Jon and Kate

I have tried to ignore Jon and Kate, but the "news" outlets won't let me. Well, I guess they are "newsish" or "newsy," but not so much news.

I have never seen the show "Jon and Kate plus 8" and know very little about it. It all sounds so tragic what is happening. In short, the show is a reality show in which the couple has sextuplets (Super cute kids) and how life is with so many kids, but now they are divorcing. Ugh! Apparently Jon was cheating. The show has been suspended until August as the TLC tries to figure out what the heck to do. The story is sad. The reporting on it is sadder - from a cultural perspecitve.

This morning the "news" analysis was, "Now Kate is really going to be under scrutiny with the kids. Mothers are held to a higher standard and men get a pass. Everything she does will be seen through the lens of mother, but men have a lot of leeway - something she is not going to have."

That was the "newsish" analysis. Barf!!! How incredible that they simultaneously perpetuate the very stereotype that they criticize. I have to give it to them, it's job security. The underlying message is that men are less (morally, competent as parents, responsible) than women and we've all come to accept this sad, sad reality. We should feel for Kate because we all know that Jon is an ass (because he cannot help it, he is a man). If Jon is a jerk, it is because he is a jerk. We do not have to accept it and we do not have to implicate an entire gender based case study. What is so hard for me to handle is how smoothly this kind of nuanced sexism rolls off the tongue and how much it is part of the accepted vernacular. It is indefensible, and yet there is apparently no need to defend it because it manages to avoid critique.

This all on the heels of Obama's incredible Father's Day message about how valuable fathers are.
The kind of junk journalism is completely irresponsible as it adds another cultural particle to the vast cloud of cultural particles which marginalizes men and makes it harder for thems to see themselves for who they really are.

Gender wars are hideous. Women and men alike are treated so poorly - objectified (though in different ways). There is inherent value in men. There is inherent value in women. We must be about the goal of bringing about the very best in people, not expose the worst and then generalize it to everyone with some similar characteristics or the group from which they come.

Let Go

You're so strong.

With all your might, you hold on;

With all your hope, you throw it all in;

With all your trust, you believe

This time it might be different;

You're so hurt.

With all your pain, you scream inside;

With all your shame, you close your eyes;

With all your failure, you deceive;

This time it will be different.

The one thing

You're afraid to do;

The one thing

That is actually new;

The one thing

That will heal wounds;

Let go.

Or didn't you know:

Strong in the wrong direction,

Might with a false intention,

Hope in a failed invention,

Trust in a cruel deception,

Is virtue poisoned,

At its very inception?

You can't be free

Holding on so tight,

You can't be free

Afraid to release,

You can't be free

When you're in control;

Let go.

Out of Context

If you think you are who you are no matter where you are, then I would suggest you've never been far enough out of context to know the difference. The meaning of everything is shaded by context - sometimes completely changed by context.

For example, if you have been a part of or associated with a majority of some kind (e.g. majority race, majority religion, economically powerful) and then find yourself as the minorty race, minority religion, or economically weak for an extended period of time, there will be stress. Although your character and personality may initially be in tact, you will find that the world around you no longer responds "like they are supposed to." Through a consistent strings of similar experiences you may find your jokes aren't funny anymore, that your assumptions about everyone apply pretty just to you, that certain language is forbidden, certain values scorned and other values lauded.

In this new and strange context, no one is going to tell you, "hey because your context changed, here are all the things that you are going to have to deal with." No, it is not that simple. And in general, no one really knows enough about it or you to be able to tell you much about what to expect. And frankly, if someone did tell you, you'd probably be offended. And because that is the case, you'll feel alone, isolated, and sometimes you'll feel insignificant.

It may take a long time to realize that this context you are in exists for real and is not going to change all that much because you are a part of it. Not only does it take way more strength to define yourself when you are out of context, but the very act of self-definition may incite the context to exert pressure on you to stop your act of self-definition. You will feel the extent to which your old and familiar context assisted your identity and how much this new context wears on it.

On the other hand, you may notice it right away, each assumption, each response, each custom - all different (wrong?). It may be obvious to you how impossible the task to single-handedly changing the context is. You may give in and change yourself, you may hole up in cloistered existence - who knows? Whatever the case, you cannot just be you in the way you were you when your context helped you be you. You are going to have to be a new kind of you.

And therein lies the rub. How can you be you differently than you were you? What about you must be marginalized in order for you to count in this new context? What must you lay down, hide, let wither in order to be found acceptable in this new place? What conversations can you never have again becasue you have arrived here? Which of your common expressions are now found obtuse or ecentric? What perfectly normal feelings make no sense to have here? How much of you can be lost while you remain yourself? Or ar you still you at all?

The power of context is immense. And, when you are in your context, that power is practically invisible. When you are out of context, its power is highlighted in blinding fashion - impossible to ignore. People whose lives are highly privileged live in their context always. If they recognize there is another context at all, they have the power not to be in it. People who are underprivileged live out of their context - inside someone else's power structure. They do not have the power to live in their own context. Or, they may not believe that they even have a context relevant to their identity.

If all there was to Heaven was that everyone genuinely treated each other like they belonged, that they mattered, that without them this place would be worse off, wouldn't that be enough?

Gail in surgery: Ponderings

The Facts:
Gail is in surgery right now at Fairview Ridges Regional Hospital in Burnsville, MN. She is having a dermoid cyst removed from her ovary. The cyst being removed is the size of racketball. To me, that is large. Gail was calm and ready as she was rolled into the operating room. We talked for about an hour in pre-op as we waited for the surgeon to get done with the emergency c-section she got called away to do. We talked some, laughed a little, and just enjoyed being together. There was no need to discuss risks or fears or concerns. We've prayed and called on our friends to pray.

For Gail to enter surgery peaceful and confortable shows her faith. Although dermoid cysts are almost always non-cancerous, there is the very, very slight chance that one may be cancerous. Since cancer is in Gail's family history, the spectre of cancer does try to make its presence known when words like "tumor" are used by the surgeon. But that fear is not with us today.

The Kiss
When they finally took Gail back to the OR, we had to part ways. As it has been a habit of ours ever since either of us can remember, we kiss and say, "I love you," before parting ways. It has always been that way. No matter if we are mad at each other, this habit overrides the anger or hurt feelings. So, when they were about to take Gail back, we did out habit. We kissed and told each other, "I love you." It was a very sweet kiss.

There are many kisses shared by spouses. There are passionate kisses where the whole body is thrown into it. There are little kisses meant to take away fear or pain. There are reminder kisses meant to continue the story that there is love in this relationship. There are desperate kisses meant to draw one to the other. There are celebration kisses that serve no other purpose than to mark some important event was worth celebrating.

And I suppose that there is a certain kind of kiss reserved for that moment when one of you is wheeled into the OR - the "pre-op kiss." This kind of kiss affirms the one going under the knife that everything is going to work out. It is a kiss of confidence and hope and optimism. This kiss says, "I am with you no matter what." It says that this surgery is not coming between us. It is a down payment on the kind of care that will be waiting for them when the surgery is over. The pre-op kiss is vulnerable and hopeful, weak and strong, and one of the most trusting kises there is. And somewhere in that kiss is the reassurance that should anything go wrong, our last contact was special and represents the kind of love we have.

Gail and I got the blessing of the "pre-op" kiss.

The Waiting
I am waiting in the very nice waiting room...thinking. The room has a TV on no one is watching. A few people sit scattered about the room sitting as far as they can from each other. I am grateful for wifi.When someone you love is in surgery, there is this feeling of powerless anticipation. All you can do is wait. You can't press time forward. You can't make any imporvements on the surgery. The work of waiting, perhaps praying, is the task of the one waiting.

Research Creed

Research is a privilege.
With this privilege come obligations, responsibilities and personal truths.

OBLIGATION
My field is counting on me to be disciplined, focused, creative and productive.
My field deserves the best of me:
I will take care of my mind, body, and soul.
I will rest when I am tired.
I will eat healthy.
I will remain spiritually connected.
My field depends on me to learn and create knowledge.
I am forever a learner and therefore forever ignorant of many things.
I will respond to my own ignorance in humility.
I will respond to my ignorance in confidence.
I will be motivated to learn by my ignorance.
I will ask questions.
Critics and the critiques they offer are essential to my growth as a researcher.
I will receive, appreciate, and consider critique.

RESPONSIBILITY
It is my responsibility to create knowledge

My current emotional state, whether high, low, or flat is not reason enough to change my mind, pursue different goals, or otherwise forsake my place in the field.
Complaining, procrastinating, making excuses and giving up is irresponsible. Such action is poor stewardship of my privilege – a squandering of resources.

PERSONAL TRUTHS
I am competent.
There is no method I cannot learn.
There is no theory I cannot grasp.

Trajectory of Grief

Tomorrow marks three years since my father died. March 28th, 2006 is forever etched on my soul as the day my father's life left his body and went somewhere else - Heaven I believe. It is a heavy day for me as it marks a time when I no longer had direct access to him.



Since his death, my life has been practically nothing but graduate school. Although very hard (with more challenges to come), it has been a fairly decent context for grief. The rigor has forced me to work hard on it and at the same time given me something to be distracted by. However, I would have preferred to slog through graduate school while talking with him about it. He would have been interested. He would have lived vicariously through me.



Yes, my father was very intelligent, like many in his family. However, his intelligence was vastly underutilized. His potential stretched way beyond his performance and I believe he would have loved to have a front row seat watching me get a PhD. It would have been a sort of redemption for him. He would have been a participant in this journey of mine.



In fact, this journey of mine remains a redemption for him. The reasons he did not reach his intellectual potential are deep and painful and I will not visit them in this post. But I will say that he endured a lot of pain and took many blows so others would not have to - including me. Granted, he passed on some of those as well. But ion the end, I guess you could say that he watered down the poison just enough for me to be able to pursue some things in my life that might not have been possible otherwise. I am grateful to be where I am. When I hold a paper that gives me the title of "doctor", I will think of my father and feel I have done him right.



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Now three years out from his death, I can see the trajectory of grief for me (thusfar). Today I am sad. I have occasional bursts of grief, but they are less frequent. When I think of his voice, when I see him in my mind, when smell his scent, it's like he is just out of reach. No, it's like he lives too far away and it is hard to visit. But then the truth is that there is no where on Earth to go where he is. All I can find of him is in my mind, in the stories family members tell each other, and the few scraps of pictures we have of him.



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For the first two decades of my life, I had learned to hate my father. He was no saint, to be sure, and a quiet rage simmered within me (probably similar to the rage that boiled in him). Mine exploded at age 24. I was at a crossraods. I could either take the pathway of bitterness or the pathway of forgiveness. For many reasons I will not go into here, the pat I took was forgiveness. We had an unforgettable conversation filled with deep and loud weeping and hugging and words of love and reconciliation. It was the sweetest moment of my life to that point. It gets sweeter as I age.

I was finally able to talk with my father. The value of a son talking with his father is impossible to calculate. Where else does a boy learn who he is? Where else does he learn courage? Where else does he learn the balance of asserting himself honestly and giving proper respect? Yes, there are adequate substitutes and ways to patch together a social mosiac which compensates for the absent father, but there is no replacement for the real thing. A dry, cracked, and aching emptiness in me began to get filled...

...and I still had so much I wanted to say, to hear, to know. When my father died I lost the chance to get that filling up from him - the only one who could do it. I can't know some things now because he was the only source of that knowledge. It's gone forever.

My hope is that I am and will provide my children with those first 25 years of their life in real time and not have to try to make up for it later.

OK, enough for now.

Canaan's 9th Birthday

Impact

I had a conversation with a respected professor a couple years ago about research. I struggled with crunching numbers and writing up a paper that would wind up in a scholarly journal. Who would read it? What would they do with it? Would it collect dust in library shelves and go unread?

Being trained as a therapist and having practiced for years, I have had the privilege of seeing an immediate response to my efforts. When I did my job in therapy, I got to be witness to the impact of my work. I confess, when I get to participate in a person's healing or growth, it is exhilerating.

Comparing the immediate response of therapy to the indirect and likely never known impact of research, it was hard to see research as all that relevant. My very wise prof said that I was comparing impact. Who is being imapcted? How are they being impacted? Who does what with the information I participate in creating?

Both therapy and research can contribute to changed lives. Is there irrelevant research? Yep. Is there impotent therapy? Yep. Either can add nothing or even be detrimental. The point is that whatever I do I should do it with integrity and with all my effort.

I am a scientist-practitioner who will also write some cool non-research stuff. My goal is to have multiple impacts on this world. But I desire to have impact no matter what.

Faith and Fear

If one dream should fall and break into a thousand pieces never be afraid to pick one of those pieces up and begin again.

Fear is the most important concept in that sentence, as I see it today. C. S. Lewis mentioned that grief was so much like fear. For me, his description rings true.

Fear is a paralyzing, destabliizing, and insidious force. Fear, rather than hate or indifference, may be the opposite of love. Whether it is love's exact opposite is irrelevant, fear is far from love. And yet grief enters in feeling like fear or perhaps bringing fear with it.

Fear cannot be negotiated with or thought away. Fear responds only to action. This quote is call to courage in response to fear to do something counter to fear. Fear left to ahve free reign occupies all emotional, mental, psychological and spiritual space. Action demonstrates to fear that it is not allowed to own a soul.

And yet action must arise from conviction, no matter how small or doubted that conviction might be. It is no small matter to take a single action in the presence of fear because it requires the extent of courage which exists.

Even little things, in the presence of great fear, are incredibly courageopus, even if objectively insiginficant. It is the relative sigificance that matters. No one can know the extent of another's courage until they know the extent of their fear.

Fear visits me as I am watching and sharing the grief of my friends. It calls for me to quit, to despair, to roll over. And the call has a convincing logic. The death of a child is a fearful and compelling argument. God's love is a tough thing to understand in this time. This is where the rubber of my faith meets the road of this world.

But it looks like the choice is clear, despair or believe. And I believe. I am in no position to make a great argument for the case of faith, but I believe that there is life after this life and that death is a mystical mediating process from this life to the next - like birth is a mediating (and from my observations a painful) process from womb-life to life outside the womb.

I lean on the story of Jesus raising from the dead and trust that being raised is the result for us all. In the conext of fear and pain, faith is much less easy to discern. However, having the story of Christ and all of the evidence of God all over the world does not disappear when a piece of the life we live does not make sense. It just places seemingly conflicting things right next to each other.

I think I'll end with this: faith makes at least as much sense as despair in the loss of a child. And to be sure, these will jockey for position. The work of grief is in large part the work of faith. It is the undoing of fear's imposition into life.

I just do not understand

Some very dear friends of mine just lost their son. He got a MRSA infection and in less than two weeks he was gone.

I can't get my mind around this loss. The great desire is to ask, to scream "Why?" And yet there is no hope for an answer. And if there were an answer, would it do any good? No.

I am deeply saddened. My friend's lives are changed forever. A huge piece of their lives, with a million little strings attached to him, is gone, and now those million little strings hang, they dangle loosely with no tension.

I want to be with them, but they are 1000 miles away. I don't know what I could do were I to be there, but I know that is where I want to be. I thinking about making a trip.

The thought keeps piercing my heart...he's gone. I resist. My disbelief fights so hard for credibility, and yet sets itself up for pain. He is gone. Nothing in me wants to believe this, but I have no choice. It's like I want to say, "he's not gone, it must be something else," but it isn't ever going to be something else. Everything has come to a screeching halt.

Death is so imposing, unrelenting, and cruel. It only takes. It gives nothing - ever.

It is times like these that make the resurrection story so appealing. It is the only hope. If we could see things from the other side, it might look differently. We might see death as a mediator between life and LIFE. And yet we must cling to the life that there is here, for it all we have access to. And we must accept that death, for whatever reason, gets a say so.

God, please surround my friends with people who can tolerate their intense grief, embrace their souls, people who are tireless and wise. Put people in their lives who can take care of menial tasks, who will cook the food and clean their house. Bless them with hope. Let them lean on their faith with the weight of their pain and doubt...and find their faith bouyed by something true. Please show yourself to them in their darkest hour. Let them cry in your presence.