REST Day 3: Getting Rid of My British Accent
Tell your troubles to Jesus, mate.
I came across this phrase a few years ago when I was reading Tim Power's Cold War spy novel, Declare, and it stuck with me. It seems appropriate for Lent.
Declare is a novel about the influences that crafted World War II, its international political conflict and beyond. It's great spy/magical realism/international espionage story, so you know, check it out if you have a chance. ANYWAY, I came across this phrase. coughed out by a character telling the protagonist to mind his own business.
Let me just type it out again, and you can imagine hearing it said in a raspy, smoke-choked British accent,
"Tell your troubles to Jesus, mate."
It means take your complaining to Jesus because He's the only one who could stand to hear it; no one else does. It also suggests that whatever you have to say is so stupid that our sweet Lord doesn't really want to hear it either.
Tell your troubles to Jesus, mate.
Here's the thing, though: I realize I actually tend to treat my problems this way. Sarcasm, a laugh, a brush off, when actually I do need to take, my problems, my complaining, to Jesus, who I know will hear me. (I think of John 5:14, "This is the confidence we have in approaching God, that if we ask anything according to His will, He hears us").
This phrase came up for me yesterday as I lay on my couch during the kids' rest time. Normally I flip through social media, but you know, I can't do that right now, and I started feeling somewhat panicky. I can't scroll! I can't think! I...what am I supposed to do?
Next feeling: You're pathetic. Day three of Lent and you're PANICKING because you use your usual distractions. Oh, you've got PROBLEMS.
Next: Tell your troubles to Jesus, mate.
I was embarrassed and frustrated with myself, feeling stupid for wanting my distraction so badly, no better than my 21 month old who wants cookies. I wanted to tell myself to keep a stiff upper lip, pull it together, because no one, not even Jesus, wants to hear my petty crap.
But, tell your troubles to Jesus...
Lent is about nothing if not about drawing closer to Jesus. He actually DOES want to hear us when we call earnestly. What are we to do during Lent (and anytime) if not pray more often?
In Lauren Winner's Girl Meets God: On the Path to a Spiritual Life she writes about this, the itching time and emotional gaps created by Lenten sacrifices, and the natural, necessary default to prayer:
During Lent, I don't have that always-cure, and I find myself, not surprisingly, praying more. A first I pray because I have time on my hands.[….] I said Compline. And I have said it every night since. I don't have anything else to do. But I also find myself praying more because I don't have my usual distractions. When I am stuck in a puddle of sadness and mistakes, I cannot take them to Mitford. I have to take them to God. I begin to suspect [my priest] didn't want me to give up reading just because...but because it might move me closer to Jesus. It might move me to my knees. (128-129).
I have found in not having social media that my "always-cures" are gone. I can't be distracted from the unpleasant things in my life. I can't fill my time gaps with important-feeling posts and scrolls. But I do have prayer, and I can do that.
Humbled and still embarrassed, I told my troubles to Jesus.
I prayed, there on my couch, my un-nofication-buzzing phone quietly next to me. I prayed for forgiveness for my thirst for distraction. I confessed my confusion and the straight-up loneliness I felt. I told my troubles to Jesus and asked for His help to remember I am not alone.
That afternoon I received a note in the mail (handwritten and everything!) from a long-lost friend who said she had been thinking about me. Two friends I have not seen in over a year sent me emails asking me to join a planning project and to meet them --with my kids!-- for coffee in two weeks. I was able to text with two other friends. Coincidence? I don't think so. I counted each note-- a letter, an email, a text-- a divine gift, and that God doesn't need social media--or any particular outlet--to give me relationships or connection. He did hear my troubles, and He cared.
He hears, and He cares.
This Lent, this season, tell your troubles to Jesus, friend.
JOURNAL PROMPT:
Does this ring any bells for you? Do you naturally turn to prayer when you're frustrated or embarrassed with yourself, or are you like me, putting on the British accent and telling yourself to suck it up, praying only when you feel like you've gotten yourself together? If the latter, why do you think you do that? Take a second and think about that, preferably journaling it. Then write an honest prayer for help to God with what you gave up for Lent. It might feel silly or minor, but try anyway.
I came across this phrase a few years ago when I was reading Tim Power's Cold War spy novel, Declare, and it stuck with me. It seems appropriate for Lent.
Declare is a novel about the influences that crafted World War II, its international political conflict and beyond. It's great spy/magical realism/international espionage story, so you know, check it out if you have a chance. ANYWAY, I came across this phrase. coughed out by a character telling the protagonist to mind his own business.
Let me just type it out again, and you can imagine hearing it said in a raspy, smoke-choked British accent,
"Tell your troubles to Jesus, mate."
It means take your complaining to Jesus because He's the only one who could stand to hear it; no one else does. It also suggests that whatever you have to say is so stupid that our sweet Lord doesn't really want to hear it either.
It's sarcasm, a kind of f-off. Perfectly British-- keep that stiff upper lip
Tell your troubles to Jesus, mate.
Here's the thing, though: I realize I actually tend to treat my problems this way. Sarcasm, a laugh, a brush off, when actually I do need to take, my problems, my complaining, to Jesus, who I know will hear me. (I think of John 5:14, "This is the confidence we have in approaching God, that if we ask anything according to His will, He hears us").
This phrase came up for me yesterday as I lay on my couch during the kids' rest time. Normally I flip through social media, but you know, I can't do that right now, and I started feeling somewhat panicky. I can't scroll! I can't think! I...what am I supposed to do?
Next feeling: You're pathetic. Day three of Lent and you're PANICKING because you use your usual distractions. Oh, you've got PROBLEMS.
Next: Tell your troubles to Jesus, mate.
I was embarrassed and frustrated with myself, feeling stupid for wanting my distraction so badly, no better than my 21 month old who wants cookies. I wanted to tell myself to keep a stiff upper lip, pull it together, because no one, not even Jesus, wants to hear my petty crap.
But, tell your troubles to Jesus...
Lent is about nothing if not about drawing closer to Jesus. He actually DOES want to hear us when we call earnestly. What are we to do during Lent (and anytime) if not pray more often?
In Lauren Winner's Girl Meets God: On the Path to a Spiritual Life she writes about this, the itching time and emotional gaps created by Lenten sacrifices, and the natural, necessary default to prayer:
During Lent, I don't have that always-cure, and I find myself, not surprisingly, praying more. A first I pray because I have time on my hands.[….] I said Compline. And I have said it every night since. I don't have anything else to do. But I also find myself praying more because I don't have my usual distractions. When I am stuck in a puddle of sadness and mistakes, I cannot take them to Mitford. I have to take them to God. I begin to suspect [my priest] didn't want me to give up reading just because...but because it might move me closer to Jesus. It might move me to my knees. (128-129).
I have found in not having social media that my "always-cures" are gone. I can't be distracted from the unpleasant things in my life. I can't fill my time gaps with important-feeling posts and scrolls. But I do have prayer, and I can do that.
Humbled and still embarrassed, I told my troubles to Jesus.
I prayed, there on my couch, my un-nofication-buzzing phone quietly next to me. I prayed for forgiveness for my thirst for distraction. I confessed my confusion and the straight-up loneliness I felt. I told my troubles to Jesus and asked for His help to remember I am not alone.
That afternoon I received a note in the mail (handwritten and everything!) from a long-lost friend who said she had been thinking about me. Two friends I have not seen in over a year sent me emails asking me to join a planning project and to meet them --with my kids!-- for coffee in two weeks. I was able to text with two other friends. Coincidence? I don't think so. I counted each note-- a letter, an email, a text-- a divine gift, and that God doesn't need social media--or any particular outlet--to give me relationships or connection. He did hear my troubles, and He cared.
He hears, and He cares.
This Lent, this season, tell your troubles to Jesus, friend.
JOURNAL PROMPT:
Does this ring any bells for you? Do you naturally turn to prayer when you're frustrated or embarrassed with yourself, or are you like me, putting on the British accent and telling yourself to suck it up, praying only when you feel like you've gotten yourself together? If the latter, why do you think you do that? Take a second and think about that, preferably journaling it. Then write an honest prayer for help to God with what you gave up for Lent. It might feel silly or minor, but try anyway.
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