How My Husband Taught me the Art of Arguing

On the banks of the Mississippi River 1984

Two books that have changed my whole outlook on relationships, particularly in marriage and parenting, are The Male Brain and The Female Brain, by Louann Brizendine.  I know I've mentioned her before and I really ought to get a kickback for all the free publicity, but the fact is, all the things I've suspected about girls and boys, men and women, have been validated by these new studies of the brain.

Our chemical and biological makeup is much of what determines our tendencies, desires and even basic emotional needs.  We can't expect males to feel and act like females and vice versa when they are created from birth with very different brains.  So  many marriage struggles end when wives stop demanding that their husbands react to problems like their girlfriends would, and when husbands stop getting irritated that their wives want to them to change habits that their buddies think are just fine.  Embracing and appreciating the differences makes us more tolerant and better people.  Allowing ourselves to change and assimilate some of the thought processes of the opposite sex into our own lifestyle, makes us richer and wiser.

One quality I was never good at was arguing.  I'd invent killer arguments in my mind after being humiliated in a confrontation.  I'd sit and fume and stew and envision myself just raking them over the coals, and skewering every point they made until they'd grovel at my feet in remorse... I had a really vivid imagination!  I hated being humiliated, especially publicly (as everyone does), and hated even more that I'd become paralyzed and not know what to do when confronted.  My revenge would be lived out in the privacy of my room as I replayed the scene over and over in my mind as the undisputed winner, crushing my opponent beneath my feet.  Needless to say, holding grudges was a big issue for me.

I hated unfair treatment, but I did not have an aggressive bone in my body when it came to defending myself or fighting back in any way.  Part of it was from my upbringing, my parents' discipline and what I was taught as acceptable behavior.  But much of it was because of my female wiring. I preferred keeping the peace and pleasing others over defending myself from wrong.  Keeping the peace is a strong quality of the female brain, and is can be used to great benefit.  It's a beautiful strength that can keep families together, to create a harmonious atmosphere at home and foster love and acceptance.  But there are times when a woman does need to stand up for herself and have the confidence that she has the right to do so.  That confidence was nowhere to be found in me as a young girl.

When I got married just shy of 22, I thought I was marrying a kind, good-hearted Christian man who understood the value of a happy marriage and knew how to respect and love his wife.  I was right.  He did.  But... he was male, came from a family of three sons and one daughter, was accustomed to shouting and roughhousing growing up, and was wired with a far more aggressive nature than I was.  So when we began to disagree in our first year of marriage and had our first arguments, I was paralyzed once again.  I loved him, and I knew he loved me, but I couldn't figure out how someone who loved me could be so harsh with his words, use THAT tone of voice and THAT kind of body language.  At six feet tall, he towered over me by a good 10 inches.  He was pretty intimidating.

My response would be to try and explain myself according to how I felt.  But he wasn't interested in how I felt and wanted to argue the facts.  But somehow he'd manage to stack the facts against me in such a way that I couldn't figure out what was up or what was down.  I was hurt, angry, confused and terrified of this barrage of very loud words that were coming against me.  I'd silently pray, and retreat.  If I told him I was sorry, and acted sorry, maybe he'd stop and we'd have some peace.  So as mad as I was for being attacked, I'd apologize, and apologize, and eventually he'd stop and walk off into another room.

Fifteen or twenty minutes later, he'd come back out, and the issue would be forgotten - by him.  He'd be ready for lunch or the next thing on our schedule, and I was still shaking inside from all that had just happened, and mulling over all those great come-backs that I should have yelled back at him, but hadn't the courage to do.  Dr. Brizendine mentions that when a woman is faced with direct aggression against her, her body physically reacts the same way that it would as if she had just suffered a seizure.  As soon as I read that, I knew it was right.  I have felt that very sensation many times, but had thought it was just because I was weak.

Years of our marriage went by like this, and when the arguments would blow over, I would be left to calm down my frazzled nerves, and just be grateful that the subject had finally been dropped.  In those years I apologized for a lot of stuff, just to end arguments.

One day another angry outburst happened, but it wasn't against me.  It was just his frustration about a problem that didn't relate to me.  There was no need to apologize, so I just kept my mouth shut and kept washing the dishes.  I prayed and asked God to show me how I could help him.  He finished his tirade and walked off into the bedroom, and I prayed for him.  A few minutes later, he was back out at the kitchen sink, demanding to know why I just stood there and let him speak like this.  "Why don't you ever argue back?  Sometimes I need you to show me how wrong I am, but you don't do anything!"

Talk about a smack upside the head!  Was that my answer to prayer?  Is God telling me that I have to start arguing back?  It was a funny moment of realization for me that retreating into silence and fear hurts us both.  Not standing up for myself was harmful to me and to our marriage, and my apologies were defense mechanisms, not sincere apologies.  Clearly I didn't want to be like other women I knew who blasted their husbands with curses and accusations.  I didn't want to tear him down or destroy my marriage, but I had to learn a balance. I had to start speaking up.

So slowly I began to learn the art of healthy, rational debate. In the beginning stages I went overboard and blurted out things I regretted later, but I had to learn to face aggression and not be afraid of it.  I had to learn to interpret what felt like hatred and realize it was just his manner of expressing his own frustrations - it wasn't hatred towards me at all.  I had to believe in my convictions, ready to concede that I might be wrong, yet not be fearful of speaking up in my own defense.  We went through a phase of about ten to fifteen years of periodic arguments, heated discussions and flare-ups. And though I was still usually the first to apologize, I made sure to first make my point as clearly as I could without caving in to fear.  

As years went by, I learned to think and act more like him, and curiously, he was learning to think and feel more like me.  Disagreements that used to erupt every two months, started to space themselves out over a few times a year, until now, hardly  ever.  Just as soon as they threaten to appear, they are snuffed out and we move on.  We can now laugh and talk about these different phases of our marriage in our Marriage Course and Dave enjoys telling our classes how he likes beating me to be the first to apologize!  Somehow, miraculously, I have rubbed off on him as much as he has on me.

I am glad he has an aggressive side.  I'm glad he's a go-getter, a defender of our family, the kind of guy that isn't scared to pick up a baseball bat and clobber a thief if one ever broke into our house (thankfully that has never happened!)  I'm glad that he can relate to our boys and push them to do more and be more in ways that I can't.  I'm so glad I'm not married to another version of me!

I am also very grateful to have developed a thicker skin because of Dave.  The world is full of scary stuff.  Not just people, but problems can confront us and appear very intimidating.  Learning to face confrontation in marriage has helped me stand firm in many other circumstances, to keep my cool and define what it is I believe in and be confident about my convictions.  I've also learned that angry people are not always out to attack, but are just voicing dissatisfaction that is often a reflection of how unhappy they are with themselves, and not with me.  A lot of grumpy, unhappy people come through our church doors, seeking counsel, but are furious with God, with Christians and with the world.  Years ago I would have run from them the moment they opened their mouths.  Now I enjoy the challenge of turning around their frustration into understanding, and proving them wrong with intelligent arguments. Many of those angry people now come to church joyfully to give thanks to God for changing their lives.  They give me hugs and smiles instead of anger.  How would I have helped them if I hadn't let my marriage change me?

Inspiration can come from just about anywhere

I remember watching this guy on PBS in the 80's with his weirdly calm voice talking about happy little clouds and happy little trees that all looked the same no matter what picture he was painting, and wondering what planet he came from.  Fun to see him again on this inspirational remix.  Wonder what ever happened to him?

It's Battle of Trenton Time Again

So what else do I love better than a spirit rousing, underdog victory to vanquish evil oppression and establish freedom to worship God in peace?  Honestly, not much else!  It's time for the Battle of Trenton Day, the day that makes a whole lot more sense than Christmas, which is definitely NOT the date of Jesus' birth. If you want to learn the details, Michael Medved has a very cool and comprehensive explanation about the whole holiday (for a price) on his website right here.

England during the time that the first American colonists settled in our country, celebrated Christmas as a drinking day, an excuse for excess and immorality. It was something Christians did not do.  So when the first settlers established the American colonies, no one even considered celebrating Christmas.  That was a British thing, not an American one, and especially not a Christian one.  Of course, times have changed...

But one fateful night of December 25th does make me love that date.  It was a major turning point in the Revolutionary War against the British. General Washington and his young, ill-equipped, rag-tag army of farmers and merchants who joined the fight to be free of British rule, were about to die in the freezing winter in Pennsylvania.  Over 90% of the volunteers Washington once had, had deserted after a number of bitter defeats earlier that year.  It looked like all hope was gone that America would ever be an independent nation.

Liberty or Death was a note Washington had scribbled to himself, which was later found by one of his officers after launching, what to all accounts, was a suicide mission.  It was to take his tired, sick and starving army across the freezing Delaware River in the dark into New Jersey, hike nine miles through the snow to attack the outpost in Trenton where the British and Hessian troops were garrisoned.  Many of his soldiers had no boots, only cloths wrapped around their feet, trailing blood in the snow as they marched.  Water had seeped into their gunpowder, the freezing weather jammed their rifles.  They'd have to fight with bayonets or hand to hand combat.  This was a do-or-die mission.

Historians say that the Battle of Trenton was one of the most pivotal of the entire Revolution.  Their enemies slept in comfortable tents and barracks with plenty of food, an arsenal of weapons, the finest uniforms, boots, coats and well-fed horses.  Their enemies had also been celebrating Christmas all that day, drinking, feasting, relaxing, and certain that such a scrawny army like Washington's were too pitiful to even consider a threat.

Washington's troops marched right in, barefoot, freezing and audaciously bold, and overwhelmed their complacent enemies in a surprise attack.  In a short period of time, with few deaths and hundreds of prisoners, Washington's men finally had an amazing victory to celebrate.  Days afterwards, news spread over the colonies and men from everywhere began to volunteer to join the revolutionaries.  Morale shot through the roof - they would be on the winning side, and victory after victory followed. Other tough battles had to be fought, but none as desperately as Trenton's, and the rest is history.

December 25th is a day of inspiration for me - a day that I plan to fight in prayer for so many people I know who are living under oppression, to be in our church all day, to counsel, help and reach out to anyone who is willing to be helped. Our world is so full of evil and innocence is being snuffed out - not only in the big news stories like the tragedy in Connecticut, but in ordinary every day occurrences.

And for those who want to celebrate the birth of Jesus on this day, wasn't that a day when His battle against evil really began?  He was born into poverty, humiliation, rejection and already on the hit-list of King Herod.  He was born for the cross, to win a massive victory against Satan.  I'd rather honor Him by fighting as well.

A disclaimer to my dear friends in Great Britain: Hey, you win some, you lose some:) Love y'all!

Are you smarter than a toddler?

We all used to have this type of reasoning when we were their age - I remember my kids thinking this way as toddlers too.  It's cute and makes us smile, but how many adults get their perspectives twisted when it comes to faith and what is more important in life?  Sometimes we think what God asks us to sacrifice is so huge and impossible to give - while we allow negativity to rob us of so much more than He asks.  The best thing about kids is that they're teachable.  Their faulty perception its just a result of their young minds that need to develop.  What excuse do we have?

Porn stars - the new standard of quality?

I just came across what must be the most biased manipulative article based on recent "research" that I have ever seen.  The research was done by what is known as a scholarly journal of over 100 women involved in the pornography industry, who are compared to the same amount of women who are not.  It based its claims on what the women had to say about their feelings and opinions about various aspects of their lives.  The conclusion of this journal was that these "actresses" have a better quality of life than the ordinary woman not involved in pornography.

One question was to rate their level of self-esteem.  Porn stars seem to love themselves and think very highly of themselves in comparison to the rank and file of other women.  They claimed to have happier lives because they earn well, they get more sleep (less work to earn a paycheck, I suppose) and have frequent sexual encounters.  Duh.

The journal came up with this study to debunk what they consider to be a myth that women in this industry are damaged individuals and victims of childhood abuse.  Their goal is to tout a new, revolutionary concept that this kind of career is actually healthier and better for you.  Porn stars damaged?  Why, no!  They are the new standard of quality!  And because these women say they're happy, therefore they are happy - why would a porn star lie?

After 26 years of counseling and caring for families, couples and women, in particular, from all over the world, I can categorically say that this supposed research is baloney.  Not only that, but it was done purposefully to encourage more degradation to women, to marriage and indirectly to everyone.

Why would they say then, that they are so much happier and content with their lives?  Women who have been deeply wounded and deprived of a loving home as they grew up can easily fall into this trap of seeking out affection through promiscuity.  If they are surrounded by enough people to praise and glorify what they do, they can easily fool themselves into believing that this is what they really wanted all along, that this is their way of self expression.  They desperately want to be happy and valued, so if it's offered them through money and the adoration of others, no matter what the motive, they'll take it.

A woman in our Rahab group in England was once a prostitute for very high-end clients in London.  She told me about the money, the jewelry, the clothes, cars, expensive gifts, hotels and restaurants that she would frequent, and how she and the others in her brothel boasted about their great lives, compared to those pitiful ignorant wives of the clients that they entertained.

"But you know," she confessed, "None of us were really happy.  Everyone felt lonely and disgusted with themselves, and that's why so many turned to drugs and drinking to deal with the emptiness.  No one was a true friend.  We hated ourselves, so how could we care about anybody else?  All that big talk about how happy we were and how much freer and luckier we were was just talk to hide our real feelings.  I'd see some of them break down and fall into suicidal depression, but others just kept up the act and got tougher and meaner.  When I finally left that life, no one cared and in fact they were glad to have me out of the way..."

This is the reality that I have seen with the women I've known caught up in this kind of life, from strippers to prostitutes to even "actresses" of this nature.  And what do actresses do best?  They pretend to be what they're not.  Good actresses in theater and film can leave their character behind when they go home, but the poor women involved in this industry often cling to a fantasy life, pretending to be happy to mask their emptiness. They've found a way to make a comfortable living off of being damaged.

One young man I counseled was convinced that the girls he saw on those illicit videos really liked what they were doing.  No, I told him.  You are participating in abuse, in degradation, each time you watch this.  Don't believe their smiles or their boldness - it's an act to cover their shame.  If you pretend you're not ashamed, does that make the shame go away?  These girls hope it's true, and keep trying to drown it out.

God created us to enjoy - not just confine ourselves to, but enjoy - purity, respect, and love for His ways.  The fact that there are so many unhappy women who are not in the porn industry doesn't mean that they are living the way that God intended, otherwise they would be much happier.  Women, men, anyone who lives in the power and presence of God finds far more happiness, success and fulfillment than those who don't.  The world, even with all of its problems and evil, becomes a brighter, more joyful place because you are always in His light.  Romantic relationships are intensely more pleasurable because they are based on honor, sacrifice, faithfulness and commitment, and they grow and develop as years go by.  Children grow in strength and wisdom because they witness a stable, loving home where both mom and dad are present every day of their lives.

So we have a strange phenomenon.  Women who have brainwashed themselves into believing they enjoy being paid to be abused and objectified, while others who choose a conventional life dislike themselves and feel unfulfilled.  What this says to me is that the entire world has drifted so far from God's original plan, that it's time for a radical overhaul.

Radical pilgrims and the 40 Day Project

But isn’t Thanksgiving all about turkey, football and family?

Not for those who started it all.  For the first settlers on American soil, their Thanksgiving feast was the result of hard won battles against the powers of their time, against two months at sea, raging storms and the ravages of nature, against disease and cold and against their own fears and doubts.  It was a victory that came at a price of great personal sacrifice.  Their feast of celebration could only happen after a year of steadfast, stubborn faith in God’s leading.

Edward Winslow, one of the 53 pilgrims who had reached the new land on the Mayflower and survived that first horrible winter wrought with death and disease, wrote a letter to the Christian believers back in England about their first meal of thankfulness to God that they shared with the Indians that November.  These are his exact words in the old English of 1621:

"our harvest being gotten in, our governour sent foure men on fowling, that so we might after a speciall manner rejoyce together, after we had gathered the fruits of our labours ; they foure in one day killed as much fowle, as with a little helpe beside, served the Company almost a weeke, at which time amongst other Recreations, we exercised our Armes, many of the Indians coming amongst us, and amongst the rest their greatest king Massasoyt, with some ninetie men, whom for three dayes we entertained and feasted, and they went out and killed five Deere, which they brought to the Plantation and bestowed on our Governour, and upon the Captaine and others.  And although it be not always so plentifull, as it was at this time with us, yet by the goodness of God, we are so farre from want,  that we often wish you partakers of our plentie."

There was nothing luxurious about that Thanksgiving, nor was it a day of indulgence or selfishness.  But one thing they shared was a sense of awe, humility and true thankfulness that the God of the Bible that they believed in had not only spared their lives, but had given them an abundance of blessing through their crops and their friendships with the native Indians.  They had fought hard against all odds, believing in a God who kept His word to those who acted by faith - and they saw the results of that faith before their eyes.  From that moment on, the group grew in strength and numbers and has evolved into this beautiful land we live in today.  Four centuries later, the blessing of God on these simple people of faith continues to spill over onto us.

Now that's a Thanksgiving we all could use!  

God is looking for more steadfast, stubborn and radical people to believe that He can take them to a new and better life.  As our lives change, we change those around us and those who come after us.    

In the true spirit of Thanksgiving, we celebrate the beginning of The 40 Day Project to fight for our own freedom and that of our children.  Not through politics but with faith.  Not against people, but against the problems that tie us down to a life we no longer want. 

Thanksgiving Day, November 25, fittingly launches the first day of our challenge.  40 Days of making incremental changes in our habits, our thought processes, and our faith.  We will battle the ravages of all the negativity that bombards us every day, and with a true and stubborn faith in God, we will bring in the New Year as renewed and strengthened people.   We will gather together in SiLC for a dedication service to begin the journey that will only end on New Years Eve – exactly 40 days long.

Who's ready to be a pilgrim?

The story ends with a meal and a moral or two

(Continued from last post...)

Just to explain: the exact time frame and specifics of what happened are, of course, filtered through emotions and the fuzzy memories of 35 years ago, but this is my account to the best of my memory.  There are plenty of other details that I bet could add much more perspective and flair and comedy to this story if all of us girls could get together and remind each other of what happened and how each experienced the same events through their own eyes.  I'm so pleased to know that my old (not so old) pal Barbara who was with me on the trip has been reading these posts and enjoying them, so Barb, or Beth or Rachel or any others of you who might be reading this, if you have any new insight to add, please do so!! Also one correction, this happened in May of 1978, not 77 for those of you who might care...:)

So now the morning of our last day dawns and we are ready to head home.  But not quite yet... The local police chief wants to meet and greet us in his office in town.  We are to be escorted off the temple grounds and taken to see him, and we have no idea why.  We cook our very last breakfast over the campfire of blueberry pancakes from an American mix that someone was able to buy at the US Army post exchange back in Seoul - a real treat!

By this time we had all become good friends, not just friends because we went to the same school, or friends because we'd known each other for so long.  We had a bond that came from sharing something unique and difficult that forced us to pull together and work as a team.  Among us were really popular girls, jocks, cheerleaders, brainy girls and just regular ones that didn't seem to fit in anywhere, but now we all belonged to an elite group.  We were the girls that had just gone through the most absurdly weird, trying, hilariously funny and yet sweetly insightful camping trip ever, and came out friends.

So as we left the beautiful mountainside that we had called home for a week, and walked into the police station to meet the most honorable police chief, we were laughing and as relaxed as ever.  Much like our afternoon with the head monk of the monastery, we were smashed into his office and sat on sofas lining the wall.  Glasses of coke were brought out for us and we sat around waiting to see why he had asked us to come.  I had thought he wanted to question us more about the robbery, but instead we discovered that we were to be a part of some PR stunt.  Newspaper photographers were there and we were lined up to snap pictures with the smiling police chief and his officers and we guessed we'd show up in the papers the next day.  They took a few different angles of Coach Gustafson shaking hands with the police and all of us grinning to the camera, and who knows what they reported about us later? I've wondered if I ever came across that police station if I'd find my 16 year old smiling face hanging on a wall somewhere... who knows?

Time to go yet?  Nope.  We were now to be the honored guests of the honorable police chief at a local Korean barbecue restaurant that served the country's famous beef pulkogi, grilled at the table over hot coals and eaten with white rice and spicy kimchi and plenty of other spiced and flavored vegetables.  To feed a huge bunch like us must have cost the police department an arm and a leg, but they insisted, and we didn't complain!  To be honest, the beef was a bit tough, and we had all eaten better, but compared to food out of a can for five days, this was great!  The police officers who were chosen to join us were happy to indulge their appetites, and we munched away until we couldn't eat any more.

With many thank you's and much bowing and handshaking, the very dirty and tired bunch of us boarded our train to head back north to the capitol city of Seoul.  One distinct memory I have is going to the back of the train with Barb.  There was no caboose, just the very last train car that opened up to the tracks that were rapidly flying by.  Obviously this would never be allowed on an American train these days with all our stringent safety regulations, but that was rough and tumble Korea, still recuperating from a war just 25 years before, and under the oppression of a dictatorship.  People were poor, humble, trusting, and abundantly friendly - and safety was not much of an issue, just like indoor plumbing and sanitation was low on the country's priorities.  We took turns sitting at the back opening and letting our legs dangle over the speeding train tracks, leaning against the rail and watching the countryside whiz by at 80 miles an hour.

What had God shown me in this extraordinary trip?

• That no matter how ashamed you are of your failures, just persevering and pushing through is an act of faith that God can use to turn failure into a blessing.  By the end of the camping trip, I even got praises for my little orange tent as others began to complain about theirs.  Who woulda thunk it?
• That I had become comfortable with living among those who didn't know my Lord and Savior - too comfortable.  I needed to see these people who had become ordinary and mundane, through the eyes of someone else (Coach Gustafson) who felt sorrow for the spiritually lost so that I could question how real my faith was, and how much I cared about the lost myself.  
• That God's creation reveals who He is - that His hills and mountains and the beauty of His starry skies overhead are all a way for Him to call out to us to tell us how deeply He loves us and wants to be an intimate part of our lives.  The day that we finally climbed all the way to the top of our Narnia mountain was an experience so deep that I felt the presence of God speaking to me through His creation.  As the Swiss love to yodel, the Koreans loved shouting, "Yah-ho!" to mountain climbers.  (Not yahoo, yah-ho!)  And as they shouted, smiled and waved, and as we shouted back, it was as if we were all proclaiming, "Isn't God amazing?  Look at His beautiful handiwork!"
• That in times of danger and fear, God comes through even when we are weak - God also may choose the most unlikeliest of people to answer us when we are in need (e.g.. num-chuck monks!)
• That if anyone tries to tell me about the superiority of eastern religions, Buddhism in particular, I know by experience, that those who were deeply committed to that path were also quite ready to leave that path to enjoy laughter, singing and American top 20 music.  That their leader had no real answers when asked about what he believed or why anyone should want to follow their path.  He seemed a bit unsure himself.  What we had - though we were not necessarily the greatest testimonies of our own faith - was still something sweet and attractive to them, something that they wanted to be a part of.  (It had to be spiritual in nature because God knows we sure didn't smell very sweet or look all that attractive after days without bathing!)
• That boldness, strength, assurance and faith are built through pushing through tough times, not by just praying for these qualities to appear.  That God honors those who try, who stick with it, and who seek to find Him at work in every situation.

So late at night, we disembark at Seoul Train Station and go our separate ways, to see each other again in school on Monday.  I have the furthest to go, gotta take a taxi to another bus station and then another hour and a half ride north to my house in Tong-du-cheon. I finally stumble into the doorway with my ragged clothes and backpack.  My mom smiles and says, "Oh, you're home!  Did you have a nice time?" and then proceeds to walk out of the room to attend to some other business.  I follow her and try to tell her everything that happened but she's in that zone of nodding her head and saying, "Uh huh, that's nice..." and I  know she isn't hearing a thing.

"Mom!"  I followed her into another room,  "Weren't you even worried about me?"

"No, I know you can take good care of yourself, and I was praying for you anyway.  Tell me all about it later, I've got things to do..."  And off she went again.

Oh well, God knew exactly what had happened, and He knew that this would somehow form who I would become today.  That was the final lesson of that trip - that if nobody else knows or cares what God is doing inside of you, He knows and He'll use it to impact your world if you let Him.

Finally, I've told the whole story - now to get my mom to hear it 35 years later!