Wonky Bricks

Growth is a funny thing.  It’s not really a constant upward slant, a simple “learn this, then build on it.”  It’s...messier than that.  Sometimes the lessons you learn are good and simple, sometimes they’re complex, sometimes they’re fully formed and something you’ll keep forever.  Sometimes the basic principle is right, but your bricks got wonky when you tried to build on it. And sometimes, the lesson helps you for a time but then you have to discard it because it’s fundamentally wrong.

(Ain’t that a peach?)

Learning to handle the twists and turns of life is a bit of a trip for all of us; some folks turn to alcohol to cope, some to fantasy, some to hard cynicism.  No matter what our poison, it’s usually just that: a poison.  Works for a while but makes us somehow less than we could be.  And while sometimes a defense mechanism can get us through the worst of a situation, it doesn’t mean we should adopt that sucker and keep it forever. Like pharmaceutical medicines, coping mechanisms have a tendency to help, but with side effects.

The only answer to this conundrum I have been able to find is that we must constantly adjust: tear down walls with bad foundations or wonky bricks and rebuild them, slowly, a brick at a time.

My own personal recent experience has been the need to tear down a wall I honestly didn’t realize I was even building.  Several years ago I determined that hardening one’s self against pain really accomplished nothing; that instead of keeping out hurt, one would unintentionally lock pain in but keep out such things as joy and love.  

I still believe that.

But I decided it when I was still a cute little innocent, though I would’ve balked at being called that at the time.  I decided it before my life became what seemed to be one giant test after another--near death experiences, family members coming and going (with more going than coming), illness and heartbreak and depression and mistakes that turned my world upside down a few times a year.

A while back, I apparently decided that these situations weren’t just tests; some passing phenomenon that, if I performed well enough, would eventually give way to something better, and I would look back at the years 2010 through 2014 and laugh about how awful they were while basking in how awesome things were now.  I decided that apparently, this was just life.  

Basic Lesson #1: Life sucks.

That didn’t really fit my mindset at the time, so I adjusted. I changed my perspective from rose-colored glasses to clear glass ones. Immediately my left brain went to work on the problem, because I was looking at a future of major suckage, and I wasn’t happy here.  I was smart enough to know that if I wasn’t happy now, while things sucked, I wasn’t going to be happy later, when things still sucked.

Basic Lesson #2: I can be happy in spite of the suck.

This was a good lesson, but it had an offshoot I didn’t really anticipate.  One that sort of made itself known slowly, like a nasty case of cancer--growing until it was choking off everything before I really saw it.

Basic Lesson #3: Don’t expect things to be good, they’re gonna suck.  Expect things to suck.

This lesson, I thought, would protect the original determination: becoming hard and building walls would be unhelpful, so don’t put yourself in a position to be hurt--expect the suck.

(It made sense at the time.)

As you’ve probably already realized, that particular lesson, once I began applying it to my perspective, turned things from clear glass to crappy-brown glass.  And, as happens when you start viewing the world through such a lens, I found myself suffering from a nasty case of Cynicism.

And as is generally the case in my life, the Father wouldn’t let that be.  Because evidently I don’t get to have “normal” faults like that, He’s always asking me to go higher, improve more, live fuller, work harder.  Of course, my left brain started negotiating.

Father, why should I expect the best when I know it won’t happen?

Because it could.

But it won’t.  And then I’m put in a position whereby when (not if) crap hits the fan, I’m hurt.

I want you to have faith.

But you said it yourself! “Hope deferred makes the heart sick.” And you want me to put myself in a position where I’m set to have hope deferred over and over and over again?

I want you to believe in Me and My promises to you.

Which are what, exactly?  That everything will “work out for good”?  Yeah, somebody else’s good maybe, not mine.  (Tossing God’s own words at Him: gutsy? Maybe. I don’t believe in prevaricating with my Father, seems like an exercise in futility to me.) And even if it is for my good, it’s probably going to be a painful road.  And I’m sick of hurting.

And this, what you’re doing, keeps things from hurting?

……..Maybe.

What does it get you, exactly? What does it truly do for that heart I created to be soft and receptive?

I don’t want to talk about this.

You asked.

But, as I’ve mentioned, I couldn’t just...accept that cynicism was a lousy answer.  It didn’t make sense that God would ask me to have faith that was clearly going to be crushed every time I turned around.  I believe God is bigger than us, that his thoughts are not ours, but really.  That was just unreasonable.

What’s going to happen is going to happen, so why is it so important I believe for the best? Why does it matter what I think, whether I expect things to be good or bad?

And the answer hit me, right between the eyes, and hard enough to knock me on my proverbial rear:

Because it’s not about circumstances, it’s about my relationship with Him.  It’s not about situations, it’s about me and my God.

Because any parent wants their child to understand that they have their best interests at heart, regardless of how painful something they’re going through might be.  Because my cynicism demonstrated a lack of faith, not in circumstances and people and life in general, but in the One in whom I always swore my faith would never waver.  Because yes, what’s gonna happen is gonna happen, but that doesn’t mean I ought to stop believing He’ll work it all out in the end.

And to be frank, I’m still not there.  Something wonderful just happened to me, an answer to a desperate prayer I’ve prayed for almost two years now, and literally the first thing I thought was, “okay, relax, this can and probably will go wrong in about two minutes.  Don’t get excited, don’t get happy. Prepare yourself, this is gonna hurt like heck in no time.”

(Because that’s not at all pessimistic.)

So I’m not here to tell you I’ve Davided this particular Goliath yet, because I haven’t.  

But I know I’m not the only one, and neither are you.  

All Figured Out

Someone once asked me what it must be like to live inside my head.  Since it's all I really know, it was a strange question to try to answer, but it did get me thinking.  There are a couple of things I know for sure about Meg's Brain, and one of them is precisely where I'm going with this.

My head is a place of constant motion.  The idea that people can just stop and think of nothing is completely unfathomable to me; in my mind, there's always stories, lessons, questions, logic, solutions, thoughts chasing themselves around in a flurry of activity.  Most of the time, I love it there; I'm used to it, I never get bored--because if I do, I just sic my brain on a new problem or a new story and let it run wild--and despite my many faults, I do tend to operate more on logic than emotion, which I see as a good trait.

But (there's always a but) it does have its downsides.  I need to have (or be able to come up with) answers quickly, I need a takeaway for every situation in my life, because otherwise it seems pointless and confusing.  I haven't posted on this blog in nearly seven months because my mantra seems to be "if you don't have it all figured out, keep your mouth shut until you do," and my life has been anything but simple recently. And if something isn't going right in a specific area of my life, all that brain activity becomes some mad scramble to find an answer, a solution, something I can do to fix it right freaking now. And that, my friends, is where I'm going to camp for a second.

Remember that mantra I have?  That doesn't just apply to blogging.  I find myself refusing to ask for help--from my Heavenly Father or my earthly family and friends--until I've got, in my mind, a handle on the issue.  Don't come empty-handed to anyone, always have something to offer, even if it's only a tentative solution.  Or at least a basic understanding of the root of the problem.

Who among us has their problem figured out before they ask for help?  It's a crazy idea, right? And I promise you, it's exactly as successful as you imagine it would be--which is to say, not. It results in me placing all my brainpower toward a weakness or situation, and more often than not, I end up logicking (is that a word? It is now.) myself into a mental corner where my own misunderstandings and faulty reasoning reign supreme.  Then I get overwhelmed and I know I need someone to help me but I have nothing to offer yet so I can't ask for help because I have to get this straight in my head first...

You see the issue here.

A dear friend spoke to me about this this week.  Apparently, I'm not the only person in the world whose head is a sorta-wacky place (and isn't that a relief to know?), and she was able to get through to me with one simple word I want to pass onto you now:

Breathe.

Just for a day (your problem will still be there tomorrow, don't worry), don't think about that specific issue.

Breathe.

If it comes to mind, deliberately put it aside and think about something else.

And just breathe.

I've long since learned not to scoff at solutions that seem odd, so I agreed to do this without question (if it didn't work, my problem would still be there tomorrow, no harm done really).  It was simple, but not easy.

And I did it.  For 24 hours, I refused to think about the particular issue that has had me backed into a mental corner for the last few weeks.  Instead, I focused on the world springing to life outside my window, on the sunshine that warmed my cheeks, on the simple joy of a child discovering something new.  I let myself be completely present where I was, whether that was at work or at home with my family.  I prayed, but not about that issue; I just...talked to my Father, thanked him and praised him and asked him about anything except that one thing. For a day, there was no monstrous issue hanging over my shoulder, and I just breathed.

At the end of that 24 hour period, something amazing had happened.  I was so much more relaxed than I had been in months; I felt restored, able to see more clearly, and suddenly that massive ogre of a problem seemed much more manageable.

Was it a giant?  Sure, but I was equipped with a sling and some river stones.  And since when do you need more than that to slay a giant?

All that to say: this week I learned how to breathe, and it's a lesson I don't want to forget.  In that same vein, I think I'm going to toss that mantra of mine (it's never really served me well anyway) and let myself not have all the answers sometimes.

And I think I'm going to change the way I run this blog, too.  It's always been about takeaway, about having something to say that ties up an issue in a nice little package with a nice little bow for my readers.  But that's not real life, and if there's anything I've learned about being undaunted, it's that you have to face real life head on in order to do it.  So going forward, posts will come more often--but they'll probably contain more questions than answers.  Everything may not come together and I may not be able to give you a simple lesson to take away.

Because I've got it all figured out now:

I don't have to have it all figured out.