The Grudge Has Met Its Match

Confession: I was about 30 years old when a friend did something that hurt me very deeply. She was one of those really nice people that everyone liked, always well-behaved and never stepped out of line.  It was a conversation she had with my husband when the three of us were together. I had no evidence that she intended to be rude or insensitive. There is no way she could have known that ignoring me during her brief banter with my husband had touched a very tender part of my heart and created a deep wound in an already vulnerable place.

I was generally confident in most things, talented, outspoken, opinionated. But our marriage was troubled. I was insecure about my relationship and this short conversation triggered fear. My husband admired her. A little too much, I thought. My imagination was a bit too vivid: I could be abandoned, rejected completely, as I had been completely ignored while the two of them chatted. A small wound began to bleed and I didn't address it, so it began a slow downward spiral towards a root of bitterness in my heart.

What she said was frivolous, a thoughtless, throwaway conversation. But it stuck like a fish hook in my mind, and I gave it meaning and import that it did not merit. The talons of suspicion and jealousy clawed deeply into the raw layer of "I am not enough." I nursed that wound. Dark thoughts began to creep in. From then on, I viewed every interaction with deep distrust. I saw twisted motives in everything she did. And the grudge grew.

Because you're not what I would have you be, 

I blind myself to who, in truth, you are.

~Madeleine L'Engle

I never talked to her about the perceived offence. There was a part of me that knew, deep inside, it really was my issue, my response, my pain, my fear but I didn't seriously sort through the emotions until years later. We were working on our marriage, but every interaction and observation with this person from then on was clouded by the firm (but flawed) conviction that she had the world handed to her on a silver platter and my husband was the next thing on her wish list. I believed this lie. I would ensure she never enjoyed our friendship again. If I could have, I would have tried to stop her getting anything good. It was a horrible place to be.

Holding a grudge against someone means 

you think you know what they deserve 

and you take it upon yourself to give it to them. 

~Dr. Timothy Keller

Instead of sitting with the pain and discovering what it triggered in me, I blindly blamed her. Blame allows me to deny my own responsibility for forgiveness, reconciliation and restoration. For years I distanced myself. For years I viewed everything she did with distain and contempt, not even giving her credit for genuine successes she attained in her life. When we had to be in the same room at the same time, I kept up the pretence of amiable acquaintance, but it was stiff and disingenuous. Bitterness ate me up inside.

Author, Serena Woods, writes about this kind of bitterness: "If everyone did everything right concerning you, you would have never learned what the pain taught you. Lessons are valuable and no price can be put on them. Bitterness shows that hanging on to the failures of others is more important than the lesson.

Bitterness shows that hanging on to the failures of others
is more important than the lesson. ~Serena Woods

This went on for many years. It's amazing the staying power of a grudge. I could still tell you the exact words of that conversation, but now, I've begun to let it go. In 2010, I started attending Freedom Session, knowing I needed Jesus' healing for this and many other issues. I learned my bitterness and pain were rooted in fear of abandonment, insignificance, displacement. I learned to stop blaming and to get out of denial. To stop believing the lies that I was "less than." I learned to take responsibility for my own attitudes, actions and behaviours. I learned to make amends. But even after taking the course twice, I still hadn't completely accomplished the "forgiveness" step.

Not for lack of trying! I confessed and wept before the Lord on multiple occasions over the last 30 years since The Incident. But it had a deep root I regularly tended, watered and fertilized before I began listening in obedience to the convicting power of the Holy Spirit.

"Forgive as I have forgiven you." (Matthew 6:12-15)

I thought I'd forgiven it, then from time to time it raised it's ugly head again. I'd have genuine, loving interactions with this person and then go home and the enemy would come in like a flood, suggesting nefarious intent of her part. It came like a roaring lion trying to devour me. I needed the armour of God!

But our gracious, good Father continues to wait, patiently, for the prodigal daughter to return. Over the past six years since I was widowed, by God's grace, I've begun to walk the path back to genuine, lasting forgiveness. I've sat with the pain, facing the stark reality of what unforgiveness has done to damage my relationships and my spirit.

The Holy Spirit gently points to what God has done in dealing with my sin. Can I do any less?

• I will forgive their wickedness, and I will never again remember their sins. (Hebrews 8:12)
• I, even I, am he who blots out your transgressions, for my own sake, and remembers your sins no more. (Isaiah 43:25)
• As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us. (Psalm 103:12)
• Once again you will have compassion on us. You will trample our sins under your feet and throw them into the depths of the ocean! (Micah 7:19)

There are those who may be given an extraordinary grace to forgive instantaneously. But in my case,  forgiveness has not been a "once and done" action. Over and over and over, every time those old feelings of bitterness begin to creep back in about that ancient offence, I must choose to say (sometimes out loud so my heart hears it twice), "I distinctly remember forgiving that." 

Now I need to release it.

Clara Barton, founder of the American Red Cross, was reminded one day of a vicious deed that someone had done to her years before. But she acted as if she had never even heard of the incident. “Don’t you remember it?” her friend asked. “No,” came Barton’s reply, “I distinctly remember forgetting it.”

I love what Joanie Yoder writes in Our Daily Bread: “God doesn’t say He’ll forget our sins—He says He’ll remember them no more! His promise not to remember them ever again is stronger than saying He’ll forget them.” She goes on, "Because Christ died for all our sins (1 Cor. 15:3), God promises to forgive us and never bring up our sin again (Ps. 103:12)."

This is my prayer. To continuously forgive and to stop remembering. The grudge has met its match. I choose to let God throw it all into the un-remembered depths; into the sea of his forgiveness.

You too?

God, whose every way is perfect,

Said in justice and in grace

That our sins He’ll not remember,

And our fears He will erase.  

~Hess

Photo 1 by Lina Trochez 

Photo 2 by Michael Olsen

Things I've Learned: 2018 Edition

The turning of the calendar page often brings reflection, even personal inventory. Here, I offer you a collection of thoughts, meditations and lessons from this hard fought life. Feel free to sample, test, and take what meets your hunger for this present time.

Everyone changes, everyone grows
Seek growth in yourself, acknowledge it in others. Think how different you are from where you were 5, 10, 15 years ago. Aren’t you wiser now? Different? Would you always, forever, want to be viewed by how you were then? No? Then allow the same of others. Let your view of others escape from those carefully-guarded pigeon-holes. Extend grace.

Whatever you are looking for, you will find. 
If you continue to look for evidence that things are bad, or that others are falling short, that’s all you will see. But if you assume good will, good intent, and ask yourself “what’s good about this?” or "what does this make possible?" then you will readily begin to see hidden gifts and the potential for joy.

Give spontaneous tributes
Have you given a tribute lately? Give it now. Tell others what you appreciate about them. Even small things. Say it while that person is able to hear what you love about them. Set aside the petty trivialities of how they aren't doing things "the right way" (read: your way) and praise them for what you'd miss if they were gone. Say it now. Today. Repeat tomorrow. Don’t wait for their funeral. Trust me on this one.

Give compliments
Even to strangers. Your server, that harried clerk, the bus driver, the people who are usually faceless. See them. Tell them something specific about how nice they look, their kind smile, their patience, their efficiency. I've even told strangers they look amazing, and you should see them blossom.

Youth and beauty are not accomplishments.
Let’s eliminate the practice of judging whether or not someone has “aged well.” Youth and beauty are temporary by-products of time and DNA. You can’t control either. (1)

Beware the double standard 
We are apt to be far more severe with others than ourselves. We judge others by their performance, which is clearly seen to be faulty, while we measure ourselves by our intentions or ideals, which, while undoubtedly excellent, often result in no performance at all. (2)

Strengths can become weaknesses when overused.
Strengths, taken to their opposite extreme, can compromise performance, sabotage relationships and even derail a career. (3) My strength of "problem solving" becomes a problem if I walk into every situation thinking, “What’s wrong with this?” and then begin to internally criticize, or worse, actually give unsolicited advice.

Seek simple. 
We often get so mired down in the process of “doing it right” (whatever that means) that we never get started doing it.

Keep a Joy Jar.
Grab a scrap of paper and write the date and one sentence about something positive today. Put it in a jar, box, container. (something you already have). Do the same tomorrow.
Or whenever something good happens. Put in the ticket stubs from that great concert or movie. Then at the end of the year, on New Year’s Eve or Day, dump them all out, read through them, enjoy the flood of memories and surge of gratitude for the joy-filled life you’ve had this year. (4)

Keep your own solemn vow.  And keep it to yourself.
Promises or resolutions spoken out loud may trick the brain into thinking it's already accomplished what was spoken. It releases the reward endorphins in our brain so we get the sense of accomplishment before the promise is actually fulfilled. As a result, we don't do the work necessary to actually keep our promise or reach our goal. Honor yourself enough to keep your vows. (5)

Be Present
Don’t make a future list of what needs to go away or come to your life. Stop trying to fix your past. Promise yourself only one thing this year: be present. Speak it only to yourself. Whisper it: "Be present." In every moment, in every situation, in every joy, with every difficult person: be present, focused, attentive, fully engaged. Make this agreement with yourself. (6)

Pray
Is it possible you are starting the New Year with an anxious heart? The early Christians used what is called a “breathe prayer” to help those situations. It is simply this: As you inhale, say the words “Jesus Christ is Lord” to yourself, then, as you exhale say the words, “Lord, be my peace.” Repeat this pattern until you feel the tension lessen or go away completely.

When we live in the awareness 

of our desperate need for God, 

we are filled in unexplainable ways. 

~Brad Harback

Attend to the one who provides every good and perfect gift. God doesn’t intrude. Look for God, invite God, open your heart to the one who rescues, redeems, heals, restores, comforts, guides, loves and fills us in unexplainable ways. Today, if you are feeling anxious, give the “breathe prayer” a try, and may God’s peace be with you.




Inhale: "Jesus Christ is Lord."
Exhale: "Lord, be my peace."








1. Original quote here.
2. Inspired by this article and this scripture.
3. From this article on managing your strengths.
4. Thanks to my friend Kendra for the Joy Jar idea.
5. More here about vow keeping.
6. More about being present here.

Happy Canadian Thanksgiving

The sparrows and chickadee swarm the feeder
Snow drifts gentle down
The trickling fountain soothes
As the aroma of turkey rises
I sit quiet and cosy, coffee in hand
anticipate candied sweet potatoes
Green bean casserole
Mashed potatoes and gravy
Flaky butter rolls and salad
Pecan pie with whipped cream
Shared between family and friends
Traditions and gratitude
Thanks and grace
All good gifts
From our gracious, loving
Father of Light
Happy Canadian Thanksgiving!

Apples of Gold

“It really makes me sad to see you speak so harshly to yourself.”

I looked at his face, tender with concern. Harshly to myself? What had I said?

“I pray I will know when to speak and when to shut my mouth.”

It was, on the surface, a genuine concern to only say what is helpful. To not speak in unhelpful or hurtful ways. To carefully choose my battles and determine which hills to die on, then speak with the right attitude and in the right tone of voice. Because we know that it’s not so much what you say but how you say it that leaves the listener remembering how you made them feel. For goodness sake, I even pray about this sort of thing. And I sometimes decide not to speak when I listen to the still, small voice which cautions me to be still.

I had said the first part in a normal voice: “I pray I will know when to speak.” Speak up for those who have no voice. Speak peace into a troubled heart. Speak encouragement for the weak one. Speak up when I have been wronged. I’m still learning how to do that last one without being a prickly pear.

But when to shut my mouth? Ah, that I said with a snarl and a curled lip. A self-flagellation for every time I spoke out of turn, spoke too loud, spoke unkindly, hurt someone, accused someone, berated someone.

It takes me right back to Grade Eight science class when Bruce and Gerry gave me an unflattering nickname: Meramac Cavern Mouth. They were my friends, we sang together. I liked them. We teased each other. But I was loud and they poked me for it, choosing the largest cave in the state as my namesake.

Yes, I was loud in Junior High. I was obnoxious. I was funny. I was busy. I was a singer. I was confident. I was sometimes insecure and I was trying to find my place in the world, just having experienced my first kiss.

That was awkward and gross. I didn’t know what to do with that icky feeling. So I redirected it in anger against the boy who tried it and to my best friend and her boyfriend who goaded us into it. Sitting on the cold floor of her parents’ garage, we two couples, all the early side of 14 years old, decided to explore kissing. And it was a bomb. I was embarrassed. Was something wrong with me? Was it him? Neither one of us knew how. I was disappointed that I’d chosen poorly and I could never get “my first kiss” back. It was gone and now it would forever be engraved in history as a bad mistake I made with a pudgy Grade Seven boy.

What followed was my first experience with really hurting someone with my words. I broke up with the boy and decided I didn’t want to be friends with my best friend any more. I made unkind remarks about her to others at school. The vitriol went on until one of the teachers called me aside to say, “I know your brother (a teacher in Grade Six) and I know your family and I know they didn’t raise you to act like this. You are being a bully and it needs to stop.”

I did stop. I was embarrassed that someone had to take me aside like that, yet I was grateful because I knew he was right.

“The right word at the right time is like a custom-made piece of jewelry, and a wise friend’s timely reprimand is like a gold ring slipped on your finger. Patient persistence pierces through indifference; gentle speech breaks down rigid defenses.” Proverbs 25:11-12,15 (MSG)

My friend and I made up but it was always different after that. We had both been wounded and my words had left scars on us both.

The awkward, gross, icky feeling of Grade Eight surfaces every time I see that look in another person’s eyes: I’ve hurt them. I kick myself over and over for speaking at the wrong time or in the wrong way, even if what I said was valid. They couldn’t receive it because my timing or tone of voice was offensive.

As time passes, as I mature, I have earned a measure of success and respect for how I speak and what I write. But as many writers do, I write very carefully, wrestling long and hard over anything I put in print: to say it right, to say it well, to say it clearly. It can take an entire morning to write and publish one blog post. And I anguish over emails, writing and re-writing paragraphs to minimize any possibility of misinterpretation and still, it is sometimes misunderstood, the reader misses the point or fixates on one ill-chosen phrase.

I have no one to blame but myself.

Or so I thought.

In sober second thought, my rational mind can logically deduce that others are also responsible for their reactions. They hear what I have to say through their own background experience and emotional filters. They give different value, meaning and weight to my words than what I intended.

When another is offended, I can sometimes understand in retrospect how it hurt them, if they let me know. More often they don’t say anything. They just fade away. Not many people confront me about my words. Not many people confront anyone. It seems confrontation is avoided at all costs by a majority of us.

When that unsettled feeling rises, that subtle alienation after I say something intense, passionate or strong, I go away and analyze it. Replay the full conversation, maybe the entire event in my head more than once, guess at how it might have been interpreted (how impossible is that, since I’m trying to understand someone else’s filters through my own).

I know I am not alone in this practice. You do it too, perhaps?

So back to the original remark that started this all off. When I pray I want to know when to keep my mouth shut, I’m thinking of all that has come before. All the ways I’ve caused pain to the heart of another. That overbearing burden of being a person who so often wounds another, that somehow I should be able to not do that.

I should be perfect.

Or at least, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.”

So I turn on myself. “Keep your mouth shut!” my inner critic snarls.

And the one who loves me best, who sees me at my worst, who has promised to love and cherish me until death parts us, tells me how sad he is to see that venom turned inward.

This is a shining moment in love, in marriage: the mirror held up by a loving hand to help me see clearly where I am self-cutting. The one who sees my heart, knows my life and moves to restrain my hand from the mea culpa.

“It is not only what you say but, more importantly, how you say it.”

Especially when you are saying it to yourself. Self-compassion is not selfishness. It is what makes it possible for us to live whole and compassionate in all our other relationships.

He goes on, “Ask yourself how you would speak to another person, and speak to yourself in that same courteous way.”

Words can heal and words can kill. Words wound and words give life. So, I will continue to pray about when to speak and when to be silent. Because silence is not always golden. Sometimes silence means consent or cowardice. In that case, speaking graciously is the most loving way to live in community with one another.

I’m so glad for the way another spoke healing words to me.

Watch the way you talk. Let nothing foul or dirty come out of your mouth. Say only what helps, each word a gift. Don’t grieve God. Don’t break his heart. His Holy Spirit, moving and breathing in you, is the most intimate part of your life, making you fit for himself. Don’t take such a gift for granted. Make a clean break with all cutting, backbiting, profane talk. Be gentle with one another, sensitive. Forgive one another as quickly and thoroughly as God in Christ forgave you. Ephesians 4:29-32 MSG

Punctuality Punch

I will apologize in advance if this post offends you. I hope not. I’m writing it because I’ve lived on both sides of this issue so I’m preaching to myself here. I have no particular individual in my mind other than myself. Feel free to add your perspective in the comments or on my Facebook page.

I don’t remember if I heard it, read it, or saw it in one of those random Facebook pictures. It struck me funny.

“Better to arrive late than to arrive ugly.”

I may or may not have re-shared it. It sure got a laugh in Cave Creek at the pottery shop when I said it to my husband as a quote that should be on a plaque and a couple women in the store overheard me. They laughed uproariously.

But is it true?

On a favorite blogger’s recent post I read something that sounds like it. She’s just had a baby. Her fourth. A bit of a “Surprise!” baby, but she was eager and ready and happy and fully immersed in the new mothering of her little one, but wrote: 

“Dashing into the shower in the early morning, determined to get dressed, put on make-up, brush my hair. I’m my father’s daughter: I believe in the small dignities to keep life steady in the midst of change and chaos. I hear his voice in my head, look good and feel good. So I make beds, I put clean clothes on everyone in my care, I empty the dishwasher, we eat at the table. Normal structures, normal routines, all around an extraordinary newness. It’s true, I do feel better but now there’s a houseful of people who all feel better when I feel better.”

Hold that thought while we go back to the triggering quote. Is it truly “better to arrive late than to arrive ugly”? Will the people to whom I’m arriving feel better because I feel good about how I look? Is that the right measure?

I’ll give you a hint. It’s an unfair question.

It’s a false dichotomy, only two choices. The question assumes you must pick one thing out of two bad options, when there are actually many more options available. Let’s break it down a little further: The question assumes that if I arrive on time, I will arrive unkempt. Or that I am ugly unless I arrive late? Or that to truly do what is necessary to make myself presentable, I must take so much time that I cannot possibly start it soon enough to finish promptly and arrive punctually.

I’m sure you and I both have seen many beautiful people arrive on time and behave quite graciously, so this isn’t about them. Let me just pick this funny little quote apart. I’m going to seek names for what it may be hiding. Is it a procrastinator’s excuse for tardiness? An insecure person’s defense for being disrespectful of other people’s time? A comedian’s means to a backhanded insult? Or just a sarcastic joke which I’m totally over-thinking?

A good friend of mine asks a pointed question when we hear, read or say something which is initially funny or self deprecating that eventually doesn’t sit quite right when you think about it or give it a sober second glance.

She asks, “What’s the lie in that?”

Is there a lie in the phrase, “Better to arrive late than ugly”?

Promptness and punctuality were emphasized from day one of elementary school. We were graded on it. Businesses emphasize honoring their open/close times and expect employees to be present and engaged in productive work during their assigned work hours. Social etiquette refers to arriving “fashionably late” as being no more than 8 minutes past the invitation time but not arriving too early ahead of the specified start. Since social settings are voluntary, do we give tacit approval to late arrival? If I were meeting the president or the queen, would I think it’s better to arrive late for any reason?

So here’s the lie. Neither option is better.

Truth is, arriving late is ugly. I know there are occasional times when circumstances cause unavoidable delay. But there was a point in my life where I arrived late all the time. Even if I had committed to an event or a rehearsal, I would often arrive late. I even wrote an essay on it, trying to understand myself and this behavior I did not condone, condemning myself in every possible way for not being able to move my consistent tardiness into dependable punctuality.

I discussed the hypothesis that to arrive consistently late might be done out of disrespect. I used terms like arrogant and inconsiderate. Or perhaps a passive-aggressive act to exert power by one who felt an obligation to attend an event but doesn’t really want to be there. Tardiness can give the self-centered impression that what I am doing now is more important or more interesting than what you want to do at your start time. Or perhaps a narcissist likes arriving late and having everyone notice me when I get there. Even bad attention is better than no attention, right?

Wrong.

If we give the tardies the benefit of the doubt, perhaps they just attract roadblocks. I recently decided to attend my nephew’s band concert in an unfamiliar city. The GPS said ETA was 12 minutes, but that didn’t take into consideration it was rush hour and the GPS said to go north instead of south and the traffic in both directions was at a standstill. Exiting on a side road, we pulled over and it took a few minutes to reassess an alternate route that didn’t include the freeway. We were fine. Calm. Not worried because we still had lots of time, so we stopped for coffee at McDonalds. The clerk said they were brewing a fresh pot and it would be three minutes – no problem, we went to the washroom and returned, waiting while they served the two people now in line.

You know this isn’t going to turn out well, already, don’t you?

The second person was ordering for an entire basketball team, apparently, then didn’t have quite the right amount and had to make alterations to the order. When we finally stepped up to get our coffee order processed (we didn’t use the drive thru because we did need to use the facilities) and while she was taking our simple “two large black coffees” order, the clerk stopped and answered an interruption from the previous woman, then a second question from another patron who wanted more dipping sauce for his chicken fingers and we listened to the entire policy explanation as to why they were going to charge him $.16 for each one in addition to what’s given with his order and their warning to him about not being verbally profane or abusive with his language. Once our coffee finally arrived and we got back into our vehicle to continue our journey, it was a full fifteen minutes we hadn’t calculated into our transit time.

Then in the next block, after we exited McDonalds, a train is stopped across the road. Dead stopped. No movement at all. With a police vehicle already blocking access with lights flashing (on both sides of the train), I make the quick assumption that it is stalled for an indefinite period of time and we proceed with a quick recalculation again on the GPS for a second detour.

The address he gave was for the main office of the college campus where the concert was taking place, and as we arrived, we get a phone message from my brother with more detailed instructions as to how to find the concert hall, a full two miles further from the main office. All the while, I had been texting my brother about our ETA, updating him, figuring out how to meet for getting the concert tickets, which he eventually left at Will-Call so he could sit down as the concert was already starting.

We arrived late and were seated between songs as my nephew’s band began playing the last of their set. They were terrific. Small consolation, the following two bands were terrific as well and we got to go out for coffee with the family afterwards. But we were late. Oh, so late, for such very good reasons that were not at all our fault.

These are not the kind of tardy arrival incidents I am discussing in this post, but it was a “Planes, Trains and Automobiles” kind of a story, don’t you think?

Sigh. Even explaining why we were late took me on a long rabbit trail that has delayed my next paragraph.

Yes, even if I wanted to be at an event, I would still sometimes be late. Sometimes just because I couldn’t get my act together or took too long or didn’t leave soon enough. Sometimes, they couldn’t start without me. They still loved me and it made it easier when I could explain all the ridiculous and unexpected, unavoidable reasons for delays outside my control, but when it was due to my own negligence or impertinence, I made it just a smidge harder (and believe me, I am deeply grateful for the true friends who heaped forgiveness on this and many other flaws).

How did I eventually change? I learned from personal experience - when I’ve been on the receiving end: leading a rehearsal that requires me repeating instructions for the latecomers (one of the joys of working with volunteers) or hosting a dinner party that required closely timed guest arrival with placing the success or fail entrée in front of them.

If I arrive late to the theatre for a live show or concert, I’m not allowed in until a suitable break between acts or songs. If I arrive late for an airline flight, I miss it. We are penalized. What’s a person to do when someone arrives late to a dinner party or a rehearsal? Starting without them may drive the point home to them, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference for chronic latecomers.

My father wanted one of my brothers to be more punctual. So my father asked, “If we were to take a hymnal with us from every church we sing in, would that be okay?” My brother says, “Of course not, it would be like stealing.” My father’s point: “And when you take five minutes or more of our time while we wait for you to arrive, you are stealing our time. Nine of us waited five minutes for you, that’s 45 minutes you have stolen. It is time that is not yours to take.”

Some of the things I did to overcome my own chronic tardiness was related to realizing how I was impacting my relationships with those I cared about. I had a choir member ream me out for “expecting more of the choir than you expect of yourself.” She was right. I didn’t want to be kept waiting but there were times I as the director had kept them waiting.

Some practical things I learned:

• allow extra time
• leave earlier
• start getting ready earlier
• shorten the to-do list
• eliminate all but the most essential tasks
• set aside perfectionism
• get used to saying: "That's good enough"
• stop being overly optimistic about how long something will take
• build in a buffer in case something happens along the way
• leave when planned
• discipline myself to NOT multi-task

I know all this. You know all this. But still, I push it. I’m no longer a chronic tardy, but sometimes I still arrive late. I see others do the same. Why?

Because I don’t want to have to be the one waiting on the latecomers. What a lame reason. Seriously? That’s a whole ‘nother blog post all on its own.

Back to the blogger’s paragraph. She felt looking good and keeping routines for her family (even in the face of being the mom of a brand new baby) would help her whole family feel better. She took the responsibility to keep routine and beauty and tidiness in the middle of all that change and upheaval. She was choosing beauty over ugly. Peace over chaos. Punctuality over procrastination. But later in her blog, she confessed, “the laundry will never be done” so we know she isn’t one of those uptight perfectionists, nor is she blowing smoke, creating a false image of how organized she is. She simply wants to help her family feel as normal and safe as possible as they integrate a new little one into their family.

I find from experience that late arrivers (including myself) begin to feel like unsafe people. I can’t count on them. Well, I can count on them to be consistently late. They signify by their repeated tardiness that they are not going to respect another’s time.

In the world of those who follow Christ, it doesn’t seem very loving. But then again, neither does my forensic dissection of the issue. I’m preaching at myself here. I’m just a writer trying to figure out how to live in this world in a way that will help others feel safe around me. 

I want to be a woman of my word. I want to be able to trust myself and be confident that I will honor time commitments of others and help them succeed by being prompt. I want to be respectful of others, honor their time, be a good steward of this one precious life. Help the entire production or choir or dinner party look better and feel better because no one is worrying about when the last person will finally arrive and things can get started.

It’s ugly to arrive late.

I want to redeem the time, arrive calm and collected so that I (and all the others with whom I am in community) will look and feel better. I want to make room for time, for others, for sanity. To maintain small dignities to keep life steady in the midst of change and chaos.

There’s no present like the time.

Photo Credit: Depositphotos.com 2354469, Standard License

You Deserve It

“I’m so happy for you. You deserve this!”

My friend Susan and I were talking yesterday and rejoicing in the beautiful love I’m experiencing in my marriage.

It’s a lovely sentiment expressed by a caring friend. It’s not the first time I’ve heard something similar to this. Yet, every time, I recoil at the word, “deserve”.

“I don’t feel like I deserve anything,” I said.

Why is that?

My friend means it as an encouragement but somehow I hear it with foreboding, unworthiness, even guilt. It seems inherent in the phrase is the suggestion that “deserve” smacks of entitlement. Like I’ve somehow earned the right to be happy.

Deserve? What do I deserve? Sure I’ve had my share of sadness. Even in that phrase, there is a comparative term: “my share”. As if, somehow, I have “paid my dues” and now I have “earned” the right to be happy.

Life is not a competition, although many might view it that way. Some even find it motivating to “work hard, apply myself, so I can reap the benefits and earn what I’m worth.”

“It’s endemic in our religious upbringing,” Susan quickly points out. I know immediately what she means. We know we can’t earn salvation, that because of sin we deserve the punishment of death, therefore we don’t deserve the grace that God lavishes upon us. It’s unmerited favor. That’s why it’s grace. It’s a free gift.

Rather than take this blog into a long, heated discussion of differing theological points of view – like some of my early family holiday dinner conversations (shudder – can you say “indigestion”?) think about how much of life is competitive.

“Faster, Higher, Stronger”
“Auditions will be held…”
“Job competition”
“Performance bonus”
“The Top 40” (this week)
“You get out of this what you put into it”
“I must be living right” or “I can’t do anything right”
“I really worked hard for this”

We track games, races, sports scores and team records, tracking stats and doing analysis at the micro level to find yet one more way to give comparative status to the value of each player or athlete. If we take Second Place by one-hundredth of a second, the only title given is “Loser”.

We have regular performance evaluations in our workplace and annual salary reviews, which determine our compensation for services rendered. There are salary grids for different job classes and corporate guidelines about how quickly one can move up in their range. Bonuses, commissions, profit-sharing are all based on “What have you done for me lately?” There are companies that specialize in quantifying the value of a role and creating quantifiable measures for individual experience and skill.

Profit is good, loss is bad. We strive to choose the best financial products to achieve the highest possible return on investment (ROI). We seek out the “most reputable” advice and “most comprehensive” research and investment advisors with the best track record in financial markets.
Ultimately, the assumed truism is: “You earn what you deserve” or “You deserve what you earn”.

On the other hand, there are other voices using terms like:

“It’s God’s will/sovereignty/plan/judgment/punishment.”
“Karma!”
“How lucky can you get?”
“How fortunate!”
“Just my luck!”
“The odds were against me.”
“The tide is turning in my favor.”
“The whole universe just waits for me to get cocky, then slams me down.”
“We lost because I attended the game, I’m bad luck.”
“You must have a horseshoe up your a**.”
“It just wasn’t in the stars.”
“It’s destined to fail.”
“That was a fluke.”
“It’s like magic.”

This second list reflects an opposite extreme to the first list. I’m sure philosophers, psychologists, social scientists and theologians all have their own terminology for these two opposing world views regarding our “deservedness” for blessings and benefits. I’m not going to research specific terms or cite scholarly sources (although the OCD side of me really wants to).

I want to get back to “You deserve this”. It seems this phrase could be used with equal convictions on both sides of the pendulum: grace or works. In my case, I fault on the “I didn’t earn it” side. (Please don’t comment on how worthy I am. I don’t write this to solicit any reassurances of my deservedness. In fact, I tend to dismiss that kind of sentiment).

I know when I’m giving my best and when I’m not. I know that many sad things have happened in my life and I spent more of the last couple decades grieving than celebrating. Yet I also crave affirmation when I have done a good job at something that mattered ANYTHING. In fact, I’ve spent my life measuring my worth by the applause of people. More recently, I’ve fought back against this compulsion and begun to understand the true measure of my worth is found in who I am, not what I do (but that’s another blog for another day).

I’m coming to the conclusion here that the key factor in any of this “deservedness” is not how I come to receive blessing or bounty, but rather, “Am I thankful?” Do I have a heart of gratitude? Do I have eyes to see the myriad of gifts that I have received?

When I am in a hard or dark place, I often think about the scripture’s instruction in the Apostle Paul’s epistle to the Philippians: “Don’t worry about anything. Tell God what you need. Thank Him for everything he’s already done and peace will follow” (my paraphrase of Phil. 4:6).

I believe “every good and perfect gift comes down from the Father of Lights” (James 1:17) and so God is the direct person to whom I offer thanks. But I don’t, not for one moment, believe that God gives these gifts because I deserve them. He gives them out of his rich generosity. Because God is love and all goodness, and thus, cannot give anything other than what is ultimately good for those who love him. He is a father who delights in giving good gifts to his children. Just like you.

So, whether I deserve it or not, I am grateful. And as I was looking for a proper conclusion to this musing, I thought of the phrase “after you have suffered a little while…”

It’s from 1 Peter 5:5-11

“… Clothe yourselves, all of you, with humility toward one another, for ‘God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.’ Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you. Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. Resist him, firm in your faith, knowing that the same kinds of suffering are being experienced by your brotherhood throughout the world. And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.”  (ESV, emphasis mine)

Yes, I have suffered. Just like every person on earth suffers. Perhaps more, perhaps less. Some of my suffering has been by my own hand, poor choices or sinful decisions. These have been and continue to be confessed, forsaken and forgiven because Jesus died and rose again to pay the price for that 2,000 years ago. Thanks be to God!

Other suffering I’ve endured (sometimes not so patiently) has come by the hands of others who put me down, rejected, abused or abandoned me. All of this is in process of being healed, as I release it and extend forgiveness where needed. I am being restored. I am, through this process, being confirmed in my thoughts and attitudes. I am being strengthened and established not only in my faith but in the safe, caring harbor of a loving marriage.

Thanks be to God, who daily loads us with benefits. (Psalm 68:19, paraphrase)

Undeserved favor.

Grace.

I am SO grateful.

Don't Doubt in the Dark What God Has Shown You In the Light

Do not assume that he who seeks to comfort you now lives untroubled among the simple and quiet words that sometimes do you good. His life may also have much sadness and difficulty…Were it otherwise he would never have been able to find these words. – Rilke

It is so important to understand, in the midst of our darkness, that the one who brings comfort through their words and assistance may be bearing wounds far beyond what we ourselves are experiencing. I have been (and am still) on both sides of that equation, both giving and receiving comfort.

As I approach the second anniversary of my first husband's suicide, the grief is waning and overwhelming waves that blindside me are less frequent. Some parts of my life are happier now than I can ever remember being in my entire life. My new husband not only loves me well in every possible way, he makes me laugh, leans into the hard conversations, teaches me new things, helps in practical ways, coaches me to sleep, dries my tears and leads me to Jesus. And that is just the first 11 weeks.

Now that I’m in a safe place, growing stronger in this season of life thanks to a loving and stable environment, other parts of my life are beginning to require attention. Parts that have lived in shadow and shame. Parts I am just beginning to name. As others have said, we cannot heal what we do not acknowledge and it is in naming a thing that we take away its power. This is more than disconcerting.

She could never go back and make some of the details pretty. All she could do was move forward and make the whole beautiful. – Terri St. Cloud

One of these places feels like an unmarked grave in the forest. Dark. Quiet. Frightening. If I begin to dig, not only will it be difficult work, I do not know in what condition the remains will be or if I’ll even be digging in the right place. While my impulsive, impatient, perfectionist self wants to pave this place over and put up an amusement park, my heart knows the offenses of another against my much younger self are hidden there and will undermine the foundation of anything I try to construct over it.

The worst form of censorship is when we edit our story to make it acceptable to others.
– People of the Second Chance

So I hold tight to that comforting, yet somehow disturbing portion of Psalm 23: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.”

Even better, how Eugene Peterson puts it into context in The Message:

God, my shepherd!
I don’t need a thing.
You have bedded me down in lush meadows,
you find me quiet pools to drink from.
True to your word,
you let me catch my breath
and send me in the right direction.
Even when the way goes through
Death Valley,
I’m not afraid
when you walk at my side.

Recently, God told me to “Rest!” and to wait on him, watching where he goes and he invites me to walk alongside. I’m not digging up these old bones alone. He’s let me sleep in lush meadows and drink from quiet pools while I catch my breath. He’s given me the GPS coordinates and even though the way is going through Death Valley, he’s with me and for me, so I don’t have to be afraid.

Now, where is that backhoe?

Still Reflecting

View from Moose (Alces) Lake Campground, Whiteswan Provincial Park, BC

A friend asked recently when I was going to start blogging again. She missed it and others missed it. Another person who is very close to me doesn't have any framework for why writing publicly about one's life is of interest to others. These two opposing perspectives also exist in my heart and head when I consider writing.

The answer to why I do or don't write is not so simple. I began blogging in 2005. It was a space to dump the jigsaw puzzle of my thoughts out onto the table of the Internet and sort through it all to make some sort of connections between both my thoughts and the lives of others. It was sometimes humour, sometimes angst, often juvenile and beginner level writing. I took classes to hone my skills, increase the complexity and accessibility of my poetry and articles and began publishing certain pieces. This is a life-long pursuit: to articulate that which the heart struggles to convey in hopes another will say, “Oh, now I see.” Or “You too? I thought I was the only one who felt that way.”

As a writer who was compelled to write, I used to say, "I simply can't NOT write" (and yes, I know that's incorrect grammar). In the processing of blogging and increasing Facebook posts and the trauma of losing my spouse of 31 years, a number of people began following my blog and Facebook page. I was both perplexed and grateful. Many are interested because they love me, many knew and loved my late husband, some are like-minded writers and bloggers, some are strangers who find a kindred voice. For whatever ways we may have found each other, I believe we share a resonance in matters of life, death, heart and soul.

David Whyte describes the phenomenon in this way: "You could say people are reading me like they read my poetry and they are following the unfolding of each chapter. None of us really knows how the chapter is going to proceed or what themes or characters are going to make themselves known."¹

One of my ongoing themes has been “busyness.” This is a challenge to every writer – the tyranny of the urgent which crowds out the more important issues of life. Early this year, I returned to full time work for the first time in twenty years. This, in and of itself, was a phenomenal challenge, as I was still emerging from grief in the extraordinary loss of my spouse and had not had a significant break from work since his death, all while trying to maintain a home, wade through legal and financial matters and support my son as a widow and single mom.

The very same week I began my new job, I had my first date with a very interesting man.

Since these two significant life events began, I've written very little about my inner life. Work and romance have filled my days. This has also made less room for photography, singing and poetry, along with my blogging, but they each have filled my soul in different ways, so I was not found wanting.

The job has a steep learning curve and high workload. It has only been the past couple of weeks as we have become fully staffed, where I feel I have finally hit my stride. Woken up, as it were, to the strength of my former gifts and found a rhythm with my duties and become comfortable in the dance of teamwork with my colleagues. It's inappropriate to blog about work, so there was nothing out of which to write there. Duties also included much editing and writing, so the compelling need to write in my spare time was lessened.

The budding relationship captures my remaining time and thought. The intellectual and emotional processing of a new relationship after such a wounding loss has been a significant draw on my emotional resources. The one great gift in my new love is that he also has experienced deep loss and is a few years further down the road in the healing, so can understand much of my pain and provide perspective from his own healing journey. He speaks peace into places of my life where I didn't even realize I was wounded.

Our ongoing relationship and subsequent marriage on August 30 has been a sacred space, and inappropriate to parade publicly before blog or Facebook followers. It is a place of wholesome, holy wholeness.

That being said, I am now at a place of personal contentment and joy beyond anything I ever anticipated. I could shout from the rooftops the incredible delight which this man has brought into my life; the beautiful sense of home we find in each others’ heart; the daily satisfaction of job well done as we put order to our household and find shelter in each others’ arms.

So, Jill, for you, I offer this blog. And for the rest of the family and friends (new and old) who wish to follow the unfolding of each chapter, I write this for you. I write it for the joy of finding that beyond shadow, beyond living to the point of tears, there is hope because a new day has dawned, a new chapter has begun.

It is only by God’s sweet mercy and generous grace that I am healing and becoming whole again. Human efforts are limited and skewed, rife with mixed motives and complex, intricately-crafted defenses. Ultimately, this is a story about our lives being the roads God travels – it is his work, to will and to do of his good pleasure as he makes everything work into a pattern for good in the lives of those who love Him.

I can’t promise how often I’ll write, but I’m still here, and I’ll write when I can. If you’re hearing me, keep talking, liking, loving. We are on this journey together. Be brave and make yourself known. We need each other to help find our courage and have those difficult conversations, living to the point of tears², experiencing, as Yates would have said, “A fierce, terrible beauty.”³

When Morning Breaks, Sharp but Soft

I'm sorry I haven't been a very good blogger lately. I've been busy being an awesome hermit.

Well, that's not totally accurate. I've actually been a busy and very active participant in my vibrant life. For those of you who follow this blog to keep track of my journey, you'll be well informed by the time we're done here.

On Feb. 24 I started a new job. Full time. Lovely people. Great mission and vision. A little further from home but well worth the additional transit time. See my previous blog post for more details.

On Feb. 27 I had my first outing with a lovely gentleman from my church. We've been acquaintances through choir and musical productions for many years. Since that first date, we have been connecting as often as our busy schedules allow and it's a lovely thing. He treats me with great honor and respect, we have lots of laughs and many meaningful conversations. Though we are very new into this journey, we are both feeling very much at home with each other and deeply grateful for this delightful parallel path. For those of you who are praying people, please keep us in mind as we seek to keep in step with the Spirit.

Most of March was a whirlwind of work, school and prep for Easter. My training in Soul Care - the art of spiritual direction - is a two-year cohort and I will complete my first year on May 4. I'm so grateful for all God is doing in and through this course. I am learning much about the various sacred pathways and spiritual practices that can assist us in discerning the movement of the Spirit in our lives and in the lives of those with whom we walk. My volunteer ministry at church is in the choir. As you can expect, Easter weekend was filled with amazing music and transcendent worship. One of the most rewarding musical experiences over Easter was singing Kyrie Eleison with an ensemble in the Good Friday service. If you’d like to listen to this beautiful arrangement, it starts at 17:10 on this video. A beautiful prayer. “Lord, have mercy! Christ, have mercy.”

My sad news is that on April 8, my long time canine companion and confidant, Bernadette (Bernster, Bernie) was laid to rest. She was over 16 years old, which, according to one age calculator, could equal about 87 human years. A long, full life. I miss her by my side but it would have been unkind to prolong her suffering.

Today I am saying goodbye to a less important part of my life. I have struck a verbal agreement with the Porsche dealership in town to sell them Brent's Cayman S. It's a lovely beast, one I enjoyed driving but our season here is very short and my current lifestyle as a single mom supporting a full time student simply doesn't lend itself to the high maintenance and insurance costs of retaining this sort of vehicle. It is with mixed feelings that I let it go, but am grateful that the proceeds will help Andrew in his educational pursuits.


Andrew is currently in a 12 month program at Nimbus School of Recording Arts in Vancouver, enrolled in Advanced Music Production. He's studying the studio side of the music business and has had some high profile opportunities to learn from the best in his field. His goal is to do music production and digital mixing/mastering as a side career while he pursues his goal of becoming a law enforcement officer. His next step is returning to university in the fall and almost all his credits from Trinity Western University transferred to his chosen school: Simon Fraser University where he should be able to obtain his undergrad degree in Psychology within two years, including courses in criminology.

Here Andrew is, enjoying a dinner out with his love, Rebecca, they've known each other since he moved out to BC in 2010 and have been dating well over a year. I adopted Rebecca as my soul-daughter before they even began seeing each other, so I'm quite happy to see them so happy. She is finishing her degree in social work and will graduate this December.

As for the rest of my dear Canadian family, Roy and Lila have returned to Edmonton from their annual snowbird jaunt in Arizona and are feeling quite healthy a year after the surgeries they both had last summer. Brad and Tina are busy as always with his pastorate in Three Hills and their children Paige and Max are growing and thriving in their schooling there. Tina will be playing the Baroness in the Three Hills Arts Academy production of The Sound of Music. Keep all of these dear people in your prayers with me, okay?

Well, the morning of my life is past, but I must say I feel a great sense of vitality and excitement about the afternoon and evening of my life to come. In many ways it feels like a new dawn, with morning "breaking sharp but soft", to borrow a line from a John Blase poem.

Thank you for being on the journey with me. I am sustained by your prayer and words of encouragement. May the Lord reward you for the way you have been a friend to me in my darkest hours. Let's walk forward together in the light, love and power of our precious Savior.

Not Good Friday

I almost wore the top today that I wore the day he died. It is Friday, just like that day. But it looked weird so I changed. Then I got the call this afternoon. Ugh. Another horrible news day.

“It’s a rare form of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.”

My friend went went through her notes, mechanically reporting them to me because that’s the efficient person she is, making sure the necessary information is shared. Her husband is my friend, too. He’s a young 74 and the kindest man my husband and I have ever known. Together, they stood beside me at the medical examiner’s office as I identified my husband’s body. We are that close. We’ve grieved her sister’s husband and mine, now her husband’s cancer.

Her voice trembles uncharacteristically as she describes the rough manner of the oncologist and we realize without saying that she does not want to join me in widowhood. I give my head a shake. I shouldn’t think of worst case. Not yet. Not now. It is too soon to even go there. We will storm heaven and we will pray for healing. We will bring meals and hold each other close and say the things that need to be said and we will wash dishes and wash clothes and wash our faces after we have wept all night. This is the first step on a journey God knew before the foundation of time.

I search for words as we close our conversation and give her the caring cautions that I have learned over the last seven months.

“You need to remember to breathe,” I coach. “If you can, try to eat something nutritious. This is the time when you won’t feel like it, but you’ll need it for your strength. And try to rest, whenever you have opportunity. It is so important to practice self-care so that you can walk alongside him in this journey.”

She knows all this. I have long looked up to her as the consummate, all-together, mature, organized, brilliant, disciplined woman. The one who always takes care of things and makes sure everyone is included and cared for. She is top of the list in women I respect.

But I hear the edge of anger, understandably, at the poor bedside manner of the oncologist. Dealing with some of the worst possible news, you would think a professional could be more sensitive. Yes, he should be. He is, however, the lightning rod for the anger born of shock and fear at what will be a very challenging journey. A little tenderness would have cost him nothing.

I think of the one person who became the lightning rod at my husband’s death. “Remember,” I share with my friend, “That person is living in darkness. The only way he will see Light is if we share the light of Christ through our lives.”

She knows. “You’ve been here,” she says, “learning these lessons, haven’t you?”

These are lessons I didn't want to learn. They come out of necessity. They are necessary for survival and I must repeat them to myself every single day, I tell her. Remember to breathe. Remember to eat. Remember to sleep. Remember to love and shine and be kind. And remember to feel. Let yourself feel. Let yourself cry. It’s part of the journey. And remember to let yourself be loved, especially by the One who calls you His beloved.

The doctors and specialists have fast-tracked this. The tumour is inoperable, too risky, growing fast and pressing on his voice box. Radiation and chemo will start as soon as a treatment plan is established. The Tom Baker Cancer Centre is the next stop on Tuesday.

All my lessons learned of the grace of grief come flooding over me and I think, dear God, this is too much. Yet, I hear His voice saying this was no surprise:

You saw me before I was born.

Every day of my life was recorded in your book.

Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed. 

Psalm 139:16

“I will be there for whatever you ask,” I reassure my friend. I have been through the lonesome valley and were it not for this couple, the journey would have been much darker. God will turn my misery into ministry and the favour I could never repay is now coming to fruition. I will stand with my friends, I will pray with them, weep with them, storm heaven with them, and hold them close.

And now, I beg you. Pray along with me as I walk this new journey with my dear friends. For healing, wisdom and strength. That the Love of God would be poured out in our hearts.

You are my strength when I am weak

You are the treasure that I seek

You are my all in all.

Jesus, Lamb of God,

Worthy is your name.

When I fall down You pick me up

When I am dry You fill my cup

You are my all in all

Jesus, Lamb of God

Worthy is Your name

Words by Dennis Jernigan

Psychology 101: Dealing with Difficult People

Each of us has probably done something that hurt or disappointed someone else. The chances are remote that anyone intentionally says or does hurtful things. 

But what about careless words? thoughtless? impulsive? angry words?

Or no words at all?

Dead silence.

.

.

.

.

.

Or worse, ambivalent words. Non-committal. Disengaged. Feigned apathy.

“What would you like to do?”

“I don’t care.”

“Where would you like to eat?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Do you want A or B?”

“Whatever. You pick.”

And then when you pick, they aren't happy. But then, would they be happy in any case?

In my view, this is dysfunctional, juvenile and temperamental. It expresses a dog-in-the-manger attitude that says, “If I can’t be happy with my current circumstances, then no one else is going to enjoy themselves either”. The dis-engaged person isn't expressing his/her true needs, he/she is just expecting others to be a mind-reader and fulfill every desire. This is the worst kind of  prima donna attitude: “The world should just make me happy without me having to speak a word or lift a finger.” 

On occasion this behavior is revenge-based. "You didn't do what I wanted, (or you hurt me) so now you're going to pay the price." 

What’s sad is this behavior produces no change in either party.

In my experience, people who act this way usually fall into two camps. They either 1) really do have an over-inflated sense of their own self-importance and feel others should cater to their every whim, "Because I'm right!" or 2) they hate themselves and are behaving in a way that guarantees others will dislike them, thus confirming their bias against themselves. 

There are other possibilities, but these are the more common and both border on an irrational view of relationships. This type of person frequently creates drama and/or division in a family or friend group (“I’m not happy until you’re not happy”). They subconsciously want attention (and bad attention is better than no attention). They get their way through emotional blackmail but even when they get what they want, they are discontent because they had to ask for it. Then when you try to get them to see how they are acting, they withdraw, pout, make excuses: "I'm just tired", or turn the tables: "Who are you to talk? You were mean to me last week."

How do you deal with this kind of person if you’re stuck with them? 

1. Do you let them off the hook by finding excuses? “Oh, she’s in menopause” or “Oh, he’s under a lot of stress at work”. Or do you take the blame? "I must have done something wrong."
2. Do you care enough to confront? If you name their behavior for what it is, would they believe you? Are they capable of seeing the futility of their behavior? Do they even want to be different or are they genuinely mean-spirited? 
3. Or do you cut them off? Where does love, grace and forgiveness come in if they are unwilling to repent of this habitual conduct?