Clothes Are Good

Robin Grace, Growth, Uncategorized October 17, 201550 Shades of Grey, cell phones, parenting, teens

We have lost our minds.

Reality stars and those who became stars as children (to entertain our children) are vibrant, technicolor reminders this culture has lost its way when it comes to all things sex.

I wish I didn’t have to talk about these things to my kids, but I do. We must. It is out of control.

When it comes to issues of sexuality, my values fall all the way to the “right”…tucked within the pages of Scripture and protected, when all is well, by the bounds of marriage. But even if that is not you, surely we can find some place, somewhere in this discussion to agree. PLEASE?

Junior high aged girls are sending naked pictures of themselves to boys on their phones.

Junior high aged boys are begging them to do it.

Many of us grew up in the culture of “I’ll show you mine if…” The human body is and always will be a source of tremendous ____________________ fascination; pleasure; shame; connection; distance. There is likely no way to navigate this road without bumps and bruises, but for the love all things pure and precious, can we try harder?

Some statistics say the porn industry is a 13 Billion Dollar a year enterprise. I am sick to my stomach typing those words.

That amount of money means that LOTS of people are buying in. Lots. More than we want to admit. More than we are facing.

I believe there is a direct correlation between the porn industry and the sex trafficking industry. And I believe there is a direct correlation between the sex trafficking industry and underage girls being taken for prostitutes. I won’t connect all the dots here and now, but a deadening of values must take place before this could ever begin to take root. Billions of dollars of annual revenue means it has not only taken root, it is flourishing.

These are our daughters.

It is easy to weep and wail when ISIS comes into villages and removes all girls nine and older, but are we are allowing a silent rapist to come in and sexually abuse our kids? My daughter’s generation grew up watching Hannah Montana, admiring her and the actress who played her, then watched as she gave up all boundaries, all modesty, all purity. Is it any wonder it is hard to find our way?

When a young girl sends her most private images to a boy, a part of her disappears forever. No matter what the banter; I don’t care how many times the lie “it’s no big deal” is repeated; I don’t give a schmidge of credence to the fact that everyone is doing it. It needs to stop.

Girls have always been desperate for attention.

Boys have always been curious.

Moms, we have to start talking. We have to tell our daughters that their bodies are beautiful and private. Sex is a wonderful part of marriage but a painful part of casual, immature relationships. We have to ask if our girls feel pressure to pose, or have given into that pressure before. If they have…we need to love them with abandon. We have to ask them how to help protect them. And we have to be the adults.

If it is not my daughter, it is her friends. I promise someone she knows has done/is doing this because we have lost our minds and our direction. The writer of 50 Shades of Grey is the fastest selling author in history. Would anyone want their son or daughter to be those characters? Seriously, if Christian Grey drove a beat up Pinto and lived in a mobile home, would millions of moms have read that book?

What is readily available on cable tv was a rated R movie just a few decades ago. I flipped through pornography at a hotel just using the remote control. This was HBO–not the “Adult Channels” you can block.

Thanksgiving weekend, while visiting family, I got home late and started looking for something to watch and came across…Pornucopia, Down In The Valley. That is what the TV Guide called it. My 12 year old son was in the next room, with access to that very channel. Lord, help!

I have never regretted not having cable television in my home.

I am thrilled that some hotels are changing the way they do things. WE ALL NEED TO.

We need to be talking to our sons. It is not just with the male population that demands this, but boys are certainly in the belly of the beast. Tell your boys not to ask girls to send naked pictures of themselves. I don’t care if it is embarrassing. I don’t care if you don’t think your son would do that. Tell them anyway. And tell their friends.

I am starting to wonder if part of the strategy I want to implement in my life is to purposely gather with my kids’ friends’ parents. If our kids see us all talking; if they know we are in this together; if there is less hope of “getting away with it”, perhaps we can make some inroads? I am starting to think that the solution for more and more issues begins with gathering around the table.

The conversation has to address the fact that for every-day kids, from every-day families, sending images on cell phones (that were once only available in Playboy magazines hidden under the bed) is happening every day.

Silence won’t end it.

Please know I am on your side. I am on our kids’ side. I believe this sexting, pornographic culture is hardening hearts and breeding dissatisfaction.

But let me be clear. If you will come at me with “kids will be kids” or “this is no big deal,” I don’t care about your opinion.

I just don’t. There is not room in my world for it. ITS TIME FOR THE TRUTH TO BE TOLD.

Men and women who purpose to get aroused by images of people they are not married to are addicts. People who pay to have sex are broken. They need healing and help.

Sexual arousal and activity disconnected from (a marriage) relationship disconnects people even more. Lonely desperation is the guaranteed destination that road offers, and our kids are beginning down that path at a time when family, friends, school activities and grades (and getting to know Jesus) should be their main focus.

I don’t pretend to know what the answers are, but this is what I am going to do:

I am going to start talking about it. I am going to talk to my daughter, her friends, and youth group leaders. I am going to talk to other parents, and find a group of people who believe we are in this together.
I am going to learn. I will start here: http://endsexualexploitation.org because I have to start somewhere.
I am going to pray. I will write notes to remind myself. I will pray for pure hearts and clear eyes for my family and friends; for my pastors and teachers.
I will try to spend my money where my mouth is. Carl’s Jr. won’t get my business until they change their advertising. I will support Hilton Hotels and tell them why. I will never, ever spend a dime on anything to do with 50 Shades of Grey.

Will you join me? Together, we can do this. We can teach our kids that naked is not the answer and that clothes are good. Keep them on.

The Perks of Being 45

Robin Grace, Growth, Moments, Uncategorized October 16, 2015

I am linking up with my new friend Kelly over at Mrs. Disciple. Each week she hosts a FRIDAY 5 link up, and each week I think, “Hmmmm. I should do that.” Then I don’t.

Not a huge shocker.

But today, thanks to my desire to stay in my comfy bed, I may just get it done.

Keep watching Little House on the Prairie, kiddo, homeschool will start a little late today.

1.) 45 JUST AIN’T WHAT IT USED TO BE. Really, I think my mom was so old at that age. Today there are better lotions and more health options. I think it is easier to stay younger longer than it once was.

Recently, my very tall teenage daughter, who can now look me eye to eye, said (with a horrified look on her face), “MOOOOOOMMMMM. There are two white hairs right there on your head!”

Calmly I replied, “You know I am going to be 45 in a few weeks. Two grey hairs is really not bad.”

“Tell yourself whatever you need to,” she said flatly.

This is what I am telling myself: “A couple of grey hairs at 45 isn’t bad at all. I have earned them!” Sure, I would love to have cutely colored hair all the time, but apparently not as much as I want to keep my girls in the private school where they are thriving. Which leads me to number two:

2.) LIFE IS A SERIES OF CHOICES. Some good. Some Bad.

Somewhere along the line I learned the concept of OPPORTUNITY COST. This is simply acknowledging that every decision eliminates the possibility of every other decision in that time, space, situation. There is a price and a prize for every choice. (I am pretty sure that’s a Dr. Phil-ism.)

I get to choose what seeds I want to sow.

Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; whatever a man sows this he shall also reap. Galatians 6:7

Sowing seeds is a Christian term for making choices.

I love that it says not to be deceived. Deception is a tricky thing, because unlike an outright lie, deceptions carry a bit of the truth in them. I can tell just enough truth to make me feel better, blame someone else, get off the hook for finding a solution. But if the Bible is correct, which I have based my life on, the harvest I reap will be the harvest I have actually sown and not the one I wanted to pretend it was.

3.) YOU DON’T HAVE TO LIKE ME. It’s okay. I get it. I am my own brand of cocktail that is not to everyone’s liking.

I like to laugh. I like to learn. I often think people are idiots.

That is because people are often idiots.

What does matter to me is that those I am shouldering life with know that I love them. I also pray I am better at loving them than I was in the past.

I want to get better at living the life I have.

That means sometimes facing the inevitable situations that will. not. work. out. “I suspect we are not going to be able to bridge this gap. How can we navigate our way out of this, so we can say goodbye peacefully?” is a perfectly acceptable conversation. Feel free to write that down and use it in the future.

You’re welcome.

4.) I DON’T HAVE TO KNOW EVERYTHING/BE GOOD AT EVERYTHING. I wish I would have known this as a teenager. I thought not being an expert at everything meant I was a failure at everything.

That way of thinking is so hard.

Letting go of wrong paradigms leaves me room to celebrate the wonder of others. I WANT to be around people who are better than me at many things. I want to learn from them and ask questions. I want to celebrate their victories, rather than waiting for an audience for mine.

In this season of life I am very comfortable with my own intellect. No one can make me feel stupid, even if they try. (Which they often do. I like politics, and today’s culture often tries to make a point by belittling others. Sad.) I know what I know, and I am not afraid to ask questions and find new answers when I don’t.

5.) Tough love is sometimes the best love. This one goes down like vinegar to some. We live in a day where much of the Christian church is rallying for grace everywhere.

Grace is everything.

And I cannot overemphasize my need for it.

But I also believe the book of Romans when it says: The wages of sin is death.

For some battling addictions and anger that can be an actual, physical death. In my life it can look like a death of relationships and dreams. It can manifest as a deadening of my walk with God or my love for His word. When I refuse to acknowledge and repent for my own sin, I am squeezing the life out of my world.

I am so glad I have friends who will say, “Hey…how you are handling this does not line up with Scripture…” or “You are called to behave this way…”

That is tough. That is love. That makes my life better.

As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. Proverbs 27:17

Not every situation calls for confrontation. Sometimes we pray. Sometimes we sit and listen.

But sometimes what others call grace looks like celebrating sin to me. Sigh.

In these 45 years, one thing I have learned for sure is that life is messy…and that I am increasingly okay with that.

My Demented Oreo

Robin Alzheimer's, Apraxia, Grace, Growth, Homeschool, Moments, Special Needs Families, Uncategorized October 11, 2015Dementia, gratitude, imperfection, Moments, paying attention, sandwich generation

I am part of what is called the sandwich generation, tucked between nurturing and growing my children and caring for aging parents. Because I am ~~naturally~~ soft in the middle, it makes sense to me that if I have to be a sandwich, I should be a cookie one.

So I have decided to be an Oreo.

Just over a year ago my father in law passed away from Alzheimer’s. The last few years of his life were a roller coaster. There were hospital stays and care facilities; anger and emptiness. The journey of Alzheimer’s is learning to grieve the living.

Although my father in law died first of Alzheimer’s, many years before he began to show signs my mother in law’s memory was disappearing.

My husband and I will celebrate our twentieth anniversary this fall, and for over 15 years of that my mother in law has been fading. Her mother had dementia, and she resigned herself to the same fate. She has never been responsible for caring for my kids. My girls have never gone to grandma’s for the weekend.

She is still one of my favorite people in the world.

I call my mother in law Winnie the Pooh. She has a heart of gold but a head full of fluff. She is never cranky, always happy. (I called my Father in Law Eyeore, because he was quite the opposite.)

While some in our family have understandably struggled with the reality of both Grandma and Grandpa radically mentally impaired, my youngest–our precious little peanut–knows no different and loves her world. She loved her grandpa.

She loves her grandma.

This week was Grandparents Day at my daughter’s school and I knew Ryan would love to have Grandma there. Her school is 20 minutes away, and the memory care facility where my mother in law lives is 40 minutes past that. That meant quite a bit of driving.

As Grandma and I were walking out the door of her home to pile in the car I asked her, “Do you know who I am?”

No. She did not.

By the time we reached the first stoplight two blocks away, she asked me half a dozen times who I was. The conversation usually goes like this…

Me: I am a married to one of your sons. Who are your sons?

MIL: Let’s see. (Starting to count on her fingers…) Bernie, Carl, Everett.

On occasion she’ll add someone else to the list, her husband or son in law.

Me: Now which one would have been smart enough to marry me?

She laughs at that every. single. time.

Me: I am married to your son Carl. Usually if you say it together, you can remember my name. Carl and _______________…

MIL: Robin.

It is an interesting conversation. Or not. But it is my life.

For the whole drive we chat about the scenery and philosophy; family and the past. It is often the same conversation on repeat. I believe the fact that she is my mother in law and not my mom makes it easier for me to enjoy her as she is. There is not as much loss to bear.

We get the walker out and toddle to the group meeting.

I get Grandma a snack she can eat with her hands. She lost the ability to effectively use silverware a while ago, but she loves a sweet treat.

Then we headed to the classroom.

Ryan was so happy. Daddy had to come along for the fun.

San Luis Classical Academy, my daughter’s school, is a beautiful part of this season of life. Ryan is on campus two days a week and homeschooled three days a week. I am hauntingly optimistic we will make tremendous progress this year.

Ryan did her “recitation” of Wynken, Blynken and Nod.

When your child can’t talk, you must improvise and prioritize. I decided that for this recitation, being comfortable in front of the class was the goal.

Look at that face. Today was a winner.

After recitations were art projects and show and tell times with Grandma.

Keep in mind that at the very moment my these pictures were taken my Mother In Law had absolutely no idea where she was or who she was talking to. None.

THIS IS GRACE.

THIS IS LOVE.

THIS IS BEAUTIFUL.

My daughter who can’t talk and my Mother in Law who can’t remember have a relationship that looks like this. And they both mean it with all their hearts.

I love this part of the Message version of the third chapter of Ecclesiastes:

A right time to cry and another to laugh, A right time to lament and another to cheer.

This is my life right now…a crazy, mixed up jumble of lamenting and crying while also laughing and cheering.

It is my demented Oreo of a life, and while I may not have chosen it, I do–in fact–love it.