Extremely Blurred Lines: Robin Thicke, Getting Your Dance On, Woman's Virtue & The Anatomy Of Sexual Assault: EXPLICIT CONTENT

"And that's why I'm gon' take a good girl
 I know you want it
 I know you want it
 I know you want it
 You're a good girl
 Can't let it get past me
 You're far from plastic
 Talk about getting blasted
 I hate these blurred lines
 I know you want it
 I know you want it
 I know you want it
 But you're a good girl
 The way you grab me
 Must wanna get nasty
 Go ahead, get at me..."

There I was, minding my own business in one of my favorite local beauty supply stores, when suddenly it was being piped through the speakers. That familiar sample from Marvin Gaye's Dance Classic, Got To Give It Up, with a new R&B twist, and plucky modern, but initially rather unintelligible lyrics. I almost dropped my bottle of hair gel-not because I was offended, but because my hips started to shake IMMEDIATELY.

WHO COULD RESIST THIS GROOVE? Seriously? Nobody in my association born after World War II could hold back on at least 8-16 full measures of head-bobbing. I was doing all I could to make myself stop, but the rhythm...that dirty, dirty rhythm. Part of me almost hoped to never hear this song again. Almost.

No such good fortune. Later that night, I nearly survived a whole night of Latin dancing at Palmeira Brasil Restaurant when the DJ decides to flip the script...just to torment me.

There it was again. Blurred Lines by Robin Thicke.  A line dance formed almost instantaneously, and there I was...smack in the "Thicke" of it, getting my groove on.

Mind you now, I hadn't been paying much attention to what a monster hit this song was this summer. I've been sifting through Ol' School Bachata and Salsa music since about April. Because I was likely at dance class, I also missed Robin Thicke's live performance on NBC's The Voice. Nevertheless, within 30 seconds of that introduction piping through that beauty supply store, I could tell why it remained at the #1 spot on The Billboard Charts for 9 straight weeks. Funky. Nostalgic Yet Modern. Humorous. Brilliantly Produced...and yes...Sexy As All Get-Out. You can dance to it alone. You can dance with a partner. You can create a line dance. You can put it on loop and do 8 miles on the elliptical, or vacuum your carpeting to it. It's Infectious.

A day later, I just happened to see the Jimmy Fallon/Roots/Robin Thicke video parody collabo* using children's musical instruments, and started dancing around like a Muppet (*Quick note: the rap performed in the Fallon/Roots parody collabo is totally different than the original song, and actually honors marriage, which made me smile). I was hooked. If you're like me, and you ever danced to the original 12-inch by Marvin Gaye with your family at home, or at a cookout, the hook has already been deeply lodged in Your Groove Thang for over 30 years. All that was left was to reel you in, baby.

As is my nature, I started surfing YouTube for the original Blurred Lines video. Should I have been surprised by what I found? Not in 2013, I shouldn't. There were two clear choices for your viewing pleasure: the "unrated" version, and the purportedly "clean" version.

I also started checking the comments below the video, and that's when I saw the debate. It was a pretty intense one...about RAPE.

I was in trouble. I had allowed myself to be swept away by The New Groove without assessing whether I should align myself with the source of The Aforementioned New Groove.

More thorough research would be necessary. I hunted down every version of the lyrics I could find. The original rap performed by artist T.I. alone gave me pause (EXPLICIT):

"One thing I ask of you
Let me be the one you back that ass to
Go, from Malibu, to Paris, boo
Yeah, I had a bitch, but she ain't bad as you
So hit me up when you passing through
I'll give you something big enough to tear your ass in two
Swag on, even when you dress casual
I mean it's almost unbearable
Then, honey you're not there when I'm
With my foresight bitch you pay me by
Nothing like your last guy, he too square for you
He don't smack that ass and pull your hair like that
So I just watch and wait for you to salute
But you didn't pick
Not many women can refuse this pimpin'
I'm a nice guy, but don't get it if you get with me"

I don't even want to get into what Robin Thicke describes in the next verse. I can't. I am still stuck on the series of lines that began with...

"Yeah, I had a b***h, but she ain't as bad as you..."

Really?

All I could think of was, "What if my intelligent, impressionable, musically-sensitive young nieces, not to mention my youngest nephew, were caught up in the rhythm just like I was, and gave no thought to the lyrics, except to absorb them as I know they would?"

Thank God for their parents.

So now I'm angry...and frustrated. One part of me is offended. The other part of me is completely annoyed with the offended part of me for gathering up enough information to be offended, and wishes the offended part had minded her own business and keep blithely shaking those hips in the makeup aisle. Drat! Can't a girl just get her dance on without her Jiminy Cricket jumping up on her shoulder?

Apparently not.

I don't think it needs to be said at this point, but for those of you who might not know me, music lives at the core of my existence. I have been singing since I could speak, and singing in public since I was 9 years old. My professional vocal training began at age 19, but even before then, I cut my teeth singing in school and church choirs alike.  I have found something to love in just about all musical genres. I hear the souls of men, and more importantly, the Heart Of A Loving And Very Interesting God, in the most unexpected musical moments, both "secular" and "sacred."

I also love to dance. I took ballet very briefly as a little girl (should've stuck with it). I can remember afternoons leaping and twirling in the living room after class as I lived out every note of Stevie Wonder: Songs In The Key Of Life. In college, I took any body movement for actors or for singers course I could fit in my schedule. I am no professional dancer, but my rudimentary understanding of movement has garnered me some amazing compliments about my stage presence during my performances, and I have surprised myself with how I can move when inspired by a stage character, or even just the persona in a song.  I am so grateful to have had the experience of expressing feeling and intention with the whole being, not just the voice, and I hope I have more chances...more time...to explore further. Lately, I have come back to dance as a means of healing my own soul, and despite my achy bones, I cannot get enough of it. I know full well how you can get lost in the layers of sound and just forget everything else...which brings me back to my original struggle.

This is going to probably offend some people, but I do not believe that all adult contemporary music needs to be stripped of all references to our sexual nature, or of real romance. That would be ridiculous. I'm not into denial. For crying out loud, I wouldn't be here writing this blog, nor would you be here reading this, if at some point Daddy hadn't thought Mommy was kind of hot. (Of course, there are some unfortunate exceptions to conception via consensual sex. If that was the case for your conception, please forgive any shortsightedness on my part, know that God still has great purpose for you, and that I am so glad you're here reading this.)

All of that being said, in good conscience, I cannot dance to this song anymore.

My issue here is perceived intention. Sometimes the perceived intention in the ears and mind of a person can do more damage than the actual intention. Apparently, there are a number of people who have taken issue with this song's implicit intentions. What is implicitly stated can scream louder than  what is seen as explicit. Since it is part of my musical and literary interpretative training to understand the persona's intent within poetry, prose, and song, I dug into the lyrics. Then I stepped away from them, and allowed them to tell me what they meant, instead of me assuming that I knew outright. Turns out that implicit and explicit both scream very loudly in these verses.

On first and second glance at the words, this is my first interpretive synopsis:

"Girl you are so sexy, but you are 'confusing' me. The way you dress and the way you dance are throwing me off. You are giving off two vibes: the 'Good Girl' vibe, and the vibe that says you want to have sex with me. To be honest, it wouldn't even matter if you dressed casual. I'm still turned on. I know I want to have sex with you-like I have so done with countless other woman from across the country, and I have a particular thing for doing reputed  'Good Girls.'  I want to pleasure myself...oh, yeah-and you too, maybe...to the point of nearly ripping your genitalia apart, 'cause I'm thinking that's what you want too...but you got to stop sending me these mixed signals. You know you want it, and you want it from a pimp like me. Give in."


Not exactly a Gershwin tune, is it?


I know they may not have meant for it to come off as some have received it (...and quite honestly? Since I've started writing this blog, I've reviewed the song again, and I'm not even entirely sure about that anymore), but the more I listen to and read the lyrics, the more I understand how Robin Thicke's megahit could be perceived as an anthem for unwanted sexual attention, misogyny, and subsequent sexual assault.

It's not such a far-off notion when you think about what a sexual predator might say to a woman:

"Well, look how she was dressed. Look at how she was dancing. She knows she was asking for it,"

"You know you want this. You like it rough like this, don't you?"

 Then there is the one that chills me the most:

"I just felt like I had the right to take it."

More than any single aspect of the song, it's the cumulative effect of the lyrics that potentially creates a more complete scenario of dangerously extreme sexual irresponsibility.

I realize men are visual beings, and a that woman who is dressed and/or dancing a certain way can stir up eroticism (there is another entirely different conversation about how women do have to be aware of how we present ourselves, but that's for another blog). Sometimes men don't even need for a woman to be overtly provocatively dressed to take notice. They will look because they look. It's a part of how God (...yes, I said GOD) created men.

HOWEVER, HOWEVER, and I do mean this as a very strong, repetitive HOWEVER, that does not excuse a man, or give him a free pass to cross the line with a woman. I don't care if she's wearing pasties and a Styrofoam food container, "NO" WILL ALWAYS MEAN "NO." I would hope most grown, psychologically healthy men would understand that and back off, but these days, there are definitely far too many "shades of grey" when it comes to respectful interaction between the sexes. You cannot assume adults understand this. You certainly cannot assume a young person will understand this.

Yes, I know: Dana, there have been thousands of songs prior to this that have celebrated sexual promiscuity, but maybe because I was so easily swept along by this one, I am especially troubled. If I got swept along, what would happen to some unsuspecting young person dancing to this song?

There are subtle forms of sexual violation, not unlike the ones being described in this song, committed regularly by individuals-male and female-who think it's okay to "hit it and quit it," blame or ignore the victim, and move on to the next exploit. As much as the opera comically depicts some of his exploits, and the idea has been tossed around that he actually loved women, even Mozart's Don Giovanni got his fiery comeuppance in the end. Because a sexual encounter might not have the stereotypical characteristics of a rape, the subtly preyed-upon can get very confused (especially a very young person) and lapse into believing that's just how the male-female sexual dynamic should work. They may even seek for more of the same because they don't know that anything else-anything pure and consisting of genuine intimacy and lifelong commitment-could actually exist for them. Don't believe me? There are thousands of R&B songs and reality show tirades that will fully support my argument. Just because you didn't get swabbed at the hospital doesn't mean you weren't sexually violated. We all know that rape is not just physical. You may not recognize it until God reveals it to you, but trust me, your spirit has already put it on record as a violation of your soul.

Would T.I. want his daughters to be serenaded to by some young suitor using the lyrics to his own song? With all my heart, I hope not. Yet I could lay down a pretty safe bet that there are numerous junior high school age kids who have made it a point to learn at least the so-called "clean" version already.

Dana,  you are overreacting.  No parent or adult is ever going to expose kids to this music. Did I mention that I first heard this in a busy local beauty supply store? Did I mention my recent birthday party clown gig for ages 3-10, during which the deejay blasted L'il Wayne-and worse-all afternoon long, with the parent consenting to it? Did I mention how many kids already knew all or most of the words?  How much do you want to wager that the "clean implicit" version of Blurred Lines will be one of the hottest jams at junior high school dances across the country this school year?  Go ahead. Bet me. I need to get my hair done.

Anyway, my rant digresses.

I realize that serial rapists are an entirely different kind of being than most consenting adults. A rapist is a twisted soul who is not primarily enamored with a person's looks, or even seeking sex for pleasure. It's a psychotic compulsion to OVERPOWER. In all seriousness, that's not something worthy to be celebrated in song.  So why do I hear faint whispers of that same kind of psychosis in these lyrics? Did these fellas even know that they were seeing women as prey and not as precious when they walked into the studio? Is it okay for Robin and T.I. to be so lyrically irresponsible towards the rest of us when they get to go home to their respective wives? It seems we are only other-minded when it suits our agendas.

I'm not dictating to anyone with pharisaic finality concerning what to do with their Groove Thang. Like the 80's one-hit wonder dance song tells us, "You can dance if you want to." Some people can throw down all night long, and lyrical content has absolutely no bearing on how they live their lives beyond the dance floor. I am not better than anyone reading this diatribe. I have had my compromises when it comes to the music I've embraced. Lately, though, songs both old and new have been lopped off my list. I heard a pastor once say, "You need to think about what you're thinking about." Without becoming legalistic, that little sound bite stays with me a lot these days, even during recreation. I would just encourage people to look at lyrics again. Not all music is benign. All music carries levels of power to affect consciousness, whether it's designed to make you linger in the department store a little longer, make you think hard about civil rights and social injustice, or make you lose your mind on the dance floor.

At the very least, the next time you consider dancing to Blurred Lines, or think to play it in the car with your kids, or play it at a family event, you do so with full knowledge of the lyrical content. Hopefully, you might think twice about exposing children to this song. I would also encourage women to look twice at it for their own sakes, and think about how their self-concept and outward carriage might line up with how the "male lyrical persona" in this song views women. Are you an object to be torn open and violated? Do you feel that it's a compliment to be told, "You're the hottest b***h in this place?" Are you willing to be one of many conquests for a promiscuous man who boasts in his stature as a superior pimp? Is that the way God sees you as a woman? After that, I want you to think about the 100 children who were rescued from over 150 male and female pimps who preyed upon their fragile self-worth and led them into sex slavery, just days ago, right here in the land of the so-called free.

Even now, I can hear the bounce of that rhythm track and the enthusiastic chants of "Hey, Hey, Hey!" in my head, and I can't quite shut it off. I am a moderately cognitively well-developed adult, and even I am in need of detoxification. I'm so mad. Drat.

In one of the interviews I read, Robin Thicke seemed to revel in the controversy over Blurred Lines, essentially saying that for him and his hot single, any press is good press. In another interview, Thicke thanks God for the incredible success of the single, and sees this chart-topping breakthrough as a long time in coming. After looking at the lyrics, I think I could have waited a little while longer. We cannot wait for entertainers to acquire our sense of conviction and personal responsibility for what they present to the public. We can't even wait for our friends and associates to agree with our convictions. Those that are willing can, however, arm themselves with wisdom, and make informed and sometimes difficult choices about what we choose to endorse with our dollars and our dance moves.

I'm honestly kind of bummed to have to kiss this 21st century groove goodbye, but it's not the first, nor will it likely be the last time I've had to secede from the rest of the lyrical nation. Once again, I am so peeved that these brothers couldn't have used their incredible musical talents to take this song in another direction and still come up with a huge hit. I'll bet you it would have still been...well...sexy...even more so than this deliberately "blurry" mess. This whole scenario now begs the question, "Just what is 'sexy' anyway?"  I've got my developing viewpoints (quick example: I think honor is sexy), but that's a topic for more than one blog, to be sure.

Guess I'll just have to go back to the 1977 Marvin Gaye Motown dance hit that made this all possible for Mr. Thicke & Company. It's always been a favorite, but believe you me...I'm reviewing those lyrics too.

In Process: Trying to Understand The "Love vs. Respect" Approach To Relationships

There's this popular teaching concerning marriage called Love And Respect: The Love She Needs. The Respect He Deserves. I can barely type the title because something about it sticks in my craw.

Being that life has endeavored to place me in the "damaged non-perishable items bin" more than a few times, I freely submit that my irritation could be due entirely to something gone horribly wrong in my psyche. I am not quite ready to repent, however, until I've investigated it a little more.


In addition, I haven't read the entire book, so my theory on the teaching admittedly could be very wrong, and this entire blog entry nulled and voided. I have done the "Barnes & Noble Skim" a couple of times, watched the online videos, subscribed to the page, and read some of the related articles. The premise seems to be that men require the respect of their wives, and women need the love of their husbands. Valid, upon first perusal. What I have noticed in the videos, however, is a lot of instruction directed towards women respecting men. Not a whole lot of direction geared toward the men. That kind of bugged me.  I know we have some big attitude issues within womankind, but according to this series, the female seems to be the only gender needing serious course correction.


Maybe I have an overabundance of testosterone in my body, but when it comes to Love for the Female vs. Respect for the Male, my question has always been, "What's the bless-ed difference?" It's a semantic bump in the carpeting we've been tripping over for decades. This is just me, but I don't see Love and Respect as separate entities, and to say that they are is to not understand the all-encompassing nature of Covenant Love. I know that the sexes do process and interpret events within life and relatonships differently, but I guess my beef is with the language being used.  I am, after all, a daughter of  the Aretha Franklin "R-E-S-P-E-C-T" funky war cry generation.  So telling me here in the 21st century that respect in marriage is not a priority for a woman feels myopic. I think, no matter what the century, respect has always mattered to us, and we women have gone to some incredible and often questionable lengths to gain it.


Don't mistake me: I can be a girly-girl. I love to be romanced. I don't like finding out my favorite lip liner is sold out. I am searching for new ways to dispatch unwanted facial hair.  I watch the wedding shows and cry along when the "yes" is said for the dress, and the personally written vows are read. Despite all the archetypical behaviors, I am also a moderately intelligent woman, and proud of it.  Googly doves' eyes are all well and good, but I also find a man who likes to actually talk with me an extreme turn-on. Maybe some of this stems from me not ever feeling like the sought-after beauty that a lot of men seemed to want (painful disclosure).  So when a man might not only find me outwardly attractive, but genuinely regards my viewpoint as important, or laughs at my jokes, or says "You do have a point there," I feel respected and therefore loved.  When I feel like I matter in that way...LOOK OUT, BABY!  I've got your back for life!  In fact, most of the fantastic women I know do have more substantial things on their minds than just kitchen cleansers and the holiday sale at Sephora. We can and do intellectually multi-task.

Here's the thing. I've noticed, beyond my limited experience of this teaching, that there are certain men who expect for women to do all the heavy lifting with regards to respect. Problem is, a lot of these men are either wrongly taught, or somewhere down the line had something negatively affect their perspective on ALL WOMEN (it may not have even involved a woman). They may desire to marry (or perhaps they seek it because of societal/cultural expectations), but at the core they really don't like women. Now let me be clear: I'm not talking about sexual orientation issues here. I'm talking about damaged heterosexual men who see women at best as noncompliant, and at worst as the enemy...and firmly hold this mindset while seeking companionship, and even marrying. They show it in the way they interact with women. Public humilation is a cast-iron guarantee. Private shaming is a sure thing. Subservience, not godly submission, is the superobjective. Keep the scales tipped in favor of safeguarding the exposure of their fragile self-concept. Then I promise you: that same man will come around later and ask the woman they subjugated for sex.


If you are a man having tremendous issues with trusting females, do yourself and us women a favor: stay away from us. Get healing. Get clarity. Don't make your dysfunction some unsuspecting woman's problem, and then when she recoils or protests, vigorously complain that all women are disrespectful. We are not. Don't generalize. Every woman you meet is not a carbon copy of the women who messed you up in the past. Don't spiritually justify your distain. Nothing in the rightly divided Word supports abuse. Don't procreate. Grow large plants. Buy a prize-winning schnauzer. God's got this "be fruitful and multiply" thing covered with healthier folk who are not going to perpetuate the nonsense.


I have to believe that there are still women out there who would go out of their way to honor a man who is healthy and free from negative mindsets-or at least one who is walking in that direction-with no need for application of excessive force. I believe because, despite the intense work I still need to do on myself, I hope to be one. These are the women not easily plied with wine, gifts, and pillow talk if, at the end of the day, you don't see them as useful for much more than eye candy and/or bodily warmth. When a man disregards a healthy woman's need to be respected, and therefore loved, he should be prepared to never see his desire for true respect, and therefore love, realized in this lifetime.

Like I said...I am still working on it.

The Thing About Writing: Overcoming Neurobiology, Creating Adrenaline and Finding Self-Discipline

After almost a year...I'm back on the blog scene.

Even now, as I attempt to put font to screen, I feel "the block."

It is so much easier to lean back on the bed and surf for some channel with some sitcom I've seen enough times to not only quote the dialogue, but to place bets on what episode will air before the opening credits are done. This is a most unimpressive feat I've disciplined myself to accomplish, day after day...for decades.

This very second, I want to stop what I'm doing and grab a bowl of toasted oat squares and cold milk...and oops! Just remembered I forgot to call my best friend and about 2 other people...should I do that now? Maybe I'll just text them...

No! No! Stay with it! What if you were on a professional deadline? Could you take a break from your assignment for toasted oats and text messages? Stop it! Drink water. Rein it in.

Great! Now where's that banging noise coming from?!? Either someone in my house is giving our universal audial signal for choking, or building an ark. If they are choking, I might regret not getting up. If it's an ark-in-process, I am really going to be upset: those kinds of projects should really take place out of doors and during morning hours.

Of course, I have also raised the stakes to a ridiculous level by coming back to my blog right in the middle of March Madness. I live in a house with UCONN Husky stalwarts who are currently watching the game...on separate televisions in separate rooms. I myself am a recovering UCONN fanatic, having given my nerves and my vocal chords to this team over a 10-year period. I finally had to seek help. I can resist watching the game...I've done it before...at least most of it...so long as they are way ahead...and no one in my house is screaming...maybe I could just turn the game on and hit the "mute" button...

Ohhh, man. Now they are screaming and clapping. This is not an atmosphere condusive to literary greatness-especially when UCONN just won and...See? See? I am not focusing here.

Any other time, I would be hit with some snippet of burgeoning profundity. The sheer force of its advent would propel me to my laptop and onto my facebook page. There, I would spend the next 5-10 minutes attempting to condense some potential revelatory truth into the required 420 character limit. Now, I am sitting in front of a huge window of my very own, with most of the limits removed, able to say anything I want in as many words as I want...and all I want is cereal.

I am almost sure I know why there is such a dip in my level of passion as I attempt to blog. Facebook provides someone like myself--a woman who is perpetually unfocused and adrenaline-depleted right now--with a shot of instant gratification through immediate feedback.

Think about it: the friends are all right there. Some of them became your fb friends because of what you had to say. The chance of you getting at least one or two "like" responses on a status is pretty high. If you really hit the mark, and it resonates with your fb crew, you could stand to get upwards of 30-40 positive responses. Add to that the potential of at least 10 of those people actually leaving a comment, and engaging in a real conversation with you, and you've got the perfect remedy for lifting the doldrums. Heaven help me if someone actually asks to repost what I posted...Whee! Upsurges of happy serotonin waves of acceptance washing over me! Even if I end up in a disagreement (I honestly do not enjoy the emotional anguish, nor do I tend to recover quickly), at least for that moment I was no longer neurologically inactive.

Blogging, to my thinking, requires more work. Unlike facebook, you have do a little more marketing to get people to visit. Then, once you get people to follow your musings, you suddenly feel this weighty obligation to keep them coming back-and for far more depth of observation than a 420-character blurb (at least that's how I felt; then when I let the blog slide for too long I felt incredibly guilty. Classic Dana.) If you are like me, and attempting to consistently compete in the ultimate trifecta-fb posting, blogging, and tweeting-you may have already come to realize, as I have, that to do all of it well is, at the very least, a part-time job.

Or at least it could be a part-time job...if I keep at it.

A major reason why I'm trying again is to see if this would be a viable option as a source of income. So while I'm breaking through the ice once again on this site, I'm also doing some research on professional bloggers and how they got established.

It's been said more than a few times that the ultimate career objective is to find something you love to do and see if you can get someone to pay you to do it. I have taken on a lot of jobs for pay: some have brought joy; many have not. There have been signposts pointing in this direction for a while. At first, there were sporadic compliments, and a supervisor who encouraged me to consider writing. With the advent of facebook came a vehicle through which my passion found a platform, as well as a real-time education in the potency and personal responsibilities inherent in written communication. More recently, there have been luminiscent indicators and confirmations from the best of sources that told me I should move forward with my writing.

I guess where I get a little catch in my heart is when I consider whether I can maintain the blog consistently and professionally, while still holding onto the transparency, intensity, humor, and verve that makes me unique. While I have found boldness to share on facebook, writing is still an intimate mode of expression for me. There may be work that I will never share with the public, and I always want that to be okay. I never want to lose that enclosed and yet spacious place meant only for God, the words, and my heart.

It is 10:50pm. The UCONN game has been over for quite some time. The environment is nearly free of movement, cheering, or ark-building of any kind. My television is on and watching me. I have not moved from this spot for a single oat square or even a sip of water. I overcame the temptation to concede to the failsafe options I know and perform so well when I feel frustrated with myself. I completed this blog, and I will post it in just moments. Do I feel a sense of great accomplishment? There is definitely a bit of a surge, but in vintage Dana style, I will probably not celebrate it nearly as much as I should. I am going to wait until I've hit the "publish post" button at least a few more times...and actually told other people about it.

I wonder how many people hit "like" on my two most recent facebook statuses?

Until The Next Time, I Remain...

Totally Grace-Dependent
DEFinitively

The Breaking Program

Facebook Dana Elizabeth Fripp: "Breaking Program Now Initiated. Accellerated Program Now Activated. Time Initiated: Before Time Began but Recently Ascertained by Subject as Currently in Process. Estimated Time of Completion:Undetermined by Fleshly Means of Chronology. Objectives Achieved: Only as Subject in Question Achieves Recalibration and Realignment via the Operation of the Holy Spirit. Level of Discomfort/Intensity: Frequently and Consistently Excruciating. Potential as Container of Higher Levels of Glory: Extremely High, but again Actual Outcomes determined by Willing Submission of Subject in Question to Full Recalibration Process. Level of Grace As Pertaining to Subject in Question:Unlimited.

In Response to the Love of A Old Friend While Telling Myself The Truth

Facebook Dana Elizabeth Fripp: "Yes indeed, Kemmee. That is something about which I have a certain level of understanding, and I thank you always for the encouraging reminder. This is just another deep layer of God's Transforming work in me. It's yet another season of Intense Preparation within my character. From Glory to Glory. He's scraping the sides of the vessel to make more room for Him Glory in me, and as much as it hurts, it's still fine with me. It was time for the revelation of this 'hole in my soul' so that He could heal me and fill it with more of Himself. Any sooner, I would likely fallen apart at the seams and shipwrecked. Any later, this hole would've become a hidden snare that emerged to discredit and sabotage the integrity of the work He has for me. Man! It hurts, and it may for a good minute while I get real about these issues. I can see now that prior to this season of difficulty and purging, God did much to ensure that even in the midst of my failings, there would be this insatiable, undeniable craving for His Heart and the sound of that Singular Voice in my ear that would send me racing back to find Him. I couldn't stay away-I'd already been marked by Love no matter what I tried to do, or how I viewed myself. He just wouldn't relent. There is no love like His Love."

Really Telling Myself The Truth About This Thing...

Facebook Dana Elizabeth Fripp: "When two people of faith are pressing for a relationship that God hasn't ordained, all because each person longs to be with someone, two (among many) things are happening: you're hindering God's Best for the OTHER person, and therefore not walking in Real Love, and you're telling God that He doesn't know how to do His Job of perfecting that which concerns you. Do you REALLY want to go there?"

More Telling Myself The Truth About This Thing...

Facebook Dana Elizabeth Fripp: "If the hole in your heart screams for someone to find you wholly desirable just once...if your contentment as a single person is suffering from the wear and tear of the decades...if you're done with relatives asking you about your prospects...if you privately anguish over what on earth could make you so unattractive to the opposite sex-it's as if you secrete an essence that says to a emotional predator,'Come and get me, baby! I'm ready!'"