Why Be Normal?

This morning was the first meeting of a book club Laura and I formed for women at our church. We read Radical Womanhood by Carolyn McCulley. Simply put, this book presents a history of the feminist movement contrasted with what the Bible says about being a woman.

I went into the meeting with no real expectations. Laura and I had a planning session yesterday during which we brainstormed some discussion questions we could pull out if the conversation lagged. We had questions about what the next wave of feminism might look like, and about the effects of feminism on men. Because Radical Womanhood is not like most of the books you find in Christian bookstores in the women’s section, I was excited to talk about topics Christian women don’t usually talk about—leadership, raunch culture, the 1800’s.

Ten minutes into our discussion this morning and we were talking about the things Christian women always talk about: marriage, children, staying at home vs. going to work. The book definitely invites women to ask questions about their roles as wives and mothers. So even though the “typical” discussion topics of Christian women were warranted by the book, I felt stifled and disappointed when they became the order of the day.

The conversation finally turned when my dear friend Debbie asked what the single women in the room got from the book. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I believe I shared some of the questions Radical Womanhood stirred in me. Do I enjoy my job because God designed me this way, or do I enjoy my job because I am a product of feminist culture? Am I a confident, single woman because it glorifies God, or because of Gloria Steinem?

The gracious women in the room were all very affirming. They assured me that God made me just the way I am. One woman even told me she could see me being a pioneer woman in the 1800’s, raising my seven kids, running my home. (How I would love to pack my wagon and go back in time!) One woman, who joined our group simply because she was in the meeting room when we arrived, asked me why I believe it is hard to be a single, Christian woman. Not knowing me, she sensed that I was content with who I am, and she didn’t understand why I should be having issues within the church. Many ladies chimed their support, talking about different seasons having different advantages and how being single is great, and blah, blah, blah…

But here’s the rub, people I meet in the evangelical church say it’s great to be single and that God has us where we are for a reason, but church culture says something entirely opposite (stop me if you've heard this one!). If Debbie had not turned the tide of our book discussion, we easily would have devoted the entire meeting to issues pertaining to wives and mothers. If there’s nothing “abnormal” about being single in the church, why do church-lady conversations unfailingly wind up centering on marriages and children?

If you look around the church, most women are married and have children. They talk about what they know and what they have in common. What makes it difficult for the single woman desiring fellowship and community is having absolutely nothing from her own experience to bring to the conversations.

The reality is, being single in the church is not normal. But really, who is normal? Everyone in the church has something that causes them to feel separate--education, finances, fertility, etc. What I am learning is that when I isolate myself because I perceive that I am an outsider, I miss out.

Even though it is easy and comfortable to be surrounded by people like us; the real beauty of the Body is getting to experience life with people who are totally different. These relationships challenge us and propel us to growth while showing us various aspects of God’s character and God’s design.

As I sit here waiting for a friend (an empty-nester) to pick me up on the back of her motorcycle, I have to think these different relationships make things more fun too.

To All the Phones I've Loved Before

To celebrate the recent acquisition of a new cell phone, I would like to look back at the phones I have known and loved.

My first cell phone was a Christmas present in 1996. It lived in my glove compartment and was never turned on. To use its car adapter, I had to pop the battery off the back and replace it with another one that had a cord I could plug into the power outlet of my car (although in 1996, I probably would have called it the cigarette lighter). This phone’s primary purpose was for roadside emergencies. There were mornings, however, when I’d have to call and wake up my student teaching partner/carpool buddy from the parking lot of his fraternity house. As quickly as I could I’d say, “Chris, wake up. I’m going to the caf to get a bagel, I’ll be back in five minutes.” I had to be quick because I was roaming and that call would cost $2.50.

When I came back to Philadelphia and got my first big-girl job, I also got a new phone. It was a huge improvement. No longer did I have a cell phone the size of a brick. My new phone also boasted a little display screen that made caller ID possible. Its other great feature, I could change the banner from “Sprint PCS” to “Joy Lindros.” That phone started a lot of conversations, but alas, it could only get service in digital areas. Once I left the greater Philadelphia area, my little phone would search for service and eventually, give up, and slip off into power save.

Since I was traveling to central Pennsylvania a lot in those days, it was necessary for me to get a dual-band phone that could work in digital areas and roam on analog networks: enter phone #3. My third phone was a beauty. First of all, it was blue! It had a multitude of ring tones that I could assign to different callers. My brother, Take Me Out to the Ballgame. My dad, Ride of the Valkyries. I could even record my own ringtones. By holding the phone next to the speaker of my stereo, I was able to produce my own Margaritaville ringtone! I truly loved this phone. Even though it was held together by packaging tape, this is the phone that made the move to North Carolina with me. But the poor phone was old and tired. Sprint wanted me to buy a new phone, but they offered no free replacements for a phone that was at least 4 years old. So when I bought my house and could not get Sprint service in the living room, I moved on from my old provider and my old phone.

My next phone had a color display. I could choose a background picture (an orangutan hanging from a branch) and receive text messages. This phone could download ringtones. At first, there was the MIDI rendition of Brown Eyed Girl, but as technology came along I was able to add several others. This phone had a hands-free headset, very helpful when I was down the shore after New Jersey passed its no-phone-in-the-car law. After two years, Verizon told me I could have a new phone free of charge and I leapt at the chance to keep up with the latest and greatest.

And so I got a pink razr phone, or as it is more commonly known, The Pink Piece of Crap. One summer day I went walking and tucked my phone under one bra strap and my iPod under the other. My phone completely freaked out. When I took it to the Verizon store, the man told me it had water damage. “Why,” I asked, “is it made of sugar?” His solution was that I pay $50 to replace it. A lengthy debate followed during which I challenged the logic of paying $50 to replace something I hadn’t paid for in the first place and during which he summoned his manager for back-up. I questioned Verizon giving out phones that were so easily damaged that they could be rendered useless in less than three months. He kept going back to the $50 thing and finally I gave my infamous speech, “What if I don’t want this phone again? What if I think it’s a pink piece of crap—because it is a pink piece of crap—and I want to go back to my old phone?” He haughtily replied, “Well, you would need your old phone.” I smoothly placed it on the counter. $20 later, the orangutan was back, but there is still a happy ending for the pink piece of crap. This fall, when the orangutan phone was showing signs of age and it wasn’t time for me to get a new phone yet, I charged up the now-dry pink of piece of crap and went back to it for a few months. In fact, we were so happy together, I didn’t even replace it as soon as my two years were up.

As of this week, though, I have a new phone. It is a lot more phone than I can handle. Turns out, just because your phone can get Facebook on it, doesn’t mean it’s free. I enjoy the convenience of a keyboard for texting, but it is a strange new phone. Hopefully our relationship will grow to be a good one, because writing this has shown me that, as I journey through life, my phones are always along for the ride.

The Good New Days

When I first started attending my church I was part of a large, fun-loving group of single people. One of our favorite things to do was to go out and eat Sundays after church. We’d make restaurants string together a few tables to accommodate 12 of us and then we’d sit for hours solving the mysteries of the universe. I have great memories of these times: the seating politics—trying to sit next to the guy you liked while he tried to sit near the girl he liked, the rants against the church’s unfair treatment of single women, the mad grabs for the freshly-arrived yeast rolls.

Five years later, the fun-loving people from that group are gone. (It reminds of Bryan Adams’ lyric, “Jimmy quit, Susie got married. Should’ve known we’d never get far.”) With the exception of one woman who is in the process of relocating, I am the only person from that group still at the church.

This Sunday, I went to lunch with a different crowd of fun-loving people. The seating politics were totally different—husbands at one end, wives & Joy at the other. No ranting about the church, just stories about yard sales and 25-mile bike rides (holla!). The only thing that remained the same was the mad grab for hot yeast rolls. As I drove away, I was overwhelmed with love and gratitude for these friends, but I also wondered, how did I get here?

Between the good old days of 12 singles in a restaurant and this present, happy time, there were years of intense loneliness and struggle. It does not surprise me that my first circle of North Carolina friends disbanded and moved on—the 20’s are a transitional season for most people. It surprises me that I stayed. The bad years were really that bad. I am thankful they are over. But I am also thankful for what God showed me through those difficult times: I can find community with people who are not like me, I can be alone without being lonely, when I serve others I meet new people.

The lesson I am applying most these days is to hold on to people with an open hand, not a clenched fist. The circle of friends I have now may not always be here, so I savor my moments with them and try to resolve conflict quickly so we can spend more time having fun. If and when these friends move on, I know God will see me through as He has before.