Blushing Alone

Dear Child-O-Mine,

I have a few things to say to you.  First of all, get your pajamas off the bathroom floor.

Secondly, I found your logic book.  In the linen closet.  Hmm.

Thirdly, I saw that look you gave me this afternoon when you walked by the living room...and saw me laughing...all alone in an empty room.  

That look said so many things to me--things like, "Oh great.  Mom's crying again.  Wait!  She's...laughing.  Who's in there? No one? What the heck?!  Crying I get, but I have no context for this. Wow.  Someone has to be in there.  Nope. No one. She is literally laughing out loud at nothing. It's finally happened.  She's officially crazy. Should I pretend I didn't see her?  I could walk fast. Rats. She saw me. This is awkward."

What you said was, "Heeeeyyy, Mom.  Um?  I'm just going downstairs now." 

It is a testament to how well I know you that I could divine the subtext in that statement, but I want to set your mind at ease.

I'm not crazy.  

Well, I don't think I'm crazy, but come to think of it, if I WAS crazy I wouldn't be qualified to evaluate that for myself, so the best I can say is that I don't think I'm crazy.  

Actually, no one has ever told me for sure one way or the other, and I've never asked.

Whatever. Maybe I am crazy. 

I don't know. 

Ask your dad. If he says yes, then you can stop reading because I don't want you listening to crazy people, but if he says no, I have something important to tell you, and it is this:
 

The older I get, the more time I spend laughing with myself. At myself.  (And at you, but because of your age, I try to do it quietly when you aren't looking.)

Because it has come to my attention that we are all pretty funny and you are still too young to realize it, but I am telling you.  

Humans are funny.  

I want you to know this because the ability to laugh at ourselves and our common tendencies will help keep us from being overly hard on ourselves and getting overly irritated with others.  

Let me give you some examples. When I was young, I spent my time on *really important things*, like planning my life out, and imagining that my plans were going to work out according to schedule.  

See?  Isn't that funny?  No?  

Wait a few decades and it will be.  

Now, I am not saying you shouldn't think about and plan for your future, but you should hold that plan more like a fragile and beautiful butterfly and less like a ketchup bottle.

Another funny thing is the many hours I spent studying the cool people at school, practicing being cool, and pretending it was actually working for me.  I only mention this because of the times I have seen you practicing your hair flip in the bathroom mirror. In hindsight, I probably could have dispensed with the whole "coolness" project since it ended up being of dubious value.

Unfortunately, I didn't yet realize that just by virtue of being young, I was ahead of the game.  Since you are still young, I am going to tell you a secret which will save you a lot of time and effort, and it is this:

There is some manner in which everything the young do is infused with beauty because, well, youth is beautiful.  You don't have to spend all that time worrying about it.  

You're beautiful. 

That is why everyone is enamored with tiny babies, whose entire skill set is blowing spit bubbles and babbling, but yet no one really wants to see the same thing from a person on the other end of the age spectrum.  

It also explains some of the fashion decisions that the young can pull off (or almost pull off) that would look utterly ridiculous on the old. 

So listen up!  You and your friends might think you look amazing because of the hours you have spent practicing your duck lips and your peace signs and your signature-selfie expressions (you know--that perfect facial balance between cynical, worldly-wise, and amused).  But guess what?  

That's not why you look amazing. You look amazing simply because you are young.  And you have a small window for it.  So stop trying so hard and just enjoy it!

The truth is, a teenager could roll out of bed, assemble an outfit from her grandma's closet--blindfolded--top it with a haircut inspired by a poodle, and still look better falling down the stairs than I look after an hour in hot rollers, two layers of make-up, and three Instagram filters.

Ah, Child!  The day will come when you will accidentally leave your selfie screen on, look into your backpack, and for just a moment, think your Grandpa Joe fell in there and is crying out for help. With his nostrils. 

I speak from experience.

Anyhoo, having gotten all that youth out of the way, now I get to sit and just chuckle over the hilarity of being human.

Which brings me to what you witnessed today.  

 So, here is what happened BEFORE you came into the room:  

I was tidying the living room when I caught a shadow out of the corner of my eye that looked like a fat, black hamster peeking out from under the couch. (Yes, I know we don't own a fat, black hamster.  If I had taken a minute to evaluate the situation, I might have taken a different path.)  

Anyway, I lifted my foot mid-step to avoid stepping on the imaginary rodent, emitted a strangled scream, did a flailing twist and planted my leg in a half-split on the couch--where I teetered for a half second, before flopping backwards and landing in a wedge between the coffee table and the front of the sofa.

Then (and this is what made me laugh), even though I KNEW I was alone, I looked around and BLUSHED.  Why?  Who was there to care?  Me?  I was the one who did the cringe-worthy acrobatics.  Why should I blush over it?

And that made me stop to consider why we all care so much about not looking foolish or stupid in front of others.  And how we don't even need "others" to be embarrassed because sometimes we are embarrassed by something we have done when we are the only ones in the room.

How is that even possible?  Is the imaginary audience I live for so powerful that it is impossible for me to actually ever be alone in my own head? 

Am I really like the diva who cannot imagine that the world doesn't care every time she picks her nose?

Apparently.

And that silly, vain, dichotomous aspect of humanity made me laugh out loud.  See?  Funny!  

Or maybe to you it seems deadly serious.  I know it did to me at your age, and sometimes it still does, but what happened today just made me want to reassure you that you are not alone in the universe of people who care at the very core of their being about being seen.  And not just being seen, but being seen in the best possible light.

Here's another thing about your mother.  At your age, in addition to my obsession over avoiding embarrassment, I was also unhealthily preoccupied with being liked, to the point that I sometimes did things that were foolish and out of character, just because I thought they might raise me up a notch in someone else's eyes.  

Of course, being foolish is only ever foolish, and the only people who think otherwise are fools, but back when I was your age, I was insecure enough to court the approval of anyone and everyone, and since the fools always seemed the quickest to offer theirs up, I ran with it.  To my shame.  

Here is what I have learned since then.  All approval is not created equal.  Loud laughter often covers up large foolishness, and the approval that comes from it melts away quickly.  

Conversely, the respect that comes from noble and wise people is gained by living honorably and honestly and takes more time and effort to gain, but it has weight and value and longevity.  

It is like the difference between the backyard fires that you build with old Amazon boxes and the ones that you light with seasoned wood.  

I wish the simple act of growing up could cure us of the tendency to care about feeble applause from braggarts and fools, but I am sad to report that many grown ups spend an obscene amount of time staging their clothes, houses, and their social media accounts--and parading (or concealing) their children and spouses and friends in order to put themselves in the best light.

So why do we care so deeply about being seen?  And why not just seen, but approved of?  Why is our worth tied up so tightly with being "good" at what we do? (Good mother, good spouse, good friend, good at sports, good employee, good looking, good at managing life, good as a person.)

Why do we spend so much of our lives collecting praise, affirmation, and approval--to the point that we create entire fake worlds on social media and waste hours remaking our faces and wardrobes and houses and families and bodies to fit the mold of what is considered cool and attractive by the cultures in which we live?

If you can answer these questions definitively you will put hundreds of social scientists out of work and you have my permission to skip college.  

If not, don't worry.  I just want you to know that the deep need to be seen and known and valued and loved is real and relentless--not just in you, but in all of us.

But here is another true thing:  the longer you live, the more you will realize that no human accolade, or accomplishment, or award, no level of notoriety, no amount of fame or Facebook likes or Instagram followers--not even the most intimate and passionate human love can meet this hunger in us.  


And that might not sound good, but it is, because this insatiable hunger for acknowledgment and significance can drive us to look for the One who can satisfy it.

God.

If we manage to see through our vast feelings of self importance--when we realize that ultimately, one way or another, everyone leaves us and no one REALLY knows us (and few even try to)--we might look up and try to find out Who it is that our hearts are seeking so desperately

My private theory is that God very much wants us to feel the weight of His gaze. 

I think the innate desire to be known, loved, enjoyed, and approved of is planted deep within us--as the answering echo to His invitation to meet those longings, fully and completely.

And the promise is that if we seek Him, we will find Him (Matthew 7:7-8) and finally have a chance to wonder at the enormity of being intimately known and loved by the Creator of the Universe.

We want to matter.  We do not crave mere existence (like beasts), but rather have an intrinsic sense that we are eternally significant beings in possession of a worth so profound and beautiful that even the mundane pursuits of life are infused with deep meaning.  

It is why even though it is ubiquitous, universal, and inescapable, death shocks us and feels like a cosmic impossibility right up to the moment it takes us or our loved ones.

In fact, we put so much importance on finding meaning in life and securing the good opinion of others that the absence of those things is one of the few things that can drive us to despair and suicide.  

 I believe that God lets us feel the weight of the life we live "Coram Deo" to call us back to Himself--to remind us that His voice is the strongest and truest one in a cacophonous choir of mutterings.

There are so many whisperings and lies down here.  

But this is the truth:

You are at this moment a priceless treasure, immortal, irreplaceable, infinitely important--because of the inestimable price that was paid for you by the King of all Kings.  He made you and loves you with all of your quirks and individuality.  


He gave you your gifts and wrote you into His story before the foundation of the world, and even now--when you cannot always decipher your feelings and cannot figure out your purpose and cannot even trust your voice to emerge in the right octave when you speak, He draws you along by his mighty Spirit. (Ephesians 1:3-5, Romans 5:6-8,
Ephesians 2:10)

And this is the most important thing, Sweet Child of Mine: Ultimately, His opinion of you is the only one that matters because it is the only one that lasts forever.  

So dispense with the courting of fools and the cultivation of image.

The creation of persona and the staging of online illusions.

The collecting of accolades and the compiling of likes.

The pursuit of the perfect hair flip and the blushing over imaginary hamsters.

It is meaningless.  A chasing after wind.

   Psalm 139 says:

O Lord, you have searched me and known me!

You know when I sit down and when I rise up;

    you discern my thoughts from afar.

 You search out my path and my lying down

    and are acquainted with all my ways.

Even before a word is on my tongue,

    behold, O Lord, you know it altogether.

 You hem me in, behind and before,

    and lay your hand upon me.

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;

    it is high; I cannot attain it.

Where shall I go from your Spirit?

    Or where shall I flee from your presence?

 If I ascend to heaven, you are there!

    If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!

 If I take the wings of the morning

    and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,

even there your hand shall lead me,

    and your right hand shall hold me.

 If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,

    and the light about me be night,”

 even the darkness is not dark to you;

    the night is bright as the day,

    for darkness is as light with you.

 For you formed my inward parts;

    you knitted me together in my mother's womb.

 I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

Wonderful are your works;

    my soul knows it very well.

My frame was not hidden from you,

when I was being made in secret,

    intricately woven in the depths of the earth.

 Your eyes saw my unformed substance;

in your book were written, every one of them,

    the days that were formed for me,

    when as yet there was none of them.

How precious to me are your thoughts, O God!

    How vast is the sum of them!

 If I would count them, they are more than the sand.

    I awake, and I am still with you...

...Search me, O God, and know my heart!

    Try me and know my thoughts!

And see if there be any grievous way in me,

    and lead me in the way everlasting!

Mamas in the Middle

There was a woman who lived in evil days.  She and her husband clung to their faith--not perfectly (it is so hard when everyone around you is running from God), but enough to know that their miracle baby belonged to God and enough to try to raise him up to know and honor his Maker.  

But the miracle baby didn't want to know and honor his Maker.  He absorbed enough of his parents' faith to make him keep to the externals (because the externals were of benefit to him), but his heart was wild and his appetites ruled him.  

His mother pleaded with him to choose wise companions, but he didn't.  She warned him about loose women, so he married one.

And then things really went wrong.  

He gave up almost everything he had ever been taught about life and godliness.  His parents helplessly watched and grieved and prayed as he partied himself into oblivion.  He bragged about his amazing self and created a stench all over the county.  He made promises he couldn't keep and betrayed his friends.  He mistreated his wife and made so many enemies around town that out of revenge, they killed her.  

Even then his selfishness was not satiated. 

Everywhere he went, he led with his pride and his anger and his lust, stirring up strife and hatred and war and danger for himself and everyone whose life touched his.

And I picture his mother watching her boy all the while in dismay and disbelief--this extraordinary baby grown gluttonous fiend--and trying to reconcile the two dichotomous beings in her mind.  

Her precious, protected boy--now wasted and laying waste.  

Her God-sent, God-blessed gift, profaning himself and sowing destruction on others with his mouth and his hands.

The beautiful boy who had sat at her knee in the light of her pure mother's love--now more apt to be lying with his head in the lap of a prostitute. 

The miracle baby in the story was Samson.  

His life is laid out in all its hair-raising detail in the book of Judges, but buried in a tiny parenthetical phrase is a jewel of truth I had never noticed before now.

"His father and mother had no idea that God was behind this." (Judges 14:4) 

God was behind this?  This what?  

This giving-over of a privately consecrated life to all manner of public wickedness?

This hideous profaning of a beautiful gift?  

Step by ugly step?  In the sight of God and man...and mother? 

God was behind this?  


That is exactly what it says. 

The One who sees all, knows all, loves perfectly, and judges rightly did not prevent Samson from gorging himself on folly.  

Because in his case, it both accomplished the judging of the evil Philistines, (Judges 14:4) and it got Samson to the point where, after ignoring God for most of his life, he was finally humble enough to call on the Lord again. (Judges 17:28) 

I read the story of Samson this evening with my boys.  They were horrified and fascinated, just like I was when I read it as a child, but tonight I met the ancient account with the sinking feeling that there might be nothing I can do to preserve some of my children from living it to some degree--that they might one day either be devoured by the culture we live in or by the desires of their own hearts.  

I have children who are ruled by their passions too--some because their minds are clouded and torn by the trauma of their early childhood, and some because they are dancing to the siren song only heard by the exceptionally gifted and strong.  

I have children who are in a constant battle between what they know and what they feel deeply.  I have tasted the pain of the chaos that tempts them and the sting of the grief they feel in the aftermath.

But I cannot turn their wills any more than I can turn the wind. I can speak truth but I cannot make them believe it. I can lead them, but I cannot make them follow.


And if they throw their lives to the wind?  What will I do?

What if that is what God allows for one of my children?  Can I not trust that He will see us through?  

Easy is never promised.

Look at where He took Job.

Look at Jacob's ugly path to sanctification.

At Joseph's years of rejection and uncertainty.

At Elizabeth's and Sarah's years of shame.

At Paul's bloody past.

At Rahab's disgrace and Naomi's life of desperation and bitterness.

Look at where God took His own Son.

But I also know that the effectual, fervent prayer of a righteous man avails much.  And I know God loves my family more than I do.

So if some of my children walk a path that is bloody and circuitous and uncertain, will I live in fear and despair, or fight for joy and keep walking by faith? 

Will my desperation drive me away from the only source of strength and hope I have ever known, or will it make me cling harder to the Rock that is higher than I?

I know God to be good and wise.  Loving toward all He has made.  Patient and long-suffering.  Forgiving.  Gentle and kind beyond measure.
Scripture overflows with His beauty and love. 


 He has promised to work in and through all things for His glory and the good of His children.

Can I not trust the One who created my children, loves them, and put them in my home--to do right by them?  

Does He promise that I will like what that looks like?

Will I always understand the wisdom of a God who sees beyond my horizons and exceeds my depth by endless fathoms?  

The beginning of a thing rarely looks like the middle and the middle is not the end. 

Can I count it a kindness that He carries the knowledge of what He is doing in our story because He knows it would crush me to try?

I cannot reconcile by love or by logic why some of my children are walking a hard road, or what my part is in it.  I think of the hours and years of loving and teaching and praying I have done, and my honest prayer is that they would nestle in to the heart of God and live there. 

But if they don't, may I remember--

"His father and mother had no idea that God was behind this."

 And have the courage to wait.

\

A Tale of Two Frenemies

I have these two "friends" giving me such a hard time right now.  

You know how sometimes you hang out with one person a lot, and this other person sometimes, but you can't really hang out all together because your two friends can't even stand each other? 

And then whenever you are with one, the other one is like, "So I saw your post from Thursday night.  You tried to crop So-and-so out, but I totally saw her arm in the picture.  Is that why you weren't texting me back?  What did she say about me?"  

And then you have to assure her that her name truly never came up because the last thing you want to do is spend your evening rehashing "All the ways So-and-so is trying to ruin my life."

And your other friend hears that you and the first friend talked and then she gets this quiet look of betrayal and her eyes fill up with tears and she spends two hours pouting while you make conversation with yourself.  

And you're tempted to ditch one friend and just hang with the other because you are SOOO sick of the drama, but you can't do it because they both bring something important to your life.  

Like, the one is somewhat hard to be around because she's the total opposite of you and a little crazy, but she's really challenging and she makes you think and spurs you to become stronger in your own beliefs, but the other is such a gentle soul and her very presence infuses your spirit with light and peace and you can't really imagine your life without either one.  

It's so much fun, right?

So, I grew up with one of these friends.  Her name is "Gratitude" and I can't say enough about how sweet she is.  A little high maintenance, if you must know--always getting her feelings hurt and needing reassurance that you still value her, but overall worth the investment because her very existence lifts you to a higher plane.

Then a few years back, I met a gal named "Pain".  To be honest I couldn't stand her at first, and even now, I don't call her.  She calls me.  And for some reason, I can't say no.  We have a sort of love/hate relationship.  She comes around and wreaks havoc and drags me around, and I never enjoy it at the time, but later, I see she has sharpened my thinking, inspired me, grown me beyond my borders.  She is like a disease, but somehow she leaves me better and stronger.  

I still dread her visits, but perhaps a little less each time?  I don't know.

Her friends though!  Awful creatures.  Always lurking in the background, smirking.  Dangerous.  They go by the names "Anger" and "Fear" and I don't trust them any farther than they can throw me.  

But here's the problem.  

Pain and Gratitude are arch enemies.  Or that is what they've told themselves, and I'm in the middle trying to keep the peace.

Their spat began a few years back--well actually, it was right after the Garden of Eden--and ever since then they can barely stand to be in the same zip code.

In fact, they don't ever like to occupy the same space, but Gratitude is the more delicate and skittish of the two.  

For instance, for a while, Gratitude and I were roommates and Pain called and needed a place to stay.  Wouldn't you know, Gratitude packs up and moves out in a huff.  

Pain is not quite as fickle.  

Since then, I have felt lucky if Gratitude shows up at my place with an overnight bag.  But Pain often comes with a moving truck, and after she has established residence, even if I have managed to wheedle and coax Gratitude to return for a visit, Pain tries to move her to a cot in the attic and take over the rest of the house--with her weird friends. 

If I do not keep a careful watch, Anger and Fear typically try to arrive within hours or days of Pain, and they also don't play well with Gratitude.  

Every time Gratitude tries to open her mouth, Anger and Fear tell her to shut up, and then they try to convince me that Gratitude is a liar and a pervert and that their version of reality is the right one and that we ought to tie Gratitude up and starve her in the basement.  

On the other hand, Pain's nasty friends demand to have sole access to the fridge, as well as full possession of my conscious thoughts.  You can't imagine how irritating that is!

They drink up my energy and leave the empty cans lying around.  They leave alarming smells in the corridors of my mind and put their stinky feet up on my mental furniture.  

They sleep in all the beds and leave disgusting stains on my convictions.  

They doodle on the pages of my first edition copies of truth, and rifle through my well organized thoughts.  

Complaining about the fresh air of faith and the light of hope, they shut the windows and draw the drapes, belching up their foul doubts and the darkness of dread into every corner of every room.  

If Gratitude survives this onslaught, she often grows thin and pale, gasping out her encouragements with frail, wispy words that dribble out of her mouth and fall in sad little piles at her feet.  (Honestly, I think Gratitude likes to play up her fragility, and it is difficult not to become irritated at her helpless flutterings in the wake of Pain's visits.)

Sometimes Gratitude becomes so quiet I can't even find her, although I know she must still be in the house since (last I knew) she was too sick to leave her bed...

...unless she has managed to slip out and disappear altogether.  She does that sometimes.  And then I am just left alone to contend with Anger and Fear--a prisoner in the equivalent of an emotional frat house, with two flaccid, debauched slobs who never plan to graduate and spend their days slouching around the house in filthy clothes, laughing at their own lewd jokes and leering at me from dark corners.

Sometimes it's my own fault and in a moment of insanity, I invite Pain and her friends into my life.

But sometimes they just show up and despite my door locks and deadbolts and home security systems, they make it into my life and set up camp.  

What then?

This is an important question because Pain is a frequent caller in the lives of most of us, and her friends often sneak in with her, so unless the above scenario sounds appealing, we'd best figure out a coping strategy sooner than later.  (If you haven't experienced this yet, sorry to break it to you--you will.)

This decade has been rough.  I have chronicled that story in a previous post. Since I wrote that, we have gone through an injury resulting in a serious surgery, the loss of a job, struggles and pain in some very close relationships, and an Autism diagnosis for one of our children.  

Even without the external hardships, Jamey and I have long struggled with feeling like inadequate parents.  We feel under-trained and over-tasked.  We are two selfish introverts in a perpetual circus.

And the schedule is brutal.  And there are clowns.

Lots of clowns.  

So is it any wonder that we struggle to live in a spirit of thankfulness?

And yet, we know there is gratitude to be had, and we do not want our children to think that living in a joyless house with sticky floors and cranky parents and broken...everything...is their fate.  

We want to make a place where Gratitude and her friends, Joy and Peace can unpack their things and stay.  I'm not saying that Pain will ever leave, but we can at least make her come alone and abide by the house rules. 

Actually, although her visits always leave a mark, I've made peace with the fact that Pain is a useful part of my life.  In some ways she is the yin to Gratitude's yang.

When Pain knocks out some of my smug self-confidence, Gratitude reminds me of where my confidence should lie.

When Pain destroys my beloved health or wellness or sense of security, Gratitude comes behind and points out all the lovely things that are left to me--often things that I had overlooked before.

When Pain wrecks my plans, Gratitude points beyond the horizon to the hope of things eternal and unseen (2 Corinthians 4:18) and to the time of all things made new (Revelation 21:1-8).

Pain pries our hands off the useless pursuits of things on earth (Ecclesiastes 1:14).  Gratitude gives us a vision for opportunities of eternal significance (Colossians 2:7, Matthew 6:33). 

They really should be friends, because as much as we may wish it were not so, we need both the rest that accompanies Gratitude and the agitation Pain provides.  The  pleasure is keener in light of the sting and the sweet plays well off of the spicy.

As for Anger and Fear, well, I haven't much use for them.  Ideally, I want them to either see the light, airy spaces in our house and feel too uncomfortable to stay, or else be evicted by "the expulsive power of a greater affection" (Thomas Chalmers)--specifically our great love for our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ (Colossians 3:15-17)

Meanwhile, I want to neither dread the challenging acerbity of Pain, nor fail to nurture the gentle affections of Gratitude in my life.

While they may always share an uneasy peace with one other, together I think they both make me better. 

**********

James 1:2-4

 Count it all joy, my brothers, 

when you meet trials of various kinds,  

for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness.  

And let steadfastness have its full effect, 

that you may be perfect and complete, 

lacking in nothing.