What To Do About Anger

Like I would know.

Very complex life experiences.

I need a mom to lean on, too.

God didn’t give me that mom.

In His beautiful, holy, grace; he made me that mom.

But I am helpless, hopeless, hurt and hobbling.

I have no good answers.

No timeline.

No authority to speak into the lives of people around me.

Who would listen anyway?

It’s only Maggie.

I can only get out half the thought.

Because I’m trying to condense, I cut out volume.  Miss meaning.

Only a few understand, yet it’s not their situation.

I am empty.

Falling.

Need a word, that isn’t forthcoming.

It’s said, that God trusts us in His silence.

He must be about to speak, because there isn’t anything left of me to go on.

 

 

 

 

 

The Heartbreak Imperative

I imagine Adam and Eve must have discussed  news, weather, and sports, before they began hiding from God and each other and speaking in vaguenesses and riddles.  No cooking or cleaning or who’s going to take the kids to practice.  Just how many goats were born and how many peaches in a pie.

*yawn*

I can’t imagine a world without conflict.  A job to do; no problems to solve.  How would that even work?

It’s immaterial.

Adam ate the fruit.  (Eve was deceived.  Adam went willingly.  No Buick necessary.)  The world and the human race were altered forever.

What we have now is a broken world full of people who, while created in the image of God, hunger and thirst and grasp for things that are not offered. Refusing the bounty before them, they seek more.  More power. More pleasure. More promise.  Just more.

It isn’t ugly most of the time.  Often it’s pitiful.  Sometimes it’s poetic. Mainly, it is a pedestrian pursuit of equality or “fairness”in comparison with our peers.  Ick.

Once we were broken.  Once we were ashamed.  Once we were isolated from God and each other, life became a battle to reclaim the unbroken and unashamed.  To know and be fully known.  To rest satisfied and to trust intimately.

More frightening and thrilling than extreme sports or stalking celebrities, is the practice of some odd souls to seek a deeply satisfying everyday existence.  Working to live…not living to work.  Being present for their kids.  Teaching those kids what they believe.  Telling them what’s right and wrong.  Trying to set an example of living graciously and by grace.  Loving their spouses–dare I say, sacrificially.

The risk is not, typically, being dashed on the rocks below or a felony conviction.

The risk is heartbreak.

From the cradle to the grave.  There are those who seem always to be doing it right and getting handed both ends of a too short stick.

Too much pain.  Too much loss.  Too much grief.

Too much.

There are those who are fearlessly, bravely, recklessly, deliberately, obediently walking onto the battlefield.

We look at them and wonder if we could handle that kind of heartbreak.

There have been times in my life, I’ve wondered if God creates certain people to be vessels to carry pain.  They grieve on behalf of many. They are to feel the pain, so that those who couldn’t handle it can pass by unscathed.

It’s been clear to me for many years, that God also trusts some of us with trials that would crush another.

He trusts me with these trials.  No need to be jealous of another’s…I couldn’t handle them.  In reality, there isn’t anyone else’s I know well enough to make that kind of call anyway.

Rambling?  Sorry.

We have hearts.

Before the fall, no biggie. Unbroken fellowship.  Nekkid intimacy.

After the fall, an eternal quest to plug into an ever-craving heart, anything and everything that doesn’t satisfy. It feels good and slowly kills us (like me and a nice Rx).  When we do figure out it’s only relational intimacy that will do, we then face the challenge of behaving for the other’s best without getting hurt.  A version of football’s “Prevent Defense”.

Eventually, we find that doesn’t work.

We have hearts.  If we are to be obedient stewards of them, we must step into life without our armor.  In order to fully live, we must have our eyes open.  Follow the rules of the game, no matter how hard it gets.  When we suffer a break, we know we are moving towards victory.

Yes, you heard me.

When we do right and get hurt, it’s a sign we’re using this heart, created in God’s image, the way it was designed to be used.

God doesn’t let on much about His heartbreaks.  His kids are a continual source of pain.  We throw his gifts in His face.  We disobey and get hurt.   He wants more for us. He wants unbroken intimacy with us and gets foolishness from us instead. He doesn’t put the focus on His desire, but on our safety, quite frankly. Even, more, on the security and satisfaction of our souls.

There is not a heartbreak we bear that doesn’t display His image on us.  His plan from the beginning has been for us to illustrate Him to those around us.

Remember photo negatives?  When you held them to the light, you could see a distorted vision of the actual.  After the developing process, the real picture was revealed.

One moment in time held up to the light.  Still, indistinct until the process is complete.

Ugly, until then.

Potentially exquisite.

What do they call it then?

Proof.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Actual Prayer Going Out

“My prayers are going out…”  “My thoughts are with…”  Or am I just letting someone else know I know about the news ?

Are we really praying but not letting God take center stage because my unbelieving friend might take this as further reason to reject Him?  Go ‘head.  As the song says, “God can handle your honesty.”  He can handle you in any state you find yourself.  He invented you.

Life is a breaking process.  Sometimes we break stuff on purpose and with deliberation.  A Pane of Glass, a cookie.  A Diamond.  We plan and prepare and do everything right and it breaks in the right place.  Or, for no good reason, it breaks in the wrong one.

GOD.

We are broken.  Wounded.  Afraid.  Selfish.  We’ll I’ll donate a guilt offering.  To appease You so it doesn’t happen to us me.

Remind us me You don’t work that way.

Remind us me that You didn’t do this.  You don’t approve it.

But the same free will that allows us me to choose mate, profession and what to entertain ourselves myself with; comes with the hazard of choosing to harm.  May You deal with us me ever so severely if we I forget that we I use that option to be rude to the kid behind the counter at Panera our my husband or our my kids whenever we I want to.

The same free will establishes our my right to reject You and all Your blessings.

I gotta say, God, it pisses me off that he will not face his accusers.

Something about it tells me he wasn’t THAT sick.

He was mad.  Angry mad.  That drove him insane mad.

You love him the same way You love me.  In spite of myself.  In the face of my continual daily rejection of Your character.  I don’t like this truth.

Which intersects in a bad way with my world view.  I want to demand causality and assign blame like the rest of the world that feels massive survivor guilt.  Demanding laws, demanding controls.  Never considering that law and control only control those who are already controlling themselves.

Lord, have mercy.

Christ, have mercy.

Break me in the right places.

Never ever let me be whole again.

If the tears of a billion eyes can water the seeds of healing.

If the blood of a single innocent can cleanse one heart of hate.  Heal one heart of torture.

Let it be so with our my soul.

Whisper peace to the soul of the survivor.

Peace be with you…

And also with you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When It’s Legit. Holiday Stress.

After all that lovely, well-intended, self-effort the other day about looking towards the positive, I began to realize I’m going around like a Xanax ad.

The anxiety is just present.

But let’s review. Shall we?

2011 — Christmas was provided by angels. While we feared the firm was going under*. January 3, we found out a  merger had been in the works for months.

2010 — My total expenditure for gifts for the kids was a hundred dollars.  Yes, your memory serves.  We’d just welcomed a new person into the family.  We were dealing with the standard emotional upheaval AND what was beginning to be a real material need on the part of the girls.  January that year was the year of the two weeks with a “broken” furnace.  Which just needed the re-set button hit, but no one we called was willing to tell us that without a service call and we couldn’t pay for a service call.  That was also the year I shopped ALDI, to the tune of $100 something and didn’t get in a grocery in any appreciable way until the income tax return came.

2009 — The first year of reduced salary.  Still believing, next month we’ll go back on full.  In view of the “temporary” nature of the thing, we thought we’d just charge it.

2008 — Mickey’s mom died of Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma.

2007 — Christmas holiday went fine.  In January, my grandfather died within minutes of the pastor emeritus of our church.  They were also born within days of each other.

2006 — Christmas holiday went fine; in January, my cousin died of an overdose.  On my birthday.

2005 — My Grandmother (Dad’s mom) and my Great Grandmother (Mom’s Grandmother) died within the same 24 hour period.  In the week of Christmas.  That was the same year we traveled to see Mickey’s mom, at his stepdad’s request, because he felt she was extremely ill and he needed her kids to see and know what was up.  He’d told the doc she was taking too much medicine, and she asked him, “Between the two of us, which one’s a physician?”

I could go on, but I’m already back to Kansas City.  Or I could start at the other end of my life and work forward.

This December has already got enough trouble of its own…

Minor crap.

Mickey got hit in the blue car.  He’s fine, but it’s a mess.  So we’re on one car.

One of the girls is pleasantly standing in my face with no intention of doing what she’s told.

The other one threw down over decorating the tree.  Ultimately, they apologize, but I’m not Caillou’s mother.  It’s not okay.

I’ve slacked on Li’l Dude’s speech interventions.  Now.  I gotta hustle up or the speech therapist I met with will retire and we’ll have to re-evaluate with someone who didn’t do the initial evaluation.

Financially, I don’t have peace.  I don’t feel like the events of the last several years are any excuse.  I should have tried harder.  Worked to teach the children more about how to be better than our circumstances.  “Attacked the fear and let it become my claim to fame.”**  Now it seems like a big pile.

No pony.

And last but not least.

A man has begun behaving inappropriately toward me.  I’ve kept Mickey apprised of the situation. Now, he’s gone so far as to act like this in front of Mickey and others. I’m insulted.  This person thinks I’m so morally low that I’d entertain that kind of attention from a man who isn’t my husband. Or that I have so little going for me that I’d think it was just dandy for someone to pay attention to me at all.  He also has so little respect for Mickey. It’s a slap in the face.

Happy Freaking Holidays.

Holiday stress is supposed to be that you don’t think you are having as good a time as everyone else. You aren’t loving the parties and the busyness and the meeeeeeaning.  It’s supposed to be that you put too much on the credit card and are dreading the bill coming in the mail.  It’s supposed to be that your family is going to have the same old miserable time. It’s supposed to be that the kids want ham, but Grandad wants turkey.  At least, your weird aunt just wants her Camels that brought the Wise Men and O Holy Night Train.

Or that there are fewer hours of daylight.

I’m calling bullroar.

At least in my own case.  This is a time of year crammed with memories I didn’t ask for and have no control over.

I am deciding that I will reach past the anxiety for the truth.  No one  ever said the holidays had to go off like a rehearsed performance.  What if we carry on with the act of celebration objectively?  Singing the truth over the noise of anxiety and the cultural pressure for the holiday to look like a photo in a magazine.

Months ago, I got a strong impression that God said, “Abide.  Obey.  Lay down your life.”

I think His birthday is a great time to meditate on that.  His banquet is set out.

I just have to figure out how to get to the table.  And sit down.

Clearly knows how Christmas fun is done.

 

 

*2011 was the first year since 2006 they didn’t let people go between Thanksgiving and New Year’s; once firing a single mom in the week after Christmas.  We don’t know if they did it before that.

**I don’t know who said this originally, but I heard it from a MK director who disappeared the next week and was thought to have gone to South America to elude the authorities. So take it with a grain of salt.

 

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