Dear Lindsey,
Emily Perl Kingsley wrote an essay in 1987 called, “Welcome to Holland.” In the writing, she analogizes what it is like to have a special needs child. She describes it as if you are planning a trip to Italy. While you are anxiously awaiting the cuisine, the Tuscan views, and the beautiful art, you save money, prepare the bags and buy the plane tickets. However, after the plane lands, a flight attendant makes an announcement, “Welcome to Holland.” Continue reading
Dear Lindsey,
The kids were rewarded for delivering drugs! That’s all I remember from my college spring break trip to Washington D.C. We handed out food in a soup kitchen, took children from the inner city to an outer park to show them what green grass looked like (called the “Fresh Air Program”) and visited a “safe house” in the middle of a block; this particular block of tall apartment buildings was where children were taught to deliver the illegal drugs, to keep their parents out of jail.
The baby never left the papoose on the Navajo Indian reservation where I stayed one summer. Children were everywhere, but they all lived with their parents, aunts, uncles and grandparents in a two-room house with a hole in the roof (used as a chimney). The accommodations seemed impossible; I actually wished they would all go inside for a minute so I could see how they fit. While a team of us were replacing their roofs in 110 degree weather, the entire family of 16 stood around outside and marveled. Women and children came and went with buckets of water, carrying them from a nearby well. There was no running water or electricity, and barely a roof. This seemed like a third-world within our own US boundaries: outside of Newcomb, NM.
Last year, I had the opportunity to go to Brazil to visit the MORE Project. The charity has a center in the heart of the Brazilian favelas. As we walked through the “town”, only in daylight for safety, gang members seemed to be watching on every corner. We walked on slatted boards, under which the sewage ran and the smell wafted upward. We came to a home where several of the “More Project kids” lived. A 15-yr-old was in charge, holding the baby in her arms as the multiple others sat still to stare at us strangers. Later, we determined the baby belonged to the 15-yr-old. On the next block, two 13-yr-old girls approached, dressed as if they were 20. We were told the sad story of their choice to leave the MORE Project and go into prostitution for $1 a night. “They know no different,” Sergio said. “It is what is done here, until someone steps in and teaches otherwise.”
As I returned from each of the above trips, it was so hard to acclimate (even though they were less than one week each!). How do I spend $75 to put gas into my sport utility when there is such need? How do I take a hot shower every day and think, “There is no food in this house,” with a full pantry. Did I really think “I have nothing to wear” to that wedding? Ugh. Perspective. I wish I would never lose it.
As we remember the Holy Week this week – the anniversary marking the last days of Jesus’s life on earth, I am thankfully given perspective. As He was beaten, mocked, and deserted, Jesus didn’t retaliate, nor even speak in defense, but played the part that God had designed. He “drank the cup” and died the death, so that I may live eternally. As we remember Him, may we keep the eternal perspective that He intended. He cares about the children in DC, the Navajo Indians, the Brazilian favelas, and even me. We are blessed indeed. Life: May we keep it in perspective.
Love ya,
Terri
John 17:23 “ I in them, and You in Me; that they may be made perfect in one, and that the world may know that You have sent Me, and have loved them as You have loved Me.”
A few months before I was born, my dad met a stranger who was new to our small Tennessee town. From the beginning, Dad was fascinated with this enchanting newcomer, and soon invited him to live with our family. The stranger was quickly accepted and was around to welcome me into the world a few months later.
As I grew up I never questioned his place in our family. In my young mind, each member had a special niche. My brother, Bill, five years my senior, was my example. Fran, my younger sister, gave me an opportunity to play “big brother” and develop the art of teasing. My parents were complementary instructors– Mom taught me to love the word of God, and Dad taught me to obey it.
But the stranger was our storyteller. He could weave the most fascinating tales. Adventures, mysteries and comedies were daily conversations. He could hold our whole family spell-bound for hours each evening.
If I wanted to know about politics, history, or science, he knew it all. He knew about the past, understood the present, and seemingly could predict the future. The pictures he could draw were so life like that I: would often laugh or cry as I watched.
He was Iike a friend to the whole family. He took Dad, Bill and me to our first major league baseball game. He was always encouraging us to see the movies and he even made arrangements to introduce us to several movie stars. My brother and I were deeply impressed by John Wayne in particular.
The stranger was an incessant talker. Dad didn’ t seem to mind-but sometimes Mom would quietly get up– while the rest of us were enthralled with one of his stories of faraway places– go to her room, read her Bible and pray. I wonder now if she ever prayed that the stranger would leave.
You see, my dad ruled our household with certain moral convictions. But this stranger never felt obligation to honor them. Profanity, for example, was not allowed in our house– not from us, from our friends, or adults. Our longtime visitor, however, used occasional four letter words that burned my ears and made Dad squirm. To my knowledge the stranger was never confronted. My dad was a teetotaler who didn’t permit alcohol in his home – not even for cooking. But the stranger felt like we needed exposure and enlightened us to other ways of life. He offered us beer and other alcoholic beverages often.
He made cigarettes look tasty, cigars manly, and pipes distinguished. He talked freely (probably too much too freely) about sex. His comments were sometimes blatant, sometimes suggestive, and generally embarrassing. I know now that my early concepts of the man-woman relationship were influenced by the stranger,
As I look back, I believe it was by the grace of God that the stranger did not influence us more. Time after time he opposed the values of my parents. Yet he was seldom rebuked and never asked to leave.
More than thirty years have passed since the stranger moved in with the young family on Morningside Drive. He is not nearly so intriguing to my Dad as he was in those early years. But if I were to walk into my parents’ den today, you would still see him sitting over in a corner, waiting for someone to listen to him talk and watch him draw his pictures.
His name? We always just called him TV.
– Anonymous
Dear Lindsey,
My Bible Study Fellowship leader, Carolyn Simpson, shared that Stranger story with me in Flint, MI, over a decade ago. It certainly has made me think twice when allowing our own “stranger” to talk to my children.
If I fill a ketchup bottle with mustard, it becomes a mustard bottle, right? Mustard is what would come out of it if the bottle got squeezed. Similarly, whatever is inside of me is what will come out whenever I get squeezed. Any time I am allowing influence into my life or the lives of my children, I am responsible to make sure it is something worthy of coming out when I get squeezed. The Bible says that out of the mouth, the heart overflows. Our hearts are influenced by the inputs into our lives: the people with whom we associate, the books we read, the media we watch. Somehow, the Stranger doesn’t often meet the qualification of that with which I want to be filled. I am so thankful the above author helped me reframe my former thinking about the Stranger who was always talking in the corner of our house. Without the TV, we have more time and room to be filled with the Good stuff.
God bless,
Terri
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Dear Lindsey,
Have you ever noticed that relationships are SO important? Good relationships don’t just make life more peaceful and fulfilling, but they are really EVERYTHING in business too! I stay with the soccer club, when I like the coach; I pick a restaurant again and again, based on the kind server; I’ve even heard that if people leave a church due to differences, it is rarely due to doctrinal differences: it’s usually a relationship problem. Getting along with people has to be one of THE MOST IMPORTANT “skills” to develop.
Several years ago, when first attending our Florida church while visiting our second home, we sat behind a gorgeous family of eight. “Ken and Barbie” sat beside six beautifully behaved blonde children, four boys sandwiched between two girls, approximate age range 14 down to 2. They followed my mother’s guidelines of having Mom and Dad sit
together, not separated by children, and yet no child required the parents’ attention, as the family of eight sat attentively with their notebooks and Bibles open. No coloring books, cars or Cheerios were needed. I sat in the back of the church; I could never have trusted my two children to behave well enough to sit near the front, and I was frustrated that the church nursery didn’t take children over age 2. I attempted listening to the sermon, but was stopped every couple of minutes by my 3 or 6-yr-old begging for more food, bathroom, crayons, whatever. I felt frumpy by my lack of time to smooth my hair in the humid Florida weather, and it felt frizzier by the minute as I watched “Barbie’s” beautiful blonde hair flow down her back that morning.
I have had these feelings before: when I was pregnant, everyone else seemed to be losing weight. Smart people make me feel dumb. People with good kids make me feel like a bad parent. The prettier someone is, the uglier I feel.
I guess I could call it “relative self-evaluation”
As Jerry Bridges says in Trusting God, the best way to tell if a line is crooked is to lay a straight line next to it.
I was viewing this “Ken and Barbie” family as a straight line, and therefore I felt “crooked”. I believed I saw well-behaved kids, and therefore mine looked poorly behaved. I thought her hair was gorgeous, so mine must be ugly. I saw them as straight, so I saw my family as crooked.
Yet, as funny as it is to me, I think that I, myself, have been seen as the “straight line” by others. (No matter how “crooked” I know I am!) I know people have seen me that way, because they have said things to me like:
– “I feel like you are going to judge me.” (I remember thinking, “Judge you? I don’t even think about you!”)
– “You don’t understand my problems, because you have your life together.”
– Or I overheard one time “I can’t eat near skinny people.”
Sometimes, it’s not words that are said, but it’s the way someone acts. They will be warm and bubbly around friends, then stiff and uneasy around me. One family member avoided me altogether.
When I was a child, the words children said were different, though they probably were simply saying aloud what we adults only think internally:
– “You think you’re perfect.” (during a heated discussion)
– “You always think you’re right.” (Does anyone ever think, “I’ll have a wrong thought today.”?)
– “You’re a goody-goody. Go kiss the teacher.”
You and I have heard the saying, “nobody is perfect” or “all have sinned” but we still hold people on pedestals of “near-perfection.” Dennis Rainey, in Building Your Mate’s Self-Esteem, says that we have “phantoms of perfection” – people whom we believe have all that and a bag of chips – and we try to compare ourselves to them only to end up falling short of the mirage. We judge others’ figures by how great they look in a business suit, but we judge our own body by how we look naked in the shower; or I recently heard, “We compare their highlights reel to our blooper reel;” then we conclude that they are perfect.
AAAhh!! That’s it! I was holding this perfect church family on a pedestal (and so many others I have met) and others are holding me on the same pedestal of perfection!! So how are we supposed to get along with that?!
Improper reactions when we feel crooked:
Feeling crooked + improper reaction = lack of friendship.
Feeling crooked + proper reaction = friendship!!
Proper reactions when we feel crooked:
OK, so I could see where I did wrong thinking about the perfect family in church, and so I actually invited them over for lunch after church one Sunday. (and hopefully the Bowlins are reading this letter) I LOVED them!! I could hardly believe how easy it was to be with them. We actually had lunch together and were having so much fun, that they stayed right through till dinner. HOW DID THEY DO IT?!! Their kids were happy! I was able to tell them so and take notes on what books to read. Thank God for their example!
So honestly, what can I do about it if someone sees me as a straight line? It seems like if people have me on a pedestal, or have a low view of themselves, maybe it’s their problem? Yet this family did something right, when I was being wrong.
Improper responses to being seen as perfect:
SO…How did that “perfect” family allow me to relax? It was as though they knew my insecurities and took care of me.
Being seen as perfect + improper reaction = no friendship.
Being seen as perfect + proper reaction = friendship!!
Proper responses to being seen as “perfect”
I know many who would think this subject doesn’t matter for them, but they would be surprised at the number of people who hold them in high esteem. People are looking up to them right now – maybe as their leader, or parent or want-to-be friend. Anyone aiming for excellence in any area falls into this category.
Once my eyes were opened to this, I couldn’t knock off God’s children and say, “I’m not judging, I’m not even thinking of you.” Esteeming others as better than myself (Phil 2:3) is going beyond just trying to be my best, it’s treating others the best way we can.
When we feel badly about ourselves, we have to think of the cause – is it possibly that we are holding something as a straight line that is not what God meant for comparison?
When someone is attacking us, or not doing their best around us, is it possibly because they don’t feel good around us, because they hold us as their straight line?
The magic of my husband, Chris, is that he holds himself to the highest discipline – always running and doing his best to hold himself to a straight line; yet, he makes everyone around him feel like a comrade, like they are coming with him and they are both capable and welcome. It’s what a leader does.
Girlfriend, God created each of us with a specific purpose. We are insulting our Creator if we are tearing ourselves down. God created those around us with a specific purpose. May we keep ourselves from getting in their way, so they can be at their best around us.
After all, that’s what friends are for.
Blessings,
Terri Brady
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The Stranger in the Corner of the Room
Dear Lindsey,
original letter (2/26/12): I am so worried! Three months ago, Nate (11) was asked to be a guest-player at a very high level soccer tournament in Virginia 12 days from now. Although twice as many apply, only 350 teams are allowed to compete in this nationally ranked weekend.
This gallery contains 40 photos.
Dear Lindsey, I found a note on my desk from my daughter. It read, “Dear Mom, I borrowed some paper but will give some art.” As the paper was indeed returned in its promised form, I was pleased and impressed … Continue reading
Dear Lindsey,
In the car one day, I overheard my son, J.R. (6), say to his older brother: “My heart always hurts SO MUCH until I say I’m sorry when I need to.”
The doctor asked my friend’s father, in his dying days, if there was anything he could do to make these days more comfortable. The elderly man replied, “Do you have anything that takes away a guilty conscience?” Continue reading
Dear Lindsey,
Trying to get out the door for travel soccer for my older two has always been a challenge- especially when my younger two were toddlers.
Once on the way out the door, I heard a cry, “Mom, I need your help!” from the upstairs Continue reading
The steering wheel was wet. I could barely hold on, but the anger inside seethed and prevented me from stopping, despite my blurred vision from the tears that jumped from my face. I ranted and raved in my head. The injustice! The money lost! The months waiting! The painful nights! The fervent prayers…all for nothing!
Dear Lindsey,
Have you ever had one of those nights when you can’t sleep? There have been times when I have fallen asleep in exhaustion, only to lie awake a few hours later, because the conflicting thoughts are back into my head. 2:18am, 3:18am, 4:18, maybe I should just get up…no! I’m tired! I doze before the morning alarm rings, but wonder, “Did I ever sleep?” I think my body collapsed and my mind stayed vigilant all night. Read the rest of this letter
Letters to Lindsey 