A Sixth Sense

12.  A Sixth Sense

 

“Every dream reveals a psychological structure, full of significance....

The dream is not meaningless, not absurd ... it is a perfectly valid phenomenon,

actually a ... disguised fulfillment of a suppressed wish.”[77]

 

“This whole creation is essentially subjective, and the dream is the theater

where the dreamer is at once scene, actor, prompter, stage manager,

author, audience, and critic.”[78]

 

When Vicki was in elementary and junior high school she had some major challenges that affected her self-image.  She needed corrective shoes, so while other kids were sporting the latest footwear, Vicki was wearing black and white saddle oxfords – the kind of shoes usually associated with ‘60’s cheerleading … only she was no cheerleader.

She also started wearing glasses.  Do you remember the style of glasses back in 1965?  That’s right – the black, horned-rim models that said, “Kick me, I’m a geek.”

Then, to really do a number on her ego, she had a terrible bout with the teenager’s curse - acne.  She had the kind that could, if left untreated, leave terrible scars, so her parents spent hundreds of dollars to reduce its impact.  She would go to a dermatologist’s office weekly where they would treat the acne by touching her delicate facial skin with dry ice – literally burning off the layer of skin that was affected.  As a result, for a long period of time she went to school with a fire engine red face. 

The acne treatments worked, thank God, but there was some scarring of another kind.  If you peeked inside her heart you’d see that Vicki had become very self-conscious.  She withdrew from people while she waited for physical change, hoping and praying that those awful days would pass quickly.

Those days did pass.  Vic lived “The Ugly Duckling” story.  Almost overnight she went from being unattractive, awkward, and insecure to beautiful, poised, and a little less insecure. 

All these changes turned Vicki’s life upside down.  She morphed into a pretty, petite, and popular sixteen year-old.  She was intelligent; she was a straight-A student, too.  She could play the piano.  And by the time she was in her junior year of high school she was a cheerleader, and a “calendar girl” – voted by her classmates and teachers to be on the cover of Brandon High School’s calendar.  She was also dating “an older man.”

Vicki could have but didn’t become a narcissist.  She never fell in love with her new reflection.  She never became a pompous bore; she never came across as egotistical.  However, when her appearance changed, and her social prospects improved, that’s when something negative crept into her heart.  A subtle form of Pride.

Over time she forgot the humiliation of her early teen years and she developed a sense, her words, that she was “… a cut above the rest of humanity.”  Vicki became too sure she was right, and had the right perspective on just about everything, and that made it virtually impossible for her to consider another opinion on a matter.

Beginning in 1993 Vicki’s pride gave way to humiliation’s sting.  She was mortified by her own antics.  Vicki made several prideful missteps.  But, thank God, her mid-life embarrassments wouldn’t lead to spiritual, emotional, or relational paralysis.  To help combat her arrogance she began collecting short stories and quotations about pride and conceit – writing them into the flyleaf of one of her Bibles, or putting them on yellow sticky notes.  This story, of questionable authenticity, was one of her favorites:  “Muhammad Ali was in his prime, and as he was about to take off on an airplane flight, the stewardess reminded him to fasten his seat belt.  He came back brashly, ‘Superman don’t need no seat belt.’  The stewardess quickly came back, ‘Superman don’t need no airplane, either.’  Ali fastened his belt.”

Two sticky notes that ended up on our bathroom mirror read:  “Swallow your pride occasionally, and console yourself with the knowledge that it is 100 percent calorie free,” and “People are strange: they want the front of the bus, the back of the church, and the center of attention.”

One of the Bible verses that spoke volumes to Vicki was, “Pride goes before destruction and haughtiness before a fall.  Better poor and humble than proud and rich.” (Proverbs 16:18-19)

The anonymous quotation-made-sticky note that meant the most to her served as bookmark in her Bible, or was written into the margin of her speaking notes.  It was, “Most people are quite happy to suffer in silence if they are sure everyone knows they are doing it.”

I brought her a John Ruskin quote that made her day:  “Taking up your cross is carrying whatever you find is given you to carry, as well and stoutly as you can, without making faces or calling people to come back and look at you.  All you have to do is keep your back straight and not think of what is on it – above all not boast of what is on it.”

From time to time God, like a Papa encouraging His little girl, kissed Vicki on the forehead for her willingness take on her pride.  She believed the events that she recorded in her journal on May 22, 1993, was such a kiss.

I talked about “Faith in Crisis” at my “Women Of Worth” (Vicki and her ladies named the women’s ministry of Trinity “WOW!) meeting on Thursday, and I shared about my upcoming surgery.  They seemed very moved.

It’s been hard on Lowell, but I knew it would be.  There are so many unanswered questions.

I’ll be glad when our doctor’s visit on Tuesday is behind us.  I try not to let my thoughts run away with me.  I’m sleeping well, unlike Lowell, but I’ve lost my appetite.  I really do have a peace about it … most of the time.

I had the most wonderful dream about PaPaw last night.  [In the dream] our family was at the funeral home and he was in an open casket.  I saw him move … and then sit up!  He began to talk to me and as everyone else came over I asked him, “PaPaw, did you really give your heart to Jesus?”  He got the biggest smile on his face and said, “Yes, I sure did!”  Later he was walking around and laughing and smiling like I’ve never seen him before.  He was younger and stronger and filled with joy.

Now I KNOW that he really is in heaven and I’ll see him there one day … and he’ll have that same big smile on his face.

 

Once, after hearing of a conversation Vicki had with God, someone asked me what Vicki’s secret was “… to hearing His voice so clearly.”  I was in a playful mood so I began by saying, “Before I answer that let me ask you … how vibrant or real are your dreams?”  They looked at me and said, “I don’t get the connection.”  Then I explained that one way Vicki heard the voice of God was His use of her amazing nighttime imagination.  She had strong feelings that God used her dreams to speak into her life.

That certainly wasn’t what this person was expecting to hear. 

Vicki was a dreamer, and her dreams were so vivid.  To my knowledge there are no classes you can take, or books you can read, that will help you develop that particular “secret” or sense.  It’s got to be a gift.  I believe Vicki’s heavenly Father created her with the unique ability to hear his voice at night.

The first few times Vicki told me about a dream I would nod, and listen like you would if an imaginative child was telling you a whopper of a story.  After a couple of her dreams appeared to come true, my confidence in her gifting grew. 

Some of Vic’s dreams prepared her for action while others warned her of trouble to come.  More than once a dream would excite and energize her.  Many dreams she shared with me refreshed us both.

For the most part, 1993 was a magical year.  She wrote on May 23, 1993:

Lowell performed a wedding at the Lewis Ginter Botanical Gardens.  He looked so handsome in his tux.  We walked, hand in hand, and talked about how wonderful the last 20 years have been.

We’re so lucky to have each other.  I can’t imagine loving anyone more completely than I love him.  Our love has grown into something so beautiful and secure, yet passionate.  I have so much to be thankful for!

 

That was a proud day!  She looked beautiful, and she said I looked handsome.  Nice.  We roamed the gardens talking about our own marriage – how we had weathered some difficult storms and come out of them with a strong and secure relationship.  We were soon to celebrate our twentieth anniversary.   Vicki was floating on clouds of love, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, there was money in the bank, and the boys were behaving.  It seemed everything was perfect.

 

June 1, 1993

The doctor called today with the results of the blood test for detecting ovarian cancer.  The count was “40,” which leads him to think it is not cancer.

 

Then she added a few more comments that startled me when she shared them with me for the first time.  Looking back, I’m in awe of God.  The way He prepared her for what was ahead, and Vicki’s willingness to put her life on the line for Him, was amazing to me.

I’m happy – but a part of me is DISAPPOINTED.  Isn’t that crazy!?  I don’t want to have cancer, of course, but I so desperately want my life to glorify God in some significant way.  I wonder what my future holds?  (Surgery to remove cyst successful – no cancer.)

 

The medical report was another huge blessing.  There was no cancer in Vicki.  Unfortunately there was something insidious that had been growing in me for years – something that would test our marriage once again.  I had become a workaholic.  

It was a good thing Vicki spent much of 1993 in humility training.  She would need true humility to handle what was about to show itself in me.

No human being can perform the Dance of Life at full speed.  We want to.  Many of us think we can go full speed from start to finish, all day, every day.  We all see ourselves as the Irish steppers of Riverdance – those remarkable dancers who never seem to tire.  The American culture has been lied to.  We think we can whirl, stomp and jump from the cradle to the grave without giving out.  We’ve been told that if you need a kick, take a pill.  If you need to relax, take a drink.  If you need an escape, take a drag on a blunt or fire up a bong.  And if you want true satisfaction, pour yourself into your work.

Life has a way of correcting that wrong-headedness.

January 19, 1994

Lowell is very depressed.  It’s been building for a while, but he’s worse now than he’s ever been.  He’s under a lot of pressure in many different areas and I’m very worried.

I called John Hershman and asked for his help.  He had lunch with Lowell and they talked – hope it helped some.  I know there isn’t a quick fix – wish there was.

Here’s my resolution.  I want to lay down my life for my husband and be more patient and accepting than ever before.  Patience has never been one of “my graces.”  I’m very demanding and not very forgiving of weaknesses.  I expect a lot of myself, and even more of others.  But now I believe that it’s time to what Jesus taught.  I intend to put aside my rights and my selfishness and for once in my life, put Lowell’s needs ahead of my own.  It will be a huge challenge and possibly one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.  It certainly goes against my natural tendencies (to put his well-being ahead of mine in every situation). 

We learned from Gary Smalley that when we get angry it’s because someone or something is “blocking” our own selfish agenda.

I want to take on the challenge of living 1 Corinthians 13, “… Love is patient, love is kind.  It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It is not rude; it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs … It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.  Love never fails …”

Help me, Lord, and help Lowell.

 

Vicki was trying her best, but she didn’t understand THE PROBLEM.  We both didn’t until we looked back some years later, and sorted things out with a great counselor who gave us some sweet insights after-the fact.  She didn’t know it, but she was only throwing cups of water at a forest fire burning in my heart.  She wrote on January 29, 1994:

God has been so gracious.  Lowell has been so much better since his talk with John.  It really touched him that I called John.  It’s been exciting for me to begin this adventure of laying down my life for Lowell.  It really has made a difference, and things have been great between us.  It hasn’t all been easy.  I have to remind myself not to get angry and to keep my priorities right.  It really is hard to put someone else’s needs ahead of your own – even when it’s someone I love as much as Lowell.

 

My time with John wasn’t a waste by any means, but I needed a wholesale life change.  Neither of us realized it at the time, but I was having an affair. 

I loved Trinity, or so I thought.  I was determined to be at the beck-and-call of the people who called Trinity their home church from dawn to dusk.  But I didn’t really love the people as much as I loved the work.  Working gave me great satisfaction.  Working gave me a sense that I was a success.  Slowly church work had become my identity.  I equated work and busy-ness with achievement and accomplishment.  Work was soul food for this white boy.  I woke up early to go to work.  I came home as late as I could from work.  I scheduled appointments many evenings, as many as I could get away with.  I was intoxicated on work.  I lived for the pats on the back and the “atta-boys.”  The approval of people provided the fuel I needed to get up the next morning and do it all again.

I also committed myself to coaching.  I coached my sons through T-ball, little league baseball and soccer seasons.  That meant that when I wasn’t at work, I was at a ball field.  I’d show up for practice at 4:30 or 5 PM, stay until the end, race home for a quick meal, and back out the door for God-knows-what-and-where.

I also found time to play two church league modified-pitch softball games a week.  I pitched, caught, played first base and hit home runs.  The team really needed me.

I knew Vicki needed me, too, so every week or so I’d find some scraps of time for her.  However, Vicki began to believe I didn’t really need her.  I was showing her that by the way I managed and prioritized my time.

My body and my mind began to suffer.  In the fall of 1993 I snapped. 

Then the lies came like a flood.  I decided that I was feeling blue because Vicki didn’t understand or appreciate the pressure I was under.  I began to pull away her.  Just like I did in 1989, I began to withhold the two things I knew Vicki needed most from me – affectionate words and touch. I spent more and more time alone.  When everyone was sleeping I was either up watching television, eating, or playing archaic computer games. 

I gave myself gifts.  TV time was such a gift.  Late at night I’d be watching Johnny Carson, or some old black and white movie … or whatever.  I also loved to eat at night.  Not a good thing.  I ate because it comforted me.  I saw junk food as a reward for a hard day’s work.  Ice cream was the preferred cuisine, being a perfect food.  It wasn’t long before I made no time for golf – one of my passions.  Fishing or hunting – two more hobbies – went by the wayside.  I preferred to hole up in the family room, fine-tuning my couch potato skills.  I went into a deeper depression when I spent less and less time praying or reading my Bible.  Sermon preparation was becoming frantic, squeezed into the last half of Saturday.

I was a dysfunctional husband, dad and pastor.   

The crash that my lifestyle warranted finally came around the first of January, 1994.  Twenty years of wrong thinking and lousy prioritizing had eaten away at my mental health.  Like the World Trade Center collapse, there was debris everywhere I turned.  Hopelessness became my daily bread.  I started crying for no reason, and with no emotion.  My body was telling me, “I quit!”  I either slept for 20 hours straight, or one, maybe two.

I began to hate my work.  Now it seemed that no matter what I did, it was never enough. The back-pats and “atta-boys” weren’t coming often enough to suit me.  People were so used to my workaholic style, performing the impossible became the expected thing.  Everyone knew I would eventually get around to everything and everyone.

Vicki didn’t know the depth of my depression because I wasn’t talking.  I didn’t understand what was going on myself so I had nothing to say.  She wrongfully took responsibility for this dismal time, beginning on February 12, 1994:

Just when I think I’m making some progress I seem to fall flat on my face.  Lowell has been very withdrawn and unhappy the past few days.  I finally realized that it’s all because of me.  He’s feeling hopeless and demoralized because of my attitude towards him.  I don’t treat him with respect, in that I don’t ever give him a break when our opinions differ.  If I feel I’m right then I’m bound and determined to have it my way or make him feel really miserable and foolish.

[I’ve watched other women browbeat their husbands into a state of resigned submission over the years, and I’ve despised them for it.  They take strong-willed and intelligent men and berate them to the point they give up talking.]

I can’t believe that I’m doing the same thing to my husband.  I’m destroying his spontaneity, his joy, and his enthusiasm for life.  He’s afraid to bring up anything serious around me for fear that I’ll jump all over him and let him know how stupid I think his idea is.  The most frightening thing is that I don’t even realize what I’m doing.  I can’t catch myself before I do it, and change my behavior!

But I have to change or I’m going to destroy Lowell and our love.

Part of me feels like it’s hopeless, but a better part of me KNOWS that I can’t stop trying to be a better wife, a better woman, a better Christian.

I spend my whole life fighting my natural inclinations and it gets very discouraging at times.  I’ve never felt so far away from that young bride and groom [of] 20 years ago.  We were so passionately in love.

I’ve never felt so close to losing my husband, and so vulnerable.  But I thank the Lord even for these feelings because it shows me how much I still need to change.

I get so weary of being so far from His will, but I can never give up – not on God or on our marriage.  Lowell is the most important thing in my world, and I value him far more than I show him.  He deserves more.  He deserves my respect and my “honor.”  I know I can’t change on my own, but I know that the Holy Spirit will help me.

 

Complicating our relationship was Vicki’s renewed friendship with Mary, the needy lady who had entered her life about three years before.

May 10, 1994

I met with Mary last week and it started up the same old tension between Lowell and me.  He doesn’t trust her and never will.

I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to realize that it will never work out to renew our friendship.  She drove such a frightening wedge between Lowell and myself that it really damaged our trust in each other.  He feels that nothing has ever so negatively affected our relationship … and he still resents her tremendously.  There’s a real fear there [on Lowell’s part] of what she could do to us again.  She certainly has a way of making me question everyone’s motives but hers.

For the sake of my marriage I can’t pursue this friendship.  I honestly have NO desire to anyway.  It was wonderful to have a friend that thought so highly of me … but things have changed too much.  And no friend is worth hurting Lowell for.  We don’t need anything in our lives right now that would divide us.  We’re working hard to rebuild trust and confidence between us, and we’re determined to come through this more in love than ever.

 

Vicki didn’t know it then, but I was in a full-blown mid-life crisis.