A Hidden Treasure

Thank you all for your support and prayers during this sad time. It is very hard, but I have been borne up by the knowledge that many people have held me close in their hearts at this time. I am so grateful.

Looking through my father's desk this afternoon, I came across an email he sent a friend about prayer. I don't know what the circumstances of his friend were that prompted the email, but it is very comforting to me as I sit in Daddy's desk chair and am surrounded with his things. My father had apparently just finished watching a Crystal Cathedral service on television in which Robert Schuler stated emphatically, "There is a blessing in unanswered prayer."

"When I was about 15 years of age I had just returned back from a two mile uphill ride on my bicycle to visit a young lady in which I was very interested. As I rode into my driveway, I got to thinking, "Lord...It would be nice and handy for me if there was a girl that moved in next door to me. that way, I wouldn't have to knock myself all the way out, two miles uphill, past all those nasty dogs. think how efficient it would be for me."

"A couple days later, after I had forgotten that instant, I noticed a moving van next door and THERE WERE THREE GIRLS moving in. "No that's a real way to answer prayer, Lord!" In a very short time I had one of them as a friend...well, you know. Efficiency was evermost in my mind. Yeah--sure!"

"Several years later after I had given my life to Jesus, and had gotten married, my wife and I enjoyed talking about how the Lord had answered our prayers for each other, brought us together from very dissimilar backgrounds. As we were looking out our upstairs window, I noticed a young woman (now seven years older) walking across the street and a light bulb went off in my head. THAT'S THE GIRL. NOW LOOK AT HER!"

"As I put my arm around my wife in an affectionate hug, the thought came to me also...There is a blessing in prayer...even unanswered ones."

Death be not proud

Daddy

July 10, 1930 - October 25, 2006

Today on the way to work I received a phone call from my mother and father's neighbor on the East Coast. She handed off the phone to my mother, who told me that my father had suffered a massive heart attack and was dead. He had gone out for a walk with the dog and on the way back, passed my mother and the neighbor as they were just setting out. Mother noticed that he was walking slowly and asked if he was okay. "Not so good, love" he replied, and went inside. Mother thought he merely had some joint stiffness or had to get to the bathroom. When she walked into the still dark house at 7:05, she heard a strange gasping sound. Daddy was breathing his last, slumped over on the couch. She called 9-1-1 and sat with him. "I watched him turn white" she later sobbed. And now after 56 years, mother is a widow and alone in a farmhouse they shared for 36 years. His glasses still sit perched on the table next to his hearing aids where he put them this morning.

My father was only 76 years old. He was as strong as an ox, eager to please, and adored my mother. He was talented, energetic, and active. Now he is gone. Daddy willed his body to science, so we honored his wishes that way. Before the coroner wrapped daddy's body, he asked mother if she wanted to be alone with him. She said no. She was current with everything that needed to be said to him. Just that morning they hugged and kissed each other, telling each other how much they loved one another. Daddy told mother he loved her before he went out for a walk. "I know, love." She had not been saving something up to say to him and she was as prepared to say goodbye as anyone could be.

I am stunned, to say the least, but I have to say that this is my experience, too. Just last night I called my parents and had a good chat with them. Daddy was very chatty and warm. He was delighted that the sewing machine they sent me had arrived in one piece. We discussed the latest Handyman magazine, as he was delighted that I love doing woodworking and remodeling projects. I don't remember much of our conversation, only that it left me feeling warm and so grateful that I called. I can still hear him telling me, "I love you, Barb, and I'm so proud of your accomplishments." I have no doubts but that he adored me.

Yet there are streams of light coming through the sadness. Opening my email when I returned back home, I noticed a message from my father. It had been sent at 7:01 a.m. His email ended with a comical remark about wondering if he could mail me his woodworking lathe. And he told me he loved me again. He was dead within four minutes of sending that email, so I received his last communication. I am so grateful.

Daddy died at home, with mother at his side, on his sofa where he took his daily naps. He did not linger and he died very quickly, even though it was unexpected. He had just told me "a funny" as he would say, and he probably felt pretty good, emotionally. It was exactly what he would have wanted, except for my mother's broken heart.

Only two weeks ago I told a relative that there is not a place where I feel closer to God than at a funeral. It may sound strange, but it is the absolute truth. It is at a funeral service when one thinks about what happens after death, and how God plays into all the sadness and losses we face on this earth. My faith tradition believes in soul sleep, which is what most of Christendom believed until the last couple centuries or so. What this means is that when people die, they are as though they are asleep. Then comes the resurrection day when Jesus returns to this earth to gather up His people. As He descends on a cloud with millions of angels and the brilliance of His glory, He shouts, "Awake! Awake, those who sleep in the dust!" And all those who love the Lord will be made alive with immortal bodies.
My father will come up out of the grave tall, healthy, vibrant, and with an immortal body. He will find mother, who will again be youthful and beautiful, and together they will ascend to the Holy City in heaven. Until that day, he will remain sleeping in the grave, oblivious to all that occurs here. The next thing he knows will be the sound of Jesus, whose voice he has longed to hear all these years, and whose face he has often said he wants to gaze upon.

There are certainly worse things than death. I knew daddy was very tired and sad. I knew he had done his best and was painfully aware of the times and places where it had not been remotely good enough. But he kept going, trying to serve God in the best way he knew how, with the best of intentions. I'm so glad I forgave him a long time ago. Now daddy rests in peace and I am left with a deep, clean sadness. I am so grateful that although he was not perfect and although I struggled to understand him for many years, I did understand and love him in the end. I have no regrets.

Night-nite, Daddy, until we meet again.

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
John Donne

Otis' Friends

Found here

Last night I heard a hiss and a rattle, and looked up from the kitchen table to see Otis hanging on the screen door, about three feet off the ground. Shocked, I went over to the door and looked out myself. There sat two stray cats on the mat outside the door. They are both grey and white, both looked hungrily in the door. Actually, I think they're feral cats as I've seen them in the yard on several occasions and I've taken to feeding them every night in a little saucer on the back porch. One of them jumped up on my lap, purring and begging for a scratch under the chin. The other is a bit wary and stood off a distance. But there they were.
I don't know what to do about these cats. One of them appears to be a good candidate for being inside with us. But they're a team, those two. Probably siblings. Should I take them to the humane society in the hope that someone will adopt them? I think Otis will miss out on the entertainment value of having his friends come calling if I do that. And I will miss these little furry visitors. What to do?

Kids

Found here

Yesterday after work I ran over to Macy's to find something new to wear. I'm giving a seminar next weekend and there is nothing in my closet that I want to be seen in. So I browsed about in the women's clothing section, trying to find just the right thing: somewhat colorful, but also bit conservative and classic. There were all kinds of things that were drab, slinky, and that showed a lot of skin (and cleavage), but nothing that grabbed my attention. After walking through every section in the store, I finally settled back on the women's section. They put the larger sizes upstairs with the cooking pots. Go figure.

Just as I was getting ready to leave, I saw a manikin in the most beautiful green jacket and swirly, sheer overlay skirt. Didn't care much for the top, but I simply loved the skirt. It would look perfect with my black blazer, and I had just tried on the perfect black shell downstairs that would set it off. The ensemble pieces were hanging on a rack back against the wall. I needed a 14 in everything, but they only had 16s. What the heck. Maybe they run small. I scooped up the size 16 skirt. But the only jacket was an 18W. I would swim in that size. But you know, store staff usually put the smaller sizes on their manikins (have you ever seen a size 28 manikin?) So I went back over to the manikin and looked at the tag inside the jacket. It was a 16. That might do it. After looking both ways to be sure no one would question me, I lifted the jacket off the manikin and made for the fitting room.

Taking off my tired, old black pants and pink blouse, I put on the swirling skirt, and jacket. I looked like I had been dressed by a committee: nothing fit though everything should have (on paper). The clothes were pathetically huge. The sleeves hung down past my knuckles, and there was enough overlap on the front of the jacket to button it under my armpits. The skirt fit around me well if I puffed out my stomach. But that defeated the purpose of trying to look svelte. I'd probably do better with a size 14. But there hadn't been any out on the rack. Good grief.

Oh! Look at the skirt on the manikin! She stood facing the store entrance, looking out into the parking lot with vacant eyes and bland face. Her white arms jutted out from under the blouse that was half in and half out of the skirt. I had done that trying to get the jacket off her. I looked at the inside label of her skirt. Size 14. I would have that one.

The clerk was about 20 yards away helping another customer with a purchase. A table of sweaters stood between us, partially obscuring the manikin. No one was at the front door, either. Now was my chance. Unbottoning, then unzipping her skirt, I lowered it over her perfect hips and very long legs. I hadn't anticipated the heavy broad round base that she was attached to. The skirt wouldn't go over that unless I picked her up. Nope, I would be spotted. It needed to go up over her head. The clerk had gone the opposite direction to look for a size the customer requested. Up came the skirt, over the manikin's conservative little bosom. But wait--the skirt couldn't go over the arms. The clerk was coming back to the register and glanced my way. I tilted my head to one side as though I was sizing up an outfit. I was. I think the arms will have to go up so the skirt will go over her torso. But the clerk would notice a manikin with both her arms in the air. I started to move one of the arms upward and it came off in my hand. Horrified, I looked both ways and saw that still no one was coming in the front door. Down on the floor went the arm, and up went the skirt, over the manikin's head. Free at last!

A few minutes later I was taking my skirt downstairs to a counter in the jewelry section. "You don't mind if I pay for this here, do you?" I asked a woman so made up she looked like a Salvador Dali painting. "Oh, not at all!" she gushed. "It's fine!"

So I paid for my skirt and fled the premises. As I left, I turned back to see a mangled white manikin with one arm, dressed only in a blouse. An elderly woman coming in the door stopped short, staring at the manikin. "Hooligans!" she hissed aloud. "There's such a criminal element in this mall. I hate coming here."
I shook my head knowingly, "I know what you mean" I said, stepping outside into the sunshine.

A Real Hero

I've recently become acquainted with a woman who is the strongest, most determined woman I think I've ever met. When I listen to her tell her story, I feel like a rather weak-kneed, dilatory sap.
I could never do what she has done: escape from an abusive marriage, face her abuser in court over custody battles regarding their child, then live through the realization that he was abusing that child. This mother did what had to be done to protect her baby, even when that meant going to court 30 times, traveling across state lines, and being wanted for kidnapping her child. She fought a legal system in one of the darkest states in the country that was populated by good ole' boys who protected abusers because the laws did nothing for women or children in their situation. For several years, the courts notwithstanding, she had to watch her child struggle with the father's abuse. He told her once that he would wear her out with court visits and stress. Since this woman has Crohn's, and stress inflames one's bowels, she now has an unpredictable and very unhealthy GI system.

But she ultimately got her child away from her abuser.
Her child is happily married to a good man, and she has children of her own.
Her child is a church-going, good-hearted woman who is trying to recover from years of abuse by her father.
Her child has had a difficult time seeing beyond what happened. Had her mother not given up her money, time, energy, and even health, her child would not have survived childhood. But she thrives today--because her mother threw down her life to save the life of her child.

My friend has been hospitalized for her Crohn's too many times to count. She has had inflamatory episodes, gone on TPN (intravenous feedings), been unable to eat, had uncontrollable diarrhea and cramping, and thought she was going to die, over and over. But she never gave in. He couldn't kill her spirit.

This is only one of the several things that this woman has overcome in her life. She came from a difficult home situation. Yet she is not bitter and she worked hard to give her family a better life. She has a generous spirit, a happy-go-lucky personality, and is a very creative person.

She has worked for people who abused her and nearly ruined her, financially, socially, and spiritually. They are highly esteemed and have prestige and loads of money. No one would believe the hideous behavior of these people. And yet even though they threatened and tried, they couldn't kill her or take away her faith.

Why am I writing about this--about a woman only two readers would even know? Because she feels that she is a failure as a mother; that she is weak, small, and insufficient. She has been too busy doing the next thing that needs doing to be able to get the distance she needs to be objective about all that she has endured. But heroes are not made of stronger stuff than she is.

There is no greater love, and therefore, no greater person, than she who holds back nothing, but gives to ensure the life of her child.

Worse than I thought possible

At 4:30 this morning I realized that there are worse things than dead mice in the attic. We slept with the window open, it being quite warm in the house last night. In the midst of tossing and turning, hoping no one was climbing in the window, a third ingredient introduced itself to our unfortunate situation. We were visited by skunks. Oh Lordy...

Rats!

The other morning I woke up with Otis dancing across the bed. Opening one eye, I could see him running back and forth over our legs while looking up at the ceiling. Then I heard something being dragged across the ceiling in the attic. Gross! We must have mice or a rat up there, I thought. How disgusting. And I fell back asleep with Otis' little frolic continuing unabated.

This happened every morning around 5:00 for several days. No scampering sounds, just this heavy dragging sort of sound--a miniature ball and chain, in my fantasy. I heard some frantic leaping about over the kitchen ceiling one morning while I was cooking breakfast. Otis heard it, too, and started pacing the floor, looking up at the ceiling as though something was about to drop.

Last night, we heard two odd scraping sounds in the wall of the living room. Sam froze as his eyes rolled toward the sound. Yuck. We really must have a colony up there. It's pretty horrible to contemplate, but it surely is consistent with the quality of this house! Rats! I told Sam that we probably should put some traps up in the attic. But neither of us was too keen on going up there with flashlight to lay the traps down, much less bring them down with wriggling, terrified, chattering rats caught in the glue traps like hideous statues. To drown them in a bucket is even worse to contemplate. So we didn't do anything about them.

This afternoon when we walked into the house, an unearthly smell met us. It was like Sam's dirty socks, even ten times worse. It was in our bedroom, I thought. So I wrenched off all the sheets and the comforter and did a huge laundry. How could we have been sleeping in such a bed with such a stench? We must be more piggy than I thought. Sam came in the room and began sniffing about. He stopped short by the closet. "It's a dead rat in the attic, I think," he said gravely. Sure enough, I think it is, too. I pray that it is a mouse--the smell will be gone in a couple days.

My aunt called tonight and told me to put cups of vinegar around the room. "It will smell strong for a couple days, but it will absorb the odor." I'm prepared to hose it into the attic. But I don't want to go up there. Oh no...
Does anyone know how to get that smell out of the house?

Avalanche!

Have you ever started out to do a good thing and find it all snowball into a huge mess? There are times in all of our lives when this happens. We see something that needs to be taken care of and upon further investigation we find that many things are amiss. Or a worker or student comes by just to let you know that so and so is doing something like filching office money or selling office supplies on the side. Three of these kinds of things happened to me this week and I'm still reeling.

As a new administrator I've been dancing around several ideas related to the hullabaloo that follows the discovery of these unfortunate events. It seems that there are a few predictable ways people respond to finding out that something is grossly amiss. Here are a couple scenarios:

"I'm going straight to the principal and tell!" This is not an uncommon response. People who do this usually have a hard time maintaining their anxiety. In other words, it's so anxiety producing to have something wrong or out of line that they rush to the higher ups and report what they have found. They don't want to be implicated in anything bad, so are quick to point out what others are doing wrong. I'm not sure that they want a pat on the head necessarily, but they do want things to be correct and smooth.

"Then Mary said to Tom..." Some people were born watching other people live and have no intention to do it themselves now. These individuals find another person to talk the problem over with fully and completely. Every angle is examined and discussed. After one or both get insight and incidentally, gain strength from each other's knowledge and validation of their ideas, they keep a buzz going about the latest development. And they do nothing about it themselves except to complain or point out the issue to anyone who will listen.

"Well, what do you know?" This person wants to sit back and watch to get a good grasp of the situation while they think of various ways to address the problem. These individuals only do this if there is no immediate, significant threat to life or limb. It is an art to switch into ethnomethodologist mode--the researcher-observer who wants to fully understand why people do what they do, how they do it, how it affects other people, what the losses are, and what the individual(s) gain from the behavior. Then they act on what they have observed, pulling in another appropriate entity or entities to deal with the issue.

"Howdy, Pilgrim!" This John Wayne impersonator sees something or someone who operates contrary to how they should and wades into the situation to right it themselves. Very little forethought goes into this kind of response. "I'm going to blow this wide open and then we'll see if they can get away with that!" Unfortunately, this approach rarely takes into account all that can go wrong from an indelicate rush upon the wrongdoers. And, in true John Wayne style, declare mennacingly, "Like *$#!@!, you'll do that again!"

As I've watched the turmoil that has resulted from problems I discovered this week, I have been amused by my own response. All three of the issues have been going on since I started this job, and they have driven me almost to distraction. When I started asking questions about one of the situations, it blew up and I was able to see what was being protected and hidden. Two other situations were ones about which I began documenting the second week in this job. Pulling in our Human Resource officers, the revelations that followed nearly ripped my workplace apart. All I knew was that these three issues were intolerable. I had no idea an avalanche would follow.

So tonight I'm trying to climb my way out and see the sunlight again. Life is not for the fainthearted.

Week from Hell

This last month has been horrible. I am behind in everything, exhausted, overwhelmed, and need a break. So I took one for weeks. I think I'm back now. There should be more consistency in what you see here.
Thanks for bearing with me and for coming back.

Wierd labels

For those of you who have ever had a colonoscopy, the name, GoLytely arouses fear and horror as little else can do. GoLytely is a medicated beverage that doesn't make you go lightly at all. To the contrary, it makes a person lose all but their immortal soul in a few hours. As I listened to thundering feet down the hall for most of last night, I wondered who the creative soul was who thought up this euphemistic label.

The advertising world has had a heyday with an unsuspecting public--one that they assume is as daft as to not realize they've been had. They charge virtual miracles resulting from unknown products; veritable entry into the world of ageless, consciousness-raising, advanced members of the race. Consider these bylines straight from product labels in my house:

Apply all over for volumes of attitude (I can assure you that volumes of attitude I did get--especially from bemused passersby whose glances told me that my hair had definitely made a statement that day.)

Restores natural suppleness and bounce. (I should bathe in this!)

Amazing radiance without gritty sensation. (Why would lipstick ever be gritty?)

For hair that's irresistably alluring to the eye and beautiful to the touch. (This concoction gave me one of the worst bad hair days I've ever had)

Makeup for lost time with our Micro Lift System. (This sounds like gym equipment, but it is on my makeup bottle).

Pearlized microparticles brighten the eyes and diffuse light... (wow!)

...whipped mousse formula... (this sounds like pudding--I should like to eat some)

And it goes on and on. Snake oil can be marketed colorfully to keep us coming back for more, always longing for something we don't have. It's all in the languaging of things.

Perhaps this is one reason why Jesus said, "But let your communication be, Yea, yea; Nay, nay: for whatsoever is more than these cometh of evil" (Matthew 5:37) and James reiterated this, "...let your yea be yea; and your nay, nay; lest ye fall into condemnation." (James 5:12).

What did the kids see?

A story of abuse is never over until we see what happened to the children and grandchildren of the abuser. The Bible doesn't tell us much about these individuals, except for the incident in which Jacob's sons killed the entire male population in a city for violating their sister. Apparently they had zero tolerance for abusive behavior and rather than dealing with the guilty parties, they took it out on the entire city.

But before we leave the story of Laban, there are questions that need to be noted--unanswered questions:
What did the children see?
What did they think about their grandfather chasing them as if they were criminals?
Did they see their mothers and father cower?
Did they feel the stress in the family because of the working conditions of their father?
Did they see how dishonest their grandfather was?
Did they hear explanations for Laban's behavior from his daughters?
Did they learn to associate power with abuse and deceit?
Did it seem a normal thing to them to have intrigue in hierarchical relationships?

Those who live in abusive relationships forget that what they allow to continue, what becomes a daily pattern, becomes internalized by the children who watch. Far too often, the children look for romantic partners who will keep this pattern alive--the call of the familiar is equaled only by the anxiety of being in a relationship with unfamiliar rules and behavior. So this continues on and on. Be careful what you do and what you allow in your home. It sets the template for your children's marriage and personal fulfillment in the future.

As for the story of Laban the abuser, I have read this story over time and again, despised him, and moved on. It was only recently that I read more slowly and realized that his behavior was so typical of abusers. I hope this has been a useful discussion for the readers. It has for me.

A heap of stones

Then as so many abusers do, Laban accused Jacob of stealing his gods. He needed some pretense for hotly pursuing Jacob, so here it was. Through the entire preceding tirade of Laban, Jacob was quiet. But when he was accused and shamed, he responded. And he responded with an admission of his feelings--and this again, is so often what the abused do. It occurs because they think that if they can just be honest and vulnerable in some way, then the abuser will reply in kind. Or they may be scared and feel guilty because of the accusations about their character. So they make comments that work against them.
You were scared that I'd take your wives by force? Laban never responds to this concern. Obviously, he would have done this, had it not been for God's instruction to Laban to the contrary, in a dream. Jacob must have been quite rattled, facing this man with all of his children, wives, and belongings standing behind him. And on the other side stood Laban with "all his relatives," the Bible tells us. I don't know how many people that was, but it could have been quite a crowd. What more, they did not have the dream from God and they had pursued with the intent of bringing Jacob back home. So they probably didn't have the most pleasant expressions on their faces.
One of the challenges of women in abusive marriages, is that their abuser often goes to relatives to get them to prevail upon the wives to return home. They say things to their mother-in-law or sister-in-laws like, "I just couldn't live without that woman! Won't you please tell her that I'm dying here without her?" And family members get suckered into acting at the behest of the abuser, to fulfill his best interests. Most times it is not the best interest of the woman to go back to him. But there they are: the woman standing at one side and her husband, his family and her family, all standing on the other side asking her to go back. And we wonder why it takes an abused woman about six to ten goes to get away from an abuser...

Finally, Jacob seems to regain his wits. He invites Laban to search through his belongings for his missing household gods--and to do it while there are witnesses present. I really dislike the image of Laban that emerges here. Rather than sending off his daughters with a celebration and best wishes--even giving them his household gods for good measure--he begins a search, tent by tent, looking for these idols. Now it is the principle of the matter for Laban. He wants to prove that Jacob has done wrong by him and therefore his need to flee, his belongings, his dignity are of little consequence. So he goes through everyone's things, looking for these gods.
When Laban got to Rachel's tent and she said that she couldn't stand up in his presence because she was menstrating, Jacob finally found his voice and his anger. There are times in the lives of abuse victims when they can't clearly see what is happening to them because they lack distance from their situation. But when abuse occurs to someone they love and feel protective of, they can act decisively. Research on abuse victims tells us that this point for a number of women occurs when their children are abused by their abuser.
So here Jacob sees Laban intruding on Rachel--his favored wife whom he loved enough to work 14 years. And he becomes very angry and his anger finds words:

"What is my crime?" he asked Laban. "What sin have I committed that you hunt me down? Now that you have searched through all my goods, what have you found that belongs to your household? Put it here in front of your relatives and mine, and let them judge between the two of us.
"I have been with you for twenty years now. Your sheep and goats have not miscarried, nor have I eaten rams from your flocks. I did not bring you animals torn by wild beasts; I bore the loss myself. And you demanded payment from me for whatever was stolen by day or night. This was my situation: The heat consumed me in the daytime and the cold at night, and sleep fled from my eyes. It was like this for the twenty years I was in your household. I worked for you fourteen years for your two daughters and six years for your flocks, and you changed my wages ten times. If the God of my father, the God of Abraham and the Fear of Isaac, had not been with me, you would surely have sent me away empty-handed. But God has seen my hardship and the toil of my hands, and last night he rebuked you."

Laban doesn't respond to this, although it's true. At this point, he must have had some sense of embarassment to hear this in front of his relatives whom he incited to pursue his renegade nephew. Jacob was right--God had rebuked Laban. Jacob had worked hard and perhaps the relatives present didn't know just how hard he had worked or what he had done for Laban. But Laban didn't admit to any wrongdoing. He couldn't.

Abusers are fragile souls. They have what we therapists call a "very weak ego system." Many abusers are all or nothing, black and white thinkers. They are unable to admit to anything unsavory because if they do say they have done bad, then they reason, they are bad. And if they say they have done something bad, then they are unable to think of themselves as good in any way. So one wrong, if admitted, means that they are 100% bad. If they sit with this knowledge, they are overwhelmed and want to die. Suicide and homicide are common bedfellows on this point. This is true of most criminals and abusers, but not necessarily about the antisocial criminals (psychopaths).
Think about it: how many criminals who are interviewed on television ever admit to their deeds or the badness of the deeds? They deny their guilt to their last breath. Prison wardens will tell you that jails are filled with "innocent" people! I worked with a woman who had systematically tortured her child and who had been imprisoned several years for the crime. Not once in six months could I ever get her to admit that she had done anything to her child. Because if she did admit it, then it would be proof that she was bad, all bad, not good, all bad. And she would have felt unfit to live. Few people realize the fragility of people who have abused others, or that the degree of intensity they use to fight and control represents the degree of desperation they feel about maintaining their fragile ego, intact.
So Laban is just like this, too. Rather than admitting that he was dishonest and that he had no cause for his aggression toward Jacob and the family, he states ownership over all that Jacob has: "The women are my daughters, the children are my children, and the flocks are my flocks. All you see is mine." This, in the face of Jacob's explanation of how he came to have his flocks and herds, not to mention, his wives. Laban can't back down. He does (again), what so many abusers do when they can't argue a point and win. He takes control and suggests an activity they can do together to prove that they have good will between them. It's something that suggests, "Let's just put this all behind us and move forward as though nothing ever happened." And since the abused want to move ahead and forget what happened, they often comply.

So a pillar and heap of stones are set up as a memorial of this agreement between the two men. They eat nearby, all together. Then comes time for the pronouncements to solemnify this gesture. It's the Mizpah prayer--the prayer of the watchtower, as it is known. It is also what we used to stand by our desks and say aloud every afternoon before we were allowed to leave school:
"May the Lord watch between me and thee,
While we are absent, one from another. Amen."
Laban gets a lick in when he charges Jacob not to marry any other women than his daughters, or to mistreat them. This, after his own surly behavior. I doubt that Laban really cared that much about his daughter's wellbeing. He was flexing his muscles in threatening Jacob, and also making it seem that he (Laban) was a good father. That is something that abusers come unglued about: accusations about their integrity or capabilities. Any chink in their armor means that they are all useless, incapable, worthless, all un-good. So they make a play of being attentive and caring. But it is for the wrong reason. Laban did this here once again. Perhaps it was for the benefit of his relatives, with whom he would have to live when he returned to his own land. Maybe it was for his self esteem that he said this. It also may be that he realized that he had no grounds for pressing Jacob and he (Laban) was dangerously close to losing face.

Laban states, "Here is the pillar and the heap that I have set up." Even though in verses 45-46 it says that Jacob set up the pillar and asked his relatives to gather stones for the heap of rocks. Now he says that this heap of rocks has become a boundary so that Laban will not go past it "to harm you." Odd statement this, from a man who had just tried to make his pursuit of the family be about his care for his daughters and grandchildren. If he was a loving, good-hearted father, why does harm even come into the picture? The first time I read this I found this word jarring. It just doesn't fit with the Mizpah prayer cited above. Perhaps Laban was beginning to feel his age and fear for his safety, should Jacob ever become vindictive for all that Laban had done against him these years. So he added, "...you will not go past this heap and pillar to my side to harm me." If Jacob had wanted to harm Laban, he had ample time to do it before now.
When all else fails, abusers may resort to calling on God to witness the supposed integrity and selfless motivation in their abusive acts. And Laban does this here: "May the God of Abraham and the God of Nahor, the God of their father, judge between us." Judge? Judge who is guilty and who is innocent? Decide who is right and wrong? It was an odd oath from a man who purported to be concerned about the wellbeing of his daughters.

Jacob must have felt some resolution and strength in this. He then took the lead by preparing a meal and serving his relatives that night. The Bible says they ate that night, spent time together, and the next morning Laban kissed his grandchildren and daughters and returned home. End of story.
Or was it?

Laban the Bully

Laban's sons became jealous and began a smear campaign by saying that Jacob had only gotten rich and prestigious because of Laban. This angered Laban and Jacob could see that "his face was not with him as before." Interesting. Lots of things show in people's faces, but as we get older we blunt our perceptions until we become stupidly incapable of seeing what is actually there.

It must have been pretty serious, because God told Jacob to get out of there and go home. God added to His injunction, "I am with you." It was a blessing and promise that God would protect Jacob. Everything would work out.

Genesis 31:4 says that Jacob called Leah and Rachel out into the field to consult with them about leaving. This leads me to believe that Jacob had had a chance meeting with Laban that was negative enough that he felt immediate changes were necessary. The women made an interesting observation in response to Jacob's query. "Haven't we become as strangers to our father since he sold us and utterly consumed our money?" I'm not sure about the ancient customs related to women and wills at that time, but clearly these women indicated that something was grossly wrong with the treatment they had received from their father. They verbalized that whatever Jacob had gained during his hire for Laban, they deserved. So they urged him to leave right away.
Laban went off to another town to shear his sheep. Jacob packed up his belongings, and Rachel went to her father's house and stole his teraphim--household gods of the time. And they rushed off toward Gilead.
After three days, someone told Laban that Jacob had left the area and was on his way back to his father's country. Laban followed in hot pursuit for seven days and caught up with him in the hill country of Gilead. I wonder what Laban planned to do? He was an older man chasing after a much younger man and his family--his own daughters and grandchildren. Apparently, he traveled with his relatives, with whom he hoped to coerce Jacob to return.
Laban had an interesting dream in which God told him not to do anything bad to Jacob. So he restrained himself from being violent, at least.
"What have you done?"
"You tricked me." (the pot calling the kettle black!)
"You have taken my daughters away like prisoners of war!" And he had sold them as though they were slaves, having little regard for them. This is what often happens with abusers: they are quick to accuse others of things that they themselves are guilty of. It is so guilt inducing that people immediately feel off-balance and back down. Then the abuser gets what s/he wants.

Laban does here what so many abusers do: boast about their intentions. He wanted to kiss his children and grandchildren goodbye, have a huge party and sing the old family songs together. He would have sent Jacob and his daughters off happily. This is what he said, however, his life with them proved otherwise.
I wonder what Jacob, Rachel, and Leah did when he made these statements. Perhaps they said nothing or looked disbelieving, because Laban continued with a bullying tone: "I could have hurt you, you know. If it weren't for God speaking directly to me about this--and I am as important as that--then I would have hurt you." This right after he said he wanted to give them a party. Why would a person even suggest such a thing? Again--typical of an abuser. If flattery or promises of grand things don't work, then threats and muscle flexing commence.

In the field of family violence studies, this behavior comes up again and again. There are several reasons for it. For starters, intermittant rewards are the most successful in gaining compliance. What does that mean? Just that if a person is a bully but sometimes appears not to be, their victims live in hope that they will just revert to the way they are supposed to be--the "good" non-bullying version. The victims see possibility in the allusions to good behavior and therefore comply in the hopes that it will come true. Of course it may, but then quickly reverts back to violence. This keeps a person in limbo and unable to adjust to the nasty behavior that most commonly occurs, or to get away.
Another reason these good comments come up about what an abuser intends to do is because they are in denial that their behavior is unacceptable. They are fooling themselves into thinking that they really do the generous things they speak of. Their victims know otherwise.

When bullying and promises of good times are ignored, Laban becomes shaming and accusatory again. "Now you have run away. You wanted to go back to your father." Read here, "You wimp. You have left with your tail between your legs."

Jacob finally speaks up. He admits that he was fearful that Laban would take his wives away from him by force. That is an interesting comment--not one that would be made of someone trustworthy, warm, and protective, as father-in-laws are to be. He didn't trust Laban, and for good reason.