Year: 2013 (Page 17 of 37)

Whose job is it, anyway?

I’m reading up on some fascinating conversation on the blogosphere, which leaked into the FB feed, regarding boys, moms, girls and how those girls dress. Can I first say “Bravo! We’re talking! Not just complaining!” Hoo-ray! My years at the church yielded a lot of disgusted comments about “how girls dress these days” without anyone really doing something to make change, thus leaving us all – as KLR would say – part of the problem rather than part of the solution. 

So we have Mrs. Hall speaking out to teenage girls, letting them know they’re not invisible. In fact, they’re more visible to more people than they imagine. And then Mrs. Hall got more attention than she imagined – just google “Mrs. Hall girls attention” and you get a million and a half “Dear Mrs. Hall” posts. Of the responses, I’ve appreciated a few, such as the one that my cousin E referenced (btw, who names their blog something about urinal cake? Or am I reading it wrong and it’s one of those poorly thought out, run-together web names?) and then Momestary linked up to this guy.  I appreciated both of these authors’ tones, not condescending or even fully contradicting, but adding to what Mrs. Hall had to say. Nicely done, friends!
The whole thing returned me to conversation I began with friends several months ago related to how girls dress and that whole “one piece swimsuit” debacle. On the one hand, the expectations exist for girls to dress in a way that honors their bodies and helps young (and old) men from being tempted into lusty thoughts. I can agree, when girls dress with less cleavage and less skin it can benefit numerous parties. 
The other hand doesn’t like young (and old) women left holding the responsibility for so many. Boys aren’t the product of their situation and have full capability to keep their eyes from leading them into thoughts of lust. It’s not fair to hold girls responsible for the sin of boys. 
So, if we don’t want to blame the girls, yet the boys could really use the help, whose job is it to make sure these kids have a shot at living in a way that honors everyone? 
I’m trying to teach my kids to be kind to others and be aware of how others feel, rather than having only their own interests to guide them. I must say: this is difficult. It turns out that empathy and compassion live in there somewhere, but often require some coaching before they emerge. We almost have to learn them and practice them. Similarly, I’m trying to allow each child to grow into the she or he that God has made them. 
In the midst of teaching H Boy how to think about others, he’ll take it too far. He begins to police the girls, announcing to everyone when Miss M gets one more carrot than everybody else or giving a play-by-play of Lady C’s latest infraction of the rules. Now he’s not just considering everyone else, he’s using everyone else as leverage.  How do you teach kids, and teenagers, and even adults, that we need to consider one another and think about one another – protect one another – without patrolling and controlling them?


I frequently ask H Boy to watch out for the girls while they play outside. But if Miss M attempts something and falls and gets hurt, I cannot blame H for his sister’s shortcomings. He can only do so much. Personal responsibility reigns supreme. But that doesn’t mean that H can’t coach, advise, encourage, warn and assist. He can do everything possible to provide the best possible outcome. But when the buck stops, it’s not in his hand.
A friend wisely told me, “Are we our brother’s keeper? Absolutely.” That stuck. We are. In the struggle of living in a culture filled with overt sexuality and confusing messages, everyone pitches in. Moms who write blogs and bring awareness to the issue. Dads who treat moms and other women with love and respect. Neighbors who give attention to kids and blossoming adults for making wise choices – about the way they dress and the character they embody. Church families who pray over the kids and the parents as everyone navigates the rocky waters. 
I wonder if the best approach is to avoid the blame game altogether. Instead of pointing fingers, start holding hands. Ladies, if we don’t want boobies to be objectified, don’t put them out as objects to be oggled. Gentlemen, if we don’t want girls to lure you into a trap of temptation, then (while practicing that challenging skill of self-control) begin honoring the girls who live up to your virtuous, flesh-under-clothing standards. Such pictures get posted because the end goal is achieved: attention. If you start paying attention to that which you value, in this case modesty, then the girls who want to catch your eye will begin taking that route. 
And parents (*looks at self*) be careful not to put the weight of the sins of society onto the shoulders of a single child. We’re talking culture shift here:  Wading through the muck of decades of cultural commentary on sexuality and the body where both “the media” and the Church have piped up in unhealthy ways. Let’s own that. 
Now, I’d love to know: in what ways are you practically working to instill these values of modesty and treating all people with respect (no matter what their attire)? How do you bring up the conversation? As always, what does this look like when lived out well? 

The Hipster Beside Me

Dear Beautiful, Young, Hip Woman on the Yoga Mat Beside Me, 

 
Thank you. I so enjoyed our yoga practice this morning. It’s clear you’re a regular. It could have been your well-practiced inversion or your full back bend that drew me to these assumptions. But it was probably your confidence, your ability to listen to your body and respond as needed. Your intuition that didn’t require permission or instruction from the teacher before you moved. Watching gave me inspiration for my own future practice. 
 
It also led me to a peace about myself. Your body reaps the benefits of regular practice, and when you laid your mat beside me I felt a sense of jealousy and longing for my more fit days rise up inside. Oh, to be young again. 
 
However, this morning’s practiced centered on gratitude. It began by reflecting on having the opportunity, the time to even make it to the studio this morning. It was thankfulness to those who made the weekend possible, such as my parents. As I reflected on it, I became more grateful for my life as it is. 
 
My belly may not be firm, but in its softness, it has made a brief home for 4 beautiful creatures. It served as more than decoration, but as a means for bringing life into the world. 
 
I left more gracious toward my body as it is, not what I wish it would be. I want to treat it with respect and honor because it has served me well. Sometimes service looks a bit saggy and raggedy, but I suppose that if it didn’t cost you something it’s probably not worth the effort. 
 
So thank you, Beautiful Woman, for your presence. Your confidence seeped off your mat and onto mine. I grew in my gratitude because I saw my current place in life and decided I would choose it any day of the week, not as a constellation prize, but because I love it. 
 
 Namaste. 

OU? Oh yeah. (OR: The way in which I became who I am).

About this time of year, when I’m reading all the college students’ statuses (or, more accurately, the statuses of my friends who work on college campuses), I reflect on my own experience at Ohio U. It was, hands down, the four best consecutive years of my life.* 

When I arrived to my West Green dorm room, I knew one person. I intended on living the college life to its fullest. Little did I know what that would look like. 
My first week of school I filled out some survey at the dining hall (much like the bazillion surveys I had filled out at the Taste of Athens/Freshmen event). A few days later 2 gals knocked on my dorm room door to invite me to a pizza party. They used a few key words: Free. Pizza. Party. You mean I could meet people while eating something I didn’t pay for? IN. My roommate opted out, but I had no fear back then and showed up solo. 
I walked in and a few girls said hi. We played a round of 4 on a Couch , ate Papa John’s, and Jill shared her story about how God had changed her life. It was nice, I felt welcomed and they invited me to come back to a different place (Morton 237) on Thursday. 
Uh, Morton? Allllllll the way across campus? I don’t even have class in that building. Then 2 girls chimed in: We’ll pick you up! We live behind west green and drive over. 
So I arrived at 180 and they sang. And clapped. What the wha? Def not my experience with all things Jesus-y. But it was nice. I awckwardly stood with my arms folded but smiled. I heard a great story and I’m a sucker for a good message – no doubt BMac was the one speaking that night. And after it was all over, I walked down the stairs to leave and a girl turned, looked at me and called me by name. Tessa was authentically excited to see me. 
I kept going back to 180, making a few friends here and there. I joined those girls who drove me in a weekly Bible study. I hid my Bible when I walked down the hall – then it turned out that Steph did that, too. By Spring quarter we could at least admit it freely. 
We would hang out on weekends, eat chili cheese dip and play Psychiatrist, ie the best group game ever. For spring break we took a large bus down to Panama City to tell people about Jesus – one more completely foreign form of God stuff that made me wonder if I was in over my head and my parents wonder if I had joined a cult. 
I met more girls on that trip. I began to eat in the dining hall with Allison and I even branched into the East green girls for friendships. Jill and I would take walks down the bike path and she tried to teach me to rollerblade. 
That freshman year started something big in my life. It introduced me to Jesus as I never knew him. It showed me friendships as I’ve never experienced them. When people ask me why I loved my time at OU so much, I now realize that it’s so dear to me because this is where I learned what love looks like
Only once in the 4years did I have the same roommate twice (Ziska wins!) because my circle of friendships began to run deep and wide. These women who journeyed with me had a capacity to forgive, to love as I was and to encourage me to live into the person they saw I could be. When I walked around the apartment without pants, they rolled their eyes. When I wore the same pants for 5 days they shook their head. We shared late night talks, tears and uncontrollable laughter. 
And Jesus. Well, He showed up in those 4 years in ways I had never expected. I realized that faith was more than something I did on Sunday. Jesus got into the core of who I was and completely rearranged me. My dreams of working in a big office in the downtown, wearing trendy dress suits and make up – those disappeared by my junior year. I knew clearly that I was made for something else. 
Little did I know that it would translate into a season of living on pizza and late nights with teenagers. And then into coordinating meal trains and writing random blog posts about life or the Bible passages I never read quite like that before. 
I don’t always get to talk with my girls from OU. We really only gather around weddings, save the random trips by one of us to see another. But when we finally pick up the phone, when we get off the plane – we pick up at the same place. One of the girls in our circle said it best: it’s like our spirits mesh
So I keep all of this years’ freshmen close to my heart at this time of year. I never imagined a survey, a pizza party, a ride and my name would matter so much to the greater path of my life. But they did. They do. Someone’s prayers, someone’s efforts to include me – they made a difference. They changed me. They provided some of the best friends and a basis for faith for the rest of my life. 
Here’s to the Bobcats, the community of people who planted seeds of faith into my life and even stuck around to do the hard work of weeding and sheltered me during storms. I can only pray that each of my kids find themselves among such kindred spirits, friendships that shine true light. 
Future Bobcat, class of 2036
*I’m not sure how to include my 7 years of marriage in this. They’ve been great, too. But the 4 years at OU was highly-concentrated goodness. Marriage wins on the point of longevity. 
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