It is impossible to know what is going on in the mind and the heart of another. Even if someone chooses to share this information with me, there are too many variables to ever get it exactly right.
So we make assumptions about each other. He is yawning; he must be tired or bored. She curled her hair; maybe she needs attention. He is dressed nicer than usual; perhaps he is trying to make a good impression. Her eyes are red; she is either suffering from allergies or has been crying.
We can appear as though life is great. Our clothes are clean and we have paid attention to coordinating them in appropriate ways. Basic hygiene goes a long way in allaying the fears of the observant. Looks good + smells good = must be ok.
Recently I have learned that a prayer request means praying for the needs of another and not yourself. This is easy. It also deflects attention if your personal prayer request would not be accepted or understood. It isn't that anyone wants to judge. It is just that there is often not enough time to thoroughly explain. Nothing feels worse than to have something major diminished by a quick, dismissive prayer, equating it to some triviality in life. If I have trivial prayer needs, I must be thought of as a pretty shallow person, I tell myself, as I realize it is too late to take back my prayer request. Never mind, I want to say, don't trouble yourself with it. God has got this one.
It takes discernment to know who is able to handle what is really going on in my life. Some just do not have the capacity for such truths. I do not like to share my "stuff" if it will turn into the only thing brought up each time I make contact with the person--kind of like it was when I was pregnant. I started off wanting to share the news with the world and could not wait until I grew into my new maternity clothes. My baby bump filled me with unimaginable joy, but as time went by I would be asked the same questions, over and over . . . for months. When are you due? How is your pregnancy going? Are you excited about the baby? And on and on it would go. I would long for someone to remember who I was apart from the upcoming blessed event. I was relieved when my doctor referred to the baby as a parasite since I had secretly been feeling like the host it was feeding on and wondering if that would make me an unfit mother. Apparently all that science fiction I had exposed myself to had few deleterious effects on the actual child rearing, or at least that is what I would like to believe.
Once the baby was born, the conversation could revolve around the child. Sometimes it still does. How are your kids? Your husband? Your dog? And then the conversation is over and I wonder what happened to inquiring about me. I make a mental note not to bring that issue up as a prayer request.
Of course I often do not completely share what it is that is going on with me. In fact it would be more accurate to say that I never do. This is not to indicate that I have no friends because I do--some really good ones. I have friends I have known for years and some I have known for only a short time. Some are people of faith; some may never believe as I do. Aside from all of that, there exists a gap in understanding, as it exists with everyone. We each have a unique perspective, an individual bent, and our own cumulative experiences that form us into who we are.
Because I am a writer, I have this whole inner life filled with possible scenarios, scripted with characters playing varying roles. Like imaginary friends pouring their hearts out to me, I have non-stop thought processes going on in my head. Need time alone? Even when I am alone, I am not alone. I know the voices of the actors in my play are all mine so I do not need to worry about passing a psychiatric evaluation, though I will not be taking one any time soon just in case.
There also exists the spiritual component which is a voice different from my own. It is the impetus to put certain words together to form poetry. I obey, usually, knowing that at some point the words will reduce me to tears thus verifying their supernatural origin. This is what I love about writing AND about having a relationship with the Almighty. I also love the fact that if I do not feel like saying anything, my deepest needs are already heard and answers are forthcoming. Well, sometimes not exactly the answers I am looking for, but at least an acknowledgement that I have been listened to.
Maybe this is why I grow impatient with the whole sharing-my-needs-with-others idea. It requires a great deal of effort often resulting in misunderstandings. It is my hope to present myself the way I want to be and honestly ask for prayer regarding those needs that are beyond my reach of fixing. I long to be understood by others in the same way that God understands me and it is just not possible. Good attempts are made when I will allow for them. Love is given and received. There is only one reason why I cannot be fully known by another.
It is because the only one who walks in my Birkenstocks is me.
So we make assumptions about each other. He is yawning; he must be tired or bored. She curled her hair; maybe she needs attention. He is dressed nicer than usual; perhaps he is trying to make a good impression. Her eyes are red; she is either suffering from allergies or has been crying.
We can appear as though life is great. Our clothes are clean and we have paid attention to coordinating them in appropriate ways. Basic hygiene goes a long way in allaying the fears of the observant. Looks good + smells good = must be ok.
Recently I have learned that a prayer request means praying for the needs of another and not yourself. This is easy. It also deflects attention if your personal prayer request would not be accepted or understood. It isn't that anyone wants to judge. It is just that there is often not enough time to thoroughly explain. Nothing feels worse than to have something major diminished by a quick, dismissive prayer, equating it to some triviality in life. If I have trivial prayer needs, I must be thought of as a pretty shallow person, I tell myself, as I realize it is too late to take back my prayer request. Never mind, I want to say, don't trouble yourself with it. God has got this one.
It takes discernment to know who is able to handle what is really going on in my life. Some just do not have the capacity for such truths. I do not like to share my "stuff" if it will turn into the only thing brought up each time I make contact with the person--kind of like it was when I was pregnant. I started off wanting to share the news with the world and could not wait until I grew into my new maternity clothes. My baby bump filled me with unimaginable joy, but as time went by I would be asked the same questions, over and over . . . for months. When are you due? How is your pregnancy going? Are you excited about the baby? And on and on it would go. I would long for someone to remember who I was apart from the upcoming blessed event. I was relieved when my doctor referred to the baby as a parasite since I had secretly been feeling like the host it was feeding on and wondering if that would make me an unfit mother. Apparently all that science fiction I had exposed myself to had few deleterious effects on the actual child rearing, or at least that is what I would like to believe.
Once the baby was born, the conversation could revolve around the child. Sometimes it still does. How are your kids? Your husband? Your dog? And then the conversation is over and I wonder what happened to inquiring about me. I make a mental note not to bring that issue up as a prayer request.
Of course I often do not completely share what it is that is going on with me. In fact it would be more accurate to say that I never do. This is not to indicate that I have no friends because I do--some really good ones. I have friends I have known for years and some I have known for only a short time. Some are people of faith; some may never believe as I do. Aside from all of that, there exists a gap in understanding, as it exists with everyone. We each have a unique perspective, an individual bent, and our own cumulative experiences that form us into who we are.
Because I am a writer, I have this whole inner life filled with possible scenarios, scripted with characters playing varying roles. Like imaginary friends pouring their hearts out to me, I have non-stop thought processes going on in my head. Need time alone? Even when I am alone, I am not alone. I know the voices of the actors in my play are all mine so I do not need to worry about passing a psychiatric evaluation, though I will not be taking one any time soon just in case.
There also exists the spiritual component which is a voice different from my own. It is the impetus to put certain words together to form poetry. I obey, usually, knowing that at some point the words will reduce me to tears thus verifying their supernatural origin. This is what I love about writing AND about having a relationship with the Almighty. I also love the fact that if I do not feel like saying anything, my deepest needs are already heard and answers are forthcoming. Well, sometimes not exactly the answers I am looking for, but at least an acknowledgement that I have been listened to.
Maybe this is why I grow impatient with the whole sharing-my-needs-with-others idea. It requires a great deal of effort often resulting in misunderstandings. It is my hope to present myself the way I want to be and honestly ask for prayer regarding those needs that are beyond my reach of fixing. I long to be understood by others in the same way that God understands me and it is just not possible. Good attempts are made when I will allow for them. Love is given and received. There is only one reason why I cannot be fully known by another.
It is because the only one who walks in my Birkenstocks is me.
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