But what if I can fly…

by BetsyFaithPosted on No Comments

I really don’t like how moods affect my outlook. Sometimes it seems like I can accomplish anything, and other days, I ask myself when it became so difficult to get out of bed. I have tried on occasion to take a mental inventory of where I am in those great moments of optimism and strength, attempting to “bottle” it in my mind for later. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way. Inevitably, I end up again in the land of pessimism with an empty bottle and no recollection of what was in it.

When my son was younger, I took pride in the fact that I could participate in activities with him. Prevailing against my own fears and concerns for my aging physique, I shrieked my way down water slides and hiked mountains that left me aching for days. One water slide was called the Stealth V. It looked intimidating to me, and my son was even visibly shaken after experiencing it, which shook my resolve even further. He came running up to me, dripping from the drain pool at the bottom, and said, “Mom, you’ve got to try this! I might go again.”

…the higher I climbed, the more I regretted my accursed “no regrets” approach.

The fact that he was having second thoughts about going again was a red flag, but I have this thinking process where I convince myself I can try anything once. At least I know I gave it a shot. No regrets. I ascended the five stories of steps with a tube to ride down on, and the higher I climbed, the more I regretted my accursed “no regrets” approach. I watched as the riders in front of me disappeared over the edge of the giant V-shaped abyss, where they would cascade down one side of the V and up the other, until they came to a stop in the drain pool many yards below.

I wanted to scream, but felt the air had been sucked out of my body.

I noticed that they were basically all young people, which of course made me question my reasoning in trying this thrill ride. But it was too late. I was next. I flopped my tube on the narrow platform next to the attendant and climbed on top. The young man instructed me to hold on to both handles, and then shoved my tube over the edge. It seemed that the V dropped off at a 90-degree angle, which it really didn’t, but it felt that way to my empty lungs as I tried to inhale amidst the absence of air. I wanted to scream, but felt the air had been sucked out of my body. In that instant, I had split-second visions of my tube rolling down the side of the V, my bones cracking as I rolled with it. But somehow I stayed upright, facing downward at my fate until gravity spun my tube and I found myself staring back at the point of origin disappearing in the distance. By the time my tube began to ascend the opposite side of the V, I found my breath and let out a pitiful “Woohoo!” This was mostly out of relief that I was almost back on ground level and the knowledge that I would not put myself through that ordeal again. Yeah, I did it once. That’s all I needed.

…it’s easy to focus on the empty bottle where the optimism once was…

It’s hard to believe my Stealth V experience was about seven years ago now. Recently, I was presented with the opportunity to go urban sightseeing on an electric scooter. Having broken a few bones over the course of my life, I was slightly hesitant to try it, but after a little practice, I became somewhat comfortable balancing on it and rode for over an hour. I applied the same principle as before. I had to try it, or I would regret that I didn’t. I didn’t want the regret. The old saying that people regret more what they didn’t do in life than what they did do seems to be embedded in my psyche. When I get stuck in those valleys of depression and pessimism, it’s easy to focus on the empty bottle where the optimism once was and think, “I better not try this; what if I fall?” There is one drop left in that bottle, however, and it whispers, “But what if I can fly?”

I’ll keep stepping out in faith, believing that if God leads me to it, He’ll lead me through it.

Appropriately, those scooters are called Birds, and I did “fly.” I’ll keep stepping out in faith, believing that if God leads me to it, He’ll lead me through it. Not just the entertaining aspects of life, but anything life presents. The principle is the same, even when it doesn’t turn out how I think it should, or when it takes my breath away in the process. No regrets.

Seeking the Source

by BetsyFaithPosted on No Comments

Several years ago, I read that I would have to walk the entire length of a football field to burn off the calories from eating one M&M. If that ratio is even remotely accurate, it has had a profound effect on my eating habits, or at least the thought process that I embark upon before indulging in something decadent. Then it becomes a test of my mathematical skills and how many treats I can justify enjoying.

I have recently started working out at a gym to combat the effects of a myriad of M&M’s and other sweets that are my weakness. Forcing myself to focus on some rarely used muscles has brought some realizations to light. Over the years, I have injured myself periodically. I have broken my right elbow and my right ankle, and unrelatedly, the only teeth in my mouth that have issues are on the right side. I think it probably has something to do with my left brain being so controlling, and perhaps subconsciously trying to protect the other side. (I am posing like a thinking emoji at this point).

It’s strange to think that even after all those years, not only my body retains the memory of the injury, but my mind obviously plays a part in how I respond to it.

Although some might say it is coincidental, I believe there is more to it than happenstance. For example, I have noticed that when I work out I tend to tense up unrelated parts of my body. When I do bicep curls, for some reason I tense my left leg. In response to this realization, I began intentionally relaxing my leg when I do this exercise, but it has taken some serious focus for me to do so. In addition, when I do hamstring curls, my left leg tries to take over and do the bulk of the work. Now, this motion seems more obvious–my right leg spent some time incapacitated years ago when I broke that ankle, so my left leg tries to bear the weight, literally.

It’s strange to think that even after all those years, not only my body retains the memory of the injury, but my mind obviously plays a part in how I respond to it. Although I continue to rewire my thoughts to equalize my workout, I don’t seem to be making much progress. Habits supposedly take about a month of repetition to form, but I don’t go to the gym everyday, so I don’t seem to be changing how I respond.

Deciphering why I respond in a certain way to an impetus has helped me to make progress in other areas, or at least understand myself a little better.

Honestly, I’m none the worse for wear in that respect. Sure, one side of my body is always going to be stronger, but that’s not uncommon. This entire realization ultimately led to a deeper one. The injuries I have sustained emotionally and mentally are substantially ingrained in my mind as well, and probably much more detrimental than any physical compensation I have made. Have you ever asked yourself, “Why do I get angry when…?” or “Why do I always seem to…?” Deciphering why I respond in a certain way to an impetus has helped me to make progress in other areas, or at least understand myself a little better. For example, I began asking myself, “Why do I still feel compelled to eat everything on my plate even though I’m often full beforehand?” On the surface, I know that being forced to clean my plate when I was growing up has had an impact on my eating habits to this day. But there’s more to it than the obvious.

Upon deeper reflection, I realized I had connected performance to acceptance by certain people in my life, and somehow, eating everything on my plate was a standard I strove to meet daily for years in the subliminal hopes that I would be worthy of acceptance. This went on for years, not just 30 days. Such an established habit is difficult to undo, especially with the performing for acceptance piece woven within, through and around it. This is just one example. I have response mechanisms in place for so many aspects of my life–as all of us do. I try to address the ones that have had the most substantial negative effects.

Believing that His grace is sufficient removes the onus to “fix” everything that is awry and rest in the knowledge that He is strong and in control despite my weakness.

In 2 Corinthians 12:9, God promises “My grace is sufficient for you, for my strength is made perfect in weakness.” He doesn’t say He will perfect us here on earth; this isn’t heaven. His strength is perfected in weakness. These everyday struggles–food, acceptance, rejection, whatever fills in the blank–are the means of God weaving His strength into our lives. This beautiful enigma is both challenging and comforting. Believing that His grace is sufficient removes the onus to “fix” everything that is awry and rest in the knowledge that He is strong and in control despite my weakness. I can’t mess up His plan. Sure, I have made some poor choices, but His grace is still sufficient. I have failed to break bad habits–His grace is still sufficient. I will strive to instill the habit of relying on Him in all things–His grace is always sufficient.

A Tree of Life

by BetsyParentingPosted on No Comments

As I recently watched a popular reality show on television, I was struck by how many contestants shared about pursuing their dreams but had no faith that they could ever attain them. After a few of them shared heartbreaking stories from their past, I was amazed as was anyone watching that these young people had overcome such obstacles to perform for the world. But it didn’t stop there. Contestant after contestant humbly approached the stage and shared some of the most amazing talent in the world. Their humility was endearing, but the fact that people in many of their lives had undermined, belittled and berated them was devastating. When someone with an angelic voice doesn’t realize the caliber of his or her talent, there is most definitely something awry. I began to wonder, Whose approval were you unable to achieve? Who told you that you were good for nothing?  Who said you would never amount to anything?

…everything we say or write has an impact on someone.

As someone who knows what it’s like to struggle with self-worth, I can honestly say that words are truly powerful in shaping how we see ourselves. I don’t think anyone would disagree with that, but I want to draw awareness to the fact that practically everything we say or write has an impact on someone. I have been on the receiving end of derogatory comments as most of us have at some point in our lives, hateful words that were hurled in anger due to someone else’s own inner struggle.

Whatever sin has been committed against us should not be allowed to crush someone else’s spirit, especially a child’s.

As a child, I took such comments very personally, which had a profound impact on how I viewed myself; I had no comprehension that every one of us has something broken within us that we typically express in some fashion, and not often positively. Proverbs 15:4 says, “The soothing tongue is a tree of life, but a perverse tongue crushes the spirit.” Whatever sin has been committed against us should not be allowed to crush someone else’s spirit, especially a child’s.

…nothing I could do was going to change how other people behaved.

There seems to be an ever-growing need for people to express themselves by the most obnoxious means possible, and often just for the sake of being obnoxious. In my introduction to psychology class back in college, I remember learning that anger is a secondary emotion; it is spawned by fear, pain, angst, or whatever brokenness lurks within one’s soul. Whenever I experienced the hurt from a verbal attack, I took it to heart; I developed the mindset shaped by my thoughts: There must be something wrong with me. I will try harder, so people won’t get mad at me. I will earn their approval. Of course, nothing I could do was going to change how other people behaved. But children don’t know that.

No more excuses. Stop the cycle. Identify the root cause. Address the problem. Finding a healthy means of dealing with our own baggage isn’t easy, and unfortunately, I see more people today lashing out at others like I’ve never witnessed in my lifetime. Of course, the introduction of social media has empowered even the most reserved introvert to take to the public page what would rarely be said to one’s face. Some say this behavior is therapeutic. I am sure it is…but for whom? And at what cost? How about getting a notebook? Journaling has been shown to be therapeutic, and the rest of the world doesn’t have to be affected by the fallout.

…they each have value, they have a purpose in life, and they can achieve their dreams.

I’ve seen a meme in recent years that refers to the positive effects of speaking kindly to plants and how impactful it would be if we intentionally spoke positively to children. Imagine the confidence this next generation could take into their future if they were brought up to believe that they each have value, that they have a purpose in life, and that they can achieve their dreams. Perhaps there’d be fewer lives lost to addiction and more cures for diseases discovered. It seems like an indomitable task to turn the tide, but maybe if we start by sincerely encouraging a child, or anyone really, even once a day, each pebble of praise would cause a ripple that could change someone’s life.

Sorting Frogs

by BetsyEducation, ParentingPosted on One Comment

Those first few weeks of first grade left me wondering how I was ever going to survive eleven more years. One day in early October, the class was divided into small groups of three or four children who sat in chairs at round tables earnestly considering the placement of their small plastic frogs in groups according to the teacher’s instructions–sort the frogs into groups that are the same. As she circulated among the tables, the teacher nodded in approval as each inquisitive face looked up and met her eyes before continuing with their task.

When they saw the teacher approaching, they both looked up as the others had done and grinned, looking for that same nod of approval.

Some children had glanced at other tables to see what was happening in other groups; this resulted in the majority of the frogs lined up in somewhat straight-lined sets across each table. On one side of the room, however, two boys were chatting away with each other as they leaned across their table, grabbing this frog and that frog and placing each into one of four disheveled piles. When they saw the teacher approaching, they both looked up as the others had done and grinned, looking for that same nod of approval. Instead, she stared down at the frog piles, and with furrowed brow asked the boys why they hadn’t followed her directions. Without batting an eye, one boy fervently defended their sorting technique and said that they had indeed followed directions (something they were often known for not doing).

“They are the same!” he almost cried as he grasped two from the first pile in his sticky, jelly-smeared hands and thrust them up higher so she could see. “There’s little hearts all over these!” The other boy grabbed two from another pile and chimed in, “And little diamonds on these!” A look of comprehension suddenly melted the teacher’s expression as she picked up a frog from each of the other piles and observed the clovers and then the spades on each.

They had grouped the frogs as she’d asked, just not in the way she had expected.

Glancing back around the room, she once again took notice of the lines of frogs, evenly divided into groups of red, blue, green, and yellow. Then, she looked down at the seemingly mixed piles before her and gave the look of approval the boys had so desperately wanted. They had grouped the frogs as she’d asked, just not in the way she had expected. Not even she had noticed the tiny black shapes all over the frogs beyond their primary colors, but the two boys who both had the diagnosis of ADHD had seen the plastic toys differently and had never once thought to look around to see how the rest of the students were sorting theirs. Some of the other children may have noticed the shapes, but chose to play it safe and follow the norm.

I survived those eleven years after all…and so did my son. When his first grade teacher told me this story, I knew that despite the challenges he would face, his ability to see the world from a different angle would also be an asset. I learned so much from him and his education. Appearances can be deceiving, children all have value regardless of their perceived insufficiencies, and though it’s prudent to seek advice, just copying the people around us in order to fit in doesn’t bring progress or fulfillment.

I also learned that parenthood doesn’t stop when children turn 18; I realized that when he was about ten years old. It means that even if I write all of the stories from the early years, he is still impulsive and unfocused and creating new stories every day. I hope you find encouragement and many times a laugh that might help to brighten your day.