Escape

He bounced out of the drugstore on West 74th Street, the sounds of Journey blaring through his earphones. What an awesome day in the city! Sunny with a breeze, and enough optimism surging down the street to win over even the most cynical of souls. But Derek wasn't cynical; he was all sunny-side-up and glass-half-full these days. Because he'd already survived the worst of life and couldn't help but be hopeful about his collective tomorrow.

He paused on the corner opposite a blinking orange hand... on another day he might have rushed through the intersection, pissing off cab drivers as he reached the curb amidst the sounds of their horns blasting angrily. But today he had all the time in the world, and there wasn't any storm inside of him to try and escape. Fishing his cell phone from his hip pocket, he scrolled through his contacts list, looking for someone to share with him in his upbeat mood.

"Derek?" The voice was unmistakable.

He hesitated before raising his eyes to meet hers. "Julie, hi." Of all the people to run into!

"I, uh, saw you and just thought I'd --"

"Oh no, I'm glad you did," he hastily recovered, without thinking.

"Okay. So... how've you been?" She looked regretful already, probably wishing she'd pretended not to see him.

"Great, great, I've been great." Idiot.

"Good, that's really good," she tilted her head to the right, and the familiar mannerism caused the old feelings to rush over him.

"How --" he began, but something on her face stopped him.

"Listen, Derek, this is awkward, I know, it's just that..." she trailed off, and averted her eyes for the first time since she'd said his name. He felt claustrophobic from the sheer rawness of the moment; so he did what he'd become an expert at doing since their marriage ended in an attorney's office on West 93rd last March. He escaped.

"I ran into Peter the other day."

"Oh?" Did she sound relieved?

"Yeah, he asked about you and, you know... he and Emma are doing real well." They hadn't talked about Emma, actually, only about the Yankees and work. Always about work.

"Good, that's good to hear." He knew he was almost out of the woods now.

"Well it was great running into you, but I should get going..."

"Yeah, me too - have somewhere to be."

"Right, sure."

She made eye contact with him once more, and he didn't have time to deflect the thought that their children might have had her piercing blue eyes.

"So... take care, Julie. I mean, you know, really... take care of yourself."

"You too, Derek." And she turned to walk uptown on Amsterdam.

"See ya!" He called after her, a little too heartily.

He turned back, facing south again, and rushed through the intersection with the orange hand blinking rapidly above his head.

Number One?

Despite my inherent hesitation towards Dallas and most things Texas, a September issue of Forbes declares it to be the best place to be right now:

Top 10 Cities to Earn a Living
1. Dallas
2. Houston
3. Minneapolis
4. Austin
5. Washington, D.C.
6. St. Louis
7. Seattle
8. Atlanta
9. Kansas City, MO
10. Denver

Source: Forbes, Francesca Levy (09/03/2009)

http://www.forbes.com/2009/09/03/careers-job-growth-lifestyle-real-estate-earn-a-living.html

I'm relieved to see Denver made the list... barely... but there's no humidity OR bugs there, so I think that should bump it up at least past Atlanta.

Family

We launch our words into the space between us like sparks onto a pile of dry leaves and twigs - something dangerous is bound to happen. In stubbornness we clench our jaws and scrunch our brows - we will not give in. This is a fight for the books, and we abandon all reservations as we throw ourselves into the heat of it. Steamy tears race across my face and his sarcasm slices through the room like razor blades. There will be casualties. Bruised feelings and bloodied pride are inevitable.

I make my exit flushed and clumsy, channeling my inner teenager as I slam the door behind me. Once in the car I drive aimlessly, for I have nowhere to go. The goal is to be anywhere but there, where his stripped state of being is glaringly ugly and hateful… and mine is even worse.

In a random parking lot I blow smoke in straight streams into the night; the wind thrashes through the trees and turns my hair into whips that sting my cheeks. The sounds of suburban traffic drone on in the background as I begin the process of taking myself in hand. Eventually I cease to shake, the pink escapes my cheeks, and the cool wind dries my tears.

Ten minutes later I stand outside his door, hesitating ever so slightly, because humility always hurts. I knock and hand him a pack of gum as a peace offering. He takes it and responds with a love kick in the shin. We’re off to a good start. Low tones and earnest words later, we meet in the middle.

He brings me ice cream at 1:00am, and we say goodnight by moon. Not the kind that hangs in the sky, but the kind that’s hairy with two cheeks.

This is family.

Today

I left NYC two weeks ago. The city that was once my playground, replete with adventure and opportunity, somehow became a cage. Months of unemployment coupled with mistakes and doubts cast dark shadows where sunshine had previously reigned, and I lost my perspective and direction somewhere in the recesses where the light grew too dim to see. So I did my best to own it, because I believe you have to, and I decided to come home.

It feels like failure and like courage; it is grief and also relief. All I know is that when I booked my one-way ticket to DFW, I felt like I could breathe for the first time in months. And when I got in the cab to go to LaGuardia, I felt like I was walking away from the only thing that ever made sense for me. I bought a magazine in the terminal, before boarding my plane. The woman who sold it to me asked if I was headed home. I didn’t know what to tell her, was I going to or leaving home? I still don’t know.

It’s in the midst of that paradox that I live today, two weeks later. I left ready to move on, and arrived feeling drawn back. It was agonizingly hard to come, but being here is frighteningly easy. So I remain in between, feeling certain of today and doubtful of tomorrow.

Ginger told me before I left that the more mature we are, the more willing we are to be misunderstood. I also think we become more willing to not understand. I don’t know what I’m doing here any more than I knew what I was doing in NYC a few weeks ago. I just know that this is my next step, my right move, my choice for today.

Sex Sermon

Yesterday I listened to a sermon on sex which was given this past Sunday at Trinity Grace Church here in the city. Delivering the sermon was Scott Sauls, a teaching pastor at Redeemer Presbyterian Church. I think Rev. Sauls offers an enlightening and powerful perspective on the topic from a Christian standpoint. His sermon includes meaningful insights for single people who desire to abstain from sex, for married people who desire to experience sex the way God intended, and for anyone who – for whatever reason – struggles with how to regard and behave towards sex. Ultimately, it struck me as a great example of how persuasive and motivating the argument against the abuse of sex is when it is based on the true nature of sex as God created it.

The first thing Sauls does is address common misconceptions about sex. The first misconception is that it’s not a big deal; that we should treat sex casually. I find this especially relevant in the world we live in – a world where abstinence is a rarity and sex is viewed as a natural appetite we have the freedom to fulfill. Personally, I have doubted the importance of treating sex delicately, because my world isn’t one where people abstain from sex (or have conviction to do so) outside of marriage. On the contrary, we have sex whenever, however, and with whomever we want and don’t seem to suffer any consequences because of it. But Sauls asserts that sex has a unique power over us, that it is the most dangerous and the most amazing of all human capacities. God designed it to be a transcendent experience; the most infinite encounter humans can have this side of heaven. This means it is not only a physical act, and so to take it out of its context is to permanently mar our souls.

The second misconception Sauls addresses is that sex is a necessary evil for the purposes of procreation… and nothing more. Many Christians have a negative attitude towards sex: it wasn’t addressed properly in their childhood homes, and they aren’t comfortable accepting that the purpose of sex extends beyond practicality to pleasure. Sauls responds to this by making a distinction between lust and sexual desire. Sexual desire is built into us by God: it is holy and right to want someone sexually… as long as you also desire them in every other way. Lust, on the other hand, is a perversion of sexual desire: it desires someone sexually without desiring them as a person; it is impersonal and objectifying. True love and holy sexual desire conceive the need to be naked with someone in every way possible – to be vulnerable and intimate physically, emotionally, and spiritually; to be joined as one in every sense.

Sauls also says that "lust in the broadest sense is to try to get from creation what you can only get from God", and that "taking a created thing and turning it into the ultimate is idolatry". This is why lust can occur even within a marriage. If you desire sex in and of itself, and not for the sake of the person you're with or the spiritual reality that it represents, you deviate from holy desire and are in danger of lusting after your spouse.

Jesus modeled this type of all-encompassing vulnerability on the cross. He died naked, full of shame, and entirely vulnerable in the very face of our unfaithfulness to him. That moment was his act of commitment to us, his vow to the human race. And because we are made in his image, Sauls emphasizes, we must also combine all-encompassing vulnerability with the lifelong commitment of marriage.

Sauls calls sex “the art of God”, and in order to fully respect and enjoy a work of art, you must treat it the way the artist intended. So what is God’s intention for sex within that lifelong commitment? Sauls purports that it is a kind of sacrament, similar in nature to the Eucharist. In both, the engagement of our physical senses is a reminder and a representation of the spiritual reality. Sex within marriage represents your spiritual and emotional nakedness and vulnerability to one another. According to Sauls, every time a married couple comes together, it is a covenant renewal ceremony. Sex is a tangible reminder of the spiritual oneness of marriage, which is in turn a symbol of the oneness of Christ and his church. The act of sex is riddled with symbolism and meaning; it should be a celebration and an expression of your marriage commitment. That is the gift of sex as God created it to be… nothing less.

The point is made, in Sauls sermon, that this gift of sex God offers us is available even to those who are sexually broken, even to sexual failures. He points out that the genealogy of Jesus is peppered with those whose sexual stories were long and ugly: Tamar, an incestuous seductress; Rahab, a prostitute; and David, a king who abused his power and raped his neighbor. These people belong to the line of Jesus… they were redeemed. Also, there’s the story of the prostitute in the last part of Luke 7: she used the tools of her trade (her hair, kisses, perfume) to worship Jesus and he said to the religious people watching, “This woman knows how to truly love and worship me… learn from her!” Jesus offers redemption to those of us who haven’t handled sex the way he created it to be handled; he offers us the same incredible and transcendent gift of sex in its holiness.

This sermon challenges me to renew my mindset about sex: to regard sex the way that God intended it to be regarded, and to conduct myself towards it in a manner which honors it as God's artwork and protects my soul from the danger of abusing his gift.

The Ranch Dance

My uncle’s ranch is in Mineral Wells, Texas – about an hour outside of Dallas. Every few years the family gathers there in the days following Christmas. It’s not a working ranch, with livestock or ranch hands. It’s just a beautiful lodge, a bunkhouse, and a dining hall perched on a bluff overlooking the River Brazos. There are hunting dogs in a kennel down the road, and a shooting range by the far gate. A hundred yards from the lodge sits an above-ground pool in the shape of the full moon that the boy cousins go skinny-dipping in. The rebel cousins congregate on the second story deck to take drags and exhale smoke into the Texas night. On the night before we leave, there is always a family dance. My uncle likes to play DJ, and the rest of us pretend to be excited about awkwardly two-stepping with family members we should never be made to dance with. The kids always start a limbo, and my favorite part of the weekend is watching Granddad feebly attempt the impossible with a chorus of “How low can you go?!” ringing through the house.

But the real highlight of the trip is watching Granddad and Mimi shuffle across the floor in the sweet and graceless way that couples in their seventies do. When that happens, the dance floor clears, and we all watch them with a sort of reverence. They deserve it, after all, because if it weren’t for them, none of us would be there at the ranch. No one would be skinny-dipping, or dancing awkwardly, or sneaking cigarettes on the deck. Uncle Dan wouldn’t be swearing at the fire pit because he can’t get the fire lit for the kids to make smores. Jason and his fiancée Katie wouldn’t be tangled in the loveseat in a dark corner of the great room. Aimee wouldn’t be pregnant with baby Nolan and Nikki wouldn’t be braiding little Bethany’s dirty blonde hair on the stoop. If it weren’t for Mimi and Granddad, for their life and their love, we wouldn’t speak with wistful tenderness about Tiffany, Donna, and Vicki – those of us who didn’t made it to the ranch this year because life doesn’t last forever.

But when life is over for Mimi and Granddad, it will carry on in us. We who spent the day traipsing through the woods clambering over rocks; we who held shooting contests at the range by the far gate; we who exist in the dim light of the fire on the back porch tonight, watching through the window into the lodge as Mimi and Granddad sway back and forth to the music that is no longer playing.