Dressing Inch by Inch.

It has recently come to my attention that dress codes are eminently ridiculous.

Now, before you jump on the bandwagon accusing me of disrespecting myself, my brothers in Christ, and my authority, let me explain.

I don't have a problem with encouraging girls to dress in an appropriate manner. At all. In fact, I would advocate such a thing.

What I do have a problem with, however, is legislating inches.

For instance. The dress code at my co-op does not allow shorts above finger - tip length, or skirts and dresses shorter than four inches above the knee. Sleeveless tops are prohibited, as are tank tops and / or 'revealing clothes'.

I've dealt with dress codes which commanded that all shirts must be no lower than three inches below the collarbone, skirts must be no more than five inches above the ankle, etc.

But before you accuse me of picking a bone simply because this would rule out the cute dress I planned on for tonight - it doesn't, actually. The dress is only two inches above my knee. Yes, I measured it ;) - hear me out.

The problem with legislating inches is simply this.

Not all women's bodies are the same, or built the same way, or the same height.

And while this might seem dreadfully simplistic, I feel that too often it is drastically overlooked when determining dress codes.

For example.

I have cleavage. My friend does not.

Therefore, three inches below the collarbone on me would be far more revealing than it would be on her.

I am very short. My friend is very tall.

Finger - tip length shorts on me are not only impossible to find, but absolutely do not flatter me at all, yet they cover more than half my thigh and quite frankly it's easier to find Bermudas. By the same token, though, fingertip length shorts on her cover less than half of her thigh, and are rather easy to find since she has short arms and long legs, and she is constantly getting in trouble for immodesty.

And then, prohibiting dresses or skirts which are shorter than four inches above the knee?

My tall friend can wear skirts which are four inches above her knee without revealing anything. Me, on the other hand? Four inches above my knee is halfway up my thigh, therefore I get called out for dress code violations, when in reality, it wasn't me who was at fault at all.

The fault lay with the dress code.

Because each person is made differently, inches are really no good as a dress code measuring rod.

Debating inches - and believe me, I've seen people whip out rulers in order to enforce these dress codes - isn't really the point, and by making it a focal point, we miss the real purpose of modesty.

 The point of modesty isn't a competition of how many or how few inches of your body are covered by clothing. The point of modesty is to dress and behave in such a manner that God is glorified.

Because, as I am positive I've said before, that's the main purpose for our lives, and if the chief end of man is to 'glorify God and enjoy Him forever, then the way we dress should be measured against whether it brings us closer or takes us further away from that goal.

At least, that's how I see it.

For Those Who Have Loved Me

"My mother asked me today, 

With all the boys who have been drawn to me, as moths are drawn to a candle flickering flame, 

Why am I so certain that no one will ever love me the way I ache to be loved? 

What she fails to realize is that none of them are ships I care to attach my sinking anchor to. 

They are broken and so am I. 

From the messed up fighter with the broken past who drank to forget his insomnia and the nightmares of his abusive past - 

To the ex-druggie pervert who won my trust through claiming I was like a little sister to him and then shattered it all to ask for nudes and friends with benefits - 

To the manipulator who played daily mind games and chose to love me one day and detest me the next with mixed messages and scrambled signals - 

To the one who was convinced God had told him to profess his love to me, and refused to take no for an answer, claiming dreams where I died as reason for his stalkerish tendencies and his bizarre conviction that he had cast Legion out of his family - 

To the effeminate, depressed, shy, and awkward brainiac mathematician who turned to me for emotional support while breaking up with my best friend - 

To the initially sweet bipolar pothead, who refused to stop sending me shirtless pictures and manipulated me into talking to him by threatening to slice open his skin, and guilt tripped me extensively - 

To the self styled psychopath, who deliberately self harmed out of boredom, water boarding himself and refusing to allow me space -

To the boy who consistently invaded the girls dressing room, touching me, and ramming the handle of his gun prop into my side - 

To the one who had killed and tortured countless, tried to kill himself repeatedly, and whose version of self harm was slashing his arm open and stapling himself only to rip the staples out - 

To the completely clueless innocent whose entire life had been shrouded in comfortable Christianity and who refused to expand his horizons for to do so might shatter all he had known - 

To the pathological liar who manipulated me and countless others, and preyed on girls younger than him because they were the only ones clueless enough to accept his exaggerated myths - 

None of them would I be proud of. 

And I know I am no paragon of virtue, therefore who am I to judge? 

And I am not saying that those whom I have just listed are not worthy of love, 

But, to answer my mothers question, no one whom I could ever picture growing old with could ever ever love me. 

And I cannot again rush into a relationship with an aimless boy struggling with numerous unresolved issues. 

Mine are issues enough for now. 

If I ever love again, he would have to be mature…and well - read…and capable of understanding me without consistently dragging me down…and yet he must need me also, not just I him. 

But no one without major issues of their own could ever love the mess I am and have become, nor could they ever understand. 

And any pure man is justifiably justified in taking one look at me and fleeing for dear life. 

Which is why I say I shall never love or be loved truly. 

And although I occasionally mourn the loss of my hope, I am learning to come to terms with it. 

I am learning to be alone. 

I am learning to be lonely.”

-s.v. (via tumblr)

Ballad of the Goodly Fere

I don't remember when I first came across this poem, but I've loved it ever since. 'Fere' is Old English for companion, and it's told through the eyes of the Apostle Peter, but the descriptions are lovely, and it's depiction of Jesus is exquisite and really challenged my perception of Him.

Ballad of the Goodly Fere: 

Ha' we lost the goodliest fere of all 

For the priests and the gallows tree? 

Aye, lover was He of brawny men,

O' ships and the open sea. 

When they came wi' a host to take our man 

His smile was good to see. 

'First let these go' quo our Goodly Fere

'Or I'll see ye damned' says He. 

Aye He sent us out through the high crossed spears

And the scorn of His laugh rang free. 

'Why took ye not me when I walked about 

Alone in the town?' says He. 

Oh, we drank His 'Hale' in the good red wine

When we last made company. 

No capon priest was the Goodly Fere, 

But a man o' men was He. 

I ha' seen Him drive an hundred men 

Wi' a bundle o' cords swung free

That they took the high and holy house

For their pawn and treasury. 

They'll no' get Him in a book, I think 

Though they write it cunningly. 

No mouse of the scrolls was the Goodly Fere, 

But aye loved the open sea. 

If they think they ha' snared our Goodly Fere, 

They are fools to the last degree. 

'I'll go to the feast' quo our Goodly Fere,

'Though I go to the gallows tree'. 

'Ye ha' seen me heal the lame and blind

And wake the dead' says he. 

'Ye shall see one thing to master all. 

'Tis how a brave man dies on the tree'. 

A Son of God was the Goodly Fere

That bade us His brothers be. 

I ha' seen Him cow a thousand men. 

I ha' seen Him upon the tree. 

He cried no cry when they drave the nails

And the blood gushed hot and free. 

The hounds of the crimson sky gave tongue 

But never a cry cried He. 

I ha' seen Him cow a thousand men 

On the hills of Galilee. 

They whined as He walked out calm between 

Wi' His eyes like the grey o' the sea 

Like the sea that brooks no voyaging

With the winds unleashed and free. 

Like the sea that He cowed at Genseret 

Wi' twey words spoke' suddently. 

A master o' men was the Goodly Fere

A mate of the wind and the sea. 

If they think they ha' slain our Goodly Fere

They are fools eternally. 

I ha' seen Him eat of the honeycomb

Sin' they nailed Him to the tree. 

- Ezra Pound. 

Love?

Love.

What comes to mind when you hear that word? 

Perhaps, a vision of candlelighted romance, gauzy dress, and delicate dancing. 

Or perhaps ecstasy and kisses. Sweet nothings whispered in the heat of passion by a fevered lover. 

Perhaps the first blush of young sweethearts, timidity and courage enchantingly mingled. 

Mayhap your idea of love melds with the souls of those, high and holy, who have forsaken all, even life itself, for the glories of martyrdom on some distant, shrapnel - wracked field. 

Or, perhaps, you think of the radiant glow of motherhood, the full to bursting heart as she caresses the new young life. 

Perhaps the bitter heart wrenching tears shed at midnight by those abandoned by the ones sworn to remain til parted by death. 

Perhaps the willingness to do what is in the other persons best interest despite personal cost. 

....Or perhaps........ just perhaps..........your view of love entails a bruised bloody, and broken body ruthlessly thrust to the ground as the brutal whip rains down blows on head and shoulders bowed as if in prayer. 

Perhaps it watches as that same body bends beneath the crushing load it slowly drags up the steep incline. 

Perhaps it jostles for prominence in the crowd surrounding the form, now raised high above the heads of those at the foot of the cross and breathlessly awaits his final words. 

Perhaps it joins the weeping once he is indisputably laid to rest, never to again grace the land of the living. 

But perhaps.

Perhaps perhaps perhaps.

Perhaps it stands in enraptured awe as you place your hand in the hand of the one who was dead and behold is alive forevermore, as the rising sun signals the dawn of a new life. 

And the words of the old writ echo in your ears while you stand on the shores of the cloud tossed sea to hear His whisper in the waves. 

"No greater love hath man than this". 

No 

Greater 

Love. 

Jesus Christ Superstar and Familiarity Breeds Contempt

I'm a church kid.

As in, I've gone to church since before I was born...was dedicated while I was still an infant, and my great uncle pastored a church in Syracuse before he passed away.

I've heard the Easter story every single year, and when I was seven, my favorite chapters in the entire Bible were Luke 22-24 - the story of Jesus' betrayal, crucifixion, death, and resurrection.

In addition, I grew up in a very strong Christian family, so I don't honestly remember a point in my life where I didn't know who Jesus was and what He did for me.

The problem with such familiarity, I find, is that sometimes it can dull the meaning of powerful truths. They say 'familiarity breeds contempt', and I grew so accustomed to hearing the Easter story that it lost most of its wonder and awe for me.

A few years ago, though, during Holy Week, we rented out the 1973 film version of Andrew Lloyd Webber and Ted Rice's iconic rock opera "Jesus Christ Superstar", and after I got past the initial shock of how different it was from The Passion of Christ, for instance, I'm afraid I quite fell in love.

I literally cried at the expression on Jesus' face when Judas turns his back on him. I got chills when Jesus defended Mary Magdalene, and flinched when the soldiers flogged him.

And to be honest, even though they neglected the resurrection, it left a much more powerful impression on me than Son of God, The Story of Jesus, or any of the assorted Holy Week movies I had seen.

I think much of its power is that it takes the greatest story ever told out of all its cultural trappings and presents it - in large - for what it is.

A misunderstood, innocent Savior who is torn between his love for the world and his desire not to have to endure the brutal death he knows is coming.

His right hand man,Judas Iscariot, whose conflicted passions vary between extreme judgmentalism and a willingness to sell out his Master in order to avert an anticipated catastrophe.

The ex-prostitute, Mary Magdalene whose life is radically changed by meeting Jesus, a man unlike any other she had ever encountered before.

And an entire cast of other assorted variables like the paranoid Pilate, the childish Herod, the cruel Caiaphas, and the cowardly Peter.

While I'm sure that some will disagree with me and hate the movie because of its faulty depiction of Jesus' emotions, and the extensive scripture tweaking and faulty theology which went on, I loved it because it brought home to me the drama and tragedy surrounding Holy Week, which, from sheer familiarity, had become trite to me.

Hence, it's still my Holy Week tradition.

And I think it will continue as such.

Letter from a Therapist.

This afternoon I did what I usually do when I'm stressed about something... I browsed Pinterest.

And came across a stunning letter.

I'm reposting it here, because, not only do I need the reminder, but it's just a beautiful letter, and, well, it's truth.

Letter From A Therapist to a Suicidal Person

When you come to me for help, I want to help you

I hope you will let me. 

I cannot know your secrets without your words. 

I hope you will tell me. 

Tell me, please, your thoughts of suicide. 

You might feel scared to tell me

When I ask if you are thinking of suicide. 

I will try to help you feel safe. 

I will not judge you. 

I will not interrogate you.

I will not panic. 

I will listen gently as you tell your story 

In your own words, in your own way 

Suicide might tell you not to tell me. 

Suicide might tell you I am your enemy. 

Suicide lies. 

Suicide might tell you that no one could possibly help you, 

That dying is the only way to end your pain. 

Suicide might even tell you that you are a bad person

Defective, undeserving of life 

Or love, or hope, or compassion. 

Please, tell me. 

I cannot help you fight the enemy 

If you do not tell me about the enemy. 

The enemy that is trying to kill you. 

Do not trust your suicidal thoughts. 

They are not rational. 

They are a symptom, a cry from inside. 

Something inside you needs healing. 

Healing, not killing. 

Tell me, please, what suicide tells you. 

Does it tell you everything that is wrong with your life? 

Everything that is wrong with you? 

Suicide plays tricks with truth, 

Telling only the truths that make you want to die. 

Hiding the truths that make you want to live.

The pieces of hope. 

The pathways to healing. 

The possible. 

Tell me, please. 

Or somebody else. 

I am one of many people who can help you. 

But nobody can help you if you tell nobody. 

Thank you. 

One day, you will thank you too. 

For telling. 

For surviving. 

(© Copyright 2014 Stacey Freedenthal, PhD, LCSW, All Rights Reserved.)

On Governing Least and Governing Best

I seem to have been dragged into the whole realm of the melee that is politics, since I anticipate voting for the first time in the 2016 election. 

AAH! So much to learn and so little time!! 

*screams in frustration* 

Along those lines, though, in Western Civ this past semester, we studied - and evaluated - the belief that "the government that governs least, governs best", and, for the midterm, were obliged to write a short essay either arguing for or against the aforementioned statement. 

See the thing is...

According to the Bible, the government is given a great responsibility, not only to govern, but to govern well. According to the Bible, and Romans 13 in particular, the government is called to defend its citizens and maintain justice but at the same time, promote freedom and liberty for all. 

A government is charged with many duties in Scripture. Particularly, defending it's citizens from outside attacks, keeping the peace within its own borders, taking charge of complex social issues, and protecting basic rights and upholding just laws as found in Scripture.

However, "the government that governs least, governs best", while an admirable concept, fails to adequately account for the sin nature found in every human. 

The problem with blanket statements like the one above, is that, while in certain aspects - lassiez faire, and free market economics, for instance - they seem to be the best policy, they do not work in all circumstances. 

For instance, it is the duty of governments to uphold just laws, and punish wrongdoers, for they are not to "bear the sword in vain" (Rom. 13). A government that fails to govern in the area of law, and punish evildoers, in the interest of governing least, is failing to govern well and Biblically. 

With that said, however, I would generally agree with the principle that "the government that governs least, governs best", if only to avoid a dictatorial government, which oppresses the people, and the Bible clearly argues against, since God desires slavery for none, but freedom for all 

A limited government results in greater personal freedom, and, as the Declaration of Independence sums it up, a greater ability to pursue "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness", which is why, according to the Bible, governments are instituted on the earth. 

They are duty bound to protect the inalienable rights of their citizens - the aforementioned life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness - and therefore must not be too domineering, for that will defeat the purpose of freedom, and return liberated countries to the clutches of mercenary dictatorships, immoral monarchies, and careless demagogues.