A few years removed. Bigger house. Better paying job. Even another child. Yet wrinkles and crinkles and catasotrophic caveats that stifle the full pleasure of success as you’d once defined makes you question and beckon and long for less. Less of the long and dead stares that happen when we are conditioned to nod and say I’m good and you. You are not good too. Numb just like myself who still has moments of believing there might just be life before death. First death of boredom and detachment and half dressed approval where we all drink our own concoctions of what we know best, a tick and a tock away from never feeling alive again but this is what we bargained for – illusion of safe where no one really knows what we think because we dont know ourselves. Opinions running rampant with no beginning and no end. But nothing to set us apart from the crowd because it is scary to be alone. We’ll flock and find our same and step in pace with what’s to be until time stops like we never saw it going.
“Meanwhile, Saul was still breathing out murderous threats against the Lord’s disciples. He went to the high priest and asked him for letters to the synagogues in Damascus, so that if he found any there who belonged to the Way, whether men or women, he might take them as prisoners to Jerusalem.” Acts 9
Ruthless Religious Hatred is nothing new and it isn’t by intellectual reasoning, psychological assessment or social study that we will cauterize the infectious heart ready to kill whatever or whoever poses a perceived threat to our safety and piety. Can we say in the face of organic evil, not the Hollywood edition of rated R kicks we get out of killing, but evil that touches down to our core and sears a sick gut feeling into our mind’s eye–Can we say, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do” ? If we step outside our religion, outside the familiarity of our chants and creeds and memorized allegiances to our God, what do we see? Do we see ourselves unflinchingly surrendered beneath the sharpened blade of hatred toward our ideal of a Savior? Are the Lord’s Prayer and Apostles’ Creed enough to break our hearts for those who have yet to see the light? God knows at the sight of this message to “The Nation of the Cross,” my own heart hardens first and I eventually, after indignant shock and awe, fearfully pray His Kingdom comes before corruption wins and the rooster crows.
Warning: Graphic Content not Suitable for underage. (I encourage us to be aware of current events and individually resist an attitude of flippancy toward religious freedom. Please stop watching the video at 2:58 if you do not wish to view the graphic portion.)
Two criminals hoisted on either side of Jesus Christ on the cross, one still mocking even to death and the other repentant of what He’d done-imagine the poignancy of a crushed Savior offering paradise to the likes of those whose bloody hearts were unknowingly in His hands as white as snow. One chose life in his dying, revealing that the potency of our religion is not in our level of conviction to kill for its cause but in the evident redeeming power of what it is we claim to believe.
3 As he neared Damascus on his journey, suddenly a light from heaven flashed around him. 4 He fell to the ground and heard a voice say to him, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” Acts 9
To the Muslims, Christians, Jews, Humanists, Hindus, Buddhists, the religious and irreligious, this is not a battle of the intellects. This is not a matter of human will. It’s a matter of power of God unto salvation. A matter of inexplicable conversion that makes us fall to the ground, ready to die, knife to the throat for Christ, not rising up in arms to shed blood for a God whose favor we must ruthlessly win.
Salvation. It’s a miracle, the light that lies beneath our sinful desire for revenge, and rises to the surface as hope for even those who still believe they hold the power of eternity in their murderous hands.
You are the light of the world. You cannot hide a city that has been built upon a mountain. Matthew 5:14
To those of us whose Christianity and affiliation with the cross keeps getting blown down at the huff and the puff of wolves at our window: It’s time we pray for a conversion of our creed into a solid belief in Jesus Christ our Savior, collectively as a nation whose cross has become nothing more than a symbol of shame because we’ve confused political correctness with love. Where is the light? And where is your city on a hill? Do you have a safe place? Don’t depend on your cognitive ability to defend the cross. It will fail you. Go ahead and try to make sense of Isis/Isil. Spend your time figuring out why your wife left you for another man or why your children are all messed up on addiction to sex and drugs. Wring your hands about the political plight of the world. Mourn the sex trade and keep trying to be the best person you can be according to your own understanding of what’s good and bad. You’ll end up right back here with me. A soul searching and needing to be found. God, save me. Save us.
Our great grandmother said it.
Our grandmother said it.
Our mother said it.
“My How Time Flies.”
And for years, we chuckled with a slight eye roll in our youthful innocence – feeling sorry for them – thinking we would shortly have it figured out. Wondering why over and again they’d say it just like it was all they knew, how time just slips through their fingers ~ when for us
IT was practically standing still as we made big plans for the future and twiddled our thumbs waiting for our destiny to happen to us – concocting clever explanations as to why their destiny was so lackluster and typical: childbearing, dinners, laundry and the such.
But my eyes caught me in the mirror just the other day and I saw myself mouth those words, as I pulled them taut. “My How Time Flies.” And this time, the sound of those words had a different ring. I’d never understood it before. But now I knew that I’d let it catch up to me just like all the generations before: streaked mirrors that will never perfectly gleam, laundry baskets that will never completely empty, pots and pans that will never stop soaking, children who grow up, mothers who die, and wise words that eventually find their meaning.
“My How Time Flies.”
“The LORD regretted that he had made human beings on the earth, and his heart was deeply troubled.” Genesis 6:6
Even God feels regret. And both biological and adoptive parents should not expect an immunity from regretting your choices at times.
Absolutely nothing qualifies me to write about adoption other than the fact that four years ago I adopted 3 teenage girls from Cameroon, Africa. I have yet to know if this was a successful “Rescue Mission” as others title it, much to the chagrin of some. The girls were my husband’s siblings and their mother died when my husband and I lived in Cameroon. Their father had died a few years prior. What prompted me to write this post was seeing a friend’s update on FB yesterday about how unfortunate it is to hear others talking about adoption as if it’s their own little personal rescue mission, in effort to
abduct rescue a child from poverty.
I understand her point, I think. Completely. I don’t think any child would want to grow up hearing their “rescue” story every time things go wrong OR right. Aka, They make an A in school. They hear, “Oh, aren’t you so glad we rescued you so that you could get a “stellar” American education and make straight A’s so that you could then graduate, get an 8-5 job and have children of your own?” OR to the other extreme. They start selling drugs on the street corner. They hear “How could you CHOOSE this life when you were RESCUED for the very reason of escaping the STREETS?” Maybe they don’t “hear” it but have you ever “thought” it?
Maybe you DID adopt to add a family member to your family or to finally experience parenthood AND the idea of “rescuing” a child or trying to “give them a better life” actually does seem as foreign to you as your adopted child’s native country. But as un-glorified as it may seem, some people DO adopt out of obligation. A naively glorified obligation to assist those who seem to have a need that outweighs the good sense of just leaving those “poor” children right where they are. I mean, why is having a parent so important after all? You’ll never replace their biological mother or father, EVER. If you’re not looking to fulfill your maternal instinct–what’s the point of getting all tangled up in the complexities of adoption? If you have children
of your own, you know just how difficult it is to parent biological children. What makes you think parenting adopted children would be ANY easier?
Don’t THINK. Just DO. And for what? Because somewhere in the back of your mind, you believe that you will be providing that child a better life than they would have had otherwise. Sounds like a rescue mission to me. But suit up. With the whole armor and such. Because the angels won’t be serenading you with heavenly songs from above when everything below seems just a little bit more than you bargained for. Not everyone who adopts, adopts with the intent of “rescuing” that child into a better life. But some do. And at times, when they tout the fact that they’ve “rescued” someone, maybe, just maybe– it’s because they’re trying to find value up against the “cost” of what they’ve done. Maybe they’re trying to reconcile their own losses with a melancholy disposition of an adopted child they thought might have found happiness already. Naive? Yes. A common reality? I think so. None of us are immune to our own human depravity.
Here are some reasons why ALL adoptive parents who adopt with any inkling to “rescue” need grace rather than distant skepticism peppered with criticism:
1) Adopting a child in order to give them a “better life” will eventually force you to define just exactly what a “better life” is. This is an excruciatingly painful process.
2) “Rescuing” a child through adoption will force you to constantly scrutinize their life “here” up against what their life “there” might have been.
3) Most people assume you’re adopting for “some other reason“…they just haven’t quite figured it out yet. Ironically, they will emphatically say it’s “pious” to claim that you’re rescuing a child, yet at the same time, they think it’s o.k. to insinuate point blank that there MUST be SOME benefit in “adding” an extra set of “helping hands” to your family.
4) You will find yourself in a constant battle to treat your biological and adopted children one-in-the-same, when in reality, they’re not. They are NOT the same. I know that over and over again, people appear on talk shows and radically claim that there is no difference between their biological and adopted children. But there is. To me, anyway. And you’re constantly trying to make heads or tails of those differences. Because after all, why would you “rescue” a child just to treat them ANY less than your own?
5) You’re in a panic because you set out to rescue someone else, but now, you’re in sudden need of rescue yourself!
O.k. not science. Not really. But let’s assume for a moment that our social media addictions are parading around disguised as acute little episodes of clinical depression.
WebMD says that “A constant sense of hopelessness and despair is a sign you may have clinical depression. With major depression, it may be difficult to work, study, sleep, eat, and enjoy friends and activities.” In addition, “Clinical depression is marked by a depressed mood most of the day, particularly in the morning, and a loss of interest in normal activities and relationships.”
I’m not saying Social Media is the reason you MAY be clinically depressed. I’m saying the effects of Social Media strikingly emulate the effects of clinical depression. Since I’m truly NOT a numbers cruncher or data analyst, I’ll just put it out there that this article is about shoddy inference more than anything. Though, looking at the graphs I’ve included below, some of you more scientifically minded (Dr. Aunt Kim) might be able to draw a few correlations between the depression and social media stats and develop a full fledged study of the two.
But for now, let’s just have some fun. To those of you who love to use Google for self-diagnosis, not unlike myself, I just wanted to point out that you may want to skip the anti-depressant and go for less time on Social Media instead, because:
1. Social Media may invoke a constant sense of hopelessness and despair.
I’ve always felt hopeless in relation to social media. I NEVER wanted to sign up initially. Cross my heart and hope to die. I felt forced to register for LinkedIn, Twitter, Facebook, Google +, etc. in order to stay current with “the times.” What could invoke a feeling of despair more than keeping a constant tally of likes, followers, friends and useless facts? Not to mention, digesting an endless running dialogue regarding the successes AND failures of those closest and not so closest to you. Twitter tops it all. Thousands, maybe millions of people constantly trying to come up with something clever-er to say so that someone they don’t even know will re-tweet in hopes that people they don’t know will do the same so that it can then be marked as a successful thing said? Just putting it into words is hopelessly exhausting. And then there’s always the chance that the STUPID thing you tweet is what finally goes viral. Yay! LinkedIn? Endless connections with “professionals” you know to the third degree, or whatever–so that you can finally network your way to the job you’ve always wanted?
Then there’s the business aspect. Where is the quantifiable research that businesses actually benefit from spending ANY portion of their budget on social media? Sure. There are studies. The even more desperate part of my unbelief in the widespread flock to social media marketing is that I’ve tried to fake my way through interviews for “Social Media Marketing” positions. Needless to say, I’m not good at “faking it.”
On a personal note, I have still yet to take a professional photo of my family all dressed in color coordinated fashions to put my best foot forward on Facebook. And if one more person posts on FB that they’re experiencing a “difficult” situation and DOES NOT give the details, I promise I’m going to embarrass myself by commenting. But it looks like the only recourse I have is miserably reading the empathetic comments of others who seem to be fine “praying” for these unsaid “difficult” situations whilst feigning no interest in the details whatsoever. Un-friending just seems so anti-climactic. Pinterest? Truly for the narcissist. Or maybe that’s just because I haven’t signed up yet. Anyway, you get my point. Social media is an unending fountain of hopelessness and despair. And even though I’ve been feeling “Clinically Depressed” for quite sometime, I still sign in. Daily.
2. Social Media may make it difficult to work, study, sleep and eat (o.k. maybe that one’s a stretch!)
Actually social media DOES make it difficult to eat too. Most of the time one hand is dedicated to scrolling through the latest updates and another hand is dedicated to lunch and the delicate feat of trying not to drop crumbs and juices on our device. But I would venture to say that for most of us, social media intermittently, if not regularly, interferes with our ability to work, study and sleep. It’s self evident, really. How many of you are logged into Facebook right now? How many of you spend more time researching the life of long lost friends–trying to determine who landed the better looking spouse, THAN researching what may make you a more viable employee at work? How many of us have lost sleep over the comment stream that just simply crushed our ego? How many minutes of studying can you manage to work in without checking to see if your boyfriend/girlfriend “to-be” signed on yet? Yes, it’s true. Shock! Social media MAY make it harder for us to work, study, sleep and eat.
3. Social Media could cause a feeling of depression for most of the day, especially in the morning.
No need to elaborate on this one. The morning commute can get awfully lonely without access to firsthand updates on the latest foibles of your friend’s day.
4. Social Media may cause a loss of interest in NORMAL activities and relationships.
Now. Now. Let’s not say we’ve lost interest in NORMAL activities and relationships. Let’s just say we’re defining the NEW NORMAL.
So you wake up one day and think “You know what? I’m going to be a mother/father. I know it’s going to take a tremendous amount of training, non-ending exercise of patience and long hours of grueling commitment, but hey, I will post all my milestones on Facebook, everyone will know I’m slowly but surely reaching my goals and when the BIG DAY comes, I and everyone else will know that I proudly crossed the finished line.” Plus, I’ll get a t-shirt.
If we could only approach parenthood with the same methodology that many of us approach athletic challenges such as marathons, many of us would be faring much better and instead of constantly stressing our adrenal system we would actually be pacing ourselves amongst the many milestones that being a mother or father affords.
The main problem is this: Many of us simply stumble into parenthood. Wake up a decade later and stupidly exclaim as others skeptically eye our large brood, “Wow, I AM fertile/virile, aren’t I?” But hey, maybe that’s just me.
Though as a caveat, I do understand that many of us take much pride in approaching parenthood more like a 5k, being smart enough to know that we’re definitely not cut out for the long haul, therefore taking the appropriate measures to limit our family size to 0-2: please know that I’m just addressing those of us who woke up this morning and marveled at the fact that our life now mainly consists of haphazard attempts at parental sanity.
I’m not great at lists, but I’m going to give it a go.
Why being a Parent is NOT like running a Marathon.
1. Sometimes there is no way to measure our progression toward success. (Very scary for those of us who need to feel like we’re in control of at least a somewhat predictable destiny)
2. More often than not, we’re simply ashamed of the fact that being a “parent in training” is actually just kicking our butt. i.e. it’s not semi-cool to brag about the fact that we JUST came in short of the mark on our daily training routine this time. “Oh man, I was almost a great parent today. The only thing I forgot to pack my kid for lunch was their lunch. And we were only FIVE minutes late to school this morning.”
3. There is no “big day” to obsessively focus on so that we can keep our eye on the goal. (Yes. There is the infamous graduation day (12 years away) and that elusive hope that someday our child will become all the things we never were…but hard to put an exact date on that)
4. No one is standing on the sidelines with water or a cool towel to congratulate us on a job well done because there is NO FINISH LINE.
5. Sweating parenthood is just never attractive. People will eventually figure out we’re not actually training for that “big day.”
Preparing for a marathon can be quite a risky proposition (and I would know because I have FB friends who’ve done it). There is the chance that you might not ever reach your goal. But at least you HAVE a goal. There is the chance that you may face serious injury. But at least others will revel at your undying commitment to accomplish something big. Once you’ve marked “finishing a marathon” off your list, you can pretty much leave it in the past and brag about it when necessary. But lifelong passion and discipline for running is a choice, NOT an obligation.
Parenthood requires this lifetime herculean effort to accomplish something big, but that something big in the day-in, day-out of it, can be quite elusive. It’s like we’re in basic training with someone spitting in our face–yelling at us to keep going, keep training, but there’s no promise of graduation at the end of 10 weeks. And it happens over and over again, year after year.
I know there are some parents who have successfully broken parenthood into manageable, bite sized pieces and they meticulously build their life around each milestone/goal.
But for me, being a mother is more like a work of art. I’m always obsessing over the final touch. I’m lucky if I’m inspired to add anything at all on some days. Sometimes, I very literally want to tear up the atrocity I’ve created and start over–with a clean slate. Surely, I’ll do better next time…I will have learned from my past mistakes and I’ll finally create a prized piece of artistry that everyone will recognize as noteworthy up against the greatest parents of all time.
Then I wake up and realize, I’m not Vincent van Gogh and never will be. I’m just a mother who wants to be someone I’m not. I will never win a marathon. I’m just running. Most days, my effort will never elicit tangible recognition.
Whether you’re the obscure father running a race you could never possibly intend to win or the artistically frustrated mom trying to draw as little attention as possible to your “work of art,” let’s remember we’re all in this together. Seeing parenthood as the chagrin to a society where “other” productivity trumps it all, is our first mistake.
We need you. Populating the planet and parenting the population is still an essential piece of what makes the world go ’round. If everyone stopped having children right now and the youngest children alive had just been born, the human population would cease to exist in just 84 years, assuming the average life span. So, at best, we’d be looking at a century, then that long coveted silence. Now, There’s a finish line for you.
Newsflash: You’re NOT running a marathon. Cut yourself some slack. You’re populating planet earth. Who cares if there’s life on the MOON.
Earth is winning and YOU are on the team!
It’s scary when nothing you’re thinking feels congruent. When you fear the next thing that may escape your mouth and how others may perceive it. I always feel a need to explain. To give a heartfelt explanation as to why my answer is simply “no.” Why is that word so painstakingly difficult for some while for others it seems their personal motto is “no” and it rolls off their lips with absolutely no thought of what comes next? Why is it that some feel more obligated to explain their inability or lack of desire to meet the expectations of others? Why is it that some seem to escape the mundane requests of others altogether? Is it because everyone already knows them as tough enough to say no (and that’s always their final answer)? Or is it because they are so superior, others wouldn’t dare demand a moment of their time? One of my weaknesses is easily getting caught in the trap of doing everything but what I want to do or need to do, all out of some deep seated fear that perhaps I am actually obligated in some way to meet the requests of others. It seems that anytime I say “No,” it is mistaken for “I’m really weak. Insinuate that I’m a jerk or aloof and I’ll eventually say “Yes.”
Saying no is an incredibly difficult part of church ministry. But it is an essential element of dealing with people successfully.
There is absolutely no way to move forward in a position of leadership if you’re haunted by the potential guilt of having offended someone by ultimately turning down their ideas or requests.
Sometimes our Christian beliefs get all muddled up and our bad habits become outcomes of misapplied Scripture.
Verses like “Turn the other cheek” and “Forgive 70 X 7” are taken out of context and before we know it our brand of religion forgets the moments where Jesus said “no” to healing and went to the temple to shake things up and drive out the money changers.
What about you? When is the last time your “no” was met with a clash of the Titans? Or did you refrain from saying “no” this time just to keep the peace? Which is better? Saying “no” and creating an outward battle or “going along to get along” so that you’re left to fight an internal battle that is all yours to win or lose alone?