Posts Tagged ‘Emotions’

You Can’t Kid a Kidder | Remembering My Mother-in-Law

 

Artwork by Jennifer Clark Tinker

Artwork by Jennifer Clark Tinker

One of the most surprising attributes of my Mother-in-Law, Elaine was her sense of humor. Part of why it surprised me was because before I got married I bought into a lot of the bad press that mothers-in-law get. But mostly why it surprised me was because she was kind-of stealth with her humor.

Here’s the thing, I’m a funny person. Hilarious really. And I love to give people a hard time. You can tell you’ve gotten in good with me if I start joking around with you.

So, you would think I would recognize it when someone else is joking with me, right?

Well, not with Elaine.

She was kind and gracious, yet she was very serious a great deal of the time. I mean, there were always meals to plan and grocery trips to orchestrate and chores she needed us to do around the house. We spent a good deal of time around the kitchen table planning our days together–all very serious and important planning.

So, every once in a while I would try to introduce a little levity into the seriously important planning. I might joke about serving a food my mother-in-law didn’t like, or I’d suggest adding something ridiculous to the grocery list.

Then, without breaking her serious demeanor, Elaine would respond. Her responses sounded like she took me seriously.

I would clarify, “You know I’m just messing with you, right?”

“I know,” she would grin, “I was messing with you back.”

And just like that she would get me every time!

She was so serious, you see. But that was all part of the craft of her stealthy humor. She would play along as if she missed my joke, all the while plotting to turn the joke on me.

They say you can’t kid a kidder. And maybe that’s my problem. I try so hard to be the funny one that I miss other people setting me up!

I miss laughing with Elaine, joking with one another, and sharing the hilarities of life with each other. She defied the stereotypes and became someone with whom I could enjoy spending time.

Maybe you can’t kid a kidder…but that never stopped Elaine from trying, and it turns out, she still has me laughing about it all!

Let It Be – A Dramatic Monologue from the Perspective of Mary

This dramatic, in-character monologue is what I imagine as the continuation of Mary’s story after she hears that she is to bear God’s son as recorded in Luke 1:26-38.

I wrote and presented this at Emmanuel Lutheran Church in Greenvine, TX on the 4th Sunday of Advent, December 21, 2014.

Click the following link to listen to the monologue or scroll down to read the manuscript:

http://www.spreaker.com/user/5989422/let-it-be-dramatic-monologue

 

Let It Be

Part 1: Who Me?

“Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” That’s what I told the angel Gabriel.

“Yes, sir, Gabriel, sir!”

So obedient…like a good little soldier taking orders.

I’ve watched the Roman soldiers enough to see them take their orders. They occupy our land to “keep the peace” by intimidation and threats…or worse. Is there even a soul inside those dutiful shells?

But my orders are from The Lord, the God of my ancestors. I am The Lord’s servant!

Yes, here am I, the servant of the Lord!

But…to let it be with me as Gabriel said? What have I gotten myself into? I’m not ready for a baby. I’m not even married yet!

Oh, this is too much. This is too much, Lord!

I knew my life was changing when I became betrothed to Joseph. I know I’m not the care-free child I was. My mother has been preparing me for my life with Joseph—like she’s trying to fit all the lessons of womanhood in these last few months before we are married.

And of course, I knew that motherhood would come soon after our marriage. Oh, how I have longed to hold a child of my own in my arms!

But this news from the angel Gabriel? Nothing in all of my mother’s lessons prepared me for this.
But sure, Gabriel, “let it be with me according to your word!”

Yet, what else could I say?! It’s not every day an angel of the Lord comes to some random daughter of Israel with such a high, holy commission.

 

Part 2: The Hope of Israel

The angel said I have found favor with God and I am to bear our long-awaited Messiah—God’s Chosen One!

Yes, of course, I’ll do it, Lord. I am your servant. Let it be, let it all be as your angel has said.

This child—my child—will be the fulfillment of the hope of all of Israel—and all the nations of the world will be blessed through this child. This is the moment we’ve been waiting for, longing for.

Our land, promised to Abraham, is not our own. We live under these filthy Romans.

But to have our kingdom restored forever? To have my son sit on the throne of his ancestor David?

We will never have to suffer under this foreign army ever again. The Lord has remembered his promises to his faithful servants!

Yes! Let it be Lord! Let it come to pass at last! Lift us up from under the feet of our oppressors and restore us once more!

 

Part 3: Disgrace

Yes, I am to bear the Chosen One because I have found favor with God!

But the timing is a bit perplexing. The angel Gabriel said the time was “now” for this child to be conceived. I asked how exactly that was going to happen since I have not, ahem, been with a man.

The answer was something about the Holy Spirit…It’s all very strange and perplexing.

And as for Joseph, how am I going to explain this to him?

“Well Joseph, you see, the angel Gabriel visited me and said that God was putting the Messiah in my womb.” And if that doesn’t convince him, I’ll just be sure and let him know it’s because I have found favor with God.

Ha!

It will never work. Lord, this will never work! I’m not saying I won’t do it…I just, I know what he will think. I know he will think I have been with another man.

And I know what the law says could happen to me if that is what he thinks. I could be stoned to death.

Lord, I am willing to let it be with me as your angel has said, but I’m not sure if I can sell this Holy Spirit business to Joseph. I confess I do not understand it myself.

 

Part 4: What Kind of Man is Joseph?

How can I explain to Joseph these…circumstances? I realize now how little I know him, how little I know what to say to him, how to explain…myself…to him.

Lord, you know me through and through. I cannot understand how, why you are giving me—me!—this honor.

But this “honor” will only end in my disgrace unless Joseph is the kind of man who will hear me and understand and see your hand in this.

Oh Lord, I cannot explain it to him myself. If I had the power to persuade, I would say a great many things—I would right all the wrongs of this world with my voice.

But words fail me. Power eludes me.

I am your lowly servant. I will do what you say. But on this Lord, I must insist: you must go to Joseph, send your angel, send however many angels it takes to convince him that this is your plan, your doing.

 

Part 5: God Keeps His Promises

Indeed Lord, it is your plan. And it seems impossible.

But your angel reminded me that nothing is impossible with you, oh, Lord.

“Remember your cousin Elizabeth?” Gabriel reminded me.

Dear, sweet Elizabeth.

She has waited so long for her arms to be filled with a child. She had given up hope of ever having a baby of her own.

Oh, the ways you work, Lord! What a wonder! Elizabeth—who we all thought could never have a baby—is six months pregnant—her belly getting bigger by the minute!

Elizabeth who couldn’t be pregnant and I who shouldn’t be pregnant!

If you can work this miracle for Elizabeth, Gabriel is right! Nothing is impossible with you, Oh Most High!

And so I trust you, Lord, my Lord. I know you can do this. I don’t know how, but I know you can, you will! You are faithful to keep your promises and you will do all that the angel said!

And you will deal with Joseph?

Of course you will. I trust you will, and you can!

This is a wonder! I must go and tell my cousin Elizabeth of this news at once!

I am your servant Lord! Let it be with me as you have said!

 

For Us

Once after a speaking engagement, someone asked me if sharing hard stories helps me. I was puzzled because I ordinarily share because I want to help others know they’re not alone in the hard times.

As one who has a public dimension of speaking and writing it is an interesting question. I know that it does help me to think out loud or on paper about the hard times–but these are very private processes, usually involving tears, many, many tears. The outpouring itself is cathartic.

The public sharing though, that brings its own kind of difficulty. The choice to make the private thoughts public has to bear up under scrutiny: Does this even make sense? Does it really have the chance to help someone else? Does it make me look bad, and if so, how bad? And if it makes me look bad, what might be the costs of looking bad in that way?

After all that, then I weigh the question, am I looking for sympathy? And usually the answer involves a recognition of what a wise Deaconess once said, “There is no such thing as a truly pure motive.”

I would love to be able to stand behind my original sentiment–that I share to help others. Yet I know my altruism isn’t pure. And I wouldn’t do this public bearing of my soul if it didn’t come with at least some kind of benefit to me.

Even now I am aware of the way in which sharing here about my aimless aching just a couple of days ago has given me strength to move through this weekend. It didn’t make the ache go away–that would be far too much to ask. But pouring out the thoughts was the catharsis I so appreciate about writing. And sharing here has helped me because of the feedback from readers who have told me that I am not alone in the aching.

Does sharing help me? I have to say, yes. Does it help others? It seems to. What I’m realizing is that it doesn’t have to be one or the other. It can be both. I hope it is both.

I think what I hope most of all is to deepen community–for you, and for me, for us together–as we share, honestly share, the hard times.

Aimless Aching

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I can’t even sort out what I’m feeling or thinking right now. I don’t even know if I can sort the feeling from the thinking.

Mostly I ache. And the ache cuts through my gut. I want to vomit to get that ache out of me, but I can’t.

I want to cry again and again. Except when the tears roll, I feel the ache roll, wet, down my cheeks. I want the tears to wash the ache away, but after the tears are gone the ache lingers in my face, hot from crying.

I try to use my words to talk out the ache, but they jumble and ramble and go in circles. And I want to get my thoughts around the ache, but the ache mocks my thinking–even my best thinking.

And I can’t tell anymore if I’m choking back the ache or if the ache is choking me.

I don’t even know why I ache so hard. Mostly I’m selfish with my aching–making the pain of the world about me–about the pain that I don’t understand well enough, listen to enough, or address squarely enough.

What right have I to ache when there is pain far worse than mine? So I chastise myself for my selfishness–heaping shame upon the ache which only makes it grow.

The worst ache is when I see people create more aching with hate. I try hard not to trade hate for hate. But the hate is too much for me to process. All I know to do in the midst of the hate is to ache. I ache with the hated and I ache for the hater. I ache for the brokenness and the ache upon hate upon ache upon hate.

I want to do something–to turn the ache into action. The ache is fuel, burning up, but with no engine it is wasted. It is an endlessly renewable source of energy–because there’s always something to ache about–but the energy is wasted without a place to go.

But where am I to go? What am I to do with this hot-burning fuel?

I think words will help. Words should help. I know words. I want to help with my words. I want to use my words to do good. But all I can do today is explain the ache. But what good are even the best words about the ache when so much pain is in the world?

I want to think this aimless aching is just a phase. I hope–I pray–for a time to know better my purpose, my place, my way to use this ache–to aim this passionate-hot ache to sow love so deeply that hate will fade, fail, and fall away.

I Don’t Drink, Don’t Smoke…but Not Why You Think

I’m not a big drinker and I’ve never tried so much as a puff of a cigarette. I haven’t said much about all this because what I have come to see is that my Position on drinking and smoking is less about Principle and more about Propensities.

To put it another way, I don’t drink much or smoke at all because I think if I did more of the one and even tried the other, well, I think I’d like it. Too much.

What I share here as to my reasons is very personal and not meant to point a finger at anyone else. For all I know, I’m the only person who’s had such little experience with substances yet craves them something fierce.

Somehow though, I keep feeling like it is something I need (want?) to share. And, you know, I’m on the internet now and my life is an open book anyway.

Over time I have had Good Reasons not to Do Substances. When I was underage, both were, of course, Illegal. As I dabbled in fundamentalist Christian thought, it was rather convenient to forego these substances because I was taught they were Sinful. And regardless of one’s age there are certainly Risks involved.

But those Reasons have faded over time. I’m old enough now that they are Legal, I no longer universally see their use as a Sin Issue, and I know plenty of people who are relatively Responsible about occasional enjoyment of these substances from time to time.

What remains for me personally a Stumbling Block about drinking and smoking though is the Addictive Nature of alcohol and tobacco because I sense in my body the very real and present possibility of Getting Hooked.

I have just enough sorrows that are just enough exacerbated by my stupid depression that I want to Drown Them All. Alcohol especially would be soooo easy…so easy.

My husband picked up a case of beer the other day and he put a few bottles in the fridge.

High Life?

Every time I so much as see the bottles there when I open the fridge, I feel a rush, a craving, a longing…a desire to Drown All The Everything. I want to grab a bottle and feel it course through me.

But I know me…and I know that times I’ve given into that a little, I’ve wanted to keep giving into it.

In this one area of my life, my tendency to Think Too Much has been a benefit to me. My self-awareness of how much I want to indulge has always nagged me enough to stop drinking before I’ve had too many and not even try smoking.

This part is delicate, so I want to tread lightly here, but I also have family history that stands as a warning sign to me. I know that these Propensities can run in families, so I have been especially Vigilant in my own life.

I don’t claim some moral high ground for my choices in these matters. If anything, I feel somehow weaker than others that I can’t just have one drink without Overthinking Every Sip.

But knowledge is power, and I do indeed know myself on this matter which is why I don’t drink and I don’t smoke.