Sex-crazed men? Frigid women? (Let’s talk sex: Part 1)

TRIGGER WARNING: Content in this blog at moments addresses sexual violence in context of marriage. While I try not to be overly graphic, softening the truth gets us no where. Therefore, if you find such content triggering or traumatizing, I urge you to not read this blog.

***

What is with the notion that men are sex maniacs with no self-control, and for women sex is some obligatory duty to which she must subject herself to for his sake? Nonsense. Women are intensely sexual creatures, who enjoy intimacy.* And men are not sex-crazed morons.

I’m not here to make bold statements about percentages of which gender has the higher libido — especially since that isn’t the point of my blog. I’ve not done a broad study on the matter. What I have observed over the  years of working with victims of sexual abuse, and therefore having the topic of sex (not related to abuse) also come up frequently, is that when it comes to sex and sexuality, we’ve got it wrong. Long before I started working with sex abuse victims, after people knew my story, they would talk about sex with me and ask questions that I don’t think are normal conversation in conservative Christianity.

Are sex toys okay? Is oral sex sin? What about anal sex in marriage? Is it wrong for married couples to masturbate? (For that matter, is it wrong for singles?) When is desire healthy, and and when is it lust? How often is it okay for Christian couples to have sex? (One single woman, God bless her, went so far as to inform me that it is wrong for a married couple to have sex every day. Okay… ! Most of us couldn’t keep up with that pace if we wanted to anyway, so there’s that. But if both have the energy and want to? Have fun!)

Some of those questions were launched my direction before I was even married. (Albeit by friends who knew I had lived common law and had since embraced Christian values and were curious what I thought). They have been asked over the years by single friends, married friends, those who were young, and even little old grandmas. Sex is a matter of interest to most people, but with few places to discuss it without being judged for asking. The questions are legitimate. We have this notion that everyone will automatically know everything about sex — and embrace our opinions and values — without ever talking about it beyond a superficial purity culture teaching. “Don’t do it until you’re married. And then, wives, it’s your duty; do it.” Some were fortunate to get a bit more teaching than that. But for most of us, that’s kind of the sum total, besides the learning we glean from a heavy focus on modesty and not tempting men.

A big chunk of the takeaway from those teachings is this idea that men are so sexually driven that they have no self control. Among emasculated men that is probably a fairly accurate statement. And among sexually abused men. Which is tragic. But outside of those two factors, it’s nonsense. I have the … dare I say ‘advantage’ – because the promiscuity of my teen years has never felt like an advantage – of speaking from two vastly different places. One as a wounded teen with no boundaries searching for a place to belong and willing to pay whatever the selling price to get that belonging. And then as a Jesus follower, and now the wife of a godly man who treats me with highest honour.

In both ‘worlds’ the men in my life – those with whom I had relationships – did not demand sex from me constantly, nor did they rape, force or treat me in sexually abusive ways. And if you’re thinking to yourself, “All sex outside of marriage is abusive”, the fact remains, I was never treated in sexually abusive ways by men with whom I had relationships, which is more than many Christian women can say who ‘saved themselves for marriage. Sadly. That said, yes, I was raped. But that is not a relational act, nor was it ever committed against me by anyone with whom I had an established relationship.

My frame of reference, therefore, is from personal experience and countless conversations. If I said a dozen women had complained to me over the years of their husbands wanting sexual intimacy too often, I think I would be exaggerating. I can think of only a few. If I gave a number for those who, through tears, shared of sexual neglect while their husbands bury themselves in work, games, movies, technology, the number of women who have spoken out would be exponentially higher.

However, what I have heard, more than complaints of wanting sex too often, are complaints of abusive sex. Being raped in the night while asleep is especially common. Being forced to cooperate with sex, and being anally raped or otherwise ‘punished’ for noncompliance, ranks up there. Being told they are too ugly and no one else would want them happens too often. Demanding cooperation with the use of objects… And so on. These are abusive sexual behaviours that many women have shared, internationally, having suffered at the hands of their husbands[i].

These actions are not those of sexually driven men. They are the actions of emasculated men. They are also not the actions of men emasculated by women. They are the actions of men emasculated by systems and religions. (That’s another blog, but suffice it to say that men who are ’emasculated by women’ — unless it is at the hands of their mothers — are first emasculated by some other influence). Empowered men — those not emasculated — are not going to be emasculated by women. They lead like gentlemen, honour women and are a delight to partner with. They invite their wives into sweet sexual intimacy, and are safe to be invited by their wives. They are not insecure. They do not abuse, manipulate, degrade and humiliate. They bless and empower women to be all God created them to be, and that includes in their sexuality.

The words of a buggy-Mennonite friend of ours, many years ago, have stayed forever in my mind. Speaking of the scars his wife carried, and her struggle to enter into sexual intimacy, he shared that his deepest desire in intimacy was for her to experience arousal and climax, which was what she struggled with. She was willing to ‘be available’, but not able to ‘enter in’, in part due to past experience and in part due to the teaching of sex as bad, and lack of teaching regarding healthy sexuality. This devastated her husband, and he shared how guilty he felt even attempting intimacy for fear of using her.

That is the single most touching story of intimacy I’ve heard from a personal friend. There are others, stories of men who tenderly cared for their wives who had been abused. Stories of women empowering their husbands, speaking life and wonder over their sexuality when they came from broken histories. Stories of marriages restoring in each partner what life tried to rob and destroy.

But one thing men are not is sex-crazed morons who can’t control themselves. Nor are they sexually-driven saints whose wives’ duty is to meet those needs. Men are sexual creatures. That they are. But so are women*. And many women are neglected sexually because of the horrible things we’ve taught — formally and informally — in religious context, and beyond. This has robbed marriages. Men who believe that women have no interest in healthy sexual relationship, and who view sexual intimacy as a duty for their spouse, are in that very act emasculated. And they are robbed of the true wonder of relational and sexual intimacy. It is not fair to either party to be led to believe such things. For one, a woman who views it as a duty and a curse will find it much more difficult to enter in in a healthy way.

I propose that if we would do away with these nonsensical teachings and  replace religious ‘systems’ with empowering men to lead the Jesus way — like our buggy Mennonite friend — we’d see a powerful shift in sexual struggles among men. Empowered men walk gently beside their partners. It’s a hand-holding love relationship. They invite. The step in to protect. (And protectors don’t play the victim the way religious culture has conditioned men).

This would spill into the way women are treated and viewed by too much of Christian culture, and they would become valued partners in marriages, in churches… in God’s kingdom. And, in turn, it would spill right back into how men are viewed.

Women who are led by such men also empowered. They are safe. They bless and empower their husbands. (The same is true more broadly, not only in marriage, even though my focus here is marriage). I have watched this in Christian relationships, and I have watched it in marriages of those who are not Christians. There is a synergy. A grace. A working together. There is fulfillment and relational intimacy. There is a sparkle in the eyes and a light that is unmistakable.

I live in such a relationship. In 25 years never have I been forced or coerced sexually. We’ve both made sacrifices in various ways over the years, and Tim has done so with tenderness. There have been health crises for both of us when intimacy was completely impossible. He had H1N1 and scared the life out of me, back in fall of 2009. I had the first heart attack 2006 and the one last week. I’ve haemorrhaged twice, had two miscarriages and five childbirths to recover from. These are times of no energy, and nothing to give. Times of survival. And never, not even once, has Tim pushed for intimacy before I was ready.

This is as it should be. Sure, we’ve had our bumps and scrapes in our marriage. Some pretty serious ones that felt (to me) like we’d never survive. But we did survive. And I attribute that most to Tim’s faith and rock solid commitment, come hell or high water, to never give up on us or on God. And never have I been sexually disrespected or violated by my husband.

And there’s the good news. In spite of the aforementioned complaints shared by some — which are legitimate and deserve acknowledgement, there are many marriages where both partners invest deeply, make sacrifices and honour each other. Marriages where men are compassionate and kind as their wives struggle through past trauma that makes intimacy difficult. I’ve had the honour of helping survivors of abuse work through the barriers it creates, preventing healthy sexual relations, while husbands patiently supported their wives. I believe, and certainly hope, that this is still the greater percentage, by far, of marriages. While spousal abuse is rampant and needs to be addressed, I honour those men who are neither the stereotyped sex-maniacs, nor those who neglect their wives’ needs.

Now if we can just do away with those warped teachings, learn to talk about sex in a healthy way, and scrap religious abuse, we just might disempower the stereotype. Rather than each of us who have good husbands believe we have one of the rare ones, we will begin to see that there are a great many good men. And maybe we’ll even do better at raising more of them.

 

As always…

Love,
~ T ~

© Trudy Metzger 2019

 

 

Notes:
[i] I do not discount here the relevance and prevalence of females being sexually abusive toward their husbands. I have not received many such complaints, possibly due to the fact that males rarely speak out as a result of the incredible accompanying shame, or possibly because I am female and it would be too frightening, but that does not mean it is as rare as it seems. I am aware it happens, and acknowledge that is very wrong.

* Not all women enjoy sex. Many would like to, but can’t for various reasons. Past sexual abuse is a common barrier, and a runner up, based on my conversations, is how the teachings on sexual purity are presented. (I’m working on another blog to address the topic of female sexuality in conservative Christian context. If you have thoughts you want to share anonymously — I will not use names, identities or location — I welcome emails at: trudy @ generationsunleashed .com)

Pow-wows, death curses and a happy dance

SATURDAY MARCH 16 UPDATE:
Last night was horrible. That’s just the truth. Chest pain/discomfort all night, and low BP, and the uncertainty of this condition I find myself in, looming over me. But symptoms constantly reminding me how fragile my life is.

Last night was incredible and beautiful. That’s just the truth. In my uncertainty, I was certain. Peace resting over the heaviness, and knowing I am okay; there is nothing to fear.

I prayed, again, a prayer I find escaping my lips these days when my heart is unstable. “God, You hold my life in your hands, and I trust You”… and I go on to tell Him that with all I have seen and know in this fallen world, the ‘forever peace’ of the other side is inviting. It draws me. I’m not gonna lie. But then I tell Him that for the love of my life – Tim, my children, grandchild, family, friends-who-are-family, and all my friends, not to mention supporting survivors of abuse, I would really like to live for quite a long while yet. And I prayed for a good friend and his family who have gone through a brutal health crisis in the past week, and has seen God do miraculous things.

Something like that is what I pray, over and over again, in the uncertainty that settled over me in January as symptoms progressed. Unbelievable fatigue, low-grade fevers, followed by crazy and unusual-to-me joint pain, irregular heartbeats (PVCs, for the medically inclined), and spikes in super high blood pressure. These eventually led to my heart racing the days leading to the dissection (SCAD) and mild heart attack. Those symptoms are not benign.

Now here we are, post ‘event’. This phase of adjusting meds while the dissection heals is especially volatile and uncertain, from a medical perspective. (The nurse’s parting words were, “I don’t want to scare you, but…” and then told of a woman who did well in hospital with SCAD and returned days later after a massive heart attack. Good to know. Being informed saves lives). And knowing my body with medications I expect some bumps. It does not like meds, and I do not adjust easily.

The whole experience is physically and emotionally exhausting, at moments, as I find myself contemplating the cost to family while I am not able to do much. (And, again, not gonna lie… I contemplate the cost of worst case scenario, and the thought of leaving is a bit overwhelming. Which is about the time I pray that prayer).

Yet, at no point have I been in fear. For this I am thankful. Growing up in violence and abuse, and always fearing for my life left me fearing death for many years. And then I had the first heart attack in 2006 on the eve of my 37th birthday. That day I learned that nothing but death can kill me, and there is absolutely nothing to be afraid of. By the time death comes, I’ll be on the other side and then I will be more alive than ever I have been before here. That terror never returned. For twelve years I’ve lived with knowing my heart is high risk, by all human and medical standards, yet it has not limited me but rather propelled me further. I anticipate this round will do the same.

***

In the past few years I’ve been cursed with death wishes, and received messages that certain conservative communities held pow-wows to silence me and curse my life. A stranger wrote that she heard groups were “sending curses to you and doing witchcraft“, to which I responded “Believe it or not, this actually kind of excites me. It means that we are penetrating something in the spiritual realm that is far bigger and deeper than we could possibly imagine.” I feel that thrill no less today as I recover than I did then.

(One friend mentioned that there would be those who would throw a celebration at the news of my death. Ah well… Put that party on hold and blow out the candles. I’m still here and doing a happy dance. I didn’t mean to get your hopes up).

When I first realized my heart was in trouble in the past few weeks, and went through numerous doctor visits, ER visits and testing, I thought of the curses spoken. I wasn’t worried that they hold power, but it did occur to me that they who spoke them might claim having such power. (And that includes those who spoke these things in relation to me exposing things that needed to be exposed).

So it is no secret that there are those who would celebrate my end, but this is of no concern to me. I walk in strength. The hand of God rests gently on me, always. He is near and holds my life in His hands, firmly, kindly, and graciously. No curse or darkness spoken has any authority or power in my life; I put no weight or stock in it. And this event won’t silence me. It will enlarge my territory. That’s what it will do. And allow me to touch the hearts of more wounded. Therefore, I praise God for it.

In the middle of the physical pain yesterday, I found Psalm 71… This is my response to both the curses spoken (death wishes), and the events of this past week (and those leading up to it).

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Maybe I’m not quite ‘old and grayheaded’, but I did become a grandma (or Nana) almost three weeks ago, and I have seen ‘great and severe troubles’, so it fits. In any case, I love David’s candid conversations with God. He doesn’t much sugar-coat the harshness of people wanting him dead, and asking God to protect him to the shame of those who wish him evil. David shows us how to be honest, to say it as it is, and still walk away with a dance and praise. I like it.

***

SUNDAY MARCH 17 UPDATE:
So far today I’m feeling better than I have since before the episode. I’m still incredibly fatigued. My right arm still aches from the procedure. And my heart is still skipping to its own rhythm. (How appropriate!)  The sudden ‘zapping’ and piercing pains (milliseconds long) are still sporadically there. But the feeling of my entire heart and surrounding chest area are spasming and tense is all but gone. And that is a gift.

Whatever that was, and whatever caused it, I am very glad to have it behind me. It was this squeezing (but not same as heart attack pressure) inside my chest, wearing me out. Deep breaths, sighs and yawns… nothing made it better. So I would rest — as in sit/lie back, because how do you take a break from doing nothing?

In the middle of that but not knowing these details, a friend from PA sent this message, “All I know is that the Strong Hand of God is on you. Soon after you told us that you were hospitalized a heavy, heavy something fell on me and I literally went down on the floor and I entered into a deep intercession like I haven’t experienced in a couple years. […] I had such a sense and a picture of the Strong Hand of the Lord holding you in a strong grip, you are covered from head to toe by His hand so that no weapon formed against you can prosper and even when His grip feels tight and weighty, remember that it’s protection, it’s safety, it’s wine pressing and it’s life giving.”

Now, a day later, feeling no ‘heavy grip of death’ around my heart, I am encouraged and amazed by the kindness of God. The words in Psalm 72, the message from a friend, the awareness of curses spoken (again, they hold no power), and God’s faithfulness in the middle of it all. And peace. How grateful I am, that in every moment – from the first awareness that ‘here we go again’, to the doctor’s “you are aware that during the procedure there is a risk of stroke, heart attack and even death?” – I felt the peace and presence of God. Nonetheless, I’m particularly happy to be alive today.

First thing I did this morning, upon waking, was prop myself up and tell Tim that I have no pain today. None. That felt good. Throughout the day there have been small episodes, but nothing too concerning or alarming. Some of this is expected post event/procedure. As with yesterday, as the day progresses so do symptoms, and I find I need to rest more. (Since I don’t get up until noon, that means I last about 4 hours before symptoms start again).

Friends set up a meal train locally, and friends from out of country blessed us with a meal from a local restaurant. I didn’t expect this kindness. It never occurred to me to receive such a thing, but when offered and I was so exhausted, I said yes for Monday to Friday for one week. (And they booked two!) We are so grateful!

Tomorrow I see my family doctor, and we discuss what next and where to from here. We really don’t know what to anticipate. And, if there was a link to the meds I was on, they have been discontinued and the Lupus-like-symptoms should disappear. With that, I anticipate the risks will also disappear.

If that was not the cause, then we wait it out and ride the waves and watch the sunset. Because life is too short to waste the beauty found in either one.

As always…

Love,
~ T ~

© Trudy Metzger 2019

hearts, 911 calls, and ambulance rides…

Just over seventy-seven hours ago I looked at our youngest and said, “I don’t feel well.” And then I called 911.

*****

March 7 I posted some updates on health testing I’ve been going through. In spite of all tests coming back indicating there are no problems — EKG, heart stress echo, blood work etc — I knew something was wrong…. a matter of time. At least I was quite sure of it…

Sunday morning I woke up feeling very tired. If that had not become my new normal, since changing my meds a few months ago, this would have concerned me. A nondescript feeling of un-wellness niggled, so I told Tim I was going to stay in bed… My chest and my arm and shoulder were achy. He had to slip out — though I don’t recall him saying good bye, though he did — so I slept until sometime around 1:30 to 2:00. The pain persisted, and I wondered if I had slept funny… and was that hunger pains? I ate a bit, but rather than improving, the pain got worse, and I felt worse. I tried to focus but found myself constantly distracted by the pain. And then came that moment of awareness that something was very wrong…

That’s when I told our youngest I wasn’t feeling well, and asked him to get my BP cuff. It was 183/130… up from a normal reading before falling asleep. I called Tim, told him I wasn’t ok, and then called 911. At their order, I chewed my Aspirins, and waited. The first responder arrived within minutes, attached the heart leads and took my BP again. 206/140… The ambulance arrived moments later, and so began this next phase of my medical journey.

In 2006 a massive heart attack left me with a dead spot, and my cardiologist told me I may not feel the next one, if it comes. If I do, it may not feel the same. I never really worried about it. On Sunday, when it happened, I was both sure and unsure at the same time. I’ve had ‘episodes’ numerous times over the past 4 years. Always questioning, never certain. (In hindsight we are quite certain I’ve had numerous SCADs). The only thing that made me somewhat sure this time that it progressed to heart attack was the pain in my left arm, which by that time started radiating into my jaw, and at moments my back. And then there was that restless feeling of knowing something wasn’t right.

In hospital I was admitted, after some debate, for high blood pressure rather than heart attack symptoms since the pain had cleared up quickly when they brought my BP down. Within hours the cocktail of meds began, with adjustments over the next few days, including anti-coagulants to prep for investigating. Last night they did an angiogram and discovered I had a mild heart attack, due to a dissection (SCAD) toward the lower portion of my posterior descending artery. There is no sign of coronary artery disease, the doc said, all arteries – including the one that collapsed twelve years ago, and the stent they put in — are in excellent condition.

It is complex, to say the least. There is no specific known cause, though a highly stressful event could trigger it. If I had been through stress, that would make sense. There are also markers — a particular unusual blood vessel in the kidney — which he checked for with angiogram, and I don’t have. At the end of they day, the doc said he doesn’t know for sure what caused it. It is possible I may have an underlying condition contributing to these events, or maybe the symptoms coinciding with changing meds mean there is a link there. In any case, this is something that may never happen again, or could happen again, any time, anywhere in my body.

Just to keep it interesting, I nearly passed out after the procedure, as my BP dropped and the pain in my arm set in. Swelling at the site indicates potential bleeding below the skin, versus bleeding out, so the nurse had to put pressure on it. “Would you like to lie back?” she asked. “No. It’s okay, I’m fi… … I’m not fine,” I said as my world started spinning. And then came the visual disturbance with squiggly vision and partial blindspots, leaving me with tunnel vision. You realize in a moment like that how vulnerable life is, and what a gift health is, and how incredibly fascinating our bodies are.

Medications will be adjusted to manage the premature ventricular contractions (PVCs) that I have – which are more pronounced on certain meds, but always ‘present’ — and keep my heart from working too hard, as well as keeping my BP low to reduce as much stress on my heart as possible. And I will continue to do what I started some years ago, and be constantly be mindful of what stresses I can handle, and what I cannot…. but be even more strict about it.

After recovery — which they don’t anticipate taking too long — I plan to continue with my PhD and ministry, and live life to the fullest. In the meantime, I am grateful for the people who are rising up and stepping in to help survivors of trauma locally, as well as many in PA and across USA.

I trust God with the many broken hearts of those devastated by abuse. He will come to you, and heal you. He cares for you. I care for you. Many of us care deeply. You are not alone.

And I trust Him with my life. I am at peace. I have no fear. The purpose He spoke over my life when I was not yet conceived in my mother’s womb rests over me today with the same authority as it did then. And that cannot be taken away or altered. His Word goes through eternity, unchanged by life’s curve balls.

Until that is fulfilled, ya’ll are stuck with me.

Jeremiah 1:5

***

Tonight I am back home, thankful to God for His kindness and grace in my life. I am most thankful for the excellent care offered by the paramedics, and St Mary’s hospital (Kitchener) cardiology team — nurses, doctors and support staff. And with special appreciation for staff who were there the first time — especially NP Vera — for the blend of compassion and humour. (I promise, we were only snuggling and trying to nap…. not even kissing.)

As always…
Love,
~ T ~

Ps. Familiarize yourself with heart attack symptoms so you can help yourself or those you love. Familiarize yourself with abuse symptoms for the same reason.

© Trudy Metzger 2019

Just for fun… Almost-Keto Avocado, Strawberry/Cranberry Smoothie

Never before, in all my life, have I shared a recipe on this blog, that I can recall. (And I think I would remember.) But my doc told me to go Keto… Guess I’m too chubby. Also, my cholesterols have crawled up over the years, while on meds after the heart attack – the worst of which I managed to get off and stay off from 2015 until two weeks ago.

Doc failed to mention that I have to measure and limit berries, so this is only keto-friendly, not true keto. Also, I added protein powder because I like it. It was so pretty, and so delicious, I decided to share it on FB, and now here.

Layer One:
1 whole avocado
1/3 cup unsweetened premium coconut milk (not water)
squeeze of lime… or many squeezes
1/2 cup ice
(I added 1 tbsp protein powder *after* blending to avoid bubbling)

Blend until smooth and pour in cup/dish

Layer Two:
3/4 cup frozen strawberries
1/3 cup frozen cranberries
3/4 cup of remaining coconut milk
3/4 cup water (if needed for desires consistency)
squeeze of lime… or many squeezes
1 tbsp apple cider vinegar (if you like it… mostly the taste gets lost)

Blend until smooth. Add 1-2 tbsp. Olive oil and/or any other oils you need/like, and blend again (very briefly)
(I added another 1.5 Tbsp. protein powder)

Pour over avocado layer, and squeeze more lime on top.

If desired, a third layer can be added/substituted, using frozen mango in place of strawberries and cranberries. I am allergic to mango, so not an option for me. I got the idea in Ethiopia in 2005, where they serve this amazing and beautiful layered shakes everywhere.

Delicious!! And such a lovely break from the heaviness of what I typically write about! Enjoy!

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Love,
~ T ~

© Trudy Metzger 2018

Another fine mess: FB account reported, and on becoming Dr. Gertruda… or is that Dr. Getruda? And La’wd… La’wd ha’mercy!

Sunday morning a friend contacted me pretty much first thing to ask I was okay. Yes, I was, great, why? He noticed my Facebook had disappeared…

When I signed in, Sunday morning – or more like, attempted to sign in – my account was not there. In it’s place were messages from Facebook ‘police’, asking me questions. I had been reported by one of my ‘friends’ for using a fake name on my account. Could I confirm I was using my real name?

La’wd… La’wd ha’mercy! With friends like that, you got the enemies all covered, right there too. No need for two lists.

It was, in fact, my own name I was using. I had Trudy, but with the title of Exec.Dir.,  as well as the name of an Admin person…..

And it all started when a brilliant idea struck me, recently….

I’ve contemplated how to manage the upcoming 4-year stretch, doing my PhD. I’m excited. I’m nervous. At moments it looks overwhelming. But mostly, I’m excited. The exciting part doesn’t need any explanations. The nervous part, that’s pretty simple too. It’s a challenge, an adventure in learning and experience. I like both. The overwhelming part, that’s so multifaceted I hardly know where to begin. There is home life. Social life. (That, I hear, is no more in the PhD process). There is family. There are friends. There are victims/survivors who are traumatized and reach out via FB. There are those who write to exhort and correct me, via FB. And I do not like to blow anyone off. No matter who you are, you are worthy of acknowledgment, whether you love me or hate me Since June I don’t think I’ve responded to less than 1000 Facebook messages and emails. Probably more. Before that, there were many, albeit not nearly that many in such a short time. And I welcome them and would wish to be able to respond personally and thoroughly to everyone, but at that rate, there is no way I can manage during university.

I had started creating a new forum for staying connected with friends, elsewhere, so that I would be able to deactivate my FB account. While deactivating was not my first preference, the idea of having messages build up for months at a time and never getting caught up overwhelms me. Those who have known me for years, know that in the past I responded to all messages within an hour or two (usually less) unless I was with a client, in a meeting, or away. In recent years that has not been possible. I don’t remember when I last had zero unread messages. So to have them collecting for weeks and months is not a good option. But to shut down an account where so many people message for resources – whether book suggestions, counsellor suggestions, or wondering if I know of any churches where victims are safe – I felt guilty

That’s when the brilliant idea struck me. I could add an administrator to my account. Rose Weber is a trusted friend whom we hired to be available for survivors contacting Generations Unleashed for support, locally, over the next four years.. She could respond to general questions, and forward specific ones to me. It was a perfect solution! Until it wasn’t.

And that moment came shortly after changing the information on my account. About two weeks prior to making the changes, I posted my brilliant idea on Facebook, to give friends a heads up about the upcoming change. No one seemed to have a problem with it. But within a few hours (or less) of changing the name, a friend contacted me, distressed that this ‘stranger’ would have access to all past messages. I responded, saying Rose would only be notified of new messages coming in, and take care of those. As we continued the exchange, I realized that I had not thought it through well enough. With text messages, when you add a new device, only new messages show unless taken from backup. With Messenger that would be different, and there would be no way to control that access. Upon realizing it, I apologized both publicly and privately, and set about letting my FB friends know I had made an error in judgement and not thought things through well enough.

The downside to this whole process was that Facebook wouldn’t let me change my name back for 60 days. I contemplated deactivating for that long, but decided to live with it, feeling a bit ‘Laurel and Hardy’ish, with “another fine mess” I got myself into by not thinking through the implications.

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Things went fine, after that, with friends sending messages, thanking me, and others talking about it publicly. Politely.

But it bothered me every time I saw the name. Only 57 days to go until I can change it… I was counting down.

And then Sunday morning, August 19, happened. My account wasn’t available. Some friend in the shadows was offended, or annoyed, or whatever…

In any case, I immediately set up a new account. It is Trudy Harder Metzger, just like the last one.  {Edit: my old account is back. FB approved my ‘name correction’. If we are not already connected, you are welcome to connect there: Trudy Metzger} However, please be warned in advance that I will not have much time to be messaging, as I start school in September, and Messenger has a way of becoming a time-consuming exchange (which I otherwise enjoy) as the back-and-forth happens, compared to email which is more like letter-writing. So please use info@generationsunleashed.com for the next four years for requests, to share your stories, or when looking for resource recommendations. I am committed to reading all personal messages, though I may have a volunteer assist with responding to resource requests etc.

After starting Generations Unleashed, I decided not to send friend requests anymore, with maybe a dozen or two exceptions in 6 years. The work I do, I figure if people want to read that heavy content, they can send me friend requests. That’s still true. I don’t need a large following, and I rarely send out friend requests. I am happy to interact in meaningful relationships – including those who respectfully challenge me, and even those who hate/despise me, as long as they are don’t resort to being abusive.

But, when it comes to those who are manipulative, underhanded and don’t have the cajones to say to my face what they say behind my back… Ima be honest… I really feel no need to connect with two-faced people. Just not at all. The same goes for those with an agenda to destroy others, or dehumanize them. I hate sexual abuse. I despise the wickedness. I advocate for victims/survivors and will always stand in their corner no matter who I am up against. I will not protect the crime or the criminal. I support criminals facing the consequences for their crimes – at the hands of the law, as well as the social protections that must be put in place. But I will seek redemption of the individual. Every. Single. Time.  Even the worst of offenders needs someone to care for his/her soul, to visit him/her in prison, to hold him/her accountable, to lead him/her to healing and to ensure he/she never again is given opportunity to offend like that again. It is unconscionable to think we should simply forgive and forget, and it is dangerous to presume they won’t reoffend if left floundering without that relational accountability and support. Part of redemption is creating that community where they are accountable and where redemption is valued – which does not always look like redemption to the religious who demand ‘forgetting’ as part of it. That is my heart. Still. If that is a conversation you cannot handle, or engage respectfully in spite of differences, I am probably the wrong person to connect with, and I certainly am the wrong person to align with in ministry.

That all said, if you want to stay connected via FB, and fall in any category except that two-faced, manipulative one, feel free to connect again. (And if you be petty enough to report a friend’s name change that offends you, without a conversation… Well, I’ll leave it at that.)

I value diverse relationships, but also expect I will post infrequently with university starting in a matter of two weeks, and don’t foresee having time for social media much.  I am told the process of doing a PhD is intense, and either makes you or breaks you, so I am preparing for something far more all-consuming than the Masters degree of the past two years. I’ve heard it’s a bit like hibernating. You go underground for weeks at a time, come up for sunshine, air, food and water, and then disappear again. Since my research focus is hopefully going to be about meeting with victims/survivors and others involved in crime among religious groups, I know it won’t be quite that bad, but nonetheless, it will be intense.

And the reward? I emerge on the other side with the title Dr. Gertruda Metzger. One might almost argue it is a punishment, a name like. But that’s my name. At least I thought it was, until I recently looked at my birth certificate only to discover otherwise. I was named in High German – Getruda, and then registered in Spanish, but using the High German spelling rather than the Spanish one of Gertruda, and then spent my whole life being called ‘Trutje’ in German, and ‘Trudy’ in English. I like both Trutje and Trudy. So Dr. Trudy Metzger would have been nice. All these years I have told people I was formally registered as Gertruda Harder, and now I find out ….

As it stands, I will love the next four years of study and search, only to become Dr. Getruda Metzger, but with Dr. Gertruda on the formal documents, because that is how I am registered in Canada.

As if hitting mid-life and starting menopause isn’t enough…

I think I’m going to buy a motorbike and do this midlife thing right. And maybe formally change my name.

On that happy note, I wish you all many blessings!

Love,
~ T ~

© Trudy Metzger 2018

 

 

Chantry, Hezekiah and Chloe

What more can I say, than what has already been said. Oh, except that even truth is slander if it can hurt someone. God forbid that we hurt someone in power, or that those of us in power are confronted. Instead, let us all gather round and throw rocks at those who tell the truth that wounds, or confronts.

Frankly, I’d rather be confronted and have opportunity to be transformed – or repent if it is a sin issue – than to bring further damage to the brokenhearted.

And it’s not just the ‘wolves’ that need to be challenged. Good leaders have blindspots too. We all need it. If we can’t be wrong, handle being confronted and admit it, then we’re in no shape to be leading others. Because that is one of the things that definitely needs to be exemplified in this crazy battle against abuse. I’ve had to apologize before, and I will have to again. But before I apologize for speaking out against abuse – whether spiritual, sexual or other abuse – I’ll take the inevitable beating.

So, like the author said, “Listen to Chloe. You just might learn something.” And listen to Sam too.

This is an excellent read!

My Only Comfort

When thoughts collide…

Last week I was preparing for my Sunday School teaching on Hezekiah and the siege of Jerusalem. As I was preparing, I was struck by this message from Isaiah to Hezekiah:

Because you have prayed to Me against Sennacherib king of Assyria, I have heard (2 Kings 19:20)

Hezekiah was in bad trouble. Sennacherib had conquered the whole world, and he was unstoppable. He had now surrounded Jerusalem and gave Hezekiah the terms of absolute surrender. There was no strength left in Hezekiah.

And Hezekiah took the letter demanding his surrender and laid it on the altar of God, crying out to the Creator of Heaven and Earth and telling God the problem. He spoke honestly and directly.

God delights when we call upon him. God takes pleasure in our prayers, when we speak to him honestly and directly. When we are in trouble, and when…

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