Expectations

5 Questions for Kristin Ritzau

Guest Voices — Wed, 15 Sep 2010 10:07:08 -0700

Kristin Ritzau is a spiritual director, writer, speaker, and recovering perfectionist. When she's not working in Student Life at Azusa Pacific University, Kristin tends to her urban homestead outside Los Angeles, where she raises vegetables and chickens with her husband.

In her debut book, A Beautiful Mess, Kristin shares her very personal journey to overcome crippling perfectionism. As she navigated a new marriage, endured a quarter-life health crisis, and was forced to redefine the God of her childhood, Kristin discovered freedom in accepting she was a beautiful mess. She didn't need to clean up her "perfect" life any longer.

Kristin answered 5 Questions posed to her by the editors of ConversantLife.com.

What was the turning point in your perfectionism? When did you realize that you needed to change?

During graduate school at Fuller Theological Seminary, I reached a crossroads in my marriage and family life. I was in my first year of marriage, my brother and I were not getting along, and there were a couple of troubling health problems I was facing.

I decided to go to therapy to “be a good example” to others, but all of a sudden I realized that I was the one who needed help. It was the first time in my life I gave myself permission to sit in the mess that was my life. I stopped trying to clean it up and realized what was causing all of the uneasiness and dissatisfaction with myself, others, God, and the life I had been given.

The overarching issue that haunted me the most was the drive of perfection. I was doing almost everything in my life, job, marriage, family, etc. to please others. By seeking after unhealthy and unrealistic expectations my identity was wrapped up in everything outside of myself and I had found self-care to be a means back to my true self in Christ.

What was the most outrageous thing you did as a perfectionist?

I expected a lot of people because I expected too much of myself. There wasn’t one cataclysmic event that pushed me over the edge. It was more so the little ticking time bomb expectations that I should not be sick, my brother and I should be friends, my marriage should be problem-free, I should be the perfect daughter, friend, employee, and the list just exploded over time. Even saying those things now, it seems ridiculous, but when stuffed into my head over the span of lifetime and not having space to say them out loud, I had built an incredibly unhealthy foundation of myself.

What was the most important/profound lesson you learned on your healing journey?

That Jesus loves me – just as I am. I sang the song when I was little: “Yes Jesus loves me for the Bible tells me so.” But the Jesus I was introduced to in my fundamentalist background was not loving, and ended up being rather harsh. This isn’t to say there are no boundaries and it’s a free for all love-fest, but I discovered what REAL love and grace were. I found that Jesus just sat with me in all of my dark spaces where I used to think I had been abandoned.

It was in those dark seasons where I met a loving Savior who was then able to really be the healing Light and show me a gentle way out. I was not expected to find healing or saving on my own which is unconsciously what I was taught growing up. This method of self-care was not a quick-fix method or a feel-good-just-forget-your-worries path to restoration. It was a sinking into my life, instead of ignoring it and truly learning what it meant to live from the inside-out.

What kinds of responses do you get from people at the workshops and retreats you lead on this topic?

For a lot of women this is the first time they have experienced being with a group of women where they feel they can “be themselves.” We create untraditional environments of freedom and grace where we don’t feel the spirits of competition and comparison. Or if we do, we can deal with them in a Christ-centered way instead of avoiding them.

Here is a quote from one of our retreatants: The retreat was a weekend that I will never forget. I don’t say this lightly when reiterating the fact that what I learned and experienced will be held deep in my soul for the rest of my life! Thank you for creating something that was so profoundly deep and restful, all at the same time.

There is a sense that we are finally dealing with what is “real” and not tiptoeing around the subject of being women, or of being human. Women have left feeling redeemed, valued and healed because our retreats invite in a graceful God, a loving Holy Spirit, and much needed Savior.

By using creative means, like art journaling, and participating in contemplative exercises together, like walking labyrinths, we find that women feel safe to be authentic and express what is really happening beneath the surface. Women have said that we have ruined them for any other women’s retreat because we get to the heart of the matter and they reconnect to their true selves in Christ. It is a beautiful thing to be part of.

What do you hope people will get out of your book?

The journey of Self-Care is not about spa days or selfish means to shut everyone out of your life. Healing from perfectionism creates room to live in an authentic and honest way in your soul. I hope that people will see how crippling perfectionism is and that there is a way out. Through telling my story and offering practical exercises and creative explorations, I hope that people will find a true peace that does not come from, as my mentor says, “ever striving and never arriving.”

There is both beauty and mess in the world. We do not live in an either/or world; it is both/and. And both need to be held. The book was created to facilitate safe spaces to explore our inner worlds and how they collide with culture, family, and religion to form our nature. By introducing the five areas of self-care –emotional, mental, physical, sexual, and spiritual – and exercises to go with each section, I hope that God uses this book for a long time to encourage more people to live in the truest forms of their own self wrapped up with their identity in Christ.

The Song of My Friend Addie

Crissy Brooks — Mon, 16 Aug 2010 10:23:00 -0700

My friend Addie is four and lives in her own little world. In Addie’s world there is no hurry. In her world you can wear your clothes backwards and change them every hour. In Addie’s world there is lots of singing. There is much dancing. There is no need to brush your hair. Addie’s world is a collage of projects and music and make-believe games. She occasionally emerges from her world and greets my world with a word of affection or a hug or a randomly placed, “buenos dias”. She may remind you she is four and then revert back to her world of daydreams and songs.

I find myself being jealous of Addie and her sweet oblivion. Even when her mom gets frustrated with her, it doesn’t seem to shake her out of her own rhythm. This is something I pray she holds onto. It seems other people can constantly shake me out of my rhythm; a misinterpreted comment here, a judgmental response there, my own off perceptions of what others think, all cause me to fall in line with the expectations of others instead of living merrily in the space God intended for me. Right when I think I’ve given up any concern for what others think, it comes back, sneaking into my thoughts and perceptions.

She is perfectly content to lolly gag and dance in her backwards clothes. When I watch her play and wander I pray desperately that any jolt to reality will be gentle on her, that she will influence others with her creativity and carefree spirit more than they will squelch her. And as I pray for her, I suppose I am praying the same for myself. I pray that I would have the courage to live in Addie’s world in the midst of a world that really doesn’t offer either of us all that much.

Tonight Addie and her brothers put on a song for me. I sat on the couch and they danced and sang with all their hearts. She didn’t know all the words but she sang as if it was the concert of a lifetime. As the song ended I applauded and she came at me with her arms flung open wide. As she wrapped her little arms tight around my neck she said definitely, “And that is how much we love you!” We love you a whole song. We love you enough to dance like fools in our living room. We love you at the top of our lungs. We love you.

And ultimately that is what I want to learn best from Addie- how to live a life that declares love to others. I love you enough to be silly and free. I love you enough to be present here with you. I love you enough to listen. I love you enough to rejoice in who you are. Like Addie, I hope that the song of my life belts out, “And that is how much I love you!”

Looking "Up"

Jim Farmer — Sat, 06 Jun 2009 12:51:38 -0700

Have you seen “Up” yet? I just came back from my second viewing and just in case you are wondering if all the glowing reviews you’ve been hearing are true, well, the answer is an unequivocal yes. This film works is enjoyable on so many levels, it is sure to become a Disney/Pixar classic.

What struck be watching this movie the second time around are the many layers present in this movie. It’s an adventure movie that (mini spoiler alert ahead) touches on themes of life, death, loneliness, companionship, abandonment, greed, friendship, perspective, and priorities. Not bad for a film that features talking dogs!

As I’m sure you already know, the movie centers on what adventures occur when an elderly Carl Frederickson attaches thousands of balloons to his home and floats off into the sky. With an unexpected stowaway on board - precocious “Wilderness Explorer” Russell - the unlikely pair head out for parts unknown in South America. (One last spoiler alert ahead, and I promise this is the last one!) During the majority of the film, Carl and Russell end up trekking through the jungle with Carl’s house, still elevated by a multitude of balloons, attached to their backs. In more ways then one, the house acts as a reverse anchor for Carl and Russell.

This really got me thinking - what anchors am I carrying around on my back? What’s that one dream or expectation I’m not quite ready to let go of yet? We’re often told as children how important it is to hold on to our dreams - and to a degree, that is absolutely true. But what about when we cling so tightly to those dreams we miss the other opportunities cropping up around us?

I’ve held on to a pretty specific career path for the last fifteen years or so. However, over the last few years I’ve started to recognize that by holding so closely to a specific plan, I may have missed out on other opportunities God has planned for me. It’s not to say that my plan isn’t good - it’s just that His may be better. I’ve been doing a slow work over the last few years to cultivate a broader scope in my life and already it’s led to a slew of things I never thought I’d do - from working on an independent movie to mentoring foster kids!

Are you someone who believes “you can achieve anything you want if you believe in yourself, set clear goals, and work hard”? Or do you believe “you can achieve many things if you prepare for opportunity, see it, and act on it?”

It took Carl Henderickson a lifetime and a journey of a lifetime to South America to understand the difference. It took me a painful divorce to recognize this truth. What goals need shaking up in your life so you can be free to go out and have a new adventure?

Expecting the Unexpected

Carrie Nye — Thu, 21 May 2009 17:16:59 -0700

Expect only the unexpected. Now there’s a lesson I’ve learned the hard way. When asked as a teenager what my life would look like at age 30, I didn’t hesitate to rattle off my list of expectations. Here is a short list of them at age 17 (It’s okay. You can laugh):

I’d be married to a man who drove a Chevy Z71 (lift preferred) with an excellent career

and washboard abs.

I’d be a healthy, fit, cool mom of at least 3 kids and 1 pending adoption.

We’d own a modest suburban home with a yard for the kids to play.

Obviously I’d be a homemaker full-time and volunteer part-time.

I turn the big 30 this year and the only above expectation I can check off the list is that I am married and it’s only been 3 months. (Well ok, we can check off the washboard abs too). The point is that my life has taken a very different path than once expected. Whose hasn’t?

There was a season in my life when it seemed as if every expectation I had ever had, completely burst before me like shattered glass. I’ve come to name this season New England Winter. Funny thing is I wasn’t living in New England during this season. I was living in the sunny, warm, southern, blessed golden state; the place where I’ve always called home. This New England Winter lasted nearly 2 years.

I call these 2 years New England Winter because A of all, New England winters are awful and B of all, when you are in a New England winter, you feel as if you are in purgatory. (Okay maybe that’s a bit dramatic but when you are a west coast beach bum all your life, enduring a New England winter is dramatic).

During a New England winter, everything dies. And by everything, I mean everything. Not only do every signs of life die around you, all that does manage to remain alive is brown. Blah. Even the sun shines less during the day. A sunset at 4pm is just wrong. People seem more irritable and grouchy during New England winters too. Maybe it’s because their finger tips are constantly on the brink of frost bite or maybe it’s because they all feel fat wearing layers and huge jackets to keep warm.

I managed to survive not 1, but 2 winters while living in New England earning a graduate degree. I was in my mid-twenties when I finished up that degree and headed back west, thawing out with each mile gained in Black Jack, my beloved 4runner. About 9 years had passed since my naïve 17 year old list and I hadn’t met any of the expectations on it.

New England Winter in southern California the 2 years after returning from the actual New England proved to be a challenging time, a confusing time, a time of grieving the loss of expectations, a learning time, a time of listening and not as much talking and both a hardening and softening time in my life. Part of me died during this time. Like I said, everything dies in winter, including expectations. New England Winter is such a pivotal season of my life; I’ve begun to write about it. I refer to this collection of writings as Coffee & Airports. I hope to share my experiences in this collection by painting a picture of what this lesson of expecting only the unexpected has taught me.

I’ll give you a sneak peak into the thesis. It’s about clean hands raised in worship while mud is flinging and swirling about below. It’s about the war waged within between doing and being. It’s about a prideful girl, learning to become a humble woman. I plan to share pieces of this collection from Coffee & Airports in the coming weeks and months and look forward to hearing about your journey with expectations as well.

I can joyfully say that my New England Winter is melting away and spring is approaching. The brown is being replaced with vibrant colors and the cold is becoming warmer by the day. The fragments of shattered glass are being molded into an incredible mosaic. I've learned to equate contentment with a lack of expectations. The fewer expectations I place on myself, the more content I am. I have only begun to scratch the surface of understanding this verse from the book of Philippians:

I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.

For too long I didn’t have a clue how to learn the secret of being content. I am learning.

What expectations did you have at 17? What do your expectations look like now? What do you think is the secret of being content?

Great Expectations

Kristin Ritzau — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 23:52:42 -0700

After a long discussion of what we were in the mood to watch last night, my husband and I decided on the Duchess with Kiera Knightly. It was a good movie and even my husband, who doesn’t like period pieces, appreciated it. For those of you who haven’t seen it, the film is based on the true story of the Duchess of Devonshire in the late 1700s. It follows the plight of the bourgeoisie women of the time. I will refrain from saying a whole lot more because I hate it when people ruin movies. The reason that this movie stood out to me was a quote from Knightly’s character right after she gets married. Her new husband grabs a pair of scissors to cut her out the elaborate dress she is wearing that she designed. He gripes as he snips away at the different layers that he doesn’t understand the lengths women go to with their clothing. She responds by saying that maybe that is because clothing is the only way women can express themselves because they can’t in any other way.

Last week the President and First Lady returned from their first trip abroad. There were many stresses and successes, but what apparently shown the brightest was Michelle Obama’s wardrobe. J.Crew sold out of the skirt number she wore when she and Mrs. Brown went to tour the cancer ward at a local hospital in England. Her kitten heels had more comments on blogs than her husband’s press conferences.

Michelle is certainly making her mark as the latest fashionista which echoes back to the movie quote. Have we not moved beyond women and fashion as a being representative of having a platform or voice? Condi Rice represented our nation very well, but more ado was made over her morning workout regimen at the height of her career than her trips to the Middle East. I hope when history records itself that there will be more said about these amazing, educated, go-getter women. I hope that their speeches are recorded and the policies they advocate for are what we will look for as a measuring stick, not how tall their heels were. Yes, the workouts and clothes will continue to be dissected down to every detail, but I have higher hopes for women.

I often hear people say, “women dress for other women, not men.” Women are each other’s worst competitors, not collaborators. There are magazines dedicated to cutting others down. Women have to be the perfect mom, daughter, spouse, employee, student, etc. which comes at the expense of authenticity and vulnerability. I watched Oprah’s “moms confess all” episode last week and sat there taking notes the whole time. Quotes I heard were:
•   “[Moms] Don’t have permission to admit how hard it is.”
•   “Everyone is walking around not being real.”
•   “The list of expectations is unrealistic – we’re failing.”
And on and on they talked about the need to reinvent ourselves, to stop comparing and lying to one another, to realize that we are not alone.

I sat there thinking this is not just moms, this is women in general. I spoke to a group of college women last week and all of them had the same sentiments. From the mom in California with 4 kids to the student who is trying to figure out life after graduation to the White House… We’re all worried about measuring up, about the expectations. These great expectations… that really aren’t so great.

I believe the first step is creating spaces where we can start these mini-rebellions of throwing out those expectations – safe spaces, sacred spaces. However, we have to enter into that process with an understanding that it takes time and in an age of lightening fast instant gratification, are we ready to take the time to make the space so the patterns of expectations of women can change? That is what A Beautiful Mess is all about – whether on the blog, at a retreat, or in a spiritual practice these are all safe spaces to just be. And that is where God meets us – not in People magazine or on TMZ.com – in our own beings. So let’s begin creating more spaces!

What's So Good About Good Friday?

Carolyn Arends — Sat, 11 Apr 2009 15:27:01 -0700

What's So Good About Good Friday?
Learning to see darker days in a different light
Posted 04/09/09 at TCW

I love Easter Sunday. I love the way my church's normally casual congregation takes everything up a notch (or three)—the girls in new linen dresses and the boys in once-a-year ties. I love the jubilance of the music, and the preacher's grin when he urges us to turn to one another and say, "He is risen!"

Easter Sunday is the Christian faith's gold medal victory lap and its raison d'etre. It's the Happily Ever After to end all happily ever afters. Easter Sunday shouts: "Death where is thy sting?" and "Love wins!" and "God is alive!"

But here's the rub: I dread Good Friday. I dread the images of torture and suffering. I dread the somber music and the awful remembrance of the violent death of a loved one—of Jesus, the Loved One. I dread the smothering grief and the inescapable remorse and the terrible recollected cry, "My God, why hast thou forsaken me?"

Left to my own devices, I'd probably skip Good Friday. But I suspect that if I did, Easter morning would become increasingly hollow. I'd forget how much my salvation cost.

What's more, I'm pretty sure my Good Friday avoidance would cause me to lose touch with certain realities about the way the universe works on this side of eternity. I'd start to believe that you can have victory without sacrifice. I'd convince myself that you don't have to die to live the resurrection. I'd buy the lie that Christ's ultimate victory over death—and my decision to follow him—means life on this earth will be trouble-free.

The biblical writers warn us repeatedly that the Christian should not expect a life exempt from Good Fridays. They encourage us to consider every hardship pure joy because suffering is an opportunity to identify with Christ and become more dependent on him (James 1:2-4). They repeat Christ's plainspoken invitation to "take up his cross" (Mark 8:34-35).

And yet for many of us Easter Sunday Christians, when the job is lost, or the tumor is malignant, or the friendship is betrayed, we grieve not only the wound but also the fact that we can be wounded. We feel that either we're not doing faith right or that faith—that Jesus—has let us down. We don't consider it "pure joy" when our faith is tested. We consider it failure.

I'm beginning to think our expectations are not just unrealistic, they're anti-gospel. But our confusion is hardly surprising. According to some experts, we're bombarded with more than 3,000 advertisements a day, telling us we're entitled to (and must pursue at any cost) an easy, ageless, worry-free life. When we meet and accept Jesus, many of us can't help but distort his promise of abundant life into something that resembles the illusion advertisers sell us every day.

So how do we become Easter Sunday Christians who truly see (and even embrace) the good in our Good Fridays? How do we resist our sense of entitlement and the distorted expectations that are so deeply ingrained? I've found the following four principles helpful.

Check the Definitions

When I read that God "works all things together for good," I can't help but think of the marketers' definitions and assume that "good" means "easy," "youthful," "desirable," and "wealthy." But when I read the Bible, I discover that God defines "good" in entirely different terms.

New Testament Christians seemed to believe the greatest good is to become more like Jesus. They took it for granted that this process wouldn't be easy.

"What do people mean when they say 'I am not afraid of God, because he is good?'" asked C.S. Lewis, musing on this idea. "Have they never even been to a dentist?"

Evidently, early Christians also assumed that the "good" God is working toward is much more expansive than one individual's personal circumstances. God is establishing his kingdom, doing nothing less than "reconciling all things to himself" (Colossians 1:20), and the ultimate good for the believer is to be included in that process.

I'm immensely comforted when I remember that the God who cares deeply and personally about even a fallen sparrow is watching over me. But I've been a parent long enough to suspect that my heavenly father knows more than I do about what I need and where I'm going—and about what's best for the whole family. So it's a safe bet that his definition of "blessing" is different from mine.

When I'm expecting Easter Sunday and I get Good Friday instead, I'm trying to remember that God's definition of "good" undoubtedly confounds and far exceeds my own.

Re-evaluate Death

Almost all the new beginnings in my life have come from what felt at the time like terrible endings. So I know I need to re-examine my concept of "death." Frequently, what seems like a small (but devastating) death is actually a chance at new life. I can point to dozens of "dead ends" in my career, ministry, or relationships that turned out to be opportunities to change direction.

Nature gives us vivid examples of this principle. Like seeds, we must be willing to be broken in order to grow into what we were made to be. Like reptiles, we have to shed old skins. Like caterpillars, we must be entombed so we can emerge as completely new creations. When I think of all the energy I've expended resisting endings and change, I wonder what new life I've missed.

Jesus tells us to die so we can live. He invites us to surrender all the illusions we have about what makes a life good and worthwhile so we can discover real life. And then he walks with us, every step of the way, as we die a thousand deaths in the process of letting his life go deeper and deeper into us. Until at last we really and truly physically die, only to live forever.

The rumors of our demise, it turns out, are greatly exaggerated. With God, the end is the beginning.

Keep Time

In my non-liturgical church tradition, a "church calendar" is a list of youth group meetings and members' birthdays, not an ancient rhythm of days and observances. But I've been learning that many branches of Christianity throughout the centuries have used liturgical time as a way of keeping believers connected to the realities of both life and death in the faith.

Cycling through Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Passiontide, Easter, Ascension, Pentecost, and back through "ordinary time" to Advent again, Christians are reminded that suffering is an expected part of human life, and, more important, that God is constantly redeeming that suffering through his resurrection power. I'm just beginning to discover how helpful the church calendar can be in correcting and realigning my own expectations.

Lent, in particular, is a fascinating season. A few years ago, when I became aware that some of my Anglican and Catholic friends went through an annual ritual of giving up some creature comfort for 40 days every spring, I responded with what I thought was a clever line: "This year for Lent I'm giving up self-control." My friends would smile but challenge me to give Lent a serious try.

This year, in my desire to more fully embrace Good Friday, I'm observing my first Lenten season. It's an experiment to see if denying myself one small but habitualized comfort (in my case, a certain kind of food) prepares my heart to more fully enter into every part of Easter.

My Lent-experienced friends tell me that disrupting even one routine can expose the crutches and illusions and substitutions that keep us from authentically participating in the life Christ offers. Lent, they claim, can facilitate a small death to self that becomes an opening to new life. I aim to see if they're right.

Expect the Unexpected

Endings that are beginnings, death that is life—God will always confound our expectations.

A couple years ago, during a jubilant Easter service, our pastor said something that stopped me in my mental tracks: "The world offers promises full of emptiness. But Easter offers emptiness full of promise."

Empty cross, empty tomb, empty grave-clothes … all full of promise. If I were writing the Easter story, I don't think I'd choose emptiness as my symbolic gesture. But then, I also wouldn't be talking about strength being made perfect in weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9), foolish things confounding the wise (1 Corinthians 1:27), the meek inheriting the earth (Matthew 5:5), or the poor in spirit getting (in every sense of the word "get") the kingdom of heaven (Matthew 5:3). And I certainly wouldn't be talking about dying in order to live.

What is it about God that makes him so favor this kind of paradox? I guess this is what we should expect from the Servant King—the God who decided that the best way to save the world was to let it kill him. I don't understand the way God thinks. But on those days when I feel hollowed out and broken—half-dead, even—it makes me glad to remember that for Easter people, even death is full of promise.

The world makes a lot of promises. Smoke and mirrors, mostly. Frantic, cartoonish attempts to distract us from the gaping holes in the middle of our souls (or to sell us the latest product in order to fill them). There's no life in those promises.

So I'm hoping that this Lenten season, I'll be a little more willing to die to that stuff. I'm praying I'll become more aware of the empty space within, and that I'll resist the urge to fill it with any old thing I can find. I'm going to wait, carved out, vulnerable, a cracked and crumbling jar of clay, on a life God's offered to deposit anywhere there's room. I'm going to believe that if I'll just leave my empty spaces empty, he'll fill them. That, I'm convinced, is a reasonable expectation.

I'm writing this article during a particularly long Good Friday season in my own life. My mom is battling cancer, and I'd be lying if I said I was able to watch her suffer and "count it all joy."

I pray for healing and hope desperately it will come here on earth. I ask all the questions people have asked at the bedsides of sick loved ones for thousands of years. I vacillate wildly between hope and despair, faith and doubt, openness and bitterness.

But I know that we do not suffer alone, because the God of the universe wore our skin and died our death and removed its sting forever. This is no meager consolation. And even when I'm desperately sad, I look at my mom and I remember: Without Good Friday, there would be no Easter morning. So I pray through the night, and I wait for the resurrection.