In my pocket is this amazing new phone.  This modern device, all touch-pad glorifying.  It has endless and varied options for me.  Texting.  Internet.  Facebook log-in.  Email log-in.  It can do all kinds of research for me and find me GPS-wise where I need to go- if I am lost.

It can write for me.  It can wake me up with song, if I just hit the download key.  It can voice-automated make calls for me.  I simply speak a name, and dialing away it goes.

It is this tiny little thing.  How can something so minute, contain so much data and perform so many tasks simultaneously?  How did an entire universe of information become available literally- in the palm of my hand?

Up until now I have had the Model-T of phones, while everyone around has had the Hummer.  Mine flipped open, flipped closed.  It had a broken #3, so I could only call out to friends whose phone information was 3-less.  It had no texting.  No email.  No nothing really.  It dialed and I answered and that was that.  Primitive phoning, and really-it worked.

In my pocket there now lies this world of opportunity.  I saw the headline which popped up yesterday on my tiny screen.  “Kim Kardashian gains weight, and her sister Khloe is skinnier”, or something equally trivial.  I saw my Inbox with new messages.  And 1248 still to delete (one blog=endless spammer-heaven).  I saw the weather option.  But I was outside at the park, and it seemed silly to check the weather stats.  Couldn’t my skin and senses report the conditions well enough?

I felt my pocket.  This little rectangle of distraction.  I placed my phone in my purse.  Just a phone.  And all that I need- simply a means to call in, call out.  To keep within grasp a measure of being contacted while kids are in school, to catch up here and there with friends, to make doctor and dentist appointments.  To converse with an end in sight, not for just any means to fill up my time.

Isn’t that all I need?  I think so.  I am not that important and my email count will be the same at 8pm when the kids are in bed for the night.  I am not paid by somebody else to be “on the clock”, and available day-and-year-round.  A simple tool is all I require, right?  I asked Pat to disable for me: texting, internet and email.  I do not desire to carry around with me all the stats of the globe, and miss out on MY globe.  Truthfully: in my world right now there are 4 small children and one amazing husband, all eager to be loved.  A good handful of great friends.  And a school to input into as I can.  There is a God to worship and 5 lives to daily pray for. 

There is food to cook and books to read. 

Parks to play at and questions to listen to.  To respond to.  Children with colds and viruses to patiently love.

This is a much bigger life than I anticipated when I was pregnant for the first time.  It races on with each new day, but each day that can never be returned to and lived again in a better way.  Lots of days lie ahead with potential for good and bad, but today- and this moment- will never be gotten back. 

 All over the park yesterday afternoon and every day, are parents with small kids who call out in little voices: ”Watch me slide, Mommy”.  “Watch me climb the monkey-bars”.  They are so tiny and they are so proud.  Brimming with confidence, but asking: How do I fit inside of this great big, complex universe?  What matters about me?  The answers to their questions and the resolution to their confidence lie in places that are not hand-held.

Here is what I know: The sliding and the asking and the crying and the learning.  They only happen once.  They are tiny blips in time.  And if I am face-down in a computer now while they ask me to “Watch!”, they will slowly learn that their moments are not important.  “Uh huh.  Give me one second” are not satisfying answers to inquisitive minds learning to think.  If I scroll through a screen when they want affirmation in hopping and jumping, they are learning a slow and subtle lesson: I am distracted.  Come to me later. 

Does later ever arrive?  What if tomorrow another hand-held arrives which can do more?  Promise more?  Remove me more?

The way I see it: If I am around now.  Seriously around.  In body AND in spirit.  If I watch and pay attention and affirm in the present, they will know later on that they mattered.  Maybe sliding is all there is to it when she’s 3.  But the fact that she mattered at 3, should help when she asks about dating Person X a little later.   And answering now and being attentive when he’s 6, should solidify his self-worth as he heads into Middle School.  And opening my eyes and ears to watch and celebrate her 8 year-old cartwheels, will visibly illustrate that my role is to celebrate with and for her in other exercises down the road: mental and physical.

So, in my pocket lies this potential.  Or this war against my better priorities.  It depends on the day, if you ask.  It calls me into a world of quick and easy information.  Distraction, really.  Noise.  It calls me away from the sometimes- endless days of giving.  And it promises me an instant fix.   Something to call me out from this place called Anywhere-But-Here. 

 But today is a big deal.  How do I know?  Because 3 days ago my husband and I worked out a kink in our marriage and by really listening and loving we are moving on in God’s grace.  That happens day-by-day.  Because last night I was worn from sick kiddos and house-bound days and my oldest kissed me and said: “You seem really tired, Mom.”  We were sitting on the couch and the kindness poured out of her, and I was humbled.  Because the reason she knew I was tired is because I was cranky.  But she encouraged me.  That happens day-by-day. 

There are millions of these tiny moments.  As humans, we sometimes want to escape them because it seems easier to absorb into our tiny computers.  To travel somewhere, in which there is no commitment and no need. 

I know this because I live there too.  Only: I see the today’s piling up and some of them I really wish I could do again, fresh with no mistakes.  But I can’t.  So I am left with today and the tomorrow’s.  And I really don’t want to distract myself away from them all, even if it seems easier.

Because the future is bigger than that. 

So big in fact, that it cannot be confined to the palm of my hand.  Nor the inside of my pocket.

The past few weeks at church, our pastor has been reviewing what relationship to one another should look like.  I was telling Pat as we drove home yesterday, that these sermons are literally life-changing.  Life-altering to the best extent.

I rejoice because our church home is becoming that little by little.  By tiny steps and bigger steps HOME to us.  It has become a family.  And we have crossed the threshold from reserved hesitancy and some insecurity, to acceptance and love.  It has not always been the easiest road.  It never is to love truly.  Our church-walk has been a marriage.   We were newlyweds for a time, and newlyweds are hurdling many issues.  We are now more or less adjusted to one another the way marriage requires… and becoming comfortable as not-so-newlyweds.  The fit is right, and I personally advocate that age and progress is better as it applies to most things in life. 

Now there is a comforting sameness to our church-life and I appreciate that.  Josh Harris wrote a book a time ago called Stop Dating the Church.  Everyone dates the church for a while.  Does the shoe fit?  Does it tread well?  Wear well?  Match the outfits of my life?  There is a normal experimentation to get the The One.   But in a healthy context, dating will give way to marriage.  Pat and I are married now.  To one another and to Grace.  Marriage is both a sign of and a deep commitment to maturity, and I believe our crossing-the-threshold to be symbolic of our willingness to “take the next step”.  We are content to pursue commitment and to live contentedly in its light. 

Being a church-member means putting up with someone like yourself: an imperfect replica of who God asks us to be.  But vowing into membership assumes the union will not be perfect.  And so quietly accepts reality and works, works, works some more.   Work is fulfilling, but we’d never know it unless we plugged away at a task that was difficult.  The beauty is in the sweat and the character, not in the ease.

Church as home results in deeper communion with God.  Deeper understanding of Him, assuming the leadership is grounded in Truth.  And that rooting gives way to depth and beauty in marriage and family too.  There is a security in a church-home.  There is a support-system for child-rearing, financial matters, emotional matters, marital troubles.  There is a buffer between person and world, and God’s comfort is wrapped up so completely in this equation.

We are thankful for our similarities with our family at Grace.  A similarity grounded in the God we serve.  We are also increasingly thankful for our differences.  Love would not be learned and true community experienced were we cookie-cutter.  It is easy for churches to want all oatmeal or only chocolate-chip.  But variety provides something for everyone and with intentionality, the cookie-tray can meet everyone’s preferences.  There might be allergic reactions now and then.  That is just a necessary part of ingesting relationships.  But the risk is worth taking, and the love worth exploring.

We worship here: www.enjoygrace.com

It’s a good fit.  You are welcome to visit any time.

Toddlers who tell lies early on are more likely to do well later, researchers claim.

This the headline of a BBC article Pat forwarded me this morning.  Pat often forwards me interesting news articles.  Some I read to completion, some are sent to delete box- because they make me feel stressed – like I HAVE to read.  And it’s one more thing to do.  This particular article grabbed my attention immediately and I perused quickly, all the while Emma pounding a Barbie doll’s legs across my lower arm.  “Barbie’s jumping.  Barbie’s touching her toes”.  I have learned to concentrate, despite my surroundings.

Able to lie: and not a good thing!

The complex brain processes involved in formulating a lie are an indicator of a child’s early intelligence, they add.  A Canadian study of 1,200 children aged two to 17 suggests those who are able to lie have reached an important developmental stage.

Only a fifth of two-year-olds tested in the study were able to lie.  But at age four, 90% were capable of lying, the study found.

Sometimes I read statistics about issues like abortion, and I am convinced that a just and kind God could not possibly stand watch over a world that is so evil.  So God-less.  How can He allow cruelty for so long, when He is perfectly able to cease all injustice with one word, one command? 

 Were it to me, the end would have come long ago.  God is patient is all I can say.

When I I immerse myself in “wisdom” of the age, proclaimed through psychologists- child and otherwise- and I am sure.  No, completely convinced that 21st -century North American culture is almost…unsalvageable.

Emma and her best little friend

I have a child who is naturally prone to speak untruth.  I have 1 kid with no ability to lie, 1 kid with partial ability to lie, who always gets caught.  And I have 1 kid with total ability in the area of lying.  Though she too is always found out, it does not stop her desire to try and try again.

This character trait is no virtue.  It is a flaw.  Puritan Christianity referred to outstanding character black-spots as “besetting sins”- the sins that slow us down.  That trip us up.  The sins that define our personalities as much as our virtues define us.  We all have them.  Mine is temper: there I said it.  It makes me sad that Emma easily veers from the truth.  I desire truth in my children.  God places a high premium on honesty, as Proverbs shows repeatedly.  The Bible speaks much of truthfulness as a hallmark of a Christian.  It is wisdom.  It is genuineness. 

 To speak the truth is to reveal a truthful heart.  To speak lies with ease, is to reveal something much blacker about the heart.  What is in our hearts comes out of our mouths: and whether we admit it or not, we are shown out by our words.

There is no such thing as a white lie.  A partial truth.  There is no grey in speaking what is untrue.  There is either truth or error.  True or false.  Bending the truth to cover tracks, bold-faced abuse of truth.  This is a complete breaking of God’s commands. 

Pat and I spend a good bit of time sniffing out the areas of weakness in our children.  Not physical weakness.  Not even mental weakness as much as character weakness. 

I was told not too long ago by an older, wise father: Pray that your kids always get caught. 

The profundity of BBC’s article culminates with this paragraph:

Those who have better cognitive development lie because they can cover up their tracks.  This was because they had developed the ability to carry out a complex juggling act which involves keeping the truth at the back of their brains.

He added: “They even make bankers in later life.”

The irony of the fact that our country’s deep and miry recession is due to a handful of blood-thirsty, greed-driven, private bankers holed up in Goldman-Sachs…is not lost on me.

These great untruths start somewhere.  And the culmination of many untruths can be very serious.

Here is God’s take on dishonesty-Proverbs 8:7-

 My mouth speaks what is true, for my lips detest wickedness.

I spoke of abuse in churches last post, and that was met with much appreciation, and some scathing anger. I understand that.  It is tough to write about anything without readers thinking you are speaking to them.  You are in the sense that you are writing and they are reading, but you are not, in the sense that you are stringing thoughts together as you process life, and they just happen to read your thoughts.

You are not writing to them- that’s what email is for.

It’s not personal, but it’s always taken that way.  I had a conversation with my pastor recently.  I was asking whether he used specific examples in his sermons, about those in his congregation.  He said No and Yes.  No, in the sense that he does not reference pointed examples and people, but Yes, in the sense that he thinks through the lens of 20 years of ministry.

I get that. He cannot escape the patterns of thought that result from seeing and observing and knowing the pastoral side of life for most of his life.  To some degree, blogging is like that.  You aren’t capturing people to catapult their privacy into the public eye.  But you are writing what you see, and so readers see that.   And there might be love, and there might be dislike as a result.  It’s just part of the experience when you choose to share and others choose to partake.

In any case, to clarify because I feel needful to:

Pat and I do not walk through life embedded in suspicion.  We are more cynics by nature and not romantic idealists, but we like people.  We love our friends.  We love getting to know new faces and names.  We like to be social, most of the time.  We love our church and our school and our extra-curricular activities and our parks and our Malls.  So, we do not sniff the air wherever we go, ratting out potential offenders.  Not at all. We are able to cope in the world, but we feel needful to do so with parental caution.

But just as we notice patterns in our children in behavior and lifestyle and manner, and work toward understanding them better, so we invest in understanding patterns of danger for our kids. It’s our job to teach them to be kind as much as it is to keep them safe from those whose actions might be unkind.  You wouldn’t go boating without studying the weather and the waves and the nature of the motor you are using and whether it has the power to navigate the elements.  Likewise, we don’t want to go parenting without studying the weather of the environments we place our kids in:  Is this after-school program good, or is it too unsupervised?  Is this teacher too hands-on with the young girls?  Is this nursery worker in a position to be alone with my child?

It’s not personal to any one person that rules are formed.  It’s just that when you place factors together, there are basic patterns that need to be addressed, in order to give your tiny child, your helpless little one, the best chance at survival.

Here is the profile a sex-offender therapist named Dawn Horwitz-Person, recently shared.   Again, these are generalized patterns that are found in many pedophiles, not elements unto themselves that spell our danger.  On a recent show devoted to studying sexual abuse, Oprah asked:

Q: We understand it can be hard to differentiate between normal and inappropriate interactions with children, but what are common warning signs some molesters share?

A: Porn addiction, deviant sexual fantasies, unusual interest in young children (i.e., hanging around the kids at a party rather than the adults), isolating children, trying to spend alone time with your child, taking a special interest in your children, buying them little gifts or things that they like, childlike behaviors, getting themselves in a position where they are in control of children, having lots of kid-related stuff at their houses that they have no need for, secrets with your child, ignoring personal boundaries, walking in the bathroom pretending it is an accident, playing lots of tickling/wrestling types of games to get children used to their touch, sharing too much personal information with your child, turning to your child for emotional support, relationship seems “too good to be true” (i.e., offers free babysitting), sexualized talk, “accidently” exposing self.

Again, these are generalized patterns, not factors unto themselves. In other words, a man who loves playing with kids might be a jolly guy who loves coaching sports.  A youth leader who hugs girls may simply be out of line with boundaries and a little immature, but still harmless.  Inappropriate or clumsy or awkward absolutely does NOT mean danger.  Obviously.  But, if your guard is up.  The gut feeling is there.  The sense of being uncomfortable persists, these characteristics are worth some observation.

They may not mean anything.  But they are worth a second glance.  It is the well-being of a child to consider and that is never a wasted effort.

And as always, better safe than sorry.

Oprah calls sexual abuse the “great spirit-killer”.  So much shame and anger and mis-trust result from molestation that the life of a victim is more than compromised through the predatory nature of a sexual offender.  Just watch A&E’s show Intervention and note that 90% of the time, a victim speaks in the past of sexual abuse.  There is no shortage to the down-ward spiral that abuse takes on a child.

Recently, I book-marked an article written by Elizabeth Esther.  She writes with uncanny balance between cynicism and hope.  Between beautiful ideology and wounded reality.

An article written about protection in churches particularly interested me.  Simply because this is an area that Pat and I have invested much discussion, since church-life is a big part of our life and community.  We are currently members of a great church right now, one that we love.  One chock full of people that we look up to and admire.  We wouldn’t be anywhere else.  But the very reason we attend and feel the need for encouragement in our walk with the Lord, is because we are aware of our sin.  That is the crux of christianity. We have hearts that are impure and out of line with God, and so our community with church and christianity is out of love and obedience to God’s desire, but also out of knowledge that we know who we are:

We are sinful.  That is why we need salvation.  That is why we live our lives in gratitude before God- because we have been saved from our sin.  That is why we plug into church, in order to learn from others, to hear God’s Word preached, so that it is firmly rooted in our hearts.  But that is also why we enter church not with the idea that we are different from anyone else.  But that we are the same.  The sin that causes murder begins as a tiny root of hatred and malice.  The sin of adultery begins as the seemingly innocent attraction to another man.  We are sinful people, gathering together on Sunday.  And so logically, it makes sense that we view church as a place of refuge, but not with head -in- the- sand either.  It is a disparate collection of sinful people, no better than anyone else.  Most who are living in integrity, but others who may be leading hiding-lives, outside of conformity to God.  And so the world’s rules about abuse should apply here too.

Here is what Elizabeth Esther writes:

Sexual molestation and the church

…..

But somehow, we were not suspicious enough of ourselves….

Where can a child turn for help when a “dear brother” moves into her communal home and molests her when no-one is looking?

How do you say no to the nice Children’s Bible Teacher who likes all the little girls to sit in his lap? Why do you have to hug the old man who gives you the creeps?

How do you tell your mother that a boy put his hands down your pants during the drive up to Bible camp?

Here’s the thing: you don’t. You don’t say anything because you don’t even understand what is happening. When I was growing up, we didn’t even talk about sex, let alone sexual molestation.

And even if you did know you were being molested, you assumed it was your fault. At least, that’s what you believed because ratting out a person in authority was sure to result in your own punishment. Plus, who would believe a child’s word over a trusted, spiritually mature adult?

I was not sexually molested as a child. But other girls in my church were. People like to think that church nurseries, church schools and home-schools are safe–that sexual molestation doesn’t happen there.

I think that’s probably the worst assumption to make. Children are vulnerable precisely because they are children–and that doesn’t change just because you’re surrounded by Christians.

In fact, in a church setting, a parents’ idealism and lofty “heavenly vision” can act as blinders. We don’t want to be suspicious of those we trust. We especially don’t want to be suspicious of our fellow Christians.

But for the sake of our children, we should never cease to be suspicious.

If I had it my way, every single Sunday school teacher, nursery worker and Bible camp counselor would be fully vetted with complete background checks, fingerprinting and personal references.

Pat and I read the article and conversed over it, although still came to the conclusion at the end that back-ground checks while good to siphen out some, will not be sufficient to weed out many.  And why?

1.  Because any criminal with a record who knows he will have his background checked, is not likely to wait out the process only to be turned in.  No, he will simply find a church or school or day-care where he can avoid the system of checks-and-balances altogether.

2.  Because many criminals are still criminals regardless of “proof” or not.  Statistically, sexual abusers molest between 15-20 victims before they are ever caught.  That is a long trail of tears.  And in the end some are caught, but many are not.

I loved this article for its clarity and straight-shot approach.  It is with interest that the world has watched the Roman Catholic Church wade through countless law-suits, as numerous victims of hush-hush abuse from priests, come forward in pursuit of justice.

In my life experience, the victims of abuse I have known have been particularly vulnerable in church-settings.  Camps, VBS, Sunday schools.  All these things are wonderful in and of themselves, but are not secure unto themselves, simply because they are church-run.  And it does seem that the rules parents might have for a school or a Mall or a day-care, fly right out the window when they approach the sacred.  We wouldn’t send our child to the Mall with a man we barely know, saying “Just trust him.  I’ll be back in a couple of hours”.  But we will visit a new church and leave a child in the nursery with a male stranger. After all, it’s church!   It’s an odd filter we have, and perhaps not always the safest one to have.

Maybe our “world filter” should accompany us more places.  Maybe our across-the-board rules for school should accompany us to nursery.  Maybe our umbrella rules for people we are unfamiliar with should simply be entrenched.  And maybe we should develop more generalized boundaries,so we do not offend specifically, but are able to chalk much up to “these are just our rules”.  That is what Pat and I are trying to more of.  Familiarizing ourselves with firm borders, so that we are not singling out, but simply being fair to all.

Again, it goes back to “gut” feelings.  If something feels wrong, avoid it.  As we say to our kids, if you feel uncomfortable, tell me.  Stay away.  Do something.  And that is the same for us as parents.

If it feels wrong, it may not be.  But it may be.  And a chance is a chance, no matter how small.

Pat and I are at the cross-roads right now: the point in which we are figuring out limits and boundaries for our kids.  They are in school.  They are in church.  They are in activities.  They have friends and sleep-0vers.  They need some measure of independence, but under the umbrella of our protection-which is their protection.

It is every parent’s worst nightmare to imagine anything happening to a child, especially anything remotely abusive.  It is difficult to desire independence for children, because it means trusting and letting go a little.  It means speaking with them before and after- but with openness to combat feelings of secrecy.   It means trusting them to some degree.

But it also means trusting your gut.  And especially that of your husband.

It is very un-PC to trust your gut these days.  It cries “sexism”. It screams “judgmental”. It reeks of an arrogant spirit.

But really, it is none of those things.  At least in our home it is not, because we would rather think the best all the time.  That would be so comforting!  No, it is God-given intuition at times that should be owned and heeded.  Not out of arrogance or needless suspicion, but out of unsettled concern- made through careful observation and putting-pieces-together.  We all have those moments and experiences.  Those feelings of “This is not right.  This makes me uncomfortable”. We tell our children to pay attention to those feelings around other adults.  And yet we are made to feel guilty for paying attention to our own feelings.  “Judgment, judgment”.

If my Dad had not listened to his gut, here is where our lives would have looked different:

Andrew (oldest brother)- Would have taken organ lessons from the church organist at church.  The one who was a little bit naughty with boys, but nobody wanted to tell.  A member of good standing.  He left a trails of tears, two little boys who were systematically molested.  Thankfully not my brother, because my Mom investigated and got cold feet and lessons were terminated.

Tim (younger brother)- Solicited by the school janitor at the christian school.  A very friendly man who wielded a mop with a smile and liked young boys on the side.  The principal was tight-lipped about any incidents, but with some digging turns out he had been warned about boundaries.  And had abused already.  Naughty, naughty. And Tim was safe.

Maryanne- off to baby-sit for the children of a family in the church.  Maryanne is creeped out thoroughly by the Dad and detests him, but they need child-care and so baby-sit she must.  Ring, ring.  “Hi Barbara (a friend calling my Mom).  Lots of tears.  I feel guilty telling you this, but he has been charged with rape in the past”.  No one told.  A member of the church.  Off to take care of kids, and perhaps come back changed for life.

Susanna- At a friend’s house.  Friend’s father casually and in good humor, touches the back-side of her friend.  Susanna is shocked and comes home and tells.  My parents ask questions and they are told not to be overly concerned.  Ten years later: the truth is out: Friend’s father had systematically sexually abused both his daughters their entire lives.  It turns out that exactly 50% of Susanna’s class had been molested.  All within church and christian school.

Grace- she has always had a bad temper, and no one would dare. Besides, she had the rest of us to watch over her and we would teeth-bared anyone who came close.

I think that the point is:  The “safer” the environment, the safer the abuser.  The more “trusting” the place, the more trusted the abuser.  It all works so perfectly.  And the wider the door swings open, the wider the domain for access.  This is why Pat and I discuss widely our gut reactions to situations where the kids will be out of our reach.  And we pray for their protection each and every day.  Not for paranoia’s sake.  But because at the end of the day, God gives us our spirits and our hearts and our husbands, for protection.  We would die for these kids, so why take chances with them? It takes a simple dose of friendship with a loved one who bears abusive scars, to desire never to see those wounds in my babies.

And so it goes that the more plugged into outside activities they become, rather than hindering them in those things the more we find ourselves spending time listening, talking and reacting at times against their desires, if we feel it necessary.  To say no even when they might fight us, because we are unsettled.

My parents’ motto to us with their grand-children: Be cautious around the man who takes too much interest in your child.

Sometimes, just sometimes- trusting your gut will save you..  I know it worked for my Dad.  And that worked for us.

*******************************

The facts about abusers:

• 80 percent of the time, abusers are people known to victims.
• Offenders are usually between the ages of 20-30 years.
• 20 percent of sex offenders begin their activity before the age of 18.
• Abusers are often married and have children of their own.
• Abusers look for situations that allow them to be in pivotal positions that give them easy access to children and youth.

What are your boundaries and rules? I would love to know!

Does anyone follow ABC’s The Bachelor?

I used to.  I probably shouldn’t admit so, but I used to.  I used to like the show a lot.  But not in the way you should like something- because it fills a need or it satisfies.  Or because there is something fun or healthy about it.  I liked it because it was trashy, and at some level trashy voyeurism appeals.    And let’s admit it, ABC is onto women and junk and they do not disappoint with their scenes in hot-tubs and darkly-lit rooms.  With their shows of cat-fights and drama.  With their exploits involving good-looking men and beautiful women.

The Bachelor is the best of all that is raunch: and it is eaten up with a spoon.

Back when Anna was a baby, I was kinda struggling.  Who am I?  Where is my life headed?  Etc.  College was over, and with it life with tons of friends around.  Marriage was newly-wed marriage: good, but a little less secure and most definitely less gracious.  We were still figuring things out.  I can literally recall sitting in our office, emailing friends and thinking “My life has no glamour about it.  At all”.  Most of my friends were still dating and travelling, and I was home with a helpless baby and a husband taking classes at night.

Now no holds-barred, Anna was the beginning of the best for me but I didn’t realize it then.  I couldn’t appreciate what I had because I didn’t realize it for what it was or would be.  Or could be.  Or even,what it could not be. I had known a few years of getting dressed every day, working out when I wanted to, wearing make-up, dating a little.  I was so free and so put together.  It wasn’t glamor by anyone else’s standards, but looking back it was the most that I would ever have (and it certainly wan’t this).

I am convinced it is the glamour that appeals to women about The Bachelor.  The magnetism comes from flowers and beauty and exotic everything and romance and a love story.  But I think it must be the glamor more than anything that holds and transfixes.  And this almost embedding in someone else’s life and experiencing vicariously some of it.  After all, if the show was about a fisher-man living in a shack and seeking out a stout and weather-beaten and sturdy woman for a life of hard work, no one would watch.  Ratings would not even surface.  One piloted episode would be all there is of The Bachelor: Newfoundland Fisherman.

No one wants to feast on poverty and ugliness. 

Women love a good love story and The Bachelor promises what we all at some level want:  the rose-strewn fairy-tale.  With plenty of wealth and glamor to spare.

But nobody gets the fairy-tale.  The fairy-tale is riding off into wedded joy, without speed-bumps and hurt feelings and forgiveness.   And no one has that but we all want it.  Especially women.  We want to believe that there is a man out there who will never step on our toes or say unkind words.  Who will fly us over Maui in a helicopter and light thousands of candles and tell us how beautiful we are. Who will read our minds and souls, and bring us flowers and woo us until the day we die.

But unfortunately, we cannot get around the pesky issue of reality.  We are both married into baggage- each other’s and our own.   We settle into life together and have a baby or two and have to start to fight to have this beautiful relationship we want.  It is a shock how hard it can be at times.  On the day we get engaged and are all sparkly and filled with wonder, it is hard to imagine it can be very difficult to love some days.  That there are days or weeks where we will struggle to say even one kind word.  Or build up or encourage. 

The Bachelor ends at the fairy-tale.  With the roses and the sunset and the Harry Winston diamond.  But the show closes right where the rest of life begins.   Because the minute the camera cuts, reality will start.  The couple’s capped and whitened teeth will not save them from arguing.  Their beautiful bodies will not prevent them from being unloving.  Their diamonds and lavish vacations will not prevent what they want to avoid: reality.

I would not trade all the money in the world for my ex-bachelor husband.  This imperfect man with his flaws and sins.  In fact, I would not even want to repeat time and go back to dating him again: because who he is now is so much better.  I would never desire he and I to go back to the days of more money and more freedom: because the very reason we love each other better now is because we have fought to love without.

Without glamor.  Glamor only places a band-aid on the real issues of our hearts.  We cannot escape who we are by going to Maui.  What is in our hearts: the selfishness and the holding onto anger and the rude words and the unkind thoughts.  These parts of us are so embedded, they will follow us to the ends of the earth.  Mature love is built on giving up, not indulging or escaping.  By looking our sin full in the face and dealing with it and considering someone else better in the process.

The Bachelor ends there.  With the beginning of the real.  And the network knows that.  It knows full well that two days later the couple will be fighting over her hurt that he slept with two friends previous.  It knows that love no matter how sweetly professed, cannot be built on such grotesque selfishness.  It knows that mature love- true love will never take root on such a fragile foundation as polygamous dating.

And so the show wraps up, because no one wants to see the ugly.

So Jake Pavelka has his abs and his money and his job and his romantic side in full-force.  But I counter with: Give me big and sacrificial love.  Give me REAL love.  The kind that teaches and explains and works through life.  Give me love that is mature enough to move beyond being… a Bachelor.