I remember...

It's been so cold lately.

My mind wanders to warmer seasons often.  Sometimes I catch myself doing it and ask myself what's really going on - what I really want.  I did earlier today.  


Today when I caught myself meandering around my own mind, I asked myself what it was I would like to have, what it is I thought I needed.

The answer came back to me in the form of a memory from a couple of years ago or so.  Hubby and I were visiting friends so close to us that they call us brother and sister.  We were in their little house in a small village in southeastern New Brunswick.  It was not summer - it was about March or so.  There was a definite chill to the air outside; the wind was howling and it was threatening some sort of precipitation.

And then our hosts lit a fire in their wood stove / fireplace.  Within minutes the room was bathed in a warm, orange glow that soaked into our weary spirits and sparked conversation and laughter.  Someone served a warm drink of tea.  We leaned back in our chairs, luxuriated in the atmosphere of love and acceptance we knew there.  And the heat - lovely wood-stove heat - penetrated into places we didn't even know were chilly.  We relaxed.

For hours we enjoyed the warmth of the fire and of each other's company.  Reluctantly, we toddled off to bed to get some sleep.  And when we awoke the following morning, someone had made another fire in the grate, and the floor was toasty warm and inviting to our socked feet.

Then I realized what it was I have been wanting the last few weeks.  Warmth.  Acceptance.  Heat.  

I'm so tired of winter - not just the season but also the winter of how cold, judgmental, and harsh people can be without even realizing it.  

So what I have been doing is allowing my mind to rest on the times when that coldness is overcome by the warmth of gentleness, mercy, and love.  I've been reminding myself of how faithful God has been to me in the past, how He has brought me through so very much and from that, I can have faith to believe that He will continue to silently plan for me in love - because it matters to Him about me (to paraphrase an old saying). "All that I have seen," wrote R.W. Emerson, "leads me to trust my Creator for all that I have not seen."

When things get really tough - and they do get tough - I can be grateful that He is with me. That He is in charge of this whole process and that someday, I will be able to use what I am going through now, to help someone else who may have lost hope that things will ever change.  So - although I am human and I want the suffering and the confusion to stop, I understand that He may want to use that to accomplish something wonderful in the life of someone else who needs it.

Someday.

In the meantime, I remember - and I remind myself to look after the most important thing: relationship with Him. 

I'm sorry - not!

:D
D:

Okay sometimes you just GOTTA laugh.

I just got the weirdest apology from someone. Suffice to say that it left me with the impression that the person didn't really believe they did anything wrong.  But they said they were sorry that I thought they had.  Oh, that's rich. (:->)  Anyway, I'm just glad that the person got the message...and respected a boundary I set.


But it got me to thinking about all the non-apology apologies I've heard.

Let's see.


According to Wikipedia,"An example of a non-apology apology would be to say "I'm sorry that you felt insulted" to someone who has been offended by a statement. This apology does not admit that there was anything wrong with the remarks made, and, additionally, it insinuates that the person taking offense was excessively thin-skinned or irrational in taking offense at the remarks in the first place."


Okay so how many non-apology apologies have you heard (or given)?  I can list a few to get you started:


The 'obfuscated' apology:  "I know that you believe you understand what you think I said, but I'm not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant."


The backhanded apology: "I'm sorry your feelings got hurt." (i.e., what I said/did wasn't wrong; you are too sensitive.  This is like the one wikipedia cited.)

The "you-should-have-known-better" apology:  "What in the world were you thinking?  of course I didn't mean to hurt anyone!"  (This one doesn't even say the words, "I'm sorry.")

The "please make excuses for me" apology:  "Oh I'm sorry.  I was in such a bad mood."  (And yes, I used to use this one a LOT.)


The "guilt trip" apology:  (I got this a lot growing up).  "I am so sorry.  I must be such a rotten [mother/friend/sister/brother _____(fill in the blank)___.] I try and try to be a good ____(again, fill in the blank)____ but I guess nobody appreciates that...."  Another version of this one is, "But I was only trying to HELP..."


Or the no-words apology (I'm still sometimes guilty of this one) - buying the person something or doing something really nice for them to make it up to them... but never saying the words because... it's uncomfortable.


Okay, now that I've gotten the creative juices flowing - what IS a real apology?


I believe that it is when you recognize that the actions or words you have done have hurt another, whether you meant them to or not.  It carries with it the idea that you don't want to hurt them again, and that you will take concrete steps to avoid that happening in the future because you care about them.

So, here's an example of a real apology (if it comes from the heart):  "I am so very sorry for what I said.  I didn't know that it hurt you.  How can I keep from doing that again?"

It's personal

Everyone who knows me really well (hint, REALLY well) knows that I give great hugs.

I'm warm, generous, and loving.

But if I don't know you very well, don't expect me to hug you. It'll happen - in rare situations where I might feel especially close to a perfect stranger to me.  But on the whole, I'm just not that kinda girl.  And please don't touch me before asking my permission.

The average personal space for someone in North American society is about a two-foot radius all around.  Normal people have this private bubble around them that is the same size all the way around.  There's a reason that there's an expression "at arm's length" because that's about the distance that is at the limit of comfortable for most folks. (An interesting aside is that in Asian and Middle Eastern cultures, where the population is larger and the culture far more group-oriented, the personal space bubble is a LOT smaller.)


People who are quite private have a larger personal space than people who are primarily social.  It can vary as much as a foot in radius!  And those people who come from abusive backgrounds, or who have spent prolonged time in a war zone (such as is often the case with military personnel) have an expanded personal space.  It could be as much as four feet out in front.  And invariably, for such folks, the bubble is larger behind than it is in front. Mine is about 3 feet or so in front, and about 3.5 to 4 feet in back.

Even though it's invisible, it's just as real as the walls of one's house are, and sometimes I wish it came with a sign: [PRIVATE PROPERTY.  
NO TRESPASSING!!] 

I know a couple of people who are very uhmmm, "hands-on" with people.  They have to be touching the person that they're with. They (mistakenly) believe that all touch is therapeutic.  (shudder!!) 

When someone does that with me, my skin starts to feel as though it has snakes or insects crawling all over it.  It's very uncomfortable for me.  I just want to yell at them and tell them to LAY OFF!!  

My body yells at them - but they don't seem to get the message.  First I fold my arms or bring my arms or hands close to the front of me.  Then, I start to stiffen up. Or I  back away...if that's possible. Yet these people always seem to find a way to rub my back while they're talking to me - or my shoulder, or my arm. I just want the floor to open up and swallow me!  These enforced "let's go around and hug everyone we meet" sessions that are popular in my church and many others' churches - to me are torture for 2 reasons.  The scent issue is one - and this is the other: forced intimacy.  It's a form of assault ...in a way.  I like to have the freedom of choice whether or not to give someone else permission to touch me, let alone hug me.  Like Geraldine (of Flip Wilson fame) my motto is, "You don't KNOW me well enough to touch me!"  It's like someone walking into your house without even knocking.  Only a select few get to do that (which is why I always knock, even when visiting friends).  Not people who (for all intents and purposes) are complete strangers.

Of course once I DO know you better, you will find that I'm quite affectionate.  And that affection will be shared - with your permission - quite freely.

:D 

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

And sometimes it's one step forward, and two steps back.

I got thrown for a loop this morning.  

Something I had been counting on, something someone else was going to do and which I was fully supportive of, even to the point of looking forward to more things I could do to help this person, fell through because the person involved backed out.


Whoomp.

I was hit like a ton of bricks - broadsided.  And guess what.  I was ANGRY.  I was totally ticked, royally bummed out, and thoroughly disappointed.  I felt betrayed, dismissed, and totally disrespected.  And yet - it was that person's choice to do (or not do) what he or she did.  


It takes something like that to really show me how insidious, how cunning and powerful and totally mystifying my addiction to control is.  I was close to tears most of the day (okay, I did have about a 5-minute cry at my desk) because of this ... this thing over which - truth be told - I have no control, have never had control and will never have control.  Period.

I summed it up during a rather ill-advised conversation with someone while I was still smarting from this perceived slap-in-the-face - "I'm finding it really hard to let go of this."

And a bell - faint and distant it seemed because it was drowned out by self-pity and frustration - started to ring in the far recesses of my spirit.  Where had I come across this before I wonder .... oh yes.  The Serenity Prayer.  "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change ..."  Hm.  Well, if anything needed accepting it was this.  My stomach was in knots.  My mind was inventing all kinds of things that would happen because this person wasn't behaving right.

Right....did you catch that?  "Right" being "the way I wanted him or her to behave."  

I knew what I needed to do.  I needed to let go.  I was having a hard time doing that and it was because it was ME trying to let go.  I hadn't prayed about it.  I was reacting - just like the old me.  Ping-ping-ping Ricochet Rabbit!!

So coming back from the washroom at one point, I prayed.  Since I couldn't think of better words, it was "God, grant me the serenity to accept the thing I cannot change..."  and I reached into my spiritual kit of tools and pulled out the first one I had ever used.  "I am powerless over others; my life is unmanageable because I keep trying to control them."  "Let go and let God."  With that, I could put the situation on hold and concentrate on something else, give time for God to work in me, on me.  

Is the situation resolved?  I don't know.  And I wish I could say that my unrest has disappeared like fog when the sun comes up.  But what I can say is that I'm learning to let go and let people be who they are, do what they'll do and bear the consequences of their own choices.  I don't have to like it.  But I do have to take my hands off and leave it alone.  

And thank God I don't have to do it alone.

A Brief Interlude

A friend reminded me today of a song I used to listen to a lot when I was a teen and the message I got all day every day was "You're not doing enough.  You're not doing it well enough."  The song gave me permission to make time for the most important things, even if the important things didn't get done or done to someone else's liking.

I'd like to share that song with you.

It's by Chuck Girard and it's called "Slow Down."  

If you are having a rough time today, if the world seems to be spinning out of control without your permission, then this is for you.  Enjoy!!

Morning Coffee

When I first met my husband, I wasn't a coffee-drinker.  I drank tea.  I had tried coffee once or twice - thought it was - well - vile.

But he was a coffee drinker.  Loved his morning coffee - would drink it cold from last night's pot, or even from the pot that was brewed two days ago.  

But I loved to linger over breakfast with him, sipping a hot cup of something.  So, I decided to give coffee another go.  I told him about my previous experiences and he (since he knew how the coffeemaker worked and I didn't) decided to start me off easy - with coffee made only about half the strength he took it.  Besides, he must have reasoned - it meant he could have twice as much.

I put milk and sugar in it - we didn't buy cream back then.  And I found it bearable.  I enjoyed the company for sure - and over time I learned to look forward to it, to learn little tricks to take the bitter taste away.  After all, I grew up liking coffee ice cream.  So a few grains of salt in the batch took the bitter taste from it and before long I could even say I liked it.

Then all he did was slowly, carefully, turn up the volume. He started making it stronger.

Today, I can't imagine starting my morning without a cup of coffee, sometimes two. (And yes, I did learn how to use the coffee maker!)  It's still something that he and I linger over, and often I am known to say "Oh, that's so good!" when I take my first sip of the morning.


But I enjoy it when he's not with me too.  This morning I got up early (not by choice) and when it became clear that I wasn't going to get back to sleep, I got up and made a pot of coffee.  I sat with a cup and soaked in and enjoyed the company of Someone else who never sleeps...nor does He ever get tired.  That's one of the "perks" of waking up early: more conscious time with Him.

I built a relationship with coffee, with my husband, and with God the exact same way.  I went at my own pace, spent more and more time with them, and learned to love them.  

Lately the relationships with my husband and with God have both been deepening.  As God has brought me through the process of the last 2 years, I find I want to spend more time with Him, not less, and that I enjoy being with my husband - and with myself - much more than I could have thought possible.

It's addictive really.  A good kind of addiction - because the human spirit is an addictive entity and was designed to only find complete fulfillment in one place: intimate relationship with God.  Lesser addictions - especially when given first place - harm the spirit, whether they be to substances, to things, people, power, money, sports, culture, or whatever. People can even be addicted to church and to church events!! 

But this - this sense of peace and lightness inside - this is priceless.

I think I'll go back for another cup this morning. 

Dead Air

One of the most common frustrations and complaints about prayer is that it doesn't work, that the prayers don't get answered.

There seem to be those who live a "charmed" existence, whose prayers are always answered and who are always getting great press because whoever they pray for gets healed, or a job, or whatever, - and whatever they pray for happens.

Hm.  Well, I guess I am glad it happens for some people.  I have to wonder what might happen to their faith if for some reason there was an "answer" that didn't come.

The term "unanswered prayer" is a red flag for those who consider themselves Christians. Yet ... I think this might have more to do with the idea that we have to protect God's reputation than it does about actually being honest.  

The truth is that prayer (and for the moment, let's keep our definition to the more accepted one of asking God for what you want) - carries with it the option of God saying "no".  And speaking as a parent, the more my kids hound me to do something with the attitude that I HAVE to give it to them, like it's their right or something, the more likely I am to either say no, or walk away and ignore them.  (They are starting to learn this!)  See, it works this way:  we ask for what we want, we say please, and God decides whether to say yes, no, or wait a while (sometimes a LONG while).  We DON'T demand.  We DON'T manipulate or "quote scripture" back to Him (after all, He knows what it says!!) as a way to get what we want.  We don't even have to ask Him for something that we know is His will!  if it's His will, He will find a way to make it happen because - well, because He is God and being Divine and all-powerful and all that, He can.

I'm beginning to see prayer in a different light these days.

Less and less I pray for "what I want."  More and more I see prayer as a way to develop and deepen my relationship with Him.  A conversation between friends, in other words.  

Okay, so if I am upset about something, I tell Him.  I don't hold anything back because after all, He made me, and He loves me.  But most of the time I'm inviting Him into my situations, to take control of them, to not let me grab the reins and try to do His job in my life or anyone else's.  I accept things, people, and circumstances the way they are in reality.  I try to remember that He's God and I'm not, and that He can do a far better job of running the universe than I ever could.  And I have discovered that for me - this leads to far more peace than I have ever known in my life. Before, I was so dissatisfied with the "way the world is" and what people "should" be doing.  I was constantly angry.  Nothing or nobody could satisfy me - and that included God.  He was too slow.  And then I prettied it up and turned it around to blame myself.  I'm not saying the right words in the right way.  I don't have enough faith.  I must have sin in my life.  It was all a smokescreen.  It was all "I - I - I."  I wanted things to change and change "now" like I was some old dog chasing its tail and never catching anything but a dizzy spell - what a waste of energy that was.  

I stumbled about a year ago on the only kind of prayer that always gets answered and brings the kind of peace I was looking all my life to find.

It took taking me through quite a journey for God to get me to the idea that prayer isn't about changing things.  It's about walking with Him.  It's not about me hanging on for dear life to Him - but about Him never letting go of me.  It's not about me getting what I want. It's about growing in my love-relationship with Him.  It's about Him freely and graciously giving me the one thing I need in life: the awareness of His presence.

Winter Dreams

I've been dreaming lately - daydreaming that is - of warmer temperatures, and of different sights, smells, and sounds than the ones I'm used to.  

Of crocus poking their noses out of the snow.

Even though short-lived and killed with the ice storms of April, their brief interlude breaks the frigid curse of winter's icy breath.

It's hope that a gentler, kinder season will soon be upon us.  

My nightmares of course are of winter.  Unbending, unfeeling, monochromatic with its white, gray and black metallic sounds of howling, whistling, and shushing.  The house shudders under the weight of the harsh winds and heavy snow.  And my mind wanders again.

The purroo, purroo of mourning doves.  As early as April their courtship rituals grace the angle of our roof-top.  Their song wakes us in the early hours while the sun is still rubbing its eyes.  I can hear them in my mind's eye.  I can see them, sidling along the top of the roof, the males trying to get closer and the females shying away, playing hard to get.  Yet the chicks always seem to appear anyway.  And they learn the song their parents sing.

And the last sign of spring - a flash of fire-orange red hopping across the lawn, stopping and standing perfectly still, head cocked.  Then the head bobs and the beak disappears deftly into the soaking earth, lifting its prize to the light of day: an earthworm who dared venture too close to the surface away from the spring run-off.  The triumphant hunter swallows - his cheery chirrup is the ultimate in spring sounds.  Soon his will be joined by other voices - peeping insistently for him to give up his prize to feed their bellies.   

The smell is in my nostrils.  It is a life-from-death smell.  Dead leaves from last fall, rotted under the snow.  Dirt left behind as the snow melts - each snowflake leaving behind a small speck of dirt - adding to the topsoil.  Little piles of animal leavings, covered over in layer after layer of snow - now revealed.  And the barest hint of light green under it all.  The promise of new growth.  

Even though I know it's only a dream - a warmth spreads over my tired spirit.  It won't be very long.  Not long at all.

We Are Family

A lot of people I know are of the opinion that one's family is the genetic unit into which one is born.  I hear married women talk about going to see their "family."  My first reaction inside is usually, "So what are your husband and kids?  chopped liver?"

Those of us adults who have come from dysfunctional homes have a great deal of baggage when it comes to the term, "Family."  It isn't a happy word.  It's a word filled with images of broken promises, betrayed trust, divided loyalties, empty days and still emptier nights.  

So in the last few years, I have come to redefine the word "family."  Family for me is a state of mind.  It has very little to do with one's DNA.  It has everything to do with heart, where one feels safe, where one feels loved.  

There are people I am related to by birth or by marriage, with whom I do not feel safe.  I feel like I always have to be on my guard - on the defensive - at red alert.  That's not a good atmosphere to grow up in, and it's not a good atmosphere to willingly enter.  

The man I married - he's my family.  My children too.  These are the people with whom I feel "at home."  But it doesn't end there.  There are people in my life who love me, who respect me and who value my opinions, whom I love, respect, and whose opinions I value, who are not necessarily related to me by blood or marriage.  These are the ones that I consider "family." 

And some that I'm told are "supposed to" be family, I can't consider so.  Some church members - bless them - are more about being right or about finding fault than about being accepting or loving.  It's draining for me to be with them.  

Some related to me by marriage - well, I'm sorry - but if I do not feel one shred of respect coming from them, they're not my family.  It doesn't mean I hate them; it just means that I prefer not to spend time with them when there are so many others in my life that I like being with.  Some of the new friends that I've been making - friends who accept me for who I am and who don't judge me for where I'm coming from - are my family - my "circle of friends" (the name of the photo to the left, below ...) who love and support me and for whom I do the same.  We don't try to change each other, we don't try to run each others' lives - and we enjoy being in each others' company.  

I have these kinds of "family" members spread out all over the place, people who are not related to me genetically or legally, but with whom I have a connection that is pretty amazing.  I suppose technically that they could be called "friends."  They're that too.  We love each other - but we also LIKE each other; this is a good thing.  

Some live in the United States.  Others in Dorchester NB and various spots across Canada.  Some live in the city I live in - but I didn't meet them until 3 months ago and yet I feel as though I have known them, loved them all my life.  Others I've only known a couple of years. Still others, perhaps 10 or 20 years.  Some I have met and know through music ministry.  Some at work.  Others, in several other ways.  One I even met when I was 17 and in my first summer job.   

We all have two things in common: love and respect.  Those things can't be bought or manufactured.  They are gifts - nurtured and developed by those to whom they are given, exercised and practiced and never once taken for granted.

To these my family members - I give my most profound thanks! 

Your Love Broke Through

I was reminded today by a friend that shedding the false beliefs of a lifetime is a painful process.

Receiving love - when one thinks it is undeserved or was never there to start with - hurts.

So I wrote my friend.  (I write - I kinda do that.)  I think that what I said applies to so many people.  I've been there and I know that I'm not the only one who struggles with those feelings of inferiority, of worthlessness, of guilt and shame.  All based on false beliefs I learned from how I was treated as a child.  So what I shared with my friend I now share with you.

Walls - started by others and continued by the self to protect that vulnerable, wounded part of ourselves - become so comfortable after awhile. Occasionally we go up to the wall and wonder what's on the other side but ... we don't dwell there because to get to the other side seems so impossible. The bricks are made of our pain, our flesh. They harden in the dryness of lovelessness forced upon us, stinging comments we take into our hearts like nettles over years and years.

When we give our will and our lives to the care of God, He takes us at our word and brings His care - His love - into that place. He starts to deconstruct those walls and as painful as they were to build - when they begin to crack it does hurt and it feels like it's our heart that is breaking. But it isn't. It's only the shell.

The hurting is part of the process. Opening our hearts to the love He brings is unaccustomed; we can feel awkward believing that He would choose to - want to - spend time with us. The miracle is that He does. And the more we believe it, the more the hurt is transformed into a sweet ache: one that we would not trade for ANYTHING. 

It's Gotta Land Somewhere - Thank God!

A co-worker was telling me a couple of days ago, about an emergency at her house.  

The ceiling had a crack in it for years but with all the snow we had lately, the crack grew by a foot and a half only a few days ago.  So she and her husband went outside.  He got on the roof and started shoveling snow off of it.

She was below.  There wasn't enough room down there to put all that snow, so her job was to clear away what he was throwing off the roof!  Every time she got more space cleared away, more snow got dumped on her from above!!  She joked - "Sounds like the perfect government job!"  We had a good laugh about that.  I even asked her if I could use the story for my blog (grin).  She said sure!

It seems everything I hear reminds me of the incredible journey I've been on the last 2 years.  When I first started ... I had a lot of work to do in getting rid of some things that had been weighing on me for so many years and which were causing damage to me and to my relationships.  In fact, there was so much stuff inside of me that shouldn't have been there, that I didn't know where to put it all.  Thank God I had the help of a counselor who I believe God put in place for me at just the right time.  Someone who had been where I was, who had gone through the process and could help me through it, clear away all the wreckage as I unloaded it.  For, you see, it had to come out - and it had to go somewhere.  He took that.  He accepted me, just as I was - and seeing that I was willing to go through that process he walked me through it, every step of the way.

In many ways he saved my life.  I truly believe that - because at that point I was dying inside.  

I'm not negating the amazing and central role that God played in my recovery from those things.  I AM saying that this counselor gave me a safe place to land - and it's gotta land somewhere when you unburden yourself of the poison of decades of every kind of abuse imaginable.  

In essence - with no disrespect to Jesus - to me, he was "God with skin on."  Someone I could sit across from, who had once been in the same dark, slimy pit as I was and who decided never to forget it - to go back and help others out of it the way he was helped.  His primary goal was to refocus me into my own recovery, not into anyone else's, to give my stuff a safe and accepting place to be brought out into the open and dealt with, and to walk beside me on the path to freedom.

Thank God!

Good Fences

Good fences make good neighbors, they say.

I couldn't agree more.  They also make good family members, when it comes to setting boundaries.

I grew up in a home where boundaries didn't exist.  It was chaotic.  It didn't feel safe.  Someone was always imposing his or her will on someone else.  And if the one so imposed upon complained or objected, they were liable to get beaten up, depending on the mood of the moment.  Or there would be a guilt trip thrown to manipulate the person into conforming to the agenda imposed.  (I hated that.  I still do.)  As I was telling someone today, I didn't know that I even had the right to HAVE boundaries, that is, that I had the right to occupy space on the planet and have room to move inside that space.  

Not until about almost two years ago actually.  I was early in recovery, originally to help an alcoholic (typical of me, getting into therapy to help someone else - but there you go...) and realizing that I was as much if not more in need of help than he was.  Right about that time he relapsed, and someone crossed a very important boundary, one she had crossed many times before - but never to this degree.  Even I knew it was a boundary that nobody calling himself or herself a friend should ever cross.  And I blew up!  

My reaction was like it usually was - I exploded.  And the person gave me some space, and then a few weeks later (as usual) apologized.  But by the time this apology happened, I had begun to see that this was a pattern of abuse that had started back in 1971 and had continued all my life since then - and it was going to keep happening.  

So I chose to look after myself.  I didn't let the apology - if that's what it was because I knew she would do it again in a heartbeat - make me go back to the way things were.  The friendship - if it was indeed one - ended.  I grieved.  I moved on.  And the world didn't fall apart.

So lately things have gotten a little more close to home.  This time it's a family member who's consistently sneaking across my fence and trying to run my life according to her idea of what I would like, because that's what she would like.

The old me hates confrontation with a passion, but the new me realizes that sometimes one has to speak out or the other person will never be aware that there is a problem.  

And that's what I finally did.  It took me an hour and a half this morning when I woke up early and couldn't sleep, but finally - after 30 or more years of putting up with it - I put up my stop sign.

I'm sure that there will be repercussions, but I know that whether or not the issue is resolved, at least I have stated how I feel, what I believe the issue is, and what I need from her.  

I know that at this point my responsibility has ended.  But for her sake and the sake of everyone in the family, I'm just hoping that she gets the message.

Helping Hearts

I made a phone call this evening to talk to someone.  The person I called to talk to was not there.  Another person answered and I had a choice - to make an excuse and just call back later when the person was home, or to reach out to the one on the other end of the line.

It turned out to be one of the most honest conversations I've had with this fellow.  He was telling me about the things he struggles with, which are the same things I have dealt with (and still do at times) over the last 2 years. Same issues, same people.  Same feelings.

Near the end of the conversation, he apologized to me for unburdening himself on me, didn't intend to spill it all out like he did.  He said that I had already dealt with my inner demons and I didn't need to hear about his, to dredge up old memories.  

All I could see was how much he needed to get it off his chest, to express how he felt to someone who understood, someone who could (and would) tell him that his feelings are perfectly normal for what he's going through.  It was so clear to me how God arranged this whole things so that we could talk for an hour when we wouldn't normally get that chance (at least not honestly) with the other person there.

I think I was able to express to him that it's like I've been through this same process, this journey - and I've come a little farther on it and come mostly out the other side of it - but the fact that I've been through it helps me to reach back to where he is and let him know that it does get better.  As long as he doesn't give up.  And he told me that he wasn't going to give up.

I don't think he'd believe me if I were to tell him that the things I have worked through, the things that were so very hurtful and frustrating for me 2 years ago, don't have the power they once did to continue to wound me.  He'll learn it on his own as he goes through his process, learns that people can accept him for himself, and lets people be who they are, including himself, without the need to feel responsible for the actions and emotions of others.

And maybe we'll both learn to stand up and say no - without getting hostile - when we feel that someone else is forcing his or her agenda on us.  We're getting there, to that inner place of serenity, of self-acceptance, of feeling that we have the right to exist, to take up space in the world.  Hopefully sooner than later.

Bend and Stretch

We had it all planned out.

Supper out at Pizza Delight, then stopping in at Dairy Queen for an ice cream cake and opening presents after cutting the cake at home.  It was a good plan, fitting for a young man's 20th birthday.  After all, 20 is a big deal.

But the problem with that itinerary was that Mother Nature had other ideas.  School was canceled, then work, and before long it became clear that nobody was going anywhere. 

So I had a choice.  Put off the celebration until another day, or change the plan.

Putting it off to another day would have hurt the young man's feelings. So ... since I was home anyway, and there was an unfrozen, uncooked roast in the fridge ... I changed the plan.  We let the birthday boy open his gifts this afternoon so he could have more time to enjoy them.  Then we watched a movie with him that he got as a gift.

And less than an hour ago, we feasted on slow-cooked roast beef, gravy, butter and oregano whipped potatoes, baby carrots, and the pièce de résistance - a chocolate cake (made from a mix, mind you) iced by me and decorated by our daughter for her boyfriend.  

Did he have a great birthday celebration?  Yes. Did he feel loved, cared for, important?  You bet!!  Was it what we planned or counted on?  No.  Will we still get the ice-cream cake we ordered but which we couldn't pick up from DQ?  Yes - tomorrow. Did I get all stressed out because of the change in plan?

No.

This is one of those times when I can really tell how far I've come in my recovery the last couple of years.  Two years ago, a setback like this - a simple change in schedule - would have thrown me into a tizzy because all my carefully laid plans would have fallen into the water.  

Today it didn't even flicker my needle. I learned how to bend.  

There are still times when I realize that I have far to go.  But today - God opened the door a crack and let me see a little of what I'm becoming, and I know that it's only because of Him that I have been able to stretch this far.

It feels good.

Slow Down

The din is everywhere.  We're surrounded by noise: honking horns, radios blaring, music broken by announcements in department stores, television.  We seem obsessed with filling the silence with sound of some sort.

Perhaps it's to drown out the clamor of our own thoughts.  Alone, we might face our inner emptiness - isolation - loneliness.  Or worse yet, think about important things like life, mortality, immortality.

Or it could be to distract us from the cruel irony of our own tyrannical self-imposed schedules and demands.  I mean, does it REALLY matter if the dishes get done before 7 pm or if a tea towel is not hung up nicely on the rack? Or if we do three hours of voluntary overtime or just one?  Come on! 

I grew up feeling guilty when I was idle.  Gotta fill that time with activity.  Gotta be productive, gotta have something to show for having lived another hour.  I've seen the stress people in my life have put themselves through - the ulcers for which some have been on medication for years - with this kind of attitude.  And I have to question: is it really worth it?

Sometimes I wonder if we might be better served by carving out some time in our busy schedules to slow down and relax.  To listen.  To spend quality time with the people who matter most to us.  To turn off the radio or the TV, to unplug from this wired world and just enjoy the moment.  No plans.  No agendas.  No expectations.

When I find my stomach in knots, when I'm clenching my teeth in my sleep, I know that my life is more about being a "human doing" rather than a "human being".  

That's when I need to take time away from the tumult and pace of my frenzied surroundings, the demands of the daily mundane but self-important tasks that insist on having my attention - and focus instead on God.  On my relationship with Him.  On His relationship with me. On my relationship with myself (often most forgotten in the hubbub.) I need to connect with the people closest to me.  To concentrate on those people and things which will outlast the hurry and scurry of this hamster-wheel of modern life.  In doing so I will regain that lost sense of peace I didn't even know was missing - until I went looking for it. 

Skip to the end...

"Skip to the ennnd..." say Prince Humperdinck, as the impressive (and long-winded) clergyman drones on in the wedding ceremony to unite him and Princess Buttercup, in the movie, "The Princess Bride."

Later, Buttercup's true love Wesley asks her, "Did you say 'I do'?"  to which Buttercup replies, "No, we sort of skipped that part."  

"Then it didn't happen.  If you didn't say it, you didn't do it."

When I first got into this process of healing I wanted everything to happen at once. I wanted God to hurry up and fix me so that I could get on with my life, maybe even so that I could point to that healing and tell others He could "zap" them too.

But it didn't work like that.  Inner healing was a slow process for me, a long road of unlearning all the faulty beliefs and old patterns of thinking that had gotten me to the place I was in.  It was clear to me - I needed help.  But instead of skipping over the hard stuff, the messy stuff, I learned (to my chagrin) that I was going to have to go through it instead.  My sole source of comfort was that I wasn't going through it alone.  God would be with me, and He had put someone in place who had been through the same process before me, so that I could get free of the things that had bound me for decades.  

I like mythic tales - the kind that pit good against evil ... and where good always wins.  I watch things that build me up inside, give me hope.  I need stories that build up faith.  I think everyone does.  The great ones are those in which the foe seems insurmountable but in the end, the villain is vanquished. I need to be reminded that (as my daughter tells me) everything will turn out all right in the end - and if it's not all right, it's not the end. 

I saw a rather strange movie about 2 years ago or so.  Little did I know it would be heraldic in my life as I lived through some of the things I've gone through in the last 2 years.  It was called "Click."  In it our hero is given a remote control which he can click if he is in a situation he wants to skip over.  He has done this a few times when he starts to realize that when he does this, his life goes on "autopilot" and he misses the one thing that could have made the difference between a mediocre life and a great one.  He misses the opportunities along the way to live "intentionally."  To go through the experience and learn.  To feel the pain, yes, but to experience the joy as well.  He learns - almost too late - that life is to be lived through, every day cherished.  

The joy of living through it, of feeling those feelings, of walking the path, is that one can reach back into that place where others may be still stuck, wondering if there's any way out, and in compassion say, "I know what that feels like.  It does get better."

And it does.

The Tin Man

In the original story, "The Wizard of Oz," the character of the Tin Man has its own character build-up long before Dorothy meets him rusted stiff in the woods trying to say, "Oil can."

He was a real man with a real heart once. He was engaged to be married to his sweetheart, and being a wood-cutter, he used his trade to make money to build his true love a house worthy of her.  He cut down more and more wood and yet it wasn't enough to be worthy of his great love for his bride.  In the course of his chopping, he sustained injuries; once he cut off a leg and an arm, and thought that he was done for - his career over.  But, he reasoned, if I just fashion a metal arm and a metal leg, I will be able to work even harder.  So he did - and he DID work harder.


Injury after injury, piece after piece, he became a man obsessed with the task of providing a home worthy of his one true - but wait - when he finally was finished, he was all made of metal - and had lost his heart along the way, unable to love and able only to think of the work.  His fiancée, who had long ago noticed the change in him, left him, broken-hearted.


So he filled his days cutting wood, unable to feel anything inside.  During a rainstorm, he kept working and ... rusted solid in the forest, not even able to do the one thing to which his life had been reduced.


What a sad, sad story!  I'm so glad it didn't end there.  The Tin Man finally did learn to love, to love deeply!

It took the compassion of another and his own willingness and determination to regain his lost heart to help him discover he had not lost his heart, but merely misplaced it for a while.  


To all the Tin Men (and Women) out there (and in here) - it is possible to learn to love - and live - again. 

Without Him

Frustrated with another's spiritual struggle one night, a struggle to accept what I considered to be basic, foundational belief in a good and loving God, I turned to him and said, "Look.  You either believe... or you don't.  It's as simple as that."  God was good to me and allowed what I said to penetrate just the right spot in that person's life.  It could just as easily have been a detriment.  I wasn't acting in a very righteous way when I said it.  I was tired.  I wanted this person to just "get it."  To quit challenging my belief system by having beliefs that weren't like mine.  Yes, God was gracious - to both of us. 

My own words have come back to haunt me again and again, though.  For if I am brutally honest with myself, I face the same struggles in my everyday life.  I have a choice to believe or not believe that God is good.  And while my lips give assent to His goodness and His loving care for me, my actions sometimes say anything but that.  

I'm still faced with that same choice - to believe or not to believe in practical terms, not just in what I say or what the standard party line is.  It's the difference between saying that I know a chair will hold me and not break - and actually sitting in it.  

There's an old southern gospel song written in 1963 by the LeFevres ... and done by the Gaither Vocal Band, called "Without Him."  

The song says (in part), "Without Him, I could do nothing; without Him, I'd surely fail - without Him I would be drifting like a ship without a sail. Without Him, I would be dying; without Him I'd be enslaved - without Him life would be worthless, but with Jesus, thank God I'm saved!" 

A large part of me wants to believe that I have some sort of control over my own self-destructive tendencies.  But the truth is, I don't.  Every day I must make the same decision - to face this or that situation with Him or without Him, to believe that He is with me or not.  

When I decide to try to do things on my own, I end up adrift and at the mercy of the raging surf.  Every time.  When I (on the other hand) turn my life, my desires, my everything over to God even if I don't understand why, He takes those very same circumstances and allows me to see above them, to ride them, and He gets me where He wants me to go.  Sometimes that leads through paths I would never have chosen, circumstances that are decidedly uncomfortable, even painful for me.  But in the end, I come out into a better place spiritually, with connections and friendships made that I would never have dreamed possible.   

I don't know why He would be so very patient with my wanderings, with my compulsive need to test those same things (His goodness, and His love) over and over again.  But I am so very grateful.

Beating the cold

I admit it.  As much as I try not to get sick at any time, I especially try not to do so in the winter.  Supplements have been my mainstay for several months.  I take 2000 IUs of Vitamin D, a multivitamin with iron, and 500 mg of Magnesium citrate per day.  And I've not been sick very often.


But it happens sometimes.  So when it does, I tend to do things that make me feel comforted, even human.  The parts of the body that still work take care of the parts that don't.  Like today - I had myself a couple of bowls of soup and a few crackers, then went to bed with a heating pad to try to get rid of the bone-deep chill I felt.  I even got a little sleep - albeit broken by the banes of my indoor "at-home" existence: telemarketers and my daughter's cat.

The chill, however, has decided to return. So I am wearing my scarf, and have a couple of big fluffy towels lying across my shoulders and my legs as I type.  

In my mind I have a picture-memory of a time when I was about 13.  It was the dead of winter. Our house was not all that well insulated so we compensated with lots of blankets and quilts. And when we got up in the morning, we made sure to put our socks on before our feet touched the floor.  It was COLD.

We had an oil stove in the kitchen.  Mom would make the fire in the oil stove before we got up, and once the heat was up a bit, she opened the oven door, spread out a newspaper on the open oven door and pulled a couple of chairs up beside it.  My brother and I would come into the kitchen wearing our sweaters or long-sleeved shirts, jeans and thick socks, grab a cup of tea, and sit on the chairs with our sock feet resting on the newspaper - to warm our feet.

It was the closest thing to a fireplace we were going to get.  But the heat soaked into us and made the howling wind outside not seem so loud or forbidding.

Only 30 minutes later, I would have to go to the bus stop and shiver in the cold, but the memory of that warm spot in the morning helped get me through the dark, frigid days of winter.  

I can't ever remember LIKING winter.  I like it less and less as I get older; but, the memories associated with beating the cold really stick with me.  I remember one time sitting in the apartment of another brother once - I would have been about 19 or so - he had a fireplace. He put on some soft music; there was always music at his place. My fiancé and I sat on the hearth in front of the little fireplace with our cups of hot chocolate and watched the fire together as the music played.  It was cozy.  It was romantic.  

Why am I talking about this?  I guess it's to beat the cold.  To remember warmer times.  To remind myself that sickness - and winter - doesn't last forever. 

I think I feel a little warmer now.

Marketing? the Faith?

I was reading a friend's blog and she was talking about a couple of men coming to the door to proselytize their religion.  Of course they called it sharing their faith.

Some of these door-to-door folks can be quite ... persistent.  I wonder if they're trained not to take no for an answer (or not to walk away until someone gets angry and yells at them, thus scoring a "win" by being persecuted.)


Somehow that reminds me of a brief stint I put in as a telemarketer several years ago.  Yes.  I was desperate.  Yes.  I hated the job.  And yes, I did sell stuff people didn't want to people who probably couldn't afford it.  That's why I hated it - and I quit as soon as I possibly could.  I think I lasted about 3 or 4 weeks actually.  Ughh!

In my telemarketer training, I was told that as long as a sales prospect (note, they are not people, they are prospects) had an objection, a reason for turning down the incredible offer-of-a-lifetime, we "had" them - for there was a scripted answer to every possible objection.  The only statement a telemarketer can't refute is "I'm not interested.  No, no reason.  I'm just not interested.  Goodbye."

Huh.  There's food for thought.

But I digress.  I was also thinking that sometimes we as Christians have bought into this whole "marketing" thing, to our own detriment and that of the cause of Christ. Maybe it's not telemarketing but it is marketing the gospel, making it palatable, pushing and pushing until people hate to see us coming.  (Last night my daughter answered the phone after the 8th time from it ringing with an 800 number on the caller ID; she yelled in frustration into the phone, "QUIT CALLING!!" We all cheered when she hung up!)  

We Christians, especially those in leadership but also those of us (and I can be this way too) who just can't seem to let God be God - do ourselves and the world a great disservice.  We seek the best platform, try to find the right program, buy into the right gimmick - and basically use the world's marketing methods to do something that (according to the Bible) God's Spirit is supposed to do: convince people of their brokenness and bring them to Jesus.  We treat human beings outside the church (at best) like sales prospects ... and forget that they are really people: people who have real lives, real circumstances, real feelings.  All we need to do for the world (and even for that, God is the One who enables us, for without Him we can do nothing) is love God, love each other and love the hurting ones without judging them.  

Melody Beattie says in her book, "The Language of Letting Go" - (©1990 Hazelden) as she speaks about letting go and letting God lead and guide in our lives, "We will know when to go, to stop, and to wait. We will learn a great truth: the plan will happen in spite of us, not because of us." (February 11 reading)

It's so simple.  At least that's what the Good Book says. We quit doing God's job for Him and let Him be God in our own lives, let Him love us, let Him love others through us. That will naturally spill out into the lives of those with whom we come in contact and change the world, one life at a time.  

Each one, reach one - with love.  God will take care of the rest.

An Awesome God

There's a little chorus that our kids grew up in church learning.  It was the first song that we sang together in harmony as a family and occasionally the kids still want to sing it with us.

Our God is an awesome God -
He reigns in Heaven above
With wisdom, power and love
Our God is an awesome God!

Such simple words.  


I was reminded of this little chorus one night last week as I gathered with a group of believers and listened to a song by Chris Tomlin called "Our God (is greater)" - it's from his new album I think.  If you haven't heard it yet - go to Youtube (yes, that's the link) and listen to it.  It is FABULOUS.  The message is much the same as that little chorus.  

I need songs like that.  I need to remember that God is bigger than me because even though I give lip service to it, sometimes my behavior and my attitude is that I'm bigger than He is.  

Nature itself screams that He is greater, bigger, higher than I am, a consuming fire against which nothing and no one can stand.  I'm not talking about a nice little campfire that people like to poke sticks at and roast marshmallows in.  I'm talking about a raging inferno, a wildfire that goes where it wants.  I guess this post is an expansion of my last one on God not being safe, that I ask Him if He will do something for me but don't assume that He will just because I follow a certain formula or say certain words or quote scripture or really get myself worked up.  (Didn't the prophets of Baal have much the same attitude on Mount Carmel? OUCH!)

And yet with all His incredible power and majesty, His awesomeness, He still cares about the little things.  He still wants to have a relationship with me.  Puny me.

It boggles the mind.  

Who am I that He should even think about me?  Yet He does.  Why should He care about what concerns me?  Yet... He cares.  He cares enough to have foreseen my bankrupt state without Him and sent a way for me to come into relationship with Him - my only hope.

There is a sort of credo that describes the unadorned Christian life, one which I have come to hold dear lately.  Part of that credo is that I came to believe that a power greater than myself could restore me to sanity.  The kind of life I was living, even as a Christian for decades, was so full of contradictions, doubts, fears, things that didn't work, resentments against "all-that-is-not-of-God", fault-finding, seeing demons in dishrags, that kind of thing.  It was insane!!  All the while, I was ostracizing the very people I wanted to reach, more and more becoming the object of ridicule - or pity, or contempt - by those who saw what I was doing to myself by toeing the Christian party line and having my head stuck in the clouds - or somewhere else, it could be argued.  SO out of touch with reality that even my speech was affected ... saying Amen after every statement and turning it into a question... Christianizing my everyday speech so much that nobody could figure out what the heck I was saying - I could go on at length but I won't, since that's another topic.  

But the word "greater" from that statement / credo jumped out at me recently, and it is that concept on which I've been meditating.  Someone put it to me this way - "God's got broad shoulders and good ears.  He's not deaf and He doesn't need you to defend Him.  He's got everything figured out.  So let Him be who He is!!"  At that point I realized (once again) that I was the god of my life and I was treating the God of the universe like a puppet, pulling strings to try to get Him to do my bidding.  It was time for me to decrease and for Him to take His rightful place as 'somebody bigger than you and I.'  When I gave Him back the strings, it was amazing how He grew in my life.

Sometimes I usurp His role; I end up flat on my face every time.  But when He is greater than I, He can be truly God - to me. 

Telling versus Asking

For a long time, I spent time endorsing and espousing the idea that if God promised a certain thing, then all I needed to do was "claim" it.  To "take authority over the enemy" and to "speak those things that be not as though they were." But the more I get to know Him, the less sure I am of that kind of attitude, which I once thought was "faith."  

I agree that Jesus has given us the victory.  I agree that He is more powerful than satan.  I firmly believe that He has all authority over the powers of darkness.

But more and more I am convinced that I don't.  That I am not more powerful than satan and that I win NOTHING, that if it wasn't for God, I would not even be breathing.  Moreover, I don't need to defend God on the debate battlefield, or to labor or travail as if trying to push Him through a keyhole into the world or reality I want Him to occupy.  It is a form of manipulation, even of self-aggrandizement, to "take" the authority that belongs to Him and use it to clobber someone or something.  He's far bigger than I am, far more powerful.  All I need to do is to ASK.  

Not TELL.  More and more I cringe when I hear people "command" God to do something for them (or satan to stop doing something).  They screw their faces up and strain and grunt and groan as if by their effort the supernatural could happen. Such faces would scare little children.  Heck, they even scare ME.  I need to be clear on this.  God is supernatural.  I am human. I am not supernatural, don't want to be, can't pretend to be.  

Asking involves saying Please.  Now THERE's a concept.  That God has the right to say no.  He is not obligated to do anything - at all!  I need to ask Him in a near-forgotten attitude called humility.  And leave the decision up to Him. And accept whatever He decides.

My primary concern must never be how much money I am giving to missions, or whether this hot political issue is right or wrong, or what I'm going to do with my rebellious teenagers... as tempting as that is for a recovering control freak (I was so deeply into judging people that I pushed people of all stripes, even my teens, away from me and robbed myself of having a voice with them.)  No - my primary concern needs to be one thing and one thing only: intimacy with God.

And I must make no mistake.  God, as much as He loves me, as gracious, merciful and forgiving as He is, is not "safe."  

There is an interchange in the book "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe" when Lucy asks the Beaver if Aslan, the great Lion, is "safe."  The Beaver replies something like this: "Safe?  I should think NOT!  After all, he's not a tame lion.  No - he's not safe.  But he IS good."  That epitomizes the respectful closeness that I have with God.  

Intimacy with God is definitely not safe.  But in my relationship with Him I have found that He is good, He does what is good, and He seeks the highest good.  Not necessarily for me, but for His purpose.  

So when I ask Him anything now (and I find myself asking for less and less; I thank Him more and more) it is to know His will and to have the courage from Him to do it.  Or if for someone else - I ask for His highest good in their lives, trusting that He will do it, whatever that is.  The only thing I tell Him now is how I am feeling; He already knows it, but ... it helps me to get it out into the open.  I am learning to let God be God ... and to stop taking that role upon myself.    

Where everybody knows your name

I just spent an hour and a half with people I trust in a safe atmosphere.  When I entered that place, my mind was racing with the events of the day, filled with frenetic activity and unable to settle down.  

Just thirty minutes into that time where everyone knew who I was and they were still glad to see me - that was enough to let me relax and let down my guard.

There's an old song to a TV show I used to watch - a TV program called "Cheers" - and the chorus to the theme song goes, "Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name - and they're always glad you came!  You wanna go where people know that people are all the same; you wanna go where everybody knows your name."

And I do.  I've spent most of my life hanging around people who expected me to be someone I wasn't.  And it's good to know I can be me with these friends and I don't have to prove anything to anyone.  The only requirement for friendship with these people is that I am real, honest, open, and willing to embrace change as long as it's God who does the changing.  I could really get behind that.

Coach, Sam, Carla, Dianne, Cliffy and "Norm" always made me so wistful when I watched how they interacted and just accepted each other.  I never knew why.  Going to bars wasn't my thing - still isn't. It wasn't the fact that it was a bar (and don't get me wrong - some bars got more God than most churches!!) but it was the atmosphere I longed for and didn't know where to find.  And then I met this group of people with whom I was hanging out with tonight - and I knew I had come into my own.  

That's where I wanna go.

The human condition

Okay ... so I love to watch family-oriented films, animated children's movies...which hold in them lessons humans need to remember but often forget.

A few days ago, the family watched "The Iron Giant" (Warner Brothers, ©1999) together.  The story poses a question that is postulated by some as - "Can a gun have a soul?"  I would tend to disagree that this is the question posed.  It goes much deeper than that.

The question - as I see it - is "Can someone go against years of programming and choose to follow his/her heart instead?"

The answer the movie provides: YES.  But only with help.

The giant wakes up with amnesia.  He has forgotten who he is.  He gets himself into a dangerous predicament in a strange place, and suddenly this little boy rescues him.  A friendship with the boy means that he learns what things in this new reality are called, what life and death are, what is right and wrong, and (to his surprise) that he has powers beyond his wildest imagination.  The boy talks to him about different kinds of superheroes and tells him that he can choose whether to use his abilities for good or not.

Of course the government gets wind of him being there - how DO you hide a 100-foot-tall metal man? - and an overzealous government agent with an agenda of paranoia and self-promotion assumes the worst and calls in the "big guns" - literally.

But the giant's programming is defensive only.  Which reminds me of me ... and a whole lot of people. As the saying goes, "Hurting people hurt people."

When he is threatened, he starts to fight back - and his friendship with the boy stops him from fully carrying out his programming.  But it's too late: others' agendas have prevailed, and he must make a choice: allow a whole town to be obliterated or risk his existence to save them.

The movie is a profound look at the human condition - at the potential each person has to use whatever strengths he or she has to the fullest while still having the power to choose.

I guess I started thinking about the Iron Giant this morning because I know this person who is really amazing.  But he's been hurt and has forgotten who he is.  He's learning a whole new way of living, a whole new lifestyle.  He's learning that he is not as horrible as he was led to believe, can barely believe it himself because the voices of shame and fear are so loud in his mind.  And his natural child-like curiosity and his sense of equity and integrity are developing in this new reality of his. It's wonderful to watch.

I know a lot of people who are on that same road.  Myself included.  We're starting to learn that we are more than who we have become (to borrow a line from the Lion King.) 

And we need help to get there.