Fiercer Delight And Fiercer Discontent

NOTE: I wrote the following piece about eighteen months ago. Be forewarned: it's long -- if you think my posts are tome-like now, you should have been around in the beginning -- but I do not apologize for its length because it is what it is.

If you are inclined to read at all, I hope you will read to the end -- if not in one sitting because I realize you do have other things to do besides roam the rambling ruminations to be found within the cyber-pages of I'm Having A Thought Here -- and allow me to thank you in advance for your indulgence! I dearly love my readers, thin on the ground though they be. 

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I was doing a bit of devotional-inspirational reading today and came across a notable quote from author G.K. Chesterton (1874-1936). I know I've read it before because the book I was perusing is one of my favorites (Patches of Godlight: Father Tim's Favorite Quotes by Jan Karon), but this truth struck me with such force, I felt compelled to share:

What we need is not the old acceptance of the world as a compromise, but some way in which we can heartily hate it and heartily love it. We do not want joy and anger to neutralize each other and produce a surly contentment; we want a fiercer delight and fiercer discontent. We have to see the universe at once as an ogre's castle, to be stormed, and yet as our own cottage, to which we can return at evening.

I really heard that.

The older I get, the fiercer I feel ... both in my delight and in my discontent. Surly contentment won't get the job done any longer, if it ever did. You see, I've undergone a bit of a sea change in the past few years. I have come to hate judgmentalism in all its forms more than I ever thought possible, but I have also clutched healthy discernment more tightly to my breast than ever before.

You Do Not Know -- will never know, cannot know, were never intended to know -- What Anyone Else Is Thinking.

There is a very fine line between judging and discerning, but in my opinion once you see that fine line, you can never again ignore it. Or if you do, you do so at your considerable peril. As a result I no longer have any desire to judge someone who is doing something I choose not to do -- whether on moral, preferential, or practical grounds -- but by the same token I'm sick unto death of being deemed judgmental if my discernment tells me not to do it.

It simply does not follow that if I choose to take a different (some might say higher) path than someone else, that I am judging anyone who is not on that path with me. How ludicrous would that be after all, since there are droves on paths much higher than the one I'm walking, and in no way do I want to be judged by them. Nor do I think they are judging me.

And yet those who take a different (some might say lower) path, seem to love wagging the finger and accusing the one on another (at times arguably higher, at times only different) path of being judgmental, when in actuality the one on the other path may simply have a more finely-honed sense of discernment in that area. Or you might say, a better sense of direction.

They have enough fierce discontent to take that high road, even if it means traveling it alone and being hated for it.

Is this really so confusing? I mean, judging is judging is judging; am I right? It's just as wrong to judge one whom you judge to be judging (although unless you read minds, how can you really know?) as it is for them to have judged (if in fact they did).

If the one snarling at one they are certain they have caught judging, has the right to do whatever they want without being judged, then why does the alleged judger not have that same right? If someone is labeled by someone else as a judger and therefore deemed utterly contemptible, what does that make the one who made the "judgment" call?

There are all kinds of judgers in the world and all of them wrong (that's the discernment talking). Let's not compound the problem by saying the judgers are idiots for judging (if they are judging, that is).

I repeat: unless you read minds or someone walks up to you and says in plain language, "I have this very instant judged you and found myself to be superior to you in every way, and found you to be severely lacking in one or more important area," you do not know for a solid fact that you have been judged.

And in the final analysis, it really doesn't matter whether you have been judged. If I do judge you, it affects no one but me -- unless you allow the mere possibility that I might have judged you, to consume you with insecurity and/or hatred.

If I told my children once while they were growing up, I told them fifty times: You Do Not Know -- will never know, cannot know, were never intended to know -- What Anyone Else Is Thinking. Only God knows that. Even if someone tells you what they are thinking, you still don't really know what they are thinking.

Consider: I say to my husband, "What are you thinking?" and he says, "Uhm, I was thinking how pretty you are looking today." Now, he may have been thinking that, but was also thinking "The old girl has gone a bit broad in the beam and long in the tooth," but he's not going to tell me that part, is he? He'd better not! He'd better repeat the pretty part or run and hide!

He has told me part of what he thought (perhaps) but I still don't know what he was thinking. I may know part of it, but only because he chose to tell me. There is no sense in tormenting myself with what else he might have been thinking, because I will never know.

Frequently when we accuse someone else of judging us, we do so because we are simply jealous of them.

(In my experience with said husband, half the time he does not remember his own self what he was just thinking, so it is of no consequence! He's not so much specifically disingenuous as he is generally detached. While I'm sitting over there worrying about what he might have been thinking and the potential ramifications of his thought processes, he has already digitally peregrinated from whatever's on ESPN to Hannity's America to whatever's on the Golf Channel to The Dog Whisperer to an old rerun of Law & Order to The Deadliest Catch, and back to ESPN again. The only one sweating it out is me.)

I am not contending that there is no such thing as judging; people do it all the time. I used to be a world-class judger. I could give lessons. That is not the point. My point is, judging is judging no matter who is doing it, or why, and there is never any justification for it.

That said, I believe that so often what is happening when someone has a knee-jerk reaction to someone they think is guilty of judging them is, they are in fact judging themselves. They can't handle this, so they project the judging onto whomever it is whose actions forced them to examine themselves in the first place.

When someone else's behavior points up some deficit (real or imagined) in our own, however, it's so easy (and such a cop-out) to react to such feelings by instantly accusing the person on the higher road (or the road we wish we were on but lack the courage or moral fortitude to get on it) of being judgmental.

Our reactions at such times reveal so much about what is going on inside our own hearts. I know because I've done it plenty of times; you might say I'm an old pro. How much easier to blame someone else for being judgmental, casting various aspersions back onto them, than to deal with the insecurities that caused us to think there was anything for which they should judge us in the first place?

Insecurities -- or what we like to call insecurities -- are often simply pride and ego run amok. And frequently when we accuse someone else of judging us, we do so because we are simply jealous of them.  Or -- more ominous -- it is we who are doing all the judging.

Since my four children are now deemed officially "grown" and since our 2,500-square-foot manse has gone all echo-ey and most of the upstairs vents are shut tight, I've been doing a great deal of reflecting on where those child-rearing years went. Or rather on how, for me, they seemed to crawl at some points and are merely a blur at others.

When I had a five-year-old and a three-year-old to care for and was expecting a third, each day seemed to go in slow motion. Not that they were unhappy days; quite the contrary. There was just so much responsibility! So many chores, and so many questions to be answered. Such a small margin for error, it seemed to me ... and I never felt quite sure of what I was doing, which made it worse.

They enter into the fray each day with aplomb and a sense of purpose. They bring substantial gifts to the table.

(Yes, I prayed for wisdom ... but Earth Mother I was not. Throughout four pregnancies and the bringing-up-baby years, I never saw myself as a brood mare; I had interests aside from rearing our much-desired and much-beloved children. Consequently, I sometimes felt judged by other -- more motherly, seemingly more offspring-fixated -- mothers.)

I remember a particular time when a "friend" accused me of making a pathetic hash of my daughter's homemade haircut. I cried all afternoon. The truth was, my pride was hurt that the woman had criticized the haircut, and I was insecure because I really didn't know how to cut hair and my daughter was paying the price for it. (Luckily, one-year-olds don't care a whit about hairstyles. We should all be more childlike.)

But now that our three daughters and one son are adults, TG and I talk a lot about the way they've turned out. We have been so fortunate. We were not exactly dumb when we started out as parents, but let's face it: little babies don't come with a link to the Web site that tells all about how to bring them up. It's hard sometimes to know what to do, and even sometimes when you think you know what to do, it can be difficult to actually do it.

One thing TG and I knew: When it came to our children we were aiming for a certain "product," and the product we wanted was not being mass-produced. We would have to stand alone in many cases, and take flak for the way we chose to rear our children, and resist peer pressure (which exists at every age), and stay true to our vision.

I am happy to say that, although I could natter on for a week about the mistakes we made in the first year alone, we are now the parents of four fine adults. Are they without faults? Afraid not ... not even close. But they are smart, responsible, funny, tenderhearted, goal-oriented, productive, God-fearing people who have not shirked the demands of life. They enter into the fray each day with aplomb and a sense of purpose. They bring substantial gifts to the table.

I have learned a great deal from my children's reactions to circumstances in their lives. I admire them and I'm sure I am not the only one.

While they were growing up, we demanded obedience from our children and made a pretty big ruckus when we didn't get it. Obedience was not negotiable at our house. The kids may have been given an opportunity to talk about what was being asked of (or told to) them, but there was no guarantee of an explanation.  In the end they were going to obey, and the sooner the better.

"How could this have happened and, most importantly, to whom goes the blame?"

The times -- and there were such times -- that we failed to obtain immediate and total obedience from our children, I see as our fault rather than (or at least as much as) theirs, because the onus was on us (onus = "on us" ... never noticed that before!) to secure their obedience for their own benefit. To say: Go this way ... and not only point the way but walk it with them, however haltingly.

Many times we told our children why, but not always. Because sometimes in order to enjoy the fiercest of delights, one must first be willing to experience the fiercest of discontent. War must be endured before peace may be had, in some respects.

But in the end we all get to decide which way we'll go, don't we?

Some time ago I was moved to write about an underage drinker who flipped her car and died alone in the wee hours on a dark South Carolina road several years back. Earlier in the evening, just before midnight, the lovely girl's mother had contacted her by cell phone and instructed her to come home immediately. The young lady had replied, simply: No. I'm not coming home; I don't care what you want me to do. I'm leaving for college tomorrow and tonight I'm staying out as late as I want.

She never went to college and she will never come home. Her mother no longer listens for her daughter's step in the hall.

In my work as a court reporter I do a fair amount of driving. Imagine if I accept a commission to cover a proceeding tomorrow morning in Greenville, a two-hour drive northwest on I-26. Morning comes and I want to go to Greenville, so what do I do? I get into my car, crank it up, and steer for the interstate.

But when I get there, instead of taking the ramp for I-26 West toward Spartanburg, I turn onto the I-26 East ramp toward Charleston. I drive for a little less than two hours -- the same amount of time it takes to get from Columbia to Greenville -- but at the end of my journey I find myself not in Greenville, but in Charleston. I'm now twice as far from my original destination than I was when I started!

All is lost; I'm going to be fired! Bad things will happen! The parties have assembled and the depo is set to begin, but the court reporter is a no-show! How dumb am I if at that juncture I disembark from my vehicle, breathe deeply of the salt Lowcountry air, look around, and wonder aloud: "How did I end up here? How will I ever reach Greenville in time? What am I going to do now? How could this have happened and, most importantly, to whom goes the blame?"

Think about it. Not only did I wilfully point my car in the wrong direction, but I had to ignore a lot of signs along the road between Columbia and Charleston in order to eventually end up at the wrong place. I was either blind, not paying attention (not good practices when operating a vehicle or living a life), or I just plain stubbornly ignored all the signs that told me where I was going.

I had an adored uncle, a strapping Georgia boy in his youth, who loved to eat. It helped that my Aunt Linda is a fantastic cook, as is her sister (my mother). The ladies were classically trained in the culinary arts by my Mississippi-bred grandparents who, after moving to Baton Rouge to raise their family during the war years, became uber-skilled in the sumptuously down-home Louisiana style of cooking.

I refuse to accept the world, and life in general, as one big compromise. That's just too lame for my taste.

Uncle Don, even if he was from Georgia, was a great cook in his own right, and he loved to eat what he cooked just as much as he loved cooking it. Some years ago, when he was in his fifties, Uncle Don got very sick. The doctors found blockage in his heart so advanced that a multi-bypass surgery was required.

During his recovery the doctors told Uncle Don in no nebulous terms that if he did not change his eating habits, his arteries would clog up again and the next time, he may not survive the result. But my Uncle Don was trapped; he was not able to change his eating habits. At the age of 62, he suffered a massive coronary from which there would be no recovery. Because he could not find it within himself to obey the signs, he had no choice but to end up where the road took him.

I miss my uncle. I wish he could have found a way to heartily hate the world of food while still heartily loving it. I wish he had developed a fierce discontent with his way of life, and consequently could have experienced the fierce delight of overcoming the bad habits of a too-short lifetime. I wish I could hear him sing again, and enjoy his chuckle-y laughter over one of his own silly jokes!

I wish his joy and his anger had not neutralized one another and produced the surly contentment that brought on his early demise.

Back to G.K. Chesterton's quote. I can heartily love someone while heartily hating some of the things they do. I still love my uncle although I hate what he did. It may not always be easy, but I willingly accept this challenge because people are worth it, and because Christ commands us to love others the way He loves us.

I believe this is at least partially what Christ meant when He commanded us to be wise as serpents and harmless as doves.

I refuse to accept the world, and life in general, as one big compromise. That's just too lame for my taste. I want to feel that fierce discontent where my discernment -- based, I believe, on eternal truths revealed to me by faithful men under whose teaching and preaching I have intentionally placed myself -- advises me that an activity or a philosophy is inconsistent with my beliefs and therefore wholly (or even partially) untenable.

This way, I can experience the fierce delight that is the result of determined adherence to the truths that brought about the original measure of discernment.

I do not suggest that anyone would be wise to make me their example. Heaven forbid! To do so would be completely missing the point ... not to mention extremely dangerous.

But if anything I might do could convey to someone: Perhaps I should follow, not necessarily her example, but the excellent example she follows -- when indeed she follows it -- then, armed with my fierce discontent, I'll gladly storm the ogre's castle by day.

At evening, buttressed by an equally fierce delight, I'll return to my cottage and reflect upon all that has once again been accomplished by simple faith combined with -- when despite my frailties I manage it -- unqualified obedience, and the omnipresent comfort of the one true God's all-consuming love.

Comments

[Skunkfeathers]

We make judgements every day. At times, hypocritically. At others, by applying our standards to the actions, words, deeds, et al, of others. We don't always know how accurate our own judgements are.

We do, anyway.

I ain't perfect. I never will be. I will make misjudgements about people, places and events. I will misjudge words and deeds. I am human.

In the end, I know I shall be judged for how I have lived my life, by a higher power than any we currently pay taxes to or vote on. I stand ready to accept that judgement, since I know it'll be fairer and more forbearing than some judgements levied by imperfect humans ;-)

[rosezilla]

Oh, BRAVO, Jennifer, well said indeed. So many points I identify with. I think many times when we strive to obey God, other people feel convicted and that makes them angry at us. If we can do it, they know in their hearts that they can too, and it ruins their argument that "None of us are perfect!" Well, of course not, but we are to constantly STRIVE to be perfect as Christ is perfect. I agree that we have to head the direction we want to go - i.e. all the seemingly insignificant decisions in life lead us step by step down a path and that path leads to a destination - as well as AWAY from other destinations. That's why there is one true standard that never changes (Almighty God's standard) rather than each of us trying to decide what is "right for us" in each new circumstance. I've tried hard to live by a credo of being hard on myself and easy on others. In other words, self-discipline and compassion! Not always easy, but very effective when I can manage!

[Jay]

It is SO true that people who tell us we're being judgemental are, in fact, the ones who are doing the judging. And there is no point in arguing with them, because no matter what you say, they consider it damning. It is one of the most passive aggressive things, and extremely annoying. To those who have to work with such people it is more than annoying, it can harm their health and their mental well-being. To me, it's worse than making a judgement about someone (whether accurate or not) and keeping your mouth shut because you're aware of what you're doing. Far, far worse.

But they can't see it.

My father did exactly what your uncle did. He suffered a heart attack, and failed to really change his lifestyle, so he died. It took me a long time to properly mourn him. I was shocked and angry, but now I acknowledge that we all make our own choices. No-one has the right to make them for us. No-one. We all walk our own path.

But I'm not sure you're right to be easy on others and hard on yourself. To my mind, that's not equitable. If you're easy on others, you should also be gentle with yourself. You are, after all, just as much one of God's children as the next person, and if they deserve to be forgiven, why not you? Doesn't give you the right to ignore what you know to be right, but if you err, should you not forgive yourself?

By the way. I love that Bonazza portrait!