Making quick decisions is not my strength—whether it be buying Christmas presents or choosing what to pack for a long trip. I like to take my time to analyze all my options, compare the differences, think through the consequences, and then decide what to do. Making a quick decision leaves me feeling paralyzed unless I have all the facts. What if I choose incorrectly? What if I have to live with regret? Who else might be impacted by my choice?
Visual. I stand in the center of a circular room with closed doors. It’s “The Lady or the Tiger” (short story by Frank Stockton) times 5. Behind each door are different adventures and consequences. I want Jesus to decide which door to open first because I trust Him to know what’s best, but He says I get to choose. No matter which door I step through, it’ll be an adventure because He’ll be with me, and we’ll notice different things along the way.
That feels better. The kiddy ride or the biggest roller coaster? They’ll teach me different things, and we’ll do it together. That takes the angst away that I didn’t even realize was there.
Later: No longer feeling like a life-or-death situation, I was able to make two very quick decisions about big purchases that previously would have sent me into a tizzy.
A 2026 Update. I can still annoy others while I pause to compare grocery prices or stop to examine each article of clothing at Goodwill before making a purchase. “Why are you annoyed?” I want to ask. But that’s their issue, not mine.
I’m an optimist who married a pessimist, for whom the worst-case scenario is always at the forefront. Each positive statement I make gets countered with the opposite. While I focus on the 70% chance of sunshine, a 30% chance of rain spells certainty that he’ll get wet. Why do pessimists do that? If they prepare for the worst, does it lessen the impact?
Okay, I have to quit trying to figure out what makes a pessimist tick and figure out why it bugs me so. It’s okay for him to choose to live that way and I can’t stop it, but I’m letting it affect me, and that’s my issue.
VISUAL: I’m a balloon trying to soar, irritated that the pessimist is holding onto my string. But then I see that this string is retractable. I can pull it—zip—up to the balloon where it’s unreachable to those on the ground. Is that my solution or God’s?
But what if my balloon is on the ground? Then it’s liable to be stolen, stepped on, or played with. I can’t rise above the situation and that feels sad.
I’m willing to give up my irritation and seek the truth. Perhaps my optimism is more like soap bubbles, not solid or substantial. I want to enjoy the beauty of the bubbles while they last, shimmering and glowing and swirling colors. But boys delight in chasing, poking, popping or stomping on them. “What’s the use of blowing bubbles if you’re just going to destroy them?” I cry.
Both viewpoints bring pleasure to the individual, but I’m still sad because it’s less fun for me in this activity. My pleasure is cut short.
And so, I hand the bubble wand to Jesus. He’s taller than me. He can blow bubbles over our heads, out of reach, where I can watch in delight until they float out of sight. And He can blow some low so my pessimist partner can stomp on them.
So now I can sit on my back deck with coffee in hand and declare it’s a beautiful day, and Scott can respond, “But it’s muggy, there are bugs out here, and the chairs are dirty.” And we can both be right. It’s no longer one tugging against the other.
I now have a bubble of sunshine around me, while my husband sports a gray and gloomy cloud. When we come together, I bring a little sunshine into his gloom, and he provides a little shade from the heat. It changes the “but” to an “and.” It’s 30% chance of rain AND 70% chance of sun. Both are correct.
I wonder what a pessimist’s visual would look like?
According to University of Oxford professor Dr. Robin Dunbar, the average person has three to five close friends and can only maintain up to 150 people in their social network.
Besides family members, I have 600 “friends” on Facebook, 20 neighbors on my street, 909 names in my phone contact list, 200 church members I’d like to get to know, a 12-member ladies’ Bible study group, 45 boarding school classmates, 2000 MKs in a database I maintain, missionaries we know or support from around the world, many friends we’ve made in 4 states, and 350 clients we’ve prayed with over the years. My mind is a little overwhelmed at the thought of all these connections, for I can only focus on one person at a time.
I like to say I choose God first, then my husband, then my kids and grands, and after that the world. And yet that choice is not necessarily time driven. I spend far more time in a week with other people than I do with some family members. Perhaps the issue is more about intimacy and where my heart is.
Someone described relationships as circles, where you place your most intimate persons in the center. But the visual doesn’t work well for me. It’s far more fluid and less rigid than that. Even the word priority doesn’t make the grade because, though my husband comes first most of the time, he doesn’t always. Sometimes a child needs more attention, or a friend is in crisis.
I need a better visual.
At first, I saw strings and chords attached to everyone I knew, but that picture was way too messy, and the cords far too tangled. I suspect my metaphor is closer to a river-of-life theme. I live and dwell on my own boat, but I visit different boats at different times. I’m tied to my husband’s boat through the bond of marriage, but we respect each other’s space. Others come on board at different times in my life and step back to their own boat or off onto shore when the visit is done. Sometimes a flotilla of boats travels with me. Each boat is labeled by its group name or category: neighbors, clients, Facebook friends, or church. Every three years, my classmates and I step onto the boat labeled “Reunion,” and then we return to our own boats. We step on and off each raft or boat at different times and for different purposes.
A 2026 Update. Except for my list of Facebook friends (which remains the same because I largely ignore social media now) my list of connections just keeps flexing. I have more grandchildren, church members come and go, I dropped a Bible study, added a book club, and have seen 250 more clients. Friends have gone to heaven and neighbors have moved away. I still only have the time or emotional capacity for deep connections with a handful of people.
When a prominent leader in the Christian community falls from grace due to misconduct, the name of God gets maligned, ministries fail, illusions are burst, and our judgmental hats turn bright red. We self-righteously declare, “I would never do that!” We don’t like it when our heroes fall, for the ground beneath us shakes, or it potentially exposes our own weaknesses. What if King David had been our spiritual leader? The media would have crucified him for his moral failure.
When an allegation of wrongdoing arises, what should be our response? Take sides? Judge the person with guilt or innocence based on hearsay or testimony? What if the accused is innocent? How do we know which side is telling the truth?
The bigger question for me is not what the accused leader did or did not do, but how he handles adversity. If guilty, does he confess and forsake his sin, like David did? (Exposure of sin is not a bad thing if it leads to repentance and healing.) Or does he dig in his heels and become defensive? If innocent (like Jesus was), does he forgive those who wronged him or does he become outraged and lash back?
When Jesus healed a man with a withered hand on the Sabbath, the Pharisees became so angry they plotted to kill Jesus. They had more regard for keeping rules than ministering to people. In turn, Jesus was deeply distressed and angry at the hardness of the Pharisees’ hearts.
Acting out. For example, discharging energy by raising our voice, destroying things, or using forceful aggression. We don’t really experience the anger, so we don’t get rid of it. It stays with us, and it destroys relationships.
Denying it. When we fear anger in ourselves or others, we dissociate from it, leading to feelings of powerlessness, unimportance, resentment, and aggressive outbursts when it builds up.
Trying to contain it, repress it, or hold it inside. This leads to sarcasm, put-downs, and terse impatience, leaving people feeling disrespected.
Anger as an emotion is not sin. It’s what we do with it that becomes destructive to ourselves and to others. Anger is usually a guardian part of our heart that covers another emotion. For example, it’s easier to feel anger than to feel fear or pain. But self-protecting anger keeps pain alive, hidden away. It’s only when we agree to let anger go that we can begin to heal.*
But what if there were a fourth response? Good creative anger, staying present in the energy of it for a while, leads to addressing the difficulties of this world. For example, Jesus stayed present with His anger when He cleared out the temple. The organization MADD (Mothers Against Drunk Driving) began with one woman’s brave decision to turn her anger and grief into action. But even righteous anger over an injustice is best handed over to God, whose job it is to make everything fair and just in His own time.
So how can you harness your anger for good? Begin to take note of your anger patterns. How does your body respond? Where do you feel the tension? Learn to recognize your pattern while it’s occurring. Do you tend to hold it inside? Let it explode onto people and things? Once you’ve identified your anger, you get to decide whether to feel it, hide it, keep it, or release it. The challenge is, according to the Scripture, there should be a shelf life on your anger: until the sun goes down. Otherwise, we give opportunity for the evil one to take advantage of us (Ephesians 4:26). What a different world this would be if we all followed this pattern!
*Sometimes a client will say, “I feel annoyed,” not realizing that anger is on a continuum from mild annoyance to full-blown rage (annoyed, cross, peeved, irritated, irked, exasperated, vexed, angry, furious, wrathful, rage-filled). These are all choice emotions to help us manage an underlying one.
My mind is fighting itself this morning as I try to study the Word. This summer is so jam packed with travel, ministry, company, goals, and family events, it’s hard to stay present. I wake up with to-do lists in my head, with plans, ideas, and needs taking up more prefrontal cortex space than I care to give it. Feeling a little overwhelmed, my foot starts jiggling again.
I’m currently listening to a fascinating book on brain research: The Organized Mind: Thinking Straight in the Age of Information Overload, by Daniel J. Levitin. The author addresses the neurological importance of proper sleep, the inability of the brain to focus on more than one thing at a time, how multitasking actually reduces effectiveness, and the role of memory. I just wish I could retain all this information. (Click here for a summary video of the book.)
I already practice many of the principles the author suggests, but I struggle sometimes getting into the flow (as he terms it). This is when our left brain stands still and we go into right-brain mode to write, paint, or create music. When I have a lot on my mind, it’s harder to stay there.
One of my takeaways from the book is that mindless daydreaming mode is actually very purposeful. We need it. It’s almost like REM sleep where our brain sorts and searches and organizes information. We need time to daydream and not fill our minds 100% with stimuli and entertainment. What is screen time doing to my brain if I don’t ever give it a rest? If it’s not the computer, it’s the phone. If it’s not the phone, it’s the TV or iPad. So, when I wake in the morning, it’s hard to stay focused on God. My mind is going crazy trying to keep up with my schedule.
Visual: I’m balancing on the top rung of a floor-to-ceiling library ladder, randomly grabbing books off the shelves. I want to read them all, but which book do I start next? Where should I focus? How do I cram a lifetime of goals into what’s left of my short life span? I need a system, a plan. I can’t possibly read them all, and I don’t want to waste my time. I want to organize my life in an overcrowded library.
Balance
Yesterday was one of those days when I’d stretched to my limit of emotional and psychological endurance. When I get unbalanced (people versus alone time, leisure versus work), I must make adjustments to return to equilibrium. There’s my part and there’s God’s part. When I bleed over into trying to do God’s job, I take on burdens that harm me. The battle may be the Lord’s, but I must do my part and take care of my body, feed myself spiritually, and make wise decisions.
I need to leave the library for a while and stop rushing, relax, and gain some perspective. I need to be okay with not meeting a goal or a deadline. So today I think I’ll skip some of my scheduled activities, go for a walk, clean up my e-mail inbox, and organize a closet. The library books will still be there when I return.
How to Live the Bible. What a great title for a book! I wonder if it’s been published before. If I were to write this book, what would I include?
First, I’d begin by confessing and forsaking all known sin in my life (deeds as well as inner thoughts).
Next, I would learn to listen to the Holy Spirit for daily guidance and follow His direction.
Third, I’d hide God’s Word in my heart. I’d memorize great chunks of Scripture.
Fourth (and this is not in order of importance), I would make a concerted effort to surround myself with a support system of believers.
Fifth, I’d maintain an accountability relationship with someone I trust.
And sixth, I’d devote my life to serving others with my God-given gifts and talents.
A 2025 Update. I notice my list did not include the point of salvation. That’s a given, for if you don’t have a relationship with the author of the book, it’s really hard to live the principles. Today, my list would be a lot simpler: love God and love others.
Webster defines slander as “false and damaging statements about someone.”
This verse convicts me. I never intentionally say false things about others, but I can make assumptions that might not be accurate. I know it’s not right or fair or honoring, but my words of judgment fly out when I’m feeling triggered. We are all made in the image of God, part of the same race, so when I slander another human being, I hurt myself in the process.
What is the difference, I wonder, between stating a fact about someone (e.g. he’s an alcoholic) and slandering him (e.g. you’ll never believe what Michael did yesterday…) The first may just be acknowledging the truth, while the motive of the second is clearly meant to spread gossip. Is my intent to bring this person down to my level? To delight in sharing a juicy bit of news?
I heard recently someone’s recollection of her mother—that she never said an unkind word about other people. How commendable! “If you can’t say something nice about someone, don’t say anything at all,” is often attributed to the daughter of President Theodore Roosevelt. I want my words as an older, mature woman, to protect others in my speech, not tear them down because of my stuff coming to the surface—which, in the end, merely reveals the darkness of my own heart.
I repent and ask God’s forgiveness and mercy as He teaches me to #1 work through my triggers, and #2 hold my tongue.
Do not pay attention to every word people say or you may hear your servant cursing you …. For you know in your heart that many times you yourself have cursed others. Ecclesiastes 7:21-22 (NIV)
In the beginning stages of a human love relationship, there’s an emotional high, an excitement, a drive to spend as much time together as possible. Then life happens, and you struggle to work through disappointments that the fairytale doesn’t exist. The same can happen when you begin a love relationship with God. The initial joy of finding a perfect partner in life gets buried under disillusionment and painful circumstances. You find He’s not what you first expected.
Yes, I know Jesus loved me enough to die for me, and that knowledge is all good, but it doesn’t impact me emotionally. I’ve heard it for 65 years in thousands of sermons, and somehow now I’m obligated to serve Him whether I like it or not. I’m in this marriage now because I said “I do” when I was five years old, but it’s not an equal partnership. He is everything, and I am nothing. And maybe I hold back or cringe if I sense Him coming on too strong—like He wants something from me, and I may as well give in, whether I like it or not because He’s going to get His own way in the end anyway. “Thy will be done” might mean there’s suffering to follow, and what if I prefer to stay in my comfort zone, guarding my heart and trying to shield myself from pain?
And somewhere, somehow, a part of my heart holds out, self-sufficient, anticipating harsh judgment from the God of the Old Testament, surprised at His betrayal, and believing He expects absolute perfection, surrender, and obedience to His will.
Through time, as I work through my painful childhood memories, my relationship with my husband begins to heal and grow and deepen, and I find my intimacy with my creator begins to change as well. I learn more of His compassionate heart, never condemning me or forcing my will. He is the embodiment of I Corinthians 13 love. In the end, when I allow my guard to stand down, and I embrace what is to follow, there’s sweet fellowship and excitement at renewed intimacy and a deepening passion that feels safe. I’m returning to my first love.
Why is it okay for me to feel something negative while I judge you for losing it? What about my own ungodly reactions? How hypocritical can I be? You have to endure me, too, when I get angry and say things I shouldn’t. Don’t I want you to love me anyway and give me grace? Of course! But I get weary of your ungodly choices. I expect you to be farther along in your healing, so why don’t I expect the same of me? Why do I hold you to a different standard? It’s such a battle for the mind.
So why does your trigger affect me? Maybe it has to do with expectations. I expect to live in a perfect world. I expect to have a perfect day. I expect a birthday to be all about me. I expect Christmas to be full of joy and peace. I expect to not have my boundaries trampled. I expect you to have the emotional maturity of your physical age. I expect to have good health till the day I die, and my clothes to always fit, and the roof to never leak. I expect my mango to be sweet and my new car to never get dented. I want to live in a state of perfect harmony and peace, and your reactions allow a foul wind to blow. And when my expectations aren’t met, I’m sad, angry, and disappointed.
When that happens, do I pout? Clam up? Put on a happy face? Steel myself mentally or physically for your responses and reactions? Give up all expectations or just expect the worst?
When I erect a steel-plate armor to protect myself, I’m encased in a jail cell. My heart grows cold, and I distance myself from my Heavenly Father (the source of love) and from a compassionate heart.
I repent of my self-protection and preservation. I give permission to Jesus to drill and unscrew and remove my steel plate so I can step out, free of bondage. Without my armor, however, I am weak, pale, starved, and thirsty for connection. Jesus gently ministers to my shrunken frame, murmuring, “I’ll be your protection. I love you. I will never leave you or forsake you. You are Mine.”
In my visual, Jesus leads me up to the roof of the Castle of My Heart, where we sit in rocking chairs, enjoying the sunshine together. He doesn’t say much, but I’m suddenly aware that even this perfect state could be disrupted at any time. Off to our left, a messenger arrives bearing a white envelope on a silver platter. A letter for me? It’s so pretty and pure. A love letter, I hope. But I’m expecting the worst. I’m reluctant to open it. Will I find gray ashes inside?
Now I can see the metaphor clearly. I want the missive to be a love letter, a perfect day, my desired Christmas gift, a friend who never criticizes my choices, a carefree marriage, and always-obedient children. My expectations are founded on gray ashes.
“Open it,” Jesus commands, and when I do, I’m startled when a pure white dove flutters out and flies away. I peek inside to find a ruby red heart. I’m puzzled.
“Your heart is what determines your destiny,” He says. “Your perfect day cannot be spoiled by someone else’s choices if your heart is pure.” And with that, He places the heart inside my chest. “Your heart is protected and surrounded by my love and care, and nothing can touch it there except your own willful choices to use your own self-protection or to refuse to release your pain.”
Father, I invite you and implore You to protect my heart where I’m vulnerable and weak, so that I don’t fall prey to the enemy’s lies and deception.
In the Pursuit of Peace 