The Liebster Award!

Well. Right after I made my “50 Followers! Thank you!” post, I got nominated for The Liebster Award! And I felt rather embarrassed at the thought of following one “yay me!” post directly with another. Ha! So I worked on other things and took my time putting this together because it has a number of fun, detailed steps. Many thanks to From Toddler to Traveler for the nomination!

Apparently the Liebster Award is something conducted by The Global Aussie each year in an effort to promote new blogs and, in the case of one lucky blogger, receive a prize! If nominated, you earn the right to display a pretty badge on your website, and you get to play along–answering questions, nominating other bloggers, and writing interesting questions for them to answer. So, without further ado… here we go!

Liebster Award 2018

General Rules

  1. Thank the person who nominated you and leave a link to their blog. Thank you so much, From Toddler to Traveler!
  2. Include a link back to The Global Aussie’s original Liebster Award post in your Liebster Award post.
  3. Display the award on your blog. The Global Aussie has several badges to choose from!
  4. Write a small post about what makes you passionate about blogging. (This may not be a part of the original official rules but I’m happy to oblige anyway. 🙂 )
  5. Provide 10 Random Facts about Yourself. (Again, not sure if this is original, but fun!)
  6. Answer 11 questions from the blog that nominated you.
  7. Nominate 5-11 blogs.
  8. Give the new nominees 11 questions to answer.
  9. Inform the people who have been nominated regarding their nomination.

 

10 Random Facts About Myself

  1. I was homeschooled K-12.
  2. I have six younger siblings (seven, if you consider the one miscarriage my mom had <3).
  3. I have lived all over the U.S. in 8 different states: Idaho, Washington, Montana, Tennessee, Indiana, Wisconsin, Oklahoma, and Pennsylvania. I’ve visited or driven through a number of others as well!
  4. I’ve taught a few different subjects in a few different capacities: Latin, English writing/grammar/poetry, and Medieval history.
  5. I have a B.A. in three different majors: English, Music, and Classical Studies. The nerdery runs deep!!
  6. My alma mater is Hanover College… which is also the alma mater of V.P. Mike Pence and Woody Harrelson.
  7. I have strong OCD tendencies (better now than they were 15 years ago) and probably some leanings toward BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder–although this also seems to have decreased with time and love).
  8. I volunteer for an incredible organization called She’s Somebody’s Daughter. They work to raise awareness of issues related to sex trafficking and abuse and reach out to women trapped in the adult entertainment industry to share a message of love and hope–that a woman’s worth is so much more than whatever she can do with her body–or has been made to do.
  9. I’m an indentured cat-lover for life.
  10. I LOVE video games. This often creates just a slight awkwardness in mixed company when the men bring up their latest gaming adventures–and I jump right in with mine.

 

The 11 Questions I Was Given

  1. What’s one thing you didn’t know about blogging that surprised you? That bloggers LIKE conversing with random strangers! I can wander into any blog I’ve never encountered before and start leaving comments right and left, and they’re appreciated and responded to. I don’t have to be accepted as a “friend” or any such thing first–big change in dynamic for someone steeped in Facebook protocol!
  2. What is your least favorite thing about blogging? The anxiety of working on a post I’m very excited about and being constantly interrupted as I write by *coughCertainPeoplecough* so that my train of thought breaks and I can’t just knock it out and finish it. ;D
  3. If you had a superpower, what would it be and why? I thought about this A LOT in high school and college. Back then, it was a tie between being a ninja-type with knives who could melt into the shadows and dodge anything, and a “glass cannon” of some sort. Probably now it’s just the latter: I can wind myself up to make quite an impact on whatever I set my mind to, but afterwards I’m completely spent and liable to fall apart.
  4. What is your “last meal” meal, i.e. what would you eat if you knew it would be your last meal? Gosh, I have WAY too many favorite foods to settle on just one. In reality, if I knew it would actually be my last meal, I would probably completely lose my appetite and not be able to eat anything. What’s the point, after all? Just get it over with! But, if I had to pick a current favorite meal, it’s probably a tie between Pad Thai and my own recipe for fettuccine alfredo with brussels sprouts, pistachios, and roasted grapes!
  5. Plane, train, or automobile? Automobile.
  6. What’s your favorite “cocktail party” story? Heh heh. I’m a mom of preschoolers married to a computer programmer. Cocktail parties are not my native habitat. But, if I were in the highly unlikely situation of being at a cocktail party AND pressed for a story, I might describe the incident in which my mother-in-law spilled a child’s sippy cup full of milk all over herself, the couch, and my son ten minutes before I had to run out the door… because she sucked the lid right off while trying to drink her breakfast. 8D
  7. Tell me a joke (PG, please, there are little ears around). Gosh, I never tell jokes! Most of my humor these days resorts to tickling and making fart noises… or, if I’m lucky, one-liners in adult company where someone else provides the set-up (and does most of my work for me). Here’s my (stupidly nerdy) best attempt off the cuff: what does “Semper ubi sub ubi” mean in Latin? “Always where under where!” 😉
  8. What was your worst vacation and why? Ha! Well, growing up, we **never** vacationed… and I haven’t really had a bad one since moving out or getting married. But I guess you could say the vacation we took right after my favorite childhood pet died was pretty hard, and not at all as fun as it could have been for me… that loss weighed on me terribly for weeks and weeks and made it very hard to appreciate anything else.
  9. Let’s say you could travel with your favorite Disney character. Who would you travel with and why? Emperor Kuzco. For so many nerdy and ridiculous reasons… but let’s keep it simple and just say that llama knows how to navigate a jungle. And waterfalls.
  10. If you could invent one tool to make your life easier, what would it be? A diaper-changing, butt-wiping robot.
  11. What is your favorite kind of candy? Hmmmm, it’s usually a toss-up between Butterfinger and Peanutbutter M&Ms. The use of the word “butt” in these candy names has nothing to do with the answer to the preceding question.

 

Nominated Blogs: Here are 9!

  • Natalie Greenfield: this is the blog of my childhood best friend–a woman who, as I found out decades after we had moved apart, suffered three years of sexual abuse as a child at the hands of a border in her own home. Since those dark days, Natalie has grown into an incredibly strong, talented, and loving woman who advocates for abuse awareness while raising four young children and partnering in deep vulnerability and respect with her tireless, adoring husband. Her story is well worth knowing.
  • Rachel’s blog spot: I love this girl. I love her poetry, I love her music (y’all, she just posted a BEAUTIFUL original song–and I’m an intense critic!), and I love her message. It’s the sweetness of Jesus melting on my tongue every time I check her blog. Thank you, Rachel.
  • Look for Little Helpers: A cheery, sweet platform for encouraging compassionate, thoughtful community involvement *that includes our children* and teaches them not only to “look for the helpers” (thank you Mr. Rogers <3) but to be helpers. Wonderfully positive message!
  • BlendedDad: I REALLY appreciate this realistic, level-headed, humble, and grace-rooted approach to the hardship of divorce, blended families, and toxic family members. Recommended.
  • Silently Screaming: Valdelo writes with gripping sincerity and vulnerability about her experience of miscarriage after IVF. She conveys a depth and complexity of emotion in startlingly few words. The effect is an immersive, resonant, beautifully crafted narrative.
  • The Things of Every Day: A wonderfully sweet, genuine, minimalistic look at what really matters in life and parenting and how to cultivate it with tender, mindful care. Nikki’s appreciation for the beauty in every moment and her refusal to water down the experience of misfortune at the same time are so refreshing.
  • White Privilege Syllabus: SO GOOD. I’ve had little time to read much here because the posts are *chock full* of important, complicated, difficult concepts that deserve careful attention and consideration. Be warned, it will probably feel like a punch to the gut at first if you’re white. But if you lean into it, I think there is *so much* to be gained by listening to this voice.
  • Sall Good in the End: I love how detailed, thorough, and confident Sarah’s posts are! She writes about mental health–both her personal, cross-cultural experience of it as a second-generation Indian living in Canada, and about what she is learning through therapy/counseling and self-study. She is a strong voice advocating for our global need to treat this as a real problem: with respect, compassion, and understanding.
  • Sheikah Plate: Gotta end with my favorite “just for ludicrous fun!” blogger! Teri Mae is seriously a-*dork*-able (in my family that is a TOTAL affectionate compliment so please take it as such!) with her take on recipes from Breath of the Wild, the latest Legend of Zelda video game, and SO knowledgable about cooking and all-things-nerdery. She has fabulous pictures, spot-on game-referencing graphics, an endearingly cheeky writing style–oh, and did I mention that her recipe for Salmon Meuniere was de-licious?! Yeah, you gotta try Sheikah Plate–even if you know nothing about video games. 🙂

 

Questions for New Nominees!

  1. What is your go-to technique for calming nerves–your own or others–in stressful situations?
  2. What is your favorite food?
  3. Do you prefer academia or practical skills?
  4. Current favorite TV show?
  5. If you could change one thing about the world you live in, what would it be?
  6. Pet peeve?
  7. How do you cultivate empathy in your relationships?
  8. Dream job?
  9. Go-to catch phrase when you’re pleased with something:
  10. What do you want to be remembered for?
  11. Who do you most want to read your blog?

 

I enjoyed putting this together so much! And I hope you enjoyed the little peek into my world–but I especially hope you check out the blogs I nominated and enjoy getting to know these fabulous, fabulous people! They have enriched my life in so. many. ways!

Gritty grins ’til next time,

–GM

 

Comfort *requires* physical touch.

The Necessity of Shared Sorrow

My son's heart wasn't the only broken one.

Heartbreak

When my youngest child was diagnosed with a (minor) heart defect, I held it together all through the four-hour visit to the specialist’s office and even after we arrived back home. I went upstairs to put the boys down for naps while my husband filled my mother-in-law in (she had watched J for us all morning and was anxiously awaiting news of Eyes), explaining that the need for a couple relatively non-invasive surgeries was a possibility some years down the road, but nothing was certain; and Eyes’ quality of life was certainly unlikely to be negatively affected. Really, this was the best news we could ask for after our pediatrician noticed his heart murmur.

All day I had worked hard to focus on this positive and not give in to grief. Why was grief necessary, after all? I had an obviously happy, healthy boy in every other respect, and the heart condition was so minor, it might not ever need treatment. And if it did, we had all the tools we needed to fix it, thereby eliminating what could have been, in a previous century, a sudden, inexplicable death at age 15.

I came downstairs, afraid to look at my MIL because I knew her compassion would give my fear and sadness an opening. I was right. She looked right at me, her face somber, and asked, “How are you doing?”

I looked away and started an explanation of how it really wasn’t too bad; it was manageable; really everything had every reason to be ok. I got maybe two sentences in before I choked up and couldn’t talk any more. The tears leaking between my eyelids scared me.

Mom came over and gave me a big, long hug. She didn’t say anything. She understood; she grieved with me.

We had suffered a loss–not of life, certainly, but of normalcy and security and stability. Pete Scazzero writes in Emotionally Healthy Spirituality about how losses of every sort need to be mourned appropriately. If you don’t, you haven’t acknowledged or understood the truth of the damage. And if you don’t acknowledge and understand the truth of harm done, as both Milan and Kay Yerkovich and Dr. Laura Markham point out, you will carry that harm around with you–physically, in your body–and allow it to further damage yourself and others.

Mom kept me from doing that by stepping into my unsettling, foreboding, intimidating emotional state. She entered my grief and took it up for herself. In that moment, I experienced the greatest possible comfort.


 

Comfort *requires* physical touch.

Shared Sorrow Allows Secure Relationship

I don’t know why the act of sharing sadness is so edifying–but it is. Perhaps someday I will uncover the mechanism behind the clock face, but for now, I’m just grateful to have discovered a reliable truism that fills an incredibly deep need in myself and others.

However, promoting the benefits of this way of relating, enormous though they be, is an uphill battle.

Shared sadness is an highly undesirable emotional state in modern America. We feel immense guilt over the idea of burdening someone else with a negative experience. Yet this is one of the the most powerful, effective ways to love another person–BOTH by sharing our honest internal state AND by absorbing that state into our own consciousness for the sake of authentic communion.

In fact, it sounds and feels much to me like the communal meal Jesus shared with his friends the night before he died. We perform the physical act of eating and drinking in church even today in order to attune ourselves physically to Christ’s emotional state the night before he died: his fear of death, his unstoppable love of humanity, his grief at parting, his security in his purpose, his conviction of the goodness in the divine plan at work, his disappointment in being betrayed… so many emotions distilled into bread and wine, served to his friends, meant to be shared. It was a symbolic representation of his sacrifice, yes, but I think it was also an invitation to know his heart in all its complexity–just as he knew theirs, knows ours.

Authentic relationship requires open emotional depth. The disciples might not have known what was going to happen, but I think they understood the evening was special, meaningful–and sad.

The act of sharing an emotional state--positive or negative--nurtures relationship and nourishes hearts.


 

Quiet company is essential for entering another's grief.

Practical Communion

When we do nothing but refer hurting loved ones to Scripture, the grand divine plan at work, or the abstract “goodness” of the Lord, we skip this indispensable step, and our attempts at comfort and edification fall apart. Instead of building up, we deconstruct. Many folk have examined the narrative of Job to explain this, but suffer me to review it briefly once more:

“When Job’s three friends, Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite and Zophar the Naamathite, heard about all the troubles that had come upon him, they set out from their homes and met together by agreement to go and sympathize with him and comfort him. When they saw him from a distance, they could hardly recognize him; they began to weep aloud, and they tore their robes and sprinkled dust on their heads. Then they sat on the ground with him for seven days and seven nightsNo one said a word to him, because they saw how great his suffering was.” (Job 2:11-33, NIV, emphasis added)

Job’s friends entered into his state of grief: they sympathized. They offered comfort–how? By tearing their clothes, crying aloud, and dusting their heads. Then they stayed by Job’s side for a week. All this time they didn’t offer a word of insight, commentary, criticism, or advice.

None of this looks at all like the modern American description of “comfort.” Usually, “comfort” is synonymous with “distraction” and “reliving the good times” or perhaps “alleviating the symptoms of distress.” But Job’s friends couldn’t alleviate a thing, and attempts to distract or recall the good old days probably would have gotten them thrown out of his house. What actually gave him any comfort and support was their empathy: their ability to experience misery alongside him. To weep with those who weep (Romans 12:15).

Did Job’s friends focus on comfort and sympathy exclusive to all else? The rest of the narrative tells us no. But they sure spent a danged lotta time and effort on it before anything else.


 

Let's examine academic explanations of comfort.

The Foundational Need For Comfort

In the talk my husband and I heard by Dr. Markham, she outlined three steps for responding to a child’s tantrum in an emotionally perceptive, helpful way. This is my summary:

  1. Calm — Soothe an upset child through physical touch; limited, quiet speech; time away from the problem area/people; and the reassurance of your affectionate presence (which is NOT the same thing as approval for poor behavior).
  2. Connect — Once the child’s emotions have settled down, he or she can truly hear you, so now is the time to discuss what prompted the outburst. ONLY gather information to understand your child’s inner state in this phase and relate to it; this is NOT the time to correct poor behavior or offer advice.
  3. Problem-Solve — Now that the child has had your help to physically calm his or her body and knows you compassionately understand and relate to the struggles that led to a tantrum, he or she is in a state to trust your guidance in resolving those struggles appropriately (and making amends where necessary). The focus is on helping your child live a more fulfilling, abundant life secure in love rather than merely curbing bad behavior–which, in fact, will decrease naturally as a child experiences your help and develops trust in your instruction.

My husband and I both thought this was brilliant–and, as he said shortly after the talk, it’s an approach with broad applications to relationships in general, including adult relationships. Milan and Kay Yerkovich think similarly when they describe the three necessary aspects of comfort that people–both children and adults–need to experience in order to develop a secure relationship (How We Love, pp. 15-17):

  1. Physical touch — “Significant studies have shown the incredible importance of touch on a baby’s development.² If you have a memory of comfort, was your parent hugging you or holding you? Was there tenderness, and were you soothed? Some parents touch and hold babies and toddlers but then stop offering nurturing physical contact as their children get older. Yet touch is and remains a vital component of true comfort.”
  2. Being listened to — “Second, was at least one of your parents able to listen and help you talk about what was upsetting to you? Parents who are good listeners ask questions so they can understand what is going on in their child’s heart and mind. . . . ‘You look sad. What’s bothering you?’ ‘I know you don’t want to go, but help me understand why not.’* These kinds of requests tell us someone is interested in our hearts. It’s even better when the feelings we then share are confirmed as appropriate, reasonable, or understandable.” (*Dr. Markham astutely notes that such examples of overtly recognizing feelings only work well with children up to a certain age; after that, it’s more appropriate to note subtly that something isn’t right and offer to listen, then relate.)
  3. Relief from conflict — “When we were children, if someone noticed we were having a hard time and offered us a safe place to share our troubles, we felt seen and valuable. Being touched and being listened to brings relief. If we felt sad and our parents listened to what was troubling us and held us as we cried, we felt soothed. If we were able to express our frustration and someone listened and responded, we felt relief.” And, on page 14, “How was conflict handled in your family? For example, was there a time when you were not getting along with one of your parents of when stress of a specific problem caused a lot of tension in the family? Did disagreement leave you feeling alone and disconnected to your parents or family? If you were fortunate enough to be part of a family that acknowledged problems and successfully resolved them, you learned an important lesson: when conflict ruptures a relationship, repairing it brings relief.¹ If, when you were young, you experienced the relief that comes with resolving disagreements, you will seek that same experience in your marriage as an adult. If not, when things go wrong in your relationships, you may have difficulty expressing yourself, finding solutions, and feeling relief.”

Isn’t it remarkable how two different sets of professionals from different backgrounds and different areas of expertise came to exactly the same conclusion? I don’t think they even reference each others’ work! Despite differences in phraseology, the principles all match up. They also bear striking resemblances to the reaction of my mother-in-law as well as Job’s friends.


 

How does God comfort me in grief?

Where Is God In Sorrow?

I did not experience any part of these three phases of comfort for most of my childhood. Therefore, once I reached adulthood, I had no idea how to seek or receive comfort from another human being, much less offer it myself. It’s taken me over a decade to really start figuring it out, and it has affected all my relationships–including, very noticeably, my relationship with Jesus.

I’ve been a completely-inadequate-but-desperate-to-try God-pleaser most of my life, almost as far back as I can remember–largely, almost wholly out of fear. I didn’t experience comfort-through-conflict in relationships with humans until I was 20. Wouldn’t you know, though, that was through an internship with InterVarsity USA, and it gave me a rubric for understanding how God might have an interest in comforting me–and, more importantly, an actual capacity to do so all along through the messiness of my life. The details of how this realization worked itself out has taken ten years even to get to where I am now, and the lesson isn’t close to finished, so this isn’t a good time to elaborate on my progress so far; the cool thing, though, is that at this point in my life, I FINALLY have a way to understand HOW, when terrible things happen, God is still good.

This may seem unrelated to everything else I’ve discussed so far, but bear with me; it’s not.


 

The comfort we receive from our parents--or lack thereof--greatly impacts our understanding of divine comfort.

Experiencing Divine Comfort

I never experienced much, if any, sympathy from my parents when they allowed or witnessed something bad to happen to me–not for something I deserved that they inflicted, nor for something that happened to me outside of their control that I didn’t have coming at all. I was just expected to grin (or not, if I was in trouble) and bear it. Therefore, I naturally assumed God has the same attitude toward me.

He doesn’t.

When things go wrong–terrible things like cancer, chronic illness, death, abandonment, abuse, neglect, on and on–that Jesus lets happen or (shudder) somehow *intends* to happen, as with Job–he sits down with us in our grief over it. He throws the dust of our agony, our misery, our anger, and our despair over his own head; he tears his clothes; he mourns with us. As long as we’re in pain, as long as it takes. He knows us more intimately than we know ourselves; therefore, he intimately knows and understands and experiences every facet of our pain–and he neither shies away nor deprives himself of any of it. He listens.

Jesus also soothes us physically: he brings me the air I take into my lungs, one shaky, sob-ridden gulp at a time. The softness of a blanket, pillow, or furry animal. The warmth of my baby’s skin. The light of the sun angling through the blinds. The prickling of water on my eyelashes and the swollen capillaries in my nose. The taste of blood at the back of my throat when it fills with disappointment. The tender hum resonating in a loved one’s chest. The itch of my feet that reminds me I have them: my five senses and an entire world to regale them, reminding me that reality does not consist solely of this single aspect of existence–my grief. It consists of infinite other meaningful moments as well, so many of them life-giving, and so many others necessary vehicles for physically experiencing, acknowledging, understanding, and resolving the effects of grief upon my body and my psyche. Jesus calms.

Finally, after we have worked through our emotions, calmed them, and felt their worth and legitimacy has been recognized, Christ whispers reassurances, wisdom, guidance, and security to our hearts. Here is where Bible verses and theological truths or just the insightful words of a friend may provide a sense of clarity or resolution. Christ resolves turmoil.

Oftentimes, I find that merely knowing Jesus experiences my grief with me brings all the resolution I need to the swirling “Why?” and “What do I do now?” questions. This sentiment is reflected in my favorite psalm:

Lord, my heart is not haughty,
Nor my eyes lofty.
Neither do I concern myself with great matters,
Nor with things too profound for me.

Surely I have calmed and quieted my soul,
Like a weaned child with his mother;
Like a weaned child is my soul within me.

O Israel, hope in the Lord
From this time forth and forever.

(Psalm 131, NKJV)


 

I cling to Christ.

The Resolution

For whatever reason (I see good reason to believe God always has one, even if I can’t comprehend what it is) Jesus will allow senseless tragedy and provide no relief from any number of horrible trials, even to the point of death. But I believe each one of those heartbreaking incidents that I’ve experienced or heard from others or seen on the news absolutely, utterly rips him apart. God doesn’t always bring relief from trouble, but he does, always, offer us the most foundational form of comfort and relief:

The comfort of sharing our sorrows.

Just as he invited us to partake in his experience of deepest trouble, he partakes of every negative experience along with us, knowing it to its very depths. To the last draught; to the bottom of the bitter cup.

In this kind of communion, the comfort brought through shared experience underlies every sort of grief and pain. It is a deeper magic still.

That is the goodness of God that I cling to in my darkest moments: not the knowledge that he has a plan; that he gives me good things in other times and places; that someday I will find rest from trouble in Heaven–though all these things are true. But it is my confidence that Jesus knows my sorrow, hates it as much as I do, and takes it upon himself. He has not left me to suffer alone.

This means my God could never visit trouble upon us out of spite or indifference. It means that, when he sees fit to allow trouble, he visits it upon himself as well. Every. Time.

Can you imagine the infinite amount of sorrow Jesus must then carry?

This is why I worship him. He carries every sorrow that ever was and is and will ever be–and he is not defeated, despondent, or destroyed.

He is alive. He is whole. He is stronger than every evil thing combined. He will see them all undone at the end of time.

And until then, he will bear every sorrow for me.