Eve gets a bad rap.
Centuries of church tradition lay a heavy portion of the blame for the first sin at the feet of the first woman.
I always thought that was a little rough. After all, where was Adam? Shirking his duty? Watching passively? Going along to get along?
A few years of marriage, however, have caused me to reevaluate my position.
I think Adam was a fairly ordinary guy (apart from the whole firstfruit-from-God's-hand thing).
A gentle man (the original gentleman!).
Content in the world God gave him.
Blissfully happy with this "woman" creature - one like him, yet so unlike.
Enjoying a happy life.
A nice guy.
Maybe something like my own husband (on a really good day. This is Eden we're talking about, after all!).
Consider the dynamics of your marriage. You know, and I know, that if there is something that we really, really want, there are ways to get it. When we set our heart on something, we could probably get our way over just about anything (whether or not it's good for us) given enough time and persistence. I don't have to tell you the tricks to wear down a husband's resolve. I don't have to list the arsenal we have at our disposal - seemingly since birth! - to influence the man next to us. It is positively frightening when you think about just how much sway we hold. Think of the line from "My Big, Fat, Greek Wedding": "The man may be the head, but the woman is the neck that turns the head!"
We can return, triumphant from the fray, with his "agreement," but as discerning women, we have to be aware of the cost of our "victory."
I've seen it. I've felt it. In my own marriage, primarily. In others' relationships, some.
Think about it. What happens when you've pushed and prodded and begged and huffed and cried and given the silent treatment?
Either he holds to his guns and keeps saying no, or he gives in and says yes.
What anguish of spirit there is in a man who desperately loves his woman and desires little more in this world than to please her, yet who cannot, in good conscience, give his wife the one thing she asks! Let's face it: most men like to please their wives. They don't go looking for ways to frustrate us or foil our goals. So when a godly man has reservations about a scheme that is a pet of his wife, it takes some serious mettle for him to hold his ground, even to the grief of his own heart. Then, we're angry, he's dejected, and we think we've both lost. If he would just give in already, we want to scream, then I would have what I want and things would be good again!
So what if he says yes?
If he really feels that to give me something would be wrong, and he says so, and I then corner him long enough that he caves, I get what I want! That was the goal, after all, wasn't it? To get the object of my desire?
A mere five and a half years of marriage have taught me to fear this outcome more than the abandonment of the object of my desire. Why? Because of what it does to my man and our relationship.
When I ask P for something that he feels he cannot, for the good of our family, our marriage, my own good, whatever, give me, he may attempt to tell me "no." If, after I pitch a fit, I get him to cave, I can see his spirit deflate.
He has set out to protect me, and he has failed.
He had desired to do the best thing, and he caved.
He was going to stand, but he's crushed.
His very manhood takes a hit, and unless I wise up quickly and repent, there will be lasting repercussions for his willingness to lead, my relationship with him, and his relationship with God.
Think of Adam: he goes from walking with God, for goodness's sake, to hiding in the bushes with shame.
We have that power, ladies!
You are a driving force in your husband/fiance/boyfriend/brother's life! You can be a source of anguish and shame for him, or you can build him up into the man you envisioned when you chose him to walk through life with you.
Don't think I'm letting Adam off the hook completely. He had some heart issues that caused him to go along with Eve's desires rather than God's. But I'm not writing to our men. I'm writing to us, ladies! Adam's short-comings don't hold the message for us today.
Oh, my sister, be very careful what you ask of your man!
And if, as you read this, you feel the stirrings of the Holy Spirit in you, listen closely.
You may be thinking of the way you've "won," but things haven't been the same between the two of you since.
You may be in the middle of an argument right now, and you can't believe he's being so stubborn about it.
You may be feeling vaguely guilty over the manipulative habits you've allowed yourself to indulge for years.
Don't wait another moment to make things right.
Give up that thing that you've elevated to a higher place than your spouse, your marriage, and the good of your family.
Repent.
Go, and be reconciled.
It's not too late.
But go now.
Don't wait til you're in a pickle like Esau: "when he desired to inherit the blessing, he was rejected, for he found no chance to repent, though he sought it with tears" (Hebrews 12:17 ESV). But rather, "now is the favorable time; behold, now is the day of salvation" (2 Corinthians 6:2).
Run - run! - toward forgiveness and blessing.
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
Thursday, May 30, 2019
Sunday, May 14, 2017
A Death
We had a tragedy recently in our small hometown. During a thick fog, a pedestrian was struck and killed by a motorist.
What shock for the family.
I know the breath-grabbing numbness I felt when my grandma passed away suddenly on April 21st, and she a far cry from healthy. But this was a grandmother, quite healthy, who never came back from a walk around town.
But I think I really feel for that motorist.
Imagine being the cause of such tragedy.
What agonizing heartbreak.
And in such a small town, only a few thousand people, what would it mean to rebuild a life? I don't know the legal repercussions which may yet play out, but wouldn't it be nearly impossible to start again when everyone in town knows that you are that person that hit and killed so-and-so? Even if they weren't angry, even if they viewed you with pity, wouldn't you feel forever defined by that one moment of obscured vision, of inattention?
So would you move away? Would you leave town and try to start again amongst the anonymity of the crowds of a larger city? But then, wouldn't there be that looming thought over every friendship, that once it reached a certain depth, you would need to tell them about that part of your past?
I was walking along our city sidewalks and pondering this shortly after Easter. What if, I thought, the people of this lovely city were able to reach out, not in pity or in sidelong glances, but in a realization of our own sin - both of omission and commission.
What if we all realized that our sin has caused a death, too?
That little white lie? killed someone.
That snide remark? murder.
That vengeful thought? a direct cause of a death.
Whose?
The very Son of God.
What shock for the family.
I know the breath-grabbing numbness I felt when my grandma passed away suddenly on April 21st, and she a far cry from healthy. But this was a grandmother, quite healthy, who never came back from a walk around town.
But I think I really feel for that motorist.
Imagine being the cause of such tragedy.
What agonizing heartbreak.
And in such a small town, only a few thousand people, what would it mean to rebuild a life? I don't know the legal repercussions which may yet play out, but wouldn't it be nearly impossible to start again when everyone in town knows that you are that person that hit and killed so-and-so? Even if they weren't angry, even if they viewed you with pity, wouldn't you feel forever defined by that one moment of obscured vision, of inattention?
So would you move away? Would you leave town and try to start again amongst the anonymity of the crowds of a larger city? But then, wouldn't there be that looming thought over every friendship, that once it reached a certain depth, you would need to tell them about that part of your past?
I was walking along our city sidewalks and pondering this shortly after Easter. What if, I thought, the people of this lovely city were able to reach out, not in pity or in sidelong glances, but in a realization of our own sin - both of omission and commission.
What if we all realized that our sin has caused a death, too?
That little white lie? killed someone.
That snide remark? murder.
That vengeful thought? a direct cause of a death.
Whose?
The very Son of God.
Wednesday, October 12, 2016
A Grief Unexpected
Our elderly neighbor lady is dying.
We knew she had been having health issues, but the sudden diagnosis still shocked us. I didn't expect this level of grief when I rang her doorbell yesterday morning and asked after her when a family member answered. I was concerned that maybe she had fallen and broken a hip, or that she had a long recovery from a seasonal illness ahead of her.
I didn't expect the truth to keep me up tonight.
Yet, here I am. Composing this in my head, turning it over and over til I know I have to get it out.
I don't grieve for her. She is about to be reunited with the husband she lost over a decade ago, at the foot of the throne of God, rejoicing with the angels.
I grieve for me.
This woman, some sixty years my senior, touched my life in quiet, everyday ways.
She was the first in the neighborhood to welcome us when we moved in just two years ago. She introduced herself; I called her Mrs. D_____. She made sure I knew to call her by her Christian name. For some reason, her acceptance of me as an adult, as a peer, made me feel more like an adult than did marriage, home-ownership, or even birthing a child.
There was at least once she invited this lonely wife, new to the community, over for tea. I heard dusty life stories, saw pictures of birds she had cataloged and quilts she had made, and left feeling remembered.
She told us several times, in that sweet forgetful manner many elderly have, of her participation with the Minnesota Ornothologists. She derived so much pleasure from going on day trips to count bird species, or even just watching her backyard from the picture window in her dining room, that same window we sat by and sipped our tea.
There is a comfort knowing that the person who lives mere feet away isn't watching you, looking for fodder for gossip, or trying to fit you into their mold of expectations.
When the power was out that cold day last winter, my husband was at work, and she was home alone, we checked on each other. When my husband and I were detained at church and I was concerned about our casserole burning before we could get home, she came over and took it out of the oven for me. That winter day we were so merrily shoveling the walk and decided to do hers as well, she had such kind words of gratitude.
I remember one Sunday when we went to church in town, because obligations for that day didn't allow time for us to travel all the way to our church home. She made a point to invite us over for the lunch that is still customary in this Dutch town. We thought we had to decline since we were headed out. Now I wish we had stopped for those few minutes.
As we were waiting for Baby to arrive, I admired a lovely little baby quilt in a local shop. Its cheerful yellows and pinks made it far too feminine to risk buying when we didn't know if we were having a girl. Even after our daughter was born, I couldn't justify the purchase no matter how much I loved it: funds were too tight after our family expanded for me to buy it when we already had plenty of blankets and quilts for our little girl. It would have been too extravagant of a purchase for even me. To my shame, I never thought to ask God for it. Yet, He gave it to me, through the hands of our little neighbor lady. I will never forget the feeling I had when I saw it nestled in the bottom of the gift bag: the profound love of a God who notices. I see it now, making our fourth-generation bassinet both beautiful and cozy for our precious daughter, as a daily reminder, in a new way, that our extravagant God really does care about the little matters of our hearts, not just the large, weighty, "important" issues.
And so, as I grieve, I realize that, while there is great pain from losing a family member, there is also a closure that comes with that status, "bereaved granddaughter," for instance. There is the chance to disperse a household of worldly goods, to take home that favorite tea cup, that treasured picture, the sewing machine her hands touched so many times. I respect that close bond and want to give her family the space they need to pull together around her in these last days, hours.
I mourn from a distance, as her neighbor.
But she was my friend.
We knew she had been having health issues, but the sudden diagnosis still shocked us. I didn't expect this level of grief when I rang her doorbell yesterday morning and asked after her when a family member answered. I was concerned that maybe she had fallen and broken a hip, or that she had a long recovery from a seasonal illness ahead of her.
I didn't expect the truth to keep me up tonight.
Yet, here I am. Composing this in my head, turning it over and over til I know I have to get it out.
I don't grieve for her. She is about to be reunited with the husband she lost over a decade ago, at the foot of the throne of God, rejoicing with the angels.
I grieve for me.
This woman, some sixty years my senior, touched my life in quiet, everyday ways.
She was the first in the neighborhood to welcome us when we moved in just two years ago. She introduced herself; I called her Mrs. D_____. She made sure I knew to call her by her Christian name. For some reason, her acceptance of me as an adult, as a peer, made me feel more like an adult than did marriage, home-ownership, or even birthing a child.
There was at least once she invited this lonely wife, new to the community, over for tea. I heard dusty life stories, saw pictures of birds she had cataloged and quilts she had made, and left feeling remembered.
She told us several times, in that sweet forgetful manner many elderly have, of her participation with the Minnesota Ornothologists. She derived so much pleasure from going on day trips to count bird species, or even just watching her backyard from the picture window in her dining room, that same window we sat by and sipped our tea.
There is a comfort knowing that the person who lives mere feet away isn't watching you, looking for fodder for gossip, or trying to fit you into their mold of expectations.
When the power was out that cold day last winter, my husband was at work, and she was home alone, we checked on each other. When my husband and I were detained at church and I was concerned about our casserole burning before we could get home, she came over and took it out of the oven for me. That winter day we were so merrily shoveling the walk and decided to do hers as well, she had such kind words of gratitude.
I remember one Sunday when we went to church in town, because obligations for that day didn't allow time for us to travel all the way to our church home. She made a point to invite us over for the lunch that is still customary in this Dutch town. We thought we had to decline since we were headed out. Now I wish we had stopped for those few minutes.
As we were waiting for Baby to arrive, I admired a lovely little baby quilt in a local shop. Its cheerful yellows and pinks made it far too feminine to risk buying when we didn't know if we were having a girl. Even after our daughter was born, I couldn't justify the purchase no matter how much I loved it: funds were too tight after our family expanded for me to buy it when we already had plenty of blankets and quilts for our little girl. It would have been too extravagant of a purchase for even me. To my shame, I never thought to ask God for it. Yet, He gave it to me, through the hands of our little neighbor lady. I will never forget the feeling I had when I saw it nestled in the bottom of the gift bag: the profound love of a God who notices. I see it now, making our fourth-generation bassinet both beautiful and cozy for our precious daughter, as a daily reminder, in a new way, that our extravagant God really does care about the little matters of our hearts, not just the large, weighty, "important" issues.
And so, as I grieve, I realize that, while there is great pain from losing a family member, there is also a closure that comes with that status, "bereaved granddaughter," for instance. There is the chance to disperse a household of worldly goods, to take home that favorite tea cup, that treasured picture, the sewing machine her hands touched so many times. I respect that close bond and want to give her family the space they need to pull together around her in these last days, hours.
I mourn from a distance, as her neighbor.
But she was my friend.
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Tough Stuff
I know I haven't blogged in ages and I have been wanting to before the summer really picks up speed again. I would like to write something perky, but that hasn't been what has been going on lately, so it's hard for me to write with any heart when my mind is elsewhere. So, I've been putting it off (which isn't hard, considering everything I could be doing rather than sitting here typing). But, I guess it's time; I know I probably won't get another chance to blog for a while.
We've been walking through some tough things lately.
It's one thing to be hurt by someone who doesn't profess faith or hold to anything I hold dear, but it's a whole different sort of sucker punch when the offender is among the ranks of my Christian family.
It's one thing when it's just a single incident and I can forgive them and let it blow past, but it's a different sort of betrayal when it is ongoing, without remorse, and repetitive.
It's one thing to gather the courage to approach someone and experience reconciliation, but it's draining to have to decide again if I'm going to tackle a new offense again when I know that they won't listen, won't admit fault, and won't change again.
And it's one thing to be upset with someone far away whom I never see, but it's a different sort of beast when I see them frequently, for extended periods of time, and am under their authority.
One transgression on top of another as they proclaim Christ and his ways, and preach humility and submission to authority, and I know what's going on behind the scenes. And I watch them hurt others. And I see God's work compromised. And I can't do anything.
What is the Christ-like thing to do?
He prayed for forgiveness for His enemies from the cross.
But what does forgiveness look like in a case of unacknowledged sin? Is it acceptance? But then they are surprised when I say that something is amiss. I cannot pretend that everything is fine; it's not. But I am so tired of pushing back. I don't want to be the trouble-maker! I want things to go well; I want to be friends; I don't want to fight. I have turned the other cheek - over and over and over.
Besides, Jesus also turned the moneychangers out of the temple.
A head-on confrontation? Been there, done that. It meets with finger pointing, reversing the blame, claiming authority, and a willingness to only address the most superficial of issues. And afterwards, nothing changes.
I have wondered if maybe I was at fault.
If there were something that I could mend to make things better, I would. If I could apologize in order to fix the situation, I would. (I have.) But I can't believe with any sort of intellectual integrity that this is my fault. I've examined myself; my motives aren't always pure and I have at times responded out of anger, but this isn't to be laid at my feet.
And I watch it continue, and I see others being hurt by the same situation, and I ask God to intervene in a God-sized way.
Because I can't.
Because I have bled, labored, and wept.
But it isn't enough.
And it won't be until God shows up.
Meanwhile, I read Psalms 61, 62, and 63 and am reminded that He is the rock that is higher than I, that He will be my help, that I shall not be shaken, and that I will sing for joy in the shadow of His wings.
We've been walking through some tough things lately.
It's one thing to be hurt by someone who doesn't profess faith or hold to anything I hold dear, but it's a whole different sort of sucker punch when the offender is among the ranks of my Christian family.
It's one thing when it's just a single incident and I can forgive them and let it blow past, but it's a different sort of betrayal when it is ongoing, without remorse, and repetitive.
It's one thing to gather the courage to approach someone and experience reconciliation, but it's draining to have to decide again if I'm going to tackle a new offense again when I know that they won't listen, won't admit fault, and won't change again.
And it's one thing to be upset with someone far away whom I never see, but it's a different sort of beast when I see them frequently, for extended periods of time, and am under their authority.
One transgression on top of another as they proclaim Christ and his ways, and preach humility and submission to authority, and I know what's going on behind the scenes. And I watch them hurt others. And I see God's work compromised. And I can't do anything.
What is the Christ-like thing to do?
He prayed for forgiveness for His enemies from the cross.
But what does forgiveness look like in a case of unacknowledged sin? Is it acceptance? But then they are surprised when I say that something is amiss. I cannot pretend that everything is fine; it's not. But I am so tired of pushing back. I don't want to be the trouble-maker! I want things to go well; I want to be friends; I don't want to fight. I have turned the other cheek - over and over and over.
Besides, Jesus also turned the moneychangers out of the temple.
A head-on confrontation? Been there, done that. It meets with finger pointing, reversing the blame, claiming authority, and a willingness to only address the most superficial of issues. And afterwards, nothing changes.
I have wondered if maybe I was at fault.
If there were something that I could mend to make things better, I would. If I could apologize in order to fix the situation, I would. (I have.) But I can't believe with any sort of intellectual integrity that this is my fault. I've examined myself; my motives aren't always pure and I have at times responded out of anger, but this isn't to be laid at my feet.
And I watch it continue, and I see others being hurt by the same situation, and I ask God to intervene in a God-sized way.
Because I can't.
Because I have bled, labored, and wept.
But it isn't enough.
And it won't be until God shows up.
Meanwhile, I read Psalms 61, 62, and 63 and am reminded that He is the rock that is higher than I, that He will be my help, that I shall not be shaken, and that I will sing for joy in the shadow of His wings.
Friday, April 11, 2014
While There is Breath
A family friend passed away today. As I watch the out-pouring of loving comments on her Facebook wall, I am glad that people remember the good about others.
I am also pensive.
Find the good in others while they're still living; don't wait for them to be beyond this world before you stop criticizing and start complimenting.
Tell people that you're grateful for them while they're living. Appreciate them and thank them for their contribution to your life while they are around to be encouraged by your words.
Be kind in your speech to and about others while they're living. If something isn't good enough to say about them once they're dead, it's not good enough to say about them before they're dead.
It is the living who need your encouragement: it is for the benefit of the surviving that we pour out love for those who have gone before us.
Yes, remember the deceased fondly; but remember that nothing you say or do can help or hurt them.
Do you want to make a difference? Don't forget the living to your left and to your right.
I am also pensive.
Find the good in others while they're still living; don't wait for them to be beyond this world before you stop criticizing and start complimenting.
Tell people that you're grateful for them while they're living. Appreciate them and thank them for their contribution to your life while they are around to be encouraged by your words.
Be kind in your speech to and about others while they're living. If something isn't good enough to say about them once they're dead, it's not good enough to say about them before they're dead.
It is the living who need your encouragement: it is for the benefit of the surviving that we pour out love for those who have gone before us.
Yes, remember the deceased fondly; but remember that nothing you say or do can help or hurt them.
Do you want to make a difference? Don't forget the living to your left and to your right.
Friday, March 21, 2014
Don't Go Away
Note: This is not going to be a post about my views of homosexuality
or of the American homosexual movement (which are not one and the same,
by the way). This is neither an appropriate or wise platform for such a
discussion. If you want to know my views, let's discuss it in person, preferably over coffee. :)
Why is it that it seems like people come out and then leave?
I've been noticing a trend: a friend comes out, and then I never/rarely hear from them again.
Not that we were necessarily close in the first place, but if this is supposed to be so natural a lifestyle, why does it interfere with something so natural as friendship?
Maybe they think I hate them now. I wouldn't want to chat with someone who hates me. But I've only ever been called hateful once (and the really awkward part is that she doesn't know me). No one whom I consider among my circle of friends - or even acquaintances - has ever called me hateful. So I don't think that's it.
Is this just the way things are? Am I going to have to watch friends come out one by one and wave goodbye?
Sure, they have a different lifestyle now, a different ideology. But friends don't have to agree on everything. I can understand that this would create some distance, or at least a different dynamic than before. But is it really necessary to disappear?
Sure, they probably have some new friends from the homosexual community. But I got new friends went I went to college and I still managed to keep my friends back home.
You know, there is so much pain surrounding the choice to come out: life before the decision, factors that prompt the decision, the fall-out after following through on the decision, or all three. My heart hurts with them.
So why add the pain of leaving?
Why is it that it seems like people come out and then leave?
I've been noticing a trend: a friend comes out, and then I never/rarely hear from them again.
Not that we were necessarily close in the first place, but if this is supposed to be so natural a lifestyle, why does it interfere with something so natural as friendship?
Maybe they think I hate them now. I wouldn't want to chat with someone who hates me. But I've only ever been called hateful once (and the really awkward part is that she doesn't know me). No one whom I consider among my circle of friends - or even acquaintances - has ever called me hateful. So I don't think that's it.
Is this just the way things are? Am I going to have to watch friends come out one by one and wave goodbye?
Sure, they have a different lifestyle now, a different ideology. But friends don't have to agree on everything. I can understand that this would create some distance, or at least a different dynamic than before. But is it really necessary to disappear?
Sure, they probably have some new friends from the homosexual community. But I got new friends went I went to college and I still managed to keep my friends back home.
You know, there is so much pain surrounding the choice to come out: life before the decision, factors that prompt the decision, the fall-out after following through on the decision, or all three. My heart hurts with them.
So why add the pain of leaving?
Friday, February 14, 2014
I Love/Want You
Happy Valentine's Day!
Today never held much significance for me as a single (other than the yummy chocolates from Mom and Dad!), but it is becoming dearer. Today was my first Valentine's waking up in my husband's arms, and I'll tell you, it starts to take on a new significance. I start to get more mushy about the concept. I also start to get more defensive about it, too.
You see, our good old US of A has a way of slanting things, and it hasn't left this holiday alone any more than it's kept its fingers out of Christmas.
It's taken an economic concept and applied it to love.
I'm not going to start going on about how it's all for the greeting cards companies and so on and so forth. That's on the right track, but it doesn't go far enough and so ends up at a conclusive facade.
American love is consumeristic.
We use the word "love" in a manner that more honest people have the dignity to admit is only "want."
Sadly, this version of love does not stop at consuming bouquets and teddy bears and chocolates and cards: it consumes people.
Think about it.
"I love rice."
What I really mean is that I just had rice for lunch and was reminded how much I want to eat rice.
I love inexpensive household goods. Never mind the sweatshop laborers.
I love getting to plan my life. Never mind my children (born or otherwise).
I (conversely) love my children. Never mind my friends, marriages, or monetary limitations.
I love you. . . .
Eep.
Creepy.
Do we really mean love? Or are we thinking more along the lines of the t-shirt for sale in the mall, which reads, "Looking for a meaningful overnight relationship"?
Because we all know what that means. They're looking for a "meaningful overnight relationship."
We use another person's body and think we're doing them a favor because we're not asking them to share their soul. We avoid the messiness of getting personal and think we can get away with it.
News flash: the body and the soul (consciousness) are so intertwined that no theologian or psychologist can tell you where one ends and the other begins. Why? Because God didn't make you half body and half soul - He made you all body and all soul! He never meant for the two to be separate! (Death wasn't part of the original design. But that's a topic for another time.)
And we scoff at the ones who hold out for more than a one-night stand.
Or we don the other t-shirt, the one that blurts, "Cool story, babe. Now go make me a sandwich." Because love is about what you get, right?
Don't tell me that the attitude of the second t-shirt must be love just because it sticks around. While the first consumes, so does the second. One is more like a hit and run. The second is just a slower, more drawn out version, sort of like bleeding to death on the sidewalk. Girls (or guys), if you are treated like a commodity, don't think it's because he loves you. He isn't showing you love; he's showing you bondage.
He can say, "I love you," but does he mean it?
How can you tell? Look at what he does with/to you.
1 Corinthians 13 puts love on a level with faith and hope.
Faith: shown by deeds. Considered illegitimate without the proof of action. Worth nothing unless it makes a substantive difference.
Hope: a powerful force that has no chemical explanation. Kept people alive in concentration camps. Its lack can itself cause disease or even death.
What is love? It definitely can't be summed up by a hormonal rush or a physiological arousal response. It isn't a direction or a place (so you can't fall into or out of it).
When I was learning to love, I was concerned because I didn't know exactly what love was, so I didn't know how to tell if I was actually in love. Silly girl! I was thinking that it was a state rather than an action, a reflexive response rather than a choice.
Mental clarity descended in that loftiest of places - the grocery store aisle - in that loftiest of positions - a grocery store clerk.
As I straightened the candy in Aisle 1, I contemplated the day's joys that I couldn't wait to share over the phone that night. I thought about the disappointments that I always rushed to him before any other human comfort. And I realized that we had love.
We weren't starting with a flimsy platform of feel-good sentiment. We were building something from the ground up while deep in the mire of the every day tumult.
We were creating a relationship that could survive real life because it wasn't based on a fairy tale of feelings.
We were choosing to share ourselves and care for the other. Why? Not because we could get something out of it, but because we wanted to give to the other person.
Love gives; it doesn't take.
That's the difference.
It's a heart issue.
And it makes all the difference.
Today never held much significance for me as a single (other than the yummy chocolates from Mom and Dad!), but it is becoming dearer. Today was my first Valentine's waking up in my husband's arms, and I'll tell you, it starts to take on a new significance. I start to get more mushy about the concept. I also start to get more defensive about it, too.
You see, our good old US of A has a way of slanting things, and it hasn't left this holiday alone any more than it's kept its fingers out of Christmas.
It's taken an economic concept and applied it to love.
I'm not going to start going on about how it's all for the greeting cards companies and so on and so forth. That's on the right track, but it doesn't go far enough and so ends up at a conclusive facade.
American love is consumeristic.
We use the word "love" in a manner that more honest people have the dignity to admit is only "want."
Sadly, this version of love does not stop at consuming bouquets and teddy bears and chocolates and cards: it consumes people.
Think about it.
"I love rice."
What I really mean is that I just had rice for lunch and was reminded how much I want to eat rice.
I love inexpensive household goods. Never mind the sweatshop laborers.
I love getting to plan my life. Never mind my children (born or otherwise).
I (conversely) love my children. Never mind my friends, marriages, or monetary limitations.
I love you. . . .
Eep.
Creepy.
Do we really mean love? Or are we thinking more along the lines of the t-shirt for sale in the mall, which reads, "Looking for a meaningful overnight relationship"?
Because we all know what that means. They're looking for a "
We use another person's body and think we're doing them a favor because we're not asking them to share their soul. We avoid the messiness of getting personal and think we can get away with it.
News flash: the body and the soul (consciousness) are so intertwined that no theologian or psychologist can tell you where one ends and the other begins. Why? Because God didn't make you half body and half soul - He made you all body and all soul! He never meant for the two to be separate! (Death wasn't part of the original design. But that's a topic for another time.)
And we scoff at the ones who hold out for more than a one-night stand.
Or we don the other t-shirt, the one that blurts, "Cool story, babe. Now go make me a sandwich." Because love is about what you get, right?
Don't tell me that the attitude of the second t-shirt must be love just because it sticks around. While the first consumes, so does the second. One is more like a hit and run. The second is just a slower, more drawn out version, sort of like bleeding to death on the sidewalk. Girls (or guys), if you are treated like a commodity, don't think it's because he loves you. He isn't showing you love; he's showing you bondage.
He can say, "I love you," but does he mean it?
How can you tell? Look at what he does with/to you.
1 Corinthians 13 puts love on a level with faith and hope.
Faith: shown by deeds. Considered illegitimate without the proof of action. Worth nothing unless it makes a substantive difference.
Hope: a powerful force that has no chemical explanation. Kept people alive in concentration camps. Its lack can itself cause disease or even death.
What is love? It definitely can't be summed up by a hormonal rush or a physiological arousal response. It isn't a direction or a place (so you can't fall into or out of it).
When I was learning to love, I was concerned because I didn't know exactly what love was, so I didn't know how to tell if I was actually in love. Silly girl! I was thinking that it was a state rather than an action, a reflexive response rather than a choice.
Mental clarity descended in that loftiest of places - the grocery store aisle - in that loftiest of positions - a grocery store clerk.
As I straightened the candy in Aisle 1, I contemplated the day's joys that I couldn't wait to share over the phone that night. I thought about the disappointments that I always rushed to him before any other human comfort. And I realized that we had love.
We weren't starting with a flimsy platform of feel-good sentiment. We were building something from the ground up while deep in the mire of the every day tumult.
We were creating a relationship that could survive real life because it wasn't based on a fairy tale of feelings.
We were choosing to share ourselves and care for the other. Why? Not because we could get something out of it, but because we wanted to give to the other person.
Love gives; it doesn't take.
That's the difference.
It's a heart issue.
And it makes all the difference.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Real and Determined
I am several weeks into a new determination.
I am going to lose 26 lbs by April.
There was a point in my life that I didn't think I would ever have any difficulty with my weight or body image. If I noticed a couple extra pounds on the scale during the winter, I knew that I would have them worked off easily by mid-summer, with a tan on the side.
Then I hit college and all bets were off. I hit the Freshmen Ten (which I was grateful hadn't been the Freshman Fifteen in my case).
My sophomore year, I was prepping for black belt testing and a 5k with a friend, and I dare say that was the most in-shape I have ever been. I looked back at my freshman year as a near miss, calling it - not so affectionately - my "chubby year."
Well, my black belt and the 5k were under my belt (pardon the expression), and I found myself adrift. Without specific goals in mind, it was easy to miss the addition of a pound here and a pound there. I knew I needed to keep working out, but that starting falling down the priority list as other events came charging into my life.
I worked a year, then went back to school to finish my bachelor of arts and entered the craziest time in my life.
I was in a new place, undergoing the stress of getting to know new people (but I'll save the travails of a transfer student for another post perhaps), studying like never before, and holding down three jobs. A best friend lost her father. Another best friend got married.
But the next year was crazier. Thankfully, I was down to two jobs for a full senior year. I tackled my senior project and a field experience. I got engaged. Then there was graduation. Four weeks of working at summer camp. Going back to work. Planning a wedding. Moving home. Getting married.
All of which lands me right here. I finally had a chance to let my self-awareness catch up with myself, and I found that I am the heaviest I have ever been.
Now, at this point, any readers who know me personally are probably manifesting one of two reactions:
1. Some will roll their eyes and wonder why a little person like me is making such a fuss.
Thankfully, I carry it well, I guess. I was shocked myself when I realized how out of hand this has gotten. In fact, it wasn't even a year ago that my then father-in-law-to-be told me to go eat five pounds of potatoes! I am small in stature and shoe size, but it is time to stop thickening. I am in general in good health, but my endurance and overall physical ability have suffered a lot in the past few years, and I speak from experience when I say that they both could be much, much better.
2. Some will say, "What is she talking about?!? She doesn't have 26 lbs to lose!"
Don't worry; I'm not about to develop an eating disorder. (Besides, if I was going to, it would have happened a long time ago already.) Frankly, I believe I am currently in the healthiest frame of mind I have ever been in regard to all this. It took me a long time to get here. I used to spiral into bouts of despair and self-loathing (and I don't use those terms lightly) every time a family member would make a comment or a favorite skirt would no longer zip. I was immobilized by a deep hatred of what my body had become and I felt trapped into my life habits.
But God gently revealed to me that I was despising His own creation when I looked in the mirror with scorn. He gave me a husband who refuses to see me as anything but exquisitely created. And He has given me a new grit, a new hope, a new perspective.
So why am I bringing all this up now?
Personally, I have had my fill of uber-skinny, ultra-ripped people saying, "I used to be chubby. Now look at me! You can look like this, too." It may be true, but it always leaves me wondering about all the people who tried to look like them and didn't get to make a DVD but instead ended up heavier than they began. (That's my critical-thinking, scientific-method frame of mind coming out! My psych profs would be so proud!)
So, let's be real. You've read my goal. I might make it. I might not.
If I don't, you'll probably be reading a post in three months about handling unmet goals and resetting for a new goal.
If I succeed, well, I don't know. I guess I'll still need another goal. After all, maintenance is the hardest part. But what I don't want is another message of "I could do it; why can't you?". I guess this is an invitation to walk beside me in this. Encouraging words are appreciated, especially if you honestly do notice a difference. But more than that, I hope you're encouraged, because we can all stop kidding ourselves and each other about being perfect. We've got a ways to go: physically, yes, but also spiritually, personally, professionally, academically, and a host of other ways. I am working on doing myself a favor and letting down the pretense. (It's awfully hard to look perfect and to work on improving myself at the same time.) I guess what I'm trying to encourage anyone reading this to do is to pay someone the ultimate compliment of being a real person with them. If they're a friend worth having, they'll recognize the sacrifice on your part and be so thankful to be let in to the person you actually are. And you might just have freed them enough to pay back the compliment.
One final thing: I know what I said about new year resolutions, and how I don't like them, and I know that this new goal of mine is suspiciously close to a recent changing of the year, but really, I'm no fool. Who wants to start watching calories over Thanksgiving and Christmas???
I am going to lose 26 lbs by April.
There was a point in my life that I didn't think I would ever have any difficulty with my weight or body image. If I noticed a couple extra pounds on the scale during the winter, I knew that I would have them worked off easily by mid-summer, with a tan on the side.
Then I hit college and all bets were off. I hit the Freshmen Ten (which I was grateful hadn't been the Freshman Fifteen in my case).
My sophomore year, I was prepping for black belt testing and a 5k with a friend, and I dare say that was the most in-shape I have ever been. I looked back at my freshman year as a near miss, calling it - not so affectionately - my "chubby year."
Well, my black belt and the 5k were under my belt (pardon the expression), and I found myself adrift. Without specific goals in mind, it was easy to miss the addition of a pound here and a pound there. I knew I needed to keep working out, but that starting falling down the priority list as other events came charging into my life.
I worked a year, then went back to school to finish my bachelor of arts and entered the craziest time in my life.
I was in a new place, undergoing the stress of getting to know new people (but I'll save the travails of a transfer student for another post perhaps), studying like never before, and holding down three jobs. A best friend lost her father. Another best friend got married.
But the next year was crazier. Thankfully, I was down to two jobs for a full senior year. I tackled my senior project and a field experience. I got engaged. Then there was graduation. Four weeks of working at summer camp. Going back to work. Planning a wedding. Moving home. Getting married.
All of which lands me right here. I finally had a chance to let my self-awareness catch up with myself, and I found that I am the heaviest I have ever been.
Now, at this point, any readers who know me personally are probably manifesting one of two reactions:
1. Some will roll their eyes and wonder why a little person like me is making such a fuss.
Thankfully, I carry it well, I guess. I was shocked myself when I realized how out of hand this has gotten. In fact, it wasn't even a year ago that my then father-in-law-to-be told me to go eat five pounds of potatoes! I am small in stature and shoe size, but it is time to stop thickening. I am in general in good health, but my endurance and overall physical ability have suffered a lot in the past few years, and I speak from experience when I say that they both could be much, much better.
2. Some will say, "What is she talking about?!? She doesn't have 26 lbs to lose!"
Don't worry; I'm not about to develop an eating disorder. (Besides, if I was going to, it would have happened a long time ago already.) Frankly, I believe I am currently in the healthiest frame of mind I have ever been in regard to all this. It took me a long time to get here. I used to spiral into bouts of despair and self-loathing (and I don't use those terms lightly) every time a family member would make a comment or a favorite skirt would no longer zip. I was immobilized by a deep hatred of what my body had become and I felt trapped into my life habits.
But God gently revealed to me that I was despising His own creation when I looked in the mirror with scorn. He gave me a husband who refuses to see me as anything but exquisitely created. And He has given me a new grit, a new hope, a new perspective.
So why am I bringing all this up now?
Personally, I have had my fill of uber-skinny, ultra-ripped people saying, "I used to be chubby. Now look at me! You can look like this, too." It may be true, but it always leaves me wondering about all the people who tried to look like them and didn't get to make a DVD but instead ended up heavier than they began. (That's my critical-thinking, scientific-method frame of mind coming out! My psych profs would be so proud!)
So, let's be real. You've read my goal. I might make it. I might not.
If I don't, you'll probably be reading a post in three months about handling unmet goals and resetting for a new goal.
If I succeed, well, I don't know. I guess I'll still need another goal. After all, maintenance is the hardest part. But what I don't want is another message of "I could do it; why can't you?". I guess this is an invitation to walk beside me in this. Encouraging words are appreciated, especially if you honestly do notice a difference. But more than that, I hope you're encouraged, because we can all stop kidding ourselves and each other about being perfect. We've got a ways to go: physically, yes, but also spiritually, personally, professionally, academically, and a host of other ways. I am working on doing myself a favor and letting down the pretense. (It's awfully hard to look perfect and to work on improving myself at the same time.) I guess what I'm trying to encourage anyone reading this to do is to pay someone the ultimate compliment of being a real person with them. If they're a friend worth having, they'll recognize the sacrifice on your part and be so thankful to be let in to the person you actually are. And you might just have freed them enough to pay back the compliment.
One final thing: I know what I said about new year resolutions, and how I don't like them, and I know that this new goal of mine is suspiciously close to a recent changing of the year, but really, I'm no fool. Who wants to start watching calories over Thanksgiving and Christmas???
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