Looking for a book on understanding your loved one?  Or perhaps to improve communication?  Intimacy?  There so many books to choose from, I know.  Gary Chapman's The 5 Love Lanuages, and Dr. Kevin Lehman's Sex Begins in the Kitchen are two that immediately come to mind.  Hands down, my absolute favorite books on understanding the differences between the sexes are For Women Only and For Men Only.  Shaunti and Jeff Feldhahn do an excellent job explaining the fundamental differences in an entertaining and engaging manner that is respectful of those differences, and also of men and women.



I am a big fan of self-improvement books. There are usually a few gems of advice, a new perspective, or insight to glean between the covers. Sitting in front of me is one such book I recently picked up at a thrift store. It's a popular book on marriage. The book looked brand new sitting on the self. Looking back, maybe that should have been a clue.

I didn't get very far before I was ready to put it down; however, after some contemplation I rather reluctantly picked it back up. I figured maybe it was just me. Maybe I was being too sensitive. Maybe I just wasn't getting it.

Around 3:30am this morning, I reached for my smartphone to search reviews of the book. While it had many glowing reviews, 4+ stars on most sites, I was happy to see that I wasn't the only one who was put off by it. There were other women, men, and marriage counselors who had some serious reservations.

While I agree that men and women communicate and process differently which is a big cause of misunderstanding and hurt in relationships, I feel the book overall has a very derogatory attitude toward women. You know, it's not what I'm saying, but women REALLY are the root of all evil.  Husbands should not be held accountable for their actions since their actions are determined by how their wives treat them, or because their wives have intentionally let themselves go. It's REALLY all her fault.

In fact, one reviewer had marked and counted all the times women were blamed for a problem within marriage and when men were. I'll let you guess which column had the highest tally, by a lot.  And, no, I did not go back and check the math. I didn't feel the need to.

My daughter does a comical impression of a man rubbing his big ole potbelly while commenting on his wife letting herself go. I wonder if the author would see her impression as an act of contempt. I would argue that my daughter understands double standards.

It especially did my heart good to read reviews from men, and there were quite a few, who found the book to be not only disrespectful toward women, but also insulting toward men. Those men didn't buy into the blame game, and were outraged by the idea that men have no self-control. That's the kind of man I want for a son-in-law, a man of integrity!

I was going to donate the book back to the thrift store, but I think I will relegate it to the recycle bin instead. While I believe there are very true and relevant points made throughout the book, it's honestly not something I would want my daughter or daughters-in-law to read. So, why would I put it out there for another woman to pick up.

The one thought that plagued me while reading still persists: the author must have some very deep-seated anger toward women. Staring at the book in front of me, I finally got it!. I know why the book had my shoulders and neck knotted with stress, a persistent frown on my face, and questioning if maybe it was just me.  It was so obvious I couldn't see it.  For a brief minute I was transported back in time reliving the verbal, emotional, and psychological abuse of past relationships. The perpetrator's subtle and at times not so subtle message is always the same.  Don't look at me.  The problem is REALLY you.

Did you ever notice that Christians are very good at giving Christians a bad name? One of our former pastors stated in a sermon that she does not have an Ichthys on the back of her car because she does not always act in a Christ like manner while driving. Nope, you won't find the Christian fish symbol on my car either.

Recently I sat in a church sanctuary waiting for my son while cameras flashed snapping pictures of boys in uniform. I smiled at my son standing in the front row. Then I began to frown as the words from a heated voice deep in conversation with the minister began to register in my mind. A man in uniform was talking about how he was leaving the organization because next it would be allowing those people to openly serve as leaders. He went on the say that there is a new Christan organization he was going to move to and urge the minister to check it out on-line. The minister's response was that they should start something there. 

I don't know about you, but it's really hard for me to remember all the exceptions in the Bible. You know, "God so loves that world that gave his only begotten son that whomever believes in him", except them and them and don't forget them, "will not parish but shall have eternal life." As Christians we are called to be fishers of men, well, except those men. And to "love one another", except those people, "like yourself." As my daughter would say, it's all very confuzzling.

Listening to the judgmental words swirling around the two men, so many thoughts flashed through my mind. Has this guy ever looked at pornography, or a woman other than his wife in a lustful way? Did he have premarital sex?  Is he divorced? If so, he definitely is not morally fit to lead MY son. That last line is sarcasm folks. Personally, I need daily forgiveness for stumbling from the straight and narrow path. If it's not one of the commandments tripping me up, it's a stealthy deadly sin. Maybe you can relate.

Sitting in the pew, I really wanted to stand up and shout, Pharisee! Hmm ... but that would have been just a smidge holier-than-thou, huh. Another Christian giving Christians a bad name. Instead I will pray that Jesus will continue to work on the hearts of Christians, myself included, so that we can love one another like He loves us, everyone, even those people, unconditionally. Even if we don't agree with each others politics, lifestyles, profession, or way of expressing ourselves, like latest choice of hair color or tattoo.

I will also continue to pose these questions to my children when we witness scenes like this: Who do you think Jesus would friend if he were to come today? Who are the oppressed and marginalized in the world today? Who are the oppressors and persecutors? 

I'm so thankful God is the one sorting us out! Otherwise, I have a feeling heaven would be pretty barren place indeed.

11/1

I saw this today and had to add.

As a mother, I thought I knew what torture was. Listening to your newborn baby cry inconsolably for some indeterminable reason. Listening to your toddler scream as they thrash around on the floor in the throws of a tantrum. Listening to your child rant about why you're the world's worst mother as they noisily stomp down the hall before slamming their bedroom door with a loud exclamation point. Listening to your child struggle to breathe while sobs of hurt and rejection rack their body.  Listening to the dazed voice of your teen when they call to let you know that they have just been in a car accident.




Not too long ago, *BEEP* I learned that  real *BEEP* torture is listening to *BEEP* your smoke detector alarm *BEEP* sound and a loud *BEEP* automated voice announcing *BEEP* "low battery" every sixty *BEEP* seconds. Our smoke detectors *BEEP* are all connected to *BEEP* a central detector . Two trips *BEEP* to the neighborhood store *BEEP*and the batteries  are all *BEEP* replaced.  The one that *BEEP* was low was the one *BEEP* they are all connected *BEEP* to.  After several inspections and some research on the internet, I was able to locate where the battery was hidden.  Good thing, too.  The next step was ripping the *BEEP*ing thing down from the ceiling!
 
Life is never boring; especially when Uncle Sam sends my husband to some far off land for a few weeks to practice his skills. 

     As Rachel, the dogs and I chased Sean and Tyler through the mountains heading toward my parents home to drop off a car before continuing on to Jacob's graduation from boot camp, I wondered how many miles I have traveled in the past twenty-six years crisscrossing our great nation with kids and critters in tow.

 
     The odometer in our 2005 minivan is nearing 130,000 miles. The majority of those being highway miles. The kids complain that the old girl smells like travel. You know, unwashed bodies, sweaty animals, and rotting food. The old gal grumbles loudly when the key is turned in her ignition. Some parts no longer work, others have fallen off, but she still takes the mountain passes in stride.

    Keeping sight of the guys ahead of us, images of past trips slowly floated through my mind. Nick and I driving up the east coast with me reciting Dr. Seuss books while Nick flipped the appropriate pages, a bin overflowing with toys and coloring books beside him in the back seat. I wonder how many bins we have filled with toys and books over the years to keep children entertained, and how many Nick will fill now that he is making memories with his son sitting in the backseat.
 
     As we sped along, ringing in the air I could clearly hear Old Man Pine Cone, a song Jacob made up as we drove home from Sean's graduation from boot camp. Chuckling, I wondered how many highways Jacob has christened. When he let us know he needed to make a pit stop that meant it was urgent twenty miles ago, stop NOW!  Brakes would slam. Doors would fly open. Today he has logged thousands of miles driving our nation's highways and byways. The days of christening roadways behind him. Hmm ... I wonder.

     Scanning for a new radio station, I had a flashback of Rachel screaming through three states, "Get me out of this chair!" Even the radio cranked all the way up couldn't drown out her enraged shrieks. The vibrant colors of a beautiful mural she drew on the car door with markers from her toy bin then flooded my vision. Thankfully they were washable! Now that she's the oldest child living at home, Rachel's my co-pilot. Soon she will have a driver's license. I wonder how many miles she will travel when she's a mom.

    Reaching for my bottle of water, I wondered if Tyler will ever travel for days with his child's fish secured in a container in his cup holder like I did as we drove through the southwest to visit Sean at grad school. Tyler's first long road trip at age two months was traveling through seven states to attend Sean's graduation from Officer's Candidate School.  Big brother Nick perched beside him ready to stick a bottle in his mouth whenever he demanded. By age five Tyler had been to thirty-two states. Dare I mention Tyler's a puker.  Bonus travel aroma.

     I found it funny when seated at the breakfast table the day after graduation Jacob commented something to the effect that he couldn't understand flying from place to place because you would miss out on the wonder of our great nation. We are so blessed to live in such a rich multicultural country with breathtaking diverse terrain, and a wealth of history. If you don't believe me, close your eyes, randomly pick a spot on a map of the United States, open your eyes, and DRIVE!