Forgiveness

This year in MOPS we’ve been talking a lot about being brave.  What does brave look like for you?  Maybe it’s joining a gym or talking about your painful past.  Maybe it’s going back to work or school, or speaking to a group.  For many of us, forgiveness is one of those ever-daunting tasks that we know we need to do but have such trouble finding the courage. When we finally do forgive though, as with most acts of bravery, we feel such a sense of peace, accomplishment, and utter relief.  But what IS forgiveness? What does that mean? How in the world do we get from resentment to forgiveness without feeling like we're surrendering, giving in, or somehow letting the other person win? 

In Eph 4:32, someone (who may or not be Paul, but that’s another story) tells us to "be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving one another, just as in Christ, God forgave you (NIV)." We know that God loves and forgives us unconditionally. He forgave David (that in itself is proof enough), Peter, Zacchaeus, Paul, our ancestors, us, and, yes, even our little monsters. He doesn't say "I'll forgive you if you take back what you said about your ex," or "I can get past it if you never do it again."  The problem is, unconditional forgiveness doesn't come naturally to humans. We are excellent conditional forgivers; "I'll forgive my sister as soon as she pays me back," or "I'll let it go as soon as he gets into treatment." We have the mindset that forgiveness is something that must be earned. 

Some of you know that I grew up in an abusive home. I left my parents' house on horrible terms on Christmas day when I was 20, and didn’t speak to my father for the next 10 months.  My sister started running away as a teenager about three years later; this was the first in a string of regrettable decisions.  Finally, my mom realized that my dad was not getting the message.  She sat him down and told him that if he drove her sons away as he had her daughters, he’d find himself single.  Much to my surprise, he took it to heart and started therapy (he'd said for decades that he didn't need therapy; it was his kids that needed fixing, not him).  In about two years’ time, my now-teenaged baby brothers had the dad they needed, and Mom had the husband she deserved.  I forgave him.  It was easy.  He’d changed; my trials had been a catalyst for a change that freed not only us kids from the past, but my father from his past as well. I guess you could say I found a little joy (maybe more like comfort) in persevering through my trials (see James 1:2).

But what happens when the perpetrator doesn’t change?  What if the forgiveness isn’t earned? The human condition is to crave control even when we can't have it. We sometimes forgive on the surface. "well, I can forgive but I'll never forget;" this type of forgiveness sounds nice in theory, but causes internal pain, stress, and eventual explosion, or worse- implosion,  depression, anger, or severe anxiety over living a lie.  In his song Forgiveness, Matthew West sings "the prisoner that it really frees is you." We are the ones being hurt by our grudges, not our friends, siblings, in-laws, teachers, our spouses, or that guy on the freeway whose hurry is apparently more important than ours.  

My mother-in-law sustained brain damage when Jeremy was a little boy; her personality was altered.  That ever-important filter that tells us we shouldn’t say something (you know, the one that I sometimes appear to be missing) just isn’t there.  She couldn’t be tactful if there was a pill for it and she took an entire bottle.  About 8 years ago, when Maya was an infant, she accused my mother of stealing a sum of money from her (which she’d been paid, but forgot).  She went on to attack me and my entire family.  The whole incident ended with an explosion of obscenities and a lack of communication between our households for the better part of a year.  This was the first in several cycles of tension, miscommunication, and bitter breaks in contact.

About two years later, Mom was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, a very aggressive bone marrow cancer effecting plasma cells.  My guilt was unbearable.  I wanted my kids’ grandmother to be in their lives; I knew their time together would be limited.  I started praying relentlessly that she would change just as my dad had.  I knew I had to forgive her.  I wanted to forgive her.  I read Col 3:13 (actually most of Col 3) over and over again: “Bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. “  But I didn’t know how.  I was praying, right? I was going to church, praying the Sign of the Cross, studying the Bible, giving to charity. Why couldn’t I let it go?  After several more cycles of blame, anger, tears, and sleeplessness, I was convinced my marriage was over and my kids would hate me forever.  

At a women’s retreat day about 4 years ago, it finally hit me.  Fr. Leo was talking about forgiveness and about how unconditional forgiveness is not something people can execute without help from God.  Unconditional forgiveness is not born of man; we need help.  We need to give control to God.  This wasn’t about Mom!  This was about Col 3:23.  “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as if working for God and not men.”  Yes, this was about my relationship with Mom, but it was as much about my relationship with God. I knew then, in that moment, that I needed to be brave.  I needed to ask for help; I prayed that I would have the strength to accept and forgive her as she was and not how I thought she should be.  Miraculously, the weight was gone.  I felt freer than I had in at least a decade.  

This new feeling was unfathomable for me.  For days, I bit my tongue.  I closed my eyes.  I pinched myself.  I asked Jeremy what the date was and if I was dreaming.  I even tried hating my mother in law.  But I couldn’t.  I laughed.  I laughed at some of the things she’d said.  I laughed at the funny memories I’d buried after years of hurt and tension.  The prisoner that it freed was me.  I don’t even know if Mom noticed.  It doesn’t even matter.  We’re whole.  We’re healed.  Through God’s amazing grace and power, she’s outlived her prognosis.  My kids will all remember her when He calls her home.  And I’ll miss her.

I know I’m not perfect.  I mean, I stalk my ex-sister-in-law (who left my brother for a family friend) on Facebook.  I tell myself she’s someone else’s problem now.  But I’m working on it.  Two down, 75 more to go, right (Mt. 18:21-22)? I don’t want to peak too soon. I know I’m not perfect, but I know that I’m forgiven.

Perfectly Unperfect

My MOPS group is reading a book called Unglued: Making Wise Choices in the Midst of Raw Emotions by Lysa TerKeurst.  The author talks about something she calls imperfect progress (2012)..  At first, I thought this was ridiculous; change is real, actual, permanent, change, right?  I mean, if I was any kind of a person or mother, I'd just be able to tap my ruby slippers together and say "I can do this...." and it would get done.  Yeah, not really.  The bottom line is that we're all human.  Some awesome friends this week told me I am "perfectly human" (1) (A., 2014, personal communication).  So for the meltdown days when we want to print 4'  Free to Good Home signs and put our kids on the front porch, here's some of my imperfect progress, just for you....

Beanie (girl, 7) was at VBS this week.  Bunky (boy, 5) was having a rough few days and decided this morning that he'd rather not go.  So Bunky, Nacho (boy, 3), and I drop Beanie off and trek to Meijer. The closest store is one of the top grossing stores in the entire company, so it's always a zoo and seldom well-stocked; this is painfully obvious when there is a great sale.  I opted for a store about 6 miles away instead.  Trying to do a bargain run with time constraints and little kids at an unfamiliar store can have some serious growing pains; this experience was no exception (obviously, or I probably wouldn't be rambling about it).

I get to the checkout and realize that I forgot Nacho's overnight Pull-ups, which was one of the deals out for which I ventured in the first place.  I was near tears at this point, but had (somehow) managed to hold it together.  I asked an employee working self-checkout if she could hold my order so that I could go get them.  She told me she'd get them for me while I continued scanning my items.  She came back with the incorrect ones.  She told me to finish scanning and then she'd bag for me while I went to get them.  I love this lady.  I run back to my lane with the correct Pull-ups quickly, and some crabby lady who was apparently gunning for my lane (who probably had a 5 year-grandson that was also bored out of his skull) says "JESUS.  You have GOT  to be KIDDING ME!!!"  I plastered a fake smile to my face and said "Hi!  This is actually my order.  This nice employee is helping me bag so I could go get something I forgot.  Just so you know.  Thanks!"  Hey, she's the one who called Him; I was perfectly comfortable being cross and pig-headed for the rest of the morning.  We finish checking out and pay.

We get to the car and unload.  I look at my boys.  They are still wearing the patriotic hats I "bought" them.  I did not pay for them.  I'm not going to cry.  I can do this.  She  called Him, so I'm good, right?  I say "silly Mom!  I forgot to pay for the hats.  Can you guys try to remember if you're wearing something you just got?  I don't remember things very well.  I'm silly sometimes.  Oh well,  I have to use the toilet anyway."  Truth.  We walk back in, pay for the hats, use the toilet, and walk back out to the car.

So am I ready for bedtime so I can have an adult beverage and a book?  Yes.  Are we going out for dinner because I do not feel like cooking (4)?  Absolutely.  But you know what?  I held it together.  I only raised my voice once.  I was nice, fake as it was, to the judgmental crabby-pants in the checkout lane.  And I set an example for my kids that we pay for what we get from the store, no matter what.  Was it perfect?  Nope.  This, my friends, was imperfect progress.  A little bit of grace, just for me.  Because she called Him.


-rock



Reference
TerKeurst, L. (2012).  Unglued: Making Wise Choices in the Midst of Raw Emotions. Zondervan: Grand Rapids, MI.

(1) Mind you, this comes from two of the smartest, loveliest, most talented professional musicians and moms I know.  
(2) I SO should've let the little turkey buy the pink sparkly ones and wear them to the first day of kindergarten.  :P
(3) 9.5 US
(4) This doesn't relate directly to the post, so I shall footnote:  Beanie locked the boys and I out of the house this afternoon because I made her clean up her room prior to allowing her to play in the sprinkler.  The boys got to go first because they finished all of their chores.

At Least There's Only One First Time.....

This morning I had to take Beanie (girl, 7) to Children's Hospital for an eye appointment.  She was born cross-eyed and wore glasses from about 8 mos until last year (she's getting them again, but that's another story).  The doctor we see is with one of the most noteworthy pediatric ophthalmology practices in the region.  We started out at the office a few blocks away, but our doctor stopped working in that office.  We decided to follow her out to another office about an hour away.  The last time we went there for a full appointment with refraction, though, we were gone for five hours.  That's a bit much with three young children.  So we decided to see her at the hospital instead, which is about 20 minutes away.  Our first appointment there was today.

Background notes:  (1) I hate driving, (2) I could get lost in my backyard, (3) I have panic attacks, (4) I often have panic attacks while lost and driving.

For whatever reason, traffic was backed up on the highway after rush hour.  They closed another major E-W highway that goes downtown this month, so everything's a mess.  We barely got there on time.  Husband said "oh, just valet, it's so much easier!" Well, apparently, the 30 other parents running late that day had the same idea.  I ended up having to loop back around a few times, which made us about 15 minutes late.  Finally, I turn in the garage next door and start flying up the ramps, which are barely wide enough for a tricycle, let alone a minivan.  I'm hitting curbs everywhere and start screaming, crying, and cursing (in no particular order).

Beanie started talking and I told (screamed at, really) her that she needed to be quiet because I couldn't think straight. Then came the breathing trouble.  We finally got to a spot.  She says "Do you have your inhaler with you?"  I told her I did.  We parked, I called the doctor's office and asked for directions from the structure.  When I was done, I apologized for yelling at her.  She said "I forgive you, Mom.  I know how hard it is to be nervous."  I was dumbfounded.  I started to feel embarassed- maybe even ashamed that I required reassurance from a seven year old. 

That's when I realized that she wasn't a little kid anymore; I mean, I still have to remind her to wash her hands after picking her nose and stuff, but she gets me.  I don't have to refer her to my 12,957 manual pages.  She doesn't look at me like I'm crazy when I laugh hysterically when I hear the word "poop (yep, laughing hysterically)."  I don't have to ask for hugs, personal space, validation, or a tissue.  She's right there.  Every time.  And I have to explain anything to her.  She gets me.  And.... she loves me anyway.  So mostly, this post is for purposes of record for next time I want to move her bedroom to the garage because it's a fire hazard.

The First Drama at the New Church

Those that know me personally know that we left our church of seven years this past fall.  Although I love the pastor, I had some serious issues with the children's worship director that I was unable to accept; the situation was exacerbated when she yelled at me for a decision I made regarding my children.  The class times for kids were very inconvenient.  In addition, she is very impatient with children that don't fit the proverbial mold.  Further, the choir.... was not good.  I was frustrated with the quality of musicianship of the other singers and the lack of ambition on the part of the music minister.  So we said goodbye.

The new church is much better in all respects.  The pastor is great with kids and is very friendly.  Also, the children's program director is b e y o n d  patient, having had a couple of more high maintenance children herself.

So, why the drama?  Well, there was a woman in choir last Thursday that basically went off on me because another lady yelled at her and accused her of wearing perfume.  Huh?  I'm really sensitive to strong smells.  When my allergies are acting up,  I lose my voice quickly when exposed.  In extreme cases, I can have an asthma attack.  So I started having a heck of a time at rehearsal (which is the worst place to wear smelly goop; everyone breathes deeply and stands in close proximity, so irritants have a much more pronounced impact.  Anyway, I had to move and sit really far away.  The lady sitting next to me (let's call her Shirley) yells at another lady (how about Dolores?) for wearing perfume and making me lose my voice (Shirley does not read music and doesn't do too well without someone bellowing into her ear).  Dolores spins on her heel and tells me I ought to use my rescue inhaler and that I can't expect everyone to stop wearing perfume.  If that's my attitude I am in the wrong place.  I was dumbfounded.  I didn't even say a word!  Shirley decided to crusade on my behalf.  Apparently, Dolores works with a woman who has a hissy fit when she smells even unscented hand sanitizer.  Dolores then tersely informed me that she herself has leukemia and has to sanitize her hands constantly and the coworker yells at her and complains to the boss all the time.

I was so upset from being yelled at for something I didn't do that I cried all the way home and told Husband I was quitting.  I felt so sorry for myself that I was miserable for another day and a half.  So once I was done blubbering like an idiot, I prayed for her.  I imagined how difficult it must be for her to be sick.  I also thought it must upset her to be yelled at for something that is beyond her control.  And, yes, she turned around and did the same thing to me.  And you know what?  I let it go.  At least, I let it go as much as I can.  It'll take me a week or so to let it pass completely, but over and over in my head echoed this verse from Galatians:


"For am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God? Or am I trying to please man? If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ."  –Galatians 1:10

Better late than never?  Good things come to those who wait?  Yeah, I have nothing original for you.  Suffices to say that 2013 was the craziest year to date for my family.  That's saying a lot.  Whoa.  Backing it up.... my last posts were zoo drama and me being irritated about people giving my daughter the stink eye.  So here's a little bit of what we've been up to in the past year and half (ouch):

• 2 surgeries
• Beanie's (girl, 7) school closing
• Beanie's new school not being a good fit
• ADHD diagnosis for Beanie
• Finally opted to homeschool Beanie (1st grade)
• 25% of the way through an M.A. in Education
• Nosy neighbors calling the authorities on us, prompting a series of investigations
• Hot water heater dies in the middle of January

Yeah, um... It kind of sucked.  Here are a few things I've figured out (the hard way), though (Note: I do not like ending sentences with prepositions, but "out which I've figured" sounds infinitely stupid) (Yes, I like parentheticals):

1. We're still here, stronger than ever
2. Sitting on my butt for everyone's school means I have to eat better
3. All of my children are not required by law to go to the same school; each child is different and has different needs
4. At least I had heat when I had no hot water
5. At least we had the money (read: plastic) to buy a new hot water heater
6. We know who we are; the opinions of nosy neighbors are only as relevant as I permit them to be
7. I have one judge, and it is not anyone I meet at Target, school, or driving on the freeway
8. It's better to pray for (as sincerely as I can muster) the nosy neighbors and other metiches I meet that judge me than to take it to heart (see also #7)
9. Nothing is permanent
10. Everything happens for a reason; it's all part of The Plan
11. Clearly, I am not God, so it is not my place to always know The Plan
12. Happiness is a state of mind (happiness is also yelling BINGO!)
13. Breathe

So my words are as pointed as ever.  My facial expressions are still entirely readable and profoundly silly.  I've got a little less attitude and a little opener (that really should be an adjective) heart.  This should be interesting.....

-rock

Big Loss for Those with Their Eyes Closed

Tonight I took Beanie (girl, 5.75) to her gymnastics (tumbling) class for her semi-annual parent-viewing class.  She was a bit overwhelmed with all the parents and acted out a little, but I did lots of smiling and thumbs-upping to try to keep her on track.  This is her third year with the dance studio, so she's comfortable with the director and usually does ok.

In her nervousness, Beanie got a bit keyed up (at this point it's impossible to tell if it's the potential ADHD, anxiety, or the plain old quirky five year old trying to fit in).  She kept asking this other girl for her name. I think, for our purposes, I'll call her "Cruella."  Eventually, Cruella got annoyed and started ignoring Beanie.  I wanted to go punch Cruella.

I started getting very internally sad and frustrated. A lot of her schoolmates get very annoyed with Beanie because she's so inquisitive. She tends to peat and repeat the same questions several times, and some children aren't very nice about it. I tend to get very defensive. I think to myself- Ok, this little girl has gotten the shallow end of the gene pool. She's got two parents who were "gifted" children. One has adult ADD, the other has severe anxiety and depression (hint: that's me).   How in h-e-doublehockeystick is she supposed to fit in.

And then, she'll say something like "Can we say a prayer for my friend Noah? He's on crutches and I'm sure his foot hurts. It's probably hard for him to walk. Thank God he's okay. His family will take care of him and I can help if they need me." Those are the moments when I realize what amazing gifts my children are- quirks and all. Anyone who doesn't have the patience to ride out the storm? Their loss.

Now I'm going to go say a prayer for Cruella too. As she was walking back to her father, I heard him say "You did okay, but your butt was all wrong for push-ups. You're going to have to do some before bed."  Anyone who talks like that to their 5 or 6 year old needs a serious reality check. A slap in the face wouldn't hurt either.

Zoo Drama

Legal disclaimer:  This statement is a recap of an unfortunate even that occurred at the Detroit Zoo.  The purpose of this statement is not to slander or take business away from said establishment.  It is simply to share information.  I find it very useful to share experiences, both good and bad, with other young families to inform and allow them to make their own decisions.

I'd signed Beanie (girl, 5.6) up for a few one-day Summer Safari Camp sessions at the Detroit Zoo.  The first one was in early July.  The office had failed to send me the confirmation paperwork and parking pass, so the first class was kind of a mess.  In addition, power was out for 2/3 of the zoo.  After unloading kids and stroller once, I was forced to move my car 30 ft due to lack of the stupid parking pass. Then I was told that the member gate (which was pickup/drop-off point for camp) was closed, so I'd have to go to the main gate after dropping her off.  I basically told them that I have been having foot problems (heel spurs- currently trying to put off surgery) and could not walk more than necessary, and we'd be going home if they couldn't let us in.  The director came out and said she'd call up front and get us signed in, no problem.

The second class was 4 weeks ago (or so I thought).  I got there, and was informed that Beanie was not on the list.  Since they were so incompetent the first time, I incorrectly assumed that they had screwed up again.  I kind of let them have it.  Then the director called the office and verified that I actually had the wrong date and that Beanie had actually been signed up for the week before. We argued about it for a bit and then she agreed to let Beanie in the class for the day since we were already out there.  I apologized for the unpleasantries and the mistake, and she said it was ok and have a great day.

On the way out, the COO, flanked by two security guards, stops me and tells me that my membership has been revoked because I took a swing at one of his employees (the director apparently).  I told him that was absolutely not true.  He said that it was and that he watched the whole thing on tape and already contacted R.O. Police and filed a complaint and that they were pressing charges against me.  I told them that this was a mistake.  He pretty much said tough and that there was nothing I could do.  I was upset, but didn't lose it until Beanie started crying saying that she wanted to go back to camp.  He told me then that if I set foot on Zoo property again, I'd be arrested.  They refunded the remaining two classes in which Beanie had been enrolled, in addition to my entire membership fee.

I requested the advice of an old cohort-turned-attorney, who said the first thing to do is to contact the ROPD and find out if they were pressing charges.  I waited two weeks so I wouldn't cry on the phone to the desk aide, and then contacted them.  *gulp*  This was not even an official "report" since no officer was dispatched.  It was a legal documentation so that the Zoo would have grounds to revoke my membership.  Legally, they can't just revoke memberships for fun.  Now that they have on record an incident wherein video footage is "inconclusive;" I could have been reaching for a runaway Bunky (boy, 3.6) or trying to swing at aforementioned employee.  The record does note that I had Nacho (boy, 1.85) in my arms.  Now, I don't know about you, but I think every parent should get in a good old-fashioned cat fight with a toddler in arms.

So basically, this came down to they didn't want to deal with any squeaky wheels so they made something up that could be moderately plausible on video and documented. I was pretty upset and embarassed initially; having to tell my family and friends that we couldn't go to the Zoo.  In actuallity, I am not allowed to own a pass nor can my children attend camp.  If I wanted to pay full price, I could do so.  

I thought about trying to pursue things further, or pulling the COO's valve stems, but I decided I'd just pray for the bozo instead.  Clearly the Institution does not understand the concept of customer service.  We have taken our money and joined the Toledo Zoo, so I've officially lost nothing.  We are much happier at Toledo.  They have excellent customer service and are much more family and child oriented.  So, lesson learned.  God knows what's up, anyway.

-rk