RELIGION AND DIVORCE

For many years I was deeply wounded that my parents didn’t give me any emotional support when I decided to leave my first husband. At a time when I needed desperately to be affirmed for who I was--an adult woman who was best situated to make decisions for myself, dad appeared patronizing in his treatment of me, believing I had made a mistake in leaving my marriage because they were for reasons other than the ones approved by the Church. 

“He’s not chasing other women, not beating you,” dad said implying that other reasons should be worked out.

I felt like a child being reprimanded for making a bad decision, when in fact, I had been married for 22 years, had held various responsible positions in Church employment, and had raised two children.

On another occasion dad bemoaned the fact that all his sisters’ children, who were not even Christians, had stable marriages while two of his children’s marriages had failed. It seemed to me he though it a poor reflection on his public image.

He did not approve of my relationship with my second husband to be. In an email to me he asserted that our relationship was guaranteed to be a failure because it was not founded on Jesus and Christian principles.

Perhaps feeling conflicted Mum showed two different sides. She was united with dad in disapproving of my decision; however, she once repeated to me in a conspiratorial way a remark made to her by one of my girlfriends who was happy for me, “Lorna is so lucky.” I felt that mum was trying to convey at some level that she sympathized with me. However, in 20 years she has not once tried to have a conversation with me about it.

My oldest brother was openly supportive of me, but he had already been through a divorce and had left the church. I didn’t feel any judgment from my other two brothers, they were supportive but mostly silent. My sister was straightforward in expressing her disapproval. As Christmas approached, she regretted that she could not send a card addressed to my partner and me as we were cohabiting. Ironically, that same Christmas we received a card from mum addressed to both Raphael and me.

Another time, my sister said as long as my partner and I were not married, she could not visit us as that would indicate she condoned our behavior while clearly she did not. She likened it to viewing an object she knew was stolen—that it would somehow implicate her.

Realizing that it was an error to expect my parents (and others) to behave in a way I wished or expected, allowed me to stop pining for the affirmation I wanted, to love and accept them on their own terms, and to heal from the hurt of rejection. I have a better understanding of why some could not accept my decisions, perhaps believing that supporting me might betray their convictions. In the same way that I wish to be true to myself, each one must also have that right.

I have concluded that religion was the reason that prevented some of my family from being loving and supportive of me. That some Christians (rightly or wrongly) confuse "accepting" with "condoning;” that the admonishment to “call sin by its right name” does not serve Christians well as it gives a reason to be judgmental and creates obstacles to accepting and loving someone else whose lifestyle does not match their own.

The SDA Church’s position on divorce is archaic and demonstrates neither understanding nor compassion--and which is my primary reason for leaving the Church. It denies individuals the right to seek relationships that are meaningful and loving.

The choices I made for myself had a ripple effect which touched other lives and I regret the hurt it caused. And while the events I write about are in the past, I look to the day when we will be able to love each other freely—without judgment, without feeling guilty that we might be condoning another’s choice or lifestyle, and without fear we might be implicated by association. 

I share my experience: wishing it helps someone else in the family; believing that talking about things builds deeper understanding and closer bonds; and hoping that were someone else to go through a failed marriage, family will be the first to embrace and uphold that individual.

The Joke's on Me - Dream

Joy and I are lying next to each other in what appears to be two long rows of a field bed. Perhaps it’s just a vast hall with people sleeping on the floor. He and I have staked out spots next to each other intentionally hoping to get a few cheap thrills surreptitiously. Outside it is night and the room is darkened. Margaret B lies on the other side of him. I know Joy’s wife, Lulu, is also sleeping somewhere in the hall but in a spot unknown to me.

The next day it is Joy’s day as he is demonstrating how to make a dessert tart. The biggest tart pan I have ever seen is on the floor. It must be 10-12 feet in diameter and reminds me of the biggest enchilada festival Raphael and I attended once in Las Cruces. Helpers are putting in the layer of crust into the pan. There are ample folds hanging over the edge that looks like frills on a dress cut on the bias. It is beautiful and impressive.

However, when we sit down to eat at a long table such as the victorious feast of the saints in heaven as illustrated by Harry Anderson in the Children’s Bible Story by Arthur Maxwell, a set we had at home as children, the dish being served is not a tart but matzo ball soup. I am somewhat surprised and a little disappointed but before I even have a chance to sample it, I can hear exclamations of approval from others around me. With my spoon I cut into the good sized ball in my bowl and find it is not dense but light and airy. I turn to Joy and enquire, “Did you use leavening?” His response is in the affirmative and I’m not impressed because any home cook can get it light by using leavening. It is delicious though, I admit.

Later in the day, Joy and I have a quiet moment together and he says in a confidential voice, “What shall we do about last night?” He probably noticed the puzzled look on my face and continues, “Maggie, knows. She noticed us bump into each other during the night too many times to be ‘accidental.’” I frown at this unhappy turn of events. I don’t want Lulu to be hurt by our careless flirtation which really means nothing to either of us.

The next evening I intend to try to get Joy off the hook by taking a walk with Manoj and Mohan but really it’s Paul, Mohan’s younger brother. I link my arm through Paul’s nonchalantly so the world can see I don’t mean any harm by my friendliness, I’m just bindaas. But as the three of us walk together on the grounds of the conference in the darkening evening, Paul puts his hand on my thigh and squeezes gently in a sexual way. This act definitely catches me off guard though I’m far from being repulsed and smile to myself as I realize the joke’s on me.

DREAMSCAPE

Scene 1
I’m walking towards public bathrooms when I pass a woman who has the appearance of an Indian laborer. She hands me a key to a locked outhouse which is a much cleaner toilet. I am just about to squat to take a pee when there is banging on the door and a male voice calling for Vasanthi. I assume it was the name of the woman who gave me the key.

I open the door slightly to reveal I am not Vasanthi inside but who nevertheless was using the toilet legitimately as I was given the key. The man looked passed me at a couple bare open shelves mounted below the roof near the corner and said a snake had been seen there recently and he had come to check.

Scene 2
Raphael and I are out walking when we realize it’s going to rain. We happen to be passing a squat rectangular structure that looks like a one room shack and with a quick glance at each other that confirms we have the same thought, we turn into the dwelling that’s situated just off the path. No sooner had we entered then we hear the deluge pouring out from the sky. We had found shelter in the nick of time.

The darkened room is bare but not empty. I first see one person rolled up in a blanket on the floor in the corner opposite the door and then realize there’s another person sleeping to the side of the door we had just opened. They acknowledge our arrival but nothing else. We sit down on our haunches on the dirt floor to wait out the storm.

Scene 3
The path we’re traveling on turns muddy and soon a raging body of water is flowing across the path in front of us. Remnants of a building that looks like it had either been bombed, or on which an earthquake had done a number, emerge above the water with rebar and concrete pillars that lend handholds as we enter and prepare to cross. I am ahead and with my mind made up, I push my bicycle into the turbulence and forge ahead. But in a split second I realize the water is too deep and  quickly make a u-turn shaking my head indicating the impossibility of crossing.

On the dry path again beside the angry water, a man in uniform who might be a policeman stands with open notepad and pen and by the look on his face we intuit that entering the water area was illegal. We, of course, were unaware of our trespassing. When the officer asks for my address that is specifically a P. O. address, I hold up a document so he can see the contents, and explain that I have only a street address, he resigns to letting us go free.

CHILDHOOD REVISITED

Chatted with Ken last night. It seems like we have the same conversation every time, but it’s always crazy fun.

He loves to tell me about my dad and how much he admires him. At one time, he would visit Dad weekly at the Division office in Salisbury Park just to chat. Dad would question him about some rumor circulating about Ken's questioning some particular doctrine and they would laugh it off together. Another time near the GC office in Maryland he runs into my dad and Pr. Hetke. Hetke, he claims, didn't acknowledge him, but dad stopped to chat and congratulated him. He had heard Ken had become a father. 

Another subject is Ken's great talents and intelligence. He talks at length about the book he's published. How he wrote it in a few weeks. What a great piece of writing it is. Have I read it yet? (I have.) He's writing another book--far from conventional, in fact, very weird, but he's concerned his children may read it and that keeps him from writing freely. 

We talk about our kids and parenting. He's been a good father. We talk about our parents and how our families' lives have been interwoven. How much more we have in common that we acknowledge.

He boasts his singing voice has improved and his range is now quite impressive. He sings Freddie Mercury covers and promises to sing for me next time I visit.

Our conversation strays to old friends and school mates. How we must get together for a friends' reunion while we are still healthy.

He never fails to tell me that I am the first girl he's kissed, the only girl he's ever been in love with. 

He: Come here, Lorna. Come, be with me. We were meant to be together.

Me: Ken, are you drunk?

He: Yes.

We hang up laughing.

PARENTING

I’ve always felt that becoming a mother was the best thing that happened to me in my life. Why? I didn’t know until this morning while riding my bicycle.

Pedaling down Ridgecrest I realize that all my physical and mental energy found their focus on these two little babies that depended on me for everything. It brought me and kept me in the moment. And the first moment led to the second moment and the third, the fourth, until In the blink of an eye, years had gone by.

Gone was the anxious restlessness which dominates a large part of my nature.

[“And it was as if she had never been.” —listening to Romain Rabot’s son in concert on Flat Pack Music streaming live now on Facebook. He is an excellent bass soloist.]

My first thought was that I must share this important discovery with Preeti. Perhaps becoming a mother is her destiny. She just doesn’t know it.

If being a parent brought the greatest joys, it also brought the greatest anguish.

But now I will return to the day, and to the moments of restlessness and mental wanderings.

GLOOM

I've been feeling glum and listless today. I've gardened, cooked and cleaned and even did a little yoga -- but mostly without any joy.

I have so many friends when I'm upbeat, but so lonely when I'm in this mood. I yearn to talk to someone only to give me something to do because I have no interest in any routine activity. I dialed up Preeti twice but she didn't answer. I called Daphne but after a few minutes she had to go.

I did get Mum on Skype after ages. But she was distracted and worried about the cat saying if she didn't open the door and put food out, the cat would sulk and disappear for a long time.

I started watching a Netflix movie with Raphael, but after I was sort of getting into it, he ended it as it wasn't to his liking. I have this thing about ending anything halfway. Even if it's a movie I don't care for, I will usually watch it to the end though there are definite exceptions.I was in no mood to test out another movie only to have it prematurely ended for the second time in the same evening, so I walked out and decided to do a little work.

I did most of the work on an invoice for our Specialty Crops grant.

It's half past nine and I'm waiting to hear from Catherine so I can arrange a ride back home for her. She wasn't feeling too good and needed a ride to the hospital. We got her a Lyft ride as I wasn't going to risk going to the hospital.

I felt like listening to something different so I found Mehdi Hassan listed on one of Uncle Justin's FB posts. Some beautiful old ghazals. I don't understand most of what he's singing. A word her and there.

I think I'll take a walk on the street outside. Perhaps it's cooled down.

Later.
No, it hadn’t really cooled down. It was lovely though to be outside in the open with absolutely no one else in sight.

And Catherine finally was released with a diagnosis of UTI. I could rest after I confirmed she connected with her Lyft driver - which chanced to be a woman which must have helped set her at ease.

STREET DANCING DURING COVID

I called the neighbors to an impromptu party yesterday. At 9 pm, you could tell who the real party animals were.

Monica and Todd - brought out the music box and sparklers.
Raphael and I  arrived with fake fireflies in a jar.
Thirty minutes later Merna returned from her 70th birthday party and joined us.
Henrietta and Steve arrived with Sam --mostly for a social chat.
The women were the serious dancers.
Yeah. Love our neighbors . . . and dancing.

We say goodnight and promise to do it more regularly.