On Being Gentle…

Truth be told, we are all often with people who express deeply felt emotions- strong feelings, irritation. About stuff that bothers them.

Actually, I am that person at times- the person that feels strongly about the way things are going. About what is happening around me. Of course, this is life. We live, we love, we get annoyed. That’s just the way it goes. Take for instance, when I am driving into a parking lot full of occupied spaces. And I am just about to pull into the ONE EMPTY SPOT left in the entire block… when someone sees it at the same time and zooms in ahead of me, taking a spot clearly earmarked for Your’sTruly. That’s just…annoying. Worthy of blowing off a little steam.

Am I right?

Or, how about this. You are attending your child’s concert. You arrive predictable late. You are sitting at the back of the auditorium because the only other spot to sit in is the lobby. In front of you, mothers and fathers hold up cameras a mile high to capture their youngster’s five minutes of fame, thus blocking your view of your own child’s five minutes. Isn’t that just enough to make your nervous system want to blow a blood vessel?

What about this scenario? Little Junior is sitting with his family there in front of you/beside you/directly behind you, and all you can hear in said performance is Junior screeching for COOKIES/CRACKERS/TOYS/WHAAAAAAAATEVER. It’s all so frustrating. Maddening. Irritating. You just want to take Junior and…well, you just want to pull your eardrums out and sit on them.

And then some.

Even as I type out these words, my two youngest are fighting about whose seat should be the closest to the screen. Youngest was there first, so she feels it is her chosen birthright. And she is not going to go down gently (no matter how many times she’s thrown up today with her little stomach virus). Next in Line is reminding her repeatedly that she is being unfair. And she is bellowing about it. Loudly.

It’s all enough to make a mother flush her brain down the toilet and call it a night.

Life is aggravating sometimes. And since life includes PEOPLE, well then: people are exasperating some times.

They try our patience, test our nerves, ruffle our feathers. They step on our toes, infringe our rights, rain on our parade.

People can take your Very Last Nerve and make a number of it. Wringing the life out of that poor little fellow. (The nerve, that is.) Believe me I know. I lost that last nerve a year ago. Bless His Little Heart.

But now that I am forty, I have decided: getting in a dither about everything that happens to me or against me (or even about me) is just not worth it. It is not worth wasting my time on, nor is it even necessary. It’s just not that big of a deal.

Here’s the thing.

Now that I am forty, I have decided there must be a few tricks of the trade to be learned. And I have come to realize that there is always another way around everything that irritates, annoys and bothers me. There is always another way to re-direct our attention so that what we feel is less influenced by our emotions and irritants and more swayed by our heart.

So what I’ve decided to do at forty is this: gradually begin to give myself permission to be gentle. Gentle to myself and those around me. Gentle in my responses. And less inclined to make a mountain out of every molehill. Because life is just too short to fight everything as if it were a raging battle. Life is just too short.

So. The next time I am at a yard sale, and I am JUST ABOUT TO PICK UP THE FIND OF MY LIFE: but someone else reaches out and yanks it away first. I am just going to smile sweetly, breathe slowly and count to ten (envisioning cotton candy and pink roses); and then I will think to myself, “That person needed that ____ more than I did.” End of story. Or, if I am at my daughter’ Grade 6 graduation in a month’s time, and someone holds up their camera/ I-pad/cell phone in front of my view, effectively blocking me from seeing my daughter as she beams with pride, I think I just might try getting up and walking to a better vantage point. Or craning my neck/adjusting my position, whichever works better. Just to be a peacemaker. Just to be creative. Just to save my stomach from developing an ulcer. Just to save my sanity.

Or if my kids start fighting in the van, at the table, in the family room, outside, inside, upside-down. You get the picture. So, when they DO fight…I am going to try to model for them through the events I am involved with in my own little life: to try not to sweat the small stuff.

I know what you are thinking. Haha. But I mean it. I am going to really try this (…just after the movie night is over in my family room where my children are defiantly eating chips on the couch…, I promise…). This is going to take practice, but I plan on starting small. Small steps eventually add up to much ground covered.

So, now that I am forty, I am more interested in attempting:
*Creative solutions than I am in pursuing my own personal rights
*Using my imagination than I am in making a case of everything
*Calming my nervous system rather than jacking it up
*Influencing my children to be peaceful rather than swaying them to be confrontational
*Thinking outside the box rather than staying inside that small box and festering.
*Being aware of my reactions. Which is certainly an all- important first step in the right direction. Even for a forty-year old.

And I want to always keep at the forefront, so that I never fail to remember this fundamental,crucial fact: others find me quite annoying too, by times. So what would I want from them?

Gracious, gentle understanding. The balm that soothes a thousand irritations.

Advertisements

Thin emotions and rich grace

It’s been a thin week. A week of emotions rising quickly to the surface. A week of highs and lows. A week of frustrations, disappointments and in-betweens. And I find myself walking thin ice. Holding fragile feelings in shaky hands. Stepping on eggshells. Living life holding on, two hands grasping for something secure while always searching for steady ground on which to stand.

And I wonder sometimes, is it really grace which is needed? And does that rich grace come wrapped up in a cloak of forgiveness? In garments of compassion? Is it veiled or is it starkly visible? Elusive graces are so hard to hold in shaky hands.  But I am grateful tonight that mercy comes in so many different forms.  Both tender and tough. It’s face surprises each time it is encountered.  And yet. It’s always just what I need, showing up at the very hour I need it to come.

Tender mercy, tough love.

He reached for me last night. It was the smallest of gestures, a hand on the shoulder. But I came undone. And all the pent up stress, all the anger- came flowing out of me like a surge of water through a broken dam. I felt like I could finally breathe again. Felt tension release through tightened shoulders. I felt release. And although it was just the smallest of offerings, it was enough.

Sometimes that’s all it takes.  A gesture.

We spend our whole lives waiting for justice, for the balance to level. When what we really need to do is come undone. To find ourselves emptied. Off kilter a bit. So that we can be brought back to fragile equilibrium.  Emptied. Of all pride and anger and egotism and fear. So that we can then be filled again: with Love. Filled to overflowing. Allowing ourselves the sacred mystery that is the laying down- of one’s own desires and sense of fairness.  Emptied, so as to experience the fullness of grace that is offered in bountiful compassion. We can only share in this sweet offering by laying down our armaments. Setting aside our armor. Stripped of all that is covering that which is authentic to our true selves. So that we can finally be seen for the rare beauty that is the wild and messy underneath it all.

We are stripped bare and covered back up again with a garment of gorgeous grace.

It’s never easy to receive, that kind of rich grace that is so desired. So sought after. We covet it- and want to earn it.  At times, we wish to make someone else earn it. We want it to cost something- it is dear. So precious. And yet, grace that costs is never truly grace. It is corrupted in its price. Grace must be offered without conditions.  Freely.  Undeserved, it is liberally given. And then, accepted in love.

He reached for me last night- across the chasm, and I felt the ice begin to thaw. The ground beneath my feet gave way yet again. And I fell into the arms of love.

Unfettered. Broken. Yet wholly complete. Undone, but still intact.

Grace has that kind of way with me.