R & R

Something is seriously wrong with my "internal clock" this week.  No, not my biological clock... my internal clock (thank you very much).  Ever since I stayed up til 2am making pies and deviled eggs, followed by a 6am turkey-gutting-"Ew-ew-ew-ewwww" fest, I can't seem to get my sleeps back on track.  Why am I telling you all of this?  Well, for one, so you don't think I'm crazy for writing a 3:16...make that 3:17am, blog.  Reason #2?  I guess the less sleep I get, the more I recognize the value of a little "R & R."

We've been talking about this idea of R & R in our addictions group recently, but not the kind you're thinking (or I'm wishing I could get right now).  I'm talking about the R & R of Forgiveness.  Sometime last year, one of my students was talking with me about the challenge of forgiveness in her life.  She told me that she was "trying" to forgive, but she felt like a failure.  Brilliantly, I asked her why (yes, I have pretty mad counseling skills...it takes a genius:)  She answered by telling me how people keep encouraging her to, "forgive and forget."  She said "I'm working on the forgiveness part, I really am, but I just can't seem to make myself forget."

Immediately I added "Forgive & Forget" to my list of ridiculous, insensitive cliches.

This student and I began to talk about the idea of "forgive and forget."  We talked about how it's ridiculous.  It's inhumane.  It's illogical.  And, unless you have amensia, virutally impossible.  I understand the principle behind the thought, "forgive and forget"; at least I think I do.  I understand that we're talking about not reliving the past, harboring bitterness or ill will toward others, or, as we also love to say, "Let go and let God."  (Sounds lovely...still feels crappy).

Together, we wondered, does not forgetting mean I haven't forgiven?  Days beyond our conversation, I chatted over this issue with God.  I thought about how we like to say that God "forgets" our sins, but I wondered how that could be possible when God knows everything.  Can God get amnesia?  I began to think that maybe God doesn't forget our sins - maybe He remembers them - entirely, thoroughly, completely - yet chooses to forgive.  Maybe this is the great miracle of all miracles, the gift of all gifts - that He still remembers, but still forgives.  Through our talks, what grew in my heart was this:

There can be no forgiveness without remembrance. 

Without remembrance, there would be no reason to forgive. 

I release you from the guilt of not forgetting. 

If you cannot forgive and forget, then remember and release.

R & R... Remember and Release.

Together, with my addictions group, we're practicing this new habit of remembering and releasing.  For a week we all walked around with a small bottle of bubbles in our pockets.  Any time we were challenged with a memory we must forgive, we found a private place and pulled out our bubbles.  We pulled the wand from the container and looked at it.  We looked at it and remembered the offense, and then instead of cramming it back into the bottle, to harbor and carry it with us everywhere we go, we chose to release it.  We chose to breathe out bitterness, regret, anger and grief.  We chose to let it go.  We chose to forgive.  We chose to release.

I think sometimes we are waiting for apologies or retribution before we choose to forgive.  This is far from Christ.  Jesus received no apology before choosing to cry, "Father, forgive them..."  I find it quite lovely actually, that He forgave, He drank the sour wine offered to Him (finishing the 'cup' perhaps?), said "It is finished," and breathed His last.  Breathe... release.    

Nope, it's not that easy.  It's not always as easy as "forgive and forget" or "let go, let God," or even that one profound moment when you wrote "that name" on a piece of paper, then tore it up or burned it as a sign of forgiveness.  Profound moment, yes.  Do you magically forget the offense after that?  No. 

 But it is possible to still remember, yet choose to release.  Here is the great sacrifice, the sweet surrender, the "worshipper the Father is seeking" - the one who, broken and bullied, whispers in prayer with each aching memory, "Father, I surrender this to You..."  Maybe forgiveness will not happen in one shiny moment, but in recurring, bleeding moments of release - breathing prayers day in, day out, as images flood back to memory - choosing to forgive, choosing to release. 

If you're weighed down, groggy in the fog of unforgiveness, I would like to suggest that you release yourself from the guilt of "forgive and forget."  Own your circumstance, affirm your pain, remember it well and choose to release.

I'm sure we could all use some good R & R.


*(Please forgive all of my parentheses.  This is what happens when I don't get much sleep.  I have 5 internal dialogues going at once).

We Are The Hands

Ok, I usually write frilly, faith-filled, TMI kind of journalings about Jesus and me and life.  I'll get back to that in the next blog, but for now, bear with me.  I love you, America, but these gloves are coming off...

Just read an article about Disney laying off on princess movies for an undetermined period of time, because "boys think they're icky."  Ok, I can roll with that.  I love me some Disney, but I can handle a hold on princess stories for a bit.  I get it - they're too girly, they awaken unrealistic expectations about life and love, and on and on.  I get it.  But these kids don't get that.  Sure, one day, they'll understand that love is more than a magic glance across a room, or a prince who rescues you from a tower.  Unfortunately, maybe they'll meet Prince Charming and he'll smash their hearts into a million pieces.  But they'll also find that just like in these fairytales, faith prevails.  There is something sweet and yes, even magical, in the childlike naivete of faith, of believing that dreams can come true, that within every girl is a princess and she is worth more than meets the eye.

Today I read this statement from a media critic regarding Disney's decision to hold off on Princess films: "By the time they're 5 or 6, [girls are] not interested in being princesses. They're interested in being hot, in being cool. Clearly, they see this is what society values."  (REALLY?!)

And we wonder why the sex trade is thriving.  Not the same thing?  What if, one small decision after another - ie, one song, one music video, one magazine cover, one billboard, one store advertisement, one lyric after another, after another, after another... we're demoralizing ourselves.  What if, in essence, we are the perpetrators?  We are the consumers.  We are the traffickers.  We traffick violence and rape by consuming every piece of media - music, film, internet or print - that perpetrates this sort of ideology and atmosphere in our world: 

Be hot.  It's all about the hotness. 

When you awaken a thirst within a man, do not be surprised when he drinks. 

When you arouse a hunger in a man, do not be shocked when he eats. 

When you create a culture where 'hotness' is all that matters,

do not be angry at the monster who devours it.

Be angry at the hands that built it.

I'm afraid in many ways, we are those hands.

Thankfully, all hope is not lost...

What if this wasn't what society valued?  I realize, this sounds impossible, 'old-fashioned,' and maybe even naive, but "I have a dream..."  I have a dream that human kind would be allowed to still dream and believe, like a child.  I have a dream that movies could still be funny without being rated R.  I have a dream that upholding a standard of virtue would not be cheaply dismissed as "too conservative," "out of touch," or "super-spiritual."  I have a dream that parents would stand up to their children and stand up for their children - because they love and protect the prince and princess within.  I have a dream that 5 or 6 year olds would never be described again with words like "hot" or "cool."  I have a dream that children would be encouraged to be children again.  That the 'legal' age among society for becoming an adult would be reserved for, yes...the adults.  I have a dream that children would have more to look up to than any adolescent boy or girl with a microphone and good hair.  I have a dream that the grown ups would grow up - that they would father and mother well.  I have a dream where the princes and princesses reign.

I love good music of all kinds.  I enjoy TV and movies of pretty much any genre.  And honestly, I kind of hate the terms "Christian music" and "secular music."  I know there is truth to be found in both (Philippians 4:8 is a great measuring rod for what is healthy or not).  I do not believe we should retreat in fear, but to live our faith.  When there is no longer a line in the sand, we will become what we hate.  Satan's sneaky, a worthy adversary indeed.  *If you are already dismissing this because I just included "Satan" and "media" in the same note, you might want to take some time to read the ever-insightful Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. 

The time for awakening has passed.  We are in need of resurrection.

Long live the princes.  Long live the princesses.  Long live The King.

Lessons in Loss: "There's a Word for That"

It has been one week since I lost my first TC student.  For days, people kept calling, texting, messaging and commenting: "How are you doing?"  "Are you ok?"  "Is there anything I can do?" and it meant the world to me.  It was comforting that they did not avoid me just because they didn't know what to say or do to make me feel better.  They entered into the discomfort with me and patiently let me be sad, angry, frustrated or whatever else I felt.  They made it ok for me to be wherever I 'was' that day, and they gave me the gift of being allowed to walk through pain, rather than around it.  They understood that in addition to losing someone I care about, many questions and doubts would follow for me, and their simple gestures of love and support carried me for days as I was reminded:

I am not alone.

What I am feeling matters.

I am allowed to go through this.

It is good for me to feel, process and experience all that is in this moment...

A few weeks ago, my pastor sent me a song by Kathryn Scott ("We Still Believe").  Neither of us knew when he first sent that song how I'd be tested to live it before I could sing it.  The day after I find out we lost "E," I pulled out this song and started learning it for church.  I had heard the words of the chorus, but not listened much to the verses.  It begins:

From the thankful heart to the battle scarred

From the comforted to those who grieve...

"To those who grieve..."  Singing alone in my room that night, I finally broke.  I had been speechless, unable to answer the "Are you ok's" and "How are you doing's" from all my friends and family.  I was in a state of emotional shock.  The only response I could muster ("I will be ok.  Thank you for your prayers and support") felt cheap, falling short of the weight of this moment.  I'd been telling myself (unintentionally), "Get up, Tara.  Get up.  You're stronger than this.  You need to be strong.  Your girls need you to be at your best.  It's ok to be sad, but you need to stop being so emotional.  Pick up and move on."  But nothing inside of me was ready to just "pick up and move on."  There was a knot in my throat the size of Texas, a sinking, empty feeling in my stomach, and the constant worry over my other 'prodigal daughters.'  There were swirling doubts about the worth of my ministry, about the sincerity (or lack thereof) of my current students, and the worst wound of all - those 'Job' questions drowning the buoyancy of my faith.  So "pick up and move on" wasn't quite working for me.  

I needed to feel.  I needed to experience the horrible rot and stench of every question, doubt, and re-opened wound in my soul.  I needed to let myself think.  I needed to experience this.  I needed to water the flowers of a frustrated faith, struggling to break through the soil of sorrow.

Then I saw it: "To those who grieve..."  

GRIEVE.

The word itself seemed to thrust itself off a barren chord chart, throwing its arms around my bleeding heart.  "To those who grieve.  To those who grieve.  To those who... GRIEVE."

I had been wondering, "What is my problem?   Why am I so handicapped by this?  Why do I feel this knot in my throat is never going to go away?  Why do I feel like I'm suffocating inside, like the very air I breathe has turned to smog and ash?  Why can't I just shake it off?"

I sang "To those who grieve," and a voice spoke in my heart: "There's a word for it.  What you're feeling, Tara, there's a word for that.  It's definable, it's recognizable, it's affirmed in that there is a word for it, and that word is grief.  You are allowed to grieve - you are right to grieve.  So grieve.  Grieve with the same amount of guts and passion with which you give every other day.  Grieve like it hurts.  Grieve like it matters.  Grieve, though you are hurting, like you still believe.  Don't miss the gift of this regrettable experience by failing to grieve."

In that sentence, in that word, I found comfort knowing there is a word for what I am feeling.  I guess as much as I was hurting and frustrated, I needed some sort of validation that what I was going through was ok.  That it didn't mean I was losing my mind or my faith, just that I was grieving - and I was right to grieve.  

I don't always understand the power of our words, but a word spoken (or sometimes withheld) at just the right time can release enormous healing.  As people struggle around us, maybe they do not need our answers or solutions so much as they need to be affirmed and validated in their pain.  Maybe they need to know they are allowed to experience the heights and the depths of this life with gore and with grace; that although at times life may be ugly and tragic, there is still hope in the pain, and experiencing the pain does not diminish the power of hope.

A week after losing "E," I'm thankful for the companionship of family and friends through the valley of the shadow of death.  I'm thankful that they raised their voice, extended their hands, offered their hope when mine was weak.  I'm thankful they allowed me to be where I 'was,' to not force me past the moment with pat answers, cliches or empty words.  I'm thankful for the hugs, the texts, the messages, the calls and talks that all reminded me I am not alone, I am understood, and there will be more than this.  I'm thankful for a good song at just the right time, and the gift of a soul that, by grace, still sings in sorrow: "I still believe."

The Day I Lost a Student

For the past seven years, I have dreaded the day I might find out one of my students overdosed.  But the dreaded day has arrived.  It did not have to; it crept, deceitfully, upon a young girl who should not be gone from us today.

I spent the earlier portion of this day talking with five classes of middle school students about issues like addiction, self-harm and eating disorders.  It was a beautiful, redemptive day.  We talked openly about pain, loneliness, and the desire within all of us to know that we matter, we belong.  I left each of those classes telling them, "If you are struggling, ask for help.  You are not alone."  

Then I came home to find out that one of my former students died yesterday of an apparent overdose.

Now I sit here wondering, again, if any of this even matters at all.  Is anyone even listening?  Does anyone really care?  Are we frantically pumping at hearts that simply do not want to live?

I don't think so.

I still believe that, although people hurt, they want to heal.  Although people fight, they want to be heard.  Although people run away, close the door and reject help - they want to be loved.  I tell my girls all of the time that I wish there was a switch I could flip in their hearts to 'make' them care.  But there's not.  I can't 'make' life happen for anyone.  I can't make love come alive.  I can't make someone want to change.  

But I can love.

I can listen.

I can be present.

I can see you.

I can remind you - over and over and over again - that you matter, and there is more than this.  

I can tell you that God loves you, relentlessly and compassionately - that He is still with you.  

He loves you, as you are, not as you should be.

Today I'm grieving.  I'm discouraged and saddened.  I'm praying for grace and comfort for a grieving family that has lost their beautiful daughter and friend.  

Today I'm still believing.  I'm still believing that it is worth it to try.  It is worth it to love.  It is worth it to speak up.  It is worth it to get involved, instead of ignore or avoid issues that make us feel uncomfortable.    It is worth it to keep believing the best in others, "right up to the end."

Today, if you are struggling, ask for help.  You are not alone.

E... We love you.  

I am very sad that you are no longer with us.  

I am thankful for the year of life we shared, laughing, crying and growing together.  

You were a lovely girl, inside and out, and you will be greatly missed.