Attention: takers abusers users

This has been swirling around for awhile in my mind. Conversations and observations building up. Why do men seem to have no conscience? I mean how can they unashamedly admit to using women only for sexual gratification? Have they no soul? Are they jaded monsters? Why is misogyny so fucking popular? Let me clue you in on something if you happen to be douche bag prick who wandered upon this blog by fated luck- whatever woman it was that hurt you or disenchanted you from being a decent human being - not all women are like that woman. Just because one of us was a dumbass doesn't make all of us like that. There is no excuse to treat with disrespect any other being, even when they themselves are willing to be wounded victims. Those that are vulnerable most need looking after not predators circling overhead. These women you take to bed and forget after coming and going they are more than their intangibles even if they don't know it. You know better, I know you do.

I mean nothing sexist by this post. I know that women can be capable just as much as men of duplicity and selfishness. I am not targeting any specific person. This is just a general post I'm putting out there because I think it needs to be considered. Think about self-control and self-respect. Please don't trade a moments pleasure for a lifetimes regret. There is something at stake when two people have sex. We all have value and its not found solely in our ability to get one another off. Seriously, treat others how you wanted to be treated in the bedroom and out of it. Grow up.

what is a woman?

If a woman never marries is she less of a woman?
If a woman never bears a child is she less of a woman?
If a woman feeds her family KFC instead of free range home roasted is she less of a woman?
If a woman is more educated than most men is she less of a woman?
If a woman supports herself and has no man to fix her facet is she less of a woman?
If a woman isn't a Victoria Secret ad every moment or just at night is she less of a woman?
If cancer or some other means takes a woman's breasts or uterus from her is she less of a woman?

What is a woman?

Just putting the question out there because I am concerned. I have been thinking a lot lately about what a means to be a christian woman and just a woman overall. Are woman molded in the world of christian community to be a certain thing and when they aren't or don't fit the mold, are they then outcasts in some sense? Do they become cast off good-nice-christian-girls? They clean up alright but just didn't make the cut of other women...

We live in a world very different from the one that is the ideal maybe God intended. I don't know. God allowed every moment that has happened, to happen, so its not like its a shock to him. Women especially here in the western world have access and freedom that are denied many of their gender elsewhere. Women here can and do support themselves honorably. Their is no man to "lead the family"and these women aren't to be blamed or despised for that "lack." Women in every situation whether traditional or non are doing the best they can with what they have to work with.

I think we as women need to start looking at each other as sisters and friends, the eye should be filled with generosity and compassion when we look upon those of us from the "fairer sex." We should seek to know one another and love each other for who we are, while gently being there to push each other towards all God wants us to be. "What God wants us to be" is the key phrase, for the path of some women is certainly not the path of all. One woman's destiny isn't like that of every other woman and the sooner we see that, the more authentic we all can be. Seek out what connects us and not what pushes us apart, look and see the daughter of God in all of us.

adversity&discontent: the soil of creativity?

Recently a friend has made me think about the junction between artistry and survival. I once thought that it would be amazing to make my living from creative writing. To be able to leisure about and just write whenever I wanted to about anything I wanted to sounded exciting, but I wonder now if the actuality would really be as grand as I imagined. If someone paid me to write and do nothing else, would the writing I produce be any good?

I have a theory about my creative process. I think that it is the struggles, setbacks, and simplicities of everyday life that are the soil of my writing. If I have nothing to persevere against-be it a job or a boss, a limited budget or a deadline-I notice my writing juices wane. I think I write out of a place of discontent, not malicious discontent or severe discontent but creative discontent. When I spend any part of my day writing it has to be meaningful because there isn't time for frivolous fluff in a day so full of demands. Demands are placed upon all of us by work, family, friends; these aren't necessarily bad demands but they make life crowded and time for self pursuits precious. I can't help but to write and wonder and ponder and write again. Over-thinking about writing sucks the joy right out of it for me.

I think I need obstacles to make writing worth doing. It is funny to see that typed out in black and white for all my life I have been an advocate against obstacles, but now I see that discontenting obstacles mold us in ways "contentment" never could. I have pondered over the many obstacles in my life and prayed over and over that they would just go away. One of the obstacles in my life has been my job. The work isn't bad but the atmosphere and corporate b***s*** is soul sucking and mind numbing. Yet it has been here, at my soul sucking, mind numbing job that I have found my passion for writing. Funny huh? Obstacles give us something to overcome and that can be a source of self-inspiration.

Writing is a way for me to work out and work through a problem and a way to process ideas. The funny thing about me is I do a majority of my writing while I am at work. While I am at work getting through my day by running on autopilot, an idea will come to mind, a play on a word or turning of a phrase. I will quickly pull up a blank email and type the idea out. If I am having a day that isn't very busy, I will work on the idea a little bit but knowing that any second the jingle could sound saying I have an email to answer or the phone at my desk could ring, presents a challenge and a sort of danger that fuels my creativity. I guess I thrive on fitting my creativity into a day that isn't meant to be creative. I don't know if that is a sophomoric rebellion streak that I need to overcome or if its been a survival tool in a corporate atmosphere that is stifling. I don't feel bad about writing while I am at work. After being there 10 years it is obvious that I get my work done and get it done well.

I think I write the most and the best when writing is not the central focus. If I set out with the thought in my head, "I am going to write today" the words come haltingly if at all. But if I am passionate about something, if I feel stirred or moved by the occurrences of life, I can't help but write pages and pages. I think my writing is its most real when I am not trying to be real. Does that make any sense? Give me unlimited writing time and the blinking cursor becomes my enemy. Minutes seem like hours as I stare at the blank page. But let me live, struggle, persevere and further my resilience - I could write all day. Take the "negative" in your life and turn it upside down. What does adversity and discontent really do to you? What is the source and fuel of our creativity?

Who do YOU say I am?

Our day begins with the loud beep of the alarm clock. The drip drop of the coffee maker in the kitchen is more soothing a sound to our still sleepy souls, but the serenity it tries to provide doesn't last very long. All too soon we are shuffling out the door and out unto the small roads and grand highways. Encased in our vehicular cocoons we contend with the overwhelming noise of our big-small world as we go to and fro, from dawn to dusk.

Beep Beep Beep
Honk Honk Honk
Ring Ring Ring

The day is filled with inescapable noise. You turn on the radio and find pundits spewing poison in their constant tempest rages and rants; they seek not to soothe but to rile. You turn to music but the lyrics are senseless, soulless, generic garbles glorifying lust, drugs, and violence. You seek out conversation that extends beyond the weather page, but it isn't easy to make deep connection in a constant moving current.

Life is complicated. There is so much to find on this amazing moving marble that is our home. We can find beauty, we can find friendship, we can find love - but finding implies a certain level of searching. Searching can be tough. It is great to find but it is hard to seek. The seeker seeks because he is not whole. Emptiness causes a deep ache that is agonizing. To lack something essential inside is to suffer and suffering...well...sucks.

Sometimes I think we say we found something just so we can avoid the suffering that is seeking. Giving up on truly finding for ourselves what fills the emptiness, we listen to the noises around us. A legion of voices say they have found contentment "Here! Wait! NO its over there!" Contentment becomes a moving target that never stills because we don't really know what we want or really need. Often we settle for unbelievablly less than we deserve or want.

Jesus asked his disciples, "Who do you say I am?" The noise about Jesus and around Jesus was loud and everyone had a different answer to the question, but the only thing that mattered to him was what each individual said he was and that reality hasn't changed. He still wants to know what each of us thinks of him. It's not going to matter what anybody else said; he wants to know what you say. So get quite and get real because it's what YOU say that matters. He isn't going to ask what everyone else said; he is going to look into your eyes and into your heart and ask, "Who do YOU say I am?" Will there be silence then?

Mother's Day 2012

Some thoughts on this Mother's Day Sunday 2012: The word mother is connected to words like protection, safety, nurture, and love. A couple of weeks ago I was on the cities busiest street when I noticed a mother goose and her brood of adorable ducklings wandering on the side of road. I was tempted to get out and shoo them to safety but I suppressed the urge and remained in my vehicle. Even if I intervened, nothing would make them stay in the five foot area that represented life on a road that so quickly could be their doom. The mother goose seemed undecided about where she was going. Her little goslings would be marching off in the direction their mother had been facing only to look back and see that she was no longer moving that way. The goslings would stop, turn around, and move closer to their mother. As much as they wouldn't go their way without her, she wasn't going her way without them. She didn't take flight and flee the busy road for that would mean abandoning her little nonflying chicks. The goslings for their part, knew they needed their mother. There was no marching on unless she said it was OK. Mothers protect their young from dangers that are obvious and from those that are more subtle. Mothers bring forth life and help sustain it.

 

A mothers work is truly never done. All I can do is offer thanks to my mom and to mothers out there everywhere. Happy Mother's Day! xo

an hours observation

As I was waiting for the dreaded time clock to turn from 4:59 to 5:00, signally my release from work purgatory, it made me think how much one minute can change a persons life. What if I didn't wait that one minute and punched out at 4:59? Would 4:59 me have a completely different experience driving home? Would I pass different people and encounter different obstacles? 4:59 me might have a completely different evening than 5:00 me. On the news there will sometimes be a story about someone getting in an accident because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time; something as small as one minute could have made all the difference. Watching or waiting for one minute to tick by fills a soul with meek wonder. Time casts a shadow bigger than any of can us understand; just one minute can make a lifelong difference...

As I was walking to my car, I saw a tiny little ant scurrying among the faded blacktop facade of the parking lot. I wondered if he had a destination in mind as he scurried so hurriedly. Was his a random journey? Was he lost on the lot? Did he feel disoriented on the black surface being cooked by the hot sun? Do ants lose their way? Nature shows portray ants as being forces of nature, highly organized and intelligent, able to wander far from their homes. Was he a scout on a mission or a loner who was lost? One little ant, was he missed? Are we?

I drive a small compact car. It suits me I guess. I can't imagine tooling around town in big truck or a large SUV. They say people start to look like their pets, I wonder if the same is true for people and their cars. I have noticed that the person getting out of bigger than life vehicle usually has a bigger than life personality. My small car would probably say, "sensible, efficient, modest" not "sleek, sexy, fun". Sigh. As I was at a stoplight going north, I noticed my exact car at the stoplight but traveling east. I did a double take when I saw it. It was like catching a glimpse in a trick mirror. I have seen cars like mine traveling on the road before of course but there was something different about it this time. Here we were identical in so many ways, though moving in different directions, and for this one moment in this constantly moving world, we were stopped at the same point. It got to me for some reason. I heard someone say once that everyone has a twin on the other side of the world, someone who is just like them. Maybe our look-a-likes are closer than we think. Maybe these so called look-a-likes are realy other versions of ourselves on different paths. Will the fragmented pieces of ourselves every come together and stay?

day undone+superfluous Starbucks story

Starting something at the end is what I am doing now. I am lying in bed typing each letter painstakingly with one finger on my nook tablet keyboard. It is amazing how long it takes to finish a sentence using this thing. I am frustrated but I am pressing on because I feel like my day will not be done unless I write something.

What follows is a superfluous Starbucks story brought to you courtesy of my life experiences... I was in desperate need for a Starbucks the other morning. The drive-through line was so long I decided to just go in and order. I had just gotten out of my 7:00 AM chemistry class and I was a visual/mental mess. My hair was crazy and sticking up, untamed by my headband and ponytail attempt. I had no makeup on and was pale and blotchy looking. I totally looked like what I was, a person who had rolled out of bed, got into her car, and was now wandering about society. I was wearing an over-sized blah grey hoodie and a pair of sad boring tennis shoes. As I was waiting for the barista to make my wake-up elixir, I noticed a woman who was standing in line next to me. She was carrying a posh Coach bag and her hair was perfectly quaffed. She was wearing fashionable black high heels and had on bright red well fitting slacks. She looked very sheik and put together. I wondered if she felt as cheery and put together as she looked. The outsides of us can indicate or hide internal truths and states of being.  It made we wonder what our outsides are saying about us and if what it is saying is true...