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02 August 2007
On The Dangers of Cardiac Amputation.
This is clearly edited somewhat from its original form. I am guarded about certain aspects of my life. I make no apologies for that. But I hope I retained enough honesty to make this useful. May God's love and peace be with you.
In ‘That Hideous Strength,‘ Lewis describes in dreams and allegory the problem with letting someone into your world: they tend to disturb things. They add, share and claim. They entwine themselves around whatever you choose to share with them. And when you want to banish them, you have to face questions of custody.
So she got in my head. Of course she did. And I let her, even invited her. The most precious places, the most guarded dreams. LOTR. Star Wars. ‘I would die for my faith.’ Some she didn’t even know that she claimed. ‘I want to retire to the Middle East to be a missionary.’ She chose a tattoo of a symbol that I used as a signature for two years. She put flowers in a [certain caliber] howitzer shell. My very thoughts, which she seemed to be able to finish (and is the only one so far to do so.) These things were mine. These were my dreams, my peculiarities, the special things that made me unlike anyone else. My own. To be guarded. And with her words, she insinuated herself between me and them, even unknowingly. They were not hers to take, and she took them nonetheless. There were parts of me that changed, parts of me that were added. But there were older parts, parts that were mine before she became a part of them.
To squash ones heart. To amputate. It was standard ops, really. Want to let someone go, get rid of their pictures, throw out everything that reminds you of them, burn all traces of them from your life. And it usually worked. The thing was that it was rare that they could find any real parts of me. Most of me was hidden in plain sight. I said many words, but the real words were buried between them. So they never had any real access to my heart. When I cut them out of my life, the memory withered quickly. There might have been a word or two, a place or two that reminded me, but the memories for all intents and purposes were gone. But it didn’t work here. It frustrated me to no end… it should have worked. But really, I don’t think I knew much about myself.
She had entwined herself around my heart in more ways than I had realized, even if she did so unintentionally. She is from [a certain state] and her family still lives there. My job takes me to the one stable job [in my career field,] located in [that same state.] I watch Pride and Prejudice, and fall in love with the movie. And then I discover that it is one of her favorites too. I dream dreams, and she dreams the same dreams with different flavors. [My specialty and my profession] was mine. And she, the cultural anthropologist, decides to research [a topic directly related to both of those.] Perhaps, on some level, I came here to get away from her. Yet even here she wrapped herself around my dreams. And it was not fair.
It should not have surprised me, then, knowing anything about myself, that running from my desires would require me to run from my heart. It was not a question of simple withering. Somehow she got inside. Somehow she got through my defenses, my walls that had kept others out so effectively. I was so safely alone, and she comes in and teases me with hope. Perhaps these most intimate places would be shared with someone. Perhaps these deepest desires would be met. But sharing was the farthest thing from what actually happened. It was much more like taking. So I ran. And I killed my heart, over and over. My scalpel had to cut through so many layers to remove her, that I couldn’t recognize what was left. And it didn’t stay dead. As I held it down, it sought fulfillment in career, in a girl or two, in anything that was safe, for she was not safe, and not safe had cut me so deeply.
I begin to understand the hatred in her email. It was not anything I said. It was that I did the same thing to her that she had done to me. I found a way through her defenses, and wrapped myself around her dreams with my words. And I was not welcome. Narnia was hers. Aravis and Cor was her story. Darcy and Lizzy was her story. Not mine to take. They were hers and hers alone. She would control them, and she would not have anyone change them. No one would penetrate her defenses, or disturb her guarded world. So she slashed wildly with her scalpel, hacking on any targets in range. My honor, my character, my friendships, my identity. Anything she could attack she attacked, with fury and hatred. I had interfered with her dreams the same way she had interfered with mine.
And I begin to understand my own selfishness, seeing it in her. No one was invited in, because they would disturb my dreams, wrapping themselves around them. But I interfered in their world, I disturbed their dreams, for the better or for the worse. I denied them myself, always critiquing from afar, always giving when it was safe, when I had plenty more, never asking, never needing, never dependent. This was my world, and they were not invited in. For here I was safe. For here I was in control. For here I was god. And so my idolatry was her idolatry: an idolatry of safety.
Perhaps this is why this current struggle has led to such better outcomes: that idol has been thrown down. I could not amputate her from my heart: I tried three times. And I was tired of letting my heart die. So I gave it to Him. He made it, and perhaps where I could not pry her off, He could release her cords, and remake my heart. And all the passion and desire that I was so afraid of would be mine again. But mine to give away. I am fighting for my wife. I will passionately love her with all of my heart. And God is the only one who can ensure I have all of it to give to her. So this is my prayer: ‘change my heart or change hers.; I am tired of trying to amputate parts of my heart. God will release me of my desire for her, or perhaps we will share in those places where we are already entwined. Either way, I will love my wife with all of my heart. However this turns out. May His will be done. I do pray, though, if it’s over, that He would tell me. That I would not fight on in vain. He is not cruel. I have to believe that. I choose to believe that. God promises, He does not tease. Even if I don’t know what I really want yet (and even if I think that I do.)
//
Looking back over this post, two things strike me. I’ll share the less important of two first. If you want to hide something from radar, you can go about it one of three ways. You can reflect away all the radar waves, stealth-style, so that none of them ever find their way back to their sender. You can use deception jamming, sending out a bunch of signals to confuse the radar operator. Or you can use noise jamming, make so much noise that nobody can see the signal that you’re trying to hide. I’ve seen stealth, where a person blends into the background, becoming a wallflower to stay safe from their insecurities. I’ve seen deception jamming, where a person puts up a front or a number of fronts to hide their real (and really insecure) self. But C. and I both chose noise jamming. On a number of levels. We could make so much intellectual noise that no one could burn through it. We could talk and act so loudly (which seemed to come naturally to both of us) that nobody could burn through and hear the still, small voice of who we really were. We could both broadcast swept-spectrum, high-amplitude noise, and it kept anyone from seeing who we really were. Which was the point all along. Rarely has fear been so loud, I think. Done with the former, on to the latter.
Three days after I wrote this post, I get an email from [a prominent figure in missions,] asking for thoughts on indigenous missions work in Brazil. It occurred to me briefly that she would have been a valuable resource, and that it is sad that we could not have written it in partnership. But God provided nonetheless. Perhaps it would have been better with her. I even prayed that if she was married, we would still reconcile in time to work on this together (and then leave at peace to not talk again.) But it was what it was, and I’m sure God’s grace covered it. Re-reading this post, though, it strikes me that I was more right than I could have known. She wrapped herself around my dreams, but I remember that she dreamed very strongly about ’re-locating to South America for missions work.’ This was her dream, and I stole it. I didn’t mean to, didn’t plan on it, and it didn’t even occur to me that I had done so until after it was done. I don’t know what any of this means. I would have liked to share it with her, but as things stand, I cannot and I will not. I don’t trust her… I think that her deep fears make her more of a liability than anything. I claim no objectivity, certainly, but she has too many wars with herself and with God to bring peace to anyone. As do I, most likely. I wish that we were not at war. May God do a miracle here. This is my hope. I would like to fight with her at my side, rather than her at my back.
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