The Shape of an Ending

A two-hour late start for school today leaves me with nothing to do at 9am. The huge ghastly project that was so vehemently decried in the last post was finished last night; there's nothing to do to prepare for school today. There have been many thoughts swirling, battering, racing around in my head over the last several weeks, but for today, it's easier to let the past do the talking.

I wrote this on February 1st, of this last year. It speaks to much of what I'm feeling today.

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Last night, I got home to find my Grandpa at his antique desk in our living room, with papers and calendars all around him. This is unusual: Grandpa is reliably watching the news or Jeopardy at 7:30pm. And if he's doing bill-paying or letter writing, he sits on the couch at the coffee table. The desk is more decorative than anything else. "Grandpa, what are you doing?" I asked him, amused. "What is all this?" He mumbled a few things, but didn't directly answer. I went into the kitchen to fix myself a late dinner. I called to him from the kitchen, a few things about the day, and my drive home.

He followed me into the kitchen with a calendar. It was a large Norwegian calendar, with foreign words and numerals, and brightly colored paintings. He and my Grandma always found these calendars on their trips overseas; it is one example of the classy antique European taste they cultivated for over 52 years.

Grandpa started murmering about dates on the calendar. "I found this old calendar sweetheart..." He showed me July 18th: an appointment to examine spots on my Grandma's lungs. We looked earlier; a check-in appointment to assess her knee-replacement surgery when my Grandma had mentioned her recent breathing troubles. In between the two: an appointment for a lung x-ray. We looked at later dates: an appointment with Dr. Henry Lee, the physician that would end up administering her chemotherapy and radiation. We didn't look ahead to the following year, but if we had, the month of October would have marked the date of her funeral.

It occurred to me in the kitchen, that my Grandpa was holding a type of graveyard, in the form of that bright Norwegian calendar. Date by date, there was chronologically depicted each step that would eventually lead to my Grandma's passing away. July 18th was the day I got the call, when working at my church kiosk, from Grandpa, telling me she had cancer. I vividly remember running into the sanctuary and sobbing; I remember trying to be quiet. I remember my dear co-worker Scott telling me to go home for the rest of the day. I remember the angry, fervent prayers later on, the capsizing hope. I remember hearing from my Dad when I was in Africa on a crackling intermittent cell phone call that she was terminal. These moments illustrate the tiny markers, the flagstones in my memory, that led to that ending.

It's odd to remember these unlikely markers. The most clear image of an ending I can remember from my last lengthy relationship was a silver tube of lavender lotion finally running out. Ted had given me that lotion when we were together, he'd sent it to me from California in a spontaneous act of affection, and I'd kept it for a long time, not wanting to use up the sweet present. After we broke up, I was even more reluctant to use it, even though it was such nice lotion, and smelled like soap and summer. What good thing would there be left of us when it was finally gone? But eventually it was. And by then, we had been over for some time.

I remember the marker for Africa ending. i was in the courtyard with Erica, and we were washing our clothes and hanging them on the line. I remember laughing at the surreal experience it still seemed to me: to be in AFRICA, and to be washing our clothes in big plastic tubs that always ended up with floating ants in the water. I said to Erica, "You know what's weird to think... that one day, all these little kiddos will just be pictures from far away. And this will just be 'that one summer I spent in Africa.'" I pictured myself in my 30's, meeting some Deputee that would be leaving for their big summer trip. I pictured myself commenting, "I did that once. I went to Malawi. I spent a summer there." In that Malawian courtyard, with my arms wet and my back warm, it was the most harrowing realization: to think that the children I had come to so enjoy, who I would give piggy-backs to that night, and who I would sing to in an hour or two, would someday only be shiny 3x5 pictures, and that my summer would only tug at my memory in passing.

I know beginnings have their own shapes too. I can recall many flagstones that would have marked the start of a path, of a journey, of a relationship. But today my thoughts are with the endings. Today, honestly: I wish for July 17th. I wish for something left of that lavender lotion. I wish for a hug from Tikambe, and for Clayton to be swinging from my back. I wish for floating ants in the laundry tub.

A Serious Question

Yesterday, someone suggested that I do something which I realized I have adamantly taught myself NOT to do: need people.

Need people? Put my life in the hands of someone else? Risk fusing my life to another's in a way that would leave me incomplete were they to walk away? Nuh uh. No way. No how. God is the only safe one to NEED.

The person very reasonably pointed out that God has always worked within community: that Jesus leaned on others, and shared with others-- and that His "greatest commandment" included others: "Love your God and love your neighbor." Surely, the person suggested, it's dodging one of His greatest gifts to say, "It's ONLY God and me-- and I'm fine that way." We're meant to be together-- we're meant to work with each other.

But does that involve NEEDING each other?

I've been thinking about this question all day long, and I have no idea what the answer is.

So I'll tell you where I'm coming from: for as long as I can remember, the only people I've ever needed have let me down. That's not to initiate a sob story, or to get blog-readers to feel sorry for me-- I'm simply trying to expose the steps that have led to my conclusion. The needing started with my Elementary School best friend. In 3rd grade, we were put in different classes where she made other friends, and I did not. I waited for her to come out at recess, played with her then, and didn't bother with anyone else. In 5th grade, she "dumped" me-- which was somewhat understandable, given my clinginess-- and I was alone. I had assumed that she would stick around, and I let myself NEED her. But she walked away, and I felt incomplete.

But you gather the pieces, right?

Moving forward then: my best friend in early high-school got mad at me when I got together with a new boyfriend; I did my best to make her feel like a continued priority in my life, but things frayed and we grew apart. My best friend during my Junior and Senior year was wonderful, but went to a college far away and wasn't good at staying in touch. We grew apart, and I had another hole to fill.

Finally I decided I should probably just not call anyone my best friend. That label seemed jinxed.

BUT: that didn't necessarily apply to BOYS, did it?

So I gave my heart away: once, completely. Only to be abandoned, completely. It was shattering.

After gathering the pieces, I gave it away again-- not with the same reckless abandon as before, but still with determination, and purpose, and commitment. But he broke me in a different way, with cruel, controlling words. From that life-draining relationship, I learned that the label of "love" DIDN'T always mean kindness, that it DIDN'T always mean selflessness, that it DIDN'T mean protection-- that in fact, the label of "love" could shroud the very opposite of all those things.

But I tried, and tried again. I became increasingly desperate, I offered my heart to cliff jumpers, to sky divers, to shark feeders: I offered it to men that gave me no reassurance of protection whatsoever. Finally, thank God, I woke up. I realized just how far I had drifted from ME-- and from God. It appalled me, and after a major prayer, I retreated.

I curled back into myself, and back into the Safety-- the real Safety. I listened to songs with words like, "I am convinced only YOU can sustain me," in reference to God. I took to heart worship songs that sang, "Let us not lift our souls to another." Humans are flawed, I had learned that at long last. Humans, even the best ones, let you down, they LEAVE you, they hurt you, and once you need them, you're doomed. No one, and I mean NO ONE that I had needed, family included... had kept me safe.

Like yesterday's "Peanuts" cartoon... I had turned off the trust.


Only God then. Only ever safe to need Him.

And yet... I look at those words that I've written, and I feel shocked.

Really? IS that the truth? Is it completely wrong and foolish to let yourself need others? And how have I gotten to this place? Am I that jaded? What happened to the girl that, only a couple years ago, wrote: "You will get hurt in life, and your heart will most likely get broken. But that is no reason to live in fear of brokenness, or to push away the wonderful feelings while they’re there. If brokenness comes, cry, and praise God that He is giving you an opportunity to grow closer to Him, and write a few killer break-up songs. But don’t ever try to prevent yourself from falling in love. Falling in love is great." Where is SHE?

I was once a hopeless romantic. Where is she?

I love people, I've always loved people. I collect warmth from kind interactions with strangers the way other people do in front of a wood-burning fire. Does refusing to need people shut me out from that example of God's love and care-taking?

Or... Is that wisdom?

I seriously don't know, and I'm ASKING... what is the truth? I understand the difference between choosing to trust people, and trusting IN people... I think the first, choosing to trust people, is a necessary part of living among friends and having healthy relationships. Sure, people are flawed, but it's important to choose to trust them, as best you can. But trusting IN a person-- asking a person to save your life, to fix you, to complete you-- is asking too much I think. That's a role that only God can fulfill, I think-- it's only right to trust IN God.

But what about need? Does God call us to need each other? Or does He ask to be our only sustainment? Is it "idol-worship" (to get real "Christiany" on us all) if we feel a need for things other than God?

I really don't know. I'd love your opinions. I feel like a huge part of my heart, my future, and my ability to move forward rests on this question. And I have no idea what the answer is.

Climbing out of the Skin

In the last several days, I have had at least five different conversations with five different people about fearing the beast that is failure. That was topped off by an article I read in the paper this morning about the Chinese's take on winning medals at the Olympics. Look at this snippet:

"China has staked its honor on these Games. It seems as if so much of its self-esteem is tied up in gold. Not silver. Not bronze.

Just gold.

The Chinese government will pay its athletes bonuses for gold medals. It has been reported that gold-medal winners on the table-tennis team will make $25,000 in bonuses.

...It's now a world where silver is considered failure.

Chinese swimmer Zhang Li won a silver earlier this week in an impressive race in the 400-meter freestyle, but reacted without joy. He never smiled during the medal ceremony. And when the winner, Korean Taehwan Park, pulled him into the pictures that the photographers demanded after the medal ceremony, Zhang sadly stared at their lenses with his disappointment.

Silver doesn't spend."

What is going on here? What is this world that we have arrived at, where a Silver Olympic Medal equates, as Iceman would put it, "A plaque in the ladies' room"?

In one of the books we're reading for grad school, there's a chapter about helping your students develop a healthy self-concept. The chapter talked about how, in our society, we have become increasingly award-focused, looking to all kinds of external evidence to prove our merit as students, and beyond that as human beings. We win with trophies, we succeed with A's, we flex with fancy career titles. Would anyone disagree that the standard measure of American success is judged by education level, job title, economic status, the appearance of family cohesiveness, and good looks? I mean... that sums it up, doesn't it? You give someone a quick once-over: yeah. They look good. They look successful.

The problem is, our happiness as a country has been shown to plummet since the 1950's--starting with Eisenhower's push to increase consumerism as a National value. It began as an effort to boost the economy after World War II, but the unstoppable progression of this national materialistic philosophy has damaged us in all kinds of ways.

We equate value with stuff. We define success with trophies. We need approval to be happy.

And Silver doesn't cut it.

This grad school book's implied answer to all that-- well, some of that-- was to develop an individually healthy self-concept-- an understanding of yourself that remains positive outside of what others think of you. The chapter warned against us only rewarding students with tangible trophies and compliments-- if they're never discovering the worth of what they're doing on their OWN-- will they ever? It talked about developing an intrinsic motivation in these students where, even if the possibility of a reward is taken away, the student is still motivated to learn and try.

In this context, mistakes are okay because you can learn from them.
Achieving a personal best is better than getting the best grade in the class.
The process is more important than the end result.
You can be imperfect and still be acceptable.

You can be imperfect and still be acceptable.

This last bit-- the desire to be perfect-- screws us up in all KINDS of ways I'm realizing. Women run into this all the time-- bodily dissatisfaction among females is considered a "normative condition" among psychologists. (I can't link to that one because I read that fact in a psychological study and I can't remember what study it was.) We generally process something along the lines of the following check-list: Is our hair thick enough? Are our eyes big enough? Are our lashes long enough? Are we thin enough? Are our legs long enough? How are our ankles? How are our toes? How toned are our stomachs? Are our boobs the right size? Is our hair the right color? Are our hands the right size? Are our noses shaped right?

If the answer to any one of those questions is a negative one, we have WORK to do. And the cosmetics industry has every product imaginable to help us fix it. Because: we need to be perfect.

The expectation for perfection is HUGE in relationships as well. We want happily ever after, and soul mates. We want to find The One, and we expect that once we do, we'll be complete. We grow up on this, but what honest relationship lives up to it? What kind of human can live up to it? If we try, the expectation eventually crushes us.

Say you have a dude that wants approval; that wants to be loved. Say he tries to be a hero and earn it.
Then say you have a girl who's been hurt and wants safety. Say she wants a rescuer.
Say the dude finds the girl, and she needs him. He rescues her, and she gives him approval. Two incomplete people almost-- almost-- can provide the other with what they need.
Then say the girl grows into herself; she becomes stronger, she becomes confident.
Say the guy isn't feeling that heroism anymore, and has lost out on his daily dose of approval.
Say the guy makes mistakes, like forgetting to pay the bills one month. Say he feels pressure from the girl to not let her down.
Say that they begin hiding things from each other, because they can't be perfect, and so the pretense grows and grows until it crushes them.

We can't be perfect. We can't get everything we need from each other.
And if we can't, then we will always fail at some point. And what's worse, we will inevitably let someone down.

But where does that leave us? Our culture is not a culture that accepts failure gracefully. True, we may still congratulate our athletes for getting Silver medals, but I would say that, overall, our national attitude is geared towards perfection.

So how do we handle that then? Does it start with having a self-concept that is tied to something other than external rewards, than human approval?

This is the picture in my head. I picture myself in these shadows with this skin on, and the skin wants rewards I can show people, that wants approval, that wants another human being to complete me, and that wants to complete another human being. And I picture myself wriggling out of that skin like it's a clingy, damp wet suit. And once I finally get done wriggling, and pulling, and hopping around until I'm out of it,

I step into a lit pool of grace.

I am alone, and bare, and shivering, and I am human. Every single one of my flaws is lit up in that pool. But as soon as they're brought to light, they begin to fade.

I am whole there. I am shown absolute approval for that trembling self. The skin is tossed away, and I am literally washed clean.

I really think this is the only way to get out of it. I think it's the only way to be content, to feel whole, to be okay with being imperfect. I know it has a lot to do with psychology too-- with getting to the place where you can acknowledge the merit of the journey even if it doesn't reap a reward. But even then, understanding your wholeness first is necessary-- if you're whole OUTSIDE that reward, you can see how great the journey was. If you're not whole without the reward, then the journey was worthless.

And being out of that skin means we can be in relationships with one another as people. As just people. I started writing a song once, that tried to get at this idea. The chorus goes:

It's just women and men trying here,
And none of us whole:
We're either dangerous pretense,
Or scared naked souls.
I'm not enough to complete you,
But I'll do what I can
To give you the best of my heart
With a steady hand.

I want to be a teacher that allows mistakes, and encourages the process, and loves students for their hearts and effort, not just their accomplishments. I want to be a girlfriend, and eventually a wife that is open about my weaknesses, and who sees my partner as simply a man, as-- I hope-- an HONEST man. I want to be a human that is whole not because of what I do, or who I am, but because I am loved by a Savior that took care of the perfection part already.


That is the self I want to live in.