True character is exposed in simple interactions.

 

Today i received my second pithy indictment of human nature in as many days.  I wonder how often my true character — in seemingly innocuous interactions — is exposed to others who are observant and cognizant of the other humans around them?  It is a bit disconcerting to think about.  I tend to be annoyingly observant of sight, smell and sound and wish I could turn it off sometimes.  But I can’t.  And now you get to read about it.   Count it all joy.   🙂

Here’s the scoop:

Yesterday while waiting at a traffic light, a young man with a leashed dog was crossing the street in front of us.  The young man was dressed in the modern style of “pants on the ground” but seemed clean and handsome and his beard well-maintained.

I’m a mom.  I notice these things.

My only other thoughts were of how sweet it would be to see my own son right now and treat him for lunch.  Then the boy-man and his beautiful dog paused on the other side of the intersection before crossing the perpendicular street.  Some slight movement on the part of the young man caused the dog to flinch violently then literally hit the ground in a full-out cower before looking up to ascertain that blows were not about to rain down upon her head.

He never even glanced at her.  He proceeded to cross the perpendicular street and she got up quickly, wagging her tail, eyes glued upon his face.  She was clearly a breed-bitch and, just as clearly (to me, anyway), regularly abused.  By him.

I’ve known parents whose children reacted similarly.  Abusive parenting, exposed.  Without one spoken word.

My daughter beside me exclaimed “Whoa.  Mom!  Did you SEE that?  He beats that dog!”  And suddenly I saw a scruffy, abusive, common hoodlum; the type of guy who transforms a beautiful breed — like Pitbull, for example — into a “known” societal menace who is eternally snarling and searching for the next neck to latch onto.  A small entity who survives on a little food (hopefully), water and the hoped-for approval of his perceived master.  Can you see where this is going?

Dog owners determine their dogs’ view of the world surrounding them.  This dog looked to that boy as his god and master no matter how he treated his dog.  That boy consistently trained this dog in that belief.

Dogma.

I’m not being funny.  Not on purpose.  Not today.

Seriously.  What is the difference between this and some people’s practice of religion?

For decades I lived to please my dad, knowing that my pleasing him somehow would make me right with God.  It seemed to work, for the most part.  Oh, there were countless times when I failed — then cowered, froze and stared at his face waiting for some signal that scripturally-based “blows” were not forthcoming — but the whole paradigm of pleasing a god was being neatly walked out.  On a leash.  Attached to a collar. If you will.  Because when I became a teenager I had absorbed the “truth” that now I was to transfer that loyalty to whatever religious leaders we, as a family, were “submitting” to.  Then, as I began to date I already knew the drill:  “Good Christian girls become excellent Godly wives who submit to a like-minded man who will gently rule her in the ways of Godly Manhood & be her Covering until death (Human Christian Husbandry 101).”

Not all religious people believe this way.  This is only my perception of my own story.  But it is mine, and so it is real.

I learned — or chose — very early to look at people outside my belief system and outside my church or denomination as suspicious…to be avoided…on the wrong track…to be corrected, converted, judged and/or rejected.  Suspect.  If I had any doubt, I quickly referenced my authority figures for corrective measure to my possibly-flawed thinking:  parents, pastors or husband.  Usually in that order.  As a woman, I trained myself in this method.  Sometimes blows in the form of rebuke, “correction,” scriptures, counsel or dogma rained down upon my cowering head.  Other times just a firm but gentle reminder of what God’s Word says was enough to get my theology leash back online and my Dogma collar back in place.

If any friend noticed the strangeness of this lifestyle, I told them that it was MY choice and that I joyfully accepted my life as God’s Will and He was blessing me abundantly for it.

Enter children.  And knee-jerk parenting.  I couldn’t do it to them.  I tried and succeeded, to some degree, in recreating a similar dogma in my own children but found myself often saying things like “Never take ANYone’s word for ANYthing, not even mine.  Prove everything for yourself.  Believe nothing unless you have made it your own through research and conviction.  Your own.  Not someone else’s.”  As I schooled them in this, I had to realize the hypocrisy of my own lifestyle of believing others…those to whom I was “submitted.”  And I realized, once again, that I was cowering.

Only this time I was cowering from my own judgement blows.  Why was I teaching individualized thinking to my kids, but didn’t practice it myself?  I was a hypocrite.  Children don’t become what we SAY, they tend more to emulate who we ARE.  I was a religious freak zealous only to please my perceived God through pleasing the men to whom I submitted — parent, pastor, husband.  My children were hearing my words but learning my lifestyle.  And I witnessed family after family of “like-minded” folk living the same way raising children who winced and cowered at odd moments to imperceptible signals from their parents that they had somehow done something wrong.

I couldn’t do this any more.  I chose to stop living what others said, no matter what scriptures they might quote to attach to their attempts to control those around them.  I chose instead to closely observe some things in my life.  Things like peace and joy and happiness became more important to me than submission to man or book or god.  I began to measure my own success by the peace and joy displayed in the daily lives of my children.  I started to see the true fruit of loving myself FIRST (the way the Bible says, by the way) and only then attempting to love others in healthy — not expectational or religiously-required — ways.  It meant learning how to define and SAY the word “No.”  A lot.  I became happier and more at peace.  My children became happier and more at peace.

My parents, pastors and husband became confused and conflicted and — at varying levels — tried to tweak me back to the way I had been before.  Submitted.  But it was too late.  The leash was broken, the collar was off, and the itch was satiated for the first time.

I had tasted of the true Liberty that sets one free:  Truth. That mysterious “I Am” inside every one of us.  I Am full of life and light.  I Am a part of a vast tapestry of souls and my value as such is immeasurable.  I Am equipped with gifts and knowledge and skills and desires and abilities that contribute light and life and healing to my world; my corner of this tapestry.  Knowing and living this truth makes people free and I wasn’t about to assume the cowering position ever again.  My own and my children’s futures depended upon my upright posture.

It was not easy or simple.  It was messy and ugly and sometimes loud, this process of getting up off the ground.  I barked and I snarled and I sometimes had to bite back…only this time it wasn’t against so-called Unbelievers; it was against my handlers.  The ones who truly loved me stayed and chose to honor my new boundaries.  The ones who only wished to control me are gone.  For good.

It may be too late to erase some of the damage dogmatic lifestyle has done to my children.   But they have their own lives to live; their own choices to make; their own fights to fight and leashes to escape.  Just.  Like.  Me.

But, for better or for worse, I have shown them what it looks like to break the cycle and make their own choices of faith.   And I applaud their discoveries and rejoice in their explorations of this wonderful life we live.  A life of faith, yes, and belief in a loving Creator who seems to pour out tangible blessing daily upon us.  But don’t try to pigeonhole or define or denominationalize me because I’m still in process and likely always will be.   And that’s good.  So very good.

Dogma broke me, and then I broke the leash.  Took a while for me to figure out the latches on the collar, but I think I’m conquering those as well.

The only thing I try to be dogmatic about now is love and light and life.  I used to preach at my little ones (mostly tongue-in-cheek) that “It remains to be seen whether your time on this earth will be a blessing to the Universe…or not.” and I have seen their sweet lights spreading out into their little corners of the world bringing healing and joy to others.  I hope they don’t have dogmatic religious views or a solid set of judgement tools toward others except to serve and love as needed…judgement excepted.  I hope.  It isn’t what I lived 10 years ago with them, but it is what I strive for now.

And they never, ever cower and stare at my face waiting for the next corrective blow.  Ever.  Sometimes I miss the seeming-ease of those days of unquestioning submission, but NO.  I love having them choose to walk by my side without the leash to control them.  And, God forbid, I should ever raise a hand in correction I hope they growl and snarl and bare their teeth to remind me of how I’ve taught them more recently:  No leashes.  No control.  Only good fellowship and honoring one another and companionship, acceptance and love.

Companionship.  I like that.  And God (and dog) said “It is good.”

~CaveMomRising