Breaking Bad Categories

Everything seems to be labeled, categorized, tagged, itemized, grouped, classified.

Twitter. Instagram. Finally FB has gotten on board.

I can’t even get onto the internet without Google trying to categorize what I might be searching for. In fact, my feed on Twitter and FB is filled with sponsored ads that telling me what I want.

Categories in themselves are not bad or good. They just are.

But what our culture tends to create is what I call the silo effect, which is an idea all about dividing to conquer. Some institutions have systems, programs, teams which are often “siloed” to create efficiency and function. To some degree, this is helpful.

For example, if I know that Joe is the best at graphic design, then I’ll make sure to include him in on our graphics planning. Win, win!

But what if Joe is disconnected from the bigger picture of vision/mission/purpose? How well will his graphics reflect those things?

Whereas, if Joe is brought into the conversation of mission and purpose, even only initially, then intuitively his graphics would better align with the big picture?

Consider this definition of the verb, “silo”:

“A mind-set present in some companies when certain departments or sectors do not wish to share information with others in the same company. This type of mentality will reduce the efficiency of the overall operation, reduce morale, and may contribute to the demise of a productive company culture.” from: http://www.businessdictionary.com/definition/silo-mentality.html#ixzz3w0vYoWsg

Consider phone companies.

So let’s say Phone Company Z is categorized as a “landline” (you need a wire for the phone to work, yes.) provider, what would you say their life term going to be like?

Seen a public phone lately? Seen someone use a public phone lately? How many of you still have a “landline” at home? (Not counting your grandmother or old Uncle Tom)

If Phone Company Z, back in 1990, put all their eggs into one category of communication, where would they be today?

Jim Collins does a fantastic job at addressing how companies like this one might take a step toward greatness. But it would take facing some rather brutal truths, first.

That’s fine for institutions, right? But what makes institutions successful are the people, and this is Collin’s greater truth of going from good to great.

“Few people attain great lives, in large part because it is just so easy to settle for a good life.”–Jim Collins

If Phone Company Z, in 1990, saw their profits doing well, employees, the board, and the shareholders seemed happy, why change anything?

Let’s rephrase that sentence a bit for context.

If Heather, in 2016, saw her life doing well, and her husband and kids, boss, friends, seemed happy (enough), why change anything?

Where’s the problem here?

The thing is that question really has nothing to do with me at all, rather it is me being defined in categories: wife, mom, pastor, employee, friend, mentor, etc.

Again, categories are not bad nor good. We all function within categories. But what often confuses us is that in the midst of all of those categories, we sometimes lose the core of who we are. If I’m not a mom, dad, scientist, writer, pastor, child–then who am I?

But what does that have to do with spirituality?

In one word-everything. (To be continued…)

There’s something about Rumbling…

“It’s always helpful to remember that when perfectionism is driving, shame is riding shotgun.”
― Brené Brown, Rising Strong

So every once in a while– okay nah– about a dozen times a week, I am so very aware of how important this quote is.

I am a recovering perfectionist.

Last year, someone, who I really think was trying to help me, shared with me that my supposed perfectionism was not consistent in my imperfect product.  As if my imperfect product indicated I wasn’t a perfectionist.

Mmmkay. ( I had to move on from that not so helpful comment, because I really do think this person thought they were being helpful.)

Thing is, for me, perfectionism is nothing about me doing perfect (though I know people who are really OCD about their work being perfect); instead it’s how I want people to see me.  (Thus when people want to review my work or judge it , I really desire them to see me as perfect. Big difference. The work might be complete junk, but I still desire to be seen as perfect. Yeah, it’s pretty crazy. Trust me, I know. Read Anatomy of Peace–the “need to be seen box” is key.)

Brene Brown’s Rising Strong undid me on what she calls the “Rumble”.

Let me just say what an awful place the Rumble is.

“The opposite of recognizing that we’re feeling something is denying our emotions. The opposite of being curious is disengaging. When we deny our stories and disengage from tough emotions, they don’t go away; instead, they own us, they define us. Our job is not to deny the story, but to defy the ending—to rise strong, recognize our story, and rumble with the truth until we get to a place where we think, Yes. This is what happened. This is my truth. And I will choose how this story ends.”
― Brené Brown, Rising Strong

On paper, it sounds great. Until it happens. Then I’m faced with a very real physical response–my stomache gets queasy, and I tense up immediately. When it happens, I know it, and it goes like this.

(Some situation happens–it could be ANYthing). I’m reacting to the situation. It is a physical one. I want it to go away. So I’m making up stories like crazy to make the discomfort leave; BUT I recognize I’m making up stories like crazy so I lean into the uncomfortable emotions more to understand why I’m making up a story. And I go round and round and round, until I get to the taproot of my emotional storm.

I take deep breathes. I hold on for dear life. And oh my goodness, the Rumble just feels horrible.

You see, the made-up story satisfies my brain–releasing calming endorphines. Even if the made-up story is a bad one, my brain is still content. It’s like a weird cycle of mayhem.

Brown says of the made-up story, “What do we call a story that’s based on limited real data and imagined data and blended into a coherent, emotionally satisfying version of reality? A conspiracy theory.”

I was in full control mode. I was caught in a made-up story and I needed a way out fast. So I dug in. And got curious.

• I sought external perspective first from a trusted source.  I listened.

• I asked for support from a trusted source. I received care.

• I then asked myself some questions, “Are you making up a story?” “What’s the story?” “Why are you making one up?” “Has this happened before?” “Is there a pattern?” “Is this person/or situation really the problem?” “Are you tired/hungry/irritable?”

It took a little while to settle down. But I did. And I got to the bottom of it.

The situation had made me feel like I was not meeting the expectations of important people to me; something that really mattered to me. And those important people might see me be less than my perception of what they  want me to be. To sum it up–I wasn’t enough.

And that, right there, is the real story–the shame story. I fear failing people that are important to me, in a major, paralysis kind of way.

Growing up, I think I was trained to make up stories to escape reality. I just would imagine myself anywhere else–doing amazing things, with amazing people, who thought I was awesome. And dang, those stories sure felt nice.

Now, thanks to Brene, I know why.

So when perfectionism (my own special kind) hits, I read this quote.

“When perfectionism is driving, shame is riding shot-gun.”

There’s something about the Rumble though that gets at the real shame driving all that emotion, defensiveness, anxiety and fear.

The Rumble invites me to get curious, rather than self-condemning; to be kind, no guilt-trips here; to simply ask for what I need, without demanding.

And it leads to something really amazing. A lot like this picture really. A really good place.

It’s Advent. Where’s the hope?

 

Yesterday, I sat down with some students for a meeting. It was a regular day with not so regular students. They were in a mood.  Each had their way of coping with their stressors. Some were grumpy, some were silly, some just couldn’t focus. Each however are precious to God. And I could sense the increased tension of their lives; these are teenagers who are stressed out. Parents, friends, school, pressure, homework, jobs, college, “who am I?”–the full gamut of concerns.

And I tried to get them focused on a short Scripture reading before starting our “business” meeting. They struggled to listen, to pay attention.

They were overwhelmed.

I had had a full day. Oh so busy. People needing to talk. Tasks to complete. I had no time to consider the news or FB or Instagram. I didn’t know about the shooting; the next shooting in a long line of recent shootings.

I fear that somewhere along the way, just like those stressed teenagers, we as a culture might begin to cope with this too. To simply stop paying attention, to become so overwhelmed with it all that we shut down.

That somehow this darkness might become just another part of our reality. Like someone saying out loud, “Well, shootings happen. Deal.”

The reading I had unsuccessfully read with the students was Isaiah 9:1-7.  It is a familiar reading. Used just about every year in Christmas church services, school programs, plays, TV shows (Charlie Brown!) and movies. “Unto us a child is born”, we say, hear and pray.

“For a child has been born for us,
    a son given to us;
authority rests upon his shoulders;
    and he is named
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
⁷ His authority shall grow continually,
    and there shall be endless peace
for the throne of David and his kingdom.
    He will establish and uphold it
with justice and with righteousness
    from this time onward and forevermore.
The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this.”

Eugene Peterson’s paraphase of verse 7 is “His ruling authority will grow, and there’ll be no limits to the wholeness he brings.”  

No limits to the wholeness. This declaration promises a set to rights all the issues revealed of this world. People were walking in darkness, in anguish, fear, war and tyrants threatening, abuse and injustice multiplying and reproducing. They needed to hear about hope. As do we.

Pay attention to Isaiah 10:1-3, the verses following the ones above: (from The Message):

The Master sent a message against Jacob.
    It landed right on Israel’s doorstep.
All the people soon heard the message,
    Ephraim and the citizens of Samaria.
But they were a proud and arrogant bunch.
    They dismissed the message, saying,
“Things aren’t that bad.
    We can handle anything that comes.
If our buildings are knocked down,
    we’ll rebuild them bigger and finer.
If our forests are cut down,
    we’ll replant them with finer trees.”

Look at that phrase–“Things aren’t that bad.”

Well, you know what, maybe things are bad.

Shootings are bad.

Injustice, killing of innocents, anger, revenge, gossip, judgment. All bad. And something deep inside of us knows it. But sometimes, we hide from the awful reality maybe because we feel helpless to stop it.

We cope by convincing ourselves that we can make it all stop. Stop the violence. Stop the shootings, injustice, pain, terror by “doing this” or “doing that”. “We can fix this!” Or we point fingers. We blame.

When perhaps what is needed is something we already have. “For unto us…”

Perhaps we are being asked to recognize our inability to fix such brokenness and look to the one who came to make us whole.

That child was born. Into the darkness he was born–in the middle of the night. His entrance announced to random, ordinary people, just like you and I. No crowds cheering. No banners waving. Quietly entering into a broken world he so deeply longs to heal.

Then about thirty years later, he came, announcing, “The Kingdom of God is here.”

Here? The Kingdom of God is here?

Digging: I struck fear

Read a story from the book of Nehemiah: Nehemiah 6:1-19

---

I remember hearing my first counselor warn me.

“When you change the dance, even if it’s the right thing for you to do, others  are affected and get afraid. You’re changing the dance.”

She was talking about the cost of getting healthy. There is a cost. And it may seem really high, at first. Relationships are like dancers. Each movement draws the other closer or further apart. Even minute changes to the dance upsets the balance. 

Why change the dance at all then?

The dance may have been unhealthy. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally. But the other person doesn’t see it. When you start getting healthy, you see it clearly maybe for the first time. But the other person doesn’t.

And they get scared. Fear produces a myriad of behaviors–not all alike either. Everyone deals with fear differently but our behavior reveals a lot about us, particularly when we are afraid.

Some of those behaviors include:

• Anger
• Blame
• Defensiveness 
• Justifying or rationalizing
• Demanding or High Expectations
• Feeling superior 
• Victimization or guilt
• Manipulation 

Just to name a few. This list is not a means to accuse or judge others. No, sorry.

It is however a good way to identify these behaviors in ourselves, when we feel afraid. Change always has to start with us. So not fair. I get it. But it is what it is.

If you re-read the story above from Nehemiah, you will see several of those behaviors. But look at how Nehemiah handled it. That guy was super healthy.

Nehemiah saw it for what it was. Called it what is was. Held his boundaries on what he would do, or not do. And he kept on building anyway.

Here’s three ways I’m working on dealing with fear in my life:

I can choose how I feel about being provoked to fear

I can be kind. And I can be firm

I can call out specific behavior designed to provoke fear. Not with an intent to change the other person, but with the intent to help myself NOT react negatively

Fearful people want you fearful too. So they’ll do just about anything to make you afraid with them. Scared people don’t like to be scared alone.

Best response? Don’t be provoked to fear. Yes, don’t. Jesus says it often.

Why? Because fear is a normal human emotion, and it exists to help us. But more often than not, fear is a huge hindrance.

But being provoked to fear has nothing to do with us, and everything to do with the person provoking it.

So don’t take the bait. That’s all. It is also the hardest thing to do ever, which is probably why Jesus reminded us so very often.

Fear is completely paralyzing. But it can be overcome.

Keep digging. Keep building. Keep trying. Keep studying. Keep dreaming. Keep moving. Keep looking for that job. Keep spending more and more time with your spouse or kids. Keep working on school or getting that promotion at work. Keep writing. Keep painting. Keep living the dream. Keep going. Just keep going. Keep at it.

Then suddenly you won’t be as fearful anymore. You will actually begin to feel more compassion for others who may be struggling to “keep at it”. Even when they frustrate you or hurt you.

We are all human. We make mistakes. But people are watching how we respond.

Notice that the wall got built, and Nehemiah kept getting mean letters anyway. And people talking about him behind his back too. Nice.

Mean, fear producing letters happen. People will talk about people. It’s all part of our human condition.

But Jesus came to teach us that there is a better way. A way to be healthy and whole, in him, and through him. A way to be freed from fear; a way to find vibrant life.

It may cost you something, at first. But trust me, the process is the best part to learning about love.

Lectionary, 10/24/15: Curiousity inspires Trust

 

 Psalm 42

1 As a deer pants for flowing streams,
    so pants my soul for you, O God.
² My soul thirsts for God,
    for the living God.
When shall I come and appear before God?<sup class=”footnote” data-fn=”#fen-ESV-14558b” data-link=”[b]”>[b]
³ My tears have been my food
    day and night,
while they say to me all the day long,
    “Where is your God?”
⁴ These things I remember,
    as I pour out my soul:
how I would go with the throng
    and lead them in procession to the house of God
with glad shouts and songs of praise,
    a multitude keeping festival.

⁵ Why are you cast down, O my soul,
    and why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
    my salvation<sup class=”footnote” data-fn=”#fen-ESV-14561c” data-link=”[c]”>[c] ⁶ and my God.

My soul is cast down within me;
    therefore I remember you
from the land of Jordan and of Hermon,
    from Mount Mizar.
⁷ Deep calls to deep
    at the roar of your waterfalls;
all your breakers and your waves
    have gone over me.
⁸ By day the Lord commands his steadfast love,
    and at night his song is with me,
    a prayer to the God of my life.
⁹ I say to God, my rock:
    “Why have you forgotten me?
Why do I go mourning
    because of the oppression of the enemy?”
¹⁰ As with a deadly wound in my bones,
    my adversaries taunt me,
while they say to me all the day long,
    “Where is your God?”

¹¹ Why are you cast down, O my soul,
    and why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
    my salvation and my God.

 _________________________________________________

 

This prayer, for it is indeed a prayer, is a personal favorite of mine. Today, perhaps for different reasons. This is how I know, deep down, that Scripture is living words from God. There will be plenty of reasons why we feel emotions; emotions so obvious here in this prayer. 

The wrestling. 

The struggle.

 The woundedness.

The grief. Grief that seems to overwhelm the pray-er of this prayer.

 

Yet, this pray-er likens himself to a deer.

Ok, really? A deer? 

 

Have you ever seen a deer in the wild?

 

One day, at a retreat center, in the middle of a suburb, I saw one.

She was standing in the middle of a wooded area. 

What drew her there perhaps?

The gently moving stream beneath the bridge upon which we stood?

She was thirsty?

She perhaps had come to drink. 

 

What struck me was the stillness. 

The solitude. 

The gentle presence of this creature.

There was no fanfare, no hooves sloshing about. 

She just appeared, quiet and still.

 

And she stood, looking at us for a long time. Similar to the picture above.

 

Then she was gone. As if she had just vanished. And though I continued to search for her in the small wooded area, she was gone as quickly as she had come.

I wonder if the reason why the pray-er of this prayer likened himself or herself to a deer for this reason.

 

There comes a point when the grief overwhelms us, when the struggling and wrestling just stops.

And there is stillness. Complete stillness.

I call it shut down. 

We are perhaps unable to pray.

Unable to eat. 
Unable to even shape the words in our minds, much less utter them.
We run out of ourselves.

 

The things of this world simply cannot fill the void.

A gaping hole, cut wide open.

And we at last call out to the One who can.

 

The questions in this prayer surprise me; the pray-er is curious, even. 
Curious enough about him or herself to ask the question–Why?

 

The question inspires trust, rather than our perhaps misplaced interpretation of the pray-ers desperation for God to fix the situation.  Rather the pray-er, I think, is getting curious about himself or herself.

Curiousity about our feelings, our stumblings and bumblings, our struggles is a great beginning.

Good digging, I think.

My Not-So-Special Brand of Crazy

I read it again. “You’re not special.”

So I typed back, “What do you mean?”

What followed was a sequence of dialogue that helped me and my friend understand each other better, and ourselves. She had heard those same words from someone else, and they had struck her the same way. And because either we are clinically insane and love internal pain and struggles, or we actually care about learning what it means to be healthy–like really healthy. Not just gym-healthy, but totally healthy.

What’s important to remember here is before her three-worded pandora box, I was complaining. Whining, really. About all the crap that is required with this whole adult, healthy-functioning thing. Life is not easy. Work is hard. And internal work with a therapist is the equivalent of stabbing yourself with a hot poker–okay, that’s a tad overdramatic. But it sucks.

I was whining.

She replies, “You’re not special.”  In other words–“you are not alone, you are not the only one suffering, hurting or wrestling. Your specific pain is not unusual or weird or unique. It is. And it sucks, and hurts. YES to all of that. And I am sorry you are hurting. But you are not special.”

And you know what. She was right, and she still is.

It is even mroe unfortunate that we are immersed in a culture of a media onslaught (social media to commercials) telling us, yelling at us, screaming at us, “You are SO special.”  Let us please stop feeding the monster–the monster of ME.

You know why? Because it’s already hard enough to be told you’re not special, to then listen to people insisting that you ARE special, when you know you’re not. Deep down know, I mean.

I have a problem. I have giant, massive ego. I could blame it all on good reasons, but they don’t matter. Now I know better, and know I am to do better.

That is all we can do is do our best, with what we know and the resources we have available to us.

With God’s help, I am not special. I am however deeply loved by God, and by other human beings in community.

We humans are all in this thing called being alive together.

And together, we can be something pretty special.

Digging: The Right Tools

My first dig was scary.  See that post from Friday.

I went in fairly blind to the dangers of digging deep into hardened soil. Fortunately, God so filled with grace had equipped me with years of tools.  Tools I had yet to fully understand or utilize.

Any good archaeologist would have the following:

 

Trowels: For archaeology, the trowel is probably the most iconic and most-often used tool. It is the same tool that masons use to apply mortar to brick walls, though in archaeology it is used to excavate in a unit when the space no longer allows for the use of a shovel.

Shovels: Shovels, either rounded or squared, are used as the primary excavating tool, most especially in units where very few or no features or artifacts are discovered. They are used because they allow for more soil to be moved in a shorter time, as opposed to only ever excavating with trowels.

Screens: Screens are used to sift the soil that comes from each unit in order to search for and better spot artifacts. Soil is poured into the screen from either a bucket or a shovel, then shaken back and forth to allow the lighter soil to fall through the screen mesh, while heavier artifacts will stay inside the screen box.

Handbrooms/Dustpans: Used while excavating a unit in order to more effeciently move the soil out. Handbrooms help to keep the “floor” of a unit clean, especially before a photograph is taken of it. Dustpans help to move soil out of the unit at a faster pace when archaeologists have begun only using their trowels.

Tape Measures: Tape measures are used to make sure that the size of the unit and the depth of each level are as exact as possible according to our field manual’s regulations. They are also used when creating maps of units, as knowing the distance between artifacts or layers of soil will make the map much more accurate.

Line Levels/Plumb Bobs: Line levels and plumb bobs are primarily used in mapping features and excavation units. Line levels are attached to the strings that are used to outline the units and the diagonal string in order to be able to better measure the depth of each level and any artifacts that may be found. Plumb bobs are used in conjunction with the measuring tape while mapping in order to provide a precise location for any feature boundary or artifacts that may be in the walls or floor of a unit.

Cameras: Film and digital cameras are used at New Philadelphia in order to take official images of the floor and walls of each level of each excavation unit, artifacts, and occasionally candid shots of the crew.

Transit/Total Station: This equipment is used to create a map of the site, using GPS and spatial data which records exact locations and heights of specific points.

Soil Cores: A basic soil core is a small metal tube with a handle at the top that is used for probing specific areas in the soil in search of buried artifacts or features. Once a specific spot is marked for coring, the archaeolgist pushes the core into the ground using their body weight, then pulls it back out to inspect the soil within it.

Tongue Depressors/Dental Picks: These small tools allow for the removal of soil in very tight or small locations in a unit, or can be used to clean off larger or more sturdy artifacts.

From: http://www.histarch.illinois.edu/np/tools.html

So looking at this list, I found some good parallels worth mentioning. I mean the trowels and the shovels are obvious tools, but the one that struck me was the SOIL CORES.  Look at these words, “the archaeologist pushes the core into the ground use their body weight, then pulls it back OUT to inspect the soil within it”.

Replace a couple of words and you’ve got my first visit with Janet, my therapist:

“Heather pushes the tube down into the cracks of her soul with all she has (OUCH!), then pulls it back out (OUCH!!!) to inspect the contents within it”

#1 TOOL: FIND AN EXPERT DIGGER TO HELP YOU DIG

I say this from experience. Counseling has such a bad wrap. I mean seriously, it does. Like when I was a kid, if you went to a counselor, you were crazy. Like asylum crazy. No ONE goes to a counselor, and if you did, you sure didn’t announce it.

That misnomer sadly still floats about the world of therapists and psychologists, or gasp, psychiatrists! It’s all garbage.

The best thing you could ever do for yourself, your spouse, your kids and the rest of the people that are in your world is find a good therapist/counselor/mentor/spiritual director.  Someone who can be truthful with you and objective to you.

I have had three different counselors/therapists over the past decade.  Each brought a unique perspective and teaching to me, though each different in style and approach.  All three were good therapists.

Janet is my most recent therapist.  She has been the one that has helped me the most, along with some series of circumstances that I call divine intersections. You can read in my other blog posts about the fun we’ve had together. But though challenging and sometimes infuriating, our visits always invite me to dig deeper. To find the core of the real me, to get at the truth that lies underneath all the junk I, and other people, have dumped all over me.

Digging into the hardened sediment of our souls is hard work. I need Janet to help me. She gives me perspective, honesty and objective viewpoints about my behavior and attitude. I need an expert. By the way, she is not the only person that functions as an expert objective witness in my life. Spiritual Directors, Mentors, Pastors, Life Coaches, etc. can often play a first role in being an expert objectivity witness to you and your own dig.

No matter who, an expert is critical to successfully beginning your first dig.

NOTE: Therapists are not all equal. I strongly recommend getting suggestions from a pastor, friend or doctor.  Your pastor, friends and doctors know you, and they know your needs the best (if you’ve shared with them.)

Digging: The First Dig

Going on a dig. Sounds romantic, doesn’t it? Makes me think of Indiana Jones. And a story.

One of the great memories of me as a kid was in our backyard–usually armed with a rake, a shovel, maybe just a stick.  Digging down in the dirt, finding a mysterious hole, or following some critter to it’s lair. Time flowed like water through my fingers, it seemed, as I went about the backyard taking it all in–breathing it in, really. Just experiencing it. It was effortless, it seemed, to be alive.

Then I was thirty-two. And being alive was not effortless.  My marriage was on the brink of complete failure. I was in counseling for codependency. And I really just wanted everything to be the way I wanted it to be–I wanted my PERFECT LIFE to be PERFECT. It wasn’t. I was a hot mess, and so was my husband. We were so very far from perfect. Being alive was not effortless.

One day, I remember watching our own kids, then preschoolers, watch ants. Ants! They were both just sitting there, for several minutes, watching a row of ants do what ants do. They appeared transfixed.

Where was I? Watching them from above, towering over them like a typical adult: “Don’t get too close.” “Don’t touch them!” “They bite!” “Why are you touching them?”

Their response? They completely ignored me. Their fascination with these little creatures totally consumed them, as their tiny mouths squealed and their chubby fingers reached out excitedly to watch the ants figure out a new way to get to their destination from around their fingertips.

Did I then stop my own self long enough to snap a picture, or sit down on the ground with them to soak up those moments?

I did not. I hurried them along inside the house, away from biting ants and all, to the inside and safety. Well, for me, it was safety, I think.

They were learning to be alive while I had learned to survive.

That time in my life had hardened a part of me. Along with many moments prior to it.
And in that hardening, cracks appeared in my soul.

Fast forward to 43, the year those cracks became my first dig-site–holy healing opportunities is what I call them.

But I had to dig.

To gather my tools like the little girl in the backyard of our little white rental house on Alonda Drive.
To dig down into hardened sediment and packed dirt and tangled weeds.
To lean into the shovel with my whole body, mind and spirit, to ask for help from others when I was exhausted or the pain too paralyzing.
To wholly rely on God whose grace would, I daily prayed, would sustain me.

Digging is hard work. The first dig is the scariest. It was scary. Dig anyway.

Demons & Pigs (A reflection on Matthew 8:28-34)

There is a song that plays on the radio sometimes. The first few verses follow:

When the days are cold
And the cards all fold
And the saints we see
Are all made of gold
When your dreams all fail
And the ones we hail
Are the worst of all
And the blood’s run stale
I wanna hide the truth
I wanna shelter you
But with the beast inside
There’s nowhere we can hide
No matter what we breed
We still are made of greed
This is my kingdom come
This is my kingdom come
When you feel my heat
Look into my eyes
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide
Don’t get too close
It’s dark inside
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide

The song is almost too raw. I mean do I really want to acknowledge my failures, or the failures of those who I have looked up to? I mean those people who had it all together, or at least I thought they did. But they didn’t. They failed too. Some grander than others. And then I know deep down the truth of this song–demons prefer to be hidden. It’s where they do the worst work. 

I am in a phase of life, nearing the end of my 43rd year, when I am growing into my weaknesses and strengths. This whole vulnerable thing is honestly whipping me. 

Most often in my life, I’ve run hot or cold, or mediocre warm. 

An old country song tape begins in my head, “My give a d*** got broke!” It’s so much easier, that little girl thinks, just to climb into a corner, away from the world, lick her wounds and play Coldplay for hours. But then this too is not the answer, she knows. She’s done that before, and it didn’t work then so I hear Dr. Phil’s voice in my head too (a child of our culture, right?), “How’s that working for ya?”  So the victim, who licks her wounds, declaring the world is against her–she’s inside me.

 

Or in the heated moments, I am astonished to see the kind of horrible person I can become. I have witnessed her. She is dangerous. Her tongue can slice a person in half, if given an millimeter of opening. She learned that from her upbringing; a household filled with verbal debates that trained a young child that the way of winning in this world is to be the loudest and the rightest. Exaggeration is fair. The more dramatic it sounds, even better.  And with a proper facial expression you can quiet a room. It’s all in delivery; words can cut when they’re properly sharpened. Words are far worse than actions sometimes; only sometimes though. Because honestly that actions of others is what trained me to hide behind this girl; the times I was ignored, set aside, or simply left to my own devices.  But that horrible loudmouth, demanding truth despite the cost, wants to be the winner, “don’t you dare say I’m weak”, girl–yeah, she’s inside me too.

But the worst moments, are in mediocre warmth, when I desperately want to be valued, to be seen as okay enough. That’s when the fake girl shows up. Pretending. Acting like she’s impervious to pain. She’s suddenly someone else. She’ll do whatever it takes to keep control of the situation. To appease. To rescue. To make the situation better. She’s inside me too. I really don’t like her. But she’s inside me too. 

These are my demons inside. Their nourishment? Shame. (Brene Brown nails it again and again!)

I’ve identified all of those “me’s” with the help of a darn good therapist and some circumstances that have happened (I call them Divine Intersections) to help me apply my learning. 

Therapist calls it “reparative work”. I call it being punched in the stomach, over and over. Whoever tells you that therapy is about encouragement is only telling you half the story; it’s tough, internal work. 

It’s like every coping mechanism I learned to survive this time on planet earth (the three “me’s” I shared above) was being deconstructed. And well coping mechanisms are cool; our brains learn how to feel better by leaning too far into those roles. 

Therapist called it the triangle.  And I needed to get out of mine. 

 

Enter today’s reading from Matthew 8:28-34: (this version is from the paraphrase, The Message)

 

The Madmen and the Pigs

They landed in the country of the Gadarenes and were met by two madmen, victims of demons, coming out of the cemetery. The men had terrorized the region for so long that no one considered it safe to walk down that stretch of road anymore. 

Seeing Jesus, the madmen screamed out, “What business do you have giving us a hard time? You’re the Son of God! You weren’t supposed to show up here yet!” 

Off in the distance a herd of pigs was browsing and rooting. The evil spirits begged Jesus, “If you kick us out of these men, let us live in the pigs.”

Jesus said, “Go ahead, but get out of here!” Crazed, the pigs stampeded over a cliff into the sea and drowned. Scared to death, the swineherds bolted. They told everyone back in town what had happened to the madmen and the pigs. Those who heard about it were angry about the drowned pigs. 

A mob formed and demanded that Jesus get out and not come back.

I love Eugene Peterson’s translation of the “madmen” being “victims of demons”.  In many ways, I was unable to travel into the deepest parts of me–the true me–because of the demons. Yet, I also supported their existence, in the sense that I never really knew they were there. Demons hide, remember? 

 

Until Jesus. And then the story shifts. The demons recognize Jesus–and know exactly who he is. And the weirdest part of the story for me is the “pigs”.  I mean, what did those pigs do to you, demons? And Jesus, for real?! You’re going to let them go into the pigs?!

 

But here’s the irony for me. The madmen had survived with these demons. Had lived. Had also been a great harm to the people around them because of these demons. The pigs chose to go over the cliff, rather than live with that version of crazy. 

 

This is not saying that we should all go over cliffs because of our crazy. Not what I’m saying. 

But it seems to be that we live with demons that Jesus simply did not come to earth, live amongst us and die on the cross, and then be resurrected for us to have! Jesus came, lived and died so that we would have life. 

Jesus invites you and I to consider another way. And he provides Divine opportunities to look within and begin to navigate through the brokenness and shame of our souls.

 

So my triangle–the three me’s inside of me. They’re still there. But what’s different is that the demon of shame is being dealt with. Like Brene Brown says, shame hates being called out. So I’m calling it out.

 

By living wholehearted. By living vulnerable.