There's Beauty in the Bellow

I won a Persian rug off eBay. It arrived a week before Hurricane Michael hit the Florida coast -- only 50 miles east of us. As I cleaned up our little house, two truths lay before me in tension. The first is simply this: do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust and mold destroy, where thieves break in and steal, and where hurricanes ravage. The second is that the good man lays up an inheritance for his children's children. My momma has a Persian rug that her grandparents bought through the Sears and Roebuck catalogue when they married. She remembers dancing on that rug as a child, and I danced on that rug ... picking out step patterns by choosing which geometric element to step on next. So I bought a rug from the same region in hopes that my children and grandchildren will dance on it too. The rug by itself might not be that valuable. But more significantly, I hope that it becomes a tangible reminder of love. My paternal grandmother, although not a

We visited family recently and one member had a borrowed copy of "Tranny" by Laura Jane Grace. Grace was formerly a male and frontman of a band I had never heard of (in an angsty genre I never listen to). So I had no preconceptions when I picked up the memoir, other than the title was intriguing. Plus, the title and front matter gave no indication as to whether the epithet was owned or disowned. (There was no dust jacket.) It opens with the writer as a very young child, idolizing and aping Madonna. It's not immediately clear whether it's not a girl pretending to be said Madonna. I mention this only because I have a problem with anyone wanting to be like Madonna at all. She's not worthy of emulating, although she is talented at least as a performer. (I've only heard a few of her songs and she's mostly posturing, so I have no idea of her vocal talents.) I read the first section about her childhood and the last bit where she transitions. Apparently most o

We recently watched a TEDx presentation on the stigma attributed to stay-at-home moms. The presenter pointed out the absurdity of defining someone almost exclusively by their place of work. (We don't refer to the stay-at-desk accountant, for example.) I have had a myriad of doctors appointments, what with all the usual yearly or half-yearly visits to the dentist, eye doctor, neurologist, and hormone specialist, finding a new neurologist with the retirement of my previous one, accompanying my husband to his appointments as an extra pair of ears, and with expecting another baby. (YAY!) To all of these (except the dentist --just doesn't work), I've brought my busy and curious toddler son. What better way to let the world know that you are a SAHM (as the acronym goes) and judge how you use that time, than to bring your child to a doctor's appointment. A "good" child would sit quietly in a corner with the toys selected for or by him. I'm pretty sure our boy

My second job was a formative experience. I cashiered at a grocery store. I went in expecting daily toddler meltdowns in every aisle. But I saw very few meltdowns. The  parents  surprised me. Some little kid grabs a box of crackers or cereal off the shelf and walks up to the parent with questioning eyes. The parent snaps at the child and then either gives it  back  to him or puts it in the cart.  What!?  The little one did nothing manipulative.  Have you ever been in the store when Mom's harsh, angry  shhhhh  was more disruptive than the tired baby she tries to quiet?  Christ had said, "which one of you, if your son asks for a bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a serpent? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!" (Matthew 7:9-11.) But watching the little dramas in my lane it seemed that many people don't

What does a Christian gravestone look like? Our church sits next door to a funeral home and cemetery. I wandered through the cemetery one day and was impressed by the blankness of most of the headstones. Most have merely the name and lifespan inscribed. There might be an inscription noting the branch of the military or the war that a veteran served in. Maybe a "beloved wife and mother." There was one stone for a young serviceman with the logos of his favorite pastimes/hobbies: NASCAR, a football team, the Marines, a baseball team -- a strange combination of altar and shrine, but ultimately meaningless and empty. We know that our culture fears death. We belittle the old who look and act old, who "turn in their sexy card." We hide them away in special homes. We market "anti-aging" and "life-extension". It's strange to look at the empty headstones over the remains of (let's assume) a full life. Our expectations for the after life are eq

Let's talk about virginity. #eyeroll I don't like our language of "losing" one's virginity. Rarely does one unintentionally misplace one's virginity. Just saying. If one truly cannot remember the circumstances of "losing" their virginity, then very probably those circumstances were lamentable, if not horrific. Usually, virginity is given . Maybe unwillingly, maybe carelessly in haste, perhaps without regard to deservingness of the recipient. In hookup culture, virginity is a liability to be dropped off in the nearest gutter. In this case, it's thrown away, but it wasn't misplaced. Optimally, one's virginity is given to someone who values it -- but cherishes the giver far more than the virginity itself. It is supposed to be given away , not kept in the original packaging with the tags still attached. This is what chastity is. Appropriate celibacy and appropriate hedonism. The gift of virginity isn't an heirloom vase to be kept