Engagement season...

Yes, it's that time of year....

When babies lie in mangers, a fat man squeezes down  all of our chimneys, and at least 3 people I know get engaged.

Last Saturday, I put some distance between myself and the guy that I had been sort of seeing off and on for the past eight months.  I love him, and I'm 90% certain he cares a lot about me... but to be honest...

His heart just wasn't IN it, for some reason.

I can't fault him for that; it's not my fault either.  I just think he bit off more than he could chew.

And well... once you bite, you have no choice but to spit or swallow.

And he spat.

The holidays are a hard time for a single person in her early thirties.  Almost all my cousins are married with babies... and I've made it no secret that a family is something I want for myself.  Believe me, I'm not saying that to be all, "woe is me, I'm going to be single and alone on Christmas..."  I know I'm not the only person in the lonely-boat; in fact, if all of us ditched our solo boats and rowed together.... we might not be so lonely.

But my point is, this is NOT a last single girl post...

In the past week, I've been given a lot of advice.  All of it has been good advice... but I just...

Sometimes, I think it's easy for a married person to tell a newly single person, "just get over it" or "if you stop looking, he'll show up."  I haven't ever really been looking.  I don't go out to bars or bookstores to troll for the love of my life.  I'd like to meet someone from church... but well... everyone my age at church is either married, has kids, or has no interest in me...

I've joined MANY online dating sites while single in DC-- a couple for Christians, a couple for people with disabilities, and even one of the major sites (that shall remain nameless).  This has been moderately successful.  I mean, I've had many first dates... and one pseudo-relationship (see the beginning of this entry).

Of course, I've had to wade through several messages from people saying how "sorry they are for my condition," asking "what happened" to me; or coming at me straight with, "Can you have sex and/or children?"

This crazy talk has led me to place the following disclaimer on my profile:

Hi, my name is Jessica, and I walk with armbraces. I was not injured. I was born with a non-genetic birth defect that affects my motor skills. It will not get better. It will not get worse. But if you're going to pity me; don't bother messaging. Life is my party and there's no time to cry.

In fact, I'd rather spend my time: eating, traveling, running 5 k races in the DC area, singing church songs at the top of my lungs, drinking lots of coffee, jumping out of planes, figuring out what I can do to help others.... and meeting people, like you, of course. 

Of course, this disclaimer has led to me receiving fewer messages, but if that means I have to deal with fewer awkward intros and quick fizzling connections, I'll take it.  My membership to this site expires in March, and I don't plan on renewing; it hasn't seemed to work for me in the way I've wanted. 

Right now though, I'm just trying to strike a balance.  I want to find ways to be happy about my single life because I should be.  It is a life full of opportunity, and love, and laughter; and I don't want to miss out on what I do have while longing for what I don't.

I am, however, starting to become a bit jaded, because I see people who have a family, or a husband, or even a serious boyfriend, and I wonder, "What am I doing wrong?  Why can't I have what they have?"

In reality, I know it's probably "not my time" yet, and that my time will come if I keep seeking after God and doing His will.  I know He hears my prayers; and I know He knows the kind of wife I'd be, and the kind of person I need, because He made me.  If it's meant to be, it will be.

I want to see my singleness as a gift from Him instead of something I just have to endure.... but sometimes, it is just.  So. Hard.

I think about my last serious boyfriend, and how miserably he treated me (his birthday was last week.)  He's married now.  I don't want him.... not by even the lengthiest stretch of my imagination....but sometimes, when I'm lying alone, awake at 3:30 in the morning, I think, "If he can find someone, WHAT am I doing wrong?"

And all the well-meaning, attached friends who tell me, "You need to find a nice guy, " or "Someday your prince will come..."

Really?

Will he?

Did he take the slow boat from China???  Because.... ummm... he's late.

I'm not desperate for a husband.  Even if I met the right person, I'd still want to take things slow.  I know marriage is hard.  And that forever is a long time.  I'm not expecting all movie romance and rainbows.

I just want someone to throw his socks on my bedroom floor. so that I can pick them up and put them in the hamper.  Someone who will tolerate my bad taste in reality TV.  Someone who communicates well, loves impromptu dance parties, and wants to study the Bible together every day.

Someone who loves me-- quirks and all.... a love I'll gladly reciprocate.

I know there will be bad.  Lots of bad. No person is perfect... neither is any union (save a soul's union with God.)

 But I've waited so long for him.... that man has no idea how much he'll be loved and appreciated.  None. And if he ever does make an entrance into my life, I'm going to make sure I tell him every single day.

Does Disability Come From Sin?

What I'm about to address is a controversial topic, but it's come up in way too many conversations, and even a sermon or two, in the past 6 months.  I have to say something.  There is a belief prevalent among conservative Christians, regardless of denominational affiliation, that developmental disabilities (like birth defects and genetic conditions) are an indirect result of original sin.  Put more simply, this belief teaches that had Adam and Eve not committed the original transgression against God in the Garden, disability would not exist.  That because man exercised free will and disobeyed God, disabilities acquired in our Earthly lives are one of the ways we have been made to "pay" for the act of our predecessors.

Specifically, this belief teaches that God did not intend for man to have disabilities  but man brought them upon himself.  Disabilities are inherently bad because they are a result of sin.

I have cerebral palsy and Matthew has autism because of sin.

But the Bible does not teach this.  After Adam and Eve sin in the Garden, God is very specific with them about what the consequences of their actions will be:

14 The Lord God said to the serpent,

“Because you have done this,
    cursed are you above all livestock
    and above all beasts of the field;
on your belly you shall go,
    and dust you shall eat
    all the days of your life.
15 I will put enmity between you and the woman,
    and between your offspring[e] and her offspring;
he shall bruise your head,
    and you shall bruise his heel.”

16 To the woman he said,

“I will surely multiply your pain in childbearing;
    in pain you shall bring forth children.
Your desire shall be for[f] your husband,
    and he shall rule over you.”

17 And to Adam he said,

“Because you have listened to the voice of your wife
    and have eaten of the tree
of which I commanded you,
    ‘You shall not eat of it,’
cursed is the ground because of you;
    in pain you shall eat of it all the days of your life;
18 thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you;
    and you shall eat the plants of the field.
19 By the sweat of your face
    you shall eat bread,
till you return to the ground,
    for out of it you were taken;
for you are dust,
    and to dust you shall return.” Genesis 3: 14-19 ESV

Specifically in this passage, God condemns man and woman to pain in child bearing, hard labor in life, and ultimately, physical death.  The wages of sin is death, both physical and spiritual. (Rom 6:23).

I suppose that if one really wanted to make an argument that disability is a result of original sin, he could stretch verses 17-18 to include it as one of the toils of life.  However, God doesn't imply that here... so if you want to read the Bible in context, that's too much of a stretch.

Paul, however, does specifically address the role of a disability in the life of a Christian in his second New Testament letter to the Corinthians.  We are never told specifically what Paul's disability is.  He simply calls it his "thorn in the flesh."  I have a theory that he has CP.  (If you want to know why, just ask and I'll go into detail, but that's really the subject of a completely different post.)  Some people think he is blind.  It doesn't really matter what Paul's thorn in the flesh was; we know it was something visible, and he describes it as follows:

"7 So to keep me from becoming conceited because of the surpassing greatness of the revelations,[a] a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to harass me, to keep me from becoming conceited. 8 Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. 9 But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. 10 For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong." 2 Cor 12:7-10 ESV

Paul specifically says that disability exists, not as punishment for sin, but as a test or a trial, given to him from Satan.  At first blush, this description might sound equally as horrifying as the belief that disabilities are a result of sin, but Paul describes it as a good thing.  Contentedness with his weak human flesh gives him opportunity to perfect his strength in Christ.  This is true of any aspect of our humanity; we are to use everything about ourselves, whether we perceive it to be good, bad, or ugly to the glory of God.  We know from examples of other lives in the Bible-- Abraham, Job, even the life of Jesus-- that God never lets man experience any more than he can handle.

Furthermore, Paul says that his disability was given to him so that he would not be conceited, having had direct revelations from the Lord.  He used his "thorn in the flesh" to relate to people and to help bring them to Christ.  He used his weakness for strength.

So this thing that helped Paul, that rooted him in Christ, that helped him bring others to the Lord-- this was a result of sin? No.

This was a result of chance.  A test that God allowed him to endure for his own edification and that of those around him.

The gift of hope.

It was hard to sleep in the early hours this morning when I learned that a church friend of mine had gone missing in Bowling Green, KY shortly before the storms hit yesterday.  I had been consumed most of the weekend with thoughts that seem so trivial now, and I was soon lost in much deeper ones.

Adam was by no means my best friend.  My interactions with him were few compared to many others I know and love... but in the nearly 3 years since I met him, he made an impression on me that lasted.  He was hilarious, outgoing, and had a heart for God and others.  Adam left his home on Sunday afternoon with the intention of going for either a swim or a run... which,it  was not clear.  It appears that somehow he may have been pulled under by the current in the Barren River, but it has not been confirmed.  As of now, all we really know is that no one has seen Adam since around 1 pm yesterday.  He has no phone, no keys, no ID, and no shoes.

And so for now, all we can do is wait.  And pray.  And pray.  And wait.

In times like these, I  have no idea how people function without God, because when all in this world seems hopeless, I consider myself blessed to have a source of constant hope in Him.  I know that wherever Adam is, God is with Him, and that whatever he is going though, God will provide for his needs.  I know that his friends and family sick with worry can find hope and comfort in God.  And I know that no matter the outcome of this troubling situation, God will be with us always if we call on Him for help.

Some people say that reliance on God makes me stupid.... I say to them, "Fine... but at least in my so-called ignorance, I have hope.  What do you have?"

Questions like this usually lead those doubting to fall silent, because even non-believers can recognize the healing power and positive influence that comes from prayer to and reliance on a higher power.

God is our ultimate source of love here on Earth, and the example by which we should model the way we interact with others.  He shows us love every day, when he lets us breathe and live and interact and love ourselves, even though we are deserving of nothing, and constantly transgress each other and Him with our actions.  Not only that, He showed us the ultimate act of love by sending his Son to die for us-- all of us-- despite the way we act on the daily.

Those of us who believe in God are instructed to love like him, and yet we rarely do... in this we, I include myself.  God puts us first even when we don't put Him first.  Likewise, we should put others before ourselves even when they don't show us the same regard.  The world tells us that we should always act with our own interest first, but God tells us to put others ahead of ourselves, and always to His glory.

Do we do that?  Do I?  Often the people in our life who act as though they deserve our love the least are the ones who need it the most.  I'm not saying that this means we should never be angry when someone wrongs us, because there is actually an element of love in righteous anger if you bring the issue to the person and address it in love.

Sometimes, loving someone who has made you angry is the best thing you can do for that person, because lack of genuine godly love in an individual's life can lead them to act in ways so very undeserving of any love at all.  When love may be just exactly what that person needs.

Thinking about the situation with Adam has made me acutely aware of the times when I have acted out of anger rather than love.... why?  Because it's made me ponder the fact that you never really know when will be the last time you see someone you love, the last time you touch them, the last time you have a chance to tell them how you feel.

It made me think of my Grandma Hunt when she was in the hospital before she passed away.  The last time I told her "I love you...."  I'm not even sure she comprehended what I was saying, and before that, I know it had been far too long since I had told her.

It made me think of Grandma Flowers, and not being able to be home for her funeral, and how I worried whether she knew how much I truly loved her.

It made me think of other less dire situations, like standing in front of my apartment door with my now ex-boyfriend in April 2009, never knowing that that would be the last time I would see him, or hold him, or tell him how I felt before he would leave, leave me, and find someone else better suited to his needs.

My point is, you never know which "I love you" will be the last "I love you," God, free will, and even chance, to a certain extent, control that variable.  So say I love you everyday; try always to act and react in love; and remember where your hope and your treasure lie, because someday, there you will be also.  

The Placeholder.

I couldn't go to work today. I woke up late with swollen eyes and a sick stomach. There was incredible pressure pulsing through my neck and I could hear my own heartbeat.   I wanted to be alone, and go for a run until my legs shook from pain and exhaustion. I wanted to watch the Voice in my pajamas and eat take out. I wanted to cuddle with my dog.

I did not want to see people or think critically or fake-smile.

For the second night in a row, I didn't fall asleep until 2 am. 

You could say that I am sad. Maybe even a little depressed. 

Why? Because that's the job of a placeholder. We hold the place really meant for someone else. 

We're great and wonderful and the best thing going, until the better thing comes along. That's always been me. 

I'm the crazy opening act at the Fray concert with the disco pants  and platform shoes,  who no one remembers and only about a quarter of the crowd actually showed up to see anyway. 

I am a professional relationship placeholder. 

From ages 12 to 32, I have been a placeholder in every romantic relationship and pseudo-relationship I have had. 

In fact, I often call myself a one-woman marriage prep service. Because the women (or men) with whom my past partners enter into relationships after dating me have a 90% chance of being the person they marry. This percentage is based on the actual rate of marriage exhibited by my past relationship interests. 

I suppose this is somewhat of a compliment to me.... Maybe I show these men how to find the brand of love that lasts. Maybe I help them see that they want to settle down. Maybe I open their eyes to unconditional love. 

Or maybe I just hold the place in line until they bump into their future wife as she's leaving the restroom. 

Whichever. 

I currently love a man. Very much. I'm not in love with him, but when I close my eyes I can see a potential future with him. And for me, that's rare. 

He says he loves me, and I believe him. We've known each other for 6 months, but from a distance...so we haven't really had a chance to have a relationship in the conventional sense. 

In recent conversations, he revealed to me that he is still in love with his ex. That he finally understands the nature of the love he feels for her and he thinks they are soulmates. This ex, I believe, is currently dating another person. 

I've had this conversation before. Multiple times. 

I couldn't be angry at him, because I know what it is like to love someone completely. To love that person, their family, who they are in every aspect. 

I encouraged him to tell her the truth. 

I've experienced that kind of love. My parents have that kind of love for each other. If you can hold on to it, you don't want to let that kind of love get away. 

So, I've removed my place card and left the room, and he's there waiting for the actual guest of honor to show up and decide whether to sit at his table. 

My job is done here. Even if things don't work out between them, I have to leave. Because I deserve more than to be someone's second choice; or to be put on standby in case his best case scenario doesn't work out. 

Don't I deserve someone who's saving a place for ME and only me?  Shouldn't I hold out for the person who thinks that I'm not just the best thing for right now, but the best thing forever?

I want a place at the table, with my OWN name card, and a man who pulls out my chair and hugs me sincerely, because he's ecstatic that I showed up. 

I don't think I've ever had that. Until that man shows up, I'll be holding a place for HIM... Currently wearing my Batman jammies with half an order of General Tso's to share. 

Why It Matters Whom You Marry

Today, I posted a link to an old article from the Christian Pundit on my Facebook page titled, "It Matters Whom You Marry."  Obviously, as a single 32 year old, I am acutely aware of this fact.  The decision to marry has never been something I've taken lightly.  If it were, I'd probably be married (and divorced) by now.

Why do I say that?


 There was a time in my late 20's when I thought I'd found "the one."  Of course, looking back now, I can see the obvious errors in my thought process.... but well... love can be blind.  Not only that, but at that point in my life, I was feeling particularly vulnerable and alone.  I was in DC on my own, in a job I disliked, with a freshly broken heart, and the man in question here was my only tie to home.  He knew me.  He knew me very well, and he knew exactly what to say and do to open my heart and clear a space for himself.

At that time, I had a plan-- a timetable.   I wanted to be married with a baby by 30.  He fit right into that natural progression.  He said he wanted the same things I did (as long as I gave him only girls.  Not sure how I was going to engineer that, but hey).  So he asked.  And I answered.  And the rest is history.

I said yes.... but it was for all the wrong reasons.... and to the completely wrong person...all because I had an idea of what I wanted my life to be.  I see a lot of people in their late 20's or older who get married because they are chasing an idea, or a dream, or because they think they are getting too old to have a family.  They think to themselves that if they can just find someone who fits nicely into their current life, who they can tolerate, and who wants relatively the same things, that they are not settling.  They are accomplishing something.  Achieving a goal.  Fulfilling a dream.

You might be achieving a goal by being married, but if one of your other goals is to have a happy, long-lasting, loving marriage AND a fantastic friendship with your partner, you had better be sure you are marrying the right person.  Thing 1 does not always lead to Thing 2.

It does matter whom you marry.

1.  It affects you spiritually.

I chose to become engaged to a non-Christian.  I'm not saying that Christians and non-Christians can't marry, or that it is not the right decision for some people... but it was not the right decision for me.  As a woman, and as a person, I need a man who will hold me accountable to my commitments and who will allow me to do the same for him.  I need someone who will pray with me and who I know is always praying for me; someone with whom I have complete comfort in studying and discussing the Bible; and someone who is going to continually encourage me to put God first and to use my life in constant service to others.


The person I chose was not only a non-Christian, but a person blatantly opposed to any type of organized religion.  He often made fun of me when I went to church.  He did attend with me a couple of times, but later used it as a bargaining chip... "Well, I went to church with you, so you should do this and that for me."  As the months passed, I found myself agreeing to break commitments to God and to my spiritual family because he asked.  I found myself reading my Bible less.  I found myself in prayer less.  If I was honest with myself, I felt distance growing between God and me.  If my timetable baby had been born at that time, I wonder now how I would have agreed to raise her-- if she would have had a church home, if she would have had a Bible.  I like to think I would have raised her to know God, but it's hard to introduce someone to God if your own relationship with Him is strained.

2.   It affects you emotionally.

I have always been and will always be an emotional person.  Words people say and things they do often affect me on a deep level.  And when I have an emotion, I'm the type of person who needs to talk it out.  If I choose not to say anything about what I'm feeling, sometimes it can affect everything I do.  I can't always think clearly.  My relations with others are strained.... and I can walk around all day achey or angry or sad from the emotion that is fermenting in my heart.  I just need to let it out.  I need someone who will listen to my feelings-- REALLY listen-- without telling me that they're unwarranted or silly.  I need someone who will offer his advice when I ask, but who understand that sometimes, all I need is to be heard.

The person I chose did not like it when I felt things.  He did not like it when I needed to talk.  He often told me that I needed to find "a better way of coping" than coming to him... and that my feelings were silly for an otherwise rational person.  Two years of similar interactions with this individual have drastically changed the way that I communicate my thoughts and feelings to guys who interest me.  In fact, the guy who I currently care for very deeply was listening to me early Monday morning as I explained an issue that I was having with another friend and how it made me feel.  He had listened to me for about 10 minutes explain how I felt I needed to cut this person from my life because of what was going on.  When I had said my peace, he tried to empathize by saying that he was sorry that the situation happened and that it had upset me... but I literally cut him off mid-sentence, because I found myself thinking I was being too needy... and that he really shouldn't care to hear about this.  That wasn't fair to him.  He was doing what he knew I needed and offering me an ear and a (proverbial) shoulder.  But because I have trained myself to be afraid to voice my own emotions, it's hard for me to accept when someone offers me the chance to be myself and let them out.

3.  It affects you physically.

a) Money
The person I chose did not have a job.  He did not make money.  That in and of itself is not necessarily a deal breaker; however, he said he could not look for a job, because he was in school.  He asked me for money all of the time--for groceries, for school, for his phone bill-- and because I loved him, I gave it to him.... even though I was receiving money from my parents just to stay afloat myself.  At a time in my life when I should have been saving some money because I was living with a roommate, I was losing money, because I was funneling everything I could to him.

The man I marry doesn't have to make a lot of money.  He does not have to support me.  I can work and support myself.  But I do need someone who will make an effort.  Whether he works in an office building, at a carwash, or at Pizza Hut... I don't care.  I just need someone who works hard and who wants to contribute to the family we have decided to make-- even if it's just the two of us.

b) Your body and Sex
At the time that I chose to say yes, I wanted to save our sexual relationship for marriage, because that is where the Bible intends it to be.  This was a huge point of contention between the two of us.  This person knew that I had been sexually active in the past and did not understand why waiting until marriage mattered to me.  He would try to get me as drunk as possible when we were alone, knowing that I would always agree to more when my inhibitions were down. I never really thought much about this, because I was a willing participant, but once, I actually passed out, and woke up very sore and in a compromising position.  I was face down in what appeared to be my own vomit.  I could not remember anything that happened.  To this day, all I know is the version of events he gave me.

This person also slapped me.  It was only once, but still I remember it very vividly.  He had made us dinner--the only time a man has ever cooked for me.  I can still tell you what we ate.  Pork chops, rice and vegetables, a salad, and Yellowtail Cabernet.  As we were finishing dinner, he noticed on his phone that his scores for the Legal Ethics exam had come in (the test lawyers must pass before sitting for the Bar).  He checked his score and was upset because it wasn't the score he needed to sit for a certain state.  I tried to console him, telling him that he could take it again, that I understood where he was coming from, and that we could study together for the next one.  Mid sentence, he glared at me, and the next thing I knew his hand fell hard across my face, "You don't get it, " he said.  "Just shut up."  And shut up, I did.  I went straight to my bedroom and locked the door, which he eventually coaxed me to open for him with the right amount of apology.  Don't think it was right away though.  I cried alone in there for a good 30 minutes while he chatted on the phone as though nothing was amiss.  I was having emotions then anyway.  Ain't nobody got time for that.

The man I marry will respect me and my body.  He will not do anything to hurt me.  He will not touch me without my consent.  No matter how angry I make him, he will not hit me.  My body will always be mine first, but his second, with my permission.  Because he loves me, he will love my body, and he will treat it accordingly, because like all of our bodies, it is a gift from God.  And we will be having a lot of sex.... and it will be good.

4.  It will affect you mentally.

When I was with this person, I was worried all of the time: worried about money; worried about sex; worried about the future; worried about our life.  From the above points, you should be able to see why .  The person I marry should be a source of strength for me.  I'm not saying that marriage will be worry-free; I know it won't.  But I should be able to talk to him about my worries, and he should be able to confess his.  We should be able to lean on each other and on God for strength even in the hardest times.  If the person you marry is constantly a reason for your worry, it is very difficult to express that to him or to lean on him for strength.  And if your relationship with God is suffering too, who do you have to lean on but your already-exhausted self?

5.  It will affect you relationally.

I couldn't lean on my family or my friends during the tough times either.  They did not agree with the person I had chosen, and could see how much it was changing me.  He encouraged me just to cut them out, maintaining that the thoughts they were planting about him in my head were the real source of worry and strife in my life, and that once he proved to them he was here to stay, they'd come around.

The man I marry needs to love my family.  This is very important, because they are important to me... and even if he doesn't share the same enthusiasm for all of my family and friends as I do, he needs to do and say things that encourage and foster my own relationships with them.  When you marry someone, you do marry into a family, so it's at least important that both parties know and can live with exactly whom they are choosing to associate themselves.

I really think that everything in this list comes back to the 1st point-- the spiritual effects of marriage.  If you love God and you marry someone who you know truly loves and serves God:
1.  They will be your spiritual accountability partner
2.  They will take the necessary role in your family's spiritual life
3.  They will want to contribute financially to the family
4.  They will listen to your thoughts, worries, and concerns, and you will make decisions together, keeping God in mind
5. They will respect you and your body
6.  They will make an effort to have relationships with your family and friends, and to help you cultivate the relationships that you need for your own personal growth.

Of course, I'm not saying that there are not Christians who don't fail at these aspects of marriage, but if someone is truly living with service to God in mind, many of the positive tenants of marriage will be part and parcel of how they already conduct themselves.



        

Black coffee....

She woke up as the sun started to gleam through the windows, leaving small slats of light streaming onto her yellow green comforter.

She rubbed her eyes, still itchy and raw from all of the crying she had done the night before.  As if on autopilot, her right hand moved down, and she found herself twisting the loose ring on her left ring finger in a slow, methodical motion.  The only comfort to her was the feel of the cold metal against the hot, splotchy nervousness of her skin.

She had told him when he proposed that she didn't want a ring.  They couldn't afford it.  She had begged him just to throw on shoes and run to Walmart, and they could spend a few quarters on a superhero decoder ring in one of those gumball machines... and that would be it.

He knew she belonged to him.  She was sure.  He'd known it for years.  Even in the times he'd treated her like another man's girlfriend, she had stuck around.  But he insisted, she had to have something to prove to the world that she was his... so he had taken the ring off his own finger...an Irish claddagh ring he had gotten from his grandmother... and placed it on her hand.

It fit so loosely that she was afraid to wear it much.  It wasn't hers anyway, and she wanted to save for the sapphire and diamond wedding band more fitting of her own personality.  Her parents didn't know; neither did many of her friends.  They kept warning her that even dating him was a mistake, so how could she tell anyone that he'd asked her to marry him?

She had known, she thought, where his feelings really lay.  They were evident, face up and trembling on the pillow next to her,  when they had laid there together in that very room, naming their children, planning out their lives in the city, searching on the internet for job prospects for him once he finished school.  As she thought back to those conversations, her head began to ache.  

What were they?  Empty words.  Her mouth went dry, and her stomach felt achily hollow.  It was over.  He had told her last night that he couldn't give her the love and support that she needed.  When she had asked if there was someone else, he had said, "No, but I'd like there to be."  Just like that, words of goodbye had replaced words of forever, and their stench hung in the air, burning her nostrils as she felt the tears starting to well.  Again.

She buried her head in the pillow next to her.  It still smelled like him, Irish Spring soap and cigarettes, laced with a hint of regret. 

______________________________________________________________________________

She woke up as the sun started to gleam through the windows, leaving small slats of light streaming onto her yellow green comforter.

She seemed to dream about that morning every year around this time.  October 8, 2009.   The day they were to marry.  So many years ago, and yet in her dreams, the sting of her sweat and tears still felt real.  She reached down to her left ring finger , and smiled to herself as she twisted her mother's amethyst and diamond ring in a slow, methodical motion.  She felt the warmth of unconditional love spread from her heart.  

She placed her feet on the floor and shuffled to the kitchen; her old dog following closely behind.  The wet of his nose was a comfort to her as it lapped lightly against her left calf.  She started the coffee, hooked up her speaker, and waited for Ella Fitzgerald's voice to burst into the room.  She coated the counter in flour and decided on biscuits again. Kneading the dough in her shaky hands, she began to sing softly.

The Promise

The onset of October always leads me to thoughts of marriage. Fall is my favorite time of year, and I have always imagined my wedding in the Fall since I was old enough to think about it. 

Originally, i wanted to be married on my parents' farm in Kentucky surrounded by sunflowers at mid-afternoon, just before the sun begins to set and the bugs come out. 

When I was asked to marry one of my exes, the dream changed to a small wedding on the Centre Seal the first week of October. We wanted to be married by one of his favorite professors (he wasn't very religious) and then run around campus taking pictures of ourselves at all the places we loved and had memories together. 

Now I still have dreams of a wedding in the Fall... but I don't really care where it is or what I wear (I just want to feel pretty). I have eschewed the idea of elaborate plans, and a woman with as many law school loans as I have isn't keen on spending a lot of money on one day. I'd much rather save money on the day and plan a trip to Europe or New Zealand or some white beach with turquoise water. 

All I want at my wedding is love. I want my family to be there. Whomever my husband will be, I want his family to be there. What's important about the wedding is not the flowers or the rings or the dresses or the food (well, except maybe the cake... You know me and cake). 

It's the promise. It's knowing that you have found the person who will love you even when you are at your least loveable. Who will remember where you put your keys; kiss you even when you're sick and your breath tastes like it; and be more angry at you than they ever thought they could, but still hold the door, make your dinner, or toss a pillow to you when one of you is sleeping on the couch. 

I know that type of promise exists. I've seen it in my parents. I see it in my dad when he surprises my mom with wildflowers or a hostess banana flip from the convenience store. I see it in my mom when she always makes sure his favorite shirts are ironed and jokes about how he has a full closet but always wears the same three. 

When he watches Dancing with the Stars with her, and she constantly buys him containers and tubs to put his "papers" in and complains about the mess, but then confides in me about how lost she'd feel if she had to eat dinner without him or Bucky. 

I've seen it in the hard times--when they've supported Matthew and me through countless surgeries and procedures. When he's held her when she cried for us-- when I left for college, when I moved to France, and almost every time I take a plane from KY to DC. 

Through death and heart attacks and loud, cursing "discussions" and disagreements on money and time, they are always there. Their love for each other is always visible from the outside, even when they don't see it. 

Why? It's the promise. It hangs in the universe above them--the gift from God that they accepted by taking each other through this life. It binds their hearts and souls in ways that in the darkest times, still shine through in the way they look at each other. 

It proves that two individuals who are meant to be one can still be themselves, but come together and be a better version than apart. 

The strength of their promise is what gives me faith that unconditional  love between two human beings is real. That promises like theirs, when not made lightly, don't have to be broken. Rather, they can grow stronger with time and seal a bond that will last long past their earthly lifetimes. 

Dating-- a moratorium

Well, since my entry about the LDR, I can attest that there is in fact an end worse than the break up text. We will call it, "the tacit turnover," meaning that the person tells you absolutely nothing about the way they are feeling, despite you trying to probe for some answers during a phone conversation, which you now surmise was cut short so they could instigate said turnover. 

After informing you of nothing, they then proceed to delete you from their life without warning (and in my case, on my birthday) and publicly declare themselves in a relationship with a woman you've never heard mentioned before. 

So, the maneuver consists of a silent bait-and-switch. And then throwing the fish (me) back into the proverbial sea, half-gutted. 

That tacit turnover, ladies and gentlemen, marks the end of my dating life. 

No more. 

I am done. No more dating online, offline, long distance, short distance, or next door. 

I would rather live a generally happy single life than risk anymore unnecessary carnage at the hands of these loser heads I seem to attract, thank you very much. 

Yes, I've wanted my own  family more than anything on earth for as long as I could voice my wants... but I'm really starting to think that what I want is not worth all of the crazy I have to endure to find it... and all this endurance without even an inkling of assurance that I ever will meet my match. 

If he exists, he's going to have to find me. To the rest of the men in America, go sell your crazy somewhere else, we're all stocked up here. 

Birthdays. being alone, and burning holes into my flesh...

I'm turning 32 on Sunday.

I'll admit to you that by this time in my life I thought I'd be in a different spot.

If you'd asked me at 22 where I'd be at 32, I would have told you that I'd be married, settled, out of debt, and probably teaching French in some school system or running a small solo law practice.

Instead, I'm single, still in debt, a Masters student, living in one of the most expensive cities in the nation, childless, and I speak French about once a month.

Not at all the same.... not at all what I thought I'd want.... but better.

Since 22, I've completed law school, become licensed in 3 states,  lived alone in France, moved alone to a completely new city, and sought out my job, my living situation, and my church family all on my own.

I have survived 1 marriage proposal, two shattered hearts, and countless ego bruises.

I have fallen in love with my best friend, and watched the rejection from him become the absolute best thing for us both.

I have gone on about 50 first dates in the past 10 years, but only 4 second ones.

I have learned how to budget, ignored my budget, and cried and figured out how to pick myself up off the floor when there was nothing left to budget.

I have jumped from a plane, taken leaps of faith that have resulted in love, and a few that have resulted in heartache.

I have endured a job I hated, left a job I liked, and found a job I love.

I have gained friends, lost touch with some, and watched one lose her fight with cancer.

I have doubted my decision not to just stay in Kentucky.  I have had lonely nights and weepy weekends, and eaten entire tubs of icing because I was convinced that if I was going to die alone, I might as well be full of chocolate.

I have become more attached to a dog than I was ever aware one could be.

I have learned how to sing myself to sleep, take myself out to dinner, and celebrate small victories alone.

I have learned that there is nothing wrong with doing these things alone.

The past 10 years have taught me that the people who love me will remain in my life regardless of distance, or passage of time, and even on the days they don't particularly like me.

They have taught me the value of going out on dates with people who remind me why I like my life as it is.

They have taught me the value of anticipation-- the reward that's in the waiting.

Waiting for a job.  Waiting for the right kind of love.  Waiting for that moment when I'm sitting alone in the quiet of my apartment feeling completely content-- needing no one and nothing else.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is the moment.  I guess you could say I have arrived.

32 is not what I thought it would be at 22.... and neither am I.

I am stronger, more confident, sure of my own worth absent any other opinions... and completely ready to take on whatever surprises this next decade may bring.

Bring it on 30's.... let's see what you've got.

The perils of the LDR....

Ahhh, the long distance relationship.  The old LDR.

I had promised myself after my heart was broken by a man who lived in KY while I was living in Virginia that I would never again stand on the precipice of such an arrangement.  And yet, here I am, finding myself completely smitten with a man who lives 350 miles away from me.

Never say never,guys.

People say that relationships are hard. And they are.... the in-person relationships are wonderfully, fantastically, unbelievably hard.  But they are worth it.

You know how you can really tell if you like someone enough to want them around in person, though? When it's 3 am or 3 pm or 12 pm or whatever time of day, and you get some exciting news, your dog learns a new trick, you stub your toe, or you buy a new shirt, and the first person you want to tell is not anyone who's standing nearby... but that person who's 350 miles away.


Yeah, you could say I'm in deep.

What I've learned about getting to know someone from so far away though, is that it presents its own set of challenges.

1)  First, this LDR.... what is it?  No, really? WHAT IS IT??  It walks like a duck, talks like a duck, but it is a....herron???

If you talk every day, but only see each other every month.... is that dating?  Is that a relationship?  I think the answer is different for every person and every couple.  The LDR often requires the DTR ("define the relationship" conversation).  You could decide to call it a relationship; you could decide to call it dating.  You could decide to call it nothing, but if you decide to call it nothing, you had still better be clear on what the rules around dating other people are.... otherwise, you could end up giving your whole heart to a person who is giving his to you, and someone else, and someone else.

Personally, I like labels.  I like knowing where I stand.  In my last LDR, that was a huge issue for me, mostly because the guy had proposed to me, but somehow still wasn't ok with declaring himself to be "in a relationship" with me on Facebook.

Red Flag much?

This time around.... I'm not so concerned with what the rest of the world knows quite yet.  I love this person very much.  He loves me.  I know I'm important enough for him to have mentioned me to other people in his life.  I am ok with that.  I don't date anyone else at the moment, and I trust that he doesn't either.... because if he did, I surmise, based on our conversations, that he would tell me. Would I like to be in an "official" relationship?  Yes.  Of course.  But that will come in its own time....

I'm not going to wait in limbo forever.... but I also don't want to have every important conversation of our lives via text message.  If it is meant to be, it will be.  So here I sit, contrary to what I said I'd "never" do.... in my perfectly undefined, happy nothing.

2)  Every time I get a text from this person, my stomach flips faster than a McDonalds Quarter Pounder on a Friday night.  Communication in an LDR is key.  And in these days, you can communicate at the drop of a hat.... so why not take advantage?  Tell funny anecdotes from your day.  Take a picture and send it.  Pictures of you.  Pictures of your food.  Pictures of your environment.  Make the person feel as though they are there with you.  If you want them to be there and they want to be there, you have them in spirit, and that's what matters the majority of the time.

Just be careful about what you say in a text message.  Say what you mean and mean what you say.  Some deep conversations are better in person.  Others can be had over the phone.  Use your judgement.  Just remember, inflection can't be expressed in a text.  Also, "Let's eat Grandma." is not the same thing as "Let's eat, Grandma."

Please, please, please... I'm begging you... do not end the relationship in a text.  My last LDR ended via gchat, and to this day, everytime my current guy sends me a text that looks serious I'm always afraid that's the one.  If you can't be there in person, use the phone.  Good grief.  And if you're worried about not wanting to make the person upset, I'll just say this:  they'll get over it.  And so will you.  No one's life is going to be ruined because you are no longer together.  Put on your big boy/girl underwear and cowboy/cowgirl up.

3)  Trust.  An LDR will help you build trust with a person quicker than just about any situation.  Since you are not with them, you have only to trust that they are truthful about where they are, who they're with, and what they're doing.  In some sense, it requires more blind faith than a relationship where you see each other every day, but if you are transparent about what you do and who you are, the trust you build while separated can only lead to positive outcomes together.

4)  And while you're building this awesome trust, remember that the buck has to stop somewhere.  The LDR is not an indefinite arrangement.  If it's been 6 months and there has been no talk between the two of you about the potential of making this LDR just an R without the LD, it's time to cut bait.

Take it from a woman with experience.  A man who knows he can string you along will unravel that string as far as he can and tell you whatever he knows you need to hear to keep it going.  Same thing is true for the ladies.  Don't fall into that trap.  You are worth more than that.  Words and months of texts, e-mails, and calls with someone you genuinely enjoy are amazing, but unless you can see some progression toward action to accompany those words, that's all they are.

In that case you should LDR yourself.  Leave, and Don't Rationalize.

        

A note to anyone who wants to date me

It's not always easy being the man in my life. I'm sure every woman can say that with some modicum of truth. I am no different.  

But I can say that dating me is sometimes an adventure in ways that dating someone else might not be. 

1.  Strange people follow me. 

I am often approached by people who are homeless, random people on the street who take an unsolicited interest in my life, or the occasional passerby. 

This phenomenon generally occurs for 1 of 2 reasons:

a) The person wants to tell me how inspirational I am or tell us how inspirational we are. This happens everywhere. At the movies. At the grocery store. Stepping outside my front door. 

And the "inspirational status" won't just apply to me. Once strangers ascertain the fact that we are together, they'll let you know how wonderful you are, too. 

"Oh, you're such a good person," they'll say. Or, "You're so wonderful for helping her."  Chances are, at the time that they say this, you won't be doing anything particularly wonderful or helpful or good, but strangers will want to give you an extra gold star just for hanging around me. 

(I'm not saying you wouldn't deserve one, but I'm saying it would be more for putting up with my sometimes irrational thought processes and enduring watching the Bachelor on Mondays than it would for carrying my coffee or getting my arm braces out of the car). 

Get ready to make a whole lot of inspiration porn for random people. Yes, that's a thing, and it's not dirty. It deserves a blog post of its own... so ask if you don't know. 

b) The second type of concerned passerby will approach us trying to help. They might give us unsolicited advice on the simplest things-- things we've done many times before-- getting groceries into or out of the car, going up steps, or walking in the rain. They will want to offer their assistance. 

This type of approach bothers me much less than the inspiration porn seeker, because these people are just trying to be helpful, to do something good for their fellow man. 

However, these interactions can be a bit intrusive and stalkerish at times. Case and point: I had gone to Starbucks last week with a friend. I got my order and tucked it in the front pocket of my bag with a straw as we headed to the car. 

A man, who had been watching us inside the store, follows us outside, almost to our car, and asks my friend, "Where's her order?"  He had not seen me pick it up, I guess, and was concerned that he didn't see her carrying it out. 

I told him, "I have it right here," and pointed to the cup in my bag. He never addressed me, and he left. 

2. Which brings me to my next point: People will talk to you to address me. 

They will ask you what I want to eat at a restaurant. They will hand my purchases to you. They will treat you as though you are speaking for me. 

They will often assume you are my brother, personal caregiver, cousin, assistant, whatever. 

Sometimes, this is frustrating for me. Sometimes, it will be frustrating for you. But try to stay calm. These types of people are clearly ignorant... because if they can't see why someone would want to hang around me for more than a paycheck, they are missing out. 

Of course, you should also be aware that if you show me any type of affection in front of one of these people, they will gawk. 

People with disabilities don't date. We aren't sexy. We don't get married. And we can't have families. You'll be debunking myths everyday, just by your decision to be with me. 

(Hey, maybe I should give you a gold star.)

3. I am a person with a disability. I am proud of it. Be aware of this fact. It is not something I want to change. It is not something YOU need to make allowances for. It is beautiful, and natural,  and a part of me that has helped me build many of the personality traits and characteristics that I love about myself. 

It is a part of me that follows me everywhere-- to work, at home. Out on the town, and you may find yourself introduced to new ways of thinking because of it. 

 

People first language. 

Crappy para transit services. 

Incessant planning for extended travel. 

My disability pride is a part of me that I want to share with you. I want you to be proud of it too, because it is part of my culture, and if you are with me, it will become a part of yours. 

Be prepared to listen to my rants about inadequate housing, employment discrimination,  rights of parents with disabilities, inaccessible buildings, ignorant people at work, websites that blind people can't use, the whole Netflix debacle, whatever. 

These are things that are important to me. They are a part of my fight for civil rights. For mine. For yours. Four ours. 

I say all that to say that even  though I am a passionate advocate, I will also be your girlfriend. 

The girl who loves lazy Saturdays, cooking for you, sending packages, church on Sundays, coffee, guacamole, chihuahuas, French, and music. 

The girl who thinks morbid thoughts at night, who is so concerned about your well being that she sometimes sounds like a mother, who will make sure she tells you every day how important you are. 

The girl who does what she says she's going to do, says what she means to say (except in cases of extreme hyperbole) and always, always, always loves you with her whole heart. 

Yes, it's true that its not easy being with me. But it is equally true that I'm 125% worth it.  

Things

I live in a city where people take a particularly detailed interest in the material possessions of others.  The way you dress, the car you drive, and the area in which you live are all indicators of social status here.

I've never been too concerned with any of that.  I'm a country girl from a one-road community.  I buy my clothes on clearance; live as frugally as I can (though in this area, it seems almost impossible at times); and am not afraid to get my hands dirty, share a meal with a homeless person, or give you the last dime in my wallet.

I appreciate what I have and I know that this world is only temporal.  In the end, none of that matters.

Do I have nice clothes, nice furniture, and an apartment full of nick-nacks and pretty pictures?

Yes.

Do I have an (albeit tiny) collection of Coach purses that I wear and enjoy?

Yes.

Do I have  a pantry full of food; nice housewares; and a cute little dog with some cute little dog clothes?

Yes.

However, if it weren't for the generosity of my parents,my closet would be bare and so would my walls.  

I would be wearing shoes with holes and ill-fitting clothes.

I would not have a cell phone.

It is quite possible that I would be sitting on an Ikea box because I would have no idea why there are 50 screws left from trying to put together the chair inside, so the box would seem more sturdy.

I would be sleeping on a mattress in my bedroom floor, or in a broken down bed.... assuming I could have moved it from Kentucky without the UHaul Freddie Hunt rented and drove to DC on multiple occasions.

In fact, I would not even be sleeping in my fantastic 2 bedroom 2 bathroom apartment in Fairfax.  It's questionable whether I would be in any apartment at all, since my parents  paid the deposit on my first apartment in Springfield, VA 7 years ago.

If it weren't for my parents, I would have probably lived in a shelter for at least the first year I was here, since 3 months after I moved, my job changed and my salary decreased.

I would not have a kitchen table.

I would not have a couch.

I would not have even one pan.

I would not have any of my possessions from Kentucky which they paid the expense to move.

I would not have a dog with his cute little dog clothes.

I would not have even one pretty Coach purse.

Without my parents, my life would look pretty bleak from the inside of the average DC resident's Escalade or their Lexus as they drove by me sitting on my Ikea box on 4th Street near the Center for Creative Non-Violence.  They might not even give me a first glance.   

But it is because I have my parents that I have a roof over my head, a closet full of clothes, an amply furnished place to live, and a dog to keep me company.  Not a day goes by that I don't thank God--not for my possessions--but for how they came to be.... for the generosity of the two people who supported me until I was on my feet.  With more than I asked for, more than I expected, and more than I deserved. 

The Game

Those of you who know a lot about my dating life know that I am very much a serial monogamist. I have had few relationships, but the ones I've had have lasted years. And when I have dated without the intention of being in a relationship, I may as well have been in one because I'm extremely uncomfortable dating more than one person at once. 

I can't. I'm too committed. I am not good at multi-tasking when it comes to men. Not only that, but I don't do the "rules of the game."  

If I love you, I tell you. 

If I want to talk to you, I generally do. 

And me trying to hide my feelings in a new relationship is like Al Gore trying to hide the lock box using coordinates he made when he created the Internet. 

It ain't happening. 

Believe me , I've tried. I've tried playing it cool. I've probably at one point or another in each of my relationships done at least 2 of the deal breakers from How to Lose A Guy in 10 Days. (What?? You don't have a love fern?? ;-))

When i do play it cool, i usually come across aloof or angry, and am frustrated with myself because I spend a lot of energy thinking about how I'm supposed to be acting less like myself and more like a girl who could give two cents whether the man she loves feels the same way. 

Because I do care. And I do want to know. 

And I don't want to have to hide who I am. Because you know what?  That's exhausting. And trite. And untruthful 

I have come to the point in my life where I have resigned. 

Resigned to the fact that I love fast and fall hard. 

Resigned to the fact that if a guy really cares, he will see the wonderful person that I am; tolerate the bumps; and hang on for the ride. 

Resigned that I must put a lot of trust in each man I date to treat my exposed heart with the care it deserves. 

Resigned that few of them will. And it will hurt. And I will cry. And the love I feel won't vanish with distance or time alone, but with resolve and prayer and the constant belief I have in my single self, despite my self-degrading jabs. 

Resigned that love is too significant an undertaking to be anything but my truest and best self. 

All those resignations aside though, I am smarter than most men assume. 

I can tell when I'm being strung along. 

I can tell when you've lied to me. (Though not always right away). 

And I can tell when you're not really feeling me, even when you don't say a thing. 

I may not play the game myself; but I've been played enough to sense when you're all in with your chips and riding your chances after I've folded and am ready to go home for the night. 

Men of America, don't underestimate me. I don't have time for games anymore. Play with me and I will call your bluff. 

Bacon, Chocolate, and John Mayer

Love.

It's a simple four-letter word to describe an amazingly complex emotion.  I think it's a word that people overuse these days, though.  It's almost as if the actual esteem it was meant to convey has been degraded by using it in ways that devalue its meaning.

Let me demonstrate.

I say I love chocolate.

I also say I love my mom.

Which one is accurate?  Are they both the truth?

Well, if I compare how I feel about my mother to how I feel about chocolate, I would say that both feelings are based on multiple positive experiences and connections made with both of the aforementioned objects of my affections over the course of 32 years.

But I would also say that I could live without chocolate and (eventually) be just as happy without it in my life. The same is not true when contemplating life without my mom.

Based on those deductions, I'd say I like chocolate-- maybe even that I like it a lot.  But do I love it?  No.

Not really.

There are different types of love: friendly love, brotherly love, romantic love, and a basic love for humanity.  But is it a different type of emotion we feel for each of those types of love.... or does the love just manifest itself differently depending on the nature of the relationship?

I'm inclined to say that it is the relationship and not the magnitude of esteem that defines the feeling.

For example, I've had romantic interests who I know have been just as important to me as members of my family, and perfect strangers who I have allowed myself to become just as concerned about as though they were my brothers and sisters.

My point is that no matter how you dissect it and what type of label you put on it, love can be both a large shield AND a powerful sword... It is not a word we should let bounce off our tongues with every whim.

And yet we do.

I say I love bacon. Greek yogurt.  The Big Bang Theory. Music.  Matthew McConnaghey.

But do I?

Really?

NO.

And even though the bacon I ate this morning is not going to be too terribly devastated that I misrepresented the air of my affection for it, I want to be careful not to  misuse that word.  Because I'll misuse it once; then twice; then three times... and on and on until it starts to take on a different meaning from the one it once held in my head.

It becomes love, degraded.  Love, twice removed.  A strong like, with a bite.

The more I apply it to different things and different people different situations about which I am not even certain I feel the same, the harder love becomes for me to define, even in my quietest moments.

So how do I define love?

The easiest way for me to define love is by using an even shorter word.  God.

God is love.

What does that mean, really?

Well, put simply, in the Bible (and in Shakespeare, for those of you who would prefer I reference a different type of historical expert on love): the greatest love a man can demonstrate is to lay down his life for another.

Think about it: loving someone means that you would lay down your life for them.

THAT is the sentiment the word was originally created to convey.

Not love, degraded.  Not love, twice removed.  Not even strong like, with a bite.

Love is essentially putting the lives of others before yours at all times, for all reasons, and even if it has the potential to lead to death.

So do I love yogurt?  Not that much.
Do I love bacon?  Maybe enough to pay $6 for it (that's up for debate) but not enough to die.
Do I love Matthew McConnaghey?  Welllllll... I might have.  But he had to accept a role in a stupid movie that actually endorsed  dwarf-tossing (The Wolf of Wall Street)  Sorry, Matt.  The thrill is gone.

But I do love my mom.  And I do love my friends.  And I do love people in general; not always enough to lay my life down for them.... but I do try to live my life in a way that puts their needs before mine.  That is the essence of love.

So if I tell you I love you.; don't take that lightly.  I say what I mean, and I mean what I say.... and I know the meaning of what I say.


 

Beauty-- Part 2

You may recall  that a couple of years ago,  I wrote a post on beauty.   I've been thinking about the concept more frequently these days as it relates to romantic relationships.  I met a new friend online a few months ago-- a person who has come to mean a great deal to me in a short time--though I won't elaborate any more than that.   I really don't have a clue where the relationship is headed, and in case things go south, there is no need to mar this post with gushy, saccharine remnants that will be hard for me to bear sometime later.

No sense chasing the ghost of a good thing before it's gone.

That being said, this person has really challenged me to think about how I define my own beauty.  Of course, I've always tried to subscribe to the cliche that it's "what's inside that matters."  

And, of course, that cliche is the honest truth.... God sees our souls and He has created them to be our real sources of value.  The bodies around them are just the casing.  The shell on the pistachio.  The skin on the sausage.  The oyster holding the pearl.

But who is going to pick up a rotten pistachio or a half-eaten hot dog (save a truly desperate situation) and think to themselves, "Mmmm... there must be something good for me in here?"

Chances are, the numbers are few.  

The same goes for people.  No matter the appeal of a person's wit; their intelligence; their imagination, the individual looking to be in a relationship with them must also find them attractive from a physical perspective.  Our society has been conditioned to view the worth of others as somehow tied to their outward appearance.  

Everyone can see that conditioning now by looking in magazines or mainstream media, and it is often played by interest groups to be a recent development.  However, these kind of outward judgments based on physical appearance have existed since the beginning--with the "clean and the unclean" distinctions created by MAN in the Bible; with slavery; with the "Ugly Laws" which actually banned people with physical disabilities from city streets.

Society has always been judging others based on their outward appearances.  Why?  Because we are humans.  It is not the individuals we judge who are flawed, but the judgments that we make of them.  

What difference does the color of an oyster make when the pearl inside is just as precious?

Even in church, I have been taught all my life that men, by their nature, are primarily superficial... as though it is something that I am just supposed to take as fact and accept.  But aren't those of us who believe in God to be held to a higher standard than that of the world when searching for a mate?  

God gives HIS standards for how to appraise beauty, specifically in a woman., in Proverbs 31.  All of those standards have everything to do with her virtue, and nothing to do with her height, weight, hair color, or choice of clothing.  

"Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies."  --Proverbs 31:10

Basically what the writer is trying to get across here, and in this whole chapter, is that the way a woman acts toward others, toward her husband, toward her family, and toward the tasks of her daily life is the way that God determines her worth. 

Shouldn't we be using His standards for our own? 

Not the symmetry in her face, or the style of her hair, or the height of her stilettos.... but the symmetry of her actions with His Word, the style of her interactions with the world around her, and the height of her integrity and her character.

I'm not saying that we should ignore how a person looks altogether.  We can't do that.  We are humans, after all... but the funny thing is.... I've found the more you get to know about the beauty that a person carries with her, the more you see that beauty every time she looks at you.  Think about it.  The more you get to know about a person after you meet them, the more or less attractive they become-- regardless of how beautiful you perceived them to be "in the beginning (of the relationship)," so to speak.

Maybe if more of us focused on inner attributes rather than outward appearances, we'd partner with people who truly complimented us in the ways we need for the relationship to last.

Maybe if we taught young girls to focus more on acts of service to others and development of life-worthy skills rather than learning how to dress on trend or wear their hair like the celebrities, they'd believe more in themselves and their own abilities.

Maybe if young single women in the church weren't taught that the superficiality of man is a forgone conclusion, but rather that the right kind of man will care more about their soul, they wouldn't enter into abusive relationships; or settle because they just felt like they were getting too old or didn't deserve any better; or compromise their values because they convince themselves that there's no other way to find a husband.

I'm not saying that outward beauty doesn't matter at all.  In fact, I've been feeling pretty gorgeous on the outside lately... but that's because I know that the source of my beauty doesn't come from Macy's, or the MAC store, or Ann Taylor Loft, but it is a product of the decisions I have made and the positive attributes given to me by God shining through.      

Husband-hunting.... You Keep Using That Word. I Do Not Think It Means What You Think It Means

Everybody who knows me well knows I want to find that special someone.  And you also know that I'm not afraid to just walk up to a random guy and say hi-- in the mall, at the library, in the coffeeshop, wherever. 

I wasn't always so outgoing.  I was the type of girl who would walk into the party and make best friends with the chair closest to the wall... and I'd sit in that chair and people-watch.  I'd watch dancing and laughter and drinks sloshing and spilling all over the floor.  I'd watch hook-ups and make-ups and break-ups, all the while feeling as though I wanted to be a part of the action.  I'd sit in my-new-best-friend-the-chair and lament that no one was approaching me and my ice was melting.  I shouldn't have come anyway.

And then my backside would start to hurt (See, even the chair got tired of my pity party). 

I'd hop up from the chair to tell myself I was going to make a new friend, when really, I was just inching sideways toward the exit.  And just then, in the dimly-lit, crowded, hot sea of people, the most wonderful thing would happen.  My crutch would slip on a piece of ice, a napkin, a straw, a lost earring, whatever--- and I would fall.

Suddenly, my body would be sprawled out across the floor like one of those chalk drawings at a crime scene, with a man flanking me at each side offering his assistance.

Voila!  The concept of husband hunting was born.

husband-hunting: (noun)  1) falling usually done in a face-first position, also known as a face-plant, and landing in a precarious, and at times, embarrassing position.  Husband-hunting falls are most often accomplished in a dress or skirt, such that the lady-like or modest nature of the person falling is somewhat compromised in the course of the fall, and are also connoted by the fact that the first individuals to rush to the aid of the fallen person are usually members of the gender preferred by the person falling.

I have husband-hunted on the Metro.  I have husband-hunted in the rain.  I have husband-hunted in a few office buildings.  I have even husband-hunted on a train  The key to husband-hunting though is that it takes even the hunter by surprise.  You never know when  your next expedition is going to occur.

Does all this hunting actually point you toward a partnership-worthy person?  That is somewhat up for debate, since current studies are inconclusive. (Read: Most of the guys who've helped me up are married).  But, for me, that's not really what all those times have been about.  I mean, sure, it would be cool to have this damsel -in-distress moment and be rescued by someone who would later go on to become the man of my dreams.... but.... for me, thinking of my embarrassing falls this way has really helped me to come out of my shell in some small way-- to begin speaking to people who I would have been afraid to approach otherwise; or to just let go of constantly worrying about what someone else thinks or might be thinking they do or do not see in me (with a couple of notable exceptions probably to be detailed in the next blog entry).

I'm not saying that in order to be ok with who you are it's necessary just to go all willy-nilly flailing yourself across all of the slick floors in America. My point is that we all have those mortifying moments that push us to the brink of our comfort zone, and sometimes beyond.  In those times, it is important that we don't shut down, degrade ourselves, or bury our thoughts in our own perceptions.  Reach out.  Meet a new person.  Learn something new about yourself and how you handle different types of situations.  There is always positive in every negative situation, and most often, the positive aspect is the lesson that God, or fate, or life in general is pushing you to learn.    

Somebody's Prize

Dating is kind of like eating a box of Cracker Jacks...

Sometimes a little sweet.  Sometimes a little salty.

Sometimes it leaves a bad tickle stuck in your throat that you can't seem to drink enough water to flush out...

But mostly, you're just sifting through the sweet and the salt and the crunch and the tickle, just to find the prize.  That tiny piece of red, white and blue paper at the bottom of the box that contains your personal square of guaranteed fun.

It could be a sticker, or a tiny picture book, or even a temporary tattoo.  Oh, you hope it's a temp tattoo... you can show that off at school tomorrow...

But once you've opened the prize, it is what it is. You don't get to put it back and reach in for another.  You don't get to choose.  Perhaps that's the only thing that dating has on Cracker Jacks-- it lets you choose your own prize.You're not stuck with a butterfly picture book.  If you really want the Popeye tattoo, you can hold out until you find it.

As a woman, I've always been told that I am the prize-- the tiny (hourglass) of guaranteed fun that a guy should hold out for, and be excited to receive.

Most of the time I believe that; I meet men online and they extoll my virtues and gush about my beauty (from what they see of me in pictures) and tell me that I am one of the most intelligent women they've ever met.

And then we meet in person.... and though it might not be at the beginning of the date... at some point in the date, I'll get that look.  The one that says they've been sifting through the box too long looking for what they expected to be a decoder ring... but what turned out to be a book of Aquaman stickers.

That I am a prize.  Just not the one they want.

You see, love is a choice.  And while they may love a million things about me that they can't see in my outward appearance, they have to also choose to love the package those things come in.

And though I think I'm pretty awesome, I'll be the first to admit to you that if I had been a Barbie, I would have broken through Mattel's mold with one swish of my spastic hip and a five-phalanged toe curl.

I'm not your typical girl... and the men who have loved me (few though they may be) have loved that about me. 

You see, love is a choice.  And I am a prize.  I am better than a thousand decoder rings and temporary tattoos, and I know it.

I'm just waiting for the right guy, sifting through the box, to pick me out and go, "Oh, cool!  I've never seen one like this before!  I'll give her a try!"

Because I know that once he makes that choice, he won't want to put me back.  And the rest will be our own sweet and salty history.