I Hate Missionaries And Other Interesting Conclusions About Sexuality- Nomadic Family World Travel Blog, Budget Travel With Kids
I hate it that someone else thinks they know what is best and will forcefully go around making other people, or gently bribing others to come on over to the ‘good’ side. I hate anyone thinking that they have figured it out and have the right to show someone else the light. And then, I wrote I Know Nothing (and 99 Other Things The Road Has Taught Me), in which number one clearly states that every prejudice, stereotype and opinion I’ve held about anyone and anything has been melted away by world travel, leaving me an open-minded, and certified, inbicel.
So, yeah, we met some missionaries. “Oh boy, ” thinks I to me-self as Kobi arranges a play-date, conveniently right before he waltz out of town for a week. “Great, so the mom is not even smiling, and you are pushing me into spending an afternoon sitting next to people who will try to bore Jesus, The Lord our Savior, down my throat? “And though I enjoy choking and gagging from time to time (each to his own), I have tried to cut down on that lately.Thanks love, thanks a lot.
And so, Thursday 1pm comes and I get headache-y, feverish, rude, arrogant, busy, annoyed, tired, and hot. “So, kids, father dearest arranged this little meeting for us, but we don’t really have to go, you know. It’s hot and it’s so hot, and God, how hot is it outside, and they won’t really care if we show up or not, so whatcha think? We should drag ourselves out there to melt in the heat or should we stay here in the nice, luscious shade where I’ll bribe you/ uh, treat you to all the sugar products your heart desires? So, what’ll it be kids?”
And damn them, they wanted to go. So, I grab my friends Pancho and Sal from the Rio Samaya, cuz they are cool, they’ve admitted to doing all the crazy stuff I have not (which I have not yet), they lived in a van, their daughter plays saw (not a type-o, yes, saw, like saw, hammer, and ax heavy duty tools). I tell them, “Listen, I HAVE to go meet these churchy people and I hate being nice all afternoon with people who clearly I’ll have nothing to talk about with. I like people and yeah, yeah everyone is a book, blah, blah, blah but they are missionaries and does Kobi’s desire for the kids to have friends mean I’m sentenced to an afternoon of utter bordeom?” So we agree that they’ll find us with Sal’s she-dar (she radar) and save me from missionary hell.
She never shows up, I arrive an hour late (half hoping we’d miss them), but no, there they are smiling, waving me to come over. So I stand there for a few awkward moments wondering if sitting down means I accept Jesus into my life. “So this is dumb, Gabi. Sit your butt down and be civilized. They are not professional brain-washers and even if they are, you can handle learning new things. So, sit!” And I do.
Surprise, Surprise, Surprise
I have never had a more hysterically fun, laid-back, close-bonded time in my life. I literally fell in love with the mom, whose name I still don’t know, in 5 minutes flat.We laughed and shared deep somethings. We totally, but totally fell in love.
As I am walking down the street, passed the pier, after Cafe Amigos and Dolphin Shack, I start freaking out. My mind screams this:
Oh God, I just posted The Kids Saw Us Having Sex on the blog, and Kobi sent Jesus and Mother Mary to read it. Dear God, maybe they had forgotten to look it up, or, maybe I’ll just talk about raising moral children or peace in the Middle East and we’ll let that inappropriate sinful devil-talk fade away into Dante’s unspoken circles. Yeah, I’ll just play stupid. I’ll stick sand in my ears if she brings it up, and act mute and deaf. “What I can’t hear you, there’s sand in my ear.” That should go over well. Very graceful too, I might add.
So, I’m a lady with a plan. Act normal, chastity-like, smile sweetly, and chit chat about niceties while our kids play. Got it.
Forward Flash to The Moment I Got Busted
They found us/ we found them and she smiles sweetly. I think to myself, “Great, she’s already trying to convert me.”
As soon as I sit down to her right on the dark brown lawn chair with the broken front leg and that spoke sticking out the back, she says, “So I read that sex post, and just died about the kids and the blow job part.”
I, the Jewish girl, think: “Mother Mary, save my Jewish sin-filled mind and soul and take me away right now, right now, right now. ”
I say, “You died?”
I think: Oh shit.
She says: “Yeah, it was so funny, that was my favorite part,” and she leans over and tells her friend all how my kids were mesmerized by art of women giving men blow jobs in the largest adobe village in the world at Chan, Chan, Peru.
The friend asks, “So, was it paintings, statues…. ”
Missionary friend chirps up, “Statues, right Gabi? And not just one or two, but like 50 of them. Pick your blow job size of small, medium or large. ” And I join her, “Choose your blow job median- wood, copper, iron, diamond studded, or the specially crafted abstract art version. ”
We’re rolling over laughing, and keep talking about sex, about what is was like to have our kids see us having sex, and about how poorly we planned this that now that finally we have our own room here in The Led Zephyr, Kobi goes away for a week. “You’re the funnest missionaries I’ve ever hung out with! And you represent the Godly side, God help us!” and we’re laughing so hard.
I have fallen in love with a 48 year old Canadian missionary wife with four kids, and you know what pushed me over the edge? She leans over and says to me, “Where were you while I was growing up? We would have gotten into so much trouble together. “
True Love Is
Yeah, that’s love, true love. Should I tell her I was a shy nerd and wearing my hair down once or twice a year was wild and way out of my comfort zone? Should I let her in on the fact that I’ve never been drunk in my life, never tried any drugs at all, puffed twice on a cigarette at the ripe old age of 24, and smoked pot for the first time last year? Should I tell her that being comfortable with my exploding sexuality, let alone talking and laughing about it (and everything else) is a very new state of mind for Gabi? Should I let her in on the fact that I’ve become this fun now, and spent most of my life up-tight, stressed-out, over-strung, and perpetually-worried (about whatever). No, she’s falling in love with Gabi at this moment. Like I’m falling in love with her, in this moment. Some things don’t need to be said.
So, I love missionaries, druggies, the politically correct and incorrect, and one day, I may be able to even say I love pedophiles. Why? Cuz I’m sick? No, cuz I’m learning that everyone I ever judged or felt ridiculously and irrationally mad or disgusted at as a people have come and side-slapped me with real, genuine and shockingly refreshing beauty. So, once, I would have put Arabs (two really surprising YouTube videos about that one trip with her, My Muslim Mother) , missionaries, druggies and pedophiles in some similar category (was I really that ignorant? ) and today, I really don’t have labels that fit anyone anymore. It’s all been screwed up for me now, no one fits into those neat little schematized compartmentalized boxes anymore. Damn, life was so much simpler when I knew who was who. I don’t know shit anymore.
And this, as the world would have to be so generous in bring it to me, this would the third missionaries we’ve met so far. And, funny, we’ve become close and in total love and admiration of all three. Damn them!
In Ecuador that couple from Finland(?) who saved an indigenous girl whose family had thrown away for she was the twin and their belief was that one of the two was a gift from God, and the other from the Devil. So they saved the abandoned ‘devil child‘ and have for fifteen years raised her, her husband, and their beautiful son. They also helped convert the entire indigenous tribe slowly to Christianity and brought more candy than my children’s weight, combined for one Christmas event. The candy pretty much made instant converts from my kids.
In Peru, Anna and her family (YouTube interview series with Anna) , and all the magical work, love, honestly, openness, humbleness, and beauty you can find in one couple. And now, in Cambodia, the anti-social missionary in the black bathing suit and all the great laughs, honest sharing, and mutual respect and admiration that flowed from one afternoon in the blazing Sihanoukville sun.
Gotta Love Those Missionaries!
“But, why?” I ask myself. Cuz they are not people out with the goal of forcing others to do things not in their will. This is not the Spanish Inquisition. These are people with a belief that they are passionate about, with a direct ticket to the light, to the answers to what they believe is the right and meaningful way to live. And they so ferociously believe in their way to the light, that they want to share their joyous revelation with others, and maybe, a lost soul or two, a person searching for clarity and calm and answers, may be attracted to their intimate campfire glow and say,
“Yes, I like the hues of your soft embers. That tunes sings softly to something deep in my soul> It answers questions I didn’t know how to ask. I like the harmonious like-pitched frequency of your music. Yes, I want to learn to dance that dance. Can you teach me how? “
And then, our people with love in their hearts and a desire to share that with others, say, kindly, “Yes, I can teach you. Let us walk together for a bit.”
And then, it begins- people, searching, find people, searching to share, and they walk and dance for a bit together, all the morhttp://thenomadicfamily.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=3123&action=edite grateful and full of light because of it. And so, damn missionaries, I’ll have to add you to my list of prejudices, with the Muslims, cuz you’ve shattered this one too.
Cream On The Cake: Free Pizza
Oh, and she paid for our $5 pizza. I know! That’s what did it, really. Not the hysterical laughs, not the fact that she had read about us in both the Washington Post/Family On Bikes site or the Phnom Phen Post, not that she thought we were so cool, not the sex talk and the constant intellectual sex jabs, not the hot guy working out in front of us who we all hooted at, not my admiration for a mother sharing her story with another mother, and then us two moms just sat there, in the often painful silent knowings of motherhood.
No, none of that. It was the free pizza. “Damn, kids, why didn’t we order more? ”
Good night friends- sinners, Muslims, missionaries, pedophiles, and the like. We”ll all meet somewhere, somehow, right?
[And if you in the latter category of pedophiles , don't you even dare look funny at one of my kids. I'll kill you! Ok, I still have issues to work out. Let's leave this on a good note, a soft smiling note, the note I feel here, now, and the deep warm fuzzy that comes with removing yet another dusty layer of my own ignorance.]
Got any religious pre-conceptions to throw at me? I’ve got plenty to say! Got any stories of up-tight, righteous, kill-me-now boring people who turned out your maternal soul-mates, and you feel that you miss them so, even after that one golden afternoon together? I also fell in the love with the light in a few short hours. Have you ever had those irrational, unreasonable love affairs too? Ah, I’ll just scratch the mosquito bite that pulsating into right ankle, and smile at the world (and, wait, breathlessly, to see if you comment).
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