Alter Ego

By Colleen Carey

This is the inaugural blog by the woman in the black hat.

She sits in my writing room wearing a black hat with a faded red rose. I peek in. I wish I could be her. But I fear her.

See, she’s mouthy. She says exactly what she thinks, like she has no filter. Me, I conform to society’s standards, because I don’t want to offend anyone. People have been hurt enough. They don’t need one more loud-mouthed brazen bitch saying exactly what she thinks.

She’s brazen.

I fear her.

I crave her.

If I could just peel this skin off, I could be her. It’s not even my skin. It’s this outer skin I’ve grown that’s more like an alien raincoat than part of my body. It hides me more than protects me.

No. That’s untrue… That’s wrong. That’s what she would say. I’d say, “Ooh, that’s slightly inaccurate.” She don’t pull no punches. “No. That’s wrong,” she’d say.

Where was I? Oh, this outer skin. It hides me more than protects me.

But that’s a lie. It protects me by hiding me. You can only be wounded so much before you start to hide.

But there’s another solution! Ha ha! I laugh maniacally (which is probably the me the world wishes would hide. You know what? Too bad.)

But here’s the solution. I can grow stronger inside. Then it breaks through the boundaries like a beast bursting its shell!

Ha ha! I’m free! I’m me! Here I am, world!

Here, am I, Lord.

I’m free.

I am, finally, the woman in the black hat. Perhaps, today…  Today, I will by her a new rose for her hat.

Natural Charis

I google “holiday blues” frantically two days before Thanksgiving, because, well, I have the holiday blues. Antidote: gratitude and anti-perfection. And it works. I remember what I’m thankful for. I hope for a pleasant holiday instead of a great one. Twitter, blogs and magazines are abuzz with people giving thanks. What an awesome trend, people all over the place giving thanks instead of stomping their feet and saying, “I want!” Life’s little things becoming more important than life’s little dramas. Wounds healed, insults forgotten, blessings remembered.

It pales in comparison to my daughter-in-law’s post to her Facebook page.  

If there is anyone in town with no plans today and you would like, you are welcome to come to my house. We have room for more.

Understand, this is a woman with 547 Facebook friends.

And everyone who knows them also knows she means it. If you have no plans, join us. We always have room.

I’m humbled. I like to think I’m generous when it comes to high school fundraisers and Salvation Army. Yet that’s not something that would have occurred to me, especially if my Facebook was packed with people from around the world met at tournaments and school. As much as it wouldn’t occur to me, it was natural to her.

There’s a word, charis, that appears in the Bible’s original text. One of its meanings is giving generously, expecting nothing in return. When I’m deep in prayer, I feel charis, because I know it all belongs to God, anyway. When I’m not in that deep prayer state, I work at cultivating it.

Apparently, I have a long way to go.

But I’m blessed for having people in my life who show me what it’s about along the way.

Love you all, blessings on you all,
Jennie

A path too radical

It's almost too radical to wrap my brain around, but think about it. What if, instead of our steps in life being determined by our goals, the steps were formed by who we are? What if our path was created by following God's laws, instead of where we're going? What if, instead of following modern motivational cues, we followed this: "I pondered the direction of my life, and I turned to follow your laws," (Psalm 119:59, NLT).

It's hard for me to imagine. We're trained to set goals and boldly walk the path toward them. But what if principles control the direction of our life more than goals?

The first time I focused on prinipcles instead of objectives, I felt pointless. I felt blue. So, as much as I'd like to imitate monks who live every second for the moment's simple joy, I needed purpose. I mean, even Jesus had goals, right?

Last week, I started over. I got on the elevator as I prayed, mentally committing to God to take a commandment a day. So, let's see, how would that break out on my calendar? There are, what, seven rules, one for each day? "No, there are ten, thus the phrase Ten Commandments," my inner voice answered. (I don't think it was God. God was busy laughing.) I added two more with the golden rule and "Love God with all your heart."

Yesterday, my Principle for the Day was: Thou shall not steal. Easy enough. But in a book I'm writing, the main character takes antiquities from Israel. He found them, he owns them, right? Not so fast. The Israeli government's law states they own antiquities found on Israel's soil. So is the good guy breaking a commandment? If he is, is he really a good guy?

I have a silver-handled knife in my drawer. I stole it from my mother. Actually, I refused to give it back. She sent it home with a loaf of banana bread. I still remember the way she cocked her head, looking at me like she wondered what was wrong with this child when she asked for it back, and I hedged. It's not that it was beautiful or valuable. She loved it, and she was dying. I wanted that piece of her. I wanted something that reminded me of her every time I looked at it.

It's as if having that knife would take me closer to her when she, you know, passed through.

I already know that not following God's laws pushes me away from God. Those laws aren't there to ensure we're "good people." The laws bring us closer to God. And being close to God makes me want to follow his laws. It's like I have a piece of God inside of me when I follow them.

As crazy as this seems, it's as if I can see another path shooting off from the real world path others see. There's a row of flagstones that no one sees but me, and I feel peaceful here. This moving forward feels more powerful than meeting objectives.

Here's my invitation. Take this walk for a year, a quarter or six weeks. Every day, focus on one principle, whether the Ten Commandments or the Eight-Fold Path. Post your thoughts along the journey. I'd love for us to share what we're learning, and more, what we're feeling.

Blessings,
Jennie

When Did Assertive Come to Mean It’s-All-About-Me?

    Isn't it time for the 'my needs first' generation to carry a new torch? I mean, it started in the sixties, right? That makes us all at least fifty, now. Once, it made us feel spunky and assertive. New flash: It's no longer attractive.

    Here's what sparked this rambling. I seriously dislove flying. I don't look forward to riding a winged bus with a legion of strangers, hoping I'm not crammed between a pair of ex-linebackers. In fact, I'm one of those loonies ---so named by the ex-linebacker behind me--- who pays an extra fifteen dollars for an aisle seat. However, I was supposed to be squeezed between that pair of Goliaths before I moved with the click of a button and swipe of my credit card.

    Yet, across the aisle, a couple didn't like their seating arrangement, so they switched ---without consulting anyone. When a petite twenty-ish woman boarded dangerously close to cut-off time, the middle-aged seat-switching woman bluntly explained, "We weren't seated together. Would you mind taking that seat over there?" She nodded to the row I was once assigned to, where the linebackers split the difference and took the flank locations (aisle and window). Apparently, that center seat was the booby prize for this airline ride.

    "It's just…. I was sick," the young woman explained. "I really wanted a window seat."

    "Well, we wanted to sit together. There's that seat right there," Fifty-ish Woman persisted, albeit in a perfectly polite tone.

    The young woman glanced around. "Okay, I guess," Twenty-ish said finally.

    Moments later, the middle-aged woman talked loudly about overhearing the young woman say she felt ill. She passed the offer of antacids. Young woman declined, "Thank you, I'll be okay."

    Soon, we overheard flight attendants discussing "someone with a migraine." Quietly, Twenty-ish switched seats. After the move, Fifty-ish Woman spoke up. "Is she okay? I heard you say someone moved because she wasn't feeling well. Does she want this seat?"

    They'd found her another window seat, the flight attendant reassured her.

    "I just wanted to know if I could help. I hate to hear someone's not well on a long flight like this."

    "I understand. You're concerned about people. That's so nice," flight attendant / certified seating arranger said.

    "Well, yes, I am," Fifty-ish said. Same bold, in-control voice.

    You see, Fifty-ish irritated me ---can you tell?--- because she wanted what she wanted, but didn't want it to appear that way.

    It's a caring level seen too often in this 'me' generation, and I'm not talking about our children. I'm talking about us, the baby boomers who could be busy making a difference instead of focusing on our wants. Instead of stepping up to the caring plate, we end up with a façade, a kind of caring that still puts 'me' first, but tries to appear caring. At its root, it has that eternal question: "What's in it for me?"

     There's caring where you're inconvenienced, even deprived, which comes from principles, and the pay-off is naturally spiritual. There's also the caring that makes a show of caring, when the number one question at the base of it all is, "How does this impact me?" We want to know how it will reflect on 'me.' How others might react determines whether we'll do it.

    I'm not trying to be holier-than-thou. It's something we all struggle with, because we're built to take care of ourselves. But she stole that young woman's seat and refused to give it up without a confrontation, then presented herself as a caring human being once she had what she wanted.

     When did assertiveness degenerate into that kind of selfish caring? It seems we've confused principles with rigid rules …again. We want to be caring, but we want our needs met. We want to be yielding, but we want our rights respected, dammit.

     We want to be seen as something, rather than be something. We want to be seen as caring without actually having to be caring.

     Perhaps it touched a nerve because I struggle with it. I'm often unsure where my needs fall. I'm too concerned with others' opinions. Sometimes, I'm briefly free of that burden, and I like it. It's peaceful to do what you feel is right, even if inconvenient, even when what's in it for me is giving to someone else.

     A little more caring and little less me, that's all I'm pushing for today.    

New Blog

I've moved over to RightToGod.blogspot.com for one simple reason. I'd always intended for the blog be by Ron and me, and suddenly realized how self-focused it was to name it after myself. I hope you'll follow me/us there, too.
I read an article about Anna the prophetess in Priscilla Papers, and, I admit, I had to look her up. (I never claimed to be a Bible scholar.) What an inspiration she is for me! She spent her life praying, never leaving the temple, and was there when Jesus was brought in for the required infant ceremonies. Even more beautiful than that, she recognized him for who he was, the Christ.
What an inspiration, to be so deep in prayer that we see who someone really is, even though they can't ---or don't--- tell us. Perhaps, especially when they don't tell us.
Mercy, peace and grace be multiplied to you, my friends.
Jennie

Peacemakers

     “But the wisdom from above is first of all pure. It is also peace loving, gentle at all times, and willing to yield to others. It is full of mercy and good deeds. It shows no favoritism and is always sincere.
     “And those who are peacemakers will plant seeds of peace and reap a harvest of righteousness” (James 3:17-18 NLT).

     Our book, "The Right to God," has a section on Healers and Falsifiers, and while it's about recognizing modern day false teachers, it's even more about becoming a Healer than a Falsifier. That chapter in the book ends with this quote, because being a peacemaker ---a Healer, as we call it--- may be more important than just about anything else in life, yet goes against the grain of our society.
     When you read the book ---if you read the book--- don't be afraid of the section on Falsifiers. We've seen a trend recently toward posting lists of supposed Christian false teachers, and we don't do any such thing. In fact, we'll tell you that Falsifiers ---false teachers--- are found in every faith and spiritual philosophy. We'll merely show you how to recognize them, as Jesus taught, and we'll show you how to move toward being a Healer.
     It's as much about what you are as what you aren't. As for us, we want to be known as peacemakers. We want to be seen as Healers.

And Then There Was Autumn

 

    When I lived in Phoenix, I missed the seasons. Beyond mental wispiness, it was a gut wrenching craving for winter, as well as summer. Prior to being a popular "green" term, sense of place meant being where you belonged, living where you thrived. When I left Phoenix, I left endless summer, friends, memories!

I was thrilled. A soul-searching nymph inside of me was returning to the place that completed her. Perhaps "sense of place" was real. My mind thought Arizona was ideal; my soul knew better.

    I'm now in what I call the autumn of my life and, like living in the right place, I feel like I belong here. Yet I'm surprised at what I've found.

    I expected to long for the spring of my youth. I expected to soar on the wild success and perfect womanliness of my summer. I expected to fear autumn, because it leads to winter.

    For two weeks, when I crossed into autumn at age fifty –a line my mind invented and convinced me of-- I went through the regrets. Where are my bestselling novels? Where are my legions of friends? Where are my phenomenal bank accounts?

    Yet, there's an unpredicted contentment in some radical changes, opposites of what I expected to find here.

    For example, I openly welcome people of all kinds, but have virtually no room for negative people of any kind, even when they've always been that way.

    It stems from another paradox. I dislike shoulds and gottas. Yet, I hit this stage with a new phrase: "I'm fifty years old. I should be able to…" Instead of being imprisoning like empty rules, this "should" is liberating. It liberates me from the need to be around associates who are habits more than friends. It liberates me from stale, empty attitudes. It opens my eyes every time I start a sentence that way. Initially, I found myself fearing this new "I should" phase. Now, I smile when one strikes me, because each time, I discover what I really believe.

    I'm fifty. I should be financially stable. And yet, my idea of abundance has radically changed, by simple gratitude. I have more food in my pantry than some people have in a month. I'm all right.

    I'm fifty years old. I should be wise, a virtual sage. And yet, my idea of wisdom has grown so dramatically, I'd be a fool to ever consider myself wise.

    At fifty, I should be able to state my opinion without fear of backlash. And yet, I find my own opinions infinitely boring and others' far more thought-provoking.

    I'm fifty! I should be able to go where I want without getting permission! And yet, I find myself cherishing the closeness and the feeling of always keeping each other posted.

    I'm fifty, and I should know where I'm headed with purpose and conviction. Yet, I find myself on this path, lit two steps ahead, because that's all I need when God is the light. It's placid and content --this path. It's both exciting and peaceful, a strengthening paradox.

    I'm fifty. I should have the solid, undying commitment of my devoted spouse. Yet, I'm no longer jealous when another woman flirts with my husband. It's beautiful to transcend the possessiveness of relationship. If he left me, I wouldn't be angry or jealous. I'd be devastated. But he won't, because what woman could compete with this? She might be pretty. She might be funny. But in the autumn of our lives, we've reached a place I pretended to have in summer. It's a place where both answer to God first. Initially, when God led us down the same path, we were surprised and awed ---maybe a little afraid. Now, it's normal.

    Perhaps that's why I can also close the door on friendships that no longer work. I'm not strong enough to be around negative people. I'm not like Jesus, who could eat among all the wrong people with all the wrong attitudes. Even Paul advised us to stay away from Christians who indulge in sin and cause divisions. Jesus surrounded himself most closely with those at least trying to follow God. He didn't require perfection ---and neither do I. But I do have a driving need to stay on his path. I can't be around people who pull me off, even when the sentence starts with, "I'm fifty, and I should have more control over my reactions."

    So this is autumn. It's invigorating to watch trees change to fiery reds and luminescent oranges, sharing their colors with the world simply by being. Too, there's peaceful acceptance in watching the leaves fall, knowing they'll leave a scent that makes passersby turn their heads.

    Like the drive from Arizona to Ohio, there were moments when I regretted what I'd missed moving from summer to fall. Yet, like the arrival back home, I know this is where I belong now. And even when winter comes, I know there will be laughs, giggles and awe at the beauty sprinkled among the hard days and nights.

    Perhaps the best part is that I'm no longer afraid. I expect to start sentences with "Well, kids, by the time you reach eighty…" And already, I wonder where that will lead.

-End-