings in our lives. There is something about writing it out that really does make you feel so much gratitude for all that is good in your life. I try to write a post specifically about my husband, each of my children, my grandchildren, and my son-in-law. I already posted about my best and oldest friend, and my amazing boss and coworkers, and I have another couple of friends I want to post on. I like to give each person their own space so I can thoroughly express what they mean to me. But honestly, there have been a couple of days that were rough because I wasn't feeling well, so on those days I did find something to post thankfulness about, but I felt like it was okay to also say that I was having a rough day. God is cool like that; I know that he understands when I need to just say you know God, I'm having a pretty crappy day. He likes it when we are honest and transparent. In fact, he prefers it that way.
This past weekend Jay and I went down to Waco to attend worship at Church Under the Bridge (read about it here: http://www.churchunderthebridge.org/). Our son Andy is a member of BRH, a worship choir at Baylor University, and they were leading worship on Sunday at CUB. It is literally under a bridge at the main overpass right adjacent to Baylor. It is pastored by Jimmy Dorrell, the Director of Mission Waco. Many of the people who come are homeless, or from various shelters. There are also folks there who are not homeless, who are members of local churches, but choose to worship at this church either every week or on a frequent basis, just because they love these people. Breakfast is provided by a different local church each week. They have small groups, and groups for the kids. Just like any church. But not. Not at all. There is a lot of love, and lot of genuine need, and a lot of pain, all displayed on the many different faces, young, old and in between. Most are there because they love God and know that they have a need for something beyond their physical needs; some don't know or care, they just come for the food. Either way they are met with love and compassion and genuine friendship.
During this particular worship service, communion was served. It was pretty informal - we stood in line, tore off a piece of bread from a large French loaf, and picked up a small plastic cup of grape juice with a lid on it. (The bread thing didn't bother me at all, but I will say if you are a germophobe, you would need to get over that if you are going to work with homeless people.) After some words by Jimmy, everyone partook in the usual manner. Afterward, Jimmy asked that each person turn to the person next to them and tell them something they were thankful for. Jay turned to me to tell me he was thankful for me (there was no one sitting on his other side). By this point in the service, I was so overcome with emotion from thinking about the ridiculous amount of material wealth I have compared to the people around me, and just HOW MUCH need there is and how many people are hurting and feeling SO very humbled and helpless and useless and embarrassed at all I have, that I was literally unable to even speak to tell him what I was thankful for.
If you know me, I am not a person who cries much at all. I am moved emotionally, often, but it rarely brings tears. But it was all I could do to keep from sobbing out loud. God has been doing a work in me, in both of us, for the last couple of years, moving our hearts to get involved in the work of serving the poor and needy, the hurting, the outsiders, the ones who are not like us. He has created a restlessness in our hearts to make some big changes, and we have come to the point where obedience is required. And this service was just a huge reminder, and a confirmation in my heart, that God is leading us.
Leading us where? I don't know. Leading us to what? I don't know. And being the Scheduler that I am (one of Jay's pet names for me), resting in and being content with "I don't know" is one of the hardest things you could ask me to do. I like to plan, I make lists, I calendar just almost every activity in my life so that I can know what to expect and plan accordingly. And if you move my cheese, it takes me some time to adjust. Not that I can't adjust, it just doesn't happen immediately.
I had a conversation with my dearest friend just yesterday about living in the moment, and I told her I'm not really so much of a live in the moment girl as a "how much can I get done in this block of time" girl. I even "triage" my lists if there is more to get done than is possible that day.
But God doesn't operate by my lists, or my timetables, or my slightly dysfunctional need to know and plan and plan some more. He asks me to trust him with today. And then tomorrow. And then the day, the month, the year after that. He promises that he has a plan for my life, but he does not promise to reveal it to me more than one day, sometimes one hour, at a time.
So. I pray a lot. I worry a lot. I speculate and wonder and guess and try to make a plan that I can offer God, you know, just to help him out. Here you go, here's a good plan that I think will work, if you'll just sign off on it we can get started. That sort of thing. Not happening.
So I will wait on the Lord. I will take the steps he asks of me, at the time he asks it. I will have to trust, and hope that I understand clearly. And if I don't, and I go the wrong way or get on the wrong path, I know he will guide me back. Either gently, or if I am being stubborn or dense, perhaps with a more tangible bop on the head or kick in the pants.
In this season of thankfulness, the thing I am most thankful for, beyond my family, my friends, my job, my home, food on my table, clothes to wear - more than all of that, I am thankful that I serve a God who loves me enough to sacrifice his son for me, and enough to challenge me and push me out of my comfort zone and make me grow for his purposes and to serve the ones he loves. He makes me accountable for all the blessings he has given me, to give back, to be his hands and feet, to show his love to those who need it most, regardless of their circumstance or lifestyle, whether they know him or not. We are all God's children. God bless us every one.
Matthew 25:39-40
This past weekend Jay and I went down to Waco to attend worship at Church Under the Bridge (read about it here: http://www.churchunderthebridge.org/). Our son Andy is a member of BRH, a worship choir at Baylor University, and they were leading worship on Sunday at CUB. It is literally under a bridge at the main overpass right adjacent to Baylor. It is pastored by Jimmy Dorrell, the Director of Mission Waco. Many of the people who come are homeless, or from various shelters. There are also folks there who are not homeless, who are members of local churches, but choose to worship at this church either every week or on a frequent basis, just because they love these people. Breakfast is provided by a different local church each week. They have small groups, and groups for the kids. Just like any church. But not. Not at all. There is a lot of love, and lot of genuine need, and a lot of pain, all displayed on the many different faces, young, old and in between. Most are there because they love God and know that they have a need for something beyond their physical needs; some don't know or care, they just come for the food. Either way they are met with love and compassion and genuine friendship.
During this particular worship service, communion was served. It was pretty informal - we stood in line, tore off a piece of bread from a large French loaf, and picked up a small plastic cup of grape juice with a lid on it. (The bread thing didn't bother me at all, but I will say if you are a germophobe, you would need to get over that if you are going to work with homeless people.) After some words by Jimmy, everyone partook in the usual manner. Afterward, Jimmy asked that each person turn to the person next to them and tell them something they were thankful for. Jay turned to me to tell me he was thankful for me (there was no one sitting on his other side). By this point in the service, I was so overcome with emotion from thinking about the ridiculous amount of material wealth I have compared to the people around me, and just HOW MUCH need there is and how many people are hurting and feeling SO very humbled and helpless and useless and embarrassed at all I have, that I was literally unable to even speak to tell him what I was thankful for.
If you know me, I am not a person who cries much at all. I am moved emotionally, often, but it rarely brings tears. But it was all I could do to keep from sobbing out loud. God has been doing a work in me, in both of us, for the last couple of years, moving our hearts to get involved in the work of serving the poor and needy, the hurting, the outsiders, the ones who are not like us. He has created a restlessness in our hearts to make some big changes, and we have come to the point where obedience is required. And this service was just a huge reminder, and a confirmation in my heart, that God is leading us.
Leading us where? I don't know. Leading us to what? I don't know. And being the Scheduler that I am (one of Jay's pet names for me), resting in and being content with "I don't know" is one of the hardest things you could ask me to do. I like to plan, I make lists, I calendar just almost every activity in my life so that I can know what to expect and plan accordingly. And if you move my cheese, it takes me some time to adjust. Not that I can't adjust, it just doesn't happen immediately.
I had a conversation with my dearest friend just yesterday about living in the moment, and I told her I'm not really so much of a live in the moment girl as a "how much can I get done in this block of time" girl. I even "triage" my lists if there is more to get done than is possible that day.
But God doesn't operate by my lists, or my timetables, or my slightly dysfunctional need to know and plan and plan some more. He asks me to trust him with today. And then tomorrow. And then the day, the month, the year after that. He promises that he has a plan for my life, but he does not promise to reveal it to me more than one day, sometimes one hour, at a time.
So. I pray a lot. I worry a lot. I speculate and wonder and guess and try to make a plan that I can offer God, you know, just to help him out. Here you go, here's a good plan that I think will work, if you'll just sign off on it we can get started. That sort of thing. Not happening.
So I will wait on the Lord. I will take the steps he asks of me, at the time he asks it. I will have to trust, and hope that I understand clearly. And if I don't, and I go the wrong way or get on the wrong path, I know he will guide me back. Either gently, or if I am being stubborn or dense, perhaps with a more tangible bop on the head or kick in the pants.
In this season of thankfulness, the thing I am most thankful for, beyond my family, my friends, my job, my home, food on my table, clothes to wear - more than all of that, I am thankful that I serve a God who loves me enough to sacrifice his son for me, and enough to challenge me and push me out of my comfort zone and make me grow for his purposes and to serve the ones he loves. He makes me accountable for all the blessings he has given me, to give back, to be his hands and feet, to show his love to those who need it most, regardless of their circumstance or lifestyle, whether they know him or not. We are all God's children. God bless us every one.
Matthew 25:39-40
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Truth: Do You Dare?
Writer's Note: This post concerns an incident from several years in the past, not recent. I wrote it down to get my thoughts out, saved it, and just ran across it again today and decided it was a worthy topic.
What exactly is truth?
And can we really handle it? We
claim to be truth seekers – at least most of us do, but is truth really what we
seek, and what we offer? Deep thoughts,
I know, but a recent conversation with a friend got me pondering the whole issue
of the nature of truth.
Actually, to tell the truth (insert ironic snort here), it
wasn’t so much a conversation with a friend as it was her telling me some
personal things to which I had a very strong reaction and deep concerns that
she was heading for some big trouble, and that I did not verbalize. In other words, I did not speak my true
feelings about what she was telling me, and after we hung up, I found myself
wondering why it was so hard to just be honest with her. And I came to the mortifying conclusion that
in this particular instance, though it would be easy to say I didn’t tell her
the truth in order to spare her feelings, the reality of it was that I didn’t
tell her the truth because it benefited me.
I would have risked her backing away, shutting me out, not feeling safe
to come to me any more, or even worse, deciding that she did not want us to be
close friends any more. And if that were
to happen, I not only would lose her friendship, but I would likely lose some
connections with other people that I want to stay connected with for many
reasons, because she is closer to them than I am. So, in pondering this situation, I realized
that I actually had very self-centered reasons for not telling the truth.
How often do we opt to tell only part of the truth, or some
version of the truth, or the sanitized truth, or even an out and out lie, for
reasons that are less than altruistic? I
like to believe, and often say, that I am an open book and that what you see is
what you get. But the truth (there’s
that word again) is that there is probably no one in my life, not even my
husband, who knows everything about me.
Sure he knows a lot, but there are many things I have never told him and
probably never will. Things from the
past, to be sure, but still . . . And
among my friends, I can count on one hand, actually maybe half a hand, the ones
with whom I’m even mostly transparent and honest. I have a tendency to only have a very small
number of close friends at a time, and even those relationships can be
difficult for me to take beyond a certain level.
How often we say the thing we think someone wants to hear,
rather than our real opinion on the matter.
I am literally physically unable to have a confrontation with someone
other than my closest family members, and so when an issue arises with a friend
where some hard things need to be said, they go unspoken.
This particular character flaw has caused me no end of internal grief, as you know if you read this blog or know me, that I am a self-confessed people pleaser. And yet, when you have a deep need to say something hard but true, and you just cannot bring yourself to do it, you are the one that ends up suffering and making yourself miserable and wondering. Wondering what if I told the truth? What if they don't like what I have to say? What if they don't . . . love me anymore?
There, that's the crux of it really. What if they don't love me anymore. Because that would be the worst thing. Except would it, really? If someone stops loving me because I say something to them that they don't like or don't want to hear, is that a love worth being UNtruthful to maintain?
I don't have a wise and sage answer, just the questions. Always the questions. But I'd love to learn to be more truthful, and I am working on it. And it's hard and reeeeeealllly uncomfortable. Because sometimes when the truth hurts, it hurts the teller as well as the hearer.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Unglued: The Truest Thing About Me . . .
We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.
~ II Corinthians 10:5 NIV84
Whoa. Chapter 12 came at me like a runaway truck, just at a time when I was struggling with the very things Lysa talks about in this chapter. I was reading sections out loud to my husband, saying "I feel exactly like that so often!"
Lysa wrote, "Have you ever been in a situation in which something small feels really big?" Why yes I have. And she also cautions that if we are not careful, "these misguided feelings can distract us, discourage us, and trigger past pain to start taunting us."
Okay. Nail. Head. Me. I have shared on here before my struggles with being a people pleaser. Well, hand in hand with that little dysfunctional personality trait comes what I like to call "talker's/doer's remorse." I have a fairly self-destructive habit of second-guessing my words or actions, after the fact. I overthink, sometimes to a ridiculous degree, something I said or did, wondering if perhaps it was rude, or insensitive, or if I didn't really make myself understood well, or if the person is angry at me, or any number of other scenarios where I should have said more, or less, of different, words. I dissect conversations, looking for places where an expression on someone's face or a subtle tone in a remark or some passive-aggressive hint would tell me that I had screwed up royally and needed to make amends or fix it somehow. Sometimes I do go back and offer an apology for any misunderstanding or hurt, and in most cases the person seems genuinely puzzled that I thought there was a problem. But of course every now and then there really was a hurt or angry feelings, so when I begin the "remorse" cycle, well you get the picture. In the case of doer's remorse, I often think, after the fact, oh I wish I'd done this, or wouldn't it have been great if I'd thought to do this, or oh Lord I should not have done that. I don't think on my feet well in social situations and when that happens, the "shoulda, coulda, woulda" is soon to follow.
Earlier this week, I was sinking in a bog of past regrets to the point that I was feeling blue and depressed for a couple of days. That's about 36 hours longer than I usually wallow in misery about stuff. Usually I wallow a while, then I self-talk myself back into my happy place. But this week, for some reason I just could not climb out. My poor patient husband, who is a great listener and sounding board, was at a loss as to how to help me. He is not a person who struggles with regret very often, and he just could not understand why I was mourning over every little thing I felt I had messed up since we'd been married (at least I'm sure it seemed that way to him).
And then I read this chapter. At exactly the right time. And then I read over it again, along with the final chapter in the book. And those two chapters together = light bulb time for this girl.
Usually I am totally imagining any problematical scenarios that have arisen (only in my little mind in most cases) from my verbal blunder or social faux pas. But I will worry about it and beat myself up and overthink and analyze and just chew it to death, feeling that somehow, again, I have failed.
There are times when I will just hop on that wheel of regret and spin until my eyes roll back in my head, thinking back over decisions I've made that I regret, choices that should have been different, things about the way I raised my kids that I now realize I could have done so much better, things said and unsaid to my parents, who are both now gone, words said in anger to my husband . . . you get the idea. It is a vortex of doom and gloom that can suck you down and make you feel like the biggest failure in the world.
When I was thinking about this blog post and trying to come up with a title, I remembered something that I heard in an evening worship time on a youth group mission trip in 1999 (I remember the year because it was my daughter's last mission trip during the summer just after she graduated high school). This statement had such a profound effect on me that I wrote it in my Bible, and when I got home, I typed it up on small pieces of paper, framed it and kept one for me and gave one to several friends I was going through a leadership class with at church. It sits on a shelf above my desk at work, and I realized as I was writing this that, along with the scripture from 2 Corinthians, I need to be reading this and claiming it as truth, every day, so that I can free myself from the captivity of regret:
The Truest Thing
The truest thing about me
Is always what God says
Not what I think or feel
Not what others say or do
The truest thing about me
Is always what God says
So simple. And yet so full of the truth of God, the truth of scripture, the truth that we need to cling to when we are tempted to beat ourselves up, and when we hop on that crazy wheel of regret and failure.
Remember The Truest Thing about YOU is ALWAYS what God says. Always.
~ II Corinthians 10:5 NIV84
Whoa. Chapter 12 came at me like a runaway truck, just at a time when I was struggling with the very things Lysa talks about in this chapter. I was reading sections out loud to my husband, saying "I feel exactly like that so often!"
Lysa wrote, "Have you ever been in a situation in which something small feels really big?" Why yes I have. And she also cautions that if we are not careful, "these misguided feelings can distract us, discourage us, and trigger past pain to start taunting us."
Okay. Nail. Head. Me. I have shared on here before my struggles with being a people pleaser. Well, hand in hand with that little dysfunctional personality trait comes what I like to call "talker's/doer's remorse." I have a fairly self-destructive habit of second-guessing my words or actions, after the fact. I overthink, sometimes to a ridiculous degree, something I said or did, wondering if perhaps it was rude, or insensitive, or if I didn't really make myself understood well, or if the person is angry at me, or any number of other scenarios where I should have said more, or less, of different, words. I dissect conversations, looking for places where an expression on someone's face or a subtle tone in a remark or some passive-aggressive hint would tell me that I had screwed up royally and needed to make amends or fix it somehow. Sometimes I do go back and offer an apology for any misunderstanding or hurt, and in most cases the person seems genuinely puzzled that I thought there was a problem. But of course every now and then there really was a hurt or angry feelings, so when I begin the "remorse" cycle, well you get the picture. In the case of doer's remorse, I often think, after the fact, oh I wish I'd done this, or wouldn't it have been great if I'd thought to do this, or oh Lord I should not have done that. I don't think on my feet well in social situations and when that happens, the "shoulda, coulda, woulda" is soon to follow.
Earlier this week, I was sinking in a bog of past regrets to the point that I was feeling blue and depressed for a couple of days. That's about 36 hours longer than I usually wallow in misery about stuff. Usually I wallow a while, then I self-talk myself back into my happy place. But this week, for some reason I just could not climb out. My poor patient husband, who is a great listener and sounding board, was at a loss as to how to help me. He is not a person who struggles with regret very often, and he just could not understand why I was mourning over every little thing I felt I had messed up since we'd been married (at least I'm sure it seemed that way to him).
And then I read this chapter. At exactly the right time. And then I read over it again, along with the final chapter in the book. And those two chapters together = light bulb time for this girl.
Usually I am totally imagining any problematical scenarios that have arisen (only in my little mind in most cases) from my verbal blunder or social faux pas. But I will worry about it and beat myself up and overthink and analyze and just chew it to death, feeling that somehow, again, I have failed.
There are times when I will just hop on that wheel of regret and spin until my eyes roll back in my head, thinking back over decisions I've made that I regret, choices that should have been different, things about the way I raised my kids that I now realize I could have done so much better, things said and unsaid to my parents, who are both now gone, words said in anger to my husband . . . you get the idea. It is a vortex of doom and gloom that can suck you down and make you feel like the biggest failure in the world.
When I was thinking about this blog post and trying to come up with a title, I remembered something that I heard in an evening worship time on a youth group mission trip in 1999 (I remember the year because it was my daughter's last mission trip during the summer just after she graduated high school). This statement had such a profound effect on me that I wrote it in my Bible, and when I got home, I typed it up on small pieces of paper, framed it and kept one for me and gave one to several friends I was going through a leadership class with at church. It sits on a shelf above my desk at work, and I realized as I was writing this that, along with the scripture from 2 Corinthians, I need to be reading this and claiming it as truth, every day, so that I can free myself from the captivity of regret:
The Truest Thing
The truest thing about me
Is always what God says
Not what I think or feel
Not what others say or do
The truest thing about me
Is always what God says
So simple. And yet so full of the truth of God, the truth of scripture, the truth that we need to cling to when we are tempted to beat ourselves up, and when we hop on that crazy wheel of regret and failure.
Remember The Truest Thing about YOU is ALWAYS what God says. Always.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Unglued: Skewed Perspective
Philippians 4:4-5 NIV84
Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near.
I have been struggling with what to write about this week's chapters. There were some tough "ouch" moments for me. I very much identified with some of Lysa's confessional anecdotes, all the while thinking "wow, yeah I feel that way/act that way/think that way.
I have not been gifted with any significant amount of gentleness either. I jokingly comment to friends that compassion is NOT my spiritual gift. Joking, and yet really not so much. It's true. Oh I can be compassionate, and I feel sympathy for others in painful situations or struggling with difficult circumstances. But when it comes to someone whining or complaining about a situation that they have the power to change, but they just won't - yeah, I'm the one thinking "Just suck it up and deal already. Either do something to change your situation or stop gritching about it." Not so gentle.
And yet, I sometimes find myself whining, muttering to myself, about some small slight or some situation that just seems, to quote my 6 year old granddaughter, "NO FAIR!" And honestly, at those times my perspective is totally focused on me. I will grumble my frustration and bitterness, mostly inside my own head, until it is all blown out of proportion and more likely than not eventually I end up in the self-talk that says I am a loser, no one wants to be my friend, no one listens to me, no one really cares about anything I have to say, blah blah blah.
Am I rejoicing? Not in the least. Am I letting "my" gentleness be seen? Not likely. Am I grateful for all the blessings God has poured into my life? Yes, but I'm not acting like it at these times.
Lysa's challenge in Chapter 8, to find an avenue to regain some perspective about what is important, to remind me to have gratitude for all I have, has resonated with me. I think often about volunteering, about serving, about finding a way to make a small difference for the vast population of people who are hurting and lost and hungry and living in impossible situations. But I never seem to get off my pockets and DO something about it. My husband and I have been talking a lot recently about this very topic, and we have both agreed that it is important for us to find a way to serve in our community in some way beyond just giving money.
My prayer is that in accepting this challenge, I will find perspective that will help me show what gentleness there is in me, and that God will cultivate an increase in that gentle spirit that we are exhorted to show. I know I cannot do it alone - I just don't have it in me. But I have HIM in me, and he can do all things, and greater things, than I can ever dream. It's all in the perspective.
Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near.
I have been struggling with what to write about this week's chapters. There were some tough "ouch" moments for me. I very much identified with some of Lysa's confessional anecdotes, all the while thinking "wow, yeah I feel that way/act that way/think that way.
I have not been gifted with any significant amount of gentleness either. I jokingly comment to friends that compassion is NOT my spiritual gift. Joking, and yet really not so much. It's true. Oh I can be compassionate, and I feel sympathy for others in painful situations or struggling with difficult circumstances. But when it comes to someone whining or complaining about a situation that they have the power to change, but they just won't - yeah, I'm the one thinking "Just suck it up and deal already. Either do something to change your situation or stop gritching about it." Not so gentle.
And yet, I sometimes find myself whining, muttering to myself, about some small slight or some situation that just seems, to quote my 6 year old granddaughter, "NO FAIR!" And honestly, at those times my perspective is totally focused on me. I will grumble my frustration and bitterness, mostly inside my own head, until it is all blown out of proportion and more likely than not eventually I end up in the self-talk that says I am a loser, no one wants to be my friend, no one listens to me, no one really cares about anything I have to say, blah blah blah.
Am I rejoicing? Not in the least. Am I letting "my" gentleness be seen? Not likely. Am I grateful for all the blessings God has poured into my life? Yes, but I'm not acting like it at these times.
Lysa's challenge in Chapter 8, to find an avenue to regain some perspective about what is important, to remind me to have gratitude for all I have, has resonated with me. I think often about volunteering, about serving, about finding a way to make a small difference for the vast population of people who are hurting and lost and hungry and living in impossible situations. But I never seem to get off my pockets and DO something about it. My husband and I have been talking a lot recently about this very topic, and we have both agreed that it is important for us to find a way to serve in our community in some way beyond just giving money.
My prayer is that in accepting this challenge, I will find perspective that will help me show what gentleness there is in me, and that God will cultivate an increase in that gentle spirit that we are exhorted to show. I know I cannot do it alone - I just don't have it in me. But I have HIM in me, and he can do all things, and greater things, than I can ever dream. It's all in the perspective.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Unglued - Who's in Charge Here, Really?
1 Peter 5:8 NIV84
Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.
Self control. Taming my tongue. Not exploding. Yeah, those things are so much easier said than done. This week in Chapter 5, I highlighted a lot of passages, nodding my head in recognition of the truths I found there. But I also had to acknowledge that I am, for the most part, an exploder. Sometimes that explosion is external, and sometimes it is internal, muttering to myself, thinking all the things that I would like to say out loud but the people-pleaser in me will not allow it (which is probably a good thing, as I would most likely have a great deal less friends if it was ALL external exploding). Sometimes, it feels like I'm the one doing the devouring . . .
Recently I was driving and radio surfing, which is one of my habits that annoys my husband to no end, but I was alone, so there. An interview with Judge Lynn Toler of TV's Divorce Court came on, and I was going to change it but I was curioius to hear what she had to say (I don't watch the show but I'm familiar with it). She talked about a lot of things, and made a lot of sense, and I found her insightful, intelligent, funny, and very honest. One comment she made grabbed me by the throat and shook me like a rag doll, and it has been rolling around in my mind ever since, because it was SUCH a powerful truth. And it applied to me personally on the money. And when I began this study, this truth jumped up in my mind again because it so beautifully applies:
"We FEEL much faster than we THINK. So take a pause for the cause, before you respond."
Oh, my, how true that is for us Exploders. Our emotions race forward and out of our mouth before our mind even has a chance to assess the truth of the words we are spewing, to consider the person we are exploding at, what their meaning may have been, and certainly without allowing time to formulate a Godly response, or even to step away for a few moments (or days) before responding. The feelings just tumble out and all over the person we are exploding at, blowing back on us as well like special effects blood spatter in a movie. And then we are both a mess, and the Exploder, once our mind catches up with our emotions, is either embarrassed, shamed, sorry, angry at ourselves, defensive, or some combination of all of the above.
How many times I've wished I could reel those words back in my mouth once my brain and reason kicks in. And sometimes, even more disturbing, once I get going I literally don't know how to stop the spewing. I have shared with my husband that sometimes it's as though I'm standing back watching another person ranting and raving and spewing ugly and unkind words, the anger and frustration rising, drowning out that little voice of reason in my head that is saying STOP. Just take a breath and STOP, NOW.
When it's one of those people-pleasing situations where I cannot say what I want to say in the heat of emotion, then the muttering to myself can build into resentment and I end up carrying those thoughts out into assuming all kinds of scenarios and putting all kinds of thoughts and intentions on the other person that have little to do with reality, but because I'm spewing inwardly, there is no opportunity to actually dialogue with the person and know the truth about them or share the truth about how I'm feeling.
I love this statement from Chapter 5 under Crafting My Response Template:
"I'm trying to remember not to let my lips or typing fingertips be the first thing that walks into a conflict."
So that's where I'm living this week. Working on crafting my response template, and tattooing these words on my forehead . . .
We FEEL much faster than we THINK.
So take a pause for the cause.
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