What New Mothers In the Pews May Be Thinking

I want to keep my baby in the service, but they offer childcare. Does it irritate people that I don't use it?

I wonder if anyone would notice if I nurse right here; I don't want to miss anything.

Does my baby sound as loud to everyone else as he/she does to me?

Should we sit in the back so we don't distract people?

Should I put my colicky baby in the nursery? 

My baby looked so cute in this outfit... before he/she puked on it.

Woah. Did anyone else hear that blowout? I hope no one can smell it yet.

Is it wrong of me to put my baby in the nursery so he/she doesn't distract me?

Please, Baby, don't start crying/vocalizing right when the pastor/priest/church official asks for a minute of silence!

Do I seem rude when I don't stand up because my baby is asleep in my arms?

Don't fall asleep. Don't fall asleep. Don't fall asleep. 

What if he/she spits up all over the seats?

No, no no! Don't start crying!

My baby is so cute. 

I wonder if anyone can tell I haven't showered in more days than I care to admit. I hope not.

Why do I even try to come to church with a grumpy baby. It must really bother people.

Are people looking at us because the baby is cute or because the baby is annoying? Cute. I'm going to say cute. 

This is hard, but it's worth it.

Why We Should Be Slow to Blame Cancer/Autism/Alzheimer's/Etc. on _____

Think about all the things that have changed in the past hundred or so years.

• Weaker o-zone layer
• Vaccines
• Climate change
• Rise in c-sections and pain medication for labouring women
• Diets (gluten free, dairy free, vegetarian, etc.) where there is limited medical necessity or study that proves their effectiveness
• Increased pollutants
• Blanket use of electricity and/or batteries (constant aural stimulation, if nothing else)
• Processed foods and the need to find ways to speed reproduction to please the masses
• Use of factory-made hygiene/beauty/cleaning products, not all of which are regulated
• Plastics created and used everywhere for nearly everything
• The average person works longer hours and gets less rest
• Greater use of medications where a change in lifestyle could be the better way to solve the problem
• Use of machines (planes, trains, cars, etc.) for transportation
• Tanning and hairless bodies became a beauty standard
• Daily showering is expected as the norm
• Smoking and drugs became cool

These are just some things I came up with; there are countless others. I think it's worth considering. There have been a lot of changes, and we should be careful when blaming one element of change for problems we are encountering in excess without significant proof of their fault.

If I Could Go Back

I dreamed, last night, that I went back in time to when Benny and I met. I don't know how I did it, I only know why. There were some things I thought I could do better – like communicating with more honesty and openness and being less assuming about what he was like before I actually knew him.

There were some problems with my plan. 

First of all, I was the only one who knew what would happen between us. Having already gone through our courtship-of-sorts, engagement, and two and a half years of marriage, I was completely aware of where we would be headed. This knowledge robbed our relationship of what I think was its most unique and essential aspect: Benny pursuing me with no idea of romance or a crush. He had noticed me, he has said before, because of my being a lady, and that had encouraged his approaching me. When I went back, I was the one pursuing him. I knew already what would happen if he pursued me, so why shouldn't it work the other way around? If you know Benny very well at all, you can imagine the disaster that turned into. He is so slow and careful in his decision making, he was not at all receptive to my taking charge, nor did this allow his need to fight for me to take place. That would be difficult for any man.

One thing I also had not considered was that I was going back with all the maturity I had gained over a period of five years. Benny did not have such an advantage. Instead of going back to the man I know now, I was interacting with Benny and a considerably lesser maturity level. That was not at all easy to deal with. He grew so much in the two years between when we met and when we married, people would have a hard time recognizing him from one year to the next. It was truly impressive, and I wouldn't have married the man he was when we initially met.

It also meant that all that time we spent getting to know one another was lost. I already knew so much about him, we didn't need to write the many letters asking each other questions that were so pivotal to our relationship. I think we wrote nearly 100 letters back and forth before we got married, and that doesn't include emails, talking in person, chatting on Facebook, or phone calls. We got to know one another in a very short amount of time as a result of all the types of talking which took place. How would you react if someone started pursuing you, seeming to know way too much about you, and you have no clue what he or she is like?

How did it end? I'm not really sure, because Benny woke me up to nurse Ellie, but it wasn't going anywhere good. As tempting as it could be to say I could make things better by going back, I think my dream convinced me there would be much to lose, as well.

As Benny said, when I told him about it: “It's like you were in the Room of Consequence. Now you know better.” 

Thoughts On Young Dumbledore and WWII

I remember reading the last Harry Potter book in its entirety the day it came out. I've since read it probably five times, enjoying it more each time, and still discovering new things. I'm sure I wasn't the only person who was shocked (and maybe a little hurt) when I read about Dumbledore's teen and young adult years – the years he spent fawning over Grindelwald, succumbing to his influence and supporting the ideas of pure blood in the wizarding world. Although he hadn't shown any signs of hating muggles and “dirty bloods” before or after this time in his life, the idea that he had ever had such leanings was startling, and I was really disappointed.

In the midst of my shock, however, I found myself irritated with Harry for being so angry with Dumbledore's actions. I felt that it was unfair to expect so much of him when Harry himself hadn't ever been in the same position. Sure, he could say he wouldn't have acted the same, but how could he know for sure?

It reminds me a lot of how people react to Germany in WWII. This country seemed too quick to accept the influence of Hitler. Never mind how much he did to help Germany or the fact that he was like a balm to them when they were trying to recover themselves and their pride after WWI. Never mind his adeptness at speaking and seemingly harmless ease of influence.

Like Germany, Dumbledore was recovering from great loss, feeling abandoned and a new, frightening sense of responsibility. Like the people there, he was quick to come under the banner of someone who made him feel powerful again – someone who gave him a new purpose to live for. And like that country, he also came to recognize his faults and did his best to never be associated with the mistakes of his past. And, like so many other countries, Harry was quick to see fault in Dumbledore. Instead of seeing vulnerability, he saw weakness. Rather than accounting for the changes and improvements that were clear in Dumbledore's later life, he took offense at the past, taking pride in the assumption that he could never make the same mistake.

God forbid.

I don't think this similarity was lost on Rowling. In fact, I would guess it was intentional, though she hasn't said that outright. She has, however, pointed out that the fall of Grindelwald coincides with the downfall of Hitler in 1945. And let's not look over the fact that the character has a German name and was accused of causing great turmoil in all Europe.

I think there's an important lesson to be learned from this aspect of the Potter books, as well as from the parallel in history. We can't be quick to judge people's mistakes – especially when they are in a weakened state. Although there are people who rise above wrongful influences, they are not a majority. There are powerful people, waiting on the sidelines, watching for frailty, and no culture or country is guaranteed insusceptibility. 

My Crazy Path to Mommyhood

Thanks to the influence of my mother, I don’t think there was anything I ever wanted to be more than a homemaker. The idea of keeping a home, husband, and children appealed to me in a way nothing else could, and I grew up with that mindset. When I graduated from high school with no marital prospects, I went to college mostly because I couldn’t think of anything else to do while I waited for my husband to appear.

Thankfully, he didn’t take long.

Shoot forward about a year and a half. I’m engaged, long distance, and I get one of those calls that every fiancée dreads: the “maybe we should wait” call.

Benny knew how much I wanted a family. It was one of the first personal things I ever shared with him. He had at least two more years of college after we married – perhaps more, if he decided to get a higher degree – and having a family when only one of us could work, and the one of us working could only manage part-time, because of chronic illness, seemed irresponsible. I was adamantly opposed to contraception, as well, so he knew that was off the table, and suggested we should postpone our wedding until he graduated.

Although I understood his reasoning, I resisted the suggestion. After all, we needed some time, I thought, to learn to live together before children, and there were ways outside of contraception that could keep pregnancy at bay. It was hard for me to say I would wait for two entire years. I was twenty-two at the time, and I had hoped to start my family at eighteen. As crazy as it may sound to a progressive ear, I felt like I had already wasted three years, and I was saying I would give up two more. It was a huge sacrifice – especially because I had done my research and was aware that my chronic illness could mean I would not be able to have children for as many years as most women; however, establishing my marriage was more important to me, and even if it was hard, I felt it was the right decision.

Less than a year later, we were married. I loved being married. It was a new layer of life I hadn’t known could exist, and there was a new peace. I was designed by God for that life, and for nearly six months, I was content to simply be Benny’s wife. It got a lot harder when we had a pregnancy scare. I had been out of sorts, and several people suggested to me that I might be pregnant. Although I wasn’t convinced, I bought a test. When the negative came up, I could tell Benny was relieved, and I was relieved for him. What would a pregnancy do to the rest of his college career?  At the same time, I was heartbroken. I had secretly hoped I was pregnant. I got in the shower and cried for awhile, and for quite some time I was low in spirits. Benny could tell and knew why. He was incredibly kind and understanding, giving me space to mourn the baby I had never carried. Although I normally wouldn’t dare to equate my feelings to that of a woman who  has suffered a miscarriage, that was how it felt. Thankfully, I had only shared the possibility with a few people.

It was hard not only because I wanted a baby so badly but because there was a lot of pressure for us to start our family. People who knew little of our situation would suggest that we should get started pretty soon – to not wait too long – and although we knew they weren’t trying to make things difficult, it was still painful to hear. You can have the best intentions and still hurt people.

Almost exactly one year later, Benny was nearing the end of his last school year. Since the beginning of our marriage, I had had random “nightmares” about getting pregnant before Benny graduated. By January 2014, Benny told me that if I did get pregnant and was able to keep my job most of the pregnancy, we could make it work. Although we still weren’t trying to have a baby, this was a huge stress relief. As though God was testing Benny’s sincerity, less than a month later, I was pregnant. I was absolutely unprepared and knew it. There were many decisions we had planned to make before starting a family, and now we had to make them relatively quickly.

One big decision was one I had been putting off: where to have the baby. My mother had given birth in the hospital for all her babies, and Benny’s mother had given birth at home. When Benny told me he thought I should consider homebirths, I thought he was crazy. It sounded dangerous and foreign. I hadn’t imagined giving birth outside of a hospital, and I told him I wasn’t comfortable with the idea at all but I would think about it and do some research.

When I found out I was pregnant, I hadn’t done any research and I hadn’t really considered it an option. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Benny, because I knew he wouldn’t support something without being completely comfortable with it, but I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I read two articles with opposing points of view on the subject – both of which were well argued but neither of which made me comfortable with making the final decision.

Since I was still unsure, I asked a doctor in the area to recommend a doctor and hospital for us. I figured she would best know the system in the area, and I knew she had similar values to us, so I felt comfortable going with whatever advice she gave. I was surprised when she told me she thought I would be better off with a midwife and homebirth or birth center, and she even went so far as to recommend one. For the first time, I considered it, but I wanted to ask someone else in the medical field. I asked my sister-in-law – a labour and delivery nurse – for her thoughts. She, too, expressed confidence in the idea of a homebirth, telling me upsides and downsides, what to look for in a midwife, and telling me where I could get more information.

After feeling like I had been assured by these people, I then asked my mother-in-law and one of my sisters-in-law about their experiences and opinions, knowing that they had had homebirths. Both of them stressed that I should do whatever I felt safest doing, and they talked to me about their own research.

At this point, I felt like I could take the extra step of actually meeting with the midwives recommended to me. I called to make an appointment, not yet completely assured it was what I wanted to do but sure it was a safe option, and I would be free to change my mind at any time.

When I went in for my appointment, it was immediately clear that I wasn’t stepping into a weird world of mantras and amulets but a place of medical business. It was homey, certainly, but was clearly not granola or avoiding the medical aspect of the profession. Not only this, the midwife I met with was strikingly like my mother, and I felt safe and assured by her no-holds-barred approach and bluntness when I asked questions. Although it had been a foreign concept to me, and knowing I would probably get a lot of flak from people who disapproved of my decision, I settled on a homebirth, and I never questioned my decision from that point.

Pregnancy was both hard and good. A lot of my fibromyalgia symptoms dissipated over the period of the pregnancy. My morning sickness during the first trimester was nasty, though after that I had few serious problems until the third trimester. It was a peaceful pregnancy.

When it finally came to the labour, choosing a homebirth sure seemed like the right idea. It started so fast (minute long contractions, one to two minutes apart within two hours of it starting), I’m sure I wouldn’t have wanted to travel to the hospital. The midwives were there shortly after Benny called, letting us quietly (well, I guess they were quiet) labour, keeping an eye on my progress and monitoring the baby – our personal lifeguards in case anything went awry, giving advice and encouragement. When it was all over, I had a baby in my arms: sweet, little Eleanora.

I’m a mother! It’s still a surprise to me, sometimes. In a way, it’s a change… but at the same time, it feels completely natural. I’ve been preparing for it most of my life, and holding a small child in my arms, nursing her, caring for her, was what I was created to do. Already, I see little changes every day, and I know it will be over sooner than I can imagine. Getting here was hard, and I know the difficulties don’t end after labour, but I feel assured by these three things:

God created me for this.

My mother prepared me for this.

My husband supports me in this.

That’s all I need. 

All About Bread

I’m a bit of a nerd about breads. I don’t have time to make them as much as I’d like (nor the energy, being pregnant), but I love pulling out my bread book and looking through the pages, deciding on one to try next.

This started when I married. Benny loves his bread. Let me rephrase. Benny loves his good bread. If you care about it at all, you know good bread isn’t very cheap. A half decent loaf is going to be around $3-5, and as much bread as we eat, I was quickly frustrated with how much it cost us. This isn’t even going into the realms of Italian loaves, rolls, biscuits… so I decided I would try making bread myself.

I pulled out my handy dandy kitchen aid mixer, attached the dough hook, and got out my Betty Crocker recipes. By the end of four hours, I had two, beautiful loaves cooling on the counter – and Benny was ecstatic. I could have used a bread machine, but feeling the dough forming and smelling it ferment was too wonderful to pass up. Ever since then, we’ve only bought bread when I am unable to make it myself (which is basically never). I don’t see the point of buying it when I can make it so much cheaper – and with ingredients we prefer (half wheat is the standard, though it changes once in awhile).

People are intimidated by the thought of making breads, for some reason. Maybe it’s just a general apprehension of cooking, I don’t know. I’ve thought about inviting people over and showing them how easy it is. It’s not like one grain too much of sugar will kill those lovely loaves. If you’re interested in trying out some things, here are some tips and thoughts:

1.      Buy this book: Bernard Clayton's New Complete Book of Breads

Not only is this book full of amazing recipes, there are tips for different things that can go wrong and ways to make up for the fact that you don’t have a steam oven or baking stone (which I will have, one day, when I’m wealthy). It talks about equipment needed and provides tips for three different kinds of preparation: by hand, with a mixer, and with a food processor. Seriously. Buy this book.

2.      Experiment with types of bread. Try making pitas – they are almost incomprehensibly easy. Cuban loaves are also fun (those round ones with the big X), and you can steam them in your oven to give them an amazing crust. Try different kinds of biscuit until you find one you prefer. I tried several recipes before I settled on one that used olive oil instead of butter or shortening.

3.      Collect roll recipes. There are many out there for a reason. A good butter roll is great, but so is one which is mashed-potato based. And they are good with different kinds of meals.

4.      Get tools used specifically for bread. Like a dough scraper – one that is stiff and doesn’t bend, preferably, with measurements written on it for quick cutting. Special bread pans for baguettes are nice, as well. The book I recommended has a more complete list.

5.      Buy bread loaf pans that you will only use for breads – and don’t wash them unless you’re making a sweet bread. Yup. Just like that cast iron skillet.

6.      Turn on the oven an hour before you’ll use it. Trust me. It will regulate the temperature better. (Bonus benefit: when it's cooler, you can put your rising loaves on the stovetop so they rise at a similar rate to when it's warmer.)

7.      Don’t ever trust the times given for cooking. Keep an eye on your bread. Watch for the browning and tap your loaves as you bake until you find out the times that work best for your oven.

Okay, I’ve shared enough to get you started. Go forth and ferment. 

As A Christian, Can I Panic About Ebola?

It's a situation I've been watching carefully, and it only recently seems to be something people are noticing. Studying epidemics is a sort of hobby of mine and has been for many years. I’ve been fascinated to study how different cultures – especially religions – react.

Take a very short trip in history with me, for a moment, to 1918, when the Spanish influenza was swallowing the globe. Only Australia remained untouched, as it cut off contact with everyone else, and it is estimated that anywhere from 50 million to100 million people died. The majority of those people were in the prime of their lives; the elderly and children seemed strangely untouched. Whole villages were wiped out. Cities became forced to bury people in mass graves because they were dying too fast to build caskets or dig proper graves. It was a dark time, and the line “bring out your dead” doesn’t seem so funny when you realize people were literally dropping their loved ones outside their doors, hoping against all hope that they hadn’t been exposed long enough to become ill themselves. All social events were banned, but one group of people stood out as defying this law: Christians.

Gathering together on Sunday, everyone wearing masks, many churches would set up chairs in the middle of the street and have their services. At a time when people were abandoning their own families and shutting themselves away, believers were finding strength in one another. This isn’t to say they were better than everyone else – because there were people who did amazing things without this form of faith – but they knew their hope lay in something other than remaining healthy. I have no doubt that there was fear in their hearts, wondering if they would die next, or a spouse, or a child, or a parent. It’s not as though faith makes things less scary, because they are scary, but it allows us to focus on something other than fear. We wouldn’t stand in the way of a rampaging elephant herd as a show of faith, so how should be think about this situation?

This is how I think about it: things like this - where one is so completely out of control - you feel more acutely, especially if you like order and predictability; however, there is nothing that works quite like an epidemic for bringing people face to face with eternity. It forces them to actively choose God or themselves in a way most wouldn't, because this culture is so lackadaisical and would normally enjoy the lukewarm feelings of disinterest or indifference. In a sort of strange way, I think these things are beautiful. It's amazing to see how striking the church can be in "such a time as this," where we can be unafraid and aware of the glory that awaits us if God chooses to take us up to Him. Even as one is completely aware of the danger, one can also be aware that – ultimately – our hope lies in something quite different than the next breath we take.

I'm thinking specifically of Romans 8:5-27, especially the last two paragraphs:

"For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit, the things of the Spirit. For to be carnally minded is death, but to be spiritually minded is life and peace. Because the carnal mind is enmity against God; for it is not subject to the law of God, nor indeed can be. So then, those who are in the flesh cannot please God.

"But you are not in the flesh but in the Spirit, if indeed the Spirit of God dwells in you. Now if anyone does not have the Spirit of Christ, he is not His. And if Christ is in you, the body is dead because of sin, but the Spirit is life because of righteousness. But if the Spirit of Him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, He who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through His Spirit who dwells in you.

"Therefore, brethren, we are debtors—not to the flesh, to live according to the flesh. For if you live according to the flesh you will die; but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live. For as many as are led by the Spirit of God, these are sons of God. For you did not receive the spirit of bondage again to fear, but you received the Spirit of adoption by whom we cry out, 'Abba, Father.' The Spirit Himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ, if indeed we suffer with Him, that we may also be glorified together.

"For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us. For the earnest expectation of the creation eagerly waits for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of Him who subjected it in hope; because the creation itself also will be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation groans and labors with birth pangs together until now. Not only that, but we also who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, eagerly waiting for the adoption, the redemption of our body. For we were saved in this hope, but hope that is seen is not hope; for why does one still hope for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we eagerly wait for it with perseverance.

"Likewise the Spirit also helps in our weaknesses. For we do not know what we should pray for as we ought, but the Spirit Himself makes intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered. Now He who searches the hearts knows what the mind of the Spirit is, because He makes intercession for the saints according to the will of God."

2^nd Timothy 2:7 also comes to mind: “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.”

We are in a fallen world, and our gut reaction will be one of fear; however, God gives us strength in Himself so that we can treat our fears differently and reach the world in its crisis, bringing others to share in our hope.

To the Pregnancy Disparagers

I don’t know if every first-time mother hears all the disparaging comments I have as I’ve been going through my first pregnancy, but I can’t imagine I’m the first. Perhaps you know what I mean. You’re curled up, reading a book, and someone says: “You won’t have time for that once the baby is born.” You say something about sleeping really well: “Enjoy your sleep while you can.” Almost everything I do, now, I’m told to appreciate and enjoy, because once the baby is born, my life ends.

What?!

Perhaps I’m a dying breed, but all I have wanted to do since I was eight or nine was be a wife and mother. That’s really it. There are things I did and enjoyed, certainly, that weren’t directly involved, but they were all things that will eventually benefit my children. I have planned for this my entire life, and during a time I expected to be encouraged by other women, I find them pointing out all the freedoms I will be losing – freedoms which I don’t really care about, to be honest.

Thank God my mother hasn’t been this way. It was watching her work so hard that inspired me. She homeschooled us, fixed our clothes, cooked on an amazingly small budget, raised us up with life skills people just don’t have anymore, and was our encourager. I felt completely prepared to take on the challenges of caring for my own home by the time I needed to, so I know she prepared me well. I want to do the same for my children. I know it wasn’t easy. I watched her struggle with the each of us in our own areas of, let’s say, lesser qualities. She cried over her worries with us, daily exhausted herself, and still found time to bring light to the lives of hundreds of others. I never heard her complain. I want to do that, too.

So when people tell me: “Enjoy your life; it will be over soon,” frankly, I want to slap them. In what other job can you do that? “Wow – you’re going to be a nurse! Enjoy this time when you’re working hard to prepare for the job you’ve always wanted, because you’ll hate it when it finally gets here.” No one thinks the job they choose will be a piece of cake, but they choose it for what they will win.

I don’t suppose I’ll sleep as much after the baby is born, or have the same figure, or have the same privacy, or whatever else people say I apparently need to have a life. But I will have a new little person who is my complete responsibility, who relies on me for food and learning, who loves me, and who no one else has ever had influence over. It will be completely unique to any experience I or any other person has had. There will be days, I know, when I’m ready to believe all the disparaging comments and say my life is over. Then I will remember this:

Proverbs 31: 10-31:
“Who can find a virtuous wife?
For her worth is far above rubies.
¹¹ The heart of her husband safely trusts her;
So he will have no lack of gain.
¹² She does him good and not evil
All the days of her life.
¹³ She seeks wool and flax,
And willingly works with her hands.
¹⁴ She is like the merchant ships,
She brings her food from afar.
¹⁵ She also rises while it is yet night,
And provides food for her household,
And a portion for her maidservants.
¹⁶ She considers a field and buys it;
From her profits she plants a vineyard.
¹⁷ She girds herself with strength,
And strengthens her arms.
¹⁸ She perceives that her merchandise is good,
And her lamp does not go out by night.
¹⁹ She stretches out her hands to the distaff,
And her hand holds the spindle.
²⁰ She extends her hand to the poor,
Yes, she reaches out her hands to the needy.
²¹ She is not afraid of snow for her household,
For all her household is clothed with scarlet.
²² She makes tapestry for herself;
Her clothing is fine linen and purple.
²³ Her husband is known in the gates,
When he sits among the elders of the land.
²⁴ She makes linen garments and sells them,
And supplies sashes for the merchants.
²⁵ Strength and honor are her clothing;
She shall rejoice in time to come.
²⁶ She opens her mouth with wisdom,
And on her tongue is the law of kindness.
²⁷ She watches over the ways of her household,
And does not eat the bread of idleness.
²⁸ Her children rise up and call her blessed;
Her husband also, and he praises her:
²⁹ “Many daughters have done well,
But you excel them all.”
³⁰ Charm is deceitful and beauty is passing,
But a woman who fears the Lord, she shall be praised.
³¹ Give her of the fruit of her hands,
And let her own works praise her in the gates.”

It is the life I chose. 

The Prostitution of Immodesty-Explaining the Battle of Lust

Modesty in clothing is one of those subjects of which I am most passionate. Let me bluntly explain why: I struggle with lust, and my husband does as well. This is one of the things in which we have fought together. It has put both the most strain and the most camaraderie in our marriage. I think it is the duty of women like me to explain the importance of modesty as best we can, so that other men and women can be understand on a less superficial level why it is vital to the life of Christian women.

First, allow me to explain how a person lusts.

Lust is not the immediate, uncontrollable, physical response to a man or women who is attractive. It is the purposeful dwelling on how they look (their breasts, legs, figure, etc.) and deciding to wonder what it would be like to have a sexual experience with them. This can be as mild as imagining them naked or more extreme – such as a forced sexual experience. It is to have mental power over them, and a lusting person almost always believes he or she could approach the object of their lust and have exactly what they desire.

Imagine building a habit of lust. Every person you see who is attractive or dressed sexually stays in your thoughts, fantasies, and you create opportunities to be around the person. You habitually “use” such people in your mind, without their knowledge, to maintain a sexual high. You begin to look for and hope to see people who are more easily fantasized about. You look for the short skirts, the shorts, the tight clothes, the unbuttoned blouse or shirt. You crave seeing people to arouse you. Once you’ve built this habit, it takes months to kill it, and you can never safely look at people again. You have to fight the desire, avoid the circumstances you once created, and try to recreate what you look for in people.

Having explained this, perhaps it makes more sense why I am so adamant that men and women do their best to be modest. When a person makes the decision to fight against lusting, it means changing a mental habit; as any habit, being forced to deal with what tempts you every day is exhausting, and the sexualized body is much harder to escape than cigarettes and alcohol. 

This is a personal fight for me, and it additionally is a passion for me because I fought to be modest before I married. Why should that make a difference? It means I won over my husband without the need to attract him sexually. Not only that, I fought for him. I still fight for him, and it hurts me when women only seem to care about getting superficial attention. Instead, it’s the easy way. Sometimes they say it’s because they need to do so to feel beautiful. I think they just aren’t creative enough to be modestly beautiful.

Though some may argue that scripture never mentions specific ways of being modest, it does say not to do anything which causes your brother to sin. In short, if you dress immodestly, you are sinning. Do you want to dress modestly? Ask someone (of your own gender or someone to whom you’re related) how you can. They will be able to tell you what makes keeping a pure mind more difficult. They know the difference between beauty and seduction.

Keep Crying

I hate it when people use their blogs to complain, so please forgive me for indulging my need to share my current struggle.

It’s been a hard week… month… year. As my health continuously declines, I am faced with more challenges to overcome. People who realize the severity of my fibromyalgia are shocked to know how much I still do. Most others, at this point, would be spending a lot of time resting, off their feet, medicated, and undergoing any treatment imaginable. I don’t have time for that, nor money, nor a desire for idleness and the fog which comes with being medicated enough to dull my pain. I would rather deal with the pain, most days; it’s the exhaustion that gets to me.

I used to be a non-crier. I cried maybe at funerals. Maybe. These days, I cry at least once a week. I told Benny I never know if it’s because I’m tired, because of the constant pain, because of problems at work… he said he would guess it’s the combination and the lack of control from working until I’m falling over worn out.

Heck, that sounds pretty bad… but I could even deal with being tired if I didn’t have a job. That’s the straw that breaks my back. I wake up in the morning with pretty good energy, ready to take on the day and get things done. Then I go to work. I use up all my energy trying to fit a housewife’s daily work into five hours, then I come home and have to fit in my own housewife work into the remainder of the day I’ve had… but I can’t. I can’t be a housewife in two homes. It depresses me. And the constant going means I’m constantly getting more tired. In the past week, Benny has had to drive me to and from work twice, and he’s had to have someone drive him there to pick me up on another day – because I would have been endangering others and myself trying to drive. Pathetic. And depressing.

And I ask myself: is it worth it? I know it is my duty to do my work well. I’m good at it, and I love it, but my job as a wife is more important to me. I’m not able to do both, and my home suffers as a result. I pray for strength to get through the morning – just the morning – then I pray to get through the afternoon and hope that nothing comes up in the evening.

I’m so tired. I would hand in my resignation today if I could, because I want to be a good wife. Working doesn’t feel like it does much, since I make under $800 barely keeping up with a part-time job, and most people could work full time at a better job.

I find myself praying that God would provide a way for me to do my job – my actual job – and quit the other one. I almost wish we could come by some inheritance that would help us survive for the next ten months – until Benny is out of school and can work. I can come up with schemes that seem to half work, but I keep coming to the same conclusion: I have to keep fighting. Keep crying because I can’t do both. Keep thanking Benny for being so understanding when his very sick wife can barely stand on her own two feet; keep apologizing that I can’t do more.

That’s all. I just needed to admit that I feel so dead, all the time, and I know others have had similar struggles and will understand. Sometimes, even admitting it makes one feel a little better.

A Day in My Shoes

Benny recently recommended that I write something describing how I go about my day – to help people understand how I cope, because I was explaining how people seem to be under strange assumptions concerning what I do to deal with my chronic illness. I’m taking his advice! Also, several have asked, and I want to help them understand as best I can. 

I usually start my mornings waking up as gradually as I can.  I am incredibly groggy and stiff, in the morning, but I try to ignore whatever is hurting.

Getting dressed is hard. I like to lay out my clothes the night before, because it’s hard for me to make decisions in the morning – especially when decisions need to be made quickly. At the same time, that might not be helpful, because my skin reacts differently to different fabrics and cuts on a day-to-day basis. I might put out a skirt and blouse for a day, get up that morning, and realize that anything cinching around my waist will cause too much pain, so I wear a dress instead. I try to gauge what I will be able to wear by the forecast, but it doesn’t always work.

Benny blesses me by making breakfast in the morning. If he didn’t make it, it probably wouldn’t happen. Since my brain seems to barely function, thinking through preparing something and actually doing it seem like two huge mountains of work. When we first were married, I really tried, but he gradually took over without any decision being made. I was very thankful and relieved.

We eat breakfast, have family devotions, and then my day begins. If it’s a work day for me, I go to work. Although I can’t be explicit about my workday, I can say that I work for five hours, five days a week, and I spread out the duties in my client’s home over the five days in such a way that it doesn’t exhaust me more than it needs to. I get home around 2:30PM, exhausted, and try to sit down for awhile, collect myself, and reboot as much as possible before mentally switching over to “housewife”.

At home, I try to keep the house generally neat and uncluttered. If there’s only a little bit to clean up every day, it’s far less stressful and physically demanding; however, sometimes I can’t even do a little, and rooms get away from me. Once a week, I dust thoroughly, vacuum, or scrub floors. Rarely do two of those overlap in a day. I keep a clean house because messiness stresses me to a point where I feel immobilized by the thought of having to gather enough strength to clean it up. Every week, I try to include a more vigorous task, such as wiping down cupboards or cleaning windows, but these rarely get finished because of everything else.

I’m sure it sounds like I have it pretty easy – light cleaning every day, with other tasks spread out – but it isn’t that simple. Every task has to be outlined beforehand. For example, if I decide to clean the living room, my list might look like this:

Clean living room

-clean up floor

-clean off coffee table

-put away books and CDs

-straighten up bookshelves

-dust

-vacuum

-wash windows and mirrors

-wipe off coffee table

It seems a little excessive, but if I don’t write it all out, it’s hard to finish, and I’m constantly worried about forgetting something. My “to do” lists are detailed, and I write them every day, including the things I do daily. A recent one:

To Do

Dust:

-living room

-bedroom

-bathroom

-study

Shower

Dishes

Supper

Sweep kitchen

E-mail Dad

Clean bedroom

For every task, I will have to convince myself to take it on. I rarely feel up to it, and I would rather sit and nurse my aches and pains, but I force myself to do everything because it’s my job. I’ll convince myself to dust and take fourty-five minutes to do it. I plan to take at least two hours to prepare supper, so usually by the time I’m done dusting, it’s time to start cooking. First, wash the dishes. It will take me awhile, because I take ten to fifteen minutes to prepare to wash dishes – by stacking them, putting hot water in the sink, and making sure there aren’t dishes hiding in other places. Washing them usually takes around half an hour. I have a stool to sit on so the standing doesn’t tire me overly much, because I need to be careful about using up energy before I even get around to making supper.

After the dishes are washed, I can start thinking about supper. I wipe down all the surfaces, then I look at the menu. I write out a monthly menu, which keeps me from stressing about varying the menu and forgetting groceries. Maybe it’s an easy day and the menu says I planned for spinach omelets. First, I get out all the ingredients I use for omelets: eggs, cheese, whatever meat I have, potatoes, corn, spinach, and perhaps other, random things. I chop up or measure everything into separate bowls, just as you would see on a cooking show, so everything is prepared, then I set out all the dishes I’ll need: plates for the omelets when they’re done, a spatula or two, the whisk, the skillet, and a bowl to whisk eggs in. All this preparation usually takes me half an hour to fourty-five minutes. Then I start cooking. Omelets are relatively easy. Cook the potatoes in the bottom of the skillet, whisk the eggs and chopped spinach together and pour over potatoes, flip omelet and add ingredients, put on plate. Half an hour to fourty-five minutes later, I’m done. This process seems overly complicated, but it’s the best way I’ve found to cook without causing undue stress.

When supper is eaten, I do internet tasks, which I try to keep short. When that’s over, I might take a shower. This is probably the most exhausting thing I’ll do during my day, because it requires constant activity and doesn’t allow for breaks. I usually take an hour to prepare, shower, get dressed and clean things up afterward. If I’m having a bad back day (meaning I can’t stand too long; chronic back pain means it always hurts – some times worse than others), I either take a bath or use my shower chair. The rest of the evening I usually spend off my feet or doing something with Benny. Once in awhile, we’ll walk or bike somewhere or nowhere. Sometimes we finish some cleaning/organizing task together or just sit around and do nothing. During school, I put a plate and note together for Benny’s lunch.

I really am very weak, and this is something I abhor about myself. I was once active and involved in other people’s lives. Now, social anxiety and the need to preserve energy keep me at home unless I need to go out or unless someone kindly plans an event. I do not, however, limit myself unnecessarily. I often can do more and am willing to do more active things when asked, but people often – while trying to be kind – refrain from suggesting things they think might be too much for me. Although I understand wanting to be careful, I know my limits better than anyone, and asking me to do something that may tire me or hurt me isn’t something to avoid. I have no problem with declining activities I know will do more harm than good, and I prefer being able to make that decision to it being made for me.

Depression as a result of loneliness is something I constantly fight; I have few friends here, at this point, and Benny has to tend to school and composing/practicing. I try to fight this mostly by having a book on CD to listen to while I’m cooking or cleaning and also by having open house hours when women are welcome to visit me. I desire and need almost constant companionship. I used to think I was a loner, but I’ve found that to be alone is something I don’t actually enjoy unless I’m having personal devotions (although I’m not truly alone then, either :)). When people come visit, I am often thrilled beyond words.

Which brings me to open enthusiasm. Many people think I’m quiet, reserved, and shy. This isn’t so much true as it is true that in public situations I find it difficult to keep from panicking. The way I fight panic (which is something I fight as a socially anxious person) is by mellowing out. People who meet me in the privacy of my home are often surprised by the openness I am comfortable with there. When I’m in my personal space, surroundings which are known, comfortable, and predictable, I am in my element. Especially if Benny is there, I feel safe. Being in public feels incredibly unsafe, no matter how illogical that feeling is, and I tend to reserve all emotions to damper the one which feels most threatening. One of the reasons I encourage people to come visit is because they get to see me at my most comfortable. I avoid anything even remotely resembling a party for this reason and also because I have a hard time concentrating when more than one person is speaking at once. When this happens, my mind is frantic to grasp onto anything, and when my brain is frantic, I can’t concentrate on anything.

One thing about dealing with my brain which is hard for a lot of people to understand is that it doesn’t process things quickly. As a result of this, everything I do has to be thought through. Most people do things mechanically, but it is rare that an action becomes so familiar I can do it without thought. When I’m walking, I move slowly when crossing the street or a lane. When I’m driving, the faster I have to react, the more stressed I am. Getting ready to go anywhere, I stop at the door and think through anything I might have forgotten (to the great frustration and training in patience for my husband). I can have a conversation with a person, but I think through my questions and thoughts more slowly than many, and I rarely speak before knowing exactly how I will say a sentence. Benny has learned to ask: “Are you avoiding the conversation or are you thinking about what to say?” when we’re talking. I may think about a conversation for days or even weeks before I feel as though I’ve full processed everything that was said. People say they hate it when they think of the perfect response a few minutes too late… I usually think of a response whole days later.

There are other things I deal with differently than other people… to mention them all would take far too long. I welcome questions whenever people have them, and few questions do I refuse to answer. To end, I’ll make a short list of things an “outsider” can take from this.

1.      You don’t need to show me kindness by not asking me to do something with you because I might be tired or in pain. I’m always tired and in pain! You can show me kindness by asking and letting me decide, not really caring how I answer.

2.      By the same token, you don’t need to do things for me to help me avoid pain and exhaustion. If I need help, I will admit it when you ask me.

3.      If you really want to know me, visit me in my own home. I love visitors, and when they are in my home, the situation feels far less threatening to me.

4.      Understand that I process things slowly. If I am moving slowly or taking a long time to respond to a question or comment, it isn’t because I’m trying to frustrate you; I move at a different pace.

5.      I need companionship like any person; I just have a limited way of receiving that companionship.

6.      I don’t like idleness, and I don’t coddle myself, but I also am careful where I expend energy. If I save energy by not doing one thing, I can spend it doing something else. This is a matter of survival. This means I will often leave aside things other people see as “correct”. One of the things I don’t expend energy on is open excitement. I’m really and honestly excited in my heart, but the energy open excitement takes isn’t worth wasting.

7.      I choose to live life outside of my chronic illness. It debilitates and frustrates me every single day, but I try to live with an attitude of thankfulness for all I can still do. You can ask me how I’m doing – I’ll be honest if I’m not having a good day – but then I’d rather drop it and talk about better things-like how glad I am you took time out of your day to say hello! 

Clothes to Live On

Recently, when we had a couple sisters come to visit, we had a time when we asked random questions for everyone to answer – as a way to have fun getting to know one another better. One of Benny’s questions was: “If you had several hundred dollars, what would you buy?” I said I would sell all my clothes and buy a new wardrobe – with clothes that actually fit, colours I like, and having fewer actual items but more diversity in types of clothing. I have a specific style I like, though I don’t often dress that way, because I can’t talk myself into buying more clothes when I already have some, even if they don’t fit well or aren’t a style I like.

As often happens, I dwelled on my answer the next day, wondering if it were possible. It occurred to me that it was absolutely possible. For several hours, I sketched out a list I entitled: “Clothes to live on.” In it, I specified exactly what types I would have and in what colour and quantity. Here are a few examples:

5 blouses (white, black, red, brown, navy)

5 skirts (denim, 2 Sunday, white, black)

3 slacks (brown, black, grey)

I was detailed, down to the amount of shoes (5!), keeping a maximum of five in anything, and less than that as much as I could. My aim was to have a basic colour theme, style, and to downsize as much as possible. I was incredibly excited about my list and showed it to Benny, practically gushing about how it would be beneficial, and telling him I planned to actually go through with it. How? By going through everything I owned and keeping only what was on my list. If I didn’t have something, I would keep something close to that with the plan to later replace it with what I actually want. Whenever I buy clothes from now on, they are not being acquired; they are replacing.

Why am I so excited about this? There are several reasons. First, many of the things I have fit me poorly. I’ve lost 50 pounds in the past two years – fourty of that fairly quickly – so much of what I have has been too big and more of a frustration than a help. Second, I don’t like buying things I feel I don’t need. If I get rid of everything I don’t need, I’ll only be buying when I truly need something. This means I’ll be buying less, I won’t feel bad about spending more on good quality, and I’ll only own things I absolutely love. Lastly, I’ve often felt badly for owning things in excess when I know they could be of use to others. When I’m selling or giving away my excess, I’m challenging myself to be less materialistic, and I’m helping other people.

When I told Benny about my plan, he agreed it was a good idea, and he decided to join me! He wrote a separate list of “Clothes to live on,” with effectively the same boundaries I had used. His reasons for wanting to do so were essentially the same as mine, and we both felt it could be a rewarding and freeing endeavour. And perhaps we'll find we can get away with even less (I secretly hope so).

All that said, we’ve already begun sorting through clothes deciding what is worth trying to sell, what to throw away, and what to keep. We also can veto if someone is about to throw something away his/her spouse especially likes to see him/her wearing. Some things are harder to give up than others, but we’re excited to follow through to the end. 

Things I Wish People Had Told Me Before I Married

I will be honest with you; not many people told me things that were actually helpful before I got married. It became really easy to identify who would give me what sort of advice. The ones who had gone through several serious marital (or nearly marital) relationships would “wish me luck” with a sarcasm that said their relationships had been poisonous, so I should expect that too. The ones who had worked through a marriage that was difficult always said that the rose-coloured glasses would come off, and I was in for a rough life. People who were happy in their marriage were most genuine in wishing me a blessed future, usually saying – quite honestly – that marriage is hard, sometimes, but also a great joy. When I married, the advice had been so inconsistent, I wasn’t sure what to expect, and I found that all of the advice and none of it truly applied to us. There were some things, however, that I wished people had told me before I married; since people are marrying every day, I wanted to share these things and hopefully help others either about to be married, new to marriage, or perhaps even wrinkling. The list is, of course, determined by my personal experiences, so it won’t apply exclusively.

1.      People say that if you act in the way you want your partner to act, they will change. I think a lot of women translate this to “if I always serve my husband well in this action, he will serve me well in ____” Sorry. It doesn’t work that way. You have to actually say: “I consider this service to be an equal to this service. Even though it’s hard for me to ____, I do that out of love for you. I know ______ is hard for you, but could you sacrifice a little in honour of mine?” It isn’t selfish to ask for what you want as long as you’re willing to allow your spouse to ask for what he or she wants.

2.      We’ve all heard that we shouldn’t nag and we need to love our spouses in spite of faults, but you occasionally need to lecture each other. You don’t have parents, anymore, who can tell you your motives are off, your actions are childish, or you’re doing something wrong. The hard thing is to choose those lectures well, and I will emphasize the word sparingly. You might only need to say one sentence, depending on how well you phrase and communicate what you’re saying. Make sure you aren’t being accusatory, have the right motives, and be certain that you’re actually pointing out something that will make a permanent difference in your lives. You don’t need to lecture your spouse about not doing the dishes or remembering a promise, because those are temporary and can be fixed gently. You may need to call attention to ways that your spouse handles stress or manipulates you, with or without realizing.

3.      And here’s the one that might make people uncomfortable, but I’m going to say it anyway, because it has been vital to my own marriage and is applicable to all marriages: have sex as often as the spouse with the highest sex drive wants to have sex. Better yet, if one of you feels the inclination, it had better happen. This will be really hard for the person with the lower sex drive. There is no way around it, because you are two people with two different brains and two different bodies. Why do I emphasize this so strongly? Because infidelity is one of the top reasons for divorce. Adultery on the side of the man is a little more complicated than that (my next point), but in general, why shouldn’t you err on the safe side? Paul says people should marry so that they don’t have to “burn with passion” (1 Corinthians 7:9). If your spouse is interested in sex and you say you aren’t interested or you’re tired, they will desire a release elsewhere, even if that wouldn’t be their first inclination. Obviously, the first inclination was to share passion with you! It is a sacrifice, but it’s worth it.

4.      Men aren’t made like women. Relationships to women are permanent, lasting, and are maintained even over long distances. To men, they are temporary, and it’s not so important to keep friends as to have them. When a woman moves from Arkansas to Colorado, she’s going to keep in touch with all her friends and probably make new ones. A guy will just make new friends and often not worry too much about past ones. All this to say: most men aren’t unfaithful because they want to be. Because men and women view relationships so differently, I would imagine that many couples deal with unfaithfulness on some level or other, whether it be looking at pictures of other women, watching pornography, wanting other women (fleetingly or not), or sleeping with them. This is something that women, as wives, teach their husbands – to value the relationship and remember that it is meant to be maintained over time. And they will probably have to do it multiple times. Wives, it is crushing, and it will break your heart, but it isn’t because he doesn’t love you or want you. He just needs to learn to constantly remind himself that he chose you, and by choosing you, he chose to forsake all others. And you can help by reminding him and being understanding and loving when he slips.

There are other things, of course, that have been helpful, such as “Don’t expect your spouse to read your mind.” Oh, yes. I needed that one. Or, my personal favourite: “your spouse will do things that drive you crazy. Get over it.” Essentially, marriage is hard in that people are selfish beings. When you aim to serve your spouse in your marriage, it seems like every hardship is smoothed over as a result of service itself. If something is hard, it’s probably because one of you is holding on to something and refusing to step out of the “safe” or “comfortable” zone. Once you recognize that, you can attack a problem by seeking out whatever may be holding you back and fixing it.

And speaking of service, I should fix my husband’s lunch. 

Sarah Time

When I married Benny, I was prepared for it to be super hard for us to live together - really, really hard. We were both surprised when it felt natural and pleasing to be married and to live together. We’ve speculated as to why this is. Perhaps it was rooted in that we both came from big families and had experience in adapting to living with other people. Our temperaments are both inclined toward solving a problem immediately rather than letting it fester. We both value communicating everything clearly, so even our discussions infringed with disagreement are careful and forgiving. Neither of us enjoy conflict, but we handle it by confronting it rather than avoiding it. For example, this afternoon, I told Benny I didn’t like the way he was handling a specific issue. He was quiet, expressed his anger at what I said while in the same breath admitting that I was right in what I said. That was the end of the conversation, and it is one example of how we consistently approach such problems.

This isn’t to say it’s easy to be married. We have individual and mutual struggles with different aspects of our lives, but the peace with which we handle things dims them significantly. The thing we have struggled with the most is a constant battle for us – face time. This is mostly a problem because we think of it differently. Benny is happy to sit and do homework with me in the room. I need him to talk to me – to give me his undivided attention for it to be valuable and worthy to me. It wasn’t until he started the school year that it became a real problem. I was starving for attention, and it felt selfish to ask him to put aside time to spend with me when he was so busy. When the first trimester ended, I was so relieved I soaked up the month of December like a thirsty plant. When the winter term started, I was depressed and moody, and not really sure why. It finally hit me that I didn’t feel like a priority to Benny, anymore. I told him this, explaining that I felt like I was drowning without his attention. He was gone so much and so busy when he was home, I felt alone even when he was there. Desperate, I begged for half an hour a day of his undivided attention. As soon as he understood why I had been so distant and upset, he apologized and said he would fix the problem. Pulling out his school schedule, he penciled in fourty-five minutes to an hour of “Sarah Time” every day of the week. We never start a minute early and rarely go late, but that time is mine to do with him as I please.

This trimester, I have different “Sarah Time” hours/minutes arranged for every day, but they are some of the most precious minutes of my day. Some people may feel like being in a schedule is offensive, but to me it signifies that I am important enough to my husband that he puts aside everything else to love me with his focus. I’ve also come to realize that, when the rare occasion calls for it, Benny will extend the time as long as I need it. This week, when I felt completely lost, swallowed in sorrow and doubt, he spent an entire evening loving me with his time, never once making me feel guilty for the homework he wasn’t finishing and the class he was missing. Yes, I treasure my “Sarah Time,” and I’m thankful I have a husband who understands why it’s so important.

Confession in the Church and Why It's Important

James 5:16: “Confess your trespasses to one another, and pray for one another, that you may be healed. The effective, fervent prayer of a righteous man avails much.”

I’ve been thinking about this verse the past week because of some things going on in my life – mainly because it was brought up during a Bible study. Confessions can be a touchy subject. We would rather not unload all our issues for other Christians to hear, thus maiming our image of perfection. Frankly, I’m not sure we always care to hear about what other Christians are struggling with, either. This is a sad truth, because we are hurting ourselves and one another.

Just to be clear, I’m not talking about confession to a priest. Although there may be a time for that, the verse I referenced is talking about the church as a whole. It also wouldn’t make sense, in terms of being able to pray for one another, to talk about our sins in secret. The whole purpose of confessing to others is so we can say: “Hey, I’ve really struggled with this sin, and it’s making my Christian walk difficult,” and know that not only will our brothers and sisters in Christ pray for us, but they will be there to support and love us. Maybe we could even keep one another better accountable, specifically asking, on a regular basis: “How has your fight against ____ been going?” There are many advantages to this way of communicating sin.

First, it reminds us that we all struggle with things – that we are, in a sense, equal. I remember confessing a sin to Benny, and he was relieved to realize that I wasn’t any more perfect than he was. If we could always see sin as something that everyone deals with, we wouldn't feel so alone.

Second, it doesn’t allow us to hide and bury our sins, which makes us responsible for amending. This is important, because hiding sin is dangerous, even if we confess it to God. Sometimes, we can confess to Him without really having the incentive to change. When we confess aloud to others, it makes us accountable for change.

Lastly, admitting you have a problem is a big part of recovering. I realize that’s a well known idea, but it’s well known because it’s so true. When I confess a struggle, it becomes easier to deal with, because I’m more aware of the ways I struggle and can be more on guard in avoiding them.

What does this mean for me? I wish it meant that the Christians in my life would understand why this is so important and begin gathering for this purpose. I already confess, daily, to my husband, but sometimes I wish I could admit to others the problems I face. It is uplifting to be loved by people despite your faults, and I yearn to share in the struggles of others. Why? Scripture commands this of me, and rightly so.

Galatians 6:2: “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.”

Waiting for the Wedding Night

A very good friend of mine posted this link, on Facebook, with the following comment:

http://www.foxnews.com/opinion/2012/09/14/staying-celibate-before-marriage-was-best-thing-ive-ever-done/

"This article is an excellent example of how the social construct of "virginity" can turn someone into a holier-than-thou asshole. It is also my expert opinion that this guy has a small penis."

Now, I rarely get into arguments on Facebook. It's not that I never write anything offensive, because I do quite a bit, I just don't see the point of making people angry when they already know, by the way I live, that I don't see eye to eye with them. Most of my friends are from the secular atmophere, and I've come to accept them, despite their faults, and show them Christ by my love. They know I accept them - not their sin - and it is this fact which has earned me friends of all colours. This type of article and sarcastic comment I would usually pass over, ignoring the inner contradictions, but this time, the issue was too important to me to say nothing. This was what I replied:

"First, I just want to say that this guy is an idiot. The article is badly written and offensive for the sake of being offensive rather than trying to simply explain why waiting is worth it. I mean, I waited; Benny waited… and our sexual relationship is anything but awkward. The wedding night itself wasn’t even airbrushed by anxiety or nervousness about potentially bad performance – on either side – because we were so excited to give ourselves completely to one another. The fact that we could enjoy that union without even considering anything like negative “Sex with _____was so much more satisfying” or even positive: “Man, he’s way better than ____.” We didn’t have a set of sexual standards in our heads that the other person had to meet, and it was a relief to both of us that we would never be measured, sexually, based upon the experience of the other.

Also, we are both so eager to please one another that we never think: “Wow, I wish I had more experience with lots of people so that I knew a lot of technique.” Actually, just having one another has meant that we are learning the needs, impulses, and pleasures of the other. Every day, we learn how to better please one another. It’s a really awesome gift, and I’m very glad I waited. I mean, even if I had just slept with Benny before we married, there would have been no awesome wedding night, because all the anticipation of waiting and the build of tension is lost.

I’m not condemning people who don’t wait, contrary to this guy. I mean, I think it’s a wonderful idea, and I think everyone should wait, but I understand that there are a lot of things that contribute to loss of virginity, and I can’t shun people for being human. I’ve done poorly in other areas that I’m not proud of, so I definitely am not better than them.

Mostly, this is what I think: sex is awesome, and it’s worth waiting for the perfect moment."

Other Blog...

I realized, recently, that this blog is so different in purpose than my other blog that I have never linked the two. This blog is completely random in design and purpose; however, the other one is specifically a poetry blog, where I "showcase" my current poetry projects and experiment with juxtaposing music and poetry, which I think is a beautiful art. So, here is the link! If you enjoy poetry of any sort, you'll probably find something you like. Some is very dark, some is funny, some is purely experimental:

http://kinshop.blogspot.com/

Attending an Antipodal Church

Now, just to clarify before I even start, this post is not meant to bash another church, theology, or even to say which one is right or wrong. I do have certain beliefs which will show, because it is inevitable that one often thinks he or she is right. I only want to share my thoughts on how it feels to attend a church that is founded on theology about as opposite of mine as you can get in the protestant group.

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There are various things one will look for in a church. Some look for fellowship, others look for a good children’s program, some look for a specific denominational background. You can’t look for a perfect church, because if you happen to find one, you would ruin it by joining. When Benny moved to Appleton, almost a year ago, I told him I trusted him to pick a church for us to attend after we married. This, I knew, was to take a risk, because although we basically agree theologically, he paid a lot less attention to it than I did. You can imagine how nervous I was when he called me, excited about this church he had found and thought would be a perfect fit for us, and told me it was an Orthodox Presbyterian Church.

Don’t get me wrong, here. I’m not saying that I don’t like being exposed to other denominations. I’ve experience the worship and teachings of various ones, including – at least three full length services, often more – Nazarene, Baptist, Catholic, Anglican, Lutheran, Presbyterian, Bible Missionary, Congregational, Evangelical, Methodist, etc. I was raised Wesleyan-Arminian in a non-denominational church. When asked what denomination I am, I always give the same answer: I’m Wesleyan-Arminian Congregational (not Roman) Catholic Baptist Nazarene Methodist. Is this a cop-out? Nope. I simply understand that my theology and how I follow Christ can be traditionally seen in each of those denominations, if not seen in the present time.

Why this explanation? Mostly to illustrate how different the church I was raised in is from the one I now attend. I went from a Wesleyan church to a Calvinist church (glad I knew my TULIP well…). I’ve attended close to two months of services in this church, now, and have had some thoughts on what I truly value in a church.

First, and most importantly, I value a church in which the pastor is a genuine shepherd. This means that the pastor has studied his doctrine and church history well and desires to impregnate his congregation with those doctrines and traditions which he believes have been fundamental. In other words, he believes firmly in what he stands on and desires to hold his flock to the standards which he believes God has biblically founded. A pastor who additionally pulls no punches is an excellent pastor to have.

Second, I value a church in which great importance is placed on the family. This can be seen in many ways, but it is always clear when the family is important to the church. Partly it is seen within the literal families but mostly in the blood-washed family. A church where there is clear fellowship, love, and a desire to serve one another is a church where I cannot help but feel blessed.

Third, despite of (or in spite of?) any differences in doctrine which may be present, it is clear that the people there yearn to serve God with all their heart, soul, strength, and mind. I believe that anyone who truly serves God and longs to serve Him better every day will enter the Kingdom of Heaven, despite what doctrines he may hold. Although I deem your doctrine is incredibly important, I do not believe it saves you – but nor does it keep you from the throne of grace. I follow God to the best of my abilities, and I believe that my doctrines are scriptural. I know many who differ in doctrine but live with that aim as well, thus I cannot condemn them but rather wish them many blessings.

Attending this church has been a challenge, in several ways, but I have found it to be a place of peace as much as the church in which I grew up. God is preached there. I don’t feel persecuted or hindered by the differences in such a way that I am unable to worship. In fact, I find the differences strengthening my faith and encouraging me. I am fed, for each of us comes knowing we have fallen short of the glory of God and desperately need His strength for every step to come.

In Christ.

Autistic Love: Challenging the Definition

Introduction: Before I write a sentence about what I plan to address, I want to briefly say this: I am in no way an expert on Autism – or any other neural development disorder I may mention. I am basing my opinions upon hours of research, yes, and the copious amount of time I’ve spent with such children and adults, but I realize that these things don’t make me right. This essay is actually a watered down idea I’ve been considering and preparing to write for several years. I write about it not because I want to make others seem silly/stupid or because I want to seem smart… but I have a theory that I think is important to think about, and I believe it may be applicable to other situations.

This essay is all about challenging definitions. One definition, actually: the definition of love. Now, I’m not talking about the typical arguments about how romantic love is not the same as familial love is not the same as philia (love between friends) is not the same as eros (erotic love) is not the same as agape (a love only experienced through God). Am I crazy? Definitely, because I’m about to say something fanatical: love is not dimensional. What do I mean by that? Basically, that love cannot be measured, weighed, or limited by our minds. It is limitless and cannot be defined by any one factor except that it is what sets us apart from animals, thus it serves as the copyright of God on our souls. This is incredibly important to understand, because it means that you cannot assume you know every aspect from which it can be seen.

Now for the other bookend: autism. I have studied this and many similar disorders with great interest for six or seven years, reading about upcoming treatments, possible causes, and whatever else I can find. I have worked with them extensively, as well. One of the classifying definitions of autism is emotional detachment. Basically, it is believed that autistic children are unable to understand and communicate emotions. In other words, autistic children are said to be unable to love.

When I first started reading about this particular aspect of autism, I felt incredibly sad for the parents of such children. I thought it must be horrible – almost unbearable – to raise a child who was incapable of loving or understanding love. It was the aspect of this order which held the most interest for me, because I was curious about how parents dealt with that. The accounts I read were heartbreaking, and my sympathies grew. However, I also realized that I was becoming increasingly more uncomfortable with the definition. There were several reasons for this.

1. In all my work with autistic children, their responses to individuals, though abnormal in comparison with other children, differed according to whom they had received the most loving treatment. They weren’t necessarily more kind, but they might sit next to them when playing, watch them more carefully than others, or show some other sign of watchful attention.

2. We are said to be created in the image of God. 1st John 4:7-8 states: “Beloved, let us love one another, for love is of God; and everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. He who does not love does not know God, for God is love.” If you believe the Bible to be infallible, if you believe that anyone can enter into the Kingdom of Heaven, and if you believe that God is just, then it is impossible for you to believe that anyone is born unable to love.

3. Love is not limited by our definition. If God is love, and this is as inexplicable as the Holy Trinity or as eternity. They exist, we see evidences of them, and we even can almost explain them, but there are aspects of these things which cannot be illustrated in a way that our brains can comprehend.

Taking these three things into account, I had to challenge my own assumptions, because I realized that I had believed my entire life that love was shown through communication of emotions, desires, and service. When the wish for closeness and communication is absent, what is there left to love with? A great example of the limitations would be the five love languages: receiving gifts, quality time, physical touch, words of affirmation, and acts of service (for more details, go here: http://www.5lovelanguages.com/). These definitions can be helpful in communicating love to people who understand, but those with the inability to understand are left with nothing. Many autistic children like regularity, being alone, being in the quiet, etc. It is not in their “nature” to accept love as we define it.

Here is my challenge to you: who is to say that love can only be communicated in ways we understand? I think every person in this world is equally capable of showing love, but we have limited them because of our rigid understanding of how that can be displayed. I show love by hugging people, but I have quickly learned that many autistic children don’t want to be touched. They were not limited by their autism but rather by my definitions of how they should act. When I realized this, I learned to recognize and communicate love in ways they understood. And every child is different! It’s a learning process, as much as with developing any relationship.

Autistic children can’t love? Ridiculous. It’s time to recognize the limits of our definitions and allow them to express love in ways they understand. We might not be able to identify these acts of love, because their language is awkward to us, just as ours is awkward to them. Not understanding does not equal absence.