The Equality Narrative

Lately I’ve been reflecting on the idea of equality.  

Equality is getting a lot of attention in the media these days: Equal rights, equal pay, equal opportunity, equal share of housework, and so on.

I remember when I first started thinking about equality, specifically equality in marriage. It was a few years ago and I had just read Sheryl Sandberg’s book Lean In. She had a chapter titled “Make Your Partner a True Partner” where she talks about the unequal share of housework and childcare that is still the norm for most families despite the fact that both parents work full time. I remember resonating with the frustrations she expressed. It seems the conversation around equality in marriage has gained even more attention since she wrote her book.

The concept of equality sounds like a good one to me. I nod my head and say “amen” in agreement to those who tout its benefits.

But then I notice something. When I think about life through the lens of all things being equal, I get cranky and turn into a stingy, frugal accountant. I start tallying up things like how many nights Ben has been out, and how many nights I have been in and when I see my jar near empty and his half full, I get resentful.

My heart sours toward the man I love most and replaces love and self-sacrifice with a focus on my personal need fulfillment above all else. Instead of harmony between my husband and children, I have created division and strife. All because of my desire for equal.

Then, in the midst of my negative spiral, God speaks truth:

Lay down your life.

The words of Paul from Philippians 2 are brought front and center in my soul:

“Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself…”

I get on my knees and ask God for forgiveness. I ask him to make me like Christ. I ask him to chisel away at the rough edges of my soul that are so quick to incorporate another story, another set of values, into His story, and His values to which I have pledged my allegiance.

---

I have to come to the conclusion that the Equality Narrative the world preaches which sounds so good and right and enticing is simply not synonymous with the Gospel Narrative.

The Equality Narrative says, “We are equal and I’m going to get what I deserve.”

The Gospel Narrative is, “Yes, you’re equal.”

 “Now, lay down your life.”

On my knees my mind is renewed again, and I’m no longer concerned about tallying things up. Instead, I’m thinking about my little family as a partnership that is making life happen TOGETHER.

It’s not about Ben’s time and my time; Ben’s work and my work; his responsibilities and my responsibilities. No.

We’re in this together. His work is my work. My work is his work. Our home is our home and all the little necessities that make it run peacefully are shared, together. Not equally. But, together.

Write here...

Empathy without Ownership

I had an experience this past week of feeling overwhelmed with the wrongness of the world while scrolling through my newsfeed on social media.

This happens to me more often that I’d like to admit.

I love the way social media creates a stronger sense of connectedness to friends, family, and acquaintances near and far. But I don’t love the bombardment of information overload that social media encourages.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh wrote about this feeling way back in 1955 in her book Gift From the Sea:

"Modern communication loads us with more problems than the human frame can carry. It is good, I think, for our hearts, our minds, our imaginations to be stretched; but body, nerve, endurance and life-span are not as elastic. My life cannot implement in action the demands of all the people to whom my heart responds."

 A typical scroll through my Facebook feed on any given day will surface news stories about injustices overseas (and in my own neighborhood), friends of friends who are battling terminal illness, and tragic stories of loss and harm.

And, as Lindbergh so eloquently puts it, my heart responds. I feel deeply.

In some cases, my response produces good results. I have contributed to campaigns for causes I care about, I have said prayers for acquaintances battling sickness, and I have sent notes of encouragement to friends facing hard times.

But other times, I’m overwhelmed so much with what I feel that one would think the problem is my own.

“When empathy moves me to a place of personal ownership, it is generally unhealthy and counter-productive.”

What I have noticed about myself in these situations is that when empathy moves me to a place of personal ownership, it is generally unhealthy and counter-productive.

Here’s an example: Several months ago, I read on social media of a tragic car crash that killed a former classmate. Since that time, I have had occasional flashes of getting into car accidents with my children. I can’t seem to get it out of my head.

Another example: Last week, my husband was super-stressed. His stress made me stressed, and then we both were crabby with each other and our kids.

I have found myself asking God: “How do I express empathy without owning someone else’s problem?”

My first thought is perhaps it’s not possible. The definition of empathy is “the ability to understand and share the feelings of another.” 

But then I read, “my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

And then, I had a lightbulb moment about empathy while reading the book “How to Talk so Kids Will Listen and Listen So Kids Will Talk” by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish.

The first principle they present is the importance of acknowledging your child’s feelings.

It sounds simple enough, but how often do I tell my daughter:

“You’re not hot. It’s cold outside. Keep your coat on.” 

“Of course you like broccoli; you ate it yesterday.”

“You’re just tired. You need a nap.”

Woah. I’m not empathizing with my kid. I’m just jumping straight to trying to solve her problem.

For me, this insight translated directly back to how I relate to difficulties I am confronted with in the lives of those I love and even in my newsfeed.

Take a moment. Feel it. Acknowledge the stress my husband is feeling, but don’t take it on as my own. Acknowledge the tragedy of the loss of life, but don’t carry the unnecessary burden of fearing it will happen to me.

I don’t have this down to a science. I’m still learning. But I do feel like I’m on my way to learning how to express empathy in a healthy way. 

Thin Places

Listening prayer is best accomplished in thin places. 

What is a thin place? In her book “The Happy Intercessor” Beni Johnson describes it as a place where "Heaven and earth are close.” She goes on to name a few geographical locations that she considers thin places including Sedona, AZ and Ashland, OR. 

I know of a few thin places, too. My living room, early in the morning. When I’m showering. When I’m doing the dishes. When I’m putting on my makeup in the morning. 

Thin places are moments where
my soul is still enough to hear from God.

These thin places are not as fancy or fantastical as Sedona or Ashland, but they are places and moments where my soul is still enough to hear from God.

When I was single, I would get up early every morning to read my Bible and journal. It was a wonderful way to start the day. 

Now I have a husband and two children, one of whom is not yet sleeping through the night. It’s harder to get up in the morning. It’s harder to find my thin place. 

But I have noticed a pattern. I seem to have two kinds of consistent thin places. One is a time of day: Morning. The other is an activity: Menial tasks. 

These are the moments where my mind quiets and I can hear the still, small voice of the Spirit. 

The problem is, these moments can literally be 30-seconds. I’ll be doing the dishes and my daughter interrupts me for some help. I’ll be sitting at our quiet dining table and hear my son’s morning cries on the baby monitor. 

If I don’t capture what I am hearing right away, I lose it.  So I have devised a way to capture what I hear in my thin places. I keep small booklets scattered around my house, in my purse, and in my car. When I enter a thin place - even for a moment - these little booklets ensure I can write down what God is saying and return to it later. 

One of my goals for this experiment is to get better at the listening part of prayer. And listening to God is best accomplished in thin places. 

Have you noticed locations, times, or moments where you best hear from God? How do you take advantage of your thin places?