A Review…Sex, Lies and Religion by Randy Elrod. (prepare to blush when reading this book)

To censor, or not to censor…that is the question.  I really doubt that any pre-teens are reading my blog, but just in case (and to save a lot of questions from my parents and grandma – who I do know read this blog…) I will do my best to, um, tame this review.

In multiple conversations over many an adult beverage, a topic has been coming up over and over – why is the church so afraid to talking about sex?  Of dealing with the fact the people are having affairs, teens are having abortions, couples are sleeping in separate rooms….and probably a good deal of this dysfunction is simply symptomatic.

Symptomatic that the one place we are supposed to go to be healed, to be guided, to grow, to change, to have community is one place that you will never, ever get in a conversation about having good (or bad) sex.   Organized religion has been amazing about completely avoiding the subject – and I think there are a lot of frustrated, confused, lonely couples out there who are proving this point.

And in Sex Lies & Religion, the new book by Randy Elrod, there is the implication that in order to truly understand and see God, sex is pretty essential.   The book is a remarkable redemptive and refreshing look at sex and it’s place within every day life.  I completely love that finally someone has the (dare I say) * balls * to openly and explicitly talk about how sex is part of a holistic worship and understanding of God.

It’s a quick read, and I will admit to blushing once or twice.  I will also admit to wishing I had read this book before or during the time I was married.

The book starts with asking the simple question – can spirituality and sexuality coincide?  Or is the question actually that spirituality and sexuality are inseparable?   The question is followed by the lies that we are told by organized religion.  About everything from nudity, to what is beautiful,  and (ahem) self-pleasure and fantasy.

“But for many of us, our view of sexuality has been so legislated and permeated by religious lies, particularly a division between body and soul, we can’t seem to reconcile our biological and spiritual needs, much less understand a theology of sexuality.”

Randy’s got a good point.

But he follows this by the idea that sex, in it’s true form –between two committed adults who love and respect each other and have a shared relationship not only with each other, but with Christ- sex is an amazing way to get a new understanding of God.

“Religion worries that “living by the Spirit” instead of rules leads to immorality and sin. Just the opposite will be the case. A relationship with the Spirit produces the moral qualities that epitomize a life of unconditional sexuality.”

While I might not completely agree with everything in the book, I really hope Sex Lies and Religion begins to break down the barriers and start opening the conversation about sexuality.

“By now we understand that sex is not just about sex. It provides a way to understand God. Where religion makes simple ideas about God complex, sex can make complex ideas about God simple. The way we live out our sexuality expresses who we are, who God is, what love is, how we relate to others, and why we are here. It is the essence of existence.”

If you’re intrigued and want to check out the book, check out amazon, bn.com, borders or direct from the author at – http://sexliesandreligion.skyroo.com

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from cre:ate 2.0 Publishing to read and post a review on my site. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255

Nashville Snowday

Snow days always make me a bit introverted.  Partially as I love the peace and the silence of the world after a snow.  Partially cause I really like an excuse to bundle up and be introverted.   Nashville finally got a decent snowfall – I think they said we got about 6 inches, which for Nashville standards is huge.

But today I think I’m just feeling very happy for the kids of Nashville.  Granted, they get a lot of snow days.   But this is different.

I remember as a kid living for snow days.  It meant sleeping in, pancakes for breakfast and hot chocolate.  Going outside for hours building snowmen, with mom finally giving the ultimatum of game time would start without me if I didn’t come inside.   Fire in the fireplace, card houses, board games, forts, and getting to stay up late to watch Johnny Carson.

To the 8 year old psyche, there never will be anything better than a true snow day.

We would color snowmen with food coloring and try to bury the dog in the snow (she didn’t like being buried in sand either, just for the record).  Sledding until you couldn’t feel your toes anymore – and that wonderful prickly pain of warmth returning to your fingers.

In the freshly fallen snow, everything is magic.  Everything is clean.  Everything is new.  And everyone is allowed to be so ridiculous to lay in the snow to create the perfect angel.  Maybe that’s part of it – not just the world is clean and new.  Everyone can be clean and new.

I’m glad I grew up in the Midwest.  And kids of Tennessee, I’m glad today you get to see what a real snow day feels like – even if it happens to fall on a Saturday.

The Tale of the Tinsel

Christmas is changing in my family.  As my mom and dad get older, things have gotten a bit more mellow.  Since both my brother and I are single, there isn’t the crazy dash to the inlaws for massive multi-family gatherings.  For me, it’s nice and peaceful.  Not sure if it is the same for everyone else.  My parents have moved to a smaller house so my brother gets the spare bedroom and I get to spend my holiday on the couch in the living room.  It’s not so bad, as I get the TV and fall asleep to Christmas lights.

A week or two ago I was chatting with my dad and he was talking about how he had put the tree up and mom was busy decorating….

But I laughed as he says “But your mom will never think the tree is decorated until there is tinsel on it.  And I can’t find it anywhere!”

I remember hating tinsel as a kid.  In my childhood impatience it was simply annoying as it was the one item you couldn’t rush to put up on the tree.  And once it was on the tree, in seconds the static cling of the winter air would have it reaching out and attaching itself to my warm cozy sweaters.

But it is my mom and it is Christmas, and I will supply any simple pleasures for her that I can find.

So I set out for several days, searching for these little boxes of shimmer.  Walmart, Target, Old World, World Market, Lowes – no luck anywhere.

Then I go online – seems like you can buy tinsel either in blocks of 100 packs wholesale.  Or you can by them from vintage shops for $70 a pack.

SEVENTY DOLLARS??  Are you kidding me?

I thought about running some tin foil through my paper shredder.  Then I talked myself out of that idea.

Next I found a kind woman having a bit of a Christmas garage sale on Etsy.  She had 4 boxes of tinsel from her parent’s garage.  Paypal transferred significantly less than $75 and she sent them to my parents with a nice note.   My job was done.

Then I ran to CVS down my street to pick up some Gatorade for a sick friend, and low and behold – there was a GIANT DISPLAY OF TINSEL for 75 cents a box.

I wanted to go on those antique store websites and give a little tip to anyone wanting a swinging 60s look on their tree.  I didn’t.

But I did buy 5 more boxes.

So my parents now have 7 boxes of tinsel in their Christmas decoration bin, and 2 are up on a beautiful tree.

Last night I was lying on the sleeper-sofa, ready to fall asleep and I realized the peace of tinsel.  You don’t need blinking lights or flashy decorations, the brief movement of the tinsel creates a shimmer on the tree that is reminiscent of light reflecting off icicles after an ice storm or the water down one of those zen fountains. The tree literally sparkles.

That might have been my first true quiet moment in weeks.

So I know my tinsel-quest was worthwhile, if for no one else but for me.   I am the one who needed to turn off everything in my life that is busy and flashing and loud and trying really hard to be cool, and take a moment to see a little glimpse of peace at Christmas.

Happy Thanksgiving…

It’s Thanksgiving morning, and the house is quiet other than the low murmur of the parade pre-show coming from the living room.  Al Roker is wearing a hat that is shaped like a turkey.  Today’s craze and tomorrow’s one-hit wonder is preparing for her 15 minutes of fame. This cup of coffee is a new roast and the taste is sweet, which might be part of what has lead to this blog.

Today feels sweet.  I woke up a bit overwhelmed by the good of the little things.  Great coffee.  A warm bed.  A fun car that runs despite a strange noise.  A roof over my head and food in my freezer.  Smashbox eye shadow.  Too many pairs of shoes.

But quickly I remembered the best things in life aren’t things.

My parents, who are staying down the road, are happy and healthy and have been enjoying Nashville for a few days.  Lunch today is with Betty and Lynette and Therese, three women I am honored to walk beside in life. A multitude of friends and neighbors, are blurring the lines between friends and family.  They fill my need for quality time, and entertain my ridiculous love for excessive amounts of coffee and conversation.

And I am thankful.

But the flip side of the day seems to be that those words – Thanks.  Giving.  Give thanks.  Be thankful.  Give.  Are actions.  It’s not just enough to lay in my bed and breathe in this feeling.  The name of the day requires that thankful-ness has movement attached.  To give, and to give thanks.

So this week, I’ve been trying to make a decision on what I need to do for Advent…and maybe that’s it – maybe it’s not giving up anything.  For this lesser lent, maybe it’s about extending Thanksgiving to Christmas.  Making sure I’m giving thanks over the next month.  Giving love. Giving respect.  Giving sacrificially.

Just a thought.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone….

Lunch Counter Jack

In honor of Labor Day, I’d like to introduce you to someone:  Floyd Clarence Oppelt.  My grandpa.

All my memories of my grandpa growing up where fun and full of life.  His laugh was contagious. He used to sneak out the barn and on my promise of keeping a secret, would smoke a Pall Mall cigarette.  If we were at my house, he’d smoke while feeding other Pall Mall’s to our horses. His multi-colored suspenders where a constant source of joy for me, as it was a constant game to sneak up behind and pull on those suspenders.  He was wise, happy and never met a stranger.  I’m often reminded by relatives how much we are alike.  I consider that a huge compliment.

After he died, I started to occasionally hear people refer to him as “Lunch Counter Jack” or just as Jack, and I actually think it took me a bit to realized that the comments were being made about my Grandfather.

Since his death, my grandma has written his biography, and in it she tells the story of Lunch Counter Jack.  Since then several other articles from Rail Road Journals have supported the folklore of his life.  I’d like to share it with you now, in an abbreviated version.

Apparently on the Illinois Central, a typical workday for guys working the train yard was 6 or 6 ½ hours, and then they could “tie up” (go home.)  Almost never in this time did people “Pull Beans” (go to dinner), as they would just rather go home.

If you were actually on the trains though, you almost never got a typical 20 minute break to pull beans, and you just had to go without.  My grandpa however was the type of guy who wanted to eat after 6 hours, as was within the guidelines of their agreement with the railroad.  Road guys also didn’t really have a 20 minute limit – they were given a “sufficient amount of time would be allowed for the purpose of eating.”

the Illinois Central 2500

One day, when his train (the 2500, see above) was nearing Gilman, IL the dispatcher denied Grandpa’s request to stop and eat.  The dispatcher controlled all the power switches and at the time, Grandpa’s train was waiting for a thru signal as a passenger train went past.  When it was his time to go, Grandpa pulled only the power of the train onto the main track instead of the entire train as the signal required so he could ask again, and once again the dispatcher denied his request to eat.  For the following hour, the dispatcher gave the train a signal to pull forward, but it didn’t move, as Grandpa had walked down to a local diner and ate his lunch.  (I’m sure pie was included.)

Needless to say, the angry dispatcher called in a trainmaster, and pulled my Grandpa and his train out of service until they completed an investigation.  At the time, this was the most talked about and controversial investigation ever conducted on the Illinois Central line.

Grandpa set a precedent for labor rights on the railroad.  The IC line ruled in his favor and was reinstated and even given all his pay for the time he was off the line.  The “meal issue” was all because of him, and quickly his nickname went from just Jack to Lunch Counter Jack.   His story quickly spread the entire IC line, from Chicago to New Orleans.

As a kid, Grandpa had shot off his thumb in a hunting accident.  The hand signal for “going to beans” is a thumbs up signal.  After the whole Gillman incident, when a flagman would come on the train to signal to the crew that the train could stop for a break, they typically wouldn’t raise their thumb, as a jab to my grandpa not having a thumb.  This, of course, was an amazing source of amusement to my grandpa.  This fit perfectly with his sense of humor, and I’m sure the flagmen were well aware.

Lunch Counter Jack was my mother’s father.  My dad’s side of the family is filled with missionaries who came to the US before the Revolutionary War, and worked strongly for the causes of civil rights (and still do)… So to a few friends who make fun of me for being a bit of an activist – I can’t help it.  It’s literally in my heritage.

Happy Labor Day

Gardening 101

I’ve never been much of a gardener, but I enjoy believing that I, in fact, have that amazing gift where anything that I plant in the ground will grow into the most amazingly beautiful, large, colorful plant that anyone has seen.

This could be partially because I never have more than a window box or a few containers and brightly colored flower pots to make the horticulture attempt.  This year began with a few interesting looking flowers, some basil, sage and cilantro.  Much to my surprise, I learned that cilantro doesn’t particularly like the hot summers of Nashville, so that particular model died and fast, crispy death.

The sage followed suit, but I’m not sure what I was thinking planting sage in the summer, because I don’t really make anything during the summer that warrants sage as an ingredient.

(My dad is a teeny bit obsessed with cooking during the holidays, and he taught me how to make his age old, tried-and-true stuffing.  It starts the night before with the ceremonial drying of the bread, followed by a morning filled with chopping celery and onions, a heap of sage and lots and lots of butter.   Seriously, this sage stuffing can kick your stuffing’s ass…just being honest.)

At some point during the summer, I was at the Home Depot and noticed a sale on a few plants.  One being some sort of a vine-like plant with purple flowers that appeared to have had a hard childhood.   My nurturing nature was in full gear and I bought the little plant for $3, bound and determined to bring it back to it’s glorious early self.  I wanted it to awaken its little plant soul and have it become confident enough to explode into a wave of color.

Well, it didn’t.

I need to give my little porchmate credit – I travel a lot.  I don’t really know how to do things like “pruning” and I’m a little bit sketchy on the “watering” part as well.

A few other plants have died and started over on their own, and often I think that I should replant them in a larger container – the obvious choice being the home of this purple plant.

However I just can’t bring myself to do it, for even in it’s dried out desert, there is still little glimmers of life.  Take today for example.  Amidst all of the branches that have been dormant all summer, consistently there are one or two beautiful, colorful blooms that adorn my porch.  And these little glimpses are just enough to make me want to cheer on that little plant just a week or two longer.

exhibit a.

Maybe I can just relate.  Maybe this plant is showing me that there is always hope, always life in the world around me.    No matter how dire the situation, there’s always the chance to see life start anew.

No matter how messed up someone’s life may seem, I am still required to look for the best, to cheer on the positive in their lives.

Maybe it’s a show that even a little bit of color can change your whole outlook.

Maybe this is a reminder to me of days past where I felt like my situation was broken and beyond the help of God, but in the end, his promises are always honest, and his mercy is great.

Maybe it’s a metaphor for the state of our world today, a reminder of the positive work that is happening when it comes to the world’s atrocities like genocide and trafficking.

Or maybe it’s just proof that I’m simply a really bad gardener and this makes me feel better about not fostering this poor plant out to some loving, green thumber at a local plant rescue.

No matter what, I’m still keeping the plant, and maybe giving it a little more attention, some plant food and some extra love.    Maybe over the next few days I’ll see a few people or situations that look a little like this plant as well, and I’ll take the time to give them a little nurturing as well.

Never Take Dating Personally

Tuesday August 4
For a few years, I’ve been a self-employed professional publicist. I spend the day either working in my pajamas at home – or at a coffeeshop (not in my pajamas). I spend a ridiculous amount of time chatting on the phone with media people (probably working in their pajamas) who quickly become friends and neighbors. I also send a ridiculous amount of emails, which I realize makes me appear to have the greatest slacker job ever.

There’s a method to the madness I assure you. And I work very hard at what I do. And it’s always fun to get the first glimpse of the latest and greatest, and to figure out what it takes to get people in the media, and in culture, excited about whatever amazing new product will change their lives.

One thing I learned very quickly when I set off into the freelance jungle is that you just can’t take anything personally. Just because someone doesn’t like whatever project, product or process that I’m so eloquently trying to pitch, it doesn’t reflect on me at all. They know their market, and if they pass, it’s just because it’s not for them. It’s not what their readers are looking for. And no matter how hard I try to convince them, they are always correct – they know their market better than I do.

Some publicists get all bent out of shape about this. Either they:
a) are so focused on their client they will walk all over editors
b) they don’t believe the person knows the market that they write for and live in or
c) they believe this is a reflection on them and thus all rejection equals a rejection of them personally.

Honestly, with some of my past clients, if I felt any of these scenarios, I would have curled up under a rock years ago and would potentially still be there to this very day.

But many a well-meaning publicity intern has taken this rejection to heart, and potentially needed a good dose of therapy where the well-paid psychologist simply ended the conversation with “You did the best you could. Just admit that you were working a crappy project. Thanks for the $165 an hour by the way”

Now-I’ve realized as I have gotten myself into this insane world of internet dating/blind dating/wishing I had friends that had normal friends who they would introduce me to dating time of my life, this scenario is the exact same thing.

Never take dating personally.

Dating sites, and well, dating in general when you’re over the age of 30, are groups polluted with broken people. Many are in transition. Many are lonely. Some have been completely burned and others have been the ones doing the burning. Everyone is looking for something, and hopefully something very specific.

I am a broken person, polluting the sites with a heart that is learning to trust again, a spirit that feels in transition and a ridiculous prejudice against musicians, large mustaches and southerners who talk too slowly about NASCAR.

I can’t expect every person on these sites to understand just where I’m coming from. Or what my life’s like. Or fit the recipe for just what I am looking for. Some people like opinionated redheads. Some don’t. That’s why there’s more than one thing on the menu.

Not that people need to be compared with consumables. That’s an entirely different blog!

So what has this whole thing taught me?

First I learned that on dating sites, they keep your profile up years after you stop being a part of the site, so there’s more than a fighting chance that said persona who captured your screen could by now be married, living in another state, or decided to just get a dog and forget that whole internet world.

I’ve also learned that a staggering amount of men don’t have good pictures of themselves. In a world of camera phones, I find this difficult to grasp.

But most of all, it’s taught me to treat everyone with respect, no matter how hard I may be laughing about a profile. The person is still a person. I, also, shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. I can never ever expect anyone to call when they say the will. In internet speak, average build means 40 pounds over weight. Many people don’t know how to maneuver spell check…

Thursday August 6
I started writing this blog before I heard about the lonely single man who killed three women in the health club in Pennsylvania, and my heart goes out to him. To go day after day looking at the lists and lists of women on the web, and to constantly feel rejected could wear on anyone. But for someone as unstable as he, it just equaled torment.

I watched one of his videos, and it broke my heart. He wanted to share better relationships. “My object is to be able to emotionally connect with people,” he said.

But isn’t that the problem? Society has changed from emotional – face to face communication and relationship – to one that has become anonymous and all built on your given dating site name, twitter, or skype handle. You can go through life having communication with someone, without ever having actually met. Without ever looking into someone’s face. You may never know how tall they are, what type of shoes they wear, or if they are allergic to peanuts. You know them as an avitar, and never actually touch their skin.

So these dating sites, in reality, are mostly about the non-committal, non-personal, non-emotional interactions. Even blogging isn’t much different. You can put your words and videos out into a sea of bloggers and blogspots and wordpresses, however, if you haven’t made an actual interaction with a person, your words are in the wind. Not to be stumbled upon. Not to be shared. It’s just words taking up property.

Now, however, today I read this lonely man’s blog, too late. We now know to experience his words after his last face to face, or gun to person, encounter. And children are missing their mothers. And husbands are missing their wives. And people are reading words from a person they cannot help.

So maybe it’s time to rethink the whole internet dating world. Maybe it’s time to think about how we actually communicate in general. It’s time to actually come out from behind our computer screens and have a conversation. Get out of our pajamas and actually interact. The anonymous chat is a lot easier, but I bet the in person version is a lot more fulfilling.

I know that this man in Pennsylvania wasn’t healthy, and probably a lot of women picked up on that before they would ever agree to get a coffee…but maybe a few more just good conversations outside of the basement might have given this poor lonely soul the community he so desperately needed. And maybe he might have taken a new non-returned emails on his dating site a lot less personally.

How the Day Sounds

Today in Nashville is perfect – 76 degrees, sunny, breezy – I’ve spent the day with my coffee and my laptop on my porch, enjoying breathing in air that feels more like fall than mid July.  Days like this are precious, and I’m too often un-appreciative of their ability to recharge something in my spirit…

And my all knowing iTunes picked out a song:  How the Day Sounds by Greg Laswell….

Thank you for opening the window
The sky is clear as my mind is now
I was a long, long way off

Join me in welcoming the sun in
It’s much brighter than the night I hid in
I was a long, long way off

And I think I like how the day sounds
Like how the day sounds through this new song

Sort of a cheesy video….but I like how the day sounds…..so won’t you sing along?

John Reuben – Town Folk

Now on iTunes…new John Reuben “Town Folk” video…hee hee.

2 Kings 2:23-24 – Kids make fun of Elisha’s bald head. Bears maul kids.

Muse – Endlessly

Today I was going some writing, which has been my therapy of choice lately. Hopefully it can eventually be my profession of choice! I digress, the magic iTunes shuffle came up with this song, which has nothing to do with what I was writing. But it made me want to keep writing, and change the course of the story…so, I thought I would share it with you. Muse. Endlessly. Live at Wembley. A lovely song for a Sunday.