Before you go getting all excited, this is NOT a post about food. This is a post about being a black woman, a dark skinned, unapologetic black woman. Growing up, my family represented a fairly wide portion of the color spectrum. Light-skinned, "yella", "red", and ebony; they were my people. In high school, I first considered my place within this spectrum. Mind you, this wasn't a worrisome effort or any sort of emo-style self loathing exercise, it was merely the outpouring of my teenage curiosity. Through rigorous surveying and testing, it was decided I was a milk chocolate color. I was fine with that since everyone loves chocolate. If only that level of innocence remained past high school, and if only it were world-wide. As it turns out, not everyone loves chocolate...at least not when it comes to skin color.
Whether we consciously acknowledge it or not, we tend to classify people upon sight. It is not necessarily a shallow exercise, it's something that is ingrained in us, to make things fit into neat little boxes, also known as compartmentalizing. Our brains want order, they want things to make sense, so we mentally tick through the various ways in which people and things can be ordered before landing upon the most efficient option at the time. Occasionally, this classification is based upon prejudice, but for the most part, I'd like to believe it is personal preference. You see, personal preference is preferable to prejudice. Personal preference does not imply a hatred of someone or something, it just implies an affinity for something else. Prejudice is an affinity for one thing combined with a hatred of another.
At any rate, when it comes to human beings, the tendency is to classify first by gender then by color. It's a natural and obvious way to break things down into workable chunks. If we wanted to give this structure a label, it would be something akin to a food chain. At the top, would be males followed by females. Don't get distracted with the urge to engage in a feminist rant here, keep it moving. Each category is then broken down by color with the idea that lighter is better and black is not beautiful. When someone says the words, "black woman", many minds automatically roam to a dark skinned woman, and typically of some sort of black stereotype (loud, ghetto, and stupid). Not the most positive image in the world, but one that persists thanks to our culture. Usually when someone refers to a person of lighter skin, you start to get more positive descriptions "pretty hair" and "pretty eyes" are the most common.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, growing up, it crossed my mind that I was at the bottom of this "imaginary" food chain (I use the quotes because it is not as imaginary as one would like). Of course, with youthful optimism, I assumed it would all just work out because I wanted...no, needed it to. Like any little girl, I dreamed of getting married, being adored, and having some sort of fairytale life. Why wouldn't that be possible? I mean, it happens in the movies all the time...to the little white girls. Again, it kind of escaped my thought process that only certain girls get that happily ever after. As time wore on, I started noticing that lots of girls my age were living the dream...but none of them looked like me. The girls who looked like me were the ones always in fights, becoming baby mommas and ultimately ending up alone or settling for any man that would have them. I held on to my hope that I could rise above such foolishness, and be better; do better. Then, I started dating outside of my race in college...
After becoming romantically involved with only a couple of guys, I quickly found out that I wasn't consider marriage material. It had nothing to do with my personality or the way I treated my guys, in fact, many have commented on how well they were treated. They were "pleasantly surprised" (why would you be surprised?!). So why am I not marriage material, you ask? I am a black woman. Not a caramel woman or "light skin", but an "actual" black woman, and "no one marries those" (direct quotes from a guy I dated briefly). I have heard various (all races/ages) men say this in all kinds of ways, and to be honest, the ignorance is staggering. From the foolishness of "you gals don't want to get married anyway" to "chocolate women are for trying, not taking seriously," I have heard all manner of excuses given for why I can't be married or even simply introduced as a girlfriend. All over the world, little girls are dreaming of their happily ever after, but thank goodness the dark skinned ones don't know that it is likely out of their reach. Thank goodness they don't realize Prince Charming will only stop to ask them for directions before going after the light/white Princess. Sort of a reverse Cinderella thing.
In an odd twist of irony, I have gotten more compliments on my skin on my "blackness" not from family, but from white women. "You have amazing skin", "ugh, I love your hair!", and so on and so forth. It is a great thing that I realized in my mid-20s or so that my worth does not come from the outside, but rather on the inside. Thank goodness, I know that my happiness...my joy does NOT depend upon someone else's feelings, emotions or actions. At this point, being older, and hopefully wiser, I will continue my personal goal to change the way people think about black women. I will refuse to accept that being called "smart" or "well spoken" or some other compliment doesn't have a different meaning just because I happen to be black. I am strong, beautiful, black and proud! I deserve blessings and adoration just as much as anyone else. "Dark Girls" is a great documentary that depicts many of the ideas and concepts I have mentioned in this post. It is currently on Netflix, and I urge you to check it out and begin having intelligent, meaningful conversations with the men and women in your life.
Monday, June 2, 2014
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Dance of the last call
Well, it's happened. My 30th birthday has come and gone. Do I feel older? Physically? No. Emotionally? Yes. As a middle schooler, I could not wait to be in my 30s. Little did I know then the stigmas that would be attached to being *gasp* SINGLE and 30...at the same time. I know, I know...terrible. How could I let such a thing happen? Being a 30 year old single black woman in the South must mean I'm too picky, right? Heaven forbid it mean this society is producing a mass amount of a creature called the "man-child" commonly mistaken for a real man. I'm sure our society would never encourage a twisted, warped sense of entitlement in it's young people that leads these beasts to insist on this purpetual childhood where they never have to grow up/nut up, learn about delayed gratification or put someone else's needs before their own. May it never be! Well, guess what, IT BE! Parents are telling their children they are special one too many times, and yeah, here we are. I bet Obama was told he was special a lot.
I am absolutely sickened by the idea that as women get older, they should lower their standards when it comes to finding and keeping a mate. Have we forgotten one key factor? Women get BETTER as we age! As far as appearance goes, we look more grown up, less like the girls on Girls Gone Wild and more like Wonder Woman or Xena-Warrior Princess. Intellectually, we're sharper, wiser, more discerning and not worried about appearing "too smart". We've realized intelligence is sexy! Bear with me on this one (if you are ultra conservative, you may need to turn away), sexually, women peak much later than men (like the 30s/40s). That's all I'm gonna say about that. We are more confident in our abilities and our careers are established. In this day and age, most of us have/are working towards buying our first home and are financially responsible. Many people compare women to a fine wine, but I saw we are more like a good bourbon. The older we get, the more well rounded and smooth we become...without losing our strength. Does this sound like the type of woman who should/has to settle for whatever stagnant, immature caveman wanders out into light after 8 hours of video games to club some unsuspecting vixen over the head, and drag her back to his Cheeto and Axe body spray scented man cave? HELL NO! The only difference between 30somethings and the youngn's out there, is that WE KNOW BETTER! I hear so many young ladies talking about thinking all of the foolishness these little boys out there are doing is "cute" and something they will "grow out of". I am a grown woman...what is wrong with expecting one of my peers to be grown as well? NOTHING! All I can say is, the older I get, the better I get, so a potential mate better bring his A game.
I am absolutely sickened by the idea that as women get older, they should lower their standards when it comes to finding and keeping a mate. Have we forgotten one key factor? Women get BETTER as we age! As far as appearance goes, we look more grown up, less like the girls on Girls Gone Wild and more like Wonder Woman or Xena-Warrior Princess. Intellectually, we're sharper, wiser, more discerning and not worried about appearing "too smart". We've realized intelligence is sexy! Bear with me on this one (if you are ultra conservative, you may need to turn away), sexually, women peak much later than men (like the 30s/40s). That's all I'm gonna say about that. We are more confident in our abilities and our careers are established. In this day and age, most of us have/are working towards buying our first home and are financially responsible. Many people compare women to a fine wine, but I saw we are more like a good bourbon. The older we get, the more well rounded and smooth we become...without losing our strength. Does this sound like the type of woman who should/has to settle for whatever stagnant, immature caveman wanders out into light after 8 hours of video games to club some unsuspecting vixen over the head, and drag her back to his Cheeto and Axe body spray scented man cave? HELL NO! The only difference between 30somethings and the youngn's out there, is that WE KNOW BETTER! I hear so many young ladies talking about thinking all of the foolishness these little boys out there are doing is "cute" and something they will "grow out of". I am a grown woman...what is wrong with expecting one of my peers to be grown as well? NOTHING! All I can say is, the older I get, the better I get, so a potential mate better bring his A game.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
That moment when you remember that thing you were supposed to do, a few hours before you're supposed to do it. It hit me earlier, that I'd intended to attend a book discussion with a group of ladies today, and I had yet to even get the book, much less read it. I frantically looked online to find out the author and possible local vendors. As I read the discriptions of the book, I froze in my tracks. It sounded like yet another "Chicken soup for the Soccer Mom's soul" sort of books. You know the kind, all about encouraging women as they cart around their eighty billion children, run marathons and make dinner for their insanely hot husbands. Those sort of books are what 90% of Christian women's book studies are studying. I know there are women who find them incredibly encouraging, and devour them hungrily, but I am not one of those people. 9 times out of 10, I end up tossing the book aside, and the book studies end up being more discouraging than a blessing. I plaster a smile on my face, and pretend that yes, the chapter on praying your child through potty training was the most inspirational nugget of wisdom I have ever read, and I applied it immediately to my life.
In Christian culture, there seems to be this belief that your single years are kind of unimportant and largely just the staging area for "real life", meaning marriage and children. I hear so many people say things like, "yeah, my single years were fun, but I couldn't wait to move on to the stuff that matters, like having a family." This perception of singlehood being one big party is inaccurate, dangerous and irritating. To walk away believing that your life is somehow meaningless because you don't have a mate and haven't procreated, is indescribably disheartening. If I hear one more well meaning person say, "Wait til you get married and have kids, then you'll have real problems!", I may scream. It is typically said without malice, but certainly with complete ignorance.
Trying to bare your soul to a married person can be absolutely mind-numbing at times. Every response begins with, "Before I got married...", and usually ends with a hint that marriage may be your saving grace in any situation. What's sad is that even people who have only recently been married, somehow undergo this change overnight, and are almost excited to join the "winning" team. Newly wed friends, LOVE to give their sad, single buds uninvited advice and pity. Their relief over no longer being among the singles crowd is palpable.
All this to say, there needs to be a better response to singles special needs from the church. Sometimes we just need our own women's book studies with books selected by other singles. We need groups where singles minister to each other. I know, typically they want a married person ministering to single to supposedly keep things safe, but it's not always best. A constant diet of happily married couples can lead to quite a bit of lusting and ill content for the single person. By lusting, I mean, wanting marriage in an unhealthy way. Letting thoughts of it consume you. Placing marriage on the throne of your heart, where Jesus is supposed to abide. At any rate, I will continue to find a solution to my issue of wanting more fellowship with women, but not wanting to have to sit through yet another book study in which I start daydreaming about stabbing my eyeballs out.
In Christian culture, there seems to be this belief that your single years are kind of unimportant and largely just the staging area for "real life", meaning marriage and children. I hear so many people say things like, "yeah, my single years were fun, but I couldn't wait to move on to the stuff that matters, like having a family." This perception of singlehood being one big party is inaccurate, dangerous and irritating. To walk away believing that your life is somehow meaningless because you don't have a mate and haven't procreated, is indescribably disheartening. If I hear one more well meaning person say, "Wait til you get married and have kids, then you'll have real problems!", I may scream. It is typically said without malice, but certainly with complete ignorance.
Trying to bare your soul to a married person can be absolutely mind-numbing at times. Every response begins with, "Before I got married...", and usually ends with a hint that marriage may be your saving grace in any situation. What's sad is that even people who have only recently been married, somehow undergo this change overnight, and are almost excited to join the "winning" team. Newly wed friends, LOVE to give their sad, single buds uninvited advice and pity. Their relief over no longer being among the singles crowd is palpable.
All this to say, there needs to be a better response to singles special needs from the church. Sometimes we just need our own women's book studies with books selected by other singles. We need groups where singles minister to each other. I know, typically they want a married person ministering to single to supposedly keep things safe, but it's not always best. A constant diet of happily married couples can lead to quite a bit of lusting and ill content for the single person. By lusting, I mean, wanting marriage in an unhealthy way. Letting thoughts of it consume you. Placing marriage on the throne of your heart, where Jesus is supposed to abide. At any rate, I will continue to find a solution to my issue of wanting more fellowship with women, but not wanting to have to sit through yet another book study in which I start daydreaming about stabbing my eyeballs out.
Friday, July 19, 2013
Absolute weariness
As of late, with all the racial tension being flung about, I hear a lot of "Blacks need to just get over it" and "They blow things out of proportion." So desperate are some to assure themselves and others that race doesn't matter. People comment on experiences they know nothing of, and will likely never have to endure. I do not hide behind being black, nor do I allow it to be all that defines me. I do not expect hand-outs based on my race, and I have no interest in being pitied. What I am about to share is merely to allow those who will never experience these things an opportunity to see why some black parents give their children a whole different set of instructions before doing things like going to school, going for a walk, or dating.
In the 8th grade, my social studies teacher decided to do an experiment of sorts. When my classmates and I walked into the room, she had boys line up on one side and girls line up on the other. She instructed us to look at the person standing across from us. We were then told to walk towards that person and stand shoulder to shoulder with them. She then called each pair up and "married" us. Afterwards, she explained that in some Native American tribes, mass arranged marriages were done like that. She said we were "married" to that person for the rest of the 6 weeks. It was awkward because we were given various tasks to do as a couple. I was paired with a young man who can best be described as grunge-goth. He was nerdy, had a weird group of friends who all looked the same (like...the exact same, but more on that later). I tended to have friends from several different social circles, so it wasn't a big deal to be "married" to the outcast sort of guy. The only problem came when I realized he was taking the assignment a bit too seriously. In his mind, our "marriage" continued until the end of the year. He would frequently refer to me as his wife and give me the most unsettling looks. Occasionally, I would catch his friends giving me the same looks.
In 9th grade, we were loosely associated with each other, he was on the fringe of my social circles. Every once in a while, he'd make a pass at me, still refering to our "marriage". Towards the end of the year, I was totally crept out by him. 10th grade was THE year, though. He began to stalk me. By mid year, he'd begun stalking me with his friends...who all had a certain...look (I mean, everyone goes through a head-shaving phase, right?). Frequently, they would be waiting for me after soccer or orchestra practice. They'd corner me and talk about how they'd pass me around their group...I could be everyone's "wife". They would make lewd gestures, and talk about how afterwards, they'd toss gas on me and set me on fire. The entire school year, this persisted. Thankfully, I was always able to out run them, physical fitness wasn't as important as learning firearms, it seems. When I'd pass any of them in the hall, they would mutter something about me being a filthy n!&&#%. One day, after soccer practice, I had to go upstairs at the school to get something from my locker. I don't know how they knew I would come, but the whole building was cleared. They stood there waiting for me with smirks on their faces. "Ready to die, wifey?" was my greeting.
They started describing what they were going to do to me, both sexual and non. Coming fresh from practice, my kleats still on, I kicked the living hell out of someone's jewel purse, and ran. Downstairs, blindly looking for someone...a janitor, SOMEONE. Desperate, I ran to my coach's room. He was there talking to another player. When I burst into the room, he sent the player away, and asked what was wrong. I told him everything, from 8th grade until that point. Never, had I seen him so mad. He turned purple, and left the room. Returning moments later, he told me to get my things, then he escorted me to my mom's car parked out front. I begged him not to tell her, which he didn't. The next morning, I went to his room, and he told me that he'd reported everything to the principle, and that I would have to talk to them. I freaked out, because I didn't want to be burned alive...didn't want to be raped. He looked me right in my eyes and said, "I will NEVER let them hurt you." I was called in to the principal's office, and given a legal pad. He told me to write everything that had been said, describe the gestures and anything else that had been done to me. I filled up half the legal pad and had to stop because my hand hurt and I couldn't remember everything exactly. The first few pages were soaked with my tears. I was so ashamed because I had let it all happen. In my head, I was as much to blame as those guys were. (Of course I understand now that it was not my fault, at all). When the principal read some of what I'd written, he looked ill. He looked at me, and looked at the paper again. The silence was killing me. He gave me tissues, and told me to take some time to compose myself before returning to class. His voice, shaking with emotion, swore, "They will NEVER hurt you." I never saw that guy, or his friends ever again. I have no idea what happened to them. For a while, I feared I'd see a burning cross in the yard or be jumped suddenly. Nothing happened. I didn't so much as hear their names ever again.
Still with me? Continuing on..
Junior year of high school brought the excitement of getting to go to prom. A new guy had moved into town, and I was instantly drawn to him. We became the best of friends, and since he was a year younger, I had to ask him to prom. I was so looking forward to it! I got the tickets, and had begun dress shopping. One night, he called me sounding horribly depressed. I asked him what was going on, and he said, "My parents found out I was going to prom with a black girl...they said I can't go." I immediately deflated. It had never crossed my mind that his parents would have those sentiments. His parents grilled him daily, to find out whether or not he'd continued interacting with me. We hid our friendship from them. He went from being a great, Jesus-loving guy to someone I eventually didn't recognize. We tried to remain friends, but he began to date a girl who absolutely hated me. She knew how his parents felt about me, so she began to report to them that he and I still communicated. They withdrew him from the school, and I never heard from him again.
Many things have happened since then, thankfully few have been as painful as the above examples. We hear so much about how hard things are for black men, but little light is shed on the struggle of black women. Granted, my experiences are not typical, but sadly, they are not that unique.
I'm sorry it's so hard for black people to "get over it". That we still see things a little differently sometimes. I'll be sure to try a little harder.
In the 8th grade, my social studies teacher decided to do an experiment of sorts. When my classmates and I walked into the room, she had boys line up on one side and girls line up on the other. She instructed us to look at the person standing across from us. We were then told to walk towards that person and stand shoulder to shoulder with them. She then called each pair up and "married" us. Afterwards, she explained that in some Native American tribes, mass arranged marriages were done like that. She said we were "married" to that person for the rest of the 6 weeks. It was awkward because we were given various tasks to do as a couple. I was paired with a young man who can best be described as grunge-goth. He was nerdy, had a weird group of friends who all looked the same (like...the exact same, but more on that later). I tended to have friends from several different social circles, so it wasn't a big deal to be "married" to the outcast sort of guy. The only problem came when I realized he was taking the assignment a bit too seriously. In his mind, our "marriage" continued until the end of the year. He would frequently refer to me as his wife and give me the most unsettling looks. Occasionally, I would catch his friends giving me the same looks.
In 9th grade, we were loosely associated with each other, he was on the fringe of my social circles. Every once in a while, he'd make a pass at me, still refering to our "marriage". Towards the end of the year, I was totally crept out by him. 10th grade was THE year, though. He began to stalk me. By mid year, he'd begun stalking me with his friends...who all had a certain...look (I mean, everyone goes through a head-shaving phase, right?). Frequently, they would be waiting for me after soccer or orchestra practice. They'd corner me and talk about how they'd pass me around their group...I could be everyone's "wife". They would make lewd gestures, and talk about how afterwards, they'd toss gas on me and set me on fire. The entire school year, this persisted. Thankfully, I was always able to out run them, physical fitness wasn't as important as learning firearms, it seems. When I'd pass any of them in the hall, they would mutter something about me being a filthy n!&&#%. One day, after soccer practice, I had to go upstairs at the school to get something from my locker. I don't know how they knew I would come, but the whole building was cleared. They stood there waiting for me with smirks on their faces. "Ready to die, wifey?" was my greeting.
They started describing what they were going to do to me, both sexual and non. Coming fresh from practice, my kleats still on, I kicked the living hell out of someone's jewel purse, and ran. Downstairs, blindly looking for someone...a janitor, SOMEONE. Desperate, I ran to my coach's room. He was there talking to another player. When I burst into the room, he sent the player away, and asked what was wrong. I told him everything, from 8th grade until that point. Never, had I seen him so mad. He turned purple, and left the room. Returning moments later, he told me to get my things, then he escorted me to my mom's car parked out front. I begged him not to tell her, which he didn't. The next morning, I went to his room, and he told me that he'd reported everything to the principle, and that I would have to talk to them. I freaked out, because I didn't want to be burned alive...didn't want to be raped. He looked me right in my eyes and said, "I will NEVER let them hurt you." I was called in to the principal's office, and given a legal pad. He told me to write everything that had been said, describe the gestures and anything else that had been done to me. I filled up half the legal pad and had to stop because my hand hurt and I couldn't remember everything exactly. The first few pages were soaked with my tears. I was so ashamed because I had let it all happen. In my head, I was as much to blame as those guys were. (Of course I understand now that it was not my fault, at all). When the principal read some of what I'd written, he looked ill. He looked at me, and looked at the paper again. The silence was killing me. He gave me tissues, and told me to take some time to compose myself before returning to class. His voice, shaking with emotion, swore, "They will NEVER hurt you." I never saw that guy, or his friends ever again. I have no idea what happened to them. For a while, I feared I'd see a burning cross in the yard or be jumped suddenly. Nothing happened. I didn't so much as hear their names ever again.
Still with me? Continuing on..
Junior year of high school brought the excitement of getting to go to prom. A new guy had moved into town, and I was instantly drawn to him. We became the best of friends, and since he was a year younger, I had to ask him to prom. I was so looking forward to it! I got the tickets, and had begun dress shopping. One night, he called me sounding horribly depressed. I asked him what was going on, and he said, "My parents found out I was going to prom with a black girl...they said I can't go." I immediately deflated. It had never crossed my mind that his parents would have those sentiments. His parents grilled him daily, to find out whether or not he'd continued interacting with me. We hid our friendship from them. He went from being a great, Jesus-loving guy to someone I eventually didn't recognize. We tried to remain friends, but he began to date a girl who absolutely hated me. She knew how his parents felt about me, so she began to report to them that he and I still communicated. They withdrew him from the school, and I never heard from him again.
Many things have happened since then, thankfully few have been as painful as the above examples. We hear so much about how hard things are for black men, but little light is shed on the struggle of black women. Granted, my experiences are not typical, but sadly, they are not that unique.
I'm sorry it's so hard for black people to "get over it". That we still see things a little differently sometimes. I'll be sure to try a little harder.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Bringing it back
Two posts in one day...wow, I'm on a roll.
Everyone seems to be freaking out about the whole PD and the "n-word" incident. She's lost endorcements and her fabulous job with FN. Seriously? This word is used now, more than ever, and mostly by black people. Supposedly, the justification of this is that "we" are "taking back" the N-word. It's supposed to be "our" word now. Really? Have we forgotten what it means? Do we not understand the word itself, is not positive? I don't want it, how about we work on getting rid of it completely. The whole idea of reclaiming it, shows ignorance, not progress.
Just a few closing thougths. When you think about some of the meaning of the n-word, it's tied to ignorance. Slaves, had few, if any educational opportunities. Many, thirsted for knowledge and were quite intelligent, their ignorance (if it can be called that) stemmed from circumstances forced upon them by others. Today, it's a whole different ball game. Education is free and readily available to everyone in this country. The government goes to great lengths to help ensure this (for the most part). The opportunities available to my people are mind blowing when compared to where we were centries ago. This is why the ignorance today is much more dangerous...more shameful. We have so much choice in our future, yet many choose to toss it into the trash, take up the mantal of the n-word, and spout rampant foolishness. I do not condone the use of the n-word by anyone, anywhere at anytime. Let's kill ignorance rather than sling it around with pride.
Everyone seems to be freaking out about the whole PD and the "n-word" incident. She's lost endorcements and her fabulous job with FN. Seriously? This word is used now, more than ever, and mostly by black people. Supposedly, the justification of this is that "we" are "taking back" the N-word. It's supposed to be "our" word now. Really? Have we forgotten what it means? Do we not understand the word itself, is not positive? I don't want it, how about we work on getting rid of it completely. The whole idea of reclaiming it, shows ignorance, not progress.
Just a few closing thougths. When you think about some of the meaning of the n-word, it's tied to ignorance. Slaves, had few, if any educational opportunities. Many, thirsted for knowledge and were quite intelligent, their ignorance (if it can be called that) stemmed from circumstances forced upon them by others. Today, it's a whole different ball game. Education is free and readily available to everyone in this country. The government goes to great lengths to help ensure this (for the most part). The opportunities available to my people are mind blowing when compared to where we were centries ago. This is why the ignorance today is much more dangerous...more shameful. We have so much choice in our future, yet many choose to toss it into the trash, take up the mantal of the n-word, and spout rampant foolishness. I do not condone the use of the n-word by anyone, anywhere at anytime. Let's kill ignorance rather than sling it around with pride.
Too old fashioned for coffee
It's been a while, I know...I'd apologize, but I'm not particularly sorry. My life has been filled with a multitude of ups and downs, and blogging simply became unimportant. I am in no way saying it is suddenly more important, merely, I have some thoughts I'd like to share, and rather than make the world's longest FB status, I shall share them here. Lucky you. Now that the housekeeping is out of the way...
There are no shortage of men around here. They are everywhere, all shapes, colors and sizes. My issue lies with the fact that we now raise a generation of boys...not men. Boyhood now extends well into the 30s even 40s. It's bad enough men and women mature at such different rates, but to have the gap increased to Grand Canyon sized, is totally unacceptable.
I met a very attractive, educated, articulate young man at my bank. I spent 3 hours refinancing things and adjusting my financial affairs. Over that time, we joked back and forth, made small talk and I checked for signs of married stench. He seemed clean. As our business drew to a close, I hoped to be asked out for at least coffee, if not a full on proposal. Okay, maybe not marriage, but at least some dark roast. Instead, he thanked me for my time and that was it. Disappointed, I left, wondering where it had all gone wrong.
Later that evening, I was talking to someone, and they suggested I go back to the bank, and just ask the man out to coffee, citing "it's 2013". For a brief moment, I was swayed. I thought, "sure...I can ask him out to coffee. I'll never get what I want if I don't ask." Then I started reading a love story, by a suddenly famous cattle rancher's wife. She details their courtship and the relentless way he pursued her. It brought to mind the sayings of a few of my male friends. Things like, "When a man is interested, he will move mountains to see the woman he wants." Who doesn't want that kind of passion? Why does the year/age suddenly change our standards? "It's 2013" is not a free pass for men to be lazy. It does not mean that I suddenly must give up dreams of someone being so filled with passion, that they can't wait to talk to me, see me, and know me. This "modern woman" crap is annoying. It's essentially women admitting we've allowed men to become so lax in their calling, that we believe the only way things will happen is if we make it happen. The virtue of waiting to be pursued is frowned upon as an out-of-date concept. "If you don't want to end up alone, you have to make a move sometimes", I've heard this more times than I can count. This is ridiculous! Threatened with continued singlehood, because I want a man who thinks I am worthy of a phone call, of some initiative. Okay, enough of that. Onto more serious topics...keep reading...
There are no shortage of men around here. They are everywhere, all shapes, colors and sizes. My issue lies with the fact that we now raise a generation of boys...not men. Boyhood now extends well into the 30s even 40s. It's bad enough men and women mature at such different rates, but to have the gap increased to Grand Canyon sized, is totally unacceptable.
I met a very attractive, educated, articulate young man at my bank. I spent 3 hours refinancing things and adjusting my financial affairs. Over that time, we joked back and forth, made small talk and I checked for signs of married stench. He seemed clean. As our business drew to a close, I hoped to be asked out for at least coffee, if not a full on proposal. Okay, maybe not marriage, but at least some dark roast. Instead, he thanked me for my time and that was it. Disappointed, I left, wondering where it had all gone wrong.
Later that evening, I was talking to someone, and they suggested I go back to the bank, and just ask the man out to coffee, citing "it's 2013". For a brief moment, I was swayed. I thought, "sure...I can ask him out to coffee. I'll never get what I want if I don't ask." Then I started reading a love story, by a suddenly famous cattle rancher's wife. She details their courtship and the relentless way he pursued her. It brought to mind the sayings of a few of my male friends. Things like, "When a man is interested, he will move mountains to see the woman he wants." Who doesn't want that kind of passion? Why does the year/age suddenly change our standards? "It's 2013" is not a free pass for men to be lazy. It does not mean that I suddenly must give up dreams of someone being so filled with passion, that they can't wait to talk to me, see me, and know me. This "modern woman" crap is annoying. It's essentially women admitting we've allowed men to become so lax in their calling, that we believe the only way things will happen is if we make it happen. The virtue of waiting to be pursued is frowned upon as an out-of-date concept. "If you don't want to end up alone, you have to make a move sometimes", I've heard this more times than I can count. This is ridiculous! Threatened with continued singlehood, because I want a man who thinks I am worthy of a phone call, of some initiative. Okay, enough of that. Onto more serious topics...keep reading...
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Please don't stop the music!
I was driving back to my parents house after a long day at work and some significant time killing, when I started thinking about heaven. At work, while I was baking my frillionth cookie and rethinking some of my life choices, I tuned into what the chef was saying to one of the sous chefs. I'm not sure what lead to the conversation, but I heard the chef suddenly say, "So what are you going to do when you die?". My ears perked up, and the sous chef said, "Nothing happens when you die. You're just dead and in the ground." For the next 7 minutes or so, the chef talked to this woman about Hell, The Bible, God and salvation. I just sat, mesmerized by how he did it so lovingly, firmly and all while chopping veggies (she chopped chicken). He didn't making it a "thing" he just told her Hell is real, so is God and you need Jesus. Apparently, he'd given her a Bible before and she didn't really do anything with it. This time was different I guess, because she asked questions. He gave her suggestions as to what to read first in the Bible, and explained how the copy he'd given her was different from her mother's Catholic Bible. I don't think I've ever seen anything like it! Sure, I've had several conversations about faith while at work and have had the chance to even pray with a few people, but usually it's with believers who are struggling with their faith or occasionally commenting on something someone says. The man saw an opportunity and jumped in without hesitation! That's how it's supposed to be! After the conversation came to a natural end, they went about their business, no awkwardness, no anger, just more chopping, stirring and serving up tasty food. Since it blessed me, I thought I'd bless you with that little tidbit.
Something else that rustled up the heavenly thoughts was listening to the radio. Given that I spend roughly 1.5 hours in the car a day (on a good day), I have ample opportunity to listen to the radio and my CDs. I love worship music that doesn't point you towards itself, but towards God. There are some groups and some songs that make so much ruckus and are so distracting that God completely gets washed out, and you're just left depleted after the emotional adrenaline rush.
Anywho, I was listening to one of my favorite groups when it hit me. Imagine the most intense worship experience you've ever had. I'm talking the point where you thought you just couldn't take anymore. Where God felt so near, you seriously feared you'd be crushed from the weight of Him, blinded by His beauty and struck dumb by His glory. Times all of that by a ka-jillion. That's heaven (to me, at least). Think about it...you may have felt Him all those other times, but in heaven, He'll actually physically BE THERE. Thank goodness we'll have new bodies, because I know my current shell would not be able to withstand heaven unleashed.
How exciting is that? Spending all eternity worshipping the infinitely beautiful, King of kings and Lord of Lords? I'm just gonna say it now, pretty sure the DCB will be reunited and playing continuously. Hallelujah!
Something else that rustled up the heavenly thoughts was listening to the radio. Given that I spend roughly 1.5 hours in the car a day (on a good day), I have ample opportunity to listen to the radio and my CDs. I love worship music that doesn't point you towards itself, but towards God. There are some groups and some songs that make so much ruckus and are so distracting that God completely gets washed out, and you're just left depleted after the emotional adrenaline rush.
Anywho, I was listening to one of my favorite groups when it hit me. Imagine the most intense worship experience you've ever had. I'm talking the point where you thought you just couldn't take anymore. Where God felt so near, you seriously feared you'd be crushed from the weight of Him, blinded by His beauty and struck dumb by His glory. Times all of that by a ka-jillion. That's heaven (to me, at least). Think about it...you may have felt Him all those other times, but in heaven, He'll actually physically BE THERE. Thank goodness we'll have new bodies, because I know my current shell would not be able to withstand heaven unleashed.
How exciting is that? Spending all eternity worshipping the infinitely beautiful, King of kings and Lord of Lords? I'm just gonna say it now, pretty sure the DCB will be reunited and playing continuously. Hallelujah!
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