Jackals and Wilderness and Angels and Water August 18, 2009

I find it funny how God speaks by throwing books at me from any one of the various shelves in the house. I have re-shelved this paperback time and again; only to find myself daily tripping over it, daily thinking “I thought I put that back where it belongs…”, and daily needing it.

I have another post stemming from the same book as an earlier posting – Gilead by Marilynne Robinson.

“The story of Hagar & Ishmael came to mind while I was praying this morning, and I found a great assurance in it. The story says that it is not only the father of a child who cares for its life, who protects its mother, and it says that even if the mother can’t find a way to provide for it, or herself, provision will be made. At that level it is a story full of comfort. That is how life goes – we send our children into the wilderness. Some of them on the day they are born, it seems, for all the help we can give them. Some of them seem to be a kind of wilderness unto themselves. But there must be angels there, too, and springs of water. Even that wilderness, the very habitation of jackals, is the Lord’s. I need to bear this in mind.”

I’m pretty sure that my wilderness (for now) is a failed marriage and looming divorce. While I am an immensely private person, a lot has happened in the past two years that has caused my private life to be put on display. Therefore, no more pretending. I have no interest in giving a negative impression of anyone I’m associated with, and I don’t feel the need to tell you the details; only to share what I have learned.

While the church excels at a lot, divorce is one giant black/white/gray area where everyone has a different opinion. I’ve heard interpretations of the Bible that both credit and discredit the act of divorce. From me you will get no definitive statement either way; I’m too busy trying to find that spring of water (or at least a cup) and avoid the jackal.

My family is from a stricter denomination than the one I work for. Divorce is of the devil, and divorcees are shunned (even though you “hate the sin, love the sinner”).

After 28 looooong but short years of divorce rhetoric being tossed around, I find myself at a place I somewhat saw coming but thought I could prevent: a failed marriage + strict theological upbringing = HELP!

Enter my professional (Christian) counselor, who I’ve been seeing for two years now. In my last session we wrestled with an ongoing topic: my family and the divorce. He surprised me by saying the following (and I’m paraphrasing):

“K-tina, you are 28. Your parents are no longer a spiritual authority over you. Your decision is one you must be at peace about. Scripture says to leave and cleave – you only fulfilled half of that on your wedding day. You left physically, but stayed mentally and emotionally. You must stand for yourself.”

OUCHY OUCH OUCH! That STILL stings and he most definitely won that round. It’s quite the head trip to come to that place in life where you separate from your parents in every aspect. And he’s right – that was meant to be done when I left their home at the tender (DUMB) age of 23. I didn’t realize that in not separating myself from their thought patterns, emotions, and their walk with Jesus as opposed to mine – I had essentially stayed home. I thought all those years that I was an adult – and in reality they still had full control over me.

Now – that piece goes both ways. They kept the control I allowed them to keep. And it’s here that there is a painful breaking away that is taking place. After an exhaustive conversation in which the 3 of us shared our ideas on divorce we are learning to walk that line of Parent & Adult Child.

I don’t have kids (my 3 fur-covered boys in no way count) so I won’t pretend for a second to know what they are going through. I know their hearts are broken from the pain that we’ve all experienced. I know they would do anything in the world to protect me. And it’s here – that place that is motivated from protection that I respect and love them immensely.

However.

We are painfully cutting the cord and I am sitting smack-dab in the middle of the wilderness. And in my wilderness I am learning how to separate myself from unhealthy mindsets, how to stand on my own, how to ask for advice and hear the wisdom amid the emotion. (HARD!) And it’s here that I’ve seen the provision, the angels, I’ve tasted the water and wrestled with God and it has taught me a lot. Every heart-breaking painful moment & every minute in this wasteland is slowly molding me into the woman I need to become.

While there is responsibility to be taken on both of our parts, I’d just like to say from the child perspective, the following passage is true:

“Abraham’s extreme old age is an important element in both stories, not only because he can hardly hope for more children, not only because the children of old age are unspeakably precious, but also, I think, because any father, particularly an old father, must finally give his child up to the wilderness and trust to the providence of God. It seems almost a cruelty for one generation to beget another when parents can secure so little for their children, so little safety, even in the best circumstances. Great faith is required to give the child up, trusting God to honor the parents’ love for him by assuring that there will indeed be angels in that wilderness.”

Mom and dad – (even though you don’t read my blog) thanks for not wanting me to stray near the wasteland or even see the wilderness. You love me and you protected me – but you can let go now. Yes I’m in the wilderness that I originally never knew existed – but never fear –  Me and big Jesus? We’re OK.

Careful, or Else You’ll Step in that Mass of Failure Trailing Behind Me August 5, 2009

Slightly dramatic title, yes, I’m aware. I guess that’s just the mood I’m in.

Several years ago, 4 or 5 now, we started a Book Club at work. It started as a time to read the same book then discuss – and quickly morphed into group-therapy time. We read, eat, laugh, cry, and love one another, as best we can.

We each take a month and pick the book that the group must read. Some I’ve hated. Some I’ve loved. Some have changed my outlook on life, like this one…

Jan picked Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson some time ago. (In a notebook somewhere I have the month and year, I just don’t feel like looking for it right this second.) A passage from that book has stayed with me, since my very first read:

This is an important thing, which I have told many people, and which my father told me, and which his father told him. When you encounter another person, when you have dealings with anyone at all, it is as if a question is being put to you. So you must think, What is the Lord asking of me in this moment, in this situation?  If you confront insult or antagonism, your first impulse will be to respond in kind. But if you think, as it were, This is an emissary sent from the Lord, and some benefit is intended for me, first of all the occasion to demonstrate my faithfulness, the chance to show that I do in some small degree participate in the grace that saved me, you are free to act otherwise than as circumstances would seem to dictate. You are free to act by your own lights. You are freed at the same time of the impulse to hate or resent that person. He would probably laugh at the thought that the Lord sent him to you for your benefit (and his) but that is the perfection of the disguise, his own ignorance of it.

And here is where I feel like I fail, daily.

Just the same as everyone else on planet Earth, I’m in the middle of a couple of situations which are testing my ability to remain calm and Christ-like.

I can freely admit – before these past 2 years, I was a horrible listener. I heard what I wanted to hear, whenever I decided to actually listen. I was usually forming rebuttals in my head, or defending my pride which was usually falling down around me. And, since “hurt people hurt people” – the hurt I was receiving usually went in one ear and came out of my mouth in the form of a sword that cut my opponent to the core. I can cut you with my words and I know it.

The old me used to scream and cry and fight to be heard. Usually, when imploring those methods the very thing I was fighting for I chased away.

Neither of those are communication. They are a hot mess of a girl who was so hurt she couldn’t articulate it, and failed miserably when she tried.

This passage though was a seed that was sown. I began (even then) to see the argument and the opponent differently.

And now, when disagreements come (daily in my world) I do my best to not respond until a few things have been accomplished: 1. I hear their side, clear to the end 2. I put myself in their shoes and try to see what is causing their hurt which is causing their anger 3. I pray before I open my mouth. Now. That typically looks like me just sitting silently – which let me tell you is an act of God to begin with. In my silence I’m not shutting down or checking out – I’m praying. Praying that I hear the criticisms that I need to, that I can start to change whatever needs to be changed, and praying that I won’t use my tongue to cut you from the tip of your head to the bottoms of your toes.

There is one person in particular who is challenging every bit of Jesus in me for the moment. I don’t want to hurt them – and now I look at them and see their selfishness and anger as symptoms of a larger issue. And that doesn’t make me angry – it instead makes me ache for them. But in their pain and selfishness I still have trouble talking to them. So, when it gets to that point where I can’t be trusted to keep my mouth shut, I just don’t talk to them anymore. End the conversation. It’s not safe for either of us if I don’t. In time though, I’m hoping to get to that place where I can live out that paragraph – where when they think back on this discussion they will see Jesus – not me – no matter how riled they get me.

For now, I’m failing. Miserably. I leave tiny little failure footprints all over the various discussions we have.

But, I’m trying my absolute hardest; and hopefully all that trying will one day add up to an ability.

PS: I have the sweetest kitten (Shem) sitting on my lap, who is now laying across the keyboard. Berkley and I say ‘thank you and good night’. sssssdddfffg (that was from him!)