GIRLS ARE NOT FUNNY

Orlando, FL

I’m working the new girl thing out here in Florida like it’s my job.

Two months in and these are my guy brush ups:

To start, if you’re looking for a husband, I am confidant you can find him at my local Starbucks. It’s the downtown location on Summerlin near lake Eola. Get there, and he’ll be waiting for you. I promise.

My two favorite encounters at that Starbucks have been: Mr. Stare-At-You-Every-Thirty-Seconds, but doesn’t realize I know because I am watching him do it with my peripheral vision as I am working on my computer. And about every fifth stare I lift my head to look back for who knows what reason. It’s like a drug addiction – you don’t really want snort lines but you can’t actually stop yourself.

My other favorite was less of a starrer and more of an over-achiever. He immediately insisted he plug in my computer even though my seat was closer to the outlet than his. Five minutes in, as he was shifting in the seat across from me and I could see that his mouth was moving, I took my headphones out and he actually said this, “I am going to sit over here now,” pointing to the seat to the right of me, “so you don’t think I am staring at you the whole time we’re here.”

Flabbergasted by his awkward yet sincere consideration, all I could mutter out, along with a half-giggle was, “Uhh okay.”

Five minutes later I can see his head turning towards me along with more mouthing I cannot hear through my tunes. With an eager smile he asks, “I noticed you were tapping your foot to your music. I can’t help but ask. What are you listening to!?” Again I am taken off guard by his enthusiasm, so I giggle, answer him, turn my music up and dig my eyes deeper into computer screen in hopes that I won’t catch anymore mouthing.

It worked because five minutes after that as I am quietly laughing to a funny YouTube, he had to resort to another approach – there is a light touch on my right arm. My head begins its journey up, and there he is leaning in close with a wide-eyed smile. I take my earphones out and lightly smile back, “What’s so funny?” he asks. You’re kidding me. The shamelessness is extraordinary and I can’t help but kind of admire it. That happens a few more times and somehow, by the grace of God, I got out of there.

Other encounters include the serial texter, the guy who asks Mj if I’m single and interested in anyone rather than just asking me himself and then there was the kicker – the incredibly forward yet weirdly passive ask out via Facebook.

When I said “no,” I got the bitch-out of my life from Mj. “He’s is pursuing you, not playing around, just how you like it. He has a beard! What the heck? You’re being stupid.”

I considered her words and even appreciated them.

But.

That night I sat across the dinner table, at an awesome restaurant called Ravenous Pig that you should dfdinitely check out if you’re ever in Orlando, from a tipsy, single, thirty one year old woman on the cusp of adoption. Her relationship advice was, not knowing a thing about my situation, “I wish I would have said ‘yes’ to guys more when I was your age. I wish I hadn’t been so unavailable.”

It’s true, I am a recovering, unavailable snob. But once I stopped confusing snobbery with healthy high bars and the reverse pride was exposed – I now no longer avoid dudes, but actually really looking forward to the one that I’ll claim as my own one day. That considered, along with the bitch-out and relationship advice from the nice lady that no twenty three year old young woman ever wants to become, one thing still remained – But.

An article written once upon a time by Paige Benton Brown called Singled Out by God for Good,points out what she calls warped Theology as the heart tries to “explain” singleness:

• “As soon as you’re satisfied with God alone, he’ll bring someone special into your life”—as though God’s blessings are ever earned by our contentment.
• “You’re too picky”—as though God is frustrated by our fickle whims and needs broader parameters in which to work.
• “As a single you can commit yourself wholeheartedly to the Lord’s work”—as though God requires emotional martyrs to do his work, of which marriage must be no part.
• “Before you can marry someone wonderful, the Lord has to make you someone wonderful”—as though God grants marriage as a second blessing to the satisfactorily sanctified.

So as a woman, now ready and eager to love, find and know someone well, it is liberating to realize that the “but” is no longer in vain.

Cheers to healing and the hope of a stellar future husband.

Orlando, FL

I sat across a table from Jason Russell some five months ago. He and his wife are very good friends with Madi’s older sister and brother in law. We had convened as a favor for them to model for some new business venture. The only thought funnier than someone asking me to model would be that the whole time we chatted, I tried to work up the courage to tell him that while he was out of town, I slept on his couch, with my boyfriend, my senior year of high school. Granted, it was just the normal kind of sleeping though, not the “sleeping” used as a synonym for sex.  

I never actually worked up the courage but we did however talk gospel and social justice. It’s taken me a couple years to warm up to the idea of social justice and how the church, for the most part, has enthusiastically responded – the name itself makes me want to scream, “Jesus was about giving up your rights, not fighting for them!!!!” But as the months have passed, as I have gotten better at reminding myself about the gospel, as I have gotten better at reminding myself about the gospel on the behalf of others, as I have read great literature – Bonhoeffer by Eric Metaxes, as I have had conversations such as these with the ever-articulate, passionate, infectious, influencing and magnetic Jason Russell – I have simmered a little. Gathered a much more compassionate, holistic view, if you will.

It is funny because whenever I would throw the social justice debate out there amongst other Christians, I specifically used the Invisible Children example, knowing full well that a slew of Christians were behind the movement and were seemingly more concerned about rights and physical freedom than they were about the gospel and eternal freedom. Jason is constantly confronted by this, so it is no wonder that he engaged Danielle and me in such a way.

“What does your father do for a living, Danielle?” he asked.

“He works in construction. Primarily building kitchens.” She replied with a tight, toothless smile and a nod of the head.

“Does he ever get criticized for not employing Christians? For remodeling the kitchens of non-Christians? For not preaching to every customer?

“Nope.” She responded.

“I know. And I think it is so funny that people hold me to standards that don’t exist for everyone. I’m just doing my job like the next guy.”

Even though I do not believe all working-class Christian males are the standard, still, a big, “Hmmmph,” and sigh came jetting out of me. This conversation had been the cherry on top of a jackass sundae I had been munching on for far too long.

Though I still believe some things could stand a change in the arena of social justice in which many Christians are at play, such as wordage, paradigms, motives and doctrine – I came away from that lunch feeling healed. Healed from my cynicism and healed from my opinion.

And for the rest of the lunch, he kindly inquired about the ministry Danielle and I were involved in as we watched him fervently yet patiently remind his daughter to stop throwing sand into the eyes of her playmate.

So as I watch a video of Jason slapping the ground, naked, catching glimpses of testicular silhouettes, with a pacific view way too familiar, way too close to home, I am persuaded toward grace. I know that one day, I too will have my own naked ground slapping moment that alludes to my depravity and reminds me of God’s sovereignty. So that same persuasion toward grace and God’s sovereignty is also what made me choose the photo above (and because it is pretty funny, in the darkest way possible) – that in God’s omniscience, His grace can be extended just as much to Kony as it is to Jason. And though I would hope no Christian would think otherwise – it is still such a sweet reminder that there is no place His grace won’t go.

Honestly, I am just another nameless girl among many, assuredly, that Jason has used his inherent talent of inspiration on. Nonetheless, my heart aches for him, for his family and my prayer is they trust and fear God more than they do the pressure of the now even deeper scrutiny they are under more than ever before.

Maybe you no longer care with recent events, but if you’re still looking for a place to start in working through your stance on the KONY2012 movement, I found this article to be very helpful.

Orlando, FL

Let’s take a look at John four.

To Jews, Samaritans sucked. They were unclean, racially horrendous and Holy Scripture manipulators. When making the three day trek between Jerusalem and the Galilee, which occurs in this text, Jews avoided Samaria – an almost half way mark.

But Jesus.

In verse four it says,

But He needed to go through Samaria.  

No He didn’t! He needed to avoid it, like everyone else. Right?

He needed to avoid strange women, Samaritan women at that, right? Like the woman at the well, who said to him in verse nine,

“How is it that You, being a Jew, ask a drink from me, a Samaritan woman?” For Jews have no dealings with Samaritans.

By verse nine, Jesus has violated three cultural norms, all for the sake of His ministry and glory. 1. Made purposeful contact with the Samaritans. 2. Talked to a woman. 3. Talked to a Samaritan.

At this point in the night, as I am passionately preaching this text to my high school girls, one of them takes a moment in between pauses to tell me, “You know, with that tone and blazer you are wearing, you kind of remind me of a dad.”

My love for blazers seemingly never goes unnoticed with past comments I have received such as this, in which you think I would stop wearing them. But a blazer paired with a cute little dress is my fashion addiction.

As the girly, teenage giggles ensue, I grab their attention by saying, “So what you’re trying to say Ali, is that I look like a dyke.”

The room erupts and I have now lost them to yet another moment of where I have left them amused but still asking themselves – is this girl really allowed to be our discipleship leader? Similar to when they saw a photo of me smoking a clove on instagram and that other time I called myself a “shithead” when referencing my absolute need for God’s grace.

Ali’s face is completely red. And Kate, the hilarious and most newly follower of Christ of the group as of two months ago, who spends most her time quoting Summer Heights High and lacks any kind of Christendom social norms, slaps on a girly whiny voice and makes a lesbian innuendo by saying, “But it only happened once!”

Now I am leveled, grabbing my stomach and laughing with watery eyes.

As that simmers, we finish looking at the rich text. There are a lot of theological stops on the way through chapter four of John, such as: living water, lovingly addressing the woman’s sin, food to do the Father’s will, a whitened harvest with sowing and reaping, and a similarity in how this woman was used to how Mary was used in chapter two – an active faith that pushed others into active faith.

Those things are good. Those things make me want to do somersaults and smell flowers, but what I wanted to take closer look at is what happens in verses twenty three through twenty six,

“But the hours is coming, and now is, when the true worshippers will worship the Father in spirit and truth; for the Father is seeking such to worship Him. God is Spirit, and those who worship Him must worship in spirit and truth.” The woman said to Him, “I know that Messiah is coming” (who is called Christ). “When He comes, He will tell us all things.” Jesus said to her, “I who speak to you am He.”

It is 2012 and the new covenant is established. Disciples have been commissioned and now we are riding the coat tails of western missionaries. We have broken into denominations. We have reformed. We love the Gospel and we tell people about it. And with that, it becomes hard to fathom that people existed without a Messiah and with only the promise of one.

Right here in these scriptures, Jesus is foreshadowing to a much bigger proclamation. He has chosen a sinful, Samaritan woman to say – you have been waiting for your Messiah and I am He! To firstly proclaim reconciliation amongst the God of the Jews with the Samaritans and to further foreshadow the reconciliation that would be occurring between that same God and the Gentiles just a couple years down the road, on a cross at Calvary.

Maybe today you need to be reminded that Jesus if for everyone, every nation. So let’s be a part of it.  

Lakeland, FL

The moment I walked in on the groom’s grandfather taking a whiz, right before the bridal party made their entrance down the aisle, I should have known, it was going to be one of those nights…

“Jessica, go!” Both of my bosses yelled repeatedly to me while pointing to the crowd of single women. “Go! Go!”

“But Mj will fire me if I go.” I replied in a whiny tone just waiting to be convinced more.

“Go!!!”

So I went, taking one last look at her, the only woman not in white. Wearing white was a last minute request made by the bride and groom that my boss was not aware of. It turned out to be a great idea, full of beautiful symbolism. But unfortunately for my boss, who chose to wear red, looked like a twenty first century version of the character Hester Prynne from the Scarlet Letter.

Single Ladies by Beyonce queued in like I am sure it does at all bouquet tosses across the nation ever since its release some couple years ago. As I rounded the left side of the group of women my fiercely competitive nature kicked in – I had committed now and fully planned on catching the bouquet. I took the sneak attack route and stayed on the left side awaiting a quick swipe in front of whomever it landed. I took the Ray Bans off that I had stolen from some dude on the dance floor and was now ready to single-handedly take home my fourth bouquet in the last two and a half years’ worth of weddings.

The bouquet floated surprisingly close to me and just like that, my only competition being one of the bridesmaids, half caught it, half dropped it and then eventually completely retrieved it, doing so with only my left hand. Swiftly with my right hand, I put the Ray Bans back on, and began my victory lap around the dance floor waving my floral trophy in the air and ended by celebrating with and high-fiving the two women, of whom I nanny their children, with the bouquet. I hear my first and last name roaring through the speakers as my friend Josh, the DJ announces the winner at perfect timing to throw my hand in the air as Beyonce sings, “If you like it than you should put a ring on it.”

I didn’t plan for this spectacle. I didn’t even think I’d dance. Mj had planned this wedding and paid me a couple bucks to be her number two for the day. Participating in these activities seemed out of the question. But after commenting on how nutty I usually get on wedding dance floors to one of my bosses, I had to rise to the challenge when she asked me to prove it. Almost instantly I ran right into a group of familiar dancers and had an “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” going which quickly turned into a dance circle. That dance circle then transformed into a conga line in which I strategically lead past my boss and mouthed, “I told you,” while pointing back to the people behind me.

So I danced, a lot, quite vividly, actually. I heard a lot of, “Looks like you’re having a great time, Jessica!” from parents throughout the night. Of course this came after I held on to the suspenders of one of the guys I do the high school ministry with as he circled the dance floor and danced the whole night convincing viewers that I am epileptic. I caught the bouquet. Remember that, just told you about it. Yeah. And for a split second, I even found myself accidentally running down the sparkler-lined aisle as the bride and groom were making their exit. My douche bag points were reeling at this point and hit their climax as Mj informed me of a photo one of the mother’s had taken that involved me grabbing the arm of the bridesmaid that would have caught the bouquet had I not succumbed to the employer pressure I was under.

The loud, flirtatious girl from California, that most of these people at the wedding do not know very well – was at it again. The next day Mj said to me, “Jessica, I feel like your PR Agent, talking so highly of you to everyone constantly to downplay of all the shenanigans you’re up to.”

Shame could have poured over heart, which it did for a while, pondering the potential of seething women losing to hired help. But it is times like these that remind me of how badly I am in need of grace. And although it is not always offered by the people around me, it is most certainly promised by Christ.

In fact, that grace had already been lavishly extended the night before at the rehearsal dinner. Though I’ve known the groom and his family since I was sixteen years old and have religiously visited them to glean, learn from and simply spend time with – I still should not have been at that rehearsal dinner. Due to the circumstances, I was. I quietly watched as two super families toasted to the bride and groom. Siblings, grandparents, mothers, best friends, etc… The love and the gratitude being expressed behind some barn in woods of central Florida was humbling.

As the night ended with worship by one of my favorite dude friends out here in Florida, I wept. Contemplating the glorious symbolism taking place before my eyes in reference to Christ uniting with His bride and how in my total depravity, by default, I shouldn’t even have been invited to that eternal wedding, now should I? Should any of us?

No.

But I am, claimed completely by Christ, invited to partake in the wedding celebration, the feast.

This is good.

Orlando, FL

I had an on-call nanny shift because their father was out of town and their mother was helping someone give birth.

5:00pm – Get the “when can you be here” text.

6:00pm – Get another text from their father stating that I won’t have a car seat, but that’s okay because he just drove the two year old, King, to the airport and back without one. So I’ll be fine driving him the five minutes to my house for Family Dinner Potluck without one too.

6:15pm – Relieve their father’s assistant from watching them. Their father is in the music business so naturally she looks like she has just gotten off some sort of rock star photo shoot and Gav described her as, “working the whole time and not really wanting to be there.”

6:20pm – Load the car up with the kids. Beg King to be a big boy and stay in his seatbelt.

6:25pm – Arrive at my house.

6:45pm – Assure King that I can in fact find a “naughty seat” at my house too for him to spend the next five minutes in if he doesn’t stop acting up.

7:00pm – Mj assures King that she can in fact find a “naughty seat” at our house too for him to spend the next five minutes in if he doesn’t stop acting up.

7:30pm – Ten of my friends have arrived and dinner has started.

7:31pm – I pour King his first glass of peach tea.

7:50pm – I pour King his second glass of peach tea.

8:10pm – I pour King his third glass of peach tea.

8:20pm – King is now incessantly singing “Baby” by Justin Bieber.

8:22pm – My roommate Mel says, “Kingston is acting really funny.”

8:25pm – King is still singing “Baby.”

8:30pm – My friend Josh asks why Kingston is acting so weird. My friend Chels answer with, “It’s probably all of that peach tea Jessica gave him.”

8:31pm – I now remember tea is caffeinated and cannot be treated like juice.

8:32pm – Everyone sits around the table, laughing and watching King, while Mj, their old nanny scolds me.

8:40pm – King informs my roommate Shan that he is going on vacation – to the toy store.

8:45pm – King kicks my roommate Lance in the shin.

8:50pm – King punches Mel in the face.

9:00pm – While getting the kids together to leave, King asks, “Where are my schoooooosssss?” and proceeds to lie down and laterally roll to the door.

9:05pm – While strapping him into the car after grunting for thirty seconds straight he tells me while drunkenly leaning his head back, “Jessica, God is sooooo biiiiiiiig!”

9:15pm – Find out we are locked out of their house and start the very illegal trek back to my house.

9:20pm – Get back to my house and as I am getting King out of the car he leans back in the most drunken way possible and points to the sky and says, “Ohhhhhhhhh it’s soooooooooo dark out!”

9:30pm – Kids are in bed.

10:00pm – Kids are all asleep except King.

10:30pm – When I check on the kids, they’re still asleep but now King is playing with their faces.

10:45pm – I hear a faint voice coming from the room they’re in singing “Baby,” once again.

11:15pm – King is asleep and I am sitting on the couch, already mentally noting all of the things that have just happened to me and will certainly be blogged about.

7:00am – Drop the kids off at their house. Grab the little rascal’s attention by yelling, “Hey King!” In which he politely responds, “Yes Jessica?” And there we sit for a couple seconds smiling at each other. I wink at him, knowing that when he tries to wink back it will actually be the equivalent to what appears as a painful blink. It happens, exactly how I thought. We all say our goodbyes and I drive away in pure bliss.