Sexuality & the Church

I was just pointed in the direction of Beca's blog post about modesty and the female body in Evangelical churches, and it really struck a chord with me. I cannot empathize with her in that all of my feelings related to weight and breast size are the exact same, but I can say that I share her feelings regarding the message that the church is sharing with young men and women relating to their sexuality is confusing and damaging.

It is already bad enough that many church leaders and parents in churches share little to no education regarding sex, sexuality, relationships, and self esteem with young people. I think that not coming from a family where I was brought up in the church offers me a unique perspective into many aspects of the sometimes wacky culture that arises from the Evangelical Baptist sect. I went to public elementary and high school, and I participated in all "sexual education" classes. In sixth grade, we learned about puberty. In ninth grade physical education, we had a classroom segment about sex, which included everything from STIs and contraceptive methods to abstinence. Every choice was presented, and we were educated. It was not biased, there was no hidden agenda. It was, "this is sex, this is life. Make informed choices." (Make informed choices is, like, my life's motto. I love to learn. It's bizarre to me that others would not possess a desire to make the most informed choices in their lives).

I went to a Bible college for a few years recently. I discovered that mostly every person who grew up in the church was not educated in these areas; in fact, in many cases they were completely ignored. I got into an argument with a girl who was older than me about birth control pills, because she was told they killed babies: the egg was already fertilized and that taking regular old birth control pills would "kill" that potential child. How can a 23 year old woman not realize what birth control even does to one's body? I should have guessed by the size of her Dutch Reformed family that they didn't believe in birth control.

Many other young women I talked to, those who were not homeschooled, were pulled out of any education relating to sex or sexuality at the request of their parents. Many of these parents simply removed them from that classroom time in a loving and valiant attempt to not have their child's mind messed with by the secular world's ideals. In the odd, religous way, they had their child's best interest at heart. But I would have thought that this meant they wanted to teach the child those things in their own words, in the comfort of home, where the child could ask questions of their parents and get a good answer. This is not what happens. They are separated from the public's education systems regarding these real life issues and then the topic is not approached again.

I have met some severely scarred young men and women who have an extremely unhealthy view of relationships and sex. I believe that the lack of education and the choice not to speak openly about these topics in the church and at home is having a serious and negative impact. I have met girls who were not allowed to talk to boys or date them, and as soon as they got to Bible college, they thought the first boy they started dating would be their husband. Many people that I have asked believe that dating is not about getting to know someone, it's about choosing whether or not to be married before the dating starts. Sexuality is ignored or surpressed and made to be the evil desires of the flesh, and yet when one marries, a magical switch is flipped and the light turns green for "go." But after years of being told that it is bad and sinful, though it isn't in the circumstances, sex becomes a problem. Who can you ask? Certainly not the parents who chose to act like sex wasn't real and wouldn't someday affect their child, and certainly not pastors and youth leaders, who do much of the same.

Regarding Becca's situation about modesty, it is really just a further extension of the shame we unnecessarily bring to our bodies. I understand that Scritpure says our bodies are living sacrifices, and the flesh is sinful, and we are to be set apart from the world. I do not think that throwing a little blanket around our human nature, the way that we grow up, our very psychology and biology, is doing good. The pain and confusion far outweighs the positive in my experience. I know that parents and churches have good intentions, but the method is seriously flawed. I wish more people had an integrated view of science and faith, because if I am continued to be told that education is not a part of living for God and making informed choices, I don't know how to stay in this place. I don't know how to live a life where I cannot learn or teach others. I cannot live in a world that shuts itself away from the things that are hard or that cannot be agreed on. Life is challenge, life is choices, life means using the brain power we were given. I don't understand how someone can be a youth leader or pastor and want to invest in young people and advocate love and kindness and patience, and yet purposely shame and guilt the very people they are trying to love. Love is not self-hate.

April 12, 2013

I don't know what happened at all in the past semester. I can hardly think about it at all. I only remember crying so hard I made myself physically sick. I only remember laying awake for days only to sleep twice as many days away. I only remember pushing every person away, convinced that no one understood. I only remember feeling frustrated that I had to start my life over. I only remember wanting to put whatever love was left in me into something but not being able to figure out what that could possibly be. I only remember thinking about me.

The beginning was easier. I feel backwards because of that. Time is supposed to heal wounds, but somehow the beginning was easier. The only thing I had on my mind was, this is a tragedy, this is pain, I need God. It was easy. Go through the motions. But living, being a person in relationships and having to go to school and work and talk to people, that was hard. I lost it. I'm still losing it. I only remember constantly being on the verge of failure in every single thing I attempted.

I wish I hadn't wallowed. I wish I didn't still hate myself. I wish I had been able to think deeply on the things that I wanted to become and change and I wish I had been more obviously thankful for the love I've been shown. I guess this is my apology.

I have said a lot of words to a lot of people. These days I am a walking contradiction. I spill my guts to get "the best" advice. I really just want someone to tell me what to do sometimes. Other times, I know I'll never listen to what you all say. I used to prefer being a mystery because it meant that I was my own security blanket. I knew, and that's all I needed. I talk too much. I'm afraid no one will understand the things I do solely because of my big mouth. If you love me, I hope it's more than tolerance. I hope we'll be okay. I hope we can rejoice.

hair

I look in the mirror and I don't see what I want to see. I wish I could say that it is a young woman with poise. Clean, strong, bright, desirable in a conventional way. Instead, it is only tired eyes, disheveled purple hair, flashes of metal in various parts of my face. The look of a girl who doesn't belong. The fear I feel can't be hidden if my life depended on it, and sometimes it feels like it does. I look like I'm perpetually stuck in high school, where the thrill of rebellion is the only thing that keeps me afloat. I'm not like other girls. The only compliments I receive have nothing to do with my character or features. I can pull it off. I'm brave. Eccentricity does not usually mean beauty. People see the good and creativity in nature, and there is not a thing about me that can be considered as such. This is the one thing that keeps me crawling back into the company of others. It is the part of me that craves to be accepted by my peers, and it is the part that is vain and senseless. It is my greatest source of pain and outrage, but I can't live without it. I look this way, she looks like that. I'm always staring, but never really seeing anyone. My fixation on the outside is my greatest flaw.

I wish I could tell you that my words and thoughts are infinite. Even as I write now, I imagined at the beginning I could go on for much longer. I'm simply not capable. I don't want to disappoint, and I fear I will.  I look in the mirror and besides not being impressed by appearances, I see a girl who is small and stale. There isn't much here. I can talk and hold your attention for now, but soon enough I will exhaust my knowledge of internet memes and video games and books and random trivia. I'm no more interesting than any other girl, least of all the ones I admire and desire so desperately to look like. My lack of self-esteem begs and warns not just you, but everyone else I meet to run in the opposite direction.

Know thyself. Sometimes I think to myself, "I'm hyper self-aware." I make a mental checklist of all the things I am. I am paranoid, defensive, abrasive, dependent, scared, indecisive, and cynical. I push others away and stew in self-loathing all the days, intermittently crying out for the slightest bit of care and affection. I'm confused.

Who I am is not who I want to be. I yearn to be a person who sees the good in everything. I believe in grace and love. I want to kiss strangers on the cheek and genuinely ask people about their days. I want to do everything because it exhilerates me and leaves me with an indescribable feeling of wonder at the world. I never want to hesitate again. I long for wisdom. I do see beauty in the world, but I never have the courage to  face it.

I know who I've been. I am always blindsighted by the parts of myself I don't feel as though I can question. Personality is predisposed, change is impossible. Is that right or wrong? I know I'm not who I used to be. I've learned to be optimistic. This time, I write down a checklist of all the things I am becoming, because it is tangible and writing makes me feel alive. Romantic, expressive, independent, thoughtful, beautiful. I am beginning to feel as wonderful as I've been told I am. I feel like a girl who belongs.

Moving on

When some event occurs in our lives or the lives of others around us, we are sad. Things can be bittersweet, heart-wrenching, downright painful. We are expected to feel those things, and we are allowed to express our  grief and sense of loss. Those who care about us know that there may be nothing they can say to take the heartache away, and yet still they offer us hope through loving and encouraging words.

For a time.

We are pushed to look for the silver lining, told 'better luck next time,' and reminded that God has a plan for us. Sometimes those things work; sometimes they leave us feeling angrier and more hurt than ever before. But there comes a time, in each unique life situation, that we start to really believe those words. We stop and realize, 'I feel happy again. My life can go on.' So that's what we try to do, and we don't think about how it was the very thing we were told to do from the beginning. It just starts to feel like a possibility, the right thing.

But then sometimes the very people who reminded us of the little things, the good that comes from the bad, aren't ready for us to grow.

Sometimes when someone who has suffered a loss or had to deal with something difficult begins to become happier and more content with their lives, there are people who silently scream that they're not doing what they're supposed to. 'You're supposed to be sad! Don't you remember what happened?' The whispers of words and thoughts unspoken, 'how can you move on now?' Most people are capable of reading between the lines.

Sometimes I think we expect people to stay sad for quite some time. That, somehow, by trying to move on, they have become heartless and uncaring. We try to force them back down, to remind them where they came from. It's not that we forget, though. That is something that escapes us. No one ever really forgets someone they love.

When things are actually starting to look up for once, don't be the one to pull a person back down into their misery. If you love someone and care for them, let them try. Let them be happy.  A tragedy may only be days behind them, but everyone deserves to feel the good things in life. Pain is temporary. Sadness should not be the expectation we have from life.