Why I'd Gave Dating (at Church) A Chance

Full disclaimer: The Dude-I-Am-Dating was not part of my church community when we first met. In fact, when we met, I hadn't dated anyone from my community since the last serious and painful relationship. Like the men I mentioned in my last post, I was meeting singles outside of my church circle through online dating, mutual friends, and an inter-church singles group.

Throughout that season of dating, I found myself relieved. I was relieved because I could date in perfect anonymity. No one from my community was really watching. I dated quietly and without much fanfare. A small group of women in my life knew I was "out there" in the market. Months later actual dates would turn into hilarious stories told over breakfasts or happy hours, with cryptic references surfacing on Facebook and this blog. I'd tell these stories as if I was the main character in an urban chick lit novel. I figured if, by some horrible twist of life, one of the men I ever went out with found my Facebook or blog, I would invoke the all persons fictitious disclaimer - any resemblance to persons living or dead was purely coincidental.

As relieved as I was, I was also incredibly lonely. It wasn't just that I walked my dating life alone, away from the support of the larger community. It was also that I consistently met strangers. Sure, occasionally, I would get set up with a friend of a friend, but for the most part I was meeting men from whereabouts unknown, un-vetted by anyone other than an algorithm designed by a dating site web developer.

It wasn't bad, per se. It wasn't even damaging. It was just exhausting. Over and over again, I found myself comparing these early relationships with those I'd had when I dated within my community. And as awkward and as painful as dating within community can be, I found myself yearning for it. Here's why:

Reason #1: Community (pain in the ass as it is) is a hedge of protection.
And I don't mean in the community-watches-us-so-we-won't-have-sex way. I mean that community catches us when we fall. And in dating, we tend to fall quite often.

We, both men and women, fall when we are careless with the hearts of those we date, when we make fun of them when we should lift them up, when we have unrealistic expectations of the opposite sex. Community catches and protects us from ourselves when our girlfriends remind us that he isn't about to dump us because we had a fight. Or that we should seriously consider having a discussion with him about some needlessly harsh remarks he made.

Community challenges us to be better daters, to serve those we date, to be gracious to them, to remember that they are God's children too. It's far too easy to be selfish and judgmental towards those we date when Community isn't there to gently call us out.

Of course, let's not forget - community mourns with us when the relationship ends. They'll always be a comfort whether or not they've been privy to your dating life. But if they've walked with the two of you in relationship, they can comfort you more authentically and speak to both of your hurts. This kind of authentic, collective mourning helps us not to see the other as enemy - which, while satisfying post break-up, does nothing to heal the heart.

Reason #2: You can't hide ugly at church, nor should you have to. 
Community, if done well and authentically, is meant to reveal both our strengths and our weaknesses in a safe environment. I think what makes dating within community so incredibly frightening, yet incredibly fruitful, is that our weaknesses are on display for our potential partners to see very early on. This completely defies all conventional dating practices of putting on your dating game face and showing only your best, and most agreeable side to your dating partners. Sharing a community forces a level of openness and honesty about who you are that is a great foundation for the openness and honesty that is to come in marriage.

Don't fall into the trap of thinking that if someone knows you "too well" you automatically fall into the "friend zone." That's for the emotionally juvenile. Ask any married person, and they will tell you that their love, intimacy and sexual chemistry grows when they are open and vulnerable with one another.

Admittedly, being open is an incredible risk. Even though I've always been part of faith communities that have encouraged me to be vulnerable with my struggles - whether it's doubt, or grief, or fear or anger, I often feared that showing my weaknesses would frighten away potential dates in my community.

Sometimes, it did. But more often than not, openness led men to see the type of woman I was and was becoming. The men that did approach me already knew something of my heart and my character. It made that dreaded "first date," where there's usually the struggle to find something to talk about, much easier. There was already a foundation of openness, honesty, and some level of friendship.

For me, personally, I find seeing a man who is open and honest about who he is, and where he is currently at, extremely attractive. I would dare say most women would agree that a vulnerable man is a sexy man.

Reason #3: Sharing a community of faith increases the likelihood that you share the same theology. 
I re-wrote this one over and over, trying not to come off sounding like a narrow-minded, conservative fuddy-duddy. I'm not sure I can. What I'm trying to say here is that sometimes, a difference in theology can a deal breaker. Maybe for most, it won't matter, but for some, me included, it matters a great deal because what we believe affects how we live our lives as single people and as married people. And when I talk about differences in theology, I mean big things - like egalitarianism vs. complementarianism or cessationism versus continuationism.

I won't speak for the entire Christian population, but as a woman who believes that men and women are equal, and therefore women can also hold spiritual leadership roles, and who also believes that the Holy Spirit and all spiritual gifts (even the scary ones) are alive and well today, I'm not going to be able to marry someone who believes the exact opposite. Nor, I suspect, do men that believe the exact opposite want to marry a woman like me. It's true that we all evolve as people and our views may shift over time. But if I'm pretty set in these two theological view points, why would I expect that my dates shift in their view points?

Also, maybe these issues don't come up in day-to-day dating or married life and we could live for years perfectly happy with our differences. But when we have daughters, you bet it'll affect how we raise her. What if she's been gifted to teach and lead both men and women? Would we never even see those gifts because one half of our family doesn't believe that women can be called by God to lead all kinds of people? What if my daughter feels like God is leading her to be in some sort of spiritual leadership role over both men and women? What then?

In my season of dating outside of my community, my greatest dilemma wasn't where to find Christian guys. It was finding the kind of Christian guy who shared similar viewpoints on foundational theological issues. Turns out there a quite a few Christian men in Los Angeles. The ones that shared my theological views constituted a tiny subset. The men in my community may not always share my theological views, but there's a higher percentage of them that do, compared to any other place.

Reason #5: Sharing your faith community is going to have to happen eventually anyway. 
Maybe dating in community is awkward, and strange, and feels like you're in a fishbowl. But, if you date someone long enough, and if you're serious about "becoming one," you're going to have to merge your communities of faith at some point. It's not like you can keep going to different churches forever.

Maybe some of you are going to wait till you're engaged to start going to the same church. But that's probably not very practical, since part of the journey from dating to marriage is being part of each other's faith journeys. And it's really difficult to try and be a part of someone's journey if you're driving in a different car. So at some point, after you start dating exclusively, and before there's a promise of marriage, you'll find yourselves having the discussion about being in the same community of faith.

I personally think that as we grow more emotionally intimate in our dating relationship, we actually crave worshiping together because worship is a high form of intimacy. At some point, it's going to feel incredibly lonely worshiping in one place while the person you love is worshiping clear across town. I know, because that's exactly what happened to me.

My two experiences of dating men from my community both ended sadly and poorly. These experiences left me believing that I needed to keep my community of faith a sacred place where I was going to heal when things inevitably ended badly. Keeping it sacred meant keeping my dates out. Which is why I never invited the Dude I was dating to visit my church, nor did I actively ask to visit his. He'd invite me, but I would hesitate.

Until one Sunday, I went to my church and just felt incredibly lonely. Worship was full, and rich and wonderful, and it made me sad that the Dude wasn't there. It didn't feel right that he wasn't beside me. It was  a shift in my heart I wasn't expecting. We'd only been dating about four months then. It would take me another five months before I would join him in his community for good. So here we are, exclusive, but not engaged, and sharing the same community. For me, it's risk. But it's one of those good, make-you-grow kind of risks.

All that pressure you feel dating someone in your faith community? Increase that hundred-fold, and that's the pressure you're going to feel joining your partner's community of faith after your relationship has become serious. The community can't help itself but watch, and ask questions, and say things. Some of these questions and things are going to feel great. And others are going to make you feel like you have all these expectations to fulfill.

The first time I went to the Dude's church, the community kept saying to me, "We have been praying that he would find someone." Implying that I was that answered prayer. It was awkward, but also incredibly endearing. I could see how much his community loved him, and rooted for him. It made me even more sure that I was with a good man - a man whose friends are so for him is a man worth growing to know more.

I've often pondered if I could have done anything differently in my years between my last heartbreak and meeting the Dude that I'm now dating. I think, for one thing, I would have tried to bear the pain a little more and tried to press into community rather than withdraw from it. I was so ashamed of being dumped that I couldn't handle being in the same community as the ex. I think it was my loss that I didn't let community comfort me and help hold my pain.

Unfortunately, the community I did land in after the break-up didn't have single men of an appropriate age. Most men were in their early 20s, or already married, or in their 50s and 60s. I think had the community been more demographically appropriate, I would have liked to give dating within community another go, in spite of how painful the last ending was.

In then end, if you're asking for my advice, here's what I would say: at the minimum, at least consider the single men and women in your community. Don't automatically dismiss them - being part of your community shouldn't be a mark against them. In fact, it's a great plus point - these men and women already know you, and to some degree, already do sincerely care about you. If that isn't a good start, I don't know what would be.

He Kissed (Church) Dating Goodbye

I first came across the article: Why Won't Christian Men Date Women Who Go To Their Church when a friend of a friend posted the article on Facebook. Originally from the blog Your Tango, it's a thoughtfully written article by a Christian woman who interviewed five Christian men ranging from their 20s to their 40s about why they are hesitant to, or even completely avoid, asking out the women who share their communities of faith.

The five Christian men were surprisingly honest - all of them wanted a relationship, and wanted to eventually be married. Most of them had been in some kind of relationship with a woman at one point or another in their adult lives. But these men were all in agreement that they would rather not date the women that go to their church for these five reasons:

Reason #1 - They're worried about their reputations.- Men didn't want to be perceived as "that guy" who preyed on women in the community.

Reason #2 - Dating girls at church reduces their options. If they dated one girl in their community, and it didn't work out, all her girl friends were instantly "off-limits."

Reason #3 - It complicates things. People at church gossip. Also, break-ups are painful and awkward when you have to share the same circle of friends.

Reason #4 - There are better ways than church for meeting women.  Because the men can't date the women that are already at church, and meeting new people at church is impossible, men prefer other options of meeting women - such as online dating sites, or, more "organically" through mutual friends.

Reason #5 - It feels inappropriate. Church discourages men and women from expressing their sexuality, and turning something as sacred as church into a pick-up playground was just too "shady."

The article caused a riot on Facebook. There were hundreds of comments within a span of days- from both men and women. Some were horrified and disgusted - these men were clearly selfish, only considering their fears, their needs, their comfort.

Others applauded these men for their honesty and agreed wholeheartedly with their reasons. Some took this as an opportunity to point out that church-going women's expectations were too high anyway, and all Christian women ever did was say no to well-meaning men.

Yet others shook their heads and rolled their eyes cyber-style and declared the entire system of dating as we know it today dysfunctional. Others encouraged commenters to wait on the God to bring the right one for them. Words like "bitter" and "letting go" got thrown around.

Eventually, the person who posted the article took it down, along with the thread of comments - I think all our posting was causing the poor poster's account to implode.

I've been reflecting on this online interaction ever since. Two out of three of my serious relationships had been with men who were attending my church at the time. And I had experienced every one of those emotions the men expressed - awkwardness, pain, confusion about how to express my sexuality. When one of those relationships ended, I found myself in a community where most of the available men were friends with the Ex - I had become "off-limits."

So while the men in the article made a good point, were these the same reasons I would not date the men with whom I go to church? Well, not really. For me, avoiding the church as a dating pool isn't about worrying about my reputation, or trying to appear appropriately non-sexual on Holy Ground. For me, it comes down to these reasons:

Reason #1 - Community certainly means well, but is a pain-in-the-ass.
I cannot even begin to tell you how much Community loves me and wants to see me happy, and I would dare saw that your Community loves you so very much too. In fact, Community can't believe that someone as awesome as you is still single. That's why, the moment you start dating, Community rejoices. Finally! Someone has seen how so very awesome you are! Finally! Someone who deserves you! Community has all the hope in the world that this is The One For You.

The problem with Community's hope for you - hope that this is the last man you'll have to date, hope for a timely engagement, hope that you'll never be lonely again - may not be the same things you're hoping for yourself. And sometimes, because Community loves you so much, you may find it hard to say no to their hopes. Before you know it, their hope becomes your hope. And if the relationship comes to an end, the weight of hopes dashed - hopes that you may never have had if Community had just shut their yap - is staggering.

So in some ways, it does feel like a relief to date outside of the eager eyes of Community. 

Reason #2 - There's no freedom to go at your own pace. 
By that I mean as quickly or as slowly as you need to. Depending on the dating culture of the particular church, you're given the message you're either moving too fast, or too slow in your relationship. Getting engaged under a year of meeting could be met with raised eyebrows and concerns of whether you are aware of what you're doing. On the other hand, dating for years without an engagement is met with questions about what issues you're avoiding, and how you could possibly have enough self control to stay celibate throughout the time.

I think Christians love timelines and formulas because it adds certainty to grey areas. And dating is an infinite grey area. In a season of dating, you are neither  married, nor are you completely separate. You're trying to express and grow in love and yet stay away from the full physical and emotional expression of love - sex. You're to trying to share your heart in hope of growing intimate, and yet you're somehow called to "guard your heart." There really can be no formula for this - some of us may know this is the person they want to spend the rest of their life within moments of meeting. Others will need to take the two, three, or *gasp* five years to feel safe and known enough to share a lifetime together. And yes, we'll have to figure out how "not to have sex" while we're at it, ok?

I'd certainly be more eager to date within Community if there was less talk of where I'm heading in the dating relationship, and more coming alongside of during the relationship.

Reason #3 - We complicate things.
For me, there's no question that breaking up and having to share the same church and circle of friends, having to still have to see your Ex week after week, having to quite possibly lose some friends in the process is one of the painful realities of dating in community. But I would argue that people who don't go to church still struggle with these situations. Just read any dating blog or lifestyle magazine and you'll find articles about who gets to keep which friends, whose side you choose in a break up and how to act if you run into your Ex on the street. Hell, Sex in the City did a whole episode about that one.

I think we, the loving Body of Christ, make dating complicated by adding a spiritual dimension to every little facet of dating. So I don't go to coffee to get to know someone better, I'm going to coffee and discerning if this is the person God has for me to spend the rest of my life with. We don't just share a kiss - by kissing, we somehow develop soul ties so that if we break up, our souls are torn asunder. When we break up, we don't just get to be depressed and eat ice-cream. we also need prayer for healing of a broken heart. And if we're depressed too long, and eat too much ice-cream, we need the next level of prayer - "intensive prayer." Everything has such spiritual weight on it. It's no wonder why no one feels particularly excited about dating in this kind of environment. Who wants to carry around a spiritual anvil?

Sometimes, I wish the people of God would just chillax. Coffee can just be coffee, kissing and then a little more may not always lead to intense spiritual bonding, and sometimes, we just need to be sad for awhile because, well, ending a relationship is incredibly sad. Dating is hard enough without this added pressure of having to consider whether each interaction with the opposite sex is going to damage my soul, or his, for eternity.

Reason #4 - Men? What men?
I'm not being snide and saying that church is full of boys, or there are no "real men" around. What I mean is that there is a gender disparity in the Christian faith as a whole. According to the site Church For Men the typical U.S. church congregation is 61% women and 39% men. That's all kinds of men, of all ages. If we take a guess and say the percentage of single people in church follows the trends of the U.S. as a whole, then it means only 44% of those men in church are single. So basically, less than 20% of any given congregation is single men.

Statistically, church is a terrible place to find a date if you're a woman.

Reason #5 - It feels a bit much.
Because there's not a lot of men coming to church, once an age-appropriate, apparently single man walks through the doors, women pay attention. But quite frankly, as a woman, I hate the idea that all of us women are looking out for the next new single guy at church. It makes me feel like a vulture. It makes me feel like I have to do whatever the local church version of batting my eyelids might be (Can I pray for you? Are you new? Come to lunch with us? I serve in Children's Church.) hoping that the New Guy will pay attention to me.

We're not on The Bachelor here... I really don't want to compete with women in my circle for that one new guy that happens to grace our pews. (Why did that sound strangely filthy?)

So church going men, here's the good news. Relax. Not all of us are sitting at these church pews eagerly hoping you'll ask us out. We women are aware of the baggage dating at our churches brings. Hell, some of us are even in agreement with you in Kissing Church Dating Goodbye. (It's probably one of the few kisses we'll enjoy this year). So don't enter those sanctuary doors looking like the hunted from a Discovery Channel special.

However, consider this:

If we automatically dismiss the single people that go to our church because we want to avoid gossip, awkwardness, or pressure of expectations, we're dismissing some really great potential here. The men and women in our church are the ones we see the most often, who know our strengths and weaknesses, who share in our beliefs, who pray together and support one another. Call me crazy, but that sounds like great potential for deep, intimate romantic relationships to me.

That's why next time, I'll tell you why I'd give church dating a chance.

Weak and Strong

This week, in the middle of worship during small group, God reminded me, "I have made you strong. There is nothing that happens to you that I have not already prepared you for, nothing that is more than you can handle. Nothing that I do not protect you from."

With that, I let out the breath that I'd been holding for the last two years.

You see, in the last two years, I've delicately balanced my passion for vulnerability with my fear of judgement. It's quite the conundrum. On the one hand, I strongly believe that being honest about who I am - my fears, my struggles, my anger, my shame, my hopes, my dreams - makes for a whole me. Vulnerability gives room for God to work in my life. But if I am only honest with God in the privacy of my own room, my own mind, and my own heart, and put up a mask for the world around me, how is that being honest at all? How then can God use those around me to reflect His grace and mercy if no one outside of the Divine is allowed to know my weaknesses?

On the other hand, I can't control how the world chooses to perceive me. Any moment that I put myself out there, I am open to judgement. Even more terrifying, showing weakness sometimes leads to abandonment. This is a reality of the broken earth upon which we walk. People of God are sometimes the worst offenders - weakness is seen as some kind of lack of faith. Oh, we're allowed a certain amount of weakness, but persistent struggle? Life-long struggles? Surely if we trusted God more, let Him be more of a King in our lives, we would not struggle this hard.

I also know, because it was just about two years ago that I showed weakness and was rejected. The words spoken were, "Your life is full of fear." The words unspoken were, "And I want nothing to do with that, or you." Actually, the unspoken words really didn't need a voice, the actions that followed were clear enough.

The judgement and rejection came so quickly and so unexpectedly that I was stunned. Most of all the words struck deep. I was equally passionate then as I am now, about being vulnerable, so I had shared my fears quite openly. But instead of getting compassion, I got rejected - by someone I trusted and cared deeply about. The pain that comes from rejection after being vulnerable is a deep and special pain that shakes one to the core.

My heart shattered into a million pieces and I spiraled. I felt unwanted. Rejection sealed the lie that there was something wrong with me. Shame set in.

The Well-Meaning gathered around me pointing out truths such as, "The only opinion that matters is God's, not Man's," or "do not cast your pearls before swine" (i.e. whomever said that was just a bastard to begin with). There was lots of talk about guarding my heart and how I had given this person all this power by believing those blatantly untrue words.

None of this, however, made the pain go away and I languished in my sorrow. When weeks, turned into months, then into almost a year, there was more talk about how I needed to forgive, and move on. Those were also truths. But they were not helpful. All it did was cause more shame - shame that I couldn't take such truths and apply them. Shame that I could not forgive. Shame that somehow I hadn't given God this supreme place in my life and therefore was susceptible to something that was carelessly and foolishly said.

And the more open I was about this shame, about this fear, about this question about myself, more advice would come, more scripture, more quotes about Jesus. And then more shame set in. Finally, tired of feeling badly about myself, I just shut up. And everyone grew quiet and left me alone. I was relieved. Life moved on and I appeared to have moved on as well.

I've spent a lot of the last two years pondering how this experience has colored my belief that emotional vulnerability is a pathway that God can use to heal our souls. I know deep emotional vulnerability is painful, and now I am convinced it is also terrifying, not just to the person sharing, but also to those on the receiving end. I've wondered if sharing one's fears and struggles isn't just a tad bit overrated. Maybe by talking about our struggles we encourage a kind of victim mentality that keeps us stuck. Maybe one should just zip up, chin up, and put "more faith in Jesus" by simply believing, no questions asked about what that means, or how it's supposed to happen. A lot of people of faith do this - and they don't seem to be any worse for wear because of it, right?

I tried to be that way, I honestly did. Except that every time I tried, my mouth would move quicker than my head and I would blurt out what was on my heart without thinking. And every time I said something, it was incredibly truthful, and raw. Then I would blog, and each time I did, I would sob. Maybe it was from pain, or maybe it was just the relief of having a place to say what I was feeling deeply without fear of judgement - or advice. I wondered if my inability to hold it together was because I was weak - weak in my personhood, weak in my faith. I wondered if this rawness was just another sign of how these wounds have not healed, and how I have not moved on.

But every now and then I see this happening - I'm in a group, and we're talking about nothing in particular, and I share a story that's a little raw. I don't cry about it, or ask for advice. I simply tell the story as it is. I'm honest about what I've learnt and what I am still learning. There's a moment of silence, then inexplicably, everyone relaxes and starts to tell a story of their own along those lines. No one has a solution for anything, but yet, the group grows closer.

Or someone who's read my blog will say - wow, that was pretty honest. And I can see the longing in their eyes. For what, I'm not sure. But I suspect, the same kind of room to be honest as well.

This happens enough that I'm convinced I need to continue to be vulnerable about who I am, come what may. I know there's no guarantee that this kind of openness will be reciprocated, welcomed, or even grudgingly accepted. I know the sting of being rejected after I've opened my heart is a special kind of pain that is particularly unpleasant. But I also know that I am not weak for feeling this pain and being wary of it. In fact, it is because of strength that I am able to feel this pain, understand it, and still forge on being as honest as I know how.

For I have been made strong. I have been prepared. I am protected. Pain and rejection does not destroy me. There is nothing that happens to me that I have not already been made to handle.

I know this, because God said so.

My Baby Is Four

Today marks the fourth anniversary of The Absurd and Amazing Adventures of Cafe Girl.

I started this blog as an exercise in writing. At the time, I wanted to write, had written all my life, but since graduating college, had not shown anyone any of my work. In fact, I hadn't been working at all. Stuck in some kind of a tangle of fear, doubt, and just plain lack of discipline, I scribbled sentences and paragraphs in numerous notebooks and journals, but couldn't string together a cohesive piece, one that told a story - my story, someone else's story, any story at all.

When I first hit "publish," I did so with fear and trembling. I didn't want to be one of those bloggers who only had one post, ever. I straddled between worrying that I had nothing to say, to worrying that all I had to say was inane. Ultimately, it came down to this - was what I had to say worth saying and, more importantly, would anyone think I was worth listening to?

Over the years I've grown to write in a way that's personal, deeply intimate, and, in many ways, exposing of myself. I've explored my thoughts on faith, on forgiveness, on love, on food, on dating. I've opened the door on my depression, my breakups, my hopes and my fears. I'm not sure I started the blog with the intent to lay it all out there, but I've certainly learned the value of emotional openness through writing this blog. In so many ways, this blog is that bridge between where I am and where I want to be. I want to be this open in my day-to-day life, to be articulate, to say how I feel without an overwhelming fear that others will judge and reject me because of it. But life, being what it is, doesn't always lend itself kindly to emotional honesty. And I don't always have the strength to battle the things within myself that hold me back.

So I practice on this blog, formulating thoughts and opinions, putting them out in the world. There's a certain safety with this - I have the cover of being Absurd Cafe Girl. I can monitor comments and delete those that are openly hostile. I can state without having someone argue with me the moment these words leave my head, or as in this case, my keyboard. But there is also a certain risk with this. These posts, once out there, float on the Internet, open for interpretation by those who know me and those who do not. Those who read may wonder if I'm writing about them. Those who don't read the blog wonder if I write about them anyway.

At the end of the day, this blog has become an object lesson for a very important principle in my life. The world will always have an opinion about me whether I have an opinion about it or not. So I'd rather have an opinion and share it openly with the world, rather than be silent and let the world dictate to me the opinion I should have.

Nowadays, I write because I want to. Because I have something to say. Because I sincerely believe there are folks out there who are waiting for someone to say the things I do, to make a space where it's okay to talk about dating, about being single, about being sad, about being lonely, about being frustrated at hope deferred, about wondering where God is in all of this, about being hopeful anyway.

And because sometimes, absurd adventures are just too good not to share.

Why I Date

Honest confession: when I tell Christians that I am actively and regularly going on dates with different people, sometimes concurrently, I cringe a little inside because I think they will judge me. I picture them looking at me and thinking, "Oh, this woman does not trust God to bring her a spouse. Look, she's dating. ALOT OF PEOPLE AT ONCE." I imagine them shaking their heads, wanting to say to me that I should be patient, that I shouldn't be "looking," "searching," "pursuing" or whatever other synonym that can be used for "desperate." Clearly, all of this just goes on in my head. No one who knows and loves me has ever insinuated once that I'm desperate, or that this kind of casual, getting-to-know-you by going to coffee or drinks is unhealthy, bad, or worse, unbiblical.

To be clear, I'm by no means the Harlot of West LA. It's not as if there's a line of men pounding down my door, asking me out. But they do come around, and they do ask, and I do go. I go without knowing them very well. I go without knowing if there'll be a connection. I go without any clue at all whether they are "The One." I sometimes even go without knowing where they really stand on Jesus. And, wait for it... sometimes I go out with them AGAIN. I go with the mindset that it's coffee, I don't know them very well, and if they are weird, I'll just drink the coffee really, really fast and then leave. Or if I'm weird, they'll drink THEIR coffee really, really fast and then leave.

There's not supposed to be a lot of emotional investment with dating like this, and it's supposed to be a lot of fun. No one is supposed to be taking their clothes off, and everyone is supposed to be able to back away at any time, no harm, no foul. Supposedly.

I'm finding dating to be a perilous proposition that leaves me feeling like Goldilocks, on the quest for 'just right' -- not too young, not too old, not too fat, not too thin, just the right kind of Christian. Just the right 'fit' if you will. This fit, like the porridge of just the right temperature, the bed of the right softness and the chair of just the right size, is pretty elusive. Everyone has an opinion about 'just right.' There are schools of thought that claim, you'll just know when it's 'just right,' other schools of thought that say there is no such thing as 'just right' and yet other schools of thought that insist I shouldn't settle for anything less than 'just right.' What everyone can agree on, however, is that no one quite knows how to get to 'just right' or even 'close enough.' So like Goldilocks, I'm left to taste a few porridges too hot, or too cold, and sit in a few chairs too big or too small. But since I am also a follower of Christ, I guess I won't be trying out any beds anytime soon.

The story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears traditionally ends in one of two ways - Goldilocks runs from the Three Bears' house, terrified, never to return. Or Goldilocks ends up being eaten by the bears. And sometimes, I feel like Goldilocks - wanting to flee from dating, screaming and terrified, never to return. Other times, dating does feel remarkably like being mauled by bears. In light of all this terror, why then do I date?

Because I would like to eventually to be married. Sure, there are some people who never need to date and their future spouse just shows up in their circle one day and they "just know" he/she is the one. We love those people and wish them well. We also hate those people for setting up an impossible fairy tale that leaves the every day guy/gal disappointed when Mr/Miss Right doesn't just show up.

Because I don't want to marry the UPS guy (although the one that comes to my office IS awfully cute). Or the Fedex guy. Or the mail man. And those are the only dudes who are going to show up at my door if I don't just get out there, meet people, and go on dates. In many ways, dating is just a practical way to get to know more guys. Besides, I don't have the money to keep ordering from Amazon anyway.

Because there are only five (ok, maybe seven) single men in who are age appropriate in my circle of friends and I've already had a relationship with one of them. And it didn't end well. And they all know each other, some of them are even close friends. I'm the queen of being open and honest and all, but that is just too weird. Besides, I don't want to see any of my exes dating one of my friends, so I think I'll spare everyone the awkwardness of that and move on to another pool of people.

Dating is highly entertaining. Oh. My. God. It is fall down, rolling on the floor, laughing your ass off funny. The situations I find myself in defy all sense, logic, and sometimes, even the boundaries of personal hygiene. Friends look at me in wide-eyed wonderment and ask, "How do you get into these situations?" What can I say? Absurdity follows me where ever I go. And, as I always like to say, "At least it'll be a good story." And boy, do I have some good stories.

Dating exposes me to different types of people and increases my compassion for those around me. Alright, sometimes. Sometimes, I'm just stunned with incredulity at the sheer assinineness of the human population, men and women alike. Dating, however, challenges me to exercise compassion far more often. I'm reminded that my dates are people - with their own set of heartaches, brokenness, pain, and histories. I actually find myself asking the question: What Would Jesus Do? What would Jesus say to the young man who says to me that he used to be a believer once and Christianity just wasn't working? What would Jesus say to the not-so-young man who offered to show me the delights of losing my virginity and then in the next breath also admitted that he no longer trusts his own judgement because he'd been burned so badly before? Would Jesus scream, "Get thee behind me Satan?" Or would He offer compassion and thoughtful discussion? Would He tell a parable? I don't really know.

Dating teaches me to stand up for myself, when to say yes and when to say no (and sometimes even, HELL NO). If I've learnt nothing but this, it'd be worth it: I need to stand up for myself. Not in the selfish, me only, my needs, my wants, my desires kind of way. But more in the if someone says something about you or believes something about you that is blatantly untrue, it is very important to kindly, and clearly state your case and then hold your ground. Because at the end of the day, no one can truly know your heart except you and your Maker. Dude Over There can never truly know your heart - even if he were the greatest Christian in the world. Why? Because he isn't you. And most importantly, HE ISN'T GOD.

Dating triggers areas where I still have emotional baggage and gives me the opportunity to examine and deal with my issues of rejection, body image, and judgement. There's nothing more sobering than realizing that while I fear that men reject me because I'm not slim enough, or pretty enough, I sometimes do the same thing by rejecting guys who, at first glance, aren't all that physically attractive. Also sobering - the realization that if I chose to, I could spend the rest of my life never quite letting anyone into the deepest, most vulnerable parts of my heart for fear that they will reject me when they see just what goes on in there. That sort of a life would be safe, peaceful even. But it certainly would be incredibly lonely.

Sometimes, dating shows me that it's impossible for everyone to like me, and that's ok. This one is a hard pill to swallow, especially if the reason someone doesn't enjoy me is innate to who I am, such as the way I meander around topics to look at every angle, or my sense of childlike wonder about the world. Or because I like puppets. You'd be surprised at the number of people who find my love of puppets bizarre. And creepy. The hardest part for me is that this kind of rejection feels so much like a rejection of my person-hood - who God made me to be. What I've had to learn is that it's not that I'm unlikeable in general, it's just that I'm not likable to that particular person. And one person (or two, three, four, or five) does not the entire world make.

And because, sometimes in dating, you meet very hot drummers who, with nothing more than one look, remind you that it's possible to feel fun, sexy, and feminine again. And you get to ride in their very big, very loud, very old, classic cars with a subwoofer under the passenger seat. And really, who wouldn't like that?

Why don't I date?

Because it can be exhausting to open your life to strangers on a regular basis. It's not as if I share all my deepest, darkest secrets with a person the first time I meet them, but I've often shared things I'm passionate about on a first date. Again, it's scary to do so, because even in the most basic ways, I'm putting some of my heart out there for someone to accept or reject. It's perfectly appropriate and very advisable to be yourself when dating, but boy is it a challenge to show who you really are to strangers on a regular basis.

Because sometimes dating is like having Grandstand Seating at the Parade of Wierdos. Pay attention, men and women: whomever told you that it was appropriate to write long emails about how you two were "meant to be" before you've even met, needs to be fired. Also inappropriate: declaring your undying love after a first date. Over e-mail. With no sign of a second date. Please also do not ask, 45 minutes into the first date, how do you like me? Because you will not like hearing the truth, which is, "I like you as much as I can in 45 minutes of knowing you" or worse, "Actually, I don't like you that much right now." And whatever you do, please, please, please don't lick. Now, to be fair, I have probably marched in a few Parade of Wierdos of my own. So I'm not judging here. I'm saying, there's a lot of strange characters out there.

Dating, for all it's fun and games, has an immensely dark side. Sometimes, dating exposes me to those who have a specific agenda, who want things from me that I don't want to give. And I'm not even talking about the "All guys want is to sleep with you" cliche. There are some out there who want to pull emotion and information from me, without ever showing the same level of exposure themselves. There are others who don't listen, or respect my requests, those whose prime concern is their satisfaction, at a cost to mine. There are still others who want to move emotionally too fast for my comfort level and are insulted by my hesitation. In those times, I feel tossed around like a Raggedy Anne Doll. Those people are frightening to me. In dating, I meet these people more often than I like. It reminds me that the world IS a harsh and cruel place, and that as much as I hate it, I need to be wary.

Sometimes, I look at my life as it is, and it seems perfectly fine. I have all the freedom in the world to do whatever I want, whenever I want. I have friends who love me, a God who loves me, and a life that has infinite possibilities. Given this scenario, do I really need to be married? It's not like I live in the era of Charlotte Bronte, where single women are doomed to being a governess in a damp, English countryside manor and eventually die of tuberculosis. I have a job, I have a 401K, with some planning, I don't really need a man for economic comfort, or social safety. In fact, adding a man into the equation may very well cause my well-planned, well-developed life to fall apart. Gasp in horror all you want, single or married, you know the thought has crossed your mind before. In this day and age, marriage is a choice. And if I'm perfectly honest with myself, there are some days I could very well choose not to be married.

And now I turn the question to you, why do you date? And why don't you?

Call and Response

I've had quite a few of you comment via Facebook on yesterday's blog post. For this I'm immensely grateful. It's always a risk to open up my heart about something as intimate as the desire for marriage. I may have referenced this qualm in Let's Talk About Dating, but I do have a fear (probably irrational) that the moment I say, "I would like to be married" I get labelled as desperate and out to trap the first man that comes my way. So, thank you for your encouraging feedback. It makes me feel that my struggle is normal, and dare I say, common among Singletons.

After writing yesterday's post, I woke up in the morning trying to come up with thinking aid that would help me when I was feeling despondent about being single. Rather than go into the pit of hopelessness, I wanted to have a picture, or a thought I could hold on to about where the husband-to-be was, and maybe what he was doing right now. This is what came to mind:

I'd like to think that the husband-to-be is at Bob's Big Boy eating a cheeseburger and drinking a milkshake. Maybe he has an order of onion rings too, I don't know. Nonetheless, it's just a very simple image that's just quirky enough to make me smile and lift my hope.

It's also a good answer to have on hand when, as a Singleton, you inevitably get THIS question, "Why aren't you married yet?"

Now I have an easy answer, "He's not here right now. He's at Bob's Big Boy."

It's also a great answer to have when the Enemy tries to attack you and says, "Why DON'T you have someone to be with? What's wrong with you?"

The answer is simple, "He's on his way. He's just at Bob's Big Boy right now."

Bob's Big Boy works for me because a. I'm random and quirky, and b. I really like cheeseburgers and onion rings.

Now, I turn the question to you. In your head, where is your husband (or wife)-to-be and what is he (or she) doing right now?

On His Way

As a Singleton who's been single for a long time, it's sometimes hard to believe that there is someone out there for me. On good days, I have all the hope in the world. On bad days, I plan to live alone and buy multiple cats.

My journey to the desire for marriage has been a long one. In my early twenties, I felt too young and too broken to consider sharing my life with someone. In my mid-twenties, I felt too in adequate to believe I deserved to share my life with someone. In my late twenties, my singleness became a source of pride - I didn't need to share my life with anyone. In my early thirties, I'm finding that I want to share my life with someone. And it's been a humbling experience to put my pride down and say this out loud - I would like to be married one day. It doesn't have to be today or even tomorrow. But I'd like it to be one day.

What God has planned for me, and what it means both theologically and emotionally to have desire yet to be fulfilled is a completely different topic for another blog post. For now, I think it is good exercise for my faith muscle to believe that God at least would like me to hope for marriage. Not for marriage's sake, but for hope's sake. Because, to hope is an essential part of every believer's life. Because God has called us to hope.

In my old church in Chicago, I had a pastor who didn't get married until she was well over fifty. She'd been single most of her adult life, but always believed that she would be married some day. Even when it was past the season where most women got married, she still believed that God had marriage for her. One day, she said something that struck me deeply. What she said was something I'll never forget. "My husband is coming," she declared, "He's on his way."

Believing that my husband-to-be is on his way, but not quite here yet, leaves me with choices to make about what to think. It's so easy to turn this current absence into something about me. He's not here yet because I'm not ready. Or I'm not healed enough. Or feminine enough. Or holy enough. Or sweet enough. Or obliging enough. Or simply that I am not enough.

That, however, does no one any good. Especially not me. It leaves me feeling small, defeated, and ashamed. It leaves me feeling inadequate and hopeless. Because no one is ever going to be enough. There is no such thing as a standard by which you are measured and declared "good enough to be married."

Recently, I've started to wonder if he's not here yet, simply because he's still making the journey. I've made journeys of my own, I've been a traveller. I know how journeys start off one way, and take a completely different turn. Maybe he's the kind of traveller I am.

If he's anything like me, maybe he's lost because he's got a bad sense of direction. My lack of direction is my hallmark. If I think we should take a left, definitely take a right. Don't ask me where north is. Forget about trying to orient me by saying, "The ocean is West" or "The lake is East." Because unless I can actually visually see said ocean or lake, I won't know where West or East is. I'd completely understand if he thought he was headed East, but was actually going West.

Maybe, like me, he's made an unexpected, but spontaneous stop a long the way. On a recent road trip back from Vegas, I pulled over to see the world's largest thermometer (Baker, CA, I-15, Exit 246). Why? Because I could. Because it was right next to a Bob's Big Boy. And because it was absolutely hilarious. I love making spontaneous stops on road trips to see sights strange and wonderful. It's a road trip, what's the big hurry to get there? Maybe the husband-to-be made a spontaneous detour because he wanted to see the world's biggest ball of string, or the world's largest thermometer, or eat at Bob's Big Boy, or get a root beer float from A&W.

It's also very possible he has trouble reading a map. Not all of us had Scout training, or grew up being taught how to read a map. To this day, it still takes me a while to orient myself, figure out what direction I'm facing, turn the map the right way, and go in the direction I'm supposed to. Maybe the husband-to-be got the map, but is still learning to read it. I'd have plenty of grace for that. Lord knows how many times I've had trouble reading even those maps they have at the mall, much less the road map of life.

Or maybe, just maybe, he has been looking, but has been having trouble figuring out which one is me. I've had my share of difficulty with that. There've been a few that've come pretty close, but as it would turn out, I was mistaken. And every time I make a mistake, my journey stops a little bit so I can heal, gather my wits about me, and start the journey again. Maybe he's made a few mistakes too and had a few pauses in this road trip towards me.

I hope that whatever the husband-to-be is doing, he's having adventures of his own. I want for him the fullest single life a man could possibly have, filled with as much joy, fun, and delight as possible. I hope, that like me, he's had Singleton absurdities that have made him go, "What the hell?" and then have made him laugh his ass off. I hope that while he's wondering where I am, he's also resting in the knowledge that this season of singleness is invaluable in making him the man for me.

And when we finally do meet, fellow travellers on this journey towards each other, I hope that we would look at each other and recognize, without any doubt, that we were exactly the people we'd been waiting for.

Why I Cook

Michael Ruhlman, chef, writer, and food blogger, posed this question to his blog readers - why do you cook? Ruhlman challenged bloggers to write about why they cooked because, "Writing it down forces you to know what you think."

The challenge is apropos to this season I now find myself in - thirty-something Singleton living in a city that hungers for connection. These last six months, I've found myself cooking more than I have in the last two years since moving out to Los Angeles. I've been cooking with a ferocity and joy that is new for me. And I have been pondering, "Why do I cook?"

I cook because I don't like what I eat to be limited. If I'm craving lasagna, I can make it. If I want cake, I pull out the flour, eggs, butter, and sugar and get the Kitchen Aid mixer going. I no longer have to scour the supermarkets for what I crave and be disappointed when I can't find it. I can make what I want, when I want it.

Cooking relaxes me. After a stressful day, I find all that chopping and simmering to be very soothing. Cooking particularly relaxes me after I've had an emotionally hard or disappointing day. I think mostly because...

Cooking is both science and art. Food works together in a very specific and very predictable ways. In the words of Julie Powell in the movie Julie/Julia, "I love that after a day where nothing is sure ... you can come home and absolutely know that if you add egg yolks to chocolate and sugar and milk, it will get thick. It's such a comfort."

Yet there is a clear artistry in cooking. Coming home, feeling defeated and belittled, I often turn to the creativity of cooking to express who I really know myself to be. With a few simple turns, tried and true recipes from cookbooks become my own.

I cook because food unites. These past few months, I've had people who would otherwise never have met come into my home to enjoy a meal that I've made. There's something about sharing a meal that creates a bond, even if it's only for a moment. It gives even the most disparate individuals a point of connection.

I cook to create a sense of family. As a singleton who's been single longer than she's been dating, I sometimes wonder if I'll ever have a family of my own. When my friends and I sit down at a table for a meal I've cooked, it reminds me that family can come in all sorts of forms and structures and isn't limited to those who are married or live close to their parents.

Cooking is my stance against the stereotypes of singleness. Say the word "Singleton" and up comes that picture of a freezer full of microwaveable convenience foods and cupboards filled with only diet soda and popcorn. Along with that comes the sense that Singletons are still children, unchallenged to take care of themselves and others. I may be single, but I am certainly not a child. I cook good healthy foods because I do want to take care of myself. And, contrary to popular belief, single people do have others they take care of - friends, co-workers, subordinates. Singleness could possibly breed self-centeredness, but it doesn't have to.

I cook because my mother never taught me to. My mother ruled her kitchen and I was rarely allowed into it. The one time in my teenage years I tried to cook for her, I ruined a recipe. She sniffed at the food and didn't say a word kind or unkind. The silence hurt me more than my teenage brain could articulate. I learned to cook in my twenties using Betty Crocker's Everything You Need To Know To Cook Today. The cuisine I do best is Western, not Asian. Now that I live so far away, there are recipes from my heritage I'll never learn from my mother, even though she's now mellowed and would love to teach me to cook. I think that's a real loss. If I'm ever blessed with children, I would love to teach them to cook. Partly for the bonding, but also for the simple life lesson that sometimes you do fail, and you do ruin things. Sometimes these things can be fixed, sometimes not so much. But a silent sniff is never the solution to anything.

And, apparently, cooking is a man magnet. This one was a pleasant, if somewhat disconcerting surprise. In the last two months, I've had two different men ask me these questions in the following order, "Do you cook?" and when I answer, "Yes, quite often, actually." It is followed by the question, "Are you single?" That succession of questions always makes me laugh, then slightly creeps me out. I'd hate to think that someone would date me for my Chicken Parmesan and Double Chocolate Chip cookies. It's almost as creepy as thinking someone would date me for my big boobs.

The more I cook these days, the more I wonder if I cook in response to the emotional hunger of this city, which consequently I absorb by living here. We are hungry. Hungry to be known, to connect deeply with those around us. We long for just one taste of grace, one taste of acceptance, one taste of assurance.

I am hungry. I am hungry in my desires for a spouse, for children, for roots, for family. I am hungry for more of God, His touch, His voice. I am hungry to connect the lonely, feed the poor in spirit, raise the emotionally dead. But so often, in this city, the sustenance is poor and I feel weak. I cannot raise the emotionally dead, because some days, I am emotionally on a deathbed of my own.

Seeing the chasm between what I long for and what is, I pull out my frying pans, my baking sheets, my slow cooker, my dutch oven. I fill pots with chili, ovens with chicken, cookies, lasagna. I stir-fry, saute, caramelize, and broil. For when food for the soul seems so elusive, the least I can do is make food for the body.

What is Wrong With This Picture?

The Hope of Plenty

Three days before Thanksgiving, I found myself standing in the middle of LA LIVE ringing in the New Year. The stores had already started decorating for Christmas, but the New Year was still too soon to think about. Yet there I was, wearing a tiara that said 2010, noisemaker in hand, counting down from ten.

Turns out, in LA, everything can be manufactured, even New Year's Eve. This was a taping for Carson Daly's New Year's Eve Special. Green Day was performing, and we were the audience. They handed us funny hats that said 2010, gave us glow sticks and those annoyingly nasal horns made out of sparkly cardboard. We counted down from sixty, screamed, "Happy New Year!" and then counted down again from ten, and yelled again. It was all so very surreal.

But as I was standing in a crowd of 9,000 people, pressed up against strangers, it struck me that this moment of ringing in the New Year could be taken as a symbol of God's permission for me to end difficult year and start afresh.

I never like to declare that something is horrible - it sounds so very defeatist and also somewhat bitter. But I have to say 2009: Sucked. Royal. Ass. And that's the polite version. Some highlights of 2009 were - major depression, heartbreak, pettiness, broken community, not to mention some Very Expensive Therapy. It has not been a stellar year.

So here I was, part of a simulated New Year's Eve celebration when I thought, how many times in this life am I going to get to celebrate New Year's Eve in November? Why couldn't I close out 2009 and bring in 2010? Who's to stop me from having an Early New Year?

The loveliest part of a new year is how there can be infinite possibilities and boundless hope. Nothing has happened, and so anything, even everything, could happen. It is in this spirit of boundless hope that I am going to practice the hope of plenty. This is the hope for abundance, the looking forward to the bounty of good things.

Since it's 2010, I thought it would be fitting to name ten things I hope I have plenty of in this upcoming year (which starts today).

Laughter
And I'm talking about coming-from-deep-within-your belly-shake-you-up-roll-on-the-floor- tears-flowing-from-your-eyes laughter. I want to laugh. Loudly. Hard. Often.

Connection
May 2010 bring lots of meaningful connection with friends old and new. May there be numerous conversations where we challenge our minds and open our hearts. May we all know and be known by one another.

Open Houses
I want to make my home a place where people feel welcomed and loved. Since moving to a city of transplants, shared apartment living, and single-serve dinners, I've missed entertaining. I've found that every time I open my home, people flock -- maybe they too miss that warmth of going to someone's house, hanging out, and sitting down to some home made food. I've been blessed with a spacious apartment and a genuine enjoyment of cooking. So in 2010, I want to say more often and to more of my friends, "Come over. I'm making you dinner."

Adventures
Bring it on in 2010! I am ready for the unexpected, the risky, the roads untaken. For far long too long I've been far too cautious, too cerebral, too precise. May 2010 bring more spontaneous and uninhibited adventures. It's about time.

God Speak
I have to say, having heard God speak directly to me, in a way that's unique, conversational and full of tenderness, it's hard to imagine a life where God stands off to the side, silently watching me, keeping notes and making judgement. I have tasted and seen an all powerful God who loves me personally and uniquely. I won't settle for anything less. In 2010, I want more of Him speaking to me.

First Dates
Because they are fun. And oftentimes funny. Because I never know what to expect and have always been pleasantly surprised. Because every time I go on first dates I learn something new about myself and the person I am going out with. This year alone I have learnt about - insurance modeling, psychedelics, unicorns, the foster care system, and riding in a C-130 military transport aircraft. I've also learnt when to say yes, how to say no with grace, and the importance of asking for what I want.

Spiritual Community
These are the folks that will pray for you when you've been beaten down by The Enemy. These are the folks who will look you in the eye and say, "I know you have issues, but I love you regardless." These are the folks who will utter the ever healing, ever comforting words, "Can I pray for you right now?" I know that in order to have spiritual community I need to be present, both physically and emotionally, and be open to sharing what is on my mind and heart. I've been making small steps. Here's to leaps and bounds in 2010.

Creativity
To explore different writing styles, learn more words, and experiment with different forms of prose. I'm also hoping for creativity in thought, in problem solving, in listening to God and walking the path that leads to Jesus. I've always been a person who can come up with new ideas, explore unexpected thoughts, and create new experiences. I've often thought this made me too strange to contentedly exist in the mainstream. I've come to realize the mainstream is overrated. In 2010, I want to treasure and nurture my creativity - in all its forms.

Riding In Cars With Boys
And everything that entails. From the loveliness of having the car door opened for you, to the sweetness of sharing our favorite tunes on the CD player, to the deliciousness of having the seat pulled back to a reclining position, I find the whole proposition both wicked and hilarious. I probably won't be doing this with every boy - and definitely not on a first date. But in 2010, I'd be open to a few car rides to places unknown.

Long Runs
The runner in me has had enough of a running break and is about ready to go again. I want to do another marathon in the summer or fall of 2010.

And since I am hoping for plenty, why not take the extra step and shoot for excess? So here's one more extra thing I hope I have plenty of in 2010:

Drummers
I met one of those in 2009. Beautiful, lovely people, these drummers. And they have coordination and a sense of rhythm. All things that bode well for... well, let's just say it bodes very, very well.

This Singleton's Prayer

Dear God,

I'm extremely grateful for this season of singleness. This season discovering who you made me to be, this season to have freedom to experience the many adventures you have put in my way, to have these adventures completely alone, unfettered by responsibilities of husband and children.

I'm even grateful for the learning lessons in dating. Lessons in forgiveness, grace, and keeping one's tongue in check. As I have dated, I have also learnt so much about what I want in a husband. "Not an ass," for example, has emerged high on the list, as has "actually likes me as a person."

So for everything You have done in my singleness and for everything You will be doing, I give great thanks.

But, if you will hear one complaint of mine.

There are enough factors keeping me single, some circumstantial, some purely of my own doing, that I really don't need an inexplicable bout of adult acne as yet another factor. My face has exploded like a teenager. As I sit here, I can actually feel new pimples sprouting. How, in my thirties, I can have acne more severe than I've ever had in my life is confounding. Is it a changing body chemistry? Hormones? Some strange side effect of the depression? My body's way of making sure I never get sex?

Lord, this is Los Angeles, the land of "there has to be something better." People here get their faces replaced. But I have chosen to serve You. To try and have a healthy perspective about physical attractiveness, to not judge someone simply based on appearances. To try and be beautiful on the inside, to have my self-esteem based on you.

But could you give your precious daughter a helping hand here by not making this any harder than it has to be? Adult acne does not help. No matter how confident, how self-assured, how faithful I am, my Pizza Face makes me feel small, insecure, like.. well, a teenager.

You were there when I was a teenager, Lord. It wasn't pretty. I was fat, I was pimply, and for about a year, I looked like a boy. It was miserable.

So, if you will Lord, can you heal this acne? You've made the lame to walk again, caused the blind to see, raised the dead. Please Lord, just clear my face.

In Jesus Name, Amen.

Me and My House

In these recent months the phrase, "but as for me and my house" has been running around in my head. I've been pondering what principles I stand by that speak to who I am and who I'm made to be. Principles such as, "No matter what extend grace," or, one that's really hard to practice, "Believe the best of people." Other principles I stand by are, "Always be honest" and, "Tell the truth, if it's a hard truth, do so lovingly."

I've had a number of people look at me like I'm insane. Believe the best of a person who was rude to you without provocation? Extend grace to someone who has called you names? Why be the bigger person when no one else is playing by those rules?

And yes, that part is true. It's incredibly painful to extend grace and have that blatantly rejected. It's incredibly difficult for me to speak kindly, or even neutrally of those who I believe have offended me. More often than not, I fail to walk out my principles well, or sometimes, at all. It's much more satisfying to think, "No one else is trying to be a better person, why should I?"

But what I do know is that if I don't at least try to practice these principles my heart slowly hardens and I move towards bitterness. That's just not how I want to live my life. The rest of the world can do what they want, but as for me and my house...

Tonight, I finally looked up the scripture reference. It comes from the book of Joshua. Joshua gathers the tribes of Israel together, reminds them of God's faithfulness to them, commands them to throw away the idols of their forefathers and then basically gives the people of Israel an ultimatum, "But if serving the LORD seems undesirable to you, then choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve, whether the gods your forefathers served beyond the River, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land you are living. But as for me and my household, we will serve the LORD."

Something in me went, "Oh. I get it now."

These "principles" I have chosen to stand by don't come from the goodness of my heart, or the greatness of my person. It comes from choosing to serve the Lord. Because I serve the Lord, I will do what He commands. What I've been labelling as "principles," are actually commandments. It's pretty clear what God asks of us in relation to the people around us: Love one another, love our neighbors, love our enemies. And if we love people we are to walk out what love is -- patient, kind, unenvious, not boastful, not proud, polite, not self-seeking, not easily angered, keeping no record of wrongs, rejoicing with truth. We are to protect, trust, hope, persevere.

It's a fine balance between loving others well and being a complete doormat and allowing yourself to be treated badly. As a people-pleaser somewhat desperate to be liked and thought well of, I struggle with that balance every day. I try to remember that God has stated "love your neighbor as you love yourself" implying that I am to treat myself with patience kindness, protection and hope. But no matter how hard it is to find that balance, I'm pretty sure I'm not just to solely love myself.

I've seen this verse hanging over doorways in houses in plaques with gentle cursive, or cross-stitched on pillows. In this light, the verse seems light hearted and full of joyful hope. Yes! We will serve the Lord, and it will be GREAT!

These days, I can hear the grim determination of Joshua. No matter what. No matter what other gods you choose to serve, I will serve the Lord. I will not serve money, comfort, success, the approval of others, not even my own good. I will serve the Lord.

Whenever I'm crying about how unfair it is to have to keep no record of wrongs, to be unenvious, to continue to hope for the best in people when all reality points to complete disappointment, I remember that I'm not alone in this. The story of God and his relationship with all creation plays out this very heart-breaking pain. God is always gracious even though the very creation He made rejects him on a daily basis. He continues to see the best in his children even though, as a people, I would consider us pretty disappointing. He is the essence of Love. He can be no other way. Serving a God that cannot help but love us, how can I choose not to love others, my neighbors, and even my enemies?

The F-It Stage

I'm not sure how I got here, but I'm officially in the F-It stage. Yes, F stands for exactly what you think it stands for, as in, "Starts with an F and rhymes with duck."

I'm at the point where I actually no longer care. I have decided that enough is enough. I have decided that consequences should be played out. I have thought, more than once, "If this is how it's going to be, fine. F-It. I will not fight this. Let it be. If it's ugly, let it be. If it's petty, let it be. If it's painful, just let it be. If it's stupid, just let it be. If it shows the meanest, most disappointing parts of human nature, let it be."

Is this the point in the grieving process known as "acceptance?" I find that hard to believe. This doesn't feel like the ease and relief of letting go. This feels like death. Death of believing the best. Death of wanting the more excellent way. Death of hope.

And yet, F-It has its benefits. It's been incredibly liberating to not have to care. It's been a relief to do what needs to be done. It's been freeing to do what is best for me with precision and what feels, oddly, like callousness. It's allowed me to step forward, stand up, and raise my formerly downtrodden head. It's been a great shield to fend of accusatory voices from both the present and the past. So you think that, do you? F-It, I don't care.

Truth be told, it actually feels pretty great right now.

In my journey of healing, I've found there to be a thin line between protection, and self-protection. In protection, we fight and stand for life -- our life, to be more specific. I believe that God has made each person with a desire for whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, anything of excellence and anything worthy of praise. Whether or not we know it, we crave this in our lives. Whatever threatens these will naturally make our hair stand on end and make us go, "NO."

But this is a fallen and broken world. Our God-given tendency to reject anything that threatens the good, pure, lovely and praiseworthy can so easily be turned on its head. In self-protection, we fight against life -- the hurt, the pain, the damage that life on this earth inevitably brings. We assume that life is something bad, something to be cautious about, something to be held at arm's length because of the many dangers. But in fighting against life we also shut out the wonderful and glorious things that life could bring, the love and grace of those around us, the touch of God, the joy of believing in and hoping for the best.

The thing about self-protection is that if done well, it looks a lot like protection. There will only be a subtle difference seen by a very perceptive few, and known to only you. I can say this with much confidence because I've masked self-protection as protection with great skill. I did it for years.

This is why I worry about this F-It stage. The stage has its purpose, but over time may be more costly to my soul than I'd like to think about. Sure, tales of the F-It stage are hilarious when shared over Happy Hour cocktails and finger foods. Sure, the F-It stage inevitably garners responses such as, "You go!" "Don't let The Man get you down!" and "Good for you!" But every time I hear that, I wince a little inside and wonder, "Is this really good for me?"

For now, the F-It stage may have to be a coat I put on once in a while, like the fancy coat I pull out on rare, cool Los Angeles evenings. F-It may get me out of bed and out the door for now, but it can not be what sustains me.

The 100th Post

I've thought long and hard about what I wanted my 100th post to be about. It's a milestone for sure, but the third anniversary of this blog is also coming up in a few weeks, and I wanted to have a celebratory post then as well. I wanted my 100th post to be true to where I am today -- which is not the happiest I've been -- but I definitely didn't want to have another post about sadness recorded in perpetuity.

But God, being the kind of loving Father that he is, provided a milestone for me afterall. This past Monday, I woke up with this phrase in my head:

He will make streams in the desert.

I knew this to be a reference in the Bible. I also assumed that "streams in the desert" was a pretty common phrase and one search on Biblegateway.com would glean at least five or ten references. Turns out, there's only one reference that actually uses that terminology. It's found in Isaiah 43.

Isaiah 43: 18-21
Do not call to mind the former things, or ponder things of the past. Behold, I will do something new, now it will spring forth; will you not be aware of it? I will even make a roadway in the wilderness, rivers in the desert."

You would think that I immediately went towards an attitude of praise. You would think that I said, "Thank you God for making something new! For giving me water to drink in what is a desert time for me." You would think, wouldn't you?

Instead, I immediately thought, "What former things am I pondering about? Am I living in the past? What do I need to let go?" So deeply ingrained is my Religious Guilt.

After the moment of sheer insanity had passed, I went and looked up the verses in several bible commentaries. The commentaries speak of how this is a promise God is making. That His "something new" was a prophesy about the coming of Jesus. But what moved me the most was this: that God was calling His people not to dwell on the great things of old -- because he was going to be doing something even better. I love that picture of a Father God smiling, smirking almost, as He says to us, "You ain't seen nothin' yet."

I spent the day teasing out these verses, meditating on them, chewing on them, praying for God to show me how that applied to my life today. I had three thoughts:

1. Sometimes, I remember good things that God has given me not with praise but with nostalgia, as if the great things that God has done in my life are a one-time, one-season sort of thing. But here, God promises bigger and better things. Don't even think about the great stuff I've done before, kid, He says, I got something even better.

2. His something better isn't in some distant future I can't see or even imagine. Now it springs forth, He promises, will you not be aware of it? Truthfully, my answer to that would be, "Erm... no, not quite aware of it." But it's also followed by this prayer, "Will You make me aware of it?"

3. Streams in the desert isn't just about sustenance and provision in hard times. It's also about doing an impossible thing. Finding water in dry land is close to impossible. I'm holding on to this as a promise that my God is the God of the impossible. There is nothing too big, nothing too monumental that God can not do. He's going to get water to bubble out of dry land. That's pretty awesome, if you ask me.

Life did not significantly change that Monday. I still went to work, I still cried at my desk, I still had to take long, deep breaths to make sure I didn't have a meltdown. But that night I had a dream about church, the next night a dream about relationships, and the third day, I was able to be a small, unexpected blessing to a friend. All the while I felt a certain peace. It wasn't just that God had spoken. It was that I had heard. It wasn't that God was moving. It was that He was letting me move along with Him.

That made me start to wonder. What if, just what if, God is answering every single one of my prayers and calling me to pay attention, to be aware? Or maybe He is answering every prayer and the things I've asked for just take a long time to come to pass. Maybe, just maybe, things are springing forth, the dry rocks are cracking, and living water is going to come bubbling up.

That's pretty exciting for a 100th post, don't you think?

Just What I Need

I just finished reading Barbar Kingslover's book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. It chronicles her family's one year of trying to eat food either grown or raised locally, on their own land, or choose to go without. I'd first heard about this book on NPR's The Splendid Table over a year ago, and this summer, I started reading it on a plane ride to Chicago.

Animal, Vegetable, Miracle has prompted me to reconsider the local Farmers' Market. The theory is that organic and locally grown is not only better for you, it also tastes better. In the weeks that I have shopped at the Farmers' Market, I have found this to be true.

The catch with buying organic and locally grown is that the food does go bad faster. That part is a bummer. When you're single and have a seventy-hour a week job, cooking, while extremely enjoyable, is a challenge. Farmers' Market food has to be cooked relatively quickly, or it does go bad. And then that $3.00 zucchini has to go into the trash. As my mother would say, "That makes my heart hurt."

I learnt this the hard way three weeks ago. Thoroughly inspired by Kingslover, I went to the local organic Farmers' Market in Santa Monica on a Saturday morning armed with $40. I wondered how far it could go. I needed to feed a bunch of people at a poker party that night, as well as make some meals for the rest of my week. I wandered around stalls with bright red , crisp green and yellow summer squash, deep green avocados, bushels of fragrant basil and cilantro. I was in heaven. I spent about $20 and left, excited, ready for an afternoon of cooking.

I only had time to cook for the poker party that Saturday afternoon and decided that I would cook for the rest of the week on Sunday. Sunday afternoon turned out to be an emotionally hard time, and then the work week started, and my locally grown produce languished. First on my counter, then in my refrigerator. The next week passed in a blur. I missed the Farmers' Market that Saturday and realized I had no food in my refrigerator except for the withered zucchini and squishy tomatoes from two weeks ago. I had bought more food than I was ready to eat or cook.

I've done much better at the Farmers' Market since. I do the mental math in my head, three recipes involving tomatoes only requires three large beefsteak tomatoes and a half a pound of assorted cherry tomatoes. A zucchini cookie recipe only requires two medium zucchini. Any more and the food would go to waste.

Shopping this way has made me ask -- what do I need, and what can I realistically manage this week?

If the food is cheap, I'm likely to purchase more than I need and let it go bad. I think about buying $2.50 a pound organically grown broccoli much more carefully than $0.89 a pound supermarket broccoli, buying only as much as I can cook or freeze. The net result is that I actually spend about the same that I would spend at the supermarket, the food tastes better, and I'm not throwing out unused food.

Juicy, bright red tomatoes may inspire my desire to make pasta sauce from scratch, but I simply won't have the time. It's too sad to make excellent produce wait on me and my schedule. I'd much rather let someone else who has the time enjoy this produce at its peak.

What's so fascinating is that I'm really developing the discipline of choosing quality over bulk and getting only what I need. Not to withhold from what I need, but also not to over indulge.

My Farmers' Market experience has led me to ponder this same discipline in my walk with God. I've found in the past few years, I've read a lot of Christian inspirational living books, attended a lot of seminars, classes and conferences, sometimes in lieu of actually sitting down and reading the Bible. Truth be told, that's my spiritual version of cheap, bulk produce. It's so much easier to rely on a book or a gifted teacher to tell you what God 'really means' as opposed to sitting with the Word of God and wrestling through the passages, looking up the Greek and Hebrew, getting on your knees and asking God what He's truly saying.

Relying on God for what I need each day is a challenge. I do start each morning praying, Lord, give me what I need to get through the day. I don't have a list of what that is, mostly because I honestly have no idea. Mostly I hope to get through the day without bursting into tears in a conversation or collapsing from the heaviness in my chest. Often times, I ask God for a scripture that will speak to me and soothe my soul for the day.

And then something sort of insane kicks in, and I have this overwhelming belief that if one piece of scripture that speaks is great, five pieces of scripture that speak are even better. I type words like "hope" and "truth" into the search bar on Biblegateway and off I go, one verse after another, never stopping to think, and wait, and let it soak into my spirit. Is scripture what I need? Absolutely. Can I manage twenty verses about hope today? Probably not. Like those tomatoes waiting to become pasta sauce, the twenty verses about hope wait sadly for me to get to them. Meanwhile, my soul goes hungry when what would have been wise was to chew on that one scripture passage slowly, savoring it, and letting it nourish me.

At the end of the day, getting just what I need, not more, not less, is about trust. With locally grown organic, I trust that the extra dollars I pay are worth it for the sheer tastiness of the food. I trust that because this is California, the Farmers' Market will always have something in season that is delicious, and that I don't need to buy twenty zucchini and freeze them for later. (Zucchini doesn't freeze well anyway.)

With God, the trust is a bigger challenge. I not only have to trust that God knows what I need, but that He hears me when I ask for those needs. I have to trust that what God brings is exactly what I need to get through the day. Sometimes, what God provides looks like nothing at all. And sometimes, it's like succulent peaches, sweet, juicy, quenching all my hunger and thirst. In times like this, it's hard not to want to horde -- who knows what tomorrow will bring?

This isn't a lesson that's new or unique to me. A people group learnt this a long time ago -- the Israelites wandered through the desert for 40 years. God gave them exactly what they needed with instructions to only take enough for each day, and twice that on the weekends. Anything in excess of that went bad overnight. The Israelites had to learn that with God, they would get just what they needed -- nothing less, but nothing more.

My Daily Bread

This morning, I awoke feeling the weight of loss. As I dragged myself around the apartment trying to get ready for work, I said to God, "I don't even know what to pray, or how to pray about this." And then this came to mind:

"Give us this day our daily bread and forgive our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us."

My mind immediately defaulted to the second part of the sentence. Forgive, forgive, who do I need to forgive? About three things came to mind, two were people, one was an entire organization, too much to handle at 9AM in the morning, pre-coffee.

Then I wondered... what would my daily bread be? I know it commonly refers to our daily material needs -- food, shelter, finances. But in 2009, when I am in the blessed position of being able to walk into any grocery store and pretty much not worry about what I can afford, my daily bread may really need to be emotional and spiritual sustenance.

What role does sustenance play in helping us soldier through the uneasy parts of this walk with God? Afterall, I eat before I work out. Should I not get some spiritual sustenance before I attempt to work out my issues?

And so... my daily bread for today is Psalm 20. More about why later. For now, here it is, in the easy to swallow Contemporary English Version.

Psalm 20Prayer for Victory over Enemies.
For the choir director. A Psalm of David.

May the LORD answer you in the day of trouble! May the name of the God of Jacob set you securely on high! May He send you help from the sanctuary and support you from Zion! May He remember all your meal offerings and find your burnt offering acceptable! Selah.

May He grant you your heart's desire and fulfill all your counsel! We will sing for joy over your victory, and in the name of our God we will set up our banners. May the LORD fulfill all your petitions.

Now I know that the LORD saves His anointed; He will answer him from His holy heaven with the saving strength of His right hand. Some boast in chariots and some in horses, but we will boast in the name of the LORD, our God. They have bowed down and fallen, but we have risen and stood upright. Save, O LORD; may the King answer us in the day we call.

Laughter

I've been reading old posts from the past three months and even I have to admit, my posts have been rather macabre. If these posts were the only things to go by, you'd think I was sitting in a semi-dark apartment all these months crying my eyes out and only dragging my half-dead body to and from work.

Alright, some days, it is like this.

But on the other hand, some days look very normal. I go to work, go to bible studies, watch movies, play poker, cook meals, bake cookies, go running. I think the only difference is that I don't laugh as often as I did anymore. For a person that used to laugh all the time, it has been a loss. And it's been noticed -- not just by my friends, but by co-workers and acquaintances.

The reason for this development very simple -- I've come to realize the difference between laughter and joy. Joyful people certainly laugh, but people who laugh are not necessarily joyful. This time of depression has forced an honesty in me to emerge. The struggle to have feelings of any kind rise up has given me a hyper awareness of what my feelings really mean. I've started to wonder, "If this isn't funny, or joyous, or enjoyable... why am I laughing again?"

I'm laughing because I'm nervous, or afraid. I'm laughing to try and make someone else feel better about something they've done or said. I'm laughing because I'm cynical and mocking the situation. I'm laughing because I want to show what a trooper I am, no matter what happens. I'm laughing because it hurts too much to cry. None of these reasons are particularly emotionally honest. I fully admit, I use laughter to mask the other feelings that are going on. Darker, more painful feelings that I deem as shameful to show the world.

It's a sobering thought. One of the many sobering thoughts I've had in this season.

I'm often frustrated because I feel that this depression has robbed me of being who I am. I look at myself in the mirror and wonder -- who is this girl, so sad and so cerebral, so quick to weep, so slow to laugh, ever so slightly hesitant? This doesn't seem to be the me of old. No matter how horrible things have been, I've always been able to laugh.

And yet, in this season, I'm seeing something new about me emerge. It's an emotional honesty that I believe has been budding for many years, but now has started to flower. Laughter, or the lack thereof, has been the first sign of peeling off the mask that hides the "bad stuff." If things are horrible, they're horrible. I don't have to laugh to reassure everyone that I'm still ok.

I don't have to laugh to reassure myself I'm still ok.

Between

There's a Sesame Street segment called I'm Between where a man sings mournfully about being "between" as he's hemmed in on either side by two other monsters. There's a monster on his left and a monster on his right, they push on him day and night. One tries to make him go one way, and the other tries to make him go the other way. These monsters gleefully bump him going, "Ha, ha, ha" while he drones, "It's the saddest thing I've ever seen."

I feel like that Between Man, with Monsters on my left and right trying to make me go one way or the other. There's what I should do on one side and what I want to do on the other side. One Monster is bumping me one way, the other Monster is shoving me the other way.

It would be easy to categorize things that I "should" do as good, Christian, emotionally healthy things, and what I "want" to do as bad, selfish, broken things. But these categories are surprisingly slippery. Sometimes, what I should do is angry and feels selfish while what I want to do feels gracious and kind.

What is common in both my shoulds and my wants is that both seem impossibly out of my grasp. I shun the dark, angry and selfish, but find myself unable to hold onto the gracious, giving and kind. I think evil thoughts that I quickly dismiss, but don't have "better" thoughts to take their place. I resist acting out the anger and disgust, but can not take the step to move into grace. Instead I find myself stuck, and, as the poor muppet man notes, "It's not a happy scene to be between."

The Very Expensive Therapist is on vacation (which I inevitably have contributed to) but I can imagine her asking me, "What do you think this is about?"

I would like to believe that I am between broken and whole, that this conundrum between shoulds and wants is one representation of me climbing out of this pit. I would like to believe that I am a very, very small version of the "here but not yet" nature of the Kingdom of God. That God's work in me is here and evident, but also in progress and incomplete. I would like to believe that between is as valuable a place as "here" or "there."

Yet this between stage is no more hopeful than the pit itself. I don't feel any better. Thankfully, I don't feel any worse. I just feel stuck -- between two furry monsters going, "Ha ha ha" as they head butt me to the left and to the right.



Watch I'm Between on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pOcK6is7tCE