Maleficent Movie Review

SO MANY SPOILERS AHEAD.  Don't read if you don't want to know literally every major plot point.

I was interested in seeing Maleficent, but I hadn't actually thought to see it in theaters until a friend asked to see a movie and I thought, "Why not?"  I was so ignorant.  Maleficent blew me away with all the usually awesome movie stuff--excellent acting (Angelina Jolie is magnificent) and breath-taking fantasy landscapes and creatures.  But what solidified my love for the film was its beautiful feminist messages.

For starters, it is an undeniably female-driven movie.  Maleficent and Aurora are the center of everything.  The three fairies provide comic relief and a significant amount of screen time.  There are three male characters to round things out--men to round things out!  One as the sidekick to a female!  Oh my gosh, what a wonderful thing to see women as the stars of a fantasy epic, living adventurous stories and making terrible and wonderful decisions.

Second, Maleficent continues what Frozen began:  the assertion that love comes in many forms, and that female love relationships are just as strong as male-female romantic ones.  (It also continues a hesitancy to rely on the rape-like "true love's kiss" while a person is unconscious.  I adored Prince Philip saying, "I don't feel right about this!  I barely know her!" when the fairies urge him to kiss the sleeping Aurora.)  But he does kiss her, and nothing happens.  She's still asleep.  And man, oh man, then Maleficent steps out, apologizes and cries and repents; she kisses the princess whom she loves and cares for, AND SLEEPING BEAUTY AWAKES.  True love's kiss is one woman caring for another.

And most importantly, I was completely surprised by the entire plot.  Maleficent is essentially a rape allegory.  The young carefree fairy befriends a human boy.  She thinks she loves him and she trusts that he loves her back.  Years later, out of greed and ambition, he drugs her so that she falls asleep, physically violates her, taking something of hers without her permission, and when she wakes alone, she howls in physical and emotional agony.  Dear God, that scene was crazy painful.

Seeing the action as rape makes the movie so incredibly powerful.  Her vengeance is understandable.  I rooted for her to make the guy crawl.  Her turn to darkness is a bandage for her pain.  I was behind her 100%, even though I was uncomfortably aware that she was acting the villain.

But it doesn't stop there!  Maleficent learns to love again, albeit by loving the child she cursed.  She saves the princess, risking her life in the process.  And then love saves her, quite literally.  The child she loves frees the wings that had been ripped from her, and in a burst of bright light, they reattach and Maleficent is whole again. 

There is still, however, that pesky king rapist.  He attacks her in exactly the way he knows will hurt her, and clings to her as she tries to fly away.  I'm entirely sure that the fight scene at the end was probably nothing overwhelming or particularly epic.  But seeing it as an abuser and a rapist attacking his victim made me so uncomfortable.  I was cringing at the screen the whole time.  I honestly didn't know what would happen, what I even wanted to happen.  Should she kill him?  YES, I WANT JUSTICE.  But that would turn her into the villain we assumed she was.  In the end, she breathes deeply and says, "It is over," releasing him and turning away.  She chose FORGIVENESS.  Not in like, the way where everything is okay.  But in the real forgiveness way, where she chooses not to let him have a hold on her anymore, where the victim says, "I will not let you make me less than I am."  It is SO AWESOME.  Of course, because justice is still demanded, he throws them both off the castle walls.  He, being a terrible rapist, falls to his death.  She, being a redeemed survivor with returned wings, flies away.  And it is soul-wrenchingly beautiful.

I loved this movie.  I loved it so hard, and I want to make everyone in the world see it.  I want people to empathize with the victims of assault, to despise those who violate others, to learn the painful lessons of forgiveness and loving again.  This movie was my everything!

Teaching Kids About Feminism

I love the movement of educating young men not to abuse and rape women rather than the usual practice of educating women on how not to get raped (ex:  wear modest clothes, don't go out after dark, lace your keys through your fingers while walking through parking lots but do not talk on your phone, wear your hair in a bun not a ponytail, always check your backseat before getting in your car....see, I'm educated and terrified).  But I never quite knew what that looked like other than telling someone, "There will come a day when you will want something from a woman but she will not want to give it.  In that moment, please do not force her to give it to you.  That's very bad." 

But today an opportunity arose!  Anju screamed from upstairs, so I went to investigate.  She was crying, and when I asked what had happened, she said, "I tried to shut my door, but Ketan wouldn't let me, and I kept telling him to let me shut it, but he kept holding it open!" 

Not a huge deal, right?  But like I said, an opportunity!

Me:  Ketan, will you open your door, please?
Ketan:  What?
Me:  What just happened?
Ketan:  I didn't do anything!
Me:  Then why did Anju say something did?
Ketan:  I just wanted to tell her something!
Me:  Oh yeah?  What?
Ketan:  Just something.
Me:  Okay.  Look, here's the thing.  You're older than Anju and you're a boy.  You're stronger than her, and if you want to keep her door open, you can because you're stronger.  But if a girl ever tells you to stop doing something repeatedly, you have to stop.  That's your responsibility, okay?  You've got to learn self-control and start respecting girls when they tell you to stop.  Okay?
Ketan:  Okay.
Me:  I'm disappointed, but I'm not angry.  I know you're awesome and you'll remember not to use your strength to your advantage.
Ketan:  Okay.

He was super upset that I'd called him out on something I disapproved of.  These kids, so desperate for perfection.  I know nothing of that instinct, hah hah.

I was super excited to have had this conversation.  I'll turn Ketan into a feminist yet, especially since a few days ago we had this conversation...

Ketan:  What's J.K. Rowling's first name?
Me:  Joanne.
Ketan:  Why isn't it written Joanne Rowling?
Me:  Because she was told that she would make more money if she sold her books under a name that could be assumed she was a man.  Books authored by men make more money than women authors.  Now it doesn't matter because she's so famous, but in general women are seen as less successful at things.  The world often doesn't respect women.
Ketan:  I respect women.
Me:  I know.  That's one of the things I love most about you.

My First and Last Pub Crawl

On Saturday I experienced the Dallas bar scene, and it was the worst.  To be fair, the evening started out lovely.  My friend was celebrating her birthday with a party hat pub crawl, so we wore party hats, and during dinner I met some of her other friends.  Good times.  Then we went to another bar down the street, and we all sat around two tables pulled together, and I got to know other friends who now happened to be sitting near me.  Then we crossed the street and went upstairs to a techno dance floor with glow-bands, which, obviously, was awesome.

*mild, or maybe not so mild, obscene content ahead.  I dunno how to do proper warnings.  IT WASN'T MY CUP OF TEA, basically.*

But then.  We ended the night down several roads with a couple turns, somewhere I wasn't familiar.  We went into a bar, and suddenly after midnight, everyone in the world was out and about.  My birthday friend had decided it would be a good idea to get a kiss on the cheek for each of her 27 years.  I thought this was a bad idea, but when she started with her guy friends, it was adorable and sweet.  Then random guys at the bar were pulled over.

I have to admit I shamelessly abused her.  When one guy came up to me, I grinned and pointed toward my friend, "Kiss her cheek!  She wants her cheek kissed!  Her, not me."  One guy obliged, then pushed his crotch into my thigh and whispered in my ear.  Since bars are notoriously loud, I couldn't hear him, so I grimaced and scooted away.  He followed, continuing to press against me and shouting.  Finally I worked out what he was saying:  "He's a stripper!"

I said alright, whatever, and when he turned away I turned to my friend and pointed to the other guy, screaming, "He's a stripper!!"  My friend thought this was hilarious, so he was beckoned.  After understanding the kiss thing, he licked up her cheek.  It was, well, repulsive a bit, but also hilarious, because at least she could say, "A stripper licked me on my birthday!"

Around this time all of her friends left minus one.  It was 1:00 in the morning, and somehow a group of them all said goodbye at once, and they told me and our mutual friend to get the birthday girl home safe.  I was so beyond done with the bar scene by this point, and for goodness sake, it was past midnight and I had a half hour drive home ahead of me, and I wanted to sleep.  But they were gone, and I didn't have it in me to leave my birthday friend alone with just one other person.

We were still sitting in the corner of a bar, and I cannot describe how little fun I was having.  The place was so loud, and so crowded, and there were eyes everywhere, and people touching me that I didn't know, and I just like to have my personal space respected, you know?  Wanting to get the show on the road, I said, "Are we still doing the kissing thing?  Because we should maybe move around.  Find more guys."  So practical, I am.  So we did, pushing toward the back of the bar, and yeesh gross ugh these two guys came up to us.

They were both tall, and one stood beside me.  He grabbed my arm and twisted my wrist so he could see my tattoo, pulling me into his side in the process.  Whenever he talked he leaned close to my face, frequently spraying me with saliva.  His friend was chatting up my mutual friend, and another guy who had given birthday girl a kiss was back for more, I guess.

Slobber Guy:  What an idiot.  What kind of idiot wears sandals? (referring to the guy chatting up birthday girl)
Me:  Well, it's hot outside.
SG:  Real men wear close-toed shoes.
Me:  Oh, yeah?  Anyone you know?
SG:  I'm awful.  I'm really judgmental, you might have noticed.
Me:  I did notice.
SG:  But you're fine.  I give you a pass.  In fact, if the world were ending, and I could only save 20 people, you'd be at like, 25 right now.
Me:  I'm sorry you only know 24 people you like better than me.
SG:  Hah!  Good one.  I'm going to get another beer.  You want anything?
Me:  No.
SG:  Really?
Me:  Yes.

Let me insert here, studying feminist things can make a girl a little leery of men.  So this whole exchange just absolutely repulsed me, because the only reason I could see for him wanting to buy me a drink is so that I would be just drunk enough not to resist his inevitable sexual advances.  Disgusting.  Underhanded.

Also, if you wear a party hat to a bar, drunk people think it is entirely within their right to pet it, move it around on your head, or gesture obscenely toward it.

Slobber Guy came back, but I suddenly thought of something I had to tell my mutual friend, which could only be spoken into her right ear, so I moved to her other side.  Where "Nice" Guy was standing.  He was pleasant for awhile, mostly making fun of his friend.  Good tactic, because I didn't like his friend.  I kept trying to convey my dire need to escape to either of my friends with my eyeballs, but they didn't seem to catch the hint.

"Nice" Guy:  You both seem way too sober for 2:00 in the morning.
Me:  We go to seminary.
"N"G:  All of y'all!?
Me:  Yes.  We go to seminary.  So.  No drinking.
"N"G:  Well, okay.  I love Jesus!  Woo hoo!  Halle-f**king-lujiah!  Jesus!
Me:  Aw, jeez.

I made serious eyes this times, and birthday girl said we were all tired.  They guys tried to hug us as we struggled past them, but I skittered away and gave high fives instead.  When we got outside, birthday girl looked upset.

Me:  You look like you're not having as much fun anymore.  With the kissing thing.
BG:  They just.  They started, you know.  Taking advantage, and instead of just kissing my cheek they would linger or touch my waist, and just.
Me:  THAT WAS AWFUL.  I'm sorry.  Happy birthday.  Just, ugh.  Right there, I didn't love that.
BG:  Let's go meet my friend at another bar.
Me:  Wut.

So we walked to yet another bar.  It was 2 a.m. by now, and everyone on the sidewalks and hanging over bar patios screamed "happy birthday" at us, or sang at us.  I won't lie, I kind of liked that part.  Drunk people are often very sweet, when they aren't being gross.

Luckily birthday girl could not contact her friend, so we did not go into another bar.  Instead, one of the guys who had abandoned us an hour earlier drove to pick us up, and when we were dropped off in front of her apartment, I positively fled to my car and sped home.

Here's the thing.  I knew the bar scene existed.  I knew that people spend their weekends drinking with friends, meeting people, maybe hooking up.  But I do not know how they do it.  I hated the aura of the whole thing, this idea that personal space no longer matters, that everyone is there to chat up someone else, that personalities don't matter so much as the vague shape of being the opposite sex.

And I hated even more that I had willingly walked into that world, that by going into a bar after midnight, I was tacitly giving my acceptance to be leered at, grabbed, and spit upon.  Or told nasty things, I didn't even relate the worst things guys told me, ugh.  The guys I met at the bar quite literally had only one thing on their mind, and they knew that I knew, and they didn't care.  That was the whole point of the thing.

I can't do "romance" that way.  My interactions with the opposite sex go like this:  Notice someone is attractive.  Initiate awkward conversations.  Continue awkward conversations for several weeks.  Perhaps escalate to flirting, by which I mean lingering eye contact and maybe punching of shoulders.  Pine after guy for two or more years.

Obviously, I'm not cut out for pub crawls.  When I talked to Liz, she said she'd gone along on a few when she was in college, and she kind of enjoyed the attention.  Which, I get, I guess.  But attraction for me is all about words, about joking and questions and personality.  You can't really have conversations in crowded loud bars.  And anyway, even if a guy finds me attractive enough to have sex, well.  I'm educated and cynical.  All guys want that, I'm just a warm body, get away from me.

So.  That was my Saturday.

So That's What Marriage Can Be!

I did not grow up seeing a marriage that I wanted to one day imitate.  Most of the lessons I learned in the home were of the "avoid this" theme.  Fortunately, I spent time with married couples who got it right a majority of the time.  Unfortunately, I couldn't find myself in the relationship.

Take my grandparents for an example.  All the time I can remember them, they have been a team, working together as family and as church members.  The problem is, my grandmother is the picture of domesticity.  So are many of the women I grew up with, hosting dinner parties or enthusing about house decor.  I am not that woman.  My bedroom is a bunch of books stacked on top of furniture.  There is unmatched artwork on one wall.  My bedspread is inside-out and my pillow case has Lion King characters on it.  In the kitchen, my standby is egg tacos, because it consists of 1) eggs and 2) tortillas.  I eat this at least five times a week.  Occasionally I make an actual meal, but the excitement is enough to tide me over for the next month.

The things that I have to offer are my brains, my passion, and my empathy.  That's all I've got!  So in a culture that exalts meek, mild, submissive wives who follow their husbands instructions, well.  I feel like an outsider.  I would so much rather be in the thick of things, studying and thinking and deciding, actively participating rather than passively following.  (I know many of the women I grew up watching are incredibly intelligent.  The thing is, culture is often stronger than example.  I internalized the conservative party line.)  If I were ever to be in a God-honoring marriage with a man who follows God, I felt like I had to give up who I am and put on someone with an entirely different skill set.

The rationale behind my despair had everything to do with Ephesians 5:21-33, specifically verse 23.  The husband is the head of the wife.  Oh my word.  I hated this.  It felt like a death knell: "Give up your personhood.  Give up your opinions."  Husbands were the loving heads of the home, and wives were to submit to them.  I was fed the line that if a husband truly loved his wife as Christ loved the church, then a wife wouldn't mind submitting to him.  And while I would much rather submit to someone loving than to someone hateful, I didn't want to give up my ability to make decisions.  I like using my brain; I didn't want someone to take that away from me.

But it turns out, that's not what the passage is talking about!  I'm reading Sarah Sumner's Men and Women in the Church for a seminary paper.  In it, she pointed out that we normally associate the husband's headship with the wife's submission.  This is inaccurate, she said.  There are three associations made in this passage:

1)  the wife's submission/the husband's sacrifice
2)  the wife is the body/the husband is the head
3)  the wife respects her husband/the husband loves his wife

Let's start with submission/sacrifice.  These are two sides of the same coin.  For one thing, both are voluntary.  Forced submission is not submission.  That is slavery.  A wife submits when she voluntarily chooses to put her husband's needs or dreams or desires before hers.  Sacrifice is also voluntary.  A man sacrifices his needs or dreams or desires so that his wife can pursue hers.

"For when the wife comes under [submits to] the husband, thereby lifting him up, he sacrifices himself by giving up his advantage of being over her by exalting her to where he is.  In other words, the husband and wife participate together in a dynamic upward spiral of lifting each other up instead of putting each other down."

Now there's a marriage I can get behind, primarily because that rings so true to Christ's character.

But there's still the matter of a husband being the head of his wife.  Turns out, the word literally means head, which makes sense if it is paired with the idea of the wife being a body.  The key is in verse 31, "For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh."  This isn't just code for sex.  When a man and a woman get married, they are entering into a mystery wherein they become a head and a body, together making up one being.  This is why Ephesians tells husbands to care for "their wives as their own bodies", even that "he who loves his wife loves himself."  Because he is loving himself; they are one.

Headship isn't about leadership.  And it's definitely not being  "head of the house."  A husband is a head as the wife is a body, and together they are one flesh.  Seeing each other as part of themselves, a wife submits to her husband, and a husband sacrifices for his wife.

Oh man, this is just one chapter out of sixteen that I have read thus far.  But I cannot describe how wonderful I felt after reading this (and it only gets better:  Sumner unpacks how masculinity=less physically vulnerable and femininity=more physically vulnerable.  She discovers what the connection is between Christ as head of the church while husbands are heads of the wives while God is head of Christ.  And she also interprets 1 Peter 3:7 as a scathing indictment against physical abuse.)  Sumner is not a feminist.  Throughout the book she honestly and kindly presents the case of complementarians and egalitarians.  Then she offers a third option that makes all kinds of sense.

Reading her, I realized that submission doesn't mean I lose everything.  I don't have to give up my intellect or my opinions.  I realized that a husband being my head doesn't mean he rules over me.  I don't have to wait for my husband to do everything.  I don't have to cook or clean or decorate.  None of that is part of the biblical picture of marriage (I know Proverbs 31, that's another post).  Marriage actually looks attractive to me now.  Putting my husband's needs before mine, letting him sacrifice those needs for me.  Being part of an mutual upward spiral of humility rather than constantly giving everything I have to someone who only takes and takes.  Being the body to someone else's head, mystically entering into a union that is two people in one.  I don't know.  I suddenly get why marriage is so beautiful.

Probably good, since I want to be a marriage counselor.

(Sarah Sumner says this all SO MUCH BETTER.  She is a wonderful theologian who shares her story while interpreting Scripture masterfully, humbly, and understandably.  I 100% recommend you read her thoughts rather than mine!)

DTS Bathrooms

Women have only been allowed to take classes at DTS since about 1980.  That's around 35 years.  And if that weren't bad enough, the campus still has physical reminders of our newness to the academic life.  It's been a joke amongst the female students that there are fewer women's bathrooms than men's, when everyone knows the opposite ought to be true.  But I've never heard a man comment on it, and especially not negatively.

Not until today, that is!  Dr. K keeps winning "professor of the year" in my book, largely because he is a legitimately great teacher, but also because he treats women as human beings who are in attendance in his classes.  That might sound stupid, but I've sat through whole semesters in which the professors only referred to the students using masculine pronouns or used examples of men and husbands but never women or wives.

You know it's bad when Dr. K says, "and then, to a man and to a woman, they" and your heart soars from the intentionality of including both sexes.  It's little things like that that make me feel visible and valued.

And it's bigger things like the bathroom rant that make me feel like standing up and cheering.

Right before break, Dr. K finished reading the syllabus, which included a statement about the school's commitment to not discriminate based on disability.  Dr. K said, "We don't discriminate on the basis of disability, only by gender. I'm serious. During our upcoming break, if you are male, you may go down the hall to use the restroom. If you are not male, you will have to go to a different floor or another building. A board member, a female board member, said recently that until we have a women's restroom on the first floor, all our talk of equality will be vague.  I think she's right."

I mean, this touched me so deeply that I copied his words verbatim.  So.  

THERE IS HOPE, hallelujah, it gives me so much joy that a respected theology professor purposefully and intentionally includes women in his common speech and deliberately brings up issues of equality that have nothing to do with the topic at hand.  This is the best.

Boys Will Be Boys

When I picked up Anju this afternoon, she was watching the new One Direction trailer.  I was pleased to see that a minute in, a 40-year-old woman was buying a lifesize cutout of Louis.  "That's my future," I thought, and I forgot even to feel ashamed. 

The thing is, I freaking love boys.  Boys and their boyness.  No matter the age.

There's a very particular memory I have from college, when Stephanie and her roommates and Kevin and his friends and I all went adventuring in the woods across the street from campus.  It felt like an amalgamation of fantasy lands, so we dubbed the exploring MidNarniWartsLand.  After we'd traipsed and jumped and nicknamed each other, we popped out of the treeline into a field.  Cameron immediately held up his arms as though defending himself with a sword, and Kevin and whats-his-name charged.  They had an epic imaginary duel, and they threw themselves to the ground and acted ridiculous.

I was utterly charmed.

Ever since Roy and Aaron allowed (or were forced to allow) me to accompany them on their forest adventures, I have longed to be in BoyVille.  The imagination, the danger, the nature, the silliness.  It's wonderful.  And even though I love, even though I've done it for most of my life, I've always felt like an outsider.  The easy affection between boys (which is mostly why I'm obsessed with One Direction, they are freaking adorable with each other) and predisposition for mockery and punching and smiles--that's what I love, but I never felt like I was supposed to be that way.  Because when I ran off to play with the boys, my girl friends stayed back.  Eventually I stayed back too.

I don't know why that is, and I hate it, and I'm jealous.  But despite my outsiderness, whenever I see boys being boys in that particular way, I just fall in love a little.  Because that's how life ought to be, or how I want my life to be.

It's also, I think, why I love books like Bridge to Terabithia, where it's the girl who creates a forested fantasy world, or Beren and Luthien in The Silmarillion, who are Tolkien's original epic couple, but who fight together and love together and lose together and find together.  And that's what I want.  I want a boy with whom I can be a boy.  I hope that makes sense after the entirety of the blog.

Also, I'm totally going to pay money to see that One Direction movie.  If only I can convince Anju to ask her mother if she can go with me, but make it seem like her idea...

From This Thought to That

1)  You know that moment of sweet relief when you admit something that you feel is so strange, and everyone says, "Oh I do that too!"?  Well, it's very strange for the opposite to happen, to assume that your experience is universal and then to suddenly find out that it is not.  Turns out everyone did not go through the suicidal teenage thing?  I thought that was a thing. 

2)  I used to buy swimsuits in an attempt to cover up as much skin as possible.  Now there are ominous strapless dresses looming in my future and the repetitious "no tan lines!" echoing in my head, so I'm stuck emailing Liz pictures of me in the dressing room with the caption "what the hell is the difference between swimwear appropriate and slutty??"

3)  I don't actually like the word slutty.  I don't like slut-shaming, and the idea that women, and how they choose to dress, are responsible for the actions of men.  Slut-shaming is a very short step away from victim-blaming, and no matter what a woman is wearing, she's not asking to be raped.  Let's put our focus on teaching boys to respect women and NOT RAPE THEM rather than teaching women how not to get raped.

4)  I freaking love Michal Ann, because she sends me links to feminist things, and we talk about it, and it's this huge part of my life that so few people share.  Share entirely, I mean.  The Interwebs and my brother are huge feminists, and I love that, but Michal Ann is my Christian feminist buddy who sees Jesus affirming the equality of women and loving the way the Bible tells the narratives of women and gives us dignity and sadness and purpose.  I want her to stop being in Turkey and start being in Texas.

5)  Amy and Liz are having a garage sale tomorrow, and they're selling a bunch of stuff, and this means there is only one more week in which they will be living here.  I'm not thinking about this.  I'm not thinking about it so hard that I work and sulk and hole up in my room and distract myself with books and schoolwork and TV shows.  It's funny how long it took for me to realize that a major source of my flirtation with depression was Liz leaving.  But I'm not going to think about that, because denial is a wonderful skillset.

Teaching Hard Truths

I'm a big believer in being honest with kids.  Share life with them, the good and the bad, and talk about it.  Explain the things they hear and see, tell them about the brokenness of the world, and then tell them how it can be better.  Information shared kindly and patiently is almost always better than willfully exerting ignorance.  In my opinion.  Anyway, today I took Ketan to my house (Anju was in camp) to play some Harry Potter PS2 (his gift earlier this week).

Every time we go to my house, the conversation winds up being about my roommates.  Today Ketan wanted to know what Jessica's job was. 

Me:  She works at Genesis Women's Shelter.  She does counseling for women who are abused by their husbands.
Ketan:  What does that mean?  Being abused by husbands?
Me:  Some men hit or hurt their wives.  Sometimes if the wives threaten to run away, the husbands say they'll hurt them even more.  So Jessica counsels those women, and sometimes if it's very dangerous, her work has hidden places for the women to stay so their husbands can't find them.

Ketan was silent as we pulled into the driveway.  When we got out, I tousled his hair and said, "That's why you should always respect and be nice to girls.  You're going to grow up and have massive muscles and be stronger than women.  You've got to make sure you don't use your strength to hurt others."

He cackled, kind of sly, so I elbowed his shoulder.  He laughed for real, said, "Okay," and ran into my living room to play Flinstones on the keyboard.

I'm also a firm believer in "Stop telling girls not to get raped, and start telling boys not to rape!" so, job well done, at least for today. 

Sexual Submission

If you think a virgin ranting about what she thinks sex ought to be about is ridiculous, then you probably won't like this post.  Also, if you didn't notice, I said sex. This is going to be about sex, and I'm going to use sexual terms and sexual ideas, so don't read it if you don't want to read it.

One of my friends is making her way toward engagement, which led to a horrifying conversation with her mother about marital sex.  It's all about submission, her mom said.  Even if that means having sex soon after giving birth, when your vagina has been recently ripped apart and it freaking hurts to have anything inside you. But sex isn't about your pleasure, woman, it's about making your husband happy. Completely in line with that reasoning was the next piece of advice: women don't need to orgasm. Its unimportant.

All of this makes me very sad, because I have this idea that sex is supposed to be beautiful and awesome, and well-meaning advice from Christians makes it sound awful.  I mean, I learned in rape prevention that it isn't enough for your partner to simply NOT say no. You should wait until your partner is enthusiastically saying yes!  And that's rape prevention.  Shouldn't sex in marriage have an equally, if not higher, ideal?

With that stated, let me affirm that I am all for sexual submission.  Whenever I get married I plan to do whatever I can to please my husband.  There ought to be joy in making someone you love feel good.  And....there ought to be joy for the husband in making his wife feel good, right?  I'm sorry, but I just have no respect for a man who says, honey, I know you recently pushed an eight-pound child through your vagina, but I'm feeling horny, so we're going to have sex even if it hurts you.  That's ridiculous. Shouldn't the husband submit in love to his wife and take her feelings into consideration?

As for women not needing orgasms, I'm equally appalled. One of my favorite realizations was that God created women with an organ whose only purpose is sexual pleasure.  To me, the clitoris is the greatest evidence that God wants both men and women to enjoy sex. And doesn't that just make sense? Isn't marriage, isn't sex, supposed to be mutually beneficial and mutually selfless? If a woman submits to her husband and desires his pleasure above her own, and if a husband submits to his wife and desires her pleasure above his own, doesn't that make everyone a winner?

I have an extremely high opinion of sex, one which I think is based in the truth of Scripture and the truth of science.  As such, I am pro-orgasms-for-everyone and anti-sex-when-it-hurts. 

The Triune God and Marriage

I just started reading an article for my Trinitarianism class that discusses what the Trinity teaches us about marriage.  It had complementarianism in the title, so my hackles rose, and I prepared myself to dislike everything.  But the premise is this:  the triune God is God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit.  They are unified, equal in authority, while at the same time being distinct Persons with specific roles and functions.

And...I have no problem with that?  Ah, the pride of saying I have no problem with who God is.  But what I mean is, I have no problem with that in marriage.  That's the beauty of the relationship: two people united together, working together, each supplying their own gifts and talents and quirks.

My problem, I guess, is when society decides what those unique roles are.  The husband must make more money, the wife must cook and clean and raise kids.  Bull crap.  Why can't each one bring their jobs to the financial table?  Why can't each one participate in the monotony of daily living?  And definitely, shouldn't each one equally participate in raising their offspring?  Takes two to make a kid, ought to take two to raise them.

What about women as an ezer kenegdo?  Hell yeah, I'll be the strong helper (assuming that's the translation, since it has also been translated "helpmeet" or simply "strength", which assumes equality, but I'm going for a middle ground translation, so...)  The term is often used of God protecting Israel, which is kind of a big deal, I think.  If God is described some way, I also want to be described in that way.  I am down with being an ezer kenegdo.  I will happily support my spouse, my kids, my friends, my church family.  I want to build people up and encourage and defend.  Why would you marry someone if you didn't love their outlook on life, their dreams and their goals?  Whenever I get married, I will support my husband, whether that be financially, emotionally, spiritually, physically, whateverly.  I hope he'll do the same for me.  Because we are equal in unity and authority, but unique in roles.

I love when God shows me Himself and makes me want to be more like Him.

Adventure Princess

A week ago, I was helping Anju get ready for bed (which usually devolves into me sighing, "You can sing and dance as much as you want, Anju, but you have to put on your pajamas WHILE singing and dancing.") and she rambled on about something entirely brilliant.

"Sometimes I want to be girly," she said, "And make my hair pretty and wear lots of pink and have glitter and stuff.  But sometimes I want to attack people and fight and play games.  I call myself an Adventure Princess."

I smiled at her and thought, "I'm totally stealing that idea."  She's six.  I don't think she understands copyright laws.

Because that's exactly how I see myself.  I've written before about my discomfort with fitting into gendered boxes, and how I feel like I have a wider-than-normal masculine streak.  And yes, I want to play videos games, and I punch people to show affection, and I think bowties and suspenders are the best items of clothing in the world.  But I also like nail polish, and I love talking for hours on end, and I love Anju and Ketan pretty fierce. 

I want to strap on (fitted) boots, arrange my hair in a messily fantastic braid, paint on dramatic eye makeup, grab a sword, and run screaming into an undiscovered wood.

I'm an Adventure Princess.

The Fable of the Pursuer

I was "pursued" recently, and it was utterly unromantic.  Mostly because I didn't like the guy who was pursuing me.  I did not understand how he didn't see the hints I was laying down.  Finally I told him I was interested in someone else, and he said, "I'm going to keep pursuing you unless you tell me to stop, because I respect you."  I think he thought it sounded romantic.  It felt creepy.  I immediately said, "This is me asking you to stop."  And it was super weird.

I complained about it to Liz, and she said something very smart (like she does).  She said that Christian guys have this "pursuer myth" rammed down their throats from an early age, and they just assume it always works.  You know, the one about how a guy was so sure God had told him to date a girl, but she wasn't into it, so he kept pursuing her until she gave in.  I used to think that was romantic (WHO WAS I, UGH, I'm so different now).  And I guess, in very specific instances, it might be.  Like, if the guy was someone you actually liked, but you wanted to see if he thought you were worth pursuing?  But that's so stupid.  How much better to be like, yeah I like you, thanks for liking me too.  Dating games are so stupid.  Let's all agree to stop them immediately.

So anyway.  That's one thing, if it's a guy you like.  But if it's a guy you don't like?  No.  Just no.  Maybe God specifically tells a few guys to do something like that, but by and large it isn't God talking.  It's hormones.  And I'm sorry that guys are told to pursue, and girls are taught to be pursued.  It doesn't have to be like that. 

Added to this, a friend of Liz's came over and told us how a guy in her small group at church was going back to his wife, because he wanted to make their relationship work.  "Aw!" we all said.

"Yeah, his wife put out a restraining order against him, but he really feels like he ought to try again."

Jessica and I gave her "are you serious right now?" looks, unsure how polite it is to tell off someone you've just met.

"Um, restraining order?"  I said.  "Shouldn't he, like, stay away from her?"

"But they're in a covenant relationship.  She left the faith and left him, and when he kept pursuing her, she took out a restraining order.  But, I mean, they're married."

"Nope.  Nope.  That doesn't matter," said Jessica, who works in a women's shelter.

And really, what is this!?  How have we taught men to disrespect women's wishes and comfort because God "told" them to?  How about instead, men pray that God moves the woman's heart to feel the same way, yeah?  God can do that, and it's not creepy, and it's not illegal.

Oh my gosh.  I have so many feelings about things.  

Hermione is a Boss, Don't Mess With That

Person:  What would be different if Harry Potter were set in the United States?
Me:  *oh my gosh, what a fantastic question, I'm so into this*  Well, Harry would definitely be the surprise star quarterback.  And he would obnoxiously say "dude" all the time.
Person:  Yeah, football.  And I think Hagrid would be a redneck.  Also, I think Hermione would be really promiscuous.

At this point, I set my phone down.  Hermione?  Promiscuous?  What the hell?  However, I was willing to give Person the benefit of the doubt.

Me:  I can't actually ever imagine Hermione being promiscuous.  She's far too level-headed.
Person:  Yeah, but an American nerd is just too boring.

Alright, that's it.  I never responded, and I spent the next couple hours going back to look at the text incredulously.  (You think I'm kidding, but this time I'm not.)  Finally, Liz came home.

Me:  LIZ.  Guess what Person did!  You'll never believe it!  I'm SO UPSET.  *reads texts dramatically*
Liz:  Oh no!  *laughs hysterically*
Me:  Person MALIGNED Hermione Granger.
Liz:  She is basically you!
Me:  Yeah!  American nerds aren't GOOD ENOUGH?
Liz:  They totally are.
Me:  And Person literally took the one girl mentioned and made her sexual because that would make the story better?  It's like Person did everything possible to personally piss me off.
Liz:  And in one sentence, too.
Me:  Yes!  I would almost be impressed.  If I didn't hate Person so much.
Liz:  I'm sorry.
Me:  Thank you.

Don't mess with my fictional characters.  It will make me judge you, probably forever.

I Will Raise Up a Generation (Of Two)

One of my favorite things about nannying kids is passing on my infinite wisdom, especially when it comes to gender and sexuality.  Yesterday Ketan and I had this conversation.

Ketan:  Miss Trish, what's your favorite girly color?
Me:  I don't think there's such a thing as a girly color.
Ketan:  No, like fushia or pink or purple?
Me:  Colors are colors.  There aren't feminine or masculine colors.
Ketan:  Miss TRISH.  What's your favorite girly color?
Me:  My favorite color is green.
Ketan:  That's not a girly color!
Me:  There are no girly colors.
Ketan: ...I'm glad you think that, because my favorite color is purple.

AW YEAH.

And maybe a month ago, I was especially pleased with this conversation.

Ketan:  This kid in my class is so annoying.  He's so gay!
Me:  Oh yeah?  What makes him gay?
Ketan:  He's annoying!
Me:  That has nothing to do with being gay.  Why do you think he's gay?
Ketan:  He wears crazy clothes.
Me:  Sometimes I wear crazy clothes.  I love when people wear crazy clothes!  But that doesn't make him gay.  What makes someone gay?
Ketan:  Miss TRISH.  I'm just saying he's gay!
Me:  Because he's annoying?
Ketan:  Yes!
Me:  That has nothing to do with being gay.  C'mon.  I know you know what it means to be gay.
Ketan: ...It means being a boy and liking boys.
Me:  Right.  Is that kid gay?
Ketan:  No.  But he's annoying!
Me:  Yeah, okay.  I believe it.

Hunter or Hunted

I told a friend about my dating exploits over Christmas, and she asked, "Aren't you worried about being the hunter?"

And.  Well, I'm going to use "pursuer" instead of "hunter" because the latter makes me think of aggression and killing.  That is not how I want a relationship to go, no matter who initiates things.  So.  Pursuer.  Do I hate being the pursuer?

No.

For one thing, I'm convinced there is no "biblical" way to date.  People didn't even date in the Bible.  I think there are overarching themes of gentleness and kindness and respect that ought to be applied to dating relationships just as in all relationships.  I'm also not convinced of any specific "biblical womanhood" or "biblical manhood."

So what to do if the rules are laid out plainly in Scripture?  Find truth in experience and prayer, and trust in God's grace to cover any mistakes.

With all that in mind, I allowed myself to wonder, "Would I rather be pursued or to pursue?"  And honestly, neither sounds great.  I don't want to pursue someone, and constantly be asking them out or telling them I like them, and only ever receive similar affection secondarily.  But I also do not want to be eternally pursued.  If someone is always asking me out and I never initiate something, it's because I do not feel strongly about that person!

In summary, I want a relationship in which I am both the pursuer and the pursued.  I think those roles should be interchangeable, and that context determines someone's actions more than gender.  I want someone who will both initiate and respond.

So no, I am not worried about being the hunter.  If that were always the case, yes.  But no one-time event is determinative. 

My Gender-Bending Family

In my human development class, we learned that women usually live longer than men because they tend to get health check ups regularly.  Upon hearing this, I thought, "Well, I'm going to die early like a man."  It's been over three years since my last physical.  I thought I had a growth on one of my eyelids for like, two weeks.  I kept thinking I would go to the doctor to see about it, but I never did.  Then one day it was gone, and my inaction was validated.

That's not all.  I mean, I can be feminine; I like dressing up and doing my hair.  I'm overly fond of animals, and I like to talk about my emotions.  But I've got a wide streak of masculinity.  I don't clean, I don't care about dust or dirt or washing my hands.  I express affection by punching people.  I don't craft, and I love video games and fantasy and superheroes.

I think that's part of why I became a feminist.  I don't fit into a stereotyped gender box, and I've learned that it's okay.  I want everyone else to be comfortable with their boxes as well.

I'm not the only one, either.  Roy taught me to stop fighting to fit into a stereotype when he started expressing his feminine side.  At Christmas, Mom got Cat and I stick on fingernail polish, but Roy got nothing.  "Christmas is ruined," he deadpanned, until we realized there were enough safety extras for all of us to have red and black swirly nails.  Later that day the three of us sat at the kitchen table.  Cat took her time, meticulously applying each nail.  Roy and I hurried through, ignoring the not-quite fitted nails and snagging the edges within minutes.  We're a mix of femininity and masculinity, my brother and me, wanting nail polish but not caring if it looks like crap.

A couple days later while discussing high school life, Cat asked, "Wait, what instruments did you guys play?"

"I played saxophone, and Roy played clarinet," I explained.

"Of course you did," she smirked.

We're a gender-bendy family, and I love it. 

Feminist Ears

There is a danger in being a feminist.  You learn to see sexism and misogyny so engrained in our culture and laced throughout conversations that--you see it everywhere.

In class on Tuesday, Dr. Bailey asked who you bring a gallon of cider for our last-class-party.  Michal Ann whipped her head to stare at me, and almost immediately her face fell into an embarrassed smile.

"I thought he said 'what gal wants to bring cider?'" she admitted, and we giggled into our hands.

"It's everywhere!" I whispered.

"I know, I hear it everywhere.  I'm so on edge."

Also, Michal Ann is leaving next semester.  I finally found a passionate Christian feminist (who loves Lord of the Rings and hates exercising!), and she is leaving.  I'm quite sad about this.

Seminary Marriages

Dr. Kreider:  "Some of you are married, some are unmarried.  If you are unmarried, may I suggest that there are better places to find a spouse than here [in seminary]?  Especially if you are female.  If you're male and offended by that statement, maybe you're the exception.  But if you were offended, probably that means you're not."

I thought that was the best thing I'd ever heard.  So I wrote it down and told Liz about it later.  She get this distressed look on her face and said, "Why?"

"....Because.  What?  I don't understand your face."

"Why shouldn't you look for a spouse in seminary?"

"Oh.  Um.  Well, we're very prideful?  Seminary students."

"That's sad."

Liz checked out of the conversation then, which made me distressed, because she wasn't fully appreciating the brilliance of Dr. Kreider's comment.  And while it's totally true that seminary students have a higher-than-normal tendency to struggle with pride (I think it's almost built into the idea of graduate learning and the idea that somehow you can study to become qualified to serve God and lead others), there's another facet I think Dr. K was drawing on.  Maybe.  If not, it's something I have observed.

Men in seminary (women too, but men are more vocal about this) are desperate to get married.  Not all of them, but a lot of single guys in seminary are on the prowl.  Partly this is because it's hard to get jobs as a pastor if you are unmarried.  Partly because seminary students are often committed to celibacy before marriage, and 20-30 years of celibacy often leads to "burning with passion" as the apostle Paul so delicately put it.  Anyway, men are looking for a wife.

And that's just it.  They're looking for a "wife."  Generic, copywrited wife.  They aren't looking for a specific person, but an ideal.  Probably everyone does this to a certain extent while dating/pining.  But it's not healthy.  And women would be wise to run away from men who aren't aware of that tendency. 

So anyway.  It's nice to hear a professor say not to get married, when so many others say things like, "Marriage is so great!  I couldn't have gotten through seminary without my wife supporting me, proof reading my papers, making me dinner!  It was wonderful!"  And I just side-eye them and think, if I'd married them, my life in seminary would be a lot more difficult.  I need me a wife.

Or I'll just remain single.  That is my solid, supported plan until someone absolutely blows me away with awesomeness.

Which is fine, because that guy with the hot ankles moved seats, and now I can't see the area between his pants and his shoes.

A Defense of My Past

I feel like lately I've been saying things that come out sounding like, "Life is so much better here!  I'm learning so many things and rebelling against my upbringing lol so great!"

Hear me when I say:  I would not trade growing up in Woodland for anything.

Somehow I grew up thinking that Christians were against Democrats, alcohol, feminists, gays, dancing.  I also grew up thinking that Christians were kind, generous, committed to helping needy people around the world, and committed to fellowship and celebrating joy in life.

Even the things Christians were against, I can think of people within Woodland who either supported those things, or opened my baby fundamentalist eyes to something new.  For instance, while Woodland does not support women in leading roles of the church, I loved summer mission trips where women were encouraged to do the heavy labor and do construction alongside men.

What I mean is, I'm confused how I used to be so fundamentalist.  I think mostly I learned through snide comments and facial expressions and jokes.  That's what taught me who I was supposed to approve of and disapprove of.

Even that, I dunno.  All I can say is I used to be against Democrats, alcohol, feminists, gays, and dancing.  Now I'm okay with them all.  The people and the institutions that formed my opinions are sometimes the same as the ones that changed my opinions.  Sometimes they are different.

Maybe none of this makes a whole lot of sense.  I just don't want to offend anyone from my past because I get excited about new ideas.  I love Woodland, and that church will always be my home and my family.  95% of who I am is still bound up in lessons I learned there.  It's just that 5% of me has changed.

Martyr's Complex

As part of personality and upbringing, I have a tendency to think, "I don't want to do this!  *sigh*  That must mean God wants me to do it."  I am a martyr (but not really, because martyrs die for Jesus, and I'm just sulking).

I talked with Liz about this when we first moved in together, and she's been helping me find joy in God, and trusting Him to love me.  I love when I tell someone a problem of mine, and they actually remember it.  Months after our discussion, I was telling her and Jessica about this student who I know is also from Illinois.  We're not at all friends.  But I wondered if I should invite him to carpool home for Thanksgiving.

"Ooo, you like him," Jess said.

"No.  Really, no.  He said something to offend me.  I don't remember what it is anymore, but I definitely don't like him.  Still, shouldn't I invite him?  Isn't that the right thing to do?"

"You're a martyr.  Stop it.  You don't have to invite him if you don't want to.  He hasn't even asked you to.  You're making a big deal about nothing," Liz said from her perch on the stairs.

I blinked at her.  "You're right."  And like that, the guilt I carry around about not being miserable enough went away.

That story is a prelude to what I really want to talk about, which is my career.  Ever since I came to DTS, I've been saying I want to work with women in or leaving sex slavery, or maybe working with refugees, or generally helping people who are in horrible situations.  This is noble!  These are excellent jobs that should be pursued and supported!

But there's a problem.  I cannot stomach horrible situations.  There's a reason I'm so invested in fantasy.  I need to learn my moral lessons on faraway planets or with elves.  If you start showing me movies or telling me stories about real racism or historical abuse, I will mentally throw up, and then stress about it and carry the weight of the world in my soul for years to come.

I thought that maybe this was my cross to bear.  And I worked myself into this idea that by doing so, I would be holier, more glorifying to God.  And maybe that is true.

But last week, Dr. Barnes talked to us about marriage counseling, and the joy of sex, about how to prevent and decrease poorly managed marital conflict.  AND I LOVED IT.  I wanted to take all four of the marriage courses offered as electives.  I immediately thought of ways I could share this knowledge at church and pass on truth to people who were hurting.  I pictured my bookcase at home, which has one book about sex trafficking and at least ten about gender and sexuality. 

Then Dr. Barnes talked about four views of marriage, Traditional (husband gets two votes, wife gets one), Traditional Servant-Leader (husband gets two votes, but tries to keep his wife's wishes in mind), Mutuality with Persuasion (each spouse gets one vote, but persuasion and manipulation are used to get your way, and Mutuality (each spouse gets one vote).

Dr. Barnes said he believes in Mutuality, and gave a bunch of Biblical support for it.  I sat up straighter in my seat, suddenly confident that I could study marriage at DTS and not constantly feel like, "I'm either a lousy Christian or a hypocrite."

I wanted to study marriage roles.  I want to study singleness and sexuality.  And I want to take that knowledge and give it to others, to equip people to live healthy lives that honor God and show love to each other.

My soul sings when I think about these topics.  My soul dies when I think about consistently hearing stories of rape and abuse.  So I asked Liz, "Is it okay to pursue something I like?"  She just kind of smiled at my stupidity, and reminded me that God gives us passions for a reason, that not everyone is called to fulfill every need.

So who knows where God will lead me through my time at DTS?  Who knows how my passion for gender and sexuality will fit with my passion for missions?  All I know is that God loves me, has planted interests and desires in my heart, and that I'm definitely taking those sexuality elective courses.