Growing up, I was awkward.  I was chubby.  I was abnormally tall for my age.  Not to mention, I had a gait as manly and shoulders as broad and eyebrows as thick as my brothers.  One might have easily concluded I was raised by rugby players.  

Contrary to popular belief, though, this former chubster actually grew up in leotards and tights.  That’s right.  This girl, back in the day, took a ballet class or two and, every summer when competition season came, could be found rehearsing late into the night at the purple castle studio on Kilani Avenue.

Now in the same manner as elementary class pictures, the usual lineup for formations went something like this: short ones in the front, tall ones in the back.  That’s what they said, at least, but in my mind, it felt more like only delicate blossoms were allowed in the front while ungainly behemoths were banished to the back.

One can only speculate where I spent most of my time.  [That’d be in the back in case you didn’t pick up on that.]

Anyway, it never felt particularly glamorous or glorious being in the dark recesses of the stage, but then again, I knew that it wasn’t up to me.  It was up to the choreographer, who not only had experience far beyond, well, my entire lifespan but also had a comprehensive vision of the entire stage and the routine as it was supposed to progress.  So there behind two, three, four rows of delicate blossoms, I did my thing and I did it with pride because I knew that I had been purposely placed there by my teacher whom I trusted.

Now perhaps this may be silly [but this is a snapshot into my thoughts regardless of yours], but I have these scenarios that play in my head of how  I think God reacts to some of the things I say.  Lately, I’ve been envisioning His reaction to statements like, “I just work in retail,” or “I just work at a cafe,” and I’m thinking it can’t be terribly favorable.  I’m thinking I should rephrase that.

“I work in retail, and I work at a cafe.”

YES, I work in the back rows of the job market, and while they’re not the most glamorous or glorious of jobs, I know that I was placed here for such a time as this.  Now, that’s not to say that I think I’m significantly impacting the world with every T-shirt transaction and latte I make.  Still, I am going to do my thing and do it with pride because I know that I have been purposely placed here by my God whom I trust.

Originally, I had a couple of ideas for an intro and conclusion paragraph, but in the end, I decided to let the stories speak for themselves.  That is, I decided to let Rose and Lana and Willie speak, for every individual has a story worth paying attention to and a voice that deserves to be heard.

Ergo, World…

Meet Rose.  Rose was heading home on the R train and accompanied by her two kids.  Initially, the conversation began with a question about working out.  Thirty minutes and twenty stops later, I learned that Rose currently lives with her boyfriend whom she hates but can’t break up with because he pays the rent.  She wants so desperately to get a job in order to move out and support  her family, but with two toddlers, she can’t leave them alone and certainly can’t afford a babysitter.  Now the envelope that lay in her lap, she let me see inside.  It was papers from the adoption agency concerning her third child, the one she had to give up.  Included was a letter from the family and a picture of a little girl named Angelina.

“Savannah,” Rose whispered.  “I named her Savannah.”

Meet Lana.  Lana was panting on the corner of 45th and 5th and accompanied by a burgundy-colored suitcase.  Initially, the journey began with a friendly offer to carry her luggage, which I soon discovered weighed a million cajillion pounds and, of course, had no wheels.  Awesome.  Thirty minutes and ten avenues later, I learned that Lana is originally from Russia but moved to Chicago when her son was eight.  He’s now 22-years old and has already overstayed his visa.  There is an option to return to Russia, but American culture, American friends, and the English language is all he’s ever known.  Currently, it looks as if he’ll be leaving for Canada soon and won’t be permitted back for ten years.

“It’s absolutely unbearable to think about,” Lana panted, this time not out of physical but emotional exertion.  “My heart bleeds over this.  It’s bleeding, and I just can’t make it stop.”

Meet Willie.  Willie was sitting at the table next to us in the Yoshinoya on 42nd and accompanied by a meal he had to scrounge for.  Initially, the interaction began with a moment of sheer panic when Willie accidentally ate a mouthful of sour pickled ginger.  Thirty minutes and only three bites later (as he had forgotten to eat because he was talking too much), I learned that he had just gotten out of jail.  Previous to that, he was a well-respected business man; however, when his teenage daughter was raped, he made a mistake, he admits, is not proud of.  He served his time dutifully but is now struggling to get back on his feet.

“People just assume, you know?”  Willie remarked despondently as the excitement from the tales of his West Coast travels wore off.  “They find out that I take my showers at the shelter and eat meals from the restaurant’s leftovers, and they write me off as a lazy bum.”

Pssssst.  Listen up, World.

Literally.

“Fluff!  Oh God, I’ve watched way too much porn to say ‘fluff’ with a straight face.”

PORN?  Really?  Porn.

And here I was thinking of little Pomeranians and down pillows.

Now, call me naïve.  I don’t care, not about what you might think of me.  Nope.  What I do care about, however, are the minds of my guy friends and my brothers and my future husband.  I am concerned about them and all of the other men I have met in times past and still have yet to meet, and it breaks my heart knowing that not a single one of them is beyond the lure of pornography’s baleful reach.

[Sigh] I just don’t understand.

I don’t understand how hosting a mistress in bed is so scandalous it could take politicians out of office and preachers out of pulpits, yet hosting a mistress through a television or laptop screen is somehow widely acceptable.  Nonetheless, I know it’s out there and in the homes and secret places of many good men, married and not married.  I also know that there are deeper issues that feed into this, as like any other addiction; thus, I’m not really focused on a lengthy explication of why it is bad, so much as I am trying to simply convey the heart of a woman who loves people deeply and is heartbroken over this thing called pornography.

So to the men out there, here are the sentiments of this woman’s heart on behalf of all other likeminded ladies:

To begin with, we don’t want to share you.  Not now.  Not ever.  Not in another bedroom with another woman, most definitely not in ours…and not in your imagination.  Body, heart, and mind: we want you all, for all time, beginning now.  I know there’s fierce competition clawing for your attention and anticipating your demise.  It can often seem as if fighting for purity in this day and age is like fighting a wildfire with a water gun.  Be that as it may—

I believe that every time you resist the temptation to click on that raunchy ad or YouTube video, there’s a woman out there beginning to accept herself as exquisite and worthy instead of what society objectifies her to be.

I believe that every time you reject the notion that cybersex slaves will assuage you, there’s a woman out there beginning to believe that she will be more than enough to satisfy her husband and keep him around for a lifetime.

I believe that every time you engage in the battle for a clean mind and pure heart, there’s a woman out there letting her man-hating defenses down and allowing her true beauty to be seen.

In the end, I believe that every day you purpose to become the person you were made to be, there’s a woman purposing to become the person whom she was made to be.  Plain and simple but in no way easy, this battle for purity is going to be an intense one.  It’s going to be a difficult one.  Even so, it’s going to be a good and truly worthwhile one.  For as I am beginning to learn, the best things in life always are worth fighting for.