Humans, it seems, are prone to try to solve problems in every way except for from the root.
Tired? Coffee.
Out of shape? Fad diet (if not diet pill).
Not ready to parent a kid? Contraception.
No sex in your marriage? Erotica, or Viagra.
We are on a mission to live one way without experiencing the reasonable consequences of living that way. We like a certain lifestyle, but we dislike the results of the lifestyle, so we create ways to obliterate the results. We are enabled to refer to symptoms as problems, and to deny that the root of the problem is a problem at all.
Which totally disregards the purpose of symptoms.
A body doesn’t use symptoms to tell you to make the symptoms stop. It uses symptoms to say, “Stop treating me this way.”
A tired body doesn’t need coffee. It needs sleep.
An out of shape body doesn’t need a diet. It needs a lifestyle adjustment.
A person not ready for kids doesn’t need contraception. He or she needs abstinence (and perhaps only periodically).
A sexless marriage doesn’t need erotica (and according to a sex therapist professor of mine, it might not need Viagra, either.). It might just need communication.
In other words: Lack of coffee doesn’t result in tired. Not sleeping does. Lack of diet or diet pill doesn’t result in out of shapeness. An unhealthy lifestyle does. Lack of contraception doesn’t result in babies. Sex does. Lack of erotica doesn’t result in sexless marriage. Lots of circumstances do, including but not limited to absence of communication.
But avoiding the roots of problems doesn’t result in joy. It just stunts our growth.
In a post today on Rachel Held Evans’s fabulous blog (1), she posed the following questions:
“Does the Christian culture idolize virginity?”
and
“How should our narratives surrounding sex, virginity, and purity change, particularly as they concern women?”
I feel compelled to respond.
Whether the Christian culture idolizes virginity depends entirely on your definition of “the Christian culture.” I am reminded of the book The Purity Myth by Jessica Valenti (2), which I read in 2012. In it, Valenti decries what she interchangeably refers to as “the purity myth” and “the virginity movement,” for maintaining the myths that men are uncontrollably interested in sex and women aren’t interested all, for shaming women who have sex outside of wedlock, and for fostering hierarchical relationships (in which men have authority and women submit to them).
Like Valenti, I neither believe that men can’t control themselves nor that women don’t have sex drives.
I am opposed to shaming people who have nonmarital sex.
I am so opposed to hierarchical relationships that I had to stop reading blogs by the people who are for ’em, for the sake of my health (I’m lookin’ at you, Tim Challies.).
But I’m also a 27-year-old virgin.
Who sometimes speaks to youth groups about saving sex.
Who won’t date guys who can’t handle no sex until marriage.
I don’t save sex because I will be “impure” if I don’t. I save sex because I believe saving sex aligns with love like Jesus defines it.
And because “in not knowing what I’m doing [on my wedding night], I can express confidence in my spouse’s commitment to me. In not knowing what to expect, I can infuse my vows with authenticity.”
And because the pursuit of premarital sexual compatibility is at the expense of something more valuable. Because “maybe it’s to a relationship’s disadvantage to pick a partner with whom you’re effortlessly sexually compatible over a partner who is willing to work through conflict. Maybe we do each other a disservice when we search for consistently gratifying sex but avoid opportunities to become people who can communicate when it isn’t. Maybe how willing we are to practice and communicate, and to be uncomfortable and vulnerable in sex [i.e., on the wedding night, if you haven’t slept yet with the guy or the girl you just married] predicts how willing we’ll be to do those things in other parts of a relationship.”
Valenti reserves the right to define “the purity myth” and the “virginity movement” however she wants. But in the book, she did it with disregard for shades of gray. The truth is this isn’t always either/or. It can be both/and. I both am a proponent of chastity (and therefore of abstinence until marriage) and agree that most of what Valenti decries in the book should be decried (I decry it myself!).
All of that is to say this:
If you define “the Christian culture” the way Valenti defines “the purity myth,” then the Christian culture puts virgins on a pedestal. It says “Girls have to cover up so boys don’t objectify them,” which implies it’s the woman’s fault if she stumbles, and it’s the woman’s fault if he stumbles. It perpetuates the maintenance of gender roles at the expense of authenticity. It always says you’re “good” until you’ve had sex, and never says you are still good afterward.
But is that Christian culture the same one that walks the narrow road?
I have a hunch it isn’t. Which brings us to RHE’s second question: How should our narratives change (presumably in order that they won’t perpetuate Valenti’s purity myth), particularly as they concern women?
We must include men. The “Christian culture” – as implicitly defined by the bloggers RHE quoted in today’s post – takes the onus for upholding purity and puts it on women. Women have to cover up so men don’t sin. Women have to be virgins for their fathers first, and then for their husbands. The result is stuff like the kind but frustrating emails I get in which fans of my work write they wish more women lived like I do, that if all women were chaste the world would be a better place.
As if men have no influence on the state of the world.
We must talk more about sex. People who host purity balls, or call sexually experienced single people “damaged goods,” routinely say “don’t have sex until you’re married” but provide few reasons other than “God says so.” They say “don’t have sex until you’re married” and never talk about sex. But is sex what sex is in our culture because kids got too much accurate information about it?
And we must be explicit. The world doesn’t get to define chastity. I get to define chastity. (Technically, the Catholic Church gets to define it, and I get to borrow its definition. But you catch my drift.) And I have to define it explicitly. The chastity Valenti describes is not the chastity I practice. If I keep my mouth shut about the difference, then I say “I practice chastity” and a lot of people hear “I promote rigid gender roles.” The result, when we aren’t explicit, is a world (plus a segment of the church) that thinks “Christian culture” is a culture that damages women.
If that is “Christian culture,” I frankly want no part.
The plane rolled up to the gate in Chicago, where I had a layover between Tampa and Moline. I grabbed my purse and smiled wide.
I love airports.
I hadn’t yet been to O’Hare.
Inside, I weaved in and out of the crowd of travelers who had congregated at the counter. I scanned a giant screen in search of my next gate. I found my flight.
And in big, red letters, the screen flashed “CANCELED.”
Awesome.**
I asked the man at the counter what my options are.
“You could drive,” he said.
I laughed. “Next option.”
“You could fly to Peoria,”
I shook my head. “I’d rather fly to Moline.”
“I can put you on standby for the next flight there…”
“Do it.”
“…which has already been oversold by two seats.”
Sigh. “I’ll take the risk,” I said.
He printed my ticket and I took it to the gate, where I sat near a couple older guys, with whom I struck up a conversation. We shared from where we had come, and shared to where we were headed (and they were headed to Asheville). After awhile, we introduced ourselves.
“I’m Arleen,” I said.
“I’m Jay,” said the tall one. “Billy,” said the one carrying a bass guitar in a case.
“So are you, like, in a band or something?”
“Yeah,” one of them said. “Jay and the Americans.”***
“Hm,” I said. “Haven’t heard of ya.”
Jay smiled. A flight attendant invited passengers for Asheville to board. The guys and I exchanged business cards, shook hands, and said goodbye.
I sat at the gate, awaiting the arrival of the plane that would take me to Moline, hopeful I’d get a seat despite the odds.
Until the woman behind the podium made an announcement.
“Flight 243* to Moline has been canceled. Please see a customer service representative.”
Awesome.**
Some guy and I heard a rumor that a customer service desk few gates down had a far shorter line. He and I made a mad dash to it to beat the rush. While we waited on that line (which was, in fact, shorter), a young guy in jeans, a striped dress shirt, a navy blazer, and a red baseball cap came up behind us. Reflexively, and mildly wired by my aforementioned mad dash, I said, “Hi!”
“Hi!” he said. “I’m Rob.” And then he shook my hand.
Rob had charisma.
But the airline had no flights.
So Rob and I had dinner.
Before we ate, I booked a new flight for the morning. My brother – from back home in Tampa – booked me a room at a Hampton Inn. (How awesome is he?) He suggested I swing by the desk at a gate to ask for free stuff, like a t-shirt and some toiletries, since all but the clothes on my back and my purse had been checked.
When I reached the counter, with my ticket for the morning in hand, I said, “My flight to Moline was canceled this afternoon, and—“
The rep, whose name was Peggy, interrupted: “Let me see your ticket,”
She scanned it, typed a little, and said this: “You’re confirmed for the 9:40 flight to Moline tonight.” She handed me back my ticket.
“Are you serious?” I asked. And then I copped a ‘tude. “Why did the last rep say I wasn’t flying out until tomorrow?”
“Things constantly change,” she said.
“…but my brother just booked me a non-refundable room.” I shook my head. “This is unbelievable.”
Peggy raised her voice. “You better mean unbelievable in a good way!”
I shook my head in silence, grabbed my ticket, and stormed off.
Peggy yelled after me. “I can take you right back off that flight!”
I stopped short, turned around slowly, and I may or may not have snarled.
“DON’T.
YOU.
DARE.”
Which is when Peggy loudly explained our miscommunication (I thought Peggy scanned my ticket and discovered my flight was for 9:40. Peggy in fact had changed my flight to 9:40, as a seat on it had since opened up.). Then she excused me from her gate.
I called my brother, to encourage him to ask the hotel to refund what he paid for the non-refundable room. (And they did.)
Rob and I finally ate. (Johnny Rockets, and Dutch. And I’d be lying if I said I had no crush.) After dinner, we exchanged phone numbers, he left for concourse F, and I for concourse B.
On the way to my gate, I heard a “Hello!”
A familiar voice.
The voice of a friend from church, with whom I, smack dab in the middle of O’Hare, now stood face to face.
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”
We cracked up, talked for a sec, and headed for our flights.
I didn’t believe I’d finally fly out until I was on the plane. And at 9:40, we were in the air.
Twenty-five minutes later (yep), we landed in Moline, where my aunt and uncle met me at the terminal. We hugged, and laughed about my late arrival, and walked to the baggage claim.
Where we waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Until we got the news.
“Yeah,” said the guy who scanned my baggage claim tag. “Your luggage is still in Chicago.”
Awesome.**
Rob emailed me the next day. The airline delivered my suitcase the day after that. The trip itself was a blast.
When I got home, it had been days since I’d heard from Rob. The journalist in me was curious. So, I Googled him.
I got nothin’.
“That has to be a mistake.”
Just in case, I Googled his phone number.
Which is how I found his real name.
As well as his wife.
Awesome.**
– – – – –
True story. Late July, 2010.
*Fake flight number, can’t remember the real one.
**By awesome, I mean not awesome.
***1. I’m not sure the Jay I met is not the original Jay, so much as the Jay who now owns the rights to the band’s name, 2. I HAD NO IDEA THEY WERE FAMOUS ONCE (Awkward!), and 3. This song of theirs could sarcastically sum up so many moments that day:
This post is part of a series of true stories, called “True Story.” Click here to read all the posts in the series.
This post originally appeared on Sept. 2, 2012. I repost it today because today is the fortieth anniversary of the Roe v. Wade decision.
Texting and driving.
Not to do it is a no-brainer. Am I right, or am I right?
Wrong. People text and drive all the time. This is because people don’t know how to wait.
In my state, the fight for a law that bans it has been in the news for years.
And there are a couple of things about this that boggle my mind: First, that a law designed to make texting while driving illegal is shot down. Second, that there needs to be a law.
A law, while when necessary is good, is also like a Band-Aid. This is because the problem is not that it is legal to text and drive. The problem is that we are raising people who need to be told not to text and drive.
Apparently, we as a culture are not instilling in our children the values or the sense that make a person able to conclude on his or her own that it is a bad idea to text and drive. Apparently, we are instilling in them the opposite: that you, your needs, your wants come first. Which is why kids become adults who don’t know how to wait.
So a law that makes it illegal to text and drive is a Band-Aid. It aims to make the result of the problem disappear, but it doesn’t solve the problem.
The other law fight I hear about a lot is the one to ban abortion. And that law is like a Band-Aid, too. It aims to make the result of the problem disappear, but it doesn’t make the problem disappear.
This is because the problem is not that it is legal to abort a baby. The problem is that we are raising people who need to be told it’s a bad idea to have sex when you aren’t prepared to be a parent.
Apparently, we as a culture are not instilling in our children the values or the sense that make a person able conclude on his or her than that sometimes, it is better not to have sex. In fact, we are instilling in them the opposite: that you, your needs, your wants come first. Which is why kids become adults who don’t know how to wait.
