In which I make excuses for not blogging...

I haven't written anything of substance for awhile. That's because I'm thinking about important things that I want to write about. However, I am learning that sometimes letting ideas tumble around up there for awhile is the best policy. I just came home from my first History of the Church to 1900 class meeting. (It's from 6:30-10:00 PM on Tuesday nights, EGADS!)

When I wasn't imagining what my Nazarene professor with the huge beard looks like without said beard, I was contemplating the lecture on the sociology behind why the Christian church persevered through its early centuries and finally became the predominant religion of the West. I also realized that Conservatives are not Evangelicals. And with exponential decline, Conservatives may very well become extinct for many reasons, which I hope to describe to you here one day soon.

Oh, and all this relates to that post I've been promising for awhile on how Narratives are important, and how our faith is narrative, God works through narratives, and therapy, then is narrative, as well. It's in there my friends and when it's through tumbling, and I have some time, I'll try to share it here.

I made him sign a consent form..

*Setting: Our bedroom 11:00 pm last night.*

K: Hey, you wanna read this book before I take it back? It has interviews from the Onion. With people like Bob Barker and Conan O'Brien.

N: Hmm, yeah. You know, Bob Barker was who I always pretended I was married to when we played house when I was a little kid.

K: I officially can't touch you for a half hour.

N: No, no. I think I only like him because I was under the impression he came with all of those prizes. At least I wasn't behind the bushes playing show me yours, I'll show you mine with Megan Metz* like you were. And..and, what were those other girls names?

K: Samantha Stevens*, and Jessica Jablonski*.

N: Umm hmm. What kind of neighborhood did you grow up in? All those same letter name girls letting people touch their va jay jays? We must have a thing, cause Bob Barker is a same letter name, too.

K: Well, that's better than the alternative.

N: What you mean?

K: Well, Matthew Crawford* showed me his penis. See what happens when you don't give your kid a same letter name?

*Names changed but letters preserved to protect the innocent, and the guilty.*

Minutiae of Marriage

Setting: Our bedroom, with two loads of freshly washed laundry dumped on the bed.

*Me, frantically searching the bed, throwing laundry about*

K: What?

Me: Where are they? They aren't here.

K: What?

Me: (now searching the closet and the hamper) My black pants. The ones I wear nearly every day. They were dirty. Where are they? Here they are, hanging up in the closet. Why did you hang them up in the closet?

K: Because they were in the floor. If you put your things away and didn't leave piles of laundry in the floor, then this wouldn't happen

Me: I leave them in the floor so I know they're dirty, or in case I want to wear them...again.

K: Well...

Me: *Sigh* Now my pants are dirty and all the laundry's done. Guess I'll go wash 'em. Why would you hang up my pants? Why?

K: Don't leave them in the floor! I just put them back where they belonged. If not in the dirty clothes, then in the closet. I thought you were done with them.

Me: Okay, the next time I find one of your library books laying around out of your book basket, I'm taking it back where it belongs when you're done with it...the library!

K: Give me the pants...I'll go do more laundry.

Guess that was too high a price.

*************************************************

Next day, after reading this blog post:

K: Why'd you post that? It's silly. Not funny.

Me: I didn't ask for your editorial opinion. I asked if it said too much. Now I have to go post this, too.

Fucks and Rubber Ducks

I recently started seeing a chiropractor. (I have reservations about this too, but I was in pain and it's working. So, pseudoscience, I'm liking you right now.) Today, in the waiting room, four little girls were waiting on their mother to finish her appointment and they were watching a Veggie Tales video about a cucumber named King George(née King David), who has a penchant for rubber ducks.

The Veggie Tales video is described as such by Amazon.com:

King George, unlike most kings, spends most of his time in the bathtub, playing with his favorite toy - a rubber ducky. But George isn't satisfied with just his rubber ducky - he wants all the duckies! The king learns a lesson in humility from his brave soldier Thomas, whose ducky George had stolen. Eventually, George faces his sin and learns that it's always important to share with others.

Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but Veggie Tales' attempt to capture the essence of the Biblical story of King David is quite off. I don't think this particular set of circumstances in the life of King David were included in the Biblical narrative in order to teach us about sharing. In fact, seems more likely that the story is meant to communicate that some things aren't meant to be shared. Oh, like spouses...

One could argue that this excerpt is about lust or possibly rape, when David takes Bathsheba, the wife of his faithful soldier off at battle, and has sex with her...not that a woman had the right to deny her king in the time period. Or a story about objectifying others, when you can't restrain yourself all for the sake of a duck, er, fuck.

I think I could also make a case for loyalty as the central value, when Bathsheba's husband, Uriah the Hittite, is summoned home from war in David's attempt to cover up the pregnancy of Bathsheba. Uriah then refuses to go home to the pleasures of his wife to demonstrate his solidarity and support of David, his fellow soldiers, and the kingdom. Yeah, how'd that make David feel?

Something inside of me just crawled as I watched Larry the Cucumber act as a pompous king while Bob the Tomato, as servant Louis, sang to him about the wonderful, beautiful qualities of all the other ducks (fucks?) in his collection. This was the portion that activated that "something isn't right here" yucky gut feeling.

Louis: But sir, if I could just jog
your memory, you already have quite a few duckies.

King George: Those are yesterdays duckies.

Louis:
Huh? wh-what these are perfectly good duckies, why most of your
loyal subjects would love to have even one ducky this nice.

King George:
I don't like these, I don't need these, I don't want these any longer.
My affection for those duckies isn't getting any stronger. Just don't say I can't have what I want you couldn't be more wronger, don’t ask me to explain, there will
be pain if you don't go and get that duck!....................Our conversation is over.

Then Louis mutters something about a pie-war, and how he doesn't want to get sent out to the pie-war. Whuh? A pie war?

Oh wait, it gets better. They change the ending, too. Thomas/Uriah notices his missing duck, and while I missed this part, somehow he and King the Cucumber George learn to share.

No death at war, no baby who dies as a result of David/George's sin. The entire story is neutered. And when you neuter the atrocity of this story, you also neuter the sovereignty and grace of God. Because even with the atrocities committed, David is still a man after God's own heart, God redeems David's atrocities. Seems like there were some wise words spoken about this once...Jesus said: “He who has been forgiven little loves little” (Luke 7:47).

God still loves David, not in spite of his weaknesses and failings..but because they ARE David. God calls for holiness because he loves David, and God extends abundant, sufficient grace in both David's triumphs and failures. To pretty up the story, to turn it into some feel good movie about ducks instead of fucks, making up instead of murder, playing nicely instead of passing on a generational legacy of sin and suffering, takes away the power of God to overcome something so literally fucked up.

Now, some will challenge me that this is a children's tale, and what are we to do? Should we not protect our children from exposure to such horrendous things? Well, first acknowledge just how blessed you are that you get to choose what parts of reality to expose to your children.

But, I say, tell the story to your children. At an age appropriate level, but don't change the story. Tell your six year old, David was very bad when he did that with someone who wasn't his wife, but he also lied to his friend, who was very loyal. And he sent his friend off to war to die because he would rather do that than tell the truth.

So, if you think that protecting your children is by insulating them to the point that they can't handle the themes and stories of the Bible is the best course of action, we're not going to agree. Because when given lies and pieces that don't fit together, children create even more frightening fears and imagined threats in their imaginations. The story of David is a story of hope. No matter what you do, even things as bad as David, God loves you! God forgives you!

If we do not engage such honesty, we're giving our children rubber ducks..which aren't very helpful when at 12 someone asks them if they want to..well, you know.

Skydiving

My friend A suggested we do more fun things together this year, not just boring school stuff. Well, she asked me to go skydiving. Have you ever been skydiving? Would you do it? Would you suggest it for me? I'm a little, well, a lot afraid of dying. It's not the skydiving part that I worry about. It's the part where my parachute doesn't work and I get caught on the wing of the airplane and die some horrible death. Yip. That's what worries. Oh, and telling my real weight.

Open Letter to my former classmate who borrowed my book...

Dear former classmate who borrowed my book,

I know that Principles and Practice of Sex Therapy, Third Edition (Hardcover)
by Sandra R. Leiblum (Editor), Raymond C. Rosen (Editor) is a fascinating read. There are even portions in there about body work therapy, which is basically having sex with a person whose job is having sex with people to figure out their hangups. (Remember talking about how this was prostitution?)

I hope that the 15 calendar months and the $80 you saved by borrowing my book have afforded you the opportutiny to peruse the text at leisure. However, regardless of your circumstances and past promises to return it, I really meant my email that I just sent. I really don't want my book moving to California. And despite the juicy chapters on Body Work Therapy, you'll have to get your kicks and giggles by reading other sex therapy books. Try the anatomy one, it's got pictures. Up close ones.

Sincerely,
ME

Theology

My friend Josh L. sent this my way:



This is what happens when you frustrate people for 5 whole years while they study psychology and theology.

Neurotica

Breaking up is hard to do...

I've been cleaning all day. I'm not done yet. Not just a dust here, a vaccuum there type of clean. Nope, I've cleaned the cat's bathroom up and in and out (BLEGH!). Rearranged our linens and towels. Organized our extra paper products. Organized the bathroom cabinet under the sink. Finished unpacking from our trip. Cleaned the oven. All that jazz.

I even cleaned the top of the fridge, where no one in our family is tall enough to see, anyway. But, good thing because my parents are coming to visit in a week or so and my dad's tall enough.

I was so in a cleaning frenzy that I sent hubby back out when he got home from work. Don't feel sorry for him. The laptop, free wireless, and a I-C Honeydew Green Tea at Panera Bread isn't a bad gig on a Friday night, even if you're alone.

Around 8pm tonight I finally took a shower so I could go out and buy a few things I needed at K-Mart. (Bah on you, Wal-Mart). I always like to play a game in my head about what the cashier thinks is going on based on my items. I purchased: Two boxes of tissue, a Rubbermaid Storage Bin, a bottle of shiraz, and a wedding card. I would have guessed that I was anticipating a drunken night of tearfully packing up an old boyfriend's mementos before going to his wedding.

But really, we were out of tissues, I needed a drink to finish cleaning, and the cats are in need of a new litterbox and I'm trying something new for that. Oh, and we're going to a wedding tomorrow, but it in no way involves an ex boyfriend. So, there, cashier boy.

Something rose in me that felt exactly like grief, that throat-closing, heavy longing for the irretrievably lost.

Grief, when it comes, is nothing we expect it to be. Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life. –Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

It's a phone call that you hope never to receive from a friend, especially not on the way to the rehearsal dinner for your own brother's wedding. Phone rings. You answer. Friend, T, crying. You ask what's wrong. "Nicole, S killed himself." S is her older brother, the same age as yours. What do you say to that? "I'm so sorry," I say. We've had the conversation about what this day would look like, God forbid it to come. It plays out nothing like expected.

He did it at my parents house. Why didn't he call me? I told him to call me. He didn't even say goodbye. My dad found him.

I'm so sorry. I love you.

I shouted that he needed help. No one wanted to listen, they wanted to stay in their denial. What kind of therapist am I if I can't help my own family? How can I go back to work.

I wish I could be there to be with you. You live so far away.. Your family lives so far away.. Do you need anything?

I wish you could be here, too. Sigh, why?

I don't know.

There's nothing left to say, T is clearly in shock, repeating herself. Bereft and exhausted, 12 hours after she first found out, thousands of miles away from her family. I hang up the phone. Part relieved that I get to escape from the grief by closing my cell phone, part annoyed that I must stand between my friend's utter loss and my own family's joy at my brother's rehearsal and wedding, part knowing that the overwhelming grief of my friend is chasing me in the down times, when I try to sleep, when I escape to sit, when I think of something that isn't immediate and action oriented.

Aware. Aware I'm being selfish. Aware also that I feel joy for my own brother who has managed to elude his depressive pursuer these many years. The last few years of my brother's life have been successful, fulfilling, joyful, and in pursuit of God. His own pursuer of depression, and my own, was never as unforgiving and relentlessly out of control as S's. Our bouts of melancholic sadness contemplated meaning, searched for purpose. S's gave themselves to bipolar excess. His past few years had been full of divorce, and alcohol, hospital visits, and wringing hands by his sister. It all seems very happenstance, much too random a pattern to who overcomes and who is consumed.

The grief continues for T, with the trip home, the funeral later this week. My heart breaks for her and my heart fears what experiencing such grief of my own would be like. Such fears make me caution my brother and sister-in-law to stay together on their honeymoon cruise, being cautious. Such fears make me say an extra "Be Careful" to my husband as he gets into the car. Such fears threaten to make me not live life, to lose my life to fear of loss.

T doesn't have that choice, the loss and hurt have come. I pray for her, although a believer for a few decades, she hasn't mentioned God, and I'm not going to bring up God's place or lack of it in this tragedy. I'm not sure what to pray for her..peace? hope? relief? God help her is about the only thing that seems to fit. Trusting that God knows more than I of what she needs.