Resentment is a Dead End Road

I like putting dictionary definitions in my blog posts. Sometimes I even look up familiar words on my own to get some bonus context from them. I’ll get these out of the way quickly:

resentment; noun
the feeling of displeasure or indignation at some act, remark, person, etc.

indignation; noun
strong displeasure at something considered unjust, offensive, insulting, or base

unjust; adjective
not just; lacking in justice or fairness

My simplified definition of resentment would have to be “the feeling of displeasure at an unfair act or person.” Of all the emotions I have ever experienced, this is the one that seems to do the most damage to relationships. I’ve seen it happen to others and have also witnessed it within myself. When I try to visualize what resentment would look like, I see a monstrous beast that sets its hook-like appendages into your heart. Once those hooks get placed, it’s challenging to be set free from its grasp.

I think there are many causes for resentment, but I’m going to narrow it down to three for this blog post. These are solely based on my experience, and, like always, I should note that I am not an expert on the matter—just a guy who has experienced some things and likes to share. I’m going to list the prominent three causes of resentment and offer ways in which you may be able to free yourself from it.

Unrealistic Expectations
Unless otherwise provoked, I believe most of us start any interaction with good intentions. My pastor, Mark Lykins, said something from the pulpit years ago that stuck—“Humans are bad judges by nature because we judge other people by their actions, but we judge ourselves by our intent.” I had never thought about it that way, but it makes a ton of logical sense. Removing our ego can help improve our interactions and relationships as well.

Try to imagine that everyone possesses a constantly changing hierarchical pyramid that controls their interactions. The tip of this pyramid would be the highest valued person, principle, or result at any given time. There may be scenarios in which you feel like your presence or your idea should be at the top of someone’s pyramid when something or someone supersedes it by no fault of their own. It would be arrogant for any of us to believe that we should be at the top of every pyramid all the time. But, if we feel like we should be a higher priority but get treated like we are not, resentment will almost surely set in.

So, how can we navigate this? Be aware of your ability to not live up to other people’s standards and make concessions for people who don’t live up to yours. Understand that life is complex and has many layers, and, as lovely as it would be, things don’t always line up in the way you want them to. Manage your expectations of others while demanding more of yourself.

Not Being Heard/Not Being Able to Speak

Have you ever been around a new mother when they hear their baby start to cry? Something innate in us causes us to cry out when we need something or feel unpleasant. There is also something deep inside that compels us to respond when we hear someone crying out. There are very few people who could walk away from a crying baby without batting an eye.

Most of us (hopefully) grow out of that stage where we wail at the top of our lungs until someone comes to our aid. But, that instinctual feeling to be heard never goes away. On the flip side, we tend to lose the empathetic nature we have for other people as they get older.

Babies aren’t emotionally mature enough to harbor resentment, but you don’t need me to tell you how damaging it can be to them when someone repeatedly ignores their cries. As we get older and develop our emotions and personalities, having someone shut you out can feel unjust and eventually strain relationships.

Similarly, feeling like you are unable to speak has the same effect. Maybe you don’t feel like you are qualified to vocalize your thoughts on a particular topic. Perhaps you are in an emotionally abusive relationship and feel like your opinion or idea doesn’t matter. Or maybe you are even paralyzed by the fear that what you say or how you say it may come across in an unintended manner. One thing is for sure—if you don’t say it, then they won’t hear it.

So how can you make sure these things don’t cause resentment to sink its ugly teeth in your heart? Firstly, you need to think about whether the things you are saying are essential enough to vocalize or if remaining silent may be a better option. A lot like managing your expectations, it can be arrogant to think that your voice holds more weight than anyone else’s. But, if you have decided that you must express your concern, then the pathway is simple—speak. If the other person refuses to hear you, firmly let them know that what you are saying is important and you need them to listen to you. It may be nerve-racking, but it beats the alternative.

Someone Taking Advantage of You

This one is tough for a couple of reasons. No one likes to be taken advantage of, especially when the person doing it is someone you care dear to you. It can be complicated to distinguish between someone consciously taking advantage of you and someone who may not realize they are doing anything at all. Either way, it is not a comfortable situation.

The unfortunate truth is that there are probably people in your circle who are so self-centered they will knowingly sacrifice their good relationship with you to further their agenda. I can’t speak for everyone, but I know I have dealt with those people in different parts of my life. Typically people like this are trained in the art of manipulation, and they can be hard to spot. Once spotted, though, it is usually an easy decision to create some distance between your life and theirs.

The other type is a lot harder to identify because they don’t even realize they are taking advantage of you and are ignorant of its impact on your relationship with them. It can also be intimidating when you think about confronting the person because often, they can be in your closest inner circle. And, if truth be told, part of the reason they get away with it is that you have enabled that kind of behavior for quite some time.

To me, this is the hardest of the bunch to nip in the bud before resentment takes hold. It is vital to voice your concerns to the other party, no matter how uncomfortable the situation may become. After all, most everyone would trade some minor discomfort to salvage a close relationship. After you speak to them about the issue, set some firm standards and boundaries for behavior that you feel is acceptable and not acceptable. Finally, make sure to be clear with the other party of the limits of your boundaries so you can both be on the same page.

When I make a post like this, I always feel the need to mention several times that I am not a professional. Please consult a therapist if you think resentment may be on the verge of costing you a special relationship. A year ago, I would have never dreamt that I would set foot in a psychiatrists’ office, but after many sessions, I can tell you that there is great value in talking to someone about your issues. The only thing I can tell you with certainty is that resentment and bitterness are hazardous emotions, and they can eat away at you from the inside out. It may start with the loss of a close friend or family member, but it has the potential to change your whole character and personality. I hope this helps someone!

The Faith of Our Fathers (and Grandmas)

Every now and then I get an itch to listen to some good ole Southern Gospel music. It takes me back to when I was a child at the Assembly of God church in Dardanelle. Sometimes those old hymns can hit me in a place that modern music just can’t touch. Power in the Blood, Victory in Jesus, I Surrender All, Blessed Assurance–you know the ones.

I spent a lot of time going through those old hymnals, but never while everyone was singing. I knew them all by heart at an early age and song time was spent humming or singing to myself while I played on, under, and on top and with the pews. My mom was the pianist, so I sat with my grandma and her crew during “song service.” When I was able to sit still I would watch the choir and the song leader. I’d hear John Parker say, “Page 106–Heaven’s Jubilee.” He’d step back away from the microphone and sing, moving his fingers in the air like he was directing the Tabernacle Choir.

But on this particular drive home, a song came on that struck me so hard I felt like I had been transported back in time to the mid 1980’s. I could see everything so vividly–the maroon carpet, the wooden pews, my grandma’s light blue dress, my mom sitting upright at the piano. I could smell the old church and the mix of perfumes that had been sprayed on before walking out the door. I could walk in that old building right now and tell you where nearly every person sat during service. That song was “Leaning on the Everlasting Arms.”

If you’ve never heard it and don’t want to watch the video, here are the lyrics:

What a fellowship, what a joy divine
Leaning on the everlasting arms
What a blessedness, what a peace is mine
Leaning on the everlasting arms

Leaning, leaning
Safe and secure from all alarms
Leaning, leaning
Leaning on the everlasting arms

What have I to dread, what have I to fear
Leaning on the everlasting arms?
I have blessed peace with my Lord so near
Leaning on the everlasting arms

Leaning, leaning
Safe and secure from all alarms
Leaning, leaning
Leaning on the everlasting arms

I’ve heard it a thousands times in my life, but I had only thought about the lyrics some of the time, and never since my grandma’s death. I could see her sweet face as clear as day–eyes closed, hands raised in the air, body swaying to the beat of the music, and hitting every word on cue. She wasn’t just singing that song, she believed every word.

And I don’t remember a time when she didn’t live every word. Good parents and grandparents don’t let their young children feel the stressors that the outside world bring down on them. When my mom and I had no place to go, they opened up their house to us. They weren’t well off, but she leaned on Jesus. When my grandpa quit going to church, she didn’t lose faith in him–she leaned on Jesus. She leaned on Jesus when their daycare couldn’t stay open any longer. She kept leaning when my grandpa got Alzheimer’s and couldn’t remember who she was. She leaned on Jesus through her own bout with that disease and never stopped until her life ended and he took her in his everlasting arms for good.

I know as we get older we idolize our parents and grandparents. Sometimes it takes too long for us to realize their worth. I know she wasn’t perfect, and I’m sure there are things she thought, said, or did that she regretted. But, like many others her age, she grew up picking cotton in the Bottoms before she was 10. Her mother died young, putting the burden of raising a large family on her older sister. Her husband lost an eye getting ready to fight in Vietnam. This life wasn’t particularly or uniquely hard, but it wasn’t a stroll down Easy Street either. There were plenty of times she could have abandoned her faith. I’m not sure she ever even questioned it.

Undoubtedly, there are thousands of other people who can tell the same stories. Many had exponentially tougher lives and maintained the faith. The ultimate example is the archetypical story of Job in the Old Testament. But, I’m thankful I have a personal example which I can cling to and remember. Even though my mom and dad have always remained faithful, it is my grandma that I always come back to when I stray away from the Lord. Her devotion and unwavering commitment to her God and her family have always been the anchor which keeps me from going too far.

The reason I am writing this blog post is so that I can unpack some of these feelings in my heart and mind. I don’t talk about it much, but those close to me know that I have always struggled with the concept of faith. If you remain steadfast and strong while trusting and believing in God, you give him praise when the “good things” happen. You do the same and explain it away as God’s will when the “bad things” happen (or the good things don’t). I’ve always felt that is a built in kill-switch. Things happen the way they happen whether you have faith or not.

That’s a post for another day. I’ve spent a lot of my adult life trying to figure out the why. It’s something we all think about from time to time. Why does an all loving God allow so many bad things to have? Why doesn’t an all powerful God use his power to keep people from suffering? What makes a relationship with God unique if every person can have it? I’ve stopped thinking about the why. “Farther along, we’ll know all about it.” What I’ve been struggling with lately is the how.

How do so many people rely completely on faith? When things are looking dark and dreary, how do you face those burdens and “let go and let God?” Our instinct is to pull ourselves up by the bootstraps and tread through problems when they come our way. We stress and worry but in the end we keep going. How do Christians face their problems head on and give God all the praise when things work out? How do they keep believing when God’s will seems to be continued suffering?

It may sound like I’m not a Believer, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m a work in progress and I believe God’s grace and mercy allows for us to ask questions and try to make sense of his supernatural existence. I believe the unique relationship between us and our Savior doesn’t have to be rosy and tidy. I’m sure I’ll never find the answers to these questions as long as I’m on Earth, but I’m hoping to one day learn how to deal with the why.

If it wasn’t for the reckless and unbridled faith of a little lady named Betty Sue Adams, I would have lost all hope a long time ago. And for her, I am blessed and thankful.

A Lifelong Love Affair With the Lovable Losers

A little boy needs a dad. It’s that simple. When a dad chooses not to be a part of a boy’s life, the child clings to hope that one day he’ll understand why he made the choice to leave. Those little boys tend to latch on to something that makes them feel a connection with their paternal vagabond. Kind of like wishing on a shooting star or pitching a penny into a fountain.

I was that little boy, and my shooting star was the Chicago Cubs.

wrigley-field

It all started around 1989. I never knew why my father quit coming around, but I knew it didn’t feel right. He was a native of Chicago and had grown up there before moving to Arkansas and meeting my mother. When I got “The One and Only More or Less Official Cubs Party Album and Rally Starter” cassette tape in the mail, I was a little confused. My mom explained to me that my father was a huge Cubs fan and, looking for that connection, I dove right in. It was one of my most prized possessions—until I received my VHS copy of “The Boys of Zimmer,” and later “Chicago and the Cubs: A Lifelong Love Affair.”

I listened to that tape and watched those videos over and over again. I even forced my friends to watch them with me. I was ate up with the Cubs. He sent me a few t-shirts in the mail as well. My favorite was a pinkish colored “Bleacher Bums” shirt. During those long hot summers of my youth, I cherished those Harry Caray and Steve Stone broadcasts on WGN. Andre Dawson, Jody Davis, Mark Grace, Shawn Dunston, Greg Maddux, George Bell, Luis Salazar, Sammy Sosa,  and my all-time favorite, Ryne Sandberg—these were the names I grew up with, and I’ll never forget them.

The outfield ivy set the bait. Harry Caray reeled me. Those blue pinstripes got me in the boat. It was the perfect storm for a young kid looking for a connection to get completely and thoroughly obsessed. I didn’t care about World Series appearances and the win/loss column back then. I just enjoyed watching the Cubs play baseball.

wrigley-field-ivy

As I grew older the fire never died. I made it through all the horrible years. Struggled through the “meh” years. Contained my excitement in 2003 and 2008. I researched the curse of the goat. The history of Wrigley Field. Tinkers to Evans to Chance. I found out that the Cubs were basically the team to beat in the early 1900’s. Why Ernie Banks is one of the most underrated players in MLB history. In an Arkansas sea of Cardinals fans, I stood out like a sore thumb. I can still count on one hand how many true blue fans I know.

My wife and I took our maiden voyage to Wrigley Field in 2011. What a dump—and I wouldn’t want it any other way. The nostalgia oozed from that place like nothing I’ve ever felt before. The organ, the ivy (even though it wasn’t green yet), the scoreboard. I cried when Jody Davis sang the 7th inning stretch. I laughed when the locals cussed Marmol in the bathroom for blowing the save. It was more special than I ever could have dreamed, even in a loss.

2016-cubs

As the years piled on I began to think about my biological father less and less. But I never could turn on a Cubs game without a passing thought. I tried off and on to find him, and I finally did sometime around 2015. I realized that I wouldn’t be able to salvage even a fraction of a relationship with him, and I closed the book on that part of my life.

This year, we took our 2 boys to St. Louis to watch their first Cubs game, a Kyle Hendricks gem where he took a no-hitter into the 9th inning. I watched them take it all in, and it was humbling for me to share that experience with them—the same one I had wanted to experience when I was close to their age.

Baseball has been, and always will be, a big part of my life. I don’t know if I owe that much to my father or not. But if I do, I’m grateful to him for it. This year I started to notice that my thoughts didn’t wander near as much while checking the score of the game or watching it on television. I’ve got my own kids to nurture and teach now, and I don’t have time to worry about the non-existent relationship with my biological father. But, I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge one thing. After Russell to Baez to Rizzo sealed the deal for our trip to the World Series, a small, tearful smile came over my face along with this message to my father…

                “I hope you are enjoying this as much as I am.”

A Letter to my DNA Provider

Hello,

My name is Scottie.  Of course, you know that.  It is, after all, the name you gave me.  Well, actually that name was James Scott Griffin, Jr.  But just as my predecessor, I prefer answering to the middle name.  Mom always said I would grow out of that, but here I am at 31 years old and it hasn’t happened yet.

I look like you.  A lot.  I’m bigger and bulkier than you, they say, but the resemblance is undeniable.  More specifically, my lips and nose come straight from you.  I’ve been told the way I carry myself and many of my mannerisms are a spot-on replication of yours.  Mom used to remind me of this when she needed to get a rise out of me.  Blackmail, of sorts.  Even the way I eat my french fries has been compared to you.

Obviously this is all just here-say.  I mean, I’ve never actually sat down and ate french fries with you.  I don’t know how your face responds when you feel angry.  Hell, I couldn’t even tell you how tall you are.  These are things I’ve always wondered, things I imagine I will always ponder.

There are a few things I do know about you.  You are extremely intelligent and even graduated high school when you were 16.  You’re an accomplished bowler.  You are a world-class sports fan.  I have also heard that it was extremely out of character for you run out on your family.  I enjoy hearing little quips about you, but it still fails to bring the puzzle together for me.

Look, I’m not mad.  Not anymore.  I went through a stage in my early twenties where I thought I would hunt you down and put you in a corner and figure out just why on Earth you would ever walk out on your family.  I’d get stern and demand answers.  A real tough guy.  People grow, though.  We learn and gain knowledge in stages.  It’s probably good that we do that.  Having all the answers at an early age could prove both dangerous and boring.

Now I just yearn for that knowledge of who I really am.  How am I wired?  What were my grandparents like?  How have you been?  Who ARE you?  What made you decide to leave?  I was only 18 months old when you decided to part ways with your family.  I couldn’t wait until my son was 18 months old because I had convinced myself there was something in my DNA that would make me leave when he hit that age.  When it came and passed, I felt like a huge burden had been lifted.

You weren’t completely absent over the years.  I vaguely remember my early years birthday parties.  There was the basketball game you took me to.  I still remember every little detail about that night.  There was another time mom took me to your mother’s house and we visited briefly.  Oh, and the bowling alley.  How could I forget the bowling alley?

I must have been 19 or 20, just enjoying a night out on the town with some friends.  While I was walking out of the alley I saw you as you were walking in.  I didn’t even think you were around here anymore.  Or maybe you were visiting, I don’t know.  But I knew it was you, and you knew it was me.  I was wearing a fresh Chicago Cubs hat, a symbol of an undying love for that city and that team.  A love that was fostered by a wayward father who would send remnants of them back home to Arkansas so they could share a small piece of love for the same thing.  I waited for you to make the first move.  But you didn’t.  You glanced my way and kept walking in.  Talk about twisting the dagger.

Oddly enough, I think the fact that I do have an image of you in my head and I do have some kind of semblance of voice makes it that much harder.  It makes the itch scratch that much deeper. You see, I know just enough about you to drive me crazy.

image-v7g7J94U

It’s not all bad, though.  The void that you left was filled by an amazing man who until I die will be known as “dad.”  When he changed my last name, it, unbeknownst to me, opened up a new avenue on the road map of my life.  I gained two sisters whom I love dearly.  He provided to me a meaningful life and afforded me every opportunity possible to succeed.

It also gave me direction.  I didn’t quite know which way to go.  Honestly, I still don’t.  But you can rest assured that I do know which route to avoid.  When I tuck my boys in at night, there is always an instance where I try to imagine life without or away from them.  This feeling doesn’t last for a full second, but is super-intense.  I get clarification every night within myself that I will never willingly be away from my kids.

6341-39676795

Finally, it’s not my intention to paint you as a monster.  I’ve run every scenario possible through my head and there isn’t a single one I can justify in my head as to why you weren’t around.  You have your reasons, and I probably wouldn’t be satisfied with them anyway.  I’m not looking for a reason.  Or an excuse.  Or an explanation.  I simply want to know you.  

So, Scott Griffin, if you are out there and stumble across this letter, know that you are the intended recipient.  Know that I’m not going to judge, demean, or interrogate you.  I only want to know you better and for you to know me.  I want to show you pictures of your descendants and tell you about my wife.  My youngest son looks a lot like you.  Let’s talk about the Cub’s chances of winning a pennant in 2015.  Do I have any brothers or sisters?  What is the best poker room in Vegas?  It’s such a short life that we live, would you like to be a part of mine?

Sincerely,

Your DNA Recipient,

Scottie Stone