Annie Oliver

Within a few days three separate situations tied poignantly together for me.

I'm not sure how I'm going to braid these threads together but because I don't want an entire month without blogging to be in my records, I need to figure something out before midnight.

(1) In my personal Bible reading, I was struck by something in Genesis 29 that I've read dozens of times.

Now Laban had two daughters; the name of the older was Leah, and the name of the younger was Rachel. Leah had weak eyes, but Rachel had a lovely figure and was beautiful. Jacob was in love with Rachel and said, "I’ll work for you seven years in return for your younger daughter Rachel."

Laban said, "It’s better that I give her to you than to some other man. Stay here with me." So Jacob served seven years to get Rachel, but they seemed like only a few days to him because of his love for her.

Then Jacob said to Laban, "Give me my wife. My time is completed, and I want to make love to her."

So Laban brought together all the people of the place and gave a feast. But when evening came, he took his daughter Leah and brought her to Jacob, and Jacob made love to her. And Laban gave his servant Zilpah to his daughter as her attendant.

When morning came, there was Leah! So Jacob said to Laban, "What is this you have done to me? I served you for Rachel, didn’t I? Why have you deceived me?"

Laban replied, "It is not our custom here to give the younger daughter in marriage before the older one. Finish this daughter’s bridal week; then we will give you the younger one also, in return for another seven years of work."

And Jacob did so. He finished the week with Leah, and then Laban gave him his daughter Rachel to be his wife. Laban gave his servant Bilhah to his daughter Rachel as her attendant. Jacob made love to Rachel also, and his love for Rachel was greater than his love for Leah. And he worked for Laban another seven years.

When the LORD saw that Leah was not loved, he enabled her to conceive, but Rachel remained childless. Leah became pregnant and gave birth to a son.* (vv. 16-32a)
*I will deal with the interesting remainder of the passage later.

I want to be careful not to read too much back into this passage from a very different time in Church history or under a very different covenant. However, it seemed significant to me that the LORD saw that Leah was not loved. I haven't really worked this through yet but I'm inferring from the text that being unloved by your husband is something that God takes notice of and that is not neutral (or at the least is not positive).

Yesterday I was in my counsellor's office for an hour; I talked and fidgeted; she talked and wrote. I don't think I ever said it baldly but I was trying to express my long-held, deep-seated belief that the value of the presence parental love is neutral. Perhaps I mean "parental relationship" but the two are completely intertwined. We didn't stay on the topic long because I wouldn't know what to do if the cage of untamed tigers was ever opened more than a crack: I was not prepared/shielded/safe. Even now I can't type much. But it was new and important for me to articulate aloud such a dominant, controlling belief.

"If you have parents, that's great. If you don't, that's fine," I explained somewhat lightly, shrugging my shoulders. I have an idea of how this would sound to a healthy person's ears...but I needed to say it anyways. I prefer this claim because if the opposite is true, I will be slashed and mauled to a pulp.

I think it matters that God is love and God knows He is love and God could impart His affection to Leah on earth somehow. Maybe that's less true before the cross, but I think my point stands. It matters that God Himself says human relationships matter. A husband should love his wife. Now....I would argue that a husband should have only one wife, and should especially not marry two sisters, and should especially not be tricked into marrying one of them...

But....

...perhaps it matters what I have missed out on. Perhaps my longings, my voids are not asking too much.

(2) In the toddler room of our church building I was caring for/hanging out with the young children of a friend. It has been more than a year (two?) that I have been inching closer to these fawns with berries in my outstretched hand. I think they're so swell and so is their mother and I want very much to be friends with those kids. I want them to be comfortable around me.

I try this and that and often get blank stares or I'm completely ignored. On this particular morning, when I picked up the younger child who didn't particularly want to leave his mother, he wailed and wailed and wailed and wailed and wailed ...but then stopped abruptly once we reached the play room, which he obviously recognised. In my other two caring/hanging out experiences with these two, it took MUCH more for him to calm down.

Months ago I told the mum that one of the coolest Italian names I had recently discovered was Bartolomeo. She quipped that it was their second choice for naming their son. So I've called him "Bart" on and off. I'll do it in this post.

He only has a few words so there was a lot of charades and a lot of guessing. He was generally quite happy throughout our time together and so was his older sister.

Perhaps twenty minutes into our time together Bartolomeo walks up and plops himself directly into my lap and continues investigating the new toy in his hands. (I was cross-legged in the middle of the room while chatting/interacting with Older Sister.) He greatly surprised me and even his sister did a little eyebrow raise at the bold move. But.... it brought me such delight. It meant something that he had decided I was now trustworthy and pleasant enough that he would choose to sit with me. I even got to show him how to operate the toy he was holding, and see his eyes and smile light up with the thrill of discovery.

I know I've written on it before but again I want to say I adore this phenomenon, this freedom to enter someone else's personal space. True freedom. Liberty. It's as if you somehow belong to one another.

Now, I of course don't mean that Bartolomeo and I share a deep bond; we don't. I only mean that he reminded me of the phenomenon and helped me re-appreciate how honest and simple the gesture was.

In that same counsellor's room yesterday I remember asking (with growing exasperation), "Does it matter? Do I need parents? Why should [tragic incident x in my father's life] bother me? He doesn't belong to me."

I meant it. I can't grasp all of this. It's all very sticky in my mind. Sticky and gross and difficult.

(3) In a surprising chance encounter at my work place, a couple commented on what a great deal my mother and her husband had gotten selling their condo at this time. They said things about real estate markets that I don't understand, but I get that there are better and worse times to sell and apparently this was a better time to sell. I nodded and smiled as naturally as I could, trying to be friendly though the conversation was making me uncomfortable.

I mustn't have looked convinced or enthusiastic enough because one of them said, as if nudging me with an elbow, "That's your inheritance, you know," and I felt like all the air had been vacuumed out of my lungs. My reply was only a forced smile.

That's not my inheritance. We aren't family, not by blood nor by relationship. So, I don't know what to say. I don't know what this situation is like.