The Problem of "Casting Stones."

I cannot tell you how many times I've heard it (and, lets' be real, said it) in my life:

"Judge not, lest ye be judged."

and/or

"Let him without sin cast the first stone."

Most often, those things are said as soon as someone mentions to another person that they are concerned that they are sinning. They come to the person - either humbly or not - and say the words, "This is a sin," and our automatic defense mechanisms go off like a car alarm in a thunderstorm and we get all, "DON'T JUDGE ME, YOU JUDGY JUDGER" on people. At this point in time, it doesnt' matter if the first person came in humility or not. We've just decided that because they're not Jesus Christ himself they aren't worthy enough to point out our flaws.

We're ever so transparent (sometimes) about our own flaws.

"haha. You know me! I'm SUCH a procrastinator!"
"Look at me eating this entire pint of Ben and Jerrys! I'm such a glutton!"
"Just livin out my total depravity, yo."
"Well, I never said I'm not perfect!"

But when someone else says that we're not perfect?

HULKSMASH.

"Wait. YOU'RE judging ME right now? Who died and made you our Lord and Savior? I thought all that judgement stuff was meant for when I meet Jesus face to face and he gives me that gold star right here over my heart for doing good things!"

"Well, the blood of Jesus certainly covers a lot - I mean, all the stuff it has to cover in YOUR life?"
- - -

When did calling sin, "sin," become the equivalent to throwing people off cliffs and raining heavy rocks upon their battered bodies?

When did saying, "I'm concerned about this area in your life," become something we can't say because of planks and specks in eyes?

When did we start using the word of God as a way to justify our own desires and sinful nature?

Well, the answer to that last question is, "In the garden of Eden." There was once a crafty serpent...

But seriously.

There are so many churches today that refuse to even come close to touching the words, "Church Discipline," with a ten foot pole. They won't even pick up the pole. When there are blatant and serious sins in a person's life, it is our job as the body of believers to take our concerns to that person in humility and say, "I'm worried about you. I see this pattern of behavior in your life and it concerns me. And I'm going to call out this thing right now and call it sin."

And it is our jobs as believers, when someone comes to us with those concerns, and SHUT UP before we decide to point out every single one of their flaws and, thus, making their concern and their words nil.

Just because someone else sins doesn't mean that it cancels out your own. 

We have held SO TIGHTLY to the words of Jesus, "Let he who hasn't sinned cast the first stone," that we've forgotten his words to the woman right after everyone left:

"Go and sin no more."

Lest we forget that those words of Jesus are just as applicable to us as they are to everyone else. Lest we forget that those words of Jesus are heavy. Go and sin no more? How? 

And as for specks and planks? The very moment we use that verse when someone points something out in our lives, we now have that plank in our own eye and are judging the speck in our fellow believer's. And all of that is because of a few verses before that - "Judge not, that you will not be judged. For with the judgement you pronounce you will be judged and with the measure you use it will be measured to you." When we tell people, "judge not, that you will not be judged" in response to their concern, we've become the judge in their lives. 

It's tricky.

And it's one of the major reasons that I think we're seeing more and more abuse in the church. Spiritual abuse, spousal abuse, physical abuse, emotional abuse - these things, unchecked, kill. But if our super-sensitive-defensive-alarms are the only thing we listen to, we will never let anybody touch that sin in our lives - 

"Because who hasn't done bad things?"

"I'm just doing things the way I think the Bible says."

"Submit. The Bible tells you to submit to me."

"Honor your parents and all will go well for you."

"She wasn't satisfying my desires enough so I was forced to watch pornography/hire an escort."

"If you don't listen to me, you're not doing what God wants you to do."

"What did I do to deserve this from you? Am I that horrible that you would do this to me?"

And then we will need to face it come judgement day. 

And that...

that won't be pretty.

- - 

Maybe instead of seeing called-out sin as "casting stones*" or "pointing out specks," we can see it as an opportunity to grow; or maybe we can even see it as Jesus talking to us through our brothers and sisters in the faith, helping to sanctify us, allowing us to see parts of ourselves to that which we may be blind.

*note: if ALL you receive or give is criticism or you decide that a person's worth is based upon how many sins they've done, or you're unable to see your own sin for what it is, then that's what I'd call casting stones. 

If we take the time to see our own sin, there is SO MUCH GRACE for dealing with other people's sins - or at least there should be. If we look - REALLY LOOK - at ourselves and where we need help and where we need growth, then we can look at our brother or sister who is struggling and our first response should then become, "Hey. I see this thing in your life and I'm concerned about it's implications. I know that I'm not perfect, but I just want to help in any way that I can."

But if we see abuse happening and let it happen because, "I mean, I'm a sinner too..." or because you're afraid that they're going to point out your sin, then you've become a part of the abuse. And that's how abuse becomes systemic.

Discipline ≠ Bad. 

It may be uncomfortable, but it doesn't mean that it's BAD. If it's done well, it is good. 

So let's learn to not be impulsive and Hulksmash everyone who comes to us with concerns about our behavior.

Because the weight of Jesus' command, "Go and sin no more," isn't something we can do on our own strength. We need Jesus. We need each other.

And we need a good dose of humility.

Life is a Journey

So this one has been a month or so coming, but the words just never seemed to find their way to my fingers. Until today.

Learning how to not be a victim is tough, especially when most of the time, you blink and months have flown past. 

For me, the last 6-8 months have been a whirlwind, to the extent that the other day I still thought it was September. Oi. The problem was me, obviously, but it wasn't until I recognized that the only reason why I felt like life was happening to me was because I refused to get emotionally involved in...well, myeslf. I have taught myself that I am too busy for emotions. I've cut myself out. I've overworked, over-stimulated, over-numbed myself so that I can't feel what is actually happening to me, or, rather, I can't feel the things in which I participate. So I numb. I become more emotionally involved in other people's issues than my own.

And, friends, I burned out.

And I guess, that's a major part of this life-update.

I exhausted myself in my effort to not realize what was actually happening to me. I had all of these words, all of this hurt, pent up in my body that I became exhausted.

And so I'm taking a step back. I realized, very quickly, that the move to South Haven was a shock to my system - as good as it was to be closer to home. In Houston, I had really close friends, a support system, and a really good therapist. As soon as I came to South Haven, I had to re-build everything. While my friends and family were close, they hadn't been through the past two-and-a-half years with me. They had held me from afar but they hadn't been fighting the wars with me that my support system in Houston had. I had roots in Houston that I didn't even realize until I left. I needed to make new friends in a town that, sadly, doesn't work for people in my age/life-situation. I lost my support system, I lost my therapist, and falsely believed that I could do this thing on my own after suffering trauma in Houston.

I didn't feel at home.

I felt a strange pull towards Western Theological Seminary, though, and at one of the busiest times in my career at Hope, I threw in my application there. It wasn't until orientation that I realized how life-giving seminary would be for me, how incredibly easy it is to make friends who understand what you're going through, studying the same things you're studying, and willing to be silly. While I had burned myself out at work, I found life and joy and light and peace at seminary.

And so, about a month ago now, I sent in my resignation letter to my church. I needed to take a step back from something. I kept being pulled towards seminary. And somehow, everything just fell into place. Two of the best people I know have opened up their home to myself and Chewbacca. I just signed the paperwork today to work in the dining hall on a 25-30 hour-a-week basis. Life is becoming centralized again where I have a therapist and I'm gaining a support group outside of school and everything that I'll be involved in is less than a mile away from me at all times.

And I feel at rest.

I feel at home.

I feel at peace, for the first time.
I feel like I'm in a safe space to express feelings and I can't tell you how excited I'll be to take a giant pay-cut and learn something completely new.

Because taking a vacation from myself isn't something I can do anymore.

And right now, I'm just recklessly trusting that God will provide for each and every single one of my needs.

Does this mean that I hated my time in South Haven and that I am excited in terms of "giddy, happy" to leave? No. I will weep big fat crocodile tears on November 15th. I did gain valuable relationships. I got to know amazing people. I loved the church and the people of the church. I will miss the church and the people and the town. I'll be back to visit as often as I can.

But am I excited as in, "ready to go?" Yes. I am.

So if y'all could throw some prayers up for me during this season, here are some specifics:

- Somehow I need to pay for school this year. Falling and breaking my elbow ended up pulling money out of my school fund.
- My arm, while it's getting better, still hurts.
- For the ability to trust without doubting that God has got me.
- Sanity.
-  That I don't drive my new housemates crazy.

Peace. Love. Light.

-ljr

Be Cautious: Delighting in Evil

I find myself in the strange situation where I can put myself in the shoes of victims of abuse because I've been there.

It's uncomfortable.

It's especially uncomfortable when I hear the love and devotion to abusers.

And it's even more uncomfortable when I hear the voices of outsiders telling those who love  abusers to, "leave. Get out. Walk away. He is a piece of trash and will always be a piece of trash."

And, to go further, it is maddening to see the people who say those things also rejoice in his downfall...

and profess to be Christian.

Here's where I find the words to say, friends. 

I have experienced loving a man with all my heart - loving who he was at that very moment and seeing the potential in him while thinking that I knew the sordid details of his past; believing fully that he had changed, reformed, and found Christ; trusting him with my heart and with my life because I thought I knew him. I believed, with my whole being, that I knew him.

I have experienced the ripping pain that comes with realizing, very suddenly, that I don't actually know the man I married - that the past that I knew about wasn't everything; that the past melded with the present in a very real and tangible way, and that I had been given the Reader's Digest version mixed with a fairy tale. Some truth, some fiction, and a whole lot left out.

I have experienced the soul-crushing, suffocating feeling of finding out that the man you love has been looking elsewhere for sexual satisfaction. I have curled up on multiple floors, weeping uncontrollably, fully believing that his indiscretions were my fault, and, the first time that he confessed, fully believing that I could forgive him, and if I loved him through it, he would have no choice but to never be unfaithful again. And then finding out later that he was once again, unfaithful. Multiple times. 

I have experienced well-meaning friends and family telling me, multiple times and in multiple ways, to just, "leave. Get out. Walk away. It isn't healthy for you." 

I have experienced the expectation of the Church to stay and the maddening confusion of Christians telling me to leave while being unable to shake away the feeling that I was still supposed to be a, "good, faithful wife," leading my, all of a sudden, unbelieving husband to salvation.

Friends, in this process, there is ZERO room to delight in the downfall of one who had once professed a saving knowledge of Christ. There is more to the story than the abuser. There is more to the story than the adulterer. 

Someone's life is being ripped apart and you delight in that? Someone's family is being ripped apart and you rejoice in that? 

No.

Let me repeat that.

No.

Today, Josh Duggar was once again called out - his actions done in the dark were brought to light in regards to his name being on the the Ashley Madison leak list. He, supposedly (for while the credit card statement certainly looks like it's him, he hasn't made any statements as of yet and there were some reported fake accounts on that list; and I don't like to jump the gun), used the site for all that it was worth, as a way to meet women open to committing adultery with him. And people around America are delighting in his demise. 

Christians are delighting in his demise.

Can I repeat something I said before?

No.

Stop it.

He has a wife. He has children. He has a family. And while you might think he is the sleaziest of sleazeballs, there is NO reason to delight in this evil. 

Yes, all things done in the dark will come to light - but there is zero reason for us to delight in that.

It is a cause for mourning; a cry of our souls for Christ to come quickly. But this deed will cause extreme pain for those who love him, who believed him, and who live with him. And that breaks. my. heart.

I. Don't. Care if you don't like him. I don't. But not liking someone was never a cause for not loving someone. "Love does not delight in evil but rejoices in the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."

How are you protecting the victims of his indiscretions? Are any of you hoping that he truly repents and seeks justice for his wrongs? Or are you hoping that more comes out so you can hate on him further? 

Are you delighting in evil?

If so, check yourself. Were it not for the grace of God, that could be you, your family being ripped apart - and don't you for one second think that it's because of your own willpower that it's not because we are ALL the worst kind of sinners. 

As for grace? Grace, in this case, can take the form of hoping and praying that he seeks help for both himself AND his family. Grace takes the form of praying for him and his family during this time. Grace takes the form of not delighting in evil, in hoping that the Holy Spirit works through him and his family and uses them for the glory of God. 

You don't have to like him. But you don't need to spread slander. You don't need to jump the gun. And you don't need to delight in evil.

Victim No More

Sometimes a fresh start is necessary.

This little online journal of mine has gone through some significant changes over the past 24 hours. To be honest, there are a few journals that, as of today, are now ashes. To those of you who wonder who in the world would ever set a journal on fire, considering the things those journals contained, it's a wonder they weren't set on fire before today.

Stories are meant to be remembered. Life, for me, is not filled with regret, with wishing things had turned out differently. My life, for all intents and purposes, is one that is marked with perfectionism, with pain, with great sorrow and great joy. In the setting free of the words that had been trapped on the pages of those journals, I chose, not to forget, but to let go. 

I won't ever forget. I don't need journals to remind me of the laughter that was once so prevalent I ended up sore, with wet cheeks of the tears that were filled with pure joy. I don't need journals to remind me of the love that was tangible, of the desires hidden beneath a paper-thin surface, ready to break through at any moment. I don't need words to remember the joy of expectation, the broken hearts, the pain of hope deferred. 

And I will remember. But I do not wish to remember from the viewpoint of being in the trenches, not knowing what the future was to hold. In that narrow view was a girl, terrified of the world and what it had to offer. In those stories was the raw pain that has since mellowed.

And while some find it interesting to go back and feel that pain all over again, I am not one of them. I feel pain now. I feel the pain of those who have been outed as victims of assault without their consent. I feel the pain of an unjust society perpetuating violence by fighting with violent words. I feel the pain of people who aren't allowed to speak up for themselves, who are told they are stupid, unworthy; those who cannot speak for they have been told that their voice doesn't matter. I feel the pain of people who know they are being abused but don't know what to do about it. I feel the pain of those who believe they are completely in love with wonderful people only to find out that the person they love is not the person they thought. 

I will never not feel the pain. I pray I will never stop empathizing, that I will always feel. For it is in the feeling that I can understand. It is in remembering the pain that I can know the joy that comes on the other side. It is what allows me to see, to speak, but to choose my words carefully.

It is what allows me to stop and listen. To hear the stories of those who have been severely hurt and simply say, "I am sorry for your pain. What can be done?"

And so, I start over. I look back at the years gone past with new eyes, a fresh perspective, and the generous space of a few years - something my timehop reminds me of on a regular basis. I have the support and love of a man who does not judge me on my past but sees it as something that God used to grow me into the woman he now knows. I do this knowing that my story is similar to others, that I am not alone, that maybe someone may be given the same courage that was given me from one of my friends who went through a similar experience around the same time that I did.

I speak. I open my mouth. There are very few people on this earth that know all the details. My therapists, my pastors, the friends who walked with me through every moment. Even through speaking, though, I will omit some details. I will speak as one who WAS a victim.

But is a victim no more.

but for the grace of God.

This isn't a story I tell often.

I am more than up-front about the fact that I struggled with an eating disorder for seven years - seven years of my life plagued with the thoughts that I was never going to be good enough and that I was too much. Conflicting, manic thoughts consumed my daily life, telling me I should stop eating entirely or that I should eat everything in sight. The more I walked through recovery for being in a relationship with someone who was an addict, the more I faced my own inadequacies of my youth; walking with me was a wonderful woman to whom I am eternally grateful for allowing me to recognize that I dealt with control issues, and at the heart of that, I could not trust.

I sought help for one problem and ended up working through an entire host of other issues.

But this story - this story is deeply personal. It still seeks to remain anonymous. It still whispers in my head that I was alone in fighting it and I am alone now. The difference now is that I know how to fight it. And I fought it. Miraculously without drugs or pills, but I can't say that there have been multiple times it's been suggested. I refused because of my own stubbornness, my own oxymoronic behavior to refuse to put anything unnatural in my body and yet indulge on processed foods that make me feel worse about myself rather than the nourishing sustenance that is growing in my garden that I know will fill me up and keep me moving.

This story is one that could have had a completely different outcome had it not been for a few key people in my life.

But for the grace of God go I. 

And I have been writing this post for a grand total of two months now. Somehow, with everything that's been written about depression and suicide in light of Robin Williams' death, I have the courage to say two small words, "Me, too."

Part of the reason it's taken two months to write this story is because I know there are those out there that refuse to believe that depression is clinical as well as spiritual. What they do not realize is that by saying that depression is simply spiritual, they have boxed in a disease that cannot be fully comprehended by those who have not felt its slimy, blackened hands close around their hearts and minds. There are so many different forms of depression. Everyone reacts differently to it; everyone has a different form.
For some, it's debilitating. Getting out of bed is not an option. The decision to have apple juice or orange juice for breakfast is impossible. The ability to think rationally is gone. Every day looks the same - hopeless.
For some, simply functioning is enough. Go to work. Eat lunch. Go home. Go to bed. Rinse. repeat. There is no room for happiness or sadness or guilt or joy. It is simply a state of numb functioning. It's not hopeless - it's just nothing.
For some, masks can be put on easily. Smiles. Laughter. Jokes. All those things around people whom you know expect you to be a certain person. And you can be that person for hours at a time, but when you go home, you don't know how to function. So you sleep. You forget to eat. You eat everything.
And there are countless other forms.

For myself, depression looked like anxiety. I was anxious about everything. And the worst comments were when well-meaning people would tell me, "you know in the Bible it says..." Yes. I know. Be anxious about nothing. Worry about nothing. God has everything under control.

Then why is He not doing anything about this? Why won't He take the weight off my chest? Why won't He fix this?

Rewind:

My depression, in its form of anxiety, made me do crazy things. I wouldn't eat. I wouldn't sleep. I'd take 21 credits of 300-400 level classes in one semester. I was able to smile, joke, work a job, and make it to classes. And that was when I was doing well.

But for the grace of God.

Rewind farther:

I dropped out of college after making it through my first semester with a 3.7 GPA. When I left, it was halfway through second semester, a week after I had made it back to the States from an international choir tour. My friends were mad at me because I was only focusing on myself; I was feeling incredibly guilty for doing so, yet not able to care about anything other than the fact that I wanted to die. My GPA had dropped to a 2.6. I was failing 5 out of my 7 classes, simply because I couldn't comprehend anything other than philosophy, apparently.

I went to a school counselor, sat in the chair, and said these words:

"I've been dealing with an eating disorder for seven years. Right now, I'm so depressed I can't get out of bed to go to class. I haven't eaten in a week. I don't want to live."

Their response was to suggest I be placed in my own dorm room to be able to focus and pray more.

I wrote a message to my family that day, explaining what had been going on since I was 8 years old. My dad and my mom decided it would be best if I wasn't in school anymore. I moved faster that day than I had in months, withdrawing from all of my classes, saying goodbye to all my friends. My roommate gathered as many trash bags as she could and shoved everything I had at college in them so that I could move out right away. My brother and dad showed up within 5 hours, held me close, told me they loved me, and brought me home.

I usually relate that moment to my eating disorder because that was the day I decided I couldn't fight the eating disorder anymore. March 31, 2008 is my official date of "no more eating disorders." It's my re-birth day.

But for the grace of God.

But that moment holds so much more. After being numb for 11 years, I saw it. Hope. I heard the voices of those who loved me. And the words they didn't say? I heard those too. I heard, for the first time, the void where most people said, "I understand" or "Have you prayed about it?"

And that void was filled with compassion and hope and love.

Rewind even farther.

I was in 7th grade when I decided I couldn't stand the weight that I was on my family. They had never told me such, but I firmly believed that I was too much for them to handle. My problems were too big, my love was too small. I couldn't stand pretending to be happy around them anymore. I just wanted someone to tell me that it was ok. That I was ok simply being not ok. But I felt guilty because my family didn't have a lot of money and even I knew that if I told them how I was feeling, they would send me to a counselor and that would cost money and I would be an even bigger problem. But I wanted peace. I wanted to stop feeling tormented, depressed, teased, and unable to explain how I was actually feeling because, at the time, I was feeling all of those things but couldn't even pretend to be able to put words to them. So I shut up and decided that death was the answer.

It wasn't A choice. It was THE choice. The only choice that my muddled, depressed brain could see was death. I won't tell you how I was planning on dying, simply because I know those things are triggers. But I had it planned out.

But for the grace of God.

There was one person who just happened to step in that day - who noticed my trend of being by myself, no longer laughing, smiling, but simply looking numb. She sent me to the school counselor. The fact that I refused to talk to the counselor is another story. And she wrote me a note that told me that my life was beautiful. She saw something in me that I couldn't see. And that was enough to make me realize that I could change my mind. That life was an option. I firmly believe that the Holy Spirit was working in her that day. And that was enough for me to know that even if I couldn't care about myself, someone cared about me. She was the first person in my life to help me feel something other than guilt. She didn't judge. She just loved. She didn't tell me to pray harder or have more faith. She simply said that she loved me.
_________________________________________________________________________________

Two years ago, almost to the day, I was feeling the dark cloud consuming me once again. For the first time, I decided to reach out to someone who was professionally equipped to deal with my depression and to a group who understood the backstory. I consistently say that had I not reached out, I would not be here today.

But for the grace of God.

Today, I know love, light, laughter. I know joy, beauty, and satisfaction. I know a life without anxiety attacks, perfectionism, and the compulsive necessity to control life. I have the tools I need to be able to deal with the dark clouds, because, no matter how hard I try, they will not go away. And I've come to peace with the fact that they probably won't go away. They simply don't consume my entire sky anymore. I have people in my life that will listen to me. I have the courage to stand up and say something when things get hard.

But for the grace of God.

Not every story is like mine. And I am unable to say what will happen if I am dealing with debilitating depression at the age of 40, or 50, or 60. I don't know how my story will end. I just know that right now is all I have. And there is joy in the rain today. There is joy in the sunshine today. There is hope that this, too, shall pass. There is the peace that there are those who have struggled with life as much as I have and are willing to both stand with me in the sunshine and sit with me in mud puddles in torrential downpours.

The one thing depression does is make you believe that you are utterly and completely alone. As beings created for relationship, created with the longings to be known deeply, being alone is the worst feeling. The one thing we simply need to say is, "Me too."

I have not walked your path. I claim not to walk anyone's but my own. I simply implore you, if you are dealing with the slimy grasp of depression, that you find the courage to say something. And I understand if you can't. And I can't promise that things will get better if you do. Things will get different at first. But I will sit with you in the mud until the skies clear and love you no matter what. And I know that there are others in your life who will feel the same way.

To those who have dealt with a family member or a friend who has ended their lives tragically because of depression and suicide, my heart breaks for you. It was not your fault. There, most likely, was no way you could have known. I mourn with you.

To those who are dealing with depression and suicidal thoughts, you are loved, you are not a burden, your life is not worthless. And I know those words seem empty right now, but they are true. I hold you tightly in my heart.

To those who have never dealt with depression, I ask you to be gracious in your words. Depression is not simply something that one can "get over." Yes, God works miracles and prayers do get answered, but more often than not, when one is dealing with depression, God seems far away.  Simply love. Please make sure that your words do not place blame or guilt on a person who is already struggling or on a family who has lost a loved one.

And remember, you too live in that same grace of God.

Need help? In the U.S., call 1-800-273-8255

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Free

Sometimes memories are worth remembering.
Sometimes they just hurt.
I put on a strong face,
stretching these wings that had been cramped up,
sunken deep into the blades of my shoulders.
It took a bit of surgery to set them free from
the tissue that had covered them.
The surgery wasn't pleasant -
no anesthesia, no gentle hands
just ripping, tearing flesh,
Cracking bones, searing pain
leaving me bleeding, crying,
and for the first time in years -
free.
I had tricked myself into believing freedom was found on the ground.
But baby, I'm a bird.
You can chain me, restrain me
and I may lose my wings,
but I'll continue to sing.
You may shame me and blame me
I'll take all of your hits
But until my heart stops pounding
A song will be on my lips.
I'll continue to believe that my home is in the sky
And baby, I'm gonna fly.
So while I may mourn for the life
that I thought that you and I
would have until we died,
I'll take this chance
I'll learn to dance
To find beauty, love, truth and light
To live my life.
To fly.

An Open Letter: Re: 5 Things Men Need to Learn about Women

Dear James Michael Sarna:

I was recentely directed to your blog post through a share on my Facebook feed. I'm always thoroughly intrigued when the word "need" comes up in a sentence along with the words "Men," "learn," and "women," because it's generally interesting to see someone take a stance on what women are like. While I appreciated the comments that not all women need the five things that you mentioned, it did seem a bit sexist to me and a little under-educated.

You see, I have a problem when people continue the stereotype that "men think, women feel," and that is littered throughout the post in multiple places. I have a problem with this because as it is propogated, women feel more insecure about feeling as thinking is venerated by men as the highest level of evolution. Women, in that view, just seem to be one step away from attaining the highest evolutionary scale: being able to disengage from our feelings and to allow our heads to do some work. It also makes it difficult for men to feel as, in today's culture, it's still seen as a "bad" thing for a man to "get in touch with his feminine side." I've heard more than one joke about that in the past week.

"Oh, someone's getting soft on us, eh?" *man 1 punches man 2's arm jokingly* "Just let me know if you need me to pick up some tampons..."
(Man to woman who's had a bad day) "Oh, I'm sure you're just PMSing, right?"
(one man to another) "So when are those ovaries gonna drop and become testicles?"

So, unfortunately, when we propogate, "Man think. Woman feel." in today's world, it's a dig. I would love to be in a world where men and women can think and feel simultaneously - maybe even think about their feelings, accept them for what they are (for feelings just are. They are not right or wrong.), analyze where they come from, and move forward. Maybe, in the process, we could hear another person's feelings, say, "I accept you and the feelings you are carrying," and leave it at that. Yes, I feel a great deal. But I also think a great deal. I'm able to work in code, figure out logical next steps and analyze, organize and implement new processes for a large corporation. I can do both things.So can many other powerful, wonderful women.

As you said in your post, men can over-complicate women. It is just as easy to over-simplify women, and that's where I think I'm feeling the most dishonered as a woman. By tacking on generalizations to this lioness, I feel attacked, cornered, and like I shouldn't be able to do any of the things that I do.

Following your post:
1. "It doesn't matter what you say, it matters how she feels."
I'd like to challenge this point early on. While, yes, it matters how she feels, it also matters what you say. And to the women, it matters how you feel about yourself. I learned this lesson far too late in my marriage: It, in the end, did not matter if my husband thought me sexy, told me I was hot, or acted as if he could not get enough of me. If I did not feel those things about myself, none of that mattered.
Women (and men who are reading this), self-esteem does not come from outside sources; it comes from esteemable acts. It comes from yourself. While you may have days where you don't feel pretty, acceptable, or loved, it is especially in those days where you should take time for yourself to pamper yourself in some way, to make sure that YOU know that YOU love YOU. Take extra-good care of yourself. And in the process, do something nice for someone else. It truly does help. I promise. 
I grew up in a Christian environment where self-esteem was deemed selfish. "Your worth should lie in knowing that you are loved by God and that should be good enough." For most of us, that doesn't help. God doesn't come down and give us hugs and tell us we're pretty and let us know that a guy, some day, will love us. Yes, I know I'm a daughter of God and that I have value and worth. And sometimes, I'm insecure. And those days, I need to keep on knowing that I have value and worth; HOWEVER, I must live in such a way to proclaim my value and worth through my actions for it to sink in.
So men, while you may tell us we're pretty, beautiful, worthy, etc., it is ultimately not up to you to feed our self esteem. Let me say from experience, it's like approaching a hungry man on the side of a street with a cinnabon: it may taste good at the time, but sooner or later, if we don't do anything else to feed ourselves, we will end up continually hungry. Love us in spite of our flaws, through our insecurities, and know that our feelings are as much of your responsibility as yours are of ours: and that is to say, none.
(In that same breath, can I cut out the phrase, "Oh, don't feel that way" from our vocabularies? It's degrading. Let people feel, for goodness' sakes.)

2. "[Men] work on logic; [women] work on emotion."
Now while it is true that men tend to work on logic more than emotion and women tend to do the opposite, I tend to disagree with the way that's phrased. If you are to write a blog post on five things that we need to know about  puppies, then I would expect that 90% of the readers will read the main points and skip the rest of the stuff underneath. So please re-word this. It sounds like all men are Spock and all women are raging balls of emotions. Some women work more on logic than emotion. Some men work more on emotion than logic.
We're all people. We all have different emotion:logic quotients. And it's WONDERFUL.
Note to the men: if you would like to find out which one your wife/significant other works more off of, I would suggest spending more time with her than reading blog posts about women in general. She's the only one you absolutely need to know about.
Note to the women: if you want your man to know how you feel, do not passive-aggressively send him blog posts to read. Just tell him. It makes life so much easier.

3. "Women don't compartmentalize."
I'm sorry, but excuse me?
I'm a 24-year-old working professional in the corporate world. I'm going through a fairly painful divorce. Had I not been able to compartmentalize, my life would be in complete shambles right now. Speak to other women who have gone through trauma and how they were able to be fairly successful in other areas of their lives and know that I'm not alone in this. Yes. Women can multi-task. I fully believe that if men stopped telling themselves that they can't, they'd be able to, too. (Like I was able to teach myself how to drive a stick shift after no longer telling myself that I couldn't.)
Do we sometimes want to vent after work? Yes. But I have seen, on more than one occasion, a man in my life having a bad day and also needing to vent before being able to settle down. I've also seen marriages where men, on bad days, don't even talk to their wives, they just shut themselves up in their "man cave" and play video games until they feel better. I wouldn't call that compartmentalizing. I'd call that turning off emotions instead of dealing with them (thus again propogating that men think, women feel). If you don't deal with negative emotions, you're more likely to explode them on the people closest to you (which happens to both men and women, thank you). In some cases, this leads to emotional abuse; in other cases, it leads to mental/physical/substance abuse.
Again. We're all human. We all have the capabilities to compartmentalize and to deal with our emotions properly. We just need to give ourselves the grace to do so.

4. "What women want isn't that complicated."
I agree. Again, here I would argue that the only woman you really need to understand is your significant other; not women in general. Men: You want to know what she wants? Ask her. Women: do you want your significant other to know what you want? Tell him. 

5. "She is more afraid of rejection than you."
Can we accept that both sexes are equally afraid of rejection as it is one of the basic human needs to be accepted?

I apologize if this seems harsh to you. I ask you, in all graciousness, to consider what I've said and to know that I value your worth as a human being. I hope this opens up dialogue in which we can continue to break down walls of sexism and gender generalizations to pave a way for our children to grow up knowing that both thinking and feeling are wonderful human qualities and provide strength and insight into what being a human being truly means.

Very sincerely,
-Lisa

Edit: Original blog post here.