A Naive, Idealistic, White Girl’s Guide to Becoming “Woke”

Posted on by

I often feel that the biggest obstacle to eradicating systemic racism is not the racism itself, but the total obliviousness of so many white Americans. I was certainly oblivious for most of my life, and it is a harsh awakening to realize that the stuff you studied in History class is not history and that the epic battles won in court and on paper do not actually play out that way in real life. It is hard to wrap your head around a whole parallel experience in society that you never really witness first-hand. It is easy to dismiss as individual incidents, anomalies, exceptions because it doesn’t happen where you live, it doesn’t happen to you, and it’s not something people generally discuss in front of you. Rightly so, I’m ashamed to say. I was not a safe person to talk to for most of my life. I didn’t get it.
All that to say, I am encouraged to see more and more people of all generations in white America waking up, opening their ears and eyes, and being able to put aside their own experience to recognize another frame of reference.
“Justice will not be served until those who are unaffected are just as outraged as those who are.” ~Benjamin Franklin
There is a time to get angry. That time is long past due. If you are finding yourself feeling behind on this issue, learn from my experience:

Step 1: Start by eavesdropping. There are so many venues for you to listen to African American voices and educate yourself and move past your defense mechanisms in private before you put your foot in your mouth. Look at social media posts on current events from African American friends or strangers. Read the comments and see the discussion. Watch movies like “Just Mercy”, “13th”, etc. Read biographies. (Just Mercy, The Short and Tragic Life of Robert Peace, The New Jim Crow, Makes Me Wanna Holler, Between the World and Me).

Step 2: Once you feel you can listen without getting defensive, suspending disbelief, or feeling overcome with guilt/fear of judgment as if this is about you, start talking to your African American friends and colleagues. “I don’t know what to say, but I am so sorry this is happening,” is a great place to start. “I know I don’t get it, but if you ever want to talk, I’m listening,” is another one.

Step 3: Share what you are learning with your white friends and family members! Many times, this will be awkward and met with counterpoints, disbelief, resistance because they are still operating out of the framework of their own experience and are not able to accept realities they haven’t experienced yet. Share anyway. When you feel frustrated and exhausted, and annoyed at having to explain things for the second or third, or fourth time, stop and imagine how much more exhausted and exasperated your African American friends must feel. Having your pain and oppression denied or dismissed by people who claim to care about you has got to be one of the most despair-inducing parts of this fight. We can fight this battle and catch these stones for them. (Also, try to remember that your own viewpoint is fairly recent and you were just as much in denial not too long ago. Stay humble.)

Step 4: Find ways to give away your privilege, to use it to help others rise. This can certainly look like protests or donations to charities fighting for equity. But, it can also look like finding organizations in your own community that are seeking to build opportunity and dignity and getting involved. The options are endless–partnering your church with a local congregation that is more diverse, volunteering to tutor or mentor at a local school, community center, or juvenile facility, coaching in a community sports program, etc., etc. Obviously, a great place to start is asking How can I help?”

Step 5: When you screw up (because you will) by stepping on a stereotype you didn’t even know existed or failing to see the implicit bias in your own views, or missing the mark on saying something helpful, apologize and let people know you want to do better. Do not let fear of missing the mark cause you to remain silent or do nothing at all. Let your friends know, “I am still learning, and I probably won’t always get this right. If I ever say or do anything that is hurtful or ignorant, please tell me! I don’t know what I don’t know, but I want to learn and the last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

There is a long history of “weaponized whiteness” in our country (using the knowledge of one’s power status to get one’s way and protect one’s power status). But weapons can be used to defend those with less power status as well. There have to be ways to turn our current privilege into defensive weapons, protecting and supporting those without it. But, first we have to be able to see the weapon. So, go back to number 1. 🙂


{P.S. If any of this misses the mark, please let me know! I am still learning, and I probably won’t always get it right. But, I don’t want to stay silent anymore and the last thing I want to do is hurt you or reinforce the subtle parts of the problem.}

Chapter 3–She’s Up to Something

Posted on by

Friday night was the monthly “family dinner” at Abby and Jackson’s house. “The family” consisted of 7 people: Abby and Jackson, Emma, Greg and Caitlin, and Lauryn and Sam.  Lauryn and Caitlin had been hall mates and neighbors with Abby and Emma throughout college. Sam had been Jackson’s roommate.  These 6 had known each for 12 years now, since their freshman year of college. Lauryn and Sam were the first couple. They had started dating sophomore year and gotten married the day after graduation. Abby and Jackson started dating senior year, but didn’t get married until 3 years later.  Greg met Caitlin while working at the same summer camp for disadvantaged kids one year. They married between the other two couples. Andrew was the latest addition to the group, rounding it out to an even 8.  Emma was very grateful that so many of her college friends had ended up in Atlanta; they really did serve as a surrogate family for her while her own was so far away. She was a Yankee transplant who had come South for college and decided to stay.  

            Emma got off work earlier than anyone else, so she always arrived about half an hour early to help Abby prepare the table. She was surprised to see Andrew’s car in the driveway as she pulled up to the house. She retrieved her spinach salad from the back seat and walked into the house without knocking. As she headed straight back to the kitchen, she nearly collided with Abby who emerged suddenly from the bedroom hallway.

            “Oh, hey!” Abby greeted her with enthusiasm. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. Oh, good, you brought the salad.” Abby whisked the bowl out of Emma’s hands and whirled it into the kitchen before Emma could even respond.

            That was weird, thought Emma. What’s she so hyper about? She followed Abby to the kitchen suspiciously. Abby didn’t make eye contact as she began bustling around the counter, laying out plates and silverware. She asked Emma if she would set the table on the back porch.

            “Sure. Everything okay? You seem kind of jumpy,” Emma observed.

            “Yeah, everything’s fine. I guess maybe I had too much caffeine this afternoon or something.”

It was a very poorly veiled brush off, but Emma didn’t confront it head on. She was not sure whether to be curious or concerned by Abby’s state of frenzy. Heading out the sliding glass door to the patio, Emma found Andrew lighting the grill. He turned as he heard the door open.

“Hey,” he smiled. “How’s it goin’?”

“Good, thanks. You’re early,” Emma noted, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, Abby asked me to come hang out and give Jackson a hand with the grill. Plus, I just finished a big project at work, so my boss didn’t mind me taking the afternoon off.  I got here about an hour ago.”

“Has Jackson been cleared for normal activity yet?” Perhaps that was the reason for Abby’s jitters. But, where was Jackson? Emma didn’t remember seeing his suburban in the garage.

“Not quite. But he’s feeling a lot better. I think he’s chomping at the bit to get back to his regular activities.” Andrew blew out his match and came to help Emma fold the napkins and lay out silverware.

“Well, that’s not surprising,” Emma chuckled. “Jackson is the most active person I know. Where is he, anyway?”

“Abby sent him to the store to pick up dessert or something.”

“That’s odd. She’s usually got dessert planned out days ahead of time.”

“Maybe it was just to give him something to do, so he could feel useful and get out of the house for a bit.”

“Yeah, maybe. Does she seem off-kilter to you?” Emma looked into the kitchen, her brow furrowed. Abby was smiling widely, despite the fact that there was no music on and no one in the room, while she lifted the chicken breasts out of the marinade and laid them on a platter to be taken to the grill. Something was definitely up.

“Uh, I don’t know. She’s definitely in a good mood,” Andrew responded noncommittally.

“Clearly,” Emma replied. That’s a drastic understatement, she thought. What was Abby hiding? She always got a nervous energy about her when she had a secret, which consequently didn’t ever last long. She gave herself away too easily. So, what was the big secret? She seemed to have avoided Emma since she got there. Was Andrew here to run interference so Emma couldn’t get Abby alone? Abby caught Emma’s eye briefly, blushed, and quickly left the kitchen. What in the world? What is she happy and embarrassed about?

“Ahem.” Andrew cleared his throat rather amusedly from across the table. Emma turned toward him and found him watching her with an amused grin, having set all the plates and flatware without her. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” he said. “Anyway, she’ll come clean when she’s ready to
which probably won’t be long. She’s horrible at keeping secrets, especially good ones.” Emma followed him into the kitchen to retrieve the glasses and the chicken.

“I know. I guess she’ll tell me when she’s ready,” Emma reluctantly conceded. Andrew chuckled faintly at the tone of disappointment in her voice.  Before Emma had time to wonder where Abby had disappeared to, she heard the sink running in the powder room.  Abby came back into the kitchen, still smiling brightly. She toned it down slightly as she saw Emma watching her with narrowed eyes.  “We’re almost done setting the table and the grill is heating up. What else do you need me to do?” Emma asked innocently enough.

“Oh, I’m all done in here. I just have to pour the sweet tea into a jug. You can help Andy with the chicken until Jack gets back. Ooo, Andrew, did you tell Emma about the opportunity you got to create the artwork for the new cafe?” Abby quickly redirected the attention to Andrew while Emma gathered the glasses onto a tray. “It’s such a compliment and honor that you were asked. Emma enjoys interior design. I’m sure she’d love to hear about your plans.” She sounded like she was setting people up at a cocktail party or something. She was actually holding the back door open, practically shooing them out the door with her body language.

“How interesting,” Emma responded as she followed him Andy out the door and threw Abby a scrutinizing glare.

“Yeah, it’s a pretty cool opportunity,” Andrew began. “My best friend and his wife are opening a new cafĂ©, and they asked me to create the wall art. I’m just starting to work up some concepts. But, I didn’t know you were into design
”

Yep, Andrew is definitely here to run interference. Whatever this is, it must be big, Emma decided. Unless
 Emma froze as she reached the table, tray still in hand. She watched Andrew lay the chicken breasts neatly across the grill, and then glanced back at Abby again—who had been watching them but quickly looked away and began pouring the tea from the pot into a water jug. No! It can’t possibly be! Abby can’t be trying to set me up with Andrew? She hasn’t tried to set me up for years now, and—Andrew of all people?! He was Abby’s brother, for crying out loud, and far too young for her. Surely Abby could see that. Would Abby make such a huge move without even consulting Emma? Emma’s heart dropped into her stomach, and she temporarily forgot to inhale.

A thousand scenarios began racing through her mind—all of them ending in the demise of the easy comfort of their “family.”  What if Abby became too obvious about her bright idea at dinner tonight? How could Emma give her a strong signal about her aversion to the idea without appearing to snub Andrew? She wasn’t sure how Abby would take it if Emma balked at the idea of dating Andrew. On the other hand, though, if she placated her by playing along, how disappointed would Abby be when it didn’t go anywhere? And how uncomfortable for Andrew when he figured it out! Was there any way to escape mortification for everyone involved?

“Something wrong with the table? You look like you’ve just seen a cockroach.” Andrew’s voice reminded Emma to inhale and that she was still standing there, holding the glasses. She rushed to place the glasses at each place setting, making minimal eye contact. “Sorry, just got lost in thought for a moment,” she explained. She would have to be the Queen of Obliviousness. It had been a while since Emma had needed to play this role, but she was pretty sure she could still pull it off. “So, how does one assist at the grill exactly, anyway?”

“Well, I think that’s generally considered code for ‘get out from underfoot in the kitchen.’ But you can pass me the plates in a few minutes when the chicken is ready,” Andrew responded nonchalantly.

“Oh, no problem,” Emma responded quickly. Maybe he was an innocent party in this set-up. “Hey, listen, thanks again for being my wingman at Debbie’s wedding. Sorry I lectured you so much about relationships on the way back.” She tried to emphasize the word lectured to subtly emphasize her seniority.

“Oh, no worries! I didn’t mind at all. It was kinda cool actually, getting an inside tour of the female mind. Sort of like having another sister to talk to, only one who doesn’t know everything about me.”

Aha! He sees me as an older sister, as he should. What can Abby possibly be thinking? Emma worried. “Well, feel free to seek me out for advice anytime. It is sort of my job, after all. You’ll just have to put up with my educator delivery methods.”

Emma began trying to devise schemes to deflect Abby’s enthusiasm about Andrew as a potential mate until she could get her alone. Before she had come up with anything definitive, Lauryn and Sam arrived, shortly followed by Caitlin and Greg.

Finally, Jackson came back and placed a bakery box on the counter before coming to take Emma’s place at the grill. Emma joined Cait and Lauryn at the table.

“What’s up with Abby?” Lauryn immediately inquired, in a somewhat hushed voice. Emma took a seat next to her, at the end of the table so that Abby couldn’t seat Andrew next to her.

“I don’t know. She said she had a lot of caffeine today or something,” Emma hedged, trying to sound unconcerned.

“She’s goofy-happy,” Cait observed. Not for long, thought Emma.

            Once everyone else was seated, there was only one spot open for Andrew—directly across from Emma. Emma made up her mind to focus her eye contact on whoever was talking rather than in front of her. After Jackson said grace, and the food was passed around, Emma commenced defensive tactics of anticipating potentially dangerous topics of conversation and redirecting them. The men were, of course, completely oblivious to the almost tangible warmth and glow emanating from Abby’s end of the table—even though Sam was sitting right next to her. Fortunately, the guys dominated the conversation initially with shop talk, analyses of recent sporting events, and status updates on Jackson’s injury.

            Meanwhile, Caitlin threw occasional raised eyebrows in the direction of Lauryn and Emma whenever Abby seemed to laugh too loudly at comments or fidgeted in her seat. Lauryn actually elbowed Emma at one point when Abby dropped the bread basket into the potato salad while taking a roll. They were definitely on the hunt to find out the root of these jitters. Every time Abby made eye contact with Emma, she smiled and looked quickly back at her plate. Emma knew Caitlin and Lauryn were going to jump at the first break in conversation to ask Abby what was going on. Just keep talking boys, Emma silently encouraged. She contributed follow-up questions and background inquiries as often as possible without appearing too unnaturally interested in college ball or computer programs.

            Eventually, however, the boys contented themselves and focused their attention on their taste buds. Before Caitlin could direct the conversation to Abby, Emma interjected by asking her how her side photography business was progressing. Caitlin was a stay at home mom with her 3-year-old son, Cameron, but she was a gifted photographer. She had begun selling greeting cards with her photos of local landscapes and landmarks, and was beginning to develop a freelance business with weddings, graduations, and such.  After Caitlin described some new clients and jobs, Emma plied Lauryn for an update about Conner who was four and had just started a summer pre-school program. He was always coming home with new stories or trying out new words he didn’t quite understand yet. Emma was rapidly running out of topics.

            “I hear you have a birthday coming up in a couple of weeks,” Sam observed casually, but with a small twinkle in his eye. “Any big plans?”

            Aha! An opportunity to give Abby a reality check without being rudely inattentive to Andrew. “Yes,” Emma groaned dramatically. “Thirty! Can you believe it? I’m practically middle-aged! I can’t believe I’m completely done with my 20’s already. I’m sort of in mourning for my lost youth.”

            Andrew laughed lightheartedly. “Should we start researching retirement homes, then?”

            “Emma, thirty is not ancient,” Lauryn interjected, rolling her eyes and giving Emma an affectionate jab in the ribs. “We’re all 30
except for Andrew. And Caitlin, technically, but only for another six months.”

            “I know, and I’m almost as old as you all.” Emma pretended be horrified as she shoved her back lightly.

            “Ha, ha.” Lauryn replied. Abby observed all of this with enjoyment, but no sign of rethinking or a need to interject.

Oh come on, she can’t have missed that! Emma thought in exasperation. Seriously?! That was beyond a mere hint. For a moment, she wondered if she had misread Abby’s behavior and jumped to the wrong conclusion about her preoccupation.

            “Jackson?” Abby suddenly spoke, interrupting Emma’s doubts. “I think it’s time for dessert.” She had a look of triumph, anticipation, and relief all in one expression.

            “I agree,” Jackson smiled back. They both got up and retired to the kitchen while Andrew collected the dinner plates to take them to the sink. Abby came back out, carrying dessert plates, followed by Jackson who was carrying a box from Publix bakery. The bakery box did not have the usual clear plastic hole in the middle of the lid so that you could see the contents.

            “That’s not a birthday cake, is it?” Sam asked suspiciously. “She’s got a little time left to be 29, and you may have noticed that she’s more than a little attached to it.” He smirked at Emma.

            “I suppose it is an early birthday cake of sorts, but it’s not for Emma,” Abby said very cryptically. She was making no attempt to hide her beaming happiness now.

            Jackson placed the cake on the table and lifted the lid off with a dramatic flourish. Everyone leaned in to see the big secret. In the center of the cake was a large stork, carrying a green bundle of cloth with a tiny hand sticking out. The border of the cake was sprinkled with candy rattles and baby booties. It took all of two seconds for the table to process the meaning and erupt in excitement.

            “You’re pregnant?!” Lauryn and Caitlin squealed simultaneously, jumping out of their seats to hug Abby. Emma’s jaw dropped and she was frozen to her seat for a moment, stunned by happiness for Abby and instantly forgetting everything else.

            “Congrats, man!” Sam punched Jackson in the arm before giving him a firm handshake.

            “How far along?” Caitlin asked.

            “About four weeks,” Abby replied, obviously relieved and elated to finally have the secret out.

            “Four weeks!” Emma exclaimed in disbelief. “You kept a secret from me for a whole month?! You never keep secrets from me, even when you want to!”

            “I know,” Abby laughed loudly. “Thank goodness we found out in May, so you were distracted with graduation and final exams. If we hadn’t had Debbie’s wedding to talk about last Saturday, you would have wriggled it out of me for sure. I knew you wouldn’t be as easily distracted tonight, so I enlisted Andrew’s help to keep you from spoiling the surprise. I’ve been dying to tell you,” she finished, embracing Emma with a firm bear hug. As Emma squeezed back, she made eye contact with Andrew over Abby’s shoulder.

            “So, you’re the star defense, huh?” she asked playfully. He winked.

            “You run a pretty determined offense,” he complimented. Everyone laughed.

            “Except for at dinner,” Abby observed, turning toward Emma with contracted brow. “You suddenly seemed interested in everyone but me. I thought maybe you had figured it out.”

            Shoot! Think fast, Emma coached herself. “No, I had no idea. I was afraid maybe you had something else up your sleeve—like a surprise birthday party.” Phew.

            “She wouldn’t dare!” Sam declared solemnly. Everyone laughed again and resumed their seats. Andrew cut the cake while Abby and Jackson filled everyone in on due dates, ultrasounds, and the like.

After a pleasant and joyous evening, everyone headed home with full tummies and hearts. Although, if she were completely honest, Emma’s heart was not entirely filled with joy. There was something like a sadness in the thought that life as she knew it was about to change yet again, and that her best friend in the world was about to become less available and less involved in her life. There wouldn’t be too many more months of Saturday walks, or long, uninterrupted phone chats. Also, there was something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Something related to being not just the only single female left in her circle of friends, but also the only childless one. Emma had never been eager to be a mother. But, somehow, the family seemed to be shifting again, and she felt a heaviness in her chest as she felt a familiar foe growing in numbers: loneliness.

Chapter 2–Walk It Off

Posted on by

 Emma changed into her sweats and grabbed her copy of Pride and Prejudice and drove to the park. She always took a book with her when meeting up with people, in case she got there early—which she almost always did. Elizabeth Bennett was about to berate Mr. Darcy for his arrogance when Abby pulled into the parking spot next to Emma for their semi-regular Saturday morning walk.

            “How many times are you going to read that? What is this, like the 5th time since I’ve known you?” Abby asked when Emma got out of the car.

            “Well, it’s a really good book.  And, besides, Lizzie is an inspiration,” Emma said defensively. “I find her company uplifting.”  They approached the edge of Emma’s favorite trail which wound through the woods along the lake’s edge, emerged into the park, and then circled around to a small marina and beach area. “She’s confident and sure of who she is without being cocky.  I suppose it gives me hope that love finds her unexpectedly, without her having to parade herself about like the other women in her community.”

            “I see,” said Abby. “I’ve never seen you throwing yourself at anyone either. Sounds like she’s a kindred spirit.”

“Hmm, on second thought, maybe I need a different inspiration,” Emma quipped. “This whole cool and confident thing doesn’t seem to be working out so well or me.”

Abby laughed. “I don’t know, it sounds like it served you well at Deb’s wedding. Andrew said you handled it quite nicely.”

            ” It wasn’t as bad as I expected. She didn’t even have a bouquet toss.”

            “God bless her,” Abby remarked with exaggerated sincerity.

            “I know. There’s nothing worse than being rounded up like a collection of unclaimed baggage for auction.  And then, you have to watch some perfectly toned 16-year-old catch the bouquet.  If she’s the next one to get married, I’m really in trouble!” Emma laughed, but not very convincingly.

            “It’s just a silly tradition. It doesn’t actually predict anything, you know,” Abby chuckled.

            “Just the same, I think brides over a certain age shouldn’t submit their peers to the spectacle.”

            “Or, they could just put in an age limit. Only single girls over 25,” Abby suggested.

            “Right,” Emma scornfully snorted. “With my luck, I’d be the only one out there and I still wouldn’t catch it.”

            “So, was there any awkwardness with the reception?”

            “Yeah, but it was just the usual—stupefied shock that an eligible girl in the big city should still be single.  Andrew helped to deflect some of the attention.” Emma wondered if Andrew had told Abby about the car ride home. She had decided that she wouldn’t say anything if he hadn’t. She wasn’t sure how much of his dating life he’d shared with Abby.

            “Oh, did he? He can be pretty good at rescuing people in hot water.” Abby smiled reminiscently. “He’s come to my aid many times over the years with mom and dad. So, it wasn’t lonely? That was my goal. I was a little afraid that appearing to be on a date might be worse than being alone.”  Abby knew that Emma got a little depressed driving home from weddings.

            “Yeah. I was afraid of that, too. But someone appears to have tipped everyone off to the fact that he was your stand-in before we got there. Thanks for that,” Emma nudged Abby gratefully. “I forgot how easy Andrew is to be around. He’s quite the conversationalist. It was almost as good as having you there.”

            “Well, I’m glad. But tell me the truth, did you cry when you got home?”

            Emma groaned in disgust at herself. “Yes, but not until later that night. I thought I had successfully avoided crying altogether, but when I pulled out my journal before bed, it just came out of nowhere. Then I felt stupid for crying, which only made it worse, of course. I wound up crying about the fact that I was crying.”

            Abby put her arm around Emma’s waist as they walked and cupped her chin around Emma’s shoulder. “It’s not stupid,” she said quietly but firmly. “It’s totally normal. All girls cry over weddings.”

            “Sure, tears of joy. I never feel like crying at the wedding because I’m so happy for my friends and proud to share the moment with them. The joy is sort of contagious. It’s only afterwards, when I leave that moment behind, that I feel empty—almost like I’m more aware of being alone than I was before. But it’s so pointless and full of self-pity that I feel ridiculous for it. I should just be happy for them and let it be enough.”

            “I think it is enough for you, Em. You’re able to rejoice with your friends when they’re rejoicing—so much so that you don’t even notice your own pain until later.. Of course, you will have your own feelings, too, and that’s normal.”

            “I think I would be perfectly content if I knew that someday I would know what it feels like to love someone that much. It’s having no concrete hope that hurts. I can live patiently and contentedly on hope. I have for a decade or more, but I’m beginning to run out of hope.”

            “Oh don’t say that!” Abby hated hearing Emma talk like this. Emma had always been strong, independent, and confident girl with her eyes fixed on personal growth and serving others. She’d never seemed to struggle much with being single until about a year ago. Abby suspected that Emma’s upcoming 30th birthday had a lot to do with it. They emerged from the trees to the park. The picnic tables were still empty, but a few young children were being pushed on the swing set by their mothers, and a couple of joggers were running towards them from the other side of the park. “He’s out there somewhere; I know he is. You’ll fall in love someday, and it will be a meaningful, deep relationship. I know it.”

            “You mean you hope for it,” Emma replied without much emotion. “You can’t really know it, though, can you?”

            “Well, alright then,” Abby conceded. “I fully expect that it will happen. I can feel it in my bones.”

            “Maybe you’re right. I’m just afraid that, even if it does happen, I’ll be too old to enjoy it.” The two joggers passed them on the sidewalk—a young man and woman who appeared to be a couple, both wearing earphones and perfectly matching each other’s pace and breathing. Emma watched them as they passed and wondered what it would be like to be so close to someone that you could be in sync like that even without talking—like one unit.

            “Emma!” Abby protested and brought her back to the conversation. “You’re not old! You’re the same age as me!”

            “I know, but it’s different when you’re single. I realized something at Debbie’s wedding. I’m never going to know what it’s like to be married in my 20’s—a young, married couple. I may not be old, but I’ve already missed out on sharing my youth with someone.”  This was more than Emma had admitted out loud before, and her voice grew quiet at the end of the sentence.

            “Hey, you’re young at heart. And you still have some youth left to share with someone. He just has to find you first is all.” Abby patted Emma’s arm.

            Emma looked out over the lake at the sunlight glinting off the water. “Yeah, you’re right,” she said to appease Abby. “Isn’t the lake beautiful? It’s so calming. I love the water.” They had reached the point in the conversation where she always had to stop. She could only share her struggle with singleness up to a certain point with people because anyone who had married before 30 just couldn’t relate.

            Emma had never let herself dwell on her singleness before. It had seemed so wasteful to focus on what she didn’t have. But seemingly out of nowhere, it had just snuck up on her: THIRTY. Now that it was only a few months away, all the thoughts she hadn’t let herself dwell on for the past decade were making up for lost time. Her 20’s were over. She couldn’t get them back. It was almost like a death of sorts. Whenever she had imagined her wedding day (on the rare occasion that she let herself) or her first few years of marriage, she had always seen herself in her mid to late 20’s. And now they were over, and she wasn’t even dating. Suddenly, the last 10 years looked bleak, pathetic, and wasted. They hadn’t felt that way at the time, but she had suddenly awakened to find a stark, harsh truth—She was alone. She had spent her 20’s alone, and it seemed she would spend her 30’s the same way. Nothing she had invested her life in for the past decase was going to stay with her, and no one would remember it know how it shaped her. Abby couldn’t understand that. It was better to just keep some things to herself. She had let a select few people know she was struggling, but they didn’t have to know how much.

            “Anyway, how is Jackson doing? I forgot to ask.” Emma asked after a few seconds of silence, to change the subject.

            “Oh, much better! The doctor said he just needs to avoid heavy lifting and strenuous activity for a few weeks until the bone heals. It was only a minor fracture. So, he’s sticking to the treadmill for a while.”

            “I guess we won’t be playing volleyball on Friday, then.” Abby had scheduled her monthly “family dinner” for the following week, which normally included Emma and a few other friends from their college gang, who were all married to each other now. Andrew was a recent addition since he had moved to Atlanta for work last fall.

            “Nope. I figured we’d just play board games instead.”

            “Sounds good to me. Just as long as we don’t play Monopoly again. I don’t’ have the stamina to wait for Jackson to buy me out.”

            Abby giggled. Once in college they had played Monopoly, and the game had lasted three hours! Jackson was far too competitive to call a game before it was actually over.  Emma had even tried donating her properties to Jackson’s conquest. He had, of course, insisted on “legally” buying everyone out of their holdings.

            Soon, they were back at the parking lot. Emma felt invigorated and much more awake. “See you Friday, then,” she said. “Tell Jackson I’m glad he’s not seriously hurt.”

            “Okay. Have a good weekend,” Abby called back.

Emma tried hard not to think about turning 30 the whole drive home, and by the time she pulled into her driveway, she had successfully convinced herself that she was only 29 still. Maybe the exercise endorphins were helping.

Chapter 1–He’s Not My Date

Posted on by

by S. N. Martin

Having sorted through the morning’s paperwork, Emma decided to take a cell phone break. She had one new email from Abby entitled “don’t hate me.” What in the world? thought Emma as she opened the message.
Pleeeze don’t hate me, it began. We can’t go to Debbie’s wedding on Saturday. Jackson fractured his collar bone climbing yesterday, and he’s basically homebound for a while it heals. I have to stay here and look after him. But, don’t worry, Andy is still coming. I’m SO sorry to do this to you. I PROMISE I’ll make it up to you somehow. Emma groaned and got up to close her office door. She tried to remind herself that her primary concern should be Jackson’s injury and not the upcoming wedding, as she dialed Abby on her cell phone.
“Hello?” Abby sounded her chipper self, but slightly tired.
“Hey. I got your message,” Emma said, trying to sound as not disappointed as possible.
“Oh, Em! I would have called you, but we were at the hospital pretty late, and then we had to go the pharmacy, and get food, and call the family
By the time we got settled, we were so exhausted and—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Emma interrupted, forcing herself to focus on Abby and ignore the wedding. “How’s Jackson?” she asked genuinely. “Is he in terrible pain? What’s the prognosis?”
“Oh, he’s fine. He’s on some prescription pain killers, so he’s not too uncomfortable. But, they do make him groggy and he’s not supposed to move much. The doctor thinks he’ll heal quickly, but you know what a baby he is when he has to sit still. We have another appointment next week to check on his progress once the swelling has gone down.”
“I’m so sorry, Abs. You must have been scared to death for him.” Emma remembered the last incident, when Jackson had nearly torn his ACL on a trip with his college buddies, who had stupidly called Abby while Jackson was still moaning in the background. Emma and Abby had left Cirque de Soleil mid-show so that Abby could stay on the phone with Jackson until the doctor had seen him.
“Well, it’s not the first time we’ve been in the emergency room. At least this time he was smart and didn’t tell me he was hurt until they got back home from the park, and I could see he wasn’t horribly mangled or anything.”
Emma rolled her eyes and stifled a disapproving sigh. She knew she should feel sorry for Jackson. She loved Jackson. After all, he was like a brother to her; he helped her out all the time, and he was a terrific husband to Abby. But, did he have to keep up his dangerous, college hobbies like rock climbing and white water rafting? And why did he always seem to get injured when she and Abby had something special planned?
“Anyway, we’re really both fine,” Abby continued. “Just tired from waking up every few hours to give him his pain meds.”
“You should try to get some sleep this afternoon.” Emma realized this was a totally obvious and unhelpful suggestion as she was saying it. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked, equally unhelpfully.
“No, no, but thanks.” Abby didn’t seem to notice Emma’s clichĂ© responses. “I just feel so terrible about Saturday. Andy offered to drive if you want.”
“No, no. I tend to get carsick, remember? I’ll drive. I’m just sorry you have to miss it,” Emma lied. She could think of nothing but endless repetitions of, Oh, Emma, who’s this?! I didn’t know you were seeing someone! The only thing more unbearable than everyone obviously avoiding the subject of her singleness was the humiliating exuberance of those who falsely assumed she had finally joined the ranks of mainstream humanity.
“You can introduce him as your adopted little brother,” Abby suggested sheepishly, guessing at Emma’s chagrin.
“Yeah,” Emma snorted, “right after everyone trips over each other to fawn over my new love interest.” She sighed. “Oh well. Don’t worry; I can handle it. I’m the champion single girl, right? But I am not going up for the bouquet toss!” Emma finished with her characteristically playful sarcasm. She always used this crutch when she felt put on the spot for being single or thought people suspected she wasn’t as tough as she appeared.
“Good for you!” Abby laughed, apparently satisfied that Emma was undaunted. “Well, call me when you get back and tell me everything. And take lots of pictures.”
“Will do,” Emma promised. “Tell Jackson I hope he feels better soon. Bye.”
“Bye, dear.”
Emma heard Abby’s line cut off and hung up her own phone, releasing another groan. Saturday had just become her worst nightmare. Couldn’t Jackson break something serious, like a tailbone, so she could claim obligation to remain behind for moral support? Maybe if she spent a lot of time in the nurse’s office and didn’t wash her hands for the next two days, she would come down with something. Hmm. Probably not. It was the week before final exams and most students had too much adrenaline from anticipating summer vacation to be sick.

She was just going to have to figure out a way to dispel any assumptions about Andrew as she introduced him. Hey, y’all! Do you know Abby’s baby brother, Andrew? Emma rehearsed mentally. Hey, did I mention he’s single? So, if you see any 24-year-olds in need of a dance partner at the reception
 Ugh. She would simultaneously look like a hopeless spinster and a maternal matchmaker. Emma made a mental note to swear off all weddings in the future, unless she was a bridesmaid. She decided to e-mail Andrew rather than call him about the arrangements for Saturday. She didn’t feel up to a chipper conversation.

When Emma arrived at Andrew’s apartment on Saturday, he was already waiting outside. She chuckled a little at the sight of his disheveled hair and the tie draped across his shoulders. No suit jacket, she observed. He looked more like a college kid than an eligible date for a 29-year old career woman. Maybe people wouldn’t jump to conclusions after all, or at least not everyone. “Hey, Andrew,” Emma said cheerfully as he placed Abby’s wedding gift in the back seat.
“Hey. Nice dress,” he replied climbing into the front seat.
“Thanks. Nice tie,” Emma raised her eyebrows slightly and flashed her playful, sarcastic grin.
“Oh, yeah. Well, I didn’t see the point in choking for an extra hour in the car. We’ve got a long day ahead of us,” he explained as he buckled his seat belt and ran a hand through his tousled curls.
“Hmm. I’ll have to remember that strategy for my high heels next time,” Emma replied casually. “You do know how to tie that thing, right? ‘Cause I’ll be no help.” She smirked out the front windshield as they approached the road.
“Yes. Do you know how to walk in those?” Andrew replied in kind.
“Only for about an hour,” Emma chuckled. “Then it becomes more of a hobble.”
The drive to Gainesville passed quickly. Andrew was always at ease with himself, and they played music between casual conversations. It really wasn’t that difficult to see Andrew as an adopted younger brother. He felt almost as much like family as Jackson did, even though she’d known him for a fraction of the time she’d known Abby and Jackson.

The wedding was beautiful. Emma had never seen Debbie so happy. Although she and Andrew did sit together, they were among a lot of other single people, so they didn’t necessarily look like a couple. Besides, Abby had already told several people about Jackson’s accident. Several guests greeted Andrew with, “You must be Abby’s brother. How’s Jackson doing?” This seemed to spread quickly through the rest of the college gang. Thank you, Emma prayed silently with a sigh of relief.
The reception was a little less painless, as expected. After half an hour or so of small talk, reliving college memories, and catching up on career and baby news, Dave decided to fill a pause with his typical oblivion to unwritten rules of etiquette. “So, Emma, are you dating anyone down in Atlanta?” he blurted out. Everyone at the table turned to Emma with a fairly convincing façade of casual interest, but she knew everyone was hanging on her answer.
“No, Dave. Not really.” Emma played with the icing on her plate, smiling thinly while she awaited the traditional, calloused follow-up.
“Why not? What are you waiting for? You’re perfectly eligible and you’re not getting any younger, you know.” The infuriating thing about Dave was that he truly didn’t catch on when someone politely brushed him off. He lacked the social grace of recognizing when someone was in an awkward position. Emma took a deep breath. “Aren’t there any eligible bachelors in Atlanta?”
“Probably, but most of the single guys I know are under 18. Christian school isn’t exactly a hot bed of eligible bachelors, and the guys my age in church are already married.” She threw in her playful smile on cue. “So there aren’t that many avenues to meet single people unless you resort to the stereotypical bar crawl, which isn’t exactly my scene.” Emma toyed with the idea of recording this on her cell phone to play back whenever the moment was called for. She was so tired of reciting this response to every dumbfounded idiot who got married straight out of college and couldn’t grasp the fact that there is no ready-made peer group anymore once you depart academia. Suddenly, Emma thought of a diversion. “Maybe I should ask Andrew for tips. He’s an Atlanta bachelor. How do you meet people, Andrew?” Success! All eyes turned to Andrew, who looked caught off guard slightly.
“Uh
” he began uncertainly. “Well, I’m not really sure. I mainly just hang out with my friends. There is a young adults group at our church, but no one there I’m really interested in. They’re mostly college students.”
“Yeah. That’s the case at my church, too,” Emma chipped in, feeling a slight twinge of guilt for putting Andrew on the spot.
“Guess the Internet’s the only viable option, then, unless we wanna rob the cradle,” Andrew quipped, prompting everyone to chuckle and change the subject. Yep, Andrew made a good younger brother.

“You know, no one’s looking. You can take them off now,” Andrew said as he and Emma made their way to her car.
“Huh?” she asked, turning to see Andrew removing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt collar. “Oh, the heels,” she laughed. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.” She threw her pumps in the back seat before taking the driver’s seat.
Andrew sighed as he kicked off his own dress shoes and reclined the seat a little. He ruffled his hair brusquely with his hands and scanned the radio as Emma pulled out of the parking lot. “So, do your friends always grill you like that?” Andrew asked casually.
“You mean Dave? Yeah, usually. At least once,” Emma admitted. “It’s a little easier with a wingman, though.” She winked at him and smiled.
“Glad I could be of service,” Andrew bowed with mock gentility. “I wonder if it would be different if you were a guy,” he mused.
“Good question. I don’t suppose I’ve ever thought about that,” Emma replied, turning onto the main road. “I imagine it might be worse since guys are supposed to be the pursuers. People probably pressure guys to make a decisive move.”
“I guess I’ll have to prepare some witty responses, then” Andrew replied reflectively.
“Or you could just date,” Emma laughed. “You boys have a little more control over that than we ladies do.” She stole a glance at Andrew to smile at him teasingly, but he was just staring forward thoughtfully. “Girls don’t bite, you know; well, not the nice ones anyway. They even say yes sometimes,” she continued, trying to draw him back to the conversation.
Andrew laughed. “Oh, I know. I’m just wondering when people start obsessing about your relationship status?”
“Well, you’re only 24. You have at least one more year before the pressure really starts, and then it’s a slow boil—until about 26; then it’s all over. Plus, you’re a pretty social guy. I bet you have dates all the time. One of them is bound to grow into something eventually.” Emma was trying hard not to mock Andrew’s totally unnecessary train of thought. He had to be one of the most datable guys at his church. He had no idea what it was like to actually be under scrutiny and to have no discernible options.
“Oh, I’ve dated plenty, but just for fun.” Andrew replied. “You know, casually. I’ve never actually been in love I don’t think. I had a few girlfriends in high school and college, but we were more like best friends who just got dressed up occasionally for special outings. None of my relationships have ever really developed into anything serous.” His tone was still lighthearted and casual, but Emma was somewhat surprised by his continuing the train of thought. Unsure what to say, she made some sound to indicate she was listening as she changed lanes to pass a slow car on the freeway. “What about you? Have you ever been in love?” he asked suddenly.

Emma was not accustomed to discussing this subject with guys. But before she could answer, Andrew had a sudden thought. “Gosh! I bet it would be positively excruciating to go through that ritual interrogation if you had been in love and it didn’t work out!” He was clearly speaking hypothetically, forgetting that she was the person in question, which made his bluntness all the more endearing.
Emma laughed. “I never really thought about it that way before. Weddings would be worse as a single person if you had been disappointed in love, I guess. But no, thank heaven. I’ve never even dated, to speak of, so I guess I have that to be thankful for.”
“Hold up,” Andrew said, twisting in his seat to face Emma head on. “You’ve never dated?!”
Oops. She hadn’t meant to let that slip out. Upon a moment’s reflection, however, and a quick glance to assess his reaction, Emma realized that she didn’t really mind Andrew knowing. He was just genuinely surprised, not judging. It didn’t feel like having a peer look at you like you’ve just admitted to some terminal tumor, or a married person looking at you like you’ve been a victim of gross neglect and cruelty. He was just curious. “Well, not really. I mean, you know, I’ve been on dates. And we did some group dating back in college and stuff. But, I’ve never had an actual dating relationship.”
“Get out! Really?! How did you swing that?” Andrew was still sitting sideways in his seat, staring at her fixedly. Emma felt slightly embarrassed and chuckled nervously as she felt her cheeks growing warmer.
“Um. I don’t know. In high school, I guess I was still self-conscious around guys and mostly focused on my studies. So, I didn’t really attract dates. In college, I hung out with a few guys, but we were just good friends. The guys who actually pursued me weren’t really compatible with my personality. And then
. I don’t know. It’s almost like a curse. The less dated you are, the less datable you become or something. I think I’ve completely fallen off the radar at this point. Plus, it’s true that I don’t really know any single guys who are eligible.”
“So, when you say you didn’t date in high school
you mean like, prom? Homecoming? School dances?”
“Nope. I went to Homecoming with groups a couple years, but never as a twosome. And prom isn’t really a group event.”
“And, college formals? The annual banquet?”
“Nope.”
“Wow. I can’t believe you didn’t get asked.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant was, I would have expected someone to ask you.”
“Well, there were a couple of unsuitable guys who may have asked
if I hadn’t warded them off with lots of mixed messages and playing totally aloof to their intentions. I tried to keep them too unsure of my feelings to actually take a chance on pursuing me in earnest.” Emma smiled to herself, remembering how hard she had worked to keep one guy in particular from asking her out.
“Yeah, I guess I could see you being intimidating,” Andrew reflected, turning back in his seat to face the front.
“What?” Emma laughed. “I don’t think I was intimidating, just an enigma. I didn’t give them any encouraging feedback or open windows of opportunity.”
“Mmm, I don’t know,” Andrew responded. “Even without encouragement, if a guy’s really interested in a girl, he takes a shot—unless he’s intimidated.”


“Why in the world would a girl who’s never dated be intimidating? It’s not like I was ever the hot chick on campus or the man-eater or anything.”
“Maybe they felt like no one had ever been able to catch your attention so your standards must be really high.”
“Or their standards must be too low, if no one else had tried before,” Emma laughed.
“Mmm, I don’t think so,” Andrew said lightly but sincerely, changing the channel on the radio.
Emma wasn’t sure how to respond to this and was getting a bit uncomfortable being the center of the conversation, so she decided to shift the conversation back to him. “So, who has you so intimidated that you haven’t dated anyone in Atlanta yet?” she asked teasingly, smirking at him and raising her eyebrows. “I’ve been to church with Abby. There’re several cute girls around your age who I’m sure would love to go out with you. You said you like casual dating. What’s the problem?”
“Casual dating doesn’t usually end well,” Andrew said somewhat seriously and quit fiddling with the radio. The abrupt change in his tone caught Emma’s attention and pulled her out of her panicked backpedaling.
“What do you mean?” she asked, sincerely confused.
Andrew ran his fingers through his curls absentmindedly, somewhat taming them in the process. “Well, when I say none of my relationships have turned into anything serious, it’s mainly because I’ve never felt serious about any of them. But, at some point, the girl always wants to get serious, and then she gets hurt when I don’t have the same plans.”

Emma had never seen Andrew burdened by something before. He sounded almost guilty. She glanced at him quickly to make sure she was correctly assessing his tone. He was playing idly with his tie in his lap, not looking at her. “I mean, I love making a girl feel special and planning fun dates and everything. I can get really creative, and we always have a great time. But, somewhere along the line, the girl starts seeing white dresses on the horzion, and I don’t know how to avoid that.” Andrew was still tracing the patterns on his tie.
Emma knew exactly what Andrew was talking about. “Ah, yes. The Prince Charming Syndrome,” she observed casually. “Close kin to the Knight in Shining Armor Syndrome, though somewhat less destructive.”
Now Andrew was looking up at her with an amused twinkle in his eye and a cautiously raised eyebrow. “Come again?” he asked, distracted from his pensive mood.
“It’s a very common pitfall among otherwise well-intentioned guys. I’ve seen it a thousand times. Guys like to play the role. You like dazzling a girl and giving her magical moments, sweeping her off her feet. You like to make her feel like a princess. Only, you think you’re just giving her a few magic moments. In reality, you’re giving her a long-term dream, with you at the dead center.” Emma had explained this so many times to girls that she fell into her didactic tone and continued with her familiar speech. “While the guy is enjoying playing a role, the girl’s casting him in the entire script. Every time he successfully pulls off the role of Prince Charming or Knight in Shining Armor (which is the more dangerous of the two), he creates a little emotional dependence in her. She now depends on him to make her feel special or safe and to believe that her dreams of love can come true. For every moment he gives her, she gives him a piece of her heart. As those moments accumulate, so does the fallout when she realizes that he’s not playing for keeps and she’s given her heart away in vain. ‘Casual’ dating in a guy’s mind is not the same thing as casual dating in a girl’s mind. ‘Casual’ to a girl does not involve Prince Charming or the Knight in Shining Armor. Those are both very permanent roles. ‘Casual’ to a girl is more like the faithful squire or the childhood playmate.”
Emma realized too late that she had not adapted this speech for a male audience before and had basically launched into a soapbox sermon, forgetting Andrew’s feelings. Andrew didn’t say anything, and she tried to quickly assess how condemning her little diatribe had sounded. “Sorry,” she said glancing at him apologetically. “That came out too harshly. Of course, the guy doesn’t usually mean to do any of that. He’s just trying to make the girl feel special and confident. I realize that. And, it’s not all the guy’s fault either. Girls aren’t very good at guarding their hearts or being conscious of who they give them to. Most of them are all too eager to give their hearts away to the nearest bidder. Especially in the South where they’re basically raised to get married as soon as the opportunity presents itself. A lot of times, you don’t even have to play the role of Prince Charming to get a girl’s heart.” Emma stole another glance at Andrew.
His eyebrows were slightly pinched together, and he stared absently at the dashboard. “Andrew,” she ventured. “Are you okay? Did I offend you?”


“Huh?” Andrew looked up distractedly. “No, I’m fine. Sorry. I was just mentally replaying my last few relationships. You’re totally right. My relationships always started out pretty Platonic, but the more creative I got with dates or did little things to brighten their days, the more the girls seemed to get attached. The relationships that ended the most amicably were the ones that were mainly just hanging out, not fancy dates or grand gestures. It never occurred to me that I was playing games with their emotions. How on earth did I miss that?”
Yep. She had overdone it. Emma shrugged slightly, trying to be generous without dismissing his revelation. “Well, you’re not a girl, and probably no one ever explained to you how girls’ minds work. Heck, probably half the girls you dated didn’t realize how their own minds work. It’s not like you did it intentionally. And the damage isn’t irrevocable or anything. I don’t want to scare you off dating altogether. Just, you know, don’t pursue a girl unless you’re actually serious about pursuing her. Otherwise, keep it in the hanging out category.” Emma was really regretting this entire line of conversation. Why couldn’t she just keep her mouth shut? Why did she always have to pry with questions? And why did she always feel the need to wax eloquent on this subject when she really didn’t know what she was talking about? Poor Andrew was looking very disillusioned and probably would be too scared to ever ask another girl out unless he was ready to buy a ring.
“You know?” he said finally, after a very tense few seconds for Emma, “for someone who has no dating experience to speak of, you sure have a lot of insight into the female dating psyche.” He looked over at Emma with a sincerely impressed look on his face. She heaved a huge, internal sigh of relief when his face broke into a half smile and a raised eyebrow. Maybe she wouldn’t have to explain to Abby why her brother was going to die a bachelor.
“Yeah, well, it’s one of the many perks of not having my own love life. I have been the primary confidante to countless girlfriends and even some of their boyfriends.” She rolled her eyes dramatically at the word ‘countless’ and smiled her sarcastic smile.
“I bet that’s been fun,” Andrew chuckled, regaining his normal cheerfulness. “Still, you must have proved a pretty good listener.” There was an awkward pause as neither of them was sure how to proceed now that this line of thought was concluded. “So, exactly how can you tell if a girl is just playing totally aloof to prevent you from asking her out?” They both laughed, and Emma shared a few stories of particularly persistent guys in college. Andrew shared some stories about his own overblown attempts to get a girl’s attention in high school. The rest of the drive was pleasant and casual again.
“See ya around, Emma. Thanks for driving.” Andrew shined his usual, carefree smile as he got out of the car at his apartment building.
“Hey, Andrew,” Emma called, leaning over before he closed the passenger door. His head bent down to meet her gaze. “You’re a really great guy, and any girl would be happy to date you. Really.” Shoot. Should she have said that? Maybe she should just have let it lie.
Andrew grinned. “Likewise,” he said. “Um, except the gender part, I guess.” They both laughed and Andrew closed the door. Emma drove home confident that their sibling camaraderie was fully intact.

An Intimidating and Unsettling Peace

Posted on by

In the past four months, I have lost my beloved counseling job due to restructuring, failed to secure another counseling position and felt convicted that it is time to move on to another profession/direction after spending nine years pursuing this goal, started to head into remission for an overactive thyroid disorder I developed almost a year ago only to lose employment and health insurance, qualified for Medicaid but had to switch doctors mid-treatment, and dealt with a medical crisis and extended medical care situation for the relative I am living with. So, as I am wrestling through anxiety and being overwhelmed on multiple fronts, I turned in my Bible the other day for some peace and comfort to, of course, Psalm 23. And do you know what I found? Some startling and uncomfortable details that I had not noticed before. Y’all, I have had this passage memorized since I was like 6. It’s the universal passage on comfort in times of trial and fear. It’s got all the great sound bites like fearing no evil in the valley of death, still waters and green pastures, and my cup runneth over. And for some reason, I feel like most of us read this passage and hear something like, “Yup, I’m really going through it right now. I’m in the valley. I’m surrounded by enemies. But, God’s gonna lead me out of this valley to green pastures and still waters. He’s gonna deliver me from this trial of poverty or famine or whatever and throw me a feast and that’ll show all these enemies and naysayers.” But, you know what I just found, much to my dismay? That is not what it says!

It doesn’t say He’s gonna yank me out of this valley (well, at least not until the last verse when “I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever”). It says, EVEN THOUGH I walk through this valley, I will fear no evil because He is with me and He will guide and protect me. Well, dang. That’s not exactly what I was hoping for. This is starting to not feel so warm and fuzzy anymore. It is starting to sound kind of intimidating and brave and stuff. Then, I noticed that the green pastures and still waters are mentioned before the valley, not after. What if the green pastures and still waters are not on the other side of the valley, but along the way, in the valley? And that’s why I need not fear in the valley, because I shall not want, even in this valley? Hmm, maybe that’s why He has to “make me lie down”–cause I’m thinking right about now, I’m still looking up at the valley of death on all sides, not at the green pasture under my feet.

But wait! It gets worse. While we’re here in the middle of this valley of death–as if that weren’t bad enough–suddenly we’re surrounded by enemies! And do you know what my Lord the Shepherd does? He prepares a banqueting table. I haven’t quite worked out yet how a sheep sits at a table, but putting that aside, here’s what I noticed about this: I used to think that this just meant God will continue to feed me in the presence of my enemies, and I’ll always have enough. You know, back to the whole “I shall not want” thing. And I’m sure it does mean that on one level. But this time around, I was reading in my study Bible and the footnote pointed out that the images of anointing my head with oil and filling a cup to overflowing are images of a victory banquet for the honored guest (aka the victor, presumably). And this has me really kind of miffed. I mean, is not that somewhat premature? Hello?! We are “in the presence of my enemies!” Aren’t You supposed to, like, go beat them all up with Your rod and send them packing first before we celebrate my victory? It seems a little presumptuous to be dripping in oil and spilling wine all down my shirt with all my enemies glaring at me from across the table, you know? Isn’t that likely to maybe, idk, provoke them? My Lord the Shepherd doesn’t seem to be overly concerned about this possibility. Actually, He doesn’t seem to be concerned at all–which is sort of making me question how much I’m worth to Him. Come on, who in their right mind throws a victory banquet in the middle of enemy territory, while surrounded by the actual enemy, and anoints their prey as the victor?! I mean, really!

You know who does that? The One who has already been their victim and has come back from the Valley of Death Himself. The One who can walk through the Valley of Death without being touched because He has already been swallowed by death and death couldn’t keep Him. Death can’t touch Him anymore, and neither can any of the enemies who live in its territory. Those enemies on the other side of the table, watching me get doused in oil and spill wine all over myself? They recognize my Lord the Shepherd. They remember the last time He was in this valley, when they came for Him, and they thought they won–and then He came back from the dead. They have known since that moment that their days are numbered and that one day it will be their turn. Maybe, just maybe, they are not glaring at me in eager anticipation of devouring me. Maybe they are staring at me in defeat as they watch me dripping in my Lord the Shepherd’s oil and thinking, “Well, that’s a wrap. She’s with Him. We can’t touch her now.”

My Lord the Shepherd is not particularly concerned that my enemies are present because He has already defeated them–even death–and He already knows my victory is a done deal. So, He celebrates, and He welcomes me to remember and celebrate the fact that this valley is not my defeat and these enemies are not my lords. While I would reeeeally, reeeeeally like Psalm 23 to say something like, “He lifts me up out of the valley and flies me over the heads of my enemies, while He zaps them all with lightning out of His fingertips. He carries me to green pastures and still waters far away from the valley, to my idyllic beachfront cottage, and makes me sip tea from cozy mugs. Surely sunshine and unicorns will follow me all the days of my life, and I will never have to struggle like this again.” (Well, actually, I’d prefer dolphins or fairies to unicorns, but you get the idea.) That’s not what He promises. But He does promise me, in the midst of my intense and painful struggle:

  1. He will never leave my side. He will guide my steps and protect me from harm. (:4)
  2. He will provide rest and refreshment for me, and will make me lie down when I forget. (:1-2)
  3. He will restore the strength of my soul after every attack. (:2)
  4. He will not allow evil to rule over me. (:4)
  5. He has already secured my ultimate victory. (:5)
  6. While I live here, in this valley, goodness and mercy shall follow me, even here, all the days of my life. (:6)
  7. Even after this life is done, I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my Shepherd forever. (:6)

So, it would appear that I am not going to get out of this valley any time soon. And while whatever specific enemy I am facing down today may not be there tomorrow, it will just be replaced by a new challenge or trial. The presence of enemies is not going to disappear. They will just change their faces from time to time. However, I do not have to fear. I will always have green pastures and still waters to rest in and drink. My victory is already assured. And I am not in this battle alone. Maybe I should stop looking so ardently for a path that leads out of the valley and start looking more at my Lord the Shepherd. I’m sort of tired and hungry anyway, and He seems like He’s got this.

A Familiar Edifice Amidst the Rubble

Posted on by

From a normally comfortable, relatively safe, anesthetized life in middle or upper class America, I think the cross frequently strikes us as odd or even bizarre–at best, an incredibly dramatic demonstration of God’s love and self-sacrifice (perhaps a little over the top); at worst, a grotesque and unnecessary death that sets a role model for us to follow in nonviolent resistance and fidelity to faith. In the West, we don’t like to think about a God of wrath, a God of justice. We prefer a God of forgiveness, but we don’t really stop to think what He’s forgiving us from. God’s forgiveness couldn’t actually require that–could it? Surely, God can forgive freely without a penalty for sin and the cross was purely a result of men’s decision, not also a meting out of divine judgment. How could God do that to His only Son? How could God be that angry? From my, marshmallow soft corner of the world, things seem to run fairly smoothly most of the time. We’re all basically good people, right? We don’t really harbor evil in our hearts. We just make mistakes, have off days, crack under pressure, etc., etc. It is easy to forget how evil sin is, how deep it goes, how destructive it is. Until weeks like this, that is.

When you cannot turn on the television or the computer or the radio without being gut-smacked with staggering statistics of inequity, violence, and prejudice experienced by African American communities throughout your nation; with footage of innocent police officers being shot down in the street while protecting those drawing attention to these inequities; with mass murders all over the world via terrorist attacks with suicide vests and large vehicles plowing into crowds; of entire countries being wiped out by civil war and thousands upon thousands of refugees whose homes have been literally decimated fleeing for safety with nowhere to go … suddenly it becomes a lot harder to downplay the gravity or the size of the problem, or to reduce sin to “mistakes” or the blatant evil in humanity to just an off day or result of societal pressures. When it becomes impossible to run away or avert your eyes from the true nature of the problem, the simple solutions don’t seem that simple anymore.”Free” forgiveness doesn’t seem so free when you’re confronted with the cost of what’s been done to the victims. There must be some sort of justice, some sort of judgment, some sort of atonement. But, that seems to lead to some scary places.

I remember reading a passage from The Reason for God in which Tim Keller quotes a scholar from Croatia who lived through horrific violence in the Balkans and wrote that the ability to refrain from retaliation is only possible if you believe that there is a just God who will execute judgment for sin. He writes, “If God were not angry at injustice and deception and did not make a final end to violence–that God would not be worthy of worship….My thesis is that the practice of nonviolence requires a belief in divine vengeance will be unpopular with many…in the West…it takes the quiet of a suburban home for the birth of the thesis that human nonviolence [can result from a belief in] God’s refusal to judge. In a sun-scorched land, soaked in the blood of the innocent, it will invariably die…” (qtd. on p.76-77). We need a God of justice, a God who will judge, who will execute judgment for the horrific atrocities committed. And I do believe in a final judgment, but that still leaves me with two dilemmas: 1. If I am completely honest with myself, way down deep under my marshmallow facade, I can find evil lurking in my own heart and I know that I cannot expect judgment for others without also incurring it myself, and 2. While it is comforting to know that God will eventually punish all sin and execute judgment, it does not always seem that we can see Him acting immediately in the here and now, today. Does God see what is happening now? In this place? How do we try to move forward while waiting for final judgment to come?

I find myself scanning the horizon for any sign of hope. As I survey the devastation, I find a familiar edifice standing amidst the rubble: the cross. It does not seem so out of place or extreme or bizarre now, amidst this landscape of bloodshed and violence and oppression. In fact, it seems strangely relevant and accessible–even to my suburban, Western sensibilities. And I find that while I do not know what God is doing at this exact moment in any particular situation in my country or in the world, the cross is a permanent, prominent, undeniable answer that He is here; He is involved; He is active.

Today I am thankful for the cross: the proof that God is neither ignorant of nor indifferent or immune to the suffering and injustice in the world, wrought by the evil in men’s hearts. Today I am thankful for the resurrection: the proof that God is also not impotent in the face of such evil, and that even in the face of such evil and devastation, His justice and wrath are tempered with a desire for a solution better than mere annihilation of the human race. And I am thankful that because of the cross and the resurrection, there is hope for us.

Thank You, Father, for being a God who is BOTH just and merciful. Thank You for being a God of wrath and justice–that we can rest in Your justice and leave vengeance in Your hands when evil goes unpunished in the immediate by our society or our government. Thank you for Your justice that enables us to let go of the dual burdens of needing to exact revenge ourselves or of being crushed by despair over there being seemingly no accountability for evil in the world. Thank You for being a God of mercy and love–that we can face the horrors of the atrocities committed by our own society, our own race, and even our own hearts without the need to justify, deny, hide, or excuse them because You already know them all and have made forgiveness possible through the sacrifice of Your Son on the cross. Thank You for sending Him to us, and for accepting His sacrifice on our behalf and raising Him from the dead.

Thank You, Jesus, for absorbing the guilt and penalty of our evil and God’s just wrath upon the cross,  and for living a perfect life that fulfilled the law we had broken. Thank You for taking on human flesh and literally becoming one with us while we were Your enemies, even though You knew we would reject You and kill You–simultaneously creating both the ultimate climax of our sinfulness and the fulfillment of God’s wrath in response. Thank You for exchanging Your perfect righteousness with our perfect rebellion. Thank You for relieving us of the impossible burdens of the need to be above reproach and of being crushed by our guilt. Thank You for giving us the freedom to confess our sins without fear of condemnation and to repent, and for allowing us to hide ourselves in You and clothe ourselves with Your righteousness. Thank You for interceding continually with the Father for those of us who do.

Thank You, Spirit, for continuing to do the miraculous works of resurrection and new creation in our hearts–granting us the gifts of repentance and faith, turning enemies into brothers and allies, replacing fear and resentment with love and forgiveness, teaching us to place our wrath on the cross as well. Thank You for giving us something better than fair condemnation, vindication, etc.: thank You for giving us new life, healing, wholeness; for taking our enemies and our conflicts and giving us brothers and reconciliation instead.

Thank You for the ways I have seen You do this in my own life, and in my own community. Please, God, do this for my region, for my country, for my world. Please bring repentance, healing, forgiveness, and unity to all of us. Let us meet as equals at the foot of the cross and rise again as one body unified in Christ; let us outdo one another in confession and repentance and forgiveness. Give us the cross, Jesus. Give us Yourself.

Amen.

The New Self-Righteousness

Posted on by

“By this we know love, that He laid down His life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers. But if anyone has the world’s goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him, how does God’s love abide in him? Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth.”

I John 3:16-18

I’m as guilty as the next person, and to some extent I think it’s a natural coping mechanism to feeling understandably overwhelmed. In our 25/7, mobile, digital, matrix of information society, we are inundated constantly with tragedy, injustice, inequality, oppression, victimization, poverty, hunger, the list goes on and on…….and on………and on. You can no longer avoid it by turning off the 6:00 news. It’s on our phones, our ads, our social medial outlets. It’s everywhere–this overwhelming brokenness that cries out for healing. And we find ourselves somehow trying to process these truly massive world problems in the midst of an increasingly hurried, demanding, exhausting life pace which can often feel like you are dog paddling at full capacity just to stay afloat and on top of things like bills, housework, and sleep. So, while I’m trying to just make all my ends meet, I’m confronted with things like gun violence and genocide and war and hunger and homelessness in 30-60 second intervals. It’s daunting.

Personally, I tend toward two knee-jerk reactions in response to these humanitarian and social justice issues. Frequently, I sympathize with Prince Henry in “Ever After” when he says, “I used to think that if I cared about anything, I would have to care about everything, and I’d go stark raving mad.” So, I avoid the news for a few days, log in to social media to post an update but don’t scroll through the numerous articles and blogs shared by my friends on difficult subjects. I take lots of long walks in quiet nature and read Jane Austen and sip cocoa. And I try not to think about the rest of the world for a while. I try not to know, because if I know, then I will have to care. And I don’t know what do when I care. How can I possibly make a difference in the face of such bottomless needs.

This first response, of course, is not defensible for very long, even to myself. It’s completely self-obsessed and literally places my own sense of comfort and ease above the very real needs of my fellow-man. Pretty obviously a direct violation of the “love your neighbor as yourself” command. So, if my pride and ego are at all active and desiring to justify my existence, I cannot remain in the first camp for too long.

Which brings us to the second response and the topic of this entry. My second knee-jerk reaction to a world in need is to become a vocal activist–an awareness rouser, a moral commentator, a “voice.” I feel that I should have enough compassion for my fellow-man to look at their struggles and do something. So, I repost and share articles and blogs. I pontificate about the plight of those in distress and the call to compassion for them. I blast the selfishness or cold-heartedness of those who are either failing to recognize the humanity of illegal immigrants or the dependency of the poor, or the helplessness of the refugees in Europe or the unborn child, or the…you name it. And by logging in, sharing a post (such as this one), calling out our hypocrisy, etc., I feel good about myself. I feel like I have done something; I have overcome my indifference and my fear and I have taken a stand! I have given a voice to a need! I have contributed! Aah, my conscience gives a sigh of relief, and I can go back to my cup of cocoa and my Jane Austen novel with a clear conscience, knowing I have fulfilled my God-given duty.

But have I? Lately, I have been increasingly convicted that it is easy to say you believe something and it is an awful lot harder to actually believe something–to the point that it changes you, to the point that it requires something of you, to the point that you have to actually follow your words with your life. I wonder if the new “activism” of taking a digital voice and speaking on behalf of issues is actually just a new way of avoiding true compassion? I see it everywhere from Facebook to politics. It’s a lot easier to take a stance on an issue than it is to seek a solution to an issue. Stances are easy, and often require very little from me whatsoever as they come already pre-packaged and wrapped in neat little bows, complete with a cheering section to pat me on the back and tell me I’m a good person. Service? Solutions? That’s hard. That’s time-consuming. That’s up close and personal and risks my getting entangled with real people with real needs that are bigger than me. Rhetoric is easy, especially if you’re a writer by nature. I can log on and write some moving paragraph about humanity and compassion and the gospel in five minutes or less and hit “send”, “post,” “reply.” Response? Taking responsibility for a need, for an issue, for a person? That’s hard. And scary. Criticism is easy. Here’s my stance and my cheering section, and we’re here to point out all your hypocrisy and failures and selfishness and self-righteousness, Mr. Opponent. How dare you? You are not worthy; you are not a humanitarian. You do not really care about these people in need! We are so glad we are not hypocritical and self-righteous like you. Compassion? Recognizing that Mr. Opponent is a flawed human being like myself, who may not be evil incarnate and may actually be trying to make a positive difference, even if he’s misguided? That’s hard. Actually doing something for the people in need that Mr. Opponent isn’t truly helping? That’s hard.

So this is the challenge that the Holy Spirit has been putting to me lately: for every issue I post on or share a post on or comment on a post regarding, when is the last time I encountered a human being connected to that issue? I say I care about the sanctity of life. When was the last time I prayed with a teenage mother? Or volunteered at a crisis pregnancy center? Or gave financially? I say I care about the poor. When was the last time I actually encountered a homeless person? And talked with him or her? I say I care about poverty. But, who do I know who I would actually consider poor? Jesus was pretty forceful in condemning the Pharisees for speaking on behalf of God and being poster children for righteousness while actually neglecting the least of these that are so close to God’s heart. Jesus is not calling me out into the airwaves (or satellite waves, or idk whatever scientific magic is involved in sending things to the interwebs). Jesus is calling me out into humanity–to respond to actual people, not issues. Once again, I find myself in the shoes of the Pharisees, stumblingly trying to trade them in for a pair of dusty sandals that go places that scare me. I can’t, of course, fix everything. Nor can I cure every ailment or fill every need. But, God doesn’t ask me to be God. He is already there–in each neighborhood, issue, struggle. He has unlimited resources and compassion. All He is asking me to do is show up and be included in what He’s doing. As I step out in faith, God will meet me and stretch me in ways I couldn’t have imagined, and He will teach me new depths of my dependence on Him and of His sufficiency for every dark corner. So, here are my new focus words:

stance    SERVICE

rhetoric   RESPONSE

criticism/condemnation   COMPASSION

Wish me well. It’s going to be a bumpy ride full of lots of opportunities for humble pie, awkwardness, and fear. But, while God’s adventures in my experience don’t usually involve smooth rides, the views are breathtaking.

What It Looks Like When Love Wins

Posted on by

DSCN1702

Recently, the Supreme Court ruled that marriage is a constitutional right which states must extend to same-sex couples. For many people, this is a sign of hope and optimism, of progress and justice. For many others, it is perhaps not a surprise, but a cause for reflection and sadness on the direction our culture is progressing on much deeper issues than the definition of marriage. For some in both camps, it has been received as yet another call to arms–stand up for what you believe by bludgeoning back the opposition and exposing them for the pagans/bigots they are (depending on which side you stand on).

I want to see love win in this situation. And I wonder what that looks like exactly. I don’t think that love winning means that I require you to agree with me before I accept you or approve of your existence or enjoy your humanity. I don’t think it looks like you having to approve of everything about me (decisions, beliefs, etc.) before you are willing to enter into relationship with and associate with me. I sincerely hope it doesn’t look like two people sitting politely in a room, not talking about elephants because we’re afraid of each other or of the elephants. I also hope it doesn’t look like two people beating the elephant and forgetting that there’s a person on the other side–not just a human figure, but an actual person with thoughts and feelings and a story. There is a tendency with divisive topics for the conversation to center on the topic or the issue. I think maybe love winning looks more like the conversation focusing on people.

I took the terrifying step of asking about the elephant in the room with someone I care deeply about a few years ago. We had not talked much before because he was on the other side of the elephant. I knew I could not approve of his position on the issue of homosexuality. I knew he would not agree with mine. I was pretty sure he might reject me outright just for stating what my position was. But, you know what? I screwed up my courage and I asked if I could share my thoughts. And, the most amazing thing happened. He listened, and he responded. And then we were in a conversation and I was able to listen. It was a scary conversation at first, a bit like walking on ice. There is a certain inherent tension in these types of conversations, no matter how civil the tone, and tension is not something that is comfortable. But, I have come to realize, that I have to either choose to live with the tension, or I have to miss out on being in relationship. And I do not want to miss out on this relationship. I have probably learned more from the friendship than he has, but I think it has been encouraging for both of us.

I wrote the following poem/reflection/whatever back when I started my first elephant conversation. I wanted to sort through my fears and emotions, and to focus myself on a commitment to love no matter what. I am posting it again now to remind myself of what tone my conversations on this (or any hotly debated, controversial topic) should look like…you know, before I send off my next comment on someone’s status update. Because, it’s not about winning an argument or a debate. It’s about learning to understand and to share the love God has lavished on us in Christ–while we disagreed with Him, at the cross. And I want to remember what a gift in my life it has been to have a chance to know and to love the person on the other side of the elephant.

Love is a Puzzle

When I say I love you, what I mean is: I choose to look you in the face, see you, and put my arms around you—tight. And I will not let go.

It will be hard to look you in the face at times because you are not like me. There will be times when you do not look back or when I cannot find you behind your eyes. There will be times when I feel I am looking at a stranger and times when you do not see me for who I am. There will be times when I fail to look you in the eye for fear of rejection or confrontation or loneliness. There will be times when I do see you and do not like what I see. But, I will not let go.

It will be hard to hold on to you. There are tempests raging about, creating a wind tunnel between us. We will have to grip hard if we are to hold on to each other. And holding on will hurt because we do not fit together. We are not interlocking pieces, you and I; we are an unmatched pair. My edges and your edges will push and rub against each other, and some of them are sharp. As our arms try to embrace, our edges will push us apart. I will get bruised and cut, and sometimes I will blame you. Sometimes you may hurt me on purpose because I am uncomfortable to hold on to. But, I will not let go.

At some point, you may get angry or hurt or just tired, so you will let go and turn away with your smooth edge facing me. You will not have to look at me or get bruised this way, but you will not be able to see me or feel my love either.  I will have a harder time holding on to you because there will be less to hold on to, and I will be the only one holding on. But, I will not let go.

I will keep gripping you in the hope that one day you might turn back around so that I can see your face again. When you do turn back around, I will be amazed because I will look at you and see my own face. I will discover that the stranger I have been holding on to so tightly—with the sharp corners, the rough edges, and the parts I don’t like—is really me. And the arms that would not let go, even when you turned away, are not mine but God’s. I will look down at those arms and see the deep scars left by the nails He drove into them so that nothing could rip me out of His grip, even when I turn away. My own arms, I will find, have not in fact held you as they ought. I have pushed you and cut you, too, and I have let go at times. When I look back at you, I will not just see you anymore or my own reflection in your eyes. I will see Him, and I will understand how we are still holding on to each other in spite of everything because I will feel His arms holding us both. Then, with a new understanding and a new hope, I will look you in the eyes and say it again.

I love you.

So, what does it look like when love wins? I think it looks like people being able to discuss hard topics in a safe space because they choose to listen, to hear, to understand, and to accept the other person. For me, that means asking more questions than I seek to answer. It means being interested in someone’s experience and their conclusions, not because I would reach the same conclusions or so that I can custom-tailor my rebuttal, but because that journey is part of who they are and helps me understand how they got there. It means taking an interest in the whole person, and enjoying them as a person not an opponent. It means talking to learn, and to be close, not to convince or to expostulate. It means choosing to make the person and the relationship more important than the topic of conversation.

The overarching story of the Bible can be summed up as Love Wins. And, I think that the Holy Spirit is working that out in my own life, not just in my own salvation but in my interactions with others–even in conversations and relationships with people with whom I disagree. In fact, in some ways, I think that is where the gospel shines the brightest and where I learn the most about grace.God is not just concerned with our positions on issues. He is concerned with our posture toward the people He has created.

I Peter 3:15-16 “…but in your hearts, regard Christ the Lord as holy, always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and respect, having a good conscience…”

2 Timothy 2:23-24 “Have nothing to do with foolish and ignorant controversies; you know that they breed quarrels. And the Lord’s servant must not be quarrelsome but kind to everyone…correcting his opponents with gentleness.”

As the dust settles and the ripples work their way outwards through public and private discussion, here’s hoping that love wins.

My Life as a Vampire

Posted on by

Being single is a lot like being a vampire.

vampire bat

No, seriously. I know it sounds ridiculous, but think about it. Okay, forget about the whole blood sucking thing for a minute: what makes a vampire a vampire? Immortality, right? They never age.

I never used to see the appeal of vampires, honestly. I’m not really into fantasy or film noir. But, after deciding to explore a movie to figure out what all my female students were raving about a few years ago, I was surprised by how much the plight of the modern, youthful vampire resonated with me. It took me a while to figure out why, but then I realized that there are many similarities between being a vampire and being single, at least in my experience.

Exhibit A: Vampires themselves are not touched by time, yet they still inhabit a world inside of time. While they do not age or change, everything around them is constantly changing. Loved ones grow old, get sick, die, while they remain the same.
As a single person, my lifestyle has remained essentially the same since my early 20’s. Meanwhile, almost all of my friends from my early 20’s are now spouses, parents, homeowners, etc. I watch everyone else’s lives progress and change and develop new chapters, while mine remains more or less untouched.
Exhibit B: Vampires do not age along with everyone else. Consequently, they are usually mistaken for being much younger than they actually are.
Okay, so technically, I’m always aging. But, I never seem to change. The conversation that happens when people learn my real age is so consistent that I sometimes mouth the reactions while the latest person is having them. I can’t count the number of times someone has tried to share a reassuring story about how they didn’t meet their husband until they were like 29. (smirk and sigh) When I tell them how far past that I am, there is always, without exception, a loud gasp, followed by an eerie expression and intent examination of my face as if they just entered the Twilight Zone, followed by a, “No. You can’t be. Seriously?” Seriously. “I thought you were like 25!” It’s always the same number. I realize this is a problem a lot of women would kill to have. But, while I guess I’d rather be a stunningly youthful spinster than a wrinkly one, I sometimes think I would take the grey and the wrinkles if I got to have a family and make a home.
Exhibit C: Vampires must constantly change their society and find a new home or place to live.
Okay, so in the case of a vampire, this is self-inflicted in order to avoid detection. I’m not really afraid of anyone discovering that I’m single. But, my society still changes about every 3 years. I was complaining to another single friend once about how all my friendships were changing, and she said, “Well, you’re at the 3 year mark.” I had no idea what she was talking about, but she asserted that there is a 3 year rotation for social circles when you are single. I’ve paid attention ever since then and she’s totally right! You find a group that you can belong to. For me, it’s the young adults group at my church. You have people to “do life with” who are available to hang out and talk to and do things with. Then, over the course of 3 years, all of those people either get married, or the married people have kids, or they buy a house and start renovating, or the newlyweds decide they need to join a marriage bible study instead, and *PRESTO!* your social circle is gone. Now, usually, there is more of a trickle in and trickle out, so everyone doesn’t disappear at once leaving a void. But, still, it does get exhausting sometimes.
Exhibit D: Vampires do not really fit in anywhere. They just sort of cohabitate.
I frequently feel as if I do not quite fit in anywhere. Don’t get me wrong, I am thankful to say that I feel accepted lots of places, even pursued and known. But, I just can’t figure out where I fit. I don’t fit in with my chronological peers, because I am still living the life of a 24-year-old. I don’t quite fit in with my stage of life peers because it is not all new and exciting to me. I have been dealing with this for a long time, and I carry the weight of years that they have not yet known. Eventually, youth gets old. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. What’s even more trippy is when my stage of life peers move on to the next stages, even though they are years younger than me. Am I the big sister still? The younger sister? I often feel like I have just fallen off the space-time continuum altogether, and it’s not freeing so much as disorienting. That’s the trouble with vampires. Immortality is only great if you live in an immortal world, and a much better one than this one.

I was festering over this one day a while back. You know, the whole “woe is me” and “nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen” head space. I even wrote a poem to express my temporal confusion. I started praying about it, and as I was mid-sentence, telling God “It feels like–” Jesus finished the sentence for me: “Like you have no place to rest your head?” I stopped dead in my tracks. Yes! That’s exactly what it feels like, and I suddenly realized, Somebody does know the trouble I’ve seen. Imagine being eternal, immortal, the only-wise God and then actually entering into Time, becoming a chronological being. Talk about disorienting! I worry about losing my chronology; Jesus took on the burden of chronology for me. If I think people don’t know what to make of me, I can only imagine how misunderstood He felt. Literally no one knew what He was going through or what His experience of life was like. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, He did not follow the expected timeline of His culture either. I’m sure he faced many a “When are you going to settle down?” question of His own. I assume most of his siblings got married, had kids. People maybe expected Him to take over the family carpentry business, settle down with a nice Jewish girl, raise a family. Instead, He was still travelling around as a homeless, itinerant rabbi at the age of 33. “Foxes have their holes, and birds of the air have their nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head.” (Matthew 8:20) As the Son of God, He had the whole scope of eternity in which to lay His head (even though He didn’t need to), but when He became the Son of Man and actually had the need, there was nowhere. So, as it turns out, as much as being a vampire is disorienting and confusing, and lonely sometimes, I do have someplace to lay my head: squarely on the chest of Christ, my Savior. And, when necessary, He will hold me until I finish singing my dramatic dirges and collapse my head in exhaustion. He’s done it before.

The God of Perishing Hope

Posted on by

DSCN2327

The winter holiday season is always an interesting time for me emotionally. I look forward to seeing family, watching the littles open their presents and discover traditions, relaxing and taking time to just be with loved ones, sharing a meal or a desert or a cup of coffee. I feel thankful that God loved me enough, in spite of all my mess and idolatry and selfishness, to enter into time (more on that in a future post) and humanity and take on the burden of my brokenness Himself so that I would not be alone on this journey, and so that the end of this journey would involve reconciliation and homecoming and fulfillment instead of consequences and isolation and condemnation. I also enjoy just being able to stop and rest for a while. These are all blessings of the holiday season.

On the other hand, the Christmas to New Year time period is also a major time marker, a milestone, a time that naturally turns our minds toward reviewing the previous year (and years) and noticing that another year has come to a close. Milestones are dangerous when you are single. Probably they are dangerous for anyone whose life has not followed their expected timeline. Milestones tend to prompt the reviewing of all the things that did not happen–yet again–in the previous year (and years). The holiday milestones add the complication of gathering with family members and loved ones whose lives are progressing in those areas where mine seems to be at a permanent standstill. The fellowship is comforting, but the juxtaposition is sometimes acute.

This morning, I read an article about unexpected developments in life (http://www.desiringgod.org/blog/posts/when-god-messes-with-your-life-plan). It wasn’t quite the same as the unexpected lack of developments I am facing, but the spiritual struggle is the same. (It’s one of the amazing and beautiful things about humanity to me that no matter what circumstances our lives are wrapped in, the struggles inside are exactly the same once you open the package. It is comforting to me when I can’t see any other life packages that look like mine on the outside, and it is part of the way that we are never alone.) At any rate, I was struck once again by the example of Abraham being asked to sacrifice Isaac as I read the article. So, I decided to look it up in Genesis 22 for devotions, thinking maybe God was asking me to sacrifice my lack of children and spouse to Him–again; that just maybe the way to avoid depression and self-pity in this cycle of the grief would be to willingly sacrifice my lack of developments.

As I turned to Genesis 22, I found that the immediately preceding chapter contained the story of Hagar’s exile with Ishmael. Both familiar and favorite stories of mine, but a juxtaposition I had not noted before. This juxtaposition was also acute to me, and convicting. The stories struck me as two different pictures of a God-ordained sacrifice; two different journeys of disappointment and grief.

First, we have in Genesis 21:14-19, Hagar: Circumstances find Hagar and her son (Ishmael) cast out of their home into the wilderness by her master (Abraham). Sarah has decided she does not want Ishmael around (after she demanded that Abraham sleep with Hagar to give birth to an heir) now that she has her own son. But, God tells Abraham not to worry because He will watch over Ishmael, and to do as Sarah asks. So, Abraham sends Hagar off with nothing but food and a canteen of water to make her way in the world. I’m willing to bet that having a child by her boss’s husband probably wasn’t part of her original life plan either, and now she finds herself “wandering aimlessly” through the wilderness until her canteen is emptied and she has no resources left. To be fair, God’s hand is not overtly at work in this turn of events. I can’t blame her for failing to recognize His sovereignty or assuming this is the end of her sad tale. “When the water was gone, she left the child under a bush and went off and sat down 100 yards or so away. ‘I don’t want to watch him die,’ she said and burst into tears, sobbing wildly.” This is not a conscious sacrifice of obedience, a trusting journey of grief. This is a circumstance that was forced upon her unexpectedly and she does not know how to cope. I have been there–withdrawing by myself to burst into tears of despair and sit myself down in a heap, waiting for the end. It’s a very low place to be. She doesn’t see God at work. She doesn’t see the well nearby that He has already provided to refill her canteen. She can’t even look at her beloved son anymore. She can’t watch the death of her hope, her love, her dream. So, she leaves him alone to die. She feels abandoned, hopeless, desperate.

In Genesis 22:1-18, we find Abraham: Abraham’s circumstances are quite stable, prosperous, and peaceful by contrast. God directly speaks to Abraham and commands him to take his son (the only son with his wife Sarah, the miracle child who is the fulfillment of God’s promise to Abraham) and sacrifice him to the Lord as a burnt offering.  So, Abraham puts together a travel party and goes to the place God had told him to sacrifice Isaac. I am sure this was an equally heart-wrenching journey as Hagar’s, with the added knowledge that Abraham himself would have to actively sacrifice his son, and after he has already had to lose his first son, Ishmael. However, Abraham proceeds in obedience. He tells Isaac that God will provide the sacrifice they need. He builds the altar. He ties up Isaac. The knife is raised, the pyre is built. He intentionally, consciously prepares to sacrifices his child to a God that has just asked Him to kill the promise which that same God made to him. However, he is not without hope. Hebrews 11:17-19 tells us that he was able to obey out of faith in God, trusting in God’s promise to give him descendants through Isaac. “He considered that God was able even to raise him from the dead.” He doesn’t understand the command; it seems to contradict what God had done before. But, he trusts God to be faithful to His promises, despite all developments to the contrary. He trusts in God’s provision, not his own resources. The Angel of the Lord says to him, “I know that God is first in your life–you have not withheld even your beloved son from me,” and then God opens Abraham’s eyes to see the ram which God has already provided for the offering in Isaac’s place.

Me: I have no idea what it’s like to have to sacrifice a child because I have never had a child. I won’t pretend to even be able to imagine that. But, I have found myself on both sides of the juxtaposition when it comes to the grief caused by disappointment or seemingly defeated hopes for the future. How do I respond when my hopes for the future are out of water and I feel like I’m wandering aimlessly through the wilderness? How do I respond when God speaks to me and tells me to be willing to actually sacrifice my hopes for the future, surrender them completely to Him? Am I willing to make that sacrifice because I seek to honor God above myself, and trust Him more than what I can see? Is God first in my life? Or do I sob my eyes out as I wander in my own, personal wilderness, unwilling to lift my eyes to face my fears and consequently also unable to see God’s loving provision for me? [Let’s just say that there is a plentiful amount of juxtaposition in my responses as well. But, I’m afraid that at milestones, I tend more toward Hagar.]

God: What I find to be very encouraging is what the two stories have in common–God’s response. In both situations (willing, obedient sacrifice and despairing, hopeless grief), God initiates an intervention. As Hagar is resigning herself to die in this place of hopelessness and abandonment, alone, forever (much more justified in her situation than in mine), God speaks. The Angel of the Lord interrupts the pity party: “Hagar, what’s wrong? Don’t be afraid! For God has heard the boy’s cries as he is lying there.” Then God opens her eyes to see a well. Did you get that? A well! In the middle of the wilderness! When Hagar’s resources are out, God miraculously provides a means to replenish them and to preserve her life and her hope for the future. As Abraham is preparing to take the biggest leap of faith in his life and commit his most costly act of obedience, God interrupts. The Angel of God shouts this time: “Abraham! Abraham! Put down the knife; don’t hurt the boy in any way, for I know that God is first in your life…” And then, for the first time, Abraham “notices” a ram caught by its horns in a nearby bush, perfect for a burnt offering to God. In this case, I find the juxtaposition encouraging. Redemption does not depend on the person, but on the Creator. God does not reward Abraham’s obedience and reject Hagar for her lack of faith. He does not punish Abraham for having Ishmael by taking Isaac. He rescues both of them. He provides for both of them. He shows unmerited favor and redemption to both of them. He preserves their hope and their future, for both of them.

God remains faithful, whether I am walking in intentional faith and trust or hiding behind a bush having a pity party. He loves me unconditionally when I believe that truth and when I doubt it. He provides a substitute sacrifice in my place to pay for my sins, and He provides sustenance for me on my journey which sometimes seems aimless. God’s faithfulness in the midst of my grief will not change with my response. My experience of that journey, however, will. When I find myself collapsed in the wilderness, I want to remember that God has already ordained miraculous provision that I can’t see yet, and that He hears my cries and has not abandoned me. But, I would prefer to spend less time sobbing my eyes out and more time putting one foot in front of the other as I follow God’s lead, trusting Him with my ultimate future and with my hopes for the future, regardless of how many times I find myself standing at the altar. I want God to be first in my life–whatever that life looks like.