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Music Masterbation

4/29/2022

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Written December 27, 2020

That term came to me during a worship set as I mentally had to check out for fifteen minutes as the worship leader started to cry and eek out words she could barely get out as she then led the congregation into a song, repeating the lyrics I just want to love you over and over again ad nauseam. The crowd remained pretty unaffected for the majority of it until the drums crescendoed and every was swept up into what they thought was the moving of the Spirit when in actuality it was musical manipulation. There is a tension in music just like foreplay and eventually there will be release. And this was the phrase that came to mind as I stomached 20 min of someone onstage having a gay ole time but incognizant of the experiences of those she was supposed to be leading.

Let me ask you a question. Have you ever had a romantic partner write you a poem or a song or a card? Did it say I love you 18k times? Would you be moved by that repetition or would you chalk it up to laziness? I’m gonna bet the latter. And what if after 10 repeats you said, okay cool I get it, thank you, and they replied no I really want to keep telling you this one thing and you’re then like, cool?


So now I’m talking about lazy ass songwriting and musical masterbation all in one piece here. They’re two different things that plague modern Christian “worship” and I use quotes here because half of what I experience in church music isn’t worship. It’s shitty lyrics put to shitty chord progressions and I am BORED! And I have a sneaky suspicion, so is God.


Now let me ask another question, shouldn’t the people tapped into the Holy Spirit be the most creative powerful artists walking this earth? Shouldn’t non Christians hear a little bit of our worship music and be like, damn! What is that, that’s so interesting? But no. It’s Sesame Street music in its skill and intelligence, and I know no adult who gets super jazzed about singing twinkle twinkle little star on repeat. But that’s what we’re asking congregants in The Church to do, and I am not having it.


If the Church is the bride and we the church are waiting in earnest for our Bridegroom, our lyrics and music, which is an outpouring of our longing for God, should be seeped in intense, mature music.


The best worship music feels like a sexual romp. The best kind of romps - playful, engaging, building, intimate, deep, cutting into our souls until it culminates into an explosion of sound and release. And if the word of God is as sharp as a sword, cutting between bone and marrow, why are we not using the Word of God as our lyrics? I kinda feel like He’s already penned enough lyrics for the rest of time, let’s try some of them out! Not saying He doesn’t have some new things to say, but I’m pretty sure it’s not I love you I love you I love you 18k times in a row.


Be better Christian leaders. Dig deeper. God is worth more than pithy lyrics and simple music.


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What Age Is God?

11/11/2020

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He is the fingers of a toddler 
trying not to fall,
twirling a yellow leaf in her hand. 

He is the energy of a young man,
bursting through snow with testosterone
and the unquenchable desire to thrust, to fight, to conquer.

He is the arms of a mother
cradling new life,
and then releasing her to college.

He is the sun-wrinkled eyes of the sage
who’s taken in much and has seen much
and knows much.

And He is the Spirit of Father Time and Mother Nature
who sits above the heavens and conducts time machines and creates portals and dimensions and lots of other stuff that can’t probably even fit into the concept of description.

The wonder of discovery.
The loins of courage.
The heart of protection.
The quietness of wisdom.
And the mystery of space.
These are the age of God.

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CoronaWhoCares

3/21/2020

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So I just want to go on the record, because if my predictions are right, then I want them to be commemorated. Statistically speaking, I'm wrong by a million percent, but in the off chance I'm the long star teller on this, I want to show that I've been thinking this a while. No one reads this site; no one will see this, so it doesn't really matter what I say here because no one's gonna see it. BUT if months from now we're staring back at what my predictions are, I want to go on the record and say that I TOLD YOU SO.

This coronavirus. And no, I'm not gonna call it that scary COVID 19 name because that sounds serious and ominous and plays into this whole frantic fear based hysteria the entire WORLD has fallen into. It started out as being called coronavirus and I'm gonna keep calling it that because it sounds much more benign than COVID ROBOT 2358198 which I guess is supposed to make me sit up straight and pay attention because THIS IS SERIOUS PEOPLE!!! THOUSANDS ARE GONNA DIE FROM THIS!!! HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE ARE GOING TO GET SICK AND MOST OF THEM WILL BE TOTALLY FINE BUT WE'RE GONNA SOUND THE ALARM AND MAKE EVERYONE IN THE WHOLE WORLD GIVE A SHIT FOR THE FIRST TIME IN THEIR GD LIVES!!!!!!!!

No one gives a shit about the thousands of people that die every day to totally preventable things like guns or car accidents or heart disease or the seasonal flu. We just accept that as well, that's how life has been for decades because when the numbers started creeping up, no one was that connected to spew the stats out and the media had better things to report on I guess. But now there's this "flu" that is HIGHLY contagious and kills one percent more people than the common flu and yet we're all gonna lose our minds and the entire world literally has to stop and go inside because...because...I'm not exactly sure why, the science doesn't really hold up, but we're all gonna go inside and pretend that's gonna do something. I mean sure maybe it'll slow the spread down a bit, but  NEWS FLASH this thing is gonna infect us all, and the only real way to protect yourself is to board yourself up in your house and NOTHING I MEAN NOTHING comes in. This half-ass don't congregate in groups of 10 is bullshit - it's probably down to 5 now - but either way, it's bullshit. The science doesn't add up. The reason we're seeing a spike in cases is because we actually have tests for it now available in this country. And the reason we don't realize how more rampant it is is because we're not testing every individual with a pulse, but my money says WAY more people have it and therefore it's WAY LESS harmful than everyone thinks. Oh it's contagious to be sure - that part sounds right, but what doesn't add up is the hysteria over the number of people that will die from this. What is it now, 10k? 10k in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD?! Yawn. Wake me up when there's something of notability. 10k out of 8 BILLION is nothing. 4k die EVERY DAY due to traffic accidents, so pardon me if I am not sharing in your panic of the number of people that have died from this that have died in the last 2 1/2 days. Forgive me for not giving a rip over the 250 dead here in the US to date when about half that die EVERY DAY due to gun violence in this country. I don't see anyone declaring. a national WALK TO WORK day or a national KEEP YOUR GUN IN THE SAFE day. That would save THOUSANDS, literally THOUSANDS in a matter of ONE DAY, but the thing about cars and guns? They're not invisible. And when something is invisible, like ghosts, we get scared. The whole world freaking out is about control and this false sense of security people walk around with. On a GOOD DAY the flu vaccine is 30% effective. 30%. Meaning 70% of people who get the vaccine are 100% as vulnerable as the rest. We lose about 25k to the flu every year in this country, but I don't remember anyone yelling at me to wash my hands or to stay home out of solidarity to the old people who might be contaminated from my very existence. Nonsense. You didn't give a shit about the immune compromised or the old until you were scared into thinking you were just as vulnerable as they. Again, NEWS FLASH!, you're just as vulnerable as you were one month ago before this hysteria ensued. Your chances of getting sick and dying of something else are greater than this dreaded coronavirus, but everyone's been brainwashed into thinking we gotta act like it's the end of the world. It's not. You're just realizing how little control you have. I guess I'm one of the few who's realized we never had any to begin with.
I just got home a few minutes ago. I was at another person's apartment and got a ride-share home.  It's 2am on a Saturday night in Manhattan. I asked the driver how it's been this evening. He was wearing a blue mask and surgical gloves. He tells me he's been at work since 5pm and I am his FIRST passenger. FIRST. In 9 HOURS!!!! You mean to tell me I'm the ONLY person taking a VIA somewhere on the midtown east side that's using a ride app in 9 hours?!?! I knew I was wildly overly cool about this whole thing, but you mean to tell me I'm the ONLY one using this car service on an island of 8 million people in 9 hours time? So, I'm going on the record to give my piddly opinion. I hope everyone else is wrong. Not because I want to be right, but because me being right means this thing is way less deadly and we all need to take a serious chill pill and breathe. I'm not discounting the thousands of lives that have been ravaged by this disease. But I AM gonna put it in perspective and be somewhat skeptical to the demands that I give a shit and change my entire life over something that we're still figuring out and that to date has still taken way less lives than most things that kill us humans.
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Liberal Christian

4/1/2019

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I'm so glad I'm a New York City Christian.
​

Last night I had the privelage of hosting three Godly women in my home. They were all Texas born and bred and two of them were married to pastors. I don't doubt any of their sincerity regarding their faith in God. They LOVE Jesus. But my God, their judgement of non-believers or those of another race or simply "other" was appalling.

We discussed chick Fil a and gay clergy and race and even Obama. They all claimed race wasn't an issue until HE came into office. I kept my mouth shut. Finally one of them asked my thoughts and I challenged them that as four white women we really had no clue what black culture was like or what their struggles were. "Victim mentality" I heard over and over. "Standing for What's Right" trumped making someone feel loved.

I recognized their words well. I used speak them. And I knew the feelings that accompanied these sentiments. Feelings of righteousness and animosity. Feelings that there was a battle we Christians must constantly wage. Standing for BELIEFS versus people. Letting people know their behavior was unlawful in God's eyes versus letting people know they were loved in God's eyes.

No matter how much I tried to instill a sense of mystery or humility, it was quickly swatted away with righteous indignation. Chick-fil-A flying a pride flag in Hells Kitchen? Rubbish! Then we're condoning gay sex. "What if the goal was to let gay people know they are welcome?" was my suggestion. "Sometimes the more loving thing is to tell someone they're doing something wrong than accept them," was their rebuttal.

No love. No compassion. No humility. Just because your sin has a rainbow colored flag doesn't mean my sin that doesn't have a flag causes any less fanfare. We are ALL sinners and some are easier to pinpoint than others, but what about the mega-church pastor who starts relying more on his intellect than God's wisdom. Isn't pride the worst sin of all?

And since when was it a Christian's jobs to judge non-Christians? It's so ridiculous. Why would I expect any non-believer to adhere to rules and devotion to Someone they don't even believe in? I certainly don't follow the rules on a daily basis and I DO believe in God!

My heart for people has changed. I care more about people knowing Jesus loves them and offers them freedom than I do whether or not they're spic and span before they approach the throne of God. Isn't that what Grace is all about? Since when do people gravitate TOWARDS judgers? Never.

When the adulterous woman was caught and her fellow townsmen wanted to stone her, it was JESUS who told them to lay down their weapons. It was JESUS who confronted them of their own self righteousness and hypocrisy, and it wasn't until Jesus put his arm around this woman, drawing her near and whispers He does not condemn her that THEN He tells her to sin no more. By that point she knew she was loved. She knew she was welcome and her heart was open to hearing the wisdom of this God who had shown her He loved her. Christians today stand on the sidelines and tell people not to throw stones but they certainly don't run toward sinners and shout at the angry mob to "LEAVE THEM ALONE" while providing protection and grace.
​

Have you ever been scolded my someone who wasn't your parent? What was the first thing you said? "You're not my parent! You can't tell me what to do!" Why would we expect anyone to listen to the Father when they don't even recognize Him as their Abba? Why are we as Christians continually astounded at the immorality of non-believers and so easy on judging our own?


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Three Swells

11/5/2018

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The waves were big. The sky was dark and the waves were big.
 
She knew this was a hard journey. Crazy even. She’d told herself she’d never do this. Never ever. But here she was and she wasn’t turning around. By God, she wouldn’t do that.
 
She tried to rely on her nautical skills she’d honed her whole life, but this ship was different. She knew she couldn’t depend on her knowledge of the other ships she had steered. This boat was unlike any others she had been on.
 
It still had the same components – hull, engine, rudder, bow – but the way to navigate it was entirely different. Almost backwards. It felt wrong. But she would not turn back. She was going through. She wanted to get through to the other side so badly that she would press on, hoping she could make it. Hoping God would meet her on the other side, but knowing He wasn’t going to be with her now. She knew she was alone. So she buttoned up her sailor coat, gripped the ship’s wheel and braced herself for the waves.
 
The storm was relentless. There were times when she thought the vessel might capsize, but she was a good enough sailor that she kept the boat afloat. She could hear the constant ringing of her friends’ voices as she embarked on this journey. What are you doing! She knew she should turn back, but she couldn’t. Nothing inside her told her to. Nothing. Logically she knew the journey was foolhardy, but what would have been more personally mutinous would be to turn around altogether. What was back there was pain. Maybe it was righteous pain; maybe it had purpose and she was a good person there, but it was too painful. She had to go. And though this path wasn’t any sunnier, it felt within her bones too great, too hopeful, too epic to forsake.
 
She’d been in troubled waters before. This was not new. She had nearly drowned many many times before. The first time she met such terrible waters, she was so overwhelmed, her feeble attempts to stay afloat were recognized and she did not die, but she could only hunker down in the bridge and between clutching the wheel and doing her best, she’d clutch her heart in continual despair, pleading with God to save her. He did, but she moved so slowly through the blast that it lasted many many days. She couldn’t sail out of it fast enough for she was scared and her skills were green. The waves beat against the ship and much of the time she just sat there on the floor, shaking and crunching her eyelids together trying to remember what the sun looked like.
 
She made it out alive, but she did not reach the destination she so longed for. She found herself back home and eager to set sail again.
 
The next storm she encountered was just as big, just as scary, but after the years of her early sailing, she had matured and learned so much, that the second gush she met she weathered quite gracefully. That tempest lasted for what seemed forever, but her eyesight so keen and her intuition so sharpened, that her ship cut through the squall with such skill and ferocity that when others heard of the journey, they were quite impressed. How did you do it? they’d query, and though she knew much of the survival was her own, it was God that had bolstered her through that time. God and God alone was with her on that second disturbance and it had made all the difference. She had still been scared and was still greatly fatigued by it all, especially frustrated by the fact she still hadn’t made it to her destination, but she had made it through practically unscathed. Would it sound preposterous to say her clothes were barely whetted by the raging waters outside? It would be, but it would still be true. She had weathered that storm practically bone dry.
 
What was so astounding by the third storm was the timing of it. Through a series of cataclysmic and what seemed supernatural events, she found herself on a new ship heading straight into a monsoon again. She knew she could turn around for why would any good sailor set forth on a new ship into such treacherous waters when there was really no course set forth? The only known was that it was a path away from the second storm, but even then it wasn’t the only path. She could have stayed on her faithful ship that had secured her survival through the many dark waters they had encountered before. She could have stayed home and left sailing for a while. She wasn’t only a sailor. She was a mother and a friend and a daughter, and so many other things that defined her. So why would she choose to sail on a boat she knew nothing about into a storm to which she knew no end in sight? Because there was something about this journey that compelled her in a deeply passionate way, no less than what she had felt before every time she set sail. But because the vessel was so drastically different, she did not, without sounding too cliché, have her sea legs.
 
And despite this, something still lured her into the gale. Maybe she was tired of the ship she had been on. It was a sturdy ship but it had never lead her to that magnificent foreign land she had dreamed about her whole life. The manors she had known since childhood were fine, but she had heard of and imagined a land on the other side of the ocean where true love seemed to exist. And so she wanted to go. Oh how she wanted to go. She hadn’t made it on her trusty ship. So she found herself on a new one.
 
This ship was not given to her by God. She found it on her own, and though she wasn’t looking for it, she had found it and she liked it and wanted to sail on it. This is where her friends’ voices, and even her own, chimed in with declarations of madness and crazy talk. She heard herself talking of this boat and she knew she sounded unlike herself. But she was tired and didn’t want to sail on her accustomed boat anymore. And when she found herself captain of this new bateau, she coordinately found herself sailing back into the eye of a storm, not really understanding why but knowing she couldn’t turn around.
 
Again, this ship was different. It didn’t have the familiar and shiny instruments she had utilized so daftly before. She felt clunky. She didn’t know her way around and she found herself hunkering down much like she had on her first journey, but this time she knew God was not there to give her hope and help her know she was going to be okay. She operated like she was, but the spiritual reinforcements that had stayed with her on every journey before were not there this time. She clutched her wheel, her heart, her eyelids and saw only blackness. The only piece of peace she did feel was an undeniable yet ever so slight push upon the small of her back, moving her forward through the water. It felt of God, but nothing of this ship nor this journey spoke of blessing, so she’d steer through the waves and wonder what the hell she was doing but knowing she would never turn back.
 
Then one day the skies broke and the downpour subsided, and she woke up to the sun and the absence of an ever-present roar she had grown accustomed to. The storm had stopped. But she was in the middle of the ocean and no land was in sight.
 
Panic set in. What had she been thinking? Foolishly she thought there’d be land on the other side of the hurricane. She’d thought once she’d suffered the swells, she’d see the first sliver of land and know paradise was waiting. But before her wasn’t at all what she’d expected. Before her was an ocean vast and wide and unending from every direction. She was out in the middle of nowhere on a strange ship and no earth in sight.
 
She’d fought so hard on her own and now she didn’t know what to do. There was no crest to surmount, no darkness to illumine with a candle. What had seemed paramount to her survival, her struggle to man her boat successfully, she now realized in horror was simply a distraction to what lie ahead. Just a large vast ocean stretching on and on from her ship to what seemed like forever.
 
Was this hell? A strange sort of hell out in the beautiful ocean with the sun shining in such a mocking way? Found light, have ya? Well, what are you gonna do now?
 
She didn’t know. She’d become so self-reliant, that her first instinct was not to call on the God who had held her through the terrible twisters before. But she knew she had to. She had gotten herself into this mess and there was no way to get herself out. She knew that. She had to ask Him for help. She had to ask Him, and it felt like death having to do that.
 
For what could she say? I’m sorry for ignoring You and rushing into a beating storm, never once asking for Your blessing, but somehow mysteriously feeling Your hand upon my back, but never asking You which way You wanted me to go? I’m sorry for dismissing You over and over again because I knew You didn’t want me on this ship but I equally knew you didn’t want me to drown? I’m sorry? Please help me? I don’t want to die out here in the middle of the ocean?
 
And she slid down to her buttocks as her knees gave way, and she buried her eyes into her hands and sobbed. It was time to relinquish her position. She could no longer be captain. She had been captain and sailed herself into oblivion. So much for the romance of it all.
 
After a good long cry, she got up and walked to the starboard and leaned out over the railing, staring into the horizon. She took a deep breath and exhaled in an awkward way, so unfamiliar she considered if she’d been holding her breath her whole life. This was going to be a different sort of journey. She’d only known how to sail in treacherous waters. She knew how to withstand the torrents and steady herself as the ship rocked uncontrollably upon the waves. She knew how to do that. Her journeys before were always quickly met with unfair weather that most of her sailing was through wind, rain, and darkness. What she didn’t know was how to sail in the sunshine when the only obstacle was knowing which way to go.
 
Direction. She had never asked for direction. Only to make it to the desired land and when met with a challenge, to get through it. She didn’t even know where her compass was. Did she even own one? Wait, there it was. Right next to the wheel. Plain as day. Strategically situated next to the monstrous steering circle. But so what if she’d found a compass? Compasses are only good when you have coordinates. What were her coordinates? She’d have to get those, and as she never availed herself to carry a map, she realized the only way to find her way was to ask God for the way.
 
There was no going back to her familiar homeland. She didn’t even know which way that was. And though she’d been hell-bound for paradise, she didn’t even know if that’s where God was going to take her. She certainly hoped it was, but she was on a ship that she wasn’t even supposed to be on and the only way to navigate it would be to ask God to do that. Would He christen this ship? Out in the middle of the sea after the journey had already begun?
 
Yes. Yes He would. He would never leave her. Especially now when she was so lost and so afraid and so confused about what she had done and how she would make it out. Yes, He would lead her and bless her and this ship she’d fallen in love with and wasn’t meant for her to come aboard when she did. But she did. She would make it to land with this barge, but the first thing she had to do was relinquish control of the sailing. She couldn’t desperately, frantically try to figure out how to navigate it as tides pummeled her body. She had to ask God to steer. And that felt very strange. She had done it before but it was years ago when she was on her first ship and there were no gales to challenge. She had been sailing before on calm waters, in the sun, and she had innocently asked God to help her find that land. There was a time when she sailed like that. But those times seemed juvenile because she hadn’t even battered a wave at that point. Surely God wasn’t asking her to try to sail with that naivete again?
 
No, of course He wasn’t, but there is a childlike quality He often asks for, and so it seemed He was asking her to trust Him like a little girl again even though she was clearly a woman. That seemed a hard feat as the land she had wished to reach was the very pinnacle of NOT being a little girl. That kind of trust she felt called to impart made her nauseous. Was she really to lay down her oars so to speak and let God steer? How could she forget the tempests she had battled? How could she just sit there and serenely look over the waters and know God was leading her without her input and strife whatsoever? This adventure seemed scarier than the first. At least with looming waves, there was action to take. But this sitting on a dry boat, just kinda wistfully, wishfully praying God would lead her to land seemed horrifyingly simple and moronic. Hadn’t she gained some sort of veteran status for a bigger better upsurge to overthrow? Not this mamby pamby sit there and wait and sail on My go? Ugh. Blech. She wanted to throw up. Not out of repulsion but out of terror. If she couldn’t do anything, what is God’s name was she supposed to do?
 
It was all too terrifying for her, and yet she remembered the old adage, one day at a time. So she brought her knees into her chest, bowed her head, and rocked with the ship as it set a new course to a destination unknown with a new Sailor at the wheel. 

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I'm sorry I slept with your husband, but

10/9/2018

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I’m sorry I slept with your husband, but
 
  1. Maybe you shouldn’t have stopped having sex with him. Sex is the only action reserved for couples. You can raise kids with someone else, you can share a bank account with someone else. You can run a company with someone else. You can live with someone else. But sex is the only thing that really separates two individuals from an actual couple. So when you remove that, you kinda remove the core of the thing, so then don’t be surprised when the whole marriage collapses.
  2. You’re not the only one who’s been betrayed. Don’t act like you are special. You’re not. Most people cheat or get cheated on. It’s a big club, and it’s a shitty club, but your incredulousness at the fact you’ve been betrayed is a little sickening. Especially because:
  3. You were once a mistress too. Please don’t act all high and mighty as if such action is beneath you. It’s not. The only thing beneath you was the married man you slept with who was married to someone else. He had a wife and kids just like you do now. I hate to say what goes around comes around but
  4. What goes around comes around.
  5. Marriage isn’t a one and done thing. It’s a living organism, and if you stop tending to it, it will die. Seems to me that you thought once you said I do, you’d done everything you needed to do to wrap that milestone up. Marriage? Check. House? Check. Kids? Check. Wait, but what if you stopped feeding your kids? Just decided that was one part of you being a parent you didn’t really want to deal with anymore? People would think you were a monster. But, you could say, I do so much else for them! I gave birth to them – I gave them life! Isn’t that good enough?! You know how ridiculous this sounds, so why apply this same argument to marriage? Because you are. You gotta feed and nurture marriage, and if you don’t, don’t be surprised when it dies.
  6. Your husband isn’t the only one to blame. He has issues, but so do you. In fact, there are probably large looming issues that contributed more to his infidelity that you’re even willing to admit. Would it be fair to say that you are partially to blame? It would. I know that’s a hard pill to swallow, but take the damn medicine. It’s good for you. Because if you do:
  7. You’ll get over it. Those of us who have worked through our shit do. What’s the saying? Unforgiveness is poison you swallow every day hoping someone else will die? I think I mangled that phrase, but you get my point. If you’re still bent out of shape over your ex years later – if you’re still bitter about me, the woman who slept with him – then you still have a lot of work to do. I’m not saying you’re ever gonna like me or not hate me a little, but a healthy person can look back at pain and see their growth from it and be able to look at it a little objectively. At least some parts of it. And if you have no love or compassion for your husband or me, then I’ll say it again, you have work to do.
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June 17th, 2018

6/17/2018

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​Happy Mother’s AND Father’s Day to me
 
 
It was a disagreement that did not sit well with me. Talking with my boyfriend who never knew his father and was reared by his mother, I commented how I like it when children growing up with single moms celebrate their mothers on Father’s Day. “Yeah, my mom always wanted me to do that growing up. I never liked it,” my bf said. “She didn’t do what a father does; no mom can,” and that was that. I deliberately chose not to press him on the matter because I felt heat rise in my face, a tell-tale sign when I’m getting angry. We were on the phone, so I quickly got off and blamed it on work.
 
And our conversation got me to thinking what defines a father from a mother. Clearly in a two parent, two gender household the differences are clear. Mothers are different from Fathers in so much as Mom is different from Dad, but I don’t think any family decides that Mom isn’t so much Motherly if she’s into sports and Dad isn’t so much Fatherly if he stays home with the kids. In whole family homes, you just celebrate mom and dad on their respective days and why put any more thought into it than that? Mom gets celebrated on her day and Dad gets celebrated on his, and everyone is happy.
 
But for the single parent, Mother’s or Father’s Day takes on a whole new meaning. And I don’t mean the single parents who are actually co-parenting. Those parents, though they don’t live together, ARE still in their roles of mom and dad. Maybe one tends to step up more than the other (and let’s be honest, it’s probably the mom if so), but on the whole, single parents who are co-parenting with their ex I’m gonna venture to say don’t wrestle with the same questions and vexations I, a sole single parent, do…does…grammar here??
 
Years ago when my son was young we (my husband and I) had a nanny. She was a single mom with two grown daughters and I remember on Father’s Day her talking on the phone with one of her daughters and cooing and saying thank you and when she got off the phone she recounted how her two girls were wishing her a happy Father’s Day and always have because they told her she did everything a Father would do for them. That really made an impression on me and I’ve carried that sentiment in my heart all these years, and when I finally became a single mom after my divorce and when my ex moved to the opposite side of the country never to see or speak to his son but for a handful of times I year, I found myself feeling very much like my old nanny. But I had a son, not two grown daughters, and he was sorely unaware of how much I want to be honored on Father’s Day. So when my boyfriend quipped he didn’t believe in that sort of thing, my skin burned.
 
So what makes a Father a father? What makes a mother a mother? I’ll start with mothers because they seem to be easier to define:
 
Mothers take care of you when you are sick
Mothers pack your school lunches
Mothers make you breakfast and get you ready for school
Mothers cook dinner
Mothers get involved in your school
Mothers clean the house and do the laundry
Mothers sign you up for extracurricular activities
Mothers remember important dates and make sure you attend them
Mothers teach you etiquette and good manners
Mothers take you to doctors’ appointments
Mothers buy you clothes and school supplies
Mothers decorate the house
Mothers set up play dates
Mothers go grocery shopping
Mothers teach you how to treat a girl
Mothers are softer than Fathers
Mothers are gentle
Mothers kiss you where it hurts
Mothers sing to you at night
Mothers rock you when you’re a baby
Mothers literally carry you in their bodies as a baby
 
All of these traits I carry for my son – except maybe the being softer than Dad part. When I was married, my husband was the softer one in our parenting.
 
What do father do?
 
Fathers teach you how to be a man
Fathers talk to you about sex (if you’re a boy)
Fathers take you to sports games
Fathers teach you how to mow the lawn and do handy work
Fathers teach you how to be tough and throw a punch
Fathers wrestle with you
Fathers throw the ball with you
Fathers teach you how to treat a girl
Fathers buy big purchases like cars
Fathers take you on camping trips and one on one trips
Fathers teach you about finances
Fathers are the breadwinners
Fathers speak for the family
Fathers protect the house and their family
Fathers are tough
Fathers show you how to love a woman
Fathers show you how to respect a man and how to respect a woman and the differences there
 
And half of those I do for my son. The second half actually. I didn’t even intend to write it that way – the first part being things I don’t do and the second part being the things that I do, but what miffs me is that because my son’s father has shirked his responsibilities as a father, I have to pick up the slack, and for that I should be celebrated on Father’s Day as well. All single parents who really truly are doing this on their own, should be celebrated. Maybe I don’t have a penis, but I certainly am the only one teaching my son about how to respect a woman, and though I am terribly underqualified to teach a boy how to be a man, his father isn’t, so that work is left up to me. I don’t even know how to talk to my son about sex – that doesn’t seem to be the department he nor I want to be near together, but it has to be done. Everything my ex shirks, I either pick up the slack or my son misses out on. And this is what keeps me up at night: the guilt of knowing there are things my son is missing out on because I can’t or won’t do them. I’m not taking my son out to throw the football; I don’t want to and I don’t know how to. Every male family member in my son’s life I ask to teach my son sports and they all nod and then don’t follow through. They don’t get it, and after asking so many of them, it becomes unnerving. Don’t they see! Don’t these men see that their grandson/nephew/cousin needs a man in his life and that I’m asking them to cover some of that lost territory?! Is this something I should add to the list of what mothers do: take the emotional and social temperature of their child and act accordingly? But I have to think single Dads would be sensitive to this too. I think it’s the people that AREN’T single parents who don’t get it despite being told, despite being asked. And I guess I can’t blame them – I didn’t think a whole lot about single parents until I was one. I just knew I never wanted to be a single parent! Yet here I am.
 
Making the above list has been helpful because I see that in many ways I’m not a Dad. But in many ways I am, so maybe what would feel right is to be celebrated for half of what makes a Father – or maybe even ¾ of what makes a Dad. I know I don’t embody it all, but I do embody way more than my son’s actual father, so the fact he gets patted on the back every year on a certain day for being a Father seems wrong and is actually quite upsetting. He’s getting half of my glory. Half of my hard work. He craps out a quality here or there and is celebrated simply because he ejaculated inside my vagina and his sperm tackled my egg. Other than that, he’s not contributed much else to the Father category.
 
I deserve to get half celebrations on this day and the fact that I hear almost nil publicly on the subject is surprising to me. In the face of women’s equality and same sex couples with kids, shouldn’t we be exploring what it means to be a father and mother? As we redefine what it means to be a family and gender roles, wouldn’t that include what it means to be a father or mother?
 
And I know my reward is my actual child. First, that I have one as so many want kids and can’t have them. And second, that he is mine. I get the joy of seeing his sweet cherub face every morning when I wake him up and every night when I kiss him to sleep. I get to see that. I get to experience that. I get to talk to him in person every day. I get to hear about his days and who he likes and meet his friends. I get to see his report cards and clutch my proud heart. I get to hear from people on a regular basis what a stellar son I have. And his father experiences none of that. So I guess if he gets a special day once a year, so be it. I know who the real winner is.
 
But it would be nice to get an acknowledgement on this day. Just a word or two to say, hey we see your hard work and we honor that hard work and we also recognize how shitty his father is and even shittier it is for your son how much he misses out. I still would really like to hear something like that. That would be nice. That would go a long way to satisfy the rumbling in my heart. And would cool the heat in my cheeks.
 
BJ
 
 
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Rings

1/15/2018

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I wear a ring on my left ring finger. The finger that is for brides. But I’m not a bride anymore. I was once. But not anymore.
 
The ring I bought when I was married. I bought it during a time when I wasn’t wearing my wedding ring anymore. Because my husband had hurt my heart one too many times. It had been almost a decade of abuse and adultery and I could take it no more, so I stopped wearing my wedding ring.
 
It felt good. Like a real “Fuck you” to him. To our marriage. To his attitude and general being. He was an asshole. Then I started rehearsal for a show with new people and I didn’t wear my wedding band. That was okay. Most of the people there knew I was married, but the new ones didn’t. I kinda liked feeling like I wasn’t married when I was.
 
I had an affair during that show. I don’t think not wearing my wedding band did it, but it certainly dressed the stage.
 
Then I started rehearsals for a new show with all new people and I thought, ya know this is kinda trickery not wearing a wedding band, advertising that I’m single. That’s not fair to anyone, so I should wear something. But I’m not gonna wear that shitty ring that means nothing. But I need to wear something.
 
So I drove to James Avery, THE Texas jewelry store and found a ring for me to wear on my left ring finger. It’s silver and it consists of small rings encircling my finger but it’s one solid piece. The individual rings are kinda twisty and broken looking. I liked it because that’s how my marriage felt – broken.
 
My marriage ended and I continued seeing the man I had an affair with. He gave me a ring after we’d dated a couple years. It is my favorite ring I’ve ever received, let alone ever seen. It was his great aunt’s and it looks like it was made for my hand. It’s so beautiful. But that man has hurt my heart a lot lately, and so I stopped wearing that ring. It started feeling hollow and the ring started losing its status.
 
I’ve been thinking a lot about marriage lately. Well, relationships really. Broken hearts and stolen hopes. Hopes that one day I’d be happily married. I’m not married anymore, but I feel I know marriage better than most people. I relate to the married and the single folk and the parents and the single parent folks. And in the midst of relating to so many different kinds of people and nursing my breaking heart as another man steals my focus and shatters my dreams, I put the ring back on. To remind me that I’m indeed broken, but that marriage was never too far from my reality nor my heart and that the ring I wear on my left hand is for me, bought by me and no one else and that God is kinda my husband right now.
 
Funny, but the affair man commented on this ring yesterday. Said he liked it. That felt weird.

BJ
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Happiness is...

10/5/2017

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Happiness is…
 
Two kinds of ice cream, getting along.
 
Five different crayons and I forget the rest of the lyrics.
 
Happiness is sleeping in late,
Chocolate chip cookies,
Fitting into a smaller size
Bumping into friends,
Cute puppies
Avocados
Jason Bourne movies
Great sex
Performing
Warm sunny days
Puffy Clouds in the sky
Texas summer nights
Christmas in New York
The smell of fall
Your boyfriend writing you a song
Laughing with your children
Alex cuddles
God’s smiling
 

​BJ
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LA Days

9/27/2017

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I came upon this blog I wrote when I lived in LA. It's apropos still today, even in a different town.

Acquaintances. This city is full of acquaintances. I’m so tired of fighting for friendships. Relationships that mean something and actually stand for something. This whole city is full of wannabes – people who are trying to make it in this industry, and yet no one wants to help a brother out. No one, save a few exceptions, wants to support someone beside themselves.
Right now I’m in a show. It’s a big show – My Fair Lady – and I’m playing Eliza – a big role. It’s a damn good production. Our leads are stellar, and everyone I know who’s seen the show is beside themselves. The main mantra I hear is, “I’ve seen this show a thousand times, and this is the best production I have every seen of it – including the movie.” So, with that kind of feedback, I feel confident that if my friend shells out the money and time to come see me in it, they will not be disappointed. It’s also an 8 show a week, 3 month run, so basically, one has about 100 opportunities to see this sucker. It’s also a little out of town, so I’m not around at church or parties these days. In other words, everyone knows where I am and what I’m doing. Before I left I also told everyone, and everyone said they were so excited – that they wanted to come. Again, most of these people are or have been in the industry, so we’re all on the same page of what it is I’m doing and what it is they’re proclaiming to come out and support.
It’s during moments like this, you learn who is a real friend and who isn’t. I’m over, OVER, the lip service. I’m over this fake “I am coming – can’t wait”, then procrastinating til the last weekend and feigning astonishment that the show is sold out. Or even worse, making up some lame reason why you can’t come the last three weekends of the show. What about the other 8? Again, these are not the computer nerds my husband works with that are flaking that I have a problem with. It’s my friends, my close friends, who are in the entertainment industry, who invite me to their shows and their open-mike nights in their kitchen, and I come to see them. I kill myself getting to their shows sometimes. If it’s a one-nighter, I still somehow make it. And yet. And yet, with the close ties, the many opportunities, the industry understanding, and the promises spoken, a whopping 3 people show up to the show. 3. 3 out of I don’t know how many I invited and how many said they’d come without any prompting from me.
So, here’s the end of my rant, and the beginning of my plea. Can you tell I’m pissed? People, get over yourselves and go out and support your friends. The “busy” excuse has got to be eradicated from our lips. No one’s that busy. Okay, maybe a few, but most of us, when we use that lame-o excuse are really just saying, “At the end of the day, I found better things to do.” I would much rather hear that, than “Oh gosh, we wanted  to come, but blah blah blah.” Stand by your word, people. Make plans. Write things on your calendar and go. Whenever I get an invitation, I immediately write the address and phone number of the theatre on my day planner, so I have no excuse. All the information’s there, and when I check my calendar, I already see I have plans and won’t find something to squeeze the event out. This is what friends do. Do I want to go see all my friends shows? No! Do some of my friends have serious lacks of talent, and I know that I’ll be squirming in my seat most the night? Yes! But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m there telling them by my presence that THEY matter. That I love and care for them. And you know what? A lot of times I see GREAT theatre! I see some shows and some actors I never knew about, but they blow me away and it’s really exciting. I get ideas, I get tips, I get monologues, I get casting sneak-peeks, I get inspired, I get moved. And I never regret going.
I once heard someone say, “A friend isn’t someone who necessarily remembers your birthday, but they’re the person that shows up on your doorstep to help you move.”
I think that’s true. It’s the people that sacrifice their time and money that are your real friends. Don’t believe me – look at your credit card or bank statement. Whatever is on there is what’s important to you. If someone called you at the last minute and said they had tickets to go see your favorite band, but you have to go in two hours, would you go? I think so. You’d find the time. Even last minute. Even at a monetary price. If we can do this for strangers, why can’t we do this for our friends?
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