Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

God Doesn’t Expect Our Perfection

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I woke up this morning with conflict on my mind. I hated that! The thing was I had gone to sleep with the same worries plaguing me. Before I drifted to sleep I read the Bible, desiring to fill my mind with truth, yet I still woke with it in my head. Ugh.

I hate conflict. I think my husband is the luckiest guy on the planet because he rarely has to face a fight with me. Arguments make me uncomfortable, and raised voices make me shake. When I come across a disagreement with someone I am quick to back down, apologize, make amends, whatever needed to save the relationship. And I think that’s a good thing overall. It means I value people over always being right. In my line of work as a nurse there are a lot of times I’m right, but I will let it go. I try to place myself in the other person’s shoes, and I do this with everyone. My preference is to avoid conflict altogether, but eventually it occurs despite my best intentions.

It was such an interaction that kept coming up in my mind as I stood in the shower. I don’t know why my brain does this, but I will replay a negative interaction over and over. I’ll think of things I didn’t say, things I should have said, and of course question anything I did say or do. I will mentally beat myself up over something like this, and that’s what I found myself doing this morning.

As I stood before the mirror mentally trying to push the situation that was over and done with to the over and done with bin of my brain, I prayed, and at that moment I felt very strongly that I should speak to this matter out loud. It seemed kind of crazy to me, but I knew its merit also. After all, when anxiety or senseless worry continues to assault your mind, where do you suppose these thoughts come from? They certainly aren’t from God. Conviction of where you might be wrong is one thing, but incessant agonizing is not. Fretting isn’t from a friend, and panic isn’t for our pleasure. One thing I knew; God did not want me feeling this way, making mountains out of molehills.

They say there’s power in the name of Jesus, and believing that to be so I spoke His name out loud.

“These thoughts that are harassing me aren’t welcome,” I said. “You have to leave in Jesus name.”

Y’all, if my mirror turned into a burning bush I wouldn’t have been surprised, because divine intervention happened in that room. It wasn’t like it took a while, either. It wasn’t later in the day or even thirty minutes after. Within moments I felt better. The anxious thoughts had drifted away. They no longer banged persistently at my door. They left.

As I sat on my bed getting ready I finally thought about other things, and as my mind wandered towards a parent’s class at my church I thought of some good advice for moms and the unrealistic expectations we place on our parenting skills.

God doesn’t expect our perfection. So why do we?

It was like a lightening bolt word of wisdom that I suddenly realized could be used in my day to day life and interactions with others. A lot of my worry when conflict occurred was if I handled it properly, or if I was a good example of Christ. On times like the most recent object of my obsession and personal conflict I knew I had a tendency to beat myself up over how I could have handled things better. But God didn’t expect my perfection. So why did I?

I was reminded that I won’t be perfect in every single interaction I have with others. Let’s be honest; some people are really difficult to handle. But the point is I’m trying. I strive each day to be a better me than yesterday, but when I fall I can be reminded of God’s bountiful grace. I can remember that in my weaknesses I find strength in Him. I guess that’s a reminder we all need from time to time.

I’ve Always Been a Bad Friend

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I’ve always been a bad friend. Or maybe, perhaps, it’s simply that being friends isn’t my forte. I mean, I consider myself a nice person. I’m polite, kind, honest, loyal. All the attributes of a good friend. Yet when it comes to being friends, I’m usually like, nah, I’m good.

Call it a loner, call it an introvert, call it anything, but don’t call me. That’s my motto. It’s not that I hate people; I love them actually, but I’m not sure I trust them. Can anyone relate?

I don’t think I’ve always been this way. I’m sure I wasn’t born this way. I’m certain that in the preschool play yard I was cordial and inviting, but somewhere along the way I developed the notion that most folks weren’t worth the effort. Well, now, that sounds harsh. People are worthy of my effort, but somewhere deep inside I fear my efforts will be in vain. I avoid the possibility of rejection, and I run from betrayal. Being left at an early age by a biological parent injured my confidence, I suppose, and an ugly and painful bout with bullying in junior high and high school left me distrustful of most females. I had found most women to be mean, backstabbing even, and I did not have time for such a thing. Non-confrontational by nature, I preferred no company to treacherous company.

Maybe it was growing up the new kid in the neighborhood. My family moved five times in less than three years. Or perhaps it was being the sick kid with epilepsy. Everyone thought seizures were contagious. Or maybe it’s just the fact that I was a weird, little kid. Quiet, contemplative, yet also so eager to please others. I desired love more than anything! I wanted acceptance, to be liked, to feel special. Sigh. If I’ve learned anything in forty-one years it’s this. Only God can give you the worth you desire. That doesn’t mean, though, that I didn’t spend a good thirty years or so seeking it via my fellow man. Better late than never I guess.

Anywho, whatever the root cause of my particular traits concerning friendships, in the end I came to a conclusion. The majority of people didn’t give me that warm, fuzzy feeling I craved. Instead they gave me quite the opposite. They hurt me. A person can only take so much hurt.

I became very selective in my friendships, especially with females.

I had one best friend from third grade through middle school.

In junior high I branched out. I tried the cool crowd. I hung out with groups. I did the whole cliquey scene. Yuck. As you can imagine, I got burned. I crawled back into my cave.

I finished junior high with one close girlfriend.

I experienced a major case of bullying despite keeping my head down. I guess sometimes it’s a jungle out there. Like how a hunting lioness will sniff out the lone, weak prey, so too was I targeted for high school annihilation.

I spent the rest of my high school years skimming the surface. What I mean by that is skimming the surface of relationships. I had a lot of “friends,” but I didn’t really have any friends, if that makes sense. I didn’t share my innermost feelings with any of them. I didn’t trust anyone. I had things going on in my home life, but I kept it all inside. I smiled on the outside; on the inside I cried.

I was the girl who could keep a secret. If cell phones would have been around back then, I would have been the girl who always texted you back. Immediately. No matter what. I wouldn’t ditch you, lie to you, or use you. I had the makings of a good friend, but I didn’t want that. It was too dangerous being someone’s friend.

In college I found a bit more freedom to be myself. I stopped pretending to go with the status quo. I found a world full of more people like me, and I made my first friend in a long time. She was my best friend, and I would have laid down my life for her.

Seasons change. People change. Marriages come, children come. New jobs, new cities. Sometimes friendships fade. Sometimes people don’t keep up with one another like they should. Life just gets too busy. Gosh, that hurts. It hurt then. I understood it, but it still hurt to try and hang on to a friendship that had moved on without me.

I would not entertain another female friendship for eighteen years! That’s weird, right?! I mean, I had a couple of gal pals I hung out with over the years. We laughed, we had a good time, but I didn’t invest in them like I could have. I was a bad friend. I don’t guess I knew how to be a good one. I didn’t want to know.

I spent years seeing these other women growing into adulthood and middle age with their tribe. They went on girl trips, they had girls’ night out. A part of me envied the photos of females smiling together for the camera, but I knew I couldn’t put myself in their place. To open your heart to female friendship also meant opening your heart to female drama, gossip, betrayal, heartache. I wanted none of that! I’d give up the happy nights out if it protected my delicate heart. So, a lot of time went by without a girlfriend in my life. I figured it was better that way.

Good friends are funny how they sneak into your life. My very first, true friend in third grade came up to me in the playground with the corniest comment ever.

She said, “why don’t they call a hurricane a him-a-cane? Why’s it got to be a girl storm?”

We were inseparable thereafter.

The same kind of friendship slipped into my forties. I can’t remember what corny thing my clever friend uttered, but I knew immediately she was my kind of weirdo. More importantly, I knew I could trust her. She made me comfortable, and I wasn’t afraid she would hurt me. She was my friend, almost immediately, and it came about very naturally. It was nice to say I had a friend outside of my husband and sisters.

My bestie recently traveled a long distance to come see me. I liked how we fell into easy, relaxed conversation. That’s how it is supposed to be. This morning I thought about her. She had just flown out of the area. I thought about all the time I had let lengthen in-between our phone conversations.

I’m just not a good friend, I thought.

And at that moment I felt like God said, “but being a good friend is what I have for you.”

God made relationships. I knew this to be true. Man (or woman) convoluted this a lot of the time. We messed up relationships and friendships big time. We hurt people, we got hurt by people, and we in turn shut people out. We isolated ourselves, or maybe sometimes we couldn’t even be ourselves. We sought worth and being in other people, or we based our future experiences on our past, bad ones. But God made us for relationships. I knew this was true.

I haven’t always been a good friend, and perhaps it’s due to no fault of my own, but then I let it change me. I let bad friendships keep me from good friendships. I let past pain prevent future happiness. I gave up on something good God had for me. Well, I almost gave up.

I’ve decided God sends us the relationships we need exactly when we need them. He even slips them in if He has to, via a corny joke or business trip happenstance. He lines up relationships for His glory, but then it’s up to us to keep walking the path He put down. I haven’t always been good at being friends, but that doesn’t mean I have to stay bad at it. I can let go of fear in favor of faith in friendships. I’m trying anyway. Relationships can bring us pain, but they can also bring so much joy and laughter.

My Husband Is Doing It Again!

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Well, he did it again. New place, same story. It’s not that I thought a new neighborhood would change his behavior, but I didn’t expect him to fall so easily into prior patterns. Yet he had, and as we spoke on the phone via text I became angry. He tried to send me a cute picture of our eldest daughter, and how they’d decided to skip school and take advantage of the nice weather outside. Did he think I wouldn’t find out the real reason?!

I am a travel nurse. My husband used to own his own business, but when it began to not work out we changed things up for our family. They all started traveling with me, and while I worked my husband held the reigns at home. He homeschooled our daughters and did everything to keep our traveling home running smoothly.

But it is his “extracurricular” activities that I’m speaking on now. It’s the other stuff he does when I’m at work. And after this particular day, I realized he was doing it again. He even had a lunch planned the next day.

After I got home from a long shift he nonchalantly mentioned his lunch plans for the following afternoon. I had made a point to not stay angry when he had texted me earlier in the day about them skipping school. I mean, I knew they’d make it up, and I couldn’t allow myself to get angry over something so trivial. But then later that night, at home, as he explained the real reason for missing homeschool lessons, it all made sense. My husband was up to his old tricks, so to speak, and this incident was just another example of that.

“She needed me,” he explained.

“The guy next door, that’s her age, he’s had quadruple bypass for goodness sake,” he added.

I knew. This was what my husband did. He couldn’t help himself. It’s like something within him drove him to do it. I couldn’t think of a single time where he had ignored the need. At our last temporary home in South Carolina he had done the same thing. It was hard for him to leave that area when I found a new job because of the relationships he had made all over the neighborhood. And sure enough, in our new community he was at it again.

“I had to,” he said.

“I know,” I agreed.

Then I smiled.

After all, he was a helper. He was a servant. He was a lover of people. His mission was relationships with those around him, and everywhere we landed he took up the task of helping others.

At our last home he had forged friendships with grumpy old men, been a handyman to the park owner, and had drawn every person he met out of their shell. He was the kindest man I’d ever encountered, and I had a feeling that most people who crossed paths with him felt the same.

He was a helper.

He had done it before, and he was doing it again. This was his way. His way of showing God’s love.

He had told me over the phone that they skipped school to enjoy the weather outside before it got too hot, and I guess that was a part of it. But later that night he explained how the elderly woman next door had bought a new air conditioning unit since hers went out. It’s Central Florida here, folks. Naturally, he offered to install it for her.

I mean, he had told her before, “anything you need, just ask.”

He told everybody that!

And the thing was, he meant it.

He was a helper, a friend, the person you could count on. He was a kind smile on a tough day. I watched the way our neighbors smiled and waved as we drove by in our golf cart. They loved him. I was married to Mr. Popularity.

The thing was, he was a wonderful husband. I experienced the most of his loving heart in action. He was an amazing father. He cared for us in a way that couldn’t be rivaled. I felt blessed to have him in my life. But I also felt blessed to watch him in the lives of others. He was a helper.

That night on the couch, after I got home from work, I listened happily to his retelling of their day. Helping an elderly neighbor for free, teaching our daughters a valuable lesson that wasn’t in their curriculum. The next day she was having a big meal at her home for some friends, and she wanted my family to attend. I knew it was her way of saying thank you.

At their lunch invite that Sunday he told me they were the only people there under the age of sixty, but that he had a great time socializing with his new friends. The older women had gushed over how sweet and well-behaved our young daughters were. They had sent a huge plate of leftovers home for me, and I made a point the next day to smile, wave her over, and say thanks. I was trying to be more outgoing like my better half. The fact was, he wasn’t going to stop. He was doing it again. He was loving on strangers, helping neighbors, and building new friendships. That was His way.

When I Stopped Trying to Fit In

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I stood at the community dryer removing my clothes and placing them into my basket to take back home. For a moment I had felt sad, lonely maybe, less; I’m not sure. But whatever the emotion it was only for a brief moment. Then it passed. I smiled to myself because it didn’t matter. I had stopped trying to fit in.

When I had first walked into the shared laundry room of our RV Park, two women had been talking loudly to one another and laughing as they shared a story, but as I entered the area they lowered their voices in a conspiratorial tone as they spoke about events around our little community. I knew both of the women from having been around the small community for a few months. We were all friendly with one another, but as they continued to whisper together within my earshot I understood that I wasn’t part of their inner circle, I wasn’t part of the fold, or in the know. I certainly wasn’t close enough to the pack to invite inclusion into their most interesting and shocking, shared gossip. For a moment that made me feel sadly excluded, but then I shook it off, remembering that I wasn’t the woman I used to be. I smiled knowing it was okay to be different.

I didn’t always feel that way. I used to feel like I was on the outside looking in, like I was a beggar at the window of the restaurant, staring hungrily at the steaming plate of food, wishing for a bite, something to wet my appetite for acceptance.

I was the young girl who moved around a lot when I was little. And I mean a lot. I remember getting behind in first grade after moving schools three times in one year, and feeling ashamed that I required a special tutor to catch up to the rest of the class. At six I felt like I didn’t fit in.

I remember second grade, another new school, and joining other girls to make fun of someone else on the playground. I knew it wasn’t right, but I still did it. After all, if it was her it wasn’t me. Do you want to know the most peculiar part? I saw her smiling. It was like the negative attention was better for her than being invisible. I got that. Our eyes met by the swing set, she smiled, and we understood each other on a very deep, painful level. Even if just for a moment. Outcasts.

I remember another new school in third grade. It was the second new school that year. I recall telling a little girl on the teeter totter I was epileptic. I thought if she felt sorry for me she might be my friend. The rest of my time in elementary school I was the kid with the weird disease.

I can recall switching school in junior high, hoping with everything I had that it would be different, that I would be liked. I still enjoyed Barbies and frogs, but I realized quickly that wasn’t what the popular girls were into.

Popular girls. I’m not sure why I fought to be a part of their clique. There were nice girls who weren’t in the top echelon of the socially elite, yet I set my sights high. From sixth grade throughout high school I was a cheerleader. I didn’t have a grand affection for toe touches and booty dances. I just thought I would find my place inside that way. Have you ever had your bed short-sheeted at cheerleading camp? Even though I always made the squad, I wasn’t part of the squad. I remember calling my mom in tears at a cheerleading sleepover because everyone was ignoring me and being cruel. It wasn’t imaged. It was the real thing. Once you become a social leper, it sticks.

I look back at the bullying and I thank God social media didn’t exist. I already wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. I can’t imagine if my misery had been shared on social networks. I already weighed 90 pounds because sleep was better than food, or because the cafeteria was where my tormentors gathered. I can’t imagine if pictures had been shot across Snapchat with the caption of Anorexic Annie.

The great thing about college is that you get to let go of the cliques and taunting. There’s more on the horizon. You get to find your tribe, the people who are more in line with what you value. Yet… yet my desire to fit in didn’t fade.

At twenty, as a reborn Christian, I felt like I didn’t quite fit in with all the church folks. I had so much to learn, they knew way more about Jesus than I did. They hadn’t done half the awful things I had done, and our families were different. I had watched Smurfs and HeMan! Lol. I still taunt my husband a little about his lack of eighties cartoon knowledge. But seriously, even amongst people who loved me, I felt like I didn’t fit in. Which led one to ponder, was it me?

I began to learn that my past experiences molded my current perceptions. Once you’ve been rejected, especially at a young age, and especially by someone you love, it slants your thinking. You walk around either fearing love, craving love, sabotaging love, feeling you’re never loved and never will be loved, or all of the above. Parents should consider this before they dip out on their kid, but it goes beyond that. It’s like hurt just piles on hurt, piles on hurt. You end up like me, seeking acceptance, but never quite feeling like you get it.

I don’t think I can pinpoint when it happened, but one day I stopped caring so much what people thought. As I grew older and matured I realized what was important to me. I held those things close and didn’t put as much value in the things that didn’t matter. I discovered who I was according to Jesus, and I realized the opinion of anyone else didn’t matter. I learned to love myself because of how God saw me. Then I didn’t crave love from man to make myself feel better, yet I was also able to accept love from others more easily.

As I kept going in this vein I realized that I was a unique creation of God, that He made me a certain way. So although hurts along the way may have changed my actions and perceptions, I also was who I was because He created me that way. Special. Different. These were no longer bad things, but worthy of celebration. I didn’t need to fit into the box. It was cool to be a square peg in a circle hole world. I didn’t have to fit the mold, and I could break out of the constraints of trying to fit in and be anyone other than me.

But it kept going. I also started to understand that sometimes my vision could be clouded, and that the devil could use lies to make me feel like I didn’t fit anywhere. Maybe I wasn’t an introvert by design, but rather by choice. It’s easier to be a loner when people are mean, but it’s also less painful to stay that way and believe everyone is mean. I had missed out a lot over the years. I had missed so many opportunities to be kind and show God’s love to others because I was tired of being hurt.

Through it all I had gone from rejected to social misfit, and from introvert to major lover of people. That’s what God can do, I suppose. I am grateful I came to a place where I stopped trying to fit in, but I am even more thankful when I came to the point of realizing I also couldn’t sit life out.

Why My Inner Circle is Small

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I have a habit of sharing the Bible verse of the day from my Bible app onto Facebook, but recently I did not. The verse didn’t resound within me like most do, and it bothered me that it did not. I just couldn’t help it, though. The verse from Proverbs was about loyal friendship, and that was something I didn’t put a lot of trust in. Opening your heart to friendship was easy for most people, but for me? Not so much. My inner circle is small.

See, I have a hard time making friends. I’ll hang out with my siblings, and I call my husband my best friend. That’s pretty much where the buck stops, though. I’m a self-proclaimed introvert. I’m the type of person who will see someone in a store, look down, and run the other way rather than make conversation that’s uncomfortable for me. It’s not like I’m trying to be rude; it’s just hard having relationships. I can talk the ear off my patients at the hospital bedside, telling them my whole life story sometimes. But maybe that’s because it’s part of my job. I enjoy communicating with others, showing God’s love, and having a good time. There’s simply that part of me that doesn’t do well with friendship. Even though I’ve grown tremendously in this area over the past couple of years, I still can count my girlfriends on one hand. And that’s going all the way back to third grade!

Recently I was talking to my seven year old about being nice to her cousins and sisters. I explained to her that you can never fathom how your actions may affect someone. Perhaps even for life. I told her some of the things that had happened to me growing up. I didn’t recount it all. Much of it was too harsh for her tender heart to hear.

I explained how I was bullied in school. Girls who had been my friends for years suddenly wanted nothing to do with me. They certainly didn’t want to face the wrath of the bully themselves. I was a ghost, a walking misfit. If I wasn’t ignored I was taunted and laughed at, the butt of jokes. I was beat up, my hair pulled out by the roots, and it still to this day grew out uneven from one side of my head to the other.

I could still see the remnants of vulgar names and taunts spray painted on the road signs in front of my parent’s home. Over twenty years later and it hadn’t faded away, from the signs or my heart apparently. It brought to mind the prank calls, dozens in an hour, the bloody, stuffed animal thrown in my driveway, and the trip my parents took to the police station trying to press charges and offer me protection from my tormentor.

Mostly, though, I remember how thin I got, how I never wanted to eat, or how I only wanted to sleep. I remember pretending to be sick, and when my Mom wouldn’t buy it, simply begging her if I could stay home from school. I recall my gratitude when they finally let me switch schools, but I also remember my fear of starting a new school. Would other girls be the same way?

As an adult I knew that this part of my adolescence had negatively impacted me forever. Just like how an absent parent can affect a person their entire life, so too could cruel treatment by their peers. I learned from an early age that females were fickle, easy to turn their back on you, and even easier to hurt you. I learned I couldn’t trust friends, even the ones who used the word “best” at one time or another, and that secrets were never sacred. I discovered men could tear apart a friendship, that loyalty was a farce. I was taught that people could smile at your face, but laugh behind your back. I learned that lies were easy to tell, that reputations could be ruined in a day, and that I could never truly trust a woman in my life other than those closest to me, like a mom or sister.

I never wanted to be friendless. I didn’t grow up hoping I would close my heart to trusting others, but that’s what happened. That was the consequence of my adolescence. Despite all the healing God had done in my life, and despite the fact that I had forgiven all of those who had treated me cruelly in the past, I still had a problem with trusting others. When you’ve been hurt deeply sometimes it’s just easier to err on the side of caution. It’s easier to keep your distance, play it safe, keep relationships superficial, and only trust your tight, inner circle. I don’t want to be this way, but past experience has molded me into the timid creature I am. Not sure if that will ever change. I wonder about wonderful women I may have pushed away due to my own fear.

Today I tried to make sure my daughter understood this, that she realized every action has a consequence, and sometimes those consequences affect people around you more than you know. I wish all parents could teach their children this. You never know; it might just save some future heartache.