Taking the First Step

I have been reading a lot lately … there is a stack of nearly a dozen books on my nightstand (which I have either not yet opened, am just starting, am in the middle of, or am nearly finished with). One of the books on the top of the ever-growing pile is: Boundaries: When to Say YES, When to Say NO, To Take Control of Your Life by Cloud and Townsend.

Now, I'm a bit of an ADD reader … I get bogged down or bored by a book and bounce to a new one, only to return to one I started days prior. It takes me weeks, even months (and sometimes years) to actually finish a book (could this be a metaphor for my life?). Honestly, I can say the list of books I've read cover-to-cover are few (and were probably required reading for college).

I am also an interactive reader; I have a difficult time simply reading a book (which would explain why I have resisted buying a Kindle, when keeping up with the Joneses would have elicited a purchase months ago). I love to feel the pages of a book, rubbing them between my fingers, smelling the slightly stale scent that comes with a used paperback (I buy most of my books from Amazon.com's used listings), hearing the scratching of the paper as the pages turn, but most significantly, highlighting, writing, dog-earing, and placing sticky notes to mark important ideas. This interaction becomes a dialogue between myself and the author, and leaves a memorable impression of the place to which I can turn when I want to re-read or share a special passage with a friend.

My husband, who absolutely hates to read, has perused a number of "Stephanie's Digest" versions of books or articles. He's pretty low-key about having done this, usually only making mention that he "read the stuff I marked" in that "one book," with no further comment regarding his thoughts or insights. Here is where I would sigh, mourning the never-to-be discussion of powerful perspectives or controversial messages, with him or with anyone.

That was what brought me to reading Boundaries. I ordered the book weeks ago; well, I accidentally ordered the workbook weeks ago. Then, when I realized what I had done, I ordered the actual book. It arrived today. I had checked my mail every day for a week since the workbook arrived, each time feeling anxious, disappointed, and believing I was living on pause until I had the key to solve all of my personal problems. While my entire life created the necessity for me to read this book, it was recent life events that made this a matter of life and living. 

And, so it began. I sat in my bathroom – the only quiet place when I first arrive home from work, escaping the onslaught of three little boys fighting, running, punching, hollering, pestering the dog, and literally hanging from my legs. While the book jacket seemed slightly warn, the plastic lamination bubbling a bit across the embossed lettering, the book itself seemed as if it had never been read. There were no marks, no tattered edges, no thumbprints. Opening the cover, I found a hand-written note to a previous owner, a gift given to a friend in a time of need:

9/09/93

Barb,

I hope you enjoy this book as much as I did. Just remember that wholeness is a process – one day at a time. Remember, too, that you are very special and God loves you. I believe that he wants wholeness and happiness for you – & He wants to help you every day as you walk through the process. Lean on Him, draw strength from Him, and let Him be your Friend. – All the best!

Sandy

As I read this private message from one loving sister in Christ to another, I realized that "Sandy" may as well been writing this to me. You see, August of 1993 was when I started my freshman year at Northern Arizona University and same month and year I met my husband. For me, these two events collided to change my life forever; an intersection of decisions that became an incubator for the person I am today.

However, the month and year of this message were not the only personal indicators that "Sandy" was my long lost, newly-found friend, but the fact I have often, over the years, referred to the random example of "Barbara" during my teaching career. While some use the neutral names Jane or John to speak about hypothetical people, I instead embraced the names Barbara and Bob. I'm not sure where the names came from, other than my attempt to avoid a reference to Jane, my sister-in-law, since Barbara was generally my chosen example of what not to do.

But, beyond the date, beyond the name, "Sandy's" message spoke so directly to me that I knew there was no question this book was sent to me for a reason. Just remember that wholeness is a process – one day at a time. Currently, I feel broken. My heart is broken, my important relationships are broken, my spirit is broken, and, to top it off, I am broke (so why do I keep spending money on books?!). It is as if the puzzle of who I am was thrown into the air, after being sent through a shredder, and I am desperately picking up each tattered piece, trying to reassemble them into a whole person – I am trying to find wholeness.

Last spring, I had the privilege of joining a group of women in the area to sing in a musical rendition of the Parable of the Ten Virgins (Matthew 25:1-13). The part I played was that of the fictional character Jessa, a virgin whose lamp had shattered in a wind storm. Hers was a tale of nearly giving up, as she traveled to the lamp maker for the repair, but when all hope seemed to be lost and she could go no further, He lifted her, covered her, and carried her up the hill. Who could have known how my own life would mirror that tale. The refrain of my solo, "Only One" by Jessie Clark Funk, still lingers in my mind:

I've walked through sorrow, till I could walk no more

I've felt the winds of change blow so hard it's chilled me to the core

And pain has knocked at my door,

But I have never hurt like this before.

Only one can take the pieces of my heart and make them whole

Only one can part the darkness and breathe light into my aching soul

One way, one hope, one light, only one.

I'll pick up the pieces every little bit.

I'll gather all of them even ones that seem impossible to fix.

And I'll place them all in His hands.

What I cannot restore, He can.

Only one can take the pieces of my heart and make them whole

Only one can part the darkness and breathe light into my aching soul

One way, one hope, one light, only one.

I believe He is the only one who can make me whole. However, there are many days when wholeness seems like a fairy tale meant for those who have been stronger, lived longer, or made fewer mistakes. But, "Sandy", anticipating my self-deprecating lack of faith, admonished: Remember, too, that you are very special and God loves you.

When I am so narrowly focused on my own pains and problems it is easy to forget that I have both an earthly and heavenly father who love me and think I am special. When I am only focused on wanting that certain someone to love me and think I am special, I forget that I should only need the love of my Lord to feel special. When I focus more on what is broken or what I am lacking, I blur the vision of the eternal blessings with which I have been endowed. Gratefully, I received an email today, reminding me that too often I fail to see the miracle in the "loaves and fishes" (Matthew 14: 13-21), by narrowing my gaze on everything I think is missing in my life, I am actually lacking the faith in the Lord to magnify and multiply what I do have.  

So, here I am, "Barbara" (or Barb for short), the example of what not to do. And, here is "Sandy", my ethereal friend, reaching from the past, and sending me a clear message of love, hope, and, most importantly, becoming whole. (And to think, I have only read the cover. What will happen when I actually start reading the book?!)