to accept the things I cannot change...

We've all heard The Serenity Prayer.  I've never seen the "extended" version, but here it is:

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.

--Reinhold Niebuhr

Last night I heard someone in my single moms' group at church say that she was doing better because she had just accepted what her life would and would not be.  Simple, right?  Hardly.  She made it sound so simple.  Like "I know cigarettes are bad for me so I quit smoking."  But I know it's more conceptually simple than practically simple.  In other words, the implementation is the tricky part.

I immediately recalled the many times my Mom has advised me to accept certain things because they are not going to change.  Things that wreak havoc on my life, that tie me up in knots and upset me, that create stress, resentment, and other burdens.  I always hated that advice, because it seems unattainable.  How do I accept something that hurts, that doesn't make sense, that I can't understand?  I'm an analytical creature who has never been content to just know the answer, but instead needs to know how and why the answer is the answer.

In thinking through this, I realize how much time, energy, and emotion I have given to things that are beyond my control.  When considering the actions of others - I cannot control them.  And quite often I can't even understand them.  Because I'm not that person.  I don't think with their mind and their heart.  I don't employ the same logic or morals when making decisions.  So I'm judging them against my standards.

I want to learn to accept the things I cannot change.  Going back to The Serenity Prayer, the word "surrender" jumps out at me.  Giving over control to God is a difficult thing.  Plus, it's so intangible, because it's not as simple as literally letting God drive your car while you sit in the passenger seat.  The word "reasonable" jumps out as well.  Reasonably happy.  Adjusting our expectations and perhaps what we think we deserve in this life.  Realizing there will be disappointments, tragedies, confusion, obstacles, and injustice done to us and to those we love. 

People and circumstances are still going to disappointment me, as long as I have morals, standards, and expectations for humanity.  What I can hope to change is the way I react to these things.  To view things with more neutrality and less emotion perhaps, consenting to coexist with incomprehensible people with no desire to change them or adapt to them, but just to roam this earth in their presence while they do their thing and I do mine.  By the same token, I don't aim to resign myself and tolerate injustice, for instance. I'm not suggesting that we turn our heads or become silent.  I'm suggesting that I stop inviting turmoil into my head and heart by relentlessly trying to understand things that I cannot ever hope to understand.

On a personal level, when I am trying to think through things that others have done to me, I long to reach a level of evolvement where I can simply conclude that they made choices, I'm free to make mine in response, and it can't be undone or erased.  It can only be permitted to float down the stream of life along with every good and wonderful gift I receive.

As the current saying goes, "it is what it is."  Or as one of my favorite bands, Rush, sang in the 90s, 'Why are we here?  Because we're here.  Roll the bones.  Why does it happen?  Because it happens.  Roll the bones."

On Consignment

I signed a contract today, putting my never-worn wedding dress on consignment.  It felt so strange to be in a place where most people are overflowing with joy and anticipation, but instead, I focused on my feet so as not to see all the wedding portraits, bridal magazines, and other wedding artifacts.  It was all a brutal reminder of what did not happen in my life a few months ago. 

I managed to hold in the tears until I exited the establishment, but then they came.  Another surge of grief over the dreams I'd held so close that are not going to come true. 

Consignment.  Handing something over that is precious to me, with no guarantee I'll get anything in return for it.  Hoping that someone else will also see the value in it and compensate accordingly.  Seems ironic to me.  It's kind of what I did when I said yes to that marriage proposal.  I gave someone my heart, access to every dusty corner of my life, every skeleton in my closet, and gave unlimited access to all of the wonderful things I have to offer as a partner in life.  In return, I hoped those treasures would be deemed valuable and would be worth another person's investment. 

How did that turn out?  It depends who you ask I suppose, or which day you ask.  It didn't turn out like I hoped or planned.  At times I think that what I wanted was very simple: to be treated with love and respect.  To me, that covers every dealbreaking behavior I can fathom.  At other times I think I want something that is impossible to find.  But at the end of the day, if a value or offer is made in exchange for what I have on the table, and the two are not similar in value, then someone is losing.

Consignment is a bit of a gamble.  It could be that your valued item is returned to you, that no one wants to pay any price for it, that it is only beautiful to you.  Or maybe someone isn't willing to care for what's been entrusted to them in a way that is fair.  The good news in all of this is that you are free to keep whatever it is you put on the table.  I'd rather keep a beautiful dress in my closet and never wear it, than to be offered rotten worms or pickles or snot-encrusted tissues in return for it.  And as for my heart, I'd rather keep it, know its worth, and share it with those who value it, than to loan it out for a poor return on my investment.

Misguided Hope

I’ve always been a hopeful person.  Hope is mandatory, in my opinion, or life is very grim indeed.  Hope is also painful.  Because when what you wish for doesn’t come to pass, you feel as if you lost something.  The word hope is tattooed on my body.  It’s my daughter’s middle name. 

At the first meeting of the new single moms’ group at my church, we discussed hope tonight – where you should place your hope.  And where you shouldn’t.

I realized I’m guilty of misdirected hope.  I put too much hope into people and things, and not enough hope in God.  People and things inevitably fail you, as the instructor pointed out to us.  I thought of the leap of happiness I feel when something comes into my life that I’ve been hoping for – be it a job, an item, a romance, resources, etc.  I put too much stock in people and in things.  Then when they fall apart, I fall apart too.  I can’t help but wonder if I would operate differently if I put more hope and trust in God.

Don’t get me wrong – all theory and idealism aside, I think it is impossible to not have hope in people and things and to not count on them in some way for our happiness.  Likewise, even the most faithful Christian is going to experience pain when people and things break, for lack of a better word. 

Even though I tend to give lots of chances to people and look past things that bother me, when they disappointment me or harm me, it hurts deeply.  Somehow - despite my experiences, wisdom, luck, and track record – I come to believe deeply in people.  Perhaps too easily. 

I’ve always been cognizant of the fact that if you expect one person to be your everything, you are going to be frustrated and they will feel like a failure.  But now I’m thinking that even if you spread those expectations across many people and many things, we can still wind up frustrated.  And so is God.  Because we aren’t leaning on him or placing our hope in him.

The instructor tonight pointed out that every hurtful thing we’ve heard or thought about ourselves can be found nowhere in the Bible.  Nowhere in the bible does is it say that God thinks I should get over myself or that my stretchmarks are hideous or that I’m stupid or have poodle hair….none of it is in there.  He’s kind of my biggest fan.  J

Getting Over Myself

I was recently told to get over myself.  What exactly does that mean and how do I go about doing that?  UrbanDictionary.com defines this as a "Patronising phrase used to tell someone that you believe they hold too high an opinion of themselves, or are behaving in a conceited or pompous manner" (an alternate definition is "a phrase little pussies use when they can't win an argument with a real counterpoint").  But I digress.

Holding too high an opinion of myself.....well, on a good day, I would say that I'm a strong woman, an ambitious woman, that I'm honest, full of integrity, loyal, thoughtful, generous, loving, and smart.  On a bad day, I might say I'm overly sensitive, too controlling, too much of a perfectionist, and stubborn.  It's like the little homunculus self you'd see in cartoons - the devil on one shoulder, the angel on the other, both campaigning to direct your choices and actions.  One day I might say I give people too many chances and the next I might say my expectations for others are too high.  Both are true somewhere on the continuum. 

My expectations for others are extremely high, but so are my expectations for myself.  Does getting over myself mean lowering my expectations for the principled living I value?  If I expect less of myself I could definitely get away with lots of things I don't try to get away with now.  It would relieve so many of the burdens I place on myself.  But it would also be a less fulfilling and rewarding life. 

Maybe I am getting over myself.  I'm getting over certain images I had of myself.  I'll give you 3 examples: First, the image of me as a wife, as a stepmom, as one half of a partnership.  I had planned to get married earlier this year (I'll refrain from saying I was supposed to get married, because that implies notions of fate and destiny, and I tend to believe now that God got me on the path where he wanted me).  Second, I'm also getting over seeing myself as a 50/50 co-parent, because I'm not.  My kids are with me all but 2 nights a month.  Third, I'm getting over dreams for a certain career, because it's just not possible to be an on-call midwife when you are the only adult at home with your kids, and you've decided that your kids will always come first.

I'll continue to think about getting over myself and whether there is any merit to that suggestion.  And at the same time, others will get over me as well.

She Started It

Humans can almost be counted on - when they feel desperate or hurt - to lash out at other humans, to hit them where it hurts, and to erase bonds of intimacy and trust, often in an instant.  It's not unlike the behavior of young children, really.  One calls another a name, and the other retorts with a worse name.  We try to "one up" each other with the pain we inflict.  And we do it best with those we claim to love.

It's certainly difficult to be mature and respectful when we feel rejected or wounded.  We want others to feel the pain we are feeling I suppose.  But I can't think of a time when inflicting cruelty on another human being has made me feel any better about my own personal pain.  Maybe for a fleeting moment, we bask in the glory of being a pompous jackass, but pretty soon we find no comfort or absolution in the act. 

What's worse, for the recipient of unfair or untrue cruelty, all of the lovely things the speaker has said to us and about us before come into question.  I always go back to that quote from Pretty Woman: "The bad stuff is easier to believe. You ever notice that?"  I've matured to a place where it's not so much that the bad stuff is easier to believe, but its impact can be far greater than the good stuff we hear about ourselves.  I know what I am and what I'm not, and I've grown accustomed to mud-slinging in the arena of human relations.  It still hurts, but I have learned to love myself and accept the fact that some people will say things that simply aren't true just to try to hurt you or manipulate you.  I can't control that.  What I can control is whether I choose to associate with people like that.

As a good friend once suggested to me, "you're free to make your choices, but just remember, I'm free to make mine in turn."  So whether she started or he started it, I can always choose to finish it - whether it be by taking the high road, walking away, or refusing to engage in it.

The Lost Art of Class & Grace

From time to time, I realize that my attitude toward graciousness and courteousness is the exception, not the norm.  When did we all become so self-absorbed and rude that we stopped extending basic gestures of class?  Are there people who actually don’t know what RSVP means?  It means someone needs and wants to know whether you plan to attend an event they are taking the time to orchestrate.  It means it might impact what they how much they are going to spend or how intensively they will prepare for the event.  Quite literally, it’s répondez , s’il vous plait (respond please).  “No” is a completely acceptable response.  But far too often, people either don’t respond at all – not even thanking the inviter for the invitation – or they say they will be present, but fail to show up or even bother to notify the inviter – what with all the available technology – that they will not be attending as planned.

I spoke with someone about this phenomenon today.  It’s all a part of the entitlement mentality I see so often and the self-importance we as a society wear as a skin tight garment.  It disgusts me and I’m so glad my parents raised me better.

What happened to the hand-written thank you note?  I interview people quite often in my position, and am always disappointed and surprised to see how few take the time to follow up with a thank you note for my time and interest.  Am I the only one who makes her kids sit down within a week of receiving a birthday present and write the sender a thank you note?

I will never forget my daughter’s birthday party a few years ago.  I couldn’t afford to do much, but had planned a small party at Jo-Ann Fabrics where she and a few friends could each build a stuffed bear craft, much like a Build-A-Bear.  I could only afford to invite 4 or 5 friends.  Two said they would be there, and the others did not respond at all.   Yes it was a snowy Saturday, but it was my little girl’s birthday.  And when not one single child showed up and no one called to cancel or RSVP no, I cannot impress upon you my sadness, disappointment, and dread for what my daughter was thinking and feeling in the time she spent waiting and hoping that someone would walk through the door for her.

So this is my open letter to the world.  When someone extends an invitation because they are requesting your presence somewhere, take two seconds to let them know if you’re interested or if you plan to attend.  And when you give someone your word, let that mean something.  Sure, things come up and plans change.  Nobody expects you to make a call if you're late on account of getting injured in a car accident.  But folks, it doesn’t take long to extend the courtesy of letting someone know you can’t keep your word.  And by the way, saying no is perfectly acceptable.  Don’t be afraid to do it.  You don’t even have to make up a lie as to why you are saying no.  Just say no and be comfortable with it.   And don’t forget, the day may come when no one bothers to invite you to anything at all.  And I hope you won’t wonder why. 

Wrapped Up in His Love

Times have been tough lately.  Due to a variety of personal developments in my life (or in others' lives, which in turn impacts my life), I'm left with some residual internal discord.  It feels like many days I just manage to make it from start to finish, with not a lot left over at day's end.

Four months ago, I went through a very difficult time that truly taxed (and continues to tax) my soul.  An old friend of mine reached out in a gesture of kindness, support, and generosity.  She sent me a prayer shawl.  It's this rich, cobalt blue color, and it has been draped on a kitchen chair for awhile, as I pondered what exactly to do with it.  Well lately, it seems my sadness is worse at bedtime, so I've been taking it to bed with me.  For one thing, I'm a cold-natured person and it warms me up.  But because it is a prayer shawl, it serves as a reminder to chat with God before I rest my body and mind for as much as the night as I'm able.  What's more, it is a physical reminder and sensation of being wrapped up, protected, even held...  At the risk of sounding kooky, I've been able to achieve more moments of peace as I create this physical experience of being wrapped up, all while I bask in the spiritual feeling of being wrapped up, chosen, protected, defended, and supremely loved.