Behavior That Is Tender Quotes

Love life first, then march through the gates of each season; go inside nature and develop the discipline to stop destructive behavior; learn tenderness toward experience, then make decisions based on creating biological wealth that includes all people, animals, cultures, currencies, languages, and the living things as yet undiscovered; listen to the truth the land will tell you; act accordingly.

I wrote a line in a song once: “We are never broken.” I believe that truly. It is a hard-earned belief, and rose out of many years of experiencing the opposite. I believe we forget who we are over time, and in our state of forgetfulness we struggle and employ all kinds of learned behaviors that don’t necessarily help us or bring us happiness. Each of us has a self that exists undamaged and whole, from the moment we are born, waiting to be reclaimed. My life has not been about fixing what is broken. It has been about engaging in a loving and tender archaeological dig back to my true self.

as Jazaieri observes, “There’s no empirical evidence to suggest that beating ourselves up will actually help us change our behavior; in fact, some data suggests that this type of criticism can move us away from our goals rather than towards them.” Conversely, the more gently we speak to ourselves, the more we’ll do the same for others. So the next time you hear that harsh internal voice, pause, take a breath—and try again. Speak to yourself with the same tenderness you’d extend to a beloved child—literally using the same terms of endearment and amount of reassurance that you’d shower on an adorable three-year-old.

Imagining God can be so different from wishful thinking, if your spiritual experiences change your behavior over time. Have you become more generous, which is the ultimate healing? Or more patient, which is a close second? Did your world become bigger and juicier and more tender? Have you become ever so slightly kinder to yourself? This is how you tell.

Rosemary bubbled with delight at the trunks. Her naivete responded whole-heartedly to the expensive simplicity of the Divers, unaware of its complexity and its lack of innocence, unaware that it was all a selection of quality rather than quantity from the run of the world's bazaar; and that the simplicity of behavior also, the nursery-like peace and good will, the emphasis on the simpler virtues, was part of a desperate bargain with the gods and had been attained through struggles she could not have guessed at.

I want you to know that all the survivors I interviewed were intelligent people. Many of them were aware of psychological concepts. Some are in the mental healthcare field themselves. They are tender and have a tremendous amount of empathy. Many of them are also highly intuitive and aware of toxic behavior. They pick up when something is off with others. These are not naïve people. You can be super smart, as well as highly aware, and still be fooled by a CN.

I believe this movement will prevail. I don’t mean it will defeat, conquer, or create harm to someone else. Quite the opposite. I don’t tender the claim in an oracular sense. I mean that the thinking that informs the movement’s goals will reign. It will soon suffuse most institutions, but before then, it will change a sufficient number of people so as to begin the reversal of centuries of frenzied self-destructive behavior. Some say it is too late, but people never change when they are comfortable. Helen Keller threw aside the gnawing fears of chronic bad news when she declared, “I rejoice to live in such a splendidly disturbing time!” In such a time, history is suspended and thus unfinished. It will be the stroke of midnight for the rest of our lives. My hopefulness about the resilience of human nature is matched by the gravity of our environmental and social condition. If we squander all our attention on what is wrong, we will miss the prize: In the chaos engulfing the world, a hopeful future resides because the past is disintegrating before us. If that is difficult to believe, take a winter off and calculate what it requires to create a single springtime. It’s not too late for the world’s largest institutions and corporations to join in saving the planet, but cooperation must be on the planet’s terms. The “Help Wanted” signs are everywhere. All people and institutions including commerce, governments, schools, churches and cities, need to learn from life and reimagine the world from the bottom up, based on the first principles if justice and ecology. Ecological restoration is extraordinarily simple: You remove whatever prevents the system from healing itself. Social restoration is no different. We have the heart, knowledge, money and sense to optimize out social and ecological fabric. It is time for all that is harmful to leave. One million escorts are here to transform the nightmares of empire and the disgrace of war on people and place. We are the transgressors and we are the forgivers. “We” means all of us, everyone. There can be no green movement unless there is also a black, brown and copper movement. What is more harmful resides within is, the accumulated wounds of the past, the sorrow, shame, deceit, and ignominy shared by every culture, passed down to every person, as surely as DNA, as history of violence and greed. There is not question that the environmental movement is most critical to our survival. Our house is literally burning, and it is only logical that environmentalists expect the social justice movement to get on the environmental bus. But is actually the other way around; the only way we are going to put out this fire is to get on the social justice bus and heal our wounds, because in the end, there is only one bus. Armed with that growing realization, we can address all that is harmful externally. What will guide us is a living intelligence that creates miracles every second, carried forth by a movement with no name.

If Christians hope to offer the world a credible solution to toxic behavior in men, they must demonstrate that Christianity has the power to address it first of all among those within the church’s own orbit of influence. The Bible calls men to be both tough and tender, both courageous and caring. Men who know they are made in God’s image can

Above all that I put on, I put on love. I clothe myself with behavior marked by mercy, tender hearted pity, kind feeling, a lowly opinion of myself, gentle ways [and] patience. I have the power to endure whatever comes with good temper. I am gentle and forbearing with others and, if I have a difference or a grievance with someone; even as the Lord has [freely] forgiven me, I also forgive others. —COLOSSIANS 3:12-14

Before we move on to the stuffer who collects retaliation rocks, I want to address the issue of impossible people. We know that all things are possible with God. But all things are not possible with people who refuse to be led by the Holy Spirit. I’ve had to get really honest about certain people in my life. It isn’t productive or possible to confront them and expect anything good to come from it. If someone has told me over and over through their actions and reactions that they will make my life miserable if I confront them, at some point I have to back away. But I don’t want to stuff and allow bitterness toward them to poison me. So, how do I back away and not stuff? I acknowledge that I can control only myself. I can’t control how another person acts or reacts. Therefore, I shift my focus from trying to fix the other person and the situation to allowing God to reveal some tender truths to me. I typically pray something like this: God, I’m so tired of being hurt. I’m so tired of feeling distracted and discouraged by this situation. Pour Your lavish mercy on my heart and into this hard relationship. Help me to see the obvious hurt they must have in their life that makes them act this way. Help me to have compassion for their pain. Help me to see anything I’m doing or have done that has negatively affected this situation. And please help me to know how to separate myself graciously from this constant source of hurt in my life. It all feels impossible. Oh God, speak to me. Reveal clearly how I can best honor You, even in this. My job isn’t to fix the difficult people in my life or enable them to continue disrespectful or abusive behaviors. My job is to be obedient to God in the way I act and respond to those people.

Her naiveté responded whole-heartedly to the expensive simplicity of the Divers, unaware of its complexity and its lack of innocence, unaware that it was all a selection of quality rather than quantity from the run of the world's bazaar; and that the simplicity of behavior also, the nursery-like peace and good will, the emphasis on the simpler virtues, was part of a desperate bargain with the gods and had been attained through struggles she could not have guessed at.

We have no obligation to endure or enable certain types of certain toxic relationships. The Christian ethic muddies these waters because we attach the concept of long-suffering to these damaging connections. We prioritize proximity over health, neglecting good boundaries and adopting a Savior role for which we are ill-equipped. Who else we'll deal with her?, we say. Meanwhile, neither of you moves towards spiritual growth. She continues toxic patterns and you spiral in frustration, resentment and fatigue. Come near, dear one, and listen. You are not responsible for the spiritual health of everyone around you. Nor must you weather the recalcitrant behavior of others. It is neither kind nor gracious to enable. We do no favors for an unhealthy friend by silently enduring forever. Watching someone create chaos without accountability is not noble. You won't answer for the destructive habits of an unsafe person. You have a limited amount of time and energy and must steward it well. There is a time to stay the course and a time to walk away. There's a tipping point when the effort becomes useless, exhausting beyond measure. You can't pour antidote into poison forever and expect it to transform into something safe, something healthy. In some cases, poison is poison and the only sane response is to quit drinking it. This requires honest self evaluation, wise counselors, the close leadership of the Holy Spirit, and a sober assessment of reality. Ask, is the juice worth the squeeze here. And, sometimes, it is. You might discover signs of possibility through the efforts, or there may be necessary work left and it's too soon to assess. But when an endless amount of blood, sweat and tears leaves a relationship unhealthy, when there is virtually no redemption, when red flags are frantically waved for too long, sometimes the healthiest response is to walk away. When we are locked in a toxic relationship, spiritual pollution can murder everything tender and Christ-like in us. And a watching world doesn't always witness those private kill shots. Unhealthy relationships can destroy our hope, optimism, gentleness. We can lose our heart and lose our way while pouring endless energy into an abyss that has no bottom. There is a time to put redemption in the hands of God and walk away before destroying your spirit with futile diligence.

Because the victims are “only children,” their distress is trivialized. But in twenty years’ time these children will be adult who will feel compelled to pay it all back to their own children. They may consciously fight with vigor against cruelty in the world yet carry within themselves an experience of cruelty that they may unconsciously inflict on others. As long as it remains hidden behind their idealized picture of a happy childhood, they will have not awareness of it and will therefore be unable to avoid passing it on. It is absolutely urgent that people become aware of the degree to which this disrespect of children is persistently transmitted from one generation to the next, perpetuating destructive behavior. Someone who slaps or hits another adult or knowingly insults her is aware of hurting her. Even if he doesn’t know why he is doing this, he has some sense of what he is doing. But how often were our parents, and we ourselves toward our own children, unconscious of how painfully, deeply, and abidingly they and we injured a child’s tender, budding self?

Bit by bit, our people begin to embody the changed anticipation of being cared for and treated with kindness and respect. Part of what strengthens this new way of being comes from us having co-internalized one another. We continue to be their reflective companion on the outside, and they will also feel how we continue to carry them with us in our inner world. It is quite beautiful to watch this healing unfold, often revealing itself as changes in body, feeling, behavior, relational choices first, then later affirmed in more frequent words of tenderness toward themselves.

Power distance: the degree to which members of a society expect power to be unequally shared. Uncertainty avoidance: a society’s reliance on social norms and procedures to alleviate the unpredictability of future events. Assertiveness: the extent to which a society encourages people to be tough, confrontational, assertive, and competitive rather than modest and tender. Humane orientation: the degree to which a society encourages and rewards individuals for being fair, altruistic, generous, caring, and kind to others. Future orientation: the extent to which a society encourages and rewards future-oriented behaviors such as planning, investing in the future, and delaying gratification. national culture The values and attitudes shared

Hugh rolls his eyes in the direction of my mother as if to apologize for my behavior. We agree in silence to change the subject and my dad says, -It wouldnae do if we all had the same opinions, would it? The rest of the evening is pretty uneventful. Outside, in the car as we leave, Hugh says to me, -Somebody was a bit bolshy this evening. -All I did was to say what I believe to be true. Why such a big deal? -I wasn’t making a big deal. You were. There was no need to be so combative. -I wasn’t being combative. -I think you were a little, honey, he smiles, shaking his head. He looks that kind of wee-boy way and I want to kill him because of the horrible tenderness I feel inside towards him. -You’re some broad, baby, he says then in an American gangster accent, and squeezes my leg. I’m happy to seethe inwardly as the tenderness evaporates.

She gives just enough hints about him to make you wonder why he became so villainous. And if he dies, I’ll never learnt the answer.” Oliver eyes her closely. “Perhaps he was born villainous.” “No one is born villainous.” “Oh?” he said with raised eyebrow. “So we’re all born good?” “Neither. We start as animals, with an animal’s needs and desires. It takes parents and teachers and other good examples to show us how to restrain those needs and desires, when necessary, for the greater good. But it’s still our choice whether to heed that education or to do as we please.” “For a woman who loves murder and mayhem, you’re quite the philosopher.” “I like to understand how things work. Why people behave as they do.” He digested that for a moment. “I happen to think that some of us, like Rockton, are born with a wicked bent.” She chose her words carefully. “That certainly provides Rockton with a convenient excuse for his behavior.” His features turned stony. “What do you mean?” “Being moral and disciplined is hard work. Being wicked requires no effort at all-one merely indulges every desire and impulse, no matter how hurtful or immoral. By claiming to be born wicked, Rockton ensures that he doesn’t have to struggle to be god. He can just protest that he can’t help himself.” “Perhaps he can’t,” he clipped out. “Or maybe he’s simply unwilling to fight his impulses. And I want to know the reason for that. That’s why I keep reading Minerva’s books.” Did Oliver actually believe he’d been born irredeemably wicked? How tragic! It lent a hopelessness to his life that helped to explain his mindless pursuit of pleasure. “I can tell you the reason for Rockton’s villainy.” Oliver rose to round the desk. Propping his hip on the edge near her, he reached out to tuck a tendril of hair behind her ear. A sweet shudder swept over her. Why must he have this effect on her? It simply wasn’t fair. “Oh?” she managed. “Rockton knows he can’t have everything he wants,” he said hoarsely, his hand drifting to her cheek. “He can’t have the heroine, for example. She would never tolerate his…wicked impulses. Yet he still wants her. And his wanting consumes him.” Her breath lodged in her throat. It had been days since he’d touched her, and she hadn’t forgotten what it was like for one minute. To have him this near, saying such things… She fought for control over her volatile emotions. “His wanting consumes him precisely because he can’t have her. If he thought he could, he wouldn’t want her after all.” “Not true.” His voice deepening, he stroked the line of her jaw with a tenderness that roused an ache in her chest. “Even Rockton recognizes when a woman is unlike any other. Her very goodness in the face of his villainy bewitches him. He thinks if he can just possess that goodness, then the dark cloud lying on his soul will lift, and he’ll have something other than villainy to sustain him.” “Then he’s mistaken.” Her pulse trebled as his finger swept the hollow of her throat. “The only person who can lift the dark cloud on his soul is himself.” He paused in his caress. “So he’s doomed, then?” “No!” Her gaze flew to his. “No one is doomed, and certainly not Rockton. There’s still hope for him. There is always hope.” His eyes burned with a feverish light, and before she could look away, he bent to kiss her. It was soft, tender…delicious. Someone moaned, she wasn’t sure who. All she knew was that his mouth was on hers again, molding it, tasting it, making her hungry in the way that only he seemed able to do. “Maria…” he breathed. Seizing her by the arms, he drew her up into his embrace. “My God, I’ve thought of nothing but you since that day in the carriage.

Whenever I start thinking of my love for a person, I am in the habit of immediately drawing radii from my love – from my heart, from the tender nucleus of a personal matter – to monstrously remote points of the universe. Something impels me to measure the consciousness of my love against such unimaginable and incalculable things as the behavior of nebulae (whose very remoteness seems a form of insanity), the dreadful pitfalls of eternity, the unknowledgeable beyond the unknown, the helplessness, the cold, the sickening involutions and interpenetrations of space and time. It is a pernicious habit, but I can do nothing about it. It can be compared to the uncontrollable flick of an insomniac’s tongue checking a jagged tooth in the night of his mouth and bruising itself in doing so but still persevering. I have known people who, upon accidentally touching something – a doorpost, a wall – had to go through a certain very rapid and systematic sequence of manual contacts with various surfaces in the room before returning to a balanced existence. It cannot be helped; I must know where I stand, where you and my son stand. When that slow-motion, silent explosion of love takes place in me, unfolding its melting fringes and overwhelming me with the sense of something much vaster, much more enduring and powerful than the accumulation of matter or energy in any imaginable cosmos, then my mind cannot but pinch itself to see if it is really awake. I have to make a rapid inventory of the universe, just as a man in a dream tries to condone the absurdity of his position by making sure he is dreaming. I have to have all space and all time participate in my emotion, in my mortal love, so that the edge of its mortality is taken off, thus helping me to fight the utter degradation, ridicule, and horror of having developed an infinity of sensation and thought within a finite existence.

Apparently at every stage of mental development, save the highest of all, the mind's growing point is tender and easily misdirected. However this may be, it is a fact that a few rather highly developed worlds, even with communal mentality, were disastrously perverted in a strange manner, which I find very difficult to understand. I can only suggest that in them, seemingly, the hunger for true community and true mental lucidity itself became obsessive and perverse, so that the behavior of these exalted perverts might deteriorate into something very like tribalism and religious fanaticism. The disease would soon lead to stifling of all elements which seemed recalcitrant to the generally accepted culture of the world-society. When such worlds mastered interstellar travel, they might conceive a fanatical desire to impose their own culture throughout the galaxy. Sometimes their zeal became so violent that they were driven to wage ruthless wars on all who resisted them.

As we get older, the consequences of being tough and independent, when you're supposed to be tender and helpless increase in severity. For young girls the penalties range from a stern look to descriptions like "tomboy" or "headstrong". But as we get older, the consequence of being too assertive or too independent take on a darker nature: shame, ridicule, blame, and judgement. Most of us were too young and having too much fun to notice when we crossed the fine line into behavior not becoming of a lady: actions that call for a painful penalty. Now, as a woman and a mother of both a daughter and a son, I can tell you exactly when it happens. It happens on the day girls start spitting farther, shooting better, and completing more passes than boys. When that day comes, we start to get the message in subtle and not so subtle ways that its best if we focus on staying thin, minding our manners, and not being so smart or speaking out so much in class that we call attention to our intellect. This is a pivital day for boys too. This is the moment when they're introduced to the white horse. Emotional stoicism and self control are rewarded. Displays of emotion are punished. Vulnerability is weakness. Anger becomes an acceptable substitute for fear, which is forbidden.

I don’t know what to do with you,” he said, his voice growing curt with anger again. “Deceitful little minx. I’m of half a mind to put you to work, milking the goats. But that’s out of the question with these hands, now isn’t it?” He curled and uncurled her fingers a few times, testing the bandage. “I’ll tell Stubb to change this twice a day. Can’t risk the wound going septic. And don’t use your hands for a few days, at least.” “Don’t use my hands? I suppose you’re going to spoon-feed me, then? Dress me? Bathe me?” He inhaled slowly and closed his eyes. “Don’t use your hands much.” His eyes snapped open. “None of that sketching, for instance.” She jerked her hands out of his grip. “You could slice off my hands and toss them to the sharks, and I wouldn’t stop sketching. I’d hold the pencil with my teeth if I had to. I’m an artist.” “Really. I thought you were a governess.” “Well, yes. I’m that, too.” He packed up the medical kit, jamming items back in the box with barely controlled fury. “Then start behaving like one. A governess knows her place. Speaks when spoken to. Stays out of the damn way.” Rising to his feet, he opened the drawer and threw the box back in. “From this point forward, you’re not to touch a sail, a pin, a rope, or so much as a damned splinter on this vessel. You’re not to speak to crewmen when they’re on watch. You’re forbidden to wander past the foremast, and you need to steer clear of the helm, as well.” “So that leaves me doing what? Circling the quarterdeck?” “Yes.” He slammed the drawer shut. “But only at designated times. Noon hour and the dogwatch. The rest of the day, you’ll remain in your cabin.” Sophia leapt to her feet, incensed. She hadn’t fled one restrictive program of behavior, just to submit to another. “Who are you to dictate where I can go, when I can go there, what I’m permitted to do? You’re not the captain of this ship.” “Who am I?” He stalked toward her, until they stood toe-to-toe. Until his radiant male heat brought her blood to a boil, and she had to grab the table edge to keep from swaying toward him. “I’ll tell you who I am,” he growled. “I’m a man who cares if you live or die, that’s who.” Her knees melted. “Truly?” “Truly. Because I may not be the captain, but I’m the investor. I’m the man you owe six pounds, eight. And now that I know you can’t pay your debts, I’m the man who knows he won’t see a bloody penny unless he delivers George Waltham a governess in one piece.” Sophia glared at him. How did he keep doing this to her? Since the moment they’d met in that Gravesend tavern, there’d been an attraction between them unlike anything she’d ever known. She knew he had to feel it, too. But one minute, he was so tender and sensual; the next, so crass and calculating. Now he would reduce her life’s value to this cold, impersonal amount? At least back home, her worth had been measured in thousands of pounds not in shillings. “I see,” she said. “This is about six pounds, eight shillings. That’s the reason you’ve been watching me-“ He made a dismissive snort. “I haven’t been watching you.” “Staring at me, every moment of the day, so intently it makes my…my skin crawl and all you’re seeing is a handful of coins. You’d wrestle a shark for a purse of six pounds, eight. It all comes down to money for you.

But as she rounded the last turn before the hall landing, she nearly collided with Sir Ian, carrying his mother’s shawl. “Oh!” Lina exclaimed, coming to an abrupt halt a step above his. “Rather careless of you to leave this behind,” he said. He was too close. “Aye, it was,” she agreed, stepping back up a step to gain more space. His eyes danced. “Mayhap I should demand a penance before returning it.” “You dare,” she said, stiffening and wishing he were not so fiendishly beguiling with that boyish gleam of mischief in his eyes. He was definitely not just a mischievous boy anymore, though. And, for a lady to encourage such behavior . . . He looked up, as if to heaven, and murmured, “Just one wee ki—” “Shame on you, Sir Ian Colquhoun,” she interjected, thinking she sounded just like her mother. “Galbraith cannot know that you are on this stairway.” “Once again, you are wrong, lass,” he said, his eyes still alight. “He is still with Lizzie on the dais—giving her a well-deserved scolding, I trust. I saw that you had left the shawl and offered to find a maidservant to return it to you. But this is much better. I do think you should thank me prettily for taking so much trouble.” “I will thank you. After you have returned it to me.” Cocking his head, he held the shawl higher, so she’d have to reach for it. When she did, he moved it back out of her reach. Lina lowered her outstretched hand to her side and eyed him sternly from her slightly superior height. “I thought you sought my approval.” He stepped up to the stair below hers, putting the shawl out of reach again. His face was now inches higher than hers and his body again much too close for comfort. “I’d prefer something else just now,” he said softly, looking into her eyes. Reaching with his left hand for her right wrist, he held it firmly. Apparently oblivious of her attempt to snatch it free, he pressed the shawl into her hand and let go of her wrist, his gaze never leaving hers. She waited to see what he would do next. He smiled then, wryly, as if he dared her to walk away. His lips were tantalizingly close. Lina shut her eyes. “Coward,” Ian murmured, enjoying himself. Her eyes flew open. Then, to his astonishment, she learned forward, brushed her lips against his right cheek, and whirled, snatching up her skirts in her free hand as first her right foot and then her left blindly sought the next stair upward. Reaching out, he easily caught her arm. “Not so fast,” he said, turning her back to face him. “You must not kiss and run, lass. That’s against the rules.” “The lady makes the rules, sir. Let go of me.” She was two steps above his again, looking disdainfully down her nose at him. She did not try to pull away. She was testing him, he knew. But she was right about who made the rules. Even so, the urge was strong to seize her and teach her what kissing was all about. However, he also wanted to make her desire that kiss enough to abandon her disapproval. And that was the greater challenge. Sakes, if he were seeking a wife and had no royal duty commanding him . . . Shifting his grip to her hand, he drew it to his lips and slowly kissed each knuckle. Then he kissed the silky skin above them, turned her trembling hand palm up long enough to breathe gently into that tender palm . . . and released her. With a barely discernable gasp, she turned away, her dignity apparently still—or again—intact. He enjoyed watching her move, so he stood where he was to savor the sight. His reward came when she stopped before vanishing around the next curve and looked back. Her lips parted slowly, invitingly, in surprise. He bowed and had the delight of seeing her whirl again and hurry away. “I shall win this battle, I think,” he murmured to himself.

What I see now is that the coping mechanisms that I developed to outlive these circumstances served me as a child. As an adult, though, they've slammed into whatever structures I've tried to build with potential life mates, eliciting cracks and fractures in the fragile web of trust I long to construct. Even as I try to craft a healthy and safe container in which love and tenderness might bloom, that old wrecking ball of learned behaviors keeps crashing into whatever I try to build, raising dust that clings to my hair and hurts my eyes, splintering my efforts to smithereens.

A memory separated from the fantasy and lingered. “I love you,” said Sara. “It’s not real,” he said. “It’s puppy love.” “No. I love you.” She nuzzled his cheek with her nose and lips, and her tenderness pierced him. The image became tiny and unnaturally white, was surrounded by darkness, then faded like the picture on a turned-off TV.

Buddhist teacher Roshi Joan Halifax talks about the importance of having a “Strong Back and a Soft Front.” We need a Strong Back—clarity, boundaries, courage, empowerment and the willingness to protect ourselves and others from injury. We need the capacity to be fierce, to speak truth and fight injustice. And we need a Soft Front—acceptance, tenderness and caring that includes all beings, even when their behavior is hurtful. By developing this mix of strength and openness, our lives become an active expression of love.

I love that we are here, discussing my abusive behavior. That she’s hiding a smile. That I’m hiding everything. And that she’s the only person I can ever have a tender moment with quite like this. Leaving so much unsaid. Saying the things that matter very little.

I was often told that I should “hate the sin, but love the sinner.” Theologically, to my young mind (and, apparently, to the adults who shared it with me), this formulation seemed clear and straightforward. However, psychologically speaking, this recommendation was extraordinarily difficult, if not impossible, to put into practice. As any self-reflective person knows, empathy and moral outrage tend to function at cross-purposes. In fact, some religious communities resist empathy, as any softness toward or solidarity with “sinners” attenuates the moral fury the group can muster. Conversely, it is extraordinarily difficult to “love the sinner” - to respond to people tenderly, empathically, and mercifully - when you are full of moral anger over their behavior. Consider how many churches react to the homosexual community or to young women considering an abortion. How well do churches manage the balance between outrage and empathy in those cases? In short, theological or spiritual recommendations aimed at reconciling the competing demands of mercy and sacrifice might be psychological nonstarters. Spiritual formation efforts, while perfectly fine from a theological perspective, can flounder because the directives offered are psychologically naïve, incoherent, or impossible to put into practice.

Angel" Shooby dooby dooby doo woi Shooby doo Oh Shooby doo dooby doo boi oi Yeah, ah Girl, you're my angel, you're my darling angel Closer than my peeps you are to me, baby Shorty, you're my angel, you're my darling angel Girl, you're my friend when I'm in need, lady Life is one big party when you're still young But who's gonna have your back when it's all done It's all good when you're little, you have pure fun Can't be a fool, son, what about the long run Looking back Shorty always mention Said me not giving her much attention She was there through my incarceration I wanna show the nation my appreciation Girl, you're my angel, you're my darling angel Closer than my peeps you are to me, baby Shorty, you're my angel, you're my darling angel Girl, you're my friend when I'm in need, lady You're a queen and so you should be treated Though you never get the lovin' that you needed Could have left, but I called and you heeded Begged and I pleaded, mission completed Mama said that I and I dissed the program Not the type to mess around with her emotion But the feeling that I have for you is so strong Been together so long and this could never be wrong Girl, you're my angel, you're my darling angel Closer than my peeps you are to me, baby Shorty, you're my angel, you're my darling angel Girl, you're my friend when I'm in need, lady Uh, uh Girl, in spite of my behavior, said I'm your savior (You must be sent from up above) And you appear to me so tender, say girl I surrender (Thanks for giving me your love) Girl, in spite of my behavior, well, you are my savior (You must be sent from up above) And you appear to me so tender, well, girl I surrender (Said thanks for giving me your love) Now life is one big party when you're still young And who's gonna have your back when it's all done It's all good when you're little, you have pure fun Can't be a fool, son, what about the long run Looking back Shorty always mention Said me not giving her much attention She was there through my incarceration I wanna show the nation my appreciation Girl, you're my angel, you're my darling angel Closer than my peeps you are to me, baby Shorty, you're my angel, you're my darling angel Girl, you're my friend when I'm in need, lady Girl, you're my angel, you're my darling angel Closer than my peeps you are to me, baby Shorty, you're my angel, you're my darling angel Girl, you're my friend when I'm in need, lady

The look of the people, their uninhibited behavior, their open expressions of tenderness - that I saw for the first time in my life. While in Romania, where I grew up, people flirted and loved just like any place else in the world, yet people acted very discreetly. Kissing and hugging occurred only in complete privacy, expressions of tenderness were hinted at - in Paris people kissed wherever one looked: in the streets, in the Metro, under street lights. People stopped you in the street, if you walked alone, and started flirting, talking, in a non-threatening way. It seemed like the most natural thing to do.

BRANDON!” I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around me, “Brandon!” He came bursting through the door less than a second later, “What’s wrong?!” His eyes were wide and panicked. “Are you okay?” I laughed and nodded, “My water just broke!” “Are you serious?” His face fell for a few beats then broke out into a wide grin. Closing the distance between us he kissed me until my knees were weak. When he pulled back, he cupped my cheeks tenderly and smiled. “So he’s coming?” “Guess so, you ready for this?” Brandon suddenly gasped, “Wait, we have to go! That means we have to go!” He turned around and took off into the bedroom. By the time I dried myself off, I could hear him on the phone with either my family or his. I felt strangely calm as I pulled on the dark blue shirt, and searched around for a clean pair of sweats. Brandon rushed out of the room with the hospital bag, I heard the front door open, close, open and close again before he came running back to me. I was sitting on the bed smiling at his behavior. “Harper, we have to go. Come on sweetheart, is there anything else you can think of?” “Phone chargers.” I watched as he yanked both ours from the wall. “Headphones, can you grab me one of your sweatshirts?” I didn’t care if it was September, the nights were cool, and when we’d been in that hospital last week, it was freezing. “What else?” “I need you to kiss me, then calm down and drive us to the hospital.

While Nigel helped her rearrange the contents of the basket, the door to the drawing room opened and Lord Broadmore came charging out. “Amelia, I must insist that you remain with me in the drawing room. You’re making a cake of yourself and I don’t like it one blasted bit.” Nigel’s eyes narrowed in warning as he took a step forward. Amelia shot out a hand to stop him. “I do not appreciate your tone of voice, my lord, nor your ungenerous implication,” she said. “I have my aunt’s approval. I certainly do not need yours.” Broadmore drew himself up to his full, outraged height. For once, Amelia didn’t care if she offended him. She was tired of his rudeness and resented his assumption that they were already engaged. “Amelia,” Broadmore said through clenched teeth, “I will not countenance this sort of behavior from the woman I expect to marry. Everyone will think you prefer Dash’s company to mine, which is bloody ridiculous. Even you can’t be that much of a birdwit.” Amelia sucked in a harsh breath, dumbfounded by the vile insult. She darted a quick glance at Nigel, expecting to find a seething male. Nigel’s blue eyes had gone so cold and flinty it made her shiver, but instead of ripping up at Broadmore he seemed to be waiting for her to respond. His eyebrows arched in polite inquiry as if to say to her, well, what are you going to do about that? It took Amelia a few moments to realize Nigel was deferring to her judgment instead of simply assuming the right to defend her regardless of her feelings. Good for you, dear Mr. Dash. She handed Nigel the sweets basket, then faced Broadmore. “My lord, I have had quite enough of your outrageously rude behavior. Rest assured that I will be escorting Mr. Dash upstairs to see my sister, and you are not to say another word about it.” Then, giving into an impulse that had been building within her for a long time, she jabbed Broadmore sharply in the chest with her index finger. “Please go back into the drawing room and do not dare to pass judgment on my behavior to anyone. In fact, if you say another word about this I will never speak to you again.” Then she whirled around, her anger propelling her like a cannonball up the staircase. Nigel caught up to her outside the nursery. “Well done, Miss Easton.” It sounded like he was choking back laughter. “You routed the enemy with commendable aplomb.” Amelia let her forehead thunk against the thick oak panel of the door. Now that her anger was cooling, her display of temper mortified her. “You must think me completely mad, Mr. Dash. I apologize for acting so disgracefully.” When he leaned in to whisper in her ear, she shivered at the exhalation of his breath on her neck. “Actually, I thought you quite splendid, Miss Easton. I was hard-pressed not to give a resounding cheer.” She tilted her head sideways to look at him. His eyes, tender and amused, smiled back at her. “Shall we?” he asked. Reaching around her, he opened the door. Amelia

Avoid getting all upset by your child’s demands and rigidities. Try to see these behaviors not as badness or rebellion but rather as immaturity. Try to appreciate the wonder and complexity of growing behavior, even when it makes trouble for you.

The reasons for Othman’s secrecy and slightly sinister behavior seemed obvious now.

During my latest autoimmune flare-up—a feeling of pressurized emptiness, like a bubble is blowing itself up in my stomach, then pain, like my guts are ripping open—I exile aronia smoothies and all other fruits that can’t be peeled and seeded. Gluten, whole grains, dairy, they all have to go. I do this to calm my system but also to exhibit health-seeking behavior. So my doctors will believe in me. So my family will be patient with me. So I can say to myself I did everything I could. All I can do... My asceticism has been rewarded with stasis, not healing.

Seeing the Worm Instead of the Apple Another thought pattern that makes you keep your partner at a distance is “seeing the worm instead of the apple.” Carole had been with Bob for nine months and had been feeling increasingly unhappy. She felt Bob was the wrong guy for her, and gave a multitude of reasons: He wasn’t her intellectual equal, he lacked sophistication, he was too needy, and she didn’t like the way he dressed or interacted with people. Yet, at the same time, there was a tenderness about him that she’d never experienced with another man. He made her feel safe and accepted, he lavished gifts on her, and he had endless patience to deal with her silences, moods, and scorn. Still, Carole was adamant about her need to leave Bob. “It will never work,” she said time and again. Finally, she broke up with him. Months later she was surprised by just how difficult she was finding things without him. Lonely, depressed, and heartbroken, she mourned their lost relationship as the best she’d ever had. Carole’s experience is typical of people with an avoidant attachment style. They tend to see the glass half-empty instead of half-full when it comes to their partner. In fact, in one study, Mario Mikulincer, dean of the New School of Psychology at the Interdisciplinary Center in Israel and one of the leading researchers in the field of adult attachment, together with colleagues Victor Florian and Gilad Hirschberger, from the department of psychology at Bar-Ilan University in Israel, asked couples to recount their daily experiences in a diary. They found that people with an avoidant attachment style rated their partner less positively than did non-avoidants. What’s more, they found they did so even on days in which their accounts of their partners’ behavior indicated supportiveness, warmth, and caring. Dr. Mikulincer explains that this pattern of behavior is driven by avoidants’ generally dismissive attitude toward connectedness. When something occurs that contradicts this perspective—such as their spouse behaving in a genuinely caring and loving manner—they are prone to ignoring the behavior, or at least diminishing its value. When they were together, Carole used many deactivating strategies, tending to focus on Bob’s negative attributes. Although she was aware of her boyfriend’s strengths, she couldn’t keep her mind off what she perceived to be his countless flaws. Only after they broke up, and she no longer felt threatened by the high level of intimacy, did her defense strategies lift. She was then able to get in touch with the underlying feelings of attachment that were there all along and to accurately assess Bob’s pluses.

Primer of Love [Lesson 56] ROMEO (taking JULIET’s hand): If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. ~ Shakespeare, Romeo & Juliet, Act 1. Scene 5. Lesson 56) Gently kiss the rough spots -- don't try and hammer them out. All relationships have rough patches. These delicate times require you be at your best TLC behavior. Your relationship's future hangs precariously in the balance. You must master the art of walking on eggshells or the yolk will be all over you. Swallow your pride, listen, pretend listen. Even if you don't 'get it' say 'I understand'. This too shall pass -- if you're not an idiot.

If our sense of emotional worth comes primarily from our marriage, then we become highly dependent upon that relationship. We become vulnerable to the moods and feelings, the behavior and treatment of our spouse, or to any external event that may impinge on the relationship—a new child, in-laws, economic setbacks, social successes, and so forth. When responsibilities increase and stresses come in the marriage, we tend to revert to the scripts we were given as we were growing up. But so does our spouse. And those scripts are usually different. Different ways of handling financial, child discipline, or in-law issues come to the surface. When these deep-seated tendencies combine with the emotional dependency in the marriage, the spouse-centered relationship reveals all its vulnerability. When we are dependent on the person with whom we are in conflict, both need and conflict are compounded. Love-hate over-reactions, fight-or-flight tendencies, withdrawal, aggressiveness, bitterness, resentment, and cold competition are some of the usual results. When these occur, we tend to fall even further back on background tendencies and habits in an effort to justify and defend our own behavior and we attack our spouse’s. Inevitably, anytime we are too vulnerable we feel the need to protect ourselves from further wounds. So we resort to sarcasm, cutting humor, criticism—anything that will keep from exposing the tenderness within. Each partner tends to wait on the initiative of the other for love, only to be disappointed but also confirmed as to the rightness of the accusations made. There is only phantom security in such a relationship when all appears to be going well. Guidance is based on the emotion of the moment. Wisdom and power are lost in the counterdependent negative interactions. FAMILY CENTEREDNESS. Another common center is the family. This, too, may seem to be natural and proper. As an area of focus and deep investment, it provides great opportunities for deep relationships, for loving, for sharing, for much that makes life worthwhile. But as a center, it ironically destroys the very elements necessary to family success. People who are family-centered get their sense of security or personal worth from the family tradition and culture or the family reputation. Thus, they become vulnerable to any changes in that tradition or culture and to any influences that would affect that reputation. Family-centered parents do not have the emotional freedom, the power, to raise their children with their ultimate welfare truly in mind. If they derive their own

that such behavior was normal so that he could forget it and return to things at hand. She didn't give him the sign; what she did was put her finger from his ass under his nose. She put the finger to his lips, and when he didn't respond, she asked him to open his lips to receive her flesh. Her flesh that had fucked his ass she asked him to suck. He looked up into her face. Her bearing was calm, and it had a quality that could almost be called regal. The dignity of this calm had a soothing effect on him, after all she was only asking him to symbolically suck the cock that had used him like a woman, fucked him in his young tender asshole. Jim smiled, and opened his mouth.

The first Zen principal is to abide in the still brilliance of core-Self while silently illuminating the total dynamic functioning of our ego-self, our thinking mind, and all our passing thoughts, feelings, sensations, and behaviors. The second Zen principal is to wholeheartedly care for all beings, things, and events that continuously come forth to advance the boundless intimacy of our core-Self while encouraging our precious accountability to the vast Oneness of total reality. The third Zen principle is to vigorously embody our core-Self while faithfully practicing a beginner’s tender Way of loving and being loved, of peacefully abiding in vast impermanence, of sincerely and transparently being the body of endless gratitude, and of courageously living and dying in shikantaza and zazen-only.

Most of us are a mosaic of maturity and immaturity. God creates us with wonderful potential: potential that needs tender nurturing and exposure to growth-filled experiences. When we patiently tend to our inner gardens, the seed of spirituality germinates. Growth, maturity, and fruitfulness are the result. Self-defeating, self-deceiving behaviors thwart this seed’s attempts to grow, leaving us in stagnating immaturity.

He only stood still at the top of the stairs and said, “Maggie, you’re to come down.” But she rushed to him and clung round his neck, sobbing, “Oh, Tom, please forgive me — I can’t bear it — I will always be good — always remember things — do love me — please, dear Tom!” We learn to restrain ourselves as we get older. We keep apart when we have quarrelled, express ourselves in well-bred phrases, and in this way preserve a dignified alienation, showing much firmness on one side, and swallowing much grief on the other. We no longer approximate in our behavior to the mere impulsiveness of the lower animals, but conduct ourselves in every respect like members of a highly civilized society. Maggie and Tom were still very much like young animals, and so she could rub her cheek against his, and kiss his ear in a random sobbing way; and there were tender fibres in the lad that had been used to answer to Maggie’s fondling, so that he behaved with a weakness quite inconsistent with his resolution to punish her as much as she deserved. He actually began to kiss her in return, and say — “Don’t cry, then, Magsie; here, eat a bit o’ cake.

He only stood still at the top of the stairs and said, “Maggie, you’re to come down.” But she rushed to him and clung round his neck, sobbing, “Oh, Tom, please forgive me — I can’t bear it — I will always be good — always remember things — do love me — please, dear Tom!” We learn to restrain ourselves as we get older. We keep apart when we have quarrelled, express ourselves in well-bred phrases, and in this way preserve a dignified alienation, showing much firmness on one side, and swallowing much grief on the other. We no longer approximate in our behavior to the mere impulsiveness of the lower animals, but conduct ourselves in every respect like members of a highly civilized society. Maggie and Tom were still very much like young animals, and so she could rub her cheek against his, and kiss his ear in a random sobbing way; and there were tender fibres in the lad that had been used to answer to Maggie’s fondling, so that he behaved with a weakness quite inconsistent with his resolution to punish her as much as she deserved. He actually began to kiss her in return, and say — “Don’t cry, then, Magsie; here, eat a bit o’ cake.” Maggie’s sobs began to subside, and she put out her mouth for the cake and bit a piece; and then Tom bit a piece, just for company, and they ate together and rubbed each other’s cheeks and brows and noses together, while they ate, with a humiliating resemblance to two friendly ponies.

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