I’ve heard friends say, “don’t judge me!” when they’re involved in some questionable activity or embarrassing behavior. Or I’m sometimes scolded with “stop judging others!” when I feel the need to assert my superiority/intelligence/breeding/better fashion sense over someone else.
The assumption here of course is that my opinion matters. Not likely.
Judgment, in and of itself, is not necessarily a bad thing. I’m certain that judgment has saved me from a possible mugging or an obnoxious salesperson on occasion. God gave me reason for a reason. I try to know my surroundings, understand who I’m dealing with, and steer clear of dangerous situations or unwanted circumstances. But that’s not the kind of judgment that gets me into trouble.
I judge people who I perceive don’t share my views on politics, culture, religion, art, child-rearing, personal hygiene, etc. If folks would just realize that I’m pretty good at everything and smarter than the average person, life would be much easier. I know a lot and I like being in charge. And most of the time, I don’t even have to hear one word from the “judged”, I can judge them by what they look like, how old they are, the way they dress, the car they drive, where they live, what they eat and where they worship. I am really good at this!
I’m particularly good at judging myself. That voice in my head is often saying,“that was a stupid idea” or “you’re too old, too tired, too fat”. And don’t forget regret. Regret is the ‘Ghost of Judgment Past’. “What were you thinking when you bought that Pinto in 1977?” “Why didn’t you apply yourself in school?” “Why aren’t you better prepared for retirement?“ “Why weren’t you kinder, more loving, more everything?”
My beautiful wife Debbie often reminds me, “Judge not, lest ye be judged” or something like that from her Southern Baptist upbringing. Then I feel ashamed – which is sort of like self-judgment on steroids.
But here’s what I’ve learned (also from my beautiful wife): LOVE IS THE ANSWER. Love mitigates judgment. Love makes it possible to accept someone as they are. Love allows me to accept my own imperfections. Love allows me to be loved.
Deb, Jesus and others keep giving me second chances. Everyday I have new opportunities to be more loving and less judgmental. Every encounter is a new chance to be a reconciling presence in this world. Okay, so maybe I’m not really the smartest guy out there but I am loved. And that’s a good place to start.
Peace,
Denis
It turns out that as she was feeding their bodies, they were feeding her soul. She spent most days chopping potatoes, carrots, onions, or whatever was donated. She made soups or stews to feed the families. The first day she was making fruit salad and serving it in tiny Dixie cups. One of the regular volunteers told her that she was filling the cups too full and there wouldn’t be enough for everyone. It brought her to tears as these people were starving and she was only able to serve a very small portion. When she cried, the other volunteer also cried. Deb says they held on to one another for the longest time and sobbed. She also tells me that because they served several hundred people each day they would nearly run out of water, bread, vegetables or fruit, but then there would be a knock at the door and whatever was needed would appear – truly God’s blessings.
The Advent Season is a blessing for me. It gives me the opportunity to set aside my needs and my wants, and to instead focus on the love of a God who sent his Son to be with us. It is a good time for me to reflect how loving (or unloving) I have been. It’s an opportunity for me to reach out to others; to become vulnerable; to stop worrying about perfection and to become perfected in Christ’s love.
My son Blake tells me that he’s pretty sure we are all one consciousness. The universe experiencing itself; a pulse experienced through different hardware. He believes that unconditional love is the answer but what is the question?
I had a driver who was from India and we spoke about Indian food that I have eaten and loved but he laughed out loud every time I spoke and nothing I said was truly funny. Maybe it was the way I pronounced chicken tikka masala (I’ll never know). We laughed and laughed!
For me the imagery is almost overwhelming. The thought of torrents of water descending upon me is easy to envision. While walking in a warm spring rain, initially I will attempt to stay dry under an umbrella, or run, as if I can somehow elude the raindrops. Ultimately my efforts become futile. I finally embrace the rain and the idea of being completely saturated. I stop fighting it. I stop running. I put away the umbrella. I accept the downpour. I surrender. I am drenched.
While contemplating the gravity of the situation, the 8 year-old daughter began to pray the “Hail Mary”. All Catholic school children learn this prayer and most can recite it from memory. It’s an ancient prayer imploring Jesus’ mother Mary to pray for us and all those in need of God’s mercy, especially those near death. This act of kindness was not prompted by Mom nor was it in any way expected. Mom’s concern at that moment was protecting her daughters from viewing possible carnage. What happened next was the five year-old daughter praying an “Our Father” or the “Lord’s Prayer” for those strangers on the roadside. Again unprompted and unexpected. Those beautiful girls witnessed to their mother in a simple yet profound way.
Journeying & Journaling 