The Social Porcupine

Women are leaders in grace, conversation, and reconciliation. You know what odd combinations I love to see most in evangelical home churches? A woman fully living in her femininity, and yet quite not silent in church. It isn't that I wish to defy 1 Timothy 2:12, but that I understand sobriety isn't the absence of speech or the presence of silence. It's that I understand that the works of the Proverbs 31 women are so perfectly aimed the attention lands where she intends --her fine work, her husband, her community.  Several years ago, I attended a dance that demonstrated traditional femininity and masculinity through honor, sacrifice, respect, and romance. The oddest of statements was issued: women traditionally were the leaders of conversation in society. They hosted spaces for men to converse, and certain women were sought after for invitations  because the spaces they held invoked the best discourses. Arguably, these women weren't brazen or given to much de...

  Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God Matthew 5:8 Young conservative woman: *gets a job working around rough, worldly men*  OK, you guys. Y'all don't be cursing, and don't be speaking about any filthy things around me. I gotta stay pure. You hear? I need you all to think about that and respect me.     *   *   *  I live this sort of weird conundrum where I embrace and rebel against my upbringing all at once. I don't really bother much trying to convert leftists or communists or atheists. But I do feel   compelled to call out hypocrisy among my fellow Christian conservatives.  deep, deep inside I feel this strong desire to not be that typical conservative gal that's all about my purity. In fact, if I find anything absolutely repulsive and vulgar, it is purity culture.  Not that I find purity disgusting, but that I find the idolization of purity degrading to the true nature of what it means to be pure. I de...

No, you may not see my thoughts.  Yes, it's a wondrous place—there are many pretty things inside my head. A few weird, all interesting and wonderful and happy things. Oh, yes, it's a beautiful place, this place of mine. Like an open meadow? you ask. Well. Yes. Except it's not so open, definitely not meant to be inviting. This place is all mine, after all. I do not have wildflowers free for the picking, nor herbs for the healing; there are no cool streams for your comfort.  I suppose you could describe it— my head —as a dragon's lair, brightly packed with all my hoarded gems.  Mine to keep . Not that I don't let things get out of my space, and away from me.  When I need more space for my lovely, growing collection, I give much to the peasants. Anything that makes my heart unhappy is theirs... yours. Anything worthless must be out so my mind and soul and heart can remain happy and free and elated. I dig to make the hole deeper, safer for my gems... all the excess dirt...

My glückpilz (lucky mushroom/ good luck charm) from Germany What does it mean to be real? A lifestyle Instagrammer might decide to take a break from all her normal photos to share something that is “real”. It lacks filters or artistic arrangement in the trade of something “less” pretty. Even if this “real” post exaggerates the dirt with humor, we applaud the woman for her bravery in being real. Someone might make a Facebook post and say, “You might not know this, but I’m actually NOT doing well.” Even if she makes these posts on a regular basis, we admire her willingness to be real. More than we admire the person who is active in politics, society, economics, theology, philosophy, or other real-world problems. I’ve heard people complaining that social media is depressing because it’s full of fake people posting about a life that’s unattainable and unrealistic; as if someone’s artistic or encouraging words or photos automatically must cause dissatisfaction in our own lives. ...

If you're ever feeling depressed, listen to NF for an hour. Or two. Or three. Or forever. It won't make the depression go away, but you'll find calm in a sense of relatability.  I find my best writings are produced in the times when I'm not "in the best of spirits". Or maybe I should say, those writings are produced from thoughts I have in those times. Messy thoughts, that aren't usually organized, and very small in nature. I find hope when I start sorting through those thoughts, giving them substance, and embellishing them with beauty. Except, there are some thoughts that always remain messy, and it is those thoughts that beg for recurring attention every time my conscious sinks.  Like a child, you adore but has decided it can't exist outside of your arms, and so he scratches at your ankles, pulls at your legs, your shirt, your neck, punches your nose and eyes, wanting you yet not really wanting you. Clingy they call it. It's horribl...

Mittens I knitted */*/*/*/*  Father, why did you give me hands  If you desire my life to  Be always out of my reach?  Father, why do you tell me, "Stand!  I have much for you to do."  If only to flood my beach.  Father, they say home is where the heart is. But my heart is everywhere ... or nowhere.  Father, they say this world is not my home.  But would you give Eden to a foreigner?  I don't wish to follow my heart.  Yet I do wish to find it.  Father, I yearn to find home.  If I may not control my part  Or place in life, so be it.  Take my hands, but give me Shalom.   */*/*/*/*  Some things I've learned this last month: >It's possibly to be rejoicing over one thing and grieving over another at once  >Peace can strengthen your days and stress can rule your nights, and sometimes the two can intermingle >One can be angry and grateful in the same momen...

I used to think all feelings, except happy feelings, were evil. And then even some of those happy ones were just a bit too much, too. Tears, even joyful ones, were immature. Being too expressive was foolish. I believed emotional people were unstable and thus unable to clearly rationalize. But then I broke. For two straight months, I couldn't think. The sudden onslaught of inward pain numbed me and my body reacted by going into shock from exposure to foreign feelings I'd once refused to know. And for that short time I didn't care about what I'd once thought of emotions—they owned me and all reason and logic were gone. But as my senses slowly returned, I hated myself for giving in to the emotions that gripped all of me. I'm not sure how I would have got through it if a couple of my friends hadn't told me over and over that, it was okay to grieve. With my friends support, I let myself feel my way through those dark months and I let my brain just die for...

I do not understand people who love snow.  I do not understand why snow is considered beautiful.  Snow covers beauty. It smothers and freezes and kills.  God created a beautiful earth.  Because of our sin, the earth was cursed with a flood that consequentially messed up Earth's perfect atmosphere. And thus the Earth has ever since been put under stress by extreme heat and cold.  I believe there was no snow before the flood.  I believe snow is part of the curse.  How is that beautiful, I ask?  Snow is cold ... as cold as a broken heart, cracking the warmest sparks of hope.  Beauty is not cold.  Beauty is warm.  Beauty isn't what's on top ... it's what is real, what lies underneath.  Beauty isn't cruel. Beauty doesn't freeze your fingers.  Beauty doesn't kill you.  Yeah, snow will kill you.  But ... I guess something about us humans, is we do find beauty in the...

I haven't shared anything about the wall online. Not because I've been hesitant to stir up controversy—those that have followed my blog for very long know that I love to discuss the untalkable subjects half the world fears to think about — but because I've been very unsettled in my own thoughts concerning the wall. And even after much thought and study, I'm still not completely sure what I think. But I think I am finally ready to share what I am currently thinking. I just ask one thing, all my friends (trolls, too). Please read to the end before commenting. And please bear with me. I will try to share cautiously so as not to needlessly offend anyone, and I ask that no-one look for offense where it's not intended, which I do not intend ever.  Most of my Trump Wall  "research" I have heard through podcasts or my Dad. I've tried to listen to a variety of opinions, but most of my media intake has been pro-wall. Pro-wall: Louder With Crowder ,...