I started reading Alece's blog sometime early in the year. I can't remember how I found her, but I can tell you why I kept going back. She writes with a great honesty about being broken. A deep honesty and questioning that still reflects a trust in God, even when He can't seem to be found. There have been days where simply reading Alece's words have encouraged me to keep walking out my own crazy, messy journey.
Last week, another blogger hosted "Ladies Week" and shared videos of a number of female bloggers sharing their stories of brokenness and meeting God somewhere in the midst of that. I found "Ladies Week" because Alece wrote a post that linked to it, and to a video of herself sharing her story.
This video, actually:
I cannot begin to explain how deeply this encouraged me when I saw it first, and how I've watched it several times since and been encouraged each time.
Sometimes as I share what's gone on and is going on in my life with people around me, I struggle. It's pretty messy, this year of deconstruction and working again towards healing. It's not even a new journey. I've done this whole "need to piece large chunks of my life back together" journey before, and I haven't been all that impressed to be walking it out again.
But the reminder that sometimes we need to be authentic in the midst of the crap, not just afterwards, was one I needed to hear again. To be authentic in more than just the "past tense." I needed to hear someone else who understands what it is to walk out brokenness (though our stories are so different) share how sometimes the "grit" of life is the thing God uses most powerfully to minister to someone else. I needed the reminder to find people with whom I can be really and truly authentic - who I can trust with what's going on in me, and trust to pray and walk with me in the hard stuff and not just the stuff that looks pretty.
I needed the encouragement of Alece's story, and I hope it encourages each of you as well.
Showing posts with label honesty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label honesty. Show all posts
Monday, November 08, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
I Should Have Kept My Mouth Shut!
You know those moments, the ones where you realize just a few seconds too late, that it was definitely a bad idea to say that, whatever that is? I had one recently.
Mine was the sort of epic fail that makes pastor's kids or other children of people in some sort of public life the world over cringe in sympathy.
It involved a church lady.
Not just any church lady, but that one. You know, the one who wears the skirt where the waist sits just a little bit too high, the skirt that reaches quite properly to just below the knee, with the button down blouse tucked into it. She always has pantyhose on. And pumps. But she doesn't like the clicking noise that the pumps make on the wooden floor of the gym, so she kind of tiptoes around - sort of like she's creeping up on you. (I do an excellent impression of this tiptoeing, and I'd be happy to share with you all in person sometime.) She's the one who is very well meaning, but incredibly nosy. The one who is an administrator (that's the nice "Christian" word for "control freak," right?) The one that doesn't hear "no" very often, mostly because she's a fan of either guilt or "voluntelling" - whatever works.
There is one of these ladies in my life. This particular one has made me cringe since, well, childhood, for all of the reasons listed above, magnified by the fact that my father is her pastor.
Every time I have a conversation with her (and these days, they're thankfully rare), I forget that it's probably not wise to be my usual bluntly honest self, and my mental filters kick in just a moment too late.
The last time it happened was about two weeks back.
It started innocuously. I got the usual "It's so good to see you here, Lisa." (I get that a lot when I visit my dad's church. It's part of the deal when you're the pastor's kid. It's an even bigger part of the deal when you're the only child of said pastor to have decided to find a spiritual home someplace other than the church your dad pastor's.) Outloud I returned some sort of pleasantry. In my head, I was reminding myself that this was not a guilt trip comment (even though it often feels like one). I was telling myself that this lady was trying to be genuinely nice, and that I needed to receive it that way, whatever my issues were.
Perhaps I should stop having conversations with myself when busy having a conversation with people with whom many years of experience have taught the neccessity of careful filtering of all comments made aloud.
Because, you see, she wasn't done. The "what are you doing now" nosyness had kicked in.
"Are you still living with your grandma?"
(for you to appreciate the full magnitude of what was to come, you should know that my grandma rather proudly attends this church, is sort of buddy-buddy with this particular person, and had, based on the number of questions I got from her buddies, clearly told all of her friends how delighted she was that I was moving into her basement, back when I was moving into her basement.)
"yes, I'm still living there."
"And do you like it?"
"No, I hate it."
Less than a second after those words came out of my mouth, that internal voice was screaming at me, not just chiding. "Lisa Christine! What did you just say??? And to who did you say it? What were you thinking? Look at her face!"
Her face was slightly stunned and then highly disappointed.
Her recovery was quick though, and prying, "Oh! I thought it would be such a good arrangement!"
A pause.
A painful, life flashing before my eyes, I'm twelve again and going to get in trouble for this, pause.
"You just prefer living on your own?"
"Mmm..."
You see, my filters had kicked in. Mono-syllables, no real words. Always the best bet.
The worst part is, experience has taught me that this particular church lady is the sort who would quite possibly go straight to my parents with her disappointed concern.
And that left me only one option.
Confession.
To both of my parents, in various conversations through the afternoon.
Just in case some damage control needed to be done.
(I don't think it has, by the way).
My parents know the lady, and were sympathetic, and laughed at my description of my conversational gaffe.
But I have thought of it many times in the following weeks.
I prefer a policy of honesty, all the time, often a bit blunt.
In that case, though, it would have been so much better, for everyone involved, if I had just kept my mouth shut!
Mine was the sort of epic fail that makes pastor's kids or other children of people in some sort of public life the world over cringe in sympathy.
It involved a church lady.
Not just any church lady, but that one. You know, the one who wears the skirt where the waist sits just a little bit too high, the skirt that reaches quite properly to just below the knee, with the button down blouse tucked into it. She always has pantyhose on. And pumps. But she doesn't like the clicking noise that the pumps make on the wooden floor of the gym, so she kind of tiptoes around - sort of like she's creeping up on you. (I do an excellent impression of this tiptoeing, and I'd be happy to share with you all in person sometime.) She's the one who is very well meaning, but incredibly nosy. The one who is an administrator (that's the nice "Christian" word for "control freak," right?) The one that doesn't hear "no" very often, mostly because she's a fan of either guilt or "voluntelling" - whatever works.
There is one of these ladies in my life. This particular one has made me cringe since, well, childhood, for all of the reasons listed above, magnified by the fact that my father is her pastor.
Every time I have a conversation with her (and these days, they're thankfully rare), I forget that it's probably not wise to be my usual bluntly honest self, and my mental filters kick in just a moment too late.
The last time it happened was about two weeks back.
It started innocuously. I got the usual "It's so good to see you here, Lisa." (I get that a lot when I visit my dad's church. It's part of the deal when you're the pastor's kid. It's an even bigger part of the deal when you're the only child of said pastor to have decided to find a spiritual home someplace other than the church your dad pastor's.) Outloud I returned some sort of pleasantry. In my head, I was reminding myself that this was not a guilt trip comment (even though it often feels like one). I was telling myself that this lady was trying to be genuinely nice, and that I needed to receive it that way, whatever my issues were.
Perhaps I should stop having conversations with myself when busy having a conversation with people with whom many years of experience have taught the neccessity of careful filtering of all comments made aloud.
Because, you see, she wasn't done. The "what are you doing now" nosyness had kicked in.
"Are you still living with your grandma?"
(for you to appreciate the full magnitude of what was to come, you should know that my grandma rather proudly attends this church, is sort of buddy-buddy with this particular person, and had, based on the number of questions I got from her buddies, clearly told all of her friends how delighted she was that I was moving into her basement, back when I was moving into her basement.)
"yes, I'm still living there."
"And do you like it?"
"No, I hate it."
Less than a second after those words came out of my mouth, that internal voice was screaming at me, not just chiding. "Lisa Christine! What did you just say??? And to who did you say it? What were you thinking? Look at her face!"
Her face was slightly stunned and then highly disappointed.
Her recovery was quick though, and prying, "Oh! I thought it would be such a good arrangement!"
A pause.
A painful, life flashing before my eyes, I'm twelve again and going to get in trouble for this, pause.
"You just prefer living on your own?"
"Mmm..."
You see, my filters had kicked in. Mono-syllables, no real words. Always the best bet.
The worst part is, experience has taught me that this particular church lady is the sort who would quite possibly go straight to my parents with her disappointed concern.
And that left me only one option.
Confession.
To both of my parents, in various conversations through the afternoon.
Just in case some damage control needed to be done.
(I don't think it has, by the way).
My parents know the lady, and were sympathetic, and laughed at my description of my conversational gaffe.
But I have thought of it many times in the following weeks.
I prefer a policy of honesty, all the time, often a bit blunt.
In that case, though, it would have been so much better, for everyone involved, if I had just kept my mouth shut!
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