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The Normal Order of Things
Yesterday I watched the first part of a Jordan Peterson interview with Douglas Murray. They discussed what’s happening in the world, which I won’t be going into since, if you’re reading this, you’re likely up on the current happenings.
Douglas said one thing that broke in and sent me back to a time and place of long ago. No, this isn’t a Star Wars parody. And, as a result of this thing he said, plus Jordan suggesting that Douglas join the team of instructors on the Peterson Academy platform (at which point Douglas’s face lit up, a momentary change from his stoic and sobering demeanor), I decided to enroll in the academy myself.
I still feel guilty about it … I ain’t gonna lie. Money is tight.
But then it seemed the Almighty weighed in for a brief moment, showing me why I ought to have enrolled; that He wanted me to become saturated with more knowledge to add to His uncanny gift of instinct and wisdom. No, I’m not bragging. Why am I not bragging? Well, it’s like this. Whenever I think too highly of myself and ponder the one or two talents endowed to me, I generally screw things up. Selfishness is a blinding force. You lose your awareness of impact on others, and certainly have no measure of empathy. And at this stage of my life in Christ, He does not allow me any overly-generous dosages of grace for making the same mistake too many times without any redeeming signs of improvement. In other words, He knows that I know that I should know better … and should do better.
That said, when I get caught up in one of His flow zones, when my attention is upward and outward, there is clarity and insight and a watchful awareness coupled with a readiness to act at His direction. Not a command really … it’s more like the lamp unto my feet. I’m not as blind, selfish, and stupid in the flow zone. I like the flow zone.
Except for this.
It’s exceedingly difficult to receive goodness from others in the flow zone. Specifically, to receive love.
Today was one of those days. The kindnesses and gifts that came my way today, on this very day, left me desperate to run and hide. And as I shifted and fidgeted in the car on the way home, feeling open and laid bare in all my flaws, I wondered why.
Back to Douglas.
Jordan and Douglas were discussing the recent unrest in the U.K. A terrible crime was committed by the young teenage son of an immigrant family. Douglas posited that the parents of the son may in fact be very grateful to have escaped a war-torn country and given a chance to rebuild their lives in the U.K.
But, from the son’s point of view, life in the U.K. was not in line with the normal order of things.
When he said that, my mind pulled up a memory from my own teenage years. It was late at night, and I was about to enter my house. The lights were out, the door locked, and it appeared that everyone had gone to bed. And I thought to myself, “I wonder how other kids deal with this.”
A few hours before, I was in the kitchen standing next to my mom. My dad was getting ready to beat his two black Labs again, and I could hear him rolling up the newspaper and then opening the sliding glass door a little too hard. I couldn’t see much because there was a high bar attached to the kitchen counter making a passthrough from the kitchen to the family room. But what I did see was the top of one of the lamps suddenly going down and then the sound of a crash as it broke on the floor. My mother began yelling at my father. And I saw the rage in his eyes.
He came round the bar and into the kitchen, took a spot behind us, put one hand on my shoulder and the other on my mother’s, and then slammed us together. My elbow went into my mother’s chest and knocked the wind out of her. While she was incapacitated, he started raging that it was my fault, blaming me for my mother’s injury. I snapped.
Such profanity had never come from my mouth, and as I screamed at him, he turned toward the stove and picked up the largest cast-iron skillet. Apparently noting the danger (I was in auto mode at that point), I slipped past him and into the dining room while my mother screamed at me, “Run! Run!” I did, and by some miracle, I was able to make it through the front door and out into the cul-de-sac and then reach the main street and then travel at breakneck speed down the main street and finally reach the front door of a neighbor’s house where I took refuge. It was a miracle. My father could have easily cut me off at the pass given he was standing within a few feet of the front door, but obviously not thinking, he instead followed me into the dining room, through the living room, and then at some point seemed to have stopped chasing me.
He was a very big man; I would have been toast had he caught up with me.
A few hours later I went home, let myself in and went to bed.
It was the normal order of things.
Even as an adult, I received threatening letters from him. And then I would move, leaving no forwarding address. When his brother died, I sent him a sympathy card. I was sincere; I really loved my uncle. A few days later, my mother called to tell me how enraged he was that I would send him a card … that she thought there was something wrong with my father (duh) … and that I should be careful. Again, the normal order of things.
I don’t know what was wrong with my father. Since my earliest memories, he’d always been angry and disapproving toward me. It could have had something to do with my mother and how unhappy she was in the marriage. And how she would come to me, even as a child, for encouragement. Yeah … I’m pretty sure that had something to do with it.
But, here’s the thing. I thought life was like this for kids everywhere. We just didn’t talk about it. On the nights when the tension was thick in the house, I would lay very still in my bed and listen for the screams and thuds and yelling from the neighbor’s houses, and if I heard it, I got that longed-for feeling that I wasn’t alone after all.
I never talked about it with anyone. And my friends didn’t either. It never occurred to me that their life was different from mine, and that they didn’t also have those kinds of secrets. As a child, you grow to accept a normal order of things. And that’s what you look for as you grow up. Familiarity, predictability, and a certain trained instinct about how things will go … preferring even the most dysfunctional, destructive, malevolent, and deceptive environments there are. You don’t see yourself in anything different. Anything better.
They call them the formative years. Yeah. It’s not just about Wonder Bread. It’s a thing.
Now, as tragic as my little story may sound, there are some good things that came out of it. My father was very smart. He worked hard. And, even though he drained my college fund to pay off his credit card bills, his own successful college career inspired me to commit to the vision very early on. I would go to college. Period. I had always wanted to be a lawyer; endowed with a gift of argumentation and an always unapologetic “disagreeable” personality.
My father was least fond of those gifts.
It was a little confusing. My teachers and counselors told me many things about myself that were in direct contradiction to what my father told me about myself. Even our neighbor, Mrs. Chew, who probably heard too often what was going down in our house, would lavish me with encouragement about my future, and praise my quick wit. We laughed a lot. Looking back, I see God salting my young life with cheerleaders who spoke good things into me.
Another good thing: Because I had to remain vigilant for changes in the mood of the house, I developed keen observational senses and instincts; senses and instincts rooted in that early need to avoid danger and protect myself. Now, no longer as concerned about danger and protecting myself (at least not as much), I’m still like a sponge. I can take in a room, the people, and “know” in some weird way how to speak and “matter of fact” (a verb phrase I made up) define a problem without personalizing it … creating a safe place for people to put their cards out on the table without fear of being dismissed. This has been extremely helpful in my profession.
The final thing, the greatest of all things, is this: God answered my most important question in October 1983.
I needed to prove myself. My answer? To be a successful career woman. By that time, I was finally on a real path. I had a sense of purpose. I loved my job. And then the company got into some very hot water. I was moved out of my dream job and put into a supervisory position, with the terrible responsibility of pushing the staff to work unimaginable hours doing work they were not trained to do. We didn’t know what was really going on, and the whole thing quickly fell apart. On top of that, I had made things worse for myself, advocating on behalf of the staff despite this “gift” of a supervisory position.
On that October night in 1983, I sat on my bed and asked aloud, “Is this all there is?”
The word “NO” blared out above all other thoughts in my mind … I think … it very well could have been audible, but it didn’t matter. Instantly, I saw in my mind’s eye the church building located a short distance down the street. I attended that church on that Sunday, went to work on that Monday, told my dear friend Tracy what had happened, and he looked at me and said, “You’re coming with me on Sunday.” And I did.
Everything changed. Every single thing in my life changed. I’d been rescued. In an instant.
And The Almighty has been working on my layers upon layers of deep wounds ever since. Some attachments, especially those to the normal order of things implanted during the formative years, take a very long time to extract from the soul.
We live from glory to glory, and the cycle never ends.
Published in General
Thank you so much for posting this. I believe it will help others who may have suffered through similar abusive situations and may still be grappling with how to cope even with the memory of them. All the best!
I appreciate you reading it. It has only been the last several years that I’ve come to realize how not normal, not safe, and not healthy it was. It’s been an awakening for me. All through the years I was alone and focused on my education and career, I pretended it never happened and it didn’t matter. Over thirty years making every effort to forget.
These things don’t go away by pretending it doesn’t matter. God is patient, working a little here and a little there. The greatest barrier to healing is shame. Very tough.
I’m sorry you had to experience this. I hope telling your story helps you and will help others that need to tell their stories.
I’ve been on domestic violence calls and what we called kiddie calls as a former police officer. It takes courage to tell your story and you have my respect for telling your story.
Love.
Your encouragement goes a long way. Thank you from my heart. You know, I think about telling the full story in a book or series of short stories. I know there is a reason God has asked me to write. I’ve been trying to find a spot in the sea of writers. Everyone else is relevant. I don’t feel relevant in this season of chaos. Thinking about it.
All we need and all we can really give. And definitely the answer to everything. I am verbose compared to your simple eloquence. Love.
You are a remarkable woman, GLW. You emerged from the darkness into the glorious light. May G-d continue to bless you.
It’s amazing what we can accept as normal, under certain circumstances.
Congratulations of working through such a difficult situation. That’s not so easy…
Thank you. He is faithful. Sometimes I wonder if He has brought me to the edge so many times so that I know what people are dealing with.
Is that a picture of the young GLW? I am so glad that you could run fast!
Haha. No, that’s not me. The look on her face is the right one.
You are truly amazing. Your courage strength and perseverance guarantee you will go far. God has great things in store for you. Thanks for sharing and I look forward to your book.
Oh gosh …. you are way too generous, but thank you for your kind words. It’s a little known fact (not in the Cliff Claven voice because it’s a little too nerdy for my taste), that I’ve had the life I’ve had. There are one or two people in my real life who know a little about a little part of the bigger picture. Writing on Ricochet has allowed me a safe place to disclose some of my story without feeling dismissed … or in some cases as real people do … gas lit. My outward persona puts on a good front, and most people will say that I’m hard to get to know. So, not so amazing, but …. a short while ago I suddenly saw what it means to live the exchanged life. And this has made a night and day difference in my day-to-day life.
These two passages from Paul’s letters to the Philippians and the Galatians finally clicked:
Philippians 3: 13-14
13 Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, 14 I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.
It took a long time to realize that forgetting those things which are behind doesn’t mean putting them out of your mind as if they didn’t happen. It means that we can free ourselves from the effects those memories have on how we view our selves and our own life in Christ. It’s like shedding old skins that only hinder our progress in moving ever-closer toward Christ.
And when we do that, we can move into an experience of the exchanged life.
Galatians 2:20-21
20 I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me.
If I’ve shed the things which are behind, and they no longer distort my perspective on the truth, and I recognize that Christ lives in me, and that I can now live by His faith … well, that changes every situation I find myself in. That is, if I remember that it is by Him I live. Remembering is the key.
Thank you again for your encouragement.
As this one would be too!
Hey, that does it. I’m going to post the picture when I find it. Make sure you take a look at it.
You have the right idea about moving on, maybe moving beyond one’s past. That applies both to what we have done and what has been done to us. As far as talking about it, I think that depends on the situation, I wouldn’t think it appropriate for everyday conversation as it is really no one’s business to know everything about one’s past unless it has some relevance to a relationship somehow. But if in a conversation where revealing something could be a way to help another who is maybe going through rough times that is another story. However a book is completely different in that it both reveals things that can be overcome or just dealt with while insulating the author from the kind of blowback encountered in private or group settings which can be brutal, as you apparently know. I don’t say this to discourage sharing but just to say use discernment. How? Get advice from those with experience and wisdom and of course from Bible reading and other reliable sources.
One more thing, your story is not only valuable to those who are in the same difficulty but can and should be useful to those who have had dissimilar pasts, maybe with Christian parents (?) who can realize that their good fortune can and should enable them to be encouragers to the less fortunate. To whom much is given shall much be required.
I hope it goes without saying that my ramblings are to be taken for what they are worth, not as orders or ultimate truth, as I intend them; I am old but far from perfect. Still learning every day.
You offer great thoughts, wisdom, and positive vibes! The book idea is a new one, and I’m feeling nudged by the Spirit, so we will see. There are other books I could write instead … which is tempting. Bless you OkieSailor. You’ve blessed me today. GLW
You are a Funny Lady.
Yes I am!!!!!! Or so I aspire 😄
This will be a blessing to many people!
God’s ’flow zones’. Wonderful.
Thank you Gwen.
I would encourage you, and anyone who has a story to tell, to find a way to heal through your writing. That way you can explain your circumstances, and express your fear and pain without expecting an immediate response from whoever is taking in the story. In person that response is often awkward silence. It is too much for most people to contemplate. Do you need empathy, sympathy, pity? What is the proper response to you if their experiences were not traumatic? And if they were, are you strong enough to handle the burden of their experiences? The re-lived pain, the possibility of one ups-manship (???), a dismissal of your life as compared to their own? I believe writing your experiences and what you have learned could be immensely helpful. Not only to those who had similar experiences, to know they are not alone, but also to those who seek to aid the healing. To answer the simple question, what do you need me to do?
But also, writing provides a safe refuge. A place where you decide what to disclose and what to keep in your heart. I don’t know much about writing, I am sure there are others who can provide more assistance. I would, however, decide first to whom you are writing. It would be a very different work to write to/for yourself, for your mom, or dad, your neighbors or friends, or for strangers who may benefit from your experiences. May God bless you in your pursuit of Christ’s peace.
Thank you for all of your thoughts and insights. It seems that my post, one that there was no real forethought about, has brought something to the forefront for me. I am wondering what I’m supposed to do now. Coincidentally a woman at church read a book I wrote almost ten years ago. She came to me after church on Sunday, book in hand, and asked me to sign it. We are having coffee this week. Makes me wonder. Bless you Juliana
GLW