I Lied

 

I lied. 

I said that I didn’t have any cash. 

But I did. 

I had six dollars and my squirrel. 

 

I don’t know why I lied. 

I could have given him money. 

I could have helped. 

But I didn’t. 

 

And once I declared that I wasn’t a cash carrier—

Which is usually true—

I couldn’t go back on my word

Because then he’d have known I was lying. 

 

So I doubled down on my lie. 

I told him I had Euros in my wallet. 

Which was really true. 

But Euros don’t help a man stranded in Winston Salem. 

 

I told him I’d be happy to buy him something

But I didn’t know what was open in downtown at night. 

He didn’t know either, 

And he didn’t want greasy food because of its effects on his diabetic body. 

 

He had nothing with him but a blanket. 

It was his first night on the streets. 

He loved music and God and education and talking and 

I did not feel threatened by him at all. 

 

I looked him in the eye and laughed with him. 

And I kept thinking:

What if this is an angel in disguise?

And you’re lying. 

 

He was an older black man experiencing homelessness 

And I was a middle aged white woman experiencing a moral failure. 

My name is Deanna and I lied. 

His name was Russell and he knew it. 

 

God, forgive me

For knowing a man’s dignity and worth 

But not valuing his life 

Anyhow. 

 

Forgive us 

When we do stupid things

Like double down on a lie to a stranger

Because we want to save face.

 

And help us, God, to swallow our pride 

And to do better 

Whenever we sense Your voice 

Calling. 

 

Amen. 

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

Dispelling Darkness

I remember being afraid that I’d be judged—that people would say that my relationship with God wasn’t strong enough—that I didn’t need counseling but that I needed to “get right with the Lord.”

I remember shaking when I first asked for help—feeling vulnerable—weak—sick. I remember crying.

I remember feeling lost as I walked into counseling for the first time. I remember having no idea what to say or do. I remember sitting on the couch and feeling very weird. I remember spewing a whole bunch of things that were in my heart and on my mind. And I remember crying again…to a total stranger…who would come to be God’s Love and Light when I needed it most.

I have been in counseling for twelve years now, and I have seen three different therapists. There have been months when I’ve not seen anyone. Life has kept me away. But for the most part, I have been in counseling at least once a month for all of those twelve years—sometimes in crisis, most of the time in the normal rhythms of the life of one who struggles with anxiety and works in the helping professions—all the while in a safe space of no pretense—a container of holding for every part of my life—pleasant, unpleasant, and neutral.

Counseling has helped me understand God more fully and deeply. It has expanded my understanding of the Creator, made me more amazed at the Redeemer, and caused me to be ever more aware of the presence of the Sustainer. Trinity God is alive, active, and well, and counseling has helped me see and understand that much…all the while helping me to see and understand myself.

And yet…there is still such a stigma about counseling. There is still the belief that Christians (or strong people in general) shouldn’t need counseling—that if our relationship with God (or our family or friends) is strong enough then we shouldn’t need outside help—that if we just “get right with the Lord” then all will be well.

Well, friends, I’m here to tell you: That stigma is a dark, damning lie.

God has not called us to go at life alone. Instead, God has given us the ability to know that there are times when we must ask for and seek human help. As a result, God has given us family, friends, colleagues, church family, pastors, teachers, doctors, counselors, and other professionals to provide us with the help that we need.

Dear friends: Depression and anxiety are illnesses. They are very often brain chemical imbalances that need to be treated, and the best treatment is talk therapy (and oftentimes the addition of medication). We have no shame in treating most physical illnesses; therefore, we must stop shaming the reality of mental illnesses that are crippling millions of children, teenagers, and adults, and we must stop punishing ourselves by pretending that everything is alright when it so clearly is not.

May we be a people of Love and Light; telling our stories and dispelling the darkness of fear, shame, and lies; offering hope and giving permission to seek help to those who need it; and mustering the courage to ask for help when we ourselves need it most.

Amen?

And amen.

Courageous Truth

Once upon a time, there was a girl. The girl had a loving family who took very good care of her.
When the girl began Kindergarten, she was nervous like most Kindergarteners. She cried when she had to leave her mother, uncertain of being separated from her mom’s love. Other kids cried, too—no big deal—until one day of crying led to a week led to a month led to many more months of deep struggle in school.

There were many opinions as to what to do about the little girl’s anxiety. Most opinions centered around the notion that the girl’s loving family was being too protective. Cut the strings. Walk away. She’ll stop crying eventually. She has to grow up sometime.

One night as the little girl was taking a bath and her mom was talking to her about places where it is and is not appropriate for people to touch, the little girl casually mentioned, “No one has touched me there this year.”

This year.

But someone had touched her the previous year. A peer. A young boy. Not in her family. But someone nonetheless. And it had scared her. It had made her feel vulnerable and insecure. And it made her not certain who outside her family she could trust. It had made her feel unsafe. And it made her not want to go to school.

Thankfully, this story has a happy ending. Once the little girl told the story of what had happened to her, and once her family got her into counseling to help her work through the issues tied to the incident, she stopped crying every day when it came time to go to school. She stopped clinging to her mom’s hand and began to have the courage to walk to class alone. She began to smile more and she began to talk.

She had told the truth. And the truth had set her free.

I recently had a deep theological conversation with a friend. As we moved from one hot topic to the next, we landed on the topic of coming out. For most, the phrase “coming out” is almost exclusively tied to the process of identifying as gay/lesbian/transgendered; but for others, the phrase “coming out” has come to be associated with a process that occurs many times over the course of one’s life. The friend that I was talking to in this conversation—a woman who had been called into ministry—had had to come out of the women in ministry closet. Another friend has had to come out of the atheist closet. Another friend has had to come out of the not-called-to-be-what-her-parents-wanted-her-to-be closet. Another friend has had to come out of a political closet. Other friends have come out of other closets. And in every instance, the process has been similar: recognition of thought or feeling, exploration, questioning, doubt, struggle, fear of rejection, declaration, and acceptance (though not always in this particular order and not at all linear in sequence). [Do you know what’s interesting about this? These are also the stages of faith development.]

If I may be so bold, then I am going to suggest, dear friends, that each of us has a closet from which we need to escape. Some of us may have a whole house of them. Like the girl who began this post, your closet could be a closet of abuse and that abuse is big and real and scary and paralyzing. Or maybe your closet is financial ruin or medical insecurity or theological doubt or political anger or helpless sadness or wanting to be seen or admission of imperfection or maybe even sexual orientation. Maybe you’ve just gone into your closet or maybe you’ve been hiding your whole life. I don’t know. But what I do know is this:

When we have the courage to speak our truth in love, and when we have the courage to hear others’ truth in love, then the truth will set us free.

I’m not talking about spewing moral absolutes and fighting ‘sin’ with right and wrong. I’m talking about courageously, honestly, openly, and vulnerably risking to share parts our story—our truths—with one another in common humanity. I’m talking about fighting fear, separation, and otherness with words and dialogue—however difficult and humbling they may be. I’m talking about discussing which zones are safe and doing something proactive when we realize that safety has been breached. I’m talking about bunkering down, getting into trust-fall position, and holding one another’s pain. Because this world shouldn’t be a closet. And kids shouldn’t fear going to school. And humanity should never be us against them...

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!

My Hallmark-Friend's Integrity

About six weeks ago, on a Friday afternoon, I randomly decided to visit my local Hallmark. I hadn’t been in awhile. I wanted to check the sales. But when I drove up I saw something I didn’t expect: Going Out Of Business: Everything 30% off.

What was supposed to be a quick trip immediately turned into a long trip as I shopped and weighed the pros and cons of buying at 30% off vs. the sales that I knew would follow.

In the weeks that have followed that Hallmark-ly fateful day, I have visited the store for every price point drop. 40% off. 50% off. 60% off. Each time I’ve gone into the store, shopped, and weighed the pros and cons of buying or waiting.

Not to brag, but I think I’ve done a pretty good job gauging when I’ve needed to buy and when it’s been okay to wait. I went for the rarely-on-sale gift items somewhat quickly but waited for the cards. I currently have enough cards to last for quite awhile. My plan is to make a spreadsheet of the gifts and cards I purchased—some for specific people, some to have ready for the right occasion. My hope is that I’ll actually remember to look at the spreadsheet, send the cards, and give the gifts!

Sadly, my local Hallmark, Peggy’s Hallmark of Lillington, is no longer a Crown Rewards Store. They stopped paying their dues when they decided to close. For those of you who may not know Hallmark-ese, that means that because the store is not a Crown Rewards store, customers have not been getting rewards points for purchases made. Ordinarily I wouldn’t care, but I’ve purchased so much stuff that I should have earned a whole bunch of rewards points…which is where the main point of today’s writing lies.

Because I’ve been to the store so often recently, I’ve become Hallmark-friends with the two workers. We’ve shared funny cards and stories and learned about one another’s families and had a good time bantering back and forth at how dedicated I am in my gift and card buying. Today, after our normal greetings, I told my Hallmark-friends that this would probably be the last time I’d come into the store before it closed because I wouldn’t be free during business hours next week. We were all very saddened that I wouldn’t make the 75% or 80% off sales.

As I started making my Hallmark-pile on what used to be the display shelves at the front, one of the workers told me that I could call 1-800-HALLMARK and have them credit my account for the cards I bought. The trick was keeping the purchase under $100 and knowing exactly how many cards were purchased. We worked together to make this happen—splitting the purchase into two transactions—and then we told each other our Hallmark-goodbyes, realizing that we might not see each other again because the store was closing.

After running some other errands, which may have included going to another Hallmark store to look for Vera Bradley, I stopped by the house before heading to an appointment in Raleigh. When I got home, my mom told me that Hallmark had called. Evidently, one of my Hallmark-friends had charged me too much, realized her error, felt terrible about the overcharge, looked up my name in the local Hallmark-Database, and called my house to tell me to come back by the store so that she could credit back the money.

It was $5.99. $5.99 that I pretty much guarantee I would have never missed. $5.99 that her store could have kept as it was going out of business. $5.99 that seems so small in the scheme of my Hallmark purchases but that now means so much.

In this broken world of broken people where we so often we hear of taking instead of giving, of lying instead of telling the truth, of loopholes instead of integrity, there are still good people trying to bring good to the world…

Thank you, Hallmark-friend, for showing me that today. And rest assured: I will do my best to bring good to the world, too, $5.99- or one card- or gift- at a time.

So Much Boils Down To Feeling Safe

Have you ever had a conversation that helped you realize something that you didn’t know you needed to realize?

As I chatted with a friend yesterday afternoon and said something that seemed a bit too random to be truly random—although it was something that had just popped into my mind—I found myself being faced with this request: “Tell me what you know. Because that was a bit too random.”

So. I started talking about all of the things that I know. I said things like, “I know you’re a tremendous person and leader. I know that you’re very capable of doing good and that you add something important to this world. I know that I hope good things for you and that you will be an excellent mom when you choose to have kids and if you are able to have kids. I know that I think baby humans and puppies are super cute but that I don’t think I could successfully raise either. And I know that I sometimes I wish I could go back and start over again so that I could be a better friend to people. Steady. Stable. Strong. And…safe.”

Steady. Stable. Strong. Safe.
Safe…
So much boils down to feeling safe.

When people think of me, I want them to feel safe.
Not afraid that
I’ll ask too many questions,
Want to know too much,
Offer too many gifts,
Share overwhelming information,
Think too deeply,
Come on too strong,
Demand unrealistic outcomes,
Be too mean.
When people think of me, I want them to feel safe.
Comfortable.
Loved.
Believed in.
Free to be fully themselves.
Safe.

So often, when things go wrong in friendships, in relationships,
It’s because someone has made someone else feel unsafe—
Plain and simple…
Though it’s really not simple at all.

I didn’t know I needed to realize this. But. I did.

So much boils down to feeling safe.

God, forgive us (forgive me) for all the times we’ve (I’ve) made someone feel unsafe.
And God, help us mend what’s been broken,
Slowly, steadily, securely,
Until we feel safe again.
Amen.

------

My friend Holli came to visit today. She arrived at school just before car rider duty ended—just in time to see my J and L go to their car. My J is the student who brought me lunch the Friday before Spring Break. He is also the student who won the county writing competition and who I went to the reception to support. Furthermore, he and L own my favorite car rider duty dog, Zoe.
Since Holli had her dog with her, I introduced them all to one another. “J and L—this is my friend Holli and her dog Julius Caesar.” J’s response, “You didn’t tell me you had friends!”

He sounded truly offended that I hadn’t shared this bit of information with him!

I smiled and said, “Well, yes. I have friends, J.” He approved.

Then Holli said, “This is going on the internet later.” I said, “It sure is.”

And there it is, my friends. My cute school story from the day.

Chased only by this cute story: I love dogs. My dad loves dogs. Holli loves dogs. My mom doesn’t love dogs. Who has Julius Caesar gravitated toward since he’s been at the house?
As he jumped on the couch with my mom, we heard this laughing statement, “Out of everyone in this house, why did you choose me?”

Then he came to me. And slept on my hand as I finished this post.

Confession: But By The Grace of God

A coworker asked me the other day how I remained so positive.
But by the grace of God, my friend. But by the grace of God.
Because here’s the truth.
I’m really not a very positive person. At all.

In fact, when left on its own,
The script in my head is one of the most damning places one could ever be.
“You’re such a stupid piece of crap. You should just stay in bed instead of getting up and subjecting the world to your junk. You’re overbearing and ridiculously annoying. You think too much and talk too much and no one wants to be around you. You’re a pitifully sad excuse of a
minister and teacher.”

Those are the thoughts that stay with me, folks.
But by the grace of God, my friend. But by the grace of God.

When I’m rested and my appreciation tank is full,
I can quieten the lies.
But when I’m tired and overly stressed,
They are all that I can hear.
And when they’re all I can hear,
I get really messed up.
I feel lonely. So I talk more. Then I feel like I say too much and annoy people. So then I get mad at myself and want to disappear. But then I get lonely again. And when I say lonely, I mean deep down irrationally alone. So I talk about it and try not to turn it inward. But then I get mad at myself for burdening the world with my mess. And then I shut down and want to disappear because I dislike myself so much And cannot believe that anyone else would actually want me around.
Crazymaking, huh?

But by the grace of God, my friend. But by the grace of God.

I’ve had to learn how to soften the lies and I have to face them every day.
Counseling has helped me build new neuro-pathways and
given me language for a new script.
I’ve learned to breathe and to give the Spirit space to settle.
I’ve learned the value of silence and contemplative prayer.
I’ve learned that I’m not alone in my damning thoughts and
that I do not have to carry them alone.
I’ve learned that people are praying for me, too…

But by the grace of God, my friend. But by the grace of God.

We’re in this together.
And I believe in you.
Which is one positively true statement,
Even when I don’t believe in myself.

But by the grace of God, my friend. But by the grace of God.

*Selah*

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.