Seven Quick Takes: Should Protestants Do Lent?

1

The first time I ever heard of someone "giving something up" for Lent was in college. Before that, I didn't know any Catholics, and I also didn't know any Protestants who "did Lent." (If I sound sheltered, I was, at least religiously. Most of the time I was surrounded by Presbyterians and Southern Baptists and Pentecostals, none of whom are known for their Catholic devotions). In fact, the only times I heard of Lent were in Bible studies or classes in which we were meant to feel sorry for those poor, benighted Catholics who thought they could work their way to heaven because they didn't know any better. Until just a few years ago, I honestly thought that Lent was what Catholics did because they thought they could win enough good points towards heaven that way. 

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That's why it's so surprising to me to see so many Protestants - and not just Episcopalians - doing Lent. It's like an explosion happened in the last ten years, and all of a sudden evangelicals started having Advent calendars and Ash Wednesday services. All of which is pretty cool, but I bet some of the older evangelicals feel a little... lost. Like, how on earth did my solid evangelical church start looking so Catholic? And while even my Presbyterian church back home has an Advent wreath, hell would freeze over before they started recommending Lenten practices. Somehow Lent still has a Catholic edge to it, even if all the cool kids are doing it. 

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So what's a Protestant to do? Is Lent Biblical? Is it earning salvation? Is there any point to Lent now that we're not under the law?

I'll try to answer these questions with my old evangelical hat on, knowing what I know now. This isn't coming from the current me, the heretical "prays to Mary and the saints and thinks the Eucharist is Jesus so why listen to her" version. This is coming from the mindset of one who is still very solidly evangelical, if I could go back in time and give that Caroline the factual knowledge I have now....

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For starters, you don't have to "give up" anything for Lent, or even "add something on." Lent is a time for facing tough realities. Realities like: everyone dies. Everyone sins. Everyone needs forgiveness. Everyone needs the Cross. Fasting, giving up sweets, working in soup kitchens - these are all ways of reminding oneself of that reality. In my experience God gives us plenty of non-chosen sacrifices to fill up our Lents. This year, I had two friends die within weeks of each other, and one of them died the day before Ash Wednesday. It's not healthy to fixate on death, but you can't ignore it either.

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But shouldn't we be doing this all the time? No, not necessarily. "To everything there is a season, and time to every purpose under heaven." We're human. It's not in our nature to do All The Things All The Time. We can't always, every day, be thinking of our mortality for one hour, then meditating on the Incarnation, then remembering about the resurrection, then trying to think what other Big Ideas are most important.... It's not healthy or reasonable. It makes sense to set aside a certain time of the year to contemplate sin and death.

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But why a specific date chosen by an institutional church? Doesn't Paul warn us against having special days and seasons? Isn't that following the law when we're now under the New Covenant? Well, it depends on how literally you take that. Should we never celebrate birthdays? Never commemorate the dead? Again, we are humans. It's not that you have to do XYZ during Lent or you'll go to hell. After all, God doesn't need us to keep Lent. WE need us to keep Lent. It serves a spiritual purpose that works with the New Covenant of grace, not against it. You don't have to do it exactly as the church does, but before you dismiss it, consider that the church might have good reasons for choosing this time.

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Why chose some arbitrary 40 days? The number forty is hardly arbitrary; it's packed with spiritual and Biblical significance. Consider the 40 days of Noah in the ark, the 40 years the Israelites wandered in the wilderness, the 40 days that Nineveh fasted and repented, the 40 days of Jesus in the wilderness being tempted.... Consider this a time that you can wander in the wilderness, exploring the tough realities that we like to put aside. And remember: Easter is coming.

Seven Quick Takes: Bioethics, Makeup, and Destiny's Child

1

I never changed my location on Pandora after I moved: the zip code is still for a northern Virginia (NoVa) address. This means the ads are Washington-area specific, which can be both funny and irritating at times. In November and December, they ran an ad that sympathized with homes overrun with visiting relatives and reminded listeners "Thank goodness you're in Virginia!" Because in Virginia, everything is going on, all the time. This is less than useful when you're hosting parents in the Deep South. 

2

Another perennial favorite is for Dominion Fertility, which strives to make IVF and frozen embryos sound heartwarming. One funny thing about pro-life Protestants is that most are pretty chill about IVF, if they know what it is. This confuses me, since the idea of scientifically making babies, discarding those that didn't make it, and freezing the leftovers seems inherently distasteful. Instead of convincing me that it's wrong, you'd have to work into overdrive to convince me that it's morally licit, simply due to the ick factor. In addition, I grew up on futuristic literature, most of which is a big red warning sign saying "Don't Mess with Life Creation and Destruction," so there's that.

3

This got me thinking: when is our innate moral compass right, and when is it wrong? (I can hear my Catholic readers already typing about natural law. Hold your horses). For instance, babies can tell the difference in ethnicity according to research.  Human history is a long slog of intolerance and war based on outer differences, and many Christians used to defend slavery by appealing to both the Bible and arguments from nature. In other words, we have a "natural" inclination to racial prejudice, but that doesn't make it morally right. So why do I heed the natural distaste for creating human life in a test tube?

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One might answer that, in the case of IVF, there are also arguments from reason against its morality. We aren't dependent on our instincts when reason can ascertain the problems with creating individual human beings, losing many, freezing some, and only implanting the few that survive the process. 

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It gets stickier when you talk about recent developments in the UK, where Parliament recently approved technology for creating an embryo using three "parents." One of the parents only gives enough DNA to keep certain mitochondrial diseases from occurring in the child, and otherwise the child is simply derived from the genetic materials of its two "main" parents. The U.S. is considering this as well. Besides from the obvious problem of not knowing what genetic effects may occur, especially in future generations, I wonder how this will impact the future of those with disabilities, and of parents of children with disabilities. It's not hard to imagine a world in which parents are denied health insurance because their child has a "preventable" disease, if only they had consented to such pre-birth treatments. It's not hard to imagine when we already live in a country where 1 of 10 babies with Downs Syndrome are aborted.

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Meanwhile in Canada, assisted suicide is now legal. My atheist friends are celebrating this development on Facebook as a triumph of science, for the ability to "die with dignity." As someone who has struggled with suicidal ideation, this feels especially horrific. What do we mean when we say that someone died with dignity? Would you say this of someone who killed herself due to bipolar disorder? What about poverty? Being handicapped from the waist down? It's not just about free will: if a cop sees someone about to jump off a bridge, they are taken to the hospital and put in emergency care. In other words, mental health is a bad reason to kill yourself, and you still have worth as a human being. Physical health though? Hmm....

7

Lost in thoughts of bioethics, I was yanked back to the present by the end of a Beyonce song. After belting out that "I'm a survivor" she transitions to the next song on the track with "And bootylicious." Right, keep representing feminism Beyonce. You go girl, I mean womyn.

** This post has not been approved by Pandora, Dominion Fertility, the state of Virginia, or Destiny's Child.

My Relationship with Mommy Blogs: It's Complicated

Last night, my husband and I watched a new movie called The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. As you may recall from high school English class, this was originally a short story by James Thurber, of The New Yorker fame in the early-mid 20th century, about a forgetful and imaginative man who escapes from his nagging wife and boring life into fantastic daydreams. (If you haven't read it, you're missing out. You should also read other James Thurber pieces, such as Nine Needles and The Night the Bed Fell on my Father. They don't write like that anymore). 

The movie took artistic liberties, with beautiful results. Walter still escapes into his head, but he's now running from the new boss at LIFE magazine who is managing the "transition" to an all-online magazine - mostly by being a dick to everyone except his few favorites. The film's Walter, however, is triumphant; for most of the film, you wonder if these fantastic events are really real or just in his head, and you'll be cheering for this mild-mannered, balding "negative assets" man whose job is being phased out. 

In a phone conversation with "Ted" from eHarmony, who becomes his shrink by default, Walter learns that "people who daydream lack contentment." For Walter, these dreams ranged from tiny verbal victories, perfectly timed jokes that socially destroyed his cynical boss but that never actually happened, to a Spiderman-style rescue of a dog in a burning skyscraper. I don't even have to exercise the imagination anymore - just open the laptop and gaze on the (mostly Catholic) mommy blogs, with homemade king cakes and Advent wreaths and lots of children and housework but also - and here's the kicker - the financial stability to stay at home with them. 

Oops, guess I wasn't supposed to say that out loud. It's Not the Done Thing to say that stay-at-home moms require husbands with full-time jobs and sufficiently lucrative paychecks. Politicians learned this to their chagrin, not knowing that of course, these moms can only stay home because they make homemade broth and save pennies on homemade detergent and don't have to pay for professional wardrobes or day-care. "It's not a privilege to stay at home" was preached from the rooftops. Some moms just exercised choice differently. The upper-middle class family life of four-eight kids, home-schooled, perhaps on a few acres of land with gardens and chickens, is attainable by all.

Yes, I know that all stay-at-home moms aren't like that. My own mom hasn't had a full-time job - or even a steady part-time job - since before I was born. Her jobless state was sanctioned and approved by her old-fashioned mother while I was growing up, even though I was an only child who went to school, even though we desperately needed the income from even a regular part-time job. An aunt who once hinted to her that maybe she would be happier with a part-time job was told off in no uncertain terms by my father, who said that if my mother "wanted to stay at home and raise her child, that was her choice." The "child" in question was about 15 and rarely at home, because it wasn't about me at all. It was about my mom's severe depression which made her incapable of managing the most basic household tasks, much less a job on the side. Having a stay-at-home mom was less about homemade baked goods and more about waking her up at 2 p.m. on a Saturday because I worried about her health. 

As a child, I idolized working mothers. They always had clean hair, polished nails - their fingernails fascinated me - makeup, high heels. Their kids went to after-school programs that looked fun to me, more fun than waiting thirty minutes to an hour for my perpetually-late mom to pick me up from school. They had a briskness and efficiency that I admired. 

I grew up in the 90s, before the internet really took off, before Facebook and social networking, before blogs. My mom only had to compare herself with the working moms in suits or scrubs who were up at respectable hours and making money, or with her own idolized mother who raised five children on a large piece of property in the 50s-60s and never succumbed to something so embarrassing as depression. Thank God she didn't have the extra burden of mommy blogs. Even homeschooling wasn't big in our area yet - the Deep South is a little slow on the uptake when it comes to fashion, and people I knew bought chemical-laden shampoos and conventional medicines and cooked with condensed soup.

Well-meaning people always told me that "little girls turn into their mothers and marry their fathers." Do yourself a favor and never say this to anyone, ever. You never know whose mother is clinically depressed or whose father is emotionally abusive, or what other skeletons they hide safely at home. I escaped the second downfall, but now I'm the one sleeping in, staying up until 2 a.m., only working part-time, lacking motivation. Sure, there are differences: I'm on medication, and I see two therapists weekly. I'm not in denial about what's going on, and neither is my husband. Still, there are days when I look in the mirror and imagine a few more wrinkles, thinner hair, glasses. It's getting easier.

Like Walter Mitty, my fantasies increase as my contentment decreases. Unlike the old Walter, the internet is always here, always ready with a new fantastic vision of what another life could be. And how harmful could it be, anyway, as long as it's wholesome. 

**I want to make it clear that I don't mean to disparage all mommy bloggers, or moms who just happen to blog, or stay-at-home moms, or non-working women with disposable income. Some of you I wish I could know in person because you seem like the bees' knees. These are my own personal demons.

Every Treatment Has a Price Tag

My journey with depression began at 14. At least, that's what I've always told therapists on the first day. I have what's called "major depressive episode disorder" which means that my life is a roller-coaster ride of ups (which means "basically functioning") and downs that go way down, sometimes down to suicidal ideation. My first depressive episode was at 14, which was also the year I started my period. Completely coincidental, I'm sure.

The second diagnosis on my chart is PTSD, which is a fairly new addition. It's been called Bipolar II and Generalized Anxiety Disorder before we figured out when it started. Finally, we were able to trace the crazy panic attacks and psychosis and fear of men to the year and a half that I volunteered at a rape crisis center in college. It took us forever to figure out because I was never personally raped, but during and after that time I exhibited the signs of someone who has been assaulted. Apparently, some people empathize so strongly with those they help that they suffer PTSD themselves; it's a common problem with those who work in hospitals, prisons, etc. It's why detachment is so vital for first-responders, therapists, ER doctors, and anyone else who works with trauma survivors.

To make things even more complicated, I experienced a semi-constant level of anxiety and fear - mini-traumas if you will - during my childhood. When I think back on my childhood, I remember feeling afraid, a lot: of our crime-ridden neighborhood, of burning in eternal hellfire, of emotional abuse at home, of being too poor to eat. Experiencing this high level of stress and fear as a child wore down my defenses, so that when I spent over a year listening to women who had just been raped and watching rape kit exams and sitting with survivors while they were interrogated by police, something in my brain went snap. 

Due to my not-so-happy childhood -  and the fact that my mom is severely depressed all the time - I have a hard time knowing what "normal functioning" looks like. Maybe that's why it took me so long to get help, and why my husband was the one pushing me to get it.

Over the last three years, I've experienced multiple kinds of mental health therapies: marital counseling, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), EMDR, in-patient emergency care at a mental health ward, and group therapy, not to mention the cornucopia of drugs. Let's see, I've tried Zoloft, Welbutrin, Lamictal, Ambien, Prozac, Effexor XR, Lunesta, Klonapin, Xanex, and probably other things that I've forgotten. Out of the entire above list, the things that have helped the most are Effexor and EMDR. Thus far I've only done one session of EMDR, and it's done more good than hundreds (not exaggerating) hours of regular talk or CBT counseling. Which makes sense, since PTSD isn't something you can talk yourself out of.

These years have taught me things about the illness through trial and error, mostly error. For instance, Effexor is more "effective" (heh) because it targets norepinephrine as well as serotonin, and most medications only target serotonin. (Wellbutrin is also different because it targets dopamine). Apparently my brain needed more norepinephrine, and all the Zoloft in the world wasn't going to help it. This also ties into PTSD because norepinephrine is regulated by the amygdala, the part of the brain effected the most by PTSD. This is what controls the fight-or-flight response, along with other kinds of vigilance, concentration, and response. All of which go hay-wire when you have PTSD. 

Some of the treatments were effective, in their way, but had unacceptable side effects. For instance, Wellbutrin did wonders for my energy and depression, but it also upped my anxiety, which was already at ridiculously high levels. Maybe with the right drug combo I could take Wellbutrin again, but I'm not willing to try it until I've done more EMDR. 

Twice now I've tried Lunesta for insomnia. Oh, it does wonders for my sleep, without the horrible headaches that some medications give. However, I recently stopped taking it again because I remembered why I stopped last time: it makes my poor memory even worse and decreases my (already poor) concentration. But without it I can't seem to sleep until 2, 3, or even 4 a.m. I haven't figured out how to help this situation yet. 

There's not really an end to this post, because I could go on all day about medications and therapies and treatments. At a certain point I get depressed just thinking about it, which doesn't help. I want to write about it though, in the hope that someone who sees it will feel... not so alone. Solidarity. 

Seven Quick Takes: The Expert's Guide to Laziness

1

I come from a long line of women who would rather read than clean. Isn't that everyone you say? No, it is not. One of my aunts who married into the family does not own a single book - not one! - and her house is spotless. As an in-law she suffers with the family's laissez faire attitude about clutter, and she is not the suffering in silence sort. As hard as it might be to believe, there are women (and men!) who would rather mop floors and organize the pantry than read a book or a magazine or a blog. There are even some who find it hard to sit still when there are things to do. 

2

Gentle reader, might you be one of these women? Might you suffer agonies at others' homes when you notice the dust coating on every wooden surface? Do you fight the urge to rip off those decades-old cartoon-clippings and bent school photos and expired coupons to reveal the fridge? Do you run into the bathroom and scream into a hand-towel when your friends' small children leave toys strewn across the floor - and the mother just sits there? 

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Well suffer no more! I am here to teach you, in just four easy steps, how to embrace that inner slug. I know you have it in you. If you dig down deep you can relinquish the need for clean and discover that sticky, cluttered mess that lurks within. 

4

First of all, what do you drink? Not diet Coke silly: we're all friends here. What would you drink if you could be three sheets to the wind without some small person dying? That drink is what you need. Do you have to be sober? Then make something hot: a good hot cocoa or apple cider or tea. Do NOT brew coffee; this will have debilitating ramifications in about half an hour, when you find yourself cleaning the fan blades and sobbing "I just couldn't say no!" Don't let that happen to you. 

The best option, of course, is a hot toddy. 

5

Now, lazy weather can be one of two options. First, it can be broiling hot. We Southern girls understand why the South has a reputation for laziness: NO ONE goes dashing about with a duster when it's 100 degrees in the shade and so humid that your glasses fog up. The humidity is a crucial element. Y'all from out west cannot imagine how hot 90 degrees can feel when the humidity is 85%. That's why the heat index is what we check in the morning, not the actual temperature. When the heat is this bad, cleaning is hazardous to your health unless you can afford a gargantuan electric bill. So go ahead and wilt, preferably on a cushioned porch swing holding a mint julep.  

The second option, which might be more applicable for readers in January, is freezing cold. This is a relative term, by the way. Savannah closes down when there's a possible chance of sleet 40 miles north. Moreover, some of us simply cannot stand the cold. In DC I was basically catatonic for four months out of the year; it took at least 15 minutes just to put on all those layers of clothing. So you Michigan people can trudge in the snow all day long and feel proud of yourselves, but the rest of us will bundle up under an electric blanket when the thermostat says 30. 

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Third, consider the worst that could happen. What if you DON'T do the next thing on your list? Did someone die? No? Well then. 

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Find something you like to do that involves sitting. No judgement here: I've found ceiling fans riveting at the end of a long day. Knitting is an option if you absolutely must be industrious at every waking moment, but why? That's what Netflix is for. Pets are great for this, by the way. Only cold-hearted witches can push a sweet cat or dog off their laps. 

Happy Friday y'all! Be sure to check out the rest at This Ain't the Lyceum. 

** On a completed unrelated note, I didn't manage to get this published until after 5 p.m. even though I wrote it yesterday. Also, I took Benadryl last night - for allergy reasons this time - and had an even worse time getting up. Apparently this is my Friday tradition, and my work hours are late, which keeps me from improving myself. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

It's Sheenazing!

.... That I was nominated for this award. Since I have, like, four regular readers, y'all are the shit. Mainly because this is the only time my tiny blog will be in the same list with ANN FREAKIN' VOSKAMP for any reason whatsoever.

Mainly though, I'm happy at the chance to find so many new (to me) blogs. I skipped right over the life-style category because it makes me depressed and self-loathing. First I checked out my fellow non-Papists (snort). And that's when I discovered New Wave Feminists.

Whatever you're doing next can wait. Go check them out ASAP. I'm not sure how they're non-Papists - it looks like at least one of the writers is Catholic, but maybe they aren't all Catholic. In any case, they are the bee's knees.

If you clicked on my tiny blog from Bonnie's page and want to know who I am (and why I picked an obscure name like The Inklings Etc.), here are some posts that tell you what's up.


          - Why Lord of the Rings is awesome and deserves to be read at least twice

          - Why I pray the Rosary even though I'm Protestant

          - How his wife Joy saved C.S. Lewis from his misogynistic ways 

          - Why I usually hate sermons and wish church didn't have them

          - How Anglicans are the red-headed step-child of both Catholics and Eastern Orthodox

          - How that "does not rejoice in evil" verse gets twisted and makes me see red


Mixed in with a bunch of random nonsense. I'm not a mommy blogger, or a lifestyle blogger, or even a Catholic. I just like to read Catholic blogs - and some mommy blogs - and have some Catholic leanings in spite of my Calvinist background (that sound you hear is my grandmama flipping somersaults in her grave).

Happy reading!

7 Quick Takes: Benadryl-Induced Fog Edition

1

I'm in a funk yo: I took Benadryl at about 1 a.m. to help me sleep. And, um, it worked. 

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Plus, I just got done with an EMDR therapy session a couple of hours ago - more on that when the hamster wheel starts turning again. So now my emotions are weird too. I've been really good at self-care recently too, doing all the stuff my therapists tell me I should do: lighting lavender candles at night, drinking more water, upping the vegetables and good fats, walking and exercising more, etc. I've even been doing those super-annoying-but-ultimately-magical breathing exercises and progressive muscle relaxation. The result is that I feel both awesome and emotionally fraught at the same time; my poor brain doesn't know what's going on. 

3

Eventually, I'll post the 5 or 6 brilliant (sort of) posts that are percolating. I've got a 7QT on rap, a 7QT about periods, a regular post on CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy) and EMDR, and one on body image/sexuality. Woohoo! Yeah.... eventually I'll get to it. 

4

Have you ever taken a Myer's Briggs personality test? It's probably not very good based on more recent research (what, you expected a link or something? What part of Benadryl-Induced Fog did you not understand?). However, research be damned, it's awesome. Once you take it, it's hard not to obsessed with looking at yourself and friends through its lens. The idea is that there are four parts that make up a personality, and two possibilities per part. Everyone knows about extroversion vs. introversion, but there's also intuitive/sensing, feeling/thinking, and judging/perceiving. Here's a link to the test. 

5

When I took the test I came up as ISFP - introverted, sensing, feeling, perceiving. One of the quirks about it is that it shows how "hard" on the extremes you are. For instance, I am a very hard introvert (no surprises there) but more in the middle when it comes to sensing vs. intuition. My husband is ENTP, so we're almost complete opposites. We both live by the seat of our pants, which makes life... interesting.

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The difference between judging and perceiving types

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And that brings us to seven!! Have a good weekend lovelies!