2010 has been an incredible year. So many changes... so many blessings ... so many hard things.
As 2010 dawned, our family was separated - the two of us plus our oldest here, our youngest living in Ontario with her boyfriend's people. That turned out to be a very bad situation and we made the decision to bring them back to PEI.
They arrived back on the Island on Jan. 16, 2010 to stay with a friend of hers. That living situation was short-lived and before three weeks had passed, they were without a place to stay. As hubby and I had discussed this as a last resort, we opened our home to them. They now live in our basement and share in the chores. We are grateful to know where they are, and to be able to share family times with both of them. His family is quite controlling so he has cut all ties with them, preferring our "laid-back" style. (If only her boyfriend knew what I was like before he met me!)
January was also when Haiti had a major earthquake. The whole world was affected, and people rallied to provide financial and service support. Even our little island. February 14 saw members of our church join together with others to do a benefit called "Love Haiti" which raised some $10,000 for earthquake relief, matched by the federal government because the tickets were sold prior to the deadline date. I saw my doctor in March for a right shoulder problem which has been bothering me since a few months after my left shoulder surgery in 2007. Overcompensating for my left shoulder left my right with lost range of motion. He referred me to a specialist, whom I saw just a couple of weeks ago. I will have an MRI sometime in June 2011 to see whether there is a tear in my rotator cuff or just osteoarthritis in my acromioclavicular joint (the one at the top of the shoulder at the tip of the collarbone). We'll see what transpires next year.
March also saw our youngest daughter's boyfriend get his wisdom teeth out. It was such a relief for him to be free of pain. The winter/spring saw both myself and our oldest going to the chiropractor, me for my lower back and her for her neck. X-rays showed that she has cervical spondylolisthesis (a slippage of the vertebrae) at C5 to C7, caused by a fall when she was two years old. It might explain the cause of all those basilar artery migraines she had as a child because the basilar artery goes right through that spot in the spine. She was given a device, which she uses at home, to strengthen her neck muscles and gently push the vertebrae back into a better position. She has since gotten some normal curvature back into her neck.
In May, my hubby and I went to Halifax so I could undergo 4 days of testing to get a diagnosis regarding my chemical sensitivities. I needed the diagnosis so that my employer could accommodate my needs at work. After an interesting week there, and a wait of about 2 months, I finally had my diagnosis and recommendations from the specialist I saw. I do have Multiple Chemical Sensitivities. It isn't a figment of my imagination. And there are things I can do to lessen the effects of this illness. I've been doing those things ever since, some of them daily, others off and on.
On June 7th, my oldest brother Skip passed away. A couple of hours before his death, his youngest daughter moved the date of her wedding up and had it at the hospital so he could give away his little girl. The loss has been such a wrenching one, especially for his widow and orphans - and for my mother.
The next day I started this blog. Blogging has really allowed me to explore this journey of recovery I'm on, and it's been a great vehicle to touch people who I might not otherwise have touched, develop friendships with people who really care, and get me in touch with what's really going on inside my spirit.
Three animal deaths in the next four months dealt us body-blow after body-blow. One of these was a rather slow one - after a stroke and the hope of recovery for the first one to pass away. I pay homage to Tsuri - to her brave and tenacious spirit, to Ceçania her cage-mate left behind, whose inquisitive nature stayed with her until nearly the end, and to Cody the cat, who did his best to let us know how much we were loved and appreciated.
September saw us take our first trip as a family to see my mom in about 6 years; our youngest had stayed away for her own reasons - and Mom celebrated with a blueberry cheesecake. Mom returned the visit in November - but left the cheesecake home (haha).
September also saw our oldest, having decided only in August to go to college, attend her first classes at Eastern College. She is doing so very well, enjoys her classes and plans to graduate in December 2011, as a certified Executive Assistant. Her social life has blossomed as well, and we are so pleased to hear about her adventures. It is like she is emerging from a long, dark tunnel into the light of day. It is wonderful to watch.
In November we went as a couple to a spiritual retreat and stayed away for 2 nights. What an experience! There we met some amazing people, deepened existing friendships and were challenged by the facilitators to accept forgiveness and to forgive - God, ourselves, and others. We are so looking forward to doing that again next fall. It was such a needed break.
Which brings us to today. All I can do, in keeping with my (up until now, well-hidden) Irish roots, is offer you an Irish blessing for 2011.
For many years Emily Post's rules of etiquette have been hailed as the final word in manners for all occasions.
But Emily never foresaw the electronic age. Apparently, when it comes to the internet and particularly on social networking and gaming sites, anything goes. I learned a new term today. It describes people who thrive on conflict, who judge and ridicule people online about the stupidest things just for the pleasure of one-upmanship or self-aggrandizement.
Trolls.
The term is reminiscent of the creepy little creatures who used to terrorize people crossing over a bridge in fairy tales... attacking and/or making the ones crossing the bridge pay for the trip in unpleasant consequences. To be "trolled" is to be the victim of such an attack.
Rather than go into the details, I propose a return to the good old Golden Rule on which Emily Post's book was created: "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."
Many people make insensitive or unkind comments because they don't have any frame of reference for understanding the mindset of the one they criticize.
Let me give a very simple example. Okay, I'm obese and I know it; everyone who looks at me knows it. I've had a weight problem ever since I went on the pill a couple of months before I got married. Then when I stopped to get pregnant, the mothering hormones made it impossible for me to take the weight off without a LOT of commitment. Often it was two steps forward, three steps back. Eventually, exercise became quite painful for me. Any exertion for any length of time and the extra weight pulling at me in front would cause excruciating pain in my lower back. And the total weight would cause acute plantar fasciitis - pain in the feet which feels like someone has inserted a knife in each heel pad, and is twisting the blades with every step.
Anyway, I used to work with someone who was very tiny, petite, a nervous type who could eat like a horse and only gain two pounds over Christmas and think she had gotten "fat." She invited me to go walking with her, thinking that it would get me more active and help me to lose weight. Her average speed of walking was 7 miles per hour. Mine was 4. Going faster only made the back and foot pain hit faster. Not to mention the shortness of breath caused by the belly fat pushing my diaphragm up into my lungs. I had to decline. She wanted to know why. I had to think of a way to explain it to her without losing her friendship. It wasn't easy because my inability to control my weight has always been a sore spot with me.
So I said something like this. "Ever carry a big bag of potatoes? Like 20 pounds? Can you carry it at your normal walking pace? And how far can you carry that bag before your back gets sore and your feet get tired? Well, I have to carry around the equivalent of three of those potato bags with me ... all the time. I never get to set the weight aside. So asking me to go on a six-block walk with you might sound like a good idea to you, but for me it is not only painful, it's not healthy. I appreciate that you are concerned for me, but I'm afraid that for my own health, I must decline."
In her case, it worked. She was able to see things from my perspective and I not only kept her friendship, it deepened. She came to understand that the measure of a person is not how skinny, how rich, or how social a person is, but what is inside. She had the unique opportunity of walking in my shoes - even if in her imagination - for a little while. Not many people have the ability to do that. I was fortunate. There's a chorus to a song I like that says, "Don't judge a thing 'til you know what's inside it; don't push me - I'll fight it, Never gonna give it, never gonna give it up - no... You can't take me; I'm free!" (Bryan Adams)
Yes, I know I still need to lose weight. I also know that I need to do a lot of healing on the inside before that can happen, and when it does, the weight will look after itself. I've come a very long way in a relatively short time. Recovery is a life-long process and I'm just at the beginning of this journey.
I know people who have been bullied online for such menial things as their spelling, their choice in one sports team or another, their parenting choices, and even how they treat their pets. It's wrenching. It's cruel. It hurts. A LOT.
So please, let's be kind: in person ... AND online. After all, manners matter.
I was reading a new post on a friend's blog this morning that left me brimming with tears, grateful that even in the worst of times, God is there, and desires such a relationship that we call Him Father.
But not just Father. Abba. Here's her post, so you know what I mean. Baby Talk
I guess part of why it struck such a chord with me is because I've witnessed the kind of pain that would cause someone to revert to talking "baby talk" - a special kind of delirium that is known to those in chronic and/or severe pain. Many of these are in palliative care.
My dad was. In the final couple weeks of his life in November 1993, he was confined to a hospital bed, and the regular doses of morphine brought him his only lucid moments as he struggled with the deep pain of widespread brain cancer. Terminal. Inoperable.
Those of us who kept vigil with him often remarked how at times - in his less lucid moments - he would groan out, "Mama!" calling out for his mother, who passed away in 1973. It was a time of deep vulnerability, when this proud man - about whom we had joked that he wouldn't go to see the doctor unless he was dying - now lay dying, afraid, and helpless in a hospital bed, hooked up to monitors and IV tubes to make it easier to administer the narcotic which would take the edge off the pain enough for him to ask us to pray for him.
At one such time, the night before he passed, there were a few people in the room when he roused from his delirious calling out for "Mama" and started begging various people in the room to pray for him. A sister spoke up. "Dad. You know how to pray. You can pray for yourself, you know." He grew silent. He had never in his life prayed in public. His relationship with God was incredibly private to him, always had been. Yet - for the only time in his life, he spoke to his maker in front of other people - as if none of us was in the room with him.
"God." His voice seemed to come from a place deep within; the words spilled out of his mouth in a normal tone - as if in conversation with someone who was right beside him, someone who was a real friend. Aside from his voice, there was not one sound in the room. You could have heard a pin drop.
The simple request brimmed over from his spirit, right from where he was living. "Please. Please ... make the pain go away." His voice trailed off. Then the air grew electric as he spoke again, quietly but again from his heart. "Thank You Jesus. Praise You God. Thank You Father, thank You...." There was a presence - a powerful Presence - in the room with us. Nobody could deny that.
Within 12 hours Dad was being welcomed Home by that Presence. Only my mother was beside his earthly frame as the real him slipped into the arms of the One who loves him more than we ever could.
I miss Dad. When things are going wrong for me, when I'm feeling oppressed or depressed, I miss him more, if that's possible. I want to hear his voice again, to hear him tell me everything is going to be all right. I knew whenever he said that, well, that everything was going to be all right.
And then I remember him calling out for his Mama - and then praying to his heavenly Dada. And I know where my answer lies.
Sometimes we can tell the difference. Most times we can't, at least at first glance.
We do it all the time. We have it done to us all the time. People hide from each other to avoid talking about the private things in their lives. Rather than have anyone think we don't have it all together, we pretend it's all good.
Okay, sometimes it IS all good. Fine - it happens. And sometimes when we are suffering, we don't want EVERY person to know we're having a bad day - or a bad year. I get that too. Like one comedian said once, "You know who cares way less about your problems than you do? Ever'body." There is something to be said about being selective regarding with whom we share our innermost feelings. I think the Good Book warns, 'Cast not your pearls before swine.'
But there comes a time to be honest - not only with ourselves but with God and with others too - particularly those closest to us, the people we trust. For some of us it is our families. For others - family is the last place we want to be that open, and with good reason.
One of the things I have always dreaded doing is a 'forced friendly.' It happens in ice-breakers and team-building activities at work, or on Sunday morning at church when someone suggests we all go shake hands and greet each other. Very few are ever honest at those times. With notable exceptions, the smiles are fake, the handshakes insincere. And everyone, if the truth were known, is hiding his or her pain.
The ones I cherish are the ones who break through the insincerity barrier. They are the rare treasures: open, unencumbered spirits, the ones who I know really love. There is no guile in them. No hidden agendas. No masks.
Like yesterday morning. I'd been to church, was heading out of the building, and had gotten into the car just as my hubby drove it to the door.
I was just getting into the car when one of those rare people, whose smile reaches his eyes, came over, greeted us, and shook our hands through the car window. I know that this man has the kinds of problems that might make someone else in his position bitter. Yet he has allowed himself to be broken and to open himself to others. He has allowed himself to be known, warts and all, to everyone. And everyone who knows him ... loves him.
As he stooped and shook my hand through the car window, he looked straight into my eyes. I could see the love in his eyes. It moved me, touched a spot in me that had been dry and dusty, and refreshed my spirit.
It is possible to look beneath the surface, to cut through the facade. It is possible to be real, to love ... sincerely.
Thank you, my friend, for showing me your heart; you have no idea how much I needed to see it. I pray that I can be as true.
I've been waiting for it to happen all season and even yesterday I looked inside myself ... and aside from a few emotional moments during the candlelight service - Christmas was a flop. Quite disappointing in fact.
Nobody felt like singing after the service as we went out to see the lights. In fact, people had toned down their displays to cope with this financial / economic crisis. I felt cheated. Disappointed. Gypped. There was definitely something missing. My daughter tried to tell me it was because there was no snow. She loves snow at Christmas and it's been a thorn in her side that there has not been any snow this season.
But snow has never been all that important to me, less and less as I get older. No, this was something different. The spark hadn't come yet. It usually arrives for me long before the Day hits.
This year .... nope. Nothing stood out. And I couldn't drum up any enthusiasm whatsoever.
But when I got up this morning and went to the living room, the youngest and her boyfriend were up. They'd been up all night. And something was different in the room. There was another present there, a huge heavy box wrapped in gold paper with a gigantic red bow on top (see the photo - it's on the left!) I looked at my daughter. "Is that what I think it is?" She beamed. "You found it? How did you get it home without him knowing?"
She nodded. "Taxi." And she grinned again.
You see, she had told me what she was going to get her dad for Christmas with her own chore money: a certain particular type of circular saw... but the store was all out of that type. She told me her dilemma and I said to keep calling them until they had more.
As I stared at the shiny yellow box and realized all she had done to make her dad's day, that's when it happened. I caught myself grinning as I imagined her and her boyfriend manhandling it upstairs after we went to bed last night.
And that's when it hit me. There - that feeling of bubbly excitement, that anticipation, that special warm feeling known as the Christmas Spirit. It's the spirit of giving, the one that takes joy in another's happiness.
Once that started, everything started to snowball. (Pardon the winter pun.)
The Christmas carols were more special around the tree. And best of all, it was a treat to hear my hubby reading the Christmas story from Luke 2. Just two Christmases ago, the pain of his addiction and the uncertainty of what would happen next outweighed the pleasure of the presents and the carols. As I listened to him read, it was so special... the feeling intensified.
We all opened gifts - one by one so that the giver could see the look on the recipient's face when he/she opened a present. And then all the gifts were opened except one - the big gold box in the corner.
Someone dragged and pushed the box over to my hubby; he couldn't quite believe that it was for him. Disbelief changed to wonder as he tore off the wrapping and revealed the prize underneath, worth two months of savings by his little girl.
I told him that it was all her idea, her money, and she even arranged for transport when he was away on errands.
He was blown away. It was by far the best present of the morning... the highlight of the gift-opening portion of the day. For everyone. And in less than an hour, he had the box open and put the saw up on his lap. The best photo of the day!
Shortly after that ... (bonus!!) ... it started to snow....
The words were blazoned on the whiteboard by our back door for over four years.
These words were the first things we saw when we came home from work, church, or shopping, and the last thing we saw when we went out anywhere. They were a constant reminder of the lifestyle we had adopted. There was something comforting to me about those words. I put them there when my hubby was still relapsing into his addiction all over the place... and I was deeply into trying to control his behavior. But as we both grew, at least for me, those words were a constant reminder to me to be honest with myself, to be true to my recovery, and to maintain a lifestyle that demands rigorous honesty.
And oh yes. They reminded him too. ;-)
So when my youngest daughter decided one day last week to erase the words - I must admit that I was annoyed.
Okay, I freaked out.
The words on the whiteboard represented the lifestyle we had come to rely on, the things restored to us from the years that the locusts of addiction and codependency had eaten, the years they had stolen from us. I guess in a way I thought that if the words went away, our lifestyle might too. I'd worked too hard to get to a place of freedom for that prospect to be attractive to me.
So I put the words back on the whiteboard - and then my daughter saw what I'd done.
SHE freaked out!! To her, the words were a reminder of a very sad time in her life when Dad was relapsing and Mom was hunting all over the house, looking behind the freezer, snooping in the trunk of the car (how pathetic was that...) and she just wanted to move on.
I wasn't ready to unhook. I needed some time to think. Rather than let us continue to fight over it, hubby removed the whiteboard and put it in our room. He bought me the time I needed.
So I started thinking very hard. Why was this important to me? Was it really representative of what I wanted to remind myself of NOW? Was there a better way?
Slowly, I began to unhook from the habits of the past, to let go of the reins. I decided to let someone else - God - direct me. (Just like the girl on the horse in the picture is learning the exact way to sit on the horse to achieve balance even on the bumpiest ride!) Awkward as it felt at first, it was the only way I could learn to live the right way - in freedom.
And then it dawned on me. I was trying to control again. All over whether two words should or should not be on a whiteboard!!
So what did I decide to do? Well, after much thought and reflection, and after talking about it with hubby, I learned something. He had always taken my reminder of the saying "rigorous honesty" as my trying to be his conscience, to be a watchdog over him. He thought (as had my daughter) it meant that I didn't trust him.
Well, to be truthful, I didn't - at least not back then. Slowly, over a period of well over a year, the trust started to be built back up again. He was working at it; I was also working at it, and learning more and more how to let go, just let go. Now THAT was a concept...
I felt as though this was a new stage in my recovery, a new phase in my relationship with God, with myself, with my husband, and with my children. A stage where I was learning to release from the patterns of the past, and then learn a new way of being - completely relying on God and not my own idea of the way things should be.
So I knew what I had to do.
I put the whiteboard back on its hooks by the door. Erasing the words "rigorous honesty," I wrote two well-known slogans:
Whenever my mind is in turmoil and my thoughts in a vortex, when I'm either (as one friend put it) futurizing or pasteurizing instead of living in and appreciating the Now, I find it helpful to go to a quiet place, even if only in my mind.
I have a variety of vehicles to get there. One is music, another is art, another is the beauty of Nature; still another is just ... quietness. Even as a quiet person by nature, I had to train myself to be quiet in the way that I needed to be in order to thrive spiritually. The pressures and demands of the day were just too much for me to handle and often I would attend to the urgent while neglecting the most important things: developing relationship with God, looking after my spiritual condition, spending time with people of like mind and faith, and reaching out to those with whom God led me to share.
As a result I got stressed, harried, and close to burnout, which is where I stayed for weeks, months at a time. I felt that if I just pushed myself a little more, had more coffee, stayed up a little later, that things would improve. But I ended up having less time for the things that were important than if I'd just taken the time to put those things first.
First things first, as the saying goes. The tendency is always there for me to rush around inside my head, thinking of a million different things that would be nice, but which are not essential to my spiritual growth or to the path of healing He has laid out for me. I need to let go of my need to control things, to finagle my way into getting what I want, and let God do what He wants in my life. Usually that involves me being honest ... first with Him and with myself, then with others. When I do, much of the turmoil is replaced with peace.
Once in a while, God reminds me that all the things I think are so important are really only urgent. The urgency of these things will pass if I just let go. Just relinquish my hold on them. Many of them simply fade away into nothingness.
When I discipline myself to get alone with Him and turn my wants and the rule of my life over to Him on a continual basis, He works things out, often in the most amazing ways and in spite of (sometimes even because of) my own failings. Through it all, He faithfully keeps reminding me that my strength is in Him, that the power to live my life is found in quietness and in confidence, and that as long as I have my attention focused on Him and let Him do His work unhindered, knowing He has my best interests at heart, I have nothing to fear. And peace just comes.
I'm one of those people that dreams of an idyllic paradise where the sun always shines in the day, the rain only falls at night (if at all), and there is no snow, cold, or wind.
Even in the summertime a perfectly sunny day can be ruined for me by a strong wind. It blows in my ears and gives me an earache, sets off my tinnitus, and blows any hair style I thought of having (to use an expression I heard when I was growing up) all to barf. It can really put me in a foul mood... if I let it.
But the wind serves a purpose. It is the harbinger of weather changes, aids in cross-pollination, spreads seeds, and helps in the water cycle by speeding up evaporation. It strengthens root systems in trees, makes them more flexible.
It can also give us an inkling of the power of its Creator. The boulder in the picture to the left has been sliding across the packed sand in the strong desert wind. The wind. The invisible moves the visible. Who can forget the sight of palm trees whipping and mighty century-old oaks snapping in hurricane after hurricane? There's no controlling when, in what direction, how hard and how long it will blow.
I guess that's why God said that His Spirit is like that. Unpredictable, unseen, yet so evident if you just listen, look, feel. Oh, He's there, whether we like it or not at times. He's there when things are decidedly uncomfortable. He's there when we long for a wisp of a breeze to cool us off. He's there when the storms of life pin us against a wall. And He decides where He goes, what He does, who He touches, how He works. Unstoppable, powerful, gentle, passionate, ... all those things and much, much more. After all, He's God.
I've been reading C. S. Lewis' classic treatise on the foibles of the human nature and how the enemy of our souls capitalizes on those to our own detriment. Of course I'm talking about The Screwtape Letters. For those not familiar with this book, it's a series of "letters" written by a senior tempter named Screwtape to his novice tempter nephew, Wormwood. I found myself thinking of this book tonight when I heard someone talking about how they felt that they weren't as close to God as they once felt, that even though they've grown spiritually it seems that the passion, the sizzle is gone.
And my first thought was of nasty old Screwtape. You see, in one of his letters to Wormwood, in which he is telling him how to tempt a new believer he calls "the patient" - Screwtape talks about the "Law of Undulation."
He says that humans are cyclical in everything they do, as they are spirits trapped inside corporeal bodies - and as the bodies have rhythms in eating, sleeping, even sexual desire, so the spirit follows suit and has rhythms in passion. The fact that one "feels" or "doesn't feel" close to God MAY be an indication that one has drifted from Him; if that is the case, by the way, He will find a way to let us know. Then again, it could be just the law of undulation ... and we needn't be ashamed or concerned about it. How the enemy capitalizes on this ... is to get us to concentrate on the fact that the relationship might be in jeopardy, and focus on what's wrong with the relationship instead of on the relationship itself. ANYTHING to get our minds and hearts off the Other Person in the relationship, for when our hearts are fixed on Him - this is our enemy's worst nightmare.
It is all well and good to discipline ourselves to seek God on a regular basis but if the reason for our seeking becomes routine, guilt-ridden, or fear-based, it's not going to work. As one person pointed out to a friend tonight, God hasn't gone anywhere. All it takes is the realization that He is already there, that He loves us more than we can comprehend, that He is waiting with open arms to lavish His presence and care upon us, to bring back that sense of newness and passion we once had.
It's a relationship. We talk to Him AND we listen to Him. We spend time just enjoying each other's presence. Just being. Just resting. Not demanding, not pulling on His sleeve. Just resting our tired minds in His vast grace, opening ourselves to Him and drawing strength from His unfathomable passion for us.
Like any relationship it blossoms if we invest in it. We appreciate the beauty of our time together, not rushing through it to "git-er-done" as is a popular saying.
Instead of a litany of "gimmes" or "bless'em's" we take the time to thank Him, to truly thank Him for wanting to spend time with us; we ask Him to give us His heart, His way of looking at things, His strength to face every step we take. We acknowledge that without Him we can do absolutely nothing. And we are so glad, so very glad, that we don't have to be without Him. We are grateful that He takes the time to shout His love for us in the smallest of things - from a child's peaceful sleeping face to the glories of a blazing sunset to the delicacy of a flower to the love of real true friends.
I found out about it this morning and it directly affected me... deeply affected me.
For quite some time there has been this one individual I know who wears perfume like ... well, like someone's going to take it away from her. I couldn't get within 20 feet of her without getting an instant headache, brain fog, and breathing difficulties. I had spoken to her once before about it, but she chose to stay away from me rather than stop wearing fragrance. I believed - in my "everyone-is-out-to-get-me" mindset - that this was because she just did not care. It shook my faith in her because she is so very kind, sweet, and caring to people in her circle of friends. I used to be one of those people. It shook my faith in Christians at large.
Last Sunday we had to leave the morning church service before the sermon, because the level of fragrance was so high that there was no safe place for us to be. In the midst of the advent season, it seems more people consider perfume to be part of the celebration. Anyway, my hubby, angry that we had to leave yet another service for this reason, posted his frustration on a public social networking site. One of his friends commented on his post and I responded to the comment. Little were we aware that this friend was also a friend of the lady in question.
This morning ... I still can't fathom it ... she wasn't wearing perfume. Just like that. As a matter of fact, when I went to thank her for not wearing it, she proceeded to apologize to me for hurting me for so long. I was able for the first time in years to hug this precious woman and offer her the forgiveness for which she asked me.
I had missed this lady for so very long; there was a time when we used to get together, when we fellowshipped freely (before I got sick with MCS).
We cried and hugged for what must have been close to 3 minutes; we talked for another 3 or more. What a restoration! What a miracle!
It absolutely made Christmas for me this year - best present I've received in years: love expressed in a tangible way. I fill up all over again when I think about this.
Restoration. Forgiveness. Love demonstrated. Tears of joy.
"Enoch walked with God, and could not be found, because God took him."
In the days when people routinely lived multiple hundred years, this epithet is written about the only fellow rumored never to have known death. Word has it that he was such great friends with God that one day, after Enoch was about 300 years old, God just went a little farther than usual on their daily walk, and they ended up in Heaven.
There are a lot of things written about the mysterious process Christians refer to (thus further complicating it) as "sanctification." Many don't understand it; many more don't understand why it's important, still more miss the point entirely. One person asked a blanket question just today to a bunch of Christians, "If we're all going to be changed 'in the twinkling of an eye' after death, why bother with sanctification down here? "
Good question. From a purely logical perspective it doesn't make sense, especially because in our own efforts to live a morally clean life, we stumble and fall pitifully over and over again. Many hit burnout and just give up.
The spiritual disciplines (prayer, reading God's word, doing the next right thing, and the dubious practice most Christians refer to as "witnessing" (translation, being so militant, vocal, weird, holier-than-thou, cosmic, and/or heavenly minded that nobody wants anything to do with God... or is it?) all have their place, but what it all boils down to is this: what is my motivation for living a life of devotion to God?
If I pray out of rote, or because it's what I'm "supposed to" do, what good is it? If I give money to the church out of duty or some vague idea that God is going to reward me for giving Him what belongs to Him anyway... I have to mistrust my motives for giving. There's a passage in 1 Corinthians 3 that says that on the day when Christians stand before Him, He'll test our works by fire. The things that remain will be like jewels... but the wood, hay and stubble of our works will be burned up. These perishable things are practices like (but not limited to) :
doing things He wants done by relying on Him, but in our own strength instead
focusing on rules and restrictions rather than relationship and resting in Him
church attendance out of habit
singing songs we don't mean in our hearts
judging people by our own standards of tradition rather than accepting them in truth
running ahead and asking Him to bless our pre-conceived plans
turning prayer into a dreary exercise and reading the Bible into a chore
turning the joy of sharing His love with someone else into a reason to make someone else feel guilty for not doing it the way we might do it
... and the list goes on.
What drives the process we call sanctification anyway? What are those jewels that will remain after everything gets burnt up?
God has the advantage of being able to look into our hearts and see our motives. It is the motives inside that will determine whether an act we have done or are doing will remain as a jewel.
Two people can therefore do exactly the same thing. Let's say it's ummm, serving dinner to the homeless at the soup kitchen. One person is doing this because he was guilted into it by the outreach coordinator, browbeaten into it by his pastor, or because he wants the recognition or the satisfaction of having done something that people see as good. Another does it because God has given him a heart of compassion for the down-and-outers, and he actually loves the people he is serving. Even if the first person tells every homeless person about God's love, and the second person says nothing, who is showing them God's love?
To answer the original question at the first of this post, it's not a question of beating our brains out over something that God is going to accomplish anyway in the "twinkling of an eye." When the sanctification becomes a goal, we've missed the point.
It's all about gratitude.
It's about wanting to spend time with Someone who rescued us from certain death, wanting to get to know intimately Someone who loves us without conditions. The sanctification (the love, joy, peace, and all that other good fruit of the Spirit-filled life) is a by-product, not a goal.
(Okay so I got the idea for the title of this blog entry from another blogger who wrote a post called "Sex. Is. Bad." My thanks to you Carrie!) Here's the link : Click here to read her blog post.
Now - to my post!! A friend of mine recently said something like, "... Trusting in your emotions as your only guide is not the way to live a balanced life."
I'm glad he said "only guide." I trust in my emotions and my instincts often, because often they are the only things that tell me when something doesn't "feel right."
The church has done a disservice to its members in telling them that emotions are suspect. Many of us have cut off feelings like anger, frustration, sadness, or embarrassment because we've been taught the common Christian myth: Emotions. Are. Bad. But that was never a teaching of the originator of the Church: Jesus! His life was one lived in the fullness of emotion: happiness, joy, sadness, anger, frustration, love ... with no apologies. He felt what He felt WHEN He felt it.
The suspicion surrounding emotion is not a Christian construct, even though the modern church culture has adopted it. In fact, it was the ancient Greeks who thought this one up. A group called the Stoics, to be exact. Socrates and Plato as well attacked the emotions as they saw them as the seat of all evil. What they saw was "self-will run riot" as a book I read once puts it.
I've heard so many people deny their feelings (even deny their circumstances or say they are healed while their body is wracked with pain) and call it "speaking in faith." Sorry, but this is not "speaking in faith." This is "speaking in denial." It is far from virtuous; it is insanity. The reason for this is that once you cut off one emotion, your psyche doesn't discriminate. Eventually, it prevents you from experiencing even the good stuff: happiness, joy, love, tenderness, compassion.
The admission that one is angry, sad, worried, or whatever is not bad. It is when we push feelings down inside of us, deny their existence and pretend we aren't having them, that they find another way to surface. Like physical pain for example: ulcers, high blood pressure, migraines, irritable bowel, possibly even chronic fatigue syndrome or fibromyalgia. These have all been associated with high levels of stress. Medical doctors agree that the worst kind of stress is not necessarily that which comes about as a result of circumstances, but as a result of suppressed and/or prolonged emotion.
I've said this before. Emotions. Are. NOT. Bad. Emotions are transient states intended to alert us to something going on in our spirits, something that needs attention. Here's an example. So I'm tensing up, and my hands are clenching and unclenching. I'm pacing. My breathing is faster; my heart rate is up. I check inside and guess what: I'm worried. That's not the time for me to start quoting scripture, though it might come later. That's my first warning sign to look for what's causing it. WHY am I worried? what's behind this? it doesn't take long for me to realize that this particular time, I'm slipping into the mindset of wanting to control the actions of someone else or fix the other person's problems instead of letting go. At the root of my worry is usually my just not trusting that God will do what is best (in other words, I know what's best - God, You're not doing it right!) It is that belief that needs to be addressed... and when it is, the emotion will pass - having served its purpose.
Anger is another one. Christians tend to jump on their anger like a hen on a June bug. Can't have that - gotta forgive !! It's been my experience that Christians want to "forgive and forget" too quickly. As a result - we settle for counterfeits, like "making excuses" (which in essence is saying that what the person did wasn't really bad - which is NOT forgiveness) or "living in denial" (which is saying, "I don't feel what I feel.")
Forgiveness is the end result of a process that might take many months, especially if the wrong being forgiven goes very deep or took place over a long period of time. It's not one of those "God-zap" things, although the only source of power for forgiveness comes from God. It's a process which consists of all kinds of things. I have described the process in a book I wrote, a book which is going through what I might call "beta-testing" at this point. (grin)
Some of you know my story of recovery from physical, verbal, emotional, and sexual abuse. I'm still recovering; there are many layers to the kind of self-loathing and shame that accompany this kind of betrayal. But now I can talk about it, having completely forgiven my abusers. I have found the freedom that is there in forgiveness. However, in order to get to that point, I had to experience the kinds of emotions I thought I was never allowed to express ... ever.
It was an eye-opener to me that I was permitted and actually even encouraged by God to "be angry." What a revelation that was!
If the action was wrong ... I was supposed to admit that it was wrong, to admit that I was wronged - and to be angry. Wow. In fact, until I WAS angry, I couldn't get past that hurdle to get to the forgiveness part of the equation. It was actually a crucial part of my healing from those hurts ... to let myself feel the hurt. Once I did, I could move on to look at all the areas that were affected, all the beliefs about myself that were affected, all the self-protective, manipulative behaviors I learned to cope with those suppressed feelings. I asked Him to take those beliefs, and countered them with new ones from Him (repeated over and over until that wounded part of me "got" it).
That's when I could finally allow God to free me of the shame of my past and give me compassion for my abusers; He literally taught me, step by step, how to forgive - and every single time it is the very same process, whether it takes hours or months. That's worth all the concentrated effort it took to get there - effort to continually ask for His strength and His grace, for His love and His power, because I had tried to do it on my own and you know what? It's true what He said. "Without Me, you can do nothing."
I finally got a decent cubicle at work after two moves due to scents and the traffic patterns that spread scents.
Then the company that looks after the building decided it was time to re-carpet the room I work in. They started with the hallway outside, and after 3 to 4 days of putting up with the encroaching fumes from off-gassing, and with the knowledge that it would get far worse when they laid the carpet, I requested alternate accommodations. Thus began my status as a refugee. I worked in a cubicle in a different unit, on a different floor. I was not allowed to use their printer for official documents, but had to print to my old printer on the network, and have someone from my old area bring my print jobs (decisions on eligibility for benefits) to me, wait around for me to sign them, and take them back to the "completed files" table. Oh yes, they also took my completed files back, and brought me new ones to work on. And supplies. And other assorted stuff. I joked about not being able to get used to "not having a staff anymore" when my sojourn would eventually be over. In fact though, it drove me nuts to have to depend on other people, especially if they started criticizing the content of my decisions. But I digress.
There was a delay in the carpet-laying. My time in the refugee camp was getting more and more uncomfortable as new tenants had moved in who were either unaware or decidedly disrespectful of the scent-free policy. So I asked if there might be somewhere to move, even temporarily. After one failed attempt last week, this week they found a workstation that was temporarily tenant-less. One of my co-workers was going on a 2-week vacation for Christmas. And I was planning on staying if I could. So today I packed up my few belongings and made a couple of trips to get "settled" in my temporary digs, in the farthest corner of the other room (our unit takes up two rooms) away from the new carpet, bordered on three sides by co-workers, and on one side by a large window. I even have access to a printer, and if I hold my mouth just right I can print things...
I am living out of a box, a bag, and a couple of inboxes, but I do have my chair, my plants, my essential office supplies, and a photo of my girls to keep me company. I can get my own files, print my own letters, and take them to the right place ... by myself. Yet I am keenly aware that the place I'm staying in is not my own.
So now I am a nomad. I have no clue where I will sit come January 4, 2011.
I will probably know on December 30 or 31, 2010.
Until then, I'm content to sit where I'm sitting, enjoy the quiet in my far corner by the windows, and do the next right thing for my clients.
I look at it as an opportunity to practice living "one day at a time" and to not allow myself to get attached to things too much. And someday, I'll enjoy the move when I will finally be able to return to my old cubicle or get placed in a permanent one elsewhere. On that day, I will be so tempted to put up a sign I saw once : "Cubicle sweet cubicle."
I've been sitting here contemplating how multi-faceted, how diverse yet how unified the whole of creation is. How it points in all its wonders to an intelligent Designer who takes the time to ensure that no two random snowflakes are ever identical, to create a brand new sunset and a brand new sunrise every day, to make the Northern Lights dance, to hang a rainbow in the sky, to make gigantic sequoia trees disappear into the mists above, and yet He hears a baby robin's cry when it falls from the nest.
It's mind-boggling. The mighty Creator of the universe takes the trouble to create all of these magnificent works of nature not only for His own enjoyment, but He allows us to share in that enjoyment of the world He has made.
He ensures that each human being has different fingerprints. Unique to that individual. Just because.
I mean, He could have made us all look different from each other without the added bonus of each having a different "signature" that we leave on the world.
I've heard it said that He reveals Himself to us in as many different ways as there are fingerprints. That's pretty cool, because everyone has his or her own unique combination of genetics and environmental background which makes each individual different from another. Even identical twins have differences from each other. Just ask identical twins (haha). The more that is discovered about the wonders of nature and of the human organism, the more I marvel that God would care enough to do that ... demonstrating His endless creativity and imagination.
Only recently have we even begun to unlock some of the mysteries bound up in our DNA. And as much as we have learned and know about the molecule that constitutes "life", all our efforts to produce it from nothing have failed abysmally. We have to splice together the already-created elements of life in order to do things like cloning or genetic engineering.
No, the intricacies and the mysteries of the universe are for us to ponder - but that's about as far as it can go. God, on the other hand, works miracles like this one every single minute of every single day. His Power, His Love, and His Purity are astounding. They are perfect - holding to a symmetry that goes far beyond our ability to conceive. And if that happens in the natural world, how much more, how much deeper it must be in the supernatural!
I hate it. Always have. Yet I've done my share of fighting.
Humans spend an inordinate amount of time in conflict with each other. After a conversation today with someone who reminded me of some training that I took in communication skills to deal with conflict, I found myself thinking about what is behind this most distressing predicament.
Arguments, whether interpersonal or international, are all about boundary expansion and/or protection, who is "the alpha", outdoing the other person or country, and/or a desire to conquer, to control, to lift oneself up at the expense of the other.
In war, it is permissible to kill, to take prisoners, to exact tribute from the conquered people. The desire to outdo the other leads to escalation of hostilities, and devastation of countryside and inhabitants alike.
It is also true that misery loves company. Put another way, "hurting people hurt people."
And we can fight about the most inane and mundane of things. Take a look at one of my favorite film shorts by the National Film Board of Canada, an award-winner first published in 1985, called "The Big Snit."
There are a few ways humans use to stop an argument.
1.) Capitulation: this is when one of the parties refuses to fight and walks away, letting the other person marinade in his / her anger. It usually leaves behind a sense of frustration in both parties because the aggressor didn't get the satisfaction of a win, and the one who walks away is probably still hurting inside. Besides, the issue is still unresolved. A form of capitulation is making excuses for others' behavior. This dismisses the wrongs that have been done, saying they weren't really wrong. Nothing could be further from the truth.
2.) Negotiation: this is compromise. Neither side gets everything he/she wants, but both sides get at least SOME of what they want. It is, however, patently unsatisfying because both have had to make concessions they may not be happy with. And the underlying issue goes underground, to resurface another day along with a whole lot of other baggage that gets stored up in the meantime.
3.) Surrender: in this case, there is a clear winner and a clear loser. The winner feels vindicated, and the loser feels dominated, crushed, destroyed. Even with surrender, there may be the feeling of resentment in the one who surrenders, the feeling that "You may have won this battle, but I'll win the war."
The fight is never over. The hooks are in, both parties are enmeshed, and it's virtually impossible to unhook from such a position. Lost sleep, perhaps lost years because of stress-related illnesses, can result. This is not good.
I know Christian people who thrive on strife, conflict, argument, and debate. They don't seem to be happy unless and until they're pointing out someone's failings, or trying to get them to say or do what they want them to say or do by either manipulating them or trying to intimidate them. Their normal conversational tone is confrontational, loud, and "in your face." It makes me uncomfortable, especially coming from someone in authority. I want to run away from them rather than listen to them. It's like they're spoiling for a fight. They seem to always be talking about something controversial, iconoclastic, or outrageous. And the weirdest part is, they think that by doing that, they're being like Jesus.
In a very real way, yes, Jesus' whole life was an argument: an argument against religion and dead tradition, and an argument for relationship and intimacy with God.
Yet people followed Him in droves - because He had such a wonderfully relaxed, joyous freedom about Him. He personified the French expression translated as, "He is at ease inside his own skin."
Jesus told people the truth no matter who they were (Pharisee and prostitute alike); He gave His opinion, and when they (usually the religious elite) got all up in arms and started being indignant, accusing Him of blasphemy or treason - He wouldn't let any of it stick to Him. Yet He loved them in spite of their desire to kill Him. Many times He would just let His critics argue amongst themselves without coming to any satisfactory conclusion. (That takes a great deal of confidence in God's unconditional love. At ease inside His own skin.)
He was the perfect Model of "detaching in love." Detaching in love doesn't mean we stomp off and stew about others' failings, planning our next move, wishing others would change and bemoaning the fact that they don't. It means that we let them own their own opinions, while still retaining our own, but not taking the fact that they disagree with us ... personally. (Oh, ouch!)
We stop playing God, and we let God be God, when we detach in love. We let other people bear the consequences of their own actions, and we don't feel like we have to tell them what to do or think, or to be their conscience. They probably already know our stand and if they don't agree, well, that's their choice. We're not bound to stand there and debate and argue with them to prove our point. If we're wrong, God will convince us of it; if they're wrong, He will convince them. HE does that; we don't have to do it for Him.
My weariness quotient is up and my tolerance quotient is down. I'm stressed, pressed, and depressed. Sometimes - not always - all I want to do is give out, give in, give up. I'm so exhausted by the relentlessness of life, circumstances, the constant barrage of the attacks slung my way by the enemy of my soul. At such times, my spirit takes so much of this and then cries out in desperation to the only One who can help. "God, help! Can You just hold me for a while? I'm not asking You to change anything unless You think it's best for me. I just need You to hold me and let me rest my tired mind in Your arms...."
He loves that. I get to rest in His love for a while. I need that - SO much. There's a part of scripture that says that God will "rejoice over you with joy. He will rest in His love; He will joy over you with singing." Singing over His child. Like a lullaby. Those times strengthen the bond between us and remind me that He's so much stronger, so faithful, so patient and kind. My heart sings this song to Him on a regular basis. I know that everything that I wished my own parents to be (but they weren't), everything I looked to other people to provide, everything I need, He is - and more.
Relationship with Him transforms me inside. It nurtures the child in me, the one who constantly needs reassurance, who needs to be reminded that she is loved, accepted, cared for, cherished. From the strength of that comes the impetus to love myself, to accept myself as I am - and to grow. And it overflows into my relationships with others.
But if I come to relationships with other people without the security and the solid footing of knowing that I myself am loved without conditions by my own heavenly Father, then how can I even begin to hope to show them His love?
I have tried to do that in my own strength, being told that I "should" love, that I "should" be selfless - and it's been an abysmal failure. (See my series on Shoulds and Oughtas which I did this past summer.) How much better to just rest in His love for me! Then, because His love is so infinite, there will be an abundant supply for everyone with whom I come in contact ... including myself.
The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament shows His handiwork.
When I consider the heavens, the work of Your hands, the moon and the stars which You have ordained, what is man, that You are mindful of him? or the son of man, that You visit him? You set him a little lower than the angels, and crown him with glory and honour.... He knows our frame; He remembers that we are dust.
For in Him dwells all the fullness of the Godhead bodily.
And when she had given birth to her firstborn Son, she wrapped Him in swaddling clothes and laid Him in a manger, for there was no room for them at the inn. Suddenly, there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God, and saying, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace, goodwill toward men."
They stripped Him and put a scarlet robe on Him. And after twisting together a crown of thorns, they put it on His head, and a reed in His right hand, and they knelt down before Him and mocked Him, saying, "Hail, king of the Jews!" They spat on Him, and took the reed and beat Him on the head. After they had mocked Him, they put a scarlet robe on Him and put His own garments back on Him, and led Him away to be crucified...
For Christ has once suffered for sins, the just for the unjust, that He might bring us to God, being put to death in the flesh, but made alive through the Spirit...
... and as the women were terrified and bowed their faces to the ground, the [angels] said to them, "Why do you seek the Living One among the dead? He is not here, for He has risen, as He said."
When you were dead in your transgressions... He has made you alive together with Him, having forgiven us all our transgressions, having canceled out the certificate of debt consisting of decrees against us, and has taken it out of the way, having nailed it to His cross. When He had disarmed [spiritual] rulers and authorities, He made a public display of them, having triumphed over them through Him.
In Him you have been made complete, and He is the head over all rule and authority.
... that your faith should not stand in the wisdom of men, but in the power of God.
He said to me, "Do not be afraid. I am the First and the Last, and the living One. I was dead, and see! I am alive forevermore, and I have the keys of hell and of death.
... the Lion of the tribe of Judah is worthy ...
I looked, and I heard the voice of many angels around the throne ... and the number of them was myriads of myriads, and thousands upon thousands, saying with a loud voice, "Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power and riches and wisdom and might and honour and glory and blessing." And every created thing ... I heard saying, "To Him who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb, be blessing and honour and glory and power forever and ever!"
On June 7th, my oldest brother Skip passed away. A couple of hours before his death, his youngest daughter moved the date of her wedding up and had it at the hospital so he could give away his little girl. The loss has been such a wrenching one, especially for his widow and orphans - and for my mother. 
