Dirty Laundry

Does life feel like this?

One of our cats prefers to hang out in the clean laundry basket. Whatever. I'm so used to cat hair on my clothes I don't stress too much over the fact that he gets it there before I've even had a chance to put them away. But the other day he hunkered down in there while I was actually doing the laundry. So it happened that I began to toss clean folded laundry on top of him. Hey, if you're going to sleep where I'm working, expect to get buried in stuff. 

But he did not move. No matter how many clean clothes I piled on top of him, on he slept. He may have opened a slightly perturbed eye now and then, but he had no plan to get out of that basket anytime soon.

At first, I wondered what to make of this. I mean, wouldn't a normal human being (read that cat, here) want to maybe move away if he was being suffocated in stuff? Then I thought about it a bit more. And I wondered how often that was true in my own life. How many times have I sat there while life, or other people, piled things on top of me? I just took them and slept on. When it would make sense to wake up and say, “Hey! Didn't you notice me in here?” and then get the heck our from underneath all that junk, sometimes I don't behave any smarter than the cat.

There's a lot of junk being piled on top of me, but I am comfortable. Moving is work. Moving means finding a new place to be. It means giving up the known and comfortable basket and making the effort to walk away toward other options.

Raise of hands—how many of you do that consistently? I thought so.

I know so, because I hear it all the time.

• I'd like more time together at home but I have to take my kid to four practices this week. . .
• I would hang out but there's this project at work someone else was supposed to do and. . .
• My family expects me to host this big dinner and I can't take the stress . . .
• I'm going to feel so guilty if I don't do this the way my in-laws want it done. . .
• There are two meetings and an outreach event and a kids' camp at church this week, and I really should be there . . .
• It's my three-year-old's birthday and I have to make zoo cupcake trains. (Is that even a thing?!)

Did you notice some of the common words in those all-too-real scenarios? Expect. But. Supposed to. Guilt. Should. Have to.

There is all kinds of stuff being piled on us all the time, and we accept it because it comes with those magically guilt-inducing words: have to. When was the last time you looked at one of those expectations and asked, “Do I really?”

• Do I really have to put my kid in all those sports, or can I step off that wild ride?
• Do I really have to complete someone else's work, or am I just controlling how it gets done?
• Do I really have to host a dinner for family, or can we call it a potluck?
• Do I really have to craft a birthday party that rivals Martha Stewart and Disney combined, or will a family get together with a cake and candles do fine?

What are we afraid is going to happen if we question the have-to's in our life?

I believe we put too much blame on what others are throwing on us and take too little responsibility for not moving out from underneath it all. Their laundry is stifling, but at least we know we're comfortably in control of making others happy. We know we're needed. We know it will get done right. Let's be honest, more often than not, if we're sitting under a load of stuff, we have chosen to sit there. We could get out. But we're afraid to leave the warm security, even if it's slowly suffocating us.

• What's the worst thing that can happen if I say no?
• What terrible tragedy will take place if I decide to let something go I think I have to control?
• What world will spin out if I choose to let others be responsible for themselves?

Will I still be a worthwhile, loved person if I get out from under the pile?

As Jen Hatmaker writes in her upcoming book, For the Love,

“We no longer assess our lives with any accuracy. We have lost the ability to declare a job well-done. We measure our performance against an invented standard and come up wanting, and it is destroying our joy. No matter how hard we work or excel in an area or two, it never feels like enough. Our primary defaults are exhaustion and guilt. Meanwhile, we have beautiful lives begging to be really lived, really enjoyed, really applauded—and it is simpler than we dare hope.”

How simple? Get out of the laundry basket. Decide now that the world will not implode if you don't please everyone or control the outcome of everything. Start asking yourself the questions: Do I really? What's the worst that could happen? Will I still matter?

It's doubt on that last one that kills us. So let's settle it now. You are a human being made in the image of God. (At least I think you're human. If you're not, and you're reading this blog, pleeeease send me a video.)

" Then God said, “Let us make human beings in our image, to be like us. They will reign over the fish in the sea, the birds in the sky, the livestock, all the wild animals on the earth, and the small animals that scurry along the ground.”

So God created human beings in his own image. In the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.

Then God looked over all he had made, and he saw that it was very good!"

That image has never been rescinded. It's never been recalled. It's never been contingent on how much you've done to earn it. It was a done deal at creation. If someone else wants to doubt that about you, that's their big ol' mess of laundry, not yours. Pitch it off.

Getting off the roller coaster?

That's why we have beautiful lives begging to be really lived. It was wired into us from the beginning. Lived in the sense of knowing all the way through us that it is freer outside of the basket where the air is clear. (Especially if it's dirty laundry being thrown on us. Eeew.) It only seems scarier just before you jump out.

What invented standard or expectation does God want you to cast off today so you can live His joy?

Our Stories Matter: Proceed with Caution

Those of us who regularly advocate for women' issues have been waiting, not with anticipation. We knew it was coming. 

A week after 50 Shades of Grey hit screens, someone in Chicago used it as his excuse to tie up and rape a young woman. Not surprisingly, opinion writers and Facebook ranters pounced on the news. Also not surprisingly, they continued to have radically differeent opinions.

People are responsible for their own actions. No one can blame a movie or a book for being dumb.

If violent sexual behavior sells, we should not be surprised when men follow through.

I have my opinions. I've voiced them—numerous times. (Here, here, here, and here, for instance.) But the controversy made me think about my own writing. As a writer myself, it matters to me whether what I say effects what someone else does. As a Christian, I have to take the question a step farther and ask, “What is my responsibility for what I write, teach, and communicate?” How far ahead do I have to think about words I put on paper or speak from a pulpit to see the possible ramifications? How much should I gauge what I say accordingly?

Is “the movie made me do it” ever a tenable defense? What does that mean for those of us who put words in public? What kind of power do we have to change people?

More than we know.

Studies in neuroscience prove that what we read not only informs and entertain us, it changes us.

“A team of researchers from Emory University reported that when subjects in their laboratory read a metaphor involving texture, the sensory cortex, responsible for perceiving texture through touch, became active. Metaphors like 'The singer had a velvet voice' and 'He had leathery hands' roused the sensory cortex, while phrases matched for meaning, like 'The singer had a pleasing voice' and 'He had strong hands,' did not. The brain, it seems, does not make much of a distinction between reading about an experience and encountering it in real life.” (NYT, Annie Paul)

So while a lot of people are arguing that a story is just a story, and fiction is not intended to be taken seriously, biology disagrees. Though we have read or seen something not real, our minds and bodies have experienced something very real.

This has no lasting effect if we read about the smells of grandma's kitchen and then want to go eat snickerdoodles. But there are more serious sensory descriptions going on in literature and cinema than cookies. We need to carefully consider what we're creating.

“Dear brothers and sisters, not many of you should become teachers in the church, for we who teach will be judged more strictly. Indeed, we all make many mistakes." (James 3.1-2)

I know a great deal about that “making many mistakes” part. Nevertheless, those who choose to teach the word of God, which includes Christian communicators of all kinds, need to heed James carefully. We will be held to a higher standard. Why? Because words are powerful, and they shape peoples' hearts. And, we are not employing simple words as Christians. We are teaching God's words. That is a whole different level of words. Everyday words are dynamite, and we are working with atomic bombs by comparison. We need to watch what buttons we choose to push.

This applies to every area of our communications. I am assuming Christian communicators are not out there planning to emulate E. L. James. But we do permeate our writing with our worldview. If we write nonfiction, we propagate opinions and choose our facts based on our own biases. Are those biases rooted in Scripture and eternal truth? Or are they the product of our own culture and preferences?

As fiction writers, we create worlds and scenarios. Are those worlds challenging Christian to think about issues close to God's heart, or are they forwarding our own agendas? It matters, if stories change hearts and actions. Fiction, in fact, appears to have more of an impact on our thought patterns, and behaviors, than nonfiction.

“Research consistently shows that fiction does mold us. Studies show that when we read nonfiction, we read with our shields up. We are critical and skeptical. But when we are absorbed in a story, we drop our intellectual guard. We are moved emotionally, and this seems to make us rubbery and easy to shape.”
 (Jonathan Gottschall, Boston Globe, April 29, 2012.)

All communicators want to convey a message. If we didn't, we would get a job at Target and take up knitting. Stories teach. They always have. Jesus knew it when he used parables to convey his point. He chose his words carefully, because he, the living Word, understood their power.

Books have a long history of impact. Charles Dickens led the way toward child labor reform. Upton Sinclair forced food industry change. (Though that was not his intention.) A number of dystopian works (1984, Brave New World, Fahrenheit 451) caused people to evaluate the future and what they did or did not want in it. Uncle Tom's Cabin gave a face to slavery and helped usher Lincoln into the presidency. That's a lot of power for simple stories.

“And you yourself must be an example to them by doing good works of every kind. Let everything you do reflect the integrity and seriousness of your teaching. Teach the truth so that your teaching can’t be criticized.”

 (Titus 2.7-8)

Am I suggesting Christian writing that's all sunshine and unicorns? Hardly. None of the above examples are works of perfect heroes and happy endings. Considering the Psalms, Lamentations, and the most graphic book of Scripture, Judges, no one can argue that the Bible shies away from tough plot lines. In fact, I would argue that Christians need to embrace the tough things in their writing a lot more often than we do.

But we need to do it with care. A teacher is responsible for his or her teaching. There is no “it was just a story” defense. Nothing is just a story. No communication enters a black hole. That applies whether we're writing a novel or an op ed about issues of the day. Our words have a heavy weight. Choose them with love, grace, and honesty. Choose them with care.