Receiving Correction

Whether I ever have my work published beyond the odd magazine article or two, I am a writer. 

In the core of my self there is a place always thinking of stories and writing poems and outlining topics I would teach. Words are always swirling around in my head.

A few mornings ago, when my husband and I were sitting together on the couch doing our coffee/wake-up thing, he came across this verse the other day in his Bible reading app:

Whoever heeds instruction is on the way to life, but whoever rejects a rebuke goes astray.

~Proverbs 10:17 (NRSV)

Since then that Proverb has been running around in my head in some sort of dance with all the other words in there. When I go to write something down, even if it’s my own private thoughts in a journal, there is usually at least a typo or two or a word scratched out. Even when the words come quickly and easily onto the page they don’t come perfectly. 

In the privacy of my home scratching out a word or idea doesn’t sting, it’s just part of the creative process, the hunt for words that mesh with the verbal picture I am trying to paint. A typo isn’t a reason for embarrassment, but a natural outcome of typing. In the privacy of my home I know I am not perfect, at least not on the first try.

I think of myself as a person eager to learn and grow as a person. Until someone other than myself or God points out my mistakes.

Why is this a problem? It’s not like there are not many who enjoy having their errors pointed out, I’m not alone in this.

Part of the problem is our culture. Out in the larger world there is a less friendly space to err. Typos on a blog are ridiculed. Scratched out words look like a mess. One mistake and you are labeled unredeemable.

But part of the problem is me. I don’t actively work to make it safe to correct me. 

I get defensive over typos and simple errors that do need correction. I’ve never been a great speller. It’s not like I can afford to pay an editor, I have five kids you know.

And while I am eager to learn, I am insecure at heart. I know many of my flaws but am afraid of having others point them out, even if it means I could work on them. I get scared of other people, afraid they will point out a part of myself that is a mess, someplace I've haven't yet begun to pull myself together.

Scared that maybe correction is rejection.

When Jesus walked the earth he talked to the people looking for wisdom about becoming like a child again. Jesus even went so far as to say we need to be born again.

What does that mean? For me, this day, it means I need to take a page from our youngest son. He’s never worried that if he trips and falls I will make fun of him. I know his feet or legs are growing and he’s constantly having to adjust for a changing body. There is no ridicule in our household for honest mistakes, there will be conversation and sometimes frustration, but not anger.

How does my son not walk around afraid of falling? He falls all the time. In fact he seems to relish his bruises.

Maybe it’s because my son also spends much of his day on or very near me. Maybe it’s because cuddled close after a fall he’s sure I love him.

When I’m far from God and I fall or someone corrects an honest mistake I act like a feral child. I snap at the hand that reaches out to help. In my fear I seek independence from everything and everyone.

When I sit on God’s lap, aware I am a child of God, when God’s arms are tight around me there is no room for the embrace of fear.

And I am better able to receive correction as I test out the world and falls as signs of growth.

He who is full loathes honey, but to the hungry even what is bitter tastes sweet.

~Proverbs 27:7 (NIV)

In my writing it’s easy to see this truth. When I’m hungry to learn and grow I push aside fear and submit my work to my peers to be critiqued. Typos don’t even register as something to be up in arms over. I want to grow. I want to make the best use of this gift I have been given.

This is my prayer for the week:

May I always be hungry for you, God. May I never be satisfied with fear and hiding. Grant me the courage to climb into Your lap. In Your loving-mercy, wrap Your arms around me. Fill me with an awareness of Your presence. 

I want to walk on the path of life.

Amen.

True Strength Is Kindness

I don’t know why we use the phrase “hot headed” to describe some people’s style when they get angry. From personal experience I can say my head isn’t the problem when I’m mad.

The phrase that would be more apt would be “full mouthed.”

Before I was diagnosed with breast cancer six years ago I didn’t consider memorizing parts or verses in the Bible my kind of thing. However, I found it immensely helpful both during treatment and the anxiety ridden “new normal” period afterward to more than have my Bible handy, to have it with me in my head.

One of the first verses I memorized was during the Lent I spent waiting for and undergoing a mastectomy:

“Rejoice in the Lord always. I say it again: rejoice! Your kindness should be known to all. The Lord is near.”

~Philippians 4:4-5

In treatment for the cancer I focused on finding joy in my day. I prayed for God to be close to my heart and to feel Jesus’ presence. 

Recently I have come back to these verses for another reason. “My kindness should be known to all.”

These verses have been striking me, am I known for my kindness? Do the people important to me know my kindness?

 

Does my husband know me as kind? Is that how he would describe me to his friends?

How about my kids? I don’t think they would put that word in the top ten words to describe their mother.

If not, then I am not close to The Lord. 

In the gospels (the sections of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John in the Bible) it says Christians should be known by their love. And I think of myself as a loving person. But am I kind? Another version of the Bible uses the word gentle. Am I known for a kind and gentle love? Enough to be noted for it?

So. I’m back to another cliché phrase, “Think before you speak.” The problem for me is that phrase doesn’t tell me what to think about.

 

I DO think before I speak. I am thinking, “You hurt me. And now I’m mad.” Or, “Seriously! Stop bugging your brother/sister/the dogs/AND YOUR MOTHER!” (and now my three year old, 3!, has started saying, “Seriously!” in this interesting tone…)

Some of my most hurtful words have come, not when I’m mad, but when I haven’t considered the fullness of their meaning to the other person. And what is the point of speaking if the other is unintentionally, unhelpfully wounded?

A pastor friend gave this acronym to me after breast cancer treatment and I am taking it out and dusting it off. This is my resolution - to think of this before I speak:

T     - is it True?
H    - is it Helpful?
I      - is it Inspiring?
N    - is it Necessary?
K     - is it Kind?

I don’t knowingly speak lies or hearsay. But is what I say helpful to the other? Is that my goal in speaking, to help? Do the words I speak lift the other up in some way? If I am trying to educate my kids on some matter, is there a better way to phrase it -a way that would inspire instead of rebuke?

Is what is about to fall out of my mouth necessary? Does that person really need me to speak? Or am I trying to be the Holy Spirit and do the work of convicting. Because sometimes God just doesn’t do a good enough job?

It is not my job to be another person’s moral compass. To speak out in protection of another? -Yes. But are my words edifying the other in an effective manner?

If the above acronym isn’t applicable, then I either need to work on my delivery or be quiet.

My priest has challenged me to place notes around the house where I discipline the kids that say, “Be kind.”

Not because my kids don’t need correction. Not because I should provide less discipline or structure for them. But as a reminder my kids will be profoundly shaped by my tone, by my demeanor, by my word choice.

I don’t want my kids to forever remember something I said because of how much it wounded them. I want my legacy with my children to be love. I want my legacy with my kids to be: mom wasn’t perfect, but wow, a couple of times it felt like I was in the presence of God while she was speaking. Or: even if I was in trouble, I always felt accepted and valued by my mom.

As a parent I’m supposed to be one of the first and best teachers of my kids. Am I? Do I even try? Or worse, what exactly am I teaching them?

 

I don’t want my husband’s experience of marriage to be a wife who was often right but whom no one would describe as kind with the truth.

When I am not spending time with God I fall short. What I say might be true, but it’s not kind. Or it’s a thoughtless truth, which might be worse.

If I want my kids to be kind and compassionate human beings then it starts with me. With my words. With my shaping of the home environment.

It starts with joy. Always! And my kindness spread throughout the house and to my friends. A kindness possible because I have a deep well of compassion to draw from. A kindness that is experienced. That folks can taste and see that it is good.

So, I take walks on windy days and I sit, still and silent on my couch and pray. When I can’t sleep I get up, light a candle, and tell God about my day or about turning in another set of adoption paperwork and the boy I would like to call my son.

If I sit at the feet of a compassionate Jesus then I am able to act inside His strength: Joy and Kindness.

Do you have any special memory tricks or routines for being careful with your words?

Resolving Differently

I was listening to HisRadioZ the other day and the DJ had made a resolution they were going to read 50 books in the next year. This when they had already missed last year’s resolution to read 40 books by one.

If it was me making the resolution it wouldn’t matter that I had read 39 books, it’s that one that gets me. The one I hadn’t read would make me a failure.

I hate New Year’s resolutions. New Year’s resolutions are like making lists of all the ways I’m going to mess up in the next year. 

It occurs to me maybe my inner voice (one of them at least) is not a friend, but a bully. That voice makes lists of all my failures, no matter how small. Creating flashing billboards in my mind of everything I have left undone is their favorite pastime. 

Nothing is sacrosanct. My prayers: never good enough. I don’t pray long enough. I missed reading my Bible that once.

In the past my solution: to make no resolutions. That would quiet that inner voice. Only, what kind of solution involves having no goals? (Don’t answer that.) What kind of life is it that doesn’t look forward with hope?

I’ve been struggling personally with feeling defeated. I turn 40 in March, and that’s not a big deal to me, not the birthday. Just that, after I was diagnosed with cancer when I was 33 I had resolved to accomplish all these things by 40, if God allowed me to live that long.

I’m still here, almost 40 and still here. It’s a miracle. But, I haven’t done much on my list.

Except getting chickens. Managed that one just fine.

The biggest thing on my list was writing a book. Which I did. And, it was a total miracle getting it written with five kids, of whom were a toddler and a preschooler. But unspoken on that list was getting my book published. And writing another. And maybe one more.

My accomplishments are not good enough.

God added conceiving a son, our fifth kiddo, at 36 to the list. Carrying my son to term despite hemorrhaging, not a big deal. Discovering chemo weakened my heart and having it fail, and then surviving heart failure; we survive what we have to, right?

Surviving isn’t good enough. I didn’t bring anything, well, big to the table in my 30s.

Every second Thursday I attend, mostly, a writer’s critique group in my area. I didn’t want to get up Thursday. My husband was out of town. I hadn’t showered. My writing wasn’t ready. I didn’t ask anyone to watch my son. 

I managed to pick up a shred of resolve. My older kids got to school. I called a friend who could watch my son. Short hair, wax and a black clip. Comfy black cords, a teal shirt and short boots for the rain. I had already prepared a section to bring, just not printed it. It wasn’t good enough. I took a deep breath and printed it anyway.

Our time together in our group, Cross N’ Pens begins with coffee (praise the Lord), announcements, a short prayer, then a devotion composed by one of the members. The person who had been scheduled was sick, so that morning, last minute, a woman prepared a reflection on the gospel passage she had been reading: the feeding of the 5,000 from the book of John.

My Lord and My God.

I forget I don’t need to have enough.  
I forget to bring the small bits I have to the table. 
I forget to give thanks for what I have. 
I forget God takes our broken and multiplies. 
And what Jesus gives is enough. More than enough.
 

Maybe you can join me in my resolve to resolve differently this year.

I resolve to be gentler to myself.

I resolve to set realistic goals and work to meet them.

I resolve to count my success, no matter how small.

                        For example: I got up 15 minutes late today, but I got up. Yeah, me.

I resolve to invite kindness and goodness to follow me all the days of my life, not criticism and belittling and not-good-enough.

Resolve, determination, is a form of strength. It’s a stick-to-it-ness that gets stuff done. In the past I viewed the New Year’s thing as a list making checklist of To-Dos for the year. What if it was different?

What if I made a list of Hoped-For?

What if I made a list of steps for personal growth?

What if I made To-Dos for the year and resolved to pray about them?

What if I resolved to be kind to myself this year?

Did you make New Year’s resolutions this year? What were they? What is your response when you meet them? How do you respond when you fall short?