Gritty

Do you think it’s possible to be grateful for things that don’t seem very pleasant, or at ALL pleasant, at the time you are experiencing them?  Maybe possible, but not very probable?

Do you think God is honored by our lips uttering Thank You, when are hearts are heavy and broken with the pain of sadness or loss?

Is there any personal gain in a posture of thankfulness, no matter the circumstance?

This is where I can’t answer for anyone but myself, and have nothing but my own experience to draw from.  My losses have been big.  Relationship and  Health, to name two big categories. There are others that best go unnamed…we all have those.

What you may or may not know about me is that I am FAR from perfect.  Really, really, really in process, people. I’ll list a few of my in-process character flaws for you here:  impatient, insistent, know-it-all, impulsive, and incredibly disorganized. I can  look good, but I’m really just as broken as you are.  This admission is critical lest you mistakenly think I’m somehow not as…flawed as the rest of us are.  I promise you, I am.

The realization of my state of brokenness put me in a position of thankfulness, by the way.  That was the starting line for me.

I also had a theology that included the expectation that life here includes some measure of sadness and sorrow.  That there is value to be had in suffering, if you will.  I realize that this is unpopular, but that life view helped me when I came face to face with loss.  I don’t recall a crisis of faith.  I didn’t question the ultimate  goodness of my God, and I do know that I have been able to keep going, despite real and deep hurt.

You can’t, wait…I couldn’t… see clearly when I was in the middle of a mess. But I knew deep down that if I kept walking, at some point those clouds would break, and my thankfulness uttered in confusion would give way to gratefulness for what pain yields.

Thankfulness cried out in hurt is a gritty gratefulness, a heart determined to cling to what you know to be true. God is good, no matter how dark the day. God is for my good, no matter how deep the pain. And I want my life to bring God glory.  Gratefulness is but a road.

What I Know Now

A book with that title, edited by Ellyn Paragons, has had me thinking about this. The book is a collection of letters by women to their younger selves.  Really incredible women like Beverly Sills , Ann Curry, Madeleine Albright, Olympia Dukakis..Just a group of unrelated women who have the life and self-awareness to see how the past links to today.

It takes more thought than you would expect. What age of me would I write to?  Have I learned a thing or two since then? Would I really want to know what I know now back then? Wouldn’t that be stealing experiences that shaped me?

Whatever. I’m going for it.

To my 13 year old self:

You are already so much of  who you will be. I know that you feel uncertain and singular, but that self~reflection and focus on the  internal will blossom into a passion for a life that values the journey.

Bell-bottoms do not make you cool. Having to share them with your sister just shows how smart mom was. The outside is how your peers measure value, but it won’t always be that way .  God is  speaking truth into your life. I promise you that you will learn to recognize and love that Voice.

Boys grow up, and most will leave childhood behind, but not all. Try to remember that core values will almost always remain core values, but give what you would like to receive. You will grow up, and so will they. Have some patience, with them and with  yourself and guard what is precious about you to invest with the right man.

The only person you can change is you. You are not in control of everything in your view. Manipulating others is not the same as being persuasive. Getting what you want isn’t the same as getting what you need.

You will grow to love journaling. Start now.

That love for music? It will stay and take root as a love language. Fan that flame dear one.

Your sisters really are your best friends. They matter. Treat each gently.

Making mistakes is part of all of it. You will miss the mark and have mis-steps. Everything has a way of working out. Just remember that you are no mistake.

It all goes so quickly, Susan.

Value this day.

 

Getting to New

Often I will pray about something.  Rather, I pray all the time about all sorts of things.

I speak when I pray,  but these days am really more about listening.

The thing I think is the hardest is how true it is that every single prayer uttered is responded to…not by me, but by God.

It’s curious to me when people say “God answered my prayer.”  From my perspective, prayers are always answered.

Things do not always go as I want them to, though. Usually they don’t, as a matter of experience, but the experience of whatever it is that concerns me goes as it should.

Lately I’m realizing that my prayer communication with God is far more about me confessing and crying out about that which is on my heart and then consciously yielding to God’s better way.  It’s not about me winning the game, getting that job, keeping that person in my life, or realizing success.  It’s about admitting that I control almost nothing, and desperately wanting the Higher Way.

Occasionally, I think God’s way is inconvenient.  Sometimes it goes against every single plan I have for myself and those I love.

God’s way in my life has meant that I walk through pain sometimes.  That I let go of what I thought I wanted.  That my life seems to be turning out entirely different from what I thought it would be.

I said that to God recently. And am listening for His view.

Clearing the stage.  He is clearing the stage.

Be gone, clutter.  Swept floors. Clean air. Windows open.

Breathe…listen…look.

He makes all things New.

F.E.A.R.

False

Evidence

Appearing

Real

The thing is, appearing real just feels so real.

It’s always about the unknown, the threat of what if.  What if they….What if it…What if I…

This morning, I have a couple of friends on my heart, and something of my own to deal with.  Fear is the common denominator. Their circumstances are entirely different, and mine isn’t even in the same hemisphere, but I encouraged both of them to just keep going.  I believe in one foot in front of the other, so of course that’s my advice.

But hearts still pound, palms still sweat, tears drip down, nights are still long. The evidence of fear ruling. The evidence of still living as a human being.

A few years ago, I was afraid of stairs.  Not nervous or uncertain, but utterly freaked out.  I have several sets of stairs in my house, so stairs in my everyday life were unavoidable.  I went up to get to my bedroom, down to get to my main level, down to my car, and at the end of my workday, back again.

My thought life was consumed by this fear.  Why?  Absolutely no idea.  Intellectually, I could tell myself that this was absurd, but the abject terror I felt when going up or down overwhelmed my ability to think rationally.

Resolution arrived, after I did everything I knew to do.

I went to God in prayer, constantly…constantly….constantly.  I cried. I went to the doctor. I cried some more.

And then, I shared it.  I admitted it out loud, and I asked for help.  My friends, several dear loving awesome friends, came to my side.

The resolution came in an unexpected way.  Fear didn’t leave completely.  It stayed, and the stairs were still scary.

I just started going up and down with the fear.

I did it afraid.

Would you?

Would you like a chair? No, thank you.

Can I get the door for you? No, thanks. I’ve got it.

Let me get that for you. No thanks, I can get it.

I’m doing it again, and i didn’t realize it until this morning.

It’s been pointed out by friends who know and love me that I’m NOT all about the cane.

And if I want to be valued for being more than what I am limited by, then I should consider the possibility that a man might not even see my acrylic accessory.  He might just see a woman that he wants to hold a door open for.  Wow.

The cane gets in my way, and gets in my head only when I allow it.  It isn’t in my smile, my laugh, or how I love.

Regarding its value, a cane at my age is a great sifter, frankly.  Sifts out the riff-raff.  Sifts out those that must have perfect (I never cared for perfect, myself.).  Sifts out surface versus depth

But that cane can be a shield, too.  It’s just great for me keeping you at arm’s length.  It’s great to blame for loneliness.  Willingly takes responsibility for the world’s incivility and rudeness.  Easy target, but not the responsible one.

I am the responsible party.  It’s my responsibility to see and communicate who I am clearly to my circle, my world.  If I am more than my cane, more than what I can’t do, then I need to remember to say “thank you” .

Because it’s lovely to have a door held open.

Gently Held

I have a new friend.  She is amazing.  Depth and wisdom from pain, loss and gritty faith.  A million miles of desert on her way to freedom. She has a way about her that just invites confiding.  I find myself doing just that, which is surprising.

All that longing to be able  to lay aside my walls of protection snuck up on me in answered prayer.

God is so like that.  Quiet, whispered nudges are my favorite answers.

Believe me, I’ve had my share of shouts over the years.  Refusing to listen, stubbornly going my own way, viewing everything from my position of Want.  But when prayer becomes response, the wise of women would recognize it.

So I was talking with my new friend, when I suddenly shared something quite protected, not something I normally say. But very revealing of what I think and feel. She held it so gently.

Saying something out loud takes away its power.

Given air, it’s out of hiding.  Can”t protect me any longer.  Can’t pretend it’s not there.

And God heals.

Wise woman indeed.

Carnival Hair

My sisters are incredible.  The finest women I know. Not the first time I’ve mentioned that.  Won’t be the last.

This is a semi-sisters weekend.  One of us is overseas on vacation in Israel, but the remaining three are together.

It’s always pretty funny when we spend time together.  A lot of laughing.

Last evening was carnival night at my nephew’s elementary school. Dunk tank, Booger Wars (not kidding), pizza in the cafeteria, and kids and parents everywhere.  I loved it.  We had such a great time, and I adore being an Aunt. I’m sure I’m the favorite one!  Sorry, girls.  Get in line :-)

My nephew was still excited and cranked up this morning.  His mom, my little sister, not so much.

Had to giggle when  the seven-year old got a little sassy.  My sister crossed her arms, put on her ‘serious’ mommy face  (I had that face, too, back a number of years ago!), and said:  ”I will flatten that mohawk, Mister.  Don’t think I won’t”.

Crack me up:-)

In the mirror

It’s a simple fact. They seem to be everywhere.  Every store, every office building, at home, in my purse, in your purse.  Nearly every hallway…even in and on my car.

Pretty inconvenient if you are someone who has little interest in self-reflection.

I’ve come to appreciate those painful moments of coming face to face with myself.  I’ve had a few lately.  Not pleasant at all, but so very necessary.

The surface things I have so little interest in.  I know that I’m changing on the outside, and when I glance I see those changes.   Women age.  Men age.  We age.   The reality of that is something I won’t rail against.  Willing to face the fight for my own best self at my age and for the future, but never ever will I be fighting for a younger looking me.  Just the best mid-life I can do.  Life happens.  I happen to like the beauty that experience brings.  It’s a rare beauty,  seen by the wise in the eyes, soul and attitude..  I want that, not the elusive flat tummy and perfect outer me.

The question I’ve been asking myself in the last few days is how I look at others. Do I judge and value based on what self they present? Am I wise enough to look past the fear, the bravado, the makeup or the clothes, to look for who is underneath?

It’s harder more often than not, to extend the Golden Rule of treating others as I want to be treated, because I judge myself by my intentions, yet others by their actions.

I apologized to a friend this week, for insensitivity and immaturity I displayed.  I slipped into judging, and none of it was kind or caring.

Forgiveness is especially sweet when the offended chooses to look beneath my surface, to my heart, and who I am longing to become.

So many mirrors.  I plan to keep looking.

The gift of crisis

Over the years, I have perfected every single response there is to crisis.

Panic… fear…hasty resolutions…screamed prayer, often shouted in doubt.

Best laid plans.  3.5 lbs of brain  doing its best. My best thinking got me here.

Intervening……desire to see things differently…changed attitude

Perspective…not mine…miracle.

Doubt turns into shaky cries.

Tears into faith. Faith to peace.

Crisis always returns, almost always newly disguised,  and the agony of that search for God’s perspective is there to repeat, if I want to.  I do not want to.

We see through a glass darkly, but it won’t always be that way.  I know that these gifts of crisis will at last become gifts of clarity.  Seeing clearly here isn’t my task.  Trusting through pain is.

Elitism

I’m not at church this morning.  I’m at Starbucks.  In my favorite corner, listening to  music.  I’m in yoga pants and a t-shirt. Just thought I’d admit that right off. Try not to judge.  What I needed this morning was this exact thing. Turns out God is at Starbucks.

In the last few days I’ve been thinking about the uniqueness of us despite the common membership in the human race.

Clear concept of who I am is something I’m always working on.  I absolutely yearn for proper perspective.  Not inauthentic humility, nor boastful  arrogance.  Just a thankful heart for all I am.

I ran into someone a few days ago that frankly brought out my sarcastic side. That’s something I am working on eradicating, so not all that thrilled to see that root of a stronghold.  Love witty ‘banter” but not so fond of degrading someone else with my sarcastic verbal skills.  It’s a broken part of me.

It just irritated me.  This person said, repeatedly, repeatedly, how elite he was.  Maybe he is, but it’s unappealing to say so.  I suspect, however, that he is as common, incredible, and created as all the rest of us.  Being created in God’s image is pretty astounding, but it begs for a grateful, humble, receiving posture.

His self-concept, announced repeatedly, met with my ‘witty’ sarcasm. It could have been different, on my part.

What if people like that intersect with kindness. A conversation isn’t always possible, but surely avoiding posturing is.  I didn’t have to be better than him.  I just wanted to.

Hold the biting sarcasm…even if it is funny.

I’m Not Big enough

When my children were younger, sometimes things would come up where they were mad..at each other frequently, at me even more often, and sometimes at God.

I always reassured them with replying that it is it OK to feel mad at people, and even God.  ”God can take it.  He can handle what you are feeling.”

Things continue to come up, don’t they.  I get mad at others, with myself most often, and occasionally at God.

The sheer devotion to my good and His own glory shows itself in his tolerance of my emoting….in my questions…in my venting.

Chris Rice has a line in a song that says:  ”I hope you don’t mind me asking the questions, but I figure You’re big enough.”

God if you’re there, I wish You’d show me.  I believe we’re meant to be filled up with more than questions.

I figure You’re big enough, because I’m not big enough.

Listen to Chris here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zf0axKL9zhk