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Monday
Sep062010
Written in a Library.
September 6, 2010
Thoughts build up as time goes by, and eventually I have to expel them. And whether or not you want one, you get one of these Journey Mama deep thoughts posts. (Which are not as funny as Jack Handey's deep thoughts.)
The thoughts, they've built up again.
I'm thinking about guilt and failure and grace, and I'm also thinking about how I want to live. We all have our things that we chew on, set on a shelf for a while, and then return to. I suppose these are mine.
Our "visit" to North America has rambled along until we are getting to the point when we are preparing to roll up the rugs and go. We're not quite there yet, but getting there. Leaving has many stages. One stage is regret.
There are many things I thought I would be capable of in this visit. As it turns out, I have limits that I didn't understand prior to this escapade into the West. I have failed to do all the things I wanted to do, see all the people that I wanted to see.
(Oh, failure, you old friend.)
I entered my twenties believing I was capable of just about anything. That I could accomplish all my own "shoulds" as well as everybody else's "shoulds". Many times over I have protected my sense of capability with bared teeth. I will not fail! I can do everything! Just let me try one! more! time!
Lately the urgency is simmering down. I am simplifying away from shoulding myself to death and into taking honest stock of my resources. There are many things I cannot do, no matter how valuable it would be to the world if I could do them. Leafy is a good example for me. No matter how many times people try to tell him he is a superhero, he is dead honest. "I'm NOT Superman. I'm just Leafy." Jeez.
Letting people down is the part of being human that I hate the very most. But I can either hold myself hostage over it or throw my hands up. I will let people down.
Husband, I will let you down. Friends, I will let you down. Children, I will definitely let you down. Holding myself rigid against the possibility is as futile as a thin paper filter against a deluge of water.
I can't dive wholeheartedly into the why's of my strangeness. Why does it seem so wrong to not accomplish every outing, every visit, everything that people would like, that I would like? I don't know why. I don't know what I think it's all about. I can only be perfectly honest and put it out here: I've found a lot of freedom in simply acknowledging that I will let the human race down. My uncurled fists allow the love of God to flow back into them.
I see these tendencies in my daughter. This, more than anything, has me trying to be more decisive about which values I will allow into my life.
My sweet girl is crippled with sadness if she transgresses. Cause and effect is usually pretty simple in our house. If you hurt someone, need to tell them sorry and they need to endeavor to forgive you. But YaYa often becomes so treadmarked by the fact that she did something wrong that she doesn't get to the saying sorry part at all. Or she says it so many times that it loses its meaning and becomes a dirge.
I want to teach her that saying sorry carries a mighty power. Confession is a crack of light in the darkest parts of our hearts, the parts we guard with bared teeth. Only light can change them.
Saying sorry--to your brother if you hit him, to your husband if you blame him, to God for panicking rather than trusting--sends a cleaver through despair. I acknowledge that I am frail and when I say sorry I can receive love in return.
This is the true story of my faith, the true story of believing in something that says that your teacher, your God, died so that you aren't swallowed up in the death knell of guilt.
The writhing pile of snakes is stilled. It's done. It's over. Walk away from it.
That's what I tell YaYa, anyways. Walk away from it, daughter. It's over, you don't need to wallow in it anymore. Confession is half of it.
The other half is grace. I have bad boundaries, so I often feel obligated to say yes to everything. If I say no, there may be a day or so of self-castigation in order. But now I'm learning the fine art of saying no. This is where grace comes in. I think our human programming leads us back to feeling as though we have to deserve every bit of slack we are cut. This has led me to make some ridiculous rules for myself. Like I can relax and give myself grace if I'm pregnant, if Chinua is out of town, if I'm sick or if I'm living in India (maybe not even then.) If not, if I'm unpregnant in America with my fine husband lurking around the house, well, I'd better be pulling my weight.
In special circumstances I hold nice things out in front of myself. Whatever I need, I offer myself. More sleep? Some fun playing with the kids? A chapter of a really good book? Sure!
I think life would work a lot better if I would just allow grace for myself all the time. Same for you. Life demands a lot, especially if we're giving it our best shot. And there are deep deep pools of grace for us. We would be fools to ignore them. And the thing about drawing it in is that it becomes so much easier to give to other people. There's so much less fuming involved.
So take a bath, turn off the phone, drink some chai, eat some frozen yogurt or a samosa. Run lotion into your skin, draw beautiful spirals on a perfect piece of paper, watch egrets on a branch, sit by the waves and let them sparkle into your brain. Say no when you need to say no, say yes when you know you can do it gladly.
(Chinua took this photo of me. I especially like the fact that I have a tiny skimboarder under my chin.)
The thoughts, they've built up again.
I'm thinking about guilt and failure and grace, and I'm also thinking about how I want to live. We all have our things that we chew on, set on a shelf for a while, and then return to. I suppose these are mine.
Our "visit" to North America has rambled along until we are getting to the point when we are preparing to roll up the rugs and go. We're not quite there yet, but getting there. Leaving has many stages. One stage is regret.
There are many things I thought I would be capable of in this visit. As it turns out, I have limits that I didn't understand prior to this escapade into the West. I have failed to do all the things I wanted to do, see all the people that I wanted to see.
(Oh, failure, you old friend.)
I entered my twenties believing I was capable of just about anything. That I could accomplish all my own "shoulds" as well as everybody else's "shoulds". Many times over I have protected my sense of capability with bared teeth. I will not fail! I can do everything! Just let me try one! more! time!
Lately the urgency is simmering down. I am simplifying away from shoulding myself to death and into taking honest stock of my resources. There are many things I cannot do, no matter how valuable it would be to the world if I could do them. Leafy is a good example for me. No matter how many times people try to tell him he is a superhero, he is dead honest. "I'm NOT Superman. I'm just Leafy." Jeez.
Letting people down is the part of being human that I hate the very most. But I can either hold myself hostage over it or throw my hands up. I will let people down.
Husband, I will let you down. Friends, I will let you down. Children, I will definitely let you down. Holding myself rigid against the possibility is as futile as a thin paper filter against a deluge of water.
I can't dive wholeheartedly into the why's of my strangeness. Why does it seem so wrong to not accomplish every outing, every visit, everything that people would like, that I would like? I don't know why. I don't know what I think it's all about. I can only be perfectly honest and put it out here: I've found a lot of freedom in simply acknowledging that I will let the human race down. My uncurled fists allow the love of God to flow back into them.
I see these tendencies in my daughter. This, more than anything, has me trying to be more decisive about which values I will allow into my life.
My sweet girl is crippled with sadness if she transgresses. Cause and effect is usually pretty simple in our house. If you hurt someone, need to tell them sorry and they need to endeavor to forgive you. But YaYa often becomes so treadmarked by the fact that she did something wrong that she doesn't get to the saying sorry part at all. Or she says it so many times that it loses its meaning and becomes a dirge.
I want to teach her that saying sorry carries a mighty power. Confession is a crack of light in the darkest parts of our hearts, the parts we guard with bared teeth. Only light can change them.
Saying sorry--to your brother if you hit him, to your husband if you blame him, to God for panicking rather than trusting--sends a cleaver through despair. I acknowledge that I am frail and when I say sorry I can receive love in return.
This is the true story of my faith, the true story of believing in something that says that your teacher, your God, died so that you aren't swallowed up in the death knell of guilt.
The writhing pile of snakes is stilled. It's done. It's over. Walk away from it.
That's what I tell YaYa, anyways. Walk away from it, daughter. It's over, you don't need to wallow in it anymore. Confession is half of it.
The other half is grace. I have bad boundaries, so I often feel obligated to say yes to everything. If I say no, there may be a day or so of self-castigation in order. But now I'm learning the fine art of saying no. This is where grace comes in. I think our human programming leads us back to feeling as though we have to deserve every bit of slack we are cut. This has led me to make some ridiculous rules for myself. Like I can relax and give myself grace if I'm pregnant, if Chinua is out of town, if I'm sick or if I'm living in India (maybe not even then.) If not, if I'm unpregnant in America with my fine husband lurking around the house, well, I'd better be pulling my weight.
In special circumstances I hold nice things out in front of myself. Whatever I need, I offer myself. More sleep? Some fun playing with the kids? A chapter of a really good book? Sure!
I think life would work a lot better if I would just allow grace for myself all the time. Same for you. Life demands a lot, especially if we're giving it our best shot. And there are deep deep pools of grace for us. We would be fools to ignore them. And the thing about drawing it in is that it becomes so much easier to give to other people. There's so much less fuming involved.
So take a bath, turn off the phone, drink some chai, eat some frozen yogurt or a samosa. Run lotion into your skin, draw beautiful spirals on a perfect piece of paper, watch egrets on a branch, sit by the waves and let them sparkle into your brain. Say no when you need to say no, say yes when you know you can do it gladly.
(Chinua took this photo of me. I especially like the fact that I have a tiny skimboarder under my chin.)
Reader Comments (14)
Ahh.. You have such a great perspective (obviously worked out by lots of life experience). I know what you mean, and am still trying to learn about grace in my own life and with others. Thanks for sharing so openly for the world to see. In open palms seems to be so much strength, even more strength than in gritted teeth.
So be it.
Beautiful post Rae. And so true.
It took me way too long to learn this grace to myself and I was really unable to extend true grace to others because I spent too much time beating myself up, which tends to lead to focusing on self too much.
Knowing in my head that I am accepted in the Beloved was not enough. I felt compelled to prove myself.
But I grew weary because I always fell short--I always felt like I was disappointing someone-- and it is impossible to prove ourselves--and of course this is why Jesus died in our place, so that we don't have to prove ourselves to God...he loves us and receives us just as we are...at salvation and ever after.
I suffered from false guilt for which there is no remedy.
True guilt is the result of sin and has a remedy--called forgiveness.
But if we have not sinned, there is no remedy, and there should be no guilt..the Father is not pointing the finger at us. Who is then? Usually it is self pointing the finger and the instigator is the father of lies, Satan. He is the false accuser.
I learned to ask myself, when I was feeling guilty or like I'd let someone down, have you sinned? If the answer was no, then I knew it was false guilt and I rejected it, recognizing that it was from hell and served no purpose and was a waste of my time and effort and concern and distracted me from God. It was in reality a selfish indulgence.
If the answer was yes, I confessed and was forgiven. End of guilt.
Nice post Ms. Rae; but You can never let the human race down. You have already done much and there is much for you to do that will affect the human race (consciousness) as a whole. ~Focus on the Now~
Perhaps not necessarily saying sorry, but acknowledging that you too are human, and thus flawed. We women have that tendency towards perfectness (is that a word?), which cripples us to begin with, because if there is such a thing, it is in the combination of flaws and grace. Accepting our flaws and allowing grace in our lives makes us whole.
I like the way you deep thoughts roll and tumble out and across this space... even if they aren't as funny as Jack's:)
Although Leafy (jeez) does tend to crack a girl up without even trying too hard.
Grace to you sister.
I've been a fan of Jack Handey's ever since I figured out the tricky business of sarcasm, but I would rather read your deep thoughts. I tend to think of grace as something to dole out to others (or at least try to... when I think about it), but I continually forget that accepting grace myself and reveling in it is a prerequisite. I think God likes messing with us perfectionist-minded types. We would happily take on more rules or shoulder more blame for mistakes, but instead, we keep being confounded by tenderness. It's a thought worth coming back to if ever there was one.
Life is always full of should'a, would'a, could'as so you're right - you need to give yourself more grace.
I recently attended a wedding and the reading from Corinthians (13:4-7 - Love is patient, love is kind ) soaked into me like it never had before. What if I could apply these words to myself? No one is harder on me than me! Why is it so hard to love ourselves like we love others?
Thank you for a beautiful post Rae.
I feel these things so deeply as well. A friend of mine is always telling me, "Don't think about it so much. It's fine. Move on." I do move on, I just move on ever so slowly. I love that you can put to words how I feel so much better than I can.
Tears in my eyes. Thank you Rae.
*very deep sigh*
Yes. Yes, yes yes.
God is good to teach us through the words and lives of others. What you wrote was what I needed to read - thank you. I think I should embroider your last sentence on a sampler or some such... good, good words to remember.
Thank you. THese words are what God is trying do in myheart also.
You are an amazing writer ~ I loved this line: "My uncurled fists allow the love of God to flow back into them." what truth and beauty. :)