Being Misunderstood

I read the words and conviction swelled in my heart. I heard a story from a friend in 2008, and allowed my perception of another person to be affected.

It turns out, the story was only partially true, and the part that wasn’t true completely changed the part that was.

I had spent 12 years misjudging someone.

I’ve shared a lot of stories. I don’t share as many these days. Partly because I’ve learned to curate them. Partly because, in the moment I want to share them, I don’t feel willing to offer my story at the altar of misunderstanding.

Being misunderstood is an inevitable reality of this life. Perhaps it’s a symptom of a fallen world, or maybe it’s just part of us all being slightly oriented in a different direction. We see the same story, but from a different angle, and draw a different conclusion.

Even when I believe I am communicating clearly, it’s possible to be misunderstood. How it is perceived isn’t only up to me, and isn’t only affected by me. In the same way that “beauty is in the eye of the beholder”, meaning is in the mind of the perceiver.

This propensity to misunderstand isn’t always the result of deliberate obtuseness. Or ill motive. It’s the result of different knowledge, feelings and experiences. Of viewing people through a simplistic lens. Of one small thing I know about them becoming the shade by which everything else is colored.

Trying to manage other people’s perceptions of me is exhausting and fruitless. It’s like setting a million eagles free and trying to control where they fly.

So, I’ve been intentionally allowing other people to misunderstand me. Remaining quiet when I feel tempted to clarify. Allowing myself to be unknown and unaffected by it.

The trick is to love anyway. It isn’t enough to hold my tongue. Remaining silent is not the objective, because it isn’t all about me.

During the time I would normally spend feeling unloved or trying to clarify, I spend intentionally seeing them as more than this one moment. Looking for things to love, trying to understand. Being curious about them.

Curiosity illuminates. Allows me to see complexity. Wholeness. To find compassion. To see people as God's children, instead of an enemy or competitor.

I’m not only misunderstood, I am also a misunderstander.

I can't control where the eagles I release go, but as an eagle I am in charge of where I fly. I don't want to waste another 12 years going in the wrong direction.

Plucked

Over and over I trusted the God who had plucked me from the darkness.

He called me, He would equip me. 

But after months of practice, I stumbled. 

Panic. 

The girl not to be trusted.

Incapable. 

Forgetful.

Girl who got pregnant before she was married and who would always be a loser. 

Rejected.

Unapproved of. 

Lost. 

And just like that, I located the most reliable person who could take up the reins,

trusted her, instead of God. 

It happened fast.

Automatic. 

Covert. 

Until God woke me up from my spiritual daze. 

He chose me. 

Me.

The girl not to be trusted.

Incapable. 

Forgetful.

Who got pregnant before I was married and who would always be a loser. 

Rejected. 

Unapproved of. 

Lost. 

But He called me. 

I wrestled the reins back and trusted the God who chose me to direct my steps. 

And He did. 

Sunflowers & Roses

Sunflower hands catch falling Rose petals

Grunt. groan. sweat. tears. 

Laboring to attach fallen rose petals to my Sunflower face

Aching for love. Longing to be lovely. Wishing I were as beautiful as she. 

I must be her. 

She is loved. 

She is lovely. 

She is a vessel by which men convey their love. 

I must make her beauty stick to my plainness.

I labor to no avail.

It doesn’t work. 

They won’t stick.

Nobody is fooled. 

A sunflower will never be a rose. 

Falling rose petals perish on the floor.

Hands no longer grasp for their beauty.. 

They won’t love me. 

I’m a sunflower, not a rose. 

And then, 

He picked me. 

He chose my beauty to convey His love.

I don’t have to be red. Or smell like a rose. 

He made me just the way He wants me. 

Her place doesn’t overshadow or nullify mine.

We both bring joy. 

We both belong in the garden. 

I love my yellow petals, green leaves.

I stand tall, turn my face to the Son, 

And bask in the light of the one who 

Thought this world needed my sunflower beauty,

Even though it already contained hers. 

Consuming Belief

Consumed by

doing things to please other people. 

earning their favor. 

manipulating them into giving me what I need.

I misunderstood 

my relationship 

with God 

other people.

It's called codependency.

I believed that 

if I just did the right things, 

in the right order, 

at the right time 

with the right people...

if I could just get all of that right,

God would love and save me.

It doesn't work that way. 

I'm never going to

do all the right things 

in the right order 

at the right time 

with the right people 

all the time. 

Salvation is based on my faith and God's grace. 

Not 

how often I pray 

the things I do to earn His favor.

the opinions of other people.

I love my children based on our relationship.

Not how well they behave

Or what they accomplish

The things other people say about my children doesn’t affect my relationship with them. 

Compliments are nice

Criticism is an opportunity for improvement.

I know my children. I know who they are. Feedback from others doesn’t change what I know about them or who they are.

God's opinion of me doesn't change based on how others feel about me. 

He knows my heart. 

When someone complains about me, they are not giving Him new information. 

He knows my heart. 

He doesn’t believe falsehoods, or change His opinion based on theirs.

He knows my heart.

If God’s opinion and actions cannot be swayed by the compliments or criticisms of others, why should mine be? 

Manipulate

The knowledge to simply say what I felt, eluded me. 

Every word a manipulation to wrestle my needs from the clutches of what I believed were hands unwilling to relinquish them.

Fear drove my communication . . . 

of rejection.

of being unloved.

Fear that my unspoken beliefs would be confirmed as true. 

  of being weak. 

In denial of these fears. 

My life would be made up of a string of gossip, assumptions, judgment.

Sarcasm. 

Passive aggressiveness.

Shallowness.

Drama.

Relationships stale.

Fragile.

Painful.

Dysfunctional.

Confusing. 

And then . . . 

I learned that 

directness is a virtue. 

I can say what I feel.

How they respond is a reflection of them, not me. 

And . . . 

to say what I feel . . . I have to know what that is. 

So . . .  “think about what I am thinking about.” 

Honestly.

Deeply. 

“What is in a man’s heart flows from his lips”

Diseased communication comes from a diseased heart.

Change my heart, Lord. 

Pride to humility.

Fear to trust.

Approval seeking to God seeking.

Avoiding to peacemaking.

Until “the meditation of my heart and the words of my lips are pleasing in Your sight.”

How Does He Love Me?

How does He love me? 

Let me count the ways . . . 

highlighted clouds in gold,

rain while the sun shines,

Flowers regrown when sweet, eager boys pull “weeds”

Buys a home,

Sends me a friend,

Repairs what is broken.

Sweet freckle faces,

Laughter in the night,

Melodies and harmonies seeping through the walls when I think the fighting won’t end.

“Can I sit on your lap?”

Does my make up look okay?

Sweet words spoken when they think I don’t hear. 

Song of Solomon

Partners in life

Leah -  loved & chosen.

A place to grow,

Space to land

A village to raise our children. 

How does He love me? 

            I’m still counting the ways. 

In Bloom

He planted me here, designed every petal, leaf.

I measured myself against flowers,

didn't measure up.

Suffocated. Stamped out. Dead beneath the soil.

He dug me out, brushed me off and raised me back to life.

He's restoring every petal, reviving every

He rooted me here.

designed every petal,

predestined every leaf.

In love, he made me.

With purpose, intention.

But. . .

As I blossomed,

my blossom didn't seem as pretty as theirs.

So . . .,

consumed by comparison,

failing to measure up,

I began to wilt

Suffocated.

Stamped out.

Dead beneath the soil.

But. God.

Searched for me.

Found me.

Held me.

Spoke truth.

He rooted me here.

Designed every leaf.

Predestined every petal.

Would I trust Him?

Or trust MY OWN understanding?

I chose.

Him.

Every day.

One at a time.

He dug me out.

brushed me off.

raised me up.

And now,

I bask in the Son.

dance in the wind.

He rooted me here.

Designed Every leaf.

Predestined every petal.

Planted flowers close by to give me company, not a measuring stick.

Together. Not compared.

Shared.

Beauty compounded.

Grace magnified.

Life.

In bloom.