Love Never Gives Up

"Love Wins" has been the theme of my church community for the past year or so. It reminds me that love never fails, the oft-quoted verse in I Cor. 13. That mantra means several things to me presently...

1) Most importantly it means that God, who is Love, never gives up on me. That might sound cliche, but it is so not cliche when you are doubting if God has any idea what He's doing with your life or the world, as I have often questioned lately. My health has dipped for longer than normal and even when I have been on the edge of totally isolating myself because of it, I have this really clear sense that God won't let me fall.

2) Love Wins also means that love triumphs over the strife and oppression in the world. Oppressors need to be loved, too. Victims need love. And I need to love them all, especially when I feel like I can't end slavery, or fix my foster brother, or stop discrimination, etc., by mere force of will. Love is where it all begins, out of deep compassion for the souls who suffer, and aligning myself with the high and the lowly, to love in an unconditional and profound way that I am only capable of doing with the full capacity of Christ's love.

3) And finally it means that in all my human relationships, love will never fail. That means that love hasn't failed in the relationships I have cut off or have been cut off from. And it doesn't and won't fail through all the changes and difficulties and nuances of my current and future relationships.

LOVE WINS

Head + Heart

The unfortunate nature of the human race is that we are terribly adverse at communication. I'd say most of the time I'm struggling to be heard--partly because I feel ignored or partly because I just can't express what I mean and feel. Thinking simultaneously with your heart and your head, and then trying to present all that in an honest and honoring way, is really tricky.


God is a God of order and of peace, not of confusion. So when I get so horribly confused and frustrated about the disorder of human communication, I have to remember that it's truly not God's plan. My default actions run in this order: fix, fight, flight. If I can't make everything better, I'll really fight to be heard. And if none of that works, I bail. I retreat physically or emotionally. While all of these responses are sometimes necessary and appropriate, it's not the pattern I want to follow every time I have something to express.

Peace, affirmation, and confidence should be the cornerstone of my approach to communication. If all that crumbles, then so be it, but at least I'm starting out with good intentions. Building each other up, creating spaces where it's safe to be who we are, and really listening to one another are so important.

As I strive to be more in touch with my own heart, I see my communication patterns becoming more complex in all areas of my life. A meeting with my dissertation adviser, a phone call from my parents, a comment from a pastor, a conflict with my partner... all somehow elicit really huge and emotional responses from me. So much so that I don't know what to do with it.

It would be easier if I just sought to live up to the stereotype that women are too emotional to deal with things and to irrational to be rational. But that's not me... I'm horribly rational and horribly emotional. So I can analyze (or over-analyze) every situation and then let my heart overflow about it. It's just trying to integrate my head and my heart in a way that doesn't completely overwhelm me that seems impossible. I'll get there, I just don't know when.

Not for Sale

Sunday I attended a presentation entitled The Concert to End Slavery, an awareness raising event by the Not For Sale Campaign. This is the first time in a long time that I have felt like I had a concrete opportunity to be effectively involved in the fight against modern slavery.

If you are thinking to yourself, "I thought slavery ended after the American Civil War," you're not alone. As a historian and teacher, I even believed slavery to be extinct. I knew workers were exploited and assumed some women were forced into prostitution, but never entertained the thought that slavery might be an actual evil still confronting the world today.

About four years ago, a high school student in my church told me about an article she read about the millions of slaves still captive. I took in the information, reasoned it away (she must have misunderstood, the article must be talking in metaphors, etc.), and moved on with my life. Then slowly I became confronted with the realities of sex slavery, human trafficking, child soldiers, forced labor, and other forms of human captivity. And here's the worst part: it's going on in the U.S. In mass quantities. In massage parlors and private homes and karaoke bars and all sorts of places. I could probably point to five places on my street.

I got more information. And I got more overwhelmed.

Any guesses how many people are slaves today? 27 million. That's 3.5 million MORE people than live in the state of Texas. It's mind-boggling. Nearly 80 percent of these slaves are women and children. What do we do with those kinds of statistics?

We use our skills. We funnel our despair into action. We pray for opportunities. It's been four years for me, trying to make sense of it, trying to find a way to help. It all converged on Sunday night. I met two students who want to help and a couple already doing work to identify trafficking rings and sites. I'm in a small group that just spent the whole summer discussing topics of social justice and the Bible's call to action and compassion. I work in an activist-oriented academic office at a major university and serve as an officer for a student organization that could become anything we want it to be. I'm good at research, organizing and motivating people, and disseminating information. I'm well-versed in my responsibilities as a Christian to be a part of the liberating work of Christ (with divine help), in feminist theory, in historical activism, and in the importance of boundaries when you're involved in social justice.

I'm telling you all this because I want you to ask me in 2 months how it's all going. In 6 months, in a year, in 5 years. By then I could be on my way to a country where trafficking is a major industry or I could be teaching students how to get involved in global abolitionism. Or I could have forgotten about this moment, when it all seemed so important and so necessary and so doable.

I always thought that if I knew about slavery in the early U.S. or knew about the Holocaust, I would oppose it and do what I could to end it. So here I am, fearfully aware of genocide and slavery, and I'm ready to be an abolitionist. I'm going to start small, I'm going to pace myself. But I'm ready.

And God does not call the equipped... God equips those He calls.



"The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me,
because the LORD has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives..."
(Isaiah 61:1)

Spectating

Thanks to the always-free Miller Outdoor Theater, college night at Robertson Stadium, and season tickets at the Wortham Theater, I saw the Dominic Walsh company, the Dynamo, and the Houston Ballet this weekend for the low, low price of $22.50. One of the many reasons I love Houston: it has so much to offer and if pursued creatively, it's totally affordable to do cool things.



I love modern dance for a lot of reasons, primarily because it's out of the box. Half the time I'm scratching my head trying to figure out what it's trying to say, but it's always intriguing. Dance should say something. It should be happy and sad and political and emotional.

Speaking of political and emotional, this was my first time at a live MLS game, and it was a blast. Soccer is a lot more suspenseful than most sports, in my opinion. And although my boyfriend spent half the time explaining the game to me (I didn't actually realize they switched goals after the break), I think I mostly understand it. Just like people often don't see the athleticism in dance, they often fail to see the artistry in sports. Most of the fans may have cared about the score, but I kept noticing the "choreography" of the footwork and collisions and jumps.

And you just have to love classical ballet. If you don't love it, I'm sorry. It's so beautiful and refined and makes you want to be a dancer when you grow up, no matter how old you are. At least go see the Nutcracker this Christmas, people.

Baby Fever

I want a baby.

Why?

I want attention.

Let me back up...

This seems to be the year of all my friends having babies or getting pregnant, or even thinking about second kids. It's so much fun to be with them in the process and help them welcome new life into the world. I think kids are awesome but am personally years away from being ready for my own. I know I want to adopt, and I would like to experience pregnancy and childbirth.

But what I'm getting at is this: There are two events in a woman's life that garner the most attention--engagement and childbirth. Sure, people get excited when you graduate college but you don't have squealing women gathering around to look at your diploma like they would an engagement ring.

These two events should well gather celebration, and large amounts of it. But let's be honest, it makes the rest of us feel like we have nothing going on in our lives. When I'm in a group of pregnant and/or engaged women, my dissertation research just doesn't seem that exciting.

I think we should celebrate everything about our lives. I have a friend who throws a party once per year to celebrate being single and on her own. Beautiful. And why not commemorate the days that we barely make it through, rejoice in the ordinary, exult in the unnecessary? We should help all our sisters delight in the place in life in which they are, sans engagement ring or minus baby, or whatever.

So next time you see me, please congratulate me for all the extraordinary yet societally insignificant things in my life. That would be nice.

A Benediction

Such a clever marriage of extremes,
God becoming one with us.
Remember your Beloved,
Remember who bought you,
Who made you,
Who loves you.
Come awake and be inspired,
Cling to the hope that is
Christ alive in you.
Crawl under His shadow
And Rest
And Weep
And Be.
The Liberating King is your Lover,
Safe,
Worth, and
Free.
So be free.
God's covenant is your redemption.
Let your broken heart
Drive you to hope,
And to join His liberating work.
The King is enthralled by your beauty,
Honor Him,
For He is your Lord.

How to Make a Home 101

I read this article a few days ago about Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary:

One of the nation's largest Southern Baptist seminaries, the school is introducing a new, women-only academic program in homemaking _ a 23-hour concentration that counts toward a bachelor of arts degree in humanities. The program is aimed at helping establish what Southwestern's president calls biblical family and gender roles.

I just perused the seminary's course listings focusing on women and they include, among others, "Engaging Women in Ministry," "Wife of the Equipping Minister," and "Intro to Women's Studies." The Women's Programs description states that it desires to equip women for woman-to-woman teaching and to enhance their gifts "within the boundaries of biblical priorities."

I know some good people at Southwestern, and truth be told I know relatively nothing about the seminary apart from its conservative reputation. So I'm just going to comment on the surface data I've presented here.



Part of me thinks... you want to take a homemaking course? Sure, go ahead. Maybe if I'd had some meal preparation classes I wouldn't be so bumbling in the kitchen. Learning to sew sounds fun. And I liked child psych in college so I could use a couple more hours on it. Women have long asserted their own agency in the domestic sphere so empowering them to do it better wouldn't be all bad.

And part of me is just annoyed. Things like this are precisely why I refused to learn to cook. This is why, historically, women were encouraged to go to college (see Mona Lisa Smile), to learn to be good wives and mothers. It almost seems insulting.

Women who attend this seminary know what they are getting into; it's not like Southwestern hides its philosophy on gender roles. I'm a feminist, right? I believe in choice, right? So if a woman wants to go to SBTS to "find genuine freedom and real empowerment", I should be ok with that, right?

The core of my complaint really comes from one place: Telling women who to be. If a woman chooses to take a homemaking course because she believes it is good and wants to be there and be the kind of person they seek to turn out, then great. And i really mean that. But what about the woman who is discovering, while at a conservative seminary, that she has gifts of public ministry (and not just to women)? And she's being told to learn... clothing construction?

(And as a side note: Why not offer this course to men, or make it coed?)

I fully believe that Christ, not our gender, defines us. Gender is a gigantic part of identity but it doesn't make us who we are. Identity is a process and our individual giftings and callings make it that much more complex. We should let God define who we are, that's what I'm saying...

Prodigality

Tonight I unexpectedly saw my foster brother, of all places, at my church. I've been at my church every Sunday night for the past four years and have never seen him there. But there he was, sitting in the coffee shop with his new girlfriend and a member of yet another music venture. He said he would stick around until the end of the service but he left. I can say with certainty that this was not on my emotional agenda for the day.

He came into my family's life 12 years ago and lived with us for over half that time. It's enough to become very attached, and very disappointed when his life didn't go in many positive directions. It's been quite an intense experience, him being a part of my family's life. I have a lot of good memories, but I finally had to get to a place where I let him go.

And that plan works most of the time, because he never calls or answers my messages. He lives 5 minutes from me but never suggests we meet. The last time I saw him was my sister's wedding--which he almost missed--four months ago.

But every so often, maybe twice a year, he gets lonely or needs something and reaches out. He has a talent for making me feel like it's my fault we never communicate. I'm not sure how much I have to offer or gain from the relationship; I just know that I love him as much as I can. God gives us the capability to love in ways we usually don't understand.

It could be complete coincidence that I saw him tonight, but I really don't feel like it is. What it is, I'm not sure. It pains me to see such little life in his eyes, to read between his words and see his loneliness and unhappiness. But I don't know how to help him, and that almost hurts worse.

Sex Trafficking

This summer my small group is discussing social justice themes in the Bible. Each week we take a different, current issue and talk about verses that inspire compassion and action in response to them.

This week I talked about sex trafficking, a heartbreaking "industry" found in all parts of the world. I was heartened, however, when I came across these resources and organizations seeking to bring end to this slavery. The last is a local organization.

www.notforsalecampaign.org
www.jfci.org
www.ijm.org
http://www.humantrafficking.org/organizations/337

Pray for the victims, captors, and abusers, and pray for the systems that allow this atrocity to break down.

Living Organically

I am in the process of converting much of what I use and eat to organic products. It is primarily a health decision (and at the strong encouragement of my doctors), but has become a more (w)holistic way of approaching life for me.

It makes me question everything... Where do my clothes come from, my carpet, my purses, my milk, crackers, sugar? We live in a world that allows us to be so disconnected from all the things we use and ingest. I can tell you for certain, for example, that were I forced to kill my own food, I would be a vegetarian. But I want to really think about what all this is, why I have it, and what needs to change.

Everything seems to be at odds. I buy clothes from the Gap made by maquiladoras and/or children in sweatshops, yet I champion children's and workers' rights and protection. I eat food in excess but click on the Hunger Site everyday. I put on a ridiculous amount of skincare products and makeup but have no idea where it comes from, what's in it, and worse yet I say I don't want to be defined by rigid gendered expectations.

Part of me wants to just start over... buy a plot of land in Amish country, build a simple green house made of cork and recycled bottles, and farm my own food. But I also don't want to be disconnected from the world at large. Globalization has had many harmful effects, but it helps us better connect to our suffering brothers and sisters. Genetically modified food might be inferior for me, but may provide food to someone who has none.

I don't know what the answers are, but taking small steps is pushing me in the right direction (I hope).

Patriotism ala Switchfoot

Entropy and Aching
Where have we been aiming?
Everything is fading out, fading out
We are the faded, splitted, and sedated
Everything is fading out, fading out

A pledge allegiance to a country without borders, without politicians
Watching for my sky to get torn apart
We are broken, we are bitter
We're the problem, we're the politicians
Watching for our sky to get torn apart
C'mon and break me
C'mon and break me

Switchfoot, "Politicians"




Like a puppet on a monetary string
Maybe we've been caught singing
Red, white, blue, and green
But that ain't my America,
That ain't my American dream

I want out of this machine
It doesn't feel like freedom

This ain't my American dream
I want to live and die for bigger things
I'm tired of fighting for just me
This ain't my American dream

Switchfoot, "American Dream"

Chronic

Drips
On the imprints
Of my unspoken words-
Daring to reclaim
The underneath parts
As I look to You
For hope and
For action.
Waiting for You
To come save me,
Renew my mortal mess
And move beyond.
And yet You move
In such subtle ways
That I cannot see You,
Wrestling with myself
In all the unseen parts.
Where You're moving,
And I'm not,
And that's the way
You want it...

The Fountain

I usually see cool indie movies several months after the buzz has died down. It's the same with clothing trends... By the time I can actually accept the trendiness and convince myself to buy something, it's already out of style.

But I loved this movie, because it was bizarre and complicated and beautiful and confusing, much like my life. (And, as a side note, instead of CGI, most of the backgrounds were composited images taken of chemical reactions in petri dishes. I never would have guessed it wasn't computer work.) It's a beautiful and tragic love story between a husband who is a doctor making progress on a cure for cancer, and a wife who is dying of cancer.

There is one scene in particular that I can't get over. She is in the bathtub (this is very tastefully done) and he is outside the tub bathing her. She confesses that her pain has gotten worse, and his first reaction is to call the doctor. She stops him, attempting to explain how she feels inside as well, to explain the changes that he can't see. He fails to understand. She kisses him, and eventually pulls him into the tub, fully clothed. He wants to fix the problem, she wants him to struggle with her, to come to where she is.

It's one of the great mysteries of life, how to struggle with those around us. The question extends from people suffering in places I haven't even heard of all the way to those closest to us. And I believe I will wrestle with this for a very long time.

Home Again, Home Again

I am home from my 2,000 mile driving tour of the Urban South, with a mountain of research, an allergic reaction to moldy documents, and quite a bit of exhaustion.

Friday my boyfriend met me in Atlanta and we toured the World of Coca Cola... or, as we like to call it, the shrine of American economic global imperialism. It was kind of like Disneyland, only all about Coke. Then we drove to Memphis, and let it be known that Atlanta traffic is worse than Houston (not sure how that is possible, particularly since Atlanta is a quarter of the size).

We spent the weekends visiting with friends who may as well be family, that I hadn't really seen in 2 years. We went to the zoo, Beale Street, and the Civil Rights Museum, like any good tourists.


I remembered at the beginning of my trip that one of my research subjects has papers in Little Rock, so we stopped there on the way home. There was a gold mine of correspondence, in particular.

My brain is still swimming from everything I encountered and thought about on the road, particularly in regards to how I need to better connect the "ivory tower"-ness of my dissertation project with the actual reality of daily life. If race and gender issues are what I'm trying to uncover in my research, I need to do me more intentional about being a part of the process of unification and equality. More on this later, I'm sure.

How to Make a Good First Impression

I should have learned by now that eating while driving is not a good idea. Especially when on the way to an appointment at one of the most elite medical schools in the country. I spilled oil and vinegar all over my skirt and tomato all over my shirt, which I didn't realized until I got out of my car in the parking garage. My suitcase full of clothes was of course back where I'm staying, and I didn't have too many options. My plan was to find a bathroom and try to scrub it off, then wait until my clothes dried to go in.

But when you exit the parking garage you have to sign in as a visitor, and they call someone to let them know you are there, and that person has to let you in especially. I kept my hands and arms awkwardly crossed until I had to shake hands. In most archives, you go to one room and sit there with the documents. But of course, here the archivist was really nice and walked me around to introduce me to people and get the documents I needed. So from now on I'll be that researcher with the stains on her clothes. Excellent.

After spending a few hours at Morehouse, I slipped into Ebeneezer Baptist Church just before it closed. Three generations of Kings, including Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., preached there. I got choked up sitting in the pews, looking at the stage, imagining the grassroots change that developed from those people. Sure Dr. King's sermons were motivating, but he had to be motivated by his congregants, the people who kept coming and kept hoping.

And it makes me sad that the Church is not known for being the genesis of social justice. We recreate patterns of oppression in our local congregations and ignore the problems of our brothers and sisters worldwide. I am fortunate to be a part of a church that is active, but we could do so much more.

The Center for Non-violent Social Change next door feautures exhibits on King, Corretta Scott King, Ghandi, and Rosa Parks. I am increasingly impressed with Ms. King. I knew that she was the first woman to preach a statutory service at St. Paul's cathedral in London, but was unaware she filled in to speak in her husband's absence so often. And she spoke and led so much on her own.

"I have nothing new to teach the world. Truth and non-violence are as old as the hills." --Ghandi

One Archives' Trash is My Treasure

In case you are keeping score, in the last week I have been to six cities/towns, stayed with three different sets of people I didn't know beforehand (all of whom were quite lovely), and driven the amount of hours that equal one day. In less than 200 miles, my odometer will roll to the 100,000 mile mark. And in case you are wondering, I am very tired. And very happy. And a little homesick for the people I love and my own space.

Anyway, when I got to the AUC here in Atlanta today, the archivists informed me that I was quite lucky, as they were literally about to throw the files away when I set up the appointment a few weeks ago. I'm not sure how I feel about researching a topic that others feel is worthy of the garbage. The records were inconsecutive and indescriminate, and probably a mystery to those not familiar with the organization. But they were useful to me. Not as useful as I had hoped, but useful nonetheless. They are keeping the files specifically for my future use, and promised to hand them on to me if they ever near the garbage again.

I debriefed in Grant Park, feeling the need to walk and sit outside. After so many hours in a car and stuffy archives I am really craving the outdoors. And at the moment I am craving sleep.

Nashville

Ah, I love the smell of moldy documents in the morning. Seriously, my hat goes off to the brave men and women who work as archivists and inhale all that dust and mustiness day after day. Today involved more digging, lots of photocopying, some discoveries of bios, and of course laughing at the '70s haircuts in the yearbooks.

I finished early enough to go to the Hermitage, President Andrew Jackson's home. I sincerely missed my family as it reminded me of our many vacations to historic homes and battlefields throughout the continental United States. Not to mention my parents pulled over EVERY time they saw a historical marker. So what do I choose to do with free time in a new city? That's right, mom and dad, I blame you.

I'm always interested, though, after spending God knows how many years studying history, at how historic sites and museums portray their heroes. For example, while the site dealt fairly with the slave issue, I saw not a word mentioned about Jackson's Indian removal policy. But did you know he imported wallpaper from France and had 37 foster children?

I walked around downtown for a while... Nashville may well be one of the few places on earth that begins live music in multiple venues on one street at 10:00 AM. And I had to laugh when I drove down Music Row and saw just as many lawyer offices as I did recording labels.

Life is a Highway?

Well I thought my visit with Southern relatives was complete after a big breakfast (including biscuits and grits) and a knitting lesson. I will not, by the way, be joining the feminist knitting revolution any time soon. Even when I got the hang of it, it drove me mad.

But alas the battery died in my car. With the collaboration of my great uncle, a boat battery charger, and Carl's garage my car came back to life and put me on the road to Nashville just in time to sit on the freeway for an hour. Let me just say it is not a good thing when an 18 wheeler catches fire and burns up completely (I think the driver got out in time). Then I hit a rainstorm, etc., etc. Needless to say I lost some research time.

The archives at Meharry are a glorified closet but have good information. One thing I have realized, though, about choosing a topic in which the subjects experienced racism and sexism is that the sources reflect their experience. The information is there but it requires a great deal of digging. The woman helping me seemed as excited as I was to uncover some of the data on women.

I finished the day with a walk around Centennial Park and a few hours writing and relaxing at a local coffee shop. I'm staying with my roommate's brother's best friend's fiance's sister. Yeah, I'm confused too.

KinFolk

I am part of a generation and culture who is increasingly disconnected from extended family. I didn't grow up near my grandparents or any other family for that matter, so I didn't have the luxury of playing with cousins or aunts and uncles dropping by. I was also never good at keeping in touch with my "greats", apart from an annual Christmas letter and picture.

But they all love me to pieces. I have visited with four different great aunts this weekend. One is completely dedicated to taking care of my sweet great grandmother, who lives with her. Her main support system is a dedicated group of sitters and she enjoyed having me around. Two are sisters who took me to dinner, where they antagonized each other like teenagers, bugged me about getting married, and had me laughing with their stories. Back at her house, one of the sisters talked to me like I was her best girlfriend. The fourth great aunt lives with her husband and was tickled to death (I've been in the South just a few days and listen to me!) to take me to brunch and cook for me. She considers me a grandchild as she has no children of her own. I am leaving here with Christmas ornaments from her collection and any books I want from her shelf.

I struggle to make connections sometimes... To listen to their conceptions of race, to bridge the technology gap (one aunt was amazed when I showed her a picture slideshow, ordered her an out of print book, and found a local store where she could buy her favorite shoes by using what my uncle called my "miracle box"), and to explain the complexities of my own life while trying to understand theirs. But somehow I understand my own life better by being with them. I can't really explain it. I came from them for a reason.

Ninety-9

I'm taking the weekend to spend time with extended family in Alabama. I have a lot of relatives here with "great" before their title. Driving through Mississippi then rural Alabama I had waves of nostalgia. Summer visits as a kid involved eating "dinner" at noon and then eating it all again for "supper," catching fireflies, fried okra, mosquitoes, southern accents, and small towns.

I am fortunate to have known three of my great grandmothers. Two passed on a few years ago and the other just turned 99. She was spry and with it for most of my life so it was a bit of a shock when her health deteriorated in the past months. I remember climbing in her lap as a kid, watching the birds from her sunroom, and, most fondly, sitting on the porch swing with her like there was nothing else going on the world. She's the sweet Southern woman who loved everyone and told them all to go to church. Most of them did.

When I arrived tonight I was glad she recognized me. Every time I came to her bedside I received a big smile. She laughed when I told her it's ok if she doesn't remember my name, just remember that I'm her favorite great granddaughter. I fought back tears for the first hour I was here, it was hard to see her like this. At one point she told me she's sorry she's sick and cried. I'm sorry too...

As I held her hand I thought about how I want to be 99 looking at three generations ahead of me, to have loved and lived such a full life. She's still beautiful and has quite a spirit despite her health and age. I am grateful to be connected to her.

Archive Dust

Day Two at the Amistad Research Center proved productive. I went through eight boxes of unprocessed files so it was quite a feat. One of the boxes was the jackpot--30 years of the organization's quarterly publication. It's a shame they are sitting in a box.

I decided today I am not organized enough to ever eventually donate my papers to an archive. And in the digital age it would seem ego-maniacal to print every email correspondence to save for posterity. But there is something about reading someone's hand-written notes that seems so intimate, even if it's about how the president spent the organization's money.

I spent an hour at the end of the day in the French Quarter... got some pralines and some beignets, walked around, watched a scene for a movie be filmed at a cafe (it takes a ridiculous amount of people and security to film two people sitting at a table), and took a few hasty pictures.

My favorite part of the day? Watching a man in the Quarter lead a crowd in "This Little Light of Mine", clapping and singing. "Jesus is comin' back, I'm gonna let it shine..."

Tales from the Archives

Greetings from the Big Easy! Here begins the first step of my out of state research for my dissertation.

I'm staying across Lake Ponchatrain from New Orleans with relatives in Mandeville. So we drove across the 24 mile bridge (longest in the world) and through all the city's devastation. I saw where the breach happened in one of the canals and it's smaller than I would have imagined for all the damage it caused. Many houses are abandoned, some are rebuilt, and FEMA trailers dot every few driveways for those who still do not have livable houses. The scene is bleak to be honest. One sign read "Bulldoze house but don't cut down tree." The tree weathered the storm, so why destroy it now? One church was getting ready to re-open this Sunday and a team of congregants busily prepared.

My first stop was Dillard University, which fared decently during Katrina minus its library. I was unable to ascertain before I arrived that the special collections have relocated to storage while the library is being rennovated. An unfortunate consequence.

So I went onto the Amistad Research Center at Tulane. Tulane and the surrounding mansions and parks look untouched. Partly that's because they suffered less damage and partly because they were repaired first. The only time I recognized the impact of Katrina was overhearing a conversation of some professors discussing the university's new evacuation plan. Class and race inequalities were thus impossible for me not to see today.

But Amistad was great... I got through two boxes today and will peruse several more tomorrow they are bringing from off-site storage. I got so excited exploring these materials, like I was starting to put pieces together and to discover. I hope this is representative of how the rest of my trip will go.

The Woman Behind Wonder Woman

From KorePress.org:

"Written by men for 60 years, feminist icon Wonder Woman finally gets a female author in novelist Jodi Picoult, only the second woman to write her story (the first was Mindy Newel, who scripted three issues in the original series). But Wonder Woman's (male) illustrators haven't changed: Picoult reports she advocated for a breast reduction, to no avail. Still, as a role model for girls, Picoult says "I love the fact that [Wonder Woman] is strong and has muscles and powerful thighs." But what about that costume? "All I'm gonna say," responds Picoult, "is that any woman knows you can't fight crime in a bustier."
(artwork by Drew Johnson and Ray Snyder)

Anti-Genocide in the Book of Esther

I've been reading the book of Esther and it has a very clear anti-genocide message. Haman, the evil right hand man to King Xerxes, decides in a moment to decree the destruction of the Jews after Mordecai, a Jew, disrespects him. One personal issue (that shouldn't even have been an issue) and he makes a decision to kill an entire people group. The rest of the book speaks of Esther and Mordecai being used to stop this genocide.

Why isn't it ok? Because it's wrong... God is a God of redemption not of destruction. Even in OT terms of His wrath, God is merciful. And in the case of Queen Esther, the King's own wife would have been killed. Our neighbors and family members could represent a targeted group. Then there's Mordecai, the annoying citizen who sits outside the king's gate and does things no one seems to understand. To put it more bluntly, I see Mordecai representing the homeless or the foreigners who never quite fit "our" customs and standards and thereby pose some sort of threat.

How do they stop it? It takes everyone... Esther as an insider in the kingdom who doubts her power but wields it creatively and convincingly with the people who matter. Mordecai, giving Esther encouragement and strategy. The people, who dress in sack cloth and ashes and pray and fast.

I can find myself in each of those solutions. And I must.

www.savedarfur.org

The Laundry Room

While some people complain about community laundry rooms, I quite like them. I might like the one in my apartment complex less if it weren't two doors down from me, but I like running into people, having random conversations, checking the mail, etc. Once you get past the awkwardness of separating your laundry as you talk, that is.

I have had a hell of a week. To be honest I'm overwhelmed with just about every area of my life. School, work, relationships, family, the future--it's all got it's own stress right now. And it added up and crashed in on me tonight.

While I was waiting for my clothes to dry, I checked my mail and found a letter from my mom's college roommate, with whom she is still close. It was completely out of nowhere, and extremely timely. Two pages of funny stories and lots of encouragement, the kind that you can only appreciate from a life long friend who gets the complexity of your life and the things you're capable of.

So that was it, I burst into tears, reading this letter in the laundry room. No real way to hide. My neighbor, who is a hospital chaplain, came in just as I tried to shield my face. He asked if he could pray for me. I nodded my head yes, choked up, and talked to him while he hung up his shirts. He started to walk out the door and I looked at him, confused... Apparently he meant could he pray for me in his heart, like over the weekend. But he kindly offered to pray with me, and since I was so desperate for someone outside my everyday circle to lift me up, I said yes, please.

He came over and joined hands with me and my roommate. He led us to be still, to remember that God always hears us. And he prayed for tears to wash away pain, hard feelings to illustrate possibility, and conflict to begin growth.

Old friends, neighbors, roommates, prayers, the God who always hears, and the most inane community space.

These are my peace.

Be Not Afraid

To overestimate human potential,
To recognize good,
To become more.

Women in Darfur: How to Help

Save Darfur
www.savedarfur.org

STAND (Student Anti-Genocide organization)
http://www.standnow.org/

Twenty Women For Darfur
www.twentywomenfordarfur.org

Women’s Human Right’s Network
www.amnestyusa.org

Women for Women International: Darfur
www.womenforwomen.org

Women in Darfur: The Situation

The Conflict

Darfur has been embroiled in a deadly conflict for over three years. At least 400,000 people have been killed; more than 2 million innocent civilians have been forced to flee their homes and now live in displaced-persons camps in Sudan or in refugee camps in neighboring Chad; and more than 3.5 million men, women, and children are completely reliant on international aid for survival. Not since the Rwandan genocide of 1994 has the world seen such a calculated campaign of displacement, starvation, rape, and mass slaughter.

Since early 2003, Sudanese armed forces and Sudanese government-backed militia known as “Janjaweed” have been fighting two rebel groups in Darfur, the Sudanese Liberation Army/Movement (SLA/SLM) and the Justice and Equality Movement (JEM). The stated political aim of the rebels has been to compel the government of Sudan to address underdevelopment and the political marginalization of the region. In response, the Sudanese government’s regular armed forces and the Janjaweed – largely composed of fighters of nomadic background – have targeted civilian populations and ethnic groups from which the rebels primarily draw their support – the Fur, Masalit and Zaghawa.
From www.savedarfur.com

Women in Conflict

Much of the violence perpetrated in the Darfur conflict has resulted in grave human rights violations against women. These violations against women and girls include abductions, rape and forced displacement. The only real protection being provided for Darfuri women and girls has been from African Union Mission in Sudan (AMIS), despite significant restrictions on its capabilities.
From www.amnestyusa.org

Rapes and Sex Slavery

As Amnesty International reported in July, women and girls as young as 8 are being raped and used as sex slaves in the conflict area, despite guarantees by the Sudanese government to disarm the Janjawid.
In some cases the Janjawid have raped women in public, in front of their husbands, relatives or the wider community. These women and girls are being attacked not only to dehumanize them, but also to humiliate, punish, control, inflict fear upon, displace and persecute the community to which they belong.

The Janjawid have acted with full impunity and with the full knowledge or acquiescence of the government army, and the government of Sudan has not charged a single member of the Janjawid or of the armed forces with committing rape or kidnapping.

In fact, the mass rapes ongoing in Darfur are war crimes and crimes against humanity that the international community is doing little to stop.

Despite the Security Council's actions and our report, the situation appears only to be getting worse. On Aug. 10, a United Nations High Commission for Refugees spokesperson reported that the agency has received reports of an increasing number of rapes inside government and Janjawid-run displacement camps. Authorities in Khartoum not only have done little to stop the rapes; medical resources for the proper care of victims, including trained personnel and facilities to treat sexually transmitted diseases, are sorely lacking.

Single Women in Most Danger

Women and children make up the majority of the population in the camps. As Amnesty International learned from testimonies gathered last May, married women who have lost their husbands to violence and single women are in particular danger of abuse and exploitation, whether they have settled in camps for the internally displaced or have fled to nearby villages.

Their children are more likely to be affected by malnutrition, less likely to receive an education and these survivors and their daughters may be forced into prostitution.

Displacement has also led to an increase in the number of early marriages, with some families resorting to marrying their daughters at a very young age in the hope that marriage will give some measure of protection from the threat of sexual violence, protection parents feel unable to provide.

The Janjawid have raped many women who, fearing their husbands will be killed if they venture outside the camps, have gone in their place to collect firewood. The Janjawid also have tortured women to coerce them to report the whereabouts of their husbands. Forms of torture reportedly have included forcing the faces of women between wooden sticks and pulling out women's nails. Some women also have reported that the Janjawid have broken the legs of rape victims in order to prevent them from escaping.

While giving ample attention to the humanitarian crisis in Darfur, the international community needs to do more to stop what is happening to Darfur's women and girls. If the victims were our mothers, our daughters and our sisters, the international community would respond more vigorously.

From “Help Stop Violence Against Women in Darfur” by Beth Glick, program associate for the Crisis Preparedness and Response Unit of Amnesty International USA.
http://www.womensenews.org/article.cfm/dyn/aid/1953/

Don Imus

So the d.j. who called the women of the mostly black Rutgers basketball team "nappy-headed hos" has been let go from simulcast on MSNBC. That's some consolation, knowing that when people respond to such hateful remarks then companies listen (even if just for no other reason that economic boycott--yep, it's still powerful). Granted he will probably keep his radio show, but at least something has been done.

Unfortunately remarks like this aren't all that uncommon. Women are referred to in derogatory terms in music, film, and other media daily. For the record, I don't think calling a woman a bitch or a ho in a rap song is OK. Remarks like that trickle down to the culture and are demeaning even if they aren't meant to be. (Side note: One creative way to resist the negativity associated with words is to reappropriate them--i.e. Bitch Magazine--but that does not completely remove its power b/c broader society still utilizes them in offensive ways).

And I'm for freedom of speech, but I do think there needs to be accountability for racist and sexist slurs such as these.

Political talk shows, from every side of the spectrum, are routinely offensive to any number of groups. But at least they are trying to make a point. At least they have a context. They might be trying to make a point I find offensive or don't agree with, but at least there is a point.

We are all a little (or a lot) racist and sexist. Unsolicited remarks such as Imus' show how fallen and insensitive we are. The whole thing makes me examine myself. Imus spoke these slurs not knowing anything about the women on this team. Nothing about their character, lives, or accomplishments. If I really believe all people are equal, then I will treat them as such by the words that I speak.

I think about all it has taken for women to be recognized as athletes, let alone for women of color to play on integrated college teams. We still have so much left to fight for if such a prominent figure can dismiss the collective and individual accomplishments of women and women of color so easily.

Moreover it makes me realize how much fight I've got left...

Somet thoughts on non-violence

In studying non-violent resistance, I have become very confused. I am with Ella Baker--she believed that militancy was a good idea some times and non-violence was a good idea at other times. But she always believed action was necessary. The term pacifism implies non-action, which is contrary to the way we are set up to help others. But I believe it is possible to be extremely active in non-violent ways. War has done very little for the world, and peaceful resistance, though it takes longer, has longer-lasting results.

Rob Bell, pastor of Mars Hill church in Grand Rapids, did a sermon series in December entitled "Calling All Peacemakers." He pointed out that Jesus told Peter to drop his sword when Jesus was arrested. And Bell also pointed out that Christ's acceptance of crucifixion was, in a sense, Him rebelling against a cruel and unjust justice system. I'm mulling that over during Easter, thinking about all the violent ways God could have saved the world, and He didn't. It was Jesus coming to be the Prince of Peace, to save the world in ways no one had ever seen.

There is Rock and Always Water

If I were to guess why I was so afraid of failure, it would be to say that I am afraid of unfulfillment. We have very interesting ways to illuminate our own desires when met with the question of why we live. Being is an understatement for the ways we decide to move, forcing ourselves through the crevices of unmovable rock. We gain strength from the untimely changes that confront the way we constructed our future, and climb higher on the hills of uncertainty.

Why the day begins to break
and
Why the stars are outnumbered
by the
Light
of Your
Face...

All This Happens

Take time to whisper the winds of change,
And re-design the anthems that bring you comfort.
Fall short and rise above,
You Daughters of the Most High.
Recognize your inherent worth
And seize whatever you can.
Cling to sorrow long enough to breathe it,
Then move to the place of action-oriented solace.

We find strength when we cannot seek it.
We encounter truth where we cannot interpret it.

Desperately, hungrily, fervently.
We know Who You are.
Show Yourself, make Yourself known.

I am uncomfortable with the concept that
Love and destiny might not coincide,
And take comfort in the shape of Your design,
Where You bring all things together
And make all things right in their own time.

Awake, arise--
Love comes slowly to meet with us
And we cannot reject it.
In embracing love we embrace possibility,
And all the things we couldn't believe
Somehow are true.

Consumerism

"If we really loved like Jesus does, capitalism would be impossible and Marxism would be unnecessary." --Shane Claiborne

Ah, consumerism...

the idol i dress up with things i've bought...

Ordinary 4

"They will fight against you but will not overcome you, for I am with you and will rescue you," declares the LORD. (Jer. 1:19)

I am inspired by the lack of insignificance You possess. Covered in the insecurity my feeble frame carries around, I lament my own limitations. But oh how You go to great lengths to raise us above all that.

Singing

Inspire the way to be whole.
Receive the advent and
Uncover the blind,
When you were broken
And Life saved you.
Waking,
Hoping,
Receiving.

Joyful Pain

A baby comes to live among us and covers my heart in entirety. Its cries entering the world echo my own uncertainties as I cling to the life I need to know. And somehow I become more alive, letting the baby into my soul and opening to the risk that accompanies love. Beautiful saving and I'm not the rescuer.

And he was torn away from us even as he embodied salvation. The pain of rebirth is to difficult to come to terms with. And the time you left felt like an eternity, us clinging to the promise that you would come back and make it whole.

And you came back like you promised, saving the whole earth and making us right. Peacefully captivating my heart in brilliant ways, rebirthing humanity in the joyous painful saga of your love.

The word of the prophets speak loudly--You have prepared a way in the wilderness.

Give Thanks

Give thanks to the LORD
His love endures forever
He has healed and saved and proclaimed
His love endures forever
He lifts me high above the hills
His love endures forever
He protects my mind and my body
His love endures forever
He provides shelter and sustenance
His love endures forever
He guides me through storms and trials
His love endures forever
He gives me courage and strength
His love endures forever
He carries the weary and binds up the brokenhearted
His love endures forever
He stands for justice and righteousness
His love endures forever
He directs destiny
His love endures forever
He will heal and save and proclaim
His love endures forever.

Two

"Oaks grow strong in contrary winds and diamonds are made under pressure."

Everything culminates
And I resolve to believe
That You will not let me go.
I deserve to be here
And to flourish,
And You deserve to
Use me.
I will succeed or fail
Spectacularly,
Even as You
Guide my steps
And help me to create
My own stories...

Justice for Janitors

If you haven't heard about this, the Houston janitors strike has now begun. There is a rally this coming Saturday and there are other ways to show your support. These are hard-working people, a majority of them women, with families and bills that simply want job security and a fair wage.

For more information:

www.houstonjanitors.org

http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/business/4282371.html

Prufrock's Lament

Every moment is a crisis
When you dare to be afraid.
The unknown is worthwhile
When you seek to
Know the difference
Between what is real
And what is unrevealed.
Finding purpose
In all that makes us whole.
And you look back
With no regrets
Because you sought the
Answers and lived.

Focus

Don't try to make yourself new
Without me.
Taking inventory of what
You are not
Can be hell and I'm here to
Fight for you.
All the reasons you're alive
Make you
Ready for things you can't
See or feel.
Displace your guilt and don't
Pass generosity
When it bows down to
Emrace you.
You can articulate your identity
And be firm
In who you are and we know
Who you are
When you try to undo it.
So rest
And be strong to fly,
To be.

Officially Yours

For CS and LD

Time to believe in love
To overcome all the things
You thought you couldn't be.

Making it the way to
Grow into one and
Bring all things to the light,

By the ocean
Where everything begins and ends
And the water interprets your

Fears and possibilities and
Makes the end a glorious beginning.
Starting to break the waves into

Crashing and thunderous ovations
Of your eternal happiness.
Still, standing firmly together

On the sand that sways where
You do not.
And without asking for it

She found her desires
When you found her.

Will It

She will go,
She will win,
She will rise up and
She will become.

Blend into the beautiful monotony of
All that comes with completing dreams
And decide to rise above.

She is equal,
She is able,
She is ready and
She is strong.

The Theology of Culture

These aren't my ideas, but ponder this... (thanks to Genzo Yamamoto at Wheaton College)

Culture is formed by individuals. All individuals on the planet have two things in common: they are inherent sinners and they are formed in the image of God. These two identities come before identity in Christ. We need to recognize that these two previous identities link us to everyone else. Therefore, individuals create and replicate culture as sinners and images of God. This is a theological framework of culture.

(And I would add brings us all much closer together than we commonly believe...)

Transpire

The end of every beginning is a crash course in underestimation. What we feel we can handle is never quite as much as what we are given, and that is enough to make us rise to many challenges. If obstacles are meant to inspire, then I have become the victor of every writer's block when attempting to climb these mountains.

Hope believes all things,
And so do I.

My Proverbial Ramblings

I am not the reason anyone compromises.
You can't love what you don't know.
Knowledge is not a substitution for wisdom.
Comparison nearly never begets inspiration.
You can never prepare for the inevitable.
Time is not a box or a line, but it is uncontainable.
Pain is relative but grief is universal.
Quietness and stillness are not neighbors.
Wonder should never belong only to children.
I am not the reason you left.

Women's Equality Day

Since 1971, August 26 has celebrated the anniversary of the passage of the 19th amendment (which, everyone should know, assured women the right to vote in 1920). Every year the President issues a proclamation declaring August 26 a day of rememberence and honor for women in the past and women now who are working toward equality.

I now work in women's studies and am constantly surrounded by information and voices about the inequalities in our world. I have to work hard not to get depressed at the state of my sisters around the globe and to funnel my energy into doing something to help people.

It has also occurred to me that I really don't know what equality is supposed to mean. I know that God has said there is neither male nor female, that we all are created in the image of God, and that He loves all people equally. What I don't know is how best to act that out.

I don't think the answer lies in a role reversal of 1950s stereotypical marriages or in gender-blindness. But I think it starts in the way we view people, viewing everyone how God does, as having equal worth. That everyone means the same and they are worthy because they have been created by God.

Women getting the vote in the U.S. is an old story, but it's not in much of the world. And still a number of disenfranchised women live in this country. If we want to work toward equality we have to acknowledge inequality.

Decrease/Increase

Separate
Fact from fiction
Only enough to believe
That what you are
Is enough.

What the future holds
Is no longer reticent
And what I possess
Is no longer trivial.

I've know all these things,
Been all these things,
Believed all these things,
And I am not the answer.

You are first;
You define everything else.
I cannot do anything on my own.

Endure my promises
And risk Your life
On the premise that
I am worth it.

All Our Struggles

There are obstacles we simply cannot overcome on our own. Humanity is a beautiful symbol of grace and power and yet capable of such shame and degradation. How one tiny soul has the ability to simultaneously create and destroy, I will never understand. The human condition is a quandry of vain emotion and helpless surrender, peaceful endeavors and hopeful triumphs. My soul lies in wait for the answer to all my questions, where the old self meets the new self and the new self wins.

We put Christ in the center of all our uncertainties and throw our worries and sin at His heart like daggers. As if we thought our transgressions would bounce off of Him, we spit in His face and turn no cheek. This race of humanity bears the image of God but reaches for its own destruction. How long, oh Lord, will You let us wreck Your creation and each other? How long do You plan to leave us here?

I am a part of every man, woman, and child. Your Body moves as one, struggling against and for. We are broken at the sight of Your holiness and awed by Your presence. This is where I find my solace: in Your arms that don't judge or condemn. You love me, You love us all, all this broken mess that You made to be Yours. Bring peace, bring hope, bring justice.

And Love will rescue, Life will win.

Transition

Yes, my life is in yet another season of transition. For those of you keeping up with me long distance, I moved to the city and am taking a break from teaching to focus on my exams and dissertation. Add preparing for my sister's wedding and recently returning from Europe, among other things, and I've got my plate full.

Many things have led me to re-evaluate my goals and calling lately. Michaelangelo dissected human cadavers in order to understand human anatomy and therefore paint and sculpt the human form more accurately. I want to apply the same passion in my chosen work, because I feel it is worthwhile and because I think it deserves that kind of attention.

God has been very faithful to me, and the opportunities opening up are amazing. All His promises are true...

Isaiah 62:1-5, For my Captive Sisters

For Zion's sake I will not keep silent,
for Jerusalem's sake I will not remain quiet,
till her vindication shines out like the dawn,
her salvation like a blazing torch.

The nations will see your vindication,
and all kings your glory;
you will be called by a new name
that the mouth of the LORD will bestow.

You will be a crown of splendor in the LORD's hand,
a royal diadem in the hand of your God.

No longer will they call you Deserted,
or name your land Desolate.
But you will be called Hephzibah, [a]
and your land Beulah [b];
for the LORD will take delight in you,
and your land will be married.

As a young man marries a young woman,
so will your Builder marry you;
as a bridegroom rejoices over his bride,
so will your God rejoice over you.

Ember

I must indulge the fact that the ebb and flow of life is more fluid than I like to believe.
I move with that current in subtle anticipation of what You will accomplish,
betting on the fact that Your dreams really are more vivid than mine.
Relax and contract and rise above,
these waves that toss me and cradle me in all the different phases of life and make it life.
Why can't the undertow prescript its movement to coincide with everyone's tide?
I mourn the loss of everything comfortable and embrace all that is before me.
I am all these things, capable and strong and beautiful,
turning to face the crests and run against them;
swimming into the unknown with bravery and surrender;
standing up to all my giants, looking them in the eye, and overcoming them.
The salt stings my wounds and I look up to the blinding sunlight,
Where I am rescued and made whole in Your grip--
Standing only on the promise that You are everything.
Waiting for the water to change and moving with and through the current,
burning through the embers of each white wave and
dancing, running through the ebb and flow of this story.

IJM

I just learned more about this fabulous organization... International Justice Mission. They are involved in a myriad of human rights advocacy, particularly human trafficking. Check them out:

www.ijm.org

Not a Victim

Today I attened a local/global dialogue on women and AIDS. The panel was sponsored by the UNAIDS council on women and addressed ways to empower women and thereby fight AIDS. Yes, AIDS and HIV affect men as well, but for women, particularly in developing nations, women are disadvanted and often have little negotiating power within their relationships and circumstances. And as one woman on the panel put it, women are not the victims, they are empowered to take center stage in the fight against this pandemic.

In the Q and A, I asked about the influence of religion, both positive and negative, on the fight againt AIDS. The panelists had nothing but discouraging things to say. The representative from Honduras noted that there are so few ministers do anything to help the AIDS crisis that it is impossible to locate them. An antrhopologist and lobbyist both stated the importance of the church in fighting AIDS and lamented that getting churches to do anything about it is extremely difficult.

The representative from Zambia spoke of her pain in losing both her husband and brother to the disease and blaming God when she herself contracted it. The reigning idea taught by Christian churches in her country is that HIV and AIDS is a judgement. She spoke to a council of Zambian church leaders wearing a t-shirt that said "HIV is not a punishment from God--John 8:11". In forming a support group that now boasts 1000 members, she has found joy in the church again but finds is hard to locate a congregation that does not stigmatize people with AIDS.

I wanted to apologize to every panelist for the lack of action on the part of the Church. I told one woman that she had my word I would talk to my ministers about how to help with the AIDs crisis. Get informed... I was ashamed at the lack of knowledge and perspective I had about AIDS after the dialogue. I'll fight.

What They Learn

On the last exam I ask as a bonus question what that student learned that was most interesting or how their perception of history changed after taking the course. Many of them reveal how they liked learning about the First Ladies, how important the vote was, random trivia, or the significance and breadth of women's role in the historical process.

This time around one student wrote something to the effect of "I always thought the U.S. only intervened in other places when it wanted to help them, but now I know they don't really do anything unless they'll get something out of it. I love my country, but it's done some horrible things."

This young man swore into the military in the course of my class. To be honest, I'd much rather be the teacher that empowers and excites students about all the good things in history and their lives. But sometimes the best lessons are the hard ones, the ugly ones, that change the way we think about the world we live in. Hopefully, those lessons spur us toward change.

If we don't know injustice and walls exist, we can't resist them.

Why I Believe in Miracles

Simply, because they occur.

Things that could be attributed to modern medicine, or chance, or luck, but that really could not have occurred without phenomena. They happen all the time.

I don't see them, not most of the time. I rarely even hear about them.

Because we are all so caught up in the mundane, or the past, or the future.

But tonight I was part of one. The miraculous birth of a baby girl less than two pounds. God saved her life and the mother's, seconds from danger.

Life triumphed and God has heard.

Simply, we're all the miracle, caught up in grace because it bears us like a child, saving our lives and making us strong.

For Fletch

Profound notions
Obscure my connection
To what is real.

Bracing myself for pain,
I devote my psyche
To works of reason.

Feel, as if there is
No other choice.

Living, dying
We press on.

I am the one not in control
Of the fate of the world;

I lift up my hands
In surrender,
And resolve to particpate
Freely in the human struggle.

Touch my lips,
And I will speak.

Supercentenarians

Over 60,000 people in the world are over 100 years of age.
There are enough people at or over the age of 110 to have their own name... "supercentenarians".

In that case, I am not even one quarter of the way through my life.

The Way You Decide to Move

Step lightly, slowly, often. This is the key to forgiving the things you don't know and unlocking the things you do. Don't underestimate the power of interrupted discipline, particularly when it applies to moving along. The ugly desire to be all and do all should not overshadow the desire to live well, and to be, and to persevere on every small account. Dance, and dream, and decide to move past everything you can't, and find it all waiting in the sun.

Gonna Make It

Forced by beauty and design
I carry my own weights
And wait for You to
Take them off.
Healing is only easy when it's done for you,
Not when you actively pursue it
And wait.
What we don't see is what we can't hold,
What we hope for is what we can't see.
Creat fire to burn,
Release rain to engulf,
Exude light to enlighten.
And I'll thrash through the current
That leads to better living,
And to You.

Let Them Praise His Name with Dancing

I dance with a small modern/lyrical company comprised of women who desire to see the arts brought back into churches, particularly in the form of dance. I've been doing worship dance for nearly 10 years now, starting with the summer I was 15 when I trained at the Ballet Magnificat! School of the Arts. Ballet Mag. is a professional ballet company that uses dance to communicate the Gospel in creative ways. My company seeks to do the same thing, on a much smaller scale.

This Sunday I had the opportunity to dance three different places. I started in the morning at a First baptist church. That's right, a Southern Baptist church let dancers on their stage. We went on right after the handbells and the "mature" early morning congregation and robe-donning choir welcomed us with quietly whispered amens at the conclusion of our dance.

In the afternoon, I had the privilege to dance at a Hospice service honoring those who had passed on this last year. As I read the countless names in the program and listened to the conversations of grieving loved ones, I teared up and struggled to know how best to react. A woman whose mother had died from cancer introduced herself and told us her story. Many of the people there had never met one another before; they were connected in death. Just as we all are, connected and unified and brought together under the death of Christ, under His blood, and then unto life as we live under His resurrection. The parting words of the song we danced to: "Come to Jesus and live."

I finished out the day with the evening service at my emergent church, a community that celebrates the arts in tangible ways (a portion of our space is an art gallery) but it is still an honor to be able to worship there. This was a particularly intimate evening, just the guitarist/singer, a drummer, and me. The dance was truly improvisational as I had no choreography prepared save the chorus. I moved and felt the music and the people and the Spirit all at once.

Dance, in all its forms, crosses over boundaries in ways few things can. Movement can interpret God in ways that words and music cannot. And life provides movement that must be expressed in sacred places.

What the Bible says about...

The TNIV website (and others) have this reading plan exploring how we should be involved in social justice. I think it's pretty good:

Two Weeks on Social Justice

Day 1: Exodus 3 - God hears the cries of the slaves.
Day 2: Leviticus 25 - The year of jubilee, a time of economic revolution.
Day 3: Ruth 2 - A poor woman finds help.
Day 4: 1 Kings 21 - Elijah speaks to a land-grabbing, murderous king.
Day 5: Nehemiah 5 - Nehemiah demands justice for the poor.
Day 6: Isaiah 5 - Warning to fun-loving materialists.
Day 7: Isaiah 58 - Worship that God appreciates.
Day 8: Jeremiah 34 - Freedom for slaves.
Day 9: Amos 2 - Sins against God by his own people.
Day 10 Amos 6 - Warning to the complacent.
Day 11: Micah 6 - What the Lord requires.
Day 12: Luke 3 - John the Baptist tells how to prepare for Jesus.
Day 13: Matthew 6 - Jesus speaks on material things.
Day 14: James 2 - How to treat the rich and the poor.

The Homeless King enters the City

Let me hear sounds of joy and gladness; let the bones you have crushed rejoice. (Psalm 51:10)

Your Body is my body, bruised and broken and crushed.

Let the wounds You have allowed be healed.

Turn and save me.

Allow and disallow and remain.

Savior, sweet Savior, draw near and stay.

Let the words of Your mouth speak clearly.

Your Body is my body, restored and healed and whole.

Making it official

Today my sister got engaged... that's right, my little sister is now officially promised to become a Mrs.! He managed to keep it a surprise and the whole thing was really beautiful. A myriad of emotions have been my companion today, but I feel I am entitled to such dramatic tendencies on the day that my only sister and closest friend gets that all important ring.

In other news, I am now the official owner of a Mac. My conversion from pc is quite certain at this point and I really do love this ibook. It takes me back to the days of playing Oregon Trail on my family's Apple II GS, oh so many years ago. I like that mac's interface allows for more than one way to do things. Is it to much to suggest that the influence of postmodern thought processes have stimulated the sales of these computers? (I should have stopped at Oregon Trail... :)

Going back to Cali

Here's some pics from my recent (spontaneous) trip to California... the sun setting over the beach at Santa Monica and the mission in Santa Barbara, where I used to live. It was about 40 degrees the whole time I was there, but it was still great!

Roads

Finding that faith
Comes in sizes unforeseen,
I remember my previous refusal
To live inside a box.
I pride myself
On being alone,
Longing all the while
To commune intimately with others.
I let myself believe
That my own path is the best way,
That my own road less traveled
Marks the way to happiness.
But marked on that road
Are shortcuts and obstacles,
Where I find myself reevaluating
The consequences of directing
My own destiny.
Providence requires a great deal of
Surrender,
And when unassisted will immediately
Change the course.
And for that I am retrospectively
Glad.
I resolve to risk,
To underestimate,
To pursue the dreams
That seem so shelved.
And I will look for those dreams
In the form of many colors,
Dancing through
And seizing each moment
For what it is worth...
And that worth is found intrinsically
In the sweet wonder
That flows from imagination
And spiritual awakening,
Eyeing all odds and changes as simultaneously
Beautiful and terrible.
My own road is not yet completely determined,
And I surrender to walk it somewhat afraid,
Journeying into the sweet mist that clouds
So many of my plans,
Grateful for each
Day,
Struggle, and
Moment.
Live easy...

A Lenten Protest

Lent is the time when the Church historically observes a period of waiting in the weeks leading up to Easter. This time is to remind us of life before Christ, to encourage us to reevaluate our commitment to God, and to deprive ourselves of some necessity. So this year for Lent I am giving up… nothing.

I am not fasting from anything, I am not conducting extra rituals or spending more time reading the Bible, and I am not quitting any habits. I have followed this portion of the Lenten tradition in the past. Chocolate, caffeine, television, movies, and others have made the list of things I have given up (or attempted to do so) for that very long six weeks. I believe one year I fasted from Starburst jellybeans. But this year is different.

Perfectionism is one of my greatest struggles. It affects and influences my work, studies, relationships, and communion with Christ. I decided that I do not need one more thing for which to seek perfection, another task to make me crazy for fear I will not wholly accomplish it. Giving up anything would at this point induce me to obsess over the work of that fast.

If Lent is meant to further entrench the works mentality and fear of imperfection that I hold so closely, then I will not participate. If wearing an ashen cross on my forehead will equate me to a Pharisee because I desire to flaunt my piety, then I benefit no one from that display. If depriving myself from a pleasure leads me to find a substitution less healthy, then I have really fasted from nothing. If Lent is intended instead to spur believers to practice gratitude for salvation and to observe waiting in hope and expectation, then I will do so.

So in some ways I am giving up something. I am giving up on the suggestion that I need to be or do more than I am to be pleasing to God. I wait and I hope and I offer thanks. But for this year, that is all.

Peace

What follows are disjointed thoughts and questions, that all tie together somehow, but not necessarily in a coherent manner...

The February 26 Relevant Podcast features an interview with Don Miller in which he discusses a number of issues, including the war. Miller mentions that although Peace Studies programs are becoming more and more popular in American universities, only one Christian university has such a program (it was started just last year). Why are we afraid to talk about peace?

I am more and more of a pacifist. I think Christ teaches peace, loving your neighbor and yourself, living in harmony with others. Jesus did, of course, turn over money tables in the temple and loudly confront hypocritical leaders. But He communed with the unlovely, He loved everyone, and He invited all to join His Life.

Does it matter if I support the war or not? Yes. Does it matter more that I love my neighbor (meaning my brothers and sisters everywhere), myself, and my God? Of course.

And why is peace only mentioned when we are closely affected by or involved in war? Do we need a drastic and negative example of the opposite of peace to inspire us to consider it?

I helped with the kids at my church on Sunday evening and heard one of the mothers discussing with her 4 year old why hitting another boy was unacceptable... she provided a recent example of when he had been loving and went with him to apologize to the other boy. That is where peace begins, teaching children non-violence and the love of Christ in practical ways.

Following the tradition of non-violent resistance, what ways can I contribute to issues of social justice? Is my green "Save Darfur" bracelet really helping to save Darfur or am I just making myself feel better by wearing it everyday?

Peace Studies is a wonderful idea, but unless we are equipped to really love others and deal with injustice, it is merely an idea. We can talk about how to be peaceful all day, we can debate the benefits being anti-war, but in the end we need strategies, we need tactics, but most of all we need to let Christ's love fill us and overflow out of us. Trying to be peaceful on our own is entirely fruitless.

"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid." (John 14:27)

Black History Month

This weekend, American Shani Davis became the first African American to win an individual gold medal at a winter Olympics. Let me just say I found it quite appropriate that he made this history during Black History Month.

Which brings me to honoring other great African Americans. I look up a great deal to Black women. Nothing against men, of course, but the feminist in me is drawn to the strong women who work hard to overcome the "double bourden" of their race and gender. And not just to overcome it, but celebrate who they are as well.

Two of my favorite African American women in history are Ida B. Wells Barnett and Fannie Lou Hamer.

Wells-Barnett was banned from the South in the late 1800s when she used her journalist credentials to expose lynching. She later became a charter member of the NAACP, female suffragist, and American leader. My favorite Ida anecdote: When NAWSA and the National Woman's Party refused to let Black women march with them in the famous 1919 suffrage parade, Wells did something extremely brave. She and a few other Black suffragists stood at a bend in the road, where the parade could not continue without them. She stepped in the parade and marched with the others until the end.

Hamer, one of twenty children in a sharecropping family, was called a "latter-day female Ghandi." She first became involved in the Civil Rights movement through SNCC in voter registration after attempting to vote, in her 40s, for the first time. Her accomplishments are limitless, including food and clothing drives, running for senator, organizing projects to help poor, rural African Americans, and encouraging womens' involvement in Civil Rights. What I find most inspiring about Hamer is her drive, her desire to secure freedoms and respect at a later point in life, her sheer courage to defy her position.

My list goes on, but here's to also celebrating the people we don't know about, whose low-profile contributions to history are invaluable.

My Plans

"The end of a matter is better than its beginning, and patience is better than pride." (Ecclesiastes 7:8)

Surrender my ideas
Of perfection,
Of time;
Take into account
Every factor
That makes things
Whole
And do not
Give in
To despair,
To failure;
Slow,
Breathe,
Endure.

Channeling St Valentine

How did we get so far from restoring sight to the blind?



From the Catholic Forum

Profile
Priest in Rome, possibly a bishop. Physician. Imprisoned for giving aid to martyrs in prison, and while there converted the jailer by restoring sight to the jailer's daughter. While Valentine of Terni and Valentine of Rome sometimes have separate entries in martyrologies and biographies, most scholars believe they are the same person.

There are several theories about the origin of Valentine's Day celebrations. Some believe the Romans had a mid-February custom where boys drew girls' names in honor of the sex and fertility goddess, Februata Juno; pastors "baptised" this holiday, like some others, by substituting the names of saints such as Valentine to suppress the practice. Others maintain that the custom of sending Valentines on 14 February stems from the belief that birds begin to pair on that date. By 1477 the English associated lovers with the feast of Valentine because on that day "every bird chooses him a mate." The custom started of men and women writing love letters to their Valentine on this day. Other "romance" traditions have become attached to this feast, including pinning bay leaves to your pillow on Valentine's Eve so that you will see your future mate that night in your dreams.

To Be, To Become

I am perpetually at odds with myself and the world. I don't often realize how small and big my life is, all at the same time. I am at once a 15 year old child and a 25 year old woman, that decade representing so much metamorphosis and yet none at all. The same things still try to hold me, to make me less able, to own me. Sometimes I am SuperWoman and can manage it all, and sometimes I can manage nothing. Don't leave everything to me, but don't leave nothing.

Try with mixed emotion to see who I am and help me believe it. I channel Aprhodite and Ungit to make me beautiful and brave, and fall into the Hope that has become my own. I am more than the banal qualifications given to Woman by her own sex and others, because my life emobodies the Image of the God who sees and knows and imparts. Do not roll your eyes at my desire to be more, to live the full life to which I am called. The ancient words and modern hearts all sing the same song of longing to be, to become. To feel, we must represent what we cannot hold.

Approaching the close of one chapter I race toward the end to see the fruits of my labor in a measurable end. How difficult it is to look back, to remember struggle and the hardest times that build up to now. How wonderful it is to beat against the current and end up in the safest and scariest place. So much fear and hope lie in the same moments. The same existential and eternal processes catch me up into the Story that is bigger than myself. Both scripted and improvisational turns in my journey lead me to be, to become, to believe.

And I, holding all these thoughts and feelings, take a deep breath. I dive headlong into all the beautiful and mundane things that make life come together into an abundant experience of You.

Relief Projekt

My good friend has just published her report on Swiss and German medical relief organizations. She spent 18 months putting it together, doing research in Germany and Switzerland and doing medical relief work herself in Mexico and Africa. The perspective is challenging and I encourage all of you to read it. The site also includes some really fantastic photos that she took on her adventures.

www.reliefprojekt.org

The Happiest Place on Earth

I got my pictures from my trip to Disneyworld earlier this month. I had never been so I found it to be quite magical! This pic was my favorite.

A Little Quiz

Yesterday was my first day teaching women's history... it was a blast! I have a sharp group of students and the gentlemen in the class who were not aware they signed up for women's history promised to have an open mind. I asked them these questions as an icebreaker to see what their preconceived notions hold. See what yours are. (Click on comments to see the answers)

True or False:

1. Most American women did not work prior to World War II.

2. Historically, the Deep South is a bi-racial society (black and white).

3. The March on Washington was initially proposed by a woman.

4. Women did not get the right to vote until 1920 in the U. S.

5. All feminists are bra-burning leftists.

6. The women’s rights movement began in the 1970s.

7. Women were not allowed in the military until the Vietnam War.

Women in the Emerging Church

My article, "Women in the Emerging Church", came out last month in Reformation and Revival Journal. It's in the December, 2005 issue, 14:3. I meant to post this sooner, but here it is now. You can get a subscription to the journal for a good price, or you can just buy the individual copy. Go to their website and check it out... the name of the journal is being changed to Act III Review, but for now go to Reformation and Revival.

Why I'm a Feminist, Part Five: The Future

I could continue talking about this forever (and I will). But I’ll wrap up this series with a discussion about what I would love to see the future entail for feminism:

~ An increased consciousness of women’s experience around the globe. American feminism is so focused on the U. S. that it misses the work and trials of our sisters/neighbors abroad.

~ A greater respect for faith. Faith-based and faith-supported feminist groups are on the rise, but the feminist community in general invalidates these causes because of their religious bases.

~ The involvement of younger women. Many teenagers and twenty-somethings are particularly ignorant today of feminist issues. Empowering and educating these young women will prove integral to the survival and breadth of the cause.

~ A broader definition of feminism. For example, in my opinion, abstinence, stay at home mom-ing, adoption instead of abortion, and dedication to a life of faith should all be seen as feminist choices.

~ Continue to speak for those who cannot speak for themselves. Many feminist organizations speak up for children, victims of abuse, and victims of many forms of marginalization. This should increase.

~ A unity of women and men across class, race, and religious lines. The American feminist movement has struggled for years to develop commonality across these signifiers and I think everyone will benefit from sharing the struggle with understanding and love.

Some of this is very idealistic, but no one would be anywhere without ideals. Today we are living in the hope of someone who went before us with the help of the divine hand that led us to new heights. Susan B. Anthony, who toiled for women's suffrage over 50 years and never herself had the privilege of the ballot, put it this way,

"Failure is impossible."

Why I'm a Feminist, Part Four: The Term

For those of you who agree that men and women are of equal worth and who work for and practice egalitarianism may have never thought of yourselves as a feminist. (This summer one of my friends was excited when I told him men could be feminists and he proudly sported the label). It might have never occurred to you that when you are okay working for a woman or when you don’t buy into misogyny that you are, indeed, practicing feminism.

You may not want to be a feminist. You may think the term has too many derogatory connotations, that it is too liberal and too weird, that it enables women to bash men and do whatever they want to do without any boundaries whatsoever. The label might imply that you are not a person of faith.

So here is why I use the term.

First, I do believe that men and women are of equal worth. I believe all the definitions I talked about in Part One.

Second, using the term connects me with a broader movement. I can work alongside others fighting for women’s rights in a wider context.

Third, it signifies a big part of my goals. True, my first goal is to know God and make God known (okay that’s two goals). But feminism does carry a big part of what I am attempting to communicate and achieve in our world.

Fourth, I don’t see an issue with defining myself as a feminist. Missionaries identify themselves as human rights or medical relief workers, for example. The term carries a lot of meaning but it does not exclude me from my faith.

Finally, the term “feminist” is, in and of itself, empowering. Women cite their choices as feminist from little changes like dying their hair to huge changes like becoming a CEO. Calling yourself a feminist can give you more meaning and confidence.

Happy new year to all!