“The funny thing is I’ve never felt this content in a relationship before,” a good friend said to me as she sat picking apart long greasy fries and sipping diet coke from a short straw.
“It’s scary, isn’t it?” I asked as I knowingly smiled back at her and nodded.
“Terrifying.”
And it got me thinking… Why is it when a relationship finally reaches the critical stage of comfort that we begin to freak out and question everything? Why is it so easy to become discontented by contentment and doubtful when there’s no indication that we should be?
What is it that makes comfort so uncomfortable for so many people?
If there’s one thing my girl friends have in common it’s that they never want to put too much stock into anything – especially a new fling. (A Coach wallet, a Louis Vuitton purse, and a new line of Mac makeup - maybe, but never something as uncertain or potentially permanent as a relationship!) So, of course, I was surprised when one of my best friends who’d flown solo for as long as I’ve known her announced that she had since become someone's girlfriend. As do most twenty-somethings, she went through the initial stages: cautious interest, experimental flirting, and a testing of the waters so-to-speak before she dove in head first. And much to her surprise, she was actually happy. Yet while happiness was easy to relish in, it was a sense of contentment that launched a sea of red flags. (As the saying goes where women are concerned: if nothing is wrong, find something wrong.) Eventually something will go wrong along the way, won’t it? Sometimes it's easier to have faith in that -- and often safer.
For women (I can’t attest to how men think and doubt they usually can either where matters of the heart are concerned), when you reach a level of comfort in a relationship, it can only mean one of two things: you’ve either found a good thing and the feeling is mutual or you’ve seriously deluded yourself somehow along the way and are in for a crash landing. If there is one thing a girl wants to avoid like plague it’s a false sense of security – better to have none at all. Fortunately for the girl in question, it doesn’t seem she’s wandered into such territory and I think that things might very well work out as she hopes. Yet, by entertaining doubts, she’ll unnecessarily hold back somehow or fail to enjoy what she’s found as fully as she might otherwise have.
For trust to grow – like anything else – time and patience are required. Perhaps it is best to remind ourselves that those initial feelings of comfort do not always blossom into the type of contentment that can last a life-time. But we should still take heart in knowing that time will ultimately tell. I’ve learned that to a large degree in the last year.
With M, I’ve found a contentment I never thought possible – and I don’t think I quite realized just how much until I had this little chat with my friend last weekend. I’d been so busy trying to keep up with work and wedding planning that I hadn’t left myself time to worry – at least not about anything other than which reception venue to choose or which cake design I liked best. In the interim, I’d been too busy just enjoying my life with M to allow my mind to wander. For whatever reason, when I nodded my head and offered my opinion on the matter, I felt surprisingly mature and it just hit me that I was exactly where I needed to be in my life. That I was living proof that there doesn’t have to be fear in love. That things really do work together for good.
Sometimes, I think I’m too busy to realize how blessed I really am. I’m glad I took the time today…
...have you?
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Would it Be Better To Forget?
Lord knows I’ve tried on several occasions and in many different entries to write about the value of our pasts. And still, that does not keep me from retracing the same arguments in my mind and wondering whether or not it’s an absolute truth.
And it got me thinking… Does the pain of our past always serve some purpose? Or should we instead be seeking “eternal sunshine of the spotless mind” by deciding to forget?
For those of you who have seen the movie (I highly recommend it by the way), you may already know where this is going...
If it were possible to forget the past, if it we were somehow able to erase the painful memories entirely from our recollection, if we could manage to wake up tomorrow believing it was nothing more than a bad dream who's details we cannot remember – would we? Should we?
Everyone deals with heartache differently. Some of us learn and grow in spite of (or because of) the things that previously hindered us and others harbor negative feelings and emotions until they turn cold. For those of us able to look back and push aside the bitterness and see the bigger picture, even the most tumultuous past can seem like a blessing. If we hadn’t been where we were, surely, we wouldn’t be where we are. But there are still some people who are forever trapped in the past, who cannot help but relive their mistakes time and time again. They cannot go forward. They cannot move on because instead of looking ahead or up, they are forever looking back. They are bound to stumble. I’d like to think there’s a happy medium, but I’ve been on both sides of the spectrum. I know how difficult it is to find the middle ground. It takes a lot of patience and a lot of faith and more than anything it takes time. Healing comes slowly.
For years before I met M, I lived life in the shadow of a past I couldn’t out-run. I decided before I was 21 that I had, had my shot at happiness and had ruined it and I made up my mind that every future attempt at love would fail. And it did! I saw to it. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy that I would not admit to as I sabotaged one relationship after another reminding myself that nothing would repair my broken past. Regardless of the steps I often took in spite of myself to move on, I was too wrapped up in the things I could not change. I couldn’t forgive myself. Even when I thought I was moving on, I was just running in place. And it’s sad to say, but it took facing the demons of my past in the most confrontational way possible before I finally put it in perspective. It took almost losing everything to realize everything I had right in front of me.
It took time. And it was not long before I started to see M for the gift he was intended to be in my life -- a realization I would not have been able to come to had it not been for the contrast with my past. And it brings us back to the same line of reasoning: that we could never appreciate the day without the dark of night and we could never know what is good without first knowing the bad. Yet, for those who have not yet seen the day or stumbled upon the good, it may seem ludicrous. The pain of the past may be nothing more than painful. Yet, there is still hope.
If we can look back even on the bad times and remember some spark of happiness, some shred of a memory when we felt joy, then we have something to look forward to. (Those of you who saw the movie may be remembering that one moment that the main character tries to hang on to, which makes the painful past worth remembering.) If we could just believe that God will not let us settle, that the best is yet to come. If we could pinpoint all the times we were low and God pulled us up. If we could realize the truth: that God hasn’t put us here to punish us or keep us down and that sometimes, down is the only place we can look up from, it would be easier not to look back. It would be easier to see the past as a piece of the puzzle, as a thread in the tapestry. It would be easier to trust that someday we will understand the reasons that have been concealed.
If we don’t remember where we’ve been, how can we know where we’re going? I’m glad I know now. It was a lesson worth learning.
And it got me thinking… Does the pain of our past always serve some purpose? Or should we instead be seeking “eternal sunshine of the spotless mind” by deciding to forget?
For those of you who have seen the movie (I highly recommend it by the way), you may already know where this is going...
If it were possible to forget the past, if it we were somehow able to erase the painful memories entirely from our recollection, if we could manage to wake up tomorrow believing it was nothing more than a bad dream who's details we cannot remember – would we? Should we?
Everyone deals with heartache differently. Some of us learn and grow in spite of (or because of) the things that previously hindered us and others harbor negative feelings and emotions until they turn cold. For those of us able to look back and push aside the bitterness and see the bigger picture, even the most tumultuous past can seem like a blessing. If we hadn’t been where we were, surely, we wouldn’t be where we are. But there are still some people who are forever trapped in the past, who cannot help but relive their mistakes time and time again. They cannot go forward. They cannot move on because instead of looking ahead or up, they are forever looking back. They are bound to stumble. I’d like to think there’s a happy medium, but I’ve been on both sides of the spectrum. I know how difficult it is to find the middle ground. It takes a lot of patience and a lot of faith and more than anything it takes time. Healing comes slowly.
For years before I met M, I lived life in the shadow of a past I couldn’t out-run. I decided before I was 21 that I had, had my shot at happiness and had ruined it and I made up my mind that every future attempt at love would fail. And it did! I saw to it. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy that I would not admit to as I sabotaged one relationship after another reminding myself that nothing would repair my broken past. Regardless of the steps I often took in spite of myself to move on, I was too wrapped up in the things I could not change. I couldn’t forgive myself. Even when I thought I was moving on, I was just running in place. And it’s sad to say, but it took facing the demons of my past in the most confrontational way possible before I finally put it in perspective. It took almost losing everything to realize everything I had right in front of me.
It took time. And it was not long before I started to see M for the gift he was intended to be in my life -- a realization I would not have been able to come to had it not been for the contrast with my past. And it brings us back to the same line of reasoning: that we could never appreciate the day without the dark of night and we could never know what is good without first knowing the bad. Yet, for those who have not yet seen the day or stumbled upon the good, it may seem ludicrous. The pain of the past may be nothing more than painful. Yet, there is still hope.
If we can look back even on the bad times and remember some spark of happiness, some shred of a memory when we felt joy, then we have something to look forward to. (Those of you who saw the movie may be remembering that one moment that the main character tries to hang on to, which makes the painful past worth remembering.) If we could just believe that God will not let us settle, that the best is yet to come. If we could pinpoint all the times we were low and God pulled us up. If we could realize the truth: that God hasn’t put us here to punish us or keep us down and that sometimes, down is the only place we can look up from, it would be easier not to look back. It would be easier to see the past as a piece of the puzzle, as a thread in the tapestry. It would be easier to trust that someday we will understand the reasons that have been concealed.
If we don’t remember where we’ve been, how can we know where we’re going? I’m glad I know now. It was a lesson worth learning.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Entertaining Doubts
“Cannot you not hear? Cannot you not see? And if with words You could change the way things are arranged Surely you'd be speaking, speaking no change…”
The music was blaring through the apartment as I made my way around it cleaning up from last weekend’s events. It was a song on a CD that I had listened to countless times, but for whatever reason it felt like it was the first time I was really hearing it.
“Oh and I pray, my prayer's not heard. Could it be your death, death to mortal words? Oh, and see her pain, and drain and drain. Could you be deaf, and blind my friend?”
In spite of having always known that Dave Matthews Band was secular, it had always moved me to hear these objections to faith put so plainly. Despite being a Christian long before I was introduced to DMB, these were notions I had also struggled with. And listening to the songs reminded me of how difficult it often is to understand a God we cannot see and not always understand. For whatever reason, the music deepened my faith because it clarified for me how necessary blind faith often is.
The song in particular used an example of a suffering child that the singer believes God could save if He wanted to. Because nothing is done to spare the child or ease it’s pain, the singer concludes that there is no God and if there is, He is not a loving God.
“Oh, so I'm praying all at night. And I wake up praying the whole daylight. I pray to you, and hear my request. I ask of you to save this baby Oh, look at the girl. Awful inside, is cancer-eaten, is life-deprived. And if so by who? Could it be you?
I see no need for a baby's wisdom for you.”
This is the classic disconnect between the unbeliever and faith. It is two-pronged. It’s the argument that on one hand, if we are to believe that there is a God we must accept that He is indifferent at best and on the other that if there were an all-powerful God who could correct the situation, He would, so there isn’t one. Listening to the lyrics of DMBs songs, these notions are clearly illustrated.
“If at all God’s gaze upon us falls it’s with a mischievous grin, look at him…”
The problem of pain, as C.S. Lewis wisely noted is one that plagues the believer and nonbeliever both. Even for those who love and accept God, it’s sometimes impossible to come up with an explanation when we witness needless suffering or unspeakable tragedy that seems to serve no purpose. It is at times difficult to trust that God is working when we cannot see it and accept that in order to allow free will, the problem of pain must exist. Yet in order for us to make choices, we must be given a range of possibility, we must be allowed to make bad choices that hurt others or ourselves as well as good choices that help others, otherwise we’d be no better than puppets.
Yet, rather than blame the people who sin, we blame the God who allows us the choice. We reason: if He could fix it, He would. But if He did, it would rob us of what makes us human: the ability to decide, to believe or not to believe, to sin or not to sin, to help or to hurt, to do good or evil. It is entirely our decision whether or not we trust Him and put our hope in the notion that all things will work together for good, even when we cannot imagine how.
But the point of this entry wasn’t to try and explain it away or make excuse. It wasn’t to try and re-iterate the finer points in C.S. Lewis’ masterpiece or dabble in philosophical reasoning of my own. It wasn’t the concept of God’s indifference that struck me when I listened to the song that prompted me to write this blog. It was the notion that I hadn’t considered: That if we suffer when we witness pain and tragedy, how much more does God suffer BECAUSE He could change it?
At any moment, God could rearrange any situation (as the singer in the song requests). But it would contradict who He is and who He made us to be if He were to pull the strings, interrupt our actions or prevent consequences. Our actions and decisions would be meaningless. We would be playthings instead of people. Instead, God must sit by and watch us destroy ourselves and each other knowing that He had the power to prevent it but could not. It would be the end of the world as we know it. Instead, God must watch the creations that He loved enough to give such limitless possibilities to go astray. I can imagine that if it hurts us to hear about, it hurts Him a great deal more.
So why not scrap the whole thing? Why not stop the world as soon as a tragedy occurs?
I’d like to think it’s out of love. That in spite of our misdeeds, God finds a way to use pain to reach us, to teach us, to perfect and improve us, and that He works to comfort those who suffer through no fault of their own. And that, I guess is where faith comes in. Though every now and then I’ll hear the words to some familiar song and entertain my doubts for just a moment before realizing how fortunate I am to know the truth.
The music was blaring through the apartment as I made my way around it cleaning up from last weekend’s events. It was a song on a CD that I had listened to countless times, but for whatever reason it felt like it was the first time I was really hearing it.
“Oh and I pray, my prayer's not heard. Could it be your death, death to mortal words? Oh, and see her pain, and drain and drain. Could you be deaf, and blind my friend?”
In spite of having always known that Dave Matthews Band was secular, it had always moved me to hear these objections to faith put so plainly. Despite being a Christian long before I was introduced to DMB, these were notions I had also struggled with. And listening to the songs reminded me of how difficult it often is to understand a God we cannot see and not always understand. For whatever reason, the music deepened my faith because it clarified for me how necessary blind faith often is.
The song in particular used an example of a suffering child that the singer believes God could save if He wanted to. Because nothing is done to spare the child or ease it’s pain, the singer concludes that there is no God and if there is, He is not a loving God.
“Oh, so I'm praying all at night. And I wake up praying the whole daylight. I pray to you, and hear my request. I ask of you to save this baby Oh, look at the girl. Awful inside, is cancer-eaten, is life-deprived. And if so by who? Could it be you?
I see no need for a baby's wisdom for you.”
This is the classic disconnect between the unbeliever and faith. It is two-pronged. It’s the argument that on one hand, if we are to believe that there is a God we must accept that He is indifferent at best and on the other that if there were an all-powerful God who could correct the situation, He would, so there isn’t one. Listening to the lyrics of DMBs songs, these notions are clearly illustrated.
“If at all God’s gaze upon us falls it’s with a mischievous grin, look at him…”
The problem of pain, as C.S. Lewis wisely noted is one that plagues the believer and nonbeliever both. Even for those who love and accept God, it’s sometimes impossible to come up with an explanation when we witness needless suffering or unspeakable tragedy that seems to serve no purpose. It is at times difficult to trust that God is working when we cannot see it and accept that in order to allow free will, the problem of pain must exist. Yet in order for us to make choices, we must be given a range of possibility, we must be allowed to make bad choices that hurt others or ourselves as well as good choices that help others, otherwise we’d be no better than puppets.
Yet, rather than blame the people who sin, we blame the God who allows us the choice. We reason: if He could fix it, He would. But if He did, it would rob us of what makes us human: the ability to decide, to believe or not to believe, to sin or not to sin, to help or to hurt, to do good or evil. It is entirely our decision whether or not we trust Him and put our hope in the notion that all things will work together for good, even when we cannot imagine how.
But the point of this entry wasn’t to try and explain it away or make excuse. It wasn’t to try and re-iterate the finer points in C.S. Lewis’ masterpiece or dabble in philosophical reasoning of my own. It wasn’t the concept of God’s indifference that struck me when I listened to the song that prompted me to write this blog. It was the notion that I hadn’t considered: That if we suffer when we witness pain and tragedy, how much more does God suffer BECAUSE He could change it?
At any moment, God could rearrange any situation (as the singer in the song requests). But it would contradict who He is and who He made us to be if He were to pull the strings, interrupt our actions or prevent consequences. Our actions and decisions would be meaningless. We would be playthings instead of people. Instead, God must sit by and watch us destroy ourselves and each other knowing that He had the power to prevent it but could not. It would be the end of the world as we know it. Instead, God must watch the creations that He loved enough to give such limitless possibilities to go astray. I can imagine that if it hurts us to hear about, it hurts Him a great deal more.
So why not scrap the whole thing? Why not stop the world as soon as a tragedy occurs?
I’d like to think it’s out of love. That in spite of our misdeeds, God finds a way to use pain to reach us, to teach us, to perfect and improve us, and that He works to comfort those who suffer through no fault of their own. And that, I guess is where faith comes in. Though every now and then I’ll hear the words to some familiar song and entertain my doubts for just a moment before realizing how fortunate I am to know the truth.
Surely, He is watching.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Sometimes it Takes a Storm
Why does God move so quickly for some and not for others? Why does He sometimes come as a “still small voice” and at other times “in the midst of a storm?”
Not too long ago, my life was a very different thing. One broken relationship followed after another and I was left cold, downcast, and unable to pray. Rather than “seek up,” I had chosen a course for myself that I knew was wrong. It had become an idol for me. In spite of various warnings, I was determined to have it my own way. I was fortunate that God had better plans, even if it took a storm to reach me.
I had been too stubborn to head the whispers, and in truth there were plenty of shouts I also disregarded. Yet, although I’d given up on God, He’d not given up on me. In the end, it took having my heart broken for me to be healed in the way I’d been seeking for so many years. Everything that I’d been holding on to, every past regret and resentment, was ripped away from me in one fell swoop. The lesson was great, but I was not a willing student. Though the method of instruction seemed so harsh, I was grateful once I understood its purpose.
Sometimes we have to fall in order to find the strength to stand.
I was grateful that God lifted me up from those trying times and am grateful still that I stand stronger now in faith. God rewarded my faithlessness and used my adversity to redirect my path. He taught me that I had to love Him first – and myself – before I could love somebody else. In spite of my impatience and strong will in the past, He was quick to bring someone into my life who I could share my faith and life with. There isn’t a day that passes that I don’t thank Him for being harsh in correcting me, though it certainly took some time before I was able to.
When things are going well in our lives, it’s easy to forget God. In the beginning, we thank Him for providing for us in whatever way we desired, but over time, we focus more on our provision than its source. And if that provision gets taken away, we are the first to accuse God of being faithless. (I know, because this was my initial reaction to the turmoil that I so vaguely described above.) We take issue with Him though we seek to understand the greater purpose. We ask “why?” Sometimes the answer is obvious and we ask only to express our frustration and other times we ask from the depths of our doubt trying to make sense of what we cannot comprehend. Sometimes we won’t get an answer. We wait for God.
Yet, I’ve no doubt that in these times of trouble, God is present and is speaking. Whether as a still small voice or a raging storm, He is working. All we can do is remember His faithfulness and trust that in every adversity there is some lesson He is crafting, if only we would be patient to receive it. We need only prepare our hearts.
"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." (Jeremiah 29:11)
"The preparations of the heart belong to man, but the answer of the tongue is from the Lord… A man's heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps." (Proverbs 16:1&9)
Not too long ago, my life was a very different thing. One broken relationship followed after another and I was left cold, downcast, and unable to pray. Rather than “seek up,” I had chosen a course for myself that I knew was wrong. It had become an idol for me. In spite of various warnings, I was determined to have it my own way. I was fortunate that God had better plans, even if it took a storm to reach me.
I had been too stubborn to head the whispers, and in truth there were plenty of shouts I also disregarded. Yet, although I’d given up on God, He’d not given up on me. In the end, it took having my heart broken for me to be healed in the way I’d been seeking for so many years. Everything that I’d been holding on to, every past regret and resentment, was ripped away from me in one fell swoop. The lesson was great, but I was not a willing student. Though the method of instruction seemed so harsh, I was grateful once I understood its purpose.
Sometimes we have to fall in order to find the strength to stand.
I was grateful that God lifted me up from those trying times and am grateful still that I stand stronger now in faith. God rewarded my faithlessness and used my adversity to redirect my path. He taught me that I had to love Him first – and myself – before I could love somebody else. In spite of my impatience and strong will in the past, He was quick to bring someone into my life who I could share my faith and life with. There isn’t a day that passes that I don’t thank Him for being harsh in correcting me, though it certainly took some time before I was able to.
When things are going well in our lives, it’s easy to forget God. In the beginning, we thank Him for providing for us in whatever way we desired, but over time, we focus more on our provision than its source. And if that provision gets taken away, we are the first to accuse God of being faithless. (I know, because this was my initial reaction to the turmoil that I so vaguely described above.) We take issue with Him though we seek to understand the greater purpose. We ask “why?” Sometimes the answer is obvious and we ask only to express our frustration and other times we ask from the depths of our doubt trying to make sense of what we cannot comprehend. Sometimes we won’t get an answer. We wait for God.
Yet, I’ve no doubt that in these times of trouble, God is present and is speaking. Whether as a still small voice or a raging storm, He is working. All we can do is remember His faithfulness and trust that in every adversity there is some lesson He is crafting, if only we would be patient to receive it. We need only prepare our hearts.
"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." (Jeremiah 29:11)
"The preparations of the heart belong to man, but the answer of the tongue is from the Lord… A man's heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps." (Proverbs 16:1&9)
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
The Secular Message Christians Should Hear
“There are plenty of people in the world who believe in something and fail to live up to it at times.”
That was the blunt – and surely, the only redeeming – message of last night’s episode of House, the Fox drama about the brilliant, but deeply flawed physicist Dr. Gregory House, who is more prone to popping pain killers than providing any personal comfort to any of his patients during the course of their mysterious illnesses. Last night’s episode should have come as no surprise to anyone familiar with this character or the state of the media’s secular worldview. House does not believe in God and when he comes in contact with a possible miracle, he is hell-bent on proving that there is always – undeniably - a rational explanation for anything that can happen in this life. For those of you not familiar with the program who could give a care less about anything Fox network has to say about God or faith or medicine, please bear with me, I have a point to make. (If you could bear my soap opera references below, I trust you’ll find this equally relevant. One can hope!)
The patient that House comes into contact with is a 16 year old boy who claims to hear the voice of God. As per usual on Fox and any other network approaching such a delicate subject as devout faith, the boy was made out to be more of a cartoon character than a human being and more of a nut than a Christian. This is not surprising. What, after all, has the secular media to offer to debate in the Christian community? More than we realize, I think.
While Christian programming is popular among those who subscribe to the Christian belief system, it is often inaccessible for those who lack faith or spiritual maturity. They are left to get their lessons on God from secular programs that pretend to be religious such as 7th Heaven, which – although it was a program depicting the family of a pastor – was careful not to make any references to God or prayer throughout the course it ran. As a Christian, I sometimes feel it’s important to be familiar with what messages the secular media sends out, if only to be able to rebut the false notions that are presented. I was eager to see how House would frame the issue, though my hope that it would sent any message of redemption dwindled as the program progressed and the main character seemed to become more possessed than convicted.
To sum up the story (so I can finally reach the point I promised earlier) House makes a list comparing his victories to God, and another doctor on the staff who himself is no beacon of morality makes a comment that hits a nerve. He tells House that the reason he cannot believe in God is because that would mean he’d have to admit that he is not in control of everything, that he would have to believe that at any moment, God could exact his will and leave the good doctor paralyzed and incapable of changing the situation. In effect, he tells House that he would have to admit he’s been playing God and give up the power he’s assigned himself. And it hit me that this is a struggle we all go through when we begin to lean on faith, and for a moment I hoped that the character would realize the relief that would come of admitting it’s not all in his hands. But sadly, the story does not end here. It turns out that the “miracle” was actually nothing more than a fraud on the part of the 16 year old boy who in truth had herpes after engaging in pre-marital sex. House concludes that the boy is little more than a hypocrite and the other doctor makes the statement that appears at the top of this blog. That people falter, that people can have beliefs and still fail. Perhaps, not the redeeming message that one might have hoped for, but a start, nonetheless.
And - although it unfairly charecterized Christians - it got me thinking. How often do we really live up to what it means to be a Christian? How often do we behave in ways that diminish other’ perceptions of our faith or cast doubt on the strength of our convictions and then turn around and discuss God? We all fall short, but we still try to send out the message of hope and salvation to a world that is waiting for us to stumble, hungry for more material for late night skits. The example in House is a bit obnoxious and barely conceals it’s skepticism of Christians, but perhaps there is something to be learned from it. We have a duty to respond with love even to criticism and hatred in spite of the fact that we are incapable of leading the sinless life that Christ did. We have a duty to go beyond preaching to the choir and engage those who need better instruction than Oprah’s proselytizing about intolerance or redemptive messages from primetime dramas. We have a duty to admit that we are not perfect but to try our best to live the lives we should. To be an example. (If only it were as easy said as done!)
In admitting our shortcomings, I think, we better glorify a God that does not fail or fall short.
That was the blunt – and surely, the only redeeming – message of last night’s episode of House, the Fox drama about the brilliant, but deeply flawed physicist Dr. Gregory House, who is more prone to popping pain killers than providing any personal comfort to any of his patients during the course of their mysterious illnesses. Last night’s episode should have come as no surprise to anyone familiar with this character or the state of the media’s secular worldview. House does not believe in God and when he comes in contact with a possible miracle, he is hell-bent on proving that there is always – undeniably - a rational explanation for anything that can happen in this life. For those of you not familiar with the program who could give a care less about anything Fox network has to say about God or faith or medicine, please bear with me, I have a point to make. (If you could bear my soap opera references below, I trust you’ll find this equally relevant. One can hope!)
The patient that House comes into contact with is a 16 year old boy who claims to hear the voice of God. As per usual on Fox and any other network approaching such a delicate subject as devout faith, the boy was made out to be more of a cartoon character than a human being and more of a nut than a Christian. This is not surprising. What, after all, has the secular media to offer to debate in the Christian community? More than we realize, I think.
While Christian programming is popular among those who subscribe to the Christian belief system, it is often inaccessible for those who lack faith or spiritual maturity. They are left to get their lessons on God from secular programs that pretend to be religious such as 7th Heaven, which – although it was a program depicting the family of a pastor – was careful not to make any references to God or prayer throughout the course it ran. As a Christian, I sometimes feel it’s important to be familiar with what messages the secular media sends out, if only to be able to rebut the false notions that are presented. I was eager to see how House would frame the issue, though my hope that it would sent any message of redemption dwindled as the program progressed and the main character seemed to become more possessed than convicted.
To sum up the story (so I can finally reach the point I promised earlier) House makes a list comparing his victories to God, and another doctor on the staff who himself is no beacon of morality makes a comment that hits a nerve. He tells House that the reason he cannot believe in God is because that would mean he’d have to admit that he is not in control of everything, that he would have to believe that at any moment, God could exact his will and leave the good doctor paralyzed and incapable of changing the situation. In effect, he tells House that he would have to admit he’s been playing God and give up the power he’s assigned himself. And it hit me that this is a struggle we all go through when we begin to lean on faith, and for a moment I hoped that the character would realize the relief that would come of admitting it’s not all in his hands. But sadly, the story does not end here. It turns out that the “miracle” was actually nothing more than a fraud on the part of the 16 year old boy who in truth had herpes after engaging in pre-marital sex. House concludes that the boy is little more than a hypocrite and the other doctor makes the statement that appears at the top of this blog. That people falter, that people can have beliefs and still fail. Perhaps, not the redeeming message that one might have hoped for, but a start, nonetheless.
And - although it unfairly charecterized Christians - it got me thinking. How often do we really live up to what it means to be a Christian? How often do we behave in ways that diminish other’ perceptions of our faith or cast doubt on the strength of our convictions and then turn around and discuss God? We all fall short, but we still try to send out the message of hope and salvation to a world that is waiting for us to stumble, hungry for more material for late night skits. The example in House is a bit obnoxious and barely conceals it’s skepticism of Christians, but perhaps there is something to be learned from it. We have a duty to respond with love even to criticism and hatred in spite of the fact that we are incapable of leading the sinless life that Christ did. We have a duty to go beyond preaching to the choir and engage those who need better instruction than Oprah’s proselytizing about intolerance or redemptive messages from primetime dramas. We have a duty to admit that we are not perfect but to try our best to live the lives we should. To be an example. (If only it were as easy said as done!)
In admitting our shortcomings, I think, we better glorify a God that does not fail or fall short.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Is there a ONE? Buying into the Lie
Everyday, millions of people are bombarded with ads for dating services such as Match.com and eHarmony. They all claim that their unique program can help you find the “one” you are “meant to be” with. With so many singles out there searching for their other half, it got me thinking. Is there really a ONE?
This week, I find myself home sick again, and at one o’clock this afternoon a soap opera that every woman in my family has watched religiously since before I was born, came on the air. The plot lines had barely changed since the last time I’d watched. The characters were still wrapped up in webs of lies and were scheming relentlessly as ever. They were all trying to rearrange their situations and did nothing short of manipulate every one around them so they could get back their one “true love.” In these endeavors, not a single character had any respect for marriage or regard for the truth. They were morally bankrupt to the extent that their driving force was only to reclaim a lost love no matter what the expense to other families. One character repeated the cliché “true love conquers all,” even though it was clear that if true love was what they saw it to be, it surely had failed them.
I remember growing up watching this show with my mom when I was just a little girl. I grew up wishing I could have a marriage someday like Bo and Hope, wanting for someone to come rescue me at every turn like John and Marlena. For those of you who’ve had the misfortune of watching “Days of Our Lives” or ever had the delusions that a soap-opera romance was possible, you know what I am talking about. And it got me thinking, that THIS is exactly what’s wrong with the world. We’ve somehow all adopted the soap-opera mind-set. Deep down, we all want the fairytale. Whether or not we’ve yet resigned to the fact that life is seldom like that, deep down we are all dreamers to some degree.
How many housewives sit home everyday watching programs such as this while their husbands are at work, wishing to themselves that their marriage had the passion or drama as their favorite soap couple? How many husbands are needlessly belittled or undervalued because they cannot live up to the hype that their wives are absorbing day after day? Forget about the Young and the Restless, whatever the age of these viewers, deep down they are all wanting for more, believing the lie that romance, passion, danger and adventure are all there is to life. And when they have to undertake the mundane tasks of preparing supper or washing the dishes or getting the kids ready for bed, their hearts are growing colder, their minds are wandering, their situation seems more and more helpless. These are the real Desperate Housewives.
No one ever told them that the honeymoon eventually fades into the lull of everyday life, that marriage has it’s share of suffering, that the 24-7 soap-opera romance is impossible once the realities of life set in. That’s why people take vows for richer or poorer, sickness and health, good times and bad. Because it won’t always be exciting or fun, it may sometimes be unbearable. Yet the plots of these daytime dramas don’t show that part. When the marriage gets tiresome, when the passion fades, it doesn’t mean it’s time to tackle the problems that have weighed it down, it means you’ve settled down with the wrong person. It means your spouse is not the one! And if you are with the wrong one, then the right one must be out there somewhere, and it’s your duty in life to make sure that you find that one. The vicious cycle goes round and round and I’ll bet my bottom dollar that few of the women who undertake this attitude in real life ever find true happiness. They will always want more. They will always think they’re missing something. They’ll continue to buy into the lie like a sick addiction.
So is there really one person out there for each of us? In a world as big as this, it’s hard to imagine that it’s possible, and it does seem like an awful lot of work, doesn’t it? I do believe that God has a plan for each of us and so I do think it’s possible that there is someone special out there suited for each of us, but I guess there is no real way for us to ever find out, is there? We can either make the most of what we have, or we will be fated to the circular path of Sammy Brady, trying, scheming, manipulating and lowering herself whenever necessary to get the “man of her dreams” which, I assure you, varies from month to month.
Life with M has its share of problems from time to time. Surely, there are days when it feels like a fairytale but there are still days that bring their problems and challenges, but that’s just life and part of the process is learning to get through the hard times and making the most of the good times. Thinking that we can be happy 100% of the time or that any impasse means it’s the end of a good thing can only bring pain and regret. And I’m not a big fan of either.
Surely, we all eventually must realize that there’s more to life than candlelit dinners, spontaneous getaways and long walks on the beach. Though those don’t hurt either… "Like sands through the hourglass..."
This week, I find myself home sick again, and at one o’clock this afternoon a soap opera that every woman in my family has watched religiously since before I was born, came on the air. The plot lines had barely changed since the last time I’d watched. The characters were still wrapped up in webs of lies and were scheming relentlessly as ever. They were all trying to rearrange their situations and did nothing short of manipulate every one around them so they could get back their one “true love.” In these endeavors, not a single character had any respect for marriage or regard for the truth. They were morally bankrupt to the extent that their driving force was only to reclaim a lost love no matter what the expense to other families. One character repeated the cliché “true love conquers all,” even though it was clear that if true love was what they saw it to be, it surely had failed them.
I remember growing up watching this show with my mom when I was just a little girl. I grew up wishing I could have a marriage someday like Bo and Hope, wanting for someone to come rescue me at every turn like John and Marlena. For those of you who’ve had the misfortune of watching “Days of Our Lives” or ever had the delusions that a soap-opera romance was possible, you know what I am talking about. And it got me thinking, that THIS is exactly what’s wrong with the world. We’ve somehow all adopted the soap-opera mind-set. Deep down, we all want the fairytale. Whether or not we’ve yet resigned to the fact that life is seldom like that, deep down we are all dreamers to some degree.
How many housewives sit home everyday watching programs such as this while their husbands are at work, wishing to themselves that their marriage had the passion or drama as their favorite soap couple? How many husbands are needlessly belittled or undervalued because they cannot live up to the hype that their wives are absorbing day after day? Forget about the Young and the Restless, whatever the age of these viewers, deep down they are all wanting for more, believing the lie that romance, passion, danger and adventure are all there is to life. And when they have to undertake the mundane tasks of preparing supper or washing the dishes or getting the kids ready for bed, their hearts are growing colder, their minds are wandering, their situation seems more and more helpless. These are the real Desperate Housewives.
No one ever told them that the honeymoon eventually fades into the lull of everyday life, that marriage has it’s share of suffering, that the 24-7 soap-opera romance is impossible once the realities of life set in. That’s why people take vows for richer or poorer, sickness and health, good times and bad. Because it won’t always be exciting or fun, it may sometimes be unbearable. Yet the plots of these daytime dramas don’t show that part. When the marriage gets tiresome, when the passion fades, it doesn’t mean it’s time to tackle the problems that have weighed it down, it means you’ve settled down with the wrong person. It means your spouse is not the one! And if you are with the wrong one, then the right one must be out there somewhere, and it’s your duty in life to make sure that you find that one. The vicious cycle goes round and round and I’ll bet my bottom dollar that few of the women who undertake this attitude in real life ever find true happiness. They will always want more. They will always think they’re missing something. They’ll continue to buy into the lie like a sick addiction.
So is there really one person out there for each of us? In a world as big as this, it’s hard to imagine that it’s possible, and it does seem like an awful lot of work, doesn’t it? I do believe that God has a plan for each of us and so I do think it’s possible that there is someone special out there suited for each of us, but I guess there is no real way for us to ever find out, is there? We can either make the most of what we have, or we will be fated to the circular path of Sammy Brady, trying, scheming, manipulating and lowering herself whenever necessary to get the “man of her dreams” which, I assure you, varies from month to month.
Life with M has its share of problems from time to time. Surely, there are days when it feels like a fairytale but there are still days that bring their problems and challenges, but that’s just life and part of the process is learning to get through the hard times and making the most of the good times. Thinking that we can be happy 100% of the time or that any impasse means it’s the end of a good thing can only bring pain and regret. And I’m not a big fan of either.
Surely, we all eventually must realize that there’s more to life than candlelit dinners, spontaneous getaways and long walks on the beach. Though those don’t hurt either… "Like sands through the hourglass..."
Friday, April 14, 2006
The Greatest Lesson
Every now and then, I wonder: Where is my walk leading me? Where am I going and am I staying the course God intends for my life? There are times when it feels that I’ve drifted so far off track that there is no going back. There are times when I feel like I’m just standing still, too stubborn to care. And there are times when I feel like I’m walking so strong in my faith that the fiercest storm couldn’t move me an inch. But what troubles me most is the lack of consistency. And this is where I struggle.
Today is Good Friday, the Christian holiday that remembers the day Christ was crucified. We label it good because in fulfilling His destiny, Christ saved us. Earlier this week, we celebrated in rememberance of the Last Supper, when Jesus broke bread knowing that it would be the last time He’d be with His closest companions before facing crucifixion. Did Jesus wonder these same things that have occupied my mind today?
I think that we often overlook one of the greatest lessons of Christ’s journey to the cross. Though we spend Easter focusing on how Christ conquered even death to free us from sin, there is another story that I try and focus on. And it’s the one that is easiest for me to relate to most times, as I’ve certainly never had to bear any burden as great as His! It’s the fact that Jesus wept.
When Jesus prayed in the garden and asked God to let the cup pass from His lips, He too was shaken and confused. I’m sure He was thinking of how much He’d miss his family and friends. I’m sure He was somewhat afraid. Nevertheless, in spite of that moment of extreme honesty, when He poured out His heart before God, He immediately acknowledged that He would do His Father’s will no matter what. There are few of us that face difficult commands – though they pale in comparison to this - with such grace and less still who vow to do God’s will no matter what it means.
I wish I had the wisdom that I often lack. And I guess that’s all part of the journey for a Christian. Trying to walk as He did, trying to be strong and good as He was. But the sad reality is that we will all fail. We will all fall short.
But the good news is that it doesn’t matter, because Christ’s blood, which was shed on the cross, washes away the stain of sin on each of us, no matter how deep and dark that stain can be.
On Sunday, we will shout “He is Risen. He is Risen, indeed,” and I will remember that even our Perfect Savior had moments of doubt and despair. And I will trust that God will guide me through, even the difficult times. He’s certainly gotten me this far!
God's Grace...
Today is Good Friday, the Christian holiday that remembers the day Christ was crucified. We label it good because in fulfilling His destiny, Christ saved us. Earlier this week, we celebrated in rememberance of the Last Supper, when Jesus broke bread knowing that it would be the last time He’d be with His closest companions before facing crucifixion. Did Jesus wonder these same things that have occupied my mind today?
I think that we often overlook one of the greatest lessons of Christ’s journey to the cross. Though we spend Easter focusing on how Christ conquered even death to free us from sin, there is another story that I try and focus on. And it’s the one that is easiest for me to relate to most times, as I’ve certainly never had to bear any burden as great as His! It’s the fact that Jesus wept.
When Jesus prayed in the garden and asked God to let the cup pass from His lips, He too was shaken and confused. I’m sure He was thinking of how much He’d miss his family and friends. I’m sure He was somewhat afraid. Nevertheless, in spite of that moment of extreme honesty, when He poured out His heart before God, He immediately acknowledged that He would do His Father’s will no matter what. There are few of us that face difficult commands – though they pale in comparison to this - with such grace and less still who vow to do God’s will no matter what it means.
I wish I had the wisdom that I often lack. And I guess that’s all part of the journey for a Christian. Trying to walk as He did, trying to be strong and good as He was. But the sad reality is that we will all fail. We will all fall short.
But the good news is that it doesn’t matter, because Christ’s blood, which was shed on the cross, washes away the stain of sin on each of us, no matter how deep and dark that stain can be.
On Sunday, we will shout “He is Risen. He is Risen, indeed,” and I will remember that even our Perfect Savior had moments of doubt and despair. And I will trust that God will guide me through, even the difficult times. He’s certainly gotten me this far!
God's Grace...
Monday, April 10, 2006
Healing for a Broken Heart: More Than Words
“Healing for a broken heart.” That - for what it’s worth - is the most common search that brings newcomers to my blog every month and has been ever since it was first launched. Ironically enough, it was my search for that very thing that prompted me to start this site back when I did. I thought then that if I could put all my rants and ramblings – however incoherent they can be at times - out there in one place for others to respond to, I would be able to sort through the confusion in my heart, I’d be able to unload some of the baggage of my past and leave it behind, regardless of the fact that it would undeniably be preserved somewhere in the blogosphere for others experiencing similar circumstances to stumble on from time to time. And in so many ways, it’s worked.
But the question I find myself asking is whether or not I ever really answered the question I posed for myself – whether or not I ever got it “all figured out.” And I realize now that there are seldom times when we really do have anything all figured out, but I’d like to say, it’s definitely given me some insights.
How many times has it been said that “time heals all wounds?” It’s the ultimate cure-all. Just wait, sit tight, have patience and time will take care of the rest. What about: “This too shall pass?” Is there a grandmother on the planet that hasn’t fallen back on this turn of phrase? But how many times have we heard it said and rolled our eyes before reasoning away as to why it didn’t apply to our specific situation? (“You just don’t understand…” / "It's easier said than done.") Was grandma really just trying to shut us up and force us to move on with our lives rather than cry in our coffee? Or was there actually something at the heart of what she was saying?
After countless failed attempts at happiness, relationships with shelf lives shorter than skim milk – long-distance, short-distance, hardly-any distance scenarios that never seemed to work out, going from fearful to fearless and back again in a matter of months, it certainly seems I’ve run the gambit and shored up for myself a wealth of life lessons before I found a way to make it work with the right person. And if I learned anything it’s that it takes a lot more than time to heal old wounds – though time is certainly a factor. It takes perspective. It takes wanting to be over the past, being ready to give it up and get back up again. It takes a lot of patience and a lot of prayer.
So maybe there really is no prescription out there to be found. Maybe the search terms entered will not yield anymore of a cure-all now than the clichés I referenced earlier. But sometimes, that's just life. And it’s like anything else. Some of us can fall down and get back up again without a whimper, others are more fragile and require some time before they can get back on their feet, and sadly there are some that fall and never walk again. But the key isn’t to just let time pass and rely on that alone to make all wrongs right. It’s to acknowledge that time has passed, realize what has changed and accept the things you can’t control, allow yourself the necessary time to grieve, but find the stregnth to carry on, to try and be prepared to fail again, and keep a positive outlook that - of all things and as corny as it sounds - there will be “a better day,” even if it’s not tomorrow. So even if it seems it only comes full circle to another list of to-do’s, another stockpile of comforting words that do not yet seem to apply, it may not matter at the end of the day, if it gets you through. One day at a time.
I’ve learned to trust God with the things I can’t control and take responsibility for the things I can. It’s been a long battle and I’ve fallen away more times than I can recall, but in the end - no matter what the outcome - I’ve something much stronger to fall back on than mere words, a source of comfort and strength more enduring than the most ancient of adages. And my heart goes out to those who stumble and fall, and find themselves broken, never knowing the enormous healing power of a little faith. I can only hope to share it in these feeble entries. And pray that those who search for healing will also find it.
But the question I find myself asking is whether or not I ever really answered the question I posed for myself – whether or not I ever got it “all figured out.” And I realize now that there are seldom times when we really do have anything all figured out, but I’d like to say, it’s definitely given me some insights.
How many times has it been said that “time heals all wounds?” It’s the ultimate cure-all. Just wait, sit tight, have patience and time will take care of the rest. What about: “This too shall pass?” Is there a grandmother on the planet that hasn’t fallen back on this turn of phrase? But how many times have we heard it said and rolled our eyes before reasoning away as to why it didn’t apply to our specific situation? (“You just don’t understand…” / "It's easier said than done.") Was grandma really just trying to shut us up and force us to move on with our lives rather than cry in our coffee? Or was there actually something at the heart of what she was saying?
After countless failed attempts at happiness, relationships with shelf lives shorter than skim milk – long-distance, short-distance, hardly-any distance scenarios that never seemed to work out, going from fearful to fearless and back again in a matter of months, it certainly seems I’ve run the gambit and shored up for myself a wealth of life lessons before I found a way to make it work with the right person. And if I learned anything it’s that it takes a lot more than time to heal old wounds – though time is certainly a factor. It takes perspective. It takes wanting to be over the past, being ready to give it up and get back up again. It takes a lot of patience and a lot of prayer.
So maybe there really is no prescription out there to be found. Maybe the search terms entered will not yield anymore of a cure-all now than the clichés I referenced earlier. But sometimes, that's just life. And it’s like anything else. Some of us can fall down and get back up again without a whimper, others are more fragile and require some time before they can get back on their feet, and sadly there are some that fall and never walk again. But the key isn’t to just let time pass and rely on that alone to make all wrongs right. It’s to acknowledge that time has passed, realize what has changed and accept the things you can’t control, allow yourself the necessary time to grieve, but find the stregnth to carry on, to try and be prepared to fail again, and keep a positive outlook that - of all things and as corny as it sounds - there will be “a better day,” even if it’s not tomorrow. So even if it seems it only comes full circle to another list of to-do’s, another stockpile of comforting words that do not yet seem to apply, it may not matter at the end of the day, if it gets you through. One day at a time.
I’ve learned to trust God with the things I can’t control and take responsibility for the things I can. It’s been a long battle and I’ve fallen away more times than I can recall, but in the end - no matter what the outcome - I’ve something much stronger to fall back on than mere words, a source of comfort and strength more enduring than the most ancient of adages. And my heart goes out to those who stumble and fall, and find themselves broken, never knowing the enormous healing power of a little faith. I can only hope to share it in these feeble entries. And pray that those who search for healing will also find it.
Friday, March 31, 2006
I'm Not Sorry (Nan's Apologetics)
After receiving a comment posted by an old friend on my last blog, I got to thinking… When I first started this blog, I meant for it to be a collection of my random musings on day to day things – a place to vent and share some of my “wit and wisdom” – and engage in what I love to do more than anything, which is writing. Initially, I’d started two blogs: one as a personal blog (Nan’s Rants) and the other as a Christian blog, which some of you might remember. As the year took some unexpected changes, it became very hard to divide myself up. Why did I want to pretend to be something I wasn’t by excluding who I really am from what I put out there for the world (or whoever happens to end up here) to see? Why was I willing to compromise? Who really cared if my blog exposed me for the believer, the hypocrite, the sentimental fool that I am?
Apparently, there were some people who did.
When I became a Christian – or shall I say, when I left my Catholic roots behind and understood completely what it meant to be saved – I lost a lot of so-called friends. Though they’d always known I loved God – based on whatever understanding I then had of Him – they decided that what I’d become was tantamount to having joined some cult or having been brain-washed. This was also the case when it came to my Italian family, who believed that I could not change my religion anymore than I could change my nationality. It was a little heart wrenching. I was still the same person. I still had my sensibilities and sense of humor in tact – or at least I liked to think so – I wasn’t harassing people on trains or holding signs in the street or doing anything out of character. I was simply sharing my walk with Christ. That was a little too much for a lot of people in my life to understand.
And so they gradually disappeared from the ranks of my friends and the true friends, who all along knew me as a person and understood my heart, stuck by my side. This is not to say that all my friends are Christians or conservatives or even (gasp) Republicans. I have had a lot of libs and dems and even atheists for friends. I have never based my idea of friendship on whether or not they support one party or another or oppose abortion or hate President Bush. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, I reasoned. I refused to be intolerant – not even of the people who became intolerant of me.
I spent a lot of time managing two blogs thinking I had to be two people – thinking I had to please those people who didn’t share my faith. Thinking I couldn’t maintain my sense of humor or self if I included my reliance on God or prayer. I was wrong for doing so. For whatever it’s worth, this is who I am and it’s always been who I am. And I’ve been fortunate to enter into a community of bloggers who I can be real with, regardless of the judgment or criticism that often trickles in.
I’m not going to apologize for who I am and what I believe to anyone anymore. I’ve never asked anyone else to. I’m not going to close my mouth and refuse to speak what I know is true to keep anyone from judging me or challenging my beliefs. If that’s not the tough persistent – albeit sometimes argumentative - Brooklyn girl who swore to never compromise coming out, I don’t know what is.
This has always been me. And I’m not sorry.
Apparently, there were some people who did.
When I became a Christian – or shall I say, when I left my Catholic roots behind and understood completely what it meant to be saved – I lost a lot of so-called friends. Though they’d always known I loved God – based on whatever understanding I then had of Him – they decided that what I’d become was tantamount to having joined some cult or having been brain-washed. This was also the case when it came to my Italian family, who believed that I could not change my religion anymore than I could change my nationality. It was a little heart wrenching. I was still the same person. I still had my sensibilities and sense of humor in tact – or at least I liked to think so – I wasn’t harassing people on trains or holding signs in the street or doing anything out of character. I was simply sharing my walk with Christ. That was a little too much for a lot of people in my life to understand.
And so they gradually disappeared from the ranks of my friends and the true friends, who all along knew me as a person and understood my heart, stuck by my side. This is not to say that all my friends are Christians or conservatives or even (gasp) Republicans. I have had a lot of libs and dems and even atheists for friends. I have never based my idea of friendship on whether or not they support one party or another or oppose abortion or hate President Bush. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, I reasoned. I refused to be intolerant – not even of the people who became intolerant of me.
I spent a lot of time managing two blogs thinking I had to be two people – thinking I had to please those people who didn’t share my faith. Thinking I couldn’t maintain my sense of humor or self if I included my reliance on God or prayer. I was wrong for doing so. For whatever it’s worth, this is who I am and it’s always been who I am. And I’ve been fortunate to enter into a community of bloggers who I can be real with, regardless of the judgment or criticism that often trickles in.
I’m not going to apologize for who I am and what I believe to anyone anymore. I’ve never asked anyone else to. I’m not going to close my mouth and refuse to speak what I know is true to keep anyone from judging me or challenging my beliefs. If that’s not the tough persistent – albeit sometimes argumentative - Brooklyn girl who swore to never compromise coming out, I don’t know what is.
This has always been me. And I’m not sorry.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Our Day in Court: A Voice for V
The judge rubbed his temples and looked down at his desk intently, as though the resolution to the problem would somehow appear before him if he fixed his eyes long enough. "I just don't know that there is a solution," he said, finally, "it's obvious that there is no way to make peace between the two of you." M's ex just stared at the yellow legal pad placed before her attorney. I felt my eyes growing colder towards her and forced myself to break my stare. I felt like one of those people in the movies, who jump up in the courtroom and insist on being heard before breaking out into a monologue. It all seemed so stupid. I understood what the judge was feeling.
At the beginning of the hearing, M's ex's attorney claimed that M had brought this action without good faith, insisting that she and her client had done everything possible to avoid refusing his visitation a few weeks ago. She talked such a web of words that I - who knew the truth - almost believed her. It's not so much that lawyers lie, I realized, it's that they know just how to twist the truth to favor their clients. It seemed that she would be successful. And then M - who I've never seen represent himself before, though he's done so throughout this long drawn-out battle over his daughter - opened his mouth to speak. And everything he said, destroyed the web the ex's attorney had crafted. The judge found her guilty.
"Do you want me to put her in jail?" the judge asked M rather seriously. I held my breath. "Is that an option?" M said jokingly, before he said "no." "That's usually what we do in these instances," the judge said again displaying no amusement. I thought of how eager his ex was to have him thrown in jail when he called her to beg to see his child. Thought of what a lesson she would learn having to go through what she'd put him through. Thought of how hypocritical the whole system is that a woman gets to walk free when if M had done what she'd done, the cuffs would have been on him in an instant without so much as a question thrown in his ex's direction.
The counselor rose to speak. "I'd like to be heard," she said before she was. She told the judge that she believed the ex was trying to keep the child from seeing M. Explained that she had let her know that "if she was looking for a counselor to manipulate, it would not be her," which ultimately led to her being fired from the case. The reason told to V was that the counselor "said bad words to her mom." "If any bad words were said," the counselor continued, "those were them." She told the judge that V loved M and was very happy spending time with the two of us and that the concerns the ex presented to her were unfounded. The judge seemed amazed. "A counselor just came in here and told me that one parent is trying her hardest to refuse visitation to the other," he said in the ex's direction, "it's not common for a counselor to come in here and say those things." It was then, I think, that he realized the complexity of the problem.
He reminded both M and his ex that they would have to deal with each other for 13 more years, given V's age. It hurt my head to be reminded. "That's a long time and a lot of money that will be wasted arguing in court," the judge said, "money that would be better off in a savings account for college." M's ex didn't raise her eyes. She just continued staring at the yellow legal pad that she'd been scribbling on so furiously during the arguments made by M and her attorney. Her eyes were glazed over but I saw not a hint of remorse.
How do you make peace with someone you are not permitted to speak to? I wondered, referring to the protective order that is in place until this summer. And then the judge did something unexpected, he decided to give V a voice of her own. He assigned a guardian ad litem to the case - an attorney to represent V and her best interests. "It's sad that it's come down to this," the judge said, "but it's the only thing I can think of unless you two can learn to get along." There was a long pause before he dismissed us. Perhaps he too was waiting for the moment that would have happened in the movies where the ex jumps up and waxes poetic in her apology and swears to be a better mother and stop the fighting. In reality, that moment never happens. It just ends with a small group of people filing out of a small courtroom quietly and passing each other in the halls without a word.
The counselor came over to M and me and gave us a gift for V. She told us that she thought the counselor ad litem would help M greatly and assured us that any other practitioner would be able to see the same things she saw. She wished us luck before she left. I felt sad knowing we'd probably never see her again.
"You realize you could have had her put in jail?" I said to M, half-joking, trying to lift the mood. "I know," he said half-smirking, "but if she denies visitation again in the next year, the judge won't ask me my opinion." I felt myself growing more cynical.
So it all amounted to a year of cooperation (hopefully) and a voice for V. I guess there was some victory in that. Peace would have been a bigger aspiration. The movie ending would have been a better outcome. Perhaps 3 years of law school will cure me of these false hopes. Perhaps, a Juris Doctor will cure me of being so naive.
Until then, there is still hope.
At the beginning of the hearing, M's ex's attorney claimed that M had brought this action without good faith, insisting that she and her client had done everything possible to avoid refusing his visitation a few weeks ago. She talked such a web of words that I - who knew the truth - almost believed her. It's not so much that lawyers lie, I realized, it's that they know just how to twist the truth to favor their clients. It seemed that she would be successful. And then M - who I've never seen represent himself before, though he's done so throughout this long drawn-out battle over his daughter - opened his mouth to speak. And everything he said, destroyed the web the ex's attorney had crafted. The judge found her guilty.
"Do you want me to put her in jail?" the judge asked M rather seriously. I held my breath. "Is that an option?" M said jokingly, before he said "no." "That's usually what we do in these instances," the judge said again displaying no amusement. I thought of how eager his ex was to have him thrown in jail when he called her to beg to see his child. Thought of what a lesson she would learn having to go through what she'd put him through. Thought of how hypocritical the whole system is that a woman gets to walk free when if M had done what she'd done, the cuffs would have been on him in an instant without so much as a question thrown in his ex's direction.
The counselor rose to speak. "I'd like to be heard," she said before she was. She told the judge that she believed the ex was trying to keep the child from seeing M. Explained that she had let her know that "if she was looking for a counselor to manipulate, it would not be her," which ultimately led to her being fired from the case. The reason told to V was that the counselor "said bad words to her mom." "If any bad words were said," the counselor continued, "those were them." She told the judge that V loved M and was very happy spending time with the two of us and that the concerns the ex presented to her were unfounded. The judge seemed amazed. "A counselor just came in here and told me that one parent is trying her hardest to refuse visitation to the other," he said in the ex's direction, "it's not common for a counselor to come in here and say those things." It was then, I think, that he realized the complexity of the problem.
He reminded both M and his ex that they would have to deal with each other for 13 more years, given V's age. It hurt my head to be reminded. "That's a long time and a lot of money that will be wasted arguing in court," the judge said, "money that would be better off in a savings account for college." M's ex didn't raise her eyes. She just continued staring at the yellow legal pad that she'd been scribbling on so furiously during the arguments made by M and her attorney. Her eyes were glazed over but I saw not a hint of remorse.
How do you make peace with someone you are not permitted to speak to? I wondered, referring to the protective order that is in place until this summer. And then the judge did something unexpected, he decided to give V a voice of her own. He assigned a guardian ad litem to the case - an attorney to represent V and her best interests. "It's sad that it's come down to this," the judge said, "but it's the only thing I can think of unless you two can learn to get along." There was a long pause before he dismissed us. Perhaps he too was waiting for the moment that would have happened in the movies where the ex jumps up and waxes poetic in her apology and swears to be a better mother and stop the fighting. In reality, that moment never happens. It just ends with a small group of people filing out of a small courtroom quietly and passing each other in the halls without a word.
The counselor came over to M and me and gave us a gift for V. She told us that she thought the counselor ad litem would help M greatly and assured us that any other practitioner would be able to see the same things she saw. She wished us luck before she left. I felt sad knowing we'd probably never see her again.
"You realize you could have had her put in jail?" I said to M, half-joking, trying to lift the mood. "I know," he said half-smirking, "but if she denies visitation again in the next year, the judge won't ask me my opinion." I felt myself growing more cynical.
So it all amounted to a year of cooperation (hopefully) and a voice for V. I guess there was some victory in that. Peace would have been a bigger aspiration. The movie ending would have been a better outcome. Perhaps 3 years of law school will cure me of these false hopes. Perhaps, a Juris Doctor will cure me of being so naive.
Until then, there is still hope.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
So a Laywer Walks into a Bar....
Last night I watched a movie – a very very lame movie – entitled “A Murder of Crows,” which is pretty much about a lawyer with no morals (redundant?) who passes off a book about killing lawyers as his own and gets framed for the crimes when the book turns out to be true. The movie – a very very lame movie – had a few funny things to say about lawyers.
In any case, I’ve been a little distracted lately with work (strange, I know) and I’ve been in need of some amusement. So, I’ve undertaken finding as many good lawyer jokes as I can. We can all use a good laugh – and why not some self-deprecation? As I certainly will need to be used to hearing a few years from now. So, feel free to add on to what I’ve found here… and laugh, if you like. We can all use a little more love and a little more laughter. I’m spent right now and copying and pasting is all I can manage. Enjoy!
How do you help a lawyer from drowning?
Take your foot off his head!
………………………………………………
What do you call 5000 dead lawyers at the bottom of the ocean?
A good start!
………………………………………………
What do you have when a lawyer is buried up to his neck in sand?
Not enough sand.
………………………………………………….
What is a criminal lawyer?
Redundant.
…………………………………………………
A Doctor and a Lawyer Were Attending a Cocktail Party
A doctor and a lawyer were attending a cocktail party when the doctor was approached by a man who asked advice on how to handle his ulcer.
The doctor mumbled some medical advice, then turned to the lawyer and asked, "How do you handle the situation when you are asked for advice during a social function?"
"Just send a bill for such advice" replied the lawyer.
On the next morning the doctor arrived at his surgery and issued the ulcer-stricken man a $50 bill. That afternoon he received a $100 bill from the lawyer.
……………………………………………………
You’ll Never Have to Go to Jail
A man who had been caught embezzling millions from his employer went to a lawyer seeking defense. He didn’t want to go to jail. But his lawyer told him, "Don’t worry. You’ll never have to go to jail with all that money.
And the lawyer was right. When the man was sent to prison, he didn’t have a dime.
……………………………………………………
What do lawyers do after they die?
They lie still.
……………………………………………………
Why do you bury a lawyer 600 feet underground after he dies?
Because deep down, he’s a really good guy!
……………………………………………………
What's the problem with lawyer jokes?
Lawyer's don't think they're funny, and no one else thinks they're jokes.
.....................
Glad I can still appreciate them!
In any case, I’ve been a little distracted lately with work (strange, I know) and I’ve been in need of some amusement. So, I’ve undertaken finding as many good lawyer jokes as I can. We can all use a good laugh – and why not some self-deprecation? As I certainly will need to be used to hearing a few years from now. So, feel free to add on to what I’ve found here… and laugh, if you like. We can all use a little more love and a little more laughter. I’m spent right now and copying and pasting is all I can manage. Enjoy!
How do you help a lawyer from drowning?
Take your foot off his head!
………………………………………………
What do you call 5000 dead lawyers at the bottom of the ocean?
A good start!
………………………………………………
What do you have when a lawyer is buried up to his neck in sand?
Not enough sand.
………………………………………………….
What is a criminal lawyer?
Redundant.
…………………………………………………
A Doctor and a Lawyer Were Attending a Cocktail Party
A doctor and a lawyer were attending a cocktail party when the doctor was approached by a man who asked advice on how to handle his ulcer.
The doctor mumbled some medical advice, then turned to the lawyer and asked, "How do you handle the situation when you are asked for advice during a social function?"
"Just send a bill for such advice" replied the lawyer.
On the next morning the doctor arrived at his surgery and issued the ulcer-stricken man a $50 bill. That afternoon he received a $100 bill from the lawyer.
……………………………………………………
You’ll Never Have to Go to Jail
A man who had been caught embezzling millions from his employer went to a lawyer seeking defense. He didn’t want to go to jail. But his lawyer told him, "Don’t worry. You’ll never have to go to jail with all that money.
And the lawyer was right. When the man was sent to prison, he didn’t have a dime.
……………………………………………………
What do lawyers do after they die?
They lie still.
……………………………………………………
Why do you bury a lawyer 600 feet underground after he dies?
Because deep down, he’s a really good guy!
……………………………………………………
What's the problem with lawyer jokes?
Lawyer's don't think they're funny, and no one else thinks they're jokes.
.....................
Glad I can still appreciate them!
Monday, March 06, 2006
God at Work (My Exciting News!)
After being sick all week and being sent home from work Friday morning, I was feeling down. As I pulled the blanket up to my neck and laid down my heavy head, I focused on the coming days and thought of how wonderful it would be to spend time with M and his daughter, who he was scheduled to have for the weekend. My mind went back to the conversation we’d had the night before.
I’d asked him if he thought it was God’s will for us to be together and whether or not it could be considering he and his ex divorced. I told him that I loved him enough to want what’s best for him and that if there was any way he could make his family work again, I’d step aside and be happy for him and V. (Scary, but I really meant it.) M assured me that he’d tried everything he could and that I was his family now. I got online and started blogging about it, hoping to get some feedback on Christian remarriage. I hit the publish button and refreshed the page when the phone rang. It was M.
His voice was raw and I could tell he was distressed before he even finished the sentence. The sound confirmed for me what I’d feared all day. He wasn’t getting V. His ex decided to go against the court order and had called everyone in his family to let them know that M wasn’t getting his daughter. M had only one option – to go there with the sheriff and have her given to him – something he did not want his daughter to have to go through. He seemed resigned to the idea that there was nothing he could do to fix the situation. Considering everything he’d been through this past year – and all the underhanded things his ex did to keep his child from him, I felt really proud of him. I went back and deleted my entry.
The weekend wasn’t long enough, but it was quiet. We both moped around all day, talking about what V would be doing if she was there. This morning, I came into work with a headache, feeling a little defeated and down. M and I talked a little more about setting a date for the wedding and I went into work feeling calm but wishing I was someplace else. When I got to my desk there was a red light on the phone – a message that had been left on Friday morning, after I was sent home. It was the Dean of Admissions from the law school. I’d been accepted!
Had I been in on Friday, I would have known then. While I was home sick, God was at work.
In an instant, my day was transformed. From the depths of my doubt, I was completely thrown. I was overjoyed. Just when it seemed that God had forgotten and the future was uncertain, He was more than faithful. (I am so blessed.)
This should make planning our wedding a little harder, but at least now we’ll have a schedule to work with, at least some aspect of our crazy lives will be settled. And I cannot wait. I cannot wait to start law school. I cannot wait to marry M. And I cannot wait until all these custody issues are ironed out and V is no longer torn between the people she loves. We’ll be going to court in the coming weeks to try and settle this. I know it will be a long battle, but today reminded me where we need to put our hope. I know that in the spaces between that are filled with only worry and fear and doubt - when God seems silent – He has not turned away. He is working.
And I’ve no doubt that His work in this situation has only just begun.
I’d asked him if he thought it was God’s will for us to be together and whether or not it could be considering he and his ex divorced. I told him that I loved him enough to want what’s best for him and that if there was any way he could make his family work again, I’d step aside and be happy for him and V. (Scary, but I really meant it.) M assured me that he’d tried everything he could and that I was his family now. I got online and started blogging about it, hoping to get some feedback on Christian remarriage. I hit the publish button and refreshed the page when the phone rang. It was M.
His voice was raw and I could tell he was distressed before he even finished the sentence. The sound confirmed for me what I’d feared all day. He wasn’t getting V. His ex decided to go against the court order and had called everyone in his family to let them know that M wasn’t getting his daughter. M had only one option – to go there with the sheriff and have her given to him – something he did not want his daughter to have to go through. He seemed resigned to the idea that there was nothing he could do to fix the situation. Considering everything he’d been through this past year – and all the underhanded things his ex did to keep his child from him, I felt really proud of him. I went back and deleted my entry.
The weekend wasn’t long enough, but it was quiet. We both moped around all day, talking about what V would be doing if she was there. This morning, I came into work with a headache, feeling a little defeated and down. M and I talked a little more about setting a date for the wedding and I went into work feeling calm but wishing I was someplace else. When I got to my desk there was a red light on the phone – a message that had been left on Friday morning, after I was sent home. It was the Dean of Admissions from the law school. I’d been accepted!
Had I been in on Friday, I would have known then. While I was home sick, God was at work.
In an instant, my day was transformed. From the depths of my doubt, I was completely thrown. I was overjoyed. Just when it seemed that God had forgotten and the future was uncertain, He was more than faithful. (I am so blessed.)
This should make planning our wedding a little harder, but at least now we’ll have a schedule to work with, at least some aspect of our crazy lives will be settled. And I cannot wait. I cannot wait to start law school. I cannot wait to marry M. And I cannot wait until all these custody issues are ironed out and V is no longer torn between the people she loves. We’ll be going to court in the coming weeks to try and settle this. I know it will be a long battle, but today reminded me where we need to put our hope. I know that in the spaces between that are filled with only worry and fear and doubt - when God seems silent – He has not turned away. He is working.
And I’ve no doubt that His work in this situation has only just begun.
Saturday, February 25, 2006
And On and On the Battles Goes...
"All's fair in love and war," but what about when a child is involved? Where do you draw the line?
After what was a wonderful weekend last week with M's daughter V, we had a week filled with phone calls from her telling us both how much she missed us and couldn't wait to be with us again next weekend. Then M got a call last night.
It was from the counselor.
For those of you who have followed this blog for a while, you might remember the extreme's M's ex went to, to try to keep him from seeing V. We had prayed and prayed and finally the judge allowed M to see his daughter with a counselor supervising. The counselor spent time with the 3 of us for 5 weekends and observed nothing but what she called "positive things." So she went to court last month and told the judge -- which was what led to unsupervised visitation and allowed us to have V last weekend at his parents -- and the judge was pleased. M's ex was not. She and her lawyer (M can't afford one and the court forced him to pay for her's) came into court with all kinds of lies about V being very distraught about my and M's relationship, about it being inappropriate for me to be around V, about M needing to be supervised, etc. The judge didn't buy any of it. It seemed that M had won.
Last weekend it seemed that the nightmare had finally ended and order was restored. V no longer had to sneak messages to M to tell me she missed me, she could get on the phone and say it herself. She was clearly happy - his ex had to see that. It seemed that the battle was over.
Until M got a call from the counselor letting him know that his ex had filed a complaint with her employers, accusing her of not doing her job correctly, of V not being able to communicate with her -- because V is "terribly distraught" about everything. (Which the counselor conceeded to us that she knows is a lie.) The court ruled last time that we need to check in with the counselor at the end of every visit V has with us (every other weekend) but now what will happen seems unsure. Fortunately, she has decided to stay on the case - in spite of the letter - until the next court date, to try to protect M from losing his visitation should his ex find a counselor sympathetic to her position. (She admitt that before she met M - from what his ex said - she expected him to be a rat and was surprised that he "had no tail" when she met him.)
And so the battle rages on, and what is at stake is more than "ownership" of an entity once shared in marriage, it's a little girl, who has more love than anyone I've ever met for everyone involved. How long will this continue and how many more times will this child be hurt before peace can be made?
I can only pray it will be soon.
After what was a wonderful weekend last week with M's daughter V, we had a week filled with phone calls from her telling us both how much she missed us and couldn't wait to be with us again next weekend. Then M got a call last night.
It was from the counselor.
For those of you who have followed this blog for a while, you might remember the extreme's M's ex went to, to try to keep him from seeing V. We had prayed and prayed and finally the judge allowed M to see his daughter with a counselor supervising. The counselor spent time with the 3 of us for 5 weekends and observed nothing but what she called "positive things." So she went to court last month and told the judge -- which was what led to unsupervised visitation and allowed us to have V last weekend at his parents -- and the judge was pleased. M's ex was not. She and her lawyer (M can't afford one and the court forced him to pay for her's) came into court with all kinds of lies about V being very distraught about my and M's relationship, about it being inappropriate for me to be around V, about M needing to be supervised, etc. The judge didn't buy any of it. It seemed that M had won.
Last weekend it seemed that the nightmare had finally ended and order was restored. V no longer had to sneak messages to M to tell me she missed me, she could get on the phone and say it herself. She was clearly happy - his ex had to see that. It seemed that the battle was over.
Until M got a call from the counselor letting him know that his ex had filed a complaint with her employers, accusing her of not doing her job correctly, of V not being able to communicate with her -- because V is "terribly distraught" about everything. (Which the counselor conceeded to us that she knows is a lie.) The court ruled last time that we need to check in with the counselor at the end of every visit V has with us (every other weekend) but now what will happen seems unsure. Fortunately, she has decided to stay on the case - in spite of the letter - until the next court date, to try to protect M from losing his visitation should his ex find a counselor sympathetic to her position. (She admitt that before she met M - from what his ex said - she expected him to be a rat and was surprised that he "had no tail" when she met him.)
And so the battle rages on, and what is at stake is more than "ownership" of an entity once shared in marriage, it's a little girl, who has more love than anyone I've ever met for everyone involved. How long will this continue and how many more times will this child be hurt before peace can be made?
I can only pray it will be soon.
Monday, February 20, 2006
Playing Mom
On Friday, as I anxiously awaited the end of the day when M and I would go to his parents' house to have his 5 year old daughter V for the weekend, something someone said struck me. That day, a conservative talk show host referred to Hillary Clinton's infamous "I could have stayed home and baked cookies" speech and explained that raising kids was much harder than working 9 to 5. Being that I have no children of my own, I doubted the validity of that statement. Little did I know the coming weekend would make me rethink that rush to judgement.
Though I'd spent a number of Saturday afternoons with M's daughter, I was still nervous as to how the weekend would go. I never could have anticipated that I would spend 2 days and 2 nights with a 5 year old on my lap, glued to my hip, and in my arms.
Nor could I have anticipated that V and her dad would be playing tug of war with me the whole weekend. Arguing over what percent each got of me while we watched TV together, over who got to sit in the middle and over who I belonged to. (I never felt so loved.) Every night, we stayed up much later than V's bedtime playing games, watching movies, having tickle fights and jumping on the bed -- so late it made me wonder which of the three of us was the 5 year old.
Each night, V cuddled up in bed with me until she got tired enough for M to put her in her own bed, and each morning at approximately 7AM (!!!), V came and crawled right back into my bed ready to wake me up. She and M had a good time playing with my camera phone before she did so, however.
We went on the Metro, to the mall and to the toy store, spent time at an arcade, painted pictures, danced around the house and did each other's make up. I got so used to being with her that it almost didn't phase me when someone said to us at the mall "Wow, she's almost as tall as her mom." (Almost!)
The weekend was more than I ever could have hoped for. On so many levels and in so many ways, it really felt like the three of us were a family. When V announced that she loved me (which she said on a number of occasions and to various family members) as she snuggled up next to me on our last day together, I just felt so content and I knew that this time it would be much harder for us to say goodbye. (In fact, V was positive that she was taking me home with her -- something I'm sure her mother would have loved!)
Needless to say that Sunday night, I slept like a baby - though even in my dreams, I was sad that V wasn't with us. I don't think I was ever so exhausted or so grateful (in my whole life) to have a Monday off of work than I was today. When M called this morning, after I woke up after 10AM (drained beyond belief), he said, "So, do you still want to have children?" I said, "Yes, I'll just sleep all day while they are at school." "What will you do for the first 5 years?" he asked.
My reply?
"Cry."
Though I'd spent a number of Saturday afternoons with M's daughter, I was still nervous as to how the weekend would go. I never could have anticipated that I would spend 2 days and 2 nights with a 5 year old on my lap, glued to my hip, and in my arms.
Nor could I have anticipated that V and her dad would be playing tug of war with me the whole weekend. Arguing over what percent each got of me while we watched TV together, over who got to sit in the middle and over who I belonged to. (I never felt so loved.) Every night, we stayed up much later than V's bedtime playing games, watching movies, having tickle fights and jumping on the bed -- so late it made me wonder which of the three of us was the 5 year old.
Each night, V cuddled up in bed with me until she got tired enough for M to put her in her own bed, and each morning at approximately 7AM (!!!), V came and crawled right back into my bed ready to wake me up. She and M had a good time playing with my camera phone before she did so, however.
We went on the Metro, to the mall and to the toy store, spent time at an arcade, painted pictures, danced around the house and did each other's make up. I got so used to being with her that it almost didn't phase me when someone said to us at the mall "Wow, she's almost as tall as her mom." (Almost!)
The weekend was more than I ever could have hoped for. On so many levels and in so many ways, it really felt like the three of us were a family. When V announced that she loved me (which she said on a number of occasions and to various family members) as she snuggled up next to me on our last day together, I just felt so content and I knew that this time it would be much harder for us to say goodbye. (In fact, V was positive that she was taking me home with her -- something I'm sure her mother would have loved!)
Needless to say that Sunday night, I slept like a baby - though even in my dreams, I was sad that V wasn't with us. I don't think I was ever so exhausted or so grateful (in my whole life) to have a Monday off of work than I was today. When M called this morning, after I woke up after 10AM (drained beyond belief), he said, "So, do you still want to have children?" I said, "Yes, I'll just sleep all day while they are at school." "What will you do for the first 5 years?" he asked.
My reply?
"Cry."
Monday, February 13, 2006
Valentine's Day...
Valentine’s Day: the day when every happy (or otherwise) couple has full freedom to flaunt their affections (or make up for their lack thereof) for their better (or not much better) halves. It’s also a day when greeting card companies, chocolate manufacturers and producers of various singing stuffed animals make up for lackluster year-end sales by distributing (ad naseum) products that could make any grown woman cringe. It’s an excuse for a romantic getaway, a night on the town, even an "unpredictible" proposal. It’s an opportunity to show the person you love how much you love them. (The measure of which - mind you - will be measured in pounds of chocolate and stems of dying roses.) And a day for all those who are not in relationships – and desire to be - to curse the fact that Cupid ever sprouted wings.
Sounds cynical? That’s what life – and a number of love-less Valentines - does to you after a while, I guess. It’s also what has sparked the SciFi Channel to launch its “Valentine’s Day Sucks” Marathon. (And we wonder why Star Trek fans have such a reputation for being dateless little nerds? Way to expel that myth guys!)
Sadly, Valentine’s Day, for too many couples becomes a day to say and do the things we should be doing every day, year round. Fortunately, though, it is a great excuse to eat and buy CHOCOLATE - guilt-free. (I may be somewhat cynical, but I'm still a girl!) Maybe it’s not all that bad afterall…
This year, I have a lot more than chocolate to be grateful for. And it's not only on Valentine's Day that I remember that. It's nice to have a reminder though.
To all those out there who are miserable this Valentine's Day, have faith. Cupid's arrow may not have struck yet, but God is always in control. Trust me, I know. This comes from someone who's been boycotting Valentine's Day much longer than celebrating. And if worse comes to worse, there's always chocolate... and we can always use an excuse for more of that!
Sounds cynical? That’s what life – and a number of love-less Valentines - does to you after a while, I guess. It’s also what has sparked the SciFi Channel to launch its “Valentine’s Day Sucks” Marathon. (And we wonder why Star Trek fans have such a reputation for being dateless little nerds? Way to expel that myth guys!)
Sadly, Valentine’s Day, for too many couples becomes a day to say and do the things we should be doing every day, year round. Fortunately, though, it is a great excuse to eat and buy CHOCOLATE - guilt-free. (I may be somewhat cynical, but I'm still a girl!) Maybe it’s not all that bad afterall…
This year, I have a lot more than chocolate to be grateful for. And it's not only on Valentine's Day that I remember that. It's nice to have a reminder though.
To all those out there who are miserable this Valentine's Day, have faith. Cupid's arrow may not have struck yet, but God is always in control. Trust me, I know. This comes from someone who's been boycotting Valentine's Day much longer than celebrating. And if worse comes to worse, there's always chocolate... and we can always use an excuse for more of that!
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
When I grow up...
"When I grow up, I want to be..." Do you remember what it was? A doctor? An astronaut? A veterinarian? Truth be told, my list included an olympic gold medalist, a neuroscientist (not kidding), a lawyer or... a marine biologist -- who writes books (of course). And what was stopping us from becoming any of those things? As far as we were concerned, we could do anything, be anyone we wanted, right? Until we got our first credit card (mine was at 14) and realized we'd need something to help pay the bills, put food on the table... something a little more practical.
Growing up with the "mouth I had on me" as my father called it (referring to the fact that I never shut up), I was always told I'd be a politician. I didn't quite know what that was, but from the way my dad said it I knew that it was something bad. Given my tendency to always try to make him see the other side in every argument (for which I was always called "contrary") he eventually declared that "this kid" was gonna be a lawyer. I don't know how much that influenced the path I chose, given he was not in my life much when I was making these decisions, but it was not before long that I was mailing out my law school applications, ready to take on the world. Until I came to Washington D.C. in the Summer of 2001. Much in the way Jimmy Stewart's character in "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" did, I fell in love with this place and knew it was where I belonged.
For 2 years, I've been working in government/public policy here in our nation's Capitol. I have the privelege to say that I work for the most influential Conservative thinktank in the country. As my workload increases and my tasks become more demanding, I only feel more empowered and proud to work here. Though this is a non-profit organization (which believe me, means there is no profit to be made), it has been the most fulfilling job experience I've ever had. Yet still, I can't brush aside my childish dreams and give up on going to law school entirely. Eventually, I'm sure I will, whether this year or next. But what about all those other dreams?
While I'm sure that in the physical state I'm in now I won't be winning (or competing for) any Olympic gold medals anytime soon, and that I won't be using my political science degree to operate on anyone's brains (I hope!), I still have always kept that desire of being a writer. Yes, my job has given me the opportunity to do a good deal of writing on environmental, energy and regulatory policy, but there is still that creative side of me that I've struggled to maintain while working in the policy world. Today, those childhood dreams came true for me.
This morning I got a call from an old professor of mine writing to let me know that he selected a play I wrote in college to be in his upcoming book - a sequel to "From the Heart of Brooklyn" (my hometown). I recall the play "The Interlude" vaguely, if only because I still can recall how my heart pounded when he stopped me after class and asked me to stay and perform it with him for his advanced class. I was so excited. In my thick Brooklyn accent, I shouted out the lines from where I sat. "Angelo what are you tawking about?" My professor put down his page more than a few times to wipe his eyebrow and laugh. He told the class that I was a promising playwright and I remember it striking me so funny because in all the writing that I'd published at that time (mostly poems and short stories -- and none in novels of any kind), none of them were plays. It's funny... how sometimes you forget your dreams, but they don't forget you.
I'm glad I had a big imagination as a kid. I'm glad to know that just because I chose one path doesn't mean it's the only path. There's still so much possibility. That goes for you too, you know...
Growing up with the "mouth I had on me" as my father called it (referring to the fact that I never shut up), I was always told I'd be a politician. I didn't quite know what that was, but from the way my dad said it I knew that it was something bad. Given my tendency to always try to make him see the other side in every argument (for which I was always called "contrary") he eventually declared that "this kid" was gonna be a lawyer. I don't know how much that influenced the path I chose, given he was not in my life much when I was making these decisions, but it was not before long that I was mailing out my law school applications, ready to take on the world. Until I came to Washington D.C. in the Summer of 2001. Much in the way Jimmy Stewart's character in "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" did, I fell in love with this place and knew it was where I belonged.
For 2 years, I've been working in government/public policy here in our nation's Capitol. I have the privelege to say that I work for the most influential Conservative thinktank in the country. As my workload increases and my tasks become more demanding, I only feel more empowered and proud to work here. Though this is a non-profit organization (which believe me, means there is no profit to be made), it has been the most fulfilling job experience I've ever had. Yet still, I can't brush aside my childish dreams and give up on going to law school entirely. Eventually, I'm sure I will, whether this year or next. But what about all those other dreams?
While I'm sure that in the physical state I'm in now I won't be winning (or competing for) any Olympic gold medals anytime soon, and that I won't be using my political science degree to operate on anyone's brains (I hope!), I still have always kept that desire of being a writer. Yes, my job has given me the opportunity to do a good deal of writing on environmental, energy and regulatory policy, but there is still that creative side of me that I've struggled to maintain while working in the policy world. Today, those childhood dreams came true for me.
This morning I got a call from an old professor of mine writing to let me know that he selected a play I wrote in college to be in his upcoming book - a sequel to "From the Heart of Brooklyn" (my hometown). I recall the play "The Interlude" vaguely, if only because I still can recall how my heart pounded when he stopped me after class and asked me to stay and perform it with him for his advanced class. I was so excited. In my thick Brooklyn accent, I shouted out the lines from where I sat. "Angelo what are you tawking about?" My professor put down his page more than a few times to wipe his eyebrow and laugh. He told the class that I was a promising playwright and I remember it striking me so funny because in all the writing that I'd published at that time (mostly poems and short stories -- and none in novels of any kind), none of them were plays. It's funny... how sometimes you forget your dreams, but they don't forget you.
I'm glad I had a big imagination as a kid. I'm glad to know that just because I chose one path doesn't mean it's the only path. There's still so much possibility. That goes for you too, you know...
Friday, January 27, 2006
Decisions, Decisions.
Making a decision and sticking with it – something so many of us find exceedingly difficult, but why? Why do we struggle with the simple yes’s and no’s and then agonize about whether or not we got it wrong after there is nothing we can do to reverse it?
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Fear. Doubt. Second Thoughts.
And suddenly it hits you.
But this is not about M.
This is about my other passion – or what has for so long been my passion – my desire to go to law school, and the reasons why I’ve put it off for so long -- and the nagging desire I feel to finally take it on and to redeem myself for all this waiting -- and the contrary advice of others who are able to pinpoint the doubts in me I still can’t bring myself to admit.
What do I really want? I thought I knew.
I moved from my native
There are just so many choices, still so many competing priorities. If I don’t do it now, will I ever do it? Is that reason enough to take that leap? I thought I knew, but now – in the words of someone I’ve quoted many times before – I’m not sure that I know what I think I know.
Friday, January 13, 2006
Besting Barbie?
After a hectic holiday filled with much of the usual fare and the official announcement of my recent engagement to my family, I’m still recovering… The fact that I’m engaged has slowly but surely sunken in and now I’m just trying to enjoy it while it lasts. Still, the nagging questions of when and where and how are all flying at me relentlessly. For example, I was asked by at least 3 people on the day after M popped the question whether or not we’d set a date yet. YET?!?! Do people usually set a date in under 36 hours?? Nevertheless – and in spite of whatever today’s current trends are - I’m taking this in stride and cautiously so.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Match Point: Zero Love
As one critic's review after another waxed poetic about the deeper meaning and depth behind Woody Allen's latest film "Match Point," I couldn't help being a little intrigued. Praised as being the director's best film in years and one that would fully demonstrate his nihilistic worldview, Match Point promised to offer up a look at life as nothing more than a series of events occuring purely by chance -- or better yet, luck. Critics were all too eager to jump on the bandwagon, praising the film for doing exactly that. Whether or not the film actually delivers - on any level - is another question.
Match Point is more than a story of supposed blind luck, it is a story of moral bankruptcy replete with underhanded and vainly concealed attempts to push its agenda on the audience.
Set in London, the film follows the undertakings of Chris Wilton (Jonathan Rhys Meyers), a struggling Irish tennis pro turned instructor who - as the narrator suggests - is neither good nor lucky. But his so-called luck changes when he takes on a student named Tom Hewett (Matthew Goode) and is introduced to his sister Chloe (Emily Mortimer) a rich socialite who is clearly determined to make Chris her own. However lucky Chris is to meet this woman, whose father practically buys him as a gift for his daughter, turning him seemingly overnight from a sweaty tennis instructor to a business man clad in a three piece suit, his luck seems to be cut short when he meets and is instantly taken by Nola Rice (Scarlet Johansson), Tom's fiance.
On nearly every level - not the least of which is beauty - Nola is Chloe's opposite and Chris' match. As a struggling actress from America, Nola hangs on to her diminishing dreams only to show other people that she can make it. Chris also has ambitions to rise above his circumstances (as he tells Chloe rather lamely, "I want to do something more with my life. I want to make a contribution") and in the two siblings it seems that Chris and Nola have found their way to the top. But would a writer/director as pessimistic as Allen allow these characters to have such luck?
Despite marrying Chloe and "making it" to the height of London business (thanks to Chloe's dad and his willingness to bring him into the family business), Chris continues a secret affair with Nola that began before his marraige and before Tom decides to give Nola the boot for another woman. Though Allen pushes and prods the audience to believe that the events that follow are merely a matter of chance, they are clearly a matter of choice.
On every level, Match Point is little more than a tease. Promising to deliver romance and passion, deeper meaning and social commentary, it fails on every count. The love scenes between Chris and Nola start off as enticing and provocative but are maddeningly cut short. Instead, Allen would rather show us a window and the snow falling outside, as though the weather mattered. The scenes are so contrived and tentative that it's impossible to ever discern whether Chris actually loves either of the two women in his life (or bed). All that is clear is that nearly every character in the film lacks a moral compass and that the audience is to believe that it's not Chris' moral repugnance that we should mind, but the sad "truth" that there is no deeper meaning to any of it.
Recalling the scores of reviews that promised the film would take sudden unexpected twists and turns, I held out hope that the film would redeem itself -- but there is no redemption in Allen's world. Where the film ultimately takes you is where you are reluctant to go, but unfortunately the reins are in the hand of a director bent on making a point that never really gets off the ground.
To say that the film leaves you cold is an understatement. While it may seem that Match Point is an artistic portrayal of the battle between love and lust (or in this case, greed and whichever), it is a film with no heart. It is not the world that the characters inhabit that is devoid of meaning or God or justice, it is the screenplay -- and it is a very showy and obvious attempt to push this worldview on its audience.
To borrow from the somewhat corny theme that is paralleled throughout the film... In this case, the point was served, but for this reviewer, it utterly failed to make it over the net.
Match Point is rated R for some sexuality
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)