God is strange. Every time I think I get a grasp on grace, He amazes me. Last week is a great example. It was a discouraging week on the surface, and as a result I have some re-evaluating to do of things I've assumed and taken for granted. Death of a dream stuff. Hard stuff for the heart. But then, I go to small group and one of the couples shares with me how something I said helped get their marriage through a rough patch. So crazy...I would love to be married, to be involved in marriage ministry of some sort, to use what I've learned and experienced to help a generation raised on divorce to have great marriages...and yet I can't even get a second date! And just went I'm discouraged about that, someone I respect tells me that I've had a positive effect on her marriage. The irony.
Maybe that's just it, maybe my dream for influencing marriages is something that I'm meant to do as a single. It's certainly not my first choice, but then, the Catholics don't seem to have an issue with single priests ministering to engaged and married couples. It just seems that a person has more credibility when they are speaking from experience rather than theory. Frustrating though, because on one hand, I can't make someone chose me, and at the same time, I don't know how to move forward with my dream alone. And that's when God's grace steps in.
This week, in addition to the encouragement at small group, I received a book from a woman who cited Generation Ex in her new book, When Your Marriage Dies. Laura's book is for spouses stuck on the wrong side of no-fault divorce. God's grace is demonstrated again in the way my book has been embraced by divorced parents.
The last bit of unexpected encouragement I want to share with you has to do with another new book. Jesse Butterworth was the lead singer of a band called Daily Planet when I met him a few weeks back. His song, "Six String Rocketeer" does a wonderful job of showing how children of divorce can escape into a hobby (music for him, writing for me) as a way of coping with the pressures and stress of parental divorce. (You can read the lyrics to SSR at my site). Jesse has now written a memoir based on the song and I was asked to endorse it. I get a bit frustrated when I go to sites or see authors only promote their own work, as if any one person can get a complete handle on a topic. So I was happy to see another child of divorce get his voice out there. As soon as the manuscript arrived, I jumped in. Jesse is a vivid writer and reading his manuscript was a emotional experience for me. He does a wonderful job of bringing those emotions to the surface, even as he revisits them through the objective eyes of an adult. As I was reading I started thinking of how to craft my (first!) endorsement. And then I got to the end. The original conclusion was misleading, I thought, and to endorse the book as it was would be to contradict one of the major points of my books. I felt stuck. I really wanted to support Jesse's book, but wasn't sure how to do so without being a hypocrite to my own views. So I wrote a letter to the publisher, sharing my concerns and offering a couple of solutions. She wrote me back, very graciously, and thanked me for reading the manuscript, even if I couldn't endorsement. End of topic...or so I thought.
She forwarded my email to Jesse's editor, who in turn, forwarded it to Jesse. I am humbled that Jesse took my concerns to heart. Jesse and I emailed a few times and he made a few tweaks that I believe will make his book more powerful and effective to his readers. So mark your calendars, folks, Six String Rocketeer by Jesse Butterworth is coming to a store near you this September, with this endorsement:
As a child of divorce, Jesse’s song, “Six String Rocketeer,” is on the soundtrack of my life. Now with his book, Jesse has crafted a poignant memoir, introducing readers to the important first step of acknowledging that parental divorce has lasting effects. His gracious approach and discerning insights invite readers to visit his past, and in the process, better understand their own.
-Jen Abbas, author of Generation Ex: Adult Children of Divorce and the Healing of Our Pain.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Monday, April 25, 2005
Generation Ex Scholarship Essay Contest Winner!
Generation Ex turned one year old last week.
To celebrate, I announced that Anna Dolezal, a senior at Drake University, is the winner of The Generation Ex Scholarship Essay Contest! Anna's essay will be posted on the website shortly (my webmaster is on vacation, lucky guy!). But you can get your first look here! CONGRATULATIONS ANNA!
Working Title: The Sleeper Effect
The scene opens in my memory. It is Christmas Day. My brother has just opened his last gift, and the two of us are smiling and eager to play with our new treasures. In my memory, my parents are holding hands, clinging to each other, as if they could provide each other with strength, a particularly ironic sentiment given the circumstance. I see the carpet very vividly, the ugly black, red, yellow and white shag carpet that would have been intolerable had it not represented home. It has sound, too, crystal clear despite the years. Mom says, “Damon, Anna, we have something important we want to tell you. Your father and I are getting a divorce.”
Fade to black.
Oh, how the magician in my brain has deceived me.
It wasn’t Christmas at all, and my mom tells me that she thinks they told me in my bedroom (adorned with white and blue carpet). The fact is that even though I was seven when my parents decided to divorce, and eight when the divorce was finalized (my dad remarried days later and my half-sister born just weeks after the legal formalities), I don’t remember it at all.
I don’t remember crying. I don’t remember moving, or the first time that I met my stepmom. And I don’t remember anything at all about my parents’ relationship before they got divorced. I don’t remember if they were affectionate with each other, nor remember them fighting. It is as if someone has erased the tape. I do remember chewing bubble gum with my best friend on the stairs of my childhood home. I remember the feeling of having a cat fall asleep in my arms, and thinking how much that creature trusted me. Your parents relationship isn’t important to a child. Until it is gone. I don’t remember understanding.
In a new house, at new school, with a scrambled memory, life as I know it began. In my new elementary school, residing in a working class neighborhood with plenty of newly made single mothers, it seemed to my third grade mentality that there were two kinds of kids; those with divorced parents, and the lucky ones. I belonged to the former.
But at least in elementary school it was standard stuff to have divorced parents. The pervasive normality of it is, I believe, why I never really questioned it and why I never felt that it was worthy of grief. As a youngster, I didn’t make a conscious choice to set out to show everyone how “okay” I was, but that was the result. Everyone marveled at my ability to be so “well-adjusted” at such a young age.
The tape rolled on, capturing the moments of my life: Middle school, high school, college. Reviewing the footage, the every-other-weekend-and-Wednesday-night crowd, slowly disappeared from the action. What happened to those kids that I went to elementary school with? They became statistics of the effect of divorce on children while I took the world by storm. Speech competitions, show choir, sports, academic achievement, a slew of friends, scholarships, and a precarious peace with all the members of my family.
The images show how it looked, but never how it felt.
The sleeper effect. I never had a name for it until reading Generation Ex, but it is the definition of my story, the working title to my life.
I prefer to work alone. Independence should be my first name. Do I trust people? About as far as I can throw them (I’m a pretty little person, so that doesn’t amount to far). Perfectionist, controlling, I have little faith in anything I can’t do myself. You act confidently so people won’t see your fear.
And I am so afraid.
I am afraid of ending up alone, afraid that as all those around me find happiness, I will look in my hands and find they are empty. I am afraid of being abandoned. I question how God could have let these things happen to my mother. I saw my mom feel alone and abandoned and lose faith and it hurt. It still hurts. Typical of a child of divorce, I feel the parental need to make my mom’s pain go away, and hope that maybe it would make mine dissipate as well.
But I don’t want to live in fear anymore; I want to rename my story.
I grew up, like most American children, on fairy tales. I grew up with Hollywood and Disney - ninety minute rollercoasters of emotion with a happy ending. We like our endings larger than life, want to go through hell and live to tell the tale. We want to be bruised, but not broken. I wish my life was a fairy tale, or even a Hollywood blockbuster, but perhaps it is an Indie film. There are lose ends, and questions left unanswered, and even dark endings.
I would love to write that reading this book has helped me figure it all out, has made me a better person, and helped me grieve. I would like to be able to write the picture perfect ending -that I have found peace in my faith, trust in God’s plan, and recognition that marriages are never perfect, that faith is essential - and now everything is roses and rainbows. While it is true I’m making progress, unfortunately, I can’t yet yell “that’s a wrap”.
For the truth is, I still am afraid.
But every day, through growing faith, patience, and trust, I am a little less.
And the reels are still rolling.
To celebrate, I announced that Anna Dolezal, a senior at Drake University, is the winner of The Generation Ex Scholarship Essay Contest! Anna's essay will be posted on the website shortly (my webmaster is on vacation, lucky guy!). But you can get your first look here! CONGRATULATIONS ANNA!
Working Title: The Sleeper Effect
The scene opens in my memory. It is Christmas Day. My brother has just opened his last gift, and the two of us are smiling and eager to play with our new treasures. In my memory, my parents are holding hands, clinging to each other, as if they could provide each other with strength, a particularly ironic sentiment given the circumstance. I see the carpet very vividly, the ugly black, red, yellow and white shag carpet that would have been intolerable had it not represented home. It has sound, too, crystal clear despite the years. Mom says, “Damon, Anna, we have something important we want to tell you. Your father and I are getting a divorce.”
Fade to black.
Oh, how the magician in my brain has deceived me.
It wasn’t Christmas at all, and my mom tells me that she thinks they told me in my bedroom (adorned with white and blue carpet). The fact is that even though I was seven when my parents decided to divorce, and eight when the divorce was finalized (my dad remarried days later and my half-sister born just weeks after the legal formalities), I don’t remember it at all.
I don’t remember crying. I don’t remember moving, or the first time that I met my stepmom. And I don’t remember anything at all about my parents’ relationship before they got divorced. I don’t remember if they were affectionate with each other, nor remember them fighting. It is as if someone has erased the tape. I do remember chewing bubble gum with my best friend on the stairs of my childhood home. I remember the feeling of having a cat fall asleep in my arms, and thinking how much that creature trusted me. Your parents relationship isn’t important to a child. Until it is gone. I don’t remember understanding.
In a new house, at new school, with a scrambled memory, life as I know it began. In my new elementary school, residing in a working class neighborhood with plenty of newly made single mothers, it seemed to my third grade mentality that there were two kinds of kids; those with divorced parents, and the lucky ones. I belonged to the former.
But at least in elementary school it was standard stuff to have divorced parents. The pervasive normality of it is, I believe, why I never really questioned it and why I never felt that it was worthy of grief. As a youngster, I didn’t make a conscious choice to set out to show everyone how “okay” I was, but that was the result. Everyone marveled at my ability to be so “well-adjusted” at such a young age.
The tape rolled on, capturing the moments of my life: Middle school, high school, college. Reviewing the footage, the every-other-weekend-and-Wednesday-night crowd, slowly disappeared from the action. What happened to those kids that I went to elementary school with? They became statistics of the effect of divorce on children while I took the world by storm. Speech competitions, show choir, sports, academic achievement, a slew of friends, scholarships, and a precarious peace with all the members of my family.
The images show how it looked, but never how it felt.
The sleeper effect. I never had a name for it until reading Generation Ex, but it is the definition of my story, the working title to my life.
I prefer to work alone. Independence should be my first name. Do I trust people? About as far as I can throw them (I’m a pretty little person, so that doesn’t amount to far). Perfectionist, controlling, I have little faith in anything I can’t do myself. You act confidently so people won’t see your fear.
And I am so afraid.
I am afraid of ending up alone, afraid that as all those around me find happiness, I will look in my hands and find they are empty. I am afraid of being abandoned. I question how God could have let these things happen to my mother. I saw my mom feel alone and abandoned and lose faith and it hurt. It still hurts. Typical of a child of divorce, I feel the parental need to make my mom’s pain go away, and hope that maybe it would make mine dissipate as well.
But I don’t want to live in fear anymore; I want to rename my story.
I grew up, like most American children, on fairy tales. I grew up with Hollywood and Disney - ninety minute rollercoasters of emotion with a happy ending. We like our endings larger than life, want to go through hell and live to tell the tale. We want to be bruised, but not broken. I wish my life was a fairy tale, or even a Hollywood blockbuster, but perhaps it is an Indie film. There are lose ends, and questions left unanswered, and even dark endings.
I would love to write that reading this book has helped me figure it all out, has made me a better person, and helped me grieve. I would like to be able to write the picture perfect ending -that I have found peace in my faith, trust in God’s plan, and recognition that marriages are never perfect, that faith is essential - and now everything is roses and rainbows. While it is true I’m making progress, unfortunately, I can’t yet yell “that’s a wrap”.
For the truth is, I still am afraid.
But every day, through growing faith, patience, and trust, I am a little less.
And the reels are still rolling.
Colorado amends rules to accomodate children of divorce
I subscribe to theSmart Marriages newslist. Several times a week, the list manager compiles articles of interest to marriage educators and others passionate about family issues. When I was in college, the financial aid laws didn't really take into consideration the unique obstacles of those with divorced parents, so it's always good news when those in power to make these kinds of decisions do the right thing.
(testing BlogThis!)
Rocky Mountain News: Columnists
(testing BlogThis!)
Rocky Mountain News: Columnists
The Book
For those who stumbled upon this site, Generation Ex: Adult Children of Divorce and the Healing of Our Pain, released last year from WaterBrook Press. You can learn more about the book, read an excerpt, and more at my website.
Jen's Jottings
It's been just over a year since my book, Generation Ex, released. For quite some time, I've wanted to find a way to pass along articles and news that my readers might enjoy, as well as create an easy (quick!)way to post the latest news about my book. And like most bloggers, I like the idea of being able to share my thought with friends (both known and unknown). So without further ado...here's Generation Ex Files.
Sunday, May 16, 2004
A Conversation With God About Desire
My 24-year-old sister recently asked me to be her bridesmaid. Did I mention that this is my younger…make that much younger sister? Carisa is a stunningly beautiful woman, inside and out. Truly…she modeled to pay for college. I am so happy for her, and her fiancé is a great guy. Carisa has had guys tripping over her since she hit puberty and I like to remind her that when she became part of my life as a five-year-old, she used to think I was the greatest thing since sliced bread. It was a little annoying as a teenager to have a little kid follow you around, but inside, it was pretty cool to be adored. Funny how time changes things. Today I envy her.
I heard a speaker say this week that the average age of first marriage for Gen X’ers is 30. Makes sense, the generation raised with divorce is afraid of marriage. But millennials like my sister, are the most nurtured generation, and their maternal and paternal instincts haven’t been as stuffed as ours. So they’re tying the knot a lot earlier.
All this marriage talk has got me thinking again about my own lack of matrimonial prospects. I dug out a poem I wrote a few years back as I wrestled to live with my longing. For some reason, I’m feeling fearless today—perhaps it has something to do with the fact that anyone who wants to know my insecurities only has to visit their local bookstore to read all about it. So I’ve decided to share my poem with you. Maybe some of you out there will sense that you aren’t alone either. I’d love to hear what you think.
A Conversation With God About Desire
Lover of my soul,
Forgive me for my doubt
My past precedes my thinking
And I struggle to grasp Your grace
I say that I love you
Yet I take my delight
In my desire for another’s love
How can You continue to love me
In spite of my idolatry?
I want to be a treasured priority
And yet I give You secondary affection
The ghost of my hope comes first in my heart
Help me to want to want what is right.
Fill my mind with this unshakable truth:
I am infinitely loved and intricately designed
For a purpose and a plan that is yet to be revealed
Help me to take captive every thought
That leads me away from the truth that frees me
And give me the strength to hurtle it out of mind.
I question Your love
Yet ignore the love letter You wrote me
Thank You for Your promise to cherish me.
Let me see beyond my circumstances
And daily find cause to rejoice
Not so much because of my circumstances
But because I am not alone in them
Thank You for Your pledge to never leave me.
Regardless of my feelings, I know You will never forsake me.
I have no need to worry about my future
Because You already know it and are in it.
Let me carry my concerns to the cradle of Your arms
With gratitude and trust
Unclench my hands and melt my hardened heart
Open my eyes to see that You delight in me
Even when you deny me
The fulfillment of my most urgent desire.
Fill me with a peace that trusts
Even when the thing hoped for seems hopeless
Guard my heart in the safety of your sentry.
Guard my mind with thoughts that are true:
I am loved and I am worthy of love.
I am Your princess, and your intentions toward me are noble.
Your ways are right
Your desire for me is purity
Of heart, mind, body and spirit
And a character and countenance that is altogether lovely.
When I am tempted to look around for love
Gently pull my face to Your gaze
And let me see all that is admirable
In your personified perfection.
You are altogether excellent and praiseworthy.
Let me have no other thought
Than to love You and serve You
To learn from You and honor You
To find my contentment only in You.
So for now, I ask from you
Peace and patience
As I continue to wait for that day
When You bring another to join my journey.
-Jen Abbas
10/29/02
I heard a speaker say this week that the average age of first marriage for Gen X’ers is 30. Makes sense, the generation raised with divorce is afraid of marriage. But millennials like my sister, are the most nurtured generation, and their maternal and paternal instincts haven’t been as stuffed as ours. So they’re tying the knot a lot earlier.
All this marriage talk has got me thinking again about my own lack of matrimonial prospects. I dug out a poem I wrote a few years back as I wrestled to live with my longing. For some reason, I’m feeling fearless today—perhaps it has something to do with the fact that anyone who wants to know my insecurities only has to visit their local bookstore to read all about it. So I’ve decided to share my poem with you. Maybe some of you out there will sense that you aren’t alone either. I’d love to hear what you think.
A Conversation With God About Desire
Lover of my soul,
Forgive me for my doubt
My past precedes my thinking
And I struggle to grasp Your grace
I say that I love you
Yet I take my delight
In my desire for another’s love
How can You continue to love me
In spite of my idolatry?
I want to be a treasured priority
And yet I give You secondary affection
The ghost of my hope comes first in my heart
Help me to want to want what is right.
Fill my mind with this unshakable truth:
I am infinitely loved and intricately designed
For a purpose and a plan that is yet to be revealed
Help me to take captive every thought
That leads me away from the truth that frees me
And give me the strength to hurtle it out of mind.
I question Your love
Yet ignore the love letter You wrote me
Thank You for Your promise to cherish me.
Let me see beyond my circumstances
And daily find cause to rejoice
Not so much because of my circumstances
But because I am not alone in them
Thank You for Your pledge to never leave me.
Regardless of my feelings, I know You will never forsake me.
I have no need to worry about my future
Because You already know it and are in it.
Let me carry my concerns to the cradle of Your arms
With gratitude and trust
Unclench my hands and melt my hardened heart
Open my eyes to see that You delight in me
Even when you deny me
The fulfillment of my most urgent desire.
Fill me with a peace that trusts
Even when the thing hoped for seems hopeless
Guard my heart in the safety of your sentry.
Guard my mind with thoughts that are true:
I am loved and I am worthy of love.
I am Your princess, and your intentions toward me are noble.
Your ways are right
Your desire for me is purity
Of heart, mind, body and spirit
And a character and countenance that is altogether lovely.
When I am tempted to look around for love
Gently pull my face to Your gaze
And let me see all that is admirable
In your personified perfection.
You are altogether excellent and praiseworthy.
Let me have no other thought
Than to love You and serve You
To learn from You and honor You
To find my contentment only in You.
So for now, I ask from you
Peace and patience
As I continue to wait for that day
When You bring another to join my journey.
-Jen Abbas
10/29/02
Wednesday, January 07, 2004
The End
My grampa and gramma have been together nearly seventy years. Seventy years! Can our generation even conceive of such commitment? Of course, they weren't all blissful years. My grandparents weathered war and trauma and heartbreak. Their marriage wasn't always a model of domestic peace and tranquillity. But in the end, what a beautiful love story! Anyone can love when their lover is lovable, but true love—really remarkable love—is when someone loves another with all they have, knowing that the object of their affection hasn't anything to give in return. In the seven years since my Grampa's heart started failing, my Gramma has become an incredible model of unconditional love to our family as she cared for him, cleaned up after him, laughed with him in his better moments, and yes, loved him.
In recent years, I've developed a fascination with the 40s. I've read Tom Brokaw's The Greatest Generation and I'm working through Larry King's Love Stories from World War II. Louis Armstrong, Etta James and Ella Fitzgerald have made their way into my CD collection. This Christmas, Bing Crosby joined them. I'm not saying I wish the world would revert back to the 40s, but I can't help but admire the mindset of a generation that valued commitment, honor and keeping one's word. I love watching old classic movies when men and women interact issues with a sort of gentle respect and reserve that is unheard of today. And as a traditional sort myself, I love the chivalry that men showed women in their courting rituals. How many children of divorce look with longing at the marriages of their grandparents as the model our mothers and fathers missed?
I wonder, how have we, as a society, moved from The Greatest Generation to Generation Ex? I was telling a friend about the premise of my book and he made an insightful observation. He said that the sexual revolution of the 60s was a rebellion against the institution of marriage; our generation is rebelling against the institution of divorce. Where the 60s saw people live together for free love, our generation is living together because "I can't get divorced if I don't get married."
For those of us whose spiritual convictions prevent us from acting on our urges, our sexual desires pull us in opposite directions. We don't want to marry too young—our very lives are reminders of our parents' unwise decisions. Yet our fear of failing at marriage can also prevent us from taking the plunge even when the water's as warm as it can be.
I've read recently that the fastest growing area of counseling is marital counseling for newlyweds. Those of us who grew up with divorce—either as children or adults—want to be proactive to keep our marriages strong. Just as we regularly take our cars to the shop for preventative maintenance, we are painfully aware that without intentionality, our marriages can break down unexpectedly. I'm starting to think I have another book in me. Maybe it's just for me, the way Generation Ex began as my own personal project. I'd like to write about the romance trigger. If divorce, by definition, is the breakdown of a marriage, then it must be that the greatest point of impact on the children affected by divorce is our own marriages. My working title is Generation Ex and the Quest for Love: Getting to I Do after Mom and Dad Said I Don't. I have several chapters that didn't make the Generation Ex cut. Chapters on why we wait and why we maybe should. Chapters on learning from our parents' past and how to recognize a good marriage partner. I'd love to hear from you. If you're single, how has your parents' divorce affected your dating life—or lack thereof? If you're married, how did the divorce influence your courtship story?
In memory of Leo "Moose" Manthei
June 13, 1919 - January 13, 2004
Tuesday, April 29, 2003
A Word On Fear
I've been thinking a lot about fear lately. To be honest, thinking isn't the right word. Motivated by fear might be better…or paralyzed. Fear of the future. Fear of the unknown. Fear of rejection. Fear of failure. Fear of not being in control. I have come to realize that I have a lot of fears. As my 30th birthday has come and gone, I fear I'll never marry. Or if I do, that I will fail at it. I fear I'll never be a size six. I fear I'll let down my friends, family, church, fill-in-the-blank. I fear I'll let God down. This book has brought about many fears: I'm afraid my book won't be published. I'm afraid that if it does, no one will buy it. Or if they do, only from the bargain bin, and not from the best-seller display. I fear talking about it because some might not like what I have to say. I fear not talking about it because God has given me much to say.
I've been thinking how the experience of divorce has filled so many of us with fear. We fear because the ones who were supposed to demonstrate to us that love is an unconditional choice showed us that it is a fleeting, fickle feeling. We fear because we desperately desire to construct that which we have yet to experience and we easily doubt the adequacy of our materials. We fear because the risk it takes to be vulnerable and loved means intentionally allowing someone the freedom to hurt us, and we have experienced enough hurt to last our lifetime. We fear because we don't want to be the one responsible for making our own children feel what we felt. We fear because if we divorce, we become all we've lived our lives to avoid. We fear because we mistakenly believe that God is not capable of holding our marriage together when we lack the strength or desire to do so ourselves. We fear because we are placing our trust in our own abilities, when we serve a God who requires that we must acknowledge our utter inability to control our circumstances.
But you know what I'm realizing? Fear is self-centered. Fear is not trusting that God is in control. Fear is not having faith. I seem to recall that God is in control. Jeremiah 29:11-12 says: "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you," declares the Lord, "and will bring you back from captivity." (NIV). I seem to recall that God has a plan that makes sense to Him, even when it doesn't make sense to me. I recall that Romans 8:28 promises that "…we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose" (NIV). You know what else I recall? My weaknesses often serve as a backtop to display his strengths. 2 Corinthians 4:7 explains, "But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us." (NIV). Imagine a pitcher filled with water. When the pitcher is perfect, the pitcher is all one sees. But if that pitcher were to be slashed with a knife, the water would flow out, making the water the focus. Only in our imperfections, our failures, does God's grace and mercy become clear.
That still doesn't keep me from striving from perfection. I am comforted by the fact that the apostle Paul struggled with this too. He wrote in Philippians 3:12-13, "Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead" (NIV). No matter what our fear, we need to realize that is only through God that we can do anything worthwhile. As 2 Corinthians 3:5 says, "not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God." (NIV). Nonetheless, I want to be perfect. The world tells me that if I am perfect, I am then worthy of love and acceptance. Never mind that it's impossible. Never mind that my worthiness of love has nothing to do with my abilities or accomplishments. I am worthy of love because God loves me.
I John 4:18 builds on this point. "There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears in not made perfect in love (NIV)". Doesn't that make your head spin?! I know I'm not perfect, but I also know that God loves me. Perfect love is divine. It is an attribute of God. Fear is one of Satan's greatest weapons. He can't take away our salvation, but he can try to take away our effectiveness. If we dwell on our fears, we are forfeiting our ability to be used of God. God has filled me with a passion to write this book. If God has purposed me to do this work, than how can I not succeed?
No matter if I fail.
God loves me.
No matter if others reject me.
God loves me.
No matter if I mess up.
God loves me.
No matter if let others down.
God loves me.
No matter…
God loves me.
Excuse me, I have some writing to do.
© Jen Abbas, 2003
I've been thinking how the experience of divorce has filled so many of us with fear. We fear because the ones who were supposed to demonstrate to us that love is an unconditional choice showed us that it is a fleeting, fickle feeling. We fear because we desperately desire to construct that which we have yet to experience and we easily doubt the adequacy of our materials. We fear because the risk it takes to be vulnerable and loved means intentionally allowing someone the freedom to hurt us, and we have experienced enough hurt to last our lifetime. We fear because we don't want to be the one responsible for making our own children feel what we felt. We fear because if we divorce, we become all we've lived our lives to avoid. We fear because we mistakenly believe that God is not capable of holding our marriage together when we lack the strength or desire to do so ourselves. We fear because we are placing our trust in our own abilities, when we serve a God who requires that we must acknowledge our utter inability to control our circumstances.
But you know what I'm realizing? Fear is self-centered. Fear is not trusting that God is in control. Fear is not having faith. I seem to recall that God is in control. Jeremiah 29:11-12 says: "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you," declares the Lord, "and will bring you back from captivity." (NIV). I seem to recall that God has a plan that makes sense to Him, even when it doesn't make sense to me. I recall that Romans 8:28 promises that "…we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose" (NIV). You know what else I recall? My weaknesses often serve as a backtop to display his strengths. 2 Corinthians 4:7 explains, "But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us." (NIV). Imagine a pitcher filled with water. When the pitcher is perfect, the pitcher is all one sees. But if that pitcher were to be slashed with a knife, the water would flow out, making the water the focus. Only in our imperfections, our failures, does God's grace and mercy become clear.
That still doesn't keep me from striving from perfection. I am comforted by the fact that the apostle Paul struggled with this too. He wrote in Philippians 3:12-13, "Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead" (NIV). No matter what our fear, we need to realize that is only through God that we can do anything worthwhile. As 2 Corinthians 3:5 says, "not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God." (NIV). Nonetheless, I want to be perfect. The world tells me that if I am perfect, I am then worthy of love and acceptance. Never mind that it's impossible. Never mind that my worthiness of love has nothing to do with my abilities or accomplishments. I am worthy of love because God loves me.
I John 4:18 builds on this point. "There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears in not made perfect in love (NIV)". Doesn't that make your head spin?! I know I'm not perfect, but I also know that God loves me. Perfect love is divine. It is an attribute of God. Fear is one of Satan's greatest weapons. He can't take away our salvation, but he can try to take away our effectiveness. If we dwell on our fears, we are forfeiting our ability to be used of God. God has filled me with a passion to write this book. If God has purposed me to do this work, than how can I not succeed?
No matter if I fail.
God loves me.
No matter if others reject me.
God loves me.
No matter if I mess up.
God loves me.
No matter if let others down.
God loves me.
No matter…
God loves me.
Excuse me, I have some writing to do.
© Jen Abbas, 2003
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