Safe Haven

I must have been about 7 or 8.  My parents went every November to a neighboring city to do their Christmas shopping.  We went to stores several times bigger than the ones in our small town.

We'd gone to one of the biggest stores in this large neighboring town.  Suddenly, I looked up from whatever it was I was looking at, and found myself surrounded by people - none of whom I knew.  My parents were nowhere to be seen.  They had assumed I was with them and moved on to another area of the store.  All I could see was a sea of elbows, purses, and winter coats bustling around.


I was small for my age - but up until that point in my life I had never felt so tiny, so alone, so vulnerable.  My chest hurt, as if it were being squeezed by giant hands.  My breath came in small gasps.  I felt a lump in my throat ... it was getting larger.  Tears stung my eyes as I struggled to see someone - anyone - I knew.  There wasn't anyone.  A vague sense of nausea nagged at me. My mouth was dry - I'd been breathing through it.  My pace quickened.  I began frantically going up and down the aisles, calling out for first one parent, then another.  The purses and coats became a blur as I went from fear to panic.


It seemed like forever to me before I spotted them halfway up the wide staircase and ran over to them, breathless. 

Sometimes even as an adult I have felt the cold fingers of panic creep around my neck. Usually it's the very same reason - fear of losing someone, of being abandoned and alone.  In fact, I lived my life ruled by fear and there were times that it paralyzed me.  

What I didn't realize was that my fear made me overreact and push people away from me.  I took it upon myself to look after them and to make sure that nothing ever happened to them.  But, as Dorie says in Finding Nemo,  "Well, that's kind of dumb.  If you never let anything happen to him then nothing would ever happen to him.  Not much fun for poor Harpo."  I protected them from things I thought would hurt them, even the consequences of their own actions - and I went entirely too far.  When they were 18 and 15, they wanted nothing to do with me, took my caretaking for granted (or resented it) and only tolerated me.  I had never felt so alone, not even when I was in that department store.  And I had only myself to blame.

My epiphany came when I admitted that I was powerless to change them, powerless to fix them, and that they had the right to be who they were without my direction.  In short, I learned to let go.  And when I started to actually release my grip, I found that not only did my own panic level go down, but my loved ones started to relax around me and enjoy my company more.  My relationships with them started to transform. I knew that this was something that I was empowered to do and not something I had the strength to do on my own - for I had tried for many years to change, and couldn't.  All the credit for this miracle goes to God.  Peace and gratitude began to dawn in my life.

And one day I looked around me and discovered that I wasn't alone anymore. My kids enjoyed being around me.  I meant it when I smiled - when I laughed.  I had entered a safe place - a haven where I no longer felt as though I or anyone I loved was under attack or in danger of abandonment.  

I must admit it felt rather strange after all those years of bondage to fear.  But the longer I live in that safe haven, the more at home I feel there.

Tether vs Leash

I grew up in the country - the "sticks."  Actually it was more of a swamp...but we won't go there today.

The attitude of just about everyone who lived there toward their animals was one of ownership.  Whether the cow in the barn, the chicken in the henhouse or the family dog - animals were chattel.  They didn't have feelings.  You could do what you liked with them.  

As a sensitive child growing up in this atmosphere, it galled me when people would leave their animal tied up and only provide food and water for it, then wonder why it got vicious.  

One family's pony was so neglected and treated like the family lawnmower (if it got out of the barn at all), made to carry people far too heavy for it and for far too long a time until the people grew tired of the amusement of their feet dragging on the ground, that it snapped at the people who abused it - and ended up being shot because it "got mean."  Things like that happened all the time.  And when I got incensed about it and wanted to retaliate, I was told it wasn't any of my business, that people had a right to do anything they wanted because it was "their animal."  

I remember as a child being yelled at by a neighbour for spending time with her dog when he was obviously dying of loneliness chained up outside.  The picture of that dog just sitting there, mindlessly winding himself around that pole, and me powerless to help - has haunted me on and off for years.

I found myself thinking about that image recently and I wondered why it would strike me again now, forty years later.  

Then I realized that it was because I've seen too many people dying of loneliness tethered to rules and regulations, living their lives on a tether of shoulds and oughtas.  I lived there for many years.  It's so restrictive, punitive and oppressive - when for me the epitome of relationship with God more closely resembles not a tether, but a leash.  The leash symbolizes being "with" rather than being "left".  

The scenery is ever-changing, but the company is what counts - and something to which I look forward.  Every time.

Awkward!

Okay - this is a rant.  Just sayin'.

I was just reading a fellow-blogger's post at "Daughter of Abba" and it really made me think.  She was talking about how she loves God but hates church.  I'm glad someone was honest enough to say how many of us church-goers feel.

My hat goes off to her.  (Among other things) she calls church members, pastors, and other people in leadership on:
 - favoritism
- hypocrisy
- elitism / cliques
- judgmental attitudes
- guilt trips
- exclusion

And she's right.  Church people are notorious for all of those things and more.  It's why the world looks at things like whassisname's prediction about the Rapture taking place on May 21, 2011 and (when that prediction failed) the world still going to end on October 21, 2011 ... and they laugh their heads off.  I don't blame them.  I would too, if it weren't so tragic.  Okay - so I laughed - for a while. 


The truth is, I always feel so awkward at church, and frankly, I've been embarrassed to admit to the people I work with that I go at all.  

I love God, and yet His people drive me nuts! ... majoring on minors, going off on this tangent or that one (okay, so I do that too), boycotting this or that, protesting something else, and all the while judging those who don't line up with their perfect version of how life should be lived.  (I think everyone knows how I feel about that word "should.")  Most of the time I feel like the rest of the cookie dough that gets tossed aside after someone cuts out the cookies.  I don't fit, and sometimes I feel discarded.  Judged.  Minimized.

I hate it when church people / leaders try to "legislate" friendliness, "dictate" love, "order" people to pray for each other - when these things naturally would flow out of intimate relationship with God.  I abhor the mistaken idea that WE have to do something first, before God will do His work.  Great way to take the credit and pat ourselves on the back for twisting His arm, manipulating Him. How ludicrous is that?  Friggit - God already took the initiative on everything by starting the ball rolling with Jesus - and He gets the glory for everything because even the faith and the strength to do what He wants comes from Him. He said He was the vine and we were the branches. So I don't move until and unless He says so.  Period.  It wastes far less energy that way... and if it means that others judge me for not doing enough - fine.  I live my life for an Audience of One.

Thank you, Daughter of Abba.  Thank you for your honesty.  

Wit's End

It's something experienced by a lot of people.  Usually people in helping professions (doctors, nurses, psychologists, social workers, even those who carry caseloads of disability claims - like those at Workers Compensation or other similar organizations) suffer from it the most.

Psychologists call it 'compassion fatigue' or 'secondary post traumatic stress syndrome.' Oversimplified, it's 'caring too much.'  But realistically, it's impossible to be a caring and loving human being and to NOT be affected with the suffering of other human beings when faced with it on a regular basis.  

So people deal with it in several ways.  One way is to cut off the emotion and relegate that to the back burner, or underground.  This may result in physical illnesses such as ulcers, stomach problems, hypertension. Or clinical depression arising from the feeling that they have done all they can, and it's not enough.

Another way is to wrestle with it.  Anger and frustration ensue - and a whole host of other types of physical problems result: stress-related problems such as diverticulitis, irritable bowel syndrome, back pain, heart trouble, headaches, and even (some believe) fibromyalgia and other chronic pain syndromes.

Still others - fewer and farther between - are honest about the nature of the trauma to which they are exposed. These people acknowledge that there is a toll to be paid when others suffer, and they look for ways to be built up, cared for internally, so that they can have something to give those who are in desperate need of help.

It's not wrong to care.  It's not wrong to be angry about suffering.  But it's also not wrong to know when it's time to step back and gain some perspective.

In the course of my job, for example, I read about a lot of traumatic events, in the words of the individual who has experienced them.  Sometimes, the images those words evoke make it necessary for me to stop once in a while and process things.  And I need to remind myself that unless I am okay with me, I can't be there for those who are looking for my help because I will have nothing left of myself to give.  I must remember to give out of a full spirit and not an empty one.

That's why my rejuvenation times are so important to me.  I have learned that if I don't look after myself and take care of my spirit, I will experience compassion fatigue and be of no use to myself, my husband and family, or my employer.  Maintaining a conscious contact with God, through various means as they present themselves, allows me to keep within my own skin and not try to live anyone else's life for him or her.  It doesn't make me less compassionate; it makes me more capable of empathy when that is warranted.  

It sounds hokey but getting adequate sleep, a balanced diet, and time to call my own really does help keep me from my wit's end. 

Blee-doop

Once in a while I hear a little chirp every so often, coming from another room.  Blee-doop.  Five minutes later, blee-doop.

Graphic "Low Battery" courtesy of
David Castillo at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

My cell phone is asking me to feed it.  I try not to let it get that hungry but sometimes I forget...and it tells me what it needs.  If I ignore it, the battery loses its charge altogether and the sound stops.  That isn't a good thing especially if the phone isn't where I usually keep it! But all I need to do is plug the charger in for a few hours and it soaks up energy like a little sponge, making the phone usable again.


I guess I get like that too.  Battery low.  

I get used too much, take on too much - or go too long without doing things that replenish my energy - and I start blee-dooping at people.  Any people but especially those who are closest to me.  Usually in a very annoying fashion.  This means I get all selfish, self-centred, and nasty with people...unthinking, uncaring.  It happens.  When I catch myself doing it (or occasionally, when a good friend calls me on it) it's never a pleasant experience - but it does alert me to the fact that I have been putting myself out too much and not taking anything in to recharge my batteries.

And occasionally, like today, my batteries get recharged without me having to make the time to do it.  People's sleep schedules were such that I was able to spend some quality time with my hubby before anyone else got up.  We got some shopping done before the stores got crowded.  It was nice - it was leisurely.  And when we did run some errands with one of our crew, it was short and we could spend some more time just relaxing for what seems like the first time in weeks. 

Nobody is like the Energizer Bunny.  We all need recharging.  Some more often than others, perhaps.

Different things drain me:

• I spend time with more than 4 people at a time or even one other person when I feel like I must be on my guard.
• I feel pressured into doing something I don't want to do, and judged when I say no.  Or ... I give in and say yes, and then resent every minute as well as the person who guilted me into it.
• I shop when the department or grocery stores are busy.  (Bad move...my skin starts to crawl and my fuse gets shorter...)



Photo "Blurred People Walking On The Street"
by surasakiStock at www.freedigitalphotos.net

• Or I am around people who are fighting with each other - voices raised, doors slammed, etc.

Blee-doop.

• I go to a gathering - whether church, a team meeting, or whatever - where I feel like nothing is being accomplished and I'm just going through the motions.
• I go without nourishing my spirit (listening to music, reading and meditating on Scripture and my recovery readings).
• Or I let people walk all over me - and don't stand up for what I want, and resentment builds up in me.

Blee-doop.

It doesn't take very long to recharge, just the decision to allow recharging to happen and making time for it if need be.  Thank God for earphones, Youtube, and unexpected quiet moments throughout the day.  Thank God for the beauty of nature.  Thank God for the ability to go for a walk if I need to do that.  Such things feed my soul.  That's what today has been like so far.

And if it changes - I can always go for a walk later - or go visit with some friends in a place where I feel safe and at home.  

That sounds like a plan.

Seize the Day

One of my very favorite movies created in the last few decades is "Hook" starring Robin Williams and Dustin Hoffman.  They are brilliant in this flick. 

When Peter is in Neverland, Thud (Raushan Hammond) hands him a bag of marbles and tells Peter that they belong to Tootles, a lost boy who left Neverland and forgot to take them with him.  "These are his happy thoughts," Thud explains.   The only Tootles (played by famous British actor Arthur Malet) that the adult Peter knows is an old man who appeared to have lost his mind, always wandering the rambling old English mansion searching for his marbles.

I think my favorite scene in the movie comes at the end when Peter returns from Neverland back to the real world and gives the marbles back to the now elderly "lost boy."  The hope and excitement is tangible - and contagious!

The message is clear.



 

First Things

I heard this story a few years ago, and I was reminded of it a few hours ago as I sat in a chapel attending the funeral of a dear friend.

Here's the story:

A professor went into a 2nd-year medical school classroom and placed a large empty glass container on his desk, in full view of the students.  "Is this container full?" he asked them.

Confused, they answered no, it was not full.  Then he took some large stones from under the desk and placed them inside the container, right up to the top.  "Is it full now?"  he asked.  

About half of them said yes; half said no.  Then he took another container of pebbles and poured them into the container, shaking the container to make the pebbles filter downward. They filled up the spaces between the stones.  "Is it full now?"

More people caught on. About 3/4 of them said it wasn't full.  He then got a container of sand and poured that into the container with the stones and pebbles. "What about now?" he said.  Most of them said no, it wasn't full yet.

Finally he took a large container of water and poured until everything was wet right up to the top of the container.  "Is it full now?"

Everyone agreed it was.

Then he said, "So what has this object lesson taught us?"

A young woman raised her hand.  "As doctors we are going to be very busy," she said, "but as busy as we are, there will always be room to cram one more thing into our schedules."


"No," said the professor.  "The point is that if you don't put the big rocks in FIRST, they won't fit."

That story comes to my rescue sometimes. 

Much of what goes on in our lives is geared toward making the sand fit first (making money, doing more things, even good things) ...which doesn't leave room for the important things.


Things "fit" so much better when the important things like kindness, mercy, and love are our primary foundation, our first focus.  Then we find that the other things can be added ... and in the right proportions.

Life's way too short to major on minors or to try to shove the big things into our lives after the petty little things have already taken up squatter's rights in our thinking process.


How many times have I missed opportunities to do the right thing while trying to do the most pressing thing?  Behaved out of a knee-jerk reaction rather than thoughtful, prayerful response?  Expected the worst instead of listened to the reasons why someone did or said something? I've lost count.

Today was a reminder to make the best things foundational - and allow the rest of the things to settle into their proper place.  

Just for Today

Just for today I can face the task ahead.

Whether the whole day, a few hours, or the next twenty seconds, whatever the case requires: I can face it.  I can ask for help if I need it...and I can receive that help when it is offered, without feeling guilt or shame.

At no time do I ever know what the path ahead will bring to me.  However, I can trust - for today - that someone has walked it before me. And I can trust the One who forged the path, blazed that trail, whether it is happy or dangerous or sad, frustrating or breathtakingly beautiful.

Today, I will not borrow from tomorrow's troubles.  Tomorrow has enough trouble of its own and I do not have the resources to deal with it until it becomes today.  I will trust God that those resources will come to my aid when I need them - and not before.

Just for today, I will not add to my load by carrying the burdens of yesterday.  I will take them out of my backpack, find out where they belong and put them there.  No matter how long it takes.  Putting yesterday where it belongs lightens my load today and frees me to face it without being sapped of strength.

I will not assume anyone else's burden today, except from a place of understanding and compassion.  I will not try to repair the broken pieces of someone else's life.  That is a task reserved for that person's Creator.  I will be there for that person but I will not shield him or her from living life - no matter how hard that is. Just for today. And with the help of my Creator, I will refuse to succumb to fear for anyone, including myself.  Instead, I will submit to Love.

The gift of today, its joys and its sorrows, its beauty and its tragedy, is a loving and wise gift from above.  I will experience it with gratitude as it unfolds.

Life Now

This morning the house was quiet as hubby and I slipped away for a quiet breakfast together and then to run a few errands.  One of those errands was a small road trip to a place we'd never been to see someone about some supplies for a project we are planning for the summer.  It was just the two of us...traveling on the open road in the sunshine, talking about everything and nothing.

Little moments like that are the stuff that real life is made of.  It's what I think of when I hear the term "abundant life."  

Not the global platitudes of peace on earth and what the world needs now is love sweet love. Not the "we better get busy and work our behinds off before Jesus comes back" kind of stuff.  It's the simple, basic, everyday minutiae.  The tiny details of our existence can make life worth living if we look for them, keep our spiritual eyes open, however you want to put it.  The intricacies of creation have always spoken volumes to me.  A hug from a friend - a smile - time spent in the company of friends in a safe and accepting atmosphere.  These are things that are irreplaceable..

Recently a friend of ours passed away and I've been thinking a fair bit about the expression "Life's too short."  

It's true.  Life IS too short to spend it on things that don't matter.  To waste it on pursuits that are impossible to achieve: perfection, for one.  To NOT take the time to marvel at a bee tumbling out of a flower and flying away when (aerodynamically) it's impossible for it to do so, or the beauty of the sun sparkling on the water ... looking as though the angels are playing "light tag."  

Way too often, I have the tendency to complain and/or criticize instead of compliment and/or commend.  I know I often fall into the trap of focusing on what is lacking in my life instead of being grateful for what I DO have.  As one songwriter (Gordon Jensen) put it, "I've been blessed with more than my share..."  

I think I'll spend a little time today saying two very important words to the people in my life who matter to me.

Thank You.

Aftermath

If I were to make a joke now it would be about Rev. Camping explaining why the Rapture didn't happen last night - saying he forgot to carry the one.

Or perhaps the explanation he thinks up might be a bit more prosaic... or worse yet, obscure. 

I ran across one article on BBC which gave me pause - not only for the insistence of some folks in believing what someone else tells them and bending into pretzels to make it make sense, but for something I never thought of before: how many people are actually going to lose their faith over this? never mind how many have quit their jobs, spent their life's savings and even gone into debt leading up to yesterday.  You can read about it here.  What about the people who truly expected not to be here this morning?  Wow.  How crushed, disappointed, and bewildered some of them must be today.  The people of Calvary Bible Church in Milpitas California have opened their arms and their hearts to those of Camping's followers who are grieving today. 

That's compassion.  

I'm continually amazed at the predilection people have to fixate on one particular person and blindly follow everything he or she says. Folks are looking for truth and if someone claims to have it and thinks up a great way to package it, they look to that person to the exclusion of revealed truth.  I remember one preacher saying (when speaking of the Bible and how to interpret it), "If the literal sense makes good sense, don't make it into nonsense." People believe the sheisters because they don't believe that they can find out what the Bible says for themselves, and / or they can't interpret it properly.  They rely on the ones with the seminary educations and the theological degrees, when the reality is that many of those well-educated people are just as confused as the next person.  The followers of such people perhaps can't come to believe that they can actually have a first-hand relationship with God instead of relying on others who are more educated to feed them pre-chewed spiritual food.  

That said, one doesn't need a seminary degree to show a little acceptance, love, and compassion to people who - today of all days - are baffled that they are still here.  Laugh at the prediction if you must - I know I did - but save the baby before throwing out the bathwater.  I believe that Jesus IS coming back.  Not sure when, don't need to know, can't know anyway.  If this whole thing has done any good at all, it is that it has re-awakened a long-forgotten hope in many of us. 

Am I angry at Camping and folks like him?  oh yeah.  Mostly it's because they prey on the sheep - usually to line their own pockets - and end up disgusting and repelling so many people watching all of this, people who otherwise might have considered Christianity as viable.  Not only that, but the setting of dates and the majoring on minors (like nit-picking and judgmentalism, things that evangelicals are famous for doing) just adds to the cynicism of those who already view Christians as hypocritical nut-cases, and weakens our credibility before the watching world. 

But for those rapturists who have lost everything - who because of this fiasco are questioning for the first time if there's even a God - my heart breaks.

Should I disappear

I'm not saying it will or won't happen at 6 p.m.  tonight as predicted.  It could - I suppose.

Whether it will happen then or not is not my call to make, nor anyone's.  But what has come to be known as "the Rapture" is an important part of Christian belief.  It is 'the blessed hope' - and for some, it is all about 'the judgment seat of Christ' for believers...the time when their rewards (or lack of them) will be revealed.

In any case, much has been said of late regarding the most recent foretelling of the date and time of Jesus' return for the church - the 'great Body-Snatch.'  There's been a lot of buzz on both sides of the debate... while the world looks on with rather bemused and cynical smiles as some Christians just get all worked up - some to "get ready" and others to judge the ones getting ready by selling their possessions and quitting their jobs (for being so gullible) and perhaps even judging the ones making the prediction for using it to line their pockets the last few months.  My issue is with the kind of "yeah right" mentality these kinds of things engender in the world at large.  "Whoa-yeah.  Like THAT's ever going to happen."

Well, I didn't say it was going to happen.  Jesus did.  He just didn't say when - and as a matter of fact, He said that not even HE knew.  Once His Dad makes the decision that it's time - ya think that Jesus would be the FIRST to know!  Just sayin'.  

And should I disappear at some point in time ... along with hundreds of millions (I won't say billions) of other people ... it will be a total surprise to those who predict things to stir up the pot or for whatever other reason they might do it.  The way I prefer to live (instead of being scared and 'getting ready' for that occurrence) is to keep on getting to know Him better.  Allowing Him to be intimately acquainted with my innermost being.  So whether He comes or not in my lifetime - I'm looking forward to meeting Him in person.

Simple treasures

Yesterday evening we learned that a dear friend had passed away sometime during the night before.

Our minds and hearts are filled with memories of this precious man.  His incredible wittiness. His honesty.  His delight in living, really living for what felt like the first time in his life.  A new-found childlike faith that transformed him from the inside out, and helped us truly believe in miracles in the life of one who he himself described as "an old reprobate like me." 


Hours spent at Tim Horton's over a coffee and a donut or muffin, talking about deep spiritual questions.  Desperate to develop his relationship with God and take his first steps into a new way of thinking.  Passionate about so many things: spouse, family, friends, and now prayer, rigorous honesty, integrity, hope.  It was a marvel to listen to him speak about these things and more. 

Death, I think I heard on some TV program or movie like Star Trek or something, is that state in which one exists only in the memory of others.  I'm not sure that that is entirely true in that it doesn't address the hereafter, but it does represent a part of reality.  And given that, I know that we will remember him...he will continue to inspire us to believe that miracles do happen.  He was a walking, breathing miracle.

I imagine him now meeting in person this God he hated all his life until just the last few months, when in desperation he turned to his Creator and found welcoming arms and the power to be free.  Now ... now there are no more questions.  There is perfect peace and absence of any confusion or pain.

For him.  

What I feared

Okay so it's the middle of the night and I've been awake for over an hour.  It happens.

After a conversation with someone last evening I got to thinking about how the things we fear most MIGHT happen, we create without even realizing it.

Take poor Job for instance.  He was so afraid that his kids would do something wrong (thought process: if they tick God off, He'll shorten their lives and then I'll lose them) that he was off every day to make sacrifices for their mistakes to appease God in CASE He got mad.  Huh.  When calamity struck and he DID lose his kids, he said ... well, he said a lot of things for which he's famous ... but the thing that few people realize is that he also said this:  "That which I feared greatly has come upon me."  

What a statement.  The book of Job is reputed to be the first book written in the Bible, predating Moses. The statement he made was one about self-fulfilling prophecies.  He had created what he feared most.  Perhaps not for the reasons he thought - but it happened.  Anyway, I'm thinking that this is some sort of parent/child rule or something.  Let me explain.

The dad (let's say) has an upbringing where he's dirt poor, has to leave school when he's just learned how to read, in order to help increase the family income. He's never shown any attention except the unhealthy, smothering kind - or the in-a-rage kind.  He believes himself to be a good-for-nothing.  He becomes a dad and his worst fear is that his child will be like him.  So at the first mistake his kid makes, he says, "What are you, stupid? if you keep this up you'll never amount to anything."  Translation - I'm so afraid you'll be like me.  I want so much better for you.  

But that's not what the kid hears, not what he takes into his heart.  He says to himself, "I'm dumb.  I always screw up."  And that belief shapes his life.  Every time he makes a mistake, he hears the same words from his dad and thinks the same thoughts.  It becomes the way he defines himself. The father's fear becomes the child's reality. The sad part is, it is totally NOT based on reality.  Kids make mistakes.  It doesn't mean they're stupid.  They need someone to show them how to do it right, so they'll succeed - to encourage them when they do it right and say, "See? I knew you could do it!"  

Sustained and unrealistic phobias like that produce the very objects of the fear.  I've seen it happen in my own life and in the lives of so many others.

A mom is brought up in an alcoholic, abusive atmosphere.  She survives it by believing that she has to be perfect at everything and sets about to hone her housekeeping and caretaking skills. By the time she has moved away and had kids, she has perfected her skills to the nth degree. She is so afraid that her daughter will be a lousy housekeeper, thinking that this is what makes a successful wife (a wrong assumption).  

So she alerts her daughter when she is not doing something right. Every time.  Never the successes, just what the daughter forgot to do or didn't do thoroughly enough. Usually in a tone of frustration (born from fear.) "Can't you do ANYthing right?"

The daughter grows up thinking that she never does ANYthing right ... ever.  She might just give up trying, after years of wanting to please but never hearing anything positive.  So the mother's fear has come upon her; her daughter IS a lousy housekeeper and guess what - Mommy made it happen. The constant criticism has made her daughter think, "You know what?  if the only person who can do it right is you, then maybe YOU better do it.  I'm done."  Then the mother's fear changes.  Now it's that the daughter will be a lazy person, and never get a husband.  And the message the daughter gets?  "I'm lazy.  Might as well admit it, nobody will ever want me.  I'll always be alone."

That cycle of fear is hard to break.  The only thing I've found that can break that vicious vortex of pain ... is TRUTH.  The person who realizes that his or her life has been shaped that way has two choices: continue to live as a victim or ... the harder choice: tell that little child inside the truth for a change.  It is possible to refuse to believe the lies, the projection of fears to which he or she has been subjected, those self-fulfilling prophecies. But it takes time and a LOT of desperation and willingness to trust in God for the strength to do it!

It is possible to be the parent that the child never knew - to give oneself the lacking affirmation - even if it feels self-indulgent (and it will) - that was never given.  A person does not have to live the rest of his or her life with that kind of condemnation.  It is okay to feel good about oneself.  Someone else's fear is that person's stuff.  

It is possible to help that stunted child start to develop and flourish.  Truth plays such an important role in that, but it needs to be repeated over and over (because the fear-based lies were repeated over and over).  

I know because it happened with me; I have healed from many of those things and the process is still ongoing.  It was difficult at first - but I figured nobody else was going to do this for me and it was high time I stopped expecting other people to play nice and pay me back for all the years they stole from me.  So I learned to say things to myself like: "I can do things right.  My feelings are important.  I am worth knowing.  People can like me for who I am.  I don't have to pretend to be someone I'm not.  I am allowed to be good to myself.  I am allowed to make mistakes sometimes.  I am smart.  I am a decent person."  Slowly - very slowly - those old beliefs and self-condemnations started to drop off me.  They're still in the process of being reversed.  I'm feeling more comfortable in my own skin, and am finding that as I do, I am better able to let go of those old hurts.

Fear doesn't control me the way it did; other people's fears have largely lost their grip on me and I can let go of my own fears more easily as a result.  

There is hope.   

To be ...

This morning on the way to work hubby and I were treated to a rare sight.

A bird - perhaps it was a robin - flew right toward us and within 10 feet of the windshield.  It was slowing down so the tail feathers were fanned out, and we could see the underside markings - an arc near the tip of the tail, perhaps an inch wide, of white against the dark background of the tail itself.  

We remarked to each other about it.  Not often one gets to see a wild songbird up close like that, from such an angle.  We talked about how God loves beauty so much that He thinks to put such a detail, rarely seen and even more rarely appreciated, on the underside of a bird's tail.  How He puts stars in the sky that have been there for longer than we can imagine - only now are we starting to see their light.  All because He wanted them there.

But that bird kept our conversation focused on how the bird doesn't try to have plumage that is this remarkable, grunting and straining to push the feathers to the surface or have them be this color or that.  It just IS.  It doesn't try to be something it's not.  It just is what it is and that is the end of it.  It just lives its life and goes about its business and ... on rare occasions, God ordains that someone just happens to be looking in the right direction, for that moment in time.  

Same with the stunning voices of the songbirds we hear.

I remember hearing meadowlarks calling to each other when I was a child - low, harmonious tones with almost a haunting quality to them.  It was such a treat when they sang.

One of my favorites is the common tree sparrow - such dizzying heights and depths of melody, seemingly effortlessly coming from a little throat less than a half-inch across in a little plain brown and beige body.  It boggles the mind that they don't have a vocal instructor, yet produce the clearest, sweetest music of the season.  

And the yellow warbler - once rare in the Maritimes but now more common as the summers are hotter and muggier - their melodious pipings (as with all birds) are not taught so much as they are caught from their parents.  They are who they are, easily recognizable by their song.  They don't try to be nightingales.  They're warblers. They bring joy just by being who they are.

If only humans....

I got to - really?

Okay - brothers and sisters....

I've always been the type of person that when pressured into some sort of behavior just because I "have to" - no matter how good it is, whether it's exercising or even going to see a very popular movie of which everyone says, "Oh you have just GOT to see this!"  my first reaction inside is - "No.  No I don't." 

And the more I hear that injunction that I have to do it, the less I want to - even if I started out being curious about it or thinking I might MAYbe want to do it.

The "got to's" turn me off. Completely. Even more so lately than before. I guess it's because I've "been there, done that" and now anything that smacks of coercion absolutely repulses me.

Several years back, I read a book by Tommy Tenney called, "The God Chasers".  It's a very good book and I recommend it to Christians who are tired of "playing church".  But I recommend it with a warning.

As I was reading, I looked at the way this church in Dallas, Texas was changed - a group of people who experienced what can only be described as a supernatural flood of the presence of God - so tangible that for months, people in everyday situations, like waiting in grocery store lines, were deeply affected.  Miracles were commonplace when someone who had been touched by this presence was nearby anyone in hospitals, bank lineups, etc.  

Amazing.  

But I made the classic mistake.  I compared their experience to the way our church was - doing the "same old same old" again and again, expecting different results.  Talking about wanting God's presence but never experiencing Him in a life-changing, sustainable way.  And I got very, VERY frustrated with church, church programs, and church people.  Disillusioned.  Angry.  Bitter.

It took me several years and a whole lot of trying over and over and over to try to get people to read their Bibles more, pray more, do more - with nothing to show for it but more frustration because nobody seemed to be "getting it" - before I finally realized what I was doing.  I was trying to manipulate God - manipulate His people - and coerce either Him or them to "get with the program." I was trying to control others - and the fact was that I couldn't even control myself.  The truth was, as I came to understand, that relationship with God is not a "You gotta do this" thing.  

The truth is, I was (and am) completely incapable of living the kind of life that is happy, joyous and free ... on my own efforts.  That's the whole point of the Old Testament - to show us that no matter how much we want to or try to, we cannot follow all the rules; it is humanly impossible to sustain such an externally motivated lifestyle on our own. God invites us to a relationship.  Not a contract.

If my life as a Christian is all about "I got to" then I've missed the whole point and am to be pitied above all people - because "I got to" is a miserable existence filled with slavery to expectations and obligations.  I know - I was there.

Once it stopped being about what people were or were not doing, or what I was doing or not doing, and it became about what God has already done and freely offers - accepting that and being thankful for it - then it started being not so much about an effort to love others as it was an acceptance of His love for me.  It became less about obligation and more about gratitude.  It started being less of a drudge and more of a joy.  

The last thing I need - or anyone needs for that matter - is to feel lambasted by a whole lot of guilt and shame when we go to a place that is dedicated to the worship of God. That kind of stuff (I don't know, maybe some folks get off on that kind of thing) appears to me to be just an exercise in masochism.  It's times like that when I feel like I just want to walk out in disgust.  It appeals to every single control freak out there.  I know because it once appealed to me.  Until I realized that there is no way that I can control myself, other people, or outcomes.  Until I gave up trying to be perfect.

Rather than thinking that "I got to" do anything - how about if we turn it around, realize how much He loves us, and WANT to spend time with Him? Individually? No agendas, no expectation of temporal or eternal reward, no getting all crazed and hyped up. Just Him. Just us.  Just Him and us. In intimate, one-on-one connection.

Then "I got to" (i.e., religion) falls away and drops off.  It's replaced by an inside out thing (i.e., relationship) - and soon becomes an expression of something we look forward to and enjoy: "I get to."

Dare to be imperfecct

Yes.  Yes, I know I spelled "imperfect" incorrectly.  There was a time when that would have driven me nuts and I would have to change it.  There was a time when I couldn't reply to an email without correcting the spelling of the person who originally emailed me.  Thankfully ... I'm learning to let go.


The fact is, I'm even admitting - once in a while - that I make mistakes.  I know that is hard to believe, but I do.  (grin)


Okay, I screw up big time.  Often.  Say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, don't say or do enough (or anything) when I know I need to.  I'm human.

I want to thank M - a dear and faithful friend - who reminded me today that I don't have to be perfect to be worthy, that it's okay to set boundaries and do what gives me joy, and that it is okay to say no ... if saying yes makes me feel put-upon.  

She reminded me through this clip called "The Gifts of Imperfection" by sought-after motivational speaker Brené Brown that it is preferable to be uncomfortable than to be resentful.  

Watch and see what I mean. 

Fitting Rooms

I was at a local McDonald's restaurant this morning which is situated inside a department store.  Hubby and I do that sometimes, to get away from the ordinary routine, to plan our Saturday shopping.

As we talked, I saw a sign out of the corner of my eye.  It said "Fitting Rooms" - and because we had just been talking about our own experience in 12-step groups, it struck a chord with me and I smiled - and started to "mist over."  I thought about how that expression, "fitting rooms," could be used to describe the atmosphere of the 12-step groups with which we've been associated.


Hubby was intrigued.  He wanted me to explain what I meant.

So, what I shared with him I am now sharing with you.

Walk into any 12-step group for the first time and you're met with a welcome, a smile, and possibly a handshake or even a hug.  Nobody in recovery from any addiction, whether to a substance or a behavior, feels any more important than anyone else in the room, no matter what the social stratum or the amount in the bank.  The traditions and the format of the meeting might feel a little strange at first, but before long you realize it's a place into which you "fit."  Many of the regulars refer to such groups as, "these rooms."  Or simply, "the rooms."  Every single one of them is grateful for "the rooms." Anyone who isn't - doesn't stay long.

You also discover, over time, that it is a room (or an atmosphere) that is "fitting" (suitable for - or conducive to) a lot of things you might not find in any other place, try as you might: love, acceptance, mercy, respect, caring, compassion, contentment.  Even friendship.

And as you grow into a new lifestyle based on honesty, openness, and willingness, you find that "the room" is a place that helps you to "fit" into life again - a normal life.  Those behaviors that just weren't working, that were causing more isolation and chaos, pushing people away rather than connecting with them ... these all naturally just drop off your spirit and you start to experience life the way "normal" people do: with self-respect, dignity, and a growing sense of gratitude on top of it all.  Speaking as someone who's always believed that "normal is just a setting on your washing machine," that is a real trip!!  

Yes, they're "fitting rooms" - - for me.  

Little Feelings

I've been doing some thinking lately about the reaction of some (if not most) adults when a child throws a temper tantrum or becomes upset over something.  Some think it's horrible and judge the parents.  Others think it's cute and laugh at the child. They chuckle and then say something like, "Aw.  You hurt her little feelings!"

Little feelings.  LITTLE?

As I remarked on facebook recently, seems to me that feelings are pretty big things no matter how little you are.  (Or big.)  Every strong emotion can be overwhelming especially if you have no previous experience with it.  The first time something happens to a person - whether it's rejection, physical pain, betrayal, frustrated dreams, or whatever, it's a big deal...no matter how old you are: six months or six decades - or more. And if an experience is really intense, it can be devastating, even more so if repeated (or worse yet, repeated often).

Think of it this way.  Even ONE horrific experience can cause someone to come home from a war zone forever changed.  Irritable, verbally violent, obsessed, paranoid...the list goes on.  Is it too much of a stretch to accept that a child can be traumatized even in his or her own home, if that home is filled with strife? if every day is like walking into a war zone?  Emotions are emotions.  People are people.  Why wouldn't it be just as (if not more) difficult for a child as for an adult?

The sad part is, those emotions, when stifled, get buried really, really deep.  Then when we are no longer in that stressful situation and we are finally able to "be in control" of our lives, those psychological injuries show themselves in the form of either controlling (control freak) or care-taking (doormat) behaviors, or a combination of both.

There are a lot of unhappy people around; some aren't even aware how unhappy they are.  (I lived in that kind of denial for many years.)


I think these folks would argue that their feelings are not 'little.'  If they allow themselves to feel them at all, that is (perhaps afraid to feel them because they are so big).  Some wake up disappointed that they woke up at all, trapped in a deep depression they can't begin to describe.  Some are obsessed with controlling every last detail of not only their own lives but the lives of those they care about.  All of them wonder why - most of the time - they feel abandoned, unappreciated, fearful, and angry.  That was my life until early 2009.  Thank God that He allowed me to get into therapy!

And when I got right down to it, I discovered that it all boiled down to the suppression of my feelings as a child.  Out of intense fear, I learned to only express what was acceptable - and to live in denial of what my true feelings were.  To hold in disappointment, feelings of betrayal, hatred, sadness, and anger.  Oh yes, and guilt for succumbing once in a while and letting my feelings show.  Then resolving to do better next time. 

But they didn't go away just because I didn't express them. They came out in other ways. I developed survival behaviors during childhood - turning into a chameleon, seeking pity, throwing guilt trips, being a perfectionist - and these continued long after the danger was over. Especially after I had children of my own.  By the end of 2008 I had pushed my husband and children away from me and I felt so very alone, friendless, isolated, misunderstood, unappreciated, angry, you name it.  Dealing with my own childhood feelings was an important part of my recovery: learning that it was okay to express them, then reliving and allowing myself to express the feelings that I couldn't as a child, to face those experiences and come to a place of forgiveness - of others and of myself.  

So when anyone diminishes the impact that their actions have on another human being - no matter how old or young - I tend to be rather skeptical.  

Been there. Done that. Don't want to go back.

Faking It - Part 3

I have this recurring nightmare.

It's Sunday.  I go to church.  I'm keenly aware of my own inadequacies.  I look like myself, like I always do.  But when I walk in to the entryway and see all the people chatting before the service, something is wrong.  All the women look like Barbie dolls and all the men look like Ken dolls.  Plastic smiles abound. Blank stares.  Perfect bodies, perfect smiles, perfect clothes.

I try to get them to talk to me.  They won't.  There's no relationship, no frame of reference at all.  I look at my clothes: rumpled.  I go to the rest room and look in the mirror - yellowed teeth, acne, and greasy hair.  I want to talk to someone about real things but all I hear are perfect conversations about perfect families and perfect kids with perfect Grade Point Averages.  Nobody seems to have any problems.

I know it can't be true.  I run from perfect person to perfect person, begging them to come outside their plastic shells and talk about what's real. Surely someone can relate to my pain; surely someone is struggling too.

But all I hear are the condemning voices telling me, "That's not speaking in faith!" and then these Barbie and Ken people talk about fashions, curtains, private schools, and the stock market. They wax poetic about this conference or that speaker, this singer, that skiing trip.

All attempts at conversation about real feelings, real relationships, are met with disdain. 
 

Where AM I anyway? doesn't anyone understand what it means to connect with each other and quit faking it?

Thankfully I wake up.

I ... DID wake up.  Didn't I? or did I?

Faking It - vignette

It was 1984.  I was a waitress at a restaurant that was only open in the summer to cater to the tourist trade.  A couple of summers I worked as a waitress, one as a store clerk, and another as a circulation assistant at a library (that one I got to keep part-time for the school year).  Anyway, I digress (again.)

My husband's aunt and uncle were visiting from the States.  They were quite well off.  I had about as much in common with them as a jellyfish does with a thoroughbred.  It was one of the few days off I had which my husband also had off.  We were visiting with them at another aunt's house.  They asked me about my summer job.

I told them a story about this one customer who was so pleased that I took an interest in him and his country of origin (couldn't help it - he was Scottish and his Glaswegian accent was to DIE for!) that on a $7 order he sought me out afterward and pressed a $5 bill into my hand. "Doan tell me wife," he whispered. "She'all theenk ah gone sawft."

The incident meant a lot to me because I had never had anyone seek me out to say thank you for anything before.  My contribution to the family growing up was never enough and I never got a word of thanks from the one person from whom I longed to receive it.  So having someone acknowledge what I did for him was huge for me.  However, rich uncle and spouse were not impressed, thinking I was uncouth and mercenary. They thought it was all about the money. They missed the point entirely.  It wasn't the extra money.  It was the recognition.  They had no clue that up until that point, I was under the erroneous impression that who I was and what I did for people would always be taken for granted and that "Thank you" was something I would never receive.  I forced myself to not think about it, to not mind it... and lost myself in the process.  Part of me looking after myself (a necessary component of my recovery from doormat-itis) is to not beat up on myself for wanting to hear those 2 words every so often: thank you.  And I give thank yous as well.  Mind you, I try not to obsess about needing recognition like I once did.

I still tend to want to know if anyone is listening - which is why I do check my page hits - I guess.  It is so rewarding sometimes to open up my email and find that someone has left a comment on a post I've written. But there is a very large (majority) percentage of my psyche that would write even if I thought nobody was "out there" - because I'm a writer; I write.  That's what I do out of who I am.  I do it ... to think about things, to stay sane, to vent / rant, to express emotion, and also to acknowledge the wonderful gifts that have been given to me: freedom, friendship, faith.

Faking it - Part 2

This morning I stayed home to look after a family member who is not feeling the best.  So I started doing what I normally do when I have the opportunity - catching up on reading other people's blogs.

I found one that tells a tender story, a "God-moment" between mother and son, on "Faith Imagined" ... it's called "Receiving Mercy."  I highly recommend it because it speaks volumes about the kind of life-lessons we often miss growing up. Happily, the author of the blog seized an opportunity to not only teach that lesson but re-learn it herself.  

The hidden message many (if not most) of us get growing up is that this or that thing that we have done (and into which we have put our heart and soul) isn't "good enough."

When my oldest child was 3, she showed remarkable talent in drawing.  Her drawings looked like those of a 4-year-old.  Yet whenever she drew something she would say she hated it.  "Why?" I would ask her.  "It's very good!"  

"No it's not!" she would wail.  "I can't get it to look like it is inside me!" She had a picture in her mind which, when she tried to put it on paper, didn't turn out like she envisioned.  She didn't have the skills to make it look that way. Then she'd say the inevitable.  "I'm never going to draw anything ever again!"

And I would sit beside her and tell her, "You're learning.  Everyone needs practice to do something well.  Your drawings are very good for the age that you are.  I bet if you just keep it up, they will get better.  You'll see."  

Shy eyes would look up at me and a glimmer of hope would be rekindled. "You really think so?" she would say, almost in a whisper.

That same theme would be repeated as she got better and her concept of perfection grew as she did.  "Agghhh!" I heard her yell from her room one day. When I asked her what was the matter, she said, "I can never get the HANDS right!" (This was about 8 or 9 years later...) 

"Keep at it honey.  Use your own hand as a model if you like...just to get more practice.  You'll get it!"  And she did.

Since I had been told so many times in my youth that what I did wasn't good enough, because it wasn't the way my mom did it, I tried not to pass that on to my kids.  I remember all too well being criticized and compared to the "doer" my mom was when she was a child ("When I was six years old I stood on the chair and did the dishes so my mother wouldn't have to do them.") Ugh.  I rolled my eyes internally when she started down that road.  She was a Martha, I was more of a Mary (doing versus being).  After so much criticism, I got tired of faking it, and just gave up trying to please her.  So I hid in the bathroom when it came time to do the dishes or some other chore she'd only tell me I was doing wrong because it wasn't like she would do it.  The bathroom was the only place I could go where she wouldn't tell me I was doing something wrong, I guess.

But even with that, I ended up trying to make my kids into perfect little carbon copies of myself when it came to matters of faith, taste in TV programs and music, and other things I considered dangerous - and the more I tried, the less like me they became!  (That's a whole other blog post, one I'll save for another time).  

She calls this one "Family Man."

Back to my story.  

She persevered - is completely self-taught. Today she is somewhat of a celebrity in her circle of friends.  Even her "doodles" are sought-after. I have several of them on my wall at work; people sometimes ask me about them.  I am so very grateful that God allowed me to play just a very small role in encouraging her to develop her natural talent.


How is this story about "faking it?" 


I can't count the number of dreams in my life and the lives of those I love - dreams that have been stifled and/or subjugated because of perfectionism and a refusal to practice self-care, from a fear of really living instead of just being alive. These core beliefs about our own worth come primarily from things we hear from others about the value of what we do, and the value of who we are (including the lack of any kind of message, which will tend to lead toward the belief, "I'm a nothing.  I'm a nobody.  Nobody even cares.") They tell us that our dreams, our longings, don't matter.  They tell us that we may as well just settle for what our parents had.  They tell us that we couldn't possibly aspire to be more, to do more.  


They are lies. 

They kill creativity, suffocate the soul, and crush the spirit. They rob our identity from us.

They are so very hard to counter.  But it is possible.  We do it by telling ourselves the truth - over and over and over again.  We ARE worth it.  We DO matter.  We CAN make a valuable contribution.  We are NOT what we do.  We are more than what we have become while trying to survive life.  We CAN start to really live.  We DON'T have to be perfect.  We are ALLOWED to make mistakes - and learn from them.  We DO have the right to occupy space in this world.  We do not NEED to fix other people's problems for them.  We CAN have a life of our own, feelings of our own, dreams of our own.  We DON'T need to fake it anymore.

Faking it - Part 1

When I was 48 I didn't like who I was.

Well, at least I didn't like the person I had become.  I didn't know who I REALLY was.  I don't think I ever knew because that realness was stolen from me when I was growing up.  I think a lot of people have had it stolen from them too, without realizing it.  I know I didn't realize it for most of my life.

I guess it really starts when we're babies.  A baby's cry is designed to motivate a parent to stop what's causing the crying.  Babies' feelings seem to be so fleeting that we think that they are a blank slate - who hasn't distracted a baby from fussing by just getting in front of them and giving the baby a big wide smile, an open-mouthed look of delight.  Gurgles and coos follow - and the myth is born.  If we don't like the way someone feels, we can change it.

Hm.  I have to wonder why we are uncomfortable with the way someone feels in the first place.  Whatever the reason, whether selfishness, helplessness or a desire to make another person into a carbon copy of yourself, "being real" is not seen as valuable.  We've bought into the notion that it's better to "fake it" and fit in rather than to be real and stand out.

I'll show you what I mean.  Here are a list of things I and others have heard growing up - why the adult really says them and what they mean to the child who hears them.

If you don't stop screwing up your face like that, it'll freeze that way.

The adult feels: I'm tired of listening to you cry. (or) I'm uncomfortable with your pain and I feel helpless to stop it for you. (or) I'm too lazy to figure out why you are crying - I just want it to stop. (there are other reasons).

The child hears - Your feelings aren't important to me  (or) You'll always be sad. (or) Being sad is unacceptable; you aren't allowed to feel what you feel (or) Be afraid of being ugly. (there are others).

[after your sister breaks your favorite toy and you say you hate her] Of course you don't hate your sister! You love your sister!  Now go give your sister a hug!
The adult feels: - I can't stand conflict (or) I just want everyone to get along with each other (or) My children should be perfect and that's what they're going to be if it's the last thing I do! (there are others).

The child hears: - You aren't smart enough to know how you feel (or) I don't care about why you are angry with your sister, just get out of my face (or) good people don't ever have bad feelings - so you are a bad person (or) your feelings are secondary to everyone else's (there are others).

If you don't stop that crying I'll give you something to cry about!

The adult feels: irritated and/or annoyed that the grieving takes longer than expected (or) helpless to fix the problem so resorts to threats (or) wounded pride that any child of theirs couldn't "suck it up" and "take it like a man" - (there are others)

The child hears:  Expressing your feelings is always a bad thing and if you don't hold it in, something way worse is going to happen to you (or) I don't want to take the time to find out why you are crying because I don't love you (or) I don't care about you or how you feel; what I'm doing is more important than you are (there are others).

You just wait until your father (or mother) gets home - are you ever going to get it!

The adult feels:  I can't deal with this right now (or) I am afraid I'm going to hurt you (or) the anger I feel toward you justifies someone who is better at inflicting pain than I am (or) I just want you to behave and get out of my hair, so I'll use this threat - it's worked before (there are others)


The child hears: I don't want you, and Daddy (Mommy) won't want you either when (s)he learns what you've done [love is dependent on what people do, not who they are] (or) you're such a bad person that I'm going to be mad at you all day long for what you did/said and then the other parent will be mad at you too (or) You better be scared - the right response is living in terror of punishment for what you've done and nobody could forgive you for this  (there are others).


So early on, we learn to fake it.  To hide our true feelings and so hide from ourselves. Many of us pride ourselves on nothing getting to us. (How sick and dysfunctional is that...?)  We shove those feelings deep inside of us and we refuse to acknowledge that they even exist.  The problem is, if we do it long enough, we not only choke out the "negative" feelings, but we kill the ability to experience the "positive" ones too: joy, happiness, peace, love.

We even make doctrines out of faking it.  Yeah, really!!  We believe - in error - that being realistic is being pessimistic and that telling the truth is "not speaking in faith."  

And then we wonder why we're so lonely, so depressed, feeling unappreciated and abandoned.  

It's because we are.

That's where I was up until the time I was 48 years old.  The child in me that was alone and friendless, who didn't know how to come out of her prison, sat in the darkness in fear and despair... and waited to be set free.  She was tired of running into walls, tripping and falling down, all from trying to do it on her own.  It had been so long since she had spoken that she thought she didn't have a voice left.

Thank God that He hears the smallest whisper.