17 Reasons "Y"

On Thursday of this week, my oldest child, my son, turns 17. I was filling out his card on Sunday, preparing to attach it to his gift, and was stunned as I wrote the number “17^th” in the greeting. Really? 17? It sounds so cliché, but how did we get here so fast?

It doesn’t seem that long ago when I was pondering 17. I had a steady boyfriend at the time (who is now my husband), and I was preparing for a trip to Colorado with my youth group. The prospect of being gone for a week from my boyfriend seemed like agony. I might have been contemplating my future at that point; I can’t say for sure though.

At 17, life started to become a series of “Ys”. . .not “whys?” but “Ys.” What I mean is that life began to center around decisions. Big ones. There was always a “Y” in the road. Do I go this way or that way? Ever decision made now began to carry me down a life path. I know I remember everything moving so fast. Everything felt so final.

At 17, I know I was thinking of a career in journalism. After visiting a few colleges, I had decided that I wanted to attend Northwestern College in Orange City, Iowa. All my life, reading and writing had been my passions. After taking all of the journalism classes that I could in high school, a career in journalism seemed to be the clear and obvious choice for me. I was ready to leave the small town in which I lived to find challenge and adventure.

Even though I had initially met my husband in April of 1986, we didn’t start dating until December. Originally, I wasn’t too impressed with him, but he kept calling me week after week. Finally, my mom told me that I either needed to go on a date or tell him to quit calling. After some hesitation, I chose the former. Surprisingly (to me), we hit it off well and soon began dating exclusively.

As weeks passed, my relationship with Mike only seemed to improve and grow stronger. Soon, I was halfway through my senior year, and we began talking about the future. When we had first begun dating, we talked in vague terms about what our futures would look like; suddenly, we began talking about our future. As part of that process, my initial plan to get a degree from Northwestern became a source of contention. Simply put, Mike stated that if I chose to go to school in Iowa, our relationship would probably end because he wouldn’t be able to deal with a long-distance relationship. Basically, I would not be able to have both Mike and Career Plan A.

Since I was halfway through my senior year, I started to feel a bit pressured and even desperate. I was (and am) a person who needed a plan; I didn’t, and still don’t, live my life spontaneously. Therefore, I began considering all sorts of career options. . .that were close to home. Mike lobbied hard for me to attend Willmar Community College (now Ridgewater); I vehemently disagreed. I wanted out of Willmar. As a compromise, I agreed to look at colleges within the state, and that’s how I ended up in St. Cloud for a college visit.

As we toured the campus, I noted how old and institutional it was. Where Orange City had been quaint and intimate, St. Cloud was impersonal and massive. Where Northwestern had been homey and comfortable, SCSU was dirty and rundown. But, I reasoned, If this is what it would take to keep everyone happy, I would do it.

I received an acceptance letter from SCSU and graduated high school. On graduation day, Mike gave me a promise ring; it seemed as though all of the pieces of my life’s puzzle began falling into place.

Obviously, I graduated SCSU with a Bachelor of Science degree in English, a minor in Speech Communication, and a coaching degree. Rather than become a journalist, I became a high school English teacher.

That decision shocked the heck out of everybody I knew. No one would have laid odds on teaching being the career I would have ultimately ended up in. As a kid, I did not play school. I played nurse or store keeper. I did not like kids, and I did not like babysitting. I just did it because it was an easy way to make money. My grandma still shakes her head at my career choice, not because she disapproves but because she never saw it coming. My mom has said the same thing. I’m going to be honest by saying that I fell into teaching as a last ditch effort. I had started as a Mass Comm major, but after taking a Journalism course, I knew that I didn’t want to write about people’s tragedies for the rest of my life. Then, I tried Criminal Justice, but I didn’t want to work with the scum of the earth all my life. Then, my next great idea was Social Work, but I knew that I would easily burn out in the area because I would get sucked into my cases. So, it was the end of my sophomore year, and I needed a major. I liked to read, and I liked to write, so voila, I was instantly an English major with a teaching emphasis just so I had a practice use to reading and writing.

That decision has created all sorts of angst. After a few bumpy exchanges, parent-teacher conferences scarred me for life. Oddly enough, I’ve really only had a handful of heated exchanges over the year, the rest have been fine, but it’s those heated ones that have shaped and molded me.

Nine years ago, my backyard neighbor, Mr. B (now deceased) wandered over to me while I was hanging up clothes one August afternoon. He casually asked me if I knew anyone who was looking for an English teaching position because Willmar had an opening. I said nope and wandered back into the house. As I washed my afternoon dishes, I stared into the yard, and an epiphany occurred. What would happen if I applied for that position? I was happy at ACGC. I loved what I taught. I loved the kids out there. I loved the staff. I loved the parents and the District. I had no good reason to move. . .other than I would be in the same district as my kids.

Through a whirlwind of activities within the space of a week, I applied, interviewed, resigned, was hired, attended workshops, and prepared my room in time for school to start. Was it a good switch? Depends on the day you ask me. I’m not going to lie and say that it’s been all puppies and rainbows. Teaching in Willmar has been a challenge for me on all levels. The worst of it has been discovering that I’m not nearly as good a teacher as I believed myself to be, and my face is rubbed into that realization on a daily basis. For a perfectionist like me, that is a very haunting, difficult disappointment.

I could go on, but what’s the point of all this? (Don’t even get me started on the two career flirtations I had with CCS!) At 17, I had a game plan. I thought I had it all figured it out, but my life did not proceed as expected, and sometimes, that realization really vexes me and makes me feel like an utter failure. Yet, I cling to Jeremiah 29:11 as a drowning woman would to a life preserver. “For I know the plans I have for you. Plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

All those “Ys” have made me into the person that I am today. God is so smart that is awes me all the time. I believe He knew, and always had known – since before my birth- the choices I would make for my life. He knows me so well, better than I know myself, that He knew where I would ultimately end up, and even then, He had a series of plans in place to lead me exactly where He wanted me to be. No matter what choice I made, He someone made that decision work in His favor.

And like a good parent, He gave me the freedom and privilege (and of course, responsibility) to choose, as He does with everything in life. Rather than dictate what decisions I would make, He let me choose so that I would have to take responsibilities for the consequences. I would have no one to blame but myself if things didn’t turn out so great.

Most importantly, He has used every decision and circumstance of my life to shape my character just the way He wants it to be. Every success was pointing me in the direction of my talents and gifts. The failures, though, they were the greatest success of all because they sharpened my character. They chipped off the unwanted “junk” that was inhibiting me from becoming the person God destined me to be. These failures helped me to develop Godly-attributes that could only be earned by falling painfully and completely on my face. For example, if I had not transferred to Willmar, I would never have learned the value and necessity of true humility, and although I have always been a compassionate person, I now have experienced true compassion on all levels.

So yeah, I’m a whiner, and I don’t like to fail. I don’t like pain, I don’t like loneliness, I don’t like isolation, I don’t like being #3, I don’t like being disregarded, I don’t like to be challenged, I don’t like to be disrespected. . .I don’t like a lot of the by-products that come with being a teacher. BUT, I do know that I am not a teacher by accident, and I do know that every hurt and every tear is invaluable in developing me into the person I was meant to be.

So as he prepares to turn 17, I recognize that my son is on the cusp of something big. Life as he knows it is about to change. . and change. . .and change. But I know that the same God who had a plan for me has also got a plan for Nick, and that gives me peace.

Stop Being So Critical!

The pastor at our church, Mr. Johnson, has started a “Hot Topics” sermon series in correlation with the new year. Last week, he talked about stifling complaining, and this week’s topic was about criticism. According to what he mentioned, the root of criticism is envy. Just as complaining is a reflection of the heart, criticism is a reflection of selfishness.

The envy argument only goes so far. Yes, envy is involved when we won’t allow ourselves to celebrate others’ successes. Envy is the culprit when we find ourselves throwing something negative out to counterbalance someone else’s celebration. But envy is not the culprit when I criticize my kids. I don’t want to be like them or have what they have; I am criticizing them because they are presumably falling short of a standard that I have set for them whether verbally or mentally. This is where good, old-fashioned selfishness is the culprit. So while envy can cover a multitude of sins, selfishness is the blanket that covers all. It’s not terribly surprising since 100% of sin is a focus on self vs. God.

To explain further, when I, or anyone else criticizes someone, I am making a judgment call. In fact, I am straight-up judging him/her according to my standards. Just because someone else does it differently, does it better, or does it worse means that s/he is not matching up to MY expectations. Ergo, selfishness once again leads the way. It doesn’t matter whether I’m right or wrong; the point is it’s all wrong because it’s different than what I think or believe.

So the question that comes to my mind Is why do I feel the need to be so self-involved, self-edifying, and self-promoting? Is it just plain narcissism, or is there more to it? In my mind, it’s a worthiness issue. For whatever reason, I feel powerless, worthless, or even invisible, which causes me to feel the need to cut someone else down via criticism. Apparently, in my backwards way of thinking, criticism not only allows me to feel a false sense of security; it also allows me to be heard, seen, or noticed when I evidently feel otherwise. Rather than find my worth and value in God, rather than be content in the situation he has placed me, rather than wait patiently on His plan for my life, I see only deficits – what I don’t have, what I am not, what I haven’t accomplished. As with all sin, I turn my eyes from God and focus inward on me.

Even though I’m not proud to say it, in listening to and pondering this sermon, my Grandma B came to mind. My grandma has apparently earned the notorious reputation of being critical. In growing up with her, I guess I didn’t see her commentary this way. I regarded what she said as little jewels of wisdom since they usually regarded appropriate conduct. Cheesy, I know, but I really looked up to my grandma. Certainly, she regarded her criticisms and judgment calls as an extension of her religious commitment and piety; in retrospect, there was certainly more going on below the surface. As I grew older, however, I began to hear comments, now and again, of tongue-lashings she’s given people along the way – mostly people in church. So I guess it’s true that she’s been somewhat critical of those around her, and it’s resulted in people keeping a wide berth from her because they’ve either had their feelings hurt, or they just don’t want to be around someone perceived as negative.

In visiting with Grandma within the last few years, she has made gruff comments about the fact that her old lady friends never stop by to see her. It hurts her feelings, but she’s too proud to just call them up and say, “Hey, do you want to stop over for a cup of coffee?” Well, I’m sure you see where this is going.

My mom has alluded as much – that Grandma’s behavior in the last five years attests to the fact that she has bitterness and anger within her that is just now starting to surface. She always was a bit critical, but in the last couple of years, she’s become cranky, delusional at times, and just downright mean, especially to my mom.

In pondering all this, my mind swims upstream to the root of Grandma’s problem. What caused her to be like this? As near as I can figure, it stems back to her own childhood. From what I’ve been told, she never really bonded with her mother. Grandma Caspers was extremely critical (I only knew her in her latter years, and she was very unpleasant to be around), and so, my grandma was closer to her father. Apparently, though, that closeness wasn’t enough; there was a barrier between the two, and that was my grandma’s sister, Martha. Of course, this is Grandma’s side of the story, but Martha was kind of the golden girl in the family. Both Grandpa and Grandma Caspers seemed to dote on her. . .which, in my guesstimation, is where Grandma B’s anger and bitterness began to grow due to the fact that she felt invisible. My grandma was an extremely hard worker, she was responsible, and she had goals. She wanted to go to college to be a lawyer. That all fell through when Grandpa Caspers gave her an ultimatum. She could go to college as long as she helped to put Martha through college as well. Since there was already a pre-established enmity between the two due to the parents’ favoritism with Martha, that was the last straw for grandma. She said no, which meant she said goodbye to her dreams of a law career as well. If I had to guess, I would say this was a defining moment for my grandma, and not in a good way.

I see her history, I see the ways in which Grandma B and I are alike, and I see that a life of bitterness and anger leads to nothing good in the end. Now, in the “golden” years of her life, Grandma spends them wallowing in loneliness. Her son and daughter can’t get along, her friends don’t visit her, and her grandson refuses to have anything to do with her. For a woman who was zealous about church, Bible study, religious involvement, and moral behavior, it’s yet another disappointment on her path of life. I don’t want to get roped into making a judgment call here either; then, I am just as guilty. However, it would seem as though she had deceived herself and everyone else into believing she had her heart in the right place. But, as the Bible says, you always reap what you sow. As Mr. Johnson says, criticism leads to a barren life. It looks as though Grandma is finding that out for herself these days, and that makes me so very, very sad. It also makes me sad because if I’m really honest with myself, I see that I am starting to follow the same path as Grandma. I know that I can be critical; I was also hurt and dismayed when a colleague of mine made a passing remark that I would prefer to stay “bitter and angry.” Ouch. I don’t have a lot of friends, and I wonder sometimes if it’s because I’m perceived as negative and critical. I realize that I have a tendency to over-analyze every situation and conversation in my life, but what if this perception is actually correct?

According to Mr. Johnson, the remedy for criticism is humility. That doesn’t mean that you become a door mat for others to stomp all over. It means you put others before yourself. It means allowing God to be God – to do exactly what He wants to do, when He wants to do it, and to whom He wants to do it to or through. It means rejoicing with someone in his/her successes – really celebrating the blessings of God in their lives. It’s not pouting or questioning God because you don’t have the same blessing or accusing Him of forgetting you. It’s allowing the Sovereign God to unfold His plan in His time. In short, it’s keeping the focus on God, not self, which is our true act of worship.

Every action, good and bad, is necessary in the development of spiritual character. Each person’s journey is different. God does not need my commentary on anyone’s situation. He has things firmly under control, and when I’m snipish or catty, all I’m doing is hampering the process – for Him and for me.

So, here’s my focus this year. I’m trying this out, and we’ll see how it goes. Whenever I feel like being critical, I’m first of all stopping to check my motives. What is the true source of the comment I wish to make. My goal is to be sincere and honest in owning the emotion and motivation. Secondly, whenever I feel “depressed” or want to throw myself a pity party, I will challenge myself to do something for someone else. You can’t have a pity party when you aren’t thinking about yourself. Like I said, I don’t know how this story will end. I just know that I don’t want to be sitting in a nursing home someday – bitter, angry, and alone.

Red Light; Green Light

"Not that I have already obtained this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.  Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it.  But one thing I do:  Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus." Philippians 3:12-14

Ever since we returned from Christmas break, I noticed that one of my seniors had not been acting herself.  Normally bubbly and smiley, this person had been lethargic, withdrawn, and showing signs of depression (the two previous symptoms as well as not grooming as usual).  In short, it caused me concern. 

I knew she was a believer because she had been very open about her faith, and we had talked both privately and publically about our faiths, sharing Bible insights, etc.  So, one day after class, I pulled her aside and asked her if something was up.

She confessed that she had been struggling.  Long story short, she had only planned to be a student at WHS for half the year; then, she planned to return to her high school in the Cities so that she could take a particular art class and graduate with her former friends.  Apparently, the plan was being altered, and she was struggling with that idea.  She felt as though God had called her out here to the prairie, and she thought that she had fulfilled her obedience so that she could not return to her previous situation.  In short, she felt like a failure, and that is the exact word she used before hanging her head.

On the morning that we had this conversation, I had read Philippians 3: 12-14 for my morning devotions, and these verses came to mind as I was chatting with her.  I asked her to stop a minute and look at the situation a different way.  Yup, she had been obedient to God's calling and had traveled out to Willmar, MN, and yup, the plan had originally been for her to only be here for half a year. . .but that was her plan.  What if God had a different plan?  What is God wasn't through using her at WHS?  What if there was still someone she was supposed to me or some other purpose she was supposed to serve?  What happened if she changed her perspective from the current situation as being a failure to being a work in progress?  That got her to thinking, and we went our separate ways.

One of my favorite scenes from the Lion King is when a grown Simba is feeling sorry for himself, explaining to Rafiki that he can't return because "the past is the past;" nothing can change.  When Rafiki whacks him over the head, a stunned Simba says, "Whadja do that for?"  Rafiki responds by saying, "It doesn't matter.  The past is the past."  As his head throbs, a new realization permeates Simba's skull.  Yup, the past is the past, but that doesn't mean it doesn't matter.

The things that have happened to us in the past always define us.  That's where character is developed - through the joy, struggle, pain, and success of whatever comes across our path.  As I was pushing a cart down the hall the other day, the song lyrics, "I want to be a millionaire so stinking bad" popped into my head, and I started singing them.  Then, I actually started  thinking about what I was saying, and I stopped.  I have no desire to be a millionaire because then I would have more than I needed.  I could pay off my house, I could quit my job, I could do whatever I wanted.  It sounds enticing, but real life occurs in the day-to-day struggle. . .in the planning, hoping, and dreaming.  If you take that all away, what happens to character development? 

And yet, what happens does not need to cripple us.  I believe that God allows things to happen, both good and bad, because each and every thing that happens is necessary in order to develop the character He has ordained for me to have.  I believe He knows how I will choose in any given situation, and He knows exactly how to use that choice for His glory.  It's a delicate game of ping-pong, I guess, or maybe Red-Light-Green-Light.  So, even though something doesn't go the way that I planned it does not mean it's a failure.  Apparently, I had experience that situation as a pre-cursor for another step that leads me to the place where He ultimately wants to be.  Like almost everything in life, it's a matter of perspective.

God does not intend for us to forget the past.  Every hurt and joy is necessary in order to lead us to new place in our spiritual growth.  But we must not allow the past to chain us or restrain us from seeking God's Will.  If we do, we have chosen selfishness; we have decided that we, our comfort, our satisfaction, our measly physical lives, are more important that God and His Plan.

As it explains in the verse in Philippians, we need to keep our eyes on the prize and run as fast as we can. . .not away from the goal, but toward it, which is whatever God determines "it" to be.  If you could, please pray for peace for Miss Jessica, my student.

The Cure For What Ails You

The radio station, KLOVE, is usually my preferred radio station in the car.  Since the beginning of the year, the morning hosts, Eric and Lisa, have been talking about choosing a word for the year.  The idea is that the word will ultimately change your life because you become intentional about.   After about two weeks, Eric finally decided on his word, which happened to be "deeper."  At the time when I was last hearing the conversation, Lisa hadn't chosen one yet. But their conversation got me to thinking about a word that I would choose.  Apparently, Eric and Lisa had refrained from choosing a word because they wanted to really mull over their option before choosing.

My word came to me instantly and without any hesitation.  That word is "sincerity." As soon as I thought it, I knew it was the perfect word for the year.

For the past couple of years, I have been struggling with the concept of hypocrisy.  No, not from me, but from other people.  As I alluded before, I've been burned pretty badly by people that I thought I could trust.  The result is that I am now cautious and critical of most people's motives, whether it's at church, work, or in the classroom.  Not surprisingly, most people will tell you what they think you want to hear - not what is true.  Rather than run the risk of causing conflict or discord, they will avoid the truth because it serves a selfish motive for them to do so; i.e, I don't want to lose you as a friend, or I want to get a good grade. 

Therefore, I knew that the word, "sincerity," is the word because it will keep ME authentic and honest.  No, I'm not a liar.  Most people who know me will say that I'm pretty straightforward.  I generally say what I think, and there usually isn't any candy-coating.  But that's just basic honesty.  I want to be sincere. . . .All. The. Time.

Sincerity is more than honesty.  Yes, honesty is a part of it.  If you ask my opinion, I want to sincerely tell you what I think. . .even when I know or think you will disagree with me.  Sincerity means not being a bully about the truth but being firm in the truth.

Sincerity is also being purposeful.  When I commit to an activity or relationship, it's the quality of being all-in.  I will be sincere about wanting to be involved.  Rather than feeling obligated, I will make a purposeful, conscious, and deliberate decision.  Anything less than sincerity is a waste of time for both me and the other people involved.

Sincerity is also a gut-check with regard to the spirituality of the situation.  For example, when I say to someone, "I'm praying for you," sincerity means that I will a) absolutely be praying for that person, and b) I will have his/her best interests at heart.  There will be no sub-motivations or selfishness involved in saying that.  It is making sure that my "yes" means yes, and my "no" means no - without guilt or selfishness.

Internal conflicts are caused when selfishness meets conscience.  When I am insincere, I create a paradox with which my conscience must wrestle. If I live a life of sincerity, the internal conflicts go away.  Perhaps, if I commit to this way of thinking and living, I will quit thinking the worst in everybody else? 

Therefore, my word this year is "sincerity."  If you want and need an honest, sincere voice, come see and challenge me to fulfill this focus. What's your word for the year?

Ain't Life Sweet?

As a child, I was quite a "fatty."  Yup,  Grandma Ryks tried to pass it off as "big-boned."  Some said I was husky, but the fact was that I was a chubber, largely because I liked my sweets.

Mom and Dad both grew up on farms, so they were well-acquainted with the breakfast-lunch-dinner-lunch-supper-lunch schedule.  Most of the time, the "lunch" part consisted of some sort of sweet (aka the "bar" in MN).  Likewise, we definitely, always had dessert after the supper meal.  Usually, it was cake or pie or ice cream, but those are a sweet of the meal genre.  Sweets themselves were the chocolate coating to the nougat of my life.  Let me explain. . .

Grandma Nellie lived next door.  She was a nice, if austere, lady who liked to have her yard and house in order.  Nevertheless, she seemed to like my brother and me, which is indicated by the fact that she would always offer us lemon drops when came to visit her.  Still to this day, the sweet and sour mix of a lemon drop reminds of the sweet and sometimes sour nature of Grandma Nellie.

My own Grandma Ryks was an amazing baker.  Every Sunday that I can remember visiting her for afternoon "lunch," there was always a cherry pie sitting on the table, baked especially for me simply because she knew it was my favorite.  When my husband came into the picture and she learned of his love for Rice Krispie bars, those were awaiting his arrival as well.  Peanut butter cookies were a specialty of hers as well.  I can see her still, sitting on the stool that I have had the good fortune to inherit, mixing a pinch of this and a handful of that to create whatever was in the bowl.  She never had much need for recipe cards.

At Christmas time, Grandma would make a huge canner full of popcorn balls. . .that were as hard as baseballs and as sticky as fly wrap.  No one really liked them because you would risk losing a tooth in eating one, but because we loved her so, we would be a good sport and eat one anyway (and probably for the next three weeks after Christmas as well).

Grandpa's contribution to my sweet memories are pink, dime-sized peppermint drops.  Grandpa had a candy drawer at his house - second drawer on the left.  In it, we would find those drops, of which we would be forced to take one upon leaving the house. If there weren't any in the drawer, there were surely a special cache in his shirt pocket.  Pocket lint just sweetened the deal.

When church got a little dull, I could always count on Mom to supply the necessary sweets for entertainment.  As a small child, I recall that Smarties were the candy of choice.  As I got older and was required to sit "maturely" and pay attention, candy, per se, was no longer allowable, but a Sucrets cherry (which, let's face it, is more candy than medicine) did just fine.

I was fortunate enough to live in a community which still supports a Mom-and-Pops grocery store "downtown."  This structure as well as the interior were reminiscent of the buildlings in a Gunsmoke episode.  Nevertheless, it was well-stocked with a special aisle of candy and toys.  On a hot summer day, my friends and I would bike to the store, a quarter clasped in our sweaty hands, to find just the right candy.  For me, that meant a near-paralying decision between FunDip or a Charleston Chew, both of which were purchased due to longevity factors.  You'd get more bang for your buck (or quarter) because you could consume either for quite a long time (especially if the Charleston Chew was frozen!)

As I ventured into high school, I could always count on my good friend (with an insane metabolism), Sheila, to keep a well-stocked locker when it came to confections.  One special treat that she liked to purchase and I liked to "share" with her was Lemon Heads.  During finals week, we girls would convene at my house between finals so that we could "study" for the next one.  Usually, that meant we would lip-sync to Huey Lewis and the News while consuming our go-to finals week necessity, a Sugar Daddy.

Once I venture off to college, studying continued far longer than finals week.  If my then-best friend, Aimee, and I weren't ordering a midnight pizza from Giovanni's, we were probably wandering down to the vending machine to procure our favorite study treat, a Reece's Peanut Butter Cup.  As we considering our futures, gossiped about roommates, and generally behaving as friends do, we would have a contest as to who could eat her Reece's the slowest.  I would first peel all, and I mean, all the chocolate off each cup before taking miniscule bites of the remaining peanut butter. 

From that point on, my sugar-infused memories begin to fade.  As an adult, candy just hasn't maintained its heady influence in my life as it did during my formidable years.  Life was a lot sweeter then, and I can't help but wonder how a little sugar could concoct such satisfaction in life and relationships.

It's a Wonderful Life

Back in the day, I worked at a nursing home to put myself through college.  When I first started working there, the "lifers" warned me about holidays.  They said the changes in seasons and holidays always mean an increase in the number of deaths at the home.  At first, I didn't believe them, but as the holidays would tick by, I noticed that they were right (They also told me that they can tell when it's a full moon just by how crazy the residents act at night; they were right about that too, but that's another story).

I've never forgotten that theory or the accompanying experiences, and I catch myself these days watching the obits around the holidays.  Without exception, the number in the paper are exponentially higher.  Now, I'm not exeptionally morbid or anything, but I do enjoy reading the obits.  I typically scan the name, age, and death info in the first paragraph, and then, I read the life story.  Since it's the last time the person's name will be in print, I figure I owe it to him to at least read the biography.

A friend of mine, whose husband is a mortician (from whom I have gleaned some very interesting details about the process of death), informed me that when an obit says the person died at home, most of the time that means the person's death was a suicide.

As I was reading a 35-year-old's obit today, I saw those dreaded words.  And as usual, it depressed me.

A death from cancer is sad. A heart attack is sobering.  A car accident is stupefying, and a toddler's or baby's death is unfair. But a suicide?  I can't think of anything more tragic than that.  With suicide, a person has decided that his or her life is worthless, purposeless, and unnecessary. 

I Corinthians 12:12 says, "The body is a unit, though it is made up of many parts; and though all its parts are many, they form one body." Every. . .body serves a purpose.  Every. . .body has been perfectly created and aligned to God's purpose and timeline.  There is nothing random about one's existence. 

I Corinthians 12: 18, continues:  "In fact, God has arranged the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be."You are there because God wants you to be there. .at that time. . .for a specific purpose that only you can fulfill.  No one else can do it.  You have just the exact DNA, talents, and personality to do the job.  If you don't do it, if you don't live it, it won't happen.  It's like George Bailey's experience in It's A Wonderful Life.

So when the ultimate tragedy occurs, someone gives up and takes himself out of the game plan, how is history altered?  What doesn't happen that was supposed to happen? What opportunity slips by because the person is no longer there to take it?

The irony here is that even though the person feels as though his or her life is worthless or purposeless, and he or she won't be missed,  the fact that she or he is gone alters history.  Who knows?  She could have mentored the girl who would one day discover the cure for cancer?  He could have been there at just the right time to snatch the little boy who develops a new, sustainable energy source from contact with an oncoming car?  More importantly, she could have been there at just the right time when an athiest started asking questions about God? 

In addition to the tragedy of loss in a suicide, culpability is also a by-product.  When a suicide occurs, I can't help but think we all share in the blame somehow.  When a body part dies, it can poison and destroy the rest of the body. Is the same true with regard to the body of humankind?  Why and how did a person get to the point of desperation without anyone there to know?  To stop it from happening?  Where and how did we all miss it?

The fact of the matter is that we all serve a purpose and contribute to the whole.  We are here, right now, at this time and place, because we need to be here.  Perhaps, it might be just to pick up the phone and call someone when the thought passes through our heads?  That thought is not random, and it just might help to save a life.

The f word

No, it's not the "f" word you're usually thinking of.  The newest and most heinous "f" word is forgiveness.  To be fair, when utilized, this word engenders relationship-building, cooperation, and a forward motion.  However, it's getting to the point of being able to actually use the word that's the problem. 

I fully understand the purpose and benefit of the word.  I just don't like being bullied by the word.

To explain without too much extraneous detail, September 16, 2008, is a very significant day for me because I was hurt, actually, blindsided, by a group that I thought I could trust.  One person, in particular, in this group said some very hateful, hurtful, and for me, life-changing things.  What makes the situation even more complicated is the fact that this group was comprised of people from my church, and one of the members of the group was a pastor.  Because of what happened on that particular night, my viewpoint of church and church people has been significantly altered.

Worse, I was seemingly abandoned by most of those whom I called friends, or thought were my friends.  When I needed them and their assurance most, what I got was pure. lonely. silence. 

Add another layer of complication with the fact that several sermons over the last two years have dealt with forgiveness and the spiritual necessity of forgiving others. 

I get that.  Really, I do.  I am fully cognizant of all that forgiveness entails and requires.  Even though my head is totally in the game, my heart isn't there yet.

Every time I think I am at the precipice of forgiveness, I walk into the church, and my emotions completely ambush the forgiveness mission.  My head knows that this is something that has to be done, but my heart won't let it happen.  And now, the worst of all possible situations is happening.  Because forgiveness has been withheld, the iron-firm tentacles of bitterness are now creeping into the situation.  In short, it's a bad deal.

Even though I'm not 100% sure if this is the case, I think the problem is that if I actually forgiving, it feels as though I am saying, "It's ok. You're off the hook for what you did to me."  And I'm not ok with that.  What has been said and done, or more specifically, not done, has really affected my life in a negative way.  By offering forgiveness, I'm waving my hand, fairy-godmother-style, and sweeping it all away. 

And yet, hanging on to it is not improving the overall quality of my life either.  It is changing the landscape of who I am and who God intended me to be, and not in a good way.  Where would I, or anyone, be if God had copped the same sort of attitude with regard to forgiveness?

Even more, forgiveness is a non-negotiable. 

From what I heard today, it is an act of worship.

I think Christ was on to something with that whole 70 times 7 deal.  You keep extending forgiveness. . over and over again.  Perhaps, if you say it enough times, it becomes a reality.  The act of worship, the act of forgiveness is disciplining yourself to do it, especially when you don't want to, don't truly feel it, or can't.

See what I mean?  I am cognizant of the facets and inner-workings of forgiveness.  It's the heart of the matter that is slowing me down.  When animals are hurt, the instinct is to snap, attack, or nip in order to protect itself from getting injured even more.  Pain elicits a protective instinct.  My job for the coming year is to push through the pain. . .and practice the 70 times 7 principle, especially when I don't want to.

New Year, New Resolutions

I understand the concept OF New Year's Resolutions.  It's part of human nature to want to change and improve.  As self-involved beings, we are constantly comparing and trying to re-invent a better model of what currently exists.  The time of year seems aptly chosen as well since most of us are coming off a serious sugar/carbohydrate bender.  The extra pounds and the overall logy feeling that accompanies said sugar consumption leads us to want to start over.

New Year's Resolutions, however, are by and large a lesson in futility.  We have good intentions, and we usually start strong.  Some of us will last a whole two hours (as in my case with Diet Coke), and some of us will even persist to two weeks.  Past that, habit is like the ocean current.  You may think that you have it under control, but once high tide rolls in, well, you'd better get out of the water or get ready for a ride.

In spite of the negativist viewpoint, there is a value in self-reflection. . presumably beyond narcissism.  We recognize, at some point, that we lose focus and wander off the path of self-improvement (or enlightenment, if you ascribe to that sort of mentality).  I believe that we are all equipped with a built-in sense of "true North," if you will. . .an innate compass that points us where we need to go.  On some level, we know when we've missed the mark; some will recognize it while others will ignore it.  C.S. Lewis discusses the idea much more academically than I can ever hope to in his book, Mere Christianity. The point is that we all KNOW when we're off track.  It's what we choose to do with that information that determines and forms character.

Therefore, the start of a new year seems like a justifiable time to push the "reset" button on our inner-Wii when the game isn't working out.  The question is why does it take the introduction of a new calendar to get us to act on what we already know is amiss?

Anyway, as to my own inner compass (as opposed to the fragility of the word, resolution), my focus is clear. I don't need a list of many-faceted goals because, well, the odds of accomplishment diminish with each addition to the list.  Every coaching and teaching class that I've ever been a part of has told me to keep it simple.  The list should be short so that the goals are attainable.  It is the same advice that I pass on to my students at the beginning of each semester.

More on that thought. . .tomorrow.