The Essential Hard Edge in My Life / Lloyd

Hard-Edge Painting (June Harwood, Bull's Eye, 1965)

 Abstract Expressionism (Jane Frank, Crags and Crevices, 1961)

The writers of two articles in the magazine Art in America, Feb '09, expressed concerns that artistic truth has been seriously compromised in their areas of expertise. Their comments illustrate the need and difficulty of identifying a reliable standard of truth in our life.

I have found such a standard in the Gospel of Jesus Christ found in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and you can view the most recent General Conference of the Church via the internet Here.

honest brokers

In "Revision Number Five: Quality," Dave Hickey notes that art critics have failed to address the quality of art pieces, to be "honest brokers" regarding certain artistic verities. They subordinate their training and professional insights to market forces--whatever the public will pay, that is the value.

Why? Because they don't want to offend art dealers and thereby lose their advertising profits. Consequently, art critics have failed to educate the public about artistic merit. In the current economic down turn, when art buyers especially need to understand cultural and economic value, the "great art is diminished by the junk that surrounds it." The only way to shakeout the junk is for art critics to expose themselves to financial risk and take a stand on value.

reportorial truth

In "The New Real: Photoids," Peter Plagens points out that ". . . pre-digitalization, there was in force a bedrock assumption that what appeared in a photograph once materially existed in front of the lens of the camera that took the picture. In theory, the images in photographs existed before they were taken."

But now with digitalization, "The surface of the art that the machine produces can be printed so precisely that there's no trace of retouching. . . Nowadays, it's not just possible, but increasingly standard operating procedure, for some photographs to be majorly fictive while maintaining their customary insinuations of reportorial truth."

[To better appreciate the significance of Plagens' assertion that we can no longer just accept photography as truth in the traditional sense, consider the Dartmouth College study of mischief done in its exhibit at "Photo Tampering Through History."]

This concern about truth is not just academic. I feel uncomfortable and incomplete unless I am in contact with a "hard edge." I can't systematically define what I mean by a "hard edge;" it's just the term that seems to describe what I feel when I find something I trust.  Clearly David Hickey and Peter Plagens feel that important truths in their lives have been greatly diminished, and that makes them uncomfortable.

hard-edge feelings that help me

keep oriented

Here are examples of a "hard-edge" that bring comfort to my life.

At night I can sense Judy's presence just across from me; and without having to touch and disturb her rest, I can feel her warmth and reality. When I'm in a dream state (not always pleasant), Judy's presence is an important mooring to reality.

I can place my back up against the firm sea wall and hear and feel the wonderful continuity of waves rolling in and receding, rolling in and receding — punctuated by gulls and little kids running and laughing up and down the beach.

When I've passed through the veil in the temple I find Judy and other family and friends to hug in greeting. And in the Celestial Room of the Washington DC Temple I walk round the room touching through soft slippers the design sculpted in the carpet. This physical hugging and touching seem to strengthen my contact to the spiritual dimension of my temple experience.

I have come to recognize promptings, feelings whispered so quietly but so surely. After 68 years of ignoring some and heeding others and having to deal with the consequence of each choice, I've come to recognize their certainty.

When I was an in-patient on the psychiatric ward of our community hospital, remembering the hard-edge feelings listed above got me through the especially hard times. They were the realities I used in working my way back to productive functioning.

hard-edge painting versus

abstract expressionism

Just before writing this post I searched "hard edge" on the internet and learned that Hard-Edge painting was a style attributed to certain painters in California beginning in the late 1950's. It was a reaction to the abstract expressionism that was dominant in New York and featured sharp delineation of color and shapes. You can see examples of the two styles above.

I find abstract impressionism more interesting but feel a greater sense of certainty in hard-edged painting. Each week on Sunday I find it helpful to renew my focus on family and basic values and beliefs, the certainties in my life, before meeting the more abstract and challenging demands at work.

Our 50th High School Reunion / Lloyd

The flurry of impassioned emails began once the committee published it's plans for our 50th High School Reunion. Clearly the emotions are from deeper wells than suggested changes in venues and scheduling.  If nothing else, this ongoing conversation showcases the personalities we knew so well 50 years ago. 

Beyond that I am reminded of a passage from Exile's Return by Malcolm Cowley adapted to evoke the aromatic eucalyptus and jasmines that permeate our beautiful Central Coast Community.

Somewhere the turn of a dirt road or the unexpected crest of a hill reveals your own childhood, the fields where you once played barefoot, the kindly trees, the landscape by which all others are measured and condemned. . . This is your home . . . but does it exist outside of your memory? On reaching the hilltop or the bend of the road, will you find the people gone, the landscape altered, the [eucalyptus trees & jasmines] cut down and only stumps, dried tree-tops, branches and fireweed where the woods had been? Or, if the country remains the same, will you find yourself so changed and uprooted that it refuses to take you back, to reincorporate you into its common life? No matter: the country of our childhood survives, if only in our minds, and retains our loyalty even when casting us into exile; we carry its image from city to city as our most essential baggage:

                Wanderers outside the gates, in hollow

landscapes without memory, we carry

each of us an urn of native soil,

of not impalpable dust a double handful

anciently gathered-­-was it garden mold

or wood soil fresh with [eucalyptus leaves &

jasmine blooms] this little earth we bore

in silence, blindly, over the frontier?

--a parcel of the soil not wide enough

or firm enough to build a dwelling on,

or deep enough to dig a grave, but cool

and sweet enough to sink the nostrils in

and find the smell of home, or in the ears,

rumors of home, like oceans in a shell.

Poetry on the Sabbath / Lloyd

All my life I have been careful to avoid employment that required me to work on Sundays. In our family, Judy and I made it a church and family day. And I think it helped us create a culture that celebrated interpersonal, family relationships at the center of our lives. The Sunday difference became an important core value even though my employment frequently uprooted us, and we had to keep starting over again in new communities and schools. It helped especially when I had to commute far distances and work long hours--unable to be home for dinner every night.

So it was gut wrenching experience this month when new management at the maximum security forensic psychiatric hospital where I work, arbitrarily and totally unresponsive to my pleas for accommodation, reassigned my days off from Sunday/Monday to Friday/Saturday.  Level-of-care hospital service is 24/7; and so I realize now how fortunate I have been to have had Sunday’s off these many years.

To set Sunday apart I proposed and was granted permission to facilitate a Poetry Reading and Writing Group. We only have a few participants each time, but the subject matter provides an opportunity to indentify and discuss values; and surprising enough, they are often spiritual and intensely personal.

We’ve been talking about relationships. And to illustrate the dynamic nature of relationships, I offered the following observation about couples: Your girlfriend may become your wife, your wife may become pregnant, but everything changes when she becomes a mother. Here’s the poem with illustrations:

“When Girlfriends Become Mothers”

I married my girlfriend.

And when she became pregnant

she moved about clumsily,
but we were much the same.

Then my girlfriend gave birth.

She became a mother

and I, a father.
And we had to become reacquainted.

When I worked in a New York City Methadone Maintenance Clinic, clients told me, “We don’t have friends, we have associates.”  One of the participants in our poetry group told me that “friends” differ from “associates” in that the former is “motivated by love,” and the latter by “selfish gain.”  Through the years I’ve asked street people to differentiate the two but never received such a succinct and thoughtful response.

The same respondent put together the following poem:

Policemen love felons,

Psychiatric nurses love psychos, and

Heart surgeons love heart patients.

They have compassion on the patients

as they treat them,

But not the same kind of compassion

that made them heart surgeons.

The compassion becomes complete

(the two compassions become 1).

Husband and Wife.

Next week they want to explore “Dignity.”  While these men may all be felons and suffer from a variety of serious and persistent psychiatric disorders, I have learned they are not throwaways. I expect to learn a lot and come away buoyed up on my Sunday’s. And hopefully I can provide a venue for them that is decidedly different from the intently secular institution.

Parable of the Exocet Missile / Lloyd

An AM39 aircraft-launched Exocet

I have been mulling over the following comment to our last posting, Senator Orrin Hatch writes a Hanukkah song and Jewish reaction: 

. . . I've been trying to decipher my own feelings toward the Jewish people. The simplest way I can describe it is: I love them. I don't know why I feel such charity towards them. I really can't explain it to myself much less anyone else. I wish I could because then I could show them my love without it being misinterpreted as Sen. Hatch's song was by the "angry" commentator.

Since I was age 13 I have been very pro-Israel and all things Jewish and for this reason attended Yeshiva University. But I would like to offer a cautionary note. I call it the "Parable of the Exocet Missile:"

In 1982 Argentina invaded and occupied the Falkland and South Georgian Islands, British territories in the South Atlantic. In the ensuing military conflict the Argentine Navy used an Exocet anti-ship missile to sink the HMS Sheffield, a British destroyer. Given advanced anti-missile naval defenses, the Exocet Missile should have been easily intercepted and destroyed. However, the Argentines had acquired the Exocet from the French Navy, and the HMS Sheffield's anti-missile defense computer classified the Exocet as a French allied weapon, and let it pass unchallenged.

Bernard Madoff's $50 billion dollar Ponzi scam particularly hit Jewish investors, including among many: the Wunderkinder Foundation, a Steven Speilberg charity, and Elie Wiesel's Foundation for Humanity. It appears that many financially savvy Jewish investors, not only charities but also officers in corporations and banks the world over, may have suspended their professional skepticism because Bernie was himself Jewish.

Then there was James P. Lewis, Jr. in Orange Country California and, more recently, Shawn R. Merriman in the Intermountain West, who were both Mormons and Merriman a Bishop," who ran Ponzi-schemes that defrauded many, many Mormons. Just as Bernie Madoff worked his fellow Jews, Lewis and Merriman leveraged their Church membership to swindle many in the Latter-day Saint community.

Some will blame the victims of greed, but I believe that many good people were blinded because their on-board computers classified these scoundrels as friendly, allies, members of an admired and trustworthy group.

In Indications and Warning Intelligence the watchword is: Evaluate true risk, disregard perceived motive and intentionality; rather focus on the capability to do harm. Analysts must be especially careful to discover within themselves unexamined prejudices, both positive and negative, that may blind them to real threat. To this end I offer the "Parable of the Exocet Missile."

Senator Orrin Hatch Writes A Hanukkah Song And Jewish Reaction / Lloyd

Joseph reveals himself to his brothers

Tonight Jews begin eight days celebrating Hanukkah, or Festival of Lights, in which families light an additional Menorah candle each night for eight days to commemorate the rededication of the Temple in Jerusalem following the victory of the Maccabees over an occupying empire.

The miracle of the rededication was that there was only enough consecrated olive oil to fuel the eternal flame in the Temple for one day, but it burned for eight days, which was the time required to press, prepare, and consecrate fresh olive oil.

Recently Senator Orrin Hatch wrote a new song for Hanukkah at the urging of a national correspondent for the Atlantic. The song and video can be seen at “The Eight Days of Hanukkah,” and coverage of Senator Hatch’s efforts with lots of comments can be found at the on-line Tablet Magazine. There was even a follow-up article to comment on the comments:”‘Eight Days,’ the Reactions.”  Many comments were very favorable, some sarcastic and "Angered."

I found one of the comments in the Angered category particularly interesting:

“Well with friends like Orrin Hatch, who needs enemies?! Let’s just put this out there: Orrin, we are not your [expletive omitted] placeholders of the Holy Land until Jesus rises again, ok? And we don’t want your help…. This makes me want to vomit.”

—Ellenjudith commenting on ”Mormon Utah Senator Orrin Hatch Wrote a Hanukkah Song,” New York

This sentiment about being placeholders until Jesus rises again resonates with Michael Chabon’s 2007 novel The Yiddish Policemen's Union.

The Angered responder to Senator Hatch’s Hanukkah song may not realize that the Second Coming of Christ will be a solemn but also joyful reunion between Jesus and his Jewish family. The promised Messiah that ministers to his family may even quote the very words spoken by Joseph to his stricken brothers:

"Now therefore be not grieved, nor angry with yourselves, that ye sold me hither: for God did send me before you to preserve life . . . And God sent me before you to preserve you a posterity in the earth, and to save your lives by a great deliverance." (Genesis 45:5,7)

Meanwhile, at the Second Coming most gentiles, perhaps most especially the sanctimonious religious ones who have no concern whatsoever for Jewish welfare, will wish they’d treated the Jews better — perhaps even left them alone entirely.

___________________________________________

Comment: For a more traditional Yiddish sound of Hanukkah check out “Oh, Chanukah, Oh, Chunkah!” sung by the TzlilV'zemer Children's Choir.  Yiddish music, contrasted to Israeli, is most often characterized by its minor key. After attending Yeshiva University and studying the Holocaust at the YIVO, I find that the Yiddish minor key especially speaks to me.

TRUE STORY John Taylor, Man Of Intellect & Faith / Lloyd

John Taylor--Intellect & Faith

During my mission to Guatemala I learned the practicality of relying on Heavenly Father to help me do things I couldn’t do on my own.  For example, learning languages.  In high school I struggled mightily to earn a “B” in Spanish and in college flunked German out right.  But when I showed up at Penn two years later after my mission I easily challenged the language requirement in Spanish, and I had written materials to help missionaries learn the Quiche Indian language and also teach the gospel in Quiche.

After my mission to Guatemala, I began building a doctrinal foundation for my testimony and especially enjoyed studying John Taylor’s An Examination into and an Elucidation of the Great Principle of the Medication and Atonement of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.  Published in 1882, it was clearly written and intellectually stimulating. John Taylor, who assumed leadership of the Church upon the death of Pres. Brigham Young in 1877, also demonstrated great faith. I especially recommend the following story from Leon R. Hartshorn, “John Taylor: The Courageous,” New Era, Jan 1972, 25:

“After a difficult journey from Far West, Elder Taylor arrived in New York with only one cent in his pocket. But he was the last man to plead poverty, and in answer to questions if he had money, he said he did. So the next day Elder Parley P. Pratt approached him:

“Brother Taylor, I hear you have plenty of money?”

“Yes, Brother Pratt, that’s true.” “Well,” said Elder Pratt “I’m about to publish my ‘Voice of Warning’ and ‘Millennial Poems;’ I am very much in need of money, and if you could furnish me two or three hundred dollars I should be very much obliged.”

“Well, Brother Parley, you are welcome to anything I have, if it will be of service to you.” At that he put his hand in his pocket and gave Elder Pratt the penny. A good laugh followed and then Elder Pratt said, “But I thought you gave it out that you had plenty of money.” “Yes, and so I have,” replied Elder Taylor. “I am well clothed, you furnish me plenty to eat and drink and good lodging; with all these things and a penny over, as I owe nothing, is that not plenty?”

“That evening at a council meeting of some of the brethren preparing to go to England, Elder Pratt proposed that the brethren assist Elder Taylor with means to pay his passage, since Wilford Woodruff was waiting for Elder Taylor to go with him. At the close of the meeting, Elder Taylor objected and said if they had anything they should give it to Parley Pratt because he had a family to support and needed money for publishing. Wilford Woodruff, a great man of faith himself, expressed regret at Elder Taylor’s position. Then said Elder Taylor: “Well, Brother Woodruff, if you think it best for me to go, I will accompany you.” “But where will you get the money?” asked Elder Woodruff. “Oh, there will be no difficulty about that. Go and take a passage for me on your vessel, and I will furnish you the means."

"Elder Woodruff did as he was asked—and then from various persons who were moved upon by the Spirit of the Lord, voluntary donations, unasked for by Elder Taylor, came into him, sufficient for him to not only pay his passage but that of another elder.” 

Shall I call in sick and stay home? / Lloyd

[Note: a previous posting, “Do I go to work, or not?” was erroneously erased. This is a second, expanded attempt to share that story.]

He brought down both fists on the table and shouted, “Why are you here? Get away from me. I want to kill myself and I want to kill you!” The first moments with Mr. Lopez (name changed) weren’t great, and he was very convincing, but then again he hadn’t immediately hit me.

Just moments before, we had been frantically scratching out the last of 32 shift notes on our patients and extensive behavior summaries for the 11 highest acuities—Lopez was one of those. The night shift soon would be in and expected everything tidied up and us out the door after a quick shift change. I serve as shift lead on a maximum security, hospital intake unit for psychiatric referrals from the state’s prisons.

There had been loud pounding outside the secured nursing station and in popped a head announcing, “Lopez is at it again—better get out here.”

A year ago staff would simply have pulled their alarms, and a thundering herd of folks from other units and hospital police would have arrived to take Mr. Lopez down to the floor, or contain him against the wall, and then wrestle him into five-point restraints.

Now, if at all possible, we attempt to walk patients through their rough moments. It takes longer and appears riskier for staff; but whenever we take away a patient’s agency, his fragile sense of personal control, he regresses for days--sometimes for weeks, the unit's therapeutic milieu is shattered, and general safety of both patients and staff is jeopardized.

As a volunteer facilitator for AVP (The Alternatives to Violence Project) in Maryland and California state prisons, I have taught non-violent resolution of conflict to inmates. And the principles are applicable when working with psychiatric patients. Essentially, avoid responding to violence with violence; work with people to help them deescalate themselves and ratchet down their acute behaviors—help them to reestablish personal control.

Mr. Lopez did more pounding and yelling and jumped up and turned off the TV for everyone watching in the dayroom. Normally, that would have caused a firestorm of protest, but all the patients were measuring how we would handle things, waiting to see if we were more than just talk, but could walk the walk. Eventually, Mr. Lopez said he would be able to get control of himself without staff intervention, and he stalked off to his room.

We returned to our notes and shift cleanup, and a few minutes later Mr. Lopez knocked at the office door wanting to talk. He said, “Someone’s going to kill my son—I just know it.” Like many patients, Mr Lopez responds to intense internal stimuli (voices, which are never kind). And he recounted his night terrors—horrible images and imaginations. He agreed to take a PRN medication for his agitation and anxiety and hopefully for sleep, and we agreed to always be there to walk with him through these terrors, that he needn’t do it alone. He and I shook hands.

The previous week an out-of-control patient assaulted staff on our unit. Two were sent home hurt, and the patient was placed in restraints. He had been dangerous to both staff and patients, and his time overnight in restraints with emergency medications gave him time to sleep and reset. Many of his peers expressed relief.

Many mornings, when I’m at home safe with Judy and away from the danger and frequent surges of adrenalin at work, I question whether to call in sick and just stay home. But I can’t do that everyday.

Besides, I have a mandate from Heavenly Father to provide for my family and to serve. This hospital is my venue for both service and to earn a living. I was prompted to take psychiatric technician training and apply for my current position, and I received a blessing that I would be kept safe from serious harm. Every night that I return safely to Judy confirms that promise, but there are moments.

Becoming Age 65--Very Different From Thinking Of It In The Future / Lloyd

Sunday I turned 65, and that’s a milestone age whose meaning is very different experienced than contemplated as a future event.

During WWI church leaders encouraged my grandfather to enlist in the military rather than go on a mission. He retired early at age 55 so he and my grandmother could have a formal mission experience before he died. He passed away 15 years later at age 70. Their service in the Northwestern mission was a significant event for their relationship. On several occasions when Elder Franklin D. Richards, their mission president, and his wife met Judy and me they never failed to comment on what great and faithful missionaries Israel and Clara Abbott had been.

My father served a two-year mission before his WWII military duty in the Pacific, and after he retired at age 63 he served two senior missions: one with my mother and after my mother passed away, a second with my stepmother. My father died at age 78. Judy, Kristen, and I visited mother and dad in New Jersey and saw first hand how meaningful the experience was for them. The stories from England with Dad and Renee’ demonstrate great faithfulness and service.

Today I am 65 and my worldly circumstances recommend that I work another 15 years so I can retire from state service and better be able to provide for our needs once I stop working. Good medical insurance has become increasingly important to us.

Our children have urged, instead, that I retire sooner and with their financial backing serve a church mission with Judy. They say that with such a large family to support us we shouldn’t worry about finances but serve missions and provide other church service while we still have our health and energy. That could require more humility and faith than I have. I’m not eager to be dependent on my children. But these promptings have helped me realize that I’d actually ruled out the possibility of serving a senior mission.

But now I’ve turned 65, and given all the mail about it we've been receiving, it seems to be a matter of public record. In addition to signing up for Medicare, we need to fully consider the options for our immediate future before rheumatoid arthritis and other early developing physical maladies deny our ability to serve.

We’ve been so busy raising our family and recovering from one set back or another through the years that unexamined considerations of the ability, or even desire, to serve a senior mission have snuck up on us. Perhaps our example will be a cautionary tale to our children about the importance of addressing important goals and long-range financial planning now.

I will ask our bishop about age and health qualifications to serve a senior mission; types of senior missionary service needed, and projected costs. Then I can check with my employer about the requirements for taking an administrative leave from work so Judy and I can serve before age and physical health issues close the mission door to us.

Even if we’re looking at a couple of years in the future, without gathering the facts and going to the Lord for timing and direction, going on a mission will just pass us by. And that would be a shame to break an Abbott tradition established by very faithful parents and grandparents.

Some milestones are more sobering than others, more shocking into action. Turning age 65 has been one of them. Additionally, children sensitive to the spirit and not bashful about speaking up have been very helpful.

How, Then, Can We Feel Justified If We Shrink From Our Duty Because Of A Minor Discomfort Or Inconvenience? / Lloyd

Sometime before I was twelve I remember asking my mother why there weren't more Mormon actors. We had been talking about the well known Mormon actress Loraine Day. My mother’s reply was consistent with her feelings about the importance of the Sabbath, which we observed in our home while I was growing up. She replied, “Because actors must often work on Sundays.” Period!

All my life I have fought to be able to attend church services and to build a protective hedge around the entire Sunday. So many times my life has been diverted from the wrong course I was taking because of clear prompts I received during sacrament service. Just as often I've perceived prompts to take beneficial actions I hadn't considered before.

Judy says that Sabbath worship is so fundamental to my life, who I am, that I would not be able to understand when baptized members of the Church, covenant people of God, chose otherwise or were more or less casual about church attendance. It's true. I don't understand. It is so sad.

Our family has been greatly blessed because Judy and I felt united in the importance of celebrating the Sabbath and making whatever sacrifice we needed to attend church with our family and then strive to nurture the Spirit from church throughout the day. Monday's come all too soon. Of course we would want those same blessings for all our children and their children.

The following excerpt from the Ensign expresses much better than I can this feeling I have:

“One incident in the Prophet’s life had a powerful influence on me as a young man:

“At a late hour of the night Joseph was lying down and slumbering heavily from weariness. . . . A few moments later an infuriated mob burst the door open and . . . seized him and were dragging him from the house when Emma screamed. . . .

“. . . A group gathered . . . to hold a council . . .

After the council was concluded, the leading mobocrats declared that they would not kill him but would strip him naked and whip and tear his flesh. . .  They thrust a reeking tar paddle into his face and attempted to force it down his throat . . .

“After they left Joseph, he attempted to rise, but fell back again from pain and exhaustion. He succeeded, however, in tearing the tar away from his face so that he could breathe freely. . .  

“Securing some covering for his person, the Prophet entered the house, and spent the night in cleansing his body and dressing his wounds . . .

“The next morning, being the Sabbath, the people assembled at the usual hour of worship. With them came some of the mobbers . . .

“With his flesh all bruised and scarred, Joseph went to the meeting and stood before the congregation, facing his assailants of the previous night calmly and manfully. He preached a powerful sermon and on the same day baptized three believers into the Church.”

“I cannot begin to imagine the pain and discomfort the Prophet Joseph must have endured. He had ample excuse not to preach the following morning, but this and many other experiences of similar or worse consequence did not cause him to shrink from his responsibility. How, then, can we feel justified if we shrink from our duty because of a minor discomfort or inconvenience? (Michael John U. Teh, “Confidence in the Presence of God,” Ensign, Jan 2009, 28–30)

All Because Two People Fell In Love / Lloyd

Our 2009 Family Reunion--Ben was performing in Les Miserables and couldn't join us.

There’s a little shop and garden that Judy and I enjoy whenever we visit Cambria on the Central Coast. It features aromatic herbs and gardens and fun odds and ends. On our last visit we purchased a wooden heart that reads: All Because Two People Fell in Love. We’ve hung it next to our family photo.

Beginning at Thanksgiving each year I meditate and pray about my central focus for the coming year. Two years ago it was “Love your wife and meet her needs.” That year I was afraid that I might lose her to illness. She was exhibiting symptoms which seemed a lot like congestive heart failure--very frightening. Several months later she was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism and began to improve with treatment.

This second year the answer was, “Make Judy the center of your life.” After 50 years of dating and marriage I would have thought that these themes were solidly in place. Apparently not at the level Heavenly Father knows we need to achieve.

When I was hospitalized in Frederick, MD with clinical depression, Bishop Glen Tayler told us that other couples working through similar difficulties turned on each other and mostly split up. He said that in contrast Judy and I held on tighter and our marriage was strengthened. 

There was a time just before my hospitalization when I said something about divorce. Judy responded: This marriage isn’t about you or about me or even about us but about our commitment to the institution of covenant marriage and there will be no more talk about divorce. That’s just sick thinking. Subsequently we’ve learned that should I ever have these negative thoughts again it’s symptomatic of illness and we need to stop, drop, and roll; i.e. seek immediate professional help.

The most powerful unit in the universe is a covenant marriage--consider worlds without end. It doesn't take much to figure that Satan will do all he can to drive a wedge between husband and wife. It might even be his main focus. Whenever any of us feels negatively toward our wife or husband let there be red flags waving and alarms blaring: Run, don't walk. This is spiritual, perhaps physical or emotional pathology. Get help now. Don't claw at each other or turn inward--cutting yourself off from the other; rather hold each other tight and live.