Relief

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Confessions of the Flesh (The History of Sexuality, Vol. 4) (2021)

  An “unpleasant and bitter” baptism whose prefiguration Origen sees in the crossing of the desert that must precede the return to the Promised Land.66 But since the former life that is shed by crucifying it was only death itself, one must therefore conceive of baptism as the death of death. This is what Saint Ambrose explains in an important passage of De sacramentis: after Adam’s sin, God condemned man to die. A formidable and irremediable punishment? No, and for two reasons: because God has allowed man to come back from the dead; but also because death, as the end of mortal life, is also the end of sin: “When we die, we cease to sin.” Thus death, an instrument of punishment, when it is associated with resurrection, becomes an instrument of salvation: “the condemnation serves as a blessing”; “the two things are in our favor”: “death is the end of sins and resurrection is the reparation of nature.”67 So baptism constitutes a kind of inversion of the meaning of death, a dying to sin and to death itself that should therefore be fervently desired. But there is more: this death in baptism should not only bury, once and for all, the remains of the life that the Christian has abandoned, it should mark him always and throughout his life as a Christian. He has in fact received, with the seal of baptism, the sign of the Crucifixion. Such is the “resemblance” to which he must subordinate his life. The homoisis tô theô that promised, to those capable of it, a life of light and eternity, tends to be replaced by the principle of a resemblance to Christ in his passion, and hence of a Christian life placed under the sign of mortification. —

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  Who will [rescue me and] set me free from this body of death [this corrupt, mortal existence]? 25 Thanks be to God [for my deliverance] through Jesus Christ our Lord! So then, on the one hand I myself with my mind serve the law of God, but on the other, with my flesh [my human nature, my worldliness, my sinful capacity—I serve] the law of sin. Romans 8 Escape from Bondage 1 T HEREFORE THERE is now no condemnation [no guilty verdict, no punishment] for those who are in Christ Jesus [who believe in Him as personal Lord and Savior]. [John 3:18 ] 2 For the law of the Spirit of life [which is] in Christ Jesus [the law of our new being] has set you free from the law of sin and of death. 3 For what the Law could not do [that is, overcome sin and remove its penalty, its power] being weakened by the flesh [man’s nature without the Holy Spirit], God did: He sent His own Son in the likeness of sinful man as an offering for sin. And He condemned sin in the flesh [subdued it and overcame it in the person of His own Son], [Lev 7:37 ] 4 so that the [righteous and just] requirement of the Law might be fulfilled in us who do not live our lives in the ways of the flesh [guided by worldliness and our sinful nature], but [live our lives] in the ways of the Spirit [guided by His power]. 5 For those who are living according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh [which gratify the body], but those who are living according to the Spirit, [set their minds on] the things of the Spirit [His will and purpose]. 6 Now the mind of the flesh is death [both now and forever—because it pursues sin]; but the mind of the Spirit is life and peace [the spiritual well-being that comes from walking with God—both now and forever]; 7 the mind of the flesh [with its sinful pursuits] is actively hostile to God. It does not submit itself to God’s law, since it cannot, 8 and those who are in the flesh [living a life that caters to sinful appetites and impulses] cannot please God. 9 However, you are not [living] in the flesh [controlled by the sinful nature] but in the Spirit, if in fact the Spirit of God lives in you [directing and guiding you]. But if anyone does not have the Spirit of Christ, he does not belong to Him [and is not a child of God]. [Rom 8:14 ] 10 If Christ lives in you, though your [natural] body is dead because of sin, your spirit is alive because of righteousness [which He provides].

• From Another Country (1962)

  “Well—I think that that sort of cluttered up her mind. She doesn’t seem to have said anything else. Did you know anything about all this?” “Yes. Richard was here. Has he been there?” “No.” “Oh, Vivaldo, it was awful. I felt so sorry for him. I thought that you might be at Eric’s, but I said you’d gone off to see your family in Brooklyn and I didn’t have the phone number or the address. It’s very sad, Vivaldo, he’s very bitter, he wants to hurt you. He feels that you betrayed him—” “Yes, well, I think it may be easier for him to feel that way. How long was he there?” “Not long. Only about ten minutes. But it seemed longer. He said some terrible things—” “I’m sure. Does he still want to see me?” “I don’t know.” There was a pause. “Are you coming home now?” “Yes, right away. Are you going to be there?” “I’ll be here. Come on. Oh. Where’s Eric?” “He’s gone—uptown—” “To meet Cass?” “Yes.” She sighed. “Lord, what a mess. Come on home, sweetie, if Richard’s going to shoot you you don’t want him to do it while you’re wandering around Eric’s house. That would really be too much.” He laughed. “You’re right. You seem to be in a good mood today.” “I’m really in a terrible mood. But I’m being brave about it, I’m pretending to be Greer Garson.” He laughed again. “Does it help?” “Well, no, baby, but it makes everything pretty funny.” “All right. I’ll be along in a minute.” “Okay, sweetie. ’Bye.” “Good-bye.” He hung up with an exultant relief that no trouble seemed to be awaiting him at home with Ida. He felt that he had got away with something. He stepped into Eric’s shower, scrubbed and sang; but when he stepped out he realized that he was terribly hungry and weak. While he was dressing, Eric’s doorbell rang. He was sure that it was Richard, at last, and he hurriedly buckled his belt and pulled on his shoes before pressing the buzzer. He started, idiotically, to make up the bed, but realized that there would not be time, and, anyway, it could not possibly make any difference to Richard whether the bed was made or not. He waited, hearing the downstairs door open and close. He opened Eric’s door. But he heard no footsteps. A voice called, “Eric Jones!” “Here!” cried Vivaldo. He let out his breath. He walked to the landing. A Western Union boy came up the steps. “You Eric Jones?” “He’s gone out. But I can take it.”

• From Every Woman's Battle: Discovering God's Plan for Sexual and Emotional Fulfillment (2003)

  Maybe if we knew how common these struggles are to women, it would remove some of the stigma behind having these kinds of “issues.” According to Dr. Tim Clinton, president of the American Association of Christian Counselors, 67 percent of all women will experience at least one or more premarital or extramarital affair in her lifetime.2 That is the number of women who give in to these temptations. I believe the percentage is much higher (I’m guessing in the 90 percent range) of those women who simply experience the temptation to engage in premarital or extramarital affairs. Paul tells us in 1 Corinthians 10:13, “No temptation has seized you except what is common to [woman]. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.” Paul didn’t say, “If you experience sexual temptation, there must be something wrong with you because no one else struggles with it that much.” He said that all temptations are common. And because God creates all human beings (regardless of gender, nationality, or economic background) as sexual human beings, you can bet that sexual and relational temptations are by far the most common temptations on the planet. What “way out” does God usually provide so that we can stand up under the temptation? Does He turn off our emotions altogether? No. Does He make the object of our desire fall off the face of the earth? No. My experience has been that the way out is usually provided through an accountability friendship with another woman who can sympathize with my weakness and encourage me to stand firm in the face of battle. As I give a trusted confidant permission to ask me the hard, personal questions and speak the truth in love (even if it hurts), I am required to examine the condition of my heart and mind much more than if I harbor these things within myself. And when I fail to live up to God’s standards, an accountability friend will sharpen me, not with harsh judgment but with a reminder to use good judgment. As I have confessed certain temptations to trusted friends and asked for accountability, I’ve learned that I am truly not alone in my struggles. In Every Man’s Battle, Stephen Arterburn and Fred Stoeker describe the percentages of men who struggle with sexual issues using the following “bell curve” analogy:

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  12 Now when I arrived at Troas to preach the good news of Christ, even though a door [of opportunity] opened for me in the Lord, 13 my spirit could not rest because I did not find my brother Titus there; so saying goodbye to them, I left for Macedonia. 14 But thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumph in Christ, and through us spreads and makes evident everywhere the sweet fragrance of the knowledge of Him. 15 For we are the sweet fragrance of Christ [which ascends] to God, [discernible both] among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing; 16 to the latter one an aroma from death to death [a fatal, offensive odor], but to the other an aroma from life to life [a vital fragrance, living and fresh]. And who is adequate and sufficiently qualified for these things? 17 For we are not like many, [acting like merchants] peddling God’s word [shortchanging and adulterating God’s message]; but from pure [uncompromised] motives, as [commissioned and sent] from God, we speak [His message] in Christ in the sight of God. 2 Corinthians 3 Ministers of a New Covenant 1 A RE WE starting to commend ourselves again? Or do we need, like some [false teachers], letters of recommendation to you or from you? [No!] 2 You are our letter [of recommendation], written in our hearts, recognized and read by everyone. 3 You show that you are a letter from Christ, delivered by us, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts. [Ex 24:12 ; 31:18 ; 32:15 , 16 ; Jer 31:33 ] 4 Such is the confidence and steadfast reliance and absolute trust that we have through Christ toward God. 5 Not that we are sufficiently qualified in ourselves to claim anything as coming from us, but our sufficiency and qualifications come from God. 6 He has qualified us [making us sufficient] as ministers of a new covenant [of salvation through Christ], not of the letter [of a written code] but of the Spirit; for the letter [of the Law] kills [by revealing sin and demanding obedience], but the Spirit gives life. [Jer 31:31 ] 7 Now if the ministry of death, engraved in letters on stones [the covenant of the Law which led to death because of sin], came with such glory and splendor that the Israelites were not able to look steadily at the face of Moses because of its glory, [a brilliance] that was fading, [Ex 34:29–35 ] 8 how will the ministry of the Spirit [the new covenant which allows us to be Spirit-filled] fail to be even more glorious and splendid?

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  lance Column, which was well under way by that autumn; and presently Puddle herself got a job in one of the Government — departments. She and Stephen had taken a small service flat in Victoria, and here they would meet when released from their hours of duty. But Stephen was obsessed by her one idea, which was, willy-nilly, to get out to the front, and many and varied were the plans and discussions that were listened to by the sym- pathetic Puddle. An ambulance had managed to slip over to Belgium for a while and had done some very fine service. Stephen had hit on a similar idea, but in her case the influence required had been lacking. In vain did she offer to form a Unit at her own expense; the reply was polite but always the same, a monot- onous reply: England did not send women to the front line trenches. She disliked the idea of joining the throng who tor- mented the patient passport officials with demands to be sent out to France at once, on no matter how insufficient a pretext. What was the use of her going to France unless she could find there the work that she wanted? She preferred to stick to her job in England. And now quite often while she waited at the stations for the wounded, she would see unmistakable figures — unmistakable to her they would be at first sight, she would single them out of the crowd as by instinct. For as though gaining courage from the terror that is war, many a one who was even as Stephen, had crept out of her hole and come into the daylight, come into the day- light and faced her country: ‘ Well, here I am, will you take me or leave me? °? And England had taken her, asking no questions -she was strong and efficient, she could fill a man’s place, she could organize too, given scope for her talent. England had said: ‘Thank you very much. You’re just what we happen to want . at the moment.’ So, side by side with more fortunate women, worked Miss Smith who had been breeding dogs in the country; or Miss Oli- phant who had been breeding nothing since birth but a litter of hefty complexes; or Miss Tring who had lived with a very dear friend in the humbler purlieus of Chelsea. One great weakness THE WELL OF LONELINESS 3II they all had, it must be admitted, and this was for uniforms — yet why not? The good workman is worthy of his Sam Browne belt. And then too, their nerves were not at all weak, their pulses beat placidly through the worst air raids, for bombs do not trouble the nerves of the invert, but rather that terrible silent bombard- ment from the batteries of God’s good people.

• From Another Country (1962)

  “Well—I think that that sort of cluttered up her mind. She doesn’t seem to have said anything else. Did you know anything about all this?” “Yes. Richard was here. Has he been there?” “No.” “Oh, Vivaldo, it was awful. I felt so sorry for him. I thought that you might be at Eric’s, but I said you’d gone off to see your family in Brooklyn and I didn’t have the phone number or the address. It’s very sad, Vivaldo, he’s very bitter, he wants to hurt you. He feels that you betrayed him—” “Yes, well, I think it may be easier for him to feel that way. How long was he there?” “Not long. Only about ten minutes. But it seemed longer. He said some terrible things—” “I’m sure. Does he still want to see me?” “I don’t know.” There was a pause. “Are you coming home now?” “Yes, right away. Are you going to be there?” “I’ll be here. Come on. Oh. Where’s Eric?” “He’s gone—uptown—” “To meet Cass?” “Yes.” She sighed. “Lord, what a mess. Come on home, sweetie, if Richard’s going to shoot you you don’t want him to do it while you’re wandering around Eric’s house. That would really be too much.” He laughed. “You’re right. You seem to be in a good mood today.” “I’m really in a terrible mood. But I’m being brave about it, I’m pretending to be Greer Garson.” He laughed again. “Does it help?” “Well, no, baby, but it makes everything pretty funny.” “All right. I’ll be along in a minute.” “Okay, sweetie. ’Bye.” “Good-bye.” He hung up with an exultant relief that no trouble seemed to be awaiting him at home with Ida. He felt that he had got away with something. He stepped into Eric’s shower, scrubbed and sang; but when he stepped out he realized that he was terribly hungry and weak. While he was dressing, Eric’s doorbell rang. He was sure that it was Richard, at last, and he hurriedly buckled his belt and pulled on his shoes before pressing the buzzer. He started, idiotically, to make up the bed, but realized that there would not be time, and, anyway, it could not possibly make any difference to Richard whether the bed was made or not. He waited, hearing the downstairs door open and close. He opened Eric’s door. But he heard no footsteps. A voice called, “Eric Jones!” “Here!” cried Vivaldo. He let out his breath. He walked to the landing. A Western Union boy came up the steps. “You Eric Jones?” “He’s gone out. But I can take it.”

• From Real Life (2020)

  Leurs peaux sentent encore un peu l’alcool, remarque Wallace. Ils portent tous des lunettes noires. Cole et Vincent se tiennent la main par-dessus la table. Ils ont dû se réconcilier. Wallace est soulagé. Emma pose la tête sur son épaule. Son regard se reflète dans les verres de lunettes de Vincent. « Je crève de faim, dit Yngve. Lukas, tu prends quoi ? — Des crêpes, je pense », répond Lukas, étudiant soigneusement le menu. Il prononce ce mot français avec la méticulosité qu’il applique souvent à ce genre de détails. Cole embrasse Vincent sur la joue, puis dans les cheveux. Vincent fixe Wallace sans le voir. Ou plutôt, la surface de ses lunettes est pointée dans la direction générale de Wallace. Où sont orientés les yeux en dessous, impossible de le savoir. Le serveur apporte leurs boissons. Cappuccino pour Emma, double expresso pour Thom, mimosas pour Cole et Vincent, qui, manifestement, ont quelque chose à fêter. Il remplit les tasses de Lukas et Yngve de café ordinaire. Miller ne boit pas. Il y a un trou à l’épaule de son cardigan. En définitive, ils commandent tous des crêpes, comme incapables de résister au pouvoir de la suggestion. Wallace n’a pas faim, mais les imite tout de même. « Alors, il paraît que j’ai manqué une fête du tonnerre, hier soir, dit Thom. Qu’est-ce qui s’est passé ? » Il a les yeux luisants. Il a passé la nuit à lire Tolstoï pour composer une analyse d’un texte obscur, dit-il. Wallace préférerait parler de ça que de la soirée ; tout, plutôt que la soirée. « Rien, rien, dit Cole, en souriant. Ce n’était pas si grave. — Ouais, non », fait Vincent, mais il n’y a de sourire ni sur ses lèvres ni dans sa voix. Il regarde vers la rue. Wallace boit une gorgée de café. « C’est pas ce que j’ai entendu dire », insiste Thom avec un grand sourire. Il se cogne contre la table, qui tremble légèrement. « Il paraît qu’il y a eu un sacré cirque. — Ce n’était pas dramatique, fait Lukas. Yngve, tu veux du sucre ? » Il passe plusieurs sachets de sucre à Yngve. Yngve les prend, les déchire, et verse leur contenu dans sa tasse. Thom commence à avoir l’air un peu déçu. Il se tourne vers Emma. « Chérie ? Je croyais que tu m’avais dit que c’était la folie. » Emma lève la tête et hausse les épaules. « Pas vraiment de quoi rejouer le match, je te l’ai dit. » Entre eux deux, par contre, les choses ne sont pas au beau fixe, observe Wallace à part lui.

• From Real Life (2020)

  Le ventilateur fait entrer de l’air humide du dehors. Ils ne dorment pas, mais ils se taisent, immobiles comme des pierres. Wallace a encore le bras engourdi par les coups donnés et reçus, la lutte. Ses doigts sont enflés. Trop de chocs contre un corps solide. En dessous de tout cet engourdissement, ce gonflement, il devine comme une écharde qui le lance. Il espère que ce n’est pas cassé. Quand il tente de bouger les doigts, c’est comme si une lame tournait sous la peau. Mais il peut les remuer, au moins. Il y a de l’espoir. Il sent le poids de Miller tout près sur le lit. Il sent ses yeux sur lui, qui l’observent. Wallace fixe l’espace sous son oreiller, où il a croisé ses bras. « Wallace, commence Miller. — Quoi ? — Tu ne veux pas qu’on en parle ? — Bof. Je préfère rester allongé comme ça. — Tu veux que je m’en aille ? — Non… », commence Wallace, mais il s’interrompt. « Je ne veux pas que tu t’en ailles. » Mais ce qu’il entend par là, c’est qu’il ne veut ni que Miller reste, ni qu’il parte, qu’il y a en lui une indifférence sans aspérité, froide, modulée par sa propension à se soumettre aux désirs des autres. Miller se décontracte, se relâche. Ils sont encore nus, la peau luisante de sueur et sale d’avoir roulé par terre. « Je suis désolé de t’avoir fait mal, dit Miller. Je suis désolé d’avoir été si brutal, si immonde avec toi. » Les mots atterrissent comme des gouttelettes d’eau heurtant une vitre. À chaque mot un impact minuscule, un son doux et creux, vide. Que signifient-ils, ces mots ? Quel est leur poids ? De quoi s’excuse Miller, à ce stade ? Ne se sont-ils pas déjà fait du mal l’un à l’autre ? N’ont-ils pas déjà résolu ça par leurs corps ? « T’en fais pas. Ça va. — Moi ça ne va pas. J’ai le sentiment d’avoir fait un truc grave. Je me sens comme une merde, Wallace. — Ah bon ? Vraiment ? — Wallace. — Je crois que tu te sens coupable parce que tu penses m’avoir blessé, et c’est peut-être vrai. Mais je t’ai blessé aussi, manifestement. Alors qu’y a-t-il à regretter ? — Ce n’est pas le sujet, Wallace. Ça n’excuse rien. Qu’est-ce que ça change, que tu m’aies blessé ? Je n’aurais pas dû te blesser le premier. Je n’aurais pas dû te faire ça. — J’imagine que non. Mais tu l’as fait. » Miller pousse un soupir bruyant, et son haleine effleure la joue de Wallace. « Mais tu l’as fait, reprend Wallace. Ce que je dis, je crois, c’est que ça n’a pas d’importance pour moi.

• From Henry Miller on Writing (1964)

  But I could not make progress except along a flat, horizontal surface and that I soon realized was not progress at all. I produced several abortions which fortunately were never published. Meanwhile events piled up with such speed and in such number that I was literally submerged, as a writer. Everything I wrote up to Capricorn was, as I see it now, an effort to get started, to begin the real confession. Each book was just so much ice-breaking. There was just one book I always wanted to write. This book (Capricorn) I planned out long ago in a moment of extreme anguish. Through all my journeying I managed to keep the notes for this book with me. It was a miracle, really, for time and again I have been stripped of everything. But even had I lost the notes the contents of this book were burned into my brain and blood. In my head I have been writing the book these last fifteen years, I might say. One volume has thus far appeared, a preface or vestibule to the vast edifice, so to speak. I say the contents are with me, in me, part of me, and yet I can also say that I do not know what the final outcome will be like. I have to live through it again, discover and rediscover. What I remember like a fiend are “moments”—not facts. Moments and places, and often looks, expressions on the human countenance which are unforgettable. But the chronological record is for me very much like history itself—confused and confounded. Every man keeps his own historical ledger of world events. If we could compare these individual registers it would make a fabulation so grotesque, so monstrous, as to make all the myths and legends ever created seem like the fantasies of a child. With our own lives the personal record is very much the same. It is a labyrinth which each one interprets differently. Few ever get to the heart of the labyrinth. Most of us crawl about the entrance, or else venture timidly a few paces within only to retreat in panic. He who goes the whole way of course is slain. I have gone the whole way, I have offered myself up as a sacrifice. That is why I can live on now and record it fully with no suffering involved. I can recount the most heartbreaking events almost joyously. I am telling about another man in another life. I do not need to tell it any more—I do it gratuitously. I could now lead a life entirely apart from books, from writing, from this sort of self-expression. I could lead a life without sex, if need be. I could live without human companionship. I can live with myself alone, that is what I mean. And yet I am going to write this book, and perhaps other books too. It seems like a contradiction, and undoubtedly it is. I leave it at that.

• From Push (1996)

  She going OFF now. Rhonda come in behind her. No class, all of Each One Teach One is on the phone! They calling everybody from Mama to the mayor's office to TV stations! Before this day is up, Ms Rain say, you gonna be living somewhere, as god is my witness. As GOD is my witness! Thas when Queens shit come up. They wanna send me to 2way house in Queens, immediate opening! NO! What I know about Queens?! They got Arabs, Koreans, Jews, and Jamaicans—all kinda shit me and Abdul don't need to be bothered with. Here, I stay here in Harlem. Harlem house say they couldn't take me for two weeks. Ms Rain's boss git on phone. She is West Indian woman, don't take no shit. Boyfriend sit on some council. She hang up phone, say, They can take her tomorrow. So they just have to find me a place for tonight. Everyone says I can stay over their house. But you know where I stay? Ms Rain got friend who is caretaker or something at Langston Hughes' house which is not but around the corner, it's city landmark. I SPEND ONE NIGHT IN LANGSTON HUGHES' HOUSE HE USED TO LIVE IN. Me and Abdul in the Dream Keeper's house! Day after that, we come here, where I been ever since. Here, at Advancement House, main good thing is they got somebody we can trust to take care of our babies while we go to school for four hours a day, three times a week. Queens, no Ms Rain, no school. I like my room here. Better than home, Mama's house, I mean. I got bed for me, crib for Abdul. Dresser drawers, desk, chair, bookcase for my books and Abdul's books. Some of my books is: The Life of Lucy Fern 1 and 2 (it's two books) by Moira Crone Pat King's Family by Karen McFall Harriet Tubman: Conductor on the Underground Railroad by Ann Petry Wanted Dead or Alive: The True Story of Harriet Tubman by Ann McGovern (got two Harriet books!) Malcolm X by Arnold Adoff A Piece of Mine by J. California Cooper The Color Purple by Alice Walker Selected Poems by Langston Hughes some books Abdul got: The Black BC's by Lucille Clifton Harold and the Purple Crayon by Crockett Johnson The Story of a Little Mouse Trapped in a Book by Monique Felix The Boy Who Didn *t Believe in Spring by Lucille Clifton Hi, Cat! by Ezra Jack Keats Most of what we got Ms Rain give us. I would like a job, a paycheck—be able to buy what I want when I want it. We reading The Color Purple in school. Which is really hard for me. Ms Rain try to break it down but most of it I can't read myself.

• From Every Woman's Battle: Discovering God's Plan for Sexual and Emotional Fulfillment (2003)

  Waving a white flag in the midst of battle is a symbol of surrender. A white flag symbolizes that the troops are no longer posting their own colors, but a neutral color as a sign of defeat. However, the white flag you will be waving as you surrender your past pain, present pride, and future fear is not a symbol of defeat. It is a symbol of victory, for it represents purity. You will be washed clean of all compromise as you allow God to transform you—heart and mind—into a woman who forgives her debtors, walks in humility, and faces the future with confidence in her Creator and Sustainer. White is your color, girlfriend! Post it proudly and enjoy the peacefulness and fulfillment of sweet surrender to the Savior. [image file=image_rsrc247.jpg] But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere. Peacemakers who sow in peace raise a harvest of righteousness. —James 3:17-18 [image file=image_rsrc24J.jpg] rebuilding bridges For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh. The man and his wife were both naked, and they felt no shame. GENESIS 2:24-25 The banking industry invests a considerable amount of time training their employees to recognize counterfeit bills. Rather than introducing a variety of counterfeits and teaching employees how to recognize those, they have employees spend a great amount of time handling nothing but genuine currency. The logic is that if they know the real thing by heart, they’ll never accept an imitation. The same principle applies to intimacy in marriage. Once you understand what a priceless gift your sexuality is and how it can bond you and your husband in a way that you’ll never experience outside of marriage, you’ll be far less likely to settle for anything less than God’s plan for sexual and emotional fulfillment. However, both men and women have handled counterfeit intimacy for so long that they’ve lowered their standards and settled for far less than the real thing. Men look for satisfaction through sex, but physical intimacy alone doesn’t bring ultimate fulfillment. Many women can attest to the fact that just because a man is fantastic in bed doesn’t mean he fulfills her emotionally. Even great sex in marriage is not the same as genuine intimacy. On the other hand, we women look for satisfaction through emotional connection, but this will not fulfill us unless it’s celebrated through physical intimacy with our spouse. A sexless marriage resembles a friendship more than a marriage. Because sexual tension typically builds much faster for men than for women, we’ll more than likely have this friendship with a very sexually frustrated husband. Even the deepest emotional connection is no substitute for genuine intimacy.

• From Another Country (1962)

  She sighed. “Lord, what a mess. Come on home, sweetie, if Richard’s going to shoot you you don’t want him to do it while you’re wandering around Eric’s house. That would really be too much.” He laughed. “You’re right. You seem to be in a good mood today.” “I’m really in a terrible mood. But I’m being brave about it, I’m pretending to be Greer Garson.” He laughed again. “Does it help?” “Well, no, baby, but it makes everything pretty funny.” “All right. I’ll be along in a minute.” “Okay, sweetie. ’Bye.” “Good-bye.” He hung up with an exultant relief that no trouble seemed to be awaiting him at home with Ida. He felt that he had got away with something. He stepped into Eric’s shower, scrubbed and sang; but when he stepped out he realized that he was terribly hungry and weak. While he was dressing, Eric’s doorbell rang. He was sure that it was Richard, at last, and he hurriedly buckled his belt and pulled on his shoes before pressing the buzzer. He started, idiotically, to make up the bed, but realized that there would not be time, and, anyway, it could not possibly make any difference to Richard whether the bed was made or not. He waited, hearing the downstairs door open and close. He opened Eric’s door. But he heard no footsteps. A voice called, “Eric Jones!” “Here!” cried Vivaldo. He let out his breath. He walked to the landing. A Western Union boy came up the steps. “You Eric Jones?” “He’s gone out. But I can take it.” The boy handed him a telegram and a book for him to sign. He gave the boy twenty cents and walked back into the apartment. He thought that the telegram came, probably, from Eric’s agent or producer; but he looked at it more carefully and realized that it was a cable and that it came from Europe. He propped it against Eric’s telephone. He scribbled a note: I’ve borrowed your other raincoat. NOTE CABLEGRAM. He paused. Then he scribbled, It was a great day. And added, love, Vivaldo. He placed the note in the center of Eric’s desk, weighting it down with an ink bottle. Then he was ready, he looked about the room. The bed was still unmade; he left it that way; the bottle was still on the floor, the glasses on the night table. Everything was absolutely still, silent, except for the rain. He looked again at the cablegram, which leaned lightly, charged, waiting, against the telephone. Telegrams always frightened him a little. He closed the door behind him, tested it to make certain that it was locked, and walked out, at last, into the unfriendly rain. Eric saw her at once, standing near the steps, just beyond the ticket-taker. She was pacing in a small circle and her back, as he entered, was to him.

• From Every Woman's Battle: Discovering God's Plan for Sexual and Emotional Fulfillment (2003)

  When I am justified, it is “just-as-if-I’d never done those things.” So why do we continue beating ourselves up? Why do we allow our misery to affect our mental and physical health? You don’t have to carry all that emotional baggage. Surrender your pain and your backpack full of guilt and shame; it is only making you tired and crabby. Travel light and let the joy of the Lord be your strength! Letting go of bitterness fosters healthy changes in our attitudes, promotes healthy changes in our bodies, lowers blood pressure and heart rate, boosts self-esteem, and gives feelings of hope and peace. Forgiveness is essential not just for emotional and physical healing, but also for true worship. Matthew 5:23-24 says, “Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to your brother; then come and offer your gift.” In other words, God desires our reconciliation with one another before we come to Him in worship. I believe that not only does He desire our reconciliation with one another, He wants us to be reconciled to ourselves as well. When we don’t forgive, we are blocked spiritually. We can’t grow. In 2 Corinthians 2:10-11, Paul writes, “If you forgive anyone, I also forgive him. And what I have forgiven—if there was anything to forgive—I have forgiven in the sight of Christ for your sake, in order that Satan might not outwit us. For we are not unaware of his schemes.” Here Paul warns that Satan uses unforgiveness as a tool to bring about our destruction. Forgiveness foils Satan’s plots to stunt our spiritual growth. To enter the process of forgiveness, you must take these steps: • Acknowledge your anger and hurt. It is very real and God knows it is there. • Realize that holding on to this pain only holds you back. • Consciously let go of any need for revenge. • Consider the source of your pain: Hurting people hurt other people. Put yourself in their shoes. • Pray earnestly for those who hurt you, asking God to heal the wounds that cause them to wound others. • Pray that your wounds do not cause you to do the same to others.2 I walked through each of these steps in the process of forgiving my father, my husband, every other man who hurt me and was eventually able to forgive myself as well. As a result, I finally got over the barricade that had separated me from fully experiencing the love of my Savior for so long. Not only do we need to surrender past emotional pain so that our hearts can receive the love God wants to lavish on us, we also must surrender our pride. RELINQUISHING PRESENT PRIDE

• From Every Woman's Battle: Discovering God's Plan for Sexual and Emotional Fulfillment (2003)

  We moved our computer to our living room and made a pact with each other not to surf the Internet or go into chat rooms without another person in the room. Kevin says this pact isn’t just to keep me safe, but also to keep him from the temptation of looking at Internet pornography. Since all this came out in the open, we are much more honest with each other about our own sexual struggles and emotional temptations, but we have grace for each other and feel a connection that was missing when we kept secrets from each other. Every time Jean connects with her husband instead of a cyber-buddy, she strengthens her own resolve to avoid compromise at all costs. Although we may have fallen once or even several times, Jean’s story reminds us that genuine intimacy and fulfillment are still within our grasp. As you learn who you are in Christ (from the closing exercise of chapter 4), you’ll come to understand that you are not a victim of this battle, but a victor! The prize? Peace in your spirit, freedom from disquieting and oppressive thoughts and emotions, harmony in your relationships with God and men, and the sexual fulfillment God longs for you to experience. MY PAINFUL PAIN-RELIEVING PROCESS My journey toward the peacefulness of sexual integrity began in 1996 with several months of individual and group counseling. There, by ripping up phone books and screaming at empty chairs instead of at the innocent people I lived with at home, I vented my anger toward every person who had ever hurt me. I sat in a chair across from an imaginary “Shannon at fifteen” (the young girl I once was who was about to make all the sexual mistakes that I had just lived through). With my counselor’s guidance, I was able to voice my new understanding of the pain and loneliness this fifteen-year-old had felt, sympathize with her naiveté and confusion about her sexual and emotional desires, and forgive her for the bad choices she was making and the pain that her poor judgment would cause me and many others. I wrote letters of forgiveness to my father and mother, one painfully honest set that would never be mailed and another more socially acceptable set that was mailed and received with sincere appreciation. I also wrote a letter of forgiveness to myself. As I looked over my list of previous partners, I recognized that I was looking for love, approval, and acceptance from every authority figure in my life except from my real father and my heavenly Father. I embarked on a mission to get to know both of them better, frequently carving time out for family camping trips and retreats with the Lord. During this season of growth and healing, I crucified my fleshly desires and buried many bitter memories. My counselor finally kicked me out of her office saying, “You’re healed! Go! You don’t need me any more!”

• From Another Country (1962)

  She grinned. “Do you know what I realize every time I see you? That we’re very much alike.” She turned back to Vivaldo. “I don’t see your aging mistress anywhere. Are you looking for a new woman? If so, you too have come to the wrong store.” “I haven’t seen Jane for a hell of a long time,” said Vivaldo, “and it might be a good idea for us never to see each other again.” But he looked troubled. “Poor Vivaldo,” Cass said. After a moment they both laughed. “Come on in the back with me. Richard’s there. He’ll be very glad to see you.” “I didn’t know you people ever set foot in this joint. Can’t you bear domestic bliss any longer?” “We’re celebrating tonight. Richard just sold his novel.” “No!” “Yes. Yes. Isn’t that marvelous?” “Well, I’ll be damned,” said Vivaldo, looking a little dazed. “Come on,” Cass said. She took Rufus by the hand and, with Vivaldo ahead of them, they began pushing their way to the back. They stumbled down the steps into the back room. Richard sat alone at a table, smoking his pipe. “Richard,” Cass cried, “look what I brought back from the dead!” “You should have let them rot there,” Richard grinned. “Come on in, sit down. I’m glad to see you.” “I’m glad to see you,” said Vivaldo, and sat down. He and Richard grinned at each other. Then Richard looked at Rufus, briefly and sharply, and looked away. Perhaps Richard had never liked Rufus as much as the others had and now, perhaps, he was blaming him for Leona. The air in the back room was close, he was aware of his odor, he wished he had taken a shower at Vivaldo’s house. He sat down. “So!” said Vivaldo, “you sold it!” He threw back his head and gave a high, whinnying laugh. “You sold it. That’s just great, baby. How does it feel?” “I held off as long as I could,” Richard said. “I kept telling them that my good friend, Vivaldo, was going to come by and look it over for me. They said, ‘That Vivaldo? He’s a poet, man, he’s bohemian! He wouldn’t read a murder novel, not if it was written by God almighty.’ So, when you didn’t come by, baby, I figured they were right and I just had to let them have it.” “Shit, Richard, I’m sorry about that. I’ve just been so hung up—” “Yeah, I know. Let’s have a drink. You, Rufus. What’re you doing with yourself these days?” “I’m just pulling myself together,” said Rufus, with a smile. Richard was being kind, he told himself, but in his heart he accused him of cowardice. “Don’t be self-conscious,” Cass said. “We’ve been trying to pull ourselves together for years. You can see what progress we’ve made. You’re in very good company.” She leaned her head against Richard’s shoulder. Richard stroked her hair and picked up his pipe from the ashtray.

• From Becoming Myself: A Psychiatrist's Memoir (2017)

  When I attended a lecture he gave at Tavistock, I was impressed by his intelligence and rather enjoyed how his iconoclastic views ruffled the feathers of the establishment. But I also found him a bit disorganized, and I could easily understand why many members of the audience suggested that he was on LSD, his then-current drug of choice. Nonetheless, I chose to meet individually with him to discuss entering therapy. I recall asking him about his experience at Esalen in Big Sur, California, and his comments in his lecture about nude marathon groups being conducted there. He responded enigmatically, “I paddle my canoe and others paddle their canoes.” I concluded that he was too unfocused for me. (Little did I think I would be attending a nude marathon group at Esalen a few years later.) Next I consulted with the head of the Kleinian analytic school in London. I recall questioning his intense dredging for information about my first two years of life and asking why Kleinian analysis generally lasted seven to ten years. At the end of our two-hour consultation, he concluded (and I concurred) that my skepticism about his approach was too great. As he put it, “the volume of your background music [i.e., my resistance] will obscure the true chords of the analysis.” You have to admire the Brits for their eloquence! Eventually I chose to work with Charles Rycroft, who had been Laing’s analyst. He was a leading London psychiatrist of the “middle school” influenced by the British analysts Fairbairn and Winnicott. For the next ten months, I met with Rycroft two times a week. He was in his mid-fifties, and quite thoughtful and kind, if a bit detached. Each time I entered his Harley Street office, which had a Dickensian air about it and was furnished with a thick Persian carpet, a couch, and two comfortable upholstered armchairs, he hurriedly snuffed out the cigarette he had been smoking between sessions, greeted me with a handshake, and politely invited me to take my chair (not the couch) that faced his. He treated me collegially. I especially recall him recounting his role in the psychoanalytic society’s eviction of Masud Khan—an account I later re-created in my novel Lying on the Couch . I profited from our sessions, but wished he would be more active and interactional. His complex interpretations almost never struck me as helpful, but even so, after a few weeks, my anxiety was ameliorated and I felt able to write more effectively. Why? Perhaps because of his reliable acceptance and empathy. It was extremely important for me to know I had someone on my side. In later years when I visited London, I paid him social visits, and we often reviewed our therapy together. When he said he regretted his adherence to the doctrine of offering only interpretations, I much appreciated his candor. My work time in London was entirely devoted to writing the group therapy textbook.

• From Becoming Myself: A Psychiatrist's Memoir (2017)

  Blagden Terrace, our new street, was lined with tall sycamore trees standing before large, handsome homes, all filled with children my age. I remember being welcomed my first day there. The kids on the street playing touch football waved to me—they needed more players and I dived right in. Later that day, directly across the street on the front lawn of their home, I saw thirteen-year-old Billy Nolan playing catch with his elderly grandfather, who, I later learned, had once pitched for the Boston Red Sox. Billy and I were destined to play a lot of baseball together. I remember also my first walk around the block. I spotted a front-yard pond with several floating lily pads—that excited me because I knew the water would hold fine pickings for my microscope: swarms of mosquito larvae floating on the surface and hordes of amoebae that I could scrape from the bottom of the lily pads. But how to collect the specimens? In my old neighborhood I would have snuck into the yard at night and stolen a few expendable creatures from the pond. But I had no idea of how to behave here. T HE AUTHOR’S MOTHER AND FATHER IN FRONT OF THE B LAGDEN T ERRACE HOME , W ASHINGTON , DC, 1947. Blagden Terrace and environs offered an idyllic setting. No filth, no danger, no crime, and never an anti-Semitic comment. My cousin Jay, who has been my close lifetime friend, had also moved only four blocks away, and we often saw one another. Rock Creek Park was only two blocks from my home with its creek, trails, baseball fields, and tennis courts. There were neighborhood ball games almost every day after school until darkness. Goodbye to the rats! Goodbye to the roaches, to crime, to danger, and to anti-Semitic threats. My life would now be changed forever. I occasionally went back to the store to help out when there was a shortage of workers, but for the most part I had left those sordid surroundings behind. And never again did I need to lie about where I lived. If only Judy Steinberg, my girlfriend from summer camp, could have seen my new house!

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The abbot, whose hunger was greater than his desire to bandy words, ate the bread and drank the wine, though he did it with an ill will, and after made many haughty speeches, asking and counselling of many things and demanding in particular to see Ghino. The latter, hearing this talk, let part of it pass as idle and answered the rest very courteously, avouching that Ghino would visit him as quickliest he might. This said, he took his leave of him and returned not until the ensuing day, when he brought him as much toasted bread and as much malmsey; and so he kept him several days, till such time as he perceived that he had eaten some dried beans, which he had of intent aforethought brought secretly thither and left there; whereupon he asked him, on Ghino's part, how he found himself about the stomach. The abbot answered, 'Meseemeth I should fare well, were I but out of his hands; and after that, I have no greater desire than to eat, so well have his remedies cured me.' Thereupon Ghino caused the abbot's own people array him a goodly chamber with his own gear and let make ready a magnificent banquet, to which he bade the prelate's whole household, together with many folk of the burgh. Next morning, he betook himself to the abbot and said to him, 'Sir, since you feel yourself well, it is time to leave the infirmary.' Then, taking him by the hand, he brought him to the chamber prepared for him and leaving him there in company of his own people, occupied himself with caring that the banquet should be a magnificent one.

• From Little Women (1868)

  She obediently descended, and made as light of the prank as she could without betraying Meg or forgetting the truth. "Hum... ha... well, if the boy held his tongue because he promised, and not from obstinacy, I'll forgive him. He's a stubborn fellow and hard to manage," said Mr. Laurence, rubbing up his hair till it looked as if he had been out in a gale, and smoothing the frown from his brow with an air of relief. "So am I, but a kind word will govern me when all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't," said Jo, trying to say a kind word for her friend, who seemed to get out of one scrape only to fall into another. "You think I'm not kind to him, hey?" was the sharp answer. "Oh, dear no, Sir. You are rather too kind sometimes, and then just a trifle hasty when he tries your patience. Don't you think you are?" Jo was determined to have it out now, and tried to look quite placid, though she quaked a little after her bold speech. To her great relief and surprise, the old gentleman only threw his spectacles onto the table with a rattle and exclaimed frankly, "You're right, girl, I am! I love the boy, but he tries my patience past bearing, and I know how it will end, if we go on so." "I'll tell you, he'll run away." Jo was sorry for that speech the minute it was made. She meant to warn him that Laurie would not bear much restraint, and hoped he would be more forebearing with the lad. Mr. Laurence's ruddy face changed suddenly, and he sat down, with a troubled glance at the picture of a handsome man, which hung over his table. It was Laurie's father, who had run away in his youth, and married against the imperious old man's will. Jo fancied he remembered and regretted the past, and she wished she had held her tongue. "He won't do it unless he is very much worried, and only threatens it sometimes, when he gets tired of studying. I often think I should like to, especially since my hair was cut, so if you ever miss us, you may advertise for two boys and look among the ships bound for India." She laughed as she spoke, and Mr. Laurence looked relieved, evidently taking the whole as a joke. "You hussy, how dare you talk in that way? Where's your respect for me, and your proper bringing up? Bless the boys and girls! What torments they are, yet we can't do without them," he said, pinching her cheeks good-humoredly. "Go and bring that boy down to his dinner, tell him it's all right, and advise him not to put on tragedy airs with his grandfather. I won't bear it." "He won't come, Sir. He feels badly because you didn't believe him when he said he couldn't tell.