Sarahbeth Caplin's Blog, page 59

Is it selfish? Or is it rape culture?

Leaving work one day, I heard a voice call out “Hey Sarahbeth! Can I borrow a dollar?”

I looked up to see a somewhat disheveled man standing in front of me; possibly homeless but hard to tell. At first I was confused how he knew my name, but he probably read it off my custom-printed bag. In that bag was a hefty chunk of cash from my four babysitting jobs that I planned to take directly to the grocery store, in addition to a very expensive Macbook.

The man was only asking for a dollar; not a huge expense on my part. I could and should have given one to him. Yet all I could think was, I can’t let my guard down and risk having my stuff stolen.

I offered him some of my Ramen noodle stash instead, which he politely declined. Getting into my car, I felt like a failure as both a Christian and a human being. I could have done more, and I chastised myself for living in a world where concern for one’s personal safety trumps compassion; where being a single woman alone in a city means automatically fearing any man that approaches, even if his intentions aren’t malicious.

But is it really about safety? Or is there underlying prejudice that prompts us to say “no” when asked to give? Or when we notice people whose lives are radically different from our own?

I don’t always remember to lock my doors when I get in my car, but I lock them when I pass a cluster of teenagers in downtown Denver, always thinking It would be so easy to unlock the passenger door at a stoplight and grab my laptop/purse/whatever. Once, during a discussion group at church, a student was talking about how selfish we can be when there’s an opportunity for outreach: did Jesus not call us to serve others, no matter the personal risk to ourselves? My instinct was to protest, “You don’t understand! You are not a woman who looks ten years younger than she actually is; the world is not as dangerous a place for you, of course it’s easy for you to say that.”

Thankfully I wasn’t the only one thinking this, and the discussion turned into a battle of the sexes: the men kept insisting we (the females) were more concerned about ourselves than others in need, while the women kept insisting that Jesus would never advocate purposefully putting ourselves in danger if we didn’t absolutely have to.

On the drive home I stopped to allow more cars into my lane than usual, as if trying to atone for my selfishness before; once again deceiving myself into looking at salvation as some kind of points-based system. In the end, I am just one person with good intentions who often falls short. I can only do so much. But I feel guilty just the same.

Finding hope in the Church of Twitter

A new friend of mine recently said, “For this particular week, my experience with church is through conversations on Twitter. And that’s okay.”

At first glance that sounds a little crazy, but I completely understand what she means.

I used to want to denounce the entire World Wide Web as a threat to meaningful face-to-face relationships. For now, I’m embracing it as the one thing keeping me from giving up on them entirely.

From the #YesAllWomen campaign to conversing with other “spiritual orphans” via Twitter, I felt more validated sitting in front of my computer at Scribbles Coffee this week than in any pew over the last few months. While the Internet can’t be a permanent substitute for a tangible community, it’s far better than nothing as I struggle to regain the faith I once had and my confidence in the church as a whole. It’s more convenient, for now, to click into a forum or utilize a trending hashtag and connect to people who understand the difficulties of a specific journey than keep up small talk during coffee hour.

But I don’t want this to be an excuse to become a hermit. This is a temporary solution for now while I regain my bearings. I have become cynical and jaded, but not to the point where all churches are stereotypical and shallow. My real reason for avoiding a brick-and-mortar church is I’m afraid. The journey from “Nice to meet you” to “I know I can count on you in a personal crisis” is long, sometimes tedious, and terrifying. More than that, it’s time-consuming and requires some effort. When God and I argue, I tell him I’m more than willing to make that effort myself, but I don’t trust others to put in the same amount.

Lately I feel God’s response to that is, That’s no excuse not to keep trying, Beth.

And he’s right.

It’s all about making baby steps. Community doesn’t just happen overnight.

Baby Step #1: Stop believing all people are assholes (check. Kinda).

Baby Step #2: Stop assuming all Christians have a shallow understanding of grief, depression, and loneliness. Stop assuming that all Christians will treat the symptoms and not the problem by throwing bumper-sticker theology at me (Working on that check).

Baby Step #3: Understand that grace doesn’t have to be a huge demonstration of something. Grace can also be not punching people in the face when they do throw bumper-sticker theology at me (“Everything happens for a reason!”). Grace understands that most people mean well when they say these things. They want to help, but don’t know how (read this way more articulate blog post that summarizes my feelings perfectly).

Baby Step #4: Get back into the church. You need it, and it needs you.

Again, still working on that “check.”

Where There’s Smoke: Prologue

So my last few posts were quite angsty…how about an excerpt from my upcoming novella? Where There’s Smoke is coming June 10th!

Click to add to Goodreads

As wisps of smoke curled under Hannah’s nose, she wondered if it had finally happened: she’d woken up to find herself in hell.

I had it coming, she thought, defeated and unwilling to move from the darkness of the church basement. She felt no fear; apathy did not allow for much feeling of anything. It’s all a dream anyway.

Until alarm bells starting screeching, and then it became reality.

Suddenly alert, Hannah felt panic settle in as the air thickened and her eyes watered. Hannah never considered hell to be a place of literal fire. She placed more faith in Dante’s idea of it than the Bible’s. But this–this literal choking agony–it couldn’t be what she deserved, could it? She was sorry–desperately sorry. For everything.

As a wall of smoke started to close in on the last she’d know of the world, fighting back seemed like a futile option. She’d been running too long. This ending was inevitable. It was deserved.

She closed her eyes, ready to meet whoever or whatever might be waiting. A sturdy pair of arms lifted her from the searing floor, but she didn’t bother opening her eyes, realizing there was nothing she could do now that the devil had caught up with her.

This is not a ‘love’ scene

I have something to say. Fair warning: you may not like it, but it’s important to me, so it needs to be said.

Consider it a public service announcement.

I am aware that sex sells: cars, beer, magazines, and yes, books. I have felt pressure to up the ante with my own books, since I’m intent on making a career out of writing. I’m aware that even marketing my work as “YA” may disappoint some readers, because many young adult books are steamier now than they were when I was in high school (good grief, do I sound old).

That’s not the route I’m choosing to take with my books, but I respect the right of other authors to do so.

What I can never respect is the trend of many New Adult and erotica novels romanticizing rape. The reason I’ve become more aware of this is because I’m a member of several book promotional groups in which authors can share teasers of their work – usually a picture captioned with a line of dialogue, and these advertisements end up on my newsfeed.

Why stay involved in these groups, you ask? On the one hand, I treat them as marketing tools (which they are), and since marketing is a part of my job, this aspect is an occupational hazard for me. It’s flattering when someone is willing to help promote your work, and as a courtesy, I’ll do the same for him or her. I don’t want to be selfish and accept help without “paying it forward.”

But lately, it’s been difficult. Some very friendly women have supported me and my work, but I cannot do the same for them because their excerpts, their teasers, the snippets of dialogue from their characters’ mouths are triggering to me.

I don’t intend to criticize these authors, but the idea of romanticized rape in general. “Romanticized rape” sounds like an oxymoron, I know, but it’s so prevalent and normalized today that I’m sure most people don’t see it that way. And who can blame them? “No means yes” or “No means try harder to convince her otherwise” is so mainstream that I didn’t recognize it as rape when it happened to me. You may be wondering, what kind of person doesn’t know she’s being raped?

Someone who grew up in a culture that doesn’t understand the meaning of consent. This isn’t a case of agreeing to sexual activity that is regretted later, then calling it rape. I knew something wasn’t right, the entire time. I knew something was wrong the moment I first said “no” and was promptly told, “It will be fun, I promise.”

I’ve heard so many similar stories from other women since, I decided to write a book about it. Believe me, this struggle is real.

This post may end up getting lost in the void of pissy internet rants, but with all due respect and sincerity, I ask you to consider why a woman’s “no” and a man’s “Come on, you’ll like it!” is considered sexy. I ask you to consider how much the scene will change if instead both partners are equally into each other and what they are doing.

I’m not trying to take anyone’s first amendment rights away. Just know that by continuing to perpetuate these rape-y “love scenes,” what you are really doing is making it that much harder for people like me to share their stories, and be taken seriously.

Anyone who says they were raped deserves to be taken seriously, whether their experience involved emotional coercion or being held at gunpoint. Changing your mind about having sex is fine, so long as that decision is made OF YOUR OWN ACCORD AND NO ONE ELSE’S.

And now, back to your regular lives.

‘Fifty Shades’ of Feminist Misconception

Since reading Sarah Bessey’s Jesus Feminist, I’ve been hungry for more Christian feminist books. That search hasn’t been too fruitful, since “Christian feminist” is still very much a taboo term at best, and oxymoronic at worst.

I started reading Pulling Back the Shades by Juli Slattery and Dannah Gresh. It’s a short little book written in response to the popularity of Fifty Shades of Grey, and discusses whether BDSM-style sex can ever be healthy in a committed, loving relationship.

I was right on target with the authors for the first half. With my history of abuse, I agree that BDSM isn’t healthy (though if you strongly disagree, feel free to respectfully engage with me on this). I also agree that erotica can produce unhealthy and often unrealistic expectations for real-life sex. As for Fifty Shades, I’ve never read it, but based on the reviews I’ve read I have no desire to; I’m afraid some parts of it might be triggering for me. I have a hard time wrapping my mind around Christian women in particular praising this book, but I fully agree with the authors that it’s tough to outright condemn the consensual activities married people do in private. I may not like it, but if both parties are enthusiastic, who am I to judge?

I wanted so badly to like this book, since a therapist I deeply respect recommended it to me. But the authors lost me by page 87 with this anecdote:

After a fight with her husband on where to park the car (?), Dannah Gresh writes, “I realized that my feminist independence had only resulted in isolation and loneliness…I felt prompted to awaken my husband and do something so submissive that it could have only come from the heart of God [she proceeds to wash his feet]…My once-feminist hands finally became truly, powerfully feminine!”

No no no no no! This is not what feminism is!

If Gresh were referring only to the modern feminist stereotype that feminism is women degrading men to atone for centuries of patriarchy, I’d agree that that is definitely something to wash her hands of. If Gresh addressed mutual submission, as stated in Ephesians 5:25, “25 Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her 26 to make her holy,” her words would have a lot more merit.

The pitting of Submissive Female against the Modern Feminist Usurper (because apparently there’s only those options) has been reinforced in several Christian “self-help” books I’ve read over the years, from Stasi Eldredge to Nancy Leigh DeMoss to Shannon Ethridge, and more. The subtle critiquing of the feminist movement as a whole is done with slightly varying personal stories and metaphors, but the common denominator seems to be that all women want their longings satisfied in the exact same way. Do women want to be respected? Sure, that’s a common human desire. But I resent being told by an author who doesn’t know me or my personal experiences that playing the role of a damsel is the only way to be satisfied.

The more I read, the more I become convinced that “biblical womanhood” is a construct made up by evangelicals more than a list of static commandments ordered by God. There are biblical virtues that all Christians should strive for, but I have yet to read any specific requirement on one way to live those virtues. For some women, maybe that does include washing their husbands’ feet. For others, maybe that means gently suggesting there is a more ideal parking spot the husband might have missed.

I think “feminism” is more than an effort to restore human dignity in women. Can it also be a radical assumption that sometimes women have unique ideas, and it’s not wrong to politely vocalize them? Or a profound realization that men can learn from women, and the roles they choose to play in their marriages are decided on with equal parts compromise and respect?

As much as I believe that words are arbitrary – that definitions and contexts are always in flux – I’m not ready to let “feminist” go to the dogs yet.

Same author, different site

So, in an effort to start treating my writing less like a hobby and more like a business, I have created my own web domain! Follow me at www.sbethcaplin.com.

“God owes you a husband” and other lies we tell single women

If there’s a book with a message that helped me at a critical point in my life, chances are I’ll keep it forever…even if I end up reading that same book with a completely different mindset years later.

One of those books is The Thrill of the Chaste by Dawn Eden: a story of one woman’s descent into casual sex, Sex and the City-style, and hope of eventually finding a husband. A practice that magazines like Cosmopolitan and pop culture at large endorse as reasonable and expected.

I like the book because the author does a pretty good job dissecting the problems with this approach to relationships–rarely (though there are exceptions) does mutual objectification lead to healthy, fulfilling commitment–but she does so with the mindset that every opportunity for a one-night-stand she turns down makes her that much closer to finding her future husband. Even more troubling, she seems to believe that doing relationships “God’s way” somehow entitles her to marrying someday.

Even now that I’m engaged, I don’t think I’m being “rewarded” for all my years of waiting (and to be honest, I wasn’t very good at it). I don’t think I deserve Josh any more than I deserve a new job, a better car, a trouble-free life. In college I attended bible studies exclusively for single women, which taught me that God has chosen a man for me, and I can have him…if I pray hard enough, and live a sexually pure lifestyle with few blemishes in it.

I’ve read very few books, save for Lauren Winner’s Real Sex: The Naked Truth About Chastity, that endorse chastity for chastity’s sake. Isn’t living chastely for the sake of a husband losing the point? What about the benefits of chastity on its own?

I wish I had known that there’s a difference between being abstinent and being chaste: even married sex is chaste sex, if you subscribe to the belief that chastity is all about putting sex in its proper place (and if you don’t, this whole post may sound silly to you).

But back to this idea that praying and living an abstinent, chaste life entitles you to a husband…it doesn’t. Those bible study messages actually produced a harmful idea that all women are meant to get married, and that God has designed one specific man in mind for each. If you miss him, or sin too much, you lose him. That’s it.

Truthfully, you can be compatible with any number of people, because love is a choice. It’s not just something you “feel.”

I don’t know what to say to women who deeply desire marriage, but spend most of their lives being single, except this: marriage is not the only legitimate way to experience real love, nor should it be considered the ultimate achievement in one’s life. Before Josh, I was prepared to be single for a while. I just didn’t feel “called” to marriage, and I had been depressed about it for so long that I decided to stop treating it like a curse.

Once I stopped watching that scene from Bridget Jones’ Diary where Bridget drowns her sorrows in ice cream belting out Celine Dion on repeat—truly believing that’s what the rest of my life would look like without a man—I started thinking of all the productive things I could do with that time. I could travel. I could decorate my apartment any way I want. I could make all my own decisions without factoring in another person’s opinion. I could invest more deeply in my friendships (which is, so far, one of my biggest marriage fears: that I’ll be so engrossed in newlywed excitement, my old friendships suffer, and that gives one more reason for my single friends not to rejoice as more of their friends get engaged. It means they disappear!).

Don’t get me wrong: marriage is a gift, and I’m looking forward to it. But singleness can be a gift too. Had I read a book with that kind of message at age seventeen, back when I was wondering if something was wrong with me because I’d never had a serious relationship before, I would have benefited much more. A promise from a stranger about God’s plan for my own life isn’t much to bank on. I wish more women who are fed the lie that marriage = ultimate crown of glory would start taking charge of their own lives and their own happiness. You are entitled to nothing but the life you choose.

When Cynicism Throws Coffee in Your Face

While some days are worse than others, I’ve been stuck in an “I hate people” funk for over a year. I’ve had so many moments where I questioned my decision to stay in Colorado, because I left my closest friends in Cleveland. Not a large number of people, but a select few I know I can count on in dire circumstances. Tell secrets to. Look stupid in front of.

It’s been a slow process finding those people in Denver. Today, at my favorite coffee shop, someone I know from seminary waved at me from across the room like I was her best friend – someone who repeatedly told me, “Let’s get coffee!” but never responded to a single call or text about when to make that happen.

I hate people, I thought as I waved back.

The only table that happened to be available was tucked in a corner. Not my favorite spot, but an outlet and bathroom were nearby: two absolute necessities. I set up camp there, preparing to stay there for a few hours editing the first draft of my newest manuscript. With my laptop open and headphones in (even with no music playing) I’m pretty sure I had my DO NOT DISTURB ME vibes in full motion.

I typed furiously for about thirty minutes when I looked up, and saw someone I didn’t know (could have been my age, but I’m horrible at guessing people’s ages) saying something in my direction. Initially annoyed, I ripped out my headphones and said, “Yes?” as politely as I could muster.

“I’ve seen you here before,” she said. “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to join me and my friend at that table over there?”

She points to the table I always hope to get when I come here – but it was occupied when I arrived.

I weighed my options: how much editing will I get done if I’m sitting with two people who will expect me to make some kind of introduction about myself? But then again, how choosy can I afford to be when people are attempting to make friends with me?

Honestly? Not very. It’s been easier to keep to myself to avoid disappointment and stick to my best “friends” that only exist in books. But something about this person’s face convinced me this was a chance I had to take.

Screw your paranoia, Sarahbeth. Go make some friends. So I packed up my stuff, and joined their table.

I did get some editing done: not as much as I would have liked, but the time lost on that project was made up for with riveting discussion about whether it’s polite to eavesdrop on conversations that are happening a mere few feet away from you, and if people have the right to be offended if you insert your own opinion, because there’s no such thing as an expectation of private conversation in crowded coffeehouses.

“Sometimes I can’t help but say something,” I told my new tablemates, *Susie and *Milton. “Depends on the subject matter. If people are showing extreme ignorance then I feel like it’s an obligation. Because stupid can be contagious.”

And this, Sarahbeth, is why you don’t have a lot of friends. That kind of honesty gets you in trouble.

“That’s hilarious,” laughed Milton. Leaning toward Susie, he asked, “Where did you find this one?”

“Back in that corner,” Susie answered, smiling.

We didn’t leave exchanging numbers or Facebook usernames, but we did part with an expectation that “maybe we’ll run into each other again sometime.”

I have no idea if I’ll ever see those two again. But even if I don’t, it’s nice to be reminded every now and then that people are capable of surprising you.

Drunk Facebooking and the Complexities of Human Nature

A thirty-two-year-old woman is killed while updating her Facebook status behind the wheel of a moving car, and the Internet is flooding with opinions.

Reactions span everywhere from “She deserves a Darwin award” to “How would YOU like your entire life to be judged based on one mistake?”

Talk about extremes. One could rationally argue that Facebooking while driving is more a deliberate choice than a “mistake,” but I can understand the sentiment behind it: no one wants to be remembered solely for the wrongs they committed. Our lives should be more than cautionary tales.

But I have to wonder if the same amount of compassion would be shown if the truck driver she hit was critically injured or killed. Or if she plowed into a family’s minivan and killed all the children inside.

Then she’d be a monster. Right?

This idea of how we define “good” and “bad,” especially when the person in question is deceased and cannot redeem or justify their actions, appeals to me because it’s the primary topic in my upcoming book. Where There’s Smoke is full of flawed characters who want to believe they are good. And they do try; but the ways they go about proving themselves make others scratch their heads at best, and feel betrayed at worst. It’s a story that asks: who are we really? Are we the sum of all our actions? Is the note we finish our lives on the most defining of them all?

There are no right or wrong ways to answer this question, and that’s what I love about it.

Same kind of Christian as me?

Some people are of the opinion that one needs to be a certain age or have a certain amount of “life experience” before they earn the right to write a memoir.

I’m 25 and wrote my first memoir at 22. I’m contemplating writing a second.

The only reason I’m considering this is because the kind of memoir I am interested in reading does not exist. At least not that I know of.

There are a plethora of memoirs out there about finding faith, losing it, and the grueling process of finding it again (see Addie Zierman’s When We Were on Fire, Elizabeth Esther’s Girl at the End of the World, and Rachel Held Evans’ Faith Unraveled for some awesome examples). But one thing these women have in common is their faith journey began in a church from early childhood. If you know me at all, you know that is not my life.

I want to read more books about people who chose Christianity after growing up in an environment that was staunchly against it.

I want to read more books about people who continue to choose Christianity despite the inevitable bumper-car effect of old cultural mores clashing with new ones; of old lingo that doesn’t jell with a new spiritual vocabulary; and the Pariah Syndrome that comes with being one of few people in your church with this particular background, which you are not ashamed of, but refuse to talk about because you are a person who desires to make friends, not some Show and Tell presentation.

If those books exist, I have yet to find them. It is my hope that if I were to write a book like this, it will bring other people with similar experiences out of the woodwork and into my favorite coffee shop to talk to me.

As of now, the people who share or at least relate to these experiences live in my laptop, not in my city. They can be found in organizations like Christians for Biblical Equality, but they live all over the world, not down the street.

The idea of “biblical equality” started with the idea that women can and should be able to lead people as male pastors do. But I want to take this definition further and expand it for people who worship differently than the “mainstream” Christian does: people who find standing during worship songs uncomfortable (and sometimes the lyrics tacky); people who feel squeamish when asked to pray out loud before a group; people who long for community but feel excluded because they aren’t extroverted or “outwardly spiritual” enough.

“Biblical equality” can mean that your worship is as valid and meaningful as my worship. I don’t see this idea expressed often enough.

I’m currently working on a piece that I hope to submit to a popular blogger as a guest post, so it won’t appear on my blog yet. But I hope to use it as a starting point for the maybe-memoir I might write. Because when it comes to improving community and making all members of the body of Christ feel welcome, there’s not enough paper in the world to discuss it.