NEW SITE! REDIRECT YOUR ATTENTION TOOOOOO....

http://kami-mueller.com/
A new post has been posted, but you'll have to check out my NEW site to see it!

Hope you continue to follow all that the Lord is teaching this little heart of mine...


I GOOTTTTAA LLETTT IITTT SHHIINNNEEE.... :)  See you at the new site!


Love,
Kami

God's Gorgeous Girl & the Maker's Marvelous Man

I have older parents, so I can easily say that I have watched far more black and white movies than color movies in the span of my life. [I have also watched every single John Wayne film ever produced in the upward number of 65 times each.]  I love them.  I love the hats with the birdcage veils alluding to their womanly mystery; the tailored dresses that made each woman look more— well, womanly.  Things seemed to make more sense in black and white films.  Maybe it is because to the Lord, things like beauty, modesty, and strength— ARE black and white.  There is no middle ground in the way he sees and defines those characteristics.

I think women get a bad rap in terms of self-image.  Don’t get me wrong!  It is likely all true!  But I believe men to have just as many troubles with self-image as their complement, women, do.  Who is satisfied with what they see in the mirror?  Women may have their own coping mechanisms to deal with their dissatisfactions, but I can make a solid argument that men cope in their own ways, and sadly, don’t talk about these insecurities.   

As I have embarked upon this quest to research and understand true biblical womanhood, something has become remarkably clear: to know and understand biblical womanhood—you must know and understand biblical manhood.  These two are never to be separated (though culture likes to pretend that gender roles are interchangeable and irrelevant!).  They cannot be disjointed.  To know one, you know the other.  They are compliments.  They do not exist on different planets or in different countries from one another.  They are each masterfully created in conjunction to one another, with the beautiful forward vision of God’s amazing plan.  Think: true manhood as peanut butter, and true womanhood as grape jelly.  How can you have one without the other!  Jelly in isolation is just a bit too sweet, your lips pucker from the tartness, and your teeth will surely rot.  Peanut butter in isolation makes your gums stick together, you can’t swallow all it has to give you at one time, and makes your tongue feel funny.  But together.... masterful wonderfulness in your mouth.

My roommate, (Yes, I have a roomie now!) and I were chatting last night about things we have both struggled with in the past and what still inevitably carries into the future.  We both had a similar theme throughout the discussion: being “seen.”  [If you’ve read my post Secret’s of the Heart of a Woman, some of this will echo and expand upon some that was said there.]  Feeling invisible and irrelevant is one of the most difficult pills to swallow as a woman.  Eve was the very last thing God created.  I like to think of her as the cherry on the scrumptious ice cream sunday!  Sure, the world would have still tasted good without her addition, but goodness!  It would NOT have been complete!  Once more—it’s the last adornment, the dab of beauty, the first thing your eye grabs when it glances at the full picture.  God’s women were CREATED to be noticed.  I think the question is, though, for what?

Physical beauty is blarney.  Sure, when you are in your twenties you have ridiculously perky boobs, your rear end is so firm that it appears to be sitting on a shelf at all times, and if you have not had children, your washboard abs serve a dual purpose…making you look like Barbie, AND a place to wash your clothing efficiently when your washing machine breaks down.  Have you even thought about the parts of your body that society tells us are attractive?  Take boobies for instance.  They are made of 90% fat and glands that swell with milk… to feed a baby.  After this said baby is fed, they sag to your knees.  But we buy push up bras to squeeze the girls’ together, developed silly tricks to “fall into” or dresses to appear larger, and in some cases, insert foreign unnatural materials to be much larger than how God made them.  Let me repeat: THESE ARE SACKS OF FAT THAT WILL FILL WITH MILK TO FEED CHILDREN.  The bigger boobies you have does not indicate that you will have more milk to feed with.  Why are we so worried about them?  Thinking holistically, why are men so worried about them?  Men—next time boobs are brought up for conversation, and I have a feeling they are brought up more often than not, remind each other that they are sacks of fat that make milk for babies.  I am going to start a revolution on how ridiculous it is that society thinks that boobs are attractive.  The thing God has laid on my heart lately is the beautiful difference between appearance and purpose.  Thinking about boobs in their appearance form: lustful (for men or women).  Thinking about boobs in terms of their purpose for existence: beautiful.  Their purpose is to nurture and sustain a helpless, dependent child to strength. 

Now, let’s talk about a physical feature both men and women have.  Butts.  Rearends.  Fannies.  Blah Blah Blah.  This one is a personal favorite.  I happen (much like my mother, which is a bit weird to think about…) am a “butt girl.”  I have always been attracted to men with nice tushies.  (My mom and her sorority sisters used to have a very intricate “rating system” for men’s rearends, luckily, the obsession has dwindled by generation…I just like them.)  I think this is something men find attractive with women too.  Think of the many pop culture references to the glutes.  Beyonce’s hit song/ phrase “Bootilicous.”  Or the always playing at weddings and school dances “Back That ‘Thang’ Up.”  Here is revolution number two for you.  Every time one of your friends comments on their own tush, or the attractiveness of someone else’s—you remind them that they poop with that area of their body.  I dare you to even change the lyrics of some of these ridiculous songs to portray a more accurate understanding of PURPOSE over APPEARANCE. 

“My body’s so POOPY-LICIOUS for ya babe…”

“You’re a fine ‘lil woman won’t you POOP that thang back!”

HELLLOOOOO!  Please tell me that this makes sense to you!  I have found it a humorous conversation with the Lord, even.  Anytime I find myself sinning by thinking “His tushie is a ten.” I immediately repent to the Lord, and tell God, “Father, I’m really sorry—thanks for reminding me that he poops out of that and that I’m an idiot for thinking about it in terms of appearance.  The purpose of his tush is to poop, and that makes me want to vomit.  I’m really glad you showed me that God.  Love you, Amen.” 

When all the lies from Satan are removed, and the truth is displayed—our cultural fascinations and sins towards one another seem completely ridiculous.  Plato has an in depth discussion called the Theory of Forms, which discusses the difference between appearance and reality.  Here we can echo that same dichotomy: appearance and the reality of God’s purpose for things.  The even scarier truth that we are so slow to understand is the fleeting nature of BOTH the appearance and purpose of these things.  Cancer can quickly eat away at your breasts or your prostate, Lou Gehrig’s disease can trap your brain inside your body while it loses all motor function, a car accident can put you in a wheelchair removing your self-sufficiency.  So, yes, we are called to take care of these things—but not because they make you more attractive, but because our bodies are in fact GOD’s…and they are on loan.  You should exercise to have more energy to do God’s work here on earth—not to have a blasted chest and triceps definition that would make every human cry with jealousy.  WHY are you at the gym?  Are you ministering to people while you are there?  Or are you staring at yourself in the mirror doing squats trying to make your tushie, the area you poop out of, look better so that you can earn more attention?  For women, do you spend just as long “fixing” God’s creation by putting on make-up, expensive clothes, and expensive jewelry as you do in God’s Word everyday? 

That has been my new plan.  I set a timer on my phone as I start to get ready every morning, when I am done, I pause it.  For every second throughout the day I spend time focused on what I look like, I add to the timer.  Everyday my goal is to spend three times the amount of accumulated “primping” time in God’s Word—because I know that beauty to my Father is a “gentle and quiet spirit from within.”  I know for him it is more important to be submissive to His plan for me and for the godly male leaders he places in my life.  Let’s get real—God is God, so He KNOWS that my tush (attractive or not) is made to poop, so He sees more beauty in my broken tears of repentance, cries for guidance and discernment, and in the callused hands I have from ministering and sharing with others the beauty of His love.  God knows that you poop too, so feel free to stop doing your excessive series’ of squats at the gym, and instead work out your heart muscle to really be one of God’s Gorgeous Girl’s or one of the Maker’s Marvelous Men.  Don’t settle for worrying about weird things about your physical appearance that DO weird things, start worrying about the spirit that the Lord has cultivated inside you.  And dare I say it, for those women (and men) who feel like me (invisible and irrelevant) sometimes, don’t you dare settle on someone who is more concerned about your body parts that produce fatty milk and excrement, wait for the person who sees THOSE things as invisible and fleeting, and desperately wants to see the heart for the Lord you have been working-out, training, and shaping from within.

Just a girl who, yes, poops (surprise!), who sees a world poking and prodding at beautiful God-made perfect bodies for no other reason but that they failed to pay their “gym” membership at 24 Hour Bible Soul Fitness, and a girl who will gauge a man’s intentions by how he ignores my physique and REALLY SEES my heart for God.  And if that’s not something you find beautiful— then, as my mother would tell you: you can hit the road, Jack.  And don’t-cha come back… til you love my God, my GOD, MY GOD! Hit the road, Jack…

Bahahaha.  I make myself laugh.  Over and Out.

-Kami

Unfortunate Discoveries and the Beauty of Horse Sense

I remember one very unfortunate day from when I was a little girl.  I was probably getting home from school— likely wearing my worn in cowboy boots, hair a mess, velour overalls with a hole on the right knee, and was wandering around our 600-acre farm.  (I know it sounds like my parents are negligent….but my dad had… still has… a gps tracker on my whereabouts at all times… seriously, the man is a marine, he can SMELL me from 800 miles away.) 

Back to the farm… and me wandering in a ridiculous outfit…

I had wandered towards the back vacant barns that used to be the home of thousands upon thousands of cows, empty silos, and fields as far as you could see.  (I was short— so admittedly, that may be a dramatic statement.)  Something in the sky-high corn stalks was beckoning me in, whispering my name to come explore— something that seemed both dangerous and beautiful at the same time.  So I threw a bridle on my horse, hopped on bareback, and galloped into the alluring field.  Something in my heart knew there was something lost out there, and that I was the girl chosen to find it.  I galloped faster.  The wind was ripping through my lopsided ponytails— legs too small to grip the body of my way too strong stallion.  Magnum went faster still, seemingly aware of the urgency in our appointed mission…faithful in seeing to it that I completed my special task. 

Have you ever heard of horse sense?  People around horses know how incredibly aware horses are to all that is around them.  They have a protective instinct of both themselves and their caregivers— they are self sacrificing of their bodies to protect others.  I promise this to be true… for I have seen the reality with my own eyes and felt the instant alterations with my own heart.  Today I learned that the Lord has given me this same horse sense.  That I know the exact moment I meet someone that they are untrustworthy, that they would throw someone under the bus to achieve the “goal” they have set their mind on, that I can sense in the most physical way— that someone will hurt me. 

I won’t be finishing the story of what Magnum and I discovered in that field.  I’m not sure it really matters anymore.  It seems that the parallel moment I have found myself in today echoes with a deeper importance than any of my discoveries as a young girl.  There is a fear in the acknowledgement that not much has changed in the world—and that so much has changed within me. 

Unfortunate discoveries are life altering.  Yes, there are usually tears…but it is the memory that shakes something from within—that sick feeling of having “been there” before and wishing for a grandiose and genius escape plan.  I galloped my way into this current cornfield.  It was unmistakably alluring in the deepest and thickest parts of its harvest.  It was vibrant and thrilling and made flippant promises with loose lips.  More than any of those qualities…I knew that it was unequivocally the Lord’s plan.  I know, though admittedly some parts make me horribly angry, that this is God’s plan for me.  I know that He has brought me here to be striped naked and bare, for Him to point out all that is in my wretched heart that is unworthy of His gracious love, to be cast out like trash, to be also treasured, to find beautiful trinkets on unplanned explorations, to see tragedy, to be lied to, to be loved, to mend brokenness when I am able, to pour out sacrificially with love into others—receiving none in return, to be both seen and to be invisible, to be betrayed and to be held in the highest esteem, to sin and to be holy, to find my home—and know how homeless I am in the context of Heaven.

Suffering and pain are the greatest of earthly equalizers.  Unlikely partnerships and voyages are made with people you would never have imagined—and a plan unfolds that seems almost too hysterical to really be true.  Usually when someone I love experiences pain…I feel anger.  I am angry at God just as David reacts when Uzzah was struck dead…for having good intentions, yet breaking the law of God.  I am angry tonight.  I concede how un-Christlike anger is—but if I am to be authentic and honest with myself and the community around me—I AM angry.  J.J. Heller sings a song entitled “Your Hands”… with lyrics that say: “I have unanswered prayers, I have trouble I wish wasn’t there— I have prayed a thousand ways, for You to take my pain away.” 

Tonight I will pray one-thousand-and-one ways. 

Tomorrow I will pray one-thousand-and-two. 

If this seems like a foolish plan—shoot me a message and let me tell you about a man who paid for me a cost far higher than I am worth… on a cross that dripped blood that cleansed instead of stained…and made it ok for my heart to be angry with His Father for as long as I very well need. 

This man will make this anger of mine turn to love—against all odds, and against all logic.  For nothing—NOTHING—is impossible with Him. 

Just a young woman contending for a heart like Christ’s…living in a world that wants her to be a pushover, a woman that betrays, and a woman that breaks— but instead I fight to be a woman who will vie for the contentment and fulfillment of others…even if that means suffering of my own.    

Kami

Great Expectations

In case you were hoping that I have miraculously transformed into the perfect biblical woman and that all my research on biblical womanhood has reached a tumultuous end… I regret to crush all your (albeit deserved) hopes and dreams.  I’m still imperfect!  I’m still on the search for wisdom and knowledge about all that the Lord wishes for His daughters.  Maybe a disclaimer of sorts is needed:  this will be a lifelong journey, people, so please be patient as this season of life reads a bit daunting.  (Try living it!)

You find me after an eventful wedding weekend of one of my most cherished college friends.  Her husband, (OK, so still a little weird to say that!) in my opinion, is the epitome of what a man should be to a woman he cares for.  Standing beside the two of them, as they became one with Christ— was one of the most joyful and humbling moments of my life.  Truly.  I count my blessings to have them in my life. 

Part of their ceremony included something called a “Hand Ceremony” which many couples do in lieu of a unity candle.  During this section of the ceremony, the couple holds hands, the Best Man reads to the bride what her future husbands hands will mean to her.  Then the Maid of Honor does the same, but for the groom.  I loved the literal and figurative emergence of what these “parts” mean in a marital relationship, and their definitional properties as manhood and womanhood are discussed.  When my friend was researching the words to use for this ceremony— a handful of ridiculous examples were found.  [Seriously, I could list them, but you wouldn’t believe it.] Instead of using what has always been used before, she asked that her go-to team (bridesmaid’s!) draft a more personal and perfect one.  So we did. 

Groom to the Bride:

These are the hands, young, strong, and vibrant with love that are holding yours on your wedding day, as he promises to love you all the days of your life.  These are the hands that will work alongside yours, as together you purposely lay the bricks to build your future together. These are the hands that will love you passionately, and, with the slightest touch, comfort you like no other. These are the hands that will countless times wipe the tears from your eyes, tears of sorrow and tears of joy. These are the hands that will give you strength and support you when you feel that can no longer do it alone. These are the hands that, when wrinkled and aged, will be reaching for yours, still giving you the same unspoken tenderness as a reminder that you are his—and only his— a beautiful gift from God, to be cherished in his heart for the rest of time.

Bride to the Groom:

These are the hands of your best friend, soft and joyful, as she promises to love and cherish you for a lifetime of happiness. These are the hands of your helper, your support, your comfort, and your joy.  These are the hands that will hold yours through the valleys, as well as, peaks…rejoicing in God’s amazing plan as you walk through life side by side.  These are the hands that will hold you up when you feel defeated— affirm you when you feel unsure— and nurture you when the pain from this world feels overwhelming.  These are the hands the Lord crafted from your rib— that complete you— that fulfill you.  These are the hands that know no time or age, hands that acknowledge you as their leader through life.   These are hands that will always grip yours and serve as a reminder that you are hers— and only hers— a gift from the Lord, to be respected and treasured in her heart for the rest of time. 

Preacher:

Dear Father, bless the hands that you see before you this day. May they always be held by one another. Give them the strength to hold on during the storms of stress and the dark of disillusionment. Keep them tender and gentle as they nurture each other in their love.

Help these hands to continue building a relationship founded in your grace, rich in caring, and devoted to reaching for your perfection. May they see their four hands as healer, protector, shelter, and guide.  We ask this in the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns with you now and forever. Amen.

_____________________________

The more I read over the words I both had a part in writing, and witnessed during their marriage, the more I am floored by the expectations that follow.  If you are a regular follower, you know that I am single.  What you may not know is that I am picky.  Sure— I complain and moan about how boys don’t “see” me, how I am infrequently asked out on dates, and how I am sewing (as we speak) a nun outfit to cover any and all sex appeal that I may have left for the rest of my human life— but there is something I seldom talk about.  I have great expectations for that man. 

These expectations are not supernatural— they are not expectations that should, instead, be found in the Lord, (though, I often find them there as well.).  They are easily achievable, completely reasonable, in my opinion— great expectations for the man that (Lord willing) will be beside me for the fight of this life. 

Let me tell you a really big secret: from what I hear, marriage is really hard.  It’s a vow that you take in faith, and a vow that essentially you agree to walk around with a full-length mirror draped in front of you, pointing out all flaws and indiscretions for as long as you live.  For those of you who imagine the fairytale, white dress wearing, magic fairy dust marriage— I hate to inform you, but your dream will forever be just that… a dream.  You are imperfect, if the Lord has a husband for you, he will also be imperfect.  Read: He will smell bad, you will get wrinkles, you will fight, you will be prideful, he will push your buttons, you will push his… and yes, the question of all questions… you will toot in front of each other. 

Mine of course… smell like rainbows, but that is for another day….

The bottom line is this; get outta Disneyland chicka!  This is not to say that marriage isn’t beautiful— it IS!  God gave it to human kind, so we know it to be good in all ways.  But, I cannot help but speculate that marriage is often good in the godliest of ways because of that challenge and refining power.  That mirror is God’s gift to make you a better person. 

For me, for my heart—rather— that man cannot be any ole Joe blow.  He will have certain life experiences that will bring empathy to my own.  He will not roll over and play dead.  He will challenge me— he will fight back!  I cannot help, at times, feel great pains for Eve in this understanding.  Yes, she sinned, but every woman in their most honest of hearts knows that it only would have took Adam standing up to her like a real man— a man to say “I care about you, stop this, I’m leading you because God called me to, and we are not going down this path!”  Instead, today, it seems, we have more men who would rather be followers than leaders.  Their expectations for themselves are anything but great. 

For the women out there:  do not be discouraged.  Keep your expectations great…for I believe it calls our Christian men to be even greater! When friends denounce your choices in saying no to certain dates with men that you feel are not, from the get-go, the kind of men that at least shadow your expectations— ignore them.  Trust in the innate intuition God gave you.  That is a spiritual gift that is not to be pushed aside lightly.  In the same light, look towards your Christian brothers with forward eyes.  The Christian leaders in your church have been married for several years.  Their wives did not marry the man they are today.  Give them a “glance of grace.”  Does their future potential meet your great expectations for them?  If so— show them your beautiful heart in due time… if not, be protective of your most precious gift and show discretion in who sees it.  For the man He has for you, IF He has one (and not all of us will be given the gift of marriage…), will far exceed your great expectations, and be thankful that you thought so highly of them to glance upon them with joyful grace.  They will be thankful that you saw the man the Lord was refining them into (see: ongoing!), and desire to live up to your heightened call. 

Tinkle Pants

I had my own plans for Saturday.  I was going to get Major dog in my car, grab an old comforter, my bible and my journal… and drive East to the sea.  I wanted to take in the Lord and His beautiful creation.  I wanted to be reminded that I was alive; that I was young, and that I had so much life left to live.  I wanted to feel free again- uninhibited- like myself- bold and strong… complete in the knowledge that God is, in fact, for me. 

But, the plans changed… drastically.

The plans changed to include a soggy bottom, bacteria rampant water, a few shed tears, and smiles I could no longer hold inside my heart.  Weird combo, I know, but a beautiful and complete love story that I could never have written by myself.  It’s a love story that I am not even apart of—I am more of a page-turner…the observer of all that dances around me. I can only lick my finger to hurry and turn the page.  The love story is one that I will never be worthy of, but feel desperately honored to even catch a glimpse of on the periphery. 

Though I had an itch to “get away” from Raleigh for the day— my unusual lack of planning left me with few options, and a feeling of defeat.  I stayed in my comfy green reading chair and read through 1 and 2 Chronicles, did some heavy journaling, cuddled with Major, went on a walk with a friend, went on a visit to Oxford Manor, and finally… my usual Saturday evening endeavor… went to church.  (So scandalous, I know.)  (Are you shocked that I am, in fact, single?) (Yeah, I’m not either…)

I was meeting my friend Beka, who— only planned on attending church with me that night because she knew I had a heavy heart, she knew I was going to church alone as I normally do, and wanted to keep me company.  I’m an overachiever, so I sat down in my usual front and center spot so that I could take my overly detailed notes of J.D.’s sermon for review later. (And also be showered with his spit.  I like to refer to this portion of the evening as my “pre-baptism.”  This is when the Holy Spirit flies out of J.D.’s mouth through his spit, and then lands on me. It’s ballin.)  The sermon ended, the Hoppinator (this is his real name…) came to the stage to give the call for baptism, followed by instructions, and the band started playing again.  I remember feeling distracted.  I couldn’t focus on what I was singing.  I couldn’t control my brain.  I couldn’t slow it down. 

Brief history:  I’ve been baptized twice— mainly because my mom was SUPER pumped to have a child and wanted me to be extra holy (which I am) (no but really…).  I won’t attach the typed document that I gave to the Hoppinator upon our first meeting outlining the issues I see in both infant and believer’s baptism because it would literally bore you to death, however, my conclusion has been— that Scripture does not affirm the argument of one to the level of absolute certainty that the other is proven irrelevant or completely wrong.  I can argue for both.  I can argue against both.  All I knew— was that the Lord had called me to membership at the Summit.  You had to be baptized as an adult (believer’s baptism) to be a member… and this is where I have been marinating for a couple months now.

Intermission for historical interlude is now over.  Back to our regularly scheduled programing…

I couldn’t get my thoughts in order.  I could feel the Hoppinator’s eyes stare through to my soul— as I constantly avoided his face and simultaneously did my best Kari Jobe impression singing like a champ.  No avail.  Without my permission, my mouth whispered in Beka’s ear to my right, “If I get baptized, will you stay?” [Followed by Beka peeing on herself, jumping up and down, running out of the sanctuary with me, and skipping with joy…].  The Hoppinator had somehow made a mad Superman-esque dash to the lobby of the church and out the front door (still entangled in AV equipment and not at all planning to be the actual person baptizing people that night)— in shock asked if I was serious.  In true Kam-gurl form, I responded, “Yes, and you’re the one doing it— go get changed you crazy man.” 

Now, let me explain something about these baptismal pool-thingys.  At first glance, they look like intense hot tubs— you know, the ones with the neon lights that flash to the beat of the music.  Don’t be fooled.  Let me explain a few key differences before we embark upon the climax of this story.  Difference #1) Hot tubs are hot, baptismal pool-thingys are cold.   Difference #2) Hot tubs use appropriate chlorine levels to kill bacteria manifestations, baptismal pools do not use appropriate chlorine levels to kill bacteria manifestations.  Difference #3) In a hot tub you wear a bathing suit, in a baptismal pool-thingy you wear a black onesie that when many are cloaked in such form in a single file line…looks mildly cult-ish.  The goal= for the on looking crowd to be spared the sight of your drenched bod when these black onesies cling to your fat rolls.  Difference #4) In hot tubs, you do not wear your undergarments— in a spontaneous baptism encouraged by none other than the holy spirit…you do because you did not plan to be submerged in water when you left home looking like a rockstar for church that evening.  Difference #5) In hot tubs, you sit around, chill, and talk about the meaning of life.  In baptismal pool-thingys you answer two heavy questions in front of a crowd of onlookers that you don’t really know as a profession of your faith and confirmation of Lordship in Jesus Christ… that they expect you to follow through with.  HELLLOOO.

Similarity—the one and only: Both hot tubs and baptismal pool-thingys make you want to have to pee.  (Don’t worry, I didn’t.  It’s holy water people!  Duh!)  (Plus the bubbles aren’t on so everyone would have been able to identify me as the peer.  Not a good plan.)

So I did it.  (NO!  I didn't PEE!) I took the plunge.  I left church with a large wet spot on the bottom of my jeans and a mop of hair— and I was completely unashamed.  I was clean.  In one day— the Lord took my silly plans and multiplied them one hundred fold.  I feel alive.  I feel free.  I feel strong and bold and young and full.  But not because of some beach a hundred miles East of me— but because I was washed by THE water.  

...Water that I will always be happy to walk away from… looking like I peed in my pants. 

Just a girl stumbling through a new beginning, with a new heart, with a shot of really living… and the new spokesperson for adult Depends diapers, the self-appointed Summit baptismal pool-thingy cleaner and preparer (Chlorine added??), and the Summit buyer for Hanes undergarments so all future children that the Lord elects to follow him… can walk away with a dry booty… and fly new boxer briefs. 

Kami

Secrets From the Heart of a Woman:

Yes.  I know you just either (1) gasped in shock that I am breaking girl code, or (2) wet your pants out of excitement that you have been granted the opportunity for a sneak peak into the heart of a woman.  (Really, women—plural— though most are going to be lame and pretend this isn’t the case).  Most of the following are what I would deem as generalities, but because I ripped up my “cool card” a long time ago, there is a 923874293920005% chance that I am a weirdo, and that it only applies to me.  So read with this understanding and filter accordingly.

Trumpet blares exciting melodic note montage….

And here we go!

SECRET #1: Women feel invisible.  I think there is an element in every woman’s heart that is crying for acknowledgement.  With time, this cry becomes a muffled whimper they tend to ignore by sweeping under the rug of “I don’t deserve this or that,” “I am unworthy,” “I am ugly.”  It becomes a twisted distortion of the original plea.  It becomes a foothold for the devils wretched words and heart ripping phrases.  It becomes the start of death itself. 

Due to this invisibility mechanism (not like Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak…), women have a hunger to be noticed.  This is why you see women who have triple D sized you-know-what’s wear sixed XS tank tops.  (Someone should let them know that we can STILL see the vastness of their enormity, even when well locked/covered/duct-taped/tamper-proofed under an appropriately sized t-shirt.)  Women who are overly loud or talk over others?  They want to be noticed too.  They want to be given safety in “being seen,” in being accepted; maybe at the crux of it all…they want the safety that comes with being loved.

In my quest for biblical womanhood, I have been trying to fight this by doing the opposite.  For the past week, I have worn significantly less make-up (sometimes no make-up, though, today… someone asked me if “I was feeling ill” so that may have to stop at the nearest possible opportunity…), made an active plea to listen far more than I talk, and to embrace my invisibility.  The Lord rejoices in meekness and humility.  He rejoices when women are soft, kind, welcoming, full of the life the He bestowed upon them… not when they are desperately seeking attention with streaks of pink in their hair, knockers that bounce off their knees then forehead, or when they are the woman in the room who will not let go of the spotlight in fear that they will sink into oblivion again.  I’ve been invisible my whole life— why not embrace that cloak with grace.  Wear it because the Lord gave it to you.  If and when you ARE noticed for something, or by somebody… then you can rest in the knowledge that it is because the Lord gave you the gift of affirmation through His love and sovereign hand, not because your “performing” efforts have been fine tuned!  Why be noticed for that which you are not, when you can be noticed for a spirit of service and contentment— maybe from the background— maybe because someone had to seek and pursue an adventure to find you — but noticed for YOUR UNIQUE BEAUTY. 

(Disclaimer in one very long sentence: This does NOT mean becoming a push over, people pleaser, jelly fish without a backbone, stupid head, lame face, mute— this means resting in the Lord… stop putting on a puppet show, buy a bra that gets the girls into place, and don’t dye your hair irrational colors.)

SECRET #2: Women want you to have the balls to be a biblical man.  Yes.  You read it correctly.  I can’t remember a single point in the bible where it states, “and all the men of God waited to ask their female counterparts on excursions and goat gazing evenings until they were perfect to the core and no longer sinned in every area of their lives… then they would only seek perfect women after God’s own heart because perfection was the norm of the land, and the Lord was glad.” A friend recently told me something she had heard about marriage, which I thought was awesome.  She said, “Marriage is simply two very imperfect people worshiping a perfect God.” (And the crowd of women screams, “preach!”)  What are you waiting for?  Why are you so scared to walk to the plate, dig your cleats in the red dirt, spit on your hands, and set yourself up for the pitch?  Why does it always seem like your “teammates” are shoving you out of the batting cage while you scream and whine like a small child?

Christian dating starts with the premise that the man is the initiator.  This is his first action of spiritual leadership in a future relationship.  This is the moment where girls will find you in your sexiest state: being manly, being bold, and being risky.  I’ve always said that women are more willing to take big risks for love because they innately, through revelation from the Lord, know that the reward is FAR greater than the silly miniscule risk.  Men are not this way.  Men don’t innately understand the risk as being a worthy endeavor.  They see it as a break in their pride if the woman in question responds with “no.”  REALLY?  Here is where the balls to be a biblical man come into play.  Let me break this down for you.

Men often are scared for one of two reasons— and sometimes, BOTH.  (1) They are afraid that they will hurt you.  This haunting fear that they will ask you out with the intentions of getting to know you better for a possible marriage opportunity, think you’re the dumbest and lamest girl on the planet, and then have to be the ones to kill all your dreams by not asking you out again.  Hahahaha.  It’s true.  It’s also so irrational that I am laughing at myself as I put this to paper.  Let me speak some truth into the LIES Satan is telling you. 

TRUTH FROM KAMI: So you hurt us?  Last time I talked with my female friends (10 minutes ago), they did not evaporate or break into a million pieces.  We are not China dolls.  We are not delicate flowers that die or self-destruct if you were to decide that the union is no longer compatible.  If you think otherwise— then you do NOT trust in the sovereignty of God.  You are resting in yourself and in your actions and abilities, which, frankly, will always fail.  You’re a human.  This is the way of the depraved.  Get over yourself; it’s not about you.   You also should be asking strong women of God out on dates.  If these women are too afraid to tell you that when you say “this” or do a certain action that they find it hurtful— then you are missing the inevitable point of marriage.  Marriage is the act of committing to constant sharpening and refinement.  You are looking in an overly honest mirror 24/7 and the person should love you enough to tell you (with grace) where you are not walking with the Lord.  This is usually, (as I imagine it, anyways) followed by a good make-out, and graceful and loving forgiveness.  You are not perfect.  Neither is she.  If you’re waiting for that— then prepare yourself to undergo the fight of singleness for the rest of your life.  Both ways are messy— but the Lord wants you to be a courageous man.  Just put on your big boy panties and do the darn thing. 

The second reason men are scared (2) they are afraid that YOU will hurt them.  They have had bad relationships in the past, have seen marriages or strong godly relationships tremble under the weight and stress of this world… if they give their heart to you— you may crush it. 

TRUTH FROM KAMI:  You’re right.  Your heart may be crushed.  It may be kicked around, abused, thrown in the trash.  Or: It may be respected, like Ruth that she will lay at your (Boaz) feet in expectation of your warm and giving love.  Or: She may nurture and support you that you become more of a man through her honesty, love, and refinement that you couldn’t imagine your life without her.  Or: She could challenge you.  She could keep you on your toes, she will do a healthy amount of fighting, she will excite you with her spirit and fire— and you will fall into a love of grace and beauty because it is centered around the Lord, and you put on your big boy panties and did the darn thing. 

TRUTH FROM KAMI #2: Because the majority of Christian men suffer from this, women are not being pursued, which will eventually lead to extreme discomfort and unhappiness on the part of men and women because men are no longer leading as called to do, which will then lead to decreased marital percentages, then to decreased procreation percentages, and eventually the end of mankind—all because you didn’t have the balls to ask that girl out that you have a crush on.  (Read in Chinese accent…) See little grasshopper— your job is very very important.  Ask girl out.  You will like it.  World will be glad.  You like fried rice.  Big boy panties go on, thing get darn done little grasshopper.

TRUTH FROM KAMI #3: So you get a “no?”  SERIOUSLY?  Do you know how many times you’ve heard that word in your life?  I would venture to say in the upward 3 millions.  It’s two letters.  It is not a dagger to the soul.  Suck it up, practice your lines in the mirror, iron your clothes, and be the charming man God man you to be.  The world needs strong men like you.  God is calling you to be brave, to be a warrior, so stop worrying about if she’ll say “no” and inadvertently hurt you as a result.  If you’re that worried about it, ask her friends about her.  Ask your friends about her.  Do a little research.  That will, I pray, give you enough confidence to ask her out.  Just put on your big boy panties and do the darn thing. 

Well world.  For now, rest in these two secrets.  There will be more to come.  Until then, embrace the beauty of invisibility by trusting that someone will see you for the right reasons instead of the wrong ones, and encourage your man-friends to put on their big boy panties.  We have a lot to do for the Lord on earth— let’s stop being sissy men and women about it. (2 Timothy 1:7).

Just on a journey through my heart, searching for the Lord’s plan for me and for those I do life with, and continuously exploring my God's plan for love, grace, & holiness. 

Kami

WOGs

I know your brain is running around from Native American teepees to the horrible 90s game that the Chinese somehow sold America’s youth on: Pogs and Slammers.  Though I could intentionally go on and on about how the Chinese rock us like a KISS concert- WOGs are of a different ilk.  WOGs, coincidentally, could even be Chinese, so— eureka! The connection in an attention deficit female’s brain is made.  See.  Miracles DO happen.  (sidenote: WOGs do not usually paint their faces and frequent pleather apparel.  But more of that later.)

WOGs are Women Of God.  Yes, we could list names like Ruth, Leah, Rachel, Esther, Mary, and more, but it’s never about the name.  The name is just a conglomerate of letters.  The true weight in a WOG is WHO she is and WHAT she does.  Her skills and refined qualities given to her heart by the Lord are made to be a compliment to her counterpart, the MOG. (Man of God—duh.)  They sharpen each other.  They push weaknesses in one into strengths through the grace of the other.  The beauty in this design is too perfect to be made by anything BUT the hand of God.  There’s a divine balance.  There is brilliance in the apparent continuous conflict between man and woman that is too easily dismissed.  It’s purposeful and refining conflict.   Find joy in this conflict.

I’ve been on a quest.  (Quest is a cool word, isn’t it!?) A journey only a single woman, like myself, would be blessed with the time to undertake.  I have been sojourning for a true understanding of biblical womanhood.  What is biblical womanhood?  What does the Lord say about women specifically? Even further- what is a woman’s role in a dating or courtship process?  What are uniquely female gifts?  What is a wife in the eyes of the Lord?  And the underlying tone throughout my search: where in the world do I, specifically, fit in?

And yes, you are going on the journey with me.  So grab your camel back, rain boots, ball of twine, iPhone, wool socks, spandex gear, and baby blanket.  We are jumping into the abyss.  It may not be pretty.  (Camping/searching for treasured answers categorically cannot be pretty— so go ahead and leave your lip-gloss and straightening iron at home.)  It may smell bad.  (Plug for bringing your favorite Axe body spray/ DO for your BO here.) It may be scary.  (See visions of teletubbies encircling you.)  But we’re committed— so let’s do the darn thing.  [wwwaarrrrrrriiooooorrrrr ssscccrreeeeeaaaammmmmmm].

It starts with tummy control.  Yeah, it sounds strange.  It also sounds like something maybe a 45 year-old biblical womanhood champ would be rocking.  Some may say that it reminds them of a Burka, but that is neither here nor there.  The initiation of my sojourning started with the annoying whining of a friend/MOG about women wearing two pieces.  Which, (understandably so), caused ole girl (me) to use all weapons in my arsenal in the hopes that my natural six-pack could and would, in fact, see the light of day this summer.  (Jokes.  It’s an eight-pack.)  After a verbal back-and-forth, I hit the Internet in hopes that some further research would substantiate my point of “just get over it.”  Unfortunately, the topic of modesty on all Christian blogs/resource sites blew up my laptop like fireworks.  I delved in with my eyes—and this time, my heart.

Different writers and pastors talked about modesty of dress, modesty of heart, modesty of appearance, modesty of everything.  The more I read, the more naked I felt. (Which was weird, because I was wearing an actual burka at this point.  Hard to read a computer screen through mesh, FYI.)  I started thinking about my wardrobe—though, arguably leap years better than most, still had a few items I felt worrisome about.  What kind of message am I sending?  For a woman who tests men by their ability to see past her physicality’s to see her heart, I found it interesting that there may be times I “puff” up said physicality’s—because I want them to fail.  Awesome Kami.  REAL Christian sweetheart YOU are! Good Heavens.  So I’m cleaning out my closet.  And I bought a one piece. 

I’m sure the feminists of America are crying in deep mourning with this event.  I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’ve been doing a little mourning of my own.  The crux of my decision was found in 1 Corinthians 8.  Most specifically, verse 9, which the NLT version states, “But you must be careful so that your freedom does not cause others with a weaker conscience to stumble.”  The chapter uses food and drink consumption as an analogy for supporting your brothers and sisters in Christ, even if that means sacrificing things that do not impact you, because they DO impact them.  The first point of truth: (1) clearly God meant men in reference to those with a weaker conscience (haha.  Sick burnnn.), and (2) the word “stumble.”  I don’t want anyone to stumble, to fall, or to fail.  I want them to walk upright.  So the one-piece (affectionately called “the burka”), was purchased.  The one piece makes me look like DJ Tanner— and I plan on swimming the English Channel as soon as I can— sans the tan lines.  I’m dealing with it, and if you wanted to, you know, to say “thank you on behalf of the entire male species” as a comment— I wouldn’t hate it. 

You could even print off a certificate of appreciation.  Just brainstorming. 

So I’m on my way, I guess, hoping that things like overalls, tents, and body socks become a smidge more popular in the coming months.  But more than that—praying that the standard is universally set.  Yes, men, that means your v-neck tee that reveals both nipples is a no-go.  It also means that your girl skinny jeans can be left on the emo rack— and your gobs of hair gel, though impressively crispy, is not protecting anyone because it is an obvious and extreme hazard to the eyes.  If I’m wearing a one-piece bathing suit and cleaning out my closet to protect your eyes and your walk with the Lord— why don’t the men LEAD by example by guarding their words from piercing our hearts, protecting their relationship with the Lord so that soon they may be courageous enough to pursue a woman (even one that looks like DJ Tanner in a one-piece), and fight for intentionality in praying that the Lord build them into a Man— while we intentionally pray that the Lord build us into Women Of God— loyal and brave like Ruth, fierce and steadfast like Esther, strongly submissive like Mary. 

Just a woman, on a quest for biblical womanhood, figuring out along the way that it often looks more like pure strength, beauty measured by the Lord—not by man, and drinking a protein shake every am so that my eight-pack will still exist, though now, concealed under my bullet-proof vest of a bathing suit. 

—Kami