Destination Discipline

I find as I encounter pain that I have a tendency to want to blurt it out at the most inopportune moments. It seems that I wear my emotions on my face and so it is readily apparent exactly how I feel the moment I feel it. This is wonderful when I’m happy and floating along like a ladybug on a leaf. I just follow the babbling brook and fan my wings in the breeze. But when the storms come, I lose my rosy glow. I don’t know exactly what I look like when I’m grimacing, but when people approach me and say, “Margaret, are you okay?” And I respond, “Sure. I’m fine. And they say, “Are you sure?” And then my face doesn’t something I can’t control as I try to determine if they are in earnest or just merely nosey. Because the truth is, I want to tell people that I’m hurting but most people in the workplace aren’t really interested in sharing my life. They just want to do their job and go home, not listen to some overly emotional chick blubber on and on about her (not-that-important)problems. So I tuck it in. I hide behind my gray cubicle walls, stare at my glow-box and silently sob.

There I go with the melodramatics again. As if my tiny aches and pains even measure on the Richter scale of agonies. I only mention all of this to say that I have been trying to learn discipline in the area of self-pity. It is a very challenging thing for me to step outside of myself and be cheerful even when I am feeling bad. I very much want to be able to share my suffering with a close friend, give my pain to my God and move on. But so often I get stuck in this rut of feeling sorry for myself. And honestly, it’s such a waste of time and energy.

And it’s not just that nobody likes a whiner and I’m trying to win a popularity contest by controlling myself. I really want to focus on more important things. But sometimes the pain screams so loudly that I just kind-of fold up inside and get stuck in a loop of “woe is me.” This is what happened to me last week as I encountered a physical ailment to which there is no immediate remedy. Try as I wanted to suck it up and move forward, my mind refused to cooperate. I prayed and cried in equal measure, but when the pain ceased to abate I crawled onto a plate of pizza and sighed.

I sometimes wonder if I will ever “grow up.” Will I ever develop a thick skin? Will I arrive at a level of maturity that scoffs at this type of weakness? Will I hold my head high and lower my nose to those whose emotional volatility rivals a cantankerous squirrel? Unfortunately, the harsh reality is that pain is part of the human condition. It is a force that cannot fully be reckoned with. Be it emotional or physical pain, I don’t believe any human alive is immune. So when I am hurting and longing to be a stronger person, I remember that I can learn to hide my pain, but I can never make it go away completely. And God forbid I ever pretend to be above the sorrows of my neighbors. Because I know what it is to be a hurting neighbor and to be scoffed at as if I were a tantruming child.

I made a decision this past weekend to move through the pain instead of wallowing in it. I pulled out my gardening gloves and my hoe and began attacking the stony ground outside of my house. You see, we purchased a home earlier this year that was in a dire state of disrepair. While we have completed much of the interior renovations, the yard is–frankly–a disaster. Once a upon a time an owner decided he or she did not like grass and hauled in many tons of rock and spread it liberally. I have made it the ambition of my life to rid my yard of every ugly brown rock I come into contact with. For the most part, it is back-breaking, thankless work. My yard looks, for the most part, like a construction site that has been ravaged by rabid moles.

While I was working, (grumbling to myself) I spotted one of my neighbors. She is one of the most delightful people I know and I instantly put my trowel down and invited her inside. Once there her tears began to flow as she related her sorrows one ache at a time. We sat that way for a long time. Her asking me what she should do, and I–feeling inept and foolish when I said–“I don’t know.” So I prayed and cried with her. And I wished I had a magic lamp to rub so that I could summon a genie capable of removing her trials.

When she had carried her heavy heart home and I had resumed my labor of love, I cried out to God. “Where are you?! Why won’t you help her? Why won’t you help me? Why must we endure such pain, such grief? What purpose does it have and why isn’t there an easy solution?” I found myself in such a state of frustration that I was flinging rocks willy-nilly and wetting the dirt with my own salty tears. And I want to be honest here, I found myself very, very angry with God for not stepping in and solving our problems at that very instant. So I quit talking to him and I ate some ice cream instead. Because ice cream fixes everything, right? That’s why my pants are so tight again.

The next day I found myself at church. Our worship team was being ravaged by a rogue microphone and they were struggling to lead a congregation of eager singers who couldn’t hear the proper melodies. My friend David played the guitar like a pro and the guest singer sang like an angel. But they were no match for the wiring or the feedback loop or the amplifier that was somehow amplifying all of the wrong things. The young man playing the violin was earnest in his work but I heard not a single note. To be honest, all I could feel was my own tears splattering against the tops of my hands as we sang the words to one of my favorite songs.

Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.
They will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint.
And like a flight upon an eagles’s wings,
He will give the weary strength.

So lift your eyes up to the sky
To the one who hears you when you cry.

It was one of the best mornings of worship I have encountered in recent memory, regardless of the snafus. And I remembered that regardless of the circumstances, God is present. And he heard not only my moaning and groaning, but the fears and joys and loves and hopes of everyone else in the congregation.

C.S. Lewis wrote in The Problem of Pain, “The human spirit will not even begin to try to surrender self-will as long as all seems to be well with it.” As I read that I remember that I have learned some of the most valuable lessons of my life through pain. I learned to let go of people I couldn’t make love me. I learned that possessions have little value and take up entirely too much physical and mental space. I learned that facing and fighting my passions freed me from immense anguish and enabled me to live in a space of gratitude and grace. So as much as I want to bemoan my current circumstances(pain), I know that self-pity is an unforgiving quick-sand. It’s so easy to fall into and so hard to crawl out of. And that is why I must trust my God. He is real. He loves me. And He is intimately involved in my story, even when it doesn’t feel that way.

And that is why I must keep disciplining my mind. I must remember the promise he made, “I will never leave you or forsake you.” And I must walk forward even when my steps are faltering. His grace will always be enough. And it is certainly sweeter than ice cream.

“The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?” Jeremiah 17:9

I’ve heard it said that our hearts are created to worship. (If you are reading this and do not believe in God or in an all-powerful creator, just bear with me. I promise I’m not trying to convince you of anything. I’m just relating my experience on my particular path).

Worship verb (ADMIRE)
› [T] to ​feel a lot of ​love and ​admiration for someone or something:

So when I say I worship at the altar of cookies, I mean that cookies complete me. Much like Jerry Maguire said to Dorothy Boyd in the movie that bears his name, “You complete me.” Cookies, especially chocolate crackle cookies—which are kind of like a brownie but baked like a cookie) warm a cold spot in my heart. Before I began my journey to learn discipline, I used to bake a double batch of said cookies, make a large plate of them and then sit and indulge. I would eat them slowly, savoring each bite as it dissolved in my mouth. I think it’s fair to say I didn’t just worship cookies, I was obsessed with cookies. To this day I cannot pass by a plate of cookies without pausing and considering the risk, “Can I eat just one?” The answer is no—decidedly no. (which is why I no longer bake cookies at Christmas, but I digress)

I think all of us have something we are addicted to; a vice of sorts. For some people it’s cookies, for others it’s news. My youngest son (age 7) loves the little green twisty ties one uses at the grocery store to tie a produce bag together. For some reason they are completely irresistible to him and therefore my house looks like it has been invaded by little green twisty tie men. I have “coached” him many a time about swiping those pliable pieces, but I admit it’s mostly for selfish reasons. I am tired of cleaning them out of my cupboards, out from under the couch and from out of my dresser. I’ll never understand why he places them strategically so they will fall out and “get” me. Do I have nightmares about little green twisty tie men? Of course not. But they are annoying.

I am extremely sensitive to sugar and was addicted to the white stuff for years before I took strides to rid it from my life. Still, sugar is that dastardly devil that likes to sneak up and nip me in the rear. Or as Sheryl Crow, would say, “You’re my favorite mistake.” Ridding myself of sugar left a massive void in my life. All of my thought processes and behaviors were centered around it so that when I quit “cold turkey” I had to make new habits to take its place. Anyone who has ever tried to quit a habit they deemed unwholesome can empathize. When you quit you have to find something to take its place. If you have never had a bad habit, you are weird and should stop reading this blog. These are not the droids you’re looking for.

Now listen, I’m not saying sugar is inherently evil (at least not in this blog post) but I will say my heart still tends to be utterly consumed by it. When I want it, watch out! Nothing can stop me. Well, almost nothing. Some people are addicted to love. Some people are addicted to heroin. Some people dress up as furry animals and go to rave parties. It reminds me of a song by one of my favorite singers (Jadon Lavik), “We’re all searching for truth, for that one thing we can hold on to.” I would like to postulate that all of us have a hole in our hearts and we are desperately trying to fill it.

My youngest son recently revealed to me his great desire to possess a lot of money. He reasoned, “I want to have a wife one day and if I want kids I need to have a lot of money.” My little guy has been laser focused on this ambition as evidenced by the deficit in his brother’s piggy bank. I have tried to explain that money will never fill the holes in his heart, but he just gives me a blank stare. But this was never more in evidence than this weekend when I encountered a salesman at Sam’s Club. This gentleman wanted to sell me DirecTV. I no longer purchase cable services since my conversion to Roku and antennae television but we had a nice conversation about why I choose not to purchase satellite TV. He was so cordial and kind and easily earned my respect. At the end of my shopping trip I felt led to bless him. I walked over to where he was selling and tried to give him a few dollars for dinner. He blatantly refused. “I don’t want your money.” I persisted and so did he. We ended at a sort of impasse where I said, “God told me to bless you, so this money is not from me, it’s from the Lord.” God forgive me if I was manipulating the situation—I honestly meant to do something nice for that young man. So I slapped the money down on his table and walked away. Two seconds later I looked down and my son was skipping in delight with the money in his hands. Horrified, I asked him, “Did you take the money I just gave that man?!” He shrugged and said, “He said he didn’t want it.” Much to his chagrin, I made him march over and put it back. I was mortified. But greed will do that. It will steal the blessing quicker than you can say stolen.

When our hearts are consumed with lust for that thing—whatever it is—it just takes over. It defies the senses. I have found that the more I indulge in that lust(be it food, pride, or selfish ambition) the more I want it. There is a nicotine patch for smokers who want to quit and AA for alcoholics, but even those things never really fix the problem; the great big gaping hole in our hearts. We just keep cycling through life looking for our next fix until we at last realize with horror that there is no fix and we are desperately broken.

Maybe you are reading this today and don’t consider yourself broken. I understand. You are probably not at the same place in your journey as I am and I kindly ask you to extend grace to me. The truth is, I find myself irrevocably broken, and that is why I follow Jesus.

I have found that while I will always struggle with my addiction to food(and many other things) I have an addiction that never leaves me wanting. The thing is, I don’t generally call it an addiction. It’s more like a relationship…a love relationship. He has helped me break free from the chains of food and sugar and so many other potentially deadly vices.

Today if you are struggling, if you have lost hope that you can ever break free, He will help you if you earnestly ask Him. Jesus once said, “Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened.” I believe what he said because I have personally experienced it. The heart wants what the heart wants. My heart wants Jesus.

One of my co-workers has a saying when HR issues arise, “This department is a great place to work, except for the people!” I’ve also heard a similar saying in church, “This church is a great place to worship; the problem is it’s filled with sinners!” When the people around us display the darker side of humanity, it is very easy to sit back in our cozy chair and make mental projections of all the ways we would have done things differently. If we are cowards, we quietly pronounce a verdict from afar without even hearing eye-witness testimony. If we are bold, we look for the opportunity to “catch” that person and coach them on how to fix their mistake; as if we have walked in their shoes, perfected their stride, and have endured their blisters before they became calluses. With all of that said, I remember the old saying, “Before you point your finger, remember there are four pointing back at you!”

I had a nervous breakdown at work on Friday. I won’t bore the reader with the details, but needless to say my anxiety got the better of me. After raging in frustration and then weeping at my desk, I spotted the desserts brought in to recognize our leaders (Boss’s Day). I went over to inspect and sniff (as I usually do – desserts are pretty!) with the intention of silently condemning the gluttons in my department. Alas, I was emotionally unhinged and instead, I became the perpetrator of a snatch and grab.

I won’t lie. I was in such a state that I didn’t even feel guilty. There I was with a napkin full of food, peering around the corner to make sure no one was watching. I crept back to my desk and inhaled. In the end there was nary a crumb to signify my indiscretion. No one ever needed to know what I had done. I was safe.

So that night when I found myself at an impromptu dinner with my family at an all-you-can-eat buffet, I made the decision to abstain from eating, not because I am self-righteous, but because I had consumed my caloric intake for the day and I was worried about my pants fitting (vanity of vanities!). But oh how foolish I was. I should have waited to binge eat! One must understand that I have not been to that type of establishment in many years, so when I say that I was shocked by the sheer volume and variety of food, I’m not exaggerating. Golden Corral, you’ve come a long way, Baby! And lest you judge me, we were there to celebrate a birthday. That is why I allowed my diabetic child to play in the chocolate fountain, consume soft serve ice cream AND sample cotton candy. I know. Epic (healthy) parental fail.

So today, when I found myself in a conversation with a friend about another friend, (where we were bemoaning the personality traits of the absent person and trying to figure out how to deal with them) I found myself experiencing a bit of indigestion. During the conversation I silently wondered why we felt like we needed to discuss strategy when what we really needed to do was just love that person. Granted, loving that person is very challenging, but still, my words at the time weren’t very loving. This is the point where—if I were writing an email—I would insert a frown-ey face.

Still, I reasoned with myself after the conversation was over, obviously I’ve got relationships all figured out. My friend just needs a tutorial. So I began making a mental bullet list of all the things I would tell my friend in order to help her better navigate our social group. I won’t recite that list here because, frankly, it was ugly. When we know someone well we have a front row seat to their flaws. It reminds me of when I see a woman who has neglected her roots. I immediately want to scream, “Did you know your roots are showing?!” As if she doesn’t look in the mirror every day and contemplate a trip to the hairdresser.

What in the world is wrong with me? And then I realized I’m one of those people being discussed in the first paragraph of this blog… I’m the problem in the workplace. I’m the sinner. Tragically, I did all of these mental gymnastics without conscious effort. It just flowed through and out of me like a river of sewage with no dam in place.

Ideas have consequences. Our words matter. If you don’t think so, just watch what happens when Jimmy Fallon does something funny on The Tonight Show. Suddenly the web is alight with videos reporting the event. Conversations are had by the water cooler, “Did you see what Jimmy Fallon did on The Tonight Show last night? Hil-ar-ious! Suddenly Jimmy’s joke has people in the work place repeating sounds and gestures as if they were part of some Fallon-esque troupe. Imagine what our neighborhoods would look like today if people invested as much time in their hurting neighbors as they did on entertainment.

The truth is—nobody likes a hypocrite. It’s one of the key observations of people in the church. They “preach” holiness, but run around belching out sin like when they’ve eaten too much Taco Bell. But we have a nice little saying in the Christian community to cover such blunders, “We’re not perfect, just forgiven.”

Excuse me. I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.

Ugliness is my natural state. I judge people harshly behind their backs. I overeat. I over-exercise. I stand back with self-righteous indignation at all-you-can-eat buffets. I gloat when wicked people “get what they deserve.” Or to paraphrase someone I love, “What goes around comes around.” But what happens when I’m the one who gets what’s coming to me?

It feels trite to say, “Just be careful what you say” or “Treat others the way you want to be treated”. That doesn’t address the heart issue. A wise man once observed, “For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.”

Next time… The Heart Wants what the Heart Wants