relationships

Found in a Christmas Cookie

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Over the weekend, my sister texted me a photo of my mom. It seems the two had gathered to bake Christmas cookies. The photo was simple: my mom sitting at my sister’s kitchen table, a smile on her face, decorating cookies. I burst into tears at the sight of it.

This year was a hard one. My mom was sick – really sick – twice. There was more than one moment when I thought, “OK, this is it. I’m going to lose my mom.” By the grace of God, she is still here with us. That photo, her smile, reminded me in one simple second how close I was to losing her.

One of the things I’ve been reflecting about all year – even before my mom got sick – was how she and my dad are both aging; how I am aging. That process – the process of aging – is a weird thing to try and understand. It’s as if you are slowly peeling off a band-aid, revealing some version of skin that resembles your own. That skin, however, is a little less resilient, a little less vibrant, a little less able to take a blow and fully recover.

What I came to realize this year is that I am already grieving the loss of my mom as I once knew her. It’s hard to truly describe, but I miss her, even though she is still here. The things we once connected over are often not the things that tie us together now. And her physical limitations often call on me to demonstrate more patience than I think I really have. But I am trying. I am trying to maintain patience when I have to repeat a sentence for the third time. I am trying to remain calm when she falls and I have to help her back up to her feet. I am trying to preserve the loveliness of our relationship when she’s slow to follow or comprehend. I am trying to remember that she did all of those things (and more) for me once – when I was unable to stand on my own, make my own way, or understand the world. In the same caring way that she parented me, I am now trying to care for her.

There are days when I really miss the mom I had before. Most days, though, I am really grateful for the mom I still have here with me. Despite the challenges that come with her aging, I know that she is still teaching me valuable lessons – lessons that challenge me to grow in new ways, to develop qualities I wasn’t sure I had, and to become the kind of woman she has always been: full of strength and love.

My mom is different now in many ways. Perhaps so am I. But in a simple picture, I saw the smile I have known my whole life. And, I am reminded of how she is still the same in so many of the ways that really matter.  She is my mom. And I am lucky to have her.

The Art of Conversation

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There are a bunch of studies that claim the secret to a long, happy life is found in the relationships we have with other people. A study published in Harvard Medical School’s online newsletter, for example, says that “Dozens of studies have shown that people who have satisfying relationships with family, friends, and their community are happier, have fewer health problems, and live longer.” The article goes on to say that, “Conversely, a relative lack of social ties is associated with depression and later-life cognitive decline, as well as with increased mortality…an effect on mortality risk roughly comparable to smoking up to 15 cigarettes a day, and greater than obesity and physical inactivity.” And yet, we are a society spending more and more time on our smartphones, increasingly tied to technology, and overwhelmingly hooked on social media. I guess my question is whether or not these ways of communicating will, in the long run, produce the same results. My guess is no.

I was at a restaurant recently with a friend. When he excused himself for a moment, I couldn’t help but notice another couple at the bar. The couple was engaged in conversation – but I use the word “conversation” loosely, as it was more a shared experience over something the man was showing the woman on his smartphone. Why did I notice this? And, so what? Well, the reason that I noticed was that in the 10 minutes my friend was gone, the man never put down the phone. In fact, when her eyes would wander away – perhaps to observe something happening in real time – he would pull her back to the tiny screen. I don’t know what they were watching, but it was clear from his reactions that he had seen whatever it was before (and found it funny). She obviously had not. And since the bar was noisy, I doubt she could hear a lick of it.

My observation of this couple led me to look at others around the same bar. Of the 10 people there, seven were doing something on a smartphone. Only one of those seven was at the bar alone. It is certainly reasonable that some of the folks were responding to a sitter who was texting, or to an email that couldn’t wait. But increasingly, we are a society losing our ability to actually have a conversation with others.

If I think about this topic on a broader scale, and think about my own use of technology to stay connected, I am guilty too. I very often feel “in touch” with someone because I’ve read their Facebook status, or shared a simple text back and forth. But if someone were to ask me how that person is – like how they are really doing on a day to day basis – I’m not sure I’d be qualified to answer that question. I could guess based on the photos they’ve posted, or the emoji they chose to send. But I’d be simply guessing.

The art of conversation is just that: an art. It takes effort and energy to generate a conversation that is enjoyable and meaningful. Moreover, it takes a genuine interest in the other person. A conversation that gets past the weather and into something more personal requires that each person is willing to engage, that there is a mutual trust or willingness to share, and that some kind of connection exists or is possible. It is much more complicated than sharing a status or posting a picture, or even watching TV together.  Sure, we can watch TV, but if you want to use that experience to generate a connection, you’d better ask me what I thought of the show when it’s over, and then share with me what you thought. Otherwise, I could be watching alone and feeling a lot less unfulfilled when it’s over.

My point is this: the world is full of everyday possibilities to connect with other people. We share experiences and opinions that provide that opportunity. Just being in the same place at the same time is a conversation starter, if you are willing to use it. Does it take energy? Yes. It maybe even takes a little creativity. But in the end – if all of those studies are right – the work (and the connections they foster) just may be a lifesaver.

 

Source: https://www.health.harvard.edu/healthbeat/strengthen-relationships-for-longer-healthier-life

The Moment of Impact

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impactI was recently talking with a friend of mine who is an avid golfer. He loves the game, practices religiously, and is committed to bettering his skills. As we talked, he educated me a lot about the various clubs in his bag and about the essential elements of his swing. But he said one thing, in particular, that sort of stuck in my head. He said, in relation to the initial drive, that he’s seen a good number of golfers who position themselves into what appears to be a very strong drive. They have the right stance, the right arm and body position, and know how to hold the club. But, he said, for some reason, they slow their swing right at the very moment the club is set to hit the ball. That single moment of hesitation leads to a less than desired result.

In golf or in any other endeavor, I am led to think about how we respond right before any critical moment; that moment when the club hits the ball, if you will. That moment is the last of its kind. After it passes – and depending on how we respond – the future is shaped. That moment of impact is a defining moment. It sets our course.

If we move off the golf course, I think we see life moments like this all the time. Anytime we’ve invested ourselves into something, there comes a moment when our commitment and follow-through are tested. Can you think of a time when you second guessed something for just a moment and lost momentum? Perhaps a quick hesitation in an answer or an action changed the course of your life? I can certainly think of more than one time where I stepped up to hit the ball – and I mean I was really ready to whack it – and then, in that critical moment, I choked.

I’m not casting any judgement on moments of hesitation. Certainly, there are times when something just doesn’t feel right. The universe sort of sends signs about a need to slow down or change course. What I am wondering about, however, are those moments of hesitation caused by fear. How often do we come fully prepared for something after giving it lots of thought or practice and then fail to deliver on our follow-through? How often do we maybe not commit to hitting that ball as hard as we could because we are afraid?

I guess that’s the “think-about.” In the critical moments, do we let fear slow us down or somehow alter our potential? Or, are we able to position ourselves to take the swing with the original impact we intended? I think the answer probably offers us something really meaningful to consider.

The Habit of Love

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Like many, I am a huge fan of the show This is Us. More often than I could say, a line from the show causes me to pause, to think, to reflect, to wonder. Last night’s finale was no different. But before this turns into a blog about a TV show, let me shift my focus to the line that prompted this blog. One character to another said, “Next time you tell me that you love me, make sure it’s not out of habit.”

People who love me have heard me ask, “Why do you love me?” I don’t ask that question because I want to hear a list of things someone else admires in me. Nor do I want to hear the person go on and on about the qualities they see in me that make me outstanding to them in some way. Rather, I ask the question for the very reason the line in the show was stated. That is, because I believe it is important to know why you love someone. After all, if love is an active verb (as I’ve often written it is), shouldn’t we be actively aware of what it is in a person that makes us love them?

I have to wonder how many people are in relationships where the cause of their love is somehow lost. Certainly, as people grow and change, some of the qualities we fall in love with in the beginning of a relationship may also change – in both good and bad ways. Therefore, instead of simply getting in the habit of routinely saying “I love you,” day after day, month after month, year after year, I think it is important to reflect on our love for another person from time to time. I believe that reflection is an act of love in itself. It gives us a much greater awareness of why we love someone well beyond the reasons we fell for them in the first place. And then, when we say “I love you,” it is a confident statement rooted in the present, instead of something buried in habit and obligation for which the cause may no longer even be known.

Lots of people stay together or even get back together because they share a history. And certainly, those shared experiences bond us to another person in a meaningful way. But like the character on the show, I don’t want someone to stick around because times were once good or because they once saw something in me worth loving. Love simply cannot be that complacent. Moreover and perhaps even more importantly, I believe that active reflection about love leads to gratitude. And so when I feel annoyed because he forgot to call, or because he left a spoon in the sink, my active reflection about why I love him reminds me that the spoon wasn’t that important after all.

Three words said casually between people who’ve been together for a while can often feel routine. We get in the habit of saying them almost mindlessly. But I’d argue that the words “I love you” probably make us more vulnerable than anything we say to another person. When we say them, I believe they should be said with intention and without doubt that love is an action, promoted by something we can identify and appreciate. So tell people you love them. But once in a while tell them why. That why is a celebration not only of the love that exists, but also of the people who make it come alive.

I Fear a Lesson is Coming…

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I’ve been seeing a number of posts in social media lately about how everything that happens in one’s life (especially in relationships) should be seen as an opportunity to learn and grow. In other words, the posts discourage regret or sadness about past choices by suggesting that everything one has endured up to a certain point has been a teachable moment. The messages imply that if you haven’t learned something from a decision that turned out to be the wrong one that you just aren’t looking hard enough for the lesson.

Look, I’m all for learning from my mistakes and growing stronger from disappointment, but what happens if the depth of that disappointment feels like an abyss; like a hole one has fallen into by no fault of their own? But wait. We aren’t supposed to blame others for the things that happen to us, right? We always play a role. OK. So what if our fault lies in loving someone too much, seeing the potential in someone who refused to see it in themselves, or just trusting another human being to do the right thing? You see, here’s where my confusion about the lesson to be found begins. Am I supposed to learn not to love so much? Should I stop pushing to see the good in people? And how about trust? Should I be less trusting?

I know a great number of people who are jaded from relationships in which they suffered deep disappointment. For these people, the answer to most of the questions I posed above is a screaming, “Yes!” As a result of their experiences, these people do approach relationships differently than maybe they have in the past. They might stick a toe in to test the waters, maybe go knee-deep for another length of time, and maybe even make it into their waists. But they never fully submerge – and subsequently spend their lives complaining that they can’t seem to find anything real and meaningful. I guess in these cases I wonder what the value of the lesson truly is. More importantly, I wonder what part of themselves they are sacrificing as protection from future hurt and disappointment. I’m not sure the lessons are serving them well. In fact, I think what is really happening is that they are punishing themselves – and anyone else they meet – for things that happened in the past.

That which doesn’t kill us might make us stronger, but I think its ok to be broken for a while. Some things deserve to be felt, to be grieved. And that’s ok. If you’ve spent all of your energy in loving someone or something that didn’t work out, it’s probably ok to spend some energy grieving its loss. And if you can’t find a lesson in any of it, don’t let that make you feel worse. Sometimes people just don’t have the capacity to love in the same way you do. Sometimes, the lessons they think they’ve learned block them. Maybe knowing that is lesson enough.

In the end, perhaps the greatest lesson we can learn is more about ourselves than it is about any situation or person. And to that end, the most important question we can ask is whether we want to be motivated by love or motivated by fear. A seemingly simple question requires careful introspection. And living true to the answer may require courage. What will you choose? I have a feeling your answer will shape the lessons you learn.


Want to read more about fear vs. love? I found another blog that deals with this topic: https://wordfromthewell.com/2012/08/03/love-vs-fear-the-most-important-decision-youll-ever-make-and-youre-making-it-right-now/