I was visiting with a friend today (I tend to do that a lot:) who is in ministry and I felt like I was looking in a mirror or maybe even the ghost of Christmas future if I were to have stayed in that life. She's much older than I am, with many more years in ministry under her belt. She's made different choices than I have, though I see similar hang ups between us. I'm not sure if our similar personal issues are products of being in church leadership or if they are what drew us to ministry in the first place. It's probably both. I'm confident that these things are fundamentally unhealthy and commonly reinforced by the church leadership environment. I see her people-pleasing. I see her exhausting herself. I see her floundering to keep up with the expectations placed on her both by her past behavior (over-activity) and by the community who hired her husband to serve them.
I see her missing opportunities to be still. I see her mind racing frantically; her heart left unattended while she watches over the hearts of others. I see her telling herself and others that she enjoys all her service activities, while her spirit says she needs rest. Don't get me wrong; she is a LOVELY person. She believes she's doing the right thing, serving God, being fulfilled by it, even. While my ministry experience is limited in comparison to hers, I feel like I've been around the block enough to be able to identify care-taking, people-pleasing, resentment and burn out. I feel like I can see that without judging her because THAT'S ME! The church teaches us that "service" is the most important thing. That's how we act like Jesus, which is the ultimate goal. Service is defined by not thinking of (listening to) yourself but by putting others first. Yes is always the right answer.
I'm all for loving people and going out of my way to be mindful of how my choices affect others. And maybe it's just me, as I'm the one who's therapist is hoping that the "others first" voice in my head would actually quiet down. That I wouldn't let my concern for others override my concern for myself. Even writing that, I know the over-churched will read that and think I'm a heretic at worst, or selfish at best.
Maybe I'm the only church-goer who has spent years valuing being nice over being emotionally, physically and spiritually healthy. Maybe it's helpful for those "worldly" people who need to be constantly told that they're selfish; there's something wrong with them; and they need to fix it by serving others.
For me, I'm in a detoxing process from this kind of theology. I'm learning to listen to my voice. As a highly sensitive person, I can very easily tell you what the voices of "God", my parents, spouse, friends, religion and country would say WAY before I could tell you what I really need to be doing, thinking and feeling according to my personal viewpoint. Again, maybe I'm the only one. But in my Christian process, I'm learning that listening to my own voice is part of me listening to God. (Again, heresy! What about how our hearts are evil?!?!) He made me who I am, and the ultimate form of worship to Him is to love myself, to have grace for myself, and to be honest. If I'm honest about my humanity and not trying to overcompensate for it (serving when my heart doesn't want to), I just might be in a better position to listen to the stories and journeys of all the people in the world around me. Believe me, when your soul, mind, heart and body are well-fed, you genuinely take pleasure in giving to your fellow man. The times that I have felt resentful, ungracious and stingy towards others are when I'm doing a "service" out of "the shoulds" or on an empty tank. This doesn't make me a bad, selfish, unloving person. This simply makes me a person. Embracing the reality of our humanity, that we really only have so much to give when we're not first giving to ourselves, is critical to true, honest living.
When I stopped sitting in the theology that there's something wrong with me; I'm selfish and untrustworthy; I need to be what other people tell me I should be; that God is displeased with me unless I act in a certain way (that looks like every other believer); other people's salvation process is up to me; and that my work is never done; I FINALLY learned what grace really is. As good at church as I was, I still felt like I had no idea what grace really looked like as it applied to me.
I think this is ultimately my problem with theology that over-focuses on sin. I understand that sin is a big problem, that it separates us from God, that Jesus died because of it. But if I believe that, isn't that all sorted out now? I know we like to debate issues of if we're "once saved, always saved", but if my Christian faith is a constant process of re-confessing, re-feeling guilty, and re-serving out of shame and a need to be loved, isn't that actually a slap in the face of the God who's already forgiven me, once and for all? I know Paul says that embracing grace doesn't mean we should pursue sin all the more because grace is abundant, I get that. But what if Christianity looked like ending the constant sin wrangling and instead focused on participating in the Kingdom of God NOW? What would our hearts be freed up to think, imagine, dream, and do if we stopped expending our energies on perfecting ourselves, constantly trying to figure out which sin we should work on next? Not hoping that we've said or done the right rituals in this life to make it in the gates of heaven when we die, but that our every moment can be about engaging in the world around us, with listening ears (not with judgment or even answers), with open hearts and minds? That we can change! That others can teach me something; about myself, God, the world. I find myself so much more interested in others when I take care of myself. I don't see their needs as a personal burden to me. I see myself growing through conversation, through reading, through writing, through changing my plans in the moment. I spent a lot of years with my head down, focused on my commitments and responsibilities, not able to be present, already thinking of what I needed to do to prepare for future moments.
I guess what I'm saying is, be willing to be pleasantly surprised, filled with hope, inspired by the moment, and open to the world around you. Don't rush through life like it's a burden. Don't get me wrong; life is full of burdens!!! But take the grace right in front of you; whether it's a conversation with a friend, an afternoon in bed with a book, a great glass of wine, or taking something off your list today. I've found when I focus on working on my "stuff" and what God wants me to be (present, open, full of grace, hopeful, generous) then I'm too engaged in that work to be worried about what other people think my life is supposed to look like. Perhaps I'm not the only one whose main "ministry" is this.
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Saturday, July 12, 2014
Milestones
I've always said that the first and second birthdays are the hardest. Then Macy turned 3, 4, 5, & 6. So far, there hasn't been a birthday yet that hasn't thrown me for a loop. Even though I anticipate my children's birthdays with excitement and I really enjoy making plans to celebrate them, somehow I'm still surprised when they actually happen. Kind of like how you feel when someone who's been sick for awhile finally dies. They were ready. They were looking forward to it. And on behalf of them, you were ready for them and celebrated their release from pain. But for yourself, it's still sad and somehow shocking. I still don't get it.
My little Penelope is turning 1 year old tomorrow. For those of you who don't know, it took us 2 and a half years to conceive Penny. There was a time that I wasn't sure if we would ever get the pleasure of having another child. That process was such a learning experience for me and very personal in my relationship with God. He spoke to me in those places of longing, loss and impatience. There were times I really thought I was pregnant and wasn't. I tried to tell myself not to get my hopes up only to find myself disappointed time and time again. I remember one month, God actually asked me to thank Him that He did not give me a child. Ouch.
One year into the process, we were fired from ministry. Initially, God was asking me to trust Him with the timing of another child. That turned into a season of Him asking me to trust Him if there was to be no more children at all. And finally, asking me to thank Him for my empty arms. He reminded me that my arms were not empty, that He had already given me a child, whom I loved very much. At the end of all of that, we lost our friend Ryan to cancer. He was 30. In our grief, we clung to each day and to each person whom we loved. And in the midst of that grief, we conceived my precious treasure Penny.
As I may have eluded in other posts, and will surely discuss many times in the future, my theology has changed a lot in the last few years. It's been a difficult but mostly intentional process. But there are a few things in my faith experience that are incredibly personal to me, times in which I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God was working. This fertility process and the timing of the gift of my second and final child is by far the one of which I am most convinced.
I had a difficult pregnancy which resulted in me slowing down a lot. Her birth was totally nuts (somehow it took 5 days of false labor and then only 1 hour and 52 minutes for her to be born) which resulted in me biting my husband at one point (bet he was wishing I'd had time for that epidural). We went through a very painful post-partum season with Tim's depression, which was so much more severe than we ever could have anticipated. We had the privilege of being loved through crisis. Our life was literally held together by the people who love us. Somehow, in all the darkness that was this year (and we are SO not done), Penny has been the shining light through it all. As much as we've cried, our moments with her have been almost entirely pure joy. She is a gift. I call her my treasure (and then promptly sing Bruno Mars).
I am so proud of the fact that I have spent night after night rocking her to sleep, nursing her, reading to her, feeding her (which feels like an Olympic sport these days), kissing her, holding her and talking to her. I have not taken her babyhood for granted. When I had my first baby 6 years ago, I was more anxious, almost seeing the baby phases as something to hurry through. Boy, did I regret that! Babies do require a lot of care, duh. But then when I didn't know if I'd ever have another one, I promised myself I would savor it. As much as this year has thrown us some very painful curveballs, ones that we never intend to repeat, I have so many moments with her that have changed me forever. She's changed all of us forever.
She's made Macy a big sister, which I'm convinced has been as big of a gift to her as it's been to us. I've never been prouder of my oldest than when I've seen her day after day welcoming her little sister into her world. She has grown tremendously this year and I hope they will always have each other. There's just nothing sweeter than watching your kids love on each other.
There have been moments this year when I've felt anxious about the passing of time. Like an hourglass, the time of Penny's babyhood felt like it was slipping through my fingers. In those moments, I've reminded myself that I really have done the best I could to treasure her, and that the time passing isn't within my control. I only get to decide what I do with the time I'm given. And so, with a heavy heart, I laid her in her crib tonight and kept my hand on her back until she fell asleep (this isn't me just being super nice, it's actually the only way she'll sleep:) And I came in here to capture my thoughts, knowing that the next time I see her, she'll have magically turned into a one year old.
My little Penelope is turning 1 year old tomorrow. For those of you who don't know, it took us 2 and a half years to conceive Penny. There was a time that I wasn't sure if we would ever get the pleasure of having another child. That process was such a learning experience for me and very personal in my relationship with God. He spoke to me in those places of longing, loss and impatience. There were times I really thought I was pregnant and wasn't. I tried to tell myself not to get my hopes up only to find myself disappointed time and time again. I remember one month, God actually asked me to thank Him that He did not give me a child. Ouch.
One year into the process, we were fired from ministry. Initially, God was asking me to trust Him with the timing of another child. That turned into a season of Him asking me to trust Him if there was to be no more children at all. And finally, asking me to thank Him for my empty arms. He reminded me that my arms were not empty, that He had already given me a child, whom I loved very much. At the end of all of that, we lost our friend Ryan to cancer. He was 30. In our grief, we clung to each day and to each person whom we loved. And in the midst of that grief, we conceived my precious treasure Penny.
As I may have eluded in other posts, and will surely discuss many times in the future, my theology has changed a lot in the last few years. It's been a difficult but mostly intentional process. But there are a few things in my faith experience that are incredibly personal to me, times in which I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God was working. This fertility process and the timing of the gift of my second and final child is by far the one of which I am most convinced.
I had a difficult pregnancy which resulted in me slowing down a lot. Her birth was totally nuts (somehow it took 5 days of false labor and then only 1 hour and 52 minutes for her to be born) which resulted in me biting my husband at one point (bet he was wishing I'd had time for that epidural). We went through a very painful post-partum season with Tim's depression, which was so much more severe than we ever could have anticipated. We had the privilege of being loved through crisis. Our life was literally held together by the people who love us. Somehow, in all the darkness that was this year (and we are SO not done), Penny has been the shining light through it all. As much as we've cried, our moments with her have been almost entirely pure joy. She is a gift. I call her my treasure (and then promptly sing Bruno Mars).
I am so proud of the fact that I have spent night after night rocking her to sleep, nursing her, reading to her, feeding her (which feels like an Olympic sport these days), kissing her, holding her and talking to her. I have not taken her babyhood for granted. When I had my first baby 6 years ago, I was more anxious, almost seeing the baby phases as something to hurry through. Boy, did I regret that! Babies do require a lot of care, duh. But then when I didn't know if I'd ever have another one, I promised myself I would savor it. As much as this year has thrown us some very painful curveballs, ones that we never intend to repeat, I have so many moments with her that have changed me forever. She's changed all of us forever.
She's made Macy a big sister, which I'm convinced has been as big of a gift to her as it's been to us. I've never been prouder of my oldest than when I've seen her day after day welcoming her little sister into her world. She has grown tremendously this year and I hope they will always have each other. There's just nothing sweeter than watching your kids love on each other.
There have been moments this year when I've felt anxious about the passing of time. Like an hourglass, the time of Penny's babyhood felt like it was slipping through my fingers. In those moments, I've reminded myself that I really have done the best I could to treasure her, and that the time passing isn't within my control. I only get to decide what I do with the time I'm given. And so, with a heavy heart, I laid her in her crib tonight and kept my hand on her back until she fell asleep (this isn't me just being super nice, it's actually the only way she'll sleep:) And I came in here to capture my thoughts, knowing that the next time I see her, she'll have magically turned into a one year old.
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Pick Your Poison
It's been awhile since I've written. It takes me awhile to transition in short life seasons (from school to summer) and I'm realizing weeks have already passed! I got on here thinking I was going to write on one thing (sin), but am in fact all amped up about another thing (parenting). There was an article and then a response article floating around on Facebook today about parenting. One stating that we spoil our children and one saying we're not doing enough (do you hear my black and white mentality screaming yet?) I preferred the second one because I think kids (read: people) could always use more dignity and respect and let's face it; we Americans need some serious help with our emotional tool box, which might stem from how we tend to minimize children's needs and feelings.
I guess what I want to say in all the fray is that perhaps neither option is right. As a perfectionist, I want to get it right, preferably the first time. But is there really a way to get parenting right? None of us really know what our currently small children will be like in 20 years, so we don't know whether our parenting philosophies will give us the results we're looking for. And even if we did, will our children turn out "well" (however you define that) because of us or in spite of us? This is the tricky thing about subscribing to one parenting philosophy and holding on for dear life. The second article mentions that our instincts tell us to pick up our crying children, so we should. I wholeheartedly concur. Is it overly simplistic to just follow our instincts? I love the exchange of ideas that I get from reading parenting articles and books. I have learned a lot from watching other parents and mentally reviewing the things my parents did with me that I liked as well. It's so helpful when your parents get some things right, since we usually do whatever was done to us. But at the end of the day, isn't parenting, above all, about balance? It's not about who's in control, who's more important, whose needs get met first every time. It's about realizing that children and parents are all people, and therefore, all matter equally. I just might be able to wait a little longer ("might" being the operative word here).
Children present needs often. I have learned skillfully to repress my needs (thank you, ministry baggage). So it would be easy for me to run around ragged trying to just put out the fires of my children's needs, all the while not resting, recharging, or having any fun outside of my relationship with them. I think this strategy can look like resentment and enabling over time. But the drill sargeant, hierarchical approach that I get from the idea that children are inherently selfish and need to fall in line or else really rubs me the wrong way. I think it could also lead to dishonoring and disrespecting the greatest gift I've ever been given, my formative, precious daughters. They're not sub-humans because they don't know how to advocate for themselves. And frankly, they're not sub-human when they throw tantrums either. At least tantrums are honest. How many honest adults do you know who can clearly communicate what they want/need and are willing to ask for it? Can't we love and respect both ourselves and our children? Do any of us need to be on the throne as alpha male?
I was visiting with a friend today whom I don't get to see very often. I made the choice to arrive late (after notifying her) so that Penny could get a good morning nap. Yes, this was an important need for her to get met, but it also enabled me to stay longer and let her nap in the carrier while we were there, thus my needs for social connection (which I believe are as valid as her biological need for sleep) were met as well. It's not about ignoring or minimizing your children's needs and it's not about staying home when you're an extrovert because your entire life revolves around your little ones. It's a both/and situation. When I anticipate and meet my children's basic needs, I am also able to value and fulfill my own.
My children don't own me and I don't own them. I get to raise them (God-willing) and I'm so grateful and excited about that. I don't view them as my adversaries or my bosses. They are the cats that I'm herding around in front of me, duh. And someday, when I'm old and delirious, it'll be the other way around.
I guess what I want to say in all the fray is that perhaps neither option is right. As a perfectionist, I want to get it right, preferably the first time. But is there really a way to get parenting right? None of us really know what our currently small children will be like in 20 years, so we don't know whether our parenting philosophies will give us the results we're looking for. And even if we did, will our children turn out "well" (however you define that) because of us or in spite of us? This is the tricky thing about subscribing to one parenting philosophy and holding on for dear life. The second article mentions that our instincts tell us to pick up our crying children, so we should. I wholeheartedly concur. Is it overly simplistic to just follow our instincts? I love the exchange of ideas that I get from reading parenting articles and books. I have learned a lot from watching other parents and mentally reviewing the things my parents did with me that I liked as well. It's so helpful when your parents get some things right, since we usually do whatever was done to us. But at the end of the day, isn't parenting, above all, about balance? It's not about who's in control, who's more important, whose needs get met first every time. It's about realizing that children and parents are all people, and therefore, all matter equally. I just might be able to wait a little longer ("might" being the operative word here).
Children present needs often. I have learned skillfully to repress my needs (thank you, ministry baggage). So it would be easy for me to run around ragged trying to just put out the fires of my children's needs, all the while not resting, recharging, or having any fun outside of my relationship with them. I think this strategy can look like resentment and enabling over time. But the drill sargeant, hierarchical approach that I get from the idea that children are inherently selfish and need to fall in line or else really rubs me the wrong way. I think it could also lead to dishonoring and disrespecting the greatest gift I've ever been given, my formative, precious daughters. They're not sub-humans because they don't know how to advocate for themselves. And frankly, they're not sub-human when they throw tantrums either. At least tantrums are honest. How many honest adults do you know who can clearly communicate what they want/need and are willing to ask for it? Can't we love and respect both ourselves and our children? Do any of us need to be on the throne as alpha male?
I was visiting with a friend today whom I don't get to see very often. I made the choice to arrive late (after notifying her) so that Penny could get a good morning nap. Yes, this was an important need for her to get met, but it also enabled me to stay longer and let her nap in the carrier while we were there, thus my needs for social connection (which I believe are as valid as her biological need for sleep) were met as well. It's not about ignoring or minimizing your children's needs and it's not about staying home when you're an extrovert because your entire life revolves around your little ones. It's a both/and situation. When I anticipate and meet my children's basic needs, I am also able to value and fulfill my own.
My children don't own me and I don't own them. I get to raise them (God-willing) and I'm so grateful and excited about that. I don't view them as my adversaries or my bosses. They are the cats that I'm herding around in front of me, duh. And someday, when I'm old and delirious, it'll be the other way around.
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