I watched an episode of one of my all time favorite shows last night and it started me thinking. The whole show was making a semi-serious joke of the "smug marrieds vs. sad singles" war that rages unbeknown to everyone except those engaging in direct combat.
But - what ends up happening is this: someonw always ends up feeling like less of a person because of his/her relatioship status. This presents a completely different problem: Why, as human beings, do we feel the need to create a caste system within everything we do?
It's not good enough to merely have a Jaguar, husband, baby, or pair of Manolos... we have to let everyone who doesn't have a Jaguar, husband, baby, or pair of Manolos know that we do. In our heads, we create our own version Maslo's Hierarchy of Needs and begin to subject everyone else to our standards.
Can I tell you something? I don't want your husband - or one of my own for that matter, or your baby or Jaguar or Manolo's. They pinch my toes.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Lottie Moon is the reason for the season!
I ventured out of my usual nightclub-esque Sunday morning stomping ground and headed to an establishment that the upper echelon of society frequents. In short, I went to a different church this Sunday. The first thing I noticed when I pulled in the parking lot was, "Man, these folks drive nice cars!" I was parked between two gargantuous SUV's. A man in a golf car came by and asked me if I'd like a chaffuered ride to the sanctuary doors - I opted out because I didn't have any cash on me and was afraid that he'd expect a tip.
But - these are my roots! This is what I'm good at! This is where I'm from!
As I approached the throne...ahem, I mean...the sanctuary doors I was greeted by a harem of old men in grey suits. At first, I was thinking that an Ensure tasting was being held in the lobby but then I remembered! these are the guys that hand out the bulletins! Ah... yes... it's all coming back to me now. ::cue Celine Dion:: There were nights when the wind was so cold, that my body just froze.....
Oh wait - that's not a "church song". Whoops. Right - so I clomp down the cold, slate aisle (how the hell have these people not heard about heated floors?!?!? I later thought as the services ended and I couldn't feel my feet) and slid in beside a young guy, not much older than myself. He cast a disdainful glance my direction. I'm not sure if it was because I was wearing pants in a Baptist church on a Sunday morning or because I wasn't carrying a New King James Version.
As the service progressed (my original intent was just to go hear some Christmas hymns) I realized I was going to get so much more...
Today was the annual Lottie Moon Christmas sermon. Basically, the pastor waxes and wanes over how the only reason any one will ever get to heaven is because the Southern Baptist Convention exists. Blah blah blah. At lunch afterward, a friend asked if I found anything particularly offensive. I thought long and hard. Nope - it was the same song and dance I've heard on Christmas' past. Suddenly - he presented the idea that all missionaries aren't Baptist missionaries. I began laughing as I told him that until I was 20 years old I didn't know this. SERIOUSLY. Until I was in college at LeTourneau University I hadn't ever heard of MAF, JAARS, Wycliffe Bible Translators to name a few. For all I knew, if you decided to become a career missionairy you were Baptist. And for that matter - for all I knew, the Lord only spoke to Baptists. So for all you Methodists, good luck.
But - these are my roots! This is what I'm good at! This is where I'm from!
As I approached the throne...ahem, I mean...the sanctuary doors I was greeted by a harem of old men in grey suits. At first, I was thinking that an Ensure tasting was being held in the lobby but then I remembered! these are the guys that hand out the bulletins! Ah... yes... it's all coming back to me now. ::cue Celine Dion:: There were nights when the wind was so cold, that my body just froze.....
Oh wait - that's not a "church song". Whoops. Right - so I clomp down the cold, slate aisle (how the hell have these people not heard about heated floors?!?!? I later thought as the services ended and I couldn't feel my feet) and slid in beside a young guy, not much older than myself. He cast a disdainful glance my direction. I'm not sure if it was because I was wearing pants in a Baptist church on a Sunday morning or because I wasn't carrying a New King James Version.
As the service progressed (my original intent was just to go hear some Christmas hymns) I realized I was going to get so much more...
Today was the annual Lottie Moon Christmas sermon. Basically, the pastor waxes and wanes over how the only reason any one will ever get to heaven is because the Southern Baptist Convention exists. Blah blah blah. At lunch afterward, a friend asked if I found anything particularly offensive. I thought long and hard. Nope - it was the same song and dance I've heard on Christmas' past. Suddenly - he presented the idea that all missionaries aren't Baptist missionaries. I began laughing as I told him that until I was 20 years old I didn't know this. SERIOUSLY. Until I was in college at LeTourneau University I hadn't ever heard of MAF, JAARS, Wycliffe Bible Translators to name a few. For all I knew, if you decided to become a career missionairy you were Baptist. And for that matter - for all I knew, the Lord only spoke to Baptists. So for all you Methodists, good luck.
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