Stay tuned. I’m writing a post about this. Or trying to. There are reasons why I haven’t talked more about this lately. And if I have talked, to be honest, I’ve talked around many things. But now that some time has gone by, I feel that I can share more freely. It’s complicated and I really have to figure out a way to de-complicate the story in order to tell it. I have to pare it down to its essentials.
Which is kind of a laughable notion, but nonetheless, I will try.
There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket — safe, dark, motionless, airless — it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell. I believe that the most lawless and inordinate loves are less contrary to God’s will than a self-invited and self-protective lovelessness … We shall draw nearer to God, not by trying to avoid the sufferings inherent in all loves, but by accepting them and offering them to Him; throwing away all defensive armour. If our hearts need to be broken, and if He chooses this as a way in which they should break, so be it. What I know about love and believe about love and giving one’s heart began in this.
C.S. Lewis
I saw something miraculous at Maybe Church yesterday: a moment of genuine transparency.
Before the sermon, a man and woman got up to share about their life.
Honestly share.
They shared that their present life is ravaged and ripped up and strained to the breaking point. Before the whole church, they shared this. It wasn’t self-pitying or melodramatic. It was just the simple, humble truth of where they’re at. The courage that took — I couldn’t even take it all in. And, actually, the man shared much more than the woman. I mention this only because I think it could be fairly easy for a man to abdicate, for lack of a better word, the emotional “work” of that moment to a woman, but he didn’t do that. He spoke. Simple, straightforward honesty.
And I held my breath. It brought me to tears. Plus, it WAS church and, let’s face it, that’s all I do there anymore.
I really think it was an act of heroic transparency.
It mattered to me and impacted me much more than the sermon that followed.
Maybe it’s because we feel so raw. Because, though our circumstances are different from theirs, we’ve also come to understand, over the last few years, what a ravaged life looks like and feels like. Being on the brink. On the edge. And finally falling off.
Starting over.
Completely.
And the shame. The suffocating shame of it all. It’s hard to dig out from under that mountain. I’m not sure I have. I think I’m just lying there. I can hide and it’s warm, you know, buried under the mountain.
I look around this new place we live in and see the boxes I still can’t unpack. I mean, for God’s sake, we lost our home in January, and here we are, still with unopened boxes. Part of me just can’t accept this new place, so I can’t bring myself to unpack them. Well, okay, I have neatly stacked them in every closet we have, so they’re hidden from general view, but they’re there every time I open those doors. And, you know, I think maybe I will just stop opening those doors. Who needs to open closets anyway? It’s as if I can’t quite commit to this alien reality yet. This new lesser life that came in no small part from the hands of a fellow Christian. Some form of major denial lingers. And a bit of paralysis.
I know I still reel inside a bit from the fact that some immediate family members just never responded when we finally told them we’d lost the place — after we’d lost the place and moved out. Honestly, I look back now with regret that I ever told them. I mean, I knew exactly what would happen, that’s why I waited so long — and I was right, sadly — but I still went right ahead and shared. And when I say they said nothing, I don’t mean they said nothing of consequence or nothing I really remember. No. I mean it literally: They said nothing. They continue to say nothing. The situation doesn’t …. exist to them. Same response with our infertility. Certain family members, once they were eventually told, just shrugged a collective shrug and never mentioned or inquired about it again. Anything with the slightest whiff of shame is silenced. There have been one or two shining moments of acknowledgment but that’s generally the family dynamic — and it’s an ongoing struggle with forgiveness that I’m mostly losing, really.
When your reality is denied long enough and often enough by people who really matter to you, you start to question your own sanity. Maybe you’re just nuts. Maybe you’re just imagining things. I mean, if your reality isn’t seen or acknowledged by anyone outside your reality, is your reality real?
I blather on about all that for a reason and that’s this: that at one point, when this couple started to share about how the church had upheld them and encouraged them and tangibly helped them, it was beyond comprehension to me. Literally. Warm hands of Christian compassion and fellowship touching their lives? From people in the church too? Uhm, what’s that? Is there such a thing anymore? No. No, it was like hearing a foreign language. Or tales of mythical lands and magical creatures. You want to believe these things exist, but you don’t see them in your life; you haven’t encountered these magical creatures. They sound lovely, they do, and how nice would that be, but …… no. The cold Christian hands that have touched your life for too long now have been hands of violation and destruction. Maybe once, long ago, one or two of these creatures crossed your path, but that was so very long ago and the desert since then has seemed searing and endless.
I really hope to encounter these magical creatures one day, though I don’t hold my breath for it anymore.
But yesterday …. yesterday, the miracle was transparency.
I saw it with my very own near-sighted eyes. It was blurry, but I saw it. THAT does exist.
And, you know, that’s not nothing.
A final note: If you wouldn’t mind, pippa, please add this family I just mentioned to your prayers, too. There are child safety/custody issues, daunting legal issues, job issues, everything. It’s mind-boggling, their burdens right now. Thank you. Uhm, again.
What I’m about to do, about to ask, I do with the permission of the person involved.
Most of you know our beloved Sheila. I’ve known her through our blogs and through our probably thousands of emails for — what? — four years now? Four years ago we stumbled across each other’s blogs — I found her, she found my drama camp posts, hahaha — and I thank GOD regularly that I know her. The impact of her in my life has been profound and true and deep, even though we’ve never met. She’s the real deal. A true blue person and the dearest friend. She’s seen me through some horrible times and I only ever want to do the same for her.
So, pippa. Our dear Sheila needs some prayer right now. She’s going through a personal hell and, no, I’m not going to divulge the details. (I will say, so that people don’t get scared, it’s not a physical/health-related issue.)
Beyond that, I think it’s enough to tell you that she needs people of prayer lifting her up.
So here’s what I’m asking:
~ That people set aside a commitment of time to pray specifically for her. You don’t need details. God knows what they are better than any of us. I’m not going to dictate what that time frame should be; people have different constraints on their time. But I’d like for people to say, “I will give this day as a day of prayer for Sheila” or “I will give this week as a week of prayer for Sheila.” Do it in your mind, your heart. I’m not asking you to say that in the comments — unless you want to. I’m asking for a commitment, yes, beyond one short prayer. Let’s give Sheila who gives so much — as you know if you read her blog — some concentrated time and effort back in her direction.
~ Also, this is key. PLEASE do not send emails to Sheila. If you want to communicate with her about this, please do so only in the comment thread here. I know you — you dear people — and know, of course, that your emails would be well-meaning, but it could just be something that’s too overwhelming right now. Let’s not place a burden on her to respond to individual emails. So, PLEASE, again — I ask with everything that’s in me — do not email her about this.
~ Of course, feel free to share your sentiments with her here. That would certainly be welcome.
~ If you’re willing and able to commit to this, please let her know that, too, in the comments. Again, you don’t need to state what your time frame will be unless you choose to do so. Just voicing your personal commitment to prayer will be meaningful.
~ That being said, I know I have readers out there who are more comfortable not commenting and who may very well commit privately to do this. That’s perfectly fine. Please don’t feel pressured to comment if it makes you uncomfortable. Public or private, the commitment is the same and equally valid.
Thank you in advance for your prayers, dear pippa.
(Read the post below this one first or this might not make sense. Also, this post contains, well, spoilers about that post. Read it first.)
So, L.
An email AND a comment today?
Which — please allow me to explain — went into moderation, a kind of holding pen, waiting my approval because you’ve never commented here before. That happens to every person who comments for the first time, so no, it wasn’t something I deliberately did to upset you. I just need to correct that assumption.
And I won’t be approving your comment, sir, but I will address it — and your email, since they said the same thing. I can only assume you really wanted me to get the message.
All right.
You’re upset with me, again. This time because I used the word b-i-t-c-h in this post.
“That’s not a word for a proper Christian lady to use,” you said.
“It doesn’t help your witness,” you said.
“You are dishonoring God,” you said.
Honestly, I don’t know how much more breath I can expel in sighs and still have breath left to breathe.
You know, L, writers write. If we accept that as true, then I’m a writer. I actually have a compulsion to write, a need to write. One of the things I do on this blog is tell stories — stories from my life. When I do that, I try to be as truthful as memory allows, understanding that that lens is always a bit clouded in all of us.
I’m sorry it offends you, but that word is key to the story. It’s key in my memory. It was said. It’s there. The story loses something vital without that word. As I said, I like to be as truthful as possible in these stories, and sometimes — I hope you can agree — the truth of the human condition is just not pretty. Frankly, at the risk of offending you further, I don’t think my mom was wrong in calling her that. If THAT woman doesn’t fit the definition of that word, I don’t know who does. It’s actually mild in my estimation.
As far as using it in the story, well, I chose not to sugarcoat it. I choose not to sterilize my memories here because, well, I don’t live on Sesame Street. This blog is not the Mickey Mouse club. Should I have written, “You …. nincompoop”? “You goober”? “You not very nice person”?
Believe it or not, L, I don’t sit down to write a post thinking, “Hm. How can I offend L today?” I don’t set out to offend anyone, actually, with what I write. I AM careful even though you can’t see it. The processes of my mind are not visible to anyone, but I know what I go through when I write a post and I know the kinds of choices I make. I do try to be mindful of my audience.
Uhm, okay. You know, I’m trying to maintain control of myself here and it’s hard. I’m coming back to this later. I’m not calm enough.
All right. It’s later and I’m somewhat calmer.
So, L, again, I have to say: I don’t know why you continue to read this blog when it’s such an affront to you. It’s silly to you; it’s offensive to you; I’m not a proper Christian woman. I mean, WHY read??
But you know what, L?
I’m offended, too.
I’m offended that you can’t seem to see the forest for the trees. That you seem to regularly — and completely — misunderstand me and this blog. That you and I seem to speak totally different languages — but yours is the only correct one. That you seem to have missed the ENTIRE point of a post that I ripped my guts up to write. It’s not about a single word. It’s about much more than that. It cost me something to write that and it pains me that it was lost on you. All for one little word.
I strive for transparency here. It’s one of the few places in my life where I feel I can even begin to touch that. I understand, though, that some people don’t respect that. And that some people are uncomfortable with that. And that some people are blatantly hostile towards that. The other thing I find — strange to me — is that those people are generally my fellow Christians. Why is that, I wonder? Why is it such a problem? Such a threat? All I can say is that the transparency of heaven is gonna really chap some hides.
I’m not quite sure why, L, but you seem to have me in your crosshairs. You seem to feel that you need to scold me, set me straight. It’s an ongoing problem I have on this blog and it usually happens with men. Of a certain age. And I have to tell you: All the scolding in the world probably won’t conform me to the proper Christian lady you need me to be. How successful are you in general scolding strangers about their lives? Has this worked for you in the past? This approach baffles me. (But I’m baffled by everyone’s approach these days.) And I’m not quite sure WHAT you want me to fix or change. Maybe you could just pray for me. Entrust me to the Holy Spirit. May I gently suggest I need to become more like Jesus, not more like you.
As far as my witness, sure. It needs help. Always. Always. My Christianity is crooked and broken and I walk with a limp down a sometimes meandering road. That about sums it up. I really don’t try to represent my Christianity or the Christian life on this blog as anything different from that. Again, it’s not Sesame Street. I’m sorry that I’m not together enough for you or that I don’t behave well enough for you. For me, that’s not the sum total of Christianity. Behaving just so. Perhaps we simply see faith and the Christian life differently. Actually, I’m quite sure we do.
Look. I’m just tired, L. Tired of explaining myself and having it basically fall on deaf ears. So I feel it only fair to warn you that any comment from you in the future will disappear into the ether before I even see it and I will be setting up a filter, if possible, on my inbox so that I don’t receive your emails. I can’t stop you from reading this blog. Only you can decide to stop what just looks like masochism to me. But as much as is in my power, I can stop you from communicating with me.
Because I don’t think we have anything more to say to each other. Or, rather, I choose not to have anything more to say to you. I don’t want to commit any more mental or emotional energy to this.
Honestly …… honestly ….. I’m dealing with enough on the Christian front these days.
A lovely reader of this blog sent me an email telling me she’d sent a note to Dennis Rainey based on the radio spot discussed here. She included the note she’d sent him and I’ve asked and received her permission to post it on the blog anonymously.
Two things strike me about it: First, it’s the measured, reasonable, gracious response I would have had if I were a — well, you know — measured, reasonable, gracious person. Basically, after reading it, I thought to myself, “Wow. Hm. I wish I’d written THAT instead.”
Second, that this lovely reader — a woman with many children herself — actually took the time to write this on behalf of childless couples everywhere. I teared up, I was so touched by that. So, to her, again, I say thank you — and thank you for letting me post this.
Here’s her letter:
Mr. Rainey,
Some topics are too wide, too deep, too important to be used
in a 90 second radio spot. This was one of them. Since when has it been right for anyone to comment on the number of children, the lack of children, the spacing of children, etc. in casual social environments? Sometimes, it is right to speak of such things…with close friends or when seeking counsel regarding a decision. Bringing it up to an anonymous radio with the obvious attempt to CONVICT people of some sin in their attitudes/thoughts/actions regarding children was inappropriate. I feel strongly about this, even though I am one who has been given a very full quiver. My convictions before God do not give me the right to try and convict everyone to believe the same way. Even in salvation, I can only share my beliefs and ask God to convict. Why can’t we extend the same grace of letting God do the convicting in areas of Christian liberty while we love and cherish, rejoice with, cry with, uphold each other in prayer? In short, the church needs to practice the “one anothers” and let the Holy Spirit do the convicting of actual SIN. God is more “big” on whether or not we are conformed to the image of His son, in whatever our circumstances, than than He is “big” on kids. I think you owe your listening audience an apology.
Yes. I still think that too.
A great letter. I’m just so touched.
The following is a transcript of a spot I heard on the radio the other day, not a Christian radio station, but, yes, a more conservative radio station that has basically one talk show that I can tolerate, that isn’t too shrill or positional or self-righteous.
This was during the commercial break, a moment called “Family Life Today” or something, hosted by self-satisfied Christian author, Dennis Rainey. Hm. How to describe him? I mean, beyond “self-satisfied”? Okay. Well, if you know who James Dobson is, this guy is a James Dobson Lite or James Dobson wannabe. I’m not a fan, although I probably have a Bible study or book of his lying around the house simply because someone else gave it to me.
Still, I listened to this spot and could not believe what I was hearing. I was so enraged by the whole thing, I sent Mr. Rainey an email, which I’ve included at the bottom here. Yes, I dashed it off impulsively and probably should have calmed down some before I sent it, but, well, I just didn’t. Honestly, I think the man needs to be taken to task for this. Just not okay, in my opinion. And I really don’t care who you are in the “Christian community” or how impressed I’m supposed to be by your credentials, gracelessness is gracelessness.
Here’s the transcript — my email follows:
Dennis Rainey: You know, we hear a lot of negative things about children today. But are they really so bad?
Guest: When my wife and I first married, we had decided we wanted one child. That was it. No more. And as we pressed into God and came alive to Him, we realized He wanted more children for us, and that was a HUGE step of faith for us…to move forward on having more children. And we did, and it’s been great!
Dennis Rainey: A few years back, the Dallas Morning News ran an essay contest on “Why You Have Chosen To Have Kids.†It ran a separate contest for those who had chosen not to have kids. The winning couple, with five children, was awarded a night out at one of Dallas’s finest restaurants. They even gave them a babysitter. I’m sure they had one of the best evenings of their lives.
Then there was the couple who had chosen not to have kids. The Dallas Morning News had a picture of them …with their cats! They felt like cats were easier to raise than children. Know what their prize was? It was an evening out … at a family restaurant! Talk about justice!
One final thought. Did you know that God is all about children? He loves children. In fact, the question is, how many children does He want you to have?
I’m Dennis Rainey and I’m big on children, too.
*********
Mr. Rainey,
I heard this on the radio today and had to come look at the transcript because I simply could not believe my ears. My husband and I do not have children — no, we’ve suffered through years of infertility instead — and have encountered almost nothing but this kind of prejudice from within the church.
The Church.
Christ’s hands on earth.
The same hands that have ostracized and judged us, just as you have judged couples who have chosen not to have kids. Yes, there are couples childless by choice and couples childless not by choice and those circumstances are certainly different, but the love and acceptance extended from the church to both kinds of couples should be no different. Who are we to know why, precisely, a couple has chosen not to have children? Who are we to judge that particular choice? It’s not immoral. It’s not “wrong.” It’s not a sin.
But this, this takes the cake:
/Know what their prize was? It was an evening out … at a family restaurant! Talk about justice!/
Justice? What does justice have to do with it, Mr. Rainey? Have these couples committed some wrong that needs to be redressed? Tell me, what crime are they guilty of? Isn’t “justice” something set aside for wrongdoers? I am gobsmacked at the judgment in this one short spot — and in the obvious relish taken in rendering it.
/Did you know that God is all about children?/
Really? That’s interesting. The God I know is all about grace. If he’s “all about children,” does that mean I can kiss heaven goodbye?
/The question is, how many children does He want you to have?/
No, Mr. Rainey. Based on this spot, I think the question is: How many childless couples’ hearts do you want to break and judge in one 90-second spot?
Oh, God. Save us from your people.
Mr. Rainey, this is one of the most profound moments of “ungrace” I have ever encountered in the body of Christ, and, believe me, as a childless Christian woman, I have encountered plenty.
You brought me to tears. And not in a good way.
