While We’re on the Subject…

So there’s been a lot of talk about domestic violence, what should happen to Ray Rice,  #whyistayed #whyileft, what Janay did or did not do to provoke him, and on and on. I do not believe it is ever okay for a man to hit a woman, or vice versa for that matter. But…let’s talk about what happens before. Let’s discuss what might happen in your life that could lead to a place where your man knocks you out in an elevator and drags you like a bag of trash into the hallway.

I was abused until I was 17. Punched, slapped and kicked. Called fat, stupid, worthless and a whore. By the time I was 18, I already believed I somehow deserved whatever bad things happened to me. I already felt worthless.

So before we crucify the NFL, let’s consider the underlying problems. The real issue at hand is not limited to the NFL’s handling of Mr. Rice or whether Janay should have left her husband. Let’s consider: Are we instilling in our daughters a healthy self-image? Are we teaching them to love and accept themselves and others? Are we teaching our sons to be respectful of women and people in general? Are we teaching them that it is great to follow their dreams but not to crush others’ in the process? 

OR are we showing our kids that it is okay to push somebody around to get what they want? Are we giving them a sense of entitlement? Are we letting them believe they deserve whatever they want and can go to whatever lengths necessary to get that? Are we teaching them that it’s okay to take what you want even if it means hurting someone else? What the hell are we doing??

Yes, let’s address how the NFL handles Ray Rice. Yes, let’s talk about how society addresses domestic violence. BUT, let’s take a long hard look at how we raise our sons, how we talk to our daughters, how we treat our spouses. Let’s think about how we talk to our neighbors, our bosses, the homeless guy we pass on the way to work, and the cashier at Dunkin’ Donuts.

When I was 16, my body was everything I idealize now, and I would give my right arm to have it back. At 16, I hated it and thought I was fat. I wish I could go back and tell my 16-year-old self, “You are good and beautiful and you deserve to be loved and cherished not pushed around and insulted and hit.” 

I can’t. I can’t change the fact that no one taught me that. I can’t change the fact that no one protected me. BUT, I can teach my daughters and my son how to be good people. I can teach them that they are enough just because God created them, and it doesn’t matter what brand of clothes or shoes or book bag they have. It doesn’t matter who they sit with at lunch, and maybe sit with that person over there who is by himself. And it doesn’t matter who they date or who thinks they’re pretty or how tall they are or how much they weigh because they are created exactly how they are supposed to be. They are loved simply because they exist. And that their classmates, teachers, parents, and friends also deserve kindness and compassion and respect. Because they are also enough.

We need to stop blaming a society that idolizes football players and start being a society that treats our fellow humans with kindness and respect. Firing Roger Goodell isn’t going to stop men from hitting their wives. Kicking Ray Rice out of the NFL isn’t going to end violence against women–although stiffer penalties for domestic violence would certainly be a step in the right direction. We need to start taking responsibility for the people we are and the people we are raising. 

If you’re not happy with the direction this world is headed then do something different. Be radically compassionate. Instead of holding up a protest sign, hold a door for someone. Instead of writing a critical letter to the editor, write a letter to your child’s teacher telling her how valued she is. Instead of raising a hand in anger, open your arms in love. Instead of complaining about how messed up things are, fix something. And if you can’t fix anything? Then for heaven’s sake just don’t make it any worse.

It’s like this and like that and like this and uh*

I recently read Crash the Chatterbox, by Steven Furtick**, about quieting inside (and outside) voices so that you can hear God’s voice. It was a great book and helped me to isolate and silence some pretty destructive voices. And through engaging with my inner voices, I learned another powerful lesson: Whatever purpose we are here to fulfill? We already have everything we need. 

For instance, God gave me an English teacher mother, above average spelling and grammar acumen, a pretty sordid childhood, and a voice with which people can identify because He intended for me to share my story. 

BUT, you knew there was gonna be a but, didn’t you? In the process of sharing my story, here is some chatter I have heard in my head and from well-intentioned friends:

You’re writing a book?

There’s nothing really special about your story.

You’re not that good of a writer.

Who would want to read your story?
Only famous people write memoirs.

What’s it gonna be about?

Who’s gonna buy it?

Your daughter is a better writer. Maybe you should have her write your story. (She IS a way better writer, but she has her own story to tell.)

You’re not good enough. You’re not interesting enough. You’re not smart enough. You’re not important enough. You’re not special enough. You’re not skinny enough. You’re not blonde enough. You’ve never been enough and you never will be enough. Those voices are so mean; good grief!

Except a funny thing happened in the midst of that though. The aforementioned book landed in my lap and told me: 

• You are doing better than you think you are. 
• You matter more than you think you do. 
• It’s less about you than you think it is.  
• God says you are enough. 
• God said He gave you everything you need. 
• God says you can.

It told me that the voices in my head were just that: Voices. I could tell to shut the @#$% up. If someone tells my kids they can’t do something, I say, “That’s their opinion, and their opinion doesn’t matter. God made you, and God says you can.” So what if the people who should have encouraged  or complimented me or believed in me didn’t. God gave me everything I need to do what He intended me to do.

Who cares if other people don’t believe my story is important? I think everyone’s story is important. We can all positively impact someone by sharing our experiences and our heart; isn’t that why we are here? To love God and to love people?

If I share my story, and one person walks away feeling less shame about her own childhood, deciding to make lemonade out of the lemons life handed her, realizing that she already possesses everything she needs to fulfill her highest purpose, then it was worth everything to reach that one person. It was worth every embarrassing story. It was worth every agonizing question I’ve ever asked and will ever answer. It was worth losing every person who will no longer make eye contact with me because they never really saw me anyway.

My sweet friends, what voices do you need to quiet today in order to hear a still small voice that speaks only love?

*Nuthin’ But a G Thang (What up, Dre)

** I think Steven Furtick is an extremely gifted pastor, speaker, writer and teacher and couldn’t care less about the size of his house or how many people got baptized at Elevation on any given Sunday.

Sit Down and Shut Up

This morning, my 100 Days of Prayer Journal prompt was: What do you say to yourself about faith. Ask God to reveal what you need to be saying. Over the past week, I had to confront some long-buried issues from my childhood. I didn’t want to deal with them. And, I still don’t want to. Almost 100% of the time, I think that talking about things is the best way to deal with them, but in this particular instance: I don’t want to talk about it.

Delving into the past did make me think about a lot of other stuff, like the fact that I’m glad my kids aren’t going to have to deal with the resurfacing of awful crap from their childhoods. I’m not a perfect mother. My family is not perfect, but it isn’t a nightmare. And I don’t worry that some day my kids will wake up and question every person in their lives. I don’t worry that someday they will wake up and feel as if their whole childhood was a sham.

My family of origin had a lot of laughs, but it also harbored a lot of secrets. Secrets that we didn’t even admit to ourselves. Secrets that are buried with two of my brothers and my dad. Secrets that destroyed some of us and really screwed up others. Secrets that “aren’t nice” to talk about as my mother would say. And some that are too awful even to remember. But if you peered through the windows of our glass house, the Swans looked fine. Looks can be deceiving.

I wanted what any child wants: to be accepted, loved, and cherished, but mostly I was criticized, belittled, and beaten. I never felt good enough. I sought acceptance anywhere I could find it–with friends, with alcohol, with boys…mostly with boys. Fortunately, God sent me the perfect boy when I was pretty young. One who would tell me nearly 25 years later, “I feel like you were mine before I even knew you.” Swoon. The boy who wishes he could have protected me from everything–even my own family. The boy who walked with me and held my heart and my hand while we made the family of my dreams.

I’m off topic. Sorta. Back to my kids. They are amazing. I tell them all the time how proud I am of them. I’m not perfect. Sometimes, I yell. Sometimes, I swear. A lot of times, I’m impatient and nit-picky and neurotic. I apologize…a LOT. I always stick up for my kids when other people–people who should tell them how great they are–don’t. I tell those people how great my kids are even though they don’t care or they would see it themselves. I seek validation because I never got it from the people who mattered. There’s the revelation: I sought approval from everyone because I never got it from my parents. My kids don’t seek approval from anyone because they got it from us.

Wow. Make sure you’re sitting down the next time you ask God to reveal something to you.

I read a million books trying to figure stuff out, but all I needed was God. Not the God of my childhood, who scared me. The God I found at MY church. I spent 39 years trying to do it myself, and in one short year, God completely changed my life. I never have to live another day seeking approval, because in Him, I am accepted, loved, and cherished. In Him, I am good enough. When people tell me they don’t believe in God, I don’t judge them. I pray for them. I pray that everyone’s heart would feel as full as mine does now.