Tag: life lessons

Thankful For Facebook Memories

This note came up as a memory on my Facebook page. Perhaps you need to know you’re enough…I did today.

M: MVNC, Michigan, Misfits, and Maturity

One of the greatest enemies to my relationships is thinking I’m not worthy or I don’t belong.  I have spent my life battling with “I-don’t-belong-syndrome.”  So, the irony that M should land on this day is not lost on me.  Today has had plans in it for a very long time, plans that God made that superseded anything that could have been done by me.  Today is the 30th class reunion of my college graduating class.  I was excited to go and see people and reminisce at my Alma Mater.   Trouble was I didn’t write the dates on my calendar.  I read material from the Alumni Association, but the dates never penetrated my brain.  In the meantime, a friend from high school came up with a wonderful idea to travel to Michigan to see another one of our high school friends.  When the miracle happened that we all had a Saturday off together I rejoiced and marked that date on my calendar.  A final piece of material came from MVNC that was meant to remind me of the reunion and it hit me that I had made the mistake of not marking my calendar.  Now what a mess that was!  Or was it?  Today seems to be a day to deal with my own demons of feeling like a misfit and wanting instant maturity.  

Feeling like a misfit goes way back into my childhood.  I recognized it most at Christmas each time when I watched the Rudolph Christmas special.  I would sit and listen to the misfit toys sing their woeful song and then get all excited when in spite of their differentness they were able to find joy and love when they were reunited with the other toys.  Even the “Bumble” found usefulness and meaning.  As I grew I seemed to always find ways to lock into the group where I never felt like I fit in: I was never quite smart, talented, pretty, rich, or loveable enough.  Those were terrible monsters to battle and  I know that those feelings are a part of teenage angst and from a developmental psychology perspective I was struggling to find my identity.  Throughout the process I felt like David in Saul’s armor: nothing seemed to fit.  But unlike David, I didn’t know how to throw it off and find myself.

The other component that made life that so difficult for me was that I wanted instant maturity.  I remember standing on the stage at the end of the Miss Teenage Columbus Pageant.  I had actually made the top five.  I was now going to have to answer a question that would determine my place among the winners.  I was given a list of characteristics and told to chose the two I felt were most important and why.  I distinctly remember that one of my answers was wisdom and I think the other was happiness.  I wanted wisdom because I knew it was knowledge well used.  At seventeen I wanted to have all the answers and the ability to function wisely.  Now perhaps that seems like a good thing, but in my answer I see my propensity to want to short-circuit the process.  It wasn’t until I was in my thirties that someone finally helped me realize the importance of process, the need to value the process not just to strive for the end result.  So now in my fifties, I feel like a kid just sucking the life out of the process and it feels weird and people look at me even weirder.

As I was thinking about all of this I was prompted to pick up my copy of Warren’s “The Purpose Driven Life.”  I was required to read this at work several years ago and while I found pieces of it interesting, I was at such a different place spiritually than my co-workers that it wasn’t a good experience for me.  I chaffed against it to be quite honest.  So this morning I was flipping through some of the pages and I found a section on the misfits of God—imagine that! 

Here’s what Warren writes:

“What matters is not the duration of your life, but the donation of it.  Not how long you lived, but how you lived.  If you’re not involved in any service or ministry, what excuse have you been using?  Abraham was old, Jacob was insecure, Leah was unattractive, Joseph was abused, Moses stuttered, Gideon was poor, Samson was codependent, Rahab was immoral, David had an affair and all kinds of family problems, Elijah was suicidal, Jeremiah was depressed, Jonah was reluctant, Naomi was a widow, John the Baptist was eccentric to say the least, Peter was impulsive and hot-tempered, Martha worried a lot, the Samaritan woman had several failed marriages, Zaccheaus was unpopular, Thomas had doubts, Paul had poor health, and Timothy was timid.  That is quite a variety of misfits, but God used each of them in his service.  He will use you, too, if you stop making excuses.” (p. 233)

Speaking of maturity, Warren also refers to the process of maturing fruit and vegetables.  He writes: “When you try to ripen fruit quickly, it loses it flavor.  In America, tomatoes are usually picked unripened so they won’t bruise during shipping to the stores.  Then, before they are sold, these green tomatoes are sprayed with CO2 gas to turn them red instantly.  Gassed tomatoes are edible, but they are no match to the flavor of a vine-ripened tomato that is allowed to mature slowly.” (p. 217)

So what does this all have to do with going to Michigan instead of MVNC?  I’m glad you’re still with me to ask the question.  Today I’m spending the day with the woman who was class president and so popular I didn’t realize she even knew my name.  She has a life that I used to dream would be mine.  And today by the grace of God I call her my friend.  And we’re going to visit the woman who won that Miss Teenage Columbus Pageant when I was fourth runner up.  She is one of the smartest, most gifted women I know and God has blessed my life with her friendship as well.  Today I’m marveling in a process that has taken way more than 30 years to effect.  Three of us will enjoy the day together, but there are multitudes who have made it possible for me to do so.  I can’t name you by name here, but know that you will be in my heart there.  Today there is no misfit.  Talk about maturity.

Wading in Puke

The weekend before this one just past my husband and I took turns with the flu. Kindly, he went first. Not so kindly, he made a couple unsuccessful trips to the bathroom, leaving behind a very unpleast mess to clean up. He managed to spew on every wall and fixture.

Fast forward to this past weekend. Saturday night our thirteen year old grandson went to bed early, complaining of a queasy stomach. He made one trip to the bathroom, seemingly emptying his belly completely, he flushed away, and put the lid on the toilet down (as is the rule at his house). The problem came when on his second trip he could not get the lid up quickly enough or even have time to turn and aim for the sink or tub.

May I just say, I have never seen such a mess, in either quantity or dispersement. And I have no words for the smell.

Then, I was awakened Sunday morning by one of dogs wretching off the foot of our bed. He made a rather thorough mess of things, too.

All I could think was, “Really, God. I need this, why?”

This morning, after dropping my grandson off at school, I headed to my favorite coffee spot and writing place. I no sooner had my coat off when my phone rang. Sigh. The grandson. What did he forget this time?

When I answered the phone, I knew I was on speaker—I could hear the laughter and noise in the background. Through laughter my grandson finally asked “Mema, legit, did I puke all over the bathroom this weekend?”

“Yeah, buddy, it was the worst puke I’ve ever cleaned up.”

“Thanks. See…” And the line went dead as hysterical laughter broke out.

Only a group of 13 yr old boys could enjoy a story like that and be congratulatory. He was so proud of himself. And for one moment I forgot how awful a mess it had been to clean up.

I will confess, I was laughing, too. I quickly texted his mother and let her know what a hoot her son was. She responded right back a message filled with laughing emojis. He had been bragging to his gamer friends about the event as well.

The whole thing reminded me of a conversation I had with Eddie Jones (writer and CEO of Lighthouse of the Carolinas at a writers conference. I was telling him how much I appreciated his books for middle grade boys. He waxed a bit philosophical, and then said making sure each story included farts, puke, and practical jokes was his ticket to success. “You have to know your audience.”

So, dear audience, what can we take from this gross, yet for some hysterical set of circumstances. I can think of three things.

First, puke happens. It’s not pleasant in the moment, but we always tend to feel better when it’s over. Sometimes we need to let the roiling fear, anger, or grief out to feel better and be able to move on.

Don’t take yourself too seriously. The laughing group of thirteen year old boys reminded: you can even laugh about the grossest stuff of life. There will always be enough sadness to go around, but learning to find the humor is a solid way to pull yourself out of the downward spiral sadness tries to suck us into.

And remember to thank (profusely) the person who has to clean up your mess. Over and over my grandson apologized to me. And over and over I tried to assure him that I knew he didn’t plan on the mess. I believe his contrite and sincere apology was what enabled me to laugh after his verification phone call. His previous appreciation for what I endured in the extensive clean project enabled me laugh along with him and his buddies instead of thinking that he was making fun or laughing at me.

Who knew you could learn so much the negative consequences of the stomach flu?

But really, I think I learned enough to satisfy me for a very…very long time.

Lessons on Loosing the Training Wheels–Part One

My grandson turned six in January. The recent warm weather seems to have awakened a piece of his boyhood. Up to this point he has just not been all that interested in bike riding. His cousins’ love for this hasn’t even been motivating to him. Watching all the neighborhood kids ride by the house has not seemed to phase him. So I’m not sure what brought about the sudden interest or surge of importance, but it was imperative that Pepa get those training wheels off and the riding needed to happen. Now. Now, as in instantly and perfectly. It reminded me of my daughter when she was three. I took her to the library to introduce her to the world of books and she promptly looked at me and told me that she wanted to learn to read. Extatic and feeling like I had acomplished my task, I set out to explain how we would learn letters and then words. She wasn’t having any part of that. She stomped her little foot and in a voice way too loud for the library told me, “No Mommy, I want to learn NOW!

So there I was out in our front yard trying to convince the grandson that I really knew what I was doing and that I would not let him fall to the ground and crack his skull open. I’m not sure where he got that idea from.

At first he insisted that I hold onto both the handle bar and the seat. He wasn’t all that comfortable with that but I was able to get him to allow me to let go of the handle bar so he could do the steering. This accomplished two things: it gave him a sense of control but also reinforced his fear of not being in control. Yeah, I know, it confused him too.

In an attempt to ground this in something he could understand, I reminded him of one of his games on game cube where the character needs to jump from one platform to the next while the platforms rock back and forth. To complete the jump the character, directed by the grandson, has to balance the platform by finding that special spot in the center. He got the concept. What he didn’t get or appreciate was how I was loosely holding the seat which allowed for some uncomfortable tippage. I was soundoy scolded repeatedly for everything from wanting him to fall and to fail. In his mind I was crazy if I thought thisbwas going to work. And ultimately, I must not love him if this was how I was going to treat him when he asked for something as simple as just a little help in learning how to ride his bike. I’ll spare all the anger about the stupid, worthless bike that was obviosly horribly defective since it couldn’t follow his directive.

After about a half hour of more excuses than riding, I told the grandson that I loved him very much, but I needed a break and so did he. I suggested we try again another day. I put the bike in the garage and not the garbage, as he suggested. Then I went and sat on the porch where I could lick my wounds, and contemplate my obviously ineffective teaching strategy. But the teaching wasn’t done.

Sitting there, I felt that gentle nudge that comes from the Spirit. You know the one. It’s just enough to help you stop what you’re thinking so you can see it from a diffrent perspective. From God’s perspective. Then with the exhale that comes from a big sigh, I began to see this riding lesson was less about my grandson learning and much more about the imbalance in my own life.  It wasn’t news to me that God had been trying to get my attention, but what he was asking of me and directing me towards seemed so impossible.  I had given up on those dreams.  But he hadn’t.

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