I meant to write a review on this book a long time ago because I finished it a long time ago. It's called Real Sex:The Naked Truth about Chastity by Lauren F. Winner. I promise you, it's not another one of those "just don't have sex, okay?" kind of books. And even though it was written by a woman, it is addressed to members of both sexes. It was the most eye-opening, most beautifully premised book about this subject that I have ever read in my entire life. Really. I wish that all young people such as myself who are trying to live their lives according to God's Word would read this book. It was so refreshing. One of my blog buddies, Wendy Scoggins, has written a review of it on her blog and does a better job of explaining why this book is so great than I have. Check it out.
Now for a brief Flirt to Convert (FTC) update. (See here for the backstory.) And, sorry, there are no juicy details. lol. Without putting all my business out there on the street, suffice it to say that I had to (well, didn't have to, but anyway) sort of cancel out on a dinner invitation that I had previously accepted. But all is not lost. He was very understanding, we chatted some more, and still, I have no reason to believe that he is not on the up-and-up. So, in the end, I guess I'm glad that I didn't "nip it in the bud." If, in the future, I do meet with him, though, for precaution's sake, I will not do so alone. And, for the record, I really am not a true believer in FTC--I just like the phrase because it rhymes and because it is seemingly fitting to the situation. Emphasis on seemingly.
And, though one of my worst fears is to ever be labeled as a conference junkie, there is a tentative upcoming conference that I hope becomes set in stone that I would seriously make the effort to attend. It's called the IQ Forum and will be held at Gateway College of Evangelism in St. Louis. It seems like something that is right up my alley and I think would be worthwhile to attend. I could definitely get a sub for work since I know ahead of time, and, thanks to finally entering the real working world, I should have the resources. We'll see!
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Monday, August 22, 2005
Flirt to Convert
I got this phrase from a comment left on another blog that I frequent often. It’s a doctrine that some Pentecostal girls and guys subscribe to for lack of available fish in the pond of believers. “Flirting to convert” in its more advanced stages is called “missionary dating.” And if the conversion doesn’t happen before the wedding date, it’s called “unequally yoked.” So, for reasons that need not be detailed, I’m not a subscriber.
However, I have found myself in a circumstance that may lead others to believe that I am a subscriber, and I do protest that I am not. But, lest I run the risk of protesting too much, I will describe the circumstances and let them speak for themselves.
It all started with a quesadilla.
My mom and I are lovers of Mexican food, and we frequent a restaurant called San Marcos. Tuesday night, we went out for quesadilla dinners. Now, every time we go to a Mexican restaurant, I order in Spanish. Oftentimes, when I do, I get the attention of the Spanish-speaking waiters, and things get a little flirty. I know this. But I do it anyway. Sad, but true.
So, Tuesday night was no different. This time, one of the busboys sort of eased on over to where my mom and I were sitting and started chatting in Spanish with me, telling me about Mexico and discussing cultural differences between Mexico and the US. Eventually he got around to wanting my phone number. Why? He claimed that he didn’t have many friends and that he really needed help with his English. I laughed.
(In Spanish) “You’re telling me you’ve been in the United States for 6 years and you work at a restaurant with plenty of people from your country and you don’t know any English or have any friends? I don’t believe you.”
He proceeded to promise that he was telling the truth. “That’s why I can’t work as a waiter—because I can’t speak English.” He then went on and on about how he really just wants someone to talk to, he wouldn’t bother me or ask me to go out . . . I was skeptical even when he said that he was 24 until he showed me his ID. He looked to be more in his late twenties. I will admit, though, that he was a hottie. And taller than most men his persuasion. Side note: I’m almost embarrassed at how easily I am attracted to Hispanic men. Even so, I kept telling him, amidst his protests, that I didn’t think it would be a good idea for us to be amigos. Still, he persisted. Finally, Mom suggested that I invite him to church. I hadn’t thought of that. (Bad me.) So, I told him that I would give him my number if he agreed to come to my church. He lit up. He said he would love to come . . . yadda yadda yadda. Before we left, he said he would call Sunday afternoon to get directions so that he could make it to the Sunday night service.
Sunday afternoon, he calls. I give him directions to the church in my not-so-perfect Spanish. I have a feeling that he’s going to be a no-show. I don’t know why.
Sunday night, he’s a no-show.
Sunday night post-church, he leaves a message. As I get the phone to call him back, it rings. It’s him. In his rapid, non-stop Spanish, he explains how he got lost and how he went back and tried to find it but couldn’t, he’s sorry, but he tried . . . as I suspected. But then we ended up talking for a while on the phone. He still claims to just want to be friends, it’s so rare for him to have an American friend because he can’t speak English, and on and on. (sigh) I feel myself slowly starting to give in. Aw, give the guy a chance. Maybe he’s not a typical guy just out to see what he can get. Maybe he does just want a friend to talk to and to help improve his English.
Part of me says, "Nip it in the bud, you're making yourself look desperate. A Mexican busboy?" But the other part of me is intrigued and is like, “Why? You're not trying to get with him or anything. You could use a bit of brushing up on your Spanish anyway.” How do I get myself into these quandaries? Next time I go to a Mexican restaurant, I’m keeping my mouth shut.
However, I have found myself in a circumstance that may lead others to believe that I am a subscriber, and I do protest that I am not. But, lest I run the risk of protesting too much, I will describe the circumstances and let them speak for themselves.
It all started with a quesadilla.
My mom and I are lovers of Mexican food, and we frequent a restaurant called San Marcos. Tuesday night, we went out for quesadilla dinners. Now, every time we go to a Mexican restaurant, I order in Spanish. Oftentimes, when I do, I get the attention of the Spanish-speaking waiters, and things get a little flirty. I know this. But I do it anyway. Sad, but true.
So, Tuesday night was no different. This time, one of the busboys sort of eased on over to where my mom and I were sitting and started chatting in Spanish with me, telling me about Mexico and discussing cultural differences between Mexico and the US. Eventually he got around to wanting my phone number. Why? He claimed that he didn’t have many friends and that he really needed help with his English. I laughed.
(In Spanish) “You’re telling me you’ve been in the United States for 6 years and you work at a restaurant with plenty of people from your country and you don’t know any English or have any friends? I don’t believe you.”
He proceeded to promise that he was telling the truth. “That’s why I can’t work as a waiter—because I can’t speak English.” He then went on and on about how he really just wants someone to talk to, he wouldn’t bother me or ask me to go out . . . I was skeptical even when he said that he was 24 until he showed me his ID. He looked to be more in his late twenties. I will admit, though, that he was a hottie. And taller than most men his persuasion. Side note: I’m almost embarrassed at how easily I am attracted to Hispanic men. Even so, I kept telling him, amidst his protests, that I didn’t think it would be a good idea for us to be amigos. Still, he persisted. Finally, Mom suggested that I invite him to church. I hadn’t thought of that. (Bad me.) So, I told him that I would give him my number if he agreed to come to my church. He lit up. He said he would love to come . . . yadda yadda yadda. Before we left, he said he would call Sunday afternoon to get directions so that he could make it to the Sunday night service.
Sunday afternoon, he calls. I give him directions to the church in my not-so-perfect Spanish. I have a feeling that he’s going to be a no-show. I don’t know why.
Sunday night, he’s a no-show.
Sunday night post-church, he leaves a message. As I get the phone to call him back, it rings. It’s him. In his rapid, non-stop Spanish, he explains how he got lost and how he went back and tried to find it but couldn’t, he’s sorry, but he tried . . . as I suspected. But then we ended up talking for a while on the phone. He still claims to just want to be friends, it’s so rare for him to have an American friend because he can’t speak English, and on and on. (sigh) I feel myself slowly starting to give in. Aw, give the guy a chance. Maybe he’s not a typical guy just out to see what he can get. Maybe he does just want a friend to talk to and to help improve his English.
Part of me says, "Nip it in the bud, you're making yourself look desperate. A Mexican busboy?" But the other part of me is intrigued and is like, “Why? You're not trying to get with him or anything. You could use a bit of brushing up on your Spanish anyway.” How do I get myself into these quandaries? Next time I go to a Mexican restaurant, I’m keeping my mouth shut.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Poem
today I got torn
a piece of me
I never knew would leave
such a token of
its greater existence.
a flesh skin rip
a love blood rivulet
and all I could do
was watch, water-eyed
as it trickled and dripped,
will it to heal
and wish it the best.
a piece of me
I never knew would leave
such a token of
its greater existence.
a flesh skin rip
a love blood rivulet
and all I could do
was watch, water-eyed
as it trickled and dripped,
will it to heal
and wish it the best.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
La Conferencia
As soon as I walked into the doors of the church where the Spanish Conference was being held, before I could even find a seat, I was approached by five tall, fine Hispanic men, one after the other, and was asked for my número de teléfono.
Yeah, right.
Anyway, I had a grand time. Another young lady from church and I got up at the crack of dawn and made the three-hour-drive to Foley, Alabama. Hearing the sanctuary filled with Spanish renditions of “Praise the Lord, oh, yes, He is good! Give the Lord a hand-praise!” brought back so many memories. Many of the choruses that we sang were ones that I had already learned from going to church during my time in Spain. Most of the Spanish-speaking people there were Mexican and Guatemalan. The ministers were bilingual, so they would say a little something in Spanish, translate it into English (for the non-Spanish speakers there for support), say a little something else in Spanish, repeat it in English—it was amazing how they could do that and keep their thoughts straight. I met some folks, practiced a little bit of Spanish, got the Search for Truth Bible study in Spanish, and got my mouth burned up by some spicy post-church guacamole.
There is such a need for ministries that reach out to Spanish-speaking people, without a doubt. The Hispanic population is exploding in Alabama. We don’t have one at our church yet, but the groundwork is being laid, and I want to be ready!
Yeah, right.
Anyway, I had a grand time. Another young lady from church and I got up at the crack of dawn and made the three-hour-drive to Foley, Alabama. Hearing the sanctuary filled with Spanish renditions of “Praise the Lord, oh, yes, He is good! Give the Lord a hand-praise!” brought back so many memories. Many of the choruses that we sang were ones that I had already learned from going to church during my time in Spain. Most of the Spanish-speaking people there were Mexican and Guatemalan. The ministers were bilingual, so they would say a little something in Spanish, translate it into English (for the non-Spanish speakers there for support), say a little something else in Spanish, repeat it in English—it was amazing how they could do that and keep their thoughts straight. I met some folks, practiced a little bit of Spanish, got the Search for Truth Bible study in Spanish, and got my mouth burned up by some spicy post-church guacamole.
There is such a need for ministries that reach out to Spanish-speaking people, without a doubt. The Hispanic population is exploding in Alabama. We don’t have one at our church yet, but the groundwork is being laid, and I want to be ready!
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
As I Sit Waiting
I still haven’t read Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying. A terrible admission for a Language Arts major, I know. But I have read Dr. Seuss’s Oh, The Places You’ll Go! In fact, I read it all the time to a certain adorable little girl who spends a lot of time at our house. She’s only three, but we’ve read it so much that she can look at the pictures and approximate pretty well what the words are.
There’s a point in the book where the little protagonist is going along in his life’s journey and after some “bang ups and hang ups,” he reaches The Waiting Place. In the picture, all of the little Dr. Seuss-looking figures are standing in line, sitting perched by a telephone, watching a pot, doing anything that involves having to wait. Oh, I so feel that I’m in The Waiting Place right now.
It gets monotonous. Lord, what is it that I’m waiting for?
It’s not that I don’t have enough on my plate to keep me busy. In-service for new teachers starts Wednesday, and the rest of the week is for all teachers culminating with the elementary school open house Friday afternoon. The first day of school, next Monday, is breathing down my neck. “Are you ready? Are you excited?” everyone asks. Upon learning that this is my first year teaching, all of the older teachers pat me on the shoulder saying, “The first year is the hardest, but you’ll get through it.” What other choice do I have?
I meant to tell the minister who preached last night that the message was for me. It really had me written all over it. He talked about trusting God, trusting that He has a plan for our lives, seeing that He has a reason for why things happen, believing that “he which hath begun a good work in [me] will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ” (Philippians 1:6), knowing that if we can hang on and endure, that one day we will see how all the pieces of the puzzle fit.
As the altar call was given, I didn’t go up there like I knew that I should have. It seemed like he was talking to me when he said several times, “Don’t be embarrassed to come. It doesn’t mean that you’re backslidden or anything negative about you. I would just like people who have questions about what’s going on in their lives or anyone who just needs a little extra boost of encouragement to feel free to come to the altar.” I just sat there, feeling like I had had more than my fair share of boo-hooing sessions at the altar lately. God can touch me right where I am. I realize now that that was just my pride getting in the way.
I have so much to be thankful for. I know that I do, and I thank God for what He has done for me. A million people would probably love to exchange places with me. I don’t ever want to fall into complaining. If I look at the big picture, honestly, truly, things could be a million times worse, and I am grateful that they aren’t. I know deep down inside that I just need to be patient, focus on things that have been set before me (i.e. my job) and be content with where I am at right now.
“But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint” (Isaiah 40: 31).
There’s a point in the book where the little protagonist is going along in his life’s journey and after some “bang ups and hang ups,” he reaches The Waiting Place. In the picture, all of the little Dr. Seuss-looking figures are standing in line, sitting perched by a telephone, watching a pot, doing anything that involves having to wait. Oh, I so feel that I’m in The Waiting Place right now.
It gets monotonous. Lord, what is it that I’m waiting for?
It’s not that I don’t have enough on my plate to keep me busy. In-service for new teachers starts Wednesday, and the rest of the week is for all teachers culminating with the elementary school open house Friday afternoon. The first day of school, next Monday, is breathing down my neck. “Are you ready? Are you excited?” everyone asks. Upon learning that this is my first year teaching, all of the older teachers pat me on the shoulder saying, “The first year is the hardest, but you’ll get through it.” What other choice do I have?
I meant to tell the minister who preached last night that the message was for me. It really had me written all over it. He talked about trusting God, trusting that He has a plan for our lives, seeing that He has a reason for why things happen, believing that “he which hath begun a good work in [me] will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ” (Philippians 1:6), knowing that if we can hang on and endure, that one day we will see how all the pieces of the puzzle fit.
As the altar call was given, I didn’t go up there like I knew that I should have. It seemed like he was talking to me when he said several times, “Don’t be embarrassed to come. It doesn’t mean that you’re backslidden or anything negative about you. I would just like people who have questions about what’s going on in their lives or anyone who just needs a little extra boost of encouragement to feel free to come to the altar.” I just sat there, feeling like I had had more than my fair share of boo-hooing sessions at the altar lately. God can touch me right where I am. I realize now that that was just my pride getting in the way.
I have so much to be thankful for. I know that I do, and I thank God for what He has done for me. A million people would probably love to exchange places with me. I don’t ever want to fall into complaining. If I look at the big picture, honestly, truly, things could be a million times worse, and I am grateful that they aren’t. I know deep down inside that I just need to be patient, focus on things that have been set before me (i.e. my job) and be content with where I am at right now.
“But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint” (Isaiah 40: 31).
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