Captivation: Ruth

Like every other little girl in my Sunday school class, I wanted to find a Bible story heroine to emulate. Esther was too fancy and dramatic for me. My sister already shared judge Deborah’s name so I couldn’t choose her. Sarah laughed at God—probably not a good example to follow. And then, I met Ruth.

She shared my grandmother’s name. She was loyal, persistent, faithful, trusting, and lovely. In times of difficulty rather than choose the security of her father’s home and possible remarriage, she bound herself to Naomi. Why would she do that? Naomi freed her, but Ruth persisted. Why would Ruth choose to go to Bethlehem and possibly never return to her people? Why would Ruth choose to be the distrusted foreigner and the willing servant of Naomi? Why would Ruth choose Yahweh?

I didn’t know. I wanted to know. And so every year, I come back to the story of Ruth. And each time, I love her more. To me, Ruth lives out the definition of a Proverbs 31 woman although for the majority of her story we only know her as a widow. Life has been hard for her; yet, she still chooses to trust in Naomi and ultimately Yahweh.

My sophomore year at Bethel sitting under a mosquito net in Jarabocoa, Dominican Republic, I threw myself into the Bible. Rather than being a part of the Bethel experience like all of my friends, I lived with a Dominican family, struggled with a new language, and taught preschoolers in this new language. It was hard. I thought I would love every second of it. I didn’t. Paul’s letters comforted me even from 2000 years away. And Ruth, she gave me perspective.

I saw her working the fields of Boaz missing her family and the land where she was accepted. I saw Ruth’s tears that surely sprinkled the ground of the fields in her weaker moments as she realized that she would never return to Moab. When people called her cruel names, I recognized her resolute tensing of jaw and her eyes trained forward. I felt joy bloom in my own heart as Boaz showed her favor.

And I knew that in less than three months, I would return to my family, my country, my comfort zone—but forever leave Ruth in her foreign land. No longer would I deal with culturally confusing and bemusing things, but Ruth was destined to continue her struggle. Yet, Ruth had new hopes and dreams founded in this land where she would still always be stamped a foreigner simply because of her physical appearance. Ruth was different. So was I—in the D. R. She comforted me with her steadfastness. She set an example of cheerful obedience. She caused me to ask the question, “Would I voluntarily leave my family and culture forever to follow God?”

I don’t know. I do know that I desire to surrender the entirety of my life to Yahweh. If that means truly fulfilling the meaning of the name Barbara, so be it. As 2 Corinthians 3:18 says, “And we, with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory which comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.” I want to live a life unveiled before man and God so that all may see my transformation into His image.

Ruth lived out quiet surrender of her own desires. For most of my life, I have hated the word “surrender”. To me, it was weakness. To me, it meant allowing others to call you mean names. No, I wanted to be a strong, independent woman. Imagine my surprise when I looked over my life and realized that every good thing in my life came after I surrendered.

Ruth surrendered her old life. She resigned whatever reputation she had in her own land. Ruth submitted her hopes of marriage to a Moab man when she left. She yielded to her mother-in-
law’s dreams of home. Voluntarily, Ruth relinquished the security of her culture.

God noted all of this. He raised her up. He gave her Boaz. He blessed their marriage
with children. And then, God permitted her to be a part of the bloodline for Jesus.

When I see Ruth’s life and her voluntary surrender, I recognize a woman that I want to emulate. As a side note, Ruth’s name means “friendship” stemming from Hebrew. I wonder if her name was always Ruth or if she was renamed.

courtesy of Loaves&Fishes

Messing Around

Well, now. Upon arriving at Smorgasbord, you probably noticed something. The layout and the background of my blog has drastically changed. I thought I'd let you all in on some of the thoughts behind the changes.

I began blogging to give me practice writing and to have a place to put this writing. Gradually, this idea has morphed into actually liking to blog. With the aid of my sixteen year old brother, we have begun critically analyzing my blog and trying to come up with ideas for improvements. Granted, I've only changed my blog by changing the template offered by Blogger. However, I plan on hopefully giving my blog a makeover in the coming months. It will probably come without much warning.

My brother presented some valid points about my blog background. It sparked some conversation and thinking for both of us.

"Barbara, your background does not reflect your writing at all."

Since that conversation, my brother has been overwhelming with information on how to improve one's blog. It's greatly encouraging and it's great to have someone behind me pushing for change. If it weren't for him, I doubt that I would be actively considering change.

Do you guys have any suggestions for improvement? What would you like to see here? How did you make improvements to your own blogs?

A Shroud of Grace

Entering the dimly lit room, our ears immediately recognized the high sweet strains of a woman’s voice blending with the lower voice of her male guitar playing companion. While they sang, a large group of people sat with somber faces. Some joined the couple in their singing and others seemed focused elsewhere in their thoughts. As my friends and I sought seats amongst the crowd, the quietness of the place took hold in our minds. Usually a rambunctious lot, our lips barely opened throughout our time in this space. Little children noises punctuated the quiet as babies gurgled and toddlers whispered to their parents. Soft music dictated the mood of the people.

Around the room, candles flickered. Some reclined on pedestals upon the stage where the couple sang and other candles danced on the tables sitting in front of the crowd. To the sound of the crooning of a cello, a French horn yodeled in melody. Pictures hung on the walls. Each picture had a conglomeration of brown and black with resolute faces staring out. Often, one specific shirtless man continued to show up in these pictures. The people depicted in these pictures looked seriously out at the crowd gathered on this night. Projected on the screen behind those devoted to the musical aspect of this evening, a rugged picture filled with shadows portrayed a man with head bowed and arms limply sprawled out from his body.

The people gathered in the room had an odd expectancy. Even young children although fidgety waited in a hushed interest. When beckoned to sing, most everyone joined in regardless of age or sex. Unlike other concerts, it seemed as though every individual thought about the words that came out of their mouths. Occasionally, a mother stood to take her baby from the room. A couple of times, a person shared a long passage from a book. The people in the room hung upon every word shared. Finally, at the request of a man on the stage, people filtered to the front of the stage. One by one, each person stood in front of a man with a small container of black soot. When they walked away, a dark cross stood out on their forehead.

A Pig's Pearls

I will waste my life.

Searching for a new worship song in which to listen, I stumbled upon a song by Misty Edwards entitled “I will waste my life”. My interest was piqued because I was drawn to the word ‘waste.’ This is a word that I associate with trash and things that are not wanted. Confused, I listened to the song.

I will waste my life
I'll be tested and tried
With no regrets inside of me
to find I'm at Your feet
I'll leave my father's house
and I'll leave my mother
I'll leave all I have known
and I'll have no other

I am in love with You
There is no cost
I am in love with You
There is no loss
I am in love with You
I want to take Your name
I am in love with You
I want to cling to You Jesus

Just let me cling to You Jesus
I'll say goodbye to my father my mother
I'll turn my back on every other love and
I'll press on yes I'll press on
More lyrics: http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/m/misty_edwards/#share

Frankly, I listened to the song many times over trying to completely grasp the meaning of the song. What I did hear and understand humbled me beyond measure. That first line gets me every time. I will waste my life. It’s a promise for every future moment. This line goes directly against everything that I have been taught. I’m sure most parents will point different people out to their kids with “kids, don’t waste your life like he or she did. Life is a gift. Don’t waste it!”

Generally, waste meant that you were unsuccessful and you had been a deviant from society.

Since discovering this song, I have been carefully considering what it means to me. This thought and wondering has been bouncing about in my head. The other day, a friend had me read a blogpost written by a Katie in Uganda who has, in essence, adopted 14 children. Although eloquently written straight from the heart, a simple message emerged. Through Katie’s many words, I heard the phrase loud and clear “I will waste my life.” By the ideas of many, Katie has wasted her dreams and her life by caring for 14 nobody-orphans.

Sitting in my warm apartment in the middle of a harsh North American winter, I am left humbled. From the very deepest cord of my heart, a note resonates. It harmonizes with the line “I will waste my life.” My heart desires to play that melody.

“A woman came to him with an alabaster jar of very expensive perfume, which she poured on his head as he was reclining at the table.

When the disciples saw this, they were indignant. “Why this waste?” they asked. “This perfume could have been sold at a high price and the money given to the poor.”

Matthew 26:7-9 (New International Version, ©2010)

In the eyes of even the disciples, the men closest to Jesus, the woman wasted the expensive perfume. She poured out the perfume before Jesus for his pleasure only. All who saw considered it waste. Sometimes our best offerings to Jesus will seem like waste to everyone else.

Am I willing to throw away the most precious thing to me? Am I willing to disappoint all the people around me to please an Invisible God? Am I willing to squander my life by Christian and Secular standards alike?

Am I willing to waste my life?

Put Your Hands Above Your Head

I hate surrender.

I loathe submission.

To me, these words are synonymous. To accept one, you must accept the other. Frankly, I am not too fond of that idea. There is no way that I’m going to accept surrender if that means I have to accept submission.

My mother called me “stubborn” and “obstinate” as a child. She was kind not to call me “pig-headed.” I am surprised that she did not. Once I decided upon something, I stuck to it be it right or be it wrong.

Some people describe my obstinacy as tenacity. Somehow that is supposed to make the entire idea better. Tenacity is a nice way to dress up my ornery characteristics. I don’t mind being cantankerous. However, it frustrated others that I never permitted anyone to care for me. To me, that was weakness and surrender. While others learned community, I willfully held onto the lonely picture of the little engine that could. Never would I give up.

In my head, I associated surrender and submission to women who were abused. Submissive women were cowed. Surrendered men would allow the world to walk all over them. They had no strength - no backbone. Surrender meant leaving myself open to hurt.

Surrender is a difficult thought for me because I do not trust that surrender is good. I do not trust that people won’t take advantage of me. I do not trust the motivation of others to care for me for no reason except that they desire to do so. When I open myself to surrender, I risk allowing people to see me in my most weakened state and to reject it. Rejection is worse than surrender in my mind.

A couple months ago, I was chatting with a friend. He told me, “You don’t trust.” This took me by surprise because although I know that I don’t trust well, I didn’t expect a guy to be able to see that so quickly. That conversation stimulated a lot of thinking on my part. I came to the conclusion that I didn’t even trust God. In word, it was easy. In action, I chose to depend on myself. As long as I was capable of caring for myself, there was no need to trust God.

I did not trust God. I did not trust friends. I might have trusted my family because they had already proved themselves to be worthy of trust, but only so much.
This brought into my life a pursuit of trust. I was determined to learn trust. Appalled at my inability to trust God, I began to seek to trust.

No wonder I hated surrender, I loathed it because I did not trust God to be good or want the best for me. Surrender is a serious thing. I grew up in the church. People use the word surrender all the time, but rarely do they mean it or put action behind their words. It was disgusting to me to see this type of insincerity. I vowed to myself that I would not use that word unless I meant it. After living with myself for twenty years, I know that I cannot fully surrender to anything. As soon as I surrender one thing, something else jumps up. Therefore, I was unwilling to give surrender a chance because I didn’t trust myself or God.

During the summer, I picked up a book called Absolute Surrender by Andrew Murray. It took me about three months to read through a book that I would have normally finished reading in 3 days. Murray wrote that it was that one thing that keeps a person from absolute surrender. At first, I didn’t understand. I munched on the statement with the questions swirling about in my head “what one thing? What does he mean? What is that one thing?”

Suddenly, I knew what Murray meant. Absolute surrender meant continually surrendering these things as they popped up. It was a “one step at a time” statement.

Here I believed that I had to absolutely surrender once and for all. However, I knew that I would fail because I knew that I didn’t know how to surrender everything. Surrender is a minute by minute process. It requires a re-focusing on God. My un-surrendered moments are when I forget that Jesus is the focus of my life.

I still fail at surrendering. I still fail at trusting God. Yet, I am learning.

Surrender is bittersweet.

Loneliness

The bouquet of yellow roses wrapped in plastic faced the floor as the man attached to the dozen flowers stood in rapt attention to the football game on television. A male relation said something to him and he tore his attention away from the screen. People were crowded about them with some in movement and some still as they checked their phones or frantically searched the crowds for a familiar face. Not far away, the rumble of an air plane taking off sent small shivers through the floor of the building. Still the man waited with his yellow roses and his television screen.

In a small college dorm, a cell phone crooned a tune from the 1940s. A confused student glanced at the caller I.D. and groaned, “Why is she calling?” With a begrudging sigh, the student answered cheerfully, “Hello?” To her chagrin, the voice answered, “Wanna hang out?” That was the last thing that this particular college student wanted. Carefully, she maneuvered her way out of hanging out with the voice on the other side of the cell phone. Excuses leapt to her lips. As soon as the conversation ended, the student held her cell phone in her hand and felt guilty.

No one wants to be alone. In college, this is reflected in the mad dash for marriage and companionship. Even amongst friends, one can feel totally alone. No one understands. With dexterity of mind, we buy into the ideas that we are alone in this world with no one caring or wanting to know about our lives. Isolated by our very own will, we blame everyone else for their failure to care. Fingers are pointed. Before long, the loneliness of the entire human population is unveiled. The best thing about loneliness is that it makes everyone feels as though they are the only lonely person. However, this lonely person is probably sitting right next to a person who is equally as lonely.

despair

Misery, scars, depression, despair, brokenness – these make up our world. People strangling their own screams for help. Damaged beyond repair, they turn and silence the cries for help of others. Blind people leading blind people. The world is full of desolation. In a room full of friends, their laughing faces conceal a black gaping hole of despair that has consumed their lives. The quiet ones as well as the loud ones suffer the same. Abuse, pain, fear, distrust – this is reality. Despair has no preference.

Despair. It is a hopelessness that reaches the very soul. It petrifies and freezes those who might have a chance at life. It makes life devoid of good. Nothing can free. The abandonment of hope is the abandonment of life. There is no light at the end of the tunnel. No one cares. I am alone.

lies

Allow that word to marinate in your brain and heart. Lies - an untruth that people allow themselves to believe. LIES. A false statement that is deliberately used to deceive others or one’s self. Despair is a lie that whispers that there no hope. False. Hope is living and healthy. According to George Bernard Shaw, “He who has never hoped can never despair.” Therefore, one who is despairing did at one time have hope. Consequently, hope is achievable. Hope is the belief that what is wanted can be had.

In the morning with the sunshine, hope arrives. Many people believe that night has no hope. Generally, dawn is considered as the arrival of hope. Yet, in the dark of night, there are stars. These specks of light hold promise of the morning to come. The moon personifies the patient, enduring hope within one’s heart. There is hope.
The reality of this world is sobering. Nothing within this world is enduring enough to be confident of it persisting long enough for hope to be placed in it. This entire world is fickle. It is slippery. One’s fingers cannot grasp onto anything that persists. Nothing is concrete. Hope that will never be disappointed cannot be found in this world. That is a sure way to despair.

Real hope is found in things not of this world. Yet, things not of this world are unexplainable. These do not fit the logical part of one’s brain. Hope is God. God is hope. Both the idea of God and Hope are abstract concepts. Without hope, life would be hell. Without God, there would be no hope. Concrete hope is found in God for “those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength” so says Isaiah 40:31. Hope is not tangible. Yet, it greatly influences the human population. Likewise, God is not often tangible, but He continues to influence the human culture. God is Hope.

“If you lose hope, somehow you lose the vitality that keeps life moving, you lose that courage to be, that quality that helps you go on in spite of it all. And so today I still have a dream.” –Martin Luther King, jr.

Thank You Note

Dear Jesus,

At my house, we write thank you notes. I think that surprises people sometimes. I mean, we've always done it. When we were little, we couldn't play with any of our toys until we wrote our thank you notes. I thought it was a cruel and unusual punishment then. After all, I had spent all Christmas Eve in a squirming bundle of sleepless expectation waiting for Christmas to come. In the early hours of morning, I'd dash down the stairs to behold a Christmas tree swimming amongst a pile of gifts. With childish dexterity,I would turn the Christmas tree lights on. Then, in wonder, I would go a couple of feet away from the tree and lay on my stomach and just gaze at this brilliant picture. There I would wait. The expectation was great.

Anymore, Christmas is not like that for me. The reality is working eight to nine hellish hours in a busy bakery up until Christmas Eve. During that time, I forget my wonder. My eyes glaze over in exhaustion as I wait in a horribly long line of other last minute Christmas shoppers. People are cranky and rude. During that time, I forget my childish awe. Christmas is not what it used to be. I have become a disillusioned old hag.

And yet, in all of this, I find that I am grateful. Thank you for this season that is so widely celebrated. When I drive anywhere at night, my way is lit by Christmas displays and colorful bushes. Perhaps some do celebrate Christmas for the wrong reason. However, someone recognizes the fact that something needs to be celebrated. I am thankful for the music of hope and cheer that celebrates Your birth and Christmas magic. It lightens my heart. Thank you for giving us a reason to exchange gifts and promote generosity. Sure, some might feel obligated, but when else are you encouraged to give in this way?

Jesus, thank you for being my best friend and wanting to know me. Thank you for choosing us. I still don't understand why.

Please stay close to me.
I love you.

Love,
Barbara

O Holy Night

Always, these words give me pause. Always, I stop and consider the holiness of a God that would die for humans. Always, I am quieted in this song.

O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour's birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the Spirit felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!
O night divine, the night when Christ was born;
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!

Led by the light of faith serenely beaming,
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand.
O'er the world a star is sweetly gleaming,
Now come the wisemen from out of the Orient land.
The King of kings lay thus lowly manger;
In all our trials born to be our friends.
He knows our need, our weakness is no stranger,
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!

Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
With all our hearts we praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we,
His power and glory ever more proclaim!
His power and glory ever more proclaim!

surrendering

What is surrender?

I got thinking about this and so I went to my friendly dictionary.com to find out what they had to say about surrender. I was dreadfully disappointed with the definitions that I found. Let me give you the first two definitions.

sur·ren·der   [suh-ren-der]
–verb (used with object)
1.
to yield (something) to the possession or power of another; deliver up possession of on demand or under duress: to surrender the fort to the enemy; to surrender the stolen goods to the police.
2.
to give (oneself) up, as to the police.

From this definition, I get the idea that surrender is bad. Surrender is something that only criminals do. Surrender is for the bad guys in the movie where the good guys finally win out. Surrender is the waving of this tattered white scrap of clothe on the end of a shattered stick. Surrender is to be scorned.

"Don't Give Up!!!"

This phrase has become a motto for Americans. Surrender is for the weak. If you want to get anywhere in life, you have to obstinately pursue your own way and never give up. To surrender is to proclaim your weakness.

Personally, I have always hated the word surrender and any word that was in any way, shape, or form connected with it. Surrender is not something that I willingly embrace in my own life. When I was a child, I was often called 'stubborn' or 'obstinate.' Just because I'm older doesn't mean those names don't apply to me any longer. In fact, I'm probably just better at hiding these sometimes unpleasant qualities.

What is surrender?

Surrender cannot be totally bad. After all, war comes to an end with a surrender. May haps, surrender is more of an accurate measurement of strength because surrender is a letting go of one's own will. The following are some quotes that seem to describe what surrender is.

I was being called to surrender the very citadel of my self. I was completely in the dark. I did not really know what repentance was or what I was required to repent of. It was indeed the turning point of my life.
Bede Griffiths

If you surrender completely to the moments as they pass, you live more richly those moments.
Anne Morrow Lindbergh

If you want to make someone feel emotion, you have to make them let go. Listening to something is an act of surrender.
Brian Eno

The creative process is a process of surrender, not control.
Julia Cameron

Give up all bad qualities in you, banish the ego and develop the spirit of surrender. You will then experience Bliss. - Sri Sathya Sai Baba

At fifteen life had taught me undeniably that surrender, in its place, was as honorable as resistance, especially if one had no choice. - Maya Angelou

Yellow Hermit House

There was a day where I was set on being a hermit living in a yellow cabin with a big dog. This was my happy place. It was a simple place. This was where it would always be sunny and laughter filled.

It's still a fond thought.

However, I could not imagine utterly isolating myself from people even to devote myself to writing. It would be a rather boring existence and what more...I would be confined to live in the reality or unreality of my brain for the extent of my isolation. My brain, though I love it, is a torturous place.

My yellow hermit house is not dead.

It's still a dream.

And maybe, I'll vacation there even if I might not live there.

thinking

"You were born to privilege and with that comes specific obligations."

This line is repeated multiple times to the French prince Henry in the movie Ever After. He refuses to hear the truth behind the statement and desires to fling off his obligations. This prince would prefer to do his own thing. From his perspective, there seems to be no particular purpose to life except duty. He rejects duty as a purpose and desires to live without obligation.

Without much effort, this line echoes in one's mind. However, one sees it only as being directed to the prince. Consider for a moment your circumstances in life. Consider your family. Consider the fact that you may be privileged. You may not be a prince or a queen or even loved by one of these in reality. Yet, you are privileged in station of life and even by the country that you live in. You are privileged merely in the way that you choose to view yourself. It is a state of mind.

Americans, you were born to privilege and with that comes specific obligation.

risk

risk –noun
exposure to the chance of injury or loss; a hazard or dangerous chance: It's not worth the risk.

Fear is based upon risk. People fear doing things because they risk emotional or physical pain. Fear binds them.

However, good things seem to come from pain or struggle. A person who has knots in his or her back has to undergo an intense massage that will primarily cause pain. After this painful massage, the person's back will be loosened and the pain will be eased. This person had to submit themselves to pain before they could experience release.

"Flowers often grow more beautifully on dung-hills than in gardens that look beautifully kept." ~Saint Francis de Sales

A lot of poop happens in the world. Yes, poop. Struggles come in all forms. It's difficult and these problems seem to last forever. Yet, they help us grow. One of these days, we'll look back at that poop that happened in our lives and we'll be shocked to see a flower blooming in the midst of the poop.

Risk: going to another country, driving a car, taking a breath, going to college, making friends, loving, living, eating...Risk is Life. Life is risk. They are inseparable.

Once in a conversation with my dad about relationships and love, we talked about risk. He told me, "When I married your mother, I thought I loved her as much as I ever could. I was wrong. I love her more today than I ever thought was possible."

I think loving is a risk. Sometimes, I wonder if loving is a risk that is worth taking. My dad obviously votes yes.

The thing about risk is that it is so uncertain and so ambiguously full of 'what if' circumstances. There are a million things that could occur. There is nothing to trust. No one can tell you that your risk will turn out well. No one can tell you it won't hurt. No one can promise you perfection.

The promise of risk is loss. Even if your risk was worth it, you will lose something. Something will change within yourself. It might seem to be a bit of an abstract thought, but a risk results in growth. Growth builds off of old thoughts and discards others.

Risk demands surrender of self. It means letting go of the 'what if' moments and leaping for all you're worth. Don't hop. LEAP. Commit to the unknown and embrace it. Perhaps, you'll impale yourself upon a thorn. However, you may look up and see that the thorn is attached to a rose. That rose bloom won't ease the pain, but it will be a part of the growth.

Without risk, life would not be worth living. There would be no thrill. A life without risk would be easy, but this life of ennui is unfulfilling. A life risked wisely is a life lived and learned.

my glass menagerie.

inner turmoil.20 years.simple dreams.huge expectations.great dissappointment.the weight.trying life.depth.power.beliefs.opinions.selfishness.hate.defined by society and one's view of society.

"I thought I had escaped the boundaries of society. I rebelled in small and subtle ways. I raised my head defiantly at everything the world handed me. Now, I find that I have been defined by reverse psychology. As much as I fought against the social boundaries that people placed upon me. I have been ensnared by the lack of identity and I have become something that I am not. When did I begin fighting against me?"

"I became exactly what society dictated. I followed to the very last dot on the 'i'. I am a shell."

"I built my life out of expectation. The thing that came out of life was disappointment."

breathing.life.ambrosial.vulnerability.risk.fear.relationship.definitions.words.years.song.laughter.cake.early birds.what is life.masks.truth hidden.truth found.influences.persuasion.i'm not who i was meant to be.loss.

Personal Connection

a single hand clasp ... you are not alone.

picture compliments of homarte on deviantart.

Pistevo: Why Do You Believe?

Why do you believe? It’s another haunting question. What is the root of your thoughts and beliefs in the world? Do you believe that all men are evil because of some past experience? Or that all women are inevitably control freaks because you have met one too many who exude this characteristic? What drives thought? Why do you believe what you believe? Why do you believe that people will always disappoint you so much so that you aren’t willing to trust? Why are you always waiting to be hit and you expect it? How is it that this has become the norm?

We live what we believe. One can say as much as you want, but one’s true beliefs and closely held values shall bleed out into one’s actions. Allow me to use myself as an example. About a month ago, I chatted with a friend and he told me that I believed that men could not be trusted. This surprised me because I do not vocalize that belief. However, he knew already just by living life beside me over the past two years. I know I do not trust easily. Yet, I thought I was decent. I never had to tell my friend that I have a hard time trusting men. He just knew from life. Now, I cannot explain quite yet why I have difficulties trusting men. That’s an entirely other journey for me to explore solo and in time I may share it. However, this thought that men are not trustworthy permeates the way that I live and navigate through life. Somewhere along the way this idea has cemented itself as some sort of value in my life. Values are the root of one’s action.

I believe that socks belong on feet. This is a value that I cling to. Therefore, I wear my socks upon my feet. Perhaps it is because this was taught to me by not only my mother but it is also culturally and socially acceptable. However, I have worn socks on my hands and I find this to be quite comfortable especially in the winter when my fingers resemble icicles in temperature.

A wild momentary belief of mine is that apples actually fall up. However, we would not know this because we are confused in our perspective of the world. You see, we humans actually are individually suspended to the earth by invisible cables. These cables are designed in such a way that they make everything appear to be falling down. Yet, in fact, things are falling up. In this way, an apple falls up from the tree branches to the ground. In time, the seeds take root. These roots provide life. Although not visible to the human eye, these roots are the values of the tree. Why do I believe all of this? Simply because this whimsical idea caught my fancy and I like the idea.

Why do I believe that a relationship with Jesus Christ is crucial in life? Once upon a time, I tried to imagine my life without Him. I could. I did. It was purposeless. Oh, don’t get me wrong. Life would be fun. I would still be a deep thinker, but I’d probably be a bit of a skank. I would be a feminist. I would control everything shamelessly. And I might be dead.

“Wait.” You say. “But, you are such a good person! That can’t be true.”

Let me assure you that the above is very possible. Oh, it may seem extreme, but life is full of extremity. My innate self does not desire goodness. I would much rather run wild or live in an eternal pathetic party than surrender my life and my control over to this higher being that has been considered fictional by others. What is the purpose of life? Well, it could just be one huge party. However, that would not satiate this desire to have purpose and leave a legacy. After all, death is inevitable. If death is our final destination and the only purpose of life is to please self, then let’s just escalate the process and die.

This past week, I was talking to a friend about the upcoming musical auditions. She was proclaiming her intense desire to be in the musical because it was the very pulse of her heart. Her intensity scared me because I wanted her to not be disappointed. When she asked me if I was audition, I replied, “Yes, I am auditioning. If I don’t get in, that’s fine with me. You see, I’ll help out with it anyways. I just want to be a part of something that is bigger than myself.”

If I live my life solo for my own pleasure and the pleasing of my friends, I am a part of nothing - only a cycle of mutual pleasing. I want more in life. Dear friends, I love you greatly but there must be more to life than just trying to be a people pleaser. I have been offered the opportunity to participate in a family that has been growing, struggling, and learning for the past 2000 or so years. Not only does that make me a part of a legacy, it gives me an opportunity to be a part of a continuing legacy. We are most definitely dysfunctional, but that doesn’t make me stop loving this family any less. It may seem corny to say that I am a part of God’s family, but it’s the very core of my life purpose.

“There are pictures of the people in my family where we look like the most awkward and desperate folk you ever saw, poster children for the human condition. But I like that, when you get to see something real and human. I think that's why most of us stay close to our families, no matter how neurotic the members, how deeply annoying or dull - because when people have seen you at your worst, you don't have to put on the masks as much. And that gives us license to try on that radical hat of liberation, the hat of self-acceptance; we're allowed to escape from underneath one of the fatwas.”
Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott

I believe in the importance of family, the body of Christ. I believe that my relationship with God is the best thing that I have to offer the world. I believe that I will continue to screw things up, but that I will always yearn after God’s ways. I believe that God has saved me from myself multiple times. Why do I believe this? It’s personal, you see, I have seen the evident hand of God in my life. It’s been in small ways and big ways. One day, God might choose to spare me from a multitude of ticks and mosquitoes while all my other companions were plagued by them. Another day, God completely and totally removes a huge struggle and shame-filled activity from my life. Oh, don’t you dare tell me that the ticks don’t like me or that I was able in my own self to spare myself from that previously mentioned activity. After all, I have likeable blood. I’m 0+. Oh, and that activity. I tried to stop. I couldn’t.

“People see God every day, they just don't recognize him.” ~Pearl Bailey

When I dance with the wind because I do dance with the wind, I know that God has a grin across His face. I believe He and I are great friends. Why do I believe that He is so intimately involved in my life? Once when this woman was in Panama, a rugby ball was being tossed around. I was a bit angry, cynical, and tired of people. I growled between terse lips to my friends, “If that ball hits me, I will kill somebody.” I hadn’t even gotten the words fully out of my mouth before this ball hit me square in the back. I could feel God smirking and laughing. Guess what. I didn’t kill them. Instead, I shook my head at God’s sense of humor and accepted their rushed apologies.

Why do you believe?

Psalm 13

How long, O LORD ? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and every day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?

Look on me and answer, O LORD my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death;

my enemy will say, "I have overcome him,"
and my foes will rejoice when I fall.

But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation.

I will sing to the LORD,
for he has been good to me.

This has been a prayer on my heart.

What is a real man?

Lately, a question has plagued me like no other question. It has settled in the depths of my stomach and has festered there. This pestering thought was actually stimulated by a conversation with a friend. However, it has been a couple of weeks since that initial conversation and my thoughts have fermented into, hopefully, a wise wine. This question was first asked to a group of us across the meal table. What makes a real man?

I was deeply disappointed in our ability to answer that question. The general consensus was simply "I don't know." Disappointment occasionally motivates me and so I began to think. I realized that there were many questions connected to that single question. What makes a real man? As a woman, how can I inspire men around me to be the best man that they can be? What characteristics are needed here? Is there actually a recipe to this question?

First of all, no man is equal. Therefore, each man has his own unique 'real man' qualities to discover and strengthen. However, that does not mean a man cannot learn patience if patience is not already his gift. We must realize if one were to try to name all the characteristics a man "should have," one would discover that they had just described God. Also, it's doubtful that a woman could inspire a man to true masculinity on her own. Sex might be inspiring, but it wouldn't inspire a true masculinity just a carnal response. It's easy to live a good life, but to live an inspirational life can only be acquired with the aid of Jesus.

Finally, during the length of a conversation with another friend, we talked about this 'real man' question. We came to a conclusion. Each of us already had men that we respected so we looked at them and asked, "why do we respect them?" Suddenly, the answer to this mind-boggling question seemed to be in grasp. There is no cookie cutter recipe for a real man. However, on the basis of this realization, a 'real' man is a reality. Namely, a real man is someone that can be respected in all areas of his life and lives above reproach.

Also, in my search for what a real man is, I googled the question like any true person of my generation would. I was both impressed and disappointed with what I found. What is a real man? Ten traits were listed. I would now like to take the liberty to add a bit of thought to these ten.

Trait #1 says, "A real man is strong." There is nothing wrong with this statement. And yet, I disagree with the print that backs up this phrase. Largely, I disagree with the statement, "A real man doesn't cry." Allow me to say that from a woman's perspective, I believe the biggest sign of strength is a man who can and does cry. This shows me that he is secure in who he is and is not afraid to show his true emotion. As this quote aptly states, "There is nothing so strong as gentleness, and nothing so gentle as real strength." Vulnerability is strength.

I would also like to respond to Trait #2 which states, "A real man is focused." Recently, I have noticed that a lot of men have no idea what they want in life. Not only are they confused, but they confuse those around them - namely, girls. Like butterflies, these men flit about from girl to girl. This is entirely unattractive unless the man actually embodies this insect. Yes, there are many beautiful flowers - I mean - girls in the world. However, why don't you save yourself and those gazillion girls from heartache by finding focus? If you don't know what you want, wait. You will surely figure it out.

"A real man can defend himself." aka Trait #10. I cannot agree more thoroughly with this one. I see plenty of potential leaders in the men about me. However, I don't see many who are willing to buck up and to take on a challenge. Hey, mistakes are scary. Yet, they are so very worth it. Those who are willing to fall on their faces a couple of times are so much more worthy of admiration especially when success comes because it will. So in the words of Mrs. Frizzle, "Take chances, make mistakes, get messy!" Also, a real man not only defends himself but he defends others. The latter part of that statement actually may be more important than the former so take note. Defend others, men.

It's time. It's time for men to rise up. We have all grown weary of these poor examples of masculinity. Men being emasculated and women losing belief that real men do exist in the world is a sad reality. This is a reality that must be discarded. "Real" men do exist in the world. I have seen them.

Regrets Revisited

If a man does not make new acquaintances as he advances through life, he will soon find himself alone. A man should keep his friendships in constant repair. ~Samuel Johnson

One thing that I have always tried to avoid with the nimbleness of a dancer is what we humans term 'regret.' To me, regret has a taste that is unforgettable. It's the sour taste of something gone wrong. Regret is a disappointment in a person's life or decision.

Random note about me: When I was a child, I got disciplined. Yet, the punishment wasn't as bad to me as the fact that I had just disappointed my parents. Once again, I had that most unpleasant taste of regret in my mouth after such an incidence of disappointment. As much as I desire to dwell upon that small regret, I have to make the conscience decision to allow life to continue.

I loathe the feeling of regret permeating any part of my life. I rarely allow it take a place in my thought. Yet, sometimes a regret slowly examined may show some nugget of truth that will facilitate learning. The 10 hour car ride of the past day was perfect for this type of contemplation. It's a painful way of learning from one's mistakes, but this type of analyzation is imperative.

For a moment, bear with me as I muse upon a regret in my life. It's a regret that spans the majority of my life. Regrets with friendships and people are the worst kind.

When I was a young child, my mother had a best friend who we would visit monthly. My mother and her friend talked daily on the phone, but they looked forward to the visits. Mrs. C had three children but her son, Robby, was only a year older than me. On our monthly visits, we would bring donuts to Robby's house and then we children (which included my two siblings) would scurry downstairs to play video games. I was in awe of Robby. Oh, I knew he wasn't perfect. We had our childish disagreements and miscommunications. Even still in my childish eyes, Robby could walk on the very clouds if he desired.

As all children do, we grew up. Robby's family moved. We still saw each other. Robby became wrapped up in school and I was homeschooled. We were tentative friends as adolescence rocked our separate worlds. High school broadened the gap that had started with a small crack of an ill-placed comment and poor decision. I saw it. Yet, I could not find any bridge.

The gap was a mixture of distrust, fear of judgement, and rebellion. I am sure that there is much more in this gap that I do not see. I know that I aided in the growth of this grand canyon. After all, during those turbulent teen years, I harbored a couple of romantic notions towards Robby that cause me now to cringe at my silliness. All of my teen crushes snatched away my ability to communicate anything but silence. That would cause a problem in a friendship - don't you think?

With all these thoughts resurfacing in my head as my mother and I discussed my childhood, I continually came back to this lost friendship. Sitting in the car next to my mother as we talked about the past, I realized that I regretted the loss of this friendship. To my mother, I said, "Mom, if I could go back in time and know what to change in my friendship with Robby so that I could be friends with him now - I would do it."

I mourn this lost friendship. He and I are both grown. I told my mother, "We will most likely never meet again unless you or his mother plans something that we both happen to attend which is fairly unlikely. Even then, we shall probably not talk." From my perspective, I see no type of mending possible. After all, it's not as simple as an apology.

I made decisions that I regret, and I took them as learning experiences... I'm human, not perfect, like anybody else.
Queen Latifah

ELLE: a question raised

On a whim right before my flight home from Colorado, I bought a magazine. This is not an un-heard of phenomena. Actually, it is quite normal. I, knowing nothing about the colorful array of magazines, chose my magazine by its cover. I expected class, elegance, and style. The cover was crowded with blurbs about handbags, lipsticks, and fashion. In the center, stretched across this thick wad of glossy paper was Drew Barrymore. I’ve always had a soft spot for Drew since she’s in the classically beautiful Ever After. I chose the issue of ELLE. As I clutched the magazine in my hand and bought it, I caught a glimpse of one blurb that grasped my interest. It said, “Think you’re not hot? Why all men really want you now.” I’ll be honest. I don’t always have the best confidence and I rarely believe that I’m pretty. Therefore, my interest was piqued. I didn’t read it until about a week after returning home.

As I read through the columns, my eyebrows raised higher and higher on my forehead. My eyes grew larger and larger. My mouth dropped open and if flies had flown in my mouth, I would have gnashed them between my teeth. Yet, I was uncertain why I felt the way that I did. My feelings hung between extreme anger and total shock. My shock caused me to place the magazine on the floor and I walked away. Well, I came back to ELLE with a pen in hand. Furiously, I scribbled notes all over that article. I informed my college roommate, “I hope eloquence kicks in when I write my blog because this makes me so angry that I just want to swear.” Now, swearing is not an option so I do hope eloquence kicks in because I would like you all, my readers, to stay.

If the article didn’t start off questionably enough, I should have known by this phrase, “you are about to meet three men…but you won’t like them from what you hear coming out of their mouths.” It proclaims that these men are “model husbands and fathers.” Apparently, this article explores their alter personalities under this secure and safe label. Each of the men brags about their abilities to check out women and simultaneously fantasize about them. One man says that his actions could be compared to a “sexually repressed 80-year-old man.” Another of the men says, “I frequently think that if Felicia ever installed a camera in the car, our marriage would be over after one afternoon of her watching me drive around.” Even as each man’s statement rings with truth, they continue to brag about their sexual fantasies. No wonder the article is written by Anonymous. No wonder all the names have been changed to protect the guilty.

The writer of the article for research reasons decided to stand in front of different businesses with a tally clicker in his hand so he could “quantify his urges.” Mr. Anonymous even invited a woman friend along so that he would look less like a pervert. It’s interesting how much the author acknowledges the fact that there is something quite perverted in this activity. Throughout the article, he seems to be oddly seeking approval. After all, the author spends a paragraph assuming that women “are swept away by fantasy but just indulge much, much less frequently.” It’s the classic finger point of a child caught in misbehavior. Even when the author’s findings state that “roughly half of the women…were fantaziable,” the Mr. Anonymous later declares that women’s bodies rarely matter. This is not the author being sweet. Don’t be fooled. The entire article subliminally echoes with women are desirable simply because they are objects for sex. When Mr. Anonymous’ female friend questions, “I just want to know what is it about sex with women who you don’t know?” the author responds with the unsatisfying answer, “Do you go to the zoo and ask the tigers why they like meat?” That is an illogical comparison. Some may say that life without sex is unlivable, but man can live a life of chastity. Meanwhile, a tiger will die without meat.

The majority of the article is spent in a strange mixture of approval seeking, ability bragging, and sanity claiming. The anonymous author lingers over his “ghosts of sex not had.” In amongst this memory of sex-not-had, the author claims that “monogamy, though possibly a natural state for women, is not natural for men.” It’s a strong statement that is highly controversial. Since I am a woman, I feel like my ability to bicker with this statement has been stripped away from me. Therefore, I leave it. One question: Would men truly like to deal with the estrogen-packed environment that he would create for himself? (Actually, two questions: Why do you think the men of archaic times had a separate house for all their wives?)

The end of the article brought a rush of relief. First, the article was coming to an end. Second, the author admitted that one night stands are generally very disappointing. My eyebrows rose completely and totally off my forehead at this admission. He even finds comfort in his cohabitation and co-parenting with his wife. Thirdly, the author further surprised me by writing, “My wife is it. When I tell her I love her, I mean it in the deepest way imaginable.” I scribbled the word ‘hallelujah’ across the text. Mr. Anonymous is an author and he knows women. If he ends the article in such a heart-touching way, perhaps his women readers would fail to recall the body of his article.

I appreciate Mr. Anonymous’ honesty and vulnerability. He has just exposed the sexual predator in every male on the planet in response to a woman’s question of ‘why would you be attracted to me?’ Perhaps that is a tad harsh. Ever since I was young, I always heard older women excusing the wild behavior of their boys with the phrase, “Boys will be boys.” This excuse has lived on in the hearts of men today. They seem to live their lives under the awning of excuses made for them by our culture. Instead of learning to guard their eyes and thoughts, they relish the excitement of their sexual fantasies and inappropriate behavior under the approving shrug of society. Men, rise up. Stop allowing society to speak for you and set a new standard of life lived respectfully.

Women: you’re not off the hook. I think it would be fair to say that the poop has hit the fan. You heard me. We’re a part of this mess. All through my teen years, I heard the talks about modesty. I admit. I rolled my eyes. Yet, growing up in a house where modesty was enforced, it became a part of my life whether I liked it or not. Mr. Anonymous Author shocked me into the realization that modesty is crucial. He said in reference to the preferred female summer clothing, “It’s the feeling that I - a perfect stranger – could have this beautiful woman topless in a fraction of a second.” I was repulsed and began wondering how many of the men that I know had thought something similar in regards to me because I had been wearing a summer something. After reading that admission, I was prepared to find myself a potato sack. Women, dress wisely and don’t emasculate men by excusing their behavior. Challenge them to pursue a lifestyle that won’t have them fearing the loss of their wives.

Lastly, I find it very strange that ELLE would publish an article such as the one here by Mr. Anonymous. I know women desire to understand men and this article definitely gave a very clear picture of the occurrences that happen in the mind of a male. We’re all searching for honesty. Mr. Anonymous is very honest. Is it not interesting that he was honest in anonymity? Women rant that men should not objectify women. Yet, here in a magazine edited entirely by women is an article that basically says that women are desirable because they are objects for male fantasy. All of this can cause quite a bit of confusion similar to the phrase said from parent to child, “Do what I say not what I do.” Society screams that men should not objectify women. Yet, they turn around and publish articles that encourage this same action that was previously bewailed. The question of a double standard is raised.