Such a familiar route: the dilapidated street signs, the old frail looking man who sits on a lawn chair in front of Mr. Cho’s liquor store, the sunny sky that never fails me in Southern California, and the worn out laces on my converse—I walk this walk every Saturday afternoon, during lunch time. There’s something about the familiar setting that evokes a nostalgia. I’ve always loved the feeling of familiarity.
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Though all the faces that pass by me are strangers and their grim faces just slide on the sidewalks without looking up to greet me, I adore them because they are my bystanders of my afternoon walk—I order my two fried tacos from the Jack N the Box every time, with curly fries on the side sometimes. I enclose each face in an archive I keep in my back memory, which I open on days when I can’t escape the loneliness.
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Walking, I practice recalling every crack on the sidewalk. I have memorized every gum stain and broken down concrete. The smell of exhaust from the buses that puff passed, loaded with people who have no room to sit because the seats have been filled. More strangers pass by. I glare at their faces, what they wear, their shoes, their lips, their eyebrows, the color of their eyes, and their hands—the elderly typically have their hands folded and tucked under their breasts.
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A boy who looks about my age passes by me. His face barely peaks out of the black hoodie that swallows his head. His pants slightly sag past his waist light, held up by a leather belt. K-Swiss. I haven’t seen those since I was in middle school. He looks at my shoes (I am wearing the black vans my friend gave me because they were too big for her). Then, he looks at my thighs. I feel self-conscious; my mom has always told me that my thighs are bigger than most girls. I feel him graze my body, now outlining the silhouette with his stare. His sight climbs up my collarbones and he stares into my eyes.
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We both hide are startle; he flinches. I think he knows me, or wants to. We are now shoulder to shoulder walking past each other. I don’t turn around. I see the red box that I have grown to associate with a sense of home. I grab the rusted handle and pull. The air is crisp with air conditioning and I walk towards the cashier; there is no line today. I order my 2 tacos.
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The woman takes my order and her voice echoes in the intercom, repeating what I just told her. I look at her hoop earings that stretch her pierced hole down. Her name tag says, “Jackie.” I don’t tell her that we have the same name, but I smile at her. ”Can I get some ketchup and hot sauce.?” She hands me the packets. The tacos come out and she hands those to me as well.
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I am so clumsy with love.
Though thoughtful,
a little awkward and falling,
I will fall and drop all that we been building,
love slipping.
.
I am so clumsy with love,
not willingly, but blindly.
My hands trembling,
holding his heart,
fearing that I drop it,
knowing that I will drop it,
like I did drop it,
I have always dropped it.
.
But each time,
his heart fell flat on floor,
it never broke,
beating and remaining—
not so fragile as I had supposed.
My thoughts scatter across the table,
almost aimless, moreso, denial
or/and passive aggressive,
unwillingness to confront all the very
happenings that I rather not face
due to my….weariness of the cyclical nature
of my own humanity—dog returning to her own vomit.
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I think I’ll go get my second cup of coffee.
that I am a hopeless romantic. And you know what, that’s okay when it’s Jesus who is my romance.
I am learning that a good woman holds an incredible peace in any storm, which endows her with a flexibility and grace that is reflected of Christ. During this season—this very very long season—of singlehood, I see that a woman’s virtue is patience. In patience, I learn to deny myself and exalt the glory of the divine in every circumstance. Specifically, in the context of meeting men. In all honesty, as a single woman, it’s difficult to meet men. In one encounter, so many desires can stream through my heart and consume my mind. In one encounter, I can grab a hold of a love story that wasn’t meant to be a part of my climax. The apex of every love narrative is the cross; but this seems so mundane when the flesh is burning for a companion. When I experience chemistry with a man—which is quite rare—I immediately grow anxious in my heart because I loosen the anchor of my soul, which is Christ himself, re-structuring our testimony—Christ and mine’s— into a prologue of this more current romance. The bible calls this wayward.
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I am in a learning process of what sort of woman God desires me to be, who, for certain I know, is a woman who exemplifies his perfect design. God calls me to be patient, clinging to him with every thought and emotion. He is my passion. A passion for a man will fade, but the purpose of God prevails. I’ve been broken down in humility due to my self-entitlement, beseeching God with requests and demands that rebel against my position as a servant and daughter of Christ. When Jesus is ultimate provider. A good woman grips onto Christ, who asks that she allows herself to be locked inside of his heart. The only way a man can get to her is if he asks Jesus for the key. Christ will only give that key to a man that is worthy and called.
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So in the meantime, my sister Ito, told me to just pray for my husband—this makes sense. God is making me stronger and keeping me strong because honestly, my heart is so flimsy when it comes to waiting for my future husband. It’s gonna be okay because I have a God who sees me and understands me. God wants me to want him and make him not just the climax of my life story, but the beginning and end, through and through. A good woman keeps the Lord by her side through and through.
There is no wisdom without obedience. What good is knowing what’s right without the self-control to obey the truth in knowledge—of God’s will—and actively do right. Sometimes there is no revelation of which way is good because there is no heart to submit to the justice of God, who is giver of all love. Sometimes there is no revelation of how to act because intentions have not been based on utter selflessness, but rather self-interest.
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So in order to gain knowledge, one must have a willingness to do; wisdom is to respond to knowledge of God, reflecting a fear of a greater being that possess supreme sovereignty.
I look at you with
my eyes becoming like doves;
the earth around me
quaking;
all my possessions
burning in the fire;
my heart void;
nothing seems to work
just right—
.
except for your
fortress gaurding my
peace.
How many women have I met who have unwillingly expressed to me their resentment towards their own bodies? Countless. It’s remarkable how body image is such a prevalent issue among the most confident women, including myself. I am 23 years old, turning 24 this May. And yes, I still deal with loving my body.
We are all made to be beautiful daughters of a perfect God. There is godliness in our physique and, despising our form may even distort our perception and attitude towards the beauty of God. The few weeks I over-eat and gain some weight are the moments when I am inclined to speak criticism into my heart. However, there is a spirit in me that rejects my own insults. Rather, this spirit of love uplifts my soul, giving me courage to look at my complete self and be more than pleased, but grateful.
21st century women: access to gym, over-exposure to high fashion culture, eating disorders, food culture, work-out obsessions, men-pleasing, sex.
There are quite a few debilitating expectations that many women, again, including myself, re perpetuate in our daily and at times, hidden, behaviors; thus, re-affirming the very bar that society places on a beautiful women. Furthermore, we exacerbate these stereotypes by not speaking of them. Though this should not be permissible because of the prevalence of the issue among most women, it is understandable. Most my girlfriends have more daunting and pressing needs to address—job? men? finances? school? confidence? Also, for me, I rather not discuss my body image issues because I consider it a middle school phase. When I talk about body image, I feel like a dog returning to its own vomit. Didn’t I already deal with this when I first got hips?
However, when I look at the behavior and listen to the conversations with my girlfriends…we are all dealing with it.
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You’re probably wondering why I am ranting on this. Well, I went to the gym. As I was working out, I looked at all the women and wondered how many of them were there to “look good.” It broke me to even look at myself. Vanity is so subtle, but can eat you inside out. Vanity and insecurity are married in some sense.
Lately I been asking God to teach me to love myself more. In response, he has been telling me that one of the first steps is to love my body EVERY DAY, in whatever phase of my weight fluctuations. Now, I feel like he wants me to share it. I rather not press the “create post” button because I consider myself a woman who desires to be portrayed as strong and confident. However, God is telling me a new thing: in my weakness, he is strong.
Hopefully this was able to just bless a woman today. You’re not the only one hiding your insecurities of the “conventional body image issue for women.” It’s me too. And many others.
Now let’s step forward together and just love ourselves because our Creator is so beautiful and pristine, creating only what is good—women.
