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.

Photo by Vero Lova on Pexels.com

So Many Relationships

Posted on by under Choices

Journal 2018

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.

What’s your metaphor for relationships?

Leaders Who Fall

Posted on by under Choices

Journal 2018

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?

Woman sitting in church with rosary beads next to framed photo and lit candle
AI-generated

Lessons from Hebrews

Posted on by under God, Scripture

Journal 2018

It’s a little disturbing to me to see how the author of Hebrews glibly quotes the Old Testament out of context.

  • If 1:5 refers to II Samuel 7:14, the author is misquoting, I will be his father, and he will be my son. (NIV)

In the Samuel context, the next statement says, “when he commits iniquity, I will correct him.” This obviously refers to Solomon, not to the Messiah. So how can the author of Hebrews apply it to Christ?

  • The statement He makes his angels spirits, and his servants flames of fire (1:7) seems to be quoting Psalm 104:4. But in that context, there is no reference to angels. In fact, in that Psalm every reference is to things in nature, and Hebrews seems to do violence to the text to make it refer to angels.
Armored female warrior with flaming wings flying over mountains at sunset
AI-generated

Now, I admit I’m no Hebrew scholar, but this is how it appears to me. Is there an overlay of truth, a phrase with hidden meaning in the text? I’m confused. Either the scriptures are inspired or they are not. Either the author of Hebrews stretches and misquotes scripture, or he doesn’t.

After reading numerous commentaries, I see I’m not the only one who has questioned these passages. But if we believe the Scriptures are accurate and inspired, there must be a logical explanation. Since the author uses these quotes without further argument or commentary, it is assumed that the readers understood and agreed with his application of the phrases referring to the Messiah and to the angels. The overall conclusion of Hebrews is that Christ is superior to men and angels no matter what arguments or quotations the author uses, and that is the important matter here.

On September 20, I listened to Michael Rydelnik on “Chris Fabry Live,” Rydelnik believes the entire Psalter is a messianic book arranged deliberately in a certain order. For example, Psalms 22 and 24 are clearly Messianic. My God, My God . . . they pierced my hands and feet . . . Who can stand in his holy place? He who has clean hands … the King of glory.

Sandwiched in between the two is the oft-quoted Psalm 23, which Rydelnik says is another messianic Psalm regarding the death and resurrection of Christ. We can certainly gain comfort from this Psalm while “in the valley of the shadow of death” and can certainly find application to our personal lives, but it primarily gives us a glimpse into the Messiah’s experience. Rydelnik says the ancients understood the messianic nature and subject of the Psalms. So perhaps the author of Hebrews draws from that matrix and viewpoint.

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.

Photo by Ian Taylor on Pexels.com

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.