The last gal in our group is a mom. She has several kids, the oldest of which is six. She laughed with us and said, “You know girls, it never goes away. You never get that feeling that you know what you are doing.”

She the went on to tell us that a few weeks ago, she wasn’t sure how to discipline her six year old for something he’d done. Feeling frustrated, she grabbed her head and said to him, “I don’t know what to do with a six year old!” Calmly, her son looked back at her and said, “It’s ok Mommy, can’t we look on the internet? We can just Google it.”

If Only It Were That Simple

After laughing at how cute, honest and innocent six year olds can be, I couldn’t help but agree with him. Why can’t life be that simple? You cannot even imagine the sense of relief I might have right now if I could simply type into my computer “How to do really great at my job, have my boss and my coworkers all like me, and not screw it up in the process.” And because the whole world knows that Google’s secret algorithm is like a magic spell that brings all correct and relevant information to the top 10 links on my results page, I would simply have to click around and Voila! I would know how to do the rest of my life.

The interesting thing about Google is that I use it for more than answers. I use it as my spell check – that little link asking “Did You mean…?” keeps me from all sorts of wrongs (in fact I just used it for voila, because I almost wrote viola, which is a kind of a violin, thanks Google!) I use it to find dates on the calendar when I can’t find my phone. I use it to help me explain things, like last week when my roommate didn’t know what caprese salad was. Thank you Google Images.  I use it for maps, phone numbers, email…the list goes on. But I am assuming you know all of this because if you’re around my age, your probably just as addicted as I am.

Now the question for me is, how is it that a six year old’s knee jerk reaction to life’s questions is simply to Google it? He grew up with Google ingrained in his worldview as “The answer to all of life’s questions.” At least I was in college or something before Google really came barreling into the market. In some semblance, I did know life before Google. But this kid, he has no clue. In his mind, that’s what we do for all of life’s question, simply run to the computer and look them up.

I suppose his mom doesn’t really have to sit him down and explain life to him. Eventually over time all of the kids who grew up on Google will have to sort the tough stuff out for themselves just like the rest of us. And in the mean time, it seems cruel to say to a six year old, “Honey life is hard, and sometimes there aren’t any good answers. Even Google can’t solve them.“I can tell you this though, I really wish he was right. Life would be a whole lot easier if we could just “Google It.”

Knowing this I have wanted to do a follow up post, but for a long time I didn’t have anything new or profound to say about it. Last week however I read this really interesting article in Christianity Today by Mark Regnerus (which was sort of a big deal because normally I find Christianity Today WAY too conservative for my tastes). His article was called A Case for Early Marriage, and you can read the full piece here.

Regnerus takes the whole conversation of single Christian sexuality and adds an interesting twist, refocusing the conversation into something different than mere sex.  He points out that as a Christian culture, we are highly focused (and maybe over focused) on physical conservatism before marriage, but we are missing the larger issue. Instead of being focused on how to be able to wait longer and longer to have appropriate sex within marriage, he argues that we need to see the value of, and support young Christians entering into marriage. He illuminates the shift in culture away from marriage and commitment, happening both inside and outside of the Church.Yet at the same time, we haven’t allowed for any shifts in our thoughts surrounding sexuality. We have been left with an entire generation of Christians who are trying all of the virginity commitment gimmicks they can muster, while needing trying to abstain for a continually elongating period before marriage. And in the midst we are wondering why the Church’s 80% sexuality rate isn’t that much behind the world’s 90% rate.

In a single statement, Regnerus says that we don’t need to learn how to be more pure, we need to learn how to get married.

To follow up this statement,  it should be explained that if marriage is God’s display to the world of how Christ loves the Church, then we should be focusing on how to create supported and strong marriages between young Christians…not how to keep your hands to yourself until you are nearly 30.

“I am suggesting that when people wait until mid to late 20s to marry, is IS unreasonable to expect them to refrain from sex. It battles our Creator’s reproductive design. The data don’t lie.”

Right here let me clarify that Regnerus does indicate that young marriagedoesn’t mean that we should be telling high schoolers to think about wedding rings. He is focusing on the 22-24 year old crowd. Which, yes does seem a bit young to us, but even 35 years ago, that was the average age to think about marriage.  Regnerus clarifies our struggles with sexuality and marriage with the following statement:

“…yet in surveying the scene, many Christians perceive a SEXUAL crisis, not a MARITAL one. We buy, read and pass along books about battling our sexual urges, when in fact we are battling them far longer than we were meant to.”

Can I get an amen from all the single 20-something Christians out there? I have to say, it was a bit vindicating to have someone else see the problem here. We aren’t sinful for touching each other…we’ve just lost of the focus of commitment.

To be clear here, the advice is not that we all go out and touch each other because we are in our mid 20s and single. Let’s not throw the baby out with the bath water. Instead, the focus of the argument and solution to the sexual “crisis” is on the idea of having the Church support and build healthy marriages between young people. He does argue that we should try to wait for sex. But we should not be putting off marriage.

“Table For One”

Quoting some statistics about marriage, Regnerus points out that we have 65% more single households than we did in the past 35 years. Also, it surprised me to read that less than half of all households in America are married couples. It doesn’t shock me or any of my single women friends to read that we have 120% more single male homes than we did 35 years ago. Women, the reality is that it IS harder to get married these days.

Why is it that we are waiting? Why is it that most of my friends that got married this past “wedding season” were closer to 30 than to 20? Because we’ve changed the way we think about marriage.  We think that we need to have it all figured out before we get married; that it’s not ok to be in process and want to be married. That we have to be fully formed, worked through our demons,  and know who we are.

I know that I have struggled with this one a lot. I have even written about it. It seems that we need to have a good job, know who we are, have our identity and issues worked out, make good money, and worked through and professional crisis before we are ready to be promoted to the “major leagues of dating”…the kind that might have a ring involved. Before that, we were just dating for company while we had fun, traveled, and went to school.

What I really found hysterical was that Regnerus points out that the Church as lost its ability to SHAME men that cannot commit. HA! Can you imagine that!?

3 to 2 Ratio

Regnerus also has another home hitting point that helped nail a suspicion from nearly all of my Christian girlfriends. We often sit around dinner tables asking each other, “What happened to all of the Good Christian MEN?” Well, statistically speaking, we’re working on a 3 to 2 ratio – 2 men to every 3 Christian women. Meaning, that 1/3 of all Christian women out there WON’T have a good Christian man waiting to find them. So, as we sit around and tell our girlfriends who have fallen for the really great non-Christian guy that she is going to “unequally yoked,” we should also know that this advice is hard to follow when it is statistically impossible. I suppose that throws a wrench in the argument that, “God has the perfect man for you honey. You just need to wait until he brings him to you.”

Now Regnerus doesn’t conclude on what this 1/3 of women should do. And to be honest, I don’t have any good thoughts either. I wouldn’t want to commit to a person who had no faith, no knowledge of God, and couldn’t understand the spiritual parts of my heart. But it was amazing to see the numbers there in black and white - women we are dateless because the men are literally NOT THERE.

Ideology vs. Reality

I love that Regnerus makes this clarification: We think that we need to be fully formed to be ready for marriage, but we forget that marriage is a formative institution. It makes you mature. It makes you practice good communication. It creates responsibility.

Now, Regnerus does go through a series of arguments of why people wait to get married. And they are all of the reasons we have told ourselves and our friends: economic, maturity, independence, making the right choice, chemistry, etc. And he does outline good points for each one. But the overwhelming point that I took from his arguments is that as a Christian community we view marriages entirely too independently. When a young couple chooses to get married, we think, “Well, they’ve made their bed, now they have to lie in it.” And that can mean financial struggles, communication or intimacy struggles.

But here’s is a different way to think about it: what if as a Church, we came along side of marriages and supported those people? What if just because you were a young married couple didn’t mean that you were doing it all on your own? What if parents were still willing to financially support those couples in times of economic struggle? What if mentors and older Christian couples were to come along side seriously dating couples and help them to make a founded decision based upon common values and wise group decisions? What if we were in support of young married couples as they mature into their roles of husband and wife? What if we took on the responsibilities together, as one body? Doesn’t that seem much less risky than simply telling a 21 year old college kid that he should marry his girlfriend so they can finally have sex?

After all, God’s kingdom is all about loving on one another, supporting each other, and creating dependence. God’s kingdom is about growing each other, and being in this together. If marriage is suppose to mirror God’s love for us, then we really have it wrong to think that we need to get your life together, wait until you have the maturity, finances, and perfection to be able to enter into commitment. “Come just as you are?“ That may apply to Jesus, but getting a husband seems a bit more tricky.

Good On Paper – But Really?

Ok here’s the catch, even as I am sitting here telling you all  about how getting married is a great thing…I am still questioning if I really believe it for myself. I am 25. I am glad I’m single. I have lived overseas. I have gone to counseling. I have faced my past. I’m hashing out my professional passions and my future. I almost got married at 23. I can tell you that I’m REALLY happy I didn’t. So, on the one hand, while I champion all of Regnerus’ ideas, part of me says “Yep they’re great…for someone else. I’m glad I’m waiting.” So, I get it, I am in your boat. I’m not telling all of the Christian women out there to drop of of school and hang up their ambitions to be barefoot and make bread for their husbands. In fact, the thought of that just made me throw up in my mouth a little bit.

But what I do think is interesting is this: what if marriage is less being perfectly ready and finding the perfect man? What if it is more pragmatic than that? What if it is simply finding our core values, and then using a team of people who love us and know us to help us make a good choice for a spouse.  And then simply saying yes to that commitment every single day. Part of me believes that this has to be more realistic.

And, I do love how the sexuality struggle has been validated through this article. It IS ridiculous to expect us to be 30 and single and not want to intimately connect with our partners. I do still think we should strive for puritan ideals, but in a way it seems that Regnerus has given us a more holistic view of what is going on.

So, with all of that said, know that I stand in the center ground on this issue too. I am still concerned with my friend who just got engaged at 21. I worry they won’t be happy.  I do like the idea of starting to have kids around 30. But I also have seen my share of problems with approaching sexuality and marriage the way we have been.

I’m interested in seeing how this resonates with my readers. In talking about this article this week, it seems that it has hit different people in very different ways. Some were angry, some felt the thoughts were too old fashioned, or some women were screaming “hallelujah!”at the idea of us needing more men to commit.

But as you think on your own opinion, I will close with a quote from Regnerus that I believe sums his whole argument very well:

“While, yes, sex matters…marriage matters more.”

Now I’m sure you all know the premise of the film. But if you live under a rock, I can give you a recap: the film features a bunch of characters who are aspiring comedians and actors. Sandler is an established comedy actor, and finds out that he is dying with cancer. He connects with Rogan and they both go on a little journey learning about fame, fortune, life, disease, love and what is important in life. Horray bro-mance movies.

The reason I talking about this post today is because there is a turn in the story line that puts the audience in an interesting place. The main character is a famous comedy actor, George Simmons (Adam Sandler), and when he finds out he is dying he tries to re-connect with an old love, Laura (Leslie Mann). The thing is, Laura is married. But as the story is painted, you find out that Laur’s husband, Clark (Eric Banna), has been cheating on her for years. And not to mention that there are several scenes where Clark openly disrespects Laura condescendingly. In one scene, Laura teary eyed confesses to George that she loves him more than her husband and wishes that she never would have married Clark.

It’s from this point that the complication begins to weave itself in my mind. As a viewer, I felt incredibly guilty cheering for George in his pursuit of Laura. Part of me wanted him to get her, to love her and have them ride together into the sunset. But the other part of me looked at her beautiful children, her home, her family, and her life and just wanted to scream at George to stop. To leave Laura alone and let her figure out her own life. To not satisfy himself in his need for her, and not destroy her family in the process.

It was an interesting moral split. And the story doesn’t end there – there are 146 minutes of weaving the complicated web, and then leaving you with an adequate sense of closure.

But my question is this: Do you feel bad rooting for the douche bag husband to get cheated on by the beautiful wife? Or do you want the main character to loose so the less popular character wins?

Either way, kudos to the writer, Judd Apatow, for keeping me engaged and divided throughout the course of the film.

What do you think?

Ironically, just yesterday my mom swung by my house. She and my dad have been cleaning out their house and attic, sorting through old things, and throwing away old junk. Buried deep in the attic, my mom came across a few boxes from my high school era. Being my wonderful mom, she figured that past memories could inspire some good creativity, so she promptly left the boxes on my front porch. Nothing beats coming home to find a box inscribed with your 16-year-old boyfriend’s name, and the contents of high school youth spilling down the porch stairs.

So, as I grapple with what Jesus and God want me to tell these kids, I have been doing my homework by walking through memory lane of my own high school experiences.

Puppy Love.

The first box that my mom left on my porch was a complete time capsule from my first Puppy Love. I had dated a very sweet boy my sophomore year of high school. We met in Language Arts class. He asked me to the Homecoming dance in a poem that he’d put on my desk (which I found in the box). We went to the dance. We had an amazing time. We started dating. We fell in love. It was glorious. He was sweet, and wrote me notes and poems. He would write me pages and pages about how he adored me, and wanted us to be together forever. We dated for almost 9 months, which is just about an eternity at 16 years old. At the end of the school year, I went on a trip to Hawaii with my school’s science program. It felt like the longest trip in the entire world. The distance started to get between us. When I got home, he’d made more friends and begun branching out. We started to grow apart. Painfully, it was time. We decided to go our separate ways. I was crushed. I had my first experience of realizing why they say you’re falling in love. Because when you’re done falling, you smack the ground – HARD.

I was inconsolable. The first day my dad went around my room and collected all of the remnants that were associated with my heart-throb. He placed them one by one in a box: pictures, letters, photos, frames, stuffed animals, anything that would make me think of this boy.  He then put the box in the attic. There it rested for almost TEN years. Until yesterday, when my mom delivered it oh-so-timely to my front door.

I have to admit, as I have long since healed and moved on, it was really cute to dig through the box of treasures. There were letters explaining things I had completely forgotten about, pictures of us as little pip-squeek babies, and pressed flowers. I couldn’t stop smiling. And not because I’m in any way connected or thinking about him. Come on, it’s been ten years. And also I’m pretty sure he’s engaged – or at least that’s what I’ve gathered through Facebook stalking (I mean, if we’re friends on FB it doesn’t really count as stalking…right!?).

I realized that this relationship was a perfect dipiction of Puppy Love because it was entirely evident of how innocent we were; untainted and unjaded. It was simple. He was nuts about me and told me all the time. He just wanted to stay with me for a 16-year-old version of forever. I was nuts about him too. And that was all there was. We had cute kisses, innocent hearts, and were totally unaware of the heartache that would follow in the wake of young love.

If I’m aloud to give a shameless plug to HNB, my current boyfriend-extrodinaire, digging through that box made me think about him quite a bit. Even though I’m 25 and he’s almost 29, somehow we have that same innocent feel. HNB is really simple. He just likes me. I just like him back. It’s easy and fun. And I’m not going to get too mushy on the internet, but it felt good to know even after all of the DBs that are out there, and crap that I’ve sifted through, innocent love is still real and a possibility – like the kind I had at 16.

I think if I was to go back to Jenni the 16 year old, I would tell her to keep dating guys like Puppy Love. Because in between Puppy Love and HNB, there were a couple of rough relationships. Although things turned out ok, I could have saved myself a lot of heartache if I would have taken good notes from Puppy Love, and tried to stick with sweet innocent love like the kind I had at 16.

Perfection and Anorexia.

The other box that my mom left at my house was a filing box that I started keeping when I was a little girl. I think I’ve always been somewhat neurotic, because I started filing at the age of 9 or so. My dad bought me the box, and each year I could collect pieces of artwork, Language Arts writing pieces, or pictures of friends that were important that year. I kept filing all the way through college. So, needless to say that when I found this box on my porch, it was more than a trip down memory lane, it was a complete history of Jenni from a little baby scooting on the carpet, all the way through sorority pictures in college.

The one thing that stood out to me about who I was back them was simply a feeling of being exhausted all the time. That and that I was totally skinny.

See, I was musical and athletic. I was on the band and the swim team. I was taking tons of classes. I got all As. I wanted to be popular, but wasn’t really. But I tried really hard to have lots of friends, and keep the peace with all of my friends (which can be hard when you’re actually a loud mouth dramatic 16 year old). And through all of that, I didn’t really believe that eating was mandatory. So, at the tender age of 17, I barely tipped the scales at 95 lbs. Which, as shown in my filed photos, I looked like I was 13. (NOTE HERE- High school girls: being a 13-year-old-looking pile of bones = SO not cute. Don’t buy the hype. Eat dinner).

Scrolling through the pictures, and through the work I did, I couldn’t help but feel the exhaustion coming back to me. It was like I spent my entire years through high school striving. I’m not sure if that was just the pressures of school, or of my friends, or of my home life, but I know I’m much more relaxed now. Not everything is so black and white. I enjoy life a lot more. I eat dinner a lot more.

I wish I could have gone back and told the high school me that it was ok to be less than everything. To relax. To have fun. I would tell 16-year-old-Jenni to quit trying so hard, because she’d wake up at 25 and still be a hot mess. I’d tell her to get over the hype of being perfect and skinny and just start getting used to choas and not looking like a model.  I’d tell her to quit trying to be so good. Not to say that being good doesn’t get you anywhere – it’s just that I know now that it’s  not a guarantee. Crappy things will still happen, and you still have to live in and grow.

My advice to 16 year old Jenni? Grow hard. Laugh a lot more than you do. Forget about trying to be everything. And I know this sounds cliche, but go after what you love. Who cares if you don’t know what that is right now. But just take a deep breath and let go. The pressure of being perfect isn’t as important as you think.

Message to the kids?

I don’t know if the 16 year old Jenni would have had the mind to understand all of that. I don’t know if just telling a kid, “Don’t worry, relax, life will work out” really means anything to them. Moreover, I don’t know if my memory lane road trip is going to mean anything to these high school kids next weekend. I don’t know if my youth of Brittney Spears and boy band hits even connects to high schoolers who grew up on iPhones and Facebook. I don’t know if they are going to look at me and think that I am outdated and lame. That my stories are unbiblical. That I can’t quote enough scripture or have enough reliability to the bible to be a real speaker.

Although it was good to see how I have grown away from 16 year old Jenni, it would be nice if I had at least a topic or direction for this camp next week. If you have any brilliant ideas, feel free to help a sister out.

You see, this guy that I had been with, I thought he was brave. I thought he was adventurous. I thought he was the greatest adventurer that I had ever known. And in response, I became brave and brazen, and an adventurer. I knew to keep up with this guy, I needed to be a woman who could handle the end of the earth and more.

But then, something happened. It turns out we weren’t in the story I thought we were. No rings would be exchanged, and we wouldn’t have the ending I wanted at that time. The story as I knew it needed me to be brave in a different way than I had imagined. 

But something I learned didn’t go away after the idea of the wedding had passed. The bravery didn’t leave. The brazen woman that I had learned to become didn’t go away. I couldn’t turn off the idea that I was going to be adventurous.

This leads me to a movie. Right, I know. Most people don’t think of their life stories in turns of Disney Movies. Or, if they do, you tend to think that they are pathetic people. But I remember, back in the time when I was thinking that I was going to get married, there was a particular movie that really displayed the kind of woman that I had decided to become.

I had just gone to the midnight showing of The Pirates of the Caribbean, At World’s End.  There was a scene in the movie that literally made me tear with ambition. I remember driving home from the theatre and making an international call. I had been so inspired from the image of bravery and womanhood that I had witnessed, that I felt like an international call was in order, even though it was expensive. I had caught him late at night, but he was willing to listen to my thoughts.

The scene I am talking about is below:

The thing that got me about this clip back then was the idea that the girl wasn’t waiting to be saved. If you notice, she was just as up and prompt with her sword as he was. He would lean on her and hold her for support as he reached to fight his own battles, needing her as much as anything. And like wise, she wasn’t wearing a dress – she wasn’t waiting in distress, she wasn’t literally needing to be saved. Instead she had her own weapon. She knew how to fight. She was just as much apart of the romance and drama as he was.

The funny thing  about that particular relationship is that it didn’t work out. I learned how to be brave, and yet, I’m not married. Which, if you ask me is just fine. But I did learn something that lasted me much longer than the relationship. I learned how to be an Elizabeth Swan. To be brazen. To have my own sword. To take off the dress and engage in the fight of life. To hold my man with as much support and strength as I could muster, knowing that the fight and the adventure were my part as much as they are his.

So, in light of the pirate ways, I toast to Elizabeth Swan. Cheers to the woman who inspired me to be a real woman long before I needed to be one. A woman who showed me feminine strength even before I knew what I was going to be strong for. Women, we are needed with spines of steel -  but yet spines of steel clothed in flesh and softness.

Let us not forget that. In the stories of adventure, we have a key role to play out. Yet, we have to brave and graceful. Not simply brave alone – but brave and beautiful…even while holding a sword and wearing pirate pants.

During the course of conversation we started laughing about all of the crazy and untrue things that my parents used to tell us as kids.  They would tell us stories to make us stop crying, to try to avoid tantrums in public, or to give us “explanations” to end the ongoing barrage of questioning (“Why is the sky blue? Why do we have to stand in line? Can’t you make this go any faster? Why can’t I have candy…”). My mom laughed as she recalled all of the made up “truths” that consisted of our childhood, but as the stories piled up one at a time I started to find the whole thing not very comical anymore. Quickly, as the evidence was being laid out, a new truth was becoming very apparent.

My parents were big fat liars.

The thought echoed as it dawned on me. I was not having fun at Taco Sunday anymore – I was getting miffed! I looked at my parents and blurted out, “You guys were LIARS!” My mom looked at my dad. They both burst out laughing. “You try having four screaming brats, and tell me that you wouldn’t lie to them to get them to shut up!”

Now, I have to be honest, I am a little indignant over the little joys of childhood and life that I might have missed out on because I was such a good and gullible child. My mom still holds to the notion that they weren’t lies, they were just “good parenting”. But, considering that my opinion in the matter is not objective, I will discuss the evidence with you, and you can render the verdict on whether my parents were just “creative” or if they were indeed liars.

Exhibit A: The Music Truck

Most kids know that in the summer when it is hot, if you happen to hear music wafting from a big yellow truck it can only mean one thing: the Ice Cream Man. I am imagining that most kids begged their parents for coins so that they could frolic out to the street and wait for him to pull over. Choosily they would pick from the beautiful pictures on the side of the truck and the nice ice cream man would sell them a refreshing summer treat – maybe even one with gum ball eyes!

Yeah, except if you were me and my brother, that isn’t how the story goes. When we were small, and we would hear the music coming out of the truck my parents would exclaim,”Oh listen, the music truck is here! What a nice man! He drives through the streets all day long, playing his music so children can hear how beautiful it is!”

Was there ever a mention of ice cream and sugary goodness? Absolutely not. And like little idiots we would nod our heads and say, “Yeah, that man sure is really nice to spend all day driving around so that we can hear his music!”

Please notice this picture doesn’t include me as a child, standing in line. BECAUSE I NEVER DID.

Right. Thanks mom and dad. That’s years of ice cream that we were jipped out of.

Exhibit B: It’s A Small World…of Demons?

Most children go on It’s a Small World when they are small. Their parents sit in the long line so that their joyful children can sit in the little boats, and see the dolls from all over the world – proclaiming that we are all united and equal even though we are all different. Except, if you were in my family, you didn’t. I was in college before I rode that ride for the first time. Why? Because my parents told us that the dolls were demons.

Seriously. These days my mom adamantly claims that it’s not true and she never would have said such a thing. Both my parents say that they simply discouraged us from going on the ride because between four kids they didn’t want to hear “It’s A Small World After All…” for the rest of their lives.

The funny part is that us kids all remember being told that there were demons in that ride. Thanks mom and dad.

Exhibit C: Evil Grocery Store CEOs

This story is a classic example of my mom’s ability to lie. When we were kids, there were four of us and getting through the grocery store could be quite the trick. So, my mom made up a game. Each time we needed to go to the store, we’d look through the pantry and make a list. My mom would explain:

The CEOs who own the grocery stores are evil men. They put candy and toys at the eye level of little kids to make them behave badly when their parents are trying to shop for food. The evil CEOs want you to be naughty, kick, scream and cry to make your parents buy the candy and toys.  So, in order to win again the evil grocery store CEOs we have to get through the entire store, and ONLY buy what is on our list.

You know what I would do? I would waltz through the toy isle like a little schmuck. I would put my hands over my eyes and announce to my mom, “I am not even LOOKING at the toys mom. I see the candy bars over there, but I am not going to ask for one because then the evil CEOs will win!”

Then when we got to the car, my mom would throw a little “dance party” because we got out of the store without buying candy or toys, no tantrums were thrown, and the evil CEOs had lost the war.

I was jipped. There are years of Barbie Dolls and Candy Bars that I never got. Thanks a lot mom.

Exhibit D: Ace of Base vs. The Beatles

My first music video I ever saw was “I Saw the Sign” by Ace of Base. I remember it still, I was at a sleep over party for a classmate when I was in sixth grade. She was popular and cool, and I was…well… not. At that age my mom still dressed me in matching vest and short outfit sets – it was a particularly horrible and embarrassing part of my life. Fashion aside, I also knew nothing in the way of pop-culture. I didn’t listen to cool radio, I listened to bad Christian radio. In fact, my mom made it a point to tell me that non-Christian radio was demon possessed. Again, this is a claim that she would now fight me on, saying that “I would never say that!” But don’t be fooled, she used to say it.

It was late at night and all of the popular girls wanted to watch this oh-so-popular music video. I knew my mom wouldn’t want me to watch, but I was already wearing a short/vest outfit and couldn’t take too many chances. I was too embarrassed to tell the other girls that not only was I a fashion disaster, but I also couldn’t watch popular demon possessed music videos. So I what any unpopular girl in a vest set would do – I watched it. And I remember Ace of Base had all of their clothes on,  and were playing guitars and drums – arguable totally demonic.  Actually, the ironic part is that the stage was engulfed in flames at some point. I felt so awful while watching this oh-so-cool and “evil” video that I felt sick until I got home the next morning.

Bawling, I confessed everything to my mother – the video, how cool it was, the fully clothed band, the guitars and the flames. I didn’t want to be a “bad girl” that listened to demonic music. You know what my mom said to me!? “Now you know why I told you not to watch those things. Now those images will be burned into your mind for the rest of your life.”

Seriously. I’m not joking.

So, yes I can see every part of that sleepover, and every part of that video. But clearly, not because it was demonic. But because I was traumatically lied to. Thanks mom.

Here’s the kicker though. Growing up, my dad loved The Beatles. Which meant that all of us kids loved The Beatles. My first favorite album was St. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. I loved it because “With a Little Help From My Friends” was also the opening song for “The Wonder Years” and Fred Savage was cuter than cute.

Now for those of you who follow The Beatles music, you know that they did a lot of drugs toward the end of their career. Ever listen The White Album? Right. Acid trip induced music I am sure. Brilliant, and absolutely drug enhanced. BUT, let’s not forget that Ace of Base is demonic.

“Acid music? Yeah, that’s totally cool kids. Just don’t listen to “I Saw the Sign,” cause you’ll go to hell.“

Thanks Mom and Dad.

Exhibit E: Chicken Skin

Ok, this story is one of the more embarrassing stories in today’s line up. I say MORE embarrassing, because it is not THE MOST embarrassing believe it or not.

I grew up on a very healthy diet, thank you mom. There were no Doritos chips, Capri Suns, or Snack Packs to be found in my house. Only Juicy Juice (100% real juice!), fruit, and wheat sandwich bread. So you can imagine that boneless skinless chicken was also a staple food group.

Imagine this scene unfolding: I’m in college. It’s Premium night. Meaning, that every Thursday instead of the normal gruel, the cooking staff would pull out all the stops and make steak, or fried chicken, or some other fancy dish. It was actually pretty amazing. All of my new friends from my dorm had got their food, and twelve of us are sitting at a long table. As I began to eat, I peel away the top layer of crunchy skin, and begin digging into my chicken.

Much to my horror, my friends proceeded to bite straight into the chicken, munching THE SKIN! Now please understand, this act in my mind was on par with eating the intestines, or the eye balls. Never in my life had I seen someone eat the skin. It was part of the bird you simply threw away. As my friend starts chewing it, my mouth falls open. I have to stop her. I tell her, “NO NO NO. You don’t eat that part!!!”

The whole table gets silent. Someone says to me, “Jenni, the skin is the best part. Have you never had fried chicken before?”

Between astonishment and laughter from my dinner pals, I was quickly educated in the ways of fried chicken. I soon discovered that not only can you eat the skin, but IT IS THE BEST PART.

Promptly I finished my amazing dinner and called my mother. “What do you mean you can eat the skin!?” I yelled, “You’ve been holding out on me!!”

“Sorry,” my mom said. “I just always thought it was gross. Oopsies!”

Thanks a lot mom. Jipped again.

Exhibit F: The Prison in Irvine

This one might take the cake in terms of embarrassing parental lies. For those of you who are local, you know that there is a HUGE corporate building off of Jamboree and the 405 freeway. All of my life, when driving by this building, my dad has pointed to it and said, “Look, there’s the prison! See those huge silver towers at the top? That’s where the guards sit. And when people try to break out, they can shoot at them.”

It always looked like a very nice prison, very upscale and classy. But after all, this was Irvine – land of tan and taupe. So, I figured it was where they kept the upscale and classy prisoners.

My first week at UC Irvine, while driving by the prison, I said to a car full of Bio Majors (and every knows that they are some of the smartest kids at UCI), “Isn’t it scary living this close to a prison?”

Crickets. Dead Silence.

“What do you mean Jenni?”

I pointed at the building. “Right there. That’s a prison. With the big silver guard towers. Isn’t that scary?”

More Silence.

“Jenni, are you pointing at the building that says Samsung on the side??”

Now it was my turn to be silent. I had never imagined that it was anything other than a prison. I mean, my dad had been calling it a prison for as long as I could remember. But now that she said it, it was a classic corporate building. And it did say Samsung on the side.

I blushed scarlet. Utterly speechless.

Right there in the car I pulled out my phone, demanding to speak to my father. Hearing the story, he laughed so hard he wept.“I had no idea that you really thought it was a prison! It says Samsung right there on the side of the building!!”

“But I never figured that you would just randomly LIE to me for no reason! I’d never thought about it – I didn’t think I had to!!”

Thanks a lot dad.

The Verdict?

So as you can see, not all of the “stories” my parents told me were simply to keep me quite in the store, or keep me from having too much candy. Sure it started out that way – but obviously somehow they got carried away. Funny how the lines between “story” and “lie” can be so blurry sometimes. And sure, while telling your kids that it’s really just a Music Truck, I can think of no fathomable reason to continually tell your children lies that make them look like an idiot well into their twenties.

So make an assessment for yourself. I vote that my parents are just flat out liars.

Let me start this review by saying that I recommended this book to just about every Christian woman I have met this week. Yep, it’s fair to say that this is one of one of those books. You know, the book that you’ve barely finished Chapter 3 and you are already raving to your friends about, and by the time you finish it (which is most likely only 2 days after you bought it), you’ve managed to work it into every conversation – claiming that the book will change their life – regardless of their current circumstances.

Well, without sounding over zealous, I will venture to say with confidence that this book will change your life. I’ve already mentally gone down to the Christian book store and bought all of their copies for nearly every Christian woman friend that I see on a regular basis.

You see, Isaacs is a comedian.  She is sassy, and punchy, and brazen. And after waking up one day and realizing that she was single and 40, and had been through the crap-hole of life…she was PISSED. She had followed God, loved Him and His rules, and yet she was still jipped out her dreams or desires. She was 40, unmarried, career-less, a recovering alcoholic, and questioning if she even wanted to press on. She was angry because she didn’t understand why a loving God could make her life so dreadful, and if he was really “good” why did it constantly feel like she could never catch a break? Sound familiar? Oh right…maybe that’s just my life.

Isaacs did what any naturally sassy and brazen comedian would do. She reasoned that if she was “the Bride of Christ,” then God was being a dead beat husband – and she took God to marriage counseling. (I know what you are thinking: “Why hadn’t I thought of that yet!?”)

I found Isaacs’ memoir through the dark places of her life honest and …well hysterical. As she described some of the darker and more heart wrenching years of her life, her story resonated with me on many levels. She was passionate about God, yet couldn’t stand some of the “Churchy-ness” of Church. She seemed to grip the idea that there are real, raw, genuine and cool people in the world, and hated that the cross necklace and prarie dress wearers seemed to miss them.

Isaccs struggled with the same issues that I talk about on my blog all the time: trying to find her purpose in life, Christian men, Non Christian men, dating, not dating, career choices, alcoholism, sexuality, Church culture, loving Jesus and faith. And throughout her struggle, she was always refreshingly honest with God.  Sometime she would yell, she would get sarcastic, and candid about the reality that she felt jipped. Heck, she even threatened to divorce Him! (And man, you thought I had gall!)

In the end, despite punchy humor and sassy remarks, Isaacs manages to squarely nail some of the desperate realities of letting God barbeque her life. She not only answers the question of “why do bad things happen to good people,” but manages to encourage the reader to press into their own darkness in their lives. She shows the face of God for who He really is, darkness and all. Isaacs does not shy away from these harder issues of faith – but instead, through her unflinching work, she proves that God was really much much bigger and greater than she ever gave Him credit for. And not in some sappy Christian Book store sort of way. Promise, she doesn’t quote verses at you – yet by the end you really get a sense of passion for God that you would never find through the “3 Points and a Poem” books that fill the shelves at Sonshine Christian Stores.

In conclusion, walk away from your computer screen, get into your car, and drive to the nearest store where you can find this book. Or better yet, click the link below and order it. And then go sit patiently by your front door and wait for the delivery guy to come.

Over the past 6 months or so, I have been having some very interesting conversations with friends and acquaintances – both Christians and Non-Christians alike. I am not trying to be some cliche writer that goes straight to the topic of sex because it’s controversial, but legitimately it seems to be a  grey area that begs questioning. I’m not referring to the logistics about sex (we can turn to Cosmo for those details), but more about the topic of sexuality. About what it looks like to be a woman or man and be sexual. What it looks like to be single and sexual. What it looks like to love God and be single and sexual.

The Christian Words of Wisdom: JUST DON’T.

I think I can speak for a lot of us who grew up in the Christian church when I say, sexuality can be an overwhelming subject. It can be hard to talk about, or hard to ask about. For most of my Christian life, I thought that “Good Christian Girls” loved Jesus, and didn’t really do much else than kiss their boyfriends. And then, in my teens I really struggled with guilt because I realized that there is a lot of grey area between kissing and sex, and no one prepared me to hash that part out.  The church’s only message to be about sexuality was “DON’T.” It said nothing about who I was as a sexual being, and how to think or feel about it. I assumed that I was wrong for wanting to do more than kissing, and moreover that I was probably the only Christian girl in the world that felt this way.

And now, in my mid-twenties I find it interesting that most of the people with really good attitudes toward sexual identity that I have met – did not grow up in the church. They are people who were never told “JUST DON”T,” but instead “It’s all good – you are sexual, embrace it.” And somehow, in their twenties these people seem to have a good mentality toward their sexual desires – regardless how much sex they are choosing to have or not have.

I remember the first time I had a  friend admit out loud,  ”I’m a super horny person. Most guys can’t keep up with me.” She loves God. And she wasn’t ashamed. She just said it like it was no big deal. She had come to Christ later in her twenties, and so she wasn’t indoctrinated in the “Shame Belief.” As I was hearing this, I felt like I had been hit by a train. The thought was so surreal. “Is it ok to like sex like that?“

In light of that last comment, let me insert the disclaimer: I wasn’t raised under a rock. I never wore a bonnet, I wasn’t home schooled, and yes my mother did have the “Sex Talk” with me. Regardless of my seemingly “normal” upbringing in regards to sex, things begun to get difficult when looking at the bases between kissing and sex. It just seemed to me that there was never any middle ground -  you were either a person who didn’t believe in God or “God’s rules”, you approached sexuality as you wanted, and never felt any guilt about it – ORyou loved God, bought the rules, and didn’t do more than kiss. And now as an adult, I am realizing that there are HUNDREDS of us that are caught in the middle. We are sexual, single, love God – and somehow are trying to make sense of what is and isn’t ok on Saturday nights at 2 am with boyfriends and girlfriends.

Most of my friends consider me an open person – I will tell you whatever you want to know about dating, sex, make outs, jeans that make your ass look great. Sometimes they will pull me aside and ask questions that they might be afraid to ask. From my girlfriend’s who are Chrisitans, I get this question a lot:

 “From a Christian Woman’s perspective, how much is too much?”

To be honest, I’m still not sure how to answer that with a good conscience. I’ve sat in  sessions with my counselor, hashing out that very issue. Even after professional help, I have decided how to reconcile things in my own mind, but I’m still not sure that I am completely right.

Epic Love.

Let me tell you about a conversation that I had with a friend over Chipotle a few weeks back. She is an amazing person. She grew up in a very conservative church. She then fled her very conservative church and decide to pursue a different lifestyle. Handfuls of experiences later, she is struggling with the same questions as the rest of us.

During this conversation, I was telling her that I know someone who is bi-sexual. It’s not so much that person is into her same gender, it’s just that she is looking for that “All Consuming Love” and doesn’t want to limit herself to gender. Admittedly, she prays to God that she will fall in love with a man and can have the children and the white picket fence, but if she happens to fall madly, insanely, completely in love with a woman – she wouldn’t want to walk away because of gender. Upon hearing this story, my Chipotle friend slams her fist on the table and says “EXACTLY.” She too is looking for what we call epic love. The kind of stuff that shakes you to your core. The stuff they write books about. The stuff that is, in her words, almost psychotic.  And she too, hopes she finds epic love with a man – she admits that she likes the male genitalia a lot and would be sad to have to give it up. But, if epic love comes with a vagina, my Chipotle friend is going to be fine with that.

In my mind, there are two pictures I see being painted. One is that sexuality is, what I would call, “Not Enough.” This is the quiet identity, the message sent to us mainly by the church or other conservatives: that it is something that happens in bedrooms. It is something that we don’t talk about a whole lot. That sexuality is something that happens to you when you are older, or when you are married or when you are ready. But before that, you should just make out with your boyfriends. And if you have dirty little thoughts, then you are probably a guilty sinner. This is the mentality that I had growing up.

The other picture is where sexuality is “Everything.” This is where I see a lot of the world falling into. Sexuality is erotica. It is pornography. It is women in bikinis on the cover of magazines. It is a passionate, unencumbered erotic connection between two people. It is in marketing campaigns. It is ….well really, all over the place. I don’t love this idea either though. I feel like it misses part of it – the human part. The soft part that happens between the sheets of two people who really love each other. I’m not quite sure how else to explain it, but I know that Hollywood has a plastic and overblown image of what sexuality should be.

So how is it, that us Christians go about landing in the middle? For me, I do know a few things. For one, I want to wait. I don’t want to have slept with my husband before I get married. I get it why it is worth waiting for. And fighting for. Because, yes, I do think it should be a struggle. There should be tension. I believe the tension shows you part of the other person – shows you who they are. Shows you how you look out for one another, how you put the other’s interests first. It shows you how you can work as a team, long before your marriage vows are exchanged. And in the words of a good friend, there is a process of discovery takes place. And maybe it’s the traditionalist hopeless romantic in me – but I love the idea of starting out your marriage with some of that discovery. Still having parts of your identity, sexuality, and intimacy that are left for the finding.

The Classic Question – How Far is Too Far?

This still leaves a lot of grey matter out in the open. There are 3 whole bases between kissing and bedding that are left to be fought over. I oscillate on my opinion over those. I have Christian friends who do everything but intercourse. I have Christian friends that do nothing below the belt. I have Christian friends who only kiss.  Are we right? Are we justifying things? What does Jesus think? Hell if I know.

But I do know this: a good friend of mine once told me – the level of sexual intimacy that you are sharing should be equivalent to the emotional intimacy that exists in your real relationship. This is probably the best explanation I had ever heard when it comes to an approach at health sexuality.

So you might be a couple that is ok with oral sex…eventually. Your second date might not be the time. Maybe oral sex  is something that you grow into. Maybe that is an area that you celebrate when you arrive there. And, as a couple, you determine what that looks like through the course of time.

I know in my own relationships, the words of my friend is an objective that I always try to keep in mind. Sex should be the outpouring of what is already going on. Which means that you should be having memories with friends, romantic dates, emotionally intimate moments, laughter, adventures – and the sexually charged moments are the celebrations of all of those things. And together you fight to navigate what to do with those sexually charged moments.

I suppose the moment that sexuality switches to simply being about horniness or orgasms, it makes me think. I mean, I know it’s not always going to be some specifically meaningful experience, but I think it’s a good plumb line.

Has the Church Failed Us?

One of the most interesting things that I have uncovered with my conversations with lots of Christians and non-Christians alike is the nature of their first sexual experiences. In general, the non-Christians that I have come across where so much smarter in their choices when it came to protection. IE- they wore condoms. They had foresight, and ensured that they weren’t doing something stupid.

On the other hand, you find this funny logic within the Church sometimes. Buying condoms (or other contraceptives) means that you are thinking about having sex, or planning to do it. Which, according to the Bible , is wrong. So, instead of protecting ourselves and one another, we get in these hot and heavy moments, and find ourselves unprepared. And then, having unprotected sex and putting ourselves and others at a huge risk. In some weird way, it seems like if we didn’t mean for it to happen, and it was just an accident – it makes it a less guilty action. Twisted I know, but you’d be surprised how many Christians have told me that they followed this line of thinking in their preliminary sexual experiences.

So, if “Don’t do it” is all that we are hearing…and then we are doing it anyway, but putting each other at risk – do you see where this is all wrong? I wonder why I have this overwhelming feeling like the Church has failed us. Left us with nothing about sexuality, other than unpreparedness and guilt.

But even in light of this feeling of failure, I have to ask myself some really hard questions: If I am mentoring high school girls, would I tell them to go ahead and have sex? To buy condoms “Just to be sure?” OR, if I had a daughter, would I tell her to buy condoms and show her how to use them? Would I tell her that it is important for her to wait to be “ready” to become sexually active?

My first inclination would be no. To just tell her to wait. Tell her to have fun, go slow, and not to let her boyfriend down her jeans. Funny though, isn’t that how we got into this predicament in the first place?

I’m not sure how to answer all of the questions right. And I don’t even know if there are right answers to be found. I don’t know if we all just should aim high, try hard, and keep the reality of our decision in the grey area a secret. I don’t know if we should talk about sex more, or less, or just give up on trying to figure it out all together. Or maybe we can take the approach of conservative christian colleges – get married within 3 months of knowing one another, so premarital sex isn’t really an issue.

I do know this though, if there are any of you out there who seem to have it a bit more figured out, your insight might be helpful to the rest of us.

Now I bring this up not merely for the story element, but also because his return is about to signal a change in the relationship thus far. I have been so busy being excited to plant a big ole kiss on him in the airport that I forgot that after that picturesque moment, reality kicks in – we are in the beginning of a relationship.  And while that signals butterflies and floating around on pink clouds, there is another part of new relationships that isn’t quite so pleasant.

New relationships mean that you say to a person, “Yes I think I will decide to let you into who I really am.” I suppose it’s a decision to be discovered.  And from experience, sometimes this means that you feel like you are standing on the front lawn in your underwear holding a sign that says “Please still like me.”  No clothes to slim you or hide things. Just you and your chonies. And your hopes that they don’t walk away.

One of my hobbies is rock climbing. With a background as a gymnist and a swimmer, it is a sport that comes very natural to me. Plus as an outdoor enthusiast, nothing beats a weekend out in nature scrambling around on rocks. When you get to some of the higher climbs outdoors, there is a term that captures this new relationship feeling completely. Exposed. Usually this can happen when it’s really windy, or the route can change so that suddenly you become very aware of how high up you are, and how little you have to hold onto. It is a very indescribable feeling. Your holds can be good, you can have secure feet, but still you become cognizant of how vulnerable you really are.

This is the feeling of new relationships for me. The side of a rock. Front lawn. Clinging by your finger nails. In your undies. Feeling the wind and the height all around you.  And clinging to the sign that reads, “Please still like me.”

Scarlet Letters.

In light of HNB being actually local, I am realizing that as comfortable as I am in my skin and believe that I’m a pretty rad chick to date,  there are stories and events in my life that I with which I am well acquainted. [I am avoiding calling them 'skeletons' in my closet because I don't like that term.] I am really okay with the course my life has taken. However, just because you are okay with your life doesn’t mean that someone else isn’t  going to look it over and say, “Whoa. I didn’t know that was in there. I don’t know about all this.”

I suppose this brings me to my question – at what point do you bring up some of the harder stories of your past? I know there is a delicate balance between what our significant others should be made aware of  and what is information will fuel a fire for no reason. For example, I have a girl friend dating a guy who has been married before.  She should know, first of all that he was married, and secondly, someof the background of their marriage/divorce. However, she needs no gritty details. At some point, stuff like that just burns in your mind.

I have a friend that was engaged last year. Her marriage didn’t happen, and now she is dating again. And I know she asks the same question – at what point does she need to tell guys that she is dating that she was engaged before? She asks, “Why does it feel like such a scarlet letter?” Why does the fact that you nearly married someone else seem like the kiss of death to a new relationship? We all know the obvious answer to part of that – no one wants to think of their mate walking down the aisle with someone else. And because it didn’t work out we all want to immediately know WHY. “Quick, please tell me that you are still normal.” Right? Is this not the game we play?

When thinking about this girl friend, I would never call her “damaged goods” in the wake of the broken engagement. In fact, to me, the fact that she tried so hard to make it work before calling it quits speaks to her level of loyalty and commitment in the face of a struggle. She knew that not everything was perfect, but was willing to stick through to ensure that she had given it her best. I would call that integrity….which is a good thing. Still  – she is destined to sit at coffee tables with new cute guys and try to explain her way through that portion of her life.

Furniture Projects

Obviously we know that these conversation topics aren’t things that you start your first date with. “Hey, thanks for dinner. I had a great time. P.S. I’ve been married before.”  People have to earn the right to know that inner parts of your soul, and the parts of your story that may have left you with chinks in your armor or little scars.  That part takes time.

In some ways, these are like the things that antique us. I have been working on a furniture project for the past few weeks. It is a bed frame from my dad’s childhood. I love it that is is weathered and scratched and has stories to go with the scratches. In fact, on the headboard, there are little teethmarks. When my dad was 2 years old and apparently couldn’t sleep during nap time, he put his little mouth on the headboard and gnawed some divots in the wood. They are still there. My mom told me, “When you’re sanding this thing, leave these scratches. They’re important.” And she is right. I could have gone down to IKEA and bought a bed frame that was perfect, but I didn’t want to. And even with my dad’s bed frame, I could have taken the power sander and blasted out all of the imperfections. But I didn’t want to do that either. It’s a better piece of furniture with nicks and dings. So as people, we’re kinda the same way – we are all walking, talking, dating bed frames.

Ingrid Michaelson Wisdom.

As I sit here typing, I am listening to “The Way I Am” by Ingrid Michaelson. I am realizing that this song resonates with us for a reason. There is something powerful about letting someone in. It grows us. It makes the bond between two people that much more meaningful.  It shifts the basis of acceptance from what we do (are we perfect, we are beautiful, are we funny…) to simply who we are. Give it a listen.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jJOzdLwvTHA]

So, I am anticipating making the drive to the airport, these thoughts roll over and over in my mind. A little unsure. A little scared. Determined to be brave. Decided to climb through the route even if it feels exposed. Picking up my sign and headed out to the lawn. Wishing that there was a formula to follow, but knowing that in this life it is never really that simple. Instead, I know I should take things slowly, genuinely, and organically honest.   And then - I will do what the rules say you do - stand in the front lawn in your chonies,  and desperately hold the sign that says, “PLEASE STILL LIKE ME!”

The Background Story

On Valentine’s Day, as you might have read, I found myself single. So, I did what any sensible, sexy, single gal does: I went dancing with the girls at the  Heat Ultra Lounge in Anahiem. It was legit. Hot guys, great drinks, and a kickin lounge. I probably will make a point to go back.

Now, what happened over the next few hours was playful, fun, and surprising – even to yours truly who is a clubbing veteran. I went with a group of girls who are outgoing, flirty and cute as all get up. At the same time, they are some of the strongest, godliest, amazing, “I know who I am and I’m going somewhere” women as well. Let’s put it this way – I wouldn’t have tagged ANY of them to be the type to give any club-guy their phone numbers. Nor would I have said that I am a person who gives out my number either. In fact, I have a designated fake number like any smart party girl does (which consequently is only a few digits off my real number –  you know, in case Ive had too much to drink and cannot hammer out a whole new fake number).

As we walked out on the dance floor, we began to attract some attention (4 cute girls – come on!), and it was only a matter of time before we were getting asked to dance. Being the coy women that we are, I think at one point early in the evening I even switched guys with one of my friends. She was dancing with an ever so slightly dorky blonde who I had my eye on. I signaled to her, she nodded in agreement – some fancy footwork ensued, I got my man and I was thrilled. As the night grew on and the music grew louder, all of us found ourselves paired off with hot and interesting guys. Exciting I know.

Don’t get too excited. This isn’t him. But it highly resembles him. Oh-la-la for sure.

Hot Nerdy Blonde was a great dancer, and as it turns out, we graduated from the same college. Once things had heated up, we headed outside for a breathe of fresh air to chat and cool off. And then it was back inside for some more flirting on the dance floor. However, as we crested 2:00am, and the house lights began to rise, we knew it was time for the Valentine’s Day romances to disband. It was then that I did something I NEVER do…I reached into my clutch and pulled out my card. With my REAL number on it. I gave it to Hot Nerdy Blonde, and smiled. I turned around to realize that all of my girlfriends (the amazing, intelligent ones who would NEVER give their numbers out at a bar), only to find that they had all given out their real numbers as well. We giggled all the way home.

 Several days after the Valentines venture, I got a text reading:

“Hey J….. – thanks for putting up with my very mediocre dance moves. hahha. Saturday was fun. We should meet up soon. -Hot Nerdy Blonde”

I was flattered. I blushed even. But I didn’t write him back. In my mind, very respectable Christian women DO NOT meet men in bars! We meet nice Christian guys at friend’s parties, bible studies, or e-harmony.com. So in light of these rules, I took the ego boost, and moved on with my week.

I soon found out however, how very wrong I was about the behavior of “Christian Women”.

I found out that my very admirable, responsible, honorable girlfriends went out on a double date with the guys that they met in the club. The boys called, they asked them to dinner, and it was only a matter of days before the four of them were laughing over cocktails. I KNOW. I was shocked. And totally felt jiped.

Cocktails and Wedding Rings.

 Here is the part where we tie this story in with Christian and Non-Christian men. Before talking to my girlfriends, (who admittedly will not date non-christian men) I was a bit confused as to why I didn’t get the memo that it was Kosher for us to go out with our club hotties. Because as I mentioned, we are all God loving women, and the idea of going on a date with a guy you met in a bar seems a little bit counter intuitive to me.

My one girlfriend came right out the gate and said it. I love her thought: “We aren’t going to marry the guys, and that’s just the thing. It’s just dinner. Christian guys don’t seem to get that. It’s like they have to know that they want to marry us before we can get a cocktail. These guys at least know how to get a number and take a girl out on a date.”

In some ways I see her point. I know a lot of guys who seem hesitant to get it out there. It’s like they’re so concerned about “being intentional” that they are paralysed. I think in the heaviness of trying to figure out of this girl is “God’s will for me” we forget to just laugh and have a drink. We forget that it’s just dinner. Girl’s aren’t made of glass, and if we go out for a dinner and it fizzles, so be it. We won’t break. We’ll move on.

At some point I overhead someone laughing about the idea that it seems that we get stuck thinking that we are all “Christian brothers and sisters.” Maybe guys  feels it’s like incest to look over at your “sister in Christ” and think ‘hmm….she’s hot. We should go out.’

I think a few of my Christian girlfriends have met far too many Christian men who flirt, make a point to see them in groups, but then never make a real move. Sometimes I have friends that have been “talking” to guys for an entire month before they every hit the “Dinner and Drinks” phase. And to contrast that to guys who took all of a week to get my friends out, a month does seem a bit absurd.

I do understand that there is a delicate balance in what I advocating. I’m not saying that all non-christian guys are perfect. I know for a fact that there are a fair share of tools out there (believe me, I have probably already dated them). And I’m not saying that Christian guys should be whoring-assholes. I’m just saying that maybe we should pop the pressure a little. Because to me it’s sad that my beautiful friends are willing to date non-Christians because those guys seem to be a little better at the dating game.

Apparently I’m a Hypocrite.

In hashing out this idea with my friend Suzanne, the first words out of her mouth was this:

“You know what this means? You have to call him. If you are writing a blog about men being able to ask a girl out, and you DID give him your number, then you need to call him back.”

Let’s just say that Suz was thoroughly thrilled when she found out that my friends went on dates with their club guys. She’d already been harassing me for weeks for not calling Hot Nerdy Blonde back. My apprent mistake regarding the acceptability of dating men that you met in a bar only added to her arguement.

I still don’t know if nice-God-loving girls like myself should be getting tied up with guys that they meet in bars…but I do see her point. I shouldn’t be that snooty. He’s putting it out there like I asked right?

So…tomorrow I’m going to call him. It’s been a month since he texted me, and it might be way  too late. But, like I said, I’m not made of glass, so if he doesn’t want me anymore  – I can be right on my way.

Keep you posted.