December 13, 2011

It’s personal

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(this was far more coherent in my head when I was driving and crying and talking to God than it is now that I sit in front of the computer and try to type it out. With that said, I’m trying to stick to my “just write!” philosophy, and am leaving it as is for now. Maybe I’ll come back and do some editing–at least, I am pretending that this is a possibility.)

I recently started taking a “how not to be a loser” career development course. (Sadly, I must have missed the session where they informed us that the first step is to not refer to yourself as a loser!)

I can tell already that a big part of the course’s appeal is in the sharing of experiences, of celebrating the small victories and providing support and encouragement when things don’t go well. For some reason, though, tonight I was struck by the fact that my career failures/delays/missteps are painful to me on a level beyond that of the usual disappointment and discouragement of not succeeding. Of course, those elements are there as well, but there is something more going on here. When I don’t get a job, when I have those times when I am so, so certain that something is going to happen–and then it doesn’t–it’s not just my own disappointment in myself that I am dealing with. And when I face my fear of being stuck in my current job indefinitely, it is not just because I don’t think I will find something else. No, all of this is couched in terms of a relationship . . . there is Someone who is calling the shots, Someone who I feel has let me down, again.

I’m sure it’s bad theology to say that God would truly let me down. But disappoint me? Yes, He has, and not just a few times. I am quick to attribute this to my disobedience–surely I am doing something “wrong”, and if I would only start tithing/wake up at 5am to do devotions/go to church three times a week, He would immediately remedy my life circumstances and bring about all that I have hoped for.

But at least some small part of me knows that this isn’t how God works. He is not malicious, nor does He act out of spite or treat us as our sins deserve. No, when He closes door after door after door, I have to acknowledge the truth that I know, which is that He has me where He wants me and His plans for me are better than any plans I could come up with for myself. He knows what He is doing; He is God, and I most certainly am not.

It still hurts, though. It hurts because, for whatever reason, I have repeatedly been convinced that this was really it–that God was telling me that _______ was going to happen. Everything within me felt that certainty, once even to the point that I received confirmation from one of the most godly women I know. Every time, it’s been the same thing. “This is it”, I would think. “This is what I’m meant to be doing. This is where my life will start. This is what I was born to do.” And time after time, I’ve been devastated by the closing of a door that seemed destined to open.

There is a disappointment in this. Disappointment because I feel that Someone has betrayed me. And it’s not like the God of the universe has to answer to me; even expressing my disappointment displays an arrogance that falls just short of blasphemy. But the disappointment and the discouragement and the ceaseless hunger for something more remain. And perhaps I am disappointed precisely because I know that He has my best interests at heart. He loves me, and He created me for a purpose, but the waiting is sometimes intolerable.

I am loved more than I can fathom, and His ways are higher than mine . . . I know all of this, and yet it hurts. It hurts because I know that He could change things–and I suppose someday He will–but today there are no answers, and I wait.

My job search, and my larger career angst, is not just an inanimate set of circumstances. It’s a sign of a relationship that I am less than satisfied, a reminder that this God who loves me so, so much has nonetheless not chosen to deliver me from my current situation in any of the ways I would have liked. Worse, I have hoped for these things, have prayed about them, have been certain they would come to pass. Am I not hearing Him correctly? Or is there some lesson I’m missing as I wait?

 

November 16, 2011

Being safe

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I imagine that my godson is often confused. The rules at Aunt Lorraine’s house are quite different than the ones that he is expected to follow at home. I know that he was bewildered when I COMPLETELY FREAKED OUT over him nonchalantly throwing a wrapper out of the car window. “We DON’T do that! That’s mean to the people who work here–they will have to pick it up!” (having worked retail, I am constantly trying to teach the children in my life to respect the fact that someone will have to clean up after them.) Clearly, he had seen someone casually throw garbage out of the car window before, most likely more than once.

Having a different set of rules means that it’s inevitable that some of what I tell him to be true will not be true in his “other” world. To be fair, some of the things I say are not really true in my world either, but they are things that I wish to be true. Case in point: “If someone loves you, they won’t hurt you”. Simple enough, right?

When a child is three, it is difficult to discern how much truth there is in anything he says. “My brother called me a punk”–well, that I believe, but I know that the brother in question would have said this in a joking way. I also know that this little boy knows that he has his Auntie’s heart, and that I will pour out compassion and sympathy on him at the least hint of a wrong being done to him–and this despite the fact that I also know him to have a self-righteous/”poor me” mentality much of the time. In his world, even accidental slights can be cause for dramatics, and one’s motives are often questioned. (“You DID do that on purpose!”)

I believe with all my heart, though, that although children’s words may not always be truthful, nonetheless they have ways of telling that come through loud and clear and that are the Gospel truth. We recently had one of those moments. Through a combination of what he said, what he acted out, and the surrounding facts that I was aware of, I knew that someone who loves him (or claims to love him) had hurt him. And because he is three, because our society does not believe children, because I cannot “prove” anything, there is very little I can do about it. Direct confrontation would be met with outright denial or worse, with me being cut off and therefore even less able to try to shelter him.

(I had a therapist once who said of abuse that “children think they tell”. I think that’s somewhat of a cop-out. Are they really not telling, or are we just not listening?)

Ever since this incident, I have spent a lot of time trying to reassure him with this lie–”people who love you are not going to hurt you”. The night he disclosed to me, he had a lot of questions for me. Well, really the same question, asked in a myriad of ways–”Snoopy (stuffed animal) is not going to hurt me? Max and Ruby are not going to hurt me?” and so on. I had told him that love and the infliction of physical pain were incompatible, and this was very much at odds with what he knew to be true.

His brothers adore him, but yes, they are boys, and so they play rough with him . . . but they do love him, and they are not usually cruel. It was not one of his brothers who did this to him. But he has often reported to me that his brothers did this or called him that, and that is when I tell him another lie: “They’d better not hurt you or call you names! If they do, you tell me and I’ll stop them.” It’s another variation of the same lie I tell him when he is clinging desperately to me because there is a dog nearby, or he is convinced that Chuck E Cheese is hiding somewhere. “I won’t let anybody hurt you . . . I won’t let anything bad happen to you.” How do I explain to him that what I mean is that in this moment, and when I can control it, I will keep him safe, but that I cannot promise to keep him safe every moment of every day, because the world doesn’t work that way?

“If someone hurts you, you tell me, and I will do something about it.” Lovey,  I so want this to be true, and yet I know that this statement must confuse you. Because you did tell me, and I know in my heart of hearts that you are telling the truth, and yet I have lied to you–there is nothing I can do, or at least nothing that will not make things worse for you.

I can’t “prove” that it happened, and I am too much of a coward to confront either the perpetrator or his enabler. All I can really do is to try to teach this child that this is not how things should be. In the meantime, I continue to speak these words that he must surely take in with bewilderment and a sense of despair: “You deserve to be safe. If someone hurts you, tell me and I will protect you.”

I will find a way, Lovey. You deserve to be safe. You deserve to live your life unafraid. And if I really love you like I say I do, then I need to push past my own cowardice and fight for you until all of the lies I am telling you become truth.

 

October 20, 2011

grateful . . . restless

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First, I have to say that I have so much to be grateful for. I am aware that my whinings betray a huge lack of gratitude for all that I do have.

With that said . . .

I so, so desperately need for something to change. I have been at the end of my rope in the work arena for going on three years now. Blah, blah, blah, be grateful you have a job . . . I know. But my dissatisfaction is growing up in me like a tidal wave, and I am desperate to be able to catch my breath, to break out from under the smothering force of this restlessness. I have been wrestling with this for far too long . . . I am so, so tired of these hopes deferred. I am tired of not being able to decide which direction I want to take, but more than that, I am weary at the doors that keep on closing at every turn. I just. want. SOMETHING. to. change.

There’s a song that I keep hearing on the radio that I don’t know what to do with, but the lyrics keep echoing in my mind nonetheless.

God gave me
A dream that would not die*

And that’s just it. So many of my dreams have died, or at least have faded away as I have lost interest, moved on to the next shiny object left in my path to distract me. And as doors continue to close, it is an uphill battle to convince myself that I’m not doomed to a life of career failure and dissatisfaction, that something better might yet be ahead for me. For now, I am doing everything I can to move forward, but every small setback brings back that fear that I am doomed to a lifetime of purposeless wandering. I am just not okay with that, and so I continue to press on, even when the destination is entirely unclear.

I pray that God will help me to see the next step, and that I will be faithful in this desert while I wait.

(*Shirley Murdock, The Dream that Would Not Die)

 

May 31, 2011

Choices to be made . . .

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Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable.
Sydney J. Harris

In the iconic television game show The Price is Right Let’s Make a Deal, one of the popular games requires the contestant to select from among three doors. If I am remembering this correctly, the prize behind Door #1 is revealed, and the contestant then needs to decide whether they are going to keep that prize, or risk asking to see what is behind Door #2 or Door #3. What’s behind those other doors could be much better than what is in front of the contestant, or it could be much worse.

I have been thinking about doors quite a bit lately as I have been reevaluating my life, because I have seen what’s behind Door #2 and Door #3 (or at least, I have seen a glimpse of each of them), and yet I stand here, hesitating, almost paralyzed by the crushing weight of inertia.

I am not happy with my life as it is. I am sure that this is no surprise to anybody who knows me. And for years, I have vacillated, unsure which direction to take. I am annoyingly fickle; it seems like I follow a given passion for a while before discarding it for the next whim or fad that comes along. A few things have remained constant, however, at least on the macro level. I have not outgrown my love for children, or my passion for fighting racism. The desire to have someone to mother is another longing that I have not been able to shake.

Over the last few years, desperate for something to change, I have felt a pull to two different doors, each related to these underlying passions. I have taken halting steps towards each of those doors; however, I have yet to make a choice, and I am hyper-aware of the fact that time is passing me by, and that every day of non-decision is a day that brings me closer to being stuck with the crappy-living-room-furniture set that is my current “Door #1”.

Behind Door #2 is the “mommy” prize. I have glimpsed into this door, even going so far as to take a few initial foster care licensing classes. My experiences with Elijah have convinced me that I would be able to do the hard work of fostering without any promise of permanency, and I am awestruck at the thought of what a gift and a privilege it would be to be in a hurting child’s life for a season. Am I certain that I could do it? Not at all. But I know that the need is huge, and I do not want to avoid doing something merely because it is difficult.

Door #3 holds the “teacher” prize. Having pursued (repeatedly, and unsuccessfully) a particular alternative teacher certification program has been a roller coaster. Certainty that it was going to happen, followed by crushing disappointment. Trying again . . . and again. Still not succeeding, and yet, unable to shake the almost visceral sense that this is what I am meant to do. That feeling ebbs and flows . . . working a temp job grading standardized tests recently, I felt the pull again, “seeing” these students and their need through their essay answers. Who is going to speak for those who have no one to advocate for them? Again, the need is huge, so why not me?

I have begun to identify steps that would bring me closer to being able to walk through one or the other of these doors, but I have a long way to go. I am paralyzed by indecision, however, and my greatest fear is that I will continue NOT to act, that I will indeed waste my life. Tomorrow isn’t promised, and my body reminds me daily that I am getting older. If I don’t do something now, I am certain that I will wake up one day an old lady, sitting on that outdated piece of furniture that will daily serve as a reminder of the way that I chose the default option, the “safe” choice that is no choice at all.

I believe I was created to live a life that matters. That I am not moving in that direction is a travesty of the worst sort. I need to fling open one of these doors; there is work to be done. I say that I want to live the way my heroes did, but those words ring hollow in the shadow of my inaction. I need to work around the pile of excuses that have held me back for so long. I need to move forward, because life will not wait for me. And the one thing I am certain of is that what is beyond those other doors will enrich my life in ways that I cannot yet fathom.

I just pray that I don’t miss it.

 

March 31, 2011

Xanga archives–March 18th, 2006

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Trying really hard not to think about the fact that five years later, I am still in this same place of limbo . . . I got my current job not long after I wrote this, and I so clearly remember the sinking feeling in my stomach as I realized that this was just another fishing gig . . . and yep, I’m still waiting.
Saturday, March 18, 2006

last Sunday night, or “doing business with God”

. . . but I want this “transaction” to be finished quickly, and apparently that’s not going to happen . . .

I came into night church and wasn’t really in the mood to pay attention . . . but I found myself being drawn in, almost in spite of myself. Alton talked about Peter, about how he had gone back to fishing after he had failed Jesus . . . (I had heard this before, in a different context, about how when Jesus died on the cross, His followers had no idea what to do and so they went back to fishing) and he kept saying, “but Jesus didn’t create Peter to fish for FISH, He created him to fish for MEN” . . . and so God and I started to get into it, as I like to say . . .

what I wanted to know . . . “so if You didn’t create me to ‘fish’, or to be a ‘tentmaker’, then what the @#$)(& DID You intend for me to do?! and by the way, just how long is this going to take?!” maybe I wasn’t quite so demanding and rude as that . . . or maybe I was . . . at any rate, I could feel a pull in my soul and was like, “there’d better be an altar call” . . . I think I would’ve gone up even if there had NOT been one . . . go figure . . . but he did say, “and if this is you, I want to pray for you” and when he gave the call, I “busted” (as Sara would say ) out of my seat and virtually FLEW up the center aisle (trying not to think about all of the eyes on me) and knelt before the cross, weeping silently, pleading with God, “how long, O Lord?”

the only slight problem was that as I started walking up, Alton was like, “so if you feel like you’ve failed God, and He’s never going to be able to use you now, come on up”–and although I was already walking, I was like, “Wait!!! Stop the presses!!! That’s not why I’m coming up here!!!” but I was already walking, so there I was . . . and with him saying that, God brought to mind a few other things that actually DID fit in with what he was saying, so it was okay. no, it was better than okay. I don’t feel like I got any answers, but I guess being at the point of pleading and begging with God to show me the next step isn’t the worst place a person can be . . .

it’s just so hard to wait for the next step. and all this week this “tired of waiting” feeling has somehow morphed into a “hope deferred” sense, and I guess now I just feel like my heart is sick with the waiting for my life to start . . .

 

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