A life lesson I have been very late to learn is to trust the thoughts of others less and my own, more. Being exasperatingly naive, I always felt that people in my life had my best interest at heart. Their plans for me, ideas for how I should dress or how I should live, jobs I should do, how my hair should look or who I should be friends with…all of this I accepted with an open hand. Slowly, imperceptibly, I have realized that people have their own interests closest to heart. As the sun, everyone else must be a moon, reflecting the image we want to project. If we don’t fit into the plans others might have for our life, we may wake up to find ourselves on the edge of the solar system, no longer a cherished moon, but now a piece of space junk drifting off into darkness. Pushed to the side, we might become the topic of overheard dinner conversations, where every failing and discrepancy is held up to the light. If people don’t fit, they are out. It is easier and safer to bend and fold, be pressed into the mold. Toe the line, and you will find that smiles and friends await, and praise as well.

As a teacher I often tried to weave life lessons into class discussions, subtly challenging students to think beyond the expectations of parents, teachers and society in general to what they truly feel called to do. Not just making ends meet, but meeting their soul where it lives. The logical mind is helpful, but it doesn’t always love us.

For myself, I looked for treasures hidden along the path of a reluctant profession, and delighted in those, fueling passion and purpose for another day. A line from a poem or Shakespeare, a photo from the archives of history, a legend told over and over, hinting it’s probably true.

‘Our doubts are traitors, And make us lose the good we oft might win, By fearing to attempt.’
– Measure for Measure

One surprising way we can learn to trust is through the feeling of anger. Girls, especially, are taught to shy away from feeling or expressing anger. We are to stuff it down, pretend there’s nothing there, or we were mistaken. However, anger is one of the most beneficial emotions there is. Anger, like pain, points out where something is wrong. Recognizing the message of anger can guide us up and out when we are being disrespected, when our boundaries are being crossed, or when we are being pushed around or used for other’s purposes. Rather than stuffing it down, look squarely into the face of anger and ask questions. “Where is this trying to protect me?” “Where is the injustice?” “Why now?” The answers can be so helpful in keeping us out of harms way or seeing wounds that need healing.

Perhaps this is why stuffed anger leads to depression. We feel depressed and sad, alone or numb because we have ignored our own needs for so long. Imagine having a door shut in your face over and over again, even though you’re knocking to try and help. When we ignore our own voice, we kill the soul. Eventually, it becomes defeated and silent. Doctor visits may not rouse it, but kindness, truth, grace and beauty often can.

We must listen to the inner voice that is telling us which path to take. It is so easy to lose ourselves in the chaos of sound, the urgent tasks of every day. The expectations of our family, church, or friends. Others might “mean well”, but do they actually listen, or only want us to fall in line with what will make them happy, or look good, or validate their life choices? Do they really know you?

There is much wisdom in seeking counsel, true. If every voice is saying, “That is really a bad idea”, then it likely is. We can avoid terrible heartache by heeding the cautions of those who care about us. I’m writing today about the other side of the coin, where we sit with the inner knowing, where we feel the anchor deep inside and hold onto it. There is a big difference between being taught or advised by others and being led by the hand.

I remember one time a friend had the great idea that I should give up teaching and start working for her company. I smiled inside, because I had already started learning this lesson and knew that it wasn’t best for me. But if I had been younger and less aware, I might have jumped. And when the business failed, I would have been left in the dust.

Or another time when I was pressured to start a day home when my kids were small. I did look after a child or two, but I knew a dayhome would be all-consuming and take away from important family time.

Or when a previous church wanted me to run the worship ministry in a way that would please the most donors and keep more people happy, but I knew that worship is not about bolstering a church organization, but about seeking to bless and truly listen to the voice of the Lord. I “burnt out” not from the work, but from the expectations.

Today, spend a quiet moment if you can and listen to the cry of your soul. What is it asking for?

Where can you create space to be your real self, to heal, or protect your peace? There may be anger that needs facing, or sadness, or a situation that must be addressed, or a voice from outside that needs to be dialed down. There will always be a storm. The set of your sails will determine the destination, though you might get knocked off course by life over and over again.

For now, here is a little treasure from English class. Imagine tired and somewhat defeated eyes moving from a lesson plan to this poem, finding a moment of solace and beauty in a busy day. It really puts things in perspective.

The Day is Done

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The day is done, and the darkness

      Falls from the wings of Night,

As a feather is wafted downward

      From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the village

      Gleam through the rain and the mist,

And a feeling of sadness comes o’er me

      That my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longing,

      That is not akin to pain,

And resembles sorrow only

      As the mist resembles the rain.

Come, read to me some poem,

      Some simple and heartfelt lay,

That shall soothe this restless feeling,

      And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,

      Not from the bards sublime,

Whose distant footsteps echo

      Through the corridors of Time.

For, like strains of martial music,

      Their mighty thoughts suggest

Life’s endless toil and endeavor;

      And to-night I long for rest.

Read from some humbler poet,

      Whose songs gushed from his heart,

As showers from the clouds of summer,

      Or tears from the eyelids start;

Who, through long days of labor,

      And nights devoid of ease,

Still heard in his soul the music

      Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have power to quiet

      The restless pulse of care,

And come like the benediction

      That follows after prayer.

Then read from the treasured volume

      The poem of thy choice,

And lend to the rhyme of the poet

      The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be filled with music,

      And the cares, that infest the day,

Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,

      And as silently steal away.