learning to be disappointed

I have tried most of my life to keep from being disappointed.

Well, today I actually said a few things out loud that surprised me.  That made me realize again how much You are healing and calming me.

Because,

1.) I was disappointed.  I didn’t get a volunteer position I had applied for (related to my job).  It didn’t mean money, but it did mean professional growth (and with that, some prestige).

2.) I felt disappointed, but wasn’t afraid of it (usually, I’m terrified, and aim for a sort of defensive matter-of-fact acknowledgement, followed by many different forms of distance).  I wanted justification, so I alternated between pity, anger, frustration, fear, sadness, trust, and acceptance.  But I was feeling.

3.) I repented.  From pride (fear of what other’s thought/would think of my rejection).  From pity.  From control.  To trust, rest.

4.) I vocalized my disappointment.  And my repentance.  But I was sad, and I said so.  And I said I wouldn’t stay here, but I let someone know I was there in the first place.

I am free to be disappointed.

What a relief.

 

simple pleasures

Two of my Writing 6 students gave me permission to share their creative writing from last week.  We brainstormed simple pleasures, and then chose one and wrote about it.  I have only included their lists, which elicited all sorts of happy exclamations from me.

The first contributor is a quiet and somewhat reserved (actually, very cool, in both the figurative and pop-cultural meaning of the word) young man from Saudi Arabia.  His quick wit never ceases to make me mirror the grin he wears, even if I am upset with him for being tardy or handing in an assignment late.  He is one of the few I love to verbally spar with, because at the end of our banter the truth is always told.  And freely.

The second is a competent and dignified young lady from Turkey.  She is always prepared and able to engage with friendly insights and personable advice.  One of my favorite images of her is when I walk into the Reading Lab at 2:00 pm.  There isn’t a class this hour, so various students come and use the space for study or other activities.  I usually find her quietly laughing away, skyping with her young nephews and nieces overseas.  My favorite times are when she leaves the headphones unplugged, and I can quietly listen in on the family chatter (which, of course, I don’t understand, except that they’re having a good time).

 

don’t log in yet.

There was a reason that You said “don’t sign in yet” while I was typing in my computer password, part of my evening routine of coming home, dropping my stuff, getting into comfortable clothes, arranging my things, putting away groceries, and (inevitably) checking my email.

But I ignored You; I had a hard heart.  I wanted to finish what I had started.  It was just signing in, anyway…I decided not to check my email right away.  But

then there was the little Skype icon and sound of a hello.  And the thoughts of “I can’t handle this right now; I just got home; I need a break…I can’t handle a cross-cultural conversation yet…I just left school.”  And the guilt of ignoring someone, and the realization of what You meant in the first place (You had other ideas for how this was going to shake down).

You want to save me from these little battles.  Of guilt and availability, honesty and boundaries.  You want to save me from the inner turmoil that is stealing my joy and my health (I am sick for the third time this season, and I’m pretty sure it has to do with the inner burdens I carry these days).

As I finally pushed everything aside, finally got comfortable (which is a task, not a pleasure), finally collapsed on my bed, my thoughts were,

I can’t stop.  I can’t stop.  I can’t stop or I’m not worth anything.

Wait, what?  Did I just say that?  I knew my duty was encroaching on my joy, but I think it’s become a monster that’s eating me inside out.  It means I can’t love myself, can’t be confronted when I make a mistake (related to my doing), can’t stop to admire the Beautiful One.  And it’s affecting my other relationships with my housemates and community (most of my doing is related to my job and relationships there).

That’s what You want to save me from… and to You.  To Your freedom, Your mercy, Your grace and forgiveness.  These days it’s hard to pray anything but “revive me according to Your lovingkindness.”

So the next time You say, “don’t log in yet.”  Help me to listen.  Help me to pause, and look at You.

Forget the login.  What were You saying?

 

little images to cherish

the dad’s arm around his little daughter, her braids peaking out from the crook of his arm, his wedding ring glinting in the low light.

they were snuggled close to one another, whispering shared ideas between themselves; I could just make out her profile–see the side of his smile as they quietly laughed together.

old friends and weathered partners, they sat and watched the music.

the man quietly slipped onto the bench, welcomed by the warm extended handshake of another sitting behind him.  men shaking hands is one of the noblest things I see on a routine basis.  why is it noble?  not sure.  something about the respect and the fact that women can’t do the same thing the same way.  it’s nice to watch and not be a part of.

the way he wags his head side to side while he plays the guitar, like he took a bite of the melody and is savoring and at the same time devouring.

little Christmas lights.  the family gathered.  someone being able to laugh during the song (he is singing) and good-naturedly pull us into the inside joke…  the coming together of the community to love and remember.

the seed of joy, yes, it sometimes starts out small.

 

“smells like peace”

The house is dark except for my room.

I am alone, except Atticus is laying on my bed, his head almost in my lap.  Every now and then I pet his ears.  Cowboy is curled up at the threshold of my door.

The room is well lit, and all is quiet except for this computer quietly playing the sounds of the oud.

Hot tea is seeping on my bedstand, and I am perched on my bed with research and a purple pen, quietly digging away as thoughts from the outside flood in now and then.

A police car siren waxes and wanes somewhere outside in the dark, cold, night.

I snuggle into my pillow and continue to read.

 

The antidote to a hard heart…

…is nothing short of a miracle.  Like that time Jesus said, “Friend, your sins are forgiven.”  Everybody had a conniption.  Not just for the fact that they were covered in dust and incredulous astonishment as that “friend” was lowered through the roof over their heads.  And Jesus, with His amazing rhetorical question, “which is easier, to say ‘your sins are forgiven’ or ‘get up and walk’?  But so that you’ll know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins…”

That friend, that crowd, those reasoning religious people, they were never the same.  That man went home on his own feet, giving glory to God.

But better yet, his sins were forgiven.

~~~~~~~~

While I was waiting for You to give me a soft heart, a broken spirit…waiting because I had nowhere else to go…  All my other attempts at cures were just symptom numb-ers, something to keep me drunk enough to believe things were ok.  I was hoping to forget, instead of having to deal with this burden one more day.  One more day that has stretched into years.  Maybe that’s the kind of burden that Paul begged for release from, and to which You replied, “My grace is sufficient for you; My power is made perfect in weakness.”

I was wandering around, and waiting for this new heart You could give me.  Wandering and waiting.  Numb and silent.  Pretty despondent.  And after that long walk of not much talking, You gave the next directive.  My version was to forget.  Your version is

to love.

And, quite frankly, You are crazy AND a genius to tell me something so stinking simple and so strangely adverse to the entire situation.

But that’s one thing I love about You.  Strange antidotes and fantastic cures.

Perfect.  Cures.

 

an open letter of gratitude

thank you for not smacking me up the side of the head when i totally deserved it.

thank you for looking me in the eye.  and not saying anything.

thank you for being gentle.

thank you for speaking.  up.

thank you for not asking.

thank you for being patient with me when i was proud.

thank you for simply asking about my day.

thank you for not wavering.

thank you for being open.

 

reflected there

“[...] ‘The great multitude stood waiting, every man holding his breath and staring at this unfamiliar face of Zacchaeus.  And then he spoke, humbly, brokenly.  He had decided, he said, to give half of all he owned to feed the poor.  To those whom he had defrauded, he would make abundant restitution.’

‘But–what happened?’ demanded Marcellus.  ‘What had Jesus said to him?’

Miriam shook her head.  ‘Nobody knows,’ she murmured; then, with averted reminiscent eyes, she added, half to herself: ‘Maybe he didn’t say anything at all.  Perhaps he looked Zacchaeus squarely in the eyes until the man saw–reflected there–the image of the person he was meant to be.’

‘That is a strange thing to say,’ remarked Marcellus.  ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’

‘Many people had that experience,’ said Miriam, softly.  ‘When Jesus looked directly into your eyes–’  She broke off suddenly, and leaned far forward to face him at close range.  ‘Marcellus,’ she went on, in an impressive tone lowered almost to a whisper, ‘if you had ever met Jesus–face to face–and he had looked into your eyes until–until you couldn’t get away–you would have no trouble believing that he could do anything–anything he pleased!  If he said, ‘Put down your crutches!’ you would put them down.  If he said, ‘Pay back the money you have stolen!’ you would pay it back.’

She closed her eyes and relaxed against the cushions.  Her hand, still in his, was trembling a little.”

The Robe, Lloyd C. Douglas, 1942 (pgs. 269-270)

 

forgive/n

“For the mind set on the flesh is death, but the mind set on the Spirit is life and peace, because the mind set on the flesh is hostile toward God; for it does not subject itself to the law of God, for it is not even able to do so, and those who are in the flesh cannot please God.  However, you are not in the flesh but in the Spirit, if indeed the Spirit of God dwells in you.  But if anyone does not have the Spirit of Christ, he does not belong to Him.  If Christ is in you, though the body is dead because of sin, yet the spirit is alive because of righteousness.  But if the Spirit of Him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, He who raised Christ Jesus from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through His Spirit who dwells in you.”  Romans 8

 

after so much longing

It’s funny how unspoken things can be so tangible.  Like an icicle in my heart that I can break in two and stab you with.  There won’t be any weapon for incriminating evidence after it’s melted.  But the way my heart feels right now it will always be an old Narnian winter.

It didn’t bother me much that we stopped talking.  I find it easier and easier sometimes to say, “no.”  No, I won’t go to that party.  No, I won’t hang out with you.  No I won’t sub your class this Sunday.  No, I won’t help you with your essay until you work on it first.  No, I won’t pick you up.  No, I won’t bring you what you want right now.

And now, since I’m getting to be such a professional “no”er, I’ve made up things to say “no” to.  I won’t invite you to this event.  You didn’t ask to, but I don’t think I will.  It’s easier to have you away.  I want to forget about you.  I want to forget about all that I wanted with you.  I want to forget the old jokes and old memories.  I just don’t want the desire anymore.  “You” make me exhausted.  Please, just go away.

So, I’ll ignore you…sort of.  Just enough so that you won’t ask me what is up.  I’ll be friendly, when we happen to rub shoulders.  I’ll try to pretend that everything is fine.  I’ll try to pretend that I don’t think you were sad when I didn’t ask you to come the other time.  I’ll try to let you go.

I’m trying to let you go by stuffing you into the “forget about this” box.  I want to cry but I don’t have the energy.  You see, I’m trying to be ambivalent.  I want to be sad.  Instead of angry.  I want to pass this test.

I wish I knew you weren’t so sensitive to this kind of thing.  I wish you wouldn’t be hurt.  I kind of wish you never knew me.

But more, that I never knew you.