Make room

A few weeks ago, I was busy making posters. I was in charge of teaching songs to the kids at church, and I had my markers and posterboard ready. I used my ruler to make a very light line for the bottom of the letters. Ok. Here we go. I started writing.

The first couple of words looked GREAT! I was a pro. It was all coming back to me now. Growing up in the 80s and 90s, poster-making was my jam. Confidently, I kept going. Suddenly, I noticed the edge of the poster was too close. I had two words left and was nearly out of room! So I did what any self-respecting poster-creator would do: I crammed those final letters so tight together that they almost fused. Then I stood back and examined my work.

The last words were more like a puzzle to decipher, but the kids would think it was fun, right?

I didn’t know.

Regardless, I moved on and finished the posters.

I have been thinking often about running out of room, especially in our relationships. When you really examine your relationship with your spouse, your child, your brother, your mom, or your friend—what is taking up space? Is it worry? Are you so concerned about your sister that your whole poster is filled with worry, with a little smashed up love squished into the corner? What about hate? Are you so angry with someone that animosity covers the entire poster? How about disappointment, regret, or frustration? Are you making room for the emotions you want—are you choosing what fits?

In December 2018, my dad had his knee replaced. He died four months later. I was consumed with hatred for his orthopedic doctor. I just KNEW he missed something. He should have seen the cancer on a chest X-ray, but he didn’t. I hated that guy. I was surprised at my anger toward the doctor. My own husband is an orthopedic surgeon…medicine isn’t a perfect science. Physicians do their best to help their patients. But I was so hurt, and my despair turned into hatred. I wanted to ruin his life, his medical practice, his everything. Maybe not his everything, but I wanted him to feel as badly as I did. I once mentioned my plan to sue the doctor, and my mom told me my dad would never want that. She told me the knee replacement was successful and my dad had been so happy. No! Couldn’t she see I was at the edge of my poster? I was so angry, and there was no room for anything else. A poster of hatred is burdensome.

I felt terrible.

After some time, I made a decision to make room for something else. I began to think that maybe this doctor had nothing to do with my dad’s death. At first, it was a lot of anger and a tiny amount of compassion. Then, I stopped blaming him. My dad had cancer, and it killed him. That was it. Slowly, the anger faded til it was completely replaced with forgiveness. I made room for what I wanted to feel.

But did you notice how you make room? You cannot just keep the hate and keep squishing in more emotions. You’re going to run out of paper, I promise. You have to make room by taking out words (the emotions that are not helpful) or writing them smaller (giving those same emotions less air-time).

Now go make the poster you want.

Make some room.