table for one?

Christian writers talk of the hole in our hearts that only God can fill. I agree with the thought behind that, but that’s not what I’m thinking about today.

I believe there is also, somewhere in the seat of our emotion and thoughts, a seat that is reserved for one other human being. It is a place that is reserved for the relationship that will come as close as I will ever see to heaven here on earth. It is the seat reserved for my wife.

When I was single, I let a lot of people try out that seat. I let too many try out that seat, and I forgot (or never realized) what that seat was about. As a result, it became easy to move people in and out of that position. The seat became a little less important as I pushed people into the seat, then unceremoniously pulled it out from beneath them when it suited me.

In my addiction, I let people who were never even prospects rest in that spot, at least temporarily.

• A dancer at a “gentlemen’s club” (there’s a misnomer if ever there was one) in Memphis held the seat for about three hours
• Women in movies I saw at an “adult” theater (major misnomer #2) sat there for five or ten minute intervals
• I seated strangers who wanted anonymous encounters for short periods of time

Rather than that seat being a place of privilege, I turned it into the seat by the door others used while waiting for a better table.

Eventually, I began to recognize that I was cheapening something that should have been very special. Eventually, my heart was so tired of the endless flow of other broken souls that it cried, “enough!”

The sad thing is, somewhere in that flow I met the proper occupant for that seat. She is my wife, and is the one for whom that spot was reserved, long before I knew the seat existed. The problem is that I still hadn’t figured out that the chair wasn’t big enough for two or three, so I kept pushing her out to make room for others. Since I was married, I had to be more discreet. I had to make my seating arrangements a secret. I couldn’t let anyone know that the seat was still in play. This led to more dishonesty, and the secrecy joined with a growing desire for more and wilder experiences.

That was a recipe for disaster.

I can easily enough write about how God spoke to me in that time, how He brought me to a place where I could begin to see what I was doing for what it was. I can tell you how He brought some key people into my life who would show me grace, but not be enablers.

But I want to focus for a second on how occupancy of that seat is still challenged.

• The mall is not a good place for me. There are the obvious things – the lingerie shops and others with tantalizing pictures that invite mental undressing, the sea of women dressed in clothes that (20 years ago) would have been worn by “professionals” plying their trade (street girls, if that wasn’t clear enough) – and there are the not-so-obvious things. Noise and crowds get to me. Maybe it’s because I am actively blocking so much of what is around me that it wears me down. It is at least in part a paranoia because I like to have a good picture of what’s going on around me, but I also know that I can’t start looking without seeing something that will kick off a painful cycle within me.
• Church can be a problem. I’m glad that I go to a church where no one expects me to wear a suit and tie, but there are Sundays (usually spring and summer) when I can’t look around without seeing more shoulder, or even an occasional tight belly, that distracts me from the focus of the service.

I recognize that the problem still lies in me. I doubt one of the women at the church got dressed that morning thinking, “Wonder how many guys will get turned on by this number?” I suspect that might be exactly the thought of some of the women at the mall, but that may be projection on my part.

Wherever I go there I am.

I have to be very wary about where I focus my eyes. I have to remember that God is about my heart, not my hands. If I go the rest of my life without acting out physically, that’s great – but Jesus says that if I lust after somone, I’ve committed adultery in my heart. That’s harsh, but I believe it.

Surely you don’t think it is the same thing to look a little as it is to take actioin on it?!?

Not my call – I just kinda go with what Jesus said.

And when I feel my heart starting to tip the chair, pulling it out from under the rightful occupant, I have a decision to make; is the little adrenaline rush of what is unknown, forbidden, considered in secret worth the cost to my relationship with my wife? As I get to know her better and better, the answer comes more easily as “No.” That isn’t to say there aren’t challenges – they come often, and they threaten the place I have given her; but for me, the choice has to be to keep that seat a sacred place. I want her to be in that seat, until the day one of us isn’t sitting anymore.

masquerade

Are we really happy here, in this lonely game we play,
Looking for words to say?
Searching, but not finding understanding anyway
We’re lost in this masquerade.
- Leon Russell

George Benson got the award, but Leon Russell wrote this song that captures a lot of life for addicts and codependents.

By the way, I’m not saying either of them fit the above categories.

I’ve been reading back through TrueFaced, and have just had a few experiences with running square into my own and others’ masks. We put on the masks because we don’t want others to see our reality. We think that we can influence others’ opinions if we behave a certain way, or if we do certain things.

Me, for instance. I do woodworking as a hobby. Can it be called a hobby if you only do it two or three days a year? In any case, I used to tell myself that when I would make a piece of furniture, I was doing others a favor. I made a dresser for my daughter. It is way oversized, and the paint job wasn’t done well; but I built it for about half the sticker price at the furniture stores. In the process, I didn’t spend nearly as much time with my wife and infant daughter. Our girl probably didn’t notice as much then, but it did create tension with my wife. She would probably rather have had a husband and helper with our little girl.

As I was reading back through the above-mentioned book, I had a recollection of the Thanksgiving my extended family came to our house. As I showed everyone around, I took a great deal of pride in pointing out the furniture around the house which I had built. In fact, leading the tour was all about trying to impress them with my work.

Don’t get me wrong – there is nothing wrong with taking some pride in the work of our hands. I think that is quite normal. I think the issues are who I was trying to impress, and valuing the work over the people.

Who was I hoping to impress? My oldest brother. Always it comes back to him. Since I was a kid, I’ve been trying to make him think more of me. That drive only increased when our dad died. Go ahead, psych majors and minors – doesn’t take a lot to see what’s wrong there.

Then there were the relational sacrifices of the project. This is hard to quantify, but there were times when it was clear that my wife would rather have had me nearby and involved than down in the shop.

We are still together, and I don’t think there was long-term damage to us because I took about a week total to put that monster together; but it was a very heavy withdrawal on our emotional bank account. And now, with two active kids (roughly 4 & 6 years old), those times that I would choose to spend in the shop become more costly.

At the moment, I’m working on two storage projects for their rooms – a toy chest for him and a dollhouse bookshelf for her. I spent a few hours last Friday and Saturday in the basement, and my daughter had this disappointed look when she saw that I was going “into the dungeon” rather than playing with her.

So here’s a wierd thing. I’ve come to the realization that I’m not doing what I do for them. Oh, sure, they’ll get a lot of use out of the things I build; but to try to explain what I do as being for them is dishonest. I do it for me. I do it because I want or need a little recharge, I desire to exercise my creativity, I want a place where I can solve problems that are mostly of my own making. And there is nothing wrong with that. Expressing that honestly is a bit of a breakthrough – recognizing that I’m doing the work for me.

The problem comes when I let my desire to turn perfectly good lumber into piles of sawdust become more important to me than the people I’m here to love.

So I’m trying to apply a new factor when deciding the cost of a project – the relational cost. If a project is going to take a lot of time, I either need to be prepared to do it mostly during nap times or in those early hours when I’m the only one stirring – or I need to be prepared for the emotional fallout that comes with being the stranger in the basement. I need to think in terms of involving my family in the project where I can (my kids do a decent job with a paint roller, for instance). I also need to let go of the idea that I’m going to do anything more than what is absolutely necessary in the shop.

I have my ideals of how I want to spend my time; the fact is, it isn’t mine anymore to spend. When I got married, I gave up a portion of that control in exchange for the greatest earthly relationship I could have. When we pursued having kids, I gave up more, in exchange for the joys of parenthood (a phrase often said sarcastically, but I’m earnest about it here).

I need to do what I need to do, for certain; but I must always weigh what I believe I need to do against the relational cost with those who matter the most. To be dishonest about my motivations is to wear a mask, and I doubt I fool those who know me the best.

let’s be honest

Honesty is critical to recovery. I know a lot of people in recovery programs don’t like absolutes. We live in a world that is not fond of absolutes.

But the power of addiction is strongest in the shadows – which leads me to the conviction that being dishonest, with myself and others, is likely to lead to a relapse (at best).

There are a few different types of discussions I believe are important for my recovery. Each has a different purpose, a different audience, and different timing; but each requires honesty or it becomes useless.

First, there is telling my story. This is usually what happens in Step 5 of the 12, confessing our faults. In the context of a 12-step program, this will often be a discussion with one’s sponsor. My sponsor and I went to a local monastery and spent a long day with me talking, crying, and walking through my full story.

When I told my story, I had to remember that the point was not to talk about what a victim I was, but to own up to where I had missed the mark. I needed to take responsibility for my own choices.

I think that confession allowed me to be honest with myself, which was at least as important as being honest with anyone else. It also gave me a chance to process some of the stuff that had happened in a more coherent view than anything I had done in private confession through prayer, and gave me a broader view. Patterns began to emerge. For the first time, I saw that there were certain events or feelings that often preceeded my acting out. I later learned these are called “triggers.”

Eventually, it was time for another conversation – a disclosure to my wife. The focus in a disclosure is different. This is not the encyclopedaic recitation of the full list of wrongs that was in my story; this was a specific disclosure of the behaviors which had impacted our relationship, whether she knew the impact or not, and regardless of whether they happened before or after the wedding. It was more general in the sense that she didn’t need (or want) to know the gory details, more pointed in terms of recognition of impact.

My wife has since said that there were two things she saw in my disclosure that were key to our continued marriage: I was broken by my errors, and I was complete in my revelation.

Wait a minute – you just wrote ‘complete in revelation’ just after writing ‘more general.’ What?

By complete, I mean that there was no general area of acting out, no range of activity, that felt incomplete. I gave her general areas or activities (“I visited adult bookstores for anonymous encounters”), and let her ask whatever details she wanted to hear. That’s not to say she liked my answers. I just decided that if there was pain involved, it would be more merciful for both of us to get it out and over with at once instead of continuing to poke and prod at it. If the marriage was going to fail, it was going to fail quickly. By her ( and God’s) grace, that was not the outcome.

I think trying to do a complete disclosure with her without the filter of the prior confession would have been disastrous. Had I gone to the level of detail my confession required, I suspect there would have been a steeper path to our climb. For example, listing specific locations and specific actions might have spurred her imagination, making our relationship that more challenging. I know a guy who bought a new mattress, then a new bed, then remodeled the bedroom, then bought a new house because he dwelt in the details of where his affairs took place.

Again, wherever my wife asked for details, I provided them. There is a world of difference between paving a path for renewal in your relationship and giving her material to question how she compares to someone else, and your words in a disclosure make all the difference.

The final conversation I think is critical is my testimony. OK, technically that’s a monologue, not a conversation. There is healing power in sharing my story. There is a renewed reminder of where I was, and why I would not want to be there again. There is the hope that someone who hears the story might see something of himself, and get some help.  There is hope, in spite of that part of me that sought fulfillment in so many wrong ways.

I share that testimony when I can. Not every setting is appropriate, but I have found very few cases where the story shared creates discomfort or disconnecton with others. Maybe I’m more cautious in sharing than some. I certainly don’t get on the train in the afternoon and say, “MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION, PLEASE?”

I’m not a masochist.

I am a human, flawed, fallen, devious in many ways; but I am also being healed, and I am a child of the King. If I am honest, that’s my identity: a prince, so named by the King whom I didn’t want to serve. That’s a far cry from where I was, not that long ago.

belief

I was listening to a conversation last night that has stirred some thoughts about belief. To some this may not seem connected to the primary topic of my blog, but I think it has everything to do with it.

The two primary participants were discussing the existence of God. Both of these guys are very intelligent (both by my estimation and their IQ scores), and I know them both well enough to say that neither of them is flippant about their viewpoints on important issues. One is a devout Christian and leader in his local church (henceforth referred to as J); the other is a devout agnostic (B).

I was reminded in their discussion how much a worldview is changed when God is added or subtracted from the equation.

B believes that, if God exists, He set things in motion and sits back watching with curiosity, wondering what we’ll do next, hoping someday we’ll get it right and straighten the world out.

J responds that, no, we won’t get it right. We aren’t really capable of getting it right, not without divine intervention.

B thinks that is a very pessimistic viewpoint. I didn’t understand why at first, but then I thought about his worldview. If God does not exist, or is a disinterested third party, it would be distressing to think that we are limited and incapable.

But from a viewpoint of belief, I recognize that I am a child of a loving God who wants what is best for me. It makes more sense to me now as a father than it ever did when I was childless. I don’t want to give my children everything; I want them to grow and learn, which doesn’t happen if they just sit on their rear all day and never live. I am very careful to make sure they have what they need, but that is a far cry from just handing over everything they want.

Then there’s the issue of our place in the unverse. J mentioned that his brother had just sent him some pictures from the Hubbel telescope, including captions estimating the distances of the objects from earth in terms of light years. My brain isn’t capable of keeping track of the number of zeroes involved, but it is, as we say in the South, “a fur piece.”

B says that makes him feel all the less significant, that he is a fortunate accident among millions of other fortunate accidents, spinning around on another unfortunate accident, feeling feelings that are an amazingly fortunate accident, looking out at galaxies upon galaxies of similarly fortunate accidents…and that increases his feeling that he is insignificant. That decreases the odds, in his view, that he is especially designed for a purpose. I should mention that he didn’t keep inserting “fortunate accident” in that dialog. J was doing that, and it was really beginning to annoy B.

J didn’t have a chance to respond; B took the conversation in a different direction.

I’m not a mathmatician, nor am I an odds-maker. But I really do wonder about those numbers. If no design, and therefor no Designer, what are the odds of planetary placement in favor of life? What are the odds in favor of a planet stable enough to support ongoing life for hundreds, thousands of years? What are the odds of life developing at all, and what evolutionary purpose do emotions serve? For that matter, why conscious thought? Why not simple instinct? Why would we ever place ourselves under the burden of organized society, and why would we ever have such altruistic ideals as love, honor, patience, kindness, hope?

I know none of those things prove a loving Creator, or even a creator at all; but there is so much that makes no sense if we are indeed fortunate accidents existing strictly for the propogation and survival of the species.

What has this to do with addiction?

If we are not an incredible series of fortunate accidents, if there is some plan, if there is a Planner, than I believe the plan would not be for me to be enslaved by my behaviors. Oh, I know, that requires the assumption that the Planner is interested – a step of faith B finds quite troubling – and even compassionate. I suppose my predisposition toward that is based in the idea that God is a father.

I don’t want evil to happen to my kids. I want them to grow to their greatest potential, and I’m smart enough to recognize that this sometimes requires some bumps and bruises (not at my hand; only those that result from their unwise choices). I believe the best parental instincts I have are a reflection of how my Father sees (and treats) me.

I want good for my kids. I don’t want them to suffer the consequences of slavery to alcohol, drugs, sex, food, whatever substance gets between them and really relating to others and to me.I hope they will allow me to give them guidance, to suggest how they can avoid some of the traps that lie ahead on a perilous road.

I know my connection to God was the first victim of my addiction, and meaningful relationships with those around me soon followed. As I have found some respite from my addictions, I am discovering those connections again.

That just makes more sense to me than a series of fortunate accidents.

sex and marriage – the two great myths

Peggy: No TV, Al, we’re talking.
Al: You’re my wife. I will not talk to you while I have a TV.
– From Married With Children

I think our culture perpetuates two major myths about sex and marriage. The first is that getting married means you’ll be able to have sex as often as you want it; the other is that marriage is sexless.

I have a theory that a guy who enters marriage believing myth #1 will find himself living in myth #2. But one myth at a time.

Time after time I have heard guys in my group talk about the belief they held that getting married meant they would be able to have sex whenever they wanted it, and that would take care of the little porn problem (or whatever their acting out included). The belief is that she exists largely for the man’s sexual fulfillment. In reality, that paints a picture of the wife as a glorified call-girl.

I know there are still some guys around who will drop their clubs, scratch their ear-hair, and grunt in disapproval of that last sentence; but one need only to look to the Song of Solomon to see that the Cromagnon approach is not Biblically supported.

Truth is, you can have sex in marriage any time you want it; the problem is that you is plural, not singular. Based on my history, you might guess that I would generally be the one with a stronger drive in my marriage; you’d be guessing correctly there. But even so, there have been times when I have been the one to say no. Rare, but it has happened.

So what sometimes happens (as most of the guys I know who have admitted to sexual addiction would testify) is that expectations about sexual activity go uncommunicated because the him thinks the her has the same desires and drives as him. It is somewhere within the first weeks after the honeymoon that the truth is revealed.

By the way, I’m well aware of the dangers of writing in generalities on this topic. Some people get through a few years before the wife starts to feel like a geisha, others not even through the night after the wedding.

In any case, sex in marriage should primarily be about honoring each other, and focused on meeting each other’s needs and desires rather than on our own interests. Sexual intimacy is at its best when it is an outgrowth of spiritual/emotional intimacy.

As to the second myth, which implies that sex and marriage are incompatible…

This is, sadly, becoming a partial truth in our society. The myth is that this is a normal state of things. When it does happen, it is normally a warning sign that emotional intimacy is lacking or even dying.

It is no accident that the most common picture the Bible uses to describe the relationship between God and the church is that of a good husband. God desires intimacy with us. That is a little uncomfortable for many, but it is the truth. Bill Hybels of Willow Creek said it this way:

“For a marriage relationship to flourish, there must be intimacy. It takes an enormous amount of courage to say to your spouse, “This is me. I’m not proud of it — in fact, I’m a little embarrassed by it — but this is who I am.””

Intimacy in marriage is to know and be known, to walk with your partner naked and unashamed as Adam and Eve. And no, I’m not encouraging a “naturalist” lifestyle; I’m talking about having a comfort level where you can tell your spouse what is on your heart without fearing rejection, and creating an environment where she feels free to do the same.

As with all myths, there is truth behind each of these; but that doesn’t mean they are necessarily accurate.