Over the past 6 months or so, I have been having some very interesting conversations with friends and acquaintances – both Christians and Non-Christians alike. I am not trying to be some cliche writer that goes straight to the topic of sex because it’s controversial, but legitimately it seems to be a  grey area that begs questioning. I’m not referring to the logistics about sex (we can turn to Cosmo for those details), but more about the topic of sexuality. About what it looks like to be a woman or man and be sexual. What it looks like to be single and sexual. What it looks like to love God and be single and sexual.

The Christian Words of Wisdom: JUST DON’T.

I think I can speak for a lot of us who grew up in the Christian church when I say, sexuality can be an overwhelming subject. It can be hard to talk about, or hard to ask about. For most of my Christian life, I thought that “Good Christian Girls” loved Jesus, and didn’t really do much else than kiss their boyfriends. And then, in my teens I really struggled with guilt because I realized that there is a lot of grey area between kissing and sex, and no one prepared me to hash that part out.  The church’s only message to be about sexuality was “DON’T.” It said nothing about who I was as a sexual being, and how to think or feel about it. I assumed that I was wrong for wanting to do more than kissing, and moreover that I was probably the only Christian girl in the world that felt this way.

And now, in my mid-twenties I find it interesting that most of the people with really good attitudes toward sexual identity that I have met – did not grow up in the church. They are people who were never told “JUST DON”T,” but instead “It’s all good – you are sexual, embrace it.” And somehow, in their twenties these people seem to have a good mentality toward their sexual desires – regardless how much sex they are choosing to have or not have.

I remember the first time I had a  friend admit out loud,  ”I’m a super horny person. Most guys can’t keep up with me.” She loves God. And she wasn’t ashamed. She just said it like it was no big deal. She had come to Christ later in her twenties, and so she wasn’t indoctrinated in the “Shame Belief.” As I was hearing this, I felt like I had been hit by a train. The thought was so surreal. “Is it ok to like sex like that?“

In light of that last comment, let me insert the disclaimer: I wasn’t raised under a rock. I never wore a bonnet, I wasn’t home schooled, and yes my mother did have the “Sex Talk” with me. Regardless of my seemingly “normal” upbringing in regards to sex, things begun to get difficult when looking at the bases between kissing and sex. It just seemed to me that there was never any middle ground -  you were either a person who didn’t believe in God or “God’s rules”, you approached sexuality as you wanted, and never felt any guilt about it – ORyou loved God, bought the rules, and didn’t do more than kiss. And now as an adult, I am realizing that there are HUNDREDS of us that are caught in the middle. We are sexual, single, love God – and somehow are trying to make sense of what is and isn’t ok on Saturday nights at 2 am with boyfriends and girlfriends.

Most of my friends consider me an open person – I will tell you whatever you want to know about dating, sex, make outs, jeans that make your ass look great. Sometimes they will pull me aside and ask questions that they might be afraid to ask. From my girlfriend’s who are Chrisitans, I get this question a lot:

 “From a Christian Woman’s perspective, how much is too much?”

To be honest, I’m still not sure how to answer that with a good conscience. I’ve sat in  sessions with my counselor, hashing out that very issue. Even after professional help, I have decided how to reconcile things in my own mind, but I’m still not sure that I am completely right.

Epic Love.

Let me tell you about a conversation that I had with a friend over Chipotle a few weeks back. She is an amazing person. She grew up in a very conservative church. She then fled her very conservative church and decide to pursue a different lifestyle. Handfuls of experiences later, she is struggling with the same questions as the rest of us.

During this conversation, I was telling her that I know someone who is bi-sexual. It’s not so much that person is into her same gender, it’s just that she is looking for that “All Consuming Love” and doesn’t want to limit herself to gender. Admittedly, she prays to God that she will fall in love with a man and can have the children and the white picket fence, but if she happens to fall madly, insanely, completely in love with a woman – she wouldn’t want to walk away because of gender. Upon hearing this story, my Chipotle friend slams her fist on the table and says “EXACTLY.” She too is looking for what we call epic love. The kind of stuff that shakes you to your core. The stuff they write books about. The stuff that is, in her words, almost psychotic.  And she too, hopes she finds epic love with a man – she admits that she likes the male genitalia a lot and would be sad to have to give it up. But, if epic love comes with a vagina, my Chipotle friend is going to be fine with that.

In my mind, there are two pictures I see being painted. One is that sexuality is, what I would call, “Not Enough.” This is the quiet identity, the message sent to us mainly by the church or other conservatives: that it is something that happens in bedrooms. It is something that we don’t talk about a whole lot. That sexuality is something that happens to you when you are older, or when you are married or when you are ready. But before that, you should just make out with your boyfriends. And if you have dirty little thoughts, then you are probably a guilty sinner. This is the mentality that I had growing up.

The other picture is where sexuality is “Everything.” This is where I see a lot of the world falling into. Sexuality is erotica. It is pornography. It is women in bikinis on the cover of magazines. It is a passionate, unencumbered erotic connection between two people. It is in marketing campaigns. It is ….well really, all over the place. I don’t love this idea either though. I feel like it misses part of it – the human part. The soft part that happens between the sheets of two people who really love each other. I’m not quite sure how else to explain it, but I know that Hollywood has a plastic and overblown image of what sexuality should be.

So how is it, that us Christians go about landing in the middle? For me, I do know a few things. For one, I want to wait. I don’t want to have slept with my husband before I get married. I get it why it is worth waiting for. And fighting for. Because, yes, I do think it should be a struggle. There should be tension. I believe the tension shows you part of the other person – shows you who they are. Shows you how you look out for one another, how you put the other’s interests first. It shows you how you can work as a team, long before your marriage vows are exchanged. And in the words of a good friend, there is a process of discovery takes place. And maybe it’s the traditionalist hopeless romantic in me – but I love the idea of starting out your marriage with some of that discovery. Still having parts of your identity, sexuality, and intimacy that are left for the finding.

The Classic Question – How Far is Too Far?

This still leaves a lot of grey matter out in the open. There are 3 whole bases between kissing and bedding that are left to be fought over. I oscillate on my opinion over those. I have Christian friends who do everything but intercourse. I have Christian friends that do nothing below the belt. I have Christian friends who only kiss.  Are we right? Are we justifying things? What does Jesus think? Hell if I know.

But I do know this: a good friend of mine once told me – the level of sexual intimacy that you are sharing should be equivalent to the emotional intimacy that exists in your real relationship. This is probably the best explanation I had ever heard when it comes to an approach at health sexuality.

So you might be a couple that is ok with oral sex…eventually. Your second date might not be the time. Maybe oral sex  is something that you grow into. Maybe that is an area that you celebrate when you arrive there. And, as a couple, you determine what that looks like through the course of time.

I know in my own relationships, the words of my friend is an objective that I always try to keep in mind. Sex should be the outpouring of what is already going on. Which means that you should be having memories with friends, romantic dates, emotionally intimate moments, laughter, adventures – and the sexually charged moments are the celebrations of all of those things. And together you fight to navigate what to do with those sexually charged moments.

I suppose the moment that sexuality switches to simply being about horniness or orgasms, it makes me think. I mean, I know it’s not always going to be some specifically meaningful experience, but I think it’s a good plumb line.

Has the Church Failed Us?

One of the most interesting things that I have uncovered with my conversations with lots of Christians and non-Christians alike is the nature of their first sexual experiences. In general, the non-Christians that I have come across where so much smarter in their choices when it came to protection. IE- they wore condoms. They had foresight, and ensured that they weren’t doing something stupid.

On the other hand, you find this funny logic within the Church sometimes. Buying condoms (or other contraceptives) means that you are thinking about having sex, or planning to do it. Which, according to the Bible , is wrong. So, instead of protecting ourselves and one another, we get in these hot and heavy moments, and find ourselves unprepared. And then, having unprotected sex and putting ourselves and others at a huge risk. In some weird way, it seems like if we didn’t mean for it to happen, and it was just an accident – it makes it a less guilty action. Twisted I know, but you’d be surprised how many Christians have told me that they followed this line of thinking in their preliminary sexual experiences.

So, if “Don’t do it” is all that we are hearing…and then we are doing it anyway, but putting each other at risk – do you see where this is all wrong? I wonder why I have this overwhelming feeling like the Church has failed us. Left us with nothing about sexuality, other than unpreparedness and guilt.

But even in light of this feeling of failure, I have to ask myself some really hard questions: If I am mentoring high school girls, would I tell them to go ahead and have sex? To buy condoms “Just to be sure?” OR, if I had a daughter, would I tell her to buy condoms and show her how to use them? Would I tell her that it is important for her to wait to be “ready” to become sexually active?

My first inclination would be no. To just tell her to wait. Tell her to have fun, go slow, and not to let her boyfriend down her jeans. Funny though, isn’t that how we got into this predicament in the first place?

I’m not sure how to answer all of the questions right. And I don’t even know if there are right answers to be found. I don’t know if we all just should aim high, try hard, and keep the reality of our decision in the grey area a secret. I don’t know if we should talk about sex more, or less, or just give up on trying to figure it out all together. Or maybe we can take the approach of conservative christian colleges – get married within 3 months of knowing one another, so premarital sex isn’t really an issue.

I do know this though, if there are any of you out there who seem to have it a bit more figured out, your insight might be helpful to the rest of us.

I was shocked…but only for a moment. Because then I saw that the second thing that people Google to find my page is Borderline Christian Values.

I’m glad my writing has such a profound impact on the world.

Let Love Rule.

…..Right,  But How Do We Do That?

Monday night Hot Nerdy Blond and I drove up to Hollywood to grab dinner with a best friend of mine who lives out of state. A friend recommended the Saddle Ranch Chop House in Hollywood – which ended up being one of the funnest venues I have been to in a long time. Karaoke, bull riding, great food, and waiters that literally go above and beyond. Yet, I digress. What struck me about Monday night was that at one point in the evening, I looked out the window, and Sunset Blvd. was completely filled with people. Protesters, carrying signs, banging drums, chanting, full marching bands – all showing their disapproval for the recent Supreme Court ruling regarding Prop 8. Signs reading, “LET LOVE RULE” and “I DO.” or messages expressing how gay individuals had the right to get married too. Or at least be in love to. Or something to that effect (I’m sorry, I’m not the most politically correct person on this subject).

What stood out to me more than any one thing was not the subject of homosexuality, or even sexuality at all. It was just an overwhelming sense of sadness. I get it that marriage is supposed to be sacred, and that the Bible does have a lot to say on the matter. I also get it that homosexuals are people too. And they do fall deeply in love too. So…I think I love the idea of letting love rule. I love love. It’s amazing to be in love. And homosexuals shouldn’t be denied any of it. But, how do we do that?  And it made me so sad. It was like something deep inside of me had to turn and question – to say – “You know what? Something isn’t right. I don’t know what the right answer is. I don’t know how God would show love in this situation. I don’t know what the balance of “God’s Rules” vs. “God’s love and Grace” is. But I do know that this breaks my heart.”

Watching the people flooding through the street was one of the most impacting things I have seen in a long time. And as conflicted as I can feel on the matter sometimes, I couldn’t help but want to cheer them on. Cheer them into fighting against the sadness.

3 Billion Dollars. And We’re All About to be Screwed.

I like to listen to NPR in the car. Well, sometimes I don’t really like it, but I am always amazing at how much information is on there. Things that I had never been aware of – countries in desperate shapes of war. Journalist and activist that are in jail or martyred for their works of heroism. Information about our economy and president that I’d never hear on the news. It’s like a vat, a wealth of tragic information.

Yesterday they were talking about our dear old Governator, and his unbearable task of balancing our budget. The thing that I don’t understand is how we are one of the wealthiest states in the Union, and yet we can’t figure out our budget. We all voted to not raise taxes, and now in our Governor’s words, the only things we have left ourselves to is “Cuts, cuts and more cuts.”

An interview with CalWorks announced that the new budget cuts the entire program completely. This is a group that gives measly little checks to low income families to help ensure that they can stay in housing. A mother and 3 children will get approximately $500 a month – meaning that she and her kids are renting a ROOM, not an apartment – just a room.

With the new cut to the program, it is guessed that 154,000 families in Los Angeles County alone might face life on the streets. Most of these families have small children.

And to make matters worse, most of these children are already on MediCaid, a program designed to help low income families secure health care – a program that is also getting significantly cut down. Meaning that most of the children that might lose their homes could also lose their health care coverage.

Combine that with the idea that LA Unified School District just made significant cuts to the budget, increasing class sizes and changing resources within their school programs.

Does this not seem like the perfect storm for low income families in LA? No housing, no health care, no schools?

Now again, I’m not a politician, and I’m not a financial person. I have no clue how to fix this mess Californians have found ourselves in.  I don’t know if more government aid is the way to create great societies, or rather to encourage a sense of independence and self reliance. But I can tell you this – it breaks my heart. I can’t stand to think about those disenfranchised families who might be about to fall through the cracks of society. It just makes me shake my head and think, “What a Sad World We Have.”

Layoffs, Layoffs, and More Layoffs

For those of you who don’t follow me closely – my mom was given her pink slip earlier this spring. I’m still looking for work. Last week, my dad found out that after 27 years with his IT Company, he was also let go. Oh, and have I mentioned that my older brother was also laid off?  Funny thing is, out of the 6  people in my immediate family, the only jobs that we have right now are cashiers jobs at retail stores. Kinda fun huh?

The part for me where the world gets sad, is that today my roommate was laid off. I remember being where she is now, feeling like she is just in shock, now knowing what way to go next.

Now, with all of these career suspensions or transitions, it’s not that I don’t think that these people aren’t capable, or that they won’t find something – it’s just that it strikes me as being so sad. Sad to watch them struggle, sad to see them scared, sad to watch them asking big questions about the directions they will take their lives, sad that they have to take measures to ensure that they will be ok.

So Where Do We Go From Here?

I have no miraculous conclusion. I’m sure I can insert some “Full House” ending about how God will show up on a white horse and save the day, where everything will be set right before the commercial break. And I do believe that God is big enough to do that. But I don’t think this is all a God-Issue. I think it’s more of a realization of the kinds of sorrows that comprise our world. Injustice, poverty, transition, anxiety, economic turmoil, social transitions…It can almost be overwhelming to think of it all at the same time. Like I’ve continually said, I have no awe-inspiring solutions. I’m not sure how to better our world. I’m not sure how to make a impact for the better. But I can tell you that at one point this week, I flopped on my couch and cried. Hot tears for the homosexuals who can’t get married, even if the Bible doesn’t think it’s ok – hot tears for the children who might not get homes or health care, hot tears for the Governor and the people in Sacramento who are trying to make sense out of our financial disasters. Hot tears for all of those who are lost and scared and trying to navigate their way through career transition.

Call me Debbie-Downer. Call me a softy. Maybe it makes me a bleeding-heart non-activist (because I’m not really doing anything else other than crying).  But this is what I saw and noticed this week – as bleak and sad as it is.

One guy, way in the back, rose to his feet. Everyone peeked through the dark to see if anyone was standing. The man was in his mid fifties or so, and from the looks of it (it was dark mind you) he seemed to be a person who normally isn’t in a church. The pastor stalled the music a bit longer. He kept talking, coaxing others to join and stand up. More music. More tension. Music. Tension.

Finally, the pastor begins talking to the one man who is standing. He asks everyone to give a round of applause for this guy who has decided to give his life to Jesus. The room erupts with cheering, shouting, whistling and applause. I almost lost my lunch.

I have not and cannot explain what rises up inside of me every time I think of this moment – but I get incredibly ANGRY. I can’t help but feel like we are a bunch of those pyramid-scheming-network-marketing people trying to con our friends into buying into this religion business. And when someone wants to pray the prayer, we are supposed to get super excited and clap – saying, “Yeah man, we got one.”

Immediately after admitting that I think this way, I feel incredibly guilty. The reality is that if this man is having a life changing experience (which could totally be the legitimate case), who am I to be angry about it? Shouldn’t I be celebrating the fact that his life is about to change? And even if I wasn’t a church-going-person, shouldn’t I at least be happy that he has decided to commit to a good cause? I should be commending his efforts to live a “nicer” life.

Do We Have to Be Weird?

I am thinking the anger happens because of a disconnection between the scene in church I’d described, and how God plays out for me in my own life. Instead of seeing an accurate picture, I am reminded of a few groups that I’d rather not be associated with.

  Have you ever been talking to someone who believes in a conspiracy theory? Or someone who believes in Aliens? Or someone who believes that we should be living on the Akan 40 Day Calendar to alter our states of consciousness and become more pure beings of energy? Yeah, after talking with them for about five minutes, they lose you. Once they really get into the pithy parts of their beliefs, they start using really impacted words. Words that have HUGE meaning all tucked inside of them, to the point where it is hard to follow even a sentence. It almost seems as if they are speaking of another language. And most of the time, they toss it out there like it is “normal people” language.  “Oh you know, when the aliens return to reclaim the rightful remnants for the 4th universe.” Right, of course, I was just thinking that.

And you might nod your head, but inside you are thinking two things: 1) What the hell are they talking about? 2) They don’t really believe this sh** do they?

On a smaller scale, listening to the way that Christians talk sometimes reminds me of this. I mean, think about the way we talk about God – “I’m really just experiencing the fullness of God right now.” or “God has given me the peace that surpasses all understanding, and I know that He will provide.” or “I am really praying for all of those prodigal sons and daughters out there, that they can just be covered God’s grace, and experience the Blood of the Lamb.”

REALLY GUYS? What the hell does any of that mean?

Since when did having a relationship with God mean that you have to talk like you are from another planet? Can’t we just be real people first? Talk like our friends in regular words? Not speak with a voacbulary that makes sense only you grew up inside of the church (or if you had a “Christian-ese Translational Dictionary”)?

I know there are verses in the bible that talk about being different, being “a city on a hill,” and letting your light shine and all of that – but I don’t know if Jesus meant that you were supposed to form a club that made outsiders want to reach for the tin foil hats – in fear that we don’t start trying to read their thoughts.

Ok, I am having a little fun with this. We aren’t that bad. But there are moments where I start thinking this way – usually when I have friends that don’t normally go to church attend a service. I begin to pick up on all of the little cultural nuances that normally I don’t notice. Maybe it’s seeing it through the eyes of a newcomer that make me question parts of our protocol. Yes, the ribbon dancer in the back of the service is weird. Yes, a person screaming “JESUS!!” at the topic of their lungs in the middle of worship is a bit odd. Yes, the worship leader singing random spiritual words doesn’t make sense. And I am not saying that any one of these things is bad, or that they shouldn’t happen – I just don’t always understand the purpose of them. I think that we do them mostly because it’s just what we have always done.

Jesus Salesmen

It makes me mad because I don’t like feeling like I have to sell Jesus. Like he is a product and we have created a culture around this product. We are trying to get others to buy into our product, and our culture. “See, Jesus is cool. Be like us. Listen to the bad music on the Fish Radio, carry your bible around, and begin talking about the Spirit of Christ like he is real person standing next to you.”  It seems that the more people we can convince to do this, the better Christians we are.

It makes me mad because I’m afraid we lose God in all of that. Or maybe not so much lose Him, because it’s not like we forget  him while we listen to Michael W. Smith or Zoey Girl or SuperChick (yes, I had to go looking for some of those band names, I didn’t know them off the top of my head) – but maybe God is bigger than bad radio. Bigger than inclusive language and eloquent prayers before eating in a restaurant (which good way to show the people at the table next to you that you are believers!)

God Likes Beer, Rap Music and Cusses. Right?

What I am getting at this this – In my mind, God likes beer. Yep, likes a really good beer. And rap music, even the kind with cussing. And God likes art, especially when it includes naked ladies. God likes cooking, and listening to great Indie Artists while dancing in the kitchen over a good pot of Jambalaya. And God likes Dance – even the kind of dancing that some church ladies call provocative. And God likes nightclubs – the kind that are thick and smoky with parties that go on until 2am. And God is really jazzed on science – even the kind that is devoted to proving He doesn’t exist. And God likes literature – even books too racy to be in schools, or the books that are angry at Him, or the ones that don’t belong in the religious section of Barnes and Noble.  God might have a Facebook. God might Twitter. God has emotions – He gets stoked on things, and gets upset with things. I think He get’s angry sometimes. God cusses sometimes. He gets mad and lets a really good one fly.

I like this God better. A God who likes beer is a God who I want to be around. And not only because I like beer, but because after spending most of my life chasing after this deity that we call God, I feel like I know him in the same way that you’d know a really old friend. And my really old friend is big enough to handle a little beer, a little Facebook, and a little honesty.  Maybe this is just me projecting who I want God to be – but in my soul, I know that God is more real than a Sales Manager that wants to improve my monthly quota.

I’m not trying to make God less than he should be, or to be disrespectful in anyway – I just get angry when we have to make God this lifestyle thing – all complicated and surrounded by weird unattractive culture, and then try to convince people that we are right.

Can’t God just be normal? Can’t God be a cool guy who likes Taco Tuesday and Negro Modelos? Can’t God just be plain? Someone who meets you where you are at – and doesn’t care if you cuss? Does he have to make you carry around a bible and convert the guys who change your oil? Because I think my Midas Man is fine. I’ll tell him whatever he wants to know about God and who He is to me, but I don’t know that telling him about the Transcendence of the Spirit is really going to make sense to Midas Man. If anything, I think it would push him the other way.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m disrespectful. Maybe God hates rap, and I’m about to get chastised for trying to think otherwise. Maybe there is this “Holy Buffer” the separates the goodness of God from the bad crap in the world – and it gets me all uncomfortable. Maybe the ribbon dancer in the back of the church is right – I should just grow my hair long, get elastic pants like her and praise God by waving a flag to acoustic worship music. Maybe the culture is right on. I could be angry for all of the wrong reasons. I would just love it if I didn’t have to sell Jesus. Is that ok?

Anyway, I don’t know if this a question that can be solved in one blog post. So, I will have to pray about it. And maybe we can all talk a little bit about it.

But with that, brothers and sisters in Christ, I hope that the eternity past to the eternity future of glory with Jesus resides with you throughout the rest of your day. Thanks for reading with me, and stay in His Grip.

Blessings.

Now I bring this up not merely for the story element, but also because his return is about to signal a change in the relationship thus far. I have been so busy being excited to plant a big ole kiss on him in the airport that I forgot that after that picturesque moment, reality kicks in – we are in the beginning of a relationship.  And while that signals butterflies and floating around on pink clouds, there is another part of new relationships that isn’t quite so pleasant.

New relationships mean that you say to a person, “Yes I think I will decide to let you into who I really am.” I suppose it’s a decision to be discovered.  And from experience, sometimes this means that you feel like you are standing on the front lawn in your underwear holding a sign that says “Please still like me.”  No clothes to slim you or hide things. Just you and your chonies. And your hopes that they don’t walk away.

One of my hobbies is rock climbing. With a background as a gymnist and a swimmer, it is a sport that comes very natural to me. Plus as an outdoor enthusiast, nothing beats a weekend out in nature scrambling around on rocks. When you get to some of the higher climbs outdoors, there is a term that captures this new relationship feeling completely. Exposed. Usually this can happen when it’s really windy, or the route can change so that suddenly you become very aware of how high up you are, and how little you have to hold onto. It is a very indescribable feeling. Your holds can be good, you can have secure feet, but still you become cognizant of how vulnerable you really are.

This is the feeling of new relationships for me. The side of a rock. Front lawn. Clinging by your finger nails. In your undies. Feeling the wind and the height all around you.  And clinging to the sign that reads, “Please still like me.”

Scarlet Letters.

In light of HNB being actually local, I am realizing that as comfortable as I am in my skin and believe that I’m a pretty rad chick to date,  there are stories and events in my life that I with which I am well acquainted. [I am avoiding calling them 'skeletons' in my closet because I don't like that term.] I am really okay with the course my life has taken. However, just because you are okay with your life doesn’t mean that someone else isn’t  going to look it over and say, “Whoa. I didn’t know that was in there. I don’t know about all this.”

I suppose this brings me to my question – at what point do you bring up some of the harder stories of your past? I know there is a delicate balance between what our significant others should be made aware of  and what is information will fuel a fire for no reason. For example, I have a girl friend dating a guy who has been married before.  She should know, first of all that he was married, and secondly, someof the background of their marriage/divorce. However, she needs no gritty details. At some point, stuff like that just burns in your mind.

I have a friend that was engaged last year. Her marriage didn’t happen, and now she is dating again. And I know she asks the same question – at what point does she need to tell guys that she is dating that she was engaged before? She asks, “Why does it feel like such a scarlet letter?” Why does the fact that you nearly married someone else seem like the kiss of death to a new relationship? We all know the obvious answer to part of that – no one wants to think of their mate walking down the aisle with someone else. And because it didn’t work out we all want to immediately know WHY. “Quick, please tell me that you are still normal.” Right? Is this not the game we play?

When thinking about this girl friend, I would never call her “damaged goods” in the wake of the broken engagement. In fact, to me, the fact that she tried so hard to make it work before calling it quits speaks to her level of loyalty and commitment in the face of a struggle. She knew that not everything was perfect, but was willing to stick through to ensure that she had given it her best. I would call that integrity….which is a good thing. Still  – she is destined to sit at coffee tables with new cute guys and try to explain her way through that portion of her life.

Furniture Projects

Obviously we know that these conversation topics aren’t things that you start your first date with. “Hey, thanks for dinner. I had a great time. P.S. I’ve been married before.”  People have to earn the right to know that inner parts of your soul, and the parts of your story that may have left you with chinks in your armor or little scars.  That part takes time.

In some ways, these are like the things that antique us. I have been working on a furniture project for the past few weeks. It is a bed frame from my dad’s childhood. I love it that is is weathered and scratched and has stories to go with the scratches. In fact, on the headboard, there are little teethmarks. When my dad was 2 years old and apparently couldn’t sleep during nap time, he put his little mouth on the headboard and gnawed some divots in the wood. They are still there. My mom told me, “When you’re sanding this thing, leave these scratches. They’re important.” And she is right. I could have gone down to IKEA and bought a bed frame that was perfect, but I didn’t want to. And even with my dad’s bed frame, I could have taken the power sander and blasted out all of the imperfections. But I didn’t want to do that either. It’s a better piece of furniture with nicks and dings. So as people, we’re kinda the same way – we are all walking, talking, dating bed frames.

Ingrid Michaelson Wisdom.

As I sit here typing, I am listening to “The Way I Am” by Ingrid Michaelson. I am realizing that this song resonates with us for a reason. There is something powerful about letting someone in. It grows us. It makes the bond between two people that much more meaningful.  It shifts the basis of acceptance from what we do (are we perfect, we are beautiful, are we funny…) to simply who we are. Give it a listen.

So, I am anticipating making the drive to the airport, these thoughts roll over and over in my mind. A little unsure. A little scared. Determined to be brave. Decided to climb through the route even if it feels exposed. Picking up my sign and headed out to the lawn. Wishing that there was a formula to follow, but knowing that in this life it is never really that simple. Instead, I know I should take things slowly, genuinely, and organically honest.   And then - I will do what the rules say you do - stand in the front lawn in your chonies,  and desperately hold the sign that says, “PLEASE STILL LIKE ME!”

Earlier this week I was looking through the file for some places to go with this next post. I pulled out a scrap of napkin that had blue ink scribbled front and back.

This napkin spelled out sudden clarity about my plans vs. Gods plans. In that moment, I clearly was understanding that:
1) I don’t always know best.
2) Sometimes uncomfortable change is good.
3) If you demand life only on your own terms, often times you will miss the point
4) God’s master plan in this whole life is to be an epic storyteller.

Not A Know-It-All
It shouldn’t come as a surprise that we don’t always know everything. The idea that you will always understand everything, and that you are never wrong is one of those thoughts that if you say it out loud, you sound selfish, conceited, delusional, etc, etc. HOWEVER, that doesn’t stop the deepest parts of us from trying to control it all anyway. We make calculations, speculations, collaborations, and even manipulations to try to make things go the way we think is right. Why do we do it? None of us really know – or I’m sure the answer is too philosophical to easily explain. But anytime you get a good dose of reality and realize that you don’t always know everything, and cannot control everything – it’s still a kick in the pants.

I’m Fine with Change, as Long as it Doesn’t Mess Up My Routine

I’ve said this before, but there is tiny Suzy-Home-Maker and a tiny Gypsy that live in my soul. And they are constantly at war. What I want for my life really depends who is winning the war at that moment in time.

The Gypsy wants to get tattoos, work at a bar, pursue writing and creativity, wear flowing skirts, travel the world, and loves constant change. The Home-Maker doesn’t love change. She realizes that moving might seem like a fun idea, but she hates unpacking boxes after a move. Tattoos seem hip and trendy, but corporate jobs don’t always want to line you up for a promotion if you have artwork from your neck to your knees.  Moving  overseas sounds great and adventurous, but often asks the more practical questions (what are we going to do for money, and what are you going to do when you come home?)

However, there are moments when the Gypsy is right. Where drastic change happens, the Gypsy rejoices and the Home-Maker throws a fit. It is uncomfortable, painful, and usually involves getting dirty in some physical or metaphorical kind of way. But if given enough time and perspective, and the Home-Maker is usually calling a truce and telling the Gypsy her favorite words “You are right, that change was much needed.”

Don’t Miss the Point!

When I lived in Thailand, I remember waking up one morning in a panic. I had a vivid dream, where one of my childhood friends was getting married. In preparations for her wedding, I was running around like a chicken with my head cut off, getting flowers, arranging people, coordinating the speakers and microphones, making sure the other bridesmaids were ready… In the midst of my planning panic, my friend came to me dressed in her wedding gown. I was covered in dirt and sweaty from the day’s work. She said, “Jenni, we’re ready to start. Why aren’t you dressed?” It was clear by the look on her face that my job for that day (as her maid of honor), was just to be ready with her. To be dressed, and excited, and prepared to accompany her down the aisle. And even though everything I was doing was good things, when it came down to it, I had missed the point of my job as her bridesmaid.

I walked around the rest of that week with these words burned into my mind, “Don’t be so busy that you miss the entire point…don’t miss it Jenni, don’t miss it.”

It was a wake-up call and a reminder that even though I had 100 students, and more than a million things to do, that wasn’t the entire reason I was there. I needed to love my kids. I needed to laugh with them, and play with them, and hug them and love them. That was the lasting part that would remain far after I was gone – not the fact that we implemented a health check system into the daily pre-school curriculum.

Even though I have been home now for a few years, I find that dream resounds true in so many other areas. If you demand life on your own terms, you miss the point. If you plan everything to death, you miss out. If you don’t learn to let go, relax, open your eyes and see the beauty in your current chaos, you could lose the most beautiful gifts that right under your nose.

The Epic Story Teller.

Last week after receiving an email from a prospective job opportunity indicating that they were going with someone else, I had a brand new thought when it came to my job search – “Is there something wrong with me?” Upon thinking this I knew I was breaking the carnal rule of job searching – it is NEVER personal. Jobs and business are all about matching my skills and experience with a company in order to maximize profitability and efficiency. It’s never about my identity as a person. But I went there, and I knew I was down a headlong rabbit hole that might be hard to get out of. Almost a week and a half later, I know that those thoughts don’t necessarily ring true, but I’m still struggling to get out.

I realize I have stopped hoping. I have begun to think that maybe there is something wrong with me. That maybe I will never get a job. That maybe I’m not cut out for my calling in life (Is that not the most morbidly depressing thought you’ve ever heard!?)

In a way, I’m angry with God. “God, why hasn’t this happened yet? Why do I keep praying and going on all of these interviews, and yet I’m still without work? How come you haven’t made something work out yet? This isn’t the way that I want it!”

And here is where my own past-thoughts come to kick me in the ass. Napkin thoughts are spelling it out for me that God is an Epic storyteller. Think Lord of the Rings plot line vs. Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen take on San Francisco (straight to DVD).

And there is good news with God’s epic story. We know how it ends: God wins. And we are on his team. So…why is it that my current state seems so devastating? Oh right, because that is happening right now, and we don’t know what happens next.

But in the face of all of this, I know I have to hold onto the words on my napkin. That maybe God is doing more than what I am seeing right now with my eyes. That maybe these six months is going to be very important to me when I look back in a few years from now. That I still get an opportunity to be involved with something epic and majestic, even if it doesn’t look or sound like it at the moment. That yes, even though I still can’t say it with conviction,  I will get a job that I love. Yes, I am talented and some employer will be lucky to have me.

And yes, things will be uncomfortable along the way. We will lose jobs, go broke, get in car accidents, have children with diseases, have our parents die, and possibly get divorces. That’s just life. That part doesn’t change. That’s part of the epic storyline.

But I’m convinced the ending is majestic.  God wins. I’m convinced that we don’t feel jipped when it is all said and done. I’m convinced that we realize it was a beautiful story – and we’re glad that we got to play a part.

That’s a lot of ass kicking for one little napkin – four bullet points that have sufficiently changed my perspective down here in the rabbit hole.  I have a hard time believing that I ever saw this clearly in the first place. It’s a pretty good thing I wrote it down. Doesn’t necessarily mean it gets any easier to climb out of here – I suppose it just gives me a reason to start picking myself up and keep on moving forward.

[Insert shocking gasps and horror screams here].

I had a great conversation with a few of my girlfriends over breakfast Saturday morning (Is anyone beginning to notice that most of my amazing conversations seem to take place over breakfast?) I have to admit, a significant portion of my thoughts come from these gals – they never cease to increase the flow of blog materials.

In the midst of a conversation about Easter eggs and white-picket fences, we got to talking about family: getting married, when we wanted to get married, if we were ready, if we wanted to be moms, if we were ready to be settled little families, or if we still wanted to be single and romping around. 

 It was interesting to note that of the five or so women in the room, most of us really wanted a family – and sooner rather than later. However, it took a little bit of conversation before any of us just came out and said “Yes! I can’t wait to get married and have my own family.”  It was almost like admitting that you like Brittany Spears – a guilty little thought in the back of your mind that you wouldn’t admit unless you knew you were in like-company.

Listening to my girlfriends chat, I couldn’t help but wonder, “Why is it that admitting that you want to be a stay at home mom is like admitting that you want to have scabies?” It seemed that we were almost sheepish about it, like it wasn’t noble enough for the world and needed to apologize for wanting to take an “easier option” than finding a career.

 ”No thank you price charming, I don’t want to be SuperWoman working 50 hours a week, weighing in at 110 pounds and looking like a beauty queen. That’s just too much work. Instead I want to stay home and eat ice cream all day. Is that ok?”

Baby Talk.

For me, when I am honest, I know moms are those amazing, unexplainable creatures are needed more than we admit to, and appreciated less they should be.  They fix everything, they find everything, they kiss things and make things better, they create homes and meals, they foster love and give life. So why is it again that we feel like we have to want a career on top of all of that?  Is it enough for me to say “Being just a mom is fine”? Or do I need to be Mom and have a career? It’s an awkward topic for me to even think about, much less admit. For most of my life I have wanted to be a career woman. My future family plan looked something like this: 

1) Secure great job. Preferably as an executive. Or at least at a high enough level where I get to tell people when I am coming in instead of the other way around.
2) Get married.
3)Travel around the world and play with hot hubby (Yes, being hot was in the plans).
4) Get knocked up.
5) Take 6 weeks to play mommy.
6) Hire nanny to come and rock Jr. to sleep while I go back to running my company.

 I have always felt like that is what women are suppose to want- we want everything. Women are supposed to be amazing and run the office and the home – hell we could probably be president while raising a family.

I know I’m going to be a kick ass wife. And probably a kick ass mom. But still, I’m not sure I’m even allowed to admit that. Or worse, I’m not sure I’m allowed to tell guys that. Hotter, Nerdy, Blonder guy and I are still talking [blushes upon typing it], and I’m not sure if that would send him to the hills if he knew that I’m thinking about being excited for those things. Or any guy for that matter. Guys, if you met a girl at a party and asked her what she did for a living and she said “I’m in marketing, but I really just can’t wait to be a wife and mom!” wouldn’t that freak you out?

In my mind, I’m afraid that we come across like we are faking our careers so that we don’t send out the message that we are ticking. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not desperate, I’m not faking, and I’m not ready to get married or pop out a kid right NOW – but this is honestly the first time I’ve really thought about kids and family at all. Before now I have been actively opposed to the idea and very busy running around the world.

In fact, at one point when I was living in New Zealand, a professor had said to me, “You are at the perfect age to start looking to get married.” I quite literally laughed and said back, “Haha, YEAH RIGHT.”

In light of that memory, it does feel a bit crazy to be open to start thinking about it. [yep, palms getting sweaty just typing about it].

Were Our Moms Just Lucky?

I think the Feminist movement definitely changed some things for us girls. They raised the bar. It allowed us to have much more opportunities and tasks to choose from. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying this is a bad thing – it’s just suddenly made the mommy question a little bit more complicated.  

Were our moms just lucky that they could just be moms and didn’t have to grapple with the “fulfilling career” piece? Or are we lucky that we get to choose to have one, the other, or both if we want? Does it make a difference to good quality men if we want to stay home or not? Does it make you a little bit desperate to realize that yes,  I might want to get married? And yes, I might really love having kids?

Am I ticking?

 I don’t know the answers to half of those questions. But I do know, that I might go looking for bubble wrap tomorrow morning. Or maybe some sort of packing material. I might want to be prepared. If I start ticking, I might try to wrap myself up and silence the sound, because I’m not sure I’m ready for everyone to know it.

This January I began something awful.  I began a process of a slow awakening. The more awake I am becoming, the more I hate what I am finding.  But at this point, I don’t know what’s worse – facing the ugliness or deciding to go back to sleep.

In January I was leaving a friend’s house late at night and driving down the 5 Freeway. We had just had a conversation about our friendship. It turns out that even though we’ve been friends for years, we weren’t quite as close as she’d thought we would be. She was disappointed that we hadn’t grown closer over the years, and I was grappling to explain the distance between us.

I couldn’t dodge the fact that while my friend was explaining her disappointment, I compulsively felt the need fix her feelings on the spot. I wanted to differentiate myself from our other friends that had also hurt her feelings, and show her with my actions “I’m not like them. I’m different. See, let’s still be friends.”

The ride home from her house was probably the most difficult car rides that I have had in a long time. I kept thinking, “What is it that makes me want her to like me so badly?” And suddenly there was the truth staring me in the face.

Oh, my God. I am selfish.

“I love her because of how she makes me feel.” I don’t love her for who she is, purely and simply – rather, I love her because she makes me feel good.

With that, images of friends began to scroll through my mind – like Facebook on a ticker tape.  And with each new face that clicked by, I realized that I felt the same way about them as well.  Out of all of the people that I know, friends that I hang out with, sip coffee and cocktails with, I could gather maybe 5 that I just loved because they were who they are.

I literally cried the entire way home. I cried for the black heart I have. I cried because I’m bad at seeing people.  I’m bad at listening. I’m bad at asking questions. I’m bad at caring. I’m bad at appreciating. I’m bad at sharing.

By the time I pulled up to my house, tears streaming down my face, I couldn’t for the life of me understand why someone would want to be my friend. “If they only knew the truth,” I thought, “I would be friendless in a matter of moments.”

Friends with Benefits.

Flash forward a few months later, and the reality of my heart has begun to rear its ugly head again. Just last week, I’ve had two of my friends get into little “talks” with me.

Both of them are women who have loved me, carried me, listened to me, and opened their hearts to me in my times of weakness and hurt. They have thrown parties for me in times of joy, and wiped my tears in times of laughter.

Suddenly, it has been my turn to be the supportive one, to cheer them on, wipe tears and show up with ice cream. I have failed them both. One of them even said to me, “Jenni, I’m kinda going through a lot right now, I’m sorry I just can’t listen to your stories today.”

Ouch. There it is again.

“Jenni you’re selfish. Can you please see beyond your own nose?”

Again, I wept upon seeing it. I wept because I hurt people out of my weakness. It’s one thing to be bad at something that doesn’t matter.  This isn’t something like dieting. If you’re bad at dieting, it doesn’t make your friends or lovers cry when you forgo carrots for fries and beer. This is something more serious. When you have parts of you that are jaded, broken, or weak – it’s awful to know that those failures can hurt people you love.

A good friend of mine has often said, “Friends hold mirrors for one another. We show you what is already there.” Sometimes this can mean seeing that you are stronger than you thought you were – or like this time, it can mean seeing things you hate. Seeing honest parts. Parts so honest, that we are afraid to utter them under our breath even when we know no one is listening.

So in light of all this, I am still a bit of a question mark. I’m not completely sure of how to move forward.

How do we become better people? Is looking in the mirror the first step toward changing? Are we destined to have dark hearts and hope that people still love us anyway?

I’m going to hope so – because of if not,  me and my ugly heart might be a pretty lonely person.

All that to say, I do appreciate your feedback. Actually, I would argue that at some level – I need it. It’s important to me that what I write resonates with people – and I thank those of you who have jumped into this conversation.

Jesus and Cocktails.

One of the major comments that I received from both men and women alike when responding to the ideas of meeting guys in bars is simply this: “Can’t great guys go to bars too?” As so aptly commented by Megan, most of us hang out in bars at some point or another, whether it is once in a while or every weekend. It would seem logical then to realize that going into a bar doesn’t transform a person into something evil. And sure, nice girls and boys are still nice when they are sitting on a bar stool.

In fact, I love going out. I wouldn’t say that I have a party lifestyle these days, but I couldn’t imagine being with someone who had a problem going to clubs, or didn’t drink at all. A perk might be that they could be my designated driver all the time – so that might not be half bad; except for the part where you are always the one making an ass out of yourself – I at least like taking turns being the drunken retard.

For the Christian daters out there, I suppose we can meet people in bars because I would hope that there are bars have Christians in them. In theory. However it is in the execution that things get a bit messy. It is a bit awkward to ask, “So do you go to church?” in the first 5 minutes of meeting someone. Granted we all have values that are important to us, but deciding to rule someone out based on this can feel like walking a tightrope. Rule them out too soon and you are paralyzed by your pre-judgement – wait too late and you can face emotional pain by trying to sever a connection due to your intellectual dissonance. 

This can be true of a lot of things beyond where you spend Sunday morning: if you want kids or not, if you drink  or not, if you are a Republican or a Democrat…none of these are things you want to ask someone within 5 minutes of meeting, yet they are imperative to moving forward. Tricky business.

Hotter, Nerdier, and Blonder – the Story Continues.

So, as promised, I did call Hot Nerdy Blond. In fact, I called him last Sunday on the way to an Engagement Party for two of my friends. Now, you might understand why this subject has become so much more complicated, because as irony would have it, I met someone at this party (yes, the traditional Christian way to meet people – at a party with your friends, how ironic).

Now the fun part is, this guy is Hotter, Nerdier, and Blonder than Club Guy. I had met him before, and this time when we were talking, the connection was obvious. I won’t go into too much detail regarding my new heart throb out of consideration and privacy (Surprise, I don’t put EVERYTHING in my life on the Internet). But I will say this, he’s gotten the thumbs up from a few of my buddies, and has a killer laugh that makes me weak in the knees. Ooh-la-la.

I have gotten a call back from Club Guy. But at this point we run into the same questions that we were debating before: “Is it nice to go on a date with a guy when you know that it won’t go anywhere?” It might be true as I professed before, it is just dinner….but the thing is, in light of someone that I know is legit, I don’t know if I want dinner with someone that I met in a bar.

Jenni-the-Writer might feel obligated to give Club Guy one shot, just for the sake of consistency with my writing and commitment to what I say over the Internet. But Jenni-the-Person has a hard time using guys as social experiment. That’s not very nice now is it? 

We Hate Dating.

I think it’s fair to conclude that we don’t love dating. We don’t always hate it, but it can be murky waters out there, and it’s easy to get lost. In fact, talking to one of my girlfriend’s who lives in Seattle, she often calls me and starts our conversations with “Jenni, I hate dating.”

Duh. We all do. As I have often said, dating is a bitch. But we aren’t really given too much of a choice. We all have to decide to play, to give guys the flirty eye, to debate about giving out your phone number, to not call back when he calls you. Maybe we secretly envy our married friends because they have their person already, and don’t have to feel naked as the stand there talking to a new guy, hoping he likes you back.

But here we are, trying to figure it all out. And as I say to my Seattle friend, “Just keep dating! Be content in where you are at, even if it is uncomfortable. And when in doubt, give him your number anyway.”

Somewhat unexpected to us, our business became pushed aside as two girls walked into the house (I’ve just recently moved, and I am currently living with a friend). Both girls were young, just barely in their twenties. One had a mostly shaved head, except for strategic patches of longer hair, making a perfectly good Mohawk. Her girlfriend had pink hair with neon yellow sections. One had a tattoo on her forearm, and both of them had facial piercings. They greeted us and asked for my host, saying that they’d made plans for breakfast.

This was the best interuption I have had all week.

Laptops were turned off and papers were pushed away as my house-host announces that she is making her “world famous” breakfast sandwiches – which so happen to be in “Top 5 Favorites” list. The girls plopped themselves down at the table and quickly began asking questions about the non-profit.

Both girls were hysterical, fast-talking, and acute in terms of what they like and what they don’t. We talked about puppy mills, non-profits, and Orange County. I was sad when breakfast was over and we had to say “goodbye” and return to our communications agenda.

I bring them up in my writing because our interaction Friday morning was a surprising indicator of how much I have changed in the last five years. Specifically, I remember being slightly homophobic in my early twenties. Not that I thought they were diseased or anything, just that at 18 I had never personally known a homosexual. Somehow growing up in the church sent me mixed signals concerning what to think, or how to interact with them. It made me think that they were lost, or were abused or something. That may or may not be the case for most practicing lesbians and gays, but it was an idea that I had a hard time shaking from my head.

I would say that these fantastic girls were lost in some ways. But, not because they are lesbians with an interesting outward appearance – but rather, simply because they are twenty. It through their fun conversation that I started thinking about where I was five years ago. I know I was lost, trying to find my place in the world, feeling out what I thought about abortion, drugs, sexuality and having gay friends. Not experimenting with any of these things, because I was too much of a “good child” to have that kind of freedom.

And in contrast, I love that these girls have the ability to be that free. Admittedly, they are angry at certain things. They like San Francisco because it is more accepting and they don’t get looked at funny by us “Church going people.” They like Marilyn Mansion and hate 40 year olds with puppies and boob jobs. Its clear that they are flushing out what they think about drugs, sexuality, culture, acceptance – much like I did at their age.

Anyway – I’m not trying to create something too deep and meaningful out of our coffee and egg sandwiches. I just realized that I  love knowing people that are very different than me. I think it helped me see that even if we are different, we can be very similar. I appreciate that they can struggle, and remind me that I struggle too. And while it never I never went through a facial piercing phase, I can empathize how hard twenty can be.

I like my new friends. I think I’ll keep them around.