Rainy Days Ahead: Getting Through versus Going Through

Rainy Days Ahead

That’s the message the bottom right hand corner of my desktop is trumpeting today, complete with a tiny picture of an umbrella.

Rainy days right now.

I would append this statement to the former because my life has been somewhat showery for a while now, with no signs of letting up.

I’m not talking about weather, of course. I’m talking about the pulse of the country and my own personal pulse, so to speak.

When I demonstrated an interest in writing as a young girl, my parents gifted me a little book called The Writer’s Eye. I never read the thing, being ever resistant to learning about the writing craft and much preferring to just do it. That said, I may have finally internalized the idea that, to a writer, everything is grist for the mill.

Such is the case with the notification on my desktop this morning. Those little weather alerts are probably there every day, but I don’t usually take notice. This one for some reason jumped out at me, perfectly characterizing, in my humble opinion, the state of the nation and my particular state at the moment.

Choosing Sun

Before we start tuning our violins, let me qualify my comments. Lest my words seem like a plea for sympathy, I want it known that I’m not feeling sorry for myself.

Well, not too much. It’s a tough habit to break, after all, and at one time in my life, I was a master self-pitier. But in recent years, I’ve come to realize the truth of Viktor Frankl’s statement (emphasis mine): “We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms – to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way.”

In searching for Frankl’s attitude quote, I found a mountain of inspiration from this remarkable psychotherapist, including the little gem quoted below (emphasis mine). Little did this Holocaust survivor know how ahead of his time he was, given today’s rampant support for physician assisted suicide. I suspect this brilliant man, who survived horrors that stagger the imagination, would be appalled at the prevalence of so-called “death with dignity”:

“But today’s society is characterized by achievement orientation, and consequently it adores people who are successful and happy and, in particular, it adores the young. It virtually ignores the value of all those who are otherwise, and in so doing blurs the decisive difference between being valuable in the sense of dignity and being valuable in the sense of usefulness. If one is not cognizant of this difference and holds that an individual’s value stems only from his present usefulness, then, believe me, one owes it only to personal inconsistency not to plead for euthanasia along the lines of Hitler’s program, that is to say, ‘mercy’ killing of all those who have lost their social usefulness, be it because of old age, incurable illness, mental deterioration, or whatever handicap they may suffer. Confounding the dignity of man with mere usefulness arises from conceptual confusion that in turn may be traced back to the contemporary nihilism transmitted on many an academic campus and many an analytical couch.”

These are the kinds of things we need to read to drag ourselves out of the quagmire that sometimes characterizes life.

While I have grave concerns for the shape our country is in and, secondarily, find myself in a set of somewhat dreary circumstances, for once in my life – and maybe this is the definition of maturity – I’m seeing things with a sort of objectivity that encourages me.

For years I’ve been advising fellow believers to try to view things through God’s eyes. “I wonder what God’s trying to teach you” is a frequent refrain from my lexicon. I think this phrase is finally becoming less a platitude and more a reality for me.

What a blessing!

Fifty Per Cent

How on earth did we get from weather reports to percentages?

Trust the process.

A ways back I jotted down notes for a possible blog article – this blog article. I had been noticing silly things that were in the 50 per cent range, satisfaction-wise. For example, I had just replaced one framed piece of art – I’m looking at it now – with another. My desk sits in a sort of alcove that offers a convenient wall which invites decoration. A friend was collecting secondhand items to be sold for a worthy cause, and I saw this as an opportunity to swap one picture for another that I preferred. My friend collected the cash for my discard, and my workspace picked up something more pleasing to my eye.

Except for one thing.

Remember I mentioned that I work in an alcove? Well, my desk is heavy, right down to its glass top, and the computer tower and monitor that sit atop it don’t easily lend themselves to rearrangement.

You can see where this is going.

I didn’t want to do anything silly like ask for help, so I scaled a ladder and hoped for the best.

The best, as it turned out, meant: a) the glass top didn’t break; b) computer components weren’t knocked off; c) picture was successfully mounted; but d) it wasn’t centered.

See what I mean? The angle makes it look crooked; it really isn't. But it is definitely off center.

And you know what?

I’m living with it.

This is actually the second such mounting job I’ve done in recent months which has turned out less than perfectly. Things like this used to really bother me. I would remove nails and readjust (who sees a few extra holes once the art is hung?) until I got it just right.

Such precision no longer holds a place on my priority list.

I don’t want to say I’m too old for that, but, well, you know.

So, I got 50 per cent of what I was looking for. Actually, I got 75 per cent, if you consider that points a, b, and c worked out well, and d was the only defector.

I’ll take it.

I could share other examples where I’m looking to make lemonade out of sour lemons.

Case in point: like many women of my vintage, I’m in pretty good shape for the shape I’m in.

That said, I have a few besetting ailments, but in the big scheme of things, they’re pretty manageable. I won’t bore you with the details, but suffice it to say, I’m grateful that when one condition flares up, the others – for the moment, anyway – have been remarkably well behaved. So, instead of dealing with arthritic aches along with asthma adventures, nine times out of ten, one is under control while the other is making its presence known.

Again, attitude is going to be key in how I view these things. I can either lament, “Oh, man, this cold is going into my chest, so now I’m going to have to break out the nebulizer machine and pull out all the stops again!” OR I can consider the flip side. To illustrate, I'll refer to a guidance counselor I once knew who encouraged students to take the “at least” perspective when they were feeling upset. For example, “My activities may be curtailed because of this respiratory infection, but AT LEAST I’m walking without a cane for the moment!”

Getting Through versus Going Through

There’s always a valley lurking at the base of every peak. Will we focus on the valley instead of enjoying the peak?

One of my family members has had plenty of adversity. Life-threatening health issues, financial setbacks, devastating family problems. This individual has consistently modeled a “bounce back” response to every challenge. I have watched with admiration the steadiness and resilience which have characterized this person’s response to surgeries, business misadventures, even death (and near death) of loved ones.  

That’s how I want to be when I grow up.

I want to learn to go through life’s obstacles with grace and faith.

I don’t want to just get through things that feel like suffering. I want to go through life’s vicissitudes knowing, as God’s child, I’m right smack in the center of His will, despite appearances to the contrary.

When I searched my blog for an article written back in 2012, entitled Through (which, incidentally, was written during a time of severe testing in my life), I stumbled onto a whole slew of my writings on the same subject. I offer them here in the hope that one or all may lighten the burdens others are carrying.

Because that’s the point, really, when you get right down to it. Like Christian in John Bunyan’s classic Pilgrim’s Progress, we can expect trouble. It’s going to come whether we like it or not. Bunyan knew of what he spoke; he wrote the book during his 12-year imprisonment, during which time he supported his family by making shoelaces.

Bunyan understood the truth of Hebrews 10:36-39:

“For you have need of endurance, so that when you have done the will of God you may receive what is promised. For, ‘Yet a little while, and the coming one will come and will not delay; but my righteous one shall live by faith, and if he shrinks back, my soul has no pleasure in him.’

“But we are not of those who shrink back and are destroyed, but of those who have faith and preserve their souls.”

Bunyan’s faith enabled him to live out the truth of Psalm 112:6-7:

“For the righteous will never be moved; he will be remembered forever. He is not afraid of bad news; his heart is firm, trusting in the Lord.”

Rejoice, in Spite of…

Rainy days may lie ahead, but so does our hope of heaven. I’m looking for the kind of faith that sustains the pastoral staff at my church. These folks have an uncanny knack for balancing pain and joy, even to the point of advising their sheep to “thank God for everything!”

And they mean everything. This collective group and their wives have experienced plenty of hardships since I've known them. Their resolve never changes. They truly do thank God for everything, ever seeking whatever growth is to be had within their changing circumstances.

Anyone who has been part of a Christian community knows, unfortunately, that the church is a breeding ground for love but can also include betrayal. It’s been said the church is the only army that shoots its own soldiers.

I wish I could prove this sentiment wrong, but I’ve been around too long to deny the truth of its caustic commentary.

I would ask my pastoral team to reveal the secret behind their smiles, but they would simply refer me back to the Book of all books.

They’ve learned not to make their happiness contingent on things going their way. They’ve weighed Jesus’s words and example, put them to the test, and found them more than adequate to catch every tear that accompanies the ministry.

Tears are the stuff of rainstorms, minus the salt, I suppose. They are also evidence of God’s hand in our lives, but He doesn’t leave us to dissolve into them. Rather, in His providence, He allows clouds to break over our lives only insomuch as they are necessary for our growth.

What a savior.

Come Now, Let us Reason Together: Thoughts on the Assassination of Charlie Kirk

An Ordinary Day…

I was having a bit of a spa day. Something I never do, but it sort of evolved. Sitting in my car outside the nail salon, I was pondering whether I might have better luck with the hairdresser than I had had with my pedicure.

I had created quite the ruckus in the place by making a few simple requests. It became a problem that I didn’t want the foot bath (someone I knew had unrelenting athlete’s foot and those tubs skeeve me) but I did want a clean looking towel. Then, apparently, I chose the wrong color for my particular toenails, and the nail stylist seemed like it would really break her heart if I went with the muted mauve. Reluctant to cause any more static, I acquiesced to her choice for me.  

Turns out frosted peach toenails make my bulbous big toes look even more like mini wieners than they usually do. Who knew?

I was sure the nails were more than dry when I slipped off the crazy excuses for flip flops they give you and slid back into my sandals. Mistake number two was not making this transfer of foot apparel while still inside the salon. If the polish had smeared while I was still inside, I more than likely would have had them retouch it. But to reenter after all the fuss and feathers – I just didn’t have it in me.

I opted instead to make plans with my daughter-in-law to go to an early dinner. Our plan was to meet at Bertucci’s after she did a few things and I got my hair cut.

Let’s just say the service at Hair Cuttery far outweighed its counterpart in the nail business. The stylist chatted amiably and it seemed we had many of the same values. Always nice to find a like-minded thinker. The jury’s still out on the cut itself, but two out of three ain’t bad.

Turns Extraordinary

Then I saw the news alert. Charlie Kirk had been gunned down. My first thought was, ridiculously, he won’t be hurt any worse than Trump was in Butler. It didn’t even cross my mind that he wouldn’t survive. I immediately mobilized my prayer teams and did my own part while waiting for my DIL to arrive.

She was running late, so I gobbled up the news channels. Rich Zeoli seemed positively sedate. I’ve never heard that guy on slow, let alone subdued. It was like all the stuffing was knocked out of him. The guest he had on sounded about to break down at any moment.

What influencer in his right mind who holds Kirk’s positions isn’t upping his life insurance and beefing up his home security system in the wake of this murder?

The question is, though – where will we land?

Not just the guys in Charlie Kirk’s league, the ones with the most visibility and the most to lose. Where will the days ahead find those of us who get up every morning only to punch in at work or, like the students this fallen icon loved, show up for class? Will we continue to shake our heads and close our mouths when ideologies are forced upon us that we don’t believe in? Will we commiserate with like-minded friends with whom we feel safe, only to keep silent when the winds are against us?

Will we join with the voices that will blame this horror on the gun that ended Kirk’s life, even though he would be the first - still - to defend laws that allow Americans to defend themselves?

Kirk would never have supported giving madmen guns, but he did believe in trying to reason with his opponents in the spirit of Isaiah 1. His philosophy was simple: if you let people speak, then dialogue with them, maybe you can come closer to agreement. If you find points of agreement, minds can be shaped without bludgeoning your opponent into submission. In other words, if people can be helped to see common sense based on morality and decency, rather than terrorized out of sharing a dissenting opinion, maybe – just maybe – we can all play in the sandbox safely.

With or without guns.

I’m not going to take the Second Amendment any farther, nor am I prepared to offer an argument any more robust than that. I will say, however, that in this unprecedented era of school shootings during which I worked as an educator for 23 years, I did wonder many a time whether or not I’d be coming home at the end of the day. And you know what? It would have given me peace of mind if I had been aware of any levelheaded, armed professionals on the premises, should our safety have been threatened by outside agents who maybe weren’t so levelheaded or concerned with silly things like following the law.

More than any public figure I can think of at the moment, this gentleman - this gentle man - allowed opposing voices the time and courtesy he felt they deserved. I’ve watched reels in which he hushed his own supporters to allow spouters of views he held abhorrent the chance to speak.

So they could reason together.

Let that sink in, America.

A Time to Reason

I’ve recently begun dipping my peach painted toes into some online debates. Not because I enjoy the experience. My parents didn’t raise a combative daughter. My nature is to go along to get along. I didn’t shrink from getting into it with my kids when I was raising them (in fact, whatever poor excuse for parleying skills I have, I owe to those two loophole finders). But sit me in a meeting where I’m the lone voice and I become laryngitic.

But I’m coming to realize there’s a real danger in playing it safe. Safe only goes so far. As far, actually, as it takes to lock ourselves into our own homes with our own opinions and let’s just keep them out of the public square, shall we?

“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”

Reuters claims the authorship of this quote is in question, so I’ll leave it unattributed, but with deep appreciation for the wisdom it conveys.

Charlie Kirk understood this. I’m sure he held a large life insurance policy (if anyone would insure him). He hired bodyguards. He wasn’t looking to get poached like a game bird, but he was willing. Both he and his wife must have been well aware of the peril-laden plateaus he embarked on each time they kissed goodbye.

The thing is, they counted the cost and found it reasonable.

He was, after all, first and foremost a man of reason.

“Come, let us reason together,” implores our Lord. Can his creation do any less?

So, let’s reason together about what happened on Wednesday. While resisting the urge to paint Charlie Kirk as a savior – I’m sure his family and those who knew him best could disavow us of any such notion – I don’t think it’s a stretch to state that this man represented the interests of both sides of the political aisle. Those who appreciated his message and those who didn’t. If that were not the case, why would he have spent so much precious time that he could’ve had with loved ones trying to reason with dissenters? To try to win rather than silence them?

I want to follow in God and Kirk’s footsteps in this regard, and I’ll start with the pain I saw on the face of my left-leaning friend the morning after the assassination. I could imagine her thoughts while listening to me share my grief about the loss of this conservative icon. “What of the brutality done to individuals from the Democratic party?” her eyes seemed to lament. “Shouldn’t their wounds, some of them fatal, hold just as much relevance as those of a man honored by your side?”

My response is threefold. First, while I shrink at references to sides and camps and for a second even tried to find alternative words, I chose in the end to call spades spades. Every war has sides and we are most definitely in a culture war that seems to be advancing us ever closer to a wasteland. I can’t in intellectual honesty deny the existence of partisan lines, but one thing I will try to do is avoid an “us versus them” mentality. “We” are all part of the human race, made in God’s image, and I will not deny someone’s humanity regardless of how repellent I may find his or her beliefs.

Second, at least in my book and my dealings, those from the opposite camp who were injured or killed for their political beliefs won’t go unremembered. Rep. Gabby Giffords, Rep. Melissa and Mark Hortman, Sen. John and Yvette Hoffman, the horrors that happened to you and your families matter just as much to me as does this latest episode of violence against someone with whom I’m more politically aligned. Last time I checked, you all spilled the same color blood as that of my fallen hero. I will neither forget nor diminish your tragedies, and I ask the same of you.

Third and finally, I will dare to pray and hope we are entering the turning point Charlie Kirk stood for.

God rest his soul. God comfort his family. God bless America.

Problems

 

Problems. We've all got them. They vary in size and intensity, severity and impact. 

I'm not sure where I got the idea that I wasn't supposed to have problems, but somewhere along the way that notion made its way into my head, and it created, well, problems.

For instance, when one's philosophy is that everything ought to go swimmingly and then it doesn't – well, that's a problem. 

Furthermore, when one deems every problem that comes one’s way a disaster and blows it all out of proportion – a philosophy I also internalized early – well, here again, we have a problem.

My preferred way of handling problems used to be running from them. Literally walking away from people or situations that caused angst. Door slammed, locked and bolted – at least until the other person cried “uncle”, which was far from guaranteed.

When I couldn’t get away with that strategy, I tried making nice. People-pleasing. Fawning. That often resulted in loss of respect and the opposite of the desired result.

Then there was the “lean waaaaay into the problem and let it overtake every thought” modus operandi. Any happy thought was immediately banished in favor of brooding over THE PROBLEM.

At the ripe, young age of 62, I’m learning there are better ways to handle problems.

First of all, to borrow a phrase from Charles Stanley, I need to update my thinking. Instead of “why me?” my mantra is ever so gradually becoming “why not me?” What makes me think I’m exempt from unfairness from people, places, or things? For that matter, how do I know the “unfairness” isn’t a heavenly nudge meant to grow me?

I’m rereading a book called Thank You for Being Such a Pain. The premise is that life doesn’t just “happen” to us; rather, things arise to teach us something. It’s especially helpful to pay attention when we find ourselves encountering similar situations/people over and over again. Where there are patterns, there are usually reasons for those patterns. Quick disclaimer: the author, who has a delightful, readable style, tends to attribute causes for said patterns to “the universe.” As a Christian, I can’t ascribe events to an unintelligent, created universe. After all, the universe didn’t just happen, did it? Even if one believes in the Big Bang, who or what set off the bang? For every effect there is necessarily a cause, and to me it makes much more sense to believe in an intelligent being who created all the intelligence with which we are blessed. (For more on this topic, see Gregory Koukl’s Street Smarts.)

Now that I’ve gotten totally sidetracked, let me return to the topic at hand. Since I’ve improved in the areas of running away and people-pleasing, the M.O. I’m currently trying to kick to the curb is obsessing over the problem to the exclusion of other aspects of my life.

First of all, that isn’t Biblical. Second Corinthians 10:4-5 says, “ For the weapons of our warfare are not carnal but mighty in God for pulling down strongholds, casting down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, bringing every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ…”

Paul couldn’t be more clear here. He wants us to view EVERYTHING through the lens of what the Lord is trying to teach us.

So much for ingesting my problems, chewing them up endlessly without spitting them out (perish the thought! That might lead to peace of mind and we can’t have that). So much for centralizing the problem, making it the focus of my life, spending every waking minute pondering solutions and possible approaches to tackle whatever boogie man is currently stealing my attention.

Land sakes, the Bible offers scads of advice about how and where to exercise the mind, and I have yet to find one that suggests dwelling endlessly on something outside my control. What I do find are tons of assurances that if I lean into the Lord and detach from the problem, blessings will ensue.

Final caveat: I’m not suggesting ignoring problems or failing to take sensible steps to resolve issues. That approach would take us back to the running away strategy which we’ve already dismissed as unwise. Rather, in the absence of alternatives to make things right, as it were, sometimes the wisest action is no action. Waiting on the Lord. Being ready at all times to mend fences wherever possible, but allowing the Lord time to settle dust and ruffled feathers.

My personal experience with running ahead of God in trying to bring about the solution I think I want has consistently been disaster. At this point in my life, enough already!

I’ll give the final word to this succinct but packed poem. The internet can’t make up its mind who wrote this little gem, so I’ll just place it here anonymously but with deep gratitude for the unnamed author who so perfectly “nailed” the concept of letting go and letting God:

As children bring their broken toys, 
With tears, for us to mend,
I brought my broken dreams to God,  

Because He was my Friend.

But then, instead of leaving Him
In peace, to work alone;
I hung around and tried to help
With ways that were my own.

At last I snatched them back and cried,
“How can You be so slow?”
“My child,” He said, “what could I do?
You never did let go!"