Monday, July 16, 2007 at 2:02am
The gift of denial
Column: Woman at the Well
I was 3 years, 9 months old when my baby sister, Wendy, was born. I remember the adventure of going to stay with my playmate Pamela and her family. I remember missing my mommy. I remember coming home to see Mommy all aglow, so full of joy, the whole house was golden with light and joy. Mommy had a new baby, a chosen child. I had been a "surprise." I felt replaced. Wendy was my nemesis. I hated her.
My best friend, Maureen, lived across the street. She also had a dreaded younger sister. Our favorite game soon became an adventure we called "playing spy." We would spend hours carefully sneaking up on our younger siblings in whatever circumstance they might be, and when moms turned their backs we were right there, tormenting them. We'd steal a favorite toy or disturb the logic of their make-believe. The game had its instant rewards.
I was 5 years old. It was nap time on a Saturday. Wendy was asleep. I was restless. Mom was running errands. Dad was in charge. I decided to play spy on Dad. He was sitting in his overstuffed chair by the front window. Our bedroom was at one end of the hall with Mom and Dad's bedroom at the other. The bathroom was between them along with the entrance to the living room. I crawled into the room, hiding behind the curved-frame sofa that sat between me and the center of the room.
Dad was opposite me talking on the telephone. I listened. I was hearing something I wasn't supposed to hear. It was a game, but something was very wrong. He was saying mean things about my mom, calling her names, laughing, flirting. He was talking to another woman. My mom was being betrayed.
What does a 5-year-old do with information like this? With a child's logic I took on the responsibility of a terrible secret. If I told my mother, I would be the cause of their breakup. If I didn't tell, I would be the reason she was living a lie. I agonized for a long time over what to do.
And then a wonderful thing happened. I forgot!
I was given the gift of denial. It allowed me to love my daddy fervently for many years to follow. And when the inevitable divorce happened, it allowed me to blame my mom for not being a more understanding wife, for always worrying about money Dad spent on cars and boats and vacations when we struggled to have enough to eat. When she told me Dad had cheated on her, I refused to believe her.
I regret having judged my mother so unfairly during those years. But I still understand the value of denial. Some things are just too hard to face at certain times in our lives.
God allows us to come to terms with reality at a gentler pace than we often expect of ourselves or others. Patience is the hallmark of real love. Paul's brilliant definition of love in 1 Corinthians 13 begins with "Love is patient" (1 Corinthians 13:4).
God was patient with me and helped me to see the truth of my experience only years later when I had the resources in place to deal with it.
In my ministry I see many folks living in denial of one painful truth or another. I am not too quick to force them to see the light. I know God has a perfect timing. I may be a part of it. I may not.
I know the gift of denial, even as I know its shadow side. Patience and forgiveness, first for myself and then for others, get me through my days.
— — —
Rev. Kristi Denham is pastor of the Congregational Church of Belmont, California (United Church of Christ). Her email address is {email RevKristi@aol.com}RevKristi@aol.com{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Kristi Denham.
My best friend, Maureen, lived across the street. She also had a dreaded younger sister. Our favorite game soon became an adventure we called "playing spy." We would spend hours carefully sneaking up on our younger siblings in whatever circumstance they might be, and when moms turned their backs we were right there, tormenting them. We'd steal a favorite toy or disturb the logic of their make-believe. The game had its instant rewards.
I was 5 years old. It was nap time on a Saturday. Wendy was asleep. I was restless. Mom was running errands. Dad was in charge. I decided to play spy on Dad. He was sitting in his overstuffed chair by the front window. Our bedroom was at one end of the hall with Mom and Dad's bedroom at the other. The bathroom was between them along with the entrance to the living room. I crawled into the room, hiding behind the curved-frame sofa that sat between me and the center of the room.
Dad was opposite me talking on the telephone. I listened. I was hearing something I wasn't supposed to hear. It was a game, but something was very wrong. He was saying mean things about my mom, calling her names, laughing, flirting. He was talking to another woman. My mom was being betrayed.
What does a 5-year-old do with information like this? With a child's logic I took on the responsibility of a terrible secret. If I told my mother, I would be the cause of their breakup. If I didn't tell, I would be the reason she was living a lie. I agonized for a long time over what to do.
And then a wonderful thing happened. I forgot!
I was given the gift of denial. It allowed me to love my daddy fervently for many years to follow. And when the inevitable divorce happened, it allowed me to blame my mom for not being a more understanding wife, for always worrying about money Dad spent on cars and boats and vacations when we struggled to have enough to eat. When she told me Dad had cheated on her, I refused to believe her.
I regret having judged my mother so unfairly during those years. But I still understand the value of denial. Some things are just too hard to face at certain times in our lives.
God allows us to come to terms with reality at a gentler pace than we often expect of ourselves or others. Patience is the hallmark of real love. Paul's brilliant definition of love in 1 Corinthians 13 begins with "Love is patient" (1 Corinthians 13:4).
God was patient with me and helped me to see the truth of my experience only years later when I had the resources in place to deal with it.
In my ministry I see many folks living in denial of one painful truth or another. I am not too quick to force them to see the light. I know God has a perfect timing. I may be a part of it. I may not.
I know the gift of denial, even as I know its shadow side. Patience and forgiveness, first for myself and then for others, get me through my days.
— — —
Rev. Kristi Denham is pastor of the Congregational Church of Belmont, California (United Church of Christ). Her email address is {email RevKristi@aol.com}RevKristi@aol.com{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Kristi Denham.