By spring of my 10th grade year, something had changed. My eyes had been opened to the wide world of high school boys. Yes, Mitch was also a high school boy but he was the same high school boy I’d been dating for two years. These were different high school boys. Different and exciting. And what’s more, some of them actual took note of me. Different, exciting, and flattering. You see where this is going, don’t you?
I was not a cheerleader, not on drill team, and had no reputation, so it wasn’t like I could have my pick of the litter, but the attention I was getting stirred questions, doubts, and an awareness of discontentment that I hadn’t allowed myself to investigate before.
It was like sitting down at the theatre and popping in a mouthful of stale popcorn. It’s not very satisfying but you’re at the movies, it’s what you’re supposed to do, and everyone else is eating it. So, you just keep chewing the warmed-over fluff and disdainfully picking the husks out of your teeth. Then one day, you make a startling discovery; the candy counter. There are Junior Mints, Mike & Ike’s, Snow Caps -an endless supply of sweet, different, and exciting choices. And you wonder why on earth you’re still choking down popcorn.
I knew that my feelings had changed (by the way, no one was feeding us the “dating is practice for divorce" theory back then so don’t judge me too harshly) but I didn’t quite know how to end things. I really didn’t want to hurt him and in many ways I didn’t know who I was without him so, for the sake of personal security I did the only thing I could do –strung him along for months. Things went from bad to worse as my new found disinterest rapidly spiraled into total disgust. I let things go way too long. When I began to dread the smell of his Jeep Cherokee, or wanted to punch him in the head for saying stupid, made-up words like “wondabon,” or worse yet, could feel the angst gurgling in my stomach when he, God forbid, breathed too heavily, I knew I had really blown it.
I broke it off. Whew! And then four weeks later suffered one of those “absence makes the heart grow…” forgetful moments. I forgot all the reasons why I’d broken it off to begin with and found myself calling him and saying something that was true but horribly misguided. “I miss you.” Idiot. Even as the words escaped my lips I regretted them. I didn’t miss him. I missed a relationship. I missed having someone. I missed familiarity. But it was too late. I’d thrown the hook and he’d jumped back on the line without hesitation. What the heck do I do now?
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
It’s the Most Embarrassing Time of the Year
Despite my less than enthusiastic reaction, we made the transition from good friends to couple and for the next two years we were pretty much inseparable. I don’t remember one single argument between us; which might seem extraordinary except for the fact that I don’t remember much of anything from those two years. Honestly. I can pull up a snippet here and there but I can conjure up very few streaming video replays in my mind. I know that we kissed and I’m guessing we did it fairly often but I can only recall one specific incident –the most embarrassing one.
It was Christmas of ’89 and my Dad had gone hog wild with the decorations. He had “decked the halls” all the way to my bedroom which was strung with lights and had two atrocious, three-foot tall, Christmas candles anchoring each side of the bed. I assume that Mitch and I had gone into the sacred chamber of my bedroom to view the spectacle and what can I say? The mesmerizing glow of ginormous, plastic tapers was all too beguiling. We commenced to making out on my bed.
The next thing I remember was my Mom’s voice. “Amie? Are you home?” It was a sympathetic ruse. She knew that I was home. I knew that she knew that I was home. And she knew that I knew that she knew that I was home. I can assure you that the humiliation of the moment did more to inflame my cheeks with red heat than the making out session had accomplished. “Time for Mitch to go home.” He made a quick exit. Mom went back to sleep. I tossed and turned in my bed dreading the next morning’s confrontation.
“I could hardly tell if there were one or two people out there!” Mom scolded. To this day, I think that had more to do with her grogginess than our unbridled passion. Remember, I was a good girl. But I accepted my fate and endured the long lecture without dying from embarrassment…
that is, right up until my Dad decided to offer his own sage advice. “Just remember young lady, upper persuasion leads to lower invasion.” Gasp and cringe. Did my Dad just say “lower invasion?” ugh. I wanted to disappear from existence. Like Lily Tomlin in the Incredible Shrinking Woman, to just shrink into oblivion.
Somehow I survived. But aside from this and a few other highlights, the relationship is a blur until things started going south. I remember that stage vividly. Like fingernails on a chalkboard.
It was Christmas of ’89 and my Dad had gone hog wild with the decorations. He had “decked the halls” all the way to my bedroom which was strung with lights and had two atrocious, three-foot tall, Christmas candles anchoring each side of the bed. I assume that Mitch and I had gone into the sacred chamber of my bedroom to view the spectacle and what can I say? The mesmerizing glow of ginormous, plastic tapers was all too beguiling. We commenced to making out on my bed.
The next thing I remember was my Mom’s voice. “Amie? Are you home?” It was a sympathetic ruse. She knew that I was home. I knew that she knew that I was home. And she knew that I knew that she knew that I was home. I can assure you that the humiliation of the moment did more to inflame my cheeks with red heat than the making out session had accomplished. “Time for Mitch to go home.” He made a quick exit. Mom went back to sleep. I tossed and turned in my bed dreading the next morning’s confrontation.
“I could hardly tell if there were one or two people out there!” Mom scolded. To this day, I think that had more to do with her grogginess than our unbridled passion. Remember, I was a good girl. But I accepted my fate and endured the long lecture without dying from embarrassment…
that is, right up until my Dad decided to offer his own sage advice. “Just remember young lady, upper persuasion leads to lower invasion.” Gasp and cringe. Did my Dad just say “lower invasion?” ugh. I wanted to disappear from existence. Like Lily Tomlin in the Incredible Shrinking Woman, to just shrink into oblivion.
Somehow I survived. But aside from this and a few other highlights, the relationship is a blur until things started going south. I remember that stage vividly. Like fingernails on a chalkboard.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Kissing Cousins
You remember the goon’s cousin that I mentioned earlier? Well, his name was Mitch*. He entered the scene when his family began visiting our church. Mitch was our first up-close encounter with a real life nerd. It wasn’t just that he was nerdy in appearance; he really was smarter than the rest of us. But aside from having an unusual love for science and a somewhat disproportionate shnauz, he was a great guy with one glaring flaw…he was completely infatuated with my sister.
In sharp contrast to my classic goody-two-shoes routine was my sister, the rebel without a cause. She was your typical school-ditching, club-hopping, sneaking-out-of-the-window-on- the-weekends, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants, party girl. And this crisp seemed, khaki pants, tucked in polo shirt, loafers with argyle sock wearing honor student couldn’t have been farther from her type.
Week after week he would show up at our house with a date proposal and week after week he got shot down cold. Soon, a new ritual began forming. Mitch would ask her out for some activity, she would offer her usual heartless rejection, and he would casually turn to me and say, “Well, do you want to go with me?” I had no expectations and nothing to lose so I accepted and fell naturally into place as the good friend.
This hanging out phase continued for about a year even though both Mitch and I dated other people (the cheating, rumor spreading, kiss-killer for example). As our friendship grew, he became less the nerd and more the really funny guy with a dry wit and sarcastic sense of humor that I enjoyed even though I didn’t always get it. (I had yet to tap into my natural gifting in this area.) It was during this time I began to notice that my friend role, which included meeting and gauging his new dates, was becoming more and more difficult. They were all annoying, stupid, flighty, and none of them were…well…me.
You can imagine my elation when he informed me that he and the last ditz, er, uh, date had parted ways and he wanted me to take her place. We were at Stone Mountain Park, GA. The most romantic spot in the world if hundreds of under-aged, over-boozed, hormone-crazed teenagers making out on beach towels; coming up for air just long enough to pipe out a sluggish and slurred rendition of Charlie Daniels’ “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” is what you consider romantic.
My response? Silence. Complete and utterly awkward silence. Thinking back, it’s hard to pinpoint the reason for my hesitation. Fear and nervousness? An express desire NOT to look like one of the aforementioned “get a room” losers? The fact that I had built the moment up in my mind to such a degree than it was impossible for reality to meet my expectations? Yeah, it was probably one or all of those.
*Name has been changed to protect the innocent –me. I don’t want to be sued for slander.
In sharp contrast to my classic goody-two-shoes routine was my sister, the rebel without a cause. She was your typical school-ditching, club-hopping, sneaking-out-of-the-window-on- the-weekends, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants, party girl. And this crisp seemed, khaki pants, tucked in polo shirt, loafers with argyle sock wearing honor student couldn’t have been farther from her type.
Week after week he would show up at our house with a date proposal and week after week he got shot down cold. Soon, a new ritual began forming. Mitch would ask her out for some activity, she would offer her usual heartless rejection, and he would casually turn to me and say, “Well, do you want to go with me?” I had no expectations and nothing to lose so I accepted and fell naturally into place as the good friend.
This hanging out phase continued for about a year even though both Mitch and I dated other people (the cheating, rumor spreading, kiss-killer for example). As our friendship grew, he became less the nerd and more the really funny guy with a dry wit and sarcastic sense of humor that I enjoyed even though I didn’t always get it. (I had yet to tap into my natural gifting in this area.) It was during this time I began to notice that my friend role, which included meeting and gauging his new dates, was becoming more and more difficult. They were all annoying, stupid, flighty, and none of them were…well…me.
You can imagine my elation when he informed me that he and the last ditz, er, uh, date had parted ways and he wanted me to take her place. We were at Stone Mountain Park, GA. The most romantic spot in the world if hundreds of under-aged, over-boozed, hormone-crazed teenagers making out on beach towels; coming up for air just long enough to pipe out a sluggish and slurred rendition of Charlie Daniels’ “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” is what you consider romantic.
My response? Silence. Complete and utterly awkward silence. Thinking back, it’s hard to pinpoint the reason for my hesitation. Fear and nervousness? An express desire NOT to look like one of the aforementioned “get a room” losers? The fact that I had built the moment up in my mind to such a degree than it was impossible for reality to meet my expectations? Yeah, it was probably one or all of those.
*Name has been changed to protect the innocent –me. I don’t want to be sued for slander.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Famous Last Words
I’d gotten off to a rocky start but I was undeterred. I had long since outgrown those sixth grade days of weeding through the yearbook, searching for potential suitors, while listening mournfully to the Air Supply Greatest Hits album. “I’m all out of love, I’m so lost without you.” They just don’t write songs like that anymore.
But that was the past; I was now part of a great generation of young women who knew the profound truth that “love is a battlefield.” And I had tasted the empowerment of punk rock prostitutes who could scare off the vilest of pimps by the mere rhythmic shaking of their bosoms. Never mind that I had no bosom to speak of.
Love was out there. Unfortunately, so were silly but deeply felt crushes which never resulted in relationships. I was the one that guys would flirt with when their actual girlfriends weren’t around. Not because I was a tramp. On the contrary, I was a “good girl.” But I was the fun girl. In retrospect, their steady girlfriends had one thing in common; they were ultra-prissy-pants. The type with perfectly painted finger nails, hair curled and Aqua-netted just so. I was girly enough with my pink floral sweaters and oh yes, pink Converse tennis shoes but I was also a bit of a tom-boy. I didn’t mind if my hair got tousled or if I got thrown fully clothed into the swimming pool. I was approachable; a friendly flirtation when it was convenient.
There was one guy in particular. His sister was a good friend even though she was a year or two older than me. He and I were the same age. He began dating a girl in our youth group and they continued that relationship off and on for years. But when I would spend the night with his sister, he and I would stay up all night watching stupid Monty Python movies together; laughing and laughing. We would sit cuddled up on the couch and talk about everything under the sun and my heart would flutter at how perfect it all seemed. I had every reason to believe that he would dump his well-endowed steady and declare me as his true love. Ah, but the next morning we would head to church, walk into the youth room and I was suddenly invisible. He was a jerk. I was nice. Nice, forgiving, and stupid which meant this cycle was repeated time and again.
What those guys saw as a little innocent flirting behind their girlfriend’s back wreaked havoc on my tender and naïve emotions. Not to mention giving me more than my share of dirty looks and threats to have my butt kicked. Luckily, no one was willing to risk their Lee press-on nails for the likes of me.
Even so, I plodded on believing that a serious, long-term relationship would come my way because that was what teenagers of my time were expected to have. I just didn’t know it would come looking for my sister first.
But that was the past; I was now part of a great generation of young women who knew the profound truth that “love is a battlefield.” And I had tasted the empowerment of punk rock prostitutes who could scare off the vilest of pimps by the mere rhythmic shaking of their bosoms. Never mind that I had no bosom to speak of.
Love was out there. Unfortunately, so were silly but deeply felt crushes which never resulted in relationships. I was the one that guys would flirt with when their actual girlfriends weren’t around. Not because I was a tramp. On the contrary, I was a “good girl.” But I was the fun girl. In retrospect, their steady girlfriends had one thing in common; they were ultra-prissy-pants. The type with perfectly painted finger nails, hair curled and Aqua-netted just so. I was girly enough with my pink floral sweaters and oh yes, pink Converse tennis shoes but I was also a bit of a tom-boy. I didn’t mind if my hair got tousled or if I got thrown fully clothed into the swimming pool. I was approachable; a friendly flirtation when it was convenient.
There was one guy in particular. His sister was a good friend even though she was a year or two older than me. He and I were the same age. He began dating a girl in our youth group and they continued that relationship off and on for years. But when I would spend the night with his sister, he and I would stay up all night watching stupid Monty Python movies together; laughing and laughing. We would sit cuddled up on the couch and talk about everything under the sun and my heart would flutter at how perfect it all seemed. I had every reason to believe that he would dump his well-endowed steady and declare me as his true love. Ah, but the next morning we would head to church, walk into the youth room and I was suddenly invisible. He was a jerk. I was nice. Nice, forgiving, and stupid which meant this cycle was repeated time and again.
What those guys saw as a little innocent flirting behind their girlfriend’s back wreaked havoc on my tender and naïve emotions. Not to mention giving me more than my share of dirty looks and threats to have my butt kicked. Luckily, no one was willing to risk their Lee press-on nails for the likes of me.
Even so, I plodded on believing that a serious, long-term relationship would come my way because that was what teenagers of my time were expected to have. I just didn’t know it would come looking for my sister first.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
The Worst of Firsts
I went on my first date when I was 13 and in the seventh grade. It seems so very young to me now especially considering that my date was a senior in high school. Before you start sending scornful letters to my parents, it wasn’t all that scandalous. We were in church youth group together and our destination was a Christian school, band-boosters bon-fire. Oh yeah, wild and crazy kids we were. And you should also know that I literally begged my poor parents to death, even to the point of enlisting my Art teacher to debate on my behalf. I coerced him into offering the ever so logical “if she’s proven herself to be trustworthy and it’s a safe group environment, holding her back may only spur future rebellion” argument. Shameful manipulation.
It is at this point, looking back, that I wish my mom had said, “Amie, this isn’t about us not trusting you. It’s about the fact that you are an idiot and have no idea what a complete waste of time and energy this will be.” Admittedly, I would have still followed with a string of pretty, pretty, pretty, pleases and been just as determined as ever because as stated, I was an idiot.
The big date proved uneventful unless you count the butterflies in my stomach and the uneasiness of being eyed by a bunch of snotty Christian school girls I’d never met before. But it did lead to future dates and eventually to that monumental milestone known as the first kiss.
You dream about it. Envision it. Your eyes lock and he tilts your chin into position while his other hand softly clasps the back of your neck. You lean into each other and then…WAKE UP because that ain’t the way it happened. I never pictured it taking place in the back seat of a car with the goon’s cousin (who will come up again in the story) gaping at us in the rearview mirror like some ten cent peep show. If the guy who bequeathed to me this memory ever happens to read this –no offense. But seriously, I could’ve been licked by a cow and remembered it more fondly than that.
So, the unspectacular first date led to the unpleasant first kiss which led to a few other firsts in my life: the first time of being cheated on by a boyfriend, the first time of spending an insane amount of money on said cheating boyfriend for Christmas, and topping the list…the first and only time said cheating, ex-boyfriend spread rumors that I was pregnant and had been excommunicated from my home church.
How a guy whose kiss repulsed me could imagine that we had done more than that was beyond me. Even so, I had made my way into the grand and troubled world of teenage relationships by picking a real winner. Surely, it could only get better from here.
It is at this point, looking back, that I wish my mom had said, “Amie, this isn’t about us not trusting you. It’s about the fact that you are an idiot and have no idea what a complete waste of time and energy this will be.” Admittedly, I would have still followed with a string of pretty, pretty, pretty, pleases and been just as determined as ever because as stated, I was an idiot.
The big date proved uneventful unless you count the butterflies in my stomach and the uneasiness of being eyed by a bunch of snotty Christian school girls I’d never met before. But it did lead to future dates and eventually to that monumental milestone known as the first kiss.
You dream about it. Envision it. Your eyes lock and he tilts your chin into position while his other hand softly clasps the back of your neck. You lean into each other and then…WAKE UP because that ain’t the way it happened. I never pictured it taking place in the back seat of a car with the goon’s cousin (who will come up again in the story) gaping at us in the rearview mirror like some ten cent peep show. If the guy who bequeathed to me this memory ever happens to read this –no offense. But seriously, I could’ve been licked by a cow and remembered it more fondly than that.
So, the unspectacular first date led to the unpleasant first kiss which led to a few other firsts in my life: the first time of being cheated on by a boyfriend, the first time of spending an insane amount of money on said cheating boyfriend for Christmas, and topping the list…the first and only time said cheating, ex-boyfriend spread rumors that I was pregnant and had been excommunicated from my home church.
How a guy whose kiss repulsed me could imagine that we had done more than that was beyond me. Even so, I had made my way into the grand and troubled world of teenage relationships by picking a real winner. Surely, it could only get better from here.
BOOK MARK
This post marks the official beginning of the story! Scroll up from here to read the entries in the correct order. Thanks for your willingness to waste time on my silly stories. =)
Comments can be made on this site by clicking the "comments" link at the bottom of each post.
Comments can be made on this site by clicking the "comments" link at the bottom of each post.
Monday, May 5, 2008
An Issue of Blood
Notes and Outline
Mark 5:25-34 “Now a certain woman had a flow of blood for twelve years, and had suffered many things from many physicians. She had spent all that she had and was no better, but rather grew worse.
When she heard about Jesus, she came behind Him in the crowd and touched His garment. For she said, “If only I may touch His clothes, I shall be made well.” Immediately the fountain of her blood was dried up, and she felt in her body that she was healed of the affliction.
And Jesus, immediately knowing in Himself that power had gone out of Him, turned around in the crowd and said, “Who touched My clothes?” But His disciples said to Him, “You see the multitude thronging You, and You say, ‘Who touched Me?’” And He looked around to see her who had done this thing.
But the woman, fearing and trembling, knowing what had happened to her, came and fell down before Him and told Him the whole truth. And He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well. Go in peace and be healed of your affliction.”
Three basic components of every story
1. Where they were. (past)
2. Where they are. (present)
3. Where they are going (future)
The classic fairy tale, Cinderella, for example, starts out by telling us that Cinderella’s mother has died, her father has remarried and then shortly after, he dies also. Where she was.
Then we find out that she is being cared for and sorely mistreated by her wicked step-mother. Where she is.
And lastly, we find out that she is the one Prince Charming has been looking for and they will spend the rest of their lives “happily ever after.” Where she is going.
Bible as an example
Where we were –Fallen, separated from God, under the law and judgement
Where we are –able to reunite with God through Jesus Christ, under the blood and grace
Where we are going –the ultimate showdown and our conquering Hero taking His rightful place on the throne
A. Her Past (where she was)
1. She was suffering
“Now a certain woman had a flow of blood for twelve years…”
a.) Physically suffering
b.) Emotionally suffering
Leviticus 15: 19-27 laws regarding blood issues
Deuteronomy 24:1 regarding divorce
John 9:1-3 overall attitude of the day regarding sickness.
She is alone, she is sick, and she is an outcast. This brings us to the next thing we know about her past:
2. She was searching.
“…and had suffered many things from many physicians.”
3. She was spent.
“She had spent all that she had…”
B. Her Present (where she is)
1. She is full of faith.
“When she heard about Jesus…”
What stories would she have heard?
Matthew 8:5-13
Why did she choose to touch His garment?
“She said, if only I may touch His clothes, I will be made well.”
2. She is full of fear.
“The woman, fearing and trembling, knowing what had happened to her…”
Why was she full of fear?
“And Jesus, immediately knowing in Himself that power had gone out of Him, turned and said, “Who touched me?” But His disciples said to Him, ‘You see the multitude thronging You, and You say, ‘Who touched me?’ And He looked around to see her who had done this thing.”
Why did He wait for her response?
Genesis 22:1-14 Abraham and Isaac
3. She is at His feet.
“She came and fell down before Him and told Him the whole truth.”
C. Her Future (where she is going)
“And He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well. Go in peace, and be healed of your affliction.”
Women want two things:
-to know who we are (identity)
-to know where we are going (direction)
Summary: Where are you in the story? Suffering, searching, and seeking? At His feet? Full of faith or fear or both? Hiding from your own story? Do you know who you are in Him and where (or at least how) you are going?
(movie clip: Black Beauty)
Mark 5:25-34 “Now a certain woman had a flow of blood for twelve years, and had suffered many things from many physicians. She had spent all that she had and was no better, but rather grew worse.
When she heard about Jesus, she came behind Him in the crowd and touched His garment. For she said, “If only I may touch His clothes, I shall be made well.” Immediately the fountain of her blood was dried up, and she felt in her body that she was healed of the affliction.
And Jesus, immediately knowing in Himself that power had gone out of Him, turned around in the crowd and said, “Who touched My clothes?” But His disciples said to Him, “You see the multitude thronging You, and You say, ‘Who touched Me?’” And He looked around to see her who had done this thing.
But the woman, fearing and trembling, knowing what had happened to her, came and fell down before Him and told Him the whole truth. And He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well. Go in peace and be healed of your affliction.”
Three basic components of every story
1. Where they were. (past)
2. Where they are. (present)
3. Where they are going (future)
The classic fairy tale, Cinderella, for example, starts out by telling us that Cinderella’s mother has died, her father has remarried and then shortly after, he dies also. Where she was.
Then we find out that she is being cared for and sorely mistreated by her wicked step-mother. Where she is.
And lastly, we find out that she is the one Prince Charming has been looking for and they will spend the rest of their lives “happily ever after.” Where she is going.
Bible as an example
Where we were –Fallen, separated from God, under the law and judgement
Where we are –able to reunite with God through Jesus Christ, under the blood and grace
Where we are going –the ultimate showdown and our conquering Hero taking His rightful place on the throne
A. Her Past (where she was)
1. She was suffering
“Now a certain woman had a flow of blood for twelve years…”
a.) Physically suffering
b.) Emotionally suffering
Leviticus 15: 19-27 laws regarding blood issues
Deuteronomy 24:1 regarding divorce
John 9:1-3 overall attitude of the day regarding sickness.
She is alone, she is sick, and she is an outcast. This brings us to the next thing we know about her past:
2. She was searching.
“…and had suffered many things from many physicians.”
3. She was spent.
“She had spent all that she had…”
B. Her Present (where she is)
1. She is full of faith.
“When she heard about Jesus…”
What stories would she have heard?
Matthew 8:5-13
Why did she choose to touch His garment?
“She said, if only I may touch His clothes, I will be made well.”
2. She is full of fear.
“The woman, fearing and trembling, knowing what had happened to her…”
Why was she full of fear?
“And Jesus, immediately knowing in Himself that power had gone out of Him, turned and said, “Who touched me?” But His disciples said to Him, ‘You see the multitude thronging You, and You say, ‘Who touched me?’ And He looked around to see her who had done this thing.”
Why did He wait for her response?
Genesis 22:1-14 Abraham and Isaac
3. She is at His feet.
“She came and fell down before Him and told Him the whole truth.”
C. Her Future (where she is going)
“And He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well. Go in peace, and be healed of your affliction.”
Women want two things:
-to know who we are (identity)
-to know where we are going (direction)
Summary: Where are you in the story? Suffering, searching, and seeking? At His feet? Full of faith or fear or both? Hiding from your own story? Do you know who you are in Him and where (or at least how) you are going?
(movie clip: Black Beauty)
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