Monday miscellany

1) I love Montessori. But I think it could benefit from some fusion with some Waldorf stuff — more imaginative play, more oral literature and music, in particular. I am not interested in anthroposophy at all; but I still think there’s good stuff in some aspects of Waldorf. Also, as I continue contemplating my prospective job as a Montessori early childhood assistant next year, and the possibility of it leading to teacher certification and Amy continuing past kindergarten, I get stuck on time — I don’t think kids get enough unstructured time, and I’m not sure I’m going to be okay with Amy being in any school, even a Montessori one, full time. Next year will be pretty pivotal, it seems.

2) Yesterday’s sermon was about having the attitude of Christ, in that he didn’t hold tightly to his status as God, but humbled himself to take on flesh and serve. This is really all well and good — it really is. But… in order to lay down your rights, you have to own them as rights first. If you think you have no rights, you don’t actually have any to lay down.

Jesus humbled himself and served people, but he did so from a position of strength and security and fullness, not because he thought he didn’t deserve better or was worthless or didn’t love himself or anything like that. My late therapist Joe Bauserman frequently said that “love your neighbor as yourself” posits self-love as a HIGH standard, not a low one. Jesus models excellent self-care as well as service — when John the Baptist was killed, for example, he wanted to go pray by himself. Finding a crowd, he took care of them first — and then stayed behind for his prayer time. Sacrifice must be balanced by self-care.

It seems unfair to tell people to sacrifice their needs, lay down their rights, without first making sure they have a healthy self-love. Yeah, it seems in our culture people are very selfish — but that’s NOT healthy self-love. The church gets too reactionary with this sort of thing. The guest speaker, for example, was telling a story of a person who, frustrated with a Bible study or biblical counseling (I don’t remember which), threw down the Bible and said “I’m done.” The preacher told him to go serve himself for six months and report back, saying he’d be miserable and so would everyone around him. But there’s more than one way to serve oneself. More of us should serve ourselves — should take time to rest, reflect, know ourselves, feed our dreams, bask in relationships, understand our limits, practice grace and compassion toward ourselves, etc.

I’ve said before and will keep saying — no one wants to be in relationship with a serve-bot. People want to be in relationship with people — and you can’t be a person if you take the doormat approach to service, without a good foundation of healthy self-love and good self-care.

3) Amy had a play date today. At dinner, she said she had such a great time. At the time, though, I felt I noticed more of the disagreements, shouts, conflicts, and sadnesses.

When you’re looking forward to something soooooo much — when you’re so excited — when your ideals come up against reality, like the reality that your friend might not automatically fall in with your already visualized plans — it’s not surprising that you might get upset a few times along the way.

I’m still learning how best to help with such things. We should probably have left earlier — but I hated to interrupt when the playing was going smoothly, and hated to stop in the midst of a conflict without giving them a chance to work through it. I took a time or two to take Amy aside and listen warmly to her while she cried out her overloaded feelings.

Good things — fun times, times of special connection and warmth, times of safety — tend to open the door to the backlog of feelings. I wish I could remember what blog post I was reading that mentioned this very thing — that times when we receive special kindness, we often feel our own backlog of feelings (especially sadness, it seems) welling up.

4) I want to be more gracious all around.

5) The Brothers Karamazov is a thousand times better than War and Peace.

6) I realllllllly miss being in a band or a good choir or both.

“Punishment is painful”

Not long ago, a mom was telling me and some other moms about how she taught her young child the Bible verse that says “All punishment is painful,” and how she explained that this is why spanking has to hurt, and that it’s God who says parents have to spank. She described how the teary kid would come to her after an infraction, and repeat the verse, and await the spanking.

Meanwhile, I’ve been conversing with a blogger friend on and off her blog as she blogs through her daily Bible readings — we’ve been largely discussing the punishments and judgments and afflictions occurring in the Old Testament.

These things and my ongoing journey toward a more gentle parenting have had me thinking rather a lot about punishment, parenting, and the Bible — whew!

First, that verse about painful punishment. Hebrews 12:11 reads:

• NASB “All discipline for the moment seems not to be joyful, but sorrowful; yet to those who have been trained by it, afterwards it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness.”
• NIV “No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.”

I looked at this verse in every English translation listed at Bible Gateway. “Discipline” and “chastening” occurred most frequently, while “chastisement,” “correction,” “training,” and “punishment” occurred least often.

“Punishment” and “discipline” are not synonyms — “discipline” is the broader word, with connotations of guidance, training, discipleship, teaching, correcting, and so on. It is possible to conceive of “discipline” including punitive methods. It is also possible to conceive of “discipline” as entirely non-punitive. So “punishment” is too narrow a word-choice for this verse.

When the verse states that discipline is painful, it is not a prescription, but a description. In other words, it’s not telling parents that they need to make sure their disciplinary measures hurt — it’s certainly not telling parents that spanking is the necessary tool of discipline. Instead, the author is merely stating that discipline is, in fact, painful — it is unpleasant to not get what we want, unpleasant to be disappointed or frustrated or limited or to have to wait. There are enough unpleasant things in life that we can learn from — there is no need for parents (or teachers or bosses or whoever) to create painful situations in order to discipline children (or employees or spouses or church members or whatever). Discipline IS painful — no one has to MAKE it painful.

Back to punishment. Some say there is such a thing as rehabilitative punishment — punishment that allegedly brings about repentance, restoration, redemption, reconciliation. These folks argue that this kind of punishment has a proper place in discipline. I don’t know if anyone argues that retributive punishment also has a place in parenting, but even if someone does so argue, it’s not part of discipline. Retribution is not discipline.

My impression is that studies of spanking, any kind of corporal punishment, indeed any kind of punishment at all, do not indicate that punishment is very effective for rehabilitation. Instead, the studies indicate that punishment erodes both relationships and moral development. Whatever results it may seem to get are generally surface results that depend on the continued presence and power of the punisher. Or else, if the punishment is especially severe and long-lasting, the results are psychologically crippling. That hardly sounds like a harvest of real peace of the fruit of real righteousness.

And that brings me to the conversation about God’s punishments in the Bible. In multiple books and passages, there are statements like “I punished you, but you didn’t turn back to me!”

Given the studies about punishment, it doesn’t seem to be that surprising that people would not turn toward the person punishing them. So what is God getting at in these passages?

Is it that the biblical authors are interpreting natural afflictions as punishments deliberately sent? That’s problematic for me, because, while I think there is wide room for interpretation and the significance of genre, I am very reluctant to question statements in the Bible that are directly attributed to God. If the Bible says God said something, I want to believe that God said it.

Is it that God really does deliberately send such things as punishments, at least some of the time? There are other cases that make it clear that not all disasters are specific judgments — Jesus talked about the tower that fell on some people, or the guy who was born blind but not because he or his parents sinned. But if some disasters are direct judgments, then the question is, did God really expect that they would be effective instruments for bringing about repentance and reconciliation?

If so, then what does that imply, if anything, for parenting? I am more and more persuaded against punitive parenting, and so I am more and more reluctant to think the Bible calls for it or demonstrates it in any way. My friend points out that a) God is not always painted as a parent, and that b) God bends to speak and act in ways that would be understood at the time and place. True… and yet… I’m not yet persuaded!

What I have started to think about is, what if God is using this ineffective cycle of punishments and falling away to demonstrate that punishment is never going to be the way of salvation? What if it’s pointing the way to Christ as not only the final perfect sacrifice for sin, the atonement, but also as the demonstration of God’s kindness, which Romans says leads us to repentance?

It seems to me that whatever repentance and reconciliation happened in response to a punishment from God, was not a lasting thing — just like results from punitive parenting don’t last. And these instances of repentance and restoration were not deep enough, not reaching the hearts of the people, but more calculated, more fearful, more driven, more attempts to win back God’s favor on people’s own effort?

It seems to me that only Christ’s kindness, along with his work on the Cross, can effect real heart change, invite true repentance, provide authentic reconciliation.

And yet, if this idea is true, why did God speak as he did, as if surprised that the people weren’t repenting every time and forever?

Feelings, grace, and sin

Emotional health is something I think is important, and something I think some Christians have a hard time with — in some circles, it is considered sinful, or at best a lack of faith, to ever feel anger, sadness, or fear…

Here are some thoughts about the matter.

Feelings are neutral, neither good nor evil in and of themselves. It is what we do with feelings that can be good or evil — this includes not only outward behavior (like hitting someone or saying something mean) but inward thoughts and attitudes (like thinking the mean things even though you don’t say them out loud).

The Sermon on the Mount and some other things Jesus said discuss how heart attitudes can be sinful — God looks to the heart, not just the outward things. I suppose it’s easy to conclude that all heart matters — thoughts, attitudes, and feelings — are equally subject to moral judgment. Especially when you look at some of the admonitions that say things like don’t be angry with your brother, or don’t be anxious; but I’m pretty sure that those admonitions are thinking of the attitudes and thoughts that usually accompany anger and anxiety, not the anger and anxiety by themselves. There’s also the verse (reference?) that says to be angry and not sin — so it must be possible to have anger apart from sinful thoughts and attitudes.

Even if I’m wrong — even if feelings can be sinful — what then? Or, even though we can distinguish logically between feelings and thoughts / attitudes, what if in practical reality they pretty much always do go together? In which case almost no one is ever really angry without sinning. So — what then?

Well — so there is room for repentance, and for leaning on grace, as a friend put it. Having confidence that God will keep his promise to finish our sanctification and to forgive us and cleanse us of all unrighteousness.

But repentance and grace / trust / faith does not preclude feeling the feelings.

You repent and trust AND sit in the angry feelings, or the anxious feelings, or the sad feelings, or whatever they may be. You work on being able to separate your feelings from your thoughts and attitudes — to repent of thinking mean things about so-and-so, while acknowledging that you are in fact angry with so-and-so.

You explore why you might be angry; perhaps you have just cause for the anger. Then you can deal with that just cause — perhaps a confrontation is necessary, or perhaps you can / will choose not to defend yourself — not because you deserve to be stomped on or don’t deserve defense, but because you know God is your defender and truly feel secure in that knowledge. Either way, giving your anger to God doesn’t mean it vanishes or he takes it away — it means you trust him with it and you trust him with what happens.

Or perhaps you discover that your anger is irrational or out of proportion. Maybe it has less to do with what so-and-so did or said, and more to do with some experience from your past, or some aspect of your personality, or the weather or your mood or what you ate for breakfast. Then, you can use your will to choose to disconnect your anger from so-and-so. The anger is still there — just because it’s irrational or out of proportion doesn’t mean it’s non-existent.

Trying to stop feeling it isn’t going to work. Trying to make it more than it is won’t work either. Mindfully let your anger be what it is, and dissipate on its own. You can take some actions to help metabolize it (relaxation, rest, better food, prayer, fun things, journaling, meaningful things, etc), but you can’t just will it away.

What if your feeling lasts “too long?” I’m not sure there is such a thing. You might have an attitude of clinging to the feeling or to what it means to you… that’s different. Discerning the difference can be tricky. I think mindfulness is the key — being open to the feeling being there, and being open to the feeling leaving. Being willing to listen to what your feelings have to tell you. Being compassionate in that way.

Trusting God and depending on him doesn’t mean that our negative feelings will dissipate faster. It does mean being in a secure place with a compassionate father while we metabolize those feelings. Trust God to manage your situation. Trust God to be with you with the feelings. But I don’t think it makes sense to trust God to stop the feelings themselves. As I said above, giving your negative feelings to God doesn’t mean he takes them away.

A less-thought-out final thought. I believe that the separation that occurred in Eden was threefold — separation from God, from others, and from self. Because of that, negative feelings are inevitable — toward God, toward others, and within oneself. As such, I think somewhat that negative feelings are symptoms of the fall… like sickness and natural disasters and war.

But, like pain, negative feelings have a purpose. Feelings give us information about situations, ourselves, others, and even God. It’s good to be open to learning from feelings.

Check out the tag in the right sidebar for “prompting events” — these are worksheets I’ve written out in dealing with various feelings at various times. You can use the outline, which I got from a DBT support group, to work through some of your own feelings. Would love to see if anyone posts one on their own blog.

My behavior IS me!

Most parenting experts these days make a big deal of distinguishing between your child and your child’s behavior — doing bad things doesn’t make her a bad kid any more than doing good things makes her a good kid — she’s just a kid who sometimes does good things and sometimes does bad things.

I understand the idea — if you give a kid a bad kid label, it will tend to be self-fulfilling. If you treat a kid like you know she can make good choices and will do so more and more, that’s likely to help, too.

On the other hand, maybe Amy’s right, too.

Yesterday we were talking about loving one another in all sorts of situations — when one of us is grumpy, angry, sad, afraid, happy, silly, etc. I think I said something about how I don’t love her behavior when she is rude, but that I love her when she’s rude. And she said, “But my behavior IS me!”

I explained the distinction… but then I keep thinking she’s onto something. The distinction may well not be so clear-cut and complete and absolute as advised by the experts.

Behavior influences heart.
Heart influences behavior.
Diet, exercise, weather, circumstances, past experience, nurture, genetics, activities, values, beliefs, assumptions, culture — and who knows what else — influence both heart and behavior.

Sometimes the Bible emphasizes the distinction side — people see the outside, but God sees the heart… they are like whitewashed tombs, beautiful and shining on the outside but inside full of bones…

Sometimes it emphasizes the unity side — by your words you will be justified, by your words you will be condemned… the sheep and goats will be separated based on their deeds… Ps 28:4-5 says to requite the wicked for their deeds.

I wonder how helpful it might be to talk to kids about how all these inner and outer things can influence one another in comprising this thing called a person.

The garden

One of my friends has been creating a beautiful garden in curved landscaping beds around her house, and drawing encouragement from spiritual lessons in weeding, pruning, cultivating, and the like.

My garden, with its half-eaten broccoli and brussels sprouts, inadequately thinned salad greens, beets, and carrots, whole swaths unweeded or mulched, quite a few things not yet planted, bales of straw still sitting around, and half the fence not yet pinned down, has other spiritual lessons.

Sure, we could talk about failure, and laziness, and how you reap what you sow and therefore don’t get as much quality produce from a haphazard gardening effort.

And that lesson would be especially appropriate if we were poor and / or lived in a culture where feeding our family depended on a productive home garden.

Since we are not that poor, and don’t live in such a culture, should we act as if we did anyway, and take the failure lesson to heart? Push on to garden perfectly in addition to meeting all life’s other obligations?

Or can we accept our own context, and consider the lesson of “good enough,” and of “If a thing’s worth doing, it’s worth doing badly”?

We can, perhaps, enjoy the salad we had tonight, scrounged from that overgrown lettuce bed, supplemented by the tiniest carrots from a three-minute thinning session, and by baby peas, without mourning overmuch for the tatsoi and mizuna that bolted before being picked much, and with only a cursory glance at the beet bed, waiting its turn to be thinned.

We can be grateful that there are a few leaves on a few of the broccoli and brussels sprouts plants, and hope for a fall crop, too.

We can admire the red clover and how huge it’s getting, or the equally impressive size of other weeds less pleasant than clover.

We can rue the fifteen new fly bites and think how many more we can avoid by not staying in the garden to work some more.

We can adore God who will not snuff out a smoldering wick or break a bruised reed, and who doesn’t look down at me with scorn for my un-ant-like garden work ethic.

This “good enough” thing is tricky; for those of us with a highly developed sense of obligation, perfectionism, and massive capacity for guilt and shame, it is easy to focus on Scriptures that do urge hard work and attention to detail and exquisite standards. It is interesting that there are also those smoldering wick and bruised reed verses — certain messages, certain exhortations, are for certain times of life, times of day, certain temperaments and personalities, and so on.

Notice Jesus’ summary of the law — to love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength, and to love your neighbor as yourself — does not explicitly spell out a work ethic or elevate “do perfect work” verses over “smoldering wick” verses. Love can be fully itself, fully mindful, fully whole-hearted, fully present, in any situation, whether focused on a work, on breathing in and out, on connecting, on playing, etc.

———

ETA: We could also turn the whole thing around and talk about the immense value of rest, reflection, contemplation, and the like. And the dangers of overwork and anxiety and stress.

Difference and inclusion

I want to belong, be accepted, be one of the group. I’m as human as anyone else, with all the commonality that entails. I’m also an individual, different from everyone else who is now, ever has been, or ever will be alive.

I think feeling accepted, included, belonging, requires an acknowledgment of difference as well as an acknowledgment of commonality. If commonality trumps difference, I end up feeling like bits of my real true self are expected to be cut off so that I can be made to fit the commonality box. If difference is acknowledged, I can feel that the box has room for me as I really and truly am.

That said, sometimes having that sense of expected conformity and concomitant attenuation makes me defensive about my differences; I suppose sometimes I sound like I’m trying to exclude myself, trying to make it difficult for others to include me. (Which makes me think of Amy the other day saying, in one of her fussy fits, “I’m TRYING to make you ANGRY, Mom!” Or all the times she says “But I keep arguing with you…” or “But I’m never going to stay in my room” or other things that seem calculated to make it as difficult as possible for me to like her. If we can find someone who can tolerate even our most hideous attempts to show our evil side, then we can KNOW we’re loved. Is that it? And / or, knowing that if people don’t get my differences now, but think they do, things could blow up in a nasty way later in the relationship — I want it on the table, plain to see, so that doesn’t happen.)

The kids’ book version:

Me: I’m different!
Others: No, you’re the same.
Me: No, I’m REALLY different.
Others: No, you’re the same.
Me: No, look, see how BIG this difference is!
Others: Okay, yes, you’re different.
Me: That’s right, I’m the same.

The semi-related witty facebook-status-worthy aphorism:

There’s not enough room outside this box for both of us.

How to be intense

How difficult it is to be close to intense people, and why?

I think intensity can be threatening all by itself — subconsciously — we seem to prefer to have an equilibrium of energy, perhaps. Exuberance, passion, fierceness, depth… can rock the boat without meaning to.

But I think the bigger problem with intensity is its tendency to be sharp-edged and hard. An intense person who is unrealistic, or demanding, or spilling out of boundaries, is uncomfortable to be with.

Hence I was thinking about a phrase, “well-oiled intensity,” which sounds a bit like something you’d see in an ad, which got me thinking about “Smoothing Lotion (for well-oiled intensity),” and then about “Friend Repellant,” and how using the one could eliminate the need for the other…

Perhaps it is possible to be intense without bowling other people over with it — not that intense people do that on purpose. Perhaps with practice of such things as mindfulness, radical acceptance, and faith, we can smooth the rough pointy edges and be felt as peaceful and peace-giving.

The “quiet and gentle spirit” urged for women in one of the New Testament letters doesn’t equate to lack of feeling, blandness, composure, having one’s act together, never having anything to say, or even never being boisterous. I think it’s much more getting at this idea of being well-oiled and smoothed.

I want to be smoothed in such a way — not to have all my intensity erased into oblivion, but to have that intensity well-oiled, the rough sharpness smoothed, soothed, shined.

my lovely narrow way

It’s hard being the only one who’s right. I’m the only moderate where moderation is truly appropriate, the only one who stands on principles that actually matter, and the only one who is flexible about the real gray areas.

You folks who make your kids cry-it-out, you’re monsters. You other folks who still bedshare with teenagers, you’re freaks. My parenting choices are the only sensible ones. And it’s so obvious!

You folks who use cloth toilet paper and make your own hemp underwear are extremists. You other folks who buy individually wrapped bananas and never wear the same outfit more than once are ridiculous. My level of greenness is clearly the right level — not too much, not too little. Self-evident.

I could, but won’t, go on — about food and diet and exercise, about spiritual things, about relationships, about vocation and hobbies and work and leisure…

Theoretically, I understand how ridiculous this sense of rightness can be, and how no one and no organization will exactly match my principles and preferences… and it would be nice if some day I reacted a little less to disappointing differences. If I felt comfortable enough with my own ideas to be less defensive and less aggressive about them. To know when a principle matters enough to take a stand even in casual conversation with a stranger, or when not taking a stand isn’t tantamount to denying the truth.

Today, it was lovely to run into someone I haven’t seen in a long time, and to talk about church and parenting and stuff. Two things she talked about made me cringe; who knows to what extent what I said made her cringe.

But I’m right.

———

It is hard to have the courage of conviction at any moment, knowing that you used to think differently, and could possibly think differently in the future.

And yet, sometimes you DO feel strongly about a conviction — you DO think it’s right, and not just for yourself but universally.

It is hard to act wisely when interacting with others who don’t share your current conviction. You don’t want to express your position weakly as if you really don’t feel sure it is true. But you don’t want to browbeat anyone either.

———

I think cry-it-out is wrong.

I think talking to children about sin is fraught with danger and must be handled very carefully.

I think individually wrapped bananas ARE ridiculous.

I think kids need to have open-ended, unstructured fun and play without reliance on gimmicks and packaged entertainment AND without reliance on strict rote learning and physical constraints.

I think the Food Pyramid is wrong.

I think children are neither miniature adults nor incapable stupid fools.

I think expressing things in terms of obviously distasteful extremes is an ineffective and unfair approach to promoting my lovely narrow middle way.

I think it’s time to start making dinner.

Interdependent

I keep trying to write about dealing with other people’s feelings, and it gets pretty tangled pretty quickly!

Let’s see if I can give a nutshell version.

If someone is anxious (or depressed or angry or whatever) it’s not helpful to pour all your energy into stopping their anxiety. Exhorting them to snap out of it or grow up on the one hand, or bending over backwards (or hovering, or tiptoeing) to remove or fix their anxiety on the other hand. You’ll make them feel more freakish than they already do, and you’ll actually increase their anxiety. You might even make them feel responsible for solving your upset about their anxiety.

To whatever extent you can, stay calm and unperturbed, accepting the reality of their current feelings even if you don’t like it. Express compassion, acknowledge the feelings, without judging or demanding.

The tangles?

Well, the anxious (or depressed, angry, etc) person could be told to respond to the other person’s upset the same way.

You could say “But the anxiety makes it really difficult for them to do that.”

But we could also say that about the other person — their upset makes it really difficult to stay calm about the first person’s anxiety.

The truth is both that we are in fact affected by other people’s feelings, AND that we are not responsible for changing other people’s feelings.

Radical acceptance can fit at all the levels. The anxious person can work to accept their anxiety (and the other person’s upset) without judging it or demanding that it stop, and then their actions to help themselves will be more effective. The person upset about the other’s anxiety can work to accept both their own upset and the other’s anxiety, and then their efforts to help and to show compassion will be more effective. Everyone can work on communicating information, without judgment or demands — about their feelings, about their responses to each other’s feelings, about compassion, etc.

Let me reiterate two things: 1) Radical acceptance does not mean you have to like whatever’s going on — it just means you have to accept that it is in fact going on. And 2) This post is about feelings, not behavior. Feelings have no moral content — they’re not right or wrong.

Communication

Even though it is sometimes painful and often difficult, I generally value frank and transparent communication, especially in important relationships.

It allows for greater exchange of information, which provides a better foundation for decisions, including decisions about interpretations to make, actions to take, and more.

(That said, people react to one another — when you communicate something, you have to know that the other person is going to react one way or another. That might make you react, and so on. When giving and requesting information, you have to take into account the chain of reactions that may happen. You’re only responsible for your own feelings — it’s not your fault if so-and-so reacts a certain way, nor are you obligated to make them feel or react differently; but you do need to allow them their own feelings / reactions.)

It allows for healthy conflict management — without communication, conflicts are often felt but not resolved. With communication, conflicts can addressed so that both sides better understand one another and so that resolutions can be worked out. Not that communication guarantees satisfactory resolutions — but conflict-avoidance can’t create any resolution at all.

(That said, there are times when you might not pursue communication very aggressively — DBT says to decide the intensity of making a request or of denying a request based on the likely effects on your goal, your relationship, and your self-respect.)