Category Archives: Emotions

Shoulds and Ought-tos

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, God, Peace, Prayer

From My 2009 Journal. I feel a hesitancy inside when I think that God loves and accepts me just the way I am. I’m still caught in the trap of “I need to.” Being a task-oriented person, “doing for God” feels like a “should” or an “ought to.” It’s a continual mind battle to shed the guilt that I’m not doing more for Him. What is that all about?

I hear in my head the voice of some preacher saying, “You ought to knock on doors for evangelism.” I thought I shed that obligation a long time ago. I know I’ve been derogatory toward those who touted knocking on doors, considering them to be a little kooky, driven by fear or guilt (never mind that I used to be one of them. How hypocritical is that!) But I don’t know their hearts—for all I know, they could be more spiritual or passionate than I am about following God.

Hallway with doorsVisual:  I see an endless line of doors that need to be approached. It’s exhausting and the task is never complete. While walking down the hallway, there appears to be a large hand guiding mine, like I’m a child in training. I thought at first it was the preacher’s voice and hand on me, but now I see him standing to the side at a pulpit. The hand that guides me is that of The Father.

I erroneously compare myself to the famous out-front Christians who have great influence over many crowds of people. They’ve been entrusted with ten talents and have been faithful to use them. Bruce Wilkinson comes to mind. Billy Graham is another. Our faithful pastors as well. And then there’s little ol’ me with a very small sphere of influence. I think somehow I’m supposed to do their work.

I know all the right answers: be faithful with what God entrusts to you. I know that God has not created me with the temperament to spend massive amounts of time with people or in front of people—which is what I seem to equate with the highest rank of God-pleasers.

Here’s my bottom-line question: Is God pleased with me and my performance? I’m fully aware that character is far more important. That’s a given, and I work on that constantly. But I still need the question answered—am I doing enough? Enough for what?

I feel uneasy. Like I’m missing something. How do I know how many talents He’s given me? Yes, it’s His work through me. Yes, I must be obedient to His every command and instruction. No, I don’t have to have the big picture or understand everything God’s chosen for me to do. “Rest in Me,” He says, “and I will guide you. I will show you which door to walk through and when.”

HikeAnd the visual changes. “I’ll make the path for your feet,” He says, “and shed light on the stumbling stones. Just keep walking. I’ll tell you when to put down a stone or pick one up. I’ll let you know when it’s time to lend a helping hand to a fellow traveler, when to give away what’s in your hand, and when to keep walking. Sometimes you have to just keep plodding through the forest. The glen or open spaces are yet to come. Sometimes it’s okay to sit on a rock and rest and take a drink or eat. Doing is not always what’s best for you. Self-discipline is good, but listening to Me is better.”

And so, Heavenly Father, I give to You today my path. I trust You to guide me. Help me not to run ahead of You or lag behind. Give me the energy to keep up. I can walk in Your footsteps, unafraid of the dark and the animals nearby.

“Not enough,” “should,” and “ought-to” are not are not quantifiable concepts and don’t belong in God’s vocabulary for me.

Call It What It Is

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, Peace

From My 2009 Journal. I was in a bathroom stall at the Orlando airport on my way home from my mom’s memorial service when I had an epiphany.

Hook

The hook on the back of the door was missing, and my first thought was, How annoying! Where am I supposed to hang my purse?

Now, I didn’t want to be a complainer about insignificant occurrences in my life—a hook on a door compared to death and dying . . . a little thing like that should not have controlled my emotions!

And so I started searching for the right word—because “annoying” or “frustrating” or “irritating” were really too strong to describe what I was actually feeling inside. I wanted a neutral word. That’s when I thought of “inconvenient.”

The circumstance is inconvenient.

How I feel about the circumstance may be annoying, frustrating, irritating.

And so, with the change in vocabulary, there was a shift in my attitude. I would call it what it was and acknowledge that the circumstance was less than ideal, but I didn’t have to have a negative response to it.

What has helped you to “call it what it is”?

I hugged an angel today

Posted on by under Emotions, Inner Healing, Peace

From my 2009 Journal, February 16. The floodgates of grief for my mom burst open today. I cried all day at work and then headed for Wal-Mart to pick up some groceries. I was at the checkout line when I met an angel.

Angel girl

Found on Pinterest

In front of me stood a harried mom with her two kids—a boy seated in the cart and a girl (perhaps 3) walking beside him, holding a Barbie doll. I knew the doll wasn’t hers because there was plastic wrap still on the hair—which she proceeded to pull off—and she began walking the doll across the floor. I wondered as I watched her if her mom knew it was in her possession. But what struck me the most—it actually took my breath away—was her stunning beauty. Her facial features were soft, round, angelic; her hair perfectly shaped and combed; and she was dressed in a pure white knit coat.

Meanwhile, her little brother was playing with a toy camera. I wondered if that was his or if it belonged to the store. Twice he dropped it from the cart.

My attention was suddenly drawn to the mom and her words:

   To the cashier:  a comment on how expensive diapers are and that she’d bought the cheaper brand.

   To her daughter: “Don’t sweep the floor with your coat; it’ll get dirty, and pick up the camera for your brother.”

The mom finished paying for her groceries and then turned to her daughter. “I’m not buying that for you; give it to the lady. It doesn’t belong to you,” she demanded. I must confess I felt perturbed at her for allowing the child to carry it with her throughout the store if she had no intention of purchasing it.

At those words, that sweet angelic face shattered into a wail of grief. It was not out of rebellion—I think I can tell the difference. If there had been rebellion in the tears, I would not have responded as I did.

The little family headed for the door and I asked the cashier, “How much is the doll?” Quickly she scanned it. A mere $4—a small amount to me, but perhaps out of reach for a mom buying cheap diapers. “Put it on my bill,” I said and ran after the little girl, leaving behind my cart and my intended purchases. I knelt beside her, put my arms around her and held out the doll. “If it’s okay with your mommy, I’d like to give this to you.”

Mom’s response:  “You don’t need to do that; she has more Barbies at home.” And then, “Thank you.”

Quickly I returned to my cart, aware that I was holding up the line. I was loading the last of my goods onto the conveyor belt when out of the corner of my eye, I saw the little angel barreling toward me, arms outstretched. I knelt; we hugged, tears still on her lashes, tears in my own eyes. I don’t know if she said a word, but I whispered, “I love you.” It was sweet comfort to my grieving soul.

It wasn’t until I was at my car, parked a long way from the door, that I realized I’d forgotten to pick up the $5 rotisserie chicken I’d planned for supper. “Oh well,” I thought, “I’ll stop in at Kroger on the way home, although it’ll be more expensive there ($6 or $7).”

I was still kicking myself over my forgetfulness and the added grocery expense when it occurred to me that if I had made time to go to the chicken aisle at Wal-mart, I would have missed my angel hug. I ran into Kroger, and there on the heating table was one roasted chicken that had been reduced—to $4. I think God was grinning.

Public Tears

Posted on by under Emotions, Scripture

From my 2009 Journal. Grief is a very private affair that sometimes turns public. In America we watch mourners at funerals, and if they don’t cry, we say that they are holding up well. I think Middle Easterners and my African friends have a better perspective. They set aside a time to wail and to mourn—publicly. Their cultural norm is to let the emotions out when a loved one passes away. There’s something healthy about this practice. So why do we keep back tears when we are in public? 

Sometimes when you hurt, you want space to cry alone, away from prying eyes. I remember while at boarding school, crying alone or privately was nearly impossible. Someone invariably would insist on asking why you were crying and then try to fix it for you with platitudes: It’ll be all right. God knows best. Romans 8:28, etc. Or worse yet: Don’t cry! Sometimes you just didn’t feel like sharing your hurt with them, but it felt rude to say it was none of their business. All you really needed was for someone to hold you or cry with you.

FireMy Visual: When I am grieving, I have a secret place in my heart where fire is burning and glowing and I need to release that pain. But if someone opens the door of my heart without my permission and snatches that fire, and I don’t know if I can trust him or her or not with my heart,  it feels like a violation.

It is okay to protect your heart. You don’t have to respond rudely if you don’t care to share. Just be honest: I don’t feel like talking about it right now. If they care about you, they’ll respect your space. If they’re pushy, just walk away. But that fire will consume you if you don’t open the door at some point. Grief needs to be released in order to heal a broken heart.

Arise, cry out in the night, as the watches of the night begin; pour out your heart like water in the presence of the Lord . . . (Lamentations 2:19).

How do you handle grief when you are in public and why?

On Becoming a Grandparent

Posted on by under Emotions, Journaling, Motherhood

From my Journal 2009. I’ve always wondered how a mom’s heart can be totally filled up with love for a child and then still have room for one more. But God gave me a picture of that today. When Sharon was born, my heart filled up with a warm red glow. When Cindy was born, she added sunshine yellow, and the hues in my heart turned orange. When Katie was born, purple enriched it till I had a royal, multi-colored heart. Now if this doesn’t really work on the color chart, that’s okay. Because the Master Artist knows exactly where in the big picture He needs to dab paint on the canvas. He also knows what color of Himself to use to make the colors pop and sparkle and shimmer and glow, dance and come alive. And now little Jackson Morgan has splashed green all over my heart. Beautiful!

On Nov. 19, 2009, Jackson Morgan Wallace, 8 lb, 4 oz. arrived at 8:49 p.m. in Whiteville, NC.

Grandparenting? It’s great!

  • No pain of childbirth (or is it worse watching your daughter go through pain?)
  • No responsibilities for keeping the child alive (but I have even greater responsibilities to pass along to the next generation all the lessons God has been teaching me.)
  • Confidence in the parenting process—been there, done that, got 3 pink t-shirts!

I wish . . .

  • That we lived closer (but I’m very grateful for Skype.)
  • That I didn’t find myself continually saying, “When you were a baby, I . . .” (Yikes! I’ve turned into my mother!)
  • That I had the Internet, like Cindy, to find all the answers (Moms these days don’t need to depend on grandmas any more for their wisdom. Sigh.)

What I did right . . .

  • I told Cindy what my mother told me:  This is your baby. You get to make all the decisions as to how you’re going to feed him, discipline him, and meet his needs. You know your baby better than anyone else on earth. Listen to advice from others (even from me) if you like, but then ignore it all and go with your gut instinct. But most of all, pray, pray, pray.
  • I prayed for Jack before he was born, during the birth process, and continually after that.
  • I laid hands on him and blessed him.
  • I wrote out my first prayer for Jack the day he was born and presented it to his parents.
  • I quit telling Cindy what to do and asked questions instead. I tried to wait for her to ask for advice (hard).

My future grand-parenting plans

  • Tell Jack I love him every chance I get.
  • Tell Jack that Jesus loves him every chance I get.
  • Maintain a good relationship of trust with his parents.
  • Be available. Say yes as often as I can.
  • Begin a college fund in his name.

My best grandparent joke

A lady walked onto an airplane and glanced around for a seat. “Excuse me,” she said to one man. “Do you have any grandchildren?”

“Why yes I do!” he replied. So she walked on.

She came to another seat, and asked the lady sitting in the aisle, “Do you have any grandchildren?”

“Yes,” she replied proudly, “four of them!” So she walked on.

She came to a third person. “Can I ask you a question? Do you have any grandchildren?”

“No . . .” the person answered. “I don’t. . . .why?”

“Oh good!” the lady exclaimed as she sat down next to her. “Let me show you pictures of mine!”

A 2018 update

Cindy and Alex moved back to our town in Tennessee and had two more boys. What do you do with boys? I asked. Answer: just love ’em! Oh, and stock the toy box with cars instead of baby dolls please, says Benjamin.

Boys 3

Benjamin (6), Jackson (8), and Noah (almost 2)

So now I give you permission to brag on your grand-kids. And if you don’t have any, be sure to adopt one. Every child needs a grandparent!

Keep Your Mouth Shut!

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, God, Scripture

I’ve said some pretty stupid and hurtful things when I’ve been emotionally triggered. And once words were spoken, they were awfully hard to put back in the box. I wonder what set off Miriam, Moses’ sister?

Miriam and Aaron began to talk against Moses because of his Cushite wife, for he had married a Cushite.  “Has the LORD spoken only through Moses?” they asked. “Hasn’t he also spoken through us?” (Numbers 12:1-2a NIV).

We only meet Moses’ first wife Zipporah a couple times in the Scriptures and then nothing during the wilderness march. Does Moses take a second wife or is Zipporah now dead? We don’t know.

Do you suppose the Cushite wife made a comment over dinner preparations one day to her in-laws about how privileged and great her husband was? And Miriam and Aaron got jealous or defensive? After all, had God not used them (especially Aaron) in a mighty way in Egypt as the front-man speaker to Pharaoh? And hadn’t Miriam felt some ownership in caring for her baby brother when he was placed in the Nile? By association, she was the privileged one, in the inner circle. Who was this Cushite woman who was horning her way into the family business? Why can’t I speak against my own brother? she thinks. Who does he think he is? I’m a part of this team, aren’t I? Did Miriam feel left out?

In any case, this interesting phrase follows: And the LORD heard this. As a parent, I could listen to my children squabbling in another room and not say or do anything. But when the altercation brought one of them to tears or one was teased or hurt or put down, I tried to intervene and mete out justice or punishment to the offender and comfort to the wounded.

Whatever was going on in this family, it got God’s attention, and He came to Moses’ defense. “Suddenly” (without warning, in the midst of their conversation), says the Scripture,  God speaks to the three of them: Come to the tent of meeting.

Uh-oh. Someone’s in trouble. The parent steps in to take control. Only there’s no questioning here about who said what or who’s to blame. He knows! The cloud pillar comes down to the door, and there’s no escaping this confrontation.

“Aaron and Miriam—step forward,” God commands. It’s a lineup of guilty parties. “Step out of the lineup, you two.”

Hear My words. (Words had been spoken by the created. Now words are to be spoken by the Creator.) When there is a prophet among you, I, the LORD, reveal myself to them in visions, I speak to them in dreams. But this is not true of my servant Moses; he is faithful in all my house. With him I speak face to face, clearly and not in riddles; he sees the form of the LORD. Why then were you not afraid to speak against my servant Moses?

And instantly Miriam becomes leprous. But why only her? Why not Aaron as well? Had God “spoken by Aaron”? Well yes, He had. But He had never (at least in the recorded word) spoken by Miriam. So perhaps Aaron’s part in the guilt was in not defending his brother?

I’m intrigued with Moses’ reaction. Instead of revengeful thoughts (Ha! Miriam deserved it! She’s getting what she asked for—she had no right to say what she did), he flies to her aid. He pleads with God to restore her. Why?

And Aaron who had just reviled his brother cries out: O, my lord, I plead with you; lay not the sin upon us. (Us? He’s not the one being punished, but he was in the lineup. He drove the getaway car—a co-conspirator.)  We have done foolishly. (He recognizes his/their guilt. The God of the Universe has exposed his heart.)

And God listens to Moses and agrees to remove Miriam’s leprosy—after seven days outside the camp. 

We live with the consequences of our indiscretions.

But Miriam’s response? Nothing. Nada. Silence. Don’t you know Miriam never made that mistake again? What a painful life lesson to learn:

Keep your mouth shut when you’re triggered!

Mouth

Who’s Really the Teacher?

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions

From my 2010 Journal. This morning I was teaching the story of David and Saul to my Grade 3 Sunday school class. Wanting to illustrate the subject of jealousy, I began the lesson by asking the children to look at each other’s eyes and tell me what color they were. We had 5 children with brown eyes, and 3 who had blue. Next, I told them that I had a special gift for each of the blue-eyed children:  a one-dollar gift certificate to McDonald’s. I instructed the brown eyes to clap and applaud for them. And then I paused, waited, watching for their response. I asked the brown-eyes how they felt about their classmates’ gift. One said she felt “left out.” Another said, “sad,” and another “unfair.” They all admitted to feeling jealous.ice cream

And then it happened. Little blue-eyed Ethan stood up and walked over to brown-eyed Holly (who had made a decision just this week to follow Jesus) and gave her his gift certificate. I praised him and then immediately handed him a replacement.

Next I told them the story of when handsome, beautiful-eyed, strong, courageous, musically-gifted David was anointed king (not because of his outward appearance, but because of his heart for God), about his brothers’ jealousy, about his slaying of Goliath, and Saul’s subsequent love and admiration for him. And then how the women sang “Saul has killed his thousands, but David his tens of thousands” and how Saul’s admiration turned to jealousy, to hatred, and eventually to attempted murder.

We discussed what things made 3rd graders jealous (toys, talents, privileges), and how jealousy can lead to bad things. We talked about how God gives each of us gifts—not for the purpose of self-glory, but to be used for Him and given away.

In conclusion, I instructed the other two blue-eyes to hand their gifts to two of the brown-eyes. Not fair? Oh no! Because when we give our gifts away to minister to others, God blesses us in return. And I handed each of the blue eyes a replacement. Once the point was made, I made sure each child had a gift certificate.

I told the children the gift was theirs to use as they wished. They could spend it on themselves, or they could give it away to bless someone else. It was their choice.

Brown-eyed Chandler said he was going to give his to his brother. Blue-eyed Ethan said, “I wish I could rip mine in half so both my brother and I could use it!” Melina observed that Ethan had given his away twice, and she tried to hand her coupon to him, but he declined. “It’s okay. You keep it,” he said. And then his creative solution: “I know! I’ll spend it on ice cream and I can share it with my brother that way!” Later, Melina sent me a photo of herself enjoying her ice cream.

I think the children taught me as much as I tried to teach them that day!

 

I’m a One-Talent Gal

Posted on by under Emotions, God, Inner Healing, Peace, Scripture

From my 2007 Journal. There’s a parable in Luke 19 that has always bothered me. A man goes on a journey and entrusts five talents to one of his servants and expects him to double the gift. He gives two talents to another and expects him to double that, and one talent to the third, “each according to his ability.” Of course the punchline of the parable has to do with the one-talent guy burying his money instead of investing it. But my mind goes to the amount of the gift given in the first place. It seems unfair somehow. I personally don’t want the responsibility of doing the work to multiply five talents, but I’d like to receive the reward for doing so! But you can’t have the one without the other.

I have this feeling that I’m one of the one-talent recipients and I better make the most of it. Yet somehow I equate value or worth with the fact that I’ve only been given one. Why?

AwardI think it goes back to boarding school, Grade 9. I don’t recall anymore what all the qualifications were, but the most coveted award for the end of the school year was “Best, All-round Girl/Boy Award.” I’m sitting on pins and needles waiting for the names to be called out. I want it so bad I can taste it. But when I’m given the award, I have mixed emotions. My pride (God forgive me) steps up to the plate and says I deserve it.

On the other hand, I see the shock and disapproval on someone’s face and I feel like a fake—apparently she didn’t think I deserved the award. I knew I was NOT the most talented, nor was I the most gracious. I was stuck up and prideful. I felt like I had hoodwinked the staff who had voted for me, but my peers knew better. That award belonged to someone else who was more talented than I and who certainly had a better attitude. I felt exposed, naked, ashamed. But I held my head up high and marched to the front of the auditorium to receive that precious little piece of metal.

I have long since repented of my pride, and God has covered me with His righteousness, but I still have to address the thought that I may have only been given one talent. Am I willing to accept God’s gift, no matter how small or how large and be faithful to serve Him with it? Today my answer is YES!

How many talents do you believe God has given you and why? And is it prideful to admit you have more than one?

Bless Her Heart

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions

Scott and I just returned from a visit to Vancouver, BC, for his 50th high school graduation reunion. It was here that he lived, off and on, throughout his childhood with his spinster aunt and grandmother (may they rest in peace). Scott’s Aunt Eileen stories are legendary in our family. I recorded this one at the end of a visit in September, 2007.

DIGITAL CAMERAI’ve done pretty well, I think, here with Eileen, but there’s no pleasing her unless you do it her way, step by step. She controls your every move—imperiously. I wonder what her past holds that keeps her so tightly wound up all the time?

There’s a union strike in the city here that has shut down garbage removal, parks, golf courses, and the library. So every scrap of paper, every piece of garbage has to be carefully and deliberately disposed of. She has a system for everything: five different places to store five different kinds of plastic bags—each for a different size and purpose. And woe betide the person who reaches for the wrong bag and uses it for a different purpose than her intention! And one is expected to keep the information all straight after the first instruction—which can change at times, by the way!

Bless her heart (to use a Southern catch-all phrase), she recognizes that she’s crotchety but doesn’t know how to change. [At a later visit, she admitted her regret that she was being so difficult.] Since we’ve been here, we’ve been told what to do and then instructed how in the following areas:

  • Make my bed (how to align the stripes, when to wash the sheets)
  • When to open the blinds in my bedroom (right after making the bed)
  • How to wash the dishes (fill the sink, use the drainer)
  • Prune the flowers, rake the garden (for this one I actually did need instructions)
  • Where to drive, where to park (poor Scott)
  • When to sightsee and where
  • How to feed the cats and when
  • How to polish the silver (which cloth, what direction, how wet, how much)
  • Do a crossword puzzle (which one, when)
  • Eat (what time, how much [i.e. minuscule] – again, poor Scott)
  • How to dress (scarf worn a certain way, belt cinched just so)
  • What books to read from her shelf (sorry, not my taste)
  • Water the lawn (let out the hose inch by inch until it suits her)
  • Prepare the corn on the cob (shuck top down, all at once, boil exactly 6 minutes)
  • Eat corn on the cob (from left to right in rows. Seriously!)

sewing-needle-thread-mend-eye-of-needle-39548Yesterday she asked me to sew a button on a coat that she’d altered (she was most proud of her sewing prowess). We almost came to blows over how to perform this simple task. I started to sew it on with double thread so as to save a knot on the underside, but she insisted it must be a single thread and never mind if it had a knot. (Scott says this is the closest he’s seen me to losing it!)

I’m reminded of Joyce Landorf’s books entitled Irregular People (1982) and Balcony People (1989). Balcony People are in the “balcony” of your life, cheering you on, energizing you with their affirmation. Irregular People are in your “basement” doing exactly the opposite—crushing your spirit with their emotional abuse.

[I must interject here that, in spite of Aunt Eileen’s “basement” responses, she was also legendary for her generosity, her extremely high IQ (she did the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzles in record time), and her ability to encourage her proteges on to excellence. She was an author and internationally-renowned social worker with blind children. The methods she developed many years ago are still in practice today.]

After that little altercation with the sewing, I determined to back off . . . to not be so bold in standing up to her. It’s just not worth it. Not for my sake, mind you. I would have no trouble standing up to her if I didn’t care about her. But why cause her undue stress or distress at this elderly stage in her life? She’s never going to change.

Bless my heart!

Who is your Irregular Person and how do you handle the situation?

On Clothing

Posted on by under Emotions

pexels-photo-296881

From my 2007 Journal. I dreamt* last night that I couldn’t decide what to wear. One thing was too hot, another too cold, and another was out of date. Agony! If I choose the wrong one, I’ll suffer. Too hot, too cold, uncomfortable, self-conscious.

I loathe clothes shopping. I have a hard time finding something that fits, and even when I do, I can’t seem to make up my mind if I really want it or need it. More often than not, I’ll just walk out of the store empty-handed. That’s why I invite a daughter or a friend to come with me and give their expert opinion. But even then, I may return an item after trying it on at home.

Somewhere there’s a balance between the outward trappings of style, comfort, available resources, and cultural sensitivity versus inner beauty. Does it please God more to spend huge amounts of time on the outward appearance or to ignore it altogether? To dress so as not to draw attention to oneself or to dress with flair and self-expression? Some have more fashion sense than others (sadly I’m not one of them). It just isn’t that important to me—that is, until someone makes a negative comment. I enjoy seeing someone all dressed up, but I don’t want to be that person. I prefer sweatpants and t-shirt comfort.

Here’s my order of priority: #1 Modesty #2 Comfort #3 Budget #4 Appropriate for the occasion. #5 Fashion. Don’t judge me, girls; it is what it is, and it’s harder to change the older I get.

It’s interesting to me how others reverse these values. I’d love to do a study on this. What order we rank these items, I suppose, depends on personality or temperament, cultural norms, giftedness, spirituality, budget, woundedness, and our value system. Any other factors you can think of?

What’s your order and why?

*Note: My spellcheck didn’t acknowledge the word dreamt, and so I had to look it up. The TCK syndrome strikes again. Apparently that’s the preferred British spelling with which I grew up. You learn something new every day!