Prayer and Prejudice, and A Little Pride

You Never Know Until You Try.

I encountered someone engaging in one of my pet peeves this week. It’s something that’s rampant in our world even though we’re so inundated by politically correct language and—supposedly—behavior that we sometimes don’t even notice it. Here in America, “the land of the free,” we’re not supposed to have discrimination (or prejudice, which means the same thing, just minus the action) based on race, sex, age, weight, religious practice, and so forth, but we all know that we do. Sometimes it’s blatant, but I think most of the times it’s subtle. It’s just there, set up in our system of “the way things are done.” I repeat: institutional discrimination is subtle because it’s just understood to be the way things are. Satan is, after all, extremely subtle, as we’re told in Genesis. While I despise unfair, mindless, arbitrary prejudging, which is what prejudice is, I can muster more respect for someone who is open about his or her prejudices than sor someone who hides them. At least then I know what I’m up against.

I’ve observed so much subtle discrimination over the years that it caught me by surprise when I was on the receiving end of a blatant discriminatory practice this week, and I’ve had to remind myself that Jesus calls us to pray for those who persecute us and bless those who curse us. (Matthew 5: 44). At the time, I handled the face-to-face situation fairly well, though not as well as I would've liked. I wasn’t as bold as I wish I’d been. Later, once I was alone, Satan made sure to appeal to my pride by whispering to me that it wasn’t fair, that I deserved better than I got in the situation, and that I should go back to the people involved and really give them have a good dressing down.

My flesh really wants to do that, but I know that harsh words will just stir up trouble. What I’m doing instead is praying for the individuals—and for myself. I want to be someone who gets a point across without resorting to using Satan’s tactics. He loves to cause trouble. Maybe God wants to handle this one without my “help,” or maybe He will urge me to go back and gently address the situation again. I haven’t gotten any clear instruction beyond the one to pray for those involved in the encounter. I’m doing that. I’m praying for institutional discrimination to not be the norm, and I’m praying for everyone to fight against it when they encounter it, because it hurts everyone. It devalues people made in God’s image, and when one person suffers, the ripple effect means that we all suffer.

I think life really is like “6 Degrees of Separation.” For
example, you may not be the one denied the job because you are a 55-year-old woman of color, but your therapist’s teenaged son may encounter her in traffic as she drives home from the demeaning job interview in which she’s obviously been discounted because of her age and/or her race. She’s distracted, not driving well, and the teenager, impatient to get to his destination, passes her when he shouldn’t. Another car is coming, and boom! You get the idea.

So, I’ll keep praying for all of us caught up in this world of imperfect people who judge others based on completely arbitrary things instead of, as Dr. Martin Luther King so eloquently put it, “ . . . the content of (their) character.”

Thanksgiving

You Never Know Until You Try.

We’re just a few days away from what I’ve heard called “Turkey Day.” Certainly, many of us in America traditionally consume turkey on the day officially known as “Thanksgiving Day,” but I hope turkey with all the trimmings won’t be what people focus on this Thursday. I hope everyone—religious or not, “spiritual” or not, Christian, Jew, Muslim, agnostic, whatever—will take time to focus on what they’ve got to be grateful (thankful) for. Yes, I hope everyone will realize that being “thankful” means thanking someone for the good, or at least for minimizing the bad, and really know Who that Someone is and will have a real relationship with Him. Relationships take time, and every relationship starts somewhere. Fortunately, our relationship with God starts with Him reaching out to us and not the other way around. All we have to do is accept His extended invitation. I hope everyone is open to hearing that invitation this Thanksgiving and Christmas season. It’s even better than receiving an invitation to the biggest Thanksgiving banquet ever. Actually, it is an invitation to the biggest banquet ever--the one we'll have in Heaven.

I’m sure I don’t seem very thankful sometimes. I’ve certainly been vocal, both in my blog and elsewhere, about the things in my life that I’d love to change: I’m still not working in a job that I like that actually supports me and am wondering why I went to the trouble and expense of getting a degree; I still don’t have a wonderful man to share my life with; I still hate the locality in which I live; I still drive a very old truck; my relationship with my mother still leaves a lot to be desired, yada, yada, yada.

But:

Though I’d love for most things in my life to be different, I’m thankful for the “good” and that God minimizes the “bad” while helping me through it. I have a degree, so theoretically my job prospects are brighter than if I didn’t; I like my own company and would rather be alone than be with the wrong person; at least I’ve got a home; my truck still gets me back and forth; my mother is still alive, so there’s still hope for us to have a good relationship. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

The thing I’m most thankful for is that God loves me and will never leave me. Jesus promised, and He always keeps His promises.

It’s easy to focus on what we don’t like and would like (even dearly love) to change, on what’s “wrong” in our lives. We’re psychologically bent that way. It’s harder to focus on what we like and wouldn’t change, what’s “right” in our lives, but it’s worth the effort. It makes me feel better to do what the old hymn suggests and count my blessings. I can feel my muscles relax and before I know it, more often than not, I find myself crying—in repentance for my bad attitude, in gratitude for so many blessings, in humble prayer for others less fortunate than I.

I hope everyone has a blessed Thanksgiving Day and realizes how blessed they are!

Journeys and Blessings and Fatigue, Oh My! (Pt. 2)

You Never Know Until You Try.

As I noted in my last entry, I’m future-oriented and seem to prefer arrivals at desired destinations to the journeys necessary to get there. I’m currently journeying through the land of “This isn’t what I got my degree for!” and singlehood as well as dissatisfaction with several major life areas. It’s a trip I’d rather not be on, but I’m trying to make the most of it.

Since I’m not working at the fabulous career I envisioned when I returned to school, or even when I graduated nearly a year ago, I’ve been trying to do something that feeds my soul, because job hunting can suck your soul right out of you and kill it with a horribly, excruciatingly slow death. Many may think my activity of choice is a soul killer instead of a soul feeder, but I’ve done some major de-cluttering around my house. I’m super-organized, so any time my house gets messy, it drives me insane. Everyone accumulates clutter, and the last few years I’ve had little free time to keep things organized. Now, between getting rid of some things and getting the rest organized, I’ve simplified my life a bit, and I literally feel lighter.

I’m sure I’m not the only one who would love to be able to snap my fingers and make everything fall into place just as I’d like it to be, but life isn’t that way. Besides, while there are many things that wouldn’t be “hurt” by doing an instantaneous “poof” there are other things that would. Sure, if I snapped my fingers and my scrapbook was completely caught up, I wouldn’t have the extra materials lying around taking up space, but I would miss out on the joy of putting the scrapbook together. If I could wiggle my nose and “poof,” be instantly transported to a time wherein I’m married to a wonderful man, I would miss the like-no-other feeling of falling in love. What a shame that would be! We all need to be prepared emotionally and physically to move to a new situation. Body builders don’t start out lifting 300-pound weights, and babies don’t run marathons. Cheese, as a humorous television commercial tells us, has to mature, and wine supposedly gets better with age. Rome wasn’t built in a day.

While I work toward creating the life I want, I’m trying to keep in mind how gratifying it is when a long-awaited event occurs. The “reward” is even sweeter if it’s hard-earned. We appreciate it more. We just need to remember to be grateful for the blessings along the way, of which there are many. As my therapist reminds me, it’s about the journey, not the destination—even if the journey is tiring.

Journeys and Blessings and Fatigue, Oh My! (Pt. 1)

You Never Know Until You Try.

Some journeys are fun: vacations to the mountains, beach, Disney, camping, etcetera. Some aren’t so much fun: trips to any medical professional. Likewise, thinking about some journeys can be fun and thinking about others can freak you out. I’ve heard it said that most of the time what we dread happening never happens at all and we expend tons of psychic energy needlessly, sometimes making ourselves sick in the process.

I’m currently in transition; I finished a B.A. in Communication Studies in December 2009, and now I’m looking for a job in this wonderful (not) market, having no luck, I might add. Thus, my life post-degree is very much like my life pre-degree. I still live in the same old house. (Thank the Lord I’m not one of those poor souls who got foreclosed on). I still drive the same old vehicle. (Thank God it’s still on the road). I still haven’t met someone to share my life with. (At least I like my own company).

Though things are much the same, it seems as if I’ve been in flux forever. To use military terminology, things in my life have been radically destabilized. Just since the late 1990’s, I’ve seen my first marriage break up; I married my second husband; he died; I returned to school and finished my degree; both my parents retired and they embarked on home renovations and vacations, some extended; my brother and sister-in-law broke up; I’ve lost 4 beloved pets. Add in the part-time and temporary jobs I’ve had, as well as the emotional “work” I’ve done, and you can understand why I’m tired. I’m ready for things to stabilize and settle into something a little less objectionable. Preferably a whole lot less objectionable.

As a person who’s by nature future-oriented and who has spent most of my life on a journey I've found completely objectionable, I couldn’t relate to something my therapist has said to me several times. Until recently, that is. Before the last couple months or so, whenever she said, “I don’t think it’s about the destination; I think it’s about the journey,” I wanted to scream. I think I told her so, too. She knows how disgusted and restless I’ve been, wanting my life to be vastly different than what it has been. I’ve felt bled dry—or very close to it. I’m ready for the destination! A good one, thank you very much. I’ve had several stopping places along the way that I've referred to as hell dimensions. Knowing that I had a place to go to and a certain task to do that I really didn’t want to do, I’d say, “Well, it’s time to go to hell.” Yes, I know the real hell is no joking matter, and I haven’t said what I’ve said lightly; I’ve really been tormented by some of the places and activities in my life and just had to make the best of it. Unlike the real hell, I haven’t had to endure eternal separation from God. He’s been with me the whole time, as He promised.

Many times in my life I’ve wished I could just snap my fingers or wiggle my nose, like “Samantha” on “Bewitched,” and make something happen instantly—to have the successful career in full swing; the loving mate; the debts paid in full; the extra weight gone; the ongoing pet projects completed; psychic wounds cured. Years of “stuff” “fixed” in an instant. I’m not even going to comment further on how we live in a society that values instant gratification; we’ve all heard that story many times.

It hasn’t made me enjoy waiting, journeying toward a hoped-for destination any more than I have before, but I recently got a new understanding of the journey. It really does have a purpose, and it’s not to drive me crazy (crazier). I’ve asked God, sometimes loudly, what the reason is, and I think I’ve gotten an answer. I’ve come up with some possible reasons for my looooooong journeys toward hoped-for ends. I think God has us wait for several reasons, My wait can be for a different purpose than someone else’s, but the wait, the journey, does have a purpose. God wastes nothing. We can’t say that. I’m trying to keep from wasting this time of waiting by doing what I think God wants me to do: study the Bible, pray, work on projects that have gotten left out before now, and rest without feeling guilty that I’m not buzzing about like a bee. That way, I can look on this part of my journey more as a time of blessing than as a time of fatigue.