...how I feel, but, well, patience needs to be exercised. And I need to be where I am now.

Question:

So what's the deal with masturbation?

This topic is prevalent throughout our society. It's splashed all over the media, tips and advice are sanctioned in magazines and on the internet, and does the church address it? At all?

Hardly.

Oh, and how come when guys masturbate, people sort of titter behind their hands, roll their eyes, smile, and say, "Oh they're boys, what do you expect?" Well, if you're going to tell women NOT to do it, then maybe maintaining the same bloody standard would be a good place to start!

I don't care if guys handle their penises from the time they start to potty train so that they're aware of these sensations. And I don't care that there's a biological need to expel semen from their bodies. God happened to create a natural way for this to happen. (Hm...God gave us sexual bodies and a way to actually avoid temptation? No way!)

You would think that one of these days the double standard applied to the human species would be lifted.

Example:

Men:
Have sex! Have lots of sex! After all, you're MEN. You're horny, and that's normal! So go hump something! Heck, go hump LOTS of things!
Sincerely,
"Society"

*ahem*

Women:
You are either a virgin or a whore. Sorry, there's no middle ground. Oh, and since you're such a vile creature, we'll just circumcise you to get rid of those evil desires...*cut, snick, stitch* Yep, no room for sexual pleasure now!



To put it bluntly: what the hell?!

I'm sorry, but I'm sick of this hypocrisy. Either it's wrong for everyone, or it's fine for everyone. I don't see this as a grey issue between the genders. Oh, and before I receive the hate mail from guys complaining that I "just don't know what it's like," I would like to agree. It's true. I'm not a male. But that doesn't mean that I don't have sexual urges or temptations of other kinds that are equally hard to evade. I don't believe that guys have the monopoly on temptation.

In the meantime, if you can't give a darn good answer to this issue, keep your hands away from your genitals.

kids say the darnedest things!

Ok, so my boss sent me this, and it's just too hilarious! :)

a new twist

I've been examining a certain culture lately--the Maori of New Zealand. If you've been reading my blog since its inception, you will know that I have been interested in the Maori culture since last summer, when I was interested in learning the haka--I can check that off my list now!--and really wanted to go to NZ just to experience the Maori firsthand.

Well, in my research, I was looking up textiles, artifacts, images, etc., and I stumbled upon an image of a Maori necklace. When I clicked on the image, I found the hunger site, which I've discovered before, and realized that this necklace was for sale.

Something from the Maori culture? That I can buy without having to go to New Zealand? Dude...out came the debit card and I bought it then and there. (And hey, food was donated by the purchase--or so they claim--so I felt few qualms about the purchase.)

[Side note: these sister stores--hunger site, breast cancer site, rainforest site, literacy site, child health site, animal rescue site--all provide the most interesting items for purchase in order to fund these various charities. Since they are "giving" to the rest of the world, they offer unique gifts from all over the place. Seriously, some of the coolest stuff is on these sites. If you're looking for a cool present, look no further!]

Today, I checked my mailbox and the necklace had arrived--super fast since I just purchased it Monday. I put it on tonight, and I'm pretty sure that it's going to become the necklace that I wear all summer long and probably won't take off for a good long time. Plus, since it's made of carnelian, it will get redder in the sunlight. (I hope so, because with summer coming up, that's so exciting!)

There's a lot of meaning to this necklace and, as an English major, I'm all about symbolism. The twist represents the joining of two people forever, how no matter where life takes them, they'll always come around to each other again, sharing their lives once more. I would assume that this would typically be used for lovers or "bosom" friends. Well...being at a lack for both of those in this world--to some extent--I chose to purchase the necklace for another reason.

Lately, I've been going through some soul searching. Well, it's more like God-searching. I'm in a time where I'm pressing in to God, developing intimacy with Him. This looks like it's going to be a slow process because I am slow to trust and, well, relationships with God are all about trust--and grace. So in symbolism of my learning to love God even more, I chose to buy this necklace in hopes that it reminds me of our relationship.

argh

I just googled that word and discovered this: the argh page.

key to happiness

I have discovered that element in life which brings me happiness, and that element is exercise--preferably in the form of dance. (Note: this is different from joy. Joy I find only in the Lord and in all those gifts that come from Him.)

Last night in my room--really late--I was bored, so I put on some music, a full skirt, a sassy headscarf, and danced. I didn't dance like no one was watching--even though no one was--but I danced as if I had an appreciative, energetic audience or as if I was at a Mediterranean party in full swing, complete with spontaneous dancing. (What's a party without spontaneous dancing after all?) Call me a complete goofball, but I think I want to crash a Mediterranean party like that.

Partway through the dancing, I changed into my pjs and changed the music. It went from gypsy/Mediterranean to girl power rock. I temporarily wore my hooker boots--knee high black platform boots that lace up the front. After all, what's girl power rock without hooker boots? :) Have to admit, probably a good thing no one was actually watching me dance around in a tank top and short shorts with boots! (Would've scarred them for life...)

Eventually I went to bed, still kinda giddy, and then woke up today still in a giddy mood--even before coffee!--and kinda flirty. Probably a good thing there aren't available guys around. I could get myself in trouble with this mood!


This next bit has nothing to do with dancing or happiness, although it was still cool. I randomly googled an mk friend of mine last night, and stumbled on a podcast of him preaching a sermon. He's several years older than me--and more of an acquaintance rather than a friend--and he's already graduated from college--ORU--credentialed, and a missionary in Burundi. His parents--who I know better--were my guardians while I attended RVA in Kenya. Anyhow, it was really funny hearing how much he sounds like his dad.

It was really exciting to hear him preach because he's very much like me--missionary kid from Africa, grown up in a different culture, speaks multiple languages, loves missions. I've always promised myself, however, that I don't want to go where my parents have gone. I love Africa, but I don't see myself returning to there.

Ironically, yesterday I was in my ARD's office, glancing through a book of portraits from National Geographic, and it put me in a conundrum. These pictures came from all over the world--Paraguay, Afghanistan, Mauritania, India, France, USA, Australia--and every picture made me want to go to those places to see those people.

God, how am I ever to know where You want me when I want to go everywhere?! No specific place, no specific action pulls at my heart any stronger than the others. I know when the time is right, You'll point me in the right direction, but it can be so hard to wait patiently when I want to know now.

this has absolutely nothing to do with anything

final project(s)

Tonight I turned in my portfolio for Genres. The focus I chose for the semester was memoir, in which I tended to exorcise some of my personal demons. My favorite piece that I submitted in my portfolio I now submit to you, my readers.


"Faith and Thumbtacks"

Artist and writer Mary Anne Radmacher said, "Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, 'I will try again tomorrow.'" I know nothing about Radmacher. In fact, until I googled this quote, I would have attributed it to the creative genius Anonymous, which is a pseudonym taken from the Greek, meaning "the author of everything that no one can really claim as their own."

Regardless of a person's life, whether he or she spent his or her formative years permanently in a church pew or living the prodigal lifestyle, that person will experience regret. Certainly, not all remorse is the same. Everyone deals with their conscience differently. Some people experience guilt for taking a pen from the doctor's office whereas others hardly blink an eye at murder. But at some point, each non-sociopathic person will come to terms with his or herself.

My ex-boyfriend's mother, Laura, introduced me to Radmacher’s quote about courage at a time when I was ready to quit. Fall semester of my junior year in college, I was wrestling with my past, especially in light of how the mental sexual baggage was affecting my present and would continue to impact my future. Everywhere I turned, specters from my past haunted me—in classes, in friendships, in family affairs. I felt trapped, weighed down by my poor sexual choices, by what had been done to me, and by the overwhelming sense that I would never be freed from the guilt, shame, and fear so closely tied to abuse and its successive behaviors.

At that point in my life, when Laura shared with me, I wanted nothing more than to run away from my past, to keep denying its existence. After all, from my perspective, the past was a permanent stain on the fabric of my life. No one could remove the blemishes—not even God. In fact, if God were truly there, and had been there all throughout my life, then why had He allowed these things to happen?

Various doubts crept into my mind, taking root in the uncertainty I felt in relation to my past abuse. Now that I’d admitted to it, how do I deal with it? Was my insistence that it wasn’t really abuse evidence of the Stockholm Syndrome? If that was the case, was my sister actually a cold-hearted villain or was she truly a victim like me? Was I merely playing a role in dating at the time, or was I actually drawn towards lesbianism? Was it best to deal with it, or keep suppressing it?

I cried out in anguish and despair. I shed tears of bitter fury. I wallowed in self-hatred and humiliation. The feelings that I had always repressed inundated the floodgates I had carefully constructed and barricaded over the years, and there was seemingly no end to them. They just kept pouring into my mind, battering my heart like a toy boat caught in a hurricane.

In the past year and a half since I admitted to my past, I have cried like I have never cried in my entire life. (I always saw crying as a sign of weakness, and I have so desperately tried to be strong in and of myself throughout my life.) I have prostrated myself on the floor, weeping before God, crying out for remission. I have cried in the arms of my parents, on my (then) boyfriend’s chest, into my pillow, and in front of school assemblies at weekly Monday night worship services. But all the tears seemed to bring nothing but headaches, exhaustion, swollen eyelids, and a flushed face.

The barrage of emotions became too much for me to handle on my own, and I gave in to the negativity that swirled around me. I embraced every foul whisper that echoed in my empty soul, rejecting any truth that was spoken in the midst of my pain. I chose to live in the darkness that clouded around me, and at that point, I chose to hurt myself.

I had never understood cutting or self-injury of any kind, but I began to cut—first with scissors, then deepening the marks with thumbtacks. The idea of taking a sharp object and willing slicing through supple flesh to reach some kind of release simply did not compute prior to my own experience. But there was a point in my life that I did not understand girls staying in horrible relationships either. Now, I am grateful for having experienced these various tragedies, as my field of empathy has expanded as a result.

Somewhere in my depression, I decided that since I was a horrible person, I should be treated horribly. I secretly hoped that cutting would scare off those who seemed to care for me. I did my best to turn people against me. I didn’t want to be loved anymore—I certainly didn’t feel worthy of love. Simply put, love and purity cannot remain where lust and pollution reside. And yet, when my greatest efforts to spurn people harvested an even stronger commitment, I gave up. I sought help from a professional counselor, and willingly gave up my sharp objects, choosing to take the first steps towards healing.

Every day when I woke up, I had the choice to return to the negative mindset that would eventually destroy me, or to focus on God’s promises—the light at the end of my tunnel of depression. It was difficult, and I did not want to choose life. I would have preferred to die and end all the inner torment, but God remained faithful as I took my hesitant steps of renewed faith. Many days, I chose to revert to the darkness that surrounded me. At the end of those days, I felt discouraged, that somehow I had managed to add one more tally mark to my failure scorecard. But at those times, I was reminded of Laura telling me about choosing to try again on the morrow.

And I did try again. And again. And again.

There was no miraculous cure for my depression—it was a painful process to walk through. Usually, God works subtly through our pain and walks us through the hardship so that we learn from our experiences and grow stronger. In my life, God used key people to intervene. He aligned circumstances to bring the right people into my life when He knew I would need them the most. And then, when I realized where I was and how far I had run, He welcomed me back softly, reminding me that faith doesn’t always roar. Sometimes, it’s the tentative, yet courageous, step towards the truth that you know is real—even though you don’t see it.

because nothing helps break writer's block better than Star Wars...