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!"

Under the Covers or Under His Wings? Going Deep Without Getting Buried, AKA, Metaphor Overload

Hey, faithful readers! I jotted down notes for this article a couple of weeks ago when anxiety was running high and strength was running low. After a few hours of prayer, Bible study and “doing the next right thing,” (a tool I learned in Al Anon many years ago), the feelings subsided and I laid my jottings aside. But worries and fretting have lately been crowding out that which I know (the Lord will never leave me nor forsake me). Therefore, I’m placing fingers to keyboard and hoping to create some sense from my scribblings. I trust the following thoughts will comfort both my readers and myself (not necessarily in that order)!

Treading Deep Water

I made a careless driving mistake recently, and as soon as it happened, I knew why. My mind was only partially on the road. A good 80% of my mental machinations concerned current events and personal issues which, while of great importance, are completely out of my power to control.

There’s no point in enumerating the cares which distracted me that morning; we all have them. Whatever one’s point of view, anyone who’s at all awake can see that the USA is fast becoming the “DSA” (Divided States of America – I thought I made this term up, but a quick internet search revealed that many have beaten me to the proverbial punch). This and other “fret-ables” of my own (I think I coined this one – it means things to fret over) managed to remove my attention from the road, causing a close call.

The other driver responded with grace. Yes, she honked (only as much as was necessary to alert me – she resisted the urge to lean on the horn), but there was no tongue-lashing or middle-fingering. I was so thankful for God’s protection and my fellow traveler’s kind reaction that, when we ended up side by side at a light, I rolled down my window, thanked her for her reasonable response, and apologized profusely.

“You’re fine!” she laughed. “We all make mistakes!”

What I wanted to say was, “I’m sorry for my stupid blunder, but, you see, I’m carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. You see, there’s this, this and this that are bothering me, and it’s just too much.”

 But that’s just the point, isn’t it? To quote a MercyMe song, “[we] were never meant to carry this beyond the cross.”

Look at it? Yes. Comfort the brokenhearted? Absolutely. Attack problems? You bet. But carry it? Not on your life.

Let’s face it – there are challenges and messes everywhere. Christ acknowledged this when He reminded Martha that it was more important to commune with Him than to make a perfect party. Later, He counseled Judas, “You always have the poor with you, but you will not always have me” (Matthew 26:11).

Did He mean we should abandon our responsibilities and spend 24/7 with Bibles open and heads in the sand?

God forbid.

I believe He was calling His followers to counter one of two urges to which many of us fall prey. One is to try to singlehandedly clean up all the muck that humanity in its sinfulness has created. The other is to hide under the covers – sometimes literally – and hope it will all go away.

Metaphor Madness: Deep Breathing

To illustrate the process of letting go a la Thea, let’s revisit a morning two weeks ago when I didn’t want to get out of bed. Here I’m going to switch to present tense, so my audience  will hopefully catch the immediacy of the moments which led to this article. Imagery alert: my readers should beware if they’re metaphor intolerant, because my mind wandered to a bunch of those literary devices on the morning in question. While it may fly in the face of freshman English, I’m just going to roll with the disparate thoughts God gave me at the time.

It’s a cool day. Windows are open, causing the curtains to sway lazily with the gentle breeze. As is my habit, I tuck my head underneath the sheets, cocooning myself in the
perceived safety of cotton and polyester.

Metaphor #1: Without warning, the familiar feeling rises in my chest. That feeling of being sucked under with nowhere to go and no way to breathe. I somehow manage to claw my way to the surface and, once there, I inhale greedily, letting out all the bad stuff that’s been building up, replacing it with oxygen-saturated air that refreshes and rejuvenates and is worth more than the Crown Jewels.

I’m reminded of my doctor’s instructions on how to properly use my asthma inhaler. After prescribing medication to combat shortness of breath, he taught me steps to maximize intake of this life-sustaining product. I first exhale deeply, then depress the mechanism on the inhaler, which releases particles into a middleman tube called the spacer. Then and only then can I take a deep breath and hold it for ten seconds. Most of the time, when I stick to the method and timetable he taught me, I can stay out of breathing trouble.

That’s how I tend to my lungs pharmaceutically; since I know they don’t function optimally on their own, it would be foolish to reject a preventative strategy that can keep them working at fullest capacity. Therefore, I let the physician call the shots (pun intended and metaphor #2, for those who are keeping track). This is his specialty and it’s my life he’s trying to protect.

Interestingly, this process in a way mirrors the work of the Holy Spirit in our lives. According to Pastor David Guzik of Calvary Chapel in Santa Barbara, “in both the Hebrew and Greek languages, the word for spirit (as in Holy Spirit) is the same word for breath or wind (this also happens to be true in Latin) … In Genesis 1:1-2, it is the Spirit of God as the breath/wind of God, blowing over the waters of the newly created earth. In Genesis 2:7, it is the Spirit of God as the breath/wind of God, blowing life into newly created man. In Ezekiel 37:9-10, it is the Spirit of God as the breath/wind of God, moving over the dry bones of Israel bringing them life and strength” (https://enduringword.com/bible-commentary/acts-2/). How wise of our Lord to associate the lifesaving work of the Holy Spirit to the life-preserving work of an ordinary medical procedure.

Similarly, I can nourish my spirit according to the Great Physician’s orders. To paraphrase Rev. Dr. Charles Stanley, when God tells me to do something, the wisest thing is for me to do it when He says, how He says, for as long as He says to do it. On a day-to-day basis, this means making regular deposits into my spiritual bank account (metaphor #3) through Bible reading, prayer, and fellowshipping with other believers. It’s simple, really, but simple things are not always easy.

This is all well and good, but I still can’t shake the feeling of wanting to hide under the covers and opt out of the things on my plate today.

Metaphor Madness: Digging Deep

That being the case, I may as well go deep (metaphor #4). If my head’s going to hide, let it be hidden in the ultimate Hiding Place (metaphor #5). If I’m going to bury myself beneath common cloth, let me simultaneously burrow deep underneath heavenly wings (metaphor #6) that never tire or give out.

I allow my troubled self to take refuge under the covers and in the Lord’s arms. I shut out the world physically and, as best I can, go deep. Only He and I inhabit this sheltered place. I will have to come out some time, but not yet. Right now, it’s all too much. Right now, the best I can do is hide away from the rack and ruin of this world that God never intended for me to shoulder, let alone fix.

Quite simply, I pray. I remind myself of His promises. I plumb the depths of His steadfastness. I let myself go deep.

From my “hidey hole” (the name my son gave to cubbies and crevices he tucked into as a child) I hear neighbors starting up lawnmowers and shouting across fences while pulling weeds from their gardens. I think of my sad looking garden which, truth be told, doesn’t even deserve to be called a garden. It’s really just a lot of what my neighbor calls “volunteer plants” that have spread elsewhere from things I planted optimistically in the past. In all honesty, there are more weeds than intentional foliage; I can’t keep up with them, nor do I want to.

I think of all that and it makes me cringe. But then I think, well, that’s why I’m paying someone to cut my grass and trim back the overgrowth when it gets out of control. It’s why I’m forking over cash for my handyman to tackle the poison ivy; I’m highly sensitive and the allergic reaction I get from even standing near the stuff isn’t worth the price I’ll pay later in itching. That’s how I do my garden, such as it is, and that’s how I do life, more often than not.

Some things I can tackle myself; other things require linking up with someone more intrepid than I. Again, I can apply this idea spiritually, as in Psalm 55:22: “Cast your burden on the Lord, and He will sustain you; He will never permit the righteous to be moved.”

This whole gardening business is too much for me, and I know it. Others love it and say they commune with God while playing around in the dirt, and that’s fine for them. For me, it’s hot, filthy agony, and I’d rather chew glass (metaphor #7 – this is getting ridiculous).

Nestled under my covers, I ponder that there are different ways to garden. Trigger alert: metaphor on the horizon (oops, that’s another one – don’t say I didn’t warn you). I emerge from the inner sanctum of my covers when God inspires me to send a few texts to loved ones, which I know will buoy their spirits.

Isn’t that a form of gardening? My grass may be too high and weeds may overshadow the flowers in my physical garden, but hopefully when I die there will be lots of people whose spiritual gardens I tended with love, and that investment will shine forth as much or more than tulips and daisies which are (idiom alert, just to break up the monotony) here today but gone tomorrow.

From my blanketed nook, I recall rescuing several plants recently. Literally. They had actually been put out with someone’s trash. These were beautiful, color-soaked Gerber daisies – healthy and vital – that somebody tossed out. It was as if the owner wanted to give them a fighting chance and thus placed them prominently, if ironically, atop a dilapidated trashcan, rather than just chucking them inside the receptacle.

Despite my aforementioned aversion to all things landscaping, I brought the poor things home. Perhaps this was how Christians in ancient Rome felt when they adopted unwanted babies left outside to die. Like me, they surely had better things to do than dirty their hands with other people’s castoffs; then again, one man’s trash – well, you know.

My sweet neighbor, Anita, helped me plant the daisies with my grandson. It was still torture – after all, it was gardening – but with Anita cheering me on and Luca wielding a pint-sized spade, at least we got a few smiles out of the deal.

And the daisies remain alive – for the moment.

When I complimented Anita on her green thumb, she replied, “Oh, no – I just keep trying.”

Maybe that’s the secret. Green thumb or no, it’s the trying that brings out the blooms.

Metaphor Madness: The Deep Dive (Last Metaphor – I promise)

My takeaway from all this metaphorical (and personal) madness is nothing new or magical. It’s the same advice I’ve been giving myself and anyone who will listen for years: deep diving into our Creator’s mind and heart always has been and always will be the best treatment for internal distress.

There will be tedium at times, as occurs with any discipline. Puffing away on inhalers doesn’t make for an interesting Saturday night, but it sure beats a weekend in the ER. A breathtaking garden requires, in the words of my late friend, Cynthia (whose yard was truly a showplace), “hours and hours of backbreaking work.”

This author hasn’t found any shortcuts to communing with the Lord. Like any relationship, time must be committed in order for thriving to occur. Diving into God’s word and dialoguing with Him demand something of us. This will look different for every believer. Parents of young children will have to work around their kids’ active hours to nurture their own spiritual lives. Busy professionals may have to pray through lunch breaks.

One thing, though, is for certain. When we work in tandem with the Lord, it’s like riding a bicycle built for two or paddling a canoe with two people (I didn’t break my promise and squeeze in more metaphors – the bike and canoe analogies are similes, so they don’t count 😊). The work is halved because two are sharing it. Most importantly, one is steering and the other following.

Guess which role we’re supposed to have?

Run or Ruin?

We've all probably heard the adage, "There is no 'I' in the word 'team.'"

That may be true, but there is a big capital "I" standing between the words "run" and "ruin."  That "I" belongs to each individual who has the choice of either running or ruining his life. No mother, father, sister or brother can abscond with that "I" and save a person who is bound and determined to ruin his life. Believe me, I've tried. I've watched others try. The best course of action I've found is to ...

Let Go and Let God

Reinforcements

"Satan is gathering his forces," a prayerful mother warned her military son, Lt. Gen. William (Jerry) Boykin, who was preparing to serve in the Army's Delta Force. Alarmed, Boykin cried out to God in prayer, wondering if he had mistaken the call he was sure he had heard from the Lord to serve his country in that capacity. Penetrating his anxiety, an unmistakably almighty voice reassured him, "I know, Son, but so am I."

Like Elijah fleeing from Ahab and Jezebel, I was ready to give up the other day. Daily stresses (which were so fleeting I'm having trouble remembering them already), compounded by the unholy choices of people I care about, were dragging me under the waves and choking the life out of me. I could barely get out of bed, and when I did out of necessity, I had to slog through hours of desperate, disheartened thinking sent by the enemy to discourage me. Like quicksand, despair sucked me down, every movement worsening the state in which I found myself.

Then the Lord sent in His reinforcements.

Just as God promised Elijah He had plenty of people rallied to help with his mission (1 Kings 19:18), nearly 3,000 years later, He conveyed that same message to me.

Last night I received a call from the troubled child of God to whom I referred earlier in this post. He informed me his situation is improving because a believer he barely knows has taken an interest in him and is putting his money where his mouth is. Seems this fellow is allowing himself to be the hands and feet of God in a stranger's life. Remarkably, my floundering friend is willing to accept the help, even under the strict conditions laid out by his benefactor. This, after I had personally exhausted my own resources in trying to bring about change, and finally felt a heavenly nudge to "let go and let God." As soon as I obeyed, cringing at the consequences conjured up by my imagination, He brought in the next phase of the artillery. Jerry Powell, a missionary I once knew, put it this way: "God is never late, but rarely early." I can't get over how He is always right on time.

The outcome isn't certain, and the miracle is far from finished. But help is on the way. Stunned and humbled, I can only rejoice.

Check out Newsboys' Miracle Child

Restoration

Last year I had a falling out of sorts with a fellow believer.

It was a falling out of sorts because the whole thing was unspoken. Neither of us ever lashed out at the other. There was no grand parting of the ways. There were very simply, miscommunications, mistakes, and misunderstandings that gave rise to a certain degree of misery.

I carried around my half of the angst for a number of months. I griped some, prayed some, and finally arrived at a mental stalemate that consisted of distance and letting go. Live and learn, I told myself, but don't fall into the same trap again. Accordingly, I remained cordial yet aloof with this person, having decided I had invested enough emotional energy in the relationship. To be blunt, I simply backed off.

Recently, though, my sister in Christ decided to clear the invisible cloud between us. She started out by bringing me flowers! One day she just appeared at my door with a beautiful bouquet that graced my dining room table for a week and a half. She said it was for no special reason, but we both knew it was for a very special reason.

Next, she stole an opportunity to apologize in a short, sweet way for anything she might have ever done to offend me. How could I argue with that? Sensing she would feel uncomfortable hashing out details, I simply murmured my acceptance of her gesture, and resolved to mean it.

Last night, my friend - and I do mean friend - put the lid on the matter once and for all. She sent Satan packing. The Lord arranged an impromptu meeting for us, without any third parties around for a change. My friend at first begged off as it was bedtime, then decided to keep me company while I went about my business. In her roundabout way, she began talking about spiritual truths in general, then zeroed in on our difficulties.

"Do you think?" she wondered aloud, "Satan has ever put any obstacles between us?"

Not being prepared for this discussion at 11 PM, I tried to turn the question back on her.

"What do you think?" I responded, wondering how deeply she wanted to wade into these murky waters.

She was having none of it. She gently pressed me for an answer while I gathered my courage and heavenly armor. So cautiously, I spoke the truth in love. I told her yes, we had had some difficulties, but that I felt God had put them behind us. I hearkened back to her gestures of amends making, and told her I saw them for what they were. She didn't ask for details and I didn't supply any. I felt God guiding me to withhold the why's and wherefore's, realizing the gumption it had taken for her to broach the subject in the first place.

What a wonderful way to start off the week.

Check out Newsboys' Let It Go

Barbara Anne Horton Whitten Parrish

... was an exceptional woman.

She gobbled up current events, enthusiastically exercising her right to vote and volunteering her time to the political process, even before the Women's Movement made it chic to do so. She championed the underdog, encouraging her children towards compassion and awareness of those who were suffering. Upon learning of the misfortune of a former classmate (with whom she had lost contact years before), she rallied the friend's church to support and care for her. She tracked down a disadvantaged family she learned of on the news, and dug into her own pocket to aid them at Christmastime. But perhaps her most significant gift to the world was promoting peace in her own family.

If charity begins at home, doesn't it stand to reason that harmony does as well?

Don't misunderstand. Barbara had a fiery temper, but that temper was tempered by an equally strong and protective love for her family. While it would be dishonest to say her emotional side didn't get her into trouble with the aforementioned family (on more than one occasion), it would be equally unfair to imply that it didn't influence the spirit and grit of said family, in perpetuity. While Barbara has been gone from this earth for over ten years, the same moxie that enabled her to single parent her first child for 11 years came to bear when one of her four daughters found herself in the role of solo parent decades later. The same outrage that fueled her battles with educational authorities who mistreated her children spurred her grandson to stand up for a bullied classmate years down the line.

I guess the generation gap isn't as wide as some may think.

Rifts that took place between Barbara and her sisters engendered her passionate appeals to her own children, begging them always to "be friends with each other." Recognizing that the example of estrangement in her family of origin could well be contagious, Barbara pleaded with her children to learn from it, not by it. Consequently, when it came time to care for ailing parents and ultimately to share their estate, Barbara's daughters cooperated instead of contesting (to the point where the daughter who was most in need received, with the full support of the others, a larger share of the assets).

In this day and age of greed and looking out for Number One? Really?

Characteristically, Barbara chose the high road when given the opportunity to mend relations with her sisters. While recognizing the futility of courting close relationships with controlling and bombastic personalities, Barbara settled for the uncomplicated act of letting go. In so doing, she set the course for forgiveness, which has also trickled down into the next generations' dealings with each other.

Barbara's backbone and soft-heartedness are alive and well in her progeny, and I am proud to be one of them.

"She opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the needy... Honor her for all that her hands have done, and let her works bring her praise at the city gate." Proverbs 31:20, 31

For more like this, check out: Morsels for Meditation...: Old Grudges

Letting Go

The other night my son gave me a barrage of things to pray about. Different friends had different needs, and they all sounded pretty urgent. As he rattled off the last one, he added apologetically, "If you can take it."

"Don't worry," I responded. "I don't 'take it.' I just take it to God."

Sometimes, like tonight, when my dear friend lies deathly ill in the hospital and her husband lies awake at home without her, God's yoke seems oppressively heavy and His burden, anything but light. Times like this, I have to force myself to cast my burdens on Him, as Peter suggested (1 Peter 5:7).

I know this works because I have done it so many times. Releasing is the hardest part.

I offer my blessings and prayers for all who are struggling to release their troubles into almighty arms.

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” 

        Matthew 11:28-30

LET GO AND LET 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." ~ Lauretta P. Burns ~