I am sitting here in the den working on a talk for this weekend. Suddenly, there was a flurry of wings and several sparrows flew into the sliding glass window. They seemed to be in a hurry to get away from something. Something indeed! A young hawk had just flown into the yard and sat perched on the edge of the fence. I've been watching him for several minutes now. He appears to be a red-tailed hawk and is about a foot high from tail feathers to his head.
He isn't very noble, actually.
He's a teenage hawk.
This little guy is wobbly, trying to keep his balance on the fence. When he scratches himself he looks like he might fall off into my lavender below. I think his feet are cold because he keeps drawing one or the other of them up into his feathers and trying to stand on one leg. Perhaps this is "The Hawk Perch" that all adult hawks need to learn how to do in order to be cool. He is not very swift looking... He is quite a sight: a wobbling, bespeckled hawk, gawking around the yard, turning his head as though it is resting on a ball bearing. Very goofy looking as he scratches himself and sways to the left, nearly falling.
Such a teenager! All the equipment is there but he's not got command of it yet and he's still trying to figure out how to do all those things that adults do. He did scare the begeebies out of the birds in the yard, so he is an intimidating sight. But he's got a way to go before one would call him a proper, noble, fear-inspiring hawk.
Isn't it interesting how teenagers act the same way? He has speckles over his chest. Teens have spots on their faces. He looks a bit cuddly, as though he would be most comfortable cuddling up under his mother's feathers and his eyes look a bit sleepy. Not unlike the kids who, although they are out doing pretty interesting things in their techie lives, still want nothing more than to be close and comforted by their mom. They just don't often admit to it.
This guy finally swooped off across the neighbor's lawn and disappeared into the trees beyond. I hope he'll come back again. I'd like to see him again. It is fun to see how life develops over time.
August 19, 2009
August 11, 2009
Cat TV
Found hereMy little Otis has seemed to be suffering from lassitude recently--if it is possible that a cat can experience more lassitude than he does. He has been wandering through the house meowing, listless, and bored. It seemed time to do something to bring variety to his life. But what? He can't go outside because he will run away.Otis is a cat who, when you open the door for him, looks up at the sky and takes off. He's afraid to be outside, for some reason. It could be that it's because he was found wandering as a kitten, and that's how I ended up with him four years ago. He may have deep psychological issues about this. Or, he might just be a ditzy cat. Always a possibility.
Anyhow, I decided that it would be a good thing to put a bird feeder outside the sliding glass window on the other side of his bed and his cat tree. Bingo!
Every morning, Otis reminds me to put out the birdseed--usually around 5:50 or so. As soon as it is out and the birds start coming to eat, he is crouched down by the window, partially obscured by his cat tree. He lies there with ears flattened to his head, only his eyes following the birds and his body perfectly still. Occasionally he lunges at the screen and they all flutter off. Then he turns and walks with an air of disinterest, toward his dish in the opposite direction. After a bite of food, he's sneaking back toward the window, around the ottoman, stealthily slinking up next to the couch. Plastering himself to the floor, he again inches toward the window, hiding behind the cat tree. There are dramatic moves from time to time on his part. And from time to time he swears at the sparrows and finches that squabble over the food dish, only a couple feet from Otis' squinty green eyes. To relieve his sense of impotence, he will dash straight up his cat tree and from the top, look down on his subjects.
Otis' cat TV has restored his interest in life. He is now more receptive to being petted, less clingy, and more energetic. And he sleeps better now, too. After all those adrenaline rushes he has in the morning watching the birds, he is worn out.
What a life!
Anyhow, I decided that it would be a good thing to put a bird feeder outside the sliding glass window on the other side of his bed and his cat tree. Bingo!
Every morning, Otis reminds me to put out the birdseed--usually around 5:50 or so. As soon as it is out and the birds start coming to eat, he is crouched down by the window, partially obscured by his cat tree. He lies there with ears flattened to his head, only his eyes following the birds and his body perfectly still. Occasionally he lunges at the screen and they all flutter off. Then he turns and walks with an air of disinterest, toward his dish in the opposite direction. After a bite of food, he's sneaking back toward the window, around the ottoman, stealthily slinking up next to the couch. Plastering himself to the floor, he again inches toward the window, hiding behind the cat tree. There are dramatic moves from time to time on his part. And from time to time he swears at the sparrows and finches that squabble over the food dish, only a couple feet from Otis' squinty green eyes. To relieve his sense of impotence, he will dash straight up his cat tree and from the top, look down on his subjects.
Otis' cat TV has restored his interest in life. He is now more receptive to being petted, less clingy, and more energetic. And he sleeps better now, too. After all those adrenaline rushes he has in the morning watching the birds, he is worn out.
What a life!
August 9, 2009
Embarassed
Did you ever do something inadvertently that left you chagrinned, mortified, flummoxed, humiliated (did I get all the synonyms for this awful state?) Well I realized this weekend that I have been remiss in some major areas of my life. I was brought face to face with weaknesses of which I was unaware. You know, some things just slip by. It might be a character flaw, an annoying habit, a missed opportunity, something that hasn't been dealt with properly and that keeps popping up.
I collided with three of such instances in the last two days. What is of particular interest to me isn't necessarily the problem areas. I'm a smart girl and can figure out what to do about these things. But I'm struck with the perspective of being a performer of perfection vs. being a learn-as-you-go bumbler. The latter is how people gain more in life, even though it is a messy business sometimes.
I even tell my students this in class. "If you're having trouble with something, tell me what it is. Don't try to pretend that everything is fine and bluff your way through this class. If you give me work that demonstrates your area of challenge, then we can figure out how to help you improve if it is out in the open."
This is remniscent of voice master classes I've attended. Some renowned performer meets with singing students. The goal is for the more experienced singer to listen to the students and assist them with technique to get them past the areas of challenge. How do you think the singer can help? First, the error in voice production process has to get out in the open. The students come to master class prepared to sing a song that gives them problems in some way. Even though it is much more tempting to sing something that sits perfectly in one's voice, it is so much more productive to be prepared to fall flat in front of the singing guru. So when your voice cracks, or you run out of breath, or the quality of your voice changes over a passage when it shouldn't, and you know it will happen that way yet still perform it, other master class students are embarassed and think ill of you. How embarassing to look so bad in front of all those people! Yet after the singing teacher offers suggestion for how to eliminate the problem, you can sing forever without the hitch in the voice. Those students who bring one of their best pieces and who don't demonstrate any problem, really don't gain much from their performance except a pat on the back of their self-esteem and determination to hide their weak vocal proclivities.
Why is it so difficult to live life with our problems showing? Isn't every event in life an opportunity to learn, to improve, and to move ahead without the problem behavior? If we can just think of life more in terms of the voice master class, perhaps in the long run, what feels like glaring flaws, are only pointers toward self-improvement. Places for God's grace to be applied. Things to pray about and problem-solve. As a wonderfully wise woman told me once, "This is just one more time to realize how much God loves you."
The embarassment only comes when we assume that we should be perfect all the time, which is precisely what I do. There are expectations that at a certain point in life, we should have modulated behavior, impeccable manners, and full command of our emotions. There should be no unresolved issues from the past to rear up and create havoc for us. We should feel comfortable in our skin 100% of the time. It ain't necessarily so, from what I can see from my vantage point. It certainly isn't true of me.
It's all about keeping a humble, teachable spirit. Recognizing that we are all on a journey to become more developed, more like God.
These three issues that made themselves known this weekend are giving me the opportunity to do something about them, rather than muddle ahead in blissful ignorance.
Growth, not plastic perfection.
Sigh.
I have my work cut out for me!
August 6, 2009
A Pretty Day
Yesterday I received this email from a location abroad where a colleague and I will be presenting some lectures:
I showed it to Sam, who is a man of few words.
"Terrible everything," he said.
I'm still chuckling.
I remember one time when I had just learned the German art song, Das Erlkonig. This gripping story is one of intrigue and is very exciting to sing, especially in German, with fantastic sounding words adding to the emotional climate of the song. One can hear the hoofbeats in the pounding piano accompaniament--an image of furiously galloping horses to get away from this nightmarish apparition. The singer must imitate the sneaky Earlking, the frightened child, and the father as he tries to reassure the child that the Earlking could not hurt him. Particularly dramatic is last line sung about what happened when the man finally reached his destination:
"In seinen Armen das Kind war todt!" (You can see an inaccurate but interesting attempt to act out this song here).
Very proudly, I sang some of this for my German friends. It would be wonderful for them to see that I had some command of their language--I was decidedly not one of those dumb, monolingual Americans. As soon as the last tortured words were out of my mouth I realized that something was quite wrong. Uli was struggling to find just the right, neutral comments to acknowledge that I had sung in German without telling me that out-and-out, he couldn't understand much of it.
Andy, his brother, was a bit more forthcoming in a sweet way. "I could understand a few words, maybe."
I was absolutely mortified after such a proud display on my part.
This reminds me of being 10 years old and very keen on learning Spanish. Someone gave me an old Spanish language textbook and I was trying to teach myself to speak it. For some reason, it was easier to learn than other languages that I heard in our town: Italian, Polish, Korean and Russian. A lovely family moved to our little town and lived there for a couple years. They came from El Salvador, I think. They had two beautiful daughters, Betty and Eunice, who were about 10 years older than me and I thought they were the most lovely creatures I had ever met. Always smiling, delightfully gracious, and very talented.
After they left, I wrote Betty a long letter in Spanish. I told her all of the things that my limited language skills allowed me to: that I missed her and her family, that I was still studying Spanish, and that the flowers in the front of their house still bloomed, etc.
A couple weeks later I received a letter from Betty telling me all about her new home, etc.
In Spanish. I had to get out my little dictionary and look up everything, but everything couldn't be found.
Folded inside her letter was my miserable little letter to her--all marked up with a red pen. She had corrected all my errors. The whole page was one red blur. I was devastated that all the work I had been putting into learning a new language hadn't paid off the way I imagined it had. The letters got put in the bottom of a drawer and I never tried to speak the language again.
Silly me.
I wish someone would correct all of my miserable attempts to speak other languages now--they are laughable and in the U.S. we don't have the opportunity to learn languages like people in Europe or Asia do, crossing borders weekly into countries with different customs and languages.
Now I do have the opportunity to learn Spanish--and have had this opportunity in a very real way for the last six years in the person of Sam. Every now and again I try to say something to him, be it romantic, descriptive, or a casual comment. Mostly, it elicits a confused look from him. "What are you trying to say, honey?"
Bless the heart of this dear little university assistant who wrote me such a confusing email. She is trying, and that is more than I do.
I think I will study Spanish in earnest.
And yes, I will have a pretty day.
Pleasing to greet it and that to the Good is blessing
it God greatly in the work that comes realising.
That joy to again have it in our university
together with the students of the new group.
The reason for the present is for asking
for the complete name of the person who will come with you.
Dr. Hernandez, that it has a pretty day!
I showed it to Sam, who is a man of few words.
"Terrible everything," he said.
I'm still chuckling.
I remember one time when I had just learned the German art song, Das Erlkonig. This gripping story is one of intrigue and is very exciting to sing, especially in German, with fantastic sounding words adding to the emotional climate of the song. One can hear the hoofbeats in the pounding piano accompaniament--an image of furiously galloping horses to get away from this nightmarish apparition. The singer must imitate the sneaky Earlking, the frightened child, and the father as he tries to reassure the child that the Earlking could not hurt him. Particularly dramatic is last line sung about what happened when the man finally reached his destination:
"In seinen Armen das Kind war todt!" (You can see an inaccurate but interesting attempt to act out this song here).
Very proudly, I sang some of this for my German friends. It would be wonderful for them to see that I had some command of their language--I was decidedly not one of those dumb, monolingual Americans. As soon as the last tortured words were out of my mouth I realized that something was quite wrong. Uli was struggling to find just the right, neutral comments to acknowledge that I had sung in German without telling me that out-and-out, he couldn't understand much of it.
Andy, his brother, was a bit more forthcoming in a sweet way. "I could understand a few words, maybe."
I was absolutely mortified after such a proud display on my part.
This reminds me of being 10 years old and very keen on learning Spanish. Someone gave me an old Spanish language textbook and I was trying to teach myself to speak it. For some reason, it was easier to learn than other languages that I heard in our town: Italian, Polish, Korean and Russian. A lovely family moved to our little town and lived there for a couple years. They came from El Salvador, I think. They had two beautiful daughters, Betty and Eunice, who were about 10 years older than me and I thought they were the most lovely creatures I had ever met. Always smiling, delightfully gracious, and very talented.
After they left, I wrote Betty a long letter in Spanish. I told her all of the things that my limited language skills allowed me to: that I missed her and her family, that I was still studying Spanish, and that the flowers in the front of their house still bloomed, etc.
A couple weeks later I received a letter from Betty telling me all about her new home, etc.
In Spanish. I had to get out my little dictionary and look up everything, but everything couldn't be found.
Folded inside her letter was my miserable little letter to her--all marked up with a red pen. She had corrected all my errors. The whole page was one red blur. I was devastated that all the work I had been putting into learning a new language hadn't paid off the way I imagined it had. The letters got put in the bottom of a drawer and I never tried to speak the language again.
Silly me.
I wish someone would correct all of my miserable attempts to speak other languages now--they are laughable and in the U.S. we don't have the opportunity to learn languages like people in Europe or Asia do, crossing borders weekly into countries with different customs and languages.
Now I do have the opportunity to learn Spanish--and have had this opportunity in a very real way for the last six years in the person of Sam. Every now and again I try to say something to him, be it romantic, descriptive, or a casual comment. Mostly, it elicits a confused look from him. "What are you trying to say, honey?"
Bless the heart of this dear little university assistant who wrote me such a confusing email. She is trying, and that is more than I do.
I think I will study Spanish in earnest.
And yes, I will have a pretty day.
August 4, 2009
Will He find Faith?
I was talking the other day to a friend of mine who is middle-aged and single, about what it is like to get married after 40. She asked me if I understood why it is that women who have been married before--widows and divorced women--seem to have an easier time getting remarried than never-marrieds have. I was surprised. I do get it, after years of wondering the same thing.
There is such a thing as living in hope and expectation that you will marry. A lot of formerly married women seem to realize that being married isn't rocket science, and if they did it once, they are capable of doing it again, especially if their marriage is a happy one. Research bears this out in the case of widows and widowers. Those who had happy marriages will often remarry within one year. It is amazing--they come up with suitable partners out of thin air. Always single women on the other hand, despair that there is anyone who is vaguely suitable within a 1,000 mile radius. I know. This was my outlook for many years.
I think that when you are single, you have hopes that you will find someone but you don't always have the expectation that you will. After dating wonderful men who just didn't fit well with you, or giving a trial run to those who shouldn't be given a chance, it is easy to fall into an attitude of resignation. "I'm single and I'd like to marry but given what has happened, it isn't as likely as I'd like to think. So I will move ahead and do my thing. If someone comes along, that is fine. If not, at least I will like myself and have a good life."
Again, I say this based on what I experienced, not necessarily on a global generalization of all single women.
So that fine line between resignation and hope, between giving up and having faith--it is here that God points when He spoke of coming to earth the second time. People will be absorbed in all sorts of pursuits: marriage, owning property, amassing wealth. The love of many will run cold. People will have a form of godliness but will be without true spiritual power. And then Jesus asks the question: "But when the Son of man comes, will He find faith in the earth?"
Or will it be resignation? Resignation that society has gone to hell in a handbasket; that Jesus won't come until He is good and ready; that no matter how much we try to hasten His coming, He still delays. That in this world we will have trouble, and boy howdy, have we ever got it now! Will He find faith on the earth?
Will there be expectation that even though we don't know the whole story about what is going on, He is still in control of the universe? That even if everything in our lives have gone bad, that what He will soon give us--even if it is only after we see death here--will be better than our wildest dreams? That we will one day understand the bigger picture? That the petty annoyances with which we struggle are the stuff that helps us refine our characters so that we will learn to focus on God's sustaining grace instead of our own puny resources?
Will there be faith? Or something else?
This is a question that I have been asking myself often during my morning time with God. It is easy to resign myself to the way things are. It is easy to resign myself as a hopeless sinner to take the path of least resistance in my daily choices. Much more difficult to reach forward by the hand of faith to recognize that I am the apple of God's eye, even as the challenges knock me sideways. I feel determined, by God's grace, to have faith--even if it is as small as a mustard seed. That's all that it takes.
There is such a thing as living in hope and expectation that you will marry. A lot of formerly married women seem to realize that being married isn't rocket science, and if they did it once, they are capable of doing it again, especially if their marriage is a happy one. Research bears this out in the case of widows and widowers. Those who had happy marriages will often remarry within one year. It is amazing--they come up with suitable partners out of thin air. Always single women on the other hand, despair that there is anyone who is vaguely suitable within a 1,000 mile radius. I know. This was my outlook for many years.
I think that when you are single, you have hopes that you will find someone but you don't always have the expectation that you will. After dating wonderful men who just didn't fit well with you, or giving a trial run to those who shouldn't be given a chance, it is easy to fall into an attitude of resignation. "I'm single and I'd like to marry but given what has happened, it isn't as likely as I'd like to think. So I will move ahead and do my thing. If someone comes along, that is fine. If not, at least I will like myself and have a good life."
Again, I say this based on what I experienced, not necessarily on a global generalization of all single women.
So that fine line between resignation and hope, between giving up and having faith--it is here that God points when He spoke of coming to earth the second time. People will be absorbed in all sorts of pursuits: marriage, owning property, amassing wealth. The love of many will run cold. People will have a form of godliness but will be without true spiritual power. And then Jesus asks the question: "But when the Son of man comes, will He find faith in the earth?"
Or will it be resignation? Resignation that society has gone to hell in a handbasket; that Jesus won't come until He is good and ready; that no matter how much we try to hasten His coming, He still delays. That in this world we will have trouble, and boy howdy, have we ever got it now! Will He find faith on the earth?
Will there be expectation that even though we don't know the whole story about what is going on, He is still in control of the universe? That even if everything in our lives have gone bad, that what He will soon give us--even if it is only after we see death here--will be better than our wildest dreams? That we will one day understand the bigger picture? That the petty annoyances with which we struggle are the stuff that helps us refine our characters so that we will learn to focus on God's sustaining grace instead of our own puny resources?
Will there be faith? Or something else?
This is a question that I have been asking myself often during my morning time with God. It is easy to resign myself to the way things are. It is easy to resign myself as a hopeless sinner to take the path of least resistance in my daily choices. Much more difficult to reach forward by the hand of faith to recognize that I am the apple of God's eye, even as the challenges knock me sideways. I feel determined, by God's grace, to have faith--even if it is as small as a mustard seed. That's all that it takes.
August 1, 2009
No More Tears
My brother was a United States Marine for four years. He went from being a guy in pretty good shape to one big, burly man.
On the outside.
He told me once that he had gotten bored one evening and had gone to the NCO club to see a movie with his buddies. It was some tear jerker movie and he was surrounded by guys who watched the sad scenes without any show of emotion. My brother however, had a major struggle, trying to keep from crying. He told me later, "I sat there and swore under my breath and thought of everything I could to make me mad so I wouldn't cry. But the tears kept coming down my cheeks and I felt awful with those other guys sitting there."
He didn't think they saw him crying, but he couldn't be sure.
You see, he embodies more of the Italian blood in our family, and thus is more easily overwrought by emotion than the rest of us.
The men in my family have always been softies: they always kissed each other good-night, hugged each other hello and goodbye, and cried great tears when we saw movies together or during sermons. I grew up thinking that this was just the way men were supposed to be. Imagine my shock when I encountered men who only shake hands, saying "See ya..." and mumble "yeah, me too" when you tell them that you love them, and have nothing to say about their feelings. Cardboard souls. That's what I thought abot the men of the world who are like this.
Of course, my father and mother used to sit side by side at night watching television, both having a good cry about just about anything they saw on TV: Kodak or telephone company ads, compelling stories on Oprah, or those documentaries about animals like the elephants who never forgot their elephant friends even after 40 years of being separated.
(oy, jt gives me a lump in my throat now to even think of it!)
But there would be Mother and Daddy crying their eyes out.
My sister used to taunt me if I ever cried in her presence. As a result I probably became the most stoic of all four of us children. She has a hard time identifying her feelings, so she rarely cries. I'm a therapist who is trained to feel more and to feel more deeply--not only that, but to be aware of what I'm feeling and to name it in as many different words as exist. But I've always been pretty shut down with my tears because it takes a great deal of trust to cry in front of someone else--trust that I generally have not had for too many people. I suppose that it also had something to do with living so many years with no one to cry to or with. I learned to put it aside and do what needed doing instead of crying.
Recent developments have had me crying more than I ever thought I could. It seems that some of the frozen up tears that never made it out are finding their way to the surface these days. Even though Sam isn't what I'd call an emotions kind of guy, he is usually receptive and supportive of me and my emotions. He calls during the day to see how I am feeling and what I'm thinking about. It matters to me more than he knows. So it makes sense for me to cry more now because I'm not alone with my sadness and I won't be as likely to be overwhelmed as I would have been for so many years.
In her book, "If I'm so wonderful why am I still single?" the author, who was a campus chaplain at a big university in the San Francisco area, explained that she too, started crying all the time after she got married. She was shocked and so was her new husband. I'm glad she wrote about this, because otherwise, I would feel nutty.
For example, I attended the funeral of a 95-year old mother of a former boyfriend on Saturday. When I walked in and sat down, I saw a beautiful picture of her with her husband--whom I absolutely loved. I couldn't stop crying through the whole service. The amazing thing is that I wasn't crying about the woman or her husband. I was crying about all the things that I'd held back for years regarding the boyfriend's death and the circumstances that had been so painful. I had just set my face as a flint, so to speak, and had kept going. It all flooded over me as I sat there and I was totally unprepared for it. There is still another pint or so of tears inside me about that situation, but it was very surprising to have such a different response than the stoic emotionless affect that I usually have.
Perhaps it is also a function of age. My father, and a number of men in their 80s whom I know, cry when they talk with me. One older man will tell me jokes and yet if he says anything serious to me, a tear will suddenly slide down his cheek. Maybe he is thawing out from something pressing now, too. Maybe it is the let down from years and years of shouldering responsibilities for the family, his church, his job. Now it is safe to cry, to feel.
In Revelation 20, we are told that God will wipe all tears from our eyes. I wonder if there will be a period of time when we weep and grieve first--when our sadness wells up and all the emotions that accompanied so many things that we couldn't express at the time--roils to the surface. Maybe when we see the reward of those who aren't in heaven. Now there' something to cry about. I don't think for a minute that we will be without feeling over the eternal loss of some of our beloved family members and friends whose choices and resistance to God have placed them in opposition to Him.
Perhaps the joy of being in the Holy City or presence of God will be so overwhelming that there will be no sadness in that kind of place. That's something that is very hard for me to comprehend.
If we were to have tears in heaven--even initially--it would make sense to me with my earthly reasoning powers. There will finally be someone there who can truly comfort and relieve our sadnesses from this earth. Why wouldn't our tears be spent in the presence of God who fully loves and accepts us?
I don't know. Finding out is something to look forward to for melancholy souls like me.
On the outside.
He told me once that he had gotten bored one evening and had gone to the NCO club to see a movie with his buddies. It was some tear jerker movie and he was surrounded by guys who watched the sad scenes without any show of emotion. My brother however, had a major struggle, trying to keep from crying. He told me later, "I sat there and swore under my breath and thought of everything I could to make me mad so I wouldn't cry. But the tears kept coming down my cheeks and I felt awful with those other guys sitting there."
He didn't think they saw him crying, but he couldn't be sure.
You see, he embodies more of the Italian blood in our family, and thus is more easily overwrought by emotion than the rest of us.
The men in my family have always been softies: they always kissed each other good-night, hugged each other hello and goodbye, and cried great tears when we saw movies together or during sermons. I grew up thinking that this was just the way men were supposed to be. Imagine my shock when I encountered men who only shake hands, saying "See ya..." and mumble "yeah, me too" when you tell them that you love them, and have nothing to say about their feelings. Cardboard souls. That's what I thought abot the men of the world who are like this.
Of course, my father and mother used to sit side by side at night watching television, both having a good cry about just about anything they saw on TV: Kodak or telephone company ads, compelling stories on Oprah, or those documentaries about animals like the elephants who never forgot their elephant friends even after 40 years of being separated.
(oy, jt gives me a lump in my throat now to even think of it!)
But there would be Mother and Daddy crying their eyes out.
My sister used to taunt me if I ever cried in her presence. As a result I probably became the most stoic of all four of us children. She has a hard time identifying her feelings, so she rarely cries. I'm a therapist who is trained to feel more and to feel more deeply--not only that, but to be aware of what I'm feeling and to name it in as many different words as exist. But I've always been pretty shut down with my tears because it takes a great deal of trust to cry in front of someone else--trust that I generally have not had for too many people. I suppose that it also had something to do with living so many years with no one to cry to or with. I learned to put it aside and do what needed doing instead of crying.
Recent developments have had me crying more than I ever thought I could. It seems that some of the frozen up tears that never made it out are finding their way to the surface these days. Even though Sam isn't what I'd call an emotions kind of guy, he is usually receptive and supportive of me and my emotions. He calls during the day to see how I am feeling and what I'm thinking about. It matters to me more than he knows. So it makes sense for me to cry more now because I'm not alone with my sadness and I won't be as likely to be overwhelmed as I would have been for so many years.
In her book, "If I'm so wonderful why am I still single?" the author, who was a campus chaplain at a big university in the San Francisco area, explained that she too, started crying all the time after she got married. She was shocked and so was her new husband. I'm glad she wrote about this, because otherwise, I would feel nutty.
For example, I attended the funeral of a 95-year old mother of a former boyfriend on Saturday. When I walked in and sat down, I saw a beautiful picture of her with her husband--whom I absolutely loved. I couldn't stop crying through the whole service. The amazing thing is that I wasn't crying about the woman or her husband. I was crying about all the things that I'd held back for years regarding the boyfriend's death and the circumstances that had been so painful. I had just set my face as a flint, so to speak, and had kept going. It all flooded over me as I sat there and I was totally unprepared for it. There is still another pint or so of tears inside me about that situation, but it was very surprising to have such a different response than the stoic emotionless affect that I usually have.
Perhaps it is also a function of age. My father, and a number of men in their 80s whom I know, cry when they talk with me. One older man will tell me jokes and yet if he says anything serious to me, a tear will suddenly slide down his cheek. Maybe he is thawing out from something pressing now, too. Maybe it is the let down from years and years of shouldering responsibilities for the family, his church, his job. Now it is safe to cry, to feel.
In Revelation 20, we are told that God will wipe all tears from our eyes. I wonder if there will be a period of time when we weep and grieve first--when our sadness wells up and all the emotions that accompanied so many things that we couldn't express at the time--roils to the surface. Maybe when we see the reward of those who aren't in heaven. Now there' something to cry about. I don't think for a minute that we will be without feeling over the eternal loss of some of our beloved family members and friends whose choices and resistance to God have placed them in opposition to Him.
Perhaps the joy of being in the Holy City or presence of God will be so overwhelming that there will be no sadness in that kind of place. That's something that is very hard for me to comprehend.
If we were to have tears in heaven--even initially--it would make sense to me with my earthly reasoning powers. There will finally be someone there who can truly comfort and relieve our sadnesses from this earth. Why wouldn't our tears be spent in the presence of God who fully loves and accepts us?
I don't know. Finding out is something to look forward to for melancholy souls like me.
July 25, 2009
Not so nice
Found hereToday in church I remembered afresh that mine is a face that many people in the area recognize and connect with various public performance-type things: Bible lesson teaching, singing, administering programs, teaching in the university, supervising students, writing--lots of things that get positive strokes. People whom I don't know will call me by my name and speak with me as though I am supposed to know them, when their sense of familiarity is from seeing me give a seminar. I have no corresponding sense of familiarity about them, so there is nothing very authentic feeling about me being more than warmly cordial.
It also sometimes seems that people also have an inflated sense of my goodness. Just because I have stage presence, can sing or speak, or be entertaining and personable during my talks does not necessarily a nice person make. As a therapist and as a Christian speaker and writer, people expect me to live out all sorts of great qualities that never flag. I suppose that is the ideal, but I can't pull it off.
I do not feel like a nice person today.
Someone approached me in church and asked me to see his nephew in therapy. Tonight. That was pretty shocking. I asked what the hurry was and was told that this young man is going abroad for school on Tuesday morning. Well, why not see him on Sunday? He would be at Six Flags for the day. Well then, what about Monday? He has lots of errands to run and might not be able to fit me in. In my mind I was saying, "Well, it must not be that important then."
Why would someone ask me a question about business issues in church, on the Sabbath? Oh--a simple answer exists for that: many people think that counseling is a pastoral advice-giving enterprise and that I should be prepared to do it in the name of the Lord at any time. And did I mention, for free? I was really annoyed and I did not feel nice. But in spite of this I called the nephew tonight and spoke with him about when I might be able to fit him in on Monday. As I always do, and according to my discipline's ethical standards, I discussed my fee and his insurance coverage so he could make a decision about whether it would be feasible to even make an appointment with me.
It just happens that we don't accept his insurance plan at our office. When I told him my fee there was a long silence. He told me that my fee is way too much for him to pay for one hour. Kudos for his honesty--that saved us time hemming and hawing. So I gamely told him about some options where he might be able to both be scheduled immediately and for a very low fee. He seemed pleased and I hung up the phone, thoroughly irritated to have had this intrusion and sense of urgency when I'm supposed to be "off."
I would not walk up to an attorney in church and ask her to please see me immediately on a Saturday night. I would not expect a plumber to come to my house after church, after I get back from lunch and before my nap, and fix my shower that had been leaking for weeks. For free. It would never occur to me to ask a CPA to look at my financial issues unless I had money dedicated to pay his fee, whatever it might be. But since I'm a Christian, a therapist, and a woman, I'm supposed to be "on" at the whim of whomever thinks I should offer my services.
Oh my goodness...
Before this turns into a full-blown rant, I should say that this post was not conceived because of the general public's lack of awareness about how to utilize counseling services or appreciate the experience of a therapist. It is about trying so hard to be good-hearted, to have noble aims and positive ideas about how to interact with people, only to have an inner experience that doesn't correspond with what others see. Or being expected to be bigger than life when it comes to everyday things and for whatever reason, I'm not, can't be, or don't try to be.
It makes me feel not nice when this happens. Especially if it concerns a family member who expects me to be that wonderful person all the time. I'm not. I want to be 100% me when I'm with my family. I let people down and say awkward things. Very un-therapist things that just come out of my mouth because I'm not a therapist 100% of the time. Not when I'm worn out and at home, needing some emotional input for myself, too tired to do anything spectacular. At those times when my efforts to be altruistic fail, I end up feeling so decidedly not nice that I despair. It is especially hard when it is thought that other outside-the-family people get the nice Barbara and the family gets the one who doesn't come through in the way they feel I should.
An interesting study was done about spouses of therapists. It was found that they were very frustrated with the lack of communication attempts by their therapist husbands or wives. That was the greatest annoyance of spouses. As for the therapists, they repeatedly indicated that after talking with people all day long they just wanted to be left alone. This doesn't make for good relationships! But I completely understand this.
It's a not nice feeling when how I want to be doesn't match how I am on the inside. I'm disappointed in myself because I want so much to be more Christ-like regardless of what I get back or how other people behave. But it isn't always within my grasp. It seems that tonight I've taken a great swan dive into the morass of being that thing called imperfect humanity. I don't want to hurt anyone or be self-centered or intent on my needs to the exclusion of others. But here I am, swimming for all I'm worth.
I'm afraid it won't be the last dip that I take here.
July 24, 2009
He's Gone!
Sam is gone this weekend. He left at noon today to visit his girls up North. I got a call from him about 3 hours after he'd left town: "Hi Honey, I'm missing you already. I wish so much you were here with me..."
I am perfectly happy to be exactly where I am: in my own bed with Otis sleeping at my feet. I don't like the town where he is, and would feel awkward hanging around the whole visit. There are times when being alone and away from one's spouse is a good thing.
So I brought Mother over tonight to spend the weekend with me instead. She will really enjoy being out of the retirement villa, here where she has company and can help in the kitchen. In fact, she has talked up a storm since she arrived. I'm not used to it!
We went shopping this afternoon for a short while--she is not a shopper--trying to find the black pleated trousers and khaki shorts that Sam wanted. Let me tell you, he made a killing today in our shopping spree: four shirts, two pair of trousers and a pair of knock-around shorts. He sounded delighted when I told him on the phone tonight. And one navy and white suit for Mother--a suit with little pleated frim-fram all along the bottom of the skirt. She loves it. I was so pleased to get it for her.
Funny thing though, I'm the one who needs the clothes. It's just so much easier to shop for them than for me. Mother got slap-happy in the store and started giggling about something. It was nice to see her so tickled and pleased to be with me. We chatted it up this evening until my eyes started rolling back in my head.
We are going to church together tomorrow and probably up to the mountains in the afternoon. We need to escape the heat here: 105 degrees. So that is what is on the docket for us. I pray that God will be with Sam. Just now, He is with Otis, Mother and me.
I am perfectly happy to be exactly where I am: in my own bed with Otis sleeping at my feet. I don't like the town where he is, and would feel awkward hanging around the whole visit. There are times when being alone and away from one's spouse is a good thing.
So I brought Mother over tonight to spend the weekend with me instead. She will really enjoy being out of the retirement villa, here where she has company and can help in the kitchen. In fact, she has talked up a storm since she arrived. I'm not used to it!
We went shopping this afternoon for a short while--she is not a shopper--trying to find the black pleated trousers and khaki shorts that Sam wanted. Let me tell you, he made a killing today in our shopping spree: four shirts, two pair of trousers and a pair of knock-around shorts. He sounded delighted when I told him on the phone tonight. And one navy and white suit for Mother--a suit with little pleated frim-fram all along the bottom of the skirt. She loves it. I was so pleased to get it for her.
Funny thing though, I'm the one who needs the clothes. It's just so much easier to shop for them than for me. Mother got slap-happy in the store and started giggling about something. It was nice to see her so tickled and pleased to be with me. We chatted it up this evening until my eyes started rolling back in my head.
We are going to church together tomorrow and probably up to the mountains in the afternoon. We need to escape the heat here: 105 degrees. So that is what is on the docket for us. I pray that God will be with Sam. Just now, He is with Otis, Mother and me.
July 23, 2009
Faith of Jesus--III
(Here is part of a talk I gave last Friday evening.)
Here's another aspect of the faith of Jesus. We pray and ask God to help us, to give us certain things—do certain miracles for us. The faith of Jesus tells us that God loves to give us, in response to the prayer of faith, things that he would not grant did we not ask. But even though God loves to give us things, support us, providentially provide for us, we are not the center of the universe. There is more at stake in the world and in the universe than what I want. We have to trust God to do what is right and good for the larger picture since this world is the battle ground between good and evil. Therefore, I might not get what I'd like every time, or even enough of the time to my way of thinking.
Jesus wanted certain things for His life, but He was obedient to the will of God—because He had faith that God knew more than He did and that the best would be worked out accordingly.
I was reading Hebrews 11 the other day thinking about this. The Faith chapter starts out by discussing Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham.
Then it says something interesting:
So when Jesus was in Gethsemane begging God to remove the cup from Him, it was His faith in the fact that God knew the end from the beginning and could work it out right—for the best—with or without his prayers being answered, that He could trust God and say, “nevertheless, thy will be done.” His feelings, His fears and the humanness of His feelings at that time, did not change His knowledge that God would work everything out.
It reminds me of a wonderful anecdote:
Over in Burma, Judson was lying in a foul jail with 32 lbs. of chains on his ankles, his feet bound to a bamboo pole. A fellow prisoner said, "Dr. Judson, what about the prospect of the conversion of the heathen?", with a sneer on his face. His instant reply was, "The prospects are just as bright as the promises of God." This is the faith of Jesus. Even though things were going badly for him, the work and cause of God were advancing. God was not limited because this saint was in prison.
So do not throw away your confidence; it will be richly rewarded. You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised. For in just a very little while, "He who is coming will come and will not delay. But my righteous one will live by faith. And if he shrinks back, I will not be pleased with him." But we are not of those who shrink back and are destroyed, but of those who believe and are saved. (Hebrews 10: 36 - 39
We serve God in our pain, fear, and confusion, even though we do not fully know what is happening. Even though it looks like God is hurting us or paying no attention to us. We know that God will hold us with a hand that will never let us go. That is the faith of Jesus.
Some years ago, on a hot summer day in South Florida, a little boy decided to go for a swim in the old swimming hole behind his house. In a hurry to dive into the cool water, he ran out the back door, leaving behind shoes, socks, and shirt as he went. He flew into the water, not realizing that as he swam toward the middle of the lake an alligator was swimming toward the shore.
His father, working in the yard, noticed the boy and alligator as they moved closer and closer together. In horror, he ran toward the water, yelling to his son as loudly as he could. Hearing his voice, the little boy became alarmed and made a U-turn to swim to his father.
It was too late. Just as the child reached his father, the alligator reached the boy. From the dock, the father grabbed his little son by the arms just as the alligator snatched his legs. An incredible tug-of-war began, between the two. The alligator was much stronger than the father, but the father was much too passionate to let go. A farmer, driving by, heard the screams. He raced from his truck, took aim and shot the alligator.
Remarkably, after weeks and weeks in the hospital, the little boy survived. His legs were extremely scarred by the vicious attack of the animal. And on his arms were deep gouges marking the points where his father's fingernails had dug into his flesh, in his effort to hang onto the son whom he loved.The newspaper reporter who interviewed the boy after the trauma, asked if he would show him his scars.The boy lifted his pant legs. And then, with obvious pride, he said to the reporter,
'But look at my arms; I have big scars on my arms, too. I have them because my Dad wouldn't let go….’
The faith of Jesus makes us secure in our identity—we know who we are and to whom we belong.
The faith of Jesus helps us in danger and difficult issues to leave the results with God because the faith of Jesus recognizes that we are the apple of God's eye, but still not the center of the universe, the only one in the picture. The faith of Jesus tells us that we are able to submit to circumstances that are not of our choosing and allows us to push forward so that we are not destroyed and we are saved of God. The faith of Jesus allows us to live with the pains that we have because one day we will be able to look back and point to the scars—not the scars from this life that have been painful: a lost mate, dreams that could never be realized, children that turned away from God, our physical limitations and difficult circumstances. But we will be able to look back and see all the times and places where God would not let go of us. Because we know He is holding us still.
This is the faith of Jesus.
Here's another aspect of the faith of Jesus. We pray and ask God to help us, to give us certain things—do certain miracles for us. The faith of Jesus tells us that God loves to give us, in response to the prayer of faith, things that he would not grant did we not ask. But even though God loves to give us things, support us, providentially provide for us, we are not the center of the universe. There is more at stake in the world and in the universe than what I want. We have to trust God to do what is right and good for the larger picture since this world is the battle ground between good and evil. Therefore, I might not get what I'd like every time, or even enough of the time to my way of thinking.
Jesus wanted certain things for His life, but He was obedient to the will of God—because He had faith that God knew more than He did and that the best would be worked out accordingly.
I was reading Hebrews 11 the other day thinking about this. The Faith chapter starts out by discussing Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham.
Then it says something interesting:
All these people were still living by faith when they died.
They did not receive the things promised;
they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance.
And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth.
People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them. Hebrews 11:14-16)
Did they pray to God for leading? Yes. Did they ask for blessings—yes. And they received many of these blessings. But they still did not get the things that they were told they would receive. Yet they continued on in faith, knowing that God realized the bigger picture and that this would be sufficient.
Did they pray to God for leading? Yes. Did they ask for blessings—yes. And they received many of these blessings. But they still did not get the things that they were told they would receive. Yet they continued on in faith, knowing that God realized the bigger picture and that this would be sufficient.
These were all commended for their faith, yet none of them received what had been promised. God had planned something better for us so that only together with us would they be made perfect. (Hebrews 11:39, 40).
There was something bigger and greater of which they were a part and they had to trust God to work that out. They had to put their full weight on the promises of God—to know that He knows what He is doing, what is allowed to occur.
That is sometimes a bit unnerving to do.
There was something bigger and greater of which they were a part and they had to trust God to work that out. They had to put their full weight on the promises of God—to know that He knows what He is doing, what is allowed to occur.
That is sometimes a bit unnerving to do.
So when Jesus was in Gethsemane begging God to remove the cup from Him, it was His faith in the fact that God knew the end from the beginning and could work it out right—for the best—with or without his prayers being answered, that He could trust God and say, “nevertheless, thy will be done.” His feelings, His fears and the humanness of His feelings at that time, did not change His knowledge that God would work everything out.
It reminds me of a wonderful anecdote:
Over in Burma, Judson was lying in a foul jail with 32 lbs. of chains on his ankles, his feet bound to a bamboo pole. A fellow prisoner said, "Dr. Judson, what about the prospect of the conversion of the heathen?", with a sneer on his face. His instant reply was, "The prospects are just as bright as the promises of God." This is the faith of Jesus. Even though things were going badly for him, the work and cause of God were advancing. God was not limited because this saint was in prison.
So do not throw away your confidence; it will be richly rewarded. You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised. For in just a very little while, "He who is coming will come and will not delay. But my righteous one will live by faith. And if he shrinks back, I will not be pleased with him." But we are not of those who shrink back and are destroyed, but of those who believe and are saved. (Hebrews 10: 36 - 39
We serve God in our pain, fear, and confusion, even though we do not fully know what is happening. Even though it looks like God is hurting us or paying no attention to us. We know that God will hold us with a hand that will never let us go. That is the faith of Jesus.
Some years ago, on a hot summer day in South Florida, a little boy decided to go for a swim in the old swimming hole behind his house. In a hurry to dive into the cool water, he ran out the back door, leaving behind shoes, socks, and shirt as he went. He flew into the water, not realizing that as he swam toward the middle of the lake an alligator was swimming toward the shore.
His father, working in the yard, noticed the boy and alligator as they moved closer and closer together. In horror, he ran toward the water, yelling to his son as loudly as he could. Hearing his voice, the little boy became alarmed and made a U-turn to swim to his father.
It was too late. Just as the child reached his father, the alligator reached the boy. From the dock, the father grabbed his little son by the arms just as the alligator snatched his legs. An incredible tug-of-war began, between the two. The alligator was much stronger than the father, but the father was much too passionate to let go. A farmer, driving by, heard the screams. He raced from his truck, took aim and shot the alligator.
Remarkably, after weeks and weeks in the hospital, the little boy survived. His legs were extremely scarred by the vicious attack of the animal. And on his arms were deep gouges marking the points where his father's fingernails had dug into his flesh, in his effort to hang onto the son whom he loved.The newspaper reporter who interviewed the boy after the trauma, asked if he would show him his scars.The boy lifted his pant legs. And then, with obvious pride, he said to the reporter,
'But look at my arms; I have big scars on my arms, too. I have them because my Dad wouldn't let go….’
The faith of Jesus makes us secure in our identity—we know who we are and to whom we belong.
The faith of Jesus helps us in danger and difficult issues to leave the results with God because the faith of Jesus recognizes that we are the apple of God's eye, but still not the center of the universe, the only one in the picture. The faith of Jesus tells us that we are able to submit to circumstances that are not of our choosing and allows us to push forward so that we are not destroyed and we are saved of God. The faith of Jesus allows us to live with the pains that we have because one day we will be able to look back and point to the scars—not the scars from this life that have been painful: a lost mate, dreams that could never be realized, children that turned away from God, our physical limitations and difficult circumstances. But we will be able to look back and see all the times and places where God would not let go of us. Because we know He is holding us still.
This is the faith of Jesus.
July 15, 2009
Faith of Jesus--II
Found hereThis is a picture that was very comforting to me in my childhood. Many Christians my age grew up seeing this picture. It engendered a sense of safety and reassurance as I did adolescent risky things like jumping out of the neighbor's hay mow into the straw many feet below, or learned to ride my brother's motorcycle in the field in front of our house, or spent a month without family in Poland as a 15-year old. All of these things had a little bit of fear associated with them. It was wonderful to know that my angel was always near me.
The faith of Jesus certainly involves this kind of trust in the fact that God's angels are always nearby, always faithfully watching over us, yearning to help and assist us in many more ways than we realize. Of the angels, Jesus said, "Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones; for I say unto you, That in heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven" (Matthew 18:10). So Jesus did acknowledge angels.
But the faith of Jesus involves a much more comprehensive knowledge that many Christians fail to grasp. It is the trust that even in pain, loss, difficulty, even death--that God and the heavenly angels are present. That God does all things well, even with the negative turn of events. That He does not always intervene. That we are not always to be protected from pain, loss, disgrace. That pain inevitably comes to Christians, but that God is over all and interposing Himself at some level, for some reason, and in a way that we might not recognize.
Jesus "steadfastly set His face to go up to Jerusalem" (Luke 9:51). There were so many unpleasant and risky things that He had to do during His life here. He prayed about them, determined to act, put one foot in front of the other, and did them. Again, the faith of Jesus informed Him that those things which were odious and dangerous would not deter Him from obedience. So He performed them, regardless of the consequence. Jesus knew that God was trustworthy and that there was a bigger picture than the world that His human anxieties constructed. Perhaps He reasoned that the agony would be time limited, and that if others had experienced some of the pain, that it would be within the range of human endurance. But as Jesus got closer to the cross, it became a frightening specter.
I can't imagine what it would be to live my life knowing that I would die a horrible death at the end, and that my life would be cut short because of this death. What would have been worse was the realization that so much would ride on the success of this death experience. I don't know that Jesus realized that He would feel abandoned by His Father at the end. Perhaps the knowledge of that would have so discouraged Him that He could not have endured it. It was bad enough that the Son of God lay face down in the dirt in Gethsemane, crying and begging God to find some other way for this whole thing to go down rather than for Jesus to have to suffer the way He did. He was humanly quite overwhelmed--understandably so. The Bible says that His appearance--His visage--was marred "more than the children of men." Yet when no answer materialized about an alternate plan, Jesus realized that God would see Him through the worst of the worst. He then put one foot in front of the other and moved toward something horrible, trusting God to steady Him for the experience. This is the faith of Jesus. It clearly fits the context of Revelation 14, as future difficulties are predicted for God's children.For many years I lived in terror of these predicted times--the Great Tribulation. Persecution. Deprivation and loss. Chronic fright. Words of pastors who scared us silly from the pulpit--"Think of the worst thing you can imagine. What will happen to us will be worse than that!" These words were of questionable value, as terror is not a good motivator and certainly does not encourage the faith of Jesus. I was so troubled by the mental images that were conjured up that I sought out a pastor to ask him how I might cope with this doctrine in a more constructive way. "You don't really believe that, do you?" was his response to me.
Two therapist friends have told me that they have each provided therapy to pastors who preach about the Great Tribulation, then go home and vomit and cry for the rest of the day. It is truly a fearful thing. Perhaps though, more emphasis needs to be given to the faith of Jesus rather than the strength of the devil to try and harass us. Because if I read my Bible correctly, God will hold us with a hand that will never let us go (John 10:28). Even in the hard times. Especially in the hard times.
Every one of us lives with something painful, for which there seems to be no immediate answer. We may be victims of situations that we did not bring upon ourselves. We might be coping with a serious illness and have a tenuous grasp on our health. We may be called upon to endure taunting and discrimination because of our convictions. We may suffer emotional pain deeper than our words can describe. The faith of Jesus asks God if there is some other way to move ahead--please, if it can just be blessed by Your will and goodness. But if not, we set our faces like a flint and put one foot in front of the other, relying on God for strength to perform all that is needed, for grace to conduct ourselves as lovable and gracious people, and for wisdom in order to intelligently proceed in a way that will minimize negative results and maximize positive outcomes. We throw ourselves upon the mercy, goodness, and wisdom of God, knowing that an experience in Him and through Him, is our only safety and hope.
For the Lord GOD will help me;
therefore shall I not be confounded:
therefore have I set my face like a flint,
and I know that I shall not be ashamed.
(Isaiah 50:7)
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