[True Story] Root beer on my plate.

While we each began to eat our plates of Thanksgiving food, Jordan Bowser – a brother of mine from another mother – came to a realization:

“I need liquid,” he said. So he stood from his seat and walked to the kitchen, where he filled a cup with root beer. 
On his return trip to the table, he tripped, and as such, poured his root beer all over his plate of food:
“What occurred?” I asked, while I laughed so hard I cried.
Which resulted in this musical gift to you from Jordan and me:

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This post is part of a series of true stories, called “True Story.” Click here to read all the posts in the series.

Let go of who you think you should be (and be who you are).

Pardon my lack of post this morning. For one, I’m sick. For two, the impending end of the fall semester means it’s crunch time. For three, the transition from the old job to the new one equals six workdays a week for a few more weeks.

(Is it any wonder why I’m sick?)

So instead of a post, I’ll share a video I hope will inspire authenticity in all who watch it. It’s a 20-minute TED talk (well worth your time) by researcher, writer and social worker Brene Brown. Here are some sneak peeks:

“Wholehearted people live from this deep sense of worthiness.”

Wholehearted people have “the compassion to be kind to themselves; we can’t practice compassion with other people if we can’t treat ourselves kindly.”

Wholehearted people “fully embraced vulnerability. … They didn’t talk about vulnerability being comfortable, nor did they really talk about it being excruciating. They just talked about it being necessary.”

“We are the most in debt, obese, addicted and medicated adult cohort in US history.” 

“You can’t selectively numb emotion.” 

“When we numb (negative emotions), we numb joy, we numb gratitude, we numb happiness and then we are miserable.” 

“We make everything that’s uncertain certain. Religion has gone from faith and mystery to certainty. I’m right, you’re wrong, shut up.” 

“Blame is a way to discharge pain and discomfort.”

Press play below:

[Guest Post] Eve: Round II

Guest blogger Amber Mobley!
Now the serpent was more crafty than any of the wild animals the LORD God had made. He said to the woman, “Did God really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree in the garden’?” The woman said to the serpent, “We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden,(except for that one). ~ Genesis 3:1 – 2

I’m Eve, y’all. I just recently realized it.

Boasting solely in God and His goodness, I have to say that my life and experiences have been AMAZING! The places I’ve lived, the people I’ve met, the things I’ve accomplished…but, I have to admit: for a large part of my life, I’ve still been unhappy because I didn’t have a ‘real’ boyfriend and have never been close to marriage.

My situation runs parallel to the foolishness that Eve got herself into.

As Ephesians 6:12 states,”We wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.”

And just like he did with Eve, that dirty devil’s been trying to start a fight.

That dirty devil had the nerve to get in her head and make her think that she should be ungrateful because God didn’t want her eating from one, ONE, of the trees in the garden. This hefa had a kazillion kabillion million shillion trees to eat from and enjoy, but she was worried, concerned, and even “mad” at God because He told her to leave ONE of those trees alone for her own good.

Just like Eve, I’ve been conversing with the devil for far too long. He’s been in my head and in my spirit, trying to convince me that I’m worthless — or worth less — because I’m single at 30.

Here I’ve been, for 30 years, eating from the kazillion kabillion million shillion trees and having the nerve to keep looking at that ONE tree — with the relationship fruit — and being ungrateful for aaaaall of the other fruits that have come to me in their season from phenomenally tasty, delicious and plentiful trees.

So, my new mantra — because I know me :o) — is “All the trees in the garden…” (I’m leaving the “except for that one” part out in order to help me focus on all I DO have.)

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About the blogger: Amber Mobley currently lives in Kansas City, Kansas but — throughout the last 12 years — has called Washington, DC; Shreveport and Baton Rouge, Louisiana; Tampa, Florida and Los Angeles her home. She freelances for The Kansas City Star (Faith Walk and Ink) and is currently one of the coolest librarians this side of the Mississippi as she’s working on her PhD in education. Click here to visit her on Facebook.

Modesty only works when it isn’t distorted.

They need a sign that warns about the butts.

If one thing stands out about a trip I took to South Beach back in May, it’s this:

I have never seen so much butt on a beach.

Our first day there, I stepped off the boardwalk behind the hotel and onto the sand,  far too close for comfort to a woman who – while holding her toddler’s hand – rubbed sunblock onto a part of her body that is normally covered by clothes.

I go with my gut when I say “modest is hottest” isn’t Miami’s motto. (Oh how I wish it was.)

But even for we who are proponents of modesty, embracing it as it stands now could backfire on us. This is because modesty has been distorted.

Awhile ago, a study was conducted at Princeton, as paraphrased like this by Jason Evert:

The test subjects were placed in a brain scanner and for a fraction of a second were shown photographs of women in bikinis, as well as men and women dressed modestly. 

When the young men viewed the scantily clad women, the part of their brain associated with tool use lit up.

According to the study, men are likely to objectify women when women are scantily clad. To accommodate for that likelihood, the purpose of modesty has morphed into this: “Girls have to cover up so boys don’t objectify them.”

Which implies that the woman is responsible for the man’s actions, that the onus is on her to create conditions in which he won’t objectify her.

Which relieves a man of responsibility for his actions and requires of him exactly zero discipline.

Which implies men are weak. As if men can’t not objectify scantily clad women. As if human nature means men will objectify them.

But men don’t objectify women because they’re wired to do it. They objectify women because they’re humans who live in a culture that tells them to do it. And what is learned can be unlearned.

If we decide, however, that “it’s a woman’s job” to create conditions in which a man won’t objectify her (and therefore that “it’s her fault” when he does), men who learned it don’t have to unlearn it. And men who don’t unlearn it – even the ones who save sex for marriage – become husbands who will objectify their wives, because their wives inevitably will be scantily clad sometimes.

This is not to say I want the world to be one where women can be scantily clad under any circumstance. This is to say that if our solution for “men objectify scantily clad women” is “women stop dressing scantily,” we send the following message: A man’s objectification of a woman isn’t the problem. Her body is.

The damage done by an idea like that goes deep for both women and men.

And real modesty doesn’t do any damage.

Bodies aren’t bad. Bodies are good. We know this because we are physically attracted to each other. The attraction is designed to “orient” us toward the other. It produces a sensual reaction. A sensual reaction is a good thing, too.

But a sensual reaction is superficial when compared to other important elements of a relationship (like friendship). When fostered before the other important elements, a sensual reaction can distract a person from ever discovering whether the other important elements even exist.

The problem is “when only sensuality is stirred, we experience the body of the other person as a potential object of enjoyment. We reduce the person to their physical qualities – their good looks, their body – and view the person primarily in terms of the pleasure we can experience from those qualities,” wrote Edward Sri in Men, Women, and the Mystery of Love.

But, wrote Sri, we live “in a highly sexualized culture … (where) we are constantly bombarded by sexual images exploiting our sensuality, getting us to focus on the bodies of members of the opposite sex.”

Which is why real modesty is so important.

Modesty, when not distorted, doesn’t say girls have to cover up so boys don’t objectify them. It isn’t a burden on women and doesn’t imply men are weak. It requires us to pursue and be pursued for virtuous reasons. It enables us to be drawn to somebody for who he or she is (which is conducive to love), not for what his or her body does to us (which impedes love).

And in a culture mostly all right with superficial relationships and way-too-bare bodies on (and off) the beach, modesty provides a refreshing “arena in which something much more than a sensual reaction might take place.” (Sri)

Why I love Halloween (a repost).

One Halloween, my dad dumped a giant bag of fun size candy bars into a giant bowl. I peered out the window.

“I wonder when trick-or-treaters will get here,” I thought out loud, watching my neighbor – a space alien that night – decorate a tent in her driveway across the street. “I wonder how many we’ll get!”

When the kids finally came, clad in costumes like Spongebob and ninja and princess, I reached into the bowl of candy and tossed some of it into their plastic pumpkins and pillow cases. They thanked me, mostly, and their parents waved. And between each ring of the doorbell, I really couldn’t contain my excitement.

I love Halloween. I always have. As an an adult, I have figured out why.

As a kid, I didn’t care much for the candy (Twix was a rare exception.), but the experience made me glow. I’d dress up like a gypsy, a witch or a cowgirl and traipse around suburbia knocking on doors, trick-or-treating. Something in the sometimes crisp Florida fall air and the rubbing elbows in the streets with kids and parents I’d otherwise never meet made me giddy. For a night – just one – we’d all let down our guard.

As a trick-or-treater, I’d wave at people I’d never met. I’d skip across streets and when cars came by, their drivers would smile and stop until we’d crossed. As an adult, I watch my quiet neighborhood come to life. I embrace the one night suburbia welcomes the stranger.

That’s why I love Halloween.

In a neighborhood of folks who are separated from nameless neighbors by fences and closed garage doors, everything changes for a night. We don’t get suspicious when someone we don’t recognize walks past our houses. We don’t yell at them if they cross the grass. We invite them to our homes. And then we give them things.

Imagine a world where every day felt like that.

One where we wouldn’t require strangers to wear masks before we welcome them.

One where it doesn’t take candy to get them to come.

If only every day could be more like Halloween.