Trust

Spiritual Lessons

Trust 

Trust. A small little word with a lot of hurt behind it. Love. A smaller word, with just as much pain.

Anyone else in the world a person of extremes? Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who struggles with moderation. I blame some of that on my genes. If you trace my lineage back far enough I'm convinced we Hutto's were Vikings. Moderation probably wasn't in their vocabulary any more than it's in mine. And then add my Sicilian blood from my mom...and yeah. I'm doomed.

So as a young girl, when I trusted – I trusted entirely. I trusted everyone I loved. In my world, you were either a bad guy, or a good guy. Black and white. And the good guys, I trusted.

I've always believed the best of everyone first. Call it what you will: optimism, naivete, childhood – but it's all I know; it's me. Every person is made in the image of God, and everyone has a God-given personality that is unique and beautiful, and somehow I was gifted (cursed?) with the ability to see that in people as soon as I met them.

I wasn't necessarily a sweet child. But deeply sincere. Everything I ever endeavored came from the farthest recesses of my soul; and it was natural for me to paste my heart to window panes. When I shared myself, I shared all of me. Transparent. Sensitive. Passionate. And why not share all of me? I didn't know the art of handing out pieces.

And as you can imagine I was disappointed by people. I remember a friend telling me she thought it was sweet that I could share so much of myself, but that she didn't intend on doing that. It was too scary.

I was hurt by people. Close souls who trampled my heart. Betrayal. Harsh words. No appreciation. Abandonment. Or even simpler – At work I met the most darling woman. She is eighty three, five foot (maybe), a hundred pounds with pure white hair. She loves to plant flowers and lives with a goose in her house. She's Irish with sparkling eyes and underneath her quavery voice and many wrinkles is enough spunk to see her to 100 years old. The only problem: she's dying of cancer. Our job is to travel that journey with her and make her as comfortable as possible. As soon as I found out, I thought – why do I fall in love with people that destiny is bound to hurt me with? I wrote in my journal – “I can't pick one human being that's easy to love. Or is there no such thing? Is humanity hard to love?”

I was devastated by people. Someone I respected. Those who should have known better. Gave away my heart to have it handed back – in a million pieces. The injustice. The sobbing. The anger. I remember wishing I was reserved and mysterious. That I could rip my heart off my sleeve and be like the quiet, normal people I knew. Everyone is intrigued by introverts. Maybe no one wanted to be my friend because I wasn't exciting. They could have all of me from the beginning – there wasn't anything to explore, pursue, figure out. Maybe people thought I was shallow because I so readily shared the deep parts of my soul. The more wounds I accumulated the more tempting it was to hide. To close off my heart to humanity, bad guys, and good guys.

And where has that left me?

I had two choices. To close the door to humanity and never trust again. It is possible. It sounds cliche or dramatic – but it's an easy thing to do. It's the safe and lonely route to take. Anger is easier than trust. It's the cop-out. It's self preservation. Defensive default. Self preservation and anger aren't wrong in and of themselves but I think we were created to trust. I know people who have decided not to trust anyone. They are miserable people. They are either bitter, frightened, lonely, or all three. They are safe. Safe from people, safe from trust, safe from love. 

“There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket – safe, dark, motionless, airless – it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.”  -- C.S. Lewis 

Or I could realize that not everyone is worth trusting. Even some “good guys”. There are levels of friendships. I'm not obligated to share myself with everyone. I'm allowed to pick who I wish to be vulnerable with.

Of course I'm still a person of extremes, so those I choose to trust I still inevitably trust with all my heart. And they still hurt me. Trustworthy people are going to hurt me. And people I trust can hurt me so much easier than those I don't trust. Pain is part of relationships; it's inevitable. There isn't such a thing as pain-free trust. Or pain-free love.

I was sitting across the restaurant table with my Dad last night. A man I decided a couple years ago was a man worth trusting. And I'm so glad I did. He is worth my trust. Worth the pain. He loves me back, and chooses to trust me too.  I am not an easy person to love, and yet he loves me back.

 I was telling him about a relationship that pained me. I told him how I keep reaching out and pulling my hand back, bloody. I vented about how I have chosen to continue the friendship, to keep wiping the blood off, only to have them accuse me. Pick at old wounds. His face softened. Instead of feeling defensive for me, he simply stated that it sounded kinda like the relationship we have with Christ. And even though that wasn't what I wanted to hear, it brought me back to some times I've apologized to God for my unfaithfulness to Him. The times I realized He still wanted to be my friend, even after I hadn't talked to Him all week. Even after I told Him that He didn't care and I was angry with Him. You know those relationships where if you could draw a picture to describe it, you'd have yourself at a door, in the rain, knocking? He waits. He knocks. And I leave Him out in the rain. And yet He has never forsaken me. He continually holds my hand through the darkest of times. He reminds me of Himself, gives me strength, listens, cares. God took the risk of loving humanity, even when he foreknew that we would deny him, curse him, reject him.

I've decided I want to love people. And I want to trust a few of them. It is too exhausting to preserve myself from everyone. And it's lonely. And it's even painful. Some people I've let go. And some I've gone back to. This time when I hand over my heart, I'm giving them permission to break it. I don't expect to keep it fully intact. Because they are human. And humans break hearts. And those I trust I know are going to do everything in their power to cherish the fact that I'm trusting them with something so fragile.

And there is a difference between loving someone and trusting them. I love quite a few people that I've chosen not to trust. But everyone I trust, I also love. With all of me.

I've come to the wild conclusion that trust is a dangerous thing. But coupled with love, it's beautiful and certain people are worth trusting. Even with the risk of them hurting me. And it's given me the ability to allow others to trust me. I desire to be trustworthy.

Toni. A small extreme person with hurts.

Addendum: Who is learning how to love and trust again.

Related Posts:

Bleeding Hearts

 

Spiritual Lessons

Silly Scribbles 

# 5

Or Life as Toni 

Not too long ago, I started a little series of writings that I titled “Silly Scribbles” or “Life as Toni”.  I began posting them on a private writing club that I joined.  I received such positive feedback I decided to be be brave and share with my Maid Arise readers.  

So often the writer in me throbs and insists, but my current work in progress is strictly grammatical at this point and my creative juices feel cramped and unjustly squelched. So I have decided to allow these juices passage and wait to see what comes of it. I decided to share my experiences with you. Sometimes my life can be quite humorous to the point of disbelief which I have come to accept as normal.... or sometimes I learn new things about myself or little lessons God teaches through the inevitable we've fondly labeled “life”. I hope that these shared stories and bearings of the soul are somehow a blessing, or in the least, a few minutes of entertainment.

Unnecessary Deliverance

I'm crying in a world of discord. Life's music is a jarring mournful cry. It's a plaintive lonely sound that follows me, shadowing every step, every relationship. A constant melody.

And then I realize why I can't run away from it. The song comes from me. It's a heart cry. Beautiful, intricate, but morbid. It is so loud, I wonder why no one else notices it. In fact, others come to me, needing me to listen to their soul-song while completely ignoring mine. And why would I want to demand that others listen? I can't.

Deliverance becomes my war cry. It's my desperate hope. I beg. But my soul rings louder in my ears. Carefully I hold it out, I try to let someone else listen. They briefly listen as my song bleeds it's first notes, and then look at me with sympathy and say, “I'm sorry...I can't help you...I'm not going to even try”.

Quickly I retract it back and smother it deep down. Life rushes on – too needy to listen. So I give. And I give. And I give. I'm bleeding inside out. But the roar of humanity drowns my heart cry.

I've muffled my soul out of necessity, and yet suddenly in the middle of an ordinary moment, my heart will spill out into public, a noise unbearable. I look up ashamed and I'm told, “It's okay, it's part of life...you'll get over it.” I will?

I'm seen, but I am not heard. I want to hide my heart, with it's sensitive song. If no one care's to listen why would I chase them down like a sales man? If I am purposefully silent at least the world will have a legitimate excuse for not hearing my heart song. To be ignored while your heart screams it's sorrows is painfully insulting. At least there's dignity in silence.

What about God? I run to Him and shyly reveal my blaring heart. Take it, change it, heal it – deliver me! Those I love seem to be the most oblivious to it's howling melody. But surely God knows. He can hear it. He cares. He will deliver me.

But no, I wake up the next morning and listen. I strain to hear. There it is – the cry of a hurting heart. At work it sings. At home it sings. At church it sings.

I run to Him again. Oh God, why will you not deliver me? Send your peace and melody into my heart. Deliver me from the ranting cries. And this is what He says:

“Your deliverance is unnecessary.”

What? But it hurts. I'm lonely. No one cares. I'm abandoned. I'm used. Why won't He save me? Will He forsake me too?

And then, above the din of my heart I can hear a song. It's sorrowful and the strain of it hurts me. It's an anguishing thundering melody. It's His heart cry. And He didn't ask for deliverance. In fact, He deemed it necessary. His heart cry was for the world.

Slowly the song fades, and all I'm left with is the tremor of my own heart. It's cry sounds dim; like the whisper of the sea shell pressed to your ear, compared to the din of an entire ocean. What if my heart cry was necessary to save one person? What if my heart cry had a purpose? What if my song was God-given? What if it was a gift? What if I didn't need to be delivered because it was created for my own good? What if He wrote it'ssong?

Every note is precious if He orchestrated it. No-one needs to listen, because He already does. No one knows my heart like Jesus. I can courageously bare my heart and let Him play across it's strings if it's Him who strikes the chords. Who knows who will be benefited by it's music? Maybe this is a song that only He and I will share? It doesn't matter, there's a reason, and I've learned to be okay with the cacophony of my soul. He's the composer and He has lovingly titled the first measure – Unnecessary Deliverance.

“Often thou art crying that thou art living in a world of discords. Thou art living in a world of perfect music, only thou hearest but a small portion of the music. Often art thou saying that the coming melody shall atone for the jarring chords. Nay; say rather that the jarring chords themselves shall be revealed as parts of the harmony. The melody is not to come, it has come already...” ~ George Matheson, Moments on the Mount, p. 135   

Silly Scribbles/Starless

Spiritual Lessons

Silly Scribbles

 # 4

Or Life as Toni 

Just recently I started a little series of writings that I titled “Silly Scribbles” or “Life as Toni”.  I began posting them on a private writing club that I joined.  I received such positive feedback I decided to be be brave and share with my Maid Arise readers.  

So often the writer in me throbs and insists, but my current work in progress is strictly grammatical at this point and my creative juices feel cramped and unjustly squelched. So I have decided to allow these juices passage and wait to see what comes of it. I decided to share my experiences with you. Sometimes my life can be quite humorous to the point of disbelief which I have come to accept as normal.... or sometimes I learn new things about myself or little lessons God teaches through the inevitable we've fondly labeled “life”. I hope that these shared stories and bearings of the soul are somehow a blessing, or in the least, a few minutes of entertainment.

Starless

Coping is exhausting. It's a verge of breaking, but clinging desperately to a weak hopeless nothingness. It's survival with constant pain. Depression is a wound that haunts and hurts, but no one else sees it's blood. A sticky despair. I'm so tired and I look up into the darkness, trying to pray. It's clear and cold; not a star in the sky. That's how life feels right now....starless. Everyone is in the house. I can hear muffled laughter from inside, and it seems to mock me. I lean against the clothesline,'s wooden stake, staring up into that bleak stretch. No one answers me. I could never doubt His existence. Just as I could never doubt my mothers existence. I know Him too well. But the question that stares back at me is – Does He care? No one cares to know how I feel, because they too hurt. Or they are doing so well they forget that others mourn while they rejoice.

So, this is depression. I have read of it, witnessed it, talked about it....but now I meet it. It's not so much of a sinking feeling but as if I've sunk. It's dark. It's odd knowing I'm depressed....it's like holding it, trying to scrutinize it, turning it over in my hand. It's ugly. It hurts to hold it. But I don't know how to let it go. I feel so guilty for being dramatic and feel condemned thinking if others knew how I felt. But could I even convey what I felt to others? I'd just cry and they would wonder. They would feel uncomfortable. They would see me as just an emotional female. Or they would blame my “sickness”. I feel dangerous. I would never contemplate suicide...but death seems so welcome, so liberating. I want it.

Alone is a sad word. It's not that others don't carry heavy burdens or know what depression is like. But I have no-one who cares. That is lonely. Crying brings no relief. No washing. After I sob I'm left a little numb, but it's a gaping empty negative numbness. He says that weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning. If that's so, my life is one drawn out nightmare.

This has been my last couple weeks. Painful, sleepless, depressing days. It doesn't matter why. There are many variables. Some are physical. My health has been sorely stretched. Some of it is circumstances. Hurtful words. Wounds by friends. Shifting of stable pillars. Some of it is emotional. Stress, defense, a pulling back, disappointment and grief.

I finally faced it all. In it's abhorrence and pain and disturbance, I looked at it and realized it was not something to be ashamed of. I clung to something sturdier than a hope....I reached out for a promise. A promise that He would incline unto me and hear my cry. That he would bring me up out of the horrible pit and out of the miry clay and set my feet on a rock. That He would put a new song in my mouth and praise. (Psalm 40).

While reaching out for the promise I didn't try to escape the hurt. It had found me, whether I liked it or not and I wasn't going to try to cope anymore. I wasn't going to press it down. I was going to pray no matter how many stars shone. And it happened.

I finished work and stepped out onto the sidewalk and headed “home” (my friends house). It was 5:30 in the evening but it was still light out and people milled about the streets. Each of them complex individuals, only unified in humanity, but the rest an unknown mystery. A casual quiet mystery. Sunset, car lights....twilight's enchanting hues. Spring's fresh air. A man whistles as he walks up his drive, happy to be off work and home. It's a relaxed stirring of humanity. And I don't feel like a detached spectator. I'm part of it all and it excites me. Somehow depression has lost the stare contest. The only loneliness that tugs at the edge of my heart is not being able to share that moment with someone closer who would be able to see what I see and revel in it and take quiet notice with me. But I do have Someone. I smile. That same Someone makes life worth living. Makes sleep possible. Night is nothing to dread no matter how many stars show. And the morning will come – a day the Lord has made and planned in detail. Depression let me go. Or did I let go of it? I accepted it. I faced it. I decided. As I drew near the house, with the sun setting behind it, I knew there would be a morning. And when it comes I will look up at the sky and say, “Who has conquered my grief? Who has conquered my heartache? Who has conquered my pain?” And I will sing – “Jesus.”

Silly Scribble # 3

Silly Scribbles/ An Open Door with Confidence

Silly Scribbles
#3

~ Or Life as Toni ~

Just recently I started a little series of writings that I titled “Silly Scribbles” or “Life as Toni”.  I began posting them on a private writing club that I joined.  I received such positive feedback I decided to be be brave and share with my Maid Arise readers.  

So often the writer in me throbs and insists, but my current work in progress is strictly grammatical at this point and my creative juices feel cramped and unjustly squelched. So I have decided to allow these juices passage and wait to see what comes of it. I decided to share my experiences with you. Sometimes my life can be quite humorous to the point of disbelief which I have come to accept as normal.... or sometimes I learn new things about myself or little lessons God teaches through the inevitable we've fondly labeled “life”. I hope that these shared stories and bearings of the soul are somehow a blessing, or in the least, a few minutes of entertainment.

An Open Door with Confidence

***

I froze mid step and stopped breathing. Yes, there it was again, the distant rumble of a vehicle. Fear rushed over me like a thousand biting needle points and my heartbeat raced away with my reason. I couldn't stand there just gripping my pathetic little pepper spray and wait for it. Springing like a deer I fled into the dense tree line that followed our dirt road. Crashing through brush and anything that stood in my way I ran to a little indent in the earth under a large tree and stopped to listen once more, like hunted prey. The forest stood silent except for my heavy breathing. The rain ladened pine slowly dripped on my face. I was shaking. And I felt like an idiot – no one was coming. It was all my imagination.

***

I had taken every rebuke. The just and unjust. I was told I was inefficient. Told I lacked confidence. Told I was inept. I was lectured, ridiculed, and belittled. Every day I cried out to the Lord for peace and joy and comfort. It would come, but only to be swept away every time I went to work. And now she stood there, her blue eyes piercing into my soul, knowing she had just offered the ultimatum. Would I consent to her conditions or not? If I did, I would be making a huge sacrifice, and disobeying my authorities. She knew that. But then to refuse meant I would lose my job, and worse, a friend. I had to decide, but fear pierced my heart and hung like a led weight.

***

These are paragraphs of real incidents of my life. Snippets that describe and define me. I guess you could say I have lived in insecurity for a long time. Something taught me by my experiences. And yet insecurity isn't a cause, but a result. Actually, I haven't lived with insecurity, but have lived without confidence. Without confidence I am left insecure and exposed for fear.

Before any negative experiences happened I already was a timid person. Nothing my parents ever said or did has given me any right to believe that I was less than anyone else. But for some reason I have grown up thinking that I was just below average. And if anyone thought otherwise it was because, somehow or other, I had fooled them. They really didn't know me. If they had seen me struggle over that math problem. Or had seen how long it took me to master the concept in piano. Or watched over my shoulder while I wrote in illegible cursive. The very same math problem my little brother could figure out in a cinch. Or the piano concept that my brother (who didn't take lessons) could conquer effortlessly. Or the same cursive alphabet that my sibling received compliments from my Grandmother for. I knew I could kind of keep up, and for the most part, if no-one watched too closely, I'd kind of mesh in the crowd and my inadequacy would be overlooked.

I tucked that mindset under my arm and set off to accomplish life. And in life I was hunted down and accused and rejected. Unfortunately I gave into my fear. I believed them. Every new door of opportunity was now opened with anxiety. Every expectation of me was something I dreaded messing up. Every employer was someone to be feared. It climaxed after losing my job as caregiver. My little boy I had so dutifully and faithfully guarded was taken away from me as a punishment for something that wasn't my fault. But I was told it was my fault.

After this I would have nightmares. Sometimes they would seem quite unrelated, but looking back I realize it was rejection and fear eating away at me. I lived without confidence. Until a few days ago.

Losing my job happened last Autumn. So my healing has probably been in little steps since then. But it was just a few days ago that I embraced who Jesus has created me to be. I can't even convey to you the simple radiant beauty in this freedom. I have refused to hold onto other's judgments of myself. Jesus gave me Isaiah 30:15 “In returning and rest shall ye be saved; in quietness and in confidence shall be your strength...” I claimed it. And applied it practically.

In little day to day problems I tried it. I decided to look at my problem confidently, cheerfully, quietly. And it melted away. I could think clearly and the negative emotion disappeared.

So I tried it in “big” problems. This Monday was my first official day of work. I had gone in last week to get acquainted with the overall process of the secretarial motions of Aspen Wellspring (a natural Health clinic). Every time my employer showed me something or spoke to me gently I was overwhelmed with relief. She wasn't upset with me. She didn't find me inefficient.

Now it was my official day. It started off with several extra feet of snow. After an hour and a half of shoveling out the car to no avail, my brother offered to drive me to town in the beat-up truck. The one at the end of our long quarter mile unplowed drive way. And the one without fuel I might add. So after trudging to the pick up we find that the road is hardly navigable. Our neighbor with the plow is doing her best, but as she passes us she leaves behind her a daunting trail with two narrow ruts. Half way down the mountain we get stuck. We had left 45 minutes earlier than we had to, but it took us at least 30 minutes to get unstuck. Normally this would have gotten me quite anxious. What would my boss say? I was sure to be late. But instead I calmly, quietly took my problem with confidence. I knew the Lord knew, and I would do my best with what He allowed.

That's when we ran out of gas. Yep. Three and a half miles from town. Right in the middle of the one lane trail. So Chris pushed the back while I pushed the front and steered. As soon as it would get going down the hill, I would jump in the seat and slam the door shut and Chris would jump in the bed. It would pick up speed for a little ways and then stop. We did this a little ways until we ran out of hill. After that, it wouldn't budge. So down the icy mountain we jogged to town. Normally this would have been my limit. I would be overcome with negative emotions and drained. But I was actually laughing. It was raining, our shoes were soaked and Chris had hurt his knee. He looked over at me as I gingerly jogged alongside him in the ice and he reassuringly declared, “You know, if you fall down on this ice I'm going to laugh my head off!” Huttoesque humor at it's best. When everything falls apart you either laugh or cry. And for the first time in a long time... I was laughing. Confidence.

Since then I've been faced with multiple circumstances that should have left me quaking. But every time there He is, holding my hand and with quietness and confidence I find my strength.

After applying it to my daily lifestyle I finally took my great emotional insecurity by the horns and faced it. What caused me to fear and lack confidence? Some of it stemmed from being chased down by men not so long ago. That really had shaken me and left me afraid to jog or even use public restrooms. But I had conquered this fear with some basic training. It only haunted me now and then.

But I stopped to think when I had started having nightmares and insecurities and being afraid of what others thought. And I pinpointed it's climax. It was when I lost my job last year. It hurt to lose my little boy, but the heaping of untrue perceptions on my head was something I couldn't cope with. It drained me and squeezed my “comfort zone” into a small sphere. I was told I was socially awkward and lacked capability and now everything looked complex and I felt inadequate in everything.

I have to pause to say that I don't believe this was my employers intention. I don't think she lay awake at night planning my emotional destruction. But she allowed her flesh to dictate her attitude and tongue and took it out on the closest defenseless person around. And that happened to be me. Nothing personal. :) But it was my choice to hold onto it. My choice to allow it to dictate my dreams and security and relationships and actions. She was right in one thing: I lacked confidence.

How silly to hold onto other people's garbage! And I have found the key to dumping it! In quietness and confidence I find the strength to cheerfully let go. It's not even taking one day at a time but each new emotion, which can be moment by moment.

My dad just recently left for North Dakota to work a 30 day shift, with 10 days off. I can't even explain how this shakes my world upside down. But this time I tried Jesus' promise. I quietly accepted it, and confidently embraced it. It works! I don't dread anything anymore. Life's problems are God-given circumstances that I can quietly accept and confidently embrace.

This life-long struggle has held me back from blossoming into the person Jesus has wanted me (made me) to be. No Father desires His child to cower and tremble in insecurities. It had gotten out of control. I started feeling inadequate in the things I've previously conquered, not just in new things. Now I can open every door of opportunity wide and confidently step in with a smile on my face.

Thinking highly of yourself can be taken to unhealthy extremes, but it is just as detrimental to think that extremely low of yourself. It's life altering, emotionally and physically. You can probably think of people you know who live like this. I wish I could tell them how beautiful and strong and comforting confidence is. True confidence. And this is found in the Vine. In the all-powerful One who calls me Beloved. In Him is true confidence. He makes it possible to quietly accept anything because anything can be accepted if you believe your life is orchestrated by a Lover who looks to your best interest. With that knowledge tucked under your arm you can be sure to take on Life with confidence.

For the first time in over a year I prayed for my “x” employer. And for my sweet boy. Up until now my insecurity was a sore bereavement on my soul. I even lacked the confidence to talk much about him. But now I can think about him and talk about him, and pray for him and it doesn't hurt. No guilt or fear is associated with him anymore. He is my dear baby again.

I now can shut that door, quietly with peace. It was slammed in my face, but I had never found closure. Now it's done and I'm faced with other doors. I've grabbed the knob. I'm going to swing wide and jump in. Who knows what lays before me? But with Jesus I'm going in with confidence.


Silly Scribble#4 "Starless"

Silly Scribbles/ A Chain of Difference

 Spiritual Lessons/ Health and Beauty

Silly Scribbles
#2

~ Or Life as Toni ~

Just recently I started a little series of writings that I titled “Silly Scribbles” or “Life as Toni”.  I began posting them on a private writing club that I joined.  I received such positive feedback I decided to be be brave and share with my Maid Arise readers.  

So often the writer in me throbs and insists, but my current work in progress is strictly grammatical at this point and my creative juices feel cramped and unjustly squelched. So I have decided to allow these juices passage and wait to see what comes of it. I decided to share my experiences with you. Sometimes my life can be quite humorous to the point of disbelief which I have come to accept as normal.... or sometimes I learn new things about myself or little lessons God teaches through the inevitable we've fondly labeled “life”. I hope that these shared stories and bearings of the soul are somehow a blessing, or in the least, a few minutes of entertainment.

The Chain of Difference

“Good Morning ladies, what kind of beverage can I start you out with?”

Normally I would have asked for coffee, but I hadn't had even a sip of coffee in over four months.

I smiled up at the waitress confidently. “Tea please”

I was almost sure the waitress looked a little surprised but she quickly turned to my new friend across from me – “And you?”

“The same, please.”

I had only recently met Bethany, a sweet Christian young woman who I had decided to try to get to know better. The Lord has specifically put her on my heart that week which had prompted me to ask the day before if she would like to spend her lunch hour together. Bethany was delighted, but decided that breakfast would be even better and invited me out for the next day.

What she didn't know was that I went home slightly anxious after accepting her invitation. I had planned to just bring my own lunch and spend her lunch hour with her, but “going out” led me to quite the conundrum. I can only eat five foods. What was I going to eat at a Diner? Bringing my own breakfast was out of the question. But when I thought of what “normal” people eat for breakfast I felt defeated. Bacon or sausage...nope. Can't have pork. Eggs, french toast, pancakes, waffles, fruit....nope, nope and nope. I couldn't even “get away” with eating a little bit. Any of those foods would nearly kill me. And so, there I was, sitting in a Diner, with a lovely young woman who had graciously invited me to breakfast, without the ability to eat any breakfast kind of food. This is Toni... the girl who eats chicken legs and carrot juice for breakfast.

After receiving our tea we chit chatted about our families and our recent activities. I sweetened my tea with stevia from my purse and Bethany didn't seem to think anything of it. I relaxed a little. What made me so nervous? Bethany wasn't going to “un-friend” me just because I am different. But that was it – I hated sticking out. I hated being different. Even as a child I remember going through great pains to meld. I always feared that the things I didn't understand were obvious to everyone but me, and would go along, totally in the dark, too afraid to ask any questions. Or how the kids in private school bought their lunches, but mine were made at home, and this bothered me. My brother was always different than everyone else, but seemed to revel in it. Chris didn't care that he thought differently or didn't like what everyone else did, or that his only friend in first grade was the little fat girl everyone disliked. But I cared. I wanted people to like me. I have always desired for approval. I dread the idea of someone, anyone, being upset with me.

“Alright, so what can I get for you girls this morning?”

I had already scanned the menu. Nothing. They even served oatmeal, but I couldn't eat that either.

I looked up at Bethany and found her expectantly waiting for me to go first.

I looked back down at the menu and decided.

“I would like a hamburger, please”.

I couldn't really blame the waitress for looking at me the way she did – it was eight 'o clock in the morning.

“Okay....would you like anything on the side....like hashbrowns or the fruit dish?”

“No thank you....just a hamburger....without the bun please.”

She was writing on her little note pad when she did a double-take. “No bun?”

“Yes, please....” I looked down at the menu to see what came on the burger and took in a deep breath before adding – “and no ketchup or mustard, or onion or cheese...” I took one more look at the Hog's Flat Angus Burger description. “...or pickle.”

I looked back up to see the waitress with pen held above her pad, her eyes with a blank expression, just staring. I didn't dare look at Bethany.

“You mean....” she finally said, “you want a hamburger for breakfast...?”

I nodded.

“...with no ketchup, no onion, no cheese and no pickle?”

“Yes please.”

She looked at me incredulously. She was a bigger woman, with her hair pulled up too tight, and a brusque voice that seemed to carry across the diner.

“Ooookaay. And what about you?” She turned to Bethany.

I looked up at Bethany to meet her amused face. She was smiling at me, but not only with amusement but almost admiration. “The same please.”

I was surprised. “Beth, you don't have to get the same as me....”

She cut me short and laughed and then looked up at the waitress with a confidence that I realized I had used with the waitress, even if I hadn't felt it. “A hamburger please”.

And so our breakfast was a success and I learned not only how to order breakfast in a Diner on an elimination diet, but also that real friends can enjoy eating hamburgers at eight o' clock A.M. :)

***

It amuses me really that in general, people seem to strive for difference. As if they seek individuality in it. While all my life I've yearned to be normal. I've always been a slow learner. Also being a Christian woman in this day and age makes me stand out. And now I'm the girl with only squash, meat and carrots on her “Can eat” list.

Who would have guessed that seeing everyone's hands take a sandwich off a platter would make me feel lonely? Or when everyone says “Hey, let's go get an icecream!” Or to sit at the table and see that every plate matches, everything on the dishes looks and smells the same until you come to my seat. Not only am I alone in my difference, but alone in a crowd. Like a jagged puzzle piece that is pronounced by the fact everyone else matches, but me. Not only bereaved but different.

And yet, being different has two sides. It is definitely hard to be different and pointed out. But it has become my new norm, and I have found most people, waitresses discluded, are quite accepting of my difference. The other side is to be forgotten.

Sometimes others presume I don't join in because it's my preference. They have no concept of the invisible chains that hold me back. Difference is no longer a mark that defines me, but a barrier that separates. Difference has become a norm in my life, but others can forget. My difference isn't their constant companion, but mine; it's easy for them to overlook, but it's become my life.

And yet the chain of difference has been entrusted to me. For a reason. Why do I care if no-one knows what sacrifices I must make in order to live my life? They too may have secret sacrifices that hold them back from something I take for granted in my own life. I do not need people to relate in order for me to live life to the fullest. It would be nice to be understood, but their ignorance is not a hindrance, and it certainly is not a show of disinterest in me as a person.

How lovely to be given a life that Jesus has charted exclusively for me. What if it includes difference? With this difference comes Himself as my companion. And not for some of the journey, but all of it. I don't need any one else. He knows the weight of difference. He knows the loneliness. He sees the invisible chains, for He allowed them to be hung about my neck. For my good. They teach me dependence, need, love, empathy. These chains are also a link to others souls who bear similar ones. And I would never have been able to understand had I not had this freedom of normality taken from me.

What liberates me from my chain is not escaping it's weight but the attitude in which I wear it. My chain can become wings of sympathy, and my captivity a prayer for others. The mark of difference is nothing to be despised. I have never had anything else prepare my soul for crucifixion as well as my chain of difference.

Different? Yes, but I have come to accept Difference as a blessing instead of a barrier. A direct link to the very One I need. I have found my chain of difference a gold one.


For more on "chains"click here.