My life has been spiraling insanely this past year, and without going into all of the detail, a large part of that spiral has been spiritual. What began as personal frustrations grew into questioning and ultimately confusion and doubt.

I began doubting some scriptural truths I had always been taught - things like that the marriage passages are best understood the way the Reformed/PCA circles have always taught. I moved on to doubting that the method of interpreting scripture that I had always lived by (interpret Scripture with Scripture) was giving me the best understanding of God and of His Word. I continued to a place of wondering what else in Scripture might be best understood by interpreting Scripture by Jesus…or what other methods of understanding God might be more true to His character.

And eventually I became weary and confused and just too darned busy to ponder it any more. My spiritual world began to take a backseat to…life. I am in nursing school, I have five kids, we all have a disorder that has pushed me to spend countless hours doing research and educating myself. I have lost both parents and several loved ones in the past few years. I am just out of the emotional energy and the extra time to ponder the deep things of life.

Maybe you could say I have grown cold. Or worse, lukewarm.

But it is now officially after Thanksgiving, and you know what that means. It is legal to listen to Christmas music!! And I’m not talking about “Christmas Shoes,” or even “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer.” I started with my old favorite, “O Holy Night” on Pandora. (Love me some Pandora radio!!)

Y’all.

The traditional hymns and carols have so much depth. It renews my soul…truly. I have spent tonight studying about nutrition, medications, and elimination…and worshiping. Strange combination, I know. The loss of a friend last week to a sudden brain aneurysm is still fresh in my heart and probably makes me face this season more tenderly and heart-felt than I might. And so my soul, after spending many months locked up and untouched, is greatly touched by the songs of the season, and ultimately by the gospel.

It’s not the gospel of submissive wives, or Republican leaders, or self-disciplined elders. It isn’t a gospel of correct theology, or historical church figures, or end times. It is just simply the story of the birth. Creator creates…world goes crazy…and then BAM! God comes. Perfection in our midst. Joy to the world! A thrill of hope!

O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour’s birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the Spirit felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!
O night divine, the night when Christ was born;
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!

My doubtful heart has hope, and I am falling on my knees. Is anyone else’s weary heart joining me there?

Hello out there, Blogworld. My name is Chewymom. I have a blog. And I used to write posts on it. And then something happened.

Facebook.

I now write and think in only 100 characters at a time. My brain cannot handle more than that. In fact, this post will actually be a combination of dozens of short Facebook-length posts, all strung together. So forgive me if it is disjointed.

Okay, there is this one other tiny detail of my life, called Nursing School that has started to rudely encroach on my time. Well, and then there’s just life itself. Let me outline the month of…say…August for you.

On Monday, August 10th, my kids joyfully bounded out of bed, anticipating their first day of school. You know that part about the joy and the bounding is a lie, but it was the first day. Because what else is there to do in August in Alabama? Children are sick of swimming, nobody wants to do anything but move from one air conditioned room to another, and there are only so many trips to Chuck E Cheese that a mother can make before she really loses it.

So, August 10th was the first day of first, sixth, ninth, twelfth, and post-high-school job training for my five kids. On Tuesday, August 11th, I checked them all out of school at noon so we could drive to Atlanta and hop on a plane to Baltimore. We saw Dr. Francomano, a geneticist who specializes in connective tissue disorders. She confirmed that me and all of the Chewychildren do have Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, and that it is the classical type. She carefully measured and plotted the extent of hypermobility of dozens of our joint, made recommendations for follow up care with physicians and therapists, and made other unpopular suggestions like that the kids should not play contact sports like football. Drew was not fond of this advice, but it was still a very helpful visit, and we even had time left over to drive into DC and visit the Smithsonian and the Spy Museum.

We flew home on Saturday, and on Monday Drew went on to football, still pondering whether he wanted to quit. Actually, I was pondering how to get him to see the wisdom in quitting, because he was not convinced that was a smart thing to do. But then he had a little intervention from above, along with a teammate who hit him, causing his knee to dislocate. When he hit the ground, it popped back into joint, but his MCL was torn. He was put in a brace, and his orthopedist and his coach both sat him down and told him he could no longer play football. The risk for injury was too great. He moped for about a day, and then he went and talked to the basketball coach and decided to go out for that sport.

The following Sunday, Brig fell and hurt a muscle in his leg. On Monday morning, he came down the stairs on his bottom. This was normal behavior when he was three, but he is now 18, so it was a bit odd. Nevertheless, I sent him to school, limping, and went on to my first day of class in Nursing School. After my class ended, and I was totally stressed out by the realization that life as I knew it had ended, I took Brig to the orthopedist (we’re on a family plan there), where we learned that he had not, in fact, hurt his muscle. He had broken his leg. He was put in a boot, which he was just allowed to remove this week.

Crazy times, huh?

Oh wait. I forgot to mention that on Tuesday evening of that same week, Sally began running a high fever, had a headache, stomach ache, was tired….You know where this is going.

Oink.

Yep, swine flu. Which she passed along to me.

So, let’s recap, shall we? Kids start school. Kids miss 3-1/2 of the first 5 days of school and are deluged with makeup work. Drew tears his MCL and has to quit his favorite sport. Brig breaks his leg. Mom starts nursing school. Sally gets swine flu. Mom gets swine flu.

And now, I am thoroughly exhausted from stringing all of these 100-word status updates together to make a single blog post, so I am going to sign off. Perhaps you will hear from me again before Christmas, but I make no promises….

So, that’s not a totally accurate quotation of Luke 2:19, but it’s a pretty accurate description of me.

Chewydad and I have spent the past approximately 12 months feeling like we are no longer a good fit in the Christian denomination (PCA) we have been part of for the past 18 years. That has been a difficult thing to admit to ourselves, and even more difficult for many of our friends to understand.

And yes, the main issue is women.

I have dear friends on both sides of the issue of women in ministry, and although this is not the post where I’ll address the arguments, I would point you to my friend Molly because 1-she is far more eloquent than I am, and 2-she has been going through a very similar change-of-heart right along with me. I will say that Chewydad and I are not throwing out Scripture, or even certain passages. And there are compelling arguments on both sides, in spite of the fact that I never heard the “pro-women” arguments until recently. Maybe because I was only listening to one side of the issue and refusing to fully educate myself.

Some people call that sticking your head in the sand.

Recently our oldest son was honored as a high-school graduate at our former church. We were really thankful that he was even included because we have not been attending there as a family in the past year, even though we are still considered members and Brig is still active in the youth group. We all went to the service, and they called each graduate forward and then asked their parents to stand. Except that although they called out Brig’s name to come forward, Chewydad and I were omitted. It was a bit awkward. We were unsure of whether it was an ironic oversight, or whether it was intentional because we are no longer active there.

I puzzled over the situation, tried to look at it from both sides, and shared the situation with two of my closest friends to try to gain perspective, but I couldn’t make sense of the reasons behind it. It felt personal. It felt embarrassing. It felt like a slap on the wrist–not the first one we have received from an elder at our former church, although the first public one. I continued to ponder this in my heart.

Several days later, as I was discussing this with Chewydad, he said, “Oh, two people came up to me and apologized, and one said it was just an oversight and the other didn’t even realize that we were present. Didn’t you know?”

Why no, I did not know. And here’s why. The men in the situation chose to talk only to my husband. And see, people, this is the dynamic in patriarchal churches that makes me uncomfortable. Why could those men not have said the same thing to me? Because my husband is supposed to be my head, and therefore I don’t merit the respect of an apology? Because they assumed he’d tell me? I’m not sure. But, just like Mary, I ponder things in my heart. It’s what women do. I try to figure out the reasons behind actions. I mull things over. And I spent three unnecessary days mulling over this “offense” only to be told that it was truly just an oversight. And not even by the people doing the overseeeing.

Our former church is a respectful one. In a denomination that includes the likes of the Bayly Brothers, this church is one that values women. And yet, when we really get to the heart of things, there is some weird dynamic that exists, I believe as a direct result of the theology of women. Women are different. They have separate roles. They exist in their own little group. They have WIC and childrens’ ministries to keep themselves occupied. Therefore, the men never have to interact with the women in a professional and respectful relationship. When a problem comes up or something needs to be addressed, it is done man-to-man. It leads to many unhealthy situations. For example, when a female Bible-scholar shares her knowledge for the edification of others in Sunday school, it is met with an awkwardness…and then the teacher moves on. When women begin to grow by leaps and bounds because they are being well-taught in a womens’ Bible study, rather than having the freedom to ask the gifted female teacher to teach a co-ed class, the teacher is removed from her position. When a woman is in trouble in her marriage, the man is counseled. The woman is left to flounder around and figure out what to do on her own.

These are all unhealthy situations, and every one of them is one I have witnessed within my denomination, within some of the better churches. And I believe that every one of them is the result of a theology of women with which I now disagree.

And to wrap up this post and tie it with a nice bow, that’s what I have been pondering my heart.

I have been accused of being a hypochondriac. I have no idea why. Just because I diagnosed myself with a brain tumor on Web MD, only to learn that it was, in fact, a sinus infection….Oh, and there was the time I discovered that Sally and I both had Celiac disease, and darned if it didn’t turn out that we had a parasite.

And I have been known to spend a lot of time on medical websites whenever a slight abnormality appears. For anyone in my family. Maybe I just like playing doctor.

Lately I have been barking up a different tree. And I did not initiate the hunt. Since Sally began walking, five-plus years ago, she has over-pronated. At first, it was so bad her two smallest toes did not touch the ground, but her inner ankle did. Over time she straightened up a bit, but her gait has continued to look awkward and uncomfortable. I mentioned it to her pediatrician. Repeatedly. And I suppose I finally wore him down. He referred us out to a pediatric orthopedist.

This orthopedist x-rayed her little ankles, then fiddled around with her feet, bending them this way and that. He watched her walk, then hop, then stand on tippy-toes. And then he sat her on the table and said, “Sally, show your mother how you can touch your thumb to your forearm.”

And I’m thinking, “HUH?”

Sally complied, and the doctor asked if she ever had growing pains. I said no, but her brother had HORRIBLE ones. He then asked if anyone else could bend their thumbs down like Sally. I said, “Well, yes, and in fact, one of my sons can bend it BACKWARD and touch the BACK side of his arm.”

The doctor looked at me and said, “Your family needs to be tested for Ehlers Danlos syndrome.

This was a few weeks ago, and life has not been the same since. To shorten up this story a bit, all five of my children and myself were diagnosed by a geneticist with Ehlers Danlos syndrome, type 3 (hypermobility). There are a million symptoms that can go along with this, and I am still learning new ones every day, but the two main ones are that you have hypermobile joints and stretchy skin. Which I have.

Call me Elasti-girl.

If only. If this EDS were actually USEFUL in that way, I might be thrilled! But in fact, it can lead to dislocations and significant pain. I am happy to report that none of us has severe pain at this point, and hopefully we have learned about this early enough to prevent problems in adulthood for my children. But we are definitely on a path of learning and discovery as I research all I can, try to get us in to see the nation’s leading specialist on this disorder, and work to balance protecting our joints with maintaining our normal life.

If you want to read more about HEDS (that’s shorthand for hypermobility Ehlers Danlos syndrome), check out this link, given to me by our geneticist.

Or at least the clouds and wind and hail and thunder and lightening do….

Our weather has cooperated with these last few days of the Holy Week in a most amazing way. On Friday the kids were home from school all day. We even had an extra person or two at our house. The day started out pleasant enough, but by mid-afternoon storms were approaching from the west. As the sky clouded over, I wondered what the weather must have been like a few thousand years ago as Jesus made his way to the cross. I would imagine it would have been very similar - clouding up, becoming darker and more threatening, and finally beginning to rain as Jesus was nailed to the cross and hung in front of the spectators. The very sky would have to weep at that!

Then at the moment that Jesus took his last breath, the veil in the temple ripped apart, and I imagine there would have been thunder, lightening, hail - the earth letting out a loud scream. How can this be? The God of the universe, creator of all, dying? And sure enough, here in our town in Alabama, sirens began going off, and we hid in our hallway from the tornado that was headed our way. We watched on the news as softball-sized hail fell around our town. We heard the weather man report on 90 mph winds. We saw photos of the aftermath - an enormous oak tree, one block over, split into three pieces. Another oak on top of a house in the historic downtown district. Destruction, damage, chaos. Much like a world without a savior.

Saturday came, and we all slept in. It was a cloudy, cold day. We spent much of it on the soccer field. Although Weather Bug promised us that it was in the 50s, we were huddled in our coats and under blankets begging to differ. Maybe it was the clouds plus the wind. It was just dreary and depressing. I wonder how the earth “felt” thousands of years ago, on that day after Jesus had been crucified and buried? Was it dreary, dark and cold? Did it feel without hope, with no ray of light or warmth?

And then Sunday - ahhh, Easter Sunday. I was awakened at 6:00 am–no, not by a child begging me to go downstairs and see if a large, hopping rodent had visited our house, but by rays of sunshine forcing their way around and through the slats in our blinds. The sun was bright and was demanding that I get UP, for this was about to be a glorious day! First a day of storms and hail, then a day of dreary, windy cold, and now this! HE IS RISEN! The birds were singing, the air was crisp and fresh, the grass looked greener from the rains a few days ago, and the whole earth seemed to declare his glory, saying, “The weight of sin is lifted! Wrong is made right! Death is conquered! Arise! Get out of bed!”

Truly these past three days, as it says in Psalm 19:1, “The heavens keep telling the wonders of God, and the skies declare what he has done.”

I have done something I am ashamed of, so I figure the best way to deal with it is to broadcast it to the world. I’m only partially kidding.

There is a family in town that we know through swim team. We met soon after we moved here, which was about six years ago, and we bonded because we both have five kids, and our kids are close in ages and mostly boys. Our family quit swim team a couple of years ago and theirs kept swimming, but recently our paths began to cross again as our little girls, who used to toddle around at practices and meets, joined the team in the beginners group.

Although we were out of touch for several years, I would still run into this family occasionally, and we had enough friends in common that I heard their news last fall. The dad had cancer, and it did not look good. He’d had melanoma several years back, but some time in the fall he began to have some problems, and it was discovered that the cancer had metastasized in his liver and lungs. He went to Anderson in Texas for treatments, and that was about all I knew.

So when we rejoined swim team, I was heart-sick to learn that things were declining for the dad. I joined his Caring Bridges site and kept updated on his prognosis, and read moving posts written from the depths of his wife’s heart. And then last week came the post everyone dreaded. He lost his battle and went to be with the Lord, leaving behind a wife who loved him dearly and five children between the ages of 4-17.

The funeral was yesterday, and I planned to go with a friend of mine. However that morning, she emailed me to let me know that her two kids were sick and she would not be able to attend. I thought that I was still planning to go, and really I was. But somewhere deep in me, I knew I would end up not making it. And I didn’t.

Three people have asked me about the service, knowing that I would surely have gone. In all honesty, I wanted to lie and say I had attended. But I didn’t - I just stated that wasn’t able to make it. And I have done some soul-searching to try to figure out why. And I think I have begun to understand.

Death is too close. It has hit too hard. Having lost both of my parents, one five years ago and the other two years ago, along with a few friends who were not too far apart from me in age, death brings out too many old thoughts and emotions. I know and trust and believe with every ounce of my being that there is a heaven, and that those who have gone before me are joyfully in the presence of Jesus and waiting to embrace me when I join them. I do not fear death for me. But still, it has brought me great loss. Death is unnatural, and my soul knows it from deep within.

Attending a funeral forces me to remember all too vividly the losses that death has brought me. I am now an earthly orphan. This mean that there is nobody to ask about my family history. A link to the past is gone. If I get in trouble and need help, I cannot call on my parents. When I want or need sympathy, I can no longer call my mom and complain to her. These are all things that do not bother me as much as they used to. And yet whenever another living soul moves on to the next life, I am flooded with these thoughts again. I think my heart wants desperately to run away and not have to deal with it all.

And so I stayed home yesterday, knowing that I will send a card, and I will send a donation to their childrens’ education fund. But somehow knowing that even though it has been two years since my mother’s death, and even though I went to the funeral service of a good friend only a year ago, my heart was not ready for yesterday’s service. I don’t know if not going was understandable and acceptable or if it was selfish and shameful. I haven’t sorted that out yet in my mind.

But I’m reminded of a song - one of my favorites, actually - by Fernando Ortega. “Sing to Jesus.” The lyrics say:

Come and see, look on this mystery
The Lord of the Universe, nailed to a tree
Christ our God, spilling His Holy blood
Bowing in anguish, His sacred head
Sing to Jesus, Lord of our shame
Lord of our sinful hearts.
He is our great Redeemer.
Sing to Jesus, Honor His name.
Sing of His faithfulness, pouring His life out unto death
Come you weary and He will give you rest
Come you who mourn, lay on His breast
Christ who died, risen in Paradise
Giver of mercy, Giver of Life
Sing to Jesus His is the throne
Now and forever,
He is the King of Heaven.
Sing to Jesus, we are His own.
Now and forever sing for the love our God has shown.
Sing to Jesus, Lord of our shame
Lord of our sinful hearts.
He is our great Redeemer.
Sing to Jesus, Honor His name.
Sing to Jesus His is the throne
Now and forever,
He is the King of Heaven.
Sing to Jesus, we are His own.
Now and forever sing for the love our God has shown.

I wanted to just focus on a few of the lyrics, but darn it, I just can’t. The whole song just moves me beyond belief. “Sing to Jesus, Lord of our shame.” Even though I feel shame over staying home yesterday, I know that Jesus is bigger than that. If I let him into my failures and my shame, his blood actually becomes the salve on the wound. His love is that big - it covers not just my blatant sin or “the really big things,” but even the sins of my heart that come from the depths of me. Even those things that may not be obvious sin but are weaknesses or failings or frailty - sing to Jesus. “Come you weary and He will give you rest, Come you who mourn, lay on His breast.” What a tender Redeemer we have. In my grief, my weariness, my sorrow, he invites me to lay on his breast. This is not some far-off, uninvolved God we serve. He is a tender Daddy, a healing physician, a great Redeemer.

Sing to Jesus.

Read

Sing To Jesus Lyrics

here.

Sam (10), wondering what is the meaning of the word “claustrophobic.”

President Obama,

It must be challenging to appear on a humor-based television show. You seem to do well in those situations, but there is always the chance of saying something stupid that you will regret later. Like this:

Mr. President, you yourself are a minority. You have heard remarks that marginalized you and other black people for most of your life. Of all people, you should know how that was going to go over.

Badly.

Here are the thoughts of some of my Facebook friends who have children with disabilities.

• S is having to an advocate once again for my daughter and others with physical and mental disabilities! Shame on you, Obama!
• I can’t believe he really said that…maybe it’s time to stop trying to be a superstar celeb and getcher butt back to the White House!
• When I heard that he said that, my heart sank. My son is 21, has special needs, was in the Special Olympics and now volunteers for the Special Olympics, and he proudly voted for Obama. I think Obama is a wonderful person and will be a great president, but he said something stupid and needs to apologize. I’m sure if he had a child with special needs he would be more sensitive to this issue, but that’s not an excuse. He needs to apologize and learn from this mistake.
• President Obama perpetuated a stereotype that Special Olympians are not real athletes or are lesser athletes. In the meantime, there is a Special Olympian here in the Detroit area who has bowled at least three perfect games.
• Disability slurs are so acceptable it didn’t even hit the radar of anyone except parents like us. And if we speak out about we will be told we are being too sensitive, too PC, he really didn’t mean it that way. Which…. I bet he didn’t. That’s the really dangerous part…. it’s so acceptable and people with disabilites are so marginalized, even slurs about them don’t mean anything.
• I can’t believe Obama just said that. He may be a financial advocate for our kids, but he has to learn now that it is MUCH MIUCH more than that! Damn it. WHY is it still okay to publicly demoralize our kids? Here’s the thing, I used to do it too, but then you learn the hurt it inflicts and you stop saying it you know? So waiting for the apology from HIM, not his office.

That’s just a sampling.

While we are on the topic of Special Olympics, let me tell you about my son who is a Special Olympics athlete. This would be the son, by the way, who turned 18 just days before the election and made sure he registered to vote so he could cast his vote for YOU! He recently swam in a local meet and came in under two minutes on the 100 IM. Now, that’s a time that most “regular” athletes could beat, but most regular people who are not on a swim team might not. Many cannot even swim the butterfly stroke. The effort he has put into training and competing is more than many other high school seniors who are not involved in any sport at all. He works hard, he stays in shape, and he deserves to be respected for doing his personal best and for getting out there and working toward an athletic goal. Your comments show a lack of respect for him and others with disabilities.

The thing is, Mr. President, many, many of us within the disability community supported you in your run for office. We believe you to be an advocate for our children. And I truly think you said this without thinking.

I’m going to let you in on a little secret. I hate the “R” word. I cringe when I hear it. Depending on the situation, sometimes I correct and educate the person gently, and sometimes I let it go. But truthfully, the “R” word enters my head…STILL! My son is 18, and I can’t tell you how many times I think the “R” word, but I somehow block it from escaping my lips.

Which is surprising considering how many things DO escape my lips.

But which is something I hope you will practice doing as well - not just with that word, but with any kind of slur which might be hurtful to a minority group.

Whether this was a stupid mistake - one of those foot-in-the-mouth moments that you just wish had never happened, or something you read from a teleprompter, or something you thought was funny at the time but hopefully now realize how hurtful it actually was, I would like to hear you apologize. Not your staff, not the media putting a spin on it, not someone saying, “He regrets it, but…” with a host of excuses. Just you. Saying you are sorry. The same kind of apology you would want if someone uttered a racial slur in front of you.

Thank you.

I have joined a liberal Bible study. Oh, I jest. It is a Bible study lead by the pastor’s wife of a church that many of my local friends would consider to be “liberal,” because it is main-line. Let me tell you, this leader is a godly woman who understands more about the gospel and applying it to her own life and to the lives of those she loves than most people I know. She is a treasure and a gift in my life!

Anyway, my leader starts each Bible study by saying, “God is good,” to which we respond, “all the time.” And then the reverse - she says, “All the time,” and we respond, “God is good.” It is a helpful reminder!

On Facebook, I often see people post prayer requests, and then later they will post, “…blah, blah…God is good!” Usually the God is good part relates to something good happening. For example, a dear friend of mine had encephalitis. It was a very frightening time as we waited to see whether he would even survive–which looked doubtful at one point. Then we wondered if he would be mentally the same, which also looked a bit doubtful as he seemed to have lost his short-term memory. Hundreds of us rejoiced when it became clear that he was making a full recovery. “God is good,” many proclaimed on Facebook! And God is good. And it was beyond good - it was and is amazing and wonderful to see our friend recovering. And it is good to declare that! But what would we have said if our friend had been taken from this life? Would we still proclaim God’s goodness? Would God still be good in our eyes? Could we still post that on Facebook? Would we dare to say, “This has turned out horribly for our friend’s family. We did not want this outcome. We loved this man and did not want to see him leave such a gap. But we know that God is good.”

I guess that is true reformed theology put to the test. What do we do and say when things look really, really bad? Does it shake our faith in God? Do we still call him good? Has his character changed, or do we start to think it may have been questionable to begin with? Do we distance ourselves emotionally from God, suspecting that he does not have our best interests at heart, or worse, that he might not really love us as much as we had hoped?

Don’t get me wrong - anger and frustration at God are, in my opinion, allowable. God understands that we do not have the whole picture in mind. He knows that our circumstances, and even the things from his hand, can look really bad at times. The Psalmist openly asked God where in the heck he was?? Jesus wanted to understand WHY the father had forsaken him! But can we at the same time express our earthly perspective to God, “Lord this sucks right now,” and still say, “But you are good?”

It’s a challenge, and one that I make to myself every time I see someone post, “God is good,” because a spouse who was unemployed has found work; or a child recovered from a serious illness; or a financially strapped family got an unexpected check in the mail. If the opposite had occurred, could I and would I still say, “God is good all the time. All the time God is good?” I hope so.

I logged onto my blog to say to my one lone fan (hi Chewydad) that I really am not blogging much lately. As if you hadn’t noticed. I am not officially quitting, but I am finding that my time is being spent elsewhere. Like on Facebook, where I can type one-liners, instead of writing an entire post. And that is all I was going to say…

But then I checked out my comments that are being held for approval, and I found one from a post dated 2-1/2 years ago. If there is anybody still out there, besides Chewydad, you might find the comment interesting. I am posting it here, because there is no way most people will see it on a post from September, 2006.

Chewymom,

It’s unfortunate that all of you cannot know Tim Bayly personally because I think it would help you to understand his position. He does not suggest that women should be subject to anyone except their own husbands and the other authorities that we are under through God (acknowledged or not). Scripture does not require women to be subject to all men, just their husbands and other authorities which include their own pastors (through their husbands) and civil authorities etc.

My wife and I do sidewalk counseling at Planned Parenthood. Sadly, nowhere else on the planet is it more clear that if a woman doesn’t submit herself to her husband, she becomes subjected to the evil of all men instead of free from men’s tyranny. Last week a woman who decided not to kill her child was terrified that her boyfriend would leave her if she didn’t do it so she asked us for a ride home. He didn’t leave her but the next week she came back to have the abortion, because her boyfriend pressured her into it. This man who pushed his wife into abortion is not a godly husband - the “tyranny” of a godly husband is not pallatable to women who effectively love rebellion and death but the alternative is more rebellion and death.

Tim Bayly preaches freedom from tyranny of ungodly men but the fallen or mislead see only slavery but I ask whether Christian women who oppose sound biblical teaching truly embraced slavery to Christ or slavery to sin.

The post is here, if you want to read it.

And now I am going back to my regularly scheduled life. I’m sure I will post here occasionally, and who knows? The writing bug may strike me again. But for now, I may be a bit scarce….