Easter Morning

It was quiet.  That's what strikes me, over and over.  After a whirlwind week of crowds shouting, whether it was "Hosanna!" or "Crucify him!"...now it was still.  Most of the people had left, gone back to their lives.  But two woman could not stay home or move on.  They had lost their friend, their teacher, and they were there to give him a last show of respect.  They hadn't been part of the angry crowd, but they had been too afraid to approach him as he hung, as he died.  So they stood at a distance.  Now they were approaching.  They wanted to be near him one last time.

If you know me at all, you know how much I love sleep.  How I prefer sunsets to sunrises, because I don't ever want to be awake before the sun comes up.  But one day each year (and no, its not on Christmas), I like to watch the sunrise.  Because of the stillness.  Because, despite the passage of thousands of years, I feel like those women on that morning.  My heart is heavy, weighed down by the pain we inflicted on him.

When I was growing up, our church did a "Sunrise Service" every Easter.  We went to church at 7am and had a quiet, still, reflective service.  It was shorter than usual, and our pastor, who was prone to raising his voice in a Sunday sermon, was calm and collected as he talked about the ladies going to the tomb.  When it was over, we went into the Fellowship Hall and had breakfast with the small group of people who, like my family, showed up any time the church was open...even if it was ridiculously early in the morning.  After breakfast, we would return to the sanctuary, where we were joined by the rest of the congregation at the normal time, and the Easter service would commence.  The noise level would gradually increase, until the very end, when we all joined in on the song "Arise, my Love".  The church saved its entire pyrotechnic budget for this song, when smoke would pour out from the empty tomb, light would shine out around the man chosen to play Jesus as he walked onstage to show he was indeed alive.

And it is this time of day, the quiet morning before the rest of the world got in on the miracle, that I chose to spend with my dad, climbing a mountain on the Texas/Mexico border last Easter.  Like the women, we are just followers; not the best known or the most prolific, just two people who love Jesus.  When we got to the top, we found ourselves at the foot of the cross.  We were the only two people there.  The rest of the world was below and distant, just beginning their day, but we had already walked for over an hour.  The sun had followed us on our journey, had risen over the mountains to illuminate the cross.  And I discovered what those two women found on the first Easter...that my Savior was no longer there.  He had risen, gone out, and shown himself.  Like the sun shining over the land, He was everywhere I looked.

This Easter, it is my hope that you would find Jesus right where you are.  And when you do, will you join me?  Will you step out of the angry crowd and come close to the cross?  Because there you will find peace and comfort and mercy.

Good Friday

Spring has always been my favorite time of year.  Its (usually) when the weather starts to warm up and I feel the promise of summer heat right around the corner.  Its my birthday, and now the birthdays of my two bio kids.  Its Spring Break, that one week in the middle of every thing when all the responsibility and structure take time off and we can have family time however we like it.  And its Easter, the day that fully encapsulates everything about my life and how I live.  While for me, this spring and this week have been marked by love and peace and growth in my house and in my family, I feel like none of those words describe what is happening when I walk out the door.  People are angry.  In this confusing modern world where news cameras capture all the ugliness we can give, and people post signs and pictures and ecards that are full of hate, and everywhere you turn there is another person giving their opinion, I choose to stop, to pull back.  And I remember that phrase that we used to print on tshirts and bracelets and bumper stickers: "What would Jesus do?"

I heard that first when I was in high school, and back then I used the question as an accusation.  Like, it was obviously not what YOU were doing.  But now I think about it as a reflection.  How would Jesus respond to facebook?  What would Jesus do to protesters?  I feel like I know what He would do, because I know what He already has done. 

"This is how much God Loved the world.  He gave his Son, his one and only Son.  And this is why: so that no one need be destroyed; by believing in Him, anyone can have a whole and lasting life.  God didn't go to all the trouble of sending his Son merely to point an accusing finger, telling the world how bad it was.  He came to help, to put the world right again."  John 3:16-17 The Message

To the Christians who won't tip their waiter 15% "because they only give God 10%", I want to tell you what Jesus would do.  I know who you are, some of you, because I've sat red-faced at your table, wondering if I should give another dollar to make up for your convoluted stinginess, while trying to explain the difference between a TIP and a TITHE.  And I think Jesus would do this:  when the waitress came to take his order, I think he would take the pen and paper from her hand and give her his seat.  That he would serve her a meal, because with his infinite Jesus wisdom he would know that she is tired and her feet hurt from those long shifts, and that all she really wants is to be at home with her family, or pursuing her heart's desire, not bringing cheap Christians their french fries and extra pickles.

To the protesters at the Supreme Court, and everyone drawing a line in the sand on social media sites...I don't think Jesus would be part of any of it.  Jesus tended to withdraw from crowds of people who were foaming at the mouth, and instead chose to be a friend to individuals that needed him.  He had meals with every kind of sinner and low-life, and he noticed the quiet and weak and timid while ignoring those who clamored for his approval.  He drew in the sand once too, and he said, "He who is without sin, cast the first stone."  When no one did, he told the adulterous woman, "I don't condemn you either.  Go and sin no more."  Jesus brought out the humanity in people who were being told that they were worth less than others.  He didn't call names or stand in a crowd or demand death to those he didn't understand...that was reserved for the mob who yelled "Crucify him!"

This is what I believe, on Easter and every other day; when people let me down, and I even disappoint myself, I believe in Jesus, who never fails.  I believe in the Bible, the Truth, the mysteries that I don't understand and the parts that seem to contradict each other.  When it says that Jesus lived a perfect, sinless life and then died a criminal's death to take the punishment for me and you and everyone who ever lived, I cling to that.  And so I think what Jesus would do is LOVE.  He would love us all right where we are, in our anger and frustration and loneliness, and if put down our signs and our petitions and all the walls and fences that keep us apart, and we remember that there is only one Judge whose opinion matters, then I think we could all agree that there is no more gay or straight, no more legal or illegal immigrant, no male or female, no stupid or genius...just one cross, one Savior, one love.

"In the arms of Your mercy, I find rest.  Because you know just how far the east is from the west; from one scarred hand to the other."  Casting Crowns

Purity: What Goes In

I was reading Emily T. Wierenga the other day, catching up on her newer posts and found myself reflecting on a change.  Not a change I made, but a change that happened and doesn't let me be the same person I was before.  And it all hinged on purity, on what comes in and what goes out.

I thought about my childhood, about the limitations that were placed on my home, on me.  I didn't listen to popular music in the 80's.  I thought Amy Grant was the world's biggest music superstar.  Madonna?  Cyndi Lauper?  AC/DC?  I learned about them in middle school and high school, when I went to dances and spent the night with friends and we played music and I thought, this is good stuff.  I read children's books, I devoured Anne of Green Gables and The Babysitter's Club and Sweet Valley Twins.  When I was 12 or 13, my sister and I discovered that the Twins had grown up and gone to high school...we brought that series home from the library and our father read one chapter and declared them off-limits until we were actually in high school.  Liz created a hiding space in her closet and we brought more Sweet Valley High home anyways, we read about drug experimentation and hickeys and driver's ed.  We found Lois Duncan and Fear Street and I was grossed out but intrigued, and I kept going back to that wall in the library, the one behind the librarian's desk where you had to show your library card and could only get the books if it wasn't a "children's" card.  And then a friend discovered Harlequin Romance novels.  These also became covert artifacts, read inside the covers of parent-approved books, smuggled in backpacks and traded from locker to locker.  The words inside were like a secret language, words that I could pronounce but never used together in such a way..."thrust" and "clench" and "moan" and "ecstasy".

Then there was TV.  I don't ever remember watching Sesame Street or The New Mickey Mouse Club.  I sat beside my parents and watched Hill Street Blues and Star Trek, and sometimes late at night I lay in my bedroom doorway and watched Saturday Night Live while my parents guffawed on the couch, unable to see me unless they came out for a bathroom break.  I can still remember Wednesday evenings watching 90210 from the very first episode.  When I was 10, I watched Grease everyday at my babysitter's house for an entire summer.  I learned all the songs and would jump up and dance along with John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John.  I didn't see it for awhile after that, but rediscovered it when I was 16...although by then I realized that the entire movie was about sex and drinking, there was so much that I still didn't understand, wouldn't understand fully until I became a wife and experienced it first-hand.  My sister and I had the distinction of being the only kids in our church group who watched ThunderCats.  Apparently the other moms and dads had decided it was too violent?  I'm not totally sure what the uproar was about that show; it was a cartoon about anthropomorphic cats in space who battle a reanimated Mummy.  Later, these would be the same boys who showed me Reservoir Dogs and It.

The point of all this to say that when I was little, I didn't want to be.  I wanted to be grown and mature and an adult, and I thought tearing through pop culture was the way to get there.  I never once thought about turning off the TV or walking out of a movie theater, even when I watched American Psycho.  I didn't want to read the fluffy, Amish novels that entranced my mom; I thought mature, adult-themed books would give me a knowledge I didn't have.  I didn't make a change, but something changed.  Maybe it was becoming a wife and mother and watching pieces of my heart dislodge and roam the earth in the bodies of others; maybe it was my baptism and my prayer to share my Father's heart.  Maybe I realized that being an adult is dramatically different from the books and movies.  But I realized I didn't want to read Danielle Steel anymore.  I didn't want to watch Quentin Tarantino's movies; Kill Bill Vol 1 was the first movie I ever walked out of.  I cringed the day I dug out one of my cd's I made in college, and song after song was about "chicken heads" and "magic sticks" and "ghetto booties".

These days, I really enjoy singing along to Dora the Explorer and Seeds Worship, and I love hearing my boys belt out every word.  I'm by no means perfect, and this is not to make anyone feel bad for enjoying Jay-Z or The Walking Dead.  I like Mad Men and Smash and Once Upon a Time.  My favorite books I've read lately are Gone Girl and The Passion of Mary-Margaret.  I still watch movies, and occasionally make it to the theater.  But I have a line.  I can only take so much before I'm done, the book is gone, the movie is returned, the station has been changed.  My heart can't take the hurt, the misguided, the dirtiness.  I pray for the people reading it, creating it, marketing it.  I pray that they see there still is a "right" way to live.  I pray that we all see the path we are on and where we are going.  With all the media emphasis on "de-sensitizing" among our kids, I've never heard anyone talk about re-sensitizing.  But I can say its happened to me.  I just can't force myself through the gore and the violence and the breasts and the crude way we discuss it all.  I've found that, although the romance novels got the terminology right, they missed the tenderness, the privacy that comes with marital love.  Hollywood directors don't usually show the grieving families, the orphaned children and abandoned spouses that are the real by-product of the gun shoot-outs and lives of crime their characters act out.

I choose what I take in.  I skip over ones that I know are going to bother me, and I walk away from things that go too far.  I don't feel like I'm missing anything anymore...I know I'm holding onto something more precious than authors like EL James can tell me about.

Planting Seeds

I am still a novice at this whole gardening thing.  I've been doing it for a few years, but there is so much that I don't know.  I was lucky, the first year I decided to plant outdoors was described as "ideal growing weather", meaning it never got too hot or too cold, it rained just the right amount, and I was energized by the seemingly easy nature of growing my own food.  The plants that I purchased, that is...not the seeds that I purchased.  The little packets came with instructions for planting, and after reading them, looking at the ground, looking back at the packet, I just dug a hole and flung them all in it.  I got one tiny carrot out of it.  Nothing else stuck or grew or produced.  So I tried again the next year, with some flower seeds from my grandma.  I gave each seed its own little place in a pot of soil, then watered for about a week.  Then Winston dumped the pot out on the lawn.

I'm trying again this year.  I've read the packets, I watched a Lowe's video online about planting seeds, I ran some questions and thoughts past Joe (Mr. Green Thumb), and we've watched and read The Lorax almost every day since Christmas.  I wanted to do this with the boys (or at least Winston) so that they understand what we are doing, so they can make the connection between my pots of dirt and the fresh veggies they enjoy later.  So today I took a cue from Messy Mandy and planted seeds with Winston.  I had wished for warmer weather so we could do it outside, but the forecast is dreary!

First we filled the cups with potting soil.  Winston loved using the shovel.

I soaked the soil with water and then Winston poked shallow holes in each one to drop the seed in.

The lavender seeds were so small, I did those ones.  The tomatoes were bigger, and so Winston planted them.

Our seeds found a sunny windowsill to germinate on, and I added toothpick flags so we remember which seed is in which cup!

Mikey woke up in time to help me sweep up the dirt that fell on the floor.

We were able to talk through the whole process: what did we need to plant seeds (cups, dirt, seeds and water!), compared the sizes and shapes of the different seeds, and talked about what seeds need to grow into plants.  We quoted the Lorax, "Plant a Truffula seed, treat it with care.  Give it clean water and feed it fresh air."  Once all the seeds were planted, Winston asked for carrots (one of the seed packets), and I explained that we would wait to get carrots and other food, because the seeds would take many weeks to grow.

So now we wait.  Spring is here, but the frost is still on high alert.  Looks like our seeds will be staying safe and warm in our kitchen for the foreseeable future!

An Anniversary

Its almost Palm Sunday, which means its about a year since Family Village started.  A year since the chilly morning we gathered at Joe and Mandy's house and Ryan played a donkey for his son and paraded around the living room on all fours.  A year since the moms gathered in a corner of the kitchen sipping coffee and talking about the typical mom get-to-know-you stuff...births, morning sickness, children.  A year that has been full of encouragement, of asking "What next?", of intentional time being spouses and parents.  A year that has gotten me out of the house, actually interacting with other adults on a pretty regular basis.  A year that has been marked by the fact that I have someone to call or email when I'm stressed or disheartened or worried.   A year in which I've found time to listen to the Father's voice, to get closer to His heart, to see with His eyes.

Chris and I took a weekend away about 19 months ago, right before we got our foster license.  We wanted some time to relax and connect before the county threw us a curveball.  We hadn't had a meaningful conversation in...I don't know how long.  The daily stress of the boys and trying to get everything done, keeping a house, managing special needs, paying the bills...it had gotten in the way.  When we returned, we were given Michael, who was small, addicted, needed constant attention and support.  I don't remember too much about those first months, except spraining my ankle and throwing physical therapy into the mix, as well as losing our second car.  With spring came a new friend, someone who was willing to be a little pushy at my hesitation, and our year of connection began.  A year of mornings playing in the yard, of bunny hunts and Seeds worship, of grilled cheese sandwiches and coffee.  A year of shared recipes and shared testimonies, of boxes and circles.  A year of growth and change and the saddest funeral ever.  A year of meetings at Starbucks and Menchies, of playing at the ECRC and the park.  A year of conversations and love and giving.

Joe and Mandy are just awesome.  There is no better word to describe them.  They could just come to church every other week and parade their adorable kids around, enjoy the music and the message and then leave.  But instead, they chose to share themselves with us, to teach and demonstrate and instruct other families, to set aside time to give away.  In doing so, they've shown me how to love better, manage my time and money (a work in progress!) to have some extra of each, and be more confident (an even more difficult work, with not such great progress).  I've felt pushed to be a better wife, to be a more consistent parent, to open myself up to being a friend, to be still and sit in the presence of the Lord.  I have loved it, even when I have hated the changes, and I have met some amazing people that would have remained strangers.  I can't wait to see what the next year holds for us all, what new truths we will embrace and the relationships that will grow.

What I want my sons to learn

" Arrogance? Arrogance is looking at a girl in desperate need of help, looking at a friend who was committing an obvious felony and deciding what the moment called for was an impromptu porn shoot."  -Dan Wetzel

This is Ohio.  We are a people who love football.  No matter which school you matriculated from, odds are you spend your Saturdays in the fall watching Ohio State play.  Local high school teams sell season tickets to people whose children have long since graduated and moved away.  At what point does our fandom become hero worship?  And at what point does that undeserved reverence for teenage boys cross the line to criminal negligence?

"Drunk on their own small-town greatness, they operated unaware of common decency until they went too far, wrote too much, bragged too many times and, finally, on a cold Sunday morning, were hauled out of a small third-floor courtroom as a couple of common criminals."  -Dan Wetzel

As a mother of boys, as a woman, rape offends me.  Reading the sordid details of the Steubenville rape trial makes me want to puke, and then start slapping people.  The boys who saw a drunk girl as an opportunity.  The teenagers who made crass jokes and watched crimes being committed and did nothing.  The adults who supplied alcohol and looked the other way as children pretended to know how to handle the adult freedoms they'd been given.

"Later, Richmond's biological father, Nathaniel, also addressed the court and the victim's family, placing some of the blame for his son's actions on his own life troubles and being an absentee father.
'Everyone knows I wasn't there for my son,' Nathaniel Richmond said. 'I feel responsible for his actions. I feel highly responsible for his actions.'"  -Dan Wetzel

1. Sports and alcohol are mutually exclusive.  I hope my sons take in their father cracking open his Mountain Dew while watching the Browns.  I hope they see alcohol as a taboo until they are adults.  I hope they learn restraint and moderation.

2. Men of integrity.  Moreover, I hope they notice other things their father does.  I hope they see him driving the speed limit and correcting a waitress for leaving an item off our bill and returning library books on time.  These things may seem small, but they add up to a man who is full of integrity.  My husband is a blatant rule-follower, and I expect our sons to realize what a wonderful quality that is.  Then, when the big things, like teen drinking and what to do with a passed out 16 year old girl, come their way, they will know the right course of action.  They won't stand by, look away, or worse yet, join in on criminal behavior.

3. Family ties.  The only way I know to make sure my boys learn these lessons is to teach them.  To teach them each day by the way I live, by the woman I am, but also to say it OUT LOUD.  What must the parents of these boys be thinking tonight as their sons are preparing to spend at least the next year of their lives in juvie?  Are they wondering how it all went wrong?  Are they asking themselves why they never just said, "Don't slap your dick on a drunk girl?"  I plan to talk about sex with my boys many times.  About how it can be beautiful and sacred and uplifting when you join your life to another, and in that process your bodies become one.  About how teenagers often want to experience the momentary thrill of contact, but they aren't ready to commit to everything that comes after.  About how ultimately, the right woman for them will be one who is waiting for them, and they honor her and their maker and their parents when they wait until she comes along.  We will spend time together throughout their high school years.  We will have family game night and movie night and we will go on hikes and attend sporting events.  Maybe some of those nights will prevent them from attending out-of-control parties.  Maybe just hearing their parents talk about sex will make the whole idea repugnant to them until they are mature enough to make good choices.  Maybe that intentional time together will teach them to value every person they meet.  Maybe they will change the world by choosing differently than their peers.  I have to try.  I have to hope. Because today they're boys, but someday they'll be men.  And I don't want my sons to hurt your daughters.

 *Dan Wetzel quoted from his spot-on summary article:
http://sports.yahoo.com/news/highschool--steubenville-high-school-football-players-found-guilty-of-raping-16-year-old-girl-164129528.html

Earth to Mars fans...

I love TV.  I love it!  I love sitting on the couch and watching my favorite characters return, week after week, to once again solve mysteries, learn lessons, and crack jokes.  I love that TV has gotten better and better, with the influx of higher budgets, talented actors, and showrunners who care about each episode.  I love the high drama of Downton Abbey and Mad Men, the clever asides of The Mindy Project and The Office, the showstopping musical numbers on Smash.  What I intensely dislike is having a favorite show get cancelled.  I'm sure we've all felt that disappointment when a season ends in a cliffhanger and in the fall we look for it and find that its not been renewed.  Or worse, as just happened with Don't Trust the B---- in Apt 23, a network cancels a show mid-season and doesn't air the remaining episodes.  Ugh!  It makes me feel so many emotions...sadness, anger, frustration.  It makes me feel insignificant, that my love of a show seems to have no effect on keeping it on.  This past week, displaced fans such as myself were given a way to take those negative feelings and seize control.  More than 30,000 people put up the funds to film a Veronica Mars movie.

If you know nothing about the show, then I feel terribly sorry for you.  I stumbled upon this teen-noir detective show one night after watching Gilmore Girls, and I instantly fell in love with the smart, sassy lead character (the titular Veronica, played to perfection by Kristen Bell), the moody, class warfare content, and the awesome music.  I tuned in eagerly each week, hoping that Veronica would get closer to finding her best friend's killer, and loved seeing her solve each weekly mystery (who stole Troy's car?  What really happened to Logan's mother?  Who was harassing the class valedictorian during finals week?).  Veronica was a tough, shrewd chica who boldly sought the truth above all else.  At the end of the first season, we finally knew who really killed Lily Kane.  We thought all would be well in Neptune.  We came back for season two, excited to see what would happen next.  We were disappointed.  The main mystery disappeared down several rabbit holes, the weekly drama became confusing and muddled, and we couldn't understand why Veronica seemed so interested in Duncan Kane when Logan Eccols was sleeping down the hall.  I'm a loyal person.  I read the articles in which showrunner Rob Thomas promised to fix all these problems for season three.  I returned, once again, and this time I wasn't let down.  Seeing Veronica, Wallace, Logan, and Dick face college life, with its vast range of troubles and pitfalls, was great.  When Veronica caught the campus rapist in the 8th episode, I almost thought that was it...until the dean was murdered in his office at the end of the show!  Wow!  It was wonderful.  Then I saw a proposed time jump for season four, and I couldn't wait to see Veronica chasing bad guys as an FBI agent.  But it never happened!  The show was cancelled with everyone wondering....would Keith get elected sheriff of Neptune?  Would Veronica stop denying her feelings for Logan?  And if she did, would those two be able to have an upfront, honest relationship?  Would Weevil stay on the straight and narrow, or would his life of crime catch up to him?  And would Jake Kane become a problem for the Mars family?

Ok.  Now we have a chance to find out what happened.  I can't wait to see the Veronica Mars movie.  And since they let fans fund the project, I'm going to pretend like they want advice on the script, too.  So here's what I want to see in 2014:

1. Let's make sure to include some favorite past characters, like Dick Casablancas, Mac, Wallace, Keith Mars, Clarence Weidman, maybe even Corny, but lets not feel the need to revisit EVERYONE.  Troy's storyline has been really well wrapped, as well as Terence Cook and his duplicitous daughter Jackie.  I could never figure out the point of the Irish crime family (what was their name again?) and Vinnie VanLowe's relationship to them, so leave that one out if you can't find a really good way to integrate it.  Thank goodness Cassidy and Kendall Casablancas were killed on screen, and let's not have them return in the form of ghosts like Lily Kane did (but if Amanda Seyfried is available, she should absolutely float in and help Veronica solve her latest troubles).  One of season one's attributes was its tight casting, that everyone Veronica helped throughout the year came back to help her in the final few episodes.

2. No Duncan Kane!  His story went off the deep end in season two, with kidnapping Meg's baby and putting a contract hit on Aaron Eccols.  Let him stay in Mexico or Australia or wherever, and focus on the love story everyone wants to see: Veronica and Logan.  I'm sure they've continued the on-again, off-again nature of their relationship through these intervening years, and I want to see where they are now.  Are they together?  Apart?  Have the years been good to Logan as the son of a killer and Hollywood legend, or has he squandered the last of his inheritance?  Is he living in Neptune or has he tried to escape his past by traveling the world?  He and Veronica have so much great chemistry, and I would love to see him pull up in that yellow Hummer and complicate her life again.

3. The show was best when Veronica was uncovering the dirty underbelly of her seemingly pristine, affluent hometown.  The past few years have shown us that swindling investors and escaping with golden parachutes is pretty much the norm in corporate America.  How has that affected the citizens of Neptune?  In two hours, I'm sure Veronica can solve more than one mystery, so give it your absolute best.  Can Keith and Veronica team up again?  How does that relationship look now that she's an adult?  Show us that a life of wealth and privilege is not all it seems in Neptune.

Answer my questions and make me the happiest fan in the world!  Best wishes to everyone working on this project!

*If you feel like people shouldn't have given money to see a movie get made, don't complain...go give your money to a more worthwhile cause!  Homeless shelters, libraries, public radio, children's homes...they ALWAYS need your help!

On Arguing

I sat in a chair, facing a circle of attentive faces.  I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants and looked up to the ceiling, hoping to be rescued by wind, fire, Jesus himself descending on a cloud.  No such luck, just a plain old ceiling.  I looked back at the group, found my fearless leader smiling encouragingly back at me, said, "I really don't want to do this," heaved a sigh, and began.  I had been asked to share my story with the group.  To go back and tell how I came to be the person I am today, and maybe mention the people who helped me along the way.  I had something to say, but I really didn't want to do it.  See, I like and respect all these people who were listening, and I want them to like and respect me, too.  But if I talk about me (then), they are sure to think otherwise.  Because this is who I used to be:  argumentative.  I fought with my sister, I argued with my mom, typical teenage stuff.  But then I went to church and argued with my Sunday school teachers, and I went to school and argued with my classmates, and around and around again until I got others to AGREE to my (correct) point of view.  When I was 18, I went off to college and lived with 3 girls from different backgrounds and 3 entirely distinct personalities, and I fought with them.  On cold, snowy winter days, the only escape was to the dorm's computer lab, but we easily found each other through IM and the arguing started all over again.  The fighting got so bad in December that one of them threatened to kill me in my sleep, and I took her seriously.  Luckily my parents were able to come pick me up and I spent the night in the safety of my bed at home, while my roommate and her boyfriend came in to our dorm in the middle of the night looking for me.  She moved out the next week.

The arguments continued.  One day, more out of irritation than anything else, I decided to tell Jenni that she was only pretending to be a Christian.  When she went out drinking with the frat boys, it nullified her relationship with God.  I expected her to get defensive so I could wear her down and get her to admit I was right.  Instead, she turned the tables on me, pointing out that I was no better than anyone else, just because I didn't drink or swear, I would lie or gossip, say anything I wanted because I thought I wasn't going to get caught.  That was the end of our fight, because I had nothing to say to defend myself.  She was right.  This person whom I had been condemning just a moment ago was doing the exact same thing to me, and I didn't want to admit that I was busted.  I don't really remember any big fights after that; I think I was thoroughly embarrassed at being called out and didn't want to risk any more light being shed on my inadequacies.  By that summer, however, Chris and I had been dating long enough for me to get past the mushy, "I'm so into you" phase, and start to contemplate the "This might really be something" phase.  If that was the case, if I was going to start investing myself in our relationship, we needed to straighten some things out.  Immediately.  So I began arguing with him.  Sometimes it was just the petty jealousies that arise from a long-distance relationship, but many times our fights centered around our opposing, deeply entrenched beliefs.  We argued about US foreign policy, smoking, immigration, our friends, our independence.  I used everything in my arsenal to get him to agree with me.  I would hang up mid-sentence and refuse to talk to him until he ceded my point.  I would rant for HOURS to make him see the folly of his beliefs.  I fought dirty.  I thought I wanted victory, but when I got it (at what cost?), it didn't make me happy.

I learned something very important.  I learned that its okay to disagree.  I learned to have confidence in myself, in my convictions, and to realize that someone else's refusal to acknowledge me didn't take those away.  I also learned patience.  Because sometimes we will agree, eventually.  And when the other person gets there on his own, when he makes the choice for himself, I don't win...but I get harmony.  I realized (eventually) that peace was the thing I wanted the most.  I didn't want to fight anymore.  Recently, I came across these words by CS Lewis, and I think they so eloquently sum up my change of heart:
  "A discussion of real interest may follow.  Of course, the right side may be defeated in it.  That matters very much less than I used to think.  The very man who has argued you down will sometimes be found, years later, to have been influenced by what you said."
This is where I find happiness in my marriage today, in the aftermath of influence, instead of coerced agreement.  Moreover, I have even (once or twice) found myself to be in the wrong.  Giving up the argument in favor of contemplation has shown me the errors in my own thinking.  And Jenni?  The girl I called a slut and a drunk and an all-around bad person?  I saw her on her birthday this year, and marveled at how similar our lives have become, though we've been apart for so long.  I apologized for the things that I said, the way that I treated her so many years ago.  I told her what I said to my Village, that she busted me for all the evil in my life I was trying to pretend wasn't there.  And then she thanked me in return.  She said I made her think about the person she was becoming, and how saying a prayer and then living however she wanted wasn't actually what God wanted for her life.  And once again, I felt peace.