Freedom - Paige Puckett

There is a lesson I must learn over and over again. It is humiliating that I never get it right. It is exasperating that I find myself full circle time and time again. Here’s the setup: I am alone in a vast field surrounded by a mass of people coming at me. There is nowhere to run, and like a child in my bed too scared to sleep, I try to pull the covers over my eyes and pretend they are not there. King Jehoshaphat in the Old Testament found himself in a similar circumstance with three actual armies coming against him and his kingdom. In a complete state of helplessness he and his people turned to God in fasting and prayer. This is what the messenger of the Lord said to him,

He said: "Listen, King Jehoshaphat and all who live in Judah and Jerusalem! This is what the LORD says to you: 'Do not be afraid or discouraged because of this vast army. For the battle is not yours, but God's. 2 Chronicles 20:15

Unlike Jehoshaphat, the mass of people in my circumstance represents the sin patterns in my life, my personal disappointment, the damage I have done to myself and others. I feel overpowered and nearly taken. In a mere moment I could be completely wiped out. I fully recognize the state of my despair, and I wish to hide from it. Sometimes I try in vain to fight it. Sometimes I want to just surrender. The point is, I, surrounded by sin and am already defeated. I am already a slave. There is no power within in me capable of rescuing myself. I forget this. And in forgetting, unlike Jehoshaphat, I fail to call upon the freedom of Christ. I forget that this is not my battle to fight. Last week, I came back full circle while reading Romans 1 and 2. I nearly cried when I remembered that I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. My only hope is to cling to Him as He fights the battle on my behalf. Somewhere in the battle I got too big for my pants and started swinging my fists. Just last week discovered I was no longer clinging to him.

To spell it out a bit more, whatever we struggle with, whatever sins we repeatedly fall into, whatever spiritual hiccup keeps knocking us to our knees, we are not slaves to. We are no longer under the law and therefore cannot be ruled by sin. Christ has set us free, free to love and obey him. However, hear this and hear this well: obedience is not fighting sin. Obedience is not fighting temptation. Obedience is not self-correction. Obedience is loving Christ as he fights our battles for us. Obedience is dying to ourselves and living in the life of Christ. This is where we find freedom.

Titus 3: 3-7 says:

At one time we too were foolish, disobedient, deceived and enslaved by all kinds of passions and pleasures. We lived in malice and envy, being hated and hating one another. But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy. He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit, whom he poured out on us generously through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that, having been justified by his grace, we might become heirs having the hope of eternal life.

I pray for the joy of a newfound discovery of my freedom. I pray for the relief of no longing swinging my fists and living in shame. I pray for the peace of being reconciled to God. I pray that you too would know this freedom.

For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. Phillipians 1:21

MOVIE REVIEW: EVAN ALMIGHTY - Beth Parent

We, here at dirtydish pride ourselves on the fact that we are beautiful, intelligent, thoughtful women. We’d probably like for you to think we only go to documentaries, art films and foreign films, but let’s face it. That would be a straight-up lie. I’m a total goofball, so when an opportunity to see Evan Almighty for free presented itself, I jumped on it. Now I don’t claim to be a legitimate film critic by any means, but here’s what I thought.

Evan Almighty is the sequel to Tom Shadyac’s 2003 comedy, Bruce Almighty, starring Jim Carrey as Bruce and Morgan Freeman as God. Steve Carell had a much smaller role as Bruce’s co-worker/rival, Evan. Carell reprises his role as Evan in the new film, only he has moved on from his former job as a news anchor, taking our nation’s capital by storm as New York’s newest representative in congress and promising to “change the world.” All seems to be going well for Evan until God (Morgan Feeman) comes to him and tells him to build an ark. Everyone thinks he’s crazy, there are lots of animals, yada, yada, yada. Lauren Graham (of Gilmore Girls fame) plays Evan’s wife, and John Goodman, Wanda Sykes and John Michael Higgins also make significant appearances in the film.

I was worried going into this movie, just as I was going into Bruce Almighty, that they were going to just horribly misrepresent God, and I was pleasantly surprised that they got at least one aspect of Him right on the money. The overriding message of the movie was that God loves us, and everything He does, He does because He loves us. Even the things that make us feel like God's out to get us are actually happening because of His love for us. And when everything's just going crazy in his life, Evan expresses perfectly what most of us have felt at some point when he says, "I know you do everything because you love me. Could you love me a little less?" But in the end, he sees the point of everything he went through, and it all makes sense, and it turns out that everything God did actually was for Evan's good and the good of his family (and the world, if you really think about it).

I also liked how they explored a pretty typical American opinion; that is, everyone should pray, but if you claim God talks back to you, you're a nut job. We all, on occasion, ask for God's help, provision, intervention, etc., but we don't like how he goes about helping, providing or intervening for us, so we continue trying to do it ourselves and complaining about "Where was God when I needed him?"

We also scheme and plan and work out every little detail, but if God wants to change something, we’ll have none of it, claiming that “it’s just not fair.” But when we’ve got nothing – no plan, no clue really – we pout at God asking why He hasn’t revealed His will to us. Well there's one part in the movie where Evan starts talking about the ark not fitting into his plans, and God, upon hearing of all Evan's plans, just starts cracking up. It’s so genuine that it really puts things into perspective as far as our human plans go. And I have to say...I love Morgan Freeman as God. I just do.

I just have a few criticisms.

The whole white hair/long beard gag was a little too Santa Clause for me, but I think they did it because God was trying to get Evan to stop caring so much about his appearance. And it turned out to be unnecessary for all the animals to come to him two-by-two, but God was trying to get him to stop thinking of animals as being dirty, AND it made for some really funny scenes.

They made it seem like all God wants is for us to be nice to each other. There was a big, cheesy push for Acts of Random Kindness (get it? ARK), and that's a great way to live. I just think there's more to it than that. Why should we be nice to each other? And where do we find the love and patience for it? Is there a greater goal in life than that? And if so, what is it?

And none of us were really buying Lorelai Gilmore as a politician's wife. She was just a little too hip in style to be in politics, but a litle too Stepford as a wife to be that hip. She came around some in the end and made a little more sense as a character, but she never quite made it to realistic.

Over all, though, it was enjoyable movie experience for me. It was thought- and conversation-provoking, and Steve Carell is just fabulous with physical comedy. The scene when all the animals start following him and the sheep are in the back of the Hummer...hilarious. Check it out at some point, even if you wait for it to go to the $1.50 theater or to DVD. In my humble opinion, it's worth the hour and a half of your life.

Sunglasses for God - Dallas Thompson

“I love you more than the sun and the stars that I taught how to shine, you are mine, and you shine for me too.”
~Matthew West, "More"

Amazing how much the simplest things can bring about a radical realization – can speak truth into our lives. A cheesy Christian music song hit home with me last night when I was listening to the radio while driving around with my friend Kim. God loves us. We are His and He is ours. He loves us so deeply, so desperately, that he sent Christ to be with us. But more than that, He is sovereign. We, as humans, can understand love. (Or at least we claim we can.) But sovereignty is something most of us struggle with. God is sovereign in our lives. That means that it is His will we submit to, rather than following our own.

What that also means is that God cares for us in startling ways. God taught us to shine for Him, but He also taught us to shine for each other. God places people in our lives, brings them into our inner circle, whispers in our ears to invite them into our world. They love us, comfort us, challenge us, and speak truth to us. This is no accident; it is by God’s sovereign plan that we are loved and cared for in our communities.

He teaches us to shine for each other. He brings those stars and that sun into our sky. But what happens when we are looking down, and miss the shooting star that passes by? What happens when we, instead of holding our eyes open at the brightness that our fellow Christ-followers represent, put on sunglasses and shade our eyes?

Sunglasses. Sunglasses are pretty cool and useful. Keeps the sun out of your eyes when you’re driving. You can put them on and change your look instantly. Big sunglasses, small sunglasses, pink sunglasses, orange sunglasses. Anything you want, you can find. The other useful thing about sunglasses –and everyone’s done this at one time or another – comes when you need to look at someone, and you’d just rather not anyone see you looking. You know. You want to check that guy out or see what the heck your friend is doing talking to that random person. Slide the sunglasses on and you can be sly. Upset, angry, unwilling to make eye contact? Slide the sunglasses on. Exhausted, hung-over and trying to hide it? Slide the sunglasses on.

The problem with sunglasses is that they turn your world dark. You don’t see vibrant colors the way that God intended. Which might be okay for a time, but when you drop the silly metaphor and think about it in our own lives, sunglasses are a tragedy. God created the sun to shine in our lives. God created us to shine in each others’ lives. We come with colors, and shapes, and sizes, and quirks that make us interesting, and odd and, sometimes, hard to handle. And we judge. Especially women.

Women excel at ripping each other apart. She’s too fat. She’s too skinny. She’s too tall. She’s too short. She dresses oddly. She doesn’t dress up enough. She’s too outspoken. She’s too quiet. Whatever it is, we judge. Silently, quickly. I find myself to be particularly guilty of that fact. Acerbic wit and a knife to slice a sister apart, and I’m comfortable. Comfortable with putting on my sunglasses, and looking away. Comfortable with ignoring the sun and stars that God taught how to shine; both for Himself and for us. What do we miss when we slide our sunglasses on? What disobedience to God’s sovereign will. What pithy disregard for Him.

It’s easy, I think, to write something like this. Of course we should love each other and be kind to each other. We talk about loving our neighbor and we all nod and agree. It takes much more to actually do it. To stop judging. To start loving. And I have no idea how to do it, except slowly but surely try to change the way I think and the way I speak. To take the sunglasses off and put them away. It’s something we all should do. We should strive to hold each other accountable and love each other. I’m going to start working harder. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Fearfully and Wonderfully Made - Courtney Hathaway

I think most women will be able to relate when I describe my relationship with my body as a rather shaky truce. As a high school student, I put in the required years of teenage angst where I loathed any and all things that were me, but I soon realized that my body was, for all its flaws, pretty darn dependable. The Honda of bodies, if you will. Certainly not the flashiest or most expensive, but it does get me where I need to go with very little required maintenance, so we developed an almost-friendly working relationship.

After having a myomectomy last year, I found myself in unfamiliar territory. My body was useless, and even the simplest tasks sapped my energy and required assistance. It was a terrifying feeling, and fortunately it only lasted a few days. My body amazed me with its ability to heal itself. And for the first time, I truly appreciated the small things my body did on a daily basis. It was like reconnecting with a childhood friend. I marveled at each small step – the walk to the mailbox, leaning over to pick up a shoe, feeding the cats. And like with any fight, I began to wonder whose fault it was. Had my body wronged me? Or was it I who had turned my back on it?

Regardless, I decided this was a relationship I wanted to invest in. I joined a local gym, committed to six months of weekly personal training sessions, and tried out several different classes. The weakness in my body shocked me. My trainer told me to do 10 sit-ups, and I barely mustered a crunch. Still, I persevered, and my body rapidly grew stronger (and hotter). Now, three months after beginning my gym regiment, my label has changed from “girl who can’t be bothered to move” to “girl who gets edgy if she doesn’t run everyday.” I’m stronger and I feel better physically and mentally. And on the days when those changes aren’t enough to keep me motivated, one look at my new bicep muscles or the lines developing in my abs usually do the trick.

In the midst of all this personal growth, I again had to ask myself how I got so down on my body in the first place. The Bible tells us over and over again that we are made in God’s image, and thus our body shape is no accident and has intrinsic worth. In Psalm 139, the psalmist writes, “For you created my inmost being: you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” Ladies, why is it that we refuse to accept the psalmist’s words? Why do we allow this kind of war to break out between us and our bodies? Why do we insist on telling God that the body he created for us isn’t good enough?

Today, I urge you to reject the mainstream media and popular culture views of what a woman should look like and make a commitment to treat your body as a partner rather than the enemy. As I’ve stopped bickering with my body, I’ve begun to marvel at what it is rather that what I wish it was. This body gets strep throat once a year like clockwork, developed an early (and impressive) immunity to chicken pox, can handle a 1,200 pound horse, comes with brilliant hair, and is becoming quite flexible. Now when I go to yoga classes, I look forward to challenge of seeing how long I can hold a balance pose rather than dreading them because I am truly lacking in balance. Self-acceptance is a daily challenge, but it’s a refreshing change.

Moving on and Settling Down - Beth Parent

From as far back as I can remember until I went off to college, I lived in the same house. I had pretty much the same neighbors. I went to school and church with pretty much the same people. So I don't know how I got it into my head that I needed to keep moving around. College is a transient time, I suppose. You live in a different apartment or dorm room every year, spending your summers in different places doing various summer jobs. But afterward, most people settle down somewhere. I could argue that grad school threw off my settling-down schedule a bit, but then I kept moving. In fact, since I left my parents' house bound for college, I've occupied sixteen different places of residence. Three of them, though very brief, were in Spanish-speaking countries, one was in the US but felt like it was in a Spanish-speaking country, two were barely inhabitable, one was a friend's mom's house, one was my sister's house, three were dorm rooms, two were non-dorm campus housing, one was a summer camp, and one was a glorified garden shed.

I'm 27-years-old, and I feel like I've just been given permission for the first time in my life to stop moving. And oddly enough, staying in one place feels more freeing to me than constantly moving around wherever the wind takes me.

I started reading Jeremiah a while back for no apparent reason whatsoever other than I'd never read it all the way through before. There were a couple of verses I'd heard over and over in the past, so I expected I'd just breeze through those chapters, but when I got to chapter 29, I was completely taken aback. Chapter 29, of course, is the one containing the famous and terribly-popular-in-times-of-confusion-about-where-to-move-next, "'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future'" (verse 11). Also in this chapter is a beautiful promise in verse 13,"You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart."

I'm not really going to talk about either of these. Rather:

This is what the LORD Almighty, the God of Israel, says to all those I carried
into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: "Build houses and settle down; plant
gardens and eat what they produce. Marry and have sons and daughters; find wives
for your sons and give your daughters in marriage, so that they too may have
sons and daughters. Increase in number there; do not decrease. Also, seek the
peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to
the LORD for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper." (Jeremiah
29:4-7)

Part of the reason I felt so uncomfortable settling down was that the more I moved around, saw different countries and experienced other cultures, the more I realized that this world is not my home. It is not where I originated, and it is not where I will end up. Ecclesiastes 3:11 says that God "has set eternity in the hearts of men;" we are eternal beings in what can only be described as exile from our true home, heaven.

That said, as followers of Christ, we find ourselves in the same boat as the Israelites, who were also exiled from the home God had promised to them. Their situation was more political/geographical, whereas ours is purely spiritual, but the Word of the Lord remains the same. "It's okay to live fully where you are," God says, "and not only that. Thrive!" We are to be building lives here in this world, not waiting for God to bring us home, but experiencing His blessings and glorifying Him all along. And sure, all of this could be done anywhere in the world, so it would seem that my options are still wide open, but for Acts 17:26, which says that God Himself has "determined the times set for [us] and the exact places where [we] should live."

When I moved to Raleigh, it was following a very clear call on my life to leave where I was and to be here. God determined that I should move, not I, and He desires that I live and prosper here. So many single women (and men too, I suppose) think they have to wait until they get married to really start living. Or they think they're waiting for something else, some sort of calling. Married couples, too, find themselves constantly looking toward the "next step." They're waiting for God to call them somewhere else, to have kids, for new jobs, etc. They wait to buy a house, to develop careers and deeper relationships. Singles often don't get involved in the riskier, messier business of practicing social justice because they don't have a "partner in ministry" (aka spouse). Some close their ears to God's call to overseas missions for the same reason. But when we live like this, we don't prosper, nor does our city, and most devastatingly, God isn't glorified the way He should be because we aren't asking or allowing Him to make His power and presence known among us.

Life doesn't begin later. We're in it here and now, no matter where that is. So if you are where you are because God has placed you there, "build houses and settle down." It's a smart choice, financially, if you can afford it, but if you can't (like me), read it as "make a home for yourself." Even if you live in a glorified garden shed, allow your heart to rest there. My heart has never been more free than it is now that I've stopped looking for my next move (even though more moves are inevitable). Build deep relationships with people, getting to know them and allowing yourself to be fully known. And in those relationships, learn to love one another, plant seeds of trust, and feast on the harvest.

Plant seeds of Christ in the world around you. Live out redemption and love in front of your co-workers and in your relationships with them. Share Jesus with them, and watch Him draw them in. See them flourish and take on new life, and relish the journey you get to travel with them!

When the time comes, get married, but until then (and even if you're already married), soak in the love of your heavenly Bridegroom, and teach people about Christ, making disciples ("spiritual children") just as He commissioned you to do. Build up ministries that will build up people, so that those people can build up other ministries and other people. Start leaving a spiritual legacy even now, building the Kingdom of God (increasing in number) and praying for the peace and prosperity of your city, because as you pray for the redemption of your city and the people around you, and as you bring glory to God with your life, you remove the focus from yourself, which frees you to enjoy the freedom and prosperity that come with faith in a sovereign God.

Let Him be the sovereign God that He is. No matter where you are in exile, God is still God, Creator of the heavens and the earth, Author of life and Perfector of faith. He has plans of prosperity in mind for you, and He promises to be found when sought. So cut loose, go wild, and settle down.

Living Room - Claire Cain

“You’ll want to notice the crown molding that is featured here in the dining room, and of course we saw this same look repeated in the master bedroom and guest bedroom as well.” Jim gestured to the white ceiling and smiled brightly at the couple.

“Oh, yes, that’s just gorgeous,” the woman said.

“We really love this house Jim. We really do, but it’s out of our range by 10,000,” the man explained. Jim felt it welling up in him; this is the game.

“Listen Mark, I know what you’ve said about your budget…”

“You do.”

“And I fully respect a man’s desire to keep things within the means, to keep it simple and make sure the plans are followed through…” He paused here a moment to smile at them again. He could see the woman’s eyes hopeful as she clutched with both hands her brown leather purse. The man looked more uptight; he stood straight with his blue collared shirt pressed and perfectly tucked, his hand stretched to rest on the small of his wife’s back in what seemed to Jim like an effort to find some comfort.

“But I gotta tell you guys this: you aren’t going to find another house like this. And you know what I mean. We’ve seen three other houses and they just don’t compare to this place… it’s your mansion.”

“It is kind of a mansion Mark,” Cindy, his wife sparkled as she glanced around the dining room.

“I understand that Jim, I know it’s the top shelf—“

“It IS the top shelf Mark, and I have to tell you it’s worth every penny.”

Interruption was a tactic he sometimes used. It was not that he bullied his clients, he wasn’t interested in that. He wanted to sell, but sell the best possible home.

“I see that, I do, but we’re stretching already with this budget and to add another ten thousand—“

“Consider ten thousand in this context Mark. It feels big, but really, a drop. And looking ten years down the road… you’re just not going to regret it. You’re going to look around as you sit in front of that granite fireplace in the living room on your leather couch next to your beautiful wife, and you’re going to watch your kids grow up, and you’re going to be ecstatic that this castle is the place you call home.” Mark shifted back and forth on his heels, and shook his head. A smile crept from the left corner of his mouth to the right and he looked down into his wife’s face.

“We’ll talk to the bank.”

***

As he parked his car in the garage at the end of that day, he was bursting. This is what he had been working for. He couldn’t wait to tell her. He needed this, she needed this, they needed this.

“It sold! They bought it El! They loved it and they bought it and finally someone didn’t back out on me!” He exclaimed as he walked in the door at 6:15pm on a Friday night. His wife stared back at him with her grayish blue eyes and batted her lashes twice for effect.

“That’s great hun,” she said as she turned back to her baby pink plastic mixing bowl full of the guts of a casserole.

“Well, Elaine, it’s pretty incredible. I’m the first to sell a house this year, and just in time too. This is saving me big time here,” he explained as he hung his coat in the closet next to the door and approached her.

“I said it’s great Jimmy, and I meant it,” she said with an unusual irritation. Her eyes met his and it was then he saw they were red and puffy from crying. She turned her eyes back to her concoction and rotated away from him.

“Aw, El, what’s wrong? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. I’m so sorry.” If he had known, he wouldn’t have started. And he would have brought flowers or something. Something.

“I tested again today, and…” she set down the bowl and leaned with both hands on the tiled counter. Tears started sliding down her cheeks and her chin quivered as she pursed her lips together like she did before sobbing.

“And…?”

“It was a no. It was a no Jim, like always.” Her voice was a husky whisper, as if her vocal chords had rejected her statement.

“Honey, I’m so sorry. But we’ll keep trying, and when the timing is right it’s going to happen, you know? I mean, things are getting better for me at work and pretty soon we’ll be in a great place to afford a baby.” He tried to reason these things; it was the only way he could keep it together. For some reason her bright yellow spatula held his gaze as it sat on the counter oozing with mayonnaisey goo.

“We’ve been trying for three years. THREE years Jimmy. I don’t understand what is wrong. Doctor Milner said there is nothing wrong with me, and I hate to say this—“

“Don’t say it Elaine—“

“But it has to be you. It has to be something with you.” She hadn’t ever said it out loud before. And he had prayed she never would.

“Ellie,” his voice stuck to his throat, “I mean…” He had no response and was pretty sure she had just punched him in the neck. He stared at the floral print backsplash behind their sink to escape her.

“Jim, go get tested. Ask them what we can do. This is our family; this is our future. This is your legacy that can’t continue unless we figure this out.”

“You know I hate this, Elaine. Why can’t we just keep trying? I mean maybe you’ve got your days wrong, or something.”

“I don’t see what is wrong with asking the doctor to just check. It doesn’t make you less of a man Jim, that’s what medicine is for. That’s why science and doctors exist…to help normal people with this stuff.” She was begging but her tears had stopped.

“I know.” He paused and stared down at his feet. He couldn’t look at her desperate face; he couldn’t stand seeing her this way.

***

Jim sat with his knees pressed together and ankles touching, scrunched between two other men waiting for their turn. He looked down at the clipboard with the forms neatly piled under the clip and his lip curled up with discomfort as he looked at the next questions. He glanced to either side of him and attempted to keep his head still so no one would notice his embarrassment.

Please Circle One:

Do you find yourself easily aroused? Yes No

Are you able to achieve orgasm during intercourse? Yes No

Do you ejaculate regularly? Yes No

How Often?

Have you ever conceived? Yes No
If Yes, When?

He tried to keep his expression neutral as he slowly circled each answer. Other than the last one, did these really have to do with making babies? He wasn’t naïve to the process, but these seemed particularly uncomfortable. Perhaps it was due to being sandwiched between two sweating and overweight men who alternately snorted and hacked as they rubbed their thighs anxiously. “They must be brothers,” he thought.

“James Thompson” A shrill voice called from a door next to the front desk.

“That’s me,” he said and handed her his clipboard.

She looked it over as she turned and once completely turned around said, “so you’re having trouble conceiving. Well don’t you worry James. We’ll get this figured out.” James winced as he followed her through the door and into the bowels of the office. Did she have to say that out loud?

As she ushered him to a scale “please stand here, shoes off” she was still surveying his forms. “I see here you’ve been trying with your wife for three years… why did you wait so long to come in?” She asked through her thick-framed glasses. Her reddish brown eyebrows raised and her lips pursed expectantly.

“Well… I guess I didn’t know anything was wrong.” He could feel the sweat gathering under his arms and at his back. He was sure his forehead was glistening and he had to be bright red.

“Oh honey… please. You didn’t know?”

“ Well, I, uh—“

“182, five feet eleven inches…”

“I guess I, uh—“

“Follow me” she whirled around in the opposite direction and took off before he slid on his loafers. After the nurse, the doctor finally arrived. “You’ll need to have some blood drawn, and we’ll need a semen sample. Now that I’ve done the standard exam here, I think all we need is a few tests to make sure, but at this point I think everything is just fine,” he explained with a closed-lip smile and his hands folded neatly in his lap.

“Semen sample?” It was all he could muster. His eyes were wide as he waited for the doctor.

“Yes James. Obviously if we’re testing your capacity to conceive we’ll need to get a sample of what makes it all happen” he stood and opened the door before continuing, “just outside to the left you’ll find a men’s restroom. There should be a selection of visual aids to help you obtain your sample. Take as long as you need.” Before Jim could respond the doctor was gone. The nurse shuffled back in and he crossed his dangling ankles awkwardly.

“You can go ahead and get dressed. The restroom with amenities is just around the corner. Don’t be shy now, just get us the sample and then you can get on with your day. I’ll let you change and then give you the cup,” she smiled and her lips spread wide with their beige lipstick gathering in the creases and shut the door as she left.

Alone with his thoughts, Jim could feel the deep red color returning to his cheeks. He could not believe it had come to this. He tore off the cotton robe, hopped up from the waxy paper covered table, and dressed as quickly as possible. He hopped a little as he slid on his socks from standing position, puffed his quick breath out at once in an attempt to relax, and shook his grey button-up shirt as if that might make the sweat stains under the arms disappear. He thought of how Elaine had ironed it for him the night before and how happy she was he was finally doing this. He emerged from the room and found the nurse awaiting him. She handed him a small, clear plastic cup and grinned her lipsticked mouth thin across her face. “Simply insert your semen in this, as much as you can get us.”



*** “How did it go? Is everything… working?” She was standing at attention as he walked in the door.

“Oh, um…it was fine. It’s all fine,” he couldn’t face telling her just then. She was so expectant, and he wanted to sit and mourn this veritable castration.

“So…uh…that’s it?” She seemed hesitant to push, but apparently couldn’t resist.

“No, Elaine.” He paused. He walked to the living room and sat down in his blue covered chair, and huffed. He looked at her, standing there with her apron around her slim waist and stood back up. “My damn sperm is weak,” he yelled at her into the kitchen where she stood in the doorway, clutching the edging around the entry. “I’m a mess, apparently, and that’s why you’re not pregnant. It’s because of me.” He couldn’t remember the last time he had yelled. He felt beaten. He slunk down in the chair with exhaustion.

She came to him and put her hand on his wrist as she crouched down next to the chair. It was a loving gesture, one she often used in public or when she didn’t use words, and yet at this moment he felt even weaker at her touch. She was strong even now, and being so kind, and he couldn’t give her what she wanted.

“Are they sure?” She whispered it, but it blasted him.

“Elaine, they’re sure,” he said defeatedly, almost without volume.

“We’ll figure this out Jimmy. We will,” then she leaned up over the arm of the stuffed chair to kiss his cheek. She lingered close to him and he could smell her flowery perfume and hairspray. The same for seven years since he’d first met her.

He sighed and looked her in the eyes for the first time since he entered the house. “I suppose we will.”

***

A few weeks after the news about his semen, Jim found that he and Elaine had not, in fact, figured it out. Things had gotten worse. Her thirtieth birthday loomed and he was on eggshells trying to muster up the courage to end all of this.

The Monday evening before her birthday, they sat down to dinner at their table. She had laid out the salad, the low-fat ranch dressing, the barbeque chicken breasts and corn on the cob. She served herself some chicken, then corn; meanwhile Jim fiddled with the salad and coaxed it into his bowl. He opened his mouth several times and thought about speaking, but before sound escaped he clamped his mouth shut. As if she knew he was attempting to speak, she gave a long, loud sigh and said, “sometimes its nice when we can both just sit in silence.” She picked up her fork and speared a piece of lettuce.

James silently nodded his head once and took that as his cue. Silence had reigned supreme lately. It had been impossible to talk about anything… for some reason he couldn’t find any words. Things at work were utterly normal and he thought he would gain some gusto after a few small triumphs including his win of “top seller” for the first quarter, but by the time he came home he couldn’t dream of approaching his inadequacies with her. On the day he got the good news, he walked through the door with a little bounce in his step.

“El, I’m home, I had such a great day at work!”

She sauntered into the kitchen and rinsed her sage green mug in the sink. She slowly turned to face him as she wiped a checkered towel over the ceramic surface. He hung his coat and smiled at her and opened his mouth, but her cold eyes stopped him. “Err, uh, how was your day?”

She turned around again and slid her mug onto the shelf in the cupboard without a word. He thought he’d try again, so he started “Elaine, how was your—“

“It was fine” she said abruptly and faced him again but kept her eyes on her hands, turning them over from palm to wrist scrutinizing them. A long pause followed her answer. He shifted and moved further into the kitchen. He thought of sitting down at the table but dreaded the noise the scoot of the chair might make, so he leaned against the wall instead. Finally he began, “I got an awar—“

“—So what’s your news?” Their voices overlapped and their words jumbled.

“Sorry, go ahead” she gestured with her hands for him to continue.

Suddenly, now that he had her attention, he was intensely aware of how worthless his award was. The small, engraved plaque seemed irrelevant. It wouldn’t change a thing. “Oh, huh, Dan told me this great joke at work but I’ve forgotten it. I’ll tell you when I think of it.”

“Oh. Yeah, ok. Great.” She returned flatly. She glanced at him again, then was somehow immediately in the other room, and gaping silence filled the space between.

All week he had been gathering his courage and had prayed that she would be ready to celebrate her birthday. Maybe they could push aside all of this and remember why they are here, what they had to celebrate.

He dressed in her favorite outfit of his—his nice khaki pants, his dark blue button-up shirt that would bring out his eyes, and the light yellow tie she had given him the year before for Father’s Day. She had said that even though he wasn’t a father yet, he would be soon, so he deserved a gift. His brown belt and shoes matched well, and he felt ready to sweep her off her feet. He arranged a nice evening out, and bought her a fruit tart from her favorite bakery. When it approached time to leave she was sitting on the couch reading.

“Are you ready to go?” He asked cautiously.

“I’m not in the mood. I’d rather stay in if you don’t mind,” she said without lifting her head.

“But… it’s your birthday Ellie…”

“I just don’t feel like it tonight James.” She didn’t look up.

“Oh, uh…alrighty then. I’ll go pick us up some Chinese or something.” He lingered there, squeezing his hands together and holding his breath. He wanted to explode. He wanted to yell. He wanted to scream at her, to make her happy again, to make her smile. He saw himself yelling “goddammit why can’t we just be happy again?” but instead he turned soundlessly and released his breath as quietly as he could. He moved to the kitchen and opened the cupboard. Soup. Rice. Seasonings.

He slammed the cupboard and strode into the living room, his heart beat getting louder inside his head with each step.

“I can’t do this Elaine.” It was surprisingly calm even though his heart was now beating wildly and his breath was heavy.

She stared back at him from her place on the couch. She closed her book and set it aside, and turned to fully face him. “Go ahead.” Her voice was smooth and expectant.

“I can’t live in silence. I love you Elaine, and I can’t have you be in this fog, reading books on mourning and walking around like we hate each other. I don’t feel like a man anymore, I don’t feel like your husband anymore. I won’t do it another day. What needs to happen here?” He walked toward her and sat next to her on their red couch. She looked up at him and grabbed his hand. It was the first purposeful contact they had had for weeks.

“Something. I don’t know what. I thought I could put aside all this and just move on but Jimmy, I want to know we’ve done everything possible before I give up something I’ve always dreamed about.” Her voice broke and her eyes welled and glistened. She turned her head away as she began to cry. He put his hand on her shoulder and drew her into his arms. He embraced her there, and with his arms around her he felt empowered, strong.

“Let’s make an appointment Monday, we’ll see what it takes to really make this happen,” he spoke softly into her hair. She nodded her head into his chest.

“Whatever happens here Ellie, we’re in this together. You and I are already a family.” He squeezed her closer.

“I know it Jimmy. I love you so much and I want to have your baby. If we do all we can and it just isn’t meant to happen, I can rest with that. I want a baby, but I will at least be able to sleep knowing that we’ve done what we could.” She looked in his eyes as tears slowly trickled down her pink cheeks.

“We’ll try love. We’ll do whatever we can until we know we’ve done everything possible. I won’t give up on this,” He said with resolve.

She smiled and her eyes sparkled back at him. “And I won’t give up on you.”

He hugged her tightly again and they rested there together. He held her for what seemed like hours. They couldn’t get enough of each other’s closeness. After those long moments of breathing each other in with no distance between them, he turned and stood. He saw her right eyebrow rise in a flash, as if to ask the question. He shined a bright and gallant smile, pulled her to her feet and led her by the hand to their bedroom. Through the family room with its couch and chair, down the hallway and into the sunlit room he held her in place, standing next to their bed.

Slowly and deliberately he kissed her face. First her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, then down to her neck. Her eyes fluttered as he moved around her face, kissing each delicate part. He heard her sigh and felt her run her fingers along his back lightly. He slowly dipped her on to the bed and he met her eyes with his while the air between them was charged with attraction. He moved next to her and slowly pulled off her shirt as she unbuttoned his.

“I love you Elaine,” He whispered as he covered her ear, then her neck, then her collarbone with kisses.

“I love you, Jimmy” she said breathlessly as she ran her fingers through his hair and watched as he kissed her.

He no longer fumbled with excitement as he had in the first few years, but now was assured of each move he made as he lay with her. That night, they made love as man and wife.

Flaws - Dustin Kidd

I love you in the space between your toes,
Where sweat lingers and lint grows.

I love you on the wrinkles of your face,
Where laugh lines and years trace.

I love you over the mole on your back,
Where cancers threaten and pigments pack.

I love you across the veins in your legs,
Where varicose visits and a spider dregs.

I love you through the cracks of your lips,
Where sun burns and orange juice drips.

I love you in all the flaws your body shows.
Where you decay, my love grows.

Sex Anonymous

I have a problem with intimacy. As I make love to my husband, I hold myself back from getting lost in the passion and love. I’m a little too aware of myself, my awkwardness, the temperature of the room, whatever stresses I have been pondering during the day. As I hold myself back from engaging, or simply can’t engage, My heart feels guilty, numb, untouchable.

The problem, however, is not my sex life. The problem isn’t a lack of pleasure or a lack of love from my husband. The problem is my worship life. The same feelings and distractions that occur during sex occur when I attempt to worship God. There is guarded distance, a resistance to be known, a hesitation to deeply feel. As the music fires up in church, a quiet longing in my heart tells me to close my eyes, raise my hands and let the music carry my soul into God’s presence. Yet I stand with crossed arms hearing funny harmonies, shifting my eyes around the room envious of and slightly uncomfortable with those lost in the moment.

Sex is meant to mirror our worship of God. Therefore, when I struggle with worship, I struggle with sex. I wonder if this isn’t the source of many married couples’ problems with intimacy. We blame our life issues on circumstances external of our spirits when the true problem is a lack of intimacy with God. We are created to have deeply emotional relationship with him along with the other aspects that I thrive on - an intellectual, rational, and obedient relationship.

One of my favorite poets, William Wordsworth, writes in Prelude Book I:

The Poet, gentle creature as he is,
Hath, like the Lover, his unruly times;
His fits when he is neither sick nor well,
Though no distress be near him but his own
Unmanageable thoughts: his mind, best pleased
While she as duteous as the mother dove
Sits brooding, lives not always to that end,
But like the innocent bird, hath goadings on
That drive her as in trouble through the groves;
With me is now such passion, to be blamed
No otherwise than as it lasts too long.

Wordsworth’s words resonate in me and have for several years now. I feel there is a glitch in my soul that I must get through. Years ago I was deeply emotional, but as I have begun to mellow (and brood), I do not experience deep sorrow, but neither do I feel great joy. I think there are spots in my soul that need healing and new life. I need transformation from the inside out. Death, heart breaks, and personal disappointment have managed to scar over the places that knew how to respond and now I must ask the Lord to help me feel.

Our bodies are only temporary containers for our spirits which house God’s very presence. Even our emotions and heart are external to this presence. All it takes to bring change is a sincere request and trust in His healing power. And the one who dwells in us longs to hold us close and for us to deeply experience His love and doting over us.

From Song of Solomon:

10 My lover spoke and said to me,
"Arise, my darling, my beautiful one,
and come with me.

11 See! The winter is past;
the rains are over and gone.

12 Flowers appear on the earth;
the season of singing has come,
the cooing of doves is heard in our land.

13 The fig tree forms its early fruit;
the blossoming vines spread their fragrance.
Arise, come, my darling;
my beautiful one, come with me."

November 13 - Anonymous

It was the night of November 13, 2006. I was headed home from watching a football game at a friend’s house. My evening started out like any other; I met up with my boyfriend and some friends for a pre-game cookout and some drinks. Then the group of us went over to my buddy’s house just in time to watch the kickoff. Things weren’t really going that great with my boyfriend, and I was indulging a little more than I should on a Monday night considering I had to work the next day and planned on going home once the game was over.

After an evening of being almost completely ignored, I got fed up and took the first ride away from the house back to my boyfriend’s place to get my car. My friend (the boyfriend’s roommate) suggested that I should stay, but I was hurt and didn't feel like dealing with sleeping in an uncomfortable bed and then having to get up and pretend to be an adult at work. I wanted to go home.

I had two options for my way home: Option A involved taking the interstate back - higher speeds no stops; Option B was a two lane highway through a small town. Both choices took about the same amount of time, but I was more comfortable with the two-lane highway, so I took Option B.

I drove down the road watching my speedometer, and it was 35 on the nose. I was in between the lines without a hint of a swerve. I noticed ahead of me was a cop car. So I slowed down a little to give him a bit more of a lead, just to be on the safe side. As I drove around a curve I noticed that he was gone. I relaxed a little because I thought he was far enough ahead of me. A few moments later there were suddenly headlights behind me. Those headlights were alarmingly familiar. I noticed that an on-ramp to the interstate was just a few yards ahead, so I turned on my turn signal and headed up the ramp.

I hadn’t done anything wrong, as far as anyone else knew, but my heart was still pounding out of my chest. I thought as long as I got on the interstate, those headlights wouldn’t follow me. But they did. Not only did they follow me, but they were accompanied by a pair of bright blue flashing lights. So I pulled over right there on the on-ramp, which was actually the way headed back to my boyfriend's house.

I had been pulled over. I had been drinking. I felt like my heart was about to explode. The police officer got out of his car and came over to my door. Unfortunately my driver side window was broken and would not roll down. I nervously waited for him to walk up and tap on the window. I told him the window would not roll down, and I opened the door.

The police officer told me he pulled me because I had a headlight out, and I was going below the speed limit. I immediately thought of the replacement bulb, which had been in my glove compartment, but was then sitting on my floorboard where it fell while I was digging for my registration. I had been meaning to change that thing for months, but kept putting it off. Then I remember my car’s inspection was expired as well. I had put off getting that done because I knew my headlight was out. I hoped the cop wouldn't notice. He didn’t notice the inspection, but I was sure he noticed the smell of alcohol.

He asked me if I had been drinking, and I said that I had had a couple of beers. I had always heard that you shouldn’t blatantly lie if you’ve been drinking, but you should just say that you’ve had a beer or two. He took my license and registration and headed back to his car. I was alone again, my heart was still pounding, and my whole car was filled with the repetitious blue lights.

After what seemed like an eternity, the police officer came back. I had hoped that he would write me a ticket for the headlight and tell me to head straight home. No, he asked me to step outside of the car. He told me to walk the white line on the side of the road heel to toe while looking down at my feet from him to my car. He then asked me to balance on one foot while I counted down from 30 to 1. I thought there might be some chance that I would be able to complete the tasks with a bit of poise and grace, but I was sure the exact opposite was true. In fact, while I was walking the line all I could think about was how I was such a klutz that I probably couldn’t have done that after having a soda let alone a beer. Last but not least he brought out a breathalyzer test. I blew into the tube for several counts until the machine beeped at me.

He took the test, checked the results, and then put it away in his car. He came back over to me while I stood in front of my car, and asked me to turn around and put my hands behind my back. I heard a rattle of a chain as he removed his handcuffs and closed them around my wrists. The metal dug into my skin as he put me in the back of his police car. We were headed downtown, leaving my car on the on ramp.

I think during the ride to the police station I was in shock. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Twenty minutes earlier I had been with all of my friends who were having fun, and the next thing I knew I was being arrested and was heading to jail. I was scared and nervous but I still hadn’t cried. I guess I was hoping to get some kind of reprieve. I thought surely something would happen to get me out of this and I would be home soon.

We arrived at the jail and secure doors closed behind the car as it entered the garage. The police officer took me out of the backseat, removed the handcuffs, and led me into a room where there were several more police officers with their own suspects. The police officers were mix of men and women; all of the criminals were men, all but me.

A female officer came over to pat me down. She asked me if I had any weapons or drugs on me. I told her no. She then asked me empty my pockets, take off all of my jewelry, and remove my belt and my shoelaces. She pointed to a chair and told me to sit down. I sat and watched as a couple of other people were brought in and underwent the same introduction as I did. I noticed how all of the police officers laughed and joked with each other. I tried to smile and seem friendly but they didn’t even acknowledge me. I was just another criminal.

More moments pass and then I was instructed to sit in another chair next to a table with a large machine. It was the second breathalyzer. My arresting officer sat in a chair across from me and a new officer sat in front of me. I couldn’t help but notice that both of these guys looked younger than I did.

The arresting officer asked me a list of questions like what I ate that day, if I was on any medication, how much I had to drink, etc. Once that was complete he read my Miranda rights and asked if I understood them. I had always heard them on TV but never thought I would have them read to me, but I understood completely. The questions stopped for a while and the two officers were just talking back and forth. I was included in the conversation and we were all laughing at one point. I thought maybe that I was going to get to go home shortly. Then the second breathalyzer came.

If I blew lower than a .08 I was in the clear. I crossed my fingers and blew into the straw. We waited for the report to print out; I held my breath. The results were the same as my roadside test. I wasn’t going anywhere. At this point I started to cry. Some more paper work was done and I moved to yet another seat. I tried to calm down but I was still so scared. I had no idea what was going to happen next. My arresting officer finished up with some more paperwork and then explained to me my situation.

He told me that I was going to be held overnight till 7:30 in the morning unless I could arrange for a sober, licensed driver to pick me up. I started to get upset again. I told him I couldn’t remember anyone’s phone numbers, as they were all stored in my cell phone. The police officer offered to retrieve a number for me because he said I was so cooperative. I just got more upset. I explained I didn’t know anyone who had a landline that I could call, and I knew that I wasn’t allowed to call a cell phone. He again threw me a bone and said that he would let me call a cell phone because he didn’t want me to have to stay in his jail overnight. I don't know if it was confusion, or beer, or an overwhelming feeling of self pity, but I told him that I had absolutely know one to call who could come and get me. And with that I was taken to a community holding cell for women in the city jail.

I was placed in a large, pasty, yellow room with oppressive fluorescent lighting and narrow horizontal frosted windows at the top of one wall. The opposite wall was half bulletproof glass windows which looked out into a hallway and allowed police officers full view of the room. There was a heavy steel door with a red line painted on the floor inside the room that we were not allowed to cross when the door was opened. The accommodations inside consisted of wooden benches lining the perimeter of the room with a stainless steel toilet at one end. Thankfully the toilet was hidden by a half-wall made of cinder blocks painted in the same pasty yellow. I was in there with one other woman who looked a few years younger than me.

We didn’t speak to each other. We just sat in our opposite corners in silence. I ended up lying down on my bench and tried to get some sleep. I had five hours before I would be let out. It was hard to get any rest. I just kept running over the night’s events in my head. I thought, ‘why didn’t I take Option A?’ I knew cops were always pulling people in that area. I should have known better (clearly I should have known better than to drink and drive). Why didn’t I just stay at my boyfriend's house? Why didn't I fix that headlight? I wondered what my parents were going to think. I was so terrified of their being disappointed in me. I thought more about my immediate future. Would I get out in enough time to call in sick to work? How was I going to get my car back? During all of my worrying I must have dozed off, because I suddenly woke up to the sound of keys rattling and the heavy steel door opening. More women were coming in.

There were four total - all in plain clothes, minus shoelaces and belts. I scooted over a little bit so one of them could sit down. I was still able to sit in a corner with my legs extended on the bench. I wouldn’t describe it as comfortable, but it seemed like the most bearable spot to sit. Once the other women were settled in, I felt comfortable enough to try to go back to sleep; this time I leaned my head against the wall. I couldn’t sleep anymore though because three of the four women were deep in conversation and their voices rattled off the bare cement walls.

They were all being transferred to Raleigh Central prison. That thought petrified me, but they seemed very nonchalant about their move. I could tell they had been around each other for a while because they seemed like old friends. This of course was probably a side effect of their situation.

The women talked about their husbands, their children, and one woman spoke of her grandchildren. They caught up on the gossip about mutual women they knew, mainly through the prison system, and what they were up to now. The three women also discussed at length the crimes that got them in their current situation.

I wasn’t sure what to expect regarding their crimes. Up until that point my only exposure to such a situation was always from the comfort of my living room while I watched actors on TV. For all I knew they were all psychotic killers ready to pummel me. I couldn’t have been more off.

While I’m sure there have been violent felons in that room before me and would surely be some in there after me, the women in the holding cell on this particular Monday night weren’t that different from me. I could tell from their conversations that none of them had been to college and that most of them barely got by from paycheck to paycheck. They all had families that they loved and who loved them in return. None of them were violent. In fact none of their crimes had physically hurt anyone else. Most of them were serving time for drug charges.

All the women said that they wanted to change their lives. They said they wanted to do all that they could to make their time in prison go by quickly so that they could get back to their families. Some of them even looked at prison as a way to get themselves straightened out instead of just a punishment. The one thing I noticed that they all agreed on was how hard it was to get out of their current cycles. They knew what they had been doing was wrong, but they couldn’t stop.

These women vowed that after their stints at Central Prison they would get cleaned up for their husbands or children. One woman, the oldest and most talkative of the group, said that she was 52 and was getting ready to serve 3 years for forging prescriptions for pain medication. Several years ago she was in a bad car accident and injured her back. Her doctor prescribed her some pain medication, and she became addicted. Up until her late 40’s she had never been involved in anything criminal. It was her addiction that led her on her path to prison. This woman seemed nice and friendly; she was a grandmother and the wife of a minister. She wasn’t well-off by any means but was, as she put it, ‘able to get by’ just fine before her problem started.

At that point I stopped thinking so much about myself. I started to wonder about these women and the thousands of others just like them who have a disease but instead of getting treatment are getting imprisoned. I am in no way an expert on addiction, but it’s obvious that there is a need for a better way to deal with women with substance abuse problems besides just jail time. I know that there are many programs out there, but due to an array of reasons many women never get the opportunity to become involved in them. It seems easier to put them away.

Sadly the female inmate population is the fastest rising group in the prison system today. North Carolina alone currently has 2,791 female inmates, according to the North Carolina Department of Corrections website. Thanks to funding cuts and some programs being wiped out completely, these numbers are just going to keep rising. Many women who honestly should be treated for a disease are instead going to lose their family, their friends and their freedom as they cycle in and out of the prison system.

At 7:30 in the morning I was given back my freedom. I had only spent six hours locked away from the rest of the world but in that short amount of time my perspective was forever changed. I am actually grateful that I was pulled over that night. It made me realize that I was getting myself into a self destructive cycle caused by alcohol. I’m grateful that I had the means to complete my court-ordered treatment. Most importantly, I am grateful that I didn’t hurt myself or anyone else. I will never forget those women who I briefly shared a cell with. I never found out their names and I can barely remember their faces, but their stories will stay with my forever.