I am Complaining to YOU, God

I am reading Richard J. Foster's book, Prayer.

I am seeing God in a whole new way. An authentic way. A grace-filled way. My glasses have been removed during this journey post-valley walking in my marriage (although, sometimes, I wonder if I'm just walking through a higher plane in the valley. Not quite sure that I've cleared this valley. Sometimes, not sure I've seen the light except for glimpses).

God's grown bigger...but fuzzier too. I think it's because I always tried keeping Him in the frame of my "glasses" and now that they're gone, I am blown away by how much bigger He really is.

This book that I'm reading though, has given me permission to do something I've rarely done before--Complain to God ABOUT HIS absence. It's strange that I've never thought to do it before, because this no-no in my head, is all over the Scripture.

It seems disrespectful, ungrateful, irreverent. A sin.

But, just like the psalmists and others before me, sometimes, I just gotta. Just like when I try and share my concern with my husband, or complain to him about the crap we deal with in our lack of communication and unequally-yoked ground. It just has to come out for my own pent-up heart overflow.

Same thing with God. I've got to figure out some stuff, and it has to do with Him...or the lack of His action in my life.

Above all else though, He's the safe place to do it too.

If God is really my Father, then, just like my children so often do to me, I can complain to Him. He can handle it.

So yeah. I am going to leave this post there. Kinda itchy, kinda gravely on my tongue. A bit aggravating and non-conclusive. We are humans. And, although we want answers and we want them now, life just doesn't happen that way.

But, I can complain about it in a safe place.

Before I end actually, I'll include Psalm 13 for example. He's big enough. And I am only going to grow deep if I get my fit out. The thing is, I KNOW, He'll still meet me on the other side of that fit. That's Grace. Isn't it?

How long, O Lord? Will You forget me forever?

How long will You hide Your face from me?

2 

How long shall I take counsel in my soul,

Having sorrow in my heart all the day?

How long will my enemy be exalted over me?

3 

Consider and answer me, O Lord my God;

Enlighten my eyes, or I will sleep the sleep of death,

4 

And my enemy will say, “I have overcome him,”

And my adversaries will rejoice when I am shaken.

5 

But I have trusted in Your lovingkindness;

My heart shall rejoice in Your salvation.

6 

I will sing to the Lord,

Because He has dealt bountifully with me.

The Shame Game: 3 Temptations to Play

I am coming off my promise to only look at FB when I have a notification. I put a "no scroll" rule on myself for my own sanity...and discernment.

I'll be the first to admit, I have A LOT of opinions. I make snap judgements, I raise an eyebrow at THAT, I roll my eyes at THAT, I shake my head at THAT. And if you don't, I truly want to affirm you for being a free-er, more stable person than me. But according to my thousand plus friends out there, I'd say there are a number of people who are just as opinionated as me. I think it's called being human?

As I've been on a scrolling frenzy over the past couple of weeks, and I've seen a pretty significant decline in my attitude and self-talk, I realized that I've bought into The Shame Game of Twenty-First-Century Culture. I'm munching on the Lotus and unable to get myself out of the pool of self-doubt and self-criticism. Ever been there?

Three things are threatened when I am playing in the shame game, and I need to self-protect and change my approach when I get on social media...

1. Motherhood. I am going to start off by giving all of us mamas a pat on the back for caring enough for our kids. When it comes to our kids, most of us are just trying to do the best we can.

That goes for:

sleep schedules
schooling
activities
meals
care providers
wellness
life...

You name it, I've found myself questioning my sense as a mother in all aspects due to the strongly weighted posts out there. The temptation to feel judged or scrutinized or lesser of a mom is one of the BIGGEST threats to me on social media.

 I know I've posted things that are probably stumbling blocks for other moms. Who hasn't? If we think our way is best for our family, and someone else is doing it differently, then of course we are going to question ourselves. If we think a certain way is WRONG, then we have this strange urge to announce it and feed shame to our people. Meh.

God put each of us in charge of these little people we raise, and I have to remember that the criticism, pride, and my-way-is-better attitude is just not worth playing with. We're doing the best we can. Whether it be different thoughts on schooling, eating, wellness, or what technology we buy, MY HEART IS FOR MY CHILDREN over the latest method or school of thought. And I know, YOUR HEART IS FOR YOUR CHILDREN, and we cannot play the shame game when we are all on equal ground.

2. Successes. If you follow me on social media, you'll know that I am an author. And I often post stuff about my writing journey and my highs, lows, and in-betweens. I have other friends who are:

authors
artists
coaches
health specialists
exercise professionals
chefs
business owners
And a whole bunch of crazy talented you-name-its.

I often find myself editing and rewriting a post--or deleting one--because:
A. I am not as good as that next person in my shamed mind's eye,  OR
B. I know what it feels like to journey three steps behind someone else on my "dream" walk and I don't want to appear like a braggart or insensitive.

Often, I wonder if I should just get off of social media altogether because it's so easy to retaliate to the inferiority brought on by scrolling with my own puffed-up post. ACK. Yeah, I just admitted that. Be tempted to judge me? Hmmm, please say I'm not the only one.

What I have to remind myself is, first, just because I sense a certain tone in a post as something unnerving, doesn't mean that was the intent of the poster. Let's think about that for a moment.

A post's tone can be read differently than it was meant to be received. 

Maybe I shouldn't take things so seriously? Hmmm...

I've begun to look at how beautiful humanity is in our different passions and talents and journeys regardless of a silly social media post. I've found so much joy on my path to publication, and I KNOW I am not the only one who has found it, or been inspired to use a talent.

I must look through the lens of understanding, finding excitement at the unique ways God directs the talents of others. When I stop striving to show off my own successes and cheer on those who are also using their gifts and interests and talents in this life, then my temptation dies and the game is over.

3. My Relationships. There are opinions on just about everything. And even more. Yeah,

it's gotten ridiculous, hasn't it? EVERY.SINGLE.ISSUE has a pro or con post by someone. And I've written plenty of my own, believe me... (didn't we just have a virtual civil war last November? Just sayin').

The risk I run during a scroll session, is falling for the bait and forming an opinion on the spot--without research or reason, (or prayer...hmm), and then shaming others in my comment...bleh!

My favorite way to have a friendly exchange of opinions, besides face to face, has been in Messenger. That way, it's one-on-one, with respect and knowledge of previous and present relationship with that person. The shame game is over when you are two individuals sharing (usually...depending on the relationship, I guess).

HOWEVER, some things just need to be said on our walls, in our circles, whenever we can have a voice--especially when injustice is gaining momentum and the general opinion is in an uproar. We need to speak up for TRUTH when the world is clambering around in LIES and darkness. It's our job as the Salt and Light of the world...if that's our intention. A lot of times, I just want to get my opinion heard in the masses...and that's when I get wet with shame and regret, and most of all, broken relationship.

So now, I need to ask myself this...

What's my motive? 

And I MUST NOT assume the motives of others as they post.

The criticism is destructive, the temptation is thick, and if there is one thing in Twenty-First Century Culture that I could do away with, it's the Shame Game. 

How about you?

I am that mom.

I am that mom.

The one who has a gaggle of kids, sitting alone in church.

I am that mom. The one you look at with pity--or criticism--the mom who has a kid sitting in her gaggle who just did THAT in church, when everyone is silent and the pastor's praying.

I am that mom, whose shoulders shake during the prayer because I'm crying so hard at my circumstance, my humiliation, and my anticipation of what's coming next. What's the next disruption my family can manage to include in this one hour long beating of sitting together to focus on the beating of a Savior?

I am that mom, who you might think needs a good talking to because her children are OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW, but they don't behave, and they are disrespectful and loud and angry and giggly and all the things we were never allowed to be in church.

I am that mom who read the SAME parenting books as the mom across the aisle whose kids sit nicely and behave.

I am that mom who may have once judged another mom whose kids were out of control at church, and was miffed that they would disrupt my worship session.

I am that mom who's eating crow.

I am that mom whose family is broken. We just are. We are all grieving. And every church service is a flat-out reminder that we are still in the cycle of grief. Sure, we might not have suffered divorce, or death, or financial ruin--but we are grieving just the same.

Is that why my children--the gifted and talented one, the superstar athlete one, the compassionate, ginormous heart one, and the larger-than-life one--become weighted down with bad behavior when we sit there, trying to focus on the God Who was flushed away by the one person we all love so very much?

I am crushed by my embarrassment. I am absolutely distraught in my hopelessness. And I find myself on the verge of tears even twelve hours later.

Have you ever been there? Have you ever felt like an ant under a spy glass with your tribe throwing knives at you?

My only saving grace is a friend who was there to listen to me weep afterward. A friend who understands the immense pressure I feel, and the possible ground of attack that has replaced our foundation.

I am that mom, who might just let her kids sleep in on Sunday morning, and many Sundays after.

I am that mom, who, if you see me with my eyes closed in prayer, with five empty seats about me, I am praying my heart out for my family.

For the grief.

For the healing.

But most importantly...

For a hopeful future season of renewal and resurrection. And if I see another mom, struggling to maintain her composure, I can be of encouragement and tell her I've been that mom too.

A Lifetime to Treasure

Ever hold something ordinary that brings you to a place hidden away deep in your memory? Ever burst into tears realizing that a time you'd thought would be ages ahead, has smacked you right dab in the middle of your present reality?

Recently, I received my inherited treasures from my grandparents' estate. My grandmother passed away a few years ago, and we just had my grandfather's ten year memorial service in January.  I've had time to mourn and process and miss them. And time to move forward in my own path of life. I've been at peace in my grief.
I must admit, there is excitement in receiving antiques. A love for history cultivates a great respect for things of old--even if they are just cobbler tools and powder horns. Even if they are hand-shaped ladles and bowls. Simple, ordinary, but treasures to me. I knew I would receive these things and excitedly opened my box.

But what I didn't expect, was to find the pictures of my children and my wedding, still trapped in the same frames my grandmother had once picked out. Our faces staring up at me reminding me that it is finished--that the smiles once gifted to them from me, and placed neatly about their rooms where I'd visit, were now being returned. A flood of emotion struck me hard. Had I really come to this far-off point in my life where all those gifts I'd given were left behind by those I'd love?

Forever placed behind glass by my grandmother.

How could I be here--grandparent-less, inheritor of stuff? How could I be here, finding the space in my own place from a tomb of a house ready to purge all that memory that was my life--my childhood--my foundation?

This is the original frame, about 2 ft
in height. A 1915 Wedding portrait.

Trinkets, early 20th century cobbler tools,
powder horns

Even now, the lump grows in my throat as I lovingly admire the new additions to my home. I guess I have grown up more than I care to admit in my forty years. I used to want to be on top of decorating trends and all the newness seen in magazines and home shows. But trendsetting on my walls and shelves is not nearly as important to me now.

A historical scene I admired as a child,
now graces my dining room

I've got a lifetime of treasures to display. 

A treasured lifetime to remember.

My grandfather inspired my love of architecture, and I always
remember these pictures in their house that now hang in my room.
And that chaise lounge in the corner is the first chaise lounge
I'd ever seen--a luxurious seat that my grandmother
had by her own bed.

My Friendship Anxiety

Lately, I've had some major anxiety. Surprising? Maybe not. Four kids, a husband, a house, two dogs,
two books, a couple WIP's (works-in-progress), and part-time ministry work--throw in baseball practice, ballet, cub scouts, school volunteering...and ...

I have a buffet-style filled plate and it is overflowing.

And I love it.

No matter how much I complain about it...it's LIFE in the fullest sense.

But I have been contemplating lately, and the anxiety I speak about has little to do with all that life. I've noticed that my deepest seeds of insecurity are in my lifelong treasure--Friendship. If you've read my last post, "My Grief List", you know this is something I care for deeply, and I mourn when there's change.

There have been a few recent interactions that have shaken me to the bone, and have caused me to wonder what the root of this insecurity is.

Why do I view my friendships as so...conditional?

I often find myself apologizing to my friends for what I've said or, WHAT I THINK...I don't trust my opinions to not be taken as weapons of destruction. I don't trust my heart to be valued beyond my actions or my mistakes.

Something inside me has shouted for years,

"Friendship is temporal. It will inevitably fail because of ME."

The lies float in my head and they are toxic to my spirit:

"You can't be too different than your friend or they'll reject you."

"Your opinions must line up or you have nothing in common."

"You are too outspoken and your words will kill the friendship."

"You only have a finite number of chances to fail before they will walk away."

Honestly, some of these things have come to fruition over the years. I have the scars of dead friendships because, in my perception, one of these lies has proven true.

And I think that's the ugly root of it all. The lies appear to be true. But, do I really know the depth of what was going on in the other person's heart? What scars were they acting on?

I love the verse in Thessalonians. It proves that the author must have sat with the Thessalonians in their disbelief, in their differing opinion, and grown in love before anything else. There was no judgement there, just growing friendship. "We cared so much for you..." came first. Not, "Because you received the Gospel, we cared for you..."

They cared for them. Like I care for my friends--regardless of what they think or believe. At least, in theory. I have the scars to prove that as a friend, I have been considered, "Too much", "Too different", "Too me."

This is where grief comes into play, I guess. I think my anxiety is just part of the grief cycle of lost friendships, and the changing ones. And just like a grieving soul, I have allowed people to become too much of an indicator of my joy.

There's so much joy to be had. And I have turned my back on it too much lately. I mean, I have some pretty amazing friends...and yet, I am a doomsayer, waiting for them to turn their backs on me because of...me.

I want to take those lies and rip them to shreds, and plant my heart with truth. I want different to be amazingly attractive. I want opinions to be counted as thought-provoking and valued for what they are worth--so very little in the shadow of truth. And I want fallibility and failure to be seen as an open door to love even more.

The cool thing is, I have some wonderful people in my life who already grow this way. They are some pretty amazing grace-bearing women.

I just need to cut a sample from them and plant it in my own heart.  Because they have grown dear to me, and I want to share my life with them even in my imperfection.