Wonky Bricks

Growth is a funny thing.  It’s not really a constant upward slant, a simple “learn this, then build on it.”  It’s...messier than that.  Sometimes the lessons you learn are good and simple, sometimes they’re complex, sometimes they’re fully formed and something you’ll keep forever.  Sometimes the basic principle is right, but your bricks got wonky when you tried to build on it. And sometimes, the lesson helps you for a time but then you have to discard it because it’s fundamentally wrong.

(Ain’t that a peach?)

Learning to handle the twists and turns of life is a bit of a trip for all of us; some folks turn to alcohol to cope, some to fantasy, some to hard cynicism.  No matter what our poison, it’s usually just that: a poison.  Works for a while but makes us somehow less than we could be.  And while sometimes a defense mechanism can get us through the worst of a situation, it doesn’t mean we should adopt that sucker and keep it forever. Like pharmaceutical medicines, coping mechanisms have a tendency to help, but with side effects.

The only answer to this conundrum I have been able to find is that we must constantly adjust: tear down walls with bad foundations or wonky bricks and rebuild them, slowly, a brick at a time.

My own personal recent experience has been the need to tear down a wall I honestly didn’t realize I was even building.  Several years ago I determined that hardening one’s self against pain really accomplished nothing; that instead of keeping out hurt, one would unintentionally lock pain in but keep out such things as joy and love.  

I still believe that.

But I decided it when I was still a cute little innocent, though I would’ve balked at being called that at the time.  I decided it before my life became what seemed to be one giant test after another--near death experiences, family members coming and going (with more going than coming), illness and heartbreak and depression and mistakes that turned my world upside down a few times a year.

A while back, I apparently decided that these situations weren’t just tests; some passing phenomenon that, if I performed well enough, would eventually give way to something better, and I would look back at the years 2010 through 2014 and laugh about how awful they were while basking in how awesome things were now.  I decided that apparently, this was just life.  

Basic Lesson #1: Life sucks.

That didn’t really fit my mindset at the time, so I adjusted. I changed my perspective from rose-colored glasses to clear glass ones. Immediately my left brain went to work on the problem, because I was looking at a future of major suckage, and I wasn’t happy here.  I was smart enough to know that if I wasn’t happy now, while things sucked, I wasn’t going to be happy later, when things still sucked.

Basic Lesson #2: I can be happy in spite of the suck.

This was a good lesson, but it had an offshoot I didn’t really anticipate.  One that sort of made itself known slowly, like a nasty case of cancer--growing until it was choking off everything before I really saw it.

Basic Lesson #3: Don’t expect things to be good, they’re gonna suck.  Expect things to suck.

This lesson, I thought, would protect the original determination: becoming hard and building walls would be unhelpful, so don’t put yourself in a position to be hurt--expect the suck.

(It made sense at the time.)

As you’ve probably already realized, that particular lesson, once I began applying it to my perspective, turned things from clear glass to crappy-brown glass.  And, as happens when you start viewing the world through such a lens, I found myself suffering from a nasty case of Cynicism.

And as is generally the case in my life, the Father wouldn’t let that be.  Because evidently I don’t get to have “normal” faults like that, He’s always asking me to go higher, improve more, live fuller, work harder.  Of course, my left brain started negotiating.

Father, why should I expect the best when I know it won’t happen?

Because it could.

But it won’t.  And then I’m put in a position whereby when (not if) crap hits the fan, I’m hurt.

I want you to have faith.

But you said it yourself! “Hope deferred makes the heart sick.” And you want me to put myself in a position where I’m set to have hope deferred over and over and over again?

I want you to believe in Me and My promises to you.

Which are what, exactly?  That everything will “work out for good”?  Yeah, somebody else’s good maybe, not mine.  (Tossing God’s own words at Him: gutsy? Maybe. I don’t believe in prevaricating with my Father, seems like an exercise in futility to me.) And even if it is for my good, it’s probably going to be a painful road.  And I’m sick of hurting.

And this, what you’re doing, keeps things from hurting?

……..Maybe.

What does it get you, exactly? What does it truly do for that heart I created to be soft and receptive?

I don’t want to talk about this.

You asked.

But, as I’ve mentioned, I couldn’t just...accept that cynicism was a lousy answer.  It didn’t make sense that God would ask me to have faith that was clearly going to be crushed every time I turned around.  I believe God is bigger than us, that his thoughts are not ours, but really.  That was just unreasonable.

What’s going to happen is going to happen, so why is it so important I believe for the best? Why does it matter what I think, whether I expect things to be good or bad?

And the answer hit me, right between the eyes, and hard enough to knock me on my proverbial rear:

Because it’s not about circumstances, it’s about my relationship with Him.  It’s not about situations, it’s about me and my God.

Because any parent wants their child to understand that they have their best interests at heart, regardless of how painful something they’re going through might be.  Because my cynicism demonstrated a lack of faith, not in circumstances and people and life in general, but in the One in whom I always swore my faith would never waver.  Because yes, what’s gonna happen is gonna happen, but that doesn’t mean I ought to stop believing He’ll work it all out in the end.

And to be frank, I’m still not there.  Something wonderful just happened to me, an answer to a desperate prayer I’ve prayed for almost two years now, and literally the first thing I thought was, “okay, relax, this can and probably will go wrong in about two minutes.  Don’t get excited, don’t get happy. Prepare yourself, this is gonna hurt like heck in no time.”

(Because that’s not at all pessimistic.)

So I’m not here to tell you I’ve Davided this particular Goliath yet, because I haven’t.  

But I know I’m not the only one, and neither are you.  

All Figured Out

Someone once asked me what it must be like to live inside my head.  Since it's all I really know, it was a strange question to try to answer, but it did get me thinking.  There are a couple of things I know for sure about Meg's Brain, and one of them is precisely where I'm going with this.

My head is a place of constant motion.  The idea that people can just stop and think of nothing is completely unfathomable to me; in my mind, there's always stories, lessons, questions, logic, solutions, thoughts chasing themselves around in a flurry of activity.  Most of the time, I love it there; I'm used to it, I never get bored--because if I do, I just sic my brain on a new problem or a new story and let it run wild--and despite my many faults, I do tend to operate more on logic than emotion, which I see as a good trait.

But (there's always a but) it does have its downsides.  I need to have (or be able to come up with) answers quickly, I need a takeaway for every situation in my life, because otherwise it seems pointless and confusing.  I haven't posted on this blog in nearly seven months because my mantra seems to be "if you don't have it all figured out, keep your mouth shut until you do," and my life has been anything but simple recently. And if something isn't going right in a specific area of my life, all that brain activity becomes some mad scramble to find an answer, a solution, something I can do to fix it right freaking now. And that, my friends, is where I'm going to camp for a second.

Remember that mantra I have?  That doesn't just apply to blogging.  I find myself refusing to ask for help--from my Heavenly Father or my earthly family and friends--until I've got, in my mind, a handle on the issue.  Don't come empty-handed to anyone, always have something to offer, even if it's only a tentative solution.  Or at least a basic understanding of the root of the problem.

Who among us has their problem figured out before they ask for help?  It's a crazy idea, right? And I promise you, it's exactly as successful as you imagine it would be--which is to say, not. It results in me placing all my brainpower toward a weakness or situation, and more often than not, I end up logicking (is that a word? It is now.) myself into a mental corner where my own misunderstandings and faulty reasoning reign supreme.  Then I get overwhelmed and I know I need someone to help me but I have nothing to offer yet so I can't ask for help because I have to get this straight in my head first...

You see the issue here.

A dear friend spoke to me about this this week.  Apparently, I'm not the only person in the world whose head is a sorta-wacky place (and isn't that a relief to know?), and she was able to get through to me with one simple word I want to pass onto you now:

Breathe.

Just for a day (your problem will still be there tomorrow, don't worry), don't think about that specific issue.

Breathe.

If it comes to mind, deliberately put it aside and think about something else.

And just breathe.

I've long since learned not to scoff at solutions that seem odd, so I agreed to do this without question (if it didn't work, my problem would still be there tomorrow, no harm done really).  It was simple, but not easy.

And I did it.  For 24 hours, I refused to think about the particular issue that has had me backed into a mental corner for the last few weeks.  Instead, I focused on the world springing to life outside my window, on the sunshine that warmed my cheeks, on the simple joy of a child discovering something new.  I let myself be completely present where I was, whether that was at work or at home with my family.  I prayed, but not about that issue; I just...talked to my Father, thanked him and praised him and asked him about anything except that one thing. For a day, there was no monstrous issue hanging over my shoulder, and I just breathed.

At the end of that 24 hour period, something amazing had happened.  I was so much more relaxed than I had been in months; I felt restored, able to see more clearly, and suddenly that massive ogre of a problem seemed much more manageable.

Was it a giant?  Sure, but I was equipped with a sling and some river stones.  And since when do you need more than that to slay a giant?

All that to say: this week I learned how to breathe, and it's a lesson I don't want to forget.  In that same vein, I think I'm going to toss that mantra of mine (it's never really served me well anyway) and let myself not have all the answers sometimes.

And I think I'm going to change the way I run this blog, too.  It's always been about takeaway, about having something to say that ties up an issue in a nice little package with a nice little bow for my readers.  But that's not real life, and if there's anything I've learned about being undaunted, it's that you have to face real life head on in order to do it.  So going forward, posts will come more often--but they'll probably contain more questions than answers.  Everything may not come together and I may not be able to give you a simple lesson to take away.

Because I've got it all figured out now:

I don't have to have it all figured out.

Kale, Wonder, and the Queen of England

I'm sitting here at lunch today, realizing there's only 12 more hours left to this year's GISHWHES (Greatest Scavenger Hunt the World Has Ever Seen)--probably less than that by the time this blog post sees the light of day. The thought is bittersweet.

On the one hand, my life has been a bit topsy-turvy this week--my usual routine upset by crazy tasks like creating and recording a duet rendition of "Eye of the Tiger", practicing my Blue Steel for a mug shot--and getting up the nerve to submit it--and soliciting my friends for help with tasks I can't possibly accomplish--like recording a barrel roll in a fighter jet from the pilot's POV.

Ha.  Yeah, right.

Not to mention that frankly, asking people for help with such random nonsense is downright terrifying.  Let's just be honest, here.  It's bad enough asking for help when there's a good reason for it, but to tell someone you need THE SINGLE MOST RANDOM FAVOR EVER for the sake of a scavenger hunt (okay, THE scavenger hunt of all scavenger hunts, but still)...I got plenty of practice explaining myself and GISHWHES succinctly.  Or at least attempted to.

But on the other hand, the experience has been incredible.  Aside from the fact that a lot of the list items have just been downright fun, I've made fourteen new friends in record time (TeamFreeWillMinions, woot!), taken goofy photos that will probably haunt me forever, and above all, been reminded that there really are people--thousands of them--who are willing to snap out of the daily grind long enough to make the world a slightly better place for all of us.

All that to say that the end of GISHWHES is a sad moment, sure, but the experience and the lessons will last far longer than the week.  

I suppose there are as many possible lessons in such an event as there are people to learn them, but for me, the big lessons of GISHWHES 2014 were this:

1) Don't take anything for granted.  Pull your head out of the phone screen or (God forbid) the book long enough to actually participate in what's going on around you.  

2) Life is crazy and random and wild--and you know what?  That's okay.  In fact, send a little crazy, random, wild kindness back at it as payback.  

3) Wonder is an underrated, under-appreciated concept.  We experience it so much as kids, and then 'grow out of it' as we get older, as everything becomes familiar and routine.  This is a type of death in itself, I think; and I for one am far too young to live dead.

So to all the GISHers out there (and the rest of you too); enjoy these last hours of GISHWHES 2014--but then don't stop!  Don't stop being abnosome, quirky, kind, and delightful.  Embrace the wonder that is all around us, just waiting to be seen--and create something wonderful for others to marvel at!  Until next summer, BE GISHWHES.

PS--Here's to kale smoothies.  Surprisingly yummeh.

Temperament Of A Lion, Strategy Of A Fox

1 Peter 5:8--"Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about; seeking whom he may devour."

If I had a nickel for every time my parents (or another spiritual leader) quoted this verse as I was growing up, whether in an attempt to get a point through my thick skull or in trying to warn me off a certain behavior, I'd not be shuffling paperwork for a living, and that's a fact.  By the time I hit my teenage years, I could recite it without even trying, and would often just mentally check out every time someone started talking about the Devil tramping around like a roaring lion.  Yes, yes, I know, I would think.  Satan hates me, wants to see me stumble, etc etc I get it already.

But as is often the case with such lessons, I had yet to really see it in action.  It wasn't until I was older (and, I'd like to think, wiser) that the point was really driven home, and I was reminded again of it this past week.

I struggled with issues of abandonment and rejection for basically my entire childhood and well into my adult years.  It was a battle I was well aware of but didn't know how to win.  But after years of love and acceptance from my parents, coupled with the gentle guidance of a dear friend in the Lord, I finally fought and won that battle last year, late in the Spring.  I was downright ecstatic, of course, and even happier when months passed and it became clear I had really, truly beaten this thing, the one stumbling block I never thought I'd manage to clear.  

I was confident, happy to be me, sure of myself in ways I never imagined I'd be able to.  My worth was not in how many people liked me or how many friends I had or how popular I was; instead, it rested squarely in my identity as a daughter of Christ, in His love and regard for me.  I no longer suffered from paralyzing fear of people's rejection, choosing instead to focus on what I already had--the love of my Father in heaven, and the acceptance of my family on earth.

And thus I continued for a year, happier than I'd ever been, carefree and certain of myself and my decisions.  But in my quieter moments, even I had to admit I was still lonely often.  I still saw in every interaction with others, every status update, every phone call, how different I was from everyone.  How isolated.  I brushed it off; told myself I didn't need acceptance or even friendship, that I was okay without it.  That I was a complete person with or without belonging anywhere.  

Besides, I have a fantastic family that I grew to love more every day, and I belonged there, so what else could a girl truly ask for?

This I continued to recite to myself whenever I felt lonely, to the point where I not only accepted my lack of connection with others, I found myself beginning to deliberately perpetuate it.  I never went out when invited, stopped trying to have a social life altogether; opting instead to stay home and write, read, or otherwise occupy myself.  I told myself (not entirely dishonestly) that the thought of going out was exhausting, that I had too much to do, that no one would really care if I went out and I didn't want to anyway.  That maybe I had turned into an introvert.  Yes, that had to be it.  

Saying it aloud, it sounds about as healthy as it actually was--which is to say, not very.  But in my head, it made sense.

I had no real motivation to change any of this, I was quite settled and even happy where I was.  Until God spoke to me through my pastor a couple of weeks ago, when he and an Elder talked about how so many of us struggle with things for years and years, until eventually we give in and accept it as "our load to bear" or "our burden" or "just the way I am."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as they called forward anyone that resonated with to be prayed for.  My own deep-seated isolation came to mind, but I wasn't convinced it fit the profile.

This wasn't exactly a "burden" to live with.  I was happy.  Fulfilled.  Had my family and my faith.  Besides, it wasn't really a fault or a struggle.  It was just the way I was--different from everyone around me, unimportant and easy to forget, at least to the world at large.  My lot in life.  My problem, my fault, just how it was.

Still, to be safe, I sought counsel on the subject, and a couple of my spiritual leaders confirmed--this was indeed a re-packaging of my own struggle with abandonment and rejection; except this time, I had been duped into "living with it," "just dealing," and "learning to be happy despite this being my lot in life."

Satan had taken my recent victories into account--my understanding that my identity rested in Christ, my joy at having the family I have, wonderful as they are, my lack of fear regarding what others thought of me--and repackaged the original problem, presenting it in a new gift bag.

And I'd bought the whole thing.

Which was where the second part of my pastor's message--and the message that I want to pass onto you--came into play.  Here's the good news:

God never intended for us to "just accept" our struggles, to "settle for" our "lot in life."  As the song by Casting Crowns says, we are called not just to survive, but to thrive.  He doesn't just want us to be content, or satisfied, or passively NOT unhappy.  The life He intends for us, the relationship He wants with us, will leave us deliriously happy and completely fulfilled.

Do I believe we'll ever reach that perfect place in our lives?  Not so much, no--but that doesn't mean we shouldn't strive for it.  Keep an eye out, my friends, for sneakily-packaged struggles and burdens that the Enemy of our souls dumps on us.  He is the Father of Lies and wants us to be broken under the strain of "our burdens to bear" and our "just the way it is" struggles.  

Don't give him the satisfaction.  Hold tight to your Father and your Heavenly family, stand firm and defeat the Devil at his own game.

Be undaunted!

Help Me Find It

We are the Light of the World.  That’s what they tell us.  Stand strong, resist the devil, be an example to the world around you, never be weak or afraid, and if you are, never, EVER show it.  To be the consummate Christian is to be a faithful, shining warrior for God; never doubting or wavering.

What “they” fail to address is that you don’t have to doubt God’s existence or His love to lose yourself in an awful situation. 

A couple of years ago, my mother nearly died.  The chemotherapy drugs she had to have at age 16 damaged her heart permanently, but we never knew it until we rushed her to the hospital one day thinking she was having a heart attack.  They told us there was nothing they could do to fix her, but gave her drugs to help stabilize her—it didn’t work for several months, until it all culminated one day when they told us she had about five minutes to live.  I’ll never forget the absolute horror of that phone call from my dad, asking me to leave work to come see her for the last time.  It was the first time I had been confronted with death so closely, and though I didn’t realize it at the time, it was the start of a rocky, treacherous journey for me.

They did manage to save my mom and get her meds balanced so she could go home two weeks later, but they told her to put her affairs in order and not expect to live another three months.  It was basically a death sentence; and while I didn’t fear death exactly, I wasn’t even remotely ready to give up my mama.  She was supposed to be there at my wedding, being the voice of reason to my excitement; she was supposed to be there through my labor and be among the first to hold my baby; she needed to be there for when I moved out and couldn’t remember how to make enchilada sauce from scratch. 

I needed her.

I remember those first few months—I slept in a sleeping bag near the chair she spent each night in, since she couldn’t breathe when she lay down.  Sleep was near impossible, because I was terrified I would wake up and find her gone, so I would stay up as late as I could manage—usually the wee hours of the morning—and then sleep like a rock for a couple hours before waking up early to start my day.  My siblings and I took turns being with her, helping her, watching her; I got the night shift because I usually worked during the day.

After a few months, she began to improve.  She did some research and found ways to battle her condition naturally, and even was eventually able to get off some of the meds completely.  She fought her way back to relative health with a determination I’ve never seen in anyone else. 

Despite that, fear nagged at me constantly.   The doctors, while impressed with her progress, warned us that this type of heart disease could kill at a moment’s notice.  So instead of enjoying her stability and making the most of each moment with her; I spent my days and nights constantly aware that I could lose her without warning.  Maybe while I was at work, or during the couple hours a night I slept, or while I was out with my friends for a little while…I could come home to a grief-stricken family any minute. 

And our trial was not even yet over.

About a year or so later, mom was pretty stable, but dad started having problems breathing.  He would cough, horrible hacking fits that would leave us all hovering, wondering if it would be an overreaction to call for help.  He had trouble eating because food would lodge in his throat and bring on the fits.  He began to lose weight, stopped leaving his room; the doctors went back and forth for months about what was happening.  They finally settled on constrictive bronchiolitis—a degenerative, irreversible disorder in which scar tissue appears on the bronchioles in the lungs, preventing proper breathing.  They gave him meds, and placed him on an oxygen tank.  Those days were reminiscent of mom’s health scare for me; watching my daddy—the man who taught my siblings and me to camp, really camp, with a tent and a latrine hole; the man who took us on bike rides for miles, just for fun; the man who chased and tackled us just to tickle us til we couldn’t breathe—now barely able to get to the bathroom without collapsing.  It was absolutely wrenching.

My faith had completely dried up by this point.  It wasn’t that I stopped believing in God, I just stopped talking to Him.  Not necessarily on purpose, I just was too consumed with fear and anger and sadness to have time for Him.  Hope seemed shallow and pointless, joy a distant memory.  There were other things I was struggling with in my own heart that only added to the pressure and grief.  I found ways to express the darkness that suffocated my heart, ways that only made me hurt more and longer.  Outwardly, I kept a carefully constructed image of “Christianity,” but inside, I was drowning.  I felt unable to turn to anyone I called a spiritual leader—my parents had enough on their plate, and anyone else would only pity me and not understand just how deep the pain ran.  I remember one day realizing that I never expected to be happy again; looking out toward my future and seeing nothing but day after day after day of depression and heartache, no relief in sight.  The only way out of the fear of losing my parents would be to actually lose them.  By then, I wasn’t sure which would hurt more.

Perhaps I overreacted, it did occur to me.  But I couldn’t bring myself to snap out of it, couldn’t care enough about what I “should” feel to bother trying.  I began to resent it when people would rejoice over my mom’s stability and my dad’s (now) improving condition—didn’t they understand it was temporary at best?  It was an illusion—despite everyone’s best efforts, my parents’ bodies were failing; they were probably never going to live to see me give them grandbabies, or see me succeed in my music ministry (which was laughable, how could I minister in such a state anyway?), or meet my future husband.  The idea made me unreasonably bitter.

Through all of it, I can now see how the Lord never was far away.  I didn’t pay Him much mind during that time, so obsessed was I with my own despair; but He tempered it as only He could, and my inherent compassion wouldn’t allow me to fall too far away from Him for fear of hurting my parents.  I don’t think I ever stopped hearing His voice either, because I knew how far I was from Him and exactly what I needed to do to come back.  It was just all so exhausting; how could I contemplate a complete paradigm shift when it was all I could do to make it through each day? 

Then on May 11, 2013, I made my choice.  I chose to obey His word even though I still couldn’t see a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.  It was the hardest decision I ever made, because all I still saw in my future was an endless string of painful tomorrows, but I figured if I was going to hurt anyway, I may as well do it obediently.   I made a couple changes—smallish ones, really, nothing too huge—but I had to keep it manageable.  Once those changes were cemented, I made a few more.   I want to say I made my way back to Him, but even that isn’t true.  It was really more a desperate plea for Him to come to me where I was, and then a willingness to let Him—and He did.  Oh, did He ever.

Literally three days after my decision to follow Him regardless of how it hurt, the wall between us broke down, and I could see Him again.  Hope, dazzling in its strength, returned to me; love so intense it brought me to my knees filled my heart again—His love, I knew.  It was like getting a hug from God Himself, and I couldn’t get enough.

I wish I could tell you I never struggled after that, but that would be untrue.  I have struggled since then, but never has the struggle consumed me like it once did.  My future is full of tomorrows, and maybe painful ones, yes; but I no longer fear pain because it cannot come between me and my Father anymore.  He has proven His love for me by never giving up, even when I had literally nothing to offer Him, not even devotion; and if He is with me, what could I possibly have to fear?  I guess I didn’t realize how far He’s brought me until the other day when someone asked how my dad is doing.  I reported that he’s doing all right, getting ready for a double lung transplant sometime in the future, keeping up his doctor appointments; but more active now, sometimes even leaving his oxygen off for a full family dinner, and that’s something to celebrate.  My friend said to me, “gah, Meg, that must be so hard, especially with your mom having heart disease too!” 

There was a time my response to that would’ve been, “yeah, it really is hard.  You have no idea.”

This time, I realized my answer was, “no, actually.  It’s…not really that bad.  We have a lot to be grateful for.”

We are the Light of the World.  They’re right when they say that to us.  But it’s not because we never stumble.  It’s because when we do, our Father picks us right back up, dusts us off, and holds our hand through it.  It’s because no matter how bad things get, we never walk alone.  It’s because through our imperfect lives, He shines the brighter.

What A Christian Woman Is Looking For In A Man

This post is sort of in response to another (linked here), but it’s also because this is something I’ve been thinking heavily on lately.  If you’d asked me eight or ten years ago—when I first began seriously thinking about marriage, what it means, what kind of person I want to be with—this post would contain considerably different answers to the question “what does a godly woman want in a man?”  Not that I’m exactly old and wizened at near 25; but I have learned a LOT about relationships, men, women, and love since I was a teenager, and I think I have a little better perspective on the subject now.  So without further ado, gentlemen, here’s what a woman with Christ at the center of her life is looking for:

First and foremost, she needs a man who can be the spiritual leader of their household.  While that doesn’t, by any stretch of the imagination, mean you have to be perfect (or even saintly), it does mean that if you don’t have a thriving, growing relationship with the Lord, she’ll have a hard time seriously considering you for a life partner.  The thing to remember here is “thriving and growing.”  You probably can’t impress her with your “spirituality” by showing off your Original Greek, smacking “sinners” upside the head with a Bible, or otherwise trying to use your “God Card.”   She will generally see through that, and for us (okay, well, for me at least), that is a bigger turn-off than a guy who’s just a straight up heathen.

Secondly, a girl needs to know she’s safe; and not just in a physical sense, but emotionally too.  Guys, this doesn’t mean you need to tell her she’s beautiful every five seconds, and it doesn’t mean you have to fear every word that comes out of your mouth, BUT…it does mean make sure she knows you care about her, not just her body, and it also means letting her see that you like her in spite of (or perhaps even because of) her shortcomings.  Even a perfectly secure, confident woman will feel vulnerable when she screws up in front of a man she hopes to impress.  Letting her know that its okay to fail around you will win you HUGE brownie points.  At the same time, keep in mind that pushing her to do better will show you believe in her, and have the same confidence-boosting power that a gentle acceptance of failure will.  Let her fail, but don’t expect it, and believe in her ability to be a better person than she already is!

Lastly, and hear me out on this one before you cry “HERESY” and throw your computer out the window: 

Most women, even (maybe especially) Christian women, want a guy with a little bit of a wild side.

DON’T FREAK OUT.

 What I mean by that is that most of us want someone we can relax with, have fun with, who’ll push us out of our comfort zones and do crazy things with us.  We want someone who is able to enjoy himself, and enjoy us, sometimes in a less-than-prim-and-proper way.   By wild side, I do not mean a guy who is a drunk, or drug addict, or a gangsta, or sleeps with anything female that offers herself to him…but the ability to let go of all his responsibilities and just BE with her, have fun with her, laugh unabashedly with her—that will go far, gentlemen. 

So to review: be godly, have your focus foremost on Christ, accept her as she is, and be able to have fun.  While I don’t guarantee this will have women flocking to your doorstep, I do think it’ll make for an easier time when the right one comes along.

One last word, for my bros: most of my friends are guys, and a common lamentation I hear that I’d like to address is that “good guys don’t get the girl.”  Hollywood is no help, as they actually encourage this idea, as does most of our society.  I’ve actually witnessed women rejecting good men because they “don’t feel a spark” or “they’re just not fun enough, exciting enough, blah blah enough…”  So guys, no, I don’t think your pain and complaint is entirely without foundation, but coming from a gal who longs desperately for a good guy: PLEASE don’t change.  I know I can’t be the only one looking for someone like you, and if you change, all you’ll get for your trouble is an airheaded bimbo who just wants a good time.  I know it’s tough, trust me, being the ‘good girl’ is tough too…but I promise you there’s a girl out there looking for a man like you.  Don’t pass her by while you’re busy bemoaning your bad luck, yeah?

On that note, one quick word of admonition for the ladies: girls, let’s not be that shallow little brat that rejects a guy because “he’s my friend, it’d be too weird!” or “He’s not as good looking as Bradley Cooper, I’m just not attracted to him!”  If there is one thing I have learned in the last ten years, it is that attraction—the butterflies and weak knees—is fickle.  It can’t be trusted as a barometer for whether someone is “The One” because it’s too fleeting, too many factors affect it.  You can find something attractive about a man one day, and despise that very thing the next.  Does that mean you’ll end up married to someone you don’t find attractive (oh the horror!)??  Actually, no.  Because something amazing happens: the more you truly love someone, the more attractive they look to you.  Maybe love really IS blind, and I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t experienced it myself, but you can find someone utterly unattractive, get to know them, learn to care for them, and the deeper you care, the better they look.  I swear, it’s the craziest thing, but it’s true.  So don’t write off your best friend because he has braces or pimples or a big nose.  If he asks for it, give him a chance, pray about it, and see where it leads.

He could be exactly what you’ve been looking for.

Let Your Light So Shine

In the little Baptist church I grew up in, we were unabashedly conservative; our pastor used to say (to many shouts of “AMEN!”) that we were Independent, Fundamental, Bible-believin’, Devil-hatin’, Gospel-preachin’, Hymn-singin’, Good News Baptists, and we weren’t the least bit ashamed of it, thank you very much! 

My family became Messianic in my mid-teens.  I was old enough to understand what I was doing when I switched, and I was proud of the move.  I believed whole-heartedly what I was learning in the Messianic Church—it answered questions and made sense of some things that never had made sense before.  It resonated in my heart, and I knew it was right.  But the Messianic lifestyle, too, was very counter-culture—perhaps more so than even Baptist doctrine.

I grew up hearing a lot of sermons about persecution of Christians in other countries—how governments would hunt them down, citizens would make their lives miserable, how they’d spend time in prison with barely enough food to sustain them, get their churches burned down, the lengths they’d go to to sneak a Bible into the country—and I always counted myself blessed to live in America, where we don’t have to worry about being persecuted.

Well.  I was right—but I was also wrong.

I never had much sympathy for dramatic people who whined about how hard the Christian life is, how they’d get made fun of, mocked, hated, and lectured for standing up for what they believed.  Frankly, I had no experience like that—most people, when they learned what I believed, just left me alone about it, even if they didn’t agree.  Those who didn’t rarely gave me more than a cursory “you’re so very wrong and also crazy.” 

It hasn’t been until recently I’ve begun to understand what the Whiny Christians meant—although my intent here isn’t to complain.  Just hear me out.

Satan doesn’t much care how he renders us ineffective, he just cares that he succeeds.  In some places, that is most easily accomplished by physically persecuting God’s people and making them miserable.  Here—here it is more devious.  More subtle.

The battle for our souls—and after we’re saved, the battle for our hearts and minds—is a spiritual one, that takes place on a spiritual plane.  It’s not a physical battle.  This, I have come to realize, means that fighting for what you believe is right is difficult regardless of the physical consequences.  That’s not to minimize the persecution of Christians in other countries—their battle is legitimate, and difficult, and sometimes near impossible.  But it IS to say that the battle we face here is also very real.  Whether you’re being thrown in prison or being betrayed by a friend you trusted, the pain is just as cutting. 

I might even say it’s almost harder here.  To be honest, I’d rather be flogged for what I believe than systematically torn down, lectured, accused of being a “hater”, and rejected for it.  Emotionally, being whipped or thrown in jail or killed—that’s all external.  It’d only reinforce my belief and my stubbornness in holding to it.  But to be attacked from the inside—that’s more devious, harder to resist, and ultimately more devastating.  I would rather die a violent death than slowly crumble from the inside and become useless to the Lord, living on either extreme—either judgmental and bitter, or having abandoned my beliefs completely and lost my testimony.

Unfortunately, that’s what most of Christianity has become these days—we have people running around calling themselves “Christian”, and one couldn’t really tell by how they live; they’re dishonest, cruel, manipulative, angry, bitter, and undependable.  Satan has destroyed just as many Christians in America by crushing their hearts as he has in other countries by crushing their bodies.  Things like peer pressure, societal expectations, and political jargon have rendered much of the Lord’s body ineffective.  How can we maintain our identity in Christ with comments like these flung at us every day:

“Being with you would be one step short of dating a nun.”

“Don’t be such a square, there’s nothing wrong with drinking.”

“I love being a heathen, I can do whatever I want without worrying about judging or being judged.” 

“You’re a virgin, eh?  Well what’s wrong with you?”

“Christians are all hypocrites and judgmental prats.  They expect us to all be like them.”

I’m sure each of you have heard your own versions of these, and other, statements, intended to tear you down.  When coming from strangers, they’re annoying at most; but when they come from those you care for…that’s when the real damage is done.

So here’s my point to all this: when you’re reconsidering your faith, when you’re a hairsbreadth from deciding it’s not worth it anymore, when you’re on the edge of reason and thinking it’d be better to give up living to the standards God has set for you--remember that this is Satan’s way of rendering you ineffective.  He wants to destroy you and your testimony, break you, throw enough mud at you to obscure the light of Christ shining through your life. 

Don’t give him the satisfaction, my friends.

Lean on the Father, lean on each other, and keep your candle bright.