Martyr-dumb

We all know this person.  The perpetual victim, the seemingly selfless martyr, the person who will do a favor, but then you have to listen to her litany of sorrows and sufferings and how her sacrifice inconveniences her life.  The missed opportunities, the long hours of traveling, the fatigue, the emotional toil, the list goes on and on, ad nauseam (Latin for "if you talk about his one more time I will throw up).  Drama.  Lots and lots of drama.  Going into the well of past good deeds, parading every gift of time, every thoughtful gesture, every visit, and weighing them against the cost of the favor, on the perpetual balance sheet where the victim is never in the black, or fairly compensated their time and trouble.  By the time the favor is done, you are left feeling guilty for even accepting their help.  Not even going to try to point the finger or name these people...there are too many of them in my life.  Far too many.  

But wait, sometimes that person is me.  I try so hard to be perfect, to do things out of Christian love, to love everyone, and to do it all with a cheerful heart, but sometimes, I, too, play the victim.  I start to feel superior, as if I am sacrificing everything to be Christ-like.  Yep, I'm a regular 21st century Joan of Arc, the Mother Teresa of western North Carolina, and my mission is to help everyone else with their problems and shortcomings.  Ha!  I can barely handle my own!  And I seldom ask for help , and sometimes I even forget to pray first! (Hard to believe, huh?)  A need arises, a family member calls, someone needs help with finding a job, or a local charity is in dire need for volunteers.  Before I can even fully process what that need may entail, I raise my hand, sign my name on the clipboard, and excitedly jump right in.  And while I offer my help to someone for the right reasons (out of love and a desire to serve), soon I hear that grating, raspy voice whispering and muttering in my ear, twisting my soul and my heart, filling me with fear and, yes, even hatred, and placing a hard, nasty-tasting lump of resentment in my stomach.  Try as I may to block that voice out, it persists, whining and cajoling me and reaching up at me with cold, long, clawing fingers, trying to pull me down into the pit of despair.  

Depressing, isn't it?  Playing the martyr for all the wrong reasons.  Going it alone.  

Just plain dumb.

Wake Up Call

It was a beautiful fall morning, and I was thoroughly enjoying the drive to an appointment in Asheville, NC; the leaves were changing, air was crisp and cool, and there was a slight drizzle that only added to the beauty of the fall colors.  I had my favorite radio station playing in the car, and, despite having a bit of a migraine, I felt okay.  It was just going to be a routine consult, a follow-up from a test I had done previously, and one more box to check before I could get a procedure done to fix some circulation issues in my leg.  Easy peezy.  I breezed into the cardiology clinic, signed in, got checked in by the nurse, and sat and waited for the doctor to call me.  I had no serious health issues--I was a fairly active, albeit overweight, healthy 63-year old woman with a zest for life, and quite a bit of life left to live.

Two hours later, I am driving back home.  The fall colors have completely faded into nondescript shades of brown and sickly yellow, and it is now a dreary, rainy, and depressing drive home.  My head is pounding, so much so I turn off the radio, and I am not feeling so great.  The "routine" consult quickly morphed into a pre-op counseling, and the leg procedure had to be put on indefinite hold.  The test results showed a possible obstruction of a coronary artery, and this, coupled with other factors, including the leg issue, put me in the "high risk" category for coronary artery disease. Suddenly, I felt scared, old, fat, and very unhealthy, and questioning whether I would even see my next birthday.  

I was wide awake.

I got home, talked to my husband, and then, before I could descend into the bottomless pit of self-pity and regret, I prayed.  And prayed.  And then prayed some more.  About rolling all our burdens onto God, the realization that there is a season for everything, that God's timing is perfect.  That my days are numbered, and only the Lord God knows where and when and how those days will end. I am the same person now that walked into the doctor's office (although I am a little more freaked out).  My blessings are many, and, while my life has challenges and trials as well as joys, God is still in control.  He knew this was coming.  He was not surprised.  He is still omnipotent and omniscient.  And, most importantly, He will be glorified by and through anything I experience.  

My reaction, though human and therefore understandable, was me stumbling over my ego, and indicative of my obsession to be in control.  And while I am still struggling to quash the fear and anxiety over next week's schedule, I am oh so thankful to be His child, and under His care.  And I wonder, like I have other times I hit speed bumps (and sometimes brick walls) along the way, how would I ever manage without the assurance of His mercy and grace?  

I am so happy I never have to find out.

Awake and grateful to be His.

Stages

Life is a series of stages, each one building on the other and, ideally, we are wiser as we leave one stage and enter a new one.  Infancy, childhood, adolescence, young adult, married without kids, married with kids, working, retired, grandparents, elderly...all the stages meld seamlessly, effortlessly, and nearly imperceptibly into each other.  During each stage we think we know what to expect in the next stage, but many times we are so entangled and busy in one stage, we don't even notice as we move from one to the next. Perspective is different as well; in infancy and childhood we are all about self, the here and now, immediate gratification.  Then comes adolescence, a time of yearning for something more, a time of inward and outward rebellion, of straining forward to reach adulthood.   No longer focused on the present, and with little to no regard for the past, we propel ourselves quickly through our teenage years, eager to get our independence, excited to break the bonds of authority.  As we careen, sometimes carelessly, into young adulthood, we are breathless and excited and curious and full of hope for the future.  We think we've got the bull by the horns, that we are actually driving our own car through life, making our own decisions, master of our fate.  Ahh, but then the reality of being responsible for others, to others, with others, hits us like a freight train.  Whether we are married or single, parents or not, we are ultimately responsible somewhere for or to someone--a boss, coworkers, children, spouse, friends.   With this truth staring us in the face, we hunker down at the grindstone--working, parenting, chasing that dream, that fulfillment, that excitement we dreamed about in our teens.  We think we are immortal, that life is, whether good, bad, or indifferent, a never-ending journey.  We don't really think about the future (except to maybe collect stuff), and we are so busy we barely have time to sleep let alone reminisce about the past.  We grow older, retire from our jobs, our kids leave and pursue their own dreams, and voila!  We are suddenly thrust into that future that only yesterday was nebulous and unachievable.  Let's face it:  we are past middle-aged (unless the human lifespan somehow magically changes to 125 years), and we are a bit nonplussed, to say the least.  We have more time on our hands, which is good because we tire easier, and  the only thing that gets thinner each year is our patience.  At first we think, great!  We are retired!  Now the fun begins!  We can do what we want, when we want to, with whom we want to.  But then, as it always does, life happens.  People we love are aging at what seems to us an alarming rate, becoming more frail, needing more help, and suddenly we feel ourselves willing them to live longer, to not grow old, to not, gulp, die.  Because that forces us to face our death, our mortality, our inevitable passing into the final stage of life--death.  Now we are throwing ourselves into the moment, the present, and reflecting more and more on the past, and trying not to focus (too much anyway) on the future.  We become more spiritual, less self-centered.  We look back on the stages we have passed through, shaking our heads at how silly and myopic we were "back then."  And we finally get it...this is life.  This is what it is all about. Of all the stages I have been in, this is the hardest, the most fulfilling, the most joyful, peaceful, stressful, and wonderful time. I simultaneously love this stage of life and hate it--I love who I am, what I have accomplished, and how I have persevered, but I hate losing friends and family.  In the past three years, I have learned more about life and God and myself and how those things are all intertwined, than in the 60 years previous.  So while this is the hardest time of my life, and there are things right now that truly don't seem fair, that make my heart ache and wake me in the middle of the night with a fright, I am so happy I am here.  Love in the past and present and future.  Birth and death, growth and loss, making the most of relationships with those we love, letting go of the people, places, and things that do not bring us joy and glorify our Creator.  And focusing on that final stage.  When we will be made perfect in Him.  Forever. 

Unrealistic Expectations

ex·pec·ta·tion

ˌekspekˈtāSH(ə)n/

noun

plural noun: expectations

1. a strong belief that something will happen or be the case in the future.

   
   

   "reality had not lived up to expectations"

   
   

   • a belief that someone will or should achieve something.

     
     

     "students had high expectations for their future"

     
     

     
     

We all have them...ideas and expectations of what others should do, or say, whether friends, strangers, family, or even God.  A situation arises, we analyze it and react, and expect others to react likewise.   The problem with that?  Well, we are not all the same, and what we do in a situation, while it may seem right for us, may not be what someone else would do; heck, it could even be the total opposite of what WE should do.  While a normal assumption, expecting a certain behavior or reaction from someone else can only lead to disappointment at best, and fractured relationships, depression, and hopelessness at worst.  Unrealistic expectations put a heavy burden on our shoulders; they give us the false impression we have control over something we do not.    When I find myself saying, "but they should have said this!," or "why couldn't she do what a normal person would have done?", I have to smack myself upside the head and remind myself they are not me, I am not them, and most importantly, I am not God.

My mother-in-law is dying, almost two years from the date her husband of 51 years died.  My husband has to fly out suddenly to be at her side, and I have a totally dependent family member living with us--not unlike 2016.  To make it even more eerily deja-vu like, a storm is bearing down on us as I write this--although this time it is a hurricane instead of a blizzard.  As I drove Alex to the airport this afternoon, I began to fret how I am all alone, that no one is here to help, that no one wants to help, comparing this situation to the mess two years ago.  But, as Alex gently chided me, this is not the same.  We have each other, and most importantly, we have God.  I have friends I can reach out to, and our kids, and neighbors...even if my sisters are no longer part of our life.   I cannot expect "blood from a turnip," as an old saying goes--people can only give what they can give.  People fall short of our expectations; sadly, many times it is people we love and expect to be there for us, to do what we would do in the same situation.  I have to remind myself though...we ALL fall short of God's expectation.  

"For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus."

Managing my expectations of myself is a full-time job, let alone trying to grapple with my expectations of others.  As long as I aspire to live up to my Creator's expectations (which I never will until I meet Him in heaven), I have my hands full and don't need to burden myself with all the shouldas, couldas, and wouldas. Like David, I must strengthen myself in the Lord my God (I Sam 30:6).

Emptied and New

Feeling empty.  Not in a bad way. Usually when someone says they feel empty that denotes a feeling of uselessness, depression, confusion, and a total lack of purpose.  I feel, well, clean and new and fresh, like all the poisons and toxins of my life have been sucked out of my soul.  The painful experiences of my past are there, I recognize them as mine, but instead of regret I feel relief.  I just see the wounds of the past for what they are—lessons.   Lessons that have left scars—some barely perceptible, some ugly and ragged and bumpy to the touch, but healed nevertheless.  I rub my fingers over them and wince when I touch a particularly large one, or one that is still healing and raw and red, but I find comfort and peace in touching the brand new pink skin covering the once pus-filled sore.   I feel peace.  I feel new.   It’s as if I was in a dark, dark house riddled with broken floorboards and sharp corners, rooms that were musty and covered with dust and grime.  And I navigated through it, bumping into obstacles along the way, walking into webs of deceit and lies, until I closed my eyes and took Your hand.  Then you blew softly with Your mighty breath and all the dirt and grime disappeared; you led me out of the darkness and then my eyes  opened.  

Seventy Times Seven

A letter to my sisters...

I guess I will never know if you read this, although I hope you do.  But this is something I feel compelled to write. For three years I have been struggling with forgiveness...forgiveness of self, of you, of Mom, of our childhood.  And just when I feel the forgiveness merry-go-round is stopping, and I can jump off, it starts back up again.  Some memory, or phone call, or text pops up, and the calliope starts back up.  Back in 2015 when this nightmare began, I really thought I was doing the right thing, the Biblical thing, and I thought I could handle whatever came up.  Then it was as if my entire world collapsed and turned completely upside down, and I was alone and overwhelmed.  Mom got very sick, Alex's parents had emergency after emergency, and although I reached out for help, I admit I asked for help and put conditions on that help...I felt I was right, and dammit I was going to convince both of you how right I was.  Yeah, that worked really well, didn't it.  I expected you to know exactly what was going on here, and how I needed your help, but I really did not effectively communicate how desperate the situation had become.  So, when mom had to be admitted to skilled nursing care, and I tried to explain it to you, it was a shock to you both.  For that, I am sorry, for not preparing you better for the state Mom was in, and how extremely difficult those first four months had been.  And, since I felt alone and that you both had abandoned me, I took it all on myself.  Not all my decisions were great, and yes you may have made different decisions.  Or maybe not.  Bottom line, I had to make some really scary decisions. And despite what you believe or what Mom told you, she and I discussed many of those decisions...selling her storage unit things, healthcare, hernia surgery, turning in her car, her budget...my only mistake there was not getting some of those decisions in writing.

By that time, though, Mom was skillfully manipulating all three of us to hear and believe what she wanted us to hear.  I knew she was telling you both her sob story, and filling your heads with lies, but there was nothing I could do to change that.  So, I waited for the inevitable, and the inevitable arrived.   You both came to take her away, to undo all the work I had done: qualify her for Medicaid, pay what bills I could and talk down the rest; put her in a safe place; it was all at risk, and I did what the nursing home recommended.  We all know how that went, and it was clear that battle lines had been drawn; there would be no turning back.  What transpired over the next 18 months was a nightmare of epic proportions.  I was interrogated by the county Sheriff for false criminal charges (while on my way to my father-in-law's funeral), constantly had to intercept poison pen emails and letters to local businesses, and finally, was served with a lawsuit full of lies.  Her lies were not what cut me to the core, though...it was that you both believed them.  You believed I locked her in the basement, you believed I abused her, you believed I did not take care of her and you actually believed I had her get surgery she did not need; you believed I stole from her, and you believed I made decisions without consulting her.  And then you involved our parents, and your children--my nieces and nephews--effectively cutting me off from everyone in our birth family.   I was crushed and broken--the two sisters who were my closest allies in the crazy, dysfunctional, psychotic personality that was our mother, became my enemies.  And to this day, I still do not know why.  Over a dog she kept locked in a crate?  Over some broken crap in storage?  So she could get moved around the country over the next 15 months and break her hip, have bowel obstructions, get surgery after surgery, only to finally end up dying in a nursing home?  Just like the one you moved her from here?  For that we are no longer sisters or family?  After thousands and thousands of dollars in legal fees, and countless tears and sleepless nights, I still am dumbfounded over what transpired.  

We are no closer to the truth or to each other than we were three years ago, that fateful summer when we tried to fix our mother's screwed up life.  She played us all, and she kept playing us.  And now, even though she is dead and gone, she still manipulates us from the grave.  I have come a long way in my faith, in my self-realization, in my healing of old wounds, since that time.   I have forgiven her for everything she was and everything she did to me--things you have never known of, hell, some things I had tried for decades to forget! I have come to grips with why I tried to rescue her, why I made it my mission to save her from herself--not once, not twice, but three times in six years.  And while I realize I would not be here on this earth without her, I will not lie and say she was a good mother.  She was not.  But that is another story, another letter.  This is about three daughters who were all victims, who did the best they could to rise above their heredity and their upbringing.  This is about three sisters who were never really close, because in our family the adults always played one against the other; they still do.  We never knew who the enemy really was, or who would be on our "side" so we all kept our distance from each other and dealt with our brokenness in our own fractured ways.  The things I have learned about our family are truly liberating, but the sad thing is, we are not unique.  Books have been written...books that when you read them you think the author lived in our house!

So what am I trying to say?  I am not trying to answer every accusation or question or misgiving you may have, or clear myself of all wrongdoing, or explain my motives.  Yes, I still struggle occasionally with trying to obtain validation of choices, of wanting my family to approve of me, but I am getting past that.  I accept myself, and I accept you.  I am forgiving you.  For everything. And I will continue to forgive you until the day I die. And I humbly ask for your forgiveness.  Not explanations.  Not remunerations.  Not justification.  But forgiveness, and eventually, ultimately, I pray we will have reconciliation.  Because forgiveness without reconciliation, well, it is like taking a shower without water.  

Please let's be sisters again, or at least, let's be family.

Guarding my Heart

Difficult people are not new--although the modern world would have you believe they are.  Nowadays we call them "toxic" people, and a simple Google search will unveil dozens of grocery lists on how to identify a toxic person, what to do with a toxic person, how to cut toxic people out of your life, dealing with toxic people biblically, and even a recipe for a "toxic person detox."  How do I reconcile God's command to love one another, including, no, especially, those who do not love us back, with my desire to punch someone in the throat?  How do I balance the seemingly dichotomous commands of "love thy neighbor" with "light has no fellowship with dark?"  

This is something I struggle with, and I know I am not alone when I say I have some super difficult people in my life--some days more than others.  How their toxicity affects me seems to be relative to four areas:  the frequency of interaction, my relationship with that person, the state of my heart, and of course, the state of my soul.  The rude customer at my volunteer job, the guy flipping me off because I actually stopped at the red light, estranged family members unwilling to let go of the past, anyone exhibiting passive aggressive behavior, and even folks I "meet" online--difficult, toxic people are everywhere. And while it may seem convenient to lump people into two categories--safe/unsafe, clean/toxic, easy/difficult--it is far more realistic to, gulp!, admit we are ALL difficult at one time or another, because we are all sinful, selfish, prideful beings.   There are not two camps of "toxic" vs "non-toxic" humans.  Sadly, we are all more than capable and too well-versed in being difficult to each other...the impatient "WHAT?!" hollered at our kids when they repeat our name for the fifth time, the eye roll at our parents when they dare to give us advice, the silent treatment we give our spouses when they don't respond exactly how we expected or wanted, the curt "Fine!" we mutter instead of actually discussing hurt feelings.  And, when we experience difficult people, and suffer as a result of our exposure to them, we don't always learn from those encounters...we close up, fight back, and try to handle it ourselves, instead of creating healthy boundaries, praying for those who intend to harm us, and giving it over to God. In other words, we take actions and react instead of responding as Jesus would have us respond.  And no, I do not mean to always turn the other cheek and become a doormat or a punching bag; even Jesus was silent, or even went away, when confronted with difficult human beings.  

Setting boundaries, praying, humility, communion with the father...the best advice I have found to date takes into account all these options: aptly titled "A Father's Wise Instruction," Proverbs 4.  In it, we are urged to guard our hearts, and to avoid the path of the wicked, and reminded that what is in our hearts, flows out of our hearts and touches those around us.  We are not responsible for how others treat us, but we are responsible for how we respond to them.  We don't "sink to their level," or fight fire with fire, or get into a war of words on Facebook.  We are to reflect the gospel, the good news, in all that we do, even in times of attack and hurt.  

Do I always take this advice?  Uh, nope...not even close.  Recently someone tried to poison my heart with hate and accusations and lies.  Two years ago, no, even a year ago, I would have been immersed in self-pity, hate, and would have let the actions of one selfish person strip me of my joy.   And while I did just that for about 8 hours (my old self--old habits die hard), I have put off old relationships, relationships that are hurtful and toxic. Now, I rest in the Comforter, taking solace in this process of sanctification, and ever grateful for His Grace...his boundless, beautiful grace.    I seek the Lord, and His Word, and take comfort in the knowledge that (a) the Lord hates these actions even more than I hate them (Proverbs 6:16-19), and (b) He has made me a new creation, one that will not yoke herself together with unbelievers (2 Corinthians 16:14).   

My prayer:  Restore in me the joy that comes from being Your child, the love You have for me unending, and the peace that comes from knowing you are God. Help me to remain calm, joyous, and peaceful. Guard my heart from responding negatively to those who would hurt me.  And guard my lips from reacting wrongly and thereby hurting others.  

Let your eyes look directly forward, 

and your gaze be straight before you. 

Ponder the path of your feet, 

then all your ways will be sure.  

Do not swerve to the right or to the left; 

turn your foot from evil.  

(Proverbs 4:25-27)