Spiritual Growth

Messy Love

ChvNc1e56jjiFBwqXb7O52zXmKsXvjGCcwIajjjTkrwFor forty years he pursued me. Starting when I was just barely fifteen. He fell in love after a couple dates. I had my doubts. He didn’t even know me. I feared intimacy. But Tim never gave up.

Now I realize we fought in different ways. But with the same purpose. We fought for the relationship. Together we pushed through the tension. We failed, we succeeded, then we failed some more. But we made it to the finish line.

Every great story has a struggle. A fight to overcome the odds. And the best ones are when small overcomes great. Or weak finds the fight to defeat the strong.

How many times have we watched the timid warrior pick up his sword? We see the tension as he grits his teeth. Our hearts race as he runs into battle. We inch forward to the edge of our seats.

And when he slays the dragon, we can’t help ourselves. We collectively rise to our feet, pump our fists in the air, and cheer.

Why?

Because God placed a little bit of eternity in our hearts. And it’s the opposite of the fallen world we live in. This world that longs to be righted. Where the end is already written, but yet to be lived out.

So, what if our biggest enemies aren’t demons and dragons? What if it’s our incessant need to be comfortable? To at all cost, withdraw from the tension. To remove ourselves from the fight. To avoid relationships that can potentially cause us pain.

Comfort is the breeding ground of mediocrity. The place where we give up the fight. Where we settle for less than our fullest potential. Where we never push ourselves to see what comes out.

Brene Brown says, “We want love to be unicorns and rainbows. Then Jesus comes in and dies.”

And God calls it…LOVE.

Messy, painful, overcoming…LOVE.

 

Please Don’t Measure Me by my Failures

After 2½ years of grieving, I’ve decided to consider dating. But not without a great deal of trepidation. After investing forty years into a relationship, I fully understand the cost. That love is a risk and not all roses and champagne. As much as it satisfies, it can also hurt.

I’d become so comfortable being Tim’s wife. I liked the security and looked forward to settling into our senior years together. We were at peace with each other’s failures, eliminating the need to discuss them. And we deeply relished our successes. His loss wiped out the vision I had for my future. DSC00348

So a large part of me wants to tuck myself in at night and protect my vulnerability. To thwart off any potential rejection before it creeps in. After all, do I even know how to build a relationship from the ground up?

At my age, I’m not sure I can control my emotions. I’m not sure the reasonable side of my mind can lead the feeling side. That I can logically evaluate a persons life experiences and choose wisely. Can I even follow the relationship advice I gave my children?

But somehow, that all feels too judgmental. Because, if I’m going to size up a man based on his failures, then in turn, he’s free to do likewise with me. And at my age, who hasn’t failed? At least in some part of their relationships.

And do I want someone to judge me on the sum of my short comings? Or, am I allowed to show how those experiences molded and shaped me into a better version of myself?

Many people my age are picking up the pieces of broken lives. And like Tim and me, they’re adding them up and applying the necessary grace to move into a very difficult season. But if those around them continue to hold them to the fire of their short comings, what does that tell us about the God who ultimately redeemed us all?

So, I think I’ll not look at a man’s failures, but seek to understand what he has learned about himself. After all, I know exactly what I would do differently with Tim. I know how I hurt him, and I’m committed to not go down that path again.

It takes a lot of grace to go the distance in any relationship. And if God counted the cost up front, would mankind ever have existed? What if it pleases Him when His children remember the grace offered them, by passing it on to others?

For that grace heals those deep wounds. It binds us together at the foot of the cross. And it reminds us, we can never give more than what has already been given.

 

 

 

My Buckets of Regret

It crept up on me, this aging thing. When young, my goal was to get through life with as few regrets as possible. To do my best to not step on any toes. To survive with everyone still liking me.

Now in my late fifties, it’s safe to say, I failed.

My primary stumbling block? Passion. I’ve never been the quiet one in the corner. Nor the one to hold back an opinion. Nope, I’m not the one who waits to speak after everyone has shared their view.

Get me in a group, and my passion rears it’s ugly head. Make me mad, and off it goes. Risk challenging me, and I’ll do my best, but will probably give you a big chunk of my passion. I’m sorry to say, despite my best efforts; I still fight to rein it in.

To make matters worse, I have a good memory. And many nights I lie in bed reliving the streams of thought that should never have left my lips. And as they come back, I see the faces of those privileged enough to receive them. There’s nothing more dreadful than the image of your words bouncing off the face of someone you love.

Unfortunately, my passion not only impacts what I say, but what I do as well. More than once, I’ve unbridled it and indulged in activities that brought shame on me and my family.

Over the years, I fought it off by seeking wisdom. I read a ton of books. I attended bible studies and worship services. I went on the retreats. I even pleaded with God to change me. To make me different. To freaking calm me down. But sadly, He never did.

So now, when I look back, I face buckets of regrets. And like King Solomon, I’m realizing,

“What is twisted cannot be straightened; What is lacking cannot be counted.”

Clearly there is nothing new under the sun. And a quick reading of Ecclesiastes shows I share the same struggle as the saints of old.

So this week, I soothed my regrets by letting David Crowder remind me to lay down my burdens and my shame. For I needed to remember, that earth has no sorrow that heaven can’t heal.

COME AS YOU ARE
Come out of sadness from wherever you’ve been
Come broken hearted let rescue begin
Come find your mercy, Oh sinner come kneel
Earth has no sorrow that Heaven can’t heal
Earth has no sorrow that Heaven can’t heal
So lay down your burdens, lay down your shame
All who are broken, lift up your face
Oh wanderer come home, You’re not too far
So lay down your hurt, lay down your heart
Come as you are
There’s hope for the hopeless
And all those who’ve strayed
Come sit at the table
Come taste the grace
There’s rest for the weary
Rest that endures
Earth has no sorrow
That Heaven can’t cure
Come as you are
Fall in His arms, come as you are
There’s joy for the morning, Oh sinner be still
Earth has no sorrow that Heaven can’t heal
Earth has no sorrow that Heaven can’t heal

 

To Know Me is to Know My Struggle

Many years ago, I believed if I just had enough counseling I could overcome my dysfunction and be a normal person. Now don’t get me wrong, I strongly believe in therapy. And when you come from severe dysfunction, sometimes it’s your only hope. But it’s not like taking a pill when you have an infection. Therapy doesn’t just make it all go away.

And who wants to get counseling when it forces you to look at yourself. For in that looking, you see all the ways you self-destruct your own life and those around you.

For most of my adult life, I’ve fought against my own dysfunction. To know me, is to know my struggle. I’m outspoken, controlling, and driven to get my own way. And I don’t struggle in silence. I tend to openly reveal my battles, and I expect others to do the same. To me, intimacy involves a deep down sharing of the wars that rage inside us. I believe it’s where I begin to understand you and you begin to understand me.

And in that understanding, deep relationships bloom. For if I know the source of your struggle, and I see you fighting against it, I can respect you. I can join you in your fight. And cheer you on to victory.

It’s true, the closer someone is, the greater they can hurt you. That’s always the risk. Let someone in, and the pain door flings wide open. But when I know your challenges, it makes it easier for me to apply grace.

On the flip side, I don’t share my struggles so other’s can use them against me. I don’t reveal them as fuel for someone to build up their own distorted view of themselves.

Over the years, many well-meaning folks have tried to fix me. I guess it goes with the territory of having a soap opera caliber life. Perhaps it makes them feel better to help a sloppy soul like mine. But their pity makes me feel worthless. I wanted friendship, but it was clear that was never their goal.

It’s so cliché to say life is not fair. But there’s no phrase that says it better. I celebrate those who had great childhoods. It’s wonderful your dad invested in you or your mom was the model for June Cleaver. Maybe you’re not a self-saboteur like me. But I’d almost bet you struggle with pride.

That’s what’s so great about Christ. He never let anyone off the hook. We all have something to own in this great big battle against sin. And our only job is to turn around and take a look at ourselves. Examine our own hearts. It’s all there waiting for us to unravel.

But there’s nothing like great friends who are willing to chug alongside us as we face the worst parts of ourselves.

IMG_2572

My Chugging Friends, Ginni and Dian

 

 

 

I’m Selfish – How About You?

AJM & UE

For my entire adult life, she’s never been more than a phone call away. And call her I did. She was the first to learn Daniel was arrested. The first one told Tim had cancer. Over the phone we celebrated all my life’s accomplishments. And we cried over all my challenges.

For the past 50 some years, I’ve spent hours pouring my heart out to her, knowing she’d not only understand, but also give me a perspective to help me to grow.

So it’s hard to watch Aunt Jeanne Marie struggle with dementia. It’s hard to adjust when she forgets who she’s talking to. It’s painful when she knows it. And when she gets upset, my heart aches.

Aging is hard. And to think my whole life it’s gone on around me. But in the selfishness of my youth, I’ve looked the other way. I wasn’t around as my grandparent’s aged. And both my parent’s died relatively young. So much of this journey is new to me.

But I’ve been calloused toward the aging. I’ve not noticed their struggle, or been mindful that I could possibly help.

I guess it’s human nature, or maybe it’s our youth obsessed culture. We enter this world with guns a blazing. We wail like mad at the first hint of our need. We’re like the two-year-old on the toilet when an earthquake rumbles who asks his mother, “What did I do?” We would never say it out loud, but we do think the world revolves around us.

But God has a way of pulling us back in. Of reminding us there’s a reason the weak shall inherit the earth. That deep down satisfaction comes when we give ourselves away. That self-centeredness is the fastest route to self-destruction. Aging has a way of bringing it all back around. Of teaching us how helpless we really are.

AJM & Her Girls 2I cherish my Aunt Jeanne Marie. And to me, she will always be that 30 something beauty that stepped into my life after my father died. And I don’t care if today she thinks I’m her sister Josephine, or that Uncle Eugene is Uncle Lewis. I’ll just roll with it for as long as she’s willing to talk.

For my hope lies in the truth that God is in the business of making all things new. And for those of us who put our trust in Christ, we will all get new bodies. And one day, there will be a new heaven and a new earth. But in the mean time, God is preparing a place for my Aunt Jeanne Marie. A place with no more tears, no more death, and no more dying.

And to that I say, come Lord Jesus, come.