On Sex

I can imagine the reaction that my current fan-base experienced the moment they saw the title of this blogpost. Amidst the gasps and the uncomfortable “am I even allowed to read a blogpost on sex?”, I’m sure there were many who also shuddered, remembering the insane drama that my “controversial” posts of old needlessly elicited. Yet, I’ve come to find that in life, no one ever learns the lesson (look at the Israelites!), and to be honest, if I am left to be nothing but a blogger of boring topics (basically anything that isn’t controversial), then I would be nothing more than a mindless babbling idiot (basically everyone else’s blogposts but mine…jk).

No one likes an overly serious blog. It just doesn’t “resonate”, unless you’re in a similar situation! It’s hard for me to appreciate and read a blog about some super emo, dark, lonely and desperate situation/person unless I myself am a super emo, dark, lonely and desperate person. So I’d rather write about something that every single person can desperately (for some of us, a little bit too much) relate to. Sex.

And so begins the crucifixion of Sam Kim.

The issue of sex is blasted on a day to day basis for all to see. This is obviously so; the moment you turn on the TV, sex oozes out of the TV screen. Advertisements, TV Shows, even Nickelodeon (OUR LAST BEACON OF HOPE HAS FALLEN!) all succumb to the pressure of this American Weltanschauung that the only feasible way to sell your blogpo…I mean, particular product is to blast sex at every opportunity. I swear, very soon we’re going to see diaper commercials depicting a super hot topless model wearing nothing but a diaper who has two humongous and exposed breasts each the size of a watermelon.

I’m talking about a buff, male model, of course. You perverts. And I bet you that diaper will sell out everywhere. Maybe I will be the model. Who knows. Oh wait, I did say “hot”. I guess it has to be me after all.

Anyways, I digress. Watch a good movie nowadays, and there’s guaranteed to be some hot, erotic “might as well be pornography” sex scene that Asian mothers cover their twenty-four year old sons from watching (namely, my mother). It’s the epitome of our generation, I have a feeling that thirty years from now, little kids will learn all about how our culture was defined and marked by this phenomenon of scantly clothed men and women.

The funniest thing is, in our culture, we’re even developing drugs to ensure that sex will never end, even in our old wrinkly ages of 80+. We’re probably investing more money into this than developing a cure for cancer (I don’t know of this is actually true, but I wouldn’t be surprised). If not cancer, then something else that is equally if not more important! Viagra, the drug of the future, empowering older generations for years to come. Pretty soon, I am sure they will develop a drug even more powerful than Viagra. “Warning: If you have an erection that lasts for 4-6 hours…then, ALRIGHT!!!!”

I’m not promoting this over zealous portrayal of sex (obviously). I think this is a horrible thing, and has polluted and perverted the minds of so many individuals. I know that through the lens of a non-Christian it’s hard to understand why it’s such a big deal, but I think that once we open the door to this pornographic phenomenon, we give way to fueling the epidemic of child molesters, rapists, perverted priests (not all of them, just the imbecilic ones), etc. that have plagued our generation. I’m not saying that those people never existed before. But I do believe that spiritual gateways open, and the more you fill your mind with this, the more likely that you could arouse within people inappropriate thoughts, and although people often say thoughts are just thoughts, I tend to believe that you have to have a “thought” before you can produce an “action”. Crazy concept, right?

So first and foremost, I want to condemn the overly sexualized society that we live in, except, of course, the hot shirtless men. We need more of those. Sorry, Christian Korean-Americans (all Asian-Americans) are incredibly sexually repressed, and the only feasible outlet for many of us is to direct our overcharged male hormonal sexual frustration by making comments like the previous one I just made. Or chewing ice. Cause I guess chewing ice is some scientifically proven method that men and women utilize to alleviate their sexual desires. Christians…chew more ice.

I think that for the Christian, the deadliest result of sexual sin is the fact that the more you engage in it, the more numb you become to guarding your own heart, and the more likely you’re going to open up some thoughts and doors that are MUCH better left unopened. The thing about this sin (as is true with so many others), is that it only gets worse, and never gets better. Every day you walk through this door, the more likely you are to end up thirty years later in one of those devastating stories of broken families/broken marriages–these make me shudder.

However, I don’t write this post to really point out the negatives, but actually, I think that in the Christian community there is this over-infatuation with the negatives of sex that has somehow marred our own desire (or yearning) to engage in this God-given beautiful activity! Now, obviously I’m not telling anyone to go out and do it pre-marriage. No, that’s sin. Nor am I trying to justify that taboo word “no one is allowed to talk about and when you start talking about it everyone cringes in awkwardness,” masturbation.

Rather, what I am trying to say is that we have seen the abuse and destruction of what God intended to be beautiful by the world, and as a result, we have somehow concluded that “sex is evil!” One of the most significant things that I have ever heard was during one of Neil Cole’s training about resisting temptation, in which he pointed out how so many guys ask God to “take away their desire for sex!” Once God answers their prayers, Neil fears for the poor wives of these now sexually unmotivated husbands who are also possibly castrated (because I don’t see how it’s possible for any man to have no sex drive short of having no penis) and cannot even fulfill basic marriage duties. And yes. It IS a duty AND a Biblical Command. Anyways, Neil points out that we shouldn’t ask God to take away our drive for sex, because sex is a beautiful thing! And it is meant to be.

I heard this story of this Christian couple who got married, and during their wedding night, all they did the WHOLE first night was lay next to each other, naked. They literally could not find themselves doing something that they have been taught their whole lives was evil! So many stories like this happen everywhere! Men and women petrified (no pun intended) by their fear that “SEX IS BAD”.

And this is the point I’m trying to make here. We (as Christians) oftentimes excommunicate even the thought of sex from our own minds as if it were the worst possible sin that we could ever commit! I’m not saying that it isn’t sin (in the pre-marital sense), but I am pointing out the fact that there are (even in the Biblical sense) sins that produce a much more heftier consequence. Someone died for touching the Ark of the covenant. I don’t remember anyone dying from having sex.

Maybe if we were not so infatuated with the topic of sex, constantly focusing on the negativity of it (people always want to do what they’re not allowed to do, there’s something rebellious and intriguing about it), and instead taught of the beauty of sex, but through the lens of why it’s important we should abstain from it until marriage, maybe that would produce a healthier flow of abstinence.

Instead, we are left with a Christian culture that shuns sex, constantly preaching religiously from pulpit to pulpit about why it is bad. As a result, little children who mischievously kill ants with sun and magnifying glass in order to appease and assert their rebellious nature, grow up and become nothing short of sexually repressed. That is, until they hit college and realize in an ungodly way that sex is actually very beautiful. Suddenly, they become promiscuous gluttons, fattening themselves because they can’t understand why something that is so beautiful would be what their parents constantly tell them is the worst evil they could possibly commit!

Pre-marital sex is dangerous. The assertion here is both on a practical level (STD’s, Pregnancy, getting committed far beyond your maturity level, etc.), but also on a spiritual level (the sanctity of covenants, God’s biblical command to abstain from sexual immorality, the biblical mandate to marry only one man or woman). But even so, I think we should see and glorify the beauty of sex (as God intended for it to be an awesome act of union between man and woman), but also constantly assure the young curious adolescents that it’s not that it’s bad, but there is a “healthy” way to do it.

Covenantal sex after marriage is such a beautiful thing, and even in our own minds we should embrace (and desire) for this God-given bodily need. He intended for it to be beautiful. Of course, there is great abuse, and please do not misinterpret the things that I am saying here-I’m not telling ANYONE that pre-marital sex is acceptable. What I am saying here is that our infatuation with the negativity of sex only creates a perpetual void of confusion, causing people to become curiously rebellious, or question the validity of the acclamation that it is bad (especially when they do it, and find out to their horror that it’s really not!).

All I know is, when I get married, for my honeymoon I’m going to Alaska. Why? Because the constant snow and overall lack of sightseeing will result in plentiful “staying inside”. What is there to do inside, you ask? Well, I’m sure I’ll figure something out.

A Big Confession

There is a confession I want to make here, something that is deeply personal and may even disgust you a bit, about me. It’s something that I don’t particularly enjoy sharing about myself, something that I’d much rather keep hidden, safely confined deep within the crevices of some unknown depths of my inner being. But at the prompting of God, I have decided to unveil a secret that may completely alter and change your perception about me. If this does happen, then I beg your forgiveness, and ask only that you extend grace and mercy toward me: I am only a man after all, and am vulnerable to the fallibilities and fallenness of my kind. So without further ado…

I have hemorrhoids.

Oh my gosh, this is such an embarrassing thing to share, really. No one really likes to share about appendages protruding out of your anus, especially when in this society people are constantly trying to preserve their sex appeal. My sex appeal just got shot down faster than you can say “I’m just kidding, that’s impossible.” And so here I am, vulnerable, and at your endless mercy, hopelessly in shame, and sitting on the side of my body as not to suffer the burning and irritable sensation that has attached itself shamelessly somewhere in the canyon of my a-hole. Good lord–please do not think less of me.

A small lesson in science that I acquired while staying up into the late hours of the night, unable to sleep because of this “I thought it was a gigantic anus pimple” that wouldn’t allow me to lay down without sharp pains, is the reality that up to 100 million Americans either suffer or may suffer from hemorrhoids. Not only that, but I also found out to my horror and disdain, that there are 4 stages of hemorrhoids, and God in his infinite desire to bless me, has promoted yours truly (that’s me) to stage 3! I have been promoted from an internal lump to an external one! YAY ME, I knew that my years of servitude to the Lord would one day pay off in some sort of promotion!

And so now, I am thankful at least that it is probably not some colon related cancer (cause that could suck a lot), and instead, I am left talking to you about the stump that has called the center of my butthole it’s home.

You know the ironic thing of the situation is, about 8 years ago I started pooing blood (which is one of the first stages of hemorrhoids that occur). When I asked my mom about it, kind of worried as to what it maybe, my mom kind of light heartedly assured me “I am sure it is absolutely nothing.” So, 8 years of pooing red substances out of my butt (which I shrugged it off and continued to live my life as I saw fit), and thinking quite possibly it had something to do with the constant spicy food that I consume on a day to day basis, here I am with Mr. Pimple kindly attached to my rear end. Thank you, Mom.

Unbeknown to me is the reality that, if I had known about this anal condition that everyone actually has (but is not always aggravated) years ago, I could have taken steps and measures to prevent it from getting to stage 3. The way in which I would have done it is to live a healthier lifestyle, making sure to eat fiber and calcium, and other nutritiously beneficial foods…okay, nevermind, I think I was screwed no matter which way I look at it.

But yet the option for preventing the anal protrusion was definitely there for the taking. And if I had adjusted my lifestyle, I would have been able to save myself a lot of pain and miserable agony.

And so here I am, suddenly caught in the midst of chaos and confusion, and I learn a little secret about proactive (instead of reactive) prevention. If I had pro-actively lived my life disciplined and filled with knowledge, I could have averted this “I hate sitting and may need to buy myself one of those donut pillows” existence. But no, because now I have to react, it may even be too late: according to some websites, the only way to get rid of this problem is surgery. Personally, I think prayer might be more worth it. (Although, if it gets promoted to stage 4, it could become life threatening. I have no idea what stage 4 looks like though. Wouldn’t it be hilarious if my epitaph read: Here lies Sam Kim. Died from hemorrhoids, stumps in the crevice of his a-hole that were left unattended).

And somehow, someway, I have learned a deeply significant lesson in the midst of all this hilarious idiocy. I find myself, laying on the floor, pondering the deeper questions of life, kind of feeling like Job in my over dramatized situation. And God starts to speak. First, I swear I think I hear Him laugh at me, “hahahah Sam, I bet you didn’t see THAT one coming.” Then he begins to tell me something about prayer.

Prayer. How did I end up learning about prayer with a giant lump erected in my butthole? It’s not that I want to seek prayer from people for the instant healing and rectification of my current problem. I will definitely take it if you will give it to me, but that’s not what I learned. Instead, I learned something about proactive prayer.

It’s funny how so many of us, only after things have “gone horribly wrong” do we respond to situations and circumstances. Something goes wrong, and only then (and after then) do we look back and think “man, if only I had done that…”. This is also similarly true with prayer: there are so many times when life goes to (insert bad word here), that we find ourselves on our knees, praying in desperate humility, seeking God to deliver us from our situation.

This is good–we need reactive prayer, sometimes things just happen and a reaction definitely is necessary. But more than that, we need proactive prayer. Prayer that is sown day to day, not for the purpose of “reacting” to some unfortunate event in our lives, but rather prayer that paves the way for the future. Prayer that protects against the schemes of the enemy, against the lies and deceit. Prayer that is consistent, even during the good times, conscious that once we as a body stop praying, we stop using our most effective weapon!

It’s hilarious. I see myself running around in the middle of a battlefield, being shot at, bazooka’d at, whatever…and here I am, equipped with the ability to pray, and instead of firing back, I needlessly endure the hits, the pain, the attack of the enemy. Is this not stupidity? Who would actually do that? I am guilty of being stupid.

And so now we find ourselves, many of us, in the midst of some hectic insanity. Life has gone horribly astray for some. Families are broken and falling apart. For some, church isn’t what it used to be, and all you can do is complain about the situation and circumstances. For some, you are getting fed up with the incessant gossiping that always occurs in every corner of society. For some it’s this, for some it’s that, everyone’s life seems to be filled with some sort of situation that sucks. But I wish you would learn something from my unfortunate circumstance just like I learned it.

We need to pray.

Now, please excuse me as I bathe myself in warm water to decrease the painful pressure that built up in my butthole while I lay and posted this blog.

My Poo Stinks

I had a horrific experience the other day. While driving my car down Veteran, after having eaten a relatively light meal (Shabu-Shabu), a sudden horror dawned on me: oh my God, I have to take a dump. Now, to be quite honest, there wasn’t that much further for me to travel before I got back to my apartment; however, if you know anything about me, I don’t have that much time from the moment of the “uh-oh” realization, to the moment where I have to evacuate the feces from my colon.

Well, actually I guess it depends on the “type” of dump that it is. You know, there are different types of dumps that you take. There are the long, solid it feels soo good coming out of your anus because it’s in one unbroken unified whole dump that really leave you feeling satisfied. Then, there are the explosive ones that literally shoot out of your butthole, splattering onto the porcelyn “inanimate object”, poo that’s mixed in with gas explosions heard from everyone outside. There’s BDS dumps (‘nough said about that one). There are the encore dumps, the ones where you think you got it all out the first time but right when you wipe, flush, and step out of the bathroom, the sudden horror of “oh crap, I gotta go again” feelings hit you. Your body has a mind of its own, and depending on the type of dump that it is also correlates with the amount of time needed before you accidently crap your own pants.

Today, I did not have much time. Methane was mercilessly pushing against the feces, and it wanted to come out in a hurry. Thomas was sitting next to me, talking to me about God knows what, but the last thing that I wanted to do was talk. I need to focus and invest all my energy into stalling the inevitable. “Thomas, you have to shut up,” I half-seriously said, “I gotta take a dump!” Suddenly it seemed like all the red lights were against me. I hit every cross section, praying to God with desperate determination, “Oh Please Lord, let it be green!” It seems that God has a sense of humor: every light was red. And not just red, but you know the “it just turned red” type of red.

Now, half frustrated and doubting whether or not God REALLY does answer prayers, sweat started to accumulate around my forehead, and I knew there wasn’t much time left. “Thomas, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to park my car.” Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, we got back to the apartment, as I sped through the narrow streets, oblivious and careless of any cops that may have been roaming the streets that day.

Relief; I just might make it after all! I ran up to the front door, expecting one of my roommates to be home, but TODAY. No, TODAY would be different. Today, God would look at me from heaven and laugh in mischievous delight, as I buzzed the door, dancing around in anguish anticipation, angry at my roommates for not being home (almost as if it were their fault). As I got closer to the bathroom, I became more desperate to release this tension that was building up ever so urgently in my butthole: I hate it how your body anticipates the bathroom, and begins to “prepare” to release the package when it realizes you are close to a toilet.

I ran back to the car, pinching my buttcheeks as hard as I possibly could, where Thomas had just switched into the driver seat. “Thomas! I need my keys,” I said as I grabbed the keys from my own car, leaving him stranded, immobile and with a quizzical smile on his face. I ran to the door, knowing that I didn’t have much time left, and fumbling the keys, I finally got both the outside door and the inside door open. “Oh my God, I may not make it,” the sudden horror dawned on me. I ran for my life for the bathroom. The moment I got in, I pulled down my pants and boxers, my cell phone flew out of my jacket pocket and landed somewhere on the floor, I positioned my butt over the toilet and even before I sat down the explosive force of the erupting volcano called “Mianus” spewed molten hot feces out of my colon, and splattered everywhere in the confinements of the beautiful invention called the toilet. “Oh, Lord. Thank You, Jesus,” I said with a sigh of relief. The funny thing is, I saw my cellphone on the floor, and I was kind of sad that the cellphone didn’t end up INSIDE the toilet. Why? That would be one HELL of a story to tell, eh?

Man, you would think with all these poo stories I seem to be sharing, I would be skinnier. But alas, this is not so; instead of having a buff, trimmed and cut six pack to post pictures of myself shirtless on the internet, I have a third breast plopped right in the center of my stomach, with an inverted nipple. You may never look at pot bellies the same again.

I looked down at the culprit of my agony–”Oh, wow, there’s a peanut in there? And what’s this red stuff? Where did that come from. Hmm. What did I eat for lunch?” Oh well. Whatever, I carefully wiped whatever remains clinged to my a-hole, flushed the toilet, and went back to rescue stranded and lonely Thomas.

The moment Thomas walked into my room, and near the bathroom, I only heard one thing from him. “Oh my Gosh, Sam! Your poo freaking stinks!” I smiled with a slight hint of satisfied delight: you get to suffer with me a little bit, I mischievously think. And there it is. I found out afresh, to my horror, my poo does stink after all.

First and foremost, isn’t it great how bathroom humor just never fails to elicit some sort of laughter? It NEVER gets old. You can hear a thousand stories exactly the same as the one above, but everytime you hear a story related to some sort of poo experience, you laugh? Maybe it’s because you have your own share of poo stories. Maybe it’s because secretly, you delight in the sufferings of others. I don’t know what it is, it’s always funny.

But I don’t share this story to really point at the hilarity of the situation. I share this story, actually to point out a rather significant (and maybe perhaps something that may be inferred as a bit of a stretch if not for some “poetic license” on my own part) reality: everyone’s poo stinks. No matter who you are, whether you are a girl (sorry, as much as you want to think it smells like roses, it DOESN’T. Trust me, I have a sister) or a guy (especially you men who eat tons of meat), your poo stinks.

No surprise, right? I guess intrinsically, we all sort of knew this, but for many of us, we never get that intimate with each other to actually experience it; most of you will probably never know that my poo does, in fact, stink. Of course, you may infer this reality, drawing upon comparisons to your own experiences with your own poo, but you will probably never actually be the lucky individual to walk into the bathroom after I have tactfully exploded unga (korean for poo) all over the place. Too bad for you, I know you want to.

I’m going to transition here a little bit, and talk about something that’s been on my heart and that Alyson addressed as well in her own sharing on Sunday. It was in the reference of me, and just to clear up any confusion or misinterpretation, I want to say first and foremost that this post isn’t really talking about the situation (the blogposts) that happened, so please get that thought immediately out of your mind. Rather, I’m talking about in general: the closer you get with someone, the more and more you realize that they aren’t actually perfect. This is especially true when you start dating: you always feel like the first moments of blissful romance will somehow carry on forever and ever, but it doesn’t. Want proof? Look at your parents. Of course they love each other, but it’s different. It’s weathered and mature.

And we find out in life, that the closer we get to people, the more we realize that they have their flaws and faults. The thing is, we often find out more about their beauty and genuineness, too, but somehow it always seems that the negative things are the things we choose to focus on. Why this is, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s because we expect everyone around us to be perfect, and ourselves to be perfect as well. Maybe we impose false expectations on people. Whatever the case, maybe we need to learn to appreciate the beautiful things about each other before judging the negative things?

You know, the truth is, in our families, we are fully aware of this reality. With your mom, dad and sister, you know they have a lot of beautiful aspects to them. I love my mom, I love my dad, and I love my sister. Nothing will ever change that. But within that, I know they have more than their share of flaws. I’ve smelled their poo, and I know it stinks. But within the context of family (the immediate family), we force ourselves to always reconcile the situation: if I get into a fight with my parents, I know that it can’t stay that way. And I also know that I need to reconcile and fix the situation, that I can’t simply “ignore” what happened or even ignore the person, I need to make it work. I also know that I want to help my sister and family grow just as much as they want to help me: it’s a symbiotic understanding that we’re “in this together”, and if not family, then who else?

However, I find that oftentimes when it doesn’t involve my family, another harsh reality occurs. When we are faced with adversity, and the uglies of our friends come out, many times our natural inclination is to (instead of wanting to reconcile or address the situation), run away from it. Because you don’t have to deal with the situation, you reason within the context of your own intellectual thinking that it’d be much better and sensible to “avoid” and ignore the situation. I’m not just talking about “confrontations” here. I’m talking about the weaknesses and fallenness of others. When people “don’t have it all together”, and are obviously weak and struggle in certain areas, we tend to shrug it off, and not confront or help the person who’s struggling in the area. This extends to more than just personality flaws, but even things like discipline. When our friend is obviously living an undisciplined life, not praying or reading the Word, instead of rebuking and challenging the individual, we ignore the situation. And what’s worse, we talk and think about it behind their backs. “So and so is like this and like that, and I don’t understand why he’s like that…” You point the finger of accusation at the other, maybe cognitive of your own failures and struggles, but always feeling like you are justified for thinking the way that you are.

And it’s intrinsically built into you to simply avoid the conflict, and instead of dealing with the situation, you find a way to outcast that person from your own life, or from your own church: isn’t it much better to just run away and not have to deal with it?

So in doing simple church, we find ourselves in a similar predicament. After a matter of time, we realize this truth about each other: we aren’t perfect, after all. And there are going to be mistakes and flaws, and things that happen that of course is always the other person’s fault. However, what will our response be? Will we avoid the situation, turning and averting our eyes from the matter at hand? Or will we be the catalysts for change, praying dililgently and investing our hearts into refining each other, as iron sharpens iron. Will we face the enemy of controversy, and instead of shy away in comfortable horror, will we fight against the notion that “it’s okay”, and instead come to a conclusion within ourselves that we will not allow our friends to live their lives without the benefit of true spiritual community?

I write this fully guilty of many of the things I issue a challenge for–I am one who finds myself ignoring situations a lot of times instead of facing it head on. I ignore it because I don’t particularly want to make myself uncomfortable. But that’s selfish of me, and what’s more, it may leave a person unedified, unchanged, unsharpened. If a person’s struggle and uglies blossoms and shows itself in a “hard to handle” sort of way, isn’t it better to, as a people of believers and disciples of Christ, do everything in our own power to encourage, uplift, edify and bless the other who is struggling?

This is becoming long, and I haven’t really gotten it all out yet, and maybe I haven’t even completely wrapped my mind around this issue completely, but the only point I’m trying to make is this: everyone’s poo stinks. And maybe what we need to do is expand and extend our own mindset of what family is to beyond the simple 2.5 children, a mom and a dad, and include within that embrace of family others who so desperately and longingly desire for true community. Maybe we need to approach our friends and brothers and sisters in Christ like our family, fully aware that they aren’t perfect, but knowing that you need to show them grace, love and support in their imperfection. Maybe we need to not ignore the fallenness we see in each other, but challenge each other to become better men and women of God, unwilling to accept the realities, and push instead passionately for the ideals. Maybe we need to learn how to rebuke properly, without judgmental accusation, but out of love, tenderness and selfless humility. Maybe we need to learn how to receive it as well. I know I need to learn all of these things. Maybe we start really working toward it, and start with ourselves, instead of expecting others to take charge or lead the way. Maybe.

In the face of controversy, how will we handle it? I want to say that as a body of Christ, we need to do more than ignore it.