Brave

Yesterday in church the worship team was singing the song that goes like this:

      You make me brave
      You make me brave
      You call me out beyond the shore into the waves
      You make me brave
      You make me brave
      No fear can hinder now the promises you've made

Now what is a person who suffers with anxiety supposed to do with lines like that?

So many times I've mentally beaten myself up because I don't feel brave at ALL. The last line of this stanza is based on 1 John 4:18, which reads, "But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love" (NIV).

This verse made me feel awful whenever I was having an episode,* because I felt frozen with fear. It may sound absurd, but every weekend, I dreaded making a grocery list and going to the store...I think because it involved so many minor decisions that I felt overwhelmed. So when I was afraid to buy food for my family, I knew I wasn't "made perfect in love." I DEFINITELY wasn't brave. If He was "calling me out beyond the shore into the waves," I hadn't made it off the beach.

And surely that was my fault.

Setting aside the theological angle, here is what I realized in a flash yesterday while the song was being sung (and I believe it applies to everyone, regardless of whether you are a person who participates in a religious faith or not).

First, many thinkers have clarified that courage is not absence of fear. If it were, there wouldn't be anything particularly admirable about actions we define as courageous.

Think about it. If one cannot experience fear--and a few rare souls have this condition--then they are not knowingly choosing to be brave. They're just naively trusting as they go along. For me, courage is choosing to act according to one's values without regard to the danger to oneself. When I Googled "definition of courage," an even more succinct phrase came up: "the ability to do something that frightens one."

This is why my counselor gently asked me while I was struggling with the grocery store thing, "If a person has something that she's really afraid of (like going to the grocery store), and she does it anyway, does that make her a weak person or a strong person?"

Another mistake we make: we equate bravery only with physical courage. No one would deny that a firefighter who goes into a burning building to save someone is courageous. Since the will to survive is hardwired into human nature, that kind of bravery goes against all our instincts. It takes enormous willpower and a lot of adrenaline (I'm guessing) to overcome that kind of pre-programming.

Corrie ten Boom, author of The Hiding Place

I would never want to diminish the incredible difficulty of this kind of unselfish courage. In fact, I'll come back to it in a minute. But now I'd like to point out another kind of courage, a quieter kind. I've heard it described as moral courage. It can involve taking a stand against evil publicly or behind the scenes. Sometimes it too involves risking one's life; an example is the people who hid Jews during the Holocaust. In that case, secretly defying the Nazis' evil was more valuable than open defiance, since if you are alive you can save more people than if you're dead. Still, no one would disagree that Corrie ten Boom and Oskar Schindler were every bit as brave as the firefighters on 9/11...and many of those who hid Jewish people paid for their disobedience with their lives, showing that it's possible to exhibit both kinds of courage at the same time.

I'm coming to understand that a person can be brave even when lives aren't literally at stake. It seems absolutely absurd to think of myself as "bravely going to the grocery store" when people all over the world are facing unimaginable horrors.

Yet I think the message I got yesterday was that bravery isn't defined by the immediacy of the risk; what makes someone brave is that they acted according to their values despite their feelings of fear. 

I know many heroic single parents. Most of them probably have felt fear and even despair when faced with the task of raising children on their own. Yet they get up every morning and do the right thing all over again. That's courage.

If you think about it, the soldier who saves his fellow soldier in the middle of a firefight or the person who wakes up every day and refuses to let mental illness win are similar. Both of them choose to disbelieve the overwhelming information their brain is screaming at them and the huge chemical dump that makes their bodies shake, their hearts race, their throats close and their chests tighten. Both of them choose to act according to their belief about what is right. The soldier thinks, "It wouldn't be right to leave my buddy to be blown up." The person in the grip of clinical depression thinks, "It wouldn't be right to leave my family grieving for me."

I could go on to explain how the brain of an anxious person is giving the same signals as a person in physical danger--aka the fight or flight syndrome. But my posts tend to be too long already, so I won't. Another time.

Friend, if you find yourself stuck between the rock of your principles and the hard place life has driven you into, may I encourage you to cling to the rock? Choose to act according to your beliefs, even if it seems impossibly painful to do so. When I was in the middle of my most recent episode, I couldn't imagine living the next forty years in that kind of mental anguish...and I felt certain that I would always feel that awful. Yet I knew that love was my greatest value; therefore, love for my family--and God--made me choose, over and over again, not to give up. And now I have a new doctor, a new treatment plan, and new hope. I'm SO glad I was brave enough to keep going.

And that, I realized yesterday, is how perfect love drives out fear. Like so many things on my journey to healing, I'm learning that healing is a process. Perfect love WILL drive out all fear...if I give it time. It may take longer than I always thought that meant...but then eternal time is not the same as human time.

After all, the verse never said I am supposed to make myself perfect in love, only that "the one who fears is not made perfect in love." My job is to let myself surrender to the "love that made a way," as the song says.  All those who make the choice to "show strength in the face of pain or grief"** are courageous in my book.



*I choose to call my recurrences of my depression and anxiety "episodes" instead of relapses or anything that implies going backward or getting worse.  In a TV series, each episode has its own plot that is solved by the end but it also fits into a larger dramatic arc of the season and the series as a whole. Finally--and most important to me--episodes are temporary. Once you finish an episode, there is another, different one to experience.

**Google's #2 definition of courage.

Good Deeds...Not a Humblebrag

Over at Bye Bye Pie, (a hilarious blog, by the way) June has up a post in which people can list good deeds they are doing for the holidays. (She uses the term "good deeds" on purpose, as the acronym RAoK is super annoying to her, and I agree. It's unpronounceable without sounding like a crow cawing.) The comments describing the good deeds done--it can be major or as small as "I refrained from doing something awful"--is inspiring. Here are mine:

1. I donated to a family whose 17-year-old son had to have surgery to remove metal rods from his chest. Fortunately, he is now doing well but as you can imagine, their medical bills are enormous. I don't know any more details (although I morbidly wish I did, because HOW did that happen? Of course, 17 year old boy. 'Nuff said, really.) I learned about them from our medical sharing plan, which we use instead of traditional medical insurance. Samaritan Ministries assigns a share amount to its members (the amount for a family with three or more people is $405/month) and the situation, name and address of the fellow member who needs the money to pay for their medical expenses. They ask you to send a note of encouragement with your money, which according to the letters from members, are even more cheering than the checks. 

This family was not assigned to us (we had a family whose baby was in the NICU for twelve days and is now home). Samaritan publishes "Special Prayer Needs" for those whose medical situation is not publishable, usually due to preexisting conditions. Ethan's surgery took place before they became members, or they would have been eligible. I wrote: "Please tell Ethan the A____ family from Texas is praying for him and believing for his full recovery! Merry Christmas!" 

This family is from Nebraska and we will most likely never meet. But now we are linked because we have prayed for them and given to a fellow believer in need. My children and I prayed for Ethan this week.

2. Much smaller and less effort: start any of your Amazon.com shopping at smile.amazon.com. You can designate a charity of your choice and Amazon will donate 0.5% of your purchase to it. Every little bit counts! (I order everything I possibly can for Christmas from Amazon, so my charity will be BANKING in January.) I designated the Beyond Blue Foundation as my recipient, though there are truly many to choose from. My son's elementary is even on there, although they don't need money as much as some nonprofits do!

3. Finally, I'm going to do a special giveaway this week on this blog! Super excited about it...please check back Monday to see it!

What good deeds have you done or are you planning to do?

What to do after the end of the world

I'm writing this on Monday evening. Until now, I've had no trouble thinking of topics to write about. I still have a few ideas, but I'm tired and sad because the world is awful and it took almost no time at all to politicize a tragedy. So the best I can do is share the words of the amazing writer Anne Lamott, which she posted on her Facebook page soon after the news of the attacks on Paris. (This was a time when FB was NOT "of the devil," as I like to joke.) She offers no pat answers but some comfort and hope.

For now, I can hold on to these small glimmers of hope. And I'm making an apple crisp for dessert--
which I almost never do--that we can eat with ice cream because sometimes comfort food is in order.

I wish there was a website we could turn to called, "What it means, What is True, and What to do." Lots of very tense religious people are going to insist that their Scripture answers all these questions.

That's nice.

Lots of them will try to hustle us into joining them in Vengeance World. As that had just been so helpful before, right?

So where do we even begin today? What do we do when it feels like we are all doomed, and the future will only be worse, and we can't remember anything that ever helped us come through? From high school philosophy, I remember that Francis Bacon wrote, "'What is Truth?' asked jesting Pilate, and would not stay for an answer." It seemed the ultimate truth, at sixteen years old.

But I think we can do better than that. We have shards of truth, and we can gather them up, bits of broken mosaic tile that shine.

We know that this is a very dangerous place, that we are an extremely vulnerable species, that Cain is still killing Abel.

We know that "Why" is not a useful question; and "Figure it out" is not a good slogan.

We know that the poor, the innocent, babies and the very old, always bear the brunt.

So where do we find grace and light? If you mean right now, the answer is Nowhere. It's like after a child dies. Grace always does bat last, and the light always overcomes the darkness--always, historically. But not necessarily later the same day, or tomorrow, after lunch. Wendell Berry told me 25 years ago, in Advent, the darkest shortest days of winter, "It gets darker and darker and darker, and then Jesus is born." But it is only November 13! It gets even darker.

What is the answer? Gandhi is almost always the answer. Jesus's love for the poor and refugees is the answer. Adding a bit of light and warmth to these cold dark days doesn't hurt. Candles are beautiful and bring a soupçon of solace to our souls. People living on the streets could really use your old blankets and jackets.

Grace will always show up in the helpers, as Mr. Rogers' mother used to tell him in times of tragedy. But today, right now, if you have a nice bumper sticker that explains or makes sense of what happens in Paris, it's probably best if you keep that to yourself. It is definitely best that you not share it with me. It will cause me to get a tic in my eye and will guarantee that the next time I see you, I will run for my cute little life. Everyone in his or her right mind will. So how do we even know truth, in the midst of b.s. and lies?

What is true for me is that the shootings at Sandy Hook were the actual end of the world, evil or at least the most extreme mental illness made visible. There were no answers that day, the next day, the day after that. Well, you could go to certain web sites and Twitter posts, and I will not name names, and be told how stupid you were not to see that there was only one appreciate truth. Reload! But again, that was not helpful. What was helpful was that we stuck together in our horror, grief, anxiety and cluelessness. We grieved, we feared, we despaired, and raged, prayed; we reached out for any help at all; and these were appropriate responses. I am going to recommend that we do that today, and tomorrow. Wounds and trauma revealed were healed; eventually. Some of us couldn't eat at all, someone of us binged, some of us couldn't turn off the TV, some of us couldn't turn it on. Those were all appropriate. We felt like shit, and let some time pass, talked and stuck together. And day by day, we came through.

Talking and sticking together was the answer. It honest to God was. We were gentler, more patient and kind with each other. If people are patient and kind, that's a lot. It means something of the spirit is at work. For me, that is grace made visible. It doesn't come immediately, and it doesn't come naturally. What comes naturally is, Shoot the mo-fos. So when we could, after Sandy Hook, we paused, breathed, sighed, gasped at the rising numbers. Nothing changed legally, not one word, but we came through. Hearts were healed, imperfectly. People walked, lived fully, and even danced again, after bad psychic fractures that did not heal quite right, and that still hurt some days.

We will again, but it takes time. I so hate this! Hate this, hate this, hate this, and do not agree to this, but have no alternative, because it is Truth: it will take time. Today, we try to keep the patient comfortable--ourselves, our beloved, the poor.

We're at the beginning of human and personal evolution. Whole parts of the world don't even think women are people.

So after an appropriate time of being stunned, in despair, we show up. Maybe we ask God for help. We do the next right thing. We buy or cook a bunch of food for the local homeless. We return phone calls, library books, smiles. We make eye contact with others, and we go to the market and flirt with old or scary unusual people who seem lonely. This is a blessed sacrament. Tom Weston taught me decades ago that in the face of human tragedy, we go around the neighborhood and pick up litter, even though there will be more tomorrow. It is another blessed sacraments. We take the action and the insight will follow: that we are basically powerless, but we are not helpless.

I have no answers but know one last thing that is true: More will be revealed. And that what is true is that all is change. Things are much wilder, weirder, richer, and more profound than I am comfortable with. The paradox is that in the reality of this, we discover that in the smallest moments of amazement, at our own crabby stamina, at kindness, to lonely people who worry us, and attention, at weeping willow turning from green to gold to red, and amazement, we will be saved.

P.S. The apple crisp was delicious and it made my family happy. And I bought extra nonperishables to donate to the food drive at L's school. And I contacted a friend who's grieving a death and made plans to get together.

One small gesture at a time to combat despair. One candle at a time to light the darkness. 

There Is No War on Christmas. I Promise.

Now that I have reassured myself that the fake man buns are not going to become a thing, at least among the 40+ age group in my FB feed, I feel I am ready to move on.

Seriously, I am loving blogging every day. I think I am going to try to continue. It's amazing how writing more = more things to write about.

I did want to write about the Starbucks cup "controversy." Yes, I put "controversy" in scare quotes because it really wasn't a controversy until people started reacting to it. And then it became an issue.  I hope you aren't completely sick of hearing about it--I do have a tendency to wait to jump on the bandwagon too late. In this case, earlier this week, I actually shared a thoughtful post by my friend Rocky Rudd and also a picture that stated, "If you want to keep Christ in Christmas, feed the hungry, cloth [sic] the naked, forgive the guilty, welcome the stranger and the unwanted child, care for the ill, love your enemies."

I think that all of us, Christian or not, can agree that the best way to celebrate Jesus's birth would be to take care of the people He loves. Which, in case you haven't been paying attention, is everybody.

However, I did notice something after someone I don't know posted on The Demon Facebook that they hadn't seen any posts by Christians actually criticizing the red cup. Lots of posts admonishing other Christians to stop freaking out about the cup, but no actual freaking out.

It turns out that contrary to the "reporting" by the media, "Christians" as a group, or even enough of them to count as a significant minority, weren't up in arms about the cup at all to begin with. As I understand it, one former pastor who now makes videos on YouTube for a living threw a fit about the cup redesign then the media blew it out of proportion, and then we Christians started saying, "Everybody just shut up!"

I admit it. I broke my own rule by not researching the latest "controversy" before jumping in to comment. I've been a longtime user of Snopes.com since the days before social media when the latest urban legends circulated via mass email. (And yes, I have been that annoying person who sent a link to the whole group proving the scare tactics were groundless.) But this time, I think the reason many of us spoke up is that in the past, Christians have overreacted to Christmas marketing by retailers.

Remember the "War on Christmas?" Sheesh. That whole thing made me so mad. Just exactly how is an advertisement that says "Happy Holidays" waging war on Christmas? Whoever came up with that term, I salute you. You have the special gifts of hyperbole and fearmongering. Not sure why the Apostle Paul didn't include those in his list of spiritual gifts.

Look, retail stores have one goal and one goal only: to sell stuff. As a small business owner, I completely get that. You don't have to share our beliefs to become a customer of Village Cupboards. In fact, I'm pretty sure we would build your cabinets if you were a Satanist, as long as you pay on time and in green American dollars. (Although Justin might draw the line at constructing a sacrificial altar to the Evil One. I don't know, I'd have to ask him. We have a two-month waiting list right now, so even Satan would have to wait his turn.)

Wait, I got distracted amusing myself. My point (and I do have one) is that these stores, including Starbucks, are not waging war on anybody. It just makes sense that if there are some people who don't celebrate a holiday with religious connections, that the stores broaden their customer base to include more potential customers.

Besides, Christmas dominates all the other winter holidays already. Why do we have to insist on everyone saying "Merry Christmas?" We already have Christmas stuff appearing in stores the day after Halloween like poor Thanksgiving doesn't exist, like it's the middle child of the holidays (but that's another post for another time.) As talk show host Michael Medved said, it's a moot point:
the "War on Christmas" is over, and Christmas won.  

Let's be gracious about this, guys. I am so tired of people claiming that saying things like "Happy Holidays" or (gasp) "Happy Hanukkah" is persecution of Christians. What? No, it isn't. 

Let me clarify. Persecution is "a program or campaign to exterminate, drive away, or subjugate people based on their membership in a religious, ethnic, social, or racial group" (Dictionary.com). Have any of us been exterminated or subjugated based on our celebration of Christ's birth? Yeah, that's what I thought. Let me remind anyone who "feels persecuted" that no one is stopping you from saying "Merry Christmas." Most people of all faiths (or no faith) are fine with it. Personally, I am happy to take any cheerful holiday greetings because it's so awful when people are grim and horrible about shopping and driving around the holidays. 

Look, I get it, fellow believers in Christ, that it feels uncomfortable that the current culture doesn't subscribe to many of our beliefs. There was a time (now nostalgically known as the "good old days," aka the 1950s) when most of the dominant influences on our culture subscribed to Judeo-Christian values. We had our turn being in charge. Guess what? We still get to believe what we want to, and so does everybody else. That's the beauty of America! I admit to feeling uncomfortable when the smarmy "Christian" guy on the TV show always turns out to be a pervert. Sure, I don't like it when stereotypes are used to define a whole group of people, most of whom are kind and well-meaning, while a few bad apples are making the rest of the group look bad. I imagine a few other ethnic and religious groups have some experience with that kind of unfairness. It won't kill us to deal with some inaccurate portrayals of Christianity. We'll just have to try harder. 

So I was pleased to see that the only Christian response I saw to the red cups was, "So what, it's a cup." Now let's go and do what Jesus would actually do. It's a whole lot easier to click "Share" than to actually get out there and share food, clothes, and friendship with those who need them.

The Prodigal Father and the Elder Brother

While browsing on FB, I came across the video below and had this to say about it:

 

I seriously have tears in my eyes and my goosebumps have goosebumps after listening to one of my favorite singers (Dan Dean of Phillips, Craig & Dean) sing one of my favorite songs ("When God Ran," originally by Benny Hester). It perfectly encapsulates the story of the Prodigal Son as related by my pastor, Tommy Brandon, last Sunday at Calvary Church of South Fort Worth. 

Oh, God's amazing grace! I am just now beginning to truly understand it. To anyone wondering if you have gone too far to come back to God, please watch this video and know that there is no place too far for His grace to reach you. All you have to do is turn your heart toward home, and your Heavenly Father will run to meet you on that road.

Then a little later I began singing the song again (in the shower, and I'm sorry if that's TMI, but on this here Hairline Fracture blog, we tells it like it is) and crying a little, and then a lot. And I asked myself, "Why am I feeling this song so deeply? I know it's because I'm on a journey of experiencing God's grace at a deeper level than ever before, but...I'm not the Prodigal Son. Or the Prodigal Daughter." 

To give you some context, I accepted Jesus into my heart when I was sitting on my mother's lap at about five years old. I did feel a deep conviction and began to cry as the altar song was being sung, and my mom asked me if I wanted her to pray with me, and I did. And from that day until this, I have never intentionally walked away from God. 

I don't think that makes me better than anyone else. I know that "all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God" (Romans 3:23, NKJV). I believe that I am just as much of a sinner as the worst murderer on the face of the earth. And yet...on some level, I have never truly identified with the stories of the Prodigal Son, the lost sheep, or the lost coin, because I never truly felt lost. I never left.

And then it hit me. I never left.

So in this story, that makes me...the elder brother?

That doesn't make sense, I thought. When I hear the song, I'm imagining myself as the Prodigal, seeing the Father run to me, feeling Him pull me into His arms, holding my head to His chest, lifting my face, wiping the tears from my eyes, and most of all, hearing Him say, "Child, do you know I still love you?" The elder brother didn't experience any of that, so why was it speaking so powerfully to me in a way that goes beyond mere emotional empathy?

Here is how Jesus says the elder brother reacted when he heard the news that his younger brother had returned after wasting his inheritance and then how his father had responded:

 ²⁸ “The older brother was angry and wouldn’t go in. His father came out and begged him, ²⁹ but he replied, ‘All these years I’ve slaved for you and never once refused to do a single thing you told me to. And in all that time you never gave me even one young goat for a feast with my friends. ³⁰ Yet when this son of yours comes back after squandering your money on prostitutes, you celebrate by killing the fattened calf!’" (Luke 15:28-30, NLT).

All of my life I have heard that Jesus was condemning the reaction of the elder brother who was so mean-spirited that he refused to be glad that his own brother had come home alive. The elder brother represents the believers like me, like the ninety and nine sheep, who had never left, while of course God is the Father who runs to welcome home the lost sinner who has wasted all the precious gifts he was given, but who is far more precious in his father's eyes than the inheritance he lost. 

I have heard it pointed out that because "prodigal" means "spending money or resources freely and recklessly; wastefully extravagant," the story should really be called "The Prodigal Father." What earthly father would be so extravagant as to welcome that idiotic boy home without at least mentioning what he'd done?

"So...what'd you bring back?...Nothing? What, I'm sorry--I thought you actually said you brought home NOTHING out of the HALF of everything I own..." [Closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.] "Okay. Okay. I'm going to need a minute. Okay, I've already ordered the fatted calf and told everybody we're celebrating, so I'm going to have to go through with that. But TOMORROW, buster, you and I are going to have a SERIOUS talk about how you can work off this debt!"

No WONDER I have trouble understanding the heart of my Father in Heaven--I get annoyed when my 12-year-old doesn't bring home change from the $20 I gave her to hang out at the mall for a couple of hours! In my own nature, I am so stingy, so close-fisted...and not just about money.

Left to my own nature, I am the elder brother.

Because--and this is a thing I don't think I have ever heard anyone say before--I think the elder brother's reaction is actually pretty relatable to most of us, if we think about it. Most of us are a lot more like him than we're like the younger wastrel. We've completed whatever schooling was available to us, gotten legitimate jobs and worked hard at them, tried to treat others right and be friendly and tip well and just generally be Good People.

Until that pesky younger brother shows back up and our Father goes all out CRYING for joy and falling on that STUPID IDIOT'S neck and throwing a huge PARTY for him. When all the time we were RIGHT HERE providing unpaid labor and not saying a WORD even when that JERK basically said he wanted Dad to be DEAD so he could go ahead and take his inheritance...and Dad GAVE it to him! Oh no, we kept our mouths shut like good little boys and girls and let him go, thinking, "Goodbye and good riddance." But now that he's back with nothing but the filthy rags he's wearing and smelling like PIGS, Dad's all, "Oh, hooray, Elder, your brother's back, let's waste some MORE money on him!" It just proves what I KNEW all along: DAD'S ALWAYS LOVED HIM MORE.

(It's possible that the elder brother in my imagination uses a lot of EMPHASIS when he's MAD, kind of like [ahem] someone else I know.)

This is the truth that hit me like a ton of bricks: the elder brother was actually not mad as much about the money, as he was jealous for the father's love.

He thought that his father's generosity toward his brother meant that his father loved his brother more. But as Jesus said, nothing could be farther from the truth! Unlike the teachings I've always heard, the father doesn't condemn his elder son; he begs him to understand. He tries to affirm his son and reassure him that the father's love has always been his.


³¹ “His father said to him, ‘Look, dear son, you have always stayed by me, and everything I have is yours.'" (Luke 15:31, NLT).

How would this story have been different if the elder brother had admitted to himself that the real problem was that he hadn't left his father's home in body...but he had never believed he deserved to live there?

He had stayed in the fields and worked, believing way down deep inside that he HAD to work to earn his father's love...but his eyes had followed his younger brother as he went on his merry way, and possibly he'd had the thought flash through his mind, "Now Dad will HAVE to see that I'm better than him. He'll HAVE to love me more."

And when his father ran toward his prodigal younger brother, it exploded that sordid little belief, and he felt angry and hopeless and unloved. 

When the truth was that if the elder brother had ever asked, the prodigal father would certainly have given him anything he wanted to throw a party. 

But he never asked. He assumed that if the father loved him, he'd just provide things like he had for the spoiled baby of the family. Except...that isn't accurate either. The younger brother asked, so the father gave him what he asked for. The father gave, grieving all the time that the younger son valued his money more than his relationship with his father. 

Whereas the elder brother had the chance to experience the depth of the father's unconditional love every single day...but he didn't believe it was his, and so he worked and slaved and stewed and felt unworthy and unloved. He never asked.

What if, I asked myself, just what if the elder brother had fallen into his father's arms and sobbed out all his insecurities and fears? What if he'd let his father hold his head to his chest, let his father lift his head, let his father wipe the tears from his eyes, let himself hear, "Son, do you know I've always loved you?"

Why then, I realized, it would probably feel a lot like I was feeling at this very moment.


“Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks it will be opened. Or what man is there among you who, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone?  Or if he asks for a fish, will he give him a serpent? If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask Him!" (Matthew 7:7-11, NKJV)

Purpose

I'm back! Well, actually I've been back on the Internet for several weeks, but I didn't have anything I wanted to write about until this weekend. That's the way it goes when I have a bout with anxiety: first I withdraw from Pinterest, then blogs and Twitter, then Facebook, then actual books (gasp) and even my friends and family. I suppose I should view lack of interest in social media as an early warning sign.

I  want to write more about my struggle with anxiety and depression, including some encouraging information in a book I'm currently reading, but I'm still processing what I want to share. For now, I'll just say that I'm feeling much better, after going back to my doctor and saying, "I downplayed how I was feeling two weeks ago, and then things got worse. I do need to make a change." He added another antidepressant (later we will probably try to increase the dosage on this one and taper off the one I've been on, which apparently stopped being fully effective--a reasonable assumption given my symptoms and the fact that I've been on it for nine years.) 

So. Today I want to write about how my struggle with mental illness has given me a gift. 

It's really freaking hard to be thankful for anxiety and depression, because this silent illness has stolen big chunks of my life. 

This time it was a month. If that doesn't seem like a long time to you, imagine spending almost every minute wishing it would pass and that you could take your medicine and go to sleep since that means you don't have to feel your horrible feelings any more. Wishing you could tear off your own tensed-up skin and float away. Fighting away thoughts of how much you are ruining your family and how much better off they'd be without you. Constantly, for thirty days.

It sucks when you can't enjoy anything in your life, even when you know you have so much to be thankful for . No wonder that when I feel better, everything seems so much more precious and my gratitude overflows.

But I have always known that human beings can bear almost anything if they can find a purpose in their pain. I knew that others had found that purpose in helping others on the same journey. But I couldn't see how that was supposed to happen, if I couldn't see any glimmer of hope for myself, much less anyone else. 

"If you want me to help other broken people, You're going to have to hold me together a little better," I told God through floods of tears one night. "Because I'm way too broken to help anyone right now."

It's so much fun to live with me.

Then I went to the doctor and gradually started climbing out of the pit. And I had two opportunities within three days of each other to help women who were struggling.

Interestingly, neither of them seem to suffer from a mental illness themselves. They are dealing with diagnoses their children have received and trying to do the best they can for their kids. One mom whom I'd never met before told me about how her going-into-sixth-grade son, who has ADHD and Asperger's, has been consistently bullied at school. Another mom shared her mixed feelings about medicating her six-year-old, who has just been diagnosed with ADHD and ODD (Oppositional Defiant Disorder). 

It turns out I'm a pretty good person to tell such things to, for the following reasons:

1. I'm familiar with conditions and diagnoses many people aren't conversant with. I was a psychology major, then a teacher, so I have some experience with children and parents who are dealing with such challenges. 

2. The Internets have educated me about what it's like to walk in these parents' shoes. If not for the stories I've read, I would very likely make some of the ignorant assumptions many people make (although I hope I wouldn't be as mean-spirited or selfish). Thank you, everyone who has written about your reality with painful honesty. I recently started following The Mighty, a blog written by people who deal with disabilities, either their own or their children's. It has changed the way I look at these children and their amazing parents.

3. There's some evidence that depression and anxiety affect highly sensitive people more than others. While this is a bummer when it strikes, it means that I can deeply feel others' pain and empathetically connect with them, like fellow veterans in the war with faulty brain wiring. I listened to both of these wonderful mothers, both of whom were trying with all their might (along with their husbands) to help their children. I listened, and asked questions, and empathized.

And then I did something that isn't always a good idea. I shared my opinion. 

I did it because both of them were experiencing self-doubt that they were doing the right thing for their child. Whereas I, the momentary observer they had briefly invited into their world, could immediately see that they were absolutely doing the right things for their kid. 

"I'm just not sure about the medication," the mom of the six-year-old said, "because it feels like I'm giving up on him."

I felt like an old, wise woman, even though I'm only about five years older than she is. "Oh, honey, no, you're not! You are not giving up on him at all! You've done the hardest thing and admitted to yourself that your kid needs help--and then you are getting him that help. You're not just saying, 'Medicate my kid so I don't have to deal with his issues.' You're taking him to an expert who can help y'all develop strategies that he can use later in life rather than staying on ADHD meds. But he may need to be on the medication for now just so he can get to a level playing field. But you are not giving up on him if you and your doctor decide he needs it," I declared, trying to be as convincing as I possibly could.

The other mom, whom I'd just met at a birthday party that evening, reached to hug me, her eyes filled with quick tears when I said, "I believe your son is going to be all right. The very best people I know had a hard time in middle and high school. And from what you said, he has you and his dad to talk to. Most importantly, he knows you are on his side. He doesn't have to face this alone."

I hope something I said resonated with those wonderful moms, because depression and anxiety have showed me that just feeling that you're not alone, that you will not be abandoned, that you are loved by someone who won't give up on you...is enough to keep you going for another day.

And if I can help one person feel that way...my life will not have been in vain.

A Christian's Response to the Discovery of Abuse

Okay, so I haven't written about anything controversial on this here blog yet. That changes now, because I am all het up over something (and no, I don't know why I suddenly sound like an old-timey cowboy. I'll stop now.)

The Duggar family of TV fame has been forced to respond to allegations that one of their sons, Josh Duggar, molested several underage girls, including his own sisters. Josh Duggar has admitted the abuse and resigned from his position at Family Research Council. He and his parents have released statements, but since the statute of limitations in Arkansas is three years after the incident, he will face no criminal charges. Here is a thoughtful blog post about this story: http://www.patheos.com/blogs/lovejoyfeminism/2015/05/what-you-need-to-know-about-the-josh-duggar-police-report.html

Really, I could just copy and paste that post with added underlines and capital letters and monosyllabic exclamations of agreement in parentheses throughout, but because I want to develop my ability to analyze situations and think through them clearly, here goes.

At the time the Duggars learned about the incidents, they handled the situation completely wrongly. And they are still approaching it in a way that is inappropriate--no, it is WRONG and--dare I say it--DANGEROUS.

Please allow me to elaborate. First, I understand as a parent and a church leader, how tempting it is to hide such a discovery rather than report it to the proper authorities. In our society, child molestation is arguably the worst crime a person can commit. They likely couldn't stand the thought of their son being labeled for all the world to see as a hideous monster (ironically, this is what is happening now that the truth has come out.) We all know that child molesters are at the bottom of the prison pecking order, below even imprisoned cops in the prisoners' minds.* In the Duggars' minds, all those years ago, given the evangelical culture they surrounded themselves with, they were doing the right thing.

Here's why they were wrong.

1. They hid the evidence of the abuse. 
The Duggars thought they were doing the right thing (although once you discover your 14-year-old son is sexually abusing young girls, you don't start off with a stern, "Don't do that again." What was next--GROUNDING him?) Eventually they sent him away in an effort to prevent further occurrences. However, even this action was inadequate and harmful.

It appears that despite their statement that they had sent Josh to a "program" where he received "counseling," they actually sent him to live with a family friend who needed help with doing some remodeling. Because that's how you cure a teenage child molester, with some good old-fashioned manual labor, am I right?

The Duggars are probably not completely lying (though I would argue they are being intentionally disingenuous, which amounts to the same thing.) In the evangelical Christian world, "counseling" doesn't always mean "a series of sessions with a trained professional." It can also mean "one talk with a 'wise' elder." (The quotation marks around "wise" are there because I obviously don't think this was wise.) This was likely their intention by having Josh talk with yet another family friend who was a state trooper. "Don't do that, it's a sin and if you keep doing it and your parents can't hide the evidence, you'll go to jail." Boom, done.

No, it was ILLEGAL. State troopers are required to report any evidence of child abuse to the proper authorities for investigation. The friend should have said to Jim Bob, "Nope, sorry, I now have to tell the state this happened. And how dare you ask me to cover it up?" Maybe the trooper's willingness to sweep the incident under the rug has something to do with the fact that he was deeply involved in (and later convicted of possessing) child pornography? 

(The irony. It burns. From a purely Christian perspective, the Duggars' "discernment of spirits" spiritual gift was an epic fail.)

It's an unfortunate example of a Christian pattern of hiding criminal behavior and saying we are dealing with it privately, when in fact there are reasons why it should NOT be dealt with secretly within the family and church. Also, there are plenty of examples in the Bible which make it clear what God thinks about people who sin and lie about it. Hint: they involve being struck down dead instantly. Sometimes I wish God still did that. I would be a vengeful God, which is probably why I'm not God.

2. Christians are not above the law.
A lot of non-Christians are (understandably) offended by the Duggars' use of the words "mercy" and "grace." This is what happens when Christians start throwing around spiritual words in a case like this, where a man is being forced to admit that he did wrong although he was never punished by the justice system. To these people--and I would think especially to victims of abuse--it sounds like Josh Duggar  is saying, "Yeah, I admit I violated those girls as a kid. But I told Jesus I'm sorry, and he's totally cool with it, so you should be, too!"

No, I am not cool with it or willing to let you off the hook, bro, and neither should any Christian.

I see it like this: there are spiritual and non-spiritual elements to every wrongdoing. As a Christian, do I believe that God's grace extends to anyone who sincerely asks for it? Absolutely.

I also believe that God's grace has nothing to do with legal penalties. "Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's," Jesus said, and I think that can extend beyond taxes into "OBEYING THE FREAKING LAW OF THE LAND." Fellow believers, WE ARE NOT ABOVE THE LAW. We may be free from the religious "law of sin and death," but that does not make us immune from the laws of the United States of America. Otherwise we could just rob a bank, repent, and say, "Oopsies! Oh well, I repented to God, so I don't have to give the money back or go to jail."

My father is a pastor, and I'm thankful that even years ago, he was light-years ahead of the Duggars. Upon learning that a member of his congregation was sexually abusing his child, my father prayed with him...but escorted him to the authorities to turn himself in, with the understanding that my dad was going to turn him in if he didn't do it himself.

Unfortunately, far too many pastors think the word "grace" is literally a get-out-of-jail-free card. It's like we're so invested in the idea of God's unlimited grace that we can't identify sinful behavior as also worthy of legal punishment. Some of our extended family had to leave a church because the pastor was allowing a convicted child molester to teach Sunday School.

Yeah. Let that sink in for a minute. And our family members (the wife is a survivor of sexual abuse) were told to leave because they were not forgiving enough to be okay with this.

Note to pastors everywhere: DO NOT DO THIS. If you do, you are guaranteeing that more children will be abused. You are creating a haven for the abuser.

tl;dr Just because God forgives someone, that does not mean that they are free from the consequences of their actions. Period.

3. As Christians, our responsibility is to prevent this kind of thing from happening again, and to provide proper treatment.
As a PK**, I know about another situation in which one of the children was discovered to have been molesting another one for years. The parents freaked out and first denied it ("Not in OUR family!" is a common denial response) and then swept it under the rug and pretended it didn't happen.

Just imagine how damaging that is to the victims of the abuse. They are being told in effect that they are lying, that their feelings and experiences don't matter. They are shown that the abuser's reputation is more important than their pain (because it affects the family reputation, and it's important to keep up the image of the "perfect" family. And in this case, the family's livelihood--being on TV pretending to be portraying a perfect family--is at stake.) So the victims are told to keep quiet. And because they are Christians, they are told to forgive their abuser.

There are a lot of things I could say, but this post is getting too long. So I'll just say this: forgiveness is not excusing an abuser, or allowing him to get away with his heinous behavior. This has happened far too often in the Church--because the Church is a hierarchical, male-dominated structure. The powerless victims--women and children--are often bullied into silence. And that, my fellow believers, should not be. Jesus said that anyone who harmed a "little one" would be better off if they hung a huge rock around their neck and drowned themselves. Sounds pretty definitive to me.

Maybe it's just my background in psychology, but my first reaction on hearing any story in which a minor child victimizes another is that both kids need serious therapy. Yes, the victim definitely does (which does not seem to have happened in the Duggar case, at least not for their girls--I don't know what action the other parents took). But so does the perpetrator, if there is to be any hope for prevention of recurrence. If a kid acts out sexually with other kids, it often means that they have been abused themselves, that they think sexual acts are "normal" because they have been exposed to sexuality at an age when they shouldn't be. On the other hand, a 14-year-old boy, feeling sexual desires for the first time, in a repressed subculture where such things aren't talked about openly, might very well do what Josh Duggar did without having being sexually abused himself. But no matter what, his actions were abnormal and wrong, and should be labeled as such.

Look, as a Christian I believe that we've all sinned and come short of the glory of God. And some days I'm super thankful that my shortcomings aren't being broadcast for the whole world to see.

(I also haven't chosen to put my family on TV as an example of a perfect Christian family. But I digress.)

I just believe it is time for Christians to stand up and call abuse wrong. And to let everyone know that it will not be excused and tolerated and allowed to flourish under cover of our churches. Does grace cover all our sins, even the very worst ones? Without a doubt. But make no mistake: the same Bible says, "Be sure your sins will find you out."

In the case of Josh Duggar, they certainly have. I just hate that the revelation took so many years, and that he will not receive the punishment he deserves, nor will there be measures taken to protect children who are left alone with him. In no possible world is this a good outcome.



*I have no idea if this is true or if I just got it from popular culture. It seems right that even murderers would look down on men who abuse children, though.

**Preacher's Kid, for you godless heathens out there (just kidding! I love godless heathens! Some of my best friends are godless heathens! Please don't yell at me!)

Finishing

So my husband and I were at the gym Tuesday night...

Do you hate me already? Please don't. I should preface this by saying a few things (I always have a few things to state before I make my main point.)

1. I am not trying to exercise to get a "bikini body," whatever that means. I love a post with the clickbait title: "How to Get a Bikini Body," which when you click through, had these simple steps:
     1) Get a bikini.
     2) Put it on your body.

In THEORY, I completely agree with this. I certainly agree with it for anyone who feels comfortable in a bikini, no matter what their size. I just don't agree with it for ME. I will not be wearing a bikini, this summer or any other. Last year I bought an adorable skirted suit that I feel great in. And since research shows that even liposuction doesn't get rid of cellulite (it's a skin issue, not a fat issue), I'm fine with keeping my thighs covered.

No, it's not about bathing suit season. I'm just trying to be LESS LAME. How pathetic is it that I am just now, after 4 weeks* of the 5K Runner app (which I highly recommend, by the way) huffing and puffing my way through 3-minute runs? But hey, at least I can run that long now--anything over 10 seconds used to make me break out in a sweat. I could run out of a burning building now if need be!

*Actual time to get this far: about 8 weeks, since we keep only going to the gym 1 day a week, then having to repeat the last day we did. WE ARE BUSY PEOPLE, DAGNABIT.

2. I also have two other goals: keep fitting into the clothes I currently own (and lose enough weight that I am more comfortable in them) and not becoming the old woman who can't get up out of a chair without assistance.

I know. Some of us have lofty goals. It is a lonely road we travel. *stares into the distance pensively*

So, anyway, Tuesday night we were at the gym. I don't exactly know why we go together, because a) we spend all day and night together already and b) he is faster than I am, so we only warm up and cool down together anyway. OH WAIT, I do know why we go together--because I would find an excuse not to go if he didn't push me. 

I was huffing and puffing in the middle of one of those "long" 3-minute runs, listening to music on another great free app called Rock My Run, when a boy-teenager passed me going approximately 90 mph. Or, you know, some speed above a walk (I'm pretty sure most people can walk faster than I "run," especially during the second half of my workout.) 

I see these type of runners every week. They're usually very thin and young. They zoom around the track a few times, passing everybody up, and then they're done. And I don't see them there every week--it's seemingly random.

Now, I don't know for sure if this is part of their training regimen, but "run as fast as you can for five minutes every two weeks" doesn't seem like a good way to stay in shape. I have to admit that I'm okay with feeling smug about being better than these roadrunners. Someone weighs 500 pounds and is struggling around the track? More power to them; absolutely no ridicule here. Someone is overweight and never works out? None of my business. Someone is "thin" but out of shape? FIST BUMP, MY SISTER.

But I DO feel superior to these kids (they are all kids to my nearly-40-year-old self). They are in good enough shape to run fast...for five minutes. I could have done that at their age. Big whoop. At this stage of life, what I value most is perseverance. If I have to walk in between my measly 3 minute runs, so be it. I NEED to walk, simply to catch my breath since my lungs feel like fiery lumps of metal that are useless at supplying oxygen to the rest of my body. I love the walks. I welcome the walks. You go on ahead and sprint--but I'll still be here plodding along 20 minutes later while you're off cherishing the delusion that your body will always be this perfectly svelte while you demolish a carton of ice cream and a bag of chips. 

*weeps for my dearly departed metabolism* 

Sorry, I didn't mean to depress myself. I'm back.

What was I saying? Oh, right: perseverance. It's something I've come to value in the last few years, and not merely in regard to exercise. There is something to be said for not quitting even when everything in you screams that you should. Like most people who have been married more than 5 years, I've thought about divorce. But Justin and I made a deal that whoever left had to take the children, and I've never been able to face raising them on my own.

I'm kidding. (Kind of.) But I'm not kidding when I say that I'm so, so glad I didn't take the easy way out. Our marriage may not be glamorous, but it works for us. We never would have gotten to this excellent place if we had zoomed through a few years, then parted ways when things got hard.

Same thing with business. Six years ago, the shop we were renting burned down, destroying $60,000 worth of cabinets that we had to replace out of pocket (insurance didn't cover them) and damaging or outright destroying most of the machinery. We considered closing our doors, but realized that other shops were closing due to the economy, and if we could hang in there, we could be one of the top cabinet shops in the area. Which is exactly what's happened. 

It wouldn't have happened if we had stopped when the going got tough. 

The same is true for our spiritual lives. We are all going to face valleys and dry spells--it's just part of being human, and we are fallible even though we love Jesus. No wonder the Bible says, "The race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong, nor does food come to the wise or wealth to the brilliant or favor to the learned; but time and chance happen to them all" (Ecclesiastes 9:11 NIV). 

Let's look at the second part of that verse first: you're not going to be successful just because you're talented. Time and chance (i.e. luck) have a lot more to do with it than we think. Now, that may sound almost as depressing as my realization that I can't maintain my weight while eating that same amount in chips and queso, but bear with me. 

The comforting part of the verse is to realize that just because someone starts with an advantage, it doesn't mean that they finish with an advantage.

Because finishing is the REAL reward. They don't give medals for "fastest starter." If you run a marathon, your time isn't important unless you run all 26.2 miles. 

(Which is why I'm going to go out on a limb here and predict that I'm never going to run a marathon. Can you imagine how long it would TAKE me to finish?)

Just ask the hare who decided to take a nap while the tortoise kept plodding forward. Slow and steady wins the race. 

Anyone can start well. How well will you finish?

When Believing Demands Your All

The kids and I just had a little shouting service over a check that came in the mail for $52.30. That might seem odd, but when you're nervously checking your bank account and calculating if you have enough to buy groceries AND pay the day care (at which you do NOT want to lose your son's place for non-or-late payment), every little bit helps. Justin and Miss Pink took a jar of change to the counting machine earlier today. So an extra 50 bucks was worth shouting, "Go Jesus, go Jesus, go Jesus!"

Oh, if I were always as grateful to God for everything He has done for me as Miss Pink was when she heard the amount, which seemed huge to her! If God had made the check be $5,000.00, I'm sure I would be shouting for joy. So I went ahead and shouted for this first little blessing even though it won't pay the past-due bills. Yet it reminds me of the woman who made a cake for the prophet with the last meal and oil she had; God kept on giving her just enough for the rest of the famine.

Now, I realize I am sounding like one of those faith-filled people. Nothing would make me happier, but the truth is my faith is still very weak. I spent yesterday and this morning fighting fear that roared through me like a hurricane. Last night I called a good friend and wept my heart out and received love and encouragement. This morning my husband and I assessed the situation prayerfully (we hope he will get paid some Monday, and more by the end of the week; the jobs are completed, and now the builders need to stop dragging their feet and pay what they owe him, but we can't force them to). And then I sat down to study because I agreed to teach a class at church tomorrow.

If you've never experienced trying to say something positive to a group of people, all of whom are older and wiser than you, while you're dealing with one of the worst struggles of your life, well...it's not that fun to get started. I had planned to teach something else, but this week I knew I needed to teach out of a series I had recently studied: Beth Moore's Believing God. Y'all, that study rocked my world. And then I had to live it, and it has nearly beaten me to death.

I don't have time to write the whole thing here, but in my lesson I say that until now I have never HAD to depend on God and nothing else. On one hand I have been distraught that I can't pay my bills on time, and a big part of that was IMAGE: what other people would think if they knew, and if we did end up losing our house, etc. how ashamed I would be. And I was thinking, If You are God, and You do love me, why aren't You delivering me? This hurts SO MUCH!

And on the other hand I knew that I have no right to demand that God give me money. I know many wonderful people who prayed, believed God, and were told no. I also know many people who received their miracle. For reasons we are not allowed to know, God wants us to ask, believing that He is able, but trust Him that if He says no, He will redeem the pain and that someday--whether in this life or on the other side--we will understand. And in the meantime He will be with us.

I know it sounds like a cop-out. I know it sounds like God gets a pretty sweet deal: all the credit when things go well, and a free pass when they don't. But all I know is that when I pray and read my Bible, I receive just enough strength to pick myself up and keep going. Just enough light to see the next few feet. Just enough money to buy groceries from an unexpected source.

It is hard for me to write this. I know many of you believe like I do, but some of you have other beliefs. That's okay (as long as you don't bash me, please). Some people have trouble being "real" online. That's not my problem; I have to force myself to maintain my boundaries. Although I love sympathy and encouragement, that is not why I wrote this. I just want to remind myself, the next time I am drowning in doubt, that on Saturday, January 16, 2010, I chose to believe. It's taking everything I have, but I'm hanging on to the One in whom I have believed, and I'm not letting go.

It's the Principle of the Thing

Part IV in the story of how I stopped adhering to the traditional Pentecostal lifestyle. Here are Part I, Part II, and Part III.

Sorry if I left you hanging with my announcement to Justin that I had been cutting my hair for years and that I apologized for keeping it a secret from him (and thereby potentially damaging his trust in me) but that I felt fine about trimming my hair. I gave some of my reasons why I had started to believe that God was not requiring me to follow those guidelines.

If the first big surprise of the night was that I'd blurted out my secret, the second surprise was that he wasn't angry with me. He thanked me for telling him and asked for some time to process it.

Later, Justin told me that his mind had been changing as well. (How like our God to work on two people at the same time, without either of them knowing about the other's journey!) He later told me that he thought, "I know Alison's love for God and her spirit has not changed. So obviously cutting her hair did not change her spiritual life--and therefore it must not be as important as we were taught." He shared these thoughts with me and we decided to study and seek God for ourselves rather than blindly following church traditions. We were still open to keeping any standards that we felt were appropriate for our family, if there was truly a Biblical basis for them rather than "we've always done it this way." At the same time, we were willing to accept other Christians who didn't have the same beliefs. Above all, we were determined not to be judgmental, sour believers who gave Christianity a bad reputation.

One of the first steps we took was to talk to our pastor--who happens to be my dad, but we have great respect for him as a pastor and not just as my father. After 34 years at the same church, he has a LOT of wisdom, which in my opinion he showed by allowing the people who didn't conform to the standards to continue attending our church despite the protests from long-term members who wanted everyone to look and behave alike. In all those years, Dad didn't preach about the standards (they were more of a social norm, an unspoken rule) and as people started to change, he simply didn't say anything and treated them just like the other church members. This meant that we lost quite a few people who thought our church was abandoning the truth. That was painful for my parents, but Dad didn't revert back to the old ways because, like us, he had come to believe that the standards were not essential to being a Christian or even a Pentecostal. Therefore, he encouraged us to pray and study for ourselves and he gave us a book written by a friend of his that allowed for a more moderate interpretation of the Scriptures the conservatives always trotted out as "proof" that God's will involved looking like you belong in the nineteenth century.

I won't provide an exegesis of the Scriptures we studied, but suffice it to say that Justin and I saw clearly what we believed those Scriptures to mean. We saw that the principle of the thing is what God is after, not specific items of clothing or hairstyles which can change over time and between cultures. Does God want people to be modest? I believe so. Do different people interpret modesty differently? Yes. I hope to teach my children that when they are showing certain parts of their bodies to get a reaction from the opposite sex, that's a problem. We have to internalize the principle of modesty and not wear things that make us feel immodest. I realize there is a lot to this topic that I haven't answered here, but if you're interested in discussing it, ask a question in the comments and I will answer you in another post to the best of my ability as long as you ask respectfully, even if you disagree. In fact, ask anything you'd like to know about these posts!

As for where we are now, we feel completely happy with our decision. I have long hair by most people's standards--to my shoulder blades--but it's that long because my husband and I like it that way, and every stylist I've had agrees that I should keep the length, with some layers to give it shape! Fixing my hair is so much easier now that I don't have to hide split ends. I wear subtle makeup and am pleased at how it defines my best features and gives natural color to my pale skin. I wear pants, shorts, sleeveless tops, and jewelry. By the way, pants are MORE modest than a skirt when you're caring for small children, especially if you should have to climb into a plastic tube at Chick-Fil-A to rescue a screaming child! As I said, I do feel I dress modestly, with camis under super-low necklines and skirts to the knee or right above. But that's just age appropriate, too! I am NOT interested in showing off my cellulite. Anyway, it's all a personal decision which I don't impose on others because I am DONE with trying to play God. It's amazing how much more freeing it feels to stop trying to be the Judge!

Of course, my in-laws don't feel the same way at ALL, which makes visiting for the holidays about as relaxing as a stroll through a Vietnamese minefield! But that's another story for another day.

Telling the Truth

Part III in the story of how I stopped adhering to the traditional Pentecostal lifestyle. Here are Part I and Part II.

We now skip ahead to 2004: I had been married for seven years and Miss Pink was two. I'd been sticking to the "standards" pretty closely, mostly because Justin was raised in a church that was even a little stricter than ours. I knew that my long hair and skirts were part of the reason he was willing to get serious about me, since his family expected him to marry someone who looked like every woman in their church.

It wasn't very hard to stop going to movies and wearing leggings (I wore them under my dad's button-down shirts, which billowed around me like sails. SO attractive.) But the whole time I was dating and married to Justin, I never stopped trimming my hair.

It was a dilemma, how much to cut off--enough to get rid of the worst of the split ends, but not enough to look like it had been cut. (I always curled it, wore it up or braided it, so the split ends ot lack thereof weren't as obvious as you might think, but Pentecostal women are very good at noticing when hair has been cut.) I didn't dare go to a stylist--I had heard horror stories of asking for an inch or two off, and ending up with hair around your ears. So that meant I had to cut my hair myself, pulling it over my shoulders and snipping off tiny bits that peeked out from underneath my comb. I doubt it was ever really even, but it made me feel better that my hair wasn't so scraggly. My husband never guessed.

Yet something had begun to bother me in 2004. Our church had been changing for the past few years. Plenty of people had openly discarded the standards, and--get this--they had not lost their spirituality. Their faith was still strong, they still prayed and worshipped and served others. If anything, they were more friendly and caring toward people who didn't attend church than the traditionalists, who tended to have only Pentecostal friends.

We had always been warned that if we looked like "the world" on the outside, then our hearts would turn away from God toward worldly desires. For traditional Pentecostals, Christianity was judged (and I do mean judged; judging came as naturally as breathing to us) by the way a person looked on the outside. Yet it was beginning to seem as if what was inside a person was far more important--the way Jesus had said. (Imagine that.)

I knew, however, that I couldn't make the leap without my husband. And I couldn't see him abandoning those beliefs. I was scared that he'd be angry with me if I said, "I'm cutting my hair and I don't want to stop." Thank goodness for a dear friend who knew about my journey, and who hinted ever so gently that it might not be good for my marriage to keep a secret like that. I didn't argue with her suggestion but did not make any plans to tell Justin.

However, my mouth apparently had its own plans. One night as we were driving home, somehow cutting hair was mentioned and Justin said, "You wouldn't do that, would you?"

My mouth must have been completely disconnected from my brain, which still did NOT want to tell, because it opened and said, "Actually, I have, and I've been doing it for a long time." Then I stared straight ahead at the garage door opening and wondered what was about to happen.

"Really?" he said. I was thankful to hear that his voice was not angry, only surprised.

Then I apologized to him. "I don't feel bad about cutting my hair," I said. "I don't think it was wrong. But I do think it was wrong to keep it a secret from you."

And...I think I have to leave the final part of the story--where we are now--for later.