Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns
If you think Jesus would have come into your home that day and not issued a strong rebuke to the head of household, you are mistaken. These words of condemnation have been haunting me for days now. They aren’t all that different than the soundtrack I play in my head on an almost-daily basis. It’s…
I am nesting. On Saturday I emptied the refrigerator. Last summer’s homemade pickles in their jars. The bread ends that seem to multiply on every shelf. The eggs. The milk. The fruit and veggies. All of it sat on the floor or the counter as I carefully removed the shelves and wiped them down with…
I’ve heard that life is like a highway. And it definitely seems like that sometimes. The pace of life swirls around me at dizzying speeds. We’re all so busy. In such a hurry. Always somewhere to be, something else to do. I’m a get-to-the-point, get-there-quick kind of girl. I don’t like to waste time on…
I gave my coffee away again today.
When I go to the city, I almost can’t help myself, but to be honest, I wasn’t even thinking about that when I bought the coffee.
My son and I had a rare morning just the two of us while my daughter was at a school practice. We made our usual Saturday trip to the library to pick up a couple of books and then I promised him a treat for helping with the snow shoveling the past two days.
“I want to go to Prince Street,” he said. Music to my ears. (I miss coffee shops, although it is nice to have a job that helps pay for the trips to the coffee shops, even if I have less time to visit the coffee shops. The struggle is real.)
It was the morning after a second hit of snow in as many days. Most of the sidewalks were clear, but the air was chilly, and the city is busy on Saturdays. Which often means more people on the streets–both in the pedestrian sense and in the homeless or panhandling sense. You see the evidence in the backpacks slung over shoulders and the worn winter wear on their bodies. One woman started coughing as we passed. I’ve seen her before, and I wondered if the cough was timed for our passing or just a coincidence. Sometimes, my heart is still so cold.
If I spend too much time thinking about the suffering I see or sense in the city, I become overwhelmed and almost paralyzed by the enormity of problems. I cannot do anything, I think, to fix this (whatever “this” might be). I rarely carry cash, so I can’t even help with a request, and the city has been discouraging open panhandling anyway. I don’t know what the answer is but I know I want to keep my heart more on the side of soft and open than on hard and closed.
We stopped in at market to see my husband and just say “hi” then made our way to the cafe. It was a bit crowded, so we decided to take our food and drink to go. We left with a coffee, a hot chocolate and two Nutella cookie sandwiches. My son held the cookies and I held the drinks. Every coffee shop we had passed in the city was full. I’m rarely in the city on Saturday mornings, so maybe this is normal. On the route back to where I’d parked the car, I saw a man I’d seen before, holding a sign.
“Homeless. God Bless.” As we passed, my right hand, the one holding the coffee, lifted almost on its own.
“Could you use a coffee?” I said as he took the cup I offered. My son and I had only paused, and the man looked at me and said “Thank you, darlin’.” It is the same every time. I have given this man a cup of coffee more than once. (The last time was not recent.) He is always in the same spot and we always say the same things, and I never miss the coffee I gave up.
It solves nothing, really, except that it makes me more aware of my own humanity. I give up my coffee to keep my heart soft and to communicate to another human being that they are worth at least as much as a hot cup of (good) coffee. The price of not sharing my coffee is higher than what I paid for the cup of coffee.
It was almost easy and instantaneous this time, but only because my soul has practiced this particular action. Sharing what I have, even when it isn’t a lot, or when I don’t have any money, is a skill, in a way. I had to do it once so that I didn’t have the excuse of “I could never do that” and then I had to do it again to make sure I believed that it was something I could repeat. Any new skill takes practice and is awkward and clumsy at first. Only with practice do we improve. We might never be pros but we also won’t be beginners.
Practice has become a word I can’t escape lately. If I want to have a life that looks like Jesus, I have to practice. It’s not going to be like a magic spell that turns Cinderella into a princess. If I want to be kind, I have to practice. If I want to be generous, I have to practice. If I want to serve others, I have to practice. If I want to love, I have to practice.
Practice. And repeat. Until it is almost second-nature.
Sometimes that practice looks like doing something I don’t really “feel” like doing. I could have talked myself out of giving away that cup of coffee, but I knew I still had coffee at home. And that man might not be welcome to walk into a coffee shop and order his own coffee.
This action was easier than others. I still have many ways in which I need to practice what I believe.
I gave away my coffee today, and I tell you about it because I believe you can, too.
We all have a list of excuses and reasons why we can’t get involved in someone’s life or why the problems of the world are too big, but I am naive enough (okay, make that hopeful enough) to believe that small actions can make a difference, even if the difference they make is only in me.
Except that I know that they are making a difference in someone else, too.
After I handed my coffee to the man, my son patted me on the back and said, “Good job, Mommy.” (He also wanted to make sure I had given him the coffee and not the hot chocolate. Baby steps!)
What makes a difference in us will often be visible to those close to us. And maybe it will make a difference in them, too.
“You don’t need the ‘b’ word yet,” my optometrist said to me after she’d finished examining my eyes. I could hear the emphasis on the yet. It–bifocals–was one of my fears going into the appointment. I hadn’t had my eyes checked in probably six years and I knew I was suffering from headaches and eye strain. That my vision had deteriorated, I was not surprised.
How much clearer I could see with a new prescription–that was practically shocking.
Why hadn’t I done this sooner?
The answer to that question is a reflection of my personality. When it comes to making appointments, I drag my feet. I like my schedule, and I don’t like disruptions–even good ones. The process of making a phone call and talking to a person to make an appointment is often exhausting, especially if the date or times I had in mind don’t work. (Online appointment scheduling thrills me, and if I can make an appointment for the next time while I’m standing in front of the scheduler at the end of my appointment, that’s good, too.)
Another challenge is choosing where to go. My insurance benefits don’t include my eyes, and there are dozens of choices when it comes to optometrists. I opted for Costco because it’s close to work and my house and because they could schedule me for the time I wanted. (Apparently 2 o’clock is a popular time to take lunch if you’re an optometrist.)
Any kind of medical appointment makes me nervous because I’ve usually spent far too long consulting Doctor Google about what my symptoms might mean. I need to leave it to the professionals because it’s never as grim as the Internet would lead me to believe. (This applies to so many things, but I won’t follow that bunny trail.)
While I waited for my eyes to dilate, I tried on dozens of frames. This is the hardest part for me because it takes time for me to get used to a new look, and I’m never totally confident about what looks good on me. (Sometimes I ask my tween daughter for fashion advice.) I boldly tried some dark frames but quickly ruled them out because that is not the look for me. I settled on a couple that I thought could work and then I went back in for the rest of the exam. I learned about floaters and why I have them and how they’re just a part of my life to get used to. And she told me what to look out for and to come back in if I experienced anything like that.
I was in good hands with this optometrist, and our personalities clicked somewhat. I don’t know if it’s an age thing, but more and more I want to have a positive relationship with the medical provider I’m seeing, not just a business-like transaction. This experience was more the former, and when I had decided on a pair of frames and paid, I couldn’t wait until I got to bring home my new eyes.
—
How we see the world fascinates me because we all see it differently but none of us can literally see through someone else’s eyes. And none of us really knows what the world looks like for someone else.
I mean this literally, of course, but also in another sense.
The same week I got my eyes checked, my husband and I got our personalities checked. Sort of.
If you’ve been around this online space for more than a couple of months, you’ll know that I’ve latched on to the Enneagram as a way to understand myself and how I operate in the world better. I still have so much to learn about myself.
This most recent foray, though, was not about the Enneagram, although having some knowledge of that tool helped me. Before Christmasl, my husband and I took two online leadership surveys, I guess you’d call them–the Grip-Birkman, by name–as a next step in helping us figure out some things for the future. After taking the assessments, we scheduled a meeting with our coach who is also a friend, and our schedules finally worked out so we could talk about what these results meant.
It was like an exam for my heart and mind. The tests are self-revealing based on questions we’ve answered and the picture shown by the results is like putting on a new pair of glasses. Suddenly, I could see some things more clearly about the words I say and the way I behave in certain situations. And I got a glimpse of how my husband operates in the world.
None of these revelations came as a shock. They made sense to me. But sometimes it takes someone else to help us see what we already know about ourselves.
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It’s disorienting to put on a new pair of glasses. As the edges sharpen, the change takes some getting used to.
After picking up my new glasses and letting the optical employee adjust them to my face, I walked out of Costco feeling unsteady on my feet and like I was seeing the world anew. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn them home immediately, but Costco is close to my house and I wanted to get used to them right away. Now, I have an entire snow day to let my vision adjust, and if I have a headache, so be it.
Sometimes we don’t know how poor our eyesight has been until we see with new eyes. Adjusting takes time.
Sometimes we don’t know how much we’ve gotten used to our poor eyesight until we change how we see.
I don’t think I’m talking about glasses anymore.
How we perceive the world–events that happen, other people’s circumstances, what it means to be “normal”–is unique to our experiences of the world. Sometimes, that means our vision is poor, or at the very least, short-sighted. And we need someone to help us see better.
Sometimes it’s from a book or a personal interaction. Other times it’s via social media or another kind of media like a documentary or television show.
Just like there is no denying that I have literal vision limitations, I need to recognize that my metaphorical vision also has limitations. I cannot see the whole world clearly from my own head. I need to know what and how others see the world to expand my sight. Sometimes, I need a new pair of glasses.
This has not always been easy. When you start to see with new eyes, you realize how much there is to see.
The example that comes to mind is race. I am a white woman who grew up in the Midwest. I have limited vision when it comes to race, and if I’m honest with myself, I have biases and prejudices that I constantly have to acknowledge and work to undo. My “eyes” need to adjust to the world as it is, not the world as I see it.
I need to see with new eyes. And there’s always something new to see.
Sometimes it shakes what I thought was steady ground. A recent example:
I have not been in favor of a wall between the United States and Mexico primarily because of my volunteer work with refugees and asylum seekers from other countries. I have met people in real life who have fled their home countries, and I have learned facts about the immigration process and statistics. Keeping out people who are in desperate need of help is not in line with my understanding of how I live out my faith. (I know we might disagree on this. I’m saying it anyway.)
I consider myself educated on this topic.
My kids and I have recently enjoyed the show “Nailed It!” on Netflix, and when I saw that there was going to be a season of “Nailed It! Mexico,” I was excited to watch. I wasn’t sure what to expect–if we would have to read subtitles for the entire show (not a problem) or if it would be dubbed over in English (it is). What has surprised me the most is how much the contestants resemble people I might see in my neighborhood.
It is easy for someone who lives more than a thousand miles from the border with Mexico to make assumptions about the people who live in that country. (The same could be said of just about any country I haven’t actually visited, including Canada.) When there is constant talk of keeping “those people” out (who may or may not be from Mexico, I realize) or assumptions that “Mexicans” are all just farm laborers in our country, there’s a narrow perspective of what life is like in that country. What I see on “Nailed It! Mexico” are people with regular jobs and dreams, just like people here. They have families and live in cities and like to travel.
None of this should surprise me.
I’ve also realized that describing people from Mexico as “brown” isn’t accurate as a whole.
I have so much work to do inside of myself.
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Why am I telling you these things?
I’m not exactly sure. I’m certainly not comfortable confessing my sins of prejudice, bias and ignorance publicly, but I also know the power of saying things out loud and committing to change.
Maybe I just want you to know that it’s okay to not have perfect vision. That it’s okay to need “corrective lenses” when it comes to experiences and circumstances and issues that are affecting other people.
I know I can’t make you go to the eye doctor. I can’t make you put on corrective lenses. Not if you don’t want to.
At the very least, I just want you to consider that the way you see the world is not the same as the person nearest to you. And it definitely isn’t the same as the person furthest from you.
Learning about myself and how I see the world and how that’s different from how other people see the world has been an invaluable practice. It starts with me. The better I know myself, the more I can become a healthy person. That benefits everyone I come into contact with. And the more I’m willing to listen and understand others’ perspectives, the better, as well.
That’s the good news.
If there’s any bad news, it’s that it takes work and the best results occur with other people involved. Especially those with more experience or professional training.
That can be the hardest part. At least, it is for me. Exposing weaknesses, or what I see as weaknesses, to someone else is uncomfortable until I remember that we all have them in different ways. Maybe you aren’t on the verge of needing bifocals because your eyes are so terrible. Maybe you don’t have a need to be appreciated (that one was kind of ouchy for me). But you have something else about you that makes you who you are.
And none of it is bad or wrong.
It’s just you.
Maybe that’s actually the hardest part. Accepting who you are when you feel like who you are is somehow wrong or ugly or broken.
That’s not the point of any exam. Well, maybe a medical exam because something isn’t working the way it should be. But that’s the spirit behind the kinds of exams that explore your inner life, as well. It can be painful, at first, to “diagnose” yourself but if the goal is to function more fully and wholly, then the work is worth it.
Trust me, I know. And I’m still learning.