The Ones You Can Hardly Leave Behind

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Sometimes, life makes me feel like I’m not learning anything. I start seeing myself as stuck, stationary, and, consequentially, superfluous.

This summer has not been one of those times.

For a good, long while, I’ve contemplated need.

Need for people. Need for people to be other than what they are. I oftentimes struggle through relationships because I don’t understand need, because I do my best not to need. On the flip side of that, I struggle with other people needing me, because I don’t understand why they think they should expect anything of me when I expect nothing of them.

*Now, of course this is oversimplifying things. This is categorizing me a bit too strictly, because there are, and have always been times, when I’ve needed others. I just know that I could have done a lot more needing and being needed in the past, and plan to do more of both of those in the future.*

Two Christmases ago, I spent my first holiday without family. My parents and sister (along with her husband and kiddos) went to North Carolina, and I didn’t quite have the money or desire to leave the desert, so we did things separately.

That was pretty scary. I had made plans with some friends, but I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know if I was allowed to hang out all day, or maybe it would just fill a couple of hours and I’d be alone to fill the silence after that. I didn’t know if I’d have fun and want to stay the whole time, or be counting down the minutes until I could leave.

It ended up being a wonderful Christmas.

Then last year, I figured I’d spend half of the holiday days with family and half with friends. But, when Thanksgiving rolled around, I found out that family holidays weren’t what I thought they’d be, and I couldn’t rely on them… so I spent my first Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve with friends, and my second Christmas Day with them – all wonderful.

So as the year rolls forward and the upcoming seasons include busy schedules, family move, birthday parties, and holiday fun, I’m beginning to see my friends as benefactors of an inheritance I don’t deserve. They’ve given me tradition, affection, stability, and they’ve claimed me.

I’m also realizing that I need those benefactors. I need their provision for all of those things and more, which is SOOOOO scary.

As I was floating along in the Caribbean this summer, I missed them so much more than I wanted to, and when they picked me up at the airport, I couldn’t have been more shocked with affection. My holiday benefactors plus that one person who created and is my current home, picked me up and immediately supplied friendship and fun. I was tired and land-sick (from standing on dry land after getting used to floating on water), and I’d spent the entire day traveling and thinking about my bed, but I didn’t care about any of that, because I needed them no matter how late I had to stay up, because being with the people you need is more fulfilling than even sleep .

Then, this weekend, a few of us went to Flagstaff, and as we enjoyed the best meal of my life, one of the greatest views in the world, and walking in the rain, we also talked about returning soon, because one of our number was absent, and we needed him to be there to make the trip whole.

Such thoughts are foreign to me, but I’ve seen slow changes of heart that make me think differently about next year and the year after that. Just like with the cruise, I can’t hardly imagine leaving these people behind, and I know I’ll spend my thoughts enjoying where I’m at, but feeling a little incomplete going it without my closest benefactors. Cambodia is suddenly much too far away to go to alone. And when I get married and make babies, I need the friends who’ve provided for me as only family does.

Although every fear and practicality in me believes that these current thoughts and desires, my benefactors, and every good thing in life are only temporary, I’m starting to want and hope they’ll be forever.

I’m starting to think about putting down some roots and moving in across the street so our kids can ride bikes together. I know a heart doesn’t fully change overnight, and the thoughts I’m having are only inklings of possibility, but it’s nice to see myself growing up more than I ever expected to. It’s nice to begin to believe in the impossible.

 

Really Trusting

I’m at a Barbeque and Matt says something about his allergies.

Someone else says, “Why don’t you get some (allergy med) ?”

Matt says that he’s taking Zyrtec or something.

I say, “Why don’t you get… over it?” (Yeah, I say stuff like that sometimes.)

Everyone is all, “Oooooooh!” and Matt’s response is to pretend that he’s mad and put his fists up playfully. This is a pretty normal thing in our group of friends. Matt, in particular, play-fights with everyone because he’s brotherly and fun like that.

Sad truth: I’ve never, even to the slightest degree, engaged Matt (or very many people at all) with this kind of thing.

Every time something like this happens, when I could have a food fight or play chicken at a pool party (that’s the one where you try to knock people off each other’s shoulders, right?), I get this horrible feeling of

“Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it!”

Matt was standing there next to me, and I became oddly aware of his size. Matt is pretty tall, and he’s the kind of guy who you like to have around when you’re walking downtown with friends late at night because you feel a little safer with him there. I’m a relatively normal-sized girl, which means that I’m smaller than Matt is. His chest is at my eye-level and as much as I like for people to think I’m ultra-tough, I felt an odd moment of terror that if I were to play-fight with him, he might accidentally hurt me.

Matt is a really good guy, and I don’t want you to think my fear was even remotely his fault. From the past several years of knowing him, I can honestly say he is one of the smartest and gentlest men I know, and it’s been a privilege to call him a friend …and I know that he’s careful.

I know that.

So I was standing there, having an internal battle about whether or not to engage in some perfectly safe and light-hearted frivolity, or continue being a big chicken… and I decided that I was going to trust. Matt and I shadow-boxed for a few seconds, and it was lovely and no one got hurt.

Sometimes I forget that I’m making choices and so is everyone else.

For years, I haven’t had a conscious thought that Matt is bigger and stronger than I am… but I’ve been making decisions based on a subconscious fear.

For years, I’ve tried to be vulnerable with people. I’ve told them things I didn’t much feel like telling them, but an odd obstacle I’m facing is that I’m impressively good at doing things that scare me. I don’t want to be the kind of girl who chooses to be vulnerable. Every-once-in-awhile, I want my deep, disorganized emotions to match my behavior so others can know that I’m not grudgingly choosing to behave a certain way, but I want them to have confidence that I’m entrusting myself to them… because God has surrounded me with smart, good-hearted friends who I know are careful. I know that.

 

Persona Non Grata

Merriam-Webster (eleventh edition) defines the word disposable as “Designed to be used once and then thrown away.”

As I took a month off of blogging, I read a book called Rid of My Disgrace by Justin and Lindsey Holcomb, which is about the gospel and its application in situations of sexual abuse.

The thoughts that gripped me most while I read were of the idea of a disposable person and persona non grata (person without grace)… because I’ve always thought of the word disposable as a cliche`.

It doesn’t resonate because it’s obvious that no person is disposable, right?

Right.

When I was in elementary school, the school’s counselor used to go into every class and give short presentations about healthy friendships, telling an adult if someone made us feel uncomfortable, and all sorts of other topics, and she nearly always included something about how precious each of us was. She told us that we were all unique snowflakes… then, we’d all get a sheet of paper to create a snowflake that represented us.

I remember that she had this huge hair that was fried with too much bleach, and her fingernails were Freddie Krueger long and fake. She talked with a voice that belonged on a PBS children’s show, and I’ve never, in all my life, thought anyone is crazy as completely as I thought she was crazy.

I remember one time in particular when she talked to us about crying. She told us that crying is important, and we should do it, but we should also drink water. I’m not sure why I remember that, but every time I think of psychology and self-concept, I remember her… with that smeared lipstick and annoying soothing voice (like those robots that say, “ooom-pah. ooom-pah.” as Padme is giving birth to Luke and Leia in Episode 3), and I think, “This is so dumb. Is it time for recess yet?”

That’s probably one of the reasons why the word disposable doesn’t break my heart. Also, no one wants to admit that another person saw her as disposable… because it hits a bit too close to the thought that maybe she is disposable.

The Holcombs start their book off with the story of Tamar and her rape. In summary, they write that “Amnon reduces Tamar to the state of a ‘disposable object.’… Amnon barely speaks of her as a person. She is a thing Amnon wants thrown out. To him, Tamar is trash… Amnon failed to consider Tamar as a complete person, created with dignity in the image of God…” (19).

How often do we do that to each other?

Prior to reading Rid of My Disgace, I thought of abuse and its effects as negligible unless the abuse was rape or a beating involving a crow-bar. the story of Tamar made me realize that the primary damage a person undergoes during abuse is truly damage of person.

It’s being treated as disposable.

Sometimes I wonder if we’re born knowing that we’re precious… do you think we’re born with a certain dignity as image-bearers?

Sometimes I think we are, but the world treats us like we’re less than that and we believe them.

Then, there’s the special dignity we get when we are adopted by the Father. In LOTR: The Two Towers (the film version), there’s this moment when Eowyn and Aragorn are talking, and Eowyn says that she’s afraid she’ll live a life that doesn’t matter much and then she’ll die. Aragorn tells her that she’s the daughter of a king and he doesn’t believe that will be her fate.

Sometimes I feel afraid like Eowyn. What if I come to the end of my life and realize that nothing I’ve done has mattered? As the daughter of a King, I can’t not matter, right? The daughter of a King can’t be disposable. No matter how often the world fails to consider me as complete and created in the image of God, there’s a sense of royalty bestowed on me because of my Father.

The problem is that when I write that, I simultaneously hope and despair… because a princess may be royalty, and simultaneously a persona non grata. She might even be the daughter of a man after God’s own heart, but ask the question, “Where can I be rid of my disgrace?”

Rid of My Disgrace is an excellent book. You should read it.

 

Why Should I Feel Worthy?

*This post is one that I didn’t necessarily intend for today, but I think it fits well to honor one of the excellent Moms I’ve been given.

 

Last week, I pulled my computer out, planning to email Lisa with a question: “Why should I feel worthy?”

I promise I wasn’t feeling obstinate.

It was a real question. I really didn’t have an answer in that moment.

Lisa is the one who said, “I think there’s something going on with Katie.”

The one who asked whether I feel worthy.

My answer? “Probably not.”

But let’s be honest – that answer was my way of trying not to admit the conflict I am in with what I know. I know the right answer, but I don’t believe the answer.

I think about worthiness, and I suspect it’s better to focus on the fact that we are unworthy of the blessings God bestows.

I’m unworthy of salvation.

I’m unworthy of the cross.

I’m unworthy of grace.

I’m unworthy of God’s attention and sanctification.

I’m altogether unworthy of Him.

 

Right?

 

Right.

 

But the weird thing about it is that God died specifically for the unworthy. He suffered betrayal, excruciating physical, emotional, and psychological pain, and separation from His Father… so that He might redeem the unworthy.

It happened.

Which brings me to the answer to that first question: I should feel worthy because Jesus made me worthy. I should hope for God’s blessings because He’s a good God who gives good gifts. I should know Him well enough to know that while I’m not worthy (while I was yet a sinner), He paid an exorbitant price for me. I should also know that I’m an image-bearer, and worthy because God made me like Him… not a perfect image, but a better one than all of His other creations.

I shouldn’t feel worthy… but I get to because of God.

I get to…

 

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I know that post seems to be very theological, and I suppose it is, but it’s also about a mom. I was invisibly boiling over and Lisa saw what wasn’t there to be seen, which is something moms do.

I’ve been blessed with a few other instances to see Lisa in action, so I thought I’d share some with you today.

 

1. Britt (Lisa’s youngest) was folding laundry in the living room, and said something like, “Can you give me another lesson in ironing?” Lisa responded a bit more enthusiastically than one would expect, saying, “I would love to!” Britt teased her a little, because I think life was a scoash too Leave it to Beaver in that moment, but sometimes don’t we all wish reality was a bit more Pleasantville? I can’t think of anything that evokes less enthusiasm in me than an ironing lesson, but Lisa seems to get how badly we all need our moms for stuff like that.
2. A few years ago, I jacked up my knee playing ultimate frisbee, and of course I ignored the problem and hiked and ran on it, refusing to give it any rest at all. In fact, I was out hiking with the Johnsons (and possibly the Wattons?) and there was this big rock I needed to climb up on, and my knee wasn’t cooperating. Lisa was already on top of the rock and lowered her walking stick down to help me. Obviously, I was stubborn and not taking help, saying something about how heavy I am and how I was going to pull her down, so she snapped at me, “Katie! Just grab the stick!” That moment still cracks me up and probably always will because moms tend to help us more than we want, but exactly as much as we need.
3. A little over a week ago, I was sleeping over at the Johnsons’ house, and even though Dave had called to let me know that he and Lisa were available for dinner, I didn’t expect the amazing way they both made me feel SO special. When I arrived, Lisa was putting the finishing touches on a beautiful meal. She even put spinach leaves on top of the chicken, just so, like a garnish and it all looked SO pretty. Then, we went outside and the three of us had dinner and wine… and Strawberry Rhubarb pie for dessert. Cooking like that is most definitely the art of an excellent mom.
4. Cancer is a mysterious horror that I’ve never known anyone to live through with greater strength and beauty than Lisa Johnson has. Not too long after she underwent surgery, my mom had a cancer scare, and I put out a prayer request that included the Johnsons. Dave called me the next morning and talked to me a bit, reading me Psalm 34:18, which was a verse he said meant a lot to Lisa as she underwent treatment. It says, “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted, and saves the crushed in spirit.” That verse has been a comfort to me ever since.

 

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the Johnsons, remembering the moments we’ve shared, and it occurs to me that there’ve been a lot of them. They’ve been there for me for a long time, eh? They’ve been there through a lot more than I’m mindful of on a daily basis, and I’m so lucky to have them both. I’m so blessed that there’s someone seeing what’s invisible in me.

Thanks, Lisa.

 

Undressing the Dragon

*Here’s a repost from about a year and a half ago.

Yesterday, I was reading intermittently while catching up on some housework, and I thought I’d share a brilliant moment out of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader with you. Eustace is our main character of the moment, and has been mysteriously transformed into a dragon with no way to turn himself back. Aslan shows up one night and leads Eustace to a secluded well. There, He “tells” Eustace to undress (which is basically him peeling off his dragon skin – hopefully to become a boy again). The problem is that every time Eustace peels the skin off, he finds that there’s just another layer waiting underneath. Finally, Aslan tells Eustace that He’ll have to let him (Aslan) undress him. This is rather intimidating because Aslan is a Lion with claws that could probably do some serious damage during the undressing, but Eustace obediently lays on his back and trusts Aslan’s work.

I love this part. I love how beautifully it mirrors my struggles. I’m so intent on doing the work myself that I rarely trust. I try to peel off my own layers and make myself new, but it hardly works. There’s always another layer to be dealt with and still another. It’s only when I ask for help and trust that it will indeed come that I’m renewed at all. Also, I frequently expect the “undressing” to be painless, but it rarely is.

“The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart.  And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt.”

Changing hurts. It hurts to sit still while being pruned, and it even hurts to admit that change is necessary. Yet that’s what life’s about. Sanctification. Without it, we’re stuck as treasure-hoarding dragons forever.