Hot Cup of Conscience

Conscience. Still small voice, superego, shame, censor, morals, duty, demur, scruples. All synonyms for conscience. I like them all except the shame one. Shame on that one.

Shame: noun. the painful feeling arising from the consciousness of something dishonorable, improper, ridiculous, etc., done by oneself or another: e.g. She was overcome with shame.

I heard myself saying to my 7 yr. old that he should be ashamed of how he treats his momma. It felt like lead on my tongue so I quickly told him that that wasn't the right thing to say. That I never wanted him to feel shame. I said maybe he should think about his behavior but it was not shameful to behave in a way that is unbecoming. Shame shouldn't have a place in your head.

I talk to them like they're adults sometimes. It's funny for all involved.

I have done a lot of research on shame in the past few years. It is an interesting beast of a concept. It is the root of most of our guilt but rarely spurs us into positive action. It creates in us an embarrassment about who we are, how we feel, and what we do. One of the synonyms for shame is self-disgust.

Yup. Adam and Eve hid from God when they were naked because they felt intense shame. These guys were all up in the bushes with leaves and plants all in their business. All because they were disgusted with themselves. Like we can hide from the One who made those plants and the crazy people hiding in them. The lengths we go to in order to hide our shame is astounding. We create distractions. We hide from our people. We blame others. We make poor choices. All as a result of our own self-loathing. It is a monstrosity without respect. It falls on the heads of great men, powerful women, the wealthy, the poor, the sick, the healthy. It is truly non-biased. Its tentacles reach into our relationships, our communication, our actions. It bleeds into our words and our thoughts. And causes paralysis. It offers nothing positive. It is a parasite.

Conscience, however, is my friend.

Conscience: the inner sense of what is right or wrong in one's conduct or motives, impelling one toward right action.

I like conscience. He pushes me to make good decisions. He hangs with me when I'm analyzing a situation and has great advice to offer. He guides me towards happy places with sunshine and flowers. He is good for all involved.

I dig Downton Abby. My momma and I watch it regularly and usually end up with a cup of hot tea. It's very difficult to sit through that show sans hot tea. It takes a great act of will. What I love so much about that show is their sense of conscience. It is often talked about...what's right and what's wrong. Integrity is something that most of the characters possess. And those without it are usually in the minority and not very popular. I wish that were the case in our "modern" society.

In my own life I have not necessarily looked for this trait...this unswerving devotion to what's good. Not intentionally at least. It is not a guide for my choice in friends or men. I find that I want to see goodness in everyone and often put on blinders as a result. It is not a great solution and certainly hasn't served me well. However, in my business I only hire those with a conscience because it makes them honest. I typically tell them at the interview that it is of the utmost importance that they never lie to me. If they're hungover, I ask them to resist making up some story about a bug that suddenly took over their body and just happens to coincide with a long night of tequila. I don't care that they drank irresponsibly. I care that they are honest enough to open themselves up to the consequences of their actions. This willingness to accept their screw ups makes them trustworthy. Honesty results in success in business. I had the wherewithal to perceive that at least. I'm not sure why that hasn't translated to my personal life up until now but let's just chalk it up to homegirl has been wearing very, very, very dark shades that were most likely purchased at Goodwill.

Downton Abby has served me well. I'll take a hot cup of conscience on a tray, please.

Beautiful Trauma

I was cleaning my car. I was on one side of the car and Graham was on the other. Brady was next to me. A mom bell went off in my head to go check on Graham. I found him face down in the bucket that had very little water and wasn't breathing. He was ten months at the time. The whole episode was kind of like looking through a windshield when it's raining without wipers. I knew there was a lot of commotion. I knew there were people. But the details and faces were indecipherable. Aside from my son who lied in a coma. Him I saw clearly. Tears became a part of who I was. I had serious conversations while I cried. I had lighthearted conversations while I cried. It just who I was. All I could think about was that I had let it happen. My son almost died on my watch. My trauma was sneaky and then violently demanding. It would creep up on me in the middle of the night and startle me from a deep sleep. It jolted me to attention anytime there was an unexpected noise. It was on high alert when driving, always listening for the sound of an ambulance. It made me break into sweats anytime I thought about something disturbing. It kept me from being alone with my boys for a while after. It was daunting. Overwhelming. Intimidating me at every turn. I did not function without it. It blanketed my life. But after months of being encompassed, my trauma delivered an array of beautiful things...my collateral beauty. It brought me to a trauma therapist who has changed my life. It brought me to a company that has forever changed my health and my finances. It brought me to my knees so that I would look at Him instead of me. It brought me closer to my kids, my family, my close friends. It made me a better mom. I won't ever fully understand the impact this event had. But I know that God made my traumatic experience beautiful. I would love to say that it doesn't visit me anymore. But I still have to practice my grounding techniques when I feel overwhelmed or insecure. I still have to breathe deeply and force my body to relax when I hear an ambulance (and try very, very hard not to curse at people who don't get the hell out of the way). I still jump when there is an unexpected sound around my boys. I still hold them tight and am hyper sensitive about where they are and what they're doing. I suppose that part will never go away. But my pain doesn't diminish the beauty.

Bottoms up!

My friend and I were talking about the transformation that seemingly took place overnight...one in which having a male counterpart was not a part of my happiness anymore. She was marveling at my metamorphosis. She was waiting for the previously predictable tears. She had been there from the beginning so this script was rehearsed. But it didn't go as she anticipated. Because I was thoroughly happy and had just been dumped. For a fifth time. By the same man. Each time it happened before, it was excruciating. I felt like that scene in Bridget Jones when she's crying in the bath tub. My tears being joined with the bath water...so very many times...over The. Same. Dang. Man. It was curious because he wasn't a great fit for me. He did not respect me. He said one thing and did another. He lied. He cancelled plans at the last minute habitually. One day he wanted to marry me the next he was with someone else. He had a short fuse and an even shorter tolerance. IT didn't make sense except for the fact that I was deathly afraid of being alone...and did not believe I deserved better. I lost friends over this disjointed relationship. They tired of telling me repeatedly that I was worth more. So they distanced themselves. Rightly so. It was too much to ask them to put me back together again. Over. And over. And over. And over. So they bowed out. For some reason, it took FIVE TIMES for me to receive a beautiful parting gift. The gift I'm sure God had been trying to give me for years. The gift that in my ignorance and desperation I ignored. It was the gift of feeling complete with just me.

It doesn't depend on whether I receive a text or am asked on a date. It doesn't coincide with receiving a phone call or a Facebook message. It. Just. Is. Without anyone adding to it. Without anyone taking away from it. It. Just IS. I read once that the difference between happy people and those who are unhappy is simply that happy people believe they are worthy of love. Chew on that for a bit. We are all worthy. We were all created by the same God. But the difference in happiness and unhappiness is simply belief in our inherent value. "Blame it on God. He was the one who made me." I said in response to someone picking on me about a physical trait. Who am I and what have you done with Rebekah???? I have navigated life looking for proof that I do indeed suck as I so firmly believed. Everything was filtered through this belief...that I was unworthy. I looked for approval in men that could not offer that for me. I sought out the ones who wouldn't or couldn't love me well so that my erroneous belief was justified. I have been in therapy for YEARS trying to solve the unsolvable...and on my last visit my therapist and I did a happy dance because I FINALLY GET IT. The God of the universe, the Alpha and Omega, my Savior and Redeemer already judged me worthy. He saw what He created and said it was good. He knit me together in my mother's womb. And He IS beauty. He doesn't make junk. How infuriating it must have been to Him for me to believe the opposite. I don't regret living my life in a fog of unworthiness because it has led me to where I am. But Damn, Gina, I could've saved myself a few tears. Ok, LOTS of tears. And others also...all because of the belief that I wasn't worth it. My friend didn't have to hold me while I cried this time. I'm 40 years old and just now feel worthy of love. Here's to doing life differently. Bottoms up!

Movin' on up

In my lifetime I have owned a number of houses. The last time I lived at home with my parentals I was single and engaged to be married. In December of 2016 I moved back in with my parents...with two boys in tow. Being at home when you're a 40 something single mom is amusing, humbling, confusing, peaceful. Regardless of the fact that my parents are incredible people. When I moved in with them, I swore I would only be there three months. When the divorce happened, I scrambled to find continuity in my family. Our family unit had dissipated and left in its wake a very confused momma and very fragile little boys. We were all discombobulated and shaken. Trying to find a footing that kept moving. Seeing my boys suffer and dealing with my own suffering, I knew we needed stability. And my parents are rocks. During these seven months we have all healed. Our hearts found a place that was solid and our wounds stopped openly bleeding. I prayed that I would know when the time was right. I had multiple opportunities to make a home for us independent of my parents. I entertained the idea of different roommates in various parts of the city. But none of them worked out, much to my chagrin at times. God was protecting me and my boys when my mind was out to lunch. Need is a tempestuous lover...finding costly solutions in order to satiate its debilitating infection. God knew I wasn't ready. He knew I didn't have the wherewithal just yet to provide solely the stability my boys and I needed. Thankfully God isn't erratic and given to reckless moods. I met Christy at my friend's house that I have known for years. Christy is her cousin. It was unusual I hadn't met her before. We began discussing the housing options around the city and she casually mentioned her place and the possibility of an apartment coming up for rent. I had already secured another place, so didn't pay much attention. But the day my housing fell through, I texted Christy and asked if there were any vacancies in her building. She said no. Three hours later, she called and said someone just put in their notice. Not only is this place a stable environment with tenants who have been there for years, but it was much less expensive than my original option. The next day I had an apartment. I would be daft if I assumed this was merely coincidence. It's a bit unnerving when you realize the God who created the universe just orchestrated something especially for you. I suppose I should be used to this phenomenon, but He's usually much more subtle. But this time, I get it. So thanks for that, God. I needed some special attention. And now, seven months later, my boys and I are finally moving out to make a home together. As our little family.

old blog post...still relevant

I wrote this in 2009...gotta love that the internet has a great memory.

I have a friend that responds the same way to my talking about Jesus. Every time I bring Him up, she turns it into a conversation about religion. Religion in our day has a negative sense. It means misuse of money, greed, power, sexual deviants, tediousness, judgement, condecension, overly opinionated people expressing themselves in political realms using their religion to justify their actions.

I find that we are not far from Jesus' day. We expected Him to come back to be a political leader, to release us from the oppression of the government. But He always side-stepped the issue of politics. He spoke about the heart, not the taxation of the government.

But we haven't knit Him only into our political views against His better judgement, we have also painted Him as a God who wants you only if you are worthy of having.

Now Christians will be the first to deny this. They believe they are extremely open & non-judgemental. But the opposite is true. They believe that if you don't become like them, then you are "lost." When they really have no idea about the state of your heart & your relationship with Jesus.You see, we have created a formula for what it means to serve God. We have put a big shiny ribbon on our best Bible memorizers, given deacons a big ol' grin & a slap on the back, praised those who always have religious jargon to give if you are in a pickle.

I am not in any way trying to diminish the importance of leadership in the church. As with all groups, leaders are necessary. I am, however, saying that we have given this a far greater importance than it is worth.Is it so hard to believe that there are people who come to church every now & then are just as close to Jesus as those who are there every Sunday? Is it unfathomable to believe that you can be a "good Christian" and not attend a church at all?

I believe it is. I believe that we have created people who feel they are serving only if they serve in a church. So what the outcome of this is that we are a people group who perpetuates itself...we have isolated ourselves from the world that we are supposed to be loving. We have set ourselves apart so much that our interpretation of the world is grossly mistaken & we are irrelevant. We have gotten stuck in a very sticky air bubble and can't seem to find our way out...or like the people in The Village (M. Night Shyamalan is my favorite) are too terrified to do so.

And if we do venture out, it is with the express purpose of witnessing to some poor soul, elevating ourselves to a greater position than the person whom we consider "lost." We have made people's souls our business. We have stuck our nose in, uninvited mind you, and placed a rubber stamp of what we consider as "saved" or "lost." They are "saved" if they go to church and "lost" if they don't. Then we proceed in a predictable manner after making our judgement. If they are "lost" we talk about Jesus to the point of idiocy & invite them to church, and throw around multiple religious phrases to bring them closer to Jesus...or to church, at least. If they are "saved" we are comfortable & free to be ourselves, so long as it is up to par and acceptable behaviour for a fellow Christian.

And when I say, "we have isolated ourselves from the world we are supposed to love" I do not mean the missionary type of love...that condescension of "I'll show you Jesus by not being myself but by being kind & soft-spoken & speaking only religious jargon." Loving people is messy. Loving people means you have given them the ability to hurt you. You have let them into your world, into your heart, into your thoughts of despair & anger. It is an equal love...they give to you, and you to them. It is exposed wounds, sweat, irritation, arguments, and phone calls late at night because you're afraid.

Missionary love does not look like that...it puts up a barrier because we really have no intention of getting to know these people whom we want to "save," or have them get to know us. We do not want them to add anything to us except possibly to increase our spirituality in a measurable way. We simply want to add them to our list of people we have rescued from the firey pit. This type of love is careful with what you say & do. It is constant guarding of your heart & mind. It is the kind of love a teacher has for her students...all one-sided & pious. Even when we are talking to people who have a higher IQ than we do & more life experience. How extremely arrogant of us.

I don't have it figured out. I'm just a girl who has been steeped in, marinated in, and soaked in the Baptist culture. I can tell you every Sunday School answer in the book. I have the plan of salvation buried deep in a place that would take me years to get to. But this has not aided me in life. It has given me a spring board upon which to make my decisions, but judgement of others has given me nothing but heartache & loneliness.

And then I think about Jesus, the author & perfector of my faith. And I know that He has it figured out. That I'm here simply to love Him as best as I can, and love others...love others equally, whether they are "saved" or not. (Being vulnerable & real with a person who is "lost" is quite refreshing. I recommend it if you've not tried it).

So for now all I know is...I love Jesus. But I drink a little.

Seven Day Trial

One week...7 Days...168 Hours...70,560 minutes. That's how long I have to go without my boys being with me. Every other week. Divorce is an interesting, ominous beast. You lose your other half, along with his family that you adored. You lose time with your kids, along with the sole influence as their mother. But it's the missing them that is the absolute worse. I can't go in their rooms when they're gone without being overcome with sadness. If I find a toy, again with the sadness. Clothes? Forget about it. Their little underwear? Totally slay me. I didn't handle this separation well early on. I found solace in bars and unlikely companions. Being home hurt too badly so I was out all the time. I felt lost and confused. I was trying to make my way without being a mom. Had I known at the time that I was avoiding the inevitable, perhaps I would have just hunkered down and waded through the emotion so I didn't waste precious time and energy on the boogey men (a.k.a. bad decisions) that likely wanted me dead. But emotions are sneaky things. We underestimate their sneakiness. But they do find you. And they stalk you until you face them directly. So I ventured into Graham and Brady's room one time when they were gone. I held one of Brady's blankets and Graham's shirt and cried til I couldn't cry anymore. I yelled at God and cried. He was crying with me I'm sure. But that was the first step to repairing my broken heart. And I eventually started to find my way. I got a new breath of adventure in my spirit. I started remembering things that I enjoyed doing when I was younger. I read a lot. I sat at the lake and wrote a lot. I listened to music with the lyrics in front of me so I could interpret the song (I did this incessantly when I was in college...mostly to Pearl Jam songs). I started playing the piano again (though homegirl had to reteach herself with Brady's books), I clung to my family and friends that support me and love me despite my brokenness. I renewed my drive to make my business succeed. I started picking up odd jobs to make ends meet. I started building a business with Plexus and found an incredible group of women had been there all along, ready to cheer me on. I found Jesus somewhere in the middle of that again...And realized He still thought I was pretty cool. Seven days is how long it took God to create the earth (aside from the day He took a nap). I suppose that in this seven day trial for me, I am also being recreated.