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Hairy Dog, Agnostics, and Surprising People God Uses

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***Parallel Processing

Parallel process is a clinical term used to describe the common occurrence in therapy when the therapist’s own experience is reflected in the client’s. It is when a client comes in grieving over the loss of a loved one while the therapist has only just experienced his or her own loss as well. It is a therapist helping a client through feelings of anger and hurt that the therapist has also just recently confronted.

But, here’s the thing: we are all in parallel process. Too often in life it goes unsaid.

Here is where I say it.***

For my high school years I attended a captivating, red brick campus at the foot of Signal Mountain, Tennessee.  Both a boarding school and a day school, I experienced each of these worlds, living on the campus as a boarder my junior and senior year.  Are you old enough to have seen Dead Poet’s Society?  Got that campus look in your mind?  Ok, welcome to my high school.  In fact, I was told that they were going to film part of that movie at my alma mater, but because our chapel was under construction at the time it did not work.  SUPPOSEDLY one of the crew boat scenes has something to do with our campus?  Not sure how much of those rumors are urban…aww…suburban… legend…

That school wasn’t and isn’t for everyone, but I am not going to lie.  I loved it.  I loved my tennis team.  I loved my friends.  I loved the view from the library that overlooked the Tennessee River.  I loved the walk to the tennis courts…over Baylor lake that we always complained was a nasty mess, through the woods, to the tennis center… and I even loved the walk back…ALL the way up the hill to the dining hall…up all of those chapel steps…across the quad…my friends and I all sweaty from practice, our legs still wobbly from the suicide sprints Coach Bandy had ended practice with.

I was in complete awe that I had the opportunity to study and play tennis there.  I never lost that sense of gratitude.  It was as though God plucked me out of my life and dropped me onto that campus.  Freedom.  But that’s another story…

I loved my teachers, too…almost all of them.  (Smile)  But, like most students, I had a favorite in high school.  His name was Mr. Harris.  Hairy Dog most students called him.  He was short in stature, but what he lacked in height he made up for with his bushy beard, his dramatic flair for teaching history, his humor and enormous laugh, as well as the erasers he would throw at you if he thought you were being an idiot.

I was brand new to Baylor when I walked into his class that first day of my sophomore year.  I was scared to death and it only took watching a couple of erasers fly by my head to decide my quiet classroom nature would be a huge benefit to me in Western Civilization.

Mr. Harris’s classroom was straight out of a novel with old fashioned wooden desks, artifacts all over the shelves, and a teacher that could, at any moment, stand up in his chair with a Robin Williams flair that made me want to stand up and say: “O Captain! My Captain!”

Our textbook in that class?  Mr. Harris wrote it himself.  It was housed in a red Baylor binder and each week we would read our material, have a lecture, discuss, and then expect a quiz at the beginning of each class.  The quizzes were tough.  The only way I could ensure an A was to get to school early and go see Mr. Harris to make sure I had answered all of the review questions correctly.  Mr. Harris encouraged this routine among students and he could always be found at about 7:30 AM outside his classroom, smoking, and answering students’ questions…sometimes with a sarcastic edge.

I was afraid of Mr. Harris, but knew that in order to do well in the class I had to endure any potential looks he might shoot my direction in response to my ignorant questions.

So, morning after morning I would show up outside his classroom.

Mr. Harris’s curriculum for the class was challenging, but usually interesting.  He made history entertaining.  Then, one day, I turned the page and found myself staring at that day’s reading assignment: the book of Job from the bible.

Mr. Harris lectured that day on Job.  He explained the position of this piece of literature in Western Civilization as well as the Hebraic Canon.

He went on to explain that he was an agnostic.  He didn’t know if he believed in God or not.  He also admitted that he really struggled with the book of Job.  Why would God allow Satan to play with Job like that?  Mr. Harris brought up all sorts of things that day about a book in the bible.  He attempted to engage us in dialogue, but I am ashamed to say that many of the students, although professing Christians, knew little about the subject. “Most Christians know very little about their book, the Bible” Mr. Harris observed as we finished up class that day.

I left that classroom with so many questions…questions I took to my parents and others I trusted.  Mr. Harris had provoked me as well as my faith.

It was one of the best things that ever happened to me.

Over the year I would come back and engage Mr. Harris in conversation beyond the study questions for the quiz.  I wasn’t afraid anymore…just respectful and curious.  I was hungry…to grow.

I remember bringing him a tape of my pastor’s sermon because my pastor, who was also brilliant, had spoken on a topic that related to one of Mr. Harris’ lectures.  He actually listened to it and discussed it with me.

I remember when I thought he said something disrespectful about Christians in class approaching him about it afterwards…he was quick to apologize and explain.

I remember him walking…across the bridge, through the woods, to the tennis center…to watch our matches…and how he would praise my strong forehand and chastise my much weaker backhand.  “Your forehand is so good! What happened to your backhand?”

I remember his wife, who ended up being my French teacher, keeping me after class and quietly handing me a book, saying: “I thought you might appreciate this.”  It was the Bible…translated into French, Spanish, and German.

I remember…will never forget…Mr. Harris keeping me after class one day and expressing concern about how I had answered an essay question on a major exam.  “It sounded like you were losing your faith.”  I don’t remember the question or why my faith would have been relevant in the exam material, but I assured him I was not.  He was concerned because he did not want to be the reason.

My faith grew that year under the teaching of my smoking, antagonistic, agnostic teacher, Mr. Harris…but, I wanted to be challenged.  Craved it. I didn’t realize it, but I guess I was hungry for it.  Other fifteen year olds could have responded in other ways, but I was in the right place at the right time.

My relationship with an agnostic teacher who took time to talk with students every morning outside his classroom watered my growing love for scripture and theology.

Twenty years later, just earlier today, I mentally stood outside myself, regarding my attitude, and realized that I was being judgmental.  I know, I know.  It was awful.  Horrid, really.  I was sad to realize I was judging the ability or “preparedness” of others for God to use them.

I am appalled.  Really.

Anyway, I realized I was criticizing, thinking inwardly that because a person had not done “A” or HAD done/was still doing “B” they were not in a position for God to use them in certain ways yet.

Well, move over God…Emily seems to have a plan for how things should work!

Good grief.  Really, Emily?  REALLY?

But, the thing is…so many of us do this even if we do not realize it.  We put parameters on who God can use and how.  We say…inside our little insidious minds…you have or are still doing “X” so you really should not be doing this or God cannot really use you.  Or, because you have not done “Y” you cannot be effective here.

My judgment of others is like a boomerang.  It always comes back as judgment on myself.

When I make those judgment calls on others, I am also making them on myself.  I am saying…Emily, because you have done or are still doing, struggling with “X”, God cannot use you…so don’t even think about it.  Close yourself off until you are…PERFECT.  Until you have it all together.

My judgment of others is like a boomerang.  It always comes back as judgment on myself.

Or, Emily, because you have not experienced “Y” you cannot really be of use here.

This concern is something I struggled with a lot as a newbie therapist.  Either I would bring it up to myself or someone I knew would ask me: “Well, you have never been through “A, B, or C” so how can you help them?

I do not remember which teacher or supervisor offered me this analogy, but it goes something like this…

If you broke your leg, when you went in to get help from the doctor, would you stop him or her and say: “Have you broken your leg before?  Because if you haven’t…I don’t think you can help me. I need someone to help who has broken their leg…in the exact same spot if possible.”

So, what’s the point?

The point is God can use you.  Right now. Right here.

He probably already is.

You (and that person you were judging last week) will never have it all together.  Ever.

The church IS full of hypocrites.

We are all in process…messed up humans making mistakes all the time…seeking the One who can make us whole.

So, in the midst of my internal, judgmental rant (are you judging ME now?  Go ahead…it is awful, I know!), God quietly recalled Mr. Harris to my mind.  I had not thought of him in years

I thought about Mr. Harris, Hairy Dog, with his bushy beard, his dramatic flair for teaching history, his humor and enormous laugh, as well as the erasers he would throw at you if he thought you were being an idiot…

Mr. Harris…the antagonizing, agnostic…not who I would choose to disciple my children..and I realized that God knows.  He has the plan.  And, He can use anyone, anytime, anyhow to bring growth in a person’s life…if the other person on the receiving end is open to the leading of the Holy Spirit.

We are all in process.  I doubt many of you reading this are agnostics or atheists…but, I’m guessing you sometimes feel just as ill equipped for the job of helping others in faith and life.

While I appreciate testimonies and think there is something INCREDIBLY valuable in relating over shared stories and have participated in such powerful moments, you do not have to have broken your leg in the exact same spot as the person you are helping or ministering to.  You don’t have to have it all together.  God is probably already using you…and you don’t even realize it.

Maybe, God was using me in Mr. Harris’ life even as He was using Mr. Harris in mine!

Watch out! God can be tricky like that.  He has an amazing sense of humor.  He likes to use surprising people…people like you!

For What It’s Worth…Anger as a Secondary Emotion

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Therapy is way more than a toolbox of intervention.  Information alone cannot replace professional help. However, information can be very powerful.  So, for what it’s worth to you, here is the weekly post offering a therapeutic idea, concept, or intervention that you can try out in your own life or relationships.

Anger is sometimes called a secondary emotion…not because it is any less valid of an emotion than any other, but because it rarely stands alone.  There is almost always another emotion that reinforces it.

The image that is often used to illustrate this idea is the iceberg.  You know how an iceberg works.  If from nothing else but from watching Titanic the movie you know that the wonder of the iceberg is that what you see on top of the surface of the water is only a fraction of what lays underneath.  The unbelievable tragedy of the Titanic is that by the time they spotted the fraction of ice on the top it was too late to change their course in time to miss the monstrosity of ice underneath the surface.

When we experience a person’s anger (including our own) it is like the fraction of ice on top of the surface.  It takes our focus.  However, what is underneath the surface is much larger and more extensive.  We would do well to reserve our attention and energy for this part of the iceberg.  In fact, like with the physical phenomenon of the iceberg, if  you are aware of what is underneath and focus on preparing for it then you are in a better position to avoid the deadly dangers of running into what is on top.

What is that ice underneath comprised of?

  Fear.  Insecurity.  Depression.  Anxiety. 

Any variety of emotions that can make a person feel incredibly vulnerable.

For men and women alike, anger can feel more powerful and not as painful as the other options.

So, for what it’s worth, the next time you encounter someone who is angry (including yourself) I encourage you to remember the iceberg.  Be still.  Observe.  Don’t react.  Use some reflective listening.  Be curious about what is underneath that anger.  Like a balloon that has been deflated, identifying what is underneath the surface of the anger iceberg can let out some of the steam of what is on top.

In other situations, you might decide that the anger…or what is underneath…is not worth addressing.  Perhaps, it is not a person you are close to…like the clerk at the store or a parent you see from time to time at functions or a classmate you sit next to in class.  It could be that it is not safe to address it.  In these scenarios just this information can be helpful in not letting another person’s anger to get the best of you.

Change, Undone, and God’s Doing

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***Parallel Processing

Parallel process is a clinical term used to describe the common occurrence in therapy when the therapist’s own experience is reflected in the client’s. It is when a client comes in grieving over the loss of a loved one while the therapist has only just experienced his or her own loss as well. It is a therapist helping a client through feelings of anger and hurt that the therapist has also just recently confronted.

But, here’s the thing: we are all in parallel process. Too often in life it goes unsaid.

Here is where I say it.***

When we moved back from Prague (as in the Czech Republic and not as in New Prague, Minnesota), after it had become prayerfully clear that moving back home was what we were supposed to do, after Jon and I had already started processing what our missions work had meant and would mean, after Jon’s job came like a miracle, like manna from the sky even if it was working in a middle school, which he had never done in his life…after all of this it became clear that I was going to have to go back to work…if we wanted things like a house, food, or toilet paper.  It became clear that one salary was not going to make our ends meet and at the end of a date night with Jon, I sat in the parking lot of Barnes and Noble in Chattanooga and cried.

I cried because I had already gone through this once, this giving over to change when I surrendered as a stay at home mother, and then began to relish the experience of being at home with my babies.  I cried because I remembered how anxious I was being away from them for even the few hours it took to finish school before we had moved to Europe.  I cried because I did not know if I could handle that anxiety again.  I cried because I was angry…angry over a lot about our transition back to Cleveland even though I knew it was what God had for us, knew it even if I didn’t understand it, knew it even though many people close to us did not understand it.  I cried because what had become my idea and identity of motherhood was being challenged…again.

Stability and routine are all very good things.  It is this kind of security and knowing what to expect that promotes growth and healthy development.  Too often we do not have enough of it.  We need things like breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day.  We need to know that we will always brush our teeth and that we go to bed at about the same time after the same cup of tea and a bedtime story.  Rituals and routines keep us grounded and are so very important because the rest of life is…more often than not…anything but ritual and routine.

Life is full of changes.  You used to see these bumper stickers on cars and they would say things like: “Whoever dies with the most toys wins” or something like that.  If I could create a bumper sticker, I would make one that says: “Whoever is the most flexible in life wins.”

Ironically, it is the routine and rituals that we grow accustomed to as children and teenagers that make room for flexibility in life.  Our little bodies and minds learn that they can count on so many things like supper around the table, church every Sunday…so that, sure, why not be ok when the unexpected does happen.  We can deal with that.  Because I still know that I will eat three meals a day, brush my teeth, can count on mommy or daddy coming home, and going to bed at about the same time after the same story.  Bumps in the road can be tolerated in this kind of environment.

The less routine and ritual a child has growing up, the more rigid they actually become as adults.  It is as though our not so little bodies say I don’t know what to count on so I am going to hold on for dear life to any thing I can grasp and not be willing to let it go because who knows what is coming next.  I don’t know that I can count on three meals a day, mommy coming home for supper, or on church every Sunday so when something good comes along I will grab it, strangling it to death or until I am tired and exhausted and have worn out everyone around me.  I might even be a little obsessive about details and perfection and bite your head off if you do something not quite right…because I have learned that you have to fight for any good thing to last very long… and even then it usually doesn’t.  Bumps in the road are not so tolerated in this kind of context…where routine and stability were not the foundation.

Flexibility.  Being able to go with the flow while still making your way.  Having the ability to adjust and adapt.  Not demanding that life look a certain way every day every month every year.

I cried that night in the parking lot.  Then, I got up the next morning and got to it.  If I was going to have to work then I was going to do what I knew I was supposed to do, what I was trained to do.  I was going to be a therapist, a good one.

God was in the crying in the parking lot of Barnes and Noble.  He was in that bump in the road.  He knew that I could count on so many things…like that He would provide for me, that He would take care of my family and children because He always had.

He knows that motherhood looks a variety of ways in a variety of seasons, different with each child, with each new place of residence.  There is no real box, even the SAHM box is usually filled with work that mothers do on the side.  Mothers are mothers.  Mothers do what needs to be done.  And, somewhere in all of that He creates the mother he wants me to be, the mother He wants my children to have and see.

We get into trouble when we demand that life look a certain way, when we hold on to rigid ideas and identities.  We get into trouble and do damage to ourselves and to the loved ones around us because when I say that life has to look a certain way and that I have to look a certain way I am also saying that you do, too.  Or else.

I love Nora Jones.   Jon and I were listening to her as we drove into California for the first time less than a year after we got married.  I will always associate her with California and driving with the top down, wind in my hair…exploring the west.  In her first album she sings these lyrics in her song Cold, Cold Heart:

“my heart is paying now for things I didn’t do.”

Sometimes when we refuse or find it difficult to be flexible, to see God working in the undoing that needs to be done…perhaps due to things we went through as children or teenagers…we make those around us today pay for things they didn’t do.

Our inflexibility makes others pay.

I cried that night.  Then, I got up the next morning and got to it.

That’s how I do things.  I get it all out.  Jon and I learned a lot about ourselves when we moved to Prague.  We learned that I get the grieving over with fast and furious.  I cry.  I get angry.  I face culture shock and stare it down.  Jon’s comes, too…a few months later.  Thank God we don’t go through it at the same time.

I knew that with my education I was blessed to have choices in going back to work.  As soon as word got out, a former colleague of mine who was the director of counseling at a local clinic called and offered me a job.  40 hours a week, 9-5 of seeing clients.  While my brother is doing excellent work in this context, I knew there was no way that as a mother I would do a good job with clients in that kind of schedule.  I would get burned out within weeks.  I needed no time to give him an answer…thank you, I am honored, but no.

My head clearing from the cascade of tears just nights before, I knew that there was a very good chance God was in this change, that God was calling out gifts I had been content to lay down forever.  Before children, I had always dreamed of having my own private practice.  So, with a fire lit inside me, I made the difficult choice to do the hard work of digging out a private practice where I could set my own hours and create an environment that was healthy for me, and therefore, healthy for my clients.

My husband helped me design my first website and fliers. I sat up at night and created mailing lists from the phone book.  I did it the old fashioned way and licked all of my own envelopes, writing out the addresses, until my tongue was raw and my hands were tired.  I read books on starting a practice.  I was blessed to have watched my father do this for almost 30 years.  I knew that there would be very, very hard times.  I had a colleague who had her own medical practice in town.  She had told me that the first two years would be tough.  Expect it.  So, I did.  I expected a slow, steady growth.

I was able to get some adjunct teaching to help make ends meet and did some writing for my church’s International Girls’ Ministry office.  I wanted to support two things: my family and doing good therapy for my clients.  I would settle for nothing else.  I was on fire for my work and it got me through the anxiety of change.

That was well over four years ago.  I can hardly believe it.  My practice has seen changes and growth.  I have developed some wonderful professional relationships.  I love what I do.

God was in the crying in the parking lot of Barnes and Noble.  He was pushing me out of a nest.  He knows that motherhood looks a variety of ways in a variety of seasons, different with each child, with each new place of residence.  There is no real box, even the SAHM box is usually filled with work that mothers do on the side.  Mothers are mothers.  Mothers do what needs to be done.  And, somewhere in all of that He creates the mother he wants me to be, wants my children to have and see.

Saturday Sampling March 10, 2012

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Here is what is quickly becoming one of my favorite things to do each week…finding some of my favorite blogs to share on the Saturday Sampling! 

Here is a sampling of some posts from this past week that inspired me, educated me, or made me think.

Do you think I missed anything significant?  I try to look for variety.  Can you help me with that?  Please post any of your recommendations below so we can all benefit!

Rush Limbaugh and three evangelical blindspots

We need to read this thoughtfully and with open minds.

The Reluctant Pioneer

The words of a pastor in a church plant. Thank you for your example, Tracy.

The Word

We don’t read the Word to find a set of principles for life, but to find THE Word…Him.

The Small Picture

I love Tonia’s thoughts here.  I have been in this same place when it comes to children and wanting to make decisions to change things for them before realizing that they are right where they are supposed to be.  She has a lot of wisdom.

Why Did Porn Cost So Much?

I think the title gives you a good idea.  Thank you for your courage, Jonathan.

Reason #409 Why I Don’t Watch TV…Especially Good Christian B+@#$%

Some thoughts on the new show GCB…what are yours?

The fierceness of God

Here is a look at the mother hen nature of God.

Finding My Own Rhythm

I don’t like the word “busy”.  I don’t like to get in a conversational competition over who is the “busiest”.  Kelly talks about finding her own rhythm in the face of this cultural norm.

The Underground Railroad

Our freedom is not just about us.

4 Easy Exercises to Help Your Kids With Anxiety

A helpful blog with some basic tips for addressing some mental health care.

Mercy, Wholeness, and Self-Centered Perfectionism

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***Parallel Processing

Parallel process is a clinical term used to describe the common occurrence in therapy when the therapist’s own experience is reflected in the client’s. It is when a client comes in grieving over the loss of a loved one while the therapist has only just experienced his or her own loss as well. It is a therapist helping a client through feelings of anger and hurt that the therapist has also just recently confronted.

But, here’s the thing: we are all in parallel process. Too often in life it goes unsaid.

Here is where I say it.***

Our honey jar is almost empty.

Until my oldest daughter was in first grade she ate honey almost every day.

Ok, ok, for those of you who know us very well…she really ate the same thing EVERY day for EVERY meal.

Oatmeal for breakfast, peanut butter and honey sandwich for lunch, and chicken nuggets for supper.

We were going for the nutrition award as parents.

It worried us me sick, but eventually she grew out of her eating habits just like my more gracious friends and family members assured me she would.  She now eats salmon, tacos, and her favorite kind of food is anything “spicy”.

She grew out of her honey stage and now I am the only one in the family still eating honey on an almost daily basis.  So, when the honey is collecting almost empty at the bottom I dread to purchase a whole new jar just for me.

I often forget to leave the honey turned upside down, which makes it easier to pour out onto my toast.  In this situation, if I am running late in the morning, planning on eating my toast in the car on my drive to class in Knoxville, there is no hope that I will get the honey out in time.

Honey stuck at the bottom has to be turned upside down for what seems like an eternity before it runs all the way down to the bottom where it is useful to the person who wants to eat it.

All of my children have gone through stages when they have had little tolerance for anything less than “just right”.  Their food, their blankets, their homework, their clothes…if anything is out of order a meltdown ensues.  I often find myself doing a great deal of work helping my children learn to tolerate imperfection…so that they can keep moving forward…so they don’t get stuck…so they can laugh, enjoy life, and grow.

Growth and strength require flexibility and, like my children, I have struggled with being bendy since I was young.

In a very literal, P.E. class, presidential fitness test kind of way, too.  My arms just never seemed to match the length of my legs.  A dream of mine in grade school was to actually pass the reach test past my toes.  Since I could barely make it past my ankles, I never came close.

I still contend that something was wrong with the tendons in my legs that kept me from being a presidential fitness champion.

But, my lack of flexibility goes beyond my inability to touch my toes and if God had his own course schedule for me this school year I believe the course would be entitled: “Flexibility 101: Learning to Tolerate Imperfection”.

I have heard many people call themselves “perfectionists” and sometimes this proclamation carries an air of boasting to it.

What we often fail to realize is that perfectionists…TRUE perfectionists…often do not fare well in life.  Their obsession with perfection usually leads in one of a few directions:

  1. Never starting anything at all.  If you don’t do it, then you cannot fail.  Sometimes known as “Paralysis of Analysis”, people in this state will often spend a lot of time analyzing or planning, but never following through.
  2. Never finishing anything.  They get started, but out of fear of failure, they keep redoing, making changes, or stalling because as long as they are in process then no one can accuse them of failing.  After all…they aren’t finished yet!

And, remember what failure is…anything less than perfect.

3. The final, perhaps the most deadly, path of a perfectionist is when a person will put all sorts of valuable resources at risk in order to attain perfection.  These resources include time, sleep, loved ones, health, etc.

This path can lead to anxiety, depression, and all sorts of addiction.

Let’s be honest, shall we?  Perfectionism is insanely (and I do mean INSANE) self-centered.

The whole reason a person wants to be perfect is about their own image, what people think about them…their own reputation.

Perfectionism is rarely about benevolence and compassion.

Perfectionism is about the perfectionist.

Ouch.

I started this semester a little uneasy about how I was going to manage all of my responsibilities.  I have this bad habit that my husband now knows well.  When I get overwhelmed rather than shifting down a gear, I shift up.  I decide that the only way I will feel successful in this crazy time is if I do it all…and do it all perfectly.

So I can’t just pass my statistics class where we are studying things like polynomial regression…I have to make a 100 on every quiz.  Anything less and my day is a little bummed.  And, statistics is just one part of my responsibilities.  So I stay up late and get little sleep and put all sorts of demands on my time, re-writing notes three times to help me study, and going overboard in my teaching responsibilities, doing my best to never encroach on my children’s time because I have to be a perfect mama, too.

And, all through this school year I hear God’s whispering to me over and over again… I want you to learn to tolerate imperfection.  I want you to learn to be flexible.

NOT…I want you to be perfect, doing all things with excellence.

Somewhere in our American Christianity we have equated “excellence” and, perhaps, perfection, with faithfulness.

Matthew 5:48 does tell us to “be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect”.  Doesn’t than mean that perfection is not only condoned by God, but preferred?

What does this idea of perfection here mean?

The gospels often parallel each other and the beautiful part of hearing the story of Jesus from four different disciples is that we get a very full, beautiful, four-dimensional view of Jesus and His words.

Matthew 5:48 is found in the famous “Sermon on the Mount”.  The parallel passage for this section of Matthew is found in Luke. In fact, if you go and read both passages you will have fun seeing the similarities.  However, there is one striking difference and it has to do with the parallel verse to Matthew 5:48.

Luke 6:36 says: “Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.”

What is the point here? What kind of information is this?  Maybe a closer look at the word “perfection” will give us some clues.

The word for perfection in Matthew 5:48 comes from a word that is translated 42 times as “whole”.

When you put all of this very cursory information together (you can find scholars who do a more exhaustive treatment of this subject I am sure) it seems that what God desires from us, more than perfection, is

Wholeness

Mercy.

My husband came down with the shingles last week.  He is an amazing, laid-back man with a big, kind, wise heart and a great sense of humor.  Although he was in pain he was able to laugh about his predicament.  Many people told him that shingles is caused by stress at which point he teased me.  I am pregnant and working on a Ph.D.  He wonders where the stress comes from?  Har-har.

I know I along with my pregnancy and Ph.D. didn’t cause my husband shingles (and so does he!), but I found myself hearing God’s whispers again.

I want you to learn to tolerate imperfection.  I want you to be flexible.

…so that you can keep moving forward…so you don’t get stuck…so you can laugh, enjoy life, and grow.

I’m like that honey in the jar.  Like SO much of our western, American society, I am so programmed to demand perfection. Like my children, I have a difficult time tolerating anything is not “just right”.   Changing my ways, altering my thinking is like turning a honey jar upside down.  It takes forever for the honey to start flowing down to where it is useful.

Like a train going in one direction, changing my way of approaching life means slowing the train down to a stop first.  There is a lot of screeching in that stage.

Then the train can start going the other way.

That Wednesday I took my statistics quiz.  I had made a conscious decision the night before not to stress out about it.  I just went with it. I was prepared, but I did NOT re-write my notes three times.

And, I did great.  I missed a question.  Big whoop.

When I got home I went through all the routine of picking up my kids, making supper, and getting ready for church.

In the middle of these preparations I got a phone call with information that was destined to rock our community.  A friend of mine, a precious family at our church, had lost a husband and a father, in a horrible accident…probably about the same time I was getting home from picking up my girls from school.

As I cried out for my friend and tears streamed down my face that night, I found myself hearing God’s whispers again.

“Please, please…

I want you to learn to tolerate imperfection.  I want you to be flexible.

…so that you can keep moving forward…so you don’t get stuck…so you can laugh, enjoy life, and grow.”

In that moment, worldly perfectionism will keep the friend from reaching out because the wrong word might get said.

Worldly perfection will steal, kill,and destroy moments with our loved ones…and, we are never promised tomorrow.

Christian perfectionism is concerned with mercy, wholeness, and relationship…all of which can get kind of messy and require tolerance for things being not “just right”.

Loss…grief…life…is rarely “just right”.

God, You don’t care about my perfection and excellence was not on Your mind when Your son was born in a dirty stable.  Neither does my husband expect it nor my friends or my kids.  I do.  In fact, the pursuit of worldly perfection is nothing more than a distraction from what is important…what matters in this world.

Wholeness….in relationship to others and with You.

Mercy…a merciful life with a full, gracious, open heart to others, You…and for myself.

I know you are still working on turning my train around.  It is a constant battle amidst and against the tides of our culture.  It may never be a done deal.  Thank you for Your patience with me.

I want to encourage you today to turn the honey jar of your way of being upside down.  Ask God to help you.  Stop your slave work to the hamster wheel demands of a wordly perfection that brings nothing but anxiety, depression, and regrets.

Work hard, sure.  I doubt I will stop doing that.  But, I promise your work will mean more and go further if you make room for wholeness and mercy in the context of relationships as your priority.

Christian perfection is just not the same as wordly perfection.

Any message that tells you otherwise is a lie.

I truly, passionately believe God is calling each of us and whispering the same message amidst and against the tide of our WORDLY perfection driven culture…

“I want you to learn to tolerate imperfection.  I want you to be flexible.

…so that you can keep moving forward…so you don’t get stuck…so you can laugh, enjoy life, and grow.”

“Slow down, you move too fast.
You got to make the morning last.
Just kicking down the cobble stones.
Looking for fun and feelin’ groovy.
Hello lamppost,
What cha knowing?
I’ve come to watch your flowers growing.
Ain’t cha got no rhymes for me?
Doot-in’ doo-doo,
Feelin’ groovy.

Got no deeds to do,
No promises to keep.
I’m dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep.
Let the morning time drop all its petals on me.
Life, I love you,
All is groovy.”

Simon and Garfunkel

Super Models

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Like lots of moms with [a few] kids, I avoid taking them to the grocery store all at one time.  They always want to ride in one of those big, obnoxious cars.  You know the ones…the huge cars that always run into about three other buggies when you try to make a turn into the next aisle.  Of course, Emmett, my two year old, wants the RED car…as in Lightening McQueen.  Where we shop there is only ONE red car buggie…usually stuck in the middle of about five other blue buggies.  So we spend the first ten minutes prying it out of its nesting spot and then disinfecting it with wipes that the store so graciously provides at the entrance…if the container is not empty.

My two oldest, Eloise and Lillian, prefer not to ride in the car anymore, so they walk next to me…one on each side…which creates another problem.  I am constantly directing them either to get in front of or behind me to stay out of everyone’s way.  Then, because they are not in the car (or perhaps Lillian starts in the car and then gets out), Emmett spends the entire shopping trip begging to walk like his sisters…if that doesn’t work: “I want you to hold me, mama!”

Right.

So, like I said…I avoid this.

And…sometimes it is unavoidable.  A couple of weeks ago Jon was working, all of the children were home on break, I had a dinner to make for someone, and there was no way to get around going to the store…with all three children.

So, off we go…lug red car out, disinfect, constantly move girls around to let people by, continuously tell Emmett that he cannot get out and no, I cannot hold him right now…all while consulting and checking off a list.

It is a relief to get to the checkout.  I know that it is almost over.

Really, though, all in all, it isn’t so bad.

I mean, it isn’t THAT treacherous of a journey.

Then I look over at my daughters, who are 6 and 8…who are just starting to enjoy their relatively new skill of reading.  Their eyes are stuck at eye level…right on the magazines.

“Lose 20 pounds in two weeks!”

“10 positions sure to make your man go crazy!”

“What a man REALLY wants.  We can tell you!”

“X and Y divorce after 3 months!”

“Eloise, Lillian!  Come here!  I, um, I need you to…put these things on the counter!  Can you help me?  Talk to Emmett.  Pull the cart over here.”

Lord, help me. That was close.  Note to self: another reason to avoid taking the kids to the grocery store…the magazine covers at the checkout!

Never had I even noticed the titles and now I cannot help but be agitated that they put those things at the eye level of children!

My daughters are getting closer and closer to pre-adolescence.  I remember those days.  From middle school to somewhere in my mid twenties, I would love to pour over magazines and read about all of the latest trends on losing weight, improving my shape, what guys wanted, etc. etc.

All of the things that we are supposed to look like.  All of the things we are supposed to be.  All of the things we are supposed to have.

Like super models.  All of us.  That is what those magazines tell us.

You’d better…or else.

Never mind that they spend hours fixing up those girls in the pictures and then doctoring the images to erase any left over blemishes.  The current of the media’s message is very strong.  And, many of us, especially at that impressionable age, tend to get swept along.

Be this.  Or…  you won’t have that.  That group of friends.  That job.  That boyfriend.  That life.

Thank God I am past that phase.  Phew.

I mean, I still subscribe to magazines, but they certainly do not have super models in them.  I read things like Southern Living, Real Simple, Coastal Living.

You know…the magazines that give me ideas for cooking, for my home.

They don’t tell me what to wear so much as they tell me what to cook, what my home should look like…

Wait a minute.

All of the things that we are supposed to look like.  All of the things we are supposed to have.  All of the things we are supposed to be.

You’d better…or else.

Like super models.  All of us.  That is what those magazines tell us.

Never mind that they spend hours fixing up those homes in the pictures and then doctoring images to erase any leftover blemishes.  The current of the media’s message is very strong.  And, many of us, especially at this impressionable age of being a mother, tend to get swept along.

Be this.  Or…  you won’t have that.  That group of friends.  That job.  That boyfriend or spouse.  That life.

Well, good grief.  Huh.

Well, I sure am glad men don’t seem to struggle with this thing of looking at magazines or the media for how we should be or act.

Wait.  That doesn’t sound right.  What was that statistic I heard the other day?  60% of men look at and use pornography?

You know…that industry that tell men (and women) what you should act like when having sex, what sex should look like in order to be exciting and “real”, that industry that tell us what our sex life should or could be if only we do what they do…

Like super models.  All of us.  That is what that industry tells us.

You’d better…or else.

Never mind that they spend hours fixing up those sex scenes in the pictures and then doctoring images to erase any leftover blemishes.  The current of the media’s message in this industry is very strong.  And, many of us, especially at this impressionable age of being sexual creatures tend to get swept along.

We get swept along and are told that we have to

Look like this.

Wear that.

Have this.

Buy that.

Do it this way.

Or…

You won’t have that.  That group of friends.  That job.  That boyfriend or mate.  That sex life.

If you don’t do all of these things and look like all of this then you will be…

Alone.

Get it right before you dare to get close to anyone…or you’ve lost before you even get started.  You’ll lose him, or her, or them.

When we lived in Prague we would frequent the market just down from our apartment…potraviny’s they are called and are found on many street corners.  One of our cheap indulgences that we could get at the potraviny was a frozen pizza.  When we were tired and needed an easy meal that all of us could enjoy we would run down the stairs to the street, into the potraviny, and then back up to pop in a frozen pizza.

European pizzas are different than most American versions.  They are very thin and crispy.

However, we found one pizza option that could help us connect to our roots.  It was ONE frozen pizza that was not thin and crispy.  It was HUGE in comparison to the others.

And…it was called…THE BIG AMERICAN.

We actually preferred the thin and crispy pizzas, but this name…all typed out in English…cracked us up.

We are known for liking things big…figuratively and literally.  We want the BIG fashion, the BIG look, the BIG house, the BIG sex life.

No moderation for us…no sir.  We want it BIG.  And, it has not gone unnoticed by our world neighbors.

But, it seems that for how BIG we demand it to be…for how much debt we go into trying to achieve it…debt monetarily, debt emotionally, debt relationally, debt physically…so often this pursuit of what is the latest, BIGGEST thing…

…leaves us empty…full of air…wanting more…still alone…

…and of little consequence in our personal worlds.

Jonathan Stone reminded me that media is just the plural form of medium.  Saul made a fatal mistake in his reign.  He trusted in the wisdom, advice, and direction of a medium (also known as a witch) over the wisdom, advice, and direction of the Lord.

What is a “medium”?  It is someone who is supposedly the medium between you and knowledge.  The “go-between”.

But, all knowledge comes from God and the fear of the Lord…and what is BIG to HIM…is the beginning of wisdom (Proverbs 1:7).  We don’t need a “medium”.  We can go straight to Him.

Saul died as a crazy, lonely, ridiculed man.

I am afraid too often we spin our wheels listening and paying more attention to the mediums (media) in our lives rather than the wisdom, advice, and direction of God.

I am afraid too often we end up pretty crazy…pretty lonely…pretty ridiculous…

…just trying to keep up with what is BIG…

…from listening to our own mediums…the media.

I have to tell you.  This idea hit me like a sledgehammer the other day.  I am aware of the magazines telling us about what to wear and how to look.  I could get up on a soapbox and use a bullhorn on that issue.  I also know the dangers of pornography telling us how sex should look.  I know about how both of these industries “normalize” a standard that can never be lived up to….a standard that will always leave people feeling overwhelmed with inadequacy and hopelessness.

I know that these feelings of hopelessness and inadequacy so often lead people to consume these forms of media MORE.  It becomes a cycle where people never feel good enough…and so they isolate…because they think, like these forms of media tell them: “You just aren’t perfect enough to really be close to someone yet.  You just don’t have it altogether enough yet.  Keep trying.”

What hit me is that I have bought into it, too.

It may not be my clothes or my hair.  I may not watch pornography, but in a sense it is all the same.

Anytime I look to forms of media to tell me what or how I should be or act I have looked elsewhere for knowledge and guidance.

I have bought into the lie.

So, I say…when my house looks this way I can have more people over.

Anytime I look to another “model” from the media for ANY part of life I am risking feeling inadequate, hopeless…and, as a result, isolated.

I’m going to get even more personal here for a minute.

Facebook is another form of media.

And, too often women (and men) look to it for knowledge.

For all of the things that we are supposed to look like.  All of the things we are supposed to be.

Like super models.  All of us.  That is what Facebook tells us.

You’d better…or else.

Never mind that they spend hours fixing up those picture or statuses that get posted and then doctor the images and thoughts to erase any left over blemishes.  The current of this media’s message is very strong.  And, many of us tend to get swept along.

Be this.  Or…  you won’t have that.  That group of friends.  That job.  That boyfriend or spouse.  That life.

Any time we look to a “model” other than the one that God gives us we are like Saul, seeking the knowledge of a medium rather than the wisdom of the Lord.  We are continuing to act out the way of Adam and Eve…listening to the words of darkness rather than trusting in Light.

The only super “model” is His model…not the models lifted up for us in magazines on fashion, home living, or pornography…and certainly not the models lifted up on Facebook.

Fashion super models and tabloids tell girls and young women that if they don’t look a certain way, they aren’t real or beautiful girls and they will never be good enough for a relationship.

Too often home living magazines send the message that if your home does not look like “this” you are not good enough in all sorts of ways and should not even think about pursuing providing hospitality.

Pornography tells men (and women) that if you do not have sex this way, your relationship is not good enough and it isn’t real or exciting enough.  Sadly, it tells wives (and husbands about their wives)…if you don’t look like this, like sex this way, or do things like this…you aren’t a real woman…and we don’t have a real sex life.

For a country that values independence we sure are dependent.  We depend on what the media tells us we should be, have, and look like.

I’m ready for freedom (Galations 5:1).  I’m ready to really try out independence and to really start thinking for myself.

So, please be aware of the magazines your daughters and sons see at the checkout.

Be aware of the magazines you yourself are reading…the facebooking you are doing…the TV you are watching.  The media you consume that tells you what is “normal”.

Don’t be such a follower…of all these so-called “super” models.

Get rid of the “go-between”…the “medium”…the media.

Think for yourself.  And, go straight to Him.