Consider the Source

 

We talk a lot about filling buckets in this house.  Not only do we focus on filling, but we also address emptying.  The old adage of "If you can't say something nice don't say anything at all" starts to make for some quiet meals. Instead, we will try to steer the atmosphere towards "filling" by having everyone say something - ANYTHING - they appreciate about each person in the family.

While I enjoy this exercise, I always find it interesting at who is able to look each person in the eye while being complimented and who can't bear to look up.  It is as if by looking up and into the eyes of the person complimenting, one has to acknowledge...dare I say...believe what is being said about him/her.  I think the other part of the equation that often makes me wonder is how it is typically the female gender that can't bear to hear the good stuff. And even further than having a hard time with the message, is who the messenger is. We can hear twenty good things - about an outfit, a character quality, a job well done - but if it doesn't come from the RIGHT person, it doesn't count.  The same could be true about the negatives. If the WRONG person critiques us, it can completely unravel us.

Why is it that we give another person that much power?  Why can't we have enough self-worth to take in the truth and reject the lie? I don't have an answer. I want to.  I want to think that I can rise above caring and go all Stuart Smalley, (I'm good enough, I'm smart enough and Gosh Darn it, people like me) but the truth is that I'm second guessing every compliment I hear until I hear it from the right person...which then takes me even deeper.  Because the RIGHT person will never tell me what I want to hear. I can spend a lifetime on the hamster wheel and I know that I know that I know that I will die waiting for the words I want to hear.  So I guess it goes back to my post from last week...who do I think that I am?  Who and what will determine my value and my worth? Am I more than what I portray to my neighbors and friends?  Am I more that a Facebook post? Am I more than my Myers-Briggs? My accomplishments and my IQ?

I know I am, but do I believe I am?

Who Is Really Watching?

 

 

I’m never quite sure how people see me or view me. Referencing back to yesterday and my lack of vulnerability at times, I don’t put myself out there too often. Maybe I do, but it is usually with safe topics. In the midst of a hard conversation last weekend, I felt like I needed to preface it with, “I’m not sure how well you know me or my character, but”. And I got one of the most amazing responses AND a reminder that it is the tiny, small things we do that show who we really are.

Two years ago my football team and her football team played each other. For fun we each agreed that the loser would have to wear the winning teams sweatshirt for a day. The interesting part of that last sentence is that neither one of us really sees football as fun. We kind of, sort of take it REALLY serious. So when my team won and her team lost, I picked my brightest and most obnoxious sweatshirt and took it with me to a softball game for our daughters…only I couldn’t go through with it. I knew how pissed I would be and how utterly livid it would make me to then have to parade around with a garment of shame. So I took the sweatshirt out, showed it to her, set it next to her and told her she didn’t have to wear it because I knew how painful it would have been for me to wear her sweatshirt.

When I talked with her last weekend, she said that she knew exactly who I was when I didn't make her wear my sweatshirt. Who knew?!

Fast forward to today. I lost a bet. For the next 24 hours I need to suffer through something shameful. In the grand scale of life, it is far from the true definition of shameful, but it still hurts. Losing a bet just stings. Some may say don’t bet, but there is also something to be said for loving and believing in something so much that you are willing to risk something. It is a form of vulnerability in a much safer realm…although when the risk doesn’t pay off it doesn’t feel so safe. BUT…I followed through on the bet even though it hurts. And I could cheat and not follow through, but it reminds me that what I do in the very small moments are the things that matter most. What I do when no one is watching or just one person is watching can have a longer lasting impact and can speak a far louder message than if I were standing in front of a hundred people. So how will you choose to live in the moments when no one is watching?



Vulnerability

Vulnerable - adjective 1. capable of being physically or emotionally wounded or hurt 2. open to temptation, persuasion, censure 3. liable or exposed to disease, disaster

As I was looking through my morning news feed I came across a quick little video by Brene Brown which then led me to listen to her TEDtalk. Not how I expected to start my day. On any given day, I watch, see, take in quite a bit of information that either reinforces something I already know or factually reports events that have just occurred. I guess that is an arrogant way of saying that not much surprises me or stops me in my tracks. I think I’m pretty open minded and open to new ideas, I just don’t feel like I hear a lot of new ideas. This morning I did. I had heard of Brene Brown before and heard her talk about the differences between sympathy and empathy. I had not heard her talk about vulnerability before. I’m sure this is a topic I will revisit as I now understand there are multiple facets to vulnerability.

So looking at the definition that I copy and pasted above, there is clearly a negative connotation to the word vulnerability. I’ve always seen it as negative and risky. Quality relationships are built on vulnerability, which require a tremendous amount of trust (which could be a whole post in and of itself). Quality people are built on vulnerability. What was fascinating to me was that she shared about meeting with the ALS interpreter before a talk and the interpreter asking if there were any unusual words that she would be using during the talk. When she mentioned “vulnerability”, the interpreter said the signed was two fingers on the palm bending. When Brene asked about it the response was “this is weak kneed”. The interpreter said the only other way she had seen it signed was as fists pressed to the chest extending out and opening up. THAT is how she meant vulnerability. Vulnerability is courageous. It is putting yourself out there. I’ve never thought of it that way…ever.

I’m all about self-preservation. I pride myself on setting boundaries that are healthy. I may have taken it too far.  Over the past couple of months, I’ve come to realize that in establishing boundaries, I have put up walls. Rather than “being smart”, I’ve become distrustful and cynical. Most people walk through life feeling shame or feeling worthy. The difference between these two groups is vulnerability. Vulnerability sounds painful and messy. Vulnerability doesn’t seem courageous and yet I learned this morning, it is. Courageous (in Latin) means to tell the story of who you are with your whole heart. It isn’t about bravery. Vulnerability is compassionate, but you can’t be compassionate to someone else if you aren’t compassionate with yourself. Vulnerability is about connection. Connection is about letting go of who you think you should be to be who you truly are. But what if we don’t feel worthy of compassion and connection? What if we don’t want to share our whole heart? People who feel worthy don’t see vulnerability as excruciating and uncomfortable, they see it as necessary. They are willing to show up and be seen when there are no guarantees. Do you see what I mean about having my mind blown? That is not me, but I want it to be me.
 

 

“Vulnerability is courage in you, but weakness in me. When I meet you, it is the first thing I look for in you, but it is the last thing I want to show you in me.” – Brene Brown

 How do you define vulnerability and how vulnerable are you with the people around you?

Who Do You Think You Are?

Because I had a special request that my blog not turn into a complete ode to the 80s (send complaints to mikefritch@yahoo.com) I will try to mix it up a bit…but I already wrote the next 80s post FYI.

As I was thinking through all the 80s love, I had the not so profound thought that it is a part of my identity which then led me to think more about identity in general. I often play the role of listener/counselor (which I enjoy) and so often a conversation will settle on one of two core issues. Control and identity. Whether it is a job, a relationship, marriage, parenting…our eating patterns, compulsions or addictions…it goes back to these two issues. And it crosses genders.

I have alluded to bits and pieces of growing up, and I’m sure I will share more over time.  I don’t have anything to hide and I’m definitely a work in progress (as we all are). Growing up life was crazy…not as crazy as some homes and much crazier than others. I don’t remember the first time I held a bat and ball, but I’ve heard enough of the story and seen the picture with the look of perfect peace and contentment on my face. I was eighteen months old.  (picture an adorable cherub face holding a big red plastic baseball bat) Fast forward through childhood, adolescence, and now adulthood.  In the midst of the uncertainty of just about everything, when I am holding a bat and ball, life makes sense. I know who I am. That isn’t to take anything away from knowing who I am as a child of God, but after many hours of counseling (no shame in having someone help sort out the spaghetti thinking), I finally have accepted that the two are not mutually exclusive. I’m 41 and when I have a bad day, I go outside and throw a softball against a net. The repetition and feel of the ball in my glove makes sense. On the real bad days, I have been known to go to a batting cage and take 30 minutes to work out my frustrations. For a very long time I didn’t know who I was outside of softball. It may sound absolutely crazy, but I could go from being a neurotic mess to calm and composed by simply stepping past the foul lines of a ball field. But if the ability to do that went away tomorrow, who would I be? A wife? A mom? A writer? All fine and good, but not the totality of who I am.

So, I’m curious or rather…I’d love to challenge you to think about your identity. Do you identify yourself by your job (or lack thereof)? Can a career stumble send you reeling because if you aren’t successful in work then you just aren’t successful period? Does not having a paying job because you are choosing to stay home while your kids are young make you feel like you are not as valuable or important as someone pulling down six figures? Do you identify yourself by how you parent? Or is the thought of parenting just too overwhelming and exhausting so you look to something that you can do well to avoid facing something that is just flat out hard and unpredictable? Do you define yourself by your relationships? Because relationships involve people and those get messy. It is much easier to not be confronted by our flaws and yet that is exactly what marriage and parenting does…exposes every rough and scratchy part that we would rather not deal with. Do we identify ourselves by our fandom to a team or the activities we participate in? Biking? Running? Scrapbooking? We all want to a part of something bigger than ourselves.

We all define ourselves. There is no harm in that.  It is how we define ourselves and if that definition is true that can be harmful.  We are more than our jobs, our marriages, our activities, our friendships and our teams. The question is do we believe that? Because the job can go away. So can the marriage and the kids will eventually grow up. Someday soon I won’t be able to still throw a ball or swing a bat. Friendships ebb and flow and my teams break my heart constantly. If my only definition of myself is in something that can change at the drop of a hat, then I will be living in perpetual insecurity.

So who are you outside of all these things? At a core level how do you identify yourself?

Did You Believe That I Loved You?

In the 48 years since I was first ambushed by Jesus, in a little chapel in the Allegheny Mountains of Western Pennsylvania, and in literally thousands of hours of prayers, meditation, silence and solitude over those years, I am now utterly convinced that on Judgment Day the Lord Jesus is going to ask each of us one question and only one question, 

“Did you believe that I loved you? That I desired you? That I waited for you day after day? That I longed to hear the sound of your voice?”

The real believers there will answer, “Yes, Jesus, I believed in your love and I tried to shape my life as a response to it.”

But many of us who are so faithful in our ministry, in our practice, in our churchgoing, are gonna have to reply, “Well frankly, no, sir. I mean I never really believed it. I mean I heard a lot of wonderful sermons and teachings about it. In fact, I gave quite a few myself. But I always thought that was just a way of speaking, a kindly lie, some Christian’s pious pat on the back to cheer me on.” And there’s the difference between the real believers and the nominal Christians that are found in our churches across the land. 

No one can measure like a believer the depth and the intensity of God’s love, but at the same time no one can measure like a believer the effectiveness of our gloom, pessimism, low self-esteem, self-hatred and despair that block God’s way to us. Do you see why it is so important to lay hold of this basic truth of our faith? Because you’re only going to be as big as your own concept of God.
 
Remember the famous line of the French philosopher, Blaise Pascal? “God made man in His own image, and man returned the compliment.” We often make God in our own image and he winds up to be as fussy, rude, narrow-minded, legalistic, judgmental, unforgiving, and unloving as we are. In the past couple three years I’ve preached the Gospel… (all over the world) … and honest to God, the God of so many Christians I meet is a God who is too small for me, because he is not the God of the Word, he is not the God revealed by and in Jesus Christ who this moment comes right to your seat and says, “I have a word for you. I know your whole life story. I know every skeleton in your closet. I know every moment of sin, shame, dishonesty and degraded love that has darkened your past. Right now, I know your shallow faith, your feeble prayer life, your inconsistent discipleship. And my word is this: I dare you to trust that I love you just as you are and not as you should be, because you’re never gonna be as you should be.”

From a sermon by Brennan Manning

 

Today may not be entirely original content, but it is rich and it is true and it is real. And everyday I have to ask myself what I really believe. Does He love me? Do I believe He is good? Do I trust Him? How could I not when He sees me entirely for who I am...ratty, beaten up and damaged - and still wants nothing more than for me to crawl into His lap and rest in Him.

Why?

It has been some time since I have posted and I blame over talented people with fancy blogs for that. But after some growing up…meaning I am making strides in not comparing myself…and some reminders about what enjoy, I’m writing. Oh...and it is NaBloPoMo.

As an introvert there are a lot of thoughts that get stuck in this head. It is time to unleash these beasts. “Why?” is a pretty frequent question for me.  It started sometime in my 20s or whenever it was that I realized that I was a “grown up” and that I needed to start thinking about how I wanted my life to look. There are certain areas –career/vocation-that I didn’t think through, but in terms of relationships-with the opposite sex, friends and now children, I have always asked myself why. Why do I feel certain ways about issues?  What is the root?  What caused me to feel that way? In the midst of endless conversations with people, I always want to understand why someone is anxious, open, pessimistic, optimistic. What events have made up someone’s life story?  As I have started to unpack (or better yet) reopen my mental boxes that have been in storage, I have been reminded of what events have shaped me for good or bad.  Asking why has proven valuable for me because I feel like experience has been my greatest teacher. It hasn’t had to be my experience, just experience in general.  When I see someone or something fail, I ask myself why. When I see someone or something that I admire, I ask myself why. When something doesn’t make sense, I ask myself why.  And at the end of the day…I’m reminded that I am not owed any answers.  In fact I am not owed anything.  That is not feeling sorry for myself, that is just my reality. Some may think it sounds morose. I think it sounds realistic. Life isn’t going to make sense most days. There will be senseless acts of violence. Children will get ill and die. Accidents will happen that will make us question God’s goodness. While my mind and heart may utter the word “why?”, I’m not given answers…only promises.

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. – Jeremiah 29:11

Trust in the Lord with all of your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make straight your paths. – Proverbs 3:5-6

“For My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways," declares the LORD. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways And My thoughts than your thoughts. – Isaiah 55:8-9

Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God!
    How unsearchable his judgments,
    and his paths beyond tracing out!
 “Who has known the mind of the Lord?
    Or who has been his counselor?”
 “Who has ever given to God,
    that God should repay them?” –Romans 11-33-3

It is that last question that gets me every time…who has given to God that He should repay them? Certainly not me. But in the depths of His riches and wisdom, He gave this introvert words and so hopefully over the next month I can use this gift for good.