I'm a Slut

In November of 1996, I began taking oral contraceptives. And in December of that same year, I started having sex. I don't remember the exact date, but I do know that it was the first of many times.

I'd messed around a lot the two and a half years prior. Lots of pushing the envelope as far as it could go without crossing over to sex, and at least a little bit of pushing beyond even that. The only thing that kept me from just going ahead having intercourse was a deathly fear of pregnancy. I was not going to be an unwed mother, so I didn't have sex. But I was sure as hell sexual, and I got as good as I gave.

I've had one sexual partner in my life. And I'm married to him. In the two and a half years before we were married, we were completely faithful to one another. He was the first and only person that has shared my bed.

It can be easy to read those first few paragraphs and call that woman a slut. She was sexually active outside of marriage. She engaged in sex as soon as the threat of pregnancy was removed. She was an active and enthusiastic sexual partner.

I knew all of the reasons why I should wait. I even agreed with them. And before I met Jason, there was never any question that I would wait. I wanted to be with someone that I loved and who loved me back. I wanted to be with someone who was fully committed to me. I wanted to be with someone that I intended to spend my life with.

Jason was all of those things.

But he was all of those things for two and a half years before we were officially married.

And this is where the word slut is problematic to me. Not only because it demeans women, but because it is generally used about women who aren’t ashamed of being sexual. Women who say, “Yes, I want to have sex and I want to have an orgasm when I do.” Women who don’t have sex coupled with regret.

When we use this phrase, whether loudly on the radio or in whispers in church, we wrap sex, and particularly the female enjoyment of sex, in a huge blanket of shame.

When we teach our daughters “don't be a slut,” we aren’t simply teaching them to be faithful to their future husband. We aren’t simply teaching them to respect themselves. We aren’t simply teaching them to value marriage and fidelity and oneness.

When we use that word they may hear those lessons, but it comes with extra baggage. When we say "don't be a slut," we’re teaching them that if they do have sex outside of marriage, they had better feel terrible about it. They can never admit to enjoying it. And they should never, ever, ever be the one to pursue it.

These messages stick with you, regardless of your sexual activity. Whether it becomes something that you fear or you pursue recklessly, sex loses that which makes it truly sacred - the ability of two to become one.

You may consider my past behavior to be slutty. You may consider my current behavior to be slutty.

All I know is that I want the same thing today that I have wanted every day since the first time Jason kissed me, and that's to be curled up naked with him.

If that makes me a slut, then I'm a slut.

++++++++++++++

Today I'm linking up with Joy in this Journey for Life: Unmasked, where we share life openly. Click here to see the other posts and to leave your own.

Thanking my Critics

Tuesday started out in a hectic manner. My oldest son couldn't find his shoe and my oldest daughter woke up eight minutes before she had to leave.  The older kids missed the bus, so I had to run them to school before I drove the younger two in. My youngest daughter couldn't find her watch, and we ended up leaving later than we expected (how everyone got to school on time is beyond me).

But I was still in a pretty good mood because despite the crazy around here, something that I wrote was being syndicated on a pretty big site for Christian leaders. Which, for a little mom blogger like me, was kind of a nice boost. The post had received positive feedback the previous day, so I didn't really think much about it.

Then the comments started rolling in. And despite the positive feedback I had received the previous day, this was almost exclusively negative. I was jealous of Tebow. The piece either missed the point or was pointless. I was trying to bask in his reflected glory. I was judgmental.

Mostly, I was just sitting here in my living room absolutely floored.

Why didn't they get it? How could I have written it better? Why didn't they like me?

I focused on a few negative comments and completely lost sight of one of the first questions that we're supposed to ask ourselves when we receive criticism.

Is it true?

I don't think it's wise to simply brush of criticism or disagreement. This is how we become better. Better at our craft. Better at our lives.

But not all criticism is equal. When my husband tells me that what I wrote wasn't very clear, that is worth examining. When my writing friends tell me that my story is muddled, I will go back and re-write. When those close to me tell me that I overuse a phrase or am not writing in my own voice, I'll take that to heart. And it's not just people close to me who offer constructive criticism. I've reexamined some phrases that I use based on responses by folks who read and comment who have no other relationship with me.

Then there is the criticism that is offered as a result of not reading carefully. Or coming to a piece with a bias against it already. Or of just being a generally critical person.

Most of the time I can suss this out pretty well and can be reasonable about criticism I receive. But not on Tuesday.

Because I became the person I was writing about - I made an idol out of my piece.

I got excited about the response it got. I was happy with the hits that it generated. I was proud that two different editors contacted me about running it on their sites.

So when I didn't get the accolades that I thought the piece deserved, I was completely thrown for a loop. I had placed my writing on a pedestal and when others knocked it down, I cried about it. The weight of the criticism was extra heavy because I had already given the piece itself too much weight.

It's hard to judge truth when our perception is already distorted.

So thanks to those who offered criticisms the other day. Not because I think you're right - I still don't. But you did knock over my self-constructed pedestal and helped me gain perspective again. That's a gift that I needed.

Rolling in #KloutBoogers

I joke regularly about Klout. Of all of the ways that we measure our online influence, it is, by far, the most ridiculous. One tweet about a terrible product from JCPenney somehow translated into me being influential about Justin Bieber. My latest obsession has been to become influential about boogers (and after a discussion with my friends Joy and Tamara, more specifically, #kloutboogers).

For the most part, I can look at things like this and understand that it's all ridiculous. That my influence has nothing to do with how many retweets I get or how many Facebook likes I have.

The fact is, I care about those things way more than I should. And if it were just my own need to know, that would be one thing. It might be crazy, but at least it would be the kind of crazy that is mostly harmless.

But it's not.

My caring is heavily tied to comparison. How do I measure up, positively or negatively, to others? How are my stats? How are my comments? Who is retweeting me? How many shares on Facebook? How do I become as popular as him? How do I stay more popular than her?

But the problem is, it will never be enough. Never enough subscriptions or comments or hits or shares. Never enough book sales or interviews or guest posts. There will always be someone who has more #kloutboogers than I have (you know, if that ever becomes a thing).

One of the dangers of all of this comparison is the risk of watering down my story. Of only showing the parts that make out to be the hero (or the victim, if that serves my purpose better). Of writing things that I think other people want to hear rather than what I know I should be sharing. Of chasing numbers instead of relationships.

In the Revised Alise Standard Version, Mark 8:36 could read, "What does it profit a blogger, if she be rolling in #kloutboogers, but lose her own soul?"

I think maybe my soul is worth more than some #kloutboogers.

+++++++++

Where is a place where you feel like you don't measure up? And if you could invent a category to be influential in on Klout, what would it be?

+++++++++

I'm linking up today with Joy in this Journey for Life: Unmasked. You can read more submissions and add your own here.

Healing in the Green Room

This weekend I played at church. It wasn't my scheduled week to play, but I was filling in for another one of the keyboard players. Normally this makes me happy. I love making music and I especially love it when I get to do it at church, helping lead others into a place of worship and thanksgiving. So filling in for another player is usually a joy.

But not this week.

I had to fill in this week because my friend Jenn is sick. Really sick. Cancer has come back to her a third time, and this time it looks aggressive. My heart hurts for her and for her husband.

The weekend was not made easier when I was surrounded by people saying that they truly have faith that God is going to heal her. That she is going to be a testimony of God's greatness.

Because the truth is, I didn't believe it.

I've believed it in the past. When little 11 year old Logan had an inoperable brain tumor, I believed that God would not let him die. When my friend Mel's husband was diagnosed with esophageal cancer, I believed that God would spare him. And yet God healed neither of these people. They died entirely too young, leaving behind people who should not have to deal with that loss.

When people told me they believed, I just wanted to scream, "How?"

Instead I just nodded. And I screamed it in my head instead.

Jenn & Andy

I wanted to believe so much. But I've seen the pain of unanswered prayers and it hurts so much. How do you say that God is loving when you watch someone bury their son? How do you trust that God wants what is best for us when you see a young wife go through the agony of watching her husband die painfully?

How do you have faith in the face of the overwhelming evidence that this woman's life will likely be cut short by the sickness that refuses to leave?

I played and as I did, I prayed.

I prayed for Jenn, but I also prayed selfishly for myself. That God would somehow increase my faith so I could believe that the healing I was praying for her might be something that could happen.

After the service, we gathered with Jenn and Andy in the green room to pray with them and for them before they traveled out of state to speak with additional doctors.

We circled around them, some holding hands, some laying hands on them, some simply standing nearby, all praying. All crying out for God to show mercy on this couple.

And in that room, where our sweat and tears and snot mixed with our words, I found that my prayers weren't just prayed out of an obligation, but that my tiny, anemic, weak faith mixed with that of my friends and it grew. I believed, I do believe, that she can be healed.

I believe this because my faith experienced healing.

++++++++++

Have you experienced a moment when your faith grew? What are ways that your faith is strengthened? If you pray, could you please pray for my friend Jenn?


++++++++++

I'm linking up today with Joy in this Journey for Life: Unmasked. You can read more submissions and add your own here.

The Kid's Table

The old card table that never got used for card games and the folding chairs that had been patched with duct tape that scratches your back were pulled out so the cobwebs could be cleaned off of them. Covered in plastic instead of cloth, so spills could be easily managed. Styrofoam plates and paper cups so nothing could be broken. Set up near enough to the the adults so there could be help with cutting the turkey, but far enough away that the grown-ups could talk about Important Things (tm) without interruption and we could just giggle about fart jokes.

The kid's table.

Now I'm at the adult table. We have the hard, wooden seats that make our older backs ache if we sit in them too long. We get to have the beautiful, festive tablecloth, but there are faint stains that won't wash out on it from spills of years past. We get to use the real dishes and and glasses, but you can see the occasional chip in the dishes and at least one glass is broken each year. Our adult conversation still has fart jokes, but now we also have to tiptoe around uncomfortable subjects, and sometimes address them head-on.

The kiddie table gives you a sense of security. When we're there, nothing sticks or stains. Nothing can hurt us. There's nothing but laughter.

At the adult table, we find out that our mistakes can have long-term consequences. That things can be broken, but they can still serve a purpose. That even in the midst of discomfort, there can still be humor.

The kiddie table can feel like it provides safety. At some point we move from that secure feeling to needing to be the ones providing that security, regardless of our feelings. In the midst of the cold reality, we must provide that refuge for those more vulnerable.

But I believe there will come a day when we will all gather at one table with our Father and we will not only feel safe, but we will be safe.

And on that day, all of his children will give thanks.

++++++++

Do you have any fond memories of the kid's table from holidays past? 


++++++++

Today I'm linking up with Joy in this Journey for Life: Unmasked where we share life openly. Click here to see the other posts and share your own!

More than Friends

I love to ask people to write guest posts about unexpected relationships. I think most of us have at least one of these friendships and I believe there is a lot that we can learn about ourselves through them.

I particularly love this topic because of the many unexpected relationships that I have in my life. I have written about my husband and my dear friend Tina. Those are both relationships that existed for a long time and then had a sudden shift causing me to reexamine them, ultimately reaching something even better.

But I have another friendship that is unexpected, and that’s the one with my friend Rich. I write about him fairly often, but I’ve never written about the dynamic of being friends with a man.

I'm always hesitant to write about this topic because the prevailing opinion in evangelical circles seems to be that married men and women should not be close friends. And no matter how it’s dressed up, it all boils down to the idea that if men and women are friends, they have to have sex. Or want to have sex. Whatever it is, they have to be more than “just friends.”

I do understand that there are legitimate concerns regarding opposite-sex friendships. And I absolutely believe that if you’re married, your spouse’s feelings regarding any of your friends need to carry some heavy weight (like, the most weight).

All pics of us are like this -
Rich blocking a good shot of me

But it frustrates me when I look at all of the rules that Christians tend to make regarding male-female friends. No meals. No car rides. No texting. And good heavens, no front hugs.

You see, Rich and I break all of the rules.

I read that we need to “avoid the appearance of evil.” I mean, he does have that goatee, but I don’t know that it makes him look evil. One site that I read said that being seen together in public will give the wrong impression. I suppose that being put on the same check might give the wrong impression that one of us is a big spender, but we’re generally able to clear that up by requesting separate checks.

The other big warning is that we’re to “flee temptation.”

Let me be clear.

I do not want to have sex with my best friend.

I want to play music with my best friend. I want to eat tiramisu with my best friend. I want to live tweet The Next Iron Chef with my best friend. I want to have conversations about the inane and the insightful with my best friend.

Because these are the things we do with a close friend. We share interests. We share food. We share conversation. We share life.

To the critics out there, you’re right. Rich and I are more than friends.

We’re BEST friends.

+++++++++++

Do you have any opposite-sex friends? Can married men and women be close friends? If you don't want to get into that, tell me a story about your best friend!


+++++++++++

Today I'm linking up with Joy in this Journey for Life: Unmasked where we share life openly. Click here to see the other posts and to leave your own!

Picking A Box

It's that time of year again.

Not Christmas (though I was baffled last night to see a Christmas Vacation marathon playing on CMTV last night). No, it's the quarterly sign up for small groups at church. And there is absolutely nothing that stresses me out about church more than this.

This has nothing to do with my church. They do everything possible to make this experience as low-stress as it can be. There's a nice luncheon where you get to hang out with people, talk, get to know them a little and decide if you want to be in a group. No pressure, just lunch.

But I get stressed out anyway. Because I'm not sure what box I should check so I can find the right table to sit at.

Do I check the married box? I mean, I'm definitely married and I should fit in the "married with kids" demographic. Of course, I'm definitely going to this small group study alone. Between my husband's travel schedule and the fact that he doesn't share my beliefs, we're not going to be doing this as a couple.

When it comes to going to church, this is not a big deal. I go, I sit in my seat alone or with some friends, I sing, I listen to the sermon and take notes (or, if I'm with friends, talk about the notes I'm taking with them and disrupt their ability to listen to the sermon). I've been doing this for a couple of years now, and for the most part, it doesn't bother me.

But the same thing when we're circled up in small group? What happens then?

If I go to a women's only group, that's okay, but I'm not single. And I miss the perspective that men have. And I miss the ability to meet other couples that I might want to hang out with. And if Jason wants to join me occasionally, he can't go.

On the other hand, if I go with the married couples, I have to go alone most of the time. I don't know if I have the strength to do that.

The really crazy thing is that I think this dilemma is indicative of the larger problem of me not really knowing if I want to be in a small group at all.

Of course I want to be in one. It's been a few years since I've been a part of a home group and I miss it. I miss the relationships, the discussions, the give and take, the laughter, the tears. My small group experiences have been almost exclusively positive and I want to be a part of that again.

But a lot has changed in the past two years. Being in an interfaith marriage has changed not just which box I check, but it's changed a lot about how I feel when I step into any church-y event. I can hide that when I'm in a corporate setting, but with just a few other people? That's not so easy. I used to have answers, now I have almost exclusively questions. I used to have advice to give, now I feel like I need it. I used to have some level of certainty, now that's mostly doubt.

What scares me the most is that they don't have a box to check for those things.

++++++++++

Are you a part of a home group at your church? If so, what is your favorite part about it? If not, what's stopping you from joining one?


++++++++++


Today I'm linking up with Joy In This Journey as a part of the Life: Unmasked series. Stop by Joy's blog to read more or to share your own story.

Feeling Rank

In case you missed the one thing that I have talked or written about pretty much non-stop for the past couple of weeks, Not Alone is available for purchase. On Amazon. Where people buy books by John Irving and Stephen King.

One of the things that happens when you have a book on Amazon is that your book has a rank. If you're someone like Irving or King, then that's a good thing. Your numbers are probably like 1 or 2. You write something, millions of people buy it, you go live it up with your big piles of book money and you don't give your Amazon ranking a second thought. Or at least, I imagine that's how it works.

When your name is Alise Wright, it's a little different.

It's very easy for me to get obsessive about stuff like this. The first day that Not Alone was available on Amazon, I was intrigued, watching the sales rank float around. For me having a small blog, being with a small publishing company and having strictly word of mouth advertising, I felt like the rank was a perfectly respectable number.

And then it started falling. By numbers that seemed ridiculously large.

So I did what I normally do, which was to get all weird and then tweet about it. My very wise friend Kathy suggested that I not log into Amazon for a while. Or ever. Because the sales ranks fluctuate dramatically and someone is going to hate the book and give it a 1 star rating and none of it matters that much anyway. She is smart, so I shut down Amazon. For like seven whole hours.

Because what I'm really good at is ignoring advice that is absolutely solid and will result in me being slightly less neurotic than I actually am. What I'm really good at is tying my worth to a number that is completely subjective. What I'm really good at is taking something that is really simple and making it much more complicated.

I do this with my faith all the time. I brush off advice from those who have more wisdom than me because to do what they suggest requires far more self-control than I want to exercise. I put my value in how many ministries I'm serving in or how much time I spend reading the Bible or how many times I talk about God on my blog. I take something simple like "love your neighbor" and make it all complicated by attaching conditions and addenda to it that make it more palatable to me.

And in all of this, I start ranking faith. Not just my own, but everybody else's. And it fluctuates wildly when I do this. Catch me when I've had enough rest and I've played with my kids and listened to some good Christian music and written something spiritually insightful and bam! I'm hanging with the big boys. Or maybe I was up late dealing with an angry child and I ate a whole container of Ben & Jerry's and watched 5 episodes of South Park in a row. And I feel like I'm sitting down at the bottom of the pile.

Jesus told us how to be great. Be like a child.

When I get all hung up on my Amazon ranking, it takes two seconds of hanging out with my kids to be cured of that. They. Don't. Care. I mean, they care in the general sense that it's cool that I have a book, but Amazon ranks don't matter. What matters is just that I was engaged with them. And when I do, it's a benefit to all of us.

God doesn't have a ranking system that updates hourly and makes adjustments depending on my actions. He just wants me to engage. He wants me to love him and love people around me. And when I do, my God ranking doesn't improve, I improve.

I don't even need to be an Irving or King to do that.

+++++++++

Where do you compare yourself to others? What can you do today to engage with God and/or with those around you?


+++++++++


Today I'm linking up with Joy In This Journey as a part of the Life: Unmasked series. Stop by Joy's blog to read more or to share your own story.

I Think I'm Schizophrenic

Okay, probably not actually schizophrenic. But the alternative is to go with the spiritually depraved "double-minded" and I don't want to do that.

What's causing this? Oh, it's been around for a while.

Yesterday I updated my social media pic with a new one that I had taken not too long ago. Now, I think this picture looks pretty damn good. Which is why I picked it. Because I think it looks good.

I have remarkably kind friends who have complimented me on the pic. And my first reaction is to say that it's probably too severe, that I should have one that's of me smiling. And to note that my arms still look pretty fat in this one and are hopefully a little less so now. And that I probably needed to touch up my roots before I had my picture taken. (Remember, I like this picture.)

Another example. I'm tremendously excited about the Not Alone book. I am thrilled that an idea that I had was considered worth pursuing publication, that I was able, even as a small blog, to gather enough stories to fill a book, that I was able to offer suggestions that actually made some of the essays better than they were. I worked hard at this project and I am proud of the result.

Yet every time someone congratulates me about the book, I want to blow it off. My part was small, I didn't really do much, I just got lucky, it's not that original.

I want attention, but I cower if I actually get it. I want praise, but deflect it when it happens. I want grace, but would rather wallow in my guilt.

This week I finally gave a listen to the new Gungor album, Ghosts Upon The Earth and the song Crags and Clay has been jumping out at me. I don't have to be double-minded. I can accept compliments because they are a praise to the One who made me.



We are fearfully and wonderfully made.

++++++++++

Do you have an area where you are double-minded? Go ahead and compliment yourself in the comments today. I want to know what you're doing well so I can join you in the praises!


This is a part of Joy in this Journey's Life: Unmasked link-up. Head over to Joy's site to read more and to add your own!