From your depths you shall rise

January 1, 2004, I received this bright drawing from one of my three daughters.  She was 8 at the time.  I got many gifts like this at the time from each of my girls.

Nineteen years ago, having lost everything that meant everything to me, I was often in a very dark place; a sort of experience you never think is possible, it’s so painful.  I was in that place for several months, and the full crisis lasted a lot longer than that.  Yet I knew with no doubt whatsoever that God was there with me every step.  He was present in and through my daughters and my parents.  Those five individuals kept me alive.  Them, and two sponsors (mentors), a guide, a pastor (who until recently was still in Baptist ministry in Mandurah), and a growing list of others as I began to trust people as the Holy Spirit led me.

I could never have imagined when I received this sunrise drawing how life would actually turn out. There were still many dark days ahead for me, the darkest was actually six weeks ahead from that point.  I still had days and hours and moments ahead of me (and I still have them now) when I felt like giving up.  And I have realised that, for me, this is normal, and in God’s sight, acceptable.  Perhaps God’s love shines through all the more when we’re at our rock bottom.  And this has been an untold blessing for others I’ve been privileged to minister with.

Don’t ever feel like you’re not good enough if you’re tempted to give up.  The most courageous people are the very ones who were tempted to and almost gave up.  And for a time, some do give up, but that’s not how the story ended.  

Don’t feel you’re a disappointment to God when you never actually learn a key lesson, ever.  God is supremely patient.  He just loves our effort.  Our “success” doesn’t please God as much as our humble approach to failure does.  What delights God is what is in our hearts, not the outcome.  

Don’t underestimate God’s ability to surprise you 
with something like a blessed sunrise drawing.

All through this 2003-2006 season of lament and dark night of the soul, God continually showed up in the most unexpected of ways.  And it’s been the same in similar seasons in my life since and in the lives of others I’ve witnessed who have journeyed by faith.

Don’t forget those who were there for you... those who are there for you now.  Trust those that God places in your path who only want to help, and who are positioned to help.

Don’t feel you ever have to have your life together.  There’s abundantly more glory to God in our brokenness than there ever is in our apparent perfection.  And believe me, perfection is a mirage.  

Don’t feel you’re a burden on others you need to trust for support.  Most people love to be called on from time to time to support those who are struggling, especially people who have been through similar struggles.  Don’t be a burden and you won’t be a burden.  The key is to find a few who will support you, so you don’t lean on just one or two.  But use your discernment so you don’t end up trusting the wrong people.

Don’t forget that God walks faithfully with us no matter where we’re at.  As we keep looking to Him, as we cry out without answer or help, He helps.  He gets us through till morning.

And don’t forget that if the mire is now, 
now will not always be a mire.

“Never once did we ever walk alone,
Never once did You leave us on our own,
You are faithful
God, you are faithful!”
(Never Once, Matt Redman)

Being free to enjoy the work of your passion and calling

Far too much has been made of our “identity” devoid of our purpose, especially when there are definite personality types that are geared toward, and driven by, purpose.  For too long, much has been made of such purpose as a weakness, as if it, our work, our passion, cannot coexist as part of us.

I love the trendy word, “flow”.  It’s that state of being you’re in where you love doing what you do.  It gives us energy, motivates, and inspires us.  We tend to be talented in those activities where we’re in a state of flow.  There’s a symbiosis between what we do and who we are, and the ‘who we are’ (our calling) is gratified in being efficient and effective, and where there’s seemingly little effort.

I love writing these articles because I’m often in flow when I get an idea to write on.  I find it’s as if my fingers or voice commands can struggle to keep up with what God’s revealing to be written and it seems to come out without even a great deal of thought.  I’ve found it inspiring over the last 15-years to write 400-words in 20-minutes, or a 1,000-word article in an hour, especially when there’s very little editing to do.

Another thing that brings me into flow is meeting with individuals, couples, and families in the pastoral counselling space.  I’ve found counselling gives me energy and doesn’t deplete me.  It doesn’t demand too much of me as I don’t take on people’s stuff, whilst I have the spiritual gifting, the heart, the ability, personality, and life experiences for it.  Unfortunately, of recent, I’ve not had the time to invest in counselling, and that’s okay, for the time being.

Writing and counselling have kept me afloat over the recent years when I’ve had to work in secular roles that don’t allow me to get into flow, roles that are not my calling.

I’d imagine that you are probably like me in that you may not have the luxury of accessing flow in your main paid role.  So many people work in areas of skill but not in the areas of passion, and that’s okay when access to work you’re passionate about isn’t there or can’t be supported vocationally.

This is where Christian service allows us to work in areas of calling and gifting.  More and more people are working in their areas of calling as volunteers these days.  It can satisfy deep longings.

The thing is we should all be able to enjoy the work of our calling without feeling guilty about it, without feeling like people think that our work is part of our identity in problematic ways.  Conversely, flow-state work IS part of our identity because it is our service, and central to service is our passion.

It delights God when we are in a flow state in our work, when we are doing what we were designed to do, and when we are lost in our work, absolutely in bliss in our mind, heart, and soul.  It brings intrinsic joy and is God-provided.

A huge part of who we are is what we can do, especially when it’s a labour of love.  And all labours of love are glorifying to God.

I sometimes get suspicious about people’s motives when they call into question how much “rest” people get because when we work in our flow states, we’re more replenished than depleted.  The trouble we all have is getting enough opportunity to work in our flow state.

We live in a culture that prides itself on being busy whilst also disdaining hard work.  Our culture has a confused relationship with work, making toxic what is blessed.

We shouldn’t need to worry that we’ll “burn out” when we’re engaged in our passion and calling.  In our inner being we’re affirmed in ways that are intrinsic to our being.

We should be careful, however, when we’re working hard in areas that we’re not called in.

Where the motivation is extrinsic, we’re more likely to be anxious, stressed, frustrated, and distracted because we’re not passionate about what we’re doing.  This will explain why you feel the way you do in your work if you’re not passionate about what you do.

There are some vocations we’re called to that will be inherently straining, like parenting if we’re parents.  The calling is in keeping our children safe and helping them grow, but for so many reasons we most often won’t be in a flow state because of the external source of the many complexities involved.

But I want to encourage you to break the shackles of other people’s expectations around your calling, gifting, passions, and service.

A lot of the time our need of rest comes out of the tasks and activities that drain us, that we loath and despise.  Or when our calling extends us farther than what is sustainable, it can jade us in our calling.  Discovering our callings and passions, and spending more of our time doing them, is central to our life’s purpose and provide much meaning for life.

Being thankful for being touched in our grief

If anything in this life touches you, you are blessed.

Just so you know where this is coming from, I write this in tears, but my tears are NOT tears borne of pain.  My tears are of remembrance of my mother, and they’re not tears of pain, they’re tears of being touched.  I’m playing the song that she and Dad would occasionally weep to when they remembered their daughter, my sister, Debra Leanne, who they lost to stillbirth in 1973, an era that did not allow couples to adequately grieve their pregnancy losses.

I don’t think I’m alone in noticing that there is something cherishable in being touched.

We are touched when we fall in love, when we receive that awesome job offer, when something wonderful happens to us.  But just as much we’re touched so very deeply in our losses, and this is because love conflates the situation with pain because the situation cannot be resolved.  When love and pain coexist, there’s the basis for being touched.

If we’re not afraid of the effect of being touched, and we’re not ashamed of those tears that will run down our cheeks, and those messy nostrils, if we’re able to find a safe way of expressing what the heart certainly feels, we will be blessed.  If we can go there and even allow for the occasion when we’ll be lost in our loss, we will be blessed in it.

As we allow ourselves the space to grieve our loss, the Good Lord meets us in that attitude of heart and gives us a depth of a touch of his presence even as we wrestle with the paradox of love’s voluminousness with love’s inability to be met.  Somehow, in the truth of allowing that truth of our loss to melt us we’re broken in the most redemptive of ways.

I would go so far as to say that a part of the intent of James 1:2-4 is to inspire us to dig deeply into the truth of those first four words, “Consider it pure joy...”

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.  Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.”

Twenty-first Century Christians tend to be transfixed in a bemused way by James 1:2-4, but those who suffer find themselves transfixed in an entirely intrigued way, for when we suffer and we have faith, we cannot help but search.  James wrote to an audience that had an intimate understanding of suffering—for the culture of the time, for one’s faith, to mention just two.

We really have nothing to be afraid of with our cognitions and emotions that are connected to loss.  Indeed, these “uncontrollable” nuances of attitude that come out in the unavoidable behaviour of brokenness are a great blessing because they help us to be more authentic—more human, not less.

There is another fact of loss that makes grief something we can be very thankful for.

Because the grief cannot be resolved, because it cannot be avoided, and because the loss cannot be overturned, and because it will remain a loss for the rest of our lives or for an indeterminate period, we are held in that state of vulnerability that will compel us toward the growth of change.  We cannot remain as we are, and whenever we’re touched by the grief, especially as we connect with that unrequited love that cannot be reconciled the way it wishes to be.

The truth is, that grief insists on being heard, and if only we won’t deny it, it will touch us and it will heal us.  We just need to be actively passive and let the grief do its work.  We need to step out of grief’s way as it will heal us if we’ll let it.

Being so very thankful for our grief is a cherished state to experience especially as we consider we so often feel we’re trapped in the pain of grief.  This grief can touch us as much as it can pain us.  It’s time to sit with it and allow it to touch us and heal us.  It will if we let it.

S.A.D. grief in a season of ‘peace and joy’

Whilst there is the phenomenon of seasonal affective disorder that affects so many people this time of year (and at other times of year as well), there is also the phenomenon of penetrating grief for losses intruding on people’s Christmas season this year and every year.

Of course, grief is a seasonal catastrophe where loss has ripped through the heart of a person who has no answer for what life has come to be.  It is ironic that seasonal affective disorder has the acronym S.A.D.  There is no worse sadness than the compound depression, anxiety, fear, amid panic attacks of that grief season that engulfs the person and consumes their hope, particularly as the annual season approaches and the descent is made once more into an abyss.

Grief is what we feel when we experience loss amid a world that is celebrating.

What a scourge it is for the lonely and overwhelmed.  There is no way to make the loneliness lonelier than ever than to put the lonely in the presence of the joyous.

And a person only needs to live this reality once in their lifetime to be convinced that it’s the worst time of year for those who are grieving, for those who are triggered, for those battling their S.A.D. grief, than Christmas.

When everyone is getting together and having wonderful meals amid the merriment of Christmas, or Thanksgiving for that matter, it sheets home the calamity, and the strain and stress of that struggle cannot be communicated with words.  The affect is polarising.

Loneliness is a riveting kind of grief that sends a person into the estrangement of disconnection when a simple intimacy would do wonders.  Blessed are they who genuinely appreciate and like their own company, but if there’s too much of it, or that aloneness is forced upon a person, it means all agency is taken away, and that can be incredibly disempowering.

Christmas can be the worst time to be reminded of what you don’t have, especially when it’s so apparent that many people seem to have all their lives together.

And because Christmas happens exactly a week before New Year’s Day, it’s a double whammy of peace and joy that are missing, plus the fresh hopes of a new year dashed at the prospect of more pain.  Then there’s the quietness of new year which paradoxically can prove just as much if not more a burden especially in our loneliness than the ‘feeling lonely in a crowded room’ scenario the lonely face at Christmas.

If it’s you who is quietly reading these words, perhaps teary because they’re all too true, know my empathy goes out to you, for I had 2003 and 2004 as my worst Christmases.  I was beyond lonely, and it didn’t matter how much family I had around me.  Indeed, with family around it was too much of a reminder of what I was missing out on, not that it was their fault.

For those of us who are enjoying life, those for which life is great, we could spare a moment, a prayer, a kindness, a reaching out, for the one who is struggling.  We may not be able to do much about another person’s pain, but at least we can connect with the reality of their pain.  It is something.

Whether it’s true seasonal affective disorder or a seasonal bout of grief for a fresh or ongoing loss or the annual cycle of loss on repeat matters little.  The pain of grief is astonishing, as much as loss is strikingly the loneliest of states.

De-mystifying the complicated “unlearning” journey

I think we all sense that moving on with our lives—whether it be from loss and grief, or the sadness, disappointment, and even betrayal of relationship breakdown—relies upon accepting change.  And especially change that happens to us, that we have no control over.

One way of converting loss into growth is by embracing the unlearning journey.  That is, the concept operationalised in our lives of starting over, of departing from known schemas, of reinventing ourselves from a different mindset.

This, of course, is one of the hardest things to do, or at least it seems like a hard thing to do.  It is hard to the extent of breaking old habits, forming new attitudes, leaving behind what was.  But it is easier if we imagine the freedom that comes from willingly and joyously walking not the opposite way but another way.

This essentially is adding a loss upon a loss because unlearning involves departing from what we know, and that can seem like another loss, when in loss we want to maintain as much of the status quo as we can.

In unlearning and unbecoming we give ourselves 
a chance of living something we’ve never lived before.

When we have experienced loss, maybe the last thing we want to do is take a risk.  But in the nexus of loss, in the pivot point of grief, is the opportunity of a lifetime to put the old schema aside and build a new paradigm—because we are in control of that.

Think about it for a moment.  There is probably no better time than to be either locked in and paralysed by the thought of change, or to be inspired and motivated to let go of the past entirely.  In grief, we can experience both polarising states of being.

The best way of moving boldly forward is 
agreeing to be at peace with leaving the past behind.

The process of doing might be more complicated
but at least our attitude is aligned with unlearning.

I recall those earliest and darkest moments of divorce, and how dreadful those moments were.  Times I felt like I was dying of anguish, heartbreak, and fear.  No hint of exaggeration.  And yet, there were times in that season where I was ready to launch into something uncharted, and indeed my steady climb out of the abyss of marriage failure relied upon embracing elements of a life that I didn’t yet know would be good.

Trusting movement in those vulnerable days may have been hard, but provided I moved in good faith with courage, these moves were always blessed.  Going to AA, recommitting my life to God, choosing to be a school mentor, becoming a totally devoted parent, accepting the call of God in my heart, etc.

Catholic contemplative Richard Rohr OFM says that spirituality is essentially about letting go.  He quotes ancient mystic Meister Eckhart who says spirituality’s much more about subtraction than addition.  It reminds me of Job (1:21) who having lost all his livestock, servants, and all his children, nearly 4,000 years ago said, “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised.”  It reminds me that the nature of loss is to lose, it’s to have something subtracted from our life, but it’s also the invitation to unlearning the old way, as the “new normal” takes hold in our lives and we gradually learn how we can shape it.

A lot of unlearning is in letting go or forgiving what’s happened.  That can seem unconscionable.  Especially where there’s a strong element of injustice.  Anger is something that needs to be processed.  Being honest is key no matter how unpalatable the issues at hand are.

Forgiving and letting go involve tremendous patience, 
gentleness, and empathy with oneself, 
but when we believe it can be done, it can be done.

The quest of spirituality is in the letting go, of unbecoming, of losing, of unlearning.  When we can subsist gratefully in loss, in having nothing, literally nothing can crush our hope, and that’s a fervent, pulsating, cogent spirituality.  But, of course, it’s a spirituality that cannot be simply imagined, it must be lived, and living it is easier said than done.  And when it is lived, it’s the most confident and contented life.  A truly spiritual life is lived.

Maybe the best affirmation and confirmation that we are on the right track spiritually is we can contemplate letting go of what was to embrace what is.

If we’re not there yet, that’s okay, but it’s something to conjure in our imaginations, it’s something to hope for and strive for.  It’s simply about having an openness to the concept that will ultimately bring the concept to bear as fruit in our lives—eventually.  As a spirituality, that’s faith in a nutshell.

The process of unbecoming is part of the process of becoming, and that takes years, and realistically it’s a decades-long, lifetime work.  Knowing that, knowing that there’s no hurry, we can be gentle and patient and empathetic toward ourselves.

The exhaustion buried beneath emotional vulnerability

“Sometimes we can do more for people in our absence 
than we can do for them in our presence.”
— Ruth Haley Barton

Having endured the past few very challenging years, and perhaps having also endured some variety of other challenges or hardships in life, you may have arrived in a season where your emotional vulnerability bleeds out from within into your external world.

It may be frustration, irritability, fear, sadness, loneliness, a loss of hope, the need to withdraw in ways that neglects those who depend on you or, just as bad, violent behavioural responses of rage.

Not all our emotional vulnerability is due to exhaustion, but a lot of it is.  Exhaustion comes from ‘being strong for too long,’ from being too accessible, from saying ‘yes’ too much, from being unbalanced for an extended period, from compromising far too often.

Exhaustion drives down into our soul and ultimately it leaves us spiritually dry, and it all manifests in patterns of emotional vulnerability.

There’s a good reason why Jesus often withdrew into the wilderness.  He needed to reconnect with himself and be in communion with his Father.  Jesus modelled what we all need to do.  We all need our “ME” time, and we need a rhythm of it.  Such timeout isn’t just for introverts.  Such timeout isn’t selfish.  It’s a spiritual discipline we sorely need to engage in.

“ME” time can sound like selfishness, but if I don’t look after me, I have little resource left to care for the person who depends on me—and we all have people who depend on us, just as in any healthy life we depend also on others.

So, we can look at this “ME” time in the frame of whatever it is that replenishes—noting that much selfish “ME” time is NOT oriented toward renewal but sloth.  Time to reconnect, be it with a book, or time in nature, cherished fellowship with a mentor, exercise, journalling, or any other productive use of time is vital for each of us.  Good self-care requires diligent effort to plan and execute.  Blessed are those who take responsibility for organising this time.

When we find ourselves in a pattern of emotional vulnerability—and this is most underscored in the final analysis as anxiety and/or depression—we might be genuinely encouraged to identify the reason: exhaustion.

I say encouragement for this reason: we customarily condemn ourselves as less-than when everyone undergoes the same thing when exposed to a sustained overload of stimuli, whether it’s burnout, a cacophony of loss, conflicts that can’t be reconciled, abuse and trauma, and the like.

There’s no reason to feel alone in being emotionally vulnerable.  Given the same circumstances that you face, the next person would feel the same way.  And besides, there are just so many people who are emotionally vulnerable, again, because of degrees of exhaustion.

~

Here are ten sources of exhaustion, which is an adaptation of the work of Ruth Haley Barton’s Invitation to Retreat: The Gift and Necessity of Time Away with God:

1.            BEING TOO PLUGGED IN

It’s the curse of the modern social media and email age.  Most of us spend far too much of our lives connected to devices.  Without tempering this excessiveness of electronic stimuli, we risk burnout simply because we have a fear of missing out (a.k.a. FOMO).

2.           TRYING SO HARD AND JUGGLING SO MUCH

Few of us truly want to disappoint people, because, let’s face it, even if we’re selfish, keeping people happy makes life easier.  We’re often prepared to do more just to keep the peace. And just because we do this doesn’t mean we’re “people pleasers.”  It’s often just strategically wise to keep people happy.  But the more we say yes, the more exhausted we become, unless we ensure that we always chisel out time to replenish our resources.

3.           FUNCTIONING OUT OF A SENSE OF OUGHT AND SHOULD

This is about listening to our language, or even what we’re saying to ourselves about making needs out of wants.  We place a lot of pressure on ourselves.  We should do this, or we ought to do that.  If you’re exhausted, you know how it goes.

4.           FINDING IT DIFFICULT TO RECEIVE HELP FROM OTHERS

It is far easier for us to do things for others than to “owe” people.  But if we can’t receive others’ help, we will find life exhausting.  It takes humility to allow others to love us.

5.           LIVING MORE AS A PERFORMER THAN THE PERSON GOD CREATED YOU TO BE

We are human beings not human doings, but all the same, we act as if all that matters is our performance.  I know how hard this can be having had employers that I found impossible to please regarding performance—yep, just didn’t know how.  I know that conditioned me to see my worth in what I do and what I have to offer rather than seeing my worth as who I am.  God is far more interested in who we are than what we do.

6.           FEW OR NO BOUNDARIES ON OUR SERVICE AND AVAILABILITY TO OTHERS

Priding ourselves on saying yes to everything, without ensuring we have recovery time, is the sure road to burnout.  Let me just leave that there!

7.           ALWAYS FEELING YOU SHOULD BE DOING MORE BECAUSE THERE IS ALWAYS MORE TO DO

There will ALWAYS be more to do, and the more we do, the more we SEE the things that need to be done.  We don’t need to be the ones to do what needs doing.

8.           CARRYING THE BURDEN OF UNHEALED WOUNDS – SADNESS, UNRESOLVED TENSION OR CONFLICT, TOXICITY IN RELATIONSHIPS

This one’s loaded.  Grief, unforgiveness and untenable relationships will do us in if we let them.  We will have grief.  We will.  We must take our sadness to God.  And we must find ways of resolving tension (which takes intuitiveness and courage) and putting in place boundaries in toxic relationships—or ending them.

9.           INFORMATION OVERLOAD WHERE MORE IS NOT BETTER

Just about every adult alive at this time knows a world where information bursts toward us like out of a firehose.  We need to protect ourselves against the relentless deluge.  We need to be discerning about what information we let in.  Not only are we to say ‘yes’ less to people, we need to say ‘yes’ less to the plethora of information 

10.        JUST BEING PLAIN WILLFUL (AS OPPOSED TO BEING WILLING)

This speaks to our pride.  Yep, it’s in us all.  Only the ones who can see it, who acknowledge it, who are aware of it, are those who are probably low on the narcissism scale.  Most of us know what we want and, if we’re honest deeper down, we insist upon having it.  Rather than being insistently willful, a reflection of good mental, emotional and spiritual health is simply having a willing attitude—being willing nurtures gratitude, hope, joy... peace.

The power of walking away

One of the most liberating behaviours is walking away at the right time.  It’s the action of turning away from the thing, the practice, the people, the passion, that kept us in a certain bondage.

Not everything we walk away from feels like liberation, however.  A lot of the time we walk away reluctantly because have found others have chosen for us.  It involves a defined process of grief.  But those times when we decide of our own volition, rather than becoming a victim, and, we go with the reality, we walk in the way of the flow of things.  And that’s courage!  To smile as we walk.

It’s like the time that the song by Madonna, Hung Up, came out.  The lyrics that went, “Waiting for your call, baby, night and day, I’m fed up, I’m tired of waiting on you.”

Time goes by so slowly for those who wait, indeed.  And even as we wait impatiently yet learning patience, we are given time to adjust to the new situation, and, with time to think and pray, gradually we receive empowerment to walk the other way.

There are those times in conflict when it is easier to walk away, not that it is right, and when it isn’t right we may come to regret our stance.  But there are also those times in conflict where it is far wiser to walk the other way, especially when we are sorely tempted to react out of our emotions.

To hold our actions and to hold our tongue, to refrain from saying anything, whether by word or deed, is both wisdom and self-control.

There are so many times where walking away in the moment seems like defeat to others.  But wisdom works slowly.  There are actions that look foolish initially because they seem like an impotence of inaction that are shown much later to be wise.  It takes faith to act in these ways.

When is it wise to walk away?

When it’s unsafe to stay.  Decisiveness is blessed in being committed enough to consider a hard decision, implement it, and then stick with it.  When boundaries are deployed with value for clear principles, it sends a powerful message to those who would manipulate and coerce but can’t because of the obvious integrity on display.  But to walk away when it’s no longer safe to stay is also often the hardest thing to do—to follow through with an enormously long series of actions to successfully get away.  In that is immense and sustained courage.

Before harm is done.  Before a response is made that would involve regret on our behalf for the harm we might do or the harms that might be done to us.  Rather than be the aggressor or submit to what would be best to escape, walking away gives us more satisfaction and safety with each step that is made from the hazardous situation.  There’s hardly more wisdom experienced than in the relief of walking away clear of the wake of a tsunami or out of clutches of hell.

When there’s no hope.  There are situations where we wisely call time because there is no hope left.  Such a resignation isn’t a hopeless situation; on the contrary, it’s empowering to decide and then act.  If there’s one thing we trust regarding the future, it’s a consistent pattern in the past that continues in the present.

The power of walking away is the wisdom of the ages at the right time.  And we usually know it by the burgeoning and sustained relief we feel.  At times, we trust our gut and we really don’t know if our walking away will be rewarded.  Sometimes it’s the case that we walk away and have reason to reconsider.  We trust that we’ll listen to the reason of wisdom.

Obviously, there are times, and many of them, when it would neither be wise nor right to walk away.  From responsibility.  From obligation.  From the consequences of our actions.  From those who need us.  And from the hope we must retain that keeps us doing our best.

The power of walking away can very often be the power of regulating our emotions.  Much of the time in the act of walking away we know we’ve done the right thing.

Perhaps there’s nothing better than walking away when it’s the right thing to do.

Irresponsible people exert control and cost relationships

There is always a burden that certain people bring in our relationships with them.  They exert control and they are costly.  And by control, that is the cost.

The common denominator of the person who exerts control and costs a relationship is their inability to accept responsibility for this their life and for their attitudes and actions.

Because they cannot and will not take responsibility for their life, attitudes and actions, the shortfall must be accepted by someone, and that someone is the person closest situationally; the one who won’t or cannot keep the irresponsible person accountable.  And let’s face it, it’s impossible to keep such a person accountable.  They are slippery.

The irresponsible person is a master of deflection and excuse.  Theirs is the game of manipulation because it’s necessary to manipulate people and situations to get away with evading responsibility.  And harms are always done as a direct and indirect result.

Whenever someone evades responsibility it’s a deliberate choice and that abdication transfers to cost to someone else who is then positioned/forced to pay.  That person is then placed in the awkward situation to “love” the irresponsible one through the “truth” of their being forced to hold the other to account.

It’s always hard, because the person who’s obligated to pay a cost that isn’t theirs to pay has their compassion used against them.  That’s right, that awkward situation they’re placed in becomes a choice they need to make that shouldn’t be theirs to make—to hold the irresponsible person to account.  Add to this that they’re often dissuaded because it’s hard to hold them to account, it costs them in terms of stress, pressure, and conflict.

You can understand why responsible people often find it easier to simply get on with it and pay the cost of “carrying” the irresponsible one because it’s just easier.  The irresponsible person knows this.  The responsible person therefore becomes an enabler of poor attitudes and behaviours. Another thing the irresponsible person evades responsibility for.  Nothing sticks to them.

The purpose of this article is not to amend such a thing by converting enablers to account-makers.  The purpose is simply to say it how it is.

An encouragement to lead the responsible life is it’s happier and more empowered.  It’s wiser and better.  Responsible living is logical, reliable, and realistic.  No matter how much better it is to live the responsible life, however, there will always be plenty of reasons to regret such a commitment, especially as we consider what irresponsible people get away with.

BUT there is no hiding the record of life as one looks back over the history of one life.

We will all account for what we did and did not do in this life.  It would be the biggest risk imaginable to think our acts would not be assessed and judged for what they are or were.  People might speculate that there is no judgement.  You are fine to live as if there isn’t.  But it’s neither wise nor right.  Not wise from the aspect of the possibility of judgement given this life has plenty of evidence about it that justice matters.  And not right from the aspect that it’s clear in this life what is right from what is wrong.

The central idea is that irresponsible people are responsible for exerting a definite control over their relationships, and that is a cost their relationships must bear.

Please, no advice, just prayers

It was just one sentence, but there was something communicated in those five words that are profiled in the title of this article that conveyed the desperation in a friend’s plea.  I prayed.  I kept them in prayer.

Now, not everybody’s in this situation all the time.  Some people are never in this situation.  But for others, given their living circumstances, and the complications involved in many people’s lives—i.e., circumstances beyond their capacity to control these elements—there are times when a person’s heart will desperately want to communicate what is captured in the essence of the title.

Indeed, what is and will be forever true, the beauty in and of prayer, is that it is far superior to the giving of advice for a person struggling.  Some people, of course, don’t think much of prayer, but many of these people will prefer a silent prayer to be prayed than for the person to give advice.

Advice for the struggling is a tenuous thing.  Usually it’s only welcomed when it is sought.  But far too many people in life feel they have a license to air their opinion.  Their pride inflates their estimation of the advice they “must” give.  Far too many people cannot help but blurt out words that are unwelcome, uncalled for, and no matter how truthful (and they usually aren’t truthful) these words tend to be unhelpful.

We can tell when someone is being unhelpful, because their heart is focused more on what they think is right than on what the other person thinks—the other person who is supposed to be helped.  Such a person is not a helpful person, no matter how much they justify their actions.  Helpful people always have the other person’s prerogative.

The lesson to be learned in this article is a perennial lesson for anyone who is interested in genuinely helping another person.  Yes, I know there are many people who say they are but don’t mean it by their actions.  Many who think they’re helpful are self-absorbed.

Those who are helpful implicitly know that it’s not advice that is sought when someone is reaching out in desperation.  What is needed is presence and prayer, even reaching out to encourage by quietly commenting on how courageous the person is to be simply enduring what they are battling.

Think about it for a moment.  When were you the most courageous you’ve ever been?  It was the time that you experienced the most fear.  It was the time where you felt overwhelmed but kept going.  It was the time you were tempted to give up but didn’t.  And in your overwhelm you chose to be distracted on to something that would focus you.  You stilled your fearful heart and panicked mind.  Even amid that chain of moments of dread.

In “those” moments, advice is a blocker to the agency that keeps you afloat.  Unless it’s sought, and it is only sought from trustworthy wise guides, advice is anathema, a pariah, truly a scourge, from a person who pretends to know what they don’t possess.

Whenever we’re in this place of simply desiring kind thoughts rather than words, a person’s presence and their care rather than their “wisdom,” the mere presence of those who dishonour souls engenders anxiety, whereas those who honour silent wishes honour not only those who ought to be honoured, but they honour themselves—and they honour their God.

When smiles hide a world of pain

We celebrated my wife’s 40th birthday on Saturday 27th February 2016, and it was one of the worst days of our lives.  The photo of Sarah and I denies our reality.  We were still shell-shocked from the traumatising events two days previous.  We experienced so much challenge and change in that month of February 2016, none of it were we prepared for, but that was just a taste of what lay in store for us over the ensuing months and years.

Of course, it was Sarah’s milestone birthday, and we’d planned the celebration for her for weeks beforehand, and we had to make the most of our time together with family and friends.

The day before the celebration, as a couple, we felt alone.  We were reeling from news that left us in a devastating place of grief, and there weren’t many people we could share with.  We seriously considered calling off Sarah’s 40th birthday because neither of us were in a mental or emotional state to celebrate.  We were still in shock, unable yet to reflect on what had occurred.

Then, at the party, there was a moment where our eyes locked from a distance away and we both realised neither of us had our not-yet-three-year-old son.  Immediately we were thrown into panic.  We were in a public park, people everywhere, and NOBODY knew where our 35-month-old toddler was!  Immediately, I ran, calling out for him, thinking abduction, then looking over to the pond in the middle of the park, I feared drowning.

My reaction was not only out of the trauma of imagining our son in a dire situation, but it was also in the backdrop of the trauma I’d experienced two days previously.  Very fortunately, one of our guests, a dear friend from yesteryear, found our son in the playground fifty metres away playing by himself.  We’d lost him for only a few minutes but it seemed like an eternity.

To be honest, it was a relief when the party was over because neither of us are good fakes.

The following day was Sarah’s actual 40th birthday and we travelled to Busselton because we were suddenly on two weeks unforeseen leave.  It was a horrible day, where thoughts of what was going on tormented just about every moment.  The following day was the same, as was the next one, and the next one... you get the idea.

During this season of life I was reading John Townsend’s “The Entitlement Cure,” which discusses the concept of ‘pocket entitlement’: we all have pockets in our lives where we can behave entitled.  I was in a season of trying to determine HOW things had gone terribly wrong, and I had a personal spiritual breakthrough that I lived out of for the rest of 2016 and into 2017.  It’s interesting as I look back how I’d taken full responsibility for MY part of issues, but because others didn’t and wouldn’t, it had the effect of us feeling gaslit.

It’s also interesting how, out of four holiday units on that Busselton beachfront, the one we stayed in back in February 2016 still holds such sad and traumatic associations, whereas the other units we’ve stayed in don’t.  It’s indicative of how sticky trauma is.

As I go back to this photo of us posing around Sarah’s cake, I recognise we were at the very core of the pain right there, where smiles hid a world of pain.  As I look back to that time of nearly seven years ago now, I see how far we’ve come since, and how much we had to sow by faith in recovering from that time.  We go back to the photo and others like it, and we want to say thank you to that version of ourselves that kept going despite the significance of the challenges that presented at that time.

What this photo demonstrates is that photographs often lie, especially when smiles are offered when people are in a world of pain.

At that time, we were still only just over a year on from losing Nathanael, and even though I was always saying “we’re fine,” losing our child took more of a toll on me and us than we realised or were even aware of at the time.

I felt sorry for Sarah that her 40th was such a disappointment.  Those days were a shock for us both, but in many ways, it was a vicarious trauma for her.  I imagine we’ll have the chance of a do-over in 2026 for her 50th.

When life takes a turn for the worse, and these things do tend to occur suddenly, it can take years to recover and reconcile matters, as it has for us.  But one thing that isn’t lost on us is the faithfulness of our God throughout.  Our choices to do things right and to do right things are always honoured, just as we’re forgiven for making missteps along the way.

We’ve learned a lot about life, people, ministry, God, and ourselves in the past 7-10 years, and it stands us in good stead as God grows us (or I should say, me) up.