Second Rate

A sharp, wavering intake of breath as I stumble across a blog post about the role of women in the church.  I barely dare to read on for fear of hearing someone say that, yes – God does think I’m second rate.  That He’s made me the way I am just as a cruel joke: to hurt me, to frustrate me, to play with me, to trample me into submission and teach me – by hook or by crook – a lesson about humility.

All around the issue I see inconsistencies and ignorance (“I’ve never really thought about it, but my dad says this…”), inverted pride and nonchalance (“It doesn’t really affect me…”), tradition and stubbornness.  I live in fear of judgement, exclusion and hurt; I live in fear of being labelled too independent, disobedient to God, a feminist…

But mostly I live in fear of finding out they’re right.

I once tried to share with a male friend just exactly how much heartbreak these thoughts inflict only to be told that I “think too deeply about things”.  My attempt was obviously horrificly inadequate. 

Even my book of Big Words cannot help me.

A degree of comfort is found in the fact that there is at least one of my male contemporaries who is willing to give more than a passing thought to these things. 

I hope its not as lonely a journey for him.

365 denigrated

About half an hour ago I wrote today’s 365 post declaring the joys of knowing I can have an extra hour in bed because of daylight savings.  But now I’ve pretty much spent the hour blog-surfing.  Am I a fraud?  Have I raped and pillaged something pure and true by my over-zealous confabulations?  Have I been perfidious in my writings before without realising?  Or have I simply become addicted to this world called Blog…?

I depart from fear of becoming garrulous and must regain some equanimity on the matter.

(i bought a book of big words today…)

Once upon a time…

It would seem that between the ages of 13 and 14 I had boys falling at my feet (relatively speaking…).  I’m not sure what it was, nor why I appear to have lost it, but it only really brought me trouble.

You see, I’m a closet goody two-shoes  (although I probably don’t hide it as well as I think).  So, when a lovely 16 year old boy asked little 13year old me for a date, I consulted my mother.

She was horrified.

Being the ‘baby of the family’ may seem like a cushty role to play in life, but it leaves you with all sorts of people-pleasing hangups.  So, outright rebellion is out of the question – at least as a 13 year old.

The following year, the same lovely boy asked the same lovely girl for a date again, but mumsie still said no.  And the lovely young girl really liked the lovely boy, but still she obeyed her lovely, but horrified mother.

In the meantime, the lovely young girl had joined a lovely new youth group and there were lovely boys everywhere she looked.  Without ever dreaming that it might happen, it apeared she had attracted the attention of one of the loveliest boys in the group.  So, when this lovely boy – aged 17- asked the lovely girl – aged 14 – for a date, please, the lovely girl decided it would be lovely to say yes and just not mention it to lovely mumsie.

So, the lovely boy and the lovely girl enjoyed a lovely week of being ‘together’.  Then, one day, the lovely girl told lovely mumsie she was meeting her lovely friend Roberta to go for a lovely walk, but actually she was walking with the lovely boy.

Oh rebellion!  Oh deceit! Oh illicit loveliness!

Walking hand in hand up the road, the lovely boy and girl were having a lovely time.  Then they look up, just as lovely mumsie and pops drive past the star-crossed lovely-ers.

Not so lovely.  I can still hear what was said ringing in my ears:

“Be sure your sin will find you out”…

And it did!

Freedom

A sense of responsibility can weigh heavy on the heart.  So much so that it adds years to the countenance.  It creeps on like day turning to dusk turning to dark.  A thickening blackness that begins imperceptibly, draws on with a vague sense of ‘not-quite-right’ and is only noticed when someone flicks the lightswitch and the life, light and beauty of freedom come flooding in.

“Come to me those who are weary and heavy-laden and I will give you rest… My yoke is easy and my burden light…”

Modern Life: Blogging Pride

Having just read a comment which was a self-confessed blatant attempt to boost blog entry ratings on a site we’ll call Pord Wress (thanks whynotsmile for the anonimity technique…), I am questioning my seemingly innocuous cyber-scouting of said site. Do I really believe it is a better system on which to chronicle the random musings of this self-confessed un-intellectual? Or do I simply want to be able to boast of hits to my blog entries coming from all over the world?

Firstly: with this whole blogosphere community thing is it acceptable to derive pleasure from the internationality of something which is meant to be a humble sharing of life? Like, writing for the sake of art rather than just to be thought witty, or intellectual, or worth reading?

Secondly: are there ever any pure motives in leaving comments on the blogs of others, or am I just kidding myself?

Thirdly: who exactly decides blogging etiquette?

And finally: will you think any less of me if I switch sites in order to keep a close watch on my stats?

Post on “Modern Life: Blogging Stats Insecurity” to follow…

High School Musical and Other Mush

So, I’m just sitting watching the credits roll to High School Musical. I’m really, really not sure what’s so special about it. Seriously, so many people rave about it, but I’m not at all convinced.

It reminded me about a scene I watched in an episode of Party of Five the other day… Bailey, the 2nd oldest of the unnaturally good-looking Salinger clan is waxing lyrical about his feelings for a girl he’s trying to steal off some other poor bloke. He’s meant to be 16 and he’s talking about his feelings and his deepest desires and generally turning all female knees to jelly. But, seriously – he’s meant to be 16!!!

Then High School Musical’s male lead is Mr Popular basketball player who not only sings like an angel, but is so sensitive and romantic that even the dragon-lady Drama teacher seems to fall for him.

Is it any wonder girls’ heads are screwed up?!

There is, perhaps, much to be said for Mr Darcy’s painfully blunt confession that despite his better judgement he admires Elizabeth Bennet and wishes to marry her. But hang on… even his stern ‘I ardently love and esteem you’ melts us like butter.

Is there any hope for women everywhere who’ve grown up on squishy Hollywood movies? Or respectable BBC productions for that matter? Even the Planet Earth docu-series includes scenes of a male bird diligently cleaning up his display patch before doing his special wooing-dance for the apple of his eye…!

Modern Life: Blogging Insecurity

So, for those of you who are unaware, I have started a second blog in the 365 style. And I’ve just been updating it – actually I’ve not finished doing it, as its meant to be a record of something cool about each day for the next year, but I was all of a sudden struck by another phenomenon which can be attributed to modern life. Blog insecurity!

I was beginning to wonder if I was doing it right, or was a messing up the beauty of something cool by listing inane details of my not-so-exciting current life?! I mean, its hard to think of cool things that happened each day, especially when this morning I was just about to buy Take That tickets for the Belfast show on Friday night over Facebook, only to remember that I’ve gotta go inspire some first year students about Jesus. And, okay, okay – that’s a slightly more important and eternally exciting thing, but Take That! In Belfast! This Friday! I’m gutted. So, what on earth am I meant to write on this other blog devoted to the minute details of a life lived in such a world as this?

I’m kind of happy that this blog is just what I said it would be – the random musings of a self-confessed un-intellectual. I’m sorry for those of you who swing by during a boring web-session hoping for some thought-provoking… er… thoughts.

So, anyway. Blogging insecurity…

There’s the fear that no-one will ever read it. Then of course, there’s the fear that someone will read it! (Like, what if the blog-fluent friend that inspired me to join the 365 ‘movement’ actually stumbles back this way, reads my 365 and is shocked and horrified at my bogey-nosed, sticky-fingered decimation of the phenomenon?) Not forgetting the fear that some day in the future I’ll have a vague recollection of something I used to do online… rediscover the link and be horrendously mortified at what I wrote as a naive 25-yr-old thinking she understood life. It’ll be like when I found the journals I had kept in high school: “I love Glenn, today he let me borrow his pencil… I wonder does that mean he likes me”

AAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrgggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!! (Just to save me any MORE insecurity – I was 11 at the time.)

Needless to say I burnt them.

Oh – and, incidentally… My mum was up yesterday and said someone in her work showed her a picture of me he’d found online, and from the sounds of things its from my blogspot profile. So, that’s another thing about all this – random strangers, fine – but random strangers that work with your mum? Good job I’m a good girl who only writes about nice things. Others have had more difficult secrets revealed, right Lily?

Anyway, just so you’re not all (or just the one person who reads this) overwhelmed with sympathy at me not seeing Take That in Belfast, I’ll be seeing them in London in December. Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeooooo!