Friendship, Fight & Fallout

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Female relationship has been a very fragile place in my life for … well, always. Because of this I did not trust my instincts near enough. It wasn’t until 27 or 28 that I first started realizing how some of my friendships give insight into my  sense of worth.

From a young age, I developed a core belief that said you should never walk away from relationships. That to do so is selfish and immature. And there is some truth here because it certainly is easier and immature to throw away something messy and start over with someone new- a clean slate- rather than being vulnerable, risking more hurt or disappointment by being in a relationship with imperfect people. It’s easier to wash our hands and walk away, to look for the next best thing that makes us feel good than to keep plugging away with the one who has wounded you as well loved you. But it also robs us of depth and intimacy. It robs us of opportunities to see ourselves and the other in a new way. It robs us of the opportunity to forgive, to see our need for forgiveness and seek it. It robs us of joy in restored relationship.

I also developed a core belief that said if something was wrong in the relationship and the other person said or thought it was me than it must be.

About two years ago, I noticed a couple of patterns in my life:

1.) Because I have made my life here, without my family, I hoped and believed I had built and grown into a family system of friends. Two years ago, I finally realized they had their own sisters who were their actual family. It trumped the friendship. Blood is thicker than water. And that's okay. I just needed to realize it.

2.) If I stopped working tirelessly toward some of the friendships I have – in other words, if I stopped attending to the person’s needs and making them feel special and important and listened to, the friendships basically fell apart. More times than not, I would go through a small grieving at the loss of the friendship and what I thought it was but now realized it wasn’t. That’s probably too simple but anyway… I would sometimes get angry and have emotional conversations with them in my bathroom mirror. I would talk it out with Jason for weeks. Then, I would eventually let it go. I released the person from my expectations of them and my own needs in the friendship. I would protect my heart by backing away slowly, very slowly until there was enough room that I no longer felt vulnerable in my needs and how they were not meeting them or seeming to notice. I backed away without working through the process with the other.  Most of the time, I was content to receive them on the terms they came (which were also my terms) after my little grieving process. I accepted the friendship for what it was. I think I also realized that no matter how much legwork I put in, the result would always be the same.  At this point, they usually started noticing that I was not giving them all they were used to. This is when they started noticing and becoming upset with me. They started feeling their needs going unmet and resented me.  And then a vicious cycle began of me feeling obligated to engage on their terms, them feeling more happy because I was doing so and me feeling confused. I would hear the old tape in my head telling me that I was selfish and immature if I did not re-engage in ways they wanted. Their cold shoulder would trigger all of my childhood stuff to start working hard again to regain their love and approval. And on it would go.

Not a nice cycle.

These are beloved people I’m talking about. They are beautiful people and they are loving and witty and fun and selfish and they are wounded and they have their own stuff they don’t even see. Just like me. I love them and they love me. But they are also human. They aren’t perfect. Neither am I. The relationships won’t be perfect. I am okay with this now, these imperfect flawed relationships where feelings sometimes get hurt and expectations are in the wrong place.

But what is the point where I place my God-breathed worth and my heart above what other people want from me?  

I live my life "out loud" in some ways. I value authenticity and being real pretty much more than anything. People (me too!) tend to like this in others and in me. Sometimes people take advantage of this without sharing their own. Yet I continue to try. Am I foolish? I’ve been wondering lately. I’m not sure how to sort it out.

I have ever only walked away from 2 friendships when the person wanted something from me.

The first one was easy. My brother had just died and a girlhood friend (early teen years), who in hindsight I can see kept me as a secret friend from all of her “cool friends” because I was somewhat of an embarrassment wrote me a sympathy card. In the card she mentioned how we had really drifted over the years and she would like to be close to my family again. If I stand outside the moment as a mature 31 year old woman, I can see this as an honest expression of her compassion and longing. I can also see it as I did then as an insensitive effort to gain access to a front and centre tragedy. To be in the know. It’s this using me to be in the know that bothered me most.

The second one was about six or seven years ago. It was heart-breaking and messy with a woman who had befriended and been a support to me throughout my teen years. It came to light that she had done something horrific toward a child. I was asked by the child – now teen – to be a part of the process. I was ill for days. How could this woman I knew and loved do something so hideous? But I also knew the girl and knew she wasn’t lying. I flew to Kansas City to talk with my friend. To confront her with this violation of a vulnerable one and hear where her heart was. My heartsick self was a wreck. When I met with her, she did not deny it. She minimized it. She brushed it under the rug. As she made excuse after excuse throughout the conversation, I felt my heart fall. So I asked her, would she commit to taking steps to avoid putting other vulnerable girls at risk? The short answer was NO. She wanted to continue to live without consequences, without safeguards – real safeguards. So with much grief in my heart I told her that if she would not make a choice toward wellness for herself and safety for other young girls, I would not continue to participate in friendship with her. She chose. The friendship ended. I have no regrets about that situation. I will not be a part of unrepentant evil. 

Those two – those were simple in their own ways. They were hard too because I knew those people saw those rejections as my fault rather than their own behavior resulting in loss of friendship

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There is a tension here for me. As a Christian I am called to lay my life down, to put others before myself. I am also instructed to guard my heart – the wellspring of my life. Some days the way this should look is clear and sometimes its murky. God has given me an immense gift in the tenderness, empathy, compassion, discernment, vulnerability of my own heart. I am responsible to care for it in a way that honors what He has given me.

Over the years, I have fought for relationships. It’s not hard when things are smooth sailing. But in the muck and misunderstandings, I have fought for relationships that seem to be going down the tubes. I fight because I value people that have roots in my past and mine in theirs. I think they are worth working out. I believe it makes the friendships stronger, deeper. I fight because of those distorted core beliefs I learned as a kid. I fight because they are my people and I love them. I fight because I’m scared of being lonely. I fight because I fiercely believe in a faith-life that loves – even when it costs me something. I fight because I have known the power of restoration in broken friendships. I fight for so many reasons.

I’m kind of tired of fighting (I’m kind of tired in general these days but still…). J

Today, I want to choose my own heart. My own needs. I want to let myself rest and be. I want to see if the friendships matter as much to them as they have to me. I don’t know if this is right or wrong or if there is even a right or wrong in this. Still I’m wondering …  

Will they fight? Will they blame me? Will they put themselves in my shoes? Will we fight to keep our hearts open toward one another?  Will we allow each other to be human? Or will we go on pretending nothing is wrong and everything is normal when the emotional current that runs underneath the niceties is deep and charged.

I am reluctant. I want to jump into my old way. The only way I really know. The way that makes peace. The way that denies my own needs and hurts for the sake of friendship equilibrium. When is it a matter of taking my ball and playing somewhere else (petty and immature and guarded) and when is it okay to simply acknowledge it’s not my turn to fight?

What am I afraid of? That they will simply take their ball and play somewhere else? Maybe.

But I think it is more than this. After writing this post and leaving it for an hour, I realized why this issue has been so unsettling and painful for me of late. It is really the question of my whole life. I’ve been asking this question before I even knew it.

Will you love me even if I am not who you want me to be or who you think I should be?

Will you love me even when I don’t please you?

Will you love me, stay committed to me and to our relationship, when who I am is rubbing wrong with who you are?

Will you love both of us enough to be honest and to receive my honesty?

This, I think, is real love.

Maybe I can only attend to what is in my heart -  what I am doing.

Whether I am being honest with myself, for myself and for them.

Whether I am being honest with them, for them and for myself.

Whether my heart is guarded or open toward them.

I want to be patient and grounded. Not scurrying and afraid. I want to own what is mine and leave what isn't. I want to be courageous in vulnerability. I’ve had some opportunities to practice it lately. It’s H.A.R.D. It’s raw. It’s exciting. It is liberating. It’s also messy. Maybe it’s the perfect time to read the book that has been on my reading list for a bit. It's written by Brene Brown. She is an unpretentious vulnerability and shame guru. I am encouraged that there are people so much further down this journey of an authentic life.

I just checked my local Chapters. It’s in store. Getting my coat on. 

Learning to Love

Today, I was watering the plants and the kids were playing in the backyard. Most days, I think the lane behind our house is a godsend of privacy and space to my backyard that shelters and nurtures me. This day, the alley gave me a glimpse into ugliness in my heart.

Our neighborhood is one I never thought I would live in. In the arrogance and ignorance of my early 20s, I swore to grow my family in a neighborhood marked with diversity – at least color. In retrospect, I think I believed living in such a place meant it would be authentic rather than what I thought were the plastic, sheltered worlds of many of my friends who lived in the suburbs. I have grown to see, a part of me also felt like I didn’t belong anywhere else. 

I grew up in a neighborhood marked with struggle. Falling asleep to sirens or gunshots was common. I thought it didn’t bother me. But as with everything in life, it formed me. There were carefree days of building backyard forts with wood we salvaged from the junk pile behind our fence. Roller skating, bike-riding and walks to the local grocery store with my siblings and neighbor-friends, games of HORSE with my Dad. These are joys of my childhood. I was formed by these too. My street was a inner-city mix of black, white and Hispanic. Low-life, thug-life, mid-life and young-life all lived together there. 

I thought growing up there made me compassionate. It did.
I thought it made me aware that life is not always easy or perfect or insulated. It formed this in me too.
I thought it made me tough. But now I know it mostly made me afraid. 

I trained my body to run and not grow weary
I worked and I read how to raise a better family
I bought a house on the safe side of town because I could
As long as my life stays like this I’m good

These lyrics by Christa Wells catch me every time I hear them. 

I have two kids now. 
We couldn’t live in a more different neighborhood than I grew up in.
Jason and I are doing the best we know how to raise these kids to grow up well. And I feel relieved that I live on the ‘safe side of town’. Gone is my adamant determination to expose my kids to that struggle.
I’ve wondered about this quite a bit, my change of heart…

Maybe it’s because I know now that life and hard places go together. If we’re lucky, they go together. My kids will know their own struggles in time. And part of me hopes they do, because I know this is what will really open their hearts toward the Only Place they will know FULL LIFE. 
And maybe I also just like the feeling of easy, peaceful and plenty, even if it is plastic. 
I like the idea of sheltering them from pain, even if its an illusion.

The thought has crossed my mind that my kids might become the kind of kids I mocked inside myself when I was a kid because they were unaware of what I thought was the “real world.” Then I think, "a little snobby but whole?" I’ll take it. The truth is, I hope our kids can grow up with whole hearts that allow them to love and be loved and feel compelled to share Love. 

I am beginning to see it’s all the real world. The real world is here in my ‘perfect-seeming’ neighborhood just as it was in my old rundown and raw childhood street. You just have to look a little harder. It’s easier to not see the brokenness. To look away. Or worse, to turn your nose up at it. To think you’re better than “those people.” 

And this "being better" was in my heart when the black mark on my street marked up my lovely life. Just around the crescent (so mostly out of my sight), there is a house I’m pretty sure is involved with dealing drugs and maybe even some sexual exploitation (prostitution). When you’re 2 year old walks by and says, “What’s that smell?” It’s a helpful indicator. :) Today, while watering my perfectly planted garden, the drug house pit bulls were out in the alley and were trying to break down our back gate to get in. They were vicious. This was the second time in a week. I erupted. I stomped my stuck-up feet down the sidewalk and unluckily for her (and me), one of the girls was sitting on the porch. I gave her a piece of my mind about the dogs and the alley and safety and my kids. But behind my logical, protective-sounding words was pure ugliness. The viciousness of the dogs didn't hold a candle to my own.

My heart really held this: I am better than you. We’re all better than you. You don’t belong in this neighborhood. Get out! You are marring my safe and perfect little haven. Go somewhere else so I don’t have to see it. I don’t want to think about you and your pain and why you are probably bound to a pimp to sell yourself or what it must to do to you to live in this hell-hole of a house.

As I walked away from their porch, my adrenaline and superiority evaporated. I felt ashamed and brokenhearted that this ugly stuff still oozes out of my heart. I am grateful for the work of God in my life but sometimes it’s hard to see myself. I realized my responsible-sounding words were a cover for what was really in my heart. 

I am coming to know I am Beloved. I am also dust. My heart is learning that the heart of God loves me completely. And He loves everyone else just as completely. I mar the love of God for me and for others when I carry/allow that un-love in me. This hurts my heart that is being healed and made whole by Love.

Humbling. It’s something I am getting to know. Being humbled stings. Every.Single.Time. But in the end, I am always grateful. And so I walked back down the sidewalk … A LOT slower this time … Cara asked to come. And I agreed because I realized I will raise snobby kids who don’t see real life in their neighborhood if I don’t lead the way. I knocked hesitantly. When the girl opened the door, I took a deep breath and told her I was wrong and I was sorry and I asked her to forgive me. The asking for forgiveness was hard because somewhere in my heart, I still think I’m better, that I matter more. There is no other explanation for how I could treat her that way. Then I asked if I could speak to the guy who owns the dogs (did I not mention, I also gave him a piece of my mind?). Again, like pulling out teeth, I lowered my voice and told him I was wrong and offered an apology. A sincere one. One that was working to change my heart to see that me and them, we are the same: Made in the image of God with brokenness in our own unique places. I have been lucky. My life did not lead me where theirs has led them. And that has little to do with me. It is grace that I was not born into their life. Simply a gift of God that His love has found me. How will it ever find them as long as I’m carrying my superior, sinful chip around on my shoulder? We are the way God has chosen to work His love into this world. What were you thinking, Lord?  I am the way God has chosen to work His love into those in my small world, my street - me a sinner. O God, don’t let me be a stumbling block to people seeing Your high and wide, life-giving Love! 

What about you? Where/What are the places it's easier to look away - either from yourself or from brokenness around you? 

Scared of Sacrifice

"We can do no great things, only small things with great love." Mother Teresa

I’m not entirely sure why, but people who have little, sit very close to my heart. Insidemy heart, actually. I think about it a lot.

When I’m standing at my sink washing dishes with clean, easy water - I think about it.

When it's storming outside and I'm cuddled up with a blanket and heat and a fireplace - I think about it.When I fill a glass with fresh water from my ice-and-water dispensing fridge - I think about it.

When I plop down on at our neighborhood beach, I feel like it’s my safe zone from the barrage of bombs sometimes going off in my life – stress, kids, work, myself, fill in the blank. "Finally, some peace" I think in a first world kind of way. But often, the thought crosses my mind that some people have never known (external) peace. They live in constant vigilance of a real bomb that might knock down the walls of their house and wipe out their families or an exploding bus on their ride to work or school.

Standing in front of my fully-stocked fridge…

Making meals for my family and thinking of other mama’s who have nothing to feed their equally precious babies…

When I drive 10 minutes and take my kid to the doctor…

…I think about it. How crazy lucky and blessed I am.

When I write our sponsored-friend, Melody, I hesitate to write what is true about our life without seeming inconsiderate of hers. I basically don’t write her half because of this and half because I find it easier to send a cheque than to give of myself.

I want our kids to really know something about this. I say it to them already, gently reminding them that they were lucky to be born here…in Canada. I want them to know they did nothing to deserve it. It was a gift or random luck, I’m really not sure. What I am sure of is this: Because they were born with much, they must think about their responsibility to respond to the needs of those who were born with little.Because really, those who were born with little did nothing to deserve that either. I want to do this in a way that sparks passion, not creates a burden. I want them to know that it is a joy to have this privilege. This is becoming real in my own heart. And that's good because it starts with Jason and I and our example.

By Canadian standards, our life is good but not lavish. But to most of the world, we are wealthy. Still, at this stage of our life, it doesn’t exactly feel easy. The responsibilities of life and family make Jay and I feel that perhaps we should start searching for the infamous money tree. Especially when the washing machine breaks and our car decides it is D.O.N.E. and preschool fees are due… and on and on. I’m pretty sure you know what I’m talking about. 

I don’t usually have to remind myself these are first world problems. Sometimes, I have to remind myself these are first world problems. But this reality lives in my heart too. Not in a dark, black kind of way, but in a way that feels connected to our world – the joy and pain and of it. We belong to each other. But these are still my first world problems. And sometimes I get stuck in knowing what to do with them.

To be honest, I struggle to pray for these things. Not pray as in, “God-genie, please give me a new washing machine...or a new car.” I might be wrong, but I don’t really believe in praying like that. I don’t believe God is at my beck-and-call like a bellhop. I mean, pray as in take my tangled-up heart and these grey and muddied questions before the One who made and holds the world. I do believe He knows our needs but what do I need? I think I struggle with this because people all over the world are praying for food today. Or water…so they can live. Literally LIVE – as in STAY ALIVE. This puts my own “needs” into perspective. The washing machine – let me be honest, it feels like a need to me.  But the car – did I mention it is our second car? It doesn’t feel right to say we need it. Like it? want it? Yes. Convenient? Yes. Need it? Not so sure. How to balance all of this with the fact that I do live in North America and have North American needs? Is that even fair to say? See my confusion?!

So maybe I see a prayer about our car as something that I shouldn’t put too high on my list of prayers (or should I?) because I don’t really need it. Maybe I could transfer that prayer-energy to the foster kid in my friend’s class whose life looks like a hell-hole. Or my drug-dealing neighbor who has lost himself, even if he doesn’t know it. Or my own heart still needing so much-shaping to not hoard and have things at the cost of other human beings.

Honestly, I feel a little confused and scared of this growing longing in my heart. I feel a joy and compelling. It's all jumbled. I feel scared of making choices for our life that are not really socially acceptable. In our culture and in my heart too, it’s radical to think of living for something more than your own four walls or four people (or whatever your number). I’m talking about sacrifice. Not the pat myself on the back and return to my mostly self-centered way kind of giving. I’m talking about a way of living: Love that sacrifices. Love that gives up some things in response to the needs I see in my little world. I've seen it in others and I am wowed by it.

Love that really is barely an echo of the Love we’ve been given.

This growing conviction and longing make me nervous because it isn’t really culturally or socially acceptable to live like that. We I think there is something a little off or radical about people who think or live this way. It scares me. It scares me because I know what it feels like to not be acceptable, to feel like I don’t belong. For a lot of my life, I worked hard to be good enough, to be acceptable, likable. As a girl, I never felt I fit. My family was a weird hybrid of homeschooler. Other homeschoolers thought we were wild and my parents too permissive. My church (public school) friends thought we were sheltered and a little strange. They all lived in the suburbs, they thought I lived in the ghetto. In my teenage job, I was often the token white person. And even in my family, I felt I didn’t fit sometimes. I’ve wondered if I was born missing a layer of tough skin other people have. I’ve always been more emotionally vulnerable and sensitive. I embrace this beautiful part of myself now, but it made growing up hard at times. But here’s the thing… I know belonging now. I know I fit – in my own skin, in my life and with others. So when I think about making sacrifices that leave people scratching their heads or clucking their tongues, it reminds me of the life I lived before I knew I was enough - acceptable, beloved. I don’t have to reach too far to remember what it felt like to not belong. And I feel afraid. Oh me of such little faith. I believe. Help my unbelief that doubts whether He guides us gently and wholly into the way of Love.

So there it is... the pulse of my heart right now. I don’t really know what to do with it. I’m just sitting with it. Being gentle with it, with myself. Listening. Wondering. Discerning. Don’t worry, those who love us, we're not planning to sell all of our earthly goods and move to Timbuktu! 

Day 5 (10 Years of Grief)

My heart is a little raw this year.

Over time, our understanding and the meaning we make of our stories, changes and expands. Just as I thought my grief was becoming quite tidy, I’ve had this past year: A year of significant exploration and understanding and an opening of my heart to see the ways I’ve been shaped and the fingerprints of God all over my story - the wounds and heartache, the joys and gratitude. I think this is why my heart feels tender as this season of grief rolls around. In all of this, I am more aware of what it feels like to be alive to life and perhaps more aware of those times when I closed my heart to life in many ways.

After Ryan died, I went with my go-to strategy. Be okay. Look okay. Act okay. Smile. This will keep everything from sliding out of control. It's all I knew. I’d done this since I was a little girl. If life was chaos – organize something. If I felt sad – pretend I wasn't. If I was overwhelmed - get busy and get over it.