Why Not Me?

Tags

#MeToo, #Women, Life, Reflections, Truth

The stories make me sad. So terribly sad. And angry.

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you’ve seen them too. All over social media. The hashtag #MeToo

Sometimes no story at all. Sometimes more than we may want to know. But they’re all connected. Women. Women who have in some way, been violated. Been placed in a situation they couldn’t get out of. Been made to feel uncomfortable. Been made to feel . . . like they were nothing.

Yes, This is 2017.

It’s a hard thing for many, to share. And many won’t. Many will feel perhaps that because they never experienced the trauma others have, that it wasn’t so bad. It’s just the way men are. Life. These things happen. I’ve heard it. And, I suppose, honestly, I’ve felt that too. Felt like I can’t own that hashtag because I’ve never been raped. Never been cornered by a man and feared for my safety. Never had a male boss come on to me. Compared to many out there, I really have lived a sheltered life, as silly as that sounds.

But I think it’s more than that. Have I ever felt put down? Felt I needed to keep my mouth shut because I wouldn’t be taken seriously? Leered at? Whistled at while walking down the street? Yeah.

#MeToo 

And I can’t help but think of countless situations in my life where the worst could have happened. Where, for one reason or another, be it I was young, stupid, reckless . . . I could have some scary stories behind that #MeToo hashtag. By the grace of God, I sit here this morning and wonder instead, why not me?

I remember a night. Some weekend long ago, where my friends and I had gone out as we so often did. Spent the evening at a local nightclub. And I was going to drive my bike home. But that’s another story entirely. (Don’t drink and drive, kids). My friends had gone on ahead, and my bike wouldn’t start. This was the early 80’s. No cell phones. Did I have money for a pay phone? A taxi? It’s all a blur of course.

And there were these two guys. American visitors. They’d joined our group early in the evening. I can’t remember if they knew someone. Can’t remember if I even talked to them. Can’t even remember their names.

Two guys. In the wee hours of the morning when the streets were clearing out. Offering to give me a ride home.

Yeah. I went. On the back of one of those bikes.

Why not me? 

I lived less than ten minutes from where we were. We parked outside my house and chatted a bit. One asked if they should come to the door to make sure my parents knew I was home safe. I laughed. We said goodbye and off they went. Off to live the rest of their lives. And I lived mine.

By the grace of God.

Funny how memory comes back hard and fast and kicks you right in the gut.

Because that night could have been very different. I know that now. I don’t think I knew it then. Things like rape . . . what did I know of that? I was still a child pretending to be a grown-up.

Why not me?

God bless those boys, whoever they were. Bless their parents for raising them right. And I suppose I’m thankful for the memory of that night. Thankful that I married a good man. Thankful that we raised a son who would have been one of those boys. And a daughter who knew how to speak up for herself and say no, and also married a good man.

I weep for all the stories that so easily could be mine. So easily.

And I don’t want to forget that.

I can’t forget that.

So for all of you brave and wonderful women sharing your #metoo stories, thank you. You matter. We see you. We hear you.

And we stand together.  For change.

It’s time.

And So We Choose This Thing

Tags

Christianity, Faith, Inspiration, Life, Reflections, Relationships, Truth

Thirty one years. Today. I stood before him in a long white gown that cost more than my father wanted to spend, but he bought it for me anyway, because it was the one and he was ‘the one’ and my Dad would have bought me the moon if I said I wanted it.

I stood before him, this man I loved with all my being, both of us still more kids than adults, at 20 and 21. Kids who thought we knew what we were doing but the only thing we really knew was that we couldn’t live without the other. I stood before him amongst a crowd of friends and family and fragrant roses and I repeated the words my father-in-law said in a voice barely above a whisper, and before I knew what was happening we were husband and wife. And holy cow. There was no going back.

People thought it wouldn’t last. Oh, nobody was impolite enough to say it, but I know some friends thought we were nuts. Some adults shook their heads and probably regretted the amount they spent on crystal and silver and fine china for what would surely become another sad statistic, a failed marriage.

We’re still using that silver and china, though there’s not much of the crystal left. And sure, maybe the odds were stacked against us. Maybe the long nights of a resident doctor who couldn’t come home when his three-month old wouldn’t stop crying and his wife was about to lose her last nerve would have taken their toll.

Maybe the selfishness and petty arguments and all the things we said and did that we didn’t really mean, maybe those would have turned the tide at some point. Made it easy to walk out. Maybe raising two kids and being an island doctor where everybody knows your name and most of your business and when you’re young and stupid and a bit insecure and you feel like you might need to be in the in-crowd and all the parties and poor choices made . . .  maybe those would have over time eroded what was once a solid foundation. Maybe.

I’ll tell you, we had those moments. Everybody has those moments. Because marriage. Marriage is not easy. Not. Easy. If it is, if you’ve never had a single argument or thought one bad thing about your spouse or wanted to throw a plate across the table (we never did this, though I wanted to at times and he probably did too) well . . . if you’ve never had those moments, I won’t say you’re doing it wrong, but I might want to check your pulse.

Here’s what so many people don’t get. 

Love is more than just the gooshy feeling you get in the pit of your stomach. Love is more than catching each other’s eye across a crowded room and sending silent messages that make you want to dissolve into laughter. Love is more than knowing when to say the words and when to stay silent. Love is more than all the emotions being together evokes.

Love is choosing to sacrifice yourself for that person.

Choosing them, their happiness and well-being above your own. And sure, you can work that out and call it being a team or a partnership or whatever worldly tag you want to tack on it, but it’s more than that. Love, true love, the kind that lasts, that’s something spiritual. That’s a gift from God. And the thing about gifts? We get to choose whether to accept them. We can take a gift and thank the giver and promptly stick the thing on the shelf and let it gather dust. Or we can unwrap it and choose to use it.

Marriage is a choice. Staying married is a choice.

You choose. You choose him on the day you say I do and you choose him every single day after that. You choose him when you trip over the pile of clothes on the bedroom floor in the middle of the night. You choose him when he drinks all the milk and leaves dirty dishes on the counter and you choose him over every stupid thing that drives you bonkers but it doesn’t really matter in the long run because . . . he is yours. You choose him. And he chooses you. Believe me, if I listed everything I do that probably drives him up the wall, this would be one long blog. Though I know I am not the easiest person in the world to live with at times, I also know he chooses me too, and I thank God for it.

After thirty one years of choosing to love one another, there are still days when I don’t think we’ve got anything figured out at all. But those days get fewer and far between as each year passes. Time together gets sweeter and more precious. We’ve seen other marriages fail. We’ve cried over them. Prayed over them and hoped to God that something might change, and I think that makes us more determined in our own choices. More determined to love anyway. To laugh more. To be more intentional in our relationship with one another. And we don’t have it all together. We probably never will because we’re just human. We will still fail. But we will continue to choose to forgive. Choose to forget. And always choose each other over all else.

How? I’ve been asked. How in the world do you still have this happy marriage after so many years? And there’s really only one answer to that.

Because of Jesus.

Because He gives us the strength. He gives us the love. He gives life and breath and everything we never knew we needed and I can tell you . . .without Him? Yeah. It’s hard enough with Him. But without that trust, that mutual faith and foundation we placed this relationship on from day 1? Maybe we would be that statistic, who knows. I hope not. But we chose Him. We choose Him. And through Him, we choose each other. Over and over and over again.

These words, I know you hear them at almost every wedding, but there’s a reason for that. It’s because they are true. Words to live by. Every day.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. 1 Corinthians 13:13

And so we choose to do this thing. To keep doing it until our last breath together.

We choose love.

Why You Keep Trying And When It’s Time To Quit.

Tags

Family, Life, Reflections, Relationships, Truth

How did it get to be Friday already?! Well, here we are, and I hope you’ve had a good week. I have some thoughts rattling around lately, that I figure I might try to express, because we’ve been talking about this stuff, my friends and I, and maybe you have too.

Fractured Relationships. 

 

Yowch. Yeah. I know. That’s most of us. Hold up the hand, shake the head, oh no, we’re not going there. That hurts. There’s no point. Done with all that crazy.

I write about this stuff. Family Drama. Broken relationships.

All my books, right from the start, have centered around family. If I had to answer why, I’m not sure I could. I think though, growing up as an only child, I was fascinated by the idea of a big family. I envied my friends who had siblings and big extended families. I had cousins around my age, but they lived thousands of miles away and we rarely saw each other.  Once I reached adulthood however, I realized that not every family was The Waltons. Stuff happens. And it’s hard. Because life is complicated and messy and we’re all different.

But what happens when it’s too hard? Too much to bear?

In my new Reader’s Group on Facebook, (yes, you can join if you’d like), we’ve been talking about how sometimes there is no repairing a broken relationship. When that other person simply won’t budge, sometimes you have to walk away. And that’s the hardest thing, especially when it’s family.

Is it for the best? Sometimes. I always think the rule of thumb is your own mental health. If you know you can’t take what’s going on a minute longer, if it’s worn you down thin and you’re in a bad place because of it, it’s time. Time to walk away. Doesn’t mean you love the person any less, but if you’ve tried and tried and tried, I think you get a pass. And if they walk away from you first, I’m not sure it does any good to go chasing after them.

 

When I searched for my birth family, my dream of that large family suddenly came true. I’ve talked lots about my sister, my birthmother’s daughter, and how from the minute we connected we were and have remained, very close. The gift of that relationship is something I will always be so grateful for. But I also found other siblings on my birthfather’s side. Suddenly I had more brothers and sisters than I knew what to do with

And then I didn’t.

For reasons that still aren’t clear to me years later, that side of the family chose to end our relationship. After meeting and sharing stories and finding commonalities, suddenly it was over. And I didn’t see it coming. Those of you who know me well can imagine the impact that had on me. The fact that I’ve not even written about it until today might give you some idea.

I don’t deal well with rejection. Well, who does, really? And it’s hard not to blame yourself, question yourself and wonder what you did or didn’t do or could have done differently. But what good does that do in the end? What good does it do to keep reaching out, hoping they’ll change their mind and things would go back to the way they were? In my case, that didn’t happen. And honestly, and I hope I can say this without bitterness, it’s their loss. Mine too. But I understand that sometimes life gets too overwhelming. Sometimes it’s too hard. And they couldn’t deal. Chose not to.

So when I say sometimes it’s best to walk away, I don’t say that lightly. Because I know how hard it is. I know how excruciatingly painful it can be to keep trying, to keep reaching out, only to be met with silence. And that does something deep down, rips at the soul and threatens to tear it right in half. That’s when it’s time to walk. Time to let go and trust God for the rest. Time to accept the choice already made for you.

Do you know what I mean? Have you been there? Are you there right now, weighing the pros and cons and hoping against hope that things will change?

 

I know. I know that kind of hurt. And I’m not going to tell you everything will feel better in the morning. But I am going to suggest you take stock of all the good in your life. The people surrounding you who do love you, who do care about you and want only the best for you. Those are the people worth investing in. I have many such people in my life, thank God, and even though I probably drive them a little nuts at times, I am secure in those relationships. I trust them and I know they’ve got my back. Take the balm of those beautiful relationships and use it to soothe the hurt.

Is there hope? Always. I truly believe that. Forgiveness? Healing? I’d like to think so. Would I be open to a fresh start with someone who walked away? Well. That one’s not so easy to answer, is it? But I’d like to say yes. Would you?

She’s Here!

Tags

Family, Life, Reflections, Relationships

I know. I left you all hanging. Well. The three people that read this blog on occasion. Ha. I can’t blame you, sporadic blogger that I am. Anyway. One week yesterday, our little Annabel Rose made her dramatic entrance, and I have to say, though I may be slightly biased, she is perfect. And I am officially “Mimi”.

And as you can see, Papa is already smitten. I’m happy and relieved to report that Mom and Dad are doing just fine, in fact we’re in awe at how smoothly they’ve stepped into their new role as parents. It’s amazing to watch, and even though they’re tired and emotional and think they don’t know what they’re doing, they do, and we’re so proud of them. Annabel is one lucky baby to have such wonderful parents!

I’m sure my Facebook friends are getting a little tired of baby pictures already, but this is all so fun and new and miraculous . . . it really is true that your life changes. It was true when I had Sarah, and then Chris, and now, watching my baby have a baby (well, I didn’t watch it, but I was waiting nearby), it reminds me again just how precious life is. What a gift we’re given. Day after day. And I guess that’s what I’m thinking about this evening.

Life.

Connecting.

Really and truly being there for one another. It’s hard to do sometimes. Hard to reach out when you’re tired or stressed or scared of rejection. There are a million reasons why we don’t make more effort, be kinder, say the words, do the things . . . but what if we did? What if we went to visit that person in the hospital? What if we took that meal to the new mom or the elderly shut in? What if we made that phone call? What if . . .

I know there are so many of you already doing it. Already reaching out and being a friend, being the hands and feet, and I’m so glad you are. But me . . . I can do better. I don’t think I’m alone in that corner. I know I’m not. But when I meet a new life, when I hold that precious bundle and think of all the things she has in front of her, all the opportunities that lie ahead, I can’t help but take stock. I can’t help but wonder what I could do better. What I can change and improve on. Because she’ll be watching.

And that’s humbling. Daunting. And challenging.

But maybe that’s what we need. Maybe we need to stare into a pair of brand new eyes and ask ourselves what they’ll see when they look up at us. What will we want them to see?

Reflection is a good thing. Taking action is even better.

Would you agree?

A Different Perspective

Tags

Blogging, Books, Life, Reflections

Welcome to another Throwback Thursday Post! We’re talking about my California anniversary trip that inspired me to write The Memory of You! If you’re just jumping on here, you can read last week’s post here.

Today we’re going to to talk about perspective. Meaning, how we view things, the world, our families, friends, co-workers. Sometimes life gets hard doesn’t it? Sometimes we need that different perspective to spark a new idea or a new way of seeing something.

One of the first stops on our tour of Napa/Sonoma was an amazing family owned winery. Robert Hunter Winery was tucked away amidst the rolling hills and towering trees, and took my breath away the moment I stepped out of the car and looked around. Beautiful scenery, rose gardens and the most amazing wisteria vine I’d ever seen, surrounded a delightful home where the owner and his family had lived for generations.

It was fascinating to tour such a small winery, but also to listen to the history of the place. The Vintner obviously loved what he did and loved the land he worked on. He and his family lived on property, and I found myself thinking what a cool place this must be for kids to grow up. The highlight that day was meeting Robert Hunter himself. He was pretty frail all those years ago, and I suspect he’s probably long since passed, but he spent some time with us on his beautiful patio overlooking the vines, and it was one of those moments where you know you’ve been in the presence of an old soul who’s seen more in one lifetime than you could imagine.

If I had to pinpoint one particular day when the first spark of a story idea started, I think it would be that day, staring over the vines and wondering about the people who had come and gone through the doors of the old house. And I wondered if this island girl could possibly create a story based in California. A story about something she knew so little about.

A matter of perspective.

I didn’t know how this story would shape up yet. But I knew I had to write it and as always, trust that the words would come. Because sometimes that’s the only way, isn’t it?

Once I determined to do it, I knew the rest would fall into place eventually. And I’m so glad it did.

Sometimes it’s all about changing our view for a little while, isn’t it? When we find a new perspective, anything can happen!

Have you discovered something new through a shift in your perspective? Let’s talk! 

Some Reflections . . .

Tags

Books, Faith, Life, Reflections, Writing

I should be working out right now, but it’s way more comfortable on the couch. 🙂 And I have some stuff to say. Thing is, I’m not quite sure how. My mind swirls with thoughts that some days make sense and some days . . . well. So I just keep quiet. You know?

I could talk about being in Boston this past weekend, and seeing The Women’s March. I could talk about the political climate over there and how uncertain everything feels. But I feel like everything I have to say, want to say, it’s been said before. And it seems like every topic of conversation lately brings about contention. And I’m so very tired of all the arguing.

But you know, sometimes it just helps, coming here and sharing words, sharing my heart. So I keep doing it, and I don’t worry too much about where the words land. I do however, worry about the words I use. Because they’re important. And after this past season of crazy politics, and the furor doesn’t appear to be calming down anytime soon, I’m about wrung out. So I had some thoughts.

I belong to a great group on Facebook where we share ideas about writing, support and pray for one another, and the other day I shared this post, and I’d like to re-post it here.

“We are all wordsmiths or lovers of words in this group, and assumedly all pretty (or somewhat) sane and rational people,
I have a specific request today, and would love for as many as possible to agree in prayer.
It is that we use our words kindly, with the love and grace afforded to us through the blood of Christ.
I have spent the last week in the US, and I know the climate is uncertain. I get that. I also get that it feels like there’s a huge division that may take years to heal. And I’m saddened by that. I get that we all have differences of opinion and the right to voice them. I get that we must stand up for what we feel is the right thing, whatever that ‘right thing’ may be. What I don’t get is what I see as the complete and utter breakdown of moral and human decency in our communications. When did it become okay to be vicious, to jeer and taunt and incite? When did it become okay to deem any opinion other than one’s own null and void? When did it become okay to know and not care that people are growing afraid to speak up, to speak out . . . to speak at all?
My friends, I can’t express how deeply this grieves me. It has been a hard season and will most likely grow harder before it gets any better. I don’t care what side of the fence you’re on, but for the love of the God we all claim to serve and follow, can we take a collective breath? Can we determine to choose to use our words for good? Many of us are commissioned to projects where our words will be published on a larger scale. We can all make a difference here, can’t we? Can we agree to spread love and basic human decency, respect one another? We are greatly blessed with freedom of speech, and the freedom of being able to write what we want when we want. I do believe it is our duty to guard those words wisely, and cover them in prayer. Because like it or not, we are accountable. And a lot of us, including me, are failing. I’m not pointing fingers, but merely making a point, and I hope it’s seen as done in love. So maybe we can start anew this week, with fresh purpose, open hearts, open minds and hands to help each other out, hold each other accountable, and begin the healing that so clearly needs to happen. We are over 400 souls here in this one Facebook group. That’s a lot of change. A lot of hope.
Anyone on board for changing the tide?”

Wouldn’t it be great if we could all agree to be kind? To love one another despite our differences? Oh I know it’s hard, believe me. But we’ve got to start somewhere. So those were my thoughts this week.

And in other news  . . . I’m blown away and ever so grateful to be the recipient of a Starred Review in Publishers Weekly for The Memory Of You. This is recognition of ‘a book of exceptional quality.’ I read that the stats are, they review about 10,000 books a year, and 500 get starred. So if that’s accurate, it’s a pretty big deal, and I’m overwhelmed with gratitude to my publisher, Harper Collins Christian Publishing, my agent, Rachelle Gardner, and my family for their love and unwavering support, and all the very many friends who surrounded me with prayer and kicked my butt along on this crazy publishing journey, and refused to let me give up. I love you all, seriously, and could not do this without you.

Surreal moments like this make all the worry and frustration and fear so worth it. I don’t know why God chose to bless me with the gift of words, but it’s a gift I don’t take lightly. I’m truly humbled that I get to share my stories and even more astounded that readers like them! I can’t wait to share this book with you! Two more months!!

 That’s it from me today. I hope you’re having a great week so far. And now I’ll go work out. Ugh. 🙂

Will It Really Change Us?

Tags

Christianity, Inspiration, Life, Reflections, Relationships, Truth

There’s a calm over the ocean this morning. A certain stillness. An anticipatory hum seems to fill the air on this second day of a brand new year, and it asks the question, “What will you do with this gift?”

We’ve closed the door on 2016. Some of us have slammed it shut and bolted the locks. Some of us wish to set fire to the thing and never think on it again. And some of us simply waved and watched twelve months fade into memory, not really fussed either way. Stuff happens. 

Yes, it does. But I think 2016 will be a year for the history books. I think it has to be a year we don’t soon forget. Because it was a year that pulled back the curtain on our true selves. A year that revealed a few things about our hearts and souls and minds that could well have been left undisturbed. But disturbed we were. Agitated. Angered. Confused. Prone to outburst on social media, fingers flying over keys with words we can’t take back. Words we could have, perhaps should have, kept to ourselves.

2016 was the game changer.

Don’t believe me? Think about it. Think about all the events that occurred that touched you, moved you, stirred something deep within you – I’m not just talking about the election. There were many, many events last year that challenged us, challenged our way of thinking, caused us to re-evaluate the way we see ourselves and others.

Will it really change us? 

The more fitting question might be this –

Are we willing to change? 

Can we keep the pages of 2016 open a little longer and learn from them? Can we remember certain incidents, days, moments where we discovered something about ourselves, something that made us uncomfortable, something we didn’t want to face, didn’t realize we held onto with such a vise grip? Can we give ourselves a little time to process, and to accept that maybe everything is not as cut and dry as we once believed it to be? Can we extend a little grace, not only to ourselves, but to others? Maybe, if we put our minds to it, we can move down the pew a little and make room for someone else.

Are we willing to change? Because we have to answer that and answer it now. It’s too easy to shut the door and forget. It’ll all work out in the end. Well. It might. But what if this was our chance to work for the greater good, for the higher purpose, and we missed it? What if those hard things we went through in 2016 were set up on a shelf in a tidy box, maybe even tied up with a pretty ribbon, because . . . we came through it okay, didn’t we?

Did we? I don’t know. I don’t think so. I think we still have a long way to go.

There is work to be done. Much work. And it will be hard. Not one of us is excused from this. Because we have to move forward, move on, together. Without anger. Without malice. Without all the many differences that separate and divide us. We will all be called to this challenge, we already have been. Like it or not, we are accountable.

Will you accept the weight of that? Will I?

2016 may have kicked us in the gut more than once. But it’s time to get back up. Time to do better. To be better. Kinder. Gentler. Laugh more and love harder. 2017 could be the best year yet. We don’t know anything for certain, do we? Tomorrow is not promised. But today is here.

Brand new. All yours.

What will you do with it?

Things I’m Learning From The US Election

Tags

election, Life, Reflections, Relationships, Truth

I’ve been unable to write the past few days. Unable to trust that I’d use my words wisely. And I don’t know for sure I can do that today. Don’t know for sure I’ll hit that publish button when I’m done. But I do know I need to write the words down. Because that’s what writers do.

We bleed a little on the paper.

And sometimes it makes us feel better.

A disclaimer: I’m not a US citizen and I don’t live in your country. But many of my dear friends and family do. I interact with most of you on a daily basis, I love you and I write for you. Whether that gives me a right to a voice in all of this, I don’t know.

But I have thoughts anyway.

I won’t sit here and pretend I wasn’t dismayed by the results of the election. I won’t say I understand why people voted the way they did. But I will say that over the course of the last few days, I’ve realized I need to. I need to understand why this happened so that I can accept it and be a part of the solution to healing. So I’ve been reading a lot from both sides. Watching interactions on social media and trying to make some sense of it all. And here’s what I’m learning –

Things are not always as they seem. 

Take a look at my picture. Tell me what you see. No, wait. I’ll tell you.

You see a white woman with her dog, and you may assume some things. You may assume I’m probably a product of some privilege. That I have led a sheltered life, been given the best and lack for little. You wouldn’t be wrong.

But here’s what you may not know. You may not know that while I was taken home from the hospital by two loving parents who gave me every good thing they had, I was left at that hospital by the woman who gave birth to me.

I was considered an unfortunate mistake, put aside to meet an unknown fate while she went on with her life.

“Ah, that’s a shame,” you say, “but, you had a great upbringing, wonderful parents, it all turned out all right in the end!” Yes, it did. But if you dismiss the way my life began and the impact that initial abandonment had on me, you take away my story. 

When you look at my picture, you may also assume I know nothing about racism or hatred or bigotry. That I’ve never been made to feel inferior because of the color of my skin, never been put down or made fun of or been the target of hateful comments. You’d be wrong.

While the circumstances don’t matter so much, the fact is, yes, I know what those things feel like. And in spite of that, I know I’m not immune to judging someone unfairly, for growing weary of what I often perceive as ignorance, for not taking the time to hear somebody’s opinion because it contradicts my own. And each time I do this, I take away their story.

You may think I’m a successful, published author living out her dream. Not everyone gets to this place and I’m one of the lucky ones. And you’d be right. But what you may not know is that I battle fear on an almost daily basis. Fear of failure, of not meeting expectations. I battle insecurity. I take what little self-confidence I have when I wake up in the morning and shred it to bits by the end of the day.

“But oh,” you say, “aren’t you a woman of faith, don’t you put your trust in God and believe He has a good plan for your life?”  Yes. I do. I try to. But that doesn’t always make the battle easier. Sometimes it makes it harder. And when you ask me to dismiss my very real feelings, and ‘just have faith’,  you take away my story. 

Things are not always as they seem.

The election is over and whether you’re happy and relieved or stunned and terrified by the outcome, the world has watched a country tear itself apart. People are hurting. Their fear is real. We need to listen to each other’s stories. I’m not sure how the healing begins, and there is deep work to be done. But all of us, wherever we live, have to put aside differences and beliefs for the greater good of humanity. Because if we carry on this way, if we ignore the core issues driving this great divide that have always existed but have now been given permission to step out of the shadows, hate will win. And that will affect the world, not just America.

We need to ask questions. Listen to one another. Don’t refuse someone else’s words. You may not like them. You may not understand them, but you do need to listen to them. Give others grace and an invitation to tell you their story. Perhaps then they will do the same for you.

Reach out to someone you wouldn’t normally talk to. Sit down over a meal and listen to each other. Our church did this a few weeks back – we’re a small congregation, but we tend to bounce off each other and once Sunday’s over, that’s pretty much it for a lot of us until next week. So we mixed a whole bunch of people up and went to different homes and met each other where we’re at. And I want to do it again. Because those things are awkward for me. I’m not a talker or a great socializer, but . . . maybe I’ve been missing out. Maybe I need to change that and step out of my comfort zone.

There’s so much more to say, but these words feel inadequate as is, and I don’t know if sharing my thoughts will help. If my voice will even be heard amongst the millions expressing one opinion over another this week and maybe that doesn’t matter. I know I’m just one person and I can’t change what’s going on. I can’t change the world. But I can change me.

So I want to tell you I’m sorry for not hearing you. For not really caring about your story, whatever it may be. And I’d love to hear it now. And maybe, maybe we all start talking to each other again, and really listening, with open minds and open hearts.

Every story has an end, and every end is a new beginning.

What if we could make this end the beginning of something better?

The choice is ours.

We still get to write the story.

Can we at least agree to try to do it together?

No, You’re Actually Not That Great

Tags

Life, Reflections, Relationships, Society

I don’t know how you’re feeling as we approach November, but I’m tired. Tired of the frustration, the anger, the vitriol, tired of everything that this nasty election has exploded into. More frustrating for me is that it’s not even my election. But it’s everywhere. You can’t turn on the television or the radio or even walk down the street without hearing the words Trump or Clinton. It’s exhausting.

I think what’s bothered me the most about this process is the downward spiral of society. If it wasn’t obvious at the beginning, it’s written in neon flashing lights now. There is very little that has not been said on both sides. Cutting words. Vicious attacks on people’s point of view. A bull-headed belief in being so right that all rationale has flown off to some place far, far away. Perhaps never to return.

Do we truly believe we are entitled to treat each other this way? To put one above the other with blatant disregard for common civility and basic human decency?

It would appear so. Spend five minutes on Facebook, Twitter or any social media outlet. It would appear so.

Troublesome thoughts have swirled around my mind for weeks now. For the most part, I stay quiet. But sometimes I do speak my mind, and I think it’s okay. But I think what’s bothering me the most about all of the ugly, is wondering how we got here.

Case in point. We flew home from Boston yesterday. It wasn’t a full flight, but there were several families with toddlers traveling together, friends or relatives, I’m not sure. In their 20’s or early 30’s perhaps. And they had the swag and the swagger and that over-confident attitude that oozed from them. You could hear it in their language, see it in the way they treated each other. You’ve read enough about the Entitled Millennials, right? These were the visual aids to go with all the articles.

And sure enough, when we landed, my opinion of at least one of these fine gentlemen was confirmed as he immediately stood up in his row and began a conversation with one of his buddies behind him, while we were still taxiing down the runway. Within a moment the announcement came asking all passengers to remain seated with their seat-belts on for their safety, until we reached the gate.

Dude continued to stand and chat. In English. Same language as the announcement. And he wasn’t using ASL so I don’t think he was deaf.

Seriously?

After the second announcement was made, he did eventually sit down. But I was left shaking my head. When did this whole “the rules don’t apply to me” attitude come into play? How did we end up here? This belief that “I can do what I want and get away with it!” – it’s being modeled by our leaders, accepted by our neighbors and clearly already a way of life for many of the younger generation.

Entitlement.

God help us.

When is somebody going to stand up and say “Sit your spoiled little butt down and shut up!”

I was pretty darn close on that plane yesterday. I’m pretty darn close every day when I see friends attacking each other over politics. But, really, why do we accept this behavior?

I’m not saying we all behave this way, but I think this election season is surely showing our ugly side. And the younger generation watching all this go down are probably not that surprised.

Surely we are better than this. More moral? Decent? Kind? I think we used to be. But if we continue to ignore and allow and excuse . . . what’s going to be left in years to come? What will we be handing down to our kids and grandchildren? I shudder to think.

So what’s the answer? What can we do now, today, to turn this train around?

Maybe it’s already too late. I hope not. I pray not.

Agree or disagree, but I think it’s a problem. And it needs fixing.

What do you think?

Be Still

Tags

Be Still, Believe, Faith, Life, Peace. God, Reflections

“Be still and know, that I am God…” Psalm 46:10

It’s quoted so often that I’m not sure we get it. The whole be still thing. What does that mean to you? Be still.

The noun is defined as “deep silence and calm; stillness.
“the still of the night”
synonyms: quietness, quiet, quietude, silence, stillness, hush, soundlessness;”

The adjective – “not moving or making a sound.
“the still body of the young man”
synonyms: motionless, unmoving, not moving a muscle, stock-still, immobile, inanimate, like a statue, as if turned to stone, rooted to the spot, transfixed, static, stationary.”

Be still. Turn off the noise. Can you?

Growing up, I had music playing 24/7. When I wasn’t listening to the latest Bee Gee’s album, I was watching General Hospital or Young and the Restless. Or I was talking on the phone. No, we didn’t have cell phones and we didn’t text. I still don’t. But my life was noisy. I was an only child, so perhaps this was my defense, surrounding myself with all this stuff, stuff of the world, stuff that seemed so exciting and important to my young impressionable mind.

Thank God for books.

I have always been a voracious reader. My parents instilled it in me I suppose, for they too loved to read. We didn’t need the radio or television when we read, we turned off the noise and dove into whatever literary delight we were feasting on that week. In story world, external noise doesn’t matter. And if it’s there, it fades into the background as you become immersed in the words that transport you through time and space, into the realm of the impossible. Or the possible. For the more you read, the more you believe. Anything can happen.

When I left on vacation last month, I had this overwhelming need to turn off the noise. I tried to limit myself to what social media I’d check into, and how often. And I read. I read so many good books…I was truly high on literary genius. I didn’t need music or status updates and tweets…I didn’t miss the bitching, the subtle digs or the holier than thou cringeworthy posts…I just wanted to be still. And I was.

And it felt good.

But I know if I want to engage in the life I’ve chosen, I need to do so online. Snail mail takes far too long and can be pretty unreliable. I don’t know anything about ham radio or morse code, and with all the air pollution out there, smoke signals probably won’t be seen…so I’m going to stick to Facebook and Twitter, and blogging (when I feel the need)…but I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to forget what it feels like to be still.

To sit in silence and watch the sun go down. Watch that fiery red ball fully descend toward the horizon line and then disappear in the blip of a split second so easily missed. I don’t want to forget what the early morning song of the birds hidden away in lush jungle sounds like. What the aroma of that first cup of coffee does to the senses. What, if I’m really listening, really paying attention, that soul-deep voice sounds like when He graciously enters my present surroundings and sits with me in the stillness, and says, “This. This is why you’re here. To enjoy. To savor. To love and laugh and just…live. Don’t worry about the rest.”

I roll my eyes at that, but He smiles. Because He knows. He knows me better than I know myself. And I need that reminder every day. I need to remember to let go. To turn off the noise. To sit in the stillness.

To be still.

And to know that He is God.

Maybe you do too.