open me up: learning how to receive
June 17th, 2007
Slow down. Hold still.
It’s not as if it’s a matter of will.
Someone’s circling. Someone’s moving
A little lower than the angels.
And it’s got nothing to do with me.
The wind blows through the trees,
But if I look for it, it won’t come.
I tense up. My mind goes numb.
There’s nothing harder than learning how to receive.
- “Over the Rhine”
Katie wrote me a note of encouragement this week. Apparently I had said something to another friend which meant a lot to her, something small that I barely remember saying. Katie’s email reminded me: “Our words can either bring life or death. You definitely brought life, enough for her to mention it to someone else.” And in that, Katie, in turn brought life to me.
I was thankful for the email, grateful that God used me as an instrument to bless another person’s life through my words; however, I am reminded again this week that our words, likewise, can bring death. I walk the tightrope of communication and sometimes end up tripping.
Thank God for His mercy. Pray for man’s.
My words. Before I can harness them, they are out there, like wild stallions, and I am left with my hands empty, the gate open. Sentiments are conveyed that I don’t even know if I believe; I just know you’re too close and I have to protect myself. And so I fight. Maybe not in the normal modes; I disguise my defense in intricate, deep philosophical and theological arguments; I find every reason under the sun why this cannot be.
I’m aware of this tendency; blaming it upon past events in my life is not acceptable; it is who I am, and I must learn to reign in my passionate nature. I must learn to trust. I must learn to receive. Karin from “Over the Rhine” sings, “There’s nothing harder than learning how to receive.” I am confronted with that reality today.
A girlfriend is struggling with feeling worthy, of understanding God’s love for her and the worth that He imparts to her as her creator. She struggles to receive God’s love for her, and thus struggles to receive man’s. I like to think I understand God’s love (I’m sure tomorrow I’ll realize that I have no clue) but today I am learning to open myself up to man’s. God’s love is safe; God’s love is a haven; I know I can trust God. He’s never disappointed me; He’s never let me down. But in my trust, in my security, in my safe- haven, I forget He’s a sovereign God who brings people into my life for a purpose. I forget that any pretense of control I have over not getting hurt is just that, pretense. I forget that He places people in our lives intentionally to teach us, challenge us, stretch us, grow us, and yes, even love us. And the process is a crazy, beautiful, intense, and sometimes painful thing.
The beauty is in the process. And the lessons come as you reflect.
Nothing worthwhile in this life comes quickly, and I am again reminded that I don’t trust easily, but perhaps I should start trusting God that He knows what He’s doing and once again learn how to receive.
- Christen Patterson
we are not promised tomorrow: reclaiming the word “love”
June 12th, 2007
“How are you doing, Christy?”
It was late Sunday night; I could hear it in her voice; the tone betraying what was to come.
“I’m all right… Mom — what’s going on?”
“Chris…your Uncle Jim passed away suddenly tonight.”
Silence screamed as my heart went numb.
–
Uncle Jim was my favorite uncle. He was vibrant — an attorney who clearly enjoyed life and enjoyed living it; family gatherings around the holidays were usually hosted at his house. He’d don a white chef’s hat and create the most tantalizing feasts imaginable. As a young child, I had a hard time differentiating between “Uncle Jim, professional chef” and “Uncle Jim, chef-as-a-pastime” - his creations were that amazing. I blame the chef hat for my confusion.
After Dad passed away, our families did not get together as often. Time passed. I tried to keep in touch, but life gets in the way. And before you know it, your mother is calling to tell you he’s gone.
No chance to say “goodbye.” No chance to convey to him that he was my favorite.
When did I grow up and realize the need to tell him?
When did I miss that opportunity?
Do we ever realize it until it’s too late?
–
I’ve experienced so much loss in my life, and perhaps the irony lies in that I am, in a strange and odd way, somehow thankful for it – not for the loss itself, for I still bear the wounds, but for what God teaches you through your grief.
At work, I overhear some of the gals mentioning that they’ve never lost someone. I quietly start running down the mental list of all the friends and family members I’ve had to say goodbye to at the grave.
The reason I’m thankful that I have experienced loss is because it gives you a new lease on life; it makes living today that much more important. Each loved one I lose, causing me to deeply grieve my loss, is a reminder to me to not take today for granted.
–
I use the word “love” freely. Not because I want to cheapen it, but because I highly value it, and I have refused to abstain from telling those in my life how much I love them or how much I value them.
As a whole, we’re shy to use the word. It is so overly used in today’s society, it’s lost much of its meaning, but I’m on a one-woman mission to restore its profundity. I’ve been questioned on my prolific use of it, implicitly being accused of adding to the dilution of the word’s value, but the reality is that I know, firsthand, that we are not promised tomorrow; we are only given today. I will not assume I have tomorrow to tell someone I love them; I will not assume that tomorrow I can let them know how much they are valued. The saying may be cliché, but it’s cliché only because it betrays an absolute truth: man does not know his time.
So remember that the next time you see someone who has impacted your life; get used to using the word “love.” Practice saying it, if you must. Get used to people not knowing what to do, initially, upon receiving that affirmation from you, but sit back, and quietly watch what your sincere use of it does to your relationships, what it does to you. It starts to infect you and those you love with a deep sense of well-being, a deep sense of worth, a deep sense of reciprocal connectedness.
Don’t leave for tomorrow what can be said today.
- Christen Patterson
June 2007
Goodbye, Uncle Jim. I loved you.
In loving memory. June 3, 2007.
reality: thoughts on loss
June 12th, 2007
“You heard Sharon died Friday, right?” The words, said so quickly — the speaker assuming I had already been told — pierced my heart.
A gasp and a scream simultaneously came forth from my lips as I tried to process the information. Oblivious that I was standing in an office, oblivious to those who might hear me, I let the tears overflow.
All I knew is that today, I lost a friend.
–
Sharon, who worked in the co-op office at school, was in her late fifties — a warm, kind woman who was eager to help with any problem. We had developed a friendship over the past year through my interactions with the co-op office.
–
I took the news very hard. I had gone up to Maureen’s office after class to finish some business with her when she told me.
All of a sudden, the brevity of life was right in my face, demanding my attention; the grief — overwhelming. I fled from school and cried all the way home.
–
My heart heavy since I heard, all I can do is go over my last conversation with Sharon, go over the things I kept putting aside. I kept telling her I’d give her my bread recipe — I never did. I kept meaning to bring her a small gift — but I didn’t find the time.
I keep going over our many conversations and smiling at the memories — we’d swap stories about family; share the best places to get health food and discuss cooking tips. We talk about life and loved ones, homeschooling’s ins and outs (her nieces and nephews were homeschooled and she was a big supporter) — we’d laugh.
Sharon was always a bright light in my day. Her smile and welcoming personality were such a blessing. She was the rock of the co-op office at school — steady, sure, calming, confidence-boosting. I’m going to really miss her, my conversations and interactions.
I’m still trying to process that she’s gone. I will never see or talk with her again.
This past week, since I first found out she was sick (I had no idea the gravity), I had been meaning to write her a card — was even thinking of visiting her…and I kept putting it off because I was sick and overwhelmed with school and life. And now — now, I can’t. Those opportunities are lost.
I cannot say goodbye.
The last thing I said to her, right before Christmas break, after having a warm conversation in the hallway together, which I had to cut off because I was rushing to a final exam, was, “I’ll see you after break!”
If only I had known.
–
Don’t ever take a moment for granted; don’t ever assume you have another day to do something; to tell a loved one you love them, to write a card, to go visit someone. Do not allow life to steal your moments. If Sharon had known she had but a few months to live, would she have been working in the co-op office? If you knew you had but a few months to live, would you be living as you are? Are there things you need to say to someone? Is there a letter that needs to be written? A hug that needs to be delivered?
Time is fleeting; we never know when our interactions with someone might be our last.
Don’t waste the gift of life God has given you. Don’t waste an opportunity to tell someone you love them. You might never have another chance.
- Christen Patterson
February 2005