Tag Archives: faith

The Girl Jesus Asked To His Middle School Dance

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I was raised hardcore Catholic.

No, not the girl in plaid pleated skirts with my button-down twisted in on itself. Not the rule-breaker, the line-walker or the daily devotionalist.

I glared at those who dared to enter the church doors like it was a semi-annual sale at Victoria’s Secret. Like we were selling something for them on those two days they packed into minivans and two-door sports cars and hauled hosts of kids, kids I’d never seen before, into the back pews just before mass began.

Imagine attending someone’s birth and funeral and nothing else. There is no way, I am sure, to know them.

They cannot tell you their stories or tap you on the shoulder as a timid toddler, grabbing hold of your heart so fiercely you forgot you didn’t want to let it go. They cannot coax you out of bed on a Sunday morning when you’d rather face the wall and count the stripes in the wallpaper.

Mostly, though, they cannot help you. Cannot ever be given a chance. Cannot ever be asked for that first dance in middle school with the beat thumping too loud for you to be sure you know what you just agreed to.

Now I know Jesus was not a hip hopper, a hipster kid, a pants-down-to-his-knees type. I know He didn’t call clichés into question or clique His way into the Perfect People Club.

If there had been a middle school dance, though, I am sure He would’ve at least attempted to ask some girl for one measly chance.

He was, after all, human for a time.

For as long—and longer than—some of us ever live. For a quest some of us dare to tackle—to etch our belief, aching in our chests, into someone else’s handprints.

And that little goal, albeit small, is something I can understand.

We coax our smaller selves into something bigger, scarier, newer. We rally our troops for something we believe in. We pound a path into the ground with our tapping feet and twirling toes.

I think Jesus was a dancer. A real crooner.

I think He knew the feeling in the pit of your stomach when you’re terrified someone won’t believe in the words spilling from your lips and stage-diving onto their eardrums. Knew the anxiety of Us versus Them lined up on opposite sides of the dimly-lit gymnasium.

Us, the Doers.

Them, the skeptics.

He was a little bit nervous, pushing glasses up the bridge of His nose, staring down at His two left feet. But He knew what He wanted. Knew where He was headed. Knew that someday He’d grow up and take this world by storm.

And you cannot help but wish you’d given those Doers a chance. Sashayed to the in-between and offered them a hand. Met them halfway.

Oh to have met them halfway. To have reached five fingers and two feet and a big bustling brain filled with ideas. To be the second Doer, the first Adopter, the first Believer.

Sometimes, it’s not the Doers we need most. It’s the Believers.

And my, oh my, do we have an army of those waiting for a Doer to sweep them off their feet. They are sitting in plastic folding chairs on the other side of your gymnasium, sipping punch and staining their lips red.

Among the red-stained lip smackers I’ve sat, fingers interlocked in my lap, itching to dance. Finally, I am standing up, pushing forward, sashaying into the center of the tiled floor. Letting this wild ride begin beneath someone else’s disco ball and a different artist’s techno beats.

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If Jesus had a car thousands of years ago, you think he would've passed that up in favor of walking across the desert for 40 days?

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My mom never told me not to talk to strangers on the Internet. If she had, my life would’ve turned out drastically different.

my own road trip through virginia

My dad wouldn’t have driven me—on his 40th birthday—to a golf course down the road from our house where I would, presumably, meet a boy I’d never met face-to-face. Running on pure faith that he wasn’t a child molester.
Well, maybe not that much faith. He turned out fine.

I don’t remember how it started six years ago. The beginning doesn’t matter.

What matters is that my parents have, for as long as I can remember, trusted me to befriend the right people. Whether they live 20 minutes or 20 hours away. Doesn’t much matter.

The fact is, I’ve met so many wonderful people through this crazy Internet thing. And a lot of them are doing absolutely awesome things with their lives.

But I have a little story about two of them for you—Lauren and Max—who know a bit more about blind faith than my 16-year-old self did, standing in a golf course parking lot on a hot August afternoon.

More than two months ago, Max decided to travel the country. Counting on the kindness of strangers to carry him from one end of America to the other. And about a month ago, he stopped in the middle of Ohio to pick up Lauren—a girl he fell in love with through the Internet—for the ride. The two of them are devout Christians with a love so intense it puts a lot of people to shame. A lot of people.

And as they drive through the country on a wild road trip that many openly disapprove of, I am giving them major credit. Because even though I have never met these two wonderful individuals, they taught me one of the most valuable lessons:

That Christianity does not demand perfection. That to sin is to be human.

I’ve lost my way, steering toward all the other directions in life that are screaming out with flashy lights and bright colors for me to come toward them. They’re more exciting, more real, more right-here-and-now-oh-yeah. I have trouble sitting still, reading a book that wasn’t published within the last ten or fifteen years, and going on blind faith that in order to be a good Christian, you don’t have to be perfect.

For some reason, it doesn’t matter that making mistakes is in our nature, or that I’ve heard people write that and tell me that hundreds of times. Even Miley Cyrus. Or should I say Hannah Montana?

For the girl who makes her share of mistakes on a daily basis – yes, daily – but has a boatload of trouble accepting herself for them, this is a big deal. World changing thinking. My shins will thank you for stopping me from kicking them (figuratively speaking, of course).

Nobody who wanders the world on the generosity of others has everything perfectly tied up. And neither does someone who jumps in the car to follow, ready and willing to leave her city behind. But that’s good. That’s what’s real.

They don’t devote every single moment of their lives to other people. They devote a lot, but not all of it. They’ve both stumbled through moments in their pasts and they’re both trying to figure out what they want in this world, but they know they’ve got God in the backseat, making sure everything is safe.

They have houses to crash at, friends to depend on, and love to hold onto and spread out. And you know what? If Jesus had a car thousands of years ago, you think he would’ve passed that up in favor of walking across the desert for 40 days? Yeah, didn’t think so.

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Marriage is the only real leap of faith left in this world.

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“What is the value of marriage?” they asked. As if that were even a question at all. My jaw dropped a bit and I felt every muscle in my body tense up at the proposal that something so fundamental to our society might be swept away.

my parents at my sister's graduation

The fact that people even propose the question of marriage having any value troubles me. It’s the same reason I began blogging for The Good Woman Project back in early February. I knew that someone out there had lost hope in the big M word. And that was not okay with me.

My parents have been married 26 years. They met in high school, dated through college and ended up with two crazy daughters who made them want to pull their hair out. But now they’re empty nesters, their hair is graying without my help and my impression is that they’re loving it (the freedom — not the regular hair color appointments).

Go ahead and groan. Let it all out.

Done?

Okay, good. So why is marriage such a big deal? And why should you listen to someone whose parents are not just a number to add to the divorce statistics? It’s simple: because I’m not married or in a relationship myself.

It’s easy to say love is a many splendored thing when you can’t see straight because you’re blinded by its mystifying powers. But I’m not. I’m telling you right now that marriage is good. It is worth it.

Marriage means being stuck with someone else for the rest of your life. We’ve sort of lost sight of that being a good thing and gotten to be experts in running in the opposite direction. For a lot of teens and 20somethings, marriage is freaking them out. Big time. Who wants to be stuck with someone until they die?

Me.

I want to be stuck with someone who drives me crazy four out of seven days out of the week. Any more than that’s a deal breaker. Kidding, of course.

I want someone to listen to me when I’m upset, someone who sits next to me and tells me it’s going to be okay when maybe it really, definitely, almost for sure isn’t going to be okay. I want someone to lie to me twenty-four seven and make me believe those lies. I want someone to tell me I’m beautiful and changing things in this world and I want to tell someone else the same thing.

Sure, you can have friends like that. But what if you fall in love with said friend? You won’t marry him or her because you’re freaked out that you might someday resent that person?

Holding back and making giant assumptions never got anyone anywhere. Marriage is the only real leap of faith left in this world. We need to remember that and embrace it before the entire institution goes out of style like a bad fad from the nineties.

Marriage isn’t a fad. It’s sticking around, so get used to it.

Note: This was in response to a college writing contest on StageOfLife.com. The original can be found here.

By the way, every month I send out a short + sweet newsletter brimming with cool finds related to the monthly theme. It'd be stellar if you subscribed. If it's not worthy, it doesn't go in the newsletter. That. Simple.