Peeling Labels Off

Maybe I’ve had too much coffee this morning, or maybe I’m just ready to speak about this. I sat by during the whole Chick Fil A thing. I read the posts.  I had my inner thoughts and dialogue silently.  And now I read the Duck Dynasty stuff.  Is anyone else sick of this?  Obviously I am not the only one voicing my opinion through social media, and adding my thoughts may just continue the monotony of finger-pointing and fist shaking.  But I’d like to offer something a little different here – hopefully. 

To cope with all my anxiety about this topic, I found myself in my kitchen peeling the labels off empty jars, so I could re-use them for another purpose.  Do you ever do that?  Get all worked up and then go clean your house, shop online, or scan facebook?  Yeah, so I got this little blade out and went to town on some jars.  It felt good. And then it hit me…

What if we peel the labels off?  Peel them off Christians.  Peel them off homosexuals.  Peel them off anyone who is “different” from us? The reality is this world is made up of different types of people, and we are NEVER going to all agree.  It’s just the way it is. Regardless, labeling any person and refusing to know them as they really are is just sad.  What if we peel the labels off and re-purpose our differences for the greater good? Oh, here I go, with my talk of love, equality, holding hands and singing "Kum Ba Yah" (is that how you spell it?).  But I just can’t help myself.  And the coffee has me all jittery now, so I gotta get this out somewhere. 

Do you know someone who is gay?  Have you asked him or her about themselves? Do you know what kind of life they have had? Do you know they have possibly thought of hurting or killing themselves because of the shame and rejection they often face? Do you know what it is like to love another person of the same gender – to not feel like there is any “choice” in that, but still have others wave their Bible at you in disgrace?  Can you imagine the hurt?  If you do not know someone who is gay, then it is so much easier to stand on the position of “those people” and “their decisions” as if they are all the same and have no moral compass.  Some of the dearest people I know are gay. They have partners, children, and lives of honesty and respect.  They even love Jesus too.  Yes, it’s true.  I invite you to consider peeling the label off them and get to know them individually.

Do you know someone who is a Christian?  Have you asked him or her about themselves?  Do you know what kind of life they have had? Do you know some of them think of hurting or killing themselves because of the shame and rejection they often face?  Do you know what it is like to love and seek to follow God – to not feel like there is any “choice” in that, but still have others wave their “intolerance” flags in your face and say you are excluding them? Can you imagine the hurt? If you do not know a Christian, then it is much easier to stand on the position of “those people” as if they are all the same and have no compassion for others.  I am a Christian.  I love you.  Jesus loves you.  I invite you to peel the label off Christians and get to know them individually.  

Interesting, huh, how I just basically wrote the same paragraph twice? And I could put a blank line and write “insert here” for you to add any other type of “different” person.  We’re really not all that different when you break it down.  We all hurt.  We all feel shame. We all get angry.  WE ALL FEEL.  And often when we feel those things, it seems easier to point fingers and get all up in arms on one side or another to defend our causes or beliefs.  Please, consider putting your weapons down.  What if you tried to get to know just one person different from you – to see them with compassion and love? Grace is for all of us.  

In Hopeful Anticipation

I love Advent season and the celebration of the Christ Child.  Advent means “arrival,” and there is so much joy in arrivals.  My father was a pilot in the military.  He would be away for long periods of time when I was a little girl.  In the Christmas of 1993, he was in Bosnia during the war.  As a child I had no idea the dangers he might be in.  All I could think about was when he would come home.  And I’ll never forget that January we all crowded into the living room to welcome him home and celebrate Christmas a month late.  I even re-wrote the words to the “Battle Hymn of the Republic” as I waited for him to walk in the door.  It started out “Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of my Dad…” (Go ahead, sing it).  As a grown woman I can look back and remember how painful it was for everyone to wait for his arrival – the unknowns of his safety and the actual day he would come home.  But we waited and hoped with anticipation.  And today I experience this again as a mother – waiting in hopeful anticipation for my three children to arrive from Haiti.  It is painful with so many unknowns, yet I find comfort when I think about that day they will walk in our door. 

Advent ceremonies involve lighting candles.  I love the symbolism of lighting a candle. It has always been significant to me, but I had not always thought about how it honors an arrival.  I light candles when guests are coming over. I light a candle in my office for my clients.  I light a candle to be reminded I am never alone.  In each of these times, there is an arrival to be honored.  It’s as if the flame holds the space with hope as we wait with anticipation for the arrival of whatever or whoever is to come. 

So I lit my candle this morning as I write.  It has 3 wicks – one for each of my sons: Wilnes, Woody, and Wendy. I pray for their little hearts, and I cry with hopeful anticipation. 

If you choose to light a candle today or in the coming days of Advent season, I offer some questions for you to ponder on your own journey:

~Who or what are you waiting for?

~How do you spend your time “waiting?”

~Who or what comforts you in your wait?

~What do you need as you wait?

~Imagine the arrival of who/what you are waiting for.  Lean into this hope.

May Peace be with you this season.  

Thankful

Don’t you love watching award shows – when you wait with anticipation to see who wins and then you hear their victory speech and the gratitude they bestow on all those who supported them along the way?  This was especially fun for me last week watching the Country Music Association (CMA) awards.   I was so proud to hear my husband’s name mentioned in two of those victory speeches, because I know the hard work he has given this year.  Then I had texts and facebook messages coming in like crazy saying, “was that Todd’s name I just heard on the CMA’s?  How cool!”  Everyone wants to be appreciated. Everyone wants to be thanked.  Everyone wants their work acknowledged.  And even though we don’t all get to hear it on live television, it feels good no matter how we hear it.

In this season of Thanksgiving, I invite you to have your own “award show” of sorts.

First…

What have you accomplished this year? 

What are you proud of yourself for?   

Have you worked very hard for something specific this year?

Have you overcome a major hurdle or struggle?

Second…

Whatever your answer to the questions above, spend some time rewarding yourself for what you’ve accomplished.  Show YOURSELF gratitude for how hard you’ve worked and/or what you have overcome.  Maybe this means something simple like starting a gratitude journal.  Or maybe something bigger like finally taking that vacation you have needed.  Or maybe you treat yourself to a massage or a hike with a friend. What is your award ceremony? 

Third…

Thank those who have been with you on this journey.  You may not get to go on live television to do this, but I promise a phone call, email, or card still goes a long way when you are letting someone know how much you appreciate them.  There is such a gift for both the giver and receiver when we reach out in gratitude.  It is incredibly therapeutic to hear and say a simple, “thank you.” 

 

Grief

Five years ago on this day I gathered with friends and family to celebrate the life of my dear friend Emmie.  She went to Heaven just days before on Oct 21, 2008.  I remember that day so clearly – getting the call, rushing to the ER, hearing the news literally as I walked in the door, and then holding her still warm hand and feeling peace because I knew she was with Jesus. 

Five years later after saying goodbye to my friend, I had to say goodbye to my children for what felt like the millionth time – another trip of sweet hugs and laughs but without the joy of them accompanying us home. With every trip, my heart gets fuller yet more broken.  Goodbyes are just hard.  And although I said goodbye to them differently than I said goodbye to Emmie, I know the same Jesus holds them all while I can’t be with them.

Grief has a way of sometimes staying locked up in the body.  Every year on Oct 21, I feel the heaviness.  My sons will tell you they feel sick and tired on Jan 12 - the anniversary of the Haiti earthquake.  It’s amazing what our bodies go through and how they hold the burden of what they have suffered.  I have been fighting health problems for several months now.  I can hardly catch my breath sometimes when I walk up my stairs at home.   This baffles me, because I’ve always been so healthy and in shape.   I realized this week after saying goodbye to my boys and seeing them off to school, I had to climb the same flight of stairs from their orphanage back up to the car to go to the airport - the same routine with every goodbye.  And every time I climb those stairs I am bawling my eyes out and can hardly take the next step.  It was important for me to make this connection.  Stairs now remind my body of this long journey and the heaviness of goodbye. My body is tired – of goodbyes, of climbing those same stairs over and over, of keeping my head held high with hope.  And knowing this piece helps me honor my body and show it compassion.  For it has not failed me.  It is just loaded with sorrow.  And as I honor my grief, I also invite hope.  I hope for strength for the next step.  There will always be another “hello.” One day I’ll see Emmie again in Heaven.  One day I’ll bring my sons home.  One sweet day.  So I climb another step and grow stronger.  I take a deep breath and remind myself that sorrow does not last forever.  

Decisions

A common theme with my clients is the struggle to make decisions. I find myself in this conundrum lately as well.  Whether it’s related to relationships, jobs, health, where to go to church, or just what to eat for dinner, decisions can feel debilitating when there seems no clear direction.  For me I wonder, “what if it’s the wrong decision?”  So, what if it is? If it’s wrong, I can do or try something different.  But then the doing and trying something different can become exhausting and debilitating as well.  At least that’s been my experience in my most recent battle of making decisions.

On a day when I was just tired of trying to “figure it out,” I braided my hair, threw on my Willie Nelson t-shirt, turned on Avett Brothers tunes, and got out a canvas and paints.  I have never pained before – except in one of those paint along classes where you bring your friends and some wine and laugh at yourself trying to follow the teacher.  But I had no teacher, no wine, no friend there with me – just me.  I wanted to abandon decision-making and just be present with myself with no expectation of doing this "correctly."  So I started painting arrows in every direction – up, down, right, left – each a different shade of this fun metallic paint I had picked out.   They represent the choices by which I currently feel perplexed.  I did not like these arrows just hanging out there, because that’s how I feel right now – so many possible directions with no clear path to take.  So I painted Light in the center and all around them – to remind me that there will be Light at the source and around all these paths.  I do not have to be alone in my confusion – whatever is chosen I have Help along my journey.  I have a Guide so much bigger than me.  It is hard for me to choose a direction, because in my human nature I want to know it will be the “right” way.   But what I’m learning is that answers come when I try and experience different options and allow guidance from the Light of the Holy Spirit.  It is with me in every choice and will never leave me alone.  As I make decisions, it gives me a nudge of “yes, I have peace about that,” or the opposite, “something doesn’t seem right about this.”  And I take a deep breath and realize I am not failing if I have to turn around and try a new path – just learning something new.  Maybe decisions aren’t always about being right, but instead invite us to live more fully in curiosity and soak in the Light around us for help.  

Asking and Receiving

“Here are the two best prayers I know: 'Help me, help me, help me' and 'Thank you, thank you, thank you.’” (Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies).

I recently bought myself a bouquet of red gerbera daisies.  They are my favorite!  They are usually packaged with a green tube around their stems that helps support their large beautiful buds.   I took the tubes off, cut the stems, and arranged them nicely in the vase.  Within hours, the heads were drooping – how I feel when my head feels so big and full of thoughts and worry that the rest of me just can’t hold it up anymore.  Instead of putting the tubes back on I decided to pull them all together with a rubber band toward the top of their stems so they could “lean” on each other and have the support of the band to keep their heads up.  I smiled and realized these flowers were not only an important gift to myself that day but a valuable message…

Earlier in the week I told myself I wanted to practice receiving help – to let others be present in my “mess.”  So I swallowed hard and reached out to others.  Throughout the week, one by one, the most beautiful women came into my home or entered my life in some way and offered a hug, an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on, a compassionate heart, an encouraging word.  I realized my bouquet had exactly the number of flowers to represent me and each woman from whom I received support that week.  And along with their compassionate hearts, I also found within me the ability to give myself nurture and support - an equally important lesson in my journey - that we all have within ourselves the ability to be gentle, kind, and compassionate to our own weary hearts.   When we ask and receive, we can stand just a little taller again.

Tell the Story

As a little girl I remember singing the hymn in church, “I Love To Tell the Story.”  Stories are powerful.  There is much to gain in both the telling and hearing.  In the hymn it’s the story of Jesus and His love.  But other stories aren’t so joyful, are they?  When we hurt or grieve, others may get tired of hearing our “same old story,” and likewise we may get tired of telling it.  So why do we continue to tell it?  Recently I was telling my husband about a hurtful situation from my past, and he said to me, “I’ve heard you talk about this before.  Why do you continue to allow them to let you down?”  Valid question.  I’ve thought about that a lot.  Why do I keep telling the same story and feeling let down every time when the outcome never changes? 

From today’s reading of The Book of Awakening (Mark Nepo) it says, “Often we repeat stories, not because we are forgetful or indulgent, but because there is too much meaning to digest in one expression.  So we keep sharing the story that presses on our heart until we understand it all.”  (page 481).

This thought brought me so much comfort.  I’m not necessarily stuck in this past story – I’m just still making sense of it as it pertains to me today.  There is much still to learn in my story – in all our stories – and it is not always full of pain.  As our stories are honored there is much truth, clarity, and strength to be gained.  

What story replays in your mind or slips off your tongue frequently? What would it be like to just notice that story and not judge yourself for still telling it?  What new meaning lies in the story today?  Just as the old hymn proclaims the joy of knowing Jesus’ story and love each new day, what does this new day have to tell you about your own story? 

Lean Into It

There is a song by Little Big Town that has always meant so much to me – but never as much as it does now in this season of my life.  A few weekends ago my husband and I took a much needed trip to the beach.  After several weeks of health problems and 3.5 years of wondering when my boys will come home to us from Haiti, I’m exhausted.  I’m weak.  I’m frustrated.  I’m sad.  I’m powerless.

I walked out into the ocean.   Todd played around in it, just letting the waves hit him and roll over like they were high-fiving him.  He shouted, “Isn’t this great? I just want to give this whole ocean a hug!”  I laughed.  And then I just got angry.  How can he be so happy getting knocked over?  I can hardly stand here and not get bulldozed by these huge waves rolling in. I can’t get my footing – can’t get grounded.  And I certainly don’t want to wade any further out.  Why can’t I be more like him?
 
Then I decided I’m not supposed to be more like him.  He’s not supposed to be more like me.  We have our own experiences.  I just needed to stand there and look out over that big ocean and let my tears feel free to fall.  I needed to keep digging my heels into the sand and lean into those waves and feel their beautiful force and to feel the beautiful force within me pushing back.  It wasn’t my playground like it was for Todd, but it was my sanctuary.  It was my place to let every emotion just roll back out with the tide.  It was my place to be reminded I just gotta lean into it.
 
check out the song by clicking here

Chorus:
There’s a strong wind blowing
I push on
It pushes back

It’s a hard time
But I know I’ll get through it
Just gotta lean into it

from the album The Reason Why
Written by Kimberly Schlapman, Phillip Sweet, Karen Fairchild, Jimi Westbrook

A Beautiful Mess

It is common in Haiti for artisans to sell their paintings, woodwork, and other goods on the street. On our last visit, Todd and I wanted to pick out a painting to hang in our new home. We wanted something authentically Haiti, something that our boys would appreciate as they grow older in our home. They helped us pick it out, and we excitedly negotiated a price. Even the boys would say, “I give you 40!” and then giggle. 

As most things in Haiti go, it was no small task to find a way to get this thing home. Todd rolled up the canvas and found a bag that holds large loaves of bread and was able to fit it in the side pocket of his backpack. We didn’t think another thing about it, except maybe we both secretly wondered what it was going to look like when we unrolled it at home - no doubt a metaphor of this adoption process.  What's this going to look like when we actually bring them home?

As suspected, little blue, orange, and purple specks spilled out as it was opened – paint that could no longer hold on from the wear and tear of a backpack and plane rides. And what was underneath the paint that had fallen was another image. Because resources are so minimal in Haiti, we assume the artists just paint over existing paintings. At first I was frustrated – “Oh, we spent money on this beautiful painting and went to all this trouble to get it here, and it’s ruined!” I even thought about trying to find exact paint colors to cover where it had been injured.  And then I realized, this is what I do!  I hurry to hide the mess so no one can see my imperfection.  I decided to leave it as was - chipped, exposed, and still beautiful.

Today I have a different perspective as I write and enjoy it hanging in our sunroom right now. It’s messy. It has layers.  The ups and downs of life challenged its ability to keep it together.  While some of the layers are exposed, underneath lies another image, another story.  It represents life – my life, my sons’ lives, all our lives. I can no longer expect a perfect canvas. Life happens. Our paint chips. And it's okay.