Only Fear Kept Me Alive

     God will work everything for good for those who love Him.
    Too bad I didn't love Him, at least not enough to stop starving myself. Now, surely He was against me, surely now He would beat me down until I became What He Wanted.
    I held the scissors to my wrist and scratched the skin. What would it be like to dig deeper, to splatter cherry-red blood across the white porcelain sink?
    Served everyone right for their careless, cruel words. Served me right, killing such a selfish little prick as myself after only sixteen years. What kind of ass gives up God and family for a skinny body?
    Then I thought of hell. I've never believed heaven is off-limits due to suicide, but I was pretty sure I the Faithless wasn't going to wind up among the faithful.
    I hesitated. Eternal torture didn't sound so pleasant.
    Then I realized that everyone in my community would know. They'd see beyond my straight-A, meek facade into the depths of my selfishness. They'd know I was in hell.
    There would be no going back; even if I survived they'd know. My damp fingers gripped the scissors even tighter.

    ***

    In fear is the absence of love.
    And yet, fear kept me alive. Not love, not the faintest thread of hope. Fear.
    O my God, what did You do?
    Fear, where love is absent, but God who is Love still entered.
    God is holy. But the God of Holiness entered unholy fear, used something so dead as fear to keep me alive.
    This even doesn't make sense, and so I think we have a tendency to oversimplify this mystery. Oh, God wanted you to fear.
    Nope. Nopenopenope.
    I don't think God wants one evil thing to befall us. Not one.
    I also don't think He looks at said evil thing like "Oh too bad, but now I've got 'em crawlin' to me!"
    I think maybe He weeps and wails with us, uses every chance to turn evil for good, and where evil seems to win, He promises us This will not be the end.

   ***

     This wasn't my only temptation with suicide. The desire flew back many times I seemed to fail throughout high school and college, to be honest. But they weren't more than thoughts until last semester.
    Last semester, in the blackness, I had it planned again. Often.
    This time, love for my family and friends, a faint hope for better times, pulled me back.
    They say everyone must grow. What a strange way to see growth.
    This time, with encouragement from many friends and family, I opened the door. I went to a doctor, who, along with the right meds, family and friends, allowed me a glimpse of heaven's love.
    And I thought that, dare I say, I wanted life again. I don't remember the last time I consistently wanted life, for months on end. There have been many months where I wasn't suicidal, but I'm not sure I wanted life.
    Behold, I am doing a new thing.
    Wanting life is a new thing for me.

    ***

    I am thirsty for life.
    But if you're parched and crawling in the dust, if everything you are is naught but skin and bones -
    Keep pressing on, and if you can't, I'm offering you my hand and all I have to carry you. I'll stand, sit, crawl, rest with you. I love you. I'm not giving up on you, no matter what you've done or suffered.
    Not until we see the truth of those words written by Paul two millennia ago: God will work everything for good for those who love Him.

We'll make it, I promise.

Love,
Kelley
   

I Learned About Sex from Twilight

    I grew up knowing that sex was, uh, that something my parents fast-forwarded during the movies. So, yeah, whatever sex was, it was bad.
    In middle school, I learned more: cover your body so boys don't lust after you, and guard your virginity until marriage. Because, above all, God wants sex for marriage.
    As for what sex was ... well, sex involved touching someone else's genitals. People stacked on top of each other for something called intercourse, which made babies, and oral sex involved...well, ew.
    That's all I knew.
    But...what if I, in my  perpetually clumsy state, kicked someone in, you know, the wrong place by accident? Was that sex?
    And, more importantly, did the fact that I'd apparently masturbated whilst only knowing that it was something that felt good, disqualify my virginity? Would no guy want me now? Was it better not to get married?
    And why were all these questions and "inappropriate" thoughts popping into my mind? Was I lusting, when I didn't want to think such thoughts? Did lusting mean I wasn't the all-important virgin?
    Clearly, I wasn't pure. So, in my sullied state, marriage and kids were unattainable, because they required a level of honesty I didn't have.
    All of these questions spiraled in my brain and sunk me into what was probably my first depressive episode, which lasted over two months. January through March.
    I was thirteen.
    Eventually the depression passed, and high school commenced, but with a class of eleven kids, no health class was offered, and so "sex" remained a huge question mark.
    Then, when I was seventeen, I read the not-terribly-explicit Twilight series. And based on a couple lines in the fourth book, I was like... o.O.
    What? Oh. That meant - ? Ohhhh.
    Yes, really. I learned about sex from Twilight.

   (Took me a few more years and close friendships to learn about other things like "orgasms" and all; in fact, last year, a friend's mention of oral sex still made me blush all the way to my arms). 
    But, really, why was this such a big secret? Why all this shame associated with a physical activity?
    It's sex. Not murder, okay?
    Much has been made of the negative effects from our shame-based sex culture. Whether you're sexually active or not, there's shame dumped on all of us for anything remotely related to sex. 
    Shame on you for saying anatomical words like "vagina" or "penis." Don't you know we can't talk about sex, lest everyone obsess over it and do it and spread diseases, and morality collapse.
    Shame on you for talking about your sexual abuse.
    Shame on you for willingly having sex. Now you're the equivalent of used chewing gum. No one will want you for marriage.
    Shame on you for not having sex. Technically, yeah, it's your decision, but don't you know you're setting yourself up for future problems by naively limiting yourself to marriage?
    Congratulations, you're married! Now you're deflowered (if that's not shame, I don't know what is).
    In short, to quote Allison in The Breakfast Club, "If you say you haven't, you're a prude. If you say you have you're a slut. It's a trap."
    Seriously. Christian culture and popular culture use the exact same guidelines regarding sex: shame. Heaps of shame, trapping you no matter which way you turn.
    You know what?

    No.

Just, no.

   No to shame. No to sex = worth.
   My worth comes solely from the fact that I am a human being, made in the image of God.
   I am human. I bear God's image, and that can't be taken away, sex or no sex, bad sex or good sex, stigmas or freedom.      
   I'm a little bit scared to publish this, because, well, sex is something we don't like to talk about. And that's exactly why I am publishing this.
   This cycle of shame has to stop. Shame breeds in secrecy, like the secrecy that surrounded sex when I was growing up.
   So, no, I don't have any new insight into stopping this cycle, but I do believe openness and facts will play a prominent role. Facts are facts are facts - it should not be shameful to use correct terminology and teach people about a basic act most of us are going to do at some point or another. Furthermore, perhaps teaching people to respect - to truly respect - others as fellow images of God just might help people make healthy sexual choices, free of shame and fear-mongering.
    I mean, seriously: openness and a good health class could have saved me a heck of a lot of agony.
    Because teenagers should not be learning about sex from Twilight.

Love,
Kelley

You Should Be Proud

    I decided on a graduate school. MIT for a PhD in organic chemistry? I think yes (!!!).
    I also defended my senior thesis and passed. Meaning I survived talking for longer than I ever have, in front of three professors who know a hell of a lot more about chemistry than me, whilst only freezing for a second or two.
    "That should give you something to feel confident about," said my PI afterward.
    I think I said "Yeah" or something like that and raised the pitch of my voice to sound happy - like I meant it.
    Except I didn't.
    Every time something good happens, every time someone says something complimentary, I assume they don't mean it. They can't. Don't they know all my shortcomings? Like, when is MIT going to realize I'm too dumb and revoke my admission?
    But every time someone says something critical, well, I take that to heart. I don't respond well - I usually beat myself up and cry in a corner - but I do take it to heart. I assume they're right.
    I think there's a phrase for this: low self esteem.
    (The horror!). 
    I know. I know. I believe in Jesus and in self-esteem.

  
    There seems to be this idea floating around that if we believe Jesus saves us from sin (which I tend to believe is true), we have to be worthless little shits dangled over a fire (I am not using that word lightly, by the way). In other words: self-esteem is anti-God, because sinner equals worthless equals YouNeedJesus.
    May I suggest that this equation is flawed?

This is not God.

    We're all screwed up, some of which is our fault and some of which isn't. Christians call this sin, but whatever the word, I think we can all agree that 1) it sucks, and 2) it's pretty inescapable.
    Which is, apparently, why God decided to become a person and be murdered and then resurrect. I'm not a theology expert by any means, but I can't help but think that by overturning even this inevitable screwy thing called death, He promised us that sin - in us, around us, where ever - wasn't as powerful as Him. He gives us eternal hope and faith and life. We can change. In Christ all shall be made alive.
    So, according to Christian theology, sinner = WeNeedJesus.So far the equation holds.
    But sinner = worthless?
    Well. I don't recall reading that in the Bible. The closest I can find is in Romans, when Paul calls himself a "wretch," adding that "nothing good dwells in me." 
    A lot of teachings run with this idea, really stressing that "nothing good" means worthless. Because if you don't know how horrible you are, you can't repent and become a Christian, so they make damn sure you know how much you suck ("Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God," anyone?). Their intentions are good, but...
    Well, let's finish the verse. "Nothing good dwells in me, that is, my sinful nature."
    The sinful nature sucks. Ain't nothing good in that, Paul says. Right, agreed. Death and decay and lies and malignancy, pain and bitterness and illness, all suck.
    But we're not all our sinful natures, are we? The sinful nature is not our essence. He made us in His image. That's our essence.
    We're creations made to live anew. We're not worthless.
    Call me crazy, but I think it's pretty freakin' special that God made billions of unique creatures all in His image. Why not celebrate the imago Dei? Is that not a form of worship, to attribute good creation to God?
    In fact, I think it's pretty blasphemous to say God creates anything worthless. After all, even on earth we find the notion of futility repugnant. So if God is Creator and He is good, it logically follows that He's not up there making worthless people as a sick cosmic joke.

1 Shenanigans 1:7. And whilst Baseball Cap Guy was driving, Jesus did appear and say, "Surprise! Thou art worthless, though apparently I yet bothered to create thee. Joke's on both of us, eh?"

    Self-esteem is defined as the recognition of our worth. If Jesus made us as unique image bearers, how is recognizing our worth a bad thing?
    So, yeah, I've always been kind of ashamed of my academic success. "I don't want to be vain, so I'm going to hate myself. I'm not going to take pride in developing what God has given me."
    No.
    Nonononono.
    We're all chosen. We've all got individual talents, given by God and developed (or underdeveloped and waiting). Embracing our talents and being confident (with humility) in what we've accomplished is good.
    Jesus gives us a new life. Let's celebrate, not denigrate ourselves.
    I think that's a life worth taking.
  
Love,
Kelley

There are Introverts Under My Bed!

    If you met me, it would probably take you 0.25 seconds (yes, exactly 0.25) to figure out that I'm an introvert. From my soft voice to my anxious tone to my direct, monosyllable responses, I pretty much fulfill every introvert stereotype come to life.

    But there are a lot of introverts out there, some of whom you'd probably never guess are introverts. Some of my closest friends are sweet and friendly and inviting, and they're introverts. You know, the "extroverted introverts."
    Even as an introverted introvert, most of us are not people haters. I mean, well, I like you. I might not talk much to you, and if I do, it'll probably be awkward - but I do like you.
    And if I bow out of plans, it's not because I'm trying to be a flake. Is it selfish? Maybe, but it's not because I want to hurt you.
    It's just, you know, leaving the comfort of my home, leaving my beautiful writing project, for something draining like a party, well... It's not my favorite activity. Truth is I get more energy from studying than from people. Can't we hang out over coffee, or maybe online?
    You probably don't want to constantly get together to study. That's fine. I don't want to constantly get together to party. Deal? :)
    Between 25-50% of us are introverts. Not a small number by any means. Yet it's still considered a negative trait. I'm always hearing comments along the lines of "Oh, it's such a shame she's so quiet ... "
    And I'm like Shame?! Shame?!?! How about good! The world needs more quiet thinkers sometimes! (Because, see, my thoughts are never quiet).
    It's especially exhausting as a Christian, because I don't have the right personality Christian culture says I should have. I'm not the bubbly type who immediately makes you feel welcomed, though, believe me, I want to be (and, despite my quietness, know that you are always welcomed by me). Unfortunately, when it's meet and greet time at church, my instinct is to flee the sanctuary faster than you can say "Peace be with you."
    I used to try to fix myself. I prayed and cried and loathed my personality in a desperate fight for change. I didn't change, but my perspective on myself is changing.
    I mean, did you know that introverts make up a majority of sciences and arts? (Perfect for me, right).
    Did you know that introverts are more likely to go to college, and extroverts and more likely to be involved in team activities?
    Did you know that introverts have more brain activity in planning and problem solving, while extroverts have more brain activity in sensory processing?
    Did you know that neither type is better than the other?
    Do you know I love you?
    But I'm not trying to change my introversion anymore. Because I'm an introvert, not a scary monster hiding under your bed. ;)
    I love you, wonderful people. 

Love,
Kelley

A Story of Sushi Lil' Ninja

    I've laid a couple heavy posts out there recently. So I figured maybe it's time for a lighter post - a post about my kitten, Sushi, the Lil' Ninja. Because I will talk about cats every chance I get. #futurecatlady.

Our first meeting.

    He's six (almost seven!) months old. He was found as a street kitten, but we (my roommates and I) suspect he might be partially Russian Blue because, well, just look at his beautiful furs and big green eyes.

Why hello there, Internets.

     How did we acquire such a love? Um ... well ... long story short, it took an epic game of phone tag, furious tears, prayer, an act of God, and a frantic cab drive through the rain. Maybe I'll detail the rest in another post.
    Anyway, Russian Blues are known for being a very intelligent breed. Apparently Sushi likes to use his smarts to sneak up behind my roommates and me, surprising us when we trip headlong over a cat. Hence the middle name, Lil' Ninja.
    He also loves to sleep when he's not hyper.

Sweepy kitten.

      Which is ... um ... rare. Hyper is how this kitty lives. If no one pays him attention, he squeaks his sorrows (still can't form a proper meow) and climbs on furniture and runs around and around and around! until we play with him.

"Someone gots my belly!"

Do I watch TV ... Or Sushi?

And he likes to cheese out quite a bit after his catnip.

Cheese. Cheesecheesecheesecheesecheese.

    And eat. Oh yes, this kitty loves to nom on anything and everything he can. Except I wonder if offering him sushi enables cannibalism?

     He also loves to cuddle.

*Photo taken by Rosalie Jiang.

I'm a little lovebug. Cuddle me!

     And, finally, he has given me the face I'd like to adopt every time I get another assignment at the end of the semester:

    Thanks for reading! And by that I mean, for letting me gush and gush about my kitten. I may be worse in person.
    Did I mention I'm a #futurecatlady?

Love,
Kelley