The Silence of Adam
What I’m listening to:
Harry Connick’s Harry for the Holidays
I have not read the book that bears the same title as my post. But the book and it’s topic recently came up in a conversation with some friends. However, the basic premise of it is extraordinary enough for me to want to explore here.
Here’s a basic overview of the book (from Amazon):
Taken from a customer review:
Instead of depicting Eve as being deceived and then subsequently deceiving Adam, the book describes that Adam was there the whole time, yet said and did nothing.
Taken from the editorial review:
They trace the problem with men to the silence with which Adam became complicit in the first fall from God’s grace.Adam failed to trust in God’s word and example, and modern men do the same when, instead of following God’s example in dealing with uncertainties, they retreat into self-righteousness and toughness that mask anger and fear.
Do I think all men do this? Of course not. To believe that is unfair and ignorant. But it does take some of the pressure off us women. After all, for centuries upon centuries Eve was the one who was first deceived, who then in turn deceived Adam. The one who fell first. The fall of man has been our fault all this time. As a guy I once knew used to say to any woman who frustrated him “Give me back my rib.” So, it feels good to think we weren’t alone. That Adam just stood by and let Eve become deceived.
My knowledge of the book’s contents are this: it’s a call to men to step up in their relationships (any – not just male-female) and be honest, courageous, and willing to fight. Adam was passive when the serpent spoke to Eve. He didn’t ride in on a white horse to rescue her. So perhaps it wasn’t all her fault. I’m sure the book spends more time on telling man how to step and overcome their fears, but I’m not interested in that for this post. What I’m interested in is this: Do men fail to come through for us out of fear of not being enough?
Is the reason some men fail to fight for us is because of a fear of failure? John Eldridge thinks so. After the fall, women were cursed with two things: the pain of childbirth and the submissive role to our husbands. Men were also cursed with two things: futility (“though painful toil…” and failure (it [the land] will produce thorns and thistles for you”).
I recently had a man fail to come through for me. It hurt. I placed an expectation on him I believe he earned, that he told me he wanted. He said he would help me and he didn’t. He retreated and I was left to fight on my own. It’s true I don’t see him in the same eyes as I once did. I once saw him as generous, loyal and true friend. When he didn’t come through for me (after he said he would, of all things) I lost the part of myself I gave to him in friendship. So, this recent experience has me asking if he retreated because he was selfish (with his time, or maybe just didn’t want to), or because he was fearful he couldn’t come through for me?
Is there even a difference?
Is it selfish for men to not come through for us because they fear they fail when we need them? Part of me thinks it is. After all, there are things I do on I weekly basis I fear I’m not good enough to do. But I push though them anyway, because I know if I don’t I’ll always wonder if I could have or not.
I find this whole topic very intriguing. I think it’s so fascinating to me because I believe most women feel the same way – we worry about being good enough. Not necessarily towards men, but in the general day-to-day living. But does that stop us from coming through for men? Not to me; it doesn’t stop me from coming though for anyone. When someone needs me, I’m there. End of story. It doesn’t make me a saint – I think it’s how most women react.
So if both men and women have these same feelings of inadequacy, why do women act and men retreat?
I think it’s because women think acting will help us become “more loved”. Whereas men are afraid of what will happen if they fail.
I don’t know, men, am I close?
I think I need to have a converstaion with a guy about this.
Of College and Painful Memories
What I’m listening to: City on a Hill
I’ll be the first to admit – I’m lousy at keeping in touch with people.
The electronic age has certainly helped in this endeavor. It’s easy to shoot a quick email to an old roommate just to check in and say hi. In fact, it’s because of email I got back in touch with an old college friend and ended up being a bridesmaid in her wedding.
But some old memories and emotions surfaced in me recently that make me wonder if not keeping in touch with those old friends is intentional.
College is an abberation. You’re in this place for a definitive matter of time, you are secluded from the real world and trying to decide what future you want. College usually happens at an age where a huge part of who you are is developed – you’re finally away from home, on your own and you’re thrust into an environment with a bunch of strangers that all of a sudden become your substitute family.
I haven’t thought about college in a very long time. It’s only consumed me recently because I came across a fellow blogger on this sight who attended the same college as I. Reading through his posts… well, made me smile and yet upset me at the same time. They made me smile because he is exactly how I remember, the baseball-obsessed, movie-loving, big-hearted guy who is still a talented and thoughtful writer who secretly harbors the desire to be a musician. He is now a more mature, better version of himself. (As I hope I am as well). But what bothered me was I realized the astronomically small amount of people from college I’ve kept track of. These were people who had a huge part in shaping who I am. Though I have many good memories of college, I have not kept in touch with the people attached to these memories. The people who made me laugh until my sides hurt, held me when I cried, encouraged me when I was defeated, loved me despite my selfishness and kept me accountable in my walk with God.
Granted, a couple have attempted to keep in touch with me. About a year ago, I got an email out of the blue from Travis, the only person I would consider a true accountability partner, asking what was up in my life, where I was at, and let me know he’d just become a father & was about to finish up seminary. About 6 months ago I got an email from a friend who’d been AWOL for at least 4 years… and there are the few I’ve never lost touch with, but all in all, it really isn’t much.
As someone with the spiritual gift of mercy, I’ve noticed hurting people are drawn to my personality. As a friend of mine said to me just the other day “I know that when I spend time with you, I can calm down and just be myself.” And looking back over the close friendships I’ve had, I’ve noticed a pattern. They all tend to come into my life for a season, usually when they are going through a difficult time. When they are past that difficult time and go though the process of healing, they move on. And I don’t usually see them again. I do have a few that helped heal me – with names like Ryan, Maria, Missy, Travis, Daniel and Andrew. I also had a few that were just fun – with names like Scott, Tricia, Emory, and Tarah. And those I would consider my dearest, sweetest friends from that time – with names like Angela, Nathan, Andy, Lesa, Rebekah, and Sarah – the names that when I hear them and type them even now, I’m welled-up because my love for them is still so strong. They are part of me and always will be. However, the list for those I helped heal and move on is a longer list. And I have mixed emotions about that.
Please don’t mistake me, I’m not trying to lament “poor Stephanie, the girl whose friends always leave”. I’m not attempting a gigantic pity party here, I promise. This is simply a time of reflection for me. I’ve accepted my gift for what it is and had to adjust accordingly. That doesn’t make it easy, but nothing worthwhile in life ever is.
So am I intentionally not staying in touch with these people because of this?
The painful memories of college and lost friendships are whirling back to me in light of my recent reconnection with this old friend. (not because of him, not in any way, but just because he represents this specific time in my life). The painful college memories have certainly dulled – partly due to time but also admission on my part that some of that pain was my fault. But as is with the nature of every woman – we want to be pursued. Chased after. I admit I’m sad no one from that time in my life is really chasing me. Self-doubt and insecurity have seeped in. I wonder if I made an impact at all.
The mistakes I made back then – the plentiful amount of them – have rushed through my heart today. “I should have done it this way…” “I can’t believe I actually behaved that way…” “What was I thinking?” “It’s a wonder anyone could stand to be around me“. These thoughts attack both my head and my heart. The desire to be good enough and thought well of is normal for most people. The question I should really be asking myself is if God is honored by who I was and am and will be.
I wish I knew the answer.
Authentic
What I’m listening to: My Restoration mix
Five Qualities of an Effective Worship Leader (by Lamar Boschman)
1.) Knowledge of God (Have a large view of God)
2.) A Heart Shaped by Worship (Be a worshiper in private)
3.) Intuitiveness (Sensitivity to the Holy Spirit is essential)
4.) Pastoral Heart (Be a leader of people before you are a leader of songs)
5.) Musicality (Play skillfully before the Lord)
As a worship leader, I’ve always felt more like the quarterback than the coach. Meaning I’m in there, with the congregation -worshipping – just as the quarterback is in there with the team. A leader, but in no way like the coach, who is just shouting instruction from the sidelines. I’m leading them, but we are working together to get down the field to the goal – authentic worship of God.
I struggle with accepting that’s really all I can do. Our worship band is comprised of an amazing group of worshippers. They love playing music and much as I do, but above that, they love to worship. Our hearts are connected as a result.
But what of those they don’t get it? Those that can’t seem to engage? I see them every Sunday – their blank stares, looking just above my head and the projection sceen with the words on it. My own heart is so full when I’m playing, singing, leading worship. And as Dan (the other guitarist) said to me Sunday after we got done leading the service, “I just don’t get it.” He vocalized what I was feeling. Worshipping with music is like breathing for me. It is for Dan, too. Our similarity there has helped us play well together, to strum together. I just don’t get those who don’t engage in worship. I fear they are not engaging at all. I fear they aren’t worshipping.
As the leader, what can I do? I worry about the hearts of the congregation – where they are in their walk with Christ, when I don’t see authentic worship coming from their hearts. Maybe for some of them, there is no way to make sure of that by just looking on the outside. My face, my heart, comes alive when I’m playing. I come alive because I’m drawing closer to him. And I know they shows on my face. I can feel it. Maybe it isn’t that way for others.
I must trust that God will change their hearts, because I can’t do that. Only he can. I simply hope and pray I’m doing all I can.
Repair or Replace?
What I’m listening to: Fleming and John’s Delusions of Grandeur
I’m running errands over my lunch break today and I’ve got the radio tuned to New Life Live
by default – I’m usually listening to The Bridge
, a local christian radio station, when I’m driving. Anyway, there was a caller asking about her marriage. Her husband had cheated on her, moved away and wanted nothing more to do with her and her question to them was “When do I give up on this marriage?” At one point, Steven Arterburn said “There comes a time when our hearts must be either repaired or replaced.” So, my mind went back to the theme of restortation I’ve been exploring the last month. And I found this question very profound. Repair or replace?
It’s certainly not my place to answer this question. God knows and understands the depth my hurt, and thus can best decide what I need: A new heart or one that’s patched up. I recall a moment back during my days of insomnia and my “jr. year slump” that I asked God to take my heart because I didn’t want it anymore. It was too battered and broken from the misuse of others.
John Donne wrote a great piece entitled Batter My Heart
Batter my heart, three-person’d God, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp’d town to’another due,
Labor to’admit you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv’d, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly’I love you, and would be lov’d fain,
But am betroth’d unto your enemy;
Divorce me,’untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you’enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
So I asked myself if I could choose, would I want a new heart or one that’s patched up? Mended or made over? Ravished or repaired?
To have a new heart sounds like it would be easier. None of the old hurts and heartaches would linger. A fresh start – no longer damaged, but whole again. Sometimes I think I might give anything to not have the hurt I’ve experienced remain with me.
But a mended heart? This is a more intriguing idea. Just as a broken limb might heal, it won’t be as strong, but you’d know better for the next time. You know where your weakness lies, so you can avoid another injury. Wisdom comes with a mended heart. But so does the pain.
So what would I rather have? A replaced or a repaired heart?
For some reason I am remembering my days of 4-H when I spent my summers outside, taking old varnish and stain off the latest antique my father found. I would scrape and scrape down to the bare wood, sand it smooth and start from scratch. But I remember wanting to keep some of the scuffs. They gave the piece personality. The scuffs are what made it unique.
Great, now I’m starting to sound like an after school special.
O’erthrow me, and bend Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new
We all come with our own set of emotional baggage. That doesn’t mean I have to like it. So repair or replace my heart, O God. To whatever you see fit.
Snow Makes Me A Loner
What I’m listening to: Gretel’s Unreturnable Dirt _____________________________________________________________
I’ve discovered something about myself this last weekend. When push comes to shove, I’m more of a loner than a people person.
I’ve been snowed-in since yesterday afternoon. I love snow. I love it’s beauty, the way it symbolizes Christmas is here. Snow blankets the Nebraska plains, and blankets the trees that have lost their leaves from the windy autumn. I love to pick it up in my gloved hand and smoosh it together (yes that’s a real word. To me anyway). And I especially love it when it falls from my fingers and lands on my shoes. I love it way it feels in my hair during a snowball fight, I love how it makes a warm house seem so much warmer when I come inside.
What I don’t love is what it does to the roads and how it makes my trips to work scary. But it’s such a small amount of suffering for the peace it brings my soul. It’s my “manna from heaven” I guess.
Snow draws us inside and makes us do crazy things. I love getting stranded because of snow. It’s like an excuse to be irresponsible again. Like skipping work to watch Friends all day long, or back in my college days, a chance to gather in the lobby of the dorm and watch movies all day because classes were can celled. (Which unfortunately only happened once in my four years of higher education in Kansas. It never snowed much there. Just lots and lots of ice storms.)
That all being said, I love how being snowed-in isolates me. I get to do all the little things around the house that need to be done, I don’t have to put make-up on, and I can blare the music loud, I can finish my latest book: The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis, and I can get my guitar out and play and play until my fingers beg for mercy.
I love it when it snows.
Stephanie Nelson 