relationships

How “At Least . . .” Keeps Us From Reality

  A few weeks ago, I lamented a reality in my life. I would tell you what this reality was, but I honestly don't remember. All I know is that my husband didn't respond the way I hoped. His response was, "Well, at least (this other thing) isn't happening to you." (Again, what was the other thing? I don't know. But it didn't help me). And we both laughed. Because we know by now that, as Brené Brown says, "At least . . . " is rarely the beginning of an empathetic response. It's a way to minimize or distract ourselves (or others) from the reality of what we're facing. Over the next few days, we both experienced more challenges that led us, either jokingly or absent-mindedly, to respond to one another with, "Well, at least . . ." Each time, we caught ourselves. We saw how easy it is to evade our own or someone else's pain by this kind of comparison. Call it "putting things in perspective" or "choosing not to complain," but really what we're doing is dismissing our hearts, refusing to acknowledge reality. In some ways, it's a decent strategy. At times, it has protected us from being engulfed by sorrow. But if we know God, then we know there's an opportunity here. The opportunity is to invite Him to meet us in what is true. A prayer I learned recently from Ruth Haley Barton's readings is, "Lord, humble me in the presence of reality." In other words, help me sit in this situation. Help me not to excuse or dismiss or pretend that things are better than they are. Because I believe that You are greater than this. You can redeem. You can heal. This is not beyond you, therefore I can face it. When we sit with God in our own reality, we increase our capacity to sit with others in theirs. And when we refrain from our "at least . . ." responses with them, we leave space for them to do this same practice with God for themselves. Otherwise, our actions not only keep us from having to feel their pain, they actually keep them from meeting God in it. So may we catch ourselves when we are tempted to compare suffering. If our sentences begin with "at least" may we pause. Instead, let's meet God in reality.   Related posts: When Weeping Is Prayer The Challenge to Rejoice and Weep with Others What Is Anger's Real Name? 

Continue ReadingHow “At Least . . .” Keeps Us From Reality

Holding Each Other (When We Want to Fix It)

  When her teammate went down in the middle of a game, our daughter immediately ran to her side. Her first aid training kicked in, and she tried in vain to get her friend to slow her breathing. Shock and pain overwhelmed her teammate, though, and all our girl could do was sit by and cry for her. Afterward, she lamented her helplessness to me. "I couldn't help her. I couldn't do anything for her," she sighed. "You did the best thing you could. You were with her. She didn't need you to fix her. She needed you to be there." Unconvinced, she continued, "But it was so hard to see her in pain, and I couldn't help." And there is the heart of the issue. Our Desire to Fix When we see others in pain, something in us desires to help. That desire is good. It's God-given. But often our desire to help is really a desire to fix. It's a desire for the bad situation to simply not be true. It seems right, even good, to fix, doesn't it? It feels like helping. Really, though, it's usually avoiding. We struggle to sit in places of shalom shattered, both for ourselves and others. It reminds us that we are not in control. We feel our helplessness. We feel their pain. Yet there's something we can offer in these moments that is precious and valuable. We can offer our presence. And that can be enough. Offering Our Presence Recently I was in a small group for my spiritual formation program. We were asked to introduce ourselves to each other, and then sit in silence for two minutes afterward. One person shared quite vulnerably, even to the point of tears. And after sharing, we sat there without saying a word to her. It felt both awful and right. Awful, because we wanted to enter into her pain, to comfort and empathize, to say, "Yeah, I get that. Me too." But also right, because it meant no one spoke a word out of turn. No one offered platitudes or tried to rescue her from something God might be doing. It felt like enough to just be together, to be human with one another. M. Craig Barnes, in his book, Yearnings, says, "We don’t mend each other’s brokenness, we just hold it tightly." What a relief! It's not up to us to fix each other. While it's hard to see someone else in pain, wrestling, confused, unsettled, whatever it is, we aren't being asked to take it away. God has his eyes on all of us. He sees. He knows. And so our invitation is to simply hold each other tightly. Be there. Be there right away. Cry with them. That is enough. Related posts: 5 Reasons to Be a Burden The Challenge to Rejoice and Weep with Others Open the Door to Others

Continue ReadingHolding Each Other (When We Want to Fix It)

5 Reason to Be a Burden

  I'm sure you've heard this phrase before, "I just hate to be a burden" or, "she doesn't want to be a burden." A friend once even told me she admires people who don't want to be a burden to others. I don't. When we say we don't want to be a burden, there's usually lies fueling it, lies rooted in our worth. Those lies tell us that speaking needs places our worth on the table for examination. Am I worth the time, attention, and energy of others? Will they still want me if I appear weak, needy, or foolish? Some of us respond to the lies by diminishing ourselves. Others of us (ahem, looking in the mirror), respond by determining that we will never leave the worthiness question for others to answer. And yet, we should let others carry us. Here's why: 5 Reason to Be a Burden  It dispels the lies about our worth. When we choose to offer our needs to others, rather than stumbling on alone, we break the power of the voices that tell us it's not ok. We declare ourselves human and worthy of space in the world. That's a brave and beautiful thing. We find healing. Not only healing but rest, strength, grace, hope, and help. We need each other-that's how God made us. I sometimes hear people express an idea that all they really need is God. But what God gives us, He often gives through others. The help we need comes from God, through others. We give others an opportunity to use their gifts when we ask them to carry our burdens. Withholding our needs from others robs them. Ministering to us might be the way God wants to use them today. Who are we to deny them that? Our humility invites others. Sometimes it seems we're all wounded soldiers, triaging ourselves, insisting someone else needs more attention. But when one of us cries out for help, it frees the rest of us to cry as well. The enemy wants to keep us silently wounded. But we defy him and lead others to healing if we ask for it ourselves. Bottom line? It's Biblical. Galatians 6:2, "Carry each others' burdens, for in this way you fulfill the law of Christ." What is the law of Christ? To love God and love others. When we offer and receive the weightiness of our burdens, we love. “In their created limitations, Adam and Eve were held together in a bond of naked vulnerability . . . that is because in God’s design we do not manage our needs, we confess them. Intimacy demands hearing and telling the truth . . . [and it] recognizes that we will be inadequate to respond to the needs that are shared. We don’t mend each other’s brokenness, we just hold it tightly.”  Craig Barnes, Yearnings In God's design we do not manage our needs, we confess them. We don't manage needs, we share them. And when we do, it's…

Continue Reading5 Reason to Be a Burden

Why I Love Parenting Teenagers

"Just wait until they're teenagers." This is the phrase older parents throw out to younger ones when our kids are little. As if it's not enough trying to figure out how to sleep through the night, let alone do the dishes or laundry, now you have this forecast of impending doom. Fabulous. It's like when you start a new exercise program and people say, "Oh, just wait until you get to week 5. Week 5 will kill you!" Now I don't want to get to week 5. I used to imagine that our sweet, enjoyable children would turn into zombies when they became teenagers. All we had invested in them would be wiped clean. Despite our best efforts, they would slide into the inevitable. I kept waiting for it to happen. I waited. And I waited. Friends, I would like to report that, contrary to these dire predictions, I really, really, really love being a parent of teenagers. Let me tell you why: Why I love being a parent of teenagers They are independent The day we realized we could leave our kids at home alone felt like the clouds parted and the angels sang. Sure, there are phone calls like, "Hey-you told me to go to the dentist, but you didn't leave me a car," and "help! I left the cardboard under the pizza and now the top's done but not the bottom!" (seriously, these things happened), but it's all good. Not having to meet all their day to day needs means we have more energy to simply enjoy being with them. They're learning to figure out life on their own, and we get a little bit of life outside of parenting back. Win-win. We have adultish conversations Gone are the days when I'm desperate for an adult conversation because I get to have them on a regular basis with these kids who suddenly have minds of their own. More and more, we get to engage in deeper topics with them-faith, politics, relationships. Bonus? While they can talk on this level, they're still willing to listen to our viewpoints and generally believe them. One of my greatest joys? Our kids are versed in Enneagram, which is one of my favorite things in the whole world. It's like they just showed up to my party. They challenge me While I love seeing them, our daughter, in particular, keep up with my snarkiness, that's not the only reflection of my character I observe in them. Nothing like seeing your own faults in a mirror, right? Yet it's a good check in my spirit to reflect on myself and what I'm modeling for them. But more than that, our kids are gaining wisdom of their own. One day, my husband walked into the kitchen and commented on the challenges of leadership. Our then 16-year-old replied, "If you're leading, and everyone still likes you, you're probably doing it wrong. " Indeed. They drop these wisdom bombs on us from time to time. They still need their mama Despite…

Continue ReadingWhy I Love Parenting Teenagers

The Challenge to Rejoice and Weep With Others

After Hurricane Irma last fall, as I scrolled through my Facebook feed, I saw people rejoicing that their power had returned after the storm. Some never lost it in the first place. I wanted to be happy for them, but it was hard when we were staring down day 3 without it. Days after that, we still had friends without power. I'm guessing they struggled even more than we did. Sometimes it's hard to rejoice with those who rejoice. In the course of just a few weeks, we saw devastation in Texas, the Caribbean, and Florida. People lost everything. Yet as I scanned comments on articles about the aftermath, my heart broke over remarks flinging judgment at choices made to stay or go. Contempt poured over people where instead empathy was needed. Rather than entering others' pain, people stood at a distance and thanked God it wasn't them. Sometimes it's hard to weep with those who weep. Romans 12:15 says, "rejoice with those who rejoice; weep with those who weep." Both are challenging. I used to think it was harder to weep with others, but lately, I see the challenge in celebrating as well. Oh, it's easy to do if I am in an unrelated situation, or I have already found my own happiness in a similar one. But when we share the same hunger, and you are fed while I am not, how do I enter in well? How do I set aside my lack to rejoice in your plenty? There is the couple who longs for a child, watching their friends easily conceive. Consider single friends who watch as yet another friend gets married. Think of the one who is overlooked while a co-worker is elevated. My friend's child succeeds but mine fails. He loses weight but you don't. How can we truly rejoice with others? Rejoicing with others is a choice The simple but hard answer is: it's a choice we make. If we refuse to rejoice with others, we not only diminish their joy, we lose ours as well. Rejoicing when it's challenging humbles us, reminding us not to hold tightly to the things of the world. When we do that, it's a greater sacrifice of love. But rejoicing with others does not mean we kill our own desires. In fact, we hold them steady. That requires us to do something else: allowing ourselves to mourn what we lack. Weeping with others begins with ourselves Rather than minimizing, ignoring, spiritualizing, or pouring contempt on our own pain, we enter it. We cannot weep with others if we do not weep for ourselves. Oh, I know, that sounds scary, wrong even. We're afraid we'll get lost in the emotion, that we're not exhibiting faith. But when we acknowledge our own unmet desires, God meets us in them. Then, we receive His compassion and comfort. The more we allow ourselves to weep over our own pain, the greater our capacity to weep with others in theirs. Rejoicing or weeping: either…

Continue ReadingThe Challenge to Rejoice and Weep With Others

Open the Door to Others

“To open yourself to another person, to stop lying about your loneliness and your fears, to be honest about your affections, and to tell others how much they mean to you-this openness is the triumph of the child of God over the Pharisee and a sign of the dynamic presence of the Spirit.” (Brennan Manning, Abba’s Child). We lie about our loneliness and our fears. They are hidden beneath smiles, activity, and bravado. We ignore aches and push down anxieties because we believe the people who present themselves to others without these trappings are more acceptable, desirable, and welcome. And that’s how the loneliness and fears grow. They lie to us about our worth. Their grip on us tightens and reinforces our distance from those who would really know our hearts. Those lies battle with the truth that we need others, and the truth that real strength lies not in hiding, but in vulnerability. Life is not found behind closed doors. In an unguarded moment not long ago, I moved toward a friend. I clung to a glimmer of hope that maybe I wasn’t alone; maybe she felt it too. We began a hesitant companionship, marked with vulnerability hangovers from fear we overshared. Several times one or the other of us nearly canceled a lunch date because the thought of baring ourselves felt too heavy. But slowly, we pushed past our fears toward each other. After a while, we thought maybe we weren’t alone. Maybe other women wanted, needed, a place to be raw, real, seen, and heard too. So we invited a few. And they came. Four of us are on a journey of opening to each other. Between work and travel and family, we carve out times together where we simply ask, “how are you?” and make space for more than rote answers. We have, each of us, wondered if we fit in with the others. As we open doors into deeper recesses of our hearts, we navigate fear. We brave disappointing one another with our honest selves. Together, we invite each other’s childlike selves to show up, share wounds that need care, and receive the tenderness and empathy we need. We share where our hearts are in the process of being awkwardly awake and alive to the mess of life, parenting, friendship, and ministry. One week, a flurry of text messages appeared about getting together. I chimed in that I couldn’t come, and received no response. With a sinking feeling in my gut, I watched as they excitedly planned time without me. The loneliness and fear called back to me, telling me how foolish it was to believe I could leave them behind. They whispered of my lack. Told me I was dispensable. Noted how quickly I was passed over. When our group sat down in our booth at Panera the next week, I swallowed hard and spoke my lies. These friends listened, understood, and opened the door for me to reclaim my space with them. The triumph…

Continue ReadingOpen the Door to Others

The Secret to 20 Years of Marriage

20 years ago, I walked excitedly down a church aisle to my grinning man. Standing on the wooden steps, light streaming in from the high windows, we said our first yeses to one another as husband and wife. Marriage starts with a yes. We enter in bravely saying, "Yes, I will journey this life with you," most of us barely knowing what that will really mean. That first yes is easy. But what is the secret to staying married for the long haul? Marriage is a million yeses. We say yes to doing the dishes, getting up with the kid in the middle of the night, mowing the lawn, and a thousand other tasks we would probably rather not do. We choose to step toward reconciliation when we've disagreed, to forgive, to admit wrong. Decisions are made to deny our own desires, our ways, our plans, and allow someone else's wants and needs to trump our own. We overlook the offense, accept the quirks, smile instead of frown at the annoying habit, knowing that the thing that bothers us will probably happen again tomorrow. Wrinkles, receding hairlines, stretch marks, and pot bellies we accept into the story. Walking together through the valleys and the challenges, going places we would rather not go, is a choice we make. We commit to being in their court even if no one else is. Naked vulnerability, physically and emotionally, becomes part of how we live. We sign on daily to bear witness to someone else's ordinary and extraordinary moments. We say yes to all of this and more. Sometimes a yes is easy. It feels like the most natural thing in the world. We say it gladly, as though it was what we were made for. But other days, a yes is sacrificial, so hard we feel like we deserve a medal for it (note: my husband should have oodles of medals for saying yes to me. He's on track for sainthood). Some days a yes asks too much humility, too much vulnerability, when our hearts are already raw. It's tempting, in those times, to let our yeses become nos. The more we do that, the more our hearts close. Some days we determine that our spouses don't deserve a yes, and we're right. So often they don't (and neither do we). But this is where we're called back to the economy of the Kingdom, which says we have been overwhelmed with what we don't deserve, and we are called to model our lives and marriages after our Savior. God says yes to us again and again, moving toward us despite our response or worthiness. Each time we choose to move toward each other, we create a greater space for the other to rest in, a place of acceptance, grace, love, and commitment, of belonging, permanence, and rootedness. The yeses deepen our dependence on each other, claiming ground in each others' hearts. Each yes to our spouse is a reflection of the relentless, pursuing love…

Continue ReadingThe Secret to 20 Years of Marriage

When You Love Someone With Special Needs

One of the things that brings me the greatest joy is to hear my children talking to my sister. When they talk with her, they sweetly ask questions and patiently listen to her stories. They treat her with compassion. They make her feel loved. It’s like a balm to my soul. Why? Because my sister is mentally challenged. What it's like to love someone who is challenged Growing up with an older sister who is mentally challenged, I had an acute radar for how other people responded to her. I vetted every friend who came over, watching to see if they would treat her normally. I eyed strangers in public, ready to give them the stink eye if they so much as smirked at her. (You don’t want to be on the receiving end of my stink eye). While my parents encouraged her as much as possible to live an independent life, she will always need others’ help and support. She is a perpetual child in an adult body; trusting, simple, open. She needs others to stand with her, to listen to her, to guide her, to do for her what she cannot do for herself. As adults, I’m not as worried about her as I was as a child, but I still want to shelter her. During the 2012 election, we needed to vote early, so I picked her up on Halloween. She exited her house wearing a pink princess costume with a silver crown. I paused for a minute and then thought, “Ok, let’s go with it.” Of course we got stares and questioning looks at the voting booths. Part of me felt the need to justify why a 42-year-old woman was wearing a princess costume. Another part of me wanted everyone to act like it was the most normal thing in the world. Actually, I wanted more than that. I wanted people to feel the way I felt about her – that they would think that it was awesome that she was wearing exactly what made her happy on a holiday. How I want people to see her I wanted them to see her as the gift she is; a precious, God-given gift. My sister loves purely and wholeheartedly. She delights in little things, in being part of everything. Trust and acceptance come easily to her. She gives me opportunities to grow in being compassionate, patient, gentle, loving, protective of the weak, accepting of the different. And that’s why it’s such a blessing when others step in and love her alongside me. It says, “I see that she is precious too. I will stand with you in loving her.” It says we are not alone, that others will be the protectors, the helpers, the givers. They will recognize the value in her. So if you know someone who is challenged in some way, know that taking the time to love them isn’t just a gift to them. It’s a gift to those who love them as well. Thank you.…

Continue ReadingWhen You Love Someone With Special Needs

End of content

No more pages to load