Snippets

from here

It seems the part of my brain that converts my tangled thoughts into coherent sentences and the part of my brain that deals with creativity and inspiration have eloped. I wish their marriage every happiness, but I’m desperately hoping they return from their honeymoon soon because I have blog posts waiting to be edited and/or written, not to mention a college assignment due in a week’s time.

While I await their return I’m resigned to thinking in snippets about things like the fact that ‘seven’ is the only number between one and ten with more than one syllable. I’d never noticed this until last week, and now it haunts me: Would our world be different if that extra syllable didn’t pop up in most English countdowns?  Also, I found out that ‘tinyurl’ isn’t split as ‘tin yurl’ but ‘tiny URL’. It blew my mind.

Anywho, hopefully my important brain pieces will arrive back shortly and I’ll therefore be able to join you here again very soon. We have much to catch up on! In the meantime, here‘s another Rachel Held Evans “interview” that I really enjoyed, this time with feminist Dianna Anderson.

Robot

You know those twirly writing codes used to verify things you do on the internet to make sure that you’re human? Well, I suck at them. The code in the picture above is fairly easy, but most have numbers and much more twirliness than this one, and I usually get them wrong. I recently failed a few of these codes in a row which unlocked another level of verification tests (looking at random photos of my Facebook friends and naming the circled person). Although I enjoyed this game (it seriously should be an app!), I do find the fact that I'm quite possibly a robot somewhat disconcerting.

The Christians versus The Homosexuals

from here

I've met many Christians recently who are quite vocally opposed to same-sex marriage. A few weeks ago, during our new Bible study, I had my first practice at sitting quietly, waiting out an impassioned rant about how a stack of homosexual people were out showing their support for the bills seeking to allow same-sex marriage, and how they would probably pass because “normal” people weren’t turning up to protest. I’m becoming rather good at picking at my fingernails and brushing at biscuit crumbs and avoiding making eye contact, because I’m not sure how I feel about homosexuality yet, but I believe that if it is a sin it’s no worse than pride or self-righteousness or any of the other imperfections we all grapple with daily.

More than this, though, in the whole The Christians versus The Homosexuals battle, I see what could be a beautiful opportunity for the spreading of God’s abundant love instead being used as a chance to further drive away those who are just as in need of grace and hope as we are. Too often in this war, the distinction between anti-homosexuality and anti-homosexuals is blurred, if not absent entirely. I remember seeing a documentary years ago on the Mardi Gras parades in the United States, which made me cry when it showed a guy holding a sign displaying the acrostic message “God Abhors You.“ In the last month I’ve heard Christians scoffing over anti-homophobia campaigns and support groups for gay teenagers as if these were terrible things. What’s truly terrible is young gay people committing suicide as a result of constant bullying and a feeling of complete aloneness. As Paul Goodliff writes (on page 169 of Care in a Confused Climate), “The Church must beware when its voice seems closer to that of the Pharisees than to that of its Lord.”

Jesus seemed to really care about people. He hung out with and touched and ate with and treated with respect the people that made the religious and comfortable people feel dirty and uncomfortable: prostitutes, tax collectors, lepers, women.  The apostle Paul seemed to love people too, making himself “a slave to everyone, to win as many as possible.” He goes on to say this (in 1 Corinthians 9:19-23):

To the Jews I became like a Jew, to win the Jews. To those under the law I became like one under the law (though I myself am not under the law), so as to win those under the law. To those not having the law I became like one not having the law (though I am not free from God’s law but am under Christ’s law), so as to win those not having the law. To the weak I became weak, to win the weak. I have become all things to all people so that by all possible means I might save some. I do all this for the sake of the gospel, that I may share in its blessings.

Both Jesus and Paul seemed to prioritise people over “theology,” showing compassion, humility and pure love, and meeting people exactly where they were at. Paul describes himself and his team as “Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us.” What’s God’s appeal to the homosexual people of the world today? Is it not exactly the same appeal to every person, regardless of their race, gender or sexuality: “Be reconciled to God” (2 Corinthians 5:20)? How many people will be attracted to the gospel of reconciliation as a result of the anti-same-sex-marriage lobbying Christians are doing? How many will be overwhelmed by the goodness and love of God? How many will think, “Wow, Jesus is so awesome!”? It’s a stab in the dark, but I’m going to say none. 

We can preach on and on about the theology of marriage, but who cares if we get our theology all figured out yet convince no one who needs to hear it that the gospel is breathtakingly wonderful? I don’t think God’s waiting for as many Christians as possible to get their thinking on homosexuality (or predestination or eschatology or anything else) straight so that we can then try to bring everyone else in the world to the same conclusions; “Instead he’s patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish but everyone to come to repentance” (2 Peter 3:9). 

As always, it’s far easier to see the greys in the issue when you know and love people who disagree with you. It’s easy to think of and call homosexual people “abnormal“ when you only know and hang out with straight people. I really appreciated having someone challenge me about my thoughts on homosexuality (and The Slap, although she was definitely wrong about that) in my previous Bible study. I also really appreciated this “interview” with Justin Lee and hope you will too. I’m not sure that I agree with everything Justin believes, but I love his gracious style and I think it’s important to think about what he says; particularly things like this:

You're absolutely right that a lot of gay people are incredibly wounded, having been theologically "battered" over and over by misguided Christians. I cannot possibly convey how much damage Christians have done to our own cause by approaching the gay community in hurtful ways.

This damage, then, makes it very difficult for churches to offer even appropriate and loving correction—the kind we all need. Have you ever seen a dog that's been abused its whole life? They run and cower in the corner if you even try to approach them to pet them. A lot of us feel like that when dealing with conservative Christians, frankly.

At this point, the best solution is for Christians to err on the side of being loving when dealing with people who have been abused by the church. Often, you'll have to bite your tongue on the theological error and focus on building relationships. That correction may be necessary, but it will have to come from people who have built the necessary trust first.

This breaks my heart. Goodliff makes another good point (from page 171 of the same book I mentioned earlier): “Too often the gay and lesbian community hears only condemnation from the Church, as if every other dimension of life is secondary to this one area of sexuality. It is time for the Church to be truer to the heart of Jesus and reach out to these communities and help them as people first, homosexuals second.” I’m not calling for Christians to be pro- gay-marriage, necessarily; I am, however, calling for Christians to be pro-compassion, pro-grace and pro-love, to name just a few. In my mind, all of these add up to – at the very least – not being so anti-gay-marriage. Non-Christians already know exactly what we’re going to say when we open our mouths to speak about same-sex marriage. I think sometimes it’s wiser just to be quiet. Sometimes silence says sweeter things.

Skin

from here

When I was younger, I used to look at my mum’s flawless skin and believe that when I was grown up I would enjoy a perfect, blemish-free face just like hers. She didn’t have the heart to tell me then that I’d inherited my father’s giant, over-productive pores (as well as his nose and moustache) and that I will probably be the only old lady in the world who still gets pimples. I honestly never thought that skin troubles would extend beyond my teenage years; I still have conversations with my face along the lines of, “We’re an adult now; did you not get that memo?!”

The skin on my face is so sensitive and break-out-prone that the mere thought of buying moisturiser from a supermarket makes it erupt in red, splotchy rashes. I used to work as the receptionist at a beautician, which meant I could get professional products for a decent price as well as free treatments each time a new employee needed testing or training – it was here that I first discovered that a perpetually itchy face was not normal. It could have been the best job in the world had my boss not been a compulsive liar who was frequently late for her first appointments and awfully open about her desire for Aboriginal people to no longer exist. 

After quitting my beautician job for my linguistics job (I was moving up in the world, people!), I soon ran out of my quality cleanser and moisturiser and decided to try to introduce my skin to ordinary, fragrance-free, super-sensitive, top-of-the-supermarket-range products in an attempt to save some money and wean myself off the good stuff. My face turned raw and flaky almost as soon as I grabbed them from the shelf at the shop. After about a week of suffering I called into a Dermalogica store with a friend before a movie one night, just to check out prices and look longingly at the products, and the woman who worked there was so horrified by my skin (I’m pretty sure the word “traumatised” was used) that she loaded me up with an armful of samples and wept for me as she waved us goodbye. I’ve been buying their products ever since.

If I was pressed, at gunpoint, to find a crumb of positivity about my dodgy skin, it would probably have something to do with the fact that my children will never be fooled into thinking that there’s a sure point at which skin troubles cease (“Other mums have great skin,” they’ll think, “But ours still doesn’t, so it must depend on genes rather than age,” and then they’ll hide under their doonas and cry their little hearts out). Also, Dermalogica packaging has made me laugh in the past. I try to remind myself of these perks when I’m feeling dejected as I inspect my spotty face in the mirror. I also tell myself that at least I’m not flaky, splotchy, itchy and spotty. It could be far, far worse.

Hip hip hooray!

from here

One year ago today, I wrote my first blog post. I never thought, back then, that I would come to love this blog quite so much as I do, or that through it I would make friends and discover a new (and much-needed) creative outlet. I have described this blog as the bucket into which I spew my thoughts; I look forward to another year of spew. After all, I have not yet attempted to bake bread, nor have I re-read Twilight (though I did recently find and buy the box set in an op shop for $15 - BEST. DAY. EVER).

Happy 1st birthday, blog.

40 years

from here

A couple from our church celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary on Sunday by renewing their vows during our morning service. When we mentioned the upcoming ceremony to my husband’s parents last week, my mother-in-law responded immediately with, “Oh, how awful!” She and my father-in-law argued that renewing vows was pointless; the promises have already been made, the ceremony changes nothing. They’re right, but I completely disagree with them, and not only because disagreeing makes for more interesting dinner conversation. I don’t get too excited about typically “romantic” activities; candlelit dinners make it hard to see my food and picnics by a river take too much organising and it’s hard to tell flies that you’re kind of on a date and they’re not welcome. But show me a bride walking down the aisle with her proud father beside her and I will be choking back tears within microseconds. I love me a wedding.

Well, it turns out I love love love me a re-wedding, when the couple has proven, over 40 years, that they really do mean what they’re promising. There are few things more romantic than two people, having battled monsters and lived and loved together for FORTY YEARS, standing up and declaring, “If I had to make this decision again, I’d totally still choose you.” On Sunday, the “groom” cried, the “bride” cried, I was a mess. It was wonderful. 

I was thinking that it’d be cool if re-commitment ceremonies were bigger events than the original wedding, if not equally large and normal. We usually get together at the starting line to witness the initial vow-exchanging, the tying of their middle legs together, and then we send the couples on their ways and hope the rope will stay tightly knotted and that they’ll make the distance. I really like the idea of a bunch of friends and family getting together at various points along the way to cheer and high five the couple for making it that far (three-legged running can be difficult!), to check that the ties are still strong and to encourage them to run on well.

I’m terrible at remembering birthdays, and even worse at knowing wedding anniversary dates. The only one I know, besides my own, is my dad’s, and that’s only because he had the good sense to marry on New Year’s Eve. I want to make more of an effort to celebrate these milestones with other couples and to be someone who gets just as teary over a beautiful marriage as I do over a beautiful wedding. I want to remind myself often that a smooth journey means working hard with my husband to keep in step (running while tied doesn’t work if one person strains ahead while the other lags behind), and to never be satisfied with an awkward or limping journey for us. And I want to continue to be someone who’s honest about my own marriage so that many others realise they’re valued members of our support crew and that we really like cheers and high fives and rope-checks.

My husband and I realised on Sunday afternoon that it was the anniversary of the day we started dating, seven years ago. I hope and pray that on our 40th wedding anniversary, in 35 years’ time (!), our rope will still be tightly tied, we’ll have long-ago eased into a comfortable pace alongside one another, and that we’ll be able to wholeheartedly declare that, if we were to accidentally fall into a time-machine and find ourselves 40 years younger, we’d show up and make the same vows all over again.

"Usurping" is an ugly word

Rachel Held Evans wrote a post yesterday about complementarianism, in which she says the following:

...even married couples who identify as “complementarians” are functioning as equal partners rather than forcing a hierarchal pattern onto their relationship that is highly prescriptive regarding gender. This should come as no surprise seeing as how a truly complementary relationship is one in which differences are celebrated, but not forced. If your marriage is like mine, this means that the complementary differences between you and your spouse often fall into gender-influenced norms (I am more emotional; Dan is more even-keeled), but not always (Dan is better at nurturing relationships than I am; I am more competitive). Rather than trying to force our personalities and our roles into prescribed molds based on gender, it just makes more sense to allow our natural difference to enhance and challenge one another. We lead where we are strong; we defer where we are weak.

I agree that all of the complementarian marriages I know of look egalitarian; I know of no husband who would make a big decision without his wife's approval and support (the 'final-say' thing seems to be the ultimate test of practical complementarianism). The problem I've noticed is the worry that goes along with trying to be complementarian: the wife worries because she doesn't know what specifically-wifey submission is supposed to look like, and the husband worries that he's not doing enough initiating and leading (or sometimes it's the other way around: the wife doesn't think her husband is enough of a leader, and the husband doesn't feel as though his wife respects his authority). No one seems to know how to work out the hierarchy in practice without losing the trust and intimacy and equality necessary to make a marriage work well.

The part I particularly enjoyed about the post, though, was this comment by Kristin Richardson (edited slightly, for my own anal reasons):

What if the church started saying things like, “It is inappropriate for men to ever hold their children unless the mother is absent or they are given permission by the mother; to do otherwise usurps the God-given role of the female in the family.”

Saying, “Oh, well a good husband listens to his wife and considers her opinion” is akin to saying, “A good wife would allow her husband to hold the baby on occasion.”

So, is any instinctual desire by the man to hold his own baby there by accident? After all God made WOMEN the caregivers. His desire to hold the baby is obviously just stemming from his sinful nature and wanting to control everything!

Richardson admits her analogy is limited but offers it as food for thought, and I had lots of fun chewing on it this afternoon! Grudem talks a bit about usurping in his books, but only in relation to women; it was a nice change to think through what it could look like for men instead (in light of the primary responsibilities of men and women according to complementarians).

Play

Recently my son has started to really play - not just brooming cars and building towers, but accepting my invisible keys with a knowing smile and unlocking his toy car with them. At the park, we stand in the little shop area and I ask Moses if I can please buy some muffins, so he bends down, picks up some woodchips, and hands them over, then I pretend to eat them and hand him some “money”, which he takes and pretends to eat (we’re still working on this part). I love it! I can’t wait until he has the vocabulary to match his imaginings, when our shop sessions will get even more creative and fun.

However, I think my involvement in our play went a little too far last Friday, when I found myself trying to distract Moses from the Duplo house I was building so that my handiwork would not be interfered with by someone who apparently thinks motorbikes can sit on outdoor tables and an animal trough can double as a bed. They can’t, so don’t come near my outdoor setting, dude. Gosh. After putting Moses down for his nap, did I rush around making the most of the kid-free-time to cross to-dos off my list in preparation for the arrival of guests later that evening? No, I did not. Did I grab a snack and relax with a book or throw on a load of washing or sit at my laptop and write a brilliant blog post? No, no and no. Did I pull out my camera and busy myself with designing and arranging cosy Duplo scenes as if I was an apprentice photographer on my first assignment with Duploland’s Home magazine?

Inappropriate?

Better?

I may have done that last one.

Let’s Pretend This Never Happened by Jenny Lawson

Jenny Lawson, also known as The Bloggess, is very funny - the kind of funny that makes you snort sometimes. I started reading her blog after my mum forwarded me this post, which happened to be one of the stories she included in her new “mostly true” memoir, Let’s Pretend This Never Happened. Mum pre-ordered the book and then kindly gave it to me to read first; in return I unknowingly gave her and her family the bug we’d all come down with the previous week. It wasn’t really a fair swap.*

I’m not sure what makes a good memoir; is it how much of it you can relate to? Because there’s not too much I share in common with Lawson. This book is a collection of stories about things like growing up with a crazy (but loving) father in Texas and meeting her husband while browsing alongside him in the witchcraft section of a bookshop and dealing with anxiety disorders/OCD and being strangely obsessed with zombies and taxidermied animals.

I wanted to like this book more than I did, and laugh more than I did. There were truly hilarious parts in it, including a story about laxatives which had me wheezing at one point, but I found Lawson’s chatty writing style a little wearing and predictable at times and didn’t really mind that the book ended. I’m not sure that I’d recommend it to anyone who isn’t already a fan; I would, however, highly recommend Lawson's blog. If you don’t already follow it, here are four example posts to either whet your appetite or turn you off forever (I should warn you first: The Bloggess is irreverent and doesn’t mind using the f-word): 

1. A conversation with her husband (Victor)
2. What she wore to see Twilight
3. Another conversation with Victor
4. A recent one: David Thorne*-style correspondence with a guy from PETA

And if you haven't heard of David Thorne, read this post. Or this post, or this one. Or this one. This has turned into less of a book review than a blog review/plug, and I have no idea how to end it.


No, really.

///

* Sorry about that, Mum. I’ll return the book if you promise not to give back the tummy thing.