I discovered something important today.
I have never done well with not being liked. That's not the something important; I've known that for a long time, though it's been several years since I've had to deal with it. There was a guy in college who was sarcastic, mean, and condescending to me and several people I knew, and for a few months it became my sole intention to become his friend. Not in a kind "befriend the person who holds everyone else at a distance" kind of way. It was entirely because I couldn't handle the idea of someone not liking me. Growing up, I often took for granted the friendships that came easily because I was too focused on making people who were indifferent or looked down on me or flat-out disliked me like me darn it.
I found out today that someone doesn't like me. I think. It was secondhand information, gossip, the kind of thing that feels true just because it comes as a surprise and yet fits in odd ways. It may not be true, but that's never stopped me from believing something.
I try to be an even-keel person, and I think that makes me fairly well-liked, although it also means I probably don't take a stand for much either. I go with the flow. I try to make people happy. It works out, usually.
But today, I was confronted with the concept, once again, that someone didn't like me. And, as a creaking, rusting, haven't-been-used-in-a-while kind of feeling, the old hurt gripped my ribs a little bit, scraped against my lungs, grabbed at my breath. I ran through all the ways I could fix it, who I could talk to, how I could conjure up favor--talk to the person directly? Talk to a friend of theirs and find out what I did wrong? Take a poll of what's potentially unlikeable about me and work on fixing it? It was high school and college all over again.
And then a breath. I decided to ask a person I trust for advice, and then as I waited for a response, I breathed some more.
You are not defined by who likes you, my heart whispered.
You are defined by Who loves you.
It wasn't important that I thought about that--I am a lifelong church kid, so there's a guilty few-seconds-too-late spiritual glaze my brain puts on everything. But it was important that, for the first time in a situation where someone doesn't like me, I actually believed it. And my heart settled a bit. The hurt retreated into small corners. My trusted friend wrote me back with words of encouragement and sensible advice.
I cannot force someone to like me. I will wear myself out trying to make everyone in the world like me. Some personalities just don't connect. It happens. If I know I did something to hurt someone, I can fix that, but I can't fix not being the kind of person someone just doesn't like. And that's okay.
And then came the other Something Important, the one that stung and clenched in my stomach.
I like most people, but there have been a few times in the course of my life when I have been a fervent not-liker-of-a-particular-person. And that crushing, breath-stealing hurt I felt for just a little while--I have inflicted that on other people. How unspeakably evil of me. How dare I so willfully diminish someone else? I want to remember that feeling, and I want to remember how when I'm so comfortably liked that I tend to get comfortable with feelings of annoyance and eye-rolls and complaints about people who have done nothing but be not quite my favorite personality.
Important is understanding that all people have the desire to be liked and loved and understood, and that it's not up to me to decide who to extend that to, because it has been extended to me unreservedly.
Friday, August 17, 2012
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
ramblings on gender roles and past lives
It's not about complementarianism, to use the technicalities of the word. Back when I was taking Gender, Politics, and Communication, back when life was teaching me to see how warped ideas of gender roles could be, back when I started to understand that feminist wasn't the terrible word I'd always thought it was, I may have decried submission and man-as-the-leader. But God healed my submission-wary heart and showed me that I shouldn't pin the blame for human failing on His design. And after healing me, He showed me how beautiful it could be, and, yes, different based on the marriage and the personalities and the people He brought together. My heart thrives because Rob makes me feel utterly cherished and valued, in my opinions, actions, words. We're probably mostly on the egalitarian scale, but agree that, on the very rare occasions we can't come to a place of agreement, he may have to make the final decision. But I know he'd never do that without fully honoring and listening to me first, before trying to reach a decision together.
And--it took me longer to understand, and some days it's still hard for me to respect--some personalities just do better with extremely traditional marriages. I just read a blog post where a man compared a good wife to a good dog and thought Dear God, this can't be how you intend men to view their wives. It just seemed so disrespectful, to compare one's spouse to a slavish and mindlessly devoted animal (never mind that I doubt many women would like to be told they should be more like a dog). But. I have to understand that in some contexts, some marriages, women aren't going to react that way at all. Where I see disrespect and devaluing, they're going to appreciate the example and see themselves and their ways of submitting and serving in that example. It's not disrespectful to them, and they do not feel devalued, so I shouldn't put that on them. Granted, the whole metaphor still makes me shudder a little, but I've realized that I can't expect traditional-gender-role folks to respect me if I don't attempt to respect them.
Maybe it's on my mind this week because of my conversations with Ruth about purity balls (note: purity balls are different from father-daughter dances, which rightly focus on building relationship and having a fun time. Purity balls involve signing a weird formal contract without really encouraging pursuit of relationship that would render the contract unneeded). Revisiting the strange world of conservative homeschoolers. My family never dove into it completely, and I'm so grateful to my parents for modeling a partnership and grace in the midst of a legalistic culture. But man, what a culture. I still wonder at them--at the girl who I was friends with in high school who suddenly started acting cold and downright rude to me for some unknown reason (I think she thought she was making me feel judged for whatever it was I'd done, but it amused me more than anything else. Such immaturity from a grown woman who should know better). At the man who wouldn't even look at me because I'd left a church, even though I did it with the blessing of so many cherished ones there, because they understood that God was the one calling me to a new adventure. In some corners of that culture, I see so little love. So little grace. Lots of "if you aren't this way that I say you should be or doing what I say you should do, then you are sinful and worldly and wrong." It feels fairly pervasive at times, though I have to remind myself of the wonderful people I still know within it, those with kind hearts and selfless love. And, even as I write this, I feel the slight squeezing in my heart that says, You can be pretty unkind yourself still. Not legalistic, perhaps, but intolerant of those I view as unbending or legalistic or clingy or socially inept. Sigh. I've come a long way, but I have even farther to go.
Anyway. Enough of the ramblings. I'm so thankful for life now, for freedom and uninhibited love and friends who don't mind a glass of wine over good conversation about what God's teaching us. For family that models transparency and growth in grace. For a husband who consistently shows love and selflessness and brings so much laughter and joy to every moment. Away, you shadows and wonderings about the past world. This one is beautiful enough to cover all.
And--it took me longer to understand, and some days it's still hard for me to respect--some personalities just do better with extremely traditional marriages. I just read a blog post where a man compared a good wife to a good dog and thought Dear God, this can't be how you intend men to view their wives. It just seemed so disrespectful, to compare one's spouse to a slavish and mindlessly devoted animal (never mind that I doubt many women would like to be told they should be more like a dog). But. I have to understand that in some contexts, some marriages, women aren't going to react that way at all. Where I see disrespect and devaluing, they're going to appreciate the example and see themselves and their ways of submitting and serving in that example. It's not disrespectful to them, and they do not feel devalued, so I shouldn't put that on them. Granted, the whole metaphor still makes me shudder a little, but I've realized that I can't expect traditional-gender-role folks to respect me if I don't attempt to respect them.
Maybe it's on my mind this week because of my conversations with Ruth about purity balls (note: purity balls are different from father-daughter dances, which rightly focus on building relationship and having a fun time. Purity balls involve signing a weird formal contract without really encouraging pursuit of relationship that would render the contract unneeded). Revisiting the strange world of conservative homeschoolers. My family never dove into it completely, and I'm so grateful to my parents for modeling a partnership and grace in the midst of a legalistic culture. But man, what a culture. I still wonder at them--at the girl who I was friends with in high school who suddenly started acting cold and downright rude to me for some unknown reason (I think she thought she was making me feel judged for whatever it was I'd done, but it amused me more than anything else. Such immaturity from a grown woman who should know better). At the man who wouldn't even look at me because I'd left a church, even though I did it with the blessing of so many cherished ones there, because they understood that God was the one calling me to a new adventure. In some corners of that culture, I see so little love. So little grace. Lots of "if you aren't this way that I say you should be or doing what I say you should do, then you are sinful and worldly and wrong." It feels fairly pervasive at times, though I have to remind myself of the wonderful people I still know within it, those with kind hearts and selfless love. And, even as I write this, I feel the slight squeezing in my heart that says, You can be pretty unkind yourself still. Not legalistic, perhaps, but intolerant of those I view as unbending or legalistic or clingy or socially inept. Sigh. I've come a long way, but I have even farther to go.
Anyway. Enough of the ramblings. I'm so thankful for life now, for freedom and uninhibited love and friends who don't mind a glass of wine over good conversation about what God's teaching us. For family that models transparency and growth in grace. For a husband who consistently shows love and selflessness and brings so much laughter and joy to every moment. Away, you shadows and wonderings about the past world. This one is beautiful enough to cover all.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
31 days
The race today makes me think of Grace and grace and time.
In college Grace and I ran a race together. Beefy did too, but I think of Grace because we kept pace the whole, tired time. Mom and Rachel were there too, but still I think of Grace because of so many days of runs, and seventy long minutes and seven long miles the day before my grandpa's funeral, and I thought now I can do anything.
I've lost track of the years. I count back by memories. Grandpa died the year before Deb got married, and that was three years ago. So four years? I don't remember it being the year I graduated, but it must have been.
I think of grace because of those four years. The first year of holding everything in. The second of letting everything out. The third of finally resting and finding the balance of life. Time doesn't heal wounds; God grows them into something beautiful.
And the grace of the years makes me think of time. Four years ago, I was a shadow-person. I knew whoever I was wasn't there, was hiding around the corner, perhaps, or, Pan-like, searching for me. I fought and cried and hated and clawed through everything I could think of until the quiet moment of redemption. I cling to the quiet moment of redemption, of no longer being able to stand and grasping the carpet beneath my fingers and then feeling the arms of God and hearing the whisper of love and acceptance and come home.
The time in these years has meant so much beautiful change. Rachel met Dan, and married him, and now our family is welcoming some strange new person in the fall. Grace met Scott, and married him. Amy met her Scott, and is marrying him in June.
And I met Rob. Two years ago, I walked into a room and saw the world change before my eyes. Logically, I know love at first sight is ridiculous. All the things that make a person someone you love are things you learn later. And yet I knew. I saw him, and I knew that this moment would alter everything. Or, rather, this person.
I am a words person, and he makes me run out of words. I try to pull together a way to say how I feel about such sacrificial love and how he understands me more than I ever thought anyone could and how I love his wild, mischievous streak and how he loves peoples so deeply, and nothing can touch who he is and how my life is changed by him. Words are never enough.
Sickness and health. Better and worse. 31 days, and life with him.
In college Grace and I ran a race together. Beefy did too, but I think of Grace because we kept pace the whole, tired time. Mom and Rachel were there too, but still I think of Grace because of so many days of runs, and seventy long minutes and seven long miles the day before my grandpa's funeral, and I thought now I can do anything.
I've lost track of the years. I count back by memories. Grandpa died the year before Deb got married, and that was three years ago. So four years? I don't remember it being the year I graduated, but it must have been.
I think of grace because of those four years. The first year of holding everything in. The second of letting everything out. The third of finally resting and finding the balance of life. Time doesn't heal wounds; God grows them into something beautiful.
And the grace of the years makes me think of time. Four years ago, I was a shadow-person. I knew whoever I was wasn't there, was hiding around the corner, perhaps, or, Pan-like, searching for me. I fought and cried and hated and clawed through everything I could think of until the quiet moment of redemption. I cling to the quiet moment of redemption, of no longer being able to stand and grasping the carpet beneath my fingers and then feeling the arms of God and hearing the whisper of love and acceptance and come home.
The time in these years has meant so much beautiful change. Rachel met Dan, and married him, and now our family is welcoming some strange new person in the fall. Grace met Scott, and married him. Amy met her Scott, and is marrying him in June.
And I met Rob. Two years ago, I walked into a room and saw the world change before my eyes. Logically, I know love at first sight is ridiculous. All the things that make a person someone you love are things you learn later. And yet I knew. I saw him, and I knew that this moment would alter everything. Or, rather, this person.
I am a words person, and he makes me run out of words. I try to pull together a way to say how I feel about such sacrificial love and how he understands me more than I ever thought anyone could and how I love his wild, mischievous streak and how he loves peoples so deeply, and nothing can touch who he is and how my life is changed by him. Words are never enough.
Sickness and health. Better and worse. 31 days, and life with him.
Monday, December 19, 2011
six days
today is the day of missing words,
Nyquil,
musings on sin and patience and unspoken things,
voices in the halls and lights on houses,
and the last vestiges of a sore throat.
5 months, 7 days, 56 minutes, and 49 seconds
of half-started plans
and the tiptoes of change;
the memories of shadow-life haunting the corners
realizing I've been Peter Pan in the un-usual way,
living not
watching.
Do I look tired?
"Tired," he says, knowing me, "but happy."
Merry Christmas, in the midst of the
best life.
Nyquil,
musings on sin and patience and unspoken things,
voices in the halls and lights on houses,
and the last vestiges of a sore throat.
5 months, 7 days, 56 minutes, and 49 seconds
of half-started plans
and the tiptoes of change;
the memories of shadow-life haunting the corners
realizing I've been Peter Pan in the un-usual way,
living not
watching.
Do I look tired?
"Tired," he says, knowing me, "but happy."
Merry Christmas, in the midst of the
best life.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
puzzle pieces
Today I found out that a couple I went to school with--you know, one of those couples that was together all through college, got married right out of college--is already divorced. It makes me sad, but I'm not surprised. Not that I looked at them specifically and thought yeah, that won't last, but I think I've outgrown a lot of my naivete about marriage as I've gotten older. I see the cracks a lot more--the ways things can go wrong, the relationships and personalities and situations that seem ripe for strife. Not that those marriages can't last--just that I think there's sometimes a tendency to ignore problems, push them under the rug, and that causes a much deeper, more serious set of issues. If I had gotten married in my early twenties, that's the kind of marriage I would have had, no matter who it was to; I was precisely the kind of person to ignore the problems, push things under the rug, convince myself everything was fine or that the status quo of not-so-good was normal.
When I was younger, I didn't put a whole lot of thought into what contributes to the longevity of a relationship simply because it was a given--of course marriage would last. You get married, you stay married. No other option. That perspective probably contributed to a lot of my dating choices--good guys, all of them--but I didn't really go beyond the surface of does he love Jesus? and is he a hard worker? to personal examination. That is, I had general standards about what I wanted in a guy, but hadn't even scratched the surface of who I was as a person and therefore had nothing individually specific. Each relational or potential relational situation was the same as the last.
When Rob and I first started dating, he asked me about my conflict style. Conflict style? I thought. It was the first of many fascinating conversations. Rob is someone who digs deep, who thinks things through. He asks thought-provoking questions and listens to the answers, then asks questions about the answers. He's guided me through thoughts and feelings so I can articulate what's actually going on in this head of mine. It's an incredible gift.
I'd come to a good sense of identity and self-actualization in the years after college, but these conversations helped me to place that sense, for the first time, in the context of a relationship with another person. Exploring our personalities and how they work together has given our relationship such vibrancy. We're aren't two people simply coexisting; we're two people in tune and aware of how the other person thinks and responds. We thrive together; we agree that we work better together than apart. And it's so much fun. There is incredible depth to our relationship, and we have a blast being together.
And conflict resolution? It's interesting...conflict usually drains me, but when we address issues, I never feel like we're fighting. It's more like we're working together to reach the best conclusion. It's oddly energizing, coming out the other side; we succeed together in finding a solution.
I feel like this post started out as one thing and turned into another, but that's okay. I started out thinking about divorce, and it made me start thinking about the confidence I have in our upcoming marriage. Confidence not that we'll never face problems, but confidence that in this time of knitting ourselves together, learning who the other person is and how we relate, we've built a vital foundation to work through anything that comes our way. Neither of us put much stock in "soul mates," but we have been faced time and time again with incredible proof that how God shaped us individually is what makes us fit so perfectly together. But beyond that confidence is the life-giving knowledge that in whatever we face, I'm marrying a man I can cling to as we pour our hearts out to God. As I think about the future, I feel only anticipation, excitement, joy, and, most of all, an overwhelming peace. This is going to be a heck of a life.
When I was younger, I didn't put a whole lot of thought into what contributes to the longevity of a relationship simply because it was a given--of course marriage would last. You get married, you stay married. No other option. That perspective probably contributed to a lot of my dating choices--good guys, all of them--but I didn't really go beyond the surface of does he love Jesus? and is he a hard worker? to personal examination. That is, I had general standards about what I wanted in a guy, but hadn't even scratched the surface of who I was as a person and therefore had nothing individually specific. Each relational or potential relational situation was the same as the last.
When Rob and I first started dating, he asked me about my conflict style. Conflict style? I thought. It was the first of many fascinating conversations. Rob is someone who digs deep, who thinks things through. He asks thought-provoking questions and listens to the answers, then asks questions about the answers. He's guided me through thoughts and feelings so I can articulate what's actually going on in this head of mine. It's an incredible gift.
I'd come to a good sense of identity and self-actualization in the years after college, but these conversations helped me to place that sense, for the first time, in the context of a relationship with another person. Exploring our personalities and how they work together has given our relationship such vibrancy. We're aren't two people simply coexisting; we're two people in tune and aware of how the other person thinks and responds. We thrive together; we agree that we work better together than apart. And it's so much fun. There is incredible depth to our relationship, and we have a blast being together.
And conflict resolution? It's interesting...conflict usually drains me, but when we address issues, I never feel like we're fighting. It's more like we're working together to reach the best conclusion. It's oddly energizing, coming out the other side; we succeed together in finding a solution.
I feel like this post started out as one thing and turned into another, but that's okay. I started out thinking about divorce, and it made me start thinking about the confidence I have in our upcoming marriage. Confidence not that we'll never face problems, but confidence that in this time of knitting ourselves together, learning who the other person is and how we relate, we've built a vital foundation to work through anything that comes our way. Neither of us put much stock in "soul mates," but we have been faced time and time again with incredible proof that how God shaped us individually is what makes us fit so perfectly together. But beyond that confidence is the life-giving knowledge that in whatever we face, I'm marrying a man I can cling to as we pour our hearts out to God. As I think about the future, I feel only anticipation, excitement, joy, and, most of all, an overwhelming peace. This is going to be a heck of a life.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
the age of moving forward
24, it seems, is the age it all decided to hit. Everyone says it's right after college--the friends getting married, other friends having endless babies. Right after college was three years ago for me, and at the time I thought, Well, so much for that. My three best friends were still in school, sure, but none of them were dating (not by choice; I like to think we were selective, but mostly we were just bewildered as to why we couldn't find anyone at school we were interested in dating). I wasn't aware of the emotional mess I was at the time, so it was only, oh, a year and a half, two years ago that the thank God I didn't find someone stupid enough to date me at that time awareness hit.
A year and a month ago, my three best friends came out here to visit me in my (fairly) newly Zen, contented life. We sat around a table and wondered when it would start for us, this so-called life of moving forward. Most of us were settled in careers, which was comforting, and I thought, in my Zen-contentedness, It will start soon. In the next few years, one of us will meet someone. And then another one, a little while after that. And we will follow, in bits in pieces. That is how it will be for us.
I like to think I was sort of right, though the timeline was, apparently, seriously way more compact than I expected. That conversation was April, a year ago. In May, Grace met and started dating Scott, who she will marry this August. In June, Amy met her Scott (we shall have to come up with nicknames. So far I am calling them "Grace's Scott" and "Amy's Scott," which is a bit too clunky). And in May, two weeks after Grace met her Scott, I met Rob.
In March, I went to three weddings. I have another the end of this month, another the beginning of next month, another in July, Grace's in August. Another friend called me last week to tell me she's engaged. A childhood friend had a baby two weeks ago. Various friends across the country either have less-than-one-year-olds or are pregnant. It's as though this moving-forward-life decided to happen everywhere all at once.
As for my own moving-forward-life...well, it seems that three years was precisely the right amount of time to wait.
A year and a month ago, my three best friends came out here to visit me in my (fairly) newly Zen, contented life. We sat around a table and wondered when it would start for us, this so-called life of moving forward. Most of us were settled in careers, which was comforting, and I thought, in my Zen-contentedness, It will start soon. In the next few years, one of us will meet someone. And then another one, a little while after that. And we will follow, in bits in pieces. That is how it will be for us.
I like to think I was sort of right, though the timeline was, apparently, seriously way more compact than I expected. That conversation was April, a year ago. In May, Grace met and started dating Scott, who she will marry this August. In June, Amy met her Scott (we shall have to come up with nicknames. So far I am calling them "Grace's Scott" and "Amy's Scott," which is a bit too clunky). And in May, two weeks after Grace met her Scott, I met Rob.
In March, I went to three weddings. I have another the end of this month, another the beginning of next month, another in July, Grace's in August. Another friend called me last week to tell me she's engaged. A childhood friend had a baby two weeks ago. Various friends across the country either have less-than-one-year-olds or are pregnant. It's as though this moving-forward-life decided to happen everywhere all at once.
As for my own moving-forward-life...well, it seems that three years was precisely the right amount of time to wait.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
dear closet introvert
my blog posts are so infrequent now, mostly because life is running at such a nonstop pace. it's a good thing--my life is endlessly full, and I love it that way. for a while there, I was successfully balancing family, friends, boyfriend, work, life with God; and then, this month, everything has been thrown out of balance for no particular reason. it's been heavy on work, heavy on boyfriend, middling on family, and light on friends, and, most frustratingly, light on God.
it was bothering me, this falling off the map, this feeling that I was letting life happen to me rather than living it with intentionality. and then, today, everything clicked.
my closet introvert is once again demanding attention, and I've been ignoring it.
work is just busy and crazy and needs to be done, so there's been lots of that. and it's draining me more than usual because I've gone so long without being truly alone. this is probably the longest I've gone without hitting a wall, which is mostly thanks to Rob--he's a place of rest for me; no other person gives me such a sense of peace, a sense of home and being and quietness. being with him recharges me, so I've been able to handle more of nonstop life for longer.
but today I finally realized I need to stop for a second and breathe. so I finally chose a night of quietness and being alone, and I am so relieved. I didn't realize how much I needed it until I chose it, and then I felt as though this burden was being lifted. peace. quiet. reflecting, relaxing, feeling like my time is my own. time to recenter. I may disconnect a bit more than usual for the next couple of weeks, just to find that balance again. I want to get back to spending reflecting time with God rather than reading a rushed chapter before collapsing into bed. to not letting so much time pass between seeing or talking to friends. and I should probably listen to my closet introvert a little more often, which is what I say every time this happens, but my extrovert self is a lot louder and more fun :).
it was bothering me, this falling off the map, this feeling that I was letting life happen to me rather than living it with intentionality. and then, today, everything clicked.
my closet introvert is once again demanding attention, and I've been ignoring it.
work is just busy and crazy and needs to be done, so there's been lots of that. and it's draining me more than usual because I've gone so long without being truly alone. this is probably the longest I've gone without hitting a wall, which is mostly thanks to Rob--he's a place of rest for me; no other person gives me such a sense of peace, a sense of home and being and quietness. being with him recharges me, so I've been able to handle more of nonstop life for longer.
but today I finally realized I need to stop for a second and breathe. so I finally chose a night of quietness and being alone, and I am so relieved. I didn't realize how much I needed it until I chose it, and then I felt as though this burden was being lifted. peace. quiet. reflecting, relaxing, feeling like my time is my own. time to recenter. I may disconnect a bit more than usual for the next couple of weeks, just to find that balance again. I want to get back to spending reflecting time with God rather than reading a rushed chapter before collapsing into bed. to not letting so much time pass between seeing or talking to friends. and I should probably listen to my closet introvert a little more often, which is what I say every time this happens, but my extrovert self is a lot louder and more fun :).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)