Tag: woman

Why I May Never Hold a Church Leadership Position

~ K ~ 4 Comments

Well, a woman is one reason.

But even within the gender, I am never in a neat theological line. Perhaps I tend to fall within conservative, orthodox beliefs but many of my views on social issues are rather liberal, to use political terms. This does not make me a neat orthodox Christian.

I’m also rather opinionated. It’s hard for me to toe party lines because I think so differently. But in a way, the idea that I’ll probably never serve as a Christian leader makes me sad because I think I’d love to discuss theology with women that has a practical basis and watch ideas and actions take flight. I’d love to be a catalyst who spurs Others to action.

But alas, God didn’t make me that way and any illusions of me being some kind of leader must be killed. I am not a born leader. I do not inspire others, and as long as I’m keenly aware of that (despite what I desire), I’ll be okay.

Just gotta figure out how to be a fantastic Jesus follower.

More on motherhood & the battle with envy

~ K ~ Leave a comment

What does it look like for God to be working in my life? What do I expect?

In August 2008, God flicked some kind of switch inside of me that made me desire to have children. I was absolutely distraught upon the realization of this. I’d never desired children of my own before then. In fact, my current husband and I nearly broke up over the issue when we were dating because I was so adamant about not wanting to give bear children.

But a lot can change in a few years.

That August, I cried my little heart out because I never, ever wanted to have kids of my own. I didn’t want to be pregnant and I didn’t want to go through labor. (I still don’t but it’s kind of necessary to have a baby biologically.) I was very angry with God. And in many ways, I still struggle with this because I simply didn’t think it was fair for Him to change my heart to something I never wanted. (Nevermind the fact that He controls the universe and other important miscellany.)

Before that fateful August, I could babysit kids or serve in the church nursery and think to myself, “Ah, this is the best form of birth control.” Now, my heart aches because every time I hold a child, I know I’ll have to give it back because it’s not my own. And it’s frustrating to feel this way when I know the happiness of not feeling that way.

I don’t like talking about my desire for children because I’m still not completely comfortable with it. But then again, I’m not completely comfortable with the fact that I’m a woman with an emotional pendulum now.

I need to accept that as a result of getting older, some things will change. My moods are like roller coasters and I cry more often. And boy, do I hate crying. In fact, I loathe it. I loathe it when women cry at the drop of a hat. And to become one of those women disturbs me.

So now I cry at least once a month when I am faced with the fact that it is yet another month that I am not with child. The crazy thing is, I don’t think I want a child that badly. But I do find myself a bit more sympathetic to women of the Bible like Sarah, Hannah, and Rachel who struggled with barrenness—especially since their worth was essentially based off of whether they could bear children and how many of them they had bore (namely sons).

And with a few pregnant friends, I find myself battling with envy. I want to be totally happy for them. What bothers me most is that two years ago, I was able to be genuinely happy. But now, I think to myself, “Why not me? What’s wrong with me? Am I meant to have a child? My cycle works just fine so why is it taking me so long?” I wouldn’t want to take away from the happiness of any of my friends but at the same time, I find that my envy prevents me from being happy for them as I’d normally be.

I tried to explain my puzzlement over my enviousness to my husband. I said, “I don’t think I’ve really struggled with this until I desired a kid of my own.” He countered, “Oh yes, you do.” He began listing a few moments in my life where envy reared its ugly head and I immediately found myself forced to agree with him.

“Remember how you felt when you saw what your college classmates were doing and where they worked?”

Oh yeah. They worked at the New York Times, the NY Daily News, the NY Post, Newsday. Ah yes, and Newsday, a place I could have worked at too. (Now, I’m glad I effectively slammed the door shut on the opportunity. It’s a sinking ship.)

I spoke to a friend recently telling her of my struggle with envy. She wisely encouraged me to repent of my sin.

Still searching for an identity… part 1

~ K ~ 6 Comments

Topics running through my mind:

1. Motherhood
2. Writing
3. Blogging
4. Career
5. Job with contract company
6. Faith/religion/God
7. Lack of consistency/discipline
8. My personality–always desiring to be someone I’m not

My mind is all over the place so let’s cover all of these topics–though not necessarily in the order listed and definitely not all in this post. I ended up handwriting this post first (over the course of 2 hours) which amounted to about 22 pages on 7″ x 10.5″ paper. So this will end up being a series posted during the next couple of days.

Desiring to be someone who I’m not.

So I follow all these pastors, read their works, and am a HUGE fan, ie, Driscoll, Piper, and Packer. And sometimes I find myself wishing I could be a pastor. But it’s not a dream I can entertain myself with since I’m a woman and believe the Bible says only men are called to be pastors. (Yes, I know female pastors exist but I don’t agree with them.)

I find myself thinking, “Lord, why didn’t you make me a guy?” But then I realize guys don’t have it easy. My husband has to answer to God for the spiritual direction of our family. No, thank you. It’s hard enough being responsible for myself!

I used to look at other women and wish I could be them–wish I could have their lives or attractive personalities. For example, my older cousin whom I love to pieces. I used to look up to her. In a lot of ways, I still do. She’s strong, she’s a leader, she’s independent, and she’s self-sufficient. But she’s not married and doesn’t have any good prospects in the wings (that I know of). Do I really want to trade my husband just so I can have all those awesome qualities I am so envious of?

Funny like one of my friends. I wish I was like that. I wish I was sweet and likable like my former co-worker. I wish I didn’t care what anyone thinks of me like my hairdresser. Who looks at me and gets envious? But I guess we can all find something to envy about each other, right?

Materialism.

I’m not incredibly materialistic but hoo boy am I definitely tied to the things of this world. Money–something I use, not necessarily for material possessions (although my current obsession is IKEA), but to make myself feel worth something.

Yes, I tie my worth to whether I make money. Problem is, I don’t know how to “untie” it.

When a month or two go by and I haven’t heard from the company I contract for regularly, I self-deprecate and get negative:

“What if they never call me again?”

“What if my work from last time was sloppy and they just don’t want me back?”

“I’m not earning any money so I’m worthless and useless and my life and existence is pointless.”

But when I work, I suddenly have worth again. I feel I can legitimately complain about how the government uses taxpayer money because 30 percent of what I make goes to state and federal taxes each quarter. (That’s what happens when you’re self-employed in the U.S.!)

But what will happen when my full-time job becomes mother? How will I assess my worth then? Will I be worthless as a citizen of the U.S. with a purposeful existence as a mother? Will I be more useful than I’ve ever been?

My husband argues that his money is my money. I don’t see it that way. I have access to his earnings and he can have access to mine (I make significantly less than he does so he rarely has any need to) but I treat our earnings separately. I tithe off of whatever I make and don’t ever touch his. I don’t feel right taking his money–that he worked 40+ hours during the week to earn–and acting like it’s mine. I didn’t earn it. I never showed up to code a software program; he did. It’s not mine. And buying a gift with his money just seems so lame; I’d rather buy nothing at all. I can inherit it if he dies–just like I inherit my mother’s house–but it’s not mine until then. I’ll use it with his permission but I’ll always feel indebted to him. (Out-of-context verse time!) The borrower is slave to the lender.

Motherhood.

I don’t like to publicly discuss this in detail since I never wanted kids before last year and still really wrestle with the prospect of being a responsible, mature mom. As a result, I’ll be brief: I’m impatient, I’m disappointed every time I find out I’m not expecting, and I wonder if motherhood is what God has for me.

In search of an identity… race.

~ K ~ 4 Comments

After Michael Jackson’s sudden death, BET announced that it would feature a Michael Jackson tribute on its annual awards show. Curious to see how this tribute would turn out, I asked my husband to flip the TV channel to BET the night of the awards show.

Jamie FoxxI watched hoping to see a well-done opening act only to find Jamie Foxx, butchering the Moonwalk and doing a poor imitation of Michael Jackson’s dance moves. I smiled, assuming Foxx was being comedic and doing the best he could. When Foxx was done, he went on a mini-rant about how Michael Jackson was a “black man” and “he belonged to us.” My husband immediately flipped the channel and said, “I am not watching anymore of this racist garbage.” He subsequently went on to ban BET from our home.

The BET Awards just shed another light on an issue that I’ve been struggling with recently—the issue of race and how it relates to my identity.

I’ve always had issues with my racial identity but the problem reared its ugly head continuously during the 2008 presidential election in which I publicly chose not to support Democratic candidate Barack Obama’s bid. Ever since, I’ve struggled with what it means to a Black Christian female and how race plays into who I am.

One question I grapple with: Does race matter? And I think, yes, for the most part, it does.

Race matters:

  • When I need to get my hair done. I need a hairdresser who can style ethnic hair. The hairdresser can be black or white but she needs to know how to wash, style, and properly treat black hair. In that sense, race matters.
  • When it comes to medical issues, there are some medications that have been proven to work better in one race than in another. Genetically, race matters.

But when it comes to my personality, does race matter? No, it does not.

In the black community, race is not just a color; it’s become a culture. Black or African American culture. (While the terms Black and African American have become interchangeable and most people seem to prefer African American, my immediate heritage is Caribbean so I’m more comfortable simply using Black.)

What comprises Black culture?

  • Music: Blues, rap, hip-hop, R&B.
  • Religion: Style of worship.
  • Race: Racial discrimination has been a part of Black history for so long that it cannot be ignored.
  • Art: There is a definitive African influence here.
  • Entertainment: Comedy and movies.
  • Food: Soul and Caribbean
  • Politics: You’re a Democrat.
  • Language

With the exception of music, race, food, and politics, I’ve never been exposed to much of Black culture. I’m an only child and grew up in a nice, suburban area of the New York metropolitan area. While the area around me was highly diverse, no one in particular influenced me; I gravitated toward whatever I thought was interesting.

I suppose in my parents’ attempt to assimilate into American culture, the culture they adopted was one influenced by whites. I went to Roman Catholic schools from K-12 and attended predominantly white parishes until I became a born again Christian at age 16. Even then, I had a white pastor.

I grew up around mostly white kids and played with the white Barbie dolls. Maybe I was reared to be who other black people call a “sellout.” Continue reading “In search of an identity… race.” →