Faith and Fear
A little girl of nine and a little boy of seven made my acquaintance today. I have seen them before as I rush to and fro living my overly busy life. They came to my attention earlier this week when they arrived in my yard wanting to play with my daughter. But today I actually stopped and made their acquaintance. I know what took me so long. I know why I turned the other way and pretended not to hear or rushed into the car or into the house to avoid their greetings. I know and I am ashamed.
I distanced myself because I was afraid. Afraid of two children who have done nothing to cause me to fear. Afraid of two children who have committed no crime. I, who sat inside the walls of a prison at a table with women who had commited unspeakable crimes and loved them, was afraid of two children who had done nothing other than being related to someone who was dating a murderer.
Less than a year ago there was a murder in my neighborhood. Three doors down. A woman I knew well was murdered in her own home. By the boyfriend of the teenaged girl that lived in the house across the street. She wasn't implicated in the crime. But that didn't stop me from deciding that everyone in that house was bad news and should be avoided. Then one day these two children. Little children. Little children that I had never noticed before suddenly appeared at that house. I noticed them when they began to call out to my daughter wanting to play with her. For months I put them off with one excuse or another. Then on a beautiful spring day last week I could think of no more excuses. They played together in our back yard. I hoped they would go away. But they seem to enjoy my daughter's company. And she seems to enjoy theirs. And they are polite and say yes mam and no mam when I ask them to do or not do something. And they go home when they're told to. And they seem to be planning to stay. And I realized then that I was afraid. Of children. Of children who have done NOTHING to make them fearful. Afraid because they were somehow tainted by the guilt of the actions of another. And I am ashamed.
Faith and fear can never co-exist. I know this. So how is it that I forgot so quickly the things that I know?
And now that I have confessed the fear I need to come up with a plan. I need a plan to make Desiree and Jerrell fit into my busy life. I need a plan to fight fear with faith and to teach my child how Christ would have us love others. For now school occupies a large part of their days. Desiree is 9, Jerrell 7. But school will be out for the summer soon and I suspect that Desiree and Jerrell will be a part of our days for many of the long lazy days of summer. I can let this be a reason for concern or for celebration. The choice is mine. I choose faith. I choose to love these "other people's kids" and in doing so to make a difference in my neighborhood.
I made the acquaintance of two children today. Desiree and Jerrell. I'm looking forward to seeing where this will lead.
T
Sunday, April 18, 2004
Thursday, April 08, 2004
Memories of the County Fair
When I was a little girl there was nothing more wonderful than the week the county fair was in town. We lived in a subdivision that sat on a hill overlooking the midway. I remember lying on my stomach at the foot of my bed peering through the curtain at the bright lights of the Ferris wheel.
I remember being allowed to go to the fair alone on “School Day at the Fair” before I was ten years old. I remember having my own money and being responsible for buying my lunch at one of the many booths. My favorite place to eat was the Lions Club booth. They had the best food on the grounds and I knew the people there. Each of the schools had a booth of their own and raised money for special events by the proceeds made each year at the fair.
But School Day had one disadvantage. It was during the day. The midway lost its magic without the colored lights. So we always went as a family at least one night during the fair. Sometimes we went to the Fairest of the Fair pageant but usually we came for the horse show. We walked the midway but didn’t usually ride much. I played a game or two and we got fair food.
Fair food always included two things, cotton candy and a candy apple. I ate the cotton candy. The candy apple was for my mom. No matter what diet she was on there was always room for a candy apple from the fair.
I had an adult cousin that was a “carnie.” She would always let me win at the game booth she ran. I was never very good at the games. Once I blew an entire ten dollars throwing ping-pong balls trying to win a goldfish. The guy finally felt sorry for me and just gave me one. It died two days later. My favorite midway game was “picking up ducks” since there was no way to lose.
Rides were always a challenge. I got motion sick easily and I was afraid of heights so that eliminated most things right there. My favorite ride of all was the tilt-o-whirl. I loved it. The scrambler was a close second. As I got older I began to enjoy riding the paratroopers but I could never learn to love the Ferris wheel no matter how hard I tried. Something about the swaying of the basket and the fact that we were going backwards made me sick every time. As I got older still it was the Himalaya that was the favorite. Riding with the boy I liked and being squished together by the centrifugal force was the teenaged thing to do.
I loved the fair. Perhaps that is why I always return to Sparta for fair week. Eighteen years in Memphis and I can count on one hand the times I’ve missed the White County Fair. My daughter’s birthday usually falls around fair time and we often come home so that she can celebrate with her grandparents and great-grandparents. When we do, we stay for the fair. I can always count on seeing old friends that I haven’t seen in years, or at least since the fair the year before. We have a huge fair here, but it just isn’t the same. So look for me at the fair. Chances are I’ll be there.
When I was a little girl there was nothing more wonderful than the week the county fair was in town. We lived in a subdivision that sat on a hill overlooking the midway. I remember lying on my stomach at the foot of my bed peering through the curtain at the bright lights of the Ferris wheel.
I remember being allowed to go to the fair alone on “School Day at the Fair” before I was ten years old. I remember having my own money and being responsible for buying my lunch at one of the many booths. My favorite place to eat was the Lions Club booth. They had the best food on the grounds and I knew the people there. Each of the schools had a booth of their own and raised money for special events by the proceeds made each year at the fair.
But School Day had one disadvantage. It was during the day. The midway lost its magic without the colored lights. So we always went as a family at least one night during the fair. Sometimes we went to the Fairest of the Fair pageant but usually we came for the horse show. We walked the midway but didn’t usually ride much. I played a game or two and we got fair food.
Fair food always included two things, cotton candy and a candy apple. I ate the cotton candy. The candy apple was for my mom. No matter what diet she was on there was always room for a candy apple from the fair.
I had an adult cousin that was a “carnie.” She would always let me win at the game booth she ran. I was never very good at the games. Once I blew an entire ten dollars throwing ping-pong balls trying to win a goldfish. The guy finally felt sorry for me and just gave me one. It died two days later. My favorite midway game was “picking up ducks” since there was no way to lose.
Rides were always a challenge. I got motion sick easily and I was afraid of heights so that eliminated most things right there. My favorite ride of all was the tilt-o-whirl. I loved it. The scrambler was a close second. As I got older I began to enjoy riding the paratroopers but I could never learn to love the Ferris wheel no matter how hard I tried. Something about the swaying of the basket and the fact that we were going backwards made me sick every time. As I got older still it was the Himalaya that was the favorite. Riding with the boy I liked and being squished together by the centrifugal force was the teenaged thing to do.
I loved the fair. Perhaps that is why I always return to Sparta for fair week. Eighteen years in Memphis and I can count on one hand the times I’ve missed the White County Fair. My daughter’s birthday usually falls around fair time and we often come home so that she can celebrate with her grandparents and great-grandparents. When we do, we stay for the fair. I can always count on seeing old friends that I haven’t seen in years, or at least since the fair the year before. We have a huge fair here, but it just isn’t the same. So look for me at the fair. Chances are I’ll be there.
Sunday, April 04, 2004
Reaction to “A Streetcar Named Desire”
Friday night I attended a production of Tennessee Williams’ “A Streetcar Named Desire” at Theater Memphis. Jason Sullivan, one of my “churchkids” had a significant role in the production and I was there to support him in that. I had seen “Streetcar” before several years ago at the University of Memphis with Dixie Carter in the lead role of Blanche DuBois. I remember being particularly impressed with Dixie’s talent but otherwise I recalled very little about the play. I knew that in one scene Blanche was raped. In that respect I was “prepared” for what I was about to see.
What I was NOT prepared for was the pervasive domestic violence.
In one of the very early scenes of the play there is an argument between Stanley and Stella during a poker game. Stanley becomes enraged and slaps her. She flees the apartment and takes refuge upstairs with her neighbor and landlady Eunice. Stanley is left in the street below screaming her name. Soon she reappears from the apartment above and comes down to where Stanley kneels in the street. He wraps his arms around her and begins the dance of an abusive relationship. The “I’m so sorry baby, did I hurt you? I didn’t mean it,’’ routine. She ends up returning with Stanley to their apartment and to their bed.
I’m seventeen years removed from the “Stanley” in my life. I’ve been happily married for 11 years to a wonderful man that treats me like gold. But I had a physical reaction to what was playing out there on the stage. Even though I knew it was theater, I reacted as if it were real. Every muscle in my body tensed. I’m certain I flinched. Something caused Harold to look my way and when he did he immediately asked “Sweetheart, are you ok?” I was in control. I wasn’t thrown into a flashback like I might have been in the early years of my recovery but I was FAR from Ok. I’m still not sure that I’m ok. Jason was at church today. He asked how I had liked the play. I responded that he was wonderful but that I had forgotten that the storyline involved so much domestic violence and that it had been very difficult. He gave me a hug and to my surprise, I found myself burying my head in his shoulder. On rare occasions I have drawn strength from one of the kids in this way, usually in times of extreme crisis. I am surprised that a play had the power to provoke that kind of reaction within me.
I will never attend a performance of “A Streetcar Named Desire” again.
Friday night I attended a production of Tennessee Williams’ “A Streetcar Named Desire” at Theater Memphis. Jason Sullivan, one of my “churchkids” had a significant role in the production and I was there to support him in that. I had seen “Streetcar” before several years ago at the University of Memphis with Dixie Carter in the lead role of Blanche DuBois. I remember being particularly impressed with Dixie’s talent but otherwise I recalled very little about the play. I knew that in one scene Blanche was raped. In that respect I was “prepared” for what I was about to see.
What I was NOT prepared for was the pervasive domestic violence.
In one of the very early scenes of the play there is an argument between Stanley and Stella during a poker game. Stanley becomes enraged and slaps her. She flees the apartment and takes refuge upstairs with her neighbor and landlady Eunice. Stanley is left in the street below screaming her name. Soon she reappears from the apartment above and comes down to where Stanley kneels in the street. He wraps his arms around her and begins the dance of an abusive relationship. The “I’m so sorry baby, did I hurt you? I didn’t mean it,’’ routine. She ends up returning with Stanley to their apartment and to their bed.
I’m seventeen years removed from the “Stanley” in my life. I’ve been happily married for 11 years to a wonderful man that treats me like gold. But I had a physical reaction to what was playing out there on the stage. Even though I knew it was theater, I reacted as if it were real. Every muscle in my body tensed. I’m certain I flinched. Something caused Harold to look my way and when he did he immediately asked “Sweetheart, are you ok?” I was in control. I wasn’t thrown into a flashback like I might have been in the early years of my recovery but I was FAR from Ok. I’m still not sure that I’m ok. Jason was at church today. He asked how I had liked the play. I responded that he was wonderful but that I had forgotten that the storyline involved so much domestic violence and that it had been very difficult. He gave me a hug and to my surprise, I found myself burying my head in his shoulder. On rare occasions I have drawn strength from one of the kids in this way, usually in times of extreme crisis. I am surprised that a play had the power to provoke that kind of reaction within me.
I will never attend a performance of “A Streetcar Named Desire” again.
Thursday, April 01, 2004
Emotional Blackmail -- A book review
Recently I've been reading "Emotional Blackmail" by Susan Forward. I started reading it because the subtitle "When the People in Your Life Use Fear, Obligation and Guilt to Manipulate You" describes several relationships I am in right now. I began reading the book seeking advice on how to deal with those people who are emotionally blackmailing me and I found that, but I also found that I am guilty of emotionally blackmailing others. This book has been both liberating and convicting. That for me is the mark of a balanced "self-help" book.
Too much of the self-help genre is written in such a way that it rewards victim status. It is not liberating for the reader but rather a marketing vehicle for the author to encourage the reader to purchase more of their various related products: workbooks, audio tapes, perpetual calendars. An entire industry has grown up around this genre. One of the things I found particularly refreshing about Dr. Forward's book can be summed up in this quote from the introduction to the second section of the book. The section on "Turning Understanding into Action" This is the section in most books where the author tells you you need to attend her seminar, or purchase the companion workbook, or order the video series, or consult a therapist. Dr. Forward does little of that, only recommending a therapist in cases of active emotional or physical abuse or of past child sexual, physical or emotional abuse. To everyone else she says, "It may sound odd for someone who has been a therapist for 25 years to tell you this, but you can do a lot of this work successfully on your own...All you'll need is courage and determination." The steps that she lays out in subsequent chapters are clear and doable and the reader is left with a sense of hope that they have within them the power to change themselves and in so doing to change their situations as well.
I highly recommend this book. It is positive, well-written and encouraging. This is a rare self-help book, one that is actually helpful.
Recently I've been reading "Emotional Blackmail" by Susan Forward. I started reading it because the subtitle "When the People in Your Life Use Fear, Obligation and Guilt to Manipulate You" describes several relationships I am in right now. I began reading the book seeking advice on how to deal with those people who are emotionally blackmailing me and I found that, but I also found that I am guilty of emotionally blackmailing others. This book has been both liberating and convicting. That for me is the mark of a balanced "self-help" book.
Too much of the self-help genre is written in such a way that it rewards victim status. It is not liberating for the reader but rather a marketing vehicle for the author to encourage the reader to purchase more of their various related products: workbooks, audio tapes, perpetual calendars. An entire industry has grown up around this genre. One of the things I found particularly refreshing about Dr. Forward's book can be summed up in this quote from the introduction to the second section of the book. The section on "Turning Understanding into Action" This is the section in most books where the author tells you you need to attend her seminar, or purchase the companion workbook, or order the video series, or consult a therapist. Dr. Forward does little of that, only recommending a therapist in cases of active emotional or physical abuse or of past child sexual, physical or emotional abuse. To everyone else she says, "It may sound odd for someone who has been a therapist for 25 years to tell you this, but you can do a lot of this work successfully on your own...All you'll need is courage and determination." The steps that she lays out in subsequent chapters are clear and doable and the reader is left with a sense of hope that they have within them the power to change themselves and in so doing to change their situations as well.
I highly recommend this book. It is positive, well-written and encouraging. This is a rare self-help book, one that is actually helpful.
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