Category Archives: Emotions

The Angst of Making Decisions

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, Inner Healing, Peace

Journal 2018

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.

Person standing in circular room with five wooden doors

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.

Pessimists

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, Inner Healing

Journal 2018

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?

Open Heart

Posted on by under Emotions, Inner Healing

Journal 2018

There’s a part of my heart that is holding my breath while cringing in a corner behind a metal shield. I’ve closed myself off to a friend.

“What good does that do?” I wonder. Lord, I need your help.

“Do you trust Me?” Jesus says.

“Of course,” I reply, though I’m not sure I trust myself.

“Then put down your shield and come walk with Me in the garden … I like this row of beets here, and this is a lovely row of radishes,” He comments. “Do you know how they got there?”

“Someone planted them?”

“Yes, someone did.”

I scratch my head, waiting for the punch line. Jesus pauses, silent, pondering, so I remain quiet too.

“I wonder what would happen if I pulled one up right now.” And Jesus stoops and extracts a beet, pretty and plump but covered in dirt. “Come with Me,” He says, and we walk to the kitchen where He cleans it and tosses it into a pot of already boiling water. (Apparently, He had anticipated this conversation.)

He doesn’t say a word while we watch it boil. When the beet is cooked, He carefully lifts it out of the pot, slices it, salts it, and hands half of it to me on a plate.

“Eat and enjoy,” He says. We sit together at the table, each with our half of a beet, and silently savor the sweetness. I’m still not sure exactly what the lesson is, so I continue to wait, but I’m beginning to think this may be about fellowship, doing life together, enjoying the little things.

This feels different than when I’m with my friend—where it feels like … what? A competition? A trying to fill a hole in the heart? I’m satisfied with half a beet while my friend wants to put a feast on the table and still doesn’t feel satisfied. How can we have communion if the focus is on the feast instead of each other?

So many thoughts, but the most important one is: It’s not the food on the table that matters, it’s whom I’m with. I need to get to know my friend’s heart, and then we can have true fellowship together.

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He must increase

Posted on by under Emotions, God, Scripture

Journal 2018

He must increase, but I must decrease. (John 3:30 KJV)

Fresh out of college, I landed a job teaching English and speech at a private Christian school. Inexperienced and apprehensive, I tried to put on a confident mask as I entered the classroom and directed the school’s plays and programs. The more insecure I felt, however, the more I craved affirmation and accolades.

I want to follow John the Baptist’s example, but how do I decrease while Jesus increases? How do I avoid seeking accolades and point people to Jesus instead? Mother Teresa and Johnny Earickson Tada come to mind as humans who have accomplished great things for God with few resources, yet they always point people to the One they worship. How would that look to me?

Visual: I am at a Y junction of a channel of water (i.e. man’s accolades) rushing toward me. When the waters arrive at the Y, I close the gate on my side and divert the water to the right fork, causing the water to flow toward Christ instead. When praises come my way, I divert them to my Lord. If I don’t, I may drown in the force of the water. He alone is strong enough to receive the full force of gushing praise. I cannot prevent the water from flowing, but I can divert the water to the proper channel.

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Processing Dreams

Posted on by under Emotions, Inner Healing, Peace

Journal 2018

I dreamt last night that my daughter was dating a Black boy who had a chip on his shoulder because he thought I was prejudiced. I felt defensive that anyone would think I was racist. I woke from my dream as I was lecturing him about how color blind I was and how I was more interested in how he treated my daughter.

What concerns me is that I’m afraid I do struggle with prejudice or prejudgment because of where I grew up. The prevailing colonial superiority in Nigeria at the time and my mother’s response to the people we worked with set the tone for pride in my little heart. I could tell you many little incidents. I have long since repented of my attitude, but if I have a dream like this, I suspect something still lingers there.

Visual. I see a baby lying supine in a box. Curious, I start to pick her up and discover her entire backside is open, raw, oozing, bleeding. Horrified, I quickly release her and disinfect my hands, repulsed by the baby’s condition.

I am powerless to fix this baby. When I ask Jesus about it, I get the impression that this baby represents some wounded part of my heart. I think of the verse “The heart is deceitful” (Jeremiah 17:9) and realize I’ve been fooling myself about not being prejudiced. I DO judge.

“So, Lord, what are You going to do with this child? She’s grotesque.”

“I’ve already died for her,” He replies. “She’s already whole and healed.”

Sure doesn’t look like that to me. I feel disgusted.

“Pick her up,” He commands.

I’m loathe to do so, and I’m not even sure how to do it. All her insides will fall out if I move her. It’s like my stacked cookie cutters. If I try to lift one out, the rest get left behind. The irony of the metaphor is not lost on me, however. Humans are not cookie cutters. Or maybe we are all cookie cutters made in the image of God, but individual as snowflakes. Some are small, others large, but we all are used for the same dough, and the cookie tastes the same no matter the shape or size.

Somehow that image is what I need, for as I gently lift the baby, the blood on her backside washes away and skin begins to grow, leaving scars in its wake. Embarrassed, I’m tempted to conceal her in a blanket, but I refrain. I try to embrace her, but she’s stiff, like she’s been burned. I looked to Jesus. “Help her,” I plead, And He does. Her body begins to soften, and my heart begins to melt.

“Thank you, Lord, for creative dreams that propel me toward healing.”

Note: I’ve discovered the key to processing negative dreams is to focus on the presenting emotion. Usually there’s a memory attached to that emotion that contains some unresolved pain.

Balancing work and rest

Posted on by under Emotions, Peace

Journal 2018

I find it a constant battle to still my jiggling foot, slow down inside, and be still. I’ve always been a goal setter: schedule a task, get it done, move on to the next. Without a looming task or goal, I get antsy. I feel unproductive, for there’s no measurable outcome, nothing tangible to check off my list. That hurry-sickness drive propels me forward to accomplish things, but it leaves tension in my neck, back, and shoulders.

When I do manage to achieve inner stillness, I experience growth and restoration akin to the sleep cycle of my day. Somehow, I need to find a balance between work and rest.

Resting is sitting on a snow sled at the top of a hill, anticipating the ride of my life, then whizzing down the slope until I come to a full stop. Exhilarating! Rest, pause, let the rush wash over me, then collect my sled, hat, and scarf and trudge back up the hill to repeat the cycle. Rest is that pause between reaching my goal and preparing for the next one. I don’t ride all the time, I don’t climb all the time, and I don’t stay in the rest phase all the time.

A 2026 Update. I watch my adult girls and the frenetic pace they keep trying to balance children, work, and home chores, and I remember the angst of that season of my life. I’m still a list-maker, but I’m in the sweet spot where I can still climb the mountain and still enjoy the ride down. With a few more years behind me, however, my aging body and gained wisdom dictate that I require more rest time at the bottom of the hill!

On Overload

Posted on by under Emotions, Inner Healing, Peace

Journal 2018

So it happened again. Four people today leaned on me for help and support. I love ministering to hurting people, but this was overload with no breaks in between. The hike I took helped—except for the chigger bites which are driving me crazy. I put repellent on my ankles, but I never thought to put it on my waist and elbows. Sigh.

Lord, how did you recover when the crowds became too much? I suspect you were a perfect blend of introvert and extrovert, yet You withdrew alone at night. But how did you function the next day? I need You close today, Lord. I can’t do this on my own.

VISUAL: I am a Kool-Aid container at camp, and the sweaty campers keep lining up to drain me dry. I’m a vessel, created to hold refreshment for others, but I can’t do my job if the container is empty. I know there is an endless supply of Kool-Aid, but I cannot do anything to refill myself. I wish the Kool-Aid filler would hurry up! I can’t control how much He pours in and how much the campers deplete me.

The Lord comes and lifts the container (me) and takes me to the kitchen where I get a good cleaning, inside and out. I’ve been sitting in the sun too long, the sludge starting to accumulate, and I wasn’t providing a safe and cool drink anymore.

I am now resting and drying on the counter, while I recover. I’m not ready to return to work, but I can trust the Father to keep me here till it’s time to return. Meanwhile, He sets a different jug down in my spot. Now the kids won’t get thirsty.

On Anger

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, Inner Healing

Journal 2018

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.

I notice here two types of anger:

  1. Unrighteous, cruel, jealous, hate-filled, self-protecting
  2. Righteous, compassionate, justified, love-driven, protecting others

Russ Hudson says there are 3 responses to anger:

  1. 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.
  2. 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.
  3. 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.

On Struggling

Posted on by under Inner Healing, Emotions

Journal 2018

As I pray through a long list of people I know and love, it strikes me that every one of us struggles with something.

The chick struggles to break free of its shell. The caterpillar turned butterfly struggles out of its cocoon. The fetus struggles to exit the birth canal. The tender shoot struggles to push through the hard ground. Even the Messiah struggled.

Struggling implies hardship, straining, work, motivation, conflict, wrestling, effort to free oneself from restraint or constriction, achieving something new in the face of difficulty or resistance. Struggling strengthens us, proves us, and tests what we’re made of, and the effort is worth it when we reach the end of the race or resolve the conflict.

There is a time, however, when struggling is counterproductive. Sometimes God waits for us to stop struggling in our own power before He frees us. It’s when we relax and acknowledge our limitations that we find our greatest growth.

What has struggling taught you?

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Breathe … Just Breathe

Posted on by under Emotions, Inner Healing, Peace

Journal 2018

For months my brain has been trapped in a hyperdrive carousel, spinning round and round, up and down, speeding then slowing. It’s been fun, but I’m ready to get off. I’m weary and sad and long to return to a place of peace. I need stillness, a sanctuary. If I move to a park bench, I’m afraid someone is going to approach me to engage in conversation or ask me to play frisbee with them.

Lord, I invite You into this picture.

Jesus hits the off switch, and everything stops. Dizzy and disoriented, I collapse, unable to move. When I finally recover, I toss onto that spinning mass my schedule, my to-do list, my shoulds and ought-tos, my needs and commitments. Like little kids, if they don’t hang on, they’ll fly off and get hurt. Not my fault, but while they want me to kiss their boo boos and fetch their band aids, all I want to do is be by myself, not entertaining a passel of kids. I want to be alone with Jesus, away from this noise, clutter, and movement, but there’s nowhere to go in this park.

Jesus says, “I’ll give you a cone of silence.” (Remember the show Get Smart?) I step inside of Jesus (see Acts 17:28), and He closes the door. Suddenly everything is still and quiet. I can still hear muffled sounds, but there’s plenty of room to stretch out. There are even books on a shelf within reach. When He moves, I move, but it’s fluid, not jerky. I don’t have to make decisions.

I hum Chris Tomlin’s song “Where you stay, I’ll stay. When you move, I’ll move.” Only I’m not following Him. I’m in Him. I don’t choose where we go. It just is. I can feel my whole body relaxing. I didn’t realize my protective guardian had been so in charge. In fact, now I see that guardian had been wearing all of his armor. Before I could step into Jesus’ heart room, he had to check everything at the door, clad in just a tunic. There’s no space for all that clunky metal here where it’s soft, pillowy, and safe.

Breathe. Just breathe. Relax. Curl up in a feather bed. Sleep.

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