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Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts

Friday, June 15, 2018

The Human In Me Doesn't Care What You Think...But Don't Listen to Her


My mother, Donna Rial Baker, always told me, to build great relationships keep in mind...it’s not about I feel about other people or how other people feel about me. It’s about how other people feel about themselves when they’re around me. She always told me that. That doesn’t mean I always remember.

Danny Mack, a pastor and leader I’m proud to call friend, told me I’m not a human having spiritual experiences...I’m a spirit having human experiences... Sometimes it seems like the human sure is experiencing a lot.

A great principal for whom I once worked told me, "Emily, we are perceived by our actions, not our intentions." (There's a good story that goes with that one, I'll write about some day.)  I generally forget that one too...until it's too late.

Jesus Christ tells us to pray for our enemies...to do good to those that mean us harm... He tells us that. But I don’t always listen.

Man...batting a thousand here, huh?

Sometimes I find myself racking my brain for answers...and lately it’s to the question, “Why doesn’t this person like me?!”

I mean...I like me... I didn’t like me very much in junior high but that’s a different post for a different day.  I know I’m not the coolest, smartest, funniest, or even sweetest person out there... definitely not the most organized or responsible... and I’m a terrible housekeeper... but I think I’m generally likable... so why do I still have enemies?

I don’t want enemies.  I've heard other people say things like, "Man, I don't care what other people think of me...that's on them."  And maybe they really feel that way.  I, however, will admit it, in writing: I, Emily Ann Rial Christensen, do solemnly swear... I care about what other people think of me.  

Not in the shallow...I care what people think of my looks/clothes/accent/taste in music sense.  And not in the sense that I'm going to become some inauthentic version of myself just to please others.  But I do care about how I am perceived...how my actions and words are interpreted and why they are interpreted that way...and how that makes other people feel...I do care about that.  After all, isn't that how we actually determine who we like and who we don't like?  It's about how we feel about ourselves when we're around them.  

I don't want to be hurtful.  I want to be liked.  I want to be valued.  

So maybe the biggest mistake is racking my brain for answers.

Because when I ask my brain...the human responds. The human rolls her eyes, and folds her arms (I don’t know about your human but mine is perpetually 15, has a southern attitude and a sarcastic tongue.) and says things like:

*Haters gonna hate!
*You can’t make everyone happy!
*Their loss!

The human makes me feel tough, like I don’t really care, when down, not so deep, I actually do care, much more than the human would like to admit.

And while there is truth to the idea that not everyone is going to like me...does that mean I just give up?  Is that what Jesus would do?

Maybe instead of racking my brain, I should be searching my heart. The heart knows what the human does not care to hear. And if I listen intently and intentionally, I can hear a much calmer and wiser voice prevail over the human’s snark.

It’s the voice of the spirit. It’s there all along...but my human just has such a big mouth.

My heart tells me to pray...but not to pray that they will like me... that they will “get” me... that they would be nicer to me...

Oh, I’ve prayed that prayer...the prayer for myself... the prayer that God would change their hearts. I prayed fervently and sincerely...I sincerely needed them to change. And I waited. I waited and waited and waited. And then one day, out of the clear blue, guess what happened...

Absolutely nothing.

We’ve all done it...prayed the human prayer.

But the prayer of the spirit is different.

The prayer of the spirit is reflective. It asks me to reflect on how others may feel when they’re in my presence. It insists I pray for peace for those who do not wish me well, and that I pray, for myself, a better understanding of how to live this calling...to shed the mask and to BE love.

The prayer of Saint Francis sounds, to my heart, much more like the prayer of a spirit having a human experience...like someone who genuinely cares about others with no ulterior motives...like someone who racks her heart for answers:

The Prayer of Saint Francis
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace:
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy.

O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Thursday, January 4, 2018

Love - Out of Control

Listened to a song today called Control by Tenth Avenue North. For those who don’t know the song, it’s worth a google. Anyway, the chorus says this:
God You don't need me
But somehow You want me
Oh, how You love me
Somehow that frees me
To take my hands off of my life
And the way it should go
As I listened to the chorus, I first thought...what would that look like? To let go...I mean REALLY let go, and give it to God.
Then I thought...why? Why would anyone ever give control of their life over to another?
Then I thought...when? When, in the course of human life do we EVER trust someone else fully, 100%, that whatever happens next...they’ve got control? What’s that kind of trust like?
What can I say...I ask a lot of questions...
Sometimes I answer myself too...
I’ll come back to the first question in a minute. But first...the question of control.
Why would I give that over?
Well, control not actually my possession, anyway. The way I see it I have two choices...allow myself to be guided by the Lord...or allow myself to be controlled by literally EVERYTHING ELSE. One choice results in positivity, the other in negativity. One results in faith; the other results in fear. One results in being present; the other results in future-tripping. I, however, don’t have control...but what I do have is a choice.

That being said...I’ll go back to all of the other questions I asked myself...
What would it look like to let go, and when do humans ever contain a capacity for that kind of trust?
And then I picture my children. Whom I love so much. So much. So. Much. So much that I can go from perfectly rational to certifiably insane the instant that it appears either have been or will be harmed.
I picture Dave...throwing Baker in the air when he was just a baby. HIGH in the air. It still makes me cringe. But the look on Baker’s face was pure joy. Not a worry. Not a fear. Not a moment of thought to what COULD happen...because Daddy was there. Daddy would catch him every time. Daddy wouldn’t let anything bad happen.

I picture Lucibelle, the free-est of all free spirits. Running, full speed ahead wherever she goes...which also makes for some gnarly run-ins with gravity. I see it coming, but can’t get there fast enough. Hands and knees scraped, and a busted lip...she does not first seek to determine what is hurt...she doesn’t yell at me for not catching her...she does not try to fix it herself. What does she do? She looks up, through her tears, looks for me, and cries out, “Mommy! Mommy, kiss it! Hold me. Make it better.” There is no doubt in her mind that I’ll scoop her up, hold her tight, kiss her bumps and bruises, and make it better. Not a single doubt.
It’s the purest form of trust...the trust an infant has for his/her parents. Baker, at two, was invincible in Daddy’s arms. Daddy is the strongest man in the world. Daddy can do anything. Daddy is my protector and will not let me down.
As parents we know we aren’t perfect but we sure seek to climb to the top of the pedestal our children so naturally construct for us.
Of course...then there’s God. The ultimate father. Who actually IS all of the things our babies believe US to be.

That’s what it looks like if I really believe my Father is The Great I Am. When I run headlong into a brick wall...I would look to Jesus before anything or anyone else. When I’m in an unfamiliar place, unsure of my surroundings, I’d cling more tightly, certain that although I do not know the path, He does. When I’m in a place where things could crash and burn, I’d relax and enjoy the ride, knowing that I’m totally safe in His hands.

Friday, June 16, 2017

What Makes a Good Marriage?

This one will be short and sweet...it doesn't need much more


Me: what makes a good mommy?
Baker: ...takes care of her kids...cares for them when they are hurt and sick...makes sure they eats their fruits and veggies...(awwww...sweet...right?)
Me: what makes a good dad?
Baker: ...same thing that makes a good mom. (Lol...cute...right?)
Me: what makes a good man?
Baker: ...works out...and does the things that a good mom does does for the people he loves (getting deep there, little man)
Me: what do you think makes a good marriage?
Baker: (doesn't miss a beat...not even a half second...I kid you not...like this is the easiest question he ever answered) God.

Wow.  

Got it, Father. LOUD AND CLEAR. They see us and pay attention. They don't miss a moment. And they know what matters.
My prayers tonight will be a bit different than ever before...and my future prayers are changed too.
Pic from July, 2006, just about 2 months into the relationship.  Eleven years later, I still thank God for him every day.