Controversial Post Warning
I didn’t vote for Trump. I didn’t vote for Hillary either. I don’t consider myself to be overly conservative or liberal. Most days you can find me somewhere in the middle just scratching my head. Wondering where my pants are. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t things I feel strongly about.
I love Jesus but I cuss a lot. I’m that girl. I’m more interested in relationships than opinions.
I’m a mother. I have twin 6 year old boys. I have a mental illness. I am also a singer songwriter and the other day one of my boys heard my music for the first time. The next day he asked me why I don’t sing anymore. It’s a fair question. For me the answer was simple. It was so I could be a Mom. So I could take care of these little people. To put their needs above mine. And it’s my favorite job in the world.
You can imagine how full my hands are just trying to keep them alive. And stay alive myself. Right now they like to see how far up the steps they can jump. Without breaking anything. It's not going well. Their favorite thing lately is watching Octonauts and reading books about the ocean. The Midnight Zone in particular. If you aren’t familiar I suggest looking it up. It’s terrifying. You may never go in the water again. You’re welcome.
I spend my days trying to correctly maneuver questions about how the wind works, about where boogers come from, about the trinity and death. And it makes me overly aware of how unqualified I am for any of this. Bennett has informed me that if I die I am supposed to tell Jesus it’s not my turn yet and to send me back. In a chair. And then we can die together when he is old. Idk. Kids are weird.
Despite my troubles with depression and mental illness I wanted to become a mother. I almost lost them in pregnancy. And now the most important thing in my life since they were born has been keeping myself healthy so I can be there for them. Taking my meds. Going to therapy. Gaining 60 pounds. Watching my hair and teeth fall out from my medication.
The sacrifice is real.
I looked forward to having them. To absorbing their unconditional love. Enjoying their innocence. The beauty and simplicity of childhood. Things that I never got to have or experience as a child.
But some things matter more than others. They lost their Grandpa this last summer. It was one of the toughest conversations we’ve had with them. And they still keep asking about him. About heaven. It has shaken their trust and comfort level with life. But even that somehow was easier than tonight's half time show.
The following is my experience. My conscience. My opinion. It has nothing to do with shaming another human being. Or being racist. Or being judgmental. We have made this a bad word. Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t. Context matters. Having good judgment does not equal shame. I am an equal opportunity employer regarding the show. For those asking why we don’t speak out against cheerleaders or Adam Levine or Pink, or any of the other over sexualized things in this world, you have made my point for me. I don’t like any of it. But I’m literally just trying to get my boys to keep their pee in the toilet over here. Just because you can’t always hear us, does not mean we don’t care. Or that our outrage is selective. It’s exhausting when it’s forced on you on a regular basis. I think this show took things to another level. And for millions of people it was the straw that broke the camels back.
In this house we teach love. Unconditional. Which means Shakira. And Jlo. And Trump. And Hillary. And ISIS. And refugees. And convicts. And strippers. And drug addicts. Everyone. Without exception. It is possible for us to love those we do not see eye to eye with. In fact, for Christians it is mandatory.
I did not expect how hard protecting my boys from the inappropriate minutia of our current culture would be. From letting them just be kids while they are meant to be. Climbing trees. Playing in the dirt. Building lego forts. Drawing me 46 pictures of the same thing and regularly checking the trash to make sure I didn’t throw any of them away. Parents know what I’m talking about.
I was not ready for half naked women dancing on poles being burned into their little minds. The confusion. You try answering a 6 year old when he asks you why the nice lady on tv is grabbing her peepee spot while on a pole.
If that’s your thing, fine. I hear your voices. And I am listening. But the Super Bowl is not just for you. It’s hypocritical to expect everyone else to sit silently in their frustration and even anger. For millions this was about the innocence of small children that saw what their eyes were not ready for tonight.
My father used to say that life is like a window. It’s great to open it from time to time. To let the wind come in. But if there is no screen, even the bugs will get in. Having a filter is not a bad thing. Just something to ponder.
Tonight I saw people praising the show. Boasting female power. This shakes me to my core. Because we are failing. If this is what it means to be empowered as a female in this day and age, we are getting it wrong. Period. We are warping feminism into something it was never meant to be. Instead we should be celebrating the brilliance of the Michelle Obamas of the world. The Maya Angelous. The Ellen Degeneres’. The Jen Hatmakers. The women who are leading the way in the armed forces, in medicine, in law, in the arts. In motherhood.
I use Jesus as a moral gauge. If I can’t imagine sitting and watching something comfortably with Him, something is wrong. That does not mean I expect you to as well.
It would be different if I specifically picked a show that I knew would have sexually explicit content in it. The pole dancing, stripping, gyrating, tongue wagging, twerking and humping. This was not the MTV Music Awards. I would expect it then. This was the Super Bowl.
There are a lot of people posting how great it was. And while I may see differently than those folks, we are allowed to respectfully disagree. And still love one another.
This should not having us losing friendships or calling each other names. I am not a hater because I didn’t want my 6 year old watching someone grabbing her crotch for the 34th time. Or that I should just turn it off or change the channel. I’ve heard verbiage like this before. Like telling someone to go back to where they come from. It’s not appropriate in either scenario. To point and just say sorry, only select people get to be a part of this. Wrong. You do not have a monopoly on the Super Bowl. Both things should be about inclusion, not exclusion. If you are supporting segregating certain groups during a national sporting event, that doesn’t make you more tolerant. It makes you a bully.
And this event that used to be intended for young and old alike is beginning to show our intolerance. Where friends and family used to unite to gorge themselves on food, drink one too many beers, laugh at the commercials, watch the game and enjoy the halftime show. It used to be fun. Nothing cringeworthy. Minus the year we saw Janet Jackson’s boob. Because who can forget boobgate? And that was an accident. Right Justin Timberlake?
This world is already doing everything it can to force the maturing process of a child. Making them grow up before their time. But childhood is supposed to be sacred. It’s that season of life you want them to just enjoy life without the stressors of buying a home, paying bills, worrying about health insurance, getting into a certain college that they will spend the next two decades paying for. But now I’m also fending off crotch grabbing and stripper poles.
Shame on me, I guess? I did not see it coming. I know now. No show or televised event is safe. Even when it’s a supposed family friendly one.
I know that writing this will probably expose me to half of my readership as an uptight bible bashing conservative. Which is gross. Because I am not. I will lose followers. But I’m okay with that. Because I know who I am. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I am a flaming moderate with a bleeding heart. And I am not ashamed of it.
I should probably not be blogging right now because I’m forty nine shades of worked up. And not in a good way. The game isn’t even over yet. But being a parent can make you go Mama bear in zero to a thousand in two seconds flat. And my husband usually pulls me away from the edge when I’m like this. But I feel like this is necessary. For myself. For the parents out there that are really just trying to raise well balanced kids. I’m so tired of just swallowing things that I know are wrong but I’m too afraid I will offend people who disagree. And it’s killing me inside. We were not made to conform. I certainly wasn’t.
I will always still have room for you at my table. Whether we agree or not.
If you are only looking at this from one angle, from one perspective then of course you might disagree. I get that most of the men on the planet got an unexpected treat tonight. I can see this making sense in a Frat house. But that’s just it isn’t it? With so many things in the world now. People don’t make room for other’s opinions. Other needs. For other perspectives. We have shut down civil discourse because we believe we are right. Always. About faith. About politics. About anything. And we live in fear that if we raise our voice in opposition we will be mocked. Rejected. Even unfriended. God forbid.
One of my dearest Facebook friends and I agree on a lot of things. But he is also a sounding board. He is 100% liberal. On all things. And what I really appreciate is learning from him. Listening. Being okay with not agreeing with each other and still remaining friends. And I am not too proud to make room for being stretched in my beliefs. To admit I am wrong. Because no one expects perfection. If we did Trump would not be in office. And neither would Hillary. Let that sink in.
So if you were one of those parents that were forced to suddenly shuffle your children out of the room tonight. That found yourself trying to awkwardly explain to a teenage boy that what they just saw was not okay, not how women are to be viewed. Telling your daughter that it’s not what is expected of her in order to be successful. Even if the world says it is. Or if you had to pick up a little child with the most confused look on their face. You are not alone. And it’s okay to say so. I will never apologize for protecting my children. And neither should you.