It's all in The Delivery

I had a breakthrough this week.

Those of you who know me best, know that I absolutely HATE confrontation of any kind. I have typically either refused to make an issue of it (and allwed resentment to grow), walked away from it altogether, or if I couldn't walk away from it, I clammed up and retreated into stony (avoidance) silence. If pressed, and backed into a corner, I reacted - and badly. "Exploding" is the closest word I can use to described what happened if I was cornered. 

But this week, something different happened. It was a normal, completely everyday occurrence which might not mean anything to anyone else, but for me it took on significance because of the way I reacted. 

I was scheduled to attend a meeting at a certain time. There was an option to call into a teleconference number and wait for the folks at the meeting to do the same so that I could hear what was going on without being exposed to fragrances (an issue for me). 

Through a comedy of errors that were unknown to the people who arranged the meeting, they never dialed in. I was left sitting on the line, listening for over 20 minutes to a very talented guitarist play the same. song. over. and over. The frustration level was growing. Finally I mentioned to someone that I'd been on hold for quite a while. She decided to call in too ... and received the message, "The moderator has not yet joined the call." Great - I was done waiting. I hung up, 23 minutes into the one-hour meeting.

"You need to tell them," a co-worker said to me when they got back to the office; I was telling her about my phone experience. "Really, you do."

Confrontation. Ugghh.

I knew she was right - but I didn't want people to think less of me than they already might. How can I do this? I thought. 

And then an idea popped into my head. Hmm. That just might work! 

"Business People In Discussion" courtesy of
Ambro
at www.freedigitalphotos.net

I approached one of the chairpersons of the meeting as she was on her way somewhere, called her by name, and smiled brightly when she looked in my direction. Grinning broadly and with a cheerful (perhaps overly-cheerful) voice, I quipped, "Didya have a nice meeting??" 

Her eyes narrowed. "Y-ye-e-essss," she ventured cautiously. 

The cheerful voice (which somehow sounded so alien to me) mustered on.  "I tried to attend - I phoned in, I waited, but nobody was there!" By this time I was positively joyful - although secretly I wondered if she thought I was going to have a psychotic break at any moment. 

Instead, the guarded look disappeared, and she put her hand up to her mouth in dismay. "Oh my goodness - did you get some notes from people who were there?" I assured her - still quite pleasantly - that someone had given me the Coles Notes version. Between the two of us, we figured out what had probably happened, and all was well. 

I went back to my desk in a daze. I had confronted someone ... and the earth did not crumble. In fact, things were great! My stress level was gone - I'd taken the initiative, I'd gotten my point across, and I hadn't lost my cool or said anything negative at any point in the conversation. 

For someone who has always cared a great deal what others thought of her, and who has always lost her cool or gotten tongue-tied when in situations that involved conflict, this was a true epiphany, a revelation of a deep truth. 

It's all in The Delivery. People don't mind being confronted if it is done in a non-accusatory, non-threatening way. 

My technique probably didn't have the finesse I would have liked, in hind-sight. However, the experience taught me that it IS possible to talk to people about something you don't like ... without becoming personally invested in it or feeling bad about it during or after the discussion. 

I'm not sure if you see it that way, but for me, this is HUGE.

"Just me" is enough

I am enough.

It's become a slogan of late. And sometimes - sometimes I need to remind myself of it.

I wonder sometimes whether I really make a difference by being "just me."  My contribution seems so infinitesimal compared to those who are older, younger, smarter, taller, richer, skinnier, more popular.

I need to remember that "just me" is enough:

• when I look in the mirror and wish I had a thinner body and/or nicer clothes,
• when I feel like people look past me at someone else who has those things,
• when I wonder if anyone really notices any of the good things I do, 
• when I am tempted to change who I am to fit in, 
• when I think that I'm too shy/ sensitive/ fearful, and even
• when I watch TV and see advertisers try to tell me that I don't smell good enough, don't look young enough, and won't be loved if I don't use their product.

I'm not saying that I don't need help. In fact, I know that I do: all kinds of help. All I'm saying is that if I believe that I need something more, something artificial, to make me feel more worthy, then it's time to reexamine my priorities. 

I need to be honest with myself. That happens when I look myself in the eyes in the mirror, and remind myself of Polonius' wisest (and last) words given to his son Laertes, "Above all, to thine own self be true; then it shall follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man." (Hamlet)

Backtracking

I was chatting with one of my kids this morning, about the changes that have taken place in the last four years, things I never thought possible, things that have become the norm for me now.

It came to me that the changes are never-ending (that's as it should be), and that there are certain principles surrounding change that are good to remember in any transformation of behavior, whether it be a physical or a mental habit, a belief, or a behavior pattern. 

Here, in a cursory attempt to gel my own thoughts, is a summary of those principles.

Life is a journey. In every journey there are forks in the road - decisions that we make - that will affect outcomes. When the outcomes aren't what we planned, in the majority of cases, that can be directly connected to the choices we've made at those junctures. The longer we stay on a given path, the longer it will take to get back on the right one.

We all make mistakes. We stray off onto a bunny trail, fail to set boundaries, or encroach on others' boundaries ... and we end up paying the consequences. Some of those consequences are pretty wrenching, and we wish we could have a "do-over." Or that we could be airlifted out of the situation and somehow end up on the right road for a change.

The reality is that we need to get back on the right track. The question then becomes - how do we do that? How do we get on the right path when we have been on the wrong one for so long that it seems like the only one we have? 

Sometimes, we will need to accept "what is." Acceptance is huge. 

And sometimes, we will need to change what we can. That takes courage. 

Change is never easy!!

Sometimes, God takes pity on us, and we can be delivered from the consequences of our own choices; it happens. Divine deliverance still does happen. Sometimes. 

"Arrows Choice Shows Options Alternatives or Choosing" courtesy of Stuart Miles
at www.freedigitalphotos.net

Most times, however, the way to the right path is simply by stopping, fighting our way back to that junction at which we made the wrong decision or series of decisions, and making the right one or ones. And then ... sticking with it.

Backtracking is hard. It involves a lifestyle change, a paradigm shift in how we relate to God, to ourselves, and / or to others. Or a shift from just believing something to acting upon it.  It also involves a great deal of effort to overcome inertia - that tendency to allow things to carry on as they have been. If something is important enough to make that kind of a change, it's important enough to follow through on.

Nobody promised that it would be a walk in the park. The new way of thinking and behaving feels odd, uncomfortable, strange, unnatural. That's because it is.

Do it anyway. 

Backtracking, regaining lost territory, making things right again, learning a new way of thinking, believing and behaving, is like any new thing - it will feel awkward at first. It will take practice - and there will be times when we do it without the finesse that we would like - before it starts to feel a bit more "normal." Making mistakes is a given; however, it's okay to stop, rethink, go back, admit the mistake to those involved, and try again. 

Even if it's hard. 

It will take time. We will want to see results long before they happen. That too is normal. However, the only way to get those results is to consistently stick with the program, so to speak. Think of it this way - we reap what we sow. But sowing and reaping don't happen both at once: there is a period of time that is needed for the seed to germinate, grow, mature, and produce flower and/or fruit. This is the way of things. Instant results only work in the cartoon where Bugs Bunny puts a drop of water on the Instant Martian. Poof. 

The real world doesn't work like that. 

It does help, though, to have support and encouragement. We can be grateful indeed if we have friends who will help us, pray for us, and encourage us to keep the faith. And by far the best encouragement comes from that inner voice - - the one that is in our corner, the one that looks out for our best interests - even if it means that we are uncomfortable sometimes. Even if that voice might only be a whisper ... for now.

It will get louder ... if we keep listening to it.

Gently

For the last few months, as a steady stream of young people flows through our house to meet the social needs of one of our children, I've been noticing how some of them interact - specifically, how some of them treat each other.

Or rather, I should say, how they mistreat each other.

Maybe I missed the memo permitting friends to disrespect each other, call each other unspeakable names, strike each other, and use each other (and use their friends' parents) to "have fun". 

On the other hand, perhaps it's still wrong to treat another human being with disdain (even in jest!) - no matter how much right we feel we have to do so - much more wrong if that right we feel that we have is gained by means of familiarity. What I'm saying is that all too often, people can treat their family and friends in a way they'd never dream of treating other people. They justify cruelty by saying that the formality of rules and manners isn't necessary among friends. 

I've experienced relationships like this. Two people, both in extreme dysfunction, feeding off each other and using each other to meet the other one's emotional needs to be stroked, to feel important, to put the other one down - even joking around - to feel better about the self. 

I've seen these relationships fall apart, time after time. I've even witnessed marriages crumble over years and years, only to eventually fail, because one person (or both) got so incredibly tired of the other person taking him or her for granted, assuming the other person would "understand" - while all the while there were stress fractures that got deeper and deeper. Then, one day, one more unkind word, one more inconsiderate act, one more joke at the other one's expense - and someone just up and walks away, leaving the other bewildered. After all, it's always been this way; how could this happen?

It happens because common courtesy apparently isn't all that common. 

The old saying goes, "Familiarity breeds contempt." Time and time again, people forget to treat each other's treasure (the irreplaceable things that are most important to them) gently. 

Gently. 

Photo "Teenage Girls Gossiping" courtesy of Ambro at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

I know one woman who - every day for the last forty plus years - has made fun of her husband's height. She is taller than he is and ... she never lets him forget it.  

Every time she lords it over him, I see him cringe. He dies a little bit inside with every "short joke" she makes. He's learned not to object because then ... she laughs at him.  How much longer, I wonder, before his love and patience run out and he leaves her physically? He's already done it emotionally ... Or (worse yet, it could be argued) how many years has she removed from his life? Talk about shooting yourself in the foot!

And truly.  How much more effort does it take to be kind than to ridicule someone's choices, or (worse yet) poke fun at those things over which he or she has no control at all? (Height. Hairline. Age.) And it could be anything - any difference - and happen at any time! One middle aged man walking by the vehicle of a "friend" in a parking lot after a church service yells out to the driver (within earshot of his wife, who is beside him in the car) "Who's that old woman in there?" 

Seriously?

How much more effort and thought does it take to be considerate than to be unthinking? I guess I just answered my own question. People just don't want to THINK - they prefer to run on autopilot. All the while, they spew out poison on people and expect them to take it because they've bought into the fallacy that "Love means never having to say you're sorry." 

No. Tyranny means never having to say you're sorry. 

Love is patient, kind. It thinks of the other person first. (Which um, involves thinking. Wow.) I guess that is what counselors mean when they say that healthy relationships take work.

Hmm.

Want Not

In my last post, I talked about growing up as a child of parents who grew up in the Depression.

My dad was a factory worker; he worked on an assembly line making oil stoves for Fawcett, before the company was taken over by Enterprise. He didn't make much money, and we lived a very simple, very spartan life.  

To keep the "past due" notices at bay, in desperation my mother hired her services out to various clients as a weekly housekeeper, when I was eight years old. By the time I was ten, she was helping to pay off debts that had piled up: car loans, oil bills, grocery bills, even. At least the collectors weren't calling anymore. Yet money was still a major issue; there seemed to be barely enough to survive, even with a large vegetable garden. Extras were almost unheard of. 

As I mentioned in my previous post, the lessons we had learned about not wasting what little we had, paid off, and I can't ever remember a time when there was no food to put on the table. 

Yet, there were times when I would "want." I longed for a certain lifestyle that I could never have. I spent a lot of time imagining and fantasizing about what we'd do if a lot of money dropped into our laps. 

At times, it seemed as though our lives revolved around money. Not the way rich people's lives can ... but ours was more of a "poor man's greed." We were preoccupied with saving what we had for the essentials to the point of re-using milk bags to freeze food, for example. We wondered if we'd ever get enough ahead to have something nice: we were thrust from pillar to post by circumstances beyond our control, and the wolf of potential poverty was never far from our door.  All it would have taken was a prolonged illness, or some sort of disaster like a fire or a flood or even a car accident - and we would have been left with nothing. We all were keenly aware of it, and yet we didn't want other people to know how close the wolf was... a classic case of "poor man's pride."

Photo "Between Seasons" courtesy of Evgeni Dinev at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

It wasn't until many years later, after I had moved away from that atmosphere and had lived many years as a wife and mother, that I realized how it was possible to "want not." 

Always in my life I had looked away to what I didn't have, the next big purchase or the next nice thing I wanted, as if I were trying to make up for my parents having to eke out a living. 

I only focused on what I didn't have. 

It never crossed my mind to be grateful for the good things that I did have.

When my life took a 180 degree turn in February 2009, I learned a whole new way of looking at life, one that demanded rigorous honesty with myself, one that required an attitude - a daily attitude - of thankfulness and gratitude. Thankfully, there were those who came alongside of me and modeled that lifestyle for me ... because I didn't have any clue how to do it; nobody had ever showed me before. Nevertheless, as I learned how to let go of unrealistic expectations and to live in "Today" instead of "If Only" - a new experience for me - I began to notice something I hadn't expected.

I smiled more. I was more relaxed, more ... content. Less and less did I care about "what if" and "if only." (I can't say that's disappeared completely, but it's a work in progress!) I could live more and more in Today; I could be present in the Present and not fret about the future or rail against circumstances (or against people) I couldn't change. 

Learning how to live in the Now helped me to allow others be who they were, and gave me permission to be who I was... and am. I began to feel a little more comfortable inside my own skin. That was a new feeling, too.

I started to "Want Not." I started being content with exactly who I was - and with where I was. 

I began to realize that I was right where God intended me to be, and I finally determined to just do the next right thing. It doesn't sound complicated - and it isn't - but it was at the point of desperation, because life wasn't working for me, where I was willing to let go of my old lifestyle. After I did, and I started to get unwrapped from all the constrictive, nasty grave-clothes I'd had wrapped around me all my life, my life was slowly transformed.

Of course, I am far from having arrived ... but all I can say, now that I'm on this journey, is that I wouldn't want to go back to the way it was before. 

Not for anything.

Waste Not

When I went to the water cooler at work today, I saw that the overflow tray that catches the drips when people fill up their water bottles, had some overflow in it - I've seen it more full, but it was just the right amount of water that I needed to water my smaller spider-plants. So, I removed the tray and headed back to my desk. 

Someone saw me carrying it and shot me a quizzical look. "I have this aversion to waste," I quipped. "My plants could use this."

When I was done, I put the tray back and went to my desk to resume working. In the back of my mind was the old adage, "Waste not, want not." 

Usually when I think about something that normally doesn't cross my mind, I start listening - hard - because that's about when that little voice inside of me comes along to teach me something. Or remind me of something. 

Waste not.

"Man Stacking Coins" courtesy of ponsulak at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

My parents grew up in the Depression, which started in the late 1920s and lasted up until World War II was over. Ever-present in our home life in the 1960s and 1970s was that sense of our parents' horror at the thought of wasting anything - from soap to food to seeds for the garden. While that did lead to the tendency to overeat (clean up everything on your plate, don't let it go to waste...) it did instill in me the awareness of the price of things, of how far a dollar went, of living on a tight budget. I learned from that atmosphere to be satisfied with less, to not wish so much for what was beyond my grasp. I learned that pennies actually counted. Sometimes they made the difference between buying a bag of potatoes and leaving it on the shelf.

And when I did receive something that was "extra" - like the single-speed, CCM bicycle I got for my birthday when I was 11 - I appreciated it all the more because I knew how many things my parents went without ... in order to save up enough money to buy it for me. 

There is another side to "Waste Not."  It has to do with the inherent value in the things that have no price. Honesty. Integrity. Faith. Love. Such things are never to be wasted, devalued, sullied, cheapened. They are part of my character, ideals I believe in, truths to which I hold - and when I get too close to the clean, clear edges between what feels right and what is wrong - that to me is such a waste of ... of me. It's then that I feel devalued. Dirty.

By the same token, it doesn't matter whether it's at church, at home, at work, or out in public: when I right a wrong, when I make a difference, when I cleave to the ideals I hold dear (even if nobody else agrees with me at the time) then I can look at myself in the mirror and like who I see. I feel as though the gift that God intended me to be to the world - however small or large that sphere of influence is - has not been wasted. At least for today. 

I even smile at myself. 

That's a pretty big deal.

Perhaps next time, I'll talk a bit about "Want Not." 

:)

Hello, 4 a.m.

Yes, it's another of those mornings. I went to bed last night with one thought pertaining to sleep on my mind: Gotta get some, catch up that lost hour, maybe even more. 

Wrong. 

This year, daylight saving time has really taken its toll on the little hamster that lives inside my head. Part of it could be that my body is run-down from fighting sickness all winter. It could be stress (I've got lots of stressful situations to pick from). I believe, though, that it's a combination of these in addition to the "what if" component. 

A friend of mine calls it awfulizing. That's pretty much what happens, too. I think that it's a vestige of my old lifestyle - where my mind imagines all kinds of things that could happen in any given situation, then plays out that scenario to the final conclusion - usually based on my fears of what might happen and my core beliefs about what I deserve. 

The thing about that whole process is that it is focused on a period of time I have no control over: what happens next. 

The future has always been a specter for me - the unknown - replete with black robes, scythe and that maniacal grim-reaper's grin. I've spent most of my life trying to control whatever outcomes pertain to me and to my loved ones. It is an illusion of course, and it wastes a whole bunch of energy. 

Still, the clock mocks me with each blink of the colon between the hour and the minute - 4:00. In the morning. Toss, turn, think, pray. By 5:00 I suspect I won't be getting back to sleep; by 5:30 I'm sure of it.

So I get out of bed, slip on my bathrobe and pad out into the kitchen. I set the timer on the microwave to go off in about 90 minutes - and I head to the computer to write. 

Writing clears my head, helps me to make sense of what is going on inside of me. 

"Sunrise at First Sight" courtesy of Keattikorn at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

My thoughts dwell on upcoming events, schedules and plans for those. It surprises me how much I have on my schedule.

Another thing that looms large is my family - specifically my kids. With one expecting surgery in the next few weeks, and another making tentative plans to strike out on her own, I find myself wondering what will happen, being concerned about possibilities that I can't influence: outcomes that - as much as I want to - have nothing to do with how much I fret about them. 

I pray. I tell Him all about it, leave it in His hands. 

I choose to let go. Again.

Day dawns inside of me, sunlight evaporates the mists of worry. 

This is a matter of trust, not of trying. 

I relax. I come back from the foggy realm of 'what if' - return to this specific twenty-four hour period - and leave the phantom of 'tomorrow' alone. 

'Today' looks a bit brighter as a result.

Peeling Onions

Over 30 years ago, my husband was to be away from home on a ministry weekend. Normally I would have been able to go, but my job as a waitress for the summer months prevented me from going. It was the first time we were separated since we'd been married a year or so previous. 

I was pretty much an emotional wreck inside, trying to hold it together. 

My supervisor - also the cook - noticed that I (usually quiet anyway) was more quiet than usual. She asked me what was wrong. I put on a light, airy tone, "Oh, my husband had to go on a trip this weekend - I'm just missing him."

She was silent for a minute, and then she seemed to snap out of her reverie. "Could you go out to the big fridge and get me that bag of onions in the bottom of it?" I went obediently... and found the biggest mesh bag of onions I'd seen in my life. There must have been ten or fifteen pounds of the things in there. I carried it to her.  "Yes, that's the one. Look, I need those onions peeled for the special tonight. Use the paring knife in the top drawer." 

"You want me to peel ... ALL ... of them?"

"Whole and Halved Onion" courtesy of bplanet at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

She was nonplussed. "Yep. Set yourself up over there and put the peelings in that can." She pointed to a large tin garbage can in the corner. "And use the bread-bowl to put the peeled onions in. I'll take it from there." 

It wasn't until I was onto my third or fourth onion, my eyes stinging and burning, unable to hold my tears back, that I realized what she did for me. 

She gave me a way to cry - to shed tears in abundance in front of the kitchen staff - and still save face. 

Nobody knew how many of those tears were from the onions - and how many were from missing my husband. 

Not even my boss. I was so grateful to her for that.

I found myself thinking about that experience today after having to deal with a highly stressful situation for me, one that involved telling someone how I felt, someone who hurt me - quite probably inadvertently - the details of which are not important. Even after all the unwrapping that has already gone on in my life, all of which has been as painful and as tear-provoking as peeling onions is - it is still hard for me to stand up for me and say how I feel; the fear of rejection and the dread of confrontation is that strong. 

Yet, just as there are many layers in an onion, there are deeper and deeper levels of recovery - and this is one. I am constantly reaching new levels of vulnerability and honesty with myself and with other people. It's difficult, and I wouldn't be able to do it at all if not empowered by my relationship with God. However, the more I honest and vulnerable I am, the more real I can be, the more convinced I am that it's the only way to stay in that place where my life intersects in a meaningful way with the lives of the people with whom God orchestrates relationship.

Most people can spot a phoney a mile away. 

Yes, peeling onions - getting and staying real - stings and causes tears to flow; it might even make people avoid being around that process because they only like the finished product. Be that as it may, getting beneath the surface, where it counts, is what matters to me. It's the only way that I've found to live with myself.