O the various things that float by

1. Dance

This fall’s Dancevision concert at Culver Academies was on Amy’s birthday weekend. What a lovely treat for her last night.

The concert featured student dancers in various large and small ensembles, solos and duets, ballet and modern styles, recordings and the school’s jazz band and a few student vocalists, too.

One student — Asia — choreographed a stunning solo that actually choked me up. She has amazing technique, and expression as well.

I loved the first piece, ballet in several movements — ballet is just as beautiful, just as witty and clever, just as humorous, just as moving, as more modern styles, and it annoys me when people malign it. If you don’t care for it, fine — but it’s not because there’s anything wrong or outdated about it.

That said, I loved the more modern things, too.

I took modern dance in college all four years — I think I only had to miss one semester. Oh how I loved it! Not that I was particularly good at it, and I had no delusions of dancerly grandeur — but it was still wonderful to do. It’s great exercise, reaching every part of the body, in stretching, slow and quick movements, movement in a small space, movement across a large space, movement standing, movement on the floor. Unlike most exercise, to me anyway, it’s also beautiful and meaningful movement that nourishes the soul. Other forms of exercise nourish my soul a little bit, in that exercise does work on brain chemistry, and a body that feels good helps a soul feel good — but dance does it better.

Plus, we were blessed to have a pianist to accompany our classes, and he was very, very good. He always matched the music to the movement so deftly.

I don’t think there are any dance studios in Plymouth, and even if there are I don’t think we could afford for me to take classes “just” for the sake of having a form of exercise I enjoy, and yet — how lovely that would be.

2. Shopping with a conscience

One of my facebook friends posted the 2010 Sweatshop Hall of Shame, which I reposted, and another friend reposted after me.

I think I might have been in college before it even occurred to me to think about who was involved in making the things I had. One of my friends was in a production of the musical Working, based on Studs Terkel’s book of the same title. It’s a series of interviews with workers in various fields.

Starting to think about how one’s activities as a consumer affect other people can get overwhelming fast. It’s not obvious anymore — one store might have who knows how many suppliers in how many countries, shifting however often, and it’s not always easy to find out whether the suppliers are adequately paid, working in safe environments, and protected in various human rights. Some of the countries have good laws, some don’t, and not all supplier companies obey the laws. Some companies have inspections. Some suppliers lie and coach their workers to lie.

Looking at the labor rights organizations’ recommended shopping list is also a bit disheartening — there’s no well-known companies listed, and nothing local. Do you order something bland, boring, and expensive online that involves extensive transportation, for the sake of ethical treatment of workers, or do you buy at the local Wal-mart because it’s the only local supplier of what you need, and you want to avoid the transportation costs and keep at least some of your money in your own community?

Then there’s the issue of relationships — you don’t want to get so caught up in this or any other issue that your relationships suffer unduly. You still want your family to have a pleasant, joyful, peaceful home with things they can enjoy. You still want your friends to enjoy being with you. There’s more to life than any cause, and when every activity is tagged with conscience-raising, life gets exhausting and frustrating and dull quite quickly.

And yet — as soon as you see a face associated with that thing you’re coveting, it’s a lot harder to just buy it uncritically.

3. Sugar, sugar — and other abundances

Let me just say that it is interesting how an abundance of sugar — or any other food — can be distressing.

I don’t really think of myself as a Causie with a Vengeance — someone who’s out to sell the Simple Life to the universe — although I suspect some folks see me that way.

But, well, just four days of birthday cake has me stressed. Really, three days of it, with one day in between.

I love birthday cake. But I like it better when I have one really nice piece and then go back to regular life for a while.

I also like my refrigerator and pantry to be full of spaces — when they’re packed I get nervous. Will I eat the fresh stuff before it goes bad… I like to have enough things on hand to have choices, but I don’t like it when the sense of obligation rises above a certain threshold.

We’re on the holiday season now. Kick-started with little girl’s birthday, heading into Thanksgiving, with Christmas around the corner. Not to mention little girl still has Halloween candy she’s working on.

Again, I’m all for a splurge on tasty nothings once in a while — it’s just the overabundance of them, without much rest in between, that gets to me.

4. Thoughts on three

I forgot to make or buy a birthday card for Amy. And I haven’t written down any thoughts on her turning three. And I don’t have any right now.

Um…

Yeah. Maybe later.

5. Emotional peacekeeping

I think I’ve often taken on the role of emotional peacekeeper. I don’t like to see people being upset. I don’t like seeing conflict. I especially don’t like it when I’m involved, but it’s distressing even when I’m not. I often find myself trying to soothe all the wild beasts — either by the unproductive method of minimizing myself and my intrusion in the world, or by remaining calm and speaking calmly and offering calm advice, or by stepping in and separating people (like Amy and me).

I’ve made some progress on being able to tolerate my and other people’s distress — sometimes people just need to be distressed for a while and get through it on their own time. Sometimes I misjudge those cases, and don’t step in when Amy really needs me. Sometimes I think other people are surprised and disapprove even when I think I’m right to give her the space to cry and face her situation independently. Some people seem to get it.

Sunday reflections

1. Feelings — owning vs. observing.

My friend was telling me how her therapist says instead of owning your feelings, i.e., “I’m depressed,” it’s more helpful to observe your feelings, i.e., “I am noticing depression.” It’s an interesting distinction. It reminds me of mindfulness, one of the core tenets of DBT — when you can step back enough to observe things (including internal things like feelings), identify them, without judging them, the more you can be wise when it comes time to act and evaluate. Without the observation step, you’re more likely to act and evaluate impulsively — according to emotional mind OR rational mind, neither of which is inherently wise.

On the other hand, I think the common psychological advice to own your feelings is in opposition to something else. It is better to own your feelings than to deny, try to transcend, ignore, or suppress them, or project them onto other people, God, or circumstances. Owning your feelings is about recognizing that feelings themselves are neutral, without moral content, and that they’re valid even when they’re out of proportion or irrational. (You can act wisely when your feelings are out of proportion or irrational, but you can’t change or control the feelings themselves, and there’s nothing wrong with the feelings themselves — the problem that makes them out of proportion or irrational is something deeper than the feelings themselves.) It’s okay to have feelings. It’s okay to feel them. In fact, having and feeling them is much healthier than the denying, trying to transcend, etc.

2. Babies and bathwater.

a. In the sermon today at the church we were visiting, the pastor talked about how people seek medication when the real problem is sin — and medication can’t really solve the problem of sin. He also talked about how biblically wrong it is for counselors to tell people they need to forgive themselves — because only God can forgive sins.

I know that there are people who seek medication to cover up or avoid dealing with unpleasant realities, without seeking to identify and work through the root issues. But one of the most important things I learned in therapy is that not all problems are spiritual problems. Some mental health issues are medical, and some are psychosocial. Even those of us who have had our sin problem solved at the Cross might have medical or psychological issues that require something more than the Cross for treatment. I am sure this pastor is aware of that, and didn’t intend to say that it’s sinful or impossible for Christians to have mental health issues, and yet I wish he’d clarified his statement.

As for forgiving yourself — well, in a sense I get that. We can’t actually atone for our own sins. I think the idea is really about not holding on to guilt and shame that is either false (there’s a lot of false guilt in the mental health world) or has already been taken care of at the Cross. If God is for us, who can be against us? In this sense, forgiving yourself is really about fully accepting God’s forgiveness. But I can see that the phrase could be misleading.

b. The pastor and his wife invited us to lunch after church, which was a good opportunity for us to ask questions. At one point we were discussing our views of Scripture.

We believe that the Bible is the inspired Word of God, sufficiently clear in matters related to salvation, and without error in matters related to salvation. We also believe that the humanness of the writers shows in many places, that not every action recorded is approved by God or held up as an example to imitate, that there are many genres that need to be interpreted appropriately (poetry vs. history, for example), and that there are errors resulting from translation and copying, though far fewer than from comparable or more recent works such as Homer or Shakespeare.

We believe that our faith stands or falls on the question of whether Jesus Christ is a historical figure who truly died and rose again, but we are less certain about the historicity of other parts of the Bible. Jesus and Paul both talk about Adam, for example, but do they speak of him as a historical person, or as a legendary representative? If the latter, does that really necessarily mean that the doctrine of total depravity and / or original sin is lost? What about Job — Noah — the Tower of Babel?

We believe that the New Perspective on Paul has raised some important questions and ideas, particularly about what the Judaism of Jesus’ day was really like, and especially the place of grace and works and faith in that Judaism. We’re not entirely convinced that N. T. Wright (our main source on NPP, and only via a few books) is entirely right about it all, but again it’s been interesting, challenging, and helpful to read him.

I think we scared the pastor a little bit. I think he names the baby and the bathwater a little differently than we do.

3. The stated meetings of the church.

The two churches we’ve been visiting both have traditions of a morning AND an evening service, and today’s one also has a Wednesday night prayer meeting. Their constitution lists several expectations of a church member, including that members are urged to attend all the stated meetings of the church.

I wanted to know how big a deal it would be. Mark’s work doesn’t allow much time for three trips a week that involve a 40-minute drive each way. We’re also not convinced that multiple church services each week is really that much more wonderful than one, nor that one is necessarily merely a bare minimum. The pastor did say that they understand the work and time issue, but that the meetings serve different purposes and it isn’t appropriate to choose which ones to attend based on which purposes we like best. I don’t think we’re thinking merely about convenience or likes and dislikes… I do miss being in a small group, where there was time for fellowship, study, and prayer in ways that don’t usually happen at the Sunday worship service. If there were a Wednesday night small group at this church, made up of those folks who also commute from Plymouth, I would be interested in attending that.

What I’m especially bummed about is that communion is offered only once a month, and only at the evening service. If we choose this church, we’d likely skip the morning service that day and go to the evening service in order to participate in communion.

(That is, if our edgy views on Scripture and the like don’t exclude us from the Table.)

Behavior and faith

I grew up in church. My major awakening was in 8th grade, when I consciously both accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior and felt as though he had “picked me up and turned me around.” Looking back from that moment, I can see that God was preparing the way for me, and yet that moment seemed / seems somehow definitive.

Point being, one of the things that scared / scares me about having a child is how to raise her in such a way that I both “bring her up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord” (PCA baptismal vow), and avoid having her thoroughly messed up and forever disgusted with Christianity. I used to half-jokingly say that I wouldn’t even mention God until she was 14. It seems there are so many very easy ways to bring up a child in a Christian home in such a way as to make them stumble. I remember reading in college Rousseau’s Confessions. Among other things, he claimed that a religious caregiver (aunt?) so carefully admonished and questioned him about sin that he, well, got all muddled and freaked out about it.

I think that behavioral instruction and discipline should be kept as simple and concrete as possible for this age of nearly three years. Tell and model what I expect. Give the simple concrete consequence when / if she disobeys (such as a timeout or losing the toy she wasn’t cooperating with). Express approval and appreciation when she meets expectations.

Lately when she does something annoying and observes that we get annoyed, she’ll ask “Are you happy with me?” We try to be honest and simple — assure her that we love her even when we’re angry, and that yes, sometimes certain behaviors annoy or anger us. When relevant, we’ll also explain that we’re just in a bad mood and irritable, and apologize.

At this point this is all at a very surface level — she is aware of emotions in herself and in others, can express them, identify them, etc. She’s beginning to link behaviors and emotional reactions. I don’t think she’s aware of consciously choosing a behavior in an effort to provoke a particular response. Yes, sometimes she disobeys while looking to see how we will respond, but I think it’s surface-y, not calculated or manipulative in the same way such behavior would be in an older child or adult.

So I don’t think I’m ready to talk to her about sin — or at least about how sin grieves the heart of God. I’m not even sure I’m ready to talk to her about God’s commandments for behavior. Our parental commandments seem to be sufficient focus for now.

I’ve told her that Jesus died for our sins, to pay the price for them, because he loves us so much. Whenever we take Communion, I explain that again, and remind her that this meal is a special way to remember what he did for us. I think that when she is readier to understand, she will ask about that word “sin” or something else about this. And when she asks, I want my primary focus to be on sin as the condition of being separated from God — particular sins mattering partly because good is good and bad is bad, reflecting God’s own nature and our design, and mattering even more because they break the relationship we are meant to have with him. (I just need to work on phrasing that explanation in toddler terms.)

Sometimes we’ve told her about her baptism, but I’m not very good at explaining that one yet, and since the Walkerton church has such a small congregation, we haven’t seen any infant baptisms to remind us to talk to her about it. We tend to talk about it when we look at her photo album, which includes pictures from her baptism day.

She also has a children’s Bible, and we read in it the stories that she chooses. Again — when she is ready, she will ask more about the Garden of Eden story, or about others.

I want to talk to her about Bible stories, sacraments, praying, and all, as things that are true and that can be left to stand as they are for the most part. I don’t want to intrude explanations where no sense of needing an explanation is felt yet, and I especially don’t want to make all Christian things about some kind of moral application. The best application of every part of Scripture, every bit in the worship service, etc, is to believe in Jesus — to put one’s trust and hope in him, confident of his love and gracious salvation.

Again, not that I’m okay with bad behavior — but at this point I don’t feel it necessary or appropriate to connect behavior and faith.

Not bad, but not best

So I’ve been attending BSF (Bible Study Fellowship) with two friends and our toddlers for about a month.

I like that we are studying the Gospel of John for a whole year — I like that kind of immersion. I also like that we carpool, so there’s an hour or so each way for conversation and enjoying each other’s company.

Sometimes things about BSF rub me the wrong way. Often I have a hard time putting my finger on exactly what’s bothering me about it.

For example, the children’s “Home Training Lesson” for this week. The Scripture is the first part of John 2, where Jesus turns the water into wine at the wedding.

The home training lesson is about teaching children to be considerate of others. That’s a fine goal — one I share. But it would never have entered my mind to connect that goal with this Scripture passage.

It just seems to me that it’s misguided to jump so quickly from what Jesus does to an application about what we (or our kids) should do. Instead, linger on Jesus — understand why he does what he does, what it reveals about him and his mission, and only later consider whether, and to what extent, it implies that we do anything similar.

I think this is especially true for young children. The toddler stage is just beginning to include taking any notice of other people as anything other than providers of something for the child, whether entertainment, comfort, attention, or whatever. I would much rather my little girl hear thousands of words about who Jesus is, how much he loves her, what he has done for her, for every two words about what she should do.

Not that I think we should avoid talk of sin for the little ones — just that it can be discussed differently. Define what sin is — especially that it is a condition of separation from God, and particular actions or evasions are merely symptoms of that condition. Note that God hates sin, but immediately add that God’s mercy and justice meet at the Cross, when Jesus died to pay for forgiveness of sins. Then let the Spirit and natural development and our own example reveal to her that sin applies to her, too.

Even we as adults need to know God’s kindness before we can be led to repentance. We are far more likely to overflow with real consideration and kindness ourselves when we feel how much God has overflowed with consideration and kindness towards us. We already know we should be good and kind — we don’t really need to be reminded of that command as much as we need to be reminded about who was good and kind to us, which is the only thing that guiltlessly, shamelessly, freely, inspires us to true goodness and kindness, the kind that won’t burn us out or feel like death.

Consider this kids’ hymn, “I’ll be a Sunbeam” — here’s a site with lyrics (beware — the midi music plays automatically, but you can turn it off upper left) and here’s a video — my first introduction to this song, actually; people were finding my blog by searching for something called “Little Marcy,” so I searched for it too and found this puppet. (Sorry, any Little Marcy fans — I find her rather creepy.)

What I don’t like about this hymn is that its exclusive focus is on what a child should do for and because of Jesus. The one part about Jesus doing anything is still phrased with the emphasis on the child’s work — Jesus is just the helper. Again — being good, kind, loving, pleasant, and happy are good things. But the best thing is knowing Jesus — not merely as a giver of commands we already know and have such a hard time obeying or even wanting to obey, but as our Lord and Savior, who first loved us, who promises us new hearts, a spring of living water, who frees us from the impossible responsibility of meeting God’s law perfectly, and frees us to love righteousness because he who loves us IS righteousness and gives us his righteousness.

Good repentance

Last night I was up late. I got online to send a message to a friend about something, then stayed on…

I was thinking about the fact that I haven’t been exercising. And I was thinking about the hat I just finished knitting. It started with the top, and I finished it with a cable band. But the cable band turned out to be tighter than the hat itself — so it looks ridiculous when it’s not on someone’s head, and the tightness means it will only fit a smaller head. It was hard to do, with lots of crazy decreases, especially a purl two together through the back loops every other row, which hurt my thumb a lot. So I don’t want to rip it out and try it again more loosely. I don’t even really want to rip it out and replace it with the usual ribbing. But leaving it as is was leaving me feeling disgruntled and not good enough.

I stewed a while, chatted on facebook with a friend, so on and so forth, and finally went to bed.

On my way, I thought with chagrin that I ought to be looking to God first for solace from perfectionism and disappointment, instead of looking to outweigh the negative feelings with positive ones from chatting or reading interesting things.

Not that positive feelings and experiences are bad, of course. Not at all. But they won’t cancel out or assuage guilt or shame or disappointment or inadequacy or frustration. Also, if I seek positive experience in order to deal with negative feelings, that’s going to devalue the positive experience — I won’t be enjoying it for what it is, and if other people are involved I won’t be enjoying them for who they are.

Lying in bed, the good kind of repentance came to me. The kind that feels like relief, comfort, assurance. The kind that involves a renewed perspective, being reminded that my identity is secure not because I make perfect hats, not even because I resolve to “do the right thing” by removing the inadequate cable band and replacing it with something better, but because I am God’s own child, his adopted daughter made holy and blameless and loved lavishly.

En masse

More than three or four people, things, or activities, and something in me, just a small little thing, shuts down.

Today I went with a friend to the Trail of Courage festival — pioneer days, I suppose. There were tents and booths with homemade soap, rope, clothes, skins, furs, wooden swords and guns, silky parasols (?), and more. At one tent we talked with Ben Franklin himself, along with his lovely wife. A bagpipe corps, along with fifes and drums, walked by. Another tent held a handful of musicians with a hammered dulcimer, guitar, upright bass, and bodhran. A stage showcased Indian dances and storytellers. There was much food.

By the end I was quite sure I wouldn’t return next year, even though there’d been quite a few things I’d enjoyed.

I think it’s mainly because of the nature of such festivals — crowds of people, crowds of tents and booths, crowds of things and activities in and around the tents and booths. Not to mention my friend and our five children to keep track of and consider — are they having fun, are they hot or hungry or about to wet their pants.

I’m reminded of dulcimer festivals. I get the same sort of defensive partial shutting down — the inability to really attend to anything, a somewhat heightened sense of stress and being surrounded. I can hardly have a conversation, because I hear and see that so much else is going on, and maybe I’m missing something, or maybe I’m in someone’s way.

No, not completely incapacitated. Sometimes I’m not even quite aware of this odd response until later, when I can relax and I realize I’m tired and tense. It’s a slight and subtle thing that has taken a while to recognize.

Back to dulcimer festivals; it’s probably one of the reasons I prefer smaller festivals, with longer, more in-depth classes, fewer people in each class, scheduled down time.

I’m also reminded of when I was teaching. I only ever taught part-time — one class each year. I’m a little amazed I got through student-teaching, which was a full course-load. Anyway, even a class as small as six (at the homeschool co-op) still felt like a mass of students to me, rather than a group of individuals. Sure, I could learn names and a few surface characteristics. But it wasn’t really until the year I got to redesign my curriculum and make it much more individualized that I felt I really got to see each student individually. (Or, when seeing individuals for extra help, in previous years).

Or mission trips — the one in Africa for seven weeks one summer during college years, or the two in the Czech Republic, one for one week, one for two. I remember especially that night when our group couldn’t decide what to do and we finally split up, and a few of us rented a boat on the Vltava River in Prague. Oh, how relaxing — just three of us? And only two things vying for attention — our conversation, and the scenery drifting by.

Or playgroup — I’ve blogged before about especially harrowing days when almost everyone on the list shows up. It’s lovely, it really is, to see everyone and their kids, and yet it does exact a little stress toll, more than quieter playgroup days or playdates when there’s just a few.

Or lunch after church — how I miss getting together with just one other family for a meal in a home; again, it’s lovely that large groups often did lunch after Common Ground, and that Grace Reformed has a meal every week, but I do prefer the smaller gatherings.

Or performances. No wonder I rarely remember people I meet when I’m performing — like at the farmers’ market, or a Christmas party, or a concert. They’re part of the mass of the ever-changing audience. I feel like I must get a little glassy-eyed, as I politely (smile) parry (adrenalined enthusiasm) conversations, and I wonder if people feel like I’m not really paying attention.

How fascinating it can be to observe oneself, to see patterns, make connections, understand a little more.

Corrections

One of the things I’ve been criticized for (gently and otherwise) is having unrealistic or unreasonable expectations. This was especially clear in my camp counselor evaluations and during my work at a Montessori school, and in my therapy with Joe. I think I’ve made a lot of progress… but it’s still an issue.

1. Amy. I’ve been so irritated by her contradictions lately. She’ll be doing something not allowed, and I’ll look at her or say something, and she’ll just start shouting “No!” over and over. Or she’ll want me to play with her instead of doing something I’m working on by myself, and if she asks several different things in a row and I try to divert her attention by reminding her that she has her own toys, she’ll contradict that: “No, I don’t!” or “I can’t do anything!” If she’s in THAT kind of mood, there’s no reasoning — everything is black and white, all or nothing.

I really ought to understand all that stuff. Sometimes I have moods like that, too. Letting the mood pass without trying to reason through it is more effective — there’s a time for reasoning and a time for quiet patience and empathy.

Plus, there’s “subjective truth.” This is an idea I learned about from Joe. Basically, there is objective truth, like Amy does in fact have her own toys. Then there’s subjective truth — the truth of Amy’s feelings, wishes, reactions, perceptions, etc. Her toys may as well NOT exist when she’s in THAT mood. I need to be better at acknowledging the feelings that are behind such words, and less concerned about correcting the objective truth issue.

Tricky, isn’t it? I want Amy to understand truth, be truthful, be reasonable, speak respectfully even when she’s upset… those are good goals, but I need more patience and wisdom in pursuing them most appropriately. In balance with the other goals of being compassionate and respectful, acknowledging subjective truth, allowing strong feelings and expressions of them.

So even though I hated having my friends tell me so, y’all were right — these contradictions are not really the hill I want to die on.

2. Therapist interview questions. I have sent my interview questions to two potential therapists. One never responded. The other hemmed and hawed a bit, then suggested the phone, then, when I prodded a little more in favor of email but expressed willingness to do the phone if necessary, told me to just look elsewhere.

My list of questions IS long. Several of them imply some in-depth, thoughtful responses. And yet I thought, if only someone would say, “Wow, that’s too many questions for an email interview — can you pick the most important five?” or “I’m afraid I don’t have time to do justice to all of these questions by email. A personal meeting would allow me to better gauge what kind of answers would be most helpful” or something along those lines. Of course I would love in-depth thoughtful answers to all of the questions, but I’m also willing to negotiate.

I sent my list to another friend who’s had experience with therapy, too. Her feedback was really helpful, even though again it wasn’t really what I wanted to hear.

First of all, she saw that I had three categories of questions. Some were appropriate for initial interviewing, things that are mainly seeking factual information like credentials. Others were better for a second round of discussion, and the last category were questions that betrayed some baggage from previous attempts to find good therapists. About that last category, my friend pointed out that people would be unlikely to be able to answer those questions satisfactorily and accurately — they’re the kind of thing I could only find out through experience with the person.

I don’t want to do it that way — I want to just find out, in one fell swoop, who would be a good therapist for me. I hate the thought of having to do three or four sessions to figure it out. But, yeah, that’s unreasonable and unrealistic. At least at this point I’m not looking for a regular therapist, but just for someone to have established in case I need someone in the future. (Shopping for a therapist is really difficult DURING a crisis.)

———

It’s not so much the learning, the advice, the better approach, that bugs me about being corrected. It’s the need to be corrected at all — I hate being wrong. I hate leaving any openings for anyone to look down on me. And I hate the condescension of someone beaming down at me to see how much progress I’ve made, how I’m really coming along, and someday might just be almost as good as they are.

Momentary prayer

Lord, fill and replenish me.
Nourish the neglected, shriveling bits.
Lavish me with mercy and grace and love,
Until no fear stands still quivering,
Until no irritation can provoke silly defensiveness.
Open wide my arms to the abundance of life,
Gently let my hands neither grasp nor push away.

Align me with your rule
I thirst for order
For each thing to be in its rightful place
Harmonious
Rightly related
So that the dance be unhindered
So that nothing entangle freedom

Restore me.
(And then
I will be kind to Amy (and others)
Feel less threatened by her needy smallness
Less worried about the balancing act
Only outflowing the kindness pouring in)

Anger. And Truth.

1. Do you think there is an important distinction between anger and the way one expresses anger?

I tend to think so. I think anger the emotion is like any other emotion — having no moral content in itself, as valid as any other feeling, just as permissible. Even when the anger is irrational, or out of proportion, it’s still just a feeling — it’s possible to recognize its irrationality or disproportion and still acknowledge the fact of the feeling.

How one expresses anger is different, though. I don’t think it’s generally okay to hit or kick or bite or yell at people, for example. And I think one should be careful about banging and slamming and stomping, too, making sure that nothing important is broken or hurt. It does seem that anger needs some sort of forceful physical outlet, but it still needs to be a safe and appropriate one: chop wood, punch a pillow, go running, throw darts (at a dartboard, of course), etc.

It’s not pleasant when someone is angry at you, whether their anger is rational or proportional or not.

But it’s more manageable when the someone can still speak with respect, and can delay the physical expression until a safe time and place. There have been times when I’ve been so angry I can’t speak with a pleasant tone of voice, but I CAN tell the other person that I’m speaking to communicate, not to attack, even though my voice sounds nasty.

What do you think?

2. The children’s lesson in church today was about the armor of God metaphor in Ephesians. One item is the belt of truth. It has never occurred to me to associate it with TELLING the truth — for me it’s usually connoted KNOWING the truth.

Not that I think telling the truth is unimportant. Just that what we need to stay strong in faith is not so much keeping our behavior up to a certain standard, but in knowing the Gospel and being open to it speaking to all parts of our life.

What do you think?

Change

1. According to Manasclerk, people grow along different trajectories — I think he’s mainly talking about mentally, but that would include psychology and emotions, too, and would affect things like spirituality and philosophy.

People tend to feel most understood by those on the same trajectory, even if they are at different points along the path.

People on different trajectories tend to misunderstand even when they think they get it — his illustration is one person saying “I’m talking about these six feet” and the other person saying, “Yes, those two feet are important” — the other person simply doesn’t see the other four feet, no matter how the first person explains.

He seems to think there’s not much hope for what I would consider real relationship with people on other trajectories. Instead, the “higher mode” person (his language includes things like “higher” and “bigger” even though he insists it’s about different, and not about better) has to swallow or set aside or ignore those four feet and essentially deal with just the two feet the other person can see.

Some of what he says seems to fit with my own experience — and yet it just doesn’t seem right. And it certainly doesn’t seem very hopeful.

2. Another friend and I were chatting about something else, and I mentioned that I didn’t think people really change. Not in the essentials — if you’re a detail person, you’ll always be a detail person. If you’re not, you likely won’t develop an eye for details or a taste for them.

She thought that’s a horrible thing to believe, and to pass on to my daughter.

Later, I wondered — what if my daughter was dating a felon with multiple repeat convictions? Wouldn’t my belief in essential non-change be good, because it would motivate me to warn her about what she could (and could not) expect from such a man?

Even a less dramatic example. What if her boyfriend merely had some really annoying habits, or differences of values — those are unlikely to change, too, and she can’t go into the relationship thinking she can retrain him to be more like what she wants.

2.5 Habits. With enough repetition, passion, commitment, etc, it seems possible for people to form habits and break others. Is habit-forming an essential change, or a surface change? Does it change the heart? Can it? What role does habit-formation play in spiritual growth, sanctification, overcoming sin, or what-have-you?

This is partly why I lean more towards Calvinism than Arminianism. If I recognize that I am powerless to produce essential change in myself, than I am also freed from the burden of hopeless trying. I can instead trust God to do the change, and apply myself to my own work with a sense of freedom instead of obligation.

I can think, maybe depression really IS an illness, or physiological syndrome, at least, and not something that can be completely overcome by the process of habit-formation. Maybe it really is true that my depression is not the result of my lack of faith, or failure to pray with the right attitude; my faith may be lacking and my attitude may stink, but I’m not completely left on my own to do all the work of fixing those problems.

3. Change can alienate. Another posting of Manasclerk’s mentioned that following your true calling can alienate you from the respect of important people in your life, but that you end up finding other important people instead.

Another friend was talking about Wal-mart, and another about vegetarianism, and others about getting more green.

When I consider another little step in the green direction, or in the direction of knowing where things come from and buying accordingly (i.e. not supporting companies that rely on child labor or unsafe working conditions), or in the direction of spiritual growth, or in any other direction that seems wise and good and necessary, I worry about how it will affect my relationships.

I want to do what is right and good and true, but I don’t want to make myself even more difficult to be with than I already am. I don’t want to be one of those extremists that normal people look askance at and stay away from. To some folks, I already am.

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What are your thoughts about change?