Perspective

A different blog post will talk about all the changes I've experienced recently and what God is teaching me through that.  The only part of that story you currently need to know is that the last several months have involved change:  lots of change.  It's all really good change, but sometimes change is hard.

Years ago, I remember a friend often talking about how she just needed "perspective".  Yeah, okay, what on earth does that MEAN?  She mentioned needing GOD'S perspective on her life instead of her own.  I've thought about that some over the last few years, but I haven't exactly dwelled on it.  Then, at the beginning of this summer, a friend/mentor encouraged me to start looking at why I had some reactions I did (example:  why does it annoy me when this person does this).  I realized that if I took long enough to do that, the problem was some sort of issue in me- not in the other person.  Something in me was reacting to something in them.

I was talking with another friend/mentor and she started talking about choice.  This just days on the heels of another friend talking about focusing our eyes on God and some other things.  My friend/mentor was talking about how in every situation we have a choice on how we respond and move forward.

Something clicked all of the sudden in August.  I was preparing to transition out of a Lifegroup (small group at my church) that I loved and where really good things had happened.  To be honest, for a couple of weeks I felt sorry for myself and was angry that I had to leave.  All the while, I knew that ultimately I trusted God and that He had a plan and a purpose, even if I didn't understand it or like it at the time.  Suddenly, it clicked what that friend had said years ago:  I needed God's perspective.  I needed Him to reframe situations around me.  Instead of grumbling and complaining about the fact I had to leave one group for a bit, I started getting excited about the opportunity of getting to fellowship with another group of people and learn from them.  I find that when I start panicking or feeling down, that asking God to reframe the situation through the lens of hope and security often immediately helps me go back to that place of rest, hope, and peace.  I have to FIGHT to remind myself that I see only dimly and a small piece of the story.  In the midst of the big picture, that pain is microscopic.  But fighting is neither easy nor haphazard.  It requires me to get out of my head and CHOOSE to believe truth and good things.  It requires me to quit feeling sorry for myself and remember that it's for HIM and HIS glory, anyway.

But the fight is worth it.  It's worth it because He gave everything for me.  It's worth it because all of us want to be a part of something greater and bigger than ourselves.  It's worth it because He's never let me down.  Not.  one.  single.  time.  He's always showed up- maybe not when or how I wanted Him to- but He has ALWAYS showed up.  He's ALWAYS brought peace, comfort, rest, and hope.  So when it feels like I'm about to be swallowed up by the whale of my problems, I remember that HE will always show up- even inside the belly of a whale- and I always end better than when I started.  

When devastation hits down the street.

Last Monday morning (May 20), I was driving down 4th street in Moore on my way to my doctor's office for a regular check-up.  I remember looking at the 7-11 and thinking about a time I stopped there.  I don't know why I thought about it as it wasn't really a memorable trip.  I drove down 4th street to Penn and then cut up to my doctor's office.  While there, we talked about the recent and impending tornadoes.  As I left, he told me to be safe.

Less than 7 hours later, that 7-11 was no longer there.

Talk about surreal.  We got off work early.  As I pulled into my neighborhood, the sirens went off.  I hurried into my house and into my bathroom.  I realized later I wasn't in any real danger, but there's still something unnerving about being huddled in the bathroom of your not super sturdy looking apartment alone wondering if you're going to have to hang onto your toilet (which you have been needing to clean) for dear life as a tornado rips over your apartment.  My electricity started blinking.  My internet went out.  My phone service started getting spotty.

I don't even know how I found out that Moore had been devastated.  I texted my sister, who lives a couple of miles north of the devastation.  She was huddled in a safe room with a bunch of 5th and 6th graders.  No word on her house.  I texted our friend Courtney, who lives VERY close to the devastation.  She was okay, holding down the fort with several high schoolers.  No idea about her house.

Went to dinner with friends and saw the devastation for the first time.  There are no words.  It's bad enough seeing devastation on tv.  It takes on a whole new meaning, though, when you know where they are filming and realize it is only about 10 miles away.

The last week has been surreal.  I keep telling people I wasn't affected by the tornadoes.  My house is fine.  My friends and family are fine.  Their houses are fine.

But I realized we have all been affected.

I hear therapists at my work calling their clients to see if they are okay and see how much damage happened.  Due to HIPPAA regulations, I can't really tell you their stories... but know that several of them experienced horrific circumstances and came unfathomably close to death.  Some lost everything. I see pictures all over Facebook of friends of friends who lost everything.  I get daily emails about how to help in Moore.  While friends are helping with relief efforts, I'm sitting at work trying to carry on when really I'd rather be in Moore.  Very little separates Moore from Norman.  In fact, until a year ago, I lived in Moore.  No, I haven't been to see the damage.  If I were going near there, I'd be helping instead of gawking.  It's surreal to know that much of what I have become accustomed to seeing is gone.  It's sad to think of the number of people who have lost everything.  This disaster was too close to home to forget just because it isn't the headline on CNN anymore.

So, I'm changing my answer.  Yes, I am affected, though not nearly in the way that those living in Moore have been affected.  My whole perspective on an altogether not amazing week was changed (more on that in another blog, perhaps).  Instead of feeling sorry for myself, I found myself remembering everything could be much worse.  At the end of some pretty bad days this week, I went to sleep in my own house with electricity and safe water, thinking of those who were not.

Sandpaper People

When I was in college, I went to Antioch Community Church in Waco, Tx.  At the time, Robert Herber was the college pastor.  I remember very clearly Robert talking about sandpaper people.  In case you aren't familiar with sandpaper people, they are those who are rough around the edges (at least in your eyes) and refine you.  How do they refine you?  Most often by being different and annoying you. 

Here's the deal:  we ALL have sandpaper people in our lives.  Somewhere, someone in your life refines you because they cause you to be more patient or somehow become more like Jesus.

Today, I was thinking about a current sandpaper person in my life.  I was thinking about how the person drives me insane; I mean really crazy.  Sometimes I think about how different life would be without this person.  My imagination tells me I'd be calmer and happier.

But let's be honest.

This person would be replaced by another sandpaper person.  So... unless I want to live on a deserted island (which, honestly, sometimes sounds AMAZING), I'm stuck with at least one sandpaper person in my life. 

Then.. It hit me.

What if I am someone's sandpaper person?

Wait, what?  I, Leah Gatlin, could be that person that another person feels their life could be better without?  I am that person who is refining someone because I drive them bananas?  Whoa.  More than COULD is a PROBABLY.  There is PROBABLY someone out there who I annoy.  Thankfully, said person is super gracious and kind.. because I don't know who he or she is. 

So, in case the person for whom I am sandpaper is reading this, thank you for choosing grace, love, and patience with me.  Thank you for not losing your mind and telling me exactly what you think of me and how much easier life would be without me.

Now I'm going to go try to have a little more grace, love, and patience for my sandpaper person.  I'm going to ask God to show me how HE sees this person.  There is something unique this person has to teach me; there is something of Him that I can only get through this person.

That changes everything.  Sandpaper person, I love you and am thankful for you. 

10 Years Later: 10 Lessons from Losing a Loved One

In keeping with the recent theme of, "Until today I've never ________", I'm breaking a habit of 10 years.  For 9 years I didn't tell anyone when the anniversary of my dad's death was.  I would tell them maybe in passing when I told them the story, but rarely do I tell more than 3 people the significance of August 11.  So, "Until today, I've never made a public announcement it's the anniversary of my dad's death".  Here's a picture of my family the night I graduated high school (the last picture I think we have of my dad):

Why this year? Because this year is 10 years and it feels like a big deal.  This year I thought perhaps other people might want to hear what I've learned.  So, here are 10 lessons I've learned from losing a loved one, in no particular order.

1. It's never enough time.  People always say things like "It was just too soon," or, "I wish I had more time".  I've learned that it never feels like "enough" time.  Things always feel left undone.  You can choose to be bitter about that or be thankful for all the time you did have.

2. Shortcomings matter much less.  As an 18 year old girl, I could tell you all of the ways I felt like my dad wasn't perfect.  I had quite the list of things he could have done better and a list of places where I was right and he was wrong.  My dad wasn't perfect, no one is.  :-)  For the record, that man loved me like CRAZY and was a GREAT dad.  What I realized is that after he died, those shortcomings rarely matter.  I'm much more prone to remembering my dad's good traits than his bad.  All of my list of reasons my dad wasn't perfect seem really insignificant now.

3. Sometimes I mourn more for what I will never have than for what I have lost.  I have lots of great memories about my father and lots of things I really miss.  At the same time, I get even more sad and angry at the memories that won't happen.  Harvey Gatlin (my dad's name, in case you didn't know) will not be walking me down the aisle of my wedding.  Any future kids I have won't know him.  Two whole sets of friends have never met him.  The exciting thing is how I get to reframe those memories- such as listening to people tell my kids stories about my dad.

4. Grief is rude.  Let's be honest, rude was NOT the word I wanted to use here.  :-)  Grief comes at the weirdest times and makes happy moments sad.  It hits you in the middle of the grocery store when you almost burst into tears because Buy for Less doesn't have kalamata olives.  Eventually, it becomes more manageable, though.

5.  It gets easier... and it doesn't.  This might be the biggest paradox.  Grief doesn't feel like it's about to suffocate me anymore; it is not my constant companion.  However, it's still hard sometimes remembering what I have lost or will never have.

6. Well-meaning people say or do things that do not feel kind.  For more on this issue, see my blog Here.  I cannot tell you the number of ridiculous things people have said to me in an attempt to make me feel better.  Please hear my heart:  I'm so thankful people care.  I understand they're trying to help.  Sometimes help is just saying you're sorry for the person, that you're thinking of/praying for them, and letting them just be who they need to be.

7. There's a club, I'm not alone.  When you lose someone you love, it's easy to feel like you're all alone and that no one understands.  I remember wishing I knew someone who lost their parent at a young age.  I wanted them to tell me how to get through this and that I WAS going to get through this.  Since August 11, 2002, I have been able to talk to at least 4 friends who had someone close to them die (3 dads and a sister).  I'm so thankful for them that they don't have to feel as if no one understands.

8. Everything (almost) is normal and everyone is different.  I've known people who seemingly fell apart when someone they loved died.  I've known others who you would never have known anything had happened.  Feeling paranoid another loved one would die?  Normal.  Wanting to escape reality?  Normal.  Guilt?  Normal.  I also find that the outside world (who is not experiencing your grief) often times wants a 10 step guide on how to love and support those grieving.  Sorry.  We're all different.  I said before that I don't usually post what today is on my FB.  Other people need for their world to know the milestones.  Neither is bad- they're just different.  Take your cue from the person.

9. I'm not sure closure exists or what it looks like if it does exist.  People talk about "closure" a lot.  If I just knew this or we had just finished that, I would have closure.  If closure means I can rationalize what happened, then I don't so much believe it exists.  If closure means I can make peace and move on, then it totally exists. It's different for different people and different people get there in different ways and at different times.

10. There is good in every thing.  I'm an optimist.  It's really part of my nature.  I constantly look for the good in everything.  Right after we found out my dad died, I thought, "Well, at least we don't have to keep coming to the hospital every day."  In the midst of sadness, I watched friends and the community pour out love on my family.  During that time I saw the best in a lot of people.  At the same time, God proved Himself incredibly faithful.  I prayed that I would have at least one friend at college (for which I left just a week after my dad died).  God gave me an army.  Through grief (not just in my dad dying, but in a lot of things), I've seen the kindness and goodness of God.  Yes, even through all of this, I know that I know that I KNOW that God is infinitely more kind and gracious than my little human mind could ever comprehend.

Well... there you have it.  10 lessons.  10 years.  I'm so thankful for all I've learned.  I'm so thankful for the community that has come around me and loved me.  I'm thankful for relationships that have been restored because of my story.  I'm thankful for the moments (such as talking with a friend whose dad just died) that give meaning to my situation.  Above all, I choose to be thankful for the 18 years, 4 months, and 15 days with my dad instead of being bitter about the years without him.

The gifts I never wanted

So I'm sitting here watching The Ultimate Gift (which, if you've never seen it, you should... like now), which is all about a spoiled rich kid learning the gift of things like work.  Recently, I've been thinking about all of the "gifts" that I've received that sure did NOT seem like gifts at the time I received them.  In the midst of everyone else's thankful posts, I wondered if I could come up with 100 things I was thankful for and 100 "gifts" I'm now thankful for.  As a disclaimer, I would trade almost every single one of these "gifts" for another way of getting the end result.

1. My father's death- Let me just reiterate that I am not thankful that my dad is gone.  I would likely give back every single lesson I've learned to have him back.  What I'm thankful for is what came out of it.  Friends and family rallied around.  People stepped in to help fill the void that he left.  However, something even more amazing came from this- I was able to pass along the gift.  My freshman year a girl on my hall's sister died suddenly.  The other girls on my hall looked to me wondering how to be there for her.  A couple of years later I shared my story in Juarez and a guy on the team said it made him want to repair the relationship with his father.  One of my best friends from childhood lost her dad; I could assure her she would make it.  Most recently, another friend lost her dad.  I remember what it was like wishing someone knew how I felt.  I am incredibly thankful to be able to be that person for other people.

2.  Being rejected-  Kids are cruel; so are adults.  Like every other person on the face of the planet, I know what it's like to feel rejected.  In the moment, it hurt; it cut deeply into my soul.  I wondered if I would ever be accepted.  Good news:  I was.  :-)  And because I was rejected, I think it made me a more sensitive and caring person.  That feeling made me realize I never wanted to make another person feel that way.

3.  Arguments and hard times with friends-  I can't count the number of times I've had conversations that were anything other than fun with close and dear friends.  At the time, I was by no means thankful.  Looking back, I'm thankful for friends I could argue with.  I'm thankful for friends who I was comfortable enough with to be myself.  I'm thankful for friends committed enough to work through the hard times.

4.  Being jobless-  Okay, there were DEFINITELY parts of this that I was extremely thankful for.  However, at some point, I was SO ready to have a job.  I never realized how much of my identity and feelings of worth were wrapped up in whatever I was doing at the time.  At some points, I felt like I was wondering around aimlessly as I kept waiting for jobs.  I'm thankful for the reminder that what I do is not who I am.

5.  Being lonely-  Loneliness sure didn't feel fun at the time.  It also felt like it was going to last forever and that I would never again have friends.  Well, it didn't.  Shocker:  I made friends.  Every time.  And every time the friends I made were worth the loneliness.  I'm also thankful because the Holy Spirit became a dear friend.

I'm sure there are more things I could be thankful for, but the post was getting a little bit long.  What about you?  What's a gift you didn't want, but you're currently thankful for?