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.