Tag: faith

Afraid of the “F” word? When Failure becomes a bad word

Deana2 Comments

 

Participation Trophies are humiliating, at least that is what THIS blogger says about that. And you know what? I think she’s right. And so do my kids – who have those trophies by the way. They also have trophies they actually EARNED and they like those a lot better.

While we (boomers and well wanna be boomers such as myself) lament over what is wrong with the allegedly overly entitled millennials (Gen Yer’s) they in turn lament over our own overly inflated opinion of self.

What is interesting to me is while writers and others lament over the way we’ve allegedly spoiled our millennial kids (I have two of them) with participation trophies for sports and science fairs, grades based on perceived ability to achieve as opposed to actual achievement, we too ignore our own shortfalls and I want to know when did failure become a bad word? 

When my children’s Christian grade school closed, we sought out one of those artsy fartsy country schools for my youngest. We thought it would be good for him to learn at his own pace in a more “open and accepting” environment. This school was so open and accepting (of anyone willing to pay $10k a year) that he wound up repeating the 6th grade when we transferred him to another school the following year. Turns out they grade on perceived ability and being the brilliant child he is – he convinced them he had the IQ of squid and made straight A’s all year while doing little more than breathing in and out. 

We’re even lied to in church. What with the feel good evangelical movement all around us that sells us a lie that I believe has the potential to condemn us.. The “God doesn’t make junk, therefore I don’t sin anymore” propaganda that some pulpits try to pour down our throats, even within my own synod sometimes. 

My only question is: If I don’t fail, don’t sin, and gosh darn it people like me, do I really need a savior? 

Don’t get me wrong, God doesn’t make junk, I’m not junk, some people really DO like me,  but I still sin, and I still fail. And I think it’s okay to admit that. 

And yet — I’m told that if I admit my failings, that I’m beating myself up needlessly. Really? I thought God’s word told us to confess our sins to one another.. To seek forgiveness. To be humble and transparent. 

There are those who would rather blame others, or blame God than admit they failed. If so and so had done thus and such everything would have turned out alright – or here’s a subtle lie I was recently told: 

I chaired a community egg hunt a few years back. We planned on about 1,000 people and twice that showed up. We were overrun, my volunteers bailed. Teens ran through the crowd and stole most of our eggs (I’m not making that up). Hundred’s of children went without. I had children crying, parents yelling. What was left of my team jumped under the prize tent to split up baskets and hand out what we could to children. Parents, upset that their child had not received anything yet stole prizes out of our hands. 

The egg hunt was in my mind a complete disaster. I – as chairman and MC of the Event failed. I learned from it, I know what to do differently now and what went wrong, but I still – in my opinion – failed. 

What surprises me is how many people are eager to hand me a participation trophy. They tell me that I am the only person on the entire team who takes personal accountability for that event and considers it a failure. “We didn’t fail Deana. God just used that to show us we weren’t thinking big enough. So you really don’t need to beat yourself up.” 

Oh really? 

Don’t get me wrong, God’s grace covers a multitude of shortcomings yes, and I’m not talking about perfection here – what I am talking about though – is when I die and go to heaven, I don’t want a participation trophy that says “good for you, you tried.” I want those crowns that we’re promised, the ones we get to throw back at the feet of Christ. The ones we cannot get unless we are willing to try, fail, admit we failed, confess, repent, and try again. 

Oh I failed — miserably. I was ill prepared, over run and terrified of not only the crowd, but the people “above me” who wouldn’t listen to my arguments of location location location. The good news is, I didn’t stay down.  I took all of that back to the cross, and picking myself up, dusting myself off, I prayed for teachers, and opportunities to learn how to do better next time. 

And God answered those prayers with wonderful men and women who came along side me for a season and have taught me great things about ministry, planning, events, speaking, and even comedy. By admitting I failed, I open myself up to more grace and more of God’s hand than I could ever imagine. And yet, so many times, so many of us would rather receive a participation trophy than admit we failed. Why is that? 

I believe failure becomes a bad word when we don’t own it. When we can’t get past the false shame and confess – truthfully – to God and to eachother that we missed the mark.

Failure becomes a bad word when we miss the redemption that Christ promises us in his word. “If we say we have no sin we decieve ourselves and the truth is not in us. BUT if we confess ours sins (failures) God who is faithful and Just will forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”

Why do you think we are afraid of the “F” word? Why are we – our generation – afraid to own it when we fail? I’d love to hear from you. 


　 

This blog post is written by Deana O’Hara for Redemption’s Heart. All rights reserved. Deana lives in Oklahoma, is a stand up comic, motivational speaker, mother of two highly creative boys and the wife of one awesome musician.

 

　 

　

We Have a Referral and I’m learning peace

Deana4 Comments

I can be a bit controlling, especially when I’m scared. My husband will laugh when he reads that and add a “you think?”

I know that control is never a solution to fear, especially not on this side of the Resurrection. But knowing and doing don’t always mesh in my world. We are working on it.

I’ve had three days of phone calls, not only for myself but for my son with epilepsy. I’ve learned through his disorder how to be assertive with doctors and when to follow-up and when to call. D needed a script refilled and for whatever reason, I was the hand holder between the pharmacy and the pediatrician. I’m glad I called it in three days early. It took the full three days to get it refilled. It never takes that long.

My doctor issue really frustrated me. I got frustrated because they were not giving me correct answers. I followed up on Monday like the hospital told me too, and received a call back stating that my referral was being processed and that I should receive a phone call later that day. No phone call came.

Tues: I called back and left a message for the gal in charge. The gal up front read the notes on my file and assured me everything was being processed. No return call came.

Wed: (Today) I called the processing gal directly and was saddened — and slightly angered — to discover she had no clue who I was, and had received no such paper work nor a message that I had called on Tuesday. The gals in the front office did not lie to me — there were notes on my page that indicated a referral was being processed. Sadly it turned out the referral was for the wrong patient. My gal promised to get to work on it right away. True to her word, she did. It took three hours, but I have my referral as promised.

I had a lot of choices this morning. I did succeed in the choice not to lose my temper, and yet still communicate I was angry. I chose to ask to leave a message for my doctor and when I was told that won’t be necessary, I could choose to call the office administrator and speak with them — once my referral was complete. I chose to say a silent prayer rather than speak out what was in my heart at the moment.

Lots of choices. Right now.. I can choose to be happy I have my referral completed. I see a specialist on April 14 at 10 am. I have instructions to call every morning between now and then to see if they have a cancellation.

I know that God does not make bad things happen to people. Things happen because we live in a sinful and fallen world. God is the ultimate hand holder. He holds me in his every day.

I know that he still has plans for me and the phone call from Thelma on monday was all part of that. I talked to her (via email yesterday) and she had no idea I was going through something. We aren’t friends, even though we’ve met. (I hostessed her a couple of years ago) I am however part of You Go Girl. Thelma is someone I intentionally put myself at the feet of to learn. 

The phone call is part of something new she is doing with her You Go Girl mentoring network. It just so happened the devotion on her heart for this month was Jeremiah 29:11. And so together we got to thank God for doctors, modern medicine, and telephones of all things.

So now, I wait some more and know the his plans for me include a future and a hope. And I can rest in that.  And finish my laundry.  It’s kind of piling up.

Let’s talk about plans.  Will you share with all of us a time when your plans and God’s didn’t totally mesh, but his turned out so much better?

“We Found a Mass.”

Deana11 Comments

 There are words a woman wants to hear and words a woman doesn’t.  “We found a mass,” definitely falls into the does not want to hear category. And yet, those are the very words my husband and I heard at Southcrest Hospital on Easter Morning.

My family and I had planned on spending Easter with my Dad. Instead we wound up leaving church early because I had gotten very ill, very suddenly.  My plan was to ride it out and hope the feeling passed and when it didn’t, I let Jeff take me to the hospital.

I didn’t want to go to the Hospital. I wanted to be home serving Easter dinner. I’d spent all day Saturday cooking for both the people at Ablaze who’d helped with our Egg Hunt, and for our family on Sunday. I hadn’t finished cleaning everything up yet and I wanted to be at home cleaning that up before my Dad came over.  My son was home from college for the weekend, I wanted to be with him, enjoying our time together. I didn’t want to be tired, and in an emergency room waiting on test results.

I’ve been having strange symptoms for a few months now. Mood swings, stomach pain, horrible monthly cycles, and my Dr and I had concluded that I was in early menopause. The thought that maybe I’m depressed had crossed my mind as well, even though it didn’t really seem to fit everything else. Secretly, I was afraid I was going crazy.

The good news is:

I’m not depressed — I really am tired from all the blood loss and whatnot.

I’m not crazy.

I’m not in menopause.

The not-so-great news is, I have a mass in my uterus that is 5x8x10 cm. (about the size of a small orange perhaps.) that is causing all these erratic symptoms.

An unwelcome intruder has been the cause of my distress.

I talk to my regular doctor today and we’ll get the appropriate referrals to a gynecologist. I’ve already self diagnosed this puppy as a fibroid. Those are simple to fix and are not uncommon in women my age.

Even more important than my self diagnosis and stupid jokes I’ve been telling for a day now about errant Easter Eggs, is the phone message I received this morning. A beloved friend called via phone tree and spoke about Jeremiah 29:11, “For I know the plans I have for you declares the Lord. Plans not to harm you, but for a future and a hope.”

God has a plan for me, and for my family, and for you my readers. His plans are always better than mine.

My plan, was to be in church, have dinner with my family, and just enjoy the day. His plan involved my getting so sick I had to go to the hospital. Without my getting sick, I wouldn’t know about the mass and wouldn’t be receiving proper medical treatment. His hand is on this, on my family, and on me — praying you see His hand on your day as well.

This post written by Deana O’Hara for Redemption’s Heart. All rights reserved.

Because of Who He is, I can be.

Deana2 Comments

Isaiah 50:7

“Because the sovereign Lord helps me, I will not be disgraced.”

My greatest fear, isn’t being disliked. My greatest fear is being publically humiliated. Hate me all you want, just don’t embarass me. I’m pretty sure that this is a true statement for all of us in some fashion or another. I love attention, just not that kind.

My husband sent me this bible verse Thursday night after I’d told him how unsure I was that I’d made the right decision in traveling for this workshop. I was feeling very guilty for leaving home after he’d been gone so long. What if my kids needed me, what if something happened. Or worse, what if I was gone and they figured out that they could get along just fine without me. I was also feeling very selfish for pursing a “my dream” kind of deal.

Leaving Corporate America ten years ago was both the best and worst things I could have done. It was the best in that I have a family that I am proud of of having a part in raising. It was the worst because with that career went my definition of who I was. Returning to the workforce at 43, scares me. I’m behind, I’m out of touch with the industries and technologies today. My learning curve has increased expotentially. Some days I wonder if I will ever catch back up.

I’m not alone. I’m not white-knuckeling my way through this mine field of change. I’m in Christ and because of Him, and who he is, I will not be humiliated. He guides my path, my only role is to trust him and practice using the gifts he has placed in front of me.

Looking not so far into the future that I become intimidated and overwhelmed, I simply look for the next right action, remember to breath and walk the steps He has numbered for me today.

Taking Time with Jesus

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Taking Time with Jesus

Isaiah 43:1-4 (The message)

When You’re Between a Rock and a Hard Place
But now, God’s Message, the God who made you in the first place, Jacob,
the One who got you started, Israel:
“Don’t be afraid, I’ve redeemed you.
I’ve called your name. You’re mine.
When you’re in over your head, I’ll be there with you.
When you’re in rough waters, you will not go down.
When you’re between a rock and a hard place,
it won’t be a dead end—
Because I am God, your personal God,
The Holy of Israel, your Savior.
I paid a huge price for you:
all of Egypt, with rich Cush and Seba thrown in!
That’s how much you mean to me!
That’s how much I love you!
I’d sell off the whole world to get you back,
trade the creation just for you.


Oh that that were true God. I want to believe it, but people say I don’t. Do I?

“Sometimes I need to take time just to be with Jesus – to find out who and whose I am again.” Kathy Trocolli.

I believe that statement heart and soul – I also believe that if I don’t take the time, he will make the time. Can I hear an amen?

There is nothing like, burying most of your friends, losing a school, having health issues, teaching Bible Study, and leading prayer teams only to go home, wrap yourself up in a blanket on your back porch and stare at nothing for hours on end, believing that God and whole world hates you, – to get to your attention. He had my attention, trust me. The problem was, so did the enemy, and it was his voice I heard the most.

If you were to ask people their impression of me during that time period – they would have told you I preached a good sermon, taught a good class, but I didn’t know the gospel. That used to frustrate me to no end. How could someone think I didn’t know the gospel, just look at all of the things I get to do for God. Of course I know the Gospel. How could they even think that? Uhm… the fact that I shook like a leaf in the presence of Christians might have been a clue. Or the fact that when sharing my victories I was really sharing my fears. The “I cannot’s” of my testimony. Are you sure I’m called? Look at this mess. Really? Hmmmhmm. I wasn’t communicating victory, I was communicating defeat. And fear.

And so the cup breaks, and the real work begins.

Part of my personal testimony includes bits and pieces of loss, abandonment, and fear. when I was eight years old, I found out that I was originally given up for adoption and taken back by my grandparents as an infant. I’d been snooping in my mother’s room after school and found my original birth certificate and adoption papers. She was furious.

My father’s name was no where to be found. And neither was my father, as he had walked out on us when I was four. Even though the papers went on to show that he did legally adopt me, and I was given his name he still left. My mom tried her best to convince me that those choices were the best she could make when she had me and had no reflection on her current feelings or those of my birthfather. I had value and I had worth, and that our present circumstances (she was now raising me) should speak for themselves. At eight years old however, I reasoned that if she gave me up once, she’d do it again. And being adopted meant nothing if followed by being abandoned.

Much like Mary, I took those things and pondered them in my heart for most of my life. Imagine becoming a Christian, being adopted, being given a new name, and believing in your heart that it’s only temporary.
No wonder I shook.

Can you imagine being a Christian, gratefully receiving the triumphal entry of Christ into your life and yet believing it temporary? If not, you are blessed. If so, there is hope.

Zechariah 9:9
9 Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion!
Shout, Daughter of Jerusalem!
See, your king [b] comes to you,
righteous and having salvation,
gentle and riding on a donkey,
on a colt, the foal of a donkey.

Those words are repeated in Mathew 21
4This took place to fulfill what was spoken through the prophet:
5″Say to the Daughter of Zion,
‘See, your king comes to you,
gentle and riding on a donkey,
on a colt, the foal of a donkey.’


– with the Triumphant return of Christ to Jerusalem.

Those are also words sung during Handel’s Messiah – something I participated in on a pretty regular basis. Shaking the whole time. “Arise oh Daughter of Zion!”

How is it, I can know those words? Sing them even, and yet not believe them. It’s true. My head was full of grace, but my heart was full of fear.

And yet, I knew God’s word. God’s word said “Do not be afraid, for I have redeemed you.”

My temple, had thieves. No sooner than seeds were planted, the enemy would steal them.

It shouldn’t surprise any of us that the first thing Christ did in Matthew after his triumphal entry into Jerusalem was to clean out the temple.

The first thing to go false shame. And it would take a spiritual fire to burn that one out. But first, I had to learn how to stop setting myself on fire.

cont…

My Cup Ranneth Over

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I remember being a little girl in the playground. The normal taunts would be passed around, and sure enough someone (usually me) would shout back, “Yeah, well I’m rubber and you’re glue. What you say bounces of me and sticks to you.”

Brilliant rebuttal. Unless you are sitting in church, instead of a play ground. And you are now in your 30’s instead of ten.

I thought I had a word for somebody once, but I was wrong. It turns out I can be one of those people sitting in the pews, listening to the sermon, taking notes and thinking to myself, “Wow I really wish so and so was here to hear that! That really applies to them.” Funny how those sermons always seem to apply to someone else, but never me.

I was working at an office at the time and received a phone call after a staff meeting. Someone had left their coffee cup warmer on and could I please go turn it off. Feeling rather bothered by what I viewed as a silly request, I turned off his cup warmer and left his office, leaving behind a full cup of coffee. I knew if I left it there over the weekend the coffee would get all moldy, and frankly I didn’t care. This would be the day that God chose to speak to my heart. “Empty and wash the cup Deana.”

I was really not in a generous and giving mood that day, nor was I in the mood to do such a humble act of kindness for somebody. But I listened to the voice. Once I emptied the cup, I noticed that while the outside was pretty clean, the inside was stained black with coffee stains. Matthew 23:25 came to mind – “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence. Blind Pharisee! First clean the inside of the cup and dish, and then the outside also will be clean. “

Okay, well it didn’t exactly come to me like that, it was more of a “isn’t there a verse somewhere in the Bible about dirty cups? I think it’s Matthew.” and I had to go look it up.

This would be when brilliant, rubber hearted, me, thought I had a word for someone else. I mean, it was much too harsh to apply to me, right? Thankfully, I left that word unspoken. I cleaned the cup and put it back in it’s place.

I later shared my experience with one of my girlfriends. Joy has a gift for telling the truth. She also has the spiritual gift of prophesy and I was excited that God had actually given me a word and I wanted to know what to do with it. She listened to me and asked me what I thought God was trying to teach me with that. I went into my “them” rant and she very gently stated that when God uses an object lesson in her life, the message is usually about her and I might want to view it from that perspective. Truth telling friends can really rain on a parade, you know what I mean?

My life was, at that particular season, about to fall apart, but I didn’t know that yet. At that time, I was cloud nine head over heals in love with God, believing the Gospel for everyone around me, and hoping to keep the hidden things hidden. My hidden things were ugly. My hidden things had deep stains on my spirit. My hidden things kept me a prisoner to the fear of being found out.

The reality of those hidden things spoke to me more frequently than God and told me I could “go this far, but no farther, remember what you are.” Listening to the enemy is never a good thing, but I was so accustomed to his voice, I didn’t realize who was speaking. Listening to the enemy, I polished my outer cup while filling the inside with everything I could to hide the stains.

Hungry for a fresh word from God, I would sit and study, teach and learn and wonder why he seemed so silent. He had words for everyone else it seemed, but not me. That didn’t stop me from singing, or from taking everything I could from the bible and memorizing it to hold onto. My brain was filling up to over flowing, but my heart was breaking. I would go and sing, and literally shake when in the presence of Christians I feared.

Failing to fully grasp that simple message that God so loved the world (insert ME) he sent his only begotten son, brought on one of the worst seasons of idolatry, heartbreak, and brokenness I have ever experienced. My own cup, was running over and time was running out. Hidden things get moldy when ignored. If God couldn’t find a way to connect my heart and my head soon, my cup was going to break. And break it, he did.

To be continued.