You are currently browsing the category archive for the 'faith' category.
My cousin, Rachel, and her almost-four-month-old baby spent the weekend with me. We both needed the down time to sleep and laugh and pour out our hearts (something we’ve been doing since we were 10 and 17). Rachel is one of my kindred spirits who embodies an amazing ability to accept you as you are but not let you walk all over her. It’s one of my favorite qualities in her.
As our time together neared it’s end, we landed in an extremely emotional discussion about choices and consequences and the human spirit. At one point, my faced scrunched up and I yelled, “Why do we have to be so mean to each other?” She looked at me and said, “We all forget that we’re human and don’t like the reminder that we all make mistakes.”
Think about that one for a minute while I compose myself.
There was a time in my life when I sat in my own ivory tower and passed judgment on those around me. I could spot a sin a mile away and rested in the knowledge that I could point out such flaws in others because I didn’t indulge in those behaviors. Although I didn’t say it, I frequently thought, “I’ll never…”
Real life settled in, and I discovered that my ivory tower was made of cardboard. It’s conveniently easy to say, “I’ll never” until you’re faced with those decisions. Moments build and circumstances sometimes within and sometimes beyond our control join forces. Reason doesn’t always triumph emotion. Emotion doesn’t always triumph reason. I can sit here and tell you that I would never have an abortion, but you what? I’ve never been in a situation where I had to make that decision. I’d love to announce that I would never rob a bank. Again, I’ve not been desperate enough to attempt such a scheme.
So I’m left here with my fury and frustration at the human race. How can we sit back and look at someone in distress, ridicule and berate them, and then justify our actions with a simple, “They made a mistake and deserve the pain”? I just don’t get it. It’s only by the grace of God that I’ve not been forced to face more drastic consequences than I have. It’s only by the grace of God that I’ve made it through the consequences I have faced. Who am I to do anything but show that same grace to my fellow man?
Just a few weeks ago, my life seemed in such a state of disarray, I couldn’t drag myself out of bed in the morning. The school year was wrapping up. My much anticipated vacation was canceled. We couldn’t seem to find a home we both liked. Our bank account was about to reach the point in the year when it would only decrease. The strain of holding “it” all together was just a little too overwhelming so I slept. And slept. And slept. If you know me, that’s all you really need to know because you understand that if I’m getting more than six hours of sleep a night, something is wrong.
The time I wasn’t sleeping, I was praying that everything would work out exactly the way it was supposed to. I wasn’t worried because I knew it would. It seems like all those little loose ends are finally tying themselves together. This week, I’ve managed to find two positions in the area where we will be moving. I applied for a loan so we can purchase the property we’ve been eying. We sign the loan papers tomorrow. The homeowner accepted our offer, so we will now also have a little bit of cash to start some of the repairs on the place…and she wants to be out of there by August. I’ve discovered that the world won’t collapse if I stand up for myself and fight back every once and a while. I think my greatest accomplishment so far, though, has been my own little landscaping project around our dining room. I actually bought and planted some lovely Mexican Petunias, Sweet Potato Vine, and Diamond Frost there today.
So once again, I made it through this dip in the roller coaster of my life. Now it’s on to the next one, which will consist of telling my boss about the move, turning down a position, starting some wicked home repairs, and preparing myself to leave behind my beloved home. This will all nicely coincide with a new school year in a new district. There’s wonder in here somewhere, and I intend to find it.
Women pretty much fall into one of three categories: Dominating Women [...You are weak and untrustworthy. I am strong. Let me lead and things will go fine...], Desolate Women [...Her heart is shut down. She hides behind her prayers and her 'good works of service'...], or Arousing Women [...A strong and self-confident woman, she is also soft and inviting...]. (from “Captivating” by John & Stasi Eldredge)
Who am I? Sometimes I’m not sure. For much of my life I’ve not been sure. I’ve covered the full spectrum and still haven’t found a safe place to land. I can’t help but wonder just where that safe place is. I’ve received too many mixed messages to figure it out.
I’m intelligent…then someone felt stupid because I used a *big* word or rambled on about the cosmic theory of the Black Death.
I’m beautiful…then someone pointed out the width of my nose and my crooked smile and my round heart-shaped face.
I’m passionate…then someone accused me of being a bitch for having an opposing opinion and being willing to stand up for it.
I’m kind…then someone took advantage of my kindness and it cost me far too much money for emotional bandages and body casts.
I’m creative…then someone got scared because my idea challenged what was established and comfortable.
Someone will undoubtedly point out that each of my examples relies far too heavily on someone else’s opinion. That’s true, and I wanted to make a point with that. I know who I am. I know the soul God instilled in me. I also believe that He created me *just like this* for a very specific reason. And although other people certainly have an affect on me, the far greater concern is that there’s always the chance that someone will find a negative spin on even my best qualities.
I’m still a little confused about just what a strong, self-confident, soft, and inviting woman looks like. Is her hair curled? Does she dress daily in shades of pink? How on earth would we know what she looks like? It’s like a really bad “Who’s on First” routine.
My experience tells me that when I’m strong, I find myself stuck with too many responsibilities and risk alienating people with both my competence and the effects of the added stress in my life. I’ve done self-confident and been blasted for my arrogance with too many, “Just who do you think you are walking around with your head held high like you think you’re better than me” speeches. Soft and inviting leaves me worn out, spread too thin, and walked on. So I dig deep to find strength to go on and the cycle starts all over again.
I’m exhausted just thinking about it. Is there really a way to win? Can I really be all that God has made me to be and find myself reveling in it? How do you respond to wounded people who lash out, especially when that person is a spouse or family member? How do you resist the overwhelming urge to pull away and hide the *pearls* of your soul from such a brutal world?
Today was a blast. Hamburgers. Hotdogs. Bratwurst. (Oh, my!) Potato chips. Rum punch. Key lime pie. I floated around the swimming pool on my $1.50 Wal-Mart float along with Nadia and Sarah. Alan played pool. The dogs watched and dreamed up plans for joining me on the float without getting their coats wet. (They are made of sugar, you know, and will melt like the Wicked Witch of the West when wet.) We ate and told stories and laughed and soaked up the sweetness of the sun and friendship (and my dear one’s grilling skills).
After the sun set, Nadia and I stretched out on the pool deck and watched the homemade light show and talked. (Earlier today I bought a floating pool strobe light and could hardly wait until the sun went down so I could try it out.) As I stared into the blue and green orbs below, I was struck by the moment itself. Two people outside talking about life. In my book, life doesn’t get much better than this. I realized all over again that the moment was a very special gift for me.
I spent the better part of my childhood taking care of my family and worrying about their well-being and trying desperately to be a “good girl” so my parents wouldn’t worry about me the way I worried about them. I missed out on a lot of typical kid stuff…like pool parties with friends…because I was (1) too afraid to be away from home that long in case it fell apart without me or (2) too afraid that I wouldn’t fit in at the party. And here I was tonight, feeling very much like a teenager (the good parts, anyway), and not worrying about my home falling apart without me and not worried that I wouldn’t fit in. I guess I can’t accurately describe here just what I was feeling, but this wasn’t the first time. God finds ways to give back to me those moments I missed because of a situation entirely beyond my control.
While we were talking about everything from men to our own psyches (with some pop culture thrown in), I was struck with how all of us stumble through life. There is no such thing as a perfect childhood with perfect parents in the perfect family. It’s a myth. And we all face the insecurities and trauma of adolescence. The bottom line is that there is no one on this planet without life scars. The Third Eye Blind lyric pounded in my head, “Everyone has got to face down their demons.” I started to cry.
This world is filled with broken people. It breaks my heart…not that we’re broken…but that we refuse to acknowledge it. I can’t help but wonder what would happen if we would go ahead and let the world see behind the facade. What would happen if closed the puppet show and lived on the outside of the curtain? You see, this is also part of my gift tonight. It’s been a long time since I’ve actually taken the moment to think like that…and allow myself to feel such an overwhelming sensation. Two years of therapy are finally beginning to piece themselves together. How exciting!
Thank you, Lord, for these gifts today!
I had a lovely lunch today…in my room…with my best girlfriend…getting some last minute work done…with nothing to eat because I forgot to bring a lunch. It wasn’t all that bad because I had just inhaled some Fig Newtons a few hours earlier. So we spent our thirty minutes swapping stories of what crappy moods we were both in yesterday and venting about the injustices of being thirty-ish and either unmarried or childless. (Ironically…or not so ironically…they are evoke similar emotions.)
I hate feeling this way–edgy and irritable. A look…a mishap…a dog drooling on my leg…dropping a washcloth coming out of the dryer…not finding anything decent on t.v….can send me into a tailspin from which I swear I can never recover. The truth is that when my petunias die because I failed to water them, I really want to cry. But I feel silly crying over dead petunias, so instead, I stomp around the house, madly scrub the tub, and say “what?” when I answer the telephone. (My therapist will be thrilled to know that I made this connection.)
And the mood (like the gift) goes on. I keep hoping that eventually I will learn to catch myself before the full-blown slam to the bottom. One day. In the meanwhile, I’ve issued myself a challenge. I am on a mission to find the bliss in my life…one day at a time. I hope that by changing my focus, I will more in tune with myself and not so grumpy half the time. So here goes…
~ fried sweet plantains for dinner ~ an exuberant greeting from my dogs when I came home to pick up my computer cord ~ a friend who doesn’t feel slighted when I flip through papers while listening to her ~ a one-hour Monopoly game with some 6th graders this evening ~ getting paid to play the aforementioned game ~ the smile on a student’s face when she announced that she wasn’t the last one in class today ~ free credit reports ~ my husband doing all the laundry in the house today ~ laughing with my students about how I tackled my deaf dog yesterday in the neighbor’s front yard ~
Part of teaching 8th grade, I’m told, is that I am required to do a unit on the WW2 Holocaust. I put this off until the very end of the year because I had a difficult time deciding just how to present the topic in an unbiased way. The heart of my teaching method is showing my students how to find facts in emotionally charged arguments and form their opinions based on the facts.
I finally decided to let them read “The Diary of Anne Frank.” The play presents a perfect opportunity to discuss how dramatizations are adapted. We’ve watched interviews with survivors and will be reading some of Anne’s essays that are not part of the diary. Next week we will wrap it all up with a exploration of genocide around the world and more discussions about free speech.
We all really needed a break the last few days; this topic is draining. Yesterday and today I showed them the black and white “Diary of Anne Frank” movie. You know the one. I have quite a personal history with the movie beginning in the 6th grade when I saw it at school. In 8th grade, I read the play and watched the movie again. That same year, I taped it off the Disney Channel (back in the day when it was a subscription channel and they ran those free weekends for you to preview the quality programming). I LOVED that movie, and for the following year, I woke up just about every Saturday morning to watch the tape and write in my own diary. The story captivated me.
It’s fun to see that kind of love spread to another person. Five of my girls–the tough, street wise ones–spread out on the floor and violently “shhhd” everyone during the movie. They were captivated. Their mouths curved into smiles as the love story between Anne and Peter progressed. Their eyes grew wide and mouths gaped when they thought the families had been caught by the police. They laughed at Anne’s antics and screamed at her when she was mean to her mother. I think I almost saw a few tears.
The afternoon was just as much fun. It’s a large group filled with such a wide array of characters that I could never completely describe them. Like me, they are verbal…and quick…and downright funny. Here’s some of our exchanges:
During the scene of Anne and Peter’s first “date”.
“What’s he doing to her hand?”
“Um, isn’t he holding it?”
“No, he’s moving the pen across it.”
I had to get up and see just what was going on. “Oh, come on, that’s the poor boy’s move!”
Burst of laughter. “What kind of move is that?”
I look around to see a few of them experimenting with this technique and reporting to me that it didn’t work. The scene ends shortly after this. One boy exclaimed, “THAT was a date? That’s the shortest date I’ve seen.”
I couldn’t resist. “Really? And just how many dates have YOU seen?
We laughed even more just a few minutes later when just as Anne and Peter were about to kiss (all I heard today was, “Are they going to kiss?”), someone on the floor adjusted the backpack under their neck and unplugged the t.v.
On top of all this, three girls ran up to me between classes, just bursting at the seams, with comments about “To Kill a Mockingbird.” This is my all-time favorite book, and it was so much fun to get into such fascinating discussions as how much we dislike Aunt Alexandra, Atticus’ parenting styles, and the creepiness of Boo Radley wrapping a blanket around Scout during Miss Maudie’s fire.
There’s my bliss today…my hope for next week. And I so desperately need these moments in the midst of my chaos.
In the middle of my discussion with my therapist today, I blurted out, “I just want to enjoy my life.” He looked at me, slightly stunned (not an unusual look for him when he talks with me…I tend to be witty and charming there), and asked, “You’ve never really had the chance, have you?”
This was my turn to look stunned (not an usual look for me there). I looked around the room, searching my brain for an answer. My reply was feeble, “no.” I’ve always felt this need to push myself…a “set a goal and drain the life from you body to reach it” mentality.
When I finally made it home, I pulled out my old journals and started reading. Journals are interesting creatures. I’ve used them to vent…to sort out ideas…to record my food for the day. What struck me was how often I wrote about wanting to live and experience life…and my frustration at not doing just that.
I’ve sucked some marrow out of my life. Although few and far between, I see those moments in North American travels…front porch conversations…poetry. Yet, this isn’t enough. I still want more. I don’t have dreams of fame or fortune. I have dreams of comfort and satisfaction. Why not more?
When asked today why I don’t pursue what I want (because even though I protest, I really do know my heart-dreams), I could only say that I’m afraid of finding an empty dream in the end or finding that I wasted my time searching for something that wasn’t meant to be. I’ve forced myself to find contentment in settling for the dreams of those around me. I’m scared…there, I said it. How sad is that? Comfort is not always the easiest path…and definitely not the most satisfying.
So what next? I feel like one of those commercials where the girl steals the guy’s iPod and they leave you hanging. I admitted today (and confirmed it with my old journals) what I want out of life. Am I willing to take it to the next level? It means some changes in patterns…it means choosing to stand on what I believe…it means saying good-bye to some of my tried and true methods of skating by.
We may be moving. It scares the hell out of me to think of leaving my house…my short commute to work…a workplace where I fit in…my comfortable, quiet neighborhood…my therapist. All I see staring at me is the search for a place to live and a job and finding my way to the nearest Publix. What if? What if? What if?
Can I really surrender to the calling burning in my soul? Am I really willing to throw myself into the ideas planted in my heart? Will I do this whole-heartedly, not just looking for the easy way out–the one that sacrifices the truth within me for convenience? Light questions, huh? Time will sort these out for me…and sooner than I probably want to admit.
Daily Bliss: Sitting in silence on my back porch as the sun went down. A 10-year old bottle of Hungarian merlot. Moments alone without the t.v. or telephone. Student-written poetry. Laughing at the thought of my husband wondering why on earth people write things like this on the internet.
My dear friend Becky posted a blog that has me thinking this morning. (You can read her blog and my comments here.) I’m thinking back to the recent bomb threat and full evacuation at my school. I had no problem jumping in, corralling students, rising above the pain in my feet from walking miles in heels, and still being able to laugh in the midst of that chaos. When three hurricanes cut across my state just a few miles from where I live, I methodically dealt with FEMA and our insurance company, dragged tree limbs away from my yard, and stoically lived through 10 days in August with no electricity at my house. I’ve battled with the state mental health system to get treatment for my bipolar mother while simultaneously working through my first year of marriage, finishing my bachelor’s degree, and working full-time. Oh, I know how to deal with the crap life slings at me sometimes.
Yet, something like misreading a sign and discovering at the checkout register that I just purchased candy for $8.99 a pound (instead of $1.99 a pound), or walking in to a kitchen counter scattered with the day’s mail, or discovering a glass put away in the wrong cabinet can send me into a tailspin. I don’t quite understand this disparity.
I’m sure I’m not alone. There’s a reason we’re told “Don’t sweat the small stuff.” It’s the small stuff that can crawl under your skin and drive you into madness. So why do we let it get to us? I do believe that God is ultimately in control, and I welcome his peaceful presence in the major, ugly stretches of chaos. Those moments are when I discover truths for living. I can process the path and find meaning.
The small stuff, though, is stuff that just shouldn’t be. I should pay more attention to the signs in the store. I should be able to walk into my house after work and see a clutter-free kitchen counter. I should expect the people in my house to know where to put away the dishes. The problem, I’m beginning to see, is more in my expectations. I expect catastrophes in life. Jesus told me they’d be there. No one told me about the razor nicks and clogged toilets and knocked over plants. Just because I expect something doesn’t mean it’s going to be that way. My world is filled with more than myself, and that, I suppose, means it’s never going to be just the way I want it.
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
When did I miss the day God was bestowing upon us the ability to read minds? I’ve been trudging through a fog lately, desperately trying to figure out when reality shifted and we were all suddenly accountable for not knowing the inner workings of someone’s mind. Too few of us understand what the hell is running around in our OWN minds!
I look at the Virginia Tech shooting, the bomb threat at my school, my incommunicado relative, mandates passed on to me by state lawmakers and parents, and even my own chastisements for myself. The bells all sound the same tune: why didn’t you do something before it was too late?
You know, we all have limitations. Yet, we push and argue and berate and punish each other merely for being human. We all screw up. We all miss warning signals. We all fall short of the glory.
Sigh. I know I’m being vague. There’s just too much jumbled in my head for me to sort it all out in a short, readable post. Perhaps that’s part of my fixation on the faulty side of humanity. I’ve rushed through my week in a survival mode (which for me means staying up too late getting work done, ranting about worldly injustices, and expending too much mental energy trying to figure out what other people are thinking).
Expending all this energy on other people is a clever distraction. I don’t have to look at my own feelings and make changes in my own life this way. This steely-eyed focus on everyone else uses up all my ability (and time) for personal introspection. Introspection terrifies me sometimes because I fear the decisions I will make when I truly follow my gut…and the admission that I may have neglected to predict the future. Based on recent headlines and non-conversations within my family, I’m inclined to believe that that’s anyone’s greatest fault.
So for now, I’m going to close my eyes, sip more of the world’s best wine, and force myself to feel something. I need to feel something.
