Sarahbeth Caplin's Blog, page 65

Someday this will count for something

I'm a fairly typical twenty-something woman with a not-so-average dream: I want to talk to high school and college-aged kids about consent and rape.

If you've met me recently, one of the introductory questions you probably asked me is what I'm going to grad school for, and why. Maybe my response startled you. In some cases, people have gotten really uncomfortable and left the conversation entirely, choosing instead to talk to someone with a more "conventional" career choice. I'm not offended when that happens; I expect it. My standard responses to strangers who are ballsy enough to ask why I chose this avenue are "Personal experiences" and "Somebody has to."

You can probably imagine that this is not the career I dreamed of as a little girl. But I take the "Choose Joy" moniker inked on my ankle very seriously (obviously, since it's permanent). This odd career choice has a lot to do with that way of thinking.

The last few months have been difficult, culminating into a long and agonizing summer filled with unexpected trials, grievous mistakes, moments of "What the hell was I thinking?" and mountains of grief. I'm glad it's almost over. But now I have this issue of what to do with the grief that's left. The easiest thing in the world to do would be allowing it to fester and grow into a heinous, life-eating disease that cripples not only myself, but everyone I care about.
  Maybe you know someone like that: someone who survived something horrible, and is forever crippled by it. The aftermath of their tragedy influences every decision they make, and ultimately their very character.

"Choosing Joy" isn't putting on a happy face, and masking the pain. Choosing joy is accepting that the pain is real, it sucks, and making use of it. Some people may take up a self-defensive sport like kick-boxing. I decided to write a book about it.

Choosing Joy isn't quoting some well-intentioned but misguided bumper sticker that says "Everything happens for a reason." That may or may not be true, but who cares what the "reason" was? Does it make you hurt less? Does it make you glad the incident happened, whatever it was? It doesn't matter to me anymore what the "reason" was; what matters, is that IT MATTERED.

I've heard it said that success is the best form of revenge. I agree, minus the part about revenge. I can't say I've never fantasized about it: the things I could do to ensure that the person who made my life hell experiences hell for himself. But even that doesn't undo the suffering that was inflicted. What I'm more interested in is preventing irrelevant suffering. I don't want to play the role of a helpless victim, a broken woman, or an irredeemable hot mess. I want to be someone with a cause. The way of choosing joy is using suffering to ignite the need for a cause.

It would be easier to do nothing. It would be easy to sit in therapy for the rest of my life wondering what I can do to "get over it" without actually doing anything. Waiting for grief to pass is never going to happen. Sometimes you have to act in spite of what you feel. If I sit back and do nothing, he wins. Hands down.

Lately I've come to believe that no true form of justice exists in this world. But if the only alternative is to give up on pursuing justice altogether, well, I can't do that.

I refuse to settle for that.

Choosing joy = choosing action.

Let your words be anything but empty

Sometimes healing means doing things that make you uncomfortable. I never thought speaking in front of crowds would ever make me uncomfortable, as someone who used to make her home on ice rinks and high school auditorium stages. But tonight, I was nervous. I think I was nervous not because of the people, but the subject matter. Because it's a subject so close to my heart, I knew I'd take it personally if people responded negatively. But ultimately, other people's opinions don't matter. So I got up there and read a chapter from my book; a chapter that shows (I hope) how big my brave is.



And hey, I even sold a book afterwards. Yep, just one. Luckily I don't measure success in numbers. Success was being able to write it down in the first place.

I couldn't have done it without you, Sara Bareilles.

And my GOODNESS do I make weird faces when I talk.



Why has no one pointed this out to me before??? ;)

Conservative vs. Liberal: a mid-faith crisis

I can't believe I've been doing this Christian thing for almost five years, and am just now hearing about Rachel Held Evans. I can't believe I'm trying to figure out how to integrate Christianity with feminism and am just now discovering her blog. She's the kind of influential writer I hope to be one day...a mover and a shaker who may have to stir up a bit of controversy to make positive change happen, but at the same time isn't stirring things up just to cause trouble.

This blog, in particular, really speaks to where I am right now, almost-halfway through seminary. After becoming a Christian at a liberal party school, my parents joked that seminary would turn me into an atheist. That hasn't happened (and I don't see it happening any time soon), but something else I never expected has...I think seminary is turning me into a liberal.

Then again, my definition of "liberal" is probably quite different from the way most of America defines it (though I'm not entirely certain what that exact definition is). Quite possibly, I haven't changed all that much; it just feels that way because my environment has. The beliefs that caused readers of my column in The Daily Kent Stater to hurl "fanatical conservative" at me are quite normal at seminary (surprise, surprise). But the beliefs I have that would actually make me normal by Kent State standards make me somewhat of an anomaly in seminary.

Like Evans, I don't fit a standard "evangelical package." I don't even like the term "evangelical." I'm not your typical conservative evangelical because:

I really don't mind if homosexuals are allowed to have legalized relationships.

I believe God created the world, but not in seven literal 24-hour days, and I don't think Darwin was a heretic.

I enjoy a good drink every now and then. I agree with Ben Franklin that beer is proof (well, one of many) that God loves us.

I can't stand most worship music, and when a large body of "believers" raise their hands to the music, the first thought that pops into my head is "Is this church, or a Nazi rally?"

I really can't stand the expressions "believer" and "non-believer" (does that mean non-Christians don't believe anything?).

What Jon Acuff calls "prayer right there" (group prayer that, literally, happens just about anywhere, usually in coffee shops) makes me extremely uncomfortable...and I secretly hate anyone who asks me, an introvert, to lead that sort of prayer (okay, I don't *actually* hate them, but you know what I mean).

I believe women should have leadership positions in church.

But at the same time, I'm far from being a "liberal Christian" because:

I do believe in sin. And hell.

I may be a little lax in my attitudes toward gay marriage, but I'm one of the fiercest pro-lifers you will ever meet.

I believe in the Bible. I believe in a literal bodily resurrection. I believe prayer works...but not always the way we want it to.

For all my many mistakes, I still passionately believe in the Gospel, and "being a good person" is not the goal of Christianity. In fact, that's impossible.

So where does that leave me? Am I two different people among the "liberal" and "conservative" camps? Are those my only options to belong?

I like how Evans says "Unity is not the same as uniformity." Too often I look around a church, or a Bible study, see people who appear to have more faith than me, or who express it in ways I'm not used to, and think "How in the world am I supposed to fit in with these people?" They probably think the same about me...or maybe they don't. I realize that I'm far too judgmental for my own good. My goal for next semester will be to force my mind open as much as possible, while not being afraid to censor myself.

I'll let you know how that goes.

The new naked normal?

On the heels of my last post on modesty, this article was just published on Focus on the Family's entertainment review site (yes, I am unafraid to say that I enjoy a lot of FOTF's stuff, even if I don't agree with all of it). It's about society's ever-changing perspective on nudity, and whether it's too risque for entertainment. Should it be censored on TV and Youtube? Or is it time to stop being prudes about our bodies already?

Nowhere in the article is it mentioned that nudity is not inherently a bad thing; we were born naked, after all. To me, the issue isn't nudity itself, but the exploitation of it. The definition of what qualifies as "art" is rather subjective, but somehow I don't think that's Justin Timberlake's intent. Exploiting nudity means taking away one's personhood, and reducing him or her to a sex object. Art, on the other hand, says "I am more than a pair of breasts." There is an exponential difference between celebrating the body and cheapening it. I have to consider Timberlake's new music video to fall into the latter category, but I'm open to any arguments suggesting otherwise.

One of the comments on the article fell into the timeless Christian stereotype: the one that suggests our bodies are somehow shameful. "Adam and Eve covered up after they ate the fruit," this person says. Yes, they did...but my amateur attempt at biblical exegesis suggests that Adam and Eve covered up because they were vulnerable, not because they were naked. Physical vulnerability is connected to emotional vulnerability: if we were never insecure, if we never struggled with lust, if we never had a tendency to take something intended for beauty and wreck it for selfish purposes, there would never be anything wrong with nakedness.

I think American culture's biggest problem with nudity is not knowing how to appreciate and value it well. Our bodies were made for more than just sex. At the same time, Youtube should maintain its policy that one must be 18 or older to view certain videos, and movies should still keep their ratings in check. For the safety of those who don't know how to see the human body as anything but a means to a self-gratifying end.

Modesty is not a "woman's problem"

A friend of mine posted this article on modesty on Facebook recently. It's a timely article, since bikini season has just begun. As a woman and a Christian, I understand the point that this writer is trying to make: as a kindness to our male brothers in Christ, we ladies should cover up to keep them from lusting after our exposed bodies. That's a message I was given as a college student in Bible study, and didn't think to question it. But now I wonder...

Why aren't more women offended by the notion that modesty is a problem exclusive to our gender?

I brought this up once at dinner while on a church retreat. I was sitting at a table with half a dozen other women, and somehow the issue of modesty came up. We talked about the double standards at play: how women are lectured to cover up so the guys don't go crazy, but no one seems to care about telling guys to pull up their pants or put on T-shirts at the pool. Are men the only ones who get visually stimulated?

Because I lack a mental filter, I spoke up and added my no-cents: "There's this one guy who goes to our church, and I've seen every pair of boxers he owns. And no, we're not dating!" It took me a few seconds to realize why everyone was looking at me funny. But, my point stands (when taken in context): as far as I know, no staff member told this dude to pull his pants up a few inches to spare the ladies a lust-fest.

But this post isn't to remind the Church that women have libidos too: it's about why modesty is important in the first place. If you read the article above, the author makes a big deal about pointing out that women need to "be kind" to their brothers in Christ by wearing more fabric at the beach. Clearly, she's never heard of the expression "Less is more."

How do magazines like Maxim and the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue, which show just-barely covered models, stay in business when there's magazines like Playboy to compete with? Not to mention, naked women are at our disposal these days, thanks to the internet. But some guys (so I've been told) like to use their imaginations. And as long as the imagination can function, does it really matter whether a girl is wearing a bikini or a scuba suit?

The article fails to take into consideration that lust is a heart issue, not a clothing issue. Men are capable of lusting equally after women in bikinis and woman in burquas. There are far more convincing reasons to encourage young girls to embrace modesty, without shaming them into believing that their bodies are shameful stumbling blocks. I don't want to preach about the Christian stance on modesty -- we've all heard it, to some degree -- so I'll just share why I choose to embrace modesty:

I choose modesty because I believe my body has worth. I want to be selective about who I allow to see it. I choose modesty because, to an extent, my choice of clothing says something about my character. It's why I dress up for job interviews instead of showing up in pajamas (Don't read too much into that statement, though. I am not saying that women who dress provocatively have poor character. And any guy who whistles at a woman and expects to get sex from her because she's wearing a low-cut shirt is a toolbag).

Bottom line: I'm modest out of respect for myself and the body God gave me. I am not modest for the sake of other guys. Contrary to what that blogger says, I am not responsible for the choices they make. Did anyone ever consider how maybe men give in so easily to lustful fantasies because we set low standards for them to aspire to? It's not *just* about biology.

It's deeply saddening to see young girls buying into the idea that modesty is some kind of punishment, simply because the features we are born with are deemed attractive by the opposite sex. Not only that, but this line of thinking contributes to the idea that "men can't help themselves," which is a common excuse used to justify rape.

That blogger wants to talk about the huge "sacrifice" she's making by not wearing two-piece bathing suits; seriously? Let's talk to the men to "sacrifice" turning their heads around to stare, shall we?

Women deserve better than that. Modesty is not our problem.

"Real women" have curves? Think again

Well now that my first year of grad school is over, I FINALLY have time to write! Write blogs, that is. I don't want to know how many pages I printed this semester for class. Enough to compose a book, I'm sure.

By now, what Abercrombie and Fitch CEO Mike Jeffries said about why his store doesn't carry plus-size clothing is old news. I, however, have been formatting my response to this little catch-phrase that came up in retaliation when his interview went viral: Real women have curves!

It's a nice sentiment, really. I think America Ferrara was in a decent movie of the same title. As a woman, I appreciate those who understand that beauty isn't a one-size-fits-all package. But as a woman who is only 5'0", graduated high school at barely 90 pounds, and didn't even weigh 110 pounds until spending a semester abroad in Italy, and DOESN'T have an eating disorder, I am honestly hurt by that statement. It's well-intentioned, but ultimately misguided.

Furthermore, you have to admit that it's dangerous to try and define what a "real woman" is, beyond someone who is born with a vagina. Even when meant as a compliment, it's treading very hollow ground. 

I'm not writing this to complain, but rather to shed light on the other side of the "What does a real woman look like?" conversation. The real reason I was so small for most of my life is probably because of my highly competitive figure skating lifestyle, which lasted ten years (age seven to seventeen). But genes factor into that as well -- my mother is naturally slender, and so is my grandmother. We all have ridiculously high metabolisms, so you'll rarely see me NOT hungry. And yet, no matter what I eat (or how much), my weight remains around the same.

Before you begin to say "Ugh, I HATE you! I wish I had that problem!" let me just say that it's not as easy as it sounds. It is nearly impossible for me to find clothes, mostly jeans, that fit right. Dresses and skirts that are meant to flatter a woman's curves hang awkwardly on my frame. Not having a "woman's body" makes it easy for people to assume I'm much younger than I am, which often leads to patronizing remarks that are difficult to deflect. It's not fun being 24 and feeling trapped in the body of a 13 year old. And then there's the taunting I received in high school, and occasionally in college: "Don't you eat?" Of course I eat! Seriously, just ask my roommate.

As rude as it is to make fun of a woman with noticeable curves, it's just as rude to make disparaging comments about a healthy woman who doesn't have them. But believe me, this one wishes she did. Just how the grass is always greener on the other side, the cocktail dress looks better on the other side of the rack.

My point in talking about this isn't to compare who has it worse in terms of body image. There are plenty of difficulties in being a few pounds heavier or lighter than you'd like.

But Jeffries isn't concerned about that. He wants his clothes worn by thin, pretty people. He dislikes fat people. Fine. But how do you define "fat," exactly? Obesity can't always be detected just by looking at someone. A few pounds over an otherwise healthy BMI doesn't equate to "fat." But a few pounds less than an otherwise healthy BMI doesn't scream "Anorexic!" either.

The picture of health is different for everyone. So encouraging one body type over another, even if it's a less-appreciated curvy body type that represents the "average" woman, isn't right. Healthy eating and living is what should be encouraged. Some women are a natural size 8 or 10, and some of us are a natural 4 or a 2. That's nothing to brag or feel guilty about. Changing yourself to fit a certain status quo is.

I guess it's time I start calling myself a feminist...

Feminism is a funny word in my vocabulary. For as long as I can remember, "feminism" is defined as this crazy, radical idea that women are human beings, and should be treated as much...meaning they are entitled to the same rights and privileges as men. Can't say I disagree with that definition, but unfortunately, that's not what is commonly associated with "feminism" when people hear it today.

I've been in the church long enough to have heard the rants of evangelicals, accusing feminism as the great destroyer of families, usurping traditional male duties, etc. I don't buy into those. I think there have been some unexpected consequences of the feminist movement, such as teaching women to have sex "like men" (without strings), and as long as both genders can get away with it, then that's equality. Feminists, from a stereotypical standpoint, tend to be in favor of abortion, which I am most definitely not. I believe there is nothing more feminine than a mother wanting to protect her child, in the womb and out. Consequently, I've avoided the label of "feminist" because I didn't want to have assumptions made about me that weren't true.

If I call myself a feminist, the evangelicals will call me a heretic. If I don't call myself a feminist, the rest of the world will see me as anti-woman. Are those my only options? I hope not, because they kind of suck. Clearly one side of the spectrum, or perhaps both, is misinformed.

Yet here I am, crusading for advocacy against rape culture, and appealing to the minds of liberals and conservatives alike. In this, we are all equally vulnerable. So that leaves me to question my beliefs about what I think feminism is...and why I'm so apprehensive to call myself one. Because really, as a woman, there must be something fundamentally wrong with me if I can't identify as such.

I'm rereading Jonalyn Fincher's book "Ruby Slippers," which addresses the Christian approach to femininity and women's roles in the church (and it's fantastic, for those who haven't read it). Throughout history, Christianity and feminism have not gone well together. So it seems I have another hurdle to jump when it comes to reconciling my feminist opinions, because I subscribe to the teachings of a holy book with passages by the Apostle Paul that say women must not speak up in church. At the same time, the first witnesses to Jesus' empty tomb were women. In an age when a woman's testimony was considered worthless, why would the Gospel writers have named Mary Magdalene as the first witness, and not someone more credible? If the resurrection never happened, that's a bad way to try and convince people that it did.

If people are wrong about Christianity being a misogynistic religion, then I'm probably wrong about my reasons for avoiding calling myself a feminist.

Maybe, just maybe, people of all religious and political persuasions can agree that feminism is about discovering what it means to be female. How to be feminine in a society that favors men, and not see that as a weakness. How to maintain a healthy identity when fashion magazines try to sell us beauty in a package, when toddlers in tiaras are in such a hurry to grow up, but women in their thirties are desperate to look younger. Most importantly, maybe feminism is about how to feel like a "real woman" even if you don't have much in the way of curves, haven't had sex, aren't married, or in a relationship, and despise dressing up. Maybe it's about appreciating the differences of both genders, instead of trying to make them one and the same, because we're not the same. We're made differently, we think differently. Or maybe it's about trying to find that common ground.

So. Am I completely crazy, or might I be on to something?

Ask if you want, but you may not receive

I'm slowly starting to embrace this new introverted side of me. This is a fairly recent development, so part of me couldn't help wondering if it's a phase, or something permanent. Being that outgoing social butterfly who goes up to strangers introducing herself is no longer comfortable. Speaking in front of people doesn't come as easily as it used to...well, depending on the subject. There are some subjects I now denote too personal for discussion with people I've just met. When it comes to my books, though, I'm like a new mom showing off all 50+ pictures on my iphone of my baby in the exact same pose, thoroughly convinced she is the most adorably original creature anyone has ever seen.

There are some situations I'll have to get used to, like the dreaded "What do you want to do with your major?" question that everyone always asks at parties. It's my own fault, I know, for choosing something that makes people feel awkward. Or maybe it's God's fault for, as seminarians like to say, "Putting this calling on my heart." Explaining that I want to work with rape victims almost always shuts down conversation. I understand why, but there's not much I can do about it. Only on rare occasions have I been asked "And what made you want to do that kind of work?" I'll say "Personal experiences," and leave it at that. You don't get more of an explanation if you're not a close friend of mine. In that circumstance, it doesn't matter whether one is an introvert or not. There's healthy curiosity, and then there's a complete lacking of tact.

But then there's this other thing...this "OOOOH you grew up Jewish?! Tell me your whole life story RIGHT NOW!" In not quite those exact words, this has happened to me dozens of times, not including the time I've spent in seminary. And when this happens, my former self and new self collide. The old self wouldn't have so much of a problem with this. I confess, I was "that girl" who loved being the center of attention, and dropping the "I was raised Jewish" bomb in a Christian setting was always the best way to make that happen.

Now, it's different. Aside from trying to be more humble, I'm realizing -- shocker -- that I don't owe everyone who asks a detailed explanation, about anything. For one thing, it's exhausting to recount the majority of my life in under five minutes or so. For another, being barraged with questions (or so it feels) is even more exhausting. My life is a literal open book -- I don't regret writing one that answers all those questions -- and that's exactly why I wrote it. To let myself off the hook for having to explain everything...just read about it instead! (Shameless plug, I know)

Moreover, there's a certain "novelty status" that comes with being different. I'm starting to get a little sick of it, honestly. As a new introvert, being the target of personal questions, especially from strangers, freaks me out. If I want to put myself out there, I'll write a book or volunteer in some other way. I like the freedom of choice. I no longer revel in turning the tide of a social gathering because my background is suddenly the most interesting subject. But then, introverted or not, wouldn't that make anyone feel uncomfortable?

The moral of this story is this: feel free to ask whatever you want. But don't be offended if I decline to answer.

God takes crap and makes fertilizer

A timely excerpt about trials and forgiveness from Confessions of a Prodigal Daughter:


     I wish I could say that the rest of my senior year was relaxing and relatively trial-free. The following verse from James became the theme of my last few months of college: “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything” (1:2-4). Naturally, this verse did not sit well with me the first time I read it. Consider it joywhen facing trials? What kind of crazy logic is that? But setbacks are only setups for God to work. He makes all things work for the good of those who love him. The biggest trials we face are also where our calling for ministry can be found...
     As John was trying to convince me to fall back to our old ways the next time he’d return home, I also found out he was seeing someone else. To add further insult to an already gaping injury, the medium in which I discovered this information was Facebook. He couldn’t even tell me himself.
     That night started well enough. I had gone out to sing karaoke with the girls in my h2o bible study, and did not return until midnight. I now know better than to check my Facebook or email just before going to bed. That night was, without being melodramatic, the worst night of my life. I cried so hard I was dry-heaving and dizzy. When you find out that the man who has been a god-like figure in your life since you were seventeen is now in the arms of someone who isn’t you, it tends to wreck your world. Mine shattered instantaneously, and I’m still amazed at just how easy it was. 
     I realized that the timing of our inevitable downfall was actually in response to a prayer from the weekend before. I attended a women’s retreat with h2o and listened to a speaker talk about her struggle with a spiritually and emotionally damaging relationship in college. I felt as if she was addressing me personally. I perfectly understood the ugly cycle of giving in to the same old sin, even with the best of intentions to avoid it. I also understood the feeling of hopelessness that can lead to dangerous forms of compromise. 
     It was easy to stay in a relationship that was destroying me from the inside out because I firmly believed that was the best I’d ever have. In looking for a quick fix to my loneliness, I made a personal god out of a fellow human being who was incapable of fulfilling me. Even when I felt disrespected and worthless, I believed I could fix him when I couldn’t even fix myself. I remained convinced, despite warnings from Bethany and Anne, that the man I’d originally fallen in love with still lived somewhere inside him.
     I knew there was no way I could spend the night alone. Kaitlin was the first person I could think of to call, even though it was after midnight. The night I spent sobbing my guts out on her couch was the first time since accepting Christ that I felt so completely worthless. Even before my family found out about my faith, I don’t think I’d ever felt grief this big. This was a man I had known for half a decade, someone I loved with the depth of life itself, even if I was not being respected by him as a daughter of God should be.        What should have been only a five-minute walk from my dorm to her apartment took nearly half an hour because of all the snow I had to trudge through. By the time I made it to her place, I was a wreck and could barely stand up. We stayed up nearly all night, and I could not believe her when she told me how God would use this pain for glory someday. I could not believe her when she told me I deserved so, so much more than what I had settled for in a man. I felt that my self-worth was permanently shot to pieces, and no godly man would ever desire me as a girlfriend, much less a wife.  
     I needed to do a spring cleaning of my life more than ever, but even that could not be done completely on my own. I hardly ate, slept, or showered within the first week of my newfound “freedom” as an officially single woman. I thought that with enough prayer and support from close friends I could get through this, but I couldn’t. My mind was a broken record of all the things I should have done sooner, things I wish I’d said. 
     Eventually, I decided to get counseling so I could at least finish my senior year on a strong, healthy note. Sometimes I think it will be easier to forgive him than it will be to forgive myself. But I know there is no point in continually beating myself up. I know that the past cannot be changed or undone.
     Jesus’ attitude toward forgiveness never struck me as borderline insane until this moment. I had been hurt before, certainly, but never enough where the thought of forgiveness seemed completely impossible and ludicrous. To forgive someone who hurt me this deeply felt ridiculous and unnatural. It contradicted everything I know that is true about human nature. 
     But then, by sheer grace alone, I remembered how I became a Christian becauseof the fact that it is unnatural. Christianity calls its followers to rise above their natural condition, to be more than they could ever become on their own. It is completely counter-cultural, and the standards set by Jesus are often perceived as unrealistically high. His words about forgiving those who mistreat you have caused him to be labeled as crazy by many of his critics. But turning the other cheek is anything but a passive response. 
     Forgiving those that the world considers unredeemable is just one of many examples of embracing God’s vision for our lives. It is by no means a light and easy task, but it is necessary for healing. Many people equate forgiveness with excusing poor behavior, but the reality is that holding on to anger is emotionally crippling. It robs you of the chance to heal from tragedy. That’s not to say that it isn’t natural to grieve, but even now, while still grieving, I know that holding onto it for a lifetime and still hoping to heal is like gorging on cupcakes daily and still expecting to lose weight. Refusing to forgive someone who has wronged you only gives them permission to dominate your life. 
     Still, I continue to struggle with it every day. Some days are better than others, and then there are days I feel like I have fallen back to the hopeless pit I was stuck in before. Some days I have to force myself to pray even harder for the ability to choose life again. Hell hath no fury like the prayers of a broken-hearted woman.
     A song that is commonly sung in h2o services contains a verse that says “You make all things work together for our good.” That is another one of my favorite things about Christianity: the fact that no experience, good or bad, is ever wasted. As a friend of mine likes to say, God takes crap and makes fertilizer.

Off-the-market author on developing single characters

I've arrived at that strange turning point between perpetual adolescence and adulthood: my high school friends are getting engaged, some are having kids (or getting engaged after having kids). Since I myself am not there yet, it will be a while before I start writing any stories about women who are married or have kids. Imagination notwithstanding, I'm a fan of writing only what I know, for now. Never mind that "what I know" is constantly changing.

I've longed for a book that chronicles the life of a single twenty-something that doesn't make her a modern Cinderella, or a Sex and the City character. If such a book exists (and I'm sure it does somewhere), I've never read it, hence why I'm writing one. The idea of a 21st-century single woman evokes an image of Bridget Jones awkwardness, Zooey Deschanel adorable-ness, and Carrie Bradshaw promiscuity in my mind. I want a character who has fallen in love with the wrong person, made some mistakes, but doesn't want to be defined by them, or be consumed with molding herself into someone who's perfect for a man she hasn't met yet.

Not surprisingly, I'm writing about what my own life was like for most of college. But once I got the idea for this novel (the working title is "Public Displays of Convention"), I couldn't help but wonder: who will believe this story? I wonder this because the author has been in a relationship for the last year and a half. Still, I can't help but remember the countless times when older women reached out to me at the lowest points of my singlehood, when I'd hit rock bottom and felt like I'd be alone forever. They tried to encourage me, and I'd think bitterly to myself, You can't help me. You're happily married; you can't possibly remember what it was like to be where I am now. 

Well, I still remember very well. It wasn't too long ago -- barely two years, actually -- when I sincerely believed I'd be single for the rest of my life. Not because God told me so, but because I didn't think anyone would want me. Now I know I was wrong, but that doesn't mean I can't empathize with the pain of not knowing if it's meant to happen.

I don't want to create a character who gets a happy ending, though. I've read plenty of novels that do have happy endings, and enjoyed them immensely, but for the purpose of this book I think such an ending would be irresponsible. Why? Because I've learned that relationships are not a cure for whatever self-esteem issues exist before a relationship starts. The habits formed as a single person won't disappear the moment you meet the love of your life. I don't want to perpetuate the lie that true happiness and fulfillment can only be found if you're in a romantic relationship, a message that's not-so-subtly implied by 99% of all chick flicks. It's simply untrue.

Not to mention, the expression "work on becoming the kind of person you want to end up with" is misleading. You don't want to fall into the trap of becoming the best person you can be for the sole purpose of attracting a significant other. No, you should focus on becoming your best self, FOR yourself!

So while I'm still a full-time grad student, and have a lot of responsibilities on my plate without taking on the task of writing a new novel, I'm doing it anyway, while the memories of trying to live "productively single" are still fresh in my mind. It saddens me how so many people essentially waste themselves on the myth of "you complete me." Without being preachy, I want this book to drive home the point that worth is something we're already born with, not something to wear on a ring finger.