On Sunday our Pastor Guy issued a challenge to find someone who doesn't feel loved and love on them. At lunch my daughter asked if I felt loved. I dismissed the question and chalked it up to her being silly. Teenagers often refuse to see past their longest finger. I figured she was going with the lazy solution to the challenge and not seeking outside of her own family. The trouble is, the question hasn't left me.
Since my daughter asked the question, I've been considering my truthful answer. The truth is that more often than not, I don't feel loved. I feel used... especially by my children. I'm saddened by that. I've been thinking too about what exactly makes me feel loved. I know my "love language" is quality time. But beyond that.... what behaviors, words, etc. make me feel authentically loved and in what ways do I show that same kind of love to others. It's something that is going to take me some time to adequately answer. I'm not sure I know at all.
Every Sunday at church I seek out a particular friend. I seek her out to simultaneously give and receive a long, meaningful hug. For me that hug is a tether. It's a tether to the truth that I am loved. It's a weekly reminder from another human being that I am valued. It's so easy for me to lose that truth. It slips between the runs in the fabric of me that are caused by the sharpness of life. It's no wonder that I struggle to know what exactly makes me feel loved when I have such a hard time holding on to the truth that I am loved in the first place.
On Sunday I was talking to my huggable friend and she did the sweetest thing. It took me completely by surprise. As I was standing there talking to her, she brushed several strands of hair off my face and tucked them behind my ear. I have no idea why she did that. I can tell you this, though, in those few seconds I felt very loved. I also felt vulnerable, valuable, and accepted. Who knew such a small gesture could mean so many things to a person? It did though. That was just another piece of the puzzle and has lent valuable information to my quest for answers on the subject of what makes me feel loved.
Monday, June 23, 2014
Sunday, June 8, 2014
On Remember the time when...
Years ago I wrote this about how relationships/making friends was easier when we were children. A couple of weeks ago I found on Facebook my first "Best Friend" Linda Lee. I have such wonderful memories of us. From that first day on the swings in 4th grade when we became friends, all the way until 9th grade when I started going to a different school and we lost touch, so much fun was had. Though we lost touch, those memories have remained precious to me. I have always known that immediately upon reconnecting we could launch into an endless session of "Remember that time when....". I have smiled so many times thinking about things we did together like searching for "Littles" in the air vents at her house or eating piles of candy while fully clothed in a dry bathtub with the lights out and curtain closed. I don't know why we did the things we did, but we had big fun doing them.
I have a standing date with a friend of mine every week. Our lives don't intersect much, though we have friends in common. We've decided to be intentional about our friendship. And....I'm pretty sure she can see straight into my soul. Last week I arrived at her house "freaking out" because I had just come from the dentist's office where I was told I needed a root canal. After much discussion... she's going to go with me to the appointment. She's just that awesome. Anyway, we had a really great conversation that I want to share. I've been thinking about it.
Perhaps it's just me, but I have a hard time receiving care and attention from other people. There's little I won't do for my friends, but I wouldn't dare expect that anyone would do anything for me. I've decided that this is problematic. I've been rebuffed before by friends who refused help. It was really disheartening. It hurt. I realized... I'm guilty of doing the same thing. I realized that I assume each person has a very limited supply of time or concern for me. Who am I to decide for anyone else how they wish to spend their time or who they wish to spend their time with?
When I think back to the friendships I had in childhood, I don't have any memory of wondering if they had time for me or if they even wanted to be with me. I don't remember not wanting to be with my friends. Truthfully, I feel that way now. Though I'm a card-carrying introvert, I'm lonely a lot for contact with my friends. I have plenty of available time. I wonder, though, at one point in life does the switch flip that tells us "No one has time for you". One day I just woke up and felt that way. I'm pretty sure it's a lie. Maybe I'm the only one whose switch flipped. I have a sneaky feeling it's not just me. When I was a kid I'd pick up the phone and give people a call to see what was up. Nowadays, when I feel lonely, I make assumptions and jump to conclusions.
Here's what I think. If there's a pitfall to growing up, it's this: our perspectives get all messed up. When I was a kid, if playing in the dirt-pile was what was up that day, I played in the dirt-pile. If it was cutting new trails through the woods, I was cutting trails. If it was playing board games, hopscotch, swimming, being quiet and out of our parents' way, whatever.... it's what we did. We adapted to the situation at hand. Though we have responsibilities now, life hasn't changed that much. We've just forgotten how to do life together. The dirt-pile is emotional rather than physical, and the activities are events on our calendars. Someone, though, somehow, got us to believe that we have to do it alone, that no one is interested.....and we've become islands. We hide in our homes with our families who are "obligated" to us and guilty by association and we assume no one cares. Frankly, I don't care for it. I'm guilty, but I'm over it. I want off the island.
I have a standing date with a friend of mine every week. Our lives don't intersect much, though we have friends in common. We've decided to be intentional about our friendship. And....I'm pretty sure she can see straight into my soul. Last week I arrived at her house "freaking out" because I had just come from the dentist's office where I was told I needed a root canal. After much discussion... she's going to go with me to the appointment. She's just that awesome. Anyway, we had a really great conversation that I want to share. I've been thinking about it.
Perhaps it's just me, but I have a hard time receiving care and attention from other people. There's little I won't do for my friends, but I wouldn't dare expect that anyone would do anything for me. I've decided that this is problematic. I've been rebuffed before by friends who refused help. It was really disheartening. It hurt. I realized... I'm guilty of doing the same thing. I realized that I assume each person has a very limited supply of time or concern for me. Who am I to decide for anyone else how they wish to spend their time or who they wish to spend their time with?
When I think back to the friendships I had in childhood, I don't have any memory of wondering if they had time for me or if they even wanted to be with me. I don't remember not wanting to be with my friends. Truthfully, I feel that way now. Though I'm a card-carrying introvert, I'm lonely a lot for contact with my friends. I have plenty of available time. I wonder, though, at one point in life does the switch flip that tells us "No one has time for you". One day I just woke up and felt that way. I'm pretty sure it's a lie. Maybe I'm the only one whose switch flipped. I have a sneaky feeling it's not just me. When I was a kid I'd pick up the phone and give people a call to see what was up. Nowadays, when I feel lonely, I make assumptions and jump to conclusions.
Here's what I think. If there's a pitfall to growing up, it's this: our perspectives get all messed up. When I was a kid, if playing in the dirt-pile was what was up that day, I played in the dirt-pile. If it was cutting new trails through the woods, I was cutting trails. If it was playing board games, hopscotch, swimming, being quiet and out of our parents' way, whatever.... it's what we did. We adapted to the situation at hand. Though we have responsibilities now, life hasn't changed that much. We've just forgotten how to do life together. The dirt-pile is emotional rather than physical, and the activities are events on our calendars. Someone, though, somehow, got us to believe that we have to do it alone, that no one is interested.....and we've become islands. We hide in our homes with our families who are "obligated" to us and guilty by association and we assume no one cares. Frankly, I don't care for it. I'm guilty, but I'm over it. I want off the island.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)