"In Hollywood," Lauren Bacall once quipped, "an equitable divorce settlement means each party getting 50 per cent of the publicity."
The vast majority of news items that pop up each day under the heading of divorce have something to do with celebrity. Since this isn't a gossip column, I don't post them here, but the Bacall quote above was priceless, I thought, and worthy of inclusion. There's also a mention in this article of John Denver cutting his bed in half with a chainsaw in a bitter divorce. Wow, I didn't see that one coming when he was mildly crooning with the Muppets.
Lauren Bacall's most famous quote, of course, is: "You know how to whistle, don't you Steve? Just put your lips together and blow."
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Friday, February 24, 2006
Divorce and schoolwork
Here's a great article from a high school newspaper on the realities of living between two homes after parents divorce.
Want to stay married?
Finish college and go to church. From an article by Maggie Gallagher in National Review.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Fear and faith
I'm reading, as usual, several books at the moment. I never used to be a multiple-book reader. My reading habits used to be orderly and straightforward: one book at a time. Now, it seems I've always got bookmarks stuck in at least two or three volumes. The interesting thing is seeing how God occasionally uses this split reading personality to bring two thoughts dramatically together in my mind in one of those, "OK, I get it God!" moments. I had one of those tonight.
As part of my ongoing research and general interest, I'm reading a book by Christian counselor H. Norman Wright, called A Dad-shaped Hole In My Heart. It's a great book, particularly if you're the type who likes to sort through your thoughts and feelings by writing them out (I'm actually not), as the author includes exercises throughout to help the reader process deep emotion. One of his chapters deals specifically with girls who have missed out on a relationship with their fathers due to divorce. In this chapter, he lists a number of common issues, most of which I identified with. One that struck me, because of several situations in my life right now, was the inability to make decisions or take risks. Rooted in fear, this tendency can paralyze a child of divorce and keep her mired in mediocrity or misery when she could be experiencing joy and freedom.
Then tonight, as I read Luci Shaw's The Crime of Living Cautiously, I came across this quote: "As 1 John 4 reminds us, 'Perfect love casts out fear.' Who in this terrible, beautiful world can attain to or experience perfect love--the depth of love that banishes fear? Or an absolute confidence that God is with us and that our welfare is best left entirely in his hands? Faith and love, perfect or imperfect, are intangibles--we experience them but cannot quite put our finger on or define them; they seem to escape us. Such spiritual qualities are, by definition, 'unseen.' we move in their direction, hopeful, believing, but seldom achieving with absolute clarity."
I love that last sentence and the hope and freedom that it promises. We can move in the direction of faith and love that trust perfectly, and we can cut ourselves some slack, knowing that we won't get there in a straight line. It will sometimes be a zig-zag journey and sometimes one-step-forward-two-steps-back and then sometimes a full on sprint before we stop, gasping for air and clutching our sides to rest and wonder at the audacity of such trust.
As part of my ongoing research and general interest, I'm reading a book by Christian counselor H. Norman Wright, called A Dad-shaped Hole In My Heart. It's a great book, particularly if you're the type who likes to sort through your thoughts and feelings by writing them out (I'm actually not), as the author includes exercises throughout to help the reader process deep emotion. One of his chapters deals specifically with girls who have missed out on a relationship with their fathers due to divorce. In this chapter, he lists a number of common issues, most of which I identified with. One that struck me, because of several situations in my life right now, was the inability to make decisions or take risks. Rooted in fear, this tendency can paralyze a child of divorce and keep her mired in mediocrity or misery when she could be experiencing joy and freedom.
Then tonight, as I read Luci Shaw's The Crime of Living Cautiously, I came across this quote: "As 1 John 4 reminds us, 'Perfect love casts out fear.' Who in this terrible, beautiful world can attain to or experience perfect love--the depth of love that banishes fear? Or an absolute confidence that God is with us and that our welfare is best left entirely in his hands? Faith and love, perfect or imperfect, are intangibles--we experience them but cannot quite put our finger on or define them; they seem to escape us. Such spiritual qualities are, by definition, 'unseen.' we move in their direction, hopeful, believing, but seldom achieving with absolute clarity."
I love that last sentence and the hope and freedom that it promises. We can move in the direction of faith and love that trust perfectly, and we can cut ourselves some slack, knowing that we won't get there in a straight line. It will sometimes be a zig-zag journey and sometimes one-step-forward-two-steps-back and then sometimes a full on sprint before we stop, gasping for air and clutching our sides to rest and wonder at the audacity of such trust.
Monday, February 20, 2006
Divorce Court
Here's some good news from creative judges. In Kansas City, divorced parents may now be required to attend classes or participate in counseling to help them get along post-divorce for the sake of the children. Which makes me wonder about all those people who scoff at staying married for the sake of the children or who talk about how much better life will be post-divorce for children whose parents are in high conflict marriages. Yes, high conflict marriages are hard on kids, but who's to say that those same parents will suddenly get along once they're not married? And who's to say that people who can't stay married for the sake of the children will cooperate as parents after a divorce?
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Is It OK to Hurt?
We Americans are all about success. We want to achieve a level of perfection in every area of life: nice house, good spouse, obedient kids, cool car, fulfilling career, great friends. There’s not much room in our culture for those who hurt or fail or merely struggle. Admit a shortcoming and you’ll be encouraged to take a nice pill or see a counselor or start a new diet.
Jesus established the church as a harbor for the hurting. At the outset of His ministerial life, He announced His mission as focused on the poor, the imprisoned, the blind, and the oppressed; and He spent much of His time on earth dispensing physical healing to the lame, the blind, the infirm. I think the church, on the whole, at least tries to reach out to people who are hurting—as long as those people are not part of the church, that is. For those who have aligned themselves with Jesus Christ, we tend to expect things like joy and peace, which are good things. Paul names them as fruits, natural outgrowths, of a Spirit-filled life. So sometimes we start telling ourselves that if we’re good Christians we have to be happy and content all the time. We start believing that hurting, experiencing pain in life, is ungodly, sinful even. As a result, we judge those who are hurting. Like Job’s friends, we assume some sin or oversight on their part. And we stuff our own feelings, refusing to admit that life sometimes hurts because it just seems so unspiritual to admit something like that. One popular preacher says you can have your best life now. If this is the best we can expect, then Christianity is worse than a cosmic joke, as Paul noted in I Corinthians 15:19. The whole point of the resurrection is to let us know that redemption and wholeness are waiting for us; there’s more ahead and it’s better than we can imagine because it’s better than this life will ever be.
If you still doubt that it’s okay to hurt as a follower of God, consider Jesus. He was without sin, and yet He hurt tremendously. In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus told His disciples that His soul was “exceedingly sorrowful, even to death.” On that night, Christ wept, pleaded with God, and sweat agonizing drops of blood. His sorrow was real, so real that we shy away from it. We don’t like to picture Jesus, prostrate and weeping. It’s uncomfortable and untidy. But God gives us this very vivid picture of our Lord to remind us that He knows the messy, unbeautiful reality of our sadness.
There’s another place in Scripture that records Jesus’ tears. That famous verse, “Jesus wept,” is in the context of Jesus’ sorrow over His friend Lazarus’s death. Jesus knew He was going to raise Lazarus from the dead, and yet He cried. Perhaps they were tears of pity for the sorrow of Lazarus’s sisters and friends who didn’t yet know that he would soon be alive again; perhaps they were tears of anger over the injustice and tyranny of death itself, a result of man’s fall and Satan’s stranglehold on this world. Whatever the cause, the fact is that He wept—plain and simple.
If Jesus can cry like a baby, then so can we. There’s no shame or guilt in feeling sad. God honors our emotions and doesn’t ask us to hold back. Instead, He wants to use our times of deep emotion to teach us about Himself.
Jesus established the church as a harbor for the hurting. At the outset of His ministerial life, He announced His mission as focused on the poor, the imprisoned, the blind, and the oppressed; and He spent much of His time on earth dispensing physical healing to the lame, the blind, the infirm. I think the church, on the whole, at least tries to reach out to people who are hurting—as long as those people are not part of the church, that is. For those who have aligned themselves with Jesus Christ, we tend to expect things like joy and peace, which are good things. Paul names them as fruits, natural outgrowths, of a Spirit-filled life. So sometimes we start telling ourselves that if we’re good Christians we have to be happy and content all the time. We start believing that hurting, experiencing pain in life, is ungodly, sinful even. As a result, we judge those who are hurting. Like Job’s friends, we assume some sin or oversight on their part. And we stuff our own feelings, refusing to admit that life sometimes hurts because it just seems so unspiritual to admit something like that. One popular preacher says you can have your best life now. If this is the best we can expect, then Christianity is worse than a cosmic joke, as Paul noted in I Corinthians 15:19. The whole point of the resurrection is to let us know that redemption and wholeness are waiting for us; there’s more ahead and it’s better than we can imagine because it’s better than this life will ever be.
If you still doubt that it’s okay to hurt as a follower of God, consider Jesus. He was without sin, and yet He hurt tremendously. In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus told His disciples that His soul was “exceedingly sorrowful, even to death.” On that night, Christ wept, pleaded with God, and sweat agonizing drops of blood. His sorrow was real, so real that we shy away from it. We don’t like to picture Jesus, prostrate and weeping. It’s uncomfortable and untidy. But God gives us this very vivid picture of our Lord to remind us that He knows the messy, unbeautiful reality of our sadness.
There’s another place in Scripture that records Jesus’ tears. That famous verse, “Jesus wept,” is in the context of Jesus’ sorrow over His friend Lazarus’s death. Jesus knew He was going to raise Lazarus from the dead, and yet He cried. Perhaps they were tears of pity for the sorrow of Lazarus’s sisters and friends who didn’t yet know that he would soon be alive again; perhaps they were tears of anger over the injustice and tyranny of death itself, a result of man’s fall and Satan’s stranglehold on this world. Whatever the cause, the fact is that He wept—plain and simple.
If Jesus can cry like a baby, then so can we. There’s no shame or guilt in feeling sad. God honors our emotions and doesn’t ask us to hold back. Instead, He wants to use our times of deep emotion to teach us about Himself.
Saturday, February 11, 2006
The day I sprouted a second head
I'd chatted a few times with a casual acquaintance about growing up in a family with divorce. Her husband's parents are divorced and yet somehow, oddly, still very entwined in each other's lives. The complexities of families, the unique combinations of passions, personalities, values, intellect, and a dozen other factors that somehow knit us together into clans that are as distinct as handmade linens or afghans or sweaters, defy convention or expectation or the experiences of others. I could no more relate to this separate-involved-together-apart kind of life than I could envision living marooned on an island of zebras. It seems to me something that would be unfathomably difficult to navigate or reconcile. We had a good long chat about my blog and some books that I thought she might read or give to her husband.
And then, as innocently as pre-apple Eve, I said, "I can't ever remember my parents being in the same room together." And right then, I grew a second head. Or I might as well have, for the astonished look I received. It hadn't seemed to me an odd thing to say, just a simple statement of truth.
"Wow, their divorce must have been really acrimonious," she said.
"No, I don't think it was really," said I. "But afterward, they just never really had a need to be in the same place." I mean, how simple a concept is that? We no longer lived in the same town; when I visited my dad, my grandparents - who were self-employed and therefore had more flexibility in schedule - would come pick me up at my mom's and drop me off a few days later.
And to be honest, I'm not sure how I would handle it, this collision of worlds. One of my friends used to shudder at the thought of her separate worlds colliding - friends from her hometown, mixing with friends from college, church, work. She's over it now, I think, but not before enduring some good-natured ribbing about it all. She even eats casseroles now (though she prefers to call them something else), the worlds of peas and chicken and potatoes and gravy all mixing together with yummy, easy-to-clean-up abandon. I've always liked casseroles, but the idea of my mom and my dad in the same room is just too weird -- like eating butterscotch pudding and scalloped potatoes together. I mean, sure they're both creamy and tasty and good enough on their own, but they really aren't meant to go together.
They did at one point, and it's pretty odd for me to think about. I have pictures of the two of them or the three of us, a family. But I'm used to us as separate courses, appetizer and dessert, requiring separate plates and flatware. The oddity of this total separateness hadn't fully occurred to me until I opened my mouth and sprouted the second head.
I think maybe this is what people really mean when they talk about the resiliency of kids. It's not that broken families are right or good or that they don't hurt; it's just that kids pretty much accept the world for the way it is without thinking about the way it should be. Later, when they see wholeness or beauty or ease, that's when they start the comparisons and what ifs; but if life has just always been like that, as long as we can remember, the alternatives don't occur to us. The oddities of our situation seem normal, until we see what "normal" really looks like, or at least until we see a situation with different oddities.
And then, as innocently as pre-apple Eve, I said, "I can't ever remember my parents being in the same room together." And right then, I grew a second head. Or I might as well have, for the astonished look I received. It hadn't seemed to me an odd thing to say, just a simple statement of truth.
"Wow, their divorce must have been really acrimonious," she said.
"No, I don't think it was really," said I. "But afterward, they just never really had a need to be in the same place." I mean, how simple a concept is that? We no longer lived in the same town; when I visited my dad, my grandparents - who were self-employed and therefore had more flexibility in schedule - would come pick me up at my mom's and drop me off a few days later.
And to be honest, I'm not sure how I would handle it, this collision of worlds. One of my friends used to shudder at the thought of her separate worlds colliding - friends from her hometown, mixing with friends from college, church, work. She's over it now, I think, but not before enduring some good-natured ribbing about it all. She even eats casseroles now (though she prefers to call them something else), the worlds of peas and chicken and potatoes and gravy all mixing together with yummy, easy-to-clean-up abandon. I've always liked casseroles, but the idea of my mom and my dad in the same room is just too weird -- like eating butterscotch pudding and scalloped potatoes together. I mean, sure they're both creamy and tasty and good enough on their own, but they really aren't meant to go together.
They did at one point, and it's pretty odd for me to think about. I have pictures of the two of them or the three of us, a family. But I'm used to us as separate courses, appetizer and dessert, requiring separate plates and flatware. The oddity of this total separateness hadn't fully occurred to me until I opened my mouth and sprouted the second head.
I think maybe this is what people really mean when they talk about the resiliency of kids. It's not that broken families are right or good or that they don't hurt; it's just that kids pretty much accept the world for the way it is without thinking about the way it should be. Later, when they see wholeness or beauty or ease, that's when they start the comparisons and what ifs; but if life has just always been like that, as long as we can remember, the alternatives don't occur to us. The oddities of our situation seem normal, until we see what "normal" really looks like, or at least until we see a situation with different oddities.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Birthday blessings
My birthday is tomorrow, which is pretty weird because I feel a lot younger than the number that pops up when I substract 19?? from 2006. And thanks so much to the friend who sent me a card that said we would "grow old together...you first!" You're only 6 months behind me, sweetie, so I'll be laughing as you're struggling to blow out all those candles in June.
Birthdays are a great time, though, to remember all the blessings God has given us. So here's an off-the-top-of-my-head blessing rundown:
1. I have a job, which can often be frustrating, but ultimately furthers God's kingdom and pays my bills and even is occasionally really satisfying intellectually.
2. I have a great little townhouse, which is a total gift from God.
3. I have a great family who can drive me crazy (and vice versa) but who love me (and vice versa) and who really are terrific.
4. I have fantastic friends who love me, pray for me, encourage me, and make me laugh.
I'm also thankful for (in no particular order) tea, books, candles, friendly dogs, giggly little girls (especially my "nieces" Anna, Caroline, and Abigail), traveling companions (vive les amies!), the publisher who will finally put my book into print (I know you're out there), cooking magazines with yummy recipes, cheese fondue, Jane Austen movies, good music, public libraries, and about a hundred other things.
Birthdays are a great time, though, to remember all the blessings God has given us. So here's an off-the-top-of-my-head blessing rundown:
1. I have a job, which can often be frustrating, but ultimately furthers God's kingdom and pays my bills and even is occasionally really satisfying intellectually.
2. I have a great little townhouse, which is a total gift from God.
3. I have a great family who can drive me crazy (and vice versa) but who love me (and vice versa) and who really are terrific.
4. I have fantastic friends who love me, pray for me, encourage me, and make me laugh.
I'm also thankful for (in no particular order) tea, books, candles, friendly dogs, giggly little girls (especially my "nieces" Anna, Caroline, and Abigail), traveling companions (vive les amies!), the publisher who will finally put my book into print (I know you're out there), cooking magazines with yummy recipes, cheese fondue, Jane Austen movies, good music, public libraries, and about a hundred other things.
Friday, February 03, 2006
A garment of praise
I've just finished reading Lauren Winner's book Mudhouse Sabbath. Winner, who was raised Jewish then converted to Orthodox Judaism and then to Christianity, builds a bridge of commonality between the two religions that share the same God. She tells of Jewish traditions and understandings that can enrich the Christian's worship and deepen her faith.
One of her chapters deals with the Jewish rites surrounding death, or more accurately, the process of mourning one who has died. The traditions allow for a gradual return to normalcy within the context of community. Part of this process, particularly for those mourning the loss of a parent, is the saying of Kaddish, a prayer that extols God's name, twice a day, in the presence of at least ten others, for a year. Of this practice, this praise in the midst of sorrow, Winner writes, "You do not have to feel praise in the intense moments of mourning, but the praise is still true, and insisting upon it over and over, twice a day every day, ensures that eventually you will come to remember the truth of those praises."
She's right. When I'm feeling particularly blue or down, if I can find some time alone at home or in the car or where no one else can hear me, I like to sing a song of praise, the words of which are taken from Isaiah 61: "Put on the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness, lift up your heart to God; praise with the spirit and with understanding, O magnify the Lord; All you who live in Zion, I have authority to appoint unto you in Zion oil of joy that will set you free." Between the words of the song, the imagery of a garment of praise that can be worn over a heavy heart, and the lilting tune, I always feel lighter after one or two or sometimes three times through it.
One of her chapters deals with the Jewish rites surrounding death, or more accurately, the process of mourning one who has died. The traditions allow for a gradual return to normalcy within the context of community. Part of this process, particularly for those mourning the loss of a parent, is the saying of Kaddish, a prayer that extols God's name, twice a day, in the presence of at least ten others, for a year. Of this practice, this praise in the midst of sorrow, Winner writes, "You do not have to feel praise in the intense moments of mourning, but the praise is still true, and insisting upon it over and over, twice a day every day, ensures that eventually you will come to remember the truth of those praises."
She's right. When I'm feeling particularly blue or down, if I can find some time alone at home or in the car or where no one else can hear me, I like to sing a song of praise, the words of which are taken from Isaiah 61: "Put on the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness, lift up your heart to God; praise with the spirit and with understanding, O magnify the Lord; All you who live in Zion, I have authority to appoint unto you in Zion oil of joy that will set you free." Between the words of the song, the imagery of a garment of praise that can be worn over a heavy heart, and the lilting tune, I always feel lighter after one or two or sometimes three times through it.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Perfect Fathers
Reading the first chapter of Don Miller's book got me thinking about the things we learn from having a dad around and what we miss when dad is awol. Don writes about watching Bill Cosby's portrayal of superhip dad Cliff Huxtable, always ready with an apt witticism, a goofy pratface, or a well-timed cultural lesson. He was the perfect dad. Sigh.
It's quite a thing to aspire to, this acme of dad/manhood. Boys aspire to be it, girls aspire to wed it. What does the perfect Christian man look like? He's a man's man who grunts Tim-Allen-like while reading John Eldredge; he's Ward Cleaver with a little Michael Landon half-Pa-Ingalls-half-dreamy-Highway-to-Heaven thrown in; he's a hard, serious worker; he makes his wife glad each morning as she reads The Power of a Praying Wife that she's not dealing with all those issues; leads family devotions; serves on the elder board; grills a mean steak; always says the right thing; etc etc etc etc
Does anyone know this guy?
He's a false image, an idealization. Most men can be like part of him or even all of him in bits and pieces, but bundled together he's an improbably, impossibly pedestaled hope, poised to topple. And he's who boys without fathers think they should be and who girls without fathers think they should marry. The boys cringe at their first taste of failure, sure it's a sign of a genetic flaw. They hem and haw and avoid, fearful that they don't have the mettle for this after all. The girls spot every flaw a mile away and thank their lucky stars they avoided that mess; better to move on and find one that's not broken.
One of the benefits of having a dad around is that you get to see the real version. You get to see a dad who sometimes comes home late, having forgotten to stop and pick up the milk, and snaps at his wife, then sulks in front of the television. You get to see a dad who occasionally aggravates his wife by leaving dirty socks or dishes lying around. And, yes, you get to see a dad who, hopefully more often than not, makes up for it all by unexpectedly bringing home everyone's favorite ice cream or sending his tearful wife to sit on the couch while he does the dishes.
One of my favorite books is The Velveteen Rabbit. It's a classic children's story about a toy bunny who thinks he is real, but soon learns that real is something attained painfully and over a long period of time. Real, for the toys, happens when they've been loved so much that their hair wears off, their eyes fall out, their stuffing lumps up, and they basically look a tattered mess. The toy bunny learns that in the midst of all this untidyness is the essence of real.
Fathers aren't stage props or sappy, one-dimensional Christian romance novel characters. They're real men who elate, disappoint, protect, wound, lead, abdicate, laugh, (ha, you thought I was going to say 'cry' but we're being real here), sulk, and do all the other things that make up real. And, no, it's not perfect, but it wasn't supposed to be. Only one Father is perfect.
It's quite a thing to aspire to, this acme of dad/manhood. Boys aspire to be it, girls aspire to wed it. What does the perfect Christian man look like? He's a man's man who grunts Tim-Allen-like while reading John Eldredge; he's Ward Cleaver with a little Michael Landon half-Pa-Ingalls-half-dreamy-Highway-to-Heaven thrown in; he's a hard, serious worker; he makes his wife glad each morning as she reads The Power of a Praying Wife that she's not dealing with all those issues; leads family devotions; serves on the elder board; grills a mean steak; always says the right thing; etc etc etc etc
Does anyone know this guy?
He's a false image, an idealization. Most men can be like part of him or even all of him in bits and pieces, but bundled together he's an improbably, impossibly pedestaled hope, poised to topple. And he's who boys without fathers think they should be and who girls without fathers think they should marry. The boys cringe at their first taste of failure, sure it's a sign of a genetic flaw. They hem and haw and avoid, fearful that they don't have the mettle for this after all. The girls spot every flaw a mile away and thank their lucky stars they avoided that mess; better to move on and find one that's not broken.
One of the benefits of having a dad around is that you get to see the real version. You get to see a dad who sometimes comes home late, having forgotten to stop and pick up the milk, and snaps at his wife, then sulks in front of the television. You get to see a dad who occasionally aggravates his wife by leaving dirty socks or dishes lying around. And, yes, you get to see a dad who, hopefully more often than not, makes up for it all by unexpectedly bringing home everyone's favorite ice cream or sending his tearful wife to sit on the couch while he does the dishes.
One of my favorite books is The Velveteen Rabbit. It's a classic children's story about a toy bunny who thinks he is real, but soon learns that real is something attained painfully and over a long period of time. Real, for the toys, happens when they've been loved so much that their hair wears off, their eyes fall out, their stuffing lumps up, and they basically look a tattered mess. The toy bunny learns that in the midst of all this untidyness is the essence of real.
Fathers aren't stage props or sappy, one-dimensional Christian romance novel characters. They're real men who elate, disappoint, protect, wound, lead, abdicate, laugh, (ha, you thought I was going to say 'cry' but we're being real here), sulk, and do all the other things that make up real. And, no, it's not perfect, but it wasn't supposed to be. Only one Father is perfect.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Fight for your marriage and your kids: A word to mom and dad
You may be reading this blog not because you are a child of divorce, but because you are a parent who is considering divorce, in the throes of a divorce, or already divorced.
If you are considering divorce, I hope with all my heart that you will do whatever you possibly can to salvage your marriage. Except in cases where you or your children are in physical danger from your spouse, studies show that children do better in unhappy homes than in split homes. If you’ve learned nothing else from reading this blog, you should know by now the devastating consequences of divorce on children. Yes, God can heal their hearts, but how much better if you do not bring that kind of pain into their lives.
There are times as a parent when you have to bring pain into your child’s life. Immunization shots, medical treatments, discipline, cutting off a harmful friendship—these are not easy things, but as a parent sometimes you have to do things like this for your child’s good. Ask any parent whose child has scary, painful, necessary medical procedures—especially when that child is too young to understand what is happening—just how hard it is and how much love it takes to grit your teeth and watch your baby suffer. But that’s unavoidable pain, pain that ultimately brings about a greater good in the child’s life. No parent in their right mind would knowingly and willingly inflict pain on their child needlessly…right?
If you started reading this blog hoping to find some justification for a less than absolutely necessary decision to leave your marriage, hoping that somehow your children will be okay if you just manage it all right, you need to face up to the fact that it just isn’t so. The truth is, if you are unhappy in your marriage, you need to weigh your unhappiness with your children’s well-being. As a single person (as of the writing of this book), I cannot begin to imagine the depth of loneliness and heartache that attend an unhappy marriage. But I have tried to give you a glimpse of the loneliness and heartache that attend being a child of divorce. You wouldn’t be reading this if you didn’t love your children, so I can only hope that you will choose your love for them over your own current state of happiness or lack thereof. Fighting for your marriage won’t be easy and you may not succeed. If you do not succeed, at least give yourself and your children the satisfaction of knowing that you tried every possible route for as long as you possibly could.
While I have never been married, I know a lot of people who are, including some who have been married for many decades. They tell me, not surprisingly, that there are ups and downs in their marriages; times when they feel like newlyweds again, and times when they’d rather not occupy the same room for longer than a few seconds, and many times that fall somewhere in between. They tell me that it takes a lot of sheer grit and determination and real commitment to make it through the low points, the days when it feels easier to walk away than to try to work it out or patch it up, easier to start over with someone else than to try to start over with the same person maybe for the second or fifth or twentieth time. They tell me that sometimes the only thing that keeps them from walking away is that they promised to not ever let divorce be an option on the table.
I think there’s something to that. I’ve had lots of roommates through the years and one thing about roommates is that you never really have a great deal of incentive to work out the kinks in the relationship. I mean, if there’s something that really bugs you, well, just wait a few months or years until the lease is up or the roommate gets married or gets a new job somewhere else, and suddenly the problem is solved. But marry for life and you’re talking about a whole different situation. Now you have a vested interest in working out the problems that arise—not ignoring them, or sweeping them under the rug, or merely putting up with them—because now you know, you’re going to have to live with this person for the rest of your life. You either find a way to make it work or resign yourself to a life of misery.
And maybe you really can’t work it out. It happens. We’re not going to blame you if you give it your best shot and it still falls apart. All we’re asking is that you give it your best shot. Really try. Then you can look yourself in the eye, and look your kids in the eye, and feel glad that you didn’t inflict pain needlessly.
If you are considering divorce, I hope with all my heart that you will do whatever you possibly can to salvage your marriage. Except in cases where you or your children are in physical danger from your spouse, studies show that children do better in unhappy homes than in split homes. If you’ve learned nothing else from reading this blog, you should know by now the devastating consequences of divorce on children. Yes, God can heal their hearts, but how much better if you do not bring that kind of pain into their lives.
There are times as a parent when you have to bring pain into your child’s life. Immunization shots, medical treatments, discipline, cutting off a harmful friendship—these are not easy things, but as a parent sometimes you have to do things like this for your child’s good. Ask any parent whose child has scary, painful, necessary medical procedures—especially when that child is too young to understand what is happening—just how hard it is and how much love it takes to grit your teeth and watch your baby suffer. But that’s unavoidable pain, pain that ultimately brings about a greater good in the child’s life. No parent in their right mind would knowingly and willingly inflict pain on their child needlessly…right?
If you started reading this blog hoping to find some justification for a less than absolutely necessary decision to leave your marriage, hoping that somehow your children will be okay if you just manage it all right, you need to face up to the fact that it just isn’t so. The truth is, if you are unhappy in your marriage, you need to weigh your unhappiness with your children’s well-being. As a single person (as of the writing of this book), I cannot begin to imagine the depth of loneliness and heartache that attend an unhappy marriage. But I have tried to give you a glimpse of the loneliness and heartache that attend being a child of divorce. You wouldn’t be reading this if you didn’t love your children, so I can only hope that you will choose your love for them over your own current state of happiness or lack thereof. Fighting for your marriage won’t be easy and you may not succeed. If you do not succeed, at least give yourself and your children the satisfaction of knowing that you tried every possible route for as long as you possibly could.
While I have never been married, I know a lot of people who are, including some who have been married for many decades. They tell me, not surprisingly, that there are ups and downs in their marriages; times when they feel like newlyweds again, and times when they’d rather not occupy the same room for longer than a few seconds, and many times that fall somewhere in between. They tell me that it takes a lot of sheer grit and determination and real commitment to make it through the low points, the days when it feels easier to walk away than to try to work it out or patch it up, easier to start over with someone else than to try to start over with the same person maybe for the second or fifth or twentieth time. They tell me that sometimes the only thing that keeps them from walking away is that they promised to not ever let divorce be an option on the table.
I think there’s something to that. I’ve had lots of roommates through the years and one thing about roommates is that you never really have a great deal of incentive to work out the kinks in the relationship. I mean, if there’s something that really bugs you, well, just wait a few months or years until the lease is up or the roommate gets married or gets a new job somewhere else, and suddenly the problem is solved. But marry for life and you’re talking about a whole different situation. Now you have a vested interest in working out the problems that arise—not ignoring them, or sweeping them under the rug, or merely putting up with them—because now you know, you’re going to have to live with this person for the rest of your life. You either find a way to make it work or resign yourself to a life of misery.
And maybe you really can’t work it out. It happens. We’re not going to blame you if you give it your best shot and it still falls apart. All we’re asking is that you give it your best shot. Really try. Then you can look yourself in the eye, and look your kids in the eye, and feel glad that you didn’t inflict pain needlessly.
Donald Miller on boys without dads
Coming soon to a bookshelf near you, by the author of Blue Like Jazz, is a new book on boys without fathers, To Own a Dragon: Reflections on Growing Up Without a Father. You can download the first chapter here.
Here's a teaser, comparing Bill Cosby as Cliff Huxtable with life in a home without a dad: "My mom was great, don't get me wrong, but the only guests we ever had at our house were from the singles group at church, and none of them ever whipped out a trombone to play 'When the Saints Go Marching In' or tap-danced in the living room or recited a piece of epic prose about the Underground Railroad on which 'our people' had traversed from oppression and slavery to freedom. Our guests, rather, ate meatballs on paper plates and talked bitterly about their ex-husbands."
Here's a teaser, comparing Bill Cosby as Cliff Huxtable with life in a home without a dad: "My mom was great, don't get me wrong, but the only guests we ever had at our house were from the singles group at church, and none of them ever whipped out a trombone to play 'When the Saints Go Marching In' or tap-danced in the living room or recited a piece of epic prose about the Underground Railroad on which 'our people' had traversed from oppression and slavery to freedom. Our guests, rather, ate meatballs on paper plates and talked bitterly about their ex-husbands."
Monday, January 30, 2006
Lauren Winner on Between Two Worlds
Indeed, sometimes I feel so defensive about my childhood that I find myself refusing to admit that my parents' divorce had any impact on me whatsoever.
I hesitate to speak about how the divorce affected me for a variety of reasons. First, it seems like Oprah-esque, therapeutic whining; I am well aware that I grew up with many advantages, and it seems ridiculous and ungrateful to natter on about my "broken home" when lots of folks had it a good deal worse. Second, I have never wanted to talk to either of my parents about my occasional, fleeting insights into the ways their divorce shaped me; I prefer to maintain the polite fiction that all was always well, that everyone did the best he or she could, that there is no place in our family story for blame or regret, let alone repentance. Finally, I bristle when someone tries to explain everything in my life—starting with my religious peregrinations—as a reaction to the divorce. I am so determined not to have my autobiography reduced to postdivorce acting-out that I often find myself at another absurd extreme, an extreme in which parents' choices have no impact on their kids whatsoever, an extreme in which I am exactly the person I would have been had I been born to June and Ward Cleaver.
I know my defenses are ridiculous and false, not to mention prideful. When I can clear my head, when it is just God and me or my journal and me, I can admit the obvious: that yes, of course, even in the most amicable divorce, even when parents don't turn their kids into chess pieces, even when divorce does not spell economic disaster for the custodial mom, even then divorce indelibly marks children.
read the whole review here...
I hesitate to speak about how the divorce affected me for a variety of reasons. First, it seems like Oprah-esque, therapeutic whining; I am well aware that I grew up with many advantages, and it seems ridiculous and ungrateful to natter on about my "broken home" when lots of folks had it a good deal worse. Second, I have never wanted to talk to either of my parents about my occasional, fleeting insights into the ways their divorce shaped me; I prefer to maintain the polite fiction that all was always well, that everyone did the best he or she could, that there is no place in our family story for blame or regret, let alone repentance. Finally, I bristle when someone tries to explain everything in my life—starting with my religious peregrinations—as a reaction to the divorce. I am so determined not to have my autobiography reduced to postdivorce acting-out that I often find myself at another absurd extreme, an extreme in which parents' choices have no impact on their kids whatsoever, an extreme in which I am exactly the person I would have been had I been born to June and Ward Cleaver.
I know my defenses are ridiculous and false, not to mention prideful. When I can clear my head, when it is just God and me or my journal and me, I can admit the obvious: that yes, of course, even in the most amicable divorce, even when parents don't turn their kids into chess pieces, even when divorce does not spell economic disaster for the custodial mom, even then divorce indelibly marks children.
read the whole review here...
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Protecting the children
From an article in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution:
In what realm of life do we allow something that clearly hurts children to remain solely a private decision?
Government often inserts itself into citizens' private decisions through the law. For example, individuals can't decide how fast to drive in a school zone. Instead, we lower the speed limit, put up flashing yellow lights and even post police nearby to make sure everyone obeys the law...Yet, when it comes to divorce, it seems harder for us to admit the social damage that results and the need for reasonable legal measures to address it....I believe we should support and understand the needs of divorced and single parents — my parents fall into this category — but our concern for these adults has long prevented us from talking unflinchingly about the experience of children of divorce.
The adult perspective has long dominated the divorce debate in this country. How many kids' futures are we willing to risk in order to have our divorces with the least possible fuss and the greatest possible speed, no questions asked?
Is it really unreasonable to say it should take a minimum of four months to finalize a decision that will affect family members for the rest of their lives? Is it really burdensome for parents to attend one class that focuses on the challenges their children will face because of divorce and how best to help them through such a tough time?
In what realm of life do we allow something that clearly hurts children to remain solely a private decision?
Government often inserts itself into citizens' private decisions through the law. For example, individuals can't decide how fast to drive in a school zone. Instead, we lower the speed limit, put up flashing yellow lights and even post police nearby to make sure everyone obeys the law...Yet, when it comes to divorce, it seems harder for us to admit the social damage that results and the need for reasonable legal measures to address it....I believe we should support and understand the needs of divorced and single parents — my parents fall into this category — but our concern for these adults has long prevented us from talking unflinchingly about the experience of children of divorce.
The adult perspective has long dominated the divorce debate in this country. How many kids' futures are we willing to risk in order to have our divorces with the least possible fuss and the greatest possible speed, no questions asked?
Is it really unreasonable to say it should take a minimum of four months to finalize a decision that will affect family members for the rest of their lives? Is it really burdensome for parents to attend one class that focuses on the challenges their children will face because of divorce and how best to help them through such a tough time?
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
A spiritual calling
From an article in the Kingsport (TN) Times-News:
"If you realize you're living in buckle of Bible belt (and that same region) experiences some of highest divorce rates in entire country, it comes downs like a ton of bricks on the church. It's my personal belief it will be churches and faith-based organizations that will solve this problem."
"If you realize you're living in buckle of Bible belt (and that same region) experiences some of highest divorce rates in entire country, it comes downs like a ton of bricks on the church. It's my personal belief it will be churches and faith-based organizations that will solve this problem."
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Poignancy in the Post
Besides giving me a new-found respect for Gene Weingarten, whose work I knew primarily from his own juvenile-bordering-on-offensive humor column, this article in today's Washington Post Magazine about a high-priced preschool entertainer offered up some telling anecdotes about divorce:
"He's frightened of commitment, he says, because he is terrified of making the wrong choice. The divorce of his parents, and divorces he's seen among his friends and his clients, make him particularly scared. It's odd, because he's not really afraid of much else."
And later:
"The most significant fact in Eric's upbringing, Jane said, was when she and her husband separated. Eric was 13. The divorce became final two years later, and the whole thing was obviously deeply painful. At 14, Eric was living with his mom in an apartment with cockroaches; Eric wouldn't let her kill them. 'Cockroaches have familes, too,' he would say."
"He's frightened of commitment, he says, because he is terrified of making the wrong choice. The divorce of his parents, and divorces he's seen among his friends and his clients, make him particularly scared. It's odd, because he's not really afraid of much else."
And later:
"The most significant fact in Eric's upbringing, Jane said, was when she and her husband separated. Eric was 13. The divorce became final two years later, and the whole thing was obviously deeply painful. At 14, Eric was living with his mom in an apartment with cockroaches; Eric wouldn't let her kill them. 'Cockroaches have familes, too,' he would say."
Saturday, January 21, 2006
A view from the pulpit
From an article on 4 churches's response to divorce:
...society has tried to minimize the guilt associated with a failed marriage. "Consequently, we end up discounting the pain and the brokenness," he said.
"I've seen the statistics that say the percentages of divorce is no different inside the church than out. If that's true, then as a church we have failed husbands and wives, we have failed families."
...society has tried to minimize the guilt associated with a failed marriage. "Consequently, we end up discounting the pain and the brokenness," he said.
"I've seen the statistics that say the percentages of divorce is no different inside the church than out. If that's true, then as a church we have failed husbands and wives, we have failed families."
A dad's rules for post-divorce dating
It's nice to see a dad saying these things:
No matter how well we performed the divorce ritual, the kids get chewed up and spit out. ("But John... that isn't very comforting." This isn't about comfort. This is about your child.) I have heard parents tell their children to "grow up!" when they were whining about missing the other parent. Children are not supposed to grow up. They are supposed to be children! Adolescents "grow up." Then adults are supposed to be grown up. That's how it works, Bub. Reset your thinking.... Expect the child to take a long time to get used to living with a broken home and a broken heart.
No matter how well we performed the divorce ritual, the kids get chewed up and spit out. ("But John... that isn't very comforting." This isn't about comfort. This is about your child.) I have heard parents tell their children to "grow up!" when they were whining about missing the other parent. Children are not supposed to grow up. They are supposed to be children! Adolescents "grow up." Then adults are supposed to be grown up. That's how it works, Bub. Reset your thinking.... Expect the child to take a long time to get used to living with a broken home and a broken heart.
Transformation is optional
At the Christian nonprofit organization where I work, the talk these days is all about transformation. It’s the latest in a string of buzzwords designed to capture the essence of the day-to-day work we do. The assumption, of course, is that everyone likes the idea of transformation. After all, one of the most popular television shows of the last couple seasons has been Extreme Makeover. I’m a fan of the Home Edition, but I have friends who are hooked on the plastic surgery one and its sister shows The Swan and The Biggest Loser. If your marriage needs a makeover, there’s Wife Swap and Trading Spouses. If it’s your kids who are the trouble, there’s Super Nanny or Nanny 911 to the rescue. (“You’ve been very, very naughty.”)
It sure is fun to watch all those other pathetic losers get dressed down and fixed up. Boy, those people need help!
Trouble is, when it comes to ourselves, we’re not so keen on change. Witness the popularity a few years back of the business management fable Who Moved My Cheese? Or Tolstoy’s great comment: “Everybody thinks of changing humanity and nobody thinks of changing himself.” We’re actually pretty comfortable with the way things are in our own lives. Status quo may not be winning any Emmys, but it doesn’t require us to get our hands dirty.
This blog is about children of divorce and there are some pretty dire predictions about what can happen to us. We can end up poor, neglected, undereducated, unmarriageable, unspiritual, exhausted, strung out, self-centered, and downright unfriendly. But it doesn’t have to be that way. You can buck the trend—assuming you want to. But what if you don’t? What if you’re pretty happy and satisfied with things as they are? In that case, there are a couple of things you must do to ensure that you stay safely ensconced in your comfort zone.
1. Don’t pray. I’m pretty sure I read this somewhere and didn’t just make it up (unless I’m a lot wiser than I give myself credit for). If you know the reference, send it to me. For now, I’ll risk plagiarism and just give you the quote as I remember it. “To pray is to be in the presence of God, and to be in the presence of God is to change.” This is assuming that your prayer is more than the “Rub-a-dub-dub, thanks for the grub” variety. If that’s all you’re praying, or if your prayers consist entirely of God’s Divine To-Do List, then you’re safe. But if your prayer consists of not only speaking to God but pausing long enough to listen, to enter into real relationship with your Creator, you’re in trouble. That’s just the kind of set up God uses to change people. Before you know it, He’ll start showing you how you need to change and even how to do it. He’ll begin equipping you for change. Minor changes will begin to occur without your having been consciously aware of them, and the big changes will begin to gnaw on your conscience until obedience is your only option.
2. Don’t forgive. There’s a reason you’ve got that chip on your shoulder. You earned it and why should you give it up all that easily. And besides, who’s asking you to give it up? Has anyone actually asked your forgiveness for the heartache they’ve caused you? You’ve got a right to be angry, so hang on to your anger and bitterness as long as possible. The minute you begin to let go of them, you’ll start to change. You might find out that the problem is not so much in the people around you as it is in you. But if you can just hold on to your anger and withhold forgiveness, pretty soon bitterness will take root in your soul. It will drive roots deep into the soil of yesterday and keep you stuck there, unable to move beyond your past. If you don’t want to change, this is one of the best methods.
3. Require others to live up to your expectations. Even if you’re not perfect, the people around you should be and you have a right to expect and demand perfection from them. If they fail to live up to your expectations, you should sulk and wallow in self-pity. The alternative is to see others for the imperfect people they are, accept their shortcomings and limitations, and learn to alternately extend grace to them and hold them accountable for their actions. But that would be an awful lot of trouble.
4. Live in isolation. Being in community means that others can see the rough edges in your life and hold you accountable for change. It also means you can see good and bad character in others and use that as a mirror for your own life. Living in isolation, however, means that you can validate your own behavior or justify it by any means you find convenient. There is no one to question you or make you feel guilty. It should be noted that married people can live in isolation just as easily as single people. Isolation is as much a state of mind and attitude as it is a state of physical reality.
A former boss of my mine, who lived and worked in a mini-whirlwind, was fond of saying, “The only constant is change.” But change is messy, chaotic, and awfully disruptive. By following these four tips, you can stay safely ensconced in familiarity and comfortable dysfunction. The choice is yours.
It sure is fun to watch all those other pathetic losers get dressed down and fixed up. Boy, those people need help!
Trouble is, when it comes to ourselves, we’re not so keen on change. Witness the popularity a few years back of the business management fable Who Moved My Cheese? Or Tolstoy’s great comment: “Everybody thinks of changing humanity and nobody thinks of changing himself.” We’re actually pretty comfortable with the way things are in our own lives. Status quo may not be winning any Emmys, but it doesn’t require us to get our hands dirty.
This blog is about children of divorce and there are some pretty dire predictions about what can happen to us. We can end up poor, neglected, undereducated, unmarriageable, unspiritual, exhausted, strung out, self-centered, and downright unfriendly. But it doesn’t have to be that way. You can buck the trend—assuming you want to. But what if you don’t? What if you’re pretty happy and satisfied with things as they are? In that case, there are a couple of things you must do to ensure that you stay safely ensconced in your comfort zone.
1. Don’t pray. I’m pretty sure I read this somewhere and didn’t just make it up (unless I’m a lot wiser than I give myself credit for). If you know the reference, send it to me. For now, I’ll risk plagiarism and just give you the quote as I remember it. “To pray is to be in the presence of God, and to be in the presence of God is to change.” This is assuming that your prayer is more than the “Rub-a-dub-dub, thanks for the grub” variety. If that’s all you’re praying, or if your prayers consist entirely of God’s Divine To-Do List, then you’re safe. But if your prayer consists of not only speaking to God but pausing long enough to listen, to enter into real relationship with your Creator, you’re in trouble. That’s just the kind of set up God uses to change people. Before you know it, He’ll start showing you how you need to change and even how to do it. He’ll begin equipping you for change. Minor changes will begin to occur without your having been consciously aware of them, and the big changes will begin to gnaw on your conscience until obedience is your only option.
2. Don’t forgive. There’s a reason you’ve got that chip on your shoulder. You earned it and why should you give it up all that easily. And besides, who’s asking you to give it up? Has anyone actually asked your forgiveness for the heartache they’ve caused you? You’ve got a right to be angry, so hang on to your anger and bitterness as long as possible. The minute you begin to let go of them, you’ll start to change. You might find out that the problem is not so much in the people around you as it is in you. But if you can just hold on to your anger and withhold forgiveness, pretty soon bitterness will take root in your soul. It will drive roots deep into the soil of yesterday and keep you stuck there, unable to move beyond your past. If you don’t want to change, this is one of the best methods.
3. Require others to live up to your expectations. Even if you’re not perfect, the people around you should be and you have a right to expect and demand perfection from them. If they fail to live up to your expectations, you should sulk and wallow in self-pity. The alternative is to see others for the imperfect people they are, accept their shortcomings and limitations, and learn to alternately extend grace to them and hold them accountable for their actions. But that would be an awful lot of trouble.
4. Live in isolation. Being in community means that others can see the rough edges in your life and hold you accountable for change. It also means you can see good and bad character in others and use that as a mirror for your own life. Living in isolation, however, means that you can validate your own behavior or justify it by any means you find convenient. There is no one to question you or make you feel guilty. It should be noted that married people can live in isolation just as easily as single people. Isolation is as much a state of mind and attitude as it is a state of physical reality.
A former boss of my mine, who lived and worked in a mini-whirlwind, was fond of saying, “The only constant is change.” But change is messy, chaotic, and awfully disruptive. By following these four tips, you can stay safely ensconced in familiarity and comfortable dysfunction. The choice is yours.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
I'd turn them into newts if I could
My friends need to stage an intervention with me. I need someone to set the parental controls of my computers to not allow me to view boundless.org. Every few weeks, they post another single-is-sin article and I start foaming at the mouth. I just turned down the chance to attend a reunion of a group of people I used to be involved with, a singles' group of sorts at a church. The odd thing about this group was that the couple who led it were in the single-is-sin camp. I'm still trying to figure out why they thought they were called to minister to singles. Their passions might have been put to better use in matchmaking. I wouldn't mind seeing some of my old friends, but I just can't shake the feeling that I would hear a little 'tsk-tsk, there's one of our failures' as I entered the room.
Now, this is far from the first article Boundless has posted on this topic. But as I read this article today, I literally gasped. I was reminded of one of my favorite quotes from that classic Cinderella-hooker movie Pretty Woman. Julia Roberts goes to the powder room to floss and Richard Gere barges in thinking she's doing drugs. He says, "I'm sorry. It's just, well, not many people surprise me anymore." Roberts' character responds with, "Yeah? Well, you're lucky; most of them shock the hell out of me." I guess I should be more blase about this, but I couldn't help being shocked. Here's what got me:
"...singles are often reduced to extolling singleness, much like a witch having the grace to drown to prove innocence.”
I'm sorry, did you just call me a witch? Are you KIDDING ME???
I would have stayed mad if the author hadn't made such a laughable gaff just a few paragraphs later. Right after calling singles "wayward and askew," the author supports her premise with a small, out of context quote by a distinguished, respected, learned Christian author: C.S. Lewis. Who [ahem] I can't help but point out, remained a bachelor until the ripe old age of 58. The scalliwag!
The author didn't just need a good editor on this piece (who should have pointed out the hypocritcal use of a Lewis quote); she needed a good theology teacher. There is nothing in scripture that says being single is a sin. If there were, we'd have to go back to the theology drawing board, because our gentle, sinless Savior was Himself a singleton. He didn't preach any sermons on the virtues of marriage or scold any of His single followers. In fact, truth be told He just doesn't really talk about it at all, one way or the other. It seems to be pretty much a non-issue.
Of course, one of the favorite passages of the single-is-sin crowd is that old Garden of Eden command to "be fruitful and multiply." The problem with extrapolating that into single-is-sin is that the command is never repeated in the New Testament under the new covenant of grace, and bearing fruit is defined in a New Testament sense as either producing good works or evangelizing and discipling. It's a classic case of unfolding revelation and layers of meaning. The New Testament certainly doesn't prohibit marrying, and in fact there is a specific injunction not to prohibit people from marrying. But neither does it prohibit singleness.
The author of the Boundless article relies mostly on historical precedent to support her thesis. If the Puritans did it, it must be okay. The Puritans are in great vogue now in evangelical circles, and indeed there is much we can learn from their earnest attempts to follow God. But they were not without their flaws; they were, after all, human. The trouble isn't, as the author of the Boundless article wrote, that we somehow believe we know better than the generations before us; the trouble is that we too often let cultural norms define our idea of spirituality rather than the other way around.
The best book I've ever read on the topic of singleness is written by my dear friend Lori Smith. Lori's book, to this day, remains one of the few (if not the only) books for singles that looks at the topic from a biblical perspective. Rather than lamenting her unmarried state, dishing advice for how to catch a man, or coming up with pithy cute "you go girl" cheerleading sessions, Lori pulled out the Book and looked to see what the One who created us has to say about not being married. I'm tempted to mail a carton full of her books to Boundless and ask them to distribute them to all their contributing writers.
Lori did for singleness what I hope to do for being a child of divorce: look at the topic from God's perspective. I can't claim to know the mind of God, but I can read and share with you the things He revealed for all times in Scripture. Together we can grow closer to Him and become the women and men He wants us to be. Warts and all.
Now, this is far from the first article Boundless has posted on this topic. But as I read this article today, I literally gasped. I was reminded of one of my favorite quotes from that classic Cinderella-hooker movie Pretty Woman. Julia Roberts goes to the powder room to floss and Richard Gere barges in thinking she's doing drugs. He says, "I'm sorry. It's just, well, not many people surprise me anymore." Roberts' character responds with, "Yeah? Well, you're lucky; most of them shock the hell out of me." I guess I should be more blase about this, but I couldn't help being shocked. Here's what got me:
"...singles are often reduced to extolling singleness, much like a witch having the grace to drown to prove innocence.”
I'm sorry, did you just call me a witch? Are you KIDDING ME???
I would have stayed mad if the author hadn't made such a laughable gaff just a few paragraphs later. Right after calling singles "wayward and askew," the author supports her premise with a small, out of context quote by a distinguished, respected, learned Christian author: C.S. Lewis. Who [ahem] I can't help but point out, remained a bachelor until the ripe old age of 58. The scalliwag!
The author didn't just need a good editor on this piece (who should have pointed out the hypocritcal use of a Lewis quote); she needed a good theology teacher. There is nothing in scripture that says being single is a sin. If there were, we'd have to go back to the theology drawing board, because our gentle, sinless Savior was Himself a singleton. He didn't preach any sermons on the virtues of marriage or scold any of His single followers. In fact, truth be told He just doesn't really talk about it at all, one way or the other. It seems to be pretty much a non-issue.
Of course, one of the favorite passages of the single-is-sin crowd is that old Garden of Eden command to "be fruitful and multiply." The problem with extrapolating that into single-is-sin is that the command is never repeated in the New Testament under the new covenant of grace, and bearing fruit is defined in a New Testament sense as either producing good works or evangelizing and discipling. It's a classic case of unfolding revelation and layers of meaning. The New Testament certainly doesn't prohibit marrying, and in fact there is a specific injunction not to prohibit people from marrying. But neither does it prohibit singleness.
The author of the Boundless article relies mostly on historical precedent to support her thesis. If the Puritans did it, it must be okay. The Puritans are in great vogue now in evangelical circles, and indeed there is much we can learn from their earnest attempts to follow God. But they were not without their flaws; they were, after all, human. The trouble isn't, as the author of the Boundless article wrote, that we somehow believe we know better than the generations before us; the trouble is that we too often let cultural norms define our idea of spirituality rather than the other way around.
The best book I've ever read on the topic of singleness is written by my dear friend Lori Smith. Lori's book, to this day, remains one of the few (if not the only) books for singles that looks at the topic from a biblical perspective. Rather than lamenting her unmarried state, dishing advice for how to catch a man, or coming up with pithy cute "you go girl" cheerleading sessions, Lori pulled out the Book and looked to see what the One who created us has to say about not being married. I'm tempted to mail a carton full of her books to Boundless and ask them to distribute them to all their contributing writers.
Lori did for singleness what I hope to do for being a child of divorce: look at the topic from God's perspective. I can't claim to know the mind of God, but I can read and share with you the things He revealed for all times in Scripture. Together we can grow closer to Him and become the women and men He wants us to be. Warts and all.
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