Do you need a reason to be thankful? How about be thankful for the simple things we all have in common – such as life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, according to Thomas Jefferson. That first item on the list is on my mind a lot right now as I consider the trials 2020 has brought to us all.
This year I discoveredSaveafox Rescue, an organization based in Minnesota that exists to rescue foxes and other animals from fur farms and other endangering situations. Thanks to these wonderful people, these creatures have a chance at happy lives with a greater measure of freedom than they would otherwise have known. Mikayla at Saveafox posts videos frequently, and these have become little joys in my week. Finnegan Fox, in particular, has become my favorite YouTube star!
Why am I sharing this? Because we all desperately need some good things to be thankful for right now. I don’t know much about the people at Saveafox. We probably disagree on many things, but from what I’ve seen we share this: love of life, and compassion for others (people and critters) who share this planet with us. With that in mind, here are some of the Saveafox videos that made me smile a lot, cry a bit, and keep things in perspective.
Is every single human being who has ever existed created in the image of God?
Assuming they are, then is every single human being who has ever existed precious in the esteem of our Creator?
Again assuming they are, is every person who has ever existed equally as precious and loved in the esteem of our Creator?
Yes again? Ah, then that must include people who define gender differently than humanity has commonly defined it – as in girls who think they are boys and boys who think they are girls even though their biological identity indicates otherwise.
And there we have a whole new level of complication. Because if such people are just as precious in the esteem of the Creator as the “nice” people whom society finds easy to accept, then we have to find some way to understand and deal with them. That, after all, is what our Creator would likely have us do.
Does that mean we must endorse without question gender definitions and sexual preferences other than what we find articulated in the Bible? Not necessarily, but it does mean that LGBTQ people are first and foremost people, and as people they are entitled to the same respect as all human beings made in the image of the Creator.
That is one important message from the memoir of MelanEE Lisa Davidson. She tells her story in a fast-moving volume she calls Loved. I. Am! One Woman’s Journey of Shattering Shame Through Experiencing PAPA’S Great Love!
Of course, MelanEE doesn’t leave us there; if she did, there would be no reason for her to tell her remarkable story. It’s only the starting point of a journey that so far has spanned almost six decades. It has been a very hard journey. As she explains up front, her childhood in California and Florida was anything but ideal. Tragedies and injustices all too common in dysfunctional families afflicted her at an age far too young and tender to deal with any tragedy. No child should ever have to suffer sexual assault, abuse, and neglect. Children are supposed to grow up in stable homes, with loving, affirmative parents who help them mature into responsible adults. When that does not happen, as MelanEE’s story demonstrates, the wounded children become wounded adults, manifesting their inner dysfunctions in a number of ways in their search for security, acceptance, identity, and above all, peace.
That is what made MelanEE a “Proud Dyke Athelete” in her college years, and a militant lesbian thereafter. One might think that such a bold, unapologetic attitude would render such a person beyond redemption. After all, MelanEE practiced what she preached, moving through several intimate relationships with like-minded women over the years. And yet, her testimony proves that she was not beyond redemption – that her Papa, as she fondly calls our Heavenly Father, loved her and still considered her a precious jewel, even with all her damage and dirt and baggage.
Which is why her life is not only a miracle, but a testimony that such transformation is possible for anyone.
Not without struggle, of course. Growth and change is hard, which is why we too often opt to hold on to unpleasant situations and relationships, deeming them to be less threatening and difficult than change. MelanEE’s memoir makes that abundantly clear. First of all, it took decades before she came to the realization that her lifestyle was not only contrary to the Creator’s design for humanity, but destructive to her personally. The irony in which this happened is one of the remarkable points of her book. But even then, it was another quarter century before she could consider herself truly delivered. She tells us some of the many victories, both small and large, along the way, and she tells us as well of the considerable setbacks – some of which came close to ending her life. The gift of hindsight has allowed her to put each experience in context, weaving them into a seamless whole that presents the tapestry of a victorious life well lived (so far!).
The journey has been extraordinarily difficult, and it has required help. This, too, is one of the high points of MelanEE’s story. Help came in unexpected places and at unexpected times. Sometimes the help appeared in the form of trusted friends and counselors who stayed with her for years, enduring all the unpleasantness she could throw at them simply because they believed in her as a valuable person, and believed as well in what she would become. At other times, help did not seem like help at first, especially when it brought immediate conflict and negative situations which, as MelanEE explains, infringed on her desires to remain in a familiar place she could control (or at least have the illusion of control). Yet even in those situations, miracles occurred. (I choose to see them as miracles; when a lesbian friend walks into a gay bar and explains how she has found Jesus, then a miracle has occurred!) That string of miracles is what gives MelanEE’s story the surprising element of hope even in the midst of hopeless dysfunction.
One other aspect of Loved. I. Am! that I personally appreciate is the window MelanEE opens for us into the LGBTQ world. It is a world that Christians all too often shun, and with reason. Yet in doing so, we miss so much of the real story: the genuine humanity of the people. These are people who endure larger-than-life struggles – struggles not so different from those common to all people, but magnified and multiplied through the prism of questions about self-identity at the most fundamental level.
How is a follower of Yeshua (Jesus) to deal with such people? MelanEE addresses that question through her story. Genuine Christians made the greatest difference in her life because they first accepted her as a person with intrinsic value simply because God made her. They did not agree with her lifestyle, but they accepted her where she was and lovingly, patiently, helped her realize that her Papa had something much better for her. Then they stayed with her through the years of turning her life around, proving that people are the indispensable element in making miracles happen.
This is a book about hope turned into reality by action – both MelanEE’s and those in her circle of friends, counselors, prayer warriors, and guardians of her peace. It is not just a “how to” book on how to have a better life; it’s an essential manual for every person who suffers from trauma, addiction, dysfunction, broken relationships, dashed hopes, and quiet tears in the dark when nobody is looking. Which pretty much describes all of us at some point. If you need help, and if you want to give help even in your own hurting place, Loved. I. Am! is the book for you. Let MelanEE Lisa Davidson – Beautiful Brave Beloved Warrior Princess Kingdom Daughter CowGirl – give you encouragement in her unique, genuine way. Then go make a difference in someone’s life – especially your own.
The last thing I thought I needed in the fall of 1986 was a girlfriend. When the Army had assigned me to Germany three years earlier, I half expected that I might find the woman of my dreams there. A few fun-but-fruitless relationships later, I realized that this process was more complicated that I thought, and far more difficult. And so, when I made my way to Fort Huachuca, Arizona, at the beginning of November for the next phase of my military career, I determined that it would be better to get a dog than find a girlfriend. Oddly enough (seeing that God has quite the sense of humor), it was nearly thirty more years before I would get a dog, but the woman of my dreams was only days away from walking into my life.
It happened on Sunday, November 9, 1986, at the First Baptist Church of Sierra Vista, Arizona. Charlayne was among the single young adults in the Sunday School class that morning, but her presence didn’t register with me until that evening, when I joined the church at the evening worship service. That’s when this vision of loveliness came bounding down the aisle to give me a hug and welcome me into the congregation. She also invited me to go out with all the singles to the Village Inn for pie. It was an unexpected, but very agreeable, invitation. What was more unexpected, and even more agreeable, was how quickly we became good friends. Within days we were dating, and within six weeks we were engaged.
I tell people that we were engaged by decree of my mother-in-law, and it’s true. Both of us had plans for our lives that a serious relationship would disrupt. As we grew closer and closer, the thought of those disruptions caused us no end of distress, until one Sunday afternoon they brought us to the brink of panic. We asked her parents to come over and talk with us. They sat in her apartment listening to us talk things out for about an hour and a half, and then her mother said the last thing I expected: “Well, it seems to me you kids need to get married.”
Many times in my life, a sense of peace has settled over me, indicating that God’s answer in the present predicament had been revealed. That moment in Charlayne’s apartment was one of the first, and is still one of the most profound, of those occasions. When her mother said the one thing we had dared not consider, we knew it was right, and it was holy. We were married some months later, and after 31 years we remain true to the covenant that established our household when we were young.
I do not recall whether any woman other than Char has ever captured my attention in any way that might cause her to be a rival to the wife of my youth. I have had many female friends and coworkers, some of whom have been quite attractive, but in all those years, I cannot remember a time when any of them attracted me in any inappropriate way. Perhaps I am peculiar in that regard; I have known many situations when such attractions severely damaged and even ended the marriages of people I knew. In our culture, we do not look favorably on unfaithfulness to the marriage covenant. For reasons grounded in Scripture, we in the West have, since time immemorial, taken seriously and literally the words of Moses and Yeshua (Jesus) that a man must leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife as one flesh. Even King Henry VIII of England could not get around those words. When his first wife, Catherine of Aragon, could not produce a male heir, he annulled the marriage and took Anne Boleyn. When she produced no male heir, he found a reason to have her executed (one can do that if one is a king), and replaced her with Jane Seymour. She became mother to his only son, but died only days later. Henry’s next wife, Anne of Cleves, was so young and innocent that he chose to annul the marriage rather than consummate it. In her place, he married Catherine Howard, a young-but-not-so-innocent woman whose flirtatious behavior eventually cost her her head. That left Catherine Parr, the wife who outlived the old king.
I learned the tale of Henry VIII as a boy, thanks to a classic BBC miniseries about his life. It struck me as odd that Martin Luther himself had stated his preference that the king commit bigamy and marry Anne Boleyn rather than divorce the first Catherine. Henry did not adopt Luther’s prescription as far as I can tell, but chose annulment instead. It helped that Catherine was Spanish and Catholic; in one stroke, he ended a cumbersome political entanglement and its attendant religious fetters. When the Roman Church refused to grant the annulment (perhaps because the reigning pope was at that time a prisoner of Catherine’s nephew, Emperor Charles V), Henry simply declared England separate from Rome and established the Anglican Church.
It is the stuff of soap operas, but it is our history. So also are the tales of the patriarchs and many great men of the Bible. Abraham, Jacob, Elkanah, David, Solomon, and the kings of Judah and Israel seemed to have no trouble taking multiple wives. After all, there is no Scriptural prohibition against polygamy. The closest thing to a prohibition that appears in the Bible is Paul’s advice to Titus and Timothy that congregational elders should have but one wife. I surmise that Paul’s wise counsel came not merely from his extensive knowledge of the Torah and the traditions of the elders, but his experience in guiding the many congregations forming in the Mediterranean world of his day. Perhaps that experience is what motivated him to write what I believe is the best word on this matter:
All things are lawful for me, but not all things are profitable. All things are lawful for me, but I will not be mastered by anything. (1 Corinthians 6:12 NASB)
Lawful, but not profitable. Is that not the lesson of the Patriarchs? King Henry VIII may have been thinking about the woeful consequences in the households of those men – consequences that included incest, murder, extreme sibling rivalry, jealousy, and all manner of dysfunction. I saw the same phenomenon when I studied the Ottoman Empire. No prince who attained the sultanate was safe as long as his half brothers from his father’s other wives were still alive. King Abdul Aziz of Saudi Arabia understood this quite well, which is why he arranged for his sons from his many wives to rule sequentially so that none of them would be the father of a new dynasty. The last of those sons is on the throne in Riyadh today, sixty-five years after his father’s death.
I do not know much about the wives of these polygamous kings, whether of ancient Israel, Ottoman Turkey, or modern Saudi Arabia. The best commentary I heard came from a Saudi amir whose hospitality I enjoyed in 1990, while I served with the army deployed there to defend his country from Iraqi aggression. Over the course of our conversation, the question of Muslim views on marriage came up. Multiple wives entered into the religious culture of Islam because it was already a cultural institution in Arabia. Muhammad seems to have endeavored to regulate the practice, which is why the custom is to limit a man to four wives. What the life of those wives is like, I do not know, but I have heard some terrible things. What I do know is that this kindly amir who had invited us into his home told us that, for some reason which he confessed he did not understand, his sons wanted to depart from the precedent of his household. They believed, he said, that it would be better to marry only one wife, and that only for love.
This is an interesting perspective when compared with something I heard from an American friend of mine. He lives in close proximity to polygamous families of the Mormon faith. They are nice people, he says, but the practice of polygamy has served only to oppress the women and disrupt the families. Is that a consistent result of multiple wives in one family? Or is it the result of imposing such a model on a culture that is accustomed to one man marrying one woman for life? This I cannot say.
What I can say is that many cultures do have marriage practices that differ from my own. This came to my attention in an unusual way in 2009 upon the election of former president Jacob Zuma of South Africa. Another friend of mine, founder of an influential prayer ministry, sent out a notice asking prayer for Mr. Zuma and his wives (four at the time). She did not issue that notice in a judgmental way, but rather in the same way as she had done when asking prayer for other heads of state. It just so happened that this one was polygamous. It was merely a statement of fact: this particular president of this particular country needed prayer for himself in his new role, and for his family, which happened to include several wives and children by them.
I think my friend did well in asking for such prayer in the usual way. Another friend of mine tells me that we will encounter many followers of Yeshua in Africa and other places who genuinely love God and love their many wives. It is their culture. He, himself, comes from a native culture in America that is matrilineal, and whose marriage norms are different from those of my Scottish, Irish, and English ancestors. I do not understand such a culture, nor do I desire to adopt it, nor is there a need to do so. At the same time, there is no need to impose my culture on his. Such a thing would be unhealthy at best, and genocidal at worst (another sad fact I cannot ignore from our history).
Where, then, does this leave me? It leaves me with the wife of my youth. Charlayne has satisfied me in every way. Why would I seek another to take her place, or to share me with her? It is not my culture. It is not right to her, to our children, and to the many people whom we have enriched through our example as man and wife. Neither is it consistent with the vows we both took to establish our marriage covenant. When I married her, my father said to me, “We McCarns marry for keeps.” Now, over 30 years later, I know the great wisdom of his words.
In the summer of 1982 I crossed the Pacific Ocean for the first time to spend some time in Japan and China. The occasion was a Christian missions trip. After six weeks of ministry work in Tokyo, we concluded the trip with a few days of sightseeing in Hong Kong, Guangzhou, and Beijing. I thoroughly enjoyed China, but it was somewhat surreal walking around Tiananmen Square, through the Forbidden City, and over the Great Wall. As one of my companions said at the time, we wouldn’t fully realize until we were back home in America that we had been all the way on the other side of the world.My companion was right. We don’t appreciate experiences at the time nearly as much as we appreciate them years later, when we can see the impact they had on us and how they shaped the course of our lives. It’s the same with people. We don’t know how important they have been to us until years later. Maybe even decades or centuries later, when the full tale of their story can be considered in context.
The full tale of Billy Graham’s impact on my life is not yet told, but I have an idea what it encompasses now, nearly 50 years after I first saw him. That occasion was in the spring of 1972, during his second visit to my hometown of Birmingham, Alabama. It was just before my 11th birthday, and I had no idea at the time what a tremendous effect Reverend Graham had already exerted on my city. For some reason, my parents deemed it best to shield us from the momentous societal transformations wrought by the Civil Rights Movement. All I knew in my childhood was that Billy Graham, like me, was a Southern Baptist, that he loved Jesus like I did, and that he was a very important preacher. I did not know that it was he who insisted on having an integrated choir in his first crusade in my divided city in 1964, and that the crowd gathered at Legion Field in that year was the largest integrated audience in Birmingham history. He addressed a deep, deep wound with the healing admonition of Jesus Christ – one of many ministers of reconciliation the Almighty used in that era to right grievous wrongs, curb the worst of abuses, and prepare the next generation to carry the progress forward. Please click here to continue reading