New Career

For all of you who were wondering what I've been doing with my life, I may have found my calling. This weekend, I dressed up as Princess Aurora for a little girl's fifth birthday party. There were balloon animals, face painting, duck-duck-goose, and a pinata involved. Who knew that I could make a career of living my childhood dream? Essentially, to steal Kirstin's phrase, I am a glorified clown. But soon my position may include some costume work and writing for murder mystery dinner theatre. So I may spend the next years of my life getting paid to play dress up. Ahh what a world...

Pictured here with me is my roommate and new boss, Kirstin. And no, that's not my real hair. Or hers.

Settling, Settling Down, and Feeling Unsettled

I'm feeling unsettled.

And it's only because I'm obnoxiously girly and I think too much and all of these things. But on the off chance that other people agree and think they are the only one...or that someone might learn something new about the way girls (read: I) think...here goes.

We got into a discussion tonight about dating. A question posed, what should we (the church) cover in a series on love and intimacy? Which turned into a whole gamut of weird topics and answers, but the one that really got me--that I couldn't shake during the drive home from Santa Monica--was the idea of settling. We seemed to agree that one of the biggest problems is how to actually pick someone. How do you know if this is in fact "the one" you are supposed to be with? Are we waiting for a beam of light or electric shock or what?

Really, this may be a more difficult problem for guys. I promise I'm not going to go anti-boy here. If anything, I know very well that women in the church have a lot of growing to do if we want to live the way that the Bible says we were created to, so I have no right to bash on guys for "not stepping up." The poor things have been told all sorts of mixed messages and are now afraid to even open a door for a woman--for fear that she'll go all feminazi, accusing them of implying that she's weak. I am not surprised that men in the church have trouble with what the world tells them about their "place," because women are having the same problem. Still, since they have a more "active" role in dating, from a Biblical standpoint, guys often run into more pressure to "just pick one." Of course, no one wants to botch something like marriage, because, well...it's rather permanent, so it's understandable that they have a certain amount of hesitation--especially since marriage may be one of the most life changing decisions you ever make. No pressure. There may always be that little voice at the back of your head asking, "Is she it? Or did I settle?" The million dollar word: settle. Now, don't get me wrong--girls will ask the same question--and in both cases, the thought that your spouse feels like they were settling would be heartbreaking. Which to me is, well...unsettling.

To think--that someone would look at me and say, "she loves God, she'll do." And that would be a settlement? Because if the God-thing is in line, then that only means that there's something personally wrong with me. Like--I'm not pretty enough or skinny or smart or whatever enough. Or maybe I'm enough of those things, but not Godly enough. Always not something enough.

But let's be honest--who is?? No one is going to be everything enough if your standard is perfection. (Which is what we are striving to be, perfect as Christ is perfect) So in a sense, won't we all settle? And if so, then "settling down" is exactly what it sounds like: settling. Not to be the mushy type, but this is not the stuff that great wedding vows are made of. What happened to just liking someone? Attraction? Compatibility?

A friend once asked what it would take to score a date with me:

"Hi. I love Jesus. Wanna grab coffee?"

This really shouldn't be so hard. And I know that it's not a simple formula like I want it to be. Which is probably why I hate talking about it...because I get all soapboxey and feel the need to stay up to ungodly hours blogging about what I think so that everyone can hear about it.

Old People

I am happy with how I was raised. I love being Southern and all those old-fashioned habits that come along with it. I love that God made me the way I am--to look this way, and think and feel and want the things I do. Granted, I've got my issues, but on the whole, God has blessed me, and I have no reason to complain.

But if you don't mind, I have a few words...

See, I was raised to respect my elders, knowing that since they have lived more life, they have a lot of wisdom to impart to us young uns. Every now and then, I enjoy taking some time to listen to people--especially random ones I meet at the Goodwill or Big Lots in Crenshaw. Not only is it usually interesting, but it provides a good dose of humility since they usually assume that you are kind of stupid and they have all sorts of things to tell you that they are sure you've never heard before. Most of my experience with this has been a few off-hand comments out here--like the time I was buying binders for Bible study and a nice old man told me about how he used to be involved in inner-city missions. Or the times I sit down with Great Aunts and hear stories of when they were a kid.

But today, instead of humility, I got a nice dose of eating-disorder-motivation from a not-so-nice man at this auction store where I was looking for a cabinet. I don't know if it's just old people now-a-days or old people in LA or just a fluke incident, but this guy started talking to me (there were lots of people around and a safe distance between us, so don't stress Dad), asking if I was looking for furniture to fix up a new home. No, I said, I'm a student, and we got to talking about what I'm learning and where I go. As soon as he hears that I'm studying theatre, he of course assumes that I'm hoping to be an actor because why would you ever study theatre unless you wanted to be in movies? (don't get me started...) I shrug because I don't want to explain to him my whole spiel about wanting a family and being involved in the church, and he proceeds to give me advice about how I can become a success. "You gotta go after it" and all those nice things, so he asks me what exactly I am doing now and what I want to do as soon as I'm done and is horrified that I don't know. "You gotta know what you're going to do. Partial motivations get you part-time jobs."

Ok ok...now I'm just being polite and looking for an out in the conversation, when I make mention that the most important thing for me is to have a family. Usually this is a great kicker with old people--"oh how sweet." and "family is so important" and all these things, but he proceeds to tell me that this is a bad idea because "if you're going to swim across the ocean, you can't take your family with you--you have to go by yourself and make arrangements for them after the fact."

Interesting analogy. *Swallows grain of salt.* Thank you, sir. May I have another?

"Well you want a family...do you have a boyfriend?" Every single gal's favorite question.

"No sir."

His eyes roll and he tells me about how I shouldn't wait for someone else to make decisions about my life--that I have to go where I'm going and if some guy wants to come along, he can join me, but I'm not going to put anything on hold. He refers back to the whole "can't have a career and be a 'mommy'" idea. He keeps using the word, "Mommy" like it's some sort of disease. The way he says it makes it sound like the woman's equivalent to "spic" or "nigger."

"Some guy's gonna come along and say, 'I love you. Let's have sex.' And then *insert onomatopoeia term for the swelling of the stomach and the corresponding hand-guestures* you're pregnant."

*Mere reaches for the entire salt-shaker* This is when I realize that this conversation is going no where but hell in a hand basket, and I try to find a nice break in which I can excuse myself. In flies the kicker of all kickers:

"I can tell by looking at you that you don't work out." Earlier, it was just "You're no Marylin." Now it's, "You're too soft. I can tell you don't have any kind of work out plan. You should be able to show me 1-2-3-4-5-6 abs, but you cant. You've seen those women on the TV. You gotta look like that, you gotta get a work-out plan and you can't look like you do because you're too soft, you're too sweet..."

He continues. I desperately search for my happy place. Soon, I'm able to leave, but not before he asks if I'd like to come visit him for advice more often. He's shocked that I decline, and I leave with some sort of, "it was nice to talk, er, listen to what you had to say" line. Not the sweetest sign-off, but it was the best I could do.

Old people...

Ok, so all joking (read: freaking out) aside, it was a real, solid dose of what this world finds important and a reminder of the kind of mentality that I will probably always have to fight, especially if I stay in LA.

Sex in the Christian Community

It's odd that this topic is surfacing in so many facets of my life, but in light of today's sermon, and because this paper turned into my baby, I'm going to play the proud parent and show her off. How I managed to weasel myself into this type of topic for a paper in Writing 340 (the second required writing class for all SCers), we may never know. But I think you'll be glad I did. If you get a chance, check out some of the Works Cited references...I can't even tell you how hilarious it was to do "research" for this one...

A final note: we were supposed to write the article as a submission to the LA Times and focus it as a cultural analysis, not criticism; although, my own opinions about the topic do come out fairly clearly. While I know that there are a lot of ways that the Church has improved in how we think about these things, I feel as though the root of the problem can be hit at when we examine why it is we construct sin in the way we do and how life gets distorted when we focus on the rules and not God.

Ok that's all I'll say for now. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Despite the Subject Matter, This Article Received a PG Rating

(The stage lights come up on MONIKA, emerging from her bed with disheveled hair wearing a man’s white collared shirt, a shirt that belongs to her husband MARK, who remains in the bed, but calls out to her.)

MARK

Honey? Is everything ok...?

MONIKA

Yeah...fine, fine...

(MONIKA shuts the bathroom door and we see her wildly raving about—as quietly as possible—with clenched fists and teeth. Her whisper is angry.)

God—this is really irritating! Like honestly—honestly? Mark and I did what you said and we waited till marriage...and not only is sex not all it’s cracked up to be...it’s frankly...I can’t do this... Oh geez...this sucks. It sucks! It sucks!

(MONIKA sighs and looks at herself in the mirror. The questions that so many Christians are afraid to breathe escape her lips.)

What am I doing wrong? How have I sinned? God—I thought that if I obeyed...?

The lights darken on stage and rise in the house, illuminating the audience who must now deal with their own, exposed demons. In the dark, viewers watch their problems portrayed by someone else. In the dark, there is comfort. But, for those willing to face their truth, catharsis comes, and along with it, a sense of emotional rebirth. A cheap therapy session from the comfort of Row F, Seat 14. Almost anyone with the organs to do it finds sex to be both powerful and frustrating, satisfying and awkward. Those within a Bible-following community tend to associate the sexual act with evil, and many churches focus intently on preventing their young people from having sex before marriage, as they believe the Bible to encourage. This results in an unusual phenomenon: sex has become socially constructed as both a holy act within the confines of marriage and a dirty sin in any other situation.

In an essay on Einstein’s brain, cultural critic Roland Barthes argues that people find a sense of security and comfort through contradiction. Namely, he argues that Einstein, a great mathematician, is remembered as nearly mythic in his ability to conjure key scientific formulas. So by describing Einstein as both “eternal researcher and unfulfilled discoverer,” people find comfort knowing that such a powerful brain has faults and limits (Barthes 70). In the same vein, the Christian community finds comfort in casting sex in these contradicting lights. Unlike Barthes’ argument, though, it is not the contradiction itself that provides comfort for the Christian community but their ability to solidify the parameters of sin through this contradiction. In explaining what aspects of sex are sinful, a heightened sense of good-versus-evil provides a stronger deterrent from participating in anything “wrong.” For this reason, Christians demonize sexual promiscuity in order to abstain from it. Often rigid moralists, Christians represent sex as both sinful and holy in order to clarify for themselves a set of rules by which to live, a proverbial litmus test of their righteousness. After all, such definite parameters are necessary to provide an objective judgment. Essentially, the Christian community finds comfort in their constructed, legalistic views.

The most helpful way to begin a discussion of sex is to first look at how Christian scholars describe the purpose and plan for sex. From the highest Catholic authority, the Vatican, sex is represented as part of the holy Sacrament of Marriage, created for the purpose of reproduction (365-366). Others within the Christian community, who see sex as an act of unification between a husband and a wife, recognize the pleasure associated with sex to be part of God’s plan as well. That being said, Christians encourage “purity [in contrast to] a sinful and wicked world” (“Bible Answers”), which means that not only is sex reserved for marriage, but some argue that there are certain “perversions” of it that are not permissible. Christians look to the Psalms, Song of Solomon, and much the New Testament for the basis of defining sexual immorality. Because the Church’s highest credence is to its Scriptures, this seems the most logical place for religious leaders to find support for defining the appropriate parameters of sex.

Many people, however, desire further analytical rationale to motivate themselves to obey such laws, finding a rule’s existence within the Bible not sufficient reason to obey it. In the case of avoiding sexual sin, Christians struggle to reconcile their beliefs with the desires pulsing, pun intended, through their veins. Describing sex as a “ride toward a deadly waterfall” (James), Christian magazines, like Campus Life, feature stories from teens and young adults that discuss their sexual frustrations, with the intent of reminding singles that they are not alone in their struggles. In one such article, the writer describes his battle with lust, pornography, and masturbation. After confiding in a group of guys, he “discovered they were a lot like [him]: feeling guilty about lust, yet unable to gain control over it” (Allen). Besides being different than their peers, Christian teens must fight their own internal desires. Taking a vow of abstinence does not exempt them from the feelings of a normal young person. Like alcoholics, Christians ban together to support each other’s decision to stay clean. In another piece from Campus Life, a girl who chose to remain nameless describes her addiction to masturbation. Embarrassed to discuss the issue with her friends, since lust is often perceived as a male issue, she turns to the Bible for guidance. Dismayed, she relates, “I couldn't find the word ‘masturbation’ anywhere. A good ‘you may’ or ‘thou shalt not’ from God would have been really helpful” (Thompson). Frustrating for many Christians, the Bible does not always explicitly address specific issues. It cannot give advice for where to attend college, nor does it explain what kind of social interaction will be appropriate in the year 2057. Those devoted to its study will discover that the Bible presents a way to filter such questions through a basic moral system. However, many Christians prefer to have their respected clergy explain Biblical ideas and are much more content to live by the set of rules defined for them.

In youth groups, sex is described as something to wait for. The recently popular “True Love Waits” movement encourages teens to take a vow of abstinence, suggesting that sex will be much better for those who have waited until marriage. Often, this abstinence propaganda is shockingly more dramatic about the potential consequences of sex:

Sex can make you feel like you’re experiencing true love. That makes a breakup very painful, which can lead to deep depression, hopelessness, and even suicide. And breaking up is only one cause of sex-related depression. The consequences of losing your virginity, getting AIDS, getting a VD, conceiving a baby outside of marriage, killing that baby, hurting your reputation, ruining someone else’s reputation, and disappointing those who trusted you can all lead to depression, and worse (“Awesome”).

Appeals such as this use strong language to make sex acts seem blatantly vile, generalizing them as “abuses,” saying that they “poison good character” (Appeal). In truth, these movements relate many valid points—unwanted children and disease are certainly negative potential consequences of sexual promiscuity; however, the wording that they use seems to suggest that regardless of the situation, sex will be horrifyingly destructive. Instead of relying on logical, educated, and Bible-based arguments, these abstinence proponents found their cause on scare tactics.*

Further argument suggests that “many problems in marriages today stem from the fact that they are not virgins when they marry” (“Bible Answers”) Attributing such consequences to sexual activity before marriage not only heightens the perceived penalty of sexual sin, but also furthers the gap between the contradicting views of sex as dirty versus sex as holy. Until marriage, Christians seem constantly bombarded with this negative view of sex, so it seems only natural that they will have difficulty in the transition. Once assured that they were practicing holiness by avoiding sex, singles eventually become newlywed couples and a paradigm shift must occur. Again, Christians must turn to their original definition of sexual relations—that sex is pure within the confines of marriage. Because of their previously negative view, many newlywed couples have difficulty making a mental switch between viewing their sexual feelings as something to be suppressed into something to be encouraged and enjoyed. Logic argues that sexual problems lead to avoiding the sexual act altogether, which often results in one or both partners seeking satisfaction elsewhere—either through an adulterous affair or pornography.

Only in recent years has there been a revolution in the openness with which the church will talk about sex. For many years, churches focused on demonizing sex before marriage as a way to widen the gap between what is deemed appropriate sexual activity and what is considered sin. In this way, the lay-Christian may more easily discern good from evil in order to follow God’s Law. Meanwhile, to address marital problems, Christian leaders now give more focus to the under-developed positive arguments for sex. Increasing conversation about healthy sex lives—still within the confines of marriage—helps to strengthen the “holy side” of the sexual contradiction. One of the forerunners of this new “sex craze,” Joe Beam, is a southern pastor who gives seminars on sexuality from a Biblical perspective. Answering questions ranging from whether oral sex and masturbation are permissible to explanation and physical demonstration on how to give a “blow job,” Beam hopes to encourage sexual freedom by sharing positive messages about sex from the point of view of a studied and trusted Christian authority, arguing for the existence of a “strong correlation between sexual satisfaction and marital satisfaction” (Holt). Calling sex “sacred,” Beam explains: “The church generally prefers not to talk about it. But that has a dual impact. It keeps it shrouded in ignorance and the implication is that since you are not talking about it, it’s bad” (Alexander).

Additionally, seeking counseling from Christian sex therapists has helped to foster a more comfortable outlook on sexuality within marriage. Established sex therapists, Clifford and Joyce Penner, explain that when a couple begins to have sexual problems, they often begin to question the relationship or their love for the other person. Understanding that many problems arise from “a plain failure of communication and intimacy” helps many Christians to renew, or ignite for the first time, their sex lives (Penner). Therapy helps to develop the other side of the sexual coin by identifying problems that can be linked to a negative view of sex. In discussing sexual abuse within marriage, Joyce Penner’s explanation provides an analogy for how perceptions can control cultural definitions: “An action can feel like abuse to the wife...His actions may constitute normal sexual behavior patterns, but because of her past abuse, what he's doing feels like abuse... [and] as long as she perceives what he's doing as abuse, it is abuse” (Penner). In this case, the pain experienced by the wife is genuinely hurtful, and she will only experience healing once she begins to view her husband’s advances with a positive perception of sexuality. In the same way, married Christians find sexual freedom once they begin to view sex as a Godly act.

Granted, demonizing sex in a general sense helps the Church prevent sexual promiscuity, but many fail to provide a positive, Scripturally-based explanation of why a single person should abstain from sex. Rather than present an appropriate outline for sexual behavior in simple terms, Christians prefer to exaggerate the difference between “good” and “bad” sex. While this diverges from a message of forgiveness through grace, legalistic boundaries seem safer to the church-goer, which is why Christians focus not on enjoying the intimacy and pleasure of sex but on ensuring that they are doing it right. As with other areas of potential sin, amplified differences between proper and improper behavior help Christians determine their actions. Before marriage, sex must be painted as dramatically evil to reinforce the motivation to avoid it, and after marriage, an equally heightened view of the goodness of sex helps couples hop to the other side of the sexual fence.

*Footnote: The volume of available information touting reasons to abstain from sex was frightening, and while, to focus the paper, I felt no need to include further proof of such scare tactics, the quotations were nonetheless interesting:

“Fornication is not just tolerated in our society but is actually being encouraged. The sin of fornication is being committed even among Christians, as many couples "live together" and have sex before marriage” (“Bible Answers”).

“Promiscuous kids constantly try to drag down students who haven't yet been corrupted by the sin of fornication. The so-called "health centers" practically throw birth control devices at students. Then there are all the parties, with free-flowing booze and drugs” (Appeal).

“Just think of all the lives that will be ruined and the unborn babies who will be slaughtered unless we take action right away to prevent it” (Appeal).

“One of the most heartbreaking stories is "How Men Feel After Abortion" by Steve Arterburn. It took heroic courage for Steve to write this. He reveals that his guilt over paying an abortionist to kill his own child ‘resulted in 80 ulcers eating at my stomach, intestines, and colon.’ The Lord healed him physically and spiritually after he repented” (Appeal).

Works Cited

Alexander, Brian. “America Unzipped” Segment. “One preacher's message: Have hotter sex: Minister Joe Beam says good Christian marriages walk on the wild side.” 7:30 a.m. PT 4 Dec 2006. MSNBC.com. 1 Feb. 2007 .

Allen, Mark. “Every Guy’s Struggle.” Campus Life Magazine. March/April 2003. ChristianityToday.com. 1 Feb. 2007 .

Appeal for Donation. 2000. Eds. Fr. Frank Pavone and David Perkins. Lovematters.com. 1 Feb 2007 <http://www.lovematters.com>.

Barthes, Roland. Mythologies. Trans. by Annette Lavers. New York: Hill and Wang, 1972. 68-70.

“Bible Answers: What does the Bible Say About Fornication?” © 1995-2005. Bible.com. 1 Feb. 2007 .

Holt, Lester. “Sexploration columnist Brian Alexander and preacher Joe Beam talk to NBC's Lester Holt about lovemaking lessons from the Bible.” 16 Sept. 2006. MSNBC.com. 1 Feb. 2007 .

James, Steven. “Dangerous Current.” Campus Life Magazine. June/July 2004. ChristianityToday.com. 1 Feb. 2007 .

Penner, Dr. Clifford and Joyce Penner, R.N. Interview. “Show 209 Transcript: Who Needs Sex Therapy?” By Dr. Paul Abramson, Dr. Vern Bullough, and Dr. Sherwin (Shep) Nulland. 2000. Closer to Truth. 1 Feb. 2007 .

“Sex is Awesome! (Unless you are...).” 2000. Eds. Fr. Frank Pavone and David Perkins. Lovematters.com. 1 Feb 2007 <http://www.lovematters.com/awesome.htm>.

Thompson, Renee (*name was changed). “My Struggle with Lust.” Campus Life Magazine. June/July 2006. ChristianityToday.com. 1 Feb. 2007 .

Vatican, The. “Declaration on Sexual Ethics.” Analyzing Moral Issues, 3^rd Edition. Ed. Judith A. Boss. Boston: McGraw-Hill, 2005. 364-368.

Childhood

I think I was talking to Justine when this story came out...and it wasn't until I verbalized it that I realized that I had a bizarre childhood.

As I child I really enjoyed sniffing certain chemicals. Like sharpies, rubber cement, nail polish remover...you know, the usual. One day my mom came into the bathroom and saw me sniffing something or other and she like FLIPPED because apparently that's not normal.

I wasn't trying to get high or anything. I just thought they smelled good.

Apparently this is not ok.

Which reminds me. Why weren't they marked with those neon green Mr. Yuck stickers? I never sniffed the bottles marked with Mr. Yuck. Cuz that meant they were yucky.

Reasons

Because I can't control my heart.
Because I love music.

when pain turns to years
it goes away
a memory far gone
so bitter sweet
and sweet it is, it is, to taste recovery
the loss of my friend

and why haunts this hunger
to love her
my ship set its sail
a long time ago
and my mind has said its farewell
and my lips have declared "it's time"
but my heart cannot say its goodbye

now it's only in my dreams
that i've been there
her eyes so in love
her kiss so real
now if only i could stay
and dream a while
if a dream lasts a lifetime

my ship's set its sail
but still at shore
my heart cannot say its goodbye

__Shane and Shane

Because my fortune cookie said, "You will win favors when you expand your social circle."
Because I ate the food before the cookie.

It's like I have cancer. And I know that the chemotherapy is going to work--like I saw a vision of the future and I know I'm going to get healed. But it still hurts. I trust in God. I know He's going to bring me healing. I am confident in that. But that doesn't take away the pain that is right now.

Because I'm not in control.

Rest. Rest.

"Seeking Suzuki's Zen" or "What it Sounds Like When Meredith BS's a Paper"

Prompt: explain why the West found Suzuki's ideas about Zen so compelling.

Estimated Time Spent Writing: < 1 hour.

Estimated Grade for my Pass/No Pass Art History Class: Definately Pass.

We live today in an age of cultural awareness. Whether accurate or not, most Americans try to be understanding and knowledgeable about the ways of other people groups. Not only does it make us feel smarter, and therefore more powerful since “knowledge is power,” Americans are known for spiritual diversity, especially since recent trends in Hollywood and elsewhere encourage people to seek out and develop their own patchwork religion. In the early 20^th century, the first ideas about Zen were promoted by several missionaries from Japan to the West. One of the foremost writers and proponents of Zen was a man by the name of Suzuki Diasetsu. While his ideas were not especially well-read in Japan, those in the Occident devoured his teachings, as their desire to learn about Zen and incorporate it into their lives, grew.

In a culture steeped in the Christian tradition, the Zen ideas Suzuki presented about enlightenment seemed like an easy way to achieve understanding. Sharf explains in his essay that the beauty of Buddhism is that it adjusts for all types of adherents (145), which means that Christians in the west could adapt the ideas of Zen in order to compliment their own religious views. One of the common frustrations about the Bible is that Jesus himself, along with many of the book’s writers, explains that there are certain aspects of God that the world may never understand. Even for those interested in pastoring a church, a typical seminary education requires three years of study as a masters program, following the expected four year college career. These exceptionally educated persons must devote a significant portion of their lives to the study of the Bible in order to understand it. So for a lay person, this type of “religious mysticism” is certainly compelling. And if Zen is truly “the foundation for all authentic religious insight” (Sharf 127), understanding it would certainly be beneficial.

Psychologically, Zen seems even more attractive toward the latter part of Suzuki’s career as he begins to argue that Zen is a uniquely Japanese idea. Though he knows that the origins of Zen are from China, Suzuki explains that there is something inherently “Zen” in the way of life of the Japanese (Sharf 128). In this way, he presents the Japanese as the Jews of Buddhism, the “chosen people” of Zen. In this West, this denunciation of their ability to understand Eastern concepts would provide further reason to examine and master Zen ideas—if for no other reason than to prove their adequacy at obtaining knowledge.

Innately prideful, the West clamors for understanding of Zen to boost their own spiritual and intellectual standing. For example, explaining Japanese gardens in terms of Zen is just one way to solidify the parameters of Japanese culture, to fit the Orient into an explainable box of information to be consumed by the West. In fact, many of the arts of Japan are critiqued in terms of Zen. This is not necessarily because they are inherently purposed by their creators as expressions of Zen philosophy, but because at some point, someone found enlightenment through these vessels and decided to share that knowledge with others. Loraine Cup’s interpretation of the garden at Nioyanji is a good example of this, as she describes the groupings of rocks as a “sermon in stone” which expresses the harmony of the universe (Sharf 134 and lecture notes, part two). In actuality, this is remarkably similar to someone from the Christian faith defining a literary character as a “Christ figure.” While this may not be the intent of the author, a person of faith may take notice of certain characteristics that remind him or her of the person of Jesus from the Bible. Likewise, those who view the world through Zen-colored glasses may read their philosophy into a work of art. In the same way, a Western culture trying to understand their Japanese neighbors would find it easier to appreciate Japanese art if they could explain it in terms of a philosophical or religious view. In this way, Westerners do not feel artistically inept but can appreciate work that they cannot really understand, explaining it in terms of a lovely expression of religious views.

Certainly, it is easy to understand the Western obsession with Zen, as it seems to fit neatly into their desire for further knowledge and understanding about the world around us. Even if Americans did not “acknowledge the ideological and rhetorical dimensions of the Zen of men like Suzuki” (Sharf 145), their desire to relate to other cultures, though less-than-admirably motivated, resulted in the diffusion of Oriental ideas like those of Suzuki Daisetsu.

My Dreams Are on Acid

I don't even know where to begin...I had the MOST BIZARRE dream of my life last night. I mean...it just kept going and going and there were sooo many weird aspects to it that I just feel the need to share it with the world.

Where to begin...I think everything started out at church. I began to volunteer with the middle school group (which contrary to the state of Shoreline, involved like 60 kids) and they were talking about taking a missions trip of sorts...except once we got over there (unidentified European country) it was only like normal people from Shoreline and a bunch of people from my high school and some people from SC.

So the first section of interest involves a boy that we will call Jake. In real life, Jake is someone that I have previously crushed on, but who is off limits now that I know that a friend of mine likes him. So Jake and I are hanging out in the lake while the guy I currently have a thing for (see footnote) is watching us. Out of anger and spite at our observer (who I clearly have a right to be mad at solely for the sake that he doesn't like me...yeah I'm retarded) and because I can feel a definite attraction between Jake and I, things start to get really flirty between us in that kind of childlike, but really cute way where you're kind of mean in a playful way. So eventually some sort of concert thing starts up and the speaker wants me to participate in something so I have to swim up to the edge of the stage for this, which is kind of difficult because the water is deep and there isn't much to hang on to. So Jake follows me up so he can help me not to drown, which is not only a darling gesture but is especially gag-bag-cute because he has his arms around me holding me up. Eventually we quit paying attention (because my participatory part is over) and I notice he has this ring on that I think is really pretty, which I say, and he asks me if I want to wear it (aww...how fifties...). Eventually we head back to the hotel where we're staying, which is where we run into said friend who likes him and I kind of feel bad because Jake is trying to act sort of couply with me--which is irritating on one level because he hasn't said anything to me about wanting to take me out or how he likes me...nothing that would insinuate a semblance of commitment--but would still be kind of cute if it weren't for Friend, whose feelings I may be hurting. End of section one.

The next part of the dream was about my Aunt Shelly and cousin Natalie. While we are in this unnamed country, Natalie starts to work for some spy company, which isn't too much of an issue until the government wants her to work for them--then the spy people realize that she's working for both of them and start flipping out and try to kill her. There is also a small, very cute cat involved. So Spy Company tries to shoot Natalie with a tranquilizer dart and Shelly, her mom, runs with Natalie to avoid the incoming fire. They almost escape the hit, but it manages to catch Shelly on the hand. She collapses into dead weight and Natalie hits her head and gets knocked out. Thankfully in this part of the dream I get to be the hero instead of the mushy damsel and I wake Natalie just enough to get her to follow me to safety...and I carry my Aunt Shelly who is thankfully small. All the while, my parents, sister and brother are off on a side vacation and can't come help, so it's up to me to arrange for us to flee the country, which isn't Spain, but they speak Spanish. Thankfully, I remember some Spanish from high school, so I am able to talk to some of the girls from camp (I think the mission trip resembles Sprachcamp a bit in that we are semi-responsible for some native kids) and a lady at the train station about our situation. Still I have to pay normal fare for the train for the three of us--Natalie who sneaks onto the train out of plain view of any Spies that might be watching her, and Shelly who is still unconscious, who I drag into place. I grab some supplies and am accompanied by a few girls from camp who I semi-successfully speak to in their broken English and my broken Spanish (which includes some random German because I forget that those words are from German and not Spanish). Alas, we speed away to our new unnamed location without trouble. Natalie has the cat and no one sees us...the only downside is that I have to sit next to Hitler on the train.

Part Three: We are at our new hotel of sorts and Natalie, the cat, and Shelly are safe and not involved in the rest of the story. I am sharing a room with Hitler and two other girls. Hitler kind of scares me. I want some candles, but he is anti-candle, but I am able to sneak them in anyway. Ha Hitler--take that. Still, I am trying to be friendly and I make an attempt at conversation. I say "Guten Morgen" to him, which I mistake for the Spanish greeting, "Buenas Dias" and he is kind of angry that I used German because everyone here speaks Spanish and German just reminds him of his unhappy past. I explain my problem with confusing the languages and he is kind of understanding, for a dictator. Then, I go downstairs with some of my friends to attend a party where I stumble upon a huge liquor cabinet filled only with Jagermeister. So I insist that we all take shots of Jager to toast the evening. As I'm pouring the glasses, the smell alone starts to make me kind of tipsy, which I'm a little worried about because I'd prefer not to get myself drunk in a strange country around a bunch of people I don't really know. We all take shots, even one of my friends who I know is anti-alcohol and I think for a moment that I have been a bad influence and she is only drinking out of peer-pressure. Then, my childhood friend, Carly, offers everyone a tray of cocaine lines and a straw: "Anyone want to do a line with me?" She asks this with the same sense of normality that I had asked if anyone wanted to do shots with me...because clearly cocaine and alcohol are equally normal things to intake at a party. All of a sudden, people begin to hide because Hitler is coming and he doesn't like parties. A game of cat and mouse ensues and it's really dramatic. I head back to my room where I run into a friend of mine from high school (who I was never interested in) who I'll call Ralph. I get to the top of the stairs and he is flirting with me and playfully pushes me but I go tumbling down the stairs. I catch the banister half-way down and manage not to die, but I am a bit beat up and weak. I call to Ralph for help and he is mortified that he accidentally hurt me. He helps pull me up the stairs and we get to the top and the tension gets sexual really fast which is super awkward now that I think about it, but wasn't at the time. So now I kind of have a thing for Ralph and I think that Jake walks by at some point and is kind of Charlie Brown sad, but I'm not sympathetic because the stupid kid never officially tried to ask me out or suggest that we have some sort of relationship so it's his own fault. Then at some point Ralph goes away and an untouchable crush, we're calling Mike, from my Senior year hits on me in a really gross way, suggesting that since I had a thing with Ralph apparently he thought that he could have me too. Like I'm some sort of slut to be passed around and I'm totally grossed out by Mike and pissed that he would make that suggestion, so even though I would have been all about that four years ago, I tell him to take a hike...in so many words. I think he only hits on me because at this point there are not that many girls around and it's been a long summer trip. Anyways, the boys are gone for a while and Hitler comes in and we have a nice little chat about all of his wives. Like the one that he married but got tired of so now his son is married to her. And about how a bunch of girls he marries (or his sons marry) are like 2 or 3 years old because there aren't laws against it in that country. Somehow he looks kind of like Fidel Castro, but I manage to avoid a slip of the tongue where I call him Fidel. And I hope to God that he doesn't think that I am going to be joining the ranks as wifey.

Now for the beach scene: We're having a beach excursion and I'm learning to surf, which is quite amusing because I have my board and after a ridiculous struggle of swimming past where the waves break, I am ready to start the long surf back in. So I hit my first wave and I am on my feet but I go flying through the air over the top of the wave instead of riding it and I fly for a good couple of seconds before I hit the water again...after the break. Then I hit a second one, but the same thing happens. When I get to shore I try to explain this to my friend-turned-surf-teacher but he wasn't watching me so he can't be of much help. I take a break to go help the other girls who are preparing dinner. One of them looks disgusted by the pile of turkey bones left over after they've carved off the meat and asks me to dispose of it. So I take the turkey remains to the garbage disposal in the little hut nearby and I notice that there is a lot of turkey that they missed (stupid non-southern girls) and I have to salvage the rest of the meat so we don't look like wasteful Americans to our native friends. I try to put the cleaned bones down the garbage disposal and turn the nob on the sink, but it doesn't actually start to chop things...it only makes a weird spinning noise, so I think maybe it's broken. Then I press the red button marked "garbage disposal" (funny it's not in Spanish like everything else here...probably because subconscious Meredith doesn't know those words in Spanish) and a flashing light appears on the side of the building. I realize that it's a call button for the lady in the main house who will come out to open the cabinet drawers under the sink and sweep out the sink garbage. I realize that we need to chop the onions and tomatoes and go into the other cabinets for a knife and the rest of the tomatoes. Unfortunately, the blackout shudders inside the cabinets are already closed and it's kind of difficult to reach under them, but I manage.

I think that's about when I woke up. For those of you who didn't already think I was crazy, now you have solid confirmation. Please don't judge me.

As always, comments, mocking, and interpretation suggestions are welcome...BUT--those of you who think you might know who certain unnamed individuals are MAY NOT guess at them, remembering that there is a chance that such individuals might read my blog. Your cooperation is appreciated :)


Footnote: Fortunately said boy is not important enough in this story to get a pseudonym, which brings me to my current rant about how I HATE when I dream about a guy that I like because during the day, I do pretty good at redirecting my thoughts when I am tempted to daydream about him, remembering that God is my first and best love, but dreaming is unfair because I have no control over that. Cosmic joke. Thanks, God.

A Letter

In case you have been curious as to what I am up to, here is a piece I wrote last week for my playwriting class. Some background: every week we read a new play and then we write a 5-10 page letter from the voice of the protagonist. This is supposed to help us learn to write characters and dialogue and so forth. So my first shot in the dark at this whole letter thing actually turned out kind of fun. The character is from a play called Cloud Tectonics by Jose Rivera. It's a kind of bizarre piece about this woman named Celestina (btw--I'm claiming this as a potential baby name) who does not obey the confines of time--that is to say, for Celestina, time never passes in the same way that it seems to for other people. So she shares only a few moments with one of the other characters and we find out that two years has passed for the rest of the world. Also important to know--at the beginning of the play, she is pregnant and has been so for at least two years (yeah...figure that one out), so I chose to write the letter to the son, whom we see in the Epilogue of the play. Enjoy!

Dearest Aníbal del Sol y la Luna,

My darling son, though you are young, I want to take a moment to share with you the things I have come to understand during my time here. Because I have no understanding of when I may get the opportunity to pass along my wisdom, I feel that writing this letter will be the most efficient way for me to share my thoughts now, with you later. I don’t know when “later” will come, but the day that it does—in that hour or minute, I hope that you find these words from a lonely mother to be the most comforting of all. Your plight may likely be similar to mine, but I have a feeling that there will come a point when you cease to be by my side, and I am afraid of what that may or may not do to you.

First, you should know from whence you came. I am as you know me, and I have not changed much so you may have grown with the misconception that no one changes. But this is not true. I have no need to explain myself to you because any information that you may need to know would be contained in your experience and observations of me. Unfortunately, you shall never grow to know your father or any other parenting figure but me, so I will have to explain the others to you. I apologize in advance that I cannot give you an accurate picture of who these men were. I think I remember them correctly, but people change so fast. Your father’s name was Rodrigo Cruz. He had green eyes and beautiful, long, dark hair and he left me and I followed him. I followed him for two years while I carried you, but I never found him. I cannot say that I never saw him again, but I most certainly never found him. Of all the places I traveled, it is entirely possible that I did see Rodrigo again and didn’t know it was him. He would have changed, and I would be like a ghost to him since I had not. Perhaps in a busy street shopping we crossed paths, unbeknownst to each other. Perhaps his strong arm breezed by mine and I felt his touch and he smelled something from a distant memory that he later dismissed as an episode from a previous life. “Something in the air.” He would not recognize me because he would expect me to have changed just like he did. They say that a baby in the womb can still hear music and voices—things happening around his mother. Maybe I saw Rodrigo and maybe you heard him. Maybe he spoke the sweet words to someone else that he used to speak to me...when we were alone. And maybe you overheard those words and confused them with the prayers I said for you. Can you tell that it’s me when I talk? And if you are inside me, then can you hear the words I speak in the depths of my being, for only my own ears to hear? When you were inside me, did you read my wishes? Then you would have seen Rodrigo Cruz—in all his glory, just as I remembered him to be. Maybe you will grow to have his eyes, his hair. When I look at you now, I don’t see him. I don’t see me either. I don’t see Aníbal or Nelson or the truck driver or anyone. I just see a baby. I don’t know what people mean when they say that babies look like their parents. You don’t look like me. And you don’t look like Rodrigo. Then again, I never knew Rodrigo when he was a baby, so perhaps as a child he looked exactly as you do. Time. It always changes. Too fast.

I wish I could see you as you grow through the different stages in your life—I want a chain of pictures, like so many paper angels, to watch you mature and compare each moment with the ones before and after it. Every minute captured in a picture. Every day....or year. I have yet to learn which increment of time is the crucial stage for change. When do you turn grey? Is it from one day to the next? How fast does it take for shoulders to grow strong? A month? I don’t know if it would matter or not to pinpoint that exact speck of time when life clicks from one phase to another, but I would like to know. Everything moves at some rate—some indefinable space in the cosmos that no one seems to agree with me on. I don’t know how I could have learned so much but never really master this. This “time.” My hope for you is that you will be able to learn and understand far more than I have. Yet, I hope these words never seem like the ramblings of an old widow. Maybe you will understand time better than I do, but please don’t dismiss me—these words are important to me, and therefore I hope they matter to you.

Because I have learned so much.

I have learned the love of a husband, a soldier, a father. I wish you could know your namesake. I wish Aníbal had not grown old after I left him. I had to leave him, you see, because he didn’t understand, though I wanted him to. Those two years were the most wonderful of my life, despite it all. His power, his kindness. I hope you grow up to be as kind as this father—to open your heart as he did to me. His brother too, the soldier, your third father, Nelson. I hope you learn to share intimately with another person, to trust them enough to give your heart unabashedly. Fatherhood means so much more paternity, and if I could have these men involved in your life I would have. I would give all of time for you to understand what it means to be a good man because I cannot really show it to you. I cannot explain what it looks like and the only examples I can point to exist in a lifetime that you are too young to know. Yet, I do hope that you can learn this love, that you can find a collage of fathers to show you the way to be a man—strong, kind, secure.

I have learned the value of a foot-rub. Many cold nights I have spent with my hands enveloping your tiny feet, working the cold out of them—the cold escaping into the night as we create warmth with our touch. It always made me feel...taken care of. If your feet are the roots that keep you grounded in this world, then they are the source from which your life springs. To hold them is to hold the deepest part of someone. To warm the feet, warms the soul.

I have learned the blandness of so many crackers. I eat and cannot fill myself. “Nothing tastes.” The years between one bite and the next leave me feeling empty. No matter what I try to fit inside me, there is too much to fill. Too much “time” creating volumes of space in my heart, years upon years that should be full of experiences and pain and joy...but not enough “time” from anyone or anything else to smooth out the gaps. What can a cold quesadilla do for eight weeks of time? The hole gets larger, and I continue my search. The trucker. He helped me to look...but my knees. I didn’t want him to touch them. I haven’t touched your knees. I’ve protected you, but I’m sorry if I failed to fill you up. I’m afraid I’ve given you my hunger, and for that I apologize.

I have learned the pain of childbirth. For years I carried you and for six months I bore you—brought you into this world. I believe it made me stronger but it hurt all the while. You, slowly escaping. Me, wanting you out but afraid to let you go. I lost a piece of me that day...that month...that moment in time. You were a part of me but you left and now I have to hold you close to my heart so that you can feel its beating pulsing through your veins. We got out of sync and I tried to follow you but I couldn’t make my heart move like I had hoped it would. I don’t know if two people’s hearts can beat as one. Perhaps I was mistake as I held you inside me.

I have learned the depth of motherhood. In my womb, you were safe—no one to touch you or look down upon you, no one to tell you what time is, but not really explain it. No one to look at you like you are crazy or glaze their eyes trying to recall and understand your last moments together. I kept you safe. And I hope I can keep you safe. Away from time. With me. You should know that I have slipped once, but only once so far. I left you alone for a few seconds—out to get the paper or the mail or something. When I returned you had teeth and hair. I missed the clicks. I cried for the phases of life that you went through alone. No one should be alone like that. Do you remember? I hope you were too young. After that, I never left your side, afraid to miss any more. But I often wondered what a day’s absence would do. Could I skip your adolescence—avoid those times in life that parents always complain about? Would I really want to? If time is so precious, why does everyone seem to wish it away?

I have learned that life is much more than what you make it. Aníbal, my son, you will never really understand the world around you—and that’s ok. No one does. They lie to you and tell you that they know this universe—how things move and stay still and why—but they don’t really understand it. I read somewhere that all of science is based on a certain set of premises that we take on faith—things we don’t really even know, but we believe anyway. Faith? I always thought that meant religion, but it doesn’t. Science asks you to have faith that the world is round and gravity makes things fall and that reality is as we perceive it...when in reality, there is no way to predict the perceptivity of what is real. We cannot even define what we mean by the word “real.” Certainly we don’t understand time. So we ask questions. “It’s good to ask questions.” But when people tell you this, they really mean that it is good for you to ask questions that have been asked before. People like it when you ask them questions that they already know the answer to, but no one wants to ponder something that they don’t know. On their walls, people display the paper-proof of their intelligence and no one wants to be questioned on whether or not their money went to good use. It’s expensive paper, almost as dear to them as their egos. The ego—if it is something that you must buy, I never got one for you. I hope this is ok with you because if I had felt that you would need one, I would have spared no expense for you, starved to purchase it...but as far as I can tell, very little good comes from acquiring an ego. So even if it makes you seem different from all of the others, I hope that you never chose to obtain one.

I have learned many things over an undefined period of time...over undefined time. And I don’t know if any of these words will do you any good where you are in life when you read them. Once time takes its toll, you may be old and I may be old or maybe we haven’t aged a day. Our bodies might not change and we might not function like everyone else around us seems to. Perhaps we will continue outside of time for all time. I may look the same to you when nothing else in your life seems steady. I hope you don’t mistake me for dull. Because I have learned many things. But what is most important, is that I have learned.

From Your Love of Lifetime, Your Mother,

Celestina del Sol

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

You know you're in trouble when an episode of "Scrubs" almost makes you cry...

...but it had a Wizard of Oz theme, so I've decided it's justifiable. There's no place like home...there's no place like home...

Another Good One from the Wise Sage, Justine

In reference to meeting men at church:

"You don't go to a swingers party..
1: Where do you go to church?
2: Take off your pants.
1: What??"

Quote for the Day

"And that's when I realized I couldn't date the foreigner. My witty repartee is completely lost in the language barrier..."

Another post that can be summed up by the statement: Meredith is emotional and thinks too much.

Last semester I took my first playwriting class here at SC. Though not my first stab at writing for the stage, it was definitely my most developed work. I spent the entire semester dancing around a specific topic that for certain reasons is becoming more and more of a soapbox for me. My final scene was a culmination of the work I'd done in the past months and the beginning of the work I will pursue further, as soon as I have some free time to devote to writing it. Titled, "If Doves Don't Migrate," the scene will eventually be the climax of a play in which I will focus on the relational struggles of three different couples in different life stages. The topic: Sex. And God. As I get older, having been thrown my share of curve balls, I've become increasingly interested in how Christians perceive sex. Really, anyone who breathes upon this earth is going to encounter struggles when it comes to physical relationships, but I am especially curious as to how a chaste, Christian couple makes the transition from "avoiding sexual immorality" (which unfortunately often gets translated as avoiding sex altogether--as if the act itself is immoral, rather than its abuse) to enjoying a literal Song of Solomon. Or what about the two, at their second year anniversary, who find it too hard to wait the two years before they finish school and can get married? Then take all of that, layered with a history of sexual abuse, and you have the scene's focal character, Camille. A heavy topic, I know--which is why I really want to take my time to develop all of the story lines. I'm going to need some more research and perhaps some more life experience before I'll really feel confidant that my play is worth putting out there. But for now, I did want to share a little taste of what I've been working on. I hope that this work turns into a conversation piece--something to bring to light issues within the Christian community and really the world as a whole. How do we deal with damage? And how does God fit into that? While the scene itself ends with an ambiguous-bordering-on-depressing tone, the message I want to convey is that there can be healing and God is good. Funny. Sounds like my life theme.

So here is where I wanted to include a little snippet of the scene. I figured I could just pick some good bits and edit the content some in order to make it appropriate for all my readers. Time for one of my famous digressions: I have a certain beef with sticking to "clean" language and "nice" scenic moments. Though I try, in my everyday life, to avoid certain language, etc. that might be construed as offensive, I feel that artistically and thematically, certain actions and words create a stronger dramatic effect and help to better express truthful, real-life moments. After all, when you are in the midst of traumatic situations, most of your filters go out the window. And on stage, if you don't push the envelope just a little, how can you expect any reaction from the audience. People don't remember "nice" plays; they remember the poignant moments that stirred their dormant passions or nearly induced vomiting.

And, of course, my favorite theatrical elements of this scene are as such, so I'll end with a bit of outline, which will have to satiate you for now. The basic frame of the scene is a conversation between Camille and Monika about the events of the night before. As they talk, Camille reenacts the scene for us. Monika watches Camile and Jacob, due to be married in a week, as a fourth person, Ryan, unseen by all but Camille, enters. He is "the rapist"--a title that deserves quotes because whether or not he truly raped Camille is ambiguous, depending on one's definition of rape. Ryan, in a manner of speaking, forces Camille to explain to Jacob the exact events of the assault. It's violence, panic, prayer, and a questionable resolution: can there be forgiveness, should there be forgiveness, and how do you erase the past?

Well, I think I succeeded in bringing up plenty of topics without really answering any of them. Enough to keep you up at night, I suppose. But I guess that's kind of what I'd like for the full play to do. I'm trying not to make too many judgements on my characters as I write because I still don't have conclusive evidence to set my stance in these areas. Much of what I've thought in the past has been challenged, and I'm sure it will continue to be so. Perhaps I'll divulge more as seems appropriate, but I think this shall be all for tonight. Bullet points for those that need things wrapped up in little bows: I'm writing...it's about psycho-emotional-girly things...with a Christian slant...and not suitable for all ages.

Christmas Leftovers

It's 7:45 on my computer, which means that it's 9:45 where I'm at in Texas. After oodles of presents and twice as many calories, we're all cuddled up next to the fire watching Elf. A great end to a great day.

Just wanted to end my month-ish hiatus. Things have been slow around Esther, but it seems that new juices still aren't flowing. Been doing a lot of doing and haven't thought as much thinking. Perhaps the new year will bring in some new ponderings.

Merry Christmas :)

Thanksgiving Pictures!

Let's get this party started!!



Me with the turkey, prepped and ready to go in the oven.



The next step is to call EVERYONE we know to wish them a Happy Thanksgiving, which of course requires the wearing of my "hot stuff" apron. I know...you're a little bit jealous...



Now I chop onions for the cornbread dressing...
...said onions make me cry.



Saute onions and celery, crumble the cornbread, and the dressing is almost done. Time for...



THE TURKEY!!



Justine is obsessed with the turkey, so she poses in her classy sweater dress as if she was actually going to do the carving...



...but that's my job.



Justine is in charge of stealing pieces of turkey once I'm done.



And I sneak a deviled egg before we finish setting the table.

.........Eating ensues........

Justine is dramatically finished and we decide to put all the food away before we eat any more.



I dump the turkey's remains into the trash--gross!! (bet you never knew I could make that face...sexy...)



And now it's time for a nap. A four-hour nap.

............The end.........

Lady in Waiting?

One of our pastors at Shoreline, Scott, just got back from Uganda, where he and three other SoCal guys went to teach theology to a group of pastors there. Apparently, one of the more interesting (read: funny to share with the crew back home) conversations they had with those men was about dating--how they choose a wife versus what we do here. The advice of the Ugandan men to the single American guys of the group was--just pick one. Reactions to this from our lunch table varied--laughter, nodding, eyes rolling. One of the girls backed their idea with her parents' story: he was 30, he knew that she was a good Christian girl, they weren't really in love, but they got married anyway. When I chimed in with "that's sad," I was silenced by, "well, they're still together." Not silenced by the tone of response...but it really made me think. Just pick one?

Gut reaction: well of course that doesn't work here because women have a say in being picked, and whether that's good or bad or just different, it is what it is. Guys can't "just pick one" because the girl may very likely veto. Hence, dating is born. Now for arguments' sake, let's say that it would be better if our lives were like they were a hundred or so years ago when a man went to the father, bartered with cows and crops, and came home with a new bride. Maybe the problem, as someone suggested, is that we, as women, won't just go with the one who comes along to pick us--that we are always wondering if there's someone better out there...

Is the meaning of the title starting to click with you yet? Women raised in the conservative Christian church are well versed in the idea of patiently waiting for their Prince. After all, a "daughter of the King" should "guard her heart" because "true love waits," etc. etc. Now, these are great ideas--purity is commanded in the Bible and I don't think any of what we've been teaching young girls in the church is far from the mark. I'll be the first to attest to how learning this stuff personally kept me out of a good deal of trouble in Jr. High and High School, but my question is, then, how does this fit in with "just pick one"? On to the bigger question:

To wait or not to wait..?

First I should lay out some parameters for the hypothetical I'm working on. So you have a girl. For example's sake, let's call her "Meredith." Now Meredith knows several equally-qualified, good Christian guys. Let's call them "--ok maybe they can remain nameless...So Meredith is sitting around like a good Lady in Waiting--waiting on one of them to start pursuing. And when one of them does, one of the quality ones, should Meredith just go along with it? Is godliness the only qualification to consider? And even if attraction and common interests aren't important--how does Meredith go about deciding when someone is "godly enough?"

Awkward 3rd person references aside, how much is a girl supposed to wait for? If the man is supposed to "just pick one," then shouldn't we just say yes? Now, I haven't counted the number of question marks I've used so far today, but for fear that I might reach my per-post question-quota, I'll start working through some answers...

Answer #1: Clearly, the problem with our engagement process is that the bartering-with-the-father part has been cut out of the equation, so now we have to figure things out some other way--bartering becomes dating--and we want to know what a guy has to offer us before we agree to tie any knots.

Answer #2: This leaves us with new problems to consider: some of us suck at bartering. And there probably will ALWAYS be someone better out there somewhere. And unless I'm the only retarded girl in all of girlkind, it's not so simple to get the heart and mind to sync up...or the heart and mind to sync with his heart and mind...or any other awkward combination thereof. If we're going to be doing all this waiting, we better know what it is we are waiting for--and last time I checked, God's hand hadn't etched any names on my wall or anything like that, leaving me to trust in my limited wisdom, my gut feelings, advice from others and chance. Colmery's probably right about us not praying for what we really want because we fear it might be answered. I won't get a deposit back if there's a name mysteriously carved into whatever joke of a building material comprises the walls of my room. But, God, maybe a little less dramatically destructive form of revelation? I don't think I'll get charged for burning bushes since those are technically not our responsibility...

My Final Answer: If anyone wants to marry me, he can bring some goats over to my house in Texas and take it up with my dad. Or hey...I'll make it even easier and nominate Scott and Lara as my stand in parents (despite the fact that they are really only like 5 years older than me) and he can consult them for my asking price.

Which is 3 carats. And beachfront property. And a hot body. That likes to dance.

Ok maybe I do want just a little say in this...

Me, on the phone with my mom: "I'm like...a real woman!!"

Yes, friends, I have officially become a woman today. Yeah, that's right--I made my first turkey and it was AMAZING...if I do say so myself. Actually Justine says so as well, so you can take it up with her. Clearly, conquering a turkey completely validates my proficiency as a woman, and this means that I am now officially available for marriage proposals. (though I do recommend going through my Daddy first... Hey--I'm Southern. Whatcha gonna do?)

So this was my first Thanksgiving sans family (ok last year I wasn't with my fam either, but I had Inge and the rest of the Hergenrather crew as a worthy stand-in). Justine and I made plans for today's shin-dig, and in true Meredith/Justine fashion, we even dressed the part. Facebook will have the pictures soon enough, but let me just say that my trophy-wife attire made a re-appearance, only this time it included an apron, oven mitts, turkey and dressing, deviled eggs, and cranberry sauce. And honestly, I was perfectly in my element, dancing around the kitchen like a crazy person--waving knives, chopping onions, calling Mom and Dad and Neil and Grandmom... We made a ghetto/Christmas mix to set the mood and I just tried not to kill anyone. Justine was true to form as well. Perhaps my favorite moment of hers--classic Justine really--is the mental image of her in a fabulous, black sweater-dress and Aldo stilettos: with one hand she holds her cell phone to her ear, and the other grips a rolled issue of Vogue for dear life as she tries to kill a spider. I can still hear the squeals and screams. It was really so upper-middle class chic that I can hardly take it...ahh Justine.

Another perfect day of debauchery.

My Ladies

I just want to take a moment to brag about all of the incredible women in my life. Yesterday I was talking to a guy friend about a mutual friend of ours, also male, when the guy I was talking to began to tell me about "what a stud" our friend is. As he spoke, I wondered when I last praised a girlfriend of mine, either to her face or to someone else. It's a terrible shame that, as women, we rarely do that. Are we afraid that if we speak highly of another girl, it somehow takes away from our own "glory"? And what is our glory anyway? Those of you tempted to scoff and call this cheesy, please don't. I'm kind of in that boat right now as I try to write this...because I'm tired of people trying to heal my wounds with church catch-phrases that seem so dead before they are even voiced. But please read my honesty into this.

So, girls--yall should know that you are beautifully and wonderfully created by a God that wants to pursue and allure you in a way that you could never imagine--in a way that no man on this earth will ever be able to do. I am so blessed to have so many teachers and mentors--women who have taught me so much about godliness. Don't you dare let this world tell you that you have no value. You are worth so much more than the meager fairy-tales that life tells us to chase after.

Dad--Mom is quite the catch. You're a lucky guy. Neil, so are you. And the other Cooper/Johnson men--the ladies in our family are legit. What shining examples of the poise and beauty that died with the old South--those lost arts that these women exemplify...and the strength with which they support the people in their lives.

Men of Shoreline--I wonder sometimes if yall have any idea how incredible the women in our church are. I hope that you all get the opportunity to see firsthand their passion for the ministry God has allowed us to be a part of. I love seeing how eager these girls are to seek God and serve. And I can't tell you how often I've heard them speak of how they want to be better sisters to yall and learn to encourage yall.

My baby sister, my best girlfriends, and the women with whom I am lucky enough to interact--I don't tell yall enough that I love you. But I do. Our men are trying. And this world isn't perfect so they aren't ever going to quite get it right, but please remember that your worth isn't measured by their approval. Let them lead, pursue, and love you, ladies, because you do deserve to be loved in the way that God teaches men to love. More people should be bragging about how cool yall are. Because you are.

Pressure, Preaching....Au Pair?

Sorry to disappoint all of yall who have been waiting for my further thoughts on Sunday, but I really haven't had everything together this week like I had hoped. It figures, of course, that any time I start to think that life might slow down just long enough for me to catch my breath and catch up on a little blog-musing, I get slammed again. I shouldn't be surprised. I signed up for all of this--my school workload, my work workload...my other work's workload...

To finish up my sermon thoughts, I wanted to mention a couple of the other ideas we threw around on Monday night: how people often get apathetic about Jesus because he's not personal to them and my personal soapbox of late about how pathetically selfish I am--a revelation I really should have had a long time ago. Brian and Scott keep talking about how nothing is about us...it's about God. And I swear I'm listening and I think I'm applying all this stuff till I look up again and realize how far away I am from where I want to be. I want to be the kind of person who is never depressed because I am too focused on the blessings I have and how I can bless others. I want to be so overjoyed by others' success that I forget my own. It's funny how the basics are so simple...yet so frustratingly elusive. When it's been a week since I really sat down with God to read His word, I can't seem to understand why I've "lost" that passion to do so. Just the other day I spent an hour-ish in one of our campus cafes listening to worship music and writing out my prayers. As I glance over the words on those pages, why is it that they seem kind of foreign this morning? Maybe today is one of my more Israelite-esque moments. Last week I watched with awe as God brought me through sea after sea on dry ground...and today I'm packing up manna like it's my job--bread that I know is going to rot by tomorrow. I don't know if I'll ever remain permanently in the "personal" state with Jesus because I keep slipping back into apathy.

Ironically, though, I am also currently in this bizarre state of restlessness, and I hope it's not because of this that I seem to have hit on what I want to do next September when I am finished with school. I got this seemingly brilliant plan on Monday during my German class for how to get myself into the country, where I can be closer to my friends from Sprachcamp. I've played around with the idea of moving over there after graduation but was unsure how I would be able to get a job with barely conversational German skills. Then I realized that if I moved there as an au pair (live-in nanny), then not only would I be in the country, but I would get to play house-mom while I'm at it. What could be more perfect for me? I registered myself that night on a myspace-like website where families and potential au pairs can search each other's profiles and arrange details for a work contract. I want to do something crazy and I want to change the world and I want monumental adventures. So it seemed like a good idea at the time...

I want so badly to know deeply and shine brightly how personal and passionate Jesus is within me. I wish life always looked like seas parting, but I know somewhere in the back of my mind that waiting on new bread each morning is an equally great miracle.

Lord, au pair or not, teach me to delight in Your daily blessings, wait patiently on Your timing, and see each moment as the great adventure it is.