Marriage: A Tool For the Depraved? VOL. 8

When I worked in the treatment center, we had a young man who came from an abusive family. We're talking unimaginable amounts of trauma and damage. This boy was wounded. Deeply. To the core. He didn't weigh more than a 100 pounds, and yet he was so disruptive and destructive that we could not control him. Eventually, we got to a point where we had to hire an extra person to work the milieu so that there would always be an extra pair of hands to make sure he was taken care of. That is a big deal. In a place where the client to staff ratio was 1:4, this child had 1:1 attention during every one of his waking hours. It seemed like the perfect opportunity for him. We told him I love you. We joked around with him. He was loved. He was given choices. And second chances. And 17th chances. And three meals a day. All luxuries he had not been afforded before.

After several months of treatment, and a month of very good behavior, I got permission to take him out for a reward. We went out to a mexican restaurant. He ate fried ice cream until he could eat no more. He was accelerating in the program. Growing. Healing.

Three days later, he ran away and was brought back to the facility in handcuffs. He lost control that night and had to be physically restrained. After spending the last of my fun money that month on chimichangas and fried ice cream, I was called horrible names and even bit so hard I had a large bruise.

It was like he did not know how to get better. Like he didn't want to get better. And the people who wanted to help him were his enemy.

Melanie's comment from last week about the paralytic in John 5 is beginning to make sense.

In so many ways, I am that teenage boy. I have everything I need before me for full life. And yet, I flaunt my battle wounds (small in comparison to those of other people) as an excuse to stay stuck . . . to resist change.

Last week Herb and I were joking around about scapegoat . . . "Sorry, I had a bad day, so I can run this red light." "You know, I just got in a fight with my boss, so I am going to punch you in the face." "I had a colonoscopy today, so, I just wanted to let you know I won't be paying my taxes this year . . . and I am going to put whoopie cushions on the chairs of all of the judges in the Supreme Court. But don't blame me, I had a tiny camera shoved up my buns today. It isn't my fault."

This week and last, my prayer book has been guiding my to scriptures and sacred readings about our part in the process of God's healing and forgiveness. Melanie was right . . . there is a level of responsibility in healing. At some point, we have to say:

"I want to get better."

What Do You See?

Yesterday I read about the paralyzed man who was brought to Jesus on mat. My guess is that he was hoping to be healed.
I tried to imagine what life for this man might have been like. A motionless life - so clearly set apart from the rest of people. And then God in the form of a rabbi approaches me. I am very clear about what my need is. To move. To be physically healed. And if this man is God, then I can only guess that what I need is even more clear to him.

My entire existence has been focused on understanding why I am paralyzed and trying to no longer be paralyzed. So, we approach Jesus for healing. And he responds to the request. But instead of acknowledging that I am a motionless man lying on a mat being carried by other men, he tells me my sins are forgiven.

It is only an after thought . . . a response to the men around him who are chiding him . . . that he adds, "Get up, take your mat and go home." If those men had not been there challenging his power, he wouldn't have addressed my need. He would have left it at forgiveness.

My mind is overwhelmed as I consider that Jesus seemed to be unconcerned with the man's paralysis. He only healed him in order to appease the crowds - to prove to them that he had authority and power on earth to forgive sins. He was only concerned with the forgiveness of this man's sins. He seemed disinterested and unconcerned at best about the man's physical needs. And not only was he unconcerned with healing the obvious, external need - it was a piece of cake to do! It took so little effort.

Why is this? Why can it be so easy for God to change our circumstances and yet He doesn't even seem to take note of them. He sees the need and yet doesn't address it. It would seem, then, that the things he values for us are completely different that what we value. How do we begin to desire and love the things that He desires and loves for us?

wise girl lori chaffer

Alone Everybody
by Lori Chaffer and Don Chaffer

i am happiest when by myself
nobody’s hurts nobody’s helps
like a gun or bullet on a shelf
alone everybody’s fine

i’ve been playing little tricks on me
it’s fascinating what i’ll believe
then in circled stitches my mind weaves
alone everybody lies

i tell myself my life is pretty easy
i take a pill if i am ever queasy
i shut the door when it gets a little breezy
but people really baffle me

so i tiptoe around because it’s easier to fake it
try not to be loud, or emotionally naked.
i’ll agree to go out with my friends, but never make it
at least i keep my evenings free

if you want to try to shift the blame
think of how hard you try and all your pain
oh, there’s one amendment to the game
alone everybody cries

i’ve been thinking i could get along
i think i’m happy, i think i’m strong
but like my cactus when it’s dry too long
alone even cacti die
alone everybody’s fine
alone everybody lies
alone everybody cries

Cardboard Girl

she is a prisoner
in a cage whose door has no latch or lock
held captive by words like "then" and "should" and "impossible"
she carries a pine tree shaped car deotorizer in the back pocket of her GAP jeans
and pulls it out to impress her cell mates with stories of her adventures in the backcountry
adventures that she weaves as she goes along
sniffing the cardboard cutout
when she forgets what might come next
she has only ever seen photos of trees
because nothing real grows in her cell
except her belly's self-indulgent buldge
rope swings and tree climbing contests frighten her
she is fearful of splinters and sap stains