As COVID cases surge to unprecedented highs, and our country becomes nothing but a map of red, some Christians still refuse to wear a mask.
“It’s a conscience issue,” a man from my old church claims on Facebook. “The government is taking away my right to worship God. My refusal to wear a mask isn’t about being considerate or not — it allows me to protest the way religious groups are being targeted by shut downs.”
Many Christians choose not to wear a mask, and their reasons vary. Some Christians claim it’s unnecessary and they’d rather see their community’s faces. “It’s dehumanizing.” …
When I was in high school, I was consistently demoralized with the state of the world.
I would go to parties and then feel depressed for days. The kids at those parties were bloodthirsty, rude, and in deep depression. They’d readily share their hopeless outlook on life. They’d snarl and hate and make me feel like trash. I would leave, wondering if the world was going to be like this forever.
It wasn’t. High schoolers struggle deeply, and my fears were unfounded. Now in my early adulthood, I have friends who teem with life, humor, and joy. We all continue to struggle on some level, but we’re grownups and we see our therapists. …
It’s a joke. It’s a famous joke.
“Where do you want to eat tonight?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Anywhere.”
Okay then, so not anywhere?
“Applebee's? Outback Steakhouse? Gibson’s Pub?”
“No, no, no.”
Finally, the man guesses where the woman really wants to go for dinner. The punchline is that she knew all along. She just made him guess! All women are like this! All women are crazy!
Here’s another famous one.
Comedian: So I ask, “Are you okay?” and she says, “I’m fine.” GUESS WHAT? SHE’S NOT FINE.
“If a woman tells you she’s fine, she’s not fine.” …
I recently looked up, on a whim, whether or not it was possible to get copies of the Bible where all of God’s pronouns had been replaced with “She.”
Short answer, no it isn’t possible, although there is an Inclusive Translation that leaves out pronouns altogether, thereby avoiding God’s gender in the first place.
When I realized it wasn’t possible to obtain such a copy, I was disappointed. My disappointment surprised me.
Why would I go on such a wild goose chase? To be frank, I still don’t know. I was raised to believe that God must be referred to as “He.” I am not a rabid, angry feminist. I do not hate the God of the Bible, nor am I offended by His masculine representation. Nor have I been wounded by a man — I do not need space from the masculine pronoun in order to heal. …
It’s easy in our current political climate to equate religion and patriotism. Certain political issues, like abortion, are steeped in religious ideology. When I was a kid, it was natural to assume that only Republicans were real Christians.
Lately, however, the “Republicans are Christians” mindset has been tangled up in Trump’s misogyny and racism. Many Christians have backed out of their support of this particular Republican. Others remain convinced that God and their personal freedom are linked, going so far as to claim God is behind their reason to not wear a mask.
God doesn’t want our Patriotism, however, and here are a few basic reasons why. …
In the dark of the night, and in the threat of death, humans both ancient and modern cry out to God. Fear and God are inexorably linked.
But are they supposed to be?
I am no stranger to God, and no stranger to fear. When I was young, I loved and trusted God to my core. I was an obedient follower of Christ, a firm believer in miracles and a saintly teen who forgave too easily. Growing up in a psychologically abusive home, I often went to bed stressed or afraid. Because I couldn’t count on my parents, I found myself counting on God. …
I’m a couch girl.
It’s true; I admit it. I love to lie back on the couch and do nothing. Maybe a movie. Maybe my phone. I love to be unengaged. Once I’m settled in, I have a hard time getting up, even for the simplest of things like getting a glass of water.
This procrastination follows me into other areas of my life as well. I put off scheduling that dental appointment. When I should put in the time to proofread an email, I click send and pray it turns out okay.
I want to engage in the bare minimum. …
I go overboard for every holiday.
I love it. I’m a Decorate-for-Christmas-the-Split-Second-After-Thanksgiving kinda girl. Every holiday, my home is filled with armfuls of handmade, tenderly arranged decorations. I walk into Target and promptly waste five minutes in the dollar section, cooing over cheap themed décor I’m not even going to buy.
I love a good celebration.
For most of my life, the object of this homage was Christmas. The twinkling lights. The hush of snow. The warm buttery scent of Christmas cookies. I loved Christmas. I still do, but lately, things have become more complicated.
Out of necessity I’m no-contact with one of my parents. The rest of my family, for whatever reason, chooses to ignore me completely on Christmas Day. They act like I don’t exist, even if I reach out on the day of, or days before to express a desire for connection. Due to the nature of my family system, once you’re no longer in the kingdom of the problem parent, you cease to exist. Once I step out of the fake smiles, the land of pretend, I seem to somehow cease to be a family member. …
Last night, as a country, we mutually writhed in dismay while tuning in to the presidential debate. In recaps this morning, my friends compared it to an SNL skit, while another friend said her eight-year-old had commented, “These guys want to be president? Interrupting is rude!”
While the debate was almost funny it was so bad, I was left feeling amazed, yet again, that anyone had voted for Trump in the first place. As he eagerly shouted facts he made up on the spot, I leaned forward and covered my nose and mouth with my hands.
How many people out there believe this? I wondered. Some of his facts were true, some were false and bizarre, like a boy playing “well MY robot can do this!” at the kitchen table. I wondered how many people were taking his words at face value. …
When I was a girl, we had the portrait of a boy from Malawi taped to our fridge.
I knew his name and how old he was, and I knew that we gave him money every month so he wouldn’t “starve to death.”
It was a common method of caring for the underprivileged and it still is. World Vision, Save the Children, and Compassion International are only a few of the organizations that allow you to give a dollar a day to turn a child’s life around. Sponsorship grants them access to clean water, food, and medical care. …