Saturday, August 12, 2017

1 Corinthians 5:11

Believe it or not, I DO read my Bible.  In fact, I have read it in its entirety multiple times, which is a fact that tends to surprise people.  Perhaps I don't come across as a person who would actually study scripture.  I'm never sure how to respond to someone who is taken aback when they learn that I have read the Bible through even once, let alone close to a dozen times.  Sometimes I want to ask if they have ever read it entirely, if they just stick to the New Testament, or worse, if they only read what's displayed on the screens as part of the Sunday sermon.  I can't remember the last time I heard a sermon from Lamentations or Leviticus.  With all of the online options available these days, owning a physical Bible is no longer a requisite to reading it, so asking if they own one is impertinent.  Even if a person does own a Bible, that doesn't mean they read it, or even have any familiarity with it, or even know where it is in the house.

What about me that makes it so remarkable that I would have read the Bible all the way through, anyway?  I participated in 3 years of Mormon seminary when I was in high school, during which we studied the New Testament, the Book of Mormon, and the Doctrine and Covenants and the Pearl of Great Price.  I was no longer a practicing Mormon the year I would have studied the Old Testament, but I read it on my own.  Another fact that surprises people is that we used the King James Version - as teenagers.  And the most shocking fact of all - this was not the first time I had read the Bible through.  I completed my first cover-to-cover reading when I was in middle school.  It took 2 years to struggle through the KJV, but we were encouraged to independently study scripture by our church leaders.

Since rededicating my life to Christ as an adult, I have read the Bible through 8 or 9 times ~ I honestly can't remember how many for certain ~ in at least 5 different versions, even revisiting Old King James.  I have a personal goal to read it through every year, sometimes starting in Genesis and moving straight through to Revelations, sometimes following a predesigned chronological reading plan, sometimes jumping around between the Old and the New Testaments.  I couple of years I didn't quite make it all the way through, but I finished up in the first part of the next year and then started over again.

One of the benefits of reading the Bible multiple times, and in multiple translations, is that each time I read it I do so with different eyes.  I'm always a year older and, hopefully, a year wiser.  This allows me to catch details I may have missed in earlier readings, or interpret the same scripture I've read so many times before in a new light.  A case in point...

Some years ago, as I was reading the book of Numbers in bed one night, I started to giggle.  My husband asked what could possibly be funny in the Old Testament.  I had come to the story of Balaam and his donkey.  The third time the donkey saw the angle of the Lord, she laid down in the middle of the road and refused to move.  When Balaam got off of the donkey to beat her, scripture says the donkey spoke.  This did not strike me nearly as funny as the next passage, where it says, "And Balaam responded..."  I found this very nonchalant response to a suddenly talking donkey to be quite amusing.  I thought to myself that if I were disciplining my dog and he suddenly turned to me and said, "But MOOOOOOOOOOOM...", I would not have answered the dog, I would have checked myself into the loony bin believing that I was suddenly hallucinating.  How many times had I read that passage and never seen the story in that light?  This is why we must never cease our study of scripture ~ ALL of it.

Right now, I'm reading 1 Corinthians and I have come across a verse that troubles my heart.  5:11 reads:  "But now I am writing to you that you must not associate with anyone who claims to be a brother or sister but is sexually immoral or greedy, an idolater or slanderer, a drunkard or swindler. Do not even eat with such people."  But isn't that exactly what Christ did?  Aren't those the exact people Christ hung out with?  If the reason is because these people have already professed faith in Christ, would shunning them really encourage them to repent?  Wouldn't it be more effective to surround these folks with positive influence?  Does Paul think the entire community so fragile in their young faith that they would be easily corrupted by these tainted believers?  What context am I missing here?  And how many times have I read this verse before and never seen it in this light?


Unfortunately, the online commentaries I have read regarding this chapter shed no light on a deeper or historical context as to why such harsh instruction is necessary, only the reasons these verses justify judging and condemning those who behave in these ways.  I get the idea of keeping the community pure, and that it's much easier to throw out the damaged goods than it is to clean them up and repair them, but it seems contrary to so many of Christ's parables.  The one about the lost sheep, for example, where the shepherd rejoices at finding the one sheep that wondered off, or the one about the widow rejoicing after finding her lost coin.  Neither of these parables address the cleansing of the dirt the sheep or coin picked up in their wayward travels.  They once belonged to a master, strayed, and were met with joy at their return.  Sounds like the story of the prodigal son to me.  I fail to understand how ostracizing someone, essentially casting them out of the community, fosters any hope of a return to the ways of righteousness.

And so I am conflicted in my heart about this verse.  Maybe next year, when I am another year older and, hopefully, wiser, another nugget will be revealed to help me understand the deeper meaning.

Sunday, July 16, 2017

A Lesson of Love and Sacrifice at Conkles Hollow

To celebrate our 20th anniversary and my recent graduation, my sweet handsome hunny planned a getaway to a nearby state park.  He pulled out all the stops and spared no expense for my enjoyment.  He rented a cabin with a hot tub, planned a fantastic day hike, even arranged for a couple’s massage at the cabin.  After a frustrating start to the week with a power outage at the cabin due to a string of storms that ravaged the area, flooding the driveway to the cabin and felling a tree across the most direct route to the main road, the week improved markedly.  Even on the rainiest day, we settled in to relax with a movie marathon.

Though, when the rain broke that day, I did suggest checking out a nearby state nature preserve.  Spending a lazy day lounging on the couch with the love of my life does wonders for the spirit, but the hips get stiff and creaky, and I knew I needed to move a little or I would regret it in the morning.  My husband was up for it, so we took a short drive to check out Conkles Hollow State Nature Preserve.  Looking at the map, we saw that there were 2 trails available at the preserve.  One was a short 1/2 mile out and back again "gorge trail".  The second was a 2.5 mile loop "rim trail".  Considering that I had spent the majority of the day sitting, proven by my fitbit woefully stating a mere 600+ steps for the day, I suggested the longer trail, thinking 2.5 miles really wasn't too long and should only take an hour even if we lollygagged.

"Rim trail" is an uncannily appropriate descriptiion.  This 2.5 mile trail skims the rim of tree-lined and rocky cliffs.  And for city slickers like us, the trail is technically challenging.  A fairly steep initial incline leads to an often narrow footpath that seems to be only inches from a 200ft drop and is further complicated by the rocks and tree roots jutting up and criss-crossing the path.  There are rocky outcroppings where one can stand and gaze out over miles of tree covered hills in Hocking County.  There are areas of shallow water run-off that cross the trail and lead to a small waterfall.  Even on this gray day, it was strikingly beautiful.  But the fact that it had rained quite a bit over the previous couple of days meant that all ground surfaces were wet and slick or outright muddy, making getting a decent foothold tricky at times.

Personally, I loved it.  I walked out on those first few outcroppings to have myself a look at the gorge below and the miles of tree-covered hills sprawled out in front of me.  I looked down the crags in the cliffs that cut into the trail.  I was enjoying the challenge of the rocky, root stricken terrain.  I felt nothing but exhilaration as I took what I calculated to be the surest footing, even if it was only a foot from the rim.  Then I noticed my sweet love lagging behind.

At first I thought my quicker pace was due to my better physical condition and agility than his current state.  Truth be told, we have both fallen off of the peak-health-pursuit wagon, but he fell longer ago and harder than I.  Though I have gained some serious weight while being in school, blaming hours of sitting on my duff studying and stress eating for the packing on of unwanted pounds, I have managed to continue with a regular workout routine.  I run, cycle, walk the local nature trails, and cross train.  Not only has the love of my life traded a physically active job for one behind a desk, he has not compensated for the change with regular physical activity elsewhere.  And let us not forget that the man is a chef by trade.  He doesn't know how to cook a bad meal, making it even more challenging at times to behave with the calorie count.

As we trekked along, I began to realize that the real reason for my sweet love's slower pace was anxiety.  He was long ago diagnosed with anxiety disorder and has been medicated for it at different times in his life, but is not currently. In 20 years of marriage, it never occurred to me that he would be so uncomfortable about being so close to a 200ft drop off without a barrier.  I slowed my pace to more closely match his, asking often if he needed to stop for a moment and if he was going to be ok to finish the hike.  He unconvincingly tried to assure me that he would be and we pressed on.  As we continued to hike, I mentioned that I would love to bring our teenager out here, that this might be a good short but challenging trail for us to hike together.  My husband said he definitely would not be joining us on that hike, that he wouldn't be able to see our son on this trail so close to the edge of a such a steep drop off.  That's when it hit me.  My love was not only struggling with the anxiety of being in what he perceived to be a situation flirting with death, but he was also struggling with the fear that arose while watching me flit along the edge of a cliff.  

Taking this sudden realization into account, I started actively seeking optional paths that were a safer distance from the edge of the rim.  Because of the natural layout of the terrain, the further footing was often slightly higher than the path closer to the rim, and frequently more studded with rocks and roots.  As I traversed the further footings, I chuckled at a thought that came creeping into my mind ~ the higher road is usually not the easier one, maybe because it is the road less traveled.

In more ways that one, both of us were taking the higher road on that hike.  My husband sacrificed his peace of mind, experiencing fear and anxiety on an intense level for a prolonged period, in order to complete that hike with me, knowing how much I wanted to do it.  I gave up the adrenaline boost of flitting along the edge of a cliff, fought the desire to venture out onto every outcropping, resisted the urge to look over the side of the cliff where the water was falling, and generally battled every ounce of my risk taking spirit because I knew to continue taking those risks would unhinge the love of my life.  By the time we reached the trail's end 90 minutes after we had begun, we had both apologized to each other multiple times ~ he for not being a better hiking partner, I for putting him through such mental anguish.  Granted, neither of us had been on this trail before, so how would either of us had known what it would be like?  Nonetheless, each felt badly that the other had a less than optimal experience.

Love and sacrifice.  My sweet husband loves me enough to battle his inner demons in order to finish that hike with me.  I love him enough to battle my own inner demons in order to attempt to ease his burden.  He sacrificed in his love for me, and I in my love for him.  It's things like this that people need to understand when they ask how we have been able to remain happily married for 20 years.

Monday, March 20, 2017

Confession of a Fair-Weather Christian

I don't know how much of a confession this really is, but I am a fair-weather Christian.  I profess a love for God and Christ, and I willingly give Him praise and glory when things work out in my life.  But give me one frustratingly sleepless night and praising God is the last thing I want to do.

Insomnia is a horrible state.  I would be willing to call it a mental disorder in my case since it is more often than not the continual racing of my brain that prevents sleep from coming.  Have you ever been so bone-weary that you don't even have the energy to fall asleep?  Been there.  How miserable it is to drag through the last few hours of your day, wishing for nothing but a nap every time you yawn, and then not being able to fall asleep when you finally turn off the light.

This is an all too common occurrence in my world.  I have been an insomniac my entire life.  I have very early memories of being awake all night playing with my toys in the dark so as not to wake my  brother, with whom I shared a room at the time.  By the way, that ploy seldom worked.  More often than not, the commotion woke him.  As a young teenager, I would spend my sleepless nights lost in books.  Despite dyslexia, I would devour a novel in a night or 2, since I had nothing better to do.  As an adult, I have gone through phases of how I handle insomnia.  As I age, the effects of a single sleepless night are much more devastating than they had been in my younger years, and multiple sleepless nights leave me pleading with people around me to keep an eye on me so that I don't do something stupid.

Extreme exhaustion can do strange things to people.  Much the same way that a panic attack or depressive episode can create a warped lens through the individual sees their world, extreme exhaustion can cause an altered mental state in which the individual may not be able to use rational or logical thinking at the highest degree, or in my case, at all.

Which brings me to last night's insomniac attack.

Ordinarily, despite the fact that I run my tail off most days, I utilize pharmaceutical assistance in order to sleep.  Some nights I forget.  Last night, I forgot.  But last night I also drank the better part of a bottle of wine, so one would have thought that the alcohol would have done the job.  That would be a negatory.  After tossing and turning for 2 hours, utilizing every mental trick in my proverbial bag, I decided to get out of bed and spend my wakefulness being productive ~ I did homework.  Woo hoo.  After 2 more hours, I decided to try to sleep again.

By this point, even if I had fallen asleep the instant my head hit the pillow, I would have gotten less than 2 hours.  Alas, it was not meant to be.  Lying there dodging invasive thoughts and praying for rest, my prayers eventually turned into gripes, then into full blown curses.  The book of Lamentations has nothing on the thoroughly pissed off, ridiculously exhausted complaining that I was doling out. Four-letter words were the order of the wee hours of that morning, and I think I may have even invented a few new ones.  I let God know that I "fucking hated Him for torturing me".  Ironically, earlier that day I'd had a praise song stuck in my head, and the fact that it is a bit of an ear worm was part of the reason I had trouble falling asleep.  As it continually tried to creep back into my thoughts, I became more and more angry, reminding God that I had no intention of praising Him at the moment, that I wanted Him and the rest of His trio out of my head.  Like an entitled teenager throwing a hissy fit, I demanded that everyone get out of my room and leave me the hell alone!  Any guesses on how well that went over?

At some point, I managed to drift off into a fitful, restless nap, waking much too soon in order to assume my duties as mother to a teenager who refuses to get himself out of bed in the morning.  Per usual in the wake of an insomniac attack, I have managed to drag myself through the day.  I even read my scripture and devotional, in spite the overflow of aggravation with God's lack of mercy on my drained soul the night before.  What really sucks is I still won't sleep tonight without pharmaceutical intervention, regardless of exhausted I am.  A racing mind is a terrible thing, and a frustrated, wearied Christian mind is definitely the devil's playground.