Fork in the Road

I used to half-heartedly joke that God is gracious enough to not expose all of my character flaws and sinfulness all at once for surely if I looked at it in its entirety it would destroy me.  Rather than seeing all that falls short of perfection, layers are gently peeled back and I am given the option to address what has been exposed or throw on my defenses of denial, intellectualism, justification, rationalization, minimization, and a whole battery of “tions” and pretend it does not exist.  Every now and then, a REALLY BIG area is exposed, one that is painful and difficult to look at. It is that one that I will fight tooth and nail to ignore; exhaust great emotional energy to avoid.  This week, with the onset of Advent, such a layer has opened up and I find myself at the fork in the road.

Advent.  The season of hope, waiting, and anticipation of full redemption.  It is also recognition that we are living in the space between the Incarnation of Christ’s birth and the waiting for Christ’s return.  I am currently wordless in thinking about full redemption.  Something is churning in my soul – the groaning of the Spirit that knows something big is happening within but I must wait.  Wait to see what is birthed.  Wait and see what I will do with what is revealed.

As the layer is peeled back I can see what is underneath and at first glance, it is not pretty.  I prayed for the coming of full redemption; eagerly desiring to know the fullness of hope, love, and grace.  This nasty layer reveals a huge road block in my movement toward what my soul most wants.  I am face to face with my own self-hatred and loathing.  Confronting the part of me that believes I do not deserve love, grace, kindness – that part that sabotages opportunities for goodness, kindness, and gentleness.  That part of me that fears intimacy because the thought of you, God, or anyone else seeing these nasty corners of my life is too much to handle.  We can call it low self-esteem (I am a child of the 80’s where everyone is good; everyone is a winner.)  We can call it shame.  And most have some dose of this in our lives but we are good at covering it up.  I am really good at using achievements to keep you from seeing my nasties -- even better at using envy and pride to keep myself from seeing it.

This is my fork in the road.  Do I do something about this self-hatred?  Do I allow it to be exposed in order to be redeemed?  Before every Communion, there is a ritual to kneel and pray this prayer, “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.”  This is the same prayer the Roman Centurion said to Jesus as he begged for his servant to be healed.  The question for me, am I willing to risk the unknown journey of healing?  Something big can happen.  Something new can be birthed.  Will I allow it? 

Last night, I spent the evening with a room full of first grade Daisy Scouts.  The topic was friendships around the world.   One of our leaders had the girls draw self-portraits to show how we are both different and similar.  All the pictures were full of happy faces – they were swinging, swimming, pretending to be something from one’s imagination.  They were all full of innocence and a zeal for life.  One girl wrote in huge letters, “I LOVE ME!”  If we truly believe we are fearfully and wonderfully made, and that we are given the gift of redemption and grace because we are so deeply loved, then should this not be on all our papers?  This child was not being proud and bragging.  I saw in her a celebration and recognition that she has been wonderfully made (maybe I am projecting and it really was a case of 7-year-old egoism, but I am choosing to see this as a lesson.) 

Love God and love your neighbor.  True love is both given and received.  The mark of real intimacy is the two-sided nature of the relationship.  I can do acts of love, service, and charity in the name of God and as a token of love for my neighbor, but until I am willing to receive that love, the true gift of full redemption remains just beyond the road block of self-hatred.

Love and Suffering

“If we love God and love others in Him, we will be glad to let suffering destroy anything in us that God is pleased to let it destroy, because we know that all it destroys in unimportant.  We will prefer to let the accidental trash of life be consumed by suffering in order that His glory may come out clean in everything we do.”  Thomas Merton, No Man in an Island

We as a society do not like to suffer.  A billion dollar industry exists to medicate away our pain, sadness, worries, and discomforts.   We have complex coping skills to dull the pain of life.  We watch television, zone out with computer games, sleep too much, drink too much, stuff ourselves with comfort food – anything that will allow us a temporary escape from that which causes discomfort.   What do we lose by avoiding the path of suffering?  As Merton suggests in the above quote, suffering provides an opportunity to purify our intentions and longings.  In suffering we have the chance to reprioritize – to deep clean the closets of our lives and purge the waste.

I find myself ambivalent in regards to suffering.  There is a comfort in the darkness suffering brings.  In suffering, I can curl up with the accompanying sadness and live in an illusion that I am hiding and cannot be found.  My own darkness finds an affinity with suffering – a dark comfort.  I know this place.  I understand this place.  It is here I believe I am invisible – my shame, my embarrassment, my regrets, my failures tucked away in the crevices of my secret suffering.  In the pain of suffering I am keenly aware of my failings but I hold the illusion that this awareness brings a sense of control.  And with control, I determine who sees it.  It is in this sense, I am drawn to suffering.

And like most of us, I work hard to avoid suffering.  Staying busy, using coping techniques to silence the pings of pain and discomfort for I do not want to feel the hurt.  I do not want to experience the loneliness that my fears and avoidance of intimacy bring me.  I do not want to experience the stomach churning guilt that follows the bad choices I most recently made.  I do not want the burden of shame that comes from not doing what I know I am called to do.  I want to put my game face on, my “I am just fine” face and pretend I have it all together.

And then I read Merton.  I am challenged once again to look at the role of suffering.  Curling up with suffering and the choice to avoid it are both self-centered and self-serving.  Suffering is still about me – woe is me, for I have many troubles.  Or, look at me, I am strong, perfect, and have my life together (as I smile to cloak the large pile of crap behind me.)  Instead of the selfish I can try an entirely new paradigm, suffering as the opportunity to love more deeply, to love more purely. 

In grad school we had a term, AFGE – “Another F****** Growth Experience.”  Studying to be a therapist meant a lot of time in supervision groups that forced us to look at our own defense mechanisms and our own dark corners that hold the potential to hinder our ability to empathize and be a healing presence with another.  Every time something new was uncovered, it hurt.  But it also provided the opportunity to do something about it.  It was now in my awareness, and in this light I had the choice to continue the old pattern or find a new path of freedom.  Brought into the light, that which I had hidden away out of fear it would destroy me and everything in its path suddenly lost its power.

 

In suffering, we have that same opportunity.  If we so choose, we can allow it to expose the dark corners of our soul.  It can break the chains so that we can love more freely.  Hiding and covering my darkness takes a lot of energy – energy that could be spent on loving God and my neighbor.

Being True

I had a professor in college we affectionately called "The Sarge."  "The Sarge" taught Koine Greek, or Biblical Greek -- parsing verbs, translating passages.  It was brutal!  So brutal that I took up smoking cheap cigars the night before a test and had a flashcard bonfire at the end of the year.  Outside of Greek, this professor taught sociology and religion classes.  No "Sarge" in these settings.  In fact, she was one of my favorites.  In a time of deep spiritual crisis I went to her for advice.  I needed help dealing with doubt.  My faith journey is marked by a constant wrestle with doubt and fear of spiritual intimacy.  Her advice in 1997, "Cling to the Liturgy.  Let it carry you."

I did not grow up with Liturgy -- rites, rituals, spiritual seasons, and a three-year cycle of reading through the Scripture.  But I was exploring Liturgy through prayer books as well as visiting Greek Orthodox and Catholic churches.  I was beginning to understand that other versions of Christian faith had calendars that followed a rhythm of spiritual seasons -- Advent, Lent, Easter.  Her advice was the answer I needed.  When the doubts come (which they still come often) hold on to the daily readings, the prayers, and the seasons and allow this be be the anchor to Truth.  When my mind and emotions want to throw it all away, Liturgy holds me -- even in those times I am kicking and screaming.

I am now coming out of a season of intense preparation and waiting.  I finished nursing school, passed my boards, and just landed a job on a cardiovascular floor at a major hospital.  Through nursing school, I often found myself bobbing around looking for something to ground me back to my Spiritual base and my own purpose.  I have been a therapist for ten years.  Morning rituals of reading and writing were lost in the business of clinicals, studies, working part time, and most importantly being with my family.  And as in the past, in these seasons of feeling lost, Liturgy brought me back to what matters.  Liturgy guided me back to what really matters.

The Gospel readings over the past few weeks have focused on Jesus' parables regarding our talents.  What do we do with what God has given us?  Do we hide it or do we invest it?  To answer this core question of what to do with what we have been given, we must first understand who we have been made to be.  Now, being an introvert and a therapist, this can lead me to a journey of introspection for the sole purpose of staring at my personality.  I do believe we must do some soul searching -- how are we uniquely made?  What talents do we have?  But it cannot stop there, it must lead to the second part, how am I called to use this to love my neighbor?  How am I called to be in order to further bring the Kingdom of God here on earth?  This is a question of stewardship.  How am I investing my being that God has uniquely created to love God and love my neighbor?

Over the last several days I must have found some time portal and transported back to jr. high.  I found myself in an intense pursuit of social acceptance.  I was using my ability to adapt my personality in order to mirror those I deemed "the cool moms."  I sacrificed my true self, the self that is serious about spiritual matters, social justice, respecting the Sacraments of the church -- I buried these gifts and passions out of fear.  Fear that others would not accept this "nerdy and do-gooder" side of me.

Opening myself up to the Liturgy, jumping back into the routines that ground me, I find myself.  I found myself in the Gospel stories as the one burying my talents.  I found myself repentant and awakened.  This was not who I was called to be.  But without some anchor, something serving as a constant call to be true, I quickly return to bouncing around and conforming to whoever or whatever is around me.

Being true to myself has a higher purpose.  It is the vessel from which I love those around me.  Taking the time to stay rooted, to stay focused on that which God has uniquely called me to keeps me in tune to the part I am called to play.  We are all one body made up of many parts.  Staying connected to that which anchors me to Truth serves as the constant reminder to continue playing my part.  It is so easy for me to get jealous of others and to sacrifice my true self in hopes for temporary acceptance, but in the end this only hurts myself and my neighbor.  Be true.

Health as Nonviolence.

Friday was a wake-up call.  It was the sort of sirens blaring in my ear kind of wake-up call.  Last year at this time, I ran a half marathon after months of consistent training.  It was not a fast time, but I ran the whole 13.1 miles.  Last Friday was the walk-a-thon at my kids’ school and I volunteer to walk with kindergarten.  It was a rough half-mile course of shame.  I was out of breath and unable to keep up with energetic six-year-olds.  It is amazing what a year can do, or in this case, undo.   A combination of nursing school, a harsh winter, and comfort eating has left me overweight, sluggish, and low on energy.   This is not a situation I intended to be in and yet this is exactly where I find myself.

Over the past year, I have thought a lot about food.  On Monday I heard a new thought referenced to Martin Luther King Jr.’s daughter – access to and consuming healthy food is an act of nonviolence.   Or to flip it, filling my body with comfort foods that provide little nourishment and dull the stress is an act of violence against my body.  I work a lot with adolescents who engage in cutting behaviors.  These are violent acts that typically frighten friends and family (and the scars are often a cry for help that should not be ignored).  Cutting creates shock due to its extreme behaviors.  Can we draw a similarity with our own food choices?   I choose toxins to dull my pain, gain a few pounds, and no one says a word.  We have become desensitized to the effects of obesity and our addiction to sugar.  Yet, if we really think about it, is it not an act of violence against our bodies? 

And let us step further and look at food and community.  We live in a prosperous country and yet we have food deserts.  There is a genuine lack of healthy food options that are affordable and accessible to much of our neighbors.  If health is a basic human right, then what am I doing to end the injustice?   How much harm has my silence on this matter caused?

Our bodies are a tabernacle of Christ.  As a Christ-bearer, do I treat my own body with dignity, respect, and honor?  Sadly, I often forget that I am called to love with my whole being, including my physical body.  If my own body is worn down, exhausted, and lethargic because I have continuously poisoned it with rows of Oreoes (not that an occasional Oreo is a bad thing), it is more than my own personal problem.  My choices, my responsibility as a Christ-bearer impacts the greater Community around me.

And if others we encounter are Christ, how do we treat them?  If they are hungry, do we feed them?  Do we feed ramen noodles and the canned goods that no one really likes?  Or do we truly nourish those around us?  Do we work to provide access to fresh fruits and vegetables or are we content to provide fillers of empty calories?  What if our food pantries were stocked with fresh produce and tips on how to prepare a nutritious and delicious meal?  What if our food deserts were filled with produce stands?  What if when we gathered together we served quality foods that honor our bodies and the Christ that lives within us?  What if we begin a conversation about holistic health as a social justice issue?  I wonder where this might take us...

If you are interested in a 20 minute talk on how community can fight obesity and diabetes, then I encourage you to watch the Ted Talk linked here.

Tossing out a Theory of Emotions

My six-year-old daughter is teaching me a lot these days (and giving me gray hair!)  If you asked her if she were loved, she is likely to tell you “No.  I have a terrible life and people are mean to me.  I do not like being me.”  She may also include that I am mean to her and not her siblings because I do not allow her to have her way and sometimes she has to wait for others to do some activity. 

If you were to watch her interact at school, or really anywhere other than home, you would see a smart, kind, creative, happy little girl.  The thoughts she carries deep in her brain are so incongruent with the life she lives.

The therapist in me sees warning signs for a future of depression and anxiety.  The mom in me is heartbroken that she truly has a difficulty seeing herself as loved.  If she were not my child, I would wonder what type of home environment was feeding these thoughts.  We are not a perfect family.  I am not a perfect mom and at times I say things I regret.  But, we are a loving, safe, consistent, and fun home.  We cuddle under blankets and read or have a movie night.  We hug frequently.  We say “I love you” several times a day.  We laugh together.  Play games.  Talk during car rides instead of watching movies or listening to music.  Every night our children are tucked in by parents – songs are sung, backs are rubbed, prayers are said, and those quiet and deep questions are explored.  Our home screams “we love our children deeply”, and yet there is one for whom this love does not penetrate to the same depth it does the others.  There remains one in our home who feels different; who feels alone and unloved.

I get my six-year-old child for I too carry the same burden of feeling unloved.  Here is where my child is teaching me – I blamed my childhood and some of the traumatic events that took place.  I am sure that played a part in keeping weighing down the burden.  Now, looking at my own child who has to the best of my knowledge never experienced a traumatic event, I wonder if there is not an innate personality trait that must simply be accepted.

As I explore my motivation for achievement and having a long list of accomplishments, under this is my insecurity and fear that I am not loved or even lovable.  I hear people talking about their faith life and how they can sense God’s love and feel it, and I mean really feel it.  I have had glimpses of this, but something in me says they are experiencing something more that I can imagine.  The temptation is to be jealous and envious at their spiritual togetherness and to berate myself for not allowing my heart to experience God’s love in this palpable manner.

So here is my theory.  It is not fully formed and I am not settled that it is completely right.  I toss it out for conversation.  What if this dysthymic disposition I carry and it seems my oldest child also carries, what if this is who we are and something that must be accepted?  St. Augustine wrote about not allowing our feelings to be our final authority, but rather our intellect.  What if then, our act of faith is to act with the cerebral knowledge that we are indeed loved, to cling to the rationale argument that supports the fact we are loved despite feeling the opposite at the emotional level?

I became a therapist to fix this problem – to heal the emotional life; to heal my emotional wounds.  I still believe in therapy.  I believe I have experienced a great deal of emotional healing and wounds that were once raw and infectious are now scarred over and healthy.  I am though questioning the authority I have given emotions.  I follow my gut in making decisions, and frequently my intuition is accurate.  But, if feelings are counter to the rational, I must choose to go with the rational.  The truth is in the facts.  My oldest has two parents that would lay down their life for her, friends that enjoy her, teachers that adore her, grandparents that would give her the world – she is well loved.  I am surrounded by love and kindness.  And God’s truth – I am with you always . . . I am love.  These are the facts. 

My theory – I may never “feel” loved the way I want to on an emotional level and perhaps I need to accept this as part of my personality structure – part of how my brain works.  Instead of fighting to try and fix what I think is broken, maybe I need to accept that it is not as broken as I think and instead may actually be a gift.  Perhaps it is this dysthymia that allows me to be compassionate and empathic towards the unloved because I know the pain that accompanies this emotional poverty. 

Fulfillment

It is a new year.   Like most people, I made up my resolutions and goals for the year.  Unlike previous years, I have them posted on the refrigerator as a constant reminder staring at me.  And to not get so overwhelmed, I have my weekly goals taped next to my bathroom sink – small goals working toward the larger goals.  Backing up these goals is my word of the year, “BALANCE.”  This is my year of balance.  I have a history of making goals that are so extreme that I cannot possibly achieve them, or if I could achieve them it comes at a sacrifice for other more worthy efforts.  

Behind balance is another word, fulfillment.   This has been a rough Indiana weather week.  Snow, subzero temps leading to being cooped up in the house for a few days.  I have not worked in nearly three weeks and my kids have yet to return to school (today is the magic day back!)  I spent the last week doing NOTHING.  And I mean NOTHING productive.  I watched TV.  I played a whole lot of MarioKart with my kindergarten son, who for the record is waaaaay better than me.  I built blanket forts and snow forts.  My productivity went out the window and is buried somewhere under the foot of snow in my backyard. I had books I wanted to read; house projects that could have been accomplished . . . And it got me thinking, what am I really pursuing? 

I have spent my life being competitive and working toward being “the best.”  And if I could not be the best, then I would at least create an image that looked the part – sort of a “fake it till I make it.”  Doing nothing was never okay, and if I was just wasting time I sure as heck would not admit it to any onlookers.   School has always come easy until now – nursing school is dishing me some humble pie.  I am not the best.  I do not have straight “A’s”.  It is forcing me to accept there is more to life than letter grades – that I am more than what a transcript says about me. 

Grades, a fit body, achievement, production – these do not bring me to a place of fulfillment.  They fill time and anxious space, but they do not bring me real joy and satisfaction.   Fulfillment comes when I am living fully the life I have been called to live.  I am mother.  I am wife.  I am healer/therapist.  I am called to be an incarnational representation of Christ to those around me.  So as I made my goals this year, it came back to this – what will lead to greater fulfillment?  What will bring me closer to Christ and the person he has called me to be?