Promise Me That You'll Give Faith A Fighting Chance

The day you were born, so many thoughts passed through my mind.  Mostly, I was just feeling sheer joy, pure exuberance.  You were a miracle - a miracle that came after a diagnosis of "infertility" and many roller coaster months of hope and disappointment.  I thought about your infancy, your toddler years, and your childhood.  I thought about you as an adult - with a career, a home of your own, and an identity that would sprout from your roots.  I did not think about this moment.

Tonight I sat in an auditorium at your sixth grade orientation, and I felt - vicariously - the nerves, anxiety, uncertainty, and excitement that comes at this age with a new school, new classmates, and a new chapter in life.  I wanted to wrap my arms around you, but knew I could not because it would embarrass you.

Those "middle years" were hell for me.  Girls can be so horribly mean.  Everyone is maturing at a different pace, both physically and emotionally.  I always felt I was the last one to cross each milestone - to shave, to wear makeup, to date, etc.  Those that had gained access to those rites of passage tended to rub it in my face to make themselves feel superior.  I was not attractive, I had hair that was changing from stick straight to curly, I was a nerd (i.e., smart) and I was not athletic. 

Sunday nights were routinely filled with sobbing pleas to my folks - begging them not to make me go back to school.  They would remind me of the big picture, including college, and I'd insist that I wasn't going to go to college - therefore there was no need to finish school.  I wanted so desperately to escape those awkward years when I didn't know myself and didn't know who I wanted to become.

I pray that it's different for you - better somehow.  I pray that having divorced parents doesn't negatively impact your sense of self or your upbringing.  I pray that you always remember God is on your side, at your back, and leading the way...that he loves you immensely and will protect you and guide your steps if you listen to his will.  And like the song we used for your baptism ("I Hope You Dance" by Lee Ann Womack):

I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean

Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens

Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance

I hope you dance. 

On I Walked

I saw you today.  You saw me.  The look on your face was priceless – it spoke volumes of shame, guilt, and embarrassment.  You managed a sheepish grin.  Your fingers formed into the peace sign.  My face was stone.  An eyebrow raised, chin lifted higher, and on I walked.  An onlooker would never have fathomed how close we once were.

Why was I trembling, shaking, and struggling to breathe?  I guess all that hurt returned to me for a moment.  In an instant, those feelings of vulnerability, shock, hurt, and pain all returned to me, as if in waves.  I didn’t feel safe.  But I felt aware, and so I guided my breathing and regained my composure, reminding myself that I am safe.  You can never hurt me again.  And on I walked.

Prodigal

I was raised in the church.  I’ve heard the “Prodigal Son” story more times than I could recall.  But tonight I heard it in a new way, while looking through the eyes of the older, loyal brother who became so angry when his father made such a big to-do about his unreliable, irresponsible, selfish brother’s return home. 

I found myself thinking about how aggravated I can get at work, when I feel that I am responsibly following the rules while others are shirking them.  I often feel as if I’m giving my best effort when others appear to be just skating by, barely performing at an average level.  Sometimes I feel that way in personal relationships too – whether dating relationships, family relationships, or friendships.  It’s like sometimes I start keeping score, rather than taking my own advice and attending to my own affairs instead of worrying about what everyone else is doing and why.  In all honesty, I can fall into the trap of feeling superior to others when I turn a blind eye to my shortcomings, focus on the things I’m doing well, and contrast that to others who fall short in the areas where I excel. 

As a manager, I still must have performance standards for employees, and must coach them to meet these standards and evaluate them accordingly.  But as a person, I need to realize that I don’t get any extra credit for being “on track” longer than someone else.  What’s important is that the lost are eventually found.  And true forgiveness means truly letting go of what came before redemption.

Forks

I've been trying for days to find the words to describe the experience I had volunteering at a women's shelter over the weekend, and I'm not sure they're ever going to come in the eloquent way I'm hoping for.  So forgive me if this blog is jagged and meandering, but sometimes things just have to come out whether they're polished and pretty or not.

I have an advanced degree in an area that makes me seemingly "well-equipped" for just this sort of service.  But as I've learned over and over again in life, there is an enormous chasm between theory and practice.  In other words, talking the talk is much easier than walking the walk.  The honest, horrible truth is that I was dreading this volunteer experience.  I knew I wanted to do it and felt compelled to volunteer.  But when it was time to go, I was in knots.  A lot of that was due to the fact that I didn't know what to expect.  I like to walk into new situations with reasonable expectations and a clear sense of rules and boundaries.  I'm fond of dry runs, dress rehearsals, and rough drafts. All I really knew was that I'd been told to not bring my purse or wear valuable jewelry, and that I was encouraged to engage the women there in conversation.  So there was this strange air of caution about the situation, and it was making me nervous and uncomfortable.

This isn't a domestic violence shelter.  It's a shelter for women who have nowhere to sleep at night, for a plethora of reasons you can probably brainstorm pretty easily.  I walked in there and immediately felt foolish...green...privileged...  I think my appearance lends itself to some pretty easy stereotypes, and I could sense I was being assessed as you'd expect a straight, white, professional female to be assessed. 

It was sensory overload.  I was putting all of my energy into not letting my face give away my thoughts (which is pretty tough for me) or at least not letting my jaw literally drop.  The appearance and personalities of these women varied tremendously, and with each one, I couldn't help but wonder what the circumstances were that prompted her to start heading down the path that led her here.  I thought of so many forks in my life's path and how I could have easily made a sequence of choices that might have led me down a similar road.  Somehow I was able to wait until I left to call my folks, sobbing, thanking them for giving me access to a great education, for instilling top-notch morals in me, for introducing me to God, and for raising me to believe in myself and seize opportunities in life.

I surprised myself by agreeing to lead a little game the leader of our group had planned.  The plan was for the women to write their answers on index cards, but no sooner did she announce that, then someone quietly asked me if I could help her spell because she didn't really know how to write.  So I encouraged the women to just shout out their answers.  It was trivia about popular sayings from TV shows in the 60s and 70s (they had to guess who said the phrase) and they would competitively scream out the answers and then reminisce about that era.  I heard one woman say she hadn't laughed in the longest time.  It made my chest hurt as I fought back tears.  We passed out gift bags to everyone there, containing things like bath sponges, shampoo, body wash, and other personal care items.  I heard a woman squeal with delight, saying she really needed shampoo...

Shampoo.  In your world and in mine, we might find ourselves irritable when we finish a bottle of shampoo because this means we may have to make an unplanned stop at a store and pick up a new bottle.  We're irritated at the inconvenience, but not grateful for the means of transportation that can get us to the store, and not grateful for the money we have so that shampoo is not a luxury.  We might complain about how messy our homes are, but forget to be grateful for a permanent residence.  While I complain about how hot I'm getting in my hammock, someone is wishing they had a yard.  And while I turn on my white noise to help me fall asleep in my bed, someone is wishing the gun shots would stop, or the person next to them in the shelter would stop arguing so loudly with whomever that is.

I can't walk away from this just feeling grateful for my blessings after a powerful reality check.  I walk away from it, challenged to think what more I can do to make some sort of difference in even one of these women's lives.  I walk away challenged to be sure I'm not doing this to feel good about myself, but to truly serve with a pure heart.  Mostly I walk away from it thinking about prevention - and - thinking about raising a young boy and girl to be successful, well-adjusted, capable adults.

Guideposts

I wrote a book review this week about a book I just read - The Story of Edgar Sawtelle.  As I reflected on the book, I was thinking about the functionality of guideposts in our lives.  Quite literally, we rely on things like street signage, directions on a medicine bottle, recipes, etc.  Those "guideposts" inform our decisions and actions whenever we cannot rely upon our own knowledge and experience for that type of information. 

For many of us, people like parents, spouses, teachers, & pastors are our guideposts too.  We feel that, as long as their presence is a part of our life, we cannot veer too far off track.  They mark the edges of the path we are walking.  They assure us we are headed in the right direction, and they may even mark out the path ahead of us. 

What happens when a guidepost is removed or blocked though? It can feel very unsettling and create anxiety, because we rely on those guideposts so much.  But the truth is - parents die, teachers retire, pastors are assigned to other congregations, and so forth.  Friends and lovers fade out of our lives when we least expect it.  In Edgar Sawtelle, Edgar is mute, but his family trains dogs. So Edgar teaches the dogs sign language so that he can communicate with them, giving them signals, directions, and even praise.  He refuses to allow an unconventional means of communication to hamper his ability to do his family's work.    Likewise, the dogs adapt to having someone make hand motions to them, rather than hearing commands spoken our shouted.  They make do. 

The alternative is to believe we are helpless and waste time wandering about aimlessly through our lives, waiting on someone to be a leader or mentor for us so we can find our way.  There is a saying that we don't know what we are capable of until we are forced to endure it, and I believe that to be true.  I never would have thought I could manage to be a single mother of two children without the "guidepost" of a husband.  But I'm doing it, and doing it well.  I had to learn to rely on myself more, to educate myself on certain things, and to be braver and stronger than I was.  They key is to know oneself completely, to be kind to yourself, to challenge yourself, and hopefully to rely on God and his word to lead you through life's challenges and dilemmas. 

Our sight doesn't change, but the view does...

I don't know if this is accurate, but an opthalmologist once explained the phenomenon of aging and related changes in our sight as follows: he said that our capacity for sight doesn't change with age - that we are born with the level of "sight competency" we will die with; however, our ability to compensate for our sight deficiencies weakens with age.  If it's not true, then I apologize for spreading false information, but that's what he said - and hey - it makes for a good blog. 

As children, we see things at face value.  We don't tend to question motive or sincerity.  We trust.  We don't worry about what will happen if we let go and love someone.  We believe in people and we just assume they will do right by us. 

As we age, I'm not sure that our hearts change all that much.  Some of us are born leaders.  Some are blessed with big, compassionate hearts.  Some are shy, some are bold and brave.  We learn so much and we do change.  But do our hearts?  We experience life.  We experience hurt and disappointment, loss and betrayal.  This changes the way we see the world and the people who roam this planet.  But the world hasn't changed.  Sure, certain aspects of the world change.  There are technological advances, natural disasters. changes to government and systems of education, and so forth.  But good and evil have always existed and always will. 

Our ability to focus on the basics slips away, as our vision becomes clouded with life's responsibilities and hardships.  We have to work harder and harder to see what was once so obvious, so pure...

I Hope You Know

I hear your comments and questions, and it's not lost on me - the reasons you speak such things.  I know you're confused.  I know that, for you, it's as simple as the fact that you loved him and believed he loved you.  You liked having a father figure in the house, and you believed in the promises he made to you, your sister, and me.  The excitement in your eyes could not be manufactured.  Not from a child your age.  You were both surprised and pleased that someone appeared to love me as much as you. 

Buddy, I wish you hadn't been one of the casualties.  Mommy feels so guilty.  I thought we were making our little family bigger and better.  I know you feel abandoned and you don't understand.  It's hard for me, when my romance falls to pieces, knowing it is breaking your heart too.  Not only are you suffering your own loss, but you watch me suffer as well, and it hurts your little heart. 

All I can tell you is that Mommy has a tremendous capacity to love and wants to be loved in return.  That's how I found myself with him in that moment, making those plans for the future.  Just as I feared I couldn't love another child as much as I loved your older sister (before you were born), I feared I wouldn't have room in my heart or our home to let someone else join us.  But I did. 

I'm sorry you wound up feeling, once again, screwed over.  Im sorry that, once again, someone walked out of your life without a proper goodbye, viewing you as disposable.  I know you feel protective of me, just as I do toward you and toward her.  I know you worry about me and you try to help in big and small ways, whether it's giving me some spare change to "help with the groceries", or drawing a beautiful picture for me, or reminding me that you are a Cub Scout and are always wiling to help set the table, for instance. 

I'm sorry our family doesn't look like most of your friends' families.  One thing I can promise you is that there will always be peace, love, and respect in this house.  And I will deprive myself of a partner if I can't find one that will bring those things and abide by the very values I am trying to instill in you.  This is our safe harbor, and I will protect you.