(s)
We thinks we like them but we isn't quite sure.
April 2, 2012
March 29, 2012
GIRLS SO STUPID.
I like feeling pretty and cherished; I think this can be said of every girl. There's something about knowing that you are valued by others that gives you self-worth and confidence. Girls thrive off of this— myself included. To a certain extent there's nothing wrong with that. It's when we can't find any sense of self-worth without getting that positive attention, and when we become slaves to the admiration of others, and when our desire to feel 'loved' creates a stumbling block for others, that it becomes a problem.
Every girl knows that getting attention from most guys is as easy as wearing a low-cut shirt or short shorts. It's hard for a guy to ignore a pretty girl who is showing a little too much skin; that's just the way guys are—that's the way their minds work. If you haven't yet come to this realization, you are:
Every girl knows that getting attention from most guys is as easy as wearing a low-cut shirt or short shorts. It's hard for a guy to ignore a pretty girl who is showing a little too much skin; that's just the way guys are—that's the way their minds work. If you haven't yet come to this realization, you are:
a) definitely not a boy
and
b) inexcusably oblivious
Let's clear something up: I'm not here to bash guys in any way; they get enough grief. Men are called perverted and disgusting, constantly ridiculed for their apparent inability to keep their minds out of the proverbial gutter. Meanwhile, women dress with less and less modesty— making it nearly impossible for any men who actually desire to keep their thoughts away from sex to do so.
I'm not saying the blame should be entirely placed on women; there are certainly men in the world who are perverted pigs who disregard women and treat them as objects to satisfy their sexual desires. This is a reality. But there are two sides to every story, and I'm coming out of the woodworking to tell you the one less favored.
STORY TIME:
Last night I walked down a commonly-used staircase in my dorm that leads to both the laundry room and the mailboxes for every resident in the building. I live in a coed dorm. Before I made it to my box, my attention was arrested by a bulletin board loudly proclaiming, "Love your breasts!" There were random facts that I don't feel the need to repeat— mostly along the lines of body image and unrealistic standards created by the media, etc. And, don't get me wrong, I'm all for women being comfortable with their bodies and loving the way God made them. What appalled me was not the informative text provided, but rather the 10+ pictures of women in lingerie posted all over the board. I stood there for a substantial amount of time with my mouth hanging open, fuming. In a moment of disgust I paused to cross-check my fury against logic and principle, and after a quick glance down the hall I swiftly ripped off every one of the pictures. I threw them in the recycling bin. I left the facts on the board, unscathed.
It's not enough that the sunshine comes out, bringing with it short skirts and unnecessary amounts of skin... But women have actually felt the need, in the midst of pretending to fight unrealistic standards, to completely objectify women. Parading pictures of half-naked women infront of every guy that wants to do laundry or check his mail this month in the name of promoting good self-image? And yet we get angry with men when they stare at us. Not to mention that all this is occurring while women everywhere are crying out about the injustice of double standards.
I'm furious.
I started this post a week ago and I had to let it cool off before returning to it. There are many things I'd like to say, but instead I'm going to let God's word speak for itself, as it is far more capable than I:
Romans 6:12 "All things are lawful for me," but not all things are helpful. "All things are lawful for me," but I will not be enslaved by anything.
Romans 8:9, 11 Take care that this right of yours does not somehow become a stumbling block to the weak... by your knowledge this weak person is destroyed, the brother for whom Christ died. Thus, sinning against your brothers and wounding their conscience when it is weak, you sin against Christ.
Galatians 5:13-25 For you were called to freedom, brothers. Only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another. For the whole law is fulfilled in one word: "You shall love your neighbor as yourself." But if you bite and devour one another, watch out that you are not consumed by one another. But I say, walk by the spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh. For the desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh, for these are opposed to each other, to keep you from doing the things you want to do. But if you are led by the Spirit, you are not under the law. Now the works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, divisions, envy, drunkenness, orgies, and things like these. I warn you, as I warned you before, that those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God. But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law. And those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. If we love by the Spirit, let us also walk by the Spirit.
1 Peter 3:3-4 Do not let your adorning be external— the braiding of hair and the putting on of gold jewelry, or the clothing you wear— but let your adorning be the hidden person of the heart with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which in God's sight is very precious.
1 Corinthians 6:19-20 Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.
Galatians 1:10 For am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God? Or am I trying to please man? If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ.
To the Christ-following men who may be reading this: I commend you for the daily battle you have with lust, and I sincerely apologize for my gender's complete lack of sympathy for your struggles. It is truly inexcusable. I pray that you, my brothers in Christ, would rely on God's grace and strength to pursue holiness and live a life pleasing to He who saved us from the punishment we all deserve.
To the Christ-following women who may be reading this: I challenge you to look at the choices of your daily life— your words, your behavior, and the clothes you wear— as opportunities to uplift the body of Christ and glorify God.
Let's clear something up: I'm not here to bash guys in any way; they get enough grief. Men are called perverted and disgusting, constantly ridiculed for their apparent inability to keep their minds out of the proverbial gutter. Meanwhile, women dress with less and less modesty— making it nearly impossible for any men who actually desire to keep their thoughts away from sex to do so.
I'm not saying the blame should be entirely placed on women; there are certainly men in the world who are perverted pigs who disregard women and treat them as objects to satisfy their sexual desires. This is a reality. But there are two sides to every story, and I'm coming out of the woodworking to tell you the one less favored.
STORY TIME:
Last night I walked down a commonly-used staircase in my dorm that leads to both the laundry room and the mailboxes for every resident in the building. I live in a coed dorm. Before I made it to my box, my attention was arrested by a bulletin board loudly proclaiming, "Love your breasts!" There were random facts that I don't feel the need to repeat— mostly along the lines of body image and unrealistic standards created by the media, etc. And, don't get me wrong, I'm all for women being comfortable with their bodies and loving the way God made them. What appalled me was not the informative text provided, but rather the 10+ pictures of women in lingerie posted all over the board. I stood there for a substantial amount of time with my mouth hanging open, fuming. In a moment of disgust I paused to cross-check my fury against logic and principle, and after a quick glance down the hall I swiftly ripped off every one of the pictures. I threw them in the recycling bin. I left the facts on the board, unscathed.
It's not enough that the sunshine comes out, bringing with it short skirts and unnecessary amounts of skin... But women have actually felt the need, in the midst of pretending to fight unrealistic standards, to completely objectify women. Parading pictures of half-naked women infront of every guy that wants to do laundry or check his mail this month in the name of promoting good self-image? And yet we get angry with men when they stare at us. Not to mention that all this is occurring while women everywhere are crying out about the injustice of double standards.
I'm furious.
—————————
Romans 6:12 "All things are lawful for me," but not all things are helpful. "All things are lawful for me," but I will not be enslaved by anything.
Romans 8:9, 11 Take care that this right of yours does not somehow become a stumbling block to the weak... by your knowledge this weak person is destroyed, the brother for whom Christ died. Thus, sinning against your brothers and wounding their conscience when it is weak, you sin against Christ.
Galatians 5:13-25 For you were called to freedom, brothers. Only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another. For the whole law is fulfilled in one word: "You shall love your neighbor as yourself." But if you bite and devour one another, watch out that you are not consumed by one another. But I say, walk by the spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh. For the desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh, for these are opposed to each other, to keep you from doing the things you want to do. But if you are led by the Spirit, you are not under the law. Now the works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, divisions, envy, drunkenness, orgies, and things like these. I warn you, as I warned you before, that those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God. But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law. And those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. If we love by the Spirit, let us also walk by the Spirit.
1 Peter 3:3-4 Do not let your adorning be external— the braiding of hair and the putting on of gold jewelry, or the clothing you wear— but let your adorning be the hidden person of the heart with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which in God's sight is very precious.
1 Corinthians 6:19-20 Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.
Galatians 1:10 For am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God? Or am I trying to please man? If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ.
—————————
To the Christ-following men who may be reading this: I commend you for the daily battle you have with lust, and I sincerely apologize for my gender's complete lack of sympathy for your struggles. It is truly inexcusable. I pray that you, my brothers in Christ, would rely on God's grace and strength to pursue holiness and live a life pleasing to He who saved us from the punishment we all deserve.
To the Christ-following women who may be reading this: I challenge you to look at the choices of your daily life— your words, your behavior, and the clothes you wear— as opportunities to uplift the body of Christ and glorify God.
February 1, 2012
I go to Paris every night.
Ah, isn't it marvelous?
What a lush lifestyle I lead...
But let me clarify; it's not the clean, tourist-friendly, manicured part of Paris that I visit each evening. No, it's something much more robust– the seedy underbelly of a north-western Parisian suburb called Sartrouville. The place I go has some real character to it, and not the kind you see in the movies. This place has a story etched in the cracks of aging drywall and graffitied on stone walls older than the country in which I was born. This story was left out of the history books; it was neither glorified nor white-washed nor ironed out and put into picture books to be read at bedtime, followed by tucking in and exchanging bisous.
———
The place I go is where, upon first introductions, people kiss one another on the cheek; my temperament flourishing in this new, platonic sentiment; the memory of handshakes morphing into something disaffected, unfriendly, cold.
Where everyone smokes cigarettes like the air they breathe; the once-appalling stench becoming strangely familiar— strangely comforting— like the unpleasant, musty spice of your grandpa's basement which carries you swiftly to a place of complete amenity.
Where everything is more petite; the cars, the rooms, the beds, the classes, the people. Where the gaps between meals are unbearably massive, but each time you sit down to dine is an elaborate, prominent event, lasting for hours and hours...
Where the world's best bakery sits happily on each and every city block, the neighborhood stretching out from the scent of fresh baguettes, fearful of establishing itself too far from the captivating smell upon which daily life thrives.
———
With a whiff of cigarette smoke, I'm suddenly descending the filthy, beautiful stairs of the métro, hearing a blind man pour his soul through a tarnished brass saxophone and clutching my purse like my life depended on it.
Each night I catch the scent of my face lotion— the lotion I bought the night before my flight to the country that captivated my heart— and all at once I'm standing in a cramped 4x6 bathroom, emotions soaring, clouded by extreme jet lag, trying to figure out these unusual faucets and worrying that I'm taking too long; 'it's rude to spend too much time occupying the bathroom' I hear Madame Dobernecker saying in the back of my racing mind; I think it's so odd that the toilet is in a different room than the sink; I can't find "I think I have a fever" in my phrase book; wait, what time is it in Ames right now? Oh, what a day it's been; I wonder what we'll have for breakfast...
———
It's a fleeting idiosyncrasy, the ability of a particular smell— more than any other sense— to so rapidly transport you to a different place, a precise moment in time.
What a lush lifestyle I lead...
But let me clarify; it's not the clean, tourist-friendly, manicured part of Paris that I visit each evening. No, it's something much more robust– the seedy underbelly of a north-western Parisian suburb called Sartrouville. The place I go has some real character to it, and not the kind you see in the movies. This place has a story etched in the cracks of aging drywall and graffitied on stone walls older than the country in which I was born. This story was left out of the history books; it was neither glorified nor white-washed nor ironed out and put into picture books to be read at bedtime, followed by tucking in and exchanging bisous.
———
The place I go is where, upon first introductions, people kiss one another on the cheek; my temperament flourishing in this new, platonic sentiment; the memory of handshakes morphing into something disaffected, unfriendly, cold.
Where everyone smokes cigarettes like the air they breathe; the once-appalling stench becoming strangely familiar— strangely comforting— like the unpleasant, musty spice of your grandpa's basement which carries you swiftly to a place of complete amenity.
Where everything is more petite; the cars, the rooms, the beds, the classes, the people. Where the gaps between meals are unbearably massive, but each time you sit down to dine is an elaborate, prominent event, lasting for hours and hours...
Where the world's best bakery sits happily on each and every city block, the neighborhood stretching out from the scent of fresh baguettes, fearful of establishing itself too far from the captivating smell upon which daily life thrives.
———
With a whiff of cigarette smoke, I'm suddenly descending the filthy, beautiful stairs of the métro, hearing a blind man pour his soul through a tarnished brass saxophone and clutching my purse like my life depended on it.
Each night I catch the scent of my face lotion— the lotion I bought the night before my flight to the country that captivated my heart— and all at once I'm standing in a cramped 4x6 bathroom, emotions soaring, clouded by extreme jet lag, trying to figure out these unusual faucets and worrying that I'm taking too long; 'it's rude to spend too much time occupying the bathroom' I hear Madame Dobernecker saying in the back of my racing mind; I think it's so odd that the toilet is in a different room than the sink; I can't find "I think I have a fever" in my phrase book; wait, what time is it in Ames right now? Oh, what a day it's been; I wonder what we'll have for breakfast...
———
It's a fleeting idiosyncrasy, the ability of a particular smell— more than any other sense— to so rapidly transport you to a different place, a precise moment in time.
January 18, 2012
If I were God, I swear, I'd be so annoyed with me...
I remember when I was a youngin'.
I thought college kids were SO cool.
They were so adulty.
Independent. Confident. Awesome.
It was like, "Mannnn, I can't wait until I'm that old!"
Welp...
Here I am.
And some days I have to remind myself that I am, in fact, this old.
It's those days — the days when real life sneaks up, whops me on the back of the head and proceeds to run away, giggling — that I ask,
"EY! When did YOU get here?!"
Ridiculous, really — I've spent so much time in the last few years sitting around, praying and asking God for things. Telling Him I'm ready for this and that; ready to be used by Him and ready for real life to begin. As though I knew better than He what I was and was not ready for; as though 'real life' was something I hadn't yet entered.....
He waited patiently for the day that I finally realized I wasn't in control; the day when I willingly handed over the reins to the One who actually knows what the destination is. It was on this day that I realized that I was far better off trusting in the Author of the universe with my story than trying to feebly construct something of beauty on my own— and oh, what a day it was.
(a Tuesday, I think...)
Up next was the period in my life where I asked God what the plan was. I had acknowledged my lack-of-control-ness; I was now ready for whatever He had in store. The mildly satirical summation of my mindset was as follows:
"Hey, God. I have no control over anything; You've completely got it covered. You're awesome and powerful and loving and in control and all that stuff. Mmm."
*thoughtful pause*
"So. Since I fully trust you now and everything— where exactly are we going?"
Sarah Thvedt has given me some pretty brutal colloquial beatings to this effect.
I've grown to love it.
I've also grown from it; I've seen my capricious faithlessness and realized it takes more than that to truly hand my life over to my Creator.
And some days I feel peace about leaving my life in God's hands. Some days I worry about the future and where I'm headed. Some days I feel ready to take on the world and I wish He'd hurry up and let me in on the agenda. Some days I feel entirely inadequate for the tasks at hand.
Each and every day I feel blessed to have my life in His hands.
My God is a god who guides.
My God is a god who is in control.
My God is a god who has a perfect plan.
My God is a god who gives me everything I need.
My God is a god who knows the right timing for everything.
My God is a god who loves me despite my constant second-guessing.
My God is a god who is way more patient with me than I would be with myself.
...Thank God.
I thought college kids were SO cool.
They were so adulty.
Independent. Confident. Awesome.
It was like, "Mannnn, I can't wait until I'm that old!"
Welp...
Here I am.
And some days I have to remind myself that I am, in fact, this old.
It's those days — the days when real life sneaks up, whops me on the back of the head and proceeds to run away, giggling — that I ask,
"EY! When did YOU get here?!"
Ridiculous, really — I've spent so much time in the last few years sitting around, praying and asking God for things. Telling Him I'm ready for this and that; ready to be used by Him and ready for real life to begin. As though I knew better than He what I was and was not ready for; as though 'real life' was something I hadn't yet entered.....
He waited patiently for the day that I finally realized I wasn't in control; the day when I willingly handed over the reins to the One who actually knows what the destination is. It was on this day that I realized that I was far better off trusting in the Author of the universe with my story than trying to feebly construct something of beauty on my own— and oh, what a day it was.
(a Tuesday, I think...)
Up next was the period in my life where I asked God what the plan was. I had acknowledged my lack-of-control-ness; I was now ready for whatever He had in store. The mildly satirical summation of my mindset was as follows:
"Hey, God. I have no control over anything; You've completely got it covered. You're awesome and powerful and loving and in control and all that stuff. Mmm."
*thoughtful pause*
"So. Since I fully trust you now and everything— where exactly are we going?"
Sarah Thvedt has given me some pretty brutal colloquial beatings to this effect.
I've grown to love it.
I've also grown from it; I've seen my capricious faithlessness and realized it takes more than that to truly hand my life over to my Creator.
And some days I feel peace about leaving my life in God's hands. Some days I worry about the future and where I'm headed. Some days I feel ready to take on the world and I wish He'd hurry up and let me in on the agenda. Some days I feel entirely inadequate for the tasks at hand.
Each and every day I feel blessed to have my life in His hands.
My God is a god who guides.
My God is a god who is in control.
My God is a god who has a perfect plan.
My God is a god who gives me everything I need.
My God is a god who knows the right timing for everything.
My God is a god who loves me despite my constant second-guessing.
My God is a god who is way more patient with me than I would be with myself.
...Thank God.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)