I don't have time to write tonight, but I feel that I must.
The last three or four weeks have been exceedingly difficult for me. We are implementing a new instructional model that I believe in, but actually putting it into practice has been rough. In theory, most of the class will be reading independently and responding in their journals while I focus on guided reading with a small group.
The reading part is getting better, for the most part. We started several weeks ago with 20 minutes of reading followed by whole-group instruction. That was a battle because over half of my students profess to hate reading. Every day, they'd say, "We're reading again? Why do we have to read every day?"
Each day, I calmly repeated, "This is reading class. That's what we do. You can't get better at reading without reading."
Showing posts with label insecurities. Show all posts
Showing posts with label insecurities. Show all posts
Sunday, December 9, 2018
Wednesday, March 15, 2017
On the Select Team
I'm five weeks into my long-term subbing assignment, teaching 9th- and 11th-grade English. I've been saving up so many stories for you that I don't even know where to begin. I guess at the beginning....
My feelings about myself as a teacher have followed the same trajectory as they did the first time I started teaching, over 20 years ago. The first couple of weeks were glorious. I loved my kids, and they loved me. I was elated at how easy and fun it was to engage them, and I felt that I was doing what I was made to do, like a horse running or an eagle soaring.
After a couple more weeks slipped by, harsh reality set in as the honeymoon faded. This is a really, really hard job. All day, every day, I had to juggle the responsibilities and interruptions, the planning, the grading, the challenges of classroom management. And I had to do all of this with a smile on my face, preferably with my sense of humor intact. I went home utterly exhausted each night, too keyed up to sleep soundly.
My feelings about myself as a teacher have followed the same trajectory as they did the first time I started teaching, over 20 years ago. The first couple of weeks were glorious. I loved my kids, and they loved me. I was elated at how easy and fun it was to engage them, and I felt that I was doing what I was made to do, like a horse running or an eagle soaring.
After a couple more weeks slipped by, harsh reality set in as the honeymoon faded. This is a really, really hard job. All day, every day, I had to juggle the responsibilities and interruptions, the planning, the grading, the challenges of classroom management. And I had to do all of this with a smile on my face, preferably with my sense of humor intact. I went home utterly exhausted each night, too keyed up to sleep soundly.
Thursday, March 26, 2015
To a Whisper
I'm sorry for my silence lately. Mostly I've been very busy, but recently I've been struggling with insecurities, a bit of self pity, and some hurts, both old and new. I've wanted to share this story for ages, but I haven't been in the mood for writing. Today has been a particularly rough day, and I still don't feel like writing, but I want to give it a shot anyway.
One of the first lessons we learn at Celebrate Recovery is that we are not God; we are powerless to change our hurts, habits, and hangups without God's help. When I first came to CR, I had no problem with this step. I was going through a painful divorce, and I knew there was nothing I could do to change my situation. It was my powerlessness that brought me to CR and made me so open to surrendering my will to God.
As I've progressed in my recovery, though, I've sometimes forgotten that I am still powerless. I've felt so happy for so many months that recently I'd been feeling like I'd graduated. Maybe I even thought I didn't need God so much.
I started to think that I could change myself by my own efforts. My motives were good. I wanted to be like Jesus, and I saw that I was not. I saw my pride, my insecurities, my selfishness, and all the other imperfections, and I was very, very frustrated with myself. So I tried even harder to transform myself into Jesus's likeness, to make the fruit of the Spirit blossom through the power of my will. But I couldn't change myself. I couldn't grow my own patience, kindness, gentleness, and self control.
Because of my perfectionism, I couldn't enjoy the real growth that God had worked in my life. I couldn't enjoy being the woman He made me to be. Instead I focused on my faults, and I berated myself for not doing more, being more.
Around the start of February, I shared my frustrations with my brother Rick, over a veggie burger. I told him that I want to do something big, like move to Uganda and teach English at the God Cares School that I've never even seen, yet feel so drawn to. Not now, I assured him. I know my place is with my kids. But someday, maybe when I retire....
Rick replied that there are plenty of people here at home who need my love, and ways that I can serve in my own neighborhood right now.
I said yes, but confessed that I felt so self absorbed, so... not like Jesus. I felt I needed to be doing more.
Rick listened thoughtfully and then told me I needed to learn to be still. He told me how meditation has helped him to relax and let go of his troubles. He said that he quiets himself and doesn't actively try to not think. Instead, he starts with just an intention to connect with God. He couldn't explain exactly how, but he said that he often does feel a closeness with God. He feels love and peace in those times.
I thought a lot about his words on the way home. Yes, I did want to be still. But how? Immediately I started thinking about how I could still myself. And I was not still.
I believe it was the next day, or perhaps the day after that, when I found a sacred echo in this devotional from Streams in the Desert:
Ah, yes! How had I forgotten this? I know very well that I can't bear fruit on my own: "No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me." (John 15: 4)
Over the next few weeks, I heard the same message over and over. Be still. Remember that He is God. I prayed that He would teach me how to be still.
I'd like to say that this revelation transformed me and that I now knew the secret to being still. But I don't think this is a lesson you can learn overnight.
I do believe God is answering my prayer, but not in the way I had hoped. He gives me opportunities to be still by allowing me to experience my helplessness, in things that have happened to me and things that I've brought on myself. Always, I find that I have no control, but that I do have a choice. I can't change my situation, but I can choose how I will respond.
Often, I respond very poorly. I flunk the test. I feel sorry for myself, and I wonder why I just can't get it. At my worst, I wonder if my faith is even real. I wonder if I've fooled myself to think I've ever grown at all.
I had one of those times this past weekend. I'd been struggling with fatigue for several weeks, and I felt worn down both physically and emotionally. I'd been hearing very upsetting stories in world news, and I was overwhelmed with the blackness. In that moment, life felt meaningless. What was the point of trying? What difference could I possibly make?
I also felt very alone. "Where are you, God?" I prayed. "I know you're here, but why can't I feel you? I just want someone to hug."
For the record, I have lots of people I could hug, with just a little effort. God has blessed me with several dear friends right in my own neighborhood. But I was stuck in a trap, feeling sorry for myself.
Although I tried to pray, my mood continued to deteriorate as the day faded into evening. Trying to divert myself, I decided to tackle a task I'd been putting off: cleaning my closet. The floor was littered with bins that CiCi had overturned, their contents strewn across most of the floor space. In retrospect, I realize that when I dropped to my knees to pick up that mess, I should have spent some time talking to God, there in my prayer closet.
Instead, I started picking up the cards, letters, and journals, sorting them into their designated bins.
Can you guess what happened next?
Yes, I opened some journals and stepped back in time. I read happy stories I'd completely forgotten, sweet little stories about Allyson and Ethan and Bill. I relived very painful struggles and wounds. As I writhed at the insecurities I had chronicled so vividly, not so different from the ones I was battling now, I wondered who was the real me.
There I sat, with fifteen years in my lap. How could they have slipped through my fingers so quickly? And how had I ended up here? Through my own choices, of course--the ones I'd just read about.
Even though I'd been perfectly happy just the day before, and for months before that, the future seemed very bleak just then. There was a storm inside me, and I was as helpless as the disciples on the Sea of Galilee. Only I wasn't sure that Jesus was in the boat with me.
I woke up feeling not much better than when I'd gone to sleep, but at least it was a Sunday, and I had the prospect of church to look forward to. I didn't have to wait that long for comfort, though. I started my quiet time with a fervent prayer that God would help me feel His presence.
On my way to the book of Luke, which I've been reading lately, my eyes fell on Psalm 107. I read about people who suffered, some at the hands of others and some by their own doing. In each example, the constant refrain was that they cried out to God, and He saved them with His unfailing love. "He brought them out of darkness and the deepest gloom." (v. 14). "He sent forth his word and healed them; he rescued them from the grave." (v. 20)
The best part was the story of the ones who went out to sea on ships, and a tempest lifted the waves high. "They mounted up to the heavens and went down to the depths; in their peril their courage melted away. They reeled and staggered like drunk men; they were at their wits' end. Then they cried out to the LORD in their trouble, and he brought them out of their distress. He stilled the storm to a whisper; the waves of the sea were hushed." (vv. 25-29)
I read the verse about God stilling the storm and hushing the waves three times, aloud. And it was so. Just like that, the storm in me was stilled. I was still.
I realized then that sometimes the storm is too great, and I can't be still. The harder I try, the more I try to reason it out, the worse it gets. The only way I can be still is to give myself something else to think about, something pure and lovely and admirable. Only then can I feel the God of peace with me. Over and over, God's Word has done that for me. There is nothing more excellent or praiseworthy, nothing more powerful.
Honestly, I'm still struggling. I'm still exhausted. I'm still hurting. But I have hope. God will keep giving me these opportunities to be still. Sometimes I'll fail. But His mercies are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22-23). I'll get another chance.
One of these days, I'll learn the lesson, but it won't be by my efforts. In the meantime, my Beloved loves me just the way I am.
[I have made an appointment with a doctor to look into the cause of my fatigue. I would appreciate your prayers.]
One of the first lessons we learn at Celebrate Recovery is that we are not God; we are powerless to change our hurts, habits, and hangups without God's help. When I first came to CR, I had no problem with this step. I was going through a painful divorce, and I knew there was nothing I could do to change my situation. It was my powerlessness that brought me to CR and made me so open to surrendering my will to God.
As I've progressed in my recovery, though, I've sometimes forgotten that I am still powerless. I've felt so happy for so many months that recently I'd been feeling like I'd graduated. Maybe I even thought I didn't need God so much.
I started to think that I could change myself by my own efforts. My motives were good. I wanted to be like Jesus, and I saw that I was not. I saw my pride, my insecurities, my selfishness, and all the other imperfections, and I was very, very frustrated with myself. So I tried even harder to transform myself into Jesus's likeness, to make the fruit of the Spirit blossom through the power of my will. But I couldn't change myself. I couldn't grow my own patience, kindness, gentleness, and self control.
Because of my perfectionism, I couldn't enjoy the real growth that God had worked in my life. I couldn't enjoy being the woman He made me to be. Instead I focused on my faults, and I berated myself for not doing more, being more.
Around the start of February, I shared my frustrations with my brother Rick, over a veggie burger. I told him that I want to do something big, like move to Uganda and teach English at the God Cares School that I've never even seen, yet feel so drawn to. Not now, I assured him. I know my place is with my kids. But someday, maybe when I retire....
Rick replied that there are plenty of people here at home who need my love, and ways that I can serve in my own neighborhood right now.
I said yes, but confessed that I felt so self absorbed, so... not like Jesus. I felt I needed to be doing more.
Rick listened thoughtfully and then told me I needed to learn to be still. He told me how meditation has helped him to relax and let go of his troubles. He said that he quiets himself and doesn't actively try to not think. Instead, he starts with just an intention to connect with God. He couldn't explain exactly how, but he said that he often does feel a closeness with God. He feels love and peace in those times.
I thought a lot about his words on the way home. Yes, I did want to be still. But how? Immediately I started thinking about how I could still myself. And I was not still.
I believe it was the next day, or perhaps the day after that, when I found a sacred echo in this devotional from Streams in the Desert:
I do not believe we have even begun to understand the wonderful power there is in being still.... This is our problem regarding the Christian life: we want to do something to be Christians, instead of allowing Him to work in us....
Sit still, my daughter! Just sit calmly still!
What higher service could you for Him fill?
Ah, yes! How had I forgotten this? I know very well that I can't bear fruit on my own: "No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me." (John 15: 4)
Over the next few weeks, I heard the same message over and over. Be still. Remember that He is God. I prayed that He would teach me how to be still.
I'd like to say that this revelation transformed me and that I now knew the secret to being still. But I don't think this is a lesson you can learn overnight.
I do believe God is answering my prayer, but not in the way I had hoped. He gives me opportunities to be still by allowing me to experience my helplessness, in things that have happened to me and things that I've brought on myself. Always, I find that I have no control, but that I do have a choice. I can't change my situation, but I can choose how I will respond.
Often, I respond very poorly. I flunk the test. I feel sorry for myself, and I wonder why I just can't get it. At my worst, I wonder if my faith is even real. I wonder if I've fooled myself to think I've ever grown at all.
I had one of those times this past weekend. I'd been struggling with fatigue for several weeks, and I felt worn down both physically and emotionally. I'd been hearing very upsetting stories in world news, and I was overwhelmed with the blackness. In that moment, life felt meaningless. What was the point of trying? What difference could I possibly make?
I also felt very alone. "Where are you, God?" I prayed. "I know you're here, but why can't I feel you? I just want someone to hug."
For the record, I have lots of people I could hug, with just a little effort. God has blessed me with several dear friends right in my own neighborhood. But I was stuck in a trap, feeling sorry for myself.
Although I tried to pray, my mood continued to deteriorate as the day faded into evening. Trying to divert myself, I decided to tackle a task I'd been putting off: cleaning my closet. The floor was littered with bins that CiCi had overturned, their contents strewn across most of the floor space. In retrospect, I realize that when I dropped to my knees to pick up that mess, I should have spent some time talking to God, there in my prayer closet.
Instead, I started picking up the cards, letters, and journals, sorting them into their designated bins.
Can you guess what happened next?
Yes, I opened some journals and stepped back in time. I read happy stories I'd completely forgotten, sweet little stories about Allyson and Ethan and Bill. I relived very painful struggles and wounds. As I writhed at the insecurities I had chronicled so vividly, not so different from the ones I was battling now, I wondered who was the real me.
There I sat, with fifteen years in my lap. How could they have slipped through my fingers so quickly? And how had I ended up here? Through my own choices, of course--the ones I'd just read about.
Even though I'd been perfectly happy just the day before, and for months before that, the future seemed very bleak just then. There was a storm inside me, and I was as helpless as the disciples on the Sea of Galilee. Only I wasn't sure that Jesus was in the boat with me.
I woke up feeling not much better than when I'd gone to sleep, but at least it was a Sunday, and I had the prospect of church to look forward to. I didn't have to wait that long for comfort, though. I started my quiet time with a fervent prayer that God would help me feel His presence.
On my way to the book of Luke, which I've been reading lately, my eyes fell on Psalm 107. I read about people who suffered, some at the hands of others and some by their own doing. In each example, the constant refrain was that they cried out to God, and He saved them with His unfailing love. "He brought them out of darkness and the deepest gloom." (v. 14). "He sent forth his word and healed them; he rescued them from the grave." (v. 20)
The best part was the story of the ones who went out to sea on ships, and a tempest lifted the waves high. "They mounted up to the heavens and went down to the depths; in their peril their courage melted away. They reeled and staggered like drunk men; they were at their wits' end. Then they cried out to the LORD in their trouble, and he brought them out of their distress. He stilled the storm to a whisper; the waves of the sea were hushed." (vv. 25-29)
I read the verse about God stilling the storm and hushing the waves three times, aloud. And it was so. Just like that, the storm in me was stilled. I was still.
I realized then that sometimes the storm is too great, and I can't be still. The harder I try, the more I try to reason it out, the worse it gets. The only way I can be still is to give myself something else to think about, something pure and lovely and admirable. Only then can I feel the God of peace with me. Over and over, God's Word has done that for me. There is nothing more excellent or praiseworthy, nothing more powerful.
Honestly, I'm still struggling. I'm still exhausted. I'm still hurting. But I have hope. God will keep giving me these opportunities to be still. Sometimes I'll fail. But His mercies are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22-23). I'll get another chance.
One of these days, I'll learn the lesson, but it won't be by my efforts. In the meantime, my Beloved loves me just the way I am.
[I have made an appointment with a doctor to look into the cause of my fatigue. I would appreciate your prayers.]
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Though She Stumbles
I've decided not to wash the dishes tonight because I want to share what's in my heart while it's still so beautiful. If only I can find the words...
Through the month of September I was so happy. Moving into my dream home felt like the start of a wonderful new life. And it was wonderful. I was busy and beyond exhausted with all the moving and then the unpacking, but still I was so happy I had to pinch myself most days.
During this time, I was finished my step study for Celebrate Recovery, a 12-step program I had joined for grief support. I was feeling so good that I thought I probably didn't need CR any more, or my sponsor. I figured I'd go to my graduation and then just move on to other things. I guess I marveled a little at my own strength and how well I had weathered the storm over the last year and a half. But underneath it all was the suspicion that coming out of the storm would bring the end of the special closeness I'd shared with God through it all. "Please, God," I prayed, "I don't want to drift away. I'm so ready to be done with my trial, but I don't want to lose the intimacy I've had with you."
But then I got totally caught up in my busyness and the joy of decorating and shopping and making new friends in the neighborhood. And of course, I started to drift. I first knew there was a problem on the day I thought I lost our cat. As I shared in my last entry, losing Arwen stirred up some deep feelings of rejection and loss, and I found myself angry with God. I knew it wasn't only about a cat.
Just as it always does, the fresh pain caught me completely by surprise and totally knocked the wind out of me. Over the next three weeks, I continued to struggle with sorrow and doubts, and it felt like the gulf between me and God was widening by the day even though I continued to cry out to him, especially in the late night hours as I battled insomnia again for the first time in months.
All along, I knew the reason. It was disobedience and pride. There were things I decided to do, little things on the surface that were big things in my heart. Even though I found myself on my knees in my new prayer closet many, many nights, pouring out my heart in wrenching sobs, I couldn't give over my will to Him even though my heart wanted to. Actually, it wasn't my heart that wanted to obey; it was God's Spirit in me. My heart wanted to go my own way because I was hurting and I felt hopeless.
The enemy whispered to me that I haven't changed at all over the past years of trying to serve God, and I agreed with him. I began to struggle with my self worth just like I did before I knew I was God's Beloved. The worst thing of all was being so disappointed in myself, feeling like I was back at square one and had learned absolutely nothing in the last decade or so. I felt so stupid because of past choices that had led me to not one but two divorces, and stupid over current choices now that I ought to know better.
Okay, so by now you must be wondering where the beauty is. I'm coming to that. For one thing, as stupid as I felt, I've learned some very important things through my struggle:
Through the month of September I was so happy. Moving into my dream home felt like the start of a wonderful new life. And it was wonderful. I was busy and beyond exhausted with all the moving and then the unpacking, but still I was so happy I had to pinch myself most days.
During this time, I was finished my step study for Celebrate Recovery, a 12-step program I had joined for grief support. I was feeling so good that I thought I probably didn't need CR any more, or my sponsor. I figured I'd go to my graduation and then just move on to other things. I guess I marveled a little at my own strength and how well I had weathered the storm over the last year and a half. But underneath it all was the suspicion that coming out of the storm would bring the end of the special closeness I'd shared with God through it all. "Please, God," I prayed, "I don't want to drift away. I'm so ready to be done with my trial, but I don't want to lose the intimacy I've had with you."
But then I got totally caught up in my busyness and the joy of decorating and shopping and making new friends in the neighborhood. And of course, I started to drift. I first knew there was a problem on the day I thought I lost our cat. As I shared in my last entry, losing Arwen stirred up some deep feelings of rejection and loss, and I found myself angry with God. I knew it wasn't only about a cat.
Just as it always does, the fresh pain caught me completely by surprise and totally knocked the wind out of me. Over the next three weeks, I continued to struggle with sorrow and doubts, and it felt like the gulf between me and God was widening by the day even though I continued to cry out to him, especially in the late night hours as I battled insomnia again for the first time in months.
All along, I knew the reason. It was disobedience and pride. There were things I decided to do, little things on the surface that were big things in my heart. Even though I found myself on my knees in my new prayer closet many, many nights, pouring out my heart in wrenching sobs, I couldn't give over my will to Him even though my heart wanted to. Actually, it wasn't my heart that wanted to obey; it was God's Spirit in me. My heart wanted to go my own way because I was hurting and I felt hopeless.
The enemy whispered to me that I haven't changed at all over the past years of trying to serve God, and I agreed with him. I began to struggle with my self worth just like I did before I knew I was God's Beloved. The worst thing of all was being so disappointed in myself, feeling like I was back at square one and had learned absolutely nothing in the last decade or so. I felt so stupid because of past choices that had led me to not one but two divorces, and stupid over current choices now that I ought to know better.
Okay, so by now you must be wondering where the beauty is. I'm coming to that. For one thing, as stupid as I felt, I've learned some very important things through my struggle:
- A house can't make me happy. I'd realized it back in July, that my home is not a house. But for just a little while, I forgot that. And then a little cat stole my joy, and I realized that I was still so broken, even in my beautiful new house.
- Even when I am faithless and so disappointed in myself, God keeps right on loving me. I had some of the best prayer times over the last few weeks. I'd been missing my old prayer closet, but I found that God was here in the new closet too! And that made The New House feel like just home.
- When I am weak, the God who created the heavens and the earth is strong enough to protect me. "...I will keep you safe in the palm of my hand. I spread out the heavens and laid foundations for the earth." (Isaiah 50:16b, Contemporary English Version)
- As long as I keep turning to God, I don't have to fall back into my old negative behaviors and thought patterns. "The Lord makes firm the steps of the one who delights in him; though he may stumble, he will not fall, for the Lord upholds him with his hand." (Psalm 37:23-24)
- Above all, I must guard my heart, "for it is the wellspring of life." (Proverbs 4:23) Everything that I am flows from my heart, and if I allow that stream to become polluted the effects will go downstream and affect every area of my life.
- I have not arrived! I still need a lot of healing. But I can feel that God is making something beautiful from my brokenness. It's time to work through my pain and let it go.
Last night was the breaking point for me. I felt terrified, not safe, overwhelmed. I called my Celebrate Recovery sponsor, whom I still very much need, and she gave me some wise counsel which echoed what I'd been hearing from God that afternoon. I took her advice and turned over all of my will to God (step 3). I prayed, and He showed me what I needed to do. So this morning, first thing, I carried out an act of obedience that I believe will bring benefits beyond what I can imagine.
That obedience cost me something, and I felt a little sad today even though I had more peace than I've felt in months. On the way to work, I asked God to please fill the emptiness in me. "Could you please show me a special sign of your love today, give me some manna to help me through my day?"
He first answered through my friend Gentle, who had many encouraging words for me. One thing that I want to remember is her philosophy for home schooling: "Keep calm and expect the unexpected."
I know I have to expect that things aren't going to go the way I think they will, the way I necessarily want them to. But the unexpected can bring treasures I never imagined. Isn't that exciting?!
When I got home from the office and sat down at my lovely purple desk to finish my work day, something entirely unexpected happened. Over the weeks, our little cat has slowly become more affectionate. I usually work from home, and I could see today that she had missed me. She came up and gave the little squeaky meow that I've learned means, "Pet me!" So I reached down to scratch her head and rub her belly for a few seconds. "Okay, Arwen," I said with a sigh. "I've got more work to do. I can't just sit here and pet you."
She meowed again, clearly not satisfied. "Sorry, kitty. I've got to work," I repeated.
After I ignored a couple more pleas, Arwen did something I was told Russian Blues rarely do. She jumped up behind me into my chair and then wrapped herself around me and settled on my lap. My mouth dropped open. "Are you sitting in my lap, kitty-kitty?" I reached down to pet her, but she jumped back down, as if she'd just realized where she was. Less than a minute later, she was back in the chair, back in my lap, back on the floor. And then she did it again, and this time she stayed.
"Okay, you little scamp. You're not going to let me ignore you, are you?" So I gave her a proper scratch, all the while grinning at this unexpected pleasure. Warmth suffused me as I recognized this as an answer to my morning prayer, a little sign of God's love for me. It was like the time he sent me the dolphin, and the time he told the horse to give me a kiss.
For the first time in many weeks, I felt a beautiful intimacy with my Shepherd, and my heart blossomed.
At Celebrate Recovery tonight, we sang a song I've heard dozens of times on the radio without really hearing the words. My heart thrilled to this part:
Hey now, this is my desire:
Consume me like a fire
Cause I just want something beautiful to touch me -
I know that I'm in reach
'Cause I am down on my knees
Waiting for something beautiful. (Need to Breathe, "Something Beautiful")
Yes! That is exactly what I'm waiting for. I don't know what it is, this unexpected thing, but I know that it will be beautiful. I had realized this before, that God has beautiful plans for me, that there's something amazing around the bend, but I guess I'd forgotten it. And that's why I had lost my joy recently.
You know what's my favorite part of this story? That God would use the very cat who caused me to question His love to express His love to me.
That naughty little wonderful cat who climbs on my furniture, stares greedily at the hamster, and tears apart the potted palm that Jackie gave me.
Yes, that cat. Life is sweet.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Settling Into Happily Ever After
In honor of our eighth anniversary, which was Thursday, I thought I'd share another chapter in my love story with Bill.
After our fairy tale wedding on Vancouver Island and an intimate reception with family and friends back home, we settled into domestic life almost effortlessly. Bill moved his meager stash of furniture into my house, including the giant blue chair that I absolutely despised and an antique dresser that took up residence in our closet. Other than the chair, I was pleasantly surprised at how naturally our lives meshed.
Unlike most of the couples in our marriage class, His Needs/Her Needs, we didn't fight over domestic chores, bill paying, or child rearing duties. (Granted, we were the only newlyweds in the class.) Without any negotiations or even any discussion, Bill took up about half of the household chores. We shared the cooking and the dishes pretty equally. He washed laundry, and I folded. I cleaned the bathrooms, and he mowed the lawn. And he gladly helped with five-year-old Ethan's homework and bedtime routines.
There was only one area where we weren't so compatible: he was a night owl, and I preferred to go to bed early. I was used to going to bed by 10:00 and getting a full eight hours of sleep, but he liked to stay up until almost midnight. I tried to get him to turn in earlier, but it was hard to tear his attention from the TV; he needed that time after all the chores were done to relax and unwind.
Since one of my favorite things about marriage was snuggling and talking before I dropped off to sleep--promise you won't tease Bill about that--I decided to adapt to his schedule. But then he compromised by coming to bed around 11:00 instead of midnight.
[So, that's it, you ask? Where's the drama? Hey, this is me we're talking about. Of course there was drama!]
The hardest adjustment for me was reconciling my expectations with reality. Somehow I expected wild nights of passion and long walks in the park, earnest conversations in the evenings, and adoring glances and lavish compliments. In other words, I expected Bill to meet my every need and love me in the way that I thought he should.
The reality was far more... ordinary. As I mentioned, there were lots of household duties, and there was Bill's propensity for mindless television. By the time we turned in after 11:00 each night, there was little energy for conversation, let alone passion.
I was crushed. Right around PMS time, the drama arrived with a vengeance. I stewed for days, wondering why Bill didn't seem to be nearly so in love as I was. Did he love me at all?, I wondered. No, we were just roommates, I concluded. I wanted desperately to confess my hurts and fears, but I was ashamed of my insecurities. It reminded me of the painful transition when Bill had first moved to Texas, which was maddening.
After a few days, I broke. Bill had dozed off almost the moment his head hit the pillow; I knew because I could feel his muscles twitching as he held me. Meanwhile, I lay wide awake, my eyes burning with unshed tears and my chest tight with anxiety. I took a deep breath and whispered, "Are you awake?" No answer. I elbowed him gently and repeated "Are you awake?"
"Uhnnnn," he groaned.
And thus began our the first Relationship Talk of our young marriage. As you might imagine, it went downhill from there. I ended up sobbing uncontrollably while Bill helplessly patted my back, shaking his head in confusion. "I thought we were happy," he said.
"We a-are," I sobbed. "I just don't think you love me like you used to."
"Of course I love you! I moved down here and left all my family and friends to be with you. Why would you think my feelings had changed?"
"You don't... look at me the same way. You don't tell me I'm beautiful. I don't know."
"Well I don't know how I used to look at you, so how am I going to look at you that way again?"
"That's just it!" I cried. "You didn't have to think about it then."
The conversation got us nowhere, except that Bill promised to try to show more affection. But of course, he didn't--at least not that I could tell. He just kept loving me the only way he knew how. That scene repeated itself almost once a month for at least the first year. Bill was always patient, but I could see that my insecurities were wearing on him. He'd get angry with himself because he just couldn't seem to do it right, and that put a new distance between us.
I got angry with myself, too, because I couldn't stop sabotaging our happiness. The sad thing was, I knew from our marriage class exactly what was wrong. We were speaking different love languages, and his messages weren't getting through. His love language was acts of service, and mine was words of affirmation. It just wasn't natural for him to express his love in words. I understood with my head that Bill's way of loving me was making sure I never had to touch the trash, or buying me the most thoughtful gifts, yet that didn't fill the craving in my heart.
A more mature woman would have focused on addressing his love language, making sure that he felt loved. But I just kept hoping he would change, and trying to help him change by communicating exactly what I needed.
As the years passed--yes, years--I mellowed out a little. I prayed more, pouring out my heart to God in my journal. "Why can't I be happy, God? Why can't I just love Bill as he is?" Gradually, my meltdowns slowed to every two or three months, and then six months, and then once a year. I learned to fight the urge to start a Relationship Talk after 11:00 P.M., and that it was better to pray about it for a few days and ask God to give me the right words and show me the right moment.
Eight Years Later
It's been eight years, and my last meltdown was over a year ago, I think. I can't remember when, and I think that's a good sign. I still get my feelings hurt, but I'm learning to let those feelings go. Through years of Bible study and meditating on scripture, I'm beginning to fathom how precious and loved I am in God's eyes, and that makes me believe that I'm also worthy of my husband's love. But I've learned that my worth doesn't depend on Bill's love, and that he can't possibly meet all my needs.
Our marriage isn't perfect, and we still don't live that life of wild passion that I envisioned, but I think what we have is better. Different, but better. We make each other laugh almost every day. We share the same goals. We love spending time with our kids.
I'm free to be myself with Bill. Just like God, he knows everything about me, and he loves me anyway. I'm so thankful that neither of them gave up on me.
After our fairy tale wedding on Vancouver Island and an intimate reception with family and friends back home, we settled into domestic life almost effortlessly. Bill moved his meager stash of furniture into my house, including the giant blue chair that I absolutely despised and an antique dresser that took up residence in our closet. Other than the chair, I was pleasantly surprised at how naturally our lives meshed.
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| Our First House |
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| The Blue Chair - With Matching Ottoman! (Bill's Apartment) |
Unlike most of the couples in our marriage class, His Needs/Her Needs, we didn't fight over domestic chores, bill paying, or child rearing duties. (Granted, we were the only newlyweds in the class.) Without any negotiations or even any discussion, Bill took up about half of the household chores. We shared the cooking and the dishes pretty equally. He washed laundry, and I folded. I cleaned the bathrooms, and he mowed the lawn. And he gladly helped with five-year-old Ethan's homework and bedtime routines.
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| Ethan in First Grade Classroom |
There was only one area where we weren't so compatible: he was a night owl, and I preferred to go to bed early. I was used to going to bed by 10:00 and getting a full eight hours of sleep, but he liked to stay up until almost midnight. I tried to get him to turn in earlier, but it was hard to tear his attention from the TV; he needed that time after all the chores were done to relax and unwind.
Since one of my favorite things about marriage was snuggling and talking before I dropped off to sleep--promise you won't tease Bill about that--I decided to adapt to his schedule. But then he compromised by coming to bed around 11:00 instead of midnight.
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| My 33rd Birthday, One Month After Wedding |
[So, that's it, you ask? Where's the drama? Hey, this is me we're talking about. Of course there was drama!]
The hardest adjustment for me was reconciling my expectations with reality. Somehow I expected wild nights of passion and long walks in the park, earnest conversations in the evenings, and adoring glances and lavish compliments. In other words, I expected Bill to meet my every need and love me in the way that I thought he should.
The reality was far more... ordinary. As I mentioned, there were lots of household duties, and there was Bill's propensity for mindless television. By the time we turned in after 11:00 each night, there was little energy for conversation, let alone passion.
I was crushed. Right around PMS time, the drama arrived with a vengeance. I stewed for days, wondering why Bill didn't seem to be nearly so in love as I was. Did he love me at all?, I wondered. No, we were just roommates, I concluded. I wanted desperately to confess my hurts and fears, but I was ashamed of my insecurities. It reminded me of the painful transition when Bill had first moved to Texas, which was maddening.
After a few days, I broke. Bill had dozed off almost the moment his head hit the pillow; I knew because I could feel his muscles twitching as he held me. Meanwhile, I lay wide awake, my eyes burning with unshed tears and my chest tight with anxiety. I took a deep breath and whispered, "Are you awake?" No answer. I elbowed him gently and repeated "Are you awake?"
"Uhnnnn," he groaned.
And thus began our the first Relationship Talk of our young marriage. As you might imagine, it went downhill from there. I ended up sobbing uncontrollably while Bill helplessly patted my back, shaking his head in confusion. "I thought we were happy," he said.
"We a-are," I sobbed. "I just don't think you love me like you used to."
"Of course I love you! I moved down here and left all my family and friends to be with you. Why would you think my feelings had changed?"
"You don't... look at me the same way. You don't tell me I'm beautiful. I don't know."
"Well I don't know how I used to look at you, so how am I going to look at you that way again?"
"That's just it!" I cried. "You didn't have to think about it then."
The conversation got us nowhere, except that Bill promised to try to show more affection. But of course, he didn't--at least not that I could tell. He just kept loving me the only way he knew how. That scene repeated itself almost once a month for at least the first year. Bill was always patient, but I could see that my insecurities were wearing on him. He'd get angry with himself because he just couldn't seem to do it right, and that put a new distance between us.
I got angry with myself, too, because I couldn't stop sabotaging our happiness. The sad thing was, I knew from our marriage class exactly what was wrong. We were speaking different love languages, and his messages weren't getting through. His love language was acts of service, and mine was words of affirmation. It just wasn't natural for him to express his love in words. I understood with my head that Bill's way of loving me was making sure I never had to touch the trash, or buying me the most thoughtful gifts, yet that didn't fill the craving in my heart.
A more mature woman would have focused on addressing his love language, making sure that he felt loved. But I just kept hoping he would change, and trying to help him change by communicating exactly what I needed.
As the years passed--yes, years--I mellowed out a little. I prayed more, pouring out my heart to God in my journal. "Why can't I be happy, God? Why can't I just love Bill as he is?" Gradually, my meltdowns slowed to every two or three months, and then six months, and then once a year. I learned to fight the urge to start a Relationship Talk after 11:00 P.M., and that it was better to pray about it for a few days and ask God to give me the right words and show me the right moment.
Eight Years Later
It's been eight years, and my last meltdown was over a year ago, I think. I can't remember when, and I think that's a good sign. I still get my feelings hurt, but I'm learning to let those feelings go. Through years of Bible study and meditating on scripture, I'm beginning to fathom how precious and loved I am in God's eyes, and that makes me believe that I'm also worthy of my husband's love. But I've learned that my worth doesn't depend on Bill's love, and that he can't possibly meet all my needs.
Our marriage isn't perfect, and we still don't live that life of wild passion that I envisioned, but I think what we have is better. Different, but better. We make each other laugh almost every day. We share the same goals. We love spending time with our kids.
I'm free to be myself with Bill. Just like God, he knows everything about me, and he loves me anyway. I'm so thankful that neither of them gave up on me.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
About the Vampire Teeth...
...And other Allyson stories:
On the way home from church Sunday, Allyson interrupted Ethan in the middle of a story to ask, "Can I have some van-pire teeth?"
"Vampire teeth?" Bill echoed.
"Just a minute," I said. "Ethan was talking."
The moment there was a break in the conversation, Allyson continued, "About the van-pire teeth... can I have some?"
"Why do you need vampire teeth?" Bill asked.
"I want to be a vampire for Halloween. Can we get my costume now?"
"It's a little soon to get your costume," Bill replied.
But I'm Not Gonna Eat Any
Last week while I was fixing lunch, Allyson gathered a handful of green grapes, a bag of marshmallows, and half a banana from the refrigerator and carried them to the table. "Can I have a little bowl?" she asked.
I smiled ruefully; she didn't realize that she was only twisting the knife further. She prattled on cheerfully throughout her bath while I held back tears.
It wasn't until an hour later, when I talked it over with God in my closet, that I let the tears fall. "I know I should be thankful for the bond that Bill and Allyson share, and I know it's not a contest, but why does it hurt so much? I'd heard that there are often conflicts between girls and their mothers, but she's only four, God! I'm not ready for this." I knelt there in our secret place, resting my head on my crossed arms, until my breathing became slow and steady. "Help me rest in your love," I whispered.
Then I prayed my favorite verses over Allyson, including Ephesians 3:17-18; I asked God to let her be rooted and established in love, so that she can grasp how long and wide and high and deep is the love of Christ. I prayed that I too will be rooted in that love so I can share it with her, that my love will be firm enough to stand through all of the conflicts we will face together.
The next day, her morning snuggles were that much sweeter.
On the way home from church Sunday, Allyson interrupted Ethan in the middle of a story to ask, "Can I have some van-pire teeth?"
"Vampire teeth?" Bill echoed.
"Just a minute," I said. "Ethan was talking."
The moment there was a break in the conversation, Allyson continued, "About the van-pire teeth... can I have some?"
"Why do you need vampire teeth?" Bill asked.
"I want to be a vampire for Halloween. Can we get my costume now?"
"It's a little soon to get your costume," Bill replied.
"And I'm not too sure about you being a vampire," I added, finishing with the pat answer that Allyson has already learned to dread. "We'll see."
Allyson on Her Second Halloween
But I'm Not Gonna Eat Any
Last week while I was fixing lunch, Allyson gathered a handful of green grapes, a bag of marshmallows, and half a banana from the refrigerator and carried them to the table. "Can I have a little bowl?" she asked.
"What are you doing with all that?" I handed her a tiny red bowl, her favorite after the pink one, which was dirty.
"I'm making dessert for you."
I cringed as I watched her smashing the grapes with her sort of clean hands. "I have to cut up the bananas now," she said. She clutched a table knife awkwardly in her fist and laboriously chipped away bits of banana, which she transferred into the bowl with the oozing grapes. Five minutes later, she carefully sprinkled mini marshmallows over the fruit in a symmetric pattern.
My stomach made a funny lurch as I anticipated the obligatory bite. "I bet you're going to love those marshmallows," I remarked.
"Oh, I'm not gonna eat any," she said. "This is special just for you. Here, try it!" Beaming, she held out the little bowl.
I surveyed the banana bits, slightly brown now in the grape juice. "Looks yummy," I lied, and then I reluctantly took a tiny spoonful and chewed gingerly. You know what? It wasn't half bad! The texture was sort of weird, but the blend of the fruits and marshmallows was rather tasty. I ate most of her little fruit cocktail.
"Very nice!" I said. "Thank you for making me dessert, sweetie."
She flushed with pleasure. "I knew you'd like it!"
Just a Little Bit
The other night I was giving Allyson a bath, and it wasn't going so well. That task usually falls to Bill, but lately he's been busy in the yard at night, working on replacing the fence. I'm not so patient as Bill, and we both got agitated when I tried to rinse her long hair and she wouldn't cooperate. "Allyson," I said gently, "you need to obey with a willing heart."
She looked in my eyes and said calmly, "I like Daddy more than you."
"I know you like it better when Daddy gives you a bath," I said, "but he's busy tonight. I'm doing my best."
"No, I mean I love Daddy more than you."
Although on one level I knew she was just aggravated with me and was trying to make a point, her deliberate coolness cut deeply. I think the main reason was that she was only saying out loud what I've always suspected: Bill is her favorite. She's been a daddy's girl from birth, and usually that doesn't bother me. But on that day, when I'd spent every minute with her and tried very hard to be patient and loving, and even played three games of High Ho Cherry-O with her, her casual remark brought tears to my eyes.
"That hurt my feelings," I said.
"Oh, I didn't want to hurt your feelings. I just meant that I like Daddy a little bit better. That's all."
It wasn't until an hour later, when I talked it over with God in my closet, that I let the tears fall. "I know I should be thankful for the bond that Bill and Allyson share, and I know it's not a contest, but why does it hurt so much? I'd heard that there are often conflicts between girls and their mothers, but she's only four, God! I'm not ready for this." I knelt there in our secret place, resting my head on my crossed arms, until my breathing became slow and steady. "Help me rest in your love," I whispered.
Then I prayed my favorite verses over Allyson, including Ephesians 3:17-18; I asked God to let her be rooted and established in love, so that she can grasp how long and wide and high and deep is the love of Christ. I prayed that I too will be rooted in that love so I can share it with her, that my love will be firm enough to stand through all of the conflicts we will face together.
The next day, her morning snuggles were that much sweeter.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
The Carla Incident
A few months ago I referred to a future blog entry that might need a melodrama alert. Well, it's been a lot more than "a couple of weeks," but here's that story. Consider yourself warned....
It's been over a month since I shared the last chapter in my love story with Bill, the one in which he FINALLY proposed. Maybe you were thinking we just lived happily ever after from that point. Or maybe you know me better than that. In any case, I guess that's what I thought--not that everything would be perfect, but that my major struggles with insecurities would be over. Ha!!!
I greatly enjoyed our six-month engagement, now that I knew exactly how long the wait would be. I took delight in all the wedding and honeymoon decisions, which I analyzed in a spreadsheet of my own design. (Yes, I'm that anal.) We decided on a destination wedding, far from us but close to Bill's family, on Vancouver Island. We found a kind and personable minister over the Internet. Most importantly, my mom and my sister Emily helped me find the perfect dress, a flowing, rather ethereal gown that was neither too formal nor too casual.
So by December 2002, the only thing left to do was to savor the last couple of months until our March wedding. We'd planned our usual trip to Vancouver around Christmas, at which time we would apply for our marriage license and Bill would go for his final tux fitting. But just before that trip, Bill flew to Chicago for two weeks of training.
I'd been suppressing a mild sense of dread over his trip for months because I knew he'd be traveling with an attractive coworker whom I'll call Carla. She was cute, outgoing, and funny, and she was admired by many of the men at our office. [Carla, if you happen to read this and recognize yourself, please forgive me. This story is not about you at all, but about me and my insecurities.]
Now Bill had never given me any indication that he would be unfaithful; in fact, I'd never even seen him turn his head to look at a pretty woman. But as I pictured the two of them in Chicago, the place we'd fallen in love, that niggling fear grew into a cold, tight fist that constricted my heart and threatened to suffocate me. I imagined them talking endlessly in the rental car, visiting the same sites we'd frequented, staring into each other's eyes over dinner each night. I just knew she'd be inexorably drawn to Bill's warm brown eyes and his little boy laugh--and his muscles!
For nearly three days, I kept my crazy in the bottle. I chatted with Bill cheerfully each night, telling him about my day at work and Ethan's latest antics, and I tried to avoid questioning him too closely about who all went to dinner and who hung out at the mall.
But on the third night, Tuesday, I fell apart. Bill left a message that he'd probably be out late but would call when he got in. I waited up until 11:30 or so, but there was no phone call. I finally went to bed but couldn't sleep. Where was he? By 12:15, I had really worked myself up. I was angry and hurt, and I couldn't talk myself out of calling. Maybe he was back but was thinking I was asleep, I reasoned. There was no answer, and I fought the urge to leave a snotty message. Instead, I lay in bed and sobbed.
At 12:23, the phone rang. I dried my tears and tried to put a smile in my voice. Bill explained that the group had gone to the 10:00-12:00 special at Gameworks, a huge arcade, and he'd just now gotten back. Relief surged through me, but only for a moment. Next he mentioned that they hadn't really done anything the night before.
"You didn't do anything?" I asked. "Then why didn't you call?"
He explained that he and Carla had been playing cards in a classmate's room, and they wanted to go out, but the others refused to budge. So Carla asked Bill to drive her to the mall, where he followed her around for an hour or so while she shopped.
My stomach felt sort of queasy, but I kept quiet. Then he said they'd gone to the Cheesecake Factory afterward. My stomach was twisting in knots, but I bit my tongue. Then he said they'd sat around talking until 11:00! Since the mall usually closes at 9:00, I figured they must have been talking for two hours! (Actually it closed at 10:00, and he later told me they were there under an hour.)
I'd been determined to keep my insecurities to myself, but the angry words just spewed forth of their own accord. "That sounds like a date to me," I spat out.
Bill made a shocked noise and protested, "No it wasn't."
"Lingering an hour or two over cheesecake in a restaurant with a pretty girl seems like a date to me," I retorted.
He argued that she was happily married with three kids, and that all she'd talked about was her husband and family. I didn't really think any of that mattered, but I could feel that he was telling the truth, that nothing had happened.
I started crying and apologizing over and over. He didn't seem too upset, only surprised, but I had the sinking feeling that irreparable damage had been done. It wasn't that I thought something inappropriate had happened, I explained, but that I felt jealous of the time he'd spent with her. When he could have come home and talked to me on the phone, instead he was out talking with Carla.
Things slid downhill for the rest of the week. I was up each night for hours thinking and sobbing and thinking some more, and occasionally trying to pray. But my brain was too muddled, and the anxiety was relentless. I worried that Bill was having doubts about getting married, and then I started having my own doubts. I feared that I was incapable of having a healthy relationship and wondered if I should call the wedding off.
Somehow I made it through the long, lonely weekend and the following week. I wore a cheerful mask each time I spoke with Bill, and I was actually relieved when we missed each other and had to leave messages.
Bill didn't come home but flew straight to Vancouver, where I'd join him after a couple more days. By the time I climbed on the plane on Wednesday 12/11, I was utterly drained, and my heart felt bruised. I was fearful about the inevitable Relationship Talk, but I was too exhausted to worry any more. Instead, I spent most of the four-hour trip praying and reading my Bible.
I reviewed these scriptures, which God had given me earlier in the week:
I also studied the following passage, which my counselor Debbie had recommended that I memorize. (I didn't memorize it for several more years, but now I realize how powerful these verses are in combating anxiety. I could have spared myself a lot of agony if I'd heeded her advice immediately.)
"Okay, Lord," I prayed. "I'm finally ready to give you this burden.... I surrender my hurts and fears and hopes and dreams. I ask you to work it all out for my good. And I ask for that peace that you promised. I'm tired of leaning on my own understanding.... I'm giving up on solving this problem, and I'm coming to you with a thankful heart...."
I read on and on in my Bible, about how God's strength is made perfect in my weakness (Hebrews 4) and about how real love keeps no record of wrongs [real or imagined] but rejoices in the truth (I Corinthians 13). At last I sank into a peaceful, restful sleep.
When Bill picked me up at the airport, I was nervous and uncertain, but he was affectionate and happy, and everything felt normal. Still, I knew we had to talk. On my second day there, on the way back from the tuxedo shop, I asked Bill to stop in a parking lot so we could talk.
I was determined to be rational and logical, but naturally I started crying on the first sentence, which was, "I'm so sorry for the way I acted."
I couldn't seem to collect my thoughts and put them into words. [Imagine that!] I tried to explain why the Carla Incident had hurt so much, and how my own reaction had bothered me even more--I couldn't believe the jealous person I'd become. I told him I wasn't even sure we should go forward with the wedding because I was afraid I'd make him miserable, and I loved him too much to do that.
"Dear," he replied tenderly, "I'm not worried. I knew you were a basket case when I met you." He kissed my lips and my wet cheeks and asserted, "I know exactly what I'm getting into, and this is what I want to do."
My heart swelled with love for him. I'd never been this vulnerable with anyone, never allowed anyone to see the extent of my craziness. But he loved me anyway! In fact, I felt closer to him now than ever before, though I still regretted my immaturity--and the hours and hours of missed sleep and frenzied worry.
We spent the rest of that trip laughing and planning for our wedding, even visiting the hotel where we'd be married. But that's another story.
So now you know where the "Basket Case" in my blog title comes from. Maybe you're wondering why I chose to share this story. Well, I always knew that I would, though I'm still cringing at the thought of clicking the Publish button. This is part of my story, and I hope that sharing it might encourage someone else who struggles with insecurity and anxiety. I wish I could have let God transform me much more quickly, but that's just not how it happened. The really wonderful thing is that all those struggles I inflicted on myself ultimately drew me to God and made me love Him more when I finally allowed Him to set me free.
It's been over a month since I shared the last chapter in my love story with Bill, the one in which he FINALLY proposed. Maybe you were thinking we just lived happily ever after from that point. Or maybe you know me better than that. In any case, I guess that's what I thought--not that everything would be perfect, but that my major struggles with insecurities would be over. Ha!!!
I greatly enjoyed our six-month engagement, now that I knew exactly how long the wait would be. I took delight in all the wedding and honeymoon decisions, which I analyzed in a spreadsheet of my own design. (Yes, I'm that anal.) We decided on a destination wedding, far from us but close to Bill's family, on Vancouver Island. We found a kind and personable minister over the Internet. Most importantly, my mom and my sister Emily helped me find the perfect dress, a flowing, rather ethereal gown that was neither too formal nor too casual.
So by December 2002, the only thing left to do was to savor the last couple of months until our March wedding. We'd planned our usual trip to Vancouver around Christmas, at which time we would apply for our marriage license and Bill would go for his final tux fitting. But just before that trip, Bill flew to Chicago for two weeks of training.
I'd been suppressing a mild sense of dread over his trip for months because I knew he'd be traveling with an attractive coworker whom I'll call Carla. She was cute, outgoing, and funny, and she was admired by many of the men at our office. [Carla, if you happen to read this and recognize yourself, please forgive me. This story is not about you at all, but about me and my insecurities.]
Now Bill had never given me any indication that he would be unfaithful; in fact, I'd never even seen him turn his head to look at a pretty woman. But as I pictured the two of them in Chicago, the place we'd fallen in love, that niggling fear grew into a cold, tight fist that constricted my heart and threatened to suffocate me. I imagined them talking endlessly in the rental car, visiting the same sites we'd frequented, staring into each other's eyes over dinner each night. I just knew she'd be inexorably drawn to Bill's warm brown eyes and his little boy laugh--and his muscles!
For nearly three days, I kept my crazy in the bottle. I chatted with Bill cheerfully each night, telling him about my day at work and Ethan's latest antics, and I tried to avoid questioning him too closely about who all went to dinner and who hung out at the mall.
But on the third night, Tuesday, I fell apart. Bill left a message that he'd probably be out late but would call when he got in. I waited up until 11:30 or so, but there was no phone call. I finally went to bed but couldn't sleep. Where was he? By 12:15, I had really worked myself up. I was angry and hurt, and I couldn't talk myself out of calling. Maybe he was back but was thinking I was asleep, I reasoned. There was no answer, and I fought the urge to leave a snotty message. Instead, I lay in bed and sobbed.
At 12:23, the phone rang. I dried my tears and tried to put a smile in my voice. Bill explained that the group had gone to the 10:00-12:00 special at Gameworks, a huge arcade, and he'd just now gotten back. Relief surged through me, but only for a moment. Next he mentioned that they hadn't really done anything the night before.
"You didn't do anything?" I asked. "Then why didn't you call?"
He explained that he and Carla had been playing cards in a classmate's room, and they wanted to go out, but the others refused to budge. So Carla asked Bill to drive her to the mall, where he followed her around for an hour or so while she shopped.
My stomach felt sort of queasy, but I kept quiet. Then he said they'd gone to the Cheesecake Factory afterward. My stomach was twisting in knots, but I bit my tongue. Then he said they'd sat around talking until 11:00! Since the mall usually closes at 9:00, I figured they must have been talking for two hours! (Actually it closed at 10:00, and he later told me they were there under an hour.)
I'd been determined to keep my insecurities to myself, but the angry words just spewed forth of their own accord. "That sounds like a date to me," I spat out.
Bill made a shocked noise and protested, "No it wasn't."
"Lingering an hour or two over cheesecake in a restaurant with a pretty girl seems like a date to me," I retorted.
He argued that she was happily married with three kids, and that all she'd talked about was her husband and family. I didn't really think any of that mattered, but I could feel that he was telling the truth, that nothing had happened.
I started crying and apologizing over and over. He didn't seem too upset, only surprised, but I had the sinking feeling that irreparable damage had been done. It wasn't that I thought something inappropriate had happened, I explained, but that I felt jealous of the time he'd spent with her. When he could have come home and talked to me on the phone, instead he was out talking with Carla.
Things slid downhill for the rest of the week. I was up each night for hours thinking and sobbing and thinking some more, and occasionally trying to pray. But my brain was too muddled, and the anxiety was relentless. I worried that Bill was having doubts about getting married, and then I started having my own doubts. I feared that I was incapable of having a healthy relationship and wondered if I should call the wedding off.
Somehow I made it through the long, lonely weekend and the following week. I wore a cheerful mask each time I spoke with Bill, and I was actually relieved when we missed each other and had to leave messages.
Bill didn't come home but flew straight to Vancouver, where I'd join him after a couple more days. By the time I climbed on the plane on Wednesday 12/11, I was utterly drained, and my heart felt bruised. I was fearful about the inevitable Relationship Talk, but I was too exhausted to worry any more. Instead, I spent most of the four-hour trip praying and reading my Bible.
I reviewed these scriptures, which God had given me earlier in the week:
Psalm 112:1, 7-8What a perfect passage, now that I was ready to meditate on it! I knew that my foes were fear, depression, anxiety, and doubt. I didn't feel quite triumphant, but I did feel at peace.
Praise the LORD. Blessed is the man who fears the LORD, who finds great delight in his commands.... He will have no fear of bad news; his heart is steadfast, trusting in the LORD. His heart is secure, he will have no fear; in the end he will look in triumph on his foes.
I also studied the following passage, which my counselor Debbie had recommended that I memorize. (I didn't memorize it for several more years, but now I realize how powerful these verses are in combating anxiety. I could have spared myself a lot of agony if I'd heeded her advice immediately.)
Philippians 4:6-7
Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
"Okay, Lord," I prayed. "I'm finally ready to give you this burden.... I surrender my hurts and fears and hopes and dreams. I ask you to work it all out for my good. And I ask for that peace that you promised. I'm tired of leaning on my own understanding.... I'm giving up on solving this problem, and I'm coming to you with a thankful heart...."
I read on and on in my Bible, about how God's strength is made perfect in my weakness (Hebrews 4) and about how real love keeps no record of wrongs [real or imagined] but rejoices in the truth (I Corinthians 13). At last I sank into a peaceful, restful sleep.
When Bill picked me up at the airport, I was nervous and uncertain, but he was affectionate and happy, and everything felt normal. Still, I knew we had to talk. On my second day there, on the way back from the tuxedo shop, I asked Bill to stop in a parking lot so we could talk.
I was determined to be rational and logical, but naturally I started crying on the first sentence, which was, "I'm so sorry for the way I acted."
I couldn't seem to collect my thoughts and put them into words. [Imagine that!] I tried to explain why the Carla Incident had hurt so much, and how my own reaction had bothered me even more--I couldn't believe the jealous person I'd become. I told him I wasn't even sure we should go forward with the wedding because I was afraid I'd make him miserable, and I loved him too much to do that.
"Dear," he replied tenderly, "I'm not worried. I knew you were a basket case when I met you." He kissed my lips and my wet cheeks and asserted, "I know exactly what I'm getting into, and this is what I want to do."
My heart swelled with love for him. I'd never been this vulnerable with anyone, never allowed anyone to see the extent of my craziness. But he loved me anyway! In fact, I felt closer to him now than ever before, though I still regretted my immaturity--and the hours and hours of missed sleep and frenzied worry.
We spent the rest of that trip laughing and planning for our wedding, even visiting the hotel where we'd be married. But that's another story.
Happier Moments During Our Vancouver Visit
A Practice Run on Wedding Hair and Makeup
So now you know where the "Basket Case" in my blog title comes from. Maybe you're wondering why I chose to share this story. Well, I always knew that I would, though I'm still cringing at the thought of clicking the Publish button. This is part of my story, and I hope that sharing it might encourage someone else who struggles with insecurity and anxiety. I wish I could have let God transform me much more quickly, but that's just not how it happened. The really wonderful thing is that all those struggles I inflicted on myself ultimately drew me to God and made me love Him more when I finally allowed Him to set me free.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
When Will We Make Our Nest?
It's been so long that you've probably forgotten the rest of our love story, but here's the next chapter....
When Bill and I started dating, long before we made a serious commitment, I informed him that I'd really love an old-fashioned proposal if I ever got married again. I didn't want to pick out a ring together, go house shopping together, or even talk about a wedding. Instead, I envisioned a proposal that was a dramatic surprise.
The idea seemed wildly romantic at the time, but I'd forgotten one thing: I really, really hate to wait. And I despise uncertainty. You can imagine what happened. Bill moved down, and we enjoyed a normal dating relationship for a change. But six months passed, and then a year, and still we were just dating. I began to wonder just what was the holdup. How long did it take to figure out whether you wanted to spend your life with a person?
It took all my resolve, but I fought the urge to bring up marriage; I wanted to follow my own rules, after all. Just when my impatience was really mounting, I thought I saw the light at the end of the tunnel.
It was December of 2001, and Bill and I were flying up to Vancouver together before Christmas. We were about halfway through the four-hour flight, and I'd dozed off, nestled under Bill's sheltering arm. I woke with a start when the beverage cart came through, and then I stared through bleary eyes at my pretzels and Diet Coke.
Just as I lifted the cup to my lips, Bill said, "So when do you think we might get married?"
I choked on my drink. (I mean, I literally choked. I used to see that in movies and think it was just for dramatic effect, but now I knew that shock could do that to you.) As soon as I regained my power of speech, I sputtered, "Why? Is this a proposal?" I fought to keep my tone casual, but my heart was hammering against my ribs.
"No," he answered. "I just wondered what you thought."
"I don't know, maybe in the summer? What do you think?"
He wouldn't say what he thought, just said he wanted to "feel me out."
I was all nerves for the rest of the flight, but Bill was maddeningly calm.
I half expected a diamond for Christmas, but there was no proposal. I was torn between relief and disappointment--relieved because I feared another failed marriage, but disappointed nonetheless.
Just knowing that Bill was thinking of marriage helped ease the wait, but it also intensified the anticipation. With each holiday or special occasion, I geared up for the big moment. Valentines Day came and went, and my birthday was looming.
My birthday would really be the perfect setting. Both of us were traveling to Birmingham, Alabama, for training on a new software application. For a week, we'd be eating fancy dinners on the company dime, doing a bit of sightseeing in a beautiful locale, and of course doing a little work, too. For good luck, I packed the blue sundress I'd worn on our first date in Chicago.
We had a lovely steak dinner on my birthday, with some conversation that was mostly enjoyable, though my palms were clammy and my hands were shaky. When we headed back to the hotel, however, my ring finger was still bare.
That Saturday, we went canoeing on a deep blue lake, and then we went on a nature walk through the thick, lush woods that surrounded it. We enjoyed a picnic in the sun--and went back to the hotel with sunburns. Still, there was no ring.
On our last day there, we visited an art museum. While we sat outside waiting for the museum to open, Bill pointed out a bird building a nest. I took a deep breath and said, rather plaintively, "I wonder when we'll make our nest."
He replied, "I thought we were already building a nest."
"Yes, but when will we be moving into the nest? Summer? Fall? Winter?"
"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise," Bill answered. Then he said he'd have to wait six more months now so that the proposal could be unexpected. Argh!!!
More Waiting
Several more months passed, and I continued to wonder about our future. I poured out my frustrations in my journal:
I could have been frustrated that God was having to teach me the same lesson all over again, but instead I chose to be thankful. Just as had happened with the Visa the year before, once I'd learned the lesson, God gave me the desire of my heart. But that's another story.
When Bill and I started dating, long before we made a serious commitment, I informed him that I'd really love an old-fashioned proposal if I ever got married again. I didn't want to pick out a ring together, go house shopping together, or even talk about a wedding. Instead, I envisioned a proposal that was a dramatic surprise.
The idea seemed wildly romantic at the time, but I'd forgotten one thing: I really, really hate to wait. And I despise uncertainty. You can imagine what happened. Bill moved down, and we enjoyed a normal dating relationship for a change. But six months passed, and then a year, and still we were just dating. I began to wonder just what was the holdup. How long did it take to figure out whether you wanted to spend your life with a person?
It took all my resolve, but I fought the urge to bring up marriage; I wanted to follow my own rules, after all. Just when my impatience was really mounting, I thought I saw the light at the end of the tunnel.
It was December of 2001, and Bill and I were flying up to Vancouver together before Christmas. We were about halfway through the four-hour flight, and I'd dozed off, nestled under Bill's sheltering arm. I woke with a start when the beverage cart came through, and then I stared through bleary eyes at my pretzels and Diet Coke.
Just as I lifted the cup to my lips, Bill said, "So when do you think we might get married?"
I choked on my drink. (I mean, I literally choked. I used to see that in movies and think it was just for dramatic effect, but now I knew that shock could do that to you.) As soon as I regained my power of speech, I sputtered, "Why? Is this a proposal?" I fought to keep my tone casual, but my heart was hammering against my ribs.
"No," he answered. "I just wondered what you thought."
"I don't know, maybe in the summer? What do you think?"
He wouldn't say what he thought, just said he wanted to "feel me out."
I was all nerves for the rest of the flight, but Bill was maddeningly calm.
I half expected a diamond for Christmas, but there was no proposal. I was torn between relief and disappointment--relieved because I feared another failed marriage, but disappointed nonetheless.
Just knowing that Bill was thinking of marriage helped ease the wait, but it also intensified the anticipation. With each holiday or special occasion, I geared up for the big moment. Valentines Day came and went, and my birthday was looming.
My birthday would really be the perfect setting. Both of us were traveling to Birmingham, Alabama, for training on a new software application. For a week, we'd be eating fancy dinners on the company dime, doing a bit of sightseeing in a beautiful locale, and of course doing a little work, too. For good luck, I packed the blue sundress I'd worn on our first date in Chicago.
We had a lovely steak dinner on my birthday, with some conversation that was mostly enjoyable, though my palms were clammy and my hands were shaky. When we headed back to the hotel, however, my ring finger was still bare.
That Saturday, we went canoeing on a deep blue lake, and then we went on a nature walk through the thick, lush woods that surrounded it. We enjoyed a picnic in the sun--and went back to the hotel with sunburns. Still, there was no ring.
On our last day there, we visited an art museum. While we sat outside waiting for the museum to open, Bill pointed out a bird building a nest. I took a deep breath and said, rather plaintively, "I wonder when we'll make our nest."
He replied, "I thought we were already building a nest."
"Yes, but when will we be moving into the nest? Summer? Fall? Winter?"
"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise," Bill answered. Then he said he'd have to wait six more months now so that the proposal could be unexpected. Argh!!!
More Waiting
Several more months passed, and I continued to wonder about our future. I poured out my frustrations in my journal:
Monday 6/17/02
I've been feeling a little insecure again. I'm wondering when he'll propose and when we'll get married. The summer is HERE, and we're not even engaged yet. I feel a little rejected. I don't know why he's waiting so long.
If he doesn't feel ready, then I don't want him to rush. I just don't like this not knowing. Help me be patient, Lord.... I want your will for my life. I surrender my future into your hands. Help me leave it there. I'm tired of trying to figure it out....
Tuesday 7/16/02
I want to be that sort of wife, Lord [the virtuous woman, from Psalm 31]. Please prepare me for the future. I put my hopes and doubts in your hands. Let your will be done concerning my prospective marriage, and let it be done in your perfect time. Help me to learn and grow and just enjoy this process....
Thursday 9/5/02
I feel frustrated because I hate not knowing. I guess I can wait another year to get married; I just wish I could KNOW how long the wait is. I think the Lord is teaching me something in this. It feels like the same lesson I was learning from waiting for the work Visa. I need to dig out my old journal and reread the verses God gave me then.
Here they are...
- Proverbs 3:5-6: "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight."
- Isaiah 26:3-4: "You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast because he trusts in you. Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord, the Lord is the Rock eternal."
- Romans 15:13: "May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit."
Thank you, Lord, for these verses! Help me learn the lesson. I put my trust and my hope in you. You are my hope, my peace, my joy. Let your will be done in my life. Thank you for your love and mercy!
I could have been frustrated that God was having to teach me the same lesson all over again, but instead I chose to be thankful. Just as had happened with the Visa the year before, once I'd learned the lesson, God gave me the desire of my heart. But that's another story.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Streams on the Dry Ground
I've been wanting to tell this story ever since I mentioned it a couple of weeks ago. Of all the ways God has given me a scripture passage, this is one of my favorites....
In October of 2006, we went on a road trip to Destin, Florida. The day we left was a crazy, busy day. I bought snacks, tracked down a manual breast pump at Target and sterilized it, and gathered up all of Allyson's baby paraphernalia. Just before it was time to leave, I squeezed in a trip to the library to get some books for me and some audio books for Ethan.
Normally, a trip to the library is a leisurely, drawn-out affair--at least it used to be leisurely before Allyson started choosing her own books and videos (now it's just drawn out). I like to wend my way through the entire fiction section, stacking tempting books up to my chin before I finally make my agonizing choice. There was no time for that on this trip, though. I raced through the stacks and literally grabbed several books at random.
Wedged into the backseat of our impossibly cramped Sentra (because Ethan couldn't deal with Allyson's crying), I cracked open the first book, The Winter Garden, by Johanna Verweerd. I was soon immersed in a poignant story about a woman who struggles to make peace with her dying mother and to let go of deep wounds from her childhood. Instrumental in her healing are several scriptures from Isaiah 43-44, which the author skillfully weaves throughout the book.
As I read these passages, tears stung my eyes and my heart quickened in recognition. Could this be my new memory passage? I prayed and thanked God for these beautiful scriptures, though it still hadn't occurred to me that he had led me to the book. "I'd really like to memorize this," I told him, "but I'd like you to confirm my choice."
Even as the prayer left my lips, I wondered how God could possibly answer my prayer. We were heading out of town, far from our church or anyone outside our family of four--and Allyson didn't even talk yet!
A couple of days later, I started the second book, Paul: A Novel, by Walter Wangerin. Can you guess what scripture passage I found in the first chapter? I was utterly amazed to see my confirmation, in writing!
This story still thrills me. Not only did God guide me to my passage, in one book among literally thousands, but because he knew that I would ask for confirmation, he also led me to a SECOND book that quoted the same passage. Further, he probably nudged me to read The Winter Garden first; the Isaiah passage was much more prominent in that book, and had I read them in the opposite order, or with another book between them, I might not have noticed it in the Wangerin book.
Only God knew what those scriptures would mean to me. I loved both chapters in Isaiah, and it was hard to choose which verses to memorize, but I finally chose the three passages listed above. During the year or so that it took me to memorize them, several truths worked their way firmly into my heart, always at the exact moment that I needed them.
Redeemed, Summoned By Name
In the first few months, I was grappling with guilt while I attended my first ladies' Bible study. Believing that God had redeemed me and chosen me by name was vital to accepting my forgiveness. Gradually, I began to comprehend that I truly was precious and honored in God's sight, and this led me to believe that I was capable of loving and being loved.
Passing Through the Waters
Letting go of the guilt stirred up old insecurities, and at times I felt like I was drowning. I remember one Saturday morning when I'd mistakenly concluded that a friend had abandoned me. I knelt on the floor of my closet, pretending to sort laundry, while I cried. "I hurt, God. I hurt!" I whispered between sobs.
I clearly heard a voice answer me in my mind: "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.... I have summoned you by name. You are mine." I collapsed over the pile of laundry, my body growing limp as peace washed over me. I was NOT alone, and even if my friend never spoke to me again, God would be with me.
Snuffed Out Like a Wick
Three years have passed, and I feel like I'm finally on my way to forgetting the former things so that I can move on to something new, but sometimes those old insecurities try to push their way back in. Whenever that happens, I remind myself that these enemies are utterly destroyed, never to rise again, snuffed out like a wick.
Water on the Thirsty Land
Despite all the blessings I've enjoyed these last couple of years, there are days and weeks when I feel dry and dull, especially when I don't spend time with my Father. But each time I meditate on the scriptures he's lovingly revealed to me, I feel his spirit pouring over me like water on thirsty land, like streams on the dry ground.
What About the New Thing?
I've long since finished memorizing this passage, though it's still a favorite. I've often wondered when the new thing was going to spring up, and whether I'd recognize it when it came. I definitely feel that God is doing new things in my life right now, mainly in pushing me to share my faith, and to allow his love to flow through me to others who have thirsty hearts.
Sometimes, when I'm teetering on the edge of consciousness at bedtime, I'm seized with excitement about what God has planned for my future. It feels terribly urgent, and exhilarating. In my waking hours, though, I feel afraid because I know that growth so often involves trials. Still, I pray regularly that God will guide me into his will. I know that even if I walk through the fire, I won't be burned as long as he's with me.
In October of 2006, we went on a road trip to Destin, Florida. The day we left was a crazy, busy day. I bought snacks, tracked down a manual breast pump at Target and sterilized it, and gathered up all of Allyson's baby paraphernalia. Just before it was time to leave, I squeezed in a trip to the library to get some books for me and some audio books for Ethan.
Normally, a trip to the library is a leisurely, drawn-out affair--at least it used to be leisurely before Allyson started choosing her own books and videos (now it's just drawn out). I like to wend my way through the entire fiction section, stacking tempting books up to my chin before I finally make my agonizing choice. There was no time for that on this trip, though. I raced through the stacks and literally grabbed several books at random.
Wedged into the backseat of our impossibly cramped Sentra (because Ethan couldn't deal with Allyson's crying), I cracked open the first book, The Winter Garden, by Johanna Verweerd. I was soon immersed in a poignant story about a woman who struggles to make peace with her dying mother and to let go of deep wounds from her childhood. Instrumental in her healing are several scriptures from Isaiah 43-44, which the author skillfully weaves throughout the book.
ISAIAH 43
1 But now, this is what the LORD says—
he who created you, O Jacob,
he who formed you, O Israel:
"Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
I have summoned you by name; you are mine.2 When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
you will not be burned;
the flames will not set you ablaze.3 For I am the LORD, your God,
the Holy One of Israel, your Savior;
I give Egypt for your ransom,
Cush and Seba in your stead.4 Since you are precious and honored in my sight,
and because I love you,
I will give men in exchange for you,
and people in exchange for your life.5 Do not be afraid, for I am with you;
I will bring your children from the east
and gather you from the west.6 I will say to the north, 'Give them up!'
and to the south, 'Do not hold them back.'
Bring my sons from afar
and my daughters from the ends of the earth-7 everyone who is called by my name,
whom I created for my glory,
whom I formed and made."...16 This is what the LORD says—
he who made a way through the sea,
a path through the mighty waters,17 who drew out the chariots and horses,
the army and reinforcements together,
and they lay there, never to rise again,
extinguished, snuffed out like a wick:18 "Forget the former things;
do not dwell on the past.19 See, I am doing a new thing!
ISAIAH 44
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the desert
and streams in the wasteland....
3 For I will pour water on the thirsty land,
and streams on the dry ground;I will pour out my Spirit on your offspring,
and my blessing on your descendants.4 They will spring up like grass in a meadow,
like poplar trees by flowing streams.
As I read these passages, tears stung my eyes and my heart quickened in recognition. Could this be my new memory passage? I prayed and thanked God for these beautiful scriptures, though it still hadn't occurred to me that he had led me to the book. "I'd really like to memorize this," I told him, "but I'd like you to confirm my choice."
Even as the prayer left my lips, I wondered how God could possibly answer my prayer. We were heading out of town, far from our church or anyone outside our family of four--and Allyson didn't even talk yet!
A couple of days later, I started the second book, Paul: A Novel, by Walter Wangerin. Can you guess what scripture passage I found in the first chapter? I was utterly amazed to see my confirmation, in writing!
This story still thrills me. Not only did God guide me to my passage, in one book among literally thousands, but because he knew that I would ask for confirmation, he also led me to a SECOND book that quoted the same passage. Further, he probably nudged me to read The Winter Garden first; the Isaiah passage was much more prominent in that book, and had I read them in the opposite order, or with another book between them, I might not have noticed it in the Wangerin book.
Only God knew what those scriptures would mean to me. I loved both chapters in Isaiah, and it was hard to choose which verses to memorize, but I finally chose the three passages listed above. During the year or so that it took me to memorize them, several truths worked their way firmly into my heart, always at the exact moment that I needed them.
Redeemed, Summoned By Name
In the first few months, I was grappling with guilt while I attended my first ladies' Bible study. Believing that God had redeemed me and chosen me by name was vital to accepting my forgiveness. Gradually, I began to comprehend that I truly was precious and honored in God's sight, and this led me to believe that I was capable of loving and being loved.
Passing Through the Waters
Letting go of the guilt stirred up old insecurities, and at times I felt like I was drowning. I remember one Saturday morning when I'd mistakenly concluded that a friend had abandoned me. I knelt on the floor of my closet, pretending to sort laundry, while I cried. "I hurt, God. I hurt!" I whispered between sobs.
I clearly heard a voice answer me in my mind: "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.... I have summoned you by name. You are mine." I collapsed over the pile of laundry, my body growing limp as peace washed over me. I was NOT alone, and even if my friend never spoke to me again, God would be with me.
Snuffed Out Like a Wick
Three years have passed, and I feel like I'm finally on my way to forgetting the former things so that I can move on to something new, but sometimes those old insecurities try to push their way back in. Whenever that happens, I remind myself that these enemies are utterly destroyed, never to rise again, snuffed out like a wick.
Water on the Thirsty Land
Despite all the blessings I've enjoyed these last couple of years, there are days and weeks when I feel dry and dull, especially when I don't spend time with my Father. But each time I meditate on the scriptures he's lovingly revealed to me, I feel his spirit pouring over me like water on thirsty land, like streams on the dry ground.
What About the New Thing?
I've long since finished memorizing this passage, though it's still a favorite. I've often wondered when the new thing was going to spring up, and whether I'd recognize it when it came. I definitely feel that God is doing new things in my life right now, mainly in pushing me to share my faith, and to allow his love to flow through me to others who have thirsty hearts.
Sometimes, when I'm teetering on the edge of consciousness at bedtime, I'm seized with excitement about what God has planned for my future. It feels terribly urgent, and exhilarating. In my waking hours, though, I feel afraid because I know that growth so often involves trials. Still, I pray regularly that God will guide me into his will. I know that even if I walk through the fire, I won't be burned as long as he's with me.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
You're Gonna Be GORGEOUS!
Okay, so this is going to be my last Esther post. Tonight was my last Bible study session, and I'm just bursting to share the truth that Beth Moore shared in her video. Man, I'm going to miss this class....
One of the first themes we studied in Esther was: "It's tough being a woman in a world where beauty is a treatment." Esther was a remarkably beautiful woman, and yet it was deemed necessary to give her a full year of beauty treatments to prepare for her night with the king. Obviously, the Persians placed supreme importance on physical beauty.
This is certainly just as true now as it was in Esther's day. We are surrounded by ads for beauty creams and exercise regimens and diet pills. We are inundated with pictures of young and beautiful women with perfectly enhanced bodies--either through surgery or through Photoshop. It's hard not to get caught up in the obsession, hard not to compare ourselves and find ourselves lacking.
The truth is, no matter how beautiful we can make ourselves, our beauty inevitably fades. We can try to hold onto it, but in our realm, time diminishes beauty.
A Time For Everything
Praise the Lord, it's not that way with God! In God's realm, where we will spend forever, time perfects beauty. In his realm, beauty is not a treatment; it's our destiny.
Ecclesiastes 3 tells us there is a time for everything: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance. Following this list of the many activities and seasons in a lifetime is the profound statement that God "has made everything beautiful in its time." (Ecclesiastes 3:11)
Beauty, then, is something that grows and forms over time. It's the big picture that results from all that weeping and laughing, mourning and dancing. Somehow, God uses all the circumstances in our life for our good (Romans 8:28). In the lifelong process of becoming Christ's princess bride, we develop a beauty that is not skin deep, but "Spirit-deep" (to quote this week's study).
The Epiphany
Like Beth, I have looked at an old woman and said, "She must have been beautiful in her day." No, no! She is going to be beautiful. And so are you.
I wish you could hear Beth's inflection, but all I can do is repeat her words, which she repeated three times for emphasis: "Oh, you are gonna be GORGEOUS!"
As I heard those words, tears were streaming, and I was sobbing audibly. I was filled with both longing and joy, and I felt it as a literal pain in my chest--the kind of pain you feel when you witness something indescribably beautiful and pure.
How does God DO that? How does He find a way to speak exactly what I need to hear, at precisely the right moment? Just this week, even today, I was looking in the mirror and seeing the lines around my eyes and mouth, and scowling at the cellulite on my butt that wasn't there a few months ago. Even though I try so hard to strive for inner beauty, I can't help feeling sorrow and frustration at the inexorable battering of time on my body.
But what does that matter, when I compare it to the beauty God is creating in my heart? What does it matter, when one day I will stand before His throne in my royal robes and cast my crown at His feet?
Do You Feel It?
So tell me, does your destiny of eternal beauty thrill you as much as it thrills me? I'd love to hear your thoughts.
One of the first themes we studied in Esther was: "It's tough being a woman in a world where beauty is a treatment." Esther was a remarkably beautiful woman, and yet it was deemed necessary to give her a full year of beauty treatments to prepare for her night with the king. Obviously, the Persians placed supreme importance on physical beauty.
This is certainly just as true now as it was in Esther's day. We are surrounded by ads for beauty creams and exercise regimens and diet pills. We are inundated with pictures of young and beautiful women with perfectly enhanced bodies--either through surgery or through Photoshop. It's hard not to get caught up in the obsession, hard not to compare ourselves and find ourselves lacking.
The truth is, no matter how beautiful we can make ourselves, our beauty inevitably fades. We can try to hold onto it, but in our realm, time diminishes beauty.
A Time For Everything
Praise the Lord, it's not that way with God! In God's realm, where we will spend forever, time perfects beauty. In his realm, beauty is not a treatment; it's our destiny.
Ecclesiastes 3 tells us there is a time for everything: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance. Following this list of the many activities and seasons in a lifetime is the profound statement that God "has made everything beautiful in its time." (Ecclesiastes 3:11)
Beauty, then, is something that grows and forms over time. It's the big picture that results from all that weeping and laughing, mourning and dancing. Somehow, God uses all the circumstances in our life for our good (Romans 8:28). In the lifelong process of becoming Christ's princess bride, we develop a beauty that is not skin deep, but "Spirit-deep" (to quote this week's study).
The Epiphany
Like Beth, I have looked at an old woman and said, "She must have been beautiful in her day." No, no! She is going to be beautiful. And so are you.
I wish you could hear Beth's inflection, but all I can do is repeat her words, which she repeated three times for emphasis: "Oh, you are gonna be GORGEOUS!"
As I heard those words, tears were streaming, and I was sobbing audibly. I was filled with both longing and joy, and I felt it as a literal pain in my chest--the kind of pain you feel when you witness something indescribably beautiful and pure.
How does God DO that? How does He find a way to speak exactly what I need to hear, at precisely the right moment? Just this week, even today, I was looking in the mirror and seeing the lines around my eyes and mouth, and scowling at the cellulite on my butt that wasn't there a few months ago. Even though I try so hard to strive for inner beauty, I can't help feeling sorrow and frustration at the inexorable battering of time on my body.
But what does that matter, when I compare it to the beauty God is creating in my heart? What does it matter, when one day I will stand before His throne in my royal robes and cast my crown at His feet?
Do You Feel It?
So tell me, does your destiny of eternal beauty thrill you as much as it thrills me? I'd love to hear your thoughts.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Maybe You're Not the Only One
What I'm loving most about this Esther Bible study is how I can relate to so many of the emotions these characters experienced centuries ago. An even bigger surprise is that I'm not the only one who feels that way. There are about 250 women in this study, 12 at my table, and it seems that this study is hitting home with nearly everyone.
The History
Yesterday's theme was: "It's tough being a woman in a mean world." Beth explained the history of the rivalry between Mordecai the Jew and Haman the Agagite--the villain of the story. We learned that generations earlier, King Saul had disobeyed God's order to annihilate the Amalekites. He had spared King Agag, and Haman was a descendant of that king. (1 Samuel 15:10-23, 30). The Amalekites were fierce enemies of the Jews who had attacked them when they were defenseless in the wilderness--picking off the stragglers at the back of the line, most likely the elderly and the sick. (Deuteronomy 25:15-17, Exodus 17:8-16). This is why God vowed to destroy them completely.
Haman, therefore, had come from a long line of wrathful, violent people, and he utterly hated the Jews. When Mordecai refused to bow to him, he became enraged and ultimately plotted the annihilation of all the Jews in Persia.
The Reasons
This was all very fascinating, but I really took notice when Beth started talking about the mean people in our world today, specifically the mean girls. About mean girls, she said:
The good news is that "meanness is curable." Romans 12:17-21 admonishes us not to repay evil for evil, but to live at peace with everyone. We are not to take revenge when we are wronged, but leave the revenge to God. We can overcome evil with good.
Beth challenged us to love the mean girl--even that girl who wears provocative clothing and tries to get our man's attention. If we consistently love her with Christ's love (which is probably the only way we could love someone like that), either it will just drive her crazy, or it might prick her conscience. I've experienced this scenario numerous times, and I've always failed the test miserably. I pray the next time I feel threatened by a mean girl who seems to be after my husband, I can put this lesson into practice.
When Beth talked about women comparing themselves with other women, my mouth dropped open. You see, only a couple of hours earlier, I'd been talking to God about that very thing in the shower, asking him why I can't stop comparing myself with other women. I was feeling down because I'd spent some time with a few acquaintances that day, and as always I felt like an outsider--by my own choosing.
My Struggle
Lately I've been trying to develop new friendships, but it is a constant struggle. I find myself comparing everything and finding that I am different for some reason: maybe she has more money or less money, maybe she's thinner or heavier, maybe she's a perfect mom and I am not, maybe she seems more or less spiritual than me, maybe her hair is always absolutely perfect, probably she's younger. Whatever the reason, I conclude that I just don't have anything in common with this woman, and I find it very uncomfortable to make conversation. I'm fine in a group setting, but when I try to take the next step and get to know someone, it feels like a blind date, and I just can't relax.
I've been pushing past this awkwardness because I really do want to make new friends, yet I find it discouraging that I can't seem to overcome this struggle and just ENJOY being with some very nice, very interesting people.
This morning I cried during my quiet time and admitted that I can't change this about myself. I acknowledged that I am weak, and I asked God to teach me to love as he loves, to see the women around me through his eyes. I asked him to help me not just tolerate my time with acquaintances, but to actually enjoy the beauty of all the diversity around me.
The Revelation
Later in the morning, my friend Gentle asked me about my thoughts on the study. As we talked over the shouting children in the McDonald's play area, I confessed to her that it took me a very, very long time to really feel comfortable with her. I told her that when we first started taking walks together a couple of years ago--has it been that long?--I had to force myself to go. It wasn't that I didn't enjoy talking with her once I got there, it was just that I felt safer and more comfortable at home. I wondered if she liked me, and I wondered if I was going to like her. I wondered if I was going to let myself love her, and then she would let me down.
Gentle told me something that absolutely shocked me: she said she had felt exactly the same way! Her husband Sean had had to push her to make the effort. "She's a nice lady!" he'd told her. "Get to know her better."
We're both so glad that we pushed past that "blind date" phase because we are dear friends now. Hanging out with Gentle is like putting on my faded, frayed comfy jeans. More importantly, I know I can go to her when I need prayer or advice, or simply when I need a hug. (I drove over there a couple of months ago just for that reason.) And I hope she feels the same way.
Gentle said, "Now that you know that we both had a hard time at first, yet it turned out so well, try to remember that the next time you're struggling with a new friendship."
How About You?
Do you ever watch other women talking and laughing, and think, "Why is it so easy for them and so hard for me?" Do you ever feel like you're just different from everyone else, or that there's something wrong with you?
Guess what? I'm beginning to think that most of us feel that way. But we don't have to let that stop us from loving each other--indeed, Jesus has commanded us to love one another. And that is the key to everything.
The History
Yesterday's theme was: "It's tough being a woman in a mean world." Beth explained the history of the rivalry between Mordecai the Jew and Haman the Agagite--the villain of the story. We learned that generations earlier, King Saul had disobeyed God's order to annihilate the Amalekites. He had spared King Agag, and Haman was a descendant of that king. (1 Samuel 15:10-23, 30). The Amalekites were fierce enemies of the Jews who had attacked them when they were defenseless in the wilderness--picking off the stragglers at the back of the line, most likely the elderly and the sick. (Deuteronomy 25:15-17, Exodus 17:8-16). This is why God vowed to destroy them completely.
Haman, therefore, had come from a long line of wrathful, violent people, and he utterly hated the Jews. When Mordecai refused to bow to him, he became enraged and ultimately plotted the annihilation of all the Jews in Persia.
The Reasons
This was all very fascinating, but I really took notice when Beth started talking about the mean people in our world today, specifically the mean girls. About mean girls, she said:
- Meanness always has a history. When you come up against a mean girl, consider that there is a reason behind her hatefulness.
- Meanness occurs when we perceive a threat. Women measure themselves against other women who feel like a threat.
When you catch yourself being mean, identify why you feel threatened. Talk to God about it. - Meanness catches like a virus. Proverbs 22:24-25 warns that if you hang around with angry people, you may learn their ways. (I've seen this over and over at work. One person gets riled up about something, and suddenly an entire team is whipped into a frenzy of righteous indignation.)
Coming into contact with a mean girl raises up your own mean girl. This is especially true when mean girls mess with one of your daughters. (I dread experiencing this when Allyson starts school.) - Insecurity is at the heart of every rivalry. Anger feels like a source of power for those who feel helpless.
The good news is that "meanness is curable." Romans 12:17-21 admonishes us not to repay evil for evil, but to live at peace with everyone. We are not to take revenge when we are wronged, but leave the revenge to God. We can overcome evil with good.
Beth challenged us to love the mean girl--even that girl who wears provocative clothing and tries to get our man's attention. If we consistently love her with Christ's love (which is probably the only way we could love someone like that), either it will just drive her crazy, or it might prick her conscience. I've experienced this scenario numerous times, and I've always failed the test miserably. I pray the next time I feel threatened by a mean girl who seems to be after my husband, I can put this lesson into practice.
When Beth talked about women comparing themselves with other women, my mouth dropped open. You see, only a couple of hours earlier, I'd been talking to God about that very thing in the shower, asking him why I can't stop comparing myself with other women. I was feeling down because I'd spent some time with a few acquaintances that day, and as always I felt like an outsider--by my own choosing.
My Struggle
Lately I've been trying to develop new friendships, but it is a constant struggle. I find myself comparing everything and finding that I am different for some reason: maybe she has more money or less money, maybe she's thinner or heavier, maybe she's a perfect mom and I am not, maybe she seems more or less spiritual than me, maybe her hair is always absolutely perfect, probably she's younger. Whatever the reason, I conclude that I just don't have anything in common with this woman, and I find it very uncomfortable to make conversation. I'm fine in a group setting, but when I try to take the next step and get to know someone, it feels like a blind date, and I just can't relax.
I've been pushing past this awkwardness because I really do want to make new friends, yet I find it discouraging that I can't seem to overcome this struggle and just ENJOY being with some very nice, very interesting people.
This morning I cried during my quiet time and admitted that I can't change this about myself. I acknowledged that I am weak, and I asked God to teach me to love as he loves, to see the women around me through his eyes. I asked him to help me not just tolerate my time with acquaintances, but to actually enjoy the beauty of all the diversity around me.
The Revelation
Later in the morning, my friend Gentle asked me about my thoughts on the study. As we talked over the shouting children in the McDonald's play area, I confessed to her that it took me a very, very long time to really feel comfortable with her. I told her that when we first started taking walks together a couple of years ago--has it been that long?--I had to force myself to go. It wasn't that I didn't enjoy talking with her once I got there, it was just that I felt safer and more comfortable at home. I wondered if she liked me, and I wondered if I was going to like her. I wondered if I was going to let myself love her, and then she would let me down.
Gentle told me something that absolutely shocked me: she said she had felt exactly the same way! Her husband Sean had had to push her to make the effort. "She's a nice lady!" he'd told her. "Get to know her better."
We're both so glad that we pushed past that "blind date" phase because we are dear friends now. Hanging out with Gentle is like putting on my faded, frayed comfy jeans. More importantly, I know I can go to her when I need prayer or advice, or simply when I need a hug. (I drove over there a couple of months ago just for that reason.) And I hope she feels the same way.
Gentle said, "Now that you know that we both had a hard time at first, yet it turned out so well, try to remember that the next time you're struggling with a new friendship."
How About You?
Do you ever watch other women talking and laughing, and think, "Why is it so easy for them and so hard for me?" Do you ever feel like you're just different from everyone else, or that there's something wrong with you?
Guess what? I'm beginning to think that most of us feel that way. But we don't have to let that stop us from loving each other--indeed, Jesus has commanded us to love one another. And that is the key to everything.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Yes, I am Beautiful
Oh, it's good to be back in ladies' Bible study after several weeks off. This was my first week of the Beth Moore study Esther: It's Tough Being a Woman. It's speaking to me already, and we're still in chapter 1 of Esther.
Tonight, we talked about how women desire to be beautiful. I don't know that that is necessarily a bad thing, if you keep it in perspective. For me, though, it's been a deep insecurity for as long as I can remember. I don't know why I worry about being pretty enough. Maybe it started when I was growing up with my beautiful younger sister. Or maybe it came from the deep-seated guilt that convinced me I was unlovable. I felt ugly inside, and I didn't know what to do about that, so I focused on the outside instead.
God has delivered me from that burden of guilt, and I am starting to open myself up to be loved by friends and family. But I still struggle with insecurities about my physical appearance, maybe because I'm not willing to surrender that part of my heart to God yet. I pray I'll have a breakthrough during this study.
During tonight's video, there were several moments that brought tears to my eyes because Beth spoke to the hurts in my heart and made me long to be whole. She read us an index card that she often reads during her quiet time. It has three scriptures that she rewrote using the word "I" so that she could remember to make them personal:
The next thing Beth talked about was Esther's painful past: she was orphaned at a young age and was raised by her cousin Mordecai; both of them were exiles far from their native land. She had no mother to teach her how to be a lady, but God made her altogether lovely. He surely used her struggles to shape her into someone different from all the other beauties in King Xerxes' harem. And of course, He had an amazing plan for her all along. He didn't erase her past; He built on it.
Beth shared this quote, which I absolutely love: "You cannot amputate your history from your destiny."
She also read some commentary about one of the Hebrew words for "past," which shares the same root word as the word for "present." She said our future is rooted in our past, and that our past, present, and future all have one root--Jesus. I pictured my life as a tree that has been growing from a seed to a sprout to a sapling. All of those stages of my life stem from ONE root, and it's impossible to separate my end from my beginning.
It gave me chills just trying to comprehend this mystery. God doesn't erase my past. Instead, He uses every experience to bend me and mold me according to His plan. As much as I'd like to erase my past mistakes, past wounds, past and present insecurities, all of those trials have shaped me into who I am--into the only woman who can fulfill the destiny God has planned for me. Like Esther, I have been brought into this world and placed into these circumstances "for such a time as this" (Esther 4:14). What will my destiny be?
Tonight, we talked about how women desire to be beautiful. I don't know that that is necessarily a bad thing, if you keep it in perspective. For me, though, it's been a deep insecurity for as long as I can remember. I don't know why I worry about being pretty enough. Maybe it started when I was growing up with my beautiful younger sister. Or maybe it came from the deep-seated guilt that convinced me I was unlovable. I felt ugly inside, and I didn't know what to do about that, so I focused on the outside instead.
God has delivered me from that burden of guilt, and I am starting to open myself up to be loved by friends and family. But I still struggle with insecurities about my physical appearance, maybe because I'm not willing to surrender that part of my heart to God yet. I pray I'll have a breakthrough during this study.
During tonight's video, there were several moments that brought tears to my eyes because Beth spoke to the hurts in my heart and made me long to be whole. She read us an index card that she often reads during her quiet time. It has three scriptures that she rewrote using the word "I" so that she could remember to make them personal:
- Colossians 2:10 - I am complete in Christ. (I don't need anyone else to make me complete.)
- Song of Solomon 7:10 - I am my beloved's, and his desire is for me. (Yes, I am desirable--in the eyes of both my husband and my savior.)
- Psalm 90:17 - May the beauty of the Lord my God rest upon me.
The next thing Beth talked about was Esther's painful past: she was orphaned at a young age and was raised by her cousin Mordecai; both of them were exiles far from their native land. She had no mother to teach her how to be a lady, but God made her altogether lovely. He surely used her struggles to shape her into someone different from all the other beauties in King Xerxes' harem. And of course, He had an amazing plan for her all along. He didn't erase her past; He built on it.
Beth shared this quote, which I absolutely love: "You cannot amputate your history from your destiny."
She also read some commentary about one of the Hebrew words for "past," which shares the same root word as the word for "present." She said our future is rooted in our past, and that our past, present, and future all have one root--Jesus. I pictured my life as a tree that has been growing from a seed to a sprout to a sapling. All of those stages of my life stem from ONE root, and it's impossible to separate my end from my beginning.
It gave me chills just trying to comprehend this mystery. God doesn't erase my past. Instead, He uses every experience to bend me and mold me according to His plan. As much as I'd like to erase my past mistakes, past wounds, past and present insecurities, all of those trials have shaped me into who I am--into the only woman who can fulfill the destiny God has planned for me. Like Esther, I have been brought into this world and placed into these circumstances "for such a time as this" (Esther 4:14). What will my destiny be?
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Losing Myself, Finding The Real Me
I was scouring my old journals (about ten of them) looking for a story that came to mind tonight, but I couldn't find it. Instead, I found something else that really moved me. This is the reason I journal--and why I think EVERYONE should journal. It's an amazing thing to stumble on clues to who you were at some past moment, and to see who you are becoming. It's wonderful to see how God was speaking to you, loving you in your imperfections.
Excerpt From My Journal, 6/22/04
I'm ready to give up on changing myself. I realize that I can't do it. I struggle with the same selfishness, pride, and unkindness that I have lived in for years.
Yes, unkindness. I have always liked to think of myself as a sweet, kind person, but I am seeing a mean streak in myself. I mentally or even verbally ridicule anyone who doesn't measure up to my standards. I have allowed a wall to be built between me and my family.
I can be a huge success in all that I do at work, but WHAT DOES IT MATTER? What impact has my life had on those around me? I fear that the answer is "none." I have not allowed you to shine in me, Father. I have choked out the candle of your Spirit with my pride.
I am a wretch! I need you, Father! Please forgive my selfishness, my monstrous pride, my hatefulness. Please wash me clean, and cast my sin away from me, to be remembered no more.
Make me new, Father. Create in me a clean heart. I know I don't deserve your love or your forgiveness, but I'm opening my hands, lifting them to you, to receive them....
I feel like I have been afraid to let you really change me. I've been afraid of losing myself, who I think I am. I don't even know who I am, but I am comfortable being the old me.
Who do I think "Sarah" is? She is funny. She is smart, very smart. She tries to be likable. She tries to be moral and kind and loving, but she feels dirty and unworthy deep down. She is afraid of change, afraid of new things, big and small. She does not feel worthy to be loved, not by God, not by anyone except maybe Ethan [my son].
What do I have to lose by surrendering to God? Will I lose my sense of humor? I don't think so. I believe God delights in my laughter, that he taught me how to see the humor in life and make others laugh.
Will I lose my intelligence? No, but I might lose my pride about it. And I might gain real wisdom, about what really matters.
Will I be lovable and likable and kind? Yes, if I let God shine through me. People are drawn to Jesus, and they are drawn to real peace when they see it.
Ah, peace. That is what I need most of all. Peace and trust and rest--freedom from my fears.
And can I be loved by God, my Father? Yes, yes, yes. For God so loved the world (me, Sarah) that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever (especially me, Sarah) believes in him will not perish but have everlasting life. (John 3:16)
God already loves me, just as I am. He sent his son to die for me, just as I am. I don't have to change, to clean myself up, to earn his love. He loved me before I was even born. He planned my days. He knit me together in my mother's womb.
I like that image of knitting--patient, detailed work that is done with the hands. Not like a sewing machine with every stitch uniform. No, I am a unique, special creation. There is no one else like me, and God made me to be just who I am--only better! He made me to love him, to love my neighbor, to submit to him in everything I do. He made me to trust in him and not be afraid.
Oh, Father! I surrender to you now. I don't want to wait until I am good enough. I want to give you my heart today. Lord, I surrender my all, my very identity to you. Change my heart! Teach me to know you. Take my offering of me that I lift up to you.
Five Years Later
Looking back, I can see that I've grown in the last few years. I am surrendering my fears to God, one by one, and I am learning to love others as he loves me--because I am learning how very much he does love me. I so thankful that God put these desires in my heart, and I want to pray these prayers always.
Excerpt From My Journal, 6/22/04
I'm ready to give up on changing myself. I realize that I can't do it. I struggle with the same selfishness, pride, and unkindness that I have lived in for years.
Yes, unkindness. I have always liked to think of myself as a sweet, kind person, but I am seeing a mean streak in myself. I mentally or even verbally ridicule anyone who doesn't measure up to my standards. I have allowed a wall to be built between me and my family.
I can be a huge success in all that I do at work, but WHAT DOES IT MATTER? What impact has my life had on those around me? I fear that the answer is "none." I have not allowed you to shine in me, Father. I have choked out the candle of your Spirit with my pride.
I am a wretch! I need you, Father! Please forgive my selfishness, my monstrous pride, my hatefulness. Please wash me clean, and cast my sin away from me, to be remembered no more.
Make me new, Father. Create in me a clean heart. I know I don't deserve your love or your forgiveness, but I'm opening my hands, lifting them to you, to receive them....
I feel like I have been afraid to let you really change me. I've been afraid of losing myself, who I think I am. I don't even know who I am, but I am comfortable being the old me.
Who do I think "Sarah" is? She is funny. She is smart, very smart. She tries to be likable. She tries to be moral and kind and loving, but she feels dirty and unworthy deep down. She is afraid of change, afraid of new things, big and small. She does not feel worthy to be loved, not by God, not by anyone except maybe Ethan [my son].
What do I have to lose by surrendering to God? Will I lose my sense of humor? I don't think so. I believe God delights in my laughter, that he taught me how to see the humor in life and make others laugh.
Will I lose my intelligence? No, but I might lose my pride about it. And I might gain real wisdom, about what really matters.
Will I be lovable and likable and kind? Yes, if I let God shine through me. People are drawn to Jesus, and they are drawn to real peace when they see it.
Ah, peace. That is what I need most of all. Peace and trust and rest--freedom from my fears.
And can I be loved by God, my Father? Yes, yes, yes. For God so loved the world (me, Sarah) that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever (especially me, Sarah) believes in him will not perish but have everlasting life. (John 3:16)
God already loves me, just as I am. He sent his son to die for me, just as I am. I don't have to change, to clean myself up, to earn his love. He loved me before I was even born. He planned my days. He knit me together in my mother's womb.
I like that image of knitting--patient, detailed work that is done with the hands. Not like a sewing machine with every stitch uniform. No, I am a unique, special creation. There is no one else like me, and God made me to be just who I am--only better! He made me to love him, to love my neighbor, to submit to him in everything I do. He made me to trust in him and not be afraid.
Oh, Father! I surrender to you now. I don't want to wait until I am good enough. I want to give you my heart today. Lord, I surrender my all, my very identity to you. Change my heart! Teach me to know you. Take my offering of me that I lift up to you.
Five Years Later
Looking back, I can see that I've grown in the last few years. I am surrendering my fears to God, one by one, and I am learning to love others as he loves me--because I am learning how very much he does love me. I so thankful that God put these desires in my heart, and I want to pray these prayers always.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Forgiven Much
In last night's home group meeting, we discussed the story of the sinful woman who washed Jesus' feet with her tears and dried them with her hair:
As we discussed the passage, some of my friends said they could really relate to Simon, the Pharisee, because they've judged others who seem sinful. I have certainly been guilty of judging others more often than I'd care to admit, but I had to speak up and say, "I relate more to the prostitute." Then I shared this story....
Last spring, I enrolled in a Bible study on the book of Romans, called Free. At the beginning of the semester, we wrote down on a card the things we'd like God to free us from. We knelt at the foot of a wooden cross and laid our cards there. I wrote that I'd like to be free from shame, and also from my fear of death (but that's another story). Honestly, I wasn't sure even God could set me free from these burdens, but he answered both prayers in wonderful ways that I could never have predicted.
Throughout the class, I marveled at how Paul, who called himself "the chief among sinners," was not only forgiven, but was used in a powerful way. God didn't waste ANY of Paul's experiences, not the sins, not the persecution. All of it was used for God's glory, and Paul's life was transformed. I slowly began to realize that if God could forgive Paul and use his experiences for a beautiful purpose, surely he could do the same for me.
Around the end of January 2008, I felt I was ready to give my shame over to God, but I didn't know how. I won't go into details about why I felt ashamed because I know God has forgotten my sins, and I need to forget them as well. But I'll tell you that I carried a deep shame for many, many years. It went beyond simple regret. I had allowed that shame to define my character, and it was crippling me.
I knew with my brain that God had forgiven me, but my heart could not accept that forgiveness. This really prevented me from receiving God's love; I told a friend that it was as if there was a veil between me and God. I could feel that he was so very near, but I couldn't reach him. Because I couldn't experience God's love, neither could I really accept love from anyone else. I suffered excruciating insecurities in my marriage which made me jealous and fearful, and I hated myself for it. I also had a problem making friends. I always thought, "If she really knew who I was, she wouldn't love me." So I was guarded in all my relationships.
I had a friend who was in counseling at the time, and her counselor had said, "Secrets are powerful. They can build a wall between you and the people you love." He told her that sharing her secret could take away its power over her. I knew then what I had to do, but I was afraid to do it. Satan had told me for years that I must never, ever talk about my shame--that if I did, no one would love me and I'd be alone.
I prayed and asked God to show me who I should talk to, and to give me the courage to open my heart. I told my secret to one old friend and one new one.
The first time was over lunch at a favorite restaurant. My mouth was dry, my hands were clammy and trembling, and my heart was racing. I stumbled over the words, and at times I was choked by tears, but I told her absolutely everything about the sin that had haunted me for years. She listened without judgment. When I was finished, she said of course she still loved me--that sin is not who I am! She told me God had forgiven me, that it was "ancient history." Then she spoke what I believe to be a message from God: even though David committed a grievous sin with Bathsheba and even murdered her husband, God still called David a man after his own heart.
I cried profusely, probably to our waitress's chagrin. It was wonderful to have my friend there with me, hugging me as I cried, giving me a tangible way to feel God's love embracing me.
When I shared my shame with another friend a couple of days later, it was just a little easier. My second friend also was very accepting and loving. She said God didn't remember my sin, and to bring it up over and over was an insult to his grace. She shared some past guilt of her own, and we prayed together that God would help us forgive ourselves.
Like the woman who washed Jesus' feet with her tears, I had an overwhelming sense of gratitude. I had been forgiven so much, and I was positively overflowing with love. A weight had been lifted, and I found myself smiling and even laughing as I went about my daily work. Once while I was washing dishes, I heard Brandon Heath's "Don't Get Comfortable" for the first time, and I was thrilled by the lyrics. As I listened to that song, I heard God telling me, "This is not yesterday.... I am gonna love like you've never seen! You are gonna live like you used to dream! This is your new song."
As I began to really experience God's love, that love started to flow out from me in new ways. I started to speak to strangers at the grocery store. I began to make new friends, close friends. I began to feel more secure and intimate with my husband. I asked God to help me love some "difficult people," and he answered my prayers.
Since then, I have been drawn to hurting people, and I'm so thankful that I can share the love and hope that I have received from God. I have been forgiven much, and I can't help but love much!
Luke 7:36-39, 44-47
36 One of the Pharisees asked Jesus to have dinner with him, so Jesus went to his home and sat down to eat.a]">[a] 37 When a certain immoral woman from that city heard he was eating there, she brought a beautiful alabaster jar filled with expensive perfume. 38 Then she knelt behind him at his feet, weeping. Her tears fell on his feet, and she wiped them off with her hair. Then she kept kissing his feet and putting perfume on them.39 When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself, “If this man were a prophet, he would know what kind of woman is touching him. She’s a sinner!”
...
44 Then [Jesus] turned to the woman and said to Simon, “Look at this woman kneeling here. When I entered your home, you didn’t offer me water to wash the dust from my feet, but she has washed them with her tears and wiped them with her hair. 45 You didn’t greet me with a kiss, but from the time I first came in, she has not stopped kissing my feet. 46 You neglected the courtesy of olive oil to anoint my head, but she has anointed my feet with rare perfume.
47 “I tell you, her sins—and they are many—have been forgiven, so she has shown me much love. But a person who is forgiven little shows only little love.”
As we discussed the passage, some of my friends said they could really relate to Simon, the Pharisee, because they've judged others who seem sinful. I have certainly been guilty of judging others more often than I'd care to admit, but I had to speak up and say, "I relate more to the prostitute." Then I shared this story....
Last spring, I enrolled in a Bible study on the book of Romans, called Free. At the beginning of the semester, we wrote down on a card the things we'd like God to free us from. We knelt at the foot of a wooden cross and laid our cards there. I wrote that I'd like to be free from shame, and also from my fear of death (but that's another story). Honestly, I wasn't sure even God could set me free from these burdens, but he answered both prayers in wonderful ways that I could never have predicted.
Throughout the class, I marveled at how Paul, who called himself "the chief among sinners," was not only forgiven, but was used in a powerful way. God didn't waste ANY of Paul's experiences, not the sins, not the persecution. All of it was used for God's glory, and Paul's life was transformed. I slowly began to realize that if God could forgive Paul and use his experiences for a beautiful purpose, surely he could do the same for me.
Around the end of January 2008, I felt I was ready to give my shame over to God, but I didn't know how. I won't go into details about why I felt ashamed because I know God has forgotten my sins, and I need to forget them as well. But I'll tell you that I carried a deep shame for many, many years. It went beyond simple regret. I had allowed that shame to define my character, and it was crippling me.
I knew with my brain that God had forgiven me, but my heart could not accept that forgiveness. This really prevented me from receiving God's love; I told a friend that it was as if there was a veil between me and God. I could feel that he was so very near, but I couldn't reach him. Because I couldn't experience God's love, neither could I really accept love from anyone else. I suffered excruciating insecurities in my marriage which made me jealous and fearful, and I hated myself for it. I also had a problem making friends. I always thought, "If she really knew who I was, she wouldn't love me." So I was guarded in all my relationships.
I had a friend who was in counseling at the time, and her counselor had said, "Secrets are powerful. They can build a wall between you and the people you love." He told her that sharing her secret could take away its power over her. I knew then what I had to do, but I was afraid to do it. Satan had told me for years that I must never, ever talk about my shame--that if I did, no one would love me and I'd be alone.
I prayed and asked God to show me who I should talk to, and to give me the courage to open my heart. I told my secret to one old friend and one new one.
The first time was over lunch at a favorite restaurant. My mouth was dry, my hands were clammy and trembling, and my heart was racing. I stumbled over the words, and at times I was choked by tears, but I told her absolutely everything about the sin that had haunted me for years. She listened without judgment. When I was finished, she said of course she still loved me--that sin is not who I am! She told me God had forgiven me, that it was "ancient history." Then she spoke what I believe to be a message from God: even though David committed a grievous sin with Bathsheba and even murdered her husband, God still called David a man after his own heart.
I cried profusely, probably to our waitress's chagrin. It was wonderful to have my friend there with me, hugging me as I cried, giving me a tangible way to feel God's love embracing me.
When I shared my shame with another friend a couple of days later, it was just a little easier. My second friend also was very accepting and loving. She said God didn't remember my sin, and to bring it up over and over was an insult to his grace. She shared some past guilt of her own, and we prayed together that God would help us forgive ourselves.
Like the woman who washed Jesus' feet with her tears, I had an overwhelming sense of gratitude. I had been forgiven so much, and I was positively overflowing with love. A weight had been lifted, and I found myself smiling and even laughing as I went about my daily work. Once while I was washing dishes, I heard Brandon Heath's "Don't Get Comfortable" for the first time, and I was thrilled by the lyrics. As I listened to that song, I heard God telling me, "This is not yesterday.... I am gonna love like you've never seen! You are gonna live like you used to dream! This is your new song."
As I began to really experience God's love, that love started to flow out from me in new ways. I started to speak to strangers at the grocery store. I began to make new friends, close friends. I began to feel more secure and intimate with my husband. I asked God to help me love some "difficult people," and he answered my prayers.
Since then, I have been drawn to hurting people, and I'm so thankful that I can share the love and hope that I have received from God. I have been forgiven much, and I can't help but love much!
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