Knights of Nasty

Sometimes you know when a bad day is coming, like when the alarm goes off when it is still dark out and your bed is cozy and the house is cold and there is nothing you would rather do than stay tucked up in bed and somewhere deep inside your inner most heart you know, you just know, that the day is going to be rough. Sometimes you awake and know the day is going to be less than shiny because it has already been a crappy week and all you can do is morosely and half heartedly hope for better, but you don't really believe it and so the day turns out like the rest of the week. The warning for my unexpected and uncomfortable day came a little more subtly. I took a nap yesterday and it was one of those naps where you awake so disoriented you could swear someone is out to get you and they must be peaking in the window with a can of bubbles, waiting to attack you with creeper love and all you can do is stumble around and curse the chairs you keep stubbing your toes on and the food that will not prepare itself and the dance bag that will not fill itself with tape and shoes and deodorant and water bottles. This was my initial and lasting reaction from my nap yesterday. In an earlier blog I have discussed falling asleep when its light and waking up when its dark and you must refer back to truly realize the terror therein. Unfortunately, it wasn't just the nap that made for a positive warning sign. Another glaring problem was the fact that there was not a single part of my body that was not in serious pain after my excursion through a day of dance. I lay in bed, after nap and rehearsal, and contemplated why on earth I would do such a thing to myself... every day of my life. My feet were both bruised (still are, I might add), my ankles were exhausted and sore, knees bruised and sore, hips bruised and crackly... need I go on? I'm not complaining, thus is being a dancer, I'm just trying to paint an accurate picture of the blatant warning signs that I missed. On top of all this and my discombobulation is the fact that I have had writer's block for days, which is truly awful. It likes to come up behind you with a sneak attack, being very seductive and stealthy, stealing inspiration out of your brain and taking it to use for its own selfish ends. Things are of course still happening in life, but none of it seems either interesting or appropriate to disclose to the world and the sneak attack tells you that's okay and you should continue to not write. Of course, these are filthy lies, but sometimes the seduction gets the better of you and you give in to such rumors. So you see, the warning was complete, but still I did not adequately prepare for today and have the incidences to prove it.

It all stared with the inappropriate anatomy hanging from the truck in front of us. That was a “Really?” moment, where I slammed on my breaks and yelled, “Really?!?” at him from my closed car, wondering if it was possible for someone to be so ridiculously immature and just straight up... gross! We proceeded to pass him and not make eye contact, because we all know THOSE kinds of guys are just waiting for some girl to make eye contact so that he can make a nasty face at them. Our first stop was at the UPS store, which I would have thought was pretty safe and innocent. And it was, for the first several minutes, but I was not to make it out there without an experience. My roommate and I get stuck on phrases, not something I am proud of, but it happens, and lately it has been, “Oh no...” whenever something doesn't suit us. I believe she had just called herself an idiot for not mailing her mom something along with her initial shipment, while at the same time an old, long haired, camo pants and dirty t-shirt wearing guy had just walked in. My response to her degradation of self was our usual, “Oh no...” and his was, “Oh yes...” Oh gosh... Really, greasy, long haired man? I, in terror for my life, chose to simply ignore the man and keep my back turned. I admit, there were several moments of severe discomfort as I wondered if he wouldn't just come over and grab a handful of my you-know-what (my butt, if you didn't get that). Not that I wouldn't just punch his nasty, greasy lights out, but its still pretty uncomfortable to be violated, plus I'd rather not touch his greasy lights, if it could be at all avoided. Needless to say, I hoped to avoid the experience... which I have, for now.

Next, our travels took us to Ross, at which location I found nothing that I needed and spent most of the time on the phone with an irate friend. I didn't understand why she was so mad, its not like a faculty member stole her first piece of student choreography... oh yeah, they did... As I wandered around the store blabbering and listening, I came into full view of an almost certifiable playboy bunny. She had the tramp stamp tatoo of the bunny, she had the earrings, she had the eyebrow ring, the intensely glittery cheeks, she had the cropped shirt, the bare midriff... lets just say this girl defined trashy. It made me sad and not jealous of her nice stomach at all. It was mostly shocking though... who told her it was a good idea to go out in public like that, to degrade herself so fully? Oh yeah, maybe her nasty boyfriend who looked as though he hadn't seen a bar of soap or stick of deodorant in years. I mean, I don't judge, but when I can see your body odor and hear your bad breath from 300 yards, it may be time to reevaluate your life. Just a thought...

Our final destination was Wal-Mart, a good, solid final destination, in Dallas, home of the beefs and morons. I just needed my oil changed and had no idea a trip so directed could so totally change my life. The roommate kept insisting they would be closed, but we proceeded to our destination anyway and found we had an hour before they closed down for the night. So, I hopped out of the car and told them what I wanted. It was easy enough, and then we proceeded inside. By the time we got done wandering around the store, my car was done and pulled out of the garage. We checked out without much incident, but still had to make it past the nasties who work in the garage. One was younger and mostly just friendly and jovial, farewelling us with a, “Have a good one!” The other, though, a broken down 40 something guy was not so friendly. Or I guess you could make the case that he was more friendly, in his way. He said nothing, choosing to leer instead. It was one of those moments where my modest clothes did nothing for me and I was visually raped anyway. It was irritating, because I know he looked at me and my roommate and made the same nasty comments about us that he would have about playboy girl. My lifelong efforts had no practical use tonight. After we jumped in the car, he was still looking after us with that nauseating grin on his face... Eww! I just threw up in my mouth, you gross old turd! That right there is a poor man, in that someday he is going to be in a wheel chair with a colostomy bag and no one to comfort him but his playboy magazines and lotion. Cruel? He practically got down on his knees and begged me to say it, so I'm not going to feel bad about it.

Unfortunately, our adventures were not done for the night. On our way out of Hickville, a guy in a truck gave us some intimidating, threatening looks, which actually freaked me out a little. I refused to look back at him, as my roommate danced in the passenger seat, and took off as soon as I could, turning while he went straight. On our route home, my oil pressure was not up where I like to see it, especially right after an oil change, and I began to doubt they had actually changed the oil. The awful thought occurred to me that they may have done something nasty to my car. I'm actually a little uncomfortable about it right now...

Finally, safe at home, I took a look at the receipt I had been given and found the words, “Oil Kid” accompanied by a phone number. After a double take, my roommate and I enjoyed a good long laugh and immediately started plotting. I can usually tell when a guy is digging me, not just when they want me to, but if they are super shy and awkward. This guy showed his interest by being like a board. Maybe he thought he was playing the 'cool card,' but whatever. Just as the gross garage guy begged me to call him an old horndog, this kid is asking to be messed with. I have a few ideas floating in my head for him... But we'll just see which way the cookie crumbles. I may decide not to waste the effort, even for my own enjoyment. Over all, it was a day filled with nasty guys and sadly my faith in the male breed has taken a rough blow. To be honest, I'm a little nervous to even venture out of the house after my recent experiences... Perhaps I'll stay here and hope nobody bothers me. Or maybe I'll venture out and give human beans of the male variety another chance, hoping that maybe one of them will reverse my generalizations and ideas.

Sex and Ignorance

Madonna wrote a book called Sex, because she was brilliant enough to realize that sex sells. She was arguably one of the earliest mainstream sex marketers. Good job, Madonna.

What she has helped accomplish for societal views is tragic, not just for the mainstream, but for young Christians as well. I had a chance conversation about sex with some friends and realized some truths and faced some irritating opinions that I was forced to grapple with.

I was raised to wait until marriage to have sex. Not meaning that I would get married and then sleep around, but that my sex life would be completely monogamous, in that only one man will ever be intimate with me in that way. Even so, I was encouraged to be excited for the occurrence of my marriage so that I could (finally!) have sex. I was raised with the healthy view that sex is fun, even inside marriage. While I am still excited to have passionate sex with my husband, my views are changing drastically.

It was an offhand comment that caused my brain wheels to start whirring. Someone mentioned how their abstinent roommate was "obsessed with sex." Despite just sounding unhealthy, to me this is setting oneself up for painful disaster. These words were followed by the explanation that said roommate planned to use jumbo tampons for a week to get herself ready for the wedding night. The ignorance in that statement irritated me. Who is neglecting to talk to this girl about sex so that she doesn't have such misconstrued ideas? Unfortunately for her and her comfort over the course of the honeymoon, the action of placing a tampon and the act of sex are two very, very different things. A friend of this roommate's, who cried the first time she and her new husband had intercourse because the pain was so intense, said that the tampons wouldn't help, that she would be in pain for days. On top of this, I have a friend who is soon-to-be-married who freely admits that her husband-to-be will be so overcome by the accessibility of her body to his, that he will go for it with a vengeance and hurt her.

This divulgence led me from irritation at young girl's ignorance to near anger at young men's Neanderthal, animalistic urges. It is the man's responsibility to take care of his new wife, not hurt her and leave her sore for the remainder of the honeymoon. This demands holding off his own urges to make sure that the experience is enjoyable for her as well. This probably means you won't be "doing it" the first night. If a girl has waited her whole life to give herself completely to one man, than she is not ready for the complete act the first time and needs to be treated gently. This possibly means, gentlemen, that you will have to hold off for several days and try something new, like putting someone else's comfort and satisfaction ahead of your own. Its not the end of the world. She will have lots of times over her lifetime where she won't even enjoy the act. Plus, you have your whole lives to get it right, so calm the hell down and be gentle. Enjoy the process. Sex is not the end product or the goal. It is not the finish line!

I have thought a lot on these events and attitudes over the last few days and forced to come to terms with why it bothers me so much, the reason being is that this thinking is the same that led Madonna's book to be a best seller, it is the same attitude that makes pornography popular and sex trafficking possible. It is a blatant, disgusting worship of sex. You head into marriage with that attitude, and you are going to be sorely disappointed.

The problem with this thinking is the misconception that sex is the be all and end all of married life, when really, it is only a part. It is a definite and important part, and of course we all have those desires, naturally, but there is so much more to it than that. Obviously, I don't know all that that entails, but I do know that sex only makes up a portion of what marriage is about, and thank God. If that was all there was too it, I would be in grave fear of getting bored. After all, there are only so many positions you can do it in. And devoid of a deep, meaningful, intimate, beautiful, God honoring relationship without any physicality first, sex is just an animal instinct, something that will get old and moldy.

I believe that sex is a gift that God has given us to enhance a married relationship (and to make babies of course), but it is not the only gift meant for enhancing such a relationship. I don't know what the others are, but I am excited to find out someday. As far as I am concerned, I would rather go my whole life in a committed relationship with a person who "completes me," who teaches me about myself and God, who loves everything about me, but not to the point of blinding him to my flaws and never having sex than having steamy, impassioned sex everyday of my life devoid of that.

The beautiful thing about marriage and sex working together is that it doesn't really matter if you "get it right;" it doesn't matter if you can't "perform," because not only is there always going to be another time, but it is centered around an existing relationship that demands you love and comfort each other no matter what, leading to greater intimacy. Obviously and honestly, I don't really know what sex does for a marriage. I've heard people call it the cement to a relationship, but that doesn't quite resonate. As I said before, I am simply excited to find out, but not staking my happiness on "great sex" inside my marriage. My marriage will be based on something much deeper and infinitely more satisfying than gratifying an inborn, human drive.

A Bout with Humility

Once again, I take up my pen, or maybe my keyboard, to divulge to you my humiliation. Just when I think I have everything pretty well under control, that my pride, my paranoia and my voluptuous ego are down to a manageable size, something happens that brings it down to an even more manageable size. It was an excursion to Bend that brought on my latest mishap, an innocent trip to Costco and Old Navy. Most people can go to and from Bend without a ridiculous mishap occurring. But no, not I. Mishap follows me wherever I happen to go. Tonight it came to me in the form of three guys, in a car. We were in a car as well, driving, as I have said before, to Bend on Highway 97, when my mom noticed a crazy black truck thingy in our rear view mirror. He was coming up fast and flashing his lights on and off at us. How irritating. My sisters' and my suggestion was to get up even with the next car in line and slow down so he couldn't get around us. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, my mom decided against this plan and got over instead, allowing him to quickly catch up to us, to our everlasting detriment. As they became even with us, I was immediately aware that the passenger was hanging out the window and looking and pointing at us. I snapped a command about not looking at them, keep your eyes straight ahead, at which point in time they started yelling something at us. By now, my mother and myself were growing truly worried. I snapped another comment about rolling her window up, which she did, and as they continued yelling, I again shouted not to look at them. I saw him make a shrugging gesture at the driver that said, "What the heck? They aren't listening." My fears were growing greater and greater that they were going to soon pull a gun out and open fire. But no. This was not their intention at all. It would have been far less uncomfortable if it had been. As they pulled further ahead of us, for the most part giving up, the passenger made a last ditch effort. I was aware of him pointing at the top of our car. It clicked. There was something wrong with the top of our car. As I told this to my mom, and told her to pull over, I heard our friends in the crazy black truck thingy's final words, "The top is open." And they zoomed away. I climbed out of the car on the side of the road, and sure enough, to my acute embarrassment, our car top carrier was flapping in the wind. What must they be thinking? Here we thought they were molesting, axe murderers, and they were just trying to get it through to us that our storage unit was ajar. I quickly snapped it shut, and returned to the car, exclaiming how embarrassed I was. My mom was bright red. We could really talk of nothing else all the way around Bend and then back home. Just when I think nothing can humiliate me, something like this happens.

Christianity is a Four Letter Word 2nd Edition

People look at me and question my devotion to Christ because I am revolutionary, because I swear, and I get mad at God. Sometimes I swear at God. But wasn't Christ a revolutionist while on this earth? Didn't he plead with God, and cry to God, and more than likely, get angry with God? And yes, Jesus did get angry. You might recall a little incident where he got a bull whip out and laid into some money making fiends. He also chaffed at earthly authority, especially that of the church. Actually, come to think of it, he disliked church authority more than he disliked government authority. Didn't he tell us to render unto Caeser what is Caesar's, Caeser here being government (because Caeser was government, back in the day)? At the same time he was making fools out of the pharisees. Let's just get something straight here, the pharisees were the head honchos in the church. They weren't like Muslims or anything. They were pretty much the equivalent of our pastors. This is not a pastor bashing blog nor have I set out to offend anyone. The point I am trying to make is that following Christ does not just have one appearance. Jesus' apostles came from every walk of life. A fisherman and a tax collector... didn't see those working out. Not only did they come from every different background, they came from every different belief system. Paul was an atheist. John was a Jew. On top of this, every single one of the people who followed Christ in the bible, followed him in a different way. Thomas needed solid evidential proof that the man he was looking at was living, while John was close to him in a brotherly fashion. And why did they follow him?

We will never know for sure, but I like to think it was because Jesus' claims were revolutionary. I have spent so many years trying to disregard the part of me that feels so rebellious. Now I realize, that that part of me is the reason I believe in Christ in the first place. "I believe in Christ's teaching because it is the most revolutionary thing I've ever encountered." (Paraphrase from Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz). I recently watched a movie called Road to Terabithia. It is the saddest movie I have ever seen, I do not recommend it. But there was a line in there that stuck out to me and has stuck with me. A young hippie girl said to the children of staunch church goers, "You have to believe in that stuff, and you hate it. I don't have to, and I think it's beautiful." That is so freeing to me! I don't have to believe the way I do! And to realize that is to have the exact reaction that she expresses. I think it's so beautiful. It is more than beautiful, and there simply aren't words for me to express what it looks like to me. But it's something along those general lines.

The older I get, the more I realize I just don't buy a lot of the things I used to. Like when I am faced with horrible chemically induced depression, to treat it as though I simply don't have enough faith. I wonder why I had depression in the first place! (I want to note that these are not things I got from my parents, because that is the immediate assumption. My parents are the most amazing, gracious people I know.) Or when I am faced with basic emotional suffering to simply say, "Lay it as the feet of Jesus!" I may be guilty of offending a lot of people, but bull shit. It's not going to change the way things are. More importantly, these are probably not things that God wants to have changed. I believe that we are faced with trials to make us stronger people. It is not God's job to wrap us up in a fluffy blanket and if you feel uncomfortable sometimes, it's probably what needs to happen. I don't want to be harsh about suffering, because I've been there and I know it is horrendous. I may again be guilty of making a lot of people think I'm going to hell, but I think that Buddhism has that aspect of humanity pegged. Suffering is put in our way to make us stronger and we should accept it and learn to live with it, in a practical life lesson type way, not meeting it with despair, and by no means cutting God off from the process, but with maturity and knowing that we suffer for a reason.

I know I have strayed away from my point a little. All I'm trying to convey is that as a Christ follower, I want to be guilty of being the most accepting and gracious person around. I want to be able to listen to and discuss so many ideas, from any belief system, from any political view point. I want to be on the revolutionary front lines of abolishing labels of any kind. I don't call myself a Christian because it has become a label. I am a non-religious Christ follower. More than anything, I want to see each individual as worth knowing and going out of my way for, simply because they are human.

(Sorry this is so long, please bear with me:)

Over the last few months, ever since I took the big life step of moving out of my parents house, I have had to come face to face with some ugly life realities. It has shaken me in a sense, but only to chip away at my pride a little bit more. It has given me a clearer glimpse of what it means to truly follow Christ. It has given me practical application, rather than a list of principles, which is lovely, but doesn't amount to jack unless it is put to good use in your life. As I sit here thinking about these experiences, I am suddenly faced with Christ in my own life. My first shelter away from home was an apartment out in the woods, 10 minutes out of town and rather secluded, living alone for the first time in my life. It was miserable. But immediately, I had a very dear friend reach out to me and touch me with Christ's love. I don't even think she realized how she touched me (perhaps I should tell her), but she effected my life in such a powerful way, simply by letting Christ use her to get me through a very difficult transition.

There were two options that were immediately available to me after moving out of my home of 19 years. The first was to stay comfortable in associating with mostly Christians and not ever encounter the really ugly things in life, staying very close with a set group of people. Or... I could “man up” in a sense to life and its messiness, branching out and being non-exclusive in my friendships. Because of past experiences, which is another story for another time, I chose the later, making friends with random people, regardless of their personal habits and preferences. I don't really have words to express the experience it has been for me. I have met some of the most incredible people, who bless me and teach me about myself in a profound way. But I also have to sit by and watch people destroy their lives, without being able to say anything, except to beg them to call me for a ride when they get wasted rather than driving home themselves. It is hard to love someone who doesn't love you back, who doesn't want to be loved. But I'm pretty sure that's what Jesus did, and therefore we are called to do the same.

My parents had a surprising reaction to me driving my friends home from the bar at 2am. I thought they would be indifferent and assume, as I did, that that is just what friends do. But they told me repeatedly that they were so proud of me, that they loved the person I was becoming. This led to an interesting discussion about what it means to be Christ like. The most beautiful moments that I see in Christ's life are the moments in which he gets down on his knees to wash a sinner's feet, for no reason other than to bless another individual's life. We don't have much opportunity to do this sort of thing, because we wear shoes these days, but the principle is evident. Being like Christ means being a servant, it means being willing to sacrifice something of ourselves, even if it is just our pride, to be a help to another person, another beautiful creation of God's. I don't want you to think I am tooting my own horn, because I want to be very wary of pride. But being Christ like is doing something ridiculous, like getting up at 2am when you'd rather be sleeping, for the benefit of another person.

I never in a million years would have expected life to bring me where I am. I bought a pregnancy test for a friend the other day and sat by as she took it, ready to hold her and cry with her if necessary. And I truly believe that it is in these little things that Christ is using me to touch another person. It really makes it a whole lot simpler if looked at in that light. Just be a good friend, and Christ will reach through you to effect another person's life. Pretty cool, if you ask me.

Here is the conclusion that I am forced to, through other's and my own experiences: beliefs, unfortunately, are not that important. You can believe something with all your heart and mind powers, but until it starts to dictate the way you live and the decisions you make, it isn't worth shit. Principles are beautiful, but are really pretty useless unless they are rock solid in your own life. This is what following Christ means to me: allowing His actions while he walked on this earth dictate the way you live your life, specifically the way you treat others, even in the petty interactions of the day to day. It is in the small things that we see Christ, in the clothing of the naked, in the feeding of the poor, in the purchase of a pregnancy test, in a simple, kind word when the rest of your day is terrible, dirty, rotten, and no good. This is what sets us apart, to be able to face the nitty gritty, without compromising our principles as they apply to our own lives, and give up ourselves for the sake of someone else... Just as Christ did for us.