The Week My Husband Lost His Job & I Called Security on My Kid

It's been quite a week. I don't really intend to talk about Tim's job loss today, but I put it in the title to give context to the whole calling security thing. A lot of my thoughts have come back to, "I don't need this right now." This is not a typical thought for me, but it has applied several times in the last few days.
I never stole anything as a child (typical) but Tim did and he paid dearly for it. When Macy took something from Dollar Tree last year, I gasped so loud I scared her. She had to march right back in and return it. But today, my mommy radar was up when we were in a consignment shop. She had her eye on these hair clips and when I went back to get the one we'd picked, it wasn't there. I suspected that she had stashed it somewhere, but didn't want to show her that I doubted her integrity. I really do believe the best in people and was hoping I was wrong. When we got home from the mall, I found the clip when I started to clean out the car. 
So, back to the mall we went (exhausted) where she had to return both the clip we bought and the one she stole. Tim had called the shop on the way and explained the situation so the security guard was ready and waiting. Macy and I had discussed the possibility that he would be there and the walk to the shop was nerve-wracking. She was scared she was going to get yelled at or punished. She was worried she wouldn't get any Christmas presents from Santa because she had been bad. I reminded her that she has made a lot of good choices this year, that she can't change what she did but she can try to make things right and do better next time. I assured her that I loved her but that she had done something wrong and needed to face the consequences of her actions. When she had to explain what she'd done to the shop owner, her voice broke and her eyes welled up with tears. The security guard explained that if she was older, she would have been banned from the mall for one year. 
After we were done in the store, we left the mall. Macy was over-acting like she was happy and I was kind of annoyed by it. I was tired and had made a second trip to the mall in rainboots of all things. Shouldn't she still be crying? Why wasn't her tail between her legs? And then she said, "I just want to feel happy again." And so hand-in-hand, we danced through the parking lot.
The desire to feel happy when you've had a shitty day really resonates with me. It's part of being human. When you overdraw your checking account, you're just wanting to escape the realities of your tight budget for a little while. And so you have some fun, and then your stomach drops when you see the negative balance. Reality comes crashing down and you have to figure out what to do. And when you make a plan and figure it out, you feel relief. You feel hope. It doesn't make the consequences go away, but in taking responsibilitiy, the shame evaporates and you feel free to face another moment, another day, another month. 
Macy reminded me of this tonight. That it's okay to dance through the rain after having a stern talk with the mall security guard. Life is hard sometimes. She wanted to feel good. She wanted to be in control. She wanted to get away with something for once. I totally get it. I'm learning to have grace for myself as a human being (shedding the baggage of trying to be perfect, better, a leader, a light, an example...hello, ministry baggage!) This, of course, has to inform my parenting. I can't be trying to practice self-love and then not extend that to my child. Her human moment was my human moment. And I am so proud of her. Grace is accepting the consequences and then releasing them to the wind. And if that means making a fool of yourself in a crowded mall parking lot, so be it.

Grace Is Real and Better Than We Think It Is

I internalized a lot of things as a child and young adult in church that may or may not have been intentionally taught to me. One of the things I got mixed up on was the relationship between pride and loving yourself. That somehow pride was really bad and led to ones inevitable demise (the "pride comes before a fall" scenario always felt very ominous and humiliating) and that we were only supposed to be proud of others (for their humility and service) and proud of God. And if we were too ambitious (boy, did that get thrown at me as a woman with ministry aspirations in the church of Christ!) or too happy with ourselves that somehow that made us proud and selfish. Everything was supposed to be about Jesus and then others. 
The problem I've found with this is that we can only treat others as well as we treat ourselves. Even that statement raises all kinds of rebuttal from my subconscious because I have treated others way better than myself for years. But if I'm really honest about that others-prioritizing from the past, I did that because I wanted others to treat me well, to esteem me and to give me their approval (which is how I would earn  Gods). As hard as it is to label that behavior negatively because it cost me a lot so I want to see it as good, prioritizing others in order to meet my own needs is actually manipulation and ultimately, a fascade. I know at the time I was trying to serve God, but I never could quite grasp how loved and acceptable I was in the eyes of God outside of my ability to show my faithfulness to Him with my good behavior and by encouraging others to do the same (ministry). 
Judging our faithfulness to God and our good standing with Him based on our behavior leads us to view others through the same lens. Suddenly we're not so sure about that person who got pregnant in high school or the couple who's getting divorced. Because if we can't accept our own lack of condemnation before God as His intentionally imperfect, beautiful human children, then we certainly can't offer that to those who are more demonstrably screwed up than we are! Turns out, this God will just save ANYONE. And what kind of stance is that? Is this another situation where you get an award just for participating? Inexplicably, YES.
As I've turned my spiritual life inward and discovered how irrevocably okay I am in and of myself, I've finally learned what grace really is. Grace isn't the voice that tells us that we're really terrible for sinning, but God loves us in spite of our behavior because He's so good. Grace is accepting our behavior as evidence of our humanity and our need for love, freedom, acceptance and security. That our humanness was not a mistake God made, but in fact, part of His design. He wants to be in relationship with "sinners." He has what He needs within Himself. He is His own community Father/Son/Spirit. We are not meant to be His equals. We are meant to be His companions, His friends, His children. 
This is not to say that our behavior is irrelevant. I recognize the temptation to see my viewpoint as saying "sin" is okay or doesn't exist. I'm still processing that because I think we're obsessed with sin and I reject that fixation. I guess I've landed at this point on the idea that Jesus took care of sins eternal consequences on the cross for all people for all time. And here on earth, the consequences are lived out sometimes very directly and sometimes completely arbitrarily. We can do our best to do right by our fellow man and not directly seek to do harm to others. But harm will come to us all as this is part of the repercussions of all being together on earth with different viewpoints, choices and levels of love for our fellow man. Plus, freak stuff happens. 
So, the consequences of sin, even in the here and now are not within our control. Thus, even by controlling ourselves as best we can, we will still sin and we will still experience the consequnces of others sin unfairly. If we're using our good behavior as security for a good life, we will be sorely disappointed. If I were to categorize the "sin" in my life now, I'm way more open to the "no-no" sins I was taught against (cursing is THE BEST) and way less compelled to commit the ones I find more serious (dishonesty, seeking self in a way that harms others, greed, overconsumption of material goods and resources, stockpiling treasures for myself, self-righteousness, obstinance to growth or change) that were not really discouraged much in the church and in some ways strongly encouraged as "good stewardship" or "remaining true". 
It seems to me that a lot of "bad behavior" comes from "bad" feelings. Shame is a powerful tool to control our behavior because we so desperately don't want to be bad. And the punishment we self-inflict is words of our fallenness when we've acted in a way that's hurtful to others. The more that we learn that we are okay, the more we learn to respect the okay-ness of the people around us. Shame threatens us. Self-love gives us the validation that there is enough resources, opportunity, love, safety, adventure to go around. Yes, we need to take risks and work. But we don't need to take from others and work over our competition. We're okay. So instead of good behavior coming from feeling like shit, self-acceptance actually leads to more socially-conscious, holistic living because we are living out of excess and abundance rather than defeciency and scarcity. And we are better able to recognize the value of our fellow man.
Turns out, focusing on myself, loving myself, being kind, gentle and generous to myself leads me to offer those things to the people around me freely. I never quite understood why "You're bad and God is so remarkably good because somehow He finds you lovable" was good news. It always felt like a burden of holiness (that is was something we did rather than something we were given) and a total lack of grace for self. It felt like rules and duties and an endless need to be grateful for it. 
I'm coming to the baffling conclusion that the abudant life Jesus came to give was a real message of love. Not love with conditions, or in spite of its object, but that the object itself is worthy and beautiful and valued beyond measure by its Creator. So much so, that He tells us His stories of love, invites us to be with Him and showers us with grace. He calls us daughter and son and created this bountiful world for us to live in and share. The story of humanity not being an experiment gone bad with limitless problems, but being bearers of this unmistakable light, that gives us breath and peace and freedom. And that good news is lived out IN us before it can be lived out BY us. 

Motherhood is Full of Something...

Motherhood is full of a lot of things. It's heavy. It's wonderful. It's exhilarating. It's full of shit both literally every day (if not, kindly call your pediatrician) and figuratively on a bad day. Here are a few things I've learned as a mother. Kind of like a public service announcement, if you will. 
1. There is nothing more socially awkward than hanging out with a family who parents differently than you do. Whew. Kids constantly interrupt conversation between mothers enough without constant play intervention from us. But not enough intervention is awful too. Nothing is worse than when another kid makes your child cry and their parent does absolutely nothing about it. Motherhood does require some homogeny to survive whether we want to admit it or not. 
2. Being a mother is really hard and really easy. It's hard because everyone has an opinion and seems to relish dumping it on mothers all around them. Many of those opinions are not shared by the mother, but the shame is still palpable and makes us feel defensive. To me, unless a child is in immediate danger or the mother is actually asking for advice, keep your freaking mouth shut or offer grace and understanding. It's easy because being with your kids and talking with them, living life with them, sharing with them (unless it's expensive chocolate) is really natural and lovely most of the time. And when it's not, it's just because you need a break.
3. Kids are suprisingly human. Meaning, they aren't as moldable as we were led to believe. Yes, we can shape their environment, their exposure to ideology, the imposed consequences to certain behaviors. But that's honestly about it. Their personality, their instincts, their decisions are their own and they start in the womb, dude. It's pretty bad ass, actually. Children cannot be controlled (unless they are being abused) and I find that fascinating, wonderful and at times, infuriating. It takes the pressure off having to make them be anything. They will be whoever they will be. We control ourselves, that's it. I have found that accepting this reality and empowering them to become whoever they are supposed to be is my ultimate goal as a mother.
4. I don't really worry about the future. I know. It's weird. But whenever I find myself spiraling in fear or needing to be in control of things I cannot control, it's because I'm borrowing trouble. "If I let them do this now, how much worse will everything be then?" Eh, let's deal with that then. So, I'm focusing on mothering 7 year old Macy and 1 year old Penny. And frankly, dealing with my own shit.
5. Speaking of, motherhood does not put all your own shit on the back burner. It informs your parenting because you're a person and people have "stuff." This is not because of some failure on our parts. It's on purpose. It's part of releasing control. We can't control them and deal with all our own stuff. Trying to control your children can be a great distraction from addressing our own pain, baggage and lack of direction as adults. Don't let it. It breeds resentment, a lack of confidence on their part and ultimately, doesn't work.
6. Plants seeds. One of the things we do get to shape is their initial exposure to how the world works. Of course, life happens to children too and eventually, they will sift through all the values we teach them and dump some and cherish others. But until that happens, teach your children the mindset you wish to see more in the world. Macy and I talk regularly about the value of all people, tolerance in regard to gender and orientation spectrum, the beauty of all skin colors, ownership of her body, sexuality, taking care of the planet, feeding the poor, honesty, and giving yourself grace. These are things that matter deeply to me. If you want your child to live in a more _________ (insert value here) world, teach them to be that person. I love being able to change the world by teaching my children these values.
7. It's okay. It's okay to not know what to do. It's okay to screw up. It's okay to feel overwhelmed, angry, exhausted. No one should have to raise a child alone. It's not fair to the parent or the child. Lean on your partner if you have one. Call your parents and your in-laws. Talk to other parents. Use a babysitter. Parents are better when we take ownership of our own humanity and accept that we are learning as we go and we have real needs. A healthy household acknowledges that it's not the parent or the child that needs to be taken care of. It's a balance. Parents take care of themselves and their children. It's not a fight to see who wins.
That's all for now. I guess the best thing I can say we give our children is us. Be yourself. It's enough. 

Perfectionism and the Holidays

Being a perfectionist around the holidays can be a truly terrible affliction. Not just for the perfectionist, for you the whole family of one (and we have two in our house!) It creates this vortex of colossal expectations, one-shot opportunities, stressful expense of energy and money, shame, shame, oh, the shame - So. Much. Pressure. Usually with a lot of people around. 
I've always been the holiday queen in this house. My husband is not really into holidays, though he tries to be a good sport (after we've had many conversations about how much they mean to me). But, I do everything I can physically do myself. This includes putting up our exterior lights and getting down most of the heavy boxes. When I get into "holiday mode" I want everything done my way, on my timetable (now!) and with cheer. This is why I do not wait for my husband. Our dynamic usually requires respect and patience and I don't exude either very well in these crucial holiday prep moments. So I do the classic perfectionist move (passive aggressive) of taking it all on myself so it can be done perfectly. I highly recommend this healthy choice.
I'm very emotionally invested in how all my hard work, dreams and extensive planning plays out. Not only must everything go well (exactly as I imagined), look beautiful, but everyone better have fun and be happy -- or else! The icing on the cake is that my therapist likes to point out that somewhere in all this expectation, exhaustion, total lack of grace for myself and others, I'm truly looking for appreciation. So, I run around hoping that everything goes according to my perfect expectations (very interesting when you remember that this involves two very spirited young children) while expecting every member of my family to be filled with gratitude after I've told them all exactly how and how not to have fun. 
This dynamic has never been more apparent to me than last night. I was in a really bad place to begin with, which is an indication to me that it was probably not a great night to add in all the holiday hooplah involved in decorating the house. But I still operate under the illusions that holidays are fun. Sweet, right? So when I'd had a bad day and I love Christmas, why wouldn't I unknowingly make the mistake of suggesting to your energetic six year old that it's the perfect time to decorate? 
As the usual crazy unfolded, I was also trying to put the baby down for a nap, keep our oldest from digging through the breakables, setting everything out "just so", and of course - secretly prepping our homemade Advent calendar because duh, it's also December 1st. Oh, and a school night. And I had an insane Thanksgiving week filled with hosting, endless cooking, traveling alone with 2 kids, lots of driving, working, shopping, plus a SHITTY day to begin with. All that means is, I didn't have any emotional energy to be patient, kind, generous, calm or gracious to myself or my family. This situation called upon my shame voice, just to be on standby for any human moments. All it takes is one broken treasured item, one terse word exchanged for it to start shouting. "See! It doesn't matter how much you run around. This isn't even fun. You're not having any fun and neither is anyone else." Or this self-pity gem, "Why do you even bother? All you do is make your daughter feel bad when you want to re-do her 6 year old decorating because it's not perfect. Sure, you're trying so hard to rein it in and let her help, but you just can't let everything go. You might as well be a tyrant. You've got to "correct" her sometimes and that hurts her. Look at how she's stomping her foot and turning away from you. Now you're shaming her too." Ha, even my shaming voice shames me about shaming my daughter. Who can win in that situation?  
If you thought I was going to end this post with all these loose ends neatly tied up, loaded with tips on how to simplify your life this Christmas season and all my personal anecdotes on how to give yourself grace and be victorious over perfectionism, you're not gonna get that from me. This was where I was at last night, people. Not much growth happens while you sleep. All I'm prepared to do at this point is identify how unhelpful shame is in this hot mess of unfair expectations, very poor self-care, and a total lack of giving grace. Sometimes just seeing yourself objectively is all you can do to say, huh, this isn't working. 
At least I have a whole 36 hours to figure it out, before we plan on cutting down our tree and decorate that thing too.

Give Dignity

As a perfectionist, I struggle with separating my actions from my personal value. Most perfectionists either under-perform or over-perform. The under-performers contemplate a task, feel overwhelmed by their inability to do it perfectly and choose not to attempt it at all. Over-performers do too many tasks, often thoroughly and then project their high-achieving personal expectations onto others all the while feeling resentment and exhaustion because they have to "do everything themselves." Both of these life approaches seriously suck. I get to say that because I'm talking about myself. (I'm the latter, by the way, and waffle between judging and feeling jealous of the former).
I bring this issue up in the midst of my series on personal values because I think it touches on the core of my next value. I'm calling it dignity. For me, part of my reasoning for removing myself from the church environment, at least for now, has been about an inappropriate connection I've felt in church between self and actions. When we condemn people, rather than choices, I think we've made a critical error. We've chosen not to give dignity to the human being in question. 
I firmly believe that human beings were made in the image of God, that we are intended for good, that we are capable of great things, and that ultimately, we are good. Are we also capable of self-destructive patterns that can harm others? Of course. But is that who we really are, in our heart of hearts? Is that where we are happiest, most fulfilled, free and full of love, joy and peace? No. *
Because of this belief, I reject any cultural pattern that uses shame as a way to control behavior. This very much includes the evangelical church. Children are not "bad girls/boys" when they make bad choices. They are precious people who are doing something wrong/unhealthy/harmful/bad, however you want to frame that. But they are not bad when they make bad choices, have a bad moment, feel big emotions, or make the "lesser" choice. They need guidance, tools, encouragement and dignity to make better choices. They don't need shame.
I cannot overstate how important the difference is between these two approaches. When we make someone feel bad about WHO THEY ARE based on WHAT THEY DO, we're often perpetuating the exact reasons why people make bad choices in the first place - because they feel like shit. (I'm also really working on not framing everything as "good" or "bad" in the first place, but that's another conversation. I'm using good/bad framework to make a greater point here).
Using this lens, I see the people around me, my children and myself very differently. I'm working to no longer pressure myself to behave in order to make others approve of me, that their approval somehow makes me something that I'm not without it. It's revolutionized the way I approach my faith. I'm beginning to learn what grace really is! And guess what? It's AWESOME. I'm replacing the idea that I'm terrible and He's so great with I'm great and He thinks so too. He's my source and He's my friend. While I tend to be hard on myself, He's soft towards me. In my personal experience (which I understand is wildly subjective), He is always sweeter, kinder, gentler and more patient that I am with myself. After all this time, I'm still blown away by Him.
It's taken me awhile to identify shame and its destructive nature in me. If you're not entirely sure what I'm talking about, check out Brene Brown's extensive work on the subject. She has done amazing research and her descriptions of what shame feels like and how to combat it have been really helpful to me. When you shut yourself down because your feelings are "stupid/dramatic/dumb/overreacting", that's shame. When you decide not to communicate what you're thinking and feeling because "they probably won't listen to me anyway/it's not important/it'll just make them mad", that's shame. When you don't want to do something but you do it anyway because you feel like you should, that's often motivated by shame. When you don't communicate what you need because "it's too much/not worth it/silly", that's shame. 
We have GOT to give ourselves dignity or we'll never be able to extend it to others. We don't give ourselves dignity so we can dole it out (also an important distinction). We give ourselves dignity because God put it in us when He made us. Humans are inherently valuable regardless of belief, age, sex, race, sexual orientation, nationality, socioeconomic status and political party. We are worthy of respect and dignity BY NATURE. We need to acknowledge that within ourselves and within the people all around us, especially people we don't love or agree with. It's so insanely easy to assume ill motive of others who come from a different perspective. But they deserve dignity and their views are valid, even if you disagree. 
The lack of giving others dignity (I also see this as giving people the benefit of the doubt) is so clearly seen in how conservative Christians treat Barack Obama. Yes, apparently I'm going there. He's a person, guys. He's not the anti-christ, terrorist, Muslim that you say he is. He's a person. You may disagree with him politically. That's fine. We're lucky to live in a country where that is perfectly acceptable. Use your voting power and your influence to make change. In your disagreement, don't forget to acknowledge that he is a human being and therefore, has inherent dignity that needs to be treated with respect. (My husband next to me would like to add that this disparaging treatment, of course, happened to George W. Bush as well. Unfortunately, hatred runs on both sides of this partisan river. This is one of the many reasons I try to stay out of political arguments - says the woman who probably just started one).
When we focus on sin elimination in the church (always working on some sin area in our lives) we completely miss the point of grace. God is not in the business of behavior modification. Of course, we are not entirely separate from our actions. But neither are we the sum of them. The story of the adulterous woman comes to mind. The Jews bring before Jesus a woman they caught in the act of adultery and ask if she is to be stoned (according to Old Testament law). Not even going to start ranting here about where the eff the man is in this scenario, but seriously? WTF? Jesus gets down on her level, writes something on the ground (we don't know what) and asks the crowd to stone her if they haven't sinned themselves. They all walk away, he looks into her eyes and tells her she's safe ("I don't condemn you") and she can make different choices ("Go and sin no more), not because she's a bad person and needs to shape up, but because she is loved! She matters! He is giving her dignity. 
This is a huge deal for a number of reasons. He had every authority to lay into her. Man, he would have been fully qualified to condemn her. The object of this gift of dignity is a woman. Seriously, in this culture, especially an "impure" woman was of very little value. He spoke to her. He got on her level. He defended her publicly. He did not condemn her. He also empowered her to do good. If he can give her dignity, how can we not give it to her and to ourselves as well? 
Who are the "adulterous women" in our modern culture? Certainly, women are still struggling to be given dignity. Definitely anyone in a racial minority. There is certainly a lot of angst among the various religious groups in our country right now. Homosexual and transgender individuals most definitely. Poor people, yup. How can we give dignity to them? How can we stop seeing them as "them" and begin to see them as "us"? Because let's face it, folks: every human has inherent dignity given to them by God. Don't take it away. Be in the business of giving it back.

* As a side note, I will say that I believe there is a point in a person's life where they can cultivate their evil leanings, leading to a very active, purposefully destructive lifestyle. While I believe this goes against our intended nature, it is clearly evident in those who take great pleasure in hurting others. I'm more speaking to us normal folks, not the sadists in the world.

On the Cusp of Something

I'm in that weird vortex between two seasons of life. We all are. I've got one foot in fall and one foot in summer. Macy starts 1st grade on Wednesday. In some ways, this is awesome! I love the fall and frankly, I'm totally over sweating. I want to break out the skinnys and the boots. I want to have pumpkins on my porch and my child in school all day. I love her, but she is my mirror. And sometimes it's hard to look at my precious firstborn and not see myself in all my glory. I see her pleasing. I see her perfectionism. I see her enthusiasm. I see her insatiable need for love and attention. I see her wanting more and more from her loved ones. I hear her voice talking on and on. I see her passion, her anger, her smile, her fear. Sometimes it's overwhelming. Sometimes for my own sanity, I want to set her on a shelf for awhile. It's terrible, but it's honest and there's no way I'm the only parent who feels that way. I'm just that person who always outs themselves in brutal honesty.
I'm ready to slow down. I'm ready to take more time and energy for myself. I'm ready for some quiet. But the perfectionist in me also feels let down. Summer is over. All the things I wanted to do this summer that I didn't get to do are scrolling through my mind like a parade of shame. All the hours I let my kid watch TV while I hid in my room, I remember. I really tried to cut myself some slack this summer, but I still wish I was capable of more, that I could just go on forever. There's a grace in me being unable to do and be everything I want to be (and everything I feel pressure to be). Because if I could go on forever, I would. I would not eat, sleep, rest. I wouldn't. And that is one of the beautiful things about being human. I don't have a choice. Thank God for that.
As a caretaker, I often pull up short when my own needs present themselves. I don't realize I need to eat until I'm starving. I tuck self-care in the nooks and crannies of taking care of everyone else. This is common for women in this "season of life" when you have small children. But when I have noticeable emotional needs, it surprises me. Gah!
When I was in college, my therapist mentioned to me that small transitions require extra self-care for me. (Yes, I'm in therapy now and I was in therapy then. Best time/money spent ever). I need to give myself a little extra grace when the seasons change, when my schedule changes, when my friends leave and when new ones come. The changes don't have to be "bad". In fact, they are often the changes that I anticipate that throw me the most.
This seemingly small transition from one season to another is greatly exacerbated by Labor Day. I know, weird. It's such a non-holiday. But in our family, it has served as a benchmark of pain the last few years. 3 years ago, it was on Labor Day that we walked away (not by choice) from ministry forever. It was on Labor Day weekend last year that I took my husband to the ER and had him admitted for pervasive suicidal thoughts, with 7 week old Penny in tow. He then went to a respite facility for 2 nights, finally with dear friends for 3 weeks in town. In those weeks, I was raising our newborn alone (with MASSIVE support from friends and family), caring for a traumatized 5 year old starting kindergarten, and myself in a frightening post-partum experience. It was, by far, the worst thing I've ever endured. I learned I was capable and that I need help. I learned that marriage is a choice and depression is not. 
Well, Tim had a minor surgery on Thursday that landed me in a medical facility waiting for his medication and discharge for 2 hours with 2 hungry, tired kids. We then ended up in the exact same ER as last year 90 minutes after he was home from the surgery because he was vomiting all his pain pills. I missed Macy's Back to School night because I was juggling my now very mobile daughter while my husband was treated. And since then, I've been racing around caring for the 3 of them on our final days of summer. It's all way too familiar. Tim will have to get a stent removed from the surgery sometime this week, which means there will be another procedure. I've found myself crying in parking lots, crying in my kitchen, crying now at my computer. This is an anniversary I wish to never revisit, a season of life I would like to bury forever. I wouldn't wish the way I witnessed my spouse a year ago on anyone. Sometimes life has a way of sticking it to you, right in your weakest places, making the world that I usually see with naively rosy glasses suddenly feel cold and untrustworthy. 
I know today is not a year ago or 3 years ago, for that matter. As familiar as this feels, it isn't the same. This weekend gives me an opportunity to continue to grieve the pain that was last year and previous years. But it also serves as a reminder that we've come a long way. I choose to sit in that rather than focus on how far we still have to go. But sometimes on nights like this, it feels heavy. I try to be present, to sit in the mess. As you can imagine, perfectionists don't like messes, particularly emotional, familial un-fixable ones! I have a savior complex. Being "in process" myself, not being able to control the processes of my family members, and waiting for simple moments that come more often now but not often enough is not an easy thing for me. 
I'm learning that we don't get to choose our life, only the way we're living it. I choose to live mine honestly. I choose to tell my story when I'm crying in parking lots and when I'm laughing with my kids. It's all part of my story. And I have to believe that ultimately, my story is good, that I'm part of a greater story that matters. Our suffering has value. It's not a punishment. It's a reality, a critical piece of our human experience. In some ways, it is what most greatly unites us. I want to connect with the people around me, with their humanity, with their compassion, with their story. I don't want to live in an ivory tower, rising above everyone else. Of course, I'd love to get out of the trenches for awhile. I don't want to stay here forever. But if being in the trenches makes me a more open, honest, compassionate and generous version of myself, is it worth it? I think it just might be. Luckily, it's not up to me to decide if I stay in the trenches or not. We usually stay in longer than we thought we would or intended to. We're antsy and ready to rise above the ground. I believe I will, stronger than ever, in time. But for now, I'll be down here if you need me, in the trenches. 

The "Ministry" of Busyness

I was visiting with a friend today (I tend to do that a lot:) who is in ministry and I felt like I was looking in a mirror or maybe even the ghost of Christmas future if I were to have stayed in that life. She's much older than I am, with many more years in ministry under her belt. She's made different choices than I have, though I see similar hang ups between us. I'm not sure if our similar personal issues are products of being in church leadership or if they are what drew us to ministry in the first place. It's probably both. I'm confident that these things are fundamentally unhealthy and commonly reinforced by the church leadership environment. I see her people-pleasing. I see her exhausting herself. I see her floundering to keep up with the expectations placed on her both by her past behavior (over-activity) and by the community who hired her husband to serve them. 
I see her missing opportunities to be still. I see her mind racing frantically; her heart left unattended while she watches over the hearts of others. I see her telling herself and others that she enjoys all her service activities, while her spirit says she needs rest. Don't get me wrong; she is a LOVELY person. She believes she's doing the right thing, serving God, being fulfilled by it, even. While my ministry experience is limited in comparison to hers, I feel like I've been around the block enough to be able to identify care-taking, people-pleasing, resentment and burn out. I feel like I can see that without judging her because THAT'S ME! The church teaches us that "service" is the most important thing. That's how we act like Jesus, which is the ultimate goal. Service is defined by not thinking of (listening to) yourself but by putting others first. Yes is always the right answer. 
I'm all for loving people and going out of my way to be mindful of how my choices affect others. And maybe it's just me, as I'm the one who's therapist is hoping that the "others first" voice in my head would actually quiet down. That I wouldn't let my concern for others override my concern for myself. Even writing that, I know the over-churched will read that and think I'm a heretic at worst, or selfish at best.
Maybe I'm the only church-goer who has spent years valuing being nice over being emotionally, physically and  spiritually healthy. Maybe it's helpful for those "worldly" people who need to be constantly told that they're selfish; there's something wrong with them; and they need to fix it by serving others.  
For me, I'm in a detoxing process from this kind of theology. I'm learning to listen to my voice. As a highly sensitive person, I can very easily tell you what the voices of "God", my parents, spouse, friends, religion and country would say WAY before I could tell you what I really need to be doing, thinking and feeling according to my personal viewpoint. Again, maybe I'm the only one. But in my Christian process, I'm learning that listening to my own voice is part of me listening to God. (Again, heresy! What about how our hearts are evil?!?!) He made me who I am, and the ultimate form of worship to Him is to love myself, to have grace for myself, and to be honest. If I'm honest about my humanity and not trying to overcompensate for it (serving when my heart doesn't want to), I just might be in a better position to listen to the stories and journeys of all the people in the world around me. Believe me, when your soul, mind, heart and body are well-fed, you genuinely take pleasure in giving to your fellow man. The times that I have felt resentful, ungracious and stingy towards others are when I'm doing a "service" out of "the shoulds" or on an empty tank. This doesn't make me a bad, selfish, unloving person. This simply makes me a person. Embracing the reality of our humanity, that we really only have so much to give when we're not first giving to ourselves, is critical to true, honest living. 
When I stopped sitting in the theology that there's something wrong with me; I'm selfish and untrustworthy; I need to be what other people tell me I should be; that God is displeased with me unless I act in a certain way (that looks like every other believer); other people's salvation process is up to me; and that my work is never done; I FINALLY learned what grace really is. As good at church as I was, I still felt like I had no idea what grace really looked like as it applied to me.  
I think this is ultimately my problem with theology that over-focuses on sin. I understand that sin is a big problem, that it separates us from God, that Jesus died because of it. But if I believe that, isn't that all sorted out now? I know we like to debate issues of if we're "once saved, always saved", but if my Christian faith is a constant process of re-confessing, re-feeling guilty, and re-serving out of shame and a need to be loved, isn't that actually a slap in the face of the God who's already forgiven me, once and for all? I know Paul says that embracing grace doesn't mean we should pursue sin all the more because grace is abundant, I get that. But what if Christianity looked like ending the constant sin wrangling and instead focused on participating in the Kingdom of God NOW? What would our hearts be freed up to think, imagine, dream, and do if we stopped expending our energies on perfecting ourselves, constantly trying to figure out which sin we should work on next? Not hoping that we've said or done the right rituals in this life to make it in the gates of heaven when we die, but that our every moment can be about engaging in the world around us, with listening ears (not with judgment or even answers), with open hearts and minds? That we can change! That others can teach me something; about myself, God, the world. I find myself so much more interested in others when I take care of myself. I don't see their needs as a personal burden to me. I see myself growing through conversation, through reading, through writing, through changing my plans in the moment. I spent a lot of years with my head down, focused on my commitments and responsibilities, not able to be present, already thinking of what I needed to do to prepare for future moments. 
I guess what I'm saying is, be willing to be pleasantly surprised, filled with hope, inspired by the moment, and open to the world around you. Don't rush through life like it's a burden. Don't get me wrong; life is full of burdens!!! But take the grace right in front of you; whether it's a conversation with a friend, an afternoon in bed with a book, a great glass of wine, or taking something off your list today. I've found when I focus on working on my "stuff" and what God wants me to be (present, open, full of grace, hopeful, generous) then I'm too engaged in that work to be worried about what other people think my life is supposed to look like. Perhaps I'm not the only one whose main "ministry" is this.