The Pilgrimage Begins

    A tiny silver-haired and round-faced woman greeted her at the door.
"Welcome! I'm Katherine Rhodes," she said, extending both her hands. Meg
was expecting a flimsy, delicate handshake from the five-foot-nothing spritenot
a firm, steadying, two-handed grip. This was a woman of sturdy resolve,
like Meg's mother. But unlike Ruth Fowler, who had been determinedly
winter Katherine radiated summery warmth. "Are you here for the sacred
journey group?" Katherine asked.
    "Yes," Meg squeaked. She felt her face flush with color. Why was her face
always hot when her hands were always cold?
    "So glad you're here," Katherine said. "Just make your way to the end of the
hallway and turn right. And help yourself to coffee and bagels."
    Meg ducked into a restroom off the hallwa)'J relieved to see she was alone.
Scrutinizing herself in the mirror, she turned this way and that. No use. Each
angle merely gave her new inspiration to find fault. She experimented with
pulling her shoulder length blonde curls away from her face, but that was too
open. The red blotches were still visible on her neck. So she let her hair down
again, opting to shield herself with a veil.
    And what about her skirt and blouse? Too dressy? Katherine and the
others had been casually dressed. What if she discovered she was the only one
in church clothes? She licked her finger and rubbed it feverishly over a small
black spot on her sleeve, becoming increasingly irritated with herself.
    When a woman wearing jeans and a sweatshirt opened the door, Meg
knew she had run out of time to make herself right. There would be no
pleasing her clamoring inner critic today, no quieting Mother's voice inside
her head. Or was it her own voice? She wasn't even sure anymore.
    "I ... urn ... " Meg felt color rushing to her face. If only she had worn a
turtleneck. But it was still too warm for turtlenecks. "My pastor's wife recommended it because it helped her after her mom died. And she thought maybe
it would help me now that my mother's gone." Too much. She'd said too
much. She hadn't planned on revealing herself. Now she was going to cry. She
bit her lip and willed back the tears.
    Mara stopped putting on her bright red lipstick and lo oked up from her
compact mirror. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, offering a tender look of compassion
that threatened Meg's already fragile nervous system.
    "Excuse me," Meg mumbled. She grabbed her purse and slipped quickly
out the exit door, leaving her Bible behind.
    Mara wasn't sure if Meg had left for the restroom, or if she intended to go
home. Poor thing. Meg looked as anxious on the outside as Mara felt on the
inside. Instead of running after her with the Bible, Mara decided it might be
good if Meg had a reason to come back. For Meg's sake.
    No. For her own sake.
    If Meg didn't return, Mara might end up all by herself at the back corner
table, and there was nothing lonelier than being by yourself in a room full of
people. She knew that from experience.
    She broke off a piece of her cinnamon raisin bagel and chewed slowly, surveying her fellow travelers. Most of the thirty pilgrims were women. A few
twentysomething guys with backpacks stood near the front, drinking out of
water bottles and chatting comfortably. Several couples sat close together,
arms draped loosely around one another's shoulders. Mara wondered if the
men had come willingly. And if they actually wanted to be there, did those
women appreciate the blessing they'd been given? Or did they take their spiritual
partnerships for granted?
    Mara tried to squash her feelings of envy, but she couldn't help herself. She
had spent years wishing Tom would show the faintest interest in spiritual
things. Years. But the harder she prayed, the more resistant he seemed to
become. So she walked the road of faith alone. Always alone.
    At that moment Meg returned to the table, looking sheepish. Mara wasn't
t sure if she had come back to pick up her Bible or to sit down. Meg seemed
uncertain too, with one hand hovering over the Bible and one hand touching
the back of the chair.
    "Welcome, everyone! I'm Katherine Rhodes."'
    Meg plunged into her seat, gripping her purse tightly.
    "I'm noticing we've got a few tables without many people/' Katherine said,
scanning the room. "I'm wondering if a couple of you would be willing to
move to that back table in the corner, and maybe another couple to the table
up front here. Let's aim for four or five per table. Then go ahead and take the
next few minutes to introduce yourselves. Maybe say why you're here."
    Mara watched as two women approached their table from the opposite
side of the room. One was tall and sylphlike, elegant in a plum top, black
denim jeans, and gold hoop earrings. She looked like she had stepped off the
front cover of a magazine the sort of magazine whose airbrushed women
taunted Mara with tips for sexually satisfying men, keeping fit, and maintaining
youthful skin. Mara preferred magazines offering real-life glimpses of
celebrities with cellulite.
    She had long ago given up any hope of satisfying Tom or keeping fit. As for
maintaining youthful skin, her cupboards overflowed with anti-aging,
wrinkle-firming, collagen-enhancing, antioxidant-ing products. She was determined
to preserve by rigorous regimen the only physical asset for which
she had ever been commended: Mara had "nice skin:" Though she knew it was
the sort of compliment people often offered to overweight women, Mara did
have a dewy soft complexion that invited speculation about what her skin
care secrets might be. Someone had also once told her that she had "lovely
feet." But in a world obsessed with faces and figures, beautiful feet didn't get
you very far.
    As she observed the covergirl's diamond wedding ring and glossy manicure,
Mara suddenly felt very self-conscious over her nail-bitten stubs. She
closed her left hand into a fist to hide the offending fingers and tried not to
think about all the other pretty and privileged girls who had made her life
miserable. The rich, stuck-up, judgmental-
    Stop it! she commanded herself. You don't even know her. She hasn't spoken
a single word and you're already judging her.
    Why, why, why? Why, after all these years, why did those same buttons
still get pushed?
    She wished the nine-year-old girl who lived inside her menopausal body
would just grow up.
    Trying hard to ignore the olive-skinned beauty, Mara eyed the other newcomer.
She was about Mara's height maybe five-five or five-six but she
was average weight, without any visible curves. Nothing about her attracted
attention: no color, no makeup, and no jewelry, except for a cross necklace.
It required a certain measure of courage not to fuss over a middle-aged face,
and Mara supposed she was either confident in her unremarkable, simple
features or one of those rare women who simply couldn't be bothered to fret
about her appearance.
    She certainly didn't seem to fret about her hair. Her chin length, light
brown hair was damp, hanging limply around her face. Mara decided she
could benefit from a few layers and a blow-dryer and perhaps some overall
color and highlighting to conceal the streaks of gray.
    The woman's wrinkles were prominent, aging her face. She wore the brow
of a deep thinker. Or a worrier. Or maybe both. And her dark eyes were ringed
with weariness. Mara had never seen such dark circles. Beyond the weariness,
however, was a knowing look which would have been unnerving if not combined
with soft gentleness. There was something trustworthy and true in her
eyes that invited confidence, even secrets.
    Or maybe it was Mara's imagination. Maybe it was the cross she wore
that made Mara instinctively trust her. She had never seen a cross like itfashioned from nails and dangling from a black cord. She couldn't help
staring at it.

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Is dating ever fun?

    Sometimes, yes ... and sometimes, no. Dating seems to be filled with
fun, romance, drama, and heartache. I'm thrilled that dating doesn't have
to be drama. We as women are usually the one's creating the drama, but
we will t alk more about this later on in our study. Romance will also be
discussed later, but I will say that ron1ance is often what makes dating
happen. It's that "twitterpated feeling" that tells us we are attracted to a
guy. What about the fun? Dating can be a lot of fun if this is what you set
as an expectation for yourself. We each place expectations on individuals
and experiences throughout our lives. If you place an expectation on dating
that you are going to have fun, you most likely will attract guys and be
attracted to guys that also want to have fun. My question for you is what
kind of fun do you want to have? If you are choosing to live a relationship
with Christian, then I would encourage you to choose your fun wisely.
Staying away from situations that are going to cause temptation that is
physically inappropriate is always a good idea.

    Read Proverbs 7:7-27
    I saw among the simple,

                        I noticed among the young men,
                        a youth who lacked judgment.
                        8 He was going down the street near her corner,
                        walking along in the direction of her house
                        9 at twilight, as the day was fading,
                        as the dark of night set in.
                        10 7hen out came a woman to meet him,
                        dressed like a prostitute and with crafty intent.
                        11 (She is loud and defiant,
                        her feet never stay at home;
                        12 now in the street, now in the squares,
                        at every corner she lurks.)
                        6
                        Kissing Frogs and Trying on Shoes
                        13 She took hold of him and kissed him
                        and with a brazen face she said:
                        14 "I have fellowship offerings a at home,·
                        today I fulfilled my vows.
                        15 So I came out to meet you,·
                        I looked for you and have found you!
                        16 I have covered my bed
                        with colored linens from Egypt.
                        17 I have perfumed my bed
                        with myrrh, aloes and cinnamon.
                        18 Come, let's drink deep of love till morning;
                        let's enjoy ourselves with love!
                        19 My husband is not at home;
                        he has gone on a long journey.
                        20 He took his purse filled with money
                        and will not be home till full moon."
                        21 With persuasive words she led him astray;
                        she seduced him with her smooth talk.
                        22 All at once he followed her
                        like an ox going to the slaughter,
                        like a deer bstepping into a noose c
                        23 till an arrow pierces his liver,
                        like a bird darting into a snare,
                        little knowing it will cost him his life.
                        24 Now then, my sons, listen to me;
                        pay attention to what I say.
                        25 Do not let your heart turn to her ways
                        or stray into her paths.
                        26 Many are the victims she has brought down;
                        her slain are a mighty throng.
                        27 Her house is a highway to the grave
                        leading down to the chambers of death.

    Temptation is everywhere. We are told by TV, music, magazines and
the world in general that we are to be sexy, lusty, and tempting to the
opposite sex. The good news is God made us naturally attractive to the
opposite sex . Eve didn't need make-up, push up bras, or even shave her
legs to n1ake herself n1ore attractive to Adam. He made guys so they want
us! It's up to us girls to help the guy out in his battle with temptation and
not give the idea that we are merely about the sexy and lusty.

    Thought of the day:
    What are ways that you have tried to present yourself as sexy or seductive?

    If you leave seduction out of it, what traits do you want guys to see in you
and what traits are they seeing in you?

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The Real Thing

             
           He's the real Mackay.

                       Robert Lewis Stevenson, 1883


    We kids watched the clock, waiting for dismissal, while Sister
issued her closing announcements. "Tomorrow, after school, a
man from the Coca-Cola Company will be on the playground. If
you bring a nickel, you can buy a bottle of Coca-Cola. However,
your nickel ... " The bell interrupted and she added, "We'll talk
about it tomorrow."
   
    I'd heard of Coca-Cola, but by the time I got home my
excitement about it had waned. There were five of us kids in
school, and while I was not familiar with multiplication, I felt
certain that five kids times five nickels was more than Poppy
could spare.

    Still, I hoped that one of my siblings would mention the
Coca-Cola man. Sure enough, the next noon at dinner my older
brothers bragged about having collected and sold enough scrap
metal for a bottle apiece. My older sister, Norma, was sick and
not going to school, so that left only me without funds. I said
something to that effect.

    The remark seemed to miss its target. Poppy said nothing.
I helped clear the table, hoping my effort would be noticed and
rewarded. Still nothing from the man with the money.

    I had stalled as long as I could; it was time to return to
school. I shuffled to the door wearing a pitiful look. I paused,
and looked back.

    Ma reached in her purse, and I waited while she fished out
a nickel and knotted it in the corner of a handkerchief. She tied
the other end to my sash and warned, "Leave it there until after
school."

    All afternoon the hanky hung there, as limp as a flag on a
windless day. I was tempted to practice untying the knot, but in
Sister's class it was not a good idea to draw attention to yourself
if what you were doing was nonacademic.

    Before dismissal, Sister tapped a ruler against a poster on
the wall. The ruler always got our attention. Once when a boy
seated behind me pulled my hair, Sister slapped his hands with
the ruler. As she turned her back and returned to the front of
the room, Harold whispered to me, "They're bleeding."

    I had no pity; my head still stung from his tug on my hair.

    Now Sister said, "Those of you who are fortunate enough
to have a nickel should, in good conscience, give it to the
missionaries in the Belgian Congo, for the starving pagan
babies, instead of spending it on foolishness."

    So that's what she'd started to say yesterday. These darkskinned,
wide-eyed children on the poster had sad faces and
swollen stomachs. How could they be hungry with those big
stomachs? And where was the Belgian Congo? And what did
pagan mean? Whenever the pagan babies came up at home,
Poppy said he had enough mouths to feed. But he usually found
a coin or two, even if it was only pennies.

    I hoped that Sister hadn't seen my hanky with the tell-tale
nickel knotted inside. I don't know if any of my classmates
succumbed to her suggestion and dropped their money in the
mission box, but I know that when the bell rang and I slunk out
to the playground, a long line loomed ahead of me.

    At last my turn came. I forked over my money and watched
the man plunge his arm into a keg of ice and come up waving
a dripping bottle. In one fell swoop he wiped it on a towel tied
to his belt, popped off the metal cap, and handed me my first
Coca-Cola.

    Pushing away an image of pagan babies, I tipped the cold
bottle to my mouth and gulped ravenously. I paused to breathe;
my eyes crossed and filled with hot tears. I blinked them open,
took another swig, and another. A million bubbles fizzed, boiled
over, burst in the cauldron of my innards. An unexpected belch
brought a fiery explosion into my chest, throat, nose, eyes.

    Oh, the sting of it! This was like nothing I'd ever tasted.

    I'd heard that if you dropped a nail into a bottle of Coca-Cola
the nail would soon dissolve. I guess that meant the drink was
poison. But they couldn't sell poison. And I'd seen pictures of Santa
Claus drinking Coca-Cola, so, undaunted, I drained my bottle.

    Coca-Cola became my soda of choice.

    Many years passed. The new and improved age of advertising
dawned and, out of the blue, the Coca-Cola company announced
it would retire their ninety-nine-year-old secret formula. They
would replace it with a smoother, sweeter drink: New Coke.

    They had toyed with their customers' loyalty before. Years
earlier, they had started calling the drink simply Coke, and
despite the claim that the recipe hadn't changed, connoisseurs
detected that the taste had undergone subtle changes from
then on. Maybe it was the packaging, the aluminum cans and
plastic containers, but Coke didn't have that old pizzazz. And
Diet Coke, with artificial sweetener, with or without caffeine,
was something else altogether. The same went for Cherry Coke,
which should not come bottled at all; it should be concocted at
a soda fountain from sickeningly sweet syrup.

   

 

   

   

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The Second Time Through Is Easier

    My grandpa signed Chris, Brad, and me up for baseball. My grandma
hated the idea, because it would cut into our Kingdom Hall time if we
had a game or practice or Tuesday or Thursday. I really appreciate my
grandpa doing that because I loved baseball. But up until that point, I
had never played on an actual team before. We would have to go to a "try
out" to see what team we would be picked on. In Oil City, there is only
one park with three baseball fields to play on, unlike large cities that
I'm guessing have several dozen. There were three groups for placing
players, excluding the T-ball kids. H you were 13-15, you played Senior
League on the big field. If you were younger than that, you played in
either Little League or in Minor League if you weren't quite as good
to be on Little League yet. You could be the same age as Little League
kids. But in the Minors, every other inning, your coach would pitch to
you instead of an opposing pitcher. In Little League, it was just straight
kids versus kids, and that's where I was destined to be. I was really good
at neighborhood baseball, and I knew that once I was given the chance,
I would shine in Little League.
    The day of the tryout my brothers and I were excited to go out and
show what we had in the few brief seconds we got. All the coaches from
both Little and Minor Leagues were there, and how it went was basically
the Little League coaches would pick all the standouts and if they had a

much room for activities. ''You can swiiiim and play basketballllll and go
to the gaaaaame room," I said, with each last word drawn out for that
extra little emphasis on how fun it was. The day he decided to take us, I
was watching MTV (back when they played videos), and he said, ''Well,
lets go see what this YMCA is all about." I didn't want to get up right then
but he made me.
    Later on that summer we were once again signed up for the week
long summer camp. When we got there Chris, Brad, and I all went to the
same camp site and got a tent together. Mter we got settled in we went to
find the first thing to do. We ran into my friend David Stover and invited
him to be the fourth member of our tent. All of us then decided to go
down to the canoes and paddle around the giant lake for fun but also
for cash as well. There had been a rumor going around that there was a
turtle in the lake with a red "S" painted on its shell and that if you caught
it and brought it back to shore you would get five hundred dollars. We
all talked about what we would spend our cut on, and my choice was
simple that year's Street Commandos. I just knew those shits would be
hot. Not, I was getting Jordan's no ifs, ands, or buts about it. David and
I grabbed a canoe, strapped on life jackets, got our paddles and we were
off. We paddled in perfect harmony as if we did this on a regular basis
and were making great head way.
    The other grandpa thing to do was save money on bills anyway he
knew how. Turn off lights in the daytime. Unplug stuffwhen you're not
using it. By far the weirdest one was what got to become our daily shower
routine. Adding five kids will make a water bill go up, I guess, and he
was determined to put a halt to that. He thought we took too long for a
shower and so he would come monitor us from outside the tub. "Time's
up," he would yell, letting you know you were done whether you were or
not. When that wasn't enough, he upped the ante by timing us with the
water on and we would then get wet and get the washcloth soapy. Then
he would actually reach in with his hand and turn off the water. It's weird
to be showering and see a hand suddenly come through and fumble
with the water handles, cutting you off like someone who bombed at the
Apollo. We would have to wash with the soapy rag, and when we said we
were clean, he would turn the water back on to rinse off for maybe thirty
seconds or so, and then it'd be shut off again. Again, it was not so funny
then, but is hilarious now. He was a great man.
    There was an old gravel and sand pit just above our house called the
"Sand Banks." This area was used for digging and dumping sand and
things in the 1970s and also used for riding dirt bikes and four-wheelers
if you were fortunate enough to have one. We used it as a means to ride
bicycles down and to play war in and around. In the winter, the snow
covered the hills enough to have a steep sled riding place. Right beside
our house was a gas line that was kept up maintenance wise by the city
until Scott got the genius idea it was his land too and began cutting it
with our mower. An especially dumb move since the grass was very tall
and full of large rocks. My grandparents' plot was right next door and
we would often play football and tennis ball in the open yard, which ran
beside our driveway as well as the driveway that the old house once had.
It would usually be a two on two with Joey and Chris always taking on
Brad and myself.
    I was by far better than all of them combined at that particular time
so, of course, we never lost at anything. The playground which served as
the birthplace to my "Catch" alongside Damien a few years prior was right
down the street about two minutes away. We would go to the playground
and along with Joey, John Stone, Mike Wilson, Rick Copley, and a few
others we would play basketball, football, or tennis ball in the open field
that was beside the court. Scott worked as a machinist in the town of
Pleasantville about fourteen miles away and every night without fail he
would say "Connie, I have about twenty-three hundred pieces that need
done by tomorrow, now I have to be up and out by four in the morning."
Every last time, we would be awakened and sent outside about seven
or eight, and he'd still be in the bed asleep. School was approaching,
and we would now be going to I-Iasson l-Ieights Elementary instead of
Seventh Street Elementary.

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The Prayer Necessities

    If you want to go higher places, special times of prayer are
vital to a healthy connection to the Lord. Reading his Word and
praying to him are two things that build those oh-so-important
closer and higher bonds with the Father. We need to be faithfully
committed. Romans 12:12 says, "Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction,
faithful in prayer:' The more faithful we are in prayer, the
more power we have to stay joyful and to show patience. Here are
a few things to remember as you think about prayer power and
your quiet time with the Lord.
    Find the Right Time and the Right Place. Set a time that will
work best for you. Sometimes schedules get crazy and we have
to be flexible. And that's okay. But keep in mind that consistency
can help build good habits of faithfulness into your special prayer
times. The time and place you choose for your prayer time should
be as distraction-free as possible. It may need to be during the kids'
nap time or early in the morning before the kids are up or before
you get ready for work. And you may need to shove any petty
distractions (like that way-tight skirt) out of sight, out of mind,
during this time.
    Praise Him, Thank Him, and Pray through His Word. Your
prayer time should include praying through Bible passages, praising
the Lord for who he is, and thanking him for what he's done.
We need to be careful that our prayer time doesn't become a big
to-do list that we hand the Father. It should be about him, not
us. When we're praying through Scripture, we know we're praying
in his will.
    Confess Sin, Ask for and Accept His Forgiveness. As we think
about who he is and his amazing holiness, our unholiness becomes
all too clear. Ask the Lord to reveal to you any sin you
need to confess. Give your sin a good dose of 1 John 1:9: ((But if
we confess our sins to him, he is faithful and just to forgive us
and to cleanse us from every wrong" (NLT). Confess your sin
and accept his gracious forgiveness (and you can look again at
confessing sin in chapter 7).
    Ask Him to Meet the Needs of Others. ((Me-centered" prayer
is not a higher places kind of prayer. Paul gives us some pretty
ambitious prayer direction in 1 Timothy 2:1 when he tells us to
pray for everyone. ((I urge you, first of all, to pray for all people.
As you make your requests, plead for God's mercy upon them"
(NLT).

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Therapeutie Assessment:Would Harry Approve?

    In this chapter I discuss one aspect of my professional development:
Harry Stack Sullivan's influence On me and on the evolution and practice
of Therapeutic Assessment. Then I point out specific features of Thera-
peutic Assessment that are consonant :with Sullivan's thought. I con-
clude by discussing how Sullivan's vision of the therapeutic process can
inform psychological assessment in general.
    My Contacts with Sulljvan and Sullivan's
Writings

    I may be rare in having been exposed to Sullivant s work while I was an
undergraduate. My advisor at Haverford College was Douglas A. Davis,
a personaltty psychologist who was quite interested in sullivan. I remember
Davis mentioning Sullivan to me in several discussions while I was a freshman.

    Handler (2000) did a beautiful job of elucidating Sullivan's concept of
the clinician as participant-observer. Again I would like to contrast this
to the logical-positivist view behind much traditional assessment, where
 a goal is set of the assessors being a "completely objective" observer. This
is why standardized data collection procedures are highly emphasized in
this model, so that (in analogy to collecting a blo-od sample), we don't get
"germs in the test tube" by introducing any of our stimulus value as a
person.
    For this reason, following Fischer's (1985/1994) lead, my colleagues
and I write all our assessment reports in the first person and attempt to
acknowledge our part in the uuerpersonal field of the assessment.

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Why So Many Women Love To Wear High Heel Shoes

Women love high heeled shoes. It does not matter what their doctors say about the damage they can do to their feet. Fear of deformities like bunions caused by the foot sliding down into the shoe and cramping the big toe, might cause a woman to wear flats for casual events. For dress-up occasions, she will always come back to high heeled shoes. That is because no other shoe could make her feel sexier.

Women do not agree on what should qualify as high heeled shoes. People who are not accustomed to wearing high heeled shoes may feel that a two or three inch heel is plenty high. With a heel of this height, walking and standing are not overly painful. At the same time, women can have some of the aesthetic benefits of wearing high heeled shoes. Some women will buy a pair of heels that are four inches or taller for special occasions. Because these shoes are so uncomfortable, women rarely wear them for long. The main exceptions are people who are in the entertainment industry.

One reason women like to wear high heeled shoes is because they like to make themselves taller. Shorter women like to wear high heeled shoes to stand more equal to everyone else. The affect of the taller heels is to make the legs look longer. The length makes legs look supple and sensuous. This illusion is furthered because the definition of the calf muscles stands out. Because high heeled shoes make women's legs look so shapely, even tall women want to wear them.

There are other ways that high heeled shoes make a woman's body more appealing. They change the whole posture a woman displays. While wearing high heeled shoes, a woman's curves are more pronounced because of the positions of her derriere and chest. She also walks differently, with her hips moving gracefully. High heeled shoes not only make a women look better. She feels sexier wearing them as well. This can be seen in the confidence that is seen in women who wear high heeled shoes. They move with a smooth sexuality that women in flat soled shoes rarely show.

Women wear high heeled shoes in a number of different situations. Parties and nights on the town, of course, are good places to wear heels. Business wear is popular in certain occupations. Bringing an air of feminine authority and visual height, high heeled shoes can make an impact in the boardroom. Yet, the impression is so subtle business associates will probably never know why the feel the way they do.

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