Conflict Sucks

I can be a weepy. sobby, emotional mess.  I know this.  But let me just tell you what these past few weeks have been like. 

Week before last, I was at the rescue mission and I stopped by the men's side to drop off some sugar in the kitchen.  I said hello to one of the guys.  One of the directors saw me, called me into his office, and proceeded to rail at me, basically accusing me of trolling for dates.  I left in tears and didn't go back to the mission, and I was miserable for a week.  I finally decided the next week I had to talk to him.  I had to confront his accusations because what he said wasn't fair.  He didn't even know me.  Everyone I've talked to, except him of course, appreciated me being there, and since I go with my entire family, they know I'm not trying to hook up.  So I called every day and left a message.  I never could get him on the phone.  By the end of that week I was a basketcase.  So the next week, I showed up on his doorstep, even though I was scared to death about how this next conversation would go; the first one had tanked in the first 10 seconds.  We ended up having the type of discussion I think God had in mind in Matthew:

“Moreover if your brother sins against you, go and tell him his fault between you and him alone. If he hears you, you have gained your brother. But if he will not hear, take with you one or two more, that ‘by the mouth of two or three witnesses every word may be established.’ And if he refuses to hear them, tell it to the church. But if he refuses even to hear the church, let him be to you like a heathen and a tax collector.” (Matt. 18:15-17)

I REALLY just wanted to walk away and not talk to this guy again, like ever.  But the people who would be hurt by that are the people we were both (theoretically) trying to help, and I can't help anyone if I'm not at the mission.  So I walked in his office and sat down, and we prayed together, I told him how hurt I was by his statements, he apologized all over himself for hurting me, and then he told me what he'd REALLY wanted to say and failed miserably at.  During all of this of course I was a weepy mess again, 'cause I'm a girl, and I'm embarrassed at not being able to control myself, but here's the thing.  I was proud of myself -- of US -- for handling a conflict the way God intended.  It wasn't pretty.  It made me vulnerable and it made him have to step up and admit he was wrong, and ask for my forgiveness.  It required me to be brutally honest to a virtual stranger and set myself up for probably being hurt again, since I didn't know how it was going to turn out.  At the end of the discussion we parted as friends, brother and sister in Christ, and partners in the effort to help people who are going through the worst challenges of their lives.  The crapstorm of the week before was gone.

I wanted to tell you this because if you're struggling in a relationship, I want to encourage you to speak up.  I want to encourage you to resolve the conflict and go to the person and say, "You hurt me" or "I know I hurt you and I'm asking for forgiveness."  The conversation I had required that I bare myself and confront someone I barely knew about an incredibly sensitive situation.  I hate confrontation.  When I first married Dallas, I couldn't talk to him about anything emotional unless it was in the dark and I couldn't think too hard about what I was saying -- I just had to blurt it out real fast before my brain could catch up.  (You'll be glad to know I'm past that; yes, over the last 12 years I've improved.  Slightly.)  Suck it up, buttercup, and say it and let the chips fall where they may.  God wants us to resolve conflict, admit when we're wrong and ask for forgiveness.  

So what do you do when your situation doesn't turn out like mine?  When the person you're confronting says "I didn't do anything wrong, I'm not admitting to anything, and I don't care whether you're hurt"?  Beats the heck out of me.  I don't know where you go from there, I guess it depends on whether you have a blunt object in your hand and whether they'll fit in your trunk.  All I'm saying is that if you want to have a relationship with someone, you've got to at least try, do your part, and be honest with them.  All you can control is your own actions.  When you've hurt someone, you've got to acknowledge it, however difficult it is to admit you're wrong (and believe me, it's difficult).  I respect the man I argued with for owning up to handling the situation badly, and repairing the relationship in a Godly way.  He said he respected me for coming back to confront him and not running away with my tail between my legs, badmouthing him to everyone else.  I screw up so often it was nice to feel like I was doing something the right way for a change.

Unfortunately I have other crapstorms I'm currently dealing with, where I feel like I'm being treated unfairly.  I desperately want to call up some people and give them what for, use some very satisfying words, throw things and stomp my feet.  However, I'm trying to handle it like an adult (being an adult sucks) and like a Christ-follower should.  To be a doer of the word and not a hearer only.  I don't know if these other situations will turn out as well but I'm just praying for some divine guidance, as usual, and trying to do the best I can.  Onward and upward, as Mom says.

And the Mother of the Year Award goes to....

Yesterday I was in Target, and I was right behind a lady and her son in the checkout line.  This lady was BEAUTIFUL.  I mean visually stunning; somewhere a magazine was missing its cover model.  Her son was freaking adorable, in a little jon-jon and saddle shoes (SO CUTE!).  She was dressed to the nines and had perfect hair.   And I was thinking, "I bet she's patient too, and never yells at her kids."  And sure enough, here she goes, "No, buddeeee, we're just going to give all these things to the nice lady here, not throw them, okayyyy?"  While her son continues to throw all the things she's brought to the checkout out of the cart and onto the floor.  Fling.  Fling.  Flingy fling.  So then she starts looking around at the cashier, and then me, and then the lady next to her, and then the other cashier, and everywhere but this little boy.  Like any of us are going to do anything; heck, we're waiting to see what SHE'S going to do.  Maybe we'll learn something.  And he's just happily throwing things to the floor while she's flipping out.  She's smoothing her hair and crooning to him, "Now let's just let Mommy have that, okayyyy, honeyyyyy?" while he's totally getting into the flinginess and is now jumping up and down vehemently in the back of the cart. In the middle of all this she stops to tie his little saddle shoe that's come untied and smooth his hair back down, because believe me, he's totally feelin' the moves.  And this goes on and on until she and the cashier finally retrieve everything, she pays for it, and off they go.  

Here is the time where I judge.  But no, I'm not judging HER.  I'm busy judging ME.  Seriously, if that was my kid, I'd 'a whacked him on the behind LONG AGO, maybe 2nd fling.  And I think, "Geez, could I really be that patient, as patient as HER, with my kids when they're misbehaving like that?"  The answer is no.  And I know, I've read all those articles about how mommies should stop judging each other and give each other a break, we need to lock arms ladies, SOLIDARITY 'TIL EIGHTEEN, we will prevail, these children will not break us.  But the thing is you are CONSTANTLY comparing yourself to each other and your kids to each others' kids, to figure out if yours are average, or above average, or freaks of nature.  You can't help it; it's ingrained in you from grade school when you all start comparing report cards.  It's like that in adulthood, only your kids and the way you keep your patience is what you're grading each other on.  Old ladies judge you.  People without kids judge you.  And even if they don't say it, you KNOW they're thinkin' it.

So compared to this lady, I'm wondering about myself.  You know I'm not a fashion plate.  If I never had to wear a dress again that would be A-OK.  I will take my jeans and my Converse ANY DAY.  She's fashionable AND in public.  WITH a kid.  I run to Target in mini-bursts when I don't have a child with me, even if it's 8:45 at night, if that's what it takes.  I have got the speed trip DOWN.  Plus she's totally not losing her temper even though her son is acting like a rabid animal.  People, I just cannot put up with crazy.  If my kids can't behave in public, we are totally leaving, I don't care where the cart has to go, we are GONE.  But the thing that gets me is that in the middle of this awesome display, she's worried about his tiny little SHOE and whether his hair is in place.  NOW I feel like a jackalope, because MY kids ate dinner butt naked last night at the dinner table because they'd just gotten out of the pool and we hadn't yet made it to the bath and everybody was hungry.   Sometimes I KNOW they forgot to brush their teeth but I'm just too freakin' tired to get everybody out of the bed again.  I've fallen asleep in the middle of a story.  I've fallen asleep in the middle of a story I WAS MAKING UP.  I've let them swim when the pool was green.  They've had processed, sugary, diabetes-inducing sugar-crashing powdery-heaven donuts for breakfast BECAUSE KRISPY KREME.  I've let them run around the yard in their underwear in a rainstorm and jump in puddles probably full of every horrifying microorganism there is, even the ones with fangs.  I HAVE FORGOTTEN THE TOOTH FAIRY.  

But I am seriously learning to embrace all the differences between us mommies, and when I hear of a cool new idea that I think could really help me, I give it a whirl.  When somebody lets their kids talk to them in a way that I know I would have gotten the crazy-eyes-defcon-8-look from my mother for, I just tell myself, "nope, couldn't take that, but you do your thing, girl."   I AM NOT OPEN TO CRITICISM, lady in the bathroom with the opinion I didn't ask for.  The answer is, "You're doing a beautiful job."  That is always the answer, lady.  Just like when you're pregnant.  "You got a basketball under there?"  I'M TRYING TO STEAL A BAKED HAM AND THANKS A LOT FOR DRAWING ATTENTION TO IT.  "You are beautiful."  THAT is the answer.  I try to keep them from breaking necks and having any organs visible on the outside, but I also try not to hover or gasp audibly every time they jump into the pool or balance on the curb.  It's a fine line, people.  I have children with no fear, no visible trepidation of any kind.  I'm trying to not impart my crazy on to them but let them take their own path to the therapist.  We are stringent about the basics but we're a little lackadaisical if nobody's eyes are going to get poked out.  I try to let them reason out how to handle things on their own and I try to think of times growing up when I had a similar problem, if it'll help.  And sometimes I lay down the BECAUSE I SAID SO because that's the answer.  

So I snapped out of my Target envy and got up to the cashier, and she said, "Can you BELIEVE that lady?"

Sigh.  I am so FREAKIN' glad I left my kids at home with Daddy.

Rachel and Leah and Goats

So much of the Bible is weird to me; talking donkeys, people cutting off ears, people dropping dead, people being turned to pillars of salt.  Half the stuff, I’m looking in the notes trying to figure what the heck that was I just read.  “Life Application” my butt.  If anybody comes looking to cut off my ear, I’m running. 

But I had another a-ha moment the other day where I finally understood something. We were reading the Jesus Storybook to the kids; we do that every night, and woe be unto you if you are tired and want to skip it. This story happened to be about Rachel and Leah.  It's in Genesis 29 and it talks about Jacob, who goes to work for his Uncle Laban.  Jacob works for Laban, and in return, Laban asks him what he wants for wages; he wants to marry Rachel because she's just so beautiful, he can’t stand it.  "²⁰ So Jacob served seven years to get Rachel, but they seemed like only a few days to him because of his love for her."  Men are like that.  Wave some booty and they fall apart.  Ask me how I know.

So Laban says “Work for me for seven years and you can marry Rachel.”  Jacob does that, he works for seven years, and on his wedding night Laban sends Leah to his tent, not Rachel.  Now I guess it's pitch black dark in there, I don't know, and nobody talks (which I find hard to believe), but somehow he doesn't realize that it's Leah that he got, not until the early morning, after they've already done the nasty. And then Jacob goes to Laban all worked up, saying, “I served you for Rachel!  What the heck?”  (This is kind of like the Message.  “Dude, what up, you jerk!”)

Laban says, “We don’t give the younger daughter away first.  Work for me another seven years and I'll give you Rachel.”  No explanation for why he couldn't have said that up front, why he sneaked Leah in there.  No Steve Urkel, “Did I do thaaaat?”  Seven MORE years until Jacob gets Rachel, like Laban couldn’t have ever MENTIONED the fact that the oldest goes first?  For Pete’s sake, I’d have given you an extra cow if I’d known that, you know? 

The Bible says that God saw that Leah was not loved. Now it doesn't say what's wrong with Leah, other than she has “weak eyes,” it just says that she wasn't loved.  And we already know that Jacob didn't want her. I don't know if she had horns or was just butt-ugly or had some giant disfigurement or what her major malfunction was.  Apparently the main issue was that she wasn’t Rachel.  I try to imagine what she must have felt like; not being loved or wanted, married to her cousin (ew).  I don't think I'd have a happy life if I married somebody who straight up said he didn't want me. But the thing that I'm struck by is that through Judah, Leah’s son, came the line that would give us Jesus Christ.  How crazy is that.

I’ve heard that when we suffer or when bad things happen that we can't see the big picture; that only God can knows the purpose of our suffering.  Sometimes bad things or disappointing things happen in your life and you’re crushed, and maybe later you see how that worked out for good, days or years or whatever.  Example.  When we were just moving back to Jax, Dallas was promised a job. Then suddenly they decided to offer that job to someone who had less experience but also was cheaper. At the time, and for a few months later, he was devastated because he was counting on that job and he was really looking forward to working there.  But out of that disappointment came the job he has now, which he absolutely loves.  And through which we've been blessed to meet some very special people.  Later he was fine with not getting that job, because he enjoys what he's doing so much; God had something better.

But Jesus came through the line of Judah, and obviously Leah had no idea about that, that was WAY down the line.  She spent her entire life knowing she wasn't loved, with her weak little eyes and her horns and whatever.  The most awesome thing that came out of her life, and she never saw it!  She never had a clue, she’s just living her unlovable life, popping out a bunch of children and selling herself for mandrakes.   It's just one more reminder that even though I don't always see it and I can't understand it, I have hope that there's a larger purpose at work.  Ya just never know.

Minor epiphany aside, I'd like to leave you with a conversation between my three children. Yes I said three.  Eli is half mine, just like mine are half Sandy and Ron’s.  Eli came to spend the night the other night and on the way home they were all just being crazy, so I told them they should play the alphabet game.  We do this a lot in the car, mostly just to keep the kids occupied in the car so they don't drive me crazy, and here's how it goes.  For each letter of the alphabet, you have to think of an animal you're going to ride on, a place you're going to go, and something you're going to buy when you get there. This is the conversation.

Carter:  I'm going to ride a...

Eli:  Goat!

C:  No, hush, I’m thinking. 

Lots of giggling.

C: I'm going to ride a…

E:  GOAT!

C:  No, I don’t want a goat, I’m going to ride a….

E:  GOAT!

Hilarity ensues.

C:  Hush, Eli, I’m going to ride a gorilla.  And I’m going to go to…

E:  Georgia.

C:  Not Georgia.  G…g….g….guh guh…guh…

E:  GEORGIA!

C:  NO!

E:  GEORGIA!

C:  FINE!  I’m going to Georgia.  Mama, Georgia is G, right?
Me:  Yes, you can go to Georgia.

C:  Eli won’t hush.  Eli, hush.  *sigh*  I’m riding a gorilla and I’m going to Georgia and I’m going to buy a….

Sarah Cate:  A GOAT!!

Extemporaneous jocularity commences.

Randomosity

Good grief.  It's about a thousand degrees.  I'm hahhht.

One week Dallas was off, so we took the kids downtown to ride on the sad little Skyway that cost the city 40 quadrillion dollars that nobody ever rides.  But they love it, and it's kinda handy, but it doesn't go anywhere but downtown.  How pathetic is that.  We got to eat lunch at the Southern Grille, where our beloved Miss Jill works.  On the way Carter and Sarah Cate peppered me with questions:

"How many wheels do really big trucks have?"

"Why do they have two wheels next to each other?"

"Is that a Z or a U truck?"  (I used to work for CSX, and we learned that trucks with codes on the back that end in a U are containers; Z means a trailer.  Ever since I told Carter that, he is obsessed with finding the codes on the back of big trucks.)

"How many cylinders do cars have?"

"What's a transmission?"

"Why do trains have so many cars?"
"Why isn't the caboose red?  It should be red."

"I love this bridge!  Can we turn around and go back over it?"

"How do helicopters turn?"

Constant questions.  Some of the car questions, I'm like, Can't we just call Papa and ask him all these?  I don't know how cars go or what a carburetor does or why gas stinks or any of the other myriad of questions I'm asked on a daily basis.  The best I can do is, Let's Google it.  Dear Lord, we thank you for Papa and Mr. Google and the internet.  Amen.

I'm going through a mid-life crisis.  Since Carter was born I've been doing volunteer work somewhere; first it was with Department of Children and Families, a few in the middle, and now the mission I told you about.  I know my job is important to companies, they need what I do, but I feel like I'm not doing enough for people who really need a hand up.  Not that I think I can save the world or that I want a career in social work so other people's problems can suck the life out of me; I just think that the work I do that really counts is about at 5% vs. the paycheck I bring home is 95%, and I need it to be more like 50/50.  Over the last year or so, it's really become a compulsion.   I'm a relatively intelligent person, I got MAD SKILZ, surely I can find a position somewhere at a non-profit or a hospital or something; I don't have to be a missionary in Outer Slobovia.  But, I love the people I work for.  Seriously, there are not better bosses out there; I have the absolute best.  I don't particularly want to leave them.  And I still need a paycheck.  But I've got to do something or I'm gonna DIE.

So I'm looking into other avenues.  I don't know what that is, or what it's going to look like, but I'm hoping I'll know it when I see it.  I don't know how long it'll take, to find that THING.  But I'm willing to wait for the right THING, whatever that is. 

I met some more folks at the mission that I can tell you about.  There's Mike -- he was in phase 2, where they go to work on the farm, and he got colossally drunk one night and they kicked him back down to Start.  At least he's stayed in the program.  I sat down to talk to him and a guy named Bo, and Mike said, "I feel like I recognize you."  So I was like, "Really. I must just have a familiar face."  And he goes, "No, you look like my buddy's old lady."  Seriously?!  Who says that any more?  I gotta check with the old lady before I go out drinking tonight.  Isn't that from like, the 1950s?  I look like somebody's old lady.  How NICE.

I  met Joseph.  He told me he doesn't want to talk to anybody else about why he's there, but he wants to talk to me because he can tell I'm a Christian.  How he can tell that I don't know; I slop food around and clean tables, the hallmark of every God-fearing person, I guess.  He told me he's drunk most of the time and he finally decided he can't take it anymore.  His girlfriend tells him he comes home and yells at her and throws stuff around, and he doesn't remember any of it.  But he told her he was going to the mission, and she's so proud of him so he's trying to stay.  He said, "Look at my eyes, can't you see the bags under them?  I can never sleep when I'm drinkin'.  They're usually worse than this."  So I told him he has to stay, his girlfriend knows what she's talking about; he needs to be here.  He said, "yeah, okay, I might do that."  And I'm like, "NO.  I mean it.  YOU HAVE TO STAY.  I'll be here next week, I expect to see you.  If I don't see you I'm gonna hunt you down."  And he gets this huge grin on his face and he says, "Yes ma'am."   Guess what happened the next week -- no Joseph.  No Joseph since.  His girlfriend took him back.

Matt (the one that said his big belly was prettier than having track marks) went to the hospital for a week; I don't know for what, but Nehemiah said he called every day, so I was hoping he'd come back.  Not only did he not come back, he took somebody in the program with him.  Grrr.

And still no Cameron or James.  *sigh*

Next time I'll tell you about Cowboy, because he's had an amazing life.  And Nehemiah, because he's embarking on an amazing life.

But let me tell you what happened today.  I went to a volunteer project management class through one of the local service organizations.  I walked in to the class, and it was in a conference room with only one other girl.  Another girl came in, in a black dress.  Then a few minutes later a guy in an orange shirt came in.  Then two guys who were leading the class came in.  And we all sat there chatting before the class was supposed to begin, until Black Dress says, "I have to tell you about the weirdest thing; I was coming here, looking for a place to park, and there was a lady walking around the parking lot.  I stopped to ask her if she needed anything, and she said 'I'm looking for a way to kill myself.'"  We all just looked at her, and then Orange Shirt says, "Yeah, I saw her too, right out front.  I asked her if she needed anything but she said no."  So here I am thinking, I must have misunderstood.  So I said, "She's out there, wandering around, and she said WHAT?"  Black Dress repeats her story, and I said something like, "We've got to go get her."  I don't remember exactly what.  So I stood up, grabbed my phone, and went off into the parking lots looking for her, and the rest of them are just kind of following me around.  Long story short, we couldn't find her, and I couldn't find her later just driving around in the parking lots after the class, but WHO DOES THAT?!  Who talks to someone who says "I'm looking for a way to kill myself," and DRIVES OFF!  Then you sit in room full of people for 10 minutes before you say something?  ARE YOU KIDDING ME??

People are INSANE.  Freakin' insane.

Stuff and Things

Yes, it's been a while since I've updated but since nobody but me ever reads this, it's hardly a travesty.  And really you haven't missed much.

So summer's here.  The kids are out of school.  Carter is very excited about this; Sarah Cate not so much because she's missing her friends.  And Mrs. Graham and Mrs. Taragjini, her teachers from last year that we had to say good morning to and goodbye to every single day THIS year.  They've been in the pool practically every day since we put it up in May.  Me, I'm working.  Dallas is working.  We have responsibilities.  We don't get to play in the pool every day, which sucks.

But there's this new thing I'm doing that I wanted to tell you about.  And I kinda wasn't sure I wanted everyone and their brother to know about it, but now I do because I really think there's a huge opportunity here for you people who pray.  I've been volunteering at the Trinity Rescue Mission in downtown Jacksonville.  It's a homeless shelter for men and women and children, but with a Christian bent.  I serve dinner and clean the kitchen and talk to everybody.  It's not any different than anything I do at home but they say thank you.  There's the difference.  Anyhow, now that I've had a chance to get to know some of the guys there, I really think they could go on your prayer list.  

Everybody who's in the "program" has a job every day and their day is scheduled down to the minute.  They don't leave the shelter and they don't have visitors and they don't talk to anyone who's also not in the shelter.  They start the day with a Proverbs Bible study, then they eat breakfast, then they work.  They have a different guest pastor every night give a sermon and they do music  before they eat dinner.

There's Cameron, who worked in the kitchen.  Cameron was from Tampa but had moved around to several states, "following girls," and ended up in Jacksonville with nowhere to go, high on I don't know what.  He'd been in the program for 50 days -- which means he was more than halfway through it, and clean for 50 days, and on his way to the next phase, where he'd get more freedom.  One night we were serving dinner and he said something about another guy and I asked him, "Who?" and he said, "That guy that just came to the door totally trashed."  One of the other guys in the kitchen, James (who's about nine feet tall) said, "Yeah, he used to be in the program but he just walked out one day and now he's just an overnighter; he's trashed all the time."  Cameron then said, "I don't mind seeing him like that because it reminds me how close I am to being trashed all the time.  Everybody here is one day away from that."

The next week Cameron was gone.  Apparently something happened, I'm not sure what, and they kicked him and James out.  All I could gather was "not following the rules."  He hasn't been back as an overnighter (just someone who comes in for dinner and to sleep; they make them leave in the morning).  I'm praying he comes back.

There's Matt.  He's 34 days sober and says, "I just try to follow the rules so they don't have any reason to kick me out."  He's gained 30 pounds in the month he's been in, but he says "my gut is prettier than track marks."

There's a guy named Warren who says, 'but you can call me Cowboy."  Because he was a cowboy.  He rode bulls on the rodeo circuit.

And then Mike.  He looked so sad sitting at dinner that I asked him if he was okay.  He sighed and said, "Bad day, I guess.  Bad week.  Bad life."  Apparently he's in construction and had a job, but there wasn't enough work.  He lost his house and his car.  We talked for a little while, he asked me to pray for him to get a job, and then by the time he left to go to bed he was smiling.  

So pray for these guys if you do that sort of thing.  Life's a little rougher for them right now.  Maybe next time I'll tell you about someone else.