Tag Archive | friendship

On His Terms

sunset rays MGD©I’m writing a rough book right now. The main character has lived through an extreme amount of injustice, betrayed by the judicial system, his family, and his friends. He realizes that everything he’s done for the past decade has been on someone else’s terms–where he can go, what he can do, even relationships with those he lost. And those terms are rarely fair.

No surprise, I’ve been thinking about this in my own life lately, because of course what I write has to resonate in some small way with my own experiences, or I can’t empathize with my characters. And I keep coming up with the same phrase. Someone Else’s Terms.

I’m a peacemaker at heart. That means I will give ground to make peace. Or, I will relate on someone else’s terms to make them happy. I have friendships with women who work outside their home or have children, and of course we have to schedule our friendship on their availability, on their terms.

As an introvert, most of my relating is on other people’s terms. Often I’m expected to socialize in a group setting where I am so uncomfortable it’s laughable. I can show up and socialize on those terms, or I can be alone. As I get older, I bow to other people’s terms less often, and I kindly bow out of the most uncomfortable events. But in the past, when I was younger and it was more important to belong, it was on someone else’s terms.

This is part of life. We are meant to serve those we love, and that means discovering how to relate to them, how to love them. It means knowing them well enough to know the terms where they will feel love. Friends who know me and know I’m a diabetic don’t invite me to their house and eat pie in front of me. They know there are a few terms that are set in stone. And I am thankful for that. And it’s up to me to know the same about them. It’s friendship. It’s love.

God, of course, meets us where we are, but then He sets His terms. We are to obey certain commands and strive toward holiness. W

\hat makes Him different is that His terms are always, always for our best. He made us, so His terms let us live exactly the way we were meant to live. He makes terms for family life, sexual life, interacting with others, all kinds of things. So many people balk and feel God is unfair to dictate His will to us, forgetting that His will always trumps ours. He wants us to thrive, to live in peace, to experience great joy and comfort, even when hardship comes. That means reading His instruction manual and living according to His terms. Unlike some of our dealings with people, His terms are completely for our own good.

I’ve been letting things slide during our moving transition. Bible reading and prayer are happening, but not as consistently as they should. I’m not taking the time to drive back to town for Bible studies or fellowship opportunities. I am still figuring out the new normal. However, it’s good to know God’s terms haven’t changed. He still blesses the peacemaker or the poor in spirit the way He always did. He still loves the way He always has. And His terms for a life well lived are still the same, still written in an ancient manuscript by my bed, where I can find explicit instructions from the Creator on exactly how to get the most out of this fleeting life He’s given me.

I will continue to look for the terms for my friendships and family that are the best for all involved, and sometimes I will fail. But I take comfort in knowing God’s terms for our relationship are set and solid and will always bring me joy and lead me closer to the one who loves me more than anyone in this universe. Those are terms I can live with.

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A Story Shared

friends-and-coffeeAt the end of my last blog post, I invited readers to share stories with me. To my delight, someone took me up on that. A dear, dear friend who had been out of contact for a few years asked if she could share a story with me, and of course I said yes. The story was difficult, but that’s not where I want to go in this post. Those moments were intimate and personal and private, and I am so, so honored to have heard this woman’s journey.

What I want to talk about is the fear that went along with the telling, because it’s so very universal. She feared how I would react. She feared taking too much of my time. Her story was her own, but that fear–I think that was universal. We live in a fractured, distant society where too many of our interactions are couched in great fear, and I’ve spent a lot of time this week pondering that fear and wondering what it means big picture.

A few years ago a big social media trend was articles like “Ten things you should never say to…”. Insert single person, married person, person who lost a son, etc etc etc.  The idea was that anyone who doesn’t share my circumstances can’t understand me. Why do we think we can only share with someone who has experienced what we’ve experienced? What brings us together isn’t only circumstances; it’s also emotions. God has given us limited emotions. Almost all of us have experienced fear. Disappointment. Joy. Sadness. Because I haven’t experienced every circumstance does’t mean I haven’t experienced emotions. A friend might struggle with sadness because of a death. I might experience sadness because of a dream that didn’t pan out. We can share our stories, and even if our experiences are different, we can both relate because we’ve experienced sadness. Those emotions bridge the gaps in our experiences and lead us to see and understand each other in our different places.

We’re told to bear each other’s burdens. But how can we do that if we don’t share stories? Life itself is a burden. I know it’s a gift, but it’s also a burden. There is a reason God tells us to gear up for battle. There is a reason He tells us to long for heaven and a new kingdom and a new earth and new bodies. This life can be horrible. And yet we are to share that horribleness. We need to tell the stories. We need to carry each other when we are wounded in battle, and we can’t do that from some distant place of generalities. We have to know the details. We have to know the stories.

Also, I think the only way we can nudge each other back to center is if we know each other’s stories. Otherwise, we simply speak platitudes to one another. Our struggles and even our sins stem from complex situations, complex lives, complex pasts. We’re told to help one another stop sinning. We’re told to bear burdens and be united. But can that happen if we don’t know the stories?

I am the worst offender here, both at sharing my own story and digging into stories of people I love. I have divorced friends, and I know nothing about their marriages or even the names of the spouses who are no longer in their lives. I have working friends, and I don’t know where they work or what they do at those jobs. I don’t ask enough questions. And people know as little about me (except for the stuff I spew here on my blog…). It’s easy to fear judgment, to think someone won’t understand, to be safe and not dig. We fear offending one another to the point where we don’t find out even the simple things about one another. Or we don’t take the time  to discover who is behind the masks on the people around us. At least I don’t. Maybe I’m alone in this. I know I’m an extreme introvert, so maybe others do much better at this than I do.

Really, we’re not that different. I think if we shared the stories behind our emotions, we would be better equipped to help one another, to bear burdens. I don’t know how to make that any less scary. Of  course we need to be careful and find safe people. We need to be safe people. We need to stop worrying about only finding people with identical frames of reference, because nobody has an identical frame of reference. How I react to some of the issues in my life–chronic illness, sibling loss, miscarriage, whatever–looks very different to how other people react to the exact same events in their lives. Let the similarities and the emotions bring us together instead of letting the variations keep us apart.

I love stories. I need to get better at sharing my own. I need to become a safe haven for other storytellers. Jesus tells us more than once that we are to become one with our fellow believers. Paul says the same, imploring us to unite in a way the world can’t understand. People will want to join us not because of the way we love the outsider but because of the way we love each other, with our flaws and differences. We want to pull that outsider into our circle of love and safety. That love might have something to do with how tenderly we care for each other’s stories.

The Gift of Presence

men silhouette in the fogI had a rough week. This week we moved our belongings into a storage unit, ourselves and two dogs into my son’s house (an investment that needs a lot of work he is just beginning to tackle), and we finalized the sale of our house.

The problem was that my husband woke up at one in the morning on moving day with an optical migraine. Actually, it was a stomach bug, which we found out a couple days later when I got it, but it presented as a migraine with vomiting and blinding pain. We were a little behind in the packing, but we had plenty of time to do it before the movers came. Except, of course, that he was asleep or being sick, and I was alone. (It was also my birthday, which just allowed me to feel whinier and sorrier for myself than I should have.)

The week didn’t improve much after that day. We were behind in everything, because my husband continued to feel terrible, and then I got sick, too. Being a diabetic, I don’t handle stomach bugs well, and I ended up in the hospital for a few hours for some IV fluids. We were both exhausted.

My church jumped in to help. We have a contractor in our body, and he helped us with a last-minute repair we needed to finish before closing. And the church also paid for a maid service to do the final cleaning, since neither my husband nor I had the energy to do that ourselves.

Now, here’s where this blog needs to tread lightly, because I’m about to complain. Sort of. I was ecstatic about the help offered to us last week. I was. We had a need, and they jumped in and solved the problem. However, I had another need, and that one went unmet. Not because of any deficiency in my church, but because this is the culture we live in.

You see, the day we moved, I wasn’t ready. My husband wasn’t around to help me make the final decisions of what to store and what to take to my son’s house. I felt utterly alone. And the entire time, I kept hoping God would send someone to make it better. I needed the physical presence of a human body to tell me, in an audible voice, that it was all going to be okay.

That body never arrived. For the entire week, when I went back to the house to pack or went to the storage unit, I did it alone. The big reason for this was that I never asked. I asked for help, and some people did offer to come and help, only the maid service was paid for and took care of the physical help I needed. Nobody offered to come and be emotional support, and I didn’t know how to ask for that, especially while we were healing from a crazy contagious stomach bug. I probably should have accepted the offers for help and simply used the time to sit and talk and refresh at a nearby coffee shop. But I never quite got the courage to say I’m alone and I just sold my house and my husband is sick and I’m not sure I did the right thing and I need a body to show up and help me not go crazy this week.

Many years ago, I lost a baby. It was a different time, when more women stayed home and community had different meaning. At one point, a friend simply sat on the bed with me and talked for hours, and another one brought a bucket and cleaners and cleaned my house. I had no idea how vital both of them were to my healing. And in my head, I think I wanted to experience something similar last week. But I don’t have that kind of support system now. It’s a different world, and I haven’t been careful about creating a net in this world.

I was feeling guilty about this desire for emotional support, because people did help me. The cleaning service was a life saver. But that deeper need, the need not to feel alone… Yeah. And I can say this without feeling too bad, because I know that, had the tables been turned, I wouldn’t have shown up, either. We were sick with something that turned out to be super contagious. My son and son-in-law moved us on their own time, and the only time they had was a Sunday morning, when I should have been in church, so my community was in worship and had no idea I was a wreck at home.  My friends have jobs or small children. Not like everyone can simply drop everything and show up to hold my hand because I’m feeling a little stress about a move–something that was my crazy idea to start with.

I was feeling guilty about my desire until I started to think about the book of Acts. Several times Paul thanks a church for sending someone to strengthen him. The financial gifts from the churches were delivered by human bodies who then offered comfort and friendship. Physical human companionship is valuable, even here in the digital age when we can handle almost every task without ever having a face-to-face human encounter.

This isn’t meant to be a complaint about the people in my life. Instead, it was an eye opener for me. I work from home writing and teaching my son. I have a very relaxed schedule. If someone is in need, I have very few excuses not to show up. And now I realize just how vital simple presence can be. So, I need to be more open to the promptings of the Spirit to get in the car and physically show up when someone might need comfort and friendship. Not everyone has a schedule that lets them do that. And being the backward person that I am, I’m not completely thrilled to write this, because I easily convince myself I can’t help, that I would be a burden, that I have nothing to offer. It is much more comfortable to make excuses and stay home than it is to show up.

It was a hard lesson to learn. And I’m not excited that I learned it. But if I’m going to love the people God put in my life, that means sometimes I have to sacrifice what’s comfortable and simply show up and let the Spirit use me in whatever ways He wants. Because nobody in the body of Christ should ever feel completely alone.

 

On Being Raw

On being rawTell me I’m not the only one who has those days. Those days where you’re a giant exposed nerve, and every little thing hurts and burns. I’m having one of those raw days, when I want to find a soft cocoon and curl up and feel like I’m enough. Like my opinions are good, my choices are sound, and while the world around me may be broken, I’m enough just the way I am.

I was reading notes and posts from friends this week, and that exposed nerve was jangling. I read harsh posts about politics, which are meant to change my mind but simply sear my heart. I’m not a fool for thinking what I think, for valuing what I value, for drawing my own lines in the sand. I hope I’m not a fool. But sometimes the world says otherwise, and it’s hard not to doubt.

This week a few home school moms I know chose another path, and that’s fine, but right now my world, which revolves around me schooling my children, is so devoid of people who understand that lifestyle that each mom who walks away pulls some of my heart with her. I need new support systems. People in my life who can discuss what I value, who understand where I am. I’ve let that go and surrounded myself with people I love who, unfortunately, aren’t people with whom I can share some of those particular burdens. And normally that’s okay–sometimes the world is too big. Sometimes it’s too small.  But right now Mama Bear needs a day of Just Right.

It always comes down to support.  I’m a mom. A teaching mom. A teaching mom with a nearly-grown family who is heading into a new stage of life. I don’t always take time to look for support of my own, and too often I think I’ve found it only to have it walk away. People move away, move on, find new niches. In a fluid society in a fluid world, where are the rocks? Why does the foundation that looks so beautiful one day shift and sink the next?

And the nerves jangle. The cocoon calls, and I can’t find it. Everything hits my skin and rubs that raw, red wound. Where is the balm?

I know the answer. The Sunday school answer, but it’s true. Jesus is the balm. God draws near. Paul wrote about feeling abandoned. David wrote about it more than once, pouring out his raw nerve days and asking for help. So today, that is my quest. Reading the Psalms where David shares his fears and concerns. Where he asks God for some concrete sign of his love, for victories and blessings. He lets that raw nerve have its say, because God cares about him–and me–on the good days, the victorious days, and the days of defeat. And God wants us to share with him on all those days, even the raw ones.

Some days, I think it’s okay to put on soft PJs and step back. Raw nerve days come and go. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be stronger. Maybe tomorrow I’ll see truths and conquer the world. But perhaps today it’s okay to hide away, spend time with God, and keep the world locked on the other side of the door: the friends, the enemies, the support, the needy, all of them. Today I have my own ledges, and I’m going to tuck myself in the shelter of a Rock, a holy refuge, and simply watch the wind and the sun and wait for another day. When I find solid footing up here, then I can buttress the support systems and decide which directions to go. But not today. Nothing at all today but the steady in and out of each breath, waiting for the abraded nerves to calm.

Waiting under the broom tree with Elijah, eating cake from God’s hand and strengthening from fight to fight. The battles will still be there tomorrow.

Just me and God today, guys. In the wilderness watching the beauty of the Creator. Come back another day.

Unless you’re having a raw nerve day, too. Then come share some rock with me, and we can sit here in silence and watch God lower the sun and show off the moon and call out the stars. Breathe in and out. In and out. And of course I’ll share a little cake with you, until it’s time for us to head back down into it again.

 

The Dilemma of Helpfulness

dilemma of helpfulnessThis week at the grocery store, I noticed a mom who seemed to be in trouble. She had a child strapped to her chest, crying, and a little one underfoot she was trying to corral with her legs. With one hand she was tossing groceries from the cart to the bagging table; with the other patting the tired baby. All of this was done with a lot of speed, and she didn’t look happy.

I offered to help her bag. She made it clear that my offer was not acceptable, that she was fine, that even though I might have needed help when my children were little, she did not.

It hurt. In my attempt to help her, I had offended and upset her. All kinds of thoughts went through my head. Was it the way I asked? Did I somehow express that I thought she was failing? Did I break some sort of taboo by noticing her distress? I am not good at social cues, so there was a good chance I did something wrong by even asking.

It was a simple exchange. Took less than a minute, but for the rest of the day I felt dark and sad, like I’d failed. What you need to understand is that I’m not comfortable with people. I have been trying hard to be loving and compassionate toward people, because it doesn’t come naturally to me. People scare me. They upset me. I’m supposed to love them, but I don’t. Sometimes I don’t even like them. But I’ve been praying for eyes to see them as Jesus does, worthy of love and compassion regardless of circumstance. I want to be sweet and kind, but it’s hard to get past fears and hurts to do it. I’ve had people be really unkind to me, and so I was stepping hugely outside my comfort zone even to approach this woman. And I hit unkindness again.

Eventually I had to let myself off the hook. People in the world aren’t especially kind. I knew my intention was simply to help her get home faster so her tired baby could rest or eat or play. That was it. If she chose to get upset, that was on her.

Without realizing it, sometimes we do this in the church. I bet all of us remember moments when someone in our church bodies offered to help us with something, and we quickly told them No, I’m fine. I don’t need anything. I don’t want to put you out.

It hurts, doesn’t it? Makes you question asking again? Makes you wonder what value you have if simple offers of help are turned away?

Long ago I knew a woman who felt her calling was to help people in church. If a problem arose, she was the first to offer food, counsel, whatever was necessary. But then when life went back to normal, she wasn’t around. She wasn’t developing friendships or relationships; she was simply filling needs.

This same woman refused to accept help. I invited her to a cookie exchange. She said she didn’t have time to bake cookies. I explained that I had overbaked. I had a ton of cookies at my house. (This was in my pre-diabetes years.) She insisted it was unfair to eat my cookies and would not accept my offer. In the end, I had to throw them away. They went stale before anyone got to them. And we didn’t get her company at the exchange.

After that day, I didn’t accept help from that woman again. Bearing burdens needs to be a two-way street. God didn’t tell us to help one another to show the world we are good people. We’re not doing it to the check the Obedience or Good Deeds boxes in our spiritual checklist. He did it because we need to be intimate. We need to have friendships and relationships. Life is hard. The world is mean. We need to have people around us who don’t only help us in time of need but also love us in times of good and joy. It isn’t about tasks done; it’s about hearts woven together in an unbreakable tapestry.

I call people like my old friend the foul-weather friends. The lady at the grocery store turned around and offered her cart to someone when she left the store. She wanted to be kind to strangers, but it offended her to accept kindness. That was weakness. I think we do that in church, too. Many of us jump to help, but we don’t accept help. We don’t want to be vulnerable. We pat ourselves on the back for doing a good deed and forget about anything deeper.

Again, I’m working on this. I’m trying to be helpful, but I also want to build friendships and relationships. I’m the kind of person who could live on a deserted island for a decade before I started talking to volleyballs, but God wants me to interact, so I’m trying to interact. It’s not easy. It’s not easy for any of us. Our society is about independence. Our society isn’t God’s society, and that’s clearer every day.

If someone offers to help you, maybe it’s not a sign of weakness to accept. Maybe it’s as much part of being a good disciple of Christ as offering. Maybe that help won’t only aid your life, but it will build up the one who offered. It’s a two-way street. The world is rough, and we are called to comfort each other, laugh with each other, enjoy each other, weep with each other, and walk each other to Heaven’s doors.

 

 

 

 

 

See Me

See MeThis week I found myself reading a lot of blogs. It might seem that, as a blogger, I read blogs on a regular basis. I don’t. Too often the point of a blog is to tell me I’m failing, that I say or do or think or believe the wrong things. Some of them are right, and some are not, but regardless, I’m not much of a blog reader.

So for me to find myself on blog after blog was strange. Even stranger was the common threads in these blogs. Some were well-known bloggers with thousands of subscribers. Some were not. But all of them were saying the same thing. All of them said I want to be seen.

Every blog I read this week was about connection. Introverts lamenting the world that doesn’t understand them. Foreign students lamenting life in new cultures. Chronically ill lamenting a world that dismisses the sick or expects them to suck it up and get with the program. Bloggers lamenting words sent into the void with no feedback. People ache for connection.

I did a lot of commenting this week. Also not common for me. Commenting can open a person up for ridicule, shaming, all kinds of nasty things. Those who comment, even on religious blogs, can be horrible. But I commented. And what I said boiled down to this one thing, even though I never used the words.

I see you, and doing so isn’t a waste of my time.

I get it. I long for connections, too. I have worked hard to be invisible, to avoid conflict, to protect my introverted, socially-awkward self. I worked to be invisible and then wept because nobody saw me. It’s senseless. But that’s the truth of it. Too many of us put on cloaks of invisibility and then suffocate beneath them, hoping someone out there will show up, rip them off, and see what’s beneath. Hoping when they do, we won’t turn out to be a waste of their time.

I miss the world of conversations and afternoon visits. I spend most of my time in a house with people. Rarely am I alone. And yet, we can all be staring at our screens a million miles apart. We rarely see one another. In church we promise to get together during the week, and it doesn’t happen. Life happens, we say. Crazy week. Maybe next week. As though life happening is a reason to hide and not a reason to reach out.

Maybe when life happens, when I’m feeling the need to be invisible, when I’m so lost I’m writing blogs begging someone to see me, I should reach out. Possibly I’ll be rejected because life is happening to my friends, too, and we deal with life alone. Or I’ll be rejected because there’s a lot to see on social media this week. Or a new quest on the video game. Or… It’s easier to make excuses than to be seen. Life is messy. If you see me, the real me, it’s not pretty. It might be a waste of your time. Your time is precious.

But, to those bloggers who opened their hearts this week, who called for connections, who admitted fears and illness and imperfections and then had to courage to say, in the midst of it all: See Me

I’m looking at you. I feel that connection. You’re worth the time.

As I’ve focused on the Spirit lately, I feel less of this. First, I know I’m seen by the most important person. Inside and out, he sees and understands and loves me. Second, being confident in that love helps me step out more boldly in relationships. I’m still a super introvert, but I’ve come a long way toward sharing with less fear, so I don’t feel that aloneness the way I once did.

In this life, our paths may never cross. But one day, I want to introduce myself and laugh and smile and trade stories and plan outings without the baggage of this life. No more invisibility. No more fears. No more being too small or too sick or too quiet.

I long for those days. For the final rescue of the One who sees us and loves us and never, ever once feels we’re a waste of His time.

The Elusive Christian Community

Community blogIf you’ve been in a church for any length of time, you’ve watched the powers that be wrestle with community.  Personally, I’ve been part of Life Groups, Community Groups, Women’s Groups, Homeschool Groups, and a number of other programs designed to unite us into communities.   I’ve seen them divided by life stages, educational preference, sex, and more.   The biggest common factor is that a couple years down the road someone throws up his/her hands in despair and tries a new program of community.

Not to say we shouldn’t try.  The Bible is filled with commandments about unity, bearing burdens, praying together, eating together, sharing belongings, and otherwise being in community.  It sounds so simple–we are all part of this invisible kingdom.  In a way, it’s us against the world.  That united purpose should create some sort of natural community, right?  So why is it so hard to do that? Continue reading