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The Teenager’s Phone

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I could just type throw it out the window and be done.  Because that’s what I really want to do. But instead I’ll explain exactly why I feel the way I feel. And this is it.  Right here.

This little 4.5″ x 2″ device that I pay for was intended for just a couple of things.  First and foremost, to keep my child connected to me.  And second, because the natural order of things is the natural order of things, to allow her to keep in touch with friends. It’s that second one that somebody somewhere down the line got confused about.

I’ve said to my daughters that this device which they have been privileged to use is not so that they may be at their friends’ beck and call. That’s an old phrase that means you respond immediately, no matter what. I think they’re starting to get it.  Their friends, however, not so much.  So let me be clear.  MY DAUGHTER’S PHONE IS NOT SO THAT YOU MAY HAVE A CONVERSATION WITH HER WHENEVER YOU WANT IT! If you have her phone number, I probably like you.  Some of you I even love. If I don’t know you, you’re not supposed to have her number at all, so right off the bat you can see where I’m a little miffed, and you will be deleted immediately. But I digress.  Let’s talk phone etiquette.  If you send her a text and she doesn’t answer right away, you people with the word “teen” in your age get nasty.  Let’s take care of this one.  If you’re waiting for a response and haven’t received it, ask yourself a couple of questions.  ‘Have I done something wrong?’ If the answer is yes or even worse, you don’t know, I can promise you she’ll let you know at some point that day.  She’s a great little communicator. So just chill. If the answer is no, move on to this one: ‘What time is it?’ Now this one’s tricky because here’s how it works.  It doesn’t matter what time it is. Sometimes I tell my daughter to put her phone away at 12:00 p.m.  Sometimes I tell her to put it away at 3:00 in the afternoon and not to pick it up again or even look at it until 7:00 p.m..  Sometimes I tell her not to touch it until we’re completely finished with school, which means you early risers are outta luck. And it will, most definitely, always be 9:00 p.m. when she’s told to put it away.  So what to you do? You say to yourself, ‘She doesn’t hate me. She just has a life.’ And just so you’re not confused by the fact that your friend is home schooled and you think she has nothing to do, let me assure you that this is a rich and full life much like yours.  It includes, but is not limited to, school work.  Piano to practice.   Three dogs to feed.  A dishwasher to unload.  A room to clean.  A bathroom to clean.  Clothes to wash. A sister to interact with, face to face.  Random trips to Kroger or Target during which I say put that thing in your pocket so you’ll quit running into the toilet paper aisle.  Classes to attend. Acting lines to rehearse. And last but most importantly, she has a mother.  A mother who wants to look at something besides the top of her head while she’s looking down at her phone responding to the 45 emoji’s you sent. And I won’t even mention her father because….well, remember that throw it out the window thing I started with? Yea. That’s where he’s at.

Ok.  So now that we’ve established the thousand and one reasons why she can’t – and more importantly – why I will not allow her to be at your beck and call, we shouldn’t even need to discuss the other thing y’all do when someone doesn’t answer you.  That passive aggressive resend.  Over and over and over.  Or worse, the one word or letter at a time thing.  You get me? Great.

So let’s give this whole communication privilege another go, shall we? And remember I do love you all. But I love her infinitely more. So much more that I actually like spending time with her. And I know you do too, but…I’m the Mom. Which means I win.

ttyl.

The World According to…the World?

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I’m a Christian.  This means Christ follower.  This means different.  Cuz let’s face it, Jesus was different.  The Son of God, washing people’s feet and hanging out with prostitutes and drunks;   not normal.  So I wonder why some of us do all the stuff that the world says is normal when our example was so very not?

 

I remember when my daughter was 8 and someone asked her if she had a boyfriend.  Cuz apparently that’s the most normaI thing you ask a little girl.  I have never experienced so many emotions at once.  Are you…kidding? Nuts? Sick?  Has she ever noticed that a boy was cute? Sure.  She may have been little, but she was, after all, human.  She saw handsome boys and sweet boys and funny boys on a regular basis and thought, hmmm…I might wanna marry him someday.  And that’s ok.  But full-on relationship? At 8? Really?

 

Now that both my girls are teenagers, these types of questions abound and pile up by the day.  Today, even. From a complete stranger. Because it’s normal, right?  Teenagers date, right?  That’s just what they do.  We did it.  Our parents did it.  Culturally normal.  I mean we don’t want ‘em to have sex until they’re married, but let’s let ‘em date the opposite sex from age 11 to whenever, hold hands & kiss and have their pulse race to heights of ecstacy  they can barely manage, but manage they must, we say,  because we want them to be “pure”.  Then maybe some day they’re in a situation they can’t manage anymore.  Or maybe they can, right up until the day they walk the aisle, but by then they’ve come in and out of so many relationships that their hearts were no longer whole before their feet even finished growing. And there’s a few broken hearts in their wake, too.  And Mister Right down there by the preacher on going to the chapel day gets what’s left.  Sounds like a nice, normal plan to me.

 

 

Or, we could do something crazy like go against the grain of the world and tell our kids something like this.  “You know what? You’re going to have feelings for the opposite sex.  It’s ok.  It’s not sinful or wrong.  But how you act on those feelings is where I, your Christ-following parent, come in.  (Remember Him? Mr. I don’t do it the way it’s always been done?) And I don’t want you to be consumed by these feelings and end up hurt, so here’s what we’re gonna do.  You’re not gonna date until I say you’re spiritually and emotionally mature enough to do so.  And there’s no magical, across-the-board age when that happens, k?  Your BFF’s have nothing to do with it.  They don’t live here. And that boy?  You can’t text him or private message him, because that will only enhance and encourage those feelings, whether they’re yours or his.  And you know what else? Some guys – not all, but some – will say just about anything to you in writing.  They might even tell you they love you at the ripe old age of 12.  And just seeing those words – not even hearing them but just seeing them in front of you will make your heart go pitter patter.  And boom.  You’ve given this kid a piece of your heart, via text of all things.  And next month when he decides he’s in ‘love’ with somebody else? Then what? You see where I’m going here? So if I let you pursue and act on every feeling and crush you have for the next 10 years, this process could repeat itself 20 times, and what kind of parent sets their child up to have her heart broken 20 times? Not happening.  So we’re not gonna look like the rest of the world on this guy/girl thing.  And people will tell you and I both that we’re crazy and ridiculous and over the top and too conservative.  And I’m OK with that and happy to defend you when you can’t remember why we came to these decisions and your little teenage mouth wants to turn to me and say, ‘Why are we so different?!’  So just be ready.  Because we’re not doing life in the world according to the world.  If you have a problem with that, find me the scripture that says I’m in direct disobedience to the One who entrusted you to me and we’ll talk.”

 

That sounds beautifully abnormal to me.

Nefarious: (adj.) extremely wicked or villainous

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I don’t watch the news. I can tell you very little, if anything, about the current events in our city. Because in between every celebrity-split-from-significant-other spot and some correspondent’s opinion of the political climate, there’s a story about a woman. Or a little girl.

I don’t take these very well.

I don’t take them well even when they’re fictional. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve come unglued at a friend who said, “You’ve got to see this movie!” So I did, only to find there was a violent scene involving a woman or a little girl and I had to say, “If you want to remain my friend, don’t ever recommend a ‘good movie’ to me again.”

But about three weeks ago, I went on a tour of an area of Houston, Texas that changed my life, as well as my disposition on violence against women and children. (Or so I thought). Those of us on the tour learned a new word. Compissionate. It means compassionate and pissed. And it’s a really good word. While I heard some pretty gruesome and heartbreaking stories, I stayed remarkably detached and more fighting mad than anything else. Actually, I thought a lot about how great it might feel to kill somebody. Or even a lot of somebodies. Traffickers be ware.

With this new-found fervor and compissionism, I didn’t think much about sitting down to watch Nefarious, a look behind the veil of the sex industry. In fact, as it started, I actually said to my husband, “I just need a bullet proof vest and a gun. I want these people.”

And then it happened. About halfway through, I was undone. Little girls….in Cambodia….and their traffickers…are their parents. Their fathers lay around outside their huts all day and drink beer while their 7 year old daughters are…

…and there were pictures.

That’s it. I’m out, God. I don’t know who You thought You were talking to about all this but that fearlessness and boldness is gone and I am OUT. I cannot handle this.

I fell apart. My husband pulled me over to him. But we continued to watch.

And then something else happened. Throughout the movie there had been interviews with women, girls, former Johns, pimps and traffickers. Their words were hardly comprehendible. Their lives were hardly imaginable.

“When we first embarked on our journey,” said the director, “we envisioned rescuing girls trapped in cages, but the issue of human trafficking was far more complex than we originally anticipated. We started to see that even among the girls we had rescued, it wasn’t enough for us to tell them they had value and help them get jobs and restart their lives. What we began to realize was that the even greater challenge than rescuing the girls was restoring them.”

And as is crucial in any pivotal movie moment, the music started. “He is jealous for me….”

At this point it was incredibly moving to hear the women and the young, young girls say they had met Jesus and He had healed them. But I wasn’t prepared for the next words. The words of the man. The former trafficker.

“I’m ashamed I used to be a person like that. I don’t even call myself a person. But God is bigger than that. I was captive of one thing, and she was captive of another. But God. Wants to set the captives free.”

“…if His grace is an ocean we’re all sinking…”

Fervor restored. Faith renewed. I’m in, Jesus. I am so in.

If to be feeling alive to the sufferings of my fellow creatures is to be a fanatic, then I am one of the most incurable fanatics ever permitted to be at large.
-William Wilberforce

The crisis of modern-day sex slavery does not need interested observers. It needs incurable fanatics.
-Benjamin Nolot
Writer, Producer, Director
Nefarious