Inadequacy asks for and demands another's change, whereas wholeness attracts wholeness and basks only in the rewards of equal exchange.
Sunday, November 12, 2017
Sunday, November 5, 2017
Joy Road
I spent much of my early years feeling awkward and wanting so very badly to fit in. I feared beautiful people, gregarious people, fabulously perfect people – you know, those who seemed to have it all put-together; those who moved about with ease and grace.
I feared being gauche; I feared my own insecurity. Mostly, I think I feared wanting to matter - to be validated as a worthwhile human being with a heart, and a vision, and hope. More so, I suppose that I was desperately consumed by the terrifying thought that someone might baldly out me completely as a person of naught. I feared that they would sneer down with expressions of disgust as if it would be absolutely fraudulent to even seek such a thing as personal worth.
Unease littered the majority of my twenties; bouts of anxiety and struggles with eating disorders haunted, dominated, and scored my daily consciousness. And yet, through a variety of experiences – loss, divorce, endless moving – all of these sparked an insatiable hunger and unwavering need to truly understand what universal and inviolable definitions of importance actually were.
I soon realized with a thud of shock, awareness, and epiphany, that many of the people who seemed put-together also had moments, events, and difficulties when they, too, were also hanging by a single thread. There never had been a chasm of unworthiness separating the darkness of my mire against what I thought was a halo of what appeared to be "making it". I had pitted myself against them to my detriment and struggling wounds, and in an unfairness to the unseen challenges these apparently perfect people likewise endured.
I realized what a misnomer it had been to be so beguiled by first impressions and other (mis)perceptions because they truly carried with them unyielding opinions similarly steeped in stigma, double-standards, and/or unforgiving judgment. Who was I to decide, based upon appearance, the status of their lives? Who was I to mindfully compete and tap the gavel as if to condemn myself as much as I did them?
For condemn, I did. A sentence that fueled comparisons, ruminations, melancholy, and so much jealousy (although I was loathe to admit it). Oh, how I realized that the pay-off for remaining in self-sabotage was often the feeling of entitlement to criticize others. I had allowed the disinherited opinions from a few trusted relatives in my early teens to reign over my consciousness and tear me apart. None of them had been true, but I fed upon those inaccuracies while drowning in my own.
I had worn my scars as a shield and tendered my broken spirit as if I had somehow solely been dealt a hand of cards in life given only to the dispossessed and undeserving. I had remained within safe pain because I knew its boundaries and parameters; and while it was dark and empty, and filled with oceans of tears, and a litany of my perceived failures, it was mine.
As I moved into the steady grace of my late twenties and stepped across the threshold of my thirties, I came to realize that those who reached for perfect, strong, and put-together -- those who sought the best of themselves in unwavering belief and potential, were the bravest for sure. It hit me squarely that it was neither fraudulent to own inherent worth, just as it wasn't fraudulent to enjoy life to its absolute fullest amid difficulty, strife, illness, vice, or other pain. Every day presented itself with a mindful decision to either retreat or believe.
I realized that we are all a little broken but beautiful, weak and yet strong, but oh-so-perfectly human. Maintaining a garrison of determination and approaching life with tenacity against whatever odds, looks different to each of us. I would advocate that there is no such thing as a chasm that separates us - none. Every single one of us have moments, days, or even weeks of lows; but weakness does not constitute unworthiness, neither do the varied ways each of us might choose to push up and through.
We are magnificently human -- whether reaching for the best of life in outright determination, or quietly and needfully blanketing ourselves in the midst of a raw situation, loss, or experience, is perhaps the most valuable, vital, thing we can do. Life is a series of pockets of personal awareness; no timeline or condition should serve to mandate behavior, beliefs, thoughts, healing, or change.
Grief is a thing.
Sorrow another.
Circumstances come, and go.
As do loss, renewal, growth.
And whether some people might appear perfect and put-together while others of us might feel like we stand out within our struggles, we share one truth: the sanctity of personal worth.
What I have come to know is that when and if any of us are prompted to speak, comfort, or reach out to others - regardless of first impressions - it is paramount that we do so. It is paramount that we don't talk ourselves out of it due to our own limited self-perceptions or roaring inadequacy. God works through each of us at the right time and the right place. We're all needed, important, loved, and have been blessed with the histories of our lives to that end; to build, understand, reap, and to expand our capacity to step into worthiness, explore it, magnify it, and to share vulnerability.
Sorrow and anguish provide an opportunity to seek deeper meaning. There is profound substance to Psalm 30: weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning. It didn't say that there was only ever weeping in our lives, or only ever joy. It did not say that some of us were inherently broken while others blessed to be untouched.
Sorrow earns wisdom, develops compassion, and is then administered to by Joy. Joy would not, could not, even come into being without previous soul experiences in the darkness of the deep.
Sharing vulnerability recognizes even the smallest hauntingly weak threads in ourselves and others, allowing our mutual stories to weave these together into a binding rope of valuation, validation, and hope. It is a tow-line out of even a single foray into murky waters -- especially for those who might appear outwardly perfect, put-together, strong.
And for its history, when the dawn breaks, Joy is unrepentant in its zest for the light. Joy rightfully demands to sit upon a throne of hope while feeding off of the richness of belief. Joy partakes of trays of gratitude and thanksgiving - ever remembering the pain, but remaining grounded in the miracles that continue to gently and lovingly confirm its seat.
Joy is bold, but cannot be in truth unless clothed in humility and mindful of compassion. Joy shapes the footsteps of creation after turbulent waves have cleansed the sand of a previously littered path. And then Joy seeks to magnify the light in reverence and steady commitment to the humanity of the night.
- Living Joy - This Carman Girl
I feared being gauche; I feared my own insecurity. Mostly, I think I feared wanting to matter - to be validated as a worthwhile human being with a heart, and a vision, and hope. More so, I suppose that I was desperately consumed by the terrifying thought that someone might baldly out me completely as a person of naught. I feared that they would sneer down with expressions of disgust as if it would be absolutely fraudulent to even seek such a thing as personal worth.
Unease littered the majority of my twenties; bouts of anxiety and struggles with eating disorders haunted, dominated, and scored my daily consciousness. And yet, through a variety of experiences – loss, divorce, endless moving – all of these sparked an insatiable hunger and unwavering need to truly understand what universal and inviolable definitions of importance actually were.
I soon realized with a thud of shock, awareness, and epiphany, that many of the people who seemed put-together also had moments, events, and difficulties when they, too, were also hanging by a single thread. There never had been a chasm of unworthiness separating the darkness of my mire against what I thought was a halo of what appeared to be "making it". I had pitted myself against them to my detriment and struggling wounds, and in an unfairness to the unseen challenges these apparently perfect people likewise endured.
I realized what a misnomer it had been to be so beguiled by first impressions and other (mis)perceptions because they truly carried with them unyielding opinions similarly steeped in stigma, double-standards, and/or unforgiving judgment. Who was I to decide, based upon appearance, the status of their lives? Who was I to mindfully compete and tap the gavel as if to condemn myself as much as I did them?
For condemn, I did. A sentence that fueled comparisons, ruminations, melancholy, and so much jealousy (although I was loathe to admit it). Oh, how I realized that the pay-off for remaining in self-sabotage was often the feeling of entitlement to criticize others. I had allowed the disinherited opinions from a few trusted relatives in my early teens to reign over my consciousness and tear me apart. None of them had been true, but I fed upon those inaccuracies while drowning in my own.
I had worn my scars as a shield and tendered my broken spirit as if I had somehow solely been dealt a hand of cards in life given only to the dispossessed and undeserving. I had remained within safe pain because I knew its boundaries and parameters; and while it was dark and empty, and filled with oceans of tears, and a litany of my perceived failures, it was mine.
As I moved into the steady grace of my late twenties and stepped across the threshold of my thirties, I came to realize that those who reached for perfect, strong, and put-together -- those who sought the best of themselves in unwavering belief and potential, were the bravest for sure. It hit me squarely that it was neither fraudulent to own inherent worth, just as it wasn't fraudulent to enjoy life to its absolute fullest amid difficulty, strife, illness, vice, or other pain. Every day presented itself with a mindful decision to either retreat or believe.
I realized that we are all a little broken but beautiful, weak and yet strong, but oh-so-perfectly human. Maintaining a garrison of determination and approaching life with tenacity against whatever odds, looks different to each of us. I would advocate that there is no such thing as a chasm that separates us - none. Every single one of us have moments, days, or even weeks of lows; but weakness does not constitute unworthiness, neither do the varied ways each of us might choose to push up and through.
We are magnificently human -- whether reaching for the best of life in outright determination, or quietly and needfully blanketing ourselves in the midst of a raw situation, loss, or experience, is perhaps the most valuable, vital, thing we can do. Life is a series of pockets of personal awareness; no timeline or condition should serve to mandate behavior, beliefs, thoughts, healing, or change.
Grief is a thing.
Sorrow another.
Circumstances come, and go.
As do loss, renewal, growth.
And whether some people might appear perfect and put-together while others of us might feel like we stand out within our struggles, we share one truth: the sanctity of personal worth.
What I have come to know is that when and if any of us are prompted to speak, comfort, or reach out to others - regardless of first impressions - it is paramount that we do so. It is paramount that we don't talk ourselves out of it due to our own limited self-perceptions or roaring inadequacy. God works through each of us at the right time and the right place. We're all needed, important, loved, and have been blessed with the histories of our lives to that end; to build, understand, reap, and to expand our capacity to step into worthiness, explore it, magnify it, and to share vulnerability.
Sorrow and anguish provide an opportunity to seek deeper meaning. There is profound substance to Psalm 30: weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning. It didn't say that there was only ever weeping in our lives, or only ever joy. It did not say that some of us were inherently broken while others blessed to be untouched.
Sorrow earns wisdom, develops compassion, and is then administered to by Joy. Joy would not, could not, even come into being without previous soul experiences in the darkness of the deep.
Sharing vulnerability recognizes even the smallest hauntingly weak threads in ourselves and others, allowing our mutual stories to weave these together into a binding rope of valuation, validation, and hope. It is a tow-line out of even a single foray into murky waters -- especially for those who might appear outwardly perfect, put-together, strong.
And for its history, when the dawn breaks, Joy is unrepentant in its zest for the light. Joy rightfully demands to sit upon a throne of hope while feeding off of the richness of belief. Joy partakes of trays of gratitude and thanksgiving - ever remembering the pain, but remaining grounded in the miracles that continue to gently and lovingly confirm its seat.
Joy is bold, but cannot be in truth unless clothed in humility and mindful of compassion. Joy shapes the footsteps of creation after turbulent waves have cleansed the sand of a previously littered path. And then Joy seeks to magnify the light in reverence and steady commitment to the humanity of the night.
- Living Joy - This Carman Girl
Labor
Plant a garden of not just seeds, but one that cultivates strength, hope, love. Plant it the strongest within yourself so that you can deliver an abundant harvest that weathers all times, seeks humility and discernment through hard things, and yet thrives within a prosperity of spirit borne from chronicles and chronicles of personal miracles.
I say: plant peace, fertilize wisdom, water laughter.
Yield grace.
This rich earth!
- Living Joy - This Carman Girl
Speechless
(The content of this blog stems entirely from an FB memory; it caught me stock still enough that I knew I had to commit it to this page for all time.)
*October 23, 2016*
So, I have this silly shirt I purchased from Walmart that says "I'd be jealous of me, too!" which is completely ridiculous and funny, and causes hilarious conversations when I'm out and about. Trust my youngest - our "mister" - to offer up his sage, 9-year-old soul.
"Jealousy," he says, taking a giant bite from his sandwich, "Jealousy causes despair." And then the twins stop short, as do I. And there's a quiet while this hefty morsel sinks in, and then we just all still the insane joking and puns for that moment to honor this.
Yes, mister, it does. And that's why it's so important to never look at what others have, but to instead focus upon the very many blessings God has gifted each one of us -- to honor them.
You can always recognize someone who is set upon Christ and trusts in their individual worthiness, etc., by the way that they praise, are genuinely happy for, and celebrate someone else's fortune.
Smiles. Indeed.
Dang, if I'm not a blessed mama. #TheseKiddos
- Living Joy - This Carman Girl
Untitled
Here I stand, naked and alone
Without hello, or goodbye
I felt your pain, I heard your cry
I must awaken to the realization
And bypass all procrastination
For in that time, of those days
I did love, in my way
Now, all I have are memories of my
Thirty-second day.
I felt your pain, I heard your cry
I must awaken to the realization
And bypass all procrastination
For in that time, of those days
I did love, in my way
Now, all I have are memories of my
Thirty-second day.
- Lee White
(Composed on a napkin in a Chicago Diner in the middle of a melancholy night.)
Note: This man was my father-in-law -- he succumbed to colon cancer in the Fall of 2006. Of everything I could even begin to say, he was gentleness, wisdom, and perspective, personified.
Lee could out-talk me (I'm serious!!), and held such a steadfast and profound belief in the goodness of God. Every. Single. Day. Even yet enduring the end-stage pain of his cancer, he would say, "Rebecca, everyday is a good day; the sun is shining and I can walk -- God has never failed me even though I have failed Him many times." And he would tell me how joyful he felt simply walking from the condominium offices to his home.
I miss him.
I miss his perspective.
I miss that he rambled on, and on, and on.
I miss his grace. I miss his leniency. I miss that he could peg truth within one whimsy of a declaration of thought.
I love you, Lee White.
YOU LIVED JOY. And I carry you with me still.
- Living Joy - This Carman Girl
The Essence of a Man
(Written 2010)
There you are, ball cap on, legs splayed in powerful stance and muscled arms resting loosely at your sides. You are the force of man -- a picture of stature and prowess. Your home is large and equal to your neighbors'; your title at work imbues security and success, while the Jeep parked in the driveway evidences virility. Identity. Flexed and tan, you stand at a local park watching your kids excel at sports. Chest puffed out, you've obviously made it -- all this points to one thing: you are Someone.
Then pink slip comes in, Jeep breaks down, discouragement and disillusionment cloud your image. Depression sets in but disguises itself with anger, silence, division, derision. Calls begin, one after another, demanding payment on overdue bills. The vibration of the cellphone is no longer business deals made or golf times confirmed, but instead, tension-mounting pressure. Even your neighbors do not know what to say. It is awkward in all directions.
Arguments spring up within your marriage. You find yourself falling into the safety of a walled-up space that decides that no matter what, nothing you say or do will make a difference to the outcome. You hide behind an internal statement which declares that you can't please anyone. There is no point in trying; you think you are a worthless failure. Everything you ever set your identity on has disappeared and seems to laugh and taunt at the vestiges of what little remains of a sense of self.
The sounds of anger in the house transition from unaccustomed shattered silence to drumming white noise. A daughter may push for excellence to avoid the conflict, while a son may shelve brilliance just to exercise his own anger at being helpless to the situation. And as a man, your ego is so embattled it cannot discern anything but the uselessness of life. Anger is the only coping tool you have. Snide. Sneering. Stalking off, or shutting away. Things you may have enjoyed hold little interest, and you wonder why the world has turned against you.
But there stands your wife.
And she wishes you to see. She did not fall in love with your muscled arms, nor ball cap; she did not find status in your resume, selfish pride in the merits of your children, nor measured your testosterone by the horsepower of the engine idling on the street. She does not care one whit about the square footage of your home, nor the landscaping of her neighbors'.
Her eyes are clouded with worry, uncertainty -- distrust even. Anguish, loneliness, perhaps even bewilderment. She shares worry for the finances, yet aches with the inability to reach your jagged dejection that very well could leave her entirely closed-out. She cannot reach out because you have placed her on the side of "them". You have decided that since you are no longer worthy, that she must think so, too.
She did not ask for the world to fall in either and she fears, more than anything, that along with the frightening conditions of struggling to keep a household together, she will ultimately lose the very man she fell in love with by virtue of his inability to re-assess the measurement of his worth. All that was lost was a job. And now she may lose the man. Over a job.
And she wonders, what is the price of a man's spirit? Is it his annual paycheck of $100,00? $60,000? $45,000? Is this what will ultimately be the catalyst for maintaining his masculinity and power? Is the loss of career or abrupt departure from a corporation only interested in their fair market value, worth losing his entire family and self respect over?
No. When she classifies man, she thinks of power and leadership of a different variety. She thinks of humor, direction, learning and conversation. She falls in love all over again when she watches you take time to explain to your son the merits of his choices; she experiences joy when she watches your encouragement and support of his ambitions. She is glad that her daughter may no longer feel the need to be a driving super power of perfection just to somehow fill your void or feed you vicarious happiness.
She is humbled by the power of your stature when you pause and choose to swing back around to address the tough issues of finance, or miscommunication, instead of slamming the door and retreating to deafening silence. Her heart melts with emotion when she feels you hear her soul, and yet knows she has touched yours as well.
Her body reacts with arousal to the laughter in your eyes and the wicked tilt of your grin. She does not want the loss of job and title to take away those things she loved to see you excel in-cycling, sports, hiking, camping. She remembers where you've traveled together and the places you made love along the way.
Her world has caved in with yours, but only to circumstance, not self-possession. She wants to rise up with you, as the team you were meant to be - you are indomitable, the both of you. She knows it and wishes you to see that your value has never decreased within her eyes. She knows that circumstances and jobs can always be replaced, that success is a veritable misnomer, yet the soul of a man is represented in power and virility by his wisdom, choices, integrity, gentleness, and intellect.
She fell in love with the beating heart of a man, not the merits of the world.
- Living Joy This Carman Girl
Note: This blog was borne from a culmination of thoughts brought about from witnessing so many families struggling with financial loss. Men take it the hardest (and they shouldn't), while it seems that so many women these days are so bent upon establishing a misplaced sense of worth world-wise, that they either inadvertently, or blatantly, emasculate their men. Such a thing guarantees shredding a marriage ten-fold.
I cannot say enough that titles do not make one iota of difference as to the magnitude of a person's value. Character does, however. It remains, and it can't be bought nor demoted. It is a solidarity of being inviolable to social esteem, pride, or persuasion. To attribute worth, or set emotional well-being upon the haves of a bank account and/or title, is not simply shallow, but a recipe and guaranteed risk for failure and worthlessness when one no longer matters to the youth-obsessed appetites of the general populace.
What we seek is very definitely what we will reap. Be sure to build what matters: legacies of character and ideals. The things that make a difference are those of the spirit - those that can be passed down, generation upon generation.
There you are, ball cap on, legs splayed in powerful stance and muscled arms resting loosely at your sides. You are the force of man -- a picture of stature and prowess. Your home is large and equal to your neighbors'; your title at work imbues security and success, while the Jeep parked in the driveway evidences virility. Identity. Flexed and tan, you stand at a local park watching your kids excel at sports. Chest puffed out, you've obviously made it -- all this points to one thing: you are Someone.
Then pink slip comes in, Jeep breaks down, discouragement and disillusionment cloud your image. Depression sets in but disguises itself with anger, silence, division, derision. Calls begin, one after another, demanding payment on overdue bills. The vibration of the cellphone is no longer business deals made or golf times confirmed, but instead, tension-mounting pressure. Even your neighbors do not know what to say. It is awkward in all directions.
Arguments spring up within your marriage. You find yourself falling into the safety of a walled-up space that decides that no matter what, nothing you say or do will make a difference to the outcome. You hide behind an internal statement which declares that you can't please anyone. There is no point in trying; you think you are a worthless failure. Everything you ever set your identity on has disappeared and seems to laugh and taunt at the vestiges of what little remains of a sense of self.
The sounds of anger in the house transition from unaccustomed shattered silence to drumming white noise. A daughter may push for excellence to avoid the conflict, while a son may shelve brilliance just to exercise his own anger at being helpless to the situation. And as a man, your ego is so embattled it cannot discern anything but the uselessness of life. Anger is the only coping tool you have. Snide. Sneering. Stalking off, or shutting away. Things you may have enjoyed hold little interest, and you wonder why the world has turned against you.
But there stands your wife.
And she wishes you to see. She did not fall in love with your muscled arms, nor ball cap; she did not find status in your resume, selfish pride in the merits of your children, nor measured your testosterone by the horsepower of the engine idling on the street. She does not care one whit about the square footage of your home, nor the landscaping of her neighbors'.
Her eyes are clouded with worry, uncertainty -- distrust even. Anguish, loneliness, perhaps even bewilderment. She shares worry for the finances, yet aches with the inability to reach your jagged dejection that very well could leave her entirely closed-out. She cannot reach out because you have placed her on the side of "them". You have decided that since you are no longer worthy, that she must think so, too.
She did not ask for the world to fall in either and she fears, more than anything, that along with the frightening conditions of struggling to keep a household together, she will ultimately lose the very man she fell in love with by virtue of his inability to re-assess the measurement of his worth. All that was lost was a job. And now she may lose the man. Over a job.
And she wonders, what is the price of a man's spirit? Is it his annual paycheck of $100,00? $60,000? $45,000? Is this what will ultimately be the catalyst for maintaining his masculinity and power? Is the loss of career or abrupt departure from a corporation only interested in their fair market value, worth losing his entire family and self respect over?
No. When she classifies man, she thinks of power and leadership of a different variety. She thinks of humor, direction, learning and conversation. She falls in love all over again when she watches you take time to explain to your son the merits of his choices; she experiences joy when she watches your encouragement and support of his ambitions. She is glad that her daughter may no longer feel the need to be a driving super power of perfection just to somehow fill your void or feed you vicarious happiness.
She is humbled by the power of your stature when you pause and choose to swing back around to address the tough issues of finance, or miscommunication, instead of slamming the door and retreating to deafening silence. Her heart melts with emotion when she feels you hear her soul, and yet knows she has touched yours as well.
Her body reacts with arousal to the laughter in your eyes and the wicked tilt of your grin. She does not want the loss of job and title to take away those things she loved to see you excel in-cycling, sports, hiking, camping. She remembers where you've traveled together and the places you made love along the way.
Her world has caved in with yours, but only to circumstance, not self-possession. She wants to rise up with you, as the team you were meant to be - you are indomitable, the both of you. She knows it and wishes you to see that your value has never decreased within her eyes. She knows that circumstances and jobs can always be replaced, that success is a veritable misnomer, yet the soul of a man is represented in power and virility by his wisdom, choices, integrity, gentleness, and intellect.
She fell in love with the beating heart of a man, not the merits of the world.
- Living Joy This Carman Girl
Note: This blog was borne from a culmination of thoughts brought about from witnessing so many families struggling with financial loss. Men take it the hardest (and they shouldn't), while it seems that so many women these days are so bent upon establishing a misplaced sense of worth world-wise, that they either inadvertently, or blatantly, emasculate their men. Such a thing guarantees shredding a marriage ten-fold.
I cannot say enough that titles do not make one iota of difference as to the magnitude of a person's value. Character does, however. It remains, and it can't be bought nor demoted. It is a solidarity of being inviolable to social esteem, pride, or persuasion. To attribute worth, or set emotional well-being upon the haves of a bank account and/or title, is not simply shallow, but a recipe and guaranteed risk for failure and worthlessness when one no longer matters to the youth-obsessed appetites of the general populace.
What we seek is very definitely what we will reap. Be sure to build what matters: legacies of character and ideals. The things that make a difference are those of the spirit - those that can be passed down, generation upon generation.
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