Monthly Archives: September 2011

Take My Hand

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To fulfill the requirements for my Ph.D. program I have to be “in residence” for one year.  What that basically means is that I have to be full time, the equivalent to taking three classes each semester.  When I looked at the semester schedule for fall 2011 I discovered that to be full time I would have to take a class on Wednesday nights.  I discarded the idea entirely.  Why?  Wednesday night is one of Jon’s busiest nights at work.  Trying to coordinate childcare would be…complicated.  The idea of trying to navigate those arrangements caused me anxiety just thinking about it.  So despite the fact that Jon wondered if it was indeed the best year for me to do the residency requirement, I threw the idea away and thought that I would fulfill it later.  As August approached, the possibility came up again.  Was I really going to do this thing (the Ph.D. program) or not?

I decided that if I could get help, I would go for it. So after a few phone calls, I had five family members eager to rotate offering help for the four months of class on Wednesday nights.  Once a month my mom, my dad, Jon’s parents, or my brother comes to stay with the kids, take them to church, and then bring them back home while Jon is at the church working.  As a mother it has been very difficult to ask for and accept this help.  Too often we are told that we should have it all under control on our own…that we should know all of the details, have our children monitored by only us all of the time…and I, unfortunately, buy into this cultural idea too often.  By giving up some control on these Wednesday nights my children are getting the chance to spend time with grandparents and their uncle.  And, I am getting to pursue a personal and professional goal.  Win-win.

Things were going very well the first few weeks.  I was tired and working hard, but the plans were working like clockwork.  Then one Sunday night I was putting the girls to bed, anticipating with them the great week ahead of us, and Eloise anxiously asked: “Mom, is tomorrow Wednesday?”  “No, why?”  “Well, I know that I just have to make it through Wednesday and I’ll be ok.”

What followed, in short, was a conversation in which Eloise explained that she was not too happy about our arrangements. “I’m glad you are going to school and all, but I just don’t like having someone different coming each week to take me to church.  I would rather it be the same person each time.”

As it turns out Eloise had in her mind that we would be following this plan for two years.  I am not sure where she got this idea, but the idea of having someone different coming to take her to church on Wednesday nights week after week for two years was just a little too overwhelming.  I explained that we would not be following this plan for two years, but only until Thanksgiving, which was three months away.  That information seemed to help and she went to bed.

Eloise is my daughter that needs to know who, what, why, when, where, and how.  I am fairly certain that she thinks she knows more than I do.  If she does not have the details about what is going on ahead of time and/or she thinks that I do not have it all together, she gets a little anxious.  If coordinating a situation is going to be…complicated…she would rather just avoid it.  She likes things to be calm, orderly, and well planned.

These Wednesday nights are stretching her.

Which is not a bad thing.

As I listened to Eloise share her anxieties I was not too alarmed.  I know this girl.  I know that this is what she does.  I know that her anxiety does not make me a bad mother or mean that I am doing something wrong.  What I do know is that I would love for her to trust me.  Like so many other times in the past I would love for her to just know that I’ve got this.  She can relax.  Daddy and I have the details covered.  She is not the third adult in the house.  I would love for her to rest in all of these truths because I know that ultimately this trust will be best for her.  I know that in her trusting she won’t get silly in her anxiety, she won’t become exhausted by the heightened emotions, and she will have more energy, more time, more space to just…be…be adventurous, be playful, be a little girl.

I would love for Eloise to slip her little hand in mine and say: “Ok, Mama.  Let’s do this (whatever “this” is).”

If you have even grazed the field of psychology in the past couple of decades you are well acquainted with John Bowlby’s Attachment Theory.  It seems that it is the “hottest thing” in the field these days.  And, like most theories of science it has made its way to pop culture with some unfortunate packaging.  Some people tend to think of Attachment Theory as being about how much time a mother spends with her infant every day and week.  While it is true that some research explores this factor, this preoccupation is not what Attachment Theory is about.  Attachment is about relationships, trust, and security.  It is about feeling safe enough to explore…to be.  Attachment Theory explores how early relationship patterns create a sense of security (or not) in a child.  How much time a mother spends with a child does play into the picture in certain ways, but it is more about the relationship.  I have seen stay at home mothers raising anxious and insecure children and working mothers raising secure and confident ones.  It is about creating a space where children learn that they are safe…enough to rest, to relax, to explore, to just…be…be adventurous, playful.  There are two parts to secure attachment: security and exploration.

One of my favorite parts of being a mother is holding my child’s hand.  I know their hands well.  I reach for them when we cross the road, when we are waiting in line at the grocery store, when we watch movies, and sometimes just because I want to tell them I am there.  And, I love what it tells me when their hand relaxes in mine.  I’m ok, mommy. I know you are there.  I will go along with you.  I can trust that we are going in a safe direction.  I know that you’ve got the details covered.

Emmett’s hands are soft, warm, and a little pudgy with left over baby fat.  Lillian’s are strong, usually warm and sticky…with left over mess from whatever adventure she has had most recently.  Eloise’s hands are slender and cool to the touch.  Lillian is most likely to let me hold her hand, often grabbing my hand first.  Emmett is too active to think about it, usually takes my hand on instinct.  Eloise is eight and not sure if she wants to hold my hand or not.  Oh, she does, but she doesn’t. But, she does. Then again, maybe she doesn’t.  Is she supposed to?  For how long? Why?  What?  When?  Where?  How?

I would love for her not to think so much…just take my hand already.

I’m pretty sure God says something like this to me, too.

I would love for you to stop thinking so much.  Just take my hand already.

Often I have those same questions for God… who, what, why, when, where, and how.  Oh, how often I have those questions.  It probably comes across that I think I know more than He does.  I get anxious and tend to worry that He does not have the details covered.  That He does not really have it all together.  If it looks as though coordinating a situation is going to be…complicated (for God)…I would rather just avoid it.  I like things to be calm, orderly, and well planned.  I want to know….just know.

Life itself pretty much stretches me.

Which is not a bad thing.

As God listens to me share my anxieties I am fairly certain He does not get too alarmed.  I know this girl, He says.  I know that this is what she does.  What I do know is that I would love for her to trust me.  Like so many other times before I would love for her to just know that I’ve got this.  She can relax.  I have the details covered.  She is not the other God in the universe.  I would love for her to rest in all of these truths because I know that ultimately that will be best for her.  I know that in her trusting she won’t get silly in her anxiety, she won’t become exhausted by the heightened emotions, and she will have more energy, more time, more space to just…be…be adventurous, be playful, be my girl.

I would love for Emily to slip her little hand in mine and say: “Ok, God.  Let’s do this.”

So, I’ve been thinking about Attachment and Eloise and me.  I’ve been thinking about how much I want her to trust me, to be secure, secure enough to relax and explore, to live life, to just…be.  And, I’ve been thinking about how much I want that for myself, too.  I’ve been thinking about what it tells me when my children reach for my hand.  I’m ok, mommy. I know you are there.  I will go along with you.  I can trust that we are going in a safe direction.  I know that you’ve got the details covered.  And, I want that kind of trust, too.  I want that to be my message to God.  So, I’m thinking about all of these things in the midst of a very, very full week of classes and work and loving on my family and I find myself in the car driving.  I am exhausted and on my way to a field trip with one of my girls, following the bus to the museum, and I desperately need to know that He’s got this, that He’s got the details covered.  And, for a moment, I imagine I lift up my hand, pretend to grab His hand, and I know that He’s been saying it all along: “Take my hand.  Go ahead.  Take it.  I’ve got this.”  And, I choose to take His hand, choose to rest in it, choose to go along with Him and say one more time: “Ok, God. Let’s do this.”

Like a Sponge

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Soon after my oldest daughter started kindergarten we were sitting at the table having a snack, talking about her day, looking through the work she brought home, when I found a piece of paper where her teacher had written a note.  The note simply said that Eloise had not finished her morning work and needed to finish it at home.  Huh.  Well, ok, that isn’t a big deal.  I asked Eloise about it and she told me that she was having a hard time getting her morning work done before time was up.

At this point I felt something rise up inside of me that was like nothing I had experienced before.  I mean, it couldn’t be my DAUGHTER’S fault that she isn’t finishing her work on time!  Not as smart as she is.  No, no, no, uh-huh…something must be wrong with the system.  I was already writing a note to the teacher in my head when I stopped myself with a jerk.

Whoa.  Good grief.  THAT had been ugly.  I am about to do EXACTLY what I knew NOT to do…what I talked to clients about almost every week.  I was about to weave a web.  I wish I could say that it would have been the first time for me to be on the verge of doing my own spinning, the first time I had been a web weaver.  Unfortunately not.  It takes one to know one.

There is an idea in family systems theory that is called “triangles”.  When two people are in a relationship and there is conflict there is a tendency to pull someone else in to stabilize the system, to assuage the conflict, to help disperse the anxiety.  Maybe you can picture it.  Three people…three points in a triangle.  Sometimes the person isn’t pulled in. Sometimes out of anxiety (or anger or fear or simply having a little bit of a savior complex), a person will choose to step in and be that third point in the triangle (ahem…that would be me in the above situation).

Being there for your friends is a nice thing to do, right?  I mean, helping my daughter be successful in school, being her advocate with her teachers…that’s being a good parent, right?  That all sounds fine and good except that when a third person gets involved so many not good things are simultaneously taking place.  The primary relationship where there is conflict is not really getting a chance to grow and find its own strength.

Conflict can actually be a good thing for a relationship…if the relationship is given a chance to work it out.  Like the resistance to muscles in weight lifting, the resistance of conflict can break down a relationship only to help it grow stronger…if the two people are committed to working through it.

When a third person steps in or is pulled in to the situation, an opportunity is stolen.  The two people involved in the primary relationship are not given the chance to grow stronger, not given a chance to learn to tolerate anxiety and conflict, not given a chance to learn to communicate and relate in the midst of a tough time.  They aren’t given the chance to grow…as individuals and in their relationship.  The third person actually steals this opportunity when they try to “help”.

And, it just gets messy.  Very, very messy.

Think about triangles being formed across a community.  What would a string of triangles looks like?  Yeah, a spider web.  And, everyone gets caught in it.  No one comes out completely clean.

You’ve experienced them before.  Let’s see if any of these situations sound familiar.

Your son doesn’t get his homework done on time.  It is the night before the big project is due.  He hasn’t even started it.  Instead of asking him how he wants to deal with it, you take over and do it for him or write a note to the teacher asking if he can have an extension.  Because, you know, he hasn’t been feeling very good…that’s why he needs the extension.  Right.

Your two friends are in an argument.  One of them comes to talk to you about it.  It is so hard to watch your friends struggle that maybe you step in and talk for your friend A to the other friend B.  Or, maybe you don’t do that, but you join in with your friend A and either directly or indirectly put down friend B.  You just joined a triangle.

You are frustrated about a colleague at work.  Instead of going to talk to him or her about the frustrations, you go and vent to your boss.  Rather than handling it right there, your boss talks to another worker, who then talks to another worker… and we wonder why there is tension at work places.

Or, perhaps your boss actually talks to YOU about frustrations with another one of your colleagues…and you go and talk to another colleague who talks to another colleague.  So many triangles…one big web.

Triangles are the result of anxiety.  We watch someone else struggling, which makes us anxious and so we step in.  Or, we are in a conflict and we are anxious about it, afraid or overwhelmed at the idea of dealing directly with the source of the conflict, so we pull someone else in.

If we aren’t careful, we soak up anxiety from others like a sponge and we do really stupid things…things we are ashamed of later.  We talk down about people we care about, get into other people’s business, overreact, become rigid in demands…and cause all kinds of drama…all in response to the anxiety and insecurity in ourselves that is triggered when we sense anxiety in others around us.

I stopped myself with a jerk at the table that day with Eloise.  I took a deep breath and I said: “Well, Eloise, what do you think you need to do about this issue?”  And, without any cajoling on my part I listened as my kindergarten daughter responded in a second with more maturity and confidence than the web of anxiety her mother’s mind had been spinning just moments before.  Well, she said, I probably need to get to school a few minutes earlier.  I also need to stop taking so long to write everything out.  Ok, those sound like good ideas, I said.  Do you think that will be enough to help you get finished on time?  Yeah, she replied.  No problem.

I never got another note about Eloise not finishing her work on time in the morning.

Wow, that was a close one.  I had been anxious about my daughter not finishing her work on time.  If, out of my own anxiety, I had stepped in and written a note to her teacher I would have stolen an incredible opportunity for Eloise to think, to brainstorm, to grow.  And, I would have caused an icky feeling between her teacher and me.  It would have been messy.  I shudder to think about it.  I shudder to think about the times in the past when I didn’t stop with a jerk…when I soaked up the anxiety like a sponge, when I formed a triangle, and became a web weaver.

And, you know what else?  Without actually saying the words, I would have been communicating to Eloise that I didn’t think she was strong enough to handle it.  By stepping in, I would have been saying: “You know what?  You can’t do this on your own.  I better do this for you” and just like that I would have injected a dose of insecurity in my daughter…a lack of confidence that she could think and brainstorm, and figure out on her own what she needs to do.

It is hard but I try to do this with friends and even family.  If they are upset about something I can listen without taking it on.  I can be there for them without intervening and creating more drama.  Wow, I can say, that sounds really hard.  Comments like that are not joining in the drama.  You can be there for someone without taking on their stuff or even agreeing with them!  I’m just being there.  In fact, by not taking it on, I can be there for them MORE.  I don’t get overwhelmed by it…by their stuff, by their pain.  I can stay there and really be there with them through this hard time

And that is really what we all need…someone to be there with us in hard times.  I don’t need my friends to fix my stuff.  I don’t even need them to be angry at people I am angry at even though I might feel like it at times.

Somewhere along the way we will do good to learn that we are called to help bear one another’s burdens…not fix them.

We are not called to be fixers.  We aren’t called to be saviors, healers, slanderers, busy bodies, or gossips…all things we tend to do when we are faced with anxiety and insecurities in our selves or others.

We are called to be burden bearers.

Therapists and counselors start learning this lesson early.  Not too long ago I heard a person telling a group that his daughter was planning on becoming a counselor: “I said, that’s a good thing, too, because she’s been telling people what to do since she was two years old!”  Everyone in the group laughed.  The irony is that very early in training therapists learn that giving direct advice is one of the last things you do.  Part of the point is for the other person to learn how to do their own problem solving…almost how to become their own therapist eventually.  Therapists are trained to ask good questions and there is certainly some direction and advice giving in there, but if I always supply clients with answers I set myself up as the authority in their life.  Not only is that an unethical use of power, it also is not very good clinical work.  Without actually saying the words, I communicate to my clients that I don’t think they are strong enough to handle it.  By stepping in, by giving all the “answers”, I tell them: “You know what?  You’re right.  You can’t do this.  I better do this for you” and just like that I inject a dose of insecurity into the people I work with…a lack of confidence in their ability to think and brainstorm and figure out what they need to do with their lives.

And, if as a therapist I always take on the other person’s stuff, giving them all the answers, becoming that third point in the triangle…the fixer, the healer, the savior…wow, that is too much for any human being.  That spells “burn out” fast.  My clients need a therapist who can stick around for them…not someone who becomes so overwhelmed by taking on things that aren’t mine to take on…abandoning them and checking out.

We can do that in friendships and family relationships, too.  We can take on so much because that feels so good…so good being the savior, the fixer, the healer.  And, because we aren’t created to be those things for people, we burn out.  Then we check out. Friends and family need a person who can stick around for them… not becoming so overwhelmed by taking on things that aren’t ours to take on…and then abandoning them, checking out.

Healer, Savior, Fixer…those titles sound familiar…

I’ll tell you one way to keep from soaking up anxiety like a sponge, from being a fixer, a busy body, a web weaver, a thief of growth opportunities in the lives of others…pray.  It is that simple.  Tell God about it.  And, watch Him absorb all of that inner conflict, all of that anxiety, fear, and even anger that gets our mind spinning.  Just pray.  Write it, speak it, sing it.  Whatever you have to do.  Just pray.  Pray for people in your life.  He is the Fixer, Healer, and Savior anyway…not us.

Somewhere along the way we will do good to learn that we are called to help bear one another’s burdens…not fix them.  And, every time you (ahem…I) step in to fix, heal, and save you just might be fixing, healing, or saving something that God is using in their life or in that relationship to do some incredible things.

I just need to get the heck out of the way.  And, pray.  And, listen.  And, maybe help them think through it.

Hello, my name is Emily and I am a recovering web weaver, triangle maker, attempted fixer.  I tend to soak up anxiety like a sponge.  I struggle to stop and pray.  But, I’m working on it.  I’ll keep working on it…working on injecting confidence in the lives of those I love and work with rather than insecurity…and getting the heck out of the way for what God is already doing.

Wrestling, Playing Tennis, and Ramming Cars

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There is something incredibly intimate and sweet about being on the floor with your child…getting down to their level and playing with them in their own world of their things.  Emmett will pull on me with his soft, small hand and say: “Please, mommy, please, come play cars with me in my room, mommy, come on!”  I’ll let him pull me back to his train table where we can set up roads and railways and play with his vehicles.

Last night I sat down to play.  I vroomed the cars down the tracks complete with corresponding car noises.  I noticed Emmett had stopped.

He stared at me.  “No, mommy.  Just play.”

Oh, ok.

So I had the cars talk to each other.  I had my car ask Emmett’s car what his name was.

Emmett stared at me again.  He humored me for a moment, answering back. Then he stopped again.  “Mommy.  Just PLAY.”

Alright.

So I had the cars dance and be silly.  He thought that was worth a few laughs.  But, when I continued this charade, he stopped and stared again.  “Just PLAY, MOMMY.”

Uhhh…

And, that is when I think I got it.  I think I understood what he wanted.

So I started having the cars run into one another, revving their engines, ramming one another into rolling pieces of metal, what I would consider fighting, causing wrecks and a big mess….something I’ve seen Emmett do many times.

Emmett’s smile lit up his face and I knew then that I was really playing with him.  We played and he hugged me: “I love you SOOO much, mommy.”

He wanted to be close to me.  He wanted me to fight.

Our society is not always good with the show of emotions…especially anger or sadness.  It is in the heat of those moments that we reveal parts of ourselves that most people do not see and do not want to see….parts we prefer to hide.  When we get angry we expose our vulnerabilities.  We are exposed…seen.

One thing is certain: in an honest, open argument where truth and vulnerability reign, you really face each other.  You get close.  Like in wrestling, you get close enough to smell each other’s sweat, maybe even have it run down on your own skin.  The silent treatment doesn’t count.  That’s not honest wrestling. You can’t fight with your back turned.  And, facebook, texting, and twitter don’t count either.  You must be willing to be seen, be willing to be smelled and held and to get messy.

I don’t like wrestling.  I cringe when I watch it.  I played tennis.  You stay WAYYYY over there and I’ll stay here and if I get upset I might even throw a little tantrum to myself, but I don’t want to have you involved in it.

Yes, wrestling makes me uncomfortable.  I don’t really want your sweat rolling down onto my own skin.  I don’t want the smell of you or the mess.

The problem is that I think God created us to wrestle.  In fact, I am pretty sure God is a wrestler, too.

I know of a wrestler in the bible…a man who was angry, a man who wanted answers.  We don’t usually think of him as being angry or wanting answers or being a wrestler. Our flannel graph bible stories seem to skip over that part.  We like to think of him as patient and long-suffering.  The only problem is that when we skip over this man’s anger, frustration, and his fight for answers we skip over, oh, about 38 chapters of the bible.  I have a problem with that.

You know the story of Job.  I don’t have to tell you how Job ended up in despair, but just remember that in the end Job went from being the wealthiest man in the land with many children to losing everything including his own health.  He sat with boils covering his body, covered in ashes and in Job chapter three we find him having an old-fashioned pity party.

We read that when Job’s three friends heard about what had happened that they all came together to sympathize with him and comfort him.  Verses 12-13 tells us: “When they lifted up their eyes at a distance and did not recognize him, they raised their voices and wept.  And each of them tore his robe and they threw dust over their heads toward the sky.  Then they sat down on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights with no one speaking a word to him, for they saw that his pain was very great.”

Job’s friends get such a bad rap.  I don’t know about you, but I hope I have one friend who would be willing to weep and sit with me for one day.  Job had three friends who wept, tore their clothes, and sat with him for seven days.  These were not bad friends.  They obviously loved and cared about Job.  They may have not been the wisest friends, but they were not uncaring.

If you really take time to read the words of Job’s friends you might be surprised.  Most, if not all, of their words hold truth.  They give good advice.  They demonstrate great knowledge about God.  However, Job does not need advice.

Job needed to wrestle.  He needed to fight.

The big question has always seemed to be: “Did Job sin?  Did he remain faithful?  Did he let Satan get to him?”  We find this answer in two different verses.  Job1:22 states: “Through all this Job did not sin or did he blame God.”  Job 2:10 states: “In all this Job did not sin with his lips.”  That is the focus of our flannel graph stories.  That is the lesson we learn.  Job went through a lot.  He never gave up.  He sat there through it all and took it.  He was abused and through it all never sinned.  Then everything was better.

Lesson learned.  Story over. Happily ever after.  Suck it up and take it.

Not quite.

In verse 3:3-5 Job says: “Let the day perish on which I was to be born, and the night which said, ‘A boy is conceived.’  May that day be darkness; Let not God above care for it, nor light shine on it.  Let darkness and black gloom claim it; let a cloud settle on it; Let the blackness of the day terrify it.”

Ok, in this day and age, if someone said that to me I would start taking steps to call 911.  I would be afraid of what he might do to himself.

Job is saying that he is going to be honest.  He is not going to hide himself.  He is going to risk vulnerability.  And, not just with anyone…with God.

“What is man that You magnify him, that You are concerned about him, and try him every moment?  Will You never turn Your gaze away from me, nor let me alone until I swallow my spittle?  Have I sinned?  What have I done to You, O watcher of men?  Why have you set me as Your target, so that I am a burden to myself?” (Job 7:17-20)

Job is fired up mad at God.  I don’t know how else to read these verses.

Job is out for a fight.  He wants to wrestle.  He wants to get so close to God he gets answers…so close his sweat rolls down God’s arms…so close it is messy.

Job’s friends are aghast at how he is talking to God.  Perhaps, we, too, are a little uncomfortable with such raw emotion.  We may be uncomfortable and feel that Job is being disrespectful.

One thing is certain.  God shows up.  God does not seem afraid to fight.

God is not afraid to wrestle.  God is not afraid to get close.  He is not afraid for our sweat to roll down His arms, to smell our body odor, or to get messy.

Then, there is this really amazing piece at the end that almost everyone misses.  In the end God blesses Job, yeah, yeah, we all know that part.  Then, he curses his friends, yeah, yeah, we all know that part, too.  But, this is where it gets interesting.  What does God say to Job’s friends?

In Job 42:7 God says to Eliphaz, one of Job’s three friends: “My wrath is kindled against you and against your two friends, because you have not spoken of Me what is right as My servant Job has.”  One of my professors at seminary, Dr. Rickie Moore points out something about a tiny word in this verse.  Do you notice the word “of” right before the word “Me”?  The verse says that God is angry because Job’s friends have not spoken “of” God as Job has.  Dr. Moore, a Hebrew scholar, says that this word in the Hebrew is more often translated as the preposition “to”.

One little word can make a very big difference in such a sentence.  Read it again after this seemingly minor change.  “My wrath is kindled against you and against your two friends, because you have not spoken to Me what is right as My servant Job.”  If these two words are interchangeable in the Hebrew language, then the meaning of the verse seems clear.  Job did not just talk about God, as his friends did.  He talked TO God.

His friends wanted to play tennis.  Job wanted to wrestle.  And, God liked that.

God knows that when two people are wrestling they are very close…close enough for sweat and body odor and messes.  Close enough to work things out.

My husband is the youngest of four boys.  You can imagine that with four boys in a household there were a few fights…probably some wrestling, too.  From my husband’s recollections the conflict with the greatest amount of heat was between him and his next oldest brother.  As you can imagine they have some stories they can share.  The irony is that now Jon and this brother are the closest in proximity to one another, living in the same town, have a lot in common, and are very good friends.  The truth is that fighting can be good for a relationship.  Fighting and wrestling does not have to be a bad thing.  It just might end with a hug and someone saying “I love you soooo much!”

I wonder what would happen if we made more room for wrestling, more room for fighting, more room for the mess that comes with being that close to someone.  I wonder what would happen if we traded our tennis playing way of handling conflict and chose to be present in the midst of the anger…if we were willing to be seen in our own anger…vulnerable, not perfect.

I wonder what would happen if we understood that being there for each other sometimes means getting down on the floor, at their eye level, in their own messy world, and rather than playing cutesy, silly games…being willing to fight, to wrestle…to have our sweat and their sweat mix together…to tolerate the smelly, messy part of being close.

I wonder if some of our relationships could handle that…some of those relationships that matter to us…those relationships that are worth fighting for…worth wrestling to be closer, to be more of a brother, more of a sister.  I wonder if we could handle each other’s imperfections in this world that tells us facades are all that matter.

So, this week, don’t go pick a fight, good grief, but don’t shirk from one either.  Boundaries and niceties and appropriateness are all fine and good…AND I think that there are relationships that could grow from some more honest fighting…some more wrestling…some more tolerating imperfections and vulnerability. Maybe the first one that could use some wrestling is yours with God.

I just think He loves to wrestle.  He might make a wrestler out of me yet.

Third Places

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As I write we are on our way to the beach for our summer vacation, passing through Atlanta, specifically Marietta, and I am struck by a wave of memories.

When I was a child my father was a chaplain in the Air Guard and one weekend a month plus two weeks a year he would report to Dobbins Air Force Base for duty.  It seemed that most months we all went as a family.  Sometimes we would stay on base and sometimes I would go with him by myself, just Dad and me.  I would stay at that little Air Force Base hotel with its long hallways, twin beds and scratchy military blankets and be in a completely different world, a world that started on Friday night and ended on Sunday afternoon.  I knew the way from Cleveland to Marietta and back again like some children knew the route to grandmother’s house.  Over the river (actually the golf course in Waterville), through the woods (the town of Dalton), to Atlanta we would go.  It seems that Redbud was about half way.  I knew we were close when the cement partitions dividing the two ways of the interstate would appear.  30 more minutes.

My dad would go to his office at the Air Force chapel on Saturday mornings, leaving before the sun rose and before I stretched out of bed.  I would stay behind, sleeping in, eating powdered donuts we had bought for my breakfast, and trying to find something to watch on Georgia Public television after the Saturday morning cartoons had gone off.  After lunch, when my dad came to see me, I sometimes would go with him to play in the wooden pews of the old white Air Force Base chapel or stay behind to run in the field by the hotel where I would try to catch butterflies.  When I got older, my dad would drop me off at the base park where I could hit tennis balls against a wall or practice my serve for hours.

Other weekends, most weekends, we would all go together as a family.  We had adventurous family weekends filled with shopping, swimming, and the yearly Air Force family weekend that had the air show and chili cook off where my dad was always a judge.  Many, many times on these family trip weekends the base hotel was full and so we would get bumped off base.  I loved getting bumped off base because that meant we would get to stay at the Marriott down the road in Marietta with the gift shop full of soft stuffed animals and an indoor pool that connected to the outdoor pool if you were brave enough to swim under the glass paned window separating the two.  After cartoons on those weekends, my mom would sit by the pool while I hoped to make a friend to play mermaids with at the pool stairs in the shallow end.  One side of the railing was my mermaid home. The other side of the railing was my new friend’s mermaid home.  We would have under water tea parties and see how long we could hold our breath, these nameless weekend friends and me.  I loved the chlorine smell, the tile covering the floor, and the way the voices were muffled and echoed as though we were in a cave.  I pretended the attendants at the hotel knew me by name and I was somewhat like Eloise at the Plaza because we stayed there so often.

Atlanta became a second home to us in a big way and that Marriott hotel felt like ours.  My brother, when he was still small, thought the Marriott WAS Atlanta.  To say we were going to Atlanta was to say we were going to the hotel with the pool. He would get so upset if I argued otherwise, which, of course, I did…because I was his big sister.  Today I hear myself when I listen to Eloise trying to explain to Lillian that Alabama is “not a COUNTRY…our cousins do not live in another COUNTRY.  They live in another STATE and the CITY is BIRMINGHAM.”  Lillian listens, and with what seems to be more patience than my little brother had and maybe with a twinkle in her eye, she simply nods with acquiesces.  I know that a few weeks later she will ask again: “Which country do our cousins live in?”  “ARGHHH!” Eloise will growl, then sigh and go through the entire thing again.

Now, as a parent, I realize that the older might be getting played as much as the younger one is getting bossed.

Sometimes when we got “bumped” we would even get to stay in a hotel further into Atlanta and that felt incredibly ritzy to me.  I pretended I was the daughter in a wealthy family who took extravagant weekend trips to the big city.  But, at least by American standards, we were a very normal, middle class family who got a stipend to spend on a hotel because my dad was in the Air Force and had been bumped off base.

Atlanta became my other place.  I felt free, like I didn’t have to be a self that had been constructed in the context of my hometown.  No matter what was going on in my other world, I was ok in Atlanta, with my family or on quiet weekends, Dad and me.

I learned through trips to Atlanta and other family adventures that life is not all about my hometown and school.  There is another world out there and I can be ok in it.  Life does not begin and end in such small places.

You can find many sociologists, human development experts, and even theologians who talk about the vital importance of the “third place” to a child’s development and to an adult’s well being.  Joseph R. Myers wrote a little book called The Search to Belong, where he details the different spaces a person needs.  Sociologist Ray Oldenburg talks about the importance of the “third place” to a person’s well being in the midst of our fast paced society.

Third place: a space other than home or work where a person can feel part of a community.

I am stricken with a combined sense of grief and fear when I work with a budding adolescent, sitting next to him or her, and hear how home is not safe and neither is school.  At home parents are fighting and at school the child is being bullied.  There is no place to go, no place to feel belonging and safety.  It is a dangerous situation for everyone involved.  He or she can feel stuck… hopeless, helpless…trapped: where do I go?  What can I do?

My first line of activism for this child is certainly to help him or her report the bullying in a safe, non-threatening way.  It cannot stop there.  Solving the parents’ problems is not likely.  However, if I can urge the construction of a third place, a place where he or she feels a sense of rightness and okayness…then, we are carving out a foundation for a future for him or her…a future where new relationships can be built, new experiences can be lived…new dreams can be dreamed and even attained.

The child or teenager can begin to learn that life is not all about home and school.  There is another world out there and I can be ok in it.  Life does not begin and end in such small spaces.

Church can be this place for many people and you can read in books and online how many church leaders are contending with Starbucks as the third place.  However, this is when I suggest it is not just a third place that we need, but a fourth place, too.  Whether it is because church can be work for many people or because church can be so closely tied to home for a child (and adults), I think that one more place is a good idea.  A sport, a hobby, girl scouts, boy scouts.  Some people say that children need at least five healthy adult relationships for healthy development.  It is in these third and fourth place spheres that these relationships can be built.

I think adults need these spaces, too.  I think adults can start to feel stuck…hopeless and helpless…trapped: where do I go?  What can I do?

I had a colleague one time tell me about a book, whose title I cannot remember, that talked about how ONE healthy relationship can break the cycle of poverty in a person’s life.  One relationship.  You see, poverty is a disease of isolation.  Those who suffer from it have very little connection with people at all, much less healthy connections and the isolation only serves to worsen the disease.

As adults, we might not be in poverty monetarily (or maybe you are), but we have too many adults and children in poverty relationally and spiritually.

We need relationships.  We need to construct our own third and fourth places where these relationships can break the poverty.  We, just as much as children, need a future where new relationships can be built, new experiences can be lived…new dreams can be dreamed and even attained.

As I finish writing this post that I started on our way to the beach with our family a few weeks ago, I am sitting in a mountain lodge with my husband.  We left the kids for one solitary night (I’ll take what I can get!) to celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary.  He is in a corner reading, sitting in a striped armchair with his feet propped up against a stuffed black bear that serves as an ottoman.  Nickelcreek is playing faintly in the speakers.  I am sunk down in a leather couch in front of a mountain view.  For one night I will go through a mini “mommy detox”.  I will be set loose from any social constructs or constraints I feel or think my community holds to me.  I will be able to breathe.  Jon and I will dream dreams and make plans that just don’t get made when we are operating in the spaces of home and work.

And, next week I will get ready to go to my book club that I started and I will say like I do every month…I don’t have time for it this week!  And, I will also know that I do not have time NOT to go…not to spend some time in this third place I have constructed for myself.

These small adventures and third places will help me remember that there is a bigger world out there.  Life does not begin and end in my hometown and work.  Life does not begin and end in such small spaces.

Third and fourth places are about people, adventures, relationships, expanding your mind, and remembering that the opinion of your co-worker or even the friend from church is not the final word on your life.

God is…the final Word

…and He has entrusted you with the potential for dreams, for adventures, for life changing relationships.

Sometimes those third and fourth spaces, whether it is a book club or a yearly trip to the beach, clears all the clutter and chattering of voices we hear every day…clears a space for God’s voice speaking to us…speaking to us through our dreaming, our hoping…through new relationships and adventures.

So, join the Y, start a cooking club, get out of here.  Life is bigger than your little town and the people in it.  As wonderful and important as these people and those relationships are, THEY are not the final word on your life.  When you are feeling trapped and down and stuck, go away…to the beach or to the lake a few miles down the road.  Make room for dreaming and listening and seeing.

Find your own third place for that little kid inside who still wants to be someone and do something in this great big world.  Remind him or her just how big the world really is …and get unstuck.