Caryn Rivadeneira's Blog, page 4
March 31, 2014
My Lenten Confessional: Day 23
So God:
I need to confess a judgementy sin yet again. How funny it is (or, maybe not funny) that I don’t think I judge the “big stuff,” bur people’s little pesky, gnatty sins? I relish taking notice and internally critiquing those. And I did it once again when I heard the story of a writer, who upon meeting the reviewer of one of his books, lashed out at the reviewer. The author told the reviewer how he hated the review, how unfair it was. To his face.
My reaction?
Appalled. Naturally. But superior, also. Because this author had sold a bazillion books, his name recognized far and wide. And his skin? Paper thin. So while I shook my head at the author’s unprofessionalism and rudeness and obvious insecurity, I patted myself on the back for being none of these things.
And then about two hours later I read a review for Broke. And I freaked out on the inside, went e-running to writer friends to bolster me up, to bind my wounds. Of course, the review itself was good. The reviewer offered some push-back (all fine), but mostly she offered kind words. The problem was the stars? Only 3. Out of 5. A good review. A C grade. Or so it seemed.
My pride was bruised. I didn’t hate the review but I hated the stars. (Stupid stars.) And while if I ran into the reviewer today, I’d still thank her for taking the time to read and review it. I feel no anger toward her (only the stars). But as I stung and smarted at the stars, I understood–as I should’ve all along–how the other writer, that insecure, thin-skinned one could lash out at a reviewer. What’s the saying? Hurt people hurt people.
So God, forgive me for judging him harshly. For thinking myself better than him. Forgive me for thinking that my pride was less wrapped up in my work. Forgive me for forgetting that the other writer might not have had friends to go to, to reassure, to commiserate, to remind him that having thick skin doesn’t mean nothing gets through. And it shouldn’t. Because then what kind of writers would we be? If left unable to feel the feels?
Amen.
Click here for the other confessions and click here for the reason I’m even doing this.
March 29, 2014
My Lenten Confessional: Day 22
March 28, 2014
My Lenten Confessional: Day 21
So God:
I know–because I’ve heard the low whispers, faced the full questions–that some wonder if I haven’t humiliated my family, my husband, my kids, beyond belief by writing about our financial desperation in Broke. And I get why people would be concerned. There’s so much shame associated with being broke, not having enough to pay the bills.
And among well-to-do Christians, we say we care about the poor; we try to have compassion, to give. But really, most of the time, what we feel for our local poor is pity–or disgust. How could they have let this happen? So the idea that I’d write openly about our walk near the (American) poverty line sends some for a loop.
Though I’ve talked to my family about this book all throughout the process and though I do not (well, no longer) believe there’s anything to be ashamed of or embarrassed about in having not as much money as the next guy, forgive me if I’ve written or said anything that will unduly embarrass my family. If I’ve written words that dishonor my husband or my kids. Or you.
And forgive me for my harsh, judgmental thoughts toward those who judge me.
Amen
Click here for the other confessions and click here for the reason I’m even doing this.
March 27, 2014
My Lenten Confessional: Day 20
So God:
We’re halfway through this confessing practice. I thought maybe I’d run out of sins to confess. Well, that’s a lie (forgive me): I didn’t think so. Someone else thought. Ha! Score one (or 20) for Total Depravity. Those folks who think we’re “basically good” would’ve certain run out by now. SUCKAS!
Anyway, yesterday a hard conversation with a good friend dredged up a sin I don’t like to admit, as it’s tied right up in with what I believe to be one of my “callings.” Especially as a writer. I’n trying to figure out what to name this sin and I’m not sure there’s a word. But essentially I need forgiveness for delighting in other people’s stupid opinions, for taking stands that turn into judgment, and for forgetting that people who say or believe dumb things–things that should be called out, should be questioned–are still people, still made in your image, still worthy of grace. So forgive me for not doing that.
Specifically, forgive me for going a bit overboard in comments for the story I posted about the goings on at Cedarville University. Though my concern stands, though I do still worry about some choices the school is making, I know that every time I voice an opinion I risk becoming an oppressor myself, I run the risk of hurting people I claim to protect.
Specifically in the instance of judging the president’s words, in turning my critical eye at the Board of Trustees, in “liking” comments where people said students were being told “what” to think and not “how” to think and liking comments that encouraged students to run, I dehumanized the students. “They are not four,” a friend reminded me. Indeed. They have minds of their own; they know how to question, how to push back, how to engage. So many are doing that right now. I’ve written the evils and ills of seeking to be a “voice for the voiceless” and then I go and assume perfectly voiced students can’t speak up. Ugh.
I dunno, God. Help me do better at this stuff. Forgive me for the times I try to be a critical thinker and cultural engager (sorry for those obnoxious terms….it’s early) and end up being a pompous, judgey, hypocritical b****. Help me do better at fighting the wrongs of the world without acting like I alone have it all right.
Amen.
Click here for the other confessions and click here for the reason I’m even doing this.
March 26, 2014
My Lenten Confessional: Day 19
March 25, 2014
My Lenten Confessional: Day 18
Oh God:
So we’re at Day 2 of waking up tired, crabby. The sort where I hope I’m actually coming down with something and that this isn’t just some weird mood. But, I suspect the mood–based entirely on the Spring that just will not seem to come. Laughing now about how my friend (you know the one, God, no need to call her out here) says she doesn’t mind winter: it’s spring she hates. Totally agreeing with that right now.
Which is why I cursed when I saw the snow on the neighbor’s roof during my first glance out the window. Ugh (though I said much worse).
Forgive me for this. Not for the word I used–it’s just a word, right?–but for directing at your creation. For cursing something that delights me at Christmas-time, that is doing no real harm except bothering me (and, well, maybe making it hard for those birds who are back to find their worms. But I don’t want to tell you your business).
This is still the day that you have made–snow and cold and all. Forgive me for not rejoicing and being glad it in.
Amen.
P.S. Please let this weather madness end! Amen again.
Click here for the other confessions and click here for the reason I’m even doing this.
March 24, 2014
My Lenten Confessional: Day 17
God,
I’m cold. I’m tired. My shoulders ache. I’m crabby. Got a lot on my mind and a lot of work to get through this.
I couldn’t even get through my Lord’s Prayer litany this morning. And I’m certainly in no mood to take a gander at my heart–and the sins that lurk therein. Good thing my bad mood is making it easy for me. Forgive me for shoving you out of the way, for shoving this practice out of the way of my mood and my to-do list.
Forgive me. (And please dredge up some good sins in case I’m still busy and tired tomorrow. Would be nice to have some rise right to the surface….)
Amen.
March 22, 2014
My Lenten Confessional: Day 16
So God:
I’ve agreed to fast today–along with fellow praying friends. But I don’t want to, not at all. Although I’ve just gone through one of the best desperate times of my life and although I’ve stated and written that I always want something in my life that keeps me “on my knees” and desperate for what only you can provide, I’m realizing with a day of fasting ahead that this may not be as true as I’ve said.
Forgive me. But I’m a little afraid to put aside my desires (for food, is all this time. And those desires aren’t all that great. At least, not for meals. It’s only snacks I ever miss); I’m worried about choosing to become desperate, dependent on you.
Though I know I’ll be fine–physically–for one silly day without food. And though I know you are faithful and that this practice of fasting is meant to remind me of your faith, something like a spiritual PTSD is creeping up. I’ve enjoyed this past little bit of being able to look back on how you carried us through the ridiculous financial stresses. I’ve enjoyed living in the full hope and experience that you do–you are–providing. Not enough to wipe away every last morsel of debt yet (how long, Lord? ha!). But that we can pay bills. Mostly. That I no longer face each and every month wondering how the mortgage will get paid.
Forgive me–not for the hope–but because I’m realizing as I face this fast that what has made me feel more secure is our “own” ability to earn money again. It must be it, if I’m worried to go without food, if facing intentional desperation has me nervous.
Ack. I dunno. Maybe it’s the hunger talking. But forgive me for my bad attitude about how I face the disciplines. Show me today–once again–how you bless through desperation, how you prove faithful time and again even to weird wandering, me’s of little faith.
Amen.
Click here for the other confessions and click here for the reason I’m even doing this.
March 21, 2014
My Lenten Confessional: Day 15
So God,
We’re at the final of the 10 commandments: do not covet. I’d been feeling pretty good about this one. Because after years of this being one of the trickier commandments for me to keep–what with other people having such nice things and cool houses and horses and all–lately I’ve done so much better. That “prefer the given” wisdom took gorilla-grip hold on me and I’ve not coveted so much. Well, except things like book sales. I covet some bestsellers sales numbers. And I covet the attention, the platform, the reviews. So many things I covet when it comes to my writing life…
But I covet other things, too, like travel. Our limited travel budget means I’m just drooling over opportunities people have (not so much for beaches right now, but Sweden. For some reason I’m aching to take my kids to Sweden), wishing they were mine. And, of course, that mint green ukelele in the music store window. I have no idea why I want it so bad, but I do. Of course, I could buy it so maybe that’s not real coveting…
All this to say, God, forgive me for my covetous spirit. Forgive me for not being grateful enough for the amazing opportunities I have, for the material comforts, for the people in my life. Forgive me for turning my eyes to the “greener” grasses all around me.
Amen.
Click here for the other confessions and click here for the reason I’m even doing this.
March 20, 2014
My Lenten Confessional: Day 14
Oh, Dear God:
I smile every time I come across the 9th commandment in any way, shape or form. “You shall not give false testimony against your neighbor,” you say. “Do not lie,” is perhaps the easier translation. I smile–as you know–because of that day when my therapist, way back in college, told me I was “hyper honest.” Like it was a bad thing. Which it was, then, when that psyche assessment or whatever that was revealed I could be suicidal–which I wasn’t–because I had marked “yes” to the question, “Have you ever considered ways you would kill yourself?”
I had. And I have. I still don’t believe there are people who have never once thought of how they would or wouldn’t kill themselves. Not making light. Just being honest. Hyper honest, I guess.
So in many ways this hyper honesty thing has become a good girl sticker I keep in the recesses of my mind, convincing myself that I don’t lie. But of course, I do. I like to protect others, to protect myself. I’ve lied to improve stories, to avoid conversations. I have given false testimony against my neighbor in the times I’ve gossiped, God help me. And forgive me.
Amen.
Click here for the other confessions and click here for the reason I’m even doing this.
