What next?

Let me begin by saying I had a fantastic weekend. Time with friends I love, new friends met and enjoyed, much laughing, good rest, and successful boot shopping. Oh yes, the boots. I tried them on for fun, and then, despite the price tag, couldn't bear to leave the store without them. And so I am now the proud owner of these babies, purple cowboy boots, size 7. They are more fantastic than the photo can express. The shade of purple is richer and brighter. They fit like slippers. They give me superpowers of confidence.

Good thing too, because last night I got a shock.

I work in an industry that's closely regulated by the government. Every once in a while, over the years, politics have threatened to shut down my workplace. There was no serious threat in the past eight years or so, since before I started working there, but now, it's starting again. I just got word that we'll have to put up an enormous fight or my work will be shut down come spring.

We were doing so well that we were in the midst of planning a move to larger premises. That's all been put on hold until this threat is dealt with.

The owners have fought this battle and won more than once in the past, but you never know.

The good news is that the businessmen I work for have other interests. There's already a plan on the table for a new business, something they were toying with before they got this bad news. So if my current job evaporates with the last of the winter snow, likely it won't be long before they hire me back to work on the next project. My boss told me so. My own safety and security is pretty safe.

However, it's still Big Bad News. Firstly, there's everyone else who works with me. They can't all get hired back to work on a fledgling business. There may be some tough times ahead for my colleagues, and I care about my colleagues very much. Especially my own staff. I will openly say that I love them all, like family. Being their Mama Bear, which is how I do being a manager, has given me my reason for getting out of bed and going to work in the mornings for many years now. I would miss them terribly if we were separated. Losing that element of my social circle and my heart would truly be devastating.

And secondly, but not least important, is the impact on all the people who receive our services. I won't go into detail for fear of compromising my anonymity, but I will state that we provide a service that is absolutely essential for to the quality of life of our clients. We have over 1,200 active files at the moment. What will happen to all those people if we and other businesses like us are closed down? Many of them will cope by becoming addicts, self-medicating with street drugs. It's likely that some will commit suicide when they cannot find relief from their suffering. It's a tough future to contemplate.

So we will fight, and fight hard, to keep the business alive. I couldn't really say what our chances are, but if we've done it before then we can do it again. If my spirits start to crumple, I will put on my Purple Power Boots of Optimism to remind myself that I can be my own superhero. And whatever comes, of course, I have my faith to carry me through. I will be praying over here, if anyone cares to join me.

Reactions

I know, I know. I've been all sour and negative lately. Or leastways I feel like I've been complaining a lot. So I promise I'll get back to posting Grace in Small Things soon. But today I have something to get off my chest that I just can't ignore.

I've slowly but surely been telling members of my family about my conversion to Christianity. For any newcomers, I was raised in a secular, Jewish home. Here is how I ended up becoming a Christian. I was as surprised as anyone by this turn of events, so I have a lot of sympathy for my friends and relatives who are somewhat taken aback when I break the news to them.

My friends and some of my family members have been wonderfully supportive, and for this I am grateful.

What's been bugging me lately is how some other members of my family have been handling it. I would understand if they had a lot of questions, or if they expressed doubts to me about the wisdom of my decision, or if they simply needed some time to process the information. I'm open to discussions on the matter. But some of the interactions have gone like this:

I confide in a relative that I've been going to church since last summer. They are somewhat dumbfounded. I explain as briefly as I can how I got there. They tell me that whatever makes me happy makes them happy. I feel momentarily accepted and at ease. But then they can't resist getting some dig in that reveals how little respect they actually have for my beliefs.

Relative #1: Sure, that's fine. Do what you need to do to be happy. If banging your head against a brick wall made you happy, could I stop you from doing that?

Relative #2: Oh, yes, I can see how you would be attracted to Christianity. The music, the art, and the architecture, some of it is truly beautiful. But when you come right down to it, how can some guy nailed up on a cross have spiritual meaning?* It doesn't make any sense.

(*Tone of voice indicated this was a purely rhetorical question.)

Relative #3: Well, I know you've always been a seeker, so I'm happy that you found somewhere you feel that you belong. Faith is like when you're learning to ride a bicycle. If you believe that someone is running behind you, holding on to the back of your seat, you'll feel safe. As soon as you realize that you're riding on your own, it's a lot easier to fall. So if you need to pretend that there's someone holding on to the back of your seat, if that makes you feel safer, you go right ahead.

I'm open for discussion, but those comments aren't a good place to start. They say "I've already passed judgement on Christianity. It gets a FAIL. Welcome to membership in this group. Now you FAIL too." Technically I could take the initiative to open a discussion from that point, but these comments upset me enough that I figure it's better at that point to just grin through my clenched teeth and agree politely. I can't recover that quickly from the contempt.

It's very tempting to go on the counter-attack. There are plenty of things that I could find fault with in my family's beliefs, if I wanted to go looking for weaknesses and hypocrisy. But I don't want to fight with my family.

In traditional Judaism, if someone converts to another faith, their family reacts as though the convert had died. They tear their clothes; they mourn for a full week and hold prayer services as they would if someone had passed on; and they thereafter refer to that person in the past tense. No one in the family has any contact with them ever again. So, I guess I should count myself lucky.

In any case, I'm trying to be a good Christian, and turn the other cheek. It's not easy, but that's why it's meaningful. I love my family, even when they have both feet stuck in their mouths. Give a me a few more days to lick my wounds, and then I'll be ready to forgive them.

Timing is Everything

Ken and I have been living together for seven years now. Why, you might ask, are we bothering to get married? And why now?

The breakup of my first marriage was truly traumatizing. Well, what divorce isn’t? I never realized until I went through it myself how divorce rips your guts out and leaves you, collapsed and hollow, trying to make sense of the wreckage of your life.

When I got married the first time I truly believed, with all of my heart, that I would keep my marriage vows. ‘Till death do us part, honour and cherish, the whole nine yards. And I really, truly tried. That marriage lasted for five years, and we had some good times, but in the end we could not make it work. I remember one time, at the end of another long argument, we both admitted that while we still loved one another, we also had grown to hate each other. I was losing my mind and my self in that marriage. For the sake of my survival, I couldn’t stay.

After that, the thought of remarrying seemed bizarre. If I had believed my vows with all my heart the first time, why should I trust myself any more now? We can’t see the future; can’t see all the ways in which mates will change and possibly grow apart. For a long time it was all I could do just to take one day at a time, to get out of bed, go to work and keep my apartment clean. There was no such thing as Forever anymore.

Also, I felt that I couldn’t promise anyone that I would be there for them, to support them through thick and thin. I could barely care for myself. My emotional life, for a long time, consisted primarily of sadness, despair, anger, and frustration. How could I promise to love someone for better or for worse? I was in the middle of my own worse. I didn’t believe that I had enough left to give, or that I could be resilient enough to withstand the misfortunes of another person on top of my own.

When Ken and I were still fairly new to the idea that our relationship was a serious one, he used to promise me that even if I got really sick or was crippled in a car wreck or if I lost my mind, he would still love me and care for me always. I was ashamed not to be able to return that promise. But at least I was honest. I wept and confessed that I wasn’t sure if I could do the same for him. He said “yes, you would”. He had more faith in me than I did.

The passage of time blunted the pain of my divorce. Ken had to ask me a few times, but I finally agreed to go with him to pick out an engagement ring. That was three years ago. We bought wedding bands quite soon after I started wearing my ring, but we never got around to actually picking a date.

Another part of the problem was that I didn’t want to have another wedding. I wanted to BE married, but the idea of planning a wedding completely turned me off. I’ve written about my first wedding, and how disappointing it was. I didn’t want a repeat of that experience, but the thought of going down to City Hall to sign a paper with no ceremony whatsoever seemed meaningless. I didn’t know what to do, so I didn’t do anything.

Finding my faith, and my church, has made all the difference.

First of all, now that I know God is on my side, listening to my prayers and ready to lend me all the grace that I need to get through life, I’m ready to face the scariness of making a lifelong commitment. If Ken got really sick, or went senile, it wouldn’t be easy, but I trust that I would be able to get through it with God’s grace and support. I could keep my vows. I don’t have to believe in my own strength and tenacity. Or I do, to some extent, but I also trust God to meet me halfway, or more than halfway if I need it.

Secondly, we now have a meaningful place and way to get married. Of course we will be married in our church, by the pastor whom we trust. It won’t just be an administrative exercise of signing forms and making a change to our legal status. It will be a spiritual experience, which we undertake in part because we hope that it will be pleasing to God. This is entirely different from my first wedding, which was more of a staged ritual for the benefit of our audience than it was for myself and my first husband.

I am looking forward to this wedding with more joy and less stress than that with which I anticipated the first one. Nine weeks to the big day – and I’m sure they’ll fly by.

Control

The healing process: it's proceeding in a three-steps-forward-two-steps-back kind of way, but it's proceeding.

I ran out of patience with being sick and stuck in the house around two days ago.  Before that I was on my best behaviour, sighing only ever so slightly as I reclined on the couch with my tissues and lozenges.   Overall, I accepted my situation and kept my spirits up.

But this week, although I haven't been coughing and sneezing nearly as much, I am tired.  So tired at times that I can't sit up.  Tired in a way that drags at my eyeballs and drains my spirits.  Tired in a way that makes me as cranky as a baby who missed her nap.

My biggest challenge this week has been my inner Control Freak.  I know that there's work stacking up in my in-box; that there are concerns at work which I should be there to address.  I WANT to be there, helping my colleagues, leading my team, contributing to the smooth functioning of it all.  Knowing that my staff are struggling to cover my workload without me is very frustrating.  I want to be there to pull my own weight.

I've always been a super-organized over-achiever.  I actually created an in-box for myself at the age of seven.  It was the packaging from a Play-Doh activity kit.  I wrote "THINGS TO DO" on it in my wonky, little-kid handwriting.  I can't remember what I put in there, but at the time it seemed extremely important to keep on top of the work in that box.

I was the same way with schoolwork.  When I was eight years old I procrastinated on a project,  rushing to complete it the night before it was due.  I promised myself I'd never do that again, and I didn't.  I became the anticrastinator, doing everything as early as possible.  My mom never had to remind me to do my homework, or help me with it at all.

I was going to be the kid that learned from other peoples' mistakes, not my own.  I was going to be rich and successful by getting good grades and working hard.  The stupid kids who goofed off and didn't get their assignments done were going to work for me someday.  They might bully me today, but the future belonged to me, with my A+ average.

Well, it didn't work out quite as simply as I'd hoped, not by a long shot.  I'm not rich by First World standards, nor wildly successful in the way I'd envisioned.  I still pride myself on my work ethic and for living up to my responsibilities.  However, I'm not sure how wise it is to hang on to the high standards that demand so much from me and give little in return.  

In fact, my one resolution for 2009 is to be less willful, and more surrendered to the will of God.  On a macro level I'm pretty good at taking cues regarding my life's direction, but at the level of day-to-day to-do lists, I'm fiercely controlling.  That still, small voice within whispers lovingly in my ear, and I ignore it.  I follow my agenda instead of my intuition.  This despite the fact that sticking to my own agenda tends not to work out to my best advantage.  

I have the feeling that my days would unfurl much more smoothly and meaningfully if I could find the courage to let go.

I've been praying to God to teach me how to be more surrendered to His will.  Although I was always a good student, this is my weakest subject.  What's the best way to learn?  By doing.  And here I am, forced to surrender, because I don't have the strength to fight.  Be careful what you pray for.

So, you'll have to excuse me.  I'm off to do my homework.

Ups and Downs

I've felt buffeted by life this week.   Last weekend I got thrown off course, and since then I haven't been able to get back on track.  I'm getting there, but slowly.

I saw my step-dad on Saturday.  As most of you will already know, he left my mom in January.  Since then, he's been commuting between Toronto, where he's lived for the past 30+ years, and California, the home of his new girlfriend.  He's been spending a lot more time down there than up here.

When he first moved out, he told me that he was planning to keep a small home here.  He wanted to spend winters mostly down south, but live in Toronto during the summer.  I expected that he would be in the market for a condo, and had already given him the contact information for my real estate agent.

This summer came and went, and he didn't get around to looking for a place in Toronto.  However, I thought he was just putting it off, waiting for the divorce settlement to be finalized so that he knew what kind of price he could afford.

Ken and I have been packing up his stuff at my mom's house for him, as he's been too busy travelling to attend to it himself, and my mom wants it out a.s.a.p.  I mentioned to him that I could arrange for a self-storage facility to house the boxes until he got his living situation ironed out.  

"Oh," he said, "you may as well just ship them all down to [girlfriend]'s place.  Just pick whichever courier can send them cheapest by ground."

That's how I found out that he's not planning on living here anymore.  He's moving in with her for keeps.  He'll be in Toronto on business for one week out of every month, during which time he'll be so busy that I'll be lucky if I get to spend any time with him.

Even though I might not have seen him much more if he was technically living here, it was still a blow.  I mean, he's the dad I grew up with.  And he's moving across the continent.  In fact, he's already effectively moved away; it's just a matter of shipping his stuff to him.  And he never even talked about it with me, let alone trying to break it to me gently.  When the realization hit, it was like a punch in the heart.  I didn't sleep much that night.

That's the downs.  What are the ups?

I have faith to carry me through.  Previously, the kind of sleepless night I spent last Saturday would have been a miserable eternity of emotional torture.  I could get myself into a state of mind where merely existing was unbearable.  Prayer makes a world of difference.  I didn't feel alone, or hopeless, or desperate, just very sad.  I knew I had to feel the feelings until I was done, and then I'd be OK again.  And that's what happened.

I have people who care about me.  Since I've connected with God's love, I've been much more able to accept love from everyone else.  I used to describe myself as an emotional anorexic, able to sit in front of an all-you-can eat love buffet with my lips pressed together, starving to death.  The most well-meaning people could not get through to me once I put up my walls.

Now when I need love, I go and get it.  A dear friend let me bend her ear on Tuesday night, pouring out my story over sushi.  My adorable sister joined me last night for dinner, lighting up my heart with her smile.  Ken has been amazing, caring for me with devotion.  And the best part is that I can actually take in the love, and be sustained by it.

I will always remember 2008 as the year I turned from an introvert into an extrovert.  If you'd known me all my loner life, you'd know just how amazing that transformation is.   Not to insult introverts in general.  My introversion wasn't a product of my inborn personality, but came about as a result of hurts and fear.  I feel like I'm finally getting a chance to be the me I was always meant to be, and I'm completely grateful.