More than twenty years ago, when I first got into the therapy business, I would sit with my clipboard and my intake forms and listen as people described their chaotic, painful, poisonous childhood experiences. Detail after detail would pour out about abuse of all kinds and neglect and betrayal and everything that should never happen to a child and I would dutifully write it all down.
I remember one session, though, when I just put down my pen and turned my clipboard over and asked, "So how did you turn out so well?" This young woman was well-functioning, strong in her faith, loving to her own husband and children, hopeful about life and I just had to know how that had happened. Here's what she said to me: "I had a teacher who loved me." I was immediately concerned: "But if you told the teacher what was happening, she should have reported it." "No, no," she said. "I couldn't tell anyone. I didn't know how and I was afraid of what else what happen if I did. But I always believed that if I could tell anyone, I could tell her and I knew she would believe me and I knew she would still care about me, even if she knew."
One reason I can share that story is that I have heard stories exactly like it at least a hundred times since then. I still ask that question on a regular basis and I always get the same answer. The answer isn't always a teacher. Just as often, it's a grandparent with a lot of love or a neighbor who took some extra time or a coach who believed in more than athletic talent. And just as often, I discover that, like the teacher, the other person has no real idea about the impact they had in this child's life. They saw themselves as doing their job, maybe living their faith, doing what came naturally and they have no idea that a child was watching and thinking, "Maybe I'm not so worthless after all. Maybe I can have a different life. Maybe it's not me."
Today, I was having a philosophical conversation with a young mom and asked her, "So where do you think God was when all this was happening?" She answered, "God was my second grade teacher." I believe she was right.
"Whatever you did for the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for Me." ~Jesus
Monday, November 28, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Thanksgiving 4
In order to understand why I am so grateful for C, you would have to go with us tonight to see the new Muppet movie, where we laughed through the whole thing. See, I remember the old muppet show and I clearly remember wondering why it was funny. It was silly, over-the-top silly, stupid even and I truly didn't get it. We didn't watch much TV in my family growing up and even though I think we had a sense of humor, we didn't really do silly. And so I married someone for whom silly is an art form . . . and I've been laughing ever since.
C's humor isn't always silly--it's often dry or ironic or sarcastic, actually--but he can always make me laugh. Actually, when we were in our early weeks of dating, I worried that he would lose interest in me because I was very serious and trust me, not funny at all. I mentioned this concern to my mom and she laughed and gave me the advice that I've relied on every day for the last 26 years: "He doesn't need you to be funny; he wants you to think he's funny." I did and I still do.
So what I'm grateful for, among other things, is a life full of laughter. We took one of our kids' friends on a vacation once and she said, shaking her head, "Y'all laugh all the time." I'm grateful because home is the happiest place on the planet for me and for my children, thanks to C. I'm grateful because I learned to laugh at myself and I learned to let people who love me laugh at me, both of which saved me from a lifetime of narcissistic intensity. Actually, C will often say, "I'm not laughing at you, sweetie; I'm laughing near you." And that always makes me laugh.
That's not even close to being the only thing I'm grateful for in my life with C but it's a really good start.
C's humor isn't always silly--it's often dry or ironic or sarcastic, actually--but he can always make me laugh. Actually, when we were in our early weeks of dating, I worried that he would lose interest in me because I was very serious and trust me, not funny at all. I mentioned this concern to my mom and she laughed and gave me the advice that I've relied on every day for the last 26 years: "He doesn't need you to be funny; he wants you to think he's funny." I did and I still do.
So what I'm grateful for, among other things, is a life full of laughter. We took one of our kids' friends on a vacation once and she said, shaking her head, "Y'all laugh all the time." I'm grateful because home is the happiest place on the planet for me and for my children, thanks to C. I'm grateful because I learned to laugh at myself and I learned to let people who love me laugh at me, both of which saved me from a lifetime of narcissistic intensity. Actually, C will often say, "I'm not laughing at you, sweetie; I'm laughing near you." And that always makes me laugh.
That's not even close to being the only thing I'm grateful for in my life with C but it's a really good start.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Thanksgiving 3
I was always taught that the "original sin," the big one that got everyone kicked out of the Garden, was rebellion--the First People's refusal to obey God, one big fist-shake at God's authority. In Sunday's Bible study, though, we considered another option: that the first Big Sin was ingratitude.
We looked at it this way: The way the story goes, Adam and Eve were blessed beyond measure. They had everything they could ever need and the tangible presence of God in a Garden that had never known the shudder of sin or the searing pain of death and loss. And so what did they do? They did what all of us do. They focused on the one thing they did not have.
That was the temptation, right? To acknowledge all of God's good gifts and to turn their attention to the one thing that God withheld and then to question His goodness and His love. It was all downhill from there. It was not so much dramatic rebellion but petty ungratefulness that put us all in this fallen world where we continue--daily--to follow in their footsteps.
Thanksgiving must be the language of the Kingdom of God. It's the starting place for shalom and the fertile soil of joy. It's the way we acknowledge that we love God at least as much as His gifts because we continue to give thanks even when we don't get what we want. I resist the idea of giving thanks for everything but I love the idea of giving thanks in everything. As we said on Sunday, I don't get a choice about whether I live my life in a broken world where hard things happen. I do get a choice about whether I live my life with gratitude or without it. I choose with.
We looked at it this way: The way the story goes, Adam and Eve were blessed beyond measure. They had everything they could ever need and the tangible presence of God in a Garden that had never known the shudder of sin or the searing pain of death and loss. And so what did they do? They did what all of us do. They focused on the one thing they did not have.
That was the temptation, right? To acknowledge all of God's good gifts and to turn their attention to the one thing that God withheld and then to question His goodness and His love. It was all downhill from there. It was not so much dramatic rebellion but petty ungratefulness that put us all in this fallen world where we continue--daily--to follow in their footsteps.
Thanksgiving must be the language of the Kingdom of God. It's the starting place for shalom and the fertile soil of joy. It's the way we acknowledge that we love God at least as much as His gifts because we continue to give thanks even when we don't get what we want. I resist the idea of giving thanks for everything but I love the idea of giving thanks in everything. As we said on Sunday, I don't get a choice about whether I live my life in a broken world where hard things happen. I do get a choice about whether I live my life with gratitude or without it. I choose with.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Thanksgiving 2
In case you don't want to read the whole book, you can check out Ann's blog but don't scroll through too fast. Stop and savor. Also, the classic blog on gratitude is secular, creative, occasionally a little rough around the edges, often hilarious and always thought-provoking. I highly recommend both for completely different reasons. Have fun browsing and I'll see you back here tomorrow.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Thanksgiving 1
A lot of people have been posting their lists of things they are grateful for on their blogs or on Facebook. I'm a big believer in gratitude but also a little behind on everything so I'm just now getting started, at the beginning of Thanksgiving week.
As I was pondering my list, I realized that the number one spot on my list has to be my really unique and remarkable parents. Some of you are really surprised that I didn't list C first (sorry sweetie!) or Mowgli and Boo or something related to God but the truth is that I wouldn't have the relationship I have with C if my parents hadn't loved me so well (plus, I essentially married my mom but that's another story . . .). I wouldn't have known how to parent Boo and Mowgli if my parents hadn't parented me so wisely. And my parents were the ones who first introduced me to God and to the Church I love and represented both so well, so there's that.
My parents really weren't like anyone else's parents, which was something I both appreciated and complained about as a kid. They listened to me talk for as long as I needed to talk. They asked a lot of questions and delivered only a few lectures. They cared what I thought and taught me to care about what they thought. They required respect but were never heavy-handed about it, and left me with a very healthy respect for authority flavored with only a hint of skepticism. They taught me to think and never shamed me for my feelings. More than anything, they loved me so, so well and inoculated me thoroughly against many forms of shame.
So, this Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for my parents, who are also wonderfully flawed and made it okay for me to be.
As I was pondering my list, I realized that the number one spot on my list has to be my really unique and remarkable parents. Some of you are really surprised that I didn't list C first (sorry sweetie!) or Mowgli and Boo or something related to God but the truth is that I wouldn't have the relationship I have with C if my parents hadn't loved me so well (plus, I essentially married my mom but that's another story . . .). I wouldn't have known how to parent Boo and Mowgli if my parents hadn't parented me so wisely. And my parents were the ones who first introduced me to God and to the Church I love and represented both so well, so there's that.
My parents really weren't like anyone else's parents, which was something I both appreciated and complained about as a kid. They listened to me talk for as long as I needed to talk. They asked a lot of questions and delivered only a few lectures. They cared what I thought and taught me to care about what they thought. They required respect but were never heavy-handed about it, and left me with a very healthy respect for authority flavored with only a hint of skepticism. They taught me to think and never shamed me for my feelings. More than anything, they loved me so, so well and inoculated me thoroughly against many forms of shame.
So, this Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for my parents, who are also wonderfully flawed and made it okay for me to be.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Cleaning up a mess
Ugh . . . I hate it when this happens.
I hate it when I'm on the receiving end--when someone says something that makes it clear that if they really knew me, they would pretty much hate me. It happens a lot on Facebook, of course--my friends post their opinions that people who believe differently than they do (in other words, people who believe like I do) are unpatriotic, false Christians, unenlightened, and worse. In fact, just recently I've been told that I don't deserve to live in this country and that I practice the occult. Of course, people don't mean to tell me that. But by saying that about people who believe differently, they're unwittingly saying those things about me.
I hate it even more when I'm the one who does that to others. In a recent post, I flippantly said that bumper stickers asserting that "9/11 was an inside job" are stupid. Someone anonymously posted a comment that he/she holds that opinion. I almost didn't see the comment and in fact, only happened on it last night. I was immediately sad that I had clearly insulted someone I care about (because I can't think of anyone that I talk to regularly that I don't care about) and that I did it flippantly and unthinkingly.
Now don't get me wrong: I can't imagine changing my opinion about 9/11. I know what I believe about that. But that's not what this is about. I know how to express my opinion and defend my thinking without calling other ideas and people "stupid" and I deeply value that ability. I know better.
(By the way, I'm hoping that anonymous will be willing to identify himself/herself and have a conversation about it--not about 9/11 but about any emotional or relational impact of my judgmental statement. I would welcome that.)
I hate it when I'm on the receiving end--when someone says something that makes it clear that if they really knew me, they would pretty much hate me. It happens a lot on Facebook, of course--my friends post their opinions that people who believe differently than they do (in other words, people who believe like I do) are unpatriotic, false Christians, unenlightened, and worse. In fact, just recently I've been told that I don't deserve to live in this country and that I practice the occult. Of course, people don't mean to tell me that. But by saying that about people who believe differently, they're unwittingly saying those things about me.
I hate it even more when I'm the one who does that to others. In a recent post, I flippantly said that bumper stickers asserting that "9/11 was an inside job" are stupid. Someone anonymously posted a comment that he/she holds that opinion. I almost didn't see the comment and in fact, only happened on it last night. I was immediately sad that I had clearly insulted someone I care about (because I can't think of anyone that I talk to regularly that I don't care about) and that I did it flippantly and unthinkingly.
Now don't get me wrong: I can't imagine changing my opinion about 9/11. I know what I believe about that. But that's not what this is about. I know how to express my opinion and defend my thinking without calling other ideas and people "stupid" and I deeply value that ability. I know better.
(By the way, I'm hoping that anonymous will be willing to identify himself/herself and have a conversation about it--not about 9/11 but about any emotional or relational impact of my judgmental statement. I would welcome that.)
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Happy days
"My life is not busy . . . my life is full. There's a difference."*
I am doing great. I'm firmly ensconced in my favorite budget hotel (the Sleep Inn in Stafford--it's fabulous!) after a wonderful supper from Saltgrass. I had a perfect relaxing massage by an intern at the massage school down the road and she told me that my muscles were mostly relaxed with no serious spots of tension--first time I've EVER heard that!
This is even more meaningful because I fully expected to be a twitching, hyperventilating basket case by now. 10 weeks ago, C and I looked at my schedule and girded our loins for a difficult season. I've spent at least one night out of town every single week for nine weeks--for a total of 22 nights. In that time, I've heard some inspiring speakers, visited with dear friends and family, gone to Kansas for the first time, kept up my usual client load, witnessed the process of transformation in individuals, couples and congregations, taught Sunday School, lost a trivia game with Boo, and managed to work out occasionally. It's been a wild and wonderful ride and in 3 days, it will be over.
I've been practicing expanding my capacity for this for a long time now and right now feels like crossing the finish line with energy to spare (which, by the way, I hope to do when I finish a 5K this spring). More good news: C and I have actually managed to stay well-connected during this time, although he did comment once, "I didn't think the empty nest would be me and the cat." The only bad news: no matter how much you can fit in, it's just not possible to fit it all, so there are still big chunks of unfinished business waiting for me at home and at work and in my relationships . . . and I think I'm learning that there will be time for those too . . . in time.
Lest you think I'm getting the big head, know that this feels like a gift--a great big grace gift from a God who (I believe) gave me this full and wonderful life (I think the word He used was "abundant," actually) and is also teaching me how to live it.
*(Read it in a magazine but have no idea who said it. Google didn't really help.)
I am doing great. I'm firmly ensconced in my favorite budget hotel (the Sleep Inn in Stafford--it's fabulous!) after a wonderful supper from Saltgrass. I had a perfect relaxing massage by an intern at the massage school down the road and she told me that my muscles were mostly relaxed with no serious spots of tension--first time I've EVER heard that!
This is even more meaningful because I fully expected to be a twitching, hyperventilating basket case by now. 10 weeks ago, C and I looked at my schedule and girded our loins for a difficult season. I've spent at least one night out of town every single week for nine weeks--for a total of 22 nights. In that time, I've heard some inspiring speakers, visited with dear friends and family, gone to Kansas for the first time, kept up my usual client load, witnessed the process of transformation in individuals, couples and congregations, taught Sunday School, lost a trivia game with Boo, and managed to work out occasionally. It's been a wild and wonderful ride and in 3 days, it will be over.
I've been practicing expanding my capacity for this for a long time now and right now feels like crossing the finish line with energy to spare (which, by the way, I hope to do when I finish a 5K this spring). More good news: C and I have actually managed to stay well-connected during this time, although he did comment once, "I didn't think the empty nest would be me and the cat." The only bad news: no matter how much you can fit in, it's just not possible to fit it all, so there are still big chunks of unfinished business waiting for me at home and at work and in my relationships . . . and I think I'm learning that there will be time for those too . . . in time.
Lest you think I'm getting the big head, know that this feels like a gift--a great big grace gift from a God who (I believe) gave me this full and wonderful life (I think the word He used was "abundant," actually) and is also teaching me how to live it.
*(Read it in a magazine but have no idea who said it. Google didn't really help.)
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