Family
My view of what a "family" is has been tested lately. Not only is my immediate family expanded, but my extended family has been challenged to put it lightly.
Family was defined for me by my parents. Not as a mom and a dad with 2.5 children behind a white picket fence . . . but as a place that was safe. A place where you could be yourself without fear of rejection . . . maybe not always with full approval, but not rejection. A place where you loved each other no matter what, even when you didn't like each other. A place to fall, come face to face with your failure, pick yourself back up and move on. A place of honesty, sometimes brutal honesty. A place of openness and vulnerability - where facing the truth may bring pain, but ultimately freedom. A place where people stand shoulder to shoulder with you as you fight your battles with the outside world.
In the past month I've been forced to face the fact that others, even those incredibly close to me, do not have this same definition. Family is a place of battle for them. A place of exposure and discomfort. A place of insecurity and woundedness. They would rather silence things than address them. They have become bitter and it has colored their world. They would rather duck and cover than face the problem with confidence that it can and will be conquered. (For those of you that think you are reading about yourselves in these words, please know that it is not just one situation that has caused this contemplation.)
How do people grow up with such differing definitions of the same thing? Which one is correct? Or is it possible they both are? I know my way has brought me comfort, joy, peace . . . firsthand testimony, tells me their way has not. And yet they do not want to change the way they see family. In fact, it seems they are more willing to lose those relationships than do the hard, painful work of repairing them. How can this be? Is it part of some master plan to keep us distracted and hurting too much to be healthy enough ourselves to help others? Is it our own deceitful heart that convinces us we are right and we should not give in?
I do not pretend to have all the answers. I just know I'm tired of watching those I love dearly, hurt. So I am left with prayer that the things I can not change, God will. That the wounds I can not even touch, He will heal completely. That the relationships that seem so deeply devastated, He can and will put back together.
Family was defined for me by my parents. Not as a mom and a dad with 2.5 children behind a white picket fence . . . but as a place that was safe. A place where you could be yourself without fear of rejection . . . maybe not always with full approval, but not rejection. A place where you loved each other no matter what, even when you didn't like each other. A place to fall, come face to face with your failure, pick yourself back up and move on. A place of honesty, sometimes brutal honesty. A place of openness and vulnerability - where facing the truth may bring pain, but ultimately freedom. A place where people stand shoulder to shoulder with you as you fight your battles with the outside world.
In the past month I've been forced to face the fact that others, even those incredibly close to me, do not have this same definition. Family is a place of battle for them. A place of exposure and discomfort. A place of insecurity and woundedness. They would rather silence things than address them. They have become bitter and it has colored their world. They would rather duck and cover than face the problem with confidence that it can and will be conquered. (For those of you that think you are reading about yourselves in these words, please know that it is not just one situation that has caused this contemplation.)
How do people grow up with such differing definitions of the same thing? Which one is correct? Or is it possible they both are? I know my way has brought me comfort, joy, peace . . . firsthand testimony, tells me their way has not. And yet they do not want to change the way they see family. In fact, it seems they are more willing to lose those relationships than do the hard, painful work of repairing them. How can this be? Is it part of some master plan to keep us distracted and hurting too much to be healthy enough ourselves to help others? Is it our own deceitful heart that convinces us we are right and we should not give in?
I do not pretend to have all the answers. I just know I'm tired of watching those I love dearly, hurt. So I am left with prayer that the things I can not change, God will. That the wounds I can not even touch, He will heal completely. That the relationships that seem so deeply devastated, He can and will put back together.
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