I'm reading "One Thousand Gifts" by Anne Voskamp. When her little sister died at age 6, it shut her family down and destroyed their faith in God. She developed a critical, glass-is-half-empty attitude which colored her existence until her brother-in-law, who lost two toddlers to a genetic disease, pointed her to another possible perspective. A friend dared her to compile a list of one thousand gifts from God, and eventually she wrote this book. "Could it be that giving thanks is the key to a life of joy, that being grateful for what I have is possible and productive?" (my paraphrase)
My recent struggles mirror hers to a lesser degree. Since my last Silent Retreat (over two years ago!), when I accepted the challenge to "count my blessings," I've faithfully recorded ten blessings almost every morning. But the rest of the day, I generally focus on what's wrong with my life, my family and my self. Voskamp writes, "Could I live that - the choice to open the hands to freely receive whatever God gives? If I don't I am still making a choice. The choice not to." Can I give thanks for the life I have now, the family I have now, the self I am now? Even though some of it results from my own sin or mistakes or bad choices? Lord, grant me the grace (charis) to give thanks (eucharistio). And to finish this book!
Showing posts with label frustration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label frustration. Show all posts
Monday, May 20, 2013
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Lies We Believe
A recently-divorced friend (call her Peggy, since I have no friends by that name) posted on Facebook, "I read that my kids will remember my attitude more than the things I tried to teach them. It made me cry, because my kids had me during the worst years of my life, when I was a stressed-out, depressed person. That's not who I really am. I'm sorry, kids - I wish it could have been different."
This troubled me, but I had to think about it quite a while before I realized why. The lies Peggy believes are so thick that it's hard to untangle them and evaluate them one at a time.
1. I'm not me some of the time. This friend and her husband dealt with some very difficult circumstances. Unfortunately, Peggy responded with anger, bitterness, blame (in her words, "stress" and "depression") and ultimately, the decision to shed her husband like a snake sheds its old, worn-out skin. Now she feels liberated, as though she is blossoming into her true self. She's happy and carefree, as she remembers feeling in the early years of her marriage. But who was stressed-out and depressed? Peggy. Who regularly lashed out at her husband and kids? Peggy. Who broke up their unhappy home? Peggy. Some other person did not take possession of Peggy's body. She really was, and is, that person.
2. Circumstances control our lives; we are just victims. Those "worst years" could have been the best years, had Peggy responded with patience, trust or love to the trials she faced. Her three daughters could be filled with admiration at what their mother endured and gratitude for an intact, happy home despite their troubles. My own parents had many ups and downs in their 38-year marriage, but at my mother's funeral, I cried with joy that we had walked the cancer journey together as a whole family.
3. Things couldn't have been any different. Things could have been different. When her husband turned out to be a jerk, as all men are occasionally, Peggy could have remembered why she married him in the first place and patiently waited for things to get better. She could have restrained her tongue at home as she does at work. She could have sought counseling with a willingness to change herself instead of a preconceived determination that her husband or the circumstances were at fault. She could have surrounded herself with people who believed, "Murder, maybe; divorce, never." She could have recognized her own complicity in the problems and extended grace to her husband and daughters.
This whole post depressed me because Peggy continues to see herself as a victim and therefore doesn't see any need to change her own attitudes. Does she really believe that now that her husband is out of her home, no trials will ever arise? Or that she will somehow respond with grace and joy to future difficulties, when she has a completely different pattern firmly entrenched in her psyche?
I am no better than Peggy. I have the same negative reactions, the same self-righteous bitterness, the same tendency to blame others and lash out at them. What will my children remember? I pray they will remember that Jesus Christ forgives and renews me and them. I pray they will remember that the Holy Spirit "calls, gathers, enlightens, and sanctifies" us. I pray they will remember my humble moments. And I pray they will remember that two jerks can live together in peace and love through God's power.
This troubled me, but I had to think about it quite a while before I realized why. The lies Peggy believes are so thick that it's hard to untangle them and evaluate them one at a time.
1. I'm not me some of the time. This friend and her husband dealt with some very difficult circumstances. Unfortunately, Peggy responded with anger, bitterness, blame (in her words, "stress" and "depression") and ultimately, the decision to shed her husband like a snake sheds its old, worn-out skin. Now she feels liberated, as though she is blossoming into her true self. She's happy and carefree, as she remembers feeling in the early years of her marriage. But who was stressed-out and depressed? Peggy. Who regularly lashed out at her husband and kids? Peggy. Who broke up their unhappy home? Peggy. Some other person did not take possession of Peggy's body. She really was, and is, that person.
2. Circumstances control our lives; we are just victims. Those "worst years" could have been the best years, had Peggy responded with patience, trust or love to the trials she faced. Her three daughters could be filled with admiration at what their mother endured and gratitude for an intact, happy home despite their troubles. My own parents had many ups and downs in their 38-year marriage, but at my mother's funeral, I cried with joy that we had walked the cancer journey together as a whole family.
3. Things couldn't have been any different. Things could have been different. When her husband turned out to be a jerk, as all men are occasionally, Peggy could have remembered why she married him in the first place and patiently waited for things to get better. She could have restrained her tongue at home as she does at work. She could have sought counseling with a willingness to change herself instead of a preconceived determination that her husband or the circumstances were at fault. She could have surrounded herself with people who believed, "Murder, maybe; divorce, never." She could have recognized her own complicity in the problems and extended grace to her husband and daughters.
This whole post depressed me because Peggy continues to see herself as a victim and therefore doesn't see any need to change her own attitudes. Does she really believe that now that her husband is out of her home, no trials will ever arise? Or that she will somehow respond with grace and joy to future difficulties, when she has a completely different pattern firmly entrenched in her psyche?
I am no better than Peggy. I have the same negative reactions, the same self-righteous bitterness, the same tendency to blame others and lash out at them. What will my children remember? I pray they will remember that Jesus Christ forgives and renews me and them. I pray they will remember that the Holy Spirit "calls, gathers, enlightens, and sanctifies" us. I pray they will remember my humble moments. And I pray they will remember that two jerks can live together in peace and love through God's power.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Frustration at Wal-Mart
I haven't been so frustrated in quite a while.
On Thursday, Pete took the kids to town for a flute lesson, errands and the YMCA. Joel & Daniel were already in town after classes, and Pete sent Daniel home to get me; we were to meet at Wal-Mart to look at cordless phones and then go out to eat before the Concert Series at 7:30. As I was talking to him on the phone lining all this up, the thought came to my mind, "Better bring your cell phone." A mental picture flashed through my mind of unplugging the phone from its charger and putting it into the pocket of my purse. LISTEN TO THAT STILL SMALL VOICE! I got distracted, as usual, and didn't bring the phone. Big mistake.
At about 5:15, when Pete & I agreed to meet at Wal-Mart, he thought Daniel was already at the house and we were going to leave pronto. Instead, Daniel hadn't even left town yet. He and I left the house at 5:35, stopped to pick up Joel, and then I got out at Cub and walked to Wal-Mart because Joel & Daniel had to get to their class by 6:00. So I didn't get to Wal-Mart until probably about 6. By that time Pete had given up and thought I must have gone somewhere else with the boys; he tried our phones but got no answer, so went to the YMCA.
When I reached the phone section, I figured Pete wouldn't have stood around waiting all this time but was looking at something else and would return shortly, so I waited. And waited. And waited. "Maybe he went out to the van," which I thought I had seen in the far corner of the parking lot as I walked in. Outside the store, I couldn't see any large brown van, so I went back to the phone section and waited some more. At 6:25, I finally asked the cashier if I could use the phone and called. Pete was on the treadmill, so it took another 20-25 minutes before he rounded up the kids and got to Wal-Mart to pick me up.
As I waited in the WM entryway, I was almost in tears from frustration. Then it occurred to me, "Why am I so upset?" The thoughts going through my mind were, "I HATE wasting time!" "How could he think I'd go somewhere else without calling?" "If ONLY I had brought the phone!"
In reflecting on all of this, I'm struck by what it reveals about my fears. I'm so afraid of failure - in this case, I failed to heed the still small voice, I failed to think ahead, and I failed to communicate with Pete. And I hate it when my expectations are not met. Why is that? Where am I guaranteed a life where everything I think will happen, happens? Pride is such an insidious enemy. "Who will deliver me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through our Lord Jesus Christ!"
On Thursday, Pete took the kids to town for a flute lesson, errands and the YMCA. Joel & Daniel were already in town after classes, and Pete sent Daniel home to get me; we were to meet at Wal-Mart to look at cordless phones and then go out to eat before the Concert Series at 7:30. As I was talking to him on the phone lining all this up, the thought came to my mind, "Better bring your cell phone." A mental picture flashed through my mind of unplugging the phone from its charger and putting it into the pocket of my purse. LISTEN TO THAT STILL SMALL VOICE! I got distracted, as usual, and didn't bring the phone. Big mistake.
At about 5:15, when Pete & I agreed to meet at Wal-Mart, he thought Daniel was already at the house and we were going to leave pronto. Instead, Daniel hadn't even left town yet. He and I left the house at 5:35, stopped to pick up Joel, and then I got out at Cub and walked to Wal-Mart because Joel & Daniel had to get to their class by 6:00. So I didn't get to Wal-Mart until probably about 6. By that time Pete had given up and thought I must have gone somewhere else with the boys; he tried our phones but got no answer, so went to the YMCA.
When I reached the phone section, I figured Pete wouldn't have stood around waiting all this time but was looking at something else and would return shortly, so I waited. And waited. And waited. "Maybe he went out to the van," which I thought I had seen in the far corner of the parking lot as I walked in. Outside the store, I couldn't see any large brown van, so I went back to the phone section and waited some more. At 6:25, I finally asked the cashier if I could use the phone and called. Pete was on the treadmill, so it took another 20-25 minutes before he rounded up the kids and got to Wal-Mart to pick me up.
As I waited in the WM entryway, I was almost in tears from frustration. Then it occurred to me, "Why am I so upset?" The thoughts going through my mind were, "I HATE wasting time!" "How could he think I'd go somewhere else without calling?" "If ONLY I had brought the phone!"
In reflecting on all of this, I'm struck by what it reveals about my fears. I'm so afraid of failure - in this case, I failed to heed the still small voice, I failed to think ahead, and I failed to communicate with Pete. And I hate it when my expectations are not met. Why is that? Where am I guaranteed a life where everything I think will happen, happens? Pride is such an insidious enemy. "Who will deliver me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through our Lord Jesus Christ!"
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