Balance Beam Living: Boundaries and Truth-speaking

Thinking today about a challenging balance...truth-speaking and speaking for myself.

 Like one of my heroes Danny Silk says:  I manage me. You manage you. I don't try to manage you.  I don't let you manage me. 

This has been a foundation stone of my growth in boundary setting (from pretty much no boundaries ever to generally sane boundaries most of the time!).

"I don't try to manage you".....The principle of not speaking for others who are perfectly able to speak for themselves. Not speaking as if I know who someone else is, what they should do and why.   

How do I balance this with the principle of truth-speaking with a loving attitude and intention?
here's my unfinished, in-process thinking: Jesus rarely told anyone what to do. He taught principles. Told stories with hidden treasures inside that could help someone change their way of thinking and seeing.

He also spoke truth to the controlling religious leaders of his time. he wasn't afraid to say, "No. That's not what love looks like" or "You put burdens on the shoulders of the people and don't do a thing to help them."

Realize that "managing me" means I speak for myself, not for others. When I speak only for myself, I don't "get" to be "right." I only get to take responsibility for myself. Darn! I want to be "right."  (Whining ensues...I should get to be right because I think alot. So much more than those "other" people. Or because I'm all about justice. Or because....")

Because I'm not Jesus - I'm only me...sometimes volatile and reactive....sometimes thoughtful..sometimes not....do I ever really speak "truth"?  Do I even know it?

Is it enough for me to do my best with the whole "light shining" thing and trust that Truth will be visible if I'm living it?

How can I learn to love and speak truth? To manage me and love others. To give up being right and still desire my life and words to reflect Truth?

Thinking a lot wears me out. I need lunch. Possibly a doughnut.

"I love you, but just stop talking"

today I stopped at Trader Joe's after church. Groceries after the YWAM retreat last week. Lugging them into the YWAM base where I live, I see Karin across the street. She comes to Nail Day often. We always talk and pray and laugh. She has lived with alcoholism and drug addiction for ??? years. But, recently, she's been sober. it took weeks and weeks for her to emerge from the fog.  Each week, more of her real self emerged.  The angry, defensive, fearful street person began to soften. An artist was hiding in there. A storyteller - sometimes the stories were hair-raisers, but she told them with such passion.... A few weeks ago she was wearing the coolest ensemble.  A little hippie, a little ethnic coolness.  I loved it.   Today, she was across the street. High. Drunk. Her possessions strewn across the sidewalk. She's somehow lost any suitcase or bag or container.  She fumbled about, making piles of clothes....a bag of chips. A sweatshirt. Some Clorox wipes.  The detritus of life on the streets.  Were these her earthly possessions?

At the door of the base, LB, my favorite, much beloved crack dealer, said, "She's an alcoholic. She's at it again."  I nodded. She was right you know.  But, I headed across the street. Asked Karin if I could bring her some tote bags to put her stuff in.  She held on to me with a surprisingly strong grip. "Pray, mama."  We prayed.  I've been meditating on the Truth that God is bigger. Bigger than the Tenderloin. Bigger than addiction. Bigger than strip clubs or prostitution or poverty. Bigger than mental illness or violence.  HE is bigger and I trust HIM to save us.   I started to declare these things, over and over.  Prayed in tongues for awhile, when the hurt in my heart got really burning hot.  Then, went back to declaring that OUR GOD IS BIGGER.  

Later, I asked where she was sleeping tonight. She pointed to the sidewalk.  I mentioned a women's shelter. She began a convoluted story....because of disease and inability to clean sinks after each use, she said they ask women to spit their toothpaste into the toilet. She could not accept this indignity. She refused to "be treated like that....like I should put my face near a disgusting toilet."   

Now, I knew the shelter's motivation was sanitary - or Karin had misunderstood....but i kept my peace.  She explained "That's why I don't want to be near anybody. I want everybody to leave me alone."

Then, like I had no more sense than a muggle, I asked if she wanted me to call the Homeless Outreach Team.  I was thinking blankets maybe...or a shelter bed if she could endure it.    She exploded. "Aren't you listening? Doesn't anyone listen? I SAID I don't want to be near anybody."  She began to pull her hair.  Distraught.  I apologized.  "Just stop Don't talk, mama."  Then, her eyes cleared for a moment. "I love you, but just don't talk."  I nodded.  Sorry that I had upset her.   She nodded.  I walked away.

Perhaps she'll come to nail day tomorrow.  I'm going to keep an eye out for her...maybe take her hot coffee in the morning if she's there.  Look out for her in the afternoon as Nail Day approaches.

Pray for Karin. For this lovely, fashionista, artist and storyteller.  for her desire to be sober and the literal, not symbolic demons that block her at every turn.  I bless her for being gracious when I spoke out of turn.  When i didn't LISTEN.  for loving me and being honest enough to tell me to stop talking.

When I see her next, she will love and welcome me with open arms.  She will forgive me for talking too much and not listening when she said she couldn't stand to be near anyone in a shelter.  And, she will apologize - probably many times - for being high and yelling.  And we will hold each other.....I will say - maybe silently, maybe not - that our God is bigger than addiction, Bigger than relapse. Bigger than panic attacks and fear and rage.  Bigger than me talking when i should have just listened. 

Our God is bigger. What we see with our eyes in temporal.  What God speaks is ETERNAL. 

Hoping today. Love will win.

IT'S NOT FAIR!!

This week been thinking about FAIR because two women much beloved by BJM had incredible, unexpected good news.  They both got HOUSING!

S. was eligible as part of an Obama administration effort to house homeless vets and former foster children under age 24.  A case worker helped her apply. She’s a former runaway with a severe, congenital disability. She’s been on the streets for the past 2+ years while (drum roll here) attending City College of San Francisco!

On Wednesday, S. moved into a small apartment right across the street from her SCHOOL! (I’m about to go all-out and just type a whole line of exclamation points). Amazing. Impossible!  Plus, she won’t be in the Tenderloin anymore!!!!!

Whew…that was exhausting.

Then, my beloved kid “K” told me she was going to get “a place.”  Frankly, I thought it was wishful thinking or confusion or even a scam.  K has been offered housing before with a not-uncommon “catch” of sex as payment.  So, I wanted to see the place. Meet the director. Check the whole thing out.

Whoa! It was legit. And, she had suddenly – for no reason – moved to the top of the waiting list.

The studio apartment, in the Tenderloin, is located in an old but well-kept hotel. Beautiful murals in the entry were probably WPA artist-grant projects in the 1930s. The apartment is small but clean. Wood floors, a private bath and tiny kitchen area. 

The most amazing part of this is that K received this apartment without the usual 2+ year wait or the sometimes=even-longer Lottery system!  She applied and was told “YES”….We spent last Friday discovering just how much stuff I can tie to the roof rack of my car.  Picking up furniture, kitchenware, a bookshelf listed “free” on Craigslist.  I went to Goodwill and bought a comfy chair, small shelving unit and a stool so she can sit at the counter and eat.  2 plates, 2 bowls, 2 sets of silverware and mugs….  A lovely San Franciscan moving to Sweden for a new job gifted K with bedding and pillows. 

I felt such joy. And such inner conflict.

Because another friend, C, has been waiting for more than 2 years for housing.  C has done it all “by the book”….Filling out forms, Re-filling out forms when they were lost or expired or who-knows-what bureaucratic stupidity.  Walking from office to office.  Walking with a walker because C. was injured in a serious fall years ago…the injury was so severe that she couldn’t work….lost her job….and with it, her health insurance…..because ObamaCare didn’t exist then, her medical bills thrust her into bankruptcy…Lost her home and ended up on the streets (this is an all-too-common story here in the Tenderloin)

Today, C. needs hip replacement surgery related to that injury that led to homelessness…and now, CAN’T have the surgery until she has a place to live.  (WHAT?  Yep…she can’t have surgery and be released to the streets….and is still on the streets unable to work because she needs the surgery)

So, C does everything the system asks. Dots her I’s and everything else in sight….and K gets an apartment in a few weeks. 

I am so grateful that K is no longer on the streets. SO hopeful that having stable housing will be the key that opens the door to healing of trauma, recovery of identity, and a new vision for life that includes good things like work and stable relationships.  This is so GOOD.

AND, another part of my mind is screaming; “IT’S NOT FAIR!” C should have a place to live!  C should have gotten housing first.

I talked to Father about it. Here are some thoughts from that conversation:

            *the world lives with a mindset of scarcity and Law

            * The world acts based on the belief that there isn’t enough, and we need to work hard because we get what we deserve

            * God doesn’t give us what we deserve. It’s called Grace…

·      Grace isn’t fair

o   God isn’t fair…and it’s not just about getting into heaven “free of charge” without having to earn any status as His Children

o   God loves K and loves C.  And, what happened isn’t fair.

o   But God IS good.

God is good. I don’t believe for one moment that we should nod sagely and mumble, “It’s God’s will that Carmen is homeless…He will be glorified through it…just wait…”

I reject the lie that God “wills” pain and evil to happen so that He can accomplish some bigger plan.  Or, that He arbitrarily dispenses good things to some and leaves others in the lurch…

I feel so happy and so sad. I can’t fix the system that left C homeless, broke, and sick after a lifetime of hard work and responsibility.  I can’t fix the system that ignored K – a 10 year-old runaway from a sexually abusive home…and failed to protect her at almost every level.

It isn’t helpful for me to ask “why” K got housing and C  - whose immediate need is more critical – is still homeless.  I suppose any answer to “why” is too massive…touching on greed, sin, economic power, corruption and human failure to care.

I’m left with the freeing, hopeful good news that God isn’t fair. We don’t need to fear because He isn’t keeping score.  But God is good. Absolutely good.  And that Truth  is hope.

In the hallways of San Francisco General Hospital: (or) I don't do blood very well....

Love to you all from the Tenderloin!  It’s the 7^th anniversary of Because Justice Matters.  I’m in Redding hanging out with my BF MaryBeth and my BJM sisters are having brunch (of course) back in San Francisco. Sisters, forever!

A friend posted a pic of a medical provider with the caption, “I’m a nurse. Obliged to provide top-notch care and comfort – even to people with freaking swastikas tattooed on their flesh.  If I can take care of Nazi sympathizers, they can serve pizza to gay people.”

Yesterday with a friend at San Francisco General Hospital. Whoa! This is what healthcare looks like for the urban poor....In the hallways. HALLWAYS, mind you… I saw medical procedures being done. Discussions of confidential information with patients.

Nurses and Docs treating angry, confused drunk people (overheard said to thrashing, confused guy by kind resident with a smile: "It's okay, we're just getting some fluid into you beside beer"), mentally ill people (one screamed over and over and OVER "I'm going to a better place" until another patient muttered, 'You could go there now...'  have to admit, she was saying what I was too “nice” to say….)

Disturbing, sexually inappropriate, bad-smelling men from the streets. "Failed" suicide attempts with blood everywhere (evidently, I don’t do blood well…felt kinda queasy). Sirens outside followed by yelling. Nurse said it was a really bad car accident. Some guy with a truly amazing vocabulary of profanity who threatened people and had to have a police officer standing by.

I had one of my “Jesus, here we are” moments. Part of me wanted to leave and take a walk in the park.  Any park. Part of me wanted to start down the crowded, noisy hallway, going bed to bed. Smiling. Touching gently. Praying. Saying, “Jesus is here. You aren’t invisible.”  Sometimes I laugh at the weird places where I suddenly feel at home (except for the blood…ick)

Had a momentary flash of that unsmiling security guard escorting me from the building and me having to leave my friend mid-x-ray…so I didn’t cross the chicken line.  Wondering if I should go back.  My beautiful Jesus could clear that ER and send everyone home healed. Am I brave enough to do what I see my Father in heaven doing?

But, this brings me to the actual purpose of telling this story. The nurse and the ‘freaking swastikas’….

In the 4+ hours I spent there, never, not once, did I hear anyone ask a patient, "Are you gay?... Are you divorced?... Put on this hajib or I won’t help you.”

I didn't even hear anybody say, "Are you Christian? Because I'm gay and I don't like the way your people treat me."

Now, maybe I know some “Indiana-type sympathizers” who don’t want to be forced to do things they believe support lifestyles with which they disagree (translate: don’t want to bake wedding cakes for gay weddings or be a real estate agent for gay couples looking for houses).  I don’t know…

And, I must acknowledge that a Michigan pediatrician refused to act as primary care doctor for a newborn patient when she realized the baby’s parents were two women.  And, I am in the “affirming” camp just so you don’t think I’m somebody I’m not.   But…

These two stories feel important to me. 

Recently I asked some 20 and 30 something young women…smart, very well educated, compassionate, aware….why they rejected Christianity.  Here are (in my words) their reasons: the cruel, intentionally rejecting way they saw Christians treat gay people, Christians who reject science because they “don’t believe in global warming” and don’t have a clue why.  Misogyny in the church (all men all the time). And, Christians blaming women for “dressing immodestly” instead of teaching men to keep their eyes and hands to themselves.  (A couple mentions of the Duggers being “bat shit crazy”….but that was sort of comic relief….)

The witness of Jesus is harmed by Christians who appear to be more concerned about the gay couple down the block who want to be married than they are about the homeless mom and kids sleeping on the street or the working poor who must choose between paying bills and buying medication.

I’m gonna scrounge around and see if I still have my What Would Jesus Do bracelet…

Brave hearts, taking a break, and visit #2 to the bouncer at New Century Strip Club

So, all of a sudden it's May. Great gobs of it - how did this happen?
Of course, May in San Francisco isn't quite the "hallelujah, finally the snow is gone" moment that Midwesterners celebrate.  In fact, it gets colder as summer approaches.  The SF joke is a quote attributed to Mark Twain that "The coldest winter I ever spent was summer in San Francisco."

The BJM team is taking a modified break for the rest of this month.  Our director, Ruthie, had planned a well-deserved sabbatical to rest and hear from God. Recent staff changes left Lisa, Natt, and myself holding down the fort with the women's ministry. Interns leaving. Summer interns coming. We all needed a break.

Cancelling Nail Day for 4 weeks was very difficult. We recognize that, for some women in the community, Nail Day is a cornerstone of the week. A dependable, safe-zone they count on to start each week.  To connect with BJM staff and feel loved and cared about.  So deciding not to have Nail day means those women feel upended. Abandoned even.  Our beloved M. won't speak to me!

Yet, I can see that our BJM staff is tired.  In need of time and space for R&R. Time just to think and meet God for coffee as it were.  One of our staff headed out of state for retreat and regrouping. Another attended some weddings and had a party at her house!  A third is taking some overseas vacation time with her wonderful husband.  I'm heading to Redding for a long weekend with my bff MaryBeth Haunty....and plans for an eat-and-talk fest with Chris and Sarah Pollasch, too.

So, last Friday I was assigned to hot chocolate outreach again.  Invited "anyone interested" to accompany me to O'Farrell, Larkin, and Polk Streets to make the rounds of some of the TL strip clubs. Three high school kids from Napa took the bait, and we headed out.

First, we met a woman named Julie, leaning against a building with her friend, smoking and waiting. Within minutes of our "hi, I'm Julia...it's cold...would you like some cocoa...." her friend's "friend" arrived. A tightly wound guy with no smile for me and annoyance written all over his face.  Of course, he was their pimp.  And, who's going to make him an offer for his "girls" with three white kids from Napa and somebody's mom hanging around.  Nobody. 

But Julie wanted to talk.  She wanted cocoa and wanted me - very much - to hear that she knows Jesus and wants somebody to pray for her.  "Pray I make good decisions," she asked. And, in a low voice, "Pray that I get out of this. I gotta make some changes.....something's gotta change."

She let us pray for her.  Held me a long time in a hug. I used to joke that some people have such orphaned hearts that they would crawl into my womb and be born if they could.  That's how it felt. Clinging and saying, "I gotta make some changes."  She had tears in her eyes. So did I.

Mr. no-smile wasn't happy, but Julie kept chattering away. "He can wait," she said.  At one point, I whispered. "Are you safe? Will he hurt you because you're talking to me?"  She shook her head. "Nah...he's nothin'."  I wasn't so sure, so we hugged one last time. I said,  "Thanks. See you."

And, we headed to the New Century club.  There, at his post, was Jason....the bouncer!  He was shocked that I remembered him and asked about his son.  He's cut back his work schedule to 4 nights a week and isn't playing gigs "for awhile," he said. He let me pray again.  Hugged until he squeezed the air out of me.  And introduced me to "Chelsea" - one of "the girls" who was waiting at the club entrance for her boyfriend to "stop by."  Chelsea declined our offer of cocoa. "I'm used to being cold," she said. "they keep the club so cold...we're always cold but we get used to it."  She gifted me with a huge, sweet smile.  Looked like maybe she was out of high school. Maybe. 

"I'll see you again," I shook Chelsea's tiny hand. "Good to meet you."

So. Step 2.  One more  step toward befriending the girls at the New Century and seeing what difference love will make in that dark place. 

Right now, I'm asking God for 3 full time BJM staff women (4 including myself) to focus on re-starting the ministry of relationships and love with girls and women working in Tenderloin strip and sex clubs.  Next time you're having a conversation with Father, you ask too! Okay?
Let's do this thing!

Meeting the Bouncer at the New Century Strip Club

Five years ago I visited Because Justice Matters because I’d read they were making relationships with girls and women in area strip clubs. I learned that ministry had just closed due to staff transitions.  The next summer I volunteered for 2 weeks.  Jen, the woman who had pioneered the strip club ministry spoke with me at length. “We started by getting to know the bouncers,” she said. “Earning trust. Building relationships.” By the time they had to close the ministry, Jen was the only staff involved. And, she had invested countless hours getting to know women in more than one North Beach club. It was hard for everyone.

I returned to Wisconsin and started building a private counseling practice. BJM stayed in my mind. I found myself thinking about women I’d met. I felt the need in the Tenderloin like an itch. It wouldn’t go away.

So, that summer I applied to be an intern. Maybe 3 months in San Francisco would stop the itch.  Of course, many of you know what happened.  I decided to do what my heart wanted. Moved to SF and joined BJM staff. One of the best decisions I’ve ever made. Ever.

Now, nearly 2 years later, that same heart is still drawn to the strip clubs and the women and girls working there. I told God….”Let me restart the work in the strip clubs and with women in street prostitution.  I want healing and souls.”

SO…last fall, God and I had a back-and-forth. It went like this:
            * me: Strip clubs, prostitution, street outreach
            * Him: pastoral care
            * me: Strip clubs, prostitution, street outreach
            * Him: pastoral care

Repeat….a couple more times. Same response. Okay…..

Now, belonging to Jesus for 45 years (whoa, now THAT makes me feel old!) has taught me a number of things. One is that God is better at anything than I am. He knows what he’s doing. He’s God. I’m not. The smart money is on Him.

So I paused to remember the women God has beamed into my life. One newish Jesus-follower I meet with every week. Another beautiful one who comes to church.  BJM friends.  A dealer on Ellis with whom I’m slowly building trust. My beloved K who has grown so much – and has so far to go still.

Pastoral care.  Caring for and about the women God has already sent my way.

Long ago I determined to refuse to say No when God asks. I decided that, regardless of the question, my answer would always be Yes – or as close to Yes as I can figure out.

Embracing “pastoral care” felt deflating. I pouted and whined a little inside before my “yes”  After all, there was that “smart money” thing.

Since fall, pastoral care has been my focus. Many good times of healing prayer. One-on-one meetings where people can share and explore and find insight. God shows up. Hurting places are touched and healed. Hurting hearts stop hurting.

The past 7 months have been time well spent. I’m not pouting anymore – though I whine on occasion. The “strip clubs, prostitution, street outreach” dream has been safely stuffed under the bed.

SO, two weeks ago I was scheduled to help with YWAM’s Friday hot chocolate outreach. Visiting “urban ministry experience” teams from anywhere and everywhere come to YWAM for a day, a weekend or a full week at a time. On Fridays, these teams fill thermoses with hot cocoa and head to the streets.

On a chilly night – and nearly every night in SF qualifies….don’t let the 70-degrees-and-sunny reports fool you into coming without a hoodie and long pants even in July.  Sweatshirt vendors make a killing every summer selling cheap sweats to freezing tourists who think all of California is San Diego…and dress accordingly.

Sorry for the distraction….

So I joined others from a visiting team to give away hot cocoa and prayer.  Two lanky, just-out-of-college type boys from suburban Marin and I headed toward the New Century strip club – a neighborhood establishment about 5 blocks away.

We arrived at the club about 8 – far too early for the “let’s go to a strip club” groups of young men or the “conference in SF” professionals having a night on the town to do something stupid.

Outside, a husky Latino man stood. His navy suit and name badge identified him as “Jason,” club security. We offered him cocoa.

“What are you doing?”

We explained about YWAM and hot cocoa night.

“Interesting,” he said. “I bet homeless people appreciate the cocoa.”

We asked a bit about his job. Long nights, he said. The pay was okay, but the work was hard. Lots of drunk guys and wild bachelor parties.

“Could we pray for you for anything?” we asked.

The man was silent for a long moment. Then, words began to tumble from him…about his son diagnosed with autism. His long hoped-for career as a musician. His wife needing help.

“My son needs me more,” he said. “he needs more time…..I need to let go of my music. Because of my son.”

He seemed to choke up.  “I love my music, but I love my son more.”

We began to pray for him.

I blessed his father’s heart. Told him that “Father God feels the same about you as you feel about your son.”  I said God gave up something precious to him, too, because we needed him.

“God sent Jesus to us because we needed to know Him,” I said. “Now, because you have a heart like God’s heart, you are giving up your music because your son needs you.”

We prayed for his music. For his marriage. For his son.  Asked God to return his music when the time was right. To let his music be part of his son’s healing. It was a blast.

At the end, we hugged. The two boys from Marin stood on the sidewalk, grinning like Halloween pumpkins. It was GOOD.

As we walked away, it hit me.  Jason’s name badge read “security.”

The first step in strip club ministry, Jen had told me 2 years ago, was to meet the bouncer. I began to laugh.

I had just met the bouncer at the New Century strip club! Without a plan or even an awareness. God set me up to meet the bouncer. Not just for Jason, but for ME too. Because it would show me that, after 7 months, God remembered.  Of course!

And, it was so GOOD.

Choice, Consent, and Abuse

Thinking about “ choice”

So, recently we all saw, heard or participated in a bit of hullaballoo about the Fifty Shades of Gray film.

I won’t dissect the books and movie here except to say it is a story of abuse, control, gaslighting (look that one up if you don’t know it), mind games, manipulation and false views of love, intimacy, choice and consent.  As one reviewer said, “If [the male protagonist/abuser] lived in a shack instead of a penthouse, this wouldn’t be a feature film, it’d be a plot for Criminal Minds!”

Some brilliant somebody suggested that, instead of paying $ to see porn masquerading as story, we all boycott the flick and donate to our local domestic violence shelter instead.

I cheered.  Good idea!

Then, something happened that really threw me off the bridge.  A Christian leader I respect - who recently risked a lot to write a book confronting traditional evangelical views barring women from positions of leadership in the Church - posted on his Facebook page the

 suggestion that people not donate to domestic violence shelters but INSTEAD to ministries fighting sex trafficking. Why? Because, he wrote, trafficked women “don’t have any choice.”

I read the words. Twice. I realized I wasn’t breathing. I felt shocked. As if I had been slapped.

I took a mental step backward. Perhaps this Christian leader didn’t fully understand what he was saying. Did he really believe that women who experienced domestic violence CHOOSE to be abused?

Yet, as I read and re-read his words I couldn’t understand them any other way…he clearly communicated that donations would be better given to anti-trafficking work than to domestic violence shelters. He suggested donors could be certain no woman helped by a sex trafficking ministry had “chosen” to be a victim.  The unspoken communication was, of course, that women in domestic violence shelters may have chosen to be abused.

So, I need to write – and this writing and reading community needs to dialogue – about choice. And consent. And women. And Domestic Violence.

CHOICE is a decision freely made. Without coercion, force, or fraud. Without fear and confusion, manipulation or control.

Choice must include:

            * viable, real options to choose between
            * sufficient power that one’s decision has impact on the situation
            * ABILITY to understand, evaluate, and choose between available options
            * CAPACITY – emotional, spiritual, mental or intellectual – strength
            * safety, access to survival resources (food, $$, shelter, protection)
            * physical and emotional freedom to choose

I believe that, in the absence of any of these components, a woman is not freely making a real choice. When abuse, coercion, threats or emotional/mental manipulation create fear, loss of confidence, and loss of identity, self-worth and value, real choice simply doesn’t happen. 

“But she stayed” we often hear.  I wonder if that idea influenced the Christian leader who seems to believe trafficked women don’t “choose” but women in domestic violence do?

A woman may stay in an abusive relationship. In reality, research shows women who leave actually plan to leave an average of 7 times before they either succeed, give up, or are murdered. Why? Because leaving requires resources, confidence, money, safe opportunity, and support – before, during and after. Many women CHOOSE to leave, TRY to leave, and end up staying because they can’t get “everything” together.

Women stay because they are afraid. They have reason to be afraid because they have been battered, threatened, injured and controlled. They fear their partner will harm, kidnap or kill them, their pets, family and friends, or their children. Fear is not choice.

They stay because they have been taught in church that marriage is forever and they should go back, pray, and try again. Religious control is not choice.  

They stay because they have no money, no job history, or little education. They fear they can’t support themselves. Lack of survival resources is not choice.

They stay because they hope that maybe – this time – his promises to change are true. Believing a lie is not the same thing as choosing to be abused.

A dear, wise and beloved friend who escaped a physically and emotionally abusive relationship says it was and is important to not see herself as a helpless victim. She wrote, “I did make choices – not always good ones, but I made them.”  What we both understood in the resulting conversation was that she did choose to try again….or to accept unacceptable behavior….or to believe his claims that “it would never happen again.”  She did choose to stay until she finally chose to leave.  However, what she never chose was to be abused.

So, Fifty Shades of Gray has had its day. This week I heard the first news story of a death resulting from some foolish person trying to duplicate what he saw on the movie screen.

I hope Domestic Violence shelters saw an increase in donations. I hope the leader I respect – and anyone else in need of “new thinking” – comes to see choices and the women who make them with new eyes.