The ten year Parent

It’s weird to think that for all of us, the parent that raised us no longer exists

My mom is 84.  She’s been living here for three and a half years.  Having her live with us has been interesting.  At first, she actually lived in our house – we re-did the den to add a larger bathroom and she and my dad moved in.  Shortly afterward, my dad ended up in a nursing home and about a year ago, she moved out to her own apartment, which is behind our house.  My husband built it for her at one end of his workshop.  I think she’s happier there.  She doesn’t have to feel like she’s in our way (even though she wasn’t).  She can eat her own food without feeling we might disapprove of the sugar content.  She can do whatever she wants without worrying about what we will think.  And I guess that includes playing the piano.  My husband frequently hears her sitting at her piano and playing.  I heard her the other day too and I thought, “how cool!”   Growing up, I don’t remember hearing her play much.  There were four of us kids, and I’m sure she didn’t have time to sit down and play much, or she played while we were at school. 

I’ve had conversations with my siblings about our memories of mom.  Each of us has differences based on our ages and how she changed over the years.  I told my sister once that when I was a young parent I felt like a failure because sometimes I would lose my temper and yell at my kids and I have only one memory of my mom ever losing her temper.  My sister is the oldest and is six years older than me.  She couldn’t imagine this version of my mom.  She remembers my mom sometimes losing her temper and yelling.  She remembers my mom making popovers and cooking casseroles for dinners.  I remember none of that.  The mom that I remember was cool and calm, never yelled and never made popovers.  Meat, veg and starch were the meals I remember.  My younger brother remembers frozen pizzas and hot pockets after school and a mom that was more hip and with-it than I remember.  

My mom is much changed from the mom any of us grew up with.  I guess we will all be able to say the same when we are 84.   I have thought a lot about how strange it is to be with this mom, who is so different from the mom I grew up with.   I’ve wondered, when did the change occur?  We haven’t lived in the same city since I was 17.   They moved away while I was a sophomore in college and I stayed here in Fort Worth.    Throughout the years, I would usually only see her a few days a year.  She would come for a visit of a few days at the holidays, and I would go for a visit to her house for a few days for other holidays, seldom more than a few days at a time.  Not enough time to get to know the changes that might have been going on with her that much.  How she might have changed in her viewpoints, her temperament, her beliefs.   Sure, as she has gotten older I’ve seen the physical changes; aging, slowing down, more forgetful, more vulnerable.  But for the most part, in my mind, my idea of her as “mom” was locked in to that person that raised me. 

Until she came here to live.

And I realize that the person I have thought of all these years as “mom”, really doesn’t even exist except in my memories. 

It’s weird to think that for all of us, the parent that raised us no longer exists.  It’s weird to think that my own kids will remember the person I was from the age they had good memory (8 years old?) to when they moved out of our house (18 years old) – maybe ten to twelve years; as their mom. And that woman doesn’t exist.  Sometimes I think back to the person I was ten or fifteen years ago and I barely recognize her myself.  From the time that my kids left home until now, our interactions have been for a few days here, a week there.  Not day-in and day-out.  Not living together and experiencing what is happening to the other, seeing how they live now and how it’s different from then.  We see one another age and evolve, but from a distance, and in short glimpses. It’s kind of sad to me in a way.  The 10-year parent that I gave to my daughter’s memories was not my very best self.  I was a young parent with them, super enthusiastic about being a parent, but a little over-the-top; pretty dogmatic, strict and black and white.  The ten-year parent I gave to my son’s memories was better. I was more chilled out, had a better balance.    If I had been a parent to yet another kid the past ten years, I would have been even better. 

But who am I kidding, I would have been too tired to raise another kid. 

Anyway, it’s an interesting process getting to know a new mom.  Holding her in my heart as that same person I knew then and letting go of that person at the same time. 

This infinitude within people is such a strange and weird contradiction. 

And this infinite contradiction is one we all live with – both with the people we love and within ourselves.  We all feel like we are the same person we have always been.  In so many ways, I feel no different than I did when I was 17 and I wonder how it’s possible I am 53.   But, if I stand away from myself and look at myself – really look – I can see I am nothing like that girl I hold inside.  I am much changed.  I hardly recognize so many of the things I said, and did, and believed.  I regret things that I said and did in the past. I find many things embarrassing and laughable and find that it would be impossible to think and act that way now.   So the girls I’ve been at any age and at all ages add up to the person I am today.  We are all me at the same time.  And who I am today is a breath that will blow away and be gone but will incorporate into someone I am becoming and will be tomorrow.     

I’m sure my mom would say she’s the same person and she’s unchanged from the ten-year mom I remember. 

But it’s not true.

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#metoo - part 6 Why do men feel threatened by women?

"They're afraid women will laugh at them," he said.

A quote by Margaret Atwood:

"Why do men feel  threatened by women?" I asked a male friend of mine. (I love that wonderful rhetorical device, "a male friend of mine." It's often used by female journalists when they want to say something particularly bitchy but don't want to be held responsible  for it themselves. It also lets people know that you do have male friends, that you aren't one of those fire-breathing mythical monsters, The Radical Feminists, who walk around with little pairs of scissors and kick men in the shins if they open doors for you. "A male friend of mine" also gives — let us admit it — a certain weight to the  opinions expressed.) So this male friend of mine, who does by the way exist, conveniently entered into the following dialogue. "I mean," I said, "men are bigger, most of the time, they can run faster, strangle better, and they have on the average a lot more money and power." "They're afraid women will laugh at them," he said. "Undercut their world view."

 Then I asked some women students in a quickie poetry  seminar I was giving, "Why do women feel threatened by men?" "They're afraid of being killed," they said.

Here's a good article:

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2018/may/21/santa-fe-mass-shooting-misogyny#img-1

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My God my God, why have you forsaken me?

In death, God is riven from God’s very self.

“From noon until three in the afternoon darkness came over all the land. About three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eli, Eli,lemasabachthani?” (which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”).

When some of those standing there heard this, they said, “He’s calling Elijah.”

Immediately one of them ran and got a sponge. He filled it with wine vinegar, put it on a staff, and offered it to Jesus to drink. The rest said, “Now leave him alone. Let’s see if Elijah comes to save him.”

And when Jesus had cried out again in a loud voice, he gave up his spirit.”

Elijah didn’t come to save him.  God didn’t come to save him.

It was finished. 

In death.

This is one of the profound elements of the Christian story and one that is overlooked. 

Many people have rejected the idea of a God of life and love due to the tremendous suffering we see all around us.  If there is a loving God, why doesn’t God do something about suffering?  It’s a question we have all heard, or asked, or wondered about.  Maybe we have decided it’s an unanswerable question.  Maybe we have set it aside.  Maybe we have found answers that satisfy us.  Answers like: evil and suffering isn’t from God, but from satan, or from mankind.  Answers like: suffering is due to the falleness of creation.  Answers like:  suffering is what transforms us into the likeness of Christ, therefore it is part of God’s plan.   Answers like: it’s my fault, I didn’t have enough faith. 

But if we are honest, when we are in our darkest hour of pain and suffering, we cry out, “my God, my God WHY have you forsaken me?!”    WHERE IS GOD IN THIS?!?!?   Is God insensitive to my pain?  Does God hear me?  Does God exist? 

Perhaps the answer is not “no, God has not forsaken you.”  But rather, “yes – God has forsaken you.” 

When God forsakes you, God forsakes God’s very self.  

That is one of the profound truths  being revealed in the crucifixion.  In death and in suffering – God forsakes God’s very self.

If God is life and love then every incident of death and evil is God forsaking himself.   Every incident of  pain and suffering is life and love forsaking itself, forsaking you, forsaking all that is life and love.  

But God is not JUST life and light and love because life cannot exist without death.  Death must occur for life to occur and that is the second profound truth in the crucifixion.   Without death there is no life. So in the very nature of life itself, death is built in.  So God is life.  God is death.  And in death, God is riven from God’s very self.   

At the core of God is a forsaking, a giving over to death in order that there may be life.  

“Listen carefully: Unless a grain of wheat is buried in the ground, dead to the world, it is never any more than a grain of wheat. But if it is buried, it sprouts and reproduces itself many times over. In the same way, anyone who holds on to life just as it is destroys that life. But if you let it go, reckless in your love, you’ll have it forever, real and eternal.”  John 12:23-25

“What you sow does not come to life unless it dies.” I Cor 15:36

“If anyone wants to be a follower of mine, let him take up his cross and follow me. Whoever wants to save his life must lose it” Matt 16:24-25

I used to read these types of verses thinking they were about living a life of self-denial and sacrifice.  Now I see them as verses that tell us that life and death are bound up together.  Without death, there is no life.  We see this clearly in nature and accept it readily.  It’s harder when it’s our life and the things or people we love dearly.  

Wherever there is good – evil is right there.

Wherever there is life – death is.

The plant dies to produce the seed.  Plants die as they are eaten as food.  Animals die as they are eaten as food.  Crazy weird beetle larva paralyze their prey and eat them alive.  A parasite called a strepsiptera eats its mother from the inside out to be born.

In death, life springs forth.    

A couple of years ago I was on a silent retreat.  One of the exercises was to write down all the things in my life that had been pivotal, transformational, life changing.  What had made me who I was today?  It was interesting to see that most of them were painful things.  Suffering.  And yet, most of the suffering had produced life in me, growth, goodness. 

In death, life springs forth.

(To comment, click on the title of this post, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”)

Authenticity and Wholeness

No one has it right.

Recently, I heard the remark that many who are leaving evangelical, fundamentalist religion are leaving because today’s generations are looking for more authentic spirituality than former generations.  They are looking for “wholeness rather than holiness.” 

When we use words like “holiness”, we may think that what we mean is obvious and universal.  It’s important to remember that every word is a metaphor and every one of us means something unique – even though we think we are saying the same thing.  

That being said, even with the variation that certainly exists between persons when we use the word “holiness”, it is more than likely a state that just doesn’t exist.   So from that perspective, I can get on board with the notion that it’s a vain pursuit.  

But what about authenticity and wholeness?

Authenticity

I grew up in a very legalistic, but lifeless church tradition - the Church of Christ.  No hand-raising, no clapping, no “amens” from the crowd, DEFINITELY no speaking in tongues or healings – heaven forbid!!!   So, as a young adult, I left to go to a more evangelical church.  It seemed like forward movement.  It seemed more “authentic.”

This new thing I was involved in was full of life and spirit.  People were putting their money where their mouth was.  No more dry, hypocritical lip service to following Jesus.  This was real! People actually sold possessions and goods and gave to those in need like in Acts chapter 2.  There were miracles and healings!!  The spirit was moving!! 

It was Authentic!!

But as time went on, the underbelly was exposed.  It wasn’t as pure and authentic as I had originally supposed.   I moved on to the next, more-authentic thing.  But it wasn’t.  And the next thing wasn’t. …and the next thing…and the next. 

I’m 53.  I am at that age where I can look back and see that many, many things I did seemed authentic, enlightened, and WHOLE at the time, but were in fact, still lacking in many ways. 

Many, MANY things. 

In fact …..  all things.  

And that’s OK.  That’s the journey.  Every step we take in life contains something good and something lacking.  Every move we make is a move away from something and toward something else, only to find out what is missing with this new place.  And hopefully, we move one step further.    We never arrive at this so-called authenticity.

In fact, what’s actually authentic is the fact that everything we do is lacking. 

EVERYTHING

Wholeness

Wholeness is not an individual endeavor.  I cannot be whole and be separate from my fellow man.  Your pain is my pain.  Your joy is my joy.  Your mistakes are my mistakes.  Your victories are mine as well.  We are one body. 

Much of the new progressive, emerging church is getting this right where the marginalized are concerned.  Churches and non-church communities are opening and welcoming the outcast, the LGBTQ community, the racially and socio-economically marginalized, the foreigner, the refugee, and other religions. 

But what about those abusive evangelicals?  The conservatives?  The group(s) the new progressives have left behind?  What about them? Do we continue our welcome to even them?  Those that we deemed unworthy and inferior as we moved on to our more whole and authentic place?

Are we just building a new and in-our-opinion-improved wall?  Rather than shutting out and judging the marginalized and the downtrodden, are we simply changing the drapes to shut out and judge the religious and the conservatives.  

“Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.”

Right?

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve cast my fair share of stones.

Over and over.

It’s human nature.  We NEED that stone-throwing energy to break away and process.  I don’t know about you, but I needed it to break away from the church I grew up in.  I needed it to break away from an emotionally abusive husband.  Without that sense of outrage and indignation, we might just stay stuck.   But once we have left and moved on, let’s not forget the next step.  Forgiveness.  Love. 

Wholeness. 

Remember that when we speak of wholeness, we are not whole until we learn to love everyone.  We have to take down the walls that separate us from not only the marginalized, the oppressed, the sinner, BUT ALSO the obnoxious, the judgmental, the misguided, the religious and the bigot.  

Loving your enemy isn’t easy.

So, don’t kid yourself into thinking you’ve finally got it right and are doing something authentic and whole.

 No one has it right.

Real authenticity and wholeness is the acknowledgement that we are no more authentic and whole than anyone else out there.  We are all imperfect and just muddling through.  We are all one body.  The hand can’t say to the foot ‘I don’t need you’. 

“Let him to thinks he stands, take heed lest he fall.” 

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Pro Death

Everything is permissible

Egos like to create binaries.

Binaries make an attempt to simplify things. They help us make sense of our world, they help us feel safe and in control.  They give us a sense that we understand what we are seeing and have things figured out.

Binaries are problematic.

Nothing is a simple as it seems.  We love black and white but the world is full of grey.  We aren’t in control and we don’t have it all figured out. 

Good vs. Evil

Right vs. Wrong

Do we even know the difference?  Are we sure? 

Pro life vs. pro choice.

Death is bound up in life.

A person is born , life springs forth and that person lives a life full of horrible pain, suffering and torment. A hell on earth. 

Life is bound up in death.

A woman ends a pregnancy and grieves.  But, in this act she has unknowingly prevented the life of someone who would have grown up to endure great suffering or to inflict great suffering.   She has prevented a hell on earth. 

Decades ago, in my fundamentalist days, I used to say I was pro-life which meant I was against capital punishment, war and abortion.

But now I realize I'm also pro-death which means that many, many times there are worse things, more evil things than death.

If a person’s life here on earth is hell, I'm against that hell.  Whatever it means to bring heaven  to even one person, for even a moment,  I'm for that.  

For me there are no easy binaries. That's why we must exist in a place of grace rather than law.

Everything is permissible but not everything is beneficial.

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#metoo - part 5 - Narratives

What about just existing in the "I am" space? It feels more free there.

I was recently in a discussion where it was stated that we need a new male narrative in our culture.   This is true.

But it got me thinking about narratives and what my experiences have been with them.   I’ve been thinking about the narratives that were given to me, the narratives I have given myself and continue to give myself.   And I’ve been thinking about the new narratives I need as well. 

An online search says that narratives:

·         Help us to describe and define our identities, values, and relations to the world.

·         Create a sense of order and expectations from the overwhelming data of experience; and provide models for solving problems.

·         are the kind of stories a people—a nation, an ethnic or minority group within that nation, a gender, a band of pilgrims—tell about themselves.

And each of us has our own narrator in the brain, providing us with narratives about just about everything we experience; what things are, what they mean, how they measure up, and so on.   These narratives FEEL real and true, but they are simply subjective. 

And regardless of whether they are subjective or not, narratives can be positive or toxic.  They can produce both positive and negative behaviors in individuals and societies.  If my cultural narrative values individuality and achievement and yours values homogeneity and equality, we will have two very different results in both the culture and the individual.  And each of us will feel that our own outcome is superior.

My culture gave me some narratives.  It told me that the sky was the limit, and if I dreamed it, I could do it.  This was the classic “American dream” narrative.   My dad told me I could do anything I set my mind to do.  A similar narrative and one he absolutely believed in. 

The trouble with both of these narratives is that they are just not true.   While I recognize that as a white, upper-middle class female I had more chance of them being true than most – they still were not true.  The narrative told me there were no limits, but there were.  Financial limitations, social limitations, intellectual limitations.  I would have loved to have been a quantum physicist, but no matter how hard I try, I just don’t have THAT type of a brain.

I passed the “you can be anything you want to be” narrative on to my kids.  When my son was two or three, we were driving and he began to cry suddenly and inconsolably from his car seat in the back.  I asked him what was wrong and he said, “I’ll NEVER be a bird!!!”  I was confused at first, then realized that he had just realized that the "you can be anything you want to be" narrative I had given him just was not true.  No matter how hard he tried in life, he would never be a bird; he would always be a human. 

When I was twenty, the narrator in my brain told me I weighed too much.  I weighed 105 pounds and wanted to get back down to 100.  When I was thirty, the same narrator told me I weighed too much.  I weighed 128 pounds and wished I could get down to 110.  When I was forty, the same narrator told me that if could only get down to 125 pounds I would look perfect.  I weighed 135.   And now?  The same narrator tells me that 135 would be perfect.    Clearly the weight narrator has no objective standard. 

With gender narratives, the cultural narrative was confusing and ambiguous for me.  Imagine if it was confusing and ambiguous for a straight, white female, what it must be like for so many others!!!

On the one hand, my culture told me I was equal to men.  But the truth was - I wasn’t. 

Other conflicting narratives were given.  Women should be quiet and gentle.  If not, we are bitches.   We should be smart, but not too smart or we will intimidate men and threaten their egos and perhaps be undesirable to them.    We should pursue our interests, but only if they do not interfere with the interests of others.  We should take care of ourselves, but only after we have taken care of others first.  We should be desirable, but chaste.  We should maintain our bodies so that they are desirable to men, but we should not be a slut.  We are responsible for the sexuality of men.   These narratives came through my family upbringing, my religion and my society. 

Here are some of the words of those narratives that echo in my soul:

·         “Your beauty should …come from the inner disposition of your heart, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is precious in God’s sight.”

·         “No one will buy the cow if the milk is for free”

·         “If you wear that, you are going to cause men to lust.  You will just be asking for it.”

·         “The wife does not have authority over her own body but yields it to her husband.”

·         “Wow, she’s really let herself go.”

·         “Don’t come across too strong, you might want to tone it down a little. “

·         “Stop being so emotional”

·         “If you’re always in the driver’s seat, no one else needs to be.”

·         “If you never say “no” to your husband, he will never have any reason to look elsewhere.”

·         “You are so lucky to have a husband who helps around the house.”

·         “It’s great that you’re dating again, but you don’t want to get a reputation as a slut.”

·         “Now that you’re single again, you need to work on your body.”

·         “Smile!”

There is a great twitter feed called @manwhohasitall .   In it, narratives are flipped to point out just how alarming or ridiculous many of them are.  Here are some examples:

·         “MEN!  Accentuate parts of your body you like, e.g. nice face , to draw attention away from the problem areas.

·         “My boss respects men.  She thinks they are every bit as equal as women.  She’s great.  I’m so lucky”

·         “The word sportswomanship is obviously gender-neutral and covers both women and men.  The world has way too many problems to be offended by language”

·         “MEN!  If you speak up in a meeting and want to be taken seriously, wear a neat hairstyle, a bold color close to your face and don’t forget to lean in.”

·         “To all smart men.  Don’t act dumb around women!  It’s OKAY to be a man and be smart.  Some women actually find it attractive. “

·         “PRO TIP:  If you struggle to get your wife to do her share of the childcare, it could be that you use the wrong tone of voice or you criticize too much.”

·         “Talking to men is a minefield.  You have to avoid touching them, even the young and handsome ones.  Have I got that right?”

·         “I actually don’t mind looking after the kids for an hour or so for my husband.”

·         “Can sports provide a way for boys to see their bodies as powerful rather than flawed?” 

You get the point and it’s a point well made.  Check out his twitter feed or his book. 

Of course these have all been examples of where narratives are untrue and damaging, but narratives aren’t all bad.  

If we give our children a strong narrative about who they are, where they come from and where they are going, that’s important.  If we give one another strong, positive narratives about who we are – that’s huge. 

But even positive narratives contain within themselves the ability for great harm.  The American dream narrative may inspire a person to rise up and make something more of their life, but it also led to manifest destiny and genocide, to the raping of the environment, and to any number of crimes against humanity based on greed.  It can lead to shame and despair for those who believe it is true and just cannot seem to make it happen in their own lives.

So to return to the idea I mentioned at the beginning of this post of a “new male narrative”, in the discussion about this “new male narrative” and what it should be, someone mentioned that Jesus was the ultimate human and did not have a male or female narrative and perhaps this should be the goal instead. 

Immediately, there was a defensive reaction from some who stated we shouldn’t be trying to do away with our male and female differences.   We need strong positive narratives for whatever gender role we identify with.

And I agree.   We shouldn’t try to do away with whatever gender identity we have, and for that we may need positive and life-giving narratives.

And yet, for me, where a gender narrative is concerned, I have difficulty with it.  I personally, don’t want a narrative that is about my female-ness.  I mistrust narratives.  They have not served me well.   I don’t like the way it feels to have a specific narrative for any of the categories and labels that might be attached to me;  female, heterosexual, mom, introverted, sister, scientist, wife, INTJ, Enneagram 5.  I don’t want to be known as a set of categories or narratives, regardless of how positive they may be.   I want to be known as me, Heather.  Not as a narrative.  I want to learn how to move through the world as me, Heather, rather than based on narratives that come from without or within.   

And even that is impossible.  Who is Heather?  She isn’t the same today as yesterday and will not be the same today as tomorrow.

So is an authentic and non-limiting narrative possible?

In our discussion, someone said that the true human narrative, the real non-limiting narrative is the Christ narrative.     Even though Jesus was male and thus had male differences, and probably male narratives, the CHRIST was a different thing and was the ultimate narrative.  

So I’ve been thinking that over.  Is the Christ consciousness the true narrative? 

The Christ consciousness is neither male nor female, neither slave nor free, neither Jew nor Gentile. 

The Christ consciousness was in the beginning and was called the “word” or more literally, the” logos”, the logic, the story, or we could say, the “narrative”. 

The Christ consciousness is the “I am”, which is a great narrative.  Since who we are yesterday is different than who we are now, and who we are now is different than who we will be in the future, the only thing we ever really are who we are at this moment.  The “I am”. 

Those things that make us "male" or "female"; "masculine" or "feminine" are not the Christ consciousness.  They are culture, and biology, and preference, and inclination, and socialization and power structures, systems of meaning and narratives.

As humans, we over-identify with things of the ego, of the flesh, of this world.  We over-identify with our emotions, our thoughts, our bodies, our past, our future, our experiences, and our narratives.   

So it seems to me that perhaps the Christ consciousness is that part of me that transcends all of that.  It is that part of me that is neither male nor female, mom nor child, old nor young, introvert nor extrovert.  It seems to me that it is simply ego that causes me to need to defend my masculinity or femininity or come up with narratives.  What about just stepping outside all that?  What about just opting out of a narrative altogether and just existing in the "I am" space?  

It feels more free there .

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Weeds

‘Do you want us to go and pull them up?’

 “‘No,’ he answered, ‘because while you are pulling the weeds, you may uproot the wheat with them. 

Parsnips

I garden.  This year for the first time, I planted parsnips.  I love parsnips.  They are sweet and good for you, and I was really looking forward to growing them. 

In the row where they were planted, some little green plants emerged.  But they didn’t look like I expected.  I thought a parsnip seedling would look a lot like a carrot.  These looked like a weed.  Could they be parsnips?  Should I pull them up, or leave them alone? 

So, of course, as anyone would I googled pictures of parsnip seedlings. 

Similar.  

But I also have this weed that comes up everywhere that looks a lot like that parsnip.  What to do? 

So, I left them. 

And waited.

Turns out they were weeds and my parsnips never sprouted.  

But I thought about the parsnips and how that’s so much like life.  Something arises in life, a circumstance, an opportunity, a hardship.  Something arises in our children, an attitude, an ambition, a behavior.  Something arises in our loved one, a discontentedness, a restlessness, a sadness.  Something arises inside ourselves; an uncertainty, a sorrow, a fear.  

And we are terrified.  We scramble to pluck it, fix it, medicate it, smooth it over.  

It's so hard to just let it sit, let it grow, and see if it’s a parsnip.

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Darkness is light

"For darkness is as light to you."

In church, we sing about the light, the glory, the beauty, the majesty.  And we feel lifted up.    

We pray for blessings and strength, peace and happiness. And we feel hope.

And when those prayers are answered we are grateful.

Whether we intend it or not, our hearts build up walls within and without.  We develop judgments and categories.  Light =  good.  Darkness = bad.  Strength = good.  Weakness = bad.  Peace = good.  Chaos = bad. 

We forget that light and darkness are bound up together.  Death and life.  Heaven and hell. 

From the darkness under the soil, a seed sprouts and pushes into the light. 

From the darkness of the womb and through pain and blood, life emerges.

The chaos and terror of an electrical storm sets a forest ablaze and some seeds are released from their dormancy to life.

The universe is full of light and beauty. 

And darkness and chaos.

And it’s all wonderful, and awful at the same time.

But we proceed as though only some parts of us, or the earth, or of others are worthy;   the good parts, the strong parts, the useful parts, the beautiful parts.

In doing this we create a separation within ourselves, within the creation and within our relationships with others. 

This separation needs to be reconciled.  We need a reconciling embrace with ourselves, with the nations, and with all species of the earth, an embrace that opens wide to the darkness in ourselves, others and the earth. 

A welcome for the unclean, and even for death in order to learn it is at the heart of life.

Where can I go from your Spirit?

Where can I flee from your presence?

If I go up to the heavens, you are there;

if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.

……….

If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me

and the light become night around me,”

even the darkness will not be dark to you;

the night will shine like the day,

for darkness is as light to you.

(To comment, click on header of this post “Darkness is Light)

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#Metoo - part 4

What if you're big enough to fight off the ass-grabber?

Stan is a middle aged guy who grew up in the days when high school hallways and high school dances were filled with guys grabbing and pinching girl's asses.  I grew up in those days too.   We didn't know any better and thought that to be objectified and assaulted was a compliment and was normal.   In those days an ass-grab was a badge of honor.  It meant a guy liked you.  Kind of like when, in kindergarten, a boy who liked you hit you and ran away.  

Stan had this to say, "I think this whole thing has just gone too far.  I mean, I agree that a guy taking his dick out, or raping a girl is definitely sexual assault, but a lot of the stuff women are getting upset about is not sexual assault.  I mean, if a guy grabs a woman’s ass, it used to be OK.  It used to be a compliment.  I get that the rules have changed and now it's considered rude, but it’s not sexual assault."

I asked Stan, "So, if a grown man pinched your eight year old daughter’s ass, is it sexual assault?"

"Not the same thing!" Stan objected

But I asked Stan, why it's different -  just because one is an adult and one is a child.  Does it change the nature of the behavior?

Stan argued that yes, it WAS different.  It was different because a child cannot defend themselves.  Children are vulnerable and defenseless, whereas a woman can fight back, which made his viewpoint much like Jim's in #metoo part 1.  He was saying that the woman did not have to consent prior to the ass-grabbing, so long as she was able to fend off the ass-grabber after the fact.   In other words, a child is too defenseless and vulnerable to consent and an adult woman need not consent because she is not defenseless.  

I asked Stan, " so, if the kid is the same size and strength as the adult and can hold their own with the adult, then it’s OK for the adult to grab the kid’s ass?   It’s a matter of being an equal physical match up?  It’s a matter of being able to defend themselves adequately?" 

I also asked Stan "if a guy who was your same size, who you could have a fair-fight with, grabs your ass, is that OK with you?"

It was interesting to me that Stan was quite clear that ass-grabbing is off-limits with children and among men, regardless of size or strength .....but not with women. 

(To comment, click on header)

Must I objectify to love?

“Yes, Lord,” he said, “you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Feed my lambs.”

This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers and sisters. If anyone has material possessions and sees a brother or sister in need but has no pity on them, how can the love of God be in that person? Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth.

Must we objectify someone or something in order to love it?

Can we love without action?

Can we love from afar?

If love is an emotion, must it have an object to attach itself to?

When love is just an emotion, just what exactly are we loving anyway?  When we feel an emotional feeling of love or charity toward someone, we are simply loving our concept of them. Unless we are talking about our emotional reaction to the way they look, we aren’t loving the actual, concrete being. We are loving all the mental and emotional concepts and definitions we have attached to them.  We are loving the object we created in our own mind.  This creation of ours may or may not be them at all.  We could have them all wrong.  In this way, people are not objects that can ever be fully known.  They are infinite with infinite depths and cannot be pinned down so easily.  Thus, we may be loving someone that doesn’t even really exist. 

And so it is with love for God.

So if by objectifying others, or God, I end up loving something that may not even exist, how then do I love?

When they had finished eating, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?”

“Yes, Lord,” he said, “you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Feed my lambs.”

Again Jesus said, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”

He answered, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Take care of my sheep.”

 You might think at first glance that the simple equation is that love is a verb that requires an object to give to.  However, love can only truly occur when it is a verb applied to a non-object.  When it is  given freely in action form to another person without making assumptions about who that person is or what they will do with our gift.  Without objectifying.   

Feed his lambs. 

Who are they?

How can we know?

Are we feeding a lamb?

A sinner?

Someone blameless?

Someone trustworthy?

A con artist?

A devil?

An angel? 

God?

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