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.
The Serenity Prayer was inscribed in gilded letters on a plate that hung in my grandmother's kitchen when I was a little girl. I never put too much thought into it. It was just gaudy old-lady deco (sorry, Grandma) that kinda made me laugh. The part about "wisdom"...well, that just seemed silly. I mean, who can't tell the difference between things they can and cannot change?
God can be such a character sometimes.
In the last two years, I've recited that prayer more times than I can count. It's a part of the preamble to every Al-Anon meeting I attend. But admittedly, I tend to leave those words in the rooms of Al-Anon. I don't keep them on a ragged slip of paper in my pocket. They aren't cleverly displayed on the wall so that I have to glance at them every time I'm in my favorite room in the house (maybe Grandma was on to something). They just aren't on the tip of my tongue these days.
It happened again last night. A simple conversation became a simple disagreement, which turned into me balling my fists...getting tied up in knots...desperately trying to reason...explain...defend...
(dear God, please just make him understand)
The tears that I loathe (those ever-present byproducts of anger, fear, confusion, frustration) flooded my face. I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw things. He had to see how illogical, irresponsible, and unreasonable he was being.
My fingers flew across the tiny keys on my phone, texting with such fervor that I kept having to fix my spelling. Even Auto-Correct couldn't read my chaos-inflicted mind. What I've spent the last 2 1/2 years learning and relearning and learning again...was gone. My serenity was (poof) gone.
I wanted to change him...his thoughts, his words, his reasoning. Why? Because they were mean. And they hurt. And though they weren't true, and made little sense, the devil seized them and pounded them into my heart over and over and over again.
I went to bed last night in a daze. My body was in knots. My heart was in shambles. My brain was spinning. And my soul was cloaked in darkness. I knew I didn't want to feel the way I was feeling, but the devil had me so lost in the shadows of anxiety/doubt/shame/fear/worry, I couldn't see the light shining right in front of me.
I lay in my bed, finding it hard to breathe, and suddenly I knew what to do...
God, please take the darkness from my life. Replace it with Your light. Change the words in my heart from "selfish" and "unworthy," to "loved" and "redeemed." Remind me how much You cherish me; let me see Your smiling face instead of the faces that look at me with hate. Shower me in Your grace, mercy, and love so that the devil can't get into my heart...in Jesus' name, I pray...
I repeated that prayer over and over, and I felt it. The words that had stabbed at my heart melted away. It wasn't that I forgot them; it was like they had never existed. All I felt was God's love, filling the darkness in my heart, reassuring me that I didn't need to justify myself to anyone. And suddenly, I knew...
The words that were intended to destroy me weren't about me at all. They had nothing to do with me. In fact, they were none of my business. I had no control over those hateful words, but I had the power to change my perspective, and that power came from God.
And in Him is my serenity. My peace.
I yearn for peace. I'm not talking about sunsets-on-the-beach peace. I dream of the kind of peace that is deeper. It's a peace within my soul, so solid, so mighty, that anxiety/shame/doubt/fear/worry can't worm their way into my heart. For a long time, I had no idea what that kind of peace looked like. Peace was a Stranger, a Man I'd met from time to time, but Someone I really didn't have time for...Someone I might talk to if I was stuck in traffic or when the bills began mounting up. But He wasn't Someone I could trust. After all, my life pretty much sucked.
That's all changed, including the sucky-life nonsense. But truthfully, sometimes (more often than I'd like to admit) I forget where to find my Peace. Why, you ask?
I am addicted to chaos.
I am addicted to fixing others.
I am addicted to worry.
I am addicted to giving in.
I am addicted to fear.
I am addicted to expectations.
I am addicted to being right.
I am addicted to the belief that I am in control.
For me, the idea of power is like a frosty, cold beer to an alcoholic. If it seems within my reach, I want to grab hold of it with both hands and drink it in big gulps. I want to feel it flowing into me, relaxing my overwrought nerves, bringing me that peace I so desire. Power is a remedy. Power is a drug. Power is a solution.
Power is an illusion. All it takes is an argument with an alcoholic to make that painfully clear. When these moments arise, I know God is giving this power-hungry girl a choice. Try to "fix" it myself, or turn it over to Him. Trust my own abilities to "handle" the alcoholic (because that's always worked out famously), or trust Him.
I am not God. Not so long ago, I was really good at pretending I was, so forgive me if I sometimes relapse. But God has this funny way of reclaiming his power. And praise Him, He is always the "God of my understanding." That gives me the freedom to have an ever-evolving relationship with Him. What I understand about Him today may not be my understanding tomorrow. I don't have to be perfect in my life or my relationship with Him. I can try to take control. My prayers don't have to be perfect. I can make mistakes. I can forget to call on Him. I can take one step forward, and two steps back. I speak of my addictions in the present tense because they still exist. But I am learning to deal with my defects and live a beautiful life, not in spite of them, but because of them. Mine is a program of "progress, not perfection."
God, thank You for your gift of serenity. And even though I don't always get it, thank You for you're oh-so-witty sense of humor. You knew who I was going to be back when I was laughing at that plate in Grandma's kitchen, didn't You? Please help me to keep Your name forever on the tip of my tongue. If possible, I'd prefer a rustic sign. Perhaps a DIY created from old pallets??? A touch of burlap wouldn't hurt. Oh, and chevrons! I LOVE chevrons. But really, God, I just want You to be my go-to Guy. Cool?
Cool.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Angels and Treadmills
Genesis 18:1-2 The Lord appeared to Abraham near the great trees of Mamre while he was sitting at the entrance to his tent in the heat of the day. Abraham looked up and saw three men standing nearby. When he saw them, he hurried from the entrance of his tent to meet them and bowed low to the ground.
I think I spoke with an angel today.
I know I must write this now, while my memory is fresh. Soon, it will begin to fade, bleached by time and circumstance, until all that's left is a moment in time, just a single stitch on the tapestry of my life. The details will be lost in my mind, only to be found somewhere in that space between sleep and wakening.
Already, the edges are beginning to blur. I better hurry...
I stepped off the treadmill at the gym today, and in front of me was a man. He sat hunched in a wheelchair. His body seemed to curl in on itself. His knees looked welded together and almost touched his chest, while his arms and hands stuck out at odd angles. I'd noticed him out of his wheelchair earlier, doing physical therapy on a treadmill nearby, struggling to take each step, as if his mind and his body couldn't agree on where things were supposed to go.
The man was looking up at me. His lips were moving, so I took out my ear buds to hear what he was saying.
"Can you get my glasses for me?" His speech was slow and slurred, as if each word took more effort than his tongue could muster.
"Of course," I replied. The glasses had fallen onto the treadmill. I picked them up and handed them to him. He grasped them with gnarled, uncoordinated fingers and settled them onto his face.
"Thank you," he said.
And here's where the details begin to blur. I can't remember how the conversation began. Did I say something more? Did he ask me a question? Did we introduce ourselves? I can't remember. I know his name was Joseph, and he called me Courtney many times. But when did I learn his name, and he mine? I simply don't know.
What I do know is he began to tell me a story. It began with a dream he had when he was 16 years old. Halfway into the dream, I knew this moment was something special, that I would want to remember everything about this man for as long as possible. I couldn't do that looking down on him, so at some point, I sat down, right on the treadmill where his glasses had fallen. As he spoke, these are the things I noticed.
His eyes were brown and soulful.
The skin on his shoulders was creamy white, as if it had never seen the sun.
His hair fell in soft, short waves around his face. I imagined fingers, once strong and sure, flicking the hair from his face.
He talked with his hands. The movements were awkward and jerky, but somehow they gave his story power.
His dream went something like this...
Sixteen-year-old Joseph was in church - in his words, the house of our Lord, Jesus Christ. I remember those words distinctly. He enunciated them with his broken tongue, making sure I understood. He was a typical teenager at the time. His body and mind had not yet been destroyed by "the accident." In the dream, he wondered why he was in church - there was no wedding, no quinceanera, no baptism. The church was empty. He continued to look around, wondering why he was there all alone. And then he looked down and saw the wheelchair. He was in it.
And his dream was over. He didn't think anything of it. Just a dream, he told himself when he was 16.
Two years later, at age 18, Joseph was at a party with a friend. He and his friend left the party to go smoke a joint. This part was a little hard to understand, but it seems that while they were walking down the street, a 15-year-old kid lost control of a car he wasn't supposed to be driving, and hit Joseph.
His story was over, and neither of us spoke for a moment.
And then he popped the question.
"Do you think God was warning me in my dream?"
I wasn't sure how to respond - to his story, to his question, to any of it! We were at the gym, after all. Questions at the gym are more along the lines of "What are you listening to?" or "Do you know where the weight room is?" Everything was so surreal. I could no longer hear the whir of the treadmills at work around me. Weights stopped their incessant clinking and clanking. Voices faded. It was as if time stood still, and the rest of the world faded into nothingness.
I thought for a moment and said, "God speaks to us in different ways, even in our dreams. But maybe God wasn't warning you. Maybe He was preparing you for His plans for your life."
He nodded.
"Just for a stupid joint," he said.
He sighed.
At the time, I think I knew I was in the presence of something greater than myself, and I was nervous. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to get it right. I knew this was a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence, and I didn't want to say the wrong thing.
"I think God has a plan for you, and I think He has a plan for me," I said. "Our only job is to trust in His plan and follow where He leads us."
Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's what I said.
The gym came back alive, and we made small talk for a few more minutes. Again, the details are hazy. I know he is now 40 and lives with his mother. He knows that I will be 38 in a week or so, and that I have 3 kids. And then he said it was nice talking to me, we shook hands, and went our separate ways.
And immediately, my mind began throwing questions at me.
Did I really meet an angel?
I'm sure I did.
Did I say the right things?
Umm...I'm pretty sure I did.
Could I have said more?
Probably.
Why would God choose to put an angel in my path today?
I have no idea.
Or maybe I do.
Perhaps He knows I'm faltering, and that I need the reassurance.
Perhaps I was right when I said God speaks to us in different ways. Last night, as I drifted into my own dreamland, I prayed for reassurance for my weakening heart. I prayed for guidance and I prayed for God to speak to me clearly, so I wouldn't misunderstand. I prayed for Him to remind me of the times He's spoken to me and given my heart clear directions, because, Lord God, it's so darn easy to forget.
Perhaps God answered my prayers today.
Just perhaps...
I think I spoke with an angel today.
I know I must write this now, while my memory is fresh. Soon, it will begin to fade, bleached by time and circumstance, until all that's left is a moment in time, just a single stitch on the tapestry of my life. The details will be lost in my mind, only to be found somewhere in that space between sleep and wakening.
Already, the edges are beginning to blur. I better hurry...
I stepped off the treadmill at the gym today, and in front of me was a man. He sat hunched in a wheelchair. His body seemed to curl in on itself. His knees looked welded together and almost touched his chest, while his arms and hands stuck out at odd angles. I'd noticed him out of his wheelchair earlier, doing physical therapy on a treadmill nearby, struggling to take each step, as if his mind and his body couldn't agree on where things were supposed to go.
The man was looking up at me. His lips were moving, so I took out my ear buds to hear what he was saying.
"Can you get my glasses for me?" His speech was slow and slurred, as if each word took more effort than his tongue could muster.
"Of course," I replied. The glasses had fallen onto the treadmill. I picked them up and handed them to him. He grasped them with gnarled, uncoordinated fingers and settled them onto his face.
"Thank you," he said.
And here's where the details begin to blur. I can't remember how the conversation began. Did I say something more? Did he ask me a question? Did we introduce ourselves? I can't remember. I know his name was Joseph, and he called me Courtney many times. But when did I learn his name, and he mine? I simply don't know.
What I do know is he began to tell me a story. It began with a dream he had when he was 16 years old. Halfway into the dream, I knew this moment was something special, that I would want to remember everything about this man for as long as possible. I couldn't do that looking down on him, so at some point, I sat down, right on the treadmill where his glasses had fallen. As he spoke, these are the things I noticed.
His eyes were brown and soulful.
The skin on his shoulders was creamy white, as if it had never seen the sun.
His hair fell in soft, short waves around his face. I imagined fingers, once strong and sure, flicking the hair from his face.
He talked with his hands. The movements were awkward and jerky, but somehow they gave his story power.
His dream went something like this...
Sixteen-year-old Joseph was in church - in his words, the house of our Lord, Jesus Christ. I remember those words distinctly. He enunciated them with his broken tongue, making sure I understood. He was a typical teenager at the time. His body and mind had not yet been destroyed by "the accident." In the dream, he wondered why he was in church - there was no wedding, no quinceanera, no baptism. The church was empty. He continued to look around, wondering why he was there all alone. And then he looked down and saw the wheelchair. He was in it.
And his dream was over. He didn't think anything of it. Just a dream, he told himself when he was 16.
Two years later, at age 18, Joseph was at a party with a friend. He and his friend left the party to go smoke a joint. This part was a little hard to understand, but it seems that while they were walking down the street, a 15-year-old kid lost control of a car he wasn't supposed to be driving, and hit Joseph.
His story was over, and neither of us spoke for a moment.
And then he popped the question.
"Do you think God was warning me in my dream?"
I wasn't sure how to respond - to his story, to his question, to any of it! We were at the gym, after all. Questions at the gym are more along the lines of "What are you listening to?" or "Do you know where the weight room is?" Everything was so surreal. I could no longer hear the whir of the treadmills at work around me. Weights stopped their incessant clinking and clanking. Voices faded. It was as if time stood still, and the rest of the world faded into nothingness.
I thought for a moment and said, "God speaks to us in different ways, even in our dreams. But maybe God wasn't warning you. Maybe He was preparing you for His plans for your life."
He nodded.
"Just for a stupid joint," he said.
He sighed.
At the time, I think I knew I was in the presence of something greater than myself, and I was nervous. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to get it right. I knew this was a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence, and I didn't want to say the wrong thing.
"I think God has a plan for you, and I think He has a plan for me," I said. "Our only job is to trust in His plan and follow where He leads us."
Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's what I said.
The gym came back alive, and we made small talk for a few more minutes. Again, the details are hazy. I know he is now 40 and lives with his mother. He knows that I will be 38 in a week or so, and that I have 3 kids. And then he said it was nice talking to me, we shook hands, and went our separate ways.
And immediately, my mind began throwing questions at me.
Did I really meet an angel?
I'm sure I did.
Did I say the right things?
Umm...I'm pretty sure I did.
Could I have said more?
Probably.
Why would God choose to put an angel in my path today?
I have no idea.
Or maybe I do.
Perhaps He knows I'm faltering, and that I need the reassurance.
Perhaps I was right when I said God speaks to us in different ways. Last night, as I drifted into my own dreamland, I prayed for reassurance for my weakening heart. I prayed for guidance and I prayed for God to speak to me clearly, so I wouldn't misunderstand. I prayed for Him to remind me of the times He's spoken to me and given my heart clear directions, because, Lord God, it's so darn easy to forget.
Perhaps God answered my prayers today.
Just perhaps...
Sunday, February 3, 2013
(Not so) Great Expectations
Psalm 62:5 My soul, wait in silence for God only, For my hope is from Him.
For the record, I'm a Pinterest enthusiast. I love all the ideas and inspiration I find there. But I also believe that the enemy can use Pinterest to make pinners feel inadequate. So I go into every session with a careful heart, knowing that 90% of what I pin looks good in theory, but the chances of it every winding up in my house, in my oven, in my classroom, or in my closet is slim to none.
That said, there is a particular category with which I am especially careful. I've never been a real fan of quotes. I've always felt that if you feel something that strongly, find your own words to voice it instead of using someone else's. It just doesn't seem as genuine if you have to borrow. That's not to say that I'm not inspired by the words of others, and yes, I have a board on Pinterest for "Encouragement." But I am very selective with those pins because I know they have the ability to confuse my fragile heart into feeling emotions that don't belong to me. I've noticed one quote in particular blazing its way around Pinterest lately. It goes something like this:
"Sometimes we expect more from others because we would be willing to do that much for them."
I used to agree with that wholeheartedly. As a wife and a mother and a daughter and a friend, I had expectations. Treat me fairly. Don't take advantage of me. Don't judge me. Use kind words. Respect me. Act your age. Be responsible. Share. Don't hurt me. Tell the truth. Own your mistakes and learn from them. Do what you say you'll do.
Sounds reasonable, right? Who doesn't deserve to be treated that way? My expectations started out as little pebbles on my path. Someone would let me down, and I'd pick up a pebble. At first, it was no big deal. The pebbles weren't heavy, so I'd just slip them into my pocket. Time passed, and the pebbles became rocks. My pockets began to sag with all that extra weight. I felt heavy. I couldn't move forward. Resentment filled my heart, suffocating compassion and love and understanding until those feelings eventually died. I continued living, but it was an ugly life. Anger and resentment consumed me. I banged around my life every day until I fell into bed, exhausted and infuriated, only to wake up and do it all over again.
I guess God got tired of all my banging around because He stepped in and showed me a different way to live. I've learned a new quote that I like even better.
"Expectations are just premeditated resentments."
How many rocks do you have in your pockets today? Can I give you a little bit of tough love?
Why do you believe that anyone has the responsibility to meet your expectations? Who are you to dictate how a person should live when the One and Only has given them the gracious gift of free will? Why are you letting their journey fill you with resentment and anger instead of enjoying your own journey?
Now, don't get upset with me! I asked myself the same questions, and then I looked at my list of expectations with new eyes. First, I asked myself how many of them I failed to meet? I wanted grace, but I wasn't willing to give it. Then I realized that we are all on different paths specifically chosen for us by a God who loves us. Suppose my expectations don't fit with God's plans? Should I expect God to give in to me and my expectations? Well, paint me gold and call me a cow! I'd created this idolized version of myself that expected God (yes, GOD) to submit to me and my desires!
Finally, I wondered...what if God had expectations of me? Imagine that! What if He expected me not to sin, to temper my sailor's mouth, to not yell at the idiot who cuts me off in traffic? And when I went ahead and did those things anyway, what if God resented me? What if He got angry and banged around in Heaven and picked up resentments to store in his pockets? Imagine spending eternity in Heaven with a God like that. Because I fail him every day. Miserably.
Thank You, God, for sending your Son to bear the burden of my failures. Thank You for loving me unconditionally, without expectations. Please grant me the ability to love like You do.
What if we could love like Christ? What if we could be denied and betrayed and beaten and broken, and yet still be gracious? What if it all started with emptying our heavy pockets of expectations and just respecting and accepting people the way they are?
People are going to let you down.
Someone will hurt you some day.
You will feel taken advantage of at some point.
You won't get the credit you deserve.
People won't share with you.
You will be lied to.
People will judge you.
You will be disrespected.
Life will not be fair to you.
Accept that. Respect that. And then let it go.
I know what you're thinking, because I thought it, too. But accepting people as they are does not mean you have to be a doormat. Remember, you have a path to follow, as well. God will show you the way, but it's up to you take the next right step.
Whatever you do, do not pick up those rocks. Just let them be. Empty your pockets and give the ones you have to Jesus.
Maybe He will use them to teach the baby angels how to skip rocks in Heaven.
For the record, I'm a Pinterest enthusiast. I love all the ideas and inspiration I find there. But I also believe that the enemy can use Pinterest to make pinners feel inadequate. So I go into every session with a careful heart, knowing that 90% of what I pin looks good in theory, but the chances of it every winding up in my house, in my oven, in my classroom, or in my closet is slim to none.
That said, there is a particular category with which I am especially careful. I've never been a real fan of quotes. I've always felt that if you feel something that strongly, find your own words to voice it instead of using someone else's. It just doesn't seem as genuine if you have to borrow. That's not to say that I'm not inspired by the words of others, and yes, I have a board on Pinterest for "Encouragement." But I am very selective with those pins because I know they have the ability to confuse my fragile heart into feeling emotions that don't belong to me. I've noticed one quote in particular blazing its way around Pinterest lately. It goes something like this:
"Sometimes we expect more from others because we would be willing to do that much for them."
I used to agree with that wholeheartedly. As a wife and a mother and a daughter and a friend, I had expectations. Treat me fairly. Don't take advantage of me. Don't judge me. Use kind words. Respect me. Act your age. Be responsible. Share. Don't hurt me. Tell the truth. Own your mistakes and learn from them. Do what you say you'll do.
Sounds reasonable, right? Who doesn't deserve to be treated that way? My expectations started out as little pebbles on my path. Someone would let me down, and I'd pick up a pebble. At first, it was no big deal. The pebbles weren't heavy, so I'd just slip them into my pocket. Time passed, and the pebbles became rocks. My pockets began to sag with all that extra weight. I felt heavy. I couldn't move forward. Resentment filled my heart, suffocating compassion and love and understanding until those feelings eventually died. I continued living, but it was an ugly life. Anger and resentment consumed me. I banged around my life every day until I fell into bed, exhausted and infuriated, only to wake up and do it all over again.
I guess God got tired of all my banging around because He stepped in and showed me a different way to live. I've learned a new quote that I like even better.
"Expectations are just premeditated resentments."
How many rocks do you have in your pockets today? Can I give you a little bit of tough love?
Why do you believe that anyone has the responsibility to meet your expectations? Who are you to dictate how a person should live when the One and Only has given them the gracious gift of free will? Why are you letting their journey fill you with resentment and anger instead of enjoying your own journey?
Now, don't get upset with me! I asked myself the same questions, and then I looked at my list of expectations with new eyes. First, I asked myself how many of them I failed to meet? I wanted grace, but I wasn't willing to give it. Then I realized that we are all on different paths specifically chosen for us by a God who loves us. Suppose my expectations don't fit with God's plans? Should I expect God to give in to me and my expectations? Well, paint me gold and call me a cow! I'd created this idolized version of myself that expected God (yes, GOD) to submit to me and my desires!
Finally, I wondered...what if God had expectations of me? Imagine that! What if He expected me not to sin, to temper my sailor's mouth, to not yell at the idiot who cuts me off in traffic? And when I went ahead and did those things anyway, what if God resented me? What if He got angry and banged around in Heaven and picked up resentments to store in his pockets? Imagine spending eternity in Heaven with a God like that. Because I fail him every day. Miserably.
Thank You, God, for sending your Son to bear the burden of my failures. Thank You for loving me unconditionally, without expectations. Please grant me the ability to love like You do.
What if we could love like Christ? What if we could be denied and betrayed and beaten and broken, and yet still be gracious? What if it all started with emptying our heavy pockets of expectations and just respecting and accepting people the way they are?
People are going to let you down.
Someone will hurt you some day.
You will feel taken advantage of at some point.
You won't get the credit you deserve.
People won't share with you.
You will be lied to.
People will judge you.
You will be disrespected.
Life will not be fair to you.
Accept that. Respect that. And then let it go.
I know what you're thinking, because I thought it, too. But accepting people as they are does not mean you have to be a doormat. Remember, you have a path to follow, as well. God will show you the way, but it's up to you take the next right step.
Whatever you do, do not pick up those rocks. Just let them be. Empty your pockets and give the ones you have to Jesus.
Maybe He will use them to teach the baby angels how to skip rocks in Heaven.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Death of a People-Pleaser
Psalm 139:13-14 "For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made..."
Have I got good news for you! All you busy dads, you on-the-go mommas - look no further. If you need a favor, I'm your gal! All you have to do is ask. If you're feeling a bit wary because you don't know me that well, never fear. I come with references (the names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent).
- Jane will tell you that I lent her my car for a hair appointment, and when she returned it with a huge gash in the fender and zero explanation, I didn't bat an eye.
- John will tell you that I took him to the airport at four o'clock in the morning on my day off.
- Sue can vouch for the fact that I went to the grocery store to get her son cupcakes to celebrate his birthday at school. Even though it was 8 o'clock at night. And the store was completely out of my way.
- Mary will probably deny it (but if she turns red, you'll know she's fibbing) when you ask her if I bought her an enema kit at the store, and then returned it for another one when she told me I'd gotten the wrong one. Okay, never mind. Maybe you don't check up on that one.
- Joe will explain how I drove ninety miles on a gas tank full of fumes because he needed a ride home for Thanksgiving.
- Betty will (gratefully) tell you how I went to those riveting work meetings for her because she couldn't.
Feel better now? I hope so. Like I said, all you have to do is ask.
Make no mistake. I'm not Mother Teresa. There's nothing saint-like about it. It's just that I can't ever seem to say no.
People-pleasing has always been a way of life for me. It started when I was young. I gave up my favorite toys and always let my friends go first (even when it was my turn). I always volunteered to be "It" when no one else (myself included) wanted to do it. In high school, I surrendered love interests in accordance with the unwritten law that I had not "called him first." I abandoned important relationships when they made others unhappy. I stayed in destructive relationships because to leave them would make others unhappy. I allowed my mind, body, and soul to be beaten down and broken, all in the name of keeping the peace.
Self-sacrifice looks good on paper, but don't be deceived. It's actually the devil in disguise.
The more I sacrificed myself for others, the less of ME there was. All God's hard work, the eternity that He spent knowing me and planning for me, was forgotten. I became ripe for the devil to tempt me into believing I was Unworthy. Unloved. Unacceptable. Unknown.
It also opened me up to resentment. This is one of the devil's favorite emotions, because it leads good people down ugly, dark roads where the enemy lurks. Watching. Waiting.
For me, people-pleasing has deep roots in abuse, addiction, and alcoholism. In a world filled with chaos, inconsistencies, and unmet expectations, I felt powerless. The people-pleaser in me grasped the one thing that was actually in my control - my choices. If my choices could make someone else happy, then I could control the chaos. And then I would finally find peace. Or at least that's what the devil kept telling me. He told me to give up the things that made me happy. He told me that it was okay (necessary, even) that my happiness was dependent on the happiness of others.
And so I began to lose. And I lost. And I lost. And I lost. For years, I lost. Myself. My relationships. My sanity. I spent so much time making other people happy that I had no idea what made me happy. If I did find something I liked, I felt guilty for enjoying it, especially when it took away from the happiness of the people I was most trying to please. I gave and gave and gave until I was empty inside. My heart hardened. My soul was battered and bruised.
And the devil danced. He cheered. He wrote my name in his little black book with a BIG, black, permanent marker.
Stupid devil.
I'm in Someone Else's book, too. And so are you. Below each of our names is a long list of the gifts, talents, and interests that He knit together in the tapestries of our hearts.
But first I have to tell you a secret. That person that you're always trying to please? You never will. His peace of mind is not your responsibility. Her happiness doesn't rest on your shoulders. In fact, it's none of your business. Happiness and peace is a part of their relationship with themselves and with God. It's their responsibility to get to work making things right, not yours. Not yours.
And guess what? The same goes for you!
What makes you happy? Get with God and figure it out! You are fearfully and wonderfully made by a God who knows you best. He gave you unique talents and gifts, and He knows full well how you are supposed to be using them. Don't sacrifice your gifts trying to please the un-pleasable! Be yourself! If you don't know who that is, get busy! Try new things. Don't be scared! You've got an unshakeable God right by your side, and he is for you!
It works! I promise - it really does work. Two years ago, I didn't know who I was. I didn't know what I liked to do. I didn't recognize that I had talents. Making a list of my "favorites" for Meet the Teacher was painful! The only hobbies I could think of were reading and writing. And I wasn't even sure I should include them. I'd always put off writing because I believed the people who made me feel like I wasn't good enough. And if I spent an afternoon reading a book, guilt swallowed me whole.
Want to see my updated hobby list?
1. I love running...except when I'm doing it. Then it kinda sucks.
2. Theater is in my soul. I may never make it to Broadway, but that little stage in my church's Family Life Center is good enough...for now.
3. I am obsessed with photography. I decided I wanted a camera for Christmas, and wound up with a business. A busy business.
4. Writing...ah, my passion. I love this blog. I love writing short stories and poetry. I love how God knits my words together like only He can. I hope that one day He knits them into a book. Or two. Or ten.
5. I enjoy cycling. Turns out you really don't forget how to ride a bike. Even if you're clumsy. And super-uncoordinated.
6. I get lost in reading. I am overwhelmed with the journey, and sometimes (a lot of times), I don't want to come home. When I read a good book, I make new friends, and they always take a little piece of my heart with them when their story is over.
Look at that! I've tripled my list! I'm still a people-pleaser at heart, but God has graciously given me the ability to see when I'm giving too much of myself. When I'm abandoning His gifts, He produces blessings like bikes and cameras. When I'm not using the talents He's given me, He puts people in my life who request very nicely that I blog more. When I'm worn out and feeling a lot lazy, He places it on my heart to get this body (His body) out into the world (His world), and enjoy them both.
God knows you, too. He's speaking to your heart right now, telling you how fearfully and wonderfully He made you. Are you listening?
Find your gifts. Make a hobby list and include things you've always wanted to do, even if you're not doing them. You don't have to be the best. God didn't make you to be perfect.
He made you to be YOU.
Friday, January 4, 2013
More
Ephesians 3:20-21 - "Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever! Amen."
In the hustle and bustle of the season, I'd put off shopping for everyday items. You know the ones I'm talking about. Those little necessities that never seem to be around when you need them. And I needed them. I needed them badly enough to load up three kids for a quick trip to the grocery store.
I like to think of these trips as a Four Stage Process. Stage 1 - Cats in a Bathtub.
I'm totally serious. When I say the words "grocery store" to my kids, they growl. Their hair stands up on their heads. They claw at me. They hiss. It's not pretty.
Stage 2 is Anguished Acceptance. This is a tricky stage. It had me fooled for a lot of years. I saw the agonizing looks (I like to call them "Wet Cat Syndrome") and fell hook, line, and sinker. But now I know better. Don't let them see weakness. And steel myself for Stage 3.
Stage 3 - Kill Mom with Questions.
"Can I get Buddy Bucks?" (Infernal "kid cash" for a machine that earns points to buy cheap crap that winds up on the floorboard of my car.)
"Can I have two quarters for the machine?" (Infernal "kid trap" that vends cheap crap, which winds up on the floorboard of my car.)
"Can I have gum/candy/soda?" (Infernal "kid crack" that's unhealthy, sticky and/or NOT spill-proof, and the trash winds up on the floorboard of my car.)
The problem with Stage 3 is that it lasts as long as we are in the store. However, the mere existence of this stage inevitably prolongs the trip, turning a half-hour jaunt into an hour-long undertaking. Once we leave the store, we move quickly into Stage 4 - Is that a Squirrel? This stage is all about distraction. It doesn't take much - a push or poke from a sibling is usually enough. The questions are quickly forgotten and life goes on.
So back to my story. We were headed to the store for one or two necessities. We had barely pulled into the parking lot when my youngest daughter took me completely by surprise and moved into Stage 3* before we'd even exited the vehicle. You may have noticed the asterisk. That's because this is a rare deviation from typical Stage 3 behavior. Many factors go into that asterisk. Like, for example, it was a week after Mr. Ho-Ho-Ho left a veritable toy store under the tree. And the fact that she'd had a birthday just four days after Christmas. Also, consider the Audacity Factor.
What is the Audacity Factor, you ask? Perhaps telling you her question would best explain it. Deep breath. And...
"After this, can we go to Target for some more toys?"
I was floored. Speechless. The car was silent (a Christmas miracle!) as we all took in her question. I like to think my older two children were in shock, too, but I've come to accept that they were just waiting. Waiting for my reaction. Waiting to see if we really could go to Target.
After I regained consciousness, it took all I had not to give her the Less-Fortunate Lecture. You know the one I'm talking about. It always starts out with, "There are children in _______________ (fill in the blank with the first third-world country that comes to mind) who don't get anything for Christmas..." But I didn't give that lecture. Well, not the whole thing, anyway. But my voice certainly had the how-dare-you tone (a symptom of the Audacity Factor).
How dare you want more after all you got for Christmas? How dare you want more when you got so much just four days later on your birthday? How dare you think what you've already gotten is not enough? How dare you want more???
I huffed and sighed and stomped into the store to get my few completely necessary items. Stage 3* put a damper on the usual Stage 3 antics. Or perhaps it was my Mean Mama face that kept the questions at bay. At any rate, I was able to shop in some semblance of peace. I noticed things that I usually missed. Like the sale on body lotion. What girl can't use an extra one of those in her bathroom cabinet? And the body wash was Buy One, Get One Free. Forget that I already had a full bottle at home, plus a 6-pack of my favorite bar soap. Did you hear me say it was Buy One, Get One Free??? And then there was the back-scrubber I'd been meaning to get for months. And mouthwash that guaranteed to whiten my teeth in just 7 days. And another body wash that was on sale and smelled simply heavenly. They all went in my cart.
And the irony was lost on me until I woke up this morning with one word in my head.
More.
But not the evil More that wants more toys, more lotion, and more body wash. This More came from God. You see, I'd been thinking about a New Year's resolution. Typically, I'm not much of a "resolution" kinda gal. They always seem like such a waste of guilt. I've got far more important things to feel guilty for than not keeping a resolution. But this year, I felt it - a need to resolve myself in Him. I suppose it's more of a calling than a resolution. God is calling me to More.
I sat down and made a list of all the More I need in my life:
This resolution, if that's what you want to call it, comes with a bonus, a Buy One, Get One Free, if you will. The more I focus on the More, the less time I will have to focus on the Not Enough.
And who doesn't need that in their shopping cart?
Would you like to join me in my resolution...ahem, I mean, my calling? Are you ready?
Go ahead! Fill your cart with More. Stack it so high that you can't see the path in front of you. Put away your purse. Don't worry about what card you're gonna put it on. Cause this More doesn't cost a thing. The price for your More has already been paid. It cost more than you can fathom...
...but for you, it's free.
In the hustle and bustle of the season, I'd put off shopping for everyday items. You know the ones I'm talking about. Those little necessities that never seem to be around when you need them. And I needed them. I needed them badly enough to load up three kids for a quick trip to the grocery store.
I like to think of these trips as a Four Stage Process. Stage 1 - Cats in a Bathtub.
I'm totally serious. When I say the words "grocery store" to my kids, they growl. Their hair stands up on their heads. They claw at me. They hiss. It's not pretty.
Stage 2 is Anguished Acceptance. This is a tricky stage. It had me fooled for a lot of years. I saw the agonizing looks (I like to call them "Wet Cat Syndrome") and fell hook, line, and sinker. But now I know better. Don't let them see weakness. And steel myself for Stage 3.
Stage 3 - Kill Mom with Questions.
"Can I get Buddy Bucks?" (Infernal "kid cash" for a machine that earns points to buy cheap crap that winds up on the floorboard of my car.)
"Can I have two quarters for the machine?" (Infernal "kid trap" that vends cheap crap, which winds up on the floorboard of my car.)
"Can I have gum/candy/soda?" (Infernal "kid crack" that's unhealthy, sticky and/or NOT spill-proof, and the trash winds up on the floorboard of my car.)
The problem with Stage 3 is that it lasts as long as we are in the store. However, the mere existence of this stage inevitably prolongs the trip, turning a half-hour jaunt into an hour-long undertaking. Once we leave the store, we move quickly into Stage 4 - Is that a Squirrel? This stage is all about distraction. It doesn't take much - a push or poke from a sibling is usually enough. The questions are quickly forgotten and life goes on.
So back to my story. We were headed to the store for one or two necessities. We had barely pulled into the parking lot when my youngest daughter took me completely by surprise and moved into Stage 3* before we'd even exited the vehicle. You may have noticed the asterisk. That's because this is a rare deviation from typical Stage 3 behavior. Many factors go into that asterisk. Like, for example, it was a week after Mr. Ho-Ho-Ho left a veritable toy store under the tree. And the fact that she'd had a birthday just four days after Christmas. Also, consider the Audacity Factor.
What is the Audacity Factor, you ask? Perhaps telling you her question would best explain it. Deep breath. And...
"After this, can we go to Target for some more toys?"
I was floored. Speechless. The car was silent (a Christmas miracle!) as we all took in her question. I like to think my older two children were in shock, too, but I've come to accept that they were just waiting. Waiting for my reaction. Waiting to see if we really could go to Target.
After I regained consciousness, it took all I had not to give her the Less-Fortunate Lecture. You know the one I'm talking about. It always starts out with, "There are children in _______________ (fill in the blank with the first third-world country that comes to mind) who don't get anything for Christmas..." But I didn't give that lecture. Well, not the whole thing, anyway. But my voice certainly had the how-dare-you tone (a symptom of the Audacity Factor).
How dare you want more after all you got for Christmas? How dare you want more when you got so much just four days later on your birthday? How dare you think what you've already gotten is not enough? How dare you want more???
I huffed and sighed and stomped into the store to get my few completely necessary items. Stage 3* put a damper on the usual Stage 3 antics. Or perhaps it was my Mean Mama face that kept the questions at bay. At any rate, I was able to shop in some semblance of peace. I noticed things that I usually missed. Like the sale on body lotion. What girl can't use an extra one of those in her bathroom cabinet? And the body wash was Buy One, Get One Free. Forget that I already had a full bottle at home, plus a 6-pack of my favorite bar soap. Did you hear me say it was Buy One, Get One Free??? And then there was the back-scrubber I'd been meaning to get for months. And mouthwash that guaranteed to whiten my teeth in just 7 days. And another body wash that was on sale and smelled simply heavenly. They all went in my cart.
And the irony was lost on me until I woke up this morning with one word in my head.
More.
But not the evil More that wants more toys, more lotion, and more body wash. This More came from God. You see, I'd been thinking about a New Year's resolution. Typically, I'm not much of a "resolution" kinda gal. They always seem like such a waste of guilt. I've got far more important things to feel guilty for than not keeping a resolution. But this year, I felt it - a need to resolve myself in Him. I suppose it's more of a calling than a resolution. God is calling me to More.
I sat down and made a list of all the More I need in my life:
- More loving. Let go of my anger and unforgiveness and mistrust. Just Love.
- More giving. Give more of my time and my talents. Blog more. Stop putting it off.
- More serving. Do more for others. Use the things with which I've been blessed to serve others. That new camera I got for Christmas? Use it to be His hands and feet. Show the world His grace and mercy through a wide-angle lens.
- More compassion. See others like God sees me - past the mistakes and failures.
- More prayers. Build that relationship. Make Him the Man in my life.
- More trust. Give Him my whole heart (yes, even the parts that I've been trying to keep hidden) and let Him get to work chipping away at those stubborn, hardened edges.
- More letting go. Seek only to change what is in my power to change - myself.
- More honor. Respect the journeys of those that I love, even if it hurts.
- More reading. Get into his Word. Let it guide me and renew me and strengthen me.
- More deep breaths. God never said this life would be easy. Take it one day at a time. Hold His hand the entire way.
This resolution, if that's what you want to call it, comes with a bonus, a Buy One, Get One Free, if you will. The more I focus on the More, the less time I will have to focus on the Not Enough.
And who doesn't need that in their shopping cart?
Would you like to join me in my resolution...ahem, I mean, my calling? Are you ready?
Go ahead! Fill your cart with More. Stack it so high that you can't see the path in front of you. Put away your purse. Don't worry about what card you're gonna put it on. Cause this More doesn't cost a thing. The price for your More has already been paid. It cost more than you can fathom...
...but for you, it's free.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)