Can We Please Say #BlackLivesMatter Already?

I want to edit my post from last year.

Because since then I’ve learned some things…I’ve learned a lot.  And I learned that I was wrong to suggest we should stop saying #BlackLivesMatter.

I sat in front of the evening news last night and cried as I watched a report about a sniper targeting Dallas police, killing 5 and wounding many more.

Even more disturbing is there has been two more Black men murdered by white police this week, one who was simply sitting in the driver’s seat of his car and had been stopped for a burned-out tail light.  His child was sitting in the backseat while his father was killed in front of him.  Horrifying.

When will this end?  When will we say it?  When will we mean it?  Can we please say #BlackLivesMatter already?

I don’t think Caucasian people, like me,  really understand what it is like to experience racism or that we take our white privilege for granted without even realizing we are doing it. I’m only beginning to understand it myself, but I do empathize with people of color and I am passionate about equality and justice. In fact, I’ve completed my graduate degree in the area of Equality, Ethics and Justice in Education.

The only way to heal our nation of this disease of institutional racism, or any problem for that matter, is to finally admit that we do have a problem. We need to have these conversations. We need to stop blaming the victims. We need to stop acting like everything is just fine as it is. We need to stop being offended by every notion that disagrees with our own worldview.

And lastly, could we need to acknowledge #Black Lives Matter already! 

black lives matter

Black. Lives. Matter.

Brown lives matter.  Police lives matter.  Gay lives matter.  Children’s lives matter. People with disabilities lives matter.

But none of these lives will matter until Black Lives Matter.

Really.

Until we realize the beauty and potential and intelligence and talents we are squandering when we devalue and marginalize human beings.

Until we understand that by enjoying our white privilege to the detriment of an entire group of fellow humans, and that by participating in the systems and structures that benefit us, not because of merit, but by the accident of being born with fairer skin, and we speak up to shut down those systems and structures, we will continue to perpetuate this racism.

Long ago, when the Europeans wanted to get rid of and take over land that was inhabited by native peoples, they began calling them “savages.”

The reason to refer to them as savages was because it was easier to kill savages than to kill human beings.

All we do now is redefine our savages. Instead of savages, they are called slaves, or crack whores, or welfare mamas, or criminals. It’s all the same idea. It’s easier to kill or punish or oppress a slave, or a crack whore, or a welfare mama or a criminal than to it is to kill or punish or oppress a human being.

Instead, we need to proclaim #BLACKLIVESMATTER or even #OUR LIVES MATTER
We need to stop dehumanizing and objectifying those who are different than we are and insist that all are referred to as HUMANS.

This is not about being colorblind.  If you are reading that I am advocating colorblindness, then you are misunderstanding me. I think we SHOULD recognize and honor the differences that make us unique and wonderful.

What I am advocating is to stop dehumanizing other human beings and realizing that by acknowledging #BlackLivesMatter we ARE saying that all lives matter.

If we considered all humans human, even those who are different in beliefs, or lifestyle, or gender, or sexual orientation, or income, or race or whatever differentiates us, then we might have a harder time hating them.

If we considered human beings a part of “us” instead of “them,” it might be harder to go into their church buildings and slay them. Or call them names. Or deny basic human rights. Or underfund their schools. Or a host of other indignities that have been carried out either directly and indirectly against people of color in our nation

And it might be harder to fly a flag that is the symbol of their oppression over your state capital building in the guise of honoring history.

The ghastly treatment of Black people in our nation presents to us an opportunity to honestly look at the systemic dysfunction in our nation that allows these acts to be carried out. We need to genuinely evaluate what we are communicating to our young Caucasian men that is somehow promoting these macabre ideals. We need to hold our leaders accountable to promote logical and equitable solutions. Lastly, we need to stop the rhetoric of separation and marginalization of humans into categories of the good “us” as opposed to the undeserving “them,” and recognize that we are all human beings deserving of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Why a retired Homeschool Mom is the Best Candidate for Your Job: An open letter to the employers who aren’t paying attention to my resume.

Dear Future Employer:

First, every job posting is the same.  There is a description of the requirements and the qualifications of the ideal candidate.  I understand, my resume and cover letter is a little different, or maybe not different enough?

That’s because I can’t say I what I want to say on them.  So here, I will explain what will make me excellent at any professional job.

It is not because I finished my M.Ed. in one year to earn a new credential.

It is not because I know so much more than anyone else about the content of the position.

It is not because I have so much experience in the field that I am the most obvious choice in the universe.

business-people-represents-globalization-corporate-and-businessm

It is because I was a homeschool mom.

I know that the world of work does not recognize motherhood as a qualifier for professional employment.  Homeschooling does not give me recognition as a highly qualified educator according to the state department of education.

Yet, I submit that being a homeschooling mom is a terrific prerequisite for any job.

Before I began homeschooling, I was a professionally trained teacher.  I was very proud of all I knew about child development and learning theory.  But then my son, the beholder of my heart, when to kindergarten and did not learn the same as the other kids in his class.  I have written about this experience here.

Convinced of my ability to get him “back on track,” I quit my teaching job.  The plan was to help him get caught up and send him back to school in second grade.  However, by grade 4, he was still not reading.

The Ed.D. who tested my son looked at me with concern, even reproach, when he explained my son’s learning disabilities.  Finally he concluded with “I don’t know why you just don’t give up. Your son will never learn to read”.

To that I answered, “You’re wrong.  I will teach him to read.”

Being a mom means that whatever I don’t knowhow to do, I will learn.  When I declared that I would teach my son to read, I wasn’t depending on my professional qualifications as an educator.  I didn’t know the first thing about how to teach students with learning disabilities. It was my love for him that determined that I was going to learn what I needed to learn and do whatever I needed to do.

I read everything I could get my hands on and tried every suggestion I was given.  Progress was painfully gradual.  But as I learned, I adjusted. I came up with some of my own ideas.  I kept what worked and threw out what didn’t until finally he began to read.

Being a mom meant that I would be courageous, tenacious, optimistic, and hopeful. Being a mom meant that I was determined to try again after every setback.  Being a mom means getting into the messy and then cleaning it up.  It means that love wins when nothing else can.

Even though I do not know everything about the position I’m applying for, and although I have never done some of the required duties in a professional setting before, I can guarantee you have never met a more determined learner.

And though I do not have years of experience in your specific requirements, I will not quit after a few setbacks.  I will work until the goal is achieved.  You can trust me to care for the thing that matters to you the most. I will not disappoint you.

Because I gave 17 years to homeschooling my kids – and teaching many other people’s kids, too.

Because I sacrificed my career goals to assure my children could have any future they chose.

And I will never regret it.

But my life isn’t over just because my kids have grown up.  I still have a lot to offer and a lot that I still want to accomplish, but first, I need the professional opportunity.

So look no further.  Hire me.  I’m the candidate you’ve been looking for.

Because  it isn’t the credential or the experience that is the most important element in your search for a great employee.  It is that unquantifiable  x-factor that every employer looks for on the resume and tries to clue in on in the cover letter. My courage, my determination, my creativity, my optimism, my tenacity, my never-give-up-until-the-job-is-done strength of character is what makes me the best candidate.

And I became those things
while being a homeschooling mom.

 

I

Becoming a Teacher

By Lori Michelle

(I’m an award-losing author…and here is yet another edition.  In the attempt to get my writing “out there” I enter contests from time to time, and this is my latest award-losing entry.  But having my own blog means I have my own little forum for growing in my writing.  Hope you enjoy reading about how God taught me about being a REAL teacher.  If you would be so kind as to comment, or ask questions, I’d be so grateful.  Thanks.)

Two months after I graduated college with my BS in Elementary Education, I got my first job.  I became a professional educator, as in I was finally getting paid to do the job for which I received my formal education.

But I didn’t become a teacher until years later.

And my guru in the art of learning would be my own son.

Warren* was a feisty, friendly, full-of-life five-year-old the year we enrolled him in kindergarten.  When I dropped him off at school in the morning, I would watch my little toe headed boy with his yellow jacket and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle backpack bound into the school building without looking back.

After a few weeks, he began to change.  His exuberance and excitement about school diminished. He was overstimulated when came home from school.  He was grumpy and overactive and even sometimes violent towards his little sisters.  I noted the change, but felt it was simply an adjustment to school.

A few months went by and suddenly I began getting phone calls from the teacher concerning his behavior.  Warren had hit a student over the head with his lunchbox.  Warren had pulled down a girl’s pants in the lunch line.  Warren had spent yet another afternoon in the “time out” corner.

I began to wonder to myself, “There must be a pattern here.  There must be a reason.”  So I began marking on the calendar every time I got a call from the teacher or principal.

At the parent-teacher conference, I brought my calendar with me.

The teacher began to show me evidence outlying her concerns for my son.  It was March of his kindergarten year, and Warren could not write his name, much less any other letters of the alphabet.  Warren could not tie his shoes.  Warren spent more time in “time out” than out of it.

I brought out my calendar and pointing to the pattern that had emerged, I asked, “What happens every 10 days?”

The teacher surveyed my notes and exclaimed, “I change out the centers every 10 days!”

So every time my son had finally began to learn a new skill, the centers were changed and he had to start over again.  My son was frustrated.  Even though he was bright, he wasn’t learning at the pace of the other students.  The constant change and struggle to keep up was making him feel defeated and incapable and angry.  He acted out his exasperation the only way his five-year-old emotions knew how.  His behavior was communication…my son had unmet needs and required my advocacy, my voice, and my intervention.

So, I made a radical move.  I quit my job as a professional educator and decided to home educate my son.  That was in 1993 and homeschooling was not yet a “movement.”  At least not in the area of North Carolina where I lived.   (There were only a handful of homeschooling families in our entire county, and my resignation caused quite a ruckus in my church and among my teacher friends…but that’s another story)homeschooling

I said I will only homeschool for a couple years…just until I get him caught up.  After all, I had taught many children to read as a professional educator!  I knew just how to help him!

Except I didn’t.

I tried everything I knew from my years of being a professional educator.  I tried every curriculum or method I could find.

I read to him scads of books on all kinds of topics.  We did science experiments.  We took nature walks.  We spent hours at the library or at the museum.  He spent ages building, inventing, playing, and climbing.  Anything that stimulated his interest, we explored, from rocks to medieval castles to cooking.

Yet, in the fourth grade, my sweet son said to me, “I just want to go to the library and pick out a book and read it!”

Nothing I tried worked to help my sweet, bright, fun-loving, feisty son learn how to read!

I reached out to a Doctor of Education for help.  He performed a full battery of psychological and educational tests on my son.  On the day that I was to find out the results, I arrived full of hope and faith that this man would finally have the answer to my son’s learning difficulties.

In a nondescript room with only a small table between us, the professional educator labeled my son’s learning disabilities one by one.  He attempted to communicate to me the severity of the situation.  I kept asking him what could be done, but obviously, I simply wasn’t grasping the immensity of the problem. He finally burst out, “Your son is NEVER going to read!  Why don’t you just give up?”

I drew in my breath slowly and forced back hot, angry tears.

“Sir,” I began shakily, “I will not give up on him because I am his mother!  You are wrong.

  1. SON. WILL. READ!”

I collected my purse and my papers and I stood to leave.

I became a teacher that day.  I decided that I would do whatever it took to teach my son to read.

And I did.

By the end of 5th grade, Warren could read on the 2nd grade level.  By the end of 7th grade, he was on the 5th grade level.  When Warren was in the 8th grade, he decided he wanted to go back to formal schooling.

He graduated from high school when he was 16, and graduated from college with a B.S in Business at age 19.

Today, he is an Assistant Vice President for a major financial company in New York City.

When Warren went back to school, so did I.  I renewed my teaching credentials and went back to the classroom, too.

But this time, not as a professional educator, but as a teacher.  My years outside of the formal classroom with my son had taught me more about the true nature of education than all of my college courses and years of experience combined.

I now teach special needs children who have difficulty learning in the traditional way.  I believe in them until they can believe in themselves.

I treat my students as if they were my own son or daughter…looking for that unmet need that calls for my advocacy, my voice, and my intervention.  I utilize my knowledge as a professional educator, but I devote my heart as a teacher.

Why I Can’t Pray

Dear Pastor,

Last week you challenged us as a congregation to pray about how God has gifted us specifically and individually, and to reveal how He might want to use us to grow His kingdom.

I confess that I haven’t really prayed that prayer.  Maybe I’m afraid that He doesn’t really answer those kinds of prayers, or that He won’t…or worst of all…that He already has.

Prayer used to be effortless.

For a long time I was convinced that I was someone special in God’s eyes; a woman after God’s own heart.  Prayer came easy in those days.  I spoke to Jesus about my daily worries and struggles and insecurities.  I was sure that God would not only hear, but that He would send relief quickly and consistently.  I felt that God really cared about my lost keys, or my child’s nightmares, or whatever else was on my mind.

praying-hands

Along with the constant chatter with the Divine came an assurance that I was under God’s special vigilance.  I believed He would never let anything bad happen to me because I was His beloved.  I felt safe and secure, and certain I had the sweet life with God.

I was sincere in my faith.  When I look back on it now, I realize that I was arrogant and judgmental, but I honestly didn’t perceive myself that way.  I was thankful, and felt humbled that God had allowed me to learn about His “truth”.

Then, prayer became impossible.

I found out I was wrong.  God DID let something bad happen to me.  In fact, God allowed the load-bearing walls of my faith be swept away.

For a long time I was angry with God for “letting me go.”

I was mad at all the people…ministers, authors, fellow members of my flock… throughout my life who helped build a unquestioning faith on narrow interpretations of certain passages taken out of context and extrapolated to relegate God to a very limited, explainable construct.

Sometimes I still miss my old, easy faith that had all the answers.

Yet I knew that my relationship with God would never be the same.

I would never again be able to just trust that if I prayed about something, everything would turn out my way.

And that was the rub…          

I now have to accept that God is the Almighty Sovereign One, not my supernatural bodyguard king.

And maybe He has better things to do than make sure little me is “having it my way.”

I know that God allowed those things to happen in my life to move me beyond the simple, easily explained deity that my former church taught about so I could come to believe in the inscrutable Jehovah.

Yet, believing in a Sovereign God makes prayer a little tricky for me

So, do I want to know how God has gifted me specifically and individually, and would I like for Him to reveal how He might want to use me to grow His kingdom?  Oh, yes!  I would very much like to know!

I would love a clear-cut description instead of letting me flounder with all this trial and error stuff that seems to make up my life’s path.

How simple it could be if only The Lord would give me a singular flash of inspiration instead of allowing me to just serve in my general vicinity willy-nilly.

How simple a straightforward little whisper from the Almighty would make my life!

The snag is that learning the answer would be like going back to that old, easy faith that had all the answers.   Back when what I thought was faith was really certainty.

And certainty and faith are opposing ideas.

Faith is the conviction of things UNSEEN.

So, maybe God doesn’t answer those kinds of questions, or won’t, or already has because knowing would be the opposite of His unfathomable will.

What if God actually wants each of us to puzzle it out?  Maybe He wants us to be challenged by our individual gifts and our unique failures.

What if success and failure aren’t reckoned by God the same way I reckon them?

What if the journey IS the point? So we will make an attempt and endeavor to try and have a crack at it and give it a go.

So, pastor, no…even though its a beautiful prayer, I can’t pray that prayer.  I can’t really pray like that anymore.  I don’t need the answers to my questions anymore.  I don’t wish to be insulated so I can be secure, and safe, and happy.  I’m not in search of sure footing.

If you send me, will I hear you?  And will I go?

If you send me, will I hear you? And will I go?

I just want to thank Him for my beautiful life and all the many blessings I have.  I am so grateful for His unfailing grace and generosity. And I want the courage to say, “Here am I, send me.” And pray that when He does, I will recognize His voice and go.

Woman, Christian, and the “F” Word

I read a recent article that asserted, quite vehemently, that Christian women do not need to use the “F” word.

A few months ago, upon visiting my mom’s church, I heard to a sermon about Luke, the writer of the Gospel and a physician.  The minister listed all of the many ways Luke, and Jesus himself, were fair to women.  All the ways women were included in the ministry of Jesus.  All the kindnesses that were shown to women.

But the minister was sure to point out that Luke was not…the “F” word.

feminism

After all, according to some, the “F” word is responsible for driving a wedge between husbands and wives, between mothers and children, and the unhinged slaughter of innocent babies.  How could a Christian ascribe to such a philosophy?

I’ll tell you why I am a Christian, a wife, a mother, AND the “F” word.

In the church I grew up in, the first argument against almost any activity was, “Think of what it could lead to.”  Drinking one glass of wine could lead to drunkenness, so you better not drink alcohol ever.  Dancing a slow dance with a boy could lead him to lust, which could lead to sex…so you better not take that 6-week ballroom dancing class.

And apparently, somehow, believing that women have equal intelligence and equal rights under the law and before God leads to broken homes and dead babies.  So, you better not give womb bearers equal rights under the law because you never know what they might use that freedom to do!  Because we all know that if men could bear children, no man would EVER use his freedom to end an unborn child’s life.  Right.

Using the “what could it lead to” argument is false logic, and is only applied when it is convenient.

I’ve never heard anyone in my church warn that using pharmaceutical drugs could lead to drug addiction, so better not go to the doctor or have surgery.  Even though, every year, more people initiate abuse of prescription drugs than any other drug.

The second argument used in my church against getting involved in an activities is “guilt by association.”  They like to use that old adage, “Evil companions corrupt good morals.” Or even that warning about “causing your brother to stumble,” (which is also handy with the slow dancing argument, above).

Unfortunately, that was also the argument used by the Pharisees when they accused Jesus of wrongdoing.  “If you knew what kind of woman she was,” they spat at Our Lord, “You wouldn’t let her touch you!”  They blasted him for “eating with sinners and tax collectors.”  They wanted to stop his miracles because he dared to heal on the Sabbath!

They claim that if we (the ones who claim the “F” word) only understood how much damage it has done in the world…how many broken homes…how many dead babies…in the name of the “F” word, then we would never associate with it.

I could say the same for Christianity.

In fact, I’m almost embarrassed to call myself a Christian when I think of how many injustices I and my children have suffered alone in the name of Christianity.  And then when I compound that by how many lives and families and futures that have been literally destroyed in the name of Christianity worldwide and throughout history, then I feel like I can make the same argument.  Why claim to be a Christian when you understand just how much human suffering has happened as a result!

I’m sorry, but your arguments are false.

The “F” word has a place in modern Christianity and with modern women.

Only a person who has never experienced racism would ever claim that because the Civil Rights Movement accomplished many of its goals to end legalized racism and segregation that racism no longer exists, and there is no need for a Christian to also be a Civil Rights Activist.

And it also follows that only a person who has never experienced sexism would ever claim that because the Feminist Movement accomplished many of its goals to afford equal rights for women that sexism no longer exists, and there is no need for a Christian to also be a Feminist.

Elizabeth Cady Stanton

Elizabeth Cady Stanton

Elizabeth Cady Stanton, one of the original suffragettes, said that “the Bible and the church have been the greatest stumbling block in the way of women’s liberation.”  And that has been my experience, too. 

It was in church that I was taught that women, by executive order of God himself (re I Cor. 14: 34), are “to keep silent in the churches; for they are not permitted to speak…and if they desire to learn anything, let them ask their husbands at home, for it is improper for a women to speak in church.”

It was in church that I was told that women are not allowed to preach, teach, or otherwise have authority over a man.  It was in church that I was taught that God’s equal regard for men and women (Galatians 3:28) does not mean equal roles, equal consideration, nor equal rights.

And it was when I stepped outside of church that I learned that so much of what I learned inside my church regarding God’s will for women were LIES.

Yes, Feminism is still needed.  And it is needed in our churches.

I regret and am saddened by the harm has been done in its name, but that does not mean that the movement itself is without merit or worth.

Just as those who do horrendous acts in God’s name don’t represent the true God and His will, women who use the “F” word to justify bashing men or leaving their families or even making abhorrent choices, do not represent what Feminism really is.  Unfortunately, their acts have made Feminism the “F” word to many Christians.

So yes, I am a Woman, A Christian, and A Feminist.

feminism1

The Remedy for Contentment: Spiritual Imagination

As believers of Jesus, we need not to learn the skill of Spiritual Imagination.  The remedy, instead, is to unlearn the habit of accepting that the limits of our physical, tangible, pragmatic skin is all we have at our disposal.”  Lori Michelle

 

Have you ever played that game, “That’s good; That’s Bad?”

It goes like this.  The first player puts forth a scenario such as “I just got a puppy.” Then the other players respond, “That’s good.” Then the next player says, “My puppy ruined my carpet.” And everyone answers, “That’s bad.” And so on around and around it goes proving that a circumstance can be good or bad depending on how you look at it.

That’s how I feel about what happened back in January. 

I got the best performance review I have ever gotten at my current place of employment.  My boss is really happy with my performance this year, and I feel, after 3 years of working at my school, that I have finally found my niche and proven my particular contribution worthwhile.

It hasn’t been easy, either.  I was close to being fired or walking off the job just one year ago!  I have gone from being stressed and frustrated and overwhelmed to feeling satisfied and justified and (mostly) content.

For most, I just described a “That’s good!” moment.  Admittedly, it does feel good to be seen and appreciated.

But for the last 5 or 6 weeks, I haven’t been very motivated to write or read or continue to work toward my personal goals outside of work.  And that’s bad.

Working as teacher has always been something of a conflict for me.  I hate to admit this because my conflicting feelings have always been a source of guilt, too.

On the one hand, I like teaching and I am good at it, too.  I care deeply for my students, not just how well they do on their academics, but what kind of person they are becoming and how I am contributing to their success in the long run. I believe strongly that if I can build up their confidence in their own abilities, then they will be able to create the future they desire for themselves.   I see teaching as planting seeds that others will water and then eventually the student will reap the harvest.

I have been teaching in some capacity, whether private, public, tutoring, or home schooling for 24 years now, and God has really blessed my efforts all along the way.  I know in my soul that I am doing good work that is worthwhile, and that makes me humble and grateful.

Then, on the other hand, I am not passionate about teaching.  I do not love it…in fact it’s a lot of hard work.  It is not and has never been my life’s dream.  I never pictured my life as being one of a career educator.

I chose teaching as my profession because it seemed pragmatic at the time.  My lifelong dream has been to be a writer, really, but majoring in English or journalism just didn’t seem practical.  I had young children when I decided to finish my degree, and because I loved them so much and wanted to be with them as much as humanly possible, I decided that teaching in the same school as my kids would be the ticket.  Teaching was my default position, not my ambition.

Teaching is something I have always done for others, not for myself.  Teaching, for me, is a sacrifice of love, not an outpouring of God’s pleasure.

That’s why I feel guilty.  I feel like if I’m good at something, and it’s worthwhile and makes a contribution to the world, then I should want to do it.  It SHOULD be my passion.

Maybe that’s why when I got the good review, I felt like I no longer needed to prove that I was a worthy teacher, and that I should just be content.  I should stop the silly notion of becoming a writer.  I should stop dreaming of someday writing that book that propels me into the writing and speaking career I have always wanted.

I like how Abraham Maslow said it:

“Perhaps adjustment and stabilization, while good because it cuts your pain, is also bad because development toward a higher ideal ceases.”

But then I found this definition of contentment on Wikipedia (of all places).

“Contentment is the acknowledgement and satisfaction of reaching capacity.”

And I realize, that darn it all, teaching isn’t the course through which I will reach my capacity.  Teaching isn’t filling my full potential.

But to be honest, the idea of learning how and doing what needs to be done to become an author who can support herself on her writing is overwhelming!  I read the books. I follow the blogs.  I take classes.  I join clubs and contests and seek out mentors.  And I also try to write sometimes, too!

Along with working full time and family and church, carving out time to develop my career as a writer is difficult and time consuming and unrewarding in almost every tangible way.  In this noisy, noisy world, how will my insignificant little voice be heard?

I waver between being content and grateful for my job and for teaching AND having this great hope that if I just keep working at it, if I just keep writing, if I just keep putting my work out there…someday, somehow I will realize that dream and fill myself to capacity.

And I remember what Jesus can do with vessels of water…or with fishes and loaves…or with dead bodies.  How he doesn’t see them as they are, but as they will be.  I’m calling it Spiritual Imagination. 

What can I do, with Jesus, if I just had His imagination for myself and stopped settling for the tangible, practical, logical solution?  What if I stopped settling for what I am now, and walk forward into what I can become?

Abraham Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs

Abraham Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs

As believers of Jesus, we need not to learn the skill of Spiritual Imagination.  The remedy, instead, is to unlearn the habit of accepting that the limits of our physical, tangible, pragmatic skin is all we have at our disposal.

If you’ll excuse me, I’ve some unlearning to do.

abraham maslow quote

Some Hopefully Helpful Advice For Your Weird Marriage

I really liked this post I found written by John Pavlovitz on his blog.  I hope you’ll check this out and enjoy…and take his advice.  If you want to fix your marriage, don’t look to blogs or books or DVD’s…look to the person sitting across the table from you or sleeping in your bed.

This is one piece of advice I wish I’d had while I was young and in my first marriage.  Don’t know if it would have changed the outcome, but it sure might have helped.

Some Hopefully Helpful Advice For Your Weird Marriage.