What you Know about Yourself

She was taught that her word was her bond.  She was taught that what you know about yourself is more important than what others think of you.  She was taught that integrity would pay its own dividend and that respect and honor would right a person when the world turned upside down.  She was taught to trade honestly but watch for good deals and subtle blessings as you walk through life.  She was taught to save and buy cautiously.  She was taught that sometimes having what you need meant denying what you want.  She was taught to think quickly and move slowly.

It’s odd how life moves at times.  You find out what you are made of when the unexpected comes.  She had learned her lessons at a gentle hand and in common gifts.  She had shared love and trust and her plate had always had something edible on it.  She knew both wealth and want face to face.  Her parents had brought her through struggles and abundance with stories and laughter and a kind hand toward strangers even when what you gave meant less for yourself when the supply was already meager.  They brought her to comfort and honor with a gentle innocent heart even though she had seen the depravity of man through a clean uncurtained window.  Her bed was soft and warm and the house she was raised in had good bones.

She was thrust into adulthood at an early age by an ill advised marriage and untimely motherhood.  Her children were her world.  They brought her joy while solidifying her purpose and she determined to pass on the lessons she gained at the steady gentle hand of her father to these little wonders. 

She remembered stories her grandparents and parents had told about lean days –those days when the supply was less than adequate for the honor and integrity they struggled to maintain. Yet the stories were told with a smile and a sense of humor always under-girded with a sense of inward uprightness. She considered at times that she was gleaning her own set of stories and though times could be harsh, she laughed at their simplicity and walked upright.

Across the lawn and her small garden, beyond a yard with a high fence and barely visible from her humble home sprawled an opulent estate, though it’s yard and out buildings were cluttered and poorly cared for.  The wealthy yet somewhat course woman who lived there was her landlord, the unmarried daughter of a man who owned most of the town and employed most of its people.  Behind her and across a field and well kept garden was a simple yet elegant home where an older couple who had once owned most of the land in the town and surrounding farms lived out their remaining days in humble yet dignified fashion.  They spoke with grace, smiled easily and gave generously to the needs of those around them. People of the town whispered stories of how they had been deceived and cheated by the family who controlled everything now.  It seemed odd to her that they were still honored and treated with respect though their means were considerably less but the wealthier, successful family was spoken of with disdain and sarcasm when out of earshot.

When the young woman was pregnant with her first child, life was lean. She had made maternity outfits by redesigning or ripping up some of the dresses she had made while in the comfortable, ample home of her parents.  It was an honorable challenge.  She had way more dresses than she would ever need to wear after the birth of her child anyway.  She painstakingly stitched them by hand having no sewing machine.  It was a challenge that her upbringing had fitted her for. 

The elderly woman in the well kept home came to see her one day.  She brought a piece of fabric that she said she’d had for some time and never made up.  Perhaps it would serve for a dressy maternity outfit.  She just happened to have a pattern that she bought for her daughter years ago.  She suggested that a few simple changes might make it more modern.  And she offered the use of her sewing machine.

It was with pride that the young woman used her skills to construct the dress.  The older woman smiled and nodded and commented that she was glad someone was getting use of it.  But the pattern was new and one day in a local fabric shop she saw the bolt the piece had been taken from.  Her heart was grateful and it was a nice dress that she could wear with a bit of pride.  She allowed the older woman to maintain her story and sought for little favors and kind acts that might reward her benevolence.

One day her husband came home from work and told her of a windfall.  Their landlord was selling them a large quantity of meat at a price far below what they would pay in the super market.  It was still a good bit of money and would run them short, but for what they would get, it was worth skimping on other supplies for a while.  She adjusted her menus and agreed that they would make do.  He was excited about the promise of steak, chops and roast added to their diet.  The landlord had felt bad about making them wait for needed repairs and promised upgrades and was repaying their patience with this kind favor.

When he brought the meat home, they could barely fit the butcher paper wrapped finery into their smallish freezer.  She anxiously saved out a cut of meat for the next nights supper.  When she unwrapped it she noticed it had an odd smell, was dry and the color had faded.  She’d never seen meat that looked that way, but she prepared and cooked it and served it.  Across the garden fence, she asked her aged friend about the meat.  She would learn that it was freezer burned and while it didn’t make them sick, it was not that appealing no matter what she did to try to compensate.  They talked to the landlord about it, but she insisted that it was just fine and that they were somehow ungrateful for the awesome deal she had given them. 

It was a learning experience.  There was no refund and no money for a good while to use to buy more.  She was angry; she was discouraged.  It made her heart hurt each time she thought about it.  She remembered coping stories she’d heard a hundred times from her grand parents and parents.  She remembered the humor and roll of the eyes as the stories were recalled and shared.  She didn’t really see anything to laugh about in this event.  But she did learn a valuable lesson and she gained some respect for herself as odd as that seemed.  Even after their investment was recouped and their shopping budget restored, their situation was such that they could not afford to throw it out.  A little bit of innocence leaked out her eyes and was dabbed off the end of her nose each time she prepared a meal.  

What kind of Friend?

She looked miserable: eyes averted, body language defeated. She was trying to sort through her own self-condemnation.  And so the story was constructed.

They were friends.  They encouraged, mentored, problem solved and laughed a lot.  How does that kind of friendship stop being a friendship?

She was there when her friend met ‘the one.’  She was excited and then a bit disappointed by the distance that grew between them.  She remembered when she and her husband were romancing each other.  There was very little time for anyone or anything but each other.  It made her smile and the love in their eyes was inspiring.  She was happy for her friend.  It was a quick, small but lovely wedding.

Her friend’s husband was always one break away from amazing and sharply critical of those whose break had come.  And her friend? She was just straight out amazing.  Her little job insecurities became chances for the two friends to share long conversations once more.  New exciting job opportunities for the two of them took her friend miles away, out of her immediate circle, but they kept the friendship in text and phone conversations and through social media.

Sometime in the years that passed, she began noticing a difference in her friend.  Her friend was more easily wounded –much like her husband.  Her friend was much more critical of slight differences of opinion as he had always been.  Her friend held her own counsel and confidence.  She was happy for her, and yet sad for the friendship that was becoming ever more distant.

The argument that separated them was silly.  At one time, her friend would have seen it that way and they would have laughed and all would have been right with the world.  It was more between herself and her friend’s husband and yet the we  . . . . . became ever more intruding and the words spoken were not kind on any part.  Through social media lines were drawn, many people joined the fray, sides were taken and they were on opposite ends of the spat: not enemies but no longer friends in any real sense of the word.  A bit shell shocked, she stayed out of her friends space for the next two and a half years.  When her name would pop up, a sense of sadness mixed with injustice would pop up as well.

Then one day, she saw her friend while she was out and about.  They spoke like old friends – with a tentative reserve.  Her friend looked really nice.  Her smile had life in it again- odd that she would notice that.  She wondered exactly when the light had faded from her friend’s eyes.  They talked about ‘catching up’ and her friend left in her chic outfit, well coifed hair and bouncy manner.  They went their ways and the meeting was all but forgotten.

A couple of weeks later, her friend commented on a post she made and after the fashion of their old days they bantered a bit before going on their separate way.  They had never dissolved their virtual friendship, they had just become invisible to each other after the incident years back.  But her friend seemed to want to take off the shroud, to be heard and seen again.  The image from their last encounter flashed in her mind and then a difference caught her eye.

She was startled.  Her friend’s nomenclature left off her last name-a new fad among those coming out of established relationships.  Curiously, she went to her friend’s page and found her maiden name, the relationship status ‘single.’

“How long?” she asked herself.  It wasn’t as much of a shock as it should have been.  Her main question was simply “Was I such a bad friend that I didn’t notice or care?”  Even the least offensive divorce is painful. Did her friend need a shoulder, an understanding ear during those days?  How could something like that slip under the radar when they had been such good friends?”  Suddenly she was remembering mitten held hot chocolate on cool nights and sipping cold fruit drinks through straws on the deck in hot weather.  She remembered long talks sorting through the importance of events and behaviors in the beginning days of her friend’s career.  They had shared the best and the barely endurable parts of life.  How was it possible she did not know?  What selfishness or fear was it that caused her to look away for two and a half years?

Her friend’s action in the past was no longer an issue.  She realized it hadn’t been for a long time and yet they had remained estranged and she had somehow supported that decision without question. The issue now was “What kind of friend doesn’t know that her friend went through a divorce?”

Persistent Grumbler vs Obnoxiously Grateful

What makes the difference between the persistent grumbler and the obnoxiously grateful? I mean, why is gratitude obnoxious in the first place? You can say it's attitude and we all get that, but what is that all about?  If you are chaffed by someone else's gratitude, perhaps you need to look out of your own box and find what you have instead of what you don't have.  Find the promises and not just the problems.  It's possible that the 'happy' person you disdain has just done that and their joy is actually accented by their need instead of being crushed by it.
I recently read "I may not have everything I want, but I have everything I need." Without going into the whole 3rd world economy thing, I have to say that I have most of what I want. I mean, I can always think of something I'd like to have -a new refrigerator, a finished woodworking shop, a bigger sunroom for all the plants I house in the winter, a 3rd bathroom accessible from the pool, that perfect pair of dressy low heeled leather boots that fit like a dream and look awesome with anything I wear. You get the picture -that's just stuff. But does not having it leave me in want? Not really; I can live most of my days without thinking of those things twice if at all. If my life were to end tomorrow, I would not be complaining about those things with my dying breath.
There are relational issues that leave me in want. But I can't rule the heart of another and grumbling won't make it okay, even though some days I just do it anyway. Prayer gives hope for 'someday', though I'd prefer it be now.  If I concentrate on other people's behaviors and attitudes, I will never be satisfied.  If I concentrate on the awesome love God gives and seek ways to be a blessing to others, I find the joy overtakes my frustration and onliness.
I am a person who overthinks things and my conclusion is that God knows me better than I do. Wants are bound in minutes and hours. We get through it. Grouchy won't fix it for sure. I'm not going to grumble anyone into friendship or appreciation or honor.
So today, I choose to accept the 'want' as a step in my journey and trust God with tomorrow knowing that he gives the desires of our hearts not the fleeting covet marked by shopping trips or television shows. If I set up an idol in my heart he's not going to honor it anyway. Today I shall ignore the persistent grumbler in me and release the obnoxiously grateful. At least that's the plan. 
I have much to be thankful for.

Season of Our Joy 5

Sometimes the best of us just needs a good whuppin’.  I had an occasion to feel like administering such.  I told my mr. off royally and started away on a pitty-party of hurricane force.  Then I heard my God say again “This day is holy to the Lord. Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.”  It’s funny how quickly my anger and indignation melted.  If it had been Monday or Tuesday morning, would it have passed with just a word?  I don’t know, but I do know that by Friday, I was conditioned to joy.  I wanted joy and not justice.  Suddenly the infraction didn’t matter.

When I read about the travels of the nation of Israel from the exodus to the promised land, their grumbling, dissatisfied spirit is apparent.  They had much to not be pleased about, and yet their God was a redeemer, restorer, problem solver and shield.  What if they had just asked and kept a thankful spirit instead of grumbling? Well for one thing, the trip would have taken 40 less years.  And yet even with the complaining, God did not leave them.  The cloud and fire remained.

Over the weekend I had several chances to try out my choice for joy.  I found it liberating and encouraging that I could just choose to be joyful instead of offended. In my normal world, I grumble a lot.  Of course my mind says I’m clarifying the problem or I’m working it out, but it comes down to a dissatisfied, grumbling spirit.  Yet for that week God was a cloud of joy, protecting my spirit from words and deeds that would have upset me before.  He was a fire calling me back when I was being drawn away.

There were a few songs that ministered much to me all week.  The messianic group sang “Days of Elijah” and “Dance Like David” every night that week.  These were songs that I was familiar with and they lifted my spirit in an unexplainable way.  Of course, there were other songs that I didn’t know and some sung in other languages.  But those two along with Hava Nagila were familiar. “Good Good Father” was another.  The other group didn’t sing it, but I linked to it online and played it at key moments when worry or other stuff began to crowd me.  The same was true with “No Longer Slaves”.  There were other songs that ministered to me, but these came back time after time and spread joy to my heart and freedom to my spirit. 

While packing up to come home, I felt torn.  During the week I had learned so many things; I felt so many things.  I didn’t want to leave the me I found at dawn beside the lake or the me I found at the campfire or sitting under my simple sukkah praising God for his goodness of the past year.  I didn’t want to leave behind the idea of visually offering my hands, my eyes, my lips and my heart to God daily in a spirit of celebration and joy.  I wanted to be home with my comfortable chair and tall bed and jetted tub and yet I didn’t want to leave behind that symbol of my vulnerability against the harshness of the storm, trusting God for protection and provision.  I didn’t want to leave behind the me that turned from anger to honest rejoicing just because the Father said so. 

This afternoon I was becoming frustrated and overwhelmed; time and need were pressing hard against my mind and body.  I began singing “Days of Elijah’ and another and soon I was working more smoothly and stressing less.  There are things I brought back with me.  I hope they are enduring and remain new and useful.

As an addendum, I see that God was there a month ahead of me. Planning and convincing me to come to the celebration of joy even though I had no idea it would be a celebration of joy.  I see that God was with me to make my reservations in a different place than I originally planned for a few days.  I see that God was in the smallness of the first site to cause me to recognize the sukkah and hear the music.  I see that God was with us in placing people who understood and celebrated freely and robustly in proximity to our first site to pull us into the celebration quickly and more whole heartedly.  I see that he was with me in the transition of camp to camp –teaching me and allowing me to ask questions.  I see that God was the provider and protector of the sacrifice I would make.  What ever else I learned, I am overwhelmed at my God who’s joy is my strength and who wanted so much to camp with me for that week.

I thought I needed to refocus, to get away from the stress and confusion, oh, but God . . .!