In High school, my mother used to joke that I didn’t have a flavor of the week, I had a flavor of the day. She was specifically referring to romantic interests. It’s not an indictment on my mom’s crazy, (yes, the crazy belonging to my mom) it’s pretty accurate- or it was. There was a time, for a long time, when I possessed no powers of will when it came to falling head over heals for the nearest thing that picked up a baby, spoke in a deep voice, or played guitar. And the truth is, I could still fall in love with a rock, given the proper motivation. I’m a lover, I love love and I love to love.
So Flavors. There would be new guys over at my house all the time. And new guys calling, and even when I was dating someone, there would be other guys trying to kiss me, or inviting me over, whathaveyou.
My mom always had the funniest concerns over them. Like when I dated D, and she said, “I don’t know honey, he’s very pretty. It would just be weird to have wedding pictures with a boy who is prettier.” Or a friend who I honestly can’t remember, who I’m pretty sure I wasn’t dating, about whom my mom said, “Maritza, you can’t marry that boy. You’d have short kids. You don’t want short kids.”
Then, of course, there were the ones she wanted me to marry. Like J (who I sorta almost did marry…) who I dated/not dated/dated for the last two years of high school. Whenever we were not dating, my mom would say, “Maritza, you’re never going to find anyone else who loves you like J.” It never occurred to her that I’d broken up with him, and quite in fact didn’t WANT someone who loved me like J.
And there was dear sweet H, who was very kind, and thoughtful, and handsome, and BORING. No, not boring, just not playful. Sometimes he’d take me out dancing and to a lovely meal (and swear he didn’t have feelings for me) and all I wanted to do was poke him with a stick to elicit some response. He was built and had a guitar and sorta liked Jesus, (at a time when this was not nearly so important to me) and nothing – no chemistry- nada. My mom, poo-pooing all this, said, “Maritza, you have to marry H. He’s Rich! You’ll never have to worry about anything.” “I don’t like him, mom.” “Yes but he’s handsome.” “We don’t have any chemistry.” “But he can dance!” “Yes mom, but he hasn’t ever asked me out and says he has no feelings for me.” “Oh, who cares!” (Can you see me shifting attacks, and getting nowhere?)
And to add to the fun, I’ve definitely got my own crazy, and it likes to hang out with mom’s crazy and cause fights.
But the point is the flavors- there was plenty of crazy to hang out, because there were lots of flavors introduced. But that waned somewhat in the last few years. Mom has even taken to saying, “Maritza, you know it’s okay to have men in your life, right?!” She is now concerned about my lack of flavors. I haven’t had a flavor for a while now….
Which reminds me of this passage in Jeremiah. Have you ever read Jeremiah, other than the part about the Lord’s plans to prosper them? I mean we quote it like it’s about us, and maybe it can be, but the book is HEAVY with reproach. Like 11 months pregnant with admonitions against the evils of Israel. And these are not your average turn-or-burn disclaimers. God lays the verbal smack down on his people time after time in varied, colorful ways. In chapter 6 verse 15 God says, “Were they ashamed becuase of the abomination they have done? They were not ashamed at all; They did not even know how to blush.” Remember that God is love, and is speaking to the ones he created and set apart as his, and gave his commands to. And yet he says that they were not ashamed of their abominiations. They didn’t even know how to blush. It really convicts me about the attitude I had (and sometimes still have) toward men. Like this:I was skinny, and blonde, and did not even know how to blush. More on this tomorrow.