Category Archives: life

What You Say is What You Are

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Two days ago, I was driving an unfamiliar car out of an unfamiliar car park. It was snowy and the windscreen was foggy, but I was being as careful as I knew to be. I saw pedestrians around me but I wasn’t close to knocking anyone down, and didn’t skid.

As I waited for a break in traffic to pull out onto the main road (the one that reaches from Moscow to Paris!), a woman knocked on my window and harshly told me to pay attention when I drive out of there. Through the window, I said I’m sorry. She started walking away, then turned around again and pointed her finger at her head: “Stupid nun!”

I nodded dumbly because I can’t defend myself in Polish, beyond saying “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Her words shook me because I’m not the brightest light on the street, but I’m not used to being called stupid.  Which says more about the people around me than about me. But I wasn’t crushed or devastated by her rudeness.

It’s something I’ve heard all my life, but only recently the penny dropped for me, and I see that what someone says about me or does to me reveals more about them than about me. The rude lady on the street. The hurtful words or actions directed at me. Neglect or carelessness that hurt me. None of that means that I deserve those words and actions, that I’m stupid or unworthy of care. It only reveals the perspective and the life experience of the one whose words and actions I receive.

Not that I’m perfect and never fail, and never need to be called to higher things. But no one ever deserves rudeness or abuse or harshness, no matter how imperfect they are.

But it cuts both ways. When I judge/criticize/make a statement about someone else, I’m revealing my own heart more than I am giving an accurate picture of that person. When I call someone unfeeling or impossible or thoughtless, chances are that I’m saying words that describe me.

Ouch.

No Complaining in Our Streets

Posted in life, singleness by

There’s a phenomenon that I’m observing, and I’m not sure what to think about it. Has anyone else noticed it?

It’s this: it’s ok for young moms to complain about how tired they are and how cranky their children are. It’s ok for other moms to announce to the world how worried they are about their teens driving, or the dreadful trouble they had washing their husband’s shirts, or how their house is always a wreck because of the husband and children. It’s all part of life; it’s expected–or at least accepted–to complain.

But it’s not ok for singles to tell their world about their worries. Wives can fuss about their husbands, but singles aren’t free to mention that their husbands don’t sit beside them at the church potluck. Wives are allowed to worry aloud about their husband’s job change, but singles feel unheard if they mention how weary they are of needing to decide every year if they’ll teach school again. Singles are expected to be independent but it’s ok if the wife complains that her husband didn’t fill the car with gas.

Maybe singles’ worries are more personal, and shouldn’t be public. Maybe they need a spokesperson who says ‘guess what–did you know the single girl who appears so happy and independent actually cries alot when she’s alone, and she wishes she had the things you complain about?’

What are the dynamics going on here with these unspoken rules about complaining? Can anyone tell me?

Or maybe all of us, whoever and wherever we are, should try to stop complaining.

Heaven knows (and my closest friends do too) that I do more than my share of complaining. I have no excuse except that sometimes it feels like the whole world has ridden off into the sunset in pairs without me and all I can do is wail alone.

But a gentle voice emerges between the wails reminding me that there is something more sure than loneliness and stronger than pain. (You know how a parent talks to his child while the child catches his breath when it’s crying? That’s what God does to me.)

And if I listen long enough in my whimpering, that voice persuades me that I was really foolish to complain because I’m not the center of the world, and there’s a lot of heart break out there that I should care about, and how about washing someone’s feet instead of navel-gazing?

Related Post: Nobody Knows the Trouble

Eternal God

Posted in life, music by

It was a day when good and bad mixed in a crazy way. There was sunshine and belly laughs and sunglasses to hide tears. The day ended in a deliciously serendipitous way–choir friends crowded into a room, spilling out of chairs and sofas, beside the fireplace and on the floor. I sat on the floor, knees pulled up to my chest, sandwiched between 2 friends who sat tight beside me.

Our conductor told us stories about living and teaching in Kenya. How he would line the songs–the words and the harmonizing notes for each part–and his Kenyan choirs learned all their songs that way. And because we were a choir, and these people never stopped singing, he lined a new song for us.

Every word thudded onto my heart with each word’s weight. Tears dripped off my chin and the friends beside me squeezed my hands.

Eternal God, faithful and true, All of our longings come home to you. All of our longings come home to you.

You are our strength, You are our stay–Go now before us, show us the way. Go now before us, show us the way.

That we might have power to see God’s love so wide and deep, so strong and free–God’s love so wide and deep, so strong and free.

Eternal God, faithful and true, All of our longings come home to you. All of our longings come home to you.   — James Croegaert

Edited to add:

Several years later, I was privileged to sing this song under this director. That recording is available here: https://christianlearning.org/product/eternal-god/. I still listen to this CD often. I’ve sung the song many times since, but the wonder is still new.

A Story of a Whim

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Last November, two of my friends and I went to Warsaw. We had a free day from school, so we went just because we could. One friend knew Warsaw better than two of us, so she took us here and there, to an elegant coffee shop, then the place with the best ice cream, and we meandered down old streets and posed here and there for photos just for memories, not for being photogenic.

On a whim, she took us into the church where Chopin’s heart is buried. (He died in Paris, but they sent his heart back to his birth country.) Poles are proud of this relic, and can’t understand why most Americans think it’s gruesome and strange.

In the back of the church was a bulletin board and a poster announcing a chorale festival the next week. I took a photo of it with my phone to be able to retrieve the details.

The next week, knowing the time and place of the concert, my friend and I went back to that church to listen to two youth choirs, one from Germany, and another from Sweden. It put me  into raptures and we arranged to go to another church the next night to hear the last of the choirs in the festival.

It happened to be a church on the outskirts of Warsaw, and after the girls choir from Russia sang and the next choir on the program didn’t show up, our small group stayed to chat with the priest. He told us this is the oldest church in Warsaw, and his warm, grandfatherly spirit made it easy to talk and ask questions. We asked if we could sing a song for him, and we formed a small half circle and sang “Amazing Grace” in Polish.

As we left, we said to each other, “We have to come back here with Hope Singers!”

In time, the  right contacts were made, and August came,  and Hope Singers came to the church’s door, but the priest didn’t really remember us and wasn’t sure why we were there.  We felt a little unnerved, but certain that we were there for reasons bigger than ourselves.

It was the last program of Hope Singers 2012. The acoustics  were good, the small audience warm and responsive, and we prayed to be able to spread light and life to what felt like a dark place. At the end, we stood around the auditorium and sang an African song that carried us away with the words “Satan has no power, he flees far from us, hallelujah!”

It seemed that light had penetrated the place, and the priest told us that he’s never been with Americans where he prayed the whole time. He welcomed us warmly to come back,  and that he would publicize it next time.

You never where a whim will take you. That’s why I like them.

An Obligation to Re-creation

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Another tidbit from Jean Vanier’s Community and Growth, from the ‘Nourishment’ chapter:

The more intense and difficult community life becomes, and the more tension and struggles it produces, then the more we need times of relaxation. When we feel strung up, tense and incapable of praying or listening, then we should take some rest–or even get away for a few days.

Some people don’t know what to do with free time. They spend hours just sitting around and talking. It’s sad if people have no interest outside the community, if they’ve given up reading, if they don’t enjoy simple pleasures like walking and listening to music. We have to help each other keep alive the personal interests which helps us relax and re-create us.

It was good to think about the things that re-create me. Here are some: walking on a quiet road. A letter. Writing my journal. Singing. Silence. A well-crafted paragraph. Laughing til I cry. Crying til I smile. Travelling by train.

What re-creates you? You should do it today.

Humility is Truth

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If you want a good book to chew on for awhile, pick up Jean Vanier’s Community and Growth. It’s rich, crammed full of wisdom that comes from experience and insight into how people function with each other and God.

This morning I was reading it while drinking coffee, sitting in the sun on the steps. The following paragraph made me remember the meeting I was in yesterday where all 3 of us admitted a certain level of fear about the new things we were planning/discussing, and that honesty helped me feel not so alone as I had before.

This  is from the chapter “Nourishment.”

I am struck by how sharing our weakness and difficulties is more nourishing to others than sharing our qualities and successes. There is a fundamental tendency to become discouraged in community. We either believe that others are better than we are, or that they don’t have to cope with the same problems. The discovery that we are all in the same boat and all have the same fears and weariness, can help us to continue. People are nourished by humility, because humility is truth; it is a sign of the presence of God.–Jean Vanier

Happy, Fractured Dreams

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I used to insist that Christians should be happy all the time. They’re the ones living without condemnation from sin, they have joy and peace and fulfillment in Christ, they have everything! Why should they squander a perfectly good day by talking about difficulties and disappointment?

Thankfully, I think I’ve grown up a little bit since then. Or life has knocked me around and showed me some things.

I still don’t have answers for this crazy, surprising life. I just know that when you talk with emotionally-healthy people, you can be having a normal conversation and then only a word will trigger tears you didn’t know were coming. And I’ve learned that tears don’t mean something is terribly amiss. It just reveals the fact that tears are often just under the surface, even for people who deeply love Jesus and know His joy. Maybe this is true especially for those people, because they are the ones who can be better equipped to have emotional integrity and deal with pain and discomfort and grief and don’t need escapes from that.

In others words, I can say that my world shifted when I heard a widow speak with tears running down her cheeks: “You know, life really stinks sometimes. It really, really stinks.” Then over her tears, her eyes lit up and she talked about God’s nearness and love and wisdom in her desperate grief.

So I’m trying to give up insisting that life feels good all the time. Because it’s not going to happen, but it doesn’t mean that life is all bad.

This morning I met a student for coffee. She’d asked if we could meet, and I said my brain isn’t working to have a lesson during vacation, but we could go for coffee, and we did, and it was lovely, and she wants me to come to her house next week to look at her vacation photos and eat food. Last Sat. morning I was in Ireland and met an old friend for coffee too, and I felt so loved and cared for and relaxed and happy. And it was at the end of a week with my whole family, in which we didn’t do much more than take care of little children and make food. And swim and go canoeing.

I’m living a lot of happy dreams. Of course good coffee always makes me happy anywhere, but living in Europe, meeting with women who want to meet just because they like me, having a student-teacher relationship grow to a dear friendship–this is the stuff of my dreams.

Which means that other dreams haven’t come true (because–surprise!–you can’t have everything) and my life stinks in places, and I cried pretty much every day this week.  Life is wonderful and terrible, and that’s about all I know about it, and for now, it’s ok.

Celebrating True Love

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This morning I saw a photo of my cousin posing with his bride. He was radiant, and she was laughing, and seeing them gave me a burst of joy and delight. They are gifted, wise people. I know they will serve each other and their world like Jesus would, and it’s so wonderful and beautiful to see that it makes me cheer.

The mysteries of love are a mystery to me (to everyone else too, I guess) but when a man and woman find each other and settle deeply on far more than fluff and feelings, and commit to loving and serving in the nitty-gritty for the rest of their lives, it has to be one of the most beautiful things in the world.

Which means that divorce is probably the worst thing in the world. Maybe because it desecrates the symbol of God’s choosing us and faithful betrothal to us.

I bumped against the divorce word so often this week, maybe it’s why I was particularly sensitive to the happy wedding picture.  I heard mothers talking with each other: “You don’t have a husband either? Me too, I’m happier this way, being lonely, than being with my husband.” I read a woman’s words about how everyone else liked her husband but she couldn’t live with him so she left him. It all made me want to weep.

My friends tell me that marriage is hard work and demanding in surprising ways. (I say that singleness is too but in different aspects.) When I see couples promise their lives to each other, and each is whole and and focused on and sacrificial for Kingdom priorities, it gives me hope that some things in this ravaged world are as they should be.

It isn’t always like that. There are moments when I watch girls give their hearts to unworthy men who are happy to take them, and I want to shout “Oh,no,no,no,no,no, please no.” Not that I’m an expert match-maker, but I think that at this stage I have a pretty good idea of what a girl’s heart is worth.

So, to Caleb and Sandra out there ready to do life together for always, here’s one voice who’s cheering for you, proud of you, and wishing you everything beautiful!

Quick Energy

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This week I got a darling, hand-made card from teenage sisters I never met. They wrote that they’d seen my prayer card on a mutual friend’s fridge and wanted to let me know that they’re praying for me.

It blew me away, the tangible gentleness and love and care. I depend on email most every day, and value it hugely. But I still love seeing my name and address on an envelope in the post. This surprise card motivated me to write a letter, and drop it in the postbox down the road. I’d been thinking about writing that letter for months, and the card was the final push to do it.

It’s easier to complain or seethe or stay silent during each day’s wear and tear. But no matter the situation, encouragement is never out of order, on this side of heaven. Who have you been thinking about and who could use your words?

“A wise person gets known for insight; gracious words add to one’s reputation. Gracious speech is like clover honey–good taste to the soul, quick energy for the body.” (Proverbs 16:21, 24, The Message)

 

Nobody Knows the Trouble

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I was telling a friend that I think that if any five of us were standing around the table, and we had our problems in our hands and put them all–ALL of them– out on the table for each other to see, we wouldn’t choose anyone else’s problems. We’d take back our own again.

She wasn’t so sure. She said she wished she had her friend’s problem instead of her own that were consuming her energy.

It made me think of other scenerios. A girl complaining to her friends that she had no free day to pack for her 2 week vacation to a Greek island. A bride trying on her dress and saying that her shoes weren’t the color she wanted. A homeowner complaining to a homeless man about the heating bill. To someone on the sidelines looking in, these all look like good problems to have.

I maintain that if we knew everything–everything– about our friends’ lives, and saw all their troubles, we would take back our own. But I am young and my life is good. I have problems and issues that make me sad and cry, or that I tell to only the closest to me, but most days, my life isn’t defined by problems. When I look at my friends who appear to have beautiful, enviable stories, I am jealous for half a second before I remember that they have problems that would have completely derailed me.

There are surely people who wouldn’t take back their own troubles if they were out on a table. I think of the widow raising eight children. My lady friends whose husbands have betrayed them on every level, week after week, year after year. The beautiful girl with cancer, another friend with Chronic Neurological Lyme Disease. Life is not fair and trouble is spread wide and without respect to age or talent or wealth.

Friends walk with, support, believe in each other. So her problems look silly or petty to you? They might be, but to her they’re huge. It’s really ugly when friends get together and compare their troubles and try to impress each other with the amounts of pain each is suffering. Sometimes we can give each other a splash of reality or perspective but most times it’s best to listen and not say much.

So I’d love to be going to a Greek island, and I wouldn’t complain about having little time to get ready for it. But, well…

There’s a difference between stuff you complain about and serious life experiences. Maybe I’m naive, but isn’t it generally true that at the end of the day we’d still choose our own troubles?