Make the Leap

Today someone wrote me a letter.  In the fairly recent past, this person (who shall remain nameless) wronged me in a very painful way.  And then disappeared.  But in a renewal of communication, via a short letter, they made the following statement:

"We all have our faults, but I'm not a bad person." 

This got me thinking, a la Pooh Bear.

I guess it made me wonder, "Well, what, exactly, would it take to make someone a bad person?"  Or, perhaps the inverse is really more to the point.  What does it take to make a good person?  Although someone may not exactly be a bad person, does that make them a good person? Our definitions can get muddled, because it's easier to think in negatives.  The behavior in question was quite wrong, morally and ethically.  In fact, it was really the cherry on top of a mountain of morally bankrupt choices.  But rather than look in the mirror and ask, "Am I a good person?"  It's easier to slide on by and keep telling one's self, "Well, I'm not exactly a bad person."

I guess I'm just struck today by the fact that there really is a wide gulf between a truly good person, and a truly bad person.   There's a big leap between good and bad; a gaping chasm of middle ground.

All this made me ask myself, "In what ways do I do the same thing?" because we all have to decide whether we want to make the leap to being a "good person."  It doesn't happen by accident.  It's way too easy to fall down the chasm of middle-ness; un-good and un-bad.  I see this clearly, among people of all faiths, including people in the Christian church.

I don't want to fall into that middle place.  I want to make the leap.  In a way, as a Christian who believes in original sin (hell, as a parent who has seen it first-hand!) I guess I assume we all start out on the "bad" side of the equation, and my life experience seems to bear that out!  I just really want to make sure I make the leap, and get over to the other side.  (Don't get me wrong, I know I need help, from Christ and others.)  But I think all of us can find ourselves slipping into the cleft that whispers, "You know, you're not really all that bad...."

"So, because you are lukewarm--neither hot nor cold--I am about to spit you out of my mouth." -Revelation 3:16

Waves

Over the years, things seem to come in waves. 

It's great, if it's waves of good things: friends having babies, people socializing with you, good communion with God.  It's tough, if it's waves of bad things: kids getting sick or injured, me losing my temper, getting in a slump of running late.  It's a crap shoot, when it comes to my emotions; they seem come in waves, too.  I'll have a good week, where I feel like I "know where I'm going" with life, and then I'll have a really "off" week, where I feel like I'm back at square one again.  I guess what I'm trying to describe is really just the "three steps forward and two steps back" concept. 

Last month, I felt excited because I turned some corners on keeping my house under control.  And when I say "under control" I really mean it.  I don't mean some fake, "Oh, I'm so sorry I didn't pick up before you came over.  Let me just clear my coffee mug off the otherwise pristine coffee table" overachiever perfectionist nonsense.  No, I mean not getting reported to the health department.  I've struggled with orderliness my entire life.  I'm "one of those people" who (without God's help and the 12 steps) you could see on Hoarders someday.  When I was growing up, my parents had to finally make a rule that (get this) I wasn't allowed to sleep on the couch any more.  Why?  Because my room would get so messy that there was no place for me to sleep.  Not even on the bed.  And so I'd haul my tookus down to the couch, and sleep there for months on end.  That's always kind of been my solution to the paralysis I feel when I have to organize and deal with stuff.  Here's me:

So, anyway, house keeping has never been my forte, and I'm constantly looking for signs of improvement on my part.  Well, back to my feelings of having "turned a corner."  It was all an illusion, because I was about to get hit with a "wave" that I'd already experienced once in my life as a mother, and knew to dread like no other.  It is summed up by two words that can (or should) strike terror into the heart of any housewife; two words that shouldn't be naively mistaken as merely "yukky," but must given their full respect like unto a Hiroshima-Nagasaki bomb attack: 

Head Lice.

The remedy for head lice used to be simple: dump a bunch of chemical poison on your kids' heads, shampoo it out, vacuum a little, wash their bedding, and you're good to go.  NOT ANY MORE!  The lil' buggers have become resistant to all the poisons, and they are as hard to get rid of as a pack of visiting in-laws.  The "new" remedy involves six weeks (SIX WEEKS!) of cleaning, washing, combing, shampooing, oiling, laundry, combing, cleaning, washing, COMBING, nit picking, washing, cleaning, laundry, and....well....you get it.  (And don't even get me started on all the "home" and "natural" remedies.  We've tried them ALL!)

And, honestly, it's left me feeling a WEE bit exhausted.  Each time I think I've gotten rid of the infestation, there's another wave.  You can't ask anyone for help.  You can't even hire a babysitter to come over!  You are a family of lepers, and there's no getting around it.  It's been over a month since we discovered the lice, and I think we may *finally* be beating it, but honestly, it may just be the calm before I get hit with yet another wave.

source



Lucky. Blessed. Something like that.

Last night my beloved father told me that after 35+ years of marriage to my spunky and delightful mother (and still being in love!) that rather than tout the wisdom of his choice of my mom as his bride, he has finally concluded that he was incredibly lucky.  Married at age 22; he hardly knew what he was doing.

"I've never bought a lottery ticket in my entire life," he said.  "But when I look at your mother, I realize I'm so lucky, I should have been a lottery-ticket-buying man.  In fact, I'm so struck by how lucky I got, I just might go out and buy my first one tomorrow."

For those of us who don't feel quite so lucky, it's still a relief to hear that all the "rightness" of a match that works and all the "wrongness" of a match that fails might not have been completely within any one person's control, as much as we may be inclined to think.  Don't get me wrong, we all make choices.  Some of them are good, and some not so good.  And we do reap what we sow.  But there are factors we can't control, like whether the rain falls on the seeds that we've so carefully planted in the ground.  It's easy to take too much credit sometimes; either for things that go incredibly well, or incredibly poorly.

This brings to mind the wisdom of Charlotte, from Pride and Prejudice

"I wish [her] success with all my heart; and if she were married to him to-morrow, I should think she had as good a chance of happiness as if she were to be studying his character for a twelvemonth. Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If the dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other, or ever so similar before-hand, it does not advance their felicity in the least. They always contrive to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of vexation; and it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life.''

Call it luck.  Call it chance.  Call it God.  Call it what you will.  But I'm learning that there's more to success or failure than doing everything "right."

"When God closes one door, he opens another, but the wait in the hall is a b*tch. As far as I can tell, that’s divorce in a nutshell."

-Rachel Gladstone, Excerpted from The Petty Chronicles

Have you read The Petty Chronicles?  If you're going through a separation, divorce, or even difficult time in your marriage, and you need a humorous read, in very short installments, this may just be your cup of tea.  It's not all G rated, but then, neither is divorce.  (Start on installment #1, and then search for each "new" episode as you progress along. I'm only up to installment #14, but it's been a cathartic read so far.)

After all that....but before anything else

It's been a tough month around here.  There's been drama.  And I have felt a heaviness.  The initial freedom of casting off from the moorings has given way to a different sort of weight.  A weight of all the responsibility without breaks: Single Motherhood.  Maybe even a little depression.  And a good dose of ugliness on the part of certain people, including, sometimes, myself.

Admittedly, I've also hit busyness.  Not "business."  No, busy-ness; the kind of "busy" that doesn't stop.  It's like, "The holidays are over, now get back to the insane-busy schedule of having four children."  Since the family kinda fell apart just before the holidays, nothing was "normal."  But I suddenly realized last night that we only have one unscheduled night a week now--and even that's about to go away, once the spring sports hit.  I guess that's "normal."  But I'm hating normal.  I'm hankering for an early midlife crisis (Hey, I'm only 34, so I've been informed it's "too early" for a real one!) where I don't run the suburban rat race.

So as the busyness has increased, and people observe that we appear to be "back to normal," I'm again encountering the dreaded "How are you?" question.   But I, frankly, feel a little "stuck."  Elizabeth Corcoran posted an essay about not knowing how to answer the question, "How are you?" and I found I resonated with her thoughts.  In my comments, I mentioned that what I really feel like saying is something like,

"Well, everything looks OK on the outside, but it's not.  So, I'd hate to say, 'Great!' Because I'm not! But I can't very well say, 'Well, I'm past that stage where I literally couldn't sleep at night; where I was on the verge of panic attacks; where I couldn't see a road ahead; where I couldn't feel the sunshine. Yeah. I'm a bit past all that now, most days, at least.  Now, I'm pretty much in a phase called--'After all that, but before anything else.'  That's how I am."

Sunday Serenity: Hope

Hope is a funny thing, isn't it?  It's usually such a good word.  But it's a real be-yotch when you've been putting your hope in something that doesn't work out.  I mean, if you've really been putting your hope in it; in an all-your-eggs-in-one-basket sort of way.  The funny thing is, I rarely realize I'm doing that, until all my hope comes crashing down, and it hits me, "Uh, I had no Plan B."  That's when I know I've done it, but usually not before.

Now, I know that the problem isn't hope, in an of itself.  It's what I put my hope in.  And that's usually my own best-laid plans.  And those plans usually involve some variation of:

[Maximum Happiness + Minimum Pain = My Master Plan] 

It's usually followed up with some sort of prayer to sanctify it, such as, "Oh please! Oh, please! Oh, please, God!  Make this be Your plan!!!! And Thy will be done and all that too.  Amen."  If I was Catholic, I might throw some Holy Water in the direction of this "hope."  And then I'd call it a day, and go about my business. 

Until it doesn't work out.

Then, I go back to God and ask, "What happened?  Why did You mess up the plan we'd agreed upon?"  (Actually, usually I try to weasel my way into going back to bed and hiding under the covers, but that, thankfully, doesn't usually work out.)  And then, if I'm lucky, I might finally hear that still, small voice.  And I start to get an inkling of the fact that I've been putting my hope in something other than the right thing.  Actually, something other than the right person.  'Cause I know He doesn't let me down. 

My hope is built on nothing less,

Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
But wholly trust in Jesus’ Name.

Refrain:

On Christ the solid Rock I stand,
All other ground is sinking sand;
All other ground is sinking sand.

When darkness seems to hide His face,
I rest on His unchanging grace.
In every high and stormy gale,
My anchor holds within the veil.

Refrain

His oath, His covenant, His blood,
Support me in the whelming flood.
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my Hope and Stay.

Refrain

When He shall come with trumpet sound,
Oh may I then in Him be found.
Dressed in His righteousness alone,
Faultless to stand before the throne.

On Christ the Solid Rock I Stand by Avalon

Hugs, Ruthie

Snort Laugh Saturday: Diary of a Dog - Diary of a Cat

EXCERPTS FROM A DOG'S DIARY
Day number 180
8:00 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
9:40 am - OH BOY! A WALK! MY FAVORITE!
10:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVORITE!
11:30 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
12:00 noon - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!
1:00 pm - OH BOY! THE YARD! MY FAVORITE!
4:00 pm - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!
5:00 PM - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
5:30 PM - OH BOY! MOM! MY FAVORITE!

Day number 181
8:00 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
9:40 am - OH BOY! A WALK! MY FAVORITE!
10:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVORITE!
11:30 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
12:00 noon - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!
1:00 pm - OH BOY! THE YARD! MY FAVORITE!
4:00 pm - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!
5:00 PM - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
5:30 PM - OH BOY! MOM! MY FAVORITE!

Day number 182
8:00 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
9:40 am - OH BOY! A WALK! MY FAVORITE!
10:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVORITE!
and so on.....and so on.....

EXCERPTS FROM A CAT'S DIARY
Day number 180
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while I am forced to eat dry cereal. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape, and the mild satisfaction I get from ruining the occasional piece of furniture. Tomorrow I may eat another houseplant.

Day number 181
Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded, must try this at the top of the stairs. In an attempt to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favorite chair ... must try this on their bed.

Day number 182
Decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body, in attempt to make them aware of what I am capable of, and to try to strike fear into their hearts. They only cooed and condescended about what a good little cat I was...Hmmm. Not working according to plan.

Day number 183
I am finally aware of how sadistic they are. For no good reason I was chosen for the water torture. This time however it included a burning foamy chemical called "shampoo." What sick minds could invent such a liquid. My only consolation is the piece of thumb still stuck between my teeth.

Day number 184
I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe snitches. The dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return. He is obviously a half-wit. The bird on the other hand has got to be an informant, and speaks with them regularly. I am certain he reports my every move. Due to his current placement in the metal room his safety is assured. But I can wait, it is only a matter of time...
____________________________________________________

Same environments, different attitudes, right?  Today, I heard Max Lucado read part of this on the radio.  He cracked me up, and reminded me that gratitude is all about attitude.  It's a choice.

Diary of a Dog - Diary of a Cat Adapted from here.