Posted by alovelyforgotten | Filed under christian,women,god,beauty,motivational,props,
The other day while coasting in my super hip, not lame in the least PT Cruiser, I pulled in line behind a monster SUV. Other than convincing myself that I did not covet said gasoline-slurping automobile, reminding myself that there happens to be an unspoken classiness to my odd excuse of a car… my eyes locked in on the license plate. It read:
“JcksMom”
No joke.
Apparently the one and only thing this woman could say about herself to the endless stream of strangers bringing in the rear, is that she popped out some kid named Jack.
I’m sure Jack is a peach, doesn’t cause even the slightest hassle for his teacher, and never picks his nose. I’ll even bet that Jack will be president someday. Because obviously- this woman does. She must or else she picked a lousy, snot-crusted menace to associate her seven letter identity with.
The reason I bring into question a mere license plate on the back of some machine I could’t begin to afford, isn’t because the alphabet holds insurmountable insight into one’s existence, or that the choice between “Hotstud” or “LuvMufn” is earth shattering. But what seven letters can become at times, is an overlooked symptom of a very contagious life view.
Whether due to our careers, relationships, stereotypes, or even motherhood… at some point in our lives, us ladies tend to begin assigning who we are with a title, image, or attitude. Mysteriously, we forget we are individuals playing an irreplaceable role in a grand tale, and start seeing ourselves as props.
Props are easily defined and predictable. They don’t pulse with life, they go with the flow of what’s expected. Props slowly over time forget what they once were, and begin to put themselves into a self-constructed box. Sometimes we build these boxes around ourselves independently, other times by listening to the harsh and cutting words of others… and for some, the lack of any words at all. In the end though, we are still the ones who tape it together and reside there.
The saddest aspect is that Jack’s Mom most likely is completely unaware of this. I mean, who else is she? Does she like to paint? Is she a bungee jumper or a teacher? Is she loud and infectious, or a quiet listener? Does she like the color yellow? Out of all the possible things she could have chosen to say about herself, she chose a generic role that’s dependent on someone else’s life.
How can we realize we act the prop?
Do you feel guilty when you respond in a way that is unexpected?
Are you choosing to ignore a passion because it doesn’t correlate with other aspects of your life?
Do you pursue being the person other’s know you to be, or showing them the person who you are?
The inner struggle between acting the prop versus the complex, intriguing character in your life, can show up in extended seasons or in ordinary moments. I caught myself a few mornings ago, falling into the same stupid trap. Being a Hairstylist is a way to make income, not who I am. Yet, before heading out for a lovely day off far away from my place of employment, I sat at my vanity for an unnecessary additional amount of time, because three sections of hair weren’t cooperating. Why? Only because those who would might cross my path know my proffession, and undoubtably, those three sections would instantly be my downfall should they see the light of day.
The contrast between the prop and the character can be that my prop has perfect hair no matter what. She is always put together and ready to be admired. The character accepts that enemies such as humidity exist, and just throws her hair in a pony tail like a normal, rational woman.
Christ came to free us from sin yes, but also the daily prison of the expected. When Peter spoke to the early church, he was speaking to people who had careers and social expectations, mothers and daughters, wives and friends…. though somehow as he shared, those titles were never great enough to encompass all who they were:
“… for you are a chosen people. You are royal priests, a holy nation, God’s very own possession. As a result, you can show others the goodness of God, for he called you out of the darkness into his wonderful light. Once you had no identity as a people now you are God’s people.” ( 1 Peter 2:9-10 )
The only role big enough to allow for freedom, is the one Christ offers. God creates characters that are vibrant and fail, who dream and are afraid. He aches for creatures that are exceptionally authentic, who ache for Him in return. An identity like that, could never fit on a license plate. Jack’s mom happens to be the mother of a boy named Jack, but she is also so much more. Will you live your life restricting your actions, feelings and passions to predetermined, single-faceted labels? Or will you break free, and surprise us all?
And yes, God did create ‘Props’ as well… You’ve met them. They are called “Trees”.
May 24, 2012
Posted by alovelyforgotten | Filed under Christian,God,Motivational,Beauty,Women,Girls,Weight,
Every one of us is familiar with the “Ugly-Duckling” disorder, some more personally than others. Maybe you befriended a disastrous victim early on in life, watching her suffer, eventually growing into something not so embarrassing. Or, if you are like myself, witnessed the effects of this affliction firsthand… and continue to thank Jesus everyday since for the coincidental character building, but mainly for eventual blessed recovery.
This past weekend during a talk given by our head pastor, he used a verse that took me back to a time where I’m not sure what response it might have inspired.
“Sixty queens there may be…But my dove, my perfect one, is unique”
{Song of Songs 6:8-9}
Meaning, in a world full of women who create a sea of contrasting colors, shapes and sizes, that in the end every one of them is unique. Today, this is a heartwarming piece of scripture. Back in medival middle school times, not so much. I fear having heard it then, I might have spewed something like “Solomon was either an clueless idiot, or a desperate blind man”, “They obviously didn’t experience acne in the desert” or merely, “bite me, Solomon”.
Because honestly, jolly King Solomon had no inclination of what it is like to walk down school halls embarrassed of what one’s own face looks like. He never had to go shopping as a teenager, while absolutely no piece of fabric in a ten mile radius can wrap it’s way around one’s chest. He never had buck teeth, or a girl-stache. All this genius had to say about our uni-brows and growing pains was, “You are all unique”. In other words, “Yes, your face looks like a pizza kitchen, but every’ting is irie ‘mon”.
The majority of us, can actually recall a particular incident in which our “UD” disorder became concrete. Cemented into reality, most likely by some else’s affirmation. Perhaps it was the moment that you realized your feet were twice the size as everyone’s in swim class, causing them to call you ‘platypus’. Or when the In-Crowd began to repeatedly comment on your hair, which resembled a tumble-weed against their silky strands. Or better yet, us lucky few had the pleasure of receiving the most classic form of finalization:
From a boy.
An evil, slimy dirtbag…. who offers the slightest hope of friendship, just to plant a menacing reminder of how actually grotesque you are.
In 7th grade, I had the brilliant idea of joining ‘Choir’ class instead of band. Why would I choose this? Because I had no survival skills whatsoever. Band would have been the safest refuge, being that it’s jammed packed with spit launching wanna be musicians, who are in their own personal battle against coolness. But alas, I chose choir…. and therefore my own funeral.
Choir was divided into three parts: Sopranos (aka: pretty A and B crowd girls who sounded like high pitched cats), Altos (aka: uglier C and D crowd girls), and Tenors (aka: the few brave boys who either questioned their own manhood, or wanted an easy date). I was an alto. My voice was either extremely low or I harbored enough testosterone to practically be placed with the boys. I spent many an hour sitting next to one named Steve. Steve was evil. Don’t ever sit next to a Steve. Valentine’s day rolled around, and with it came those blasted emotion-provoking carnations. Sopranos adore Valentine’s Day, considering they could probably weave a crown of self obsession with all of the swag they receive. My own lack of swag, in a moment of absolute weakness, led me to ask the simple most stupid question a woman can ask a man:
“Steve, since it’s Valentine’s Day, I just need to know-
Why don’t boys like me?”
Ladies, no matter how badly your mouth wants to… Never, under no circumstances, ask this question. It only leads to your own self-imploding doom.
He replied with a completely understanding, non-douchey answer of course:
“Well, guys like girls with good bodies… you know, like J-Lo.”
Ain’t he a keeper? Gosh, why aren’t we friends now? Oh yeah, now I remember- Because Steve’s a tool.
The point of this story, is not to socially demolish Steve, though it is an enjoyable component. The point is that I spent years holding on to this one sentence. Did I have a rockin’ bod? No, because I was 12. And I despised exercise as much as I loved ice cream. But more importantly, why did a random middle school boy’s thoughtless words have so much weight in my young life?
As cliche as it sounds, because I allowed them to.
I gave a dumb boy, who probably has syphilis now, incredible power in defining my worth. In defining what ‘Beauty’ even is. He was right, Jennifer Lopez is gorgeous. But so was I. Just in my own 12 year old, Kaitlin-like way.
Thankfully, the little tale doesn’t end there, and if you have one too… neither should yours. Jesus watched my heart break, my self esteem crumble away, and my longing for another’s reflection, day after day. He waited patiently for me to ‘wake up’. And somewhere in my senior year of high school, I did.
Senior year of high school, I ironically had a class with Steve.
Sweet justice. God is such a ballar.
He noticed what I did the instant he recognized me, that I didn’t need to look like a pop star to be beautiful. I only needed to look like myself. I traded in my ‘trying too hard’ blonde hair for multiple shades of warm browns. My raccoon-eyed eyeliner replaced by copper smokey, and those Holister clothes that could barely handle my curves for more flattering bohemian ensembles. Soon after the stunned look from his face disappeared, he quickly moved into position to rekindle our previous ‘friendship’. And in front of a quietly buzzing classroom, filled mostly with girls, again, I looked at Steve and blandly cut him off:
“You told me in the 7th grade that boys don’t like girls who look like I do. Well here’s the thing Einstein- You were blind. Your puny little man brain just couldn’t process how unique I am. And by the look on your face, I assume we are in agreement. Now that it’s been established I’m not ugly, and in fact am quite attractive, I would be much obliged if you refrained from speaking to me.”
Life lesson Chicas?
We don’t recover from the ‘Ugly-Duckling’ disorder. There is no remedy found in mascara, hair dye, or weight loss regimes. A new wardrobe doesn’t turn us into ‘Swans’. ‘Waking up’ from the haze that Satan has spent endless amounts of energy drowning us in, does. Waking up means looking into the mirror, not to a newly transformed reflection, but to the wonderful creature that’s always been there. You see, there is hope. A Steve-like boy’s remarks or thighs that rub together, are not the end of the world nor the deterioration of your beauty.The moment we choose to embrace who we are, and how God artistically sculpted us- is the moment we ditch the D-crowd, the Sopranos, and the Steves. So get that booty in front of a mirror, and Wake Up.
(By the way, I’m pretty sure Steve-o acquired 30lbs, Gonorrhea and some minimum wage job. Thank you, Facebook.)
April 24, 2012
Posted by alovelyforgotten | Filed under Christian,women,beauty,beauty and the beast,god,love,
The other day someone shared over the universal social-lifeline, Facebook not Twitter, a little snarky and completely refreshing message for young women, written by Kate Conner. It was simply titled “Ten Things I Want to Tell Teenage Girls”.
Already chuckling quietly while skimming the post in a public place, by the time I arrived on number five, I just about made a spectacle of myself due to a spontaneous case of cackling. I was alone, mind you, and therefore dutifully received numerous judgmental expressions. The piece of advice responsible for this instant decrease in ‘cool points’ was:
” ‘Follow your heart’ is probably the worst advice ever.”
Preach it, Sister.
Unfortunately that small gift of monumental wisdom isn’t likely to reach the masses, and truth be told that even if it does, it wouldn’t inspire much change anyways. At least, not to the majority of us who have been brainwashed since getting potty trained, that your heart is your best and most trusted compass. Just type “Lyrics, follow heart” into google…. Enough said.
Disney, though I do love talking animals, is by far one of the greatest and most influential culprits. Take Belle from Beauty in the Beast. If your friend came to the coffee shop saying that she’s fallen in love with a wolf-thing, after her duration of being held captive while missing for the past month- you would tranquilize her, drop her at the nearest health care facility to test for various STD’s and perhaps rabies, call 911 to report a kidnapping as well as alert animal control. Things would not sort themselves out in various melodies and dancing teacups. Fun for little girls I suppose, but if the life lesson to ‘trust your feelings’ is embedded in their developing brains, then get ready for an increase in potential beasty-human hybrids. (For cases of such unexpected outbreaks, keep Buffy’s number handy in the cabinet under ‘poison control’)
Ridiculous analogy, I know, but it’s true. Our hearts are untrustworthy pals, who sometimes seek our happiness and other times our own demise. Typically fluctuating every five minutes.
Now, like usual to set the record straight, I am in no way saying that our feelings are wrong, or that a logical-deduction method is always the way to go. The latter, by the way, would turn you into a robot… So not cute. What I am saying, however, is as a body of Christ-pursuing women, we need to actively screw our heads on a little tighter when it comes to decision making. Or else we will continue to find ourselves in overwhelmingly unhealthy and compromising situations.
A more realistic example of this can be found in my own tale, many times over. Quickly after Doug and I married, we received some devastating news from our doctors that would drastically change our life together, at least compared to the “norm”. The logistics aren’t relevant and would probably make you more uncomfortable than myself, so I’ll spare you the details. But what I won’t leave out, is honesty in how I chose to handle the situation. I, like many others, did exactly as the world taught me to do a long time ago.
I followed my heart.
And it catapulted me directly in the opposite direction of the one person it had committed me to a month before. It deceivingly and selfishly led straight into the arms of hopelessness and anxiety. Anger and entitlement. My heart, my darling mistress of a heart, blinded me from everything I actually desired.
Love. Acceptance. Peace. Joy. Christ.
And ironically, of course, those things were sitting right where my heart had left them. Back where I had walked away from the young man who’s gaze for me never wavered, who would sit patiently for my return without judgement or retaliation. Back to where I had ignored my Savior, who kept whispering, “Trust me”.
Maybe this isn’t quite pertinent at the moment, but I promise you that someday, it will be. Unless the pattern of ‘trusting the heart’ isn’t shattered in the present, the future will most certainly bring you to a place where it can’t offer anything more than a fickle downpour of confusion and solidarity. And guess what?
There are no spinning teacups there.
Overly high pitched melodies and talking utensils don’t bring forth any light in the darkness. But the God who remains omnipresent in the darkness, does:
Your word is a lamp to guide my feet
and a light for my path. (Psalm 119:105)
The days I chose to trade in my flickering flashlight, for a lamp that can actually deliver what it promises to, were the days I stepped closer into His will. And into the familiarity of unconventional joy. Choosing His light in situations requires discipline, not fuzzy feelings. The only way that we can see the soft glow of lamplight on our toes, is by the “renewing of our minds” (Romans12:2). Meaning, we need new thoughts. And I hate to break it to you, but nothing ‘new’ is going to come from yourself or that thing beating in your chest. So pick it up, and I guarantee your heart won’t be trailing far behind.
Besides, if the Light keeps hitting your feet… maybe Jesus is telling you to get a pedicure.
|
April 16, 2012
Posted by alovelyforgotten | Filed under Christian,motivational,spiritual,God,building,beauty,love,women,
Have you ever climbed on top of a house in sweltering heat, taken an over sized staple gun and slammed it down over your head? I have, much to the danger of those around me…. High school mission trips are wonderful things, as well as probable lawsuits in the making. I learned many things about repairing houses those summers, although I’m not going to pretend to remember any of them. That would be false advertisement. I do however, remember the feeling of going home and running up to my father, bragging about all the things I did with a hammer and staple gun just to see the utter surprise on his face.
I love surprises.
Just the ones I’m in complete control of.
Coincidentally, as one can imagine, building houses requires an incredible amount of control over the situation. The tools, safety, details of construction. You name it. There are endless opportunities for bull headed teenage girls to screw everything up, which is why they normally are found sitting in the grass flirting with the boys doing the heavy lifting. This is a stereotype of course, one I dutifully lived up to. Sadly, there is a stereotype that we all have made proud. One that’s ancient, yet remains eerily prevalent today:
“A wise woman builds her home, but a foolish woman tears it down with her own hands.” (Proverbs 14:1)
Cute right? When I stumbled across this the other day, the first image that came to mind was some rickety old hag, with one eye glazed over, going to town cutting up some timber with a chainsaw in her front yard. She also ironically resembles “Grandmother Willow” from Pocahontas. While next door, some chick with a weave and stripper heals goes all banshee on her front porch.
Somehow I get the inkling that this is not the proper interpretation, yet I feel it’s only fair to rule it out for you, nonetheless.
I think what we were intended to gather, is in fact something so simple it can seem redundant over time. The truth is, that even in the midst of challenging circumstances and trials, not to mention Satan’s dark and twisty agendas, it is us ladies who more often than not, are the most destructive and crippling force in our own lives.
There surely are countless examples of this playing out in the lives of your friends and perhaps, with enough self examination, your own. But allow me to offer one that comes close to home for many of us. A few months back, I was talking to another young women about her relationship, while whining about my own. In our conversation she said something that seemed so asinine at the time, but correlates seamlessly with our feminine nature. She said, “Since every man in my life has walked out on me in some way, now I am paranoid that whoever I’m with is going to leave. So when we are fighting, I end up doing or saying something ridiculous just to see if I’m right. And every time he stays, but I just know that one day I’ll take it too far, and he won’t.”
Why, God, why are we so much better at sabotaging our own happiness than enjoying it?
Because “Foolish women” tear down their homes with their own hands.
While Satan sits on our lawns with a Miller Light and some Milk-Dudds.
I have a theory, at least in my own life, as to what flaw in my character makeup acts as the driving force behind this pattern. And I don’t know if you’ll agree, but at some point this plays a role in all of our tales of woe.
Control.
We must control. Everything.
The funny thing about control, especially in regards to houses, is that control means absolutely nothing unless it’s in the hands of a professional. On all of those trips, there was always a volunteer in place that oversaw the entire production. In my case, his name was John. And it was John’s responsibility to keep us safe, and see that the job got done well.
How idiotic am I that at 16, I could recognize the need for professional oversight in construction, yet still prolong relinquishing control to my God, who is the ultimate professional, over my actual life?
Not idiotic…. Just a freaking woman.
You see, on that trip, it doesn’t take much of an imagination to guess what type of preposterous events could have ensued if I was in complete control of repairing that house… irregardless of who I would have sent to the emergency room. Of course John would never have encouraged such stupidity. I know nothing about siding or roofing a house. Yet, isn’t that how we carry out our business on a daily basis? As if we have the slightest clue what we’re doing. But just like a group of hormonal kids swinging hammers around, going about our lives without handing over headship to someone more qualified can create detrimental havoc for ourselves and those around us.
My teenage self, heck- my adult wannabe self, should never be in charge of building a house, merely because I’m inadequate in my understanding. Just as in life, because when I direct something, it will always be from a naturally selfish origin. Our creator gave us free will. Freedom to choose to turn away from our nature, which is impossible without His rescue.
“So letting your sinful nature control your mind leads to death. But letting the Spirit control your mind leads to life and peace.” (Romans 8:6)
Sometimes the hardest choice to make, is that one that forces us to look in the mirror and realize that we are the Banshee next door. The only influence we are capable of having over our own lives, is one that leads to the destruction of any dream, or person we care about. But the good news is that Christ comes with a way out. By saying, “Ok You win, Lord,” and allowing His Spirit to control the direction of our lives, even when our nature doesn’t agree, we are saying “Ok” to an apprenticeship alongside the Master of Life. We have the opportunity to say to Jesus, just like I did one summer to a man named John, “Teach me how”.
By the way, just because you left your Banshee ways in the trash doesn’t mean you can’t bust out those heels once in a while…. just avoid the street corner.
March 14, 2012
Posted by alovelyforgotten | Filed under Christian,Moti,Spirit,inspirational,girls,women,beauty,love,hagopian,god,
Every time one of those ‘Hagopian’ commercials come on, I just shake my head and stifle a sarcastic comment. It’s pure luck if one of those bad boys is on clearance, because if you haven’t heard, these rugs can easily sell past $1,000. Apparently, rugs must be like cereal boxes; secret gold thread is mysteriously woven somehow into the design. Either that, or it’s a giant rip off. But what do I know? I’m just another cynical victim of a recession. Though recession or not, Hagopians act as a perfect example of a tendency we ladies exhibit on a regular basis…
A couple of months ago, I overheard one of my co-workers gabbing with a client about a story she heard. She was recounting the battle another woman was facing regarding some normal familial dynamics, while home for the holidays. This woman supposedly is a teansy on the ‘voluptuous’ side, and her siblings enjoy pointing it out. While going through the tale, mentioning the obviously hurtful nicknames this woman has to endure, my co-worker said a phrase that caught my attention, and therefore annoyance:
“It’s a shame, but I mean, what’s there to do?”
Seriously?
I can think of seventeen ideas in less than a minute, and only half of them would end in some version of a violent outburst.
Woman do this a lot. We take subtle or humorous comments which harbor an undercurrent of vehemence and criticism, and brush it off. No body likes a cry baby, right? Somewhere down the line, we have been conditioned into thinking there is something weak about acknowledging the pain people cause us in seemingly harmless phrases and jokes, all the while our wounds grow a little wider every time they are repeated. As if confronting the person throwing the jabs will morph us into nuisances. The ironic thing is that while friends and family continue to inflict these perpetual bouts of emotional injury, it’s their feelings we end up trying to preserve… not our own.
Now, isn’t there something a bit backwards about that concept?
Here’s where rugs come in. When someone purchases a Hagopian rug, let’s just assume they didn’t get it on clearance, so it costs a pretty penny. Needless to say, this threaded masterpiece of floor adornment is quite valuable. And let’s say said owner throws a house-warming party, (because naturally they’d need help to search for the mysterious golden surprise) don’t you think there would be a sign by the door for guests to take their shoes off? I cannot imagine that a person who just dropped a grand on a rug, is about to let some random pauper trample all over it. And drinks, oh they’d stay in the kitchen for sure. Oxy-Clean is good, but this owner wouldn’t want to risk any hint of a wine stain.
Now, do you think the keeper of a thousand dollar creation cares about offending you and your shoes?
Absolutely not. Because his carpet is worth fifty times what your shoes are.
With that in mind, let me ask you a question: Aren’t you more precious than a rug?
You see, coincidentally, we allow ourselves to be trampled like one… sometimes even to the levels of worthless and replaceable.
Here’s the thing though, God doesn’t appreciate others walking all over His creation. In fact, He can be a bit touchy about it. A little obsessive compulsive really. Our God is a God of love surely, but also a God of justice. A God of rescue.
“They devise crafty schemes against your people;
they conspire against your precious ones.
(Psalm 83:3)
For the angel of the LORD is a guard;
he surrounds and defends all who fear him.
(Psalm 34:7)
For the LORD is their defender.
He will ruin anyone who ruins them.
(Proverbs 22:23)
He will redeem them from oppression and violence,
for their lives are precious to him.
(Psalm 72:14)
Our God has no reservations about asking others to “leave their dirty shoes at the door” in our lives. We spend so much energy worrying about being tactful, or amiable. Heaven forbid we offend someone by merely saying, “please don’t talk to me that way, or else I’m going to leave.”
Trust me, I know from experience- they’ll get over it.
Satan is a straight up master at convincing us we aren’t worth defending. Whether its the occasional light hearted ‘joke’ about your love handles, or an absolutely destructive situation full of perpetual abuse, he makes it his goal to keep us there. Why? Because he owns the dirt that is being flung at us. He takes great pleasure even more so when it’s repeatedly ground into the fibers of who we are over time. He herds us like sheep with looming threats full of fear and insult. And in the end, keeps us penned in an ever suffocating box of self doubt.
What Satan doesn’t want you to know however, is the truth. Imagine admiring a classy Hagopian. The colors, the designs. How many spools of thread do you suppose go into making one of those? A bundle, certainly. Now imagine looking in the mirror. Every strand of hair, every fleck of color in your eyes. Do you know how many cells are required to make up a human body? Approximately 50 to 100 trillion. They can only come up with an approximation because it’s impossible to count. He wants to do everything in his power to prevent you from understanding the depth of wonder God incorporated when forming you. Satan has no power when we allow light to shine into the darkness, even if that conversation or process, is uncomfortable
In Isaiah, God proclaimed His endless adoration for His people, the Isrealites. And even though the majority of our bloodlines don’t descend from the middle east, through Christ’s blood we have been adopted into this family. His words, said thousands of years ago to those people, still need to resonate in our lives.
Others were given in exchange for you.
I traded their lives for yours
because you are precious to me.
You are honored, and I love you.
(Isaiah 43:4)
You heard the Guy. So get out your emotional sharpies, make a sign, and start teaching people to leave their crap at the door. Because if anything, the Creator of the world said so. Defending His masterpiece is in a sense, an act of reverence for His workmanship. You are not a rug, and are infinitely more beautiful than one. Put on your big girl pants, and start believing it.
I bet Satan loves Hagopians…. he’s so showy like that.
|
March 4, 2012
Posted by alovelyforgotten | Filed under Christian,motivational,spiritual,dating,women,girls,battle,
I’m not sure if video games or the Feminist movement are to blame, but if you haven’t noticed, today’s culture is sucking the masculinity out of our guy-pool. Beginning the moment they hit preschool, little boys are beat over the head with this concept that even plastic sword combat is evil…. all the way up into manhood, fully believing that women don’t want their leadership, nevertheless a door opened for us. Now, hold the phone, I am NOT saying that the strength of womanhood is wrong or responsible for what is happening to the men around us, but I am saying that this epidemic is something to keep in mind. And of course, as we wrap up our first series in dating, this irritating obstacle holds true in the realm of courtship in more fundamental ways.
My all time, most beloved historical account in the bible is often overlooked, if perhaps a bit violent. This may seem unorthodox, considering it’s expected that my favorite story should be Jesus coming and saving the world, but I’m still a little too vindictive for that at the moment. You may or may not have taken the time to read it, so just in case, I’ll refresh your memory.
Dinah, a daughter of Jacob, was out one day enjoying the sunshine when some high and mighty prince rolled up and liked what he saw. Being a royal piece of _____ (insert preferred potty word here), he “seized her and raped her” (Genesis 34:2). Whether he felt convicted for his actions or not, we’ll never know. Though later, he supposedly fell in love with her, wanting to get hitched.
Other than the fact that Prince Shechem was a dirty creep, back in the day this was a big deal. Jacob’s posse served Yahweh, so all of their men were circumcised. That being the case, Jacob’s son told Shechem and his daddy that if their men got that little problem taken care of, then they could intermarry. We need to “Pause” though, just to fully understand what this procedure entails…. without local anesthetic or proper utensils, typically done as an infant but now instead on fully grown adults. Yeah, that painful concept is very important to remember…
Dinah’s brothers were pissed about what had happened with Shechem from the get go, and saw an opportunity to shall we say, ‘set the record straight’: “But three days later, when their wounds were still sore, two of Jacob’s sons, Simeon and Levi, who were Dinah’s full brothers, took their swords and entered the town without opposition. Then they slaughtered every male there (Genesis 34:25). A bit over the top, but efficient nonetheless.
Jacob, understandably, was simply outraged, going on about how he would be ruined and that everyone in the land will come after him. His sons, clearly not feeling sorry in the least, had only one thing to say for themselves;
“But why should we let him treat our sister like a prostitute?” they retorted angrily. (Genesis 34:31)
Okay, I’m assuming you are wondering why I felt the need to take you down ‘Slaughter-Lane’ and furthermore, what it could possibly have to do with dating. But surprisingly,
It has everything to do with dating.
At least in our society.
Men aren’t the only one’s who have been shaped by messages that ‘Woman don’t need them’, ‘Violence is always wrong’, ‘Men are single minded creatures’ or the most popular, ‘Men are stupid’. Think about sitcoms or movies- who’s the smart, reliable one? The woman. And who is the dumb, comedic relief in the background? The man. This has created detrimental effects in who we’ve become as well. Not to mention, how it’s infiltrated our view of boundaries and maintaining them during courtship. Most young women either buy into the lies that we need to be equally sex-crazed predators, instead of beautiful, mysterious creatures who want to be pursued. Or that men are too pea brained to control their hormonal urges, and require us ladies to take the lead and do it for them. This I feel, tends to be the route that most of us have fallen in step with.
All throughout my dating career, because that’s exactly how I traveled it, I threw myself into the righteous role of “Boundary-Nazi”. I was fierce, as I should have been. God made me precious, and commands me to view myself as such. But the unfortunate side effect that this mindset can so commonly bring on, is a growing lack of respect and more importantly, expectation in the men who’s eyes I looked into while on my high horse. When we accept this idea that looking to men as leaders makes us weak, we end up relying on ourselves, and eventually denying what is is that we truly want.
All of us to some degree, want a man who not only will lead, but who will zealously fight for us.
Even against his own temptation.
I had no clue as to what this was suppose to look like until a year before I was married. Doug, my hubby, yet again by strength of character found only in Christ, displayed another example of true love. We had re-crossed lines that had been obviously established as ‘No-No zones’. It was heartbreaking. No one is perfect, but we desperately wanted to honor God with our relationship, and this one area was proving increasingly difficult. So Doug, per usual, surprised me with his initial response: “I can’t kiss you anymore”.
I was livid of course, making out is fun and let me just say, I’m very talented.
How could he deny me my natural tendency towards impressiveness?
Reluctantly, I heard him out. He told me that even greater than his desire for me, was his desire to protect me. To keep me as pure as possible. He viewed me as not his own, not even as my own, but belonging to a Creator that made me to be approached with a reverence he had forgotten.
So naturally being alone was out of the question.
Seriously, for the last year of our pre-marital relationship we didn’t lock lips. And if we weren’t in a public setting, we were never fully by ourselves. We even began to call up our friends to be ‘Date-sitters’.
It sucked.
The only way this was successful by the way, was not by my doing. Which is incredibly ironic seeing that I had been playing my own puritan knight in shining armor prior to these rules. It was Doug, despite himself, that enforced what he was so convicted about. For the first time, I experienced a young man who was trying to embody 1 Timothy 4:12, “Don’t let anyone think less of you because you are young. Be an example to all believers in what you say,in the way you live, in your love, your faith, and your purity”.
Doug went to battle for my honor, medieval-like or not. We have held ourselves back from expecting that type of warrior-like instinct from the men in our lives. We try to just ‘do it for them’. Women constantly feel this need to prove themselves, but that is exactly what the guy sitting across from you is yearning to do as well. No, we can’t in one decision reverse a lifetime of corrupt, emasculating brainwashing, but we can acknowledge who they were meant to be. And with that expectation of greatness, we can bring them a long forgotten gift: a lovely, breathtaking inspiration. Like a breath of fresh air, we can offer a God-given dose of rightness. They are secretly as thirsty as we are.
The lesson? Expect a warrior and you’ll discover who still is and who isn’t one. The primary difference between the Prince and Dinah’s brothers was this: One took for himself what he found exquisite, while the other ferociously fought in desperation to defend it. Don’t waste your time on the Shechems. I’d take the Hebrew wielding a spear in my name any day.
|
February 23, 2012
Posted by alovelyforgotten | Filed under inspirational,motivational,Christian,women,dating,love,masks,beauty,
If I had been requested to take part in some random dating poll my senior year of high school, I would have proclaimed with every ounce of certainty, my future husband’s identity was not only known but that he was currently in love with me. What girl could ask for more? Well I for one should have. Making my little tale yet further evidence that there is a God… because He went out of His way and straight into mine, to rescue me from the straight up douche-bag I was mentally registering with at an imaginary Bed Bath and Beyond.
Fortunately, we never received the gifts.
They would have been a better quality than the predetermined groom, anyways.
Our journey down ‘memory crash course’ begins where so many christian girls dream of finding their future mates: A Mission trip. Many a lady have made the common mistake of assuming that just because a man will side a house across the border, means he deserves prime spousal candidacy. I too made this assumption, falling harder than a fat kid launched off the “Blob” at summer camp. I would like to remember this young gent feeling something similar, at least a percentage of my own devotion. But we’ll never know. What is more important, is how he became an acting example of an everyday challenge we face when being pursued.
How do we determine the authenticity of our pursuers?
Because the majority of women either fling themselves at anything breathing, smelling remotely of pine, or barricade themselves behind a fortress of Fema-Nazi cannons due to previous courtship misfortune.
My most heartbreaking story unfolds as I remained friends with Mission Boy for a period of two years, while any other suitor failed to penetrate my self-constructed monument to him. He complimented me, spiritually challenged me, even listened to me emotionally vomit about other failed dating attempts. So what was the problem? He cared for me, made time for me… and never had another relationship during our correspondence. It was fate. Well, sure, that was one side of the coin. The other proved to be much darker, not to mention dysfunctional. We eventually began dating, visiting each other in the other’s home state. Everything was going spledidly, right down to those perfect three words. He loved me. And Colbie Caillet’s “I Do” became the soundtrack of my heart.
The cookie crumbled when I flew to see him for his birthday. Two days into our time together, he took me to the Hershey factory to see how chocolate is made, as well as to devour some. Throughout our tour he began to sneak a kiss here and there, but eventually began to sneak a little more. Needless to say, his hands subtly began to roam and after the second offense, I put a stop to it. We shared light conversation during the hour ride home, him sensing that obviously something was not quite right. I tried to push away my anger and confusion at his behavior, mainly because I couldn’t process a world in which he was knocked off his pedistal- especially by my own admission. Eventually we returned to an emtpy house, and I couldn’t control it anymore. For the first time I yelled at him, spewed more like it. I said that I was to be respected and refused to be treated less than honorably.
The following morning he ended it.
I paid an extra two hundred dollars to come home five days early.
But what cost me more in the end wasn’t the value of the plane ticket, it was the realization that the pain being dumped on my head like a bucket of ice, was completely one sided.
Nice, right? So where’s the lesson, besides remembering to make the guy chip in for the airfare? The lesson is found in what I had refused to see throughout our entire relationship, friend or more. I found ways to ignore his selfishness. I told myself he was too good for me, instead of accepting that he was just manipulative. Or sweeping under the rug the nagging reminder of how the only time I was complimented, was when I insulted myself. Turns out the spiritual maturity that I so fondly respected, was sharpened by my own sword. He officially had me fooled for years. The ultimate mask. But I loved that mask so much, I found myself aiding in reapplying it’s layers.
Has this ever played out in some fashion, in your own heart’s tale?
Chances are, it has.
Some time after that unfortunate interlude, I reread the popular Proverbs 31, when something totally unexpected stood out. Something that would have made a huge difference should I have taken it to heart, before Mission-Boy stole it:
Her husband is well known at the city gates, where he sits with the other civic leaders. (Proverbs 31:23)
I think we ladies have the tendency to turn weighing the decency of men into some complicated, quadratic formula, when the answers are right in front of us. Good men have a reputation that goes before them. When a man who genuinely loves the Lord walks into your life, you won’t need to depend on yourself to decide if he’s worth a shot or not… because when people witness true character, they spread word of it. The only information I had of Mission-Boy, came directly from his own lips. Most of the time, definitely with In-State relationships, we hear or see evidence that puts cracks in the masks of insincere men. The problem is that we usually superglue them back up instead of taking a hint.
So it boils down to this: Why did I lie to myself in order to protect him? Truthfully, it was because I wouldn’t believe anyone better could have desired my companionship. And beyond that, somehow the mistrust in God orchestrating the entrance of a better suitor meant that one wouldn’t come. But you see, Satan’s lies are always directly opposite of the truth:
But I trust in your unfailing love. I will rejoice because you have rescued me. (Psalm 13:5)
Christ came not only to save us from our failure, but from a life not worthy of His involvement. He doesn’t dream up some cheap production with a crappy cast, and a lead character who gets food thrown at her. No, He desires for us a love story too wonderful that even Broadway’s best company couldn’t recreate. A Proverbs 31 woman doesn’t water herself down with a man who isn’t a leader to be followed, for “Bad company corrupts good character” (1 Corinth. 15:33). The question to answer then is this: Will you remain in the familiarity of Masks, or allow Christ to rescue you from them, and wait for a man who never wanted one in the first place…
However if you do marry a jerk, you should do the Masquerade number from ‘Phantom of the Opera’… it would only be fitting.
|
February 14, 2012
Posted by alovelyforgotten | Filed under motivational,spiritual,God,Christian,dating,women,beauty,
Remember the good old days back in Elementary School, filled with hours spent on the playground, being chased around by rabid snot-filled boys?
Awesome. Because I certainly don’t.
Oh, I witnessed it many a time… I just never had the honor of being an active participant. I blame it on buck teeth with a gap that rivaled Madonna’s. Or my ‘bowl’ haircut. Whichever unfeminine feature was the culprit, it doesn’t change the fact that I still watched. I still wanted to experience running for my life as some monstrous creature pursued from behind, most likely smelling like a toilet.
Funny how some things never change, isn’t it.
Although for many of us, it has. Our culture, especially during the past 30 years, has embarked on a mission to change our wiring. Attempting to rewrite what is biologically apparent to children no older than eight years old, who eat glue for breakfast. Television, magazines, or even books are written to teach us how to ‘catch’ men. The problem is, men are not fish. The world is not a giant pond despite popular phrases, and we need to stop trying to ‘reel’ them in. Because the ones we end up with are fowl, and the men we ache for are too smart to bite.
This isn’t a new concept, obviously, or else it wouldn’t feel so familiar. It should considering most of us began our exhibition by third grade, typically once we looked over our shoulders and realized that no one was following us. Henceforth we entered into the world of scheming, beginning with simple notes that were returned to us bearing either a circled Yes or No. Which by the way, was poor planning since boys are more delayed in their development, and may not have been able to comprehend our heartfelt notes anyways. Middle school rolled around, coincidentally the absolute worst time to cast a line because our faces more resembled some pizza topping instead of our old barbie dolls. We got our friends to do some dirty work and finagle us bus ride dates with Tommy-the-Toolshed. Yes, that was what true elation felt like.
And then came the major leagues. The true arena in which no amount of Amanda Bynes or Lindsey Lohan movies could have efficiently prepared us for: High school. Let the true games begin. I couldn’t even fit all of my tales of unsuccessful wooing in one blog posting. There were very few lines I wouldn’t cross back then. No, my clothes stayed put- mainly because I remembered ‘Run Away Bride’ calling it a One Eyed Snake. Thank you Julia, for that visual contraceptive. I changed my clothes, my hair, my routes between classes. I’m fairly confident that any professional would have officially labeled me with a multiple personality disorder, because it would suspiciously change as my interest in various guys did.
Maybe this is more comical than your own dating history, or lack there of. But the record still supplies a very influential question:
How has this been rewarding you lately?
Chances are, it’s not at all. Why? Because it doesn’t work. Oh sure, perhaps temporarily or eventually, but the results end in trust issues and/or an STD. The truth is, we were never designed to do the chasing- They were. And today I want to ask you, Why aren’t we letting them? Is it a non-existent self esteem, the ticking of a ‘biologically’ clock, or just old fashioned impatience?
I adore the book of Hosea. Now this guy was no fish. God commanded Hosea to marry a prostitute in order to act as a living parallel of His love for us. So Hosea and this gal got hitched, had a couple rugrats, and her ways returned. But what’s interesting is that he goes above and beyond to pursue her back to him. Hosea chased her, regardless of what she’d done. While speaking to his lady he says words that every one of us longs to be told;
I will make you my wife forever,
showing you righteousness and justice,
unfailing love and compassion.
I will be faithful to you and make you mine,
(Hosea 2:19-20a)
Ironic isn’t it, that Hosea relentlessly fought for his wife who had wronged him, yet we don’t even expect the same when our slates are still clean? I have something to tell you: You deserve to be chased just as much, if not more than a prostitute. I don’t care if that’s a startling thing to say, because it’s true. And for the record, this does happen. As I mentioned before, I spent the majority of my adolescence with an agenda. But when I met my husband, a guy I probably would have never thought twice about in that way, he never stopped at my “No”. He didn’t stop at two “No”s. By the third I finally caved, and for the first time met a modern day Hosea who would later pursue me in unimaginable circumstances throughout our marriage. Sometimes retiring your fishing rod isn’t just for you, it’s also for them. When we put on the man-shoes, we rob the men in our lives of opportunities to be courageous not to mention romantic. I mean nothing says romance like a woman who calls the shots, right? Being the woman takes enough effort, and I’m suggesting we start devoting our energy into that project before tutoring men at theirs.
The most beautiful part about playing a Hosea’s love interest, is that the story then becomes so much greater than a dozen roses or a box of chocolates. Opening up our hearts to being truly pursued, opens up our hearts to being pursued by our Creator. We were made to be chased. You see, God is not a fish either. He doesn’t just bite when you decide to reel Him in. He wants to “lead you into the desert and speak tenderly to you” (Hosea 2:14). So let Him, and you might be surprised who will begin to follow suit.
Just a warning by the way…. Boys never stop smelling like toilets.
|
February 8, 2012
Posted by alovelyforgotten | Filed under beauty,god,chrisitan,motivational,spiritual,ninja,women,
I have an unparalleled addiction to stories. Word on the street is that acceptance is the first step towards recovery.
I drown myself in them. In fact a while back, I was faced with the challenge of explaining to my husband why reading 21 novels in one month is completely ordinary, not to mention a wise financial endeavor. He was not convinced, and perhaps a bit horrified.
The reason as to why this perplexing predicament is at the forefront of my mind, could have to do with the realization that it’s starting to interfere with my daily life. The past week while my heart blissfully suffocated at the hands of an entire series, the ability to remain grounded in reality became harder and harder. Therefore rendering me incapable of authentically giving a flip about anyone around me who actually exists. The problem is that this tale, gripping as it was, should be no match for my actual life. But begrudgingly admitted, it is.
Do you ever feel this way? Maybe not at the mercy of a 400 page all nighter, but with a ‘People’ magazine, a gut-clenching movie, or even the weekend’s recount from your pal’s lips? As I sat down to kick off our first series, particularly in the realm of romance, I noticed a primary issue that most of us face and continue to throughout womanhood. One that fundamentally impacts our single, dating, and martial journeys:
How can we ever fully welcome, and then experience the story we yearn for, if we are too busy watching someone else’s?
Not that books, movies, or sharing life with each other should be debilitating… but have you ever stopped for a moment to reflect on what those tales have that yours doesn’t? It’s not an amazingly Photoshoped love interest, professionally selected life soundtrack, or the classic gay best friend. Although, if you personally do acquire any of those things, then props because you’re certainly a step ahead of the rest. Our story is perfectly prepped like all epic sagas. We have a Hero (Christ), an evil bad guy (Satan + minions), and obstacles (enter countless insecurities here). No, what our stories are lacking is the most essential factor:
A True Heroine.
Every great tale, biblical or not, involves a woman who is something extraordinary to begin with. And so often, that is the part of our own lives we tend to neglect. We avoid the mirror, rob ourselves of those secret passions, or like myself- are so self consumed, it’s forgotten that our greatest potential lies right outside of our own egos. We get caught up with life, which is necessary, but typically the most powerful distraction. School, work, kids, all wonderful additions to our lives, but that’s exactly what they are: Additions. Gifts given to add to who we are, not become definitions. So what happens? We slowly loose ourselves, and every day face the undercurrent of sorrow that our stories are predictable. Grasping onto anything that will make us feel alive, if only for a few moments, to experience a spark of something we’ve given up a long time ago.
Deep down, I know exactly why I’m infected by the virus of vicariousness. I’m a coward. It’s certainly easier to live out the adventures of another, not to mention fictional characters. Think about it- all of my favorite leading ladies in my books whip their hair and kick some underworld butt. But it’s not like learning to use a stake or a couple Samurai swords doesn’t take some discipline and bruising. As if the man of our dreams will be delivered with a side of personality transplant and free refills of life purpose. God knows it takes effort to be the woman He created.
So be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid and do not panic before them. For the LORD your God will personally go ahead of you. He will neither fail you nor abandon you.
Deut. 31:6
Honestly, at times I think that I actually envy the words on the page. Becoming the Female-Lead in our own lives requires courage, and endless effort. No wonder why we become complacent. But you see, beauty is never complacent. It’s always hopeful, always loving, and always resolute.
What now?
We kick ourselves out of the mental lazy-boy, put the book down and grab Jesus’s hand beckoning us to join Him on an adventure no earthly author could have written. We do whatever it takes to be the “Woman” first, then the friend, the girlfriend, the wife, the mother. Look in the mirror and choose to like those lovely lady humps. Sit for heaven sake, write down the God-given passions you left behind in middle school and pick one. Take up karate so you can secretly be a Ninja underneath that blazer. Mentor a kid, or give a homeless man a sandwich for cryin’ out loud.
Want to meet your knight in shining armor?
Then be a heroine worth fighting next to.
(Breaking wooden boards is hot by the way, who knows when being a Ninja could come in handy.)
|
February 2, 2012
Posted by alovelyforgotten | Filed under motivational,christian,women,god,gloves,beauty,gideon,
Do you ever take that dreaded moment to look back, for one scarce moment and courageously ‘evaluate’ the past five years of your life?
Causing you in the next moment to instantly move on because the answer is too thick to swallow? So you blast music or scan Facebook, or launch yourself into the nearest and hardly pressing project. Sometimes asking such questions can feel like a kamikaze mission. They have the distinct tendency to shadow us with such heartache, we avoid them. The last thing a woman wants to feel is that she missed something…
That nagging feeling like the past five years were inadequate. Or even worse, wasted.
Now, no life is ever wasted. But recently I’ve been accompanied by this irritating, parasite of a feeling that I’ve missed out. As if I’ve been experiencing, serving, even loving God with gloves on. Like there’s a thin, almost transparent separation between what I know and something else utterly foreign, yet desperately ached for. This may sound strange, so allow me to explain.
When I’m popping some highlights in a chicks hair, there are a few key ingredients to make that battle successful for my client as well as myself: Foil, Bleach, and most importantly, gloves. Why? Have you ever heard of a delightful affliction called “bleach Burn”? Probably not, unless you dally with it on a regular basis. In fact, it’s not delightful at all. When the bleach we use sits on an area of skin for too long, not only does this leave a white splotch, but a chemical burn as well, one that doesn’t disappear for a few days or more, depending on the severity.
What the heck do highlights have to do with Jesus? Nothing other than the probability that he had some from all those days spent walking in the sunshine. The point being, if I’m transparent in my personal evaluation, then the past five years seem like I was installing spiritual highlights, feeling the application and seeing results, but using ‘gloves’ to protect me. All the while the majority of who I am remains un-burned, lacking evidence of an encounter with something powerful.
Perhaps this sounds extreme….
Or perhaps it sounds extremely familiar.
The truth is, spiritual gloves can be made up of numerous vices and distractions. I wouldn’t be surprised if God poofed in front of me typing this right now just to say, “Kaitlin…. the gloves are your own face”. Regardless, I couldn’t knock this conundrum, which has been delivering daily doses of dissapointment and frustration, until I stumbled upon the next installment in my morning regiment.
In Judges 7, God tells Gideon he’s going into battle, but his crew is too large. So in order to weed out the dead weight, God allows a huge number of soldiers to scurry home for tea. The remaining army though, was still too many. To solve this military predicament, God commands Gideon to do something entirely strange and definitely awkward:
So Gideon took the men down to the water. There the LORD told him, “Separate those who lap the water with their tongues as a dog laps from those who kneel down to drink.” 6 Three hundred of them drank from cupped hands, lapping like dogs. All the rest got down on their knees to drink.” {Judges 7:5-6}
I read this two days ago, and every day since I’ve been racking my brain to explain why acting like Fido was so important. Why was the act of getting on their knees versus drinking from their hands the deciding factor in who got the OK to embark into one of the most awesome biblical accounts? Because if you haven’t heard, these were the original 300, not the Spartans. I tried to excuse it as, “God does silly things for His own amusement”. But I’m here to proclaim that Gideon’s ‘littlest pet shop’ isn’t one of them.
Apparently archaeologists have found a great amount of evidence that back in the day, the Philistines and other neighboring people regarded springs and wells as the holy places for “Nature gods”. Many of these areas have been found to be homes of remaining sanctuaries and such. So, assuming this evidence is true, then the story makes perfect sense. Those who drank from their hands were so sensitive to the existence of idols that even kneeling to drink could be perceived as bowing to another, while those who drank from the spring were so consumed with their own thirst that they weren’t aware of what they were doing. All of those men who had the courage to stand by Gideon obviously loved the Lord and wanted to fight in the midst of a seemingly hopeless situation. But that wasn’t enough
God wanted the entirely, mindfully devoted.
He wanted the use the few that took off their gloves, disgarding that thin veil of distraction, just to feel that thirsty, zealous burn.
The past five years, I’ve been serving the Lord. Loving Him and praising Him, while still at times even subconsciously bowing at the feet of other loves. Yes, I’ve felt His presence and seen Him move… But through a barrier of my own making. Because it’s those who wholeheartedly slip off the shroud of the mundane- who live out the difference between a ‘Nice’ relationship with Christ and an ‘Epic’ one.
I want my next five years to resemble the 300. Offering Him my fully attentive dedication, just to see Him overcome ridiculous odds while allowing me to be a part of it.
It’s only when you take off the gloves when you get burned, but this passionate fire is one I’d never want to heal.
Let’s go Latex free.
|
January 24, 2012
You are breathtaking ... you've only forgotten.
