Help the B'ar!

When a woman from Texas marries a man who hails from Tennessee, there are bound to be challenges--linguistic ones, that is. Take the day Dennis and I were browsing in a Kmart. "Let's go see the tiles," he said.

Tiles? I asked myself. I didn't know Kmart carried tiles … and what do we want tiles for? But, not wanting to hurt his feelings, possibly making him think that I placed little value on his interest in said tiles, I kept my questions to myself and simply answered, "Ok." Then I followed Dennis up and down the aisles until we arrived at --the towels.

"Towels?" I asked in amazement.

Dennis looked at me, flummoxed. "Yes, that's what I said, tiles."

That's when the proverbial light bulb went off in my head and I realized that Dennis and I would not only be facing the run of the mill adjustments that come with the sharing of one's life with another being, but we would also have some significant language mountains to cross.

Take the word bear. What I hear when Dennis enunciates the word is more like "b'ar." Which leads me to the story of the day.

Early on in our marriage, when I offered to help Dennis (carry packages or what not), if he felt no need for help he would say, "Help the b'ar." I asked him to explain the meaning. In the course of his explanation, I learned that "b'ar" was Tennessee-speak for "bear." As to the rest of the phrase, he grew up hearing it and was, happily for me, not reluctant to explain its meaning. (I did want to give you more of a history of the phrase but googled with disappointing results--apparently some famous singer or twitter person has popularized the phrase and I had to quit looking after running across some vulgar language. We'll just have to take Dennis's word for it, that it's a phrase he grew up hearing and take his rendition of its meaning.}

The meaning, as per Dennis, is this. If one runs across a person running from a bear, one's natural inclination is to help the prey, the person running from the bear, since the bear itself is quite a formidable predator. But when the person being chased is not afraid of the bear (problem) and thinks he/she can handle the bear/problem alone, he/she will say to their would-be savior, "Help the bear." The prey, the person one offered to assist, is so strong, agile, able in every way, that he/she feels no need for help. In their estimation, if anyone needs help, it's the bear. Hence the saying, when you refuse help because you have a handle on the problem, "Help the bear."

It took a few times of Dennis explaining before I "got it." (Think--slow learner. That's my modus operandi for jokes and funny sayings.) Now, when I offer help and Dennis says "Help the b'ar," I know he's got it covered. He needs no help (even if I think he does, but that's another story).

When Dennis first introduced me to this phrase, I marveled internally at his audacious self-confidence when faced with a challenge--and how very different we are in this respect. My confrontation of problems runs more along the the lines of … well, a peek at my seventh grade sociology class tells that story best.

"Take out a paper," said Mr. Talbot. "I am going to give you a scenario and you are to write the first thing that comes to your mind about how to solve the problem." Much rustling of paper later, Mr. Talbot went on the tell us to imagine ourselves walking in the woods when we stumble across a bear. What do we do? He quieted as we picked up our pens and feverishly scratched out our answers. After giving us a decent amount of time to finish our ending to the story, he called on different ones to share their answer.

I waved my hand back and forth, proud when he called on me. I knew my answer was a good one. "I would climb up a tree to escape!" Isn't that what any red-blooded intelligent person would do? Escape from the problem?

A little niggle of disappointment worried itself into my self when he nodded in a "Yes, yes, yes," manner (think, not too impressed) and turned to call on someone else. Hmph! I had expected him to go on and on about how wonderful and far seeing my scenario had played out. What else would you do with a real bear in the middle of the woods? Sad face. I soon found out.

I can still see the girl Mr. Talbot returned to after gathering a representative sampling of our writing. I don't remember her name, but how well I remember her face and person. She was an average student, not one who was known to stand out in class discussions. But that day she took the class by storm.

Pointing to her, Mr. Talbot said, "I want you to read what you wrote to the class again."

This student, whom Mr. Talbot held up as a veritable example to the class, had written about getting a rope, climbing a tree to lasso the bear, then tying the bear up.

The story, he explained, was one used by psychologists to show us how we would handle problems. If we saw ourselves running from the bear, that meant we had a tendency to run from our problems. If we faced off with the bear, like the girl he held up as an example (who, by the way, was the only one in the entire class to do so), that meant we were good at facing problems and finding a way to work them out.

I am embarrassed to admit that I was incensed at this. How could our teacher hold up a completely impossible finale to the story as a good example? It was totally unrealistic to say you would confront the bear with a rope. You were in the middle of the woods, for crying out loud. Where did the rope come from? I prided myself on being a "realist." If I really found a bear while I was traipsing around in the woods, in reality I would have nothing to fight with. It wasn't "fair" that the girl held up as an example had come up with a rope. Mr. Talbot had said nothing about imagining other things into the scenario.

I hmphed again and turned my mind inward, away from the class discussion. Ordinarily I was recognized as a good student, often lauded by my teachers; I did not like being upended by someone who added imaginary things to her story, so totally unrealistic. I was nothing if not a pragmatist and proud of it.

Decades later I have lived long enough to eat my words.

Decades later, I see that my reaction to the bear-in-the-woods scenario was in fact an accurate reflection of my behavior in the face of real life problems.

I think in most of us there is a natural tendency to explain why we behave in certain ways. My cop-out runs like this. In the post-graduate class in which we studied the effects of abuse on children, I found myself blinking back tears. The professor explained how abuse causes chemicals to flow over the child's brain and actually "deform" it, developing in the child a strong "fight or flight" response. I was one of those children. And in the deforming of my brain, I ended up with an extremely strong flight response--think paralyzing-- to problems. Not all the time, thank God I can count on one hand the times I have succumbed, but there have been times in my life when for the life of me I have not been able to speak up. The result? I have hurt people I loved by this passivity.

Yes, I have often espoused 2 Timothy 1:7 when faced with fears: "For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind." I can be brave and kill bugs reciting this verse. I can drive across the country by myself on the strength of this verse. But now, recognizing that I have disappointed loved ones by failing to face my problems, I finally, finally, admit the need to embrace this verse in another way. I must quit myself like a man (1 Corinthians 16:13--Bible speak for being brave), and face problems head on. No matter what they are. Not simply reactively--as when faced with a disgusting scary bug--but proactively, when paralyzing fear tries to bind me with its immobilizing tentacles.

The girl in sociology class had it right. Dennis has it right. I have the armor of God at my disposal. I have nothing, absolutely nothing to fear. And much to gain by bravely facing problems.

I don't hold much with psycho babble. After all, Proverbs 18:2 says, "A fool has no delight in understanding, but that his heart may discover itself." Trying to see "why" we do things can lead us down a narcissistic path where all our sin is condoned with a "My past made me do it." While it is true that the stories of our lives have shaped us into what we are today, the obstacles we have faced are no excuse before God. If He says we should have no fear, regardless of the chemicals that have tried to fry our brains--then that's the bottom line. No fear it should be. Regardless.

With God's help, from this day forward, I, too, will say like Dennis, "Help the b'ar."