It's not suspicious...It's unusual.

So, this week I was offered the opportunity to attend the "world" convention of the American Association of Christian Counselors conference next September. I accepted the offer because who wouldn't accept free hotel, airfare, and conference admission to her home state? But the more I think about aligning myself with the AACC, the more anxious I become.

To be honest, I am suspicious of most Christians who call themselves counselors, or those organizations who purport the concept of "Christian counseling." Often, such organizations promote the manipulation of vulnerable individuals by using scripture laced with some psychobabble. They effectively take people who are at their wits end, on their knees, and then bastardize the Word of God in order to make people think that all their psychological ailments will disappear if this person prays harder, believes more faithfully, or what have you.

What I do in my therapy office just isn't that. Sure, some of my clients and I talk a lot about their relationship with God. Most are Christians, because we are known in the community for having a Christian staff. But, I hardly ever mention scripture. I may paraphrase it on occasion, especially when a client claims something preposterous in the name of Christ, Christianity, or the Bible. But I have to say that my being a Christian does affect the way I see my clients. I pray for God's leading to not totally screw things up, to lead me in what I say. I pray for my clients (but not with them).

The less fundamentalist I become with my faith, the more I see how good psychotherapy, good theology, and good faith praxis can overlap with little distinction. However, God won't cure all your psychic or your physical pain. And I can't do that.

What I find even more ironic is the fact that I am much less hesitant to sign up to be in cahoots with secular psychology. I'm a member of the APA without batting an eye. I would probably be less discerning about entering into research with certain nonChristians than I would be with certain Christians. Eventhough I probably disagree with most secular psychologists about more crucial things than I do with other Christian counselors, I embrace the secularists. I dance for them. I make my theology and research fit their posters, presentations, and conferences.

Why is it that I am so afraid of other Christians in my field that think less integrationally than I do? I enter into the world of secular psychology with enthusiasm, but feel nervous around my own brother's and sisters. Pursuing psychology from either perspective can be equally damaging.

As an integrationist, I feel like nobody wants to listen to what I have to say, outside of my tiny integrationist community. The world of secular psychology writes me off as some fundy whack job that is manipulative with a God complex. The Christian community of counselors think that I've sold out God in favor of the "Secular Humanism" of the "World." Sigh.

Ya'll, I'm Southern

Your Linguistic Profile:

65% General American English

30% Dixie

5% Upper Midwestern

0% Midwestern

0% Yankee

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

The Burden of Knowing

When parents do not accept who their children are or what they have to offer, the children may feel excluded from the intimacy of their parents' life. Forever knocking on the door without being able to get in, such children remain bound to their parents. If parents are in distress but still do not permit easy access in and out of their emotional lives, it is very difficult for their children to free themselves from the chains that bind.

As many attempts to give something of value come to a dead end in one who cannot or will not receive care, a child's hopes to be of special use to the parent are compromised. When each wish to give of himself and to be included in the parent's inner life has been constricted by numerous rebuffs and has nowhere to go, the child is confronted with the predicament of knowing about the parent's unhappiness and wishing to affect it without being able to do so.

Such children, however, do not give up on their caretaking task so easily. On the contrary, they become increasingly desperate to be included in the parents' life so they can be released to finally embark on their own developmental path. As their frustration mounts and their wishes to offer their services intensify, the attention of these children becomes ever more fixed on the parent's emotional state.

Despair and the Return of Hope by Peter Shabad

I've got issues

As I approach graduation from my M.A. program in Clinical Psychology, I've been thinking a lot about intentional community and examining our issues. And I wonder why it took coming to graduate school and two years of an intentionally designed program to get me to the point that I can look honestly at my "baggage." I have been a Christian most of my life. I don't come from a "broken" home. But, there are still issues and problems and losses that I need to mourn. It has taken me 24 years to even admit that.

You see, in my family, and from what my classmates have shared, in a lot of Christian families, we sweep our struggles under the rug. Our pains and hurts are signs of our falleness, and we just aren't comfortable with that. I have realized that parents get really defensive when you start looking at how they disappointed you or maybe didn't fulfill some valid need that you had. It happens out of their brokenness, their sin, their being human. And you would think in true Christian community things would be different, but they aren't. In fact, I think they may be worse because we're all so damn busy trying to look good for the other Christians and for the rest of the world.

I am thinking more about this because of a class that I have. The class basically entails every member of the class telling their story. Picking one painful, at the core of your pain, issue and sharing that narrative with the class. Two people do this every class period. We have been intentional enough over the past two years at building community that this feels safe but terrifying. That people will know me for who I truly am and know the essence of my brokenness is a hard pill to swallow. We're reading some great books, too, that give us a vocabulary to talk about the pain. After each person tells their story, we give feedback. "Wow, I never knew..." or "You're just like my mom, I guess that's why I've not really liked you the past two years..."

We cry a lot. We laugh a lot. It isn't your typical class at all. It's community, really. But I can't think of a single other place ever in my life where Christians were so intentional and open. No one out there at my church gives a crap about my story. No one wants to hear it. And I'm not so sure I"m open to hearing theirs. But that's the way it should be. That's how the church provides healing and redemption. That's how we, as a community, can be Christ to others. I really think that's what Christ meant when he talked about us being hands and feet. I seriously doubt he meant evangelizing, although every Southern Baptist just gasped at that remark.

What I find all the more interesting is how varied the stories my classmates have shared truly are. Some are like confessions...a sin hidden from the world for so long. Others are stories of victimization...a rape, a broken heart. Some seem innocuous until you see the pain in the eyes of someone that you love...tales of parents who just never quite got it or didn't care to try. Dads who left. Friends who betrayed. Defeating thoughts of worthlessness.

And what I've realized is that knowing these things make me love the people more. I am more forgiving of their failures and even of how they hurt me. I'm more likely to communicate openly about my pain and to be authentic in even confrontation.

These aren't stories of victory. They are stories of incompleteness and pain. Struggle. We are all Israelites. God has moved us from the comfortable, the safe. We're wandering (and wondering) in the wilderness. The Egyptians are on one side, the Red Sea is on the other. We are trapped and we are not faithful. What is God's creative third way of providing a refuge and escape? Where is his provision?

And it's about to be over. That makes me sad. It's not just the ending, but the true grief wells up from an acknowledgement that I may never experience this kind of Christian community ever again. And that most people never experience it at all. THAT is a loss. I think it makes Jesus cry.