Childlike splinters

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For those living in particular areas of the country, the changing of the seasons brings forth a change in wardrobe and recreation. For many, the seasons of spring and summer present a lovely opportunity to step outside and take in all that the warmer weather carries in its bountiful basket. Pants are replaced with shorts. Sweatshirts are replaced tank tops. Boots are replaced with flip flops.

My children are older now, but the memories of traveling to the nearby playground when they were little are colorfully vivid. In our home town, the most popular playground, without contest, is one located just off the main road that dissects the town into two fairly equal halves. The playground features a large wood structure with ramps and hanging bars and swings and slides. In this space, it's easy for the untainted spirit of a child to transform the equipment into a giant pirate ship and brave the storms, or race around the structure like an Olympic obstacle course, or challenge each other to a game of ultimate hide-and-go-seek. It's all enjoyable...

until someone gets a splinter.

The drawbacks of a wooden structure, I guess. It's inevitable.

So here's where I admit that removing splinters brings me great joy. I'm not sure there's anything that comes close, as a parent, to being able to remedy an otherwise painful ailment for my children without the risk of spoiling a life lesson. While carefully walking the tightrope of allowing our children to learn from difficult life experiences without constantly trying to shield them from pain is a skill I believe we should practice daily, splinters are something entirely different. There is no purpose for them to sit and fester (apart from a useful metaphor, perhaps).

Removing the splinter resolves the issue. Done. Taken care of.

It doesn't matter the number of times one of my children has had a splinter removed, the reaction tends to be the same. The child gives me their hand and points to the location of the splinter. I pick up the tweezers and move towards it, ready to conquer and save the day. Then, in anticipation of the pain that's to come, the child pulls their hand back in objection. For a moment, the pain is not worth removing the splinter. I have, on several occasions, had a child try and convince me it would be better just to leave it in.

If only they knew.

I had a splinter once that did not get removed. It was painful at first and then, eventually, the pain subsided. I thought it was gone. Perhaps it remedied itself. Perhaps it somehow disintegrated into my skin (my belief in the complexity and power of the human body backs up this argument quite justifiably). Whatever the case, I was relieved. It appeared to be gone. Then, one day, I realized that the skin around the splinter was sensitive to the touch. When I examined the area, I noticed it was red and slightly swollen.

It was festering. And my body was doing what it was created to do....

Get. It. Out.

It didn't belong, and my body knew that. The festering process is not pretty and it is definitely not void of pain. If only I could go back and have the splinter removed before the area around it got infected.

So where am I going with all of this?

I believe that there are times when God is wanting to tend to something....to remove a splinter in our lives (a pruning process, of sorts)...and, not unlike a hesitant (albeit naive) child, we pull back in anticipation of the pain. Perhaps we even begin by offering it to God, but as we get closer to Him actually dealing with it, the reality hits us and the benefits do not seem to outweigh the consequences. Not worth the risk. Leave it.

It'll take care of itself.

Pruning is a tough thing. We typically respond in three ways when confronted with it; (1) participate in the pruning process and allow God to remove what is not serving us, (2) tell God that it really isn't that big of a deal and that we are fine ("It's OK...really."), or (3) completely avoid the situation altogether (I know a little bit about denial. He was my roommate for many years.). The avoidance is usually associated with a temporary pain or tension that we cannot justify. 

We cannot see the fruition.

The concept of biblical pruning is a beautiful metaphor, with the principal being that the branches bearing fruit will become "even more fruitful" once the fruit-less branches (ie: sin) are pruned back (John 15:2). I experienced this first-hand, when I was given the responsibility, along with the proper training, to prune my mother's rose bushes. There is a precise process. And when done right, the fruit (flowers) are glorious! And while we aren't talking about literal fruit, spiritual fruit is even more gloriously delicious. Who doesn't want to be more loving, more joyful, more peaceful, more patient, more kind, more good, more faithful, more gentle, and have more self-control? (If you don't, well...I might just be wasting your time.)

I'm a processor. Perhaps you're not (if not, feel free to skip the next couple of paragraphs).

I've always been slightly hesitant to answer too quickly. It's what makes casual social gatherings quite challenging for me. I'm not sure when this started or whether it's always been a part of my genetic make-up, but for processors like me, quick answers can be a red flag. Not unlike the "How are you?"-"Fine, thanks" dance that we participate in on a daily basis, I have a number of them that I default to during conversations (and am disgusted with, after I allow them to exit my mouth).

The concept of short answers in church is pretty prevalent. In our high school ministry, we call these "cookie cutter answers". The principal of this, is that our answer comes out of our mouth before we've even given pause to the question, or more importantly...before we've allowed ourselves to stew in the tension long enough for it to travel to our heart and truly convict us. While the typical church cookie cutter answers are one word ("Jesus", "God", "love"), they're not restricted to that. They can be several words. They can even be a few sentences long. This can be even more problematic for us than the short answers, because it gives the impression of deep thought (to others AND to ourselves). It's less obvious that it's a cut-out and, therefore, easier to believe that heart penetration has happened.

Tension averted. 

I'm not sure there's anyone who really enjoys this kind of tension (perhaps there is, but for the sake of this argument I'm going with this assumption). We typically want to avoid it. I could include a list of things that, over the years, I've pulled my hand back in protest, rather than allowing God to tend to. I believe that often times, what we miss, is the opportunity for something to travel from our head to our heart. 

18 inches. 

Not terribly long, as far as length goes. But the magnitude of this journey is profound. Life-altering. More importantly, heart altering (which leads to fruit-bearing). Ironically, the answers we come to often come back to those cookie cutters... "Jesus", "God", "Love" ...but I believe how we get to these answers is really what is important. Without the process...the stewing...the penetration...the conviction...they are just words. Words that look good on a wall plaque, or on a bumper sticker, or tattooed on a shoulder (just slightly out of sight, perhaps)...and nothing else.

Have you ever thought you learned a lesson, only to repeat the same thing a month, year, or decade down the road? I believe this can be accredited to an unfinished journey from the head to the heart. Perhaps the conviction traveled a few inches. Perhaps it even made it a full foot. Long enough to convince you that your heart had been penetrated, even. But our repetition of life lessons - those things that keep popping up in spite of our desire for them to just go away - would suggest that the cycle was never truly completed. And I'm convinced it's directly related to our ability (or inability, rather) to sit in the tension and deal with the pain...for a moment...as our Father gently exposes the sin and removes the splinter from our lives.

As a parent, I don't desire to remove the splinter from my child for my own selfish reward. Sure, I admitted that I enjoy it, but the premise of that joy comes from knowing that I have the knowledge and power to remove something that is causing my child pain...even if it means causing discomfort to them for a moment.

And I relentlessly persist in removing the splinter because...watching them in unnecessary pain is painful.

I persist because...I know better than they do, in the moment.

I persist because...I love my child. 

And all my child has to do is give me their hand.    

The Love Antidote

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Destination.

What do you think of when you see that word? What images or words come to mind? Perhaps you envision a vacation of some sort. Perhaps, an attainment of a goal. Or the end of a race.

"Arriving" can be a wonderful thing. I don't think there's anything wrong with the word, per-se. Until we use it in conjunction with a relationship. For whatever reason, when it comes to a relationship between two people, we tend to make the mistake of setting a marker. A point to be reached.

A destination.

One of two major relationship markers I've witnessed (the other being marriage) is when we acknowledge that we "love" another person, with the "falling in love" sentiment describing the period of time leading up to this point.

It's out of the bag. It's been said. Destination: Arrived.

On one hand, hearing the sentiment expressed to you by another person can be exciting. Heart-warming. Comforting. Overwhelming. Stimulating. There are a number of adjectives that could be used to describe the reaction one might have when hearing someone express this to you for the first time. But what does it portray when we've viewed it as a place where we "arrive"?

End of the road. Travel complete. Goal achieved.

If I'm being honest, these words don't really entice me when it comes to being in a relationship. I'm half expecting an "It's all downhill from here" joke, followed by uncomfortable laughter. The kind where someone laughs because they know something you do not (pointing fingers is optional, but also appropriate). A serenade of "Welcome to the Jungle" as comedian Tim Hawkins would sing it, followed by a maniacal laugh.

Count me out. (Perhaps it's why I've been single for over a decade. I'll process this some other time.)

I'm an idealist and a dreamer. There, I've said it. "My name is Mindy and I'm a dreamy idealist". An INFP, if you're a Myers-Briggs fan. Feel free to leave me the information for a recovery group in the comment section below. Better yet, mail it to me on a personal note, tucked inside a copy (preferably a first edition) of Thomas More's "Utopia".

The reality is, I've come to terms with it (yes...along with acknowledging the consequences). I will even go one step further and say that I'm proud of it. My favorite compliment to date is one of an in-your-face reality check wrapped in a metaphor suggesting I was under the influence of drugs...

"You're on crack".

Yep. To my face. You'd be mistaken if you thought I was offended. Quite the contrary. I'm content with my INFP status and everything that comes with that. So perhaps it won't surprise you when I share that this compliment was handed to me during a conversation about the topic of...nothing other than...LOVE. (Specifically, the power that it holds to fix the broken things of this world.)

If it's a drug that I'm on, let me have it. I am not interested in living any differently. The idea of falling in love is a sweet one. But when put into the context that it somehow ends when we use the "L" word, it loses it's zeal (shouldn't love, after all, always be zealous?!...). The idealistic dreamer part of me says that love should be something we "fall" into...indefinitely. An ongoing process. Something that, perhaps, starts with the sharing of the sentiment, but definitely wouldn't stop there.

A seed. A sprout. A beginning.

I've learned a lot by being single. I'm a watcher. And a listener. I even attended a couple's Bible study once, to try and glean from those who appeared to be making their relationship work. But I was also on the lookout for those who appeared to be newly in love, in spite of the longevity of their relationship. I was searching for God. A manifestation of His presence amidst the relationships. A sign of zeal.

If I were to label something as "divine" in all that I've witnessed (both in my personal experiences and watching the lives of others), it would be that valuable growth seems happens when we experience adversity together, ie: the "less ideal" circumstances of life. (For an identified idealist, this is a welcomed paradigm shift!). Perhaps the downhill mentality that we joke about - partially because we know it's true and partially because we are, perhaps, mourning the loss of what once was - comes from our failure to get this. From our inclination to ignore the confrontation and avoid adversity.

With all that we know about Jesus' upside-down teachings, it would make sense that love is crafted the same. Wouldn't it?! With the less-ideal actually becoming the ideal. If I'm going to stick with the "falling in love" statement, it may look a little something like this...

We fall into CHALLENGE...and grow more in love when we experience reconciliation.

We fall into HURT....and grow more in love when we experience forgiveness.

We fall into FEAR....and grow more in love when we experience trust.

We fall into VULNERABILITY...and grow more in love when we experience safety.

We fall into TRAGEDY..and grow more in love when we experience hope.

We fall into SIN...and grow more in love when we experience grace.

We fall into ______ ...and grow more in love when we experience _______.

You could put almost anything into this sentence and there will always be a "love antidote". Not an antidote to REMEDY love, but one where love IS the remedy. An antidote for any adverse situation two people may encounter. An antidote with the power to repair the broken, with flakes of gold (which mirrors the way God mends our brokenness). An antidote that allows individuals to walk head-on into the unknown in full confidence that they'll come out more loved - and more loving.

An antidote that intensifies and multiplies for as long as two people are willing to drink it.

Pass me the cup...

Left Justified

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Forgiveness. 

It's a tough thing. Perhaps the toughest thing I've walked through. 

Life is difficult; painful, tragic. It's true. But when you take that and mix in pain that is directly caused by someone else - particularly someone you have loved or someone that you would logically think would have an obligation to love you (like a parent) - it subsequently makes life even more difficult. Difficult multiplied. It is one thing to deal with pain and tragedy in this life. It's an entirely separate beast when you are confronted with the pain and tragedy of INFLICTED pain (however intentional). Complexly compounded. 

For years, I struggled with this layered pain, alongside the importance of forgiveness. I was well-aware of the toxicity of un-forgiveness. Well....at least in my head. Within the space between my ears, I could share with you the reasons and importance for forgiveness. It was clear to me. Logical, even. But by the time it traveled to my heart, it wasn't so clear. Muddy. Messy. It became something else. Something I struggled to understand. Something I struggled to remedy. 

Forgive. 

It was on my moral "to-do" list that was largely formulated by my faith. [Side Note: the "to-do" list could easily be another blog post. As hard as it is for me not to take this rabbit trail, I'm leaving this here. For now.] Forgiveness was something I "knew" I needed to do. In light of scripture, this might seem like a healthy statement.

It really isn't. 

The charge to simply forgive was overwhelming. I tried. Believe you me, I tried. I'd get a step forward...thinking that I had made ample progress...only to be enlightened of how little I had actually moved. Here's the thing...I was missing the most important piece. 

Personally, I believe forgiveness is part of our commandment to love. Not the kind of love that we use it to describe how we feel about something tangible, like an item of food, clothing, or even an amazing scenic view. Not that love. The kind of love that - outside of God - is humanly impossible. The same is true for forgiveness. The level of love - or forgiveness - that God calls us to, requires something that we do not have apart from Him. 

You see...something happens when our perspective shifts. When we begin to grab ahold of who God is (and, subsequently, who we are and how he moves through us), the "to-do" list becomes a "done" list. It takes what we "need" to do and turns it into what has been "given" to us. And here's the thing...coming to terms with who God TRULY is - not our perception of who He is - CAUSES us to forgive in a way that appears illogical to those on the outside. (I specifically chose to use the word "cause" instead of the word "allows"). It can even appear foolish.

Justification.

If you looked around, it wouldn't take you very long to find someone who believes they are justified in being angry with someone who caused them great pain. Forgiveness withheld. Justifiably so. When looking at justification this way, it would be logical to come to the conclusion that justification, in fact, leads to un-forgiveness...but in fact, the opposite is true.

Let me explain my thoughts...

My daughter was recently featured in a blog post that touched on just a few issues of brokenness, abandonment, and difficulty she's experienced in her 22 years of life on this earth. Reading her heart is difficult for this mama. [Side note: Pain afflicted by me, personally, is tough. But as a parent, there is no greater pain than pain afflicted on and by my children (possible secondary side note here, but I'll leave it aside for now)]. It surpasses what would typically be considered to be my personal pain tolerance and branches out to a universe that stirs a mama bear to think and react in un-restricted, irrational ways.

Her story has enough material suitable to justify resentment, clinch on to anger, and withhold forgiveness, for several lifetimes...and then some.

Justified.

It's what she is. And subsequently, as a mom, It's what I am. Justified to hold a grudge. Justified to be angry (with myself included...I'm not innocent here). Justified to block people from my life. Justified to never look back. Justified to close off a part of my heart and not release it to anyone.

No one would blame me. No one would think twice.

Justified.

It's the way of this world. You can't step out of your bed without experiencing it. Step outside...it's all around you. Pick up a paper...forget about it. Get on social media...don't get me started. It's everywhere.

The first two definitions of the word 'justified' are this; "To show and act, claim, statement to be just or right" and "To defend or uphold as warranted or well-grounded".

Here's the next definition: "To declare innocent or guiltless; absolve; acquit"

Same word. Two very different meanings.

It's not the first word I've come across that fits on both sides of the spectrum. I'm convinced God does this on purpose.

While the article only touches on a few of the things my daughter has encountered...it would be enough. Enough - in and of itself - to justify holding love. To justify resentment. To justify un-forgiveness. To justify closing off our heart. Then, you add in the other elements that are too numerous to add in one article....done. Baked. Toast. Forget about it. No question. Case closed.

Have I made my point?

Here's the thing...the more I come to a better understanding of who God is...and, subsequently who WE are TO Him and how He works things IN and THROUGH us...the less I'm able to hold on to those things. The less I am able to "justify" un-forgiveness. The more I see (and seek) God, the less justified I become in my resentment, anger, and heart-protection.

Unlike something that I work towards, this is something that has happens TO me, over time. In spite of my desire for it to be a switch...a clean "off" and "on"(it's not, trust me!)...I've learned that it can often be a process. A process of God tending to me.

Over the years, God has slowly and methodically worked on my heart...by opening my eyes...by giving me tastes of wisdom...a glimpse of HIS picture. It's a process. One that becomes impossible for me to achieve on my own (believe you me, I've tried!).  In fact, the harder I try, the less it works. It's only when I release my part...my grasp (and essentially my "credit" in all of it)...and open my hands to receive what He has for me, that it happens. It just happens. It is CAUSED. By God.

God changes our heart.

He justifies.

But in a different way than we are used to.  

You see, the mere act of acknowledging God's goodness - His unchanging mercy, His never-ending grace - frees me from the inclination to blame. Why? Because in those things....in the broken, messy, painful...God is still good. His plan is better than anything I could come up with on my own. He works those things into a beauty that I could not have, apart from Him, even have fathomed. He causes me to embrace the broken, messy pieces of my life and gives me hope that He will provide the same peace to my daughter...and anyone else who needs the reconciliation God offers. That through all of this, we come out on top. Better. Healthier. More whole. Closer to Him than we ever would have been, apart from the broken things we would logically want removed from our life. Not in spite, but because.

And within all of this, is the understanding that I am forgiven. Declared innocent. Guiltless. Absolved. Acquitted.

Left justified.

It's who we are in Christ (what freedom!). And once we grasp this, it's what we - subsequently - get to extend to those around us, by the way of the Holy Spirit.

Forgiveness. It'a messy, dangerous, beautiful thing. And it happens when justification gets flipped on its head.

Jesus was all about turning things upside down.

Blessed by association.

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Photo credit: Marilyn Diaz @ marilyndays.com 

So, I have this daughter. She's kind of wrecked my world.

Two weeks ago, her brothers and I attended a week-long church camp where she is employed for the summer, nestled beautifully in the Santa Cruz mountains. The first encounter I had with one of her co-workers was her looking at me, taking a moment, and then saying (excitedly), "You must be Patch's mom!!!" (Patch is Emily's summer camp name)

This sentiment isn't new to Emily. She started hearing it in High School, along with the comment that we could be sisters (which isn't a bad thing for her mom, mind you!). She would role her eyes every time someone would make any reference to us looking alike. Someone once tried to bridge the gap by saying, "It's a compliment, Emily. Your mom is beautiful." Her response..."I want to be my own kind of beautiful."

I get it. I respect it. I even admire it.

Over the course of our week at Mount Hermon, she heard it multiple times, by multiple people. "Wow! You guys look so much alike!" "Are you Emily's sister?!" Perhaps she would share with you that it doesn't bother her anymore...that it's starting to grow on her....and that, perhaps, she even likes it. A mom could only hope.

Here's the thing....her mama LOVES it.

But not for the reasons you might think.

Sure...the older you get, the nicer it is to have people think I'm younger than I really am (side note: it has not always been a nice thing!), but the real reason I love it is because it swells my heart to have people know me as HER MAMA. To have people look at me and KNOW that she is mine.

I am blessed by association. <3

I can't begin to express how proud I am of her. Of who she is...Of whose she is...Of who she is going to be...Of the journey she is on...And that I was given the glorious privilege of being her mom. It's often overwhelming...to the core.

This isn't to say that things are perfect. Quite the contrary. We've struggled. I made mistakes. She took on more than any child/teen should have had to. She watched me collapse on the floor in panic when life seemed to be falling apart. We butted heads for many years. She was my 'saving grace' for many years, when I had hope in nothing else. She is responsible for bringing me back to church.

She is brave. She is fragile. She is gracious. She is talented. She is a learner. She is vulnerable. She yearns to live...and live large. I could go on.

So here it is....

With every, "You look alike", I bask in the knowledge that God - for whatever glorious reason- gave her to me (temporarily).

With every "You could be sisters", I bask in the understanding that God has worked through our relationship to bring us back to Him.

And no matter how far she travels from home, I will rest in the assurance that people see HER when they see ME. That is a precious thought. <3