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