Roxanne “Roxi” Brentwood wasn’t a bad kid.
Really, she wasn’t.
At home, she didn’t hog the T.V. (at least not often.)
At school, she took the extra time to pick up the trash littered around her desk. (Hey, once a week was better than nothing, right?)
At church, she took her job as an usher seriously. (Sometimes, a bit too seriously—which was why she was currently in deep dog doo.)
“You did what?!”
Roxi shifted uncomfortably. If “passive Patty,” the head of the ushering team, was raising her voice, then things were worse than she thought.
As if reading her mind, the older girl lowered her voice, her face contorting as she struggled to keep her frustration under control. Roxi waited, feeling her cheeks flush as people walked by and shot the two knowing glances.
Finally, Patty opened her eyes. “Now,” she said, voice calm, “Why don’t you explain what happened.”
Roxi didn’t protest, despite this being the second time she’d repeated the tale. Hey, the more times Patty heard her side of the story, the better.
“I was just training the newbie, Pat!” she said, pounding a chair for emphasis, “Wendy’s been with us a month, and she still doesn’t realize that, unless everyone pulls their weight, things won’t run smoothly! I told her at least a thousand times last week to remember that this week was her turn to print out the bulletins. I called her three times this week! I even texted her before service---”
“So that’s what you were doing. I was wondering.” Patty’s (now calm) interjection stopped Roxi’s rant. She scowled.
Patty pushed up her glasses and massaged the side of her head with her other hand, watching Roxi with affectionate exasperation. “Listen, Roxi, I appreciate your—zealousness—in training Wendy, but it wasn’t really necessary to send her home crying. What, exactly, did you say to her?”
Roxi’s scowl deepened. “It wasn’t anything that wasn’t true,” she hedged.
“Roxi—”
“Allright, allright! I called her an irresponsible, untrustworthy, newbie, and told her most people entrusted with the job of making copies did it early in the week. Then, I told her off for procrastinating and said that unless she did better, and applied herself, she’d get kicked off the team in a week.”
Patty’s eyebrows shot up, and Roxi felt a pang of guilt. “You said all that?” the bespectacled girl asked incredulously, “Why?”
“Like I said, it wasn’t anything that wasn’t true. She should know that if she won’t pull her weight, then she doesn’t deserve to be on the ushering team. We all work hard to make sure things run smoothly, and if she can’t accept that—”
Patty sighed, effectively cutting off rant number two. “Like I said, I’m glad you’re so enthusiastic towards your job, but maybe you should think of showing some compassion. Wendy was really hurt by what you said. You know, she’s only been coming to our church for a few months. Couldn’t you have been a little less—”
“Honest?” Roxi suggested.
“Very funny. I was going to say ‘rude.’” Patty looked at Roxi’s stubborn green eyes and shook her head in defeat. “Just—put yourself in her shoes, ok? Try imagining what she must have felt.” A thought struck her, and she added, almost as an afterthought, “Remember the Golden Rule?”
Roxi shrugged. “You mean, the one I learned in pre-school?”
Patty ignored the sarcasm, nodding. “Yeah, that one. Maybe you should look it up again.”
************
“Do Unto Others as You Would Have Them Do to you.”
As Roxi knows, the Golden Rule is easier said than done.
Cereal, Milk, and Aesop’s Fables
We’ve all heard Aesop’s “The Mouse and the Lion.”
In the story, a mouse awakens a lion from his slumber, and the lion, annoyed, prepares to kill the terrified animal.
“Please, spare me!” the mouse pleads, “And I’ll repay you!”
The lion laughs, inwardly wondering how such a tiny animal could ever repay him, but lets the mouse go.
A few days later, he finds himself hopelessly entangled in a hunter’s net. Despite his sharp claws and teeth, he is unable to break free. But just as he is about to give up hope, the mouse arrives, and using its tiny size and scissor-like teeth, is able to free the mighty beast from the net.
The moral of the story is clear. If you help others, they will help you.
But when we put ourselves into the story, suddenly it’s not so simple.
Though we aren’t actual lions, we sometimes find ourselves in the lion’s position.
Someone hurts us, wrongs us, or treats us unjustly. We’re the injured party, and we’re mad.
A time I found myself being the lion was a time my younger brother spilled a bowl of milk and cheerios all over the kitchen floor.
Like the lion, I was upset.
Like the lion, I had the mouse in my grasp.
The mouse in my case being my brother, who was staring in shock at the mess he had made.
Sometimes the mice will plead verbally, just like the story.
“I’m sorry I ripped your homework.”
“It was an accident! I didn’t mean to break your trophy.”
But some times, they won’t. My little brother stared at the floor, and then at his wet, dripping clothes.
Then he looked at me.
“My pants are wet,” he complained.
Now, as the lion, I had a choice to make. The mouse sat in my claws, awaiting his verdict.
I could eat him alive, demand that he clean the mess up and scold him for his clumsiness.
That option was the most enticing. After all, it was his fault for spilling the cereal.
I was justified in my annoyance.
But there was something lurking in my mind. A sermon, a principle buried deep inside me.
The mouse’s unspoken plea, “I will repay you.”
The Golden Rule, “Do unto others as you would have them do to you.”
Like the lion, we usually don’t believe that the mouse will ever repay us.
I didn’t believe that my brother would repay me.
However, I did know what I would have wanted if our roles had been reversed.
I had a choice to make.
All That Glitters Isn’t Gold
Have you ever looked into a stream filled with small bits of rock and gravel?
Many stones catch the sunlight and glitter.
But most of them aren’t gold.
The stream of life is also full of shiny rocks.
As we bend over it, “Anger” glitters temptingly. “Condemnation” shines seductively. “Sarcasm” beckons invitingly.
None of them are gold.
When the lion holds the mouse in his paws, he looks down into the stream of life.
When I surveyed the mess made by my little brother, I reached out my hand to pick up a stone.
Most of the time, our first reaction is to lash out, to smirk, to make a rude comment. Those rocks are the first to move aside.
James 1:19 states, “My dear brothers, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry.”
So the first layer is moved aside.
The lion loosens his grip on the mouse.
I take a deep breath and swallow the sarcastic, “way to go,” embedded in my throat.
Our second reaction is condemnation. Self-righteousness. Justification.
He made the mess, so he should clean it up. She made the mistake, so she should suffer for it.
We want the mice to be punished, to be repaid, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
But despite how brightly these rocks glow, they aren’t gold.
Romans 5:8 says, “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”
If God operated only on justice, we’d all be scorch marks in the ground.
Another layer of rocks is discarded.
The lion sets the mouse on the ground, keeping a firm paw on its tail.
I close my eyes and push away the picture of my brother mopping up the floor.
Few people ever make it to the final layer of rocks. They are the rarest, the hardest to find. Buried under the other stones and countless loads of sand, they glitter only faintly, and are easy to ignore.
As I look into the stream, I see “Forgiveness,” “Kindness,” and “Love,” sitting there. They don’t shine, they don’t look beautiful, and for a moment I contemplate going back to the other layers of rock.
But then, my hand reaches out and I pluck the three stones from the stream.
As they leave the water, the grime falls off and suddenly they wink and sparkle like the gems they are.
The true gold of the stream of life.
The lion hesitates, and then lets the mouse go.
I hesitate, and then, looking at the three stones in my hand, I make my decision.
I pocket the ruby of forgiveness, the color of Christ’s blood as he hung on the cross and prayed for his Father to forgive those who put him there.
“It’s ok, go upstairs and change.”
The emerald of kindness is the next. Green stands for healing, and Christ never turned away a broken body or spirit, no matter how tired he was.
“I’ll clean it up.”
Lastly, I finger and tuck the nugget of love into my pocket. “For God so loved the world---” As God loved us, as Jesus Christ loved us, so we should love others.
Smiling, I add, “When you’re changed, come down, and I’ll get another bowl ready. Be careful this time.”
All that glitters isn’t gold.
But the gold is worth getting rid of all the glittering rocks above and beside it.
************
Roxi shuffled her feet, glaring at the CLOSED sign in front of her, as the irony of the situation imprinted itself onto her soaked, unamused head. What had Patty said the week before? Something about putting herself in Wendy’s place—
A drop of rain hit her cheek and she scowled again, tucking the bulletins (which were no doubt getting soaked) tighter against her body. Well, there was no way she could be closer to the girl’s situation than she was right now.
Roxi racked her brain, trying to remember how, exactly, she’d forgotten that the glorious job of printing out bulletins was hers that week? It’d been late Friday night when she finally checked her e-mail and received Patty’s weekly reminder, and by then it’d been too late to get to Staples.
She’d woken Saturday morning with a huge headache and an overwhelming urge to sleep in. Somehow, she’d managed to drag herself outside and onto her bike, Sunday’s bulletin tucked under one arm. The journey to Staples had been excruciating, as her tired legs pumped and her exhausted mind tried to keep herself from falling off or getting run over.
Staples had been closed.
Roxi remembered the frustration that had filled her at the realization, and how she’d had to beg a ride from her mom to get her to the tiny convenience store on the outskirts of town. The rain had started on the way there and Roxi had hoped to spend a maximum of fifteen minutes making the copies before rushing home and straight to bed. Only to be met with the six lettered sign that stared her in the face.
The horn to her mom’s minivan honked impatiently, and Roxi turned dejectedly around, ready to admit defeat and go home.
Then, a jingle met her ears as the door to the store was pulled open. “Hey, are you here to make copies---” A familiar female voice trailed off as Roxi turned around, coming face-to-face with Wendy.
The two girls stared at each other; Roxi, eyes wide in disbelief, Wendy, her mouth still open. Then, another honk shook them both back to life. Roxi looked down, unable to meet the other girl’s eyes, feeling her face heat up despite the chilling rain. She’d lectured Wendy, a newbie, on the importance of making copies of the bulletin early in the week, and now she, a seasoned veteran, was caught doing the exact same thing. She prepared herself for mocking laughter, for insults, for the humiliation—
“Are you coming in?”
Roxi’s head shot up as she met Wendy’s gaze. The dark-haired girl smiled sympathetically, jerking her head at the bulletin still grasped in Roxi’s hands. “You’re here to make copies, right? We have one in the back. Come on in.”
Roxi, struck dumb, was unable to do anything but follow the other girl into the shop. Wendy led her to the copy machine, typed in the code, and watched as Roxi slid in the bulletin mechanically before punching in the correct number.
“You’re lucky I’m here,” she said conversationally, not seeming to notice Roxi’s mute state, “Our washing machine broke down, and Mr. Smirt—he’s the owner of the shop—agreed to let me work extra hours this month. That’s why I forgot to make the copies. I know, silly right? The machine’s right there, but I was so tired, I guess it slipped my mind. My phone’s been dead for awhile too, so that’s why I didn’t receive your calls. You were right, though, I was being irresponsible. I never realized how serious being an usher really was until you—”
Roxi shook herself out of her paralysis then. Grabbing Wendy’s arm to stop her, she turned the girl until they were face to face. “No, I was wrong. Listen, Wendy—that day, I was way too harsh. I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t mention it.” Wendy’s voice was cheerful. She turned off the copy machine, handing the finished copies to Roxi. “Do you mind seeing yourself out? I have to clean up before I leave.”
Roxi took the copies, started to go, and then hesitated, watching as Wendy bent down to start picking up the trash that littered the floor. Then, there was a jingle as she ran out.
Wendy continued cleaning, mind busily cataloguing all the things she had to get done before she could go home. Preoccupied, she bumped her head on a table and dropped some of the papers she’d been picking up.
“Hey, you ok?”
Wendy almost dropped the rest of the papers in surprise as Roxi bent down next to her and picked the trash up. Meeting her gaze squarely, the girl said frankly, “My mom’s going to pick me up in an hour. With both of us working, we should be able to get this place clean by then.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Wendy protested, “I can do it.”
Roxi smiled, and helped the other girl up. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, “I want to do it.”
Monday, April 26, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
Storyz: When Irritations Overwhelm----
Dana Dina counted herself as a pretty sweet-tempered girl. Her friends often complimented her ability to keep a cool head, even when others were exchanging heated words. “How do you keep from getting angry?” they’d ask, and Dana would just shrug, and smile.
There was one thing though—a tiny, miniscule pet peeve that drove Dana nuts. It was a small thing, meaningless and unimportant, but for some reason, she really hated it when someone confused her first and last name.
“It’s one letter!” she ranted to her friends, “One, tiny letter. Why can’t people be considerate enough to remember that my name is NOT Dina? Sometimes, I just want to scream at those insensitive jerks who don’t bother to have the common courtesy to---” That was when the phone usually clicked or her friends suddenly made excuses to leave.
Luckily, Dana lived in a small community, where everyone knew everyone, so few made the mistake of calling her by her last name. By seventh grade, it almost never happened, and Dana was able to laugh about it with her friends. “Was I really that bad?” she asked, rolling her eyes in mock horror, “I mean, it’s just a name!”
The irritation slowly became nothing more than a faded memory, though Dana still felt a prickle of annoyance every time she thought about it. All in all, though, it seemed as if previous pet peeve was gone for good.
Then, one morning, her new homeroom teacher—a young, nervous looking lady with a slight accent no one could identify—introduced herself to the class. Dana, who thought the woman looked nice, took the initiative to go up and introduce herself after class. The woman smiled, and Dana left sure of a good year.
Then, the teacher said it.
“Goodbye----Dina.”
Dana’s mouth clamped shut and her eyes narrowed. Forcing herself to calm down, she plastered a smile on her face. “Actually, it’s Dana.”
Her teacher beamed innocently, “That’s what I said, Dina.”
Dana realized then, that the woman’s slight accent was what was causing the slight mispronunciation. It wasn’t the poor lady’s fault.
That’s what she told herself the next morning, when her teacher greeted her with a cheerful, “Good morning, Dina.”
That’s what she told herself when her name was abused during attendance.
That’s what she told herself when her teacher asked her to close the window.
“It’s just one letter,” she told herself, “It shouldn’t matter.”
But, by the end of the week, she was so annoyed, it seemed as if her teacher took special time to accent the first syllable of her name. “Hello, Diiiii-na.”
“I’m so mad I want to punch her,” she finally admitted in her journal. “What am I going to do?”
***************
Have you ever had an itch? That tickling, uncomfortable feeling at the base of your throat, or in the middle of your back?
The Merriam-Webster dictionary describes an itch as: “an uneasy irritating sensation in the upper surface of the skin usually held to result from mild stimulation of pain receptors.”
It’s not as physically painful as a bruise or a cut, but for some reason, it’s ten times more annoying.
So are irritations.
My definition of an irritation is an emotional itch—a nagging, unsettled feeling that you just want to go away.
Irritations bring out the worst in people. After all, no one is immune to them, and they have the power to turn the most calm, rational person into a petulant child in seconds.
Itches—irritations—itches—irritations, they seem so trivial, and usually are.
So why do we continue to let them ruin our lives?
Maybe it’s because they’re so persistent.
Curing a bad habit is like pulling out rotten teeth, but once you’ve cured it, it’s cured.
With irritations, though, it’s like swatting one mosquito with the knowledge that, two minutes late, another one will be hovering in the exact same spot.
After a few dozen mosquitoes, (and irritations), we just want to give up and let the bugs suck our blood.
Irritations are sneaky. The warning signs for anger, greed, and pride are clear, and though we don’t always choose to, we know we’ve got to stop.
On the other hand, irritations are like bombs dropped from the sky. We don’t realize anything’s wrong until it explodes at our feet and suddenly that feeling makes us want to lash out at anyone within hearing distance.
Irritations are like leeches. They stick; stubbornly refusing to budge despite how hard we tug, getting fat while our emotions run wild.
We want them gone, but they refuse to go, and soon, we don’t care how we make ourselves feel better, as long as we do.
Always returning, hard to spot, and hard to get rid of. More and more, the threat reveals itself.
So how can we save ourselves from these itches?
We scratch them.
Seems simple, doesn’t it? It’s a lot harder than it sounds.
Unlike physical itches, emotional itches usually need two people to scratch them. Which involves asking for help, in a way that will induce the other person to want to help. Which involves being polite and kind. Which is the last thing we want to do.
During the last week, I was supremely irritated by my younger brother, E---. Everything he did, the way he sat, the way he hummed tunelessly and made up rhymes that didn’t make sense—it drove me completely insane. Despite all my efforts, I couldn’t scratch the itch. I needed help.
So, like a totally mature, composed big sister, I opened my mouth. “E---, would you please stop talking, fidgeting, scratching your feet, tilting your head, and blinking your eyes? Thank you.”
Well, at least, that was what I meant to say.
Instead, this came out.
“E---, stop, now. You’re being annoying.”
Dale Carneige once said that the only way to make a person do something was to make the person want to do it.
Oops.
Needless to say, he didn’t stop. Oh, my glare worked for about two minutes, but then he started up again, with renewed vigor.
And my irritation flared up again.
Too many times we’re so impatient to get rid of irritation that we forget that it takes another person’s cooperation to kill the leech. Just like you can’t physically force someone to scratch your back, you can’t physically force someone to soothe your irritations.
Remember, despite how annoying a person’s behavior may seem, and despite how much you believe that asking him/her to stop would be a favor to the greater good--- to them, you’re asking a favor.
And everyone knows that how a person asks a favor is sometimes more important than the favor itself.
The magic words you learned in Kindergarten are good weapons, and yet the last things you want employ. Too bad.
Grit your teeth, take a deep breath, and say them. “Please,” and then, “Thank you.”
Hopefully, this will lead to the stop of whatever caused the irritation in the first place.
But what if the source of irritation can’t be stopped?
Forget the Shield
It’s impossible to never be irritated. Unlike biting fingernails and tapping fingers, it’s not a conscious decision.
You and I don’t choose to be irritated, we just do. It’s a human emotion, or rather, a human flaw.
So is living an irritant free life too good to be true?
Yes, and no.
Everyone, everywhere, gets irritated, from the hermit in his cave to the billionaire in his mansion. That’s not something we can stop.
The feeling will remain, whether we like it or not. How we react to the feeling is a completely different matter.
I believe that, when I became a Christian, God sent his Holy Spirit to live inside me. Galatians 5:17 states, “For the sinful nature desires what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the sinful nature. They are in conflict with each other, so that you do not do what you want.”
When I’m annoyed, I want to make myself feel better by lashing out, but, somewhere inside me, the Holy Spirit shakes his head.
It’s hard. Sometimes, it seems impossible. But it’s the right thing to do.
Whenever I get really irritated at something, I try to isolate myself—maybe not physically, but emotionally. And then, I pray.
God, please, please, please, please, please help me.
God is good.
I’ve lost track of the times that he’s helped remove my feelings of annoyance, anger, and frustration.
Of course, it’s a heated battle. On one hand, I know the right thing to do, but on the other hand, lashing out feels good.
As a teen girl with two siblings and a brilliant speaker/writer for a mom, I can testify that it’s not worth it.
I cannot count the number of times I’ve looked back and thought: if only I hadn’t said that, or, what was I thinking?
That small feeling of satisfaction won’t last. One way or another, it’ll turn into anger, frustration, and guilt.
I’ve lashed out and found myself in a full-blown argument two minutes later—over something as small as a tactless comment.
I’ve lashed out and found myself feeling isolated from my family for hours later—over something as meaningless as who got to pick the restaurant.
I’ve lashed out and felt like a complete jerk seconds later—over something as trivial as an accidental push.
The problem with irritations is that, if you don’t take care of them, they grow into something a lot uglier.
So forget the shield, and bring out the body armor.
Ignore that sarcastic comment, the urge to slam that door, or the burst of disrespect.
And if you lose the battle, as I have, so many times—apologize.
Our family spent the day at the mall today, and I couldn’t enjoy it, all because I let a little irritation get the best of me.
I’d just woken up and was feeling completely unenergetic. As I trudged out of the car and towards the mall, my mom casually reached over to straighten my shirt.
At the unexpected touch, I jerked away and snapped, “Stop it!”
We’re leaving for dinner now, three hours later, and I still feel guilty.
There will be times that you lose the battle, and lose it badly.
So do what I’m going to do.
Stand up, walk over, and give the person you hurt a hug.
Then, say those two magical words.
“I’m sorry.”
Irritations are a part of life.
But we, with God’s help, can learn to overcome them.
***************
Dana knew she was in trouble. If she didn’t master that annoyance ASAP, she’d never be able to get through the school year. As she stared at her lunch miserably, trying to block out the sound of the noisy cafeteria, she felt someone walk up behind her. Turning, she gave a reluctant smile as George Allen’s warm eyes met hers.
“I heard about you problem,” the tall boy said sympathetically, “Want to talk?”
Dana shrugged, but scooted over to make room. George grabbed a nearby chair and sat down. “So, the name thing’s really getting on your nerves, isn’t it?”
Dana nodded. “I try not to mind,” she said, tugging a strand of hair and wincing, “but it’s like, every time I make the decision to stop getting angry, she calls my name twice as much! It’s completely annoying, but I can’t get rid of the feeling!”
There was a pause, and Dana suddenly felt silly, complaining about such a small thing. “Never mind,” she said, not meeting George’s eyes, “It’s no big deal—”
“No, it’s not,” George agreed, and then grimaced, “But that’s probably not what you wanted to hear, is it.” It wasn’t a question.
Dana shook her head. They sat awkwardly, until George finally broke it. “Listen, Dana-- I know this is kind of weird, but have you tried praying about it?”
Dana shrugged. “Sometimes,” she said noncommittally, feeling uncomfortable.
George obviously sensed this, and he gave her an impulsive, one-armed hug. “Don’t worry, it’ll get better.” Someone called him then, and he stood to leave. Then, he stopped.
“Uh, Dana?”
“Yeah?”
“I know it’s kind of awkward, but I really think you should go to God with this. Try it.” With that, George Allen walked away.
Dana watched him go, a strange feeling in his chest. For some reason, George’s simple words really struck a nerve. Why hadn’t she prayed about her situation?
“God’s busy with world peace, he doesn’t have time for something this small,” she told herself, but then shook her head in disgust. If there was one thing she couldn’t stand, it was those pathetic people who made excuses to keep from doing what they knew was right..
The cafeteria’s sounds faded as she closed her eyes and began pouring her heart out.
“God, I really need your help—”
For the next two weeks, whenever Dana felt that bubble of irritation, she mumbled a quick prayer. It didn’t always erase the irritation, but it helped her keep her temper under control. After a while, as time went by, the annoyance faded. Once in a while, it would flare, but Dana bit her lip, prayed, and fought courageously to keep a smile on her face.
She kept in touch with George, who became a close friend and confident as well as a source of steady encouragement.
A month passed.
A year.
A decade later, a soon-to-be Mrs. Dana Allen stood before the alter, her fiancé beaming at her, familiar brown eyes taking in the sight of her gorgeous gown and bright smile. The words, “I do,” were spoken quietly, but the love shone from his eyes as clearly as if he’d shouted the words.
The pastor looked at the bride, and opened his mouth.
Dana prepared herself to say the two words that would bind her forever to the man she loved.
And then--- the pastor spoke.
“Ms. Diiiiiiii-na, do you take Mr. George Allen as your lawfully wedded husband?”
For just a moment, Dana saw red.
And then, she looked into the face of the man before her, and saw the barely concealed grin that he was trying in vain to hide.
The irritation flowed away.
“I do.”
There was one thing though—a tiny, miniscule pet peeve that drove Dana nuts. It was a small thing, meaningless and unimportant, but for some reason, she really hated it when someone confused her first and last name.
“It’s one letter!” she ranted to her friends, “One, tiny letter. Why can’t people be considerate enough to remember that my name is NOT Dina? Sometimes, I just want to scream at those insensitive jerks who don’t bother to have the common courtesy to---” That was when the phone usually clicked or her friends suddenly made excuses to leave.
Luckily, Dana lived in a small community, where everyone knew everyone, so few made the mistake of calling her by her last name. By seventh grade, it almost never happened, and Dana was able to laugh about it with her friends. “Was I really that bad?” she asked, rolling her eyes in mock horror, “I mean, it’s just a name!”
The irritation slowly became nothing more than a faded memory, though Dana still felt a prickle of annoyance every time she thought about it. All in all, though, it seemed as if previous pet peeve was gone for good.
Then, one morning, her new homeroom teacher—a young, nervous looking lady with a slight accent no one could identify—introduced herself to the class. Dana, who thought the woman looked nice, took the initiative to go up and introduce herself after class. The woman smiled, and Dana left sure of a good year.
Then, the teacher said it.
“Goodbye----Dina.”
Dana’s mouth clamped shut and her eyes narrowed. Forcing herself to calm down, she plastered a smile on her face. “Actually, it’s Dana.”
Her teacher beamed innocently, “That’s what I said, Dina.”
Dana realized then, that the woman’s slight accent was what was causing the slight mispronunciation. It wasn’t the poor lady’s fault.
That’s what she told herself the next morning, when her teacher greeted her with a cheerful, “Good morning, Dina.”
That’s what she told herself when her name was abused during attendance.
That’s what she told herself when her teacher asked her to close the window.
“It’s just one letter,” she told herself, “It shouldn’t matter.”
But, by the end of the week, she was so annoyed, it seemed as if her teacher took special time to accent the first syllable of her name. “Hello, Diiiii-na.”
“I’m so mad I want to punch her,” she finally admitted in her journal. “What am I going to do?”
***************
Have you ever had an itch? That tickling, uncomfortable feeling at the base of your throat, or in the middle of your back?
The Merriam-Webster dictionary describes an itch as: “an uneasy irritating sensation in the upper surface of the skin usually held to result from mild stimulation of pain receptors.”
It’s not as physically painful as a bruise or a cut, but for some reason, it’s ten times more annoying.
So are irritations.
My definition of an irritation is an emotional itch—a nagging, unsettled feeling that you just want to go away.
Irritations bring out the worst in people. After all, no one is immune to them, and they have the power to turn the most calm, rational person into a petulant child in seconds.
Itches—irritations—itches—irritations, they seem so trivial, and usually are.
So why do we continue to let them ruin our lives?
Maybe it’s because they’re so persistent.
Curing a bad habit is like pulling out rotten teeth, but once you’ve cured it, it’s cured.
With irritations, though, it’s like swatting one mosquito with the knowledge that, two minutes late, another one will be hovering in the exact same spot.
After a few dozen mosquitoes, (and irritations), we just want to give up and let the bugs suck our blood.
Irritations are sneaky. The warning signs for anger, greed, and pride are clear, and though we don’t always choose to, we know we’ve got to stop.
On the other hand, irritations are like bombs dropped from the sky. We don’t realize anything’s wrong until it explodes at our feet and suddenly that feeling makes us want to lash out at anyone within hearing distance.
Irritations are like leeches. They stick; stubbornly refusing to budge despite how hard we tug, getting fat while our emotions run wild.
We want them gone, but they refuse to go, and soon, we don’t care how we make ourselves feel better, as long as we do.
Always returning, hard to spot, and hard to get rid of. More and more, the threat reveals itself.
So how can we save ourselves from these itches?
We scratch them.
Seems simple, doesn’t it? It’s a lot harder than it sounds.
Unlike physical itches, emotional itches usually need two people to scratch them. Which involves asking for help, in a way that will induce the other person to want to help. Which involves being polite and kind. Which is the last thing we want to do.
During the last week, I was supremely irritated by my younger brother, E---. Everything he did, the way he sat, the way he hummed tunelessly and made up rhymes that didn’t make sense—it drove me completely insane. Despite all my efforts, I couldn’t scratch the itch. I needed help.
So, like a totally mature, composed big sister, I opened my mouth. “E---, would you please stop talking, fidgeting, scratching your feet, tilting your head, and blinking your eyes? Thank you.”
Well, at least, that was what I meant to say.
Instead, this came out.
“E---, stop, now. You’re being annoying.”
Dale Carneige once said that the only way to make a person do something was to make the person want to do it.
Oops.
Needless to say, he didn’t stop. Oh, my glare worked for about two minutes, but then he started up again, with renewed vigor.
And my irritation flared up again.
Too many times we’re so impatient to get rid of irritation that we forget that it takes another person’s cooperation to kill the leech. Just like you can’t physically force someone to scratch your back, you can’t physically force someone to soothe your irritations.
Remember, despite how annoying a person’s behavior may seem, and despite how much you believe that asking him/her to stop would be a favor to the greater good--- to them, you’re asking a favor.
And everyone knows that how a person asks a favor is sometimes more important than the favor itself.
The magic words you learned in Kindergarten are good weapons, and yet the last things you want employ. Too bad.
Grit your teeth, take a deep breath, and say them. “Please,” and then, “Thank you.”
Hopefully, this will lead to the stop of whatever caused the irritation in the first place.
But what if the source of irritation can’t be stopped?
Forget the Shield
It’s impossible to never be irritated. Unlike biting fingernails and tapping fingers, it’s not a conscious decision.
You and I don’t choose to be irritated, we just do. It’s a human emotion, or rather, a human flaw.
So is living an irritant free life too good to be true?
Yes, and no.
Everyone, everywhere, gets irritated, from the hermit in his cave to the billionaire in his mansion. That’s not something we can stop.
The feeling will remain, whether we like it or not. How we react to the feeling is a completely different matter.
I believe that, when I became a Christian, God sent his Holy Spirit to live inside me. Galatians 5:17 states, “For the sinful nature desires what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the sinful nature. They are in conflict with each other, so that you do not do what you want.”
When I’m annoyed, I want to make myself feel better by lashing out, but, somewhere inside me, the Holy Spirit shakes his head.
It’s hard. Sometimes, it seems impossible. But it’s the right thing to do.
Whenever I get really irritated at something, I try to isolate myself—maybe not physically, but emotionally. And then, I pray.
God, please, please, please, please, please help me.
God is good.
I’ve lost track of the times that he’s helped remove my feelings of annoyance, anger, and frustration.
Of course, it’s a heated battle. On one hand, I know the right thing to do, but on the other hand, lashing out feels good.
As a teen girl with two siblings and a brilliant speaker/writer for a mom, I can testify that it’s not worth it.
I cannot count the number of times I’ve looked back and thought: if only I hadn’t said that, or, what was I thinking?
That small feeling of satisfaction won’t last. One way or another, it’ll turn into anger, frustration, and guilt.
I’ve lashed out and found myself in a full-blown argument two minutes later—over something as small as a tactless comment.
I’ve lashed out and found myself feeling isolated from my family for hours later—over something as meaningless as who got to pick the restaurant.
I’ve lashed out and felt like a complete jerk seconds later—over something as trivial as an accidental push.
The problem with irritations is that, if you don’t take care of them, they grow into something a lot uglier.
So forget the shield, and bring out the body armor.
Ignore that sarcastic comment, the urge to slam that door, or the burst of disrespect.
And if you lose the battle, as I have, so many times—apologize.
Our family spent the day at the mall today, and I couldn’t enjoy it, all because I let a little irritation get the best of me.
I’d just woken up and was feeling completely unenergetic. As I trudged out of the car and towards the mall, my mom casually reached over to straighten my shirt.
At the unexpected touch, I jerked away and snapped, “Stop it!”
We’re leaving for dinner now, three hours later, and I still feel guilty.
There will be times that you lose the battle, and lose it badly.
So do what I’m going to do.
Stand up, walk over, and give the person you hurt a hug.
Then, say those two magical words.
“I’m sorry.”
Irritations are a part of life.
But we, with God’s help, can learn to overcome them.
***************
Dana knew she was in trouble. If she didn’t master that annoyance ASAP, she’d never be able to get through the school year. As she stared at her lunch miserably, trying to block out the sound of the noisy cafeteria, she felt someone walk up behind her. Turning, she gave a reluctant smile as George Allen’s warm eyes met hers.
“I heard about you problem,” the tall boy said sympathetically, “Want to talk?”
Dana shrugged, but scooted over to make room. George grabbed a nearby chair and sat down. “So, the name thing’s really getting on your nerves, isn’t it?”
Dana nodded. “I try not to mind,” she said, tugging a strand of hair and wincing, “but it’s like, every time I make the decision to stop getting angry, she calls my name twice as much! It’s completely annoying, but I can’t get rid of the feeling!”
There was a pause, and Dana suddenly felt silly, complaining about such a small thing. “Never mind,” she said, not meeting George’s eyes, “It’s no big deal—”
“No, it’s not,” George agreed, and then grimaced, “But that’s probably not what you wanted to hear, is it.” It wasn’t a question.
Dana shook her head. They sat awkwardly, until George finally broke it. “Listen, Dana-- I know this is kind of weird, but have you tried praying about it?”
Dana shrugged. “Sometimes,” she said noncommittally, feeling uncomfortable.
George obviously sensed this, and he gave her an impulsive, one-armed hug. “Don’t worry, it’ll get better.” Someone called him then, and he stood to leave. Then, he stopped.
“Uh, Dana?”
“Yeah?”
“I know it’s kind of awkward, but I really think you should go to God with this. Try it.” With that, George Allen walked away.
Dana watched him go, a strange feeling in his chest. For some reason, George’s simple words really struck a nerve. Why hadn’t she prayed about her situation?
“God’s busy with world peace, he doesn’t have time for something this small,” she told herself, but then shook her head in disgust. If there was one thing she couldn’t stand, it was those pathetic people who made excuses to keep from doing what they knew was right..
The cafeteria’s sounds faded as she closed her eyes and began pouring her heart out.
“God, I really need your help—”
For the next two weeks, whenever Dana felt that bubble of irritation, she mumbled a quick prayer. It didn’t always erase the irritation, but it helped her keep her temper under control. After a while, as time went by, the annoyance faded. Once in a while, it would flare, but Dana bit her lip, prayed, and fought courageously to keep a smile on her face.
She kept in touch with George, who became a close friend and confident as well as a source of steady encouragement.
A month passed.
A year.
A decade later, a soon-to-be Mrs. Dana Allen stood before the alter, her fiancé beaming at her, familiar brown eyes taking in the sight of her gorgeous gown and bright smile. The words, “I do,” were spoken quietly, but the love shone from his eyes as clearly as if he’d shouted the words.
The pastor looked at the bride, and opened his mouth.
Dana prepared herself to say the two words that would bind her forever to the man she loved.
And then--- the pastor spoke.
“Ms. Diiiiiiii-na, do you take Mr. George Allen as your lawfully wedded husband?”
For just a moment, Dana saw red.
And then, she looked into the face of the man before her, and saw the barely concealed grin that he was trying in vain to hide.
The irritation flowed away.
“I do.”
Friday, April 16, 2010
Storyz: A Godly Mind in an Ungodly World
Annabel slammed the door before throwing herself onto her bed. Grabbing her pillow, she muffled the scream of frustration that had been building within her for the past hour. “Be careful what you watch, Annabel,” she mocked in a high falsetto, “Be careful what you listen to. Is that a good CD? Can I hear it too?”
A wave of indignation washed over her. Why should she have to limit her music to the ones her parents would approve of? It’s not as if they were too bad. Switching on her ipod, she flipped to the nearest song, and winced as a word she knew her parents would definitely not approve of blasted into her ear.
Ok, maybe they were a little—rough.
But still!
The memory of her mom, hands on hips, lecturing her about “shielding her mind,” made Annabel want to slam the door all over again. Except—she didn’t want to provoke her mom into stomping up the stairs. She was in enough trouble.
It just wasn’t fair!
Annabel crossed her arms rebelliously. She went to church every Sunday, she prayed, she did devotions. So why couldn’t she listen to the music she liked? It’s not as if a little bit of profanity was going to ruin her life.
What was the big deal, anyway?
***************
Like Annabel, we all tend to wonder what the big deal is. It’s just one word in that song, one line in CD, one scene in that movie.
So why do our parents go berserk?
Think about it, and then read on.
When I was in first grade, I hated the color pink.
Hated it.
Loathed it.
Wouldn’t wear it for the world.
In reality, I didn’t hate the color pink. However, I did hate the image that it seemed to come with.
When I was little, the books I read and the movies I watched were always centered around a strong, (preferably beautiful) heroine who was out to prove that females were equal to males by becoming one of them. These plucky ladies would openly mock the “gentler” race, denouncing frills, bows, anything remotely feminine as “weak” and “girly.”
They were tough, inspiring, and repeatedly beat the bad guys.
I wanted to be like them, and if I couldn’t sneak through a forest, run up a mountain, or perform magic, at least I could avoid being “girly.”
Of course, there’s nothing wrong with being girly.
After all, I’m a girl, aren’t I? What am I supposed to be, if not girly? Boy-like?
The point is, my mindset at the time kept me from enjoying my femininity.
And my mindset was created because I soaked up whatever ideas I was presented with without really thinking about them.
Are you being influenced by your environment, by the movies you watch, by the music you listen to?
Think about it. Are your ideas really your own?
Too many times we act like sponges, soaking in ideas and beliefs without truly understanding them.
Instead of really “listening” to the lyrics of a song, we just enjoy the melody and the beat, not knowing that the words of the lyrics are being pounded into our minds.
Instead of taking the time to fully grasp the message of a movie, we complain about the graphics, not realizing that we are unconsciously building a mindset that may harm us in the future.
Sometimes, the ideas you pick up can be harmless. After all, my hatred of the color pink didn’t permanently damage me.
Other times, however, they can really hurt you.
For example, the theme, “follow your heart,” is popular in both book and movies.
At first glance, it looks like a good, wonderful philosophy.
After all, if you’re following your heart, you must be doing something right, right?
Not necessarily.
In “Enchanted,” (a story about a fairy-tale princess who gets dumped into the real world), Princess Giselle wins over the cynical Robert and they live happily ever after. However, after Giselle and Robert get their happy endings, poor Nancy, (Robert’s previous fiancée), is left on her own.
But no worries, Prince Edward, (Giselle’s previous fiancé) is more than willing to whisk her off into a fairy tale land, where animals can talk and magic is a reality.
Why is he interested?
She fits into a shoe.
Despite this, Nancy “follows her heart” and leaves her family, her job, and everything she has ever known for a guy she’s just met.
Never mind that her parents might get worried at their daughter’s disappearance—the most important thing for Nancy is that she is “following her heart.”
Many themes presented as normal and healthy may not actually be that way, just as “following your heart” might not actually be a good principle.
How can we avoid mindsets shaped by the world?
Many parents think that by keeping their children from watching television and from surfing the internet, they’ll keep their children away from wrong ideas.
I grew up without any television, but I was still bombarded with different ideas, simply because I loved to read.
Your parents can’t possibly keep you from movies, internet, TV, books, and music—not unless they stuff you into a cave for the rest of your life.
Like it or not, you’re exposed to these ideas, these beliefs, these messages.
However, there is a way to keep yourself from developing a worldly mindset.
By reading this article, you’ve accomplished the first step—acknowledging the fact that every day, your mind is being filled with images and ideas that might be building an unhealthy mindset.
A pothole is most dangerous to a driver that doesn’t know it’s there.
In the same way, the moment we understand that “our” ideas might not actually be our ideas, we start questioning them.
The second step is to compare the world’s ideas with God’s ideas.
In other words, read your Bible.
How are you supposed to know lies from truth if you don’t know what the truth is?
The world and the Bible don’t agree on much—especially when it comes to principles.
The world says, “It’s ok to lie and disobey your parents as long as you’re following your dreams.
The Bible says “Honor your father and mother, in the Lord, for this is right.” (In other words, unless your parents are trying to get you to disobey God, obey them.)
The world says, “Fight fire with fire.”
The Bible says, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay,’ says the Lord.’” (Romans 12:19)
The world says, “Do to others what they do to you.”
The Bible says, “Do to other what you would have them do to you.”
Learn to shield your mind.
Instead of being a sponge, be someone who can sort through the messages of the world and discard the ones that go against God.
You deserve better than a mind filled with garbage.
***************
Annabel closed her eyes and groaned. Ever since that fight, she hadn’t been able to listen to her music without her mom’s disapproving face popping up in her mind. She couldn’t play her stereo without feeling guilty, and she could turn flip open her ipod without mentally scanning every song.
What’s wrong with me? It’s not like she’s right, right?
Rolling onto her stomach, she gazed at her ipod, before picking it up and scrolling through the list of songs.
“What do these songs even mean?” Annabel’s stomach turned unpleasantly as she realized that she really didn’t know. Some of the songs had been recommended to her by friends, others, she’d gotten off the internet after the tune caught her ear.
Maybe I do need to watch what I listen to a little more.
The thought caught her unawares, and Annabel felt her stomach clench again. Now that she wasn’t seeing red, memories started to surface.
That time that word slipped from her lips, the time she laughed at that joke without feeling dirty, that time she—
Her eyes widened as the realization hit her.
Two months ago she’d been the one to wince at dirty language, the one to protest, the one to move away. Now--- it was as if a shell had formed around her, blocking off the sound of her conscience.
GIGO, she remembered her pastor saying, “Garbage in, Garbage out.”
Picking up her ipod, she sighed as she started ruffling through the songs.
Maybe it was time for some intensive soul-searching.
A wave of indignation washed over her. Why should she have to limit her music to the ones her parents would approve of? It’s not as if they were too bad. Switching on her ipod, she flipped to the nearest song, and winced as a word she knew her parents would definitely not approve of blasted into her ear.
Ok, maybe they were a little—rough.
But still!
The memory of her mom, hands on hips, lecturing her about “shielding her mind,” made Annabel want to slam the door all over again. Except—she didn’t want to provoke her mom into stomping up the stairs. She was in enough trouble.
It just wasn’t fair!
Annabel crossed her arms rebelliously. She went to church every Sunday, she prayed, she did devotions. So why couldn’t she listen to the music she liked? It’s not as if a little bit of profanity was going to ruin her life.
What was the big deal, anyway?
***************
Like Annabel, we all tend to wonder what the big deal is. It’s just one word in that song, one line in CD, one scene in that movie.
So why do our parents go berserk?
Think about it, and then read on.
When I was in first grade, I hated the color pink.
Hated it.
Loathed it.
Wouldn’t wear it for the world.
In reality, I didn’t hate the color pink. However, I did hate the image that it seemed to come with.
When I was little, the books I read and the movies I watched were always centered around a strong, (preferably beautiful) heroine who was out to prove that females were equal to males by becoming one of them. These plucky ladies would openly mock the “gentler” race, denouncing frills, bows, anything remotely feminine as “weak” and “girly.”
They were tough, inspiring, and repeatedly beat the bad guys.
I wanted to be like them, and if I couldn’t sneak through a forest, run up a mountain, or perform magic, at least I could avoid being “girly.”
Of course, there’s nothing wrong with being girly.
After all, I’m a girl, aren’t I? What am I supposed to be, if not girly? Boy-like?
The point is, my mindset at the time kept me from enjoying my femininity.
And my mindset was created because I soaked up whatever ideas I was presented with without really thinking about them.
Are you being influenced by your environment, by the movies you watch, by the music you listen to?
Think about it. Are your ideas really your own?
Too many times we act like sponges, soaking in ideas and beliefs without truly understanding them.
Instead of really “listening” to the lyrics of a song, we just enjoy the melody and the beat, not knowing that the words of the lyrics are being pounded into our minds.
Instead of taking the time to fully grasp the message of a movie, we complain about the graphics, not realizing that we are unconsciously building a mindset that may harm us in the future.
Sometimes, the ideas you pick up can be harmless. After all, my hatred of the color pink didn’t permanently damage me.
Other times, however, they can really hurt you.
For example, the theme, “follow your heart,” is popular in both book and movies.
At first glance, it looks like a good, wonderful philosophy.
After all, if you’re following your heart, you must be doing something right, right?
Not necessarily.
In “Enchanted,” (a story about a fairy-tale princess who gets dumped into the real world), Princess Giselle wins over the cynical Robert and they live happily ever after. However, after Giselle and Robert get their happy endings, poor Nancy, (Robert’s previous fiancée), is left on her own.
But no worries, Prince Edward, (Giselle’s previous fiancé) is more than willing to whisk her off into a fairy tale land, where animals can talk and magic is a reality.
Why is he interested?
She fits into a shoe.
Despite this, Nancy “follows her heart” and leaves her family, her job, and everything she has ever known for a guy she’s just met.
Never mind that her parents might get worried at their daughter’s disappearance—the most important thing for Nancy is that she is “following her heart.”
Many themes presented as normal and healthy may not actually be that way, just as “following your heart” might not actually be a good principle.
How can we avoid mindsets shaped by the world?
Many parents think that by keeping their children from watching television and from surfing the internet, they’ll keep their children away from wrong ideas.
I grew up without any television, but I was still bombarded with different ideas, simply because I loved to read.
Your parents can’t possibly keep you from movies, internet, TV, books, and music—not unless they stuff you into a cave for the rest of your life.
Like it or not, you’re exposed to these ideas, these beliefs, these messages.
However, there is a way to keep yourself from developing a worldly mindset.
By reading this article, you’ve accomplished the first step—acknowledging the fact that every day, your mind is being filled with images and ideas that might be building an unhealthy mindset.
A pothole is most dangerous to a driver that doesn’t know it’s there.
In the same way, the moment we understand that “our” ideas might not actually be our ideas, we start questioning them.
The second step is to compare the world’s ideas with God’s ideas.
In other words, read your Bible.
How are you supposed to know lies from truth if you don’t know what the truth is?
The world and the Bible don’t agree on much—especially when it comes to principles.
The world says, “It’s ok to lie and disobey your parents as long as you’re following your dreams.
The Bible says “Honor your father and mother, in the Lord, for this is right.” (In other words, unless your parents are trying to get you to disobey God, obey them.)
The world says, “Fight fire with fire.”
The Bible says, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay,’ says the Lord.’” (Romans 12:19)
The world says, “Do to others what they do to you.”
The Bible says, “Do to other what you would have them do to you.”
Learn to shield your mind.
Instead of being a sponge, be someone who can sort through the messages of the world and discard the ones that go against God.
You deserve better than a mind filled with garbage.
***************
Annabel closed her eyes and groaned. Ever since that fight, she hadn’t been able to listen to her music without her mom’s disapproving face popping up in her mind. She couldn’t play her stereo without feeling guilty, and she could turn flip open her ipod without mentally scanning every song.
What’s wrong with me? It’s not like she’s right, right?
Rolling onto her stomach, she gazed at her ipod, before picking it up and scrolling through the list of songs.
“What do these songs even mean?” Annabel’s stomach turned unpleasantly as she realized that she really didn’t know. Some of the songs had been recommended to her by friends, others, she’d gotten off the internet after the tune caught her ear.
Maybe I do need to watch what I listen to a little more.
The thought caught her unawares, and Annabel felt her stomach clench again. Now that she wasn’t seeing red, memories started to surface.
That time that word slipped from her lips, the time she laughed at that joke without feeling dirty, that time she—
Her eyes widened as the realization hit her.
Two months ago she’d been the one to wince at dirty language, the one to protest, the one to move away. Now--- it was as if a shell had formed around her, blocking off the sound of her conscience.
GIGO, she remembered her pastor saying, “Garbage in, Garbage out.”
Picking up her ipod, she sighed as she started ruffling through the songs.
Maybe it was time for some intensive soul-searching.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Storyz: When You Can’t Do it Alone—–
Diane’s weekend had started out well enough. She’d finished most of her homework during homeroom, and all she had left was an essay on the French Revolution. When she got home, she bit her lip, thinking. Should she call up a friend, or start on the essay?
It wasn’t like she didn’t have plenty of time.
She’d start the next day.
Late Saturday morning, Diane crawled out of bed, exhausted. She’d spent the night before surfing the web, staying up way past midnight. Her head ached, her neck cramped, and her eyes burned.
It didn’t help that her younger siblings were so loud.
She really wasn’t in the mood to write an essay, but she knew that she really didn’t have a choice.
Reluctantly, she got out her notes.
“Diane! Play with us!”
“No.”
“Please?”
“NO.”
“Pretty, pretty, please?”
“NO!”
“Honey, don’t yell at your sisters.”
Sometimes, having nine-year old, hyperactive twin sisters was a real pain.
After lunch, she felt a little better, and finally started the essay.
However, as soon as she turned on her computer, the phone rang.
Twenty minutes later, she finally got rid of the persistent salesman and returned to her desk.
A box was popped up on her computer screen.
GreenBean1: Hey, you there? You’ve got to check out my Facebook page! I just posted this awesome video! BB
She hesitated, but really, really quick look wouldn’t hurt
She watched the video.
And updated her Facebook page.
Checked her mail.
Ate dinner.
And promptly forgot she had a paper due.
It wasn’t until she noticed the papers scattered over the floor that she remembered.
The fact that the twins chose that exact time to barge in yelling, “Mom says to go to sleep at this minute or you’re grounded forever and ever and ever and ever!” did not sweeten her mood.
Sunday was filled with church, and she left service desperate to get home and start working.
It turned out that her parents had a meeting that would last until three.
And they wouldn’t take her home.
Diane almost blew up at her parents right then and there, but she didn’t want to risk someone she knew overhearing. Instead, she stewed for the entire hour and a half, furious and bored out of her mind. When her parents were finally finished with their meeting, Diana’s voice was cold as she asked if they could please leave.
They left, the atmosphere so thick it was almost touchable, and Diane stalked into the house. She’d barely gathered all her materials and settled herself when there came a call from her mom.
“Diane! Your clothes have been sitting out here for days! Come down and put them away!”
She blew up.
The next few hours were not pleasant. Diane yelled, reasoned, and cried, but it accomplished nothing. Her mom, after hearing the reason Diane was so touchy, simply pointed out that if she hadn’t procrastinated, she wouldn’t be so irritable, and if she hadn’t been so irritable, she wouldn’t be in trouble.
So there she was, sitting at her desk. Her eyes were still sore from crying and the blank computer screen only added to her frustration. She had a three page essay to complete before the next morning, and she hadn’t even started.
Her relationships with her parents were still tense, and after Diane’s explosion she was banned from the phone for a week.
“Diane, Mom says that you better be working on your paper!”
Life stunk.
*************
Have you ever felt like Diane?
Real life is tough.
Whether you’re struggling with friends, family, or school, the fact remains: you have a problem!
Sometimes, problems can seem like quicksand—no matter how much you struggle, every move only seems to make you sink faster.
It doesn’t help that during these times we feel like jerks and act like time bombs.
Have you ever had a day when nothing pleased you? A day when everything in the universe seemed intent on annoying you? Its days like these that you want to curl up somewhere and hope your problems vanish. The problem is, they don’t, and that only increases your frustration.
Have you ever noticed that these days only happen when you try to handle the problem alone?
You forgot, didn’t you? You have help! You aren’t alone.
Before you even acknowledged your struggles, God was already planning to help you.
All you have to do is ask, and then trust.
Seems too good to be true?
Listen to this: For we were so utterly, unbearably crushed that we despaired of life itself. Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death so that we would rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead. He who rescued us from so deadly a peril will continue to rescue us; on him we have set our hope that he will rescue us again. (2 Corinthians 1:8b-10a)
It’s strange how often we rely on ourselves when it comes to tough situation. We’re like the Little Engine that Could, puffing, “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can,” but unlike him, we really can’t.
We’re human.
Flawed.
Imperfect.
And consequently, we can’t always help ourselves.
What’s keeping you from asking God for help?
Is it pride?
Do you balk at the idea of asking for help? Do you think you can do it alone?
Or maybe it’s inferiority.
You think, “God has world peace to worry about, He doesn’t have time to help me.”
Whatever the reason, understand this.
God loves you.
Simple, isn’t it?
A father will not abandon his child simply because he needs to do something more important.
Haven’t you ever seen your parents put off a phone call because you desperately needed help with homework?
The love of a parent is strong, but the love God has for you is infinitely stronger.
God promises to help us in our troubles.
He knows the problems in your life NOW, and He knew them before he created the Earth.
He knows how to help you.
Now all you have to do is ask.
**************
Diane sat at her desk, miserable, staring at the computer screen in front of her. Usually, essays were a piece of cake, but despite having worked for two hours straight, all she had were two paragraphs of half-decent writing.
“I can’t do this.”
Diane wasn’t sure when she realized it, but she knew that it was true. There was no way she’d be able to write an essay on her own strength.
Her own strength.
The words struck a chord in her memory, and Diane straightened as that morning’s sermon flashed through her mind.
“God loves you, and He’s always ready to help you. All you have to do is ask.”
Ask.
Suddenly, she felt like a complete idiot.
An idiot for not remembering to pray earlier.
And an even bigger idiot for feeling so awkward now.
Diane bowed her head.
Um, God? I really can’t do this. Please, help me get through tonight.
Amen.
It was a short prayer, a simple one.
But suddenly, Diane felt much better.
Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she resumed typing.
Alone, she was nothing.
With God on her side—well, that was another story.
I can do all things, through Christ who strengthens me.
Philippians 4:13 (ASV)
Storyz: When You Can’t Do it Alone—–
Diane’s weekend had started out well enough. She’d finished most of her homework during homeroom, and all she had left was an essay on the French Revolution. When she got home, she bit her lip, thinking. Should she call up a friend, or start on the essay?
It wasn’t like she didn’t have plenty of time.
She’d start the next day.
Late Saturday morning, Diane crawled out of bed, exhausted. She’d spent the night before surfing the web, staying up way past midnight. Her head ached, her neck cramped, and her eyes burned.
It didn’t help that her younger siblings were so loud.
She really wasn’t in the mood to write an essay, but she knew that she really didn’t have a choice.
Reluctantly, she got out her notes.
“Diane! Play with us!”
“No.”
“Please?”
“NO.”
“Pretty, pretty, please?”
“NO!”
“Honey, don’t yell at your sisters.”
Sometimes, having nine-year old, hyperactive twin sisters was a real pain.
After lunch, she felt a little better, and finally started the essay.
However, as soon as she turned on her computer, the phone rang.
Twenty minutes later, she finally got rid of the persistent salesman and returned to her desk.
A box was popped up on her computer screen.
GreenBean1: Hey, you there? You’ve got to check out my Facebook page! I just posted this awesome video! BB
She hesitated, but really, really quick look wouldn’t hurt
She watched the video.
And updated her Facebook page.
Checked her mail.
Ate dinner.
And promptly forgot she had a paper due.
It wasn’t until she noticed the papers scattered over the floor that she remembered.
The fact that the twins chose that exact time to barge in yelling, “Mom says to go to sleep at this minute or you’re grounded forever and ever and ever and ever!” did not sweeten her mood.
Sunday was filled with church, and she left service desperate to get home and start working.
It turned out that her parents had a meeting that would last until three.
And they wouldn’t take her home.
Diane almost blew up at her parents right then and there, but she didn’t want to risk someone she knew overhearing. Instead, she stewed for the entire hour and a half, furious and bored out of her mind. When her parents were finally finished with their meeting, Diana’s voice was cold as she asked if they could please leave.
They left, the atmosphere so thick it was almost touchable, and Diane stalked into the house. She’d barely gathered all her materials and settled herself when there came a call from her mom.
“Diane! Your clothes have been sitting out here for days! Come down and put them away!”
She blew up.
The next few hours were not pleasant. Diane yelled, reasoned, and cried, but it accomplished nothing. Her mom, after hearing the reason Diane was so touchy, simply pointed out that if she hadn’t procrastinated, she wouldn’t be so irritable, and if she hadn’t been so irritable, she wouldn’t be in trouble.
So there she was, sitting at her desk. Her eyes were still sore from crying and the blank computer screen only added to her frustration. She had a three page essay to complete before the next morning, and she hadn’t even started.
Her relationships with her parents were still tense, and after Diane’s explosion she was banned from the phone for a week.
“Diane, Mom says that you better be working on your paper!”
Life stunk.
*************
Have you ever felt like Diane?
Real life is tough.
Whether you’re struggling with friends, family, or school, the fact remains: you have a problem!
Sometimes, problems can seem like quicksand—no matter how much you struggle, every move only seems to make you sink faster.
It doesn’t help that during these times we feel like jerks and act like time bombs.
Have you ever had a day when nothing pleased you? A day when everything in the universe seemed intent on annoying you? Its days like these that you want to curl up somewhere and hope your problems vanish. The problem is, they don’t, and that only increases your frustration.
Have you ever noticed that these days only happen when you try to handle the problem alone?
You forgot, didn’t you? You have help! You aren’t alone.
Before you even acknowledged your struggles, God was already planning to help you.
All you have to do is ask, and then trust.
Seems too good to be true?
Listen to this: For we were so utterly, unbearably crushed that we despaired of life itself. Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death so that we would rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead. He who rescued us from so deadly a peril will continue to rescue us; on him we have set our hope that he will rescue us again. (2 Corinthians 1:8b-10a)
It’s strange how often we rely on ourselves when it comes to tough situation. We’re like the Little Engine that Could, puffing, “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can,” but unlike him, we really can’t.
We’re human.
Flawed.
Imperfect.
And consequently, we can’t always help ourselves.
What’s keeping you from asking God for help?
Is it pride?
Do you balk at the idea of asking for help? Do you think you can do it alone?
Or maybe it’s inferiority.
You think, “God has world peace to worry about, He doesn’t have time to help me.”
Whatever the reason, understand this.
God loves you.
Simple, isn’t it?
A father will not abandon his child simply because he needs to do something more important.
Haven’t you ever seen your parents put off a phone call because you desperately needed help with homework?
The love of a parent is strong, but the love God has for you is infinitely stronger.
God promises to help us in our troubles.
He knows the problems in your life NOW, and He knew them before he created the Earth.
He knows how to help you.
Now all you have to do is ask.
**************
Diane sat at her desk, miserable, staring at the computer screen in front of her. Usually, essays were a piece of cake, but despite having worked for two hours straight, all she had were two paragraphs of half-decent writing.
“I can’t do this.”
Diane wasn’t sure when she realized it, but she knew that it was true. There was no way she’d be able to write an essay on her own strength.
Her own strength.
The words struck a chord in her memory, and Diane straightened as that morning’s sermon flashed through her mind.
“God loves you, and He’s always ready to help you. All you have to do is ask.”
Ask.
Suddenly, she felt like a complete idiot.
An idiot for not remembering to pray earlier.
And an even bigger idiot for feeling so awkward now.
Diane bowed her head.
Um, God? I really can’t do this. Please, help me get through tonight.
Amen.
It was a short prayer, a simple one.
But suddenly, Diane felt much better.
Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she resumed typing.
Alone, she was nothing.
With God on her side—well, that was another story.
I can do all things, through Christ who strengthens me.
Philippians 4:13 (ASV)
Monday, April 12, 2010
Storyz: When Trials Come—–
Crack!
Becca winced as she retracted her fist. Maybe smashing it against the wall hadn’t been a good idea after all. It had only led to nauseating pain, bruised knuckles, and a renewed sense of frustration.
Reaching under her pillow, she brought out her journal.
“Why God?” she scrawled, in no mood to be neat. “Why now? Why, on top of everything else?”
Georgia Mickey was the most annoying kid Becca knew. Despite her big eyes and angelic smile, the little girl had a shrill, demanding voice that had a habit of wailing Becca’s name in the most annoying way possible.
She’d tried to befriend the little girl—after all, who was mean to a toddler—and for awhile, things had gotten better. When Georgia learned that Becca was willing to play with her if she lowered her voice, she reluctantly quieted down.
Over the past few months, they’d developed a semi-normal relationship.
And just when everything seemed perfect, her mom had told her that she would be baby-sitting Georgia every Friday night.
For the rest of the month.
Becca could barely restrain herself for punching the wall again.
Why now?
She could understand Ms. Mickey’s feelings—she couldn’t afford to hire a baby-sitter, let alone daycare—but why did it have to be her?
Just because she could tolerate the little girl didn’t mean she wanted to become her personal nanny.
Of course, her mom had said that the job was optional—but Becca knew that she really didn’t have a choice.
How could she refuse a single mom whose part-time job barely provided clothes and food for her and her daughter?
But still—babysitting Georgia? For a whole month?!
Why had this happened now?
**************
Have you ever wondered why bad things happen? Why problems never seem to cease?
Why God let us go through so many trials?
Oprah Winfrey states, “Without struggles, there is no strength.”
How true.
Would you have learned to run if the only thing you ever did was walk?
Would you have learned to read if you were content with pictures?
Struggles build use, mold us, and shape us until we become the people God wants us to be.
I love the movie, “Evan Almighty,” especially this scene:
Evan’s wife, Joan, is sitting in McDonalds, feeling depressed. Her husband’s name is a source of ridicule, her children are miserable, and she isn’t feeling much better. Then, “God,” disguised as a waiter, comes in.
They start talking, and God says this, “Let me ask you something. If someone prays for patience, you think God gives them patience? Or does he give them the opportunity to be patient? If he prayed for courage, does God give him courage, or does he give him opportunities to be courageous? If someone prayed for the family to be closer, do you think God zaps them with warm fuzzy feelings, or does he give them opportunities to love each other?”
All throughout the Bible, there is evidence of God strengthening his people through hardships.
- Noah was asked to build an ark—in a time where there was no such thing as rain.
- Abraham was asked to leave his hometown without knowing where he was going.
- Joseph was betrayed by his brothers, sold into slavery, seduced by his master’s wife, and then thrown into prison for a crime he did not commit.
- Moses was asked to go back to his birthplace—where he was wanted for murder—and tell Pharaoh to let the Israelites go.
- David killed a giant. His reward? Saul tries to kill him.
- Peter was accused of knowing Christ on the day he was arrested.
All these people are role models, and we look up to them because of the great things they did for God. They overcame their trials and grew spiritually, changing the world in the process.
Is God strengthening you for a future battle?
When we became Christians, we gave our lives over to God and surrendered ourselves to his purpose.
Romans 8:29 says that, “For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the likeness of his Son…” (NIV)
God knows that in our present state, we can’t complete the things that he has planned for us. So, like a potter shapes clay, he shapes us through adversity.
Trials will come—but ultimately, if you persevere, they will mold you and shape you until you develop the characteristics of Christ.
**************
“Want to talk about it?”
Becca looked up and saw Pamela Harrison, her youth pastor, standing over her. “Not really,” she replied honestly, “Was it that obvious?”
Pamela gave a small laugh and sat down. “You had a permanent frown etched on your face during service. You sure you don’t want to talk about it? I’d like to help.”
Becca considered Pamela’s offer. For a youth pastor, Pamela was pretty cool, and Becca really needed to vent. “Ok,” she said, and sighed, “It’s about Georgia Mickey—”
As the story came out, Becca felt her frustration grow again. “I mean, I don’t really mind baby-sitting the kid,” she finished, “But why now? I can barely tolerate her now. Why couldn’t it have been when I finally learned to like her?”
“Maybe this is God’s giving you an opportunity to learn to like her.” Pamela had a thoughtful look on her face. “You remember what I talked about tonight?”
“You mean, about God shaping us through trials?” Becca replied, “But this is baby-sitting duty! I doubt my future purpose is going to involve pacifying bratty children and playing candyland.”
“But your future purpose may require patience. Listen, when I was younger, I hated sharing a room with my older sister. She was a neat freak, and would always “clean” my side of the room without my permission. It drove me nuts! But later, when I went to college, I realized that my experience with her prepared me for my roommate, who was a bigger slob than I was. If I hadn’t learned how to share a room with my sister, I never would have survived with Val.”
“Good point.” Becca sighed, “I wish trials weren’t so, so—”
“Difficult? Hard? Trial-like?”
“Ha, ha,” Becca said, but she smiled when she said it.
“So, do you think you’ll baby-sit Georgia?”
“Yeah—I think I will.”
Storyz: When Siblings Fight—-
“I hate you! I wish you were dead.”
Haley watched, openmouthed, as her younger sister ran out of the kitchen. She could hear Hannah stomp up the steps and slam the door to their shared bedroom. How had a simple disagreement turned into a full-fledged battle?
The kitchen now looked like a war zone, with checker pieces strewn everywhere and the board lying lopsided on the floor. Haley bent down to pick it up, and then hesitated.
Why should she clean the mess up? After all, Hannah had been the one to flip over the checker board after Haley refused to let her take back a move.
“She’s a cheater,” the older girl muttered rebelliously, “The rules say that you can’t take a move back.”
Still—if her mom came home to a mess in the kitchen, they’d both get punished.
“It’s still not fair.”
But even as she said the words, Haley was already bending down, picking up the pieces closest to her.
“I’m always picking up after Hannah. It’s not my fault she can’t admit defeat.”
“She’s such a brat.”
Why did she even bother playing with Hannah, anyway? It wasn’t as if she didn’t have better things to do.
“Actually, you don’t,” a small, annoying voice inside her whispered, “That’s why you suggested the game in the first place.”
Haley shrugged, grabbing the last of the black checker pieces and putting them in the box. “Sisters are so annoying.”
“You’re a sister,” that small voice reminded her.
“Younger sisters are annoying. I mean, she’s always complaining and asking to take back moves that she’s already made. It’s not like she doesn’t know that’s cheating.”
Grabbing the board and storing it neatly into the box, she stood up. “I’m not going to apologize. It’s her fault for being such a whiner.”
“I heard that!” Hannah’s high pitched screech made Haley wince. “You’re the whiner. I hate you!”
Ugh.
Little sisters.
*************
“We know one another’s faults, virtues, catastrophes, mortifications, triumphs, rivalries, desires, and how long we can each hang by our hands to a bar. We have been banded together under pack codes and tribal laws.” Rose Macaulay
They’ve seen you crying and screaming, laughing and loving, at your worst, and at your best.
Who are they?
Your siblings.
We’ve known each other our entire lives.
We’re the definition of “close.”
So why do we fight so much?
Reason #1: They’re always there
No matter how loud your fights, how cruel your words, how angry you feel, at the end of the day, your siblings will still be there.
A friend can stop being a friend.
A boss can fire you.
A boy/girlfriend can dump you.
But no matter how hard you try to get away from each other, you and your siblings live in the same house. You share bathrooms, (sometimes) bedrooms, kitchens, clothes, and books.
They’re there.
And most of us take it for granted.
Reason #2: They’re always there
You could be paired with the kindest, sweetest, most easygoing person on the planet, but if you spend enough time with them, you’ll start to get on each other’s nerves. To put it simply, your siblings spend your infancy, childhood, and teenage years together. Sometimes, you just want to get away.
In a single house, however, this can be difficult.
Be creative. Your house is not as small as you think it is.
Are your parents in their rooms during the day? Probably not.
Is there a balcony you can go to, a backyard where you can relax, an unoccupied room?
Find such a place.
Your siblings love you, and deep inside, you know that your life wouldn’t be the same without them.
It’s just hard to see this after being with them for ten years straight.
Reason #3: They don’t always like you.
When you ask a friend to stop humming, they’ll probably do it.
Why?
Friendships are born on a mutual attraction between two people.
In other words, you have to like your friends, or else they’re not really your friends.
When you like someone, you do things for them.
On the other hand, your siblings don’t always like you.
They still love you, but “loving” something is very different from “liking” someone.
Love doesn’t involve your feelings. It’s a decision, way of life. When you love someone, you’ll protect them. You’ll defend them. You’ll beat up anyone who messes with them. That does not mean you’ll be nice to them.
Of course, it shouldn’t be that way. 1 Corinthians 13, the famous “love” chapter, states that love is kind.
Unfortunately, siblings aren’t always kind.
They’re more inclined to keep humming instead of stopping—with renewed vigor.
Then, it’s your turn to do something.
You can threaten them, yell at them, or physically go over there and force them to stop humming.
However, none of this, (not even the last one), will have a lasting result.
What will?
Change in your own behavior.
Be honest.
Are you rude when you ask them to stop?
Sometimes, a simple “please” does the trick, or a shift in tone.
If they still won’t stop, leave the room. Don’t cause a confrontation.
If you stop giving them reasons not to like you, they won’t.
A famous Vietnamese proverb states that “Brothers and sisters are as close as hands and feet.”
Like it or not, you’re stuck with your siblings.
You might as well learn to like it.
*************
“It’s been hours.”
“Shut up,” Haley told that part of her that wanted to smooth things over with Hannah. “It wasn’t my fault that the fight started, and I’m not going to make it better.”
Her words sounded weak and petty, even to her.
Haley sighed. It had been easier when she was mad, but now—
“I might as well go make up with Hannah,” she grumbled, “Besides, I’d really like my room back.”
She got up and turned around.
“Here.”
Hannah’s lower lip stuck out ungraciously as Haley stared at her.
“Uh, what?”
“Here.”
The older sister looked at object being offered to her.
A red checker piece.
“You missed one,” the younger sister said.
Haley looked at the checker piece, then at Hannah, and then back at the checker piece.
Part of her wanted to snap that if Hannah’d helped her clean the game up, she wouldn’t have missed the piece.
Another part of her, the reasonable part, wanted to take the piece and stop the feud.
“Earth to Haley, you there?”
“Haley?”
“HALEY?”
“HALEY!”
Haley blinked. “What?”
Her younger sister was glaring at her. “Are you going to take it?” she demanded.
Haley hesitated.
Then, she smiled, and took the checker piece.
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