tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21442072744344229902024-02-06T21:44:21.983-05:00Lux Ex Tenebris Invictus...light triumphs out of the darkness...sheridanalexishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08212126601667169712noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2144207274434422990.post-18320263544400506232017-10-17T14:40:00.001-04:002017-10-17T15:23:23.243-04:00Why I Said, "Yes," Instead of, "No," Against What I Wanted<span style="font-size: medium;">I know I am bad about writing. More, I know I am bad about writing consistently. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">It has been almost three years since I wrote anything for this space. I wrote something for my other blog for the first time in equally as long only a month or two back. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">That space is for books, movies, and music, though. This space is for me. For my struggles. For my frustrations. For my heartbreak. For my joy. For who I am in this moment. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Right now, I am devastated. There is this soul crushing, heart-wrenching, and anxiety-triggering grief that has sat beneath my exterior for the past five weeks. It showed its head for the first time last December, and then, 10 months later, roared front and center. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">The senior pastor of my church is resigning. He is a man I deeply respect, admire, and care about. I have only known him, his wife, kids, and fluffy human (dog, for you muggles) for 4 years, but they are one of the closest things I have to non-biological family here in Pittsburgh. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">My relationship with them, and with my church, was a large percentage of why I decided to remain in Pittsburgh when my family moved back out West, other than my job. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">He is one of the best men I have ever known, and currently know. I cannot say that about many people in my life, but I unreservedly say it about him. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">The conflict that has arisen at my church and the inherent problems that could not be reconciled are why I find myself with this rolling turmoil for the past five and a half weeks. It is always sitting beneath the surface, waiting for a chance to sneak through. I work a lot of hours between my two jobs, which helps me keep a lid on it, but some days the glass cracks and it feels like, if I hold my breath sometimes, I can regain control. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">You see, at the town-hall meeting my church had for people to come and voice their concerns, experiences, and negative interactions with my pastor last month, I was one of only a couple people to stand up and speak on his behalf. I am not saying this makes me a good person, because I am, in fact, not that good a person. I simply reached a point, in the midst of that two hour character assassination, where something inside me snapped.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I had to stand up and hold a microphone and tell people I have known for 12 years, pillar members of my church's congregation, and representatives from the local governing body over our church, that the man that was being described by all of these people was not a man that I knew. I wanted them to be careful, and make sure that if they were going to give weight to the dissenting voices, they also give equal weight to those of us that have been insurmountably blessed by my pastor's ministry and our relationship with him and his family.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Maybe it is because I am only 26. Maybe it is because dissenting voices are louder. I heard nothing from my church leadership. I received minimal response from the Session members when I sent a letter last December, and I received no follow-up (except from the associate pastor) in September. While the dissenting voices may feel like the Session, deacons and elders are on their side and taking their matters seriously, I feel like they have brushed me aside. I feel like they have conveyed that everyone else and their experiences are more valid than my own. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Since mid-September last month, I have been able to perform a magic trick. I should be cast in a Harry Potter movie. Is Fantastic Beasts looking for a walk-on/walk-off role, or a body double? I would be perfectly suited for it, because apparently, I am invisible. It is a newer quality of mine that I have only discovered in the past five weeks, so I am not convinced I can put it on my CV yet. However, for an hour and a half, each Sunday morning since that moment I was handed a microphone and stood against a current, no one at my church, outside of the same 5 people, have talked to me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">This church I have called my home for the past 12 and a half years has become an incredibly lonely place. I can move through the post-service crowd with hardly anyone stopping me. What used to be a time when I could hang back and talk to different people for 30 minutes or an hour, has become a sea of people moving around and past me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">This past Sunday, I attended church with friends I had not seen in a shamefully long time. I was greeted and welcomed warmly by people I had never met, and passed around on introduction after introduction. I felt like people were curious about my life and what I did or if I needed any help getting connected. It was nice to feel welcome. It was better to feel wanted. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Sunday night my church had a congregational meeting where we were to vote on ballot to accept or reject our pastor's resignation, and have our delegates recommend the same to our presbytery. This is what I mean when I say, I checked, "Yes," when all I wanted was to check, "No." </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I love my pastor, and I love everything he was trying to accomplish at my church. However, my church is insular and not outward facing, and while I am disappointed, I am not surprised either. They never have been in the 12 years I have been attending, and maybe it was too much to ask of them. I prayed and hoped that someone as passionate as my pastor was and is about discipleship, the goals and vision for what we could be would be as infectious to others, as it was to myself and my friends. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">So, on Sunday night, I checked, yes, to accept my pastor's resignation and recommend that the church leadership recommend that our presbytery do the same. I checked, yes, and it felt like admitting defeat in a battle I did not want to lose. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">But, I checked, yes, because I love my pastor. I love his wife and his sons, and their very big, fluffy dog. I love them too much to make them endure the crippling fight they have experienced with my church that only seemed to be boiling over this year. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I checked, yes, because I want him to be free to do what he came to do: discipleship. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I checked, yes, because I believe it is what he is called to do and that others will benefit immeasurably from his work and experiences. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I checked, yes, because he deserves people that will receive that training and work with him to further that common mission. Those kinds of relationships have the power to change someone's life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I checked, yes, because my church no longer deserves him as our pastor. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I checked, yes, because my church decided that it did not want to put in the work he asked for our well-being. Rumors were allowed to spread without control, and instead of standing in unity with my pastor, elders and deacons stood in opposition to him. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I checked, yes, because I watched a group of people I have known from almost half my life deny forgiveness and reconciliation to a man that has sought those very things from them, by going outside of himself and attempting to change himself for them...to fit their idea of what a pastor should be. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I checked, yes, because I watched my church deny love and grace to a man that has loved them, in an imperfect way, but still loved them the best he could as a fallen human, the same as we all are. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I checked, yes, because I watched people in my church declare that growth, forgiveness, and repentance have an expiration date and are finite, as opposed to infinite and requiring faith. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I checked, yes, because it would have been selfish to say, no. It would have been selfish to want to keep him, when there were strong forces opposing it. It would have been cruel to put his family through that, especially with congregants that were trying to pressure the leadership for the exact thing my pastor voluntarily decided. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I checked, yes, not because people in my church wanted my pastor's resignation. I checked, yes, because it was a decision he came to himself. I checked, yes, to set him free. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I checked, yes, and it caused me immense pain. We folded our ballots and handed them to the deacons and elders. I turned around and one of my best friends had tears in her eyes. I held her hand and she squeezed mine back. I had to look at her, and tell her it was going to be okay and that this was the best decision. It did not feel right, and everything about where we found ourselves was wrong, but it was where we were. And we sat there in silence, together, a group of friends torn over the decision we had been forced to make, knowing that we were losing maybe more than anyone else. I held my friend's hand and she held mine in one and her husband's in the other, as we waited for the ballots to be counted with the results we knew were coming. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I checked, yes, and I understand the cost. I understood the cost when I wrote the letter last December in support of my pastor, his family, and their ministry. I understood the cost when I raised my hand for a microphone in September. I understood the cost when I folded my ballot on Sunday. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I understand the cost by writing these words. I understand the cost of sharing these words. I understand what it means, and that there may be no going back, and that I may irreparably ruin relationships with a church family I have loved for almost half my life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I understood the cost of speaking up, and I did it anyway. I would do it again, because what happened was wrong. What happened was the anti-thesis of everything I believe about forgiveness, empathy, and love for a fellow human-being. What happened appears to be a pattern my church is familiar with falling into, and I am beginning to wonder why that is. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">What happens now, then? What happens to those of us that are left behind in the wake of our pastor's departure, with his ministry initiatives cancelled effective immediately, and us given no alternative place to find support or attend a small group Bible study? What happens to those of us that stood against the current? What options have been afforded to us that have been generously extended to those on the other side of the line? </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">My pastor's family has cared for, taught, mentored, and loved me far beyond my own deserving. So, I checked, yes, because I was given a choice, and I chose to stand with my pastor and his family. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I understood the cost. I still understand the cost. What happened, though, is wrong. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I write these words, because it is where I am right now. In this moment.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;">And, despite how I have been made to feel on Sunday mornings, I am not invisible. </span>sheridanalexishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08212126601667169712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2144207274434422990.post-27090024569989281632014-11-13T04:25:00.000-05:002014-11-13T13:23:38.822-05:00Sexy Time: Why PAPER and Kim Should Reconsider Their Collaboration<div>
I cannot believe there is a need to comment on this, but there appears to be debate over whether backlash against Kim Kardashian is because she is now a mom and moms are not supposed to pose nude or be sexy. Honestly, this is one of those things where internet media runs with something out of context or fails to request clarification and I feel a pressing to offer some fleshed out points. </div>
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I do not like Kim Kardashian's cover photo for PAPER. </div>
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I do not like that her clothes, as a rule, leave almost nothing to the imagination. </div>
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I do not like that I do not even follow her, watch her show, know or want anything having to do with her reality-television saturated celebrity presence, and yet, my newsfeed is full of her bearing all because everyone else thinks it is worth talking about while her desire was to "break the Internet." </div>
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The irony of my response is not lost on me as it becomes one of the thousands of pieces of grist that will get eschewed by the pop culture mill.</div>
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This is what I say:</div>
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Let her break the internet if she wants, just have the decency to give me forewarning so I do not share the fracture in conjunction with an inanimate entity's psyche. I am not saying she does not have the right to pose nude. Celebrity and public citizens, alike, possess the right to photograph their disrobed bodies. Each unto their own. Just warn me before you share it because that is the last thing I want to see, whether I know you, and especially more so if I do not. </div>
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This is not me saying that being a mom means you cannot do those things and you are forbidden from feeling sexy. While I question how sharing a nude photo, with literally the entire world, fulfills the definition of what it means to "feel sexy," I am all for you wanting to feel sexy. I am not yet a mother. I have yet to be married. I have yet, even, to be kissed. So why do I get an opinion in anything having to do with this, right? </div>
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I am in my mid-twenties. I know that I have the desire to "feel sexy" for myself, as a woman. I understand how subversive and objectifying our culture is about that on both sides of the gender line. However, I do feel there is a more appropriate way to achieve that. I love dressing up. I love doing my hair. I love experimenting with make-up because I do not wear it often or minimally for work. I love pulling out those treacherous black heels that make me six feet tall -- something that is not my genetic inheritance -- and are the remains of maid-of-honor wear.<br />
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As a mother, do I think Kim should being posing nude on the cover of a magazine? Absolutely not. The questions to be examined, though, are more intricate because is there really any good reason for her to be posing nude on the cover of a magazine at all? Feeling sexy? I am not sure that is a valid reason. To me, it seems she possesses an extroverted sense of self confidence about who she is and how she feels about the way she looks. She chose to share it. With everybody. That is my point. </div>
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In just a few short years, her tech savvy child will have the mental consciousness to Google her mother's name and that is one of the pictures that will show up. How does that teach her about modesty and respecting herself when her mother has flagrantly shared her sexuality with the world, both online and in print? When man or woman shares that over the one medium where such images can never be erased. Mothers that declare such is your right because it makes you feel sexy are correct. It is your right. And it may make you feel sexy, but I would encourage you to consider two separate, but unequal exclusivities: feeling sexy and sexy time. </div>
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Sexy, to me, is man or woman that bespeaks intelligence, respect for themselves and the world around them, thinks through their answers when posed a question, are generous where they can be with their time and attention, has voracious passion for life and the things of it, and someone who understands who they are, even if that is only a sliver of who they become. By no means perfect, we are only human, but we are always growing, changing, stretching.</div>
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And I know, virgin girl here, but I am not going to besmirch sexy time. I am not a prude nor a product of a painfully strict, conservative, and sexually repressive upbringing. My married girlfriends tell me often, oh how they love their sexy time with their husbands. That is where those conversations end. I do not need to know more. They rarely proffer more. That is their private, intimate relationship. That should only be between the two of them. I hope that is the discussion that comes about from this. That is what I am worried about. Mrs. Kanye West will carry on as she determines, but I hope that she comes to realize that she has more to offer the world than a provocative angle of her body, nude or clothed. She deserves to be known and remembered for more.</div>
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What ever happened to less is more? What happened to making people wonder? When did it become okay to treat yourself like a piece of meat to be consumed, carrion vultures lurking on the periphery? I have grown up convinced of the mysterious allure of modesty. I understand that men, and women, are both visual. Women can stop trying to shove it off on men. You know it is as true as men do, but no one talks about it out of fear or shame or something else bewildering. And I believe exposing people and children willingly to it is not okay. I believe that there are still things about you that belong to your significant other, what you look like sans dress being a primary example. I think it is about time that men and women demonstrated a little more respect for the distinction from feeling sexy and the sacredness of sexy time. When it comes down to the line, I do not want to know. Nor should I have the right to know.</div>
sheridanalexishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08212126601667169712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2144207274434422990.post-58550257942299824462014-06-10T01:44:00.000-04:002014-11-13T04:23:16.221-05:00She Woke Up & Got Engaged or Proof that Aspen, Colorado is Romantic Wilderness: A 4th of July Reflection, 3 Weeks Early<div>
I learned a man spends an average of $5229 on an engagement ring, because, supposedly, as a rule, jewelers recommend shelling out about three months of their salary, depending on financial situation. This statistic is per Brides magazine, which I read because my job as a bridal sales consultant semi depends upon the knowledge said print media provides. However, excuse me? The answer is no. Five grand? I would rather take a honeymoon worth five grand, not wear it on my finger. The reason for that, though, is entirely selfish and unrelated. Ask me about it and I will elaborate.</div>
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Second, if I hear one more bride, or friend, tell me she knew all about the proposal or had a general idea of when he was going to propose, I may flip. Maybe this makes me old fashioned, but come on…it is supposed to be one of the three surprises that actually exists in our lifetime: whom we marry, the proposal, and the gender and number of your children. As long as my handsome man knows I will say yes, I do not want any other information from him. Timeline. Nothing. Propose how you see fit (minus involving a bunch of people in a public song and dance number). Leave her out of it, unless you want her involved in the ring selection (even that I waver on because I want the surprise through and through, some brides do not). Consult friends or family if you must but choose wisely (especially in my family). Some secrets are vastly important.</div>
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Listen, I know romance still exists, despite no first hand experience. </div>
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Do not tell me it does not. </div>
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I see it won, and occasionally lost, every day.</div>
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I have listened to the stories and stumbled into the conversations.</div>
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They are, in fact, some of my favorites.</div>
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4th July 2013, while at the Maroon Bells, I saw a man go on bended knee in front of his young lady. She covered her face with her hands. A pair of friends that had come with them were taking pictures and, hopefully, filming. The dozen of us there applauded when she reached for him, to kiss him, and he came up to meet her. I fancy she woke up that morning, at o'dark thirty, dressed warm for the chill, ran a comb through her hair before putting it up, maybe put a touch of mascara on to look a bit more awake as we do, and got in the car with her boyfriend and friends to drive to the Bells to take pictures at sunrise. I am hoping, by her reaction, she had no idea it was coming that particular morning, or at 4:30am I doubt it crossed her mind. </div>
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It was classic. </div>
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Maybe this is me challenging you to prove it. Maybe this is me saying that you can be clever without giving hints. Hints constitute cheating. Maybe this is me verbalizing that in the last year of hearing proposal stories, sometimes two or three times a day, often five or six days a week, I have yet to hear a proposal as good as the one I saw on the 4th, in Aspen, feet away from one of the greatest views I have ever beheld. </div>
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You want to know the other great part of this story? The footage of that proposal, that I am convinced exists, is not on Youtube or Godvine or Vimeo. It was photographed and recorded for posterity. For the two of them. For their family. For the friends with whom they choose to share it. For their children. Grandchildren. Great grandchildren. </div>
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In every sense, that proposal was a proposal that should have ended up on the Colorado news. Instead, it is a story that they get to tell. Them and the dozen people that witnessed it. But me, unlike them, I can only write about it. I can only attempt to communicate that that proposal sticks in my mind. Every time I see a photograph of the Bells, I remember. </div>
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And the truth is, I almost missed the whole thing. If people lined up with their DSLRs mounted on tripods along the lake shore had not gasped, whispered far too excited for 6 in the morning, and begun clapping, myself, seated on a rock a handful of feet out in the water, would not have turned around in time to see him ask or hear her say yes. </div>
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I know romance exists. </div>
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And I know there are men alive, raised to perpetuate it. </div>
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I have come to the conclusion that I would like such a man, however self-serving such a wish is.</div>
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I would like to be told more engagement stories like that in a dressing room.</div>
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The stories are one of the reasons I love my job as much as I do and why it will be hard to give it up.</div>
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I would like to see my brides laugh and blush and smile and tell me the details while stepping into the first ivory gown I am holding out to them. To set the scene while I lace-up the corset of the dress they ordered months ago that arrived just last week.</div>
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Because one day, in the unknown number of days to follow, I will get to step into my first dress at a try-on. My consultant will have asked me what I like, when I am to be married, and what I want to spend. Five thousand dollars will not be my answer. My mom told me years ago what my dress budget was. She is nothing if not prepared. I will step into that lace or satin dress and my consultant will ask me what my fiancé's name is, how I met him, and how long we have been together. She will ask me if we have selected a venue and the size of our bridal party. </div>
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And if she is anything like I am, she will ask how he proposed. I will smile, most assuredly blush, and say, "He's a secret romantic." </div>
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"Oh yeah?" She will say. We all say it. </div>
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"Yes. He promised it would be good. I kissed him, then told him to prove it."<br />
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sheridanalexishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08212126601667169712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2144207274434422990.post-20797430716155460192014-04-19T03:14:00.001-04:002014-04-19T03:14:12.391-04:00And the Devil Went WalkingIt sounds trite and cliche to say that I have thought about how I wanted to say these words. I know no other way, though. In an effort to be eloquent and moving, but in light of the physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual drain of events, my vocabulary fails me. Hopefully these small words reach your ears and you can begin to understand how it feels because like a teacher wrote, you simply do not know.<div>
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Wednesday, the 9th of April, is the stuff of which my nightmares are composed. Since I was eight years old, only two things run at the forefront of my mind as numbing: acts of violence against a student body and car crashes. Car crashes, though, are irrelevant here, in this space. This is for the other. Yet, you must understand why, first.</div>
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On Tuesday, the 20th of April 1999, Columbine High School, in Littleton, Colorado, was smeared across every major news outlet. Two boys had walked into the building and unleashed terror upon the inhabitants, who were their fellow students. In the end, they themselves were among the dead. I was there when it happened. I remember it clearly. </div>
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My family lived in Evergreen, about thirty-five minutes up C-470 and I-70 from Columbine, when it made international headlines. Just because we were a few dozen miles away did not separate our school district. Jefferson County went into lockdown. No one in. No one out. My mom remembers attempting to pick-up me up for a dentist appointment. The police officer at the front of the door said that she would have to go home and wait for me at the bus stop. I remember disembarking and asking my mom what was wrong. People were talking about something going on at the high school. I was in second grade. How do you explain what happened to a child? </div>
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My mom called some family friends that lived down that way. Their children went to the neighboring high school. Everyone we knew was accounted for, but that does not change the reality. I did not see a newspaper for over two weeks. Captain and my mom hid them from my little brother and me. There were pictures of the library running on the cover. Photographs, serving as immortal proofs of tragedy, stamped as headlines.</div>
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Years later, in high school, on the 16th of April 2007, Virginia Tech demolished Columbine's body count by over double. From what little I understand, that was the goal. I had fellow students at Franklin checking in with family and friends who attended all day. Sandy Hook, just two and a half years ago, reached extremes with the targeting of elementary school children. The final straw. The last piece in the Jenga tower before it all crumbles over. Are we finally desensitized? Are we no longer haunted?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The answer is no. Wednesday, April 9th, I rolled over at 8:36AM to find my cat next to me. I did not work until noon. I thought seriously about sleeping for another hour. My mom walked down the hall. I said good morning. She opened my door and said there had been an attack at the high school. I felt the initial tremor. She said it was all over. Had been for over an hour. A student had brought a knife. They were saying the number was twenty.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Next, you reach for your cell phone. I did. I graduated in 2009. I no longer knew anyone but faculty and staff at the senior high. My brother, a 2013 graduate and section leader in the band, would have better connections. Still, the text messages and phone calls start. I texted my bridal manager to make sure her little brother was safe. Then my friends to verify their sibling whereabouts. The home phone began ringing every few minutes and band moms my mother had served with and church moms began calling in with roll call and names of the wounded. We knew the name of the student responsible hours before the media. Or hours before the media shared it with everybody else.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That is how it feels. Do you see? The instant when your stomach cramps and that feeling you get when your chest tightens and you feel as if you are being pressed by giant stones. Tears sting and even though everyone you know is safe, that is your high school on the news with the local police at every entrance and the life flight helicopters in your football stadium. It is your high school that you work less than a mile from, where you had to take a detour to get to work to avoid potential road blocks. It is your high school everyone talks about all day. It is your alma mater that is the second most read story on BBC by one o'clock Eastern Standard Time. This discovery brings even more tears. And they do not stop. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It is your high school, when you leave the bridal salon at five o'clock that you will drive home past. It is the senior high that you bought midnight showing tickets to I Am Number Four to watch them blow up. It is the pavement you ran repeatedly when you picked up running. It is your school. Your panthers. And there, at the top of the complex, the senior high building sits cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape and uniforms to prevent media from crossing. It is the incline and the middle school parking lot and the east entrance by the elementary school that has local and national news crews lined up along the road, cameras staggered between vans, ready for the evening coverage. It makes you whisper, "Oh my God," repeatedly under your breath and cry some more and want to scream and curse at the men and women in their pressed suits, standing in the gravel adjacent to the tennis courts. It makes you mad. Or it should. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Are we not haunted enough? I lived there when Columbine occurred. I am twenty three, I have seen all the pictures now. I saw the coverage of Virginia Tech and Sandy Hook. My mom turned off the television because it provided continuous coverage and it hurt her heart. She could not turn it off when it was our high school though. I did. I had too. There was no new information, just speculation. Alex and his family. The students in the ICU. The emergency room selfie. All of it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This is all that you need to know. On April 9th, the Devil went walking, in the words of Sally Gardner. He picked a new country, a new state, a new town, and a new high school. My high school. On April 9th, my nightmares materialized. I stopped dreaming the horrible scenario because it actually happened.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And this is how it felt after. I texted people I knew all over the country throughout my work day. Please pray. There is nothing else you can do but that and I will take it. We all with take it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Tragedy reveals how well, and poorly, people respond. I had numerous friends tell me they would do just that. Some did not make the connection that it was my alma mater. One voiced a conspiracy theory and then sadness. Another remarked at the choice of weapon. The crucial outcome difference, I reminded, means I will take the miracles as they come.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It is amazing the comfort that people can offer or believe they offer and how little you can feel it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You need to understand the void, the hollow, that is created. The place where it aches just thinking about it in passing. And the things that live in the void: the stories of the heroes, the witness accounts, the faculty testimonies, and the unforgettable devastation of a family that must reconcile what their son, brother, nephew, cousin, and everything Alex is to those who love him, what he has done. Alex will have to reconcile it too. It is not our job to do that for them. We can only offer them privacy, love, support, prayer, and when needed, flowers too, I think.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But you know the most amazing thing? The tears I cry now are most often realizing the love and support that Murrysville has from all over the Pittsburgh-metro area. T-shirts are being sold to fundraise for scholarships, which have their production sponsored by corporate donations. Every church in the area opened its doors and its pastoral and counseling staff availability. Businesses have personalized their signs. Blue and gold bows run the length of the chain link at the softball field, on mailboxes, pillars, and small business monikers. Banners with thousands of signatures are running the length of the hallways at the high school. Flowers, balloons, and tokens were all tied to the front step rails. Over one hundred people showed up to pray before school commenced on Wednesday for students in the same stadium and on the same turf that panic had washed over the week before. And not just FR students. Students from every district in the area.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I will never understand the allure of April. Maybe it is because April has been the setting of nightmares for me for fifteen years. I grew up those kids I worried about in the corners of my mind. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But beauty is in the break down. The Devil may have found a grand angle, but he did not win. How many times has it been said only good can come out of evil? So much good has come out of a tragic event and violent act. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And tomorrow is Easter. And the anniversary of Columbine. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But I am not afraid. For the Devil went walking, but he has been conquered. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He failed to fray the edges. We did not unravel.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He failed to drive the wedge. We have not turned against one another.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He has failed.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am not sure he thinks that.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He will be displeased.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I do not care. You should not care.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Nothing short of sitting on the rock, at the water's edge of the Maroon Bells, during sunrise on the 4th of July, has convinced me of the immeasurable fortitude of our Father than the threads I have seen tightened since 7AM just ten days ago.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The funny thing about perceived loose ends? When you pull on them, you realize everything they are attached too and how, in fact, immovable they truly are. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We are immoveable. We are united. We are proud.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We are FR Strong.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The Devil can go pick on a cat his own size. Our Lion is fierce and up to the task.</div>
sheridanalexishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08212126601667169712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2144207274434422990.post-50200188723070092432014-01-16T14:07:00.000-05:002014-01-16T14:16:11.534-05:00To Him…When Nights Are BadLast night was a bad night.<br />
<br />
It was a good night. I went out to the theatre and dinner with my mom. It has been several months since she and I have gone out for a show, just the two of us.<br />
<br />
As I was falling asleep, though, it became a bad night. You were not there.<br />
<br />
Did I ever tell you this one story? When I was a freshman in college, home for Christmas, I woke up one morning utterly confused. You were not there. I awoke in my parents' house with the same silver band I have had for eight years, bewildered as to why you were not next to me in bed. It took only a few minutes for me to remember that I was almost nineteen and that I had never been on a date.<br />
<br />
Whatever I dreamed had felt so real that waking up single and living with my parents was disorienting. And yet, I could not remember what you looked like, let alone the name I wanted to call out down the hall.<br />
<br />
Last night was bad for precisely the same reason. I remember very little, except that I went up on my tiptoes to kiss you after you walked in the door. You removed your jacket and I can remember the feel of you putting your arms around my waist. It was only a moment, a mere flash. I woke up feeling alone for a split second until I remembered that last night had not, in fact, happened.<br />
<br />
And yet, now a week away from being twenty-three, some how, that realization twinges more than it did five years ago. A lot has changed in those five years. I graduated from university last month. I am searching for jobs, spread between Colorado Springs and New York City. All but four of my closest girlfriends are married or getting married. And the first wave of pregnancy announcements have started in. It is not that I am not happy for them. Because I am. It is not that I do not enjoy being single. Because I do as well. It enables a flexibility most of my friends do not have. I can make a decision solely for myself when it comes about where I want to live and work.<br />
<br />
It is as my mom put it two weeks ago: I am feeling a little left out.<br />
<br />
I love my married friends.<br />
I love my single girlfriends.<br />
And yes, I love the men in my life too: the husband and single guys. They all treat me amazingly well.<br />
<br />
I just had to tell someone who might, perhaps, understand how it feels to be surrounded by couples.<br />
<br />
I wanted you to know that I have moments where I wish you were here now.<br />
Yet, I also wanted you to know that such a moment is something I am more than willing to wait on.<br />
<br />
I do not know if you ever think about this. Maybe you do not think about it as much as I have.<br />
Planning weddings for friends and working in bridal puts it at a forefront in my life.<br />
<br />
I do not despair. I do not snap under impatience.<br />
I have waited (nearly) twenty-three years for you.<br />
And glimpses like the one from last night or from five years ago, have reassured me that God is in control.<br />
<br />
While I am pressed, I am not crushed.<br />
<br />
<br />
Yours,<br />
<br />
<br />
Alexsheridanalexishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08212126601667169712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2144207274434422990.post-15063752317115503972013-12-11T02:06:00.000-05:002013-12-11T02:06:00.361-05:0010 Days Later…No Words…Just AnxietyI distinctly remember promising on December 1st, that I was going to write every single day this month, to get into the habit of writing every single day. To point out the obvious, I have not written a single thing outside of rewriting my thesis (which was twenty-two pages in the end) and my notes for studying and filling out paperwork at the bridal salon.<br />
<br />
It has been a productive ten days, but not in the way I was hoping.<br />
<br />
I have been consumed with anxiety about finishing my thesis. Which I did.<br />
<br />
I have been worried sick over my oral presentation. Which went phenomenally well.<br />
<br />
I have paced, since my last final, worrying if my capstone course will give me the grade I need to leave proud of my accomplishments, not just because I slid out by the skin of my teeth. At this point, I would take a C, happily, but it would not belie the work and hours put into the project. I would rather receive a B, but it is just a waiting game now. Grades are not finalized until next week.<br />
<br />
I am a week away from knowing if I have graduated with my Bachelor of Arts.<br />
<br />
I am a week away from not stepping foot in a classroom as a student for an undetermined amount of time. I am far too burnt out from my undergrad to attempt graduate studies right now. And the Captain advises working for a few years and putting a dent in loans before accruing new ones.<br />
<br />
I am beginning the job application process. Fingers crossed on these Colorado inquiries of mine. Or just pray that I find work soon. I do not know that a bridal salon and closing two nights a week at the store are enough to foot my gas, insurance, and student loan bills, which kick in next month.<br />
<br />
I find myself overwhelmed at the prospect of so many decisions.<br />
<br />
I get trapped in my head easily.<br />
<br />
I panic.<br />
<br />
I get frazzled.<br />
<br />
I blush.<br />
<br />
I stammer.<br />
<br />
It is exhausting.<br />
<br />
Being an introvert is not always as restful as it sounds.<br />
<br />
It takes months of my knowing someone before I feel a semblance of comfort unmarred by anxiety.<br />
<br />
I am supposed to apply for jobs and then pick-up and move there to work.<br />
<br />
Chances are high it may not be in Colorado where I know numerous people.<br />
<br />
I am all for adventure and starting some place new, but I am afraid of jumping straight in with no fail-safe. No backup. No one to call when something goes wrong that can access me easily.<br />
<br />
I fear being truly on my own. It does not sound safe. It is unfamiliar.<br />
<br />
But, maybe it is the words of a Baggins I should be taking: "I am going on an adventure."<br />
<br />
Having read the terms and conditions and understanding that it may not go as I hope it does. I know planning, to an extent, is useless and I try to remind myself not to get so wrapped up in details I have no control over.<br />
<br />
I cannot control other people. I cannot control whole situations.<br />
<br />
I am only me. I have to have faith and trust in the LORD or I am truly alone.<br />
<br />
It is taking that step of faith that is the hardest.<br />
<br />
But December may yet prove to be an exercise in how to do just that.sheridanalexishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08212126601667169712noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2144207274434422990.post-43165704321711401832013-12-01T23:54:00.001-05:002013-12-01T23:55:24.724-05:00Unde lux est orta salus invenitur...Right about now, I can imagine the look on your face as you read and reread the title and imagine that I became a hobgoblin sometime in the last five days for writing my title in language long dead. I would apologize, but I am not contrite. In fact, I am going to work on augmenting your quality of life, one Classical [Christmas] Latin phrase at a time. Mine as well, considering I am a bit rusty. My history thesis did not fall within the category of Roman Antiquity as I had hoped it would, so we get to go on that minor adventure together. Do not worry, before long, you will see the Latin in everything and parse words upon seeing them. Especially those of you in medicine, law, and anything having to do with the human body (yes, that means athletic trainers and coaches too). You can thank me later, after you start dreaming in Latin. I will drive you a little nuts, in the best way possible, while adding a little culture to your life simultaneously.<br />
<br />
Moving on, however, breaking down Wheelock's Latin for you is not the purpose of my writing tonight. Dominantly, my brain is a little fried from the final draft of my thesis being due tomorrow and as someone with unheard of levels of anxiety, I keep tinkering. I will probably be awake most of tonight, actually, so tomorrow will be more fun than I can say. Once I turn it in, I will be able to sleep--it has been a restless Thanksgiving weekend.<br />
<br />
With the passing of another Thanksgiving, though, I realized something extremely troubling about how my semester has played out. I was confronted with very tangible proofs of how selfish and fallen I am as a human being. My desire to completely skip November and simply graduate overrode natural common sense. Some people are stuck in the past. Others are firmly planted in the present. I have the problem that follows progressively: I get stuck in my head, in future plans, and have a hard time readjusting to the present. I got a taste of life and working in an office I would love to be hired at this summer, in a town I learned is not so bad, in a state I adore. The Springs is no Denver, is hard matched for where I grew up in Evergreen, and I am not convinced Garden of the Gods trumps Aspen's Maroon Bells, but I digress. My point is, I am so ready to be done, I became flippant about things I should not have been.<br />
<br />
I went to Focus this summer and it rocked my boat more than I expected. I watched sunrise at the Maroon Bells on the 4th of July and have gone through withdrawal for that sight ever since. I made new friends, but missed quality time with old ones, our schedules consuming with no cross-over, just time grabbed between shifts or during shifts. And here, on December I, mere minutes from December II, I find myself burnt out and starved of quality interaction with most of the people I count as close friends. Do not get me wrong, there have been the texts and the Facebook messages, and the occasional telephone tag, and the conference Skype that ends at 3am with the others calling me to wake me up because I fell asleep a half an hour ago and they just kept talking. All of those have been wonderful and life saving. I cannot wait to breathe and attempt to catch my breath, and graduate and be done, at least for the next few years.<br />
<br />
Here in the problem with the other half of this though. I fell out of a routine with God. Writing was my ritual until my sophomore year. Now the words I write here are the only words that see any light that has not been mandated by academia and we both know my writings have been sparse this semester. You see? All consuming: the selfishness, the desire to be done colliding with the frustration over a twenty page paper, which is nothing, I might add, in length terms. That frustration vent of a piece about women in the church was over three thousand words--half my thesis length--in just under two hours.<br />
<br />
So here is where I am now, after church this morning and confronting the very real and being uncertain about what is next. I am going to start simple. I am going to start by writing every day this month of December, I through the XXXI. Everyone waits until January for their resolutions. This, however, is much more important than a resolution. Something has to give. And it starts with me. It starts with God. It starts with as many pages as it takes to hash it out. To make sense of the burn out. To see where He leads.<br />
<br />
And it starts right here with those words: <i>unde lux est orta salus invenitur</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>from where the light rises, salvation is found</b>sheridanalexishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08212126601667169712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2144207274434422990.post-9694975794040775252013-11-25T03:05:00.000-05:002013-11-25T03:18:01.989-05:00As a woman, what do you want from the Church?<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I have been a devoted follower of Preston Yancey's
blog for well over a year now. As a church history minor, I have adored his
examinations of theology and find myself a bit miffed that I have to wait a
whole calendar year for his book to be placed on top of my reading book
stack--I have no more shelf room. It is also a source of constant amusement to
me that one of my friends went to the same graduate school as him and my RD's
wife's little sister is his fiancée. Small world. Just last week, however, he
issued something that made me stop and mull it over. I have been pondering and
meditating on it for days, as well as which arm I should sharpie 2 Corinthians
4:8 in Latin to, but that is separate. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">He posed this question: <b>As a woman, what do
you want from the Church?</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">As a woman, what do I want from the church? As
surprising as it sounds, I have never been asked this question before and I
find this troubling. Preston spoke about it in discussion of giving women open
mic on his blog about the thing or things, they want from the church, and is
accepting submissions on a rolling basis. His word limit, however, is 600-800
words, something I am not totally comfortable with, so I am going to dry run my
thoughts here, with myself, God, and I think the seven people that read
this regularly and there may not be that many of you. But I have recently
become reacquainted with this single frustrating trend within the Church and I
think somebody has to call it out, so I am going to. After all, <i>lux ex
tenebris invictus</i>, right? Light triumphs out of darkness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">As a woman, I want the Church respect the
definition of "personal life."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I suffer no delusions that the fact that I address
relationships often has not escaped notice. I would apologize for that, but it
is the stage of life in which I find myself: surrounded by relationships. I
believe, at last count, that the number of single girlfriends I have do not
outnumber the fingers on my left hand. Now, before you raise some white flag,
bracing for a single girl to beat you over the head about how to own your
singleness or make you feel bad for being one of the many in my life who are
married, I invite you to stop and breathe. This is not about any of that. This
is about an attitude within the church that affects both married and single.
Let me paint a picture of both sides, the one I am getting and the one some of
my best friends are receiving.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Single side first: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"Do not worry, you are young, you have plenty
of time to marry."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"Maybe guys do not date you because they see
your purity ring and assume it means something else."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"It is quite obvious that he likes you because
of…."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And my recent favorite: "Is there anything
going on between you and…"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Dating & Married side:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"Have you guys talked about when you're
getting married?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"When do you think he'll propose and
how?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And recent married friend favorites: "Have you
guys talked kids yet?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I am just curious as to where everyones' tact and
upbringing in conversational boundaries has gone. I mean, even if we're
friends, in what way is this any of your business? I have a very specific,
small group of women that I confide such matters to, and unless I tell you
otherwise, you are not a part of said accountability group and neither are you
the person I am dating/engaged/married to, and therefore, it is definitely none
of your concern. Something attending a small, Christian university taught me is
that the gossip mill loves grist and relationship news is always plentiful,
juicy, and changing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">As I am currently standing on the single's side of
the line, I can comment more intimately about the phrases I wrote because they
have all been said to me since the beginning of the month. Those are the best
of all of them, but I promise there were more. The first two occur a lot
because I am a sales consultant in a bridal salon and by the end of a bridal
appointment, there are almost no secrets between yourself and some brides. When
you are helping them in and out of dresses for four hours, stories get
shared back and forth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The one I hear the most is that it is okay that I
am not married because I'm still young (two months from 23) and they are
surprised at how little single girlfriends I have remaining. Oh the things
Christian college will do for you, if not bestow an MRS degree. As much as I
appreciate the sentiment and can feign kindness in response, telling me I still
have plenty of time really does not help me feel any better. As "Save the
Date" cards continue to come (three 2014 weddings already, with more to
show up), I have a whole batch of friends who I am waiting to announce the
first round of pregnancies. All us singles have placed bets, don't you worry.
All your married friends have too, I promise. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Do you want to know why it does not help for you to
tell me that? For me, it promotes an insecurity. I have no success stories
to tell except my only ex and I, together for two weeks, are very good
friends, but it took over a year for that to be true. You want to know
what insecurity it promotes within me? That I might still have time, but maybe
not enough time to figure out how to keep a relationship moving forward. It
promotes fear in my life because I am so far behind so many of my friends in my
personal interactions with men and have no love life to speak to. It might
sound ridiculous to say that, but it took nineteen years for me to go on my only
date. If I am engaged, let alone married at 25, I will consider it the greatest
triumph God may have worked in my life to that point.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The second one, that my purity ring throws men off,
I'm sorry, I have to call it, so cover your ears: bullshit. What utter
nonsense. Total hogwash. One of my best friends from high school professes
the same thing I do, saving ourselves until marriage, and she has always opted
not to wear a ring because she holds that tenant to herself. Nothing wrong with
that in the slightest. I, in contrast, like having the ring. It is a good
conversation starter, number one. And the other perk, I have learned, is that
it appears to limit frivolous attentions, which I have told you baffles
me. To say that wearing the ring, though, detracts from my perceived
availability is ridiculous. Any man that has ever spent any time with me in
public or in person, knows that I read single loud and and clear. If not, I
have probably called them obtuse in general conversation. And as a general
standard, Christian culture is familiar with the concept of the purity ring--it
may be a dying breed, but it is still recognized. A ring is not a turn off. It
can all be solved with a single question.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">So I think he likes me and based off of my deeply
biased account of the facts and conversational snippets, you completely agree
with me. This is where you, as my friend since I am confiding these
childish girlhood scenarios to you, need to put me back in my place and remind
me that nothing is final until a date is involved, and even then, life is not
set in stone until you're dead. I have run up against this wall frequently
since this summer. Talking to friends about extended conversations with one man
tends to raise a lot of questions, especially after weeks of back and forth.
You know what my friends did when I asked for council? They told me to stuff my
fear, take a risk, and see where it goes. Not bad advice, because what is the
worst that could happen? He does not like me. Okay. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">But they did something worse than that, a few gave
me a list of conclusive evidence that proves he must like me, even a little.
Thank you for that. I can certainly maintain my perspective now. Talk me down a
road and then they get frustrated when I take it upon myself to maintain that
perspective. He has not asked me out. We have no understanding. Unless said
otherwise, he is my friend. And then there is the nagging for the
"DTR" which is poison in its own right. Here is my advice, the next
time one of your friends gives you a list of conversational snippets that
indicate he must like her, tell her that there is nothing wrong with seeing
where the friendship leads and stop there. Do not fluff it up. Remind her to
keep her boundaries, to not let her heart get ahead of reality, and hold her
accountable. Do not cut her brakes and berate her when she is hurt that it did
not go where people assured her it would because "the signs were all there
that he liked you and he must be an idiot not to see them too." She is
your sister in Christ, protect her like she is one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Lastly, and one of my favorites with the previous:
Is there anything going on between you and…? </span><b style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">No. </b><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">You ask if I am sure? Of course, I am. I am one half of the equation
just described and I have not gone out with him, so the answer is a conclusive
and resounding NO. And beyond that, even if I have gone out with him, more than once, if it is not public knowledge yet, why do you assume that asking me will grant you access behind the curtain? I have had friends that dated for months before they announced exclusivity. Did most everyone know by then? Of course, they were no longer trying to hide it either, but no one ever asked. You can ask me seven different ways to Sunday if there is anything going on between me and whomever you choose, but my answer will always be the same, "Unless you know something I do not, the answer is no." Sure, I might like him. Maybe a little. Maybe a lot. But if I did, I would not tell you. It is not public knowledge for a reason, mind you. Remember what I said, small group of girlfriends know the whole truth. You are not them or my mother, therefore….</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And for the dating/engaged/married whom I count as close as any other, since a majority of my best friends are categorized as such, I think I and everyone else, owe you an apology in some shape or another. </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I apologize for all the times I asked about when you two are getting engaged. I was raised by parents who did not waste any time and one year just seems like a ridiculous amount to decide whether or not you want to live with someone who will become your closest confident for the rest of your life. But on the same playing field, my heart breaks for you every day too. I know what expectations you have because you have confided in me and you are tired of waiting for the proposal because that is all you are waiting for now. Or worse yet, you are barely engaged and friends and family are talking children. How utterly ridiculous. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It is always one thing after the next: you're talking to a man, they want to know when you will date. You're dating a man, when will you marry him? Engaged, how did he propose? Because no proposal is official until it has been Youtubed and announced on Facebook. Yet another thing to consider as a part of your "personal life" for a time. And then married to a man, are you pregnant yet? On and on the train goes. Many of my own friends find themselves in that last category, one of numerous married milestones. The problem is the emphasis that they feel is placed on it, akin to the emphasis they felt as singles about getting married. Why the rush to have children? Let them enjoy being a married couple. They have plenty of time, right? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Nothing about the relationship process is any of your business, unless you are included. That, as a woman, is what I want from the Church. You preach constantly about boundaries here and boundaries there, but then fail to understand that boundaries are not exclusively personal, they are interpersonal too. Asking my friend when she and her husband are having children has nothing to do with you. Their bringing forth life does nothing for you and you asking may be doing more harm than good. What if they have miscarried? What if they cannot conceive? And if they are simply waiting, what then? It does not make things any better to offer your comments. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And do you want to do know what else I want from the Church, in regards to respecting personal lives? I want you to be honest about how hard it is. That is something I do not hear about enough inside these sacred walls and yet I see it demonstrated every day and become more and more aware of it. Only since returning from grueling, eye-opening, culture shocking understudy in Colorado Springs this summer, have I began to understand just how challenging so many things in life truly are, especially marriage. A plethora of married friends will offer a vivid insight. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I have begun to realize just how exhausting it must be for my mother to have my father working out of state, approaching four years now. The way I talk about my father working in a separate state, new friends might assume they are divorced, but they are not. Approaching thirty-four years, next summer, in fact. It is a window into the life that some of my friends, who are military wives, have. A small window, but a glance none the less. And it makes me hurt for you and pray for you and wish for you in ways I may not for other people. Whether that is wrong or right, I cannot say, but it is for you and that is what matters. And I see how still other friends have fought it out over finances and when they should start trying to have children and if going back to school is even an option. I know that I do not know the full story--how can I? I am not married to their spouse and I am not them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">However, despite my fears that I have no idea how a relationship practically looks for me, because I think myself a special kind of awkward that may be impervious to the "normal" rules of dating and relationships, seeing them work through it, fighting or smiling, gives me hope. It grounds me in reality seeing the struggle of sharing life with another who is just as fallen. Marriage is not utter bliss. I will not always like my husband and vice versa. We will fight. I will make it worse more than once by not being so good at communicating. Despite what I have been told, I will not regret saving myself for my husband. However, the sex will not break the headboard (I am looking at you, Twilight). Although, I refuse to discount the idea that it wouldn't be fun to try, if only for the story. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">That is what I want and need more than ever as a woman in the Church. I need to know that it is okay that I am not dating and married like most of my friends. I need to know that you do not see my worth defined against whether or not the ring on my finger ties me to someone specific. I need to know that my worth is not found in how grand my engagement story is because I like it simple, because what is being proposed is the grand gesture. I need to know that it is not easy. Not as a deterrent, but as a way to keep me grounded. A happily every after does not end at, "You may now kiss your bride." Happily ever after are stories that have no finished yet, to quote Mrs. Smith. I need you to be honest with me. I need you to speak into my life so I am not tempted to elope with that guy I like within the realm of fantasy, divorced completely from what is real, which can be so very far from the truth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I want you to stop saying those things you think I want to hear. They are not for me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I want you to stop asking those questions you want the answers to. They are not for you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I want you to be honest with me when I ask for advice, even if I become angry at the answer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I want you to know I will be honest with you, even if I deny you the answers to the question you want.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Call me a bitch for speaking to you this way. Trust me, it is not the first time, nor the last.</span></div>
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Call me naive for wearing my purity ring. Your insistence does not change my mind.</div>
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Ask my friend one more time when she will be pregnant and see if she lays a hand on you before I do. She and her husband may have fought about it earlier that day and you are rubbing it raw.</div>
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Ask us something real, for once. Something that has nothing to do with our jobs or our relationships or our thesis paper or our plans after graduation.</div>
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Show that you care about us more than just that. </div>
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Show us that our worth to you goes beyond that.</div>
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Show us that you see us. </div>
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Show us that who we are, <span style="text-align: center;">is not invisible.</span></div>
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sheridanalexishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08212126601667169712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2144207274434422990.post-49935158124504140942013-08-26T01:02:00.003-04:002013-08-26T01:02:39.479-04:00That Girl: Do You Remember Her?<br />
Somewhere, deep inside of me, an eight year old girl still lives. That girl who would stand on the deck of her house and wish the Rockies would stand up and trade places simply because they were bored. That wild horses ran loose in Elk Meadow. That hot chocolate is a summer drink just as much as a winter drink because it snows sometimes in July, even if it is melted by noon.<br />
<br />
The third grader who insisted to her teacher that turning the notebook sideways helped her write; ridiculous right-handed bias against a left-handed student. That fourth grader who read the Hobbit, albeit in a month, and the Fellowship of the Ring and White Fang a year later, despite the insistence of her teacher that it was above her level and she did not want poor quiz scores to lower AR reading levels.<br />
<br />
That girl who got an 18/20 on those reading quizzes and who was reading near college level at twelve. Who created her own world and its heritage in middle school and began the first draft of her first novel at age 13. The girl who fought through an eighth grade year of stupid boys and numerous sick days to get her only 4.0 GPA for her final quarter. The girl who moved six times across the country and around the Pacific Northwest.<br />
<br />
That girl. The one who despised page limits. Who railed against an average vocabulary and people who did not think. After all, it's the new sexy. The girl so bookish, she could lose herself for hours and read hundreds of pages, if not a whole book, in a day. Who tried her hand at romance writing and found she was good at it, despite having no personal experience to draw from and still does not.<br />
<br />
That girl.<br />
She got lost a few years ago.<br />
Put down her pen.<br />
Dropped her books.<br />
Forgot the view.<br />
<br />
You see, she fell in love with different stories. The wrong stories. She went against her nature until she suppressed it so completely. She loves people now. She loves their stories. She loves their lives and how they live it. She got involved in the mess. She became defensive of people, but never learned to be defensive of herself. She fiercely loves her friends, even when they do not fiercely love her. She enacted the traits she read about, the old-fashioned character that melded her upbringing.<br />
<br />
She has learned the hard way.<br />
<br />
Life is the same as the books she read. Full of danger and bravado. But no safety.<br />
<br />
She has seen love in books and in life and rages at the discrepancy, wondering how people who know what it feels like, how they could present it as it is not. Who would do that? Who would tell them to do that?<br />
<br />
She sees the epic quests. They are full of dragons and gold. But the dragons are not defeated. The gold is not reclaimed. It is becomes a constant fight in the singular.<br />
<br />
And now she sits here, typing this, wondering at the girl she once was.<br />
Wondering at the little girl I once was and how the things have changed.<br />
<br />
And yet...some things have not. For I still remember pieces of her.<br />
<br />
I still am one of the biggest Anglophiles you will ever meet. God Save the Queen!<br />
<br />
I may not drink hot chocolate in July, but hot tea, any time, with milk and honey, of course.<br />
<br />
And every week it seems, my book collection grows. Just today I added the complete and collected Sherlock Holmes as well as Kavalier & Clay. My time for reading goes down, but my book stacks in front of my shelves and boxes in the closet and garage are ever increasing. I have little time to just curl up and read, but when I do, God help you if you disrupt me.<br />
<br />
I do not write any more, or have not since that one day, nearly three years ago. The words escape my head, my creativity in the throws of an extended drought. I know, though, that they are there, for I continue to write, just not like before, not like I used to. It may take some time, years even.<br />
<br />
One day, I am sure of it. Perhaps I will be laying in the grass on a blanket, leaned against the chest of the man I love or with a child I would pull a star from the heavens for and it will begin again. The words will pour out, as if from my fingertips and I will not be able to stop them. And that first novel all the way back from 2004, it will find itself finished with a period, or possibly a question mark as its final punctuation. And because it was that child who gave me the words, it is those words I will read every night before they sleep until it is finished.<br />
<br />
Yes, there are things about my eight year old, my twelve year old self I wish I could reclaim.<br />
There was a lot of innocence in being that young, even with how much my family moved.<br />
But there is one thing time has given me that I am thankful for and it is this simple:<br />
<br />
If you had asked my eight year-old, boy chasing, insanely flirtatiously confident self if I was to be married I may have laughed at you and said boys have cooties, but I would like to think yes, if I could get past that. My answer has not changed. I am no longer insanely confident nor aware of flirtation, but I no longer think men contagious. If you had asked my twelve year old self, who fought with her little brother constantly, if I would have children with my husband, she would have flat out told you no, that children and siblings are the worst sort of thing you could inflict upon your self and the world around you. That answer has been completely replaced. Perspective changes everything.<br />
<br />
And yes, do I fancy the idea that my Anglophile self will be rewarded with a husband with a fantastic voice and accompanying accent? Yes, on days I am truly ridiculous. Ordinarily, a great voice is more than enough and that designation is not strict, but must be earned.<br />
<br />
I do not know how else to say it.<br />
<br />
I am 22 years old...almost 23.<br />
<br />
I freely admit that the sooner I get married, the better we all will be.<br />
<br />
I also admit that it will probably have to be arranged, because I have no idea how it will happen.<br />
<br />
I am massively introverted, regardless of how conversational I can be.<br />
<br />
I spent years having the introvert beat out of me with constant demands for my attention. I am now fighting to beat the extrovert out of me. It does not belong in the dominance it has achieved.<br />
<br />
In the future, any stories I write for my children or grandchildren or great grandchildren, I wrote solely for them. Publish something I write posthumously and see whom I haunt until eternity comes.<br />
<br />
That girl. Do you see her now? Do you remember her, even a trace of her?<br />
<br />
I remember that girl. She is still there. She is not gone. She is still me.<br />
sheridanalexishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08212126601667169712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2144207274434422990.post-20906545632487623462013-08-14T01:26:00.003-04:002013-08-14T01:50:40.630-04:00The Greatest LieI find myself at a loss as how best to explain myself tonight.<br />
<br />
It almost undoes me to admit it to myself let alone other people.<br />
<br />
Since May I have had conversations with a man I met at one of my best friend's weddings in the middle of April. We have conversed about many things:<br />
* our love of food--particularly regional and ethnic<br />
* we have shared music back and forth and have common favorites<br />
* we both love insane Youtube videos and ridiculous, stupid jokes, particularly puns<br />
* He is intelligent and driven<br />
* He doesn't take himself too seriously, but knows when to be serious...I think<br />
* He is family-centric<br />
* I can see him fighting to pursue God<br />
* He has the fortune of being able to combine his great loves with his studies and his job<br />
* I know where he spent one of the best months of his life<br />
* I have seen him handle a stressful situation with multiple attention demands and not lose his head<br />
* He knows exactly how to tease me and turn me a color of red you may never have seen before<br />
* If he had to chose another name, I know what it is<br />
* Seeing him only twice this summer, one planned, one by luck of the draw, made me excruciatingly nervous for absolutely no reason. Spending time with him and talking with him was as easy as breathing.<br />
<br />
What am I trying to say with all of this? As if the first part of this was not entirely laser-lighted, I have a crush on him I cannot seem to get a rein on. The worst part, as my radar is worth nothing when it comes to this sort of interaction, I have not the foggiest if there is even mutual interest, despite others suggesting there is grounds to believe there is. Besides, what man would talk exclusively to one woman for such an extended period of time?<br />
<br />
And you know what lie the Deceiver whispered in my ear at church that Sunday, at the end of July, as I sat next to this man in question? He slithered onto my shoulder and hissed at me, "Silly, Sheridan. What were you thinking? You believed a man like him: popular, tall, and handsome would actually find something equally appealing in you? How ridiculous. But I know, he's exactly your type: the athlete, the one all the girls love, handsome, smart, from a good family, with your ever pressing and ridiculous requirement: a Godly man, especially one who treats the women around him with respect. He is exactly your type, historically. You are forgetting one small, but crucial detail: You have never dated your type. Your type has never liked you back, not that they have said anyway. What makes you think he is any different? Oh, my hell, you are so predictable. Well, sweetheart, let me burst this bubble of yours now, as you have, clearly, gotten ahead of yourself.<br />
<br />
"Shall we examine the facts that sit next to you in this exact moment in time? I think we should. How long have you know him, three months, almost four? If he were interested, would he not have done something about it now or at least come to see you in the Springs? Not necessarily, you say. The whole long distance thing, an excuse, but then let's evaluate this then shall we? Let's describe him: 6'8", muscular build as he still maintains a fitness regimen, even if it is not as rigorous as his basketball days, sharp features--the jawline--and what other preposterous way you put it: underlying facial architecture--and the blue eyes. Of course, how could I forget, as if you were not so utterly ridiculous, his left-handedness made him even more attractive to you. You see how unfairly tipped the scale is, though, my dear? You are a foot shorter than he is and while you are not ugly or fat, you certainly do not really think you have what it takes to stand by his side. You are plain at best and while you are a runner, you have done so infrequently this year that you are far from tone and you know he looks every inch it. And you have seen the girl, his ex. Sweetie, time to step out of the clouds, plant yourself on the ground. Your type is out of your reach. You and the basketball player. Or the Navy pilot. Equal vanity points. Equally outlandish matches. Why would he choose you? Just think on that. What in anything that has happened suggests he will choose you?"<br />
<br />
It is amazing everything that can be said to your heart and mind and spirit in the space of a few seconds, even sitting in church. We think the church is sacred ground against the enemy, that we cannot feel his effects within its walls and he should be burned by even attempting something. He is more crafty than that, unfortunately. He has convinced the world He does not exist, why should a building stop him? What are physical barriers when space and time mean nothing to him? He will attack your soul just as soon as attack your body. And do you want to know what that feels like? It is a wedge that drives itself between you and the subject of the lie. It left me feeling agitated and worried the entire drive home and at points throughout the day as to whether I had done something wrong by sitting with him. What finally ended it was taking a moment and screaming at the lie and telling God over and over I did not believe it and then deciding to do something I had learned weeks before: communicate, ask instead of dread, face the truth and move forward. The man in question confirmed that I had believed a lie. He was glad he got to see me before I left the state and that we had not gotten to engage in what will be, I am sure, a quickly escalating prank war (when it happens).<br />
<br />
I forgot, consumed by the lie, the foundation of all of this, regardless of whether or not he likes me in return: he is my friend. We can laugh and joke and tell each other how badly we want a drink without the other beating down and instead saying, "I can recommend a good tap room." The Devil does not get to have the last word if you do not let him. Let him call me names like bookish and plain, I was told bookish is a fantastic word that is not said enough. Who is plain now? I see the world through a different set of eyes than he does, yes, but that does not make me plain or not good enough for him, as the Devil may want me to believe. In fact, it might make me excellent for him in more ways than one. Perhaps that is what Lucifer knows, how we are together, perhaps he fears what even something as baseline powerful as a friendship can do. Why not fray the edges while I sit and worry and destroy it myself out of fear? Oh how he loves to whisper such silly little things. If only they did not reek of his own agenda and fears. We are more powerful together than apart--believers in communion with each other.<br />
<br />
After all, if the greatest trick the Devil ever played is convincing the world he does not exist, how much damage would it do to his lie, to see believers calling his bluff? His web of deceit. Battling past his utter bullshit. It sounds to me like we might be exactly his type and he does not like to lose.<br />
<br />
For us, it may begin as recognizing a single lie.<br />
For him, it is the beginning of the unraveling of the fabric. I am not sure he believes in loose ends.<br />
<br />
<br />sheridanalexishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08212126601667169712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2144207274434422990.post-85443878219888634792013-08-12T02:49:00.003-04:002013-08-12T02:50:42.430-04:00To Him...I Believed You Impossible<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I saw this little snippet tonight as a share from a girlfriend's Facebook page and it stopped me cold, dumped freezing water on my head, and then watched me stagger from vertigo. And I lie here on my bed processing more and more that final sentence, the one that hit me hardest: "But to me, the most important thing will be that you are falling in love with me, despite my thinking that it is impossible." It has put me on the edge of tears because it has exposed a deep-seated fear I have about you, my husband, predicated entirely on the foundation of a lie.<br />
<br />
I believe your love for me impossible sometimes...or most times, if I am truly honest. I pass unnoticed to many, if not all guys, from where I am seated. And I am just struck with how that can be. Everything I learned at Focus this summer goes against all of this. Our relationship, you to me and me to you, is a reflection, the closest reflection this side of life, that exists to mirror what my and your relationship with God should look like individually. One spouse to another. God to His creation. Bride to her Bridegroom.<br />
<br />
And yet, you love ME. You love my stupid jokes and how puns make me smile. You love how I turn an unseen shade of red whenever anyone, but especially you, teases me. You love how I cannot help but sing with the radio--EVERY song that I know--which may be all of them for hours on end, depending on the station. You forgive the fact that my enjoyment of crass humor will probably be my one way ticket down to the inferno. You may share it. You may have reined it in.<br />
<br />
You love me despite the fact that our bed, no doubt, has at least one day's outfit laying at the bottom of it. And just because I stripped it off and changed into something more comfortable upon returning home from work and not because it was strewn there after some fun. You love me despite the fact that I do not always know when I have taken teasing too far. You love me despite the fact that I drive well over the posted speed limit and hopefully have not yet had a speeding ticket in the time we have been together, or perhaps you were in the car when I got my first one, and it took everything inside of you not to burst out laughing while the officer was writing me up and it made you love me more--even if I was upset about you laughing at me.<br />
<br />
And you know what else? You love a most ridiculous woman. TV commercials and movie trailers can reduce me to tears. When I hear Rascal Flatt's cover of Life is a Highway, I have a strong impulse to dance, but not just anywhere--in the kitchen...around the island...with my dog, Pepper, who has probably passed since marrying you. I cannot seem to finish a full glass of beer, even in good company for two hours, but can take my shots like a champion. Although, maybe with you I can, if drinks take longer than two hours and I am not driving. I have books coming out of my ears and continue to collect new ones, even before finishing the old ones. Do we have a library yet? And despite being an excessive introvert, I really do not know as often as I should when I should simply shut up and stop talking.<br />
<br />
You love me despite the fact that I know I have questioned it, like I am right now. You love me despite my frustration that the camera sees everything except for me the way I imagine God looks upon His creation. You love me despite the fact that I have been cynical about love and how people show it. Somehow you overcame my opinion of that in how you treated me. I wonder what it will be that makes how you and I relate different.<br />
<br />
You love me even though I oft communicate better in writing. We must have broken down major communication barriers or taken it slow enough that they simply stepped aside because we did not try to pummel through them. You love me enough not to have rushed me, I pray especially in the physical touch arena. I am skittish and frazzled now even thinking about it. You should use that to your teasing and flirtatious advantage.<br />
<br />
But you know what matters most about this quandary realizing this about your love for me? It exposes the fact that by even questioning the fact that you love me despite all my annoying little habits and married me in light of the little ticks and greatest flaws I have, how often have I disqualified God's own love for me on the same grounds? How often have I accepted the love I believe I deserve, not the love God tells me I deserve? Not the sacrificial love He has given me?<br />
<br />
If I have believed even your love impossible, what then, have I believed about the Father's love? I have not even married you yet...I do not even know if I know who you are and look at what you have taught me about love. Look at what our LORD revealed about Himself by means of a relationship I have yet to experience even a taste.<br />
<br />
Can you even imagine that love?<br />
<br />
In this moment, I finally see a glimpse of it.<br />
<br />
Yours,<br />
<br />
Alexsheridanalexishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08212126601667169712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2144207274434422990.post-13101005506139592512013-07-30T10:24:00.001-04:002013-07-30T10:24:06.256-04:00To Him...The very first time someone told me to sit down and write a letter to you, I was a sophomore at university. A girlfriend was explaining that writing things out, particularly stressors directly related to your presence or lack there of, would lessen the load. She has gone on to have a string of unhealthy and damaging relationships, so I don't put much stock in her formula for preparing for a husband. Yet, I cannot remember if I actually wrote one. I may have started it and never finished, long hand like it should be, in my crazy cursive handwriting that has been dubbed a crowning achievement of the left-handed populace by my discriminately right-handed handed social circle.<br />
<br />
I best apologize in advance for that, my left-handed orientation. Unless you find yourself of the same orientation, I will forever have to be on your left side, so as not to cause a conflict amongst opposing dominant genetics. As if that were not all you had to contend with, I am head-to-toe recessive genes: blue eyes, left-handed, and skin that burns so fast you would swear I was a ginger.<br />
<br />
All of the science aside, I should be honest with you, right? I marry you, therefore, this conversation is probably not uncommon, at least, I should hope not. Brutal honesty? From where I am sitting: you scare me half to death. And it is not that I do not want to be married to you, because I do. Just ask some of my girlfriends and they can attest to the fact that I have days where a man to put his arm around me and pull me close and a man to kiss sounds like the best thing this side of heaven.<br />
<br />
Those days are hard days.<br />
Those days make me question a lot.<br />
Why?<br />
<br />
It flies in the face of everything I have been taught in church. Respectable young ladies do not have such desires. Respectable young women keep their hands to themselves. Impeccably brought up young ladies do not flirt. I hope you are prepared for this mentality. I hope it does not intimidate you or come across as a lack of interest. What am I saying, it probably will. I have no idea how to communicate that affection.<br />
<br />
When I flirt, I do not even realize I am doing it until someone points it out. Which is perfectly acceptable, right, because I will have seduced you with my awkward. Physical touch of almost any kind, even the thought of it, makes me turn an unseen shade of red on the color spectrum. As of right now, I have never kissed anyone. Perhaps it is unrealistic, but I think it would be utterly fantastic if you were the only one I ever did. My cousin was lucky enough that her first kiss, at 22, was to the man she married the following spring. Which consequently, the thought of my first kiss makes my chest concave.<br />
<br />
You want to know something else? I really hope you like dumb jokes or, in the least, can tolerate them without rolling your eyes. I am sorry, you can blame a good man I know for that unleashing of character. Perhaps that is inconsequential, but somehow, humor is where people draw lines. I prefer to doodle on mine.<br />
<br />
But, all of this, centers around a single all-encompassing fear: messing it up with you. Saying or doing something wrong. Assuming instead of asking you. Cultivating a friendship that I then proceed to blow out of the water before anything can even progress because of an action, a word, a gesture that I said or did, or worse, failed to do. To be even more honest, I have no idea how our whole meeting, interaction, and relationship will work, let alone get off the ground. Is that a bad thing to say? You have to understand--the more I learn about relationships and marriage and guy/girl interactions, I find myself wondering how relationships begin at all.<br />
<br />
I know some great and Godly men who are single and it blows my mind because I do not understand how there is any of you left to chose from when there are so few available to begin. And I see the women of my generation and I see the Godly women and I see the women whose behavior would never have been tolerated in historical society and see how they are the first to go off the marriage market which leaves my head spinning. And then my married and engaged girlfriends tell me how my single status bewilders them because I am so funny, smart, beautiful, and Godly. High compliments for sure, but missing the point. That combination of characteristics does not guarantee me you, only a life in which I can live crazy dangerous and on the edge, if I were not so afraid.<br />
<br />
It all hinges on that: my fear. I hope when you enter my life, whether you are in it now or have yet to show, that you will challenge my fear and encourage the risk. And here is the linch pin, when you like me, I hope you would just say it. I would like to think that when that time comes, I will not be quite so fearful and that I would take the risk and the chance to tell you the same thing. I have never been able to say it before which everyone says is my problem--how can you act if you do not know.<br />
<br />
And if distance is a hinging factor, I apologize now. I keep bouncing back and forth between Colorado and Pittsburgh and the idea of moving to Portland or London for graduate school. Distance is rough and I am not one of its vehement champions because I desire spending time with people above everything else in my relationships. Emails and texts are wonderful, but so are phone calls and Skype. And despite even those forms of communication and technology, I do not like the notion that exists when friends or even you, would become this beautiful idea behind a computer screen.<br />
<br />
I do not want a beautiful idea.<br />
I want what is real.<br />
<br />
I know you scare the hell out me because I have never been so close with a man before.<br />
<br />
I know this makes me become flustered easily in my relationships with men because I am so bad at distinguishing what is innocent jokes from what is flirtatious.<br />
<br />
I know that it will take work and a lot of it, regardless of distance, whether there is a twenty minute drive or a twenty hour drive between the two of us.<br />
<br />
A good man I met this spring gives me hope for you because I know he would not cave in upon meeting my father. He may never meet him, but you will and until this spring, I was not sure men existed that my father would not laugh off his property. I now know one and you would make two. The numbers are climbing.<br />
<br />
Despite my fears predicated upon your existence, you need to remember only this one thing: I cannot wait to fall in love with you. I have waited twenty-two years and every day God has shown me ways in which I am getting stronger and in ways I am weak. I know I have days where I want you so bad my skin is the only thing stopping my body from going everywhere at once. I know it will not always be easy, but life, nor God, ever promises that.<br />
<br />
And here is the final thing you should know: I will keep waiting for you. My life is not on hold. I have not stopped living, but I have waited longer than culture has ever declared possible so that I am known fully only by you. It is a mystery I cannot wait to experience with you.<br />
<br />
Just know that.<br />
I have waited and am waiting.<br />
I may berate you severely if you take a decade to show, but I am here.<br />
I am not going anywhere.<br />
<br />
Yours,<br />
<br />
Alexsheridanalexishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08212126601667169712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2144207274434422990.post-21241551351783932062013-05-16T17:52:00.002-04:002013-05-16T17:57:08.065-04:00Promised vs. EngagedNote: The promise ring I reference in this writing is in reference to a place holder for an engagement ring, not the promise/purity ring worn to demonstrate sexual purity prior to marriage.<br />
<br />
<br />
Over the past few days my mom and I have had some interesting discussions involving this trend in relationships that I have noticed becoming pronounced amongst my friends. I do not know if anyone else is observing this particular phenomena amongst couples, especially Christian ones, but I find myself wary of the consequences it may bring. It is yet another affect of our dating relationships that I, personally, believe will prove more harmful than helpful. It grants the feeling of security and commitment when it, in actuality, puts full commitment on a stand still, satiating the feminine party and allowing the men to continue to build gumption enough to ask the all important question, on bended knee. It is a way to test the waters and suss out the possibility of rejection. It is the definition of actuarial science: probability, statistics, and assessment of risk. It is ridiculous. It is this idea of the "promise" ring, or in my family's derisive vocabulary "engaged to be engaged."<br />
<br />
Promise rings, historically, have been a tradition, possibly beginning as early as the Middle Ages. These rings were, generally, given from a man to a woman with whom express intention of marriage was being made, but the money to wed or the financial stability to keep a wife was lacking without a man's commission. Ability to wed was entirely financially driven and matches were often subject to the approval of family or wealthy patrons. No physical contact of any kind was allowed prior to the wedding and couples engaged to be married were under strict supervision, unlike today's relational culture. Promise rings, however, were a statement of engagement with the idea that a wedding ring or a wedding was the thing that could not be afforded.<br />
<br />
The trend I see amongst my friends and fellow believers, however, is a corruption of the original intention of the promise ring: its use a place holder for engagement, hence a ring stating we are engaged to be engaged. It is a ring that signifies that a man loves you and plans to marry you, but who has not yet proposed. It is something given, with the expectation of a proposal and proper ring soon to follow. That, right there, is the problem. It is commitment without commitment. It is the binding of yourself to another person, but not officially because he has not formally asked for your hand. It is an outrageous notion.<br />
<br />
I believe that this practice causes great harm. It leaves people in a state of waiting. I do not believe in waiting, unless it is a very good reason. I am sorry, but a man is not one of those good reasons. He can either propose and make it official to everyone that you ARE getting married or not. There should be no in between, no ring saying I am going to propose soon. No! You can propose or you can leave. Those should be the two choices. I am not suggesting that at the time he presents you with a promise ring you should leave him. I am saying that he needs to understand, upfront, that you have expectations and a promise ring is not one of them. You want a proposal, a wedding, and to be married...to him. A promise ring practically declares the inevitable, so I do not understand why it is in practice in the first place. Most of my friends who had promise rings got engaged within the following six months and are now married, others are expecting an engagement any week now. Why not just skip the promise ring all together?! If you know you're going to propose, spending money on a promise ring is uncalled for, I don't care if you believe it to be romantic.<br />
<br />
Ladies, do not compromise. I hate it when people say, "Ladies, don't settle." We all settle. Everyone settles. People that don't settle on one person are called man-whores or players or easy women. So telling us women not to settle for the best man is ridiculous. What we should be saying is DON'T COMPRISE. Do not you dare compromise your values or your beliefs or who you know yourself to be and what you want out of life. If you refuse to compromise, you will be able to settle down with a man who is at your level and you won't be "settling" for someone less. Time to remove that tired and treacherous statement from all vocabulary, particularly believers' conversations, once and for all.<br />
<br />
This is why I refuse to compromise on this notion of promised vs. engaged. Promised is now the precursor to engagement. It is an unnecessary and toxic middle step. You have to be able to move on with your life, to take the next step, especially because my friends, my age are marrying. We are still young, promise rings and the waiting for the proposal keep both parties stagnant. It lets men take more time. If they don't know if they are ready to marry when they offer you a promise ring, they should not be giving you one. That is why it is so damaging. It still gives him time to decide when to you that ring screams that he already knows and you have found your "One" (another myth I won't get into here).<br />
<br />
Do NOT compromise. Promise rings are silly. I believe they have two exceptions to their use and only two: #1) a military relationship, in which the boyfriend is deployed or #2) a relationship where distance outside of military deployment is an issue. In these circumstances I believe the ring should be one the man already owns, not one he purchased--that is an engagement ring--and that ring signifies, "I will come back for you." It is a promise to come back, not a promise of proposal.<br />
<br />
Promising to propose is hollow. Promising to marry is significant. You can begin making plans together, you can begin having those more difficult more intimate conversations. You can begin building a life in the same direction. A promise ring means none of that. Promises can be broken just like engagements are, but to treat a promise ring with equal weight of an engagement ring is treading water indefinitely. People have drowned for less. I don't want you to be one of them.<br />
<br />
I know I may have offended some of you, perhaps even more of you than I realize. I know I have some friends who are currently promised and waiting on their own proposals that may become quite upset at my words. I only say them because I love you and I have seen how we date and the damage it causes and how fallen we are and how we complicate relationships more than we have to. I think promise rings complicate relationships. They are meant to be temporary: the dog-tags given back to the sailor when his ship returns from sea; the ring given back to the man who travelled abroad for six months for work or school or adventure but came back to pursue you, like he promised. He kept his promise it is time to move forward.<br />
<br />
Perhaps together, perhaps apart.<br />
<br />
But, you have to move forward. You have to keep living your life. You cannot spend it waiting. If you spend your life waiting without owning your expectations, I fear you will always be waiting. I want you to chase the life God has planned for you and I want you to run wild within the boundaries of that, with faith like a child and an awe and wonder that is so often lost as we get older. I want you to find someone who can run wild with you, who can pursue their own calling while supporting yours and you supporting theirs. I want you to experience sacrificial love, but not like this. Not by sacrificing on the words and glitter of a promise. Sacrificial love is a vow, overcome by death, hardened in the line of failure, and ultimately triumphant. It does not fear the peaks or valleys. It steps out in faith, in courage, in union.<br />
<br />
Do not compromise. Do not lose yourself waiting for the proposal and planning your future around that expectation. Live the life God gave you and continue to live it with the person you love, the person who makes you laugh, the person who believes in you and what God has set in place for you, the person who makes you feel most like yourself, the person who reveals yet another side of God you may not have seen without them.<br />
<br />
Keep focus on the vow, it protects its promises.<br />
<br />
Expect a man to own to it.<br />
<br />
Allow God to protect you from the ones that won't, until He introduces the one that will.<br />
<br />
Protect your hearts, sisters. For the heart is a muscle and therefore, cannot be broken, but crushed.<br />
<br />
A worthy man will ask on bended knee, not give a promise stating his intent to do so.<br />
<br />
Untangle the deceptions. Lighten the burden. Increase communication. Lessen the heartache.<br />
<br />
Never forget He loved you first. Never forget His love is perfect. Never forget you belong to Him.sheridanalexishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08212126601667169712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2144207274434422990.post-56205538861458898032013-05-09T02:58:00.001-04:002013-05-16T11:57:13.855-04:00You're a Virgin?! Why?My first exposure to the notion that I was sheltered came my freshman year of high school. Not only had my family moved 3/4 the way across the country (Washington to Pennsylvania), but I was contending with high school students I did not know how to handle. I was the oddity, that girl that had moved seven times. "Is your father military?" is always the question I get, even now at 22 years old. Families do not tend to move around a lot, at least not the ones I now found myself immersed in. It was the opposite of families I was raised with.<br />
<br />
My father works in nuclear waste clean-up and nuclear power plant construction--when one job is done it is on to the next. The average is about two and a half years, three is we're lucky. The fact that we have had the same Pennsylvania address for eight years is outrageous. Perhaps I should insert a caveat with that: it is not for lack of trying. We were supposed to move after I graduated high school, but that never happened and I returned to Colorado for three years of university after having resided there a decade previously. My most complete memories begin with the three and a half years of my life in the Rockies.<br />
<br />
The commonwealth of Pennsylvania, however, is structured differently, especially my regionally famous high school, which I hated for the first two years of attendance. I was picked on for being the ferocious animal rights activist (yes, I was that girl...) as classmates placed pictures of butchered wolves in my notebooks and slaughtered horses in my textbooks. I gained my first non-familialy designated nickname, because I don't know you well enough to tell you those (and if I do, we'll talk sometime): freshman. The junior and senior girls on my bus called me that. So did one of the theater girls.<br />
<br />
My parents sounded overbearing to all of them. I never went to parties. I left Washington without telling this one basketball player that I "liked" him and did not call him when he wrote his number in my yearbook the week prior to my cross-country jaunt. I never did drugs or smoked (my father threatened to disinherit me if I did). I never swore worse than utilizing "crap." Outside of a sip of Budweiser at six (disgusting, my father declared he would never have to worry about me in high school), some Don Pérignon for finishing unpacking our house in PA, and a taste of peach schnapps my father poured into his orange juice at dinner one night my junior year, my first experience with alcohol was on my 21st birthday, which left some people I attended Christian university with, mystified. I had never slept with a boy, let alone kissed one, which has not changed.<br />
<br />
The girls called me "freshman" because I had freshman morals. I did not do anything I was suppose to do in high school, like rebel. Clearly, these girls did not understand my idea of rebellion. Moving all over growing up makes running away appealing--rebelling is not always sex, drugs, and rock n' roll. As these girls graduated, however, their conversations grew distant. I disliked their stories of hooking up with their brother's roommate when they drove up for a weekend visitation at his college (what they did not realize is that his brother's roommate or friend won't exist like that if he ever finds out). I disliked hearing how not being easy made me worth less, that my lack of experience defined me.<br />
<br />
It was never a difficult decision for me growing up. My cousin had a promise ring, vowing her virginity until marriage and I grew up respecting her approach to men, even the confidence she possessed in telling some guys to walk on because they made her sick. She married when I was in middle school and her fiancé said that in the weeks leading up to the wedding he grew anxious because he wanted nothing more than to remove her promise ring and hurl it at the wall across their honeymoon suite. As I am now a decade older than I was then, I can say that I greatly appreciate that imagery and would very much like my husband one day to actually do something similarly dramatic in deed and not just in word. I would, however, like my ring back, so it cannot go down a drain or out a window or get fed to the dog.<br />
<br />
The first, outright, challenge to my promise ring (which is a classic silver band on my left ring finger) came the summer after my sophomore year. It was during a poetry seminar at a two-week writing institute I attended every summer. The only guy in my group brought up my ring and I explained that it was my promise to God, myself, my parents, and my (future) husband, that I will only sleep with him when we are married. Immediately, he declared my promise unrealistic and impossible to achieve so it was a waste of my time even attempting such a feat. "You won't make it to the alter a virgin," he insisted. "It cannot be done." I explained that my cousin had and she was happily married. He brushed it off, "She must have lied. No one can do it." The conversation spiraled from there. One of my friends tried to defend, explaining that it was my choice and she found it admirable I stood up for it. He would have none of it, "Even if you date a super duper Christian guy, you won't make it." Even looking back on that conversation from six years ago, I firmly believe he won our argument, even if he truly didn't. I viewed it as a loss because no matter what I had said, his opinion never changed. He called me crazy and fool-hardy and said he won't be surprised when I have multiple partners before getting married. I climbed into my mom's car twenty minutes later crying. I had never defended my purity before and I believed I had been steamrolled.<br />
<br />
I have gotten a lot better since then. I have friends that believe the same as I do and we encourage one another. I have met many stand-up men, both Christian and non, and my faith is not utterly shattered by these conversations that whomever I marry will expect more of me than what I am prepared to give. As one of my favorite abstinence speakers said, "No ringy, no dingy." I cannot help but laugh at the crass, but utter truth of that statement. Just because I have found a solid foundation does not mean my views go unchallenged. In Christian circles, the perception is married or virgin upon sight of my ring, a quick question eliminates the first option. In non-Christain circles, the assumption is engaged or married, followed by shock at the actual meaning, often genuine confusion.<br />
<br />
Back in the fall I had a conversation with a coworker, a man who perceives himself as God's gift to women physically and in all aspects of the bedroom because he is adventurous. You do with that information what you will, I am not elaborating more than that. He asked about my ring and I explained, which some people think is my first mistake, but I am not ashamed of what it stands for. If men know upfront they are either going to respect my decision or be completely bitter. It narrows down your options, and trust me, what you have left is where you should be looking in the first place. He asked why, outside of my faith, what practical reason could possibly exist for such an exception. The basis of his logical argument was this, "If you don't sleep with a man before you marry him, how will you know if he's bad in bed? You're just setting yourself up for lousy sex the rest of your marriage. That's why us atheists introduce sex into relationships (pardon his sweeping generalization that all non-believers are loose). We want to make sure we're compatible before we make a larger commitment to each other." Clearly, his interaction with virgins are limited, if not singular to me. My only rebuttal to this flawed argument, "If I have never slept with any man, but my husband, how would I know he's bad in bed? I would have no one to compare him to. And besides, isn't that a piece of the fun of being married? Even if it is, what you call "bad sex," it won't stay that way. Trust me."<br />
<br />
Regardless of the fact that when I work with him he still seems unsure what exactly to do with me, since he cannot talk about his sexual exploits, his opinion on the matter has not changed. Neither has mine. So, to answer everyones' questions: Yes, I am a virgin. Yes, I am proud of that. No, you will not be able to change my mind. Is there fear associated with my honeymoon? Of course, but I have also never had a serious relationship (or really even a non-serious one) and if I were dating the man I am to marry, I trust that God will grant me serenity. I have been told that security like that overcomes fears we cannot even imagine living without. Is it a struggle? For me, a lot of time, no, but other times the worry over whether or not I will die a virgin overwhelms me. It is irrational, but I don't think I want to leave this earth without experiencing the most original human bond created by God. To say that I would feel cheated, even at 22, is an understatement.<br />
<br />
And yes, some days the thought of sleeping with a guy sounds wonderful, I admit it, freely. I'm not perfect. I don't want you to think I'm this unblemished little flower. I find men attractive and thereby, distracting, just like any other woman. But it is a constant reminding and realigning of the goal: unity in marriage, without intrusion. Honor to God and my parents because I had the courage to stand up to everyone who said I'm crazy, that it's impossible for me to make it to the alter a virgin, and that even dating a wonderful Christian man is not enough.<br />
<br />
And now, six years later, I understand the flaw in my very first conflict over purity. Everything he said reflected human will-power and self-control. We have them and demonstrate these skills, but they are intrinsically corrupted. I understand that I cannot do this alone. I understand that this is something I share with Deus. I understand that the support of my friends and family, including men, makes all the difference.<br />
<br />
What you need to understand is that my decision is none of your concern. That was my mistake: believing that he had won an argument that he had no stake in. He just wants to see me fail.<br />
<br />
When you have some stake in my purity, you can come and talk, but otherwise, you can stop asking, "Why?" It's a tired question and I will give you the same answer every time because, in the end, it is between me and God, it has never been between me and you anyway.sheridanalexishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08212126601667169712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2144207274434422990.post-40331047654285305352013-05-08T23:52:00.001-04:002013-05-08T23:52:20.080-04:00When Words Fail
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">“And without faith it is
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he exists and that he rewards those who seek him.” Hebrews 11:6<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">It was the spring of my
sophomore year and I spent a lot of time in the secretary’s office at my
college. She had an incredible sense of humor and she made everyone feel
lighter, even when the burdens of life weighed us down. She was my sounding
board and I discussed everything with her. Her interns always chimed in with
their thoughts and perspectives. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">On this particular day, I was
asking for advice on my testimony. I had never formally shared it and now the
group I met with once a week had asked me to be the testimony of the night. I
did not know where to begin. Should I give a quick overview of my life and then
testify from my current struggles and how my youth leader’s suicide had quickly
unraveled the people around me? Or, should I talk about my life more whole
picture? I was at a loss.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">One of the interns looked at
me and offered, “Well, Sheridan, you could do that, but you could start at your
conversion moment too. That way everyone understands how you came to Christ and
you can proceed from a common ground.” Unfortunately for her, I do not have a
conversion moment. I was raised in the Church and do not remember a time where
I did not know Christ as Savior and Son of God. My faith has grown more
personal since high school, but I have never not believed. It was half the
reason I was struggling, I did not know where to start. The secretary made some
suggestions, but her intern appeared dumbfounded. The only thing she said, “I’m
sorry, Sheridan, but I think it’s kind of sad you don’t have a conversion
story.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Words. Spoken in that moment.
Destructive. Words--fallen just like our nature. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Language is one of the most
powerful tools we possess as humans. It enables us to communicate with one
another across unspeakable barriers. Words, though, have this double-edged
tendency to be both our greatest achievement and our greatest downfall. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">One simple statement, spoken
without malice, passed judgment on my worthiness to offer my testimony, but
further than that, questioned my salvation and faith in Christ. Granted, she
may never have intended for me to feel that way, but the way it was spoken—with
shock and pity—communicated these things. We can never judge someone’s faith by
the existence of a conversion story--many may not have one. Belittling the
value of my testimony because I have never slept around or done drugs, waited
to drink until I was 21, and do not remember a defining moment where I did not
have God and now do, is a disservice to the stories I have within me. Whether
or not someone’s faith story pleases you is not the issue, the issue is do you
recognize God’s fingerprints in the faith they have?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS 明朝"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;"><br clear="all" style="mso-break-type: section-break; page-break-before: auto;" />
</span>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">~Prayer from St. Augustine of
Hippo~<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">O Lord my God, I believe in
you, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Insofar as I can, insofar as you have given
me the power, I have sought you. I became weary and I labored. O Lord my
God, my sole hope, help me to believe and never to cease seeking you. Grant
that I may always and ardently seek out your countenance. Give me the strength
to seek you, for you help me to find you and you have more and more given me
the hope of finding you. Here I am before you with my firmness and my
infirmity. Preserve the first and heal the second. Here I am before you with my
strength and my ignorance. Where you have opened the door to me, welcome me at
the entrance; where you have closed the door to me, open to my cry; enable me
to remember you, to understand you, and to love you. Amen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->sheridanalexishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08212126601667169712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2144207274434422990.post-11250524337116361682013-04-29T01:01:00.002-04:002013-07-22T02:32:23.639-04:00...How Writing Can Quench Your Soul...I do not believe many, if any, of you know this, but, I absolutely HATE writing. It is one of the most soul twisting, heart crushing, and convicting things I do when the need arises. And let me tell you what this need feels like: words may spill from my pores, glands, and finger tips, leaving me with the appearance of an Ebola victim if I do not put pen to paper or hands to keys. It is the complete opposite of what my promise ring signifies--it cannot be repressed, held in check, or subjected to self-control.<br />
<br />
There is one definitive reason why not writing may, in fact, concave my chest: I was born to do it.<br />
<br />
There. I said it. I have readily admitted it. As much as I despise the agony writing puts me in, because it forces me to confront things about myself that I never told counselors for my three years in Colorado. It puts my strengths and heroic flaws all out on the table. It demonstrates how humans experience the Seven Deadly Sins, although I believe there to be many more. My written words can tell you my feelings, my thoughts, my horrors and nightmares, my dreams, my longings, my wounds, my assaults, my struggles, my failures, my triumphs...<br />
<br />
I suppose that sounds odd, hearing a writer say how much they hate writing. It is strange to hear a writer that purely enjoys it and writes from that. I do not believe those writers exist anymore, and if they do, they will not for long. Writers like that do not write things that publish. Writers like that write things that only friends and family read and that is rarely the goal of a writer. Writers are tortured individuals. Pull any book you can think of off the shelf and I will tell you what the writer has experienced of piece of in their life: it's all in the words they pressed to the page.<br />
<br />
J.K. Rowling says it all the time.<br />
<br />
Professors of writing say it all the time.<br />
<br />
No wonder editors drink when they read the things we submit.<br />
<br />
I am not suggesting that writers, however, are joyless people, because we are not. Our gift, and our curse, is that we feel things deeper than most people do. We have the ability, by talent and extensive refining, to take those circumstances and make you feel them too. If I write from a place of despair, you will be in it with me--I've done it before. If it is a place of hope, you will root for me.<br />
<br />
Writers understand what C.S. Lewis meant by the "weight of glory." He may have been addressing believers, but only writers understand the imperative in his word choice. Now, I am not a seasoned athlete. Yes, I did basketball and soccer when I was younger and flirted with the idea of volleyball in middle school, but those quickly evaporated. I started running in college. Here is what I mean: I run because I love it, but also because I hate it. I hate how I feel when I am not running, which has been months now. I am on a low, stagnant. And then I run. I also lack discipline, which I am struggling towards gaining more of each day, but training takes discipline. Your body takes discipline, not punishment. "Weight" is innately heavy, usually a multiple person job, yet Atlas held the Heavens ("Glory") on his back, not out of discipline because he thought bench-pressing Heaven was good training, but out of punishment. He alone. And "Glory." Our light, our goodness, all mixed in with our failures and their shadows. Glory encompasses all of that. How much do you believe you weigh now? How much do you think the person next to you weighs? Would it be easier if you helped them and they helped you? And a third person helped you two in return? And a fourth? Weight of Glory. Powerful words, but could you just believe that? It is hard to do--doubt is part of our weight.<br />
<br />
I opened with how much I hate writing. Yet, I followed by saying if I did not write, I may spontaneously combust. Somehow, I have managed to not do that for two and a half years. That is how long I have hated writing and refused to write.<br />
<br />
You have to understand: I grew up writing. Evergreen, Colorado, grade school. Pages and pages of spare paper gone each day because I was concocting this great epic that unfolded in Elk Meadow behind my house. It involved wild horses. At eight years old, they are the most important. In middle school, I had binders full of story ideas and began the layout of my first novel. I have rewritten the first 150 pages seven times since then. It may never be finished.<br />
<br />
As a high school freshman, we had to write a story about moving west. My group helped me brainstorm, outline, plot, and provided character names. I spent two days in my room generating a fourteen page masterpiece that was turned in on Monday. My senior year, I took three english classes and wrote a twenty-two page short story involving the origins of werewolves in Minnesota from their "Weird" states book. In college, I rolled in declared as an English Literature major with an emphasis in Creative Writing. A novel was in my future.<br />
<br />
Sophomore year, writing crushed my heart and shattered my soul. I poured out every piece of myself into all short story, poem, and nonfiction prompts handed my way. My professor told me she believed I had been told my entire life that I was a good writer. Yes, it is true. People have said that about me my whole life.<br />
<br />
Well, she said, it is time that stopped because you have a lot to learn.<br />
<br />
Insert knife into my aorta and twist. I bled to death that fall semester. By December, I had submitted for a change of major to history and have not looked back, until now, this year.<br />
<br />
Every once and a while I will hear a story of a writer that burned out. The longer they wrote, the less profound they became. The more dry they became. It was clear they should probably stop writing for a time. Renew. Refresh. Restart. Writers cannot just stop.<br />
<br />
But that is exactly what I did. I stopped writing. I stopped taking literature classes. Every time I thought about writing, I panicked. No story ideas came to me. No new characters names that I could spend hours mapping--ask my father's secretaries, I spent a whole afternoon with post-it notes creating a world and its operational government on one of their empty walls as a high school junior. Everything about it stopped. It was then I believed the greatest lie: I have nothing left to say. That was how I felt. I believed I had said everything there was to say and I was a desert now. No life, just prickly fauna.<br />
<br />
Until one year ago, I took my final writing class at my Christian college: Christian Writers. Until last semester when I signed up for Travel Writing because I had room in my schedule. Until three weeks ago, when I would ordinarily find something humorous or convicting I had learned once every few months to share, but now, I have stories pouring from me because of things that had happened at my best friend's wedding.<br />
<br />
I can tell you about dialogue surrounding a steamer. I can express the importance of birth control pills and the effect their loss poses to a honeymoon. I am still trying to find a better way to say that I met a man that is 6'8" but have yet to formulate that one.<br />
<br />
A lot has changed since I wrote about my conversation with the military recruiter. I have decided it would take a miracle for me to accept an offer from any branch of service. I have decided within the last week that a history Masters is probably not in my future. I have admitted that I am a writer and by putting fingers to keys have declared myself liberated from the poison that shattered me two and a half years ago. I am telling you that I am going to get my Master's in English Writing: Book Publishing and I will run over you with my father's Corvette if you try to stop me. I am writing to say that as I have journaled sporadically over the past year, even in the past six months, my view has shifted.<br />
<br />
I have struggled with being single because a lot of my friends are not. But my friend's wedding taught me that I cannot be self-conscious about being single because you cannot be free with others if you are trapped in yourself and worried about what a smile here or a wink there means.<br />
<br />
I have learned that imprisoning yourself within other people's expectations or limitations of your abilities will slowly strangle you into sacrificing the truest pieces of yourself. Yes, I love history, but I know it was not what I was meant to do. Yes, I love Rome and Latin, but I love Literature and Writing and what words produce and I can no longer trade on that.<br />
<br />
I understand what it means to be attacked, to be judged, because I have both attacked and judged others. I know intimately the details of being a hypocrite. I believe in beautiful sights and scenes and believe there are two ways to get there: writing and photography.<br />
<br />
Quintessentially, I have regained my childhood. Yes, as much as I say I hate writing, there is something that has not changed, my LOVE of the written word and languages and how no matter where we are from photographs, writing, and music, they all convey the same emotions across unimaginable barriers.<br />
<br />
Eugene Delacroix once expressed this simply, "What moves those of genius, what inspires their work, is not new ideas, but their obsession with the idea that what has already been said is still not enough."<br />
<br />
For the past two years I thought I had said enough. That my soul had uttered its last written syllable. But the amazing thing is, regardless of whether you believe you possess a talent or a divinely inspired gift, as I do, a soul that writes will mend itself. It may take two years or twenty years and it may take you months of stilted structure and frustrating typos to regain momentum, but your soul will mend itself and in the process you will learn to forgive those who inflicted wounds on you. Writing will be the way you cope, how you express your anger and distrust, how you express your love for your family or that one person.<br />
<br />
Words can be a grand gesture. You just have to take the initiative.<br />
<br />
And sometimes remembering the eight year old little girl, the one in the pink stripe shirt you swear you would never be caught dead in now. Perhaps remembering her, with her back pressed against a glass aquarium pane, her messy curls spilling over her shoulders, and seeing a tuxedoed whale swimming behind her, a goofy grin plastered all over her face--seeing her and believing that as she stands separated mere inches from one of her inspirations growing up--that she knew, even then, that words and not the water were where she belonged.sheridanalexishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08212126601667169712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2144207274434422990.post-64717374197487171892013-03-08T19:50:00.002-05:002013-04-29T02:50:57.261-04:00Everyone Needs to Hear this Story..."Everyone needs to hear this story," is what she told me. I was not so sure. I knew it had confirmed my personal beliefs and given due process to a constant struggle, but I was not so sure why she thought I should share it with the world. "Because," she pressed, "people need to know that the military lets you do that."<br />
<br />
"I don't think they publicize that for a reason, sweetie." I was convinced she was missing the point. I had told her the story because there is not much I can hide from my best friend and because I value her opinion and input on the decisions I weigh in my life, especially in regards to future jobs in the military as opposed to graduate school back in Denver, where she is. She is also one of two ladies I count as a sister.<br />
<br />
I suppose, in true scope, she would be an older sister, despite the fact she is barely four months my senior, but she has been married for almost a year now and I am as single as M.C. Hammer's one hit wonder, Can't Touch This. The girl I count as my younger sister could actually be my younger sister, two years authentically, but wired to play soccer like few I have seen. I remember her family called her Smiley when we were younger. I do not believe that has changed.<br />
<br />
"Sheridan, honestly, you have to tell people. It is the <i>best</i> story." Red can sure be persistent, fiery and protective as her hair color might suggest. Something people chalk up to personalities of a true red head, only her in-laws were devastated to learn her hair color came from a salon and not genetics. I believe a sadness over no red-haired children was an immediate point of discussion.<br />
<br />
"What should I tell them, exactly? Broaching the topic of my complete and utter virgin status is not something that comes up in everyday conversation."<br />
<br />
"You still have to tell everyone."<br />
<br />
I have thought about it at length and decided, on the side of discretion, that this story may offer encouragement to other girls out there who find themselves in a similar position: twenty-two, virgin, single, with friends around them dropping like flies into marriage and parenthood. At least, that is how it feels to me. But perhaps my plethora of married friends makes me feel more secluded and at odds with the group ratio than I actually am.<br />
<br />
Let me explain and perhaps then you will understand why my best girlfriend just about died laughing on the phone Monday evening. I am in what could be my last full-time semester as an undergraduate. I am slated to only be taking two classes in the fall, but may take four, just so my student loans do not kick in until next July--an ability to pay student loans is important and six months of saving will ensure that. Yet, as many college students who find themselves holding worthless degrees without advanced accreditation as I do, even from a university as well respected nationally as Pittsburgh, panic as graduation in December rolls progressively closer sets in and our mind, or mine, went into overdrive last month. I did something probably certifiable and almost downright insane: I contacted a military recruiter about their officer programs.<br />
<br />
My father is retired military and is quite proud of his education at the best military university in the nation, in his Class of '76 opinion, and I thought of all the branches, having been raised by a captain, his branch would be my branch. There are things the military can teach me that I can no longer learn at home or would have to work extremely hard to achieve independently and the job security seems very promising. However, I am not as sold on it as I was two weeks ago. Two weeks ago, I was ready to sign on the dotted line and be completely done with it and not have to worry about what I was doing when finals finished in December, it would be sorted. Now, chasing down my options, I am not sure the military is where I am best suited, despite the fact that I would do well in a military structure.<br />
<br />
However, for the sake of making you laugh and feel uncomfortable at the same time, I would like to convey this one jewel in my two hour conversation with the officer recruiter, who I would guess is in his middle thirties. When you go and speak with the recruiter for the first time, you fill out all the medical history forms, sign a waiver swearing you won't get a tattoo between now and when you are assigned to a fleet, amongst other things. One of the last things we discussed was when I handed him one of the final papers and he noticed my ring, left hand, fourth finger in. It is the ring I refer to lovingly as my placeholder, because the ring finger, left hand, fourth finger is where an engagement ring and then a wedding band goes and my silver band finally comes off, signifying that I am free to sleep with the man who said, I do, as often as I want. Sounds liberating to me, and slightly foolish to most others, but I am okay with this. A purity ring, or a promise ring as I called it growing up, signified a promise and I am not intent on breaking it.<br />
<br />
Despite the best intentions presented by the ring, whether is scares men from speaking to me fearing a lurking husband or fiancé, or mystifying to others, it almost never leaves my finger, except when I am doing dishes, and sometimes not even then. This ring, though, has a knack for drawing attention to itself, which is fascinating in the fact that it is a plain sterling silver band, there is nothing attention seeking about it. It is simple, understated, and classic and excellent quality for how it it cost. Somehow, though, upon seeing this band, the first question that escapes anyones' mouth is, "Are you married?" To which the answer is, "No." Some people move on, most to do not, they puzzle over it, and other immediately get to the point and ask, "Why the ring, then?" And from there I get to explain that it means that the only person I will ever share a bed with is the man I marry, after we are married. The usual response is derision at such an austere goal, often dismissing it as an impossible feat. Sorry, someone told me that five years ago and here I am, status intact. This time, however, it prompted a different discussion all together, and one of the most confirming moments I have had in the past four years.<br />
<br />
"I am now going to ask you a very awkward question, Sheridan, but since there are other sailors present it won't be quite as bad as it could be." I nodded. I transferred from a small Christian college in the Denver suburbs, I doubted there was anything he could say that I would construe as awkward. I spent one semester last year living with my engagement-wedding-child obsessed roommate, who took Human Sexuality as one of her fall courses and gave us answers to questions I never would have asked to in the beginning--there is very little he could surprise me with. "Have you ever had a PAP smear?"<br />
<br />
And instantly, he proved me wrong. I never had discussed anything about visiting OB/GYNs, ever. I shook my head. The thought that men and women do that for a living makes my stomach twist, you should know that, but also because all my girlfriends, most of them never saw such a doctor until they were engaged. Shoot, military medical exams, apparently I am not to be so lucky. "The reason I ask is because, it takes a while to get those results back, which make them a pain to wait for and they tend to slow down the application process. I am telling you this because of what you are saying that ring means, that you can sign a form swearing you have never engaged in sexual intercourse and therefore waive the application requirement of having that particular procedure done. It speeds up your application exponentially."<br />
<br />
I could not help but smile and tell him I would sign whatever form he wanted. I am prepared swear to the United States government that my promise of purity is legitimate. As if choosing this for myself, in full devotion to the expectations laid out by our Lord and Savior, with my parents' full support, was not affirming enough, the United States military was now saying that I was swearing to them that I was not lying. Perjure yourself to the military and you might as well kiss that career path goodbye.<br />
<br />
That is what Red meant when she laughed and yelled, "Everyone needs to hear this story!" She was blown away by the fact that the military had a form where virgins could sign their name, swearing their purity. I was more surprised by my recruiter saying that I was the first person he had ever been able to say that to. Affirmation, right there. Living proof that I have gumption.<br />
<br />
So, now you know what the story is, and I hope the part you take away is not that the military has a form that allows you to circumvent medical procedures, however convenient that may be, but the fact that such a form exists means there is faith held within humanity something so special is worth waiting for and that, in the years my recruiter has served, I am the only person he has ever been able to say that to. I am telling you this so that it might feel like he has said it to all of you, who waiting for the white dress, and the anxiety and nervousness that comes from knowing you have never been with anyone else, but also the anticipation that exists in conjunction with that.<br />
<br />
Whether you have never been with anyone or multiple someones, though, you should never made to feel belittled for that. Humanity cannot determine grace, that is up to the LORD alone. Take heart sisters, for although we may not see it, there are brothers in Christ struggling alongside us.sheridanalexishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08212126601667169712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2144207274434422990.post-84969299699305740382012-10-30T12:14:00.001-04:002012-10-30T12:14:22.594-04:00We Need a Transformation
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<span style="color: white;">Millennials, Generation Y, the Lost Generation are all phrases
that have been used to describe the peer group I was born into. Not only are we
more likely to be liberal in our political and lifestyle views, but we are more
likely to subscribe to no particular foundation of belief, instead taking
pieces from each religion that we find suit us and creating our own. Yet,
smaller, within the Christian peers I found that people are anxious for a
transformation, for a revival to sweep not only through the ranks of believers,
but beyond us through the whole world. My generation desperately needs leaders
who are willing to push the boundaries of what churches are doing now. We need
women who are not afraid to confront us about where we find our worth, value,
and integrity. We need men who challenge us to be strong, independent,
respectful, and fiercely unashamed of our beauty. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white;">I have wrestled and seen my
sisters struggle as we move through life with just where we fit. Are we the
pretty one? The athletic one? The smart one? The married one? There are
speakers out there challenging men to overcome this passive view towards God,
women, and relationships, but what about us? We have become dominant in
relationships, usurping the role of men. We do not understand what healthy
balance consists of as we are told you have to look here, but still have enough
energy and heart to pour yourself out over there. Our footing with God is
constantly in flux, our personal battles take a toll on how we believe God
looks at us. Over half my friends are married, does God favor them more? I
transferred from an academically competitive university to one nationally
recognized for its prestige, have I failed God by doing so? I can no longer see
where God’s stamp on my life has been and where my own missteps have occurred because
I’m so busy worrying about what everyone thinks of my actions. We need a
transformation that yells in our face, “Stop! You believe, but He will help
your unbelief.” It takes a lot to be still and know that He is God, but it is
time to make the noise cease. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white;">It is time to fight from the darkness for the light.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white;"><b>lux ex tenebris invictus</b>...<i>light triumphs out of darkness</i>...</span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />sheridanalexishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08212126601667169712noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2144207274434422990.post-66043567565988572732012-09-21T00:39:00.004-04:002012-10-10T23:02:22.455-04:00On Your Graduation...<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Hello Beautiful!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It's Christmas 2013 where you are now and you have finished your undergraduate studies in history. You probably have an idea of where you're going next, whether it is graduate school or an internship or a job. It is hard for me to imagine what that will feel like, knowing that a few months ago I would be done three months from now and trading it all in to regain a piece of our life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">We made the decision to change schools did we not? I hope it was still the right thing to do. I hope one year from now I am not graduating from a different school than the one I am at now. What would that say about my, our, decision making process, huh? The funny thing is, I don't know where else you would go. You were in Colorado just at the beginning of the month and your old university has moved on without you, like you blew away with the sage-brush, just like you insisted would happen. People do not believe you like they should. A handful of people still keep up with you, others are too hurt or do not care anymore, or never did. You probably still do not know the answer to that either.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I hope, fifteen months from now, when you find this letter and reread it, you are in a happier place than I am right now. That you are in a better place physically, meaning you can kick some literal ass; that you are in a better place spiritually, since neither university or home seem to pull you from the stagnant; that you are in a better place mentally, not double-guessing yourself or plagued with so much fear.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Tonight I am not feeling well. It appears to be a developing sinus infection, with an already impressive cough, we could skip infection and go straight to bronchitis if we're lucky, that's where the good meds are. But it is more than that. It always is.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Tonight I am mad at a guy, jealous of a girl, but predominantly angry at myself for doing it again. You know what I mean (we have to work on that). You stamped his opinion card a bit too early. You let yourself think, despite your conscience whispering, "Be careful," that just maybe the drop of interest he had displayed, the chemistry you possessed would be something. It, clearly, is not. He has chosen the other girl, hasn't he? And I am so, just, annoyed at him for it. The kind of annoyed where they say something and you just laugh, knowing anything else is too painful and imagine running him down with your car. It is the kind of jealousy that makes you not want to like her, even though you don't know her really well and you have no reason to dislike her. She has never been anything but nice to you. But it is the anger at myself for thinking, that just maybe, this one would be different. This is the guy; the smart, charming, intelligent, Christ-oriented guy that was going to look at me and say, "Her." He may not have been THE guy, but he could have been a good beginning.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">But he is not either the first or the last one, is he...and I am frustrated. I do not know what your life looks like right now, a newly minted, degree-possessing graduate. I do not know if we have someone special in our lives. It is entirely probable, but I am banking on the assumption that this is unlikely. I suspect that your time between school, church, and work has convinced you of three things: that men are gay, taken, and the single ones are dead. That is how I feel right now. Which is a rotten way to feel, in case you do not remember at Christmas. And it is not the way God intended us to feel either.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">So, I have come up with a list of things that I am starting now, this week, the moment I awaken in the morning, because things have to change or disaster will strike. I hope that when you are reading this, you can that you have done most, if not all of these things and are working on finishing the list before you're twenty-five.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">1. I hope you are able to look at yourself every day and believe, down to your soul that you are beautiful. To believe that God loves you as his daughter, something you have professed for years, but are no longer sure what that means right now. To have confidence in what you have done with your life and for yourself and nobody else.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">2. I hope you are healthy, physically. That you have an understanding of what makes you sick and how you can remain healthier for longer; limiting your flares and your trips to the hospital for ER grade migraine treatment or medication because eating anything makes you sick and lose weight, and not because you did P90X for five days straight.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">3. That you have maintained the friendships that matter to you, completely severed the ones that do not, and found the courage to decide for yourself whether someone is worth the heartache or deserves a good lashing. I pray that at least one friend from Colorado has flown out to see you, and if they haven't, that your graduation party they would not miss for the world.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">4. That you will board a plane soon that takes you to exotic locations, for thirty days, where you run around Europe and see life beyond the small town you returned to.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">5. I pray that the courage exists inside you to leave when it is time to leave. I know that we came back to Pittsburgh to settle and stay here and perhaps, that is what will be for a few years or perhaps, Pittsburgh will always be home base, but promise that you have worked on your fear of going somewhere on your own, where you know a few or no one, even if it is not Littleton, Colorado.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">6. I pray that you have worked on your mental health, that these hard days do not overwhelm you like they overwhelm me now. That dangerous thoughts are behind you, that you are reading this letter and it finds you unable to recognize the tear-stained cheeks of the you who wrote it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">7. And, despite it not being an even number, but the perfect number, I pray that you know love. Even if it is not in the way you are hurting for it now. While that love is wonderful, it is short compared to eternal love and the love of those who are there for you now. I pray that you continue to pursue different people who intrigue at an alarming rate, especially the woman you are jealous of and the man that is good for her. You can learn a lot from her, I know you know that, and that you support her own walk when it comes time. And that you know and understand that he is not going to wake up one morning and realize you are what he is missing. Life does not work that way. Romance, while the gesture is wonderful, occurs within the ordinary and you have fallen pray to assigning it extraordinary terms. You deserve those terms, but maybe not in the way you thought we would see it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">He already offers you an extraordinary love. He has always offered it to you. He died so that you might come be with Him. Live with Him. Follow Him. Trust Him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It is hard, I am not going to lie. I am sure the trials you have faced are greater than my own at this writing, which is hard to imagine. But, our friend is right, we cannot resign, no matter how wonderful a cave sounds, we are too tough. I am too tough. You are too tough. Remember that. We have been through so much worse than this. Loss has its minor forms and major forms, life has its sharps and flats, music crescendos and cannot hold indefinitely.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Make me another promise, when you find this and read it in a year, that you will read it out loud and read everything you have written since this point back to me. I want to hear how your story turns out so far because it is no where close to the end. I want to hear all your bad days. I want you to find someone to share them with and be very honest. I want you to believe that you are loved and visible, I do not care if you have to tattoo something in your skin to remind yourself.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Promise me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">For Him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">For You.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It was never between you and them, it was between you and Him anyway.</span>sheridanalexishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08212126601667169712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2144207274434422990.post-4663935179451202992012-07-22T06:25:00.002-04:002013-05-17T01:23:14.589-04:00To Being the Coward<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I am telling you now, it is <b>not </b>okay for people to say the same things to you...</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>You are a yellow-bellied wuss</i>. The men in my life should know that they have little to fear from me because, even if I fancy you, I'll never do anything about it. I'm too scared to fight for what I want. I'm too scared that asking for more will destroy what we have. Even if I loved you, time would make you my brother because I freeze on the inside. You have nothing to fear from me, so you can go ahead and choose her because I will never stop you.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Suicides, where do they go when they die?</i> You know I was told they go to Hell. It did not matter that they did not know her. It did not matter that telling me such a thing deepened my own pain. Such things are of little consequence when a debate can be had. What people do not realize is that when they say such things suicide looks a little more appealing to the person they're saying it to.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>She is different than I thought she was.</i> Oh, what a charmer. You need to understand that there is an amazing difference in being honest with someone then leaving them for it and them telling your friend they rebounded to that you are not quite who they thought you were. You need to know that you did not lie, they were not paying attention.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>It would be better if you were away from your family, doing your own thing.</i> This is a statement I have heard multiple times now, from the same consecutive sources over the past year. Let me explain, it's a selfish statement, really, people advising you on a decision based on their personal preference and not what is actually best for you. Be wary of the people you inconvenience by improving your quality of life.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Why would I pour into someone who is going to leave? </i>There really is nothing like someone looking you in the eyes and telling you that you are not worth their time and attention if you are not going to stick around. A piece of advice, this is a person you should never share anything personal with past how you are handling your academic load. Such people like to attach labels to you that make you, I don't know, have a determinate factor. For example, you could go from a girl who seemed flustered to depressed in the space of a few months. They're not so helpful when they assign the latter, regardless of truthfulness.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Changing universities will put your already dry soul in jeopardy</i>. Going from a small, private, religious based educational system to a large, public university will have its own challenges. But, if you are entrenched with a great support system at home and at church, your soul's condition should not be a criteria for concern, even deserts have monsoons.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>The thought of going back there makes me hollow inside, makes me want to take my car off the Rockies. </i><u>That, is not even funny.</u> I am not quite sure which is worse: having someone you love think you're joking when the thought of going back to somewhere makes taking your life bearable or the fact that you even thought about taking your own life while you were there. I cannot look at you and say for absolute certainty that there are people who walk through life and never have a thought about ending it early. All I can tell you, is at twenty-one, I thought about it last year.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When tragedy strikes your life when a mentor commits suicide, something deep inside you unhinges. Little things become annoying. Big things become unbearable. When you relapse into a cycle of illness and missing class and make-up work and your grades sinking, just like they did in high school, when you last thought about it, something has to change.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You need to know these things because it is so important:</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>You are not your grades.</b> Having bad grades for a season is not the end of the world, even if you were raised in a family that treats it that way. They are the worst reason on earth to think about leaving it for.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>You may be a coward when it comes to men.</b> But, there is nothing wrong with that. Not all girls are gifted with the ability to convey deeper feelings for a guy past, "Just friends." Take it from the girl who left Colorado without letting a soccer player know. The same girl that has not told the engineer here at home. Not all of us were born with bravery in our veins, it takes time to develop.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>You are different than they thought.</b> Let them take it with them to the curb. If they are telling someone else you are different, especially if they chose your friend as a rebound, understand that they saw a different you. You being a huge home-body has nothing to do with why you would not go out with them. The fact that you were not staying in the same state and that your father would shoot them on sight, however, does.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>Your soul can survive a drought.</b> Sometimes, the places people think are the driest, turn out to be the most nourishing for those that are starving. But take a look at who you're surrounded by as well. It could be them that are sucking you dry.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>You are worth committing to.</b> I don't care if it's a boyfriend or a side-kick, you are worth someone devoting express time to you. Understanding you and what makes you unique and intricate and fashioned of God. Anyone who writes you off just because your place in their life is temporary can be dropped off at the station.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So, here is to being the coward...</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The girl afraid to tell the boy or the boy scared to tell the girl. Here's the bonus: We're both chicken.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Here is to telling people and their opinions of you to be damned because the Devil sent them.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">To challenging the notion that going through life is easy and that, sometimes, you stare into the pit.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Understanding that you are worth more than what someone said.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Challenging that your soul has nothing to do the location but in what way the rain comes.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I may be a yellow-bellied, dry soul, different kind of wuss according to some.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But...the story never ends with someone being handed a broom and a dust pan...</span><br />
<br />sheridanalexishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08212126601667169712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2144207274434422990.post-2475943089315441952012-01-11T17:48:00.001-05:002013-04-30T19:15:43.523-04:00Single of Heart: Single and a Christian Young Lady<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Times", "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"To be the beauty, abducted by the bad guys, fought for and rescued by a hero....This desire is set deep in the heart of every little girl--and every woman....There is something fierce in the heart of a woman. Simply insult her children, her man, or her best friend and you'll get a taste of it. A woman is a warrior too. But she is meant to be a warrior in a uniquely feminine way. Sometime before the sorrows of life did the best kill it in us, most young women wanted to be a part of something grand, something important. Before doubt and accusation take hold, most little girls sense that they have a vital role to play; they want to believe there is something in them that is needed and needed desperately....Women love adventures of all sorts. Whether it be the adventure of horses or white-water rafting, going to a foreign country, performing on-stage, having children, starting a business, or diving ever more deeply into the heart of God, we were made to be part of a great adventure." ~John & Stasi Eldredge, Captivating</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times", "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times", "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ponder the above quote and think honestly on its reflection. If </span></span><i><span style="font-family: "Times", "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Captivating</span></span></i><span style="font-family: "Times", "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> pointed out one important thing to me it is that I was created by God to be a helper, to desire to be fought for and rescued. And this, however, is where the eye of my personal storm rages. Honestly, being single has never been much of a struggle for me until this year--I went through all of high school without ever being in a relationship and, outside of a small two week dalliance my freshman year, I have remained unattached for almost twenty-one years. And even though my twenty-first birthday is merely a week away, I know I am young and that I have more than enough time to trip in front of the man I will one day marry. Yet, the community I live in at university is poisonous towards a young woman of God and her expectations of relationships. Christian universities, especially mine, run rampant with relationships, engagements, and marriages all achieved within the space of those four years of undergraduate studies. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times", "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Even further, though, these relationships have very little affect on my own circle. Despite the fact that my university is small and I know most everyone by name, I do not spend an equal amount of time with everyone. Relationship pairings have meant very little to me until now--when such changes are beginning to radically affect my own sphere of life. It sounds selfish, I know, but two of my best friends at university both entered serious relationships within the last year, one got engaged this past Thanksgiving Break and the other will be engaged within a matter of months--if her boyfriend's jests are to be disregarded. And so, that leaves me and my friend, Dani, to spend a great deal of time on our own, as our friend Rina divides her time between us and her fiancé. And even now, despite having to share one of my best friends, none of that has been as hard as now being confronted often with, "Sheridan, get yourself a man, I want to double date with you," from more than one source. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times", "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I am not the kind of girl that sits on the fence with men: I have more guy friends than I do girlfriends and I have been caught red-handed in the act of flirtation, but I am not the one to ask them out on a date, coffee, yes; attending a movie as a massive group, of course; one-on-one, dinner, not a chance. While I am a millennial, I was raised old-fashioned and if a man were interested in me, he can be courageous and ask me out himself, I'm certainly not going to do it for him. And yet, this is where I have learned may lie the root of one of my problems: I am not forward with men in any spectrum of relationships past "chilling." I almost never realize I'm flirting and when I'm caught, I'm so embarrassed, I blush like no tomorrow. Why then, would I struggle with being single? When then, if I'm cool simply being friends, has this become a major struggle in my walk? </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times", "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I know one answer is that I am increasingly beginning to feel left out or worse, the dreaded third-wheel. While the boyfriends come around to the room, since their girls live with me, events like dates or hanging out leave me the odd one out as they sit there involved in a romantic mush fest, which for all intents and purposes is uncomfortable to witness, no matter how much joking and teasing occurs to lighten the mood. And to top it off, my precious engaged Rina says things like, "Sheridan, I have discussed you at length with the university secretary (who I do office work for on occasion) and we have decided that given how amazingly stunning you are, there is no good reason for men not to be pounding down our door asking for you." She really means nothing malicious by it, but it only points out the obvious: I am unattached and in fourteen months I'll be in her bridal party. I am behind her in this magnificent race we have all believed we are running to find love. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times", "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">And, it's true, I have the same grand excuses every head-strong, stubborn woman has for not dating: I'm focused on my studies, I'm not in a good place right now, I am no where near ready to even have marriage as a prospect on the horizon, etc. Yet, I have been informed that those are not truly valid excuses, which has me wondering where anyone gets off telling me that. I am focused on my studies right now--a boyfriend is a massive distraction and as I have learned this year, I would much rather be social than do my work, a toxic combination. I am truly not in a good place right now--any man came my way, no matter how good we may be for each other--I cannot even imagine how long that relationship would last, probably become my second short-term dalliance that ends with the man moving on. And, despite the fact that most of my friends are getting ready for "the walk," I am no where near ready to even fathom the possibility of having the conversation within the next year--too much has happened and will happen in the next year to properly account for anything. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times", "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Right now, I'm trying to figure out just what exacting God is writing into my life story and I can tell you, from the looks of things, a man is currently not one of them. And so, here Dani and I sit, with this horrible little stamp on our foreheads that we both would swear was a neon sign on given days: Christian Young Lady, Single, Looking for a Good Man, Although You Would be my First! Yeah, that's a sign that draws a ton of applicants, the "I'm-Her-First-Real-Boyfriend job, woo-hoo! Let me hop aboard that train." No, that statement is laced with sarcasm in just about every man's mind when they meet the two of us, I'm quite convinced. We're loud, intelligent, and we have opinions that we certainly don't know how to keep to ourselves about things that matter to us. No, Dani and I are now attempting to figure out this together, this taboo that we have somehow existed within for almost twenty-one years (the amount of people that make it seem like fifty is truly amazing). Somewhere along the way, Christian culture said we were supposed to meet our husbands sophomore/junior year of university, get engaged senior year, and marry in the year or two to follow. I disapprove of this formula--this one that our faith-based educational community is obsessed with--there are so many more important things for the time being.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times", "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">So, here is what I say to this struggle I face more and more as Rina's fourteen months rapidly expires: the Hell with people saying, "I don't understand why you're single." If I understood it well, maybe my situation would be different, but for now, this is the hand I possess, and you always play the cards you are dealt. I am not going to waste my single years. I want to travel--odds are Dani will come with me. I want to have a career (maybe several across different fields). I want a higher education degree (maybe more than one) so I can taste the abundance of life. I want to see the horizons I have only ever studied, photograph the far reaches of the globe, and write under the shade of some ancient ruins. I want to find my God, even if it means I have to lose Him in the process to find Him for real. I want to witness the bustle of the busiest cities, hear the music of narrow street corners, and the rhythm like jazz I believe to be laced through existence. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times", "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Here, now, I submit my manifesto to be single of heart, to throw away the garbage and time lines my culture says I need. I do not believe I was placed on this earth to merely wander down a path, be picked up by the first man I come across, and spend my life following him wherever he goes. There will be a time and a place to work with a significant other, to carve our own crazy path through this smattered map of life, but until that time, and through this struggle, I will free myself of such nonsense beliefs and create my own path where few have dared to tread. Life's grandest adventures wait for people who are courageous enough to open the door, backpack over their shoulders, and take the first steps down the dusty road...</span></span>sheridanalexishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08212126601667169712noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2144207274434422990.post-22267256467789601912012-01-10T22:17:00.002-05:002012-01-11T15:36:23.119-05:00God called us out of Darkness<span style="font-family: "Times", "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I have thought for a very long time about exactly what purpose I had in creating this "blog." I have not been one who tends to openly record my thoughts for people to see at the ready--my notes on Facebook are walled up behind privacy barriers. Yet, here this empty space has remained, for almost a year by my count, and now I have finally decided upon what it should be utilized towards. I was never quite sure that anything I had to say would ever be of enough merit to warrant anyone else reading my words, but I love to write and I have decided that I shall share and just listen to what people are saying.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times", "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times", "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">For this premiere post, I thought I would keep it short and sweet, and perhaps explain why exactly I decided to name this "lux ex tenebris invictus." As you may have realized, that ancient Latin phrase translates as, "light triumphs out of [the] darkness." Surprisingly, it found it's way to me decorating the front of a Trans-Siberian Orchestra t-shirt (shown above) and I had my ancient history professor translate it, since I knew no Classical Latin at the time. Upon learning what is meant, I thought how incredibly amazing that such a simple phrase is and the power it possesses. Even if you study the image for but a few heartbeats you can see everything innate within the statue, everything that it is trying to convey. Lions are powerful and strong, hunters on the savannah, family-centered creatures, fiercely loyal, incredibly gentle, but at the same time incredibly dangerous. And just look at how the lion has been situated--he is triumphing out of the darkness, surrounded in light that reflects from the moon, snow, even piercing blue eyes (however unnatural). </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times", "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I would then, in light of all of this, in light of the most simple of </span></span><i><span style="font-family: "Times", "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">triumphs, </span></span></i><span style="font-family: "Times", "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">that light can be seen in the darkness, propose this challenge: What holds us back from such a life? God has called us up out of darkness, we are not bound by the shackles of Hell, so why do we live like they still are bound to us? I know that I have struggled with this for so long, sometimes everyday for months at a time, especially the last two years. I am not immune to conceding to the black, wilting in the empty, all I am asking, is that lady to lady, man to man, and across lines, we embrace the fact that together we can be this lion, proudly atop his perch, his achievement etched in stone. We can achieve </span></span><i><span style="font-family: "Times", "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">invictus.</span></span></i>sheridanalexishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08212126601667169712noreply@blogger.com1