I don’t feel very blessed these days. I feel beat up. The last few weeks have been rough. There hasn’t been anything tragic, just one discouraging situation after another. I’ve been struggling with daily headaches for almost two weeks now. That alone is enough to wear a person down, but there have been several other things, too.
- We were given a bed that was supposed to be great for my back but actually made things worse.
- My good friend at work was laid off a couple of weeks ago. Then her sister had a stroke last Wednesday.
- I discovered the other day that my son probably needs glasses.
- I was approached about a job on Tuesday that sounded like it would be a wonderful opportunity for me. I worked hard on getting my resume and cover letter updated, sent it in on Thursday and found out yesterday that they have already filled the position.
- Our landlord has been hassling us about getting our van fixed, but we have to save up enough money to get the work done on it so it will pass smog. Today they had it towed because they don’t want to look at it anymore.
I know that the Bible says that God wants to give good gifts to his children (Matthew 7:11), and that he has plans to prosper us (Jeremiah 29:11). I also know that he will give me what I ask for if I pray believing (Mark 11:24, Matthew 21:22), and that wants us to live abundant lives (John 10:10). I know that because that’s what I’ve been hearing from pastors and teachers like Joel Osteen and Bruce Wilkinson. I just want to know what I am supposed to do to receive those blessings, because I don’t see many of them coming my way. I see problems and trouble.
I feel cursed rather than blessed.
I’m not supposed to say that, though. I’m only supposed to speak words of faith. I’m supposed to keep my eyes on my blessings and keep hoping. Keep believing. Always keep believing. Because that is what we have to do, in spite of the evidence to the contrary. “Never mind how it looks. Keep your eyes on Jesus.”
I have some Bible verses taped to my computer monitor at work. Here are the words that I put there shortly after I was hired to remind myself:
He will keep in perfect peace all who trust in him, all whose thoughts are fixed on him!” Isaiah 26:3
Now all glory to God, who is able, through his mighty power at work within us, to accomplish infinitely more than we might ask or think. Ephesians 3:20
So let us come boldly to the throne of you gracious God. There we will receive his mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most. Hebrews 4:16
Let us go right into the presence of God with sincere hearts, fully trusting him. Hebrews 10:22
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11
I don’t expect my life to be perfect. I’ve been taught, though, that I can expect God to be my healer. I’ve been taught that I can expect God to lavish his love on me. I’ve been taught that if I follow his commands, I will receive the blessings he has promised his children. I don’t know how many sermons I’ve sat through that told me that if I give my tithe, God will “throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that there will not be room enough to store it.” (Malachi 3:10)
I’ve spent my life trying my best to follow his commands. I’ve always tried to make the best decisions in the circumstances that I found myself in. I didn’t always succeed, but I tried.
I just would like something to go right, for once. I’d like to see those floodgates opening up. I’d like to see some healing come my way.
Over the past few years I’ve been trying to look for the opportunities that come my way and go for them, because I don’t want to miss out on a potential blessing that God is sending me. Sometimes, though, when I have reached for that opportunity and it has once again been snatched away just out of my reach, or what looks like a blessing turns out to not be one at all, I start to wonder why I try. I wonder why I keep putting myself in the position of being disappointed, again.
This is when I start hearing the voice of discouragement. It’s when I start thinking, “It’s easier to stop hoping and just accept that this is the way things are and you can’t expect better.” I start hearing, “Look how your Loving God is treating you. It‘s like he‘s looking for ways to make things harder instead of ways to bless you. He keeps teasing you with possibilities for things to get better so you‘ll get your hopes up and then lets it all fall apart. He doesn’t want the best for you. He just wants to see how long you can take the torture before you give up.”
I don’t really believe these things. It’s just the crazy stuff that goes through my head. I know it’s not true, but I’m just so tired of everything being hard. I’m just ready to see some of those blessings that I’ve been promised. I’m ready for some of that rest he promised, too.
(My husband would probably want me to let you know that there is a certain amount of PMS which is adding fuel to this diatribe. I always tell him that PMS isn’t the cause of my frustration or anger, it just makes me less able to tolerate the things that already drive me crazy.)
I know that I should start “counting my blessings” and looking for all the ways that God has provided. I also know that I will probably feel better in a few days. But, for anyone who has felt like they are living on the receiving end of the jokes of some Cosmic Prankster, I feel your pain. If you’ve figured out how to get out of that place, please let me in on your secret. (^_^)
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Hiding Behind "Fine"
“What looks like strength on the outside is actually a cavernous well of neediness on the inside.” - Emily Freeman - Grace for the Good Girl
The more I think about that, the more I realize how right she is. The times in my life when I have been the “strongest” were the times when I really was a big mess, but wouldn’t let anyone see that. I had to hold it all together when I really wanted to fall apart. I needed someone to lean on, but either there was no one around, or I was too ashamed of my neediness to reach out.
I took pride in my strength. I had been through a lot and I had not crumbled. I was strong. I could handle whatever came my way. Getting mad about it doesn’t change anything. Crying about it doesn’t do any good, so just take it, deal with it, move on and try not to think about it.
I did get mad, though. I did a lot of raging at God when no one was listening. I did cry, too. At night, in my pillow when no one would see my weakness. Then, I would get upset because no one reached out to me. No one was there to help me go through my pain. No one knew how much I was hurting and how scared I was.
The problem was, I had told everyone that I was fine. I was handling it. I was strong. I taught everyone that I didn’t need help. I didn’t need anyone. I was fine by myself.
But I wasn’t.
Every time I told someone I was fine, I wanted them to look into my eyes and see the truth. I wanted someone to see what I couldn’t show them. I needed somebody to hear the words I couldn’t bring myself to say.
Most of the time, though, they didn’t. I don’t know if that is because I was such a great actress, or because they were oblivious to the signs or if maybe they did know but didn’t know what to do to help. I suppose it doesn’t really matter, because the effect was the same. I was alone dealing with the mess that was my life along with my pain and my shame.
These days, I’m trying not to hide behind my “strength”. I have people close enough to me that I can call when I’m not doing well and talk to them about it. I spent quite a few years behind the mask of my strength, though, so taking it off is still hard. I feel vulnerable and exposed, but that’s better than being closed off and isolated.
Maybe because I lived behind that mask for so long, I seem to be able to sense when other people are doing that, too. Especially when I know that something difficult is going on, I try to be the one to look into their eyes and see the pain that they are trying to hide. I try to be the one who says, “I know you are ‘fine’, but how are you really?” They might not tell me, but I hope that they will know, in that moment, that someone sees and cares. And maybe, they will also know that God knows and he cares, too.
You keep track of all my sorrows.
You have collected all my tears in your bottle.
You have recorded each one in your book.
Psalm 58: 8
Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.
1 Peter 5:7
The more I think about that, the more I realize how right she is. The times in my life when I have been the “strongest” were the times when I really was a big mess, but wouldn’t let anyone see that. I had to hold it all together when I really wanted to fall apart. I needed someone to lean on, but either there was no one around, or I was too ashamed of my neediness to reach out.
I took pride in my strength. I had been through a lot and I had not crumbled. I was strong. I could handle whatever came my way. Getting mad about it doesn’t change anything. Crying about it doesn’t do any good, so just take it, deal with it, move on and try not to think about it.
I did get mad, though. I did a lot of raging at God when no one was listening. I did cry, too. At night, in my pillow when no one would see my weakness. Then, I would get upset because no one reached out to me. No one was there to help me go through my pain. No one knew how much I was hurting and how scared I was.
The problem was, I had told everyone that I was fine. I was handling it. I was strong. I taught everyone that I didn’t need help. I didn’t need anyone. I was fine by myself.
But I wasn’t.
Every time I told someone I was fine, I wanted them to look into my eyes and see the truth. I wanted someone to see what I couldn’t show them. I needed somebody to hear the words I couldn’t bring myself to say.
Most of the time, though, they didn’t. I don’t know if that is because I was such a great actress, or because they were oblivious to the signs or if maybe they did know but didn’t know what to do to help. I suppose it doesn’t really matter, because the effect was the same. I was alone dealing with the mess that was my life along with my pain and my shame.
These days, I’m trying not to hide behind my “strength”. I have people close enough to me that I can call when I’m not doing well and talk to them about it. I spent quite a few years behind the mask of my strength, though, so taking it off is still hard. I feel vulnerable and exposed, but that’s better than being closed off and isolated.
Maybe because I lived behind that mask for so long, I seem to be able to sense when other people are doing that, too. Especially when I know that something difficult is going on, I try to be the one to look into their eyes and see the pain that they are trying to hide. I try to be the one who says, “I know you are ‘fine’, but how are you really?” They might not tell me, but I hope that they will know, in that moment, that someone sees and cares. And maybe, they will also know that God knows and he cares, too.
You keep track of all my sorrows.
You have collected all my tears in your bottle.
You have recorded each one in your book.
Psalm 58: 8
Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.
1 Peter 5:7
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Written on My Heart
Today my friend and I were emailing back and forth, discussing the struggles we have in forming deep meaningful relationships. I wrote this to her:
“Sometimes I still am a bit surprised that you (or anyone for that matter) would really want to be my friend and I wonder if you are just putting up with me out of the goodness of your heart. I tell myself that it isn’t true, but it creeps up on me now and then. It is so ingrained in me to believe it, that often the best I can do is act like it’s not true, even though, deep down, I really suspect that it is.”
After I sent that to her, I got to thinking about why that would be. Why do I have that basic belief about myself? Then God reminded me of something that I wrote just last week as part of a new writing project…
When I was a little girl, Wonder Woman was my hero. She was beautiful and strong and she always captured the bad guys. I remember playing in the back yard of my friend Leah’s house when I was seven years old. We ran all over her yard pretending to be superheroes. I did my slow-motion Wonder Woman spin to change from my unassuming alter-ego, Linda Carter, to the fearless crime fighter in a red, white and blue leotard with bullet proof wrist bands and the Lasso of Truth. Leah was Supergirl. We chased bad guys over the top of the play structure, down the slide and around to the front of the house where we captured them and saved the world from their evil plots. It was great fun.
Leah was my best friend. Her family lived around the corner from mine in those days. We played together almost every day. My first sleepover was at her house. I didn’t sleep much that night. The sounds were different. The bed felt different. The moonlight shined into her bedroom differently than it did in mine. I was kind of scared, but I was with my best friend, so I didn’t want to go home.
One day Leah told me that she was having a slumber party at her house. She said she could only invite her five best friends and those were her friends from school, so I wouldn’t be able to come. You see, Leah went to private school and I went to public school, so we had different school friends. She went on to explain that she was sorry, but I was her sixth best friend after Jennifer, Leslie, Allison, Rochelle, and Melissa. That was the day that I realized that Leah only played with me because I lived around the corner from her. She played with me when there wasn’t anyone else for her to play with. That was the day I understood that although I loved Leah and she was my best friend, Leah didn’t really love me. I was only her sixth best friend.
I had a moment of clarity when I realized that this event is the basis for my belief that others wouldn’t really want to be friends with me. I have carried the baggage of this my entire life and I didn’t realize it. A seven year old little girl wrote on my heart that I wasn’t worthy to be her friend and therefore I don’t really believe that I’m worthy of anyone else’s friendship.
I think that the saddest part of that memory is what happened after the slumber party. I stayed away from Leah for a couple of weeks, but then I got lonely. I desperately wanted someone to play with, so I went back to Leah’s house to see if she would play with me. In those two weeks, she didn’t come looking for me even once. She didn’t ask me where I had been. I don’t think she even noticed. I knew that going back meant that I was settling for being her 6th best friend, but I did it anyway.
Now, I can look back on my relationship with Leah with my grown up eyes and see that she was not a good friend to me. I see the ways she talked down to me and showed off all the things she had that I didn’t have. She was bossy and snobbish and she had a mean streak. I don’t think that she meant to hurt me that day, but she did mean to make clear to me that I was not as important to her as her other friends. I just think she was too self-absorbed to realize how much that would hurt.
So now that I know where that belief came from, I’m not quite sure what to do with it. Or about it, because that picture of myself as the sad little girl who isn’t quite good enough to be included is still there. Maybe knowing will enable me to counter those feelings when they come up. Maybe I need to take it to Jesus and ask him to erase those words from my heart and write his truth there, instead.
Here is what I found in the Bible about the truth of who I am to God:
The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children. Now if we are children, then we are heirs —heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory. Romans 8:16-17
According to this, if I am a child of God, then I am God’s heir. Actually a co-heir with Christ. That blows my mind! God values me enough to make me first, his child, and second, an inheritor along with Christ. If Christ is the Son of God and the Prince of Peace, and I have been adopted into the family, then doesn't that make me royalty?
Now that is something I want written on my heart.
“Sometimes I still am a bit surprised that you (or anyone for that matter) would really want to be my friend and I wonder if you are just putting up with me out of the goodness of your heart. I tell myself that it isn’t true, but it creeps up on me now and then. It is so ingrained in me to believe it, that often the best I can do is act like it’s not true, even though, deep down, I really suspect that it is.”
After I sent that to her, I got to thinking about why that would be. Why do I have that basic belief about myself? Then God reminded me of something that I wrote just last week as part of a new writing project…
When I was a little girl, Wonder Woman was my hero. She was beautiful and strong and she always captured the bad guys. I remember playing in the back yard of my friend Leah’s house when I was seven years old. We ran all over her yard pretending to be superheroes. I did my slow-motion Wonder Woman spin to change from my unassuming alter-ego, Linda Carter, to the fearless crime fighter in a red, white and blue leotard with bullet proof wrist bands and the Lasso of Truth. Leah was Supergirl. We chased bad guys over the top of the play structure, down the slide and around to the front of the house where we captured them and saved the world from their evil plots. It was great fun.
Leah was my best friend. Her family lived around the corner from mine in those days. We played together almost every day. My first sleepover was at her house. I didn’t sleep much that night. The sounds were different. The bed felt different. The moonlight shined into her bedroom differently than it did in mine. I was kind of scared, but I was with my best friend, so I didn’t want to go home.
One day Leah told me that she was having a slumber party at her house. She said she could only invite her five best friends and those were her friends from school, so I wouldn’t be able to come. You see, Leah went to private school and I went to public school, so we had different school friends. She went on to explain that she was sorry, but I was her sixth best friend after Jennifer, Leslie, Allison, Rochelle, and Melissa. That was the day that I realized that Leah only played with me because I lived around the corner from her. She played with me when there wasn’t anyone else for her to play with. That was the day I understood that although I loved Leah and she was my best friend, Leah didn’t really love me. I was only her sixth best friend.
I had a moment of clarity when I realized that this event is the basis for my belief that others wouldn’t really want to be friends with me. I have carried the baggage of this my entire life and I didn’t realize it. A seven year old little girl wrote on my heart that I wasn’t worthy to be her friend and therefore I don’t really believe that I’m worthy of anyone else’s friendship.
I think that the saddest part of that memory is what happened after the slumber party. I stayed away from Leah for a couple of weeks, but then I got lonely. I desperately wanted someone to play with, so I went back to Leah’s house to see if she would play with me. In those two weeks, she didn’t come looking for me even once. She didn’t ask me where I had been. I don’t think she even noticed. I knew that going back meant that I was settling for being her 6th best friend, but I did it anyway.
Now, I can look back on my relationship with Leah with my grown up eyes and see that she was not a good friend to me. I see the ways she talked down to me and showed off all the things she had that I didn’t have. She was bossy and snobbish and she had a mean streak. I don’t think that she meant to hurt me that day, but she did mean to make clear to me that I was not as important to her as her other friends. I just think she was too self-absorbed to realize how much that would hurt.
So now that I know where that belief came from, I’m not quite sure what to do with it. Or about it, because that picture of myself as the sad little girl who isn’t quite good enough to be included is still there. Maybe knowing will enable me to counter those feelings when they come up. Maybe I need to take it to Jesus and ask him to erase those words from my heart and write his truth there, instead.
Here is what I found in the Bible about the truth of who I am to God:
The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children. Now if we are children, then we are heirs —heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory. Romans 8:16-17
According to this, if I am a child of God, then I am God’s heir. Actually a co-heir with Christ. That blows my mind! God values me enough to make me first, his child, and second, an inheritor along with Christ. If Christ is the Son of God and the Prince of Peace, and I have been adopted into the family, then doesn't that make me royalty?
Now that is something I want written on my heart.
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