Guest Post- We Aren't Islands

Many of us long to live in a world where we shouldn’t have to do anything for anyone else. We set the course for our own lives; we decide what paths we will take; and nobody should have the power to derail our dreams. Freedom is our rallying cry! 

What I can’t figure out, though, is why freedom is so great. So many of us are so busy proclaiming our autonomy, saying “you can’t make me do this,” that I wonder if we’ve ever stopped to question whether being beholden to someone is actually such a bad thing. 

Modern day feminists, for instance, cry that no man should be able to tell a woman what to do, and that no woman should twist herself in knots to get or keep a man. Instead, she should seek to fulfill her dreams, and any guy who wants to tag along had better adapt. 

Yet speaking as a woman who is greatly in love with a certain man, I have to wonder why it’s so bad to want to please him? What’s wrong with wanting to make the house nice for him to come home to after he’s been on call for thirty-six hours straight and he’s exhausted? What’s wrong with doing his laundry? After all, he gives great foot massages, and he contributes more of the income! But even if he didn’t, isn’t it nice, sometimes, to have someone to fuss over? 

I don’t do these things because I have to; I do them because I want to. I know some would call me an oppressed wife, but I don’t think those people have ever really experienced the joy of a give-and-take relationship. Besides, he cleans off the car for me, takes out the garbage, and figures out how my Bluetooth device works. It’s a two-way street. 

It’s not only feminists telling women that they should never change for men, though; a new cohort of young men has concluded that they don’t need relationships, either. One night stands might be fine, but commitment is out of the picture. In fact, one man in a very open relationship once reported to me that he was as happy as he could imagine; neither of them made any demands on the other, and because of that the relationship was perfect. 

Five years later that relationship is long gone, and I often wonder if ultimately they would have been happier if they had made demands on each other—demands that they stay faithful, do things together, be nice to one another, forge a life together instead of just side by side. 

When we focus our lives solely on what we want life becomes rather shallow and awfully erratic. We can never achieve real intimacy with anybody, whether friend or significant other, for when we don’t make or accept demands, nothing can be permanent. And if nothing is permanent, we can’t be vulnerable. We can’t really open up. Sure, you may be able to pursue surface things, but what about our deepest needs to be accepted, loved, affirmed, and cherished? Without vulnerability and transparency, which can only come when we do make demands on each other, real intimacy can’t be achieved.

Loving someone isn’t a burden; it’s a privilege. Sometimes we should do things we don’t really want to do. Sometimes we should let someone else set the course. True love, after all, whether it’s with a sibling, a spouse, a child, or a friend, is so much better than autonomy. And, in the end, it’s far less lonely.

Sheila Wray Gregoire is the author of four books, including To Love, Honor and Vacuum: When you feel more like a maid than a wife and a mother. She blogs at http://tolovehonorandvacuum.blogspot.com and has a great newsletter called Reality Check.
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The Truth About Elvis

I wrote this several years ago, but it's still one of my favorite quirky stories about myself...Note to self: remember to add this to my quirky facts list. I wish I could say it's a made up story, but it's not...what can I say? I was a creative kid.

When I was eight, I married Elvis.  No, not the singer... but he did come complete with the black leather jacket, slicked back hair and chops.  He even smoked at the tender age of ten and a half.  He was so very cool. 

We were married in a simple ceremony on the back fire escape of the Episcopal Church on Morningside Drive in Hopkinsville, KY. It was a beautiful fall day; the leaves had just started to turn fiery red and amber gold.  He wore his best leather jacket (it had zippers every where) and his good jeans, the one's without the holes in them.  I wore my Easter dress and my white patent leather shoes. 

I had a fourth grader help me with the marriage license.  It seemed only proper to have a marriage license to make the whole thing legal; after all, this was the man of my dreams, and the one I would live with for the rest of my life....after I graduated from elementary school, of course.  I was pretty sure one wasn't allowed to buy a house of one's own until you were at least in junior high. We hand wrote the marriage license in ink, the writing utensil of permanence, on Red Chief writing paper (you know, the writing tablet with the lines...I wanted everything to be straight and all.)

Once the legal document was prepared, we talked one of the altar boys from the church into officiating the ceremony and marched up the fire escape to the sounds of my friend, Elizabeth, humming the wedding march.  The altar boy said some very official sounding stuff about "sickness and health, life and death, richer or poorer (I just knew we would be some of the richer though)" and then, "husband and wife...you may (insert snort and snicker here) kiss the bride."  Elvis leaned over and laid a small peck on my cheek (my first kiss) and it was all official.  We were married.  I was thrilled.  My parents, while they indulged my overactive imagination, were not nearly as happy with my chosen husband as I was.  I didn't understand. 

You see I had chosen the son of THE prominent figure in our town.  He was a Grand Wizard! Of what I didn't know or understand until later, but at the time it seemed such a very big deal.  Everybody knew who Elvis' daddy was, and were, on some level, afraid of him.  I thought it was a great match.  Everybody knew my daddy, too.  He was the Parks and Recreation Director- a public figure of great importance in a town the size of Hopkinsville.  It was perfect. 

For three weeks, I lived in wedded bliss.  Elvis would walk by my house on his way to school to "pick me up."  He would carry my books for me, and sometimes even hold my hand when no one was around.  I was simply mad about him.  In return, I would buy him cigarettes at the local Jiffy Mart when Mama sent me for groceries.  We would meet on the BMX track behind our houses and trade:  a peck on the cheek for a pack of Marlboros. 

It was a fair deal, I thought.  Until I got caught.  My Mama was so mad at me she made me go to my room and sit in the dark for the whole night.  I thought about running away to live with my husband's family, but I couldn't get my window open, so I just sat there, miserable, dreaming of my knight in black leather.  

I wasn't allowed to buy groceries at the local store after that.  Mama had called the owner and told him to, under no circumstances, allow me to purchase cigarettes (I had been telling him they were for her...believable story; she did smoke at the time).  Without the cigarettes to bond us together, Elvis and I could find nothing in common.  Our relationship disintegrated.  He stopped walking by my house in the morning, or looking at me in the halls when we passed for lunchtime, or stopping to say,"Hi" when we were out riding on the BMX track.  I went back to the fourth grader to file for divorce.  We drew up an official document, signed in cursive and everything, but I had to have the fourth grader "represent" me....Elvis wouldn't even come to the door when I tried to serve him with the papers.  I was devastated. 

I later discovered that Elvis had been forbidden to see me shortly before our divorce.  You see, my daddy had built a basketball court on the “colored” side of town.  Elvis' daddy, being a Grand Wizard of the KKK and all, got upset and burned a cross in our yard. I didn't understand what burning crosses had to do with basketball or marrying Elvis, but it did open my eyes to a very cruel reality:  people, in general, if left to their own devices, will, eventually, break your heart (especially really cool guys in black leather). I still don't know for sure if Elvis really loved me (and we were torn apart by his parent's bigotry) or my cigarettes (and we were torn apart by my parent's discipline), but I did finally figure out why my parents had discouraged our star-crossed union.

I still have those "official" documents.  Both neatly printed on Red Chief tablet paper.  The marriage license in ink, supposed to be permanent, forever.  The divorce decree in pencil, I didn't want that to be permanent, in case Elvis decided cigarettes were less important to him than his young wife.  Both signed in the shaky cursive of a third grader.  One forged with all the innocent naiveté of a girl who had not yet begun to truly understand people and ulterior motives.  One written with the desperate hope that some terrible misunderstanding had taken place and would all be worked out in time.

But both taught me a very valuable lesson:  If you have to trade cigarettes for kisses, don't write anything in ink.    

Guest Post- Just as Easy

Ralph Marston is a fabulous thinker over at The Daily Motivator. His posts are short, sweet and to the point.  This is one of my favorites.

It is just as easy to focus your thoughts on something positive in your life as it is to focus on something negative. 

It is just as easy to be sincerely thankful for your blessings as it is to be bitter and angry about your problems.

Maintaining a positive outlook on life requires no more effort than it takes to go around with a negative attitude. And that positive approach will bring much more value, meaning and fulfillment to your life.

Staying positively focused requires no special skills or resources or position. All it takes is a choice.

All it takes is the conscious choice to break away from the burdensome habit of negativity. It is a choice you can make right now, and in every moment that follows.

Make that choice, and your limiting fears will be overwhelmed by purposeful determination. Make that choice, and your most difficult challenges will become your greatest opportunities.

Living with a positive focus is just as easy as spending your precious time immersed in negativity. And it's a whole lot more enjoyable, too.

-- Ralph Marston

Vision and Invitation: The Fast

Hi. My name is Cari and I am addicted to Facebook…(nervous giggle) It sounds silly when I say it out loud, but it is true.  I have known I have a problem for a while, but recently I’ve been under much conviction to take some time away. 

So that’s exactly what I am going to do. Thanks to God’s thirty second horror movie (did I mention I was a big weenie when it comes to scary images- I am, ask my friend Heather..),  I have been spurred into to action. 

I am writing this to let you know that I am taking a hiatus from social media and television for the next few weeks.  It’s not you…it’s me J , but  I promise I am not breaking up with you.  I do know that I need time to get back with my God, to soak up his words for me instead of what my friends in Florida are doing. To get my head back in the clouds so to speak.

I have scheduled several posts for you to enjoy while I am exploring God’s invitation to spend more time with Him, so in all actuality, you will be getting more posts from me that usual- how’s that for a little time apart, huh?

How about you? Do you need to lay something you do down so you can get closer to God? Will you do that today?

Share it with us in the comments and let’s pray each other through this time of centering…

Life in the Medium Lane

The dressing room was completely empty this morning as I prepared for my morning swim. I love a calm swimming pool…a quiet dressing room…perfect morning. As I walked out of the dressing room and into the pool, a little girl inside jumped for joy. Just me! I can pick ANY lane I want! YAY!

As I looked across the pool, with it’s quietly rippling surface, the six lane lines floating unassumingly along the top of the water, I glanced at the shallow end of the lap lanes…and felt all my exhilaration fall away. There, on the deck, at the end of the pool stood the label for each lane. You know the little yellow bi-fold signs that say “Fast,” “Medium,” and “Slow?” 

As I scanned those signs, I could almost hear the little girl inside cry out, “Nooooo!”

See, now I can’t choose any lane I want…I have to take the lane I’m “supposed” to be in. This is my paradigm.

Now freeze frame here for a moment. Picture me, standing in front of a completely open pool, thinking to my black and white conscience, I must choose the lane I am supposed to go in…medium, I think…yeah, I am a medium swimmer. To be quite honest, I have no frame of reference for which lane I should be in. I have never had someone tap me on the shoulder and say, “You really should be in the medium lane.” But I put myself there anyway. Because somewhere in the back of my mind I have the belief that I haven’t put in the time, effort or haven’t the skill to swim in the fast lane, and thus don’t deserve to be there.

Even when no one else is in the pool with me.

The weight of this revelation and the implication in my life sat with me as I stroked my way through my workout. With each stroke, I wondered how much faster I would have to swim to be a “fast swimmer.” I wondered who would have to define that for me? Would I ever believe it of myself, without acknowledgement from an outside expert? How do I hold myself back in my life due to this same belief?

And then, a single thought entered my mind and hung there in the splish splash rhythm of my freestyle stroke…a thought striking enough that I stopped swimming.

My adult, wise self had a meeting with that little girl inside. And said something to her that I have said to my children countless times before. Wise Cari said to Baby Girl Cari-

EVERYTHING is a choice. Choosing to follow the rules is a choice. Choosing to label myself a “medium” swimmer is a choice. Choosing to get into the “medium” lane is a choice AND choosing to believe that I am not good enough and must rely on someone else to tell me that I am is a choice. Now CHOOSE to stop doubting and CHOOSE to get your butt over to the fast lane.

Which is exactly what I did. Maybe just for today, I swam in the fast lane. Tomorrow, perhaps I will swim in the medium lane again. I did find myself pushing a little harder, resting a little less and being more conscious of the technical aspects of my stroke, and I realized that, frankly, I am not sure if I WANT to swim in the “fast” lane. However, whether I want it or not is not relevant to this post. What is most important is that, regardless of whether I want to live life in the fast lane or the medium lane, or even in the slow lane, I never forget that I have the power to CHOOSE.