::Celibacy and the Village

Last Thursday night, I joined my sister-in-law, her sister, and their cousin, for a late-night showing of Sex and the City 2.

A new friend, one who doesn't know me well, commented thusly: "I thought you were all deep and intellectual...why do you even care about that movie?"

Now, I have never described myself as deep or intellectual.
This is his impression of me, and it's a kind one, and I'll take the compliment.

As Carrie Bradshaw herself might say, I couldn't help but wonder...

So, I probed my own brain to try to "justify" my SATC fandom.

I certainly do not have the financial means to live as luxuriously as these women live, or the body to showcase their haute couture ensembles (few women do, I would imagine.)
I don't suspect that I share their worldviews, or even their values.
I can see a very valid argument; that this series glorifies hedonism and perpetuates the myth of materialistic satisfaction, that it claims to be pro-feminist, yet actually objectifies the women it portrays.
I can see how it's vapid, shallow, and undoubtedly offensive to many people.

I can see beyond its superficiality, however, and what I connect to is, its celebration of the institution of friendship.
These are women with drastically different personalities (some would argue that they're overly stylized archetypes) who love and support one another.
Their acceptance of each other is not conditional, nor is it afraid to confront self-destructive, unhealthy behavior.

I must admit, also, that there is a part of me - however tiny and ill-advised - that would actually love to be able to traipse around Manhattan in high-fashion dresses and overpriced jewelry. I'd love to flit from a leisurely Cosmopolitan lunch with my girlfriends to a date with a gorgeous man, visiting all the most exclusive nightclubs, hobnobbing with socialites and celebrities.
The problem is, I wouldn't want to live like that.
I could probably only stand it for one or two days.

My own life is much different.
I buy clothes in which I feel comfortable and confident.
They are not runway-worthy.
I wear makeup and jewelry because I genuinely like to.
I style my hair because, let's face it, if I didn't, I'd have a giant helmet of frizz.
My days and evenings are not spent in "glamorous" locations.

But, generally speaking, I like my life.
I feel very thankful for my blessings, and I try my best to recognize new ones.

Every once in awhile, though, it feels nice to indulge a fantasy or two.
And that's why I love Sex and the City.
It's a nice place to visit.
But I would never want to live there.

::stand and deliver

I was raised by two teachers.
My father taught sixth grade for nearly 30 years.
My mother taught fifth grade for 30+ years.
Since my mother's retirement, she has occasionally worked as a substitute (or "Guest Teacher," as they're now christened).

On December 11, she was teaching a fourth-grade class, and learned that one of the students - Jade - was a second-generation pupil under her tutelage; that is, Jade's father had my mother as his fifth-grade teacher.

At some point during the day, the school secretary received a mysterious phone call. A man's voice asked if my mother was teaching in the building that day. The secretary confirmed that she was, and the man said "Okay! That's all I needed to know!"

At the end of the day, Jade's father came to the school and waited outside the classroom, then presented this bouquet of flowers to my mother:

He told her that they were a long-overdue "Thank you" for being such an excellent teacher and an influential force in his life.

That story, as simple as it is, makes me cry.

This is Teacher Appreciation Week.

The work that teachers do is challenging, frustrating, under-appreciated, and often thankless.
The best ones persist because they are tenacious, because they harbor the genuine desire to enrich young minds, and because they know that their labor is not in vain.

I've always found something very mystical about this - the impartation of knowledge from one to another - something almost sacred.

And in today's educational climate, the responsibilities placed on the shoulders of teachers are more plentiful and stressful than ever before.

In order to perform daily duties, their hearts must be gigantic.

For this alone, our appreciation for their everyday efforts ought to be outgrowing itself.

::i ♥ jesus

I do not like Christian bookstores, and generally frown upon roughly 75% of the merchandise they're peddling. (aka "Jesus Junk," the dregs of which are found here.)

In my youth, before I grew older and became so "jaded and cynical," I used to wear Christian t-shirts.

I found their brazen copycat logos endearing, even witty and clever.

Now?
I am physically sickened by them.

Tonight, I found myself reluctantly accompanying my dad on a stroll into the local Christian bookstore, and here are a few gems I managed to capture with my phone's camera...

For those Facebook Fanatics:


For The Bass Player:



And finally, for those Twitter Addicts:


=====

I understand their appeal.
I genuinely do.
I used to belong to their target demographic.

I also understand that my mockery of them may be conveyed as sheer snobbery.

My deep-seated objections to Christian merchandising are difficult to articulate.

What I can express is, I find it insulting to reduce the Sanctity of God, Jesus Christ, the Gospel, and Scripture, to an imitative silk-screened logo on a cotton t-shirt, or shiny symbols emblazoned on the wrappers of crystallized sugar.

No human brain is capable of comprehending the whole of Who and What God is.

But I do know this: He is not a product.

::demotivational wisdom

You may purchase this gem, along with many others, here.

::church it up

I attended a conservative Baptist church for 27 years.
I was a volunteer youth worker for seven of those, and attended countless concerts, retreats, mission trips, and "evangelism training" events.
I went to three private Christian colleges to earn my Bachelors degree.

On the subject of the evangelical Christian subculture, I know a thing or two about a thing or two. **

Today, I have read two online interviews from Christianity Today.
One with Jennifer Knapp, who recently announced that she's gay, and one with David Bazan (former lead singer of Pedro the Lion), who has reportedly "lost his faith."

Now, I can understand the "disappointment" that will undoubtedly occur when someone was a public representative of your community, and then their words or behavior, or both, seem to suggest that they have deserted said community.
It's not surprising, and it's only natural.

What I cannot abide is the pervasive attitude I have encountered on countless occasions, of Christians affecting an air of superiority, almost arrogance, when interacting with those whom they deem "prodigal children."

Often, if a Christian begins asking raw, vulnerable questions, it's almost as if a State of Emergency is declared.

"Oh no! She's really GAY?! She has a GIRLFRIEND? I thought she was a CHRISTIAN!"

"Oh, jeez...he's not even sure there's a GOD anymore? What on Earth do we DO?"

And my, oh my, whatever shall we do?

How about, we listen?
We do our very best to empathize with these precious souls' undoubtedly painful processes.
We force ourselves to become vulnerable and admit that we, too, have sometimes felt (*GASP!*) a little unsure.
We admit - however begrudgingly - that we may have unanswered questions fluttering about inside our brains as well.
We dismantle our fears by freely confessing them to each other.

And we trust that God is not averse to our candor.
In fact, we remind each other that He invites it.



**[Several years ago, I recorded (on VHS, kickin' it old-school) an interview with Amy Grant on 20/20, wherein she said "I think the true heart of God is wild and passionate and everything creative. Of course, we just barely scratch the surface of that because we're human.
But frankly, I sometimes feel grossed out by the ways in which we try to package that and sell it to people."

AMEN, sister! ]

::requiem for an artist

As a teenager, I wrote a lot of bad poetry.

This is perhaps why I used to get so excited when my brother Joshua would bring home Parnassus, the literary magazine from Taylor University, where he went to college.

I would pore over the brilliant poems printed between its covers, sometimes memorizing slices to recite to friends, attempting to convey the power those words wielded over my spirit.

One of my favorite featured poets was always a guy named Jason Francis.

His work was so original, so innovative, so infused with wonder and vibrant joie de vivre.

In the spring of 1997, I was a student at Taylor University, and flailing in the suffocating sludge of what the psychiatrist called "major clinical depression."
I remember sitting in the student union, probably looking listless and miserable, when I looked up and spotted the person I knew was Jason Francis.
He had graduated the previous year, but I recognized him from his pictures, and it was clear that he was returning to visit his alma mater, walking around reminiscing with a few friends.
I remember feeling slightly starstruck, but he met my gaze for only a moment before offering a warm, friendly smile and a cheerful, "HI!"
I returned his sentiment with as much gusto as I could muster, but felt too timid to say anything more.
Later, I passed him again walking around campus, and he said "Oh, HI!"
His group kept walking, and so did I.

Last week, my latest Taylor alumni magazine arrived, and in the alumni news section, I saw that Jason Francis had died of cancer on January 11.

I felt suddenly weepy, and as I reflected upon my threadbare memories of him, I realized that his life had brushed against mine in unspeakable ways, though he never even knew my name.

By sharing his poetic prowess, he blessed me with gorgeous phrases that still inspire me today. And by offering such sincere kindness to me, a stranger, he extended Love to me in a time when I desperately needed to feel its soothing warmth.

I'm rather fond of the proverb that states:
Be kind. Every person you meet is fighting a battle.

Jason clearly knew this, and endeavored to practice its simple wisdom.

I was able to locate his obituary online, and as I read this, my eyes erupted with tears of wonder:

In his last hours, with painful gasps, he spoke to his wife
these words:
“God is sovereign. He will do what He will. And I love it!”

::toddler tales

One of the greatest joys of my life is my niece, Emma, who is 20 months old.
I spend four days a week caring for her.


I once saw Johnny Depp interviewed about the birth of his first child, and how he was often asked "How did it change your life?"
And he said that was the wrong question, explaining, "The birth of my daughter gave me life."

The more time I spend with Emma, the more I empathize with those sentiments.

She gently reminds me of countless simple majesties I had long forgotten; the contour of an acorn, the texture of a pine cone, the treasure of a dog's allegiance, the luscious sweetness of a ripe strawberry, the sheer delight of a guttural giggle.

Every moment spent with her is one that I cherish; and the world, when viewed through her young, fresh lens, is a bold, pulsing adventure.