Identifying My Biggest Fear of Marriage

Where will you be and what will you be doing for the scheduled apocalypse this December 2012?

My co-worker, Becca Shim, and I were discussing our 5 year plan, building careers, buying houses and how these mile markers of adulthood seem lost to our generation due to lack of jobs, unrealistically high house prices, and educational debt weighing us down like Atlas' globe. When will we finally make it? When will we be adults?

Marriage is a surefire way into adulthood. I reflected that my parents had three children by the time they were 29, stable jobs, and a house they had just purchased (though it did smell like dog urine), qualifying them as successful adults. However, if one should seek this route in this day and age, the wife would more likely that not be left with children and her husband's debt. Thus revealing my biggest fear of marriage, being left with debt and children. Becca just wants to buy a house and build a backyard homestead in the city.

Of course, up to this point our conversation did not take into consideration the fact that the world as we know it will be ending December 2012. After this winter, down payments will no longer be necessary. You only need a large enough mob of pitchfork wielding neighbors securing and protecting desired homesteads. No down payments, no debt, no civil order aside from pitchfork wielding majority rule. Could this be Utopia?

With no debt, the only other thing a husband could leave his wife with is the children... assuming the husband could get away. But see, in PAW Utopia (Post Apocalyptic World Utopia), our angry mob serves another function than just land security... husband fetching. Should a husband leave his wife with children (again, debt no longer exists), the angry mob could hunt said husband down and deal with him accordingly. Problems solved, fears addressed.

So, today I not only identified my single biggest fear of marriage, but also found a solution. AND my solution is not even based on something completely impractical and out of my control, like the end of the world!

Success!

Happiness is... my nephew: 12.02.2011

Brilliance is getting your back/neck massaged and adjusted, then sleeping on your brother's couch that very same night. And by brilliance, I mean stupidity. The only consolation to a night of fitful sleep was hearing my little Boo's pathetic cry in the morning, around 7:00. I pulled my aching body from the couch and cuddled that little bundle of nephew in my arms while he pushed at my face and cried for mama. You can't win them all.

After my sister fed him his bottle and his blood sugar returned to a happy level, I tried again. There was less crying, so I started a new game. Here are the rules: I look at Aidan's feet with deep longing and hunger, mutter "cookie" over and over again (like a crazy person, naturally), then give in to the temptation and gobble up his pajama'd feet and stomach. He writhes and squeals and laughs, making my heart melt all the while. After he has been thoroughly devoured, he returns the favor. He looks at me, mutters "cookie" (like a crazy person), and lunges his whole little body into my arms, sliming whichever part of my body comes in contact with his mouth. Three months ago, this would have been Aidan's version of a kiss (minus the cookie prelude, of course). The affect on me remains the same: I'm 100% infatuated with my nephew.

There is also a new toy in my brother's household. Yesterday, Todd walked to Petco with the Boo and purchased him the toy of his choice.* For $2.99, Aidan now has four Christmas balls each containing a bell. There is also a feather on top, adding to the holiday joy of this paternal gift. Over Cheerios and tea, Sarah and I sang Christmas songs about bells while Aidan skillfully played percussion. With the feather addition, Aidan could hold all four balls at once, a feat of which he was incredibly proud. I was less proud of my current knowledge of Christmas lyrics, which is a chorus here and there, dissolving into a few words and mostly humming. I have resolved to learn Christmas lyrics and take my nephew caroling, eventually.

The last incident of the morning was while I was drying my hair. Aidan came running into the bathroom mumbling something unintelligible. I'm assuming he thought his hands (filled with green Christmas balls) were drenched through and needed drying. I complied and blasted his hair, hands and feet with the warm air. "Hot" he exclaimed and laughed. In order to complete my own hair drying, I told him the red Christmas balls also needed drying and that he should go fetch them. This gave me about 2 minutes to continue getting ready before he returned mumbling with a concerned look on his face, hands still full of green balls. I blasted him with the hair dryer and again asked him for the red balls, thinking maybe he didn't yet know the difference of color. Two minutes later, he returns again with the green balls, mumbling and concerned. I'm done drying my hair at this point and let my request go. As I'm leaving, I open the child gate to the stairs the two red balls. At some point in the morning, Aidan deposited the red balls through the gate, onto the stairs and very thoroughly out of his own reach. It turns out he does know his colors after all!

My nephew is brilliant.

*Footnote: My brother and Aidan go to Petco to look at animals. My brother is fully aware his son is not an animal, regardless of the fact that toys are very similar for both pets and small children - minus millions of dollars for product testing, of course. No one cares if a dog eats a Christmas light, for example.

Happiness is... my brother and Sarah: 12.01.2011

I'm staying at my brother and sister-in-law's house on Thursdays, because who wouldn't want to spend as much time as possible with my nephew. (My family has also decided that I need the opposite treatment of solitary confinement...which would be... social affliction?) Several days ago, my nephew decided to eat a Christmas light. Sister-in-law caught on to what the little monster was doing with enough time to pull out 2/3 of the munched bulb. The other third is mysteriously gone. Todd and Sarah now have to dig through his poop with a plastic fork, looking for the missing piece. If it doesn't come out by tomorrow, they need to take him to the hospital for x-rays. Between his cookie monster obsession and this incident, we are pretty convinced Aidan is training himself to become the next Michel Lotito. Egads, look at those teeth!

At some point, while talking about the bulb feast of nephew Boo and poo digging, we noticed that Todd is not friends with my uncle, Tim, on the Facebook. With little prompting, Todd sent Tim a friend request, stating that it was depressing his request would never be granted. But what if it suddenly was? What if Uncle Tim responded to the request and we found out Facebook was the missing link to the after world. What if the 80 billion people who have ever lived signed up for Facebook accounts? The systems would crash - whole computer systems would go down!

But then, how cool would it be for me to say that I'm friends with Moses? Or, what would it mean if Moses never friended me back? And what about Abraham, Sarah added. His family connections would include everyone, because his progeny is more numerous than all the grains of sand. Is it bad of me to wonder what sort of Facebook profile Jesus would have? I ask. I bet he would be friends with everyone! No, Sarah decided. He would send out a friend request to everyone and all you would need to do is accept him!

By this point, the three of us are dying laughing. That's terrible! I tell Sarah. Yeah, but it's true though!

I should come up to my brother's house more often.

Recovery - Step Two: Out the Trauma

With tentative steps, I journey to the next portion of my recovery: Storytelling to out the trauma.

I would prefer a cabin in the woods with a solar-powered laptop, bowls of lentil soup and ginger tea to keep me warm and safe. Maybe I would only need a month there, maybe a year. What I have is a small apartment in Seattle, a routine including work, running and rock climbing, and the beautiful yellow leaves of Ravenna Park moments from my doorstep. Maybe with that lentil soup and ginger tea snippets of time in the evening will be enough.

Of course, maybe they won't be enough. The beautiful thing is that this is my recovery. The pain is inside right now. It's teeth gnaw, it's claws shred. It wants out, I want to let it out. As I walk through my memories, this may no longer be the case. When that happens, I will stop my telling until I am ready. This is my story. This is my journey. I can (and will) determine the path it takes.

And so, it is with this affidavit that I give you an excerpt from Dr. Janja Lanich's book, Take Back Your Life: Recovering from Cults and Abusive Relationships (Berkeley: Bay Tree Publishing, 2006). I plan to use the following 15 characteristics as my working outline.

"Concerted efforts at influence and control lie at the core of cultic groups, programs, and relationships. Many members, former members, and supporters of cults are not fully aware of the extent to which members may have been manipulated, exploited, even abused. The following list of social-structural, social-psychological, and interpersonal behavioral patterns commonly found in cultic environments may be helpful in assessing a particular group or relationship.

Compare these patterns to the situation you were in (or in which you, a family member, or a friend is currently involved). This list may help you determine if there is cause for concern. Bear in mind that this list is not meant to be a 'cult scale' or a definitive checklist to determine if a specific group is a cult. This is not so much a diagnostic instrument as it is an analytic tool.

1. The group displays excessively zealous and unquestioning commitment to its leader and (whether he is alive or dead) regards his belief system, ideology, and practices as the Truth, as law.

2. Questioning, doubt, and dissent are discouraged or even punished.

3. Mind-altering practices (such as meditation, chanting, speaking in tongues, denunciation sessions, and debilitating work routines) are used in excess and serve to suppress doubts about the group and its leader.

4. The leadership dictates, sometimes in great detail, how members should think, act, and feel (for example, members must get permission to date, change jobs, marry - or leaders prescribe what typers of clothes to wear, where to live, whether or not to have children, how to discipline chilren, and so forth).

5. The group is elitist, claiming a special, exalted status for itself, its leader and members (for example, the leader is considered the Messiah, a special being, an avatar - or the group and/or the leader is on a special mission to save humanity).

6. The group has a polarized us-versus-them mentality, which may cause conflict with the wider society.

7. The leader is not accountable to any authorities (unlike, for example, teachers, military commanders or ministers, priests, monks, and rabbis of mainstream religious denominations).

8. The group teaches or implies that its supposedly exalted ends justify whatever means it deams necessary. This may result in members participating in behaviors or activities they would have considered reprehensible or unethical before join the group (for example, lying to family or friends, or collecting money for bogus charities).

9. The leader induces feelings of shame and/or guilt in order to influence and/or control members. Often, this is done through peer pressure and subtle forms of persuasion.

10. Subservience to the leader or group requires members to cut ties with family and friends, and radically alter the personal goals and activities they had before joining the group.

11. The group is preoccupied with bringing in new members.

12. The group is preoccupied with making money.

13. Members are expected to devote inordinate amounts of time to the group and group-related activities.

14. The most loyal members (the 'true believers') feel there can be no life outside the context of the group. They believe there is no other way to be, often fear reprisals to themselves or others if they leave (or even consider leaving) the group."

Recovery - Step One: Nurture Something Good

I feel it mostly in my chest.

It builds and pushes against my ribs and upper back, threatening to burst open in flames and ash with each passing day. A deep inhalation releases the tension and shoots through my body with pokes and needles. My breath is the blood flowing to a limb that has been far too distant and deeply asleep; that limb is my voice pushed dormant by tragedy, depression and disappointment.

How many experiences does it take to lose your voice, to have it catch in your throat and burrow down in your heart like a dense and tiny mustard seed? How much time does it take before that same mustard seed cracks open, springing to life at even the smallest rays of hope? Like a whisper in my head, I hear an echo of someone saying that faith the size of a seed can rearrange landscapes. In faith I take that cracked seed in my hands and begin to nurture it toward germination, finding warmth - hope - in the belief that a mustard seed is enough. I am enough.

I take another breath in and with it the pokes and needles. Nothing brings me more into the present than my own breath. I close my eyes. My chest expands with a rush of air into the empty cavity around my heart. I feel the slight vibration in my throat and slight stretch of my ribs. The chair beneath me pushes against my body. My body centers and pushes back against the chair. Breath like blood flows into my body, an awakening, a baptism of my seed in tears, sweat and blood when water flees and dries up.

I read once that our breath forms Ham-Sa, Sanskrit for "I am." The inhale whispers Ham, the release vibrates Sa. Ham -pause- sa -pause- A primordial teeter-totter giving us strength as our lungs mingle the external atmosphere with our body and blood.
I -pause- am -pause- ...
I -pause- am -pause- ...
I -pause- am -pause- enough, my mind fills in the pause between exhale and inhale.
I -pause- am -pause- not damned.
I -pause- am -pause- loved.

As Ham-Sa teeters up and down in my throat and my mind fills in the pauses, I feel something different well in my chest, close to my seed. It also teets and totters with my breath, bringing with it a refreshing rush like cool water, crisp mountain air, rain at the end of a long summer day. Lord Jesus Christ, it starts. Have mercy on me. Lord Jesus Christ inhale... Have mercy on me exhale...

Together the three part orchestra of my body, mind and heart builds a harmony, each part intricately woven into the other by the rhythm of expand and release.
...crescendo: Lord Jesus Christ, I ...diminuendo: Am -enough-, have mercy on me. ...rest...
Lord Jesus Christ, I ... am -loved-, have mercy on me. ...rest...
Lord Jesus Christ, I ... am -not damned-, have mercy on me ...rest...

The music plays on. I see the first hint of growth pushing at the crack in my mustard seed: a very small lime-green fissure in the smooth yellow shell. My voice, timid, out-of-practice, and drowsy with the sleep of 11 months begins to emerge, pushing against my chest and back. Tragedy, disappointment and depression - I feel something stronger - recovery, forgiveness and grace. I am ready to start writing. I am ready to nurture something good.

That, for now, is enough.

Spiritual Infancy

I am learning heaps and bounds about myself on this island. Mainly, I am learning how incredibly deficient any form of spiritual growth is in my life as well as the patience and discipline needed to bring about said growth. I had no delusions that I could flounce to the wilderness and hear God's voice the next morning, but I was not prepared to experience the complete stripping away of everything I believed good about myself. In this strange environment without modern conveniences I have to relearn even the most basic of tasks, such as washing dishes, fetching water, and even bathing myself. Chores are harder in my full length skirt and headscarf. After being here ten days, my monastic honeymoon is over. Feeling desperate and quite literally trapped, I start running laps around the island to burn off steam and defiantly strip off my headscarf whenever I enter my living quarters.

How did I get to this place of frustration and despair? I was doing so well accepting my tasks and discipline with obedience as well as focusing and refocusing my thoughts toward God. They would wander and sometimes I would feel the stirrings of anger or other emotions directed toward one person or another before stopping my daydreaming mind and returning my thoughts aright. Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me. Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me. But apparently, my breaking point comes at ten days and the strength I have to keep myself going completely disappears. Instead, I am tired all the time, my thoughts run taunting circles around my head, and it is all I have left to crawl bitterly into the woods and weep with disappointment and disgust at myself and the situation. Of course, this desperate crawl is after stomping around the island all day making hell for myself and those around me. What went wrong?

Then it starts to make sense. Everything I have accomplished up to this point -and please graciously read this as absolutely nothing- was pushed along by my own strength. Pride puffed up the view of my condition until like dough left to rise on its own, my pride was punched down into a pile of miserable goo. Expressing my frustration to my spiritual mother, she encourages me to have patience and remain diligent in my efforts.

After talking and letting the storm of my emotional condition pass, I wake up feeling ashamed, like a child throwing a temper tantrum. I being to understand humility, as I finally see myself accurately. I am a spiritual infant and I have a long and difficult path to walk toward health. My old patterns of seeking affirmation in family, friends, and men is gone here. There is nothing to fill up my sudden emptiness except for the God that I have chased to the wilderness. Lord have mercy on me. Humbly- I hope I can finally claim a small understanding of brokenness- I stand before the icon of Christ and for the first time turn to the desperate cry of the Psalms, "Harken unto me, O Lord" and "The sacrifices of the Lord are a broken and contrite spirit. These, O Lord, you will not despise."

Writing is hard. I feel I have nothing to say beyond the cooings of an infant. Also, being on an island without electricity, computers and internet access makes silence easy. Instead, I am here chronicling the spirit lifted up, broken down, lifted up, broken down. One of the nuns described the process of healing this way. You are given a thimble and you are filled up with grace. Your cup is full and you are on the top of the world. The next morning you wake up and feel empty. But it is not because the thimble is now empty, but you have been dumped into a teacup. You are just given a bigger vessel to begin filling. With my experience, I can say with thanks that perhaps my pinhole was filled and emptied into that thimble. By God's grace may I continue to heal and bring that tiny thimble to its brim.

Communion is Essential

For the first time in forever, I am back in communion. On Saturday, anxious over the truth but more afraid for my sins, I went through my third confession since becoming Orthodox a year and a half ago. Being protestant much of my life, confession still feels foreign and awkward. After all, we spend so much energy covering up and hiding what we really are until we become nothing but a shell stuck in a web of lies - or worse, we become a Pandora's box begging those close to us to peak inside and release our darkness to the surrounding world. However, you can not treat a festering wound by keeping it under a bandage, and confession is that fresh air to the wound. It shines light on the things we desperately want hidden and scatters the darkness within. If confession is the bandage removed, communion is the ointment applied.

Communion is essential. For life, for light, for healing and joy. As I move further into the light, I realize heaven can be here. That life before this is a shadow play of dark greys. But here is color, here is joy, here is life further in and further up. I look forward to stepping further into this light, illuminating more demons in my soul and chasing them away. The fire that burns, that my dark thoughts fear- those dark thoughts sitting like a lizard on my shoulder and whispering lies into my ear- this fire once too bright is made bearable by this communion. Bread and wine made body and blood mingle somewhere between my body and soul and purify both, so I can burn bright like this fire and yet it does not destroy me.

The world around me is not left behind, but brought also into the light. The birds sing stronger, the sun shines brighter and that soft lemon light emanating from the core of everything returns to my field of vision. Yes, the world burns and is illuminated with the presence and love of God. This communion pulls the blinders from my eyes and I see it once again, but only glimmers here and there. Perhaps tomorrow, through grace, I will step further into this light, see life a little more pure, be a little more pure like Christ. "Taste and see that the Lord is good." If this is a hint of what life can be, the beginning to something more and beautiful, I never again want to turn my eyes away and take steps back. For perhaps the first time in my life, I have found something worthy of fighting.

But first, there is the fight. The work, the refocusing of thoughts frustratingly straying, the darkness and weakness of my own story, the habits, the passions, the laziness and necessary discipline. The fear of breaking into myself and finding a hollow inside, the fear of others seeing this inside and giving up on me. Yes, there is much work here, but through grace I am becoming. And finally, with conviction, I know my final destination, my final me, is worth every ounce of sweat, tear and pain.

I desire life everlasting and full, Lord give the blessing!