The situation:

A father letting go of his baby boy’s hands as he takes his first steps.

The son’s thoughts:

Where have you gone? Why are you not with me? How come you’re not guiding me?

I feel alone. Things are getting hard and I feel alone. I don’t know what to do. Well, I have an idea of what I want to do, but how do I know if that’s what you want me to do? You used to make it so clear and obvious what you want me to do, and now I feel alone.

What do I do? Am I on my own? I’m scared, I don’t want to do this alone. Please hear me. Please help me. Where are you? Talk to me. Hold me. Help me through this. Your strength can pull me through.

Why aren’t you answering? Where are you? I’m calling out to you but you’re not answering. WHERE ARE YOU? Please help me. Please?

You’ve shown me such goodness and such great lessons and now you’re just letting me alone to stumble and fall? Why?

I’m scared. I’m alone.

The father’s thoughts:

You are doing great. You can do this. Keep going!

I have taught you and shown you how to do it, now it’s your turn to try. I believe that you can do this.

I am not putting you through this so that you can fail; I am doing this so that you can succeed.

You might feel like I’m not here, but I am, right behind you, waiting for you to make a move. Don’t feel alone, don’t be afraid. I am here. You can do this. I am the cheering section of your life.

You are doing great.

In a racecar-shaped bed, there is a little boy. It’s a new morning. The sun is starting to rise and the light is slowly beginning to fill the room. The alarm on the pedestal starts beeping and the boy blinks his eyes open. Sitting up and looking around, the boy slowly wipes the sleep out of his eyes. With a sudden burst of energy, he then immediately throws his covers to the side and bounces to the foot of his bed, jumps off and heads out his bedroom door.

In the master bedroom, the boy’s father is already awake sitting at his desk as his son runs in to the room, padding across the wooden floor.

“Dad! What should I be doing right now?” asks the eager son.

“Well, how about this… go and tidy up your room and fix your bed, brush your teeth, get dressed for school, then come downstairs for breakfast.” says the father with an amused smile. And with steadfast obedience, the son goes and does just these things.

Fully dressed and ready for the day, the son comes racing down the stairs and plops down onto one of the kitchen table’s chairs and asks eagerly, “Okay! What do you want me to do now, dad?”

With a simple smile, the father replies, “Eat your breakfast, thank your mom and me for the meal, get all your things together and then watch for the school bus at the door.” So he does.

And when that bus arrives, just before running out the door, the son asks, “Dad, at school, what should I do?”

“Well, I think you should volunteer in class and raise your hand when your teacher asks questions. Make jokes with the other students so that they enjoy you but listen when the teacher asks you to settle down. Share your lunch with your friends. Play some games with kids you don’t normally play with at recess. Then come straight home after school.” And so the boy does exactly those things at school.

Later that day, back at home, the boy asks “Dad! What should I be doing right now?” And with a slight smile, the father replies “Do your homework, watch some TV, then go play outside with the neighborhood kids, visit our elderly neighbor and say hi, then come back and eat dinner, read with your mom, and then we’ll tuck you into bed.” And so he does.

And in the next morning, the son jumps out of bed and runs to his father’s bedroom…

But wait, something seems wrong in this story doesn’t it?

We so often think that we should be going to our Father for every single detail of our lives. To be honest, I don’t think that’s what He wants for us. I don’t think He wants us to stop everything and seek advice for every single time we wonder “what comes next?”

Unlike the little boy in this story, I believe that He desires to see us grow in a way that eventually, we might not need to go to Him for every single thing.

Yes, maybe now, as we are still young, we are going to Him to seek His will, but as we grow and learn more about His ways and His lessons, eventually we won’t need to actively stop and seek His guidance for everything. There will be times of course when we simply need Him and nothing else, just like how I’m sure when the boy grows up and is on his own, he will occasionally call up his dad and ask for advice.

It’s not that we don’t seek the Father’s will anymore, it’s that He has taught us and led us in a way that after time, our wills are going to naturally align with his will. In the end, I think that’s what He wants for us.

Just like how I’m sure the father in this story is going to raise his child up in a way where his son will grow into a man that can make his own decisions with his father’s teachings in mind, our Father desires to see us grow in a way that when we make our own decisions, our wills will be so much aligned with His that our decisions are His decisions.

In the front yard, there is a little boy playing with his bright blue ball. Bouncing the ball on the grass that he sometimes lays down on to watch the clouds go by.

On the porch is his father, watching happily as his son is playing in the yard. Staying close enough to watch over him constantly, but far away enough to give him his freedom.

The ball has the boy’s full attention today. Where it bounces, the boy follows. Where it rolls, the boy follows. He’ll chase it from one side of the yard to the other. He’ll follow it as it hits the root of the tree and bounces in a different direction. Or maybe he just keeps it close and bounces it front of himself on the soft grass.

But then the ball bounces suddenly toward the street.

Without thinking, the little boy quickly goes after the ball, toward the open street where potential danger may suddenly strike. Within a split second the father is on his feet lurching forward screaming to and beckoning his son.

At this sudden moment, the little boy has to make a decision. To listen to his father, ignore that thing that he truly wants, and come back to him. Or ignore his father, run away from him, and run after the one thing that is pulling him away from his home, his father, and his safety.

Sound familiar?

Sometimes there are things in our life that we want so badly that we’re willing to run away from our Father to obtain. Or maybe it’s simply that we aren’t thinking and are attempting to follow something so seemingly innocent yet misleading.

What should we choose, away from our Father and into potential danger, or be obedient and walk back to his concerned, open arms, sad that we lost what we wished for?

That’s the thing right? It’s our choice. He very well could run out to us and grab us before we run away from Him, but in the end it’s our choice if we want to disobey Him or obey Him. Every day we have split second decisions that require a decision to go with Him or go against Him. How would you choose? After all, that ball is your favorite object of affection right now and it pains you to see it go.

I don’t know, it’s a tough choice, and we are distracted people.

It is comforting to know though, that if we do obey Him and come back to Him, he’ll probably go and get the ball for us anyways.

Microaggressions are subtle forms of racism, discrimination, or bias. Think “that’s gay!” or “quit being retarded.” Or even as subtle as “You’re lame.” They in some way or form, attack a group of people. I in no way support the full censorship of our language, but I do fully support the respect of others and the being conscious of our own words. People often ridicule me for pointing microaggressions out. They say that “I only say that because I’m an RA.” These blogs are going to explore different terms and will hopefully stand as why, even if I wasn’t an RA, I wouldn’t use them.



“I’ll meet you at the rape trail.”
“the Saxon steps?”
“No, it’s the Rape trail, I’m not in ORL anymore.”

The middle of training for my first year as an RA. I am settled in my single with my furniture and shelves and everything. My first night inside my own room. We train till late at night, and sometimes we wouldn’t sleep until 2am only to wake up at 7:30am.

It’s getting late, but then my phone starts to ring at 1am. I answer it and find that it’s my friend and that she wants to come by and say “hi” (she’s around because she is a Move-In-Assistant). and I think to myself, “Why the hell not, right? I could show her my new room.” So I bolt my door open and resume organizing stuff on my computer.

10 minutes later there’s a knock on my door. And when I open the door, I see my friend standing there, with no shoes on, swaying left to right a little, and smiling. I give her a hug. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist (or the north-campus equivalent) to determine that she might have had a little too much to drink.

I became concerned. I sat her down and made sure she’s okay. I ask her where her shoes are and how much she has had to drink.

And I also wonder if I would get in trouble if people knew that I had a drunk person inside my room.

Please understand, I was a new RA in my room for the first time and I was nervous.

So, instead of purely following protocol and calling an EMT to check on her or even being nice and just letting her knock out on my couch, I did a separate option that I thought, at the time, was perfectly okay.

She was pretty coherent: she knew where she was and who I was. She was able to say where she lives (the building right next door) and how to get there step by step. So I stood her up and told her she should try to go home. I told her that the moment she is back at her room, to call me and tell me so. And I walked her to the elevator.

I waited for her call.

And she calls. She tells me she’s at her door, and that she’s keying open her door, and that the door is open. We exchange “Good-nights”.

Pretty anticlimactic right?

A month later, I’m talking to the same friend again and that night comes up in conversation. We’ve talked about it before and she’s told me how she doesn’t remember any of it or even remember coming to visit me. But this time, she tells me that she knows how the rest of the night went after I got off the phone with her. After she had hung up the phone, her friend (not a stranger), followed her into the room and took advantage of her.

That night, my friend, because she couldn’t resist, lost her virginity and was raped.

You know why I don’t use the term “rape trail” when referring to the Saxon steps or use the term “rape” when referring to how well I did on a test? Because I am afraid that any person who has experienced such an ordeal as being sexually assaulted, would have to relive the event in their head whenever they hear that word.

I have several friends who have described to me how they were sexually assaulted, and statistics alone says you have several friends who have also.

This story is loaded with messages from choosing to do the right thing instead of the less risky thing, to being careful about who you trust, to how a simple word can hurt. In a way, I was responsible for my friend being raped, and I still feel horrible about it sometimes. and I admit here that when people say the word, I feel horrible. When I hear that word… I relive my friend’s experience, even though it wasn’t my own.

Microaggressions are subtle forms of racism, discrimination, or bias. Think “that’s gay!” or “quit being retarded.” Or even as subtle as “You’re lame.” They in some way or form, attack a group of people. I in no way support the full censorship of our language, but I do fully support the respect of others and the being conscious of our own words. People often ridicule me for pointing microaggressions out. They say that “I only say that because I’m an RA.” These blogs are going to explore different terms and will hopefully stand as why, even if I wasn’t an RA, I wouldn’t use them.



“I have a cousin. He’s a good guy. He works, he hangs out, he plays with the kids. He is also mentally challenged (also known to some as mentally retarded). Does his condition change the fact that he is a good, honest, guy? Not at all.”

This entry is short because it reflects the “That’s so gay!” entry in the fact that when you put a face to the term would you still use that term in a negative way? No, especially when that face is someone you know, someone that is your friend, or someone that is your family.

We are all people. When we decide to intentionally place a group of people into a classification below us (and yes, I believe just using the word is intentionally demeaning the group), then we accept a world where people rule people instead of ruling together.

I am no better than my cousin, and nobody else is either.

 

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