So you wake up soon after your wedding day—maybe it was a couple hours after the wedding, maybe a couple weeks—and say, “What have I done?”
There are many painful things we experience in life. This one weighs in as one of the most painful. You feel as though you have just received a life sentence or (maybe) a death sentence. Ironically, though recently married, you feel more alone than ever. Aloneness in marriage is just the worst.
Counselors always talk about listening. We make a big deal out of it and will keep making a big deal out of it.
And sometimes we can almost hear the response, “Okay, I got it. Listen before you talk. Blah, blah, blah. Tell people what you heard them say before you say anything, (which sounds weird and no one would ever do that in everyday conversation.)”
If you study counseling with us and have ever thought this—it is our fault.
Biblical counseling is a hybrid of discipleship and biblical friendship, neither of which can be mistaken for a passing fad. "God has spoken" is the driving principle of biblical counseling. Scripture speaks with great breadth, to all the common problems we all encounter, from loneliness to schizophrenia. God speaks with great depth, getting to the very heart of problems.
Works an extended case study of a depressed woman, unpacking the motivational dynamics for her legalism, self-righteousness and despair. Looks at the misuse of law in the "mental courtroom" of the counselee. Traces the many practical differences between living legalistically and living by faith. Practical applications to counseling depressed people, as well as critique of the inadequate ways typical forms of Christian counseling deal with these issues. A good article to give to critics of biblical counseling.
Someone reminded me recently that I included the word should a few times in a recent book. The person thought this was a bad thing, but I don’t agree. Should is a perfectly fine word.
On that same day I was listening to a married couple when I heard the husband say it.
“I should . . . .”
“Stop, stop, stop,” I blurted out before he could say anything else. Should, I thought, was a dirty word in this case.
Well, which is it? Good or bad? Useful or oppressive?
I submitted a chapter for a book. The editor suggested that I should aim for 8-10,000 words. After I submitted it, the publisher pulled rank and mandated that all chapters be 5,000 words or less.
I labored to cut it back but it was still over the word count. I told the editor I was at bare bones—there was nothing else I could cut. I assumed (hoped?) that he would say something like, “Oh, don’t worry about that silly word count from the publisher. Your chapter is so good they will make an exception,” or something like that.
These questions, along with scores of variations, tend to be our first response to hardships. Sometimes they reflect fear, “Did I do something wrong? Am I being punished?” Sometimes they reflect anger, “Why are you treating me this way!? This hurts!” Either way, we often complicate our suffering with all kinds of analysis.
My daughter was three-years-old and enjoying a snowy, wintry day when she discovered that snow was great for both sledding and eating. When my wife saw her eating the snow, she told her that snow was not for eating and that she needed to stop.
