No One Who Hopes in You Will Ever Be Put to Shame

Last night didn't end well. 

She was happy she had a date because she really liked this guy and thought he was cute.  Apparently, he reciprocated the feelings, and thus far, had been a gentleman. For example, he had arranged a date twice, and had picked her up from the house both times.  That was new for her.  Likewise, he had made the choice not to text her, other than to make arrangements for the date.  This was also new for her.  The not-texting thing made her a little crazy at first because it was something that she was not used to.  However, she seemed to understand that it was good because when he wanted to visit with her, he preferred to do it face-to-face instead of via text.  (Plus, he has something like three jobs, so he probably doesn't have time to text.)

Anyway,  all went well (supposedly) until it was time to say good night. 

I woke up. I heard the truck outside my bedroom window.  It was right around midnight.  Normally, it's a short goodbye and she is in the house.  Tonight that wasn't case.  It was dragging out.  I understand if you're sitting in the truck, wrapping things up, but I had heard them exit the vehicle, heard the crunch of footsteps in the snow, so I knew they were out there. 

I made a terrible mistake.  I got up. 

Then, I made another terrible mistake.  I looked out the bathroom window, only to see the two of them practically hoover-ing each other's faces off.  The sight still inspires indigestion.  It's my own fault.

I have to say I was appalled.  I know that I'm old school.  But seriously? Second date, and they're already making out like that?  And she had just broken up with her other boyfriend less than two weeks ago. 

There goes my stomach again. 

Anyway, I waited, even went back to bed to wait it all out.  I was disappointed, but what do you do?

And then, it got worse.  I heard them get into the truck and drive away.

What would you think?

I immediately lost my shit.  Like lost it.  Fortunately, my husband was clueless.  He had had an extra dosage of fresh air for the day, and was blissfully unaware. 

I went into the living room.  I wrapped myself in the blanket from the couch and started rocking back and forth, bawling.  I'm not proud to admit it, but I started banging my head against the floor. 

Again, I'm not proud of it, but I got on my phone, and I started calling.  In all, I ended up calling her 21 times, and each time it went to voicemail.  Why call so many times, you might ask?  What's the matter with me?

I foolishly thought I could intervene.  If I could just get through, I could shake her from current delusion under which she was operating.  So, I hit re-dial.  Again and again.  I left two voicemails - nothing that I am ashamed of.  Just desperate messages.  Full of sadness.

Then, I switched to texting.  Today's generation doesn't respond well to calls as much as texts, so I thought I might be able to get through to her that way.  Even so.  Deep down, I knew it was a hopeless cause.  Her mind, her heart, and her body were all elsewhere.  Unreachable.

I didn't text anything that I am ashamed of either.  In the past, I would have exploded all over, saying things I would later regret.  This time around, it was desperate:

(     ), where are you going?
I got up to make sure the door is unlocked.
I am waiting here. You told me. You TOLD me this wasn't going to happen.  I am about to throw up right here on the floor. 
You won't pick up.
I have called
And called.
Where are you?
I don't care if you think I'm crazy.  This is your second date.
Two weeks after you broke up with your last boyfriend.
(     )
(     )
(     )
Pick up.
Pick up.
Come home now.
Right now
Don't do this.
Don't do this.
Don't do this.
I don't know what else to do.  I have called. And texted. I have been praying.  I can only hope that God intervenes right now.

And then, I got up off the floor and sleepwalked to the chair. My chair.
I started praying, but the prayer were so scrambled.  Nothing made sense.
Then, I pulled out my Bible and begged. Begged for some direction as to what to read. 

I don't know why, but I pulled all my hair over my face and hid my head under a blanket. I could barely see the words on the page. I had been crying so hard that my eyes were almost swollen shut, my nose was completely blocked, and tears were staining and smudging the pages. 

Somehow, as if in a dream, I turned to Psalm 13, where I read:

How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?
    How long will you hide your face from me?
2 How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
    and day after day have sorrow in my heart?    How long will my enemy triumph over me?

3 Look on me and answer, Lord my God.
    Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death,
4 and my enemy will say, “I have overcome him,”
    and my foes will rejoice when I fall.

5 But I trust in your unfailing love;
    my heart rejoices in your salvation.
6 I will sing the Lord’s praise,
    for he has been good to me.

Then,  I skipped to Psalm 23 and 25. 

In you, Lord my God,    I put my trust.

2 I trust in you;
    do not let me be put to shame,
    nor let my enemies triumph over me.
3 No one who hopes in you    will ever be put to shame,
but shame will come on those
    who are treacherous without cause.

4 Show me your ways, Lord,
    teach me your paths.
5 Guide me in your truth and teach me,
    for you are God my Savior,
    and my hope is in you all day long.
6 Remember, Lord, your great mercy and love,
    for they are from of old.
7 Do not remember the sins of my youth
    and my rebellious ways;
according to your love remember me,
    for you, Lord, are good.

8 Good and upright is the Lord;
    therefore he instructs sinners in his ways.
9 He guides the humble in what is right
    and teaches them his way.
10 All the ways of the Lord are loving and faithful
    toward those who keep the demands of his covenant.
11 For the sake of your name, Lord,
    forgive my iniquity, though it is great.

12 Who, then, are those who fear the Lord?
    He will instruct them in the ways they should choose.[b]
13 They will spend their days in prosperity,
    and their descendants will inherit the land.
14 The Lord confides in those who fear him;
    he makes his covenant known to them.
15 My eyes are ever on the Lord,
    for only he will release my feet from the snare.

16 Turn to me and be gracious to me,
    for I am lonely and afflicted.
17 Relieve the troubles of my heart
    and free me from my anguish.
18 Look on my affliction and my distress
    and take away all my sins.
19 See how numerous are my enemies    and how fiercely they hate me!

20 Guard my life and rescue me;
    do not let me be put to shame,
    for I take refuge in you.
21 May integrity and uprightness protect me,    because my hope, Lord,[c] is in you.

22 Deliver Israel, O God,
    from all their troubles!

Over and over, I read Psalm 23:

The Lord is my Shepherd,

I shall lack nothing.

He makes me lie down in green pastures,

He leads me beside quiet waters.

He restores my soul.

He guides me in paths of righteousness for His name's sake.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, 

I will fear no evil.

For your rod and staff comfort me.

You prepare a table for me in the presence of my enemies.

You anoint my head with oil.

My cup overflows.

Surely, goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life.

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Each time I read it, I said it as a prayer and envisioned myself as a sheep being led, especially while walking through the valley of the shadow of death.  I envisioned Christ in front of me with his rod and staff, gently touching my side when I got to close to the edge.  

That's what it was like.

For two hours.  

I prayed and prayed for a Divine intervention.  I asked God to consider all the work that had been done thus far, to continue the work.  

My breathing slowed as I considered my powerlessness in this situation.  “Child,' said the Lion, 'I am telling you your story, not hers. No one is told any story but their own.”  Her journey was not my journey. I was on my own, and it was a faith journey.  

During that entire two hours, it was as if I was someone else, somewhere else.  My sense of reality was suspended.  I don't know how to describe it.  I just did not feel as though I was in reality.  And then, I remembered Psalm 91: "He will cover you with His feathers; and under His wings you will find refuge."  As I recalled this verse, I realized that my head was still under the covers. I was finding refuge in the storm.  

Suddenly, I heard a voice say: "Sing to me."  

I was startled from my stupor, wondering if I heard what I heard. Then, I heard it again, 

"Sing to me."

Ordinarily, I would have probably rolled my eyes and laughed it off, but I was so despondent that I didn't think twice.  I started singing.  First, I tried to muddle my way through "10,000 Reasons" and switched to "Blessed Be the Name of the Lord." 

As I was singing, she came in the door, startled by the wreck she encountered by the window.  

She immediately started talking. . .Nothing happened.  We just talked.  I told him that I was saving myself for marriage.  Nothing happened.  

What do you do?  Do you believe?  She has lied so much in the past.  What does it matter, if she is telling the truth or not?  There is absolutely nothing I can do about it.

I waved her off. My nerves were shot.  Still are.  I have been through so much, unfairly so. Just when I think I can't take it anymore, or I mistakenly think the worst of it has passed, there is a new challenge to push me to the brink all over again.

Worst of all, there is no one you can talk to about this stuff.  You have to just suck it up and suck it in deep. Although this is my story and my journey, I also share it with someone.  I can't share my part of the story without exposing someone else's part. And so, here I sit, stuffing, hiding, pushing through.  

The average observer sees nothing different. I tell myself to smile when I encounter someone.  I always know when I have been frowning for extended periods of time because the pressure of the tightening of the muscles as they lift the corners of my mouth will surprise. It's an unexpected sensation.  I laugh heartily on cue, when expected.  I ask the right questions. I get everything done in the time and quality expected. I am the same person s/he encounters on a daily basis, only a little quieter than I used to be.  

That's because I have lost my voice.  I used to be so vocal about everything, so confident in who I was, as if I thought I was a wise, enlightening person - the one with the answers and logic.  Parenting, teaching, faith. . .you name it, and I felt as though I had it all figured out. Now I know the truth. 

Actually, I haven't lost my voice; I have just  put it away.  I have encased it in stone, because it's not worth hearing.  I prefer to hide in plain sight.

So why am I writing this then?  For two reasons.  First, I need to get rid of this poison inside me.  If I don't release it, it just destroys me.  This is how I process - I get it all out and somehow, I find a direction - a new place to go.  Second, I want it to be crystal clear that I cannot and am not doing this on my own.  Without God, there is no way I could take another step or make it another day.  

So where do we go from here?  I don't know.  I just know that I have to stay close to the Shepherd.  That's the only way I am going to make it through this valley called life.  I envision myself hanging on to His belt, my eyes trained on the details of that belt.  When I look to the right or to the left, or when I let go of the belt, I immediately find myself alone, wandering, and crying in the dark.  Following His lead and sticking close to His side are the only options at this point. 

God-Inspired Aha Moments: Part II

Here is Part II of the God-inspired aha moments.

Sadly, I need to confess that this one has to do with a pride issue. 

I'm pretty sure that I have written about this previously. If I haven't, then this has been a running commentary in my mind for pretty much this whole school year.

To explain, I have been fretting over relevancy at my job. 

Last year, I switched positions.  It was my choice; no one forced me to do it.  Last year was frustrating, but I just wrote it off because it was new.  Although some things are better this year, it hasn't been a vast improvement.

Likewise (and oh how painful this is to admit), a co-worker, whom I respect and cherish very much, is making me a little crazy.  My problem, not hers.  We are both Type As; she just happens to be more Type A than I (if that's possible).  Because she is a take-charge go-getter, she has been staying true to her personality and taking charge.  

My personality is such that when there is no leader present, I will take charge, but if there is someone else who is willing and wants to take the leadership role (and I respect what they are doing and the direction in which they are going), I am usually quite content to fade into the background and let the other person roll forward.  Usually. 

This is what has progressively been happening more and more this year.  While we are both "leaders," the intensity of her leadership has increased, and as a consequence, I have been pulling back more.  

I will admit that sometimes my feelings get hurt and/or my pride prickles a little, but it is a feeling that almost always passes as quickly as it comes.  

But (there's always a but).

My seeming passivity has been perceived (in my perception) as weakness by the people whom we have been called to lead.  In other words, when push comes to shove, more people are going to my partner than me, presumably because they feel as though she is more (fill-in-the-blank. . . knowledgeable, of a leader, dynamic, etc.) than me.  Taking a back seat has pushed me all the way to the back of the bus. 

Now, do I know that to be true?  Not necessarily, but I have taken the clues and solved the mystery. And really, does it matter of it's true?  Perception is reality.  I have already made up my mind that it's true, so for me, it is.  

Anyway, I am very ashamed to even write that.  Pathetic.  I love my co-worker to death, and she is  knowledgeable, and she is a great leader, and she is passionate.  She is deserving of admiration.  

Equally shameful is the fact that my pride-based whining has been on my mind. .too much - like waking me up in the middle of the night, causing me to re-hash every decision, comment, and interaction with my boss and co-workers.  

Until the other night.  I believe it was in the middle of the night when I had a God-inspired revelation.

There is a line in The Horse and His Boy (C. S. Lewis) that says: “Child,' said the Lion, 'I am telling you your story, not hers. No one is told any story but their own.”

When I read that line a couple of months ago, it struck me and has stayed with me.  The journey God has me own is the journey I need to concern myself with - not someone else's.

God has me in this position for a reason.  It is a challenge that has been designed specifically for me to teach me, grow me, and develop me in a specific way that God has ordained.  My job is to keep my eyes and ears trained on Him and wait for Him to say, "Move. Do. Go." 

That said, the aha moment I experienced is going to seem anti-climactic to you, but it was significant to me.  It was to simply stay the course.  My character is more important than my accomplishments. So what if I have faded to the background?  That is where God wants me to be.  It doesn't matter so much where I am; it's more about what I do when I'm there. In other words, if God wants me in the back seat, I need to pay attention to what He wants me to do and say with the people He puts in the back seat with me.  

What a liberating, peaceful thought and feeling in the middle of the night!  I felt as though a significant weight had been lifted off my shoulders, and I went to work with a bounce in my step.  

Clearly, the midnight revelation was God reminding me: "Child, I am telling you your story."  Since "no one is told any story but their own," what chapter are you currently on in your story? Are you fretting over the end of the story, or are you enjoying the current plot, savoring the details, and admiring the skill of the Author who has written your story?

God-Inspired Aha Moments - Part 1: Who's the Boss

I have a couple of things on my mind - a couple of "revelations" to share.  (I'm all about the aha moments in life.)

The first has to do with an answer to prayer.  Maybe. I know that God is always answering prayer (that's not the revelation), and I also know, based on personal experience, that He rarely answers prayer in the expected way.  For the most part, I love that.  It just reinforces that He is in control, and I'm not, and I find tremendous peace and comfort in that.

Anyway, I have been praying for about a year that God would, when HE feels it's the right time, send good friends into my daughter's life - friends who will come alongside her and help her to grow in her faith.  Without getting into too many details, my daughter has largely had some terrible friends and influences in her life.  I'm not saying that they have all been heinous (although, several have), but hey definitely have not helped her to develop a strong faith or make good decisions.

Enter X (totally using a nondescript initial to throw off any speculation as to who it is).

For the past year, X has been a total burr in my saddle.  X is one of the few people in life with whom I have just straight-up had a problem.  I don't want to get into it, but the bottom line is that I have serious trust issues with X.  On the outside, X is generally admired by all and checks all the right life choice boxes to be admired by all.  I, however, saw a different side to X this year - one that I interpreted as manipulative and harmful.  Anyway, X is one of two people with whom I have struggled within the past year.

Well, wouldn't you know that X has repeatedly been in contact with my daughter.  Now based on what I told you, you probably might think that X is up to something.  Well, she is.  She just wants to get to know my daughter and build a relationship with her.  Period.  X has been completely appropriate, supportive, kind, and loving to my daughter.

I'm going to be honest.  I'm still not sure about X.  I can't quite decide if this is just another manipulative ploy, or if possibly X and I just got off on the wrong foot - that X is actually a good and decent person, and that through a series of unfortunate circumstances, she and I diverged instead of converged.

The jury is still out on that one.

Suffice it to say, though, I have prayed about X for a long time.  You know that part of the Lord's Prayer that says, "Forgive our sins as we forgive those who sin against us?"  Yeah, X is one of two people who always come to mind at that part, and so I have been asking God to soften my heart - I have been praying blessings over X.

As you can probably guess, the prayer has ultimately been more about me - the condition of my heart - than X.  And after my daughter had a recent coffee date with X, I had a sort of epiphany, and I'm pretty sure I know who orchestrated the aha moment.

The epiphany is this:  What if X is the answer to my prayer for daughter -you know, the friend to come alongside her as she grows a relationship with Christ?  Wouldn't that just be a kick in the pants?  Of course, it would, and that's certainly God's MO.  He is the God of the unexpected who likes to remind us that we know nothing and He knows everything.

For now, time will tell.  But I do have to admit that I laughed to myself in spite of myself at the thought.  I have prayed for transformed heart - for both me and my daughter.  We might just be getting a two-fer out of that one.

To be continued. . .

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.