To Thine Own Self Be True

So from the last blog you might have thought I was suggesting that you change for your man. No. I’m suggesting that you change for yourself. To become a better person – the person you were designed to be.

We are fearfully and wonderfully made – complex creatures with a unique mix of character traits. But like a photograph each trait has a negative. Tenacity can become bull-headed stubbornness. Self-confidence can become pride. Compassion can become enabling.

You’ve probably taken a personality test and found that you’re an animal, color or letter. But you’re seldom all owl or all green. Most people are a mix of at least two personality types.

I find these tests difficult because I’m thinking, well, in my personal life I’m this, but in my professional life I’m that… but still with every test I come out with a similar version of the same personality.

So according to Tim LaHaye I’m a ChlorPhleg, or using the DISC method I’m an SC. I’ve never taken the Myers-Briggs Animal Personality test, and I’m not sure I want to take a chance on being a Hippo or a Gorilla.

The point is, our personalities don’t change. And guess what? We won’t be able to change the personality of our hero – so we’d better know what it is and if we can live with it. 

But with knowledge we have the power to guard against negative traits while enhancing positive ones. The goal of change is to be true to our best self.

I love feedback – have you taken a personality test and do you think it was accurate?

Being His Heroine

If we want to find our hero in life we need to start practicing how to be the heroine of his. 

When I’m developing characters in a novel the heroine almost always carries some part of me or perhaps a truer statement is the me I want to be. The great thing about writing is I can make her do and say things I’m not bold or courageous enough to. The bad thing about writing is I have to find her flaws and create for her a journey of change. Sometimes those flaws hit a little close to home.

Although it may be painful, take some time to reflect on criticism you’ve received in the past. Discount the contradictory, cruel statements that come from only one person (and by the way, if you’re getting contradictory, cruel statements from a potential hero, here’s a clue—he’s not.)

In other words, if you often get comments like: that’s a good idea. You’re a problem solver. I never would have thought to do it that way. Then one person says: you’re stupid, that’ll never work, where do you get these dumb ideas – that’s a contradictory cruel statement.

But what are similar comments that you have heard time and time again? They may be hurtful. You may become defensive and declare them untrue, but as you take them as a whole, are you sensing a theme?

I’ll tell you mine:

“Hard hearted Hannah.”

“That’s a little harsh.”

“Ouch, you don’t pull punches.”

I see myself as plainspoken, but others see the truth. Obviously, I need to work on my compassion quotient.

Change begins within. If we want to change those around us, we generally need to start with ourselves. It’s certainly easy to spot the faults in others, but introspection is a little more difficult.

But it’s worth the effort. After all, once we find our hero, doesn’t he deserve one in return?

I'm No Expert

I’m no expert. I’m not a psychologist, counselor or therapist. But I do have common sense, life experience and friends. And, well, you know, women love to talk. We especially like to talk about men. What’s wrong with them, what we’d change, and what we wish we had known before we made a lifetime commitment.

Then we read a romance novel. The hero is gorgeous, exciting and oh, so perfect! He never leaves a pile of dirty clothes on the floor and his whispered endearments are music to our ears. And if we’re reading romantic suspense, the macho factor goes through the roof.

Here’s the thing: Romance novels are written by women. So of course, we make the heroes conform to ideals. Fortunately, we live in the real world. I say fortunately, because face it, the heroines in romances are pretty perfect, too.  Quite frankly, I can’t live up to that pressure on a daily basis.

In the real world our heroes are accountants, mechanics and utility workers. And if they’re faithful providers, engaged fathers and spiritual leaders shouldn’t that be enough? Does it really matter that they don’t fold the towels the same way we do? Isn’t it enough that they fold them?

So on this blog I’m going to share some of my thoughts about finding our hero, whether we’re looking across the kitchen table, searching for some heroic quality in our partner of twenty years or still waiting for him to arrive on the scene. I’d love your feedback, so what makes your hero appealing?

Praying for Second Place

Handsome, dependable, provider, protector, humorous, fun-loving, romantic, spontaneous…

These are characteristics on most of our “hero search criteria” lists. Some of us may add ‘attends church’ or ‘spiritual’ as an afterthought. Okay, maybe you’re a good Christian girl and you listed it first. But did you add, ‘puts me second’? Yeah, me neither.

I found this meme on A Modern Day Ruth and it made me stop and think. Am I willing to be in second place? Could I actually pray for that position?

In many Christian romances I’ve read the heroine is the strong spiritual lead and the hero, big, strong strapping man that he is, may only be a nominal Christian or not one at all. I’ve always been uncomfortable with that premise. I mean, there’s a reason God tells us not to be unequally yoked.

Of course, in these Christian romances the guy always comes around—he may not have an obvious encounter with God, but he at least attends church with the heroine making everything hunky dory for that HEA.

I think this is a dangerous example for readers, especially young women starting out in life, but even seasoned women of a certain age can be deceived when our heart is racing and our toes are tingling.

Hey, he’s got hormones, too—lit for the chase. And with that razor focus on his goal he’ll make grand romantic gestures, like hiring a limo to whisk you away to the opera, followed by dinner at Ruth Chris. There will be bouquets of roses, hearts filled with chocolates, and, if it seems important to you, dates at church. Will any of these acts continue after the wedding? Certainly not every Friday night.

And that’s okay—grand romantic gestures are for special occasions.

But, our faith is for everyday. It’s the foundation of our life, our world view, the filter through which we sift decisions. Yet to him, church attendance was an opportunity to spend time with you, woo you. It’s no big deal.

So, when he wants to take spontaneous trips every weekend and you’re committed to teach a Sunday School class, you have a hard choice. Husband? God?

In My Sister’s Keeper, Nate, the control freak, resists submitting his emotions to God. Landon, in Exposed, struggles with PTSD and his ego, but ultimately, both these men seek God’s guidance in their everyday battles and in winning the heart of the heroine.

These are the type of heroes we want—strong men of faith who submit their lives to God so that we can confidently follow their leadership.

So mark spontaneity off the list. Whoa, not so fast—before that godly husband of yours makes the hotel reservations, he’ll arrange for your friend to cover your class.

Now that’s romance! 

Missing the Ocean for the Signs

Mama was a little agitated the other day so we went for a drive. She doesn’t get out much these days, choosing to stay in bed most of the time, so while her energy was up, I thought a trip to the beach would be nice.

Even though it was cloudy with spots of rain, the weather was warm enough to crack the windows and enjoy the breeze. It was a little crowded with families still on Christmas break, but I finally found a parking place with a view of the waves rolling onto shore.

“Mama, look at the colors of the water. There’s gray and then the sun’s shining through the clouds right there where it’s green. Then it’s gray again.” This should have interested my mother, the artist.

“Only four-wheel drive vehicles beyond this point.” She proudly read off the sign beside us.

“We’re not going any farther. Look, there’s the ocean. See the waves?”

She continued reading the signs, like this one: 

Do we do this? God reveals to us the beauty He’s created and we turn away to read man-made signs. Don’t get me wrong—signs are good. They warn us of danger and show us the way to our destination, but if signs are all we seek, then we’ve missed the point.

Mama persisted in reading to me and I really don’t think she even realized where we were. Eventually it started raining and we moseyed on home.

We don’t have her excuse, we can refocus our lives and our attention. Let’s not get so caught up in the signs that we miss the ocean.

Ten Miles From Home

A local woman died on Black Friday.

She was young, only 36. I didn’t know her personally, but I had seen her at church. She sang in the choir, did solos sometimes. She had a beautiful voice and joyful countenance. She seemed kind and friendly—facts reiterated in numerous Facebook posts and news websites.

And I thought…I thought what we all think when tragedy strikes. That could have been me, my husband, or my niece who is that age. The circumstances of her death were so commonplace—we’ve all been stuck in a back up on the expressway. The ones that make you nervous—being that last car in the blind spot after an overpass—you know the feeling.  

I don’t travel it often, but I know the section of highway where she died. It’s on the edge of town—that place where you breathe a sigh of relief because you’ve crossed the final out-of-town overpass. You’re back in the familiar; the long trip is nearly finished—ten miles from home.

Think about it. 

Gaining Control, Losing Connection

So we survived #hurricanematthew. As a native Floridian, I wasn’t particularly scared by the dire predictions of The Weather Channel, after all Jim Cantore never showed up on my doorstep. We live in a rural neighborhood far away from the ocean and a safe distance from any rivers or tributaries. Our three acres are heavily treed, but we took care to plant all the trees a safe distance from the house for storms like this.

My well-balanced philodendron before Matthew

When I was nine months old, Hurricane Dora, a category 1, hit St. Augustine—the one and only direct hit in our area. Our last major tropical event wasn’t a named storm, it’s known as the ’04-05 season—Bonnie, Charley, Frances, Ivan, Jeanne--those are just the ones that hit Florida. There were so many storms that year they ran out of names and started calling them by letters of the alphabet.

If you look on a map, Jacksonville is tucked away in a little curve of the coastline. Hurricanes typically sail past us at a safe distance on their way to wreck major havoc in places like North and South Carolina. So Matthew didn’t scare me. It concerned me—this was definitely coming closer than anything else. There would be wind, possibly stronger than the tropical force winds of 2004, and rain, and, the biggest fear of all—an absolute given with that much wind—power loss. When would the power go out? How long would it be out?

My husband, the Dale in Dalyn, worked for our local electric utility for 32 years. So I know those guys work hard for long hours with very few breaks, but still, it can take days at the very least and historically has taken weeks in some areas to get power fully restored. Downed trees have to be removed, flood waters have to receded (in case you didn’t know, water and electricity DON’T mix). Sometimes the problem isn’t as simple as re-hanging the downed wire. But I digress…

The point is I KNEW we’d be without power. So I scrambled to find flashlights, lanterns, and batteries. Since we’re on a well and septic system, our water source relies on power. We already had plenty of bottled water and we filled a garbage can in the garage with gray water to flush toilets (helpful hint: water leaks out of tubs). We had a generator and gas for long-term use after the storm. The generator wouldn’t run everything, but at least we wouldn’t lose the food in our freezer and we could switch it around to different appliances as needed.

And I was prepared to be in constant communication with my friends and family. I kept my cell phone plugged in so it would be fully charged whenever the power went out. My laptop battery would last for a few hours and then I could switch to my tablet with 4G. I could open the garage door and recharge my cell phone in the car. The TV was on the local news station to monitor for tornadoes and damage in various neighborhoods. We were PREPARED!

Except, we didn’t lose power. The wind blew so hard, I expected the power line outside the window to snap at any moment. The rain fell in sheets, blowing sideways at times. My poor philodendron is permanently lopsided. The whoosh of air down the chimney caused the walls to vibrate and the house creaked and groaned in the strongest gusts. The lights flicked and the power actually went out a few times, you know that off/on, off/on, where you hold your breath wondering if this is it. But it wasn’t. It came back on and held.

Broken and mangled by Matthew

What we lost was communication – no cable, no internet, no 4G. Completely cut off from the news, friends and family. I couldn’t post to Facebook or send a text and I was getting nothing in return. I was fine, but what if a family member was trying to reach me? What if my friend had a problem? I wouldn’t know and they would think I was ignoring them, or worse, worry that I was in trouble. That’s when I realized COMMUNICATION was what I was afraid of losing, not power. I had a plan for how I would continue to power my devices so I could stay in touch, know what others were going through. So what I suffered through the last hours of the storm was a lack of connection.

I had plenty of books to read. I had a lantern that was as good as electric to read them by, if I needed it. But I kept picking up my phone and wondering—is everyone else alright? Was someone trying to reach me? 

All of this, of course, made me think of relationships. When we’re fighting for control, maybe it’s not to retain power, but to gain connection. The funny thing is, in the power struggle we can lose the very connection we seek.