We Are All A Hot Mess - Epilogue

I have a strong conscience, particularly when it comes to guilt.  It is not unusual at all for me to wake in the middle of the night and re-hash conversations from the previous day, castigating myself for various failures in character.  Real or perceived, any time I make someone feel less-than or uncomfortable, or if I am seemingly arrogant or say something that sounds suspiciously better-than, I toss and turn, and agonize over my carelessness.

That said, I awoke last night, from a hard poke of the conscience over the last blog post I wrote.  After thinking about what I had written, I realized that I hadn't finished well with regard to my dad.  I painted a very unflattering picture (and yes, the truth will do that) without adding the finishing touches, making the portrait complete.

Yes, I will admit that I have spent the majority of my years on this earth, angry at my dad, or in the very least, tolerating him but largely ignoring him.  I do not believe that I have ever been out-right disrespectful to him, but let's be real, intentional coldness and dismissal are every bit as disrespectful; it's just more passive-aggressive.

I'm not proud of that fact at all.  The only excuse I can offer is that it was my defense to keep from getting hurt or honestly, feeling.  Period.  A strong characteristic that runs through the family DNA or at least, the emotional psyche of the family is a propensity to extreme sensitivity.  It's a heightened sense of perception that's hard to explain.

I have a theory (that I will keep to myself) as to how this sensitivity is created. Suffice it to say that someone with the characteristic is always on emotional patrol, constantly doing a mood "dipstick" test in all social situations.  A person with this characteristic is particularly sensitive to all non-verbals.  The slightest elevation of an eyebrow or a barely-perceptible change of tone in a voice can be enough to put the observer on high alert.

Needless to say, if you have this characteristic, it is exhausting.  You are constantly reading and interpreting the energy of the people around you, which as a consequence, sucks all your energy.  Not surprisingly, these people are introverts, who need some serious battery-charging after an extended period of social interaction.

Anyway, I have this characteristic, which means that I have made it a practice to constantly "dipstick" my dad's (and now, everybody else's) emotional state whenever I see him.  As I alluded, growing up, Dad's moods could turn on a dime, and you never knew what would set him off. So for the sake of self-preservation and protection, I kept my distance, which I have no doubt was extremely hurtful to him, because, well, he is extremely sensitive and perceptive as well.

However,  "the rest of the story" is that Dad has chilled considerably over the years.  Time will do that.  In my observation, age and the passage of time takes away the hard edges of temperament (unless one has Alzheimer's, which is a completely different story).  Medication and therapy have also helped him to try to control the run-away, overdrive switch that anxiety can trip.  Dad still has episodes, which I'm sure are equally frustrating to him as they are to us, but it's nothing like it used to be.

Equally important is the fact that I have changed.  Adding more details to the story helped to explain (not excuse) my dad and his behavior.

And that's true of everyone on this earth. There is always more to the story.  The questions are 1) are you willing to share your story? and 2) are you willing to listen to someone else's story with an empathetic ear?

A word about that word, empathy. I think it's misunderstood.  To have empathy for someone is to put yourself in their shoes and given the number of facts provided, try to understand something from their point-of-view. Even though there are characteristics that both have in common, empathy is not sympathy.  Pity and feeling sorry for someone is not necessary with empathy; in fact, those two characteristics can be counter-productive in an empathetic situation.

Empathy is an attempt to join one in his/her pain - an acknowledgement for the difficulties of the past or present. With sympathy, there is still a distance.  It, too, is an acknowledge of pain, but there is a divide that separates.

Empathy listens with as much of a non-judgmental ear, to the extent that we fallen humans can do.  To be human is to be selfish, and no matter how "good" a person is or is perceived to be, the bottom line is that we fight our selfish nature all our lives, and a part of that fight is against the judgment of others.  True empathy is to be fully present, taking in the experience (including emotions) of another, reserving commentary and interpretation.

And that's really all we want, isn't it?  We just want to be heard.

Yes, as I mentioned before, we are all broken.  We all have baggage.  We all have a backstory. We all have experienced the best and the worst (each person has his/her threshhold of what that is).  We want acknowledgement and validation for the garbage we have endured.  Rarely, if ever, do we want to be told what to do. We usually know what to do.  It's a question of what we will choose to do.

To explain, about three paragraphs ago (and in the previous blog), I referenced the fact that the back story helps to explain, but not excuse behavior.  As the favored (in my opinion) creation, we have been made in God's image.  Essentially, we have His DNA.  I believe that means that we inherently know the difference between right and wrong.

For the broken people of the world (and that's all of us - my dad, me, you, etc), we can stay stuck - curled in a ball, wallowing in self-pity over the fact that life has been cruel and unkind, or we take an inventory of the situation and move.  I firmly believe that everything we experience -positive and negative - serves a Kingdom purpose.  I'm not discounting the really horrible, unfair, and undeserving things that people have experienced.  That does suck.  It is not fair.  It should have never happened.  But it did.

So what are you going to do about it?

All our lives, we just have a choice to make - am I going to spend my life in keeping myself on the pedestal of my heart - keeping my hurts, my feelings, and my misery the central focus on my life, or worse, using my energy to try to make everybody feel as miserable as me?  If I'm not happy, than no one gets to be happy.

Or am I going to put Christ on the pedestal of my heart - recognizing His omniscience (the fact that He knows it all - what happened, why it happened, why He allowed it to happen, how I feel ), omnipotence (the fact that He is so powerful and mighty that He can and will use it all for His glory), justice (He gets the final say about the situation), and kindness (His love for me and His desires for my life far surpass anything I could dream up) as far greater than anything I will ever understand.  John 14:6 -" [He] is the Way, the Truth, and the Life" - a life that will bring me peace and a holy, whole life.

I love my dad.  He is a good, complicated man.  He has had a tough life, but he (and my mom) were all-in parents in making sure that I was given a firm, faith foundation.  My dad has spent a lifetime in wrestling with various demons, and as a result, he and those who were in the ring with him have battle scars.  I spent a lot of time in trying to cover up those scars, running my fingers over them, and growing sullen at the memory of their acquisition.  Fortunately, I wised up before it's too late.  In the right moment, usually a Divinely-designed moment, a battle scar needs to be shared, if only to say to another, "I get it. Let me tell you how this scar has changed my life."

This is not a picture of me.  I just want to make that clear.

We're All A Hot Mess

'Tis the season of cabin fever in these here parts.  No school yesterday, and now no school today or tomorrow either. 

Yesterday afternoon, I couldn't take it anymore.  When my husband got home and started blowing snow, I bundled up, and the dog and I joined him outside.  Not surprisingly, the dog lasted less than five minutes (it's a real deep freeze right now) and wanted back in the house. 

I grabbed a shovel and began clearing off the deck.  Overnight, we had accumulated something like 5-6 inches of snow - mostly fluff and easily removable, so clearing the deck required moderate but not excessive effort.  As I shoveled, I noted that our lazy dog had been using the deck as her bathroom instead of the weeds.  Our deck is new, so I decided to apply a little more effort to remove the spots because I didn't want there to be permanent stains when the snow melted.

I'm (close enough to) a middle-aged gal in fairly good physical shape; however, as I shoveled, I decided to pace myself (slow) so that I didn't over-exert myself before the job was finished. 

As I leisurely pushed the snow off the deck, I heard a voice from the past call out clear and loud.  Just like that.  Out of the blue. 

It was my dad's voice.  And what he said is not fit for publishing. I have to say that it startled me, made me stand up and pause for a second.

It's something that I heard my dad say to mom on several occasions when I was growing up whenever the two of them were working together, and either my mom wasn't doing it right or wasn't doing it fast enough.  This particular phrase is one that I always found to be particularly repulsive and disrespectful, as it was specifically referencing the female gender.

As a kid, I remember very clearly stating to myself that I would never allow my husband to say something so offensive to me.  Never.  Fortunately and thankfully, I have been blessed with a near-saint of a husband, so I have never had to address this particular problem.

My dad is still alive, and so whatever memories flair up from my youth, I try to keep to myself out of respect to him.  Hence the reason I will not type what I heard.

In his younger years, my dad was a hot mess, emotionally.  Many years after the fact, we now know that he suffered from crippling anxiety and depression.  Back in the day, there wasn't a specific name for it (at least, to my knowledge), and medication was reserved for the extreme cases (think: mental institutions).

In practical terms, this meant that at least once per month, we could count on Dad losing his shit and then spending the rest of the weekend (i.e. two days) in the bedroom by himself while the rest of us would have to tiptoe around the house and not make noise.  Likewise, it also meant that every social occasion (particularly, family events) would be precluded with intense moods and/or physiological reactions (for Dad, puking).

At the time, I didn't know what to think of my dad.  The bottom line was that I was at first, scared of him, and later, severely pissed off at him.  As a little kid, the scary part was that you just never knew what would set him off.  It felt as though we (my brother, mom, and I) had to walk on eggshells all the time.  Inviting friends over was out of the question.  There was no way in hell I wanted my friends to witness that. 

Later, as a teenager and young adult, I was just effing pissed off.  I thought he was being straight up selfish, holding all of us hostage for his uncontrollable emotions.  Plus, I felt generally ripped off because my dad was just straight up inaccessible to me.  I had a couple of good friends who were very close to their dads and enjoyed loving and trusting relationships with them.  I never had that, and it made me sad. 

Now, there are more pieces to puzzle.  I know more of the back story, which explains (not necessarily excuses) a lot.  I now know that my dad grew up under the tyranny of a beast of a father.  An abusive a-hole.  Dad never shared/shares much.  He is pretty closed off about it all (except with my mom), but every once in a while, he lets his guard down and throws me a few bread crumbs.  What I know is pretty limited, but I'm disgusted, nevertheless.

To further complicate matters, I also know that my dad's dad (my grandpa) also grew up in a questionable household.  Again, I don't know much, but from what little I have been told, my great-grandma, although diminutive, had a hellish temper.  I can only assume that my great-grandpa  (her husband) wasn't a model parent either since almost all of the boys in that family (my dad's uncles) are the subject of legendary tales of emotional imbalance, raging tempers, and/or near-criminal behavior.  Although the boys could have picked up their behavior from their mother, it seems much more likely that they learned it from their dad - the person around whom they would have spent the most time (in considering the cultural mores of the time).

Here is another complicating factor to the story -science to further complicate matters. There is an intriguing concept in psychology called genetic memory. It is officially defined as "a memory present at birth,  which exists in the absence of sensory experience, and is incorporated into the genome over long spans of time." Basically, it means that experiences can become genetic. A traumatic experience can physiologically alter a person's DNA, which then is passed on to subsequent generations.  

I recently attended an educational workshop on trauma-informed schools, and the speaker discussed a study in which lab mice were simultaneously exposed to a particular smell and a pain stimuli.  Ultimately, the mice would scream in pain whenever they were exposed to the smell, without the pain stimuli.  

The crazy part is that the experience altered the DNA of the mice.  To explain, the mice, two generations removed, reacted the same way to the smell. . even though they had never experienced pain yet in their lives.  

What do we learn?  Traumatic experiences can alter DNA.  And I believe it.  My family provides the necessary proof.  As I stated, my dad has extreme anxiety.  While I believe we all experience some social anxiety at one time or another, neither my brother nor I have been impacted to such a degree.  However, my daughter and my nephew both have severe anxiety, which definitely impacts their lives. Of course, I will agree that there may be extenuating, contributing factors as well, but it seems more than an interesting coincidence that the two grandchildren have a similar malady.

Sad tale, right?  Yes. Feel sorry for me/us, ok?

Not so much. 

While this is a fraction of my story, it is not a unique story.  I could canvass the entire "inter-web" community and find stories of generational woe and turmoil amongst every, single person. 

Every, single person.

That's what binds us together.  Our brokenness. 

If we would swallow hook, line, and sinker what people's social media posts proffer as real-life, we should then believe that we are the only ones with sordid, complicated pasts and equally-complicated and distressing presents.  But that's not true. 

Each of our lives are a prism of varying degrees shameful actions, complicated family dynamics, hurt-filled situations, abuse, neglect, and straight-up turmoil.  It is what it means to be human and live in a sin-filled, broken world with sin-filled, broken people.  No one is getting out of this unscathed.

And this is the exact place in which my daughter is struggling right now.  She is lamenting some bad choices and the impact of the consequences.  She is comparing herself to others and coming up woefully short in her own eyes.  She sees herself as a particularly heinous failure. . .as do many in life.

But the fact is that we are all heinous failures in one way or another, at one time or another (and sometimes, many times in one day!) 

It is most certainly one thing that we have in common.

That said, we all have the same choice to make as well.  "It is not what happens to you that matters; but how you react to it that matters" Epictetus

The decision we need to make is will we let the past define us, or will we allow the past to refine us?

It's a cliched phrase, but everything happens for a reason.  God has assured us that "random" and "coincidence" are not in His vocabulary.  We were placed into our families and in community with others by Divine Design.  The sinful experiences we encountered or chose reflect the broken world in which we live; however, God, in His supreme wisdom knew about and allowed each one to happen.  It was no surprise to Him. God is never surprised.

It grieved (s) Him to watch us endure painful, heartbreaking situations, but He allows it because He never wastes a hurt.  Each experience (bad or good) is a stepping stone to something better and greater that He wants and plans for us. 

Each experience shapes us into the person He created us to be - wants us to be - wanted us to be from the very beginning. 

I think about this often when I consider the various experiences I have had in life - both those imposed upon me by others and their actions (like my dad and realistically, previous generations) and those I have done myself or to myself.  When I sit and contemplate the pivotal experiences of my life, I am in awe of how God has used them to shape me into the person (community member, teacher, friend, etc) that I am today.

Therefore, the choice is ours.  We can be stymied by the roadblocks, disappointments, and heartaches of life.  We can curl up in a ball and hide when we make a ginorous mess of our lives. . or saddest of all, when we find ourselves on the receiving end of deeply-hurtful situation which we didn't cause, ask for, or deserve.

Or, we grab onto the only Truth there is in this screwed-up world.  Psalm 91:4 "He will cover you with his feathers. He will shelter you with his wings. His faithful promises are your armor and protection."  Under His wings, we find safety, belonging, direction, protection, peace, and purpose to navigate through the misery and confusion we encounter.  

I trust my Father.  I am His Heir.  The impact of His spiritual DNA is the only thing that matters to me. 

Waste of Time or Waiting on Time

This year I will turn 49 years old.  Yes, I know. I have heard it many times.  Age is just a number.  This year, more than any other, I am feeling that number - mentally more than physically.

Sure, I know my body ain't what it used to be. I expected that.  I don't have as much stamina as I once did, and some body parts are achier and noisier than they used to be, but for the most part, I physically feel good. 

The parts that don't feel good are my head and heart.  Actually, I should just refer to them as a single unit because one affects the other, always has. 

So why is it such a big deal this year? I'm close to the half century mark - a half century - which means that I definitely have less years than more to remain on this earth.  (Of course, I realize that this is true for everyone - no matter his/her age.  None of us are guaranteed tomorrow, but still.)

However, it's not the looking ahead part that is depressing.  Don't read into this statement, but I am looking forward to spending eternity with Christ.  Death doesn't scare me, and in considering the depressing state of the world, I look forward to a pain-free, joy-filled existence. 

The part that is depressing is the looking behind.  I have had 49 years on this earth, and what have I accomplished? As Shakespeare has said, "Aye, there is the rub."  Middle age calls for reflection and the taking of a personal inventory.  There is the first part of the rub- What have you accomplished? and the second, arguably more painful part - What is never going to happen?  What dreams does one have to let go?

According to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, the rate of suicide is highest in middle age - particularly among white males. I don't think it's a stretch to assume that there are many people like me - questioning themselves at this crossroads in life.  Unfortunately, there are apparently many who experience extreme despair at the prospect - so much so that they do not see a benefit in continuing their existence. 

That would not be a choice that I would ever pursue.  Nevertheless, I can definitely relate to the feelings of despair of a life of minimal achievement.

It seems so ungrateful to say that.  I admit it.  On paper, everything looks good.  I am married to a great man, whom I love deeply.  He has always treated me with respect, put me first, and regarded me as the most beautiful woman in the world.  I have two reasonably-healthy kids.  I have a home.  I have food on the table.  I am well-educated, and I have a secure career.  And that's just the highlights show of blessings.  I am thankful and recognize the blessings.  I really do.

There are times when the shadows of the past and the might-have-beens eclipse the light of the blessings.  For example, when I was in high school, I wanted a career in writing.  I decided (my choice - not blaming anyone) to take the safe route and become an English teacher.  Not only is/was it a safe career; it was just the right career for me as a mom.  I had my summers off to do stuff with my kids- really invest in them. In other words, I was all-in with regard to wifing and mothering. 

I say this as truth and not in bitterness, but my kids are kind of jerks right now.  I put the "right now" part at the end of the sentence because I really hope this is a temporary condition vs. a permanent one.  They are both in their 20s, a notoriously self-involved time period (if we are honest, those of us "of a certain age" will admit that we were selfish jerks in our 20s too). They are both very me-first in their thinking and decision-making, which I find quite hurtful.  I arranged my life in such a way that those two were privy to experiences and opportunities that other kids their age, and certainly their dad and me, were not. 

Instead of gratitude, we (my husband and I) get sloppy seconds.  We are at the bottom of the priority list. We are expected to just accept whatever "expectations" and conditions they dole out, without discussion or regard to our expectations and input. 

And then, there is the career itself.  Although volumes could be written on the career of teaching itself, I have enjoyed it - not all the endless hours of my life that I can't get back due to grading, but I have enjoyed the kids.  And yet, ironically, even though my whole world revolves around reading and writing, I have yet to realize my own dreams of writing.  My type-A, perfectionistic work ethic has been my own worst enemy as I have always chosen the duties and responsibilities of teaching above my own passions and interests. It's my own fault. 

And travel.  I wanted to travel everywhere.  Even now, I watch travel show after travel show, living vicariously through a small screen while the reality is that I live and work in the place where I was born.  For whatever reason, that fact makes me feel like such a failure. 

The enticement of travel is, of course, experiencing a different climate and culture, but even more so, it is people.  Everyone has a unique story to tell.  More than anything, I want to meet people, hear and record their stories, and affirm and encourage them. I know I can do that here too.  I guess it's just a case of FOMO (fear of missing out). I have been infected with wanderlust, but am an incurable homebody.

And so, at 49, it's all a bitter pill to swallow.  I look at my life choices and right now, quite frankly, see a waste of my youth. 

I know.  Life's not over.  The story has not ended.  There are chapters to go, particularly with the kids.  But even then, they really aren't mine.  They are God's children, not mine.  He gave them to me/us, put me/us in charge of them - to keep them alive, to show them the basics of living - right/wrong, healthy/unhealthy, etc.  But the bottom line is that they are His children, and as my husband is fond of saying so frequently, they have their own minds - their own wills. 

As God's children, we each -independently, separately -have our own lives to live while on this earth.  I have spent the first half of my life in being the responsible, dutiful adult.  I don't regret being responsible.  But what about these hopes and dreams that are still there, the impetus of the melancholy I feel?  Is it sin to think of them?  Is it sin to regret?

As with everything I write, I generally write to untangle my own thoughts and feelings.  If someone else benefits from it, then it's a bonus.  So here's what I think.

God knows my hopes and dreams.  He put them there.  He knows my every deepest, most private thoughts.  Likewise, God knew the choices I would make before I was born.  He has a plan and a purpose for me, and He will fulfill that purpose in spite of and/or because of the choices I make. 

The biggest sin I have committed and continue to commit is choosing self over Him.  When I whine, I am doing so from a place where Self sits on the throne of my heart instead of God.  When I worry and fret over my as-yet un-met hopes and dreams, I do so from a place where Self sits on the throne of my heart instead of God. When I think of my life as a waste, I am doing so from a place where Self sits on the throne instead of God.  It's an insult to Him. 

In fact, now that I think of it, my devotion from Oswald Chambers (My Utmost for His Highest) addressed just that: "Obstinacy and self-will will always stab Jesus Christ. It may hurt no one else, but it wounds His Spirit.  Whenever we are obstinate and self-willed and set upon our own ambitions we are hurting Jesus.  Every time we stand on our rights and insist that this is what we intend to do, we are persecuting Jesus."

All of my life's choices and experiences have been scaffolding for the place in which He wants me right now in order to get to the place I need to go next. As long as I keep my eyes on Him and my ear trained to His voice, I don't have to worry or wonder about my life.  The truth is that His plans for me are better than anything I could ever dream up for myself. 

That said, it's time to put the angst over turning 49 in a bottle and send it out to sea.  It's doing me no good here, and carrying it around is a burden that is slowing me down.  The only One who will ever find that bottle is God, my Father.  I trust Him completely with it and am thankful, beyond thankful, that He knows exactly what to do with it.

Finding Happiness Amid Rumors and Labels

Almost a year ago, we were all hanging on to life by our fingernails.  I am starting the journey to processing that all soon.  Suffice it to say, it was a scary situation, and not surprising, there were lingering consequences.  

My daughter was in the mood to chat last night, and it’s clear that she is still processing those consequences, which she should, but of course, as her mom I don’t like to see her in pain.  

One of those consequences is a broken relationship.  While that is a consequence in and of itself, the fact that the person from whom the relationship was severed has presumably shared her perspective on it all with other people.

Further complicating the matter is the fact that both my daughter and this person live in the same town and have mutual acquaintances. It’s a small town.  I’m sure you can see where this is all going.

In contemplating all this during my devotional time this morning, I pulled my journal out (yeah, I keep handwritten journals as well) and started writing.  One of the reasons why I journal and keep this blog is because it is through writing that God seems to reveal His wisdom to me.  Some may think that it’s all just my thoughts and ideas, and I suppose that is a valid claim since my name and handwriting are attached to both, but I am pretty firm in saying that these thoughts are not my own.  I wouldn’t come up with them and certaining wouldn’t write about them if God didn’t put them there in the first place.  

The question under fire is this:  Is it possible to find happiness and live a happy life amid the rumors and labeling that others perpetuate about you?

The answer, of course, is yes.  

It’s a matter of character. It means choosing, over and over, to diverge from the popular path and take the high road when others on the road are ganging up and blocking your path. 

Here, then, is the next question: Does a person’s character have to change first, or does a series of mindful, purposeful habits create the desired character? 

The only empirical evidence and the remedy to people’s misguided notions about us is action, specifically kind actions.  The kindness has to be genuine, which alludes to the fact that a person’s true character has to be addressed.  But does character have to be first?  Of course, that would be preferred, but I think character is shaped by our habits as well.

Kindness can be a habit first, I believe.  It’s a choice; then it becomes a mindset and ultimately a way of life.  In my experience, I can attest that it is definitely impossible for people to be or remain angry, be negative toward, or spread rumors about someone who is kind to them.  That is a fact. You can’t control what people do or say; you can only control yourself. And when you are kind, the acid inside them toward you, becomes alkaline.  

That is certainly my modus operandi at work.  As I have relayed in previous posts, my current position is stressful for a variety of reasons, one of which is that it has created a different working dynamic between my colleagues and me.  No matter what I perceive, or think I perceive, about my colleagues’ opinions of me and this job at work, I know that the best antidote to it all (the negative perceptions and the real feelings) is consistent, patient kindness. 

That’s the advice that I passed along to my daughter this morning.  The ball is in her court now.  While it’s true that people may be mean, I can also attest to the fact that most people have a soft spot for underdogs.  Given the slightest bit of encouragement and hope, those who were once our biggest slanderers can become our biggest supporters in a blink of an eye.   

“Remember there is no such thing as a small act of kindness. Every act creates a ripple with no logical end.” Scott Adams

Take Cover

"To someone who prays in faith, unanswered prayers are simply the evidence that the answer is much closer."

1. "To someone who prays in faith. . ." Although I can't say for sure, I assume (since I once did) that many people treat prayer like a grocery list - listing their requests.  It sounds pretty pious, and I'm sure that they have the best intentions.  For goodness sake, if one taking the time to pray, it's highly doubtful that s/he would have anything other than good intentions!

Sometimes, though, we go into prayer with that the attitude that it would be super-cool if this would happen, and it would be nice, Lord, if you would allow this to happen, but we don't necessarily believe that it's going to happen.

Faith is an all-in endeavor: You either have it or you don't.  God honors righteous prayers -prayer that put Him, His Will, and His Kingdom first. Period.  And because He never lies, and because His Will is perfect, there is no reason to doubt.  Ever.  In Matthew 17:20 Jesus says, ". . . Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you."

2. "Unanswered prayers are simply the evidence. . ." I think we have to be careful with this phrase.  God answers prayers all the time.  He doesn't necessary answer them in the way we think they should be answered, though, and thank goodness for that.  When I think about the way in which God has addressed and answered, some of my prayer requests over the years, I am reminded of and so thankful for the fact that His Will is perfect, and He knows much better than I how to address the situation.  In 100% of the circumstances, His solution or answer far surpassed what I requested in terms of blessing and impact.  

Sometimes, though, God is silent for a time.  Sometimes, it takes a while for God's perfect plan to unfold.  If we are people of true faith (see #1), as impatient as we may be, we rest in the knowledge that God's got this.  He's got this. He hears you.  He knows your heart.  He knows your intentions - why you made the request.  Trust Him to wow you as He pulls it all together for His Kingdom glory.
  
"When God gives a vision and darkness follows, wait." Oswald Chambers

3. ". . .the answer is much closer."  Often it's so close that we can't see it, largely because we are focusing on the wrong thing.  Often, as impatience increases, our dependence on God decreases.

For good or ill, as I see it, while in the physical realm, our spiritual lives are a continuum - on one side is selfishness and on the other is God.  Life on earth is a constant struggle - an interminable shifting between selfishness and God. 

The great lesson in life is learning to discipline ourselves to recognize selfishness and run to the shelter He provides on his side of the continuum. Psalm 91:4 "He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart." The more time we spent there, the more peace and joy we experience.  Above all, God's love for us is affirmed in the shelter of those wings.  

If our prayers are a mirror to that love, we can be assured that they will be answered. . .are answered.  Perfectly.  At the right time.  In exactly the right way.  

Praise be to God the Father, the Almighty. Beginning and End. 

It's a matter of 'tude: Gladitude or saditude.

Lately, I have been struggling with my job.  This is year 2 of a different position - more of a leadership position with my peers/colleagues, and I have been struggling with the transition.  I miss my old job, which was largely working directly with students.  Once upon a time, I went into teaching because I loved my subject matter.  Now, twenty-some years later, my first love, the reason I can't wait to get to work, is my students. I love talking with them, exploring new ideas with them, encouraging them, and working through the hard -school-related and life-related - with them.

While I still get to work with students, I largely work with adults, coming alongside them to help them with goals. Working with adults is a whole different ball game.  Therefore, I think what I miss most of all is the feeling of security and familiarity that I had with my old position. 

As a teacher, I knew who I was.  I had a clear identity and a clearly-defined purpose.  I feel as though I definitely knew (know) how to teach and interact with kids. Likewise, I was largely autonomous. When the door closed to my classroom, the students and I functioned in a learning environment that worked well for both of us.

The new endeavor is relatively new, and a colleague and I are figuring this all out by feeling around in the dark.  My identity is being redefined, and often, I struggle with putting my finger on purpose.  That's one of the worst parts.  I am one who needs to believe that what I do matters and is having lasting impact.  There are many days I go home, wondering if I actually accomplished anything of significance and meaning. 

Another really difficult part is working with adults.  I have always been far more comfortable around teenagers.  Whether family, church, or social events, I have always gravitated toward the kids in the room versus the adults.  Therefore, this new work challenge is a stretch for me.  I have found that kids are far more acquiescent and optimistic.  In comparison to adults, students are more open to novelty and change, are more willing to trust and try, and generally respond to kindness and relationship without suspicion. 

No matter how much reassurance, kindness or encouragement that I have tried to extend, I have felt as though my efforts have been largely rebuffed or dismissed, which hurts and sucks in equal measure.

In an effort to try to pull myself out of this funk, I started listening to Larry Osborne's video series, Lead. The series is meant for spiritual leaders, but the shepherding he is talking about applies to my situation as well. 

Some takeaways thus far have been that it's not about me; it's about the sheep.  If I want them to follow me, I have to put aside my agenda and focus on them.  I'm going to give myself a C in that regard thus far.  In coaching, I have tried to put others' needs first because that's how it works.  But there are certain agenda items that we need to accomplish that have been met with resistance thus far.

Another takeaway is that I have to be fully prepared to be misunderstood.  There are times when I need to make decisions, which cannot be explained due to confidentiality.  Sometimes leadership means that people will be mad at you.

Also, I have to remember to meet people where they are - which is sometimes in a place of fear and weakness.  I have to always be positive.  Larry insists that leaders should self-impose a No Complaining rule.  If I leader is negative, that attitude is contagious and will spoil the environment.  I agree.  Sometimes this is tough because just like every other human on the planet, I get frustrated at work.  However, it seems imperative that I find a way to release that frustration without using my mouth.  Authentic relationship is important, but a relationship based on negativity is not going to result in growth. 

Larry also talked about the importance of actions over words.  More is caught than taught.  The action is the halls is more powerful than the values on the walls.  Yeah, he speaks in bumper speaker, but his bumper stickers make sense. 

During my prayer time this morning, I brought this all before God, and He told me a few important things.  First, he reminded me that, in his opinion, I have the skill set for this position. I have what I would consider some pretty good human relations skills.  I have experience and knowledge.  Basically, He was telling me that I have the tools I need to do this. 

It's a matter of 'tude: Gladitude or saditude. 

Next, He brought to mind the fact that I need to keep a flexible schedule.  I am a very organized, scheduled person, but "peopling" is not so linear.  As has been the case with kids over the years, they generally want to open up or talk at the most inopportune moments.  At least, I think it's inopportune because there was something else I wanted to get done.  Those are perfectly-timed God-appointments, which I shamefully admit, I have missed due to the fact that I thought my schedule was more important.  I need to keep my eyes and ears open and be available/amenable to the people whom I serve. 

Interestingly enough, when I got to work this morning, there were a series of God-appointments that popped up, one immediately when I arrived at work.  I got there early, and a student was randomly passing by my room. He and I had interacted a few times last year, but he proceeded to chat for about a half hour (at 7:00 am?!) about his family, job, etc.  It seems God was checking to see if I had been paying attention.

Lastly, God talked to me about my desire for purpose.  He told me to pay attention to the various tasks that I complete in a day - to focus on at least one positive, impactful aspect of that task in order to check the validity I seem to need. 

I'm so thankful that God brought these idea to mind today because it made a huge impact on my interactions and attitude. 

In the past, I have to shamefully admit that prayer wasn't my favorite thing to do, largely because of monkey mind.  I always had trouble in staying focused on prayer instead of thinking about all sorts of unrelated, unimportant stuff. 

Now, prayer is one of the highlights of my day.  I can't wait to get to my chair in the morning, do devotions, and spend time talking with God.  I'm not saying that I've crossed some magical border and become some sort of enlightened spiritual superior.  I'm just saying that daily prayer time has had a significant impact on my life and relationship with God, the Father. 

I have no doubt that for as long as I choose to continue with this challenge, I will continue to be frustrated and struggle with purpose.  However, I believe that God opened the doors and brought me to this place for such a time as this.  Rather than waste all my energy and time in whining and trying to control all the variables, I recognize the fact that I need to keep my ears and eyes training on Him for the next move. 

Of the many lessons that I have learned the hard way this year, one is that for I am not in control.  I have spent the majority of my life in trying to control all the variables and be the boss over my destiny (to the point of choosing to be my own God rather than follow God).  God has humbled me and taught me that if I truly am a Christ-follower, there can only be one God in my life. 

I have been schooled to that effect in my personal life; now, it seems as though God is schooling me in my professional life as well.  Why does it seem that I have to learn everything so slowly and via the hard way? My Father who art in heaven, have your way.  Your will be done on Earth as it is in heaven. Amen.

For Such A Time As This

I bought some prayer beads in March of last year, and I usually give them a workout each morning during my prayer time.  A while back, I started making a prayer list - writing down names to remind myself of people whom God has placed on my mind and heart. 

As I was looking over the list recently, I was struck by the fact that the bulk of the list is young people, largely Millennials in their late teens and early 20s.  Another interesting observation is that the majority of those young people is guys. 

There are the names of sons of some friends my age.  Over dinner one night, the moms opened their broken hearts and spoke of their heartbreak and fear concerning their unsaved sons.  One mom, who has battled anxiety for most of her life, shed some tears as she expressed her fear that if something happened to her son, she isn't so sure she would see him in heaven someday.  That very night, I started praying for their boys.

One young man on my prayer list is the same age as my son.  About five years ago, while under the influence of drugs, he committed a terrible crime and will spend his life in prison - no chance of parole.  It would be easy to conclude that his life is over and that the duration of his life will be a purposeless and hopeless one.  I don't believe that to be true, though.  I believe that God has a plan for him, and so, I pray over him every morning.

The rest of the boys on the list are just that, boys.  They are teenagers with a list of baggage that is seemingly endless.  All three have been in trouble with the law. They struggle with anger, anxiety and depression, criminal tendencies, irresponsible sexuality, and a penchant for poor choices.  Their faces and circumstances come to mind when I spent time in prayer.

In addition to praying for them individually, I also pray that God will send strong Christian male mentors into their lives.  These boys all need men to show them how to be men.  With the exception of two, all the guys on the list come from single-parent families, where Mom is the primary caretaker. 

Further complicating the issue is the fact that we have emasculated males and maleness in pop culture.  If you watch any contemporary movie or sitcom in modern society, there is one common theme, and that is the stupidification of males.  Men are the butts of all the jokes.  Men are bossed around by the women.  Men are made to look like helpless dummies in comparison to the seemingly far-superior female counterparts.  The gender pendulum has definitely swung all the way in the opposite direction. 

Some might argue that this is a good thing - a positive move forward for society, or in the very least, women.  I would say that is a classic example of faulty comparison.  Neither extreme is healthy or beneficial. 

With regard to the latter, the result has been a whole generation of males who have no idea how to be a male.  The lack of a strong, consistent, Godly male in the home and in the media means there have been no role models to teach these guys how to be men. 

And so I pray for strong Christian men to have courage, to stay in close communion with God, and step up and stand in the gap for all the floundering young men in the world today. 

Conversely, I also pray that even in the busyness of my day, I will hear God's voice when He needs me to stand in the gap for the young women He places in my path.  Girls so desperately want to be loved - to be cherished.  The girls on my prayer list have eating disorders, substance abuse issues, and always, always heartbreaking relationship issues - the devastating realization that the promises made in the heat of the moment are born of lust and not love.

My heart breaks, and that's not just a cliche, for all the kids (and yes, they are kids to me) who are struggling. 

And yet, I know that God has a plan for each of them.  They are here for such a time and place as this. 

And so are we.  It is not for us to judge them, to shake our heads at them, to wave them away in disgust or frustration.  God has called us to such a time and place as well.  I pray that we may all keep our hearts soft and our eyes and ears open to listen more than speak, to show compassion and kindness, and to firmly and lovingly convey truth to all whom God places on our hearts and in our paths.

Forgive and forget - What is really required of Christians?

There are two people whom I don't like.  I have been hurt by both of them.  I was the recipient of their hurtful actions even though I did not do anything to incite the action.  I know that sounds like some sort of logical fallacy.  Why would someone else hurt you if they weren't provoked in some way?  

I can assure you that I am not deluded.  To the best of my knowledge, I did not do anything to provoke or inspire the malice toward me.  

I am generally a very warm, accepting person.  I work very hard to make people feel at ease and feel included, and I will work very hard to help others be successful. . . until they screw me over.  Then, it's game over.  She or he who was once a friend is now an enemy.  

While I would never deign to stoop to returning malice or revenge, I would be lying if I said that thoughts of either have never crossed my mind.  I think that's human nature and that I am not unique in that regard.  

The fallout, however, of betrayal is a freeze.  The walls come up all around me, and my icy gaze peers over the tops of the ramparts to regard the person who has betrayed me.  He or she, who was once invited into my castle, has now become banished from the kingdom.  

And so, right now, that's how it is with the two from whom the current hurt originated.  

The time for anger has long passed.  The walls protect me from further hurt.  Never again will either of them find the soft underbelly into which to stick their weapon.  Both have been pushed to a safe distance.  

It's safe to say that I struggle with the phrase, Forgive and Forget.  Many Christian friends have urged me to forgive since that is Biblical but have assured me that forgetting is not a necessary part of the bargain.  Experience is a critical bridge to gaining wisdom, and therefore, remembering is necessary to acquiring wisdom.

But I just don't know about that.  

A relationship with Christ is based on the Forgive and Forget principle.  We pray for forgiveness of our sins, and Christ says that "as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us." (Psalm 103:12). And in Hebrews 8:12, it says, "For I will forgive their wickedness and will remember their sins no more." That's a pretty convincing argument for the idea of forgiving and forgetting.  I am very thankful that I have the opportunity to a) talk to my heavenly Father at any given time, and b) ask and receive forgiveness for my sins.  Doesn't it follow that I am expected to do the same?

Even so, it is troubling that when Christ returns, it says in 2 Corinthians 5:10, " For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each of us may receive what is due us for the things done while in the body, whether good or bad."  While forgiveness has been assured, the forgetting part seems to not hold true.  So which is it?

When I think about the character of Christ during his 33 years on Earth, I know which one seems to be the more likely truth.  God is love, and Christ was love in human form.  There were many people, including those in His own family, who were unkind and cruel, even though He, too, had done nothing to instigate their wrath.  When I think of His kindness to  the woman at the well,  Matthew/Zaccheus the tax collector, and of course, EVERYONE at His crucifixion, His forgiveness is not conditional.  Luke 23:34 "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”

The situation always seems to change when one puts the shoe on the other foot.  To explain, if the situation were reversed, it would be pretty dang terrible if the person whom I hurt never let it go.  Actually, I have done that to someone, and even after asking forgiveness, the person has never let it go.  It sucks.  I don't want to be that person.  And yet I have been. 

The problem is that neither of them are sorry for their actions.  Like at all.  They both feel justified and comfortable with their actions, and that bothers the absolute snot out of me.  In my mind, I am supposedly "punishing" them for what they did to me when the reality is that the only person who is being punished is me.  

And so, it seems to me that forgiveness is truly not forgiveness unless the hurt is released.  In order for the hurt to be released, it has to go - like out of sight and out of mind. Otherwise, as far as I'm concerned, it's not really true forgiveness.

I like to justify and seemingly elevate myself to a higher moral standard than these two by "confessing" that I am praying for blessings for both of them.  While it's good to pray blessings over them, the fact is that the request is pretty hollow since I am still harboring resentment in my heart.  I am no better than a common Pharisee.  

And so, I know what I must do.  And I may need to do it repeatedly until I finally open my clenched fist, or rather my clenched heart, to release the hurt.  At that moment, true forgiveness will occur, and peace will finally be mine. 

The Power of Story

Every year for as long as I remember having made goals for myself, writing has always been in the top five with regard to goals for the year.  Obviously, I feel as though it's important -important enough to always keep pushing it to the top of my priority list.  But as the year goes on, it always finds itself dropping - kind of like a spelunker making his way down the face of a mountain, bouncing from rock face to rock face until there is a gentle settling in the sand at the base.  I am passionate about it, but not passionate enough to strain and stretch the necessary muscles to keep moving toward the top of the list.

The question is why is writing so important to me? 

When I was in high school, I was basically the yearbook staff.  As both a junior and senior, I was the editor, but I was also the writer, copy editor, photographer, and graphic design person, and I loved every second of it.  I would stay after school for endless hours in the upstairs offices reserved for the yearbook and dark room.  Poor Mrs. Beekman, the faculty advisor, would be stuck at school until I was ready to call it a day, but never once do I remember her complaining. She would always hang out in her room, correcting or preparing, and always ready to drop what she was doing to converse with me.  

Anyway, that's where the flames of my passion were fanned - in those upstairs rooms.  Ever since then, I have been fanning and fanning and fanning those flamed. After all these years, I'm still waiting for the fire to take off.  But why?

Well, I love words.  I love the way they tumble together and roll around in a sentence or on a page, creating a visual landscape into which a reader is lured.  I love the way words that mean the same thing can be so different, individualistic, and distinct in eliciting a response or picture.  More than anything, I love the way words grab onto one another, linking hands, to form a bridge between expression and thought.  When a reader says, "YES!  That's exactly what it's like" to something I've written, I feel a sense of accomplishment unlike anything else.

That leads to another reason why I am so passionate about writing.  Writing is a way in which I can give voice to ideas that people have locked inside them.  I wish I had a buck for every time I have heard someone comment about the fact that they just can't find the words to say, so they are thankful for what I've written because it reflects their own experience.  They just didn't know how to say it. 

Tim O'Brien addresses this idea in his book, Things They Carry. The very last line of the novel says, "I'm skimming across the surface of my own history, moving fast, riding the melt beneath the blades, doing loops and spins, and when I take a high leap into the dark and come down thirty years later, I realize it is as Tim trying to save Timmy's life with a story."  

Words are powerful.  The more we use them to tell our stories, particularly the terrible stories, the less they have power over us.  Words can be destructive, but they can also be life-giving, and I try to concentrate on the latter and avoid the former.  

Writing also helps me to untangle that which is on my mind.  I keep a handwritten journal - and have for at least twenty years.  I also keep an online journal for work.  In each and every instance, the journals are the best problem-solving methods I have ever used.  In every situation, writing has helped me to organize, evaluate, and determine a course of action.  It is an invaluable part of my existence.  Writing is one of three ways in which I have been able to gain wisdom throughout the years (reading the Bible/prayer and finding/learning from wise people are the other two).  

But let's be real.  As humans, we are all narcissistic.  I write for selfish reasons as well.  I write for permanence.  I want to use my skills to leave a positive, useful, purposeful mark in history - most specifically, an ear-mark of faith.  

As usual, writing is in the top five of my lengthy list of goals for this year.  Whenever I write for this blog, I feel as though I need to have something pragmatic to post - something that the reader can take away for the day and mull over for growth and consideration.  

Well, I trust the process.  I trust that God will provide the words and direction when I sit and write.  If If I am diligent to put Him first in prayer and study His word, I know that He will meet me at the keyboard as well.  

This will be the year in which I untangle the events of the last five years, and most specifically, the last year, which has been equal parts the most personally painful and most personally beneficial with regard to spiritual growth.  God never wastes a hurt, and our most powerful evangelistic tool is our testimony. My story is His story, and if there is one thing I know to be true, a story is meant to be told.  

As painful as it has been, I know that there is someone out there who will say, "YES! That's exactly what it's like."  If my story can not only help Melissa save Missy's life with a story, I know it has the power to save someone else's life as well.