open minds

So, how often do we pass judgment before we have all the facts?  Like, all the time.  I just had a conversation regarding someone's opinion about the Vagina Monologues who didn't have all the facts because they didn't see the show, only read the critical reviews. I was even put out and offended when I read the reviews...and not to say they were not correct, they were.  However, they missed the point.  The whole premise of the message of the Vagina Monologues was about women being sexually abused and assaulted. A couple of monologues were for comic relief. Were they vulgar?  Perhaps, that is if you consider talking about orgasms as vulgar.  Religious of any sort? Definitely not.  Pure female human sexuality, as it is in today's western culture.  For adult audiences only.

Frankly, I think expressing our sexuality openly is a sign of maturity.  But some would like to keep it sacred.  Surely, our intimacy is sacred, created by God for our pure pleasure and oneness.  It is indeed the most spiritual human interaction of our existence.  I can not wait to meet the Creator of this wonderment face to face and thank him for such a beautiful act of love and oneness.  What an amazing God to give us such an amazing gift!!  It is sacred, for sure.  However, when it's stolen, used against women and girls, hated, and made more than dirty then we have a real problem.  Women have been abused and assaulted sexually and then are told such things are not to be talked about, therefore we suffer in silence.  Breaking the silence is what the Vagina Monologues are all about.

Breaking the silence, however it's done, is always good.

swim parallel

Sometimes I get caught in the bullshit of male authority.  Being a Christian hasn't helped in this case...subjecting myself to an institution that historically and sacredly has embraced male leadership.  For me, I can go to great mental and real scenarios that leave me hurt, confused, and scared.  I just don't know how to stop it.

My therapist made an interesting observation of how I was caught up in something I didn't have any control over.  She said I reminded her of someone being caught in a rip tide.  The feeling resonated.  Then she asked me what are we are supposed to do when we get caught in one.

You can't fight a rip tide.  You must swim parallel with the coast.  There is no resistance when we swim parallel.  It's the way to be free of the current.

There's a lesson here beyond the current.

I can't fight the rip tide, the social constructs of male authority, but I can swim parallel.

redeeming sex

I was a beautiful child.  As such, I was invited to sit on the laps of men while they visited at my parents' house.  I never really wanted to but sensed from my parents that I had to accommodate our guests.  I was touched and used as a rubbing post often.  

So there was my role in childhood---a sexual play thing for men.  

But it started even before then; I don’t actually remember when.  I know I witnessed the sexual abuse of my sisters by our uncle while I was in the crib.  Then my uncle started with me when I was 6 or 7 and continued until I was 16 years old.  I was a very angry and rebellious adolescent; rebellion empowered me to confront him in the act.  He stopped.  I won, so I thought.  Little did I know the bondage sexual abuse had on the soul.

My first sexual intercourse encounter was when I was 13 years old.  I was raped.  Funny how I never considered it rape.  I did say no, but no wasn't an option.  So I obliged, naturally.  Isn't that what girls were for?  Thereafter, I was unable to say no to any other advances that came my way.  I was filled with so much shame.  I remember considering becoming a prostitute, thinking it was all I could do.  I thought so little of myself and even less of men. 

I met Jesus at age 18.  When I became a Christian, I really didn’t think believers even had sex at all.  I thought when I gave my life to God I was going to be a nun; a Baptist nun.  And I would never ever have to oblige another man with sex again.  But God knew that all my experiences with sex needed to be redeemed.  And God had chosen the perfect person to walk this path with me.  This man loved me so gently and completely.  I dare say he was unaware of the deep brokenness I cradled in my soul when he married me, but he never once made me feel ashamed, broken, or ugly.  He holds the key to my ongoing healing.   

Of all wounds, it is the sexual wounds that reach deep within and affect the very essence of our womanhood.  Each of us must tend to our own past, nurse our own wounds, and confess our own brokenness.  It is our process, our journey, which then becomes our story.  Wonderful stories that meanders through the changes and seasons of our lives.  And as we share them, shame is released and healing comes.

What was once broken is now made whole: Redemption happens.
            

soft pink roses

Sometimes the simplest things bring the greatest comfort.

Soft pink is a gentle color.  Tender and delicate.  To be honest, it has always been a favorite of mine.  Over time I think I outgrew it.  It was too gentle, too delicate for the harsh world I lived in.  I needed bright, bold colors to push against the angst.  Intense colors that declare life.  Loud colors.  There's nothing loud about soft pink. 

Recently, at an indoor flower show, my soul was awakened from her winter's slumber as spring sprung forth in magnificent displays of plants and gardens. Of course I wanted to bring some of it home. While looking over all the choices, I found myself attracted to the soft pink roses.  I dismissed the notion and tried to find something more bold, more vibrant for my table.  Something more my style.  But I kept going back at the array of roses, back to the soft pink ones. They caressed me with their tenderness and beauty; they reminded me of the child within who once loved soft pink things.  They were absolutely lovely. 

For years, I have held back the harshness of life with vibrancy and boldness.  I have pushed away the soft and delicate things in order to survive the sinfulness of men.  Soft pink is a color that would never describe me. But that day I was feeling free; there was something about those soft pink roses that felt so good.  Finally, I gave into to the wanting and embraced them.  My soul smiled as my heart filled with love. God is not finished with me.  I am still ever changing.

My friend and I admired the bouquet, inhaling all its glory.  I decided to speak the unspoken. In a quiet voice, I said, "Ya want to know something? These soft pink roses is really what I'm like on the inside." She looked at me in utter disbelief and said, "Really? Maybe you should let it show more often."  "Hmmmm, maybe I should."

Maybe I will.