Conversations

Social psychologist Kenneth Gergen described the citizens of present western civilization as having "populated selves." That is, no individual is really an individual, but more of an intersection, built of the hundreds and thousands of communicative interactions each person has with the people they encounter directly and indirectly. I've been thinking about that a lot lately. There are so many voices running around my head. My very last Spaces of the Heart class with Nienkirchen last Tuesday was on journaling. Although he acknowledged that the golden rule of journaling is that however you are doing it is the right way, Nienkirchen offered one suggestion I found intriguing. He asked us to consider making a list of people and experiences to have dialogues with, including famous or influential people (dead or alive), people close to you, strangers, your body, the environment, God. He didn't mean it in a pantheistic or spiritual medium kind of way, but more in the historical fiction or poetic writer's prerogative sort of way, where you listen to what those people or experiences have said or are saying, and you imagine, based on the evidence, what they would say to you if you took them out for a Thursday afternoon chat in a relatively empty coffee-shop for a few hours. Since that class, I have had more than 19 group and one-on-one conversations with God, strangers, fictional book characters, co-workers, friends, and family members. And those 19 were just the really significant ones I remembered to write down. Consequently, I'm a bit peopled-out, so I'm sipping a popular legal stimulant while hiding out at my mostly-vacant school until one of the building security guards comes to throw me out when they're locking up. Read life is hard. I know I need to start rebuilding my relationships with my church young adult group. I know they have bible study on Tuesday nights. I just don't want to go tonight. I don't know what to say, and I still haven't really processed any of the other conversations I've already had last week and this week. I didn't know what to say in most of those conversations either, so mostly I just listened to stories. Listening is good. I wish I did it even more often. For example, listening would have been smart on Friday afternoon, after my DC shift, when I sat down on the train to go home. Although the train was almost entirely empty, a young man came and sat down beside me, thus defying one of those unspoken social taboos about personal space on city transit I've come to notice with keen interest through my studies in sociology. Then he immediately broke still another unspoken social taboo, by turning to me and asking "Do you think I need to lose weight?" Looking up from the book I had begun reading, I searched his face, wondering if this was a joke. He was not kidding. Nobody talks to complete strangers about personal health issues unless the stranger is a health professional or the person talking is requesting immediate assistance for some kind of medical emergency like a heart attack, allergic reaction, or a stabbing. Grasping my DC Rogerian training like a shield, I politely told him, "I don't know. That's probably something you'd want to discuss with a doctor." Then we briefly discussed some of the pros and cons of relying on the BMI for indication of health problems. When that came full circle to his confirming that he should talk to his doctor about it, I decided the conversation was done and I resolutely began reading again. But I was bothered. What was behind that conversation? What was he really looking for? Was he so desperate for validation and affirmation as a human being that he was seeking attention from complete strangers for trivial personal issues? In addition, that verse about being conscientious to entertain strangers because you may be hosting angels unawares kept intruding into my determined reading. Ask him about himself. The command was no more than a whisper. I heard it, I ignored it, I regret it. I also regretted not listening on Sunday night. I was sleeping over at a friend's house after helping to child-wrangle at a baking-themed birthday party that afternoon. Everything was going smoothly until the un-birthday child realized his sibling would be allowed to stay up late to watch a movie with a friend since the birthday child had no school Monday, while the Unfortunate had to go to bed at the usual time and attend school as usual the next day. After we had listened to precisely 4 door slams, countless "IT'S NOT FAIR!" roars, and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor for the sixth time, I offered to go talk to him. Unperturbed by the dissapointed child's angry screams for me to go away, I inquired with mild interest what he'd been using to make all the noise. Unable to entirely hide his assauged pride, he moodily informed me that the heavy falling object had been a u-bar bike lock. They bounce? Who would have known? I thought absently. It did not take long to realize that discussing the problem logically was not going to help, so I utilized the eternal boy-wisdom of Amy instead: I stole the child's comforter and threw it at him. With vengeance, he threw it back. I caught it and hucked it at him again. By the third round, he was finding it difficult to hide his grin. He loves being wrestled with. Time for the kill. I began climbing the ladder to his bunk. He attempted to knock me off by smothering me in his comforter, as I had expected. I pushed my way up and flipped the comforter over him, then tickled him until he couldn't breathe. I asked if he'd like to read a book with me before bed. He eagerly agreed and raced off to find his favourite book, Star Wars III. Victory is mine, I thought smugly. Just call me 'Cool Aunt Faye'. A snack and two chapters later, he was ready to go to sleep. That is, he was ready until he remembered that his ear infection needed cleaning and helpfully went to remind his sibling of the same thing. Unfortunately, seeing his sibling still up watching a movie reminded him of his anger with full force, and within five minutes he was screaming, yelling, and throwing things with a passion that made the earlier storm seem tame. His mother's patient explanations and stern admonition to stop only intensified his rage, and he began the all-too-familiar refrain, "I HATE YOU, MOMMY! I HATE YOU!" Closing his door, she went to her room to cry. Deja vu, in a repeating nightmare, oppressive way. [Let me clear any misconceptions this picture might arouse. My friend is not a wimp. Neither is she an overly indulgent, neglectful, or abusive parent. She's just a single parent who happens to have a very troubled and difficult child with whom normal child-disciplinary methods do not work, and the burden leaves her very tired, discouraged, and defeated sometimes.] I felt torn. My friend needed comfort and encouragement. Her son needed to be calmed. Her other child, I knew, was feeling worried and scared again. Waiting it out wasn't going to work. My friend's son has demonstrated the unnatural ability to maintain that level of rage for hours. I knew what I should do. My friend had already told me the most effective way to deal with these situations. We needed to pray together for help, then go face the demons with scripture, prayer, and what some child therapists might call "therapeutic holding." Bible. I needed my bible. I went to look for it, only to remember it was in my friend's room already. I went back, pulled it out of my bag, set it on the bed. Then I got up to close the door so we could hear ourselves, but instead just walked straight to his room and shouted, "THAT IS ENOUGH! THAT IS NOT APPROPRIATE BEHAVIOUR! YOU WILL NOT SAY THAT TO YOUR MOTHER!" There was a pregnant silence in the dark room. Then he erupted, "GO AWAY!!!!! GO AWAY, GO AWAY, GO AWAY! I HATE YOU, GO AWAY!" His voice was going raw with the mantra, but the volume was not decreasing. Filled with anger of my own at the whole situation, I marched in to his room and climbed the ladder again, capturing his writhing body in my arms in a hard hug. And that was when I realized I was a moron. Sure, I could hold him still- I must be at least three times his weight. But I had no idea what to pray. My mind was empty. I hadn't prepared. Then his mother was there, commanding the demons in his room to leave him, telling her son that she loved him and Jesus loved him, acknowledging that she understood he was dissapointed but he needed to fight the demons who were consuming him with rage. She reminded him that he needed to sleep so he could have a good day at school tomorrow. "I DON'T CARE!" screamed the still thrashing, yelling, and sobbing child. "Yes, you do," she countered firmly, and then proceeded to remind him of the things her son had learned to like at school, the goals he wanted to achieve. She asked him if he would let her hold him. Though still crying and occasionally screaming, he agreed, and so his mother and I switched spots. By this point, the child needed his inhaler, so I went in search of it. Predictably, it was not where the boy thought it would be, so I asked God to help me find it. He did. I took it to the now quietly crying and gasping child, whose mother was reassuring him that the room was filled with angels now, he was safe and could go to sleep. We turned on his favourite worship c-d, exchanged I-love-yous and good-nights, and he went to sleep. Out in the hall, my friend turned to me and demanded, "What were you thinking?! When you went to find your bible, I thought, 'Oh good, she knows what she's doing.' Then you suddenly went charging into a room filled with 50 demons and I was like, 'Oh dang, she doesn't.'" "I'm sorry," I said, ashamed. "I don't know what I was thinking. I guess it was just pride." "Well, it worked out alright," she said kindly, "I knew I'd have to go rescue you, so you motivated me to get back on my feet again. We live and learn." And we know that all things work to the good of those who love God, who are called according to his purpose. Coincidentally (or providentially?), my last meeting with Lisa was on the Saturday morning before that interesting Sunday night episode. One of the things we discussed was learning to recognize the limitations of our personal skills and knowledge, and the importance of seeking the Holy Spirit for healing spiritual wounds that aren't effectively touched by mere psychological and social treatments. The topic came up partly because it was something I'd begun sorting through in my last three school papers and two presentations, which Lisa wanted to hear the out-come of. In addition, while out with friends on Saturday night celebrating our respective graduations and un-graduations, I had been convicted of my self-focus when my astute friend Jen burst out laughing at me for temporarily zoning out in the middle of another friend's conversation. God, I'm thick. Please help. I'm trying. Just shut up and listen, for crying out loud:) And security has come to kick me out.