Spiritual growth – Page 5 – Finding a new "normal"

Countdown: on the launching pad

Today, on this eve of a new year, I have an image from August burning inside my head: my first ziplining experience.

I remember a sense of utter dependency on the expertise of the person in charge of tying together my harness. Since Jen was a friend of my cousin who coordinated our adventure, and since she questioned knots and made fixes and adjustments to our ropes and gear, I felt more comfortable that I might not die from harness failure. (That outrageous wedgie, however, would surely show up in an autopsy …)

The major discomfort showed up not in my harness, but at the top of the tree house – the first launching pad. Our group consisted of three adults and two children – both of whom were seven years old at the time. One of them was my own child. He wasn’t the first to jump into the air and ride through the trees to the next pad. He was the second. And I hadn’t jumped yet – none of the adults had jumped. Suddenly, the children were “there” and we adults were still “here.” All of the dialogue inside my head about not going through with the ride ended there. I had no choice now. My son was “there” and I had to get “there,” too.

Then the dialogue shifted to ways to embrace the ride gracefully and without repeating a rock-climbing scene from summer enrichment camp just before eighth grade. There, I climbed to the top only to discover that my legs totally gave out and my knees were shaking. Uncontrollably. I was mortified. I don’t even remember how I got down. I did, obviously, but I have zero memory of it. This HAD to play out differently.

It’s funny how, as I remember that moment, I can see my whole self on the launching pad, as if I were watching it AND doing it at the same time. I sat back into the harness to become confident, at least, that I was securely tied to the wire. I fixed my eyes not on the trees and certainly not on the ground, but on the wire as I jumped off the first launching pad. I probably didn’t breathe for a few seconds, but I did squeal as I flew through the air, white knuckles and all. I’m sure it was by design, but there was an unfortunate camera set up on this first pass between tree-houses. There was a sign about two-thirds of the way across telling you when to smile, etc. I may have mustered one, but there was something FAR more important on my mind. I needed to nail the landing. For those seconds on the wire, I was some sort of gymnast, or an actress in The Matrix, and my “pay” depended on how well I could land. When I passed the camera, I smiled, but in my mind, I was a cat, and I was about to cheat death with a brilliant landing on my (paws) feet in that tree stand. I landed so beautifully, that the guide who caught me had to comment on it. “Why the heck didn’t they catch a picture of THAT?” I thought to myself.

Today is a sort of launching pad day, too. That’s probably why I remembered the ziplining experience. I’m one who believes that images that come to us – particularly ones that are so clear and detailed – are messages to us, and that we should pay close attention.

I’m not going to ruin things by unpacking everything the story/image means to me specifically. Instead, let me simply wish three things for you in 2014:

1. May you experience trust in new and thrilling ways.

2. May you discover your personal motivation precisely when you need it the most.

3. May all your landings be a perfect “10,” even if you look awkward and perhaps feel frightened while you are moving from point A to point B.

Peace and love to you and yours in 2014. Go with God,

Worse than “no”

[Tonight’s article posted first at More Than Millennial, where I am a new contributing partner.]

I’m not sure exactly when it happened. At some point in the last 50 years or so, American culture essentially lost the ability to delay gratification. Maybe it was because we were deemed a world “superpower.” (Try not to let THAT go to your head.) We put our American ingenuity to work and came up with new ways to get the things we want – bigger, faster, better. Well, maybe not always better, but bigger and faster at least.

Think about some of the most popular technological advances since the 1970’s: microwave ovens, computers, the internet, personal cell phones. They all seem to be inventions that save us from something we dread: waiting.

Now, I’m no different from the majority of folks born and raised in this part of the world. I am one of the most impatient people I know. If I have the choice between heating something up in a saucepan for five minutes versus a quick minute in the microwave (using the same plate I plan to eat from), then I’ll choose the microwave. Every time. When I mentioned to my ex-husband that I was preparing an article on the subject of waiting, his response was explosive laughter. You know, the one that goes BWAAAHHHHAAHA! “That should be a good one,” he remarked sarcastically, insinuating his first-hand knowledge of my heroic level of impatience. He would want to use an illustration other than my saucepan example. He’d have lots and lots from which to choose.

For people like me – and maybe you, too – there isn’t much worse than being told, “no,” you can’t have something you want to have or do something you want to do. “I want it, and I want it NOW!” There is one thing, though, that can really get us. It’s being told “yes, but not yet.”

You see, “no” is harsh and cold, and it leaves us feeling a bit hopeless. It hurts sometimes. But, it’s a lot like ripping off a bandage. It really stings at first, but we get over it relatively quickly. “Yes, but not yet,” though … that one is a lot more tricky. We have to sit in our discomfort – sometimes, for a pretty long time. We might prefer “no” to “yes, but not yet.” “No” seems kinder than “wait” because we don’t have to suffer as long.

I just finished five years of graduate studies (Divinity School), full-time status, while maintaining a full-time job and a part-time job, all while maintaining a family and home. I want the closure and the celebration that goes along with graduating by ceremoniously walking across-stage to receive my degree and hood while my family and friends are there in the audience to mark this very special occasion. Ideally, I would like for that to happen now. But, the process is that I have to wait.

Until May.

It’s Advent season now in the Christian calendar. It’s the season of great expectation – waiting for the arrival of Jesus, the Christ, the Savior. We commemorate the birth of Jesus and the miracle of “God with us.” We also acknowledge the ongoing period of waiting for His return. Contrary to the slew of predictions you may hear from time to time about the end of the world or the return of Jesus, the fact is that we don’t know when Jesus will come back. He even said it “isn’t for us to know.” We are just supposed to wait. And be ready.

While driving through downtown this evening during commuter traffic, I was struck by the ringing of church bells. I rolled down my window so that I could hear them more clearly. “Come, Thou long-expected Jesus, born to set Thy people free. From our fears and sins release us. Let us find our rest in Thee. Israel’s Strength and Consolation, hope of all the earth Thou art; Dear Desire of every nation, Joy of every longing heart.” (Charles Wesley, 1745.) Beautiful.

And as I was reminded of the joy in this great expectation, sitting at a light in the middle of heavy traffic, I didn’t mind waiting. I found rest there instead … and smiled.

Give Thanks. Please.

I recognize that it could be viewed as a form of laziness, reposting a portion of last year’s Thanksgiving-themed blog. (Particularly since I’ve been a real slacker in my blog writing for the last half-year.) Indulge me, if you will, in allowing this one to be passed around in a few heads and hearts again. The message is no less important this year.

For the record, I am exceedingly grateful this year for the joys and milestones experienced in my life and in the lives of my immediate family members. I am grateful for many sincere, genuinely loving and lasting relationships in my life. I have some really awesome friends … and I wish we could spend more quality time together. I am grateful to God for the grace (unmerited favor) that gives me an opportunity to share the gospel (good news) of Jesus with people I may never have a chance to interact with otherwise. May you all have an abundantly joyous Thanksgiving as you seek to truly GIVE thanks.

[Bonus inclusion to make up for re-posting last year’s article: click for a video recording of “Thank You,” recorded live during worship in Butler Chapel on the lovely campus of Campbell Divinity School in 2013.]

From the 2013 blog post:

Thanksgiving Day, when I was growing up, was one of the more revered holidays. It wasn’t a religious holiday, but it was a holy day in many ways. Businesses were closed. We set aside that one day to gather with family – as extended as possible – for an afternoon and evening of feasting. Often, the party moved from one house to the next where we had an opportunity to see new, happy family faces at each stop. When I think of family gatherings, inevitably, I remember the Thanksgiving Days of my earlier years.

Now, Thanksgiving Day has been diminished to a sort of pre-game for the Superbowl of holiday shopping. It’s appalling, really, our lack of attention to the importance of acknowledging and demonstrating gratitude. Surely, we could all use a day to lay aside our cash and credit cards to assemble with friends and family, and to simply be grateful – individually and collectively – for what we have received and for the grace we have witnessed in our lives.

So, I’m making an appeal again this year – an appeal for our return to Thanksgiving. I’m making a plea for our turning away from culturally driven consumerism and turning toward God and those people with whom we are in relationship to say “thank you.” Maybe, just maybe, if we protect that one day of Thanksgiving, we can gradually learn to nurture gratitude as a way of life, instead of nurturing our insatiable desires for more of everything … that leads to satisfaction with nothing.”

I’ve noticed a few of my Facebook friends starting a daily post of thanks-giving as the holiday approaches. Even though a few folks are posting their daily journal in a public forum, I hope there are several more who have, perhaps, decided to take on the Give Thanks challenge in a more private way.

Will you be honoring Thanksgiving Day as a day to practice gratitude in your family? I hope you put as much (or more) effort into that plan as you put into planning which sales you might hit on Black Friday.

I really like the phrase “give thanks.” I like it because it emphasizes the truth that gratitude isn’t something meant to be felt and left there. It’s meant to be shared, to be given away.

Thank you for spending your time reading and thinking about gratitude with me. Now, let’s give thanks together – generously.

Scar stories

My legs tell an interesting story of this summer.

First of all, they tell the story of the first day I wore my favorite new shoes. (I know, the shoe thing again.) On that day, I walked across the street from my office building to get lunch. On the way back, I picked up a couple of chiggers (aka “red bugs”) while cutting through a landscaped area of our parking lot. They’ve marked my legs with red scars the entire summer. I figure the cute shoes distract from the chigger damage.

My legs also tell the story of a one-day beach trip with two of my children. It was a perfect day, really. Except for my sunblock application. That wasn’t so perfect. And I have three very odd areas of tan (previously sunburn) on both legs. I laugh every time I see it. Eventually, this one will fade into even whiteness.

An inch-and-a-half “strawberry” under my left knee tells the latest leg scar story. This one will leave a scar for a long time – maybe forever. On the night before my week-long vacation, I woke up disoriented by the alarm on my dryer, stuck in a loud, consistent buzz. In my haste to turn the buzzer off, and forgetting that an open, fully packed suitcase was beside my bed, I tripped and took quite a fall. Based on my injuries, it was spectacular. No one saw it, not even me. It was dark and I was practically asleep. I asked my son, who was sleeping downstairs, if he remembered hearing all the commotion. He didn’t, and I was relieved. I don’t want him to learn those words from me.

I have several other scars that remind me of past injuries. Most of us do. Sometimes, a scar can remind me of more – like the dinner I was cooking, or the special occasion when I burned the back of my hand – but, most often, I don’t remember anything beyond the actual injury.

What a waste of a good scar!

Our scars represent a lot more than skin damage. Sometimes, they tell of an amazing slide into home base that helped your team win a big game. Or, a scar might be all that remains of a health scare that resolved as a complete healing. Sometimes, scars remind us of lessons learned.

Sometimes, like the risen Jesus, our scars help identify us – not based on the injuries they represent, but based on the story of healing they tell.

Do you have a scar story you’d be willing to share? A scar that is particularly important to you? I’d love to hear what your scars say about you.

What’s in a name?

I suppose we’re all “Royal Watchers” to some degree. I mean, how could you not know that Kate and Will’s son was born this week with all the media coverage?

Our interest in the story of The Royals is nowhere near the interest level in England, of course. (I’m sure the same is said in reverse of our infatuation with our American celebrities.) We have to admit, though, that the appearance of a new heir to the throne of England is exciting stuff. Particularly to those of us who have ever fantasized as children (or adults) of being a king or queen or prince or princess.

So, today’s big news is that Baby Royal has a name: George Alexander Louis. Otherwise, he’ll just be called “His Royal Highness Prince George of Cambridge.” You know, his nickname.

Not too long ago, there was big news about another choice of name – that of Pope Francis. News agencies referred to the choice as “precedent shattering.” According to the Vatican spokesman, Pope Francis chose his name in honor of St. Francis of Assisi because he is revered as a lover of the poor. I like Pope Francis. I like the way he takes seriously his role as a servant leader who genuinely loves people.

Of course, then we read about the slew of names given recently to American celeb babies: Moxie Crimefighter Jillette, Tu Morrow, and North West, for example.

I know. Hard to know what to say about that. I mean, it certainly isn’t the kids’ fault. I wish them all a happy life. But, still …

your name here There is something very important in a name. I like the stories in the Bible that tell of God giving people a new name after some defining mission or transformation comes along. (Think Abram, Sarai, Jacob, Saul …) In counseling, we talk about something called “key memories.” One of my key memories as a child is looking up the meaning of my given name, Sandra. In the book I used those many years ago, the name was defined as “helper of mankind.” (I just pulled it up online and found it to mean either “defender of men” or “unheeded prophetess.” Hey, pay attention.) Reading the meaning of my name led my young self to decide that I should be a missionary of some kind. That knowledge became a very important part of my identity development.

Our names give a certain impression of who we are outside of our actual presence. I have one of those annoying hyphenated last names, by choice, because I have children with two different last names. I chose to maintain my identity with both.

It’s interesting to see the process of choosing when it comes to names. Some choices are driven by tradition. Others are inspired. Some are selfish and silly. A few are earned.

As The Royals have announced the name of the newest heir, I am reminded of a simple girl named Mary, who named her baby Jesus. It was a very common name. Yet, Jesus would become the one to whom all authority in heaven and on earth is given.

There’s a name for the headlines, eh?

My “by 50” list

I suppose I’ve always been a dreamer and a goal setter at heart.

As a young musician, I wanted to meet Prince. And I did, at 22 years old, while living in the Uptown district of Minneapolis. He was wearing a blue jumpsuit. (“I’m goin’ down to Alphabet Street…” Y’all don’t know nothing about that, do ya?)

A few troubled years later, as a recovering AFDC recipient and a developing sales director in North Carolina, I set goals to earn company prizes, awards, and even cars. And I did. I wanted to own a house in which to raise my two young children before I turned 30. And I did. With two weeks to spare.

When my former husband and I first got (back) together (long, semi-sweet story), I wanted to get married and have a child together before I turned 40. And we did, when I was 39. I still have my precious child. The marriage, however, was short-lived.

In a couple of weeks, I’ll be squarely in my late forties. You know, early forties, mid forties, late forties. Ok, late-mid forties. I don’t have any specific goals I want to achieve within the next two weeks – although it would be great if I could choose paint for my bedroom and finally have just one wall color – but there are a few things I’d like to see happen in my life before I hit 5-0.

It’s a short list of things, not entirely unlike a bucket list. I won’t necessarily “die happy” when these things are accomplished. I just need for them to happen to help me cope with the mental baggage of turning 50. By then, I hope to have some actual fruit growing on my tree. A legacy, I suppose. Something that connects me to others in a life-affirming, loving way, and that proves that I’ve been here and did something worthwhile for somebody beyond myself.

So, here are two of the major items I can share, in order:
– Publish The Addict Magnet
– Establish a related conferencing ministry

Truth is, I have done a lot of preparatory work toward these goals, from as far back as six years ago. I wrote the book in 2007, and had a publishing offer, but not the kind I’d like to get. I’ve been in graduate school for the past five years, studying toward a Master of Divinity degree from Campbell Divinity School, to train as a counselor and as a minister. With the book and training under my belt, I should have more of what I need to develop an effective and meaningful ministry.

Of course, if I’ve learned anything in Div School, it’s this: I don’t know much.

I can barely make sense of any of the things that have already happened in my lifetime. I have even less of a chance of accurately predicting what’s going to happen in the next few days, weeks, months, or years.

Still, I’m grateful to the God who continues to plant dreams in the human soul. Those dreams are the only link we have, really, to any notion of “future.”

I believe in dreams, not in the self-helpers’ “believe it and achieve it” way, but as God’s way of communicating to me through the wild ride of my transformation into the Sandy I’ll eventually become while I’m still the Sandy I am.

Maybe I should add in some more intentional dreaming time over these next three years before I reach 50 … Who knows what might be on the next list!

Do I really have to? A lesson on sacrifice, resentment, and choices

Call it a midlife crisis. Call it post-divorce stress or even PMS. Call it what you will, but I’ve had it with living a life framed by what I “have to” do and what I either can’t afford to do or don’t have time to do.

I am in the middle of quite a run of overdue home repairs, replacements, and maintenance. I like home improvements, trust me. I just don’t like to be forced into them.

Building wealth has never been a priority of mine. Give me a person with lots of heart and talent any day over somebody who merely makes a ton of money. Money, however, is a huge factor in my current frustration. Back when I was a sales director, I remember using a line about money that went something like this: “You don’t have to love money. But, it’s kind of like oxygen – you need to have some in order to live.” Being a homeowner makes that sentiment even easier to believe. Since I work more jobs than a sane person should, my solution is to enter home improvement sweepstakes. Hey. Don’t judge.

Actually, what is most likely happening in this momentary frustration is that I’m feeling the effects of some pretty significant and intentional sacrifices I’ve made in my life. Some people find it easier than others to delay gratification. Still fewer tend to make sacrifice a way of life rather than a temporary commitment for a greater purpose. I’m pretty sure I fall into the latter group. I sometimes have to have long conversations with myself about my purposes in giving things up to ensure that my commitment hasn’t outlived its purpose.

As a single parent, saving money and spending time on projects for home improvement have been sacrificed for childcare costs and graduate school. Steaks, chicken with its amazing array of cooking methods, bacon, ham or turkey sandwiches, and dairy-based milk and ice cream have all been set aside to improve my health and my odds of beating heart disease and cancer risks. (Explore a pescatarian diet here.)

Seeking the companionship of a man has been set aside until I feel ready to swim in that sometimes wild, sometimes wonderful ocean again.

All of these things added together can make me grumpy. Grumpier than I like to admit and grumpier than I would like to remain. Sometimes, long-term sacrifice can breed resentment.

As I talk myself through it, I see more clearly that my frustrations are not only temporary, but that I can make new choices to change my circumstances, just like I made choices that led me here. Having choices and knowing what they are is empowering. Choices increase hope and excitement and can reduce feelings of resentment.

Perhaps, choices are the biggest luxuries any of us have — rich or poor or somewhere in-between. I thank God for choices, demonstrated lovingly in the free will He gave to all humans. I thank God also for Wisdom that shows us our perceived walls and limitations and makes us see our choices more and more clearly.

Finding my feet

I may have put too much pressure on myself to break loose and have fun now that my next-to-last school semester is finished.

Rather than being pumped full of motivated energy and chomping at the bit to go out and discover new people and things, I’ve found myself itching to get home at the end of my workday and going to bed early, or at least on time.

Online retail therapy deserves an honorable mention in my current pattern of life. What can I say? I enjoy receiving packages of pretty things … that I can wear.

Part of me is still putting pieces together from things I’ve lost over the past year. I miss my little dog, Stuey, sometimes, especially when I see his picture on my screen saver. I don’t see my adult children as much since they both have grownup jobs now, along with grownup relationships and responsibilities. A lot of my friends are on a trip to Israel this week – a trip I planned to take, but decided against back in the Fall. I don’t regret the decision, but I still wish I could have been there.

I miss being married and having another adult personality around, too. (Especially my ex-husband’s exuberant personality.) That sense of missing out permeates all of my other senses. Frankly, I feel kind of lost without having an insane amount of work and all of my family to focus on in this season. But, I need to take an opportunity to deal with facts and feelings. A lot of my life was pruned away. I remind myself, and others in a similar circumstance, that pruning is just a way to prepare for the season of growth that is coming.

So, I’m feeling a bit less full-grown than I did before. I may look a little bare, or less green. But, I still feel richly blessed in the middle of all of my awkward or self-conscious days. I wonder about what might be around the corner for me and my little guy and pray for wisdom and clarity – for beauty, as we wait for all of our new growth to sprout and bloom.

I’m finding my feet. And I’m buying new shoes in the meantime.

The darkest day

I suspect the desire to avoid pain is one of the most universal human traits. It’s the reason we don’t like dentists or vaccines. It’s written all over our faces as we walk across parking lots or down streets in mid-winter, braced against the biting wind and the chill that sinks into our bones. It’s the reason we don’t know what to say to someone who is grieving a significant loss in his or her life. We don’t know what to say or do because, to know, we would have to allow ourselves to enter into that same painful setting, and that is not something we are willing to do voluntarily.

The avoidance of suffering is one of the main tenets of Buddhism, which teaches its followers the way to overcome desires and, as a result, to reduce suffering. In Christianity, however, Jesus modeled suffering, which we, his followers, understand to be a time of spiritual growth and transformation for us.

Still, Christians, like most humans, prefer to avoid suffering. Even in the ultra-important story of Holy Week, we tend to skip quickly over the crucifixion so that we can celebrate the resurrection. The death of Jesus is painful to retell and, since we know what happened early Sunday morning, it isn’t something we allow ourselves to experience as grief. But we should.

I think it’s safe to say that, generally speaking, people who won’t dwell on the story of Jesus’ crucifixion and death also don’t allow themselves to experience the process of grief fully in life. It is extremely frightening to feel so hurt, so abandoned, so angry, so confused, so out of control as we might feel when a loved one dies. It is also extremely unhealthy not to allow yourself to process those inevitable feelings – whether it’s the loss of someone through death or some other significant loss. Culturally, we do not embrace physical, emotional demonstrations of grieving. Sometimes, however, whether publicly or privately, these expressions are not only appropriate, but are quite healthy.

Today represents the day between Good Friday and Resurrection Day in Holy Week. It is the darkest day. There are no signs of life. There is no sense of hope. Anywhere. There are only questions and doubts and anger and fear.

If we allow ourselves to sit with the emotions produced here, we also allow ourselves to make connections to painful life experiences and unresolved grief. A profound truth taught to me by my counseling professor, Dr. Mac Wallace, came with one simple sentence: “Pain, buried alive, never dies.” If we acknowledge the painful things in our past – name them and allow the feelings they produce to affect us – then we begin to move into a place where transformation and healing can take place.

Don’t be afraid of the darkness of this day. Instead, take this opportunity to do some of the preparatory work necessary for newness and wholeness to come into your life.

Enough for today

Trouble never seems to show up alone. Like misery, trouble loves company.

“When will it get better?!” one of my dear children asked me in exasperation today. I wish I could give a more encouraging answer, but my only honest answer is this: The one thing we can count on is change. If things are going very badly now, they will eventually get better. If things are going great, then buckle up because something difficult your way cometh.

I’ve written a few times about how imperfect our joy is here on earth. I don’t plan to beat that dead horse again. I do think it’s important to point out that, many times, in the middle of trouble, something wonderful walks in with it. I could share a few examples of how that has looked in my life, but I’d rather not spoil your own process of remembering how it has looked in your life. You know, you lose something you really thought you wanted to keep only to discover that, had that disappointment not happened, you would have never found this other thing that suits you so much better! It could happen in the context of jobs, favorite activities, or relationships. The point is, when a whole lot of trouble walks into your life, keep your eyes peeled for the Wonderful.

When trouble swirls around us, it’s easy to feel worried about how long it will stay around. Individual troubles can seem far worse when paired with other troubles and that perception tricks us into feeling hopeless. Trouble is like a virus – it can wreak havoc while it’s around, but it does have a lifespan. It will go away.

Of course, there’s always another trouble waiting to take its place.

Jesus is recorded in Matthew chapter six as saying, “Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.” What is it about trouble that makes worry its constant companion? Why is our worry activated instead of our faith in times of trouble? Worry is far more concerned about tomorrow than faith is.

Faith finds contentment in the grace today brings. Faith knows trouble will come, but knows more how to see the Wonderful in its midst.