Showing posts with label honesty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label honesty. Show all posts
Monday, October 26, 2020
Truth Be Told
If you haven’t heard this song, or even if you have, then take a few minutes to listen to it now—or at least read its words. It’s “Truth Be Told,” by Matthew West.
I think that most of us walk around hearing lies—believing that we’re supposed to have it all together— that we must always be strong—that everybody’s life is perfect except for ours—that being broken is not okay.
Even when we know that we’re listening to lies, it’s easy to believe them…and then we end up carrying such huge emotional weights that we feel burdened to the point of exhaustion—every. single. day.
The truth is that being honest in a safe place—confessing reality—allowing light to shine on darkness—giving ourselves the time and space to be hurt, angry, sorry, mournful, upset, tired—letting God do God’s work of redemption, even when it’s not immediate—is the only way to “fix it.”
Dear friends: I don’t know what lies you’re hearing—what weights your carrying—but I know that I will help you carry them if you trust me enough to help you hold them. I cannot fix you. I cannot guarantee a quick solution to your exhaustion. But I can be a safe place for you if you feel that you have no other place to go. All you have to do is write me, or catch me in the hallway, and I will listen to you and pray for light to begin shining on your darkness.
Every day on the morning announcements, my principal ends the announcements by saying “We’re all in this together.” Let’s be in this together, friends. Let’s be those safe spaces where truth-telling is possible. Let’s be God’s hands and heart of Love and redemption in this broken, hurting world…Every. Single. Day.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j4wYkS8Z3Io
------
Lie number one: You're supposed to have it all together
And when they ask how you're doin', just smile and tell them, "Never better"
Lie number two: Everybody's life is perfect except yours
So keep your messes and your wounds and your secrets safe with you behind closed doors
But truth be told
The truth is rarely told, no...
I say, "I'm fine, yeah, I'm fine, oh, I'm fine, hey, I'm fine"
But I'm not, I'm broken
And when it's out of control I say it's under control
But it's not and You know it
I don't know why it's so hard to admit it
When bein' honest is the only way to fix it
There's no failure, no fall
There's no sin You don't already know
So let the truth be told
There's a sign on the door, says, "Come as you are" but I doubt it
'Cause if we lived like that was true, every Sunday mornin' pew would be crowded
But didn't You say church should look more like a hospital?
A safe place for the sick, the sinner and the scarred, and the prodigals, like me
But truth be told, the truth is rarely told
Oh, am I the only one who says...
"I'm fine, yeah, I'm fine, oh, I'm fine, hey, I'm fine"
But I'm not, I'm broken
And when it's out of control I say it's under control
But it's not and You know it
I don't know why it's so hard to admit it
When bein' honest is the only way to fix it
There's no failure, no fall
There's no sin You don't already know
So let the truth be told
Can I really stand here unashamed
Knowin' that Your love for me won't change?
Oh God, if that's really true
Then let the truth be told
Thursday, March 3, 2016
Spoon Rest Thief
I was a thief for about three minutes tonight.
Shopping in the 80% off section at Cracker Barrel, I found a spoon rest that I decided to buy. Knowing that I was going to purchase it for a whopping 60 cents, I put it in my pocket so that I could continue shopping with free hands.
I said to my friend, “Don’t let me forget that I put this in my pocket.”
Needless to say, I forgot.
After I had paid for the other things that caught my eye and started walking to my car, I reached into my pocket to make sure I had everything.
In addition to the essentials—wallet, keys, phone—I found my new spoon rest.
“Oops,” I thought. “I just stole this.”
“But…it’s okay. I’ve given Cracker Barrel enough money over the years. It’s only 60 cents. They’re not going to miss it. They’re trying to get rid of the product anyway. I don’t really need to walk back into the store through the rain just to pay for this,” I thought.
A few minutes later, after saying good night to my friend and her kids, I re-approached the check-out counter at Cracker Barrel, spoon rest and new CD in hand.
I figured that if I bought something in addition to the spoon rest, then I wouldn’t look conspicuous.
But I felt so guilty that I immediately confessed my crime to the cashier.
“I momentarily stole this,” I said. “I put it in my pocket to free up my hands and then forgot I had it.”
The cashier smiled and said, “At least you brought it back. Most people wouldn’t have done that.”
“Well,” I said, “I’ve been teaching my kids about integrity this week. And I didn’t think that stealing a spoon rest—albeit completely unintentional—showed much integrity.”
And, well, I want to be a person of integrity.
-----
I’m curious: Have you ever accidently stolen something? Please share. I don’t want to be alone in my no-longer-a-crime-crime!
Shopping in the 80% off section at Cracker Barrel, I found a spoon rest that I decided to buy. Knowing that I was going to purchase it for a whopping 60 cents, I put it in my pocket so that I could continue shopping with free hands.
I said to my friend, “Don’t let me forget that I put this in my pocket.”
Needless to say, I forgot.
After I had paid for the other things that caught my eye and started walking to my car, I reached into my pocket to make sure I had everything.
In addition to the essentials—wallet, keys, phone—I found my new spoon rest.
“Oops,” I thought. “I just stole this.”
“But…it’s okay. I’ve given Cracker Barrel enough money over the years. It’s only 60 cents. They’re not going to miss it. They’re trying to get rid of the product anyway. I don’t really need to walk back into the store through the rain just to pay for this,” I thought.
A few minutes later, after saying good night to my friend and her kids, I re-approached the check-out counter at Cracker Barrel, spoon rest and new CD in hand.
I figured that if I bought something in addition to the spoon rest, then I wouldn’t look conspicuous.
But I felt so guilty that I immediately confessed my crime to the cashier.
“I momentarily stole this,” I said. “I put it in my pocket to free up my hands and then forgot I had it.”
The cashier smiled and said, “At least you brought it back. Most people wouldn’t have done that.”
“Well,” I said, “I’ve been teaching my kids about integrity this week. And I didn’t think that stealing a spoon rest—albeit completely unintentional—showed much integrity.”
And, well, I want to be a person of integrity.
-----
I’m curious: Have you ever accidently stolen something? Please share. I don’t want to be alone in my no-longer-a-crime-crime!
Thursday, April 3, 2014
Broken Human Reality
I ate shrimp on Monday
and I didn't die
and this is a big deal because I have avoiding shellfish for years
because I've been standing in solidarity with my grandmother who is allergic to shellfish
and I've been living in the anxiety instilled in me by a friend who also has become allergic to
both shellfish and mushrooms...
A little over two years ago, I began having panic attacks when I ate.
At the time, I didn't know what was happening.
All I knew was that I was afraid to eat for fear that my throat would close up and I couldn't be able to breathe.
After a month of living with this fear and cutting out about half of the foods I ate because so many were attached to that feeling of
tongue swelling, throat closing, chest hurting, head floating, skin sweating, and lungs gasping,
I went to the doctor.
I was convinced that I, like my friend, had suddenly become allergic to shellfish, mushrooms, and most of the rest of the food in the world.
After sitting with the doctor and sobbing for ten minutes,
I was relieved when she kindly looked at me and said,
"1) Let's change your acid reflux medicine because sometimes reflux can cause things to feel weird in your throat.
2) I'm not sure that you're actually allergic to any foods, but let's do a food allergy test to make sure.
3) We need to adjust your anxiety medication. I think it's stopped working! It sounds like you've been having panic attacks and those are horrible. So until the new meds get into your system, I'm going to give you something to take when you start to feel like this again. It should act immediately to calm you down."
I've not yet had to take that emergency medicine.
I hope that I never will.
Just being able to name what was happening as panic attacks--
being able to speak it out loud and have someone carry the weight with me--
has helped me be able to talk myself through them when they start to happen:
whether it be while eating alone, eating in crowds of people, eating with individuals for the first time,
walking through large crowds of people, walking through the mall alone, singing or playing an instrument with a group, or any other time I've ever felt those feelings of getting ready to die.
Looking back, I realize that I've had panic attacks
(some minor, some more severe)
for over half of my life.
Am I proud of this fact? No.
Is it difficult to admit that I'm on medication for anxiety--that when I don't have medication in my system my brain chemicals flow out of control, irrational fear and worry seize my mind, and depression begins to creep into my soul? Yes.
Is this embarrassing for a recovering, people-pleasing perfectionist who places her faith in a God she believes not to be a God of worry and fear? Absolutely.
And yet.
This is my broken, human reality.
And I'm okay.
Actually,
I'm more than okay:
I am created in God's image,
and I was deemed good, though far from complete,
and I am chosen and dearly loved,
and so are you, my friend--
so are you.
and I didn't die
and this is a big deal because I have avoiding shellfish for years
because I've been standing in solidarity with my grandmother who is allergic to shellfish
and I've been living in the anxiety instilled in me by a friend who also has become allergic to
both shellfish and mushrooms...
A little over two years ago, I began having panic attacks when I ate.
At the time, I didn't know what was happening.
All I knew was that I was afraid to eat for fear that my throat would close up and I couldn't be able to breathe.
After a month of living with this fear and cutting out about half of the foods I ate because so many were attached to that feeling of
tongue swelling, throat closing, chest hurting, head floating, skin sweating, and lungs gasping,
I went to the doctor.
I was convinced that I, like my friend, had suddenly become allergic to shellfish, mushrooms, and most of the rest of the food in the world.
After sitting with the doctor and sobbing for ten minutes,
I was relieved when she kindly looked at me and said,
"1) Let's change your acid reflux medicine because sometimes reflux can cause things to feel weird in your throat.
2) I'm not sure that you're actually allergic to any foods, but let's do a food allergy test to make sure.
3) We need to adjust your anxiety medication. I think it's stopped working! It sounds like you've been having panic attacks and those are horrible. So until the new meds get into your system, I'm going to give you something to take when you start to feel like this again. It should act immediately to calm you down."
I've not yet had to take that emergency medicine.
I hope that I never will.
Just being able to name what was happening as panic attacks--
being able to speak it out loud and have someone carry the weight with me--
has helped me be able to talk myself through them when they start to happen:
whether it be while eating alone, eating in crowds of people, eating with individuals for the first time,
walking through large crowds of people, walking through the mall alone, singing or playing an instrument with a group, or any other time I've ever felt those feelings of getting ready to die.
Looking back, I realize that I've had panic attacks
(some minor, some more severe)
for over half of my life.
Am I proud of this fact? No.
Is it difficult to admit that I'm on medication for anxiety--that when I don't have medication in my system my brain chemicals flow out of control, irrational fear and worry seize my mind, and depression begins to creep into my soul? Yes.
Is this embarrassing for a recovering, people-pleasing perfectionist who places her faith in a God she believes not to be a God of worry and fear? Absolutely.
And yet.
This is my broken, human reality.
And I'm okay.
Actually,
I'm more than okay:
I am created in God's image,
and I was deemed good, though far from complete,
and I am chosen and dearly loved,
and so are you, my friend--
so are you.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
In The Stirring, There Is Love
I don’t understand God. Really. I don’t. And I guess that’s okay. I guess what matters is that I love God and am willing to trust in this Life-Force so much bigger than myself.
For awhile now, I’ve carried a sense of restlessness deep inside. It’s a feeling that’s difficult to describe but one that’s very real and powerful—a stirring of sorts—an anticipation—a loneliness that will not subside—a question of if there is something more—a yearning for peace that cannot be quenched.
A few weeks ago, I scratched out a simple prayer so that I could see it. “Help.” Songs and psalms and other words of scripture played through my head as I cried out to God that night, but the one word that kept coming back was help. Help me, God. Help me in my work. Help me in my friendships. Help me be a good family member. Help me share your love. Help me rest in what I have instead of longing for something more. Help me fall into a community where I can live and serve and find purpose. Help me be myself. Help me to feel your love surrounding me rather than this loneliness within. Help me, God. Help.
Little did I know that my prayer would be answered so quickly and that the answer would be for me to enter into a time of focused discernment—a time of sabbatical and rest.
I told someone the other day that I’m taking a leap of faith and hoping to land safely on the other side. It’s odd to be taking this leap—having no idea where it ill lead—to school, to church, to chaplaincy, to something I cannot imagine? It’s odd to think of structures, routines, and plans all coming undone so that my life is a blank slate. It’s odd not knowing where money will come from or how I’ll be able to buy people gifts :-). Yet. I’ve always wanted to fly. And I know that my friends and family will not let me go hungry and that I have people praying for me whose prayers will not let me down.
I don’t understand God. Really. I don’t. But I understand love. And I know that love surrounds me today.
Green transitions to orange and red
A gentle breeze caressing skin
As eyes close to rest in the moment.
It’s unspoken understanding that transcends the what,
What filling the silence only as nervous energy drawn by
Connection too deep for words.
Beauty lives where senses are heightened and
Awareness of creation is so real that it dances a waltz for the very first time.
What fades into the background as
Sweet fragrance takes center stage and
Presence becomes undeniable.
Capture the moment in picture—
Oils or pastels or watercolors feverishly transforming canvas
From barren white to radiant color.
Capture the moment in song—
Harps or keys or drums bursting forth from soft rustle
Creating vibrations so simple and powerful that they invoke passionate tears.
Green transitions to orange and red
A gentle breeze caressing skin
As eyes close to rest in the moment.
Humility envelopes any thought of pride:
There is Love much bigger than life and
Love’s Peace decorates the world today.
For awhile now, I’ve carried a sense of restlessness deep inside. It’s a feeling that’s difficult to describe but one that’s very real and powerful—a stirring of sorts—an anticipation—a loneliness that will not subside—a question of if there is something more—a yearning for peace that cannot be quenched.
A few weeks ago, I scratched out a simple prayer so that I could see it. “Help.” Songs and psalms and other words of scripture played through my head as I cried out to God that night, but the one word that kept coming back was help. Help me, God. Help me in my work. Help me in my friendships. Help me be a good family member. Help me share your love. Help me rest in what I have instead of longing for something more. Help me fall into a community where I can live and serve and find purpose. Help me be myself. Help me to feel your love surrounding me rather than this loneliness within. Help me, God. Help.
Little did I know that my prayer would be answered so quickly and that the answer would be for me to enter into a time of focused discernment—a time of sabbatical and rest.
I told someone the other day that I’m taking a leap of faith and hoping to land safely on the other side. It’s odd to be taking this leap—having no idea where it ill lead—to school, to church, to chaplaincy, to something I cannot imagine? It’s odd to think of structures, routines, and plans all coming undone so that my life is a blank slate. It’s odd not knowing where money will come from or how I’ll be able to buy people gifts :-). Yet. I’ve always wanted to fly. And I know that my friends and family will not let me go hungry and that I have people praying for me whose prayers will not let me down.
I don’t understand God. Really. I don’t. But I understand love. And I know that love surrounds me today.
Green transitions to orange and red
A gentle breeze caressing skin
As eyes close to rest in the moment.
It’s unspoken understanding that transcends the what,
What filling the silence only as nervous energy drawn by
Connection too deep for words.
Beauty lives where senses are heightened and
Awareness of creation is so real that it dances a waltz for the very first time.
What fades into the background as
Sweet fragrance takes center stage and
Presence becomes undeniable.
Capture the moment in picture—
Oils or pastels or watercolors feverishly transforming canvas
From barren white to radiant color.
Capture the moment in song—
Harps or keys or drums bursting forth from soft rustle
Creating vibrations so simple and powerful that they invoke passionate tears.
Green transitions to orange and red
A gentle breeze caressing skin
As eyes close to rest in the moment.
Humility envelopes any thought of pride:
There is Love much bigger than life and
Love’s Peace decorates the world today.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
A Little Piece of My Truth
Me, 9pm last night, Sabbath night, throwing down the book I was reading for work, sobbing, and restlessly lying (actually wrestling or squirming) on my couch:
I’m having a really bad night :-(. My thoughts are really negative and all I hear is God screaming damnation and punishment on me and it’s loud and I need it to stop but it will not stop :-(. All I keep thinking is that I don’t want to be dramatic and demanding and insecure and clingy. I don’t want to live in the fear that I’m not good enough or that people will get tired of me and leave. I don’t want to feel like I’m too much. But my thoughts are so bad and I feel so worthless and ugly and wrong and inadequate. I feel like my faith is not strong enough. I just want to love people and love God and enjoy life and go to the state fair. I don’t know why things aren’t always easy for me. Why I can’t be as bubbly as the author I’m reading now. Why things don’t work out easily in my life. I don’t know why I feel lonely like I do. I don’t know why I sometimes get anxious in public places and convince myself that I’m going to die when I’m alone or that everyone in my family is going to die or why my skin always itches or why I cannot read well with my eyes. I don’t know those things and I don’t like them. And I don’t know why anyone else would like them either. But I do know that I want to buy that piece of art that I saw in Orlando and put it in my apartment because it’s how I feel when I’m alone. Like something is missing from deep within my heart. And. I know that my eyes are all puffy and I have no cucumbers to put on them like at a spa.
A little while later, after the image of a loving God and gentle Jesus returned—this happening only after I was able to calm my body, breathe, and cry, out loud, “I need you, God. I need you. I need you.”—I returned to my book and began to read again. I read about being full of God’s power—about God giving us the strength to do whatever God has called us to—about not being ashamed of telling the story of what Christ has done in our lives (my wording, there)—about being set free and not living in fear.
As I read, the reality of the vastness of God settled upon me and I couldn’t help but smile a simple smile as I realized that God was allowing me to hear the words in a way completely different than I imagine the author to have penned them. I’m not afraid of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I’m not afraid to share my faith…but I am often afraid to share the depth of my story because it is full of doubts and questions and struggles and realities that sometimes are perceived as faith not strong enough, belief not deep enough, prayer not good enough, thought not simple or clear enough, action not holy enough, words not righteous enough, emotions not stable enough, or joy not bubbly enough to truly be the faith of a Christian believer.
Oh. But I am a believer.
I am a believer in the Trinity God—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer—God bigger than anything the human mind can begin to comprehend—God who longs for the redemption of this world and who works alongside us in this Christ-story that makes redemption possible. I believe in a God whose love is deep enough and wide enough and patient enough and steady enough to endure the darkest night of the soul. I believe in a God who hears questions, cries with doubts, hurts with sorrows, sticks with us in uncertainty, grieves with loss and consequence, laughs at quirks, feels anger for injustice, honors life’s journey, delights in full life, enjoys worship, lives in community, loves and sees the good and possibility in all people, and longs for peace.
Yes. I am a believer. Yet I have friends and family members who are not.
I am a believer. But sometimes I still hate myself (even though I know that God doesn’t feel the same.)
I am a believer. Yet I don’t understand how God can allow genocide and starvation and senseless beatings and hateful oppression.
I am a believer. But I read secular books and listen to secular music and honor the values and traditions
of other cultures and denominations.
I am a believer. And I am pro-dignity-of-all-human-life and I believe in an evolution of change.
I am a believer. Yet sometimes I think only in curse words.
I am believer. But I am open. And seeking. And searching. And doubting. And trying. And struggling. And suffering comes from trying to juggle a fear of rejection and human damnation with the courage to speak the reality of who I believe God to be (love) and who God has created me to be (myself).
Yes. I am a believer. Yet I sometimes have horrible nights. And that’s the truth…of which I’m learning to no longer be afraid.
I’m having a really bad night :-(. My thoughts are really negative and all I hear is God screaming damnation and punishment on me and it’s loud and I need it to stop but it will not stop :-(. All I keep thinking is that I don’t want to be dramatic and demanding and insecure and clingy. I don’t want to live in the fear that I’m not good enough or that people will get tired of me and leave. I don’t want to feel like I’m too much. But my thoughts are so bad and I feel so worthless and ugly and wrong and inadequate. I feel like my faith is not strong enough. I just want to love people and love God and enjoy life and go to the state fair. I don’t know why things aren’t always easy for me. Why I can’t be as bubbly as the author I’m reading now. Why things don’t work out easily in my life. I don’t know why I feel lonely like I do. I don’t know why I sometimes get anxious in public places and convince myself that I’m going to die when I’m alone or that everyone in my family is going to die or why my skin always itches or why I cannot read well with my eyes. I don’t know those things and I don’t like them. And I don’t know why anyone else would like them either. But I do know that I want to buy that piece of art that I saw in Orlando and put it in my apartment because it’s how I feel when I’m alone. Like something is missing from deep within my heart. And. I know that my eyes are all puffy and I have no cucumbers to put on them like at a spa.
A little while later, after the image of a loving God and gentle Jesus returned—this happening only after I was able to calm my body, breathe, and cry, out loud, “I need you, God. I need you. I need you.”—I returned to my book and began to read again. I read about being full of God’s power—about God giving us the strength to do whatever God has called us to—about not being ashamed of telling the story of what Christ has done in our lives (my wording, there)—about being set free and not living in fear.
As I read, the reality of the vastness of God settled upon me and I couldn’t help but smile a simple smile as I realized that God was allowing me to hear the words in a way completely different than I imagine the author to have penned them. I’m not afraid of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I’m not afraid to share my faith…but I am often afraid to share the depth of my story because it is full of doubts and questions and struggles and realities that sometimes are perceived as faith not strong enough, belief not deep enough, prayer not good enough, thought not simple or clear enough, action not holy enough, words not righteous enough, emotions not stable enough, or joy not bubbly enough to truly be the faith of a Christian believer.
Oh. But I am a believer.
I am a believer in the Trinity God—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer—God bigger than anything the human mind can begin to comprehend—God who longs for the redemption of this world and who works alongside us in this Christ-story that makes redemption possible. I believe in a God whose love is deep enough and wide enough and patient enough and steady enough to endure the darkest night of the soul. I believe in a God who hears questions, cries with doubts, hurts with sorrows, sticks with us in uncertainty, grieves with loss and consequence, laughs at quirks, feels anger for injustice, honors life’s journey, delights in full life, enjoys worship, lives in community, loves and sees the good and possibility in all people, and longs for peace.
Yes. I am a believer. Yet I have friends and family members who are not.
I am a believer. But sometimes I still hate myself (even though I know that God doesn’t feel the same.)
I am a believer. Yet I don’t understand how God can allow genocide and starvation and senseless beatings and hateful oppression.
I am a believer. But I read secular books and listen to secular music and honor the values and traditions
of other cultures and denominations.
I am a believer. And I am pro-dignity-of-all-human-life and I believe in an evolution of change.
I am a believer. Yet sometimes I think only in curse words.
I am believer. But I am open. And seeking. And searching. And doubting. And trying. And struggling. And suffering comes from trying to juggle a fear of rejection and human damnation with the courage to speak the reality of who I believe God to be (love) and who God has created me to be (myself).
Yes. I am a believer. Yet I sometimes have horrible nights. And that’s the truth…of which I’m learning to no longer be afraid.
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