Forget it.

There is an expression and a teaching in most Christian circles which, I believe, has caused a lot more harm than the good that it tries to do. It is also based on a misunderstanding of human nature and of the omnipotence and divinity of God. 

That saying is, "Forgive and forget."

I'm all for forgiving, when forgiveness isn't a substitute for the real thing. It isn't excusing the person because he was mad or she was having a rough time. It isn't saying it was nothing. It isn't saying that what the person did was okay. And it is definitely NOT forgetting.

I was in my forties before I learned what forgiveness was. When I was growing up, nobody apologized for anything ... and if someone did, the one receiving the apology was expected to pooh-pooh it and make the one apologizing feel better by saying it wasn't anything. Plus, in our family, apologies didn't say, "I hurt you. That was wrong. I'm sorry, and I'll try not to do that again," and leave it at that. No, the apology started with the I'm sorry part, skipped the hurting and the wrong part, and then included an explanation of why the person did whatever it was that hurt them. Or (which often happened) the person didn't say anything at all and just did something nice for the person they hurt.

Photo from Pexels at
https://www.pexels.com/photo/baby-child-close-up-crying-47090/

Only recently have I learned that neither of these is the way to apologize. This is a way to justify the original hurtful action and sometimes even make it the other person's fault. Or in not apologizing, the "good deed" is a thinly disguised bribe, which looking back, seems like the ultimate in avoidance. That realization was hard to accept. Very hard. 

Just as hard to accept for some is that when the Bible talks about forgetting sins, it's not talking about US forgetting them, but it's talking about GOD forgetting them when He forgives. This is not because He is forgetful but because He chooses not to remember them. Let me repeat this for emphasis: forgetting sins is something that ONLY GOD can do. Expecting humans to do it is unfair because it is beyond our capability to remove a memory once it's been made, especially a traumatic one. It might be possible with a mild infraction, I'll grant that. But trauma? Nope. Not happening, because trauma hard-wires itself into our brains; it is a survival instinct to remember in great detail something that will hurt us in the future. 

I have talked before in this blog about what forgiveness actually is: a process that starts with feeling and admitting the hurt, calling it wrong, and choosing not to make the person pay for what he or she did. And sometimes it needs to be repeated (especially in cases of trauma / long-term abuse). Often. Healing is possible. It is. But remembering serves the purpose of being able, once we are healed from the hurt, of being able to walk someone else through that process of healing.

That being said, never has human forgiveness been about forgetting. It is literally physically and emotionally impossible for us to forget being traumatized, unless we lose that part of our brain by accident or disease. And neither of those options is anything we would want... neither brain injury nor dementia is pleasant. "God understands our frame. He remembers that we are only dust."

We can be grateful that God is not like us, and that He chooses not to remember our sins for the sake of close relationship with us. In fact, our sins were ALL forgiven AND forgotten (past, present, and future) thousands of years ago, as all of eternity hinges on the sacrifice of Jesus, which in the spiritual realm sent tsunamis of forgiveness in every direction and in every possible timeline from the moment of the Rebellion in Heaven onward. Not convinced? How about "... chosen in Him before the foundation of the world...."? How about "It is finished!" 

But even though we as humans cannot forgive AND forget, we can be free of the nasty side-effects of holding a grudge... as hard as that is sometimes and as good as holding a grudge can feel (it feeds our pride and justifies our behavior toward that person or people who are LIKE that person). We can be free, I say. We can choose to begin to forgive. Let me explain what I mean.

Forgiveness is a choice, but it is also a process. We needn't beat ourselves up for not being able to let go of the hurt the first time we make that choice. It might take many times, depending on the depth of the hurt and how long it lasted. But forgiveness works best by going through the process I mentioned earlier: (1) not denying that you were hurt, (2) allowing yourself to feel that hurt, and exploring how it has affected you in the present day, (3) placing the blame on the person or people who hurt you and not on yourself, and (4) [and this could take some time], realizing that the person can never repay you what they took from you (for example, your innocence or your sense of safety), so it is time to not try to make them pay, time to stop wishing that they'd apologize or change.  THAT is forgiveness. It doesn't make what the person did all right (because it was wrong), but it does free you to move on with your life. 

And never mind that you can't forget. That's not your job anyway. It's God's.

Cease Striving

One of the hardest things there is to do is to do nothing. Right? We humans, especially in Western culture, have this notion that if we are not doing anything, we are unproductive and wasting our time. 

However, there is a wisdom and a peace to doing nothing. I am not talking about slacking off. I don't mean to sit cross-legged in a corner and let the world pass you by. What I mean is that the reaching, grasping, grabbing tendency that we have can actually end up with us losing what we so desire to have, like trying to keep a handful of sand by clenching it in our fists. 

It disappears. It slips between our fingers and spills on the ground. That is why doing nothing can be so wise. We try so hard to "make" something that we want to happen and we often end up making the opposite happen. 

Photo "Rows Of Butterfly Cocoons" courtesy of xura
at www.freedigitalphotos.net

I remember a sad story I heard once of a child who wanted to see a butterfly emerge from its cocoon. Day after day she watched this little motionless sack sitting there in front of her, and one day, the thing started moving and a split appeared in the cocoon. She was thrilled, and yet she saw the struggle the butterfly was having inside its prison. She decided to help it escape, and pulled the split wider so the creature could get out. Sadly, although the butterfly was now out, it just sat there with wet, small wings. The body of the butterfly needed that squeezing to activate it to pump bodily fluids (that it had stored for this day) into the wings. They were flimsy and limp as a result, even after they dried, and they could not bear the butterfly's weight.... And a butterfly who cannot fly cannot feed on nectar and therefore cannot live. 

"Be still," said the Psalmist (46:10). What he was saying was to cease striving, and to stop trying to make things happen. They will happen when they are meant to happen. The butterfly - or that desired outcome - will emerge on its own. It does not need our help. We can trust that it will happen if it is meant to do so. We can let go of our tendency to put our oar in. We can know that God is in control.

When we cease striving, peace comes. We can accept what happens and enjoy the moments in between where we are and what lies ahead. We can let go of our "if onlys" and our "I can't waits" ... and live in the present. We will be where we are without losing ourselves in the past or the future. We can look for the little joys: the beauty all around us, our favorite sounds, the taste of good food, and the feeling of a cool breeze on a hot day.

We can live each moment to the full. But we don't have to strain. All we need to do is to courageously let go of our impulse to do it ourselves or to hurry it along, and instead to let go and stop trying so hard.

Stay in the present. The future will happen without our help.

Another night with the frogs

The title of this post has become a common saying between my husband and me over the last thirty-odd years of marriage. 

It refers to the story of Moses and the ten plagues, when God was in the process of freeing His people from slavery in Egypt.  One of the plagues - early on in the ten - was a plague of frogs. There were frogs everywhere: in kitchens, bathrooms, back lawns, roadways, and bedrooms - swarming everywhere so much so that you couldn't step anywhere or roll over in bed without a frog there. 

Never mind being unsanitary - it was downright nasty!!  So anyway, Moses goes to Pharaoh (the slave-driver king who was holding Moses' people captive) and says, "I can say the word and the frogs will go away." Pharaoh believes him - after all, he's turned the river to blood! "When do you want me to command the frogs to go away?" he asks the king.

"Tomorrow."

Not right now, not even in an hour. No - Pharaoh is too proud to admit that he has no control over the situation, and so he exerts the only control he thinks he has left. 

He chooses to spend another night with the frogs.

Photo "Green Frog"
courtesy of Elwood W. McKay III at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

People get comfortable with intolerable situations ... sometimes because it's all they know and they fear changing things and moving into something they fear more than the pain of the situation: they fear the unknown. WE fear the unknown. Even if it means spending another night with the frogs. Even if it means staying in that situation or continuing to think, say, or do things we know are going to be bad for us. We get stuck in the same old pattern, doing the same things with the same types of people, and making the same mistakes over and over again. We get locked into a repeating cycle and we want out, but ...

We know things will change if we do step out into a new experience for us. But we don't. 

Why? 

Good question - or is it? Does it matter why? I suspect there are as many reasons as there are people. The point is that we resist change. 

Change is scary. It really is. Taking that first step into the unknown is risky. It's one of the most scary things we can do. But if we don't take that step, we are stuck with the results we've always gotten - and we'll never know what might have been.

The few times I have taken that first step have led to such amazing adventures. I still have to fight the tendency to want to stay with the familiar - even if it's not all that pleasant.  But if the last two years or so has taught me anything, it's that the unknown with the knowledge and awareness of God's love is far better than fighting for space with those slimy critters - the frogs, I mean. :)

Escaping the siege

I've been trying to figure out what these past few months has felt like.  In late summer/ early fall, we decided as a couple (after much agonizing) to leave the church.  Not just OUR church, THE church... by which I mean the organized, religious system that calls itself the church.  

I can't begin to describe the growing dissatisfaction that we had felt the last few years while we ran faster and faster on the hamster wheel of performance, always wondering if we were doing enough, feeling guilty and blaming ourselves if our prayers were unanswered, and frankly, feeling embarrassed to invite people in - where we knew they would find what we had - another, deeper level of rejection - where hurting people thrive on pushing hurting people away.  

It's equally as difficult to describe the pulling that we felt toward a deeper and more intimate relationship with Jesus - a call to simplicity, to receiving His love and loving Him back. More and more we saw the futility of our involvement in a system that values nickels and noses, attempts to control its members through shame, fear, and judgment.  Rather than build bridges to those who embrace lifestyles or choices with which they do not agree, this system builds walls to keep them out.

As I pondered this last night, a little story from 2nd Kings 7 came to my mind.  There were these guys living on the outskirts of town - walled in and afraid to leave because "the enemy" was out there. Or so they believed.  The town was under siege.  Food was scarce and deadly expensive; they had even taken to eating bird poop and charging money for it!!  People were getting desperate, even to the point of devouring their children... it was horrible.  Anyway, these guys near the gate were outcasts - they were lepers.  They were not welcome in society, but they could not leave the town because after all, they were members of the community. 

Finally, these guys got fed up (pun not intended).  They figured, "Well, the enemy camp is out there - and it most likely has food.  If we go and surrender to the enemy, they might accept our surrender, and let us live (at least we would get something to eat) and if they kill us, we would have died a lot more slowly inside the wall."  So ... they left ... hearts in their throats.  Desperate.  It was a desperate move made by desperate people.

Meanwhile, the Arameans outside (many hundreds of them) were literally hearing things - and got it into their heads that the king whose town they were besieging had hired people to come and attack them.  So they split!!  Enter the lepers .... who found meals half-eaten, left in haste ... and they could not believe their fortune!  They ate, found money and put that away, and thoroughly enjoyed themselves!  

Photo "Buffet Set On Heated Trays Ready To Eat"
courtesy of jk1995 at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Eventually, they looked at one another and said, "Hey, let's tell someone about this!  This is such good news that we cannot help sharing it - the enemy is gone, and our neighbours can get out of their prison!"  So that is what they did.  By the end of the day, prices were back down to normal, and there was not one hungry person in town. 

I think the reason that I thought about those guys inside the wall, the ones who were so up against it that they left to take their chances outside, was because that was - and is - (in some ways) our story.  There was no sustenance for us in all that protection and so-called safety.  We were starving to death.  We saw a few atrocities, people turning on each other, but most of the time it was just a slow, lingering death of the soul: adherents trying to keep people from straying, unhappy and/or self-righteous people trapped by their own acceptance of things the way they were, with no desire strong enough for something more, no desire that would cause them to question their reason for being there and doing what they were doing.  So many people around us were living in fear, in a siege mentality (us versus them) and distrusting anything against which they had been indoctrinated, hell-bent (yes, that was intentional) on obeying the rules and excluding those who didn't. 

And it was like that everywhere. We had attended dozens of assemblies and it was the same wherever we went.  We had tried to fit in, but in every single place, we were eventually relegated to the role of the leper.  Either because we were not of a certain social or economic stratum, or because we were introverted, or because we were not linked with the founding families of the particular assembly we were in, we were slowly but surely kept at arm's length, treated like ... like lepers.  

But our isolation only gave us more time to think, to ponder how, in a community that stated that it followed the teachings of the One who is Love personified, the behaviour of its members was anything but - and we were as affected by this phenomenon as the next member. There were occasional bright spots, surprising us with kindness and caring (but only when someone died). Or there were brief periods associated with the arrival and ministry of people who seemed to hear from God, and for a time, we thought things might change.  But inevitably, they went on to greener pastures, and we were back to the same old thing. We wondered if things would ever change for good.

We compared the characteristics of this organization to those of the organism that the church was designed to be (as described in the book of Acts) and we could find nothing in common between the two!  "Is this all there is?" we asked ourselves.  "Is this the abundant life?"  If it was - we surely wanted a refund.... and if it wasn't ... then what were we doing? was there any way out?  Time and time again we tried to conform ourselves to what was expected, rededicate ourselves, and influence the system from the inside out.  And over and over again, we depleted our limited emotional resources; every time, we died a little more.  

Frustration grew.  Countless times we returned from church-based events stressed, exhausted, and - well - angry.   Sermons (both from the pulpit and in unofficial settings) from various people were little more than steam blown off by those frustrated with the people who sat back and never tried, so all we heard was, "You're not doing enough, not believing enough, not giving enough, not praying enough, not holy enough, not evangelical (or missional, or social justice-minded) enough ..." and the list went on.  I remember turning to my husband at one point near the end of that part of our journey and saying, "If I want to be yelled at and taken on a guilt trip, I'll go visit my mother."   

And the siege mentality!  That idea that the world is a horrible place and the people in it are against us permeated everything.  We were told that certain people with certain lifestyles or beliefs were not to be trusted, or at best they were deluded and needed to be converted.  Instead of reaching out to people, we were encouraged to lobby local school boards, write to politicians, sign petitions, support groups known for heavy-handed prejudicial treatment of certain minority groups, and decry perfectly legal medical procedures (if horrific to our sensibilities and beliefs) and vehemently condemn those who chose to undergo them.  In doing so, we were unwittingly contributing to their mistrust of the church and ensuring that they would not come to us for help when they needed a listening ear.  

Photo "Ruined House"
courtesy of sattva at
www.freedigitaphotos.net

All around us, the walls were crumbling.  More and more, we were seeing how our participation in this organization was counter-productive to the values of love, acceptance, and gentleness that Jesus taught and that we espoused.  We got closer and closer to the gate of this impoverished and starving community.  "Just hang on. It will get better," people said.  "Revival is just around the corner." We bought it for years ... until we didn't. 

And when we made the break, it had to be clean.  We left; we did not look back. We left our assembly, and we left the system. 

And you know, we expected to feel guilty... or afraid, or nervous for what we would do or where God would lead us next (if anywhere)... but all we felt was relief.  There was relief.  As the weeks passed, we remarked how much less stressful Sundays were, how much we enjoyed being able to rest instead of tearing our hair out and banging our heads against a brick wall for five hours or more almost every weekend. Our relationship with our daughter deepened. God set up contacts with people in His timing, and we had such precious times with them, times that we never would have had if we hadn't ventured outside the gate.   

There are times that we wonder if we did the right thing.  There are times when we miss frequent contact with people, wonderful people.  But we know that we were having our souls sucked out of us by the system.  Outside, we may not have found any bountiful banquet yet, but we can detect the faint odor of food, and we know we'll eventually find it.  And you can bet that as soon as we do, it will be way too good to keep to ourselves.

Rescued

Last Thanksgiving, a four-month-old black-and-white kitten entered our lives. 

He was a rescue. Quite literally!! His mother - as near as we can tell - had been a feral cat and had abandoned him in the situation in which he found himself; she was unable to extricate him. And little wonder: trapped in a snowmobile engine at the age of about 6 or 7 weeks, a woman found him when she went to check on her vehicles. She heard his cries and tried for over a day - nearly a day and a half - to get him out of the engine. He was trapped, stuck inside the fan belt quite likely, and all her efforts to reach in and pull him out were fruitless. Covered in grease, stuck solid, and terrified, every effort she made only traumatized him even more. Finally she called the PEI Humane Society who sent an animal control worker to the scene. She was able to get him free in very short order, and took him back to the shelter to have him cared for, fed, cleaned up and (hopefully) put up for adoption.

It was not to be. The kitten bounced back from his injuries and ate well enough, but he was terrified of anyone bending down over him to touch him, pet him, or (God forbid) pick him up - to the point of hissing and growling at people. This did not bode well for him, so at that point they decided to have him fostered at the home of the animal control worker who'd found him.

He got along well with her animals (a dog and two cats, including one of the kittens she was fostering from the shelter) but he remained skittish and wild around people. In time, he and his foster brother were brought back to the shelter; the brother was adopted within a few days but ... nobody wanted this little guy. He'd hang back in his cage, avoid eye contact, shy away - definitely not your typical sociable kitten. The shelter workers worked with him for weeks trying to get him to accept being handled. He stopped growling and hissing but he was extremely skittish and shy still. 

By the time he was 3 months old, my daughter had noticed his online profile. She took an interest in his case - and even went to see him a couple of times. There was an instant connection. He didn't warm up to her but she felt a sort of kinship from the very first moment she touched the glassed in portion of his cage and he touched the other side with his paw.

From that moment on, she kept trying to convince herself that she couldn't have fallen in "love at first sight" ... but the more she tried, the less it worked. By the end of the second visit, the Saturday of the 2014 Thanksgiving weekend, she had herself convinced that he would be adopted by someone else, and she was grateful for the few photos she'd taken of him. He was barely four months old.

That night, I had a chat with my husband privately about this kitten. I outlined how our daughter felt, mentioned that we had been willing to have three cats in the house if our older female cat had returned (she didn't), so he agreed that it was a good idea to get this cat. I went on the website and applied to adopt him, using our daughter's name and email address. 

The next morning, we were all sitting in the living room. Our daughter had already checked the shelter's website and seen that the kitten's profile had disappeared from it, and she was grieving not being able to see him again, when she received an email from a worker at the shelter who was extremely thrilled that this kitten would go to "such an excellent home!" (We'd gotten two previous kittens from them in the past year so they knew us.) The worker wanted us to go in the next day and bring the little guy home. Our daughter was totally floored. She never expected anything like this. The expression on her face was similar to someone being told that someone had bought a ticket in her name in a lottery, and her number had been the winning one. Disbelief, happiness, gratitude, relief and more flooded her face. 

When the little guy first came to us, he was incredibly skittish. It took a shelter worker five full minutes to get him into the crate we'd brought! We put him (cage and all) into our daughter's room and allowed her to be the one to let him out ... behind closed doors of course. 

She let him come to her on his own terms. It took nearly a week for him to allow her to touch him. She worked really hard those first couple of weeks to convey to him that this was a "safe place" ... and we were amazed at how quickly he responded.  It wasn't the food, or the coaxing, or anything else that brought him out of his shell. 

The rescued one - at 7 months old.

It was the love. He learned early on in the relationship that she LOVED him. And there was a large part of him, deep down, that responded to that love - a shriveled bud that began to blossom into a beautiful flower. 

In his kitty heart, she had rescued him out of what his life had been, and taken him to a place where he felt secure, safe, protected, and cared for. And above all, he felt loved.

And he loved her right back. He still does. Yes, he will allow us to touch and pet him sometimes, and he enjoys being around us - but it's different with her. 

Every morning, after he has had his breakfast (I feed the cats in separate rooms so we know who's getting how much) I let him out of his room and the very first thing he does is head for our daughter's room. Not sauntering - no - he rushes to her room, squeaking a little meow as he runs. If she's in her bed and is awake, he jumps up beside her and rubs up against her face with complete abandon. The sound of her voice speaking to him thrills him and he begins to pad excitedly ... prancing in delight. She strokes him and his tail lifts up and the tip curls back and forth in extreme happiness. He stays with her until she gets up. Throughout the day he can be doing something else ... and as soon as she gets up and moves around, he is right there. At her side. He wants to be wherever she is.

It never gets old. 

Why would it? She rescued him. She loves him. How could he ever take such love for granted? How could he ever forget how she saved him? how much she has changed his life?

He reminds me that it isn't what we "do" for Jesus that matters; it's what He did for us. It's HIS love that made life, living possible. It's HIS love that compelled Him to make a way for us. It's HIS generosity and goodness that has changed us, transformed us, made us new. 

I watch this cat and I see love and gratitude reflected back toward the one who saved him, the one who loves him. 

And it helps me to remember what's really important.

The care of God

For the last seven years, I've come to know a lot of people who are in a process they call recovery. The thing they are in recovery from is some sort of addiction: whether to alcohol, drugs, prescription pills, gambling, shopping or trying to control other people's behavior through either intimidation or care-taking. 

They all follow - to some degree or other - a program of recovery called the Twelve Steps. I won't recite them - other sites have done a much better job at it than I can, but at its core, the 12-step program of recovery is a blueprint for people who have been burnt by religion and who don't know how (but who know they need it or they will die) to develop a relationship with God. 

The backbone of the 12-step program is in the third step; it is the hingepin on which all the other steps turn. The first two steps naturally lead to the third. After the addict has come to (1) admit that he or she can't fight the addiction, and after he or she has (2) conceded to the existence of a power greater than himself or herself, and that only that power can restore his or her sanity, the third step is to "[give] our will and our lives over to the care of God ... praying only for a knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out." 

For a lot of people that's scary stuff, because they've been taught all their lives that God is some big ogre that loves nothing more than to squash them like bugs or strike them with thunderbolts of damnation. They've been taught this by (unfortunately) their previous experiences with people who claim to be experts on spiritual matters.

I was talking to one such person this morning, who - through desperation and the firm knowledge that there was nothing he could do to beat the monster within - finally took that plunge and turned his will and his life over to the care of God. What he had found so intimidating was turning his life over to God, the very one he had been taught was that celestial sadist who caused - or at least allowed - all of the bad stuff in his life to happen. But then he noticed that this was not what Step 3 said!! Instead, it was all about turning one's will and one's life over to THE CARE OF GOD. 

Photo "Loving Father And His Baby" provided by
David Castillo Dominici at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

In essence, he had to fire the god he had been taught to believe in as a child. He had to realize that his childhood god was small and petty and nit-picky, vindictive and cruel. Instead, he came to believe in the Real God, the One who LOVED him, the one who CARED. The One Whose real character Jesus came to demonstrate. The One who dotes on us, who leans in close to smell that "baby smell" as we sleep, the One who delights in us, the One who thrills in His heart when we speak His name, the One who - as one author once said - "would rather die than live without us." (Paul Ellis) And that's precisely what He did - He died because He didn't want to live without us.

It's THIS God that this man believes in. It's THIS God that he trusts. And THIS God - the TRUE God - is becoming more and more dear to this man as time goes on.

Every day now for the last five and a half years or so, he has prayed this prayer, or one very much like it: "God, I gratefully turn my will and my life over to Your care, today. This 24-hour period is Yours, and whatever happens in it, I pray that You would take care of it, let me know what it is I can do as I go through it, and give me the strength to do whatever You lead me to do, just for today." 

I asked him about that word gratefully. (It's not specifically mentioned in the Third Step.) I wondered about that - out loud - to him. And he told me, "It's about that 24-hour period. It's today. I can gratefully give Him 24 hours. I can't speak for the rest of my life or into next week or even tomorrow. Whatever happens in that one day, whether it means that I scrub toilets or drive someone to an appointment or even breathe my last breath, I know that it will be God's will for me. And I can be grateful because I KNOW that He will take care of it. He's got this, He'll do this for me, He's already provided me the strength and all I do is walk in it. I know because He's done it for me before, and today He'll do it again. And I know that without His loving care for me, I would be sunk, without hope. So I am grateful for the answer to that prayer being carried out in my life for today. Because it's all I have." 

I know a lot of theology and all that stuff. But his simple answer simply floored me. There was a lot in it, and there still is. 

The care of God. 

God cares. 

He's not waiting with a club to thump me if I get it wrong; He looks after me and cares for me because I am His child (because and ONLY because of Jesus!). As a matter of fact, He has provided everything I'll need for each day, for each and EVERY day, to live in love, in peace, in freedom, in gratitude, in ... in joy!  

That's something worth thinking on ... something worth being grateful for.

The arm of flesh

Stand up, stand up for Jesus
  Stand in His strength alone - 
The arm of flesh will fail you, 
  Ye dare not trust your own ...

We have sung about the strength of God until we are blue in the face. We have said with our mouths that we do not trust "the arm of flesh." That we don't trust in our own strength, but in His. 

Until ... until we turn around and we're presented with an opportunity to trust in our own abilities ... or in God's. And what do we do? "Oh well, I'll take it from here, God. Yeah, I got this covered. No, I'll just call You in for the hard stuff." 

Hmm. Really. 

Yeah we believe in spiritual warfare, pulling down unseen strongholds. But what do we do when we feel threatened by something in our society? we write our member of parliament, of course. And we don't even see that what we are doing is depending on "the arm of flesh." It's the WORLD's way of doing business. Squawk, make a fuss, stand up for your rights, sign a petition, join a march, carry a placard. Because after all, God is not able to change anything, right? 

Sure, we say we are all for people growing spiritually. And then when we are speaking or even sharing something on Facebook, we belittle them by saying, 'Can't I even get an Amen?' or 'you should have done ____ instead!' ... and making them feel guilty that their expression of spirituality is not spiritual enough, not what we're looking for, substandard. That kind of behavior is classic codependent manipulation, trying to make ourselves feel better by trying to control the behavior of others. I know ... because I have had it done to me. AND ... I've done it myself. Either way, it's not a nice feeling.

Photo "The Cross And The Hand"
courtesy of njaj at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

And that's not counting all the little instances of everyday assumptions we make that are completely self-serving and self-centered. Things like buying into the world's mindset that we can change our own destinies, that we can do anything we set our minds to, that we are owed certain things and that it is up to US to change our world, to do do do until we drop drop drop. No, that's not the way it works. GOD can change our destinies, we can do all things (by the way that means that we can face being poor AND rich, check out the context in Philippians 4) through HIM, and we owe HIM our lives and our gratitude for all that HE has done to be in relationship with us, to impart His righteousness to us. It is up to GOD to change our world and the only part we play in that is just being enthralled with how wonderful HE is to have made it all possible. He will look after the results, one heart at a time. 

I've said it before. His yoke is easy. The arm of flesh WILL fail; it will fail because it is human. The everlasting Arms are inexhaustible. They will never fail. They alone can hold us up, help us stand, and fight our battles. 

Our only work, then, (and the more we realize how deep His love is for us, the less work it is) is to lean hard on those Arms... the ones that once were flesh so as to redeem our spirits once for all eternity. 

In Direct

I'm learning something new. Well, actually it's old - but it's new to me.

I'm learning how to cope with being hurt by someone - whether inadvertently (which is usually the case) or on purpose.

I've always known THAT I was not supposed to go blabbing my stuff to other people and participate in the most common church activity there seems to be: backbiting, gossiping, and spreading discord. 

Yet it seemed to be the only way for me to get the message out without actually confronting someone - something I dreaded, so I just didn't do it. I didn't know how, and I didn't care to know either. After all, it would mean that I would have to change. And I didn't want to change; they were the ones who were supposed to change, not me. 

And people got hurt; their reputations got hurt. 

And I stayed hurt, too. Nothing got resolved; as a matter of fact, it usually got worse over time as I built my imaginary castle of perceived slights, false assumptions and expectations of being hurt further, and I thickened the walls with other people's opinions, people who already had axes to grind.

I raised the passive-aggressive approach to an art form. All that did was isolate me and attract more of the same sort of treatment - this time for real.

Learning how to put my head down, brace myself, burrow in and go directly to someone instead of to everyone but that person - that was hard. It was hard because I was ... terrified. 

Two friends spending happiest time together - courtesy of
imagerymajestic at www.freedigitalphotos.net

Even after I'd learned to be honest with myself about how I was feeling, even after I had learned to set boundaries for myself with others, and was even starting to set boundaries around myself in some situations, the direct approach was something at which I quailed. I ran from it at every opportunity. 

Until I couldn't anymore. 

Until I didn't have the luxury of talking trash about someone because I really, truly liked - even loved - that person, and I didn't want to run away anymore. Not from my friend. Keeping the relationship alive was more important to me than my fear. 

But I wanted to be honest too. If my perceptions were correct, we needed to work things out. And if they weren't - I needed to know instead of assuming wrong things about my friend. 

So ... I wrote an email.

Hey - I write. I'm a big believer in the backspace key - and I was afraid of spilling out words I could never un-say. 

So anyway, I wrote - told my friend how I felt, how I was hurting - and left the door open for a response.

And the response came, tempered with gentleness. As I had hoped, my perceptions were wrong, based on my own feelings of inadequacy, and the door to restoration had been opened. Before the end of the day, we worked out our differences. 

Love won over fear. 

And nothing awful happened. Huh.

Death of an atheist

I first met Ted (not his real name) at a 12-step group that met in someone's home.  He sat, defiant, beaten by alcohol for decades but unwilling to embrace steps 2 and 3 of AA: We came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity, and We turned our will and our lives over to the care of God... 

Image from this site

He had tried every trick in the book to get sober without "the God thing."  Nothing worked.  He'd lived a hard-drinking, hard-living life, filled with booze, drugs, women, you name it. His salesman's life had taken him far and wide; he was used to living in hotels and using every mood-altering substance he could. Now he was in his sixties and even more adamant that there was no God.  He had a spite against the church so wide, you could see it written all over him.  SOMEONE (and I suspect many, MANY someones) had hurt him so very badly in the church and he had written the whole Christianity thing completely off - it was ludicrous to him.  He saw the judgmental, self-righteous attitudes of any church people he had ever been in contact with, the small-minded, religious, cliquish, rules-based and narrow lives each of them led, and wanted nothing whatsoever to do with that.  And he'd tarred God with the same brush as those who said they believed in Him.

Now the guy leading this group was saying that in order to get and stay sober, he had to believe in the God he had for so very long resisted as being the source of the behavior of these horrible people - and not only that - to give his will and his life to Him?  No.  Ted argued, he disputed, he got red in the face and it looked like he was going to physically attack this guy.  I think the only thing that kept him in his seat was the fact that the forty-something man he was so angry at ... could whip him (but good) in a fight.  

So he left.  He "went back out" as they say in recovery rooms.  He went on yet another drinking spree that left him nearly destitute, beaten into desperation by the consequences of his choices.  And like a moth to a candle flame, he was again seated in our little group. 

But he wasn't saying much.  

One night, one of our number spoke up and told his story, the story of someone who had a real hatred of God and of His people, a victim of physical and religious abuse, hypocrisy, and abandonment all in the name of God.  He told how he finally came to the end of himself and in desperation cried out for God to either kill him or cure him.  And that was the beginning of a rather uneasy but successful end to his drinking career and the beginning of a relationship with the Creator not based on hypocrisy and religion but based on truth and honesty.

Ted's face was a study in conflicting emotions.  After the meeting ended, he approached this fellow and said, "Would it be okay if I called you sometime?" The man agreed, perplexed.  Everyone there knew Ted's hostile attitude toward all things religious.  And now he was wanting to talk to someone who freely admitted that relationship with God was the only way.  

Over the course of the next few months, after heart-to-heart talks over coffee, going through the shakes, the jitters and the intolerable cravings and being able to talk about them frankly and openly with his chosen mentor (and with others of the same ilk), after long walks and talks with God about anything and everything - this God to whom he referred as "The Old Man" because he couldn't bring himself to say the word, "God" - Ted grew into a personal relationship with his Creator.  It was like watching a baby being born - miraculous, raw, delicate, new.  His life was transformed! Every facet of it burgeoned with Life.  Everything was so fresh, so vibrant, so .... passionate.  Every bit of passion with which he had hated the church and (by association) God, was now funneled into loving Him, developing relationship with Him.  His whole demeanor exuded peace and joy.  God had truly touched his life.  

The atheist had died.  A believer was born.

He even started attending a church, but more out of a desire to please God than any other thing, like social expectation. He got - and stayed - sober.  He became everything that everyone knew that he could be if only he would let God love him: a better person, a better husband, a better father.  And he was so refreshingly honest about his journey.  He'd talk about it to people, to newcomers in our group, who would listen to him because he knew what it was like.  He knew how it felt to be that hopeless, that disillusioned, to not know what this God-thing was all about.  He told them it was okay to have doubts, but if they'd just be honest with God and start talking to Him, they'd see a difference in their lives.  He was a walking miracle - he was living proof that God could do anything with anyone who would give Him a real honest chance.  And folks knew it.

One night, after his usual long walk back to his hotel room, talking with "The Old Man" the whole way, he felt very tired, so he laid down in his bed without taking his street clothes off.  

The cleaning staff found him the next day just like that.  His heart had given out.  He was gone.

We, like many others in our little band, questioned the goodness and the love of a God who would take him from his family and his friends so soon after getting his life squared away, restored, renewed. What kind of cruel joke was this, we wondered.  We missed him; we missed his ready smile, his willing heart, his generous spirit. We still do.  But we had to accept that he was immensely happy where he was, marveling in his new-found everlasting life.  Some of us did accept this, and we were able to move on.  Others ... didn't. 

Now, several months after his death, I'm even more convinced of what I was in the beginning, when he first passed away.  He was taken from us while he was still unspoiled by religion.  If he had gotten any further into the western church, any church, any denomination, he would never have survived. The rules that so many rely on to try to keep people in line would have begun to make themselves known, to hem him in, to dissect his passion (apparently a dangerous thing in religious circles because it can't be controlled) and render it powerless. The pettiness, the hypocrisy that had hurt him in the past was (and is) still rampant.  It was only a matter of time before he realized it and his faith - tenuous and fragile that it was - would have been shaken.  And he would have "gone back out" again to reject his Creator and drink himself into his grave, another sad statistic.  I'm as sure of it as I know my own name. 

So I'm not angry at God anymore for taking Ted when He did.  I miss him, yes.  I really miss him.  But I know that he's happier now than he ever was - and that he left this world in an untainted, intimate love-relationship with "The Old Man" that leaves mine in the dust. 

Yes, it was a little rough around the edges.  Yes, he had a lot to learn. (Or did he?)  Be that as it may, I can tell you that with all that is in me, there are times that I pray for God to make me more like him.  Not like the ones that are so bound up in the shoulds and oughtas that they drive people away in droves - but more like Ted, who just learned to love and be loved, completely, honestly, warts and all.

Squirm

Ever been "called" on something?  You know, when you've clearly done something wrong or at the very least, inappropriate or disrespectful? 

I was - today - by someone whose opinion I value.  OUCH.  I found myself trying to get this person to see my side, but the error was clear.  Eventually I had to agree that I had goofed royally.

This happens to me with annoying regularity.  I hate it when it does.  But I need to face the consequences of my actions.  Every time.

Whether we mean to do something or not, being called on something is never an easy experience.  What causes the most distress is that we don't like to admit that we were wrong, that what we did caused someone else embarrassment or pain.  We try to justify ourselves.

We squirm.

Site where you can find this pic

That's what Christians call "the flesh."  It's that part of us that goes all the way back to Adam.  Hiding in the bushes.  When caught, divert, blame, ... writhe in discomfort when the truth comes out.  Sometimes I wonder if we'd be in the mess we're in if Adam had just owned up to his rebellion - if Eve had just accepted responsibility for her part in the fiasco in the garden. 

Squirming has been hard-wired into our psyches ever since.  "Yeah but you see" comes out long before "Yeah I get it."   "Yeah but you see" comes with eyes averted, excuses, self-delusion.  "Yeah, I get it" allows us to accept responsibility, reduces stress, and lets us look the one we've injured - or our accuser - in the eye.

Admitting we were in the wrong is so much harder than we ever anticipated. But it is the only way to restoration.  

It opens the door to learning, to growth.  Hiding the truth from others, from ourselves, keeps us from learning from our mistakes because we balk at admitting we have made any.  Owning up to our faults, embracing our part in a hurtful situation, these things help us to develop and do better the next time. 

And there will be a next time.  That much I do know. 

He's gotcha

During a recent evening out with a friend, there came a point when we were praying together. At one point,  my friend said, "He's gotcha.  He has you.  You're okay."  

I SO-O needed to hear that!  I'd been feeling a little "at sea" - okay - pretty much hanging onto a plank in the ocean of fear - and it was so good to know that God cares, that He has my back (so to speak).  

I forget.  

Surrounded by judgmental and hurting people who cannot help but hurt people... I can lose sight of the fact that God's got me, that I'm okay, that I'm safe.  

As I sat in a therapist's office yesterday, having gone through something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, and wondering what in the world happened to put me in such an emotional tailspin, my therapist put it into perspective for me.  "You have this huge fact in your life - the past, the abuse, that wounded part of you.  IT WILL NEVER GO AWAY.  In recovery, YOU can go away from IT.  But it will never leave; it is a fact; it's history.  The more you cultivate those relationships first with God, then with yourself, and lastly with others who are healthy and good for you, the farther away from that wounded place you will get - and you will forget that it is there.  But if you slip back into old ways of thinking, or coast - or rest on your laurels - you can easily approach that vulnerable place again, and you can be hurt a LOT more easily.  Basically put, you relapsed.  But you are now getting back on track.  And with the tools you've been given, you know what to do in order to stay on track." 

Yes I do.  And what gives me the courage to stay the course and to relax and trust God - is that knowledge, that easy-to-forget assurance of which I am so glad my friend reminded me.  

"He's gotcha."

One, two, left, right

Many years ago I remember listening to someone tell a story about an experience in Viet Nam.  It was so vividly told ... that I felt that in a sense, I traveled with him on his journey and could relate, in what was a more emotional or spiritual sense.  Maybe I can tell you the tale.  It might be just what someone needs to hear. 

During a long forced march that had lasted since early morning, this man, who was a medic, fell further and further back in the column of men.  Their goal was the top of a particular hill so they could camp safely for the night. 

Source (via Google Images):
http://frontporchpoetry-janet.blogspot.ca/2010/01/lucky-one.html

They'd been trudging through napalm all day. Napalm (pronounced NAY-pawm) is what they called the burnt vegetation left behind when the air troops bombed an area - like a jungle, leaving nothing left, so as to not give the enemy anywhere to hide.  It left a fine, black powder everywhere and every step raised a little cloud of black ash.  The ash was in his pores, between his teeth, in all his crevices, grinding between his pack and his shoulder - and his feet were hot and blistered from the long hike through the napalm.  He was hot and sweaty, bone-tired, and gritty all over.  It was late in the afternoon. The sun had been relentless all day long. There was no relief. They hadn't even stopped to eat.  His company got more and more ahead of him.

Between him and the ascent to the final hill there was a beautiful valley, with tall, lush grass, a stream, and trees all around.  

It was like stepping into paradise. 

As he made his way through the water and to the other side of the stream, he decided to sit on the bank for a few minutes.  His 80-pound pack was made heavier by the 20-pound mortar plate he had to bring with him (the base of a large field weapon).  When he sat on the bank, he did so pack and all. It took some of the pressure off his back and legs ... such a relief. The march of the day, the black napalm dust up his nose, were all forgotten. The water soothed those blisters in his boots.  "I'll just stay here," he thought, as he dangled his boots in the water and felt it swish between his toes.

And then the sun began to set, and it began to get cold.  And for the first time, the very real danger of his position became clear to him.  The most likely place for the enemy to hide, to lie in wait for an ambush - would be in tall grass, or in trees.  He looked around him.  Tall grass ... and trees. They were all around him.  Whoa boy. 

He had to stand up and hitch up his pack - made heavier now by the water, and climb up past the bank of the stream and up that hill ... that ugly old hill covered with the same dust they'd been walking through all day long.  The water in his boots made the blisters feel like they were boiling.  The only thing that kept him going was just one thing.  Putting one foot in front of the other ... to survive.  

To stay focused, he said out loud to himself, "One, two, left, right; one, two, left, right..." over and over again as he struggled up the steep embankment where he knew his company would be waiting at the top. But he didn't dare look at how far he had left to go.  Only one thing mattered.  "One. ... Two. ... Left. ... Right...." through clenched teeth.

Just when he thought he couldn't take another step, he heard a voice - a voice calling his name!  He looked up and there was a guy he had helped out, earlier in the day.  "Here, Doc, let me take that mortar plate." Immediately his pack got 20% lighter.  His feet still hurt, but somehow they didn't hurt quite so much.  One, two, left, right.  Then he heard another fellow's voice.  "Let me take your pack for you there.  Least I could do ..."  And the pack peeled off him and lifted from his sore shoulders.  He felt like he was flying.  Before long, the hill was behind him, the ground had evened under his feet and he was surrounded by his buddies, who were slapping him on the back and congratulating him - he was the last one to arrive.  But he made it.

He made it.

Toolkit

There is a quote from a well-used book, a quote which I hear frequently, that comes back to me again and again.  It says in full, 

There is a solution.  Almost none of us liked the self-searching, the leveling of our pride, the confession of shortcomings which the process requires for its successful consummation.  But we saw that it really worked in others, and we had come to believe in the hopelessness and futility of life as we had been living it.  When therefore we were approached by those in whom the problem had been solved, there was nothing left for us but to pick up the simple kit of spiritual tools laid at our feet.  We have found much of heaven and we have been rocketed into a fourth dimension of existence of which we had not dreamed.   

The great fact is just this, and nothing less: That we have had deep and effective spiritual experiences which have revolutionized our whole attitude toward life, toward our fellows and toward God's universe.  The central fact of our lives today is that our Creator has entered into our hearts and lives in a way which is indeed miraculous.  He has commenced to accomplish those things for us which we could never do by ourselves.  - the Big Book of AA, 4th Ed., page 25

Google Images showed me this photo at:
http://carpenterbelts.com/Leather-Carpenter-Tool-Belt.html

There are some pretty basic tools in this toolkit.  I just want to touch on a few that might seem obvious, but which are so very needed in order to remove those barriers to relationship with God, with the self, and with others.  

Honesty
It's pretty evident isn't it? We think of ourselves as honest people.  But are we? Are we hiding from things we don't want to face about ourselves, about our fears, our failures?  Can we take an honest and fearless inventory of our lives, not just that overall blanket-type statement that covers everything from soup to nuts ... but specifics?  Can we delve into the hurts of our pasts (whether childhood or even recent past) and face the messages we find there or take responsibility for the mistakes we have made?  

Openness
This goes right along with honesty but adds another component.  Sure, we might be able to be honest with ourselves, for example, but can we ADMIT what we find to someone else we trust? Can we open our innermost heart to scrutiny by God, or by ourselves? When it comes to others who are trustworthy, can we trust them enough to share some of our struggles? This may leave us vulnerable ... are we prepared to risk it?

Willingness
This is the next step along that path.  Are we willing to let God make those inner changes in us as we continue to open ourselves to Him and be honest with Him?  Are we willing to use the rest of those God-given tools in our toolkit to dig into our motives and our I-can't-help-it-that's-just-me excuses?  Are we willing to get outside our comfort zones and let God lead us into areas we never thought we'd ever get into?

Self-talk
The messages we tell ourselves can make or break us.  And if the messages we've heard so often that we believe them are false, where do you think we can find messages to counter them?  We can tell ourselves the truth, that's what! We can do what psychologists call "self-talk"! 

Yes, I can hear you now.  Enough of that psychological clap-trap.  But hold on a minute ... I can tell you one person who talked to himself and encouraged himself all the time, someone that God called a man after His own heart: King David!  "Why are you cast down, my soul? why are you disquieted? hope in God!"  "I commune with myself on my own bed."  "Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name.... forget not all His benefits..."  The list is endless.  

Telling ourselves the truth about ourselves - instead of buying into the self-destructive lie that we are worthless - can counter decades of systematic programming to condition us to loathe ourselves.  This was never God's intention.  He delights in us, spent all He had to give us a way to come to Him freely without all the religious trappings in the way.  It might feel awkward and we might not believe it when we first tell ourselves that we are worth something... but if we remember that it took years upon years for the opposite message to burn its way into our psyches, then it will take just as intense a deprogramming to un-learn and (as a friend recently put it) un-believe those lies.  I only just started doing it a little less than 3  years ago.  And today, far from being egotistical, I can better receive goodness from God and from others ... and I have more capacity to give it.  

There are more tools in the toolkit of course.  But those are the major ones.