Fireflies

My great-grandmother passed away a few weeks ago. She'd been sick with various ailments for a few years, and spent the last few months in bed. I saw her this summer and said my good-byes then, so I didn't travel with the rest of my family to Alabama for the funeral. She was 99; lived a great, long life with lots of compassion and quite a family legacy.

Her death is affecting me differently than I thought it would. I feel as though a part of my childhood died with her. No more summers catching fireflies in jars and sitting on the porch swing and clogging my arteries with Southern cooking.

Simultaneously, I'm getting married next summer. Societal expectations assume that marriage equals growing up. You can be 21 and married and a grown-up, but 35 and single and not a grown-up. Explain that to me. So whatever societal constrictions I fight against, I still feel them.

I don't want to be a grown-up (why do you think I've stayed in school so long?). I don't want to be a kid, either. My mom says 27 is a great age because I can enjoy the benefits of being young and the adventure of growing older. Or something like that. She says a lot of smart things that I try to let seep into the way I live. My dad says I should have a daughter my age getting married, that would make me feel like a grown-up.

Being engaged is terribly fun, but it presents a transition in identity that I could not have anticipated. How do I go from being one (me) to being one (us)? My sister says to think of it as adding to yourself, not taking away. Becoming one does not indicate losing yourself, and my partner is my best ally in the process.

But there's still a sort of mourning that happens... now I know why historically and in many cultures the women take the bride-to-be away for a week and really embrace that transition. I was a pretty content single woman, and now I'll be a content married woman. It's a lot to take in.

I think the reason I loved the fireflies so much was because they looked like stars, yet I could catch them. I could put them in a jar and make them my own personal miracle. So I'm taking them with me into my adulthood, or maybe I'll say growth journey. Because childhood miracles sustain and inspire us as we move forward, synthesizing all the parts of our complex and beautiful existence into one.

Why I Love Kids' Church

The children at my church are really cool. They come from pacifist homes and are more articulate and creative than I am. And so funny. Here are some of my favorite kids lines from this Sunday:

From a 6 year old: Do you know what Turkish medieval music sounds like? I can't show you because I don't have the instrument, but it's kind of like a bagpipe and flutes.

From a group of boys, after they pinned my fiance to the ground and pelted him with fake food: You are going to die from rotten death mold! (Apparently the pacifism hasn't quite caught on with them)

From a 3 year old: Cute boots! Mine are broken.

From a 4 year old: Hey! You are not the boss, you can't be... because you're a girl!
From a 7 year old in response to this comment: Dun dun dun... (think the music on movies that signals impending doom)

(And don't worry, I set him straight... and so did his mom when she came to pick him up)

Feminist Fiancee

Well, it's official... I'm engaged! To hear how it happened and be apprised of our journey as an engaged couple, check out the blog my fiance started. It's tongue-in-cheek and completely adorable. I'll be contributing as well.

Love Your Body Day, October 18

Whoever said feminists haven't done anything good for the world?

While I disagree with some of the politics of the National Organization for Women, they put forth a lot of initiatives that no one else does. The Love Your Body Campaign is one. "Give me your curves, your wrinkles, your natural beauty yearning to breathe free." Amen, sista!

Body image is a huge issue for women and men. We say that so often I seldom stop to think about it anymore. A few minutes of advertising analysis and you realize how screwed up the media is (check out the "Positive Ads" and "Negative Ads" on the website). Ads are over-sexualized, terribly focused on the superficial, and not to mention confusing.

All that to say, this is a good reminder to slow down and remember that "the King is enthralled by our beauty." I believe wholeheartedly that God intricately knit us together and made us unique and stunning. Our bodies are temples.

So exercise, eat right, take pride in the way you look... not because you hate your body but because you LOVE your body!

I leave you with the newest Dove Campaign for Real Beauty video. Dove launched this campaign after conducting a study in which 2% (that's right, two percent) of women said they thought they were beautiful. Sure, it's a clever marketing strategy, but I really applaud them. They have lots of educational outreach and good data to back up their media.




Remember... celebrate on October 18!

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.