The other day, I was telling someone I respect that a semi-trucker was driving recklessly, and their response to me was, “Well, be careful around those, they probably don’t speak English.”
What in the world???
First of all, I had never, ever considered the ability to speak my language as an indicator of safe driving. But, I know the subtext of why they said it. It’s so much deeper and uglier than that.
I grow weary of being caught off guard by blatant prejudice in those I encounter. I grow sick of my internal turmoil, days after, wondering if I should have rebuked it more effectively. And the only effect I would be satisfied with, is a change of that person’s mind. Or rather, their heart.
Yet, I must stop myself from diving deep into the divide and rebuking their judgement in the way I would like (sharp words, shame, emotional lashing out). The dished out medicine only sickens my own heart, too.
As I consider how to deal with this unbelievable trend after 40+ years of living in this land, I’ve only come up with two appropriate postures in my every day life, especially when the words don’t come to me in the face of blatant remarks:
👉 my own activism in the broad sense.
And,
👉my constant prayer, in the heart-change sense (and it’s not I who can change a heart, so the prayer is a must, indeed).
So I continue to show kindness to the families of color that I work with and worship with. I continue to delight in the dialects and accents and cultural differences around me.
And I continue to pray—for life-giving words when conversation appalls, but mostly for the constant desires of my heart:
“We live in a world of emotional reactions, sharp words, and quick hatred. This is what immediately distances us from Christ. There is no need to fear and run from reality and pain. We need to “clothe them in Christ”. Sanctity is born during persecutions, blood, and fear. To give Christ preeminence means entering into this onerous reality together with Him, and to not let go of His hand.”—Metropolitan Luke Kovalenko
If I am not mindful, my intense desire for justice sours all goodness. Hatred is kindled, and more often than not, emotions and sharp words cast off Christ in my exchanges. I am another clanging cymbal in the madness. The reality and pain of the injustices become burdens too great to bear. And this reaction grows my shame—in face of heartache, my emotional behavior turns the attention to myself, not Justice at all.
But, the injustices are not unbeknown to Him, the God of the Universe, the God Who loves the whole world and demands we do the same. He is after all, the God Who hung in the fray of injustice. It was through the madness of man that He died a criminal’s death, being innocent all the same.
And so, this God, in the face of injustice, rose to the challenge, literally, and offers a different way than the madness. He offers Mercy.
Angry words and hatred strip me naked of Christ, and there is nothing more dangerous to a soul. There is no Love exposed in tantrums.
The only way I can manage my sensitivities to injustices, is not by matching the world’s sharp exchanges, but holding onto the hand of Christ through this onerous reality, and allowing His way to be my own. For I know this to be true:
“God’s love is perfect because God is perfect. It’s perfect because it doesn’t manifest itself in palaces and at feasts, but on the Cross; it reveals itself to us in suffering. We love God and others only in peaceful times and in satiety; and even then, mostly with our mouths. But God loves us always—especially in times of adversity and temptation. He loves us when we pray and when we sleep; when we go to church and when we go to the tavern; when we repent, and when we sin. He always loves us as a kind and merciful Father. In times of danger, in times of temptation, we run, we hide, we betray our brother, we lie, we even kill, just to survive. But God loves us to the end (cf. Jn. 13:1). In times of danger, He doesn’t abandon us, but goes ahead, carries our cross for us, is the first to ascend upon it, is the first to endure blows, and the first to die in the flesh so that we might live.” —Archimandrite Iachint Unciuleac
“A compassionate, loving, and merciful heart is a sign of restoration of human nature to its original integrity.
👉Such a heart bears the unity of all humanity and the cosmos.👈
Everything lives in a compassionate heart—people, animals, plants, and all organic and inorganic matter.
Thus, the believer becomes like God.
Like Christ, he is no longer separated from anything or anyone, because he bears all things within himself. Nothing is external and alien to him anymore, and he is not indifferent to anything anymore.
❤️He feels responsible for everyone and for everything that happens in humanity and in the universe. human nature to its original integrity.❤️…A believer who has acquired a compassionate heart resolutely sets himself up to serve his neighbors, with whom Christ identifies Himself.”
—Metropolitan Serafim Joanta, St. Isaac the Syrian
The past several months, I have stepped away from my regular social media engagement. At first, I swore it off completely. But now, I occasionally get on there with blog posts or family updates.
Besides my brain being a little quieter, I’ve noticed that I don’t “think” in potential posts anymore. So sad that many of my treasured moments were sabotaged by my distracted mind forming the very best words and framing the very best photo, instead of being in the moment for the moment’s sake.
I’ve also noticed that I don’t take nearly as many photos of myself. It’s extremely obvious when I scroll through photos on my phone. And as I happen across the pics of my over-practiced poses, a needle of embarrassment pricks me. I turned the camera my way far too many times.
Honestly, it makes me a little sick to think about how trapped I was in the “selfie” world. And it makes me all the more conscious of my daughter towing the edge of it, and how I might help her.
I am not saying I will never take a selfie again, but I am fully aware of the direction it sends me if I were to grow the habit again.
What can I do, I wonder, to not fall for it? How can I help my daughter navigate the temptation?
It’s not real. It’s not healthy. And it’s sub-human, totally focused inward, surface, and empty. Humans are made for connection, not mirror reflections.
Self-focus, self-promoting, selfie, self-ick.
Stepping away from social media has been one way I’ve stepped out of myself too.
Sometimes, I meet people and learn bits of their story…at the store, at a traffic light, at work, at school. They are often unexpected—the stories I hear—but I am rarely as moved as I was this week during an encounter with a stranger.
Perhaps, it was because she was a mother who was heartbroken for her child. This mama bear could recognize another who’d surrendered the fight as pointless, even at the expense of her child’s well being. She had lost. But it was a far more serious loss than I had ever endured. I had no idea how to respond, and when I did, it seemed so hollow, so cheaply spoken from a person so far removed from her brokenness.
She cried. She’d tried. She held the hand of her child who only stared up at me without fully understanding why his mother was talking to me at all. I was just a tongue-tied stranger who happened to cross their paths.
What could I say to make a difference?
All I could think to do was apologize. Not because I had anything to do with her situation, but because I was so so sorry. Sorry that life wasn’t fair, sorry that I couldn’t fix her situation, sorry that her tears were no match to all that was stacked against her.
Her humility and defeat, nearly brought me to my knees. And somehow, she had the politeness to smile and say goodbye. With all she was facing, her decency remained in tact.
Would I be able to do the same in such adversity?
Lord have mercy on the least of us—on the mothers and fathers and children who are at the mercy of others. May they encounter too much gentleness, too much kindness, and strangers who know exactly what to do to make a difference.❤️
“We cannot be too gentle, too kind. Shun even to appear harsh in your treatment of each other. Joy, radiant joy, streams from the face of one who gives and kindles joy in the heart of one who receives. All condemnation is from the devil. Never condemn each other, not even those whom you catch committing an evil deed. We condemn others only because we shun knowing ourselves. When we gaze at our own failings, we see such a morass of filth that nothing in another can equal it. That is why we turn away, and make much of the faults of others. Keep away from the spilling of speech. Instead of condemning others, strive to reach inner peace. Keep silent, refrain from judgement. This will raise you above the deadly arrows of slander, insult, outrage, and will shield your glowing hearts against the evil that creeps around.”
I have become insecure in this identity of “mother”, and having 3 adult sons and a teen daughter, I thought I would have outgrown it by now.
Perhaps, insecurity is sewn into my fabric. But I also think I’ve been worn thin by how I have lived this life as a mom.
There has been so much identity buzz around women who bear children—for years and years—and it’s been damaging. I have the scars as proof. I know I bought into the buzz (over the past 23 years). And now, nearing the half-century mark of my life, I am floundering as a mom embarking on her fourth journey of raising a teen.
In this age of opinion conquering fact, and truth grinding down to a thin powder of suggestion, I nearly dread this fourth journey because I have already exhausted myself trying to sweep the truth into a beacon to live by. I try old tactics that don’t make sense (anymore).
I know better.
As I think hard on this after another mom-fail this weekend, I know I have learned a few things. But application is killer, for me, anyway.
What have I learned?
Well, first, I must acknowledge that we are in a climate that is certainly unknown to any other mother before us. Our world of AI, social media, and relativism has created a great unknown for any parent of talking children these days. And heading into that at full force, I guess I have learned, am learning:
1. There is no point in referencing “when I was a your age”… this is not the world I ever grew up in, and there is destruction in rose-colored memories of yesteryear (a prevalent mindset in our society). My teen is not naive and easily convinced. And if there is one good thing that has risen up in this next generation, it’s the keen disregard of the answer: “because I said so”. She wants a reason. Now, I must decipher if the reason of any said answer is worth it. Constant thought-processing, internal reflection, and consideration is what a mom must do. Mental laziness is dangerous.
2. The battle doesn’t lie in enforcing rules. As a young mother, I truly did think my rules would produce the outcome of my perfect people—but my people aren’t perfect, I certainly fall short, and while rules aren’t extinct around here, they are the lesser concern. I am desperate for preserving our relationship. And boundaries are where the battle is won. I am growing adults, not followers.
3. Silence can be a tool or a weapon. I have used it more as the latter. I have allowed my own sensitivity to shut down conflict in a passive aggressive refusal to communicate. Yet, I have envied those who only speak when necessary, and I have damaged my relationship with my children by a lack of silence—by a constant, uncontrollable speak. Commentary can become the wedge between a parent and a teen. Wielding this tool and discarding the weapon might be my greatest challenge.
4. Wisdom is not so easy to come by, even though the market sells it that way. This drive me bonkers. This is the deepest scar. The words. The expectations shaping my words. And as I indicated above, the overuse of words from my own mouth. The motherhood genre has contributed to static in each phase of rearing my children. The gurus inflicted opinions that were consumed, by me, as truth. I have been parenting in constant noise of others. I crave silence…beyond its use.
I am sure other mothers out there have more to add…I am sure other mothers out there have conquered the pitfalls better than me.
In fact, I feel like the next step on this fourth journey is starting from a wound.
And really, motherhood is not where the identity lies—it’s in the woman sent on the journey. And as a human, I am in ever need of healing.
It seems, when we are out and about, near the coast or in the heart of the wood, most souls trek toward the water. We stand there, look in, look out, look up. The water draws our attention to the sky, doesn’t it?
The surface dances with the light, swirls with the color, and absorbs the heat of the day—or it is stricken into sheaths of ice in a season.
I especially love this find from one of my recent walks. Wood caught in the dance, forever changed by the colliding elements.
And somehow, the wood, the ice, the water signal to the sky above by their own matter.
How perfect it is then, that on this eve of Theophany, to consider that water brings attention to the heavens. For the Creator reveals His fullness through water tomorrow. And He sanctifies every drop thereafter, the stuff that forever points to the heavens. ☦️
A place I have not visited, but so beautiful. If I was there, how could I not look up?
My daughter and I were arguing before I snapped this photo. It was a signal to surrender (my words, not my parenting decision).
My husband often tells me I say too much in conflict with my teen. Once is enough, and I don’t need to explain myself. But I can’t resist the need to make clear my intentions for whatever decision I made that upset her. My need to explain myself in conflict has become a compulsion.
I tried, in this moment of fiery clouds out the window and my daughter having expressed her own irritation, I tried to take a moment and finding acceptance in my heart that she will just not understand why I said no.
And that’s ok.
It won’t dent our relationship forever. The sunset’s reprieve of closing yet another imperfect day offers hope in a chance for better, tomorrow.
And even when I flounder about, when I just can’t be better myself, there will always be beauty and peace just in reach, despite my failings.
And I choose to believe that the beauty is perfection condescending to heal a wretched heart—even in a moment.
Truly, we find ourselves in the season of holidays. While I once demanded this season is only about one holiday—Christmas—I can’t help but see that, more and more, I was deluded by a cultural message ingrained in me. Power, dominance, my way, or else…
More than ever, marketing schemes have banked on Christians inserting their dominance in the culture, and now our religion is used to make a buck—or a billion. I am desperate to rid myself of that ridiculous pursuit of dominance. How could I have ever been convinced that Christmas was about that kind of power at all? And how could I have been so stuck on demanding Christmas and all its trimmings? As I grow older, I finally understand that “Christmas”, as we’ve come to experience it, is two holidays.
We have the marketed celebration. And we have the Feast of the Nativity.
It’s important to distance the celebration from the feast. There’s a danger in mixing them together, as if Jesus is a poster child for a grand marketing plan. And the marketers’ intention is obvious, these days. They’re playing a giant game of monopoly, investing in the manger; banking on the Santa with the baby; commercializing “Scripture” on trendy shirts, and offering up knock-off religious symbols in holiday sales. Marrying the two holidays inflates the economy, but bankrupts the sacred. Sadly, ironic.
The nativity isn’t a meme.
The Christ child isn’t a mascot.
And holiday shopping isn’t elevated and justified by using the Christian story as a logo.
Take my Savior out of your scheming, Box Stores. I’ll just shop. Just enjoy the colors and the lights. Eat, drink, be merry.
But I won’t find Christmas in those things. Thank God, He’s not in those things.
The Feast of the Nativity has nothing to do with the holiday celebration this culture mistakes for Christmas. The Feast of the Nativity is honoring the Christ and His Mother. The feast magnifies a Prophecy fulfilled. The Feast glorifies a humble servant, a compassionate Lord, Love Eternal. Nothing plastic, trending, or modern can touch the sacred meaning. Christmas or the Feast of the Nativity? They are not the same. Maybe they were once, but not as we label celebrations now.
So…What’s the big deal, you might ask? It’s all about the heart anyway. You can have it all and still have Christ.
Sure.
I will be the first to admit, I love the festive spirit of all the things in December. I celebrate the season, and I magnify the nativity. I do both.
But mixing the two in the way they’ve been mixed…well, it is a big deal. There is so much at stake.
Especially hearts.
There are people out there who need the Feast more than ever. And the stuff just won’t cut it. It has to be more than that. Confusing the two celebrations strips down the reality of Who Christ is to a plastic imitation perfectly suited for a store shelf. Who wants two for the price of one when it comes to a Savior? Allowing commerce to capitalize on our story is not what Christmas was ever meant to be.
And by God’s grace, the Feast is untouched, and will remain that way within the walls of many Churches. And I’d say, that the fullness is found in the pew, not the store shelf. The Light of the world is found in the candle lit by the broken hearted, not the perfectly lined roofs. And the Christmas story is powerful in itself—not because of dominance—but because of Love.
angie dicken 