The bounce from yesterday’s land disconnect held. I went into the evening feeling really good compared to the acute exhaustion of the previous days.
I devoted some time during the evening to reading the comments to the first post, to see if I could get some caring past the thug into my inner world, in order to start the process of rewiring my brain.
I noticed after a while, that the thug was not making the decisions. Someone inside was and he was simply executing. Trust me, not all the comments on the blog made it past him.
Some snooping revealed that it was the Giver portion of my spirit who had closed the door, hired the thug and declared closure to pain caused by receiving love. Under pressure of the current exigencies, Giver decided to be selective instead of running a blanket exclusion of caring, which is quite considerate.
I would still like to know what the algorithm is. Can we crowd source this? Givers, what is the flavor or style of caring, or compassion, or love, or ___________, that you simply don’t want anywhere near you? This can’t be an original problem.
Historically Givers are the hardest tribe, by far, to give to. Your rejection factor of gifts is over the top. Could you be persuaded to share what your grid is? What flavors of love ARE acceptable to you?
On another front, the Swiss psychiatrist Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross did some wonderful work back in the ’50s and ’60s regarding grieving. Her five stages of grief are still a widely used tool in many applications today. While people do not necessarily go through them in this order, and might cycle through some of the steps several times, the general model is this.
I have been looking at those the last few days, as part of my customary inner work.
The denial certainly was front and center on Monday. I knew when I had made a bad choice, and why, but kept holding onto the belief that it was not so bad, and I could bounce back and pull it off. By Tuesday morning, reality had intruded with sufficient force that it could not be denied.
Then came a few hours of bargaining. There were a lot of variables for the trip. I could delete this or that, lengthen this, change that, move the sequence, etc. But, by 11:00 a.m. when I HAD to make a critical choice to go forward or go back, bargaining also bit the dust and I committed to the exit.
Another face of bargaining is the “what if” game. Had I missed a cue? Was I not listening to the Lord? Did one of the intercessors warn me and I brushed it aside? I gnawed on that bone all the way to sleep time on Tuesday and never came up with a clue suggesting I had messed up.
Since I have been back, I have gotten a significant number of e-mails from intercessors who were alerted by the Holy Spirit to pray for me because I was in trouble, but they were emphatically told by God that everything was going to be fine. Really strong, positive, validating words flowed like a river — in the midst of the mess.
So, at this point, I have completely abandoned the bargaining. God and the devil teamed up to set me up and mess me up, because God has some grand and noble outcome in mind, and it will come out that way. I walk forward with confidence that there is purpose in this weird situation.
The anger is an interesting dynamic. I don’t think any redemptive gift gets to anger as quickly as the Prophet, and I have been legendary for my hair trigger temper in the past. However, I have also learned to defer the anger to later.
As I shared at the LAC seminar, a consumer defaults to anger, and then looks for solutions later. A builder feels the anger as keenly as anyone, but defaults to solutions, then addresses the anger later.
I deferred the anger until the two flights home. Lots of time. No energy to do anything else. And a whole lot of skill in feeling my anger and finding the root.
First up was missing the moonlight paddle. I set the date so it would be full moon. I love paddling up the silver strand of moonlight on a still lake at night. Didn’t happen.
-Mad at myself for my choices.
-Mad at my body for not being 18 anymore.
-Didn’t appreciate the government’s inadequacies that contributed to the situation.
-Angry at the lost chance to get revelation through long, quiet meditation on some anointed land.
-Really missed engagement with the animal kingdom. Saw a few loons and other birds, but nothing special.
I worked the list intermittently for hours, adding details and categories, prioritizing the pain and languaging the losses.
Then I circled back around to redemption. My anger does not last long because I have so much experience in seeing God take really rough situations and give me beauty for ashes. If you were to give me a magic wand that could take some mistake I made out of my life history, I would burn it instead of using it.
I have so many riches, but many of them came from ugliness. If I remove from my life the stupid things I have done and the mean things done to me, I would usually have to remove the redemption that God gave me, and I don’t want to give up any one of those things.
To me, The Redeemer is not an eternal concept. It is a here and now, tangible, complex, mysterious, astounding, profound thing. The way God can redeem the past is beyond belief.
So, before the plane landed in Orange County, I smooshed all the anger into a pile, admitting the pain which still raged, but refusing to allow it to morph into bitterness. I made a faith proclamation that none of this was a surprise to God, none of this was beyond His ability to redeem, and none of the redemption had been shown to me yet.
I limped off the plane with a dozen kinds of pain, but with faith in front of pain, knowing that someday, somehow, God will write the final chapter to this strange story, and I will simply NOT be defrauded.
Copyright August 2016 by Arthur Burk