What's Your Story?

If you read the previous post, you might have already figured out that the little girl in the story was based on my own experiences growing up. Explosive outbursts of violence with more than one of the step-fathers of our childhoods were pretty much the norm and caused more hellish and chaotic nights than it seems that kids (my brothers and sister) should have to endure.

In his book, the Sacred Romance, John Eldridge basically said that everyone of us are in the middle of this huge 'epic'. He used the two little dwarves, elves...whatever those little guys in the "Lord of the Rings" are to illustrate: They'd just been through harrowing adventures and lost their beloved mentor when one makes the comment to the other something to the effect of "I wonder what sort of tale we've been dropped into?" It's like he just knew they were in the middle of something way bigger than themselves. The author then asks the reader; how about you? Do you feel that life is just a random series of circumstances and events or are we a part of a grander design, in the middle of an incredible story?

I guess I always thought that life was some random series of 'gloom' doom and bad "luck of the draw", karma or something. I remember saying on more than one occasion, "I must have done something bad in another life to deserve this mess." What the author went on to say is that we are molded or 'defined' by the messages of those closest to us. For me, right off the bat, my father's abandonment before I was even born handed down this feeling of insignificance & worthlessness. I mean if the father who conceived you didn't want you or love you, then why would anyone else? Along the way, my mom's own desperate quest for love & relationships became fiercely violent and abusive. Do you know what living in fear of explosive outbursts, that could suddenly and unexpectedly come out of nowhere, for no apparent reason will do to a kid or the adult that kid becomes? It develops a sort of "survival mentality" where you live fearful and distrustful of other people, always aware of a 'real' or percieved threat from another. You learn at a very young age, that you are not safe. Living with violence and the result of it brings such inconsistancy that you learn to compensate for the fact that there's really no on you can count on!

And that's just the childhood. All that stuff continues to grow and maybe you'll marry the same exact person and live the same exact life...or....you'll vow to live differently. Intend to stay married and live happily ever after. Boy is there a rude awakening! Quick! Many of us put way, way too much hope in a relationship. For me, never developing any sense of worth or significance left me vulnerable to the men in my life and subject to their reactions or approval. In other words, when they were pleased with me, life was good and I was happy. When they were angry, moody or abusive, it MUST be my fault, so life takes a nosedive. When you think about it, suppose the 'other' in the relationship never develops a sense of significance or worth either? What a mess! It's almost inevitable, you wind up feeling betrayed and disappointed. Where does that lead? Well, if you're like most, you wise up and really "see the writing on THIS wall;" there really is NO ONE you can count on. Anger, resentment, bitterness settle in and maybe not consiously, but as far as your heart is concerned, you make this VOW to never leave yourself vulnerable or trust again and maybe you don't leave physically, but, the protective wall of cynicism and sarcasm becomes inpenetratable. There is this picture I have of myself, when I worked in the beauty salon. It was halloween and I'm dressed as Wilma Flinstone, a big puff of white smoke in front of my face, from the cigarette I just took a drag of. A huge red sign hangs on the wall right behind me. In giant bold white letters it reads; S&%* Happens! What a perfect illustration of the resignation that this is as good as it gets and I'm powerless to change it.

The author calls this resignation a "loss of heart." Phychiatrists call it various forms of depression. We have more programs, medications and 'how-to' self-help manuals to deal with this stuff today than ever before and still the problem grows. He explains first that the "heart" is the very center of our being. It's where all of thoughts, motives, emotions and attitudes stem from. Its how we think what we think, feel what we feel. When the heart is deluged and crowded with all these abuses, betrayals, bad memories....all messages that we've allowed to define us, it can almost be tricked into believing that's who we are. BUT...in between, for every single one of us, no matter how bad life has treated us, there are these tiny sparks of inspiration sprinkled throughout our past. For me, it was a "mommom and Poppop" (grandma & grandpa) who I adored spending time with. Sometimes, in the chaos of our life, I'd wind up temporarily living with them. Poppop would rock with laughter when I would try and con them. I'd ask one for milk money when the other had just given it to me. My grandpa thought that was cute and I knew without a doubt, I delighted him. Mommom was stern and didn't laugh much, but there was something about her touch, her taking me shopping, laying out my clothes or walking me to school that provided a security I wasn't always used to. Later,in my high school years, there was a teacher, Miss L, who saw beyond the hooking school, coming to class high, the lack of participation and to my complete and utter surprise, took an interest in my life, encouraged me and remains a dear friend today.

In a day when TV choices were few, I can remember the impact of programs and movies. Admiring the seemingly normalcy of TV families and couples. I know it was fantasy, but I remember it brought an escape and hope that people didn't all live like we were living. An English class field trip to see "Romeo & Juliet" left me with unforgetable memories. This passionate fairy tale about two lovers willing to die rather than live without each other motivated all the girls in the class to read every detail of the two young actors. We wanted so badly to believe it was possible. Then there's the old Shirley Temple movies...remember them? When the "Little Princess" found her daddy. When "Heidi" found her grandpa. When the "Little Colonal" got her parents back together...I could go on and on. BUT...my point? The author's point? Every one of us have these passions, desires and desperate need to be needed, wanted and loved. The "Loss of heart" that many experience today is the hopelessness when we conclude with resignation that beyond the struggles and lifelong search for what we say is dignity, validation, happiness or justice, this; is as good as it gets.

Where does that come from? Where did we get these desires in the first place? You were born with them. We were all born with them. God Himself created you with the incredible desire to be loved. If we're honest, we all are desperately attracted to stories of unconditional, fulfilled love. We're drawn to reconciled relationships and passionate romances. Some will never admit that no matter where we come from, how bad life has treated us, we somehow just know this is true, in fact, I remember seeing something on Oprah and hearing her tell a guest that she couldn't remember one good thing about her childhood. But..this woman makes her living on knowing what jerks and tugs at heartstrings. Did she just figure that out on her own? No, she had to first figure out what moved and inspired her own heart. Did that originate with her? No, she just didn't fall into some magical formula that worked to make her millions. Oprah is a gazillionare because we were created to be inspired and moved by love. BUT...He's also the ONLY ONE who can fulfill that desire...and we would rather look anywhere else but God.

So...how about you? I'd love to hear your thoughts on this. What's your story. I know one woman whose life was consumed and defined by the haunting words of her own mother telling her she was ugly and unwanted. She has since reconciled with God, and realizes that her mom was mentally ill, merely hanging on by a thread with her own desperate struggles. What were your messages? How is your life defined?