Not Such a Failure After All

The pain in my throat made it very difficult to swallow as I tried my hardest not to cry.  We were on our way home and the ambiance in the car was cheerful and lighthearted to everyone but me.  We had a lot of fun things going on during the weekend, and it was Friday, which meant that the mood was relaxed.  I knew it was going to happen.  The dam could only hold so much against the pressure that was coming at it, and I put on my sunglasses to mask the eruption that was about to happen.  Had we been outside it wouldn’t have mattered.  The rain coming down could have camouflaged the tears that were now streaming down my face. 

            How could it be?  Another failure.  Another check on my long list of insecurities and inadequacies.  I knew that I would be great at this new position because it involved something I cared so passionately about.  Was I wrong?  That was the question that circled around in my head after the call that left me wondering, what is wrong with me.  Why am I not good enough?  When am I ever going to catch a break?

            The harsh rain only added to my frustration, as the traffic now became worse.  All I wanted to do was get home, cover myself with a blanket and hide.  Another wave of tears made its way to the corners of my eyes, but were stopped before the downpour.  I felt a warm, gentle touch on my arm.  I looked over at my son who was watching me with a concerned look on his face.  I hadn’t realized that the sunglasses could only hide so much of my disappointment, and he was witnessing something other than the strong momma I liked to portray in front of them.

            “Mom, are you okay?” he said genuinely worried.

            “Yes, I am fine,” I said in a convincing voice. 

He kept looking at me, and then said, “Mom, God has a plan for everything. It’s going to be okay.”

            My little man had no clue about what was going on.  He only saw that his mom was upset about something, and used the words I have used so many times with him.

            Sometimes things don’t always work out.  I know this.  I’m a teacher and a mother.  Unpredictability is kind of part of the job description for both.  But I had taken the “failure” and turned it into an attack against myself.  I saw it as a problem, and made a list of things that were wrong with me, instead of trusting that God has a plan, like I had prayed just that very morning.    Life isn’t always going to give us what we want, and it’s essential to me that my kids know how important it is to keep moving forward after a setback.  Hearing those words come out of my son’s mouth made me feel like not quite so much a failure, and even though the sun didn’t shine much the rest of the weekend, it didn’t rain on us at all.

~Esmeralda

            

Embracing the "Weird"

It was the end of a busy day, at the end of a long week, and I was looking forward to relaxing completely with my little family!  We filed into our favorite row at the movie theater, and got situated passing out cups of popcorn.  Once everyone had what they needed, I headed to the bathroom, with my daughter in tow, to change out of my heels and into something more comfortable. 

As I am finishing up, I let out sigh of relief but stop mid breath.

“Sophia, do you think people will think I am weird because I walked in wearing a dress, and now I am wearing shorts and a tee shirt?”

Using her vast experience, and 8 years of wisdom she comments, “Maybe mommy, but who cares?  Everyone is a little weird in their own way.”

I feel a little silly after her comment.  I am the mother.  It is my job to teach and model to my daughter the truly important things in life.  Being kind.  Respecting other people.  Keeping your word.  Showing integrity.  I want her to be a strong, loving woman who is sure about herself and her worth.  I want her to feel confident in whom she is as a person.  Not because of what she wears on the outside or what others think of her. 

I remember being that sure of myself once.  I wasn’t worried about how I was perceived by others because it never crossed my mind that someone might think something negative about me.  It just wasn’t on the radar.  I wondered to myself how I got this way. How I allowed the opinions of others to make me question myself.  People will always have an opinion about what I do or how I do it, whether positive or negative, its still there.  Looming over like a gray cloud.  The trick is to know you.  To pull out the umbrella of truth, and let the comments or messages not soak you and leave you cold.   Instead, play in the puddles of criticism, and show others how fun it can be.

In the little bathroom stall, as I am placing my clothes back into my pink and black bag, I am proud of my little wise young lady.  I know society, and outside influences will already be speaking messages of inadequacy, as my girl gets older.  I want to model a different message.  I want to show her that it is ok to be who you are, because everyone is unique and special, and as she so eloquently put it, a little weird in his or her own way. 

           

I walk out and I embrace my little bundle of uniqueness.  I look up to her, while I look down at her smile.  And we walk out, hand in hand, confident and secure. 

~Esmer

“You gotta serve if you want to heal."

That is my friend Tara’s favorite saying.  And there is so much truth to it.  Last month I attended the funeral of my mother’s cousin.  Beautiful lady, with a beautiful smile that bore the scars of multiple tragedies with dignity and radiance.  She lost two sons to accidents within one year.  Her husband and younger brother died much too soon.  But she continued to bear these tragedies by dedicating whatever she had to serve others around her. 

There are two ways I see that service can heal us.  One is by distraction.  Taking time to serve others while we are in pain, serves to refocus our thoughts and energies on something other than ourselves.  Sometimes this change in focus helps us see our problems in a new light.  It may offer us new solutions or it may not.  But at least we have spent a few hours less dwelling on them. By taking time to do something for someone else, we temporarily forget our own woes.  Often we realize that our problems are not as big as we thought they were when we compare them to those of others around us.  Our problems don’t disappear, but they are put in a more proper perspective.

Service can also heal us from self-righteousness, arrogance and prejudice, spiritual diseases that can afflict all of us at one time or other.  When we serve people very different from ourselves we get to know their stories, walk in their shoes for a little while and see the world from their perspective.  It is likely that we come away from the experience with a lot more empathy and understanding. 

One of my goals is to collect stories of healing through service.  If you have a personal experience that confirms this hypothesis, would you share it with me?  I want to start a new blog called Service Therapy, where these stories can be of help to others.  You can email me your story to susanbenhansen@yahoo.com.
-Susan

Change by Carolyn

My relationship with my mother was as close as close could be. We spent hours and hours in each other's company, never tiring. We thought alike, spoke alike, looked alike. I looked to her constantly for wisdom, understanding, and fellowship. Our worlds were on synchronous orbits.

My father, on the other hand, was unknown territory to me. He was on a path of his own, his orbit only occasionally intersecting with mine. Although bound by one of the deepest connections possible, we were not truly connected by inclination, proximity, or habit. We rarely saw each other. When we did, the time spent together was awkward, rife with those silences that occur when people are not quite sure what to talk about next.

My relationship with my mother is frozen in time. I will never know how it would have played out, how it might have ebbed and flowed with time, or deepened as we both aged.

My relationship with my father, however, has changed dramatically over the past few years. We now cross paths much more frequently than in the past - sometimes of necessity, sometimes by desire. We have a kind of symbiotic relationship: he depends on me for some things (like sewing), and I depend on him for other things (like fixing stuff). We take turns being the parent.

Although we are still a little wary of each other (he, afraid I will cry; me, afraid he will rant and rave), we talk together, laugh together. I have discovered he has a great sense of humor, something I never knew until the past few years. He still makes me crazy from time to time, but at least we are close enough now that he has the opportunity to make me crazy.

My father is a difficult man to completely like and admire, but I have now built a relationship with him based on affection (and, yes, duty). My relationship with my father will never be the same as the relationship I enjoyed with my mother. But my time with my mother is in the past, my time with my father is in the present - and the future.

-C

Healing Molly by Carolyn

Molly was scarred on the inside where it didn’t show right away. But if you spent any time with her, the damage began to seep out through her skin and reveal itself. It showed in the way she scurried under any table or chair she could find in an effort to become invisible. It showed in the way she gobbled her food quickly, ferociously, before anyone could snatch it away from her. It showed in the violent quivering that made her whole body tremble with anxiety with very little provocation. It showed in her reluctance to be picked up, stroked, cuddled.

Molly’s damage was understandable. She spent her first year of life in a small trailer home with more than 150 other dogs. They lived among mounds of shed fur, piles of feces, the stench of urine, and probably a few rotting carcasses, but with no light, no air conditioning or heat, and most significantly, no human contact. When you thought about her first home, it was easy to understand why she was so scarred.

When I first brought Molly home, she gulped her food frantically because in her first year of life she had to compete with 150 other dogs for every bite of food she got. She trembled with fear from head to tail so often because she had never known love or security before. Everything was frightening. She scurried to hide under any available piece of furniture in an attempt to escape detection. She refused to be held because she didn’t trust people. Why should she? She had never had anyone to trust.

How do you set about healing that kind of scarring? With love, liberally laced with patience. When Molly hid under the furniture, I lay on the floor and tried to coax her out with soft, sweet, soothing words (and a few doggie treats). When Molly gulped her food and growled at Finn, “Get back! This is mine!” I gently chided her, “Friends don’t growl at friends, Molly”, but I let her learn in her own time that she no longer had to fight for food. When Molly shivered violently from fear and anxiety at the slightest little thing, I held her tightly (whether she wanted me to or not) scratched behind her ears, and murmured sweet nothings to her.

Little by little, baby step by baby step, moment by moment, we made progress. The hiding-under-the-table episodes became fewer. Eventually I only had to chase her under two, rather than five, pieces of furniture when I needed to pick her up. Gradually, the gulping and growling and snapping over food diminished. She even let Finn eat first once or twice while she waited her turn – she was busy having her backside scratched! After many months, the frequency of her whole-body trembling decreased. Instead of shaking uncontrollably over every little thing, she saved that response for really serious situations, like someone ringing the doorbell.

Wonder of wonders, Molly even began to seek me out. At first, she jumped up in my lap once every few days, stayed a second or two, then jumped back down. “Just passing through. You happened to be in my path,” she seemed to say. After a few months, she jumped up in my lap at least once a day and stayed just a little longer each time, but not quite settling in. Eventually, she purposely came to me more and more often - jumping up on my lap frequently, and settling in to stay a while each time. We snuggled together. My heart swelled with love, gratitude, delight.

While I was determinedly busy healing Molly, she was surreptitiously healing me as well. Focusing my attention on her wounds helped me move beyond my own heartaches a little. Holding Molly in my lap and scratching between her ears not only soothed her wounded spirit, it also infused my fragile heart with calm and peace. Providing Molly with a safe, loving home where she could recover from her trauma brought rewards to me as well: compassion, laughter, joy, contentment.

Molly still carried her scars on the inside, as I do, but her wounds no longer showed quite so much on the outside. Her scars, faded and softened with time and love, no longer determined the way she viewed life or guided all her actions. I hope mine don’t either.

-Carolyn