Booty call

Last night, somewhere in the midst of heavy doses of the "F" word and racist conversations, I learned to love Marines and their booty call (I mean, girlfriends). As a social worker, I'm not supposed to pigeonhole people. I am supposed to be amazingly gifted at traversing between various types of people, cultures, and social contexts. But last night, I didn't particularly feel like engaging the stereotypical Marines in my living room....until I actually began to talk with them as human beings and good friends of my roomies.

In a room full of various forms of black clothing, tight skirts and tall boots, I definitely stood out with my white Old Navy sweater and rainbow sandals. But in a weird way, and after everyone was a few beers into it, they actually opened up and shared their stories with me. I found out that one kid (they all seemed so young) was headed off to college to pursue a career in football. He got all shy and goofy when the guys praised his skills on the Marine's football team. Another couple is moving to Texas soon and shared excitement and fear in this transition. And with a couple of other girls, all we talked about was dessert. But in the end, when they all headed off to the Tavern to finish out the night, I actually received a few hugs. Hugs. Embraces from strangers who might have never spoken with me, or I with them, unless we had been in the setting created last night. And I'd like to think that in just a few hours in my home, with a listening hear and genuine concern from a stranger, my guests were able to be themselves and take off the stereotypical mask for a moment.

As I reflect on the events of last night, I realize that I have so much yet to learn about mercy. Jesus, when questioned about hanging out, eating and drinking with sinners responded saying, "Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. But go and learn what this means: I desire mercy and not sacrifice..." (Matt. 9:12-13; Luke 5:30-13).