Category: Life goes on…

Tumbling into tumblr.

Published by mhelbert on September 18, 2013

In July I was introduced to tumblr. Mostly, because Rachel Held Evans started a blog there. (Ok, I pay attention to what she does cuz she’s successful and I’m not.) Many young folks have migrated there because Facebook has become the hallowed grounds of the Old and Unknowing. I don’t understand how young folks don’t get that wherever they go, the old and infirm are sure to follow.

Anyway, I’ve become addicted. I never thought that social media could grab me and drag me in…but, tumblr. has. CRAP! The tumbr. world is diverse. There are people posting images, poems, short prose and quotes. Some of the blogs are designed to enable writers and artists to share their work and to learn from one another. Some of these allow others to submit their work for online publication. Others simply offer tips and encouragement. And, actually, much of the art, photography and writing is quite good.

There is another side to tumblr., however. Many of those who blog there, perhaps most of them, are young adults. This particular medium offers them a venue where they can explore and expand on the conflicts that they experience as they journey, the best that they can, from the safe world of childhood to the unpredictable world of adulthood. I think that part of the allure of tumblr. is that it allows people to post pretty much anything and everything. Someone may post an image of a forest stream one minute. In the next, they show the scars where they have cut themselves. Another may post kittens and unicorns followed by images that suggest drug abuse. The whole universe of teen angst is on display for the world to see. Shocking? Yeah, some of it is. And, I think that’s the purpose for much of it. Through images and words that press against social morés, many of these people are clearly seeking attention. This is nothing new. Young adults seek to find an identity that they can live with. By drawing attention to themselves they can test and find that which will, in some way, make them ‘acceptable.’ There are others, though, that seem to be stuck. For them depression and sadness have led to self-harm and other self-destructive behavior. These are the people that I can empathize with.

I am, as one friend puts it, “a sensitive musician.” He usually says it as a kind of fun pejorative. But, he’s right. In a brain dominance test many years ago, I was the group’s ‘space cadet’ because I live in the right side of my brain. As a young person I felt misunderstood and marginalized by family and friends. I experienced deep depression and sadness. At times I fell so far into myself that I didn’t realize that I had just scratched the skin off of the tops of my hands so that they bled. I found some solace in drugs and alcohol. Yet, this only seemed to help for a short while. I have always had a sense of unworthiness. Unworthy to receive good things…including love. Imagine my surprise when I learned that there is a person who can love without condition. This person understands the alienation and pain that I know so well because he experienced it himself. Yeshua ben Yosef…Jesus son of Joseph…is that person. Am I well now? Hardly. I still deal with depression, self-loathing and some self-destructive activities. But, I am not alone. And, I have a relationship with Someone whom I am confident ‘gets’ me. More than that, however, I have a connectedness with others who, like me, have hope for the future. Perhaps, this is why I’m so drawn to the young people who inhabit the tumblr. universe. They are me. We are a community of hurting misfits. We think and reflect deeply about our world and how we can be a significant part of it. We desire to be understood, yet, in a way we take pride in knowing that we can’t be understood. We refuse to be categorized, preferring instead an enigmatic life. But, we appreciate your presence more than you can ever know. We receive life from you when you notice us. The God who I follow has fashioned us to be a community. We are all interrelated in ways that my puny, little brain cannot ever hope to fathom. I can only share my small spark of life with those who need it. tumblr. is a place where I can do that.

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It’s Hard to be Human

Published by mhelbert on September 6, 2013

It’s hard being human. We have minds that think. There are emotions and desires that stir and motivate us. We are sentient and aware of ourselves and our relationship in time and space. Our realities and experiences are as varied as each individual, yet we have a commonality that binds us together. All of this seems to indicate that humans should be happy that they are apparently the pinnacle of creation.

Yet, we are not happy. We are a conflicted lot, internally as well as externally. Externally, it’s easy to see how very disturbed we are. Watch the news or read a newspaper, (if you can find one). Every day people are being abused, robbed, murdered or taken advantage of by others. Wars are waged in the name of whatever the cause du jour is. (For some reason people seem to think that if you kill people peace will break out.) The privileged oppress those who are not. Greed and lust for power are systemic ills that are deeply embedded in virtually every culture. Yeah, it’s hard to be human.

Internally, we wage our own private wars against ourselves. Many of us live in cultures that value things like integrity and character. We have set up ideals that we aspire to attain. But, we can never seem to grasp them. We denounce greed, yet desire more. Mention lust and people gasp and put their hand over their mouth. Our eyes, however, crave to see and our hands to hold that object of our desire. Voices cry out against injustice. In that inner most part of us, though, there is another voice that laughs at it. Our appetites rule us and our desires drive and motivate us. Then, we wake up the next morning and our heads hurt and our bodies ache and we wonder what the hell just happened. It’s still hard to be human.

If these observations of mine are not true, then why are there so many self-help groups, gurus, counselors and therapists, churches and para-church organizations and books in the millions designed to inspire and motivate us to be ‘better’? In the particular religious culture that I spent many years immersed in, they would say, “Just read your Bible and pray.” They seemed to think that the Bible was some sort of talisman and prayer a kind of magic that could ward off the evil of the flesh and this ‘present generation. Shame and guilt were used to keep the flock in line. These, of course, do nothing but add to the inner conflict of people who are already hurting. Not only am I battling my inner ‘demons,’ now I’m also a bad person for having these thoughts and feelings. This, too, is a form of abuse. Damn, it’s hard being human!

I don’t think that it has ever been easy to be human. Our species has endured a lot of adversity over the millennia that we’ve been present on this planet. Nature has been against us. We have been against each other. Drought, famine, war…it seems like there are always battles to fight. Yet, we have survived. In fact, some would say that we are thriving is spite of the adversity.

As, I was praying this morning these thoughts came to my mind. I shared them with God saying, “It’s hard to be human.” And, I didn’t hear any disagreement. I think this may be because God now knows what it’s like to wear a body of flesh and bone. The Creator has experienced the reality of the created. Reading the stories that recount God’s sojourn among us, I am struck by the fact that Jesus’ life was not easy. He wandered around Palestine and probably wondered more than once where his next meal would come from. Hated and despised by his own culture, he continued to press on. Those who, like himself, were on the fringes of society…the people who were hurting and marginalized…he loved and cared for. And, he encouraged them to persevere and to continue to put one foot in front of the other. He didn’t offer spiritual platitudes and magic to remove the obstacles that confronted them. He said, “Go, and stop sinning,” or “take up your cross and follow me.” I think that Jesus realized that the only way people could live and thrive was to take on adversity head on and to do the necessary work to deal with it. I suppose that means when the external injustices rise up to crush people, we stand against them. Maybe, the internal appetites and desires will always, always, always be with us. Our lives will be spent in the muck of living. We’re going to be confronted with desires that we must resist. There will be cravings that must be tempered with self-control. We must then confront these things with whatever strength we can muster. Difficult? Yeah. But, whoever said it was easy…to be human?

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What’s in a Legacy, Anyway?

Published by mhelbert on September 4, 2013

I’ve spent the last two weeks mindlessly wandering. I can’t seem to put one cogent thought with another. I don’t know if this is a normal step in the mourning process. Perhaps, the incredible number of tasks that must be done after the death of a loved one is simply overwhelming me. After all, my brother and I have been left with the responsibility of disposing of my parents’ property and liabilities. We’re kinda new at this. We are listing their condo for sale. It’s not expected to sell for much. Hopefully, we’ll be able to get enough to cover what is still owed on it. There are outstanding medical bills that need to be paid. And, we still have a lot of ‘stuff’…furniture, odds-n-ends, and papers…lots of papers to deal with.

What we’re finding is that my parents had very little in the way of a material legacy. They did not prepare for a secure financial future. And, they certainly didn’t spend time thinking about what they were going to pass on to the next generations. They lived for the present. Some might say they lived ‘in the moment.’ Theirs was a relationship that was devoted to enjoying life with one another. I remember Mom saying that she had some regrets that they had not given more thought to their legacy. She would have liked to leave something more materially substantial. But, by that time it was really too late to begin preparations for that. The best that they could do was to ensure that my brother and I simply split whatever property and assets they had.

My question, is this a bad thing? Should children expect their parents to take care so that there is something to leave as a material legacy? My parents lived for each other and their family. They gave a lot to us while they lived. Not ‘stuff,’ but love and care. They modeled devotion through their relationship. My dad, if nothing else, was loyal to his wife and to us. No, they did not show us how to accumulate things. They certainly did not instruct us in how to stay out of debt and to be ‘fiscally responsible.’ Saving money or spending it on large insurance policies didn’t seem to be a high priority for them. Dad once told me that he and mom made a lot of money…and, they spent a lot of money. For them it was more important to use what they earned to enjoy life.

Yes, I’m losing sleep and focus with all that needs to be done in order to settle my parents’ obligations. And, yes, there won’t be much left when the task in finished. But, maybe…just maybe…there really is more to leaving a legacy than leaving a lot of pictures of a green guy named George lying around.

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The Reunion

Published by mhelbert on August 19, 2013

Yesterday was a pleasant day. The sun shone brightly, yet the air was not too hot. There were birds and butterflies flitting about doing what birds and butterflies do. It was a great day to sit outside and simply soak it all in. However, I had a family commitment that placed me with cousins and in-laws and children and, well, just a whole lot of people. If you’ve spent any time at this blog, or if you know me, then you realize that social gatherings are not my specialty. My idea of the perfect day would be to sit in the sun with a book and a refreshing beverage. So, to say that I was looking forward to this gathering would have been overstating things a bit.

We arrived and exchanged our greetings. Finding a place at one of the tables, we sat down and struck up light conversation. Soon, the food was prepared and everyone began milling about the food table filling plates and glasses. “Oh, that looks interesting, what is it?” And, “Who made the lentil salad?” Questions being asked as we foraged through the bowls and platters filled with the various offerings of those gathered. Finding our places again, we ate and talked. That person, (“who is he again?”), brought his two young children who are really cute! Almost completely done with his pasta salad, the young boy cries out to his dad, “Oh no, there’s olives in this! Why didn’t you tell me there were olives”?! His sister had spotted them in hers and pushed them aside. The dog belonging to our host is making the rounds of all of the tables. She looks longingly at the food on our plates, sniffing for any morsel that may have wandered off of a plate and onto the ground. Over there is a small group animatedly talking about the prospects of the local football team for the upcoming season. If the coaching staff only knew half of what these people did, there would be a superbowl in the future for our local team!

Stories told and retold. Travel adventures from those who had come from out of state. I asked our host, who likes to hunt, if he ever took the dog. He replied, “Yes,” and with a gleam in his eye, told me about how they had trained her and how she was very good at finding and flushing the birds they hunted. About this time there was a splash. A couple of the kids had decided that the pool could no longer be ignored. Occasionally, someone would walk into the house to revisit the table with the food. Picking a bit of that salad; procuring another piece of carrot cake. From the other side of a tall fence we began to hear loud thumping noises. Looking around it, I saw that the corn hole game was out. More people gathered around with bottles of water and plastic cups full of soda. More talking and laughing.

After a few hours the noise subsided into quiet clusters of conversation. Everyone, having eaten their fill, seemed content to sit back and relax. Memories were being shared. After all, this is family. There is a collective memory that is like a finely cut gemstone. One memory with many facets that reflect that memory in many different ways. Each has its own perspective that reveals a new color; a new refraction of the light that produces a unique vision of love and commitment that has continued to grow and thrive through many generations.

So, I sat in the sun and watched, talked and listened. And, I realized that I was doing exactly what I had wished that I could do. I was outside enjoying the sunshine. However, rather than reading a book, a story written by someone else, I was part of this story. A story not written with ink on paper. But, rather, one that is being written on the hearts and in the lives of this small group of people…this family.

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It’s One of Those Mornings

Published by mhelbert on August 15, 2013

I’ve spent the last two days working through ideas that I want to develop for this blog. My brain is churning and broiling like the waves at Wiamea Bay. I’m finding that it’s impossible to create worthwhile content in the couple hours I spend in the mornings. So, I’m going to try to set apart more time in the evenings, too. So much of this is reading and researching what people are talking about. How do people of faith walk in that place where Scripture, tradition and history collide with the culture?

So, forgive me for the sparse posts recently. I hope to improve on this soon.

Perhaps, you have ideas and concerns that we can discuss together!

What are your concerns? How is your understanding of faith and culture impacting how you live and what you do?

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I Am a Rock

Published by mhelbert on August 12, 2013

One of my favorite songs of all time is “I Am a Rock,” by Simon & Garfunkel. When I hear it, I hear a description of me.

I’ve built walls,
A fortress deep and mighty,
That none may penetrate.
I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain.
It’s laughter and it’s loving I disdain.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

I’ve always envied people who, at least from my perspective, seem to have no trouble opening up to others. They have many friends and enjoy spending time with them. I am not one of them. Yeah, I have several people whom I like and get along with. We socialize and sometimes work together. But, they are not folks with whom I share myself. I’ve built walls, a fortress deep and mighty.

Over the years there have been a few people that I have let in. I’ve escorted them inside of my fortress and showed them the tapestries and paintings on the walls. I’ve opened the secret cabinets holding the silver plates and gold-rimmed chalices that I keep there. I have exposed my heart to these. But, like my cat who is socially handicapped, I don’t know when to close doors. In my exuberance to be accepted I hold nothing back. Soon, I find that my exposure is too costly. Either my emotional offering is not returned or, like Hezekiah who revealed his entire treasure to the Babylonian delegation, I find my treasure plundered and carried off.

Don’t talk of love,
But I’ve heard the words before;
It’s sleeping in my memory.
I won’t disturb the slumber of feelings that have died.
If I never loved I never would have cried.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

One would think that I would remember this. But, emotions tend to awaken. They open one eye and gaze about. If that eye spies something interesting, suddenly they become alert and search for ways to sate their desire to share themselves. You see, emotions must be shared. They cannot exist in a vacuum. While one may experience them in private, there is always some object that they are attached to outside of themselves. Taking on a life of their own, the emotions push all other considerations out of the way and present themselves with all of the false modesty and flattery they can muster. After all, one must offer oneself as perfect so that the other person will be impressed. There cannot be any warts or blemishes showing. We cannot risk rejection. Once disturbed from slumber, however, the inevitable journey toward tears begins.

I have my books
And my poetry to protect me;
I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

I’ve written in other places that most of the time I find the company of books preferable to that of people. Books offer refuge. They are worlds in which emotions can live safely. I can wake them and let them out for a little fresh air and sunshine. They really don’t seem to care that books are not reality. They see relationships and trees and flowers and butterflies. They are given a safe environment where they can laugh and cry. And, no one gets hurt.

And a rock feels no pain;
And an island never cries.

“I Am a Rock” lyrics: Copyright: Paul Simon Music, Eclectic Music. http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/simongarfunkel/iamarock.html Accessed: 8/12/2013.

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The Moments that Make Up Our Story

Published by mhelbert on August 9, 2013

Once upon a time…..

The story opens and new worlds and wonders open with it. I love stories. Any kind of stories. Happy ones; not so happy ones. Stories that thrill; stories that sooth. I’m currently reading one of J.K. Rowlings’ Harry Potter books…again. (Yeah, I’m that kind of geek!) I’ve read other fiction by authors as diverse as John Steinbeck and Mario Puzo. I’ve spent hours in non-fiction that only a true bibliophile could plow through. I love the stories found in the Christian bible. Especially, the gospel stories. By far, however, my favorite stories are the ones that happen in real life. These are not written anywhere on paper. They are written in people’s hearts and lives.

My own story has been a mix of triumph and tragedy, like most everyone else’s. If I could graph the peaks of joy and the valleys of sorrow it would resemble the line of an EKG. These show the points at the tops and bottoms that reveal the heart’s function. I’m still amazed that my cardiologist can see the residual effects of the heart attack I had almost 2 years ago just by looking at these points. But, how much attention is given to the lines in between? Isn’t their purpose simply to connect the dots? Maybe. But, in the real life stories that folks have shared with me, the ‘in between’ lines carry the most important meaning.

As I reflect on the form, or graph, of my life I notice that the various points are the goals that I’ve worked toward. The peaks are those goals that have been met successfully. My wedding, the births of my children, my graduation from seminary. The valleys reveal the goals unmet. Vocational choices, some relationships, realizing personal worth. These are the things that I remember. These are the signifiers of my presence in this world. But, they are only points. They are singular events. There is a lot of time in between when nothing seems to be happening. Cutting the grass and doing the dishes. Paying bills and driving to and from work. There are the hours spent in front of the television or reading books. These are the mundane moments; seemingly meaningless.

Over the past year or so, I’ve been learning, slowly learning, that these times in which nothing seems to happening are potentially full of meaning. They are not simply that part of our lives that run on ‘auto pilot.’ They are the moments in which decisions are made that will affect the next peak or valley in our lives. And, if we’re not careful, we can miss these constructive moments. ‘Mindfulness’ and ‘being present’ are terms that some people use to describe the activity of simply paying attention to the moment we’re currently experiencing. I find myself constantly looking ahead to the next thing that I must do. I have this task to complete; that place to go. What’s for supper? (Even though it’s only noon!) How am I going to pay that bill on time? Myriad things vying for my attention right now!

What if I did the dishes simply for the sake of doing the dishes? What if I was truly ‘present’ at the sink? Not allowing my mind to wander off to all of the other things that need to be attended to. Not reflecting on the triumphs and failures of the day prior to this moment. I could pay attention to the suds and the temperature of the water. I would see that spot of whatever that isn’t washing off. My mind would not be cluttered, but would be at rest; free to exist in this one moment that can never be captured or repeated. Then, this moment would be able to have its own significance in the whole of my story.

What are some of your ‘in between’ moments? How do they fit into your story?

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Who Knows the Wind…

Published by mhelbert on August 6, 2013

“The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear the sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going.”

Yesterday, I met with my spiritual director. We get together about once a month and talk. When I first started to meet with him, I voiced a great deal of frustration about where my life had been and where it appeared to be going. I did not see a great deal of God “working” in my life. I had completed seminary and felt that God would somehow open opportunities for me use that education. The months passed, and…nothing. Well, not entirely nothing. I had a heart attack. But, that’s a different chapter in this story. When I shared my feelings with my director, he listened carefully. (I appreciate that in people.) He did not offer answers.

“Sometimes we don’t see what God is doing unless we look back,” was the gist of his response at that time. By this he meant that transformation and maturity usually happens in bits and pieces over time. In our busy-ness we don’t see this happening. We are not ‘mindful’ or present to the way that the Holy Spirit encourages us and draws us ever nearer to the heart of God. “The wind blows wherever it pleases.”

I’ve begun to take his advice and have been reflecting on some things recently. I guess that’s what old, feeble people do. We look back over our lives, the decisions we’ve made, the people we’ve known and loved, (and some we haven’t loved too much!), and consider the legacy we’re leaving. Much of that reflection for me has revealed a long track filled with many train wrecks. Don’t get me wrong, there has been much joy in my life. But, for me, personally it’s been difficult.

I began to realize that not all of who we are as people is revealed in what are referred to as ‘outward’ attributes. Things like relationships, financial stability, jobs and the like. Perhaps, the greatest light shines on our ‘inner’ selves. These are the things that can drive our outward responses and actions. An example would be the frustration and anger that rise to our middle finger as that other idiot on the road cuts us off. I started to look inwardly, into my heart, to see what was there. What I found has encouraged me.

Over the past half dozen years, or so, there has been a growing compassion and empathy for others. Especially, for those who are not like me. Many evangelical churches encourage their members to make ‘unsaved’ friends. The reason for that is so that they can cultivate relationships that would enable them to share their message and, hopefully, get that person ‘saved.’ Well, I’ve found that I have more friends and people I communicate with who would not fit into that ‘born again’ demographic. And, I like them. They are wonderful people who care about others. They laugh and share and enjoy life. I have no intention of ‘preaching’ to any of them. I am, and have, been ready to share my experience with God when the subject comes up. But, there is no pressure on them or me for anything more than simply being together. I’ve found that I can empathize with them. My heart fills with compassion as I listen to them. And, I have the freedom to just be with them. No agenda or ulterior motivation. We are fellow humans, spinning through God’s Good Universe on a big rock. It is good.

Ten years ago, the story would have been much different. I was much less tolerant of others’ differences. I accepted a ‘black and white’ reality that had no room in it for the rainbow of God’s grace. I was angry and my life was a mess. But, God has been faithful and good. In my reflections I see hope. Hope that somehow our good God will continue to walk at my side, guiding me ever-so-gently, into a closer relationship with God and all of God’s Good Creation. “You hear the sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going.”

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One Chapter Ends; A New Chapter Begins

Published by mhelbert on August 1, 2013

Our family has spent the last week cleaning out Dad’s house so that we can sell it. He’ll never be able to move back there. His dementia has settled that issue. He must have 24/7 care. We are unable to provide that care for him. So, he will spend the remainder of his sojourn here in a skilled facility.

We have tried to be careful. So much stuff! So many memories! We have excavated through the layers, each one revealing a sight, a sound, a smell retrieved from the deep recesses of our memories. Laughter and tears originating decades ago rush back and live again in our minds. We found special papers. Baptism certificates for Mom and Dad. Their marriage license and original typed Last Will and Testament. There were the adoption papers for my brother and me. Our own “Ancestry.Com” in a small accordion shaped box. My mother’s jewelry had to be sorted. And, still, almost three years after her passing, we found a cabinet full of her old medications. There were shoes and boots, scarves and other clothing that belonged to her. Dad never could say goodbye. He allowed her ghost to live with him; comforting him.

As their lives piled up in the living room awaiting relocation, I began to wonder how more than 8 decades of life could be reduced to this. I remember being 4 years old and ‘helping’ dad build a fence around our backyard. We would walk to the lake where he taught me to fish and skip stones. Mom would make the world’s best cinnamon rolls. They were small; small enough for my preschooler size fingers to hold onto. Through many years we experienced joy and sorrow. Yet, they gave my brother and me a good life. We have so much to be grateful for. And, now…I gaze on what’s left. I never expected a huge legacy from them. Dad always told me that he made a lot of money, and he spent a lot of money. He lived by that old adage, “you can’t take it with you.”

Yet, that doesn’t make standing over these leftovers from their lives any easier for me. I don’t know. Maybe, it’s because Dad is still with us. I have a recurring fear that he will suddenly become lucid and want to go home. “Uh, Dad…I’ve got some bad news…” But, that will not happen. Besides, he is happy in his new home with his other ‘roommates.’

I guess I shouldn’t feel too badly. After all, this is how they would want us to handle their things. We have to inspect every knick-knack. All of the papers and clutter from Dad’s desk need to be opened and read. We will touch, see, and smell the lives of these two people over and over again. We will laugh, like when my wife found a box of Viagra. And, we will cry as we feel the weight of the years pressing down on us. The dishes that my grandmother passed on to my mom have found yet another temporary home with us. Eventually, they will move along to another generation. Mom and Dad will live on in us, our children, and their children. The thread drawn from the spool, pulled ever forward.

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Shame on Me

Published by mhelbert on July 10, 2013

Relationships are difficult for me. To begin with, most of the time I’m far more comfortable with books than with people. Books can transport me to other worlds; other eras. They do not have unrealistic expectations of me. Nor, do I of them. We can be friends. People, on the other hand, always have some expectations. They have their own agendas that may or may not be in the best interests of anyone else. These relationships are messy. I don’t like messes. I’m not comfortable sharing my space with others. Over the years I’ve constructed thick barriers around myself in order to protect me from the mess, the hurt and unwanted intrusions that invariably force their way into my life.

Yet, God seems to desire that we humans live within a community. At the very beginning of God’s self-revealing are the words, “It’s not good for humans to be alone.” I find that even in my solitude, my self-willed ‘aloneness,’ there is a place in my heart that desires companionship. Honestly, I try to fight that. I’ve fought hard. There are very few people that I let into my life, my heart, even a little. And, no one with whom I’m totally available to or vulnerable with. But, why? I know some people who seem to have no problems being open with others. They are the ones who can make friends easily. They are the ones who can talk openly about themselves. In some ways I envy them.

I haven’t always been this conflicted. I wrote a little about that here. There was a time when I was a happy kid who trusted people. I enjoyed being with friends playing at the rocky beach of Lake Erie near my home. We built forts in the woods and rode bikes. We raced HO gauge cars and built model airplanes. In those days, I would have never been caught with a book in my hands. I had to be outside with my pals.

As I reflect on this perceived paradox, both desiring solitude and companionship, there is one thing that continues to surface. As time moved forward I began to notice that sometimes the things I said and did hurt others. I found that my tongue was a useful weapon. Without thinking I would unsheathe it and cut someone deeply. And, I felt shame. Shame…that is the one thing that I keep coming back to. One definition of that word is stated as “a painful emotion caused by consciousness of guilt, shortcoming, or impropriety.” Yeah, I can see that as a ‘catch all’ definition. Whether real or perceived, some word or action causes one to feel guilty. The shame gene kicks in and gives shame the emotional impetus to rise to the top of our consciousness. As Pink Floyd sang, “Another brick in the wall.”

Another definition that I found, however, I think gets closer to the issue. I read this quote on another blog recently. It comes from a book that I’ve not read yet. The author, Brené Brown, wrote in her book Daring Greatly, that shame can be viewed as the “fear of disconnection — it’s the fear that something we’ve done or failed to do, an ideal that we’ve not lived up to, or a goal that we’ve not accomplished makes us unworthy of connection.” Fear? I thought we were talking about shame! I think that Brown has captured something profound. We hide our guilt. The shame emotion drives us to do that. We certainly don’t want anyone else on the planet to know what kinds of nasties are living in our hearts. And, we don’t want our dirty laundry hung up for everyone and anyone to see and judge our uncleanness. So, the fear of losing relationships or the connectedness that God built into humanity causes the shame that covers our guilt. But, shame also builds walls. The very fear of losing our place in the community becomes the thing that breaks community. No wonder I’m such a basket case! I feel like Dr. Doolittle’s pushmi-pullyu.

What to do? Actually, I’m not sure. That’s something that I continue to consider. There are some who would say that I just need to have faith and God will set things right. Besides being an overly simplistic approach, I’ve tried it. It doesn’t help. Others may suggest that confession is good for the soul. Yeah, but confession may also break community. Perhaps, practicing vulnerability. After all, shame tends to make one take great pains to keep from being vulnerable. We’ll look at this later.

What do you think? Are there any folks out there who can relate to these things? Or, am I the only person who has these issues? Please leave a comment and let’s think through this together.

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