Boo!

February 21st, 2018

The Strongest Chains are Imaginary

Every so often God gives me a phrase or a sentence. These words turn out to be extremely useful to me. They serve as guidance, but they also have supernatural power. When I sit and repeat them to myself, I feel God’s presence and peace rise up in and around me. It’s actually a problem, because I tend to fall asleep, which interferes with prayer. Sometimes I’ll go down the list and repeat each phrase at least three times.

I save these phrases in digital form. Today it occurred to me that if they’re worth saving for myself, they are worth publishing for other people. Henceforth, I’ll make an effort to post them as they arrive.

Here is one from a few hours ago: “My parents abandoned me.”

That one disturbed me. I don’t feel any qualms about saying my dad abandoned me, because he was never around, and he took no interest in me or my sister. But my mom? She adored me, and she certainly made an effort to straighten me out. I didn’t listen to her as well as I should, and I’m sure I discouraged her.

Still, I realize it’s right to say my mother abandoned me. One reason I learned to cook is that she got up later than I did. I had to feed myself. She didn’t make a consistent effort to take me to church (or to go on her own). She didn’t teach me order or responsibility. I had no set homework hours, for example. She didn’t check to see if I was doing what I should. When I was in high school, I did almost all of my homework after I arrived on campus.

My mother didn’t teach me to bathe correctly! I didn’t know I had a problem. I was dirty, but I didn’t suffer because of it. Kids smell a lot less than adults, and they secrete less grease, so when you’re a kid, being dirty isn’t as unpleasant.

Kids don’t automatically figure out when and how to bathe, and they may not pick it up by having you do it for them when they’re very small. You have to say, “Turn on the water. Get a wet washcloth. Soap it up. Scrub your ENTIRE body. Rinse it off. Go back over anything that still feels oily or gritty. Use the shampoo.” You have to teach them how to tie their shoes. You have to sit them down and make them practice.

My mother didn’t teach me how to tie my shoes until I was in elementary school! She only taught me because she was tired of doing it herself. I should have known when I was four.

When I was old enough to be ashamed of being filthy, and to be responsible for cleaning myself, a Jewish lady in a department store gave me a much-needed clue. My mother had taken me to get pants, and I firmly believe this kind woman took notice of my filth and decided to try to help. Somehow she found a way to work a hygiene lesson into the conversation.

I can’t even remember what the excuse was. There was something we needed to finish. Maybe I objected to buying shirts and socks as well as pants. I hated shopping. The saleslady said, “What do you do when you bathe? You don’t just stand under the water. You go on and soap yourself off and get clean.”

Soap? Washcloths? Really? Every time?

This amazing information changed my life.

Standing under the water was pretty much what I was doing back then! Get in, let the water run over you, and get out. And shampoo…I’m not sure I ever used it without prompting until I was in my teens. Every once in a while, my mother would grab me and make me lie on the counter with my head in the sink, and she would shampoo the dirt out and let me go. For a kid way up in elementary school, it was a disgrace. But I didn’t know. Who was going to tell me?

My mother did a very bad job. I hate to say it. If I had a son with the kind of habits I had when I was a kid, I would be all over it. I would wear a switch out on his sorry behind every day, out of terror for his future. I would feel like the worst parent on earth for letting him slide. I would pray I got him fixed before other people found out.

I know a lady who has a huge, belligerent son. The pediatrician thinks he’s going to be six feet ten inches tall. When he was 5 or 6 years old, he didn’t know how to wipe his rear end. Someone always had to do it for him. You can’t expect kids to be civilized without instruction. That kid is going to be a monster if she doesn’t get him under control.

It’s bad to be too hard on your parents, but it’s just as bad to put them on pedestals and pretend they’re perfect.

Why did God tell me both parents had abandoned me? To make me blame my mother for my faults? No. I’m responsible for my faults. But the truth is important, and I have to know it in order to draw proper conclusions and make proper decisions. Besides, knowing my parents’ shortcomings helps me advise other people (especially kids). Also, the knowledge that both parents abandoned me helps me appreciate God, because as stubborn, uncooperative, and dismissive as I am, he is still working to change me every day. He is 100% consistent. He has perfect attendance. He is better than my parents. He is better than the best parents who ever lived.

Here’s something he told me a few minutes ago: “There is usually a barking dog outside a stronghold.”

That one really hit me. When I heard it, I was watching the testimony of a Jew who accepted Jesus. He quoted his mother’s reaction: “I will never believe in Jesus! I was born a Jew; I will die a Jew! How can you expect me to believe in a God in whose name my people have been killed? I don’t care if it’s true! I will never believe in Jesus!”

That’s some serious barking!

Strongholds aren’t complete without intimidation. They are composed of intimidation plus actual barriers. Let me think of an example.

Think of Brother Andrew, the famous Bible smuggler. He carried Bibles into leftist countries that would have imprisoned or killed him had be been caught. Those countries were strongholds. They had physical barriers in the form of gates, walls, fences, and armed soldiers. They also had barriers of intimidation. They publicized the way they intended to treat missionaries. They did their best to put fear into them so they wouldn’t ever get to the physical barriers. They would be so scared, they wouldn’t even try.

Disinformation is a powerful thing, because it makes your enemies do your work for you. Don’t tell people they’re going to be gassed. They’ll fight and run. You’ll have to kill them and carry them to the ovens, and stripping dead people is hard. Tell them they’re going to get showers. Then they’ll walk to the showers, strip naked in front of total strangers, and put their belongings in neat piles for you.

The talk about prison and execution was the barking of guard dogs. Fortunately, Andrew ignored it, and God blinded his enemies. He ended up driving through checkpoints with uncovered Bibles stacked in the passenger seat next to him. Guards looked right past them, saw nothing, and let him pass. Too funny. When it comes to making fools of people, God has no equal.

The mother of the convert in the Youtube video was barking. The enemy knew someone would come to her eventually and try to open her eyes, so he filled her with irrational rage in order to intimidate. The most obvious proof that her rage was irrational is this: “I don’t care if it’s true!” There is no possible way to rationalize that.

She ended up accepting Jesus at the age of 86. I suppose I should add that, because the question will naturally arise in people’s minds. God knows how to tame a guard dog.

There are some strongholds you should leave alone. God has told me to quit praying for some people. But you can’t assume a barking dog means anything. God has the authority to command you. A dog does not.

2 Responses to “Boo!”

  1. Ruth H Says:

    You reminded me,I made my children bathe. I checked the bath water before they got out, if it was still clean, they were told they were still dirty, get the dirt of them and into the water. This was early on, of course. Later when they were older and showering I did not doubt they were getting themselves clean, I could tell by looking at them.

  2. baldilocks Says:

    I long ago accepted the fact that my parents abandoned me. (See blog link)

    They know it, too and sometimes try to make it up to me. But I forgave them long ago and try to find ways to honor them.