You Wanna Help? Just Hush

 

Just because you do things a certain way and that way is right for you, doesn’t mean it’s right for someone else.

When someone tells you they had or are having a hard time, lecturing them is fruitless. Shaming them shows your own ignorance and lack of mercy.

When you give advice or admonishment, it should always be spoken in love. I don’t mean, “Hey, I said that ’cause I love you.” I mean using LOVING words. Uplifting, encouraging, building.

Even when someone makes a terrible mistake, they don’t deserve be robbed of their dignity or your respect.

Sometimes it’s better just to say, “Sorry you’re hurting.” or “Sorry that happened to you.” or “Is there anything I can do to help?” without the allusion to the word, “…dumba**” at the end.

Sometimes people act like they’re trying to help, but all they’re really trying to do is make you feel stupid or low.

You don’t ALWAYS have to say what you think. If you don’t know what to say or how to help, silence is a great option. You can ask God how to proceed. You can give a hug instead.

If your kind of helping is only hurting, its time to go back to the drawing board.

Remember to treat others the way you want to be treated.

 

One of the teachers of the law came and heard them debating. Noticing that Jesus had given them a good answer, he asked him, “Of all the commandments, which is the most important?”

“The most important one,” answered Jesus, “is this: ‘Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no commandment greater than these.” —Mark 12:28-31

Confrontation

 

More than 200 miles from home, I found it comforting to make a new friend whose circumstances were so similar to my own. We were both single moms with two kids each. We had just moved into a new apartment complex; she was two doors down from me. We often drove to church together with our four children in tow, singing at the top of our lungs all the way.

I watched her kids so she could clean. She returned the favor. We shared meals and took the kids on outings. Long story short, we became closer than some sisters.

BUT, we had our differences. In many ways we were like day and night. We rubbed each other the wrong way at times. We were finding out how true this verse could be:

As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another. –Proverbs 27:17

We were also learning that you have to allow yourself to be sharpened. Let’s face it, it doesn’t FEEL good. You have to set aside your pride. You have to have the courage to tell someone they hurt you. You have to admit when you did something wrong.

You have to cooperate.

If you handle the differences the way God says to handle them, you grow. If not, you fall apart. You lose your friendship, you lose an opportunity to please God, and you lose the ability to mature.

When we felt like throwing dishes at each other, we talked instead. Emotional, trembling, smiling through tears…we talked. Little did we know that people were watching. They noticed the way we dealt with our disagreements and spoke about it. It was so foreign to the way most people fight.

There were no explosions, no calling each other names. No criticizing, one-upping each other, competing… no getting even. We were fighting the problem, not each other.

In the bible it tells us to “speak the truth in love.”  It tells us that our goal is unity in Christ. It instructs us not to let the sun go down on our anger and give the devil a foothold. It doesn’t say not to FEEL anger; instead it says, “In your anger, do not sin.” (from Ephesians 4)

This inability or lack of desire to confront one another is a serious problem among Christians today. We are just as guilty of gossip, criticism, and tossing our brothers and sisters to the side as people of the world.  Either we lack knowledge of how God expects us to proceed, or the guts to do it, or we’re just plain disobedient.

Even when the person who has offended us is a nonbeliever, I think it’s important to approach the person and at least, TRY to work things out. If it doesn’t work, you tried. You did your part.

Forgiveness is always important. It doesn’t mean you don’t feel hurt or angry any more. It means you have decided to allow God to work on the offending party and bring healing to your own heart. It means you will “keep no record of wrongdoings” and not throw the offense up in the person’s face. EVER.

Harder still is to go to someone when YOU are the one who did the wrong thing. You fear it’ll make you look stupid and weak. You don’t know if you’ll be forgiven or get the door slammed in your face. But you do it in obedience to God and allow him to work on the other person.

Hopefully your relationship will be healed eventually, here or in heaven.

“So Christ himself gave the apostles, the prophets, the evangelists, the pastors and teachers, to equip his people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God and become mature,attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ.

Then we will no longer be infants, tossed back and forth by the waves, and blown here and there by every wind of teaching and by the cunning and craftiness of people in their deceitful scheming. Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will grow to become in every respect the mature body of him who is the head, that is, Christ. From him the whole body, joined and held together by every supporting ligament, grows and builds itself up in love, as each part does its work.”  —Ephesians 4:11-16

p.s. Hanging your problems with the person who hurt you out on Facebook or other social media isn’t the way to deal. Talking to OTHER people about the problem isn’t going to fix it.

The classy, GODLY way is to go straight to that person privately and WORK ON IT.

THIS IS SOMETHING I’M STILL LEARNING. God help us and give us wisdom.

 

 

 

Excerpt #2 Dukin’ it out with God

 

     Not every spiritual experience I had was a positive one. I felt a creepy presence wherever I went. Something, someone was always watching me, following me. At night I would run upstairs to bed, pull the sheets up over my head, curl up in a little ball, and lie there, trembling and sweating.

Because I was so shy, I became the target for every bully all the way up through Junior High. I figure those kids were most likely just acting out on me things that were happening to them. Pain turns into anger, and misery loves to make its mark. There was no escape, so I fantasized my own little world where I could become anything I pleased. I made up big brothers who would stick up for me, and told the kids at school all about them. They knew I was lying, so it only caused me more ridicule.

I started shoplifting, was caught and put on probation for about a year. I couldn’t concentrate in school and thought I was STUPID. I skipped classes a lot and eventually dropped out. I started using drugs, cut myself sometimes, ran away from home twice, and was promiscuous. Like most victims of sexual abuse, I felt dirty, used and good for nothing.

I worshiped Satan for a time, and practiced witchcraft. I thought I could harness the dark power and use it for myself, but it was an illusion. I just wanted the people hurting me to leave me alone. Little did I know that the devil was applauding their efforts to destroy me, and even spurring them on.

I met this hippie-dippie guy at a rock concert. He was a Jesus freak and really turned me on to God, even gave me a bible. But when he moved away, I kind of lost my enthusiasm for God and didn’t quite know what to do with Him anyhow. By the time I was 17 I had thought about suicide too many times to count, and was hospitalized for depression at one point for two months.

For some reason, I got the bright idea that all I needed was a baby, (yeah, I know NOW, but back then…) someone I could love and receive love from in return. So, I got busy trying to make one. It never occurred to me how selfish it was, that you couldn’t feed babies hippie ideals.

The only problem I could see with having a baby was that my doctor had told me I might never be able to conceive because of all the sexual abuse. (When they found cancer cells growing on my cervix later down the road, they also attributed that to the sexual abuse). I wrote a poem to God and asked him to please make my life worth living by giving me a child of my own. I know God made sex to be enjoyed, (and please, take a moment to pause by the words, “GOD MADE SEX,” because I know you think God is no fun, and well, DUH), anyhow, he made it to be enjoyed within the context of marriage, but I asked him anyhow, out of desperation. I did conceive, after about my third try. I had a little boy and named him, “Nathaniel,” which means, “gift of God.”

My parents coerced me into marrying the father of the child, who was a 16-year-old alcoholic. We did get married on his 17th birthday, and the marriage lasted 10 months. To this day, I have his last name!

Ok! More to come.

Not Always What It Seems

Two women meet up in the parking lot at Walmart. One is rolling a shopping cart towards her SUV, chatting with her teenaged son and thinking about what she’ll make the boys for supper later that night.

The other woman is headed in, list in hand, hoping she’ll find shoes on sale so she can get a new pair for her granddaughter.

Upon passing one another, the women flash sunny smiles and call hello! “How are you! It’s been such a long time!”
“Yes! I think the last time I saw you was our 20th high school reunion!”
“I think you’re right! I see your posts on Facebook, but it’s just not the same. Anyhow, I hardly ever get on there anymore. So how have you been? How’s your husband?”

“He’s doing great. Got a promotion and working long hours, but he loves it! How are your kids doing? Is this your boy?”

“Yep. This is my youngest, Anthony.”

Anthony shifts from one foot to other other and blushes. When will this end? How will he bear it? “Mom, can I get one one of those donuts? I’m hungry!”

She tells him OK, if he’ll take the groceries to the car and load them up. He agrees. Places the bags in the trunk and sits there in the comfort of the vehicle munching on a honey bun and listening to music on his IPhone. But soon he’s bored (and hungry) again and cranes his neck to find Mom. Is she STILL talking to that lady? What could they possibly have to say?

But there the ladies are, chatting, giggling, just having a good ole time while Anthony starves.

When Mom does make it to the driver’s seat of the car, she’s still all aglow, kind of chuckling to herself.

“Wow,” Anthony says, “I thought you’d never get here. How do you even know that lady?”

“Oh, Carolyn? I’ve known her since grade school! We were practically inseparable clear up till college. Yeah, your dad and her husband were best friends in high school. That’s how I met him. Didn’t I tell you all this? Your older brother and her son, Tommy, where born on the same day! We even shared a room in the hospital. Man, small world. I’m surprised I haven’t run in to her till now. Which reminds me, I meant to unfriend her on Facebook way before this! Ugh! She’s always posting pictures of those kids and talking about God! I can’t stand all that religious stuff. Geez.”

But Anthony has stopped listening (right after his mom started talking about how she met dad) and drifts off in a sugar funk, listening to an old Bob Marley song.

Farther Up the Path

From left to right: Great-great grandma, great grandma (with me on her lap), grandma, dad.

From left to right, rear: Grandma, Great-great grandma, great grandma

Front: Mom and me

When I was born, I was the first grandchild AND the fifth generation on both sides of my family.

As I prepared to write what it means to be the oldest in the family – and considered all the grandmas who loved and spoiled me, I grew amazed that any bully or abuser was able to crumble my self esteem the way they did. But that’s another story.

This is about the unique position I hold in my family. For one thing, I was the child my parents experimented on. (and, yes, I know I ended my sentence with a preposition. It just sounds more natural. And I’m a rebel like that).  Because they were so hard on me it caused all sorts of problems in my soul that only God has been able to heal. No parents are perfect, so don’t be judging. Mine were young, hard working, and talented.  I learned a lot of good stuff from them. They were excellent providers and very open to my tomboy antics. I would never be able to survive a child like me. It was like I was training to be a stunt double or something.

Which brings me to my next point. Being the oldest meant that I was an influence on the younger kids. A bad one. I was always thinking of something to get into. If there was a place I wasn’t allowed to be, I was going to sneak in there, AND I was going to drag the others along. What would be the fun of taking on such a dangerous mission with no audience? Or cohorts to share the punishment should we get caught.

I was there to stick up for the younger kids, but I would also pick on them like nobody’s business if I got bored. At least the ones who were close to my age.

I taught them to make clover necklaces. I drew pictures for them and entertained them by singing or putting on puppet shows. I organized neighborhood parades, my own library, baseball games…  I wrote plays and rounded up the kids to perform them. (even the ones in my neighborhood. I was the oldest there, too). We formed a singing group. None of us could really sing, but it was fun anyhow.

I was the first teenager in my family. I had long hair that the little kids liked to brush. I gave them piggyback rides and told them spooky stories. I played guitar for them and took them on long walks.

And then they had babies. I dived right in to love them, too. I went to their ball games. I took them skating and swimming and climbing around on the playground. I bought them huge cookies and ice-cream.

I watched all of the younger folks in my family grow from babies. I have memories of them that they do not have of me. I developed an attachment to them and an affection that they don’t necessarily share.

I have seen them go through many phases…good, bad, and ugly. I’ve observed their talents flourishing. And in a way, this being older thing has been quite lonely.

But it’s also sort of like scaling a mountain, overcoming the rough terrain, (but please note that it was rough. There was a lot to overcome. You had to become stronger, better, bigger, deeper as you went) and make it to such a high spot that you can turn around and see everyone coming up next.

It makes you more understanding and patient. It helps you not to panic when the particular phase they’re going through is an ugly one. You’ve been there. You know what a phase looks like. Just up around the bend is something better. If you’ve already experienced something, it’s easier to love somebody through it.

Of course, I was the first one to get wrinkles and gray hair, too. And to become a grandparent. That is some scary stuff right there. To think I’m a grandma and I haven’t even gotten parenting down yet. (smile)

Just Let Go, Already!

I had this little wooden duck pull toy, you know, the kind with the yellow plastic string. Well, when I was nine or so, I was standing on my grandma’s patio with my two cousins and my sister and, for some reason, instead of pulling the pull toy, I decided it would be a fun thing to swing it around in the air.
Whoosh, whoosh! Whiz, whiz!!! I had that thing going ‘round so fast it looked like a helicopter blade. Now, here was my problem: I couldn’t figure out how to make it STOP. I couldn’t let it drop out of my hand because it would either break something on the patio, go flying and hit my cousins or sis, or maybe even break a window. SOOOOOOO, I held onto it and just STOPPED swinging it. Only, it had gained such momentum by then that it wouldn’t quit! It went woowoowoowoowoowoowoooo around and around my neck and when it ran out of plastic string, the wooden duck part SMACKED me real hard right upside the head! (I actually saw stars!)

And the moral of the story is: learn when to let GO!