Saying it don't make it so

          I am still grieving over the news of yet another high profile father who made the decision to betray his family for the promise of something new and exciting.  Who it is does not matter since the story and the devastation are the same.  

          The first time I heard of a man who decided to leave his family, I was 5.  His daughter was my friend.  Their family was dear to ours.  I remember my mother in tears, a sick anger in my stomach, and a sadness that entered my playmate’s eyes and never left. 

At that time my brain bounced off the idea of a father who would do that to his wife and child.   It was one of those incomprehensible realities that rattled around in my brain for weeks looking for either acceptance or explanation. 

It never found either, and is now up there keeping company with hundreds of its restless and equally inexplicable friends.

Since then I have had a front row seat to a number of similar immolations.  What has struck me is that they are all essentially the same story. 
  

Novelty trumps comfortable (or uncomfortable) familiarity.   

A glance leads to a flirtation which leads to affection which leads to deception which leads to the sacrifice of our character and integrity, and the destruction of the hearts we swore to love and protect.

 I marvel at what easy targets we make! Easy, easy, easy!

And this is not the only way we willingly destroy ourselves.

There is, of course, more than one reason for this phenomenon, but I wonder if part of it rests in our aptitude at lying to ourselves.

  Have you ever heard little voice in your head try justify an action by saying "Go ahead! You deserve to be happy" or "None of this is your fault" or "You just can't help yourself" or "You're not hurting anybody" or "If it feels this good then how can it be wrong?"

Sometimes the voice is backed up by a shimmering chorus line of Disney Princesses or _________ (fill in the blank with your favorite pop culture icons) urging you to "follow your heart".  

Sometimes there are fireworks.

And floating down on angel wings for the final verse...Oprah and Deepak Chopra!  Singing bass and strumming sitars in a cloud of incense.  

Oooh, tempting!  Look at the nice cheerleaders, all sparkly and affirming!  They smell like baby lotion!  And bubble gum!  And Ariel is handing out kittens!

Trust me when I say that, despite appearances, your best bet in this situation is to quickly locate the smarmy little voice, throw it down, and sit on it until it stops moving.  Chances are it was trying to lead you into the "Life Dismemberment in Three Easy Steps" program.  (Very popular, despite being painful, embarrassing, and often irreversible.)

So why do we do it?  Lying to others makes sense on a purely selfish level, but what is the advantage in lying to oneself?

It doesn’t alter whatever part of reality you are dissatisfied with.  

I can tell myself all day that I have a brilliant soprano voice, but the truth is that I don’t, and my self-deception doesn’t fool anyone else either. 

If I tell myself that I am an excellent employee, but I never show up on time and I only finish half of my work, then my boss is going to know better, and I’m a liar.  

I can say that I am a good wife, but if I am leaving the door open to flirtation or fantasy, I’m a liar.

If I neglect my children, abuse alcohol and drugs, and drag them into unsafe living conditions, I am not a good mom.  I’m a liar.

If I am indulging in pornography, then I am not a faithful husband.  I’m a liar.

Being good at video games does not make me brave.  

Having 937 Facebook friends does not make me friendly.

Giving money to a charity does not make me generous.

Going to church three times a week does not make me a Christian.

Having good intentions does not mean that I have actually accomplished anything. Nor does it excuse any pain I might inadvertently inflict on the recipients of my brilliant ideas.  (Note to Washington politicians.)

But it is so easy to tell ourselves otherwise!  It's the Maury Povich phenomenon, wherein a person has the ability to engage in any number of betrayals, manipulations, lies and cover-ups, and then stand in front of God and man and proclaim through a river of self righteous tears and mascara,  "But I'm a Good Person!"

And believe it. 

Never mind that the entire audience is booing at them and everyone they have ever known is lining up for a chance to clock them with a chair.  Never mind the pile of bodies at their feet.  Never mind the commandments they have chewed up and spit out.  

"I'm a good person!" is the permission slip we humans write for ourselves to do...anything we want.  

 We are first in line to give ourselves a pass, to manipulate the facts to our advantage, to believe our own spin--and to surround ourselves with people who will validate our choices, even as they destroy our lives.  

Judging by the content of some of my recent blogs, I probably already qualify as the "World's Most Discouraging Life Coach", so I will take the liberty to recommend a book here for anyone interested in having their hair blown back--and I mean blown back like Wile E. Coyote holding a stick of dynamite, not ruffled a la The Princess Bride.

The book is called Desperately Wicked by Patrick Downey.  Using evidence from the Bible, and observations from famous Greek tragedies and philosophers, both ancient and modern, he makes a case that the human heart has an insatiable desire to be seen as “good”.  

This creates a passion for self-justification which when combined with our hunger to “know, to be known, and to possess”, results in a creature that is, frankly, a little dangerous to itself and to others...

...until it is tamed and tempered by the true object of its desire—God, as He really exists, as He is revealed in his Word, with all the power He possesses to take our hungry and haunted hearts and make them new and whole—and truly GOOD.   

But sadly, even then they are still divided.  And this is what I want to keep in mind when I see men fall around me and when I hear my own lying voice at the back of my head.  

We studied Judges at Bible Study last night.  A litany of faithfulness, unfaithfulness, and judgement.  The universal story of mankind.  

We have desperate hearts.  They love and hate in the same breath.  They nurture and protect and then turn around and despise and betray.

Galatians 5:17 says, "For the desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh, for these are opposed to each other, to keep you from doing the things you want to do."



Paul laments in Romans 7:15 , "For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate."



Jeremiah the prophet states, "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?" (17:9)


Jamey mentioned last night that the best way to deal with the tragedy of a moral train-wreck is to hold up a mirror instead of a magnifying glass, and I think that is excellent, Biblical advice.  

Galatians 6:1-3 says, "Brethren, even if anyone is caught in any trespass, you who are spiritual, restore such a one in a spirit of gentleness; each one looking to yourself, so that you too will not be tempted. Bear one another's burdens, and thereby fulfill the law of Christ. For if anyone thinks he is something when he is nothing, he deceives himself.…"

The sports team which best knows its weaknesses will better know how to play to its strengths.  In the same way, the person who sees himself rightly will best be able to resist the pitfalls of pride.

A grateful acceptance of the loving accountability available to us in our brothers and sisters would help us resist the temptation to keep crowning ourselves "king of the world" because in the economy of grace, we are strongest when we humbly acknowledge our inherent weaknesses.  (2 Corinthians 12:10)
 
I'm not suggesting that the Christian life should consist of 80 years of sour-faced self flagellation, but I think that a simple, sober contemplation of the frailty of our condition now and then would go a long way toward keeping our toes on the trail.  

And when you see the brother stuck head-first in the bramble patch?  Offer a humble hand and wrap yourself in prayer, my friend.  

There, but for the grace of God...

Sing a Song of Sixpence...

A little poem from my heart.  Ahem.

Humble pie is so nutritious,

Sadly, it is not delicious,

But those who think it looks the grossest,

Are the ones who need it most-est

What inspired this masterful marriage of trochaic tetrameter and insight, you ask?

Welp.  I'm thinking about it, because I'm eatin' it, and here's the story.

Our adoption is final, the holiday rush is over, and for the first time in many moons, we have no potentially major crises looming on the horizon.

Yay!

 

But for some inexplicable reason I can't seem to get the shell-shocked expression off my face and the clutch of fear off my innards.  

I am bolting up in the middle of the night for no reason, I find myself rhythmically clenching my jaw all day, and my right eyelid has developed a sporadic twitch. 

What is wrong with me?

I'd love to know.

I have had a number of stern conversations with myself over the last month or so, laying out with impeccable logic all the reasons that I should be overflowing with joy, peace, and contentment right now, and yet here I am under my own personal rain cloud, waiting for--nay, EXPECTING--lightening to strike me on the beanie at any moment.  

Have I become one of those people who has a crisis every time they aren't having a crisis?  


It's possible.

The "Helping Sandra Discover Humility" plan which God developed for me has included giving me something in common with almost every kind of person whose existence used to fill me with arrogance or irritation.  

“People Defined By Their Current Crisis” was definitely on that list, as was the "Harried and Haggard Mother Who Comes Flopping into Every Event 10 Minutes Late, Dragging (or chasing) Boys Who Smell Funny, Break Things, and Yell a Lot."

I did some prideful tongue-clucking over her too, until one day I woke up and I WAS her.  

Ouch.  Is that pie for me?

Then there was the "Dripping Bore"--you know, the one who is so consumed by her family drama that she either 

a) cries every time you see her 

b) turns every discussion back to her personal trauma, or 

c)both of the above.

Nothing more entertaining than hearing people talk about their pain over and over and over again, right? Can I just bring a book to read when I visit you since I've already heard it?

And then suddenly, I was there too, pain and anger boiling in my heart--directed (in my case) at the state, the system, the plight of children, the havoc in my home.  

It was relentless and overwhelming...and God sent people to surround me with love and patience and listening ears and wisdom.  

Ouch again.  And more pie.

So now here I am with a nice, peaceful life and a large, nameless dread.

Once again, I am that person I used to judge unkindly.  

My nose is an inch from the remembrance of my "superior faith"--the one that keeps good Christian people from such "weaknesses" as depression, random panic attacks, and inexplicable insomnia. 

I used to march unshaken--like a young Martin Luther, wearing my confidence and convictions as banners of my steadfast faith.  

These days, although I know my faith is still there, and that God is still unshakable, I remind myself more of a tired, middle-aged Martin Luther throwing ink pots at invisible demons in the corners of his bedroom than the one who publicly nailed his theses to the church doors.

Another juicy slice of humble pie for me--and I am learning from it!  But I still want to analyze my condition.

So here is what I've got so far.

 When I was young, although I knew that life was hard for some people, I didn't truly think it would be for me.  I was the careful planner.  The schedule maker.  The accident avoider.

I would welcome sweet-natured babies at reasonable intervals into a spotless home.  They would respond to the carefully researched parenting techniques I applied, and grow into cheerful, healthy adults who would simultaneously bless the world and validate my stellar parenting skills.  

I would be surrounded by my happy, healthy friends and my happy, healthy extended family, and live with my doting husband who would love and be fulfilled by his job, which he would balance perfectly with his familial obligations.  

Don't we all expect some version of that on our wedding day if we are honest?  

And even when the children surprise us by having wills of their own, and our jobs don't pan out like they were supposed to, and nagging health concerns pop up, don't we still expect it to "all work out" at some point?

Until we see that often it doesn't.  

People we love start dying.  Trusted friends betray their vows to us or others.  Children get sick and don't get better. Parents get sick and don't get better.  Jobs disappear or suck us dry.  Our "perfect parenting" is not enough to prevent our children from making horrible decisions, we realize that most of our bright, shiny "firsts" are behind us...and we still have a long way to go.  

We just get tired.  Basically, we have lived through enough bad things to make us afraid of what might happen, and not quite enough to prove our fortitude.

I now understand why the apostle Paul uses the analogy of a race to describe the Christian walk because as I think about it, my first half marathon was a blow-by-blow reflection of my life so far.

Recap:  I start out knowing the run is going to be long and hard, but not really feeling it because everything is all so new and exciting!  Everyone is chatting and cheering, my legs are fresh and strong, and every mile reveals a bright new scene.  

Sometime later, I hit mile 6.   Not quite to the halfway turnaround, but already the better runners had hit it and are coming back toward me looking impossibly fresh and fast.  

"Good job!  Keep it up!" they yell with a bounce and a smile as they pass.
  
"Humnghhuph!" I reply, which when translated means, "You are AWESOME!"  and also, "I think I hate you," and also, "Can I ride on your back?" 

My emotions at this point:  "This is not as fun as I hoped it would be, and I'm not even half done."

So then I reach the turnaround and hit another mental wall.  I am only half way.  

I am working twice as hard to run half as fast as I was in the beginning.  The scenery is old now.  I am gasping and sweating and chafing and becoming increasingly alarmed by the number of fellow runners who are doubled over in the bushes by the side of the road.  

Resting, I think. 

"Good job?"  I yell.  (Hope that was the right thing to say.)  It probably doesn't matter since it sounded like "Humnghhuph!" anyway.

And then a long lonely stretch.  Just me and my heavy breathing. 

And then another long, lonely stretch--with a hill.

I feel my hamstring give a warning shot and my blisters are having babies in my shoes and I truly start to wonder if I am going to finish.

And honestly, I am wondering if I even want to.

I think my pervading sense of doom comes from being at mile seven in life right now.  I trust God, but I don’t trust myself.  I hope I will finish well, but I have seen better people than me go down in flames.   

I am too tired to feel like an encouragement to others, and too embarrassed to ask for it from the faster racers.  

Now, before anyone dials up Pine Rest on my behalf, I AM finding encouragement in several places.  

 First of all, I have parents and older friends in my church and Bible Study who have run through mile seven, eight, and nine, and are smiling at the thought of a closer finish line.  They have run hard miles, some of them have fought dragons and dodged arrows as well, and they are calling out encouragement to those of us behind them.  

And I have the beautiful, precious promises of Scripture.

The race analogy isn't perfect.  The number of miles behind the Senior Saints is not what makes them shine.  What matters is the quality of their faith, and that is often produced through testing.

I have noticed that the people I most admire are ones who have not just run a regular ole' marathon.  Generally they are ones who have run the equivalent of a 100 mile Tough Mudder and lived to tell about it.  

They have often endured tremendous hardship or pain or prolonged uncertainty and instead of growing bitter or defeated, have allowed the Holy Spirit to use those obstacles to transform them into people of tremendous grace, humility, and love.  

They have looked with eyes of faith on the things of earth and seen them grow dim in the great light of God's promises.  

They have discovered the truth of  1 Corinthians 4:

"But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. 

8We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; 9persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; 10always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. ..16So we do not lose heart. 

Though our outer self^c is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.  

17For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, 18as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. 

For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal."

Faithfulness breeds faith.  If I see that God can strengthen and refine me during the doldrums in mile seven, then maybe I will trust him sooner when I face the big hill on mile nine, and sooner yet when I hit the machine gun nest in mile twelve. 

I know it even when I can't feel it.  I learn it better with every bite of humble pie. 

Every morning his mercies are new, and I run in the strength of His power.

*******************

Isaiah 40:31 

 "...but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint."

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