Our choices determine how we respond to crisis

           I think that crisis brings out in all of us an exaggeration of the things that we've practiced daily, both the good and the bad.  We become more fully the people we have chosen to be, with all of our good qualities and all of our challenges when things are stressful.  That means that strong people can become stronger, kind and compassionate people become more so, generous people tend to step up, and people who are good under stress show themselves to be capable and hard working. People under stress can live more fully into being the best that they are, especially if they are trusted to do so, expected to step up and become the people they are called to be, meant to be.  Unfortunately, people who have acted out badly in the past to deal with discomfort, people who have not built up the skills to handle challenges can end up acting out in extreme ways their personality issues during times of crisis as well.
            On an individual level, I've watched several people in my life deal with difficult diseases.  In one case, the person tended towards victimization before the illness struck and she embodies that to a much greater degree.  She sees herself being mistreated in every situation and, as the disease progresses, she becomes more helpless, more quick to blame, attack and accuse, and more prone to dwell on previous insults whether they were real or simply perceived.  Another person with the exact same illness is acting the opposite way: continuing to be positive, to have good humor, to be kind and gentle, even as he grieves the limitations that the disease is imposing on him.  It is difficult to watch and see that personal choices throughout one's life about how to be in crisis, how to face challenges, how to walk through difficulties, are manifesting in these exaggerated ways when those with these illnesses have less choice later on about how they will react.  It is hard to not proclaim to the first person, "you could still be choosing differently!  You would be happier if you chose to see how you do have power rather than focusing on the places you don't!" But I know that a lifetime of choosing predominantly to focus on her limitations has engrained in her very being a pattern that will not allow her, now, in this time of decline, to choose a different perspective.  In contrast, the man with the same disease has also had a lifetime habit of looking for the good, seeing the humor in life, and treating others with kindness.  And his lifetime choices are also manifesting in this pattern of response to crisis.
          I've watched this with people "out in the world" as well.  Some people are becoming angrier during this time, more confrontive, more attacking; while others have become kinder, more compassionate, more caring.  My guess is that again, those acting out that hatred and anger were people who chose to respond this way before the crisis.  The crisis has just exaggerated this behavior.  As I take walks around my neighborhood, I've experienced some people being kinder, saying "hello" as we pass, laughing with me about the situation we are currently in.  I've also had people in cars drive by cursing and screaming obscenities for no apparent reason.  This crisis has brought the best out in some, and the worst out in others.  Still, these are choices that people are making.  And every time I do hear someone yelling or being nasty to someone else, I want to say to them, "this day you choose if what you give to the world is kind or hurtful.  Why are you choosing to give harm today instead of something good?"
           This doesn't just happen at an individual level, but in communities as well.  I think about one of the congregations I served in for a time. Every church has its challenges, every church has its problems, and every church has members in it who "act out" behaviors such as gossip, power-mongering, and a desire for drama that can lead to dissentious behavior and even splits in congregations.  In this particular church, when crisis hit, the congregation did an incredible job of banding together, of supporting one another, of caring for one another.  As a congregation, they had practiced kindness, always, regularly.  When crisis hit, then, they did what they knew best how to do, and they still practiced kindness and compassion.  Still, there were a few members who went into negative, destructive behaviors in response to the stress of the crisis.  At first their acting out was extremely upsetting to me.  But what I saw in this congregation utterly and completely amazed me.  Because it was a healthy community, the "acting out" behavior was given no power.  The gossip did not take root and spread into poison.  The dramatic demands for people to "choose sides" did not morph into anything concrete.  The congregation simply did not empower the bad behavior.  As a result, the few truly dissentious people in the community ended up leaving.  This was not reassuring to me.  The usual understanding of systems of behavior suggests that if one person leaves the group structure or family "mobile", that undoubtedly someone else will rise to take their place.  Family systems theory says that if a person who is acting out badly leaves a community, they will be replaced with someone else acting out in a similar way.  But again, in this very healthy congregation, in a crisis situation, that simply did not happen.  I think, again, using systems theory, that the mobile had never made room for this behavior.  The choices of the community were to not empower that behavior at any time, and that choice continued into the crisis situation.  The difficult pieces had never claimed a real place in the mobile.  We worked through the crisis time, therefore, and the church continued to be a loving, caring, supportive place.  The people who left did so feeling that surely their leaving would impact the church in the way they had tried to do so by being problematic when they were part of the community.  But instead, the feeling I got from most of the members was one of relief that those who tried to incite disruption were no longer there to do so.
       As we know, this could have gone the other way.  In communities where unhealthy and problematic behavior has taken hold, has become part of the DNA, has carved out a place for itself in the system mobile, problems can often grow.  When people in a group thrive on being key players in drama, where bullying is rewarded, and choosing polarizing sides becomes the norm; crisis situations provide fertile ground for painful implosion and turmoil.
        Our society right now is under incredible stress.  Nothing is normal, nothing is what it was or as it has been.  And we are seeing different responses to that stress, as individuals, as small communities and in the larger communities of state, country and world.  How we will respond to crisis will vary.  Some will act out with insensitivity, a failure to self-reflect or to learn, violence, anger, and hate.  Others will use this time to deepen as communities, to build networks of support, care and love, to step into new ways of doing things that are more inclusive and kind, to learn and connect with others in different ways.  Each of these must start with the individuals that we are, with the choices that each person in a community makes.  Then, as a community of individuals strives for compassion, forgiveness, understanding and communication, those communities will grow, learn and become what they are called to be.  In places where dissention is exacerbated and fed through behaviors such as gossip, intolerance, and violence of word or deed, communities will be disrupted and may fail or become more entrenched in unhealthy behaviors.  We will have to make some choices about who we choose to be during this time.   And that has to start with each one of us.
             Who will I be this day?  What behaviors do I want to practice in my person that will be habits that may be hard to break in the future?  How do I want to respond to crisis?  And how do I want to choose to interact with those around me when they are upset, acting out of crisis, or misbehaving?  Can I love and support a person without exacerbating their worst behaviors, passing on or even acting out gossip?  Can I care about someone without feeling I have to choose sides?  Can I respond to anger and violence with peace and love?  Can I take a step back from drama and choose to see a bigger picture, a picture that recognizes the stress of this time and chooses to be a grounded voice of peace?  These are questions we will not only have to ask ourselves in the larger context, but perhaps in each moment of every day.  The answers to those questions will determine the future of our communities.  May you have the space within you to listen for the Spirit's guidance in this day.

The Craziness of Stressed People

         The last five days I have been the constant victim of what has felt like emotional hit-and-runs.  People who are usually very nice have, one after another, returned to the "pastor as punching bag" mentality: saying nasty things, dropping little bombs and then running away. Perhaps they didn't all mean it in this way.  But that is certainly how it has felt.  And I admit, after five days of this, I hit my wall and just had to come home and regroup.  And while I don't like being the punching bag, while I don't think it helps or serves anyone to aim one's pain out at another person and attack them, at the same time, I'm aware that all of this, both the comments and the way in which I have felt them, is simply a reflection of the huge amount of stress that we are all experiencing at this point in time.
        Regardless of what one feels or believes about the current reaction to this particular situation, when the world goes into crisis mode and daily life is affected by the decisions made in order to deal with the crisis, all of us experience stress, to one degree or another.  For some that stress is pure fear, moving them into a survival mode way of being, where they are stocking up on toilet paper and hand sanitizers.  For people like me, the stress has more to do with the added work of addressing the recommendations of closing my place of business (the church), and trying to fly my daughter home from her college since it is being closed for the school year.  It has to do with making decisions based on partial knowledge about what is best for my communities of people - my congregation and my family.
       People are stressed.  And they are acting that out in a variety of ways.  One of those ways is rage: and that rage finds easy targets in the people who represent some kind of authority.  Regardless of how big or small our actual authority is, the people around us want those of us in those positions to fix this, to remove the stress, the fear, the pain.  They know that we can't, though, so instead, they turn their fear and anxiety into criticisms.
       I understand this.  My mind, my body, my heart - I understand this at a very deep level.  I, too, want the stress to just go away.  I want life to return to "normal."  But I can't make that happen.  So I live with the situation as it is now, but as I walk this daily path of challenge and increased anxiety, I am finding some things that are helpful as I, too, strive to not allow my anxiety to turn into an anger or edginess that will harm those near me.
        For me, the first thing that helps is exercise: for me there are two forms of exercise that especially help.  The first is walking - getting out, breathing the clean air of the trees and parks and forests.  The second is dancing.  And while this is normally seen as a social activity, turning on music in the house and dancing around seems to work pretty well all in itself.  The second is contact with other people.  And while that is limited right now because of the particular stressors we are experiencing, the gift of the phone and the internet is that even when we are apart, we can connect with one another.  For me, writing, praying, journaling is extremely helpful.  Laughter and singing are always healing and helpful exercises, so finding funny things on the internet, choosing to see the humor in life, looking for, seeking out and practicing joy - all of these are very helpful.  Meditation is always healing and centering.  And finally, taking the time to be grateful, to write down the good things which fill our lives even in this challenging and difficult time can remind us of why we have so much more to celebrate than to fear.
       In this country we move very easily from fear and anxiety into rage.  But rage usually finds targets in those around us: people we love, people we value.  Maybe your rage is targeting people you don't value as much, but it behooves us to remember that those people are also people, just the same.  And that just as kindness is contagious, anger can be too: we don't want to start that ball rolling.  So my final suggestion to all of us during this time is that we take the time to breathe.  Breathe in the air that has kept you going each and every moment.  Breathe and remember that each breathe is not guaranteed: that these are gifts for which we can be thankful.  Breathe before you speak.  Breathe before you act.  Breathe before you forget that we are all in this together and that kindness, once again, is the only way to get through this whole.  Breathe.  And then walk into the day with courage, hope, faith, and most especially love for each other, for yourselves, and for this beautiful crazy world that has brought us into being, and will bring each of us out as well.  We never know when.  We never know how.  But we have today.  Breathe in it, and go into the world reflecting the grace that has given you this day.

Watching our fledglings leave the nest

         I've been feeling very down lately.  Anxious, sad, stressed, depressed.
         Lonely.
         I couldn't figure out why.  Yes, we've experienced an important family death lately.  But I felt that didn't really account for the level of my anxiety and sadness.  It certainly didn't make sense to me that I'd be feeling lonely while surrounded by family, while reconnecting with family folk I haven't seen in forever, while anticipating my daughter coming home from school for winter break.
        But then I remembered that it was that time of year which is always hard for me, or has been for the past 9 years.  9 years ago my life changed radically and I went from being a partnered person caring for my three thriving kids into a solo mom dealing with tragedy and stress and loss and trying to help my kids through the same.  This time of year, every year, I feel this way.  I think that our bodies remember, our bodies house those memories associated with season and time, even when we don't consciously remember what is triggering our feelings.
        But this year is also different for me in another way.  My eldest daughter has "gotten it together," is leaving the nest, is spreading her wings, making friends at school, not calling as often and certainly not needing my help or support as much. She is learning well how to "adult," and she is stepping into doing what needs to be done on her own, she is living her awesome, beautiful life in ways I don't even begin to understand.  She is connecting deeply to others, to her peers.  She is doing it right.  She is doing what we all hope our kids will do - stepping into being her own person and taking flight.
       The truth is that I am struggling with it.  When I became a mother, even though I was working and still had friends and other family to occupy my time, I moved into a new identity.  My primary identity became that of being a mother.  I love being a mother.  I think about my children constantly, even when I am not with them, they are the lights of my life, my biggest joys, my greatest gifts and the raising of them has been my biggest accomplishment.  This became doubly so when I became a solo mom.  They were where my focus had to be.  Their concerns became my largest challenges.  Their needs and fears and sufferings took the largest part of my attention. Truthfully everything I did, and have done ever since, including working, has been to make sure they have what they need and are okay as they step into life.  I had to do this, or they would not have become the healthy, happy, well-adjusted kids (in the face of and despite great crisis) that they have become.  The fact that my eldest is thriving in school and in her life is in part a testimony to the depth of love and support I gave her that has enabled her to bloom, to work through her losses, and to grow into a beautiful young woman.  I know this.  I can't take full credit, and I won't.  We were surrounded and continue to be surrounded by a community of helpful, caring people and they have credit too.  Eldest herself also needs to take a lot of credit, for being willing to do the work, to grow, to learn, and to step forward.  But I can claim a piece of it.  They know they are loved beyond measure.  They know they are more important than anything to me, and that I would do anything to make sure they are healthy and happy.  That knowledge and that experience has made a difference in their ability to move and grow and live.
       Still, I find myself feeling a little bit like Shel Silverstein's Giving Tree.  When they were born I gave them my apples, fed them off of the sweat and tears of my work and my care.  But when we went through crisis I gave them not only the branches, but my very trunk so that they might survive and thrive.  Again, I made a choice to do what I believed was necessary for them to be okay.  And it has paid off for them.  But now I am the stump, especially where my eldest is concerned.  I am waiting for her to come home and rest for awhile on that stump that is me before she leaves again for other adventures.  And this is a sad and hard thing for me.  I won't change it.  I will not ever choose to hold her back from her dreams and adventures, from her living her life as fully as she can.  But I am lonely for my eldest daughter.  And, at some level, for my other two children as they become independent teen-agers.
       I think about the olive tree in our back yard.  We cut down this huge olive tree because it was blocking the window, causing problems on the roof, was creating great mess both in the yard and tracked into our house, and, most importantly, it was creating pollens which were making my son (with his allergies to olive pollen) very sick.  We cut it down to a stump, and yet it has not given up.  Hundreds of new branches continue to sprout from the sides of the stump each year.  Each year that tree makes it clear that it belongs there and has no intention of dying.  I know that I can choose to be a stump like the olive tree: to find new ways to grow and thrive once my kids are gone.  I can invest more in other relationships now and to find my purpose, meaning and identity in my work and other activities.  I can and I will.
       I also know, though, that this still involves grief. Every change is a loss at some level.  And grief is a natural part of watching our kids grow and leave the nest.
       Today I am grieving my daughter.  Even as I am proud of her and grateful for who she is becoming, I am grieving our closeness, her needing me, her dependence.  I am grieving being the person she was closest to whom she loved the most.  I am grieving the primary identity I had as Eldest's mom.  I will always be her mom, but it can't be who I am first and foremost anymore.  My life has to be more about other things now, and less focused on her.
        I know most parents go through this, and I know that I, too, will survive it.  Being a parent is about self-less love.  We don't do it to have people always around us who will love and care for us.  We give of ourselves and watch the blooms grow that are our children.  I am so grateful to be mother to my three wonderful kids.  The grief is just a small part of that.  But I am naming it today in the hopes that others who might be feeling similarly know they are not alone.  And to name for myself that the sadness I'm feeling is okay.  It's a testimony to the depth of the love I gave and give still.  And for that I am grateful.